#ticklish!clark Kent

[fickle-tiction]

how about 13 for superbat? // definitely not @tickle-bugs in a trenchcoat and sunglasses

“Don’t laugh while I’m trying to talk to you!” Bruce growled, the corner of his mouth twitching up without his permission as Clark burst into another peel of deep belly laughter.

"I--I ca-haha-can't help it!" Clark protested, arms cross tightly across his chest as he tried to block as much skin as possible from Bruce's wandering fingers.

"Did you tell Diana about me?!" Bruce demanded, latching onto Clark's hips and squeezing as fast as he could.

"Nohohohohoho!"

"No, you didn't tell her? Or no? Don't tickle you?"

"Both! Both! Bru-hahaha-Bruce!"

"Hngh." Bruce continued his palpitations, intimately aware that if Clark really wanted to put a stop to this he could.

"I sw-hahaha-swear I didn't!"

"Then how does she know?!" That voice has caused more than one criminal to wet their pants in fear, but Clark simply threw his head back and laughed harder.

"Ma-hah-maybe she--" Clark broke off into a squeal when Bruce dragged his nails across the thin skin between his hipbones. Bruce zeroed in on the spot, but Clark was cheating and using his powers to block his access. "Maybe she sees through your tough-guy schtick." Clark panted, finally able to catch his breath now that he was pushing Bruce's hands away in earnest.

"You think this is all an act?" Bruce asked, his voice dangerously quiet as his eyes bore into Clark's.

"Face it, B. You're a big softy, and we all know it." Clark was smirking at him, and Bruce was going to make him pay dearly for it.

Bruce pulled his hands away, cracked his knuckles, and smirked. Clark's eyes widened, but before he could decide on a course of action Bruce threw himself down onto Clark's shins, got his ankles into a headlock, and proceeded to go to town on the soles of his feet.

"Wa-hahahaha-wait!" Clark cackled, collapsing backwards are Bruce clawed at the sensitive skin. "Wait! I ta-hahaha-ke it ba-hahaha-ck!"

"I'll show you soft." Bruce growled, smirking as he fluttered quick fingers under Clark's toes, hanging on for dear life as he started thrashing beneath him.

[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]

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.

[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.

[evilhorse]

Talk about our ticklish jobs!

[thezombieprostitute]

Garbage Men - Mafia AU

The “Garbage Men” are the guys in the mob who get the dirt on others and clean up after the higher ups. They have many different ways of gathering intel, including running legitimate businesses, keeping ears to the ground, knowing who to bribe and more.

Curtis Everett

Dream Come True (Arc 1)

Summary: One legitimate business is Jefferson/Jensen’s cyber cafe where you regularly go to work. You’ve actually become good friends with Jefferson’s daughter and Jensen’s niece. You even volunteered as their after-school tutor. One day, there’s a robbery attempt where you get hurt protecting the girls. This is how you are introduced to Curtis Everett, the guy in charge of the “Garbage Men”.

💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚

Nightmares (Arc 2)

Summary: You and Curtis are having to deal with literal and figurative nightmares while working to make sure the Garbage Men operation runs smoothly.

💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚

Asks/Drabbles:

Curtis's Dreams

Reader's Dreams

Rough Day Cure

Relationship Asks - Clothing & Nightly Routine

James Mace

Sparks Fly (Arc 1)

Summary: After working as an engineer for Wilford & Gilliam Trust for several years you find evidence of seedy dealings and burned books. After turning in the evidence you find yourself in danger and seek help. You're taken into the protection of a mob family where you run into your high school best friend, Mace.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Frayed (Arc 2)

Summary: There are so many new things happening in your life that the only two things you can count on are your boyfriend, Mace, and that your life almost always in danger.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Asks/Drabbles:

Caught in the Rain

Guilty Pleasure

Ticklish

Relationship Asks - Apologizing and Separation

Nick Fowler

Changing Minds (Arc 1)

Summary: Your long time work acquaintance Nick Fowler offers to take you to a fancy fundraiser as a way of cheering you up. He insists it's only as friends but when he sees you falling into the grasp of someone he knows is no good, he might change his mind on that.

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

Constant Change (Arc 2)

Summary: You and Nick must navigate the new territories of pregnancy and parenting while managing the continued hostility from Clark Kent.

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

Ask/Drabbles:

Relationship Asks - Initiation, Separation and Nonverbal communication

Steve Rogers

Hummingbird (Arc 1)

Summary: You didn't want to break into someone's party but you were desperate to see the art at the gallery before it was gone. You're so busy trying to make sure no one sees you that you miss the ever present gaze of Steve Rogers who is wondering why you crashed his party.

💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞

Dragonfly (Arc 2)

Summary: Steve has just about everything he could ever want in life. He's got you, a baby on the way, and a successful Family. No one would dare interfere with that. Right?

💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞

Asks/Drabbles:

Hummingbird's Favorites

Kisses

Steve Sees You

Thief AU

Relationship Asks - Love languages - Nonverbal communication and Separation - Sleeping and Cooking

Nonspecific Asks and Drabbles

Honey Pot (Hal Carter)

Kink Matching (Curtis Everett, James Mace, Nick Fowler, Steve Rogers)

Reader Swap (Hal Carter, Nick Fowler)

[cantwritethetword]

Biceps? Really?

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

~A/N  - HELLO ONCE AGAIN

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

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

Prompts were:

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

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

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

- Enoy! ~

Tag List: @constanteyeburn

Masterpost Link 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And holy fuck did it tickle.

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

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

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

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

"CLARK!"

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

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

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

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

"Fuhuhuck ohoff."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Clark wasn't forgetting about this any time soon.

[spider-jaysart]

Top 5 Jon Kent Headcanons

@paladin-of-nerd-fandom65

1. Has a big phobia about peacock birds. It used to be severe for him when he was really little and would used to see them walking around the Zoo, because he would start screaming and crying while trying to run away, forcing both Clark and Lois to have to keep a good hold on him in their arms as a way to stop him until they were quickly away from the bird. Now in his current tween age, he can handle it at least a bit more better than before, but still panics internally around them and has to have a good grip on his parents hands until they finally walk away to another section

2. He loves Sunflowers a lot. Chris, who usually loves tending to the garden more than others during chore work, due to having a green thumb for it, knows this fact about his brother very well, so he's the one who thoughtfully makes sure to plant them all the time while also working on the other ones, just so that Jon can always enjoy seeing and having them around the house once they're finally grown. Once Jon found out about this, he stayed always appreciating it so much. He also picks out the sunflowers from the garden sometimes to keep them in a handmade vase from school in his room

3. He's very ticklish on his neck

4. He's very good at writing stories and many other things, thanks to his parents being great professionals in this kind of work and teaching him lots of useful things about it very well, but unlike both of them, Jon actually hates writing and gets stressed out and upset whenever he has to do homework that requires so much of it. Because of this, he also doesn't want to become a reporter or an employed writer at the Daily Planet at all either. His true passion is science and when he becomes an adult one day, he happily succeeds in getting a very great career in that field as a well educated scientist after graduating Metropolis University

5. He goes through a very strange stage of puberty at 15 years old, due to being half Kryptonian. His ears would literally turn blue, forcing him to have to wear headphones over them when in public or a beanie while at school, he would at worst times get itches on his soles, underarms, and stomach, which usually created very awkward moments for him whenever he had to desperately scratch them in front of others who weren't his family and friends, he would get purple circles all over both arms that gad to be hidden by hoodies and long sleeve shirts, and his neck would also grow pink hairs that would shed off, grow, shed off, grow, and repeat everytime, making him have to wear one of Lois' scarfs to cover it up.

The only thing he would get that was similar to the human experience of puberty were zits on obvious parts of his face, except they were a bit more bigger than normal ones, which would result in him receiving annoying mean comments from bullies at school. He got so fed up with it one day, that he decided to finally pop them, but then Kara had to stop him, since she knew from experience that a Kryptonian zit is the type to ruin a whole room with all the large puss it has stored inside of it. She later made him a special meal that came from an old traditional Kryptonian recipe that she knows very well, promising him that it would help to calm all the symptoms down

They both enjoyed it and shared it with the rest of the family too. During that, everyone shared their own embarrassing times during Kryptonian puberty (even Lois as well, despite being human) with Jon, which helped to make him feel so much more better about his entire situation that day. And later, his symptoms began to calm down just like Kara said they would, which also made his day even more to see happening

After that, Kara shared the recipe with Jon for that special Kryptonian meal, so that he can continued eating it to keep making things easier for himself during all of this and once five months went by, everything finally went away and he was able to back to being his normal, happy self again

Thanks for the ask, buddy!!

[harlowcomehome]

Can you write about complementing Jack in his glasses or something? 🤭🤭

“My glasses?”

Jack was rushing, he had overslept and was trying to make it out of the house before he was late. If there was one thing he was super careful about it was other peoples time. He never wanted to come off as rude or arrogant so he made it a point to be timely for everything.

“Babe, have you seen my contact case?” He shouted from the bathroom.

You walked over to him, leaning against the door frame. “I ordered you some yesterday, you ran out remember?”

“Ugh” he groaned as he looked all over the counter top for his glasses.

“I put sunglasses in your backpack and these are for you” you handed him a case with a prescription pair of glasses inside.

“Thank you” he smiled, setting it down before giving you a quick kiss. He continued to shake the water droplets out of his hair, getting you wet in the process.

“Jackman! You did that on purpose” you giggled, poking at his ticklish side.

He laughed in response, “I can get you wet in other ways too” he smirked.

“Thought you were worried about being late?” You teased and he laughed before he started getting dressed. He put his glasses on last and looked in the mirror, scrunching his face in disgust.

“What? What’s the face for?” You questioned, you eyed him up and down. “You look good, as always.”

He blushed, leaning into the mirror to get a closer look at his face before turning to you.

“I’m not used to wearing glasses, I feel like a kid again when I do.” He shrugged and you could feel his repulsion.

“Baby, you can’t be serious.” You walked over to him, wrapping your arms around his torso. He did the same, and you leaned your chin against his chest, looking up at him.

“I just can’t get used to it” he shrugged “I prefer my contacts.”

“Can I be extremely annoying for a second?” You giggled and he smiled in response.

“You’re never annoying” he hummed.

“I think you look sexy as hell in your glasses” you giggled and he furrowed his brow.

“The glasses?” He repeated in case he heard you wrong.

“Yes! I think you look good in glasses” you pretended like you were going to drool and you fanned your face with your hand.

Jack was blushing, rocking you back and forth in his arms with a smile.

“It’s giving me Clark Kent, Kentucky edition” you continued and he laughed so hard you felt his entire body shake underneath you.

“I love you” he muttered when he was finally done doubling over, walking over to give you another kiss.

“I love you more” you sighed.

“Impossible” he laughed as he grabbed his bag to leave.

“Absolutely impossible” he thought to himself as you said your goodbyes for the day.

[fickle-tiction]

New Discovery

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[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. 

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

DC Masterlist

Batman/Batfamily

Rick Flag

Christopher Smith

Adrian Chase

Miscellaneous

🌟= new post

🤕= Whump 😥 = Angst 😘= Fluff/ Relationship

✍= reader insert ✉️ = ask/ request

Main Masterlist

Batman/Batfamily Fics/Drabbles

Rick Flag Fics/Drabbles

Drabbles:

Sing for Me = Peacemaker & Female!Reader (Antagonistic)

Sing for Me (Alternate POV) = Peacemaker & Female!Reader (Antagonistic)

Fics:

Why Weren’t You There? (Adrian Chase x Reader) 🤕 😥 ✍ ✉️

When you are captured, your boyfriend Adrian must come to your rescue before it’s too late.

Just a Normal Guy (Adrian Chase x Reader) 😘 😥 ✍ ✉️

You and your brother, Peacemaker, are superheroes. But you are tired of dating other superheroes, so when your old friend Adrian asks you out, you decide it’s time for a change.

I Can Get You Out of Here (Adrian Chase x Reader) 🤕 😥 ✍

Vigilante is captured on a mission and when everyone else refuses to help rescue him, you take matters into your own hands.

I Can Get You Out of Here (Part 2) (Adrian Chase x Reader) 🤕 😥 ✍

Just because you and Vigilante have escaped doesn’t mean you are safe yet.

Pure Bliss (Adrian Chase x Reader) 😘 😥 ✍ ✉️

While you go on a walk through the park one day hoping to capture some photos for your project, you met a strange man with a lovely smile.

The Truth About Revenge (Adrian Chase x Flag!Reader) 😘 😥 ✉️

When your brother was killed, your rage consumed you and you swore revenge. Now you've made a plan and tracked down Rick's killer. However, you never expected to fall for his best friend.

Drabbles:

“Why did you scream?” “I thought you were dead!”

“If I never see you again, just know that I love you so, so much.”

“I think I’m in love with you.” = Vigilante x Male!Reader

“Whatever you do, do not make a sound.” = Vigilante x Male!Reader

“Just please open your eyes.”, “I always said I would die for you.” “I didn’t think you meant literally.”, and Shielding the other with their body to save/protect them.

A falling asleep while sitting next to B, as their head falls onto B’s shoulder, B stays as still as they can, afraid to wake A.” and “…did you just sniff me?” = Vigilante x Female!Reader

He’s ticklish and then the reader realizes how strong he is

“Hugging after a fight and he pulls his hand from her waist and it’s covered in blood = Vigilante x Female!Reader

Fics:

The Green Stuff (Clark Kent & Daughter!Reader) 🤕 😥 ✍

When you try to prove to your dad that you can handle a rescue on your own, things turn bad very quickly.

Drabbles:

Third Time's the Charm (Starfire x f!Reader) 😘 ✍ ✉️

[13phantom13angel13]

Wayne Woes

A/N:I had gotten this request for lee!Damian about a month ago, so here it is! I apologize for the long wait. Being an adult sucks. Anyways, ENJOY.

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

Damian and Jon were hanging out in the bat cave together as Bruce and Clark worked on trying to solve some case for the league. In their boredom and infinite wisdom, they decided to spar to pass the time until their dads were done.

With Jon holding back his Kryptonian powers, he and Damian were pretty evenly matched; swapping back and forth pinning each other. They were having a blast just messing around, neither one of them taking the matches seriously.

Damian grabbed Jon in a loose headlock, both of them pausing for a moment to regain their breath.

“They sure are taking their sweet time, aren’t they?” Jon asked as he inhaled deeply.

“Tch. It doesn’t surprise me. Their brains can only function so efficiently when they’re around each other. I swear they have two brain cells fighting for third place.”

Jonathan had to laugh at that. It was true. Whenever Clark and Bruce got together, Clark seemed to get them off track one way or another. It was inevitable. Lois swears he has ADHD sometimes.

“That’s true knowing my dad,” Jon remarked as he grabbed Damian by the sides to steady himself. What he didn’t expect was for the uncharacteristic yelp that came out of his friend’s mouth. Jon looked at the older boy confused. “Uh…you alright there, Dami?”

Damian’s cheeks flushed slightly, not daring to make eye contact with Jon. He scoffed, desperate to deflect the attention away from his sudden reaction.

“I’m fine, Kent. You just startled me is all.”

Jon raised a skeptical brow at him, a smirk slowly forming across his lips.

“You’re lying. I can hear your heart beating rapidly.”

Damian winced slightly at that statement. Damn Jon and his Kryptonian powers. With a hard swallow, Damian lowered his gaze to meet Jon’s mischievous eyes. He knew he was in trouble now.

“You’re ticklish aren’t you?” Jon’s smirk widened further as he wiggled his fingers into Damian’s sides.

Damian’s breath hitched as he fought to keep the giggles at bay. Baby bat was as stubborn as his father. But they both knew it wouldn’t last long.

Stubborn as he was, Damian was also impossibly ticklish. A secret he tried his hardest to keep away from anyone outside of his family. Now, here he was. Being tickled by Superboy. Oh how the mighty have fallen.

Jon’s fingers suddenly attached to Damian’s thighs, a spot within easier reach for Jon in his current position. Damian squealed before hysterical giggles burst past his lips. His grip on Jon finally relinquished as he struggled to pull the tickling fingers away from his thighs.

Jon chuckled as he felt Damian’s legs tremble.

“I take it your legs are a good spot, huh?” His hands traveled further down latching on to Damian’s knees. That was it. It was over at that point.

With a loud wail, Damian went down to the floor in hysterics. Loud cackling laughter poured out of him like a waterfall. Jon laughed along with his friend as he followed him down to the floor, pinning his legs beneath him.

“Wow, Dami. I had no idea you were so ticklish!” Jonathan called over the loud laughter. Damian tried hard to dislodge the fingers wrapped around his knees. But who was he kidding? Jonathan was stronger than him.

“KEHEHEHENT!!! PLEHEHEHEHEASE!!! OH MY GOHOHOHOHOD STAHAHAHAHAP!!! IHIHIHIHIT TIHIHIHIHICKLES!!! OHOHOHO GOHOHOHOHOD STAHAHAHAHAP PLEHEHEHEHEASE!!!” Damian cried out desperately. His cheeks had gone red already as tears of mirth formed in his eyes. Jon was actually quite shocked to hear those words come out of THE Damian Wayne’s mouth. Damian never admitted to a weakness so easily. It must be pretty bad.

Damian’s desperate grip on Jon’s wrist tightened momentarily as he continued to try to pull his hands away. Jon could feel Damian’s strength starting to fade as the tugging got weaker, his grip loosening. With one final moment of tickling, Jon had mercy on his friend. He released him and sat back as Damian sucked down precious oxygen, some residual giggles still coming through.

“Y-You…ahahare the absolute wohohorst…” He panted out. Jon chuckled fondly.

“Probably. But that was fun. I didn’t expect you to be so ticklish.” He beamed as Damian flushed.

“You have no room to talk, Kent!” He huffed as he sat up. His eyes traveled over Jon’s shoulder as movement caught his eye. His face paled as he stared behind him, mortified. Jon cocked his head in confusion as he followed Damian’s eyes. Standing in the doorway, with amused smiles, were their dads. Jon smiled sheepishly.

“Uh, hi. How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough. We heard screaming and thought we would check it out.” Clark stated with a bright chuckle. “Seems like baby bat takes after his dad.” Clark added quietly as he nudged Bruce playfully. Bruce glared at him with flushed cheeks. Too bad neither of them knew that Jon had also heard and passed that info on to Damian.

[ao3feed-superbat]

Biceps? Really?

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/xypEbVR by cantsaythetword Clark accidentally stumbles across a rather odd ticklish spot on Bruce. Of course, he can't let the opportunity to fluster his partner slip through his fingers. Words: 773, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: DCU, Justice League - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen, M/M Characters: Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne Additional Tags: Tickling read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/xypEbVR

[cantsaythetword]

TickleTober Day 28: Bats

~A/N  - Excited for a sweet little SuperBat fic!!! This one is an anon request:

28(bats) with superbat? a specific spot gets batman to make squeaky noises and superman teases him about it. “you sound just like a bat, no wonder they call you batman” something like that :)

I love the little tease at the end with the bat squeaks aaaaaaa!!!

- Enoy! ~

Tag List:

Masterpost Link || TickleTober 2022 Masterpost Link

Over the course of their friend-turned-relationship, Clark had discovered that his boyfriend had a whole array of weird and wonderful noises for different occasions.

For example, when Bruce was stressed or annoyed, deep grumbles almost like thunder echoed around the bat cave. A sure sign to give him an offering of food and leave him to calm down.

When he was completely relaxed, on the other hand, Bruce gave out little hums - completely subconsciously. Clark had pointed it out once, and immediately regretted it as Bruce would try and stop himself from doing it. It took several months before the soft noises returned.

But then came an incredible discovery. One that Clark would relish (and Bruce would pretend to hate) for months on end.

"Clark wait!" Bruce demanded, though it came out more of a nervous request. His breathing turned to small gasps, almost as if he were forcing himself to stay in control.

Superman had found out Batman's biggest weakness. And was about to encounter Batman's best noises.

"Oh come on Brucey, you can't show me you're ticklish and then not let me tickle you!" Clark whined, continuing to playfully force his hands through Bruce's defenses.

"No- Clark-!" He grunted through broken puffs of air. "This- is- ridiculous-!"

"Bruuuuuuce~!" Superman continued to complain. "Pleeeease~?!"

Bruce halted his protests for a moment. He trusted Clark, that much was true.

But he hadn't been tickled in so long, what if he hated it?

Or worse...

What if he never wanted Clark to stop?

Seeing the hesitation on Bruce's face, Clark chose for him. He stopped his investigation, letting his hands settle in his lap and looking encouragingly at Bruce.

Though the Batman was more than a little flustered (and possibly excited), he kept his cool, disinterested exterior.

"Ugh, fine." He grumbled, lying down on his back. "Just make it quick."

Clark practically jumped in excitement, sitting on Bruce's hips and settling his fingers against his chest. He could feel his boyfriend's muscles tensing underneath his touch, so didn't keep him waiting and wondering what to expect.

His fingers began slowly crawling up Bruce's torso, letting each ab get a little bit of tickly attention as he made his way towards the top.

Bruce started to breathe funnily again, trying to stop whatever reaction was threatening to come out of his mouth. But even though he couldn't bear to lose his dignity through something as childish as tickling, there was a certain spark of joy in Clark's face

Oh what the hell.

Bruce let himself relax, let himself let go, let himself give in to the tickly urges.

And there it was.

He laughed.

Deep chuckles filled the room, occasionally going higher for a moment when Bruce began to laugh at how weird a laugh sounded coming out of his mouth.

"Clahahark wahahait..." He began, not knowing where he was going with that sentence.

Clark, practically high on his boyfriend's laughter, eagerly looked for somewhere else to attack. His eyes landed on the legs trapped beneath him, and he began squeezing and prodding into Bruce's thighs.

And so came an even better sound. Bruce began to squeak.

Every time Clark squeezed into the muscle, a high pitched yelp escaped Bruce's mouth.

"With those little squeaks you sound just like a bat, no wonder they call you Batman!" Clark smiled sweetly, finishing the attack with gently scratches up and down the tops of Bruce's forearms.

"Shut up, Kent." A very red-faced Batman replied. "Don't think this is going to be a regular occurrence."

Somehow, though, both of them knew this would be quite the regular routine for the next little while. And Clark would enjoy each and every sound that came out of Bruce's mouth.

Especially the Bat-Squeaks.