#ticklish!bruce

[tickletastic]

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.”

[fanficsandfluff]

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.

[fickle-tiction]

okay but brand new relationship Superbat

Alfred walks in on Clark straddling Bruce's lap, hands buried in Bruce's armpits as Bruce does his best to remain stoic. Normally Alfred would turn on his heel and leave as quietly as he entered when he walks into a scene like this, but Bruce left his gauntlets on top of the coffee machine again, and at this point it had to be a deliberate act because Alfred dared to suggest he call it an early night last night.

"Master Kent." It's gratifying to see Superman startled by his voice; the poor man visibly jumps but remains where he lands on Bruce's lap. "You may have more success with his stomach." Alfred runs a hand down his own stomach, right where it tapers off to his side.

Clark lights up like Christmas has come early, in direct contrast to Bruce's eyes going wide as he begins trying to shove him away in earnest.

"Alfred." Bruce hisses, hands grabbing onto Clark's, lacing their fingers together. "You're fired."

Alfred's eyebrow raises of its own volition. "In that case," both of their heads whip around to stare at them. Clark's face is full of glee. Bruce looks torn between pleading and defiance. "I must insist you go for his neck."

He backs out of the room to the sounds of Bruce's panicked protests, quickly followed by scratchy frantic laughter that he hasn't heard in a long long time.

[valiantphantomangel]

The best Christmas ever.

"Reindeer Games!! the lights have to be at least six inches away from each other!" Tony shrieked as he nearly ran into Steve who was carrying in another christmas tree with Bucky.

The sixth christmas tree in the freaking living room!

"Calm down man of iron" Loki grumbled as he pulled the lights further apart with the help of Natasha.

"Do you not know how to hang ornaments"?! Iron man freaked as he turned the small ball a few degrees the other way "go you disgust me"! He yelled at Sam before chasing after him with his small note book.

"Yep he's definitely gone insane" Natasha said with a nod as she and Loki climbed down from the ceiling where the lights hang.

"I have to agree with Lady Natasha" Thor mused while he made sure the lights were secured tightly.

"Who even put him in charge?" Rogers asked as he pushed the christmas tree upright.

"you did Cap" Clint said with a laugh from the vents where he was keeping watch so you wouldn't walk in on them decorating yet.

"...Right"

just then Peter literally fell from the ceiling with a shriek leaving Loki to catch him and put him back on his feet "Y/N is in the elevator to this floor"!!

Since it was a surprise that they were decorating the tower to give you the best Christmas ever, Loki quickly cast a spell to make all the decorations go invisible and they all dived into a hiding spot.

Somehow Sam managed to dive almost on top of Bucky who let out a groan and shoved him off "Damm it Samuel"!

Everyone shushed him and stayed hidden just as the elevator doors opened, you walked out with your headphones on listening to music and walked into the kitchen to grab some left over pizza.

"we need to distract her until we are done" Nat whispered to Loki as they sat crouched behind a couch.

"I'll distract her, you guys finish decorating" He whispered back with a grin, being the God of mischief and lies gave him quite the advantage on knowing your ticklish little secret and he was more then happy to finally use it.

Loki stood up and walked up behind you, tapping you on the shoulder and successfully making you jump in fright.

"Jesus Christ Loki! You scared the living daylights out of me" You said with a hand on your heart as you took off your headphones.

"My apologies, i simply wanted to ask if I could retrieve my book from your room?" He said hiding his grin.

"Yeah of course, I'll show you where it is" you said with a nod and walked off with your plate of pizza after kicking the fridge door shut.

Loki trailed behind you as you both stepped into your room, but before you could utter 'abracadabra' he tackled into your bed and pinned you underneath him.

"Loki what the hell" you said confused which quickly turned into a surprised giggle when he traced your ribs.

"Sorry for the scare darling, it's just that I heard some interesting information about you" He said with a mischief smirk as he continued to trace your ribs and tummy.

"And what would that behihihi?" you giggle nervously.

"Sargeant Barnes told me about your little ticklish secret" Loki mused as he ghost tickled your tummy which sent chills all over since you were incredibly sensitive.

Your eyes widen before bursting out in giggles as you trashed around, he dug into your ribs and softly traced your tummy at the same time, driving you into madness.

"NOT THEREHIHIHIHIHI" you screamed in laughter as you arched your back to escape him which only gave him more access to your sides.

"Then I'll just switch places love" Loki grinned as he scratched lightly over your neck before suddenly blowing a raspberry on your tummy.

"GHAHHAHAHHAHA" you laughed loudly until your laugh turned silent and he let up, pulling you up to lay your head on his chest.

"Shall we watch some movies for the rest of the afternoon love?" He asked as he played with your hair.

You hummed in agreement as you settled against him, curling up content.

And that's how the afternoon went, every time you tried to get up to grab something from the kitchen Loki latched onto your sides and reduced you into a giggly mess to keep you in your room.

When it got dark Steve and Tony walked in, smiling when they saw you two.

"Come on kid, we have a surprise" Tony said as he pulled you to your feet and guided you out of the room with his hands over your eyes, the other two quickly following to make sure you didn't fall.

After an interesting walk downstairs (Tony almost walked you straight into a wall and got his head smacked for it) you arrived in what you believed was the living room.

Tony took his hands from your eyes and you gasped.

The entire room was full with lights of all colours and in every corner stood a christmas tree, which was decorated to perfection with presents underneath it, you looked up and saw even more fairy lights around the ceiling. It was absolutely stunning.

A smile made its way to your lips as happy tears gathered in your eyes, you felt a pair of arms around you and soon you were engulfed by the team.

"You guys did all this?" You asked as you wiped your tears away.

"Of course we did, we wanted to make this your best ever christmas" Nat smiled as she threw her arm around your shoulders.

"Why?"

"Because we wanted to make you feel at home, loved and happy, we knew how much christmas means to you" Clint said as he appeared next to you.

"Well you guys certainly made that happen" you chuckle as you still looked around in wonder.

"Merry Christmas Y/N" Bucky said with a soft smile.

"Merry Christmas, you guys are the best family I could've asked for" You smiled brightly and you were once again engulfed by the team.

It was safe to say that this was the BEST christmas ever!!

[tickle-bugs]

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.

[13phantom13angel13]

Angsty

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: FINALLY!!! For the anon who requested “Don’t laugh while I’m trying to talk to you” with Jason and Bruce, here it is! I apologize for the lateness! The past two months have not been great. Regardless! I hope you enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jason was in a mood. Bruce could tell by the way his jaw was set, his posture, and the way his hands would clench up. He didn’t know what was bothering him, but he was going to find out one way or another.

Bruce approached him in the living room as he was sitting on the couch reading. The hands holding the book seemed tense. Bruce hesitantly sat next to his angsty child. Jason barely glanced at him as he continued to read. Bruce took a breath before he spoke.

“Jay. Is everything ok? You’ve seemed tense the past few days.”

“I’m fine.” Was Jason’s clipped answer.

“No you’re not. Don’t lie to me. Something’s bothering you.” Bruce watched as Jason’s jaw set firmly, his brows lowering into a scowl. Bruce frowned slightly.

Jason didn’t look at him; just continued to scowl at his book. Bruce sighed softly before reaching a consensus with himself to get the man to open up to him. Without any warning, Bruce’s hand zipped out and latched on to Jason’s side. Jason jolted with a surprised yelp at the surprise attack, his book falling from his hands.

“Now, Jason. I can tell something is bothering you. You’ve seemed to be in a bad mood for a few days. We can do this the easy way or the hard way- hey! Don’t laugh while I’m trying to talk to you!” Bruce exclaimed as he tried to fight the smile trying to overtake his lips.

Giggles started bubbling out of Jason as Bruce softly squeezed his side while he spoke. He slid down slightly in his seat as his arm pressed against his side to stop the playful attack, his other hand uselessly batting at the offending hand.

“Stahahahahap tihihihihickling mehehehe thehehehen!”

“Hm…should I? I much prefer a smiling Jason over a brooding Jason.” Bruce stated as his tickling hand moved up his ribs. Jason’s giggling turned into soft laughter as he grabbed his wrist.

“Ihihihi’m nohohohohot brooding! AH! BRUHUHUHUHCE!” Bruce chose that moment to tickle up into his armpit.

“If you’re not brooding, then what’s with the mean mugging that’s been going on the past few days? Huh? Tell me that.” Bruce kept tickling his armpit as Jason tried his best to squirm away, but he was pinned pretty well against the arm of the couch.

“STAHAHAHAHAHAP! BRHUHUHUHCE PLEHEHEHEHEASE!”

“Not until you tell me why you’re in such a bad mood.” At that moment, he went in for the kill. Both hands now coming into play, Bruce quickly latched on to Jason’s hips before he could gain enough coordination to escape. The scream that ripped out of Jason’s throat would cause him to be hoarse within the following days, thunderous laughter exploded out of him as he stopped squirming. All Jason could do now was weakly hold on to Bruce’s wrists in a vain attempt to pry them away from his hips as he laughed himself to tears.

“OK! OK! I’LL TAHAHAHAHAHALK!!! PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE!!!” Jason finally cried out as the first tear trickled down his cheek. Bruce immediately withdrew his hands. Jason took a few moments to catch his breath and wipe his eyes before he spoke.

“I miss Roy…” he finally mumbled out. Bruce smiled softly and rubbed his back soothingly.

“He’ll be back before you know it, Jay. Just have some patience.” Jason nodded before looking at Bruce.

“Can I go back to reading now or are you going to torture me again?” Bruce laughed at that and stood up to leave.

“I’m done I promise. And Jay? Next time, don’t bottle up your emotions like that. It’s not good for you.” He ruffled Jason’s hair as he exited the room. Ah, young love.

[0mistymystery]

Thinking about it... The Joker had many chances to use tickling against Batman

[just-another-blog-of-fluff]

Can't Wake a Sleeping Beast

Word count: 3,800

Pairing: Various (Tony, Steve, Bruce, Thor, Clint, Nat, Bucky, Loki) x female reader (all platonic, although Loki has a crush on you because I CAN'T HELP MYSELF DAMNIT 😂😂)

Warnings: None I can think of - mild swearing maybe?

So normally I don't write for this many characters, but I wrote a slightly modified version of this prompt requesting a fic with the six original Avengers, Bucky, and Loki trying to wake a sleeping reader. I don't specify below that the reader is the youngest of the team, but you are welcome to assume so as you read! 😊

(Also - there's no good casual gifs of the entire team, so... please accept this gif from the trip to the shwarma place at the end of Avengers 😂)

"Are you ready for the most exciting sporting event in history?!"

You plunked yourself down on the sofa beside Loki, grinning enthusiastically. Your upbeat tone was a stark contrast to your eyes, however. With puffy, darkened circles under your eyelids and a tinge of redness to the once white-colored outer edges of your eyes, it was obvious you were absolutely exhausted.

"Agent... how much sleep did you get last night?" Loki asked knowingly. You scowled at his chastising.

"I got plenty of sleep. I'm fine."

"Really? Because your eyes are telling me otherwise."

"Hey!" You folded your arms indignantly across your chest.

"I know you're not from Earth and all, but that's no way to speak to a lady," Steve chimed in as he and Bucky entered the common room, both taking a seat on an empty sofa. Loki rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"I simply mean to say that you appear to be very tired. And I know you have a tendency to overwork yourself into the young hours of the morning."

Your cheeks blossomed with color as your hardened expression faltered. "I went to bed plenty early enough, thank you very much. Plus, I slept in this morning."

"Oh? And what time did you awaken, then?"

"8AM."

"And what time did you go to sleep?"

You hesitated, taking a moment to think. "4AM."

Tony had just walked in at that moment, snorting in amusement. "Wow. That's even later than I went to bed. And that's saying something."

"You're not helping," you muttered, narrowing your eyes at the billionaire. "Anyway... can we please stop harping on my sleeping habits and get ready to watch the first game?"

"Are you certain you'll even be capable of staying awake?" Loki chided.

"For the World Cup? Absolutely. I wouldn't miss this for anything."

"Ten bucks says she falls asleep by halftime," Tony goaded, smirking at you from his armchair across the room. You scoffed, refusing to offer him a verbal response.

"Agent - you are well aware that once you fall asleep, it is nearly impossible to awaken you?" Loki teased.

"I will not fall asleep!"

Loki snickered. "Whatever you say."

You had been ranting about the upcoming World Cup for months now. Most sports were rather boring to you, but soccer games always had you on your feet cheering for your favorite team. Your enjoyment of the sport had rubbed off on your teammates - even Loki found himself interested in watching the games, finding it amusing how little protective gear these Midgardians would wear despite how violent the game could get.

And, perhaps, part of him just enjoyed the sport because you enjoyed it.

As the first game was beginning, Thor burst into the common room with a frantic expression on his face.

"Have I missed the coin toss?!" he fretted.

"Nah, you're just in time, big guy," Steve assured, chuckling as Thor's face melted with relief.

"Where are the others?" he queried as he took the seat on the opposite side of you on the sofa.

"Oh, they'll be in and out I'm sure," Tony responded flippantly.

"Bruce and Clint don't appreciate soccer as much as we do," you griped. "And Nat had a couple errands to run before she could join us."

"Agent!" Thor's attention suddenly turned to you, his brows furrowed with worry. "You appear to be exhausted! Are you alright?"

"Ah-ah - don't mention how tired she looks," Tony warned, whispering loudly enough for you to hear. "She gets grumpy when you talk about it."

"Alright, I'm ignoring all of you." You crossed your arms once again, leaning back against the sofa.

The first game finally began, and the room fell silent as everyone watched the initial kickoff intently. Intermittently, there would be a chorus of shouting as the favored team got close to the opponent's goal. Notably, you suddenly stopped joining in on the hollering about halfway through the first half. Loki hadn't expected you to fall asleep that quickly, but he didn't dare look at you to find out, for fear you'd become sour again.

And then your head suddenly slumped over onto Loki's shoulder.

"Are you awake, darling?" he whispered, turning his head to look down at your face. Your eyes were shut, your breathing slow and steady with a slight raspy snoring undertone. The sight was simply adorable.

"You weren't kidding about her being tired," Bucky observed at the end of the half, gazing at you incredulously as you snored away against Loki's shoulder. Tony clapped his hands together excitedly.

"Where's my ten bucks? I called it!"

"Shh! You'll wake the young maiden, Stark!" Thor scolded in a hushed tone. Loki laughed at that, earning a glare from his brother. "Do you not care that she is clearly exhausted?"

"No, no it isn't that. I just find it amusing that you believe a simple clapping noise would be enough to wake her," Loki chuckled. "The girl sleeps like the dead. It's near impossible to wake her."

"And how would you know that?" Steve asked warily. Loki felt an involuntary wave of heat rush to his face at the implication.

"I've come across her napping in the common areas of the tower before. Believe me - it's very difficult to wake her."

It was true - Loki tended to wander the tower at late hours of the evening, much later than any of the others. On numerous occasions, he'd found you sleeping on the sofa, or napping with your forehead pressed against your forearms at the kitchen table, having attempted to stay up too late to watch a film or get some work done and passed out before you could drag yourself to bed.

At first, he'd simply let you be. What should it matter to him where you slept? Clearly you managed to get yourself to bed eventually, as you were never in the same spot the following morning. Perhaps you enjoyed napping for a bit before heading off to bed for the evening?

Then Loki began to realize that the nights he discovered you sleeping outside of your bedroom were the nights you'd overworked yourself. Hours upon hours in the training room... pouring over blueprints and maps in preparation for a mission... even just completing your paperwork sometimes took precedence over sleep in your list of priorities. So he began to try to wake you whenever he found you sleeping in a position that appeared uncomfortable.

The problem was - nothing would get you to wake up.

It was clear you were still living - you were always breathing (often snoring, in fact) so Loki didn't fear something terrible had happened to you. But nothing he attempted could ever get you to awaken. Eventually, he'd simply taken to just scooping you up in his arms and carrying you to your room to put you to bed.

He imagined you must become confused those mornings that followed, finding yourself tucked into your own sheets despite never having brought yourself there in the first place. So, eventually, he told you the truth. Since then, it'd become a sort of joke between the pair of you - Loki teased you for sleeping like a corpse, and you teased him right back for having so much concern over where you slept. It was enough to make him feel confident that you didn't mind him looking after you on those nights.

"She will surely injure her neck if she sleeps like that for long," Thor worried, observing the way your head was tilted awkwardly to the side.

"Yes... I suppose you're right." Carefully, Loki reached around your back to grasp your shoulders, gently guiding you to lie down properly with your head resting on his leg. Thor followed suit, scooping your legs up off the floor to rest them across his own lap.

"There, now. She must be much more comfortable," Thor declared happily, patting your knee affectionately. Loki hummed in agreement.

You remained asleep through the entire second half of that first game. With a bit of a break between games, the boys began to discuss your exhaustion once again.

"She's probably gonna be really upset that she missed the first game..." Bucky pondered aloud. "We let her sleep for an hour, do you think we should try to wake her up now?"

"Good luck with that, Barnes," Loki snickered. "I'm telling you - nothing will awaken the sleeping beast."

"I don't believe it." Bucky rose to his feet, pacing over to the sofa you were resting on. Loki gazed up at him expectantly, motioning for him to try. He placed a hand on your shoulder and shook you gently for a moment. You didn't even stir.

"Honestly - is that the best you can do?" Loki taunted with a haughty laugh.

"I wanted to go easy on her." He grasped your arm with his metal hand and shook you harder, causing your head to jostle around against Loki's leg a bit.

Nothing.

"Hang on, let me try," Tony interjected, wandering over to stand beside Bucky. He knelt down in front of you, holding his hands up in front of your face before suddenly clapping them together loudly in rapid succession. "HEY! WAKE UP! GAME'S GONNA START SOON!"

Not even a flinch.

"Wow. You weren't kidding, Ice Age." Loki scowled at Tony's nickname.

"Ah, I have a thought," Thor announced with a sly grin, gaining everyone's attention. He grabbed hold of one of your ankles in his lap and swiped a finger down the sole of your socked foot. Your toes curled in response, egging him on to start scratching with all five fingers up and down your sole.

Loki watched your face intently. Your brow furrowed, a slight smile tugging at the corner of your mouth in the most adorable way. Still, your eyes remained shut, chest rising and falling rhythmically with your steady breaths.

"You might be on to something, Thor," Bucky noted as Thor relented in his attempt. He brought his fingers to your neck and fluttered them along the skin where your shoulder met your collarbone. Your shoulder shrugged up reflexively, and Bucky pulled his hand away to watch you expectantly, assuming you were waking.

Then, you turned over onto your other side, letting out a deep breathy sigh. Still asleep.

"What are you guys doing?"

The group collectively glanced up toward the sound of Nat's voice in the doorway, finding her standing with her hands on her hips accusingly. Beside her stood Clint - looking less than enthused to be watching the game; as well as Bruce - looking quite enthused about being there with Nat.

"Don't worry, Romanoff - she's been sleeping for over an hour. We just don't want her to miss all the games today," Steve assured.

"Alright. I'll allow it." She wandered into the room, standing over your sleeping form while Clint and Bruce found seats. "Hmm..." Glancing around, she suddenly walked over to Tony's seat, reaching over to the side table and plucking an ice cube from his drink.

"Hey! Do you make it a habit of taking things that aren't yours?" Tony griped. Nat merely grinned, carrying the ice cube over and dropping it down the back of your shirt.

"Oh, that's gotta work," Steve declared, watching intently to see if you'd wake.

The sudden chill of the ice certainly wasn't welcome, as evidenced by the grimace that formed on your face. Still, you didn't open your eyes even once, only shifting a bit in your sleep.

"Alright, clearly that didn't work," Loki muttered, sliding his hand down your back to guide the ice cube out from under your shirt and chucking it in Nat's direction. She shrugged, unfazed.

"Hey, I tried."

"I suggest we reserve further attempts for halftime," Thor announced. "The next game is beginning!"

Loki was genuinely torn as you continued to snore away with your head resting comfortably in his lap. He knew very well that you needed the rest, despite the fact you'd never admit it. And you looked simply adorable as you slept, which didn't help matters. But he also knew how angry you'd be with yourself if you awoke later that evening to find you'd missed the entire first day of the tournament.

Yes, perhaps at halftime they could try to wake you once again. For now, he decided to let you sleep a little longer, absently twirling strands of your hair around his fingers. A happy sigh puffed out of your nose, making his heart swell.

When the first half of the game had finished, the attention of the group turned from the television to your sleeping form once again.

"How long has she been sleeping like that?" Clint whispered.

"Don't worry about keeping your voice down - she's slept like a log since partway through the first half of the first game," Bucky explained with an incredulous laugh. "Thor, Tony and I tried to wake her up before you guys walked in."

"And she hasn't even moved?" Bruce asked.

"Not really. Thor tickled her foot and that seemed to sort of work, so I tickled her neck, and still nothing."

"Maybe you haven't found her tickle spot," Clint suggested. Nat glanced at him with raised brows. "What? It's what I call it with the kids."

"That's pretty darn adorable," she hummed affectionately. Clint's cheeks turned slightly red.

"A-anyway... here, let an expert give it a shot." He meandered over to your sofa, gazing down at you in thought. "Lila nearly wets herself laughing when I get her here..." He gently lifted your arm so he could slot his fingers into your armpit, wriggling his fingertips deep into the hollow space. A huffy breath escaped your nose as your brows knit together once again, a full-fledged smile now growing on your face. Astonishingly, you remained undeniably asleep.

"I don't think it's working," Thor stated, watching your face with a fondness in his eyes. Clint groaned disappointedly, removing his hand from under your arm.

"Damn. That always gets the kids to wake up when they're being a pain."

"Let me try, then," Nat suggested, approaching from behind Clint and giving him a teasing poke in the side. He yelped and twisted, glaring at the assassin as he returned to his own seat. Nat brought both hands down on your stomach, clawing at the soft skin through your T-shirt. The ticklish smile returned to your face, but still you did not wake. It didn't matter whether she attempted a firm scratching or a light tracing motion, you were simply too sound asleep.

"Ok, obviously she's only ticklish when she's awake," Steve observed jokingly. "What else haven't we tried? We're running out of halftime."

"Oh, oh, hang on-" Tony swiped Nat's glass of water from the table in front of her, clearly feeling he needed revenge for her theft of his ice cube. Loki gave him a fierce look as he approached you with the water glass.

"I certainly hope you aren't planning to pour that on her," he stated warningly, shooting daggers at Tony with his eyes. He shrunk back just slightly under Loki's gaze.

"No, of course not... who would do something that cruel?" He dipped his fingers into the glass of water (earning an annoyed shout from its owner) and then flicked the water at your forehead. A few cold droplets stuck to the bridge of your nose, again making you grimace slightly in your sleep. Tony sighed. "Alright, can I dump it on her now?"

"Not unless you'd like my boot up your-"

"Alright! Alright, I get it, Jack Frost!" Tony rolled his eyes, placing the glass down on the table where he'd found it before returning to your side. "Ok, kid - how about this?" His fingers dug into your ribs, kneading between the bones. It was clearly tickling you quite a bit, as your eyes and nose scrunched up in the most adorable way. And yet - you stubborn thing - you still remained asleep. Tony threw his hands up in the air in frustration after a few moments, stomping back to his seat. "I thought I had her there!"

"I'm afraid we must abandon our efforts once again - the second half is starting!" Thor announced excitedly.

"No, she's gonna be pretty mad if she wakes up to find she missed two full games," Steve groaned. "Let me try."

"Please do it quickly, soldier - I must see who wins this game!" Thor insisted. Steve paced over to the sofa where you lay, wasting no time in digging into your ribs as he'd seen Tony attempt. He squeezed your side with his other hand, clearly hoping two spots would be more effective than one.

You adorable creature - you buried your face in Loki's stomach, hiding the huge grin that had taken shape on your face. Surely you must be awake now, he assumed.

And yet, when Steve relented in his attack, your breathing returned right back to the rhythmic, steady rise and fall of deep sleep.

"Alright! I give up!" Steve declared with a laugh. "She can't complain when she wakes up - every one of us has tried."

"Bruce hasn't," Tony reminded him.

"Me?!" Bruce appeared frazzled at the suggestion. "But if you guys haven't been able to, what makes you think I could wake her up?"

"Worth a shot at least," Bucky concurred. "Any genius ideas in that big brain of yours, Banner?"

"Well, I... You guys haven't tried pinching her yet?"

Bruce withered a bit under Loki's angry glare at the suggestion.

"Relax! I wouldn't hurt her!" he assured quickly, "Physicians do it to assess neurologic function."

He rose to his feet as Loki's glare softened a bit. If it worked, at least you'd get to watch the remainder of the game. But he'd be damned if Banner would actually hurt you in any way. His eyes never left Bruce's as he knelt down beside you, taking your hand in his and pulling a pen from his pocket.

"See, this doesn't hurt that badly," he assured, pinching one of your fingers between the pen and his own thumb, careful not to apply enough pressure to earn the wrath of the god watching over you. No matter how hard he pressed, you didn't even flinch. You tenacious little thing.

Bruce slipped the pen back in his shirt pocket when he recognized it wasn't going to work.

"Uh... well, that wasn't helpful," he chuckled nervously. "Have you tried behind the knees?" He reached over and scratched at the back of your knee gently. You sleepily bent your knees to block out his access to the sensitive spot, that little smile tugging at your lips once again.

"I must request that we cease this until the game has finished," Thor insisted. "Clearly, the young agent requires additional sleep."

"You just want them to stop interrupting the game," Loki accused.

"I... yes, that would also be nice, thank you."

In a way, Loki was quite impressed that you'd managed to remain asleep throughout all of this. Even he, the God of Mischief, couldn't come up with another method to try to wake you that wasn't too cruel for him to care to attempt.

He decided to keep trying to wake you while the others watched the second half. He wasn't all too interested in the game anyhow, and Thor couldn't complain that he was interrupting his viewing time.

Loki was sure that he could wake you if he could just find the the spot that you were simply too ticklish to sleep through. While awake, you were devastatingly ticklish - barely a solitary squeeze to the side and you'd be giggling like mad. How your mind was able to block out the ticklish sensations only whilst you slept was beyond him.

He scratched his fingers along your belly just above your waistline as he began his mission to locate your weak spot. His fingertips traveled gently up the side of your stomach, around your side, down to squeeze at your hipbone for a moment. Your ribs, he knew, would have you howling with laughter if you were awake, and yet no matter how meticulously he searched along each rib for a trigger spot to wake you, you simply buried your face deeper into his stomach in your sleep. Loki had to abandon that spot, mostly because you'd begun to tickle him with your gentle breathy laughter against his thin shirt overlaying his belly. You infuriating little creature.

Tickling fingers traveled up to your neck, flitting lightly against the soft, silky skin. Curiously, he fluttered his fingers under your chin, chuckling fondly under his breath as you ducked your head and let out a breath of a laugh - still in your sleep, of course. Perhaps your back would do it?

Before shifting to try there, he scratched ever so gently just below your jawline, selfishly enjoying the adorable smile it brought to your face. His fingertips grazed along the thin skin just behind your ear unintentionally.

Suddenly, you squeaked.

It was barely audible over the noise of the game and the cheering of the others in the room, but it was undeniable - you had squeaked. A sly grin spread across Loki's face as he averted his full attention to that spot, ghosting his fingertips around and behind your ear. Your face scrunched up into a huge smile, then slowly, your eyes cracked open.

"What..."

"Ah, she awakens at last." Loki caught your wrist before you could block his tickling fingers with your hand, continuing to flit the fingertips of his free hand around the hypersensitive shell of your ear. Rapid, squeaky giggles bubbled from your mouth as you tried shrugging your shoulder up to block him.

"Hehey!! You wahanted me to slee-heep, and then yohou tickle mehe??" you whined sleepily.

"Darling, you've been asleep for nearly two hours," Loki informed you, pausing his torment as your mouth dropped open.

"Two hours?? But then I... I missed two games??"

"A game and a half, actually," Bucky called from his seat. The room had now realized you were awake. "But the end of this one has been a nail-biter!"

Scowling, you shifted to sit up so you could watch the television. Loki couldn't hold back from pinching your side once, drawing your attention just long enough for him to say I told you so. You returned the favor by poking him in the stomach, earning a jolt and a glare from the god that he didn't truly mean.

With the added rest, you returned right back to your usual ways. You were on your feet with every goal, screaming at the referee on the screen for every penalty as though he could hear you, cheering when the opposing team missed a score. You were rambunctious, loud, and vicious. All traits Loki had come to love about you.

But if there was one thing he'd learned today, it was this:

Even someone as fierce as yourself had a weakness.

[kourtniwritesagain]

Hi :D it’s so good to see you back ! I hope that you are well , if your still opened for asks , could you do hc’s for Jason Todd and Dick Grayson ? I adore these two brothers so much

Jason Peter Todd...oh this big, dumb, ticklish man. He was pretty ticklish pre-pit. Post-pit...he's still just as ticklish. He was pretty pissed off when, after he'd come back to the Batfamily, Dick tazed his sides (like he did when Jason was a kid) which caused a very high-pitched and embarrassing squeal to fall from Jason's mouth. Dick grinned much like the man who killed Jason and proceeded to tickle Jason like a man possessed. Jason was just as ticklish in all the same damn spots, which of course Dick remembered each and every single one. Jason has pretty much the most ticklish thighs, knees, calves...legs in general, in the whole world. Jason definitely doesn't prefer to be the lee; however, he actually doesn't mind being tickled. He spent years being angry, so it's a good excuse to laugh. Not that he'll ever say that. Dick knows, though. Dick knows and teases Jason about it while tickling him. Jason always threatens to shoot him, but they both know he'd never do it.

Dick absolutely loves all things tickling. He loves to be tickled; he loves to tickle others...he just loves tickling. He's very ticklish, but he's outrageously ticklish all over his torso. His death spot are the back portion of his sides, right around where his kidneys are. He'll be cackling like one of Harley Quinn's hyenas the moment those spots are touched. All the Batkids are privy to the knowledge of Dick's ticklishness. They're also privy to the knowledge that Dick is downright ruthless when it comes to tickle fights. No one knows this better than Jason and Tim. Jason gives as good as he gets every time, often wrangling the other Batkids to help him, which they're all too happy to oblige as Dick's laughter is amazing and they're usually ankling for some revenge because of their own destruction earlier via tickles by Dick. Dick loves every minute of it.

*Bonus* Bruce is also ticklish. Alfred, the Batkids, and Clark know this. They also know Bruce makes Dick's attacks look like child's play, so rarely is he a target. When he is, though, they know to take him down fast and hard, ensuring he's laughing and trying to protect himself. He's ticklish on his ribs, his hips, and his neck.

[tickletastic]

Do you by any chance have any headcanons/thoughts about Bruce Wayne being ticklish that you want to share with the class 🥺

OMG abso-fucking-lutely

I think he can hold out weirdly long while being tickled without laughing, mostly as self-preservation so his kids and colleagues don't find out about it so easily, but once he's laughing, he is absolutely not stopping

I think some of his fondest memories with his mother are from moments when she was tickling him, because she was always so soft with him

I think that after his parents died he really appreciated any affection he could get (and Alfred would try to provide as often as possible) and as a result he also probably liked to be tickled, but got less vocal about it (and increasingly more embarrassed by it) the older that he got

I think that the older his kids get the more attentive they are to it as well (I think Dick absolutely tickles him on purpose, and Tim makes sure to give Bruce hugs when he can to make sure he's getting the daily recommended dose)

I think his worst spots are his tummy and thighs, and while tummy raspberries get him bad, the moment someone pinches his thighs he is absolutely hysterical

Weirdly, I don't think it was Clark that found out Bruce was ticklish first out of the JL, I think it was probably Diana, who promised to keep it a secret, but Hal was somewhere nearby and totally blabbed about it

He isn't a huge fan of Hal or Barry tickling him, because they usually go harder and their teases lean more towards making fun of him (because he scares them), but he likes when Diana or Clark do it, because they are much softer about it

Sometimes he lets his kids tickle him, but usually he's the ones doing the tickling, though he is known to let them get revenge every once in a while

When his neck or ribs are tickled he starts to snort, and he is incredibly embarrassed by it

He likes rougher tickles more than softer tickles, just because of how embarrassed he gets when he has enough brain power to think about the situation that he's in

No matter who's tickling him, whether they're stronger than him or not, he just kind of lies back and takes it, throwing his head back and curling his arms into his chest

I think he prefers when the ler is stronger, though, because he has to worry less about hurting them

I also think that every once in a while, maybe when Bruce is injured or tired, that Alfred still gets him pretty bad (and Alfred's teases absolutely tear Bruce apart)

[ticklishfrog]

Headcanon that whenever Battinson would have to attend a meeting with Wayne Enterprises, Alfred would sometimes tickle him just so he would go to that meeting

DGSJDHSJDG YES!!!! Eventually the conversation just becomes:

Alfred: Bruce, the accountants are coming today

Bruce: >:( I refuse to see them

Alfred: *wiggles fingers*

Bruce: *flies out of his chair to get ready*

[fickle-tiction]

Hey fickle! Do you think you would be interested in doing 11 and 24 for superbat? If not that okay, hope you’re have a good day!-bookanon💚

On a rare peaceful night in, Bruce and Clark were sat on the couch together, Bruce on one end and Clark in the middle. (Bruce's ear was still stinging from where Clark had flicked it earlier, after Bruce asked if he would be faking a yawn so he could wrap his arm around his shoulders.) On screen a couple were laying in bed together, when all of a sudden the guy rolled on top of his girlfriend and began tickling her, causing her to burst into sweet laughter. Clark positively lit up as an idea stuck him.

"Hey B?"

"Hmm?"

“Can I tickle you?”

Bruce slowly turned his head, meeting Clark's hopeful smile with a frown.

" …"

"I'll take your silence as a yes."

Bruce wasn't given a chance to react. One second he was sitting on the couch with his "loving" boyfriend, and the next he was flat on his back and being crushed to death by over 200 pounds of solid muscle. "Clark!" Bruce grunted, trying to dodge Clark's attempts at grabbing a hold of his wrists.

"The fact that you're struggling this hard tells me you must be really ticklish." Clark taunted, lighting up with glee when he saw a dusting of pink appear high on Bruce's cheeks.

"That. Is. Classified Information." Bruce protested. "Shit." Clark laughed triumphantly when he got a hold of Bruce left wrist, stretching it above his head and securing it to the couch cushions with an iron grip.

"Any last words, tough guy?"

Bruce tried one last Hail Mary and used his free hand to sucker-punch Clark in the stomach. "Motherfucker." He immediately regretted his rash decision, knuckles stinging where they managed to connect just as Clark sucked his stomach in to avoid him breaking anything.

"Oh, you're going to pay for that." The smile on Clark's face was truly the stuff of nightmares.

"Can't we talk about this?" Bruce asked, unsurprised when his right arm was also pulled above his head and secured in Clark's grip.

"Sure." Clark walked his free hand down Bruce's right arm, feeling the muscles jumping beneath his skin as he slowly made his way past his armpit and down to his ribs. "You talk." He noted every spot that caused Bruce's heartrate to spike, though his expression remained unchanged. "I'll tickle."

"Clark, this is ridiculous," Bruce said, but the corners of his mouth betrayed a hint of amusement.

"Time to find out just how ticklish the Playboy Prince of Gotham really is."

Bruce couldn't even protest at the stupid nickname Clark saw in one newspaper and refused to let go of.

"Oh fuck." Bruce breathed, yanking uselessly at his arms as Clark's fingers began their dance across his stomach. It was just dumb luck that he started with Bruce's worst spot, but laughter was pouring out of him in no time.

"Bruuuuce," Clark said it in that sing-song voice that usually irritated Bruce, but he was too busy trying to burrow backward into the couch cushions to even notice. "You're supposed to be talking remember?" a quick squeeze to Bruce's side caused him to jolt and level his gaze on Clark. "I'm holding up my end of the agreement."

"You---Are--A--SOnOfABitch." Bruce broke down into deep belly laughter when Clark slipped his hand beneath his shirt and started scratching blunt nails over his bare skin.

"That's not a very nice thing to say." Clark admonished, dipping a finger into Bruce's belly button. He let out a delighted laugh when Bruce threw his head back and cackled. There really was no better word for it.

"I'm--fuck--I'm sorry." Bruce gasped out, cheeks bright red when Clark finally took pity on him and stopped vibrating his finger into his bellybutton at a slightly inhuman speed.

"Hmmm." Clark idly tapped his fingers on Bruce's ribcage as he pretended to mull something over. "No, I think you're going to have to do better than that." He then released Bruce's arms and buried his wiggling fingers into Bruce's armpits, unbothered by the arms that came flying down to try to force him out.

"I--AmGoingTo--hahaha-fucking--KihihihihihiKILLYOU!" Bruce shouted, doing his best to curl into a ball while Clark was sitting on his thighs and pinning him in place.

"The more you threaten me, the more I'm going to tickle you." Clark warned him as he easily slipped his hands out of his armpits. Bruce had 2 seconds to calm down before Clark was using one hand to squeeze at his side, while the other once more slipped beneath his shirt to gently scratch at bare skin.

"Cl-Cl-hahaha-Clark! You fu-hahaha-fucking asshole!" Bruce's knuckles were white with how tight he was clinging to Clark's wrists, but his hands might as well be pinned above his head again for all the good it was doing him.

"Oh?" Clark asked, dipping into Bruce's belly button warningly. Bruce squealed, face flushing bright red the second the sound left his mouth, and Clark took pity on him and allowed him to pull his hand out from beneath his shirt. "It's like you want me to keep tickling you."

"Shut up Clark." Bruce growled, the red flush in his cheeks racing down his neck and disappearing into the collar of his shirt.

"Wait," Clark's smile softened at the embarrassed look Bruce was now sporting. "Do you want me to tickle you?"

Bruce couldn't help the embarrassed little whimper that slipped out, shifting nervously beneath Clark's bulk. "I don't...not want you to." He mumbled looking anywhere but at Clark.

"Really?" Clark looked like Christmas, his birthday, and every holiday in between had just come early.

"If you tell anyone about this.." Gone was the embarrassed boyfriend of 5 seconds ago. That look and voice were all Batman.

"Yeah, yeah." Clark huffed, rolling his eyes fondly. "Your stash of kryptonite. My ass. Honestly, you need new threats."

Bruce looked like he was revving up for what was sure to be a chilling new way in which he could murder Clark so, naturally, Clark chose that moment to see if Bruce's neck was as ticklish as his entire torso seemed to be. Newsflash: it was worse.

[valiantphantomangel]

Hi, since you’re talking request I was wondering if you would do Bruce Banner X Reader, where he has a crush of her and finds out she’s ticklish and after he tickles her he confesses that he likes her and you can come up with a cute ending?

The genius couple

A/n: thanks for requesting this anon! This is more of a fluffy and cute fic with some tickles in it so enjoy!

You were busy in the lab in Stark Tower where you lived with the other avengers, much like Tony you were a genius in all things considering science.

Currently you were researching a new material which S. H. I. E. L. D claimed to be some alien symbiote appearing as Black liquid or something weird like that, you were just putting it in a container when Bruce Banner walked in.

The guy you've liked since the avengers discovered you 5 years ago, you were both around the same age of 25 now and have been best friends/ science buddies ever since.

"Hey Y/N what are you working on"? Bruce asked curious as he walked over to you.

"Some kind of alien symbiote" you said with a laugh as you finish securing it in a container, trying to ignore how close he was standing to you.

"Wanna help me out? I've been wanting to study some human reactions for some time now" he asked as he looked up at you.

"yeah sure, why not" you smiled and walked over to his side of the lab "with what can I help"?

"well I was hoping if I could test something on you, to see how sensitive you are" he said with a small but noticeable grin.

A faint blush creeped onto your cheeks as you think about it before giving him a nod in response.

Bruce slowly traces a finger over your arm and sees the goosebumps that came at the wake of his touch, he looks up at you with a mischief glint in his eyes before running his fingers lightly over your ribs.

Immediately you giggle before your eyes go wide "Bruce don't you dare"!

"Oh but I have to, this is great for my research" he said with a wide grin and his hands went to your sides and scribbled up and down your hip bones.

You bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing but when he started digging into your ribs you burst out laughing, trashing around as you kicked out your feet.

"My my, i thought you were sensitive but I didn't think it was this bad" Bruce said with a laugh as he squeezed your knees and thighs which elected a almost hysterical laugh from you.

He squeezed and scribbled up and down your tummy for a while making you fall back on the table as you were shaking with laughter.

"BRUCEHIHIHIH STOPHAHHA ITHIHIHIHI" you screamed out in laughter as you wiggle around on the table.

"Alright alright" Bruce chuckled as he stopped his attack on your ribs and just pulled you into a hug, rubbing circles on your back with his thumb "But you do look adorable with those red cheeks".

You blushed brightly as the remaining ghost tickles disappeared and you relaxed in his embrace, sighing content and closing your eyes for a second.

"Hey Y/N"? Bruce asked with a nervous voice.

"Yeah"?

"I got to tell you something, something important" he said slowly

You looked up at him with a curious expression "What is it, are you alright"?

"yeah I'm alright, i just, I've liked you for a long time now and I wanted to tell you so bad, how your smile always lit up the room when you entered, how the big guy always calmed down when he saw you" Bruce said softly as he looked you in the eyes.

Your eyes went wide with surprise before a grin out of pure joy lit up your face and a even brighter blush covered your cheeks "i like you too Bruce, since we first met I've always felt this attraction towards you but I thought you liked Nat"

"Really? No no Nat is just a very dear friend of mine, she always said that I needed to talk to you" he said with a chuckle before smiling widely "you like me?"

"yeah" you said softly as you look him in the eyes.

"Would you like to go on a date with me?" He asked with a smile

"Absolutely!" you smiled as you hugged him tightly.

He hugged you back and placed a small kiss on your forehead, he couldn't help but notice Tony walking past the lab door and shooting him a wink with his thumbs up.

Bruce rolled his eyes before returning his attention back to you and smiling how lucky he was that you were willing to give him a chance.

[tickle-bugs]

Chase the Memory of it Still

Summary: Clark is deeply, madly, head-over-heels in love with the one person he can't have. What happens when he can have him, if only for a little while? Fake dating friends to lovers superbat hehe

this one's for @fickle-tiction as payment for being a goblin in her dms LOL love ya!! the sequel to this is in progress >:) also it literally doesn't matter but vicki has a jersey shore/boston accent to me. i won't justify it.

Edit: now with a sequel, But You Were Mine

Clark has never really cared much about his paycheck—not in the grand scheme of things, anyway—but fuck he really doesn’t get paid enough. 

“Sorry, Mr…Kent, but no press is allowed at the event. You’re more than welcome to wait outside with everyone else.” One of the guards—a bald fella who looks way too excited to turn him away—crosses his arms. 

“…in the freezing rain.” Clark attempts to wipe his glasses on a dry part of his outfit. All he does is push the water around on the lenses. His suit’s about three shades darker from the storm. Why didn’t he wear his coat? 

“You all seem quite dedicated. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” The guard smiles at him and shifts his weight, looking straight ahead as if all six feet of dripping Kryptonian have just vanished. The doorman reopens the door and shows Clark his people—a swarming mob of reporters hunched behind metal barriers in windbreakers, using plastic bags to keep their livelihoods safe. 

“Thank you, gentlemen.” Clark clenches his fist until it shakes. Inhale, hold…exhale. He came all the way out to cold, rainy Gotham—wait. Gotham.

He glances past the guards and sifts through the noise of the gala until he finds the one heartbeat he knows better than anything. He smiles. 

“Oh, my mistake. I thought he hadn’t shown up. My partner is right there.” Clark points. They both turn to look—would’ve been an excellent time to subdue them if he was feeling more brash—as he waves across the floor at Bruce. 

He looks spectacular, honestly. His hair is doing that ‘I woke up this perfect’ messy thing, his shoulders are unfairly crisp under a three piece suit that’s probably worth more than Clark’s rent, and he just…glows. He’s chatting with a young woman who looks more than happy to fawn over him. Clark’s no longer staring but gazing, he feels it, and there’s absolutely nothing he can do. Maybe Bruce should stop being so…distracting. 

He sees the surprise and hears the murmured ‘Clark?’ under Bruce’s breath. He thankfully doesn’t say anything else as he approaches, just glides over with a glass of champagne. 

It’s at this moment that what he’s done, what he’s implied really sinks in, but it’s too late to turn back now. 

“Hey, I left my invite at your place and these…upstanding citizens can’t find room in their heart to let me by. That’s what I get for showing up to support my partner, huh?” He hopes his emphasis isn’t too much, but he really, really doesn’t want to stand outside after all of this effort. 

Bruce’s expression lands somewhere between pleasure and disbelief, minute and restrained as always. It’s only the uptick of his eyebrow and the slight narrowing of his eyes that gives him away. Bordering on amusement, but not quite. 

“That’s unfortunate. What seems to be the problem?” Bruce sips. The guards shift uncomfortably. Clark tries to quell his shit-eating grin. 

“I guess they think you’re outta my league.” Clark can’t help but snort a little. Bruce rolls his eyes. 

“Mr. Wayne, can we see your invitation please?” Baldy clears his throat and plays official, knowing damn well it won’t make a difference. Bruce hands it over without a second glance.  

“You look handsome.” Clark winks at him. He could smell Bruce’s cologne before he even walked over. At this proximity, he’s starting to get a little weak in the knees. 

“You don’t look too bad yourself.” Bruce reaches past and adjusts Clark’s tie. Nice touch. 

“Alright, Mr. Kent, you can enter.” The guards shuffle aside. Just to be an asshole, Clark shakes all the water off his form like a dog, splattering both the guards with the rainwater they tried to keep him in. Their shouts of confusion and disgust are the perfect soundtrack to his entry. 

Bruce offers an arm as if he hadn’t seen a thing and leads him over to the coat check, as if he would have a coat to check. He takes Clark’s glasses off his nose, dries them with his kerchief, and puts them back. Clark wrinkles his nose at the gesture—it’s so Bruce to just…do it himself. 

“Thank you. I’m so sorry,” Clark sighs. The lenses are terribly smudged. He plans for a headache.

“You owe me. Boyfriend? Really?” Bruce passes him a glass of champagne. 

“I know, I know. I tried to get by as press and when I saw you, I panicked. Lex is here and Lois and I have been trying to corner the bastard for weeks—“ 

“Hold my hand.” Bruce extends a palm. Clark chokes on his drink. If champagne wasn’t trying to migrate into his lungs, he would’ve taken a serious crack at x-raying and double-checking it was really his Bruce. 

“Clearly you’ve never done this before,” he murmurs, the very same palm sliding down Clark’s back. “Casual affection is key. We’re being watched.”

Bruce subtly laces their fingers together as they walk through the crowd. Clark tries to appear as put-together and boyfriendy as possible, but when he looks around, every single eye in the place is on him and Bruce. He starts to sweat and doesn't take another breath until they arrive at a little private corner on the far side of the room. 

“So, you were saying about Lex?” Bruce leans against the wall, scanning the room over the rim of his glass. His eyes catch back on Clark, warm and intense. 

“I, uh…he’s here.” Clark swallows. He’s starting to feel dizzy. This is a lot. He’s used to the grit of Batman or the gentle gruffness of Bruce. Bruce Wayne is a whole different creature. 

“Mhm. He’s looking for R&D investments again. I was told it’d be rude for me not to attend.” A wry smile crosses Bruce’s features. He breaks eye contact to scan and it gives Clark the wherewithal to finish his thought. 

“Lex is pulling his whole ‘get rid of anyone with superpowers’ shtick again. Really mad at me specifically, as usual. I’d bet you ten bucks he has a Kryptonite ray upstairs. He’s probably in the process of building more…or something worse.”

“You have a plan?” 

“I was going to go up there and, yknow—“ he mimes smashing something— “but I can hear about twenty people whispering about us and I don’t want to make you look bad. Not that you look bad, you look great! I just know your reputation is important and I put you in a weird spot and I’m sorry—“ 

Bruce shushes him. Clark blinks and splutters, because who shushes people, but suddenly Bruce is so close that he can’t think. He can see the tiny scar on Bruce’s lip, the one he lies and says was from a household accident. Clark wants to brush his thumb over it. 

He feels entirely normal about Bruce Wayne. 

“Stop overthinking. You’ll hurt yourself.” Bruce roughly pats Clark’s cheek. Clark has to actively shift his focus from the calloused warmth of Bruce’s hands to his eyes.

“Okay, ouch.” Clark rolls his eyes. “I’m just…this is your element. I’m not good at this.” 

“If you’re uncomfortable, you don’t have to stay.” Bruce tilts Clark’s chin down. Brushes some schmutz off his face. 

“I got us into this. It’s alright.” Clark can’t look him in the eye. He’s so painfully aware of all the ways Bruce is touching. A perfectly choreographed performance for the outside eye. An act.

For a moment, he indulges himself, allows his mind to wander to a different world where Bruce might do this for him anyway. Somewhere so gently domestic that their rituals of touch are sacred. He wonders what it might be like to have a Bruce that’d dote on him like this, even while fussing at him. 

Of course he has it now, but it’s not the same. Not when the eyes of hungry spectators cling to them from every shadow. 

“I’ll arrange for someone to pick you up.” He already has his phone out and is halfway through dialing by the time Clark can grab him. Bruce spins out of the hold and starts walking away, still dialing. 

“Bruce.” Clark yanks him back by the bicep. “I can survive mingling for a few hours. It’s no different than using a cover. What do I need to know?” Clark releases him only when it’s clear his stubborn streak is done rearing its head. Bruce works his jaw for a while and then sighs. 

“When you’re talking to these people, they’re going to try and get to the center of you. Try not to lie. The truth will always be easier to remember. Just repackage it.” Bruce adjusts the clean lines of Clark’s suit with his fingertips, procedural and routine. Clark wonders briefly how many times he’s done this. 

“Makes sense. Anything else?” Clark takes a measured breath. 

“We have to sell this. People need to see easy affection before they believe that we’re…doing okay. Now, imagine someone’s watching us—“

“Are they?” Clark tries very hard not to scan the room. He starts to sweat. 

“Shh. Someone’s watching us and you notice. They’re definitely gossiping. What do you do?” Bruce raises an eyebrow. The light of the obnoxious chandelier on the ceiling gives him a gentle glow. His eyes crinkle at the corners just slightly, even without a smile, and it’s beautiful. He’s beautiful. The surge of emotion in Clark’s chest knocks him off balance. 

“Well, staring isn’t—“ 

Clark kisses him breathless. 

Bruce leans into it, one hand cupping the back of Clark’s neck. There’s a perfect sunburst of giddy adrenaline—his hands find Bruce’s hips and pull them closer. Bruce’s heart thunders in his chest yet his hands are steady as they brace against Clark’s back. Clark cups Bruce’s jaw and brushes his fingers through the gentle stubble there, lets it tickle at his fingers. 

Clark breaks them apart with a quiet, triumphant chuckle—years worth of watching, waiting, and yearning all cresting towards this one moment. He can hear their comfortable status quo shatter as he does, but it’s worth it. It has to be. 

“Wow.” Bruce smooths his hands down Clark’s chest. He can’t tell anymore if the heartbeat thundering in his ears is Bruce’s or his own but he doesn’t care to know—if it’s the former, he’ll combust. Or faint. Somewhere in there. 

“How’d I do?” Clark manages to adjust his glasses without snapping them clean in half. 

“I might have a few pointers,” Bruce clears his throat and looks away. 

“We have plenty of time.” Clark steals another kiss and thanks the universe that Lois isn’t here to talk some sense into him.

……..

“So, you and Mr. Wayne, hm?” A blonde woman with a massive fur shawl wound through her arms sidles up with a glass of champagne. Clark freezes at the snack table. 

“Hm?” He hides the multiple horderves in his hand behind his back. He’s very acutely aware that he shouldn’t be unsupervised right now, but Bruce is being flocked by investors with no hope for escape. He sneaks a pleading glance in Bruce’s direction.

They do lock eyes above the crowd, but the horde encircling him has the tenacity of seagulls on the boardwalk. Bruce apologizes with his eyes. Clark resigns himself to perish. 

“Phyllis Hough, a pleasure.” She extends her hand to him and he takes it out of practice, kissing the knuckles. Her skin is so dry and clammy that he has to bite back the urge to gag. 

“Clark Kent, Daily Planet.” He presses his lips into something like a smile. 

“Forgive me for intruding, but you’ve been the talk of the party since you arrived. How did you and Bruce meet?” She sidles too close, like they’re sharing a secret about someone else. Her demeanor reminds him too much of the foxes that used to terrorize his chicken coop growing up. 

The truth is always easier to remember. Just repackage it. 

“Well, he…needed my help. We met through work. We realized we worked well together and after that, everything sort of fell in place.” Clark shrugs. 

“That’s just darling. My husband and I met on a mission trip to Ghana.” She points to a deflated puddle of a man who’s leaned up on the bar, looking like he’d rather disappear than be here.

“A mission trip? That’s so…necessary.” Clark smiles and tries not to throw up in his mouth.

“I adore helping the less fortunate. It’s a hobby dear to my heart.” She places a hand on her chest, showing off the obnoxious diamonds on her bony fingers. Diamonds likely stolen from the same places she claims to ‘help’. 

“Ah, Mrs. Hough. Looking lovely as always. Do you mind if I steal Clark from you?” Oh thank god.

Bruce gives her a quick spin, using the move to squeeze closer to Clark’s side. He winds an arm around Bruce’s waist. Bruce rests his hand overtop Clark’s and he can’t help but grin like an idiot. He’ll never get over the little zing of his nerves every time they brush hands. 

“So soon? We were just getting to know one another.” Mrs. Hough tries to slide back into their space. Bruce stares her down, but not unkindly—just a blank, mannequin-like stare and a smile that almost looks real. 

A tense silence blooms between them. Clark’s sure if he listens just a bit harder, he’ll hear Bruce cursing this woman to high-heaven in his head. The silence stretches on.

“Forgive us. We haven’t spent much time together this week. I’ll admit I’m a little clingy. I never like to be far from him.” He cups Bruce’s cheek and gives him a quick, chaste kiss. Bruce chases his lips and lingers longer. Clark actually gets a little lost in it until a feeble cough splits them apart. 

“Well, who am I to interrupt love?” She strains the word strangely. “I best take my leave. I’ll see you around, gentlemen.” She waves over her shoulder and traipses back into the crowd. As soon as she leaves, Clark heaves a deep, weathered sigh. 

“How do you do this? I’d rather chew off my own fingers than rub elbows with these people.” Clark takes Bruce’s glass from his hand and downs it. The fizz is nice, but it might as well be water. He starts munching on his poached horderves. 

“Trust me, it’s not fun for me either.” Bruce grumbles, plucking a cracker with crab dip from Clark’s little stash. 

“Why do it then? Why pretend?” 

“It’s part of the job. You know that better than anyone.” There’s something so very tired in Bruce’s eyes. Even as he smiles, it’s empty and rueful—the light doesn’t make it to his eyes. 

“You don’t have to do that with me.” Clark squeezes his shoulder. Bruce’s gaze drops to the floor and his shoulder sag minutely, the tiniest give in his guard that Clark’s privileged enough to see. For a moment, he’s not Bruce Wayne but Bruce. 

He doesn’t lean to catch Bruce’s eye—he knows he hates that—so he just stands there and rubs circles into his shoulder. 

“I like who you are under the mask.” Clark offers him another cracker. Bruce takes it and taps it against Clark’s last ones, as if they’re holding glasses, and pops it in his mouth. Clark snickers. Only Bruce could make something so dorky look so charming. 

“Am I dreaming, or is that you, Bruce?” A feminine voice cuts through the din with ease. Clark catches the moment that Bruce’s muscles lock up and the eyeroll before he turns around. Just like that, Bruce Wayne returns. 

A woman in a long green gown slinks across the floor. Her posture sets her aside from everyone else in the room—her stance is powerful and lithe. 

“Vicki. It’s been a while.” Bruce gives her that practiced smile he’s been wearing most of the evening. His posture is so unnecessarily rigid that Clark rubs his back before he can think better of it.

“How’ve you been, Brucie? Hear you’re gettin’ into some interesting trouble. Speaking of trouble—“ 

“Vicki Vale, Gotham Gazette.” She sticks out her hand to shake. Tall, blonde, terrifying eyes—yeah, he could see how she would be Bruce’s type. Definitely an ex. 

“Clark Kent, Daily Planet.” He shakes her hand. “I thought press weren’t allowed in.” 

“I have my ways. So do you, it seems.” She winks and passes him a flute of champagne. He graciously accepts. 

“Ah, well. Perks of being around this guy I suppose.” Clark bumps Bruce’s hip a little. Bruce looks so startled by the motion that Clark can’t help but laugh a little. 

“Listen, Clark, I’ve been with Bruce before and—“ she leans in close but doesn’t whisper, like she’s giving the world’s most public secret— “He’s honestly a softie under all the suits and cars.”

“I am not a softie. I can hear you.” Bruce shoves his hands into his pockets. Even though he’s turtling, there’s a levity to it. 

“He has a thing for stubborn asses who get into trouble, ‘cause he is one. If that’s anything like you, you’ve got a good thing going here.” She smacks Clark’s chest with the back of her hand. Her honesty is…jarring, but not unfun. 

“Oh, do you now?” Clark raises an eyebrow at Bruce over the rim of his glass. 

“It’s not a thing. I don’t have a thing.” Bruce grumbles, the faintest hint of pink tinging his cheeks. 

“Kinda sounds like you have a thing, Brucie.” Clark grins. Bruce scowls. He might be pushing his luck but it’s the only fun he’s really had all night. 

“You two been together long?“ Vicki snatches a fresh glass from a passing waiter like a viper. 

“Few months. Feels like longer.” Bruce doesn’t skip a beat. Clark hopes his smile makes Bruce’s tone sound less under duress. 

“Wow, that’s pretty serious. Congrats.” She raises her glass in salute. Clark wants to cut in—that absolutely felt sarcastic—but Bruce gives his hand a squeeze. 

“Can’t imagine life without him.” Bruce gives him such an earnest look that Clark has to avert his eyes before he gets too hopeful. His stomach twists. Play the part. 

“Do you got somethin’ you like most about him?” Vicki locks onto Clark and he jumps a little. She dissects him with her gaze in that way only journalists can. He does his best not to shuffle under her scrutiny. 

“Vicki, I hope this isn’t an interview.” Clark gives her his best stern stare. 

“If it was, you botched it.” She bumps shoulders with him. “I’m kidding. Off the record. I haven’t seen Bruce glow like this, ever. Just lookin’ for your secret.“ 

That sends a sweet, traitorous flutter through his ribcage. 

“Do you want to dance?” Bruce abruptly turns on his heel and shoves his hand into Clark’s personal space. 

“Do…you want to dance?” Clark furrows his brow. Bruce looks like he might explode. 

“Come on.” Bruce pulls Clark onto the dance floor. 

“Bye, Vicki!” Clark calls over his shoulder, but Bruce is spinning him into the gentle embrace of violin song faster than he can resist. They glide far, far away from that corner of the room, losing her verdant silhouette in the crowd.

“Be honest. Did you just run from your ex?” Clark laughs, trying to keep in time with Bruce’s steps. He’s always had two left feet, but Lois had forced him to go to ballroom dancing classes with her enough times for him to pick up some semblance of rhythm.

“No.” Bruce leads just a little too fast for the music at hand. Clark drags his feet in an effort to slow them down. 

“I don’t buy it. You would’ve been happier to see Harley than Vicki.” Clark almost dips Bruce on autopilot. He course-corrects pretty quickly and pulls a tight-lipped Bruce close instead. Nearly cheek-to-cheek, Clark takes the lead as easy as breathing. 

Clark isn’t sure when he started humming, but he lets the music take them both. Bruce allows him to maintain the lead, surprisingly, and he guides them languidly around the dance floor. He even twirls Bruce, shocked he gets away with it, but he’s too wrapped up in whatever this is to question anything.

When Clark pulls back a bit to tease, Bruce is staring at him with those wide, pretty eyes. 

“What?” Clark can hear the gears in Bruce’s head turning, even when there’s nothing to say. A remarkable talent.

“I…didn’t know you could dance.” Bruce shifts his hand from Clark’s shoulder to his back. 

“I’m full of surprises.” Clark grins. Their form slowly morphs from proper ballroom to a casual, dance-in-the-kitchen kind of waltz--Clark links his fingers with Bruce’s and leads them by the hands, they somehow find a way to get closer to one another, and they end up in a slow, gentle sway. 

“We should dance more.” Clark spins Bruce again and they end up back-to-chest, arms crossed over Bruce’s torso. 

“You can’t be serious.” Bruce’s ears are adorably rosy. Clark chooses to remain alive and not comment on it. 

“It’s good for you, Bruce! Lord knows you could use the smiles.” Clark spins them again, back to proper form. Bruce’s whole face scrunches and he stops in his tracks. A tinnitus-like sound ringing gently from Bruce’s ear and into their personal space makes Clark wince a little.

Of course he’s wearing comms. 

“Diana’s got Lex cornered upstairs.” Bruce leans in and murmurs low in Clark’s ear. He fights tooth and nail against a full body shiver. 

“Diana’s here? You called for backup?” Clark adjusts his glasses.

“If anything we’re her backup.” Bruce scoffs. “We need people to see us disappear so we have an alibi. Act natural.” 

Clark walks away. Bruce yanks him back by the bicep and leans in close. 

“Flirt with me. No, no—Clark, like you mean it.” Bruce compensates for the awkwardness by messing with Clark’s tie, but it starts to look like a tic more than anything else. Clark caresses Bruce’s cheek but it looks more like he’s wiping something off his face. 

“I’m trying!” He huffs. “This isn’t exactly my skillset.” 

“You had all of…that a minute ago—“ Bruce gestures at him— “where’d it go?” 

Clark tries to summon ‘that’,  whatever that means. The best he can do is scowl uncertainly and lead them back into an awkward sway. 

“You could at least pretend like you like me,” Bruce huffs, uncharacteristically petulant. Clark almost gives himself away then and there.

“I’m not good at this.” He swallows and averts his eyes.

“Come on, American Pie. You’ve gotta be working with more than those doe eyes.” Bruce’s devilish smirk genuinely tears the breath from Clark’s lungs. He takes a ridiculous inhale to buy him time until—yep, there it is, the smirk disappears. 

“Nope. This pie is fresh outta doe…eyes…that was going to be a dough joke but I think I should let it die.” Clark lets his forehead collide with Bruce’s shoulder as they sway, relishing in the comforting pat on the back that he gets. 

“That would be merciful.” Bruce laughs. 

“Did you just laugh?” Clark perks up. 

“No.” Bruce’s jaw tightens. He can’t kill the sparkle in his eye though, no matter how hard he tries. It’s there and it's stunning, like the cosmos in its depths. 

“You actually think I’m funny. You laughed at my joke!” Clark doesn’t realize that he’s dipped Bruce until they’re nose to nose, sharing the space of a breath. He quickly pulls him back up. 

Enough dancing. Clearly he can’t handle that. 

“I think you are…moderately amusing.” Bruce rolls his eyes. Clark squints.

“I think you are super…man.” Clark drags out the pause. Bruce all-but-scoffs. 

“Seriously?” He shoves Clark’s chest. There’s a fondness to the gesture that makes his heart ache. 

“You wanna laugh. I see it in your eyes, you do this squint—“ Clark pokes Bruce’s nose, mostly because he can’t do anything about it.  

“I don’t want to laugh. I want to punch you.” Bruce gives his best scowl. Clark’s finger on his nose cuts most of the threatening aura. 

“You’re smiling though. You are!” Clark scritches beneath Bruce’s chin as a fond gesture, something Lois often does to him. 

Bruce squeaks.

“You are beyond immature,” Bruce huffs, jerking away from the touch. Clark’s brain struggles to reconcile what he just heard with what he’s seeing, as a suddenly perfectly-stoic Bruce adjusts his suit jacket. 

Clark reaches out to do it again and Bruce latches onto both of his arms to push him away. Clark pushes back with no strain, as if the grown man clinging to his wrists weighs no more than bracelets, and repeats the gentle tickle. 

Bruce smashes his chin down to his chest as a couple of scratchy snickers force their way free. 

“No way.” Clark beams. 

“Don’t you dare. Do not. Clark—Clark.” Bruce starts to back away. Clark snakes an arm around his waist and holds him tight. 

“What? I’m flirting.” Clark presses his fingers into the curve of Bruce’s waist and it earns him a headbutt—thankfully avoiding the glasses. He finds a spot beneath Bruce’s ribs that gets a snort. 

“You’re so cute. I wish you’d smile more.” Clark worms his fingers beneath the curve of Bruce’s jaw, chasing that squeak that opened up such beautiful horizons. 

“I am not cute, you dick.” Bruce tries to bite at Clark’s fingers. 

“Mmm, I disagree.”

“I’m going to bury you in the shallowest of graves.” Bruce grits out, curling into Clark’s shoulder. A strangled squeal flies out upon contact with his ears and Clark stays there, fascinated by the degree of squirming happening in his immovable arms. 

“I’m sure you will.” He persists until finally, finally, a choked giggle emerges. It’s quiet enough to float beneath the ambient noise of the gala, but it rings loud and clear in Clark’s ear. 

“Are you coming? Otherwise, I’m taking him to Arkham myself. He’s…irritating.” Diana’s voice is a tinny pinprick in Bruce’s ear, but Clark still picks up on her message. He stills his fingers.

“On our way,” Bruce murmurs. As soon as the connection is severed, Clark steals one more squeeze at his side before they vanish to the service corridors to meet Diana. 

…

“Boys. You’re late.” Diana looks up from where she’s been braiding the Lasso of Hestia. On the other end, Lex Luthor hums an irritating tune. 

“Busy day,” Batman grouses, flexing his fingers. He makes his way over to the contraption in the corner and starts picking at the wires. 

“Whatcha got over there?”

“A highly concentrated laser stocked with a rainbow of Kryptonite strands. We were right on time.” Batman dislodges something with a mighty crack. In his hands, a glass capsule full of suspended Kryptonite crystals glitters in the light. The lenses on the cowl flick blue as he analyzes them further. 

“Well, Lex, you’ve just made me ten dollars richer.” Superman puts his hands on his hips. He can feel the faint, crawling fatigue starting to burrow into him from the proximity of the Kryptonite, but he resists it. He yanks a handful of wires free from the machine, crushes the focus, and kicks the motherboard hard enough to disintegrate it. 

“I hope your investors don’t hear about this,” he tuts, crossing his arms. “I’d hate for Wayne Enterprises to leave you in the dust for the…what, sixth year in a row?”

“We’ll see who’s laughing soon, Man of Steel. Your supposed altruism is nothing but your own selfish desire, fueled by greed—“

Superman knocks him out before he can finish.

…

“What the hell do you gel your hair with? Cement?” Bruce ruffles Clark’s hair again with a scowl. It doesn’t move. 

”Mrs. Duvet’s Quick-Dry Iron Hold gel. Otherwise it gets super obvious when I’ve been out flying.” Clark carefully starts pulling strands to the front, mimicking Bruce’s helmet hair. 

“Of course you do.” Bruce continues carefully messing with his hair. Clark shivers at the fingers on his scalp. 

“I can just wet it and shake it out real quick?” Clark grabs for the sink handle and starts sizing up how to fit his head into the basin. 

“I’d rather not leave a soaking wet bathroom for the custodians.” Bruce runs his hands beneath the tap, then holds them towards Clark. “May I?”

He nods numbly. Bruce runs his hands through Clark’s hair and he utterly melts into it. Oh, it’s a crime this won’t last.

“Looking like, uh, we had sex is a lot harder than I thought it would be.” Clark starts fiddling with his tie. He can feel his face heating up at the idea of it. 

“There is an art to it. Here, let me.” Bruce takes the ends of the tie and gives it a quick full Windsor with practiced hands. Then he loosens it just right. 

“Honestly, Bruce, no one will notice if I sneak out. I’m just some reporter they’ve never heard of.” Clark’s eyes dart to Bruce’s lips for a moment. 

“These people have nothing but time and wealth—they’re always looking for gossip. We disappear and you don’t come back? In two days, someone will find you and hunt you down for the exclusive on our ‘tumultuous relationship’.” Bruce fiddles with Clark’s shirt collar. Undoes a button. 

“So I’ll tell them we went our separate ways. Big deal.” Clark clears his throat. 

“Vicki and I broke up eight years ago. To this day, she still gets harassed by paparazzi on her way to work. Maybe that doesn’t bother you, but what are you going to do when people with cameras and time start realizing how much you disappear from the Daily Planet?” Bruce makes an exasperated hand gesture that seems to lack a target. 

“Fair enough.” Perry and Lois can only protect him so much. Bruce, regrettably, has a point. 

“We’re playing a part. After this, you won’t have to worry. I’ll give a statement that we quietly split and in a week or two, you’ll be left alone. Let’s focus on getting out of here.” Bruce returns to fiddling with Clark’s hair. 

Clark takes Bruce’s hands in his own. His breathing stutters a bit.

“Can I kiss you, Bruce?” Never has a question felt so heavy, so precarious. 

“Is there someone in here?” Bruce’s voice drops low, eyes darting to the stalls. 

“No! No, I just thought it’d be easier to…y’know…rather than faking it.” He can’t bring himself to look Bruce in the eye. He loses track of whose heartbeat is thundering in his ears. He feels like he’s back in high school and fumbling his way through practicing in the mirror. 

“What?” No going back now. 

“It would just be for a minute or two. It might be more effective than pretending. We could kiss a little. It doesn’t have to mean anything.” Clark shrugs. Yeah. Logic is good. This is strictly a business arrangement. Friends kiss sometimes. They’ve been through hell and high water together, this should be easy. 

Bruce stares at him for a long while, long enough to make him sweat, to make him sick. Years of friendship and trust suddenly hang in the balance and he’s not ready for that. He’s not ready to lose that. What the fuck has he done? 

“I—“

“Are you…reasoning your way through making out with me?” Bruce puts his hands on his hips, expression utterly unreadable. 

“Maybe?” Clark swallows. 

Silence envelops the bathroom. Clark starts running through ways to retcon the worst mistake of his life—passing it off as a joke? Yeah, that might work. He starts to fumble his way through the syllables of an apology, when—

Bruce laughs. Hand on the wall, shoulders shaking, laughs. He tips his head back as the last snickers float and echo. He looks at Clark down the length of his nose, still beaming. It’s the rarest thing he’ll ever see and he commits every detail to memory. 

“I don’t think anyone’s asked so nicely before. Is this how they do it in Kansas?” Bruce unravels Clark’s tie in seconds. He wraps both ends around his knuckles idly, hanging his wrists off of Clark’s shoulders. 

Clark grabs both sides of Bruce’s head and kisses him deeply to shut him up. Bruce tilts his head and pulls Clark roughly forward, slamming them both into the wall. He lets out a beautiful little noise as his hands slide beneath Clark’s jacket and absolutely ruin the clean press of his shirt. Clark has half a mind to hoist Bruce onto one of the sinks, but he resists. 

He’s beautiful. It’s the only clear thought that runs through Clark’s head as he starts unbuttoning the buttons of Bruce’s shirt. He tilts Bruce’s jaw up and presses tender, lingering kisses down the column of his throat. Bruce pulls at Clark’s hair, forcing his head up, and catches his lips with a growl. 

“That’s how we do it in Kansas.” Clark breathes, hovering in Bruce’s personal space. His glasses are fogged and smudged but he can still see the tantalizing tilt of Bruce’s lips. 

“Again, I have a few pointers—“

This time Clark does pick him up. Bruce’s eyes go wide. 

“Nevermind.” Bruce pulls him back in with a forearm around the neck. Clark surges forward and mouths beneath Bruce’s jaw. He can feel Bruce’s heartbeat nearby and he hunts for it, spurred on by the storm of his own want. When he finds it, he sucks slow and steady against his warm, soft skin until he’s sure it’ll bruise. Bruce lets out a keening whine that stutters into a gasp, gripping Clark’s shoulders. His thighs clench around Clark’s waist. 

Clark’s better judgment grabs him and he breaks them apart. Bruce doesn’t move away and that lights his brain up like a Christmas tree. He hovers there for far too long, fighting tooth and nail against the urge to chase the adrenaline. Bruce looks utterly sinful in his grip, flushed in a way Clark hasn’t ever seen. 

The concept of self-control comes to him in a whisper like it’s foreign. He remembers himself. 

“Are we…good?” Clark vaguely realizes he’s still holding Bruce and sets him down. He’s buzzing from head-to-toe, like he’s just taken a full day’s nap in the sunlight. He’s not entirely certain he can feel his face. He touches his own lips reverently. 

“What? Oh. Yeah, c’mon.” Bruce grabs him and leads them through the venue. 

When Bruce pulls him through the party and towards the front doors, he doesn’t even process the prying eyes and whispers. All that matters is Bruce’s hand gripping his own. 

Clark’s determined to catch this shooting star in his hand, even if it doesn’t last. Even if it burns him down the line. 

[13phantom13angel13]

Wayne Woes Pt 2

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I am extremely late with putting this out. Too much shit has been going on in my personal life so I haven’t had the time. So, without further ado, here is the long awaited part 2! Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Clark had noticed the past couple of times that he and Jonathan went to Wayne manor that Damian was a bit mopey. And maybe a little jumpy. He avoided being too close to Jon at all costs. He noticed the little flinch he gave if Jon moved too suddenly; noticed his heart rate increase with anticipation.

Jonathan, out of respect for his friend, tried to keep his distance to not spook the baby bat. Sure, it was fun to tickle the hell out of him, but he wasn’t so cruel as to continuously do it every time they visited.

So, they’re current visit had the boys hanging out in the cave again as their dads worked on another case. This time they just sat around playing on their phones several feet apart. Clark watched them intently with a slight frown. He knew Damian was a little upset still. He wanted to cheer him up and let him know it was ok to be ticklish. It didn’t make him weak.

His gaze fell on Bruce as he worked on the bat computer. A wicked smile started to form on his lips. He glanced back at the boys.

“Hey Damian. Come here for a second.”

Damian glanced up at Superman and stood from his spot, walking over to him. Clark grinned, leaning down slightly to whisper to him.

“Wanna know a fun secret about your dad?”

The mischievous glint in the Kryptonian’s eyes intrigued him. He tilted his head slightly in curiosity. Miraculously, Bruce hadn’t heard them; too focused on his current task.

“Watch and be amazed.” Clark stated as he zipped up behind Bruce with the speed only a superhuman can have, latching on to his sides before Bruce even had a chance to react.

The squeal that ripped out of Bruce’s throat was loud, high pitched, and hilarious. But Clark didn’t stop there. He started wiggling his fingers up and down from the tops of his hips up to his armpits. Bruce’s back arched away as frantic laughter escaped him with no hope of stopping it.

Bruce squirmed around in his chair in hysterics trying to grab ahold of Clark’s hands.

“DAHAHAMMIT CLAHAHAHARK!!! STAHAHAHAHAP!!!”

Clark laughed along with him, continuing the torment as Damian and Jon watched on. Both of them wore highly amused smirks with just a hint of surprise. Who knew Batman would be so ticklish?

“CLAHAHAHARK PLEAHAHAHAHASE!! I’M BEHEHEHEHEGGING YOU!!!” Bruce sank down slowly in his chair as his cheeks flushed pink, tears of mirth beginning to form in his eyes. That was new.

“Aw…come on, Bruce. Damian needs to see that even big bad Batman is ticklish too.”

“OHOHOHOK!!! YOU MAHAHAHADE YOHOHOHOUR POINT!!! I GIHIHIHIVE!!! CUHUHUHUT IT OHOHOHOHOUT!!!”

Clark chuckled, retracting his hands. Bruce slumped forward against the computer system gasping for breath.

“Alright alright. I’m done,” he stated turning back to Damian. “See? Even your dad is ticklish. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone is ticklish somewhere.”

Damian’s eyebrow raised with a slight smirk.

“Everyone? Including you?”

Clark paused, his eyes going wide. Jonathan laughed on the other side of the room.

“Yes he is! Don’t let him lie to you!”

“Jonathan!” Clark squeaked out in embarrassment. Damian chuckled softly.

“Thank you for the demonstration of father’s weakness. Jon already informed me of it. However, I’ll keep that information safe for a time when I need it.” He turned to face Jonathan and motioned for him to follow. “Come, Kent. Let’s go play a video game.”

As soon as both boys were out of the cave, Bruce growled out in a menacing voice.

“So, about my revenge…”

Clark swallowed hard. Oh he just screwed up.

[vigilvntes]

last line tag✨️

Post the last line you’ve written, than tag as many people that there are words in the line.

tagged by @bvcksmunson also fuck it posting a little segment whoops

You can't stop yourself from grinning right back at him. How can you not? You have Gotham's prince wrapped around your little finger, grinning like a kid in a candy store. It would be a shocking sight to any outside observer.

"Thank you. I practised this whole conversation in my head on the drive over." You tell him, only half joking.

Bruce scoffs lightheartedly, "Am I that predictable?"

You hum, "You put up more of a fight in my head."

He lets out a breathy laugh, "You have these conversations in your head often?"

"Well, what else am I supposed to do with my spare time when you," you poke your finger into his side gently, smiling when he lets out a quiet hmph and recoils from your touch momentarily (he curses the day you discovered he's slightly ticklish when he lets his guard down), "drop off the face of the earth for six days?"

not tagging anyone because i am going for a nAP just do it if you wanna!!!! <3