A/N: posting this quickly before internet fails. will fix errors soon.

Clark gets up at 6 AM. He wants to get a reasonable amount done today, but leave enough time for Bruce to get to know Kara before she has to head back to National. So, Clark reluctantly peels himself away from a sleepy looking Bruce and starts getting dressed. He can feel eyes on his back, but he refuses to turn around until he's done.

He knows just one look will have him contemplating his decision.

Clark assumed that Bruce would just watch him until his eyes finally closed again and he drifted back off. Instead, he turns to see that Bruce has sat up in bed with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, watching Clark as if he's waiting for something. He sits patiently, allowing Clark to sit on the side of the bed and pull on his boots before he quietly scoots forward a bit.

Clark turns just in time to see the tiniest of head tilts.

Honestly, Clark's not even sure the average human would've noticed the difference, but it's there. Just the slightest angle change; just enough for Clark to understand.

Clark stands up from the edge of the bed and leans over to press his lips against Bruce's. He intends the kiss to be chaste, sweet, short. He can feel the grip Bruce has on his button-up before he even moves to pull away.

Clark can't help himself, letting out a quiet hum before going back in for seconds.

Bruce doesn't loosen his grip.

"I gotta go. Kara's waiting on me." he mutters against Bruce's lips.

He knows his words are falling on deaf ears as Bruce moves to snuggle into Clark's neck.

Clark could just crawl back into bed, pretend like he overslept, worry about whatever sass Kara would give him about it later. However, he doesn't want to procrastinate starting on the house. It's something Bruce wants enough to actively let Clark know and Clark wanted to make sure he got it.

So, he pulls himself away and turns to head downstairs. About halfway down the staircase, he realizes he's being followed. He doesn't turn around, not wanting to embarrass Bruce, but he can't help but hone in on the sound of his timid footsteps as he trails behind Clark.

The only thing that managed to distract him from the quiet 'taps' was a knock at the front door. It's Diana. She's standing at the door with a small, black expensive-looking suitcase in one hand and a puppy in the other. 

"Alfred asked me to drop this off." That is the only explanation she gives before handing over the suitcase and placing the puppy down next to Clark's feet. 

'Binny', as Robin so lovingly calls her, rushes over to Bruce as if she hasn't seen him in months. He scoops her up without hesitation, humming as he pets her. She's dressed in a tiny, dark grey puppy sweater with a little, silver name tag dangling from the collar around her neck. Bruce doesn't seem even remotely surprised by the outfit as if he'd picked it himself. 

"Thank you." Clark mutters, ignoring the knowing grin on Diana's face at the sight. 

She gives a nod before glancing over at Clark.

"Now if you'll excuse me, it's my turn to make sure Metropolis is still standing."

Bruce isn't sure how he got roped up into Martha's grocery shopping trip, but here he is trekking along behind her. She's just like Clark when it comes to friendliness, greeting everyone they pass by before gesturing over to Bruce and introducing him as if it's essential that the residents of Smallville know who he is. 

Honestly, he's expecting to be introduced as "Bruce Wayne". That tended to give people enough to go off of, they could usually figure out who he was from there. It doesn't dawn on him that, here in the itty bitty town of Smallville, that's not how people would recognize him.

"Ah, yeah you're Clark's friend! Saw you two down at Frank's a couple of days ago." Some woman, Martha introduced as Rose, informs Bruce. 

Bruce didn't exactly have a lot of experience with small towns, but they didn't tend to be the most accepting of places. So, he doesn't even blink at the description. In fact, he's okay with everyone being nonthewiser of anything regarding him and Clark.

Martha, however, has other plans. 

"Yeah, they bought the house just up the street, so Clark'll be around more often." she says as if she's been waiting to share the news. 

He's expecting Rose to pause. Take in what Martha's saying. Maybe come up with some kind of excuse for why two fully grown men in their thirties would be buying a house together. Instead, he watches as Rose beams as if she's heard some fantastic news. 

"Oh! Has he popped the question?"

What a conversation to be having in the middle of a grocery store...

The question is aimed at Bruce who is, for like the third time in his life, speechless. 

"Um..." Bruce provides, glancing over to Martha for some assistance.

Martha somehow creates a segway about beans to distract Rose, but Bruce doesn't miss the way she leans over and whispers something into Rose's ear. 

The conversation brings him back to the day before. Back to Kara's words.

H u s b a n d.

It's a foreign word to Bruce. He didn't have plans to become a husband. Bruce hadn't really had plans regarding himself at all before Clark had suddenly become a seemingly permanent fixture in Bruce's life. The most likely outcome, with how bad Gotham seemed to be deteriorating, was that he'd die somewhere in a back alley trying his best to save what good was left of the city he'd dedicated his life to. So, he hadn't thought about being anyone's husband.

They don't talk about titles; putting a name to it makes it real.

H U S B A N D.

At first, he'd thought it was some kind of inside joke, that eventually Clark would crack and reveal to Bruce that it was just some silly nickname that he called Bruce around family members. Though, she'd said they'd gotten married. Based off of Kara's vague explanation, they've technically been married for months. They've been bound together by the descriptor for months. 

His Kryptonian title must've changed after...and Clark hadn't said a word. In fact, he had a look of pride when Kara addressed Bruce as such.

Now, Bruce was curled up on the couch at 11 AM trying to pretend he hadn't been thinking about all of it since he'd laid down last night. The news is quietly playing on the TV as Martha hums away in the kitchen, pots and pans clanging as she prepares lunch. Usually, the monotony would lull him to sleep, but even if he could get his mind off of Clark, his kid would still be lightly nudging at Bruce's insides.

He's finally awake. Not in the physical sense. He finally wakes up from whatever trance he's been in for the past week. He realizes he hasn't been tuned in. Not just to whatever the anchor is currently babbling about, but for the past week he hasn't checked in. He hasn't flicked through news stories, checked cameras, called up Robin.

He hadn't even checked in with Diana when she'd come by earlier. Was the League okay? He wasn't going to call up and ask.

That's not the only thing. He hasn't stepped back and reassessed himself. Not just him, but Clark. Him and Clark. Confessions had been made, some secrets shared. Some things that he definitely should've thought about a bit longer. He should be worried...about something. Or if not worried, he should be questioning something. Clark had announced something crucial. He should probably dissect it, figure out what he actually meant. Though, the way he looked at Bruce...

He should be irritated. That's what he tells himself, he should be fucking irate. Clark hadn't told him about something seemingly important, especially important to Clark. Bruce being addressed as Clark's husband was important to Clark...

This isn't what Bruce thought this trip would be. There weren't supposed to be any admissions, any feelings. He thought he'd be staring down at plans for a house, trying to get his vision down perfectly. A simple task to keep himself busy. Instead, he's splayed across Martha's couch on top of several pillows while she fixes a snack he didn't ask for. Clark and Kara are on their way back from tearing down and disposing of the remains. He can feel himself getting excited because he's found a crib that he thinks would look really nice next to one of his favorite paint swatches.

Kara bounces through the door first, smelling of ash and grass and looking absolutely ecstatic for someone who'd just done manual labor. Clark trails behind her, warm smile stretching across his face as soon as he sees Bruce propped up on a mountain of pillows.

"Did the pillows help with the discomfort?" Is his first question as he stoops down to get a better look at Bruce.

Bruce just lets out a noncommittal hum before going back to blankly staring into space.

Clark knows that look. He knows it all too well, knows when Bruce has been cooped up for too long and he's starting to get a bit antsy. Knows when he's been trapped with his thoughts a little too long. 

"How about we take a walk, hm?" Clark mutters,

He can see the frown already appearing on Bruce's brow. He's started having a bit of discomfort when he stands for too long, a walk sounds like the last thing he'd want, but he slowly sits up anyway.

"I'm just gonna..." Clark starts out, before stepping away to shoot upstairs.

He grabs for Bruce's little to-go bag and packs himself a change of clothes before shoving in an extra pair of underwear and t-shirt for Bruce. They were only going to be gone for about an hour, but they haven't been alone in a while.

They haven't been alone in a while and things have changed. Bruce wanders up to Clark now, kisses Clark like he misses him, waits for him. He'd sat up in bed this morning and watched Clark get dressed. He hadn't said a word, but his eyes said enough. He'd toddled downstairs with a blanket pulled over his shoulders and watched Clark until his truck left the driveway. Something had changed, even more than it had before, and Clark couldn't ignore it. He didn't want to.

So, he quickly fixes a bag and makes his way downstairs, ignoring Bruce's confused gaze when Clark moves to help him off of the couch. They managed to get past the screen door before Ma could round the corner and start asking questions.

He could see Bruce fixing his lips to question Clark about the bag, but the words die in his throat as their feet leave the steps.

"You said a walk!" Bruce grumbles, burrowing further into Clark's neck as the air becomes slightly cooler.

Clark's careful not to take them too high, move too suddenly, go too fast.

He lets out a little hum at the observation, chuckling when Bruce huffs.

"Thought we could have some alone time that lasts more than five minutes." Clark mutters into Bruce's hair and feels his shoulders lower at the information.

Clark can practically hear the thoughts rattling around in the man's head.

They're up in the air for all of five minutes before he's slowly lowering them down in front of the ship. The ship immediately opens for them and Bruce shuffles inside as if it's his first time on board. He looks around, eyes scanning over every inch, but it's not in the way he'd done before. He's not snooping around for information, something he hasn't discovered yet. It's evident in the way he pouts. It's the same expression he'd had when stumbling around his home back in Gotham. Nothing seemed to be to his liking.

"Preferences being altered to accommodate." The ship buzzes.

The ship hadn't ever made any significant alterations for Clark. The ship looked the same every time Clark stepped foot onboard and he'd never questioned it before. He'd never gotten any accommodations that weren't minor alterations. The ship was always this stark white, empty hull that he stumbled into for answers every now and then. It'd never occurred to Clark that it would change.

Clark's not sure what he's expecting exactly. Bruce had a style. He usually liked dark tones and sharp lines. However, the ship doesn't ask any questions.

They both watch as the sterile white walls of the ship become a muted light blue color. The floor changes from tile to a softer carpet. The angular seat that sits in front of the monitor becomes a bit more plush.

Bruce immediately plops down onto it with a little sigh.

However, the ship doesn't seem to be done as it quietly hums away. A small, dark blue sofa appears a couple of feet from the entrance. A gray recliner is placed next to it. A black mini fridge pops up a couple of inches from the monitor. The dip that usually appears in the center of the room is back and it's lined with a thicker, cream-colored rug that looks eerily close to some kind of faux animal fur. The divot is filled to the brim with blankets that remind Clark of home. There is a light aroma filtering through the vents that Clark can't quite place, but it gets a little satisfied hum out of Bruce.

He seems content for the moment, waddling around as he explores the new additions to the room.

Clark uses the distraction to step away and turn on the shower. He still smells of smoke and sweat and some hot water and soap would feel great against his skin.

He steps inside of the bathroom and immediately pauses, eyes scanning over the space, before glancing back at the door. There are two sinks. Not only that, but there is a bathtub. The bathroom had been miniscule before, almost like an afterthought. There was only a shower, the size of the average Kryptonian male and there was a toilet and a sink. Now, he found himself staring at a fairly elaborate bathtub and a double sink with a large mirror above it. It gives him a fantastic view of how absolutely disheveled he looks.

The ship provides a stack of fresh towels, placing them in between the two sinks, as if to display its changes to Clark. He shakes his head, remembering that he didn't have a lot of time. He strips out of his clothes, mind completely focused on getting in, getting clean, and then getting back to Bruce. They've got a solid one to two hours before Clark gets a call about lunch. So, he grabs Bruce's soap, that's still propped up on one of the shelves from their last trip, and starts scrubbing.

He steps out to Bruce curled up in the pit of blankets. He's looking at something on his phone, but pauses to glance up at Clark. He looks like he's about to hold it up for Clark to see, say something of note, but the words never leave his lips.

Clark's slung a towel around his waist in his haste to get back to the man in front of him and Bruce seems intrigued. The man sits up completely, leaning against the side of the pool, eyes taking in Clark as if he hasn't seen him like this countless times.

Clark lowers himself down on the edge, hoping to recapture Bruce's full attention, hear whatever it is he had to say. However, that only seems to fuel the fire as Bruce scooches over to prop his arms up on Clark's lap, phone forgotten by the wayside.

Clark's about to say something when Bruce does that little tilt.

He leans down, hoping to make up for this morning, only to find himself unable to pull away. The only thing that makes separate is a little grunt from Bruce. Clark pulls away and tries to seem apologetic as Bruce catches his breath, but Bruce's eyes are blown wide and his lips are bright pink. 

That's all it takes. That's all it takes before Bruce is yanking at Clark's towel as if it's offended him personally. That's all it takes for Clark to be holding onto the seemingly thin edge as he attempts to make the moment last. They've been cooped up together for a week and it's taken everything in Clark to keep his hands to himself. He's trying to be gentle as Bruce pops the head into his mouth, eyes blinking innocently as if he can't see Clark struggling. Instead of taking it slow, Bruce is pulling out all of the stops like he takes Clark's endurance as some form of challenge. 

He's got precum and spit dripping down his chin as he slowly inches his way down Clark's dick, humming merrily when he's about halfway down. Clark should be used to this by now. He should be used to Bruce being so open with him. He should be used to seeing Bruce look up at Clark as if he's desirable. However, it always catches him off-guard. He's always a little off-balance. 

Which is probably why he can't hold on. He's shaking like a teenage boy trying to keep it together as Bruce swallows around him, eye lashes fluttering as if he's enjoying torturing Clark. Clark places a hand on the back of Bruce's head, mainly to have something to hold onto, hands raking through the hair at the nape of Bruce's neck. Honestly, Clark should've known better. Bruce rewards him with swallowing yet again.

His orgasm only seems to be a surprise to him as Bruce moves off of Clark only to hold his tongue out as if he's giving permission. When he finally comes down, Bruce looks like he's ready to clean up and curl up in the mound of blankets and pillows, despite the fact that Clark can see that he's aroused. 

He's scrounging around for his phone, seemingly ready to finally show Clark what he'd intended to show him when he'd first stepped out of the shower. 

"Hey..." Clark mumbles, slipping down into the dip with Bruce. 

Nothing had happened. Bruce was clearly in a fairly good mood as he flips through his phone despite still having their mess dripping down his chin. 

Bruce goes back to draping himself over the side of the dip, elbows resting on the edge, so Clark presses his chest up against his back. He crowds himself around Bruce, and it almost works, Bruce's phone drooping in his hands as he leans into Clark. 

Clark moves his hands down to rest on Bruce's hips, trying to get him to understand that it can wait. However, his hands eventually wander down to his favorite place, resting against Bruce's lower belly.

Again, that's all it takes. Bruce pushes Clark's hands away.

"Can you get me a towel?" He asks without looking up at Clark.

Suddenly, it clicks. It's been a little while since Clark has seen Bruce. He's, naturally, gotten a bit bigger. It should be fairly obvious to Clark, but their situation had been masking it. They showered separately, but that's because Clark was outside all day, so his showers were either early or way too late for Bruce to join him. It hadn't hit him that Bruce may have been avoiding showing Clark. Bruce was self-concious. Legitamately. 

"You don't have to take it off." Clark mutters, yanking lightly at the shirt so that Bruce knew what he was referring to. 

He gets up anyway, heading to get the towel Bruce had requested. 

He's expecting Bruce to be completely covered in blankets by the time he gets back. He's expecting him to be so engrossed in his phone that Clark just has to pretend that none of it had happened. 

Instead, he comes back to see that Bruce is patiently waiting for him. He grabs for the towel, wiping himself down, but then he reaches for Clark. He reaches for Clark and pulls him back down into the dip. He doesn't remove Clark's oversized Hanes. Instead, he guides Clark's hands down to the waistband of his pajama pants. 

This feels slightly more sentimental. He's not sure why, but it's as if the moment symobolizes something pivotal in their relationship. Bruce is conciously letting Clark in. He's not being forced, he's not doing it because he believes 'it's for the best', he's very clearly doing this for Clark. 

Bruce wants Clark to know that he trusts him.

He allows Clark to peel away his pajama pants and underwear. Bruce allows him to see the subtle changes to his body. He allows Clark in. Clark takes his time, not wanting it to end. He takes his time, eating Bruce out like this is the only chance he'll get. And once Bruce is relaxed, the shirt slides up and Clark's sure the scene in front of him will be ingrained in his mind forever. 

He can feel Bruce's fingers in his hair, yanking at Clark's scalp for dear life, but he doesn't let up as the man's eyes roll back into his head. 

When Bruce finally opens his eyes, he's limp. 

Bruce is mush. He probably couldn't stand even if he wanted to, so Clark carries him to the tub. The bubbles are overflowing. As soon as Bruce makes himself comfortable in front of Clark. Clark can hear the water sloshing over the side of the tub, but he doesn't care. He's too busy moving the bubbles so that they crowd around Bruce's stomach, much to his dismay. 

Clark's willing to stay like that forever, but Bruce starts grumbling after the water becomes cold. 

They're wrapped in towels when Clark's phone starts buzzing in the jeans he'd been wearing earlier. He scoops them up to see Kara's name on the caller ID.

"Auntie Martha told me to tell you to return her son-in-law back to Smallville. Lunch is getting cold."