After a devastatingly long battle, Clark likes to make sure Bruce is taken care of.
He’s careful, as he always is, as he gently places Bruce’s nearly-limp body in a chair in the batcave. He takes his time, then, to begin removing the armor piece by piece.
He was taught how to open each hidden clasp ages ago. Sure, he could tear through the Kevlar as if it were paper, but he had no need to.
He likes to start with the boots, helping to slide them off and placing them nearby. Next came the gauntlets, followed by the vambraces. Both, were placed carefully on the desk.
His hands wound around Bruce’s hips to undo the belt, before adding that to the pile.
And then, only then, did he ever so carefully remove the cowl.
It always blew him away, the way that Bruce’s bleary, exhausted eyes would follow each careful movement. How even in his bone-tired, injured state, he was just guarded enough to keep a close eye on the Kryptonian.
Clark offered him a small smile as he carefully reached to open the clasp behind the man’s neck. In one smooth motion, the chest plate popped off.
Wordlessly, Bruce lifted his hips from the chair next to help get the bottoms of the suit off. Now left in the undersuit, it was time to clean up.
Rising to his feet again, Clark gently took hold of Bruce’s hands, urging him upward as well.
“Bath?” He murmured softly as he wound one arm around Bruce’s waist. He relished in the way the vigilante slumped into his side.
“Bath.” The bat grunted. And just like that, Clark was guiding him up the stairs.
There was nothing more they needed to say.
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