Chapter Text
Bruce had been teetering on the edge of an anxiety attack since he’d woken up. The only thing keeping him grounded was his gauntlet computer and its access to the cave’s network. Without research to distract him, he would have long since gone stir crazy in the icy alien fortress.
It wasn't as if he was trapped. Clark may be gone at the moment, but he was perfectly capable of calling his jet and flying himself out. If he was being honest with himself, Bruce was still avoiding going home. What Clark had done was only temporary. The problem was still there and it was only a matter of days until he was pushed back to his limit.
Returning to Gotham as ticking time bomb was unacceptable. How was anyone supposed to rely on him when he couldn't even take care of himself? Bruce needed a plan to make up for endangering Tim, to guarantee his control would never slip again. Hollow words and apologies weren’t enough- he needed to be sure. Maybe then the ugly, twisting mass of shame and fear in his gut would ease.
At the very least he needed to be able to tell his team and the League whether this could be reversed or not. They deserved that much.
All Bruce could do for now was wait and see if any leads on a cure panned out. When it came to magically-inclined issues he had precious few people he could call on for information. Zatanna and Jason Blood had come up empty. Constantine was poking around in the more unsavory corners of the magical underworld, though to be honest, Bruce’s confidence in him wasn’t overwhelming. But he had no choice but to rely on the man. After all, outside of the creatures themselves, those with the most information on vampires tended to be vampire hunters. Batman or no he couldn’t exactly approach them as he was now.
His only option was to hide out here with his communicator muted and tracking beacon disabled, doing what little research he could.
A photocopy of an eighteenth-century lithograph was displayed on the dusty monitors Bruce had dug out of Clark’s storage. He had been re-reading the same paragraph describing a child-killing monster with red eyes for ten minutes. There was no telling if it was an account of the thing he was now, or if it was even true at all.
His main problem was volume. The sheer amount of lore surrounding vampires obscured what was real and what was myth. In Bruce's experience, unreliable information was often worse than none at all.
Still he searched, because it was the only thing he could do. Bruce was getting desperate and he knew it, scraping the bottom of the barrel for anything he could get his hands on. This tome was just a scan from a library’s archive. It wasn’t even behind a paywall for Christ’s sake. Bruce’s chest tightened. He needed information, something conclusive and actionable, he needed-
He needed to breathe. This was not the time to allow himself to be overwhelmed by all his recent failings.
The memory of the other night still haunted him, when Batman almost killed that man on the street. The fear in Tim’s voice when he screamed at him to stop- his own son had been afraid of him. In an instant Bruce’s traitorous mind had calculated weak points and offensive tactics against Tim. His stomach churned at the very thought.
What had he been thinking, going out in his condition?
Everyone had known something was wrong even before Bruce ran away to the bunker. Dick had straight out asked him what the problem was. Alfred and Barbara both were exasperated and frustrated at his refusal to answer. Tim quietly scrutinized his every move. Cass knew something was wrong the moment she saw him, and had avoided Bruce like the plague. And of course he had ignored Clark completely.
In hindsight he probably shouldn’t have come back to Gotham at all, or at least locked himself away the moment he did. All he had accomplished was scaring everyone. He’d barely had the presence of mind to block Dick’s access to the bunker- the last thing he wanted was for his son to find him like that. Only two people were authorized to open that door, Diana and Clark.
Diana was a warrior, a soldier in a way that the others were not. If Bruce was too far gone, if his mind was truly lost, she was the one he trusted to do what had to be done. Others might go too easy on him, and if he had any of his mind left, he would exploit that.
He should have kept Clark out too. Yet in a foolish moment of weakness, he hadn’t activated the Kryptonite defenses. Who was he, to drag Clark into this? He couldn’t cure him. Clark would call it hope. Bruce called it naïveté. Somewhere deep in his cowardly and selfish parts, maybe he had been waiting for Superman to come to the rescue.
Stupid. His sole comfort in that damn bunker was that at least Batman’s legacy wouldn’t be of a murdering, bloodthirsty monster.
Only with eight inches of titanium between himself and another living thing did Bruce allow himself to break down, to rage and scream. For days his body felt like it was rending itself apart at the seams.
It wasn’t fair. It was what he deserved. He wanted to die. He wanted to live. He didn’t want to die alone.
When the door crumpled away like aluminum foil it didn’t take a genius to guess who had arrived. Shame and relief warred, with anger coming out on top. Bruce had said cruel things to Clark that he should apologize for, but how?
Sorry I snapped, it’s just that you're unbearable in all the right ways. I destroyed any respect you had for me and I have the gall to be bitter even though it’s my fault. My life is falling apart and I took it out on you. Sorry I hurt you. Sorry it was so good I thought my heart would stop.
Sorry for loving you when neither of us deserve it.
The slight hum of a door snapped him out of it. “You’d better not be skipping work to be here,” Bruce said without turning.
It was a mystery why Clark even tried. He had never been able to sneak up on him even before Bruce had gained supernaturally sharp senses. The "advantages" of the curse were still unnerving- if in the end he couldn’t find a cure, this new body would take some getting used to.
“Since when have you cared about playing hookey? Besides, it’s five thirty in the evening in Metropolis. I was checking up but you slept straight through my workday. How do you feel?”
“As well as can be expected,” he said without elaboration. Even from across the room Clark’s scent reawakened the deep-seated, primal hunger that he now knew was for blood. Just the memory of it made his fangs ache. God, was it going to be like this forever? He could ignore it, but the desire was there and that was sickening in and of itself.
“Well, I called Dick and the League while you were asleep. Everyone knows you’re alive but out of action for now. I didn’t think you’d want me to give any specifics.”
“Thank you.” Clark knew him well.
“They’re worried though, especially your family. Are you ready to go home yet?” Clark’s voice was moving closer but Bruce kept his eyes on the screen. In his peripheral he could see Superman’s cape, and he didn’t want to know if the suit was still marred with blood.
“No.”
“I told Dick you might need some time. You have a good team, they’ll handle the city and the company. Focus on yourself for a while.”
Bruce didn’t answer. He knew full well that they needed to have a serious discussion but his words had dried up.
“So… you’re doing research?” Clark asked after a moment. “You sure settled in. I'd forgotten I even had all this computer stuff.”
“That’s what you get for letting me store equipment up here. All of this is old Watchtower tech; it’s ancient now. My offer to install new hardware up here stands.”
“No thanks, it already makes me nervous that you leave millions of dollars worth of equipment here like it’s a self-storage unit."
"Are you asking me to pay you rent?"
"God no. I'm terrified to see the numbers you would come up with. The coffee maker is still mine if nothing else, so I brought you a cup. Uh, that is…” Trailing off, Clark froze like a deer in headlights. Bruce shot him a look and a raised eyebrow. “That is, if you still, you know…”
Something close to a smile passed across his face. “I still need food, Clark. My body’s still human. For the most part.” The last words felt like ashes in his mouth.
“Okay. Sorry. I just don’t know too much about what this whole vampire thing entails,” Clark said, handing him the mug. It had a Wonder Woman logo on it.
“Besides living off of the blood of innocents?” Bruce asked wryly and took a sip. Slightly burned and not one of his preferred blends, but it was hot. Come to think of it he hadn’t eaten in a day or three, not counting blood. Hunger for food and hunger for blood were still difficult to tell apart. Right now coffee still paled in comparison to Clark's smell and the memories it triggered.
God, he had been intoxicating last night. He still was, always had been, but it had been overpowering. The steady beat of his heart, the rich yet decidedly inhuman taste of his blood- that Bruce had resisted for so long seemed miraculous now.
And when he finally gave in, well. That had been indescribable. The taste itself had little appeal, blood still tasted like coppery blood. It was the feeling that came with it, ecstasy so intense it was almost agonizing. Every part of him narrowed to blood, Clark’s skin, his fangs punching through an artery.
Even the ensuing shame and disgust couldn’t dampen his thirst for more.
Clark gave him a look. “I mean besides the part about needing blood. Which can be donated, by the way. It’s important to me to know what’s going on with you because otherwise I can’t help. Would you tell me about it? If it's okay?” Clark said in a rush. He’d probably been waiting all day to say that.
“What do you want to know?” Bruce focused back on the screen. He knew this was coming but would still rather not see Clark’s face when learned what, exactly, his best friend had become. It had been hard enough to weather Zatanna’s smothered pity when she had first explained things.
“Everything. What it is, how it happened, the effects- anything you know.” Clark settled cross-legged in the air, cape trailing below, and paid him rapt attention. The only thing missing was his notebook and recorder. Damn reporters.
“What do you know about vampire lore?”
“As much as I could look up during my lunch break. I read Dracula in high school, but uh, I don’t know how relevant any of it is. There’s myths about the undead and blood drinkers all over the world. In Europe they were thought to rise from the dead and cause tuberculosis.”
Bruce let his voice stay detached and academic. "The myth originated from people's fear during outbreaks of sickness. It was all baseless superstition. As the story goes, about three hundred years ago there was a woman believed to be a witch, and her partner a vampire. When tuberculosis swept through the area the townsfolk blamed her partner and killed her. What they weren’t counting on was that the woman actually did practice magic. She wanted vengeance and had a certain sense of irony. So she decided to turn the townspeople into vampires.”
Clark furrowed his brow. “But you said they were just superstition."
“Until that point, they were. She adapted an existing curse and styled it after the myth of vampires. Originally it was a parasitic magic that feeds on the, well, there’s different words for it. Life force or soul is close. To someone naturally gifted with magic it would only slow them down. But a normal human will have the life drained out of them if the curse isn’t… satiated.”
“With blood,” Clark finished. “So without blood the curse turns on you.”
Bruce nodded. “The only way the host can stay alive is by consuming the residual life energy from a living being’s blood. It has to be intelligent life: something with a living soul, or so it has been explained to me. That’s why animal blood doesn’t work but yours does. It’s not that my body needs the nutrients, it’s that my life force can only be sustained by feeding on the dregs of someone else’s.”
“Bruce…” Clark griped, apparently unhappy with his word choice. How else was he supposed to phrase it?
Ignoring him, he continued. “To protect the host the curse grants them enhanced strength, speed, and senses. Fringe benefits,” he added. “Originally the curse was rather rare, until the witch evolved it to make it more contagious. Then she mixed in some traits for flare, like the eyes and sun sensitivity, and released it on the town. From there the parasite spread.”
If it hadn’t led to vampires taking the lives of countless victims, and to his own personal misery, he might appreciate the irony of it all. In the end Batman’s undoing was caused by of all things, a sense of drama and revenge.
“Wow, that's... something. I'd like to say it's unbelievable, but you’re you.”
“I suppose I’ll have to take that as a compliment. Now, out with it.”
“What?”
“You’re dying to ask questions, aren’t you? Let’s get this over with.”
Clark had drifted closer probably without realizing. “Of course I have questions! So this isn’t an undead thing?”
“No. I didn’t die.” He didn’t mention how close he had come to it.
Though he tried to hide it, Clark relaxed a little. “Good. Just asking. We’ve seen weirder. Okay, silver stakes?”
“Contrary to popular belief I wasn’t immune to being stabbed before.” He said dryly. “Silver is an irritant but not deadly in and of itself, unless it’s enchanted. The real danger is magic. There’s certain spells I’m extremely vulnerable to now.”
Batman had his very own Kryptonite, so to speak. The advantage he had over Clark was that no one knew about his weakness yet. Plenty of people had thought he was a vampire at first but over the years that had faded. He doubted anyone would think to come at him with spelled silver stakes and holy water now.
“Can you go in sunlight?”
“It takes a toll. I’m more prone to sunburns.”
“Crosses?”
“No.”
“Sleeping in a coffin?”
“No.”
“Do you need to be invited into homes?”
“No. I’d be out of the job, otherwise.”
“Garlic?”
“Yes.”
“Oof, that one’s rough. Do you have a reflection?”
“Not if the mirror is silver-backed.”
“Can you turn into a bat?”
“No more than usual.” Clark cracked a grin at that.
“Are you… immortal?”
“No. I’m just more durable. Technically if I…” Bruce trailed off, clicking idly on the monitor, then sipping the burned coffee. “Drinking an excess of blood will give me more physical benefits. Better stamina, recovery, a longer lifespan. But I’m not taking more than the minimum to keep me alive.”
“You don’t have to torture yourself for my sake, you know. I can take it.” The softness in his voice made it worse.
“This isn’t up for debate. I won’t use you like that.” Hurting Clark for his own survival was disgusting enough already. To do it for his own selfish benefit? “Besides, I’m looking into alternative sources. I’ve been funding a lab that’s trying to manufacture a viable blood substitute using stem cells. It’s years away from human testing but there’s a chance I could adapt it for my needs.”
Clark grinned. “I told you, didn’t I? I knew you could figure something out given the time.”
“It doesn’t mean anything unless I can get it to work.” Tim could be a big help on that project, but Bruce still wasn’t sure if he would let any of the kids get involved with the issues of his condition. “Until then my options are… limited.”
“Don’t worry about it, alright? Speaking of, you said just biting won’t turn me. How is it spread?”
“Vampirism,” Bruce said blandly, as if reciting from a medical textbook, “is transmitted by ingesting the blood of a vampire. At first the host’s body will try to fight it off. But in the case of significant blood loss, the parasite will eventually overwhelm the immune system and pass on. It binds with the host’s life force and alters their body over the course of a few hours.”
“Jesus. So you… how did this happen?”
“I told you before, there was a fight. I lost. My experience with vampire bites was less pleasant than yours apparently was.” Bruce rubbed his sore neck, still half-sure Clark had been lying about not feeling pain when he drank from him before. How could that be possible?
“They bit you?” He sounded scandalized.
“Yes, Clark. Vampires are known to do that,” he said with a barely restrained eye roll. His neck and shoulders were still a mess of half-healed gashes and teeth marks. “These ones just liked to play with their food. I already patched myself up.” Peeling back the collar of the under-suit layer he was wearing, Bruce revealed just the edges of thick white gauze. Belatedly he realized the dressings really needed changing.
Clark reached out to brush the bandage with his fingertips. “Did it hurt? To change?” he asked quietly.
Bruce had been unconscious from blood loss for the latter part of the actual attack and only some memories remained of after. Raised voices and flashes of light driving off his attackers. Zatanna shaking him awake and immediately having to restrain him with magic. The searing, dry burn that spread through his body like his flesh was turning to acid and his bones to broken glass. Something being shoved between his teeth to protect his tongue and muffle the screaming. Constantine trying to cast some sort of spell over him, not that there was anything he could do at that point. He’s pretty sure he punched him in the face.
“Yes,” he said simply, enduring the surge of pain in Clark’s eyes.
“They… I can’t believe they-” In a puff of air Clark was twenty feet away, hands over his eyes. It wasn’t often that he got so distraught he lost control of his heat vision. Dammit, he hadn’t meant to upset him more. Clark always knew the worst questions to ask. It’s what made him a great reporter.
Sighing, Bruce heaved himself out of the computer chair and put a hand on Clark’s arm. “I survived. Most aren’t even deep enough to scar. I’ve had worse,” he assured him.
“That isn’t really making me feel better. They can’t just do this and get away with it.” Clark grumbled.
“Stop that. I’m not out for revenge. And if the lab pans out, I can provide them an ethical source of blood.” Like him, many vampires had probably been changed involuntarily. He had to believe at least some would want to live peacefully if given the opportunity.
Clark laughed. “You’re incredible.”
“Why?” Bruce asked, confused.
“Never mind. I just needed a moment to calm down,” he said, uncovering his eyes. “I’m sorry. I just, I know I can’t save everyone in the world, okay? I do. But times like this it’s hard not to feel like it’s my fault that I wasn’t there to stop them. It’s been tearing at me all day.”
“You know how dangerous it is for you to go up against magic. Some fights aren’t for Superman. It wasn’t your problem,” he dismissed. One could argue that magic wasn’t Batman’s particular problem either, except that the demon who started all this trouble had originally surfaced in Gotham. Helping to drive it back to whatever dimension it came from was only natural.
“Still.”
“Still nothing. I’m the one who has to deal with being a monster, not you.”
Clark shot him a glare with all the intensity of heat vision. “Needing blood because of some spell doesn’t make you a monster. How many times are you gonna make me say it?”
“Stop treating it as some dietary change, Clark. It’s a fact that I’m a bloodthirsty parasite. Your incurable optimism doesn’t change that.” His voice was perfectly level despite his frustration.
“And your incurable pessimism isn’t the same as objectivity,” Clark retorted. “You can be upset, but you can’t keep blaming yourself for what happened. It wasn’t your fault.”
“Isn’t it? My responsibility was to handle the hired help while Zatanna and Constantine banished the demon. There was only supposed to be one of them, not four, but I’m a stubborn bastard and wouldn’t back down.”
I’m out of my depth when it comes to magic, he didn’t say, so I overcompensated by biting off more than I could chew.
He had the feeling Clark picked up on it anyway.
“I failed my half of the mission,” Bruce continued. “The only reason we weren’t all killed is because the vampires got distracted fucking snacking on me. I don’t even know why they took the time to turn me. There was no tactical reason to. Maybe they couldn’t pass up the irony of making Batman a vampire.” He shrugged. “Or maybe being a vampire invariably makes you want to hurt others. Maybe it has a corrupting influence over time.”
The challenge was clear in the strong set of Bruce’s shoulders and his unrelenting glare. One way or another he needed to make Clark understand this. Understand the risks and unknowns.
“Darn it, would you cut that out? Stop trying to convince me you’ve suddenly turned into a different person. I’m not buying it.”
“No, because I am different now, whether you like it or not. We don’t know anything about potential long-term effects. It’s worth considering all the potentials.”
“You really think you’re going to wake up tomorrow and decide to skewer people on sticks?”
Despite this being the first Vlad the Impaler joke since his transformation, Bruce was somehow already sick of them. “Yesterday I woke up thinking about tearing into someone’s jugular, so yes, maybe it isn’t out of the realm of possibility.”
“I also remember having to practically force you to bite me.”
“That was before I got a taste of you,” Bruce muttered, intending it half to himself, then noticed the sudden red in Clark’s cheeks. Hearing about how much a friend enjoyed sucking your blood would make anyone uncomfortable. He changed tactics. “My point being, there are unknowns that anyone who associates with me deserves to understand.”
“Hypothetically, let’s say there’s some truth to that. I’ve trusted you with Kryptonite for a long time. How many times have you stopped me from going on some crazed rampage? I can stop you too, if it comes down to it. Do you not trust me to do that?”
“It’s not about trust. Clark, I’m an obsessive man with a disgusting amount of money. I’m stubborn, and a control freak, and I have access to more weaponry than some countries. I’ve always needed something to keep me in check. My team. My rules. But it’s also that being human means my body always limits me.” He touched the Bat emblem on his chest, and found himself unable to look at Superman’s suit. “I became Batman as a human. That’s what I’m supposed to be. What could Batman become now that I’m not?”
“You’re worried you’ll be too strong?”
“I’m saying that a man like me doesn’t need any more power. The point of Batman is that I’m just a normal person doing what I can to keep people safe. Batman isn’t supposed to be some supercharged magical metahuman. It would be too easy to lose focus on what matters.”
“You said it yourself- you have other things keeping you in check. The people around you and your own willpower. They aren’t going to fail you now.”
“And if they do?”
“We aren’t going to let you go mad with power, if that’s what you’re worried about. You aren’t- Bruce, can I be a little rude for a moment?”
“Hasn’t stopped you before.”
Clark gave him a look he absolutely deserved. “You’re a vampire now, not Superman. I’m pretty sure I can still stop you if needs be. Luthor has kryptonite coming out of his ears and actually wants to kill me, and I’ve made it this far. I can help while you’re adjusting.”
“That shouldn’t be your responsibility. You have your own life. I won’t drag you into mine just to- to babysit me.”
“You think you’re not already a part of my life?”
“That’s not what I meant. After what I did to you… you of all people should understand. This thing is ugly. It’s making me do and feel things that I’d never even- I feel like a stranger in my own body. I keep cutting my tongue on the damn fangs and I can’t have Alfred’s garlic chicken anymore. This body is… and it hurts. It hurts to be near people. Every single day for the rest of my life I’m going to worry about keeping myself in check. And there’s not,” he ground out, “a good chance of this being curable.”
One part of Bruce clung to the possibility of a cure because he had to. Another part wasn’t so optimistic, and that was the part that had kept him alive thus far.
“You’re right. It may not be. But vampire or human, you’re the best man I’ve ever known. Nobody is giving up on you. Whatever dealing with this looks like, we’re going to do it together. You, and me, and your family, and the League. You’re not alone.”
Clark was so earnest, and it made Bruce exhausted. “I know. That’s the problem.” He stated it as an admission of defeat. “The people around me are going to be impacted by this, I know. But the blood? That part you can still walk away from. Please, Clark. I didn’t want what happened to me. I don’t want it for you, either. I don’t want to hurt you again.”
In his peripherals Bruce saw him reach out, heard the soft “Bruce, no, you-”, and flinched away from it.
“Don’t! Don’t you dare say I didn’t hurt you, or that I won’t again. Neither of us can promise that. I can’t keep you around just to snack on one day, and stop me from tearing out throats the next. You’re worth so much more than that. Don’t sacrifice yourself just because you feel like you owe me.”
“It’s not about obligation. From where I stand, I’m the best person to help you handle this. Even when you go home, I know you won’t risk the kids. You’re going to isolate yourself, and you won’t let anyone give you blood, so you’re going to wind up right back in that dammed bunker where you started! I’m not going to sit back watch you destroy yourself!”
Bruce wanted to say that no, of course he wouldn’t let it get this bad again. He had a plan. But it was long-term, dependent on artificial blood being viable, and that was months away at least. There were some pints of his own blood in storage, but would that carry him far enough? It would have to.
Logically, he should be jumping at the chance for a semi-invulnerable safety net and blood source. But this was Clark. He couldn’t put the burden of his own mistakes on him.
“This isn’t your fight, Kal. You’ve done so much more than you needed to already. This was enough. It’s time for you to walk away.”
“No. I can tell when I’m needed. You need me right now.”
“It’s because I need you that you can’t stay!” The words were out of his mouth before he could judge the implications.
Bruce didn’t want it to come to this. Really, really didn’t want it to come to this. Clark simply wouldn’t allow himself to back out because of the physical risk of a feral vampire. He wasn’t that kind of man.
“That doesn’t make sense. You need blood and I can give it, so be rational and stop shutting me out.”
“Obviously you don’t understand how much I wanted you, and how much I didn’t care what the consequences are!” This wasn’t the situation he imagined this coming to light. But then, what choice did he have?
“I understand exactly what I’m getting into.”
“No. You don’t.”
Bruce was very good at compartmentalization. Unfortunately the box labeled “Inappropriate romantic and sexual thoughts about Clark Kent” had become contaminated with “Inappropriate and morally reprehensible thoughts about drinking Clark Kent’s blood”, and now both were leaking out through the cracks.
It had taken years for Bruce to accept that this infatuation with his best friend wasn’t going away. All this time he’d been content with letting it become just more background noise, but that was before he had a taste. Now he knew what Clark’s curls in his fist felt like, what his mind-breaking little gasp of surprise sounded like in his ear.
During that maddening moment when he first tasted blood, his control slipped. All he could think was closer and more and that neck. Bruce had allowed himself to feel those arms and pretend, for a handful of precious seconds, that this was real. That Clark was holding him out of desire and not a twisted sense of obligation.
That had only compounded the disgust he felt when he snapped out of it. How dare he indulge such a fantasy while actively hurting him? It was sick.
God, he had bitten holes right through that perfect skin.
Bruce was no longer absolutely certain he could keep his desires in check. Slipping up with no prior warning would be catastrophic. And even if he didn’t, if he was able to keep the secret for the rest of his life… wasn’t that worse, in a way? Clark had been forced to let him close, to allow Bruce’s mouth all over him, completely unaware of all the desires roaring to life because of it. Blood. Scent. Taste. Sex. Hunger.
He would be using his friend for his own secret pleasure without even telling him. And it felt like covert assault. It felt disgusting. At bare minimum, Clark deserved full disclosure before he agreed to any sort of arrangement.
“Explain it to me, then. Why can’t I do this for you?”
“Because I can hear your heartbeat. I can smell your blood under your skin.” Gently, he stepped closer and touched under Clark’s jaw, feeling the delicious pulse pick up. His throat tightened at the reminder of what that blood felt like on his tongue. “It’s like this thing rewired my brain. There’s a part of me, right now, that wants my mouth on your throat more than anything. Your blood was… indescribable. I can’t guarantee that if it gets bad again, I would be able to show restraint.”
Ever since my lips touched you I can’t keep you out of my head. If I hear you gasp one more time without being able to kiss you about it, I’m going to lose my last grip on my sanity.
“That’s what you’re getting into. There are many things I want that I can’t have. What if I can’t ever stop wanting this? What if this broke me, and I can’t hold back anymore?”
Bruce looked up. Only this close did he notice the inch and a half the other man had on him. Clark was frozen still, staring at him with those dark blue eyes. What was that on his face, shock? Disgust?
“I want this.” He repeated, looking away. “Not just the blood. I want… you. God help me, I’ll never forgive myself for it, but I do.”
Bruce held no illusions about his chances with Clark. It had always been a pipe dream, but now? With this curse infecting every part of him? He was lucky Clark even bothered to look his way, let alone… do what he had done to keep him alive.
In a way it was cruel- this man’s love wasn’t something that he could ever have. Bruce thought he had accepted that a long time ago. Now, when it was infinitely more out of reach than ever before, he found himself craving it more than ever.
“Bruce… do you, are you saying that…” The uncertainty and shock in Clark’s voice stung like knives. He couldn’t handle looking him in the eye. A man as good as him would let him down gently and Bruce didn’t think he could bear that right now. Couldn’t he just get it over with?
“Do you really want this? Want… us?” Clark finished hesitantly.
Bruce snatched his hand back like it burned. Clark caught it in a gently unbreakable hold.
“Bruce, answer me!”
There was no choice. It was wrong to keep it from Clark any longer. Time to put that fantasy behind him for good. Fear boiled into anger in his gut. “Fine! Yes, I have feelings. For you. A ridiculous little inappropriate crush making this entire situation worse. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before this all got out of hand, and I understand that this changes your perspective about what happened. I won’t make any excuses.”
“Bruce, I-”
“You don’t have to say anything.”
“Now hold your horses there, I-“
“I’ll only ask that we maintain our professional relationship. The work we do is too important to be jeopardized by this.”
“It’s not-“
“Let me call my plane and I can be out of here in half an hour.”
“Dammit, B! Let me talk. Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“To avoid this conversation, obviously. But in light of what… what we did- what I did to you, it seemed dishonest to not disclose. You deserve to know. So there it is. You have every right to be angry.”
“Why would I be angry? I’m… why are you so sure my answer would be no, anyways?
“You’re you and I’m me,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I don’t live in a fantasy world where you feel the same way. I’m not expecting anything from you.”
“Would you just- Bruce, look at me.” He did, reluctantly. If Clark wasn’t still holding his hand he would probably be halfway across the fortress by now. What he saw he didn’t expect. A slow smile was spreading across Clark’s face and into his eyes.
Bruce yanked his hand away and took a step back. “This isn’t a fucking joke,” he snarled. “Don’t you fucking pull with me right now, Clark. Not you. Not now.”
“I’m not. This isn’t a joke.”
“Then what’s so damn funny?”
“Nothing, besides the rather bold assumption that I don’t feel the same way. That if you were to, hypothetically, want to move our relationship in that direction, I’d be against it.”
Bruce stopped in his tracks. Opened his mouth, then furrowed his brow. “No.”
“Yes.” Clark closed the gap between them.
“No, just stop!” Clark obeyed, smile faltering. “Let me be explicitly clear. This isn’t just about sex for me. It’s not about the magic or the blood. I would rather not indulge in a fantasy that’s going to be temporary. I don’t… want to do that. With you.”
None of this would be an issue if it were just about sex. He had thought Clark was a handsome man before he even knew his real name. Yet somewhere along the line, almost without him noticing, Clark had slipped from just physical attraction to romantic. Now the idea of just sex was unbearable.
“I never said that! Jesus Bruce, I’m not looking for some meaningless quickie here. Don’t put words in my mouth.”
“Then what? You expect me to believe you just happen to have been in love with me this whole time?”
“Bruce Wayne, you phenomenal idiot,” Clark said, voice overflowing with affection, “yeah, I really do.”
As if that wasn’t enough, Clark was getting closer and closer until his palm was cupping his jaw. Bruce knew what was happening long seconds before it did. Slowly, too slowly, Clark leaned in. Caught between this isn’t happening and oh god this is happening, Bruce froze up.
As far as kisses went it was almost chaste, barely a brush of warm, hesitant lips. It didn’t matter. Sparks still shot from Bruce’s heart to his stomach and back again. Without his permission his mouth parted in a stifled gasp.
Clark was so much softer than anyone expected him to be. His touches, his expressions, his body under the alien fabric of his suit.
It was breathtaking and familiar. Terrifying yet natural. He has known this man in so many ways over so many years that a kiss didn’t seem strange at all. There was a sense of rightness, like this couldn’t possibly be their first time. Clark kissed as slow and warm as he’d imagined. His heart was beating like a piston, yet when those superhuman fingertips brushed his jaw, something in his chest shifted and fell into place.
Bruce had no idea how long it lasted and didn’t care. Time slipped away, up until Clark’s cautious tongue brushed the tip of his fang and it hit him all over again like a bucket of ice water. Fuck, he shouldn’t, he couldn’t. Sucking in a breath he jerked back but Clark chased his lips.
“Oh, hush,” he murmured before stealing away his breath along with his thoughts, stroking his neck soothingly. This time Clark thoroughly explored the long, sharp things that still felt alien in Bruce’s mouth until the reminder no longer made his heart jump.
In the end it was Bruce who pulled away, not because he wanted it to end, but because he was afraid he would collapse if they went much longer. Clark nuzzled into his shoulder and laughed.
“What?”
“I’ve been wanting to do that for three years.”
And instead of saying something charming or intelligent, Bruce said, “Uh, how long?”
Clark leaned back, hands clasped casually around the back of Bruce’s neck, absolutely glowing. “Three years, give or take, after Lois and I divorced. How long was it for you?”
“I’m… not sure. Physically attracted since the beginning. But like this? I don’t know. Years? Why didn’t you bring it up sooner?”
“Well, why didn’t you?”
“Because I never thought this was a realistic enough possibility to consider.”
His furrowed brows were somewhere between confused and offended. “And why is that?”
Bruce almost couldn’t believe he even asked. “Right now I’m in the North Pole wearing a million-dollar bat costume. I still live at home with my butler, who also raised me. I’ve trained four children to fight crime in masks. And you’re a reporter from Kansas.”
“You forgot the part where I’m a flying alien refugee, and the North Pole is where I keep my alien stuff in my giant ice castle.”
“Touché. Well if you have it so figured out, why did it take you so long?”
Clark broke eye contact but didn’t let go. “Well, I realized it around when… you know. Jason. The last thing you needed back then was to deal with my feelings. You had your own problems.”
“Were you waiting for me to get better?” It was Bruce’s fault, really, for letting hope flutter up prematurely. There were still a hundred ways this thing could end before it even began. He was already compiling a list.
“I was just… you were in a bad place. It seemed like a bad time.”
“I’ve been unstable since- then. It’s been better recently, but Clark, you need to understand. Losing a child isn’t something you come back from all the way. I’m not ever going to be the person I was before.” Managing expectations, that’s all this was.
“I know.”
“I might never going back to being human either.”
“I know.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ll be okay when I catch a case and lock myself in the cave? When I’m too busy to speak to you for days? When I say something cruel because I’m upset and not handling it?”
“Bruce, you’ve been my best friend for ten years. Do you really think I’m not aware of your faults? And what about me? What if I need to go off world for weeks or even months? What if I flake out on a date because I hear someone in trouble and can’t stay away?”
“I’d understand because I’m the same way.”
“Lois couldn’t handle how little I was around outside of work. It was one of our biggest problems.”
“I’m a different person than Lois, so our problems would be different. I bring people into my life, let them depend on me, then push them away when they really need me. I’m stubborn. I’m arrogant. And now I’m eight days into being a fucking vampire.”
Bruce knew he was being difficult but this was the easiest way to settle things. If Clark was going to leave him for existing problems, he’d rather it happen now.
“I already know all of that.”
“And you still think this is a good idea?”
“Do you? You keep listing everything you think you’ll do wrong, but what about me? I’ve already let a marriage with a fantastic woman die. Don’t you have any misgivings about me?”
“You’re not the only one with failed relationships. I know you, Kal. You’re kind, patient, empathetic. But there’s so many ways this could be a disaster. I just don’t want to hurt you.”
“Bruce, I care about you. If you feel the same way, don’t we owe it to ourselves to try? Even if we have problems, even if it doesn’t work out, isn’t it worth it just to find out if this could be something good?”
“I…”
“Bruce, I want to do this with you, but only if you’re willing to give it an honest shot. No deciding it’s over before it’s begun. Do you believe that this can work?”
“I think… it’s possible.” It shouldn’t be. But something about looking into Superman’s eyes makes anything feel possible.
“Then are you willing to try?”
It felt like leaping off a rooftop without a grapple. But was he really willing to go the rest of his life knowing he could have had this, but was too afraid to try? After a lifetime of regrets was he willing to add one more?
“I am. I can try. It’s just… you want to start this now? Right now? In the middle of this catastrophe?”
“When in the last five years have we not been in the middle of a catastrophe? You keep focusing on all these reasons why we can’t be together. What about the reasons we can?”
“Such as?”
“First off, we care about each other. And second, we get to do this.”
Clark leaned in. His lips were a hot drink in a snowstorm, his body the soft embrace after a day being bruised and broken, his soul the sun.
It was a kiss like coming home.
“You make,” Bruce said, a smile pulling at him for the first time in what seemed like eons, “a compelling argument.”