Archive of Our Own

Bruce growls as he limps towards the Batmobile, already frustrated by the inevitable fuss Clark is going to force him through when he gets home. He's ridiculous, making such a big deal out of the most measly things; being tossed off a roof is practically a monthly occurrence, and Bruce landed properly. It's just a minor sprain to his leg. And people's noses bleed sometimes when they get punched, that's to be expected. There is no emergency.

If Clark suggest one second of medical attention, Bruce will stab him with kryptonite. Or make him sleep in a guest room. Maybe both, depending on how overbearing he is.

It's beyond irritating how much more protective Clark has gotten since Bruce returned to his nightly patrols. Sometimes it feels like he's more nervous than he was while Bruce was pregnant. Mind-boggling. The first week or two were warranted, Bruce can concede there - he'd been out of costume for over half a year, he'd still been struggling to get back to his pre-pregnancy form (Dickie really did a number on him), and hadn't been in a real fight in what felt like forever. But at this point, Bruce has been patrolling again for nearly 8 months, and hasn't sustained any massive injuries. He has successfully wrangled the Joker twice, hunted down the head of a criminal conspiracy, and the rest of his rogues have been easily handled.

Bruce is not pathetic and he is not weak. He will not be babied, and he will power through as many hits as it takes for Gotham. That is his role. Batman can take a thousand punches and not even blink.

... His side does kind of hurt though. 

If Clark wants to give him a tiny massage, Bruce will allow him to. But nothing more than that!

"Commissioner." Bruce grunts over the walkie-talkie. "You'll find Bane unconscious and restrained on the roof of the bank."

"Copy." Gordon replies.

Bruce revs the engine of the Batmobile, and tosses the walkie to the rarely-used passenger seat. With his shin aching as he pushes down on the accelerator, he tears away, flicking his comm radio on.

"Batman to Agent A."

"This is A." Alfred says, voice crisp.

"I'd like to bathe when I return. Please arrange." Bruce's hip twinges as he rounds a bend too sharply.

"I shall draw it at once, sir. Will I be needing to prepare anti-sewage measures?"

"No. Medicinal purposes only."

"I will use our finest soothing bath salts." Alfred pauses. "Shall I invite your personal masseuse?"

Bruce hums. He could really do with Clark's strong hands kneading his muscles, actually. Purely for healing reasons. "Yes. Do."

"At once, sir."

Bruce clicks the radio off, and thunders along the road. As he hits a bump, his armour shifts against him, uncomfortably twinging against his chest. He tuts as the uncomfortable sensation of milk gathering to his nipples comes to ahead.

Despite Dickie now almost entirely weaned off milk and onto solids with some formula - he's such a big boy now - Bruce's chest has not caught up with that information, still ready to feed at the drop of a hat. Bruce would be lying if he said he doesn't miss it; of course he does, he misses when Dick was tiny and could fit comfortably in one arm, misses the bonding time to be had when their baby was nursing. It was special.

But lactation is not conducive to patrol, and really, formula is the wisest decision now that Bruce is back in the cowl. Clark can feed Dickie if he wakes up in the night while Batman is out. Bruce only chestfeeds for Dick's breakfast every other week or so, but soon even that won't happen anymore.

God, how can their baby boy be over a year old? Sometimes it still so vividly feels like yesterday that Bruce was doubled over in the bathroom, puking his guts out, scheming the best way to tell Clark about his impossible pregnancy. The fear he had is still so palpable, even though Clark is at the Manor right now, probably listening to his heartbeat, maybe tidying away Dick's toys, or hushing him back to sleep.

Bruce doesn't deserve Clark. Clark is so good, he's Superman, a god among men. And Clark proposed to him, Clark married him, Clark is in love with him, for some crazed reason. What a freak.

He drives into the Batcave, screeching to a stop in the designated Batmobile parking space. Clark is waiting for him. Typical.

"Hi." Bruce grunts as he gets out, almost succeeding at not shaking as he puts weight on his bad leg.

Clark flies to his side immediately. "What did you do to yourself this time?"

"Don't pretend you weren't watching me."

"... Stop throwing yourself off buildings and I won't feel the need to watch you."

"I didn't throw myself off-" Bruce sighs, and takes his cowl off. His feet ache. His leg is killing him. His back is sore and his nose is still stinging a bit. "We're having a bath. I'm fine."

Clark hesitates. "I can get Leslie if-"

"You and I know both know I have handled a lot worse without her."

"I know." Clark hovers, hands twisting together. "I just know you wouldn't tell me if it was worse."

"I would tell you." Bruce lies, and it's clear that Clark can see through it. Sometimes he doesn't know why they keep up with this pretence that they don't know each other inside and out.

"Okay B." Clark says, instead of arguing. "Let me carry you to the bath, at least."

"Fine." Bruce puts every ounce of begrudging that he has left into his voice, but he can't control the wave of ease that flows through him when Clark holds him. He's better than this. He should have more authority over his feelings, but he succumbs so easily to Clark, loves how safe he feels in his arms. It's dangerous, and he knows it. He has always known it, from the day he met Kal-El, the Man of Steel, and had to put intense effort into not swooning.

But alas. No matter how many walls and weapons Bruce put between them, no matter how much he tried to push Clark away, Clark persevered. And fuck, Bruce would have had to be made of stone to not fall head over heels.

He knows Bruce better than Bruce knows himself. He knows what Bruce needs, he knows how to decode all the grunts and disregard every reflexive insult or scoff. Clark is everything, and Bruce is under no illusions that he might be the luckiest man on Earth.

Clark takes off Bruce's gauntlets, and gently unlatches his chestplate.

"It was a pretty good fight, to be fair." He mumbles. "You're hot when you fuck up a rogue twice the size of you."

"Bane's made yet another compound." Bruce tuts as he removes his boots. "His body's going to start rebelling against him soon."

"Knowing him, he won't stop even if his body disintegrates around him."

Bruce grunts in the affirmative, and unbuckles his utility belt. "How's Dickie been?"

"Woke up twice. Settled after a bottle the first time, needed a lot of cuddles second time." Clark hesitates.

"Tell me."

"Cried for mama a little bit."

Bruce sighs, and finishes stripping away his armour, winding his arms around Clark's shoulders as his husband lifts him. "Do you think he resents me?"

"No. He's one, sweetheart. He doesn't even know what resentment is." Clark holds him tightly as he flies up the cave and into the Manor. "He loves you. And he's going to love you forever."

Bruce allows Clark to set him down in the bathroom, and remove his undershirt, rolling his eyes as Clark's thumb swipes across his nipple. "I know it's irresponsible of me to be Batman."

"I know it's irresponsible of me to be Superman." Clark smiles a little sadly. "We knew that, ever since you got pregnant. B, you can't feel guilty about it."

"I don't feel guilty." Bruce clicks his tongue, and shimmies his pants off, wincing as he moves his right leg. "I just don't know how we can make sure Dick knows he's our top priority."

"Honey, I hate to repeat myself. But he's one. I don't think he's ever considered that we would care about anything apart from him."

Bruce grumbles as he limps over to the bath; it's a little difficult stepping in, what with his leg threatening to give way, but soon he sinks beneath the bubbles, and the hot water almost immediately eases his muscles.

"Good?" Clark sits on the edge of the tub. "If your leg's still bad tomorrow, let me put the cowl on."

"No." Bruce shuts his eyes and dips a bit lower beneath the water, allowing it to cover his face. He wants Clark to get in, and he shouldn't have to ask, it's rude that he hasn't gotten in. Clark's arms should already be wrapped around him, and his fingers should be running up and down Bruce's leg, massaging away every knot in his muscles.

Maybe his hands would then trail upwards, knuckles brushing against Bruce's thighs as he wraps his fist around Bruce's dick. His lovely fingers could slowly work their way into Bruce's hole, and then Clark will cum inside him and they'll make another beautiful baby and-

Bruce lifts his head from the water.

"I can see your cock twitching, B." Clark dips his hand in the bath, fingertips dragging slowly along Bruce's waist. "Use your words."

"Fuck me." Bruce stretches, and the small of his back twinges as he does. He winces, and lets Clark see it.

Clark's eyes soften, and he strips himself down, joining Bruce in the tub.

"Hi." Clark kisses his neck, and scoops up some bubbles, putting them on Bruce's nose.

It's so stupid. And childish.

Bruce loves it.

"Hi." He lets Clark manhandle him so that he's sitting on his lap, his back to Clark's chest.

"I love you." Clark mumbles, kissing his lips this time. His hands move to Bruce's right leg, and he lifts it up. "This one?"

"Mm. All the way down." Bruce raises his arm and spreads his hand through Clark's hair, dampening it. Clark's got such good hair. It's actually gorgeous, and somehow it looks amazing all of the time - wet, tousled, straightened, messy... Bruce's favourite is obviously when it's in its natural state, perfect curls that wrap so easily around Bruce's fingers. He'd hoped Dickie would have that curly hair, but it seems he's drawn the short straw and gotten Bruce's boring hair genes.

Dickie looks far too much like Bruce. He doesn't even have Clark's brilliant, ethereal blue eyes, or his more pronounced jaw. Maybe Clark's nose, but even that's debatable. It feels a little bit rigged, that Bruce carried their baby, the baby he wanted so badly because it was Clark's, and Dick has the audacity to not look like a mini-Clark.

Bruce hisses as Clark's fingers dip into his soleus muscle, only allowing the noise to escape because he knows it will mean Clark kisses him.

"I know." Clark fulfils his role perfectly, pecking his lips to the corner of Bruce's. "Let me know if it keeps hurting."

Slowly, Bruce feels the tension in his soleus melt away, as Clark massages his leg. He tilts his head, capturing Clark's lips properly, cradling his jaw.

Clark is perfect. Bruce wants to give him everything, but Clark never accepts any of Bruce's more lavish gifts. He didn't let Bruce buy him the Mona Lisa ("It belongs in the Louvre, everyone deserves to see it."), a private jet ("I can fly, B."), or a national park ("I wouldn't want to disturb the deer."), and it is annoying. It is annoying that he won't accept Bruce's love.

Bruce hums appreciatively as Clark's hands make their way up to his thigh, earning a small laugh as Clark pulls away from their kiss.

"I'm massaging you. We're not having sex in the bath."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't know how well a condom holds up underwater. And I don't trust myself to pull out."

"That's a stupid reason to not have sex in the bath." Bruce scowls, and crosses his arms. He makes sure they're positioned below his chest, so that his full pectorals are pushed up, hopefully as enticing to Clark as possible.

It doesn't work. Clark just keeps massaging his thigh.

"We can have sex out the bath. Where we know it will be safe."

"There's no danger from fucking in a bathtub." Bruce argues, deliberately obtuse. He can't ask, he can't, it's so deeply irresponsible of him to want more, and Clark would be cruel to make him say it.

"Sure. Not dangerous." Clark pauses the kneading of his fingers. "But... Bruce, even if I did remember to pull out, what if my like... supercum manages to swim in-"

"Your supercum." Bruce echoes, raising his eyebrow.

"Yeah. Maybe it's got powers."

Bruce is cackling before he even realises it. "You think your cum has powers?"

"Maybe!" Clark huffs. "I haven't run any tests on it."

Bruce laughs some more, his heart feeling light, and he swivels around to face his husband, holding him tightly, kissing his shoulder. Clark's arms wind around him, one hand running up and down Bruce's back, the other still down at his thigh, though it's less of a massage now and more just a tender caressing.

"But you can't tell me you disagree! I might have-"

"You're ridiculous." Bruce snorts, and buries his face in Clark's neck. "I love you."

He feels Clark's beam in the way he squeezes Bruce a little tighter, and the kiss he presses to the top of Bruce's head.

Bruce grinds down with his pelvis, and earns a soft smack on his thigh.

"Babe. Just wait. You're the one that wanted a bath, let me wash you and then we can go to bed."

"No." Bruce huffs.

"Did you come across Ivy? You don't look like you've encountered any sex pollen, but-"

"I didn't." Bruce grunts. "I just want you."

"B." Clark pauses. "I know that you know that without protection, you could get pregnant again."

It makes Bruce's stomach swirl with need. It's stupid. He shouldn't have another baby. He's only really just got back into the routine of being Batman. The stress of being benched while watching Superman get hurt again and again had been awful; it's not like Batman intervenes with Superman regularly, but knowing that he couldn't was agony. The League had been more lax with their training, and it meant Clark nearly fucking died. The media would be all over it, the revelation that the magic spell that conceived Dickie led to permanent changes in Bruce's body...

Plus, it had been so hard to get back into shape after having Dick, Bruce had gained nearly 35 pounds from carrying him, and then an additional 3 post-partum, the diet and exercise plan had been tortuous. Bouncing back was not easy, despite what the tabloids had claimed after his first public appearance on return from maternity leave.

And Dickie, little Dickie, he's still small. Growing every day, on the cusp of being a toddler, but he's still Bruce's baby. What if Dick doesn't want to be a big brother? He might not like having to share attention, or having a new baby in the house. Dick gets on with the other kids at the playgroup Bruce takes him to, he likes to play, but that's different to another child constantly around. And-

Clark's palms drift to Bruce's stomach. "You want another baby?"

Bruce doesn't reply.

But fuck, yes. He really, awfully, terribly does. Another little person that's half him, half Clark, someone brand new and tiny and just as perfect as Dickie. Bruce would give anything for a big family. To fill the Manor with life, the complete opposite of how it has been for so many years since his parents died. To give Clark more hope for the future of Krypton, to give him a dozen more tiny Kryptonians, to make sure Clark will never feel alone or alien ever again.

He shouldn't. He knows he shouldn't.

"Oh, B." Clark breathes. "My love."

He says it in Kryptonese, and it makes Bruce ache.

"My mate." Clark continues. "Mother of my children."

Bruce knows that technically, in Kryptonese, child and children are the same word. But it's nice to pretend that Clark would give him a second baby.

"Perfect mother." Clark mumbles, and presses his lips to Bruce's, hand pressed to the small of his back.

Bruce grinds his ass to Clark's crotch. Maybe he can get Clark horny enough to agree. Tap in to his inner pregnancy kink, which he is still in denial about.

"Rao, give me strength." Clark grunts, and lifts Bruce off him, much to his displeasure. "I didn't think you'd want to get pregnant again."

"I never said that." Bruce bites back his instinctive desire to deny the want in his bones.

"Well you didn't say you do want to."

"'S not your business." It's a terrible excuse, one that is easy to break down, but god, he wants Clark to break all his excuses away and tell him that Bruce is wrong, having another baby is actually a great idea, and he wants Clark to beg, so Bruce can pretend for the briefest of moments that he's not being selfish.

"It's not my business that my husband wants to have more kids?" Clark tuts, and winds his arms around Bruce's waist. "Who else would you be heaving babies with?"

"No one." Bruce shakes his head.

"Exactly. My babies, my husband. My business."

Hearing Clark say it so easily, my babies, plural... Oh, the image of Clark holding a baby in his arms while a toddler clings to his leg, and Dickie's on his shoulders, and another little kid is curled into his side... Clark could so easily be a father to many, many children. And he should tell Bruce to make those children.

... Does Bruce have a pregnancy kink? No. He would know. He just wants to have lots of babies, that's a small but important difference.

"Hm." Bruce grunts, because that's all he has to say. Hypothetically, he could tell Clark just how much having another baby would mean to him, but that would be both excessive and unnecessary.

"Hmm." Clark mimics him, hands going to Bruce's hips. "Do you, or do you not, want to have another baby?"

Ugh, frustrating. Of course Clark is going to make Bruce say it. He's mean. Mean, mean, mean, and he never follows Bruce's rules.

"I want to have sex." Bruce replies.

"Okay, that's fine." Clark hums. "And will this sex be with or without a condom?"

Fucking asshole. He knows, he knows what Bruce wants, and he's being an ass on purpose.

"Whatever you want." Bruce grumbles, cornering him. There, Clark gets the last word, Clark can be the one to say he wants to make another baby, and Bruce can-

"Okay. With a condom then."

No. No, no. Bruce grunts, and raises his head, scowling at Clark. Clark looks back, the picture of innocence, a small smile on his lips.

"Unless that's not what you want." Clark lifts a brow. "Is that what you want?"

"We can use a condom." Bruce huffs, and deflates, sinking onto Clark's chest, burying his face against his skin once more. Clark runs a finger up and down Bruce's spine.

"B. I'm not going to impregnate you unless I am 100% sure you want it."

Not fair. Clark is much too considerate. Sometimes Bruce hates it, and wishes Clark would just use him whenever he wanted. But then it wouldn't be Clark, not really.

"I love you." Clark mumbles. "And I love Dickie. But you really did not have the best time while you were pregnant with him. If we were having another baby, I'd want you benched, I'd want to do your patrols... You hated losing the baby weight, your chest will probably get bigger again, and your labour was really difficult, I just - Dickie's our little miracle. And I am so grateful, every single day, that we have him. But if we had known, that night, that if we had sex then you would get pregnant... I don't think we would have."

Bruce swallows a lump in his throat. Everything Clark says is correct, objectively. Bruce hates being benched. He hates being viewed as less capable, he had hated the League covering his role while he was pregnant, hated that it had been another reminder that Bruce was vulnerable and human on a team full of metas and gods. It had made him more vulnerable than Ollie, and he had not enjoyed the teasing.

And yes. They probably would never have conceived Dick if they knew it could happen. It hurts to think about, makes Bruce feel sick that there is a version of himself that would choose for Richard to never exist, but it's true. It's true that Clark had told Bruce an abortion would be the best idea, and it's true that if Bruce had listened to his own judgement instead of his desires, then he probably would have terminated. These are all immovable facts.

But on an even more fundamental level, they did conceive, Bruce did insist on keeping it, and Clark has adored Dickie ever since being told about him. Bruce does not and did not regret getting pregnant. No amount of hypotheticals can take that away.

"We already managed it once." Bruce grunts.

"That's true." Clark hums. "And the League's gotten bigger. So it's less likely I'll need to pull another Anti-Kryptonian-Godzilla destroying move."

"You're banned from doing that." Bruce huffs. "Ever. Even when Dick is 18, you're not allowed to."

"As a last resort-"

"No."

"What if the world is literally blowing up and can only be saved by Superman sacrificing himself?"

"You come with me and Dick on a spaceship, far away from the explosion, and we make a new life for ourselves on Mars."

"You don't mean that."

Bruce means it, a little bit. He knows in actuality that he'd have to let Clark go, but it wouldn't stop him from wanting otherwise.

"But I promise, I wouldn't unless I absolutely had to." Clark continues, and presses a kiss to Bruce's cheek. "Give it to me straight, babe. Do you want another baby?"

Bruce cannot believe this. The answer is so obvious, and still Clark is making him spell it out. Embarrassing.

"Mm."

"That's not a word."

"You're so annoying." Bruce growls, and throws his hands in the air, gesturing wildly. "I know it's irresponsible. And selfish. And I know that we probably shouldn't, I know that, I'm not stupid."

Clark catches his wrist, and brings it to his lips, planting a kiss.

"Irrelevant." Clark mumbles. "All of that is so irrelevant. It's a bit irresponsible, yes, but not selfish. And who has the right to tell us whether we should or shouldn't have another baby? It's all so... That doesn't matter, Bruce. Do you want it?"

And really, that's why they have Dick. Because Bruce wanted, and Clark wanted, and nothing else mattered.

"Yes." Bruce chokes it out. "I want another baby."

Clark doesn't say anything back, just pulls Bruce closer and kisses him deeply.

The water is getting colder, and Bruce doesn't care. He only cares about Clark's hand on his cock, and his lips on his neck. 

"My B." Clark whispers, as his other hand glides to Bruce's ass, knuckle teasing at his crack.

Bruce runs his own fingers through Clark's hair, and grips him tight as he feels the first finger sink in. Sex in water feels similar to sex in the air; they don't do either regularly, and the weightlessness can make Bruce uneasy. But Clark looks after him. Clark makes sex feel good, and safe, and Bruce trusts him.

"Breathe." Clark mumbles, and Bruce follows the instruction, relaxing his muscles as best as he can as Clark's finger swirls inside of him. It's less of a stretch than it used to be, likely due to the whole 'gave birth to a human being' thing, but it still pulls a little, even more so when Clark pushes a second finger in. Definitely a tighter squeeze, and it feels so fucking good.

Bruce never liked bottoming. When he had been with other men, he'd snap if they even suggested topping him. Having a dick in him as opposed to his dick in someone else was jarring. It meant he had less of an upper hand, meant he more susceptible to genuine pleasure, meant that he had no control over the pace or strength of the thrusts, meant he was entirely reliant on the other man.

The first time he and Clark had sex, it was after they had saved the world (again). They had both been exhausted, and Bruce asked Clark to help stitch up some wounds on his back. In a lapse of judgement, Bruce had kissed him. Clark had kissed back. And as they ripped each other's clothes off, and Clark's hand had tentatively grazed Bruce's ass, Bruce wanted him badly. It was terrifying, wanting Clark that much, and even more so when (after asking 17 times to make sure) Clark had entered him. It was scary because Bruce trusted him. Scary because Bruce wanted to give up control, and hand everything over to Clark. He gave Clark the ability to ruin him, the chance to hurt him, and he didn't. Clark kept him close, made sure Bruce's embarrassing moans were silenced by kisses, and cleaned him up tenderly, every time. Even when Bruce said that they should be friends-with-benefits as opposed to something more, and ignored the flicker of confusion on Clark's face. Even when Bruce slept with other people, Clark didn't change his gentle ways. Even when he knew Bruce had a press conference lined up, and he could so easily leave hickeys and scratches and bite marks all over him to stake a claim, he did nothing of the sort.

Clark irreversibly changed the way Bruce views sex. It's awfully romantic, but Clark's the only person that Bruce would say he's made love to. And he tries not to be jealous that it's not the same the other way around. Bruce's list of lovers is miles long, while Clark's only has a handful of names, and they're all people he's made love to.

He's ripped from his internal grousing when Clark inserts a third finger.

"Mmf."

"What are you thinking about?" Clark grumbles. "Why is it more important than me?"

"Our first time." Bruce grunts.

"... Oh." Clark raises a brow, and twists his fingers, tearing a whine from Bruce's throat. "Am I losing my touch?"

"N-No." Bruce rocks into Clark's hand. "Just - mm! - reminiscing."

"Yeah?" Clark removes his index, then his middle, then ring finger. "Thinking about when we were sneaking around? When you'd turn off the security cameras and I'd fuck you in the Watchtower?"

Bruce shakes his head, and takes another deep breath as the tip of Clark's dick lines pushes against his ass. "Just... you."

Bruce bites back a whine as Clark's lovely thick cock eases into him, making his muscles pulse from the pleasant stretch.

"So good, babe." Clark mumbles, caressing Bruce's hip. "Always take me so well. What are you thinking about me?"

"Hng." Bruce replies eloquently, and Clark kisses him. Bruce shuts his eyes, and he moans, as Clark ploughs deeper in.

For a few seconds, he doesn't move. And then slowly, Clark begins to rock. The pace is slow and gentle, and Bruce feels his heart start hammering. They're trying to make a baby.

They're going to try for a baby, and Bruce is going to get pregnant again, and they're going to have another baby.

"I love you." Bruce whispers.

Clark strokes his back. "I love you. So much."

He thrusts, and Bruce moans, his own cock hard and weeping.

Water splashes at the walls as their movements grow more intense. Most of the bubbles have dissipated. Bruce grips Clark tightly, and suppresses another moan with a kiss, licking into Clark's mouth.

He's so full. Clark is big, everything about him is super, including his gorgeous dick. Bruce feels fucking crazy every time the whole thing is inside of him, sometimes it feels too big to even think, and every throb makes his muscles shake. Clark can tease out an orgasm expertly - he has made Bruce cum several times in just one hour before - but he seems to enjoy taking his time. This used to piss Bruce off.

Now it's yet another entry on the infinite list of things he loves about Clark.

"'M gonna cum." Bruce mumbles, another glorious wave of pleasure as the head of Clark's dick rubs into his prostate.

"Go on sweetheart." Clark kisses him. "Wanna feel that squeeze."

With another thrust, Bruce moans, and he releases into the water. It's gross, floating there, and he's going to need a separate shower to clean it off. But he's easily distracted by the way Clark groans heartily.

"Mm, so fucking sexy, B. I love you." Clark's hand brushes against his stomach. "I'm close. You ready for me to fill you up? Ready to grow us another baby?"

"Please." Bruce breathes shakily, tightening the grip of his thighs around Clark's waist.

"I will." Clark thrusts. "I will. I love you so much, we're gonna get you pregnant, you're gonna have my babies."

"Pr'gnancy k'nk." Bruce murmurs, brain a little too blissed out to fully enunciate his teasing.

"No. This is what it would be like if I had a pregnancy kink." Clark grumbles, and speeds up his pounding. "You're gonna grow round and heavy with my babies. In a few months time, you'll be waddling around, with a bump twice the size of - fuck - and you'll be leaking milk for - oh - and - Fuck, I'm-"

It's all the warning Bruce has before Clark releases into him, the usual load that's around twice the amount of a regular human's. There are a few extra spurts too. Bruce moans as he fills up, and he clings to Clark tightly, a grin on his face.

"You're so fucking horny for getting me pregnant."

"I'm not, that was just because you're hot, not-"

"It's okay if you have a pregnancy kink, I promise." Bruce's heart is fluttering as Clark stays inside him. Realistically, Bruce knows that it can take a while to conceive - even though he has a uterus now, who knows how often it produces eggs, or when his reproductive cycle peaks - but it doesn't stop him from hoping. Maybe between his willpower and Clark's supersperm, they have already conceived, and they will every time they have sex without protection.

"I don't have a pregnancy kink." Clark pouts. "I don't have any kinks. Except loving my husband."

"That's not a kink. And yes, you do."

"Never getting you pregnant if you keep slandering me like this." Clark grunts, but his hand is resting over Bruce's stomach. "I'll pull out in a minute, then get ourselves cleaned up."

"Mkay." Bruce entwines their fingers. "Thanks."

It's difficult to define exactly what Bruce is thanking him for. The great sex, agreeing to try and get him pregnant, the aftercare, generally being Clark? Maybe all of the above.

Clark kisses him.

Definitely all of the above.

"Wuh!"

Bruce watches Dick as he crawls over his desk, picking up Bruce's nameplate and gnawing on it.

While he's distracted, Bruce locks a stapler in his drawer. God forbid that end up in Dickie's mouth.

"That's mine, darling." He gently eases the nameplate out of Dick's clasp, and offers him a toy car.

"No." Dickie shakes his head emphatically, and makes grabby hands for the nameplate.

"Yes. Look, what's this? A car! Much more fun." Bruce drives the car along the desk with his finger. "Vroom vroom."

"Mm." He reaches out, and clutches the car in his fist. He pulls it back, then pushes it away, the car 'driving' off the desk.

"Now, why would you do that?"

Dick giggles at him, and Bruce leans over to pick the car back up. Almost immediately, Dick throws it off again, laughing.

"Cheeky." Bruce tickles Dick's belly. "Are you going to be good? I have a conference call. This is semi-important business, and I don't think they'll will like it if you keep making me duck behind my desk."

Richard babbles back to him, offering a quack.

"Not that kind of duck. But you're right! That's the noise ducks make. Very good, Dickie." Bruce boops his nose. "We'll make a detective out of you yet."

"Mama!"

"Yes?"

Dick points to the fallen car. "Me."

"You want it back? Okay." Bruce holds it tightly. "No rolling it off my desk."

Dick rolls the car off his desk.

Bruce sighs, and glances at the incoming conference call flashing on his screen. He gently scoops Dick into his arms, and sets him on his office floor. Immediately, Dick is scurrying around. Bruce opens up his bag of toys, ready to hand them out as needed, and joins the call, reluctantly turning his camera on.

"Good morning." He plasters a smile on his face as he checks who's present. Lucius, obviously, then Martin Browne, Head of Marketing, Rex Chamberlock, one of the tech executives, Omar Riggs, PR Director...  Bruce really isn't needed for this. He's just here for a sign-off.

"Mr Wayne-Kent." Lucius nods. "It's a pleasure to see you're joining from the office. I'll have to pop across and see you."

"Yes, yes, you must." Bruce says easily, gaze flicking across the screen to see a few more people join. "I thought I could do with getting out. There's only so much working from home before you get bored."

As he puts on a laugh, he glances to Dickie, clambering onto a chair. Dick beams at him.

"How's the little'un?" Martin asks, and Bruce ignores the irritation rises in his chest. He doesn't like Martin Browne. He's fine at his job, sometimes even good, but he tries to sidle up to Bruce, acts like they're friends, and Bruce hates it and him. Dick is none of Martin's business.

"He's wonderful." Bruce says with a smile instead of removing Martin from the call. "He's with me right now, actually, so excuse any background noise."

"No nanny?" Omar raises a brow.

"He's been clingy, tends to scream the Manor down if myself or Clark aren't around." Bruce clears his throat. "I believe Lucius, you have the agenda for today's meeting?"

He doesn't dislike Omar as much as he dislikes Martin, but he's certainly not one of Bruce's favourites either. And if he keeps making Bruce feel the need to defend himself for bringing his own son to the office? Maybe he needs a demotion.

That's petty. Bruce won't do that. It's unprofessional.

"Bwah." Dickie mumbles to himself, and Bruce looks at him again, off the chair and now toddling towards a bookshelf.

As Lucius introduces the meeting, rambling about social media impressions on their latest WayneTech marketing campaign, Bruce watches as Dick starts pulling books out, and stacking them on the floor.

The marketing campaign was for the newest watch, which was designed and approved while Bruce was on maternity. That's the only reason it even reached getting released, because Bruce would not touch that watch with a bargepole. There have been reports of the "AI Assistant" in the watch not even being able to state the correct time. It is astonishing that it made it past R&D.

"We haven't had the best reviews." Martin says, and obviously they haven't. Bruce resists the urge to roll his eyes.

"I had my team send out a freebie to a few tech magazines and established papers, and of the 10 that did write about it, 4 were critical." Louise Jones, Social Media Manager, says.

"Which papers?" Rex asks.

Bruce considers fully tuning them out in favour of observing Dick, but opts to keep an ear on them.

"Uh, Cyber Weekly, Watch World, Tech of America... Um, the Gazette were positive, and-"

"You said 4 were critical." Lucius interrupts.

"Um. Yes." Louise coughs. "The Daily Planet have a tech column."

Bruce schools the twitch of a smile on his lips. Oh, The Daily Planet. Truly phenomenal, masterful journalism. It's rare to get an honest newspaper, and Bruce may be biased because of Clark, but truly do seem to have some morals over there.

"The Planet?" Martin pauses. "Mr Wayne, do you think-"

"I've been informed that using my relationship with Clark for some good press would be an abuse of power, or something like that." Bruce uses his most airy voice. "And please, it's Wayne-Kent. I'm a kept man now."

"If we're discussing your relationship with the reporter..." Rex says, and Bruce wants to scowl at him. "The optics of your husband's workplace openly disparaging one of your products aren't great."

"Well it's good that we're discussing a watch, not my relationship then." Bruce replies, breezy. He adds a small chuckle for a good measure.

Dick has stacked this pile of books very high now. He's moved onto crawling inside the now-empty shelf space, and sitting happily in there.

At his rebuke, the conversation goes back to the stupid watch. It's going to take an incredible product to blow the failure of this one out of public memory, and Bruce doesn't have any ideas in him at the moment. His brain is consumed by his family and being Batman, there is very little space for Wayne Enterprises.

He'll just have to make sure next time he goes on maternity leave - within the next 9 months, if he and Clark have gotten lucky - no more bad products are let out into the world.

Dickie has left the shelf space, and is making a beeline for Bruce, moving as fast as his little legs can carry him. He digs around in the bag of toys, and pulls out some stacking blocks, tapping them together and reaching his arms up from Bruce.

Bruce would have to be a heartless, evil monster to deny picking up his baby boy. He swiftly scoops Dick into his lap, and mutes, as the clacking of plastic is not something his staff are likely to want to hear.

"My little boy." Bruce mumbles, pressing a kiss to Dickie's head.

"Mah." Dick coos back, tapping the blocks together some more before carefully placing one on top of the other.

Bruce offers a little clap, and Dick smiles, clapping his own hands. The meeting is very much background noise at this point. Someone's saying something about another run of adverts, but luckily Lucius nips that in the bud.

And then Dick wriggles out of Bruce's lap - always on that go, that boy - and is running back across to the bookshelf. He trips, and Bruce stands to comfort him except...

Except Dick hasn't hit the floor.

He's floating. An inch off the ground.

Bruce's heart flutters, and he steps away from his desk to wrap Dickie up in a tight cuddle, kissing his nose as he sets him back down on the floor.

"Daddy's going to be so proud." Bruce whispers, making a mental note to amend the security camera footage. "Mommy's proud too."

He manages to survive the rest of the conference call, and really they must have only wanted him to try and talk to the Planet about that review, because Bruce contributes next to nothing, not even a go-ahead.

"What do you mean, he floated?" Clark frowns when Bruce tells him that evening, holding a sleeping Dick in his arms.

"I mean he tripped, and instead of falling, he just floated." It seems pretty self-explanatory.

Clark doesn't say anything. He strokes Dickie's cheek, looking solemn.

Bruce furrows his brow. "He's - He's Kryptonian, Clark."

Bewilderingly, that only seems to make him look sadder. It makes no sense. Clark had been so excited about no longer being the Last Son of Krypton. He'd mentioned taking Dick to the Fortress if his powers came in, sings him lullabies in Kryptonese tongues, Clark was excited to have another member of his race.

He does not look excited at all right now.

"Is he not meant to fly yet?" Bruce hedges a guess, knowing it's likely inaccurate.

"What? No. No, I mean, I think I started floating when I was his age, I'll ask Ma." Clark hesitates. "I'm just... sorry."

"You're sorry." Bruce echoes, and his brain whirrs. Guilt? What has Clark possibly got to feel guilty about? Nothing could plague him enough to not find joy in their son's development, nothing, aside from maybe a secret lover. But Clark wouldn't do that. Bruce would know if Clark had a secret lover. Unless he does, and Bruce has been losing his touch, too absorbed in motherhood and planning for their second child to-

"Yes." Clark cradles Dickie close. "It just hit me. I've been an idiot. He - He should be a normal boy. I hated how alien I am, I hated it B, and there's always been this obligation to use my powers for good, and he - Dickie doesn't need that. He's got enough as it is, being our son, he doesn't need the extra pressure to be like Superman. I don't want him to need to save people. I don't want him to shoulder that."

Bruce reaches out, and squeezes his arm. "Clark..."

"And I know. I know that he'd feel that expectation even if he didn't have powers, because we're Superman and Batman, and the rest of the League are his aunties and uncles. But Bruce, I don't want that for him. It would've been easier to tell him he doesn't need to be a hero. And he's going to grow up feeling so alone, he won't be like the other children, and - and it's weird B. Even if you never show them your powers, even if you blend in, the other kids always know. They know you're different, and they hate you for it."

"Clark, I-"

"And! And, you know what's worst, B? I know I'm going to fall into it. I'm going to say something about powers, or do something, and I'm going to make him feel like he has to be more than our son. Because Ma and Pa, they didn't mean to, they didn't make me feel it on purpose, but I did, and it's worse for Dick. I'm going to make him learn Kryptonian culture, going to make him feel like his heritage is a burden, and-"

"Kal." Bruce uses his Kryptonian name, and Clark falls silent. "He's not you."

It sounds harsh, and Clark gives him puppy eyes.

"And with all respect to your parents, we won't be raising him the same way they raised you. And we'll make sure that neither of us put an expectation on him. Obviously, we'll expect good school work and high grades-"

"Bruce."

"- But the hero stuff, we'll make sure he knows that if he even thinks about dressing up in a cape, we will ground him for years."

Clark snorts at that.

"It's important he learns about Krypton, though. Where his powers came from, how you came to Earth... Heritage is important. When he's the right age, I'll tell him about my parents too. Not exactly the same, but still one of those family scars that children are doomed to inherit. He deserves to know his history. He deserves a Kryptonian name, and the language, and he's lucky because he has a father to teach him all of this. You didn't have anyone to guide you through your powers. He does. And that's not something to apologise for."

"The loneliness-"

"We're planning on having another baby, Clark. He won't be lonely for very long."

Clark chuckles at that, and looks down at the sleeping Dickie. In retrospect, Bruce should have picked up on this a little sooner, when Clark didn't give him an El name, even after Bruce asked about it. He can't remember the exact excuse Clark gave, and Bruce will choose to blame the lack of follow-up on the busyness of being a new parent.

"I thought you'd be happy." Bruce mumbles, resting his head on Clark's shoulder.

"I am happy." Clark answers easily, pressing a kiss to Bruce's temple. "Promise. Just so afraid of screwing up."

"You might. And I might. But we'll fix it." Bruce caressed Dick's curled fist. "You're good at fixing things."

"I try." Clark kisses him again.

"Will you give him a Kryptonian name now?"

"I did. A few months after he was born, I told Jor-El, and he asked for the name. So I said, yknow, Richard Grayson Wayne-Kent, and he got huffy. So I made him one. It's Rik-El." Clark mumbles. "My house name, and the first three letters of his name. Except, uh, with a K instead of a C. Because it looks better."

"You never told me."

"I know. I don't really think of him as Rik-El. He's our Dickie. It's just... there if he ever wants it. Same way Kal-El was there for me, when I found the Fortress."

"Mm." Bruce trails his finger along Clark's bicep. "How are you going to teach a baby how to control his powers?"

"I can't, not while he's so little. We'll have to focus on just... minimising them in public. And letting him go crazy here at home, or in the Tower." Clark pauses. "How high did he go?"

"About an inch."

"Wow." Clark smiles. "That's pretty high! Ma always said my first float was around an inch."

"It's about time he starts taking after you." Bruce says softly, and Clark bumps their heads together.

Bruce doesn't half-ass things, he just isn't built for that. So obviously, he's not just going to have sex with Clark at random and assume that it will result in a baby. No, he is a man of science, and while he can't keep track of a menstrual cycle like a biological woman can, he did create a device that will identify hormones in his blood, FSH and LH. Mapping that to a calendar, he can pinpoint the best dates and times to have Clark fuck him, and voila, pregnancy.

Disappointingly, he had no HCG to be found after their wonderful bathtub sex, so to compensate, Bruce prepared an itinerary for the next six months to keep him and Clark on track to be pregnant before Dick turns 2, alongside diet plans and a list of positions most conducive for reproduction.

Clark had chuckled at him, but agreed to follow Operation: Baby Two to the letter. All was well.

Except, as usual, Bruce is his own worst enemy. And Past-Bruce had the audacity to schedule a League meeting for the exact same date and time as Itinerary Week 9 Day 4, 13:15-16:45, also known as 'MANDATORY - MUST HAVE SEX DURING THIS WINDOW'. Past-Bruce is unwittingly sabotaging him. What kind of asshole runs a team meeting from 13:30-16:00, taking up almost the entire sex window?

He can't reschedule, because then he has to reschedule the rest of the year to account for that, and luckily the remainder of the League meetings are not during mandatory sex windows.

So instead, he will just ensure it is the most efficient League meeting any of them have ever had. There will be no asides. No digressions. No chitchat. All questions will need to be asked via follow-up comm, and there will be no adjourning, or snack breaks, and if anyone even thinks about adding to the agenda, Bruce will evict them from the Watchtower and leave them to suffocate in space.

"I have something I need to add to agenda." Diana says as she walks in.

"We need to do introductions for the Atom and Hawkgirl." Barry points out once he sits down.

"I want some advice on mediation with some aliens." Hal announces.

"Ollie's running late, he's gotten caught up with fucking Lionel Zetz." Dinah huffs, opening a bag of chips.

"It will be good if we take a few breaks to allow the Atom and Hawkgirl to get acquainted with the League." J'onn says, smiling at said heroes.

Bruce considers whisking Clark off to one of their suites for a quickie.

Arthur sighs dramatically. "I'm hungry, can someone go to Earth and get pizza?"

"I'll text Ollie and ask him to pick one up once he's done with Zetz."

"One? No, we need at least three." Barry hums. "Hmm, toppings though. I'm kinda feeling Hawai'ian."

"I think you need to be locked up." Hawkgirl - Shayera Hol - pipes up, earning some laughter.

"I could go for some pepperoni... J'onn, do you think pepperoni, or spicy chicken?"

J'onn tilts his head, as if he really needs to ponder Hal's question.

Bruce again considers whisking Clark off for a quickie, even more strongly this time.

"If we could all settle down." Clark clears his throat, hand resting on the small of Bruce's back for the briefest of moments. "Thank you. It seems like we have a lot to get through, and I know we're all busy, so if we could try and stick to the agenda so we can cover everyone's points, that'd be great. While me and B figure out what order we'll address all these extra bits, you guys order some pizzas, and we'll make a start. Please make sure Hawkgirl and Atom feel welcomed. As a reminder, let's keep to using our aliases for now, I'm sure we all remember how long it takes to feel ready for someone new to know your identity. Flash, show them where the kitchen is, let them have first pick of the snacks."

Bruce knows his shoulders are too tight, and turns away from the team to scour the agenda. Could he remove Other Rogues Are Entering Gotham - Stop It? No, that's important, there have been too many occasions of Captain Cold or Cheetah or Goldface, among others, making their way into Batman's domain. He could maybe cut Stop Leaving Shit In The Training Room from 30 minutes to 20...

"I don't know what to change." Bruce grunts as Clark leans over him.

"We could add a break in the middle." Clark says quietly. "And see what we can do with it."

"Half an hour will not yield the same results as 3 hours."

"You never know. It's better than none at all."

"And you want us to have that break, and then come back and resume the meeting?" Bruce frowns. "We'd have to be very efficient."

"B, it's you." Clark drops his voice even lower, lips practically pressed against Bruce's ear. "You could get me off in 5 minutes, let alone 30."

Bruce nods, and adds in the break. From 14:30 until 15:00, he will ensure every second is used for all its worth.

"So in summation, Themyscira will be hosting blocks of training for heroic women. Hawkgirl, Black Canary, I would love for you to come, and if anyone knows of any other heroes who aren't in the League, please do let them know."

The moment Diana finishes and sits, Bruce stands. It is 14:33 and everything is ruined.

"Great. Thank you Wonder Woman. We'll now adjourn for a short break. Everyone be ready and back here by 15:00." He turns on his heel, not enough time to hear them agree or disagree. Their suites are on the other side of the Watchtower, it will take at least 2 minutes to get there, cutting even more into their time, so they'll just have to use the first semi-appropriate room. The monitor room will do.

They won't be able to comfortably do missionary, even in the air, so the best bet is probably Clark bending him over and getting close to doggy, though the angles will be slightly off. And -

Clark is not following him. Bruce twists to see his husband chatting to the Atom - Ray Palmer - as if he doesn't only have 26 minutes and 34 seconds to impregnate Bruce.

"Kal-El. Don't make me drag you." Bruce snaps, and Clark gives him an apologetic look and hurries to his side.

"Sorry, I was-"

"Doesn't matter." Bruce stomps down the hallway, Clark close behind him. He takes a left.

"Um, our rooms are -"

"Too far. We'll lose time." Bruce punches his access code into the monitor room doors.

Clark hesitates.

"Get in." Bruce grits his teeth. 25 minutes and 51 seconds. "Take your suit off."

"We have time to-"

"I need 3 hours worth of cum from you, every millisecond counts." Bruce drags Clark inside, and engages both the manual and automatic lock. The moment that's done, he unbuckles his utility belt, tossing it aside, removes his gauntlets, and kicks his boots off. No time to remove his chestplates, he'll just focus on his lower half.

Clark's suit is still on. Bruce glares at him.

"Okay! Okay, sorry, I'm moving." Clark finally starts stripping. "This is - This is very stressful."

"You suggested the break." Bruce grumbles, and he's down to just leggings, placing his armour more carefully beside his belt. "This is efficiency."

"I didn't realise you wanted the equivalent of 3 hours of sex." Clark clicks his tongue, and good, he's naked, supersuit balled up beside Bruce's armour. "Let me take your cowl off."

Bruce acquiesces, and his legs are bare too. 24 minutes and 14 seconds. And -

"Why aren't you hard?"

Clark's dick is somehow the most flaccid Bruce has ever seen it. He is not following the very carefully put together schedule that Bruce told him through the morse code clicking of his pen.

"Uh?" Clark looks down at his own penis. "Because I'm... not turned on?"

"Well hurry up and be horny." Bruce glares at Clark's limp cock. It twitches a little. Bruce glares harder. Nothing.

"Stop looking at it like you're going to rip it off!"

"We do not have time for this." Bruce drapes himself over the centre console, disengaging any active buttons or switches. Triggering something by accident would be both careless and detrimental to his sex schedule. Fuck, his cape is in the way. With a grunt, he rips it off, not enough seconds to spare to detach it properly. He spreads his legs, and gets to work fingering himself.

"Oh." Clark's voice lowers. "There we go. Fuck me, Bruce, I should make you prep yourself more often."

23 minutes. 22, 59 seconds.

"Are you hard yet?" Bruce hisses as his own fingertips make his hole burn.

"Getting there." Clark breathes, and he's standing behind Bruce now. He can hear the sound of Clark's fist pumping his own dick. "I - Mm - I didn't think we'd be making a baby so... scientifically."

"We can do it with love when we have time." Bruce grunts, and bites his lip to stop himself from whimpering as he scissors his fingers. "I promise, once you cum at least once, we should have approximately 14 minutes for something more gentle."

"Mkay, mkay." Clark groans lowly. "I'm ready now."

Bruce removes his fingers, and Clark's hands take over, spreading Bruce's cheeks as the head of his dick slides in.

Bruce bites a knuckle to stop himself from crying out as Clark eases in. His fingers aren't as wide as Clark's, the prep is measly compared to how wide Clark can stretch him.

"I've got you." Clark breathes, lips to Bruce's ear. He sinks in deeper, and Bruce shakes.

This isn't good. Clark won't do anything if he thinks it will hurt him. Fuck, Bruce should have brought lube. Who knows how many precious seconds he will lose to tenderness? Care and love and affection is not going to make them a baby.

"Keep going." Bruce chokes out, even as he feels his insides burn. He groans as Clark bottoms out, hips pressed against him.

"Bruce. Babe. If you need to take a few moments-"

Bruce grunts, and jerks his pelvis back, grabbing Clark's hand and sinking his teeth into it to stop him from screaming. Clark's breath doesn't even hitch.

Instead, he leans forward, wrapping one arm around Bruce's waist, and pecks his cheek. Slowly, Bruce releases his hand from his mouth, and Clark replaces it with a firm kiss, gently thrusting into Bruce. It's a little bit easier. More pleasant than painful, or maybe just a merge of the two.

"We can take our time." Clark whispers. "Promise. Everyone can wait."

"I need it, Clark." Bruce mumbles, his palm flattening to his armoured stomach. "Need our baby."

"I know. I know." Clark kisses him again, hips rocking. Bruce moans, and Clark silences it with his lips. "I'll make sure we have one, don't worry. I'm gonna give you a baby."

Bruce clutches the edge of the console. The angle's all wrong. Clark needs to be higher.

"The position-"

"Is fine, sweetheart." Clark keeps thrusting. "Promise."

Bruce can't help but believe him. He closes his eyes, and feels Clark lace their fingers together, hands clasped over Bruce's middle.

"I love you." He mumbles, and Bruce swallows a moan as Clark's dick twitches. "And we're going to make our baby with love. For as long as it takes."

"Scientifically-"

"Scientifically, I could cum in you a thousand times, but only one will actually work." Clark pauses. "Although it could be hot, to fill you up with that much."

"Freak." Bruce grunts, and suppresses another moan, feeling his own dick twitch at the thought.

Clark clicks his tongue, and thrusts sharply. "As if you wouldn't love it."

"Mmf." Bruce grabs at Clark's face, twisting for another kiss. Clark gives him one, two, three, tongue licking into him that third time. Bruce moans as Clark's hips stutter.

He can't think about time. How many minutes do they have? Who knows. All Bruce knows is Clark. Clark, Clark, Clark. Clark will give him a baby, because they're in love, and if Clark says it's fine then it will be.

"I love you." Bruce mumbles.

"I love you." Clark's voice wavers. "I'm nearly there, B."

"Mkay." Bruce breathes, and jerks his pelvis in time with Clark's, feeling his own dick throb, threatening to spill out all over the console. Maybe if Clark didn't feel so fucking good, he'd care a little more.

"So close." Clark moans quietly. "You look so hot, bent over like this. And Rao, B, do you have any idea how horny it makes you look, that you're begging me for sex while we're at work?"

"Oh god." Bruce groans. "No one knows."

"Sure, B. If that's what you want to think." Clark chuckles, and holds him tighter. "I'm ready."

"Don't hold back."

And Clark doesn't. Bruce can't help the long, low groan as he feels Clark's seed fill him, and barely registers the way he cums immediately after. It feels like Clark just keeps going, an endless stream, and Bruce is going to be so fucking pregnant.

"My perfect mate." Clark whispers in Kryptonese. "So beautiful. Always take me so well."

"Kal-El. My love. My darling." Bruce replies, legs shaky. He's not used to being with Clark upright, he thinks his muscles might give way.

He can already feel cum dripping out of him. Ugh, instead of going again, they'll have to clean up. Bruce should have accounted for that when calculating the time cut to get to their suite.

Only approximately 9 minutes left of break. Damn Clark, taking his time, so insistent on making love.

But with his wobbly legs, and pumped full of Clark, so hopeful that maybe their hurried sex has resulted in conception... Bruce can't bring himself to feel grumpy about it.

"I'll clean up." Clark mumbles, and slowly eases out of Bruce. He drapes his cape over one of the monitor room chairs, putting the backrest down all the way, and lays Bruce over it.

"One sec." Bruce grunts as he reclines, cum seeping. "I'll help, just - just give me a moment."

"No." Clark kisses Bruce's temple. "Just need you to sit and look pretty. Don't forget to tilt that pelvis, baby, help my swimmers get where they need to be."

At the reminder, Bruce grunts and raises his hips a little. He always swore he'd never have sex with Clark in any communal room in the Watchtower. Baby fever must really be getting to him. That could be an issue, his desire for a baby impacting his judgement calls. It's unlikely to crop up during a fight, but it could.

Bruce should probably add baby fever to the list of weaknesses in the In Case Batman Goes Evil file. Maybe to the Superman one too.

Clark dresses, and unlocks the monitor room door, becoming a blur and returning with a bucket of cleaning supplies. He takes a wipe, spreads Bruce's legs, dabbing at the still-wet cum on his thighs. Bruce isn't quite sure whether its his own, or Clark's, but probably both.

"You need me to take the lead when we resume the meeting?"

"I'll be fine. Just... Mm." Bruce melts under the tender touches. "Yeah. Mkay. You can - Yeah."

Clark laughs softly. "Maybe hyper-efficient sex isn't good for you. Did I fuck your brains out?"

"Probably." Bruce wishes he'd taken all of his armour off, so he could touch the skin of his stomach and imagine his baby already forming inside him. Maybe Clark would kiss his belly, and that final touch would be all the fetus needed to take shape.

"You okay to dress?" Clark hesitates. "I can-"

"'M fine. I can do it." Bruce slowly sits up, and accepts the underwear Clark offers him.

None of the League say anything when Bruce gingerly sits down and Clark takes charge of the meeting. But Hal does raise his eyebrows as Barry whispers something to him, which is almost worse.

'dickie's a farmer <3!!'

Bruce replies to Clark's picture of their son playing in the dirt with a simple thumbs up emoji. He's not much of a texter, and he honestly hates the way that all of Clark's writing and grammatical prowess apparently goes out the window when he's got a phone in his hand.

And he doesn't want Dickie playing in the dirt, or rolling around in hay, or getting lost in a cornfield. He could get ill, it's not hygienic, and Bruce does not want his little boy to come home from visiting his grandparents with a sniffly nose or a persistent cough. It is taking all of Bruce's willpower to not research which diseases a one year old can catch from being on a farm. Because this is how Clark grew up, and Bruce doesn't want to be accused of being a city slicker or whatever.

Dick's probably fine. Clark wouldn't let him come to harm. As long as Dickie doesn't eat any mud -

Bruce whips his phone out.

'Don't let him eat mud.'

The reply is near instant.

'srry he already ate 5 entire buckets of mud and hes on his 6th'

'obvs hes not eating mud!'

Clark sends another picture, this time of Dick in the arms of his grandmother. Martha Kent is pecking a kiss to his cheek.

Bruce suppresses the wave of jealousy as he imagines how his own parents may have cooed over Richard. The feeling is worse when he considers how they could have welcomed Clark into the family, if they would like him and if Clark would've liked them in return.

It hurts. Bruce shoves the thoughts into the back of his mind, and focuses.

He'd spent hours constructing the perfect timetable for their sex, and had spent zero of those hours thinking about how to actually tell Clark once he got pregnant. This should be easy! Way easier than when Bruce told Clark about Dickie, but the nerves are still there.

They've both been excited - a measly 'good news, I'm pregnant' doesn't feel like enough, but it's not like Clark is one for big, over-the-top dramatics either.

Somehow, despite how vehemently they've been trying, Bruce doesn't feel prepared to be pregnant. It's happening too quickly, it feel like he's found out too soon, he was just testing his hormones to make sure the upcoming schedule was still correct, and then surprise, HCG! Their baby was conceived in the monitor room. During a League Meeting! That's both of their babies being made in the Watchtower, that is a bad statistic. No one should be making babies in the Watchtower, Bruce is setting a terrible example.

Maybe he should hide it? Pretend that he hasn't run a dozen pregnancy tests, and wait for actual symptoms. Clark can find him in the throes of morning sickness, and put two and two together. Or maybe Bruce will send a thousand roses to the Daily Planet, along with a note informing him of their second child. That could be romantic? Maybe a bit too showy...

Ugh.

Bruce brushes his fingers against his stomach, and looks at himself in their bedroom mirror. No bump, obviously, he must only be about 3 weeks along, still just his hard-earned abs. They've always been less sharp compared to before he had Dick, he never was able to get them back to where he wanted them. And now off they go again.

The baby is more important than a six-pack.

Another baby. Bruce smiles to himself, trailing his finger around his navel. God, a few years ago, he never could have imagined this. That he'd have a year old son, and a second baby on the way, children he has with Clark. The very man who apparently couldn't figure out a very simple code, and caused Bruce to mope about unrequited loved for an awfully long time.

Bruce prides himself on how different he is from his Brucie persona, how deliberately air-headed and ditzy he makes himself for the public. But deep down, there's a teeny tiny bit of Brucie in him, though he tries not to acknowledge it. But ditzy, dreamy Brucie is very happy to be the one popping out Superman's babies. And maybe Bruce should let that side of himself out, just a little bit, to tell Clark the good news.

Playing Brucie when he's around Clark is always a little easier. Brucie wears his heart on his sleeve, so Bruce is more able to blurt all the love he keeps for Clark, and not be scared of being rebuffed. He can say things like 'I think Clark is the most handsome, wonderful, incredible man in the world' and it will earn appreciative hums from the media and a gentle smile from Clark. If he said that in private, Clark would send him for a psychiatric evaluation.

It is a fine balance to strike, using Brucie just enough to be more attentive and honest, but not so much that it makes Clark panic. But Bruce is good at balancing personas, he's been doing it all his life.

The gateway, of course, is Dick. Bruce speaks to his baby boy without putting any walls up. He can easily refer to himself as mommy, can coo and cuddle him without the need to flee building in his chest, it takes as much effort as breathing. So the plan of action is simple - fawn over Dick once he and Clark are back from the Kent farm, then when he's down a nap, tactfully transfer that same fondness into Clark.

Then take Clark's hands, press them to his stomach, and tell him something like 'you're such a good daddy, to both of our babies', and then Clark will probably cry and kiss him and say something stupid and mushy. The perfect plan.

As usual, typical fucking Clark, he does not follow Bruce's plans.

"You look really gorgeous today." While true, it is a very boring statement, and doesn't warrant the deep furrowing of Clark's brow. Bruce doesn't point it out, because ruining their evening is a terrible way to reveal his pregnancy. He instead ploughs on. "I'm glad you and Dickie had a good time today. How are your parents?"

"They're fine." Clark is frowning now. "What - Are you okay?"

"I'm good." Bruce smiles, because he is, no matter how weird Clark is being. His reassurance apparently does nothing to quell whatever's wrong with Clark, because he just tenses up more. Bruce will just have to double down. It will be embarrassing, he's not good at being genuinely affectionate, but it will be worth it.

So he reaches out and squeezes Clark's arm, tilting his head to peck a kiss to his cheek. "I missed you. Sorry I didn't come along. You know how W.E. gets sometimes."

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, I know." Clark steps away from him. "I... Missed you too."

Bruce resists the urge to scowl at the way his husband evades him. That would not be very romantic of him. Instead, he just closes the gap, winding his arms around Clark's neck. He can be loving, he can be emotional. He can do this.

"Been thinking about you."

"Uh huh." Clark's commitment to being weird right now is frustrating. Is he playing some kind of game? Trying to make Bruce break? He hesitates, then sweeps Bruce off his feet, carrying him bridal style.

Usually, Bruce would pretend he hates it and grumble, but he will now be the most honest man in the world. He rests his head against Clark's chest and holds him tight, sighing contentedly.

Clark moves quickly to the bedroom, and tosses Bruce on the bed, standing over him, his gaze sharpening the way it does when he's scanning something. Listening to Bruce's heartbeat maybe? Whatever he's doing, he looks hot, and Bruce allows his pulse to flutter.

"I love you."

Clark recoils, and turns on his heel. "Uh. One second. I need to... pee."

Bruce frowns at his back, and watches him leave the room, rather than go into the en suite, mind whirring. What the hell is Clark's problem? He likes when Bruce lets Brucie slip out in bed, and he likes the occasional public display off affection, so by all means he should like what Bruce is saying. It's not like he's being too Brucie. Unless Bruce is missing something. But he seemed happy when he and Dickie came back from the farm, there was no tension in his shoulders, and he smiled when Bruce fawned over Dick at dinner time.

He hears Clark's footsteps getting closer, so he puts on a smile again. He can fix this. They are going to have a romantic, perfect evening.

Clark opens the door.

"What took you-" Bruce's eyes dart to Clark's hand. He can't force himself to Brucie through this. "Why do you have a gun?"

Clark aims the gun at him.

"Who are you?" He's shaking a little. "And what have you done with my husband?"

Bruce stares at Clark. "What?"

He goes to stand, and Clark waves the gun wildly at him. "Don't move. What have you done with Bruce?"

"Clark. What the fuck?" There is no way Bruce could have calculated Clark goes fucking insane while he was coming up with issues in his Brucie plan. He stares at his husband, and panicked eyes look back at him.

"My Bruce would never say a checked shirt is gorgeous. And he - don't move! - wouldn't admit to loving being carried, and he wouldn't ever say he loves me for no reason. So who are you? I will call Superman on your ass, I swear-"

"Clark, oh my god. It is me." Bruce almost laughs. "Stop waving that gun around, we both know you don't need it. Is that Alfred's? He won't be very happy with you."

Clark does not drop the gun. "Fuck, I let you kiss my son. You put my son to bed. Where is he, where's my husband?"

This would be funny if Clark didn't genuinely look like he might shoot. Bruce sits up fully, and folds his arms, levelling a firm stare at him. Should he be offended that Clark doesn't believe Bruce can actually be romantic? Probably. No time for that.

"Your husband is right here, and he is telling you to drop the gun before you misfire it."

Still, he doesn't. Clark's face twists a little though, conflicted.

"Okay Bruce." He says it with doubt. "Tell me something that-"

"Kal, for fucks sake. The first time we met was when I was surveying Gotham docks, and you were in the neighbourhood - which you later told me was a lie, you just wanted to meet Batman - and I didn't believe you, because why would Superman be in Gotham, so I told you to never step foot in my city again." As he speaks, he feels a little bit like crying. He has to beg his husband to believe it's him, just because he tried to be more transparent about how in love he is? This is why he doesn't do shit like this, this is why he talks in codes and grunts and keeps his walls up, because it ends with the man he loves pointing a weapon at him. "God forbid I try and do something nice for you."

Clark finally lowers the gun, staring at Bruce with nothing but confusion. "B. Seriously, are you okay? This - This really isn't like you, you hate being Brucie, you... And I listened to your heart, it stuttered, and - Is something wrong? Did something happen while me and Dickie..?"

Oh, he's gone from paranoia to just plain worry, hurrying to Bruce's side, cradling his cheek.

"I'm fine, Clark." Bruce huffs, but leans into the touch. "You are sabotaging my romantic night."

"I'm sorry." Clark sits on the bed, and bumps their foreheads together. "But please. What would you think if I started acting like Clark Kent dialled up to 100, in the safety of our own home?"

And fine, that's a good point. If Bruce came home and there was a clumsy man in glasses who looked like Clark but embodied more of his persona than the actual him, then yes, Bruce would probably put a gun in his face. However...

"It could have been a shapeshifter able to read memories, and therefore even if I did tell you something that allegedly only the two of us could know, you can't ensure that-"

Clark kisses him. "Now I'm definitely sure it's you."

Bruce hums, and tangles his fingers in Clark's hair. "You ruined my plan."

"Sorry. But to be fair, you very briefly made me fear that something awful had happened to the man I'm in love with, so I think we're even."

Bruce nods, and lets himself be pulled into a tight hug. "You don't think I could love you for no reason?"

"I don't think you're comfortable saying it unprompted, not so casually." Clark entwines their fingers. "If we were in public, and you needed to be Brucie, sure. But not with me. You don't need to put on a show for me."

"You like when I'm Brucie though. When I say things."

"I like watching the smartest man I know play everyone for fools. And sure, it's nice hearing you say stuff that you're actually thinking, and that smug grin you have like haha, I just randomly told Clark he's perfect, but under the guise of being Brucie, so I can pretend it wasn't actually me and that I don't have feelings. That's good. But it's still not..." Clark pauses. "The first version of you I fell in love with was Batman, not Brucie. And then it was Bruce. And I do love Brucie, don't get me wrong, but I know that he's not you, not really."

"That doesn't make sense." Bruce grunts. "Brucie's more loveable than Batman."

"Batman's closer to the real thing." Clark shrugs. "And the Bruce I'm in love with is perfect. I love when you pretend you hate being in my arms, all your protests but then you just hold me tight anyway, and never let go first. I love when you tell me my shirts are gross and to get better fashion sense. And I love all the ways you tell me you love me without saying it, like when you read all my articles and highlight your favourite parts, or when you let me take the first cookie out the pack, or how you shared your work calendar with me, and made me share mine too."

And Clark understanding all of that about him is, fundamentally, why Bruce is so in love with him in the first place.

But he doesn't say that. He doesn't have to. He just kisses Clark again, and hums when his hands trail to Bruce's hips.

"What was our romantic evening for?" Clark mumbles, peppering kisses along Bruce's neck.

"Oh." Bruce pauses. "I'm pregnant."

Clark chokes, eyes going wide. "What?"

"I'm pregnant." Bruce raises a brow. "That's what it's called when you grow a baby inside you. Like what we've been trying for, for about 3 months now."

"Shut up." Clark beams, and he slides his palm to Bruce's stomach. "You are?"

"I am." Bruce nods. "I've still got all the tests I've run if you -"

Clark shakes his head, and he's grinning like an idiot. "You're pregnant! Let me - Can I look?"

Bruce nods, and watches Clark's eyes sharpen. He was always a little jealous, that Clark could look at any time he wanted during his pregnancy with Dick, but he can allow it. He'll allow anything that makes Clark melt like that, dopey smile and googly eyes, expression so reverent that Bruce isn't sure he deserves to see it.

"Our baby." Clark coos, and he caresses Bruce's middle. "They look adorable already, B. This big!"

He pinches his thumb and finger together, less than an inch apart.

"They're definitely..?"

"Definitely there." Clark nods, and kisses him, again and again. "I love you so much. My baby mama. I love you."

"Am I allowed to say it back, or will you threaten to shoot me again?" It's meant to be a joke, but Clark's face drops in horror.

"Fuck, I could've shot you! I could've shot our baby. I am so, so sorry, I-"

Bruce kisses him quiet. "Stop that. I would have dodged. I love you too."

Everything feels good at the moment. Incredible, even.

Bruce would think it was delirium if he wasn't so enamoured with his family. Dickie's the greatest little boy in the whole world, Clark can't stop beaming at him, and Bruce is pregnant with their second child, of course he's giddy.

Alfred obviously picks up on it, that man knows Bruce inside and out - so Bruce isn't surprised at all when Alfred sets a cup of tea down beside him instead of coffee.

"Congratulations, Master Bruce. You haven't known for long, I presume?" He bends down when Dickie waves at him, gently shaking his hand.

"Thank you." Bruce lifts the teacup, sipping. Alfred always brings it to him at the perfect temperature. "I ran the tests a week ago. And told Clark the same night."

Alfred hums, and Dick copies him. "That would explain your dramatics last week. It doesn't clarify much on why Master Clark needed one of my antiques though."

"He thought I was a shapeshifter who has stolen his husband's place." Bruce pauses. "All I did was say I like his shirt."

"Either the pregnancy hormones are already getting to you, or his suspicions were correct."

Bruce scoffs, and crouches, Dickie crawling into his open arms.

"Mama." Dick tugs at Bruce's collar. "Mwah?"

"Of course." Bruce says softly, running his hand through Dick's tufty hair, and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "Plenty of kisses for you."

Dick laughs, and clambers over Bruce's shoulders, hanging off his back.

"Will you be creating another dozen nurseries for this next baby, or will you finally be utilising one of the many that you swore you'd need for Master Dick?" Alfred's tone is dry, but Bruce is deeply familiar with his humour now. If Alfred was actually pissed off about there being too many nurseries, he'd have sabotaged Bruce's decorating.

"I'm thinking we need an entire wing added to the Manor, just for nurseries." Bruce twists to prise Dick off of him, and set him back to crawling on the floor. "Maybe two wings, just to be safe."

"While you're at it, you can add a bassinet to your cave too."

Bruce pauses.

"... That was a joke, Master Bruce. Do not put a bassinet in the Batcave."

"It would make it easier to continue my Batman duties post-partum."

"I do believe your husband might have a thing or two to say about that." Alfred's eyes flick to Bruce's left. "You might want to think about baby-proofing the roof."

Bruce follows his gaze, to see Dick crawling up the nursery wall.

"Dickie! Get down from there."

Dick just giggles.

"- And this is Mex Muthor, he's a corrupt and sadistic businessman. Can you say corrupt and sadistic businessman?" Clark lays on the floor, holding a Superman figure in one hand, and a non-descript toy man in the other, with a logo painted on his chest that looks suspiciously similar to the LexCorp logo, with an M instead of an L.

Dick scrunches his nose. "Cahsuhb."

"Close enough." Clark nods. "Now Mex Muthor, he's a big meanie. And he and Superman have fights sometimes."

"Daddy." Dickie reaches for the Superman figure.

Bruce looks up from his laptop, in the middle of drafting a reply to Lucius about recalling the WayneTech watches from shelves. Dick has, of course, seen both of them in their costumes. Originally, they hadn't planned on that happening, but especially in the early days, it was difficult for either of them to bother taking off the suit when all they wanted was to cradle their baby. Dickie's been to the Watchtower a few times too, to be introduced to the Justice League, but the reality hasn't set until just now.

Superman, more so than Batman, is a recognisable image. People make (unlicensed) toys of him - as proven by the bucketload that Ollie bought for Dick's first birthday - but Bruce hadn't considered that Dickie would not only be able to connect the dots between a doll and the costume he's seen, and that if a doll is wearing the costume, it must be his daddy.

"Uh." Clark hesitates, the same realisation must be dawning on him. "I'm your daddy. Not the toy!"

"Daddy!" Dick grabs the Superman figure.

Once or twice in public, it will be easy to laugh off. Plenty of kids can compare their fathers to Superman, it doesn't make them the real thing. But consistently? It would have to mean that either Dick, at a year old, has the intelligence to understand the heroism Superman embodies and apply that to his father, or that he's seen Clark in a Superman costume regularly enough to connect the two.

The last thing they need is for someone to imagine Clark in that costume - from there, it's minimal legwork to connect the two. The very precedent of Clark's disguise relies on no one believing it could possibly be him.

"That's not daddy." Bruce says gently, and points at Clark. "Daddy's right there!"

Dick frowns, and shakes the toy. "Wuh?"

"Sorry, sweetheart, daddy's confused you." Clark shakes his head, and tosses 'Mex Muthor' aside, pulling Dick into his lap. "It's... I know it's hard. Too many concepts!"

Dick points at Clark. "Daddy."

"Yes." Clark smiles.

Dick looks at the toy. "Daddy?"

"No, darling. Close. It's a doll. D-oll." Bruce sounds the word out slowly, and Clark nods along.

"D-oll." He repeats, then opens his palm to Dick. "Your turn! D-oll."

Dickie stares at him, bottom lip wobbling. Clark strokes his cheek.

"Oh, pumpkin. Don't cry."

Dick rubs at his eyes with balled fists, cheeks going red.

Bruce glances at the clock. Only 12:20, he's not due for a nap yet. Although he has been attempting more new words today, and this fuss with Superman probably hasn't helped. Looking at Clark, it seems he's thinking along the same lines.

"Looks like someone's tired." Bruce puts his laptop aside. "How about naptime, hm?"

Dick starts bawling.

"Sweetheart." Clark coos quietly, and holds him close, rubbing circles on his back. "Little Dickie. It's okay. Shh, shh. Daddy's got you."

Bruce hates it when Dick's like this, when his face screws up and he wails the house down. It makes him feel so helpless, and sure, he knows how to handle it, knows how to cradle his son close and press a dozen kisses to his head until he calms down, but it still feels awful. It hurts, more than a thousand bullets, that his baby boy can be so distraught and Bruce has nothing he can offer that will actually fix it.

It was a little easier when Dickie was a newborn. Then, there was substantially more Bruce could do - if all else failed, a baby's troubles can be easily solved with a few minutes of feeding. Now that he's no longer chestfeeding (now that he's older, no longer that tiny little baby Bruce held in his arms the day he got married) that one tool that could fix everything is gone.

Clark is much better at this. He's never had the luxury of using nursing to make all Dickie's problems go away, so he has experience in comforting him through thrashing and wailing. Bruce has observed numerous times, and it doesn't seem like he does anything differently - just cooing, shushing, kissing, rocking... And it's not like Dick calms down faster when he's in Clark's arms, Bruce has timed it, it's the same amount. It's more like every second feels like an age when it's Bruce in charge of making things better. The longer those seconds feel, the more Bruce feels like he's failing on some level, the more agonising it is to hear the most perfect human being scream in his arms, and those seconds stretch into oblivion.

Bruce rests a hand on his stomach as he watches Clark wipe at Dickie's tears.

It's definitely something Bruce needs to be better at. He thinks on the whole, he's an okay mother. Clark says he's amazing and incredible and the best baby mama in the world, but that's because Clark sees the good in everyone. Realistically, Bruce has many flaws; if he were such a good mother, then he would have hung up the cowl, but he simply can't bring himself to do that. He is Gotham's protector, he has a duty to keep it safe. 

Even the new baby won't change that. Even if he and Clark have a whole flock of children, Bruce is Batman, and he can't help it.

He's only known about the baby for a month now, and already he's stressing about everything that could go wrong. His pregnancy with Dick had been months of an internal conflict over how best to handle his role as Batman. Stepping down to just patrolling had worked then, with Clark stepping into the shadows to carry out the more dangerous aspects on his behalf, with Bruce settling for defence-focused combat strategies and only starting fights from a distance. It had been terrible. Bruce hated every second that he couldn't pound a villain into the ground, and he'd hated feeling like he was risking Dickie's life every time he put the Batsuit on. It had been a lose-lose situation.

And now, with this baby, the conflict feels even worse. Fighting while he's bigger is difficult, he knows that now. He'd gotten knocked more times while pregnant than he cared to admit, and he thinks he managed to keep a lot of that secret Clark; the fear of Clark finding out and hating him for endangering their child was sometimes the only reason Bruce would go out every night, unwilling to explain why he would stop so suddenly. But at the same time, just because he's pregnant doesn't mean the criminals of Gotham will take a break. Bruce has been managing at the moment, the lack of a baby bump definitely helping him, but once he starts showing...

Clark will ask him to take a break, obviously. And Bruce will say no, and implement the pregnancy adjustments to his suit again, and then what? Continue hoping that every blow he takes not only doesn't hurt the baby, but evades both Clark's superhearing and x-ray vision? It was difficult to manage even when Clark was still living in Metropolis, now that he's in the Manor, he's bound to pick up on something. They'll argue, it will be awful, Bruce will be too stubborn to back down even though Clark is right, and then they'll get divorced and Dickie will grow up in a broken home and the new baby will never even know what life is like with parents who love each other, and-

Bruce takes a deep breath.

He doesn't have to think about this yet. And divorce only works if both parties sign the paperwork, Bruce could simply rip it up and make Clark stay married to him forever.

Dickie's stopped crying. Bruce looks at his sleeping face, squished against Clark's shoulder, and god, he is so in love with his family.

"What's on your mind?" Clark says quietly, floating back and forth slowly as their son slumbers.

"Divorce." Bruce says, like an idiot.

Clark's eyes widen. "What?"

"I don't want to get divorced." Bruce adds hurriedly. "I was just - Don't divorce me."

"I wasn't planning on it." Clark furrows his brow. "Have I said something? I promise, divorcing you is the last thing I'd ever want to do."

"No. I just started thinking."

Clark hums. "You do too much of that. If your hypotheticals start including me divorcing you, that's when they've gone too far."

"What if -"

"Bruce, I love you so much, but if you're about to make me discuss an imaginary divorce, I will lose my mind."

Bruce shuts his mouth.

Clark tends to be very obvious with his affection.

Before they began dating, when  Bruce was oblivious to  Clark was better at hiding his love for Bruce, he had still done things that broadcast their sexual relationship to anyone who knew how to read him, like gripping a pen too tightly when Bruce stretched during a League meeting, or having his Superman hair curl at a more tilted angle (anywhere between 5 and 10 degrees off centre) after they had sex, or not removing black fibres from his bright red cape.

Then, when Bruce got pregnant with Dick, and even more so once they started dating, Clark's adoration was astoundingly blatant. The way his face would light up when Bruce entered a room, the ardent touches he bestowed to Bruce's bump regardless of who was present, how his hand typically drifted to rest at the small of Bruce's back, the constant gazes...

It got better after Dickie was born, Clark seeming to remember that professionalism was actually still important in front of the League, no matter how friendly they all get. He had mostly pulled back, though Bruce still catches his smitten smile and his soft stares. Bruce had tried to put a stop to the regular tender touches, but then he may or may not have started missing them, so he no longer reminds Clark about keeping his hands to himself.

Overall, Clark tends to behave himself in front of the League now.

Unfortunately, Bruce is pregnant again. And Clark is much too full of love.

"We're not telling them about the baby yet." Bruce reminds him again, though is not sure it will be as effective as he wants it to.

"I know." Clark rolls his eyes. "I told you, that's fine. Just no volunteering for anything reckless."

"I mean it." Bruce insists as he approaches the zeta tube. "You're not allowed to tell them. Not even with your body language."

"I won't! I don't even know what that means."

"You've been coddling me."

"I have been doing nothing of the sort."

Bruce stands beside the zeta, unwilling to go through until Clark is clear. "You have. And it's fine, I understand, especially within our own home. But don't-"

"I'm obviously not going to kiss your stomach in front of the League! Not before you start showing. And I won't touch your belly even once. I won't even look at it."

"That's not what I'm talking about." Bruce scoffs. "You tend to stand 0.8 inches closer to me than before I got pregnant."

Clark stares at him.

"You need to back off." Bruce continues. "And-"

"Sorry." Clark folds his arms. "I stand less than an inch closer to you?"

"Than before I-"

"Bruce, do you think that the League are measuring how far away from you I stand?"

"No." Bruce rolls his eyes. "That would be ridiculous. But 0.8 is a noticeable difference, and anyone could pick that up."

Clark tilts his head, and steps 0.3 inches back, then forwards again. "You think that's noticeable?"

"I think that was 0.5 inches too close."

"You are insane." Clark moves again. "Here?"

Bruce frowns, and assesses the floor space between them. "That will do, I suppose."

"I swear - This is the fibres on my cape all over again."

"They were glaringly obvious."

"You had to get a magnifying glass out to see them."

"Which means they were noticeable enough for me to want to magnify." Bruce tuts. "All I'm saying is, don't stand too close. And don't look sad or scared if someone suggests putting Batman on a mission."

Clark looks sad and scared. "You would go?"

"Not if I calculate it to be too risky." Bruce pauses. "And, if I think it will be fine, but you're still not comfortable, then you can tap my boot with yours. I still get final say."

Clark smiles at him, and takes his hand. "Sounds good. I love you."

He leans in for a kiss, and Bruce wraps his arms around his shoulders, savouring Clark's lips for the briefest moment, then steps into the zeta.

Bruce realises too late that he had failed to account for his own actions being a giveaway for his pregnancy.

Morning sickness had been a bigger issue last time, but there have been moments of nausea in the past few weeks, nothing Bruce can't manage. He hasn't been aware of any food aversions, until Hal starts heating up some chicken and mushroom soup in the League kitchen. Almost immediately, the nausea that he's been managing to ignore rears its head, settling in his chest and tickling at his throat.

It's hard to describe what exactly the issue is with the smell. It's not any different than usual, Bruce has never had a problem with it before, but -

Hal stirs it, and Bruce bites his lip to stop himself from balking.

Clark glances at him, brow furrowed.

"Who wants coffee?" Barry asks as he strolls into the kitchen.

The idea of smelling coffee and the soup is enough to make Bruce want to ban food and drink from the meeting. He stays silent, a little concerned about the results of opening his mouth.

"I'm good." Clark says. "Me and B are on a hydration kick, we'll just have water."

"What's the deal with Batman and Superman?" Bruce hears Ray Palmer ask Diana in a whisper that is not quiet enough.

In a universe where Bruce is not currently battling the urge to throw up, he'd tell the Atom to mind his own business, but unfortunately that universe is not this one. Another wave of sickness washes through him as Barry pours the coffee.

"I'm not at liberty to say." Diana replies, and truly she is one of the few people in the Watchtower who isn't addicted to gossip.

Clark, despite definitely hearing that one of the new League members is already suspicious of their relationship, leans in to his ear, hand on Bruce's back.

"You okay?"

"... Nauseous." Bruce mumbles, before clamming up again.

Clark pulls back, and moves to get him a glass of water so quickly that it threatens to slosh out onto the floor. Bruce accepts, and sips. It does not make anything better.

Wordlessly, he moves to the meeting room, Clark close behind him. It's still empty, no one's settled down yet, and usually Bruce would be irritated by that, but he accepts it as a small mercy for now, a brief moment of privacy.

"I need you to destroy Hal's soup."

Clark stares at him. "Sorry?"

"Please." Bruce takes another swig of water. "Just make him spill it, or laser it out of his hands, or... Whatever. I'll end up being sick otherwise."

"Oh, babe." Clark squeezes his hand. "I - Okay. I'll do my best."

Bruce nods, leans into Clark's touch. He has been obeying Bruce's request, and standing further away, and it makes Bruce regret saying anything at all. He regrets attending the meeting in the first place actually. Maybe the nausea is just making him clingy, or maybe it's the baby hormones, but he wants nothing more in this moment than cosying up in bed with Clark's arms around him, with Dickie in between them.

Who even arranges these meetings anyway?

(It's him. Bruce arranges them. He should stop that.)

"I changed my mind." Bruce mutters, bumping his head to Clark's shoulder. "Stay close."

Clark wraps an arm around him, pressing his lips to Bruce's temple. "Whatever you need, B. I love -"

He goes rigid, and swivels round, staring at thin air. Bruce frowns, following his gaze.

"What-"

"Can we help you, Atom?" Clark folds his arms, glaring at a spot on the floor.

Bruce curses himself for not considering it, a testament to just how deeply this nausea is impacting him. Atom enlarges, back at full-size, looking between them sheepishly.

"Sorry. Sorry! I - I was just-"

"Spying on your fellow League members is ill-advised." Bruce says, knowing how hypocritical it is coming out of his mouth. The look Clark shoots him says he's thinking the same thing.

"It's fine." Clark shakes his head. "The Justice League are aware of our relationship, yourself and Hawkgirl were bound to find out eventually. But Batman is a very private person, he was the last of us to reveal his identity, and I encourage you to respect that."

"Of course." Atom raises his hands in surrender. "It won't happen again."

"It better not, or-" Bruce's threat is cut off by Hal's entry, his bowl of soup the strongest weapon he has ever wielded against Batman. He sends a sharp look to Clark.

"Uh." Clark clears his throat. "Green Lantern, if-"

"Hal is fine, man. Spooky's the only one being so pushy about this hidden identity thing. Everyone knows Ray's Ray, and Shayera's Shayera, like... This is just formality." He gestures at Bruce with the same hand holding the evil soup. It takes every ounce of strength Bruce has to swallow the bile rising in his throat.

"That's great, Hal, but keep in mind that until Batman is comfortable, both of us will be sticking to our code names."

"Couples are gross." Hal grunts, and keeps walking. He takes a seat, and his fucking soup just smells worse by the second. "Or are you keeping that a secret too?"

"Atom just found out." Clark looks at Hal's bowl. "I've been thinking of a new rule, maybe, that we should sick - stick to solid food during meetings, because, um..."

It's a flimsy attempt. Bruce sighs, and readies himself for a few hours of fighting nausea.

"That's the dumbest rule I've ever heard." Hal squints. "What's wrong with my soup?"

"... I don't like it." Clark, renowned bad liar, coughs. "My, uh, supersenses, it's really not agreeing with them, the smell is-"

Hal looks at Bruce. "Okay, so clearly you have an issue."

"No." Bruce keeps his input brief.

"Fine. Then I'm going to keep eating my soup, because your husband is very clearly-"

"Husband?" Shayera's entered, and looks genuinely astounded. "Batman, you're married?"

"He is indeed." Clark beams, and indicates his ring tying his cape together. "Over a year now."

"To Superman?"

Clark nods, and as the rest of the League start sitting down, Bruce resigns himself to holding back puke for the next few hours. Hal seems more invested than ever in keeping his soup, savouring every spoonful agonisingly slowly, there's no way he's giving it up.

Clark and Diana lead the meeting, Bruce keeping his speech minimal, bolting the minute he's able to.

He gets several odd looks as he makes a hasty exit, but for now, his pregnancy remains a secret between him and Clark.

"You look awful."

Bruce frowns as Lois Lane walks into his office. "Miss Lane. I wasn't aware we were scheduled to meet today. Did my secretary let you in?"

"No, I just walked past." Lois shrugs, and takes a seat opposite him. "I'm here on behalf of the Planet's technology column. I've heard that WayneTech is recalling some products, wondered if I could get -"

"You'd have to speak to Mr Martin Browne, he has more of a-"

"I did. He gave me the generic response." Lois twirls her pen. "I asked Clark, but he wouldn't tell me. So figured I'd come hear it from the big dog himself."

"I'm afraid the big dog doesn't know what you're talking about." Bruce says airily. Using the Brucie persona on Lois is fun, especially since she knows it's fake. "Now, please, I was about to take my lunch."

"It's 9 am."

"What's the saying? It's 5 o' clock somewhere!"

Lois rolls her eyes, and squints at him. "Really though. You look ill."

"That's rather unkind of you to say." Bruce waves her off. He knows he's looking peakier lately, the soup incident in the Watchtower apparently enough to trigger the morning sickness he thought he'd been lucky enough to escape. It's definitely better, this time around, with Clark rubbing his back when he's bent over the toilet and flying to god-knows-where to get him fresh spring water. "I should tell my husband that his best friend has come to harass me at work."

"He knows I'm here." Lois pauses. "He told me to tell you 'hi'. And that he loves you."

"I love him too. Pass that on, will you?"

"You would love this new thing, it's called texting. So you don't have to use me as a messenger." Lois taps her nails on the desk. "Now, the watches?"

"Watch what?" Bruce tilts his head, smiling. It earns a glare in response.

"The WayneTech watches. With the shitty AI?"

"Ohh, those watches! You should have said. Yes, yes, I don't know much about them. Martin Browne really would be-"

"Mr Wayne." Lois looks pleading. "People are accusing the Planet of bias. Usually we'd investigate suspected fraudulent market activity, but with your relationship with Clark-"

"It's not fraudulent." Bruce glances at his closed office door, and drops his smile, slipping out of Brucie. "Really, Lois. I don't know much. The watch was approved and produced while I was on maternity leave. As shaky as some WayneEnterprises business endeavours have been, I'd never allow an actively bad product to be sold to consumers. It's being recalled, and some new engineers are reworking the AI. I can pass your details onto one of the team, but that's all. If mine and Clark's marriage is causing a detriment to his career -"

"Oh, it's not." Lois smiles sweetly. "I was getting tired of your shtick, and needed you to drop it, that's all."

Bruce hums. She really is brilliant, although he thinks that if he were operating at his best, he'd have seen through her faux plea.

"In that case... I really must ask you to leave. Rumours starting about me spending too much private time with my husband's best friend are bound to cause havoc."

"You're not my type." Lois stands. "And he knows that. But I do hope you're alright. You being ill would just mean Clark talks about you even more than he does already, I might die if that happens. Make sure you pass on my email."

"Your concern is touching, really."

She laughs, and strolls out.

"He's precious." Leslie says softly, waving at a Dick and Alfred as Bruce leads her away into the cave.

"He is." Bruce puffs his chest. He feels prouder when people compliment Dick than he has ever felt of himself. "Hard to believe he's coming up to 18 months. You know, the other day, he said please! It was more juvenile, obviously, but..."

He trails off, as Leslie squeezes his arm. He's not sure when he became the type of parent to ramble about their child's achievements without prompting, but he's in too deep to stop it.

"You seem happy, Bruce." She smiles. "Your parents would have loved to see this. I hope you know that."

"I'm sure they had higher expectations than a vigilante for a son." Bruce huffs a laugh, but buries the compliment deep in his heart.

"I'm sure Thomas shared the same thoughts about you as you do for Richard. Anything, as long as he's happy."

"Over my dead body will Dickie put on a costume." Bruce scowls, and enters the elevator to the cave, Leslie stepping in after him. "He's not allowed to even think about it."

"Given his parentage, I'm not so sure how you'll enforce that." She pauses, and looks at Bruce's middle. "Especially if he grows up and realises you were out fighting while pregnant with his baby sibling."

Bruce caresses his stomach. "I have numerous precautions in place."

"I'm sure you do." Leslie shakes her head. "Have you already got the ultrasound set up?"

"Of course." Bruce nods, and steps out into the cave, walking briskly to the medical section. "We're just waiting on Clark. Earthquake in Chile."

"Mhm." She looks at the transducer that Bruce has already connected to the ultrasound computer, and the doppler Bruce has purchased. "If you were a less wealthy man, I'd ask if these investments might mean you and Clark are planning on a large family."

"I'm considering it. It would be nice to have a full Manor." Bruce replies. He checks his communicator, to see Clark is '5 mins' from returning. He gets a start on unbuttoning his shirt, sliding his hand over his stomach. It's the slightest bit rounded, about the average circumference expected at 12 weeks. He knows that it's mostly his uterus stretching as opposed to reflecting the actual size of the baby, but he is happy to entertain Clark's slightly misguided belief that their baby is already getting big and strong.

"And how is Clark? For someone you 'weren't dating', you got married rather quickly."

"He's good. A wonderful husband, an even better father." Bruce elects not to address the second half of her words. "Very excited about the baby, of course."

He folds his shirt, and shimmies his pants down a little, the waistband beneath his hips.

"Your belly looks a good size." Leslie remarks as Bruce sits on the bed. "Strong start. How's your appetite?"

"Much more food averse this time around." Bruce grunts. "But as long as it's not chicken, yoghurt, or salmon, I've been eating good. Three meals, et cetera."

"There was one time, a few weeks ago, he didn't have dinner." Clark's voice echoes around the cave as he flies in, not even looking out of breath. "Sorry for the delay! I didn't want to get my muddy costume in here, had to have a quick change. Dr Thompkins, please tell Bruce not to skip dinner."

"Don't skip dinner, Bruce."

"I'd had a late lunch. Alfred started serving dinner at the same time as my patrol."

"I told him not to go until he ate, but alas." Clark presses a kiss to Bruce's cheek in greeting, eyes lingering on his bare chest for a split second, then lowering to his stomach, palm resting there.

"Stop sucking up." Bruce grumbles. "I'll kick you out, and you won't get to see the baby."

"I'll have you know I can look at the baby whenever I want." Clark gestures towards his eyes. "And hear them. The only reason I don't is out of respect to you."

"Hm." Bruce clicks his tongue. "I bet that's a lie."

"Nuh uh. Otherwise I would have known Dickie was a boy." Clark smiles at Leslie. "Apologies, Doctor. We'll be good patients now."

"Oh Bruce, I don't know how you ended up with such a sweet husband, but aren't I glad you did." Leslie beams back at Clark, and Bruce rolls his eyes fondly, laying back. "Any nausea?"

"Plenty, yes. Between 8 weeks and 11 weeks, it was almost constant."

"You know your exact conception date?"

"Down to the minute." Clark says, a little too happily. "He scheduled it."

"Of course he did." Leslie titters. "How far along are you, then?"

"12 weeks, 3 days." Bruce imagines she does not need the hours also. "Will be in the second trimester on Tuesday."

"Sometimes I think you don't even need me, all the medical research you do in your own time." She puts on a pair of disposable gloves, and lightly squirts some ultrasound gel onto Bruce's stomach. 

Clark gets closer, reaching out for Bruce's hand. "Hi."

"Hi." Bruce doesn't take his eyes off the way Leslie smooths the gel over his skin. "How was the earthquake?"

"All good. No casualties. There was this kid holding the cutest little plushie, it was a robin, we should get Dickie one."

"Dick doesn't even cuddle the plushies he has now. He's obsessed with that damn Superman figure."

"Aw." Leslie coos. "That's sweet."

"Deeply inconvenient for identity purposes." Bruce hums. "We're lucky he's stopped calling it daddy."

"That is the most adorable thing I've ever heard."

"It is very cute." Clark agrees easily. "It's a shame no one's making unlicenced Batman figures too. Then he can play with both of us."

Leslie takes the transducer as he speaks, and lowers it to Bruce's stomach. "Maybe W.E. can branch out into figurines."

"If we did, we would not be making any of Batman." Bruce tightens his grip on Clark's hand as the ultrasound image flickers on the display. For all the little swishes he's felt, nothing is as reassuring of his baby's health as an official scan. He feels Clark squeeze his hand in response.

As the picture gets clearer, Bruce smiles reflexively as he sees his tiny little baby on the screen. They look perfect. Perfect head, perfect body, perfect legs, perfect arms. Practically textbook.

"Looking very healthy." Leslie confirms. "Gorgeous proportions."

"Really gorgeous." Clark echoes.

Bruce nods wordlessly. If he speaks, he might tear up, and that's embarrassing. Instead he just presses a kiss to the back of Clark's hand.

Leslie moves to the doppler, and not even a minute later, the baby's rapid heartbeat is reverberating the cave. Bruce tries and fails not to sniff.

"Beautiful." He murmurs.

"I love you." Clark whispers to him. "I love you. Look at them, our baby."

Bruce nods again, and if one or two tears slip out, that's probably the hormones, and if it isn't, that's no one's business but his and Clark's, with Leslie turning her head to give them some privacy.

Clark cradles Bruce's cheek, wiping beneath his eye with a thumb, and kisses him.

While Clark has the pleasure of breaking the news of their second baby to his parents, Bruce has the much worse task of telling Lucius Fox. It'll be easier to explain than the first time around of course, but the impact on stocks is a little different.

Bruce Wayne, the persona, as a serial ladies' man and eternal bachelor had been good for them; although occasionally deemed problematic, the general public found Brucie charming. Everyday men aspired to be like him, women thought he was good-looking and enjoyed his flirtations, and the wealthy did not perceive him as a threat to the status quo. 

Settling down was always going to shake things up a bit; getting pregnant and then revealing a serious relationship with a man shook things up a lot.

Brucie had been seen in public with men a few times, but the consensus was that his interest in men was simply a bit of fun, all of his more 'serious' relationships being with women. So the baby, combined with being a little gayer than previously thought, it caused a fuss. Some investors pulled out after the pregnancy announcement; others stayed, only to sell up once his relationship with Clark was revealed.

The owner of a company being off for a long maternity wasn't a good look, and Lucius had been very desperate to get him back, foist him in front of the board, and reaffirm his dedication to the company.

Unfortunately for Lucius, Bruce does not prioritise his company over his family. He doesn't really care too much, that there will be another stir, but it's going to be a bit annoying. Lucius will sigh, ask if he's sure, then start discussing how to manage the PR. It's sadly a little too late for Bruce to cancel the meeting, and just tell him via email.

"Mr Wayne-Kent." Lucius sweeps into his office, looking a little tired. "You wanted to see me? If this is about the watches-"

"Nothing to do with them." Bruce gestures to the door, and Lucius closes it. There's no reason to beat around the bush, they're both busy men. "Just wanted to inform you I'm pregnant, that's all."

Lucius purses his lips. "Again?"

"Again." Bruce nods, and leans back in his chair, pulling his shirt taut to emphasise his little bump. "14 weeks."

"Right." Lucius sighs, as predicted. "You're sure?"

"Yes, very."

"Hm. Fine. We can say it's planned-"

"They were."

"We'll do a press release after you start showing. Or before? And-"

"It's fine, Lucius." Bruce waves the thought away. "Really. Although it does concern me that if I go on maternity, I'll come back to yet another failed product. I'm surprised you let that one slip through the net."

His jaw tightens, and Bruce watches his knuckles flex. "I... When I inspected development, at all stages, it seemed perfect. I had one of my PAs trial it, it was fine on him, something must have happened between sign-off and final production."

"Sabotage?" Bruce narrows his eyes. "We could have Batman do some investigation."

Lucius glances at Bruce's middle. "Is Batman... safe to do that?"

"He'll be fine. Worst comes to worst, we run an actual internal assessment." Bruce clicks his tongue. "Although I wouldn't want to set off any alarm bells. I'll get back to you."

Lucius checks his watch. "Right. Well, was the baby all you needed? I'll speak to Rachel about drafting an announcement. Ugh, we don't even have a magic excuse this time. Will this be the last one?"

"Not sure." Bruce presses his palm to his belly. "I can see myself and Clark having a big family."

"Christ." Lucius grunts. "Right. Well, I suppose a family-centred image works, in its own way. Just such a pivot from how you were."

"I can sell it." Bruce puts on his Brucie-smile, and Lucius nods in agreement, turning on his heel.

He begins a cursory investigation (slinking around the R&D labs and looking over notes) that night, and it proves that what Lucius said is true - the watches were working, at one point. There is no evidence of tinkering between final sign-off and mass production, which suggests that there may be an override hidden within the back-end of the code.

Bruce's trip to the engineering suite is cut short by his comm beeping. An emergency command for all League members to go to the Watchtower. Hm. He and Clark were planning on revealing the pregnancy at the next meeting, but it seems that will be sooner rather than later.

Quietly, Bruce sneaks out of WayneEnterprises, sticking to the shadows, and rests a gauntlet over his armoured midsection. Depending on the extent of the threat, he may be able to participate in whatever the League needs doing. If there even is a threat at all - the emergency may be data-leak related, or prep for a last-minute diplomatic visit from an alien race.

He feels the baby wriggle.

When he was pregnant with Dick, the wiggling was something Bruce could never get used to. Every time he felt Dickie move, he was struck with awe that he was growing a little person inside him. That he was carrying Clark's baby, that the little life in his belly was real. The feeling has continued into this pregnancy too. Every swoosh, Bruce imagines a little flip or a somersault, as if the baby is trying to remind him that they're there, to think about them.

A few times, when he had patrolled with Dickie, the wriggles had encouraged him to step back, forced him to focus on Batarangs and smoke bombs. Bruce isn't superstitious, he knows that the little fetus inside cannot actually telepathically tell him what or what not to do, but the tiny patters tend to help him make a decision.

Whether it's some biological urge to protect the baby, or if it's a psychic bond with his super-powered little one, it doesn't matter. Bruce feels the baby move, and it grounds him.

He will not join in on any battle action, unless he calculates the risk to be 5% or less.

Another wriggle.

On second thoughts, 3% or less.

As Bruce journeys to the Batcave to zeta up, his phone buzzes.

'just put dickie to bed - meet u up there?'

While he's still reading, Clark starts typing again.

'we r telling them abt bby btw. idc its ahead of schedule. ur NOT getting involved in whatever it is'

Bruce replies with a thumbs up emoji.

He's the last one to arrive at the tower, and he blames that on not being able to resist poking his head in on Dick, fast asleep in his crib, before heading to the cave.

The vibe as he walks in is immediately not good. Clark's got a deep frown on his face as Wonder Woman is speaking, and it becomes apparent why the moment she looks at Bruce.

"Good. You're here. Martian Manhunter has received notice that several meteors of Fire People are imminently headed towards Earth. Based on trajectory, it's due to land in Gotham. I was suggesting Hawkgirl, you, and myself on the 'front line' so to speak, fighting the first wave. But as it's your city, you know best. What do you want us to do?"

Bruce's insides feel numb. Meteors and Fire People. In Gotham.

He imagines the brutality they may cause to his city. Burning buildings, injured civilians, the blocks that he's put so much work into revitalising torn apart, as the chaos provides ample opportunity for countless crime. His city, cut open and bleeding. Inevitable riots, palpable fear making the civilians turn on each other, as Gothamites so often do.

He imagines the Fire People going for the Manor. Alfred doing his best to fend them off, and Dickie crying. Bruce swallows a lump in his throat.

Batman would never abandon his city. Bruce could never abandon his baby.

"Batman?" Hal furrows a brow at him. 

Bruce's eyes slide to Clark, and the usual perfect control he has over his heartbeat is faltering, he can feel his chest pounding so hard that he's surprised he's not panting.

"Give me the suit." Clark steps close, taking his hands. "Take him to the Fortress."

"What?" Barry sounds bewildered, but Bruce can't think about that right now.

"I-"

"That's an order, B." Clark - Superman stands firm, shoulders back, jaw set. "Give me your suit, and go."

"What the fuck is happening?" Ollie whispers, but it's loud anyway. "Am I about to watch Batman not try to save Gotham?"

It makes Bruce's stomach twist uncomfortably. Ollie raises a good point. Gotham is his. It's his job, he can't just-

"I thought Batman's whole deal was that no one told him what to do." Ray mumbles. "He takes orders?"

"Hardly ever." Clark tuts, eyes not leaving Bruce's face. "Babe. I'll make sure Bats is seen. Make sure people know you're protecting them. I need your cowl."

"Kal. My responsibility to protect Gotham -" Bruce watches Clark's face twist into a deep frown.

"You have a responsibility to protect -"

Bruce shakes his head, and squeezes Clark's hands gently.

"I know. I know. Just... I'm trusting you. Don't let my city burn."

"Never." Clark brings Bruce's knuckles to his lips, kissing them softly. "Keep my family safe."

"Superman's making all judgement calls on the battlefield." Bruce clears his throat, turning to the rest of the League. "Martian Manhunter, Aquaman, focus on perimeter, don't let the Fire People breach into other cities. Atom, Black Canary, civilian duty. Gothamites tend to get riotous when there is an opportunity, do your best to prevent that. Lantern, Wonder Woman, Hawkgirl, Arrow, you manage the initial impact. Superman... I want regular updates."

"Yessir." Clark looks Bruce up and down. "Am I allowed to use your grappling hook?"

"You broke it last time."

"... Please?"

Bruce huffs, and unbuckles his utility belt, tossing it at his husband. "I'll give you my cowl in the cave. And-"

"Hold on." Dinah interrupts. "Are you about to leave us to save your city for you? You're not even going to be there? What the fuck, man!"

Bruce removes his cape. "We're expecting another baby. We were going to announce it at the next meeting."

"Huh?" Shayera squawks. "You have a kid?"

"You're having another one?" Barry tacks on. "You're pregnant again?"

"Hold on." Ray chokes. "Pregnant? Batman's..? Is this linked to whatever got fuckin' Bruce Wayne knocked up? Cause I knew that guy couldn't have been the only one! He seems like a weird choice to impregnate anyway, he's got like nothing going on up there, and-"

"Bruce Wayne is a very intelligent man." Clark interrupts, frowning. "And very handsome. And he was so incredible during that whole pregnancy, I think he's the best-"

"Shut up, meteors of hostile aliens are about to fall onto my city." Bruce growls, kicking off his boots and passing them to Clark. "We can discuss this later."

"Sorry, Bruce Wayne, intelligent? I'll give you handsome, that guy's hot as hell, Clark Kent is lucky to tap that, but everything else about him is very... Does he even do anything apart from be rich? Like, his personality doesn't even seem that great."

"Clark Kent is very lucky." Clark nods at Shayera, a little too dreamily.

"Shut the fuck up, are you Bruce Wayne's baby daddy? I thought you and Batman were married!"

"This is exhausting." Bruce grunts, and rips his cowl off, making Ray and Shayera gasp. "Clark, my armour."

"Yes honey." Clark says, and unclasps the back of Bruce's chestplate as Bruce removes his gauntlets, then his leg guards.

"The rest of you. In position. Now." Bruce clicks his tongue. "We can gossip later."

"I - What the fuck, you have a bump already?" Ollie frowns as Clark takes the plate of armour off of Bruce's stomach, revealing the tiny belly beneath it, clinging to the fabric of his undershirt.

"14 weeks." Clark says proudly, and fixes the armour to himself, over his Superman costume. "Growing so well already, they're really healthy."

"The meteor." Bruce snaps his fingers, and that seems to reset everyone, although there are a few more glances to his bump. "If anything happens to Gotham you will all pay."

As the League fan out, Clark puts the rest of the Batman costume on. Bruce hums appreciatively as he fastens the gauntlets, and trades his red cape for Bruce's. For someone so bright, he looks really good in black.

"I love you." Clark says softly, looking at the cowl in his hands for a moment. "Very much. There's still a bed in my Fortress, you and Dickie should just go lie down and sleep. It'll all be over before you know it."

"Mm." Bruce slides his fingers across Clark's cheeks, insides twinging. He will never forget the last time Clark fought invaders from space. He will never forget how his heart shattered into a thousand pieces as the man he was in love with gave him a sad goodbye, and the sight of his perfect, unbreakable Clark floating unconscious in space, blood gushing from his middle.

Clark touches their foreheads together, kissing him. "It won't be like last time. I love you. I'm never leaving you. I'll see you in the morning, maybe even earlier, okay?"

"Okay." Bruce sucks a breath through his teeth. "Alright. I love you."

Clark brushes his hand to Bruce's belly, then puts the cowl on. "Keep them safe. Dickie and the baby."

Bruce can only nod, and turn back to the zeta tube. He trusts Clark will give his most convincing Batman performance.

Alfred, as always, remains staunchly at the Manor. Sometimes Bruce thinks the building could be actively exploding, and Alfred would not flee from his housekeeping duties. So it's just him and Dickie on the way to the Fortress.

Dick is still sleeping. He'd fussed a bit as Bruce picked him up, even more so when they got into the Batwing, but by the time they'd landed in the Arctic, he's settled again.

Bruce taps into his comm as he enters the Fortress; Clark gave him access to bypass security even before they started dating, so Bruce is only shivering in the tundra for less than a minute, holding Dickie tightly.

"Update?" Bruce asks as he steps through the halls on autopilot, ignoring a chill through his bones. He doesn't feel it in his suit, thermals and armour shielding him from the freeze, but this place really isn't built for humans. As he waits for a response, he touches his fingers to Dick's cheek, his baby boy's skin also cold to the touch. Hm. His half-Kryptonian side is not helping him out here.

"Mostly okay so far." Clark replies, voice modulated in such a way that it's almost jarringly like speaking to himself. "A few buildings destroyed. No civ injuries, hoping it will stay that way. Two meteors have landed, looking like five more on the way."

"Mm." Bruce enters the bedroom, swiftly moving for the bed. He kicks his shoes off, and sets Dickie down on the sheets, then pulls some extra blankets from a chest.

"I'd like to just readdress this insane info we just learnt." Hal's voice is grating, as it usually is when Bruce is already feeling high-strung. "You're having another one?"

"I'm still hung up on them having a first one." Shayera replies, voice wavering a little over the line as she presumably takes a punch or two. "No, scratch that, I'm hung up on Batman being Br-"

"We can discuss it later." Clark cuts her off. "Focus on the fight."

"You're far more sensible in the cowl." Bruce wraps Dickie in a blanket, swaddling him just like when he was a newborn. Dick stirs again, face crumpling, until Bruce pecks a kiss to his cheek. "You should embody Batman more often."

"Batman is not sensible." Clark scoffs, and then grunts exaggeratedly after taking some kind of hit. He is so ridiculous when he's pretending to be human. "... Are you safe?"

"We are." Bruce slips beneath the covers. "A little cold. Maybe we could do with a Fire Person in here."

"Not funny." Clark grumbles. "Is he resistant?"

Bruce caresses Dick's cheek again, and he snuffles. Still cold.

"No."

"Right." Anguish in his voice, even with the modulator on. Really, Clark has always been too expressive to play a perfect Batman. "Do you think he'll be-"

"He's fine, Batman." Bruce emphasises it, because clearly Clark could use a reminder. "I've got it handled."

Clark coughs. "Right. Of course." More monotone this time, but still there's that undercurrent of worry.

"Update me again in 5." Bruce grunts, and clicks the comm off, focusing on Dick in his arms, trying not to think about Gotham. His city. He should be there.

The baby in his belly wriggles, and Dick snuggles close to him. Of course, they need him. And they're Bruce's priority. He cannot see it any other way; he chose selfishness over Gotham the day he decided to keep Dickie, and he has to live with that.

Bruce does not sleep.

It's only four hours, and comparative to some of the League's tougher fights, that's next to nothing. But every second feels like an age, as the scene of Clark's body in space loops in Bruce's mind, as he imagines the havoc being wreaked on his people, as he prepares for the inevitable slippery slope to another Arkham break out.

Dick wakes up a few times. His initial shivering was scary, Bruce's mind tripping over itself as he imagines the worst (hypothermia, frostbite, a cold), but he is safe and warm amongst the blankets, and Bruce keeps it that way.

And then after what feels like forever -

"Okay. I think we're good. It's good, B."

Clark's words over the comm are a relief, and Bruce allows himself to breathe.

"Good. Thank you. The League's work in my stead is appreciated." Half of him aches to rush back to the Watchtower, debrief immediately, put his cowl on and tend to the streets. The other half is exhausted and just wants to be home, Clark's arms around him. "What's the status on clean-up? We can swap back over, I'll pick it up as part of my patrol."

"It's okay." Diana says softly. "Myself and Martian Manhunter are on it. We have a plan, don't worry. Batman will be back with you shortly."

Bruce frowns. "Batman would not abandon clean-up in Gotham."

"Batman has some people he'd like to check on." Clark tuts.

"He can check after Gotham is secured."

There's a huff over the comm, and Clark leaves the line.

"Congrats. By the way." Hal says, and he's less annoying now that there's less to be stressed about. "Can't believe you've got a belly already, swear it wasn't like that last time, you got twins in there?"

Less annoying, sure, but even at regular levels, Hal is aggravating. Comments on his bump are not what Bruce needs right now.

"Stop discussing this over comm." He snaps. "All the security in the world doesn't guarantee no one can hack in."

"Ugh, fine, I'll never congratulate you on anything ever again."

Bruce ignores him, and tries not to growl as he hears a whoosh entering the Fortress. Fucking Clark.

It's a little strange to see Batman flying through the doorway, but Clark takes the cowl off the minute their eyes meet, touching down and already stripping the armour off.

"I told you not to leave Gotham."

"J'onn shifted to look like Batman."

"I didn't give him permission to use my identity." Bruce would fold his arms, if not for Dickie cuddled up to him.

"Right. But you said, I get all judgement calls on the battlefield. That includes post-battle." Clark sits on the bed, chestplate still on. "So I made a judgement call."

Bruce can't argue with him. And deep down, he doesn't really want to either. Clark doesn't look injured, Fire People aren't known for wielding kryptonite, but still - he's been fighting, he's tired, and he didn't have to dress as Batman. It's likely that there will be some shitty article or two noting Superman's absence, and Clark will have to deal with that.

Bruce loves him. He can't be angry at Clark for loving him back.

So he lets himself relax as Clark kisses him gently, blurring as he takes the rest of the Batsuit off in record time.

"How's Dickie?" Clark pecks Bruce's cheek as he slips into bed too, reaching out to take Dick into his arms.

"He's okay." Bruce passes him over, resting his head on Clark's shoulder. "A little chilly."

Clark hums, smiling as Dick opens bleary eyes for a few seconds, settling back down against Clark's chest. "I should show him to Jor-El before we leave. And tell him we're expecting again. You and baby are okay, yeah?"

"We're okay." Bruce presses his palm to his little bump, then hesitates. "Am I bigger than I was with Dick?"

Clark tilts his head, and glides one hand over Bruce's stomach, his other still firm around Dickie. "Uh, maybe a little, I think. But that's normal, B. All babies are different sizes."

"Hal said it might be twins."

"Well we've seen the ultrasound, and I've had a few peeks in your belly, so I can promise you, no twins. Hal is an idiot." Clark draws a Kryptonian sigil around Bruce's navel with his fingertip. "Just a single cutiepie baby."

"Good. I don't know how I'd cope with twins." Bruce mumbles. "I better not end up too much bigger than how I was with Dickie."

"Even if you do, you will look amazing. You look really hot when you're pregnant. I'd love it if you were just like, permanently pregnant, that'd be sexy as hell, and - Don't look at me like that."

"Your pregnancy kink is bewildering." Bruce snorts, and presses a kiss to the pout Clark immediately puts on. "You're not keeping me permanently pregnant."

"'S not a kink." Clark grunts. "I am just being a good, supportive husband."

"You are a good, supportive husband, who happens to have a pregnancy kink" Bruce brushes their knuckles together. "Did you get hurt at all?"

"No, just tired from pretending to the world's grumpiest man. Do you know how much effort it takes to not smile at people when you save them?"

"Very little." Bruce scoffs. "It takes more effort to smile."

"That's factually not true, it takes more muscles to frown." Clark looks down at Dick. "Look, he's smiling in his sleep, that's how little effort it takes. Babies can do it."

"Terrible argument. He had to learn to smile, frowning was natural."

"That was hereditary." Clark sighs dramatically. "Our poor babies. Biologically predisposed to brooding."

Bruce rolls his eyes.

There is little point in showing up to the debrief in costume now that both his identity and second pregnancy are known by all. Bruce opts for one of his more forgiving shirts, refraining from tucking it in to allow it to drape over and hide his bump, lest more of the League decide to comment on it.

Bruce wouldn't say he's vain. And he doesn't typically care what others think of him, he pays no mind when other heroes call him rude, or say he's arrogant, or tell him they don't like his methods. In an ideal world, that same apathy would extend to people's opinions of his looks; unfortunately, despite many attempts to quell the insecurity over the last year or so, he cares a little too much in that area.

Bruce Wayne had a very clear image, one he utilised well - dumb, rich, and handsome. Playing dumb was fun most of the time, being rich was something he was born into, and before he got pregnant, handsome was not something he had much of an issue with. People like his face, and they liked his body. Maintaining that body was more of a side effect to his strict training regime, the hours exercise that he forced himself through for hours each day, the exercise which was a necessity to his crime fighting. His diet was similarly well-maintained.

Overall, Bruce, up until two years ago, never struggled with his weight.

And then he got pregnant.

The talk about his bump and his developing chest made him feel sick. He felt alien in his own body, watching it morph around him, with nothing he could do to stop it. His appearance had always drawn attention, and he didn't enjoy being looked at like a piece of meat, but it was even worse to be looked at with derision, disgust, or worse - indifference. Clark's opposite reaction helped a lot, obviously, but it never fully offset the way his skin crawled when he looked at himself in the mirror.

Dickie was born - perfect, beautiful Richard, he was completely worth all the changes - and the tautness of his stomach had turned to flab, which felt infinitely worse. Bruce has had issues ever since.

Between a worse metabolism, sacrificing hours of fitness for the sake of spending time with his son, and Clark forcing him to eat three meals a day, losing the baby weight had been agonisingly slow. And it's not like chest ever went back to normal either, Bruce is cursed with soft fat instead of tight pecs forever until he dies.

Now he's having another baby, which is exciting and wonderful and Bruce does love the little one in his belly so, so much, but that does not override the fear that his body will never look like it used to, nor does it help when thinking about the work it will take to get back in shape all over again.

Fundamentally, the rounder his bump, the heavier his baby, and the more weight he puts on over the next few months, the more difficult it will be to lose it post-partum.

 And Clark will think he is fat and ugly and leave him  And that will make it much harder to be Batman again.

So yes, the less comments about his bump, the better.

Clark frowns a little at the floaty shirt, because he's a freak and a weirdo who wants Bruce to flaunt his belly for reasons unbeknownst. Deep down, Bruce wouldn't hate to do that, brag that he is the one Clark chose to carry his progeny, he is the one that Superman is in love with, and the proof is growing inside him. Unfortunately, his desire to be possessive over Clark is outweighed by the need to keep gawking to a minimum.

Bruce looks at Dickie toddling around the cave, wearing bat-patterned socks. He looks particularly interested in one of Bruce's spare cowls.

"Do you really think it's wise to bring him to a debrief? There's a difference between us taking him up for a few minutes like when he was born, and sitting down for a meeting." 

"Ray and Shayera haven't met him yet, it's unfair." Clark bounces on his heels. "And we might be at the debrief for ages, he will be sad and miss us. Dickie, you want to come up and do work with mommy and daddy?"

"Mm?" Dick looks round, dropping a cowl on the floor, and hurries over to Bruce, arms raised. "Mama. Up!"

"Say please." Bruce crouches, smiling as his son gives him a very convincing attempt with 'peez'. He scoops Dickie to his hip, tiny hands tugging in his hair. "I suppose it can't hurt to bring you up. Mommy or daddy can always take you home if you get fussy."

Clark beams.

"He gets more adorable every time I see him." Diana says, booping Dick's nose as Clark bounces him on his knee.

Bruce hums in agreement, resisting the urge to snatch Dickie away from the League crowding him, and sequester him away and safe from so many hands and faces. He is not very good at letting other people fawn over Dick. He even finds himself irritated by Clark's parents sometimes, the way they hold his baby boy tight, pinching his cheeks and fussing over him. It is too much, feels too overbearing, but Dickie seems to like it, and Bruce won't get in the way of that happiness.

Still. He does not like Hal ruffling his hair, or Shayera cooing at him, or Arthur holding him for 10 seconds, or anyone even looking at his son for too long. Dick is 18 months old, and he deserves some dignity and respect.

"If we could make a start." Bruce clears his throat, and gestures for everyone to take a seat (and stop surrounding his son).

Grumbling, they all do so, and Clark sets Dickie on the table, some paper and crayons in front of him.

"Any update to death toll? Injury numbers?"

"3 deaths, unfortunately. Although it's difficult to say whether they were linked to the Fire People, or just..." Shayera trails off, clearly hesitant to follow through on her suspicion.

"Gothamites being Gothamites." Hal finishes for her, glancing at Bruce. "91 injured. I'd say about 50 of those are from our battle, the rest from a couple riots that broke out."

"What districts?"

"Uh. The grey one. And... the other grey one." Barry says unhelpfully.

"One of the streets we were on was called Death Road." Ray says, and Arthur nudges him.

"Word of advice, don't joke about Gotham."

"There are 4 Death Roads, which one?" Bruce ignores the comment, and Dinah puts her head in hands.

"You have multiple Death Roads? Gotham is fucked, man." Hal flinches as Bruce glares at him. "I mean... It's a developing city."

"I don't know which one, sorry. Um, there was some iron fencing."

"It's Gotham. Everywhere has iron fencing." Bruce looks at Clark. "What districts, Kal?"

"East End."

Bruce sighs. Obviously. Oh, East End, always getting the brunt of the issues.

"And..." Clark pauses. "Um. Along that block where we went on that date a few years ago. Grant's Bar."

"Otisburg." Bruce pauses. "That wasn't a date. That was a stakeout. We weren't even together then."

"Well. Tomato, tomato, right?"

"That phrase doesn't work if you pronounce it the same way twice in a row." Bruce does not need this unwarranted playfulness from Clark right now. "What I'm hearing is I trusted you - and the whole League - to keep my city safe, and nearly a hundred were injured, 3 died, and none of you even know what streets it happened on."

Silence.

Clark clears his throat, eyes glued to Dick scribbling away with the crayon. "B. Don't take it out on the League. I'll accept responsibility. I-"

"Fine." Bruce looks at him. "You didn't say a word about the deaths, or the amount of injuries, you know you let me down. I think it is completely out of line for you to be so cavalier when-"

"I'm not being cavalier!" Clark furrows his brow. "And I apologise, but we agreed that you being pregnant again means not joining in on League action. And even if you had been there, I don't know if you could have changed the outcome. We know what Gotham's like, B, it's... You are always going to have people take advantage of chaos."

It's not a personal attack. It's not even untrue. Bruce knows it's not, but it's still so infuriating. Gotham is his city, what the fuck does Clark know, just because he's lived there for a year and a bit?

"We know what Gotham's like? No. I know Gotham. You can swan in as much as you want, but it is not your city, you do not get to tell me your opinion of Gotham like it is a fact."

"I -" Clark's jaw squares. "Fine. Okay. Sorry, it's only an exact thing you have said, I'm sorry I - I didn't have to put on the Batsuit, you know! Do you have any idea how much more helpful I would have been if I'd been Superman? Maybe if I could have used my powers, like my ice breath, that would have saved more people from fire than a few Batarangs."

"I didn't ask you to." Bruce snaps back. "I didn't ask you to send me to the fucking Arctic."

"You are being ridiculous." Clark stands, so Bruce stands too. "You cannot, absolutely cannot, give me shit for wanting to make sure my son and unborn child are safe."

"You could have gone to the Fortress."

"I'm not the one carrying a baby!" Clark gestures to Bruce's stomach. "You knew full well that getting pregnant would mean me benching you, I told you that, I made sure so many fucking times that you knew that, you are the one who wanted to start trying despite that."

"I didn't realise that you would throw wanting another baby in my face." Bruce growls, the anger rising in his chest, trying to ignore the way his cheeks feel like they're burning at the explicit confirmation to the League that not only did they try for a baby, but Bruce is the one who asked. "You didn't even stick around for clean-up! That's my city, Kal, I have spent my whole life protecting it, it's not as flashy as all the times you've single-handedly saved the world, but it's still - It's mine."

Oh god, he feels like fucking crying. He can't cry in front of the League, that's so embarrassing. It's embarrassing enough that he's gotten so angry, his whole body is on fire, and -

Dick bursts into tears. It's a bucket of ice on flames. Both he and Clark turn to their little boy, but Bruce gets to him first, picking him up in his arms.

"I know." He caresses Dickie's cheek, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "I know. I've got you sweetheart."

Clark moves to rest his hand on Dick's back. It's petty, but Bruce feels sick with rage at him right now; he steps away before Clark can touch.

"B. I -"

"Finish the debrief." Bruce growls, already striding towards the door. "I'm benched, I wasn't at the fight, so I'm sure my contributions won't change the outcome."

"Bruce. You can't just -"

"I know, Dickie." Bruce ignores Clark's protests as he leaves, wiping his baby's eyes. "I know. Mommy's so sorry, sorry for yelling."

Dick keeps whimpering.

"Is it always like this?" He hears Shayera ask as the doors close. Clark replies, but it's too muffled to make out the exact words.

Bruce bites his lip to stop himself from sobbing too. Dick needs him. He will be Dick's mother, and then he can cry, if he still needs to. Not that he does, because he never needs to cry, not even if he has pregnancy hormones pumping through him, and the fear that one day Clark will get tired of their big fights.

"Daddy." Dick makes grabby hands in the air. "Daddy?"

"Daddy's busy. He'll be home with us soon, don't worry." Bruce brushes his fingers through Dick's hair. "Mommy and daddy love you very much. We're sorry for fighting. Sorry for making you sad."

"Mama." Dick's voice is sorrowful, and he presses his fingers to Bruce's face. "Luh-Oo."

"I love you too, sweetheart. And daddy loves you too, promise." Bruce successfully doesn't sniffle, and enters the zeta tube back to the cave.

Every extra minute that Clark doesn't come home, the more Bruce's mind unravels itself.

It's his fault, Bruce knows that, he'd completely blown up for no reason, Clark was (mostly) right. Bruce is usually in much better control of his anger, the last time he and Clark had a shouting match in front of the League was when he was pregnant with Dickie. Over a very similar issue. It doesn't take being the World's Greatest Detective to figure out that his pregnancy hormones may get in the way of his logic and self-restraint, especially for touchy matters like Saving Gotham, or Being Batman.

Dick settles after little bite more of cooing, and now he's playing in the nursery, stacking blocks on top of one another while Bruce sits and watches from a rocking chair.

He puts one hand over his belly, spreading his fingers as far as can, not enough to cup the whole thing, but certainly to cradle it. He hopes the baby is okay. The last straw would be if his fury has impacted the baby's health, there's no coming back from that, Bruce would never forgive himself.

He's not sure Clark would either.

God.

It's not like Clark's entirely right either. The comment about powers was snarky and uncalled for, the suggestion that Bruce is worth less than him is sickening, because then what, Clark has thought that this whole time, and lied about it? He thinks Bruce isn't good enough? His work as Batman will never be able to fix Gotham, because Bruce is not enough.

Maybe more people would have died if Bruce was there. More injuries.

Bruce has let Gotham down over and over again. If he was actually good, if he actually helped, in either of his personas, why does it feel like nothing's changed? How many more kids are going to find themselves orphaned in Crime Alley, this time without the wealth or resources to not fall into the system of constant violence?

How is he supposed to raise his children here? But how is supposed to move, Gotham is in his veins, everything he touches must inevitably turn to grit and grime and hatred.

Clark is going to leave him. Clark will stay, for the rest of this pregnancy, and then he will take both of Bruce's children away from him because he is not fit to be a mother. A child should not be privy to screaming matches. Or live in a house with an array of weapons beneath it, or play in a cave where only a guard rail separates them from falling down cliffs.

What the hell was Bruce thinking? Bringing Dick into this life, and wanting another?

Selfish.

Selfish, selfish, selfish.

Of course Clark will leave him. Clark is good, and Bruce is not; Bruce can try and force compatibility, kid himself into thinking that Clark has love in his gaze rather than pity, he can sink his claws into Clark and drag him down to his level, but really, Clark is Superman, and Bruce would have to spend his whole life just to get close to being enough for him.

Bruce pinches his brow, squashing the thoughts away, and just watches Dickie. His angel.

Whoosh.

"Daddy!" Dick stands and runs towards Clark as he touches down in the nursery, as Bruce folds his arms, keeping his distance.

He can make this easy. Be cold, be hard, like he had for years. Be the Batman, push Clark away, make it easy to leave. No need to drag anything out. Bruce is not fit for domesticity, and he should not have fooled himself into believing he can be.

His heart pangs as watches Clark sweep Dickie up and bury his face in his hair. Every fibre of Bruce's being aches to let go, grovel on his knees, do anything to make his husband forgive him. He stays in place instead, walls up, but he can't help his fingertips drifting to rest on his belly.

"Hey little man." Clark coos, and kisses Dick's cheek. "I love you. Daddy's sorry for earlier."

Dick's fingers tangle in Clark's hair, tugging, and he bumps his nose to Clark's head. Bruce feels another embarrassing set of tears pricking at his eyes. God, what he wouldn't give to deserve being a part of this family.

Clark looks to him, briefly, smile wavering. Bruce thinks he might actually cry if he tries to smile back, so instead he turns away.

Maybe Clark and Dickie and the baby can live somewhere cosy in Metropolis. Bruce will send millions in child support, of course, but he will stay at arm's length. Maybe more than that. Just enough, so that he won't poison them, but still close in case of a world-ending emergency. The only way he could ever be worthy is maybe through some sort of sacrifice to save his children, but even then...

"I think I'm gonna take you to Grandpa Alfie." Clark says gently to Dickie. "Me and mommy need to have a grown-up talk. And then daddy will come and play again."

"Aff." Dick's little voice is too adorable. Bruce needs to sit down. "Foo?"

"Grandpa Alfie can give you some food, yeah." Clark clears his throat. "Um, B, just - I'll be back. Don't move."

Bruce grunts in reply, looking at his hands. Calloused, from hours upon hours of violence. Clark has never liked that about him. It would hardly be surprising if there was a lot more about Bruce that Clark didn't like.

He stands alone in the nursery for a minute too long, desperately holding himself together. He twists his wedding ring around his finger. It's only been there for a little over a year, not long in the grand scheme of things, but Bruce can't imagine not wearing it. He even keeps it on beneath his gauntlets when he's in the Batsuit, his wedding ring is everything to him.

Clark's footsteps approach, and he's in the doorway. Bruce can't look at him. He grips the windowsill, and stares out the window into the gardens.

"Bruce." Clark's voice is soft. "Hi."

There's a rustling. Bruce can't resist the urge to turn and peek, the investigation side of his brain rearing at the opportunity. He tilts his head, and oh. Clark's brought him flowers. A big bouquet of hyacinths.

Bruce can feel his resolve crumbling.

"I'm-"

"I don't want you to leave me." Bruce blurts, feeling the tears rising. God, fuck hormones, they are the worst, his self-control needs to be better. He cannot cry, and he can't just speak without thinking. "I love you, I need you, don't - don't leave me."

Fuck. He needs to shut up, he can't have his voice cracking. He can't - For fuck's sake, is he crying? He better not be crying.

Clark looks horrified, and he drops the bouquet, rushing to Bruce's side. "What? Babe! I'm not - Why would you even think - Is it the flowers? The florist said they mean sorry, not divorce! I wouldn't - Oh, Bruce, don't - don't cry, please don't."

Clark loops his arms around him, and Bruce's shoulders shake. This is humiliating. This is the worst. What the fuck is wrong with him? He is Bruce Wayne, he doesn't cry over arguments, Clark's seen him cry maybe twice, ever, and one of those was when Dickie was born, so that doesn't count. Bruce is probably just making himself seem more pathetic.

"Sorry." Clark whispers, holding Bruce tightly, one hand cradling Bruce's cheek. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. For upsetting you, and making you angry, and - And I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said all that stuff about powers, and you do know Gotham better than anyone, and I should have stayed for clean-up, and I'm sorry, so sorry. I need you too. You, and Dickie, and the baby, all three of you, you're my whole world. Nothing could ever make me want to leave you. Rao, you are my husband, and I am so stupidly in love with you."

Bruce's throat makes some sort of whimpering sound that he doesn't think it has ever made before. It sounds so foreign coming out of him, to the point that maybe Bruce's brain is under attack from some sort of mind-controlling demon that makes people cry. Surely more realistic than him crying in Clark's arms for not being capable of handling emotions.

"My love. My Bruce." Clark presses a kiss to Bruce's temple. "Never, ever gonna leave."

"'M sorry." Bruce is still blubbing. Is this what he's going to be like for the rest of his pregnancy? He better not. It's bad enough to have one emotional outburst in front of the League, he cannot be having that regularly. "Sorry for everything. I know I'm not good enough, I'm sorry."

His brain to mouth filter must have stopped working. He needs to get that fixed, as soon as possible.

"Silly. How are you not good enough? Have you met yourself? You are a catch! You're telling me you don't think that the most courageous, determined, handsome, intelligent, passionate man in the world is good enough? Your standards must be something else."

"My standards are Superman." Bruce sniffs.

"Shame you're stuck with some loser named Clark instead." He kisses Bruce, soft and sweet, then trails his hands to Bruce's hips. "I love you. Sorry, I swear, the flowers are meant to mean sorry, I don't speak flower language, I-"

"I don't either." Bruce huffs a laugh, wiping at his eyes with his palm.

"Oh. Then - What could possibly make you think I'd leave you?"

"You're perfect. And I'm-"

"Even perfecter." Clark kisses him again, more firmly this time. "It's just an argument, B. We've had plenty."

"And if you get tired?"

"I could never. And I hate to make excuses for you, but you are pregnant. You're allowed mood swings, and some outbursts. I shouldn't have gotten angry, that just made it worse, it's my job to cool you down, not rile you up." Clark rests his palm against Bruce's stomach. "We'll blame the baby for this one. You hear that baby? No more making mommy upset, it's not fair, mommy's working very hard cooking you up in there."

Bruce sniffles again, and winds his arms around Clark's neck, burying his face in his chest. Clark holds him tight.

"I love you, B. I'll spend my whole life, just to be half the guy you deserve." He pauses. "I bet we're married in every dimension, you know that? I don't think there's a version of me that wouldn't die to have this life with you."

"You're an idiot." Bruce grunts. "We've been to other universes. Most versions of you are married to Lois Lane."

"... Those versions of me haven't had a gay awakening."

Bruce snorts, and tangles his hands in Clark's hair. "I love you."

"I love you more."

"You're not allowed to say that." Bruce tuts, and it seems the worst of the remaining snivels are gone. "I'm carrying your baby. That's how much I love you."

"And I love you even more than that." Clark caresses Bruce's belly. "Sorry I told the League we were trying. And that you were the one who wanted to start."

"As long as they don't piece together that we fucked during a meeting, that's fine."

"J'onn probably knows."

"Ugh. Probably."

In the week following, Bruce is so busy being pampered that he completely forgets that he had a mission. Maybe it's the baby brain, or he really is losing his touch, but the fact that he managed to lose sight of investigating his own company - it's concerning. He should be more concerned.

It's just... really hard to be concerned when there's an overwhelming amount of domesticity going on. Bruce is not sure how many more breakfasts in bed he can take, because he really, really hasn't done anything to deserve it, despite what Clark says. Between ardent kisses, a giggly little boy, and a growing baby bump, is it such a crime that he let something slip for a little bit?

Yes. It is a crime. Bruce needs to be banned from domestic fluff for 5 business days. Unfortunately, he is both the arresting officer and the perpetrator, and he does not want to comply.

"Something's going on at W.E." Bruce mumbles as Clark kisses his bump. "I was midway through my investigation when the Fire People attacked."

"Is this a Bruce Wayne, owner of a company commissioning an investigation the way normal people do type of investigation, or is this a my pregnant husband is running around as Batman type of investigation?"

"It can be both." Bruce clicks his tongue. "Bruce Wayne, owner of a company, running around as Batman."

"Oh Bruce Wayne? Like my pregnant husband? That guy?"

"I've heard reports they may be the same man, yes." Bruce watches Clark trace one of his old stretch marks, from when he was pregnant with Dick, then moving onto one of the brand new ones. Smaller, given he hasn't really popped yet, but Bruce is certain that by the time he's full-term with this baby, his new stretch marks will be longer, stragglier, and darker than any of Dickie's. "I'm not too far long yet, I can still carry out recon."

"Or - and hear me out - you are married to an investigative reporter. It'd probably be less sus if I was poking around than Batman." Clark smiles. "Then we can have work dates. It will be cute."

"Hm." Bruce sighs. Work dates do sound cute. "It's the watches."

"Babe, I'm so sorry to tell you this, but I think that maybe your company just launched a shitty product while you were off."

"No." Bruce purses his lips. "I think it's sabotage. I've read the research notes, it looks like they may have worked before being put on market. Lucius testified he'd used one, he had no reason to lie. All facts point to something being done between final sign-off, and full production."

Clark's eyes glint a bit. Sometimes Bruce forgets that his husband loves solving mysteries just as much as he does.

"Oh? Really?"

"Mm." Bruce hums. "Lois was digging into it."

"When she showed up to your office? Yeah, she dropped that after a meeting with whoever your arranged that with, said it was bullshit." Clark pauses. "My work know you're pregnant again, by the way. I was meant to ask if you'd give Cat an exclusive quote when it goes to press release."

"The Gazette will get the first exclusive. Don't need accusations of media bias."

"I know." Clark mimes holding a microphone. "But does Mr Wayne have anything to say to Miss Grant?"

"Mr Wayne-Kent says he is very excited to be having another baby with Clark. And hopes that this one looks just like their daddy." Bruce speaks into the pretend microphone, and Clark nods solemnly, then moves it to the bump.

"And does the baby in question have anything to say about that?"

Bruce can't help the laugh that escapes him as Clark nods along to silence, holding the microphone close to Bruce's belly button.

"Wow. Incredible insight." Clark 'drops the mic', grinning at Bruce. "You think I'm funny."

"I'm married to you, of course I think you're funny."

"Right." Clark pulls Bruce onto his lap. "But that was a proper laugh. Not one of your huffs or grunts. A laugh. Pregnancy's softening you up."

"Don't I know it." Bruce grumbles, poking at one of his thighs, plush to the touch. "I never should have suggested having another baby, look what it's doing to me. Making me forget my own missions, losing my edge, getting me fat."

"You are not - Bruce, honey, light of my life, not only are you not fat, but even if you were, that would not change how sexy you are."

"They should invent a type of pregnancy that doesn't involve any weight gain." Bruce folds his arms, and looks at the way it makes his chest look even fuller. "I've changed my mind about having a big family, I refuse to have boobs."

"You already have boobs." Clark says, voice low. With one hand on Bruce's waist, he squeezes one of Bruce's pecs with the other. "And they are very, very hot."

"Is that so?" Bruce lets Clark grope him, feeling heat stir in his pelvis. He really shouldn't have sex right now, he should be focused on his investigation. He should go out on patrol.

"Mhm." Clark's hand slinks beneath Bruce's t-shirt, thumb swiping across his nipple. "My sexy, sexy baby mama. I love your tits. Love your bump. So excited for you to start showing more, so everyone knows you're mine."

Bruce presses himself against Clark. "I need to go on patrol."

"Well I need you, so we're at a bit of a crossroads here." Clark's mouth is hot against Bruce's skin. "We haven't had make-up sex yet. I think that means we're still fighting."

"We had sex on Sunday."

"That was like forever ago. And we didn't call it make-up sex." Clark squeezes Bruce's chest again. "So it doesn't count."

"Mm. Well. I suppose we can't still be fighting." Bruce purses his lips, and brushes his nose to Clark's. "Tonight's agenda can be patrol, then make-up sex."

Clark kisses him, fingers trailing up his spine.

Fine.

"Sex, then patrol." Bruce amends. "So you can't fuck me too hard."

"We both know how sensitive you get when you're pregnant." Clark grins wolfishly. "I could give you the most gentle lay of your life, and you'd still wind up panting."

"Late pregnancy, sure." Bruce rips his top off, Clark's eyes dancing between his bare chest, belly, and face. "But I'm nowhere near that. I can take all of you and more."

"I'm sure." Clark snorts, and pulls Bruce into a kiss, one of his hands sliding beneath his waistband.

Bruce gets to work himself, unbuttoning Clark's pants, palming his cock. It's already half-hard, a testament to Clark's unending horniness, or his attraction to Bruce, perhaps both. He deepens their kiss as one of Clark's knuckles nudges against his hole.

He should really, really be on a patrol. He should really, really be investigating. Checking up on Gotham, seeing the effects of the devastation from the Fire People.

Clark inserts a finger, and Bruce moans quietly, tightening his fist around Clark's dick, making his husband thrust into him.

A second finger, not even 30 seconds afterwards. Bruce can't help the whine that's ripped from him, Clark humming appreciatively along with it.

"Feels so good when you moan into me." Clark murmurs, peppering kisses along Bruce's neck. "Sound so beautiful."

"I think - Mm." Bruce's breath hitches when Clark's fingers curl.

"No more thinking." Clark thrusts into Bruce's fist again. "Not until we're finished."

"Okay." Bruce could melt into him. "I can agree to those terms."

Clark smiles, and Bruce is obsessed with him, with his smile, with those perfect teeth. He can't help but release Clark's dick, just so he can wrap both arms around those broad shoulders, crashing into his lips.

He can feel Clark smile wider, even with their mouths pressed together, and yet another finger makes its way into Bruce's hole, making beckoning motions against his inner walls. Bruce moans as finger tips rub at his tender insides, then again, even harder, when he feels the touches speed up, faster than anything a human could do. Closer to a vibrator than someone fingering him - Clark's use of superpowers in their sex life is rare, but always welcome.

And then, without warning, his fingers pull out, leaving Bruce cold and empty and wanting. Unwilling to end their kiss, Bruce reaches round himself to grab Clark's wrist, urging him to put his fingers back where they belong.

"Babe." Clark says softly, in the short break between their lips touching. "Baby. I need to take my pants off."

Bruce grunts, and just keeps kissing him. Clark rolls him over, back against the mattress, pulling back completely.

"If you leave me empty for 5 more seconds I will kill you."

"You're too impatient." Clark grabs Bruce's thighs, pulling them apart, his pelvis filling the gap. Bruce shivers as the head of Clark's dick brushes against him. "Maybe I'll just stay like this for a while, teach you a lesson."

Bruce attempts to buck down, and just get that dick inside him, but Clark's grasp on his is too steady, leaving Bruce doing nothing but thrusting at air.

"You can't." It comes out a bit whinier than he wants it to. "You want me too much."

"Mm. I dunno, B, you should see yourself, writhing and desperate for my cock." Clark tilts his head. "The longer I keep you like this, the hotter you'll get. Maybe you'll start begging for me."

"'M not gonna beg." Bruce tries to twist his leg, maybe hook it around Clark's waist and pull him down, but nothing. His next move is to try and sit up, and wind his arms around Clark's shoulders. Unless...

Clark nudges his dick close to Bruce's hold again, still not entering. The teasing is too much.

Logically, Bruce knows his belly is nowhere near large enough to impede his movement. He's only 15 weeks, he is more than able to bend at the waist still, even with his little bump - the next move is entirely dependent on Clark being too aroused to think about that. Time to put those acting skills to good use.

"Just fuck me." Bruce mumbles, and reaches up to wrap arms around Clark. Then he lifts his hips, a little bit. "Hng."

Clark's eyes dart to Bruce's middle for a brief second.

"Mmf." Bruce grunts again, flexing his back muscles, fingers gripping at Clark's skin. "I-"

Clark tips forward, releasing Bruce's thighs, hands sliding to his belly. "Fuck, B. You really big enough already that you can't sit up? Rao, that's amazing, you're so fucking full with my baby already, what are you gonna do in a few months time? I'll have to do all the work myself, rocking your own hips for you with my hands. Look at you, too round already. Knew your bump was bigger than it was first time around, but wow, babe, you're really feeling heavy already?"

Bruce sinks his nails into Clark's shoulders, and thrusts down into his dick again. "Shut up and fuck me."

"Anything for you, babe. Anything, Rao, carrying our baby so well." Clark kisses him, and holds him close, finally fucking entering Bruce. Thank god for his pregnancy kink.

He moans, heart thumping, as Clark eases his way in, burying his face in Clark's neck and grinning to himself. He should maybe issue some lessons on How Not To Fall For Obvious Ploys.

The thought disappears almost immediately as Clark's thick cock fills Bruce up, stretching him tight, twitching oh so closely to his prostate. No more thinking allowed, only Clark's dick.

"My Bruce." Clark mumbles, jerking his hips. "I love you."

Bruce bites his shoulder as Clark thrusts, breathing deeply with every movement. Being full with Clark is everything. Maybe it's the verge of orgasm talking, but he could happily just stay sat on Clark's dick forever, pumped with his cum, Clark only ever pulling out so Bruce can occasionally pop a baby out, then they can get right back to it.

Definitely the orgasm talking. Bruce's head is hazy, and he groans again when Clark pulls out just to slam back into him.

"'M gonna cum soon." Clark mumbles, seeking out Bruce's lips with his own. "Stop biting me. You're like a vampire."

"I'll stop biting you when I finally break skin." Bruce grunts back, licking into the kiss. His own cock twitches, threatening to spurt at any moment.

Clark rests his forehead to Bruce's, hips bucking. "Love you."

"Mm." Bruce hums in agreement, pulling Clark's hair in time with another perfect wave of pleasure. There's a throb in his pelvis, and Bruce's breath hitches as he spills out.

"So hot." Clark mumbles. "Love how tight you get when you cum."

Bruce can only pant in response, heat pooling his insides. Clark keeps rocking into him, until he cries out with his own orgasm. Bruce clamps his legs around Clark's waist, greedy for every drop of sperm. The more Clark inside him, the more content he is.

"Fuck." Clark's movements stop, and he looks like he's going to collapse and lay on top of Bruce, until he thinks better of it, flipping them around so it's Bruce atop him. "Always make me feel so good."

Bruce twirls a lock of Clark's hair around his finger, shutting his eyes. Ugh. His limbs feel like jelly.

"Need to go on patrol." He mumbles.

"I'll do it." Clark slides a palm along Bruce's bump. "You should stop now. If you can't even sit up, you shouldn't be-"

"You're ridiculous. I can sit up perfectly fine."

"Based on how you were straining, no you absolutely cannot."

"I'm barely showing, idiot." Bruce grunts, and slowly prises himself away from Clark to demonstrate. "Look."

He rolls onto his back, and sits with ease, the bump doing nothing to stop him.

Clark frowns, eyes narrowing. "You tricked me."

"You should know it's not until I'm about this big for the baby to start making things hard." Bruce sticks his hand out a few inches above his waist. "I just need to rest for a moment. Then I'll go out."

Clark shifts onto his side, and moves Bruce's hand lower. "I think here, actually."

"That will be in a few weeks time." Bruce tuts. "I plan on being fully flexible until I'm at least 5 months, preferably 6."

"I'm betting 4." Clark caresses the bump, and sits. "Let me clean you up, then you get some rest. I promise I'll be a better Batman than last time."

And with the way Clark looks at him so tenderly, Bruce can't bring himself to argue.

To: Lucius Fox ([email protected])
CC: Martin Browne ([email protected]), Rex Chamberlock ([email protected]), Lois Lane ([email protected])
BCC: Bruce Wayne-Kent ([email protected])
From: Clark Wayne-Kent ([email protected])

Subject: WayneTech Watches

Mr Fox,

Thank you for inviting myself and my colleague Lois Lane to look into your concerns into the production of the WayneTech watches that were recently pulled from shelves. As requested, please see the below points from our initial investigation.

• From looking at the data and reports from the Research and Development department, the watches appeared to have worked throughout testing
• Testimonies from several employees of W.E. who trialled the watches before launch confirm that their experience of using the watch did not line up with customer's negative reviews
• The watches worked correctly the day before release, as confirmed by those employees
• No physical changes to hardware was possible once the production started
• Investigation into the coding for the watches was impeded by physical destruction to the servers. This was reported to have occurred in the same time frame as the recent extraterrestrial attack in Gotham. Only the servers for the watches was impacted by this; damage was given to some of the surrounding equipment, but nothing more than superficial, implying that the culprit's aim was to disguise intent to destroy just the watch server
• Security feed of the server room was deactivated during the aforementioned time frame
• I have attached a list of employees with relevant key-card access

Given the above, it appears that someone deliberately sabotaged the release of WayneTech watches, and took advantage of the recent attack to conceal evidence. The lack of intruder alarms, or anyone raising a concern about an unidentified individual on the premises, seems to point towards the culprit being internal to WayneEnterprises, with a level of access to:

1. Override approved coding
2. Get into the server rooms
3. Interfere with security feeds

Per our agreement, The Daily Planet will not publish an article on this until after the culprit has been apprehended, on the basis that we will be notified when that happens, after which we will go to print. Any contravening of this agreement, and we will amend the article as we see fit.

While not relevant to the investigation, I'd like to raise concerns that multiple W.E. employees within management have voiced some disconcerting opinions on Bruce Wayne-Kent and his second pregnancy, which I would consider inappropriate to the workplace. Organisational culture is something The Daily Planet cares deeply about, and we wouldn't hesitate to report a breach in ethical behaviour. Please address this with your executive teams.

Warm regards,

Clark Wayne-Kent

Investigative Reporter | The Daily Planet

While Bruce may have relished the opportunity to dig into the truth behind the WayneTech watches himself as Batman, he can appreciate that Clark did a very thorough job - as he should, Bruce would fail to find someone without basic investigative skills attractive in the slightest.

The saboteur could be any number of people, but even when whittling it down, trying to find a motive is difficult. There is little benefit in discrediting your own employer; Bruce may understand it more if Wayne Enterprises didn't treat its staff well, but he's been assured that the wages, benefit packages, PTO, and healthcare insurance is beyond generous. Maybe employees need another pay rise?

The only other viable option seems to be tied to Bruce himself. The watches flopping had coincided with his very public return from maternity leave, so it is a possibility that it was engineered to manipulate opinions of him. There are probably plenty of people who benefit there, from competing CEOs (Lex Luthor, perhaps), to those who have been praying on his downfall since his first pregnancy was announced, for no reason other than than its abnormality.

But in that instance, how would they have high-level access?

Confounding.

Bruce reads through the spreadsheet of names again, highlighting whose personnel file he may need to revisit. As he does, he cradles his bump, the baby wriggling away.

Ugh. He needs to get back into his maternity wear. And so soon too. With Dickie, he'd managed 18 weeks before Clark insisted on 'more appropriate' clothes (which was fair, Bruce had popped a button in front of him) - this baby is not so generous. Really, who needs to go into maternity wear at 16 weeks?

Many people, according to Clark. And Google.

Both might be lying to him.

Bruce leans back in his chair, glancing through the slats in his office blinds to see Jessica The PA talking to Jessica From IT. Based on lipreading, it doesn't seem like they're talking about anything relevant to him, or the watch case, so Bruce stops looking. Instead, he rereads the list of names of potential suspects.

Lucius Fox - No. Lucius had been deeply embarrassed about the failure, and even though he'd only apologised once, he had sent Bruce a thousand other non-verbal signs that showed he wasn't responsible, from how he blinked while talking about it, to the incessant way he was hunting for the culprit.

Martin Browne - While he does technically have the relevant accesses, there is not a chance he know a thing about coding, AI, or enough about computers to only damage the watch servers, not anything else. Unlikely.

Rex Chamberlock - Bruce is on the fence. He has both the access and know-how, but extremely little to gain. Not to mention that with the results of the investigation as they are, he and the rest of the WayneTech executives are under the most scrutiny. A lot of risk, for no reward.

The other names are engineers, development managers, a few finance people...

Some names Bruce recognises, some he doesn't. Really though, he shouldn't rule anyone out. Everyone is a suspect.

The baby swishes again, and Bruce hums, patting his bump.

He could really go for a milkshake right now. Strawberry. And maybe some cheese too, that one gourmet cheddar he'd had on a business trip to the Netherlands. Some watermelon would also be appreciated.

Did he have this many different cravings with Dickie? He'd eaten a lot of cereal during that pregnancy, but that was it. Maybe this baby just has very particular tastebuds.

Bruce swats the urges to the back of his mind. It's not even midday. He is focusing, he is going to get to the bottom of this mystery.

But the cheese was so good though.

Bruce brushes his fingers to his belly, glancing at his phone. Clark's just at home with Dickie. Maybe they could have a quick father-son trip to Europe? Would be good for Dick to practice flying outside of the Manor.

Being pregnant does terrible things to Bruce's brain.

'Could you take Dick to the Netherlands and buy some cheese?'

It takes Clark 5 whole minutes to reply, and in that time, Bruce has made no progress on his list.

'u want me 2 take dickie?? he isnt ready for that.'

'will leave him w alfred :) omw ! <3'

And 12 minutes later, there's a blur in the room, a soft peck to Bruce's cheek, then a whole basket full of various cheeses from across Europe on his desk. Clark does not slow long enough for Bruce to even see him.

Biting into some edam, with one hand on his bump, Bruce refocuses.

"So... You were the one who wanted another baby?"

Bruce grunts in response to Barry's comment, eyes fixed to the monitor in front of him. He knew someone would bring it up with him eventually, and it makes sense that a shift of monitor duty was going to be opportune time for the subject to be broached. He can't say he wouldn't also be curious, but he's also professional enough that he wouldn't ask. He'd just spy and snoop and potentially hack into text messages like a normal person.

"That's a yes. I think that's a yes, right?"

Bruce squares his jaw and folds his arms. Nothing in Gotham. Nothing in Metropolis. Nothing in LA. Nothing in - Oh, beginnings of a riot in Lima? Nevermind, Extraño is on the scene.

Alas. He is stuck, inevitably forced to answer Barry's questions.

"I just don't really get it." Barry tosses a ball from one hand to the other. "Like. Why you'd get pregnant if you knew it meant Clark would bench you."

"I don't have an issue with being benched." Bruce clicks his tongue. "Clark's reasoning is sound. Being pregnant on a battlefield is a liability, and it would only make Clark a liability too."

"Right, yeah, I know that. It's just... You didn't seem like you were too happy about that. First time and this time."

"Some courses of action are objectively right, it doesn't make them any easier to deal with." Bruce glances at Barry. "You'll understand when you're older."

"I'm plenty old enough."

"If you don't have the maturity to consider that being pregnant doesn't negate my duty to Gotham, then I would disagree."

Barry hums, and hopefully that's the end of it. Bruce can enjoy a quiet monitor duty, with-

"What's it actually like? Being preggers?"

"Fine." Bruce glances at the clock. He has 2 whole hours, before Shayera relieves him of his shift.

"That's it? Fine?"

"Mhm." Bruce drums his fingers on his bump.

"But isn't it weird? Feeling something grow inside you?"

Bruce nods curtly. The baby wiggles, as if to prove Barry's point.

"I don't think I could be pregnant." Barry continues. "Like, even if I had the right parts. It looks kinda uncomfortable. Plus, losing the weight would be so - Not that you're heavy! Or, I mean, I guess you are, but... It's more - After you had Lil Richard, you were carrying those extra pounds for ages, and -"

Bruce grits his teeth. "That's enough."

"Not in a bad way! You didn't look bad!"

"Losing the weight was hard, yes." Bruce grunts. Maybe he can pull the pregnancy card, and make Clark swap monitor duty with him. But then he'd be contributing almost nothing to the League, and Bruce can't handle that. "Rest assured, I have factored that into account. I will be operating at my usual form within 6 months post-partum."

"I don't care about that, man. You - and Clark - you should take as long as you need off." Barry shrugs one shoulder. "Can't imagine it's easy, making a baby and raising a kid. How is Dick?"

"Good." Bruce pauses. "He can fly."

"Yeah, Clark mentioned." Barry stretches, and jerks his head to Bruce's bump. "This one showing any sign of powers?"

"No." Bruce looks to Gotham again. Still quiet. "But Dickie didn't either. Just a strong kicker. I'm sure this one may be the same."

Barry leans back in his seat. "I don't know if I want kids."

Bruce doesn't say anything.

"Bats. Should I have kids?"

Without turning to look at him, Bruce rolls his eyes. "That's not my concern."

"Right. Right. But do you think I'd be a good dad?" Barry spins his chair round. "I know I won't be Clark-level good. God, imagine having Superman as your dad, that's crazy. But the Flash is pretty cool too, right?"

"I don't think your work as a hero has any relevance to your parental skill."

"I guess. But like, when your kids grow up, and get to be like 'holy shit, my parents are in the Justice League'? That's gotta be cool."

"Both myself and Clark would disagree with you." Bruce rubs his bump as the baby swishes again. "Our children don't need the weight of expectation."

"Oh. Right."

"I don't want them in capes. It's dangerous."

"Then - no offence - Why are you still Batmanning around the place?" Barry hesitates, then mimes having a rounder belly. "How do you even fit into the Batsuit when you're bigger? Like, in that shirt, your bump looks crazy, and you've still got a few months left. Surely at that point you can't even -"

"My suit is well-equipped to handle any issues I may encounter on my patrols in Gotham." Bruce clicks his tongue. "When I stop Batmanning is irrelevant to you."

"It's not crazy to be concerned about my pregnant friend's welfare!" Barry throws his hands up. "You know that any of us would be happy to step in for you, right? Like when you can't patrol anymore, and if Clark wants to take a night off."

Bruce grunts in response, and Barry sighs, finally shutting up.

Bruce's fingers twitch, and he continues stroking his belly. It is generous of Barry to say that, especially given how busy the League often are, but he can't say that being a concern is appreciated in the slightest.

Ugh.

"The offer is appreciated." Bruce does not look at him.

"Oh." The wheels of Barry's chair scrape the floor as he presumably spins again. "Yeah, of course man. Any time. Just let one of us know, we'll be there."

Dick's brow is scrunched as his little hands pat at Bruce's middle. Clark watches with him with bright eyes, arm wrapped around Bruce's waist, and Alfred observes the scene with a slight smile as he pours another cup of herbal tea.

Bruce hikes his sweater up, allowing Dickie to see that it is in fact his body, and not something hidden beneath his clothes.

"Is that mommy's tummy?" Clark coos, his own hand caressing Bruce's bump. "Yes, it is! Mommy's growing another baby, you're gonna be a big brother, Dickie!"

"Baby..." Dick echoes, then points at himself. "Baby."

"Yes, you're a baby." Bruce nods. "And in here is an even smaller baby."

Dick pokes Bruce's bump.

"You're going to be such a good big brother, sweetheart." Clark ruffles Dick's tufty hair. "I bet the baby is going to love you."

"Luh oo!" Dick beams at Clark, ceasing his investigation into Bruce's stomach, stretching his arms out. "Daddy."

"My boy." Clark smiles wider, and reaches across Bruce to pull Dickie into his lap. Bruce watches with fondness, cradling his bump. These precious moments of family time, they're everything. And in 5 months time, they'll be welcoming a second baby into the world, and their family time will get even brighter.

If Bruce thinks about it too hard, his hormones start going haywire and he gets teary. Who knew being 18 weeks pregnant could make someone so sentimental?

Clark holds Dickie's little hands as their boy stands on his thighs, bouncing. Every so often, his jumps result in him lingering in the air for a few seconds too long; the more illogical side of Bruce worries that if it weren't for Clark holding onto him, Dickie might just float away.

"Up, daddy." Dick pulls at Clark's hands. "Up, up, up."

"You wanna do some flying?" Clark glances at Bruce. "Wanna show mommy how good you are at flying now?"

"Mm!" Dickie bounces some more, and when Clark stands up, he twists to look at Bruce. "Mama."

"I'm watching, Dickie." Bruce cradles his belly, the baby somersaulting.

Clark sets Dick on the ground, and hovers an inch or two off the ground. He spreads his arms. "C'mere little man."

With another look back as if to double check Bruce is watching, Dickie steps forward, then shakily lifts off. Bruce's heart is in his throat as he watches his son wobble in the air towards Clark. He 'stumbles', if that's the right word for it, near the end, and for a horrible moment, Bruce thinks Dick might fall to the floor.

But he doesn't. He collides into Clark's chest, and Bruce can relax as his husband's arms wind tightly around their son.

"Good job." Clark coos. "Really good, Dickie. Daddy's so proud of you."

Dick peeks at Bruce.

"Mommy's very proud too." Bruce smiles, and reaches out. "Can you come back this way?"

Dickie wriggles out of Clark's grip, jaggedly drifting down, with a big beam on his face once his toes touch down on Bruce's knees.

"Amazing." Bruce presses a kiss to his cheek. "I love you, my little flying monkey."

"Muhkee." Dick mimics, and jumps into the air again.

Clark moves a little further away, and a little higher up.

They continue like that for a while, until Clark is nearly halfway to the ceiling. Bruce feels his heart swell with pride as Dick flies, only for the pride to plummet into panic when he stops. He's only falling for a split-second, Clark diving to catch him, but it's the most scared Bruce has ever felt.

Scarier than facing any villain. Scarier than the thought of losing Clark. Truly, Bruce has never felt true terror until this moment. His heart thumps rapidly, and Clark's expression is similarly anguished as he clutches Dick to his chest.

"You're okay." Clark whispers. "You're okay, I got you, you're okay. He's okay, B, I - I got him, always got him."

Dickie has the audacity to giggle, completely oblivious to either of his parents' woe.

Bruce wordlessly reaches out, and Clark passes Dick to him.

"All okay." Bruce mumbles to himself as he clutches his son, burying his face in Dickie's hair. "You're alright. All safe."

"Up!" Dickie writhes in Bruce's arms, but Bruce doesn't let go for another minute, peppering kisses to his face.

"Mr Wayne! Mr Wayne! The people of Gotham are dying to have it confirmed - Are you pregnant?"

Bruce laughs vacantly at the reporter. God forbid he attend a single press conference and not get a stupid question. He gestures to his bump, rounding out his shirt, and smiles toothily.

"This? It's either pregnancy, or I've swallowed a basketball." Bruce chuckles again, scanning the crowd as he does. "Seems that magical alteration to biology can be permanent, who knew!"

There are some titters, and cameras flash. Bruce continues wearing his smile as he studies the faces. There's no one that stands out to him; the employees who should be here are here, there aren't any surprises, no one seems to be missing.

"Did anyone have any questions about WayneTech?" Lucius hums before someone else can ask something stupid.

Bruce continues studying his employees as Lucius answers reporters. By publicly announcing acceptance and liability for the failure of the watches, Bruce had hoped that there would be some tell on someone's face. A relaxation of tensed shoulders, a slight smile, an eyebrow twitch... But nothing. Either the saboteur isn't here, or they're a good actor.

Martin Browne is nodding along as he usually does, and Rex Chamberlock sits with folded arms - of course he does, it's his team that's being blamed. Unless that's what he wants Bruce to think.

"Question for Bruce?" Someone calls out, and Bruce makes the mistake of acknowledging him. "Yes, hi - Is Clark Kent the father?"

Stupid.

Bruce raises his brows in mock offence. "Is my husband the father? Of course he is."

Upon reflection, he should have ignored the question, based on the way the sea of press begin clamouring.

"How far along are you?"

"Is it a boy or a girl?"

"When are you due?"

"How many are you having?"

Bruce tries to wave them away, sending a glance to Lucius to request he try and get this back on track. He can not do detective work when he has tens of journalists yelling over each other. Is this really what merits news these days? It's hard to recognise that these people have the same profession as Clark.

Only after the reporters have settled again does Bruce notice that Rex Chamberlock has disappeared.

The course of action is simple: have Lucius lure Rex out under the guise of a business meeting, then break into his house and look for evidence. Bruce has broken into houses plenty of times, snooped in everyone's house and left it just as he found it. Breaking and entering is a crucial tool in the Batman playbook.

His pregnancy has no impact on that.

None. At. All.

All he has to do is get into his Batsuit - which he can definitely fit into, even though Clark's been wearing it since Bruce's belly popped and he has not had time to adjust the measurements to account for his bump - then slink into the shadows, and grappling-hook his way to Rex's roof - which he can definitely do - then climb in through a window (he can definitely still fit through windows), sneak around, get what he needs, then creep out back the way he came.

It is a flawless plan, which he is more than capable of executing.

He just needs to get the suit on, and then he is good to go.

...

Just get the suit on, then he can go.

Bruce huffs at the lack of cooperation from the upper torso of the Batsuit, the plating refusing to just fucking bend to accommodate his stomach. How does he not have a spare version from when he was pregnant with Dickie laying around? He got pregnant on purpose, what kind of idiot does that without ensuring he has an adaptable Batsuit ready?

Ugh. Lucius' meeting is starting in 20 minutes. Bruce planned to already be out of the cave by now. He does not have the luxury of a spare few hours to add precious inches to his suit, and make sure that it's protective enough.

He cannot believe he did this when he was pregnant with Dick? How did he find a moment? Between his fulfilling love life, parenting, League administration, Wayne Enterprises, Bruce is lucky he even has time for Batman at all.

Surely the addition of a love life and parenting cannot have had such a large impact on his free time?

"Fuck off." Bruce growls to his armour, to himself, to the world. He hesitates, then pats his belly. "Not you."

The baby wiggles, as if to forgive him.

"B?"

Bruce squares his shoulders at Clark's intrusion, feeling his husband's eyes on him.

"I thought you'd left." Clark furrows his brow as he touches down on the cave floor, and Bruce successfully does not squirm under his gaze. "You okay?"

"Fine." Bruce folds his arms, and does not think about his larger chest, and how even if he does get the Batsuit on, it will be deeply uncomfortable.

Clark looks him up and down. "You seem to only have to lower half of your suit on."

"Very astute. I'm still dressing."

Clark hums. "Maybe my flawless memory is failing me, because I'm pretty sure you started getting suited up half an hour ago. The longest you've ever taken is 27 minutes and 32 seconds."

"Why are you timing my suit-ups?" Bruce asks, instead of admitting defeat. He will not be beaten by inanimate armour. Batman will not lose to his own suit.

"Because you time everyone else's." Clark pauses. "To be fair, the time you took 27 minutes is because I kept undressing you."

"Mm, that sounds like something you'd do." Bruce fiddles with his utility belt, checking each pocket and attachment, in hopes that Clark will go away.

"Bruce."

"Mhm?"

"I can go for you." Clark touches Bruce's waist, fingers stretching across his bump. "You're getting bigger, babe. Even if you get the suit on-"

"I don't have a problem putting the suit on."

"Sure, sure. But if you did have an issue, and managed to get it on anyway, I don't know if you'll be up to any of your usual sneaky grappling around."

"I'm Batman." Bruce grunts. "Of course I'm up to it."

"Hm." Clark kisses Bruce's neck. "What if I ask you nicely to let me do it?"

Bruce doesn't bother replying. He knows that there is a very small chance that Clark lets up, knows that by even entertaining this conversation he's forfeiting, but he can at least try to put up a fight. It will make him feel better. Clark should let him have that.

"Please?" Clark kisses him again, rolling up Bruce's tank top and cradling his belly. Clark's hands are so warm, truly nothing makes Bruce feel as cosy as his husband holding him, and their baby beneath his palms. "I will be so sneaky. And do my best detective work."

Bruce stops fussing with his belt. It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, maybe, if Clark does this for him. And then, before something like this happens again, Bruce will adjust his suit the moment Clark gets back.

"You can cuddle with Dickie."

"Mm." Bruce brushes his own knuckles against Clark's. "I could. But -"

"The longer you spend pretending you want to argue with me, that's less time for me to snoop."

And yes, fine, Clark makes a very good point there.

"I'm still Batman." Bruce mumbles. He tries not to sound too insecure about it, because of course he's Batman, it's just...

It would be nice to hear some reassurance.

"Obviously." Clark takes the Batsuit's chestplate. "You'll probably find a way to still be Batman in 200 years time."

Bruce must make his contemplation of that too obvious, based on the way Clark shakes his head. With a huff, he hands Clark the belt.

The intel Clark brings him is everything Bruce could have wanted.

Rex Chamberlock was smart, hiding his email correspondence with Lex Luthor beneath encryptions upon encryptions, but that's no match for a man who can see fingerprints and faded marks on a keyboard, with a brain that can use those marks to figure out a password.

God, Bruce is so in love with him. Clark is way smarter than he acts, Bruce forgets that sometimes, and when he gets reminded it's delicious. It's hot. Clark is intelligent and sexy and Bruce needs to climb him like a tree.

He probably has infinite digits of pi memorised. If Bruce invented a new language without telling him, Clark could probably figure it all out within a week. He can probably make a computer out of a rock.

... He could not figure out a very basic declaration of love via code, which single-handedly prevented them from dating for years. There is no way he could make a computer out of a rock.

The thought is enough to cool Bruce down so he can concentrate on scheming. It's not like he can thrust this evidence in Rex's face, because it was obtained "illegally", so he should focus on coaxing him out, slowly but surely.

He rereads the most recent email thread.

To: L ([email protected])
From: Rex ([email protected])

Subject: Our Agreement

Dear L,

Apologies - The contract you said you'd offer me doesn't seem to have come through?

I'd appreciate if you could get this to me sooner rather than later. I risked a lot following your instructions.

Best,

Rex

To: Rex ([email protected])
From: L ([email protected])

Subject: RE: Our Agreement

Rex,

The offer was contingent on you tanking public opinion. Not sure if you've checked the news lately, but no one cares about some faulty AI. Airhead's got himself knocked up again - that's the story.

Goods weren't even on shelves long enough to drum up a fuss, and full refunds issued. Faith in the company has never been better, and seems the family image is enough to keep it afloat for now.

Unless you have something more substantial, consider the offer withdrawn.

L

To: L ([email protected])
From: Rex ([email protected])

Subject: RE: RE: Our Agreement

That is ridiculous, I followed your instructions to the letter. I need that contract. My employment is at risk, you owe me.

To: L ([email protected])
From: Rex ([email protected])

Subject: RE: RE: RE: Our Agreement

L. Please. Send me the contract.

To: L ([email protected])
From: Rex ([email protected])

Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: Our Agreement

They are investigating it, they know it's an inside job. You promised me a contract.

To: L ([email protected])
From: Rex ([email protected])

Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Our Agreement

Fucking send me the contract or I'll tell Wayne and Fox that Lex Luthor is trying to sabotage the company.

The panic is somewhat amusing to read, although it is highly interesting that Lex would bother with this. 

"What's the verdict?" Clark asks, returning to Bruce's side in the Batcave after Dick woke up for a brief fuss.

"Either Luthor is trying to bring you down by sabotaging Bruce Wayne, bringing into question the Justice League due to him being the main financier, which then puts you into question, thus undermining trust in Superman. Or he's figured out my identity as Batman and is using this as ploy to get me to meet with him, drawing you out." Bruce drums his fingers on the table, frowning deeply. "The latter option is troubling."

Clark hums, and squeezes Bruce's shoulder. "You know, I think you're wonderfully smart B."

Bruce can sense there is a but coming, and he does not like that one bit. He squares his shoulders in preparation.

"But sometimes I think you're a little too smart. Not everyone thinks 50 steps ahead. Not Lex. That's all too much work for him." Clark pauses. "Can I pitch a theory?"

"No." Bruce grunts, knowing full well Clark will tell him anyway.

"What if LexCorp is also making an AI watch, and WayneTech was the main competitor in that field, so he just wanted you out of the equation? All business, no capes."

Bruce blinks. A non-Batman or Superman related angle seems preposterously simple. So simple, so obvious, that Bruce could not have come up with it.

He spins in his chair, a hand on his bump as he looks at Clark.

Clark smiles at him, one eyebrow raised.

"You know, I have a thing for intelligent reporters." Bruce leans forward. "Especially ones who solve my mysteries."

"I'm banning Lois from investigating anything Wayne-related ever again." Clark pulls Bruce into his lap.

"Don't talk about Lois when I'm trying to flirt with you."

"She's an intelligent reporter!"

"And clearly you are a stupid one, getting in the way of his own sexlife." Bruce swats Clark's arm. "I'm never kissing you again, you're actually very dumb and that's why you can solve such simple problems."

"Meanie." Clark pouts, and holds Bruce tight. Bruce, despite his words, kisses him gently.

Bruce has an issue.

The issue, as always, is named Clark Kent. His current crime - the same crime he has been guilty of for the past 20 weeks - is getting Bruce pregnant. And on top of that, he has committed an additional felony of being attractive, which is compounding most terribly with that first crime.

If he had to put it in simple terms, Bruce would say that he is having a hormone-fuelled increase in libido. A libido which is currently torturing him in a League meeting - he cannot focus for the life of him. Every time he thinks he has everything under control, Clark stretches or smiles or blinks or breathes, and Bruce's hormones spiral again.

Bruce should sentence him to a lifetime prison sentence. That, or a mandatory sex marathon.

God. Bruce should never get pregnant ever again after this one. He can't have been like this first time around, surely? It feels like he's got cotton wool instead of a brain.

Clark absent-mindedly puts his hand on Bruce's thigh as he says something to Shayera about how the League structures mission check-ins while undercover. It takes all of his willpower to keep his concentration, and not imagine Clark's fingers brushing against his crotch, whispering in his ear, bending him over (as best as he can bend over at the moment), and -

Bruce clamps down on that trail of thought before it spirals out of control.

"... I think that's everything. Right, B?" Clark says, turning to look at him. Ugh, his eyes are so blue and so gorgeous, Bruce could drown in them. To save himself from getting lost and dazzled in those eyes, Bruce averts his gaze to Clark's lips instead, which unfortunately causes more problems.

Clark is so, so kissable, and Bruce is so, so pregnant, surely no one could blame him if he just leaned in for one tiny peck?

"Uh, Bruce?" Clark tilts his head. "Have I missed anything?"

"No." Bruce grunts, unsure whether or not that's true. He doesn't really care. They should wrap this meeting up and then he can ride Clark for the next 5 hours.

Clark smiles at him, and it is enough to drive anybody mad. How did Bruce get so lucky? He is married to the most handsome, perfect man in the whole world. Mr Perfect is the father of his children. Bruce rests his palm on his belly, and numbly considers whether he is going to be pregnant forever, because it will take extreme bravery to not beg Clark for his cock every hour of every day.

As Hal says something stupid (Bruce isn't listening, but it's Hal, so it's definitely stupid), Clark scoots his chair a bit closer towards him, and leans in to whisper to his ear.

"You okay?" He says it in Kryptonese, and he moves his hand to Bruce's bump. "Baby alright? You seem distracted."

Mindful that Barry and Ray are watching them, Bruce stretches as he puts his own lips to Clark's ear to thinly disguise the action.

"Hormones. Need you to fuck me."

Clark doesn't blush often, but his cheeks go a little pink at that, and he averts his eyes. It makes Bruce feel even more ravenous for him.

"Be patient." Clark responds eventually, and slips his hand beneath Bruce's shirt for some skin-to-skin contact. "Calm down."

"Hey man, is there an issue?" Hal coughs loudly. "Why are you whispering? I have important things to say!"

"We know you do Hal." Clark smiles at him, and Bruce wants to growl, pull Clark close and never let anyone look at his handsome husband ever again. "Don't mind us. Just baby stuff. We're focusing now!"

Bruce grunts in agreement, but laces his fingers with Clark's so that they are cradling his bump together. He feels the baby flutter inside him, as if they know that their father is around, and it's enough to ground him, for now.

However, as Barry begins to speak about his ongoing struggles with rogues in Central City, the wave of libido washes over Bruce again. He cannot continue like this, he needs Clark, with his warm perfect hands pressed to his skin, breathing in his ear, lovely lips and gorgeous eyes. Central City has no relevance to him. This whole League meeting has had little relevance to him. Maybe he should just leave, and jerk off until Clark joins him.

"- And Bats, someone from Wayne Enterprises has been sniffing around S.T.A.R. Labs, if you've sent one of your employees to-"

"Who?" Bruce locks back in at that, arousal dissipating almost instantly.

"Uh, something like Rory Chamberkey?"

Bruce clicks his tongue. "What was he doing?"

"Probably whatever you asked him to, I dunno, I kinda thought we were past the point of you snooping on our territories. Not tryna get him trouble for being caught, just like, get him out I guess. Was freaking one of my guys out, coming all the way from Gotham." Barry folds his arms. "You know, you could just tell us if you have suspicions, rather than spying on-"

"Rex Chamberlock is currently under investigation at Wayne Enterprises." Bruce rolls his eyes. "If I wanted to spy on you, I'd go myself, not send a civilian."

"Wait, you think he's dangerous?" Barry's shoulders square.

"No. I think he's hoping to get a new job before I find out that he deliberately attempted to sabotage the company." Bruce glances at Clark. "Unless we go back to my first theory, and Luthor really is-"

Clark shakes his head. "It was a business thing."

"Not necessarily." Bruce frowns. "Did he get a hold of anything from the labs? He could have been after a weapon."

"Uh no, he was just talking to people. Schmoozing, I guess." Barry pauses. "Which makes sense, if he's looking for another job. Why, what did he do to you?"

"Watches." Bruce hisses through grit teeth, and the whole table nods.

"Oh yeah. That was really bad." Ray purses his lips. "Why would you approve that?"

"I didn't." Bruce folds his arms. "From investigation, it looks like the poor product was deliberately tied to my return from maternity. An attempt to discredit me, perhaps. It was orchestrated by Lex Luthor, and I have reason to believe that this may be a long-con to smear-"

"It is not a long-con." Clark interrupts. "Babe. I told you, you're overthinking this."

Bruce scowls at him. He is actually not sexy at all, and Bruce hates him.

Okay, fine, Bruce doesn't hate him. But! He is certainly not feeling horny anymore (for now).

"You don't know that." Bruce huffs. "And if he's in S.T.A.R. Labs -"

"It's a big name in the tech world, because he needs a new job." Clark squeezes Bruce's shoulder. "Seriously. No one is out to get the League. They're just out to knock you down a peg or two. For money."

"That's nothing more than petty and childish." Bruce grumbles.

"Lex is petty and childish." Diana points out. "We know that. But if you truly believe that there could be something more sinister then... I don't think I need to remind everyone what happened last time we didn't listen to Batman's hunches."

"What happened?" Shayera furrows her brow.

"Superman nearly died." J'onn says calmly.

"True." Arthur pauses, and looks at Barry. "Maybe you should poke more around the labs."

"Yeah. Probably." Barry fiddles with his hands. "Sorry for accusing you B. You're right. I - I'll do my best to get some intel."

Clark doesn't say anything, just looks at Bruce with a furrowed brow.

The moment he and Clark zeta back to the cave, Bruce is back in sex-mode. It is hard to not be in sex-mode, when he is married to the hottest man in the world, and once he checks in on Dickie, and makes sure his little boy is okay, then he is going to drag Clark to the bedroom and they are going to get freaky. Bruce is going to discover stages of orgasm previously unknown by mankind. He is going to get a PHD in Fucking from this revolutionary thesis. Scientists in the following centuries will require years of study to get close to achieving this groundbreaking sex.

Bruce should document this. He should get a manila folder, and have graphs, and bar charts, and colour-coded notes. There will be diagrams. Methodology will be broken down into three sections, preparation, intercourse, and climax, and when he publishes this, it will be illegal in at least 39 countries from how overwhelmingly, devastatingly sexy his dissertation is.

Maybe he needs to hold a PowerPoint presentation on this.

"Clark." Bruce tugs his collar. "'M gonna see Dickie. And then after he goes to sleep, I am going to ride you until you break me in half."

Clark frowns. "I don't want to break you in half."

"Mm." Bruce loops his arms around Clark's shoulders. "But you will."

"I will not, you are carrying our baby, we will not be having violent sex." Clark shakes his head, and kisses Bruce softly. "And I need to talk to you first."

Bruce scowls. "What?"

"Rex Chamberlock."

Bruce tenses, frowning. "What about him? Do you have a lead? I knew it couldn't be so simple, if he's in S.T.A.R. Labs, then-"

"Honey." Clark caresses Bruce's cheek. "It's not a big conspiracy. It's business."

"You don't know that." Bruce grunts. "And really, this is now a connection to three of us in the League, it's only a matter of time before a fourth."

"No. Babe. Baby." Clark shakes his head. "Just trust me. It's a money thing."

Bruce stiffens, and steps back, looking Clark up and down. His shoulders are a little bit squared, he's holding the corner of his cape in his fist, and he is bouncing on his toes.

Oh.

Bruce is an idiot for not spotting it before. Clark, his husband, the man who is supposed to be honest with him all of the time, is hiding something from him. Something about the case.

"This is the worst thing you could do to me." Bruce growls, and Clark's face flashes with panic.

"What? Babe - I-"

"You are lying to me about my mission."

"Okay first, that's what you think the worst thing I could do to you is?" Clark folds his arms. "And I'm not lying."

He stands firm at that. Bruce squints at him, evaluating. The baby wiggles a little inside him.

"I promise, B, I wouldn't lie. It's just business. And I think it's best if you just fire him, let him get a different job somewhere, I don't know. But - It's money. Money for Lex, money for Rex."

"Just money?"

Clark doesn't reply, but his jaw twitches.

Bruce clenches his fists. "Did you omit anything when you gave me the report from your break-in?"

Clark bites his lip. "Nothing that changes the overall conclusion."

Bruce does not have time to interrogate him further. The academic sexual discovery of the millennium is cancelled. He turns on his heel. Check on Dickie. Then, instead of having life-changing sex, Bruce will put on his adjusted Batsuit, sneak into Rex's flat himself, and banish Clark to a guest bedroom or a couch for the night. Maybe even two nights.

"Bruce. Where are you going?"

"To see my son."

"After that."

"If I want a job done right, I have to do it myself." Bruce cradles his bump as he stomps towards the elevator up to the Manor. "You're not wearing my suit for a month."

After several kisses to Dickie's cheek, and successfully brushing off Clark, Bruce is back in the Batsuit, skulking the streets of Gotham. Between his bump, the protective corset, his underarmour, and the suit, he feels more than a little bulky. Despite the grappling hook in his belt, there will be no swinging today.

Bruce tucks away into an alley, bringing up a hologram map of his city. Memorising a route to Rex Chamberlock's address is not even a footnote on his list of priorities - unless, of course, whatever Clark isn't telling him means that he is an up and coming threat. Perhaps firing Chamberlock would be unwise; keep your enemies close, and all that.

There's a flurry in his belly as he plans his course. It will have to be ground movement, no jumping over rooftops for him. More wriggles from the baby.

Bruce taps his knuckles to the midsection of his armour, a silent request for his baby to stop, please, just for a little bit. The baby does not obey.

Ugh. Bruce will just have to ignore the distraction.

As he slinks across streets under the cover of the night, he mentally prepares for what he might find, what Clark might be hiding from him. The solution obviously lies in what Clark would consider unnecessary to the case, but dangerous for Bruce to know. His protective instincts, while admirable, are not conducive to helping Bruce with detective work.

Clark's not unintelligent. He wouldn't hide something important, at least not deliberately; he may be coddling, but he knows Bruce would castrate him for withholding key intel. (Maybe not castrate. Then they couldn't make more babies.)

But if Clark was rushing, or busy worrying about keeping Bruce safe, then whatever Danger he had omitted could be very relevant. A high-tech gun, loaded with kryptonite. A vendetta against Superman. A hatred for metas. Knowledge of their secret identities.

Because it can't just be about money. Bruce's employees are paid well, and if they want a raise, they just have to ask. And it's not like Chamberlock has any other reason, besides some conspiracy, to sabotage Bruce Wayne's image because... Why would he? Bruce hasn't done anything to him. He treats him well at parties and galas, smiles and nods along. They have even had one proper conversation about circuitboards.

"Agent A." Bruce taps his earpiece. "I'll be planting bugs in his house. Be ready to tell me if they transmit correctly."

"Of course sir." Alfred hesitates. "Superman wishes to speak with you."

"Tell Superman that I'm banning him from the Batcave."

A moment of silence.

"Superman would like to remind you of your current condition."

"Well I'd like to remind him that omitting integral information from his colleagues is grounds to dismiss in most workplaces."

"Superman says-"

"I'm sure you have better things to do than play messenger for us, Agent A." Bruce huffs. "I will have this discussion with Superman in person, after I have returned from my mission."

A long pause. Some rustling.

"B. I'm just - Just come home." Clark's voice.

Bruce grunts. "If there is something in there, that you think is bad enough to hide from me, then that is a threat. I will not allow Gotham to come to harm."

"It's not a threat. Promise. I want to protect you, that's all."

"That implies there's a threat to protect me from." Bruce snaps back. "Get off my comm line."

"B, really, there's nothing, it's nothing, just-"

Bruce clicks his earpiece off.

Upon initial investigation, there is nothing out of the ordinary about Chamberlock's house. Bruce moves as lightly as he can amongst the rooms, ears and eyes peeled for any sign of Rex coming home. Nothing in the kitchen, nor the bathroom, nor the lounge. No sign of hidden compartments.

Bruce glances at one of the framed photos on the wall. Mrs Chamberlock, and a few children. Hopefully they are having a nice time at the play the family received surprise tickets to. He can't help but feel a pang of guilt for them - do they know that Rex is scheming? The children look young, none older than 12... What reason could Rex have to be a part of some villainous plan?

The baby writhes a little, and Bruce purses his lips. He supposes one could ask the same of him - why be Batman when he has a family? Anyone can justify their actions with enough twisting of words.

The ground floor seems clear. Up the stairs he goes.

Bruce makes a beeline for the home office, ensuring his gauntlets have not a speck of dust on them before switching on Chamberlock's computer. He does not sit - it could alter the positioning of the chair - instead pulling USB from his belt. Rex may be a tech genius, but Bruce knows from talking to him that it is unlikely his encryption is any match for Bruce's hacking programme.

He inserts the drive into the computer, and while it runs, he plants three bugs in the room, one behind a lightbulb, one beneath the table, one snugly between the skirting board and the door.

"Confirm receipt?" Batman mumbles. His earpiece crackles.

"Yeah. They're -"

"This is my line with Agent A, Kal-El." Bruce grunts. "If I wanted to speak to you, I would."

"Mm." Clark's worry is overwhelming. "I know. You're in the home office?"

"Yes."

"Okay." Clark pauses. "I'm here."

What a weird thing to say. Bruce ignores him, and checks on the hacking progress. Most files open now, only a few more to go. The best place to start is with those emails, so into the browser Bruce goes. From there, it will take his finest detective work to find something relevant, and -

Oh.

Bruce blinks, and stands a little straighter as he opens the ShadierEmailAddress account. A lot of notifications from forums that Bruce didn't even know existed. Clicking the links to discussions is a mistake.

bruce wayne is a fucking *********** and he should be shot

wayne needs to be ******** and ********** i want to ******* his stupid fucking face

being a pregnant man should be punishable by death sentence

i hope wayne and his 'family' die in a fire

shouldve been killed with his parents

idiot got hit with magic that turned him into *********** and he should lose all his money

boycott bitchboy wayne. burn that fucking company to the ground

imagine coming back from having an abomination of a baby and releasing a shitty product. should be expelled from his company

i want bruce wayne to ********. DISGUSTING PIECE OF SHIT

wayne's son should be -

Bruce feels sick. It's pages and pages and pages of vitriol, dating back to when the first pregnancy announcement was made public.

"Sweetheart." Clark's voice is soft in his ear. "You okay?"

"Fine." Bruce manages to choke out.

It seems never ending. Graphic descriptions of ways to violate him, Clark, Dickie, with plenty of people echoing the rhetoric in replies. It stings less, reading the thoughts of strangers. And sure, Rex isn't anywhere close to an acquaintance, but - but Bruce has spoken to him.

He's used to people meeting Batman and hating him. He's used to people hearing about Brucie and hating him too. Sometimes people do meet Brucie, and they hate him for being stupid, or lewd, or whatever Bruce wants them to think.

He's used to being hated. He's used to meeting people plotting his demise and willing his downfall, both as Batman and as Brucie.

But never for something Bruce hasn't done on purpose. People hating him for his wealth, that's fine. Digestible. Bruce can understand that.

i work for wayne and every time i see him i wish i could kick his ******* baby bump in and watch him sob over *******

But this. This is...

fucking wish i could get a job that wont involve seeing his ****** face every day

This is a man who has met his son. This is a man who has smiled at his baby boy, all the while thinking the most vile shit.

This is a man Bruce pays. 

wayne is *** and ******* and *********** and i want to ***********

Bruce's hands shake. He wasn't prepared for this. He wasn't prepared for this at all. This isn't how it's meant to be. It's meant to be a conspiracy not... This might all be a smokescreen, of course, this is not a good reason to hurt him, surely? Yes, Rex Chamberlock knew he's Batman, and knew he would get caught, and knew Bruce would hack into his system, and thought he would be too affected by all of this to continue digging deeper. Jokes on him, Bruce can - He can read as much of this as needed, he can get to the truth, surely.

Bruce is a target because he is Batman. Because he is rich. Because he is worth ransom. Not because of something as mundane as loving a man and carrying a child. Ridiculous.

Bruce would know if he spoke to someone with these kinds of views. He'd know, and he wouldn't let them anywhere near his baby.

imagined strangling that abomination today. almost came

He wouldn't let someone like that anywhere near him. He wouldn't keep someone like this employed, for many years, in a high-level position.

"B." Clark speaking softly again. "It's all like that. I checked every page. Every file. Every app. I'm sorry. There is no bigger reason. Just - Just all of that, and money."

"And money." Bruce echoes. He closes the tabs before he reads anymore, moving instead to the initial emails with Lex.

The terms and conditions, the pay, the benefits he's requested... All identical to Wayne Enterprises. Not a penny more.

No financial gain. No greed.

Just hate.

Bruce feels like crying. God knows why. He has dealt with infinitely worse enemies. Attempts on his life, torture, people acting on the sorts of threats written here. It makes no sense that this would affect him any more than those, this shouldn't even register.

But it hurts.

"Come home, B." Clark mumbles. "I- I'm sorry. I didn't want you to see it."

And Clark knew it would hurt. Clark shielded him, the same way he's so quick to jump in front of anything else that would hurt Bruce.

Bruce withdraws his USB, and removes the bugs he's planted.

"Returning to the cave." Bruce feels hoarse. "... Case is closed."

He opens up one of the forums again. And prints a page.

Bruce leaves the house almost exactly as he found it, save for a slip of paper left on the kitchen table.

i work for wayne and every time i see him i wish i could kick his ******* baby bump in and watch him sob over *******

Wonderful opinion, Mr Chamberlock. Between this and the sabotage of the watches, I imagine it may be quite difficult to argue that you deserve severance pay. Your corporate accounts will be locked from Monday, and your accesses will be removed.
At least you won't have to contend with seeing me and suppressing these urges.
- B.WK.

"I know, babe." Clark holds him close. "I know."

Bruce feels pathetic as he sniffles. What kind of idiot can't even handle reading a few mean comments about himself? This is embarrassing, and weak, and does nothing to help. Still, he clutches Clark tighter.

One of Clark's hands runs over his bump, the other gliding up and down his back, and he presses soft kisses to Bruce's cheeks.

"'S so stupid." Bruce mumbles. "I know it's stupid."

"It's not. You've known him for years. It's cruel, and hurtful, and you'd have to be made of steel to not be upset."

"Should've noticed."

Another kiss. "How could you have? He's an asshole who talks big game but in reality can't follow through on any of it. You had no reason to suspect him."

"He's met Dickie. He's held Dickie."

"I know." Clark brushes their noses together. "But Dickie's okay."

"What if he'd -"

"There's no way you would have let anything happen to Dick."

Bruce hums, and buries his face in Clark's neck. He is being a terrible Batman right now. And he was so terrible to Clark, his lovely husband, who just wants to keep him safe, just wants to keep him happy.

"I'm sorry. I should've told you it was more than just money, then you wouldn't have had to read all of that."

"I should have just trusted you know what you're talking about." Bruce mumbles back. He holds Clark a little tighter. "I love you."

"I love you too, B. So much." Clark pauses. "Maybe Superman could make an announcement and-"

"Superman should not comment on Bruce Wayne-Kent's family." Bruce grunts. "Stop suggesting it."

"Well no one will listen to Clark Wayne-Kent!"

"I'll listen to him." Bruce laces their fingers together, hands clasped to his bump. There's a swish in his belly. "Baby's moving. They'll listen to you too."

"Well, to you and them, I say: hi baby. Except, yknow, it's romantic with you, and with them it's because they are an actual little baby."

Bruce snorts. It's stupid, and nonsense, and Clark's stupid nonsense jokes always make him feel better. He raises his head from Clark's neck, and lifts his shirt, exposing his bare stomach, stretch marks zigzagging his skin, dark lines at his roundest parts. Bruce doesn't even have time to feel bad about them, Clark's fingertips tracing one almost immediately.

"Beautiful." Clark says, voice ardent. He pushes Bruce back against the bed, and his finger continues to follow one mark, all the way from the navel to the hip. "You look gorgeous, B. Seriously, I - I can't imagine how anyone can look at you and not fall head over heels."

"Quite easily, at the moment." Bruce replies drily, but he wants to preen at the praise. He wants to pull Clark in for a kiss that never ends, wants compliments and affection and tenderness. He's pregnant, and one of his ex-employees wishes him dead for it, and Bruce wants Clark to make it all better.

Clark shakes his head, cradling the roundest part of Bruce. "You're incredible. You - Rao, babe, I love you. So lucky you're mine. So lucky you're having our baby. Making us a family, it's amazing."

Bruce smiles, and closes his eyes as Clark lowers, pressing his lips to the bump.

"Isn't that right baby? We love mommy. Your mommy is doing a really, really good job, cooking you up. He did a great job making your big brother, and he's doing a great job with you."

Bruce feels Clark tap on his bump lightly.

"Can't believe you're halfway done in there! Getting so big now, stretching out mommy's tummy, growing nice and strong for us. You should say 'thank you mommy for giving me all my nutrients!'"

With his eyes closed, and Clark heaping him with adoration, Bruce relaxes a little. He twists his hands into Clark's hair, humming appreciatively as he feels a kiss pressed just below his belly button.

"Daddy loves you, baby." Clark coos. "Daddy loves you so, so much. And mommy loves you. And I know Dickie's gonna love you too. So excited to see you again at the next check-up, and maybe find out if you're gonna be a little boy or girl? We'll love you either way, promise, but it's exciting to find out. And wow, you'll be kicking soon, me and mommy need to start thinking of some names, we'll get the perfect name for you. Mm, and... Oh, little baby, there is just so much to look forward to. Getting to see your precious face, that's number one. I hope you look just like mommy."

"No." Bruce muffles a yawn as he sinks his head into the pillows. "Dick looks like me. I want this baby to look like you."

"Don't listen to him, sweetheart. You need to look like mommy, it's the law. And I'm Superman, so you have to do what I say."

"Dictatorship." Bruce mumbles. He hears Clark chuckle, and peeks an eye open to see him.

Any god would pale in comparison to Clark. His smile has all the warmth of the sun. Bruce will never stop being astounded that he gets to be the man it shines down on.

Clark plants another kiss on Bruce's stomach, then another, and another. He unbuttons Bruce's shirt as he moves up his torso, lips pressed to every inch of skin slowly revealed, spending much longer than necessary on Bruce's soft chest before progressing to his neck, then chin, cheeks, nose, forehead, and finally Bruce's lips again.

One of his hands also glides up, and does stop at Bruce's chest, cupped around one pectoral, squeezing gently.

Maybe, if he wasn't feeling so loved up, Bruce would make a joke about Clark being a pervert. Instead, he just winds his arms around Clark, and lets him fondle away, focused on deepening their kiss.

Bruce finds himself settling into a different routine after the Chamberlock drama.

He leaves it a few weeks before going on maternity leave from W.E. again, ensuring that there is a finely crafted announcement of Rex Chamberlock leaving the company, and a minute after that, making sure the company's socials are awash in pro-equality posts, enough for people to connect the two together.

When his bump starts getting too round to be comfortable - which, regrettably, is only 24 weeks, and he feels like a whale - Bruce feels it may be time to step back from patrols, much to Clark's glee. He's been pushing for it since 21, since they found out that it's another little boy growing in Bruce's womb, and between his heavy stomach, and Clark lamenting the importance of keeping their second son safe, Bruce was hard-pressed to find the motivation to keep squeezing into the Batsuit.

So now he's back to behind-the-scenes work, this time balancing it out nicely with copious cuddles with Dickie, who is scarily teetering towards the age of 2, his birthday imminent. He'll be out of diapers soon, if his growing interest in the potty seems to be of any indication. Which, sure, will at least mean they're not doubling up on the amount of diaper duty, but is also terrifying in a way. Little baby Richard's not much of a baby any more, and he seems intent on making that obvious to Bruce, with his ever-expanding vocabulary and a growing curiosity of the world.

"Mama. Mommy."

Even the way he's graduated to using mommy makes Bruce's heart sting a little.

"I'm listening, Dickie." Bruce tilts his head towards him, half an eye still on his computer monitor, strings of text scrolling across the screen with updates from every radio station in Gotham. Clark headed out a few minutes ago, and there are no reports of any nefarious activity yet, which bodes well.

"Mommy." Dick tugs Bruce's hand, floating in the air for a few seconds. "Play?"

"You'll be going to bed soon." Bruce shakes his head, and pulls Dickie into his arms, caressing his cheek. "No playtime. I can read you a book instead."

"No! Play!" Dick wriggles in Bruce's arms, attempting to escape. But alas, Bruce is simply stronger than a toddler - he keeps Dickie close, safe and wrapped up.

"Sorry sweetheart." Bruce brushes their noses together, and pecks a kiss to Richard's forehead. "We have a schedule. In fact..."

Bruce glances at the clock in the corner of his screen. 6 p.m. on the dot.

"Bedtime starts right now."

"No..." Dick shakes his head, writhing some more.

"Yes." Bruce nods, and grunts as he stands, moving Dickie to his hip and putting one hand on his bump. Both his boys are wigglers it seems, as the baby twists around in Bruce's belly, and Dick continues his escape attempts. "Let's go see if Alfred's already drawn you a bath."

Bruce loves reading Dickie to sleep. It's one of his favourite parts of being a parent, sitting in his son's bed and showing him brightly coloured illustrations, watching Dick stare the book with attention rapt, until he gets sleepier and sleepier, head on the pillow and fluffy hair messy as he drifts off.

Once he's asleep, Bruce closes the book, and just looks at him. Absolutely perfect, with adorable little fingers clasped around his blanket. He's angelic like this, and god, how did he get so lucky?

Bruce tucks a lock of his son's hair behind his ear, Dickie snuggling further into his pillow at the touch with a quiet mumble. Really, the best part about taking a break from Batman is getting to have this, revel in this moment. And soon, he'll be 2, and there will be a newborn in the Manor again, and Clark will wrap both of their boys up in his arms, and Bruce is happy.

He will never deserve the family that he has, but fuck Bruce will treasure it forever. There's a swoosh in his belly as the baby does a flip or a twirl of some sort, and it just makes his heart feel fuller.

Sliding his hands across his bump, Bruce stands after a few more seconds of gazing at Dickie, and slinks out of his bedroom. Originally, he intends to hole back up in the Batcave, and give Clark orders over comm, but he finds himself moving towards the kitchen before he can think about it too hard.

Alfred is there, wiping up dishes.

Bruce greets him with a nod, and opens up the fridge. Now that he's thinking about it, the baby wants some ham. Lots and lots of ham.

"Snacking, Master Bruce?"

"Mm." Bruce pats his belly. "He's a hungry little thing."

"Growing big and strong, I imagine." Alfred hums. "I recall you having more of a sweet tooth when you had Master Richard on the way."

"This one prefers umami." Bruce chops himself some slices of roasted ham, eating one before cutting some more. "Perhaps with the next few, I'll cover sour, bitter and salty."

There's a pause, and Bruce registers what he's said. That's three more pregnancies. Three more babies.

... He doesn't hate the idea.

"I think it would do you good, having a big family." Alfred hums. "Although I'm not quite as sure how you plan on keeping up with your nightly duties if you keep finding yourself pregnant."

"I could do it." Bruce says, hackles raising. The need to defend himself stirs in his chest, to destroy the implication that having more babies would get in the way of being Batman. "I'd separate them out. Maybe one every other year."

Alfred raises a brow. "Does Master Clark know about this plan?"

"... He'll be fine with it." Bruce pauses. He and Clark haven't actually talked about the size of their family, beyond Bruce vaguely requesting multiple children. But they're probably on the same page, right? Clark's got his pregnancy kink, after all, he shouldn't have any objections about that, and he is a wonderful father, he'd love having a gaggle of children.

Alfred clears his throat. "Perhaps, Master Bruce, that's a conversation you should be having sooner rather than later."

Bruce nods, as the reality of it sets it. He wants more babies after this. At least one, preferably at least five children total, but Clark's never indicated a number. Before Bruce asked to try for their second, there was no indication at all of Clark wanting another baby. And fuck, it's not like he actively wanted Dickie either...

Holy shit, what if Clark actually hates being a dad? And he likes to volunteer for Batman duties in Bruce's stead so he can escape from their family life.

Logically, Bruce knows that's not true. He knows Clark adores their sons, knows just how much pride his husband takes in fatherhood. But unfortunately for him, logic is no match for paranoid baby brain.

The moment Clark gets home from patrol, Bruce is ready to present his 58 slide PowerPoint presentation on Why We Should Have At Least 5 Babies, filled with quality points such as Our Babies Are Cute and I Want Them. It's a little rushed, Bruce has barely used any slide transitions, let alone selected the right fonts, but it will have to do.

He checks through his note cards as Clark, already out of the Batsuit, floats into their bedroom, a confused look at the projector as he does.

"Movie night?"

"I have a seminar prepared." Bruce pauses. "How was patrol?"

"Not bad. Had a tussle with Killer Croc, and a few minor thugs, all apprehended." Clark takes a seat on the bed, and folds his hands in his lap. "A seminar? Tips on how to be a good Batman, I'm assuming. Lay it on me, babe, I'm about to be your star student."

"No." Bruce shakes his head, and puts a hand on his bump as he clicks onto the first slide, Why We Should Have At Least 5 Babies appearing in bold, with a subtitle of A Preliminary Discussion To Align Our Opinions On Family Planning appearing beneath it. "Your performance as Batman is acceptable. Although, maybe a presentation would be best, to ensure that you're-"

Clark snorts. "Babe."

"Mm?"

"Are you really about to show me a PowerPoint to ask me how many kids I want?"

Bruce folds his arms at the inane question. "No. I'm showing you a PowerPoint to tell you how many kids you should want. You can have some time afterwards to prepare a rebuttal, but my arguments are very thorough, and I think you'll have trouble addressing any of them."

He clicks onto slide two, a timeline with four dates highlighted, and a graph charting smiles per hour. "Happiness is a difficult thing to measure, so I have taken the liberty of using the average number of smiles per hour per day as our metric, which I've taken from security camera footage from the Watchtower, the Planet, the Manor, and Wayne Tower. Now, as you can see, on my line, I was averaging about 3-5 prior to conceiving Dickie. For you, it varied from 15 to 30 dependent on location and who you were speaking to. Here, which is the date of Dickie's first ultrasound, you'll notice an uptick in both -"

"Bruce."

Bruce frowns at the interruption, and lowers his pointer as he scowls at Clark. "What?"

"Ask me how many babies I want."

Bruce feels his face heat at the cavalier smile on Clark's face, a sinking in his chest as he considers the possibility that he may have been wasting his time with this, if Clark already has a set number of children he'd like. "I really think you should hear all of my points before you decide on a number."

Clark smiles wider, and stands. He takes the pointer out of Bruce's hand, entwining their fingers instead. He bumps their foreheads together.

"Ask me, B."

"... How many children do you want?" Bruce swallows thickly, unwilling to be forced to stand there and take the inevitable embarrassment of Clark derailing his presentation.

Clark presses his lips to Bruce's temple, and in one swift motion, picks him up, Bruce wrapping his legs around Clark's waist in order to stay comfortable. He grunts at the movement, but winds his arms around Clark's neck, the baby bump sandwiched between them and blocking him from being able to lean forward and hide his face in shame.

"My Bruce." Clark says softly. "You're always so dramatic about everything."

"I am not dramatic." Bruce huffs. "I made a very logical lecture for you, and you are being rude and interrupting it."

"That's very true." Clark runs one of his hands up and down Bruce's back, and he drifts over to the bed, setting Bruce down on it. "But for good reason! You don't need to convince me on however many babies you want."

"How many babies we should objectively have." Bruce corrects the phrasing.

"Right, yeah." Clark smiles again, and he pushes Bruce so that he's laying down. "Because I want as many babies as you'll give us."

Bruce narrows his eyes. "That's vague."

"But it's true." Clark looms over him, and the look in his eyes is so adoring, Bruce can barely stand it. "If you say you want five babies, then I want five babies."

"So you'll just keep changing your mind?" Bruce frowns. "You're happy regardless of how many we have."

"Yes." Clark nods, and presses his lips to Bruce's for a few seconds. "You wanna stop at two, I'm happy, because you've grown two perfect little boys. But you tell me you want another one, hell yes I want another one! As long as you want to keep making them, I'll want them, every single one, promise. No matter what. If we have five kids, and then a few years later you change your mind, you wanna try for six or seven, ten, twenty, whatever - you bet I'll want 'em. I love you, I love Dickie, and I love this little boy so much too, I'm putty for all of you. Seriously B, you could tell me to knock you up a thousand times over, and I wouldn't even hesitate."

Bruce bites the inside of his cheek, fighting the urge to bury himself in Clark's shoulder. "But just because you're okay with it, that doesn't mean you want them. I want you to want our babies."

"Bruce, honey." Clark chuckles, and his fingers trail down to Bruce's bump. "I promise, I want our babies. Every single one of them, even the ones we haven't made yet. You tell me you're pregnant, or you want to try for another one, and I am the happiest man in the universe. But Rao, B, we haven't even had Baby Boy 2 yet! Poor little guy, he needs at least a few weeks of being our youngest, or he'll develop a complex."

"Mm." Bruce clicks his tongue.

"I promise." Clark kisses Bruce's neck, hand on his belly. "We'll have five kids."

And when he says it so firmly, Bruce can't help but believe him.

"Woah, Spooky, should you be here?"

Bruce ignores Hal's exclamation as he approaches the table, Clark darting ahead and pulling a chair out for him. He sits with a grunt, one hand cupping beneath his 26 week bump, and only then does he send Hal a glare.

"It's a League meeting. Why would I not be here?"

"Because you look like you're about to burst." Arthur says through a mouthful of chips.

Bruce rolls his eyes, and sits back. "I'm fine."

Clark's hand is on Bruce's thigh, and he squeezes it a little. "Don't worry, B's not popping yet. My son is not being born in the Watchtower."

"It's a boy?" Shayera pipes up, wings flapping a little.

Bruce nods curtly, and takes a deep breath as he feels said baby boy push a tiny hand or foot against him, near his diaphragm. Clark glances at him, and place his own palm on the bump, rubbing a small circle on his skin. Almost instantly, the baby stops wriggling into Bruce, and starts towards the touch. The ease of pressure is immediate, Bruce sighs contentedly.

"We ready to start?" Clark asks, a not-so-subtle attempt to draw attention away from Bruce. Regardless of the clumsiness, Bruce appreciates the thought. "Great. Diana, I believe you wanted to begin proceedings this time?"

"I did." Diana smiles, and her eyes are on Bruce, and oh god, he can already see where this is going. He should have been more suspicious of a League meeting he didn't arrange. "And you'll have to accept my apologies, but I may have been... less than truthful with what my intentions are. So let me be the first of the League to say - Welcome to your baby shower!"

And suddenly banners and balloons appear, Barry presumably using his superspeed to get them up, as Ray lets a party popper off and Ollie's familiar party playlist starts blasting through the speakers that are meant to be used for comms purposes.

Bruce folds his arms, and looks at Clark. "Did you know?"

"No!" Clark is beaming. "But this is great! You guys!"

Of course he's happy. Bruce glowers to himself, and his mind scrambles for excuses to escape the revelry he is sure to suffer.

Arthur pulls out a small present from nowhere. It looks suspiciously trident shaped. Bright green fills the room as Hal conjures more balloons, much to Barry's obvious disgruntlement.

"We're gonna play games." Dinah declares loudly, and jabs a finger in Bruce's direction. "You're going to love it."

"Torturing somebody pregnant is going to get you sent to hell." Bruce grunts back, and he pinches his brow as Clark stands, stupid smile on his face. He squeezes Bruce's shoulder.

"Don't pretend you're grumpy. Deep down you love this."

"No I don't." Bruce clicks his tongue, and watches J'onn set a box on the table - unwrapped, with a big blue ribbon stuck to the packaging instead. It must be designed to humiliate him, with NEW STYLISH BREAST PUMP written in large purple font on the front and back. It's not like they even need a new breast pump, Bruce still has the one he used with Dickie. But to be fair, this one does look a lot nicer, plastic dark black rather than the ugly translucent white of his original. And it looks a little more comfortable for the user, based on the design at least.

Fine. A good present, that Bruce might use in a few months, because no way will anyone be able to stop him from nursing this little baby to his chest for at least half a year.

Ollie starts playing some stupid song overusing the word baby, and Shayera begins to list all the games Bruce is going to be forced to play.

He sighs. This is going to be the longest meeting of his life.

Sometime between playing pin the cape on the baby and will these old wife's tales accurately guess the sex, Bruce has moved into Clark's lap, and he's tired.

It's been nice, really, the Leagues' joy over their second baby boy, and maybe deep down it makes Bruce feel less insecure about his place on the roster, but he is also quite heavily pregnant, with a very wriggly baby, and he just wants to lie down and cuddle with Dickie while Clark massages his back.

Two hours is plenty enough time to linger at a party thrown in his honour.

Before he can make an excuse, Barry thrusts a whiteboard and pen in his hands.

"When I was on google.com, I thought this game looked suitably detective-like." Diana announces. "We're going to ask questions to guess the baby name, and you can only answer with yes or no. But! Write it on the board first, no cheating."

Bruce twists to glance at Clark, his husband's hand going to his middle.

Baby Boy does not have a name yet.

Bruce barely knew what he wanted to call Dickie until he'd gotten to hold him. Richard had been high on his mental list, but until he got to look at his precious face, there hadn't been a main contender.

Clark rubs Bruce's bump as he looks to the League. "Uh. We haven't settled on a name. We've still got like, 3 months!"

"Boo." Dinah mimes throwing tomatoes at them. "My mom named me before I was even conceived."

"Well when did Dick get a name?" Ray hums. "We could just throw a second party to play this game."

Bruce does not want a second party at all. He scowls at the idea.

"Dickie didn't have a name until he was born." Clark hums, and cradles Bruce's belly some more, touches a little more ardent. "He was just Baby. This one's Baby too. I don't even have a list."

Bruce bristles. "You don't?"

It's the most bizarre thing he's ever heard. Bruce has several lists of baby names, categorised by letter count, syllables, consonant to vowel ratios, each ranked from most to least appealing and further divided by gendered or unisex. It is ridiculous that Clark doesn't even have a shitty list that's not sorted.

"Uh, no." Clark rests his chin on Bruce's shoulder. "I mean, there are names I like, sure, but... It doesn't feel fair for me to name them, when you do all the work."

The indignation Bruce feels is then tinged by guilt.

"Do you not like Richard?"

"What? Babe, Richard is perfect for him, don't be silly. He's been a Dickie since he took his first breath." Clark kisses Bruce's cheek. "I want you to name all our babies."

"Jesus, how many are you planning on having?" Hal's question is stupid, so Bruce ignores it. In fact, he'd rather play this stupid game instead.

He looks at the whiteboard, and uncaps the pen.

UNDECIDED

Clark snorts as he reads it.

"So silly." He whispers in Bruce's ear.

The real fun begins when most of the League give up on trying to guess naming themes or letter counts, and just start throwing random names at them.

"Bartholomew?" Barry winces as he says it, like he knows it's a bad guess.

"Apollo!" All of Diana's guesses have been steeped in Greek mythos.

"Ryan." Ray's attempts have been the most consistently 'normal' names.

"Sharticus." On the other hand, Ollie has not been taking this seriously at all.

Dinah is also playing incorrectly, because she just keeps shouting out letters.

"Arthur." Arthur guesses, for the fifth time.

"You're all not very good at this." J'onn isn't playing, due to his significant telepathic advantage, and his smirk tells Bruce that he knows exactly what's written down.

"Does it end with an 'uh' sound?" Shayera's the only member of the League who is still sticking to the original rules.

Hal opens his mouth to speak. So far, he's just been attempting names that sound similar (and not-so-similar) to 'Hal'. "Okay, fine, we'll swap to Jordan... Jason?"

Bruce is ready to give him a flat no, but is cut off by a strong thump in his middle. The baby's been getting rowdier throughout the 'game', and it seems this is his tipping point, as he kicks out against Bruce.

Clark's hand stills. And Bruce can see how very badly this has gone for him.

If Clark thinks for one second that Bruce is going to allow their son to be named by Hal Jordan-

"Babe!" His voice is giddy, and he puts both of his hands on Bruce's bump. "Was that..?"

"Yes." Bruce grunts. For fuck's sake. Based on the shininess of Clark's eyes, his heart is now set on a baby name. Maybe Bruce should throw his earlier statement about doing all the work in his face.

He cannot have a baby named by Hal.

"What? What's up?" Barry sits upright. "Is the baby coming?"

Bruce frowns at him. "No. Too early for that. He kicked, that's all."

"Jason!" Clark lifts Bruce off of his lap just to plonk him back on the seat, dropping on his knees as he presses his lips to the bump. Regretfully, the baby kicks again. "Is that you? Is that your name?"

"Wait, I was right?" Hal sits up, jaw slack. "Do I win something?"

"No." Bruce folds his arms as Clark continues cooing. He flips the whiteboard around, UNDECIDED on full show. "He doesn't have a name."

While most of the team grumbles about being duped, Hal grins ear to ear, not helped by Clark's continued affection to Bruce's swollen stomach.

"Baby Jason! Is that you? That can be you. Oh, mommy and daddy love you so much, little Jay, if you want to be named Jason, you can be. We'll give you anything you want. Jason! That's you, that's you, my lovely baby boy."

The baby continues to react with flurries of movement. Bruce is going to throw himself into space. Hal looks deranged with joy.

"Ohh. Oh my god." He cackles. "Did I just name your baby?"

"Absolutely not." Bruce tuts.

"Yes." Clark undermines him with glittery eyes, looking up at Bruce. "Babe. C'mon, you felt it! He likes it, he wants to be called Jason. Our Jay-Jay. Rao, he's going crazy in there, he wants to be Jason."

It's punctuated by another kick.

"Holy shit, I named your baby." Hal says gleefully.

This is the worst day of Bruce's life. He should have stayed home. He is never attending a Justice League meeting ever again, in fact he is quitting. He is quitting everything, and he is going to spend the rest of his life hiding on a farm.

"You did not." Bruce's retort is weakened by how half-hearted it is. The baby is wiggling a lot, he hasn't reacted like that to any of the other names. Maybe if he can coax a similar reaction to another name. Yes, that might be it. The kicking isn't linked to the names at all. "It's a coincidence. Look. Damian."

As if the universe is playing a cosmic joke on him, the baby stills.

Clark pouts. "... Jason?"

Another kick.

Bruce buries his face in his hands. Fuck.

Hal fucking Jordan has named his baby.

While Bruce has spent 3 weeks in denial about this, Clark has not helped at all.

When he talks to the bump, he calls the baby Jason or Jay-Jay or Jai-El. To the point that Dickie has picked up on it.

"Jay-suh." His eyes are wide as he pats Bruce's bump. "Baby Jay-suh."

And yes, fine, it sounds adorable coming out of Dickie's mouth, and maybe Jason was one of the top 50 names on Bruce's main list, but the agony of knowing that his and Clark's second son was named by the worst Green Lantern... How will Bruce live with himself?

"Yes!" Clark coos, running his fingers through Dickie's hair. "That's your baby brother, Jason! He'll be here soon, then you can meet him properly. Your birthday, then mommy's birthday, then my birthday, then Jason's."

The baby kicks. He's been a lot more active since being unofficially named. If Bruce were not deeply aware of how insane it is to think an unborn baby is even capable of an opinion, he'd say that it seems  Jason  the baby likes the name.

Dick slips off of Bruce's lap to toddle to the other side of his bedroom, tiny hands rummaging in his toy box. Clark's arm tightens around Bruce's waist, pecking a kiss to his cheek.

"He's gonna be such a good big brother."

"Stop telling him the baby is called Jason."

"Fine. What is the baby called?" Clark grins mischievously, which is warranted, because Bruce still doesn't have any finalised picks. The constant usage of Jason isn't helping.

"... Todd." Bruce grunts, the first name that springs to mind - stupid, considering he does not even like that name.

Clark hums, and looks at Bruce's bump. "We got a lil Todd in there?"

Bruce feels a wriggle, but based on the lack of response from Clark, not one strong enough for him to feel too.

Dickie stops going through his toy box, and stands upright, a chunky plastic car in his hands. It looks nothing like a real car, the wheel proportions are all off, and Bruce needs to invest in more accurate toys for his children, because there is no way the physics of that car would work in real life. His babies might be sad, if they realise that their toys have lied to them about the measurements of vehicles. He makes a mental note as Dickie sits on the floor and starts driving the terrible excuse for a car around with his hand.

"We can name him Todd, if you want to." Clark mumbles, cradling Bruce's bump gently. "I mean it. You're carrying him, you deserve to give him a name you love. If you don't like Jason-"

"I don't not like Jason." Bruce purses his lips. "It's a good name. A strong name. We just need to back in time and stop Hal from saying it. I should build a time machine."

"B, I can't help but feel like a time machine would give off insane amounts of radiation. You're not even allowed to have x-rays right now, let alone big cosmic radiation."

Bruce replies with a grunt, because Clark is right, and he hates it when Clark is right about not letting him do things.

"It's not terrible that Hal suggested the name."

"Yes it is." Bruce sighs, and pinches his brow. "He's going to say stupid shit about being the best uncle - your fault, for telling the League they can be aunts and uncles, by the way - and he'll be smarmy, and I cannot have Hal Jordan naming my baby."

"Technically he didn't name the baby. The baby named himself. Little Jace, he's picked his own name."

And fine, maybe Bruce feels a little better about it if he thinks about it that way. But still.

"Mm." Bruce brushes his knuckles against Clark's. "It's not set in stone. I get final say. You can temporarily call him Jason."

It is only delaying the inevitable, Bruce knows. The more Clark talks to their baby, the more Richard copies him, the baby is going to get more and more stuck with the name Jason.

Dickie stands again, badly-designed toy car still in hand, and he floats back onto the couch, sitting on Clark's lap this time, raising the toy aloft proudly.

"I love your car!" Clark plays along. "What a great colour. What colour is that, Dickie?"

"Gree'!"

Clever boy. Bruce's son is the most intelligent child in the entire world. He probably knows the toy is pathetically inaccurate, and has decided to love it despite the flaws. Yes, Richard is both the smartest and most empathetic nearly-2 year old to ever grace the planet.

"Yes, that's right." Bruce cups Dickie's cheek. "Very good, mister. So smart!"

Dickie beams at him, and then starts driving the car across Clark's arm. Intriguing, a car with wheels that magnetise to a wall. Bruce should write that down.

"Uh oh, there's a ramp!" Clark gasps dramatically, straightening his hand upwards as Dickie drives his toy up it. The car is 'flying' in the air for about three seconds longer than it should be, and then it lands on Bruce's belly.

"Big hi'h." Dick mumbles, and Bruce might be offended with someone else calling his bump a big anything, let alone a hill, but he cannot find it in himself to feel anything but fond as Dickie uses his growing baby brother to play.

Clark laughs softly, and stands two of his fingers on their tips to 'walk' up Bruce's belly, beginning his role as Pedestrian Getting Hit By A Car Over And Over Again.

Below the bump, Bruce feels  Jason  the baby wiggle around, like he's playing too.

He's 31 weeks pregnant on Dickie's birthday, and regretfully, it limits how much he can do.

As he sits back on the park bench, watching Clark chase their happily squealing baby boy around trees, Bruce can't help but feel a little rueful that his pregnancy means he's unable to run around with them. His belly makes all movement difficult now, let alone playtime, and he tries not to be too jealous that Clark gets to have all the fun.

Dick trips over, and Clark's arms are around him instantly, swooping him up and sitting him on his shoulders. Dickie beams, and puts his fists in Clark's hair, giggling as each tug elicits a swing of an arm or a leg, like he's piloting a mech-version of his father. Bruce cradles his belly, smiling at the adoration in Clark's eyes with every one of Dickie's loud laughs.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Martha Kent approach. Bruce tenses despite himself - he knows that his mother-in-law doesn't hate him, and Bruce likes her plenty, but it doesn't do anything to counteract the dread that wells in his chest whenever they speak. He's not good with parents, and it's even worse with Clark's mother and father. They love deeply, and it shows in their every action, shows in the man they raised Clark to be, and Bruce hasn't earned that love, but they give it to him anyway.

It's... frightening.

But Bruce would have to be world's biggest asshole to not invite them to their grandson's 2nd birthday, just because of his own sense of inadequacy, so here they are. Bruce has just been lucky enough to not catch any one-on-one time with them; regretfully, it seems they've noticed.

"A lovely park." Martha says quietly as she sits beside Bruce.

"It is." Immediately, Bruce thinks about the way he's sitting, his facial expression, whether he's meant to move closer or stay where he is. Anything to be better, to be the man worthy for her son.

"I saw the memorial sign."

Bruce swallows a lump in his throat as she places her hand over his. One of many parks in Gotham dedicated to his parents. There's a plaque with their names on it near the entrance, and if Bruce is feeling sentimental enough, he can pretend that taking Dickie here is almost the same as them knowing him.

Almost the same as Dickie knowing his grandparents, knowing that if they were here, they'd love him a thousand times over.

"Mm." Bruce replies with a hum instead of any of his internal dialogue.

"They'd be very proud of you, you know." Martha's soft voice continues. "I hope you know that. Seeing your son thrive as a parent is incredible. I'm not even your... And I truly think you're doing an incredible job. When you were pregnant with Richard, despite the shock, and then wanting another one? Clark is very lucky to be raising his children with you."

Bruce does not tear up. And if he does, it's related to his hormones, no other reason.

He nods curtly, biting his lip so it doesn't wobble against his will, and Martha stays beside him until it's time for cake.

Bruce is beginning to consider that Kryptonian gestation periods are marginally shorter than a human's.

It's his final League meeting to establish timescales for his return post-partum, and it's meant to be calm and uneventful, in spite of Hal's near-constant bragging about being the one to name their baby. Bruce has prepared training schedules for the next half-a-year, several protocols to follow in the event of a cataclysmic event, with summoning Batman only if needs must, and outlining Clark's gradual return to duties over the course of three months after the baby is born.

It's supposed to be nothing more than handouts, presentation, agreements on a shift of heroes to keep an eye on Gotham, maybe some pleasantries if they are forced upon him, and then Bruce can go home, and spend the next six weeks resting while  Jason  the baby finishes cooking.

That's the plan.

He does not account for the tell-tale knots of pain climbing up his spine as he and Clark zeta to the Watchtower. He'd had some cramping earlier in the day, but dismissed it as not quite painful enough to be anything more than false contractions. He would really prefer to carry this baby the whole 40 weeks, rather than just 33, so maybe he'd been in a little bit of denial too.

But no. He slows his walking speed a little, doing his best to not have his heartrate spike and alert Clark to the inevitable truth that Bruce is going into early labour.

Last time, he'd been terrified, and cried out for Clark without thinking, because the plan had been to have a caesarean, and Bruce had not even considered that he'd have a birth canal. He'd alerted people too early, spent hours labouring in a medical gown when he could have been finalising patrol routes to give to the League, or telling Lucius Fox not to let any products be released by assholes with masculinity issues.

He has learnt his lesson. This time, Bruce will keep it quiet for a little while, make sure Clark doesn't get too stressed, and once he has given the League a thorough handover, only then will he get ready to deliver his baby.

"You okay?" Clark's hand rests on Bruce's back as he slows. "Everything alright? Jace okay?"

Bruce shoves the pain down, and keeps walking. "All fine. Just a big kick."

He successfully speaks normally, and not through gritted teeth.

"Alright. Just - I can run through the plans, if you need to go home and rest. Promise, I've got all your points memorised."

"'S fine." Bruce cradles his belly as the pang of pain eases. "We're fine."

He moves to the meeting room as fast as he can - his speed is deeply impacted by his large bump, but he tries - and grunts in response to people's greetings as he passes. The original idea was to stand as he presents, but he'll have to alter to staying seated, in case he has to fight to resist the urge to double over.

As he sits, one palm rubbing circles on his stomach, Bruce considers the possible issues that may arise. Number one, the biggest one, is Clark catching on.

He will be grumpy, with Bruce not telling him about  Jason  their baby's impending arrival, but he'll stop the meeting if he finds out now, which can't happen, because Gotham needs thoroughly-informed protectors. And he can't be mad forever, because Bruce is having his baby, Clark will be too smitten to even remember what he's meant to be huffy about.

Unfortunately, Clark's long list of powers includes both x-ray vision and supersenses. Too many stutters of Bruce's heartbeat, or (god forbid) he takes a peek beneath Bruce's skin to look at their son, the jig will be up. So Bruce has to concentrate on keeping his pulse as steady as a rock, and not make any almost-silent noises, like grinding his teeth or taking sharp breaths. He can do that. He has to, for Gotham.

The other potential problems require nowhere near as much control. His waters are unlikely to break until well after the meeting, it took hours last time, and it's also improbable that any of the League will figure out something's up before Clark does. It will all be okay.

It is not all okay.

Bruce forgot how much it hurts.

It hurts, it hurts more than anything, his insides are on fire, his muscles are going to tear apart, and deciding last-minute for Clark to do all the talking was a good choice. This way, he's kept busy making sure everyone understands their schedules, while Bruce can just concentrate on not sobbing in agony.

Fuck. He's stupid, he's an idiot, he should have told Clark the moment he realised he'd gone into labour, there is nothing Bruce wants more right now than strong arms wrapped around him, he needs kisses of support and he is desperate for gentle whispers in his ear, counting the seconds of each contraction, telling Bruce he's doing so well and affirming over and over again that he can do this, that Bruce can do this, he is not going to break or split in half.

But he can't. Bruce sits at the Justice League table instead, not listening to a word anyone is saying, too busy breathing and trying to keep his heartrate from spiking, his lip bitten raw from the amount of times he's had to clamp down to stop himself from screaming.

The pain burns and twists, like it wants nothing more than for Bruce to give in, and fuck, fuck, fuck, was it this awful with Dickie? It can't have been, why would Bruce ever agree to do this again, what the hell is wrong with him?

"- So obviously I'll still be active until Jay-Jay arrives..." Clark is saying, and one of his hands is moving to Bruce's, a classic absent-minded Clark move that Bruce should have been prepared for. He can't jerk his hand away, because then his husband will definitely be worried and alert, so Bruce has no choice but to take it, and entwine their fingers.

This adds an extra layer of stress to Bruce's temporary deception. It coincides with the end of a contraction, so he can at least think (mostly) clearly for a bit. It's a primal urge to squeeze something when in pain, and Bruce has indeed had his fists balled, which has had a side effect of helping regulate his heartbeat. Now, unless he wants to grip Clark's hand so tightly that it raises alarm bells, Bruce is limited to just one hand. If he was in a situation that wasn't labour, this might be a fun challenge.

But alas. Yet one more thing to think about.

The time between contractions has been at around 7 minutes apart for a while, so that's 7 minutes of planning to account for this new obstacle.

 Jason  The baby does not want to give him 7 minutes. Bruce only gets about 5, which... He's not totally sure what a further 2 would have really done for him, if he's honest with himself.

As his muscles tense again, and the baby gets lower, and Bruce is going to actually die. His pelvis is trying to claw its way out of his skin, and Bruce is inclined to let it, just to end this, just to make the aching stop. No more pain, no more, Bruce would take thousands and thousands of gunshots in favour of what his own body is doing to him.

He can't help it. And a bit of him just wants the ploy to end. Bruce clenches his jaw, and clutches Clark's hand so tightly that it would bruise if he were human.

Clark immediately stops halfway through whatever he's saying, focus entirely shifting to Bruce.

"B? What - Are you okay?"

"Hngh." Bruce doesn't trust himself to speak, if he opens his mouth, it will be something between a scream and a sob.

Clark's eyes widen, and he stands. Bruce half-heartedly attempts to get him to sit back down, gesturing through a tightly-clenched jaw at the schedules. Obviously, Clark doesn't listen, one hand locked in Bruce's grip, the other cupping his cheek. For a moment, there's a glazed look on his face, as he presumably checks on their son, and whatever else may be the tell-tale signs of labour in Bruce's body.

He frowns. "How long - No. Don't answer that. Just... It's okay. It's okay."

"Uh. What's happening?" Ollie asks.

Bruce can feel his control slipping. He wants to bury his face in Clark's chest, cry, and not let go until the excruciating ache is all gone.

"Bruce is in labour." Clark mumbles, not breaking eye contact with Bruce. "I - You guys can read, the plans are all - I'll fill in any gaps, I... Oh, baby."

His voice goes soft as Bruce can't help the groan that escapes his lips as he leans forwards, a sharp surge in anguish. This baby is going to kill him.

Clark lifts him with ease, and Bruce does not have the energy to spare on embarrassment that the League are seeing him like this, weak and vulnerable and pathetic in his husband's arms. The defences are breached, and Bruce lets out another strangled moan.

"I'm here, I've got you. We're going back home, I'll get Alfred to call Dr Thompkins, it's all gonna be okay. Baby boy will be here, it's all gonna be nice and easy, will all be over soon. Promise." He's walking out the room, ignoring the excited shouts of the League, and Bruce grasps him, nails digging into broad shoulders as the pain crescendos.

When he's not half-lucid from labour, Bruce is sure he will have to work extremely hard to threaten everyone into never bringing this up again. He takes a deep breath as the contraction ebbs, just as Clark takes him through the zeta.

"I'm going to be mad at you later." Clark mumbles after Leslie confirms she's on her way. Dickie's in the Manor with Alfred while Bruce settles into the Batcave's medbay, helped out of his clothes and into a gown by his husband.

"I know." Bruce mumbles, and feels his face heat. "I just - I need Gotham to be-"

"Later." Clark says again, firm. He softens again almost immediately, kissing Bruce on the cheek with his palm pressed to the belly, now sitting lower than it was this morning. "My love. Happening a lot faster this time, hm? I hope you won't need to go through this too long. I love you. I can't believe how much you go through to make us a family. So brave. So strong."

Bruce is tired already. Too tired to pretend Clark's words don't mean the whole world to him. He rests his forehead on Clark's shoulder. "Love you."

"Rao, Bruce, I adore you." Clark rubs his hand up and down Bruce's back. "When did they start? How far apart are they?"

"Think I felt my first few this morning, at breakfast. Didn't seem like much at the time. Realised what it was when we got the Watchtower. Between 5 and 7 minutes apart now."

"Fucking hell, you should've told me, I -" Clark takes a deep breath. "Okay. Alright. You're... you're okay. I've got you. Whatever you need, I'll get it for you, okay? Ice chips? Blankets? Heat pads?"

"You." Bruce mumbles, face heating at how stupid it is to say that. Ice chips are a thousand times more practical, but god, as long as Clark keeps holding him, he's going to be okay. "How long is Leslie going to take?"

Clark's arms wrap a little tighter around him. "Maybe 25 minutes, I think."

Bruce suppresses the urge to complain. It is his own fault she wasn't called earlier.

Clark runs his fingers through Bruce's hair, and entwines their fingers again. "You squeeze me as hard as you need, okay?"

"Mhm." Bruce has long-since abandoned trying to control his heartbeat, and his chest feels like it's about to thump right out of him. "Are - Are we ready?"

"What?" Clark smiles wryly. "Babe, now is not the time to be having second thoughts."

"No, no. I mean - We have everything? Clothes, diapers, toys?"

"Bruce. You know as well as I do that you have a highly detailed inventory of every single baby item we have."

And yes, Bruce does know that. But his brain is scrambling to find excuses to just stop being in labour. It can come back later, when it's meant to.

"I'm starting to think that Kryptonian pregnancies don't last to 40 weeks." Clark says, and one hand rubs the small of Bruce's back. "If our third baby doesn't make it past 34 weeks either, I reckon that's enough evidence."

"We are not having a third one." Bruce grunts. He was foolish to even suggest a second. He is never going through labour ever, ever again. "'M not not doing this again."

"Okay." Clark nods. "That's understandable. Two is a good number."

Bruce considers his very good PowerPoint about having five children. He does want an extra three. Maybe he will just have to deal with it and-

Another contraction starts up. No, no, no. Nevermind. No more babies, ever. He'd be an idiot to go through this again.

Although it is a little easier, with Clark whispering sweet nothings and holding his hand.

"Okay, Bruce. I think you're ready to start pushing." Leslie announces, just over an hour after she arrived.

Bruce inhales shakily at that, and Clark takes up position, sitting behind Bruce and manually spreading his legs.

"Nearly there. Nearly done, sweetheart. Just a bit more." Clark mumbles in his ear, and Bruce's throat is raw, his eyes hurt from how much he's cried, but god, he's nearly here, their second son.

With great effort, as his next contraction starts up, Bruce pushes.

And pushes.

And pushes.

It's straining, and forceful, the hardest thing he has ever done, more agonising than any of the last few hours put together, but he pushes.

"So good." Clark mumbles, in the brief spaces between each heave. "You're incredible. Doing so well, B. He's nearly here, any minute now, just a little longer to go. You're doing amazing."

Bruce, for his part, just cries and pushes and screams and pushes and sobs and pushes some more.

And then finally, finally, stretched beyond his limit and every fibre of his body aching...

A high-pitched wail. Bruce cries harder as he hears it, the relief it brings, and he reaches out, beautiful baby boy placed in his arms.

"Looks very healthy." Leslie says, and Clark sounds like he's crying too, the umbilical cord is cut, but Bruce doesn't care to observe, all of his attention taken up by his son. His scrunched red face and balled fists, bits of placenta and amniotic fluid all over him, skin blotchy and wispy hair stuck to his head.

He's just as perfect as his brother.

"Jason." Bruce chokes out as he caresses his writhing little boy's cheek. "My Jay-Jay."

And god, it fits, the name fits him so well, and Bruce is too enthralled with the fact Jason is alive to think ruefully about who named him.

Jason's cries turn to snuffles, and Bruce just keeps cradling him, doesn't look away from his face for even a moment. From the corner of his eye, he can see Clark has reached over and has one of his fingers trapped in a tiny baby fist. Bruce isn't sure Clark would even want Jason to let go.

"I love you." Clark whispers. "My boy, my lovely boy. I love you so much."

Bruce doesn't want to let his newborn son go, ever. But unfortunately, he needs to have health checks, and Leslie gently picks him up, taking him a few steps away. Bruce's eyes stayed glued on her. Sure, he trusts her. But that's his son. He needs to hold his son, keep his Jason safe and sound and snug.

An arm loops around him, and Clark takes one of Bruce's hands, just to press kisses to his knuckles.

"I love you, Bruce. Look at him. You made him. You made him, you - I love you so much. He's wonderful, you're wonderful, you - Our family's perfect."

"Love you too." Bruce leans into him, body tensing as Leslie injects Jason with a shot. He was similarly antsy when Dickie was having his done too, and the seconds passed just as slowly.

Oh, lovely Dickie.

In sync as always, Clark hums in Bruce's ear. "I can't wait for Dick to meet him."

"Mommy."

"Mm?"

"I want Jay-suh cuddle." Dickie pokes at Jason's tiny foot.

"Sweetie, Jason's eating. You can cuddle him after." Clark says softly, pressing a kiss to Dickie's head.

"Not eatin'. Cuddles mommy." Richard folds his arms dramatically, and Bruce smiles at the gesture. At this rate, Dickie really is going to be a mini-Bruce.

He looks to Jason, suckling at his chest. Jason's fingers are splayed against Bruce's skin as he nurses. Dickie never really did that, clutched at Bruce's chest while feeding. Clark made a stupid joke about it.

Jason Todd Wayne-Kent, Addicted To Mommy's Milk.

It was a little crass, but Bruce had chuckled anyway, the happiness from growing his family leaking into everything.

"He is eating. Jason's tummy is only full-up with milk, remember?" Clark bounces Dick on his knee.

"You can cuddle him when Jay's done, promise." Bruce mumbles, looking at him. There's a wide smile on his face at prospect of holding his baby brother, and it makes Bruce's heart pang. Dickie's only been a big brother for a week, and already he is as besotted with Jason as Bruce and Clark are.

He's such a wonderful little boy. Bruce's residual post-partum hormones have already had him crying about how much he loves Dickie, and if he thinks too hard about it, he'll be weeping once again.

After a few more minutes, Jason pulls away, milk dribbling from his lip. Dickie makes grabby hands.

"One sec." Bruce says softly. "Need to make sure it's all gone down okay. Jay-Jay, I'm just gonna pass you to daddy, daddy's good at burping babies, just moving you to daddy."

Dickie's eyes are glued to his brother as Clark takes him, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he rubs circles on his back.

"I want him." Dick grumbles, frowning.

"I know, sweetheart." Bruce puts his loose top back on, and runs his hand through Dickie's hair. "But if daddy doesn't burp him now, he might end up being sick on you."

"Ew." Dick wrinkles his nose.

"Exactly." While Clark is busy tending to Jason, Bruce lifts Dickie into his arms, holding him close and pecking his forehead. "Dickie."

"Mommy?"

"Mommy loves you." Bruce boops his nose, and Dick beams.

"Love you!"

Jason burps, spitting-up over the rag on Clark's shoulder.

"There we go, gorgeous." Clark coos, cleaning Jay-Jay's mouth. "Now. A little birdie told me that your big brother wants to give you a cuddle."

"Yes!" Dickie squeaks. "Please, daddy."

"Well, since you asked so nicely. And because daddy loves you so, so much."

Bruce gently manoeuvres Dickie's arms into a cradle, and Clark lowers Jason into them. Bruce wraps his arms around Dick's, just in case, and Jason wriggles a little.

"Jay-suh." Dickie coos. His eyes are wide. "Love you."

Bruce didn't think he'd ever hear an I love you that made him feel anything close to the way Dickie says it to him. But hearing him say that to his baby brother...

Bruce has never been more happy to be wrong.