It started with just a blanket and a cushion. Bruce was reading, sitting cross legged on the plush rug in what Clark used as a living room in the Fortress. A fire crackled merrily in the fireplace, and Clark had put some chestnuts in to roast. He was sprawled on the couch, enjoying the quiet shared moment when something occurred to him.

"That can't be comfortable, Bruce," he said. "Do you want some cushions?"

Bruce didn't lift his head from his book, but he did give Clark a quirked eyebrow. "When I studied with the monks, I sat on bare stone and slept on bare stone. And that was a luxury because the poorer temples only had wood floors."

"Wouldn't wood be warmer than stone?" Clark asked.

"Yes, but it also gave you splinters on your ass," Bruce said, straightfaced, and Clark laughed.

"I have an entire palace of ice," Clark offered. "I can sleep in our big warm soft bed and you can have your pick of the solid ice floor."

The eyebrows drew together. "You don't have to sound so hopeful about it."

"You know I love you, Bruce, but you take up way too much space on the bed. Which is another thing that you know. And do nothing about."

"At least I don't snore."

Clark rolled his eyes. "That only happens on occasion. Do you want the cushion or not?" He held up the softest, most fluffliest cushion he had and waved it temptingly. He saw Bruce's eyes go calculating.

"The monks would be appalled at me even sitting on this rug," Bruce said, just to be difficult, but luckily for him, Clark found it endearing rather than irritating. Most of the time.

In the end they settled on one cushion and a blanket. Clark zoomed off and returned quickly with some hot chocolate for both of them. He settled in next to Bruce.

"What're you doing?" Bruce asked suddenly, eyes narrowed. "We'd already agreed to the terms."

Clark plopped the five pillows in his arms down next to Bruce. "That was for you. These are for me."

Bruce watched him arrange the pillows for awhile and then grew bored and went back to his book. Clark sighed happily as he snuggled down onto the small mountain of pillows and sipped at his hot chocolate. Eventually Bruce's arm wound its way around his shoulders and his eyes drifted shut before he knew it.

After that, every time he passed by the pile of pillows, it seemed to grow a little larger, until there was a precise arrangement of cushions chosen and placed for optimal comfort. Clark knew this because he tried as many positions as he could sprawled on the cushions, and they were all excellent.

He held his tongue until one day he saw that the pile was hidden out of sight by a blanket. A quick scan with his x-ray vision revealed Bruce curled up in the pile of cushions. Clark checked the Watchtower notifications, but everything seemed to be quiet at the moment. This was not an opportunity to be missed then. He gently lifted the flap of the blanket and crawled in next to Bruce.

When he woke, Bruce was gone, but the next time he walked by the room after one of Bruce's visits, the blanket had been swapped out for a larger one and swung over the side of the taller armchair, cushion collection expanded to fit the new layout. There was plenty of space for two large men under it.

Clark suppressed a smile and went about his day.

The next upgrade to the cushion pile — Clark was resolutely not thinking of it as a "blanket fort" for fear he would casually use it in conversation one day and then come back to the Fortress to find it dismantled — was a long strand of string lights, artfully draped.

Bruce was sitting inside reading a book when he lifted the flap. "Thought I'd find you here," Clark said. He knew he was smiling fondly because Bruce's lips twitched up as well. Bruce shifted over so Clark could crawl in too and sit in his favorite spot. "This is really quite —" cozy, cute, comfy, "—well-designed," he said.

"Thank you," Bruce said, his eyes lighting up with boyish mischief. Clark had never seen him so relaxed.

Clark got the feeling that the cushion pile was here to stay when he found that Bruce had moved a stack of books into it. He was practicing his Kryptonian by reading extremely dry historical texts. Maybe he was also exercising his willpower, Clark thought, if he was sitting in this cozy place reading such boring books.

He reached out a hand to touch one of the soft blankets.

A little over an hour later he woke with a start wondering what year it was. There was absolutely no way Bruce was actually studying in here.

The upgrade after that, or so he thought, came from Clark. He raised the ceiling a little bit more so they didn't have to crawl in order to enter anymore. Well, only a little.

He was sitting amidst the cushions admiring his handiwork when Bruce appeared beside him.

"Nice," he said. Clark still wasn't sure how Bruce was able to get the drop on him. Or how he'd entered the — cushion pile cave.

"Of course you built a secret entrance," Clark sighed dramatically.

Bruce just crossed his arms. "No structure is complete without one," he said gravely.

"Is that what you call this?" Clark said, amused.

"Actually I called it my fifth home when I was telling Wally about it the other day," Bruce said. "I'll have to tell him you added vaulted ceilings to it for me just so I can watch his eyes cross at the lives of the idle rich."

"Is that what you really think of it?" Clark said.

"Well, it might be my sixth," Bruce drawled. "If you count the beach house in Hawaii."

"No, that this is home," Clark said softly, feeling warmth and affection blooming in his chest. Feeling the love.

Bruce looked at him a long moment, and then bent to kiss Clark on the cheek. "Wherever you are, that's home," he murmured, so quietly that only superhearing would have picked it up loud and clear. Clark wrapped his arms around him and they sat leaning against each other for awhile, surrounded by comfort and lights and love.

A/N: Super excited to be participating in Fandom Trumps Hate this year!