Bruce was always the last to bed.
Logically, it made sense. Superman’s powers were tied to the sun; he spent every waking moment absorbing as much radiation as his Kryptonian cells could hold, so that he could better serve the people of Earth.
It was an unfortunate fact of life that Bruce didn’t have that choice. Most of his time was spent lurking in the fetid shadows of Gotham City, shifting through the scum that lurks in the darkness of every alleyway, where the sun never dared to reach. Hours upon hours were spent tracking down career criminals or patrolling the rain-slicked streets, merging with the shadows himself during his endless crusade. The Batman was a creature of the night, after all, and the sun would do him no good.
He wished that it could be different. That he, too, could spend his days in the sun as his husband does. He yearned to be able to climb into bed with him each night and fall asleep safe and sound in those warm arms.
But he couldn’t. They had both made peace with this fact years ago. That didn’t make it any easier.
Not when there were long, cold evenings when all he wanted to do was throw his suit into the nearest canal and retreat into the safety of his lover’s arms, where he could burrow into that inhuman warmth and feel broad hands stroking his skin and lavishing him in endless, unconditional affection. Sure, they found other times to spend together, but there was something about falling into a lover’s arms after a long day and staying there until forced apart by other obligations that he craved.
But no, Gotham needed the fearsome Batman stalking the night. He didn’t have the luxury of abandoning his duties, of forking them off onto others with their own full plates.
And so, more often than not, he would slink into their bedroom in the earliest hours before dawn, his body aching and mind buzzing from adrenaline. In these moments, he would do his best to avoid waking the Kryptonian spread out like a starfish across the king-sized bed.
He would take his time maneuvering Clark’s arms out of the way before slipping in on his side of the bed. And like clockwork, the moment the mattress dipped beneath his weight, those very same strong arms would wind around him to pull him firmly against one impenetrable chest. A nose would bury into his hair, a soft sigh falling from Clark’s lips as he clutched the vigilante to his chest like a plush toy.
In moments like these, Bruce would smile softly. His eyes would flutter shut as he soaked in his husband’s endless warmth. He’d breathe in the soft scent of sandalwood body wash and relax into the iron hold around him.
Only then, when he was fully immersed in Clark’s world, would he drift off, knowing that he was exactly where he wanted to be.
