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Bruce looks across the room as Clark walks in and thinks that the lakehouse has never been more serene.
There are still days when the purr of the technology below that was supposed to be quieted by the lake is as loud as the alarm Alfred insistently sets for the morning. Days when even the open space outside the glass walls feels as suffocating as the dark cave beneath it. Days when even the comfort of his second skin feels as itchy as the first—like nothing is real and everything is just a dream; the kevlar surrounding his body feeling like dead weight.
But there are also days like this. Days when the give of the keys beneath the clicking of his fingertips gives as much comfort as the strong arms around him; strong arms that protect the world only to hold him gently at night, and coax the sleepiness out of him in the mornings. Days when the insistent ringing of the alarm Alfred has discreetly set the night before is as much of a comfort as the sight of the man patiently and dutifully preparing breakfast in the kitchen. Days when putting on the suit doesn’t feel like an obligation, but rather something he has decided to be passionate about all those years ago. Days when he doesn’t forget why he’s here and why he has done all of this.
Days when Clark would softly land just outside his bedroom, the red of his boots and the flare of his cape seemingly clearing the heavy morning fog, the soft trudges he makes to the door and into his room a melodic sound, the weight and comfort of his warm skin on the bed and against him a comforting touch.
“Good morning.”
“Morning.” Bruce replies, closing his eyes once again as Clark weaves his fingers through his hair before placing a soft kiss on his forehead.
“Rough night?” Clark quietly asks, caressing the stubble on Bruce’s cheek with the back of his fingers. Humming, Bruce nods as he closes his hand around Clark’s, snuggling further into the sheets and breathes in deep. He can feel the strong beating of his pulse against his chin, the feel of Clark’s soft skin against his calloused hand, the faint smell of smoke and the sky still clinging to him.
Bruce has this vague feeling of Clark pulling away as he drifts off to sleep again. Only to feel warmth wrapping around him from his front, soft hair tickling his nose and chin, a light press of lips against the hollow of his throat and over the steady beating of his heart.
Mornings with Clark, Bruce has decided, is an important affair.
It starts with the languid untangling of limbs, the way Clark lightly runs his fingers along his arm as he pulls away only to burrow deeper into Bruce’s chest. The light press of lips on his neck and the sweet squeeze in his middle before finally pulling away to sit up. Clark would take a moment to admire the trees reflecting on the still lake, only to turn his head to catch his gaze, smile, and press a soft kiss on his cheek.
“Coffee?”
“Yeah.”
“Come on, then. Up you get.” Clark says, pulling Bruce up from the side of their bed. “Do you have anywhere to be today, Bruce?”
Bruce takes a moment to consider the question, looking up at Clark and his soft smile; stares at the mess of his curls, and the way he holds his hand. “I don’t know yet.”
Here, in bed; with you, Bruce thinks but refuses to say out loud. Still thinking that this… something between them is fragile. Too fragile, in fact. Or perhaps he is still afraid—like Alfred said, and Dick observes—to allow himself to be with Clark.
When Clark is about to let go of his hand, Bruce tightens his hold; pulling him down so he's sitting on the bed again. “Maybe I just want to stay in bed.”
The statement got a laugh out of Clark, the pale column of his neck exposed. Loosening Clark's hold in his hand, Bruce moves to sit up. "You're too bright in the mornings. I need cof—"
A quick blur and sudden gust of wind blows his hair away; and another one that causes him to close his eyes again. Soft hands grasps his, sliding a warm cup into his hold.
"Your coffee, Bruce."
"—fee." Clark flashes him another bright smile, like the literal ball of sunshine that he is.
He heard it before, when Barry talked Arthur's ear off. And Superman! He's a literal ray of sunshine, you know? The embodiment of the sun and all the pure, bright, and brilliant things. While Bats is— he didn't think it important, his mind wandered off to just how not that pure Clark is, judging by how he begged the previous night.
This morning though, Bruce agrees; he is the embodiment of all the pure, bright, and brilliant things. Bruce sits up, taking the cup from Clark with a murmured thanks.
“Come on,” Clark urges, pulling him up. “I’ll cook us breakfast.”
“I don’t see why you need me there.” Bruce glares at the mug and its jostling contents, as if his glare alone can stop it from making a mess, “It’s not like the food will cook itself in my presence.”
Looking over his shoulder, Clark flashes him a grin. “Don’t you want to see me in an apron?”
“That depends on the condition—”
“—half-naked.”
“At this point, you don’t even need to cook breakfast.”
Stopping mid-stride, Clark floats towards him and Bruce thinks that this, he is familiar with this. Familiar with the language of his body around Clark, louder than any words he could say or any thought he fails to convey. He returns the kiss, placing the mug on the bedside table as he reaches to weave his fingers through Clark’s soft locks. Morning sunlight bleeds into their bedroom as Bruce tips his head up, wounding his arm around Clark's waist and pulling him closer. He feels Clark running his hand along his biceps, to the hollow between his collarbones and finally on the back of his neck; moaning as Bruce walks and gently presses him against a warm glass wall.
“Still want breakfast?” Bruce whispers against Clark’s lips, hands moving to his ass and raising him higher. He kisses along Clark’s neck, as he grinds their hips together. Muffling his own moans as he bites into the warm skin beneath his lips.
And as Clark pushes him back to place a chaste kiss on his lips, as Clark leans away to stare at him—Bruce finds that maybe, days when he chooses to stay at home will not choke him up with guilt and overthink his decision.
"Maybe later."