This is a oneshot from Clark's POV.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT Batman or Superman.

Warning: None really

Rituals

Clark's eyes fluttered open and he blinked them, smiling softly when he felt the firm body spooned against him. He shifted a little, turning so he could regard his slumbering partner's face, and snuggled his head into his pillow. This was his favorite time of the day, just before the city fully wakened and after the sun crowned the horizon. It was when crime was in its last stages of lull, when the world felt at peace.

He tightened his embrace around his lover, mewling contentedly as he nuzzled his dark hair. Bruce Wayne, Batman, was his best friend, his lifemate. It had taken years to finally admit his feelings for this man, but he had done it, and he had never been so happy. He stared at his sleeping mate. Bruce really was a remarkable sight, which was why he performed an action that was bordering on ritualistic: watching his lover sleep. He adored watching Bruce sleep and feasting his eyes on those Roman-god features.

Bruce really was gorgeous. It was as if Rao decided not only to gift this extraordinary human with an exceptional intellect and strength but the beauty of Adonis. He smiled to himself, thinking of how lucky he was, and burrowed his nose in his lover's hair. Mmm. Bruce's hair was so soft like freshly sheared wool from one Farmer Puckett's prized goats. And it always smelled so good. Of course, Bruce always smelled like heaven (but perhaps he was just biased).

Bruce mumbled something unintelligible in one of the many languages he spoke fluently (Cantonese perhaps?).

Clark allowed his gaze to stray to the celing, letting his mind drift.

Bruce really was the best of them, of The League. Most of them, him included, were either born with their powers, alien, or acquired them through some freak circumstance. Not Bruce. Bruce was neither alien nor was he metahuman. He was a normal human. But 'normal' was not enough for the billionaire, because it didn't fit his standards.

For years, Bruce had traveled around the world and through sheer determination and drive had shaped his mind and body. He'd shattered bones, torn ligaments, put his body through hell all so he could mold himself into a weapon. He'd trained to the peak of human performance all to aid him in his mission to become the savior to those preyed upon by evil. He became The Dark Knight, Batman, the name that struck terror into the heart of evildoers.

However, there was more to Bruce than just a pretty face and killer body (although he wasn't complaining about those parts) and it was the deep yet indefinable things that Clark cherished the most. Like Bruce's heart. He'd overheard Don say that Batman's heart was "encased in ice and if you got past that there was nothing there but cold, unfeeling stone". Clark frowned deeply, still resenting the comment, and remembered how difficult it had been to stop himself from personally setting the young superhero straight. But he'd discovered that many of the Leaguers felt that way about his beloved. They were wrong though, utterly and unequivocally mistaken. Clark knew this because he'd chipped at that "ice", toiling doggedly at the man's extensive defenses. When he was shut off or Bruce blindly lashed out at him in an effort to keep him out, to conceal his vulnerabilities, he'd fought tooth and nail, no matter how much of a beating he'd taken. It took a near superhuman effort but it was worth it, because after chipping away at that "ice" and shattering that "stone" he'd found something… beautiful.

Bruce's heart had a strength that most didn't even know. Bruce had seen his parents die violently at the hands of a petty thief. When most eight-year-olds were being tucked in, Bruce was kneeling in pools of blood staring at the lifeless faces of his parents. Most children would have grown up hating the world, hating their own city, hating the police for allowing such riff raff to roam free. But not Bruce. Bruce had made a vow, some call it 'a fool's promise', to rid Gotham of the evil that had led to the premature deaths of his parents and left him orphaned.

Granted, Batman didn't mingle with them outside of missions and seemed withdrawn, preferring to be alone. Indeed, the man seemed like an island, but of course, Clark knew better. He knew that Bruce needed contact just like everyone else (even though he did deny it). Bruce was no robot (as Diana had said once after his lover declined a dinner date with her). He actually had a big heart, when he was apt to show it.

Every night Bruce donned the cape and cowl he left blood on Gotham's streets all to keep its citizens safe. He had been the lone figure waging war against the hordes of Gotham's wrongdoers. Without any special powers, he'd strutted into the lion's den armed with nothing but several years of extensive training and his wit (and ingenious gadgets). If that wasn't selfless, then he didn't know what was.

He placed a feather-light kiss to his lover's hair, smiling when Bruce stirred slightly. How did he know these things? Because Bruce loved him and had exposed his heart to him on several occasions. Oh and then there was Bruce's mind.

Bruce's mind really was extraordinary. Sharp, calculating, resourceful, possessing knowledge base on just about everything, and an eidetic memory, Bruce's mind really was the envy of many. Clark frowned again.

He was Kryptonian, his mind processed things at a much faster rate than humans', but even he was wrong at times. Bruce, though, was hardly ever wrong (which was frustrating when in a relationship with him). But he guessed being wrong often was a packaged deal when dating The World's Greatest Detective (and trying to keep presents hidden was a bitch). Trivial Pursuit was out of the question (Bruce ALWAYS won). Of course, his mate applied that mind of his to other erm… ahem topics. A slight blush painted his cheeks when he thought of a particular technique his mate had employed after an especially dangerous mission. He didn't know where the man had acquired that trick but it had left his knees jelly, his brain soup, and his body convulsing from a devastating orgasm.

Clark rolled to his back, knowing that if he allowed his bulging member to continue pressing against Bruce's ass, he'd soon be waking the other. As much as he wanted to make love to his mate, Bruce had endured a grueling mission last night. He needed to sleep. Now, where was he? He thought for a moment.

Ah yes…Bruce's mind (which at times still was an enigma to him). Bruce (er Batman) matched wits with psychopathic criminals like Scarecrow, The Riddler, and The Joker… The Joker, Clown Prince of Crime, was a criminally insane mastermind, and the worst of Batman's foes. Batman had once described him as "a snake with a broken back, flipping and tracing intricate agonized arabesques in the dust"* (quotation taken from Batman R.I.P). Clark on the other hand thought he was five slices short of an apple pie, a nut whose mind was unsalvageable. Between Scarecrow's hallucinogens and The Joker's insanity, it was astonishing that Batman /Bruce's mind wasn't mangled beyond repair. It was a testament to both his strength of mind and will.

Bruce really did have a brilliantly ingenious mind. Which was why it amazed him that Bruce could so convincingly pull off the blissfully ignorant persona of a superficial billionaire playboy. The man deserved an Oscar.

Then there was Bruce's soul. His darling lover had the crazy idea that his soul was like Batman, shrouded and enveloped in a cloak of shadows. However, he was wrong. 'Batman has no soul,' he'd heard someone say. And they had been right, Batman had no soul. Though Batman was the true persona of his lover and his public figure the mask, Bruce Wayne was still the man and Batman the instrument, a symbol from which evil cowered. Symbols have no soul, but men do.

Batman seemed like some sort of phantasmic boogeyman, hiding in the shadows waiting to strike down evil when they victimized Gotham's residents. But Clark knew all too well that Batman was only human. He was reminded that his lover was human every time he flew in and found Alfred sewing him up in the Batcave, every time he heard a bone snap, and every time he saw the scars strewn across his lover's torso.

He reached over, gently gliding his fingers across Bruce's sculpted back, sensitive pads encountering one of the bullet-sized scars marking his lover. He sighed sadly. It killed him knowing that every night his lover took to the streets there was a possibility that at any given moment some villain could get in the lucky shot that would fatally wound Batman. And that single fact scared him more than all the Kryptonite in the universe. He was terrified that one day he may receive the call from Alfred bearing the news of his lover's death. A shudder raked through the Kryptonian at the thought of his beloved abandoning him to go where he couldn't follow.

Fearing Bruce's death was why he performed his secret ritual. Sure, he really enjoyed watching his strikingly handsome lover sleep, but that wasn't his reason for this secret observation. He did this to remind himself that Bruce was real, to feel him, to lay here and listen to the serene sound of his breathing, and cadenced beat of his heart. He didn't know what he would do if that strong heart ever stopped beating.

Of course, Clark wasn't one of those lovers that put their mates on some type of pedestal or looked at them through rose-colored glasses. No way. Bruce was possessive, prone to obsessiveness, and liked having control (among other things), but Clark didn't mind the imperfections because he loved Bruce (even when he was infuriating). And for all of Bruce's flaws there were good qualities that made up for them.

He turned over, bending an arm to rest his head on a fist. He watched Bruce sleep, knowing that he was alive and safe was his solace, his sweet surrender. He could watch Bruce sleep forever, wondering what he was dreaming about (he knew it wasn't about him because his lover wasn't sporting one of those impressive early morning boners, yet). Sensitive hearing picked up the subtle change in Bruce's breathing. An automatic smile graced his features.

Bruce shifted and stretched, turning over to look up at him.

Clark smiled brightly. With sleep-bleary eyes, mussed hair, and an unguarded expression on his face, Bruce was adorable (not that he'd say that aloud of course). "Good morning," he chirruped.

Bruce briefly scowled. "What's so good about it?" He grumbled and burrowed his face in the soft pillow.

Clark only smiled. Bruce was not a morning person and the current frown being displayed was for him being so chipper. It wasn't his fault that he rose with the sun. "Waking up to you," he answered smoothly. Bruce of course rolled his eyes but Clark saw the microscopic tug at the corner of his lips. "So what woke you Sleeping Beauty?" He teased, cracking a grin.

"I don't like being watched while I sleep," he said, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

Clark smiled and placed a hand on Bruce's cheek, a triumphant expression on his face. "Says the man that bugged my apartment, including my bedroom." He took the time to relish the expressionless countenance Bruce displayed (something he always did when he'd been found out). "But don't worry you can leave them in."

Bruce shrugged his large shoulders. "I wasn't going to offer to take them out."

Clark shook his head at the billionaire's tart tongue, right before his lover captured his lips. They fell into a heated kiss that soon consisted of teeth, tongue, and groping hands as their passion mounted. Oh yeah, blistering hot sex was another thing on the list.

Hours later Clark sat on the edge of Bruce's immense bed (the one luxury Bruce allowed himself) pulling on his last boot, leaving only his cape lacking. He felt Bruce's eyes on him, roving over his back. He looked back, smiling at Bruce and his unknotted necktie. The Kryptonian stood and strode to his mate, chuckling softly. "Neckties, eighth wonder of the world huh Bruce."

Bruce gave a quirk of his lips. "You have no idea."

He took the silk tie in his hands and effortlessly tied a Windsor knot. With gentle hands, he tightened the necktie slightly and smoothed down Bruce's spotless shirt. Their eyes caught and held. He couldn't believe that he'd thought he could watch Bruce sleep forever. If Bruce slept forever then he wouldn't be able to see those incredible blue eyes. Clark loved when Bruce looked at him in that special way ( no not the 'let's fuck' way) that made him feel like that he was the only person existing in the entire world, that the world could be crumbling to dust around them and all he would focus on was him. Clark thrived off that intense gaze. "There you go."

"Thanks," he mumbled, giving a genuine smile to his lover.

Clark paused with his hands on his lover's tie (he couldn't help he wanted the knot perfect). He knew that Bruce's smiles, those that were authentic and reached his eyes, were a gift and he treasured them. So it was no wonder that he soon found himself just staring at the billionaire like a lovesick puppy (and he couldn't help wondering if wagging his tail would get him some more loving').

"Clark."

"Huh?" He asked, fingers sliding from the tie, to his lover's broad shoulders, and down his arms.

"You have to get going, remember."

Clark grinned sheepishly. "Yeah I remember."

Bruce cracked a smooth grin, stealing a quick kiss. "Then finish dressing."

Clark obeyed and walked to where his cape lay, silently thanking Alfred for getting the stains out. He donned his cape, finally in full Superman garb, down to the spit curl. "We still on for dinner tonight?" He asked, opening the glass doors that led to the balcony.

Bruce shrugged into his jacket, completing the dark navy blue Brioni suit. "Yes."

The two shared a slow, passionate kiss when Bruce walked over, saying farewell for the day. Clark broke the kiss pressing his forehead to Bruce's', blushing slightly when the billionaire cupped his ass. Reluctantly he broke contact with his lover and strode onto the balcony, closing his eyes to let the sun's rays soak into his skin and recharge him. He took to the air, hovering inches above the balcony as he turned to his lover. "See you tonight," he said cheerily. God Bruce looked so hot in that suit.

Bruce shoved his hands in his pockets. "Tonight."

Clark winked at Bruce, thinking of how it had to be a sin to look so damn good, and began to ascend. Before he was too far Bruce called him.

"Clark."

He stopped in mid-flight and looked at his lover. "Yeah?"

"Love you," he said sincerely, an intensely loving expression dancing in those ice blue eyes.

Clark beamed at him tender affection written on his features. "Love you too." And with a full heart, Clark ascended into the heavens and rocketed towards Metropolis.

END

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