Work Text:
Being chased by a crime boss's henchmen wasn't Clark's plan. Nor was getting poisoned by kryptonite, but that's life: it made you end up in the strangest accidents without you having any idea how or why.
Although he knew how. He wanted to help a friend. Who would have thought Two-Face was also smuggling kryptonite? An infinitesimal amount, but enough to knock him out. And now, he was dead weight to Bruce.
"Can you fly?" Bruce grunted as he dragged him away, mascara running down his face. They were both in civilian clothes. It was supposed to be just a reconnaissance mission.
Bruce had told him he could do it himself, but Clark hadn't listened.
(He felt guilty for what had happened to Gotham while he was in prison. He should have helped. Bruce had told him that a dimensional rift and genocide took precedence over a riddle-loving psychopath, but the point remained for Clark. He should have helped.)
"No," he said with difficulty, his head still feeling heavy as a brick, "I should have known something was wrong as soon as I realized the crates were made of lead. He was prepared for me!"
"Don't give yourself too much credit; a lot of things are lined in lead to evade inspection at the docks," Bruce replied, ducking into an alley. He looked out, and from the grimace he made, their pursuers must be very close.
Clark gasped, "If I could use my powers, I could get us out of here now."
"But you can't, so we'll have to improvise..." Bruce proceeded to take off his glasses, remove his tie, and mess him up. Clark let him do it, even though he didn't understand.
As he undid the top three buttons of his shirt, he asked, "Does prolonged physical contact make you uncomfortable?"
"Like, hugs?" he asked. Sometimes Bruce would use unnecessary turns of phrase over very simple matters. Further proof that he had a brain like Mr. Terrifier.
"Something more intimate... does feigning a close relationship make you uncomfortable?"
"Well, if you're talking about undercover operations, no, but I have to be notified in advance, and... it doesn't seem like the right time to talk about it, you know? If you wanted to..."
Bruce suddenly grabbed him by the collar, "That's enough for me as a response. I have your consent."
Then, he kissed Clark.
It was not just a mere brushing of lips, but a real kiss.
Bruce's grip tightened on Clark's collar, pulling him in with an urgency that was palpable in the dimly lit alley. The shadows danced around them, thrown by the flickering neon signs from the nearby buildings. The sound of the city's heartbeat grew distant as the world around them faded into a soft, muffled buzz, leaving only the two of them in a moment that was as fierce as it was tender.
Clark's eyes widened with surprise, but his body responded almost instinctively, leaning into the warmth and strength of Bruce's embrace. The roughness of Bruce's stubble against Clark's smooth jaw was a stark contrast to the gentle pressure of their lips. It was a dance of power and vulnerability. Bruce's tongue slipped past Clark's parted lips, exploring the warm cavern of his mouth with a fiery passion that seemed to have been simmering for an eternity. Clark's own tongue met his, the heat between them building into a crescendo that left them both gasping for air.
As it had begun, the kiss was interrupted. Bruce turned away from Clark, completely confused and shamefully craving blackberries, and made sure their pursuers had already passed.
"All clear," he said to the other man, "We can leave safely, and...Clark?"
Finally, the Kryptonian came to. He could still taste the other man on his lips. He looked at Bruce, whose only outward sign of what had happened were his swollen lips, and blurted out, "What was that?"
"I thought you were familiar with Earth customs. That was a kiss, and..."
"I know what a kiss is," he interrupted, blushing deeper. "Why did you do that?"
"Public displays of affection make people uncomfortable."
"What?"
"Public displays of affection make people uncomfortable and lead to misjudgments," Bruce explained very slowly, as if he were dealing with a child. "One of my teachers taught me that. Intimacy is the last thing people associate with someone who is doing something suspicious, and even criminals tend to ignore couples engaged in acts like kissing. I'm afraid it doesn't work with criminals like the Joker or Scarecrow, but..."
Clark wasn't listening anymore. His mind was looping on the part "one of my teachers taught me that." A burning jealousy made him want to find that teacher and teach him a lesson.
He knew it was wrong; Bruce was his own person and could do whatever he wanted, but he was a teenager when he'd gone through literal hell training, so the thought of a grown man (or woman) taking advantage of a seventeen or eighteen-year-old at his most vulnerable state, made him furious.
"Did I make you uncomfortable?" Bruce asked.
"What?" he said, only then coming to his senses.
Bruce repeated, "Did I make you uncomfortable? If so, I apologize; I didn't mean to. I asked you if prolonged physical contact made you uncomfortable, and from your response, I thought there was no problem."
That wasn't what Clark had understood, and a kiss certainly wasn't normal prolonged physical contact. But this wasn't the time to discuss Bruce's communication skills.
At that moment, the problem was that Clark had enjoyed the kiss, a lot, but he didn't know how to say it without sounding like a pervert.
"I'm not... uncomfortable... not exactly..."
"You refuse to look at me. Are you embarrassed?"
Hell, he was! But why did he want to kiss Bruce again, this time without the fear of being caught by some criminal, and touch him everywhere, until he asked for more, and he would give him anything, no exceptions.
"I'm not embarrassed. But... well... I..."
The words wouldn't come. Which was absurd, he was a journalist!
That's the effect Bruce had on him, and he had no idea! He had Earth's Mightiest Hero wrapped around his pinky, and he wasn't taking advantage of it!
Clark had learned that when words fail, it's time to let action speak for itself. So, he took the initiative and kissed Bruce this time, a hunger burning inside him that would have made the sun pale with its intensity.
He had to pull away because of the kryptonite-induced headache, but he wanted to continue so much it hurts.
Bruce stared at him owlishly for a solid minute. Then he said, "You didn't mind the kiss. You wanted more."
"Yeah..."
"You want me," Bruce continued, incredulous, "You want to have sex with me..."
"I'd like to take you on a date first," he insisted. Ma Kent had raised him better than that. "I don't consider this a cute first date."
"A date...with me...that implies wanting a relationship."
"I'd like to..."
"Why?"
"Why not?" Clark pressed, "You're amazing, smart, sarcastic, you're not afraid I'll destroy the world, and you like My Chemical Romance. You're a punk rocker, like me."
"We're also two people with complicated lives, and I have a lot of emotional baggage," Bruce said slowly, staring at Clark as if he were a puzzle. "I'm a rotten work, Clark."
"Not for me. You're not. And I know this is all very sudden and..."
Bruce placed his index finger on his lips. He was staring at him with almost scientific intensity, "I'll go out with you. But if it doesn't work out, don't tell me I didn't warn you."
Clark moved his hand slightly, kissing the back of it, "It will work out. Because it's us, and it's worth it."
It would have been an absolutely perfect moment if Clark hadn't suddenly puked on Bruce's shoes, but hey, life can be a huge bitch.
At least, he got the man in the end.