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tickle-bugs · 1 year

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But You Were Mine

Summary: Still hung up on the fit of Bruce’s body against his, Clark attempts the oldest possible ritual: getting to know his pseudo-sweetheart. Too bad Bruce Wayne is the most unknowable man on Earth. Sequel to Chase the Memory of it Still.

Yet again, blame @fickle-tiction for this. Doing a midnight post and run so I don’t have to look at this in the morning lol. Also warning for mild barely even lukewarm makeouts. Probably tamer than Part 1 lol.

Also also: the beginning scene with Clark and Lois works best if you imagine that Lois doesn’t know that Bruce is Batman but suspects him, all while thinking Clark doesn’t know that Bruce is Batman. So she’s trying to protect him from being lied to and Clark is like ‘but Lois I love him’

“Clark Joseph Kent, you’re a grade-A idiot.” Lois thwaps the back of his head with a rolled-up newspaper.

“I know,” Clark groans into the surface of Lois’s desk. She thwaps him again.

“So, let me get this straight.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “You somehow conned your way into a fake relationship with Bruce Wayne of all people, and now you have feelings for him?”

“I’ve always had feelings for him,” He mumbles, suddenly feeling very small in his seat. When he looks up at her, she’s glaring at him. Ah, he’s in trouble.

“You don’t know him.” She spreads her hands on the surface of her desk, knocking aside a few Daily Planet pens. He picks them up and puts them back.

“Yes I do.” Clark frowns.

“He’s an airhead playboy with zero priorities. You deserve someone who’ll be honest—“

“Oh? Like Selina?”

Lois gets very quiet. Her stare pierces like a fine needle through his throat. A few battered emotions flicker over her face, leaving in their wake a rare and unguarded Lois. Then, quicker than the cat that stole her heart, her face resigns into something sharp and deadly.

“I’m sorry.” He circles the desk and pulls her into a hug. After a begrudging glare, she tips her head into his chest. They inhale and exhale together—a routine they’ve shared for years. She relaxes into him.

“No, you’re right.” She chuckles. “I fell for a thief. That’s on me.”

“And I spent the night with the one guy I shouldn’t have. We can’t all be perfect.” Clark elbows her, looking for a smile. Lois’s eyes blow wide and she starts spluttering.

“You hooked up with him?” She thankfully keeps to a hissing whisper, but he can tell she wants to shout. He contemplates flying around the Earth fast enough to undo the moment, but she’s gripping his shirt tight enough to stop him.

“Well, okay, we kissed a bunch but it didn’t go further—“

“Oh god, we’re both hopeless.” She groans into her hands.

“No, not hopeless. We can both have what we want. I’ll call Bruce if, and only if, you call Selina.” He pulls her hands away from her face. She huffs and smiles.

“This optimism thing is going to bite you in the ass. How do you think you’re gonna maintain a relationship with someone who doesn’t know that you, uh, work two jobs?” She casts a weary glance towards the office door and drops her voice even lower.

“He gets me, Lois.” It’s all he can say. It’s the truth.

“Alright.” She brushes a thumb over his cheek. “Then get to know him at least. Find out if he’s the kind of guy worth being around.”

“I know he's worth it. That’s not ever in question.” Clark can’t help but smile a little as he thinks of Bruce. “It’s an internal thing. He sees me. I see him. We don’t have to pretend with each other. It’s…just us.”

Her keen eyes scan every inch of his face, even as he trails off.

“You should tell him.” She squeezes his arm.

“What? No. Absolutely not. I only said that because I know you won’t call her. C’mon, you’re supposed to be the voice of reason here.” He squints at her. She flicks him in the forehead.

“Okay, well the ‘voice of reason’ thinks you should say something before you lose this…somehow healthy-sounding relationship you have. With Bruce Wayne, of all people,” She mutters that last part, but Clark both hears and ignores it.

“We’re friends and it’s good. Really good. He trusts me at least a little. I don’t want him to think I have ulterior motives. If I could read him at all, figure out what he wants…but I can’t. I can’t lose him.”

“This isn’t the healthiest advice, but…start a list. Treat him like a case. What are some things that draw you to him? Things he hides? Things he shows only to you? If it makes you do that dopey giggle thing you do, he’s probably worth it.” She leans against the edge of her desk and crosses her arm.

“I don’t do a giggle…thing,” he mumbles, but his face is already heating up an incriminating amount.

“It’s cute. He’ll probably like it.” She tweaks his nose. He swats her hand away, but his spirits are far lighter.

His phone buzzes and he checks it as discreetly as possible.

B: Free this afternoon?

Clark smiles.

C: On my way. :)

“I’ve gotta go.” He stands and shrugs on his suit jacket.

“Boyfriend awaits?” She wiggles her eyebrows.

“Bye, Lois.” He rolls his eyes.

“Tell him I’d love to do an exclusive with him.” She snickers.

“I’ll tell him that when you call Selina.” He smirks. She gasps her way into laughter, her face blooming pink. Her hand comes up to play with a diamond necklace sitting on her collarbone--a cat-shaped pendant he’s never seen her wear before--and shakes her head fondly.

“I will after you kiss your playboy. Again.” She raises her eyebrow. Checkmate.

“Bye, Lois,” He says a little louder. She playfully shoos him from her office. He kisses her cheek.

Clark can only smile when he hears her phone ringing and the faint “Hey, kitty” through the glass.

….

It’s apt that Gotham is as dark and segmented as its protector, Clark thinks, because he’s never in his life met anyone as fragmented as Bruce Wayne. Everyone in the League is broken in some way, battered by traumas that still threaten to crush them, but Bruce is markedly...different. He covers the cracks in his soul with masks. For every unveiling, six more facades lay below it.

The reporter in him finds a dark fascination with it. The lost Kryptonian in him finds it…depressing. The human in him is currently bouncing on his heels in the lobby of Wayne Tower until Bruce finally meets him downstairs.

Bruce glides off of one of the elevators and nods at a few hushed executives who scurry in behind him. He must come off so effortless to them—not a hair out of place, a new suit and coat every day, but Clark can see the exhaustion clouding his eyes. Bruce Wayne is put together. Bruce is tired.

“You seem eager.” Bruce gives him a practiced small smile as they fall into step.

“I’m having the slowest of slow days. This was a much needed adventure.” Clark stretches his spine. It gives a loud, much needed crack. He’s just a little too big for his chair at the Planet and it’s starting to take its toll.

“We’re just walking down the street,” Bruce chuckles. He bumps the doors to the building open and Clark darts out. A light flurry of snow twirls through the air as they start their walk. He catches a snowflake on his tongue before he can think better of it. Bruce’s smile grows a little wider.

“So? Every trip away from my desk is an adventure. C’mon, I know a spot.” Clark nods to the side and they hang a left, passing under a train overpass.

“You know a spot in Gotham?” Bruce raises a brow.

“I get around.” Clark grins.

………………………………………………………………………………………….

They end up at a patisserie on the East side, a small family-run shop that deserves far more business than it gets. Clark can smell the wonders within from a good mile away.

Months ago, when he was helping Lois write a scathing exposé on Wayne Enterprises, this spot had served him well. Nothing better than a building full of sweets and a decent wifi connection to get you through betraying a good friend. Shredding that article was easily the best decision of Clark’s life, especially since Lois’s pivot towards flaying Lexcorp alive won her an award.

He buys them both coffee—black for Bruce, vanilla for himself—and sets about the intricate ritual of sweetening his coffee to perfection. This is normalcy. Normalcy is good.

“This is the only part of Gotham I like.” Clark steals little peeks at Bruce, waiting for him to inevitably make fun of him, but his eyes are elsewhere.

A refrigerated display tower of macarons stands proudly next to the register, boasting all sorts of delicious surprises. The splash of color is welcome among the somewhat dreary day outside.

“Hm?” Bruce’s gaze struggles to find its way back to Clark.

“You seem distracted.” Clark pops the stirring straw into his mouth and pulls the remaining coffee out with a little slurp. He pops the lid onto his cup much slower than necessary. The first time you crush a cup of boiling liquid in public tends to change you, after all. He’s grown since then.

“Heavy work day.” For a man so difficult to read, Bruce has never clearly been more full of shit. He doesn’t even try to look away from the cookie display.

“Do you…want a macaron?” Clark doesn’t bother trying to stifle his amusement.

“What? No.” Bruce withdraws slightly.

“What’s your favorite? My treat.” Clark jerks a thumb towards the display.

“Money isn’t the problem.” Bruce scoffs, but not unkindly. He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. Clark tries to ignore the still-fading lovebite on Bruce’s neck that he left.

“Then what is?” Clark leans forward on his elbows. Surprise flickers across Bruce’s face for the slightest of moments.

“…I’ve never had one,” Bruce mumbles, shuffling a bit in his seat. Clark beams.

“First time for everything. C’mon.” Clark vigorously beckons him over to the line. Bruce trails behind with an endearing awkwardness that he’s learned to identify: slow steps, shifty eyes, and silence.

Clark takes his time to point out his favorite flavors and make a few recommendations, but he feels like he’s stumbling around in the dark. His sweet tooth is only rivaled by Diana’s—even then, their tastes match so closely that he’s a little lost with someone like Bruce.

Bruce stares deeply at him. Clark’s rambling stutters to a halt. He pulls on his collar a bit. Adjusts his glasses.

Bruce’s eyes seem so warm. Must be the light.

“If today was my last day to live and you had to give me a macaron, what would you choose?” Bruce leans close. His eyes are on the display, thank god, because Clark doesn’t know that he can handle more of that eye contact right about now.

“It amazes me that you’re so committed to the dark and brooding thing.” Clark rolls his eyes, and after some thought: “Raspberry.”

“Hm. Okay.” And that’s that. Bruce orders quickly and walks away with his prize, leaving Clark to scramble after him. They sit back down in their quiet little corner, the naturally-frosted window fogging slightly at their presence.

Bruce opens his box of macarons clinically, like he’s stripping it for parts. He takes one out and admires the color, gives it a little test squish, sniffs it. Clark watches the process with vested interest until Bruce pulls out another box and slides it towards him.

“What’s this?” Clark pulls the box close.

“Strawberry Cheesecake macarons. I saw you eyeing them when we came in.” Bruce pokes the box again, sliding them just a little more forward.

“I’m not subtle, am I?” Clark pushes his glasses up again. He cracks the box open and pops a cookie in his mouth. His eyelids flutter shut and he does a little dance in his chair.

“It’s one of your more endearing qualities.” Bruce quirks a small, smug smile.

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Clark fake sniffles. The resulting eyeroll is incredibly satisfying.

Bruce takes a mouse-like nibble of the macaron, catching maybe an atom of cookie and filling between his teeth. He chews thoughtfully.

“So? Do we have a winner?” Clark rests his chin on his hand.

“I think so. You have good taste,” Bruce hums, taking another tentative bite of the macaron. A gentle, genuine smile peaks on his lips like a glimpse of the sun through storm clouds.

“That’s the second nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Clark swipes a macaron from Bruce’s box fast enough to send a small breeze fluttering between them.

“And it will never happen again.” Bruce peeks open one eye as he finishes his macaron.

Okay, bumping shredding that Wayne Enterprises article down to number two. This, Clark thinks, watching Bruce smile to himself, this is easily top of the list.

1 ) He likes raspberries.

It takes later in the week until they have a moment to truly spend a bit of time together. Criminal roundups never leave much personal time, and Clark’s hearing has him near-constantly running to save lives. But, on a quiet Wednesday night, he has a moment.

He loves visiting Wayne Manor. It’s been a while since he last swung by, but he adores the place. He could spend hours swooning over the architecture alone. It’s a beautiful place to disappear for a while, and he’s been doing that more and more lately.

He gets buzzed into the gates easy enough with a lie about taking the bus, and then he’s standing in the massive foyer and hanging up his coat by the door. The manor smells of old wood and citrus. Clark draws in a big breath of it.

He turns and jumps a bit when a flock of people are suddenly staring at him atop the stairs. Bruce’s kids, right. He knows Dick, Tim, and Jason. The others are still a bit fuzzy to him. They all leer from the landing like royalty watching a gladiator in the pit.

“Hey there.” He waves at the smallest and angriest of the bunch. This is Damien, he’s pretty sure.

“So you’re the new guy.” A blonde—Steph, he remembers her from the Christmas card—leans on the railing with her forearms.

“I wouldn’t mess with him, Steph. He’s tougher than he looks,” Dick murmurs out of the corner of his mouth, trying his best to be subtle. Clark gives him a friendly wave. He returns it.

“He looks like he wears a pocket protector. I could take him,” Steph whispers to Dick. Clark tries to rein in his expression so he doesn’t give himself away.

“I’m not sure we’ve met. I’m Clark. You’re all Bruce’s kids, right? It’s nice to meet you.” He tries to make himself look as friendly as possible. He gets a few waves, but mostly owlish stares. He sees where they get it from.

“Is your father home?” Clark sticks his hands in his pockets and tries to kill the silence.

“Bruce! Your boyfriend’s here!” Jason bellows. Clark bites his lip to hide his smile.

“Clark?” Bruce peeks around the corner, then shuffles quickly down the stairs.

“Hey. I, uh, had a few minutes. Just came by to see you before I went home.” Clark rubs the back of his neck with a smile, trying to kill the flutter in his chest.

“Bruce, say something,” Tim hisses, crouching behind the banister as if Clark can’t see him. Bruce startles, glares at him, and then gestures for Clark to follow him. As they pass, all of the kids watch him go, whispering in a building flurry that he doesn’t bother dissecting. He tells himself it’s because they deserve their privacy, but really…he’s nervous. Severely.

“I hope they didn’t make you uncomfortable. They can be a bit…eager.” Bruce’s smile is warm beneath the lights of the old manor.

“They’re wonderful. Terrifying, but wonderful.” Clark chuckles and bumps their shoulders together while they walk.

It’s these precious minutes that define their friendship more than anything. Clark tells Bruce all about his day, about his Lex Luthor exposé making the front page, about everything and nothing at all. He talks and Bruce listens, egging him on with gentle tilts of the head when he shyly falls into silence.

By the time they reach the gardens, it’s Clark’s turn to listen. Bruce tells him about the kids, occasionally stopping whenever he notices one lurking. He asks for his opinion on random scenarios. Clark can’t tell if they’re hypotheticals but he answers as truthfully as he can, chasing the little noises of appreciation that Bruce makes as he talks.

Not only are Bruce’s masks interchangeable, taking him from Bruce to Batman to Bruce Wayne, they’re also removable. Clark doesn’t know when he was bestowed with the honor of being with Just Bruce, but he’s immensely grateful for it.

“Good evening, Mr. Kent.” Alfred nods respectfully in his direction. “Master Bruce, you have a call from Mr. Fox. Line three, sir.”

“Thank you, Alfred.” Bruce squeezes Clark’s shoulder. “You can wait here, if you’d like.”

“Am I allowed to touch anything?” Clark teases.

“Anything you want.” Bruce winks at him, completely straight-faced, and disappears into the corridors of the manor. Clark’s face grows embarrassingly hot and he reclines against the lip of the fountain.

He birdwatches as he waits, counting which of Bruce’s kids make normal, completely non-suspicious trips through his personal space. Dick’s the least sneaky of the bunch, but it lends him a genuine quality. He sits and chats with Clark for a few minutes, asking him about work and the like. He asks about his relationship with Bruce and Clark mumbles something non-committal, cheeks warm.

Bruce, uh, never put out that statement about them breaking up. Clark thinks he might be alright if it never gets published.

As the hours draw on, he catalogs where the other Robins like to hide. Tim and Damien have an affinity for hiding in the massive hedges surrounding the gardens, while Steph takes to watching from the windows. Cass is the hardest to spot but he catches her on the roof a few times, perched and enjoying the warm dusk breeze. He sees Jason with her once too.

If he’s learned anything from their father, it’s that staring is caring. Probably.

When Alfred fetches him hours later, he arrives at a scene he wants to burn permanently into his memory.

Bruce is seated at the beautiful. obnoxiously long table in the dining room. He’s got a knee hiked up on the chair, picking idly at the fabric of his pants. On the table, a black kitten rolls around and bats at a toy. It’s sweet and oddly domestic.

“Hey.” Bruce doesn’t turn.

“Hi. Who’s this?” Clark holds a hand out to the kitten and it drops its paw on top of his palm, mewing softly. The squeaky, deflating noise that leaves him is not one he’s proud of. It’s so sweet and small.

“Nyx. She’s a stray. I give her food when I can.” Bruce scratches her head gently. Nyx purrs and lays down on the table, tucking her head into the attention. She’s a precious baby, is what she is. Clark has half a mind to take her home.

That is, until Bruce sneezes loud enough to send poor Nyx running. She flings herself off the table and into one of the manor’s seemingly endless corridors.

“Bless you.” Clark chuckles. Bruce pulls a face.

“Master Bruce.” Alfred hands him a box of tissues.

“I can hear you laughing, Alfred,” he sniffles, hair a bit ruffled from the sneeze. Clark purposefully averts his eyes.

“I would never, sir. Goodnight, Mr. Kent.” Alfred bows his head, sharing that mischievous glint in his eye.

“Goodnight, Alfred.” Clark grins, settling into the oversized chair beside Bruce.

2 ) He’s got a cat allergy, but he feeds the strays anyway. Bruce = cat person?

“Stop it.” Hearing the Batman voice and knowing it’s mostly because Bruce is annoyed is truly golden.

“Stop what?” Clark floats leisurely alongside Bruce, arms behind his head. Keeping pace with him isn’t hard--he’s fast for human standards, but not by Clark’s. He’s made it a habit anyways not to zip too far ahead as they’ve grown closer. It kills the banter.

“Look, all I’m saying is that if Batman started flying, criminals would absolutely take the week off. If I was a criminal and I thought Batman had suddenly gotten superpowers, I’d simply leave Gotham.” Clark flips upside down and hangs in front of Bruce, still drifting backwards in pace with him.

He can sense Bruce trying not to smile, but when he opens his mouth to tease, karma speaks instead. Clark smacks his head into the side of a building just as Bruce slips through a narrow space between it and its neighbor. Clark flies up over the building and catches up with Bruce again, scowling.

“I know you’re laughing.” Clark crosses his arms.

“Me? Never. Just thinking about how great it is to be grounded.” Bruce allows himself the tiniest of smirks, just enough to be infuriating, and it’s Clark’s turn to roll his eyes.

3 ) He restrains his emotions. Even the good ones.

Roaming the Hall of Justice late at night is a cultivated hobby of Clark’s. The best snacks hide in the dark, after all, and he knows that no one’s gonna come bother him about a missing bag of chips at this hour. He needs time to think and food to think with.

Clark’s feelings for Bruce could both span and fill an ocean. He doesn’t know when this happened. As far as he can remember, there’s always been this beacon of warmth in his chest guiding him to Bruce. Through every late night and early morning, through hopelessness and joy, Bruce is a constant. It’s too much to put on one person. Too risky.

The ‘l word’ pops into his head like a dark omen, and he skids to a halt. He glances around, listening for any league members skulking around. All he hears is his own thundering heartbeat.

Fuck. Fuck.

He makes his way into the kitchen past a snoring Arthur, pausing to snatch the jumbo bag of cheese puffs from his limp grasp. He slips quietly out into the hall, passing by the lounge, where Bruce and Diana are laughing—

Clark backpedals, nearly tripping over his own feet, but god it’s worth it. Bruce is clutching Diana’s shoulder and giggling, stuck in the loop of overwhelming laughter that follows an unyielding barrage of jokes.

They’re still suited up, probably fresh off a patrol, and Clark wonders how long they’ve been sitting here. A mountain of chocolates, the fancy ones, cover the surface of the table. Diana delicately sorts through and plucks the ones she wants from the pile as Bruce watches.

“Diana’s the new team comedian. None of you are funny.” Bruce recovers from his laughter, but the smile stays, and Clark makes an active effort to be normal about it. The delirium of another late night in a row must have gotten to him. That’s the only explanation.

“Barry will be devastated.” Clark chuckles. He leans in the doorframe and catches a cheese puff in his mouth.

“He will survive.” The sparkle in Diana’s eye has him wishing he had tuned into their conversation.

“If I had known y’all were partying in here, I would’ve come to hang out.” Clark crunches on another cheese puff, mostly to distract himself from the way Bruce’s eyes are sparkling. He didn’t know they could do that.

“There’s no reason you can’t party with us now.” Diana gestures to the seat next to Bruce.

Aw, what the hell? Eating junk food together couldn’t be much worse than doing it alone.

4 ) Bruce can laugh--he just has to be caught off-guard. He likes to laugh (?) (who doesn’t?)

“When you said you needed help, I thought you meant with translating.” Clark wanders into the room. The concrete is irritatingly cold on his feet.

Bruce types away wildly at a computer station with too many monitors. A pair of giant goggles on his head pull his hair out of his face. Clark leans over his shoulder to see what he’s doing, but the code flying across the screen is a nightmare.

At the opposite end of the room, a mechanical rig sits primed on a set of rails. In the center, a gnarly looking gun barrel stares out into an empty expanse.

“I’m trying to test new ammunition for the Batmobile, but my target system is down. Can’t reboot it.” Bruce clicks something else and the gun starts calibrating. A pathetic clicking sound picks up as targets struggle to ascend from the floor, twitching lifelessly in their compartments.

“Do you want help?”

“With coding?” Bruce turns with an expression just shy of condescending.

“God no. I am bulletproof, if you remember.” Clark sticks his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants.

“Doesn’t help. I need to study the impacts afterwards.” Bruce gestures to a massive chunk of concrete on a stand nearby. Clark hefts it into his arms with a quiet grunt.

“Just...keep up with the gun. I prefer my walls without bullet holes.” Bruce quickly turns away from him. Clark can hear his heartbeat pounding. He starts to ask, but the gun rig starts warming up and he sacrifices his curiosity.

“Alright. Whenever you’re ready.” Clark adjusts his stance to prep for the recoil. The machine whirrs and clicks as it loads itself with rounds. Bruce types in a few things on a nearby control panel and pulls the goggles down over his eyes.

The gun barrel spins and whines as it gains force. Clark hovers a few inches off the ground and tenses. He lines the concrete up with his chest, his eyes just clearing over top of it.

The machine fires quicker and lower than he anticipates.

A sharp zing zips up Clark’s side, then another, then another, and he drops the concrete, instead covering his smile while forcing himself to stay still. That’s certainly not his best idea--no block means no cover, which subsequently means getting pelted with another wave of bullets.

Clark crumples into a flurry of giggles before he can stop himself. He curls up as much as he can—partly to stop any new onslaughts, mostly to hide his reddening face. He’s been shot more than anything and it’s never bothered him. He didn’t know he could be ticklish to touch, let alone to goddamn bullets.

“Clark! Are you okay?” Bruce leaps over the gun rig and pulls the safety goggles up onto his head.

“Y-Yes. I’m fine. Your machine…thing packs a punch.” Clark clears his throat to stop the rogue snickers forming a conga line in his throat.

“I thought you were supposed to be bulletproof.” Bruce huffs, kicking the pieces of shattered brick out of the way. He swipes at Clark’s torso, probably trying to brush away the dust on him. Clark flinches under the touch and coughs over a laugh.

“I am. It just…felt…weird.” Clark snatches Bruce’s wrist a little too quickly. Bruce’s brow furrows and he leans close, eyes glued to Clark’s stomach with sheer worry. His face resolves into tense understanding. Clark lets his hand go.

“What? What?” He tries to catch Bruce’s gaze. There shouldn’t be anything wrong. He feels fine. Nothing pierced. Definitely not bleeding—he learned what that feels like and he hates it. But Bruce has an eye for things that Clark could never dream of noticing, and right now he’s staring like Clark already has a foot in the grave.

“Can’t believe you fell for that.” Bruce smirks. He pulls Clark close—hello—and kneads unhurried fingers into his stomach.

No one will ever believe him. Bruce Wayne is tickling him and no one will ever believe him.

“B-Bruce!” Clark strains out of Bruce’s grip as best as he can, trying not to break any useful bones, but his joints keep turning to jelly. His forehead collides with Bruce’s shoulder and he shimmies rather uselessly.

“This is very entertaining, in case you were wondering.” Bruce hums and starts pinching up Clark’s sides. His warm breath sends goosebumps flaring over his throat.

“I wasn’t!” It’s more of a squeak than words. Evil fingers manage to squeeze beneath his arms and Clark jumps directly into the air.

“Did you just fly away?” A genuine laugh floats out of Bruce, warm and a bit scratchy. Clark wishes he could hear more of that instead of his own dorky laughter ringing in his ears.

“Not on purpose—shut up!” Clark aims a half-hearted kick at Bruce’s shoulder. His face burns hotter than the sun and he hides in his hands.

Bruce grabs his ankle and tries to reel him in like a lost balloon. Clark almost falls for it until suddenly calloused hands are scritching along the bottom of his foot. He giggle-snorts. Kryptonite through the chest would be a mercy, at this point.

A hush falls over the room. Clark dares to peek through his fingers.

“Oh.” Bruce blinks, then the most wicked grin overtakes his face. “Do that again.”

“You’re the worst!” Clark pulls his leg towards his body and accidentally takes Bruce with it--who doesn’t seem the least bit bothered, by the way. Every time he lowers his leg, Bruce doesn’t let go.

“I don’t want to drop you!” Clark shrieks as if a bug is crawling on him, rather than a person.

“Then don’t.” Bruce squeezes his calf and Clark whines his way into a fit of cackles. His body trembles with the effort to not fly directly through the ceiling. The illusion of escape makes it so much worse, especially with Bruce’s fingers worming behind his knee.

“You coming down or am I gonna have to call the fire department?” Jesus, Bruce has a real talent for smirking out loud. Clark tries to shake him off without throwing him across the room. Bruce digs his fingers into Clark’s thigh like he’s climbing a tree and the resulting yelp has Clark resolving to flee the country.

“Y-You’re not building a great case as to why I should!” He flinches after a flurry of giggles and slams his head into the ceiling. Plaster and dust rain down on the two of them. Clark tries to cover the crater he left behind with his hands and a bashful smile.

“Alright, I’m done. I’d like to keep my ceiling in one piece.” Bruce pulls him down to Earth, only letting go when he’s sure that Clark won’t float away again.

“Ticklish Superman. Who knew?” Bruce scritches beneath Clark’s chin, just like at the gala all those weeks ago, and Clark shoves his chin down with a snort.

“No one, and I prefer it that way. Keep it quiet.” He can’t muster any severity in his voice and he’s not sure it would help if he could. The thought of Lois finding out--or worse, Diana--starts an inescapable loop of nervous smiles and a light fluttering in his chest.

“No promises.” Bruce smirks. “I hear Lois wants an exclusive. Maybe I’ll give her a call.”

“Don’t you dare. Bruce—“

He dials her office line, jogging towards the stairs. Clark shrieks and chases after him.

5 ) He’s mischievous. Deathly so.

…

After a long while of staring at his pitiful little list, Clark still finds himself restless. He has naught more than a skeleton, clinging scraps of Bruce’s infinite depths. The paper isn’t suited to contain him. He might actually know less than before.

Even as Bruce beats the shit out of him, he can’t think of anything else.

“Why don’t you let anyone get to know you?” Clark frowns at Bruce across the sparring mats. Bruce runs and leaps onto his shoulders, executing a flawless scissor grip. Clark raises his hand to support his back and Bruce swats him away.

“What?” Bruce grunts, bringing his elbows down onto Clark’s head. He barely notices.

“You’re always so stoic. You never let anyone see you happy.” Clark flips Bruce off his shoulders and down onto his back. He puts his hands on his hips and stares down at him.

“No, I never let anyone see me vulnerable. There’s a difference.” Bruce wraps his legs around Clark’s and takes him down, quickly rolling atop him. Within a second, Bruce unleashes a flurry of blows that, if Clark could feel more than dull impacts, he probably would fear.

“You’re allowed to be vulnerable in front of your friends, Bruce. That’s what makes them friends, not coworkers.” Clark catches his fists and holds them.

“I’ll pass along your suggestion. Are you going to fight back or should I go get Diana?” Bruce raises an eyebrow, breathing hard. Clark flips them both and pins Bruce down.

“I just think—stop wiggling—we should bond more, y’know? Know thy enemy, and all that.” Clark keeps pressing down until Bruce sighs and goes still in his grip. He knows he’s defeated. Smart man.

“That tends to apply to actual enemies, not coworkers.” Bruce sighs.

“Well, we’re more than that, aren’t we?” Clark presses, searching Bruce’s eyes. Bruce nods, looking all for the world like he might bolt from the room.

“Sooo, what’s your favorite color?” When Bruce is silent, Clark rolls his eyes and sits back. “Mine is yellow. Your turn.”

“…lavender.” Bruce eyes him warily. Clark helps him to his feet and they start the cycle again. The minute they stop fighting each other’s rhythm, they find a flawless sync.

“Nice! Okay, uh…favorite food?” Clark ducks under Bruce’s left hook and shoves him back.

“Alfred’s chicken noodle.” Bruce kicks Clark across the face and he lets himself go down. He brushes some of the dust off.

“That sounds nice.” He grins up at Bruce from the mat. The light haloes behind his head so beautifully.

“Yeah.” Bruce clears his throat. “And you…?” He pulls Clark to his feet and resets his stance.

“Can’t go wrong with a slice of fresh apple pie.” Clark sweeps forward with a wink.

Bruce shakes his head and snickers, then punches Clark hard enough in the ribs to crack his own knuckles.

…

Two sharp knocks on the doorframe announce Bruce before his voice does. Clark looks up from the dull light of his laptop.

“Got a second?” Bruce leans in the doorframe, cloaked in slight shadow. He’s dressed comfortably, surprisingly, in a soft t-shirt and sweatpants that hug him well. It makes Clark wanna pull him close.

“Always, yeah.” Clark sets his computer aside and sits up. Bruce leans against the edge of his desk and fishes something out of his pocket.

“Found some intel. I could use a fresh set of eyes on it.” The moon casts loving light across his eyes and jaw.

“Of course.” Clark sits up more.

“Found this nearby. I was hoping you could decipher it.” Bruce hands over a scrap of folded paper. Clark furrows his brow as he takes it, gingerly opening it up. He casts a curious glance at Bruce before he starts to read.

It’s his notes. His notes on Bruce. Shit.

He looks up slowly, horrified. Bruce smirks in full force, oozing mischief that Clark now knows is very much in character.

“Normally, I’m not a fan of being watched. Try to avoid it as much as I can.”

“You’re a hard man to read.” Clark clears his throat and folds the paper down to hide its contents further.

“Yet it seems you’ve cracked the code,” Bruce hums. Clark catches the faint glimmer of that old playboy spark. Bruce’s lips tilt into a devilish smirk.

“So, I’m right then? It’s important…for the record.” Clark scoots up against the headboard in an attempt to look casual. Bruce sits at the foot of the bed. Voluntarily. Clark stops breathing.

“I would say that parts are accurate.”

“Parts?” He clears his throat. Bruce snatches the paper from his grip. He starts murmuring as he skims the list.

“Let’s see…I like raspberries but I’m allergic.”

“You’re what?” The color drains from Clark’s face. Bruce shrugs.

“What else? Oh—I’m a dog person. I have a soft spot for cats.”

“Huh.”

“I am physically capable of laughter.” Bruce rolls his eyes.

“Proved that one already.” Clark smiles. Bruce scowls, then turns back to the paper. Clark remembers, in a terrible flash, the looping doodles of ‘Clark Kent-Wayne’ at the bottom of the page and chokes out a strangled scream.

He disintegrates the paper with a precise blast of heat vision. He feels a little bad for scorching the wall, but not that bad. The evidence is gone. Plausible deniability.

“Seriously?” He brushes the ash off his hands.

“I gotta keep my secrets.” Clark shrugs, but his face is incandescent with heat.

“What about that paper was so bad that it made Superman blush?” Bruce smirks.

“There is nothing on God’s green earth that you could do to make me tell you.” Clark grins from atop the high ground.

Bruce plucks his glasses off of his nose and sets them aside, careful not to touch the lenses. It’s a tender gesture for what is essentially a costume, but something in his heart flutters at the delicate care.

“Are you sure?” He leans close—close enough for Clark to catch a whiff of cologne and the intoxicating sparkle in his eye, close enough for Clark to lean in on instinct, and close enough for Bruce to wrap his hands around Clark’s waist like he’d been wishing he would since that stupid gala. Clark’s lips part.

“Okay, there might be a couple thi—“ Clark cuts himself off with a squeal, slamming his head into the headboard—the resulting crack speaks to a later promise of duct tape. As Bruce shoves his hands under his arms, Clark’s laughter bowls him over quicker than he can apologize.

“You are such a kid!” He throws his head back and cackles, curling into the tightest possible ball that his hulking form could take. Bruce leans over him.

“You have no grounds to call me that. You’re giggling.” Bruce raises an eyebrow,

“Because you’re t-tickling—” Clark regretfully finishes his sentence with a snort. Bruce lights up and chases the sound, relentlessly working his fingers into the grooves of his ribs. Clark hits his head again--there goes the rest of the headboard. And part of the wall.

Between the buzz of being touched by Bruce and being unused to this kind of touch, Clark melts into a haphazard pile of Superman with embarrassing speed. Bruce manages to work his fingers up further, right into his top rib, and he punches a hole directly into the nightstand, sending the lamp toppling over. Bruce relents then, passively assessing the damage while Clark drags in a deep breath.

“You really think it’s a good idea to tickle someone who could throw you into the sun?” Clark huffs, wobbling on a smile. Bruce smirks.

“Never said it was a good idea. Just an alluring one.”

“You find me alluring? Scandalous, Mr. Wayne.” Clark offers a teasing grin. Bruce’s brow crinkles with concern. He goes from fiddling with Clark’s waist to fiddling with his hands.

Bruce gets tactile when he’s stressed. Or when something’s on his mind.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Clark asks softly. He scoots just a bit closer.

“The day after the gala, I had Vicki write up a piece about you and I splitting. Like I promised. It was never published.”

“I noticed,” Clark says carefully, tracking every detail of Bruce’s face.

“I asked her not to.”

“Why?”

“I knew if the article went live, you would stop with the affection and the dates. I know it was only for appearances, but…I really enjoyed it. I wasn’t ready to let it go. I…care about you.” Bruce looks up at him, worry entrenched in the dips of his face. It slips to something resigned and neutral, a blank mask.

Clark smiles like a lunatic, covering his mouth to hide it. He contains the desperate urge to take a lap around the manor. Months, years, of pining bloom into sweet possibility within him. The weight of guilt sloughs off his shoulders. Bruce likes him.

“Y’know, for the smartest man in Gotham, you miss quite a lot.” Clark leans in and waits. Bruce’s eyes flick to Clark’s lips, and in a Batman-esque flash of motion, he swoops down and kisses him. Their bodies slot together almost magnetically. Clark flips them over and bears back down, swallowing Bruce’s gasp of surprise in his mouth.

In an insane way, kissing Bruce is like coming home.

He flings his arms around Clark’s neck, pulling him impossibly closer. Clark immediately, greedily, lets his lips travel along Bruce’s pulse point. He chases the memory of the gala, littering desperate bruises along the cologne-tinged skin. His hand lingers at the base of his throat, brushing reverent fingers as he marks every inch available to him.

Bruce yelps into a giggle, breaking them apart. Clark blinks, processing, then grins with unbridled power.

“This feels…counter-productive.” Bruce swallows, bobbing Clark’s hand. His skin is hot and red to the touch.

“Nice try. You already enabled me—that was your first mistake.” Clark tickles him everywhere he can reach, dodging elbows and headbutts. Bruce cackles from his core, stumbling through a few high-pitched syllables of protest as he twists. He works so hard to force his voice back into its usual octave that it cracks. Clark snickers.

“I am going to kill you,” Bruce growls, reaching back to return the favor. Clark slams his arm down on the mattress, caressing the back of his hand with immovable fingertips.

“Then this is a wonderful last night on Earth.” Clark nibbles on his earlobe. Bruce’s giggly scream and the ensuing threats on his life are music to Clark’s ears.

#my fics #ticklish!bruce wayne #ticklish!clark kent #bruce wayne #clark kent #superbat #dc #ALRIGHT the lois/selina thing came from somewhere ok bc i know its a teeny ship #tbh im not sure it even exists #but my lois is inspired by lena luthor from the cw supergirl series bc lesbianism + superman makes me happy #but i felt like if lois was into kara (which originally she was) clark would be working around the clock to get them together #which derailed the scene. so i put lois and selina together #wlw mlm solidarity clark and lois both being head over heels for their respective creatures of the night speaks to me #they're besties your honor #sorry this is not what i said i would post next but its what i finished off my pile so #also titles from better love by hozier bc that song is superbat to me

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tickletastic · 1 year

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Bruce is Not Here Right Now, Leave a Message?

Fandom: DC Comics

Ship: Clark/Bruce

Warnings: Mentions/hints of suggestive acts

Summary: Clark will never get sick of seeing the juxtaposition between Bruce and Brucie. It's almost impossible to think that his sleep deprived, coffee addicted, moody boyfriend can go to a playboy flirt in only an hour's time. Day five of Miya and Mia's Tickletober: disguises!

“Your ass looks great in those pants,” Bruce whispers under his breath, watching Clark’s cheeks turn pink across the room. The reporter turns away from his conversation for a moment to send him a disapproving look.

“Mr. Wayne,” a voice from Bruce’s left calls, he turns his head quickly, charming playboy smile on his face.

“Why hello,” Bruce says, voice gravelly, “I’m glad you could make it to the gala, Niecy. These galas could always use some more fresh, talented reporters.”

Niecy’s cheeks turn a dusty pink, and she reaches her hand out to shake Bruce’s. “Thank you for the invite, Mr. Wayne. What’s Going in Gotham hasn’t gotten many invitations so far, it can be pretty difficult for new websites these days.” Her smile twists into something playfully sinister, her eyes darting to something behind Bruce. “Speaking of the news, the word on the beat has been that you, Mr. Wayne,” she points a wobbly finger at him, and Bruce takes note that she had been enjoying the free champagne, “have been dating one of us.” She ends with another unstable point towards herself, looking pleased.

Bruce laughs, not his natural one, but the one he adopted for the moments when he had to be Brucie instead of just Bruce. “Now Niecy,” he starts, lowering his voice, “what do you mean by that?”

“Reporters talk, you know, and some of them have mentioned seeing you with a certain blue-eyed star as of late.” Niecy tips her head down a little, looking up at Bruce from above her glasses.

“I’ve been seen around with a blue-eyed hunk?” Bruce asks, perking up, “which one?” He winks in her direction, and she looks away to avoid another blush.

“So you’re saying there’s more than just Clark Kent?” Niecy asks, cutting straight to the chase.

“Oh Bruce and I?” A new voice asks, Clark throwing his arm around Bruce’s shoulder. “We’re just great friends, I don’t know if I could be with such a heartbreaker.”

Bruce laughs, nodding his head along with Clark. He makes a show of leaning upwards– he’d say later that he barely even had to adjust his height, claim that he’s just as tall as Clark– and placing a loud kiss on Clark’s cheek. “I’m not sure Mr. Southern Hospitality would like the limelight so much.”

Bruce leans forward, not jostling Clark’s arms too much, but making sure he can stage-whisper to Niecy, “That’s not to say I wouldn’t, though.”

Niecy laughs at the spectacle, her eyes showing that she is intent to learn more, somewhat disbelieving of the two men in front of her. “Never say never, Mr. Wayne,” she says with a wink. Her eyes follow a tray of champagne as it passes them, and she has to play it casual for a second, looking around the room, “well, I’ve got to go, but it was nice to get acquainted with the two of you. Thank you again for the invitation, Mr. Wayne.”

Niecy leaves to not-so-subtly trail the waiter with the champaign, and Clark and Bruce watch as her face lights up when another waiter passes with hors d’œrves.

“That was,” Bruce begins before being cut off by Clark.

“The funniest thing I’ve seen in weeks,” Clark says, grinning smugly at Bruce.

“Shut up, Clark,” Bruce sighs, looking across the room. Dick and Tim are chatting with some investors, Jason had once explained that Dick plays the part of the charmer and Tim plays the part of the genius: either way, Bruce knows that it always works. Damian is surrounded by a group of adults– one of them being Selina, of course, who makes sure things are alright when Bruce is playing Brucie– all of them looking incredibly impressed with him. Jason was not in attendance of course, because he is legally dead, and Steph, Cass, and Duke had decided to stay with him and have a movie night.

When Bruce has finished his quick survey of the room, a silly headcount like he’s some counselor at a daycamp for toddlers, he leans in closer to Clark, lips nearly brushing his ear, “want to get out of here?”

Clark’s face heats up, Bruce can feel his body heat radiating off, and the reporter is nodding rapidly, eyes wide.

“Meet me in the bedroom in ten minutes,” Bruce whispers, and then he’s off, grabbing a champagne glass as he effortlessly passes through the sea of guests, saying hello to all that he passes, stopping to say some quick words with others. Clark knows he should look away, given what Niecy had just said to Bruce, he probably shouldn’t be watching the billionaire’s ass as he saunters out of the ballroom… or at least not so obviously.

When Clark makes it upstairs, having been practically vibrating with excitement the entire time, Bruce is just in his boxers. Clark knew he would be, in part because he knows his boyfriend, but also because he couldn’t stop himself from listening, but with how slowly Bruce had undressed, Clark knew that Bruce had known.

Clark shuts the door and quickly crowds Bruce on the bed, pinning him down. He strokes his hands up Bruce’s forearms down to his wrists, just holding them with a loose grip. He leans in for a kiss, murmuring something against Bruce’s lips about having to wait through the entire gala.

He eventually pulls away so Bruce can catch his breath, smiling down at him. His cheeks are red and his hair is a mess, his eyes closed as he hums in appreciation.

Clark moves his hands up quickly from Bruce’s wrists to his tummy, fingers scratching in circles and webbing out to tickle every part he can at once. Bruce snorts, throwing his head back with laughter. He protests, kicking his legs out, begging his boyfriend to stop.

“Stop so soon? I’ve been hearing Brucie laugh all night, I think it’s time to hear Bruce, too.”

#superbat #hell yeah #bruce wayne #batman #clark kent #superman #ticklish!bruce #ler!clark kent #dc #dc comics #miya&mia's tickletober #tickletober #tickletober 2023

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fanficsandfluff · 2 years

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Squealing Santa 2k22

A/N: Ty to our host @squealing-santa (this year @hypahticklish) and anyone else involved in making this a tradition every holiday season. It's always a tough spot to be put in to not be able to write someone's first choice of fandom characters, but I hope this compromise was worth it. It was especially hard for me to obtain inspiration for this fic, but still, I hope it doesn't come off that way.

Happy Holidays, @6phantom6angel6 !

Fandom: DC Comics

Characters: Bruce Wayne (Batman) x Clark Kent (Superman)

Their sleeping habits were about what you'd expect from the Dark Knight and the Man of Steel. One spent his nights awake and fighting crime, so Bruce tended to sleep in. Clark was the one with the day job and normal nine to five working hours, so he was up at a reasonable morning hour. He also grew up on a farm where the roosters woke him up at the crack of dawn, so yeah, one could say Clark was a morning person.

And often Clark would wake before Bruce and lay in bed an hour extra just to see if he could be there when Bruce would naturally wake. Most of the time, he got too restless and couldn't wait it out, having to get up and make himself coffee. On the rare occasions where he did catch Bruce waking, he'd test that mood of the Batman's. Was he in the mood for Clark to be a cuddle bug? Did he want morning sex? Did he just want to lay there and not speak?

Today was one of those 'lay there' mornings. There was snow outside, as the wintertime air had chilled the entire manor. The chill, Clark would blame, caused him to snuggle close to Bruce overnight. But now he was laying there, apart from Bruce but head tilted on the pillow to watch the man closely. His breathing pattern had changed, Clark could pick up, so he was no longer asleep. It was almost like the man was feigning sleep so he wouldn't have to interact, laying there motionless as can be.

Clark slid a hand over under the covers and scratched at the base of Bruce's spine to give him a 'hello, I'm here' message. He felt Bruce's back arch in the opposite direction of his fingers and a small huff of air come from the man. Next, Bruce rolled over onto his stomach completely and stuffed his hands under the pillow beneath his head.

Clark smiled softly, now turning fully onto his side to face Bruce. The hand that slunk under the covers to reach his partner's side remained there and slid back up Bruce's back, now rubbing it. He felt Bruce tense at first and then sink further into his expensive sheets. Clark could never tell the difference and that always boggled Bruce's mind. You could melt into this cotton-silk hybrid by sight, he'd always say to him. Clark never cared much for the fancy things of human life, anyway.

The Kryptonian curled his fingers against the fabric of Bruce's shirt and dragged them up from the bit of fat and muscle by his neck, straight down his spine back to the base of his back. Bruce tried so hard not to jolt, and Clark caught every twitch.

"Feeling ticklish this morning?"

Those were the first words to leave Clark's mouth all morning, breaking their shared, sleepy silence for them. And hey, he was proud of it. He watched Bruce bury his face into his pillow and sigh, not giving him a verbal response. Typical.

Clark smiled and he scooted himself closer to Bruce's very prone, very open body. He didn't like so much that Bruce was wearing a shirt to bed lately. He was normally shirtless, but the winter cold that blew in had forced him to take on extra layers. Once the superpowered man was right beside Bruce, he wrapped his arm around Bruce's back fully and gingerly set all five fingertips against Bruce's side.

"Don't-"

-- Was all that came out of Bruce's sleepy state and gravelly voice before he grunted when Clark dug in sharply to those pinpointed areas. The arms under his head twitched down and his elbows neared his own sides.

"Why not? I like it when you're like this," Clark teased. His thick arm remained fastened like a belt across Bruce's back, but now he traced those fingertips up, up, up, until he threaded his hand and arm through Bruce's still raised one. And Clark pulled back only a fraction to have Bruce prone before him with no effort on his part. Clark's chest was in contact with Bruce's back and he had Bruce's right arm pinned beneath their melded bodies, and the other he was keeping still in its naturally raised position with his free hand. They were also partially laying on their sides now, so Bruce wasn't flush against the mattress.

"Clark," Bruce warned because, oh yeah, Clark recognized his warning voice, all right. But he was in a cuddly state this morning that couldn't be quashed by Bruce's 'don't touch me' state.

"Good morning," was the response Superman gave to his Batman.

Clark hooked that arm tight and grabbed Bruce's other arm, creating an arm brace and handcuff all in one. Now he had his one hand completely occupied pinning his partner, but the other was free and limber and ready to deliver some tickles.

Clark positioned said hand at the dip in Bruce's side and that hand went under the loose-fitting shirt. Bruce's breath hitched. Clark gently wiggled his fingers against that sweet little dip in the side and he felt Bruce's bare heel collide into his shin and strain on his arm bond. But Clark was using his super strength and no way was Bruce going to get out of the hold until Clark was good and ready to release him.

But Bruce wasn't laughing, Clark noticed. Just huffing and grunting and squirming. He wasn't worried, he'd get him soon enough. Bruce wasn't one to outright belly laugh, even with friends. Even with provocation, as it turned out.

Clark applied more pressure and he scratched his fingers up to Bruce's ribcage, getting to the low ribs first and tickling his way up top. Up and down he went a few times. Bruce broke here, a quick burst of a laugh coming when Clark stuck his thumb just so under his bottommost rib and vibrated it there.

"Fuck," he heard Bruce curse.

Clark smiled, "My, you're cranky today.."

"I w-wonder why."

"You're a piece of work," Clark smirked and he lifted his hand off Bruce's body. Bruce was forced to watch as Clark brought his hand up near his face and then dropped it slightly down again, touching the bare tricep with silky soft skin. Skin without scars or callouses like much of the rest of his body. Which made it extra sensitive. Clark ghosted his fingertips onto this skin, knowing exactly what to do to make Bruce want to crawl out of his skin.

There they lay, flicking and caressing that tender, pale skin right above his armpit.

Bruce tried hiding his face into his raised arm, either of them the more he tried. He just needed to muffle the laughs that were sure to come from him soon. He let out small giggles and huffs of breath when they would come so close to bursting into full-blown laughter, so he'd have to let it out in small bits to avoid that embarrassing scene.

"Sensitive, sensitive," Clark whispered into Bruce's ear. Well that didn't help, the big jerk.

Clark had his hand poised in such a way that Bruce could not see where his hand was, just being able to feel the fingers when they'd make contact. Thank god Clark didn't keep his fingernails long or this would be unbearable. Or so Bruce thought, because the torment was soon turning unbearable anyway.

"Let's see what we've got under here..." Clark mused, just as Bruce whined,

"No!"

Thick, calculated fingers slithered beneath the already loose short sleeve of Bruce's shirt and wiggled against the very exposed armpit. Clark's fingers were barely even tickling the hair hidden beneath the shirt at this spot before Bruce was laughing.

Clark smiled wide behind Bruce's head, tilting his back to avoid being headbutted in the nose. It wouldn't have hurt him, but he didn't want to end up leaving Bruce with a bump on the back of his head from the impact.

Clark's devious fingers did not cease their wiggles and skitters and spidering, right in the hollow with equally soft skin as the tricep. Once you'd get past the hair, it was soft. Bruce was laughing, hard. Clark loved it, he loved every second of this. To get the usually ornery man in a vulnerable position like this was a rare opportunity, and could only happen if he was waking from a slumber.

One finger in this spot was enough to rip a snort from Bruce's lips and Clark had to chuckle into the back of Bruce's neck. He removed his fingers from the armpit skin and resumed their tickling on the shirt covering the area. This did not seem to affect Bruce's reactions in the slightest. Clark stroked from Bruce's highest rib, all the way up past the armpit and tricep to the inside of his elbow, before wiggling back down. He liked the up and down patterns, as they kept the laughs coming from Bruce and it was exciting for him to administer.

Clark stopped tickling Bruce for a few seconds to let him relax before he let his arms free from their bond. Bruce lowered them completely and hunched himself over, pushing at Clark with his butt and back with the motion.

"You awake?"

"Been awake, Clark, thanks for checking."

Clark grinned and he leaned over to kiss the back of Bruce's head. The man was adorable in the mornings, when he shouldn't have been awake, when he was all Clark's to toy with.

#squealing santa #squealing santa 2k22 #squealing santa 2022 #dc #dc comics #batman #superman #bruce wayne #clark kent #bruce x clark #batman x superman #ticklish!bruce #ticklish!batman #ler!clark #ler!superman #tickle fic #dc tickle fic #tickling #ticklish

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anonymous10100 · 8 months

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Henry Cavill’s ticklish Superman training

#ticklish #tickle #tickletorture #maletickling #henry cavill #superman #ticklish men #ticklish Celebrities #tickled #feetish #feet #malefeet #ticklishmalefeet #ticklisharmpits #henrycavillfeet

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evilhorse · 1 year

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Talk about our ticklish jobs!

#world’s best comics #superman #clark kent #kal el #rescue #flood #ticklish #strong #jerry siegel #paul cassidy #dc comics #comics #40s comics #golden age comics

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butterfly-giggles · 1 year

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This is not mine.

This beauty was on my Twitter page.

@kiimmitk

#my adventures with superman #ticklish superman

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city-tickles · 4 months

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Lois’ tickle adventure with Superman!

Source: https://www.deviantart.com/kandenrem/art/Lois-ticklish-massage-2-2-1048915103

#tickling #ticklish #foot tickling #massage tickling #m/f tickling #dc tickling #tickle art friday #tickle art

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fickle-tiction · 1 year

Text

New Discovery

Short little continuation to my last tickletober fic (This one is also not being posted on the correct day lololol who cares about timelines or playing the game the right way)

~~~

Bruce was sprawled on his back, one arm draped over his eyes, chest heaving, wearing nothing but a pair of hastily pulled on boxer briefs. Clark was laying next to him in the same state, one hand splayed over his stomach as he smiled up at the ceiling.

"That was.." Clark trailed off, trying to gather the words to express himself.

"Yeah." Bruce sighed, moving his arm to reveal the satisfied smile on his face. Clark wouldn't say his heart melted at the sight of the soft smile on Bruce's face, but only because he valued his life too much to say it out loud where Bruce could hear it.

"There was one thing I wanted to ask about." Clark rolled over so he was laying on his side, using one hand to prop his head up. Bruce made an inquisitive hum before stetching not unlike a cat, various joints popping and casuing him to groan in appreciaiton.

"Earlier," Bruce turned his head lazily to look at Clark. "When you said you were a little ticklish-" Bruce was scrambling off the bed before Clark had a chance to finish his sentence.

Clark took off after him with an excited laugh, chasing him around the bed like a cat with a mouse. Bruce was on one side of the bed, eyes darting around the room as though he had any chance of escape. Clark was on the other side, a predatory grin on his face. "Give it up, B. This is happening."

"It is not." Despite his best efforts, Bruce was grinning as he took a few steps side-to-side, tracking Clark's reactions to his movements. He feinted left before running to the right. "HA!--NO!" Clark caught him around the middle, hoisting him over his head with ease before body slamming him onto the bed.

"Clark!" Bruce wheeze-laughed, the air forcefully vacating his lungs at the impact. "Come on. Can't we talk about this?" He asked, a nervous smile already sneaking it's way onto his face as Clark hovered over him on his knees, caging Bruce's thighs in so he had the illusion of being able to escape without any means of actually doing it.

"Of course we can, B." Bruce looked up, naive and hopeful. His smile fell when he saw the sinister look Clark was giving him. "Let's talk about where your worst spot is."

Bruce tried to slip away, but Clark brought his weight down to pin him in place, grabbing his arms and pinning them above his head before he could even blink. "Fuck me." Bruce muttered, a nervous swooping feeling settling into his stomach when he tried to pull his arms down and found that they didn't budge an inch.

"Been there. Done that." Clark smirked at the death glare Bruce was now shooting him. "Now I'm onto this."

Bruce pressed his lips together, stubbornly refusing to say anything.

Clark shifted his grip so he was only using one hand to pin both of Bruce's wrists to the bed. "C'mon B. You can save yourself a lot of…exploration." His right hand was now free to trail delicately down Bruce's outstretched arm; the muscles tensing more and more the closer Clark got to his armpit.

"How should-" Bruce stopped to suck in a quick breath when Clark wiggled a single finger into his defenseless armpit. "-I know?"

That gave Clark pause. He tilted his head to the side like the golden retriever Bruce always claimed he was. "How don't you know?"

Bruce would have shrugged if he could, but he had to settle for awkwardly twitching his shoulder instead. "What's yours?"

"Oh no you don't." Clark laughed. "You're not getting to me that easily. Besides,-" Without warning his danced his fingers along the side of Bruce's neck, causing an immediate chain reaction of giggles to spill out of the normally stoic man. "-I'm not the one with the adorably ticklish neck." He only stopped when Bruce nearly succeeded in biting his fingers.

"Hngh." Bruce grunted, doing his best to tamp down the smile still stretched across his face. "So not your neck. Got it. I bet it's somewhere obvious; Like your armpits."

Clark shouldn't be surprised that Bruce managed to guess right on the first try, but he'd be damned if he was going to admit it. "I don't appreciate-" He squeezed Bruce's side and smirked at the full body jolt it caused. "-you trying to turn this on me."

"I don't appreciate you holding me down and torturing me." Bruce's teasing tone and soft smile contradicted the words, even as he sucked in a gasp of air when Clark acted like he was going to go for his stomach, stopping just before he made contact.

"I would hardly call this torture" Clark dragged the tips of his fingers down Bruce's protruding ribs, smirking when Bruce leaned as far to his right as he could to try to escape the teasing touches. "It's more like one of those getting to know you games." Clark switched sides, gently scratching at Bruce's ribs on the right side and causing him to jolt back towards the left.

"Can you st--stop." Bruce huffed, gasping and sucking his stomach in when Clark danced his fingers along the ridges of his abs. "Just ha-hold on a sss--second."

"Was that a stutter?" Clark laughs, momentarily pausing to let Bruce catch his breath and try to regain control of himself.

Bruces lips are pressed tight, residual laughter bubbling in his throat until he finally manages to smother it out.

"Well?" Clark prompts, gently pinching just below Bruce's ribs and making him twitch with a cut off curse.

"…I didn't think you'd actually stop." Bruce admits, a sheepish smile playing around the corner of his mouth. "I don't have anything prepared."

Clark snorts, shakes his head, and then drags his fingers down either side of Bruce's ribs, heedless of the arms that came shooting down to clamp tightly to his sides. "You are such a dork." He groaned, gently scratching at either side of Bruce's stomach and grinning in triumph when a shocked bark of laughter erupted from him. "And no one will ever believe me."

"OhMyGod Clark!" Bruce laughed, hands gripping Clark's wrists for dear life. "Do not--" He choked on an inhale, head thrown back as Clark rhythmically squeezed his sides. "Fuck offffff!" He gasped, desperately trying to smother his laughter before any more could escape again.

"That's no way to speak to your loving boyfriend" Clark used one hand to raise Bruce's left arm and slam it back against the bed so he could tickle at his armpit unimpeded.

"'M'gonna---going t-to--kill you." Bruce threatened, his free hand cupped over his armpit to keep Clark's fingers out.

"Mmhhmm." Naturally, Clark took the opportunity to explore somewhere new and danced quick fingers across Bruce's taut stomach. Bruce cackled, and Clark quickly released his arm so he wouldn't hurt himself with the force he was yanking on it. He wrapped both arms around himself, trying to cover as much of his stomach as possible.

"Bruce, do you not know what 'a little' means?" Clark teased, wiggling his fingers into any exposed space he could reach. Bruce jumped and squirmed every time Clark's fingers managed to make contact with his stomach or sides, laughter bubbling out from behind tight lips as he tried in vein to shimmy out from under Clark's weight.

"Just wait until Diana hears about this." Clark only said it to get a reaction out of Bruce, and he was not disappointed.

Bruce's eyes momentarily widened, until Clark managed to produce another bout of surprised laughter when he gently tickled around his collarbones. "Cl-ha-ark Jo--Joseph Ke-ha-KENT!" Bruce growled through his laughter, his normally lethal hands now uselessly batting at Clark's chest as he reflexively brought his chin down and shoulders up to protect himself. "Don't---you--dare."

"Something wrong?" Clark was the perfect picture of innocence .... if you ignored the fact that he was once again pinning Bruce's wrists to the bed on either side of his head.

Something about this whole situation had Bruce feeling uncharacteristically childish. "Oh, bite me." Bruce muttered, despite the grin still on his face.

Clark's smile sharpened into a smirk. "Now there's an idea." Bruce went still beneath him, eyes going wide as he realized what Clark was planning.

"No."

"It's fitting. That's how all of this started."

Bruce did not whimper at the memory of Clark's teeth grazing along the thin skin of his neck. "Clark, no."

"Bruce, yes." That was all the warning he got before Clark was leaning down and gently nibbling on the side of Bruce's neck, laughing along with Bruce when he tried to force Clark's face away with his own head. "Is this your worst spot?" He mumbled into the side of Bruce's neck, his words drowned out by the bubbly giggles Bruce was failing to hold in, despite trying his best.

"I--I plead the fi-hihi-fifth."

Clark dragged his lips down Bruce's neck, over his collarbones, taking the time to suck a mark into them just to hear the resulting whine. He nipped at one of Bruce's pecs as he gave him a chance to catch his breath and let his laughter die down. "Hmmm. Definitely not here."

"Cl-Clark." Bruce gasped, body jolting as he felt Clark making his way to his ribcage.

"What about here?" Clark asked, his mouth never leaving Bruce's skin despite him reflexively trying to twitch away.

"N-no." Bruce answered, snickering and twitching when Clark mouthed along his ribs, dropping kisses onto them at random.

"Hmmmmm." Clark hummed directly into Bruce's bones, resulting in a shocked laugh and frantic bout of shimmying. Clark chose to stay there a little longer, until Bruce started squirming in earnest, laughter falling freely from his lips.

"Mmmmmmmmaaaaybe-" He hummed into Bruce's side, relishing in the frenzied wriggling he was causing. "Here?" His lips landed on Bruce's stomach, where he began nibbling on abs in earnest. Bruce didn't stand a chance, quickly giving in to his laughter, body jolting each time Clark tried a new spot.

"Yes!" He yelped, sucking his stomach in as far as it would go, yet still unable to escape the onslaught of teeth and lips. "Yes! Th-haha-that's it! Cl-haha-Clark!!"

"Are you sure?" Clark asked, in-between teasing along the ridges of Bruce's abs with his tongue. "You said you didn't know."

"I--didn't." Bruce laughed, banging his head back against the mattress as though that would make it tickle less. "But -ahaha- now I do. Cl-hah-Clark ple-hehehe-please!"

"Mmmm Okay." Clark hummed. "I just want to try one. More. Thing." Bruce never could have prepared himself for the feeling of a tongue wiggling into his belly button. Thankfully Clark released his arms before diving in. Bruce buried his hands in Clark's hair and yanked, head thrown back as deep belly laughter poured out of him.

Clark backed off after a few seconds, grinning ear to ear at the sight below him. Bruce's face was flushed a healthy shade of pink, he was smiling so wide it accentuated the crow's feet around his eyes, and he looked incredibly relaxed despite the residual frantic laughter. Clark pushed himself up to his knees to get off, and Bruce took the opportunity to roll onto his stomach, face buried in the mattress and arms clamped to his sides as he calmed down.

"Did I break you?" Clark teased, settling next to Bruce and rubbing soothing circles into his back as his breathing evened back out.

Bruce turned his head to the side to level a glare at Clark. The effect was ruined by the smile still stuck on his features. "You're so lucky you're hot." Bruce huffed. "I would never have allowed that otherwise."

"Allowed it?" Clark asked, eyebrow cocked arrogantly. "Is that what you want to call it?"

Bruce flipped him the bird as his head dropped back down to the mattress. Clark couldn't help but laugh at the uncharacteristic display of childishness.

After another minute of Clark rubbing circles onto his back Bruce finally sat up. "Okay." He sighed, hands hovering over his knees. Clark tilted his head in question, and Bruce smirked. "Your turn." Even Clark's super senses couldn't prepared him for Bruce launching himself at him, immediately burying his hands into Clark's armpits and clawing at him. The Man Of Steel never stood a chance.

#augtickletober2023 #ticklish!bruce wayne #ticklish!batman #ticklish!clark kent #ticklish!superman #superbat #tickling #fanfiction #i actually don't like this one at all but i am sick of looking at it so i'm releasing it into the wild.

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thebest-medicine · 2 months

Note

Was that a giggle just now? - Number 1. with lois lane and clark kent

Prompt 1 - "Was that a giggle just now?"

A/N: i love them so much!!! this show is sooooo cute omg

…

Lois stared in disbelief, looking at her fingers as though they were magic. All they had done was prod into Clark’s side just below his ribs to get him attention. A bubbly sound had wormed its way out of Clark in response. “Was that….. a giggle just now?” She asked slowly.

“Wha- me?” Clark swallowed louder than usual, palming the back of his neck with an awkward smile. “Hm? I didn’t hear anything.”

“Ha, ok.” Lois chortled, putting an arm around Clark’s waist and pulling him closer as they walked. She noticed his blush and tried to fight off her own. “Well, then how about you help me out with my new scoop?”

Clark perked up, looking over at her confused but curious. “What new scoop?”

She almost felt bad. “I heard a tip…” Lois leaned in close. “That Superman…is ticklish!” She shouted at the end, her fingers darting suddenly to his sides to tickle and squeeze along his middle.

Clark squirmed, eyes clenching shut as he barked out a laugh of surprise. “L-Lois!” He squeaked, starting to laugh outright. “Nohohohoho!”

“Oh yes, you try to lie to investigative journalist Lois Lane? You get tickled!” She proclaimed, making Clark snort and flinch forward in embarrassment.

“Ha- L-L-Lohohoohohohohois! AhhhHH! Nohoho!” Clark cried, desperately trying to keep himself together and just take the intruding sensation.

…

[more sentence starter fic prompts]

[other sentence starter fics]

[read this & further MAWS drabbles on ao3]

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cantwritethetword · 7 months

Text

Biceps? Really?

Fic Descript: Superman finds out Batman has a very odd ticklish spot, and of course has to tease Bruce half to death over it.

~A/N - HELLO ONCE AGAIN

Look at me being somewhat consistent with uploads SDJFHKALSDFJHKH amazing what meds can do

I've had these requests in my inbox for aaaaaages (im so sorry) and I feel like I can finally write something for them.

Prompts were:

Please excuse the typos and the "it's ok that this will be s(H)ort" cause that was back when I was like super burnt out AND unmedicated lmao so I was like OH JUST A LIL FIC YOU CAN DO IT but this will be a proper one lmao

Also lmao forgive me for the super boring title I couldn't think of another one.

EDIT: ALSO AGSKAGSKAGD ILL HAVE IT BE KNOWN I USE DARK MODE ON MOBILE THIS WAS ON MY LAPTOP AND IDK HOW TO GET TUMBLR TO BE DARK MODE ON LAPTOP HENCE THE WHITE SCREENSHOTS THANK YOU THAT IS ALL

- Enoy! ~

Tag List: @constanteyeburn

Masterpost Link

"I still..." Bruce huffed as he lay on the floor, glaring at his partner. "Don't get... why you're still so surprised... every time we do this."

Clark, the absolute puppy dog, was still beaming after launching yet another random tickle attack on Bruce. Since first discovering the Batman's hilarious (and quite frankly adorable) little weakness, it was like crack for Clark. Any time he had the opportunity, he launched himself at Bruce and just started squeezing. And, because Bruce was just that damn ticklish, the poor superhero couldn't last ten seconds before crumbling into a flood of chuckles.

"I don't know." Clark grinned. "You don't seem like the ticklish type, is all. Never have."

Bruce rolled his eyes, before starting to stand up. "I am not the ticklish type."

"Uh, oh yes you are!" Clark laughed, reaching to grab Bruce's arm. "And where do you think you're going?"

Normally, Bruce's response to this would be a swift bat (hehe) at Clark's hand to push it away from him as he stood, and an even swifter escape before Clark decided to go for round 2 (it had happened before, and Bruce swore he would've passed out if Clark hadn't taken pity on him).

But this time, whatever way Clark grabbed Bruce's arm, sent electric shivers coursing down Bruce's side. Bruce let out a yelp, and half-collapsed onto one knee.

Clark gasped, his face like a kid on Christmas morning. "No way."

"Clark." Bruce's eye's widened as he pieced together what had just happened. "That wasn't-"

"Wasn't what?" Clark interjected, pulling Bruce closer to him using the aforementioned grabbed bicep.

The tugging motion pressed Clark's fingers right into Bruce's muscle again, forcing a symphony of strange noises, squeaks, and choked laughs out of the absolutely screwed superhero. As Bruce fell, Clark expertly manoeuvered him onto his back (for the second time that day) so that Clark could kneel on his forearms.

"What the hell Kent?" Bruce grunted, pulling his tough-guy facade over his currently anxious and flustered self. "Let me go."

Clark chuckled. "Oh no, we're investigating this."

Bruce cursed under his breath. He remembered Clark's methodical tickle monster days all too well. When Superman himself had him pinned to the floor with no hope of escape, and took his sweet ass time tracing and prodding with various numbers of fingers on any tickle spot that came to mind.

This time would be no different. Clark began with his thumbs, massaging small circles into the very center of Bruce's muscle.

And holy fuck did it tickle.

Bruce's entire torso tried to lift itself off the floor for a moment, his eyes wide in shock at just how bad it was, before his body slammed back onto the floor and flailed. His legs kicked a ticklish drum beat as the highest pitched giggle either man had ever heard escaped his lips.

"Wow you're ticklish here!" Clark laughed over the noise. "I can't believe this is even possible!"

"SHUTUP!" Bruce shouted between bouts of hysterics, twisting his hips from side to side to alleviate the torturous sensations.

"Seriously though," Clark continued as if nothing was even happening. "Ticklish biceps? You've got to be kidding me."

"CLARK!"

Superman nodded to himself, resting his hands on his thighs. "You're right, you're right, it's time to move on to something else."

Bruce gulped in mouthfuls of air before registering what Clark was implying. "No-... wait-..."

Ten feather-light fingernails touched down right above Bruce's armpit and paused for a moment, soaking in the anticipation. Clark didn't have a chance to start moving before Bruce broke into deep streams of laughter.

"Really, Batman?" Clark taunted. "Breaking that easily?"

"Fuhuhuck ohoff."

Superman rolled his eyes, before trailing down Bruce's biceps from elbow to underarm. That singular smooth movement upped Bruce's laughter by a few pitches, a good sign for what was to come.

Clark lifted his hands and reset them back to their starting position on Bruce's arm, before letting his fingers begin their descent once more.

Except this time, each finger took its turn to softly trace up a few inches before lifting and straightening again while his wrist moved further to Bruce's elbow. Like two gliding spiders, Clark's hands pulled downright squeals from Bruce.

"NOHO!" The Batman pleaded. "I CAHAN'T- CAHAN'T TAKE IHIT!"

Smirking, Clark tutted. "Oh come on, you're usually so tough!"

But, now that he thought about it, Bruce was rather red by this point (and not just from sheer embarrassment). And while it certainly was fun tormenting the usually far too stoic superhero, the fun could wait for another day.

Clark wasn't forgetting about this any time soon.

#crow's tickle fic #superbat tickle fic

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tickle-bugs · 1 year

Text

Needling Away

Summary: When Clark skips a team-building acupuncture appointment, Lois offers to make it up to him personally with a massage. AU where Jimmy knows Clark’s secret and tries to protect him but Lois is on to both of them.

Lois has officially backed herself into the corner of all corners and she knows it.

She’s almost positive that Clark is Superman. She still has questions, so many goddamn questions, but it fits so neatly in her brain that she’s getting tired of ignoring it. Clark’s just a nice, small-town boy who conveniently disappears whenever crime is happening, who shows up to work tired and bruised, and whose muscled chest is the exact softness and density as the super-pecs she’d just pressed her cheek on last week.

She knows that chest. At this point, it’s denial.

“Hey guys.” Lois bumps open the door to their supply closet of an office. She sets down coffee and bagels for the three of them.

“Hi Lois!” Jimmy looks up from fiddling with his camera. Clark waves shyly at her. His gaze hangs on her with awe of witnessing the sunrise. She looks away, face burning.

“I brought you something.” She fishes out a crumpled envelope from her pocket and cringes at the state of it. She smooths it out. Takes a breath.

“I know we’re still fighting to move up, but…I couldn’t have done any of this without you guys. I figured…if you’re anything like me, you’re probably stressed out of your minds, sitting up at night trying to figure out who Superman is--”

She meets Clark’s eye. His eyes widen. She clears her throat and looks away.

“I thought we could use a break.” She hands Clark the envelope. Their fingers brush as he takes it. He opens it gently and takes out three peach-colored vouchers with tiny text. His eyes skim quickly before he peeks up under his lashes.

“Acupuncture?” He adjusts his glasses. Jimmy takes the envelope from him and reads it over, muttering under his breath.

“Yeah! It’s supposed to help you relax. I’ve never done it, but Cat swears by it.” She sits on a table, gesturing wildly. She tries to dismiss the image of Clark looking up at her like that from her brain.

“This is so thoughtful, Lois. Thank you.” Clark smiles.

“Super thoughtful, but…Clark can’t go.” Jimmy elbows Clark in the ribs. He startles. They descend into a cyclone of whispers, doing that infuriating ‘best friend’ thing they do where neither of them speaks a complete word or thought.

“I can’t? Oh. Oh! Right, yeah. Can’t go. Maybe I’ll give this to my mom, she’ll use it--” Clark starts to hand back the voucher.

“Why can’t you go?” Lois frowns.

“Uh…”

“He’s afraid of needles.” Jimmy blurts. Clark looks at him like a deer in headlights. Jimmy elbows him again and it seems to reboot him.

“Deathly afraid, yeah. See one and I just, whew--I just pass out.” Clark laughs nervously. Lois’s heart sinks.

“Oh.” She looks at her shoes. “Sorry, that was stupid of me. I should’ve asked you first.”

Clark’s warm hands gently take her shoulders. She looks up into his eyes, his smile, and is immediately at peace.

“It’s a really nice gesture. The fact that you thought of me--” He grunts at another elbow to the ribs-- “and Jimmy was really kind. We appreciate you, Lois. We couldn’t do this without you either.”

“I will be cashing mine with haste.” Jimmy snaps his voucher, folds it crisply, and shoves it in his wallet.

“I’ll give mine to my mom. She could use the break. Thank you.” Clark squeezes her shoulder. Lois nods, but she finds herself chewing the inside of her cheek in thought.

……

That evening, Lois stands in front of Clark and Jimmy’s door for an embarrassing twenty minutes just raising and lowering her hand to knock. The inside of her cheek screams from the chewing.

“Just knock,” she hisses under her breath, and her annoyance with herself drives her to knock a little too frantically.

“Hey Clark? Is it okay if I--” The door slams open before she can finish-- “...come in?”

“Hi!” He beams. His hair is wet and curly from the shower and his hoodie looks so upsettingly soft. He’s wearing shorts, cozy ones, and the whole ensemble makes her want to chew on the drywall. He’s so cute.

“Hi,” She breathes, totally cool and collected. They stare at each other for a moment before Clark’s eyes go wide behind his glasses.

“Oh god, did we have a meeting? I totally forgot, I’m sorry--”

“No, no. We didn’t. I just…wanted to see you.” She rocks forward on her toes.

Way to sound desperate, Lane.

Clark, adorably pink, opens the door for her. She steps into the apartment gingerly.

“I should explain. I was thinking about the acupuncture thing. It was an excuse for us to spend some good time together and I messed it up. I really should’ve asked about your fear. I feel terrible.” Lois grabs his hand. It’s warm and soft to the touch.

“You couldn’t’ve known. It’s not your fault.” He squeezes her hand. She pulls away.

“Well, still, I felt bad that you were left out. I was thinking…maybe I could give you a massage? To make up for it?” Lois fiddles with her hands and watches him closely. His lips part slightly. He ducks his head, but Lois still catches the flush racing across his skin.

“Wow, um…if you want to. I wouldn’t mind. You don’t have to, but—“

“I want to.” Lois smiles, and at last it feels natural. Clark awkwardly shuffles over to his bed and she follows. He sits stiffly, watching her with wide eyes. She stifles a chuckle as she sits behind him.

“Get comfortable, Smallville. C’mon.” She pushes his shoulder. He lays down on his stomach, pillowing his arms under his head. He shuffles around a bit before he finally relaxes.

“Can I go under your hoodie?” She touches his arm gently. He nods. She kneels beside him, sliding her hands up under the fabric. His back is warm and well-defined, almost foreign to the softness of his face.

“Wow, you are…very tense. Your back’s like a brick.” With some difficulty, Lois starts working her hands into the dips and curves of his back.

“Yeah, I’m just a tense….guy…” His voice breaks off into a murmur. Each muscle relaxes under her touch, like seams coming undone, and he lets out a sweet, soft sigh. Lois bites her lip on a smile. She’s never seen Clark relax like this before. Poor guy always seems like he’s a stiff breeze away from an aneurysm.

“I can’t believe you never did sports,” She hums. Her fingers trail upwards over patches of freckles and very faint scars.

“I tried. It didn’t take. I like teams, but…I have much more fun getting to use my brain, I guess.” He shimmies in place a little bit.

“So…how’d you get so strong?” She asks casually, timing the question with a push into Clark’s back. He groans and drops his head into his arms. At first, Lois fears she upset him, but then she catches the pleased sigh that follows after.

“I started helping my dad with the farm and construction when I was very young. I guess it just built up over time.” He shrugs weakly. She narrows her eyes. It’s a good answer. Conveniently good.

Lois slots her fingers into his upper back. Clark full-body shivers to the point where she almost loses her balance.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” Lois pulls her hands away.

“Y-Yep, I’m fine! Promise.” He squeaks and gives a thumbs up, but his head remains steadfastly buried in the mattress. His ears are bright pink where they poke out from his hair.

Wait a minute. Wait a minute.

Lois’s smile creeps into something mischievous. She leans down towards Clark and walks her fingers up his back. She gives an experimental little scritch, like she’s removing shmutz. He lets out a small eep and cranes his neck to watch her.

“Are you ticklish, Smallville?”

“Uhh…” Clark laughs nervously, avoiding her eyes. “I feel like no matter what I say, this is going to end badly for me.”

“You would be correct.” She skitters her fingers over his shoulderblades and he trembles, giggling like a maniac. He wiggles in place, grabbing fistfulls of the blankets. Shivering, bouncy laughter tumbles out of him in waves, consuming each breath before he can turn it into syllables to scold her with. His upper back tries to crunch in on itself to no avail.

“Are you ticklish in any other weird places?” She pokes along his spine and he jumps. He rolls over quickly, too quickly, trapping her hand behind his back. She raises an unimpressed eyebrow and tickles the back of his ribs.

“I’m ticklish in very n-normal places, thank you--Lois!” He squeaks and arches his back, swatting uselessly at her newly-freed hand.

“Like where?” Lois grins. Clark narrows his eyes at her. The process of squirming had sent his hoodie creeping up, exposing the carved line of a hip and a bit of his stomach. Lois’s eyes dart to it. She feints for his back again but instead dives for his stomach. His voice cracks hard.

“I’m not falling for thaaaaat!” Clark crunches forward like a lawn chair, deep laughter punching out of him. Her fingers creep around to the back of his hips and he falls back onto the bed, threading his fingers up into his hair. His glasses slide off his face and she catches them, neatly setting them aside.

“God, you’re adorable. What endearing weakness for Superman to have.” Lois watches him carefully. Clark’s entire face shifts from pink to red as his chest heaves, still twitching away from her evil fingers.

“Superman?” He shouts hysterically, half-caught in a bubbly laugh, and Lois laughs with him, folding forward into his chest. His hand immediately finds her back.

When she looks up, his face is so close to hers, close enough to see the dusting of freckles fighting the wave of blush on his cheeks. His eyes are teary at the corners, still sparkling with his smile.

The door bursts open then, sending the two scrambling apart. There’s nowhere to go on a bottom bunk, though, so they just smack their heads into the bed frame above them. Lois falls flat across Clark’s torso.

Jimmy pauses, arms full of takeout bags, and gives them a very knowing look.

“Do y’all need a minute?” He smirks and sets down the bags. Clark hides his burning face in his hands.

“Nope, no we do not--”

“Jimmy, did you know Clark’s, like, stupid ticklish?” Lois leans on Clark’s shoulder and grins. He looks between them, alarmed.

“As his best friend, it is my job to know all.” Jimmy fishes his food out of the bags. “Like how his armpits are really bad, for example.”

Clark squawks in offense, but then he’s flat against the mattress and cackling as Lois acts on her new intel. He starts to slide off the bed, his hair falling upwards with gravity. The light catches his eyes and smile just right, forming a clear picture of--

Superman. Clark is…Superman.

He must see it in her face then, that she knows, because he just very shakily raises a finger to his lips. His gaze darts towards Jimmy and Lois follows.

“Your secret is safe with me,” she murmurs, knowing now that he can hear it, and smiles. He lights up, then his face settles into a deep, very attractive smirk. His eyes flash with sparks and then Lois is under him, screeching through laughter she didn’t know she was capable of. His hands on her are a dream and a nightmare all at once.

“Unhand her, fiend!” Jimmy launches himself at the already-crowded bunk, worming under Clark’s tree trunk arms. Lois can’t quite see in the tight space, but she does feel the two of them crush her into the mattress as laughter floats around them.

“Jimmy, the food!”

“Should’ve thought of that earlier, Clark! Perish!”

Lois accepts that she will suffocate here beneath these two dorks, and it will have been worth it.

#my fics #my adventures with superman #clois #ticklish!clark #clark kent #lois lane #jimmy olsen #they're my babies fr i love this show so much #clark being trapped in a comedy of errors trying not to reveal his powers to people who already know is my favorite

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