Toasters Are Not for Fires

A/N: I'm using a regular toaster for this prompt because I thought it would be funnier.

Prompt: HOW DID YOU ALMOST BURN DOWN OUR HOUSE WITH A TOASTER OVEN

Clark takes in a lungful of air, holds it for two seconds, and then blows. He watches as the flames that have engulfed his toaster dwindle into nothing, leaving a charcoaled piece of kitchen wear behind. Clark looks at the appliance, mouth hanging open, eyebrows raised. It was the one his mother gave to him when he moved to Metropolis and it worked well for Clark. The settings for how toasted you wanted something were easy to follow and the bread or bagel was easy to retrieve out of the thing. Now it's a piece of blackened scrap. Clark would laugh if he wasn't so perplexed.

He turns to the man who had almost set his apartment on fire, the man who had stayed the night and got up to make them some toast. Clark really should had known better than to let the guy anywhere near his kitchen.

With crossed arms, Bruce faces away from him, looking up at the ceiling as if nothing is wrong. As if Bruce hadn't just set Clark's toaster on fire by trying to toast some bread. Clark clears his throat and Bruce tilts that head even further up, pretending to inspect the ceiling with the concentration of a dog with a treat. Clark holds back his chuckle.

"How did you almost burn down my apartment with a toaster?" Clark asks because really, he can't actually fathom how such a thing could possibly happen. The toaster had four settings; number one being for just warmed up and number four for so dark it tastes like you're eating coal. There is no setting for burn your whole house down and the toast isn't left in there long enough for a fire to start anyway. But this is also Bruce. Bruce who couldn't even bake a cake from a box mix.

Bruce's lips purse and those blue eyes travel to the side to eye at Clark. "It's not my fault the settings are so confusing." Clark refrains from asking Bruce if he knows how to count. He doesn't think that will get him the desired reaction that he is looking for which would be a laugh. "They shouldn't have it one to four. How am I supposed to know which one to choose?" The billionaire's arms drop to the side but those hands are soon gesturing to the evil toaster. "They should just mark what the settings are for." One hand motions to the left. "Barely toast." Then to the right. "Charcoal."

"Well my toaster is now charcoal," Clark slips, and it earns him a deadly glare. "You're lucky I caught it before the fire alarms went off. Superman would be evacuating the building by now."

"Oh, don't be absurd." Bruce walks up to the offending toaster and pokes it with a finger. "It wasn't that bad of a fire."

One of Clark's eyebrows rises but he stops himself from saying Bruce needs glasses. The fire had been big, the toaster nowhere to be seen within the inferno and quickly spreading to engulf his counter, by the time Clark had smelt it from the bedroom. When he got out to the kitchen, Bruce was looking for the fire extinguisher except Clark doesn't have one. Not when he is a walking fire extinguisher himself. Clark reminds himself to have one anyway, if he is going to have Bruce stay over more. "It was big enough." Bruce's arms cross, avoiding eye contact. "How exactly did it start again?"

Bruce shrugs. "How am I supposed to know?"

Clark does chuckle this time because his boyfriend is ridiculous and he loves him. "You were there."

Bruce shrugs those broad shoulders and Clark watches in amusement. "Doesn't mean I know how it started."

Clark shakes his head, smiling, and looking over the damage once more. All that will need replacing is his toaster and maybe he can get Bruce to buy him one. Looking back at his boyfriend, Clark comes to the conclusion that Bruce's cooking skills, even the basic ones, need replacing as well. Preferably with Alfred's. That way Bruce would be able to make Clark breakfast in bed without the added danger of killing them. "The toast isn't left in there long enough for it to start a fire so what were you doing to cause it? What setting did you have it on?"

"Not four if that's what you are implying," Bruce snaps and Clark holds up his hands, placating the man. He was implying that but he'll never admit to it. Not if he doesn't wants to wake up with Kryptonite shoved down his throat.

"I would never."

Bruce rolls those eyes and answers his question. "All I did was stick some bread in there, put the setting on two, and start it up. When it was done, I didn't think it was dark enough so I put the bread back in and set it to three. Then poof, fire."

Clark has to admit, he still doesn't understand how that can cause a fire. The bread shouldn't have been burned enough to ignite it but maybe it was just Bruce's bad luck in the kitchen. "Maybe you should just leave the cooking to me or Alfred for now on."

Bruce's hands fly out in a frustrated manner and the billionaire walks over to the refrigerator, peering inside. "I wanted to make you breakfast in bed." Bruce sticks that head into the refrigerator and pulls back, carrying eggs. The man turns to Clark, smirk on that pretty face. "I can make you eggs."

"Uh no." Clark grabs the eggs from his boyfriend as gently and as non-offending as possible but Bruce still pouts at him, watching the eggs be carried away and set down on the counter. Clark ignores that look in favor of saving more of his appliances. "I can make the eggs and I'll make some toast with my heat vision."

Bruce crosses those arms again, continuing to pout in the most adorable way possible. Clark really needs to learn to not fall for Bruce looking like a helpless puppy because the next thing he is saying is, "Or I can help you make the eggs." He wants to slap himself on the forehead for encouraging Bruce's destructive nature to inanimate objects but his weakness causes Bruce to smile so Clark supposes he can count it as a win.

"Okay, your welcome to help." Bruce steps up beside him, grabbing for the eggs again and getting a pot from the cupboard. Clark quickly takes the pot from Bruce and replaces it with a pan. He smiles down at his boyfriend as Bruce eyes the thing with a look of determination. Clark should had suggested going out for breakfast instead.

Clark walks Bruce over to the oven, turns it on, and lets Bruce set the pan down onto it. "Okay, do you know how to make eggs?"

"Of course I do," Bruce says as one egg is grabbed and those blue eyes scan the trivial object. "How do I crack it?"

Clark huffs as silently as possible but fails when Bruce gives him an annoyed glower, having heard it. Clark smiles at the man but it doesn't do him any good when Bruce rolls his eyes. Clark snatches the egg from Bruce and cracks it over the pan. "We're making scrambled eggs." He takes the spatula and hands it to Bruce. He shows the billionaire how to make them and watches very closely as Bruce does as instructed. Surprising, nothing else catches on fire and soon the two have enough eggs to feed them both.

Clark takes the plates that Bruce had set out previously and helps Bruce put the eggs onto them. He then takes four slices of bread, heats them up with his heat vision, and sets two slices onto each plate. "Where's your butter?" Bruce is in the refrigerator again and Clark can only see the back of the man's head, Bruce's black locks all in a disarray from last night. Clark wants to run his hand through them but resists.

"In the compartment on the door." He watches as Bruce searches, finally finding the desired item and bring it back to Clark. Clark heats it slightly for easy spreading and then hands it back to Bruce to do the honors.

The man can't even do this properly but Clark says nothing but encouragements, ignoring the fact that half the slice has more butter than the other. Bruce's tongue is sticking out of that perfect mouth in concentration and Clark doesn't really want to disturb that because it's cute and Bruce doesn't do it very often. When the toast is thoroughly soaked on one half with butter and drier than the desert on the other, Bruce replaces the butter back in the refrigerator. "There." Bruce says proudly, looking over the plates with a satisfied smile.

Clark, on the other hand, doesn't exactly think the whole thing looks all that appetizing but smiles in return nonetheless. They both sit down at Clark's dining room table and dig into their now late breakfast. Bruce hums in appreciation and Clark tries to not gag, nibbling the middle of the toast to try and only eat the part that is adequately covered in butter. When Bruce smiles at him, still proud, Clark smiles back. "It's… good Bruce." He nods, trying to convince either himself or Bruce, he's not sure anymore. "It could use some… improvements but I think you did well for your first time, uh, cooking."

Bruce's teeth show in the smile. "Maybe I can stay over more often and you can help me make breakfast."

Clark barely stops himself from choking on a mixture of eggs and coffee. He had been in the middle of trying to drown the food in his mouth, killing the taste, and washing it down, when Bruce had said such an absurd thing. He laughs, trying to not sound as awkward as it comes out. "If you want."

"I think it could be fun," Bruce continues and Clark wants to dig his own grave and lie down in it. He doesn't know what he has done to deserve this kind of torture. Bruce's smile grows bigger and wider. "In fact, I think I'll just stay every night and cook you every meal for now on." Clark tries but can't hold back the grimace. Bruce laughs and Clark composes himself enough to look at his boyfriend. "I'm just teasing you. Do you think I can't taste how shit this is?" Those hands point to the food on the table. Bruce stands and holds a hand out for Clark to take. "Come on, let's go out to that diner you like so much."

Clark takes that hand and stands. "Gladly," he says, letting out a relieved sigh. It's not that he doesn't love his boyfriend or doesn't want Bruce to improve in his cooking skills if that's really what the man wants. He just doesn't want to have to eat it if he can help it. Bruce chuckles at him again and grabs their jackets, handing Clark's over. They both put them on and Bruce wraps an arm around Clark's waist.

They leave Clark's apartment, not bothering to clean up the plates. Clark can deal with them when he gets home. Shutting the door behind him, Clark takes one last glance at his toasted toaster, no puns intended, and smiles at himself. At least Bruce tries. Even if it is hazardous to everyone's health not to mention their paycheck.

A/N: Cardboard Cake and Flames of Love is referenced in this but this is not a sequel to that (unless you want it to be, then go right ahead.)

This was really fun to write. Thanks for reading!