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“Why don’t you admit that you’re hurt?”
“I’m not hurt,” grumbled Bruce. He was hunched down on a rooftop, cloaked by his cape. Underneath one arm was wrapped around his ribs, because they did hurt, not that he was going to admit that to Clark.
“Uh huh,” Clark responded, unconvinced.
“Shouldn’t you be checking to make sure the bad guys got picked up.”
“They’re already in police custody. You know they were some pretty tough customers, I saw that one guy throw you into a brick wall.”
“I’ve had worse.”
“I’m sure you have. Bruce,” he said softly, “why don’t you let me fly you home?”
“Hmm.” Bruce hated to be weak, but getting down from this rooftop was probably going to be hell in his condition, he was pretty sure at least one rib was broken. “You can fly me down to the Batmobile.”
“I’ll fly you home. Then I'll come back for the Batmobile.”
“It won’t let you drive it.”
“I don’t need to, I’ll just pick it up and carry it.”
Bruce could hardly argue with that.
“Grr, fine. How would you carry me? Not bridal style.”
"So, I'm not allowed to carry my boyfriend across the threshold?"
"No." Bruce was still getting used to them being together.
“Would you prefer piggyback?”
“I would prefer the Batmobile.”
“That’s out, but we’ll think of something.”
If anyone looked up later that night they would have seen Superman flying and holding onto what looked like a sling made out of a dark cape, and if they had been able to look closely they may have noticed a certain dark knight inside.