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It’s been a miserable mission. They won, of course they won, they followed Bruce’s plan after all. But they’re all bruised and some more than others. Bruce feels like he might’ve bent another rib but if he moves around slow enough, none of the others notice. Unless Clark takes a second look at him. Even without his stupid x-ray vision Clark somehow always knows when Bruce has broken or injured something.
His slow moving is the only reason he’s still in the hall when Diana asks Clark for his help. Bruce isn’t supposed to hear them, isn’t supposed to be there, but it’s not like it’s a secret. If Clark and Diana wanted to keep anything a secret or even remotely private, they would’ve gone to one of the bedrooms tugged away at the far end of the Watchtower. Instead, here they are – standing front to back as Clark… brushes Diana’s hair?
It’s gotten cut during the battle. No, not cut. The ends have caught on fire and – Bruce winches at the singed strands – her hair is all matted and the smell is horrible. Even from a distance Bruce has a hard time schooling his features into that of indifference. He has a newfound respect for Clark; he’s not making any faces and he’s got super senses. There’s no way he is not being choked by the smell.
Bruce doesn’t mean to hide in the shadows. He knows Clark must sense his presence – even Diana must know that he’s there. He isn’t hiding, he’s just… not announcing his presence either. He’s well on his way towards the door when they start talking and he can’t help but be curious at their conversation. He stops and listens; makes the silent excuse that he’s hurt and taking a small break before finding his way home isn’t odd. Even if listening in on others’ conversations may be.
“I’m sorry, Di,” Clark says, and he really does look sorry. He always does; carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, that fool. There’s no reason to look so sad over two inches of scorched hair, when it’s not even Clark who’s burnt it. “I can’t save all of it.”
“It is just hair, Kal,” Diana tells him, but Bruce can tell that she’s upset. Not enough to show it much outwardly but he knows Diana. Her hands are balled into fists and she’s standing very straight. Rigid. Like a proper warrior. If Bruce has to guess (it’s not really a guess), he’d say it isn’t so much about the hair as the fact that a civilian got burnt in the process as well.
Nobody was killed, which is what Diana should be focusing on, but if anyone understands how she feels, it’s Bruce. Just because there weren’t any casualties doesn’t mean that they couldn’t have avoided people getting hurt. They can always do better.
“I’ll do my best, alright?” Clark says with one of his signature smiles. Bruce’s teeth hurt just looking at it; it would be easier to chew raw sugar than look directly at Clark’s smiling face for more than a minute.
“Thank you,” Diana says, a smile of her own tugging at her lips. That’s Clark for you. He’s always able to bring a smile to others’ faces, whether he means to or not. That’s just the kind of person he is. Kind, warm, a good man.
Bruce watches in fascination as Clark finds a pair of scissors and with what appears to be very well practiced movements starts cutting the dead ends off Diana’s hair. Bruce has never been so fascinated in his entire life and he feels stupid even admitting that to himself. He watches as Superman, with all the strength in the world, separates Diana’s hair into layers and carefully cuts it into a perfectly rounded line. Longer in the back than in the front, just like Diana likes it. It’s not more than a few inches that lands on the floor, but Bruce isn’t really looking at Diana’s hair as much as he’s staring at Clark’s hands. They’re moving so gently, so carefully, so elegantly, and Bruce feels a slight tugging in his chest as he’s reminded of how his mother used to cut his hair when he was a young child.
Not that Martha Wayne ever had the chance to know him as anything other than a young child.
Bruce doesn’t stay to watch the rest of the haircut; he doesn’t need to watch the mess and feel frustrated when Clark will more likely than not just blow the hairs into a corner with his stupid super breath – at least that’s what he tells himself. Frustration is a better emotion that the throbbing pain growing in his chest, even if it is misguided. Bruce isn’t a fool – he knows exactly why it’s easier to redirect his emotions towards Clark into anger and frustration rather than think too deeply about what it would feel like to have Clark’s strong hands in his hair. Or anywhere else on him for that matter.
Bruce can’t stop thinking about it though. He tries to get rid of the entire Clark-cutting-hair phenomenon, but it becomes an obsessive thought in his mind. He dreams of Clark’s hands in his hair, sliding down his neck, scratching at his scalp and while it is nowhere near the dirtiest dream he’s had of Clark, he still wakes up hard and wanting. The humiliation should be punishment enough, but of course it doesn’t stop there. When has Batman ever done anything half-heartedly?
It's like a bug has dug its way into his brain. He sees Clark’s hands in everything he does. Sees them mirrored in his own, calloused hands. He can’t help but wonder if anything could ever be strong enough to leave callouses on Clark’s skin? Surely Kryptonite can penetrate the skin, but leave permanent marks? Bruce doubts it.
He sees Clark’s movements as he watches Alfred cut a package open.
The intimacy, the calm movements; they’re stuck in his mind. There’s practice there, Bruce can tell. When did Clark learn to cut hair? Did his mother teach him? Did his father? Has he been professionally trained? In all his research of Clark – and yes, there’s been a lot over the years – Bruce has never once come across any articles or files mentioning Clark wanting to be a hair stylist or having any kind of experience in the field.
It’s because it’s something unknown. Something to mull over, something to investigate. It’s a mystery and Bruce is a detective after all. He’s curious, that’s all. It would be easy enough to ask Clark, but where’s the fun in that? Besides, Bruce doesn’t want to let him know he’s been thinking about the entire thing so much. It’s been two weeks, at this point it would just look odd. Or obsessive. And Bruce doesn’t need Clark to see him as obsessive. It’s more than enough that Alfred does. He might’ve stared longer than entirely necessary until Alfred put the scissors away.
Every time Bruce thinks he might be rid of the thought, Clark does something with his hands that reminds him of it. Or with his shoulders, for that matter. When did Bruce get so obsessed with how Clark moves his upper body? Not something he wants to think about too much either. Just because he’s aware of his own feelings doesn’t mean he has to address them. Not even to himself.
It takes Bruce about three weeks to realize that he might be jealous of Diana. He tells himself it’s because of the pure bliss on her face when Clark combed his hands through it, but he can’t lie to himself forever. It’s the intimacy of it, the trust, not the action itself, he knows. Bruce isn’t an idiot. He knows it’s not about Diana, it’s the fact that it isn’t him. He wants to experience Clark’s hands in his hair too. He wants it for more than one reason, none of which he’s ready to admit to just yet, but the intimacy of it is the thing that pulls at him.
It takes him three weeks and two days to stop being an idiot and let go of the unnecessary jealousy. At least the part that pertains to Diana. It’s not like Clark has touched her hair since, after all. Suddenly Bruce notices how many others have Clark’s hands on them though. Clark’s an affectionate guy, Bruce knows this, accepts this, likes it even – at least to some extent. But does he really have to keep touching everyone’s shoulder? Or ruffle their hair? Bump his shoulder to theirs? Bruce is starting to wonder if Clark has been raised with too many hugs as a child. Knowing Martha Kent, it wouldn’t surprise him.
Despite his growing disdain for Clark’s handsy-ness, Bruce is still trying to figure out how the hell he can ask Clark to help out with his hair. He’s been watching Hal ask (because he’s not the only one suddenly interested in Clark’s newly discovered skills, it seems), but he can’t just go up to Clark and be like ‘yo, you did an awesome job with Di’s hair, man, wanna do mine too?’ Firstly, because he’d never start a conversation with ‘yo’, and secondly, he might literally die of embarrassment. He has to find a better way to do it and while he’s making plans and scrapping them again, fate somehow takes care of the problem for him. If you tend to believe in fate, of course.
It’s not even a conscious decision, he just kind of ends up… neglecting his hair a little bit. It’s been at least a month since he’s been to his favorite salon. He’s been going to the same place for years. Adrienne is an amazing stylist, she’s calm and collected and she doesn’t give a damn about who Bruce Wayne is. She scolds him for never using conditioner properly and she teases him about his kids. She’s a good woman. She’s having a child herself soon though; she’s going on maternity leave. Somehow Bruce forgets to make a new appointment after witnessing Clark cut Diana’s hair. He was supposed to call the salon, make an appointment with Adrienne’s replacement or one of the other stylists now that he’s missed Adrienne’s last available day. But it’s not like Bruce can just choose someone else to cut his hair. He likes Adrienne, she’s nice and she cuts his hair perfectly. He’ll just wait until she’s back.
Except maternity leave isn’t just a few weeks, at least not with the proper union and a good job. Adrienne has both and she’s not coming back to the shop for at least another few months. Bruce is excited for her; she deserves the time with her newborn daughter. Bruce makes sure to send a check for ‘baby Amanda’ the moment he learns her name.
Without him even noticing it’s been nearly two months since he’s gotten his hair cut. There are enough excuses: he’s busy with the League, with Batman things. He doesn’t have to show up at any galas the next month, he doesn’t have to dress up much for the cameras. There’s the small image of Clark offering to cut Bruce’s hair too, but he doesn’t voice that one out loud. So, yeah, Bruce neglects his hair.
Alfred hates him for it.
Bruce kind of hates himself too, but he’s too far in to stop. It’s just hair, he’ll take a pair of clippers to it if it gets too bad (Alfred won’t let him, of course, but the intention is there if need be). He’s found that gel does wonders even for longer hair – and he’s wearing the cowl more hours of the day than not. It’s going to be fine. Maybe he’ll just grow it out. Dick has told him he’d look good with shoulder length hair, although Bruce is ninety percent sure that it was a joke.
He goes back and forth several times a day, hating how he longs for Clark’s hands when he’s never even held the man’s hand before. At least not in a way that counts (near-death experiences are not the most romantic settings and they do not count). Most days he ignores his hair, ignores the longing. Others he spends looking up styles, wanting to see if Clark can do this or that with his hair. He’s never been one to make special requests, he usually has Adrienne choose the latest style for him, but somehow, he’d like to see what Clark can do. What he’s willing to do for Bruce. It’s a silly thought; Clark would do anything for Bruce, he already knows this. Clark would do anything for everyone. He’s Superman, there’s nothing he wouldn’t sacrifice if it meant saving someone else.
It is not that kind of willingness Bruce is seeking from Clark. Because he may not be ready to admit his own feelings out loud just yet (or ever), but Bruce knows what he wants from Clark. It’s his time, his trust. It’s not just Superman with all his infinite power that Bruce has fallen in love with, although that part of Clark is very attractive and cannot be completely separated from who Clark is. But more important to Bruce is Clark Kent. The boy who grew up on a farm in Kansas, who writes amazing articles for the Daily Planet. The man who can make even Batman laugh, no matter how much Bruce denies the fact afterwards. It’s Clark who cut Diana’s hair so she wouldn’t have to walk around with the reminder of a hurt civilian. It’s Clark who cut Hal’s hair simply because he asked. It’s Clark, who smiles at Bruce like he hung the moon, even though Clark is as bright a point in Bruce’s life as the sun itself.
Bruce wants Clark to cut his hair because he’s curious what development it would bring to their relationship. And there’s of course the minor detail of Clark having the strongest hands on Earth, yet he moves them so carefully that Bruce can’t help but be intrigued.
At some point even Batman has to stop obsessing, much to his own dismay. He cannot figure out a way to bring it up to Clark without sounding like a maniac or at the very least like an obsessive creep. So he ignores it as best he can. He’ll just wait until Adrienne is back and until then he’ll simply let his hair be. It’s just hair, he’ll be fine. How long can Bruce keep thinking about Clark’s hands anyways?
While it’s not an actual question, Bruce does get the answer sooner rather than later. Because fate does in fact do the work for him this time. And as usual fate is a cruel woman, intent on making Bruce suffer. He should’ve known.
His shoulder is dislocated on a mission. It’s stupid, it’s a rookie mistake, but it happens. He’s Batman, he isn’t invisible. And sometimes the others forget that. Even Clark.
They should’ve communicated better, clearer. It wasn’t Clark’s fault per se (or at all, if you ask Bruce, but one thing they have in common is how stubborn they are with their feeling of guilt), Bruce should’ve been more focused. Or at least awake enough to have been able to remove himself from a dangerous situation instead of needing Clark to come to his rescue. As he said. Rookie mistake. A quick shove to get Bruce out of the way ended with Bruce stumbling and the building catching on his shoulder on the way down. Nothing serious, nothing that couldn’t be fixed with a quick hand, but Clark wouldn’t set it no matter how much Bruce asked. Something about ‘making it worse’.
Diana, on the other hand, doesn’t make a fuss; she merely pops the shoulder back in its socket, but the sound has Clark wince, and he looks like a kicked puppy when Bruce grunts in pain. He’s feeling guilty and Bruce can’t stand it. It’s eerily like when Dick – or Jason for that matter – used to look at him with a trembling lower lip and tears in their eyes. It makes Bruce’s stomach twist, and he wants nothing more than to erase that expression off their faces.
Which is why it’s Superman who’s helping Bruce out of his suit, peeling back the layers carefully to not jostle his shoulder too much. It hurts, but he’s had worse. He’s always had worse. He’s already popped a few painkillers (at Clark’s behest), so it’s nothing he can’t grind his teeth through. Clark is gentle in his movements, like he is with everything else, and Bruce desperately wants to be able to undress himself – or at the very least be allowed to try. His shoulder will be bothering him for a few weeks, he knows and accepts this, but Clark clearly does not.
“You’re covered in dirt,” Clark says almost apologetically.
It’s not his fault that Bruce is dirty. Not even Kevlar can withstand the force of a building falling on top of it. It’s mostly his face anyway, he’ll be fine. Clark seems to think otherwise though. As if the dust falling in the air during a battle is somehow entirely his fault.
“Let’s get this off of you,” he says as he pulls at Bruce’s cowl. If it had been intact Clark would’ve had ten thousand volts searing through his hands. He probably wouldn’t have noticed either way. He tugs the remnants of the cowl off Bruce’s head and throws it on the ground. Then he turns to help Bruce out of the under armor but freezes mid movement.
Bruce figures he must look a little sweaty, but that shouldn’t have Clark pause like that. He waits for another beat or two. Clark still doesn’t move. Bruce just stares back, panic slowly crawling up his throat. Is it that bad? Has he hit his head? Will it leave a scar he can’t hide as Bruce Wayne? He would’ve noticed this, he’s sure. He can’t feel any new blood dripping down over his skin at least, so it can’t be worse than he’s expecting. It doesn’t explain Clark’s expression. It takes a full ten seconds for Bruce to realize why he must be staring.
Shit. His hair.
Slowly, ever so carefully, Clark lifts one hand to Bruce’s head.
This is absolutely not the way he’s been planning on having Clark run his fingers through his hair. It’s been mushed all flat in the cowl and he wasn’t kidding when he described himself looking like a sweaty mess.
“What,” Clark says softly. “Have you done.” It’s not a question, not really, more like a statement. Clark looks horrified.
“What?” Bruce decides to play dumb. It’s just hair, he reminds himself. He’s nearly convinced himself to just forget about the whole Clark-cutting-his-hair ordeal (no, really), so there’s no reason to feel any kind of shame in how he looks. He’s Batman, it doesn’t matter if he’s not looking his best.
The hand lands on Bruce’s head and digs into his hair. It feels grounding and Bruce nearly lets out a sigh at the feeling. He swallows it down in the nick of time, but Clark’s hands are just so big and soft. So careful wherever they touch Bruce, whether it’s to help him up or to shake his hand. Or, apparently, to pet his head.
“How the hell can you live with this?” Clark asks as he pats at the mess on top of Bruce’s head.
Bruce frowns. So he’s let it grow out, there’s no need to be rude. Or, well, Clark’s equivalent of rude. Bruce doesn’t think he’s ever heard Clark swear before. Hell isn’t exactly a bad word but coming from Clark’s mouth it might as well have been ‘fuck’.
“What’s the big deal?” Bruce asks, trying – and failing – to cross his arms over his chest. Stupid shoulder. He ends up dropping his hands back at his sides and feels even more awkward. Is it possible to feel both embarrassed and defensive at the same time? Questions he would not have to ask himself if Clark hadn’t made him take those damn painkillers. His brain is slower than usual.
“You-” Clark looks like he wants to strangle him, but in an oddly affectionate way. Not the worst look Bruce has seen on him, honestly. Oh, yep, the painkillers are doing an excellent job at breaking Bruce’s brain. “I’m cutting your hair.”
“What?” Bruce very intelligently asks. Again. He’s sure he heard Clark right, but then again, he’s been thinking about this exact scenario for far too long to trust himself – or his ears for that matter.
“I am cutting your hair,” Clark says. “Do you have conditioner?”
“Why would I- ow!” Bruce exclaims as Clark tugs at his hair. A chunk of his hair which is matted together with another piece. Okay, so maybe he’s been a little more than neglecting it. He got busy, alright? A little gel to slick it back and he’s been good to go. He washes it too, it’s not actually dirty. He thinks.
“Because you have thick hair, you idiot,” Clark scolds and tugs once more to prove his point. “How have you even been able to brush your hair with these knots?”
“I don’t,” Bruce says.
“You don’t?”
“Brush it,” he clarifies.
“What.” Another not-question.
“I run my hands through it?” Bruce tries. It had seemed like a good idea to grow his hair out but somehow Clark hadn’t noticed until way too late and Bruce can’t really be bothered to do anything other than put product in it if he’s going out as Bruce Wayne. The look in Clark’s eyes makes Bruce almost wish he was directing the heat vision his way instead. Not the smoothest plan then, he supposes. Batman can’t always be right. At least not when it’s Bruce Wayne doing the planning. Somehow the two don’t always mix well.
“That- you could not have been able to do that with these knots,” Clark says, pulling at his hair again. It feels rather nice, actually. Not that Bruce can say that without sounding weird when Clark is looking at him like a disappointed parent.
“Oh. Yeah, no, it’s been an issue,” Bruce admits. Pressing the hair down in the morning counts as running his hands through it though, right?
“One you haven’t resolved?” Clark quirks an eyebrow at him.
It seems very much like a challenge and Bruce doesn’t like the implications. Of course, he hasn’t resolved the issue when the issue itself wasn’t supposed to be solved by him. Clark was supposed to solve it. Not that he knew that or should ever know that in fact if Bruce thinks about it. Growing your hair out on the off chance that your crush might notice and decide to offer to cut it for you? Oh God, he should’ve thought this through. Why does his brain never work properly when it involves Clark?
“I’ve been busy.” He doesn’t mean to grumble but he can hear it clearly in his own voice. He hopes that combined with the frown on his face, it’ll just sound like he’s annoyed. Clark is used to handling an annoyed Batman after all.
“There is no excuse for this, B,” Clark says, and his voice takes on that soft slightly pitying tone.
Oh shit, of course Clark would assume Bruce is depressed or something awful has happened since he’s been neglecting himself. Bruce kind of wants to tell Clark it’s more or less his fault for only noticing now but he doesn’t think that’ll go over too well. For one Clark will most likely feel guilty over Bruce’s stupidity and secondly that would mean Bruce explaining why and how much he’s been thinking about Clark. Not a good idea there. He may be willing to admit it in his head now, but out loud? Not going to happen.
“I do know how to do this,” Clark says softly, and Bruce is snapped back to the present.
“I know,” he says without thinking. Clark is trying to reassure him, to make Bruce trust him, while all Bruce has been thinking about for nearly three whole months is how to bribe Clark into cutting his hair. Bruce trusts him, would trust him with his life. There is no need for Clark to try to reassure him in any way.
“So you’ll let me help?” The hopeful look on Clark’s face would’ve convinced Bruce even if he hadn’t spent a copious amount of time wishing for this exact moment.
“Yes,” is all Bruce says in response because he doesn’t know what else he can really say to convey all his feelings without actually, you know, conveying all his feelings. His mind is getting muddled, he should probably stick to saying as little as possible.
“Great.” Clark’s smile could light up a thousand cities and Bruce wants to shield his eyes, even though he knows it’s stupid and all in his head. “Now let’s get you cleaned up first.”
Clark doesn’t undress Bruce entirely – no, he’s way too wall-mannered for that – but he does get the tight shirt over his head without too much of a struggle. It’s wet from sweat and Bruce would really rather keep it on, but Clark insists that he needs a clean canvas, and he can’t wash Bruce’s hair when he’s got a shirt on.
It sounds like an excuse to get Bruce naked, but he knows that can’t be right. Clark wouldn’t think like that, at least not about Bruce. Right? It’s his head. It’s making him overanalyze everything even more than he usually does. It’s all…
“Fuzzy.” He doesn’t mean to say it out loud, yet his mouth is looser than he’d like it to be.
He should do his poison course again, make sure he’s still immune to most if not all kinds of painkillers as well. Alfred must’ve snuck some of the stronger kinds onto the Watchtower, although Bruce has no idea how or when he’d done that.
Clark looks at him like he’s just heard Bruce utter a particularly intimate detail of his life. Bruce can barely remember what he’d said, and he realizes that it might be a lovely cocktail of painkillers and having an Amazonian warrior princess set his shoulder back in its socket that has his mind a little unbalanced. It doesn’t help that Clark keeps touching and guiding him.
Bruce sits on a chair next to the sink, his head leaned back to rest on the edge. It’s not nearly as comfortable as the sinks at the salon, but he can’t really complain when he’s getting his hair washed by someone else. Especially when that someone is Clark.
Bruce blinks and the next moment Clark is standing with a handful of stuff in his hands. It looks like a pair of scissors, at least three different bottles of shampoo and- hair clippers? He knows he shouldn’t be surprised; Clark did offer to help him out, but Bruce had somehow not realized that Clark would need actual tools to cut his hair. He’d been too focused on the whole hair-washing part of it all. No matter how many hours he’s spent obsessing, he couldn’t have imagined that Clark would have all of these things lying around; that he’d be this prepared. Perhaps he’s been cutting the other leaguer’s hair without Bruce noticing? He doesn’t think he’d have missed something so crucial, but he knows he sometimes gets too caught up in the little things (how to actually ask Clark to cut his hair) to see the bigger picture.
Clark puts his stuff down and twists the tap to let the water start flowing. Wouldn’t wetting Bruce’s hair have been easier in the actual showers?
Clark doesn’t go directly for his hair though and Bruce has to press his lips together to keep from commenting on how gently Clark is washing both his face and neck. He may be covered in dirt and sweat but there really is no reason for Clark to be so careful with him. It’s not the first time Bruce has had to ask for help with showering, but it’s usually more along the lines of having someone to lean on in the actual shower, not having someone rub over his skin with a washcloth.
Bruce watches out of the corner of his eye as Clark discards of the washcloth and then squirts shampoo into his hands and rubs them together. He then reaches over Bruce and digs his fingers into his hair. Bruce’s eyelids flutter but he forces them to stay open. He feels a little silly and the silence is becoming too much for him.
“Thank you for trusting me,” Clark says at the same time as Bruce utters: “Thank you for this.”
There’s a brief moment of stunned silence and then Bruce sighs. This is not how he’s been imagining (time and time again) having Clark’s hands on him, but he’s not going to complain.
“How do you know how to do this?” He asks conversationally. To fill the emptiness, of course, not just because he’s genuinely curious. Although he has not been able to find any satisfying answers in his research and he does like it best when he has all the answers.
“Oh, Ma taught me,” Clark says easily as he scrubs at Bruce’s head.
“You used to cut her hair?” That shouldn’t surprise him. Clark has a good relationship with his mother, his father too. He’s a good son, it wouldn’t be out of the question for him to have cut his mother’s hair, Bruce supposes.
“She used to cut mine,” Clark corrects with a soft smile. “When I moved to Metropolis, she told me I should know how to do it myself. She never really trusted those big company salons.”
Bruce thinks of Adrienne and the fact that he chose that particular salon because it’s smaller and not crowded or located in a mall somewhere. He nods. He’ll have to agree with Mrs. Kent here. Smaller salons are preferable, although Bruce will never underestimate the power of a home wash after experiencing Clark’s hands in his hair. He’s gentle but firm, and Bruce can feel his shoulders drop from their perpetuating position near his neck. He forgets to respond to Clark’s answer.
“How can you live like this?” Clark asks eventually. He’s rinsing Bruce’s hair, shielding his eyes with his palm as he lets the water wash away the dirty foam.
“It’s just hair.” Bruce shrugs. Or tries to shrug. He flinches a little and then settles back against the sink.
“It’s your hair, Bruce,” Clark objects before wringing some of the water out of Bruce’s hair. “How do you take care of it?”
“I wash it, dry it-” Bruce starts, while trying not to roll his eyes too much. He should’ve known Clark would be anal about this the same way he is about anything else.
“How?” Clark interrupts.
“How, what?”
“How do you wash it?” There’s a teasing lilt to Clark’s voice, like he knows he’s being an irritating little shit and doesn’t give a damn. He probably doesn’t. Which is the only reason he speaks to Bruce like he’s a kindergartener.
Bruce has never felt so ridiculous in his entire life as he gestures rubbing his own head like he would in the shower, albeit only using one hand. It’s awkward from this angle, leaning back against the sink but he manages. Sort of. He raises his eyebrows in a silent ‘you satisfied?’ at Clark.
“And to dry it?” is all Clark says in response.
This time Bruce does roll his eyes. “I just- rub a towel over my head, Clark, come on,” he says with a huff.
“And how do you style it?” Clark presses on.
Bruce feels his eye twitch in annoyance. So much more small talk than there usually is with Adrienne, and he’s put himself in this situation. There’s no need to be annoyed with Clark, although Bruce is ninety percent sure the Kryptonian is doing this on purpose. Probably trying to see if he can get a rise out of Bruce. Well, he’ll show him. He’s an adult, he can stay calm. It helps that Clark’s lathered up his hands again and is rubbing at his scalp with practiced movements.
“I put gel in it,” Bruce finally says. There’s no fancy style or products; he merely uses what Alfred sets out for him. One time he accidentally grabbed Jason’s styling gel and his hair was a sticky mess for days. Curly hair needs other products, it seems. The kid laughed until he cried though, it was almost worth it.
“And then?” Clark prompts.
“I go about my day,” Bruce says, patience wearing a little thin. “Just-”
“And going about your day means that you go to meetings all day and then jam that airtight thing onto your head all night, am I right?” Clark asks as he looks over his shoulder where the cowl is lying.
Bruce presses his lips together. He contemplates what to say next. His first instinct is to tell Clark to butt out of it, but he knows he’s just being defensive. He’s never been obsessed with his own hair until he saw Clark helping Diana out, and as evident by the mess on his head, his obsession wasn’t about keeping it healthy and looking good. He sighs again and settles more comfortably against the sink.
“What would you have me do then?” he asks.
Clark smiles that thousand watt smile of his and Bruce once again fights the urge to shield his eyes.
“Well,” he starts. “First of all you should have the right products-”
And somewhere in the middle of “lathering the shampoo in your hands” and “only use conditioner on the ends” Bruce realizes that Clark is having fun. Teaching something he’s passionate about to Bruce. So Bruce does his best to listen, even though it’s hard with Clark’s glorious hands on his scalp. Clark doesn’t just rub his soapy hands quickly over Bruce’s head (as he tends to do himself), he massages Bruce’s scalp gently, scratching with his nails and carefully untangling the knots. He’s being careful not to tug too hard, Bruce can tell, although he wouldn’t have minded. It’s just a little pain, he can handle pain.
Clark says something about oils and Bruce hums. He can’t quite remember when but at some point, he closes his eyes. He can’t remember the last time he felt this relaxed.
“This would be much easier in an actual stylist sink,” Clark mutters as he tries to maneuver around Bruce’s body to get the last conditioner out of his hair.
“I’ll buy you ten,” shoots out of Bruce’s mouth before he has the chance to stop his tongue from moving. At least he has enough of a grip on himself not to add ‘if it means you’ll do this every day’.
“Sounds like those painkillers are doing their job,” Clark says with a laugh. It’s booming and comfortable. It’s beautiful. “Let’s get you upright.”
Clark wraps a towel around Bruce’s head, a little less elegantly than Adrienne usually does, but Bruce doesn’t mind. He feels lightheaded from the scalp massage and he’s pretty sure he’d walk directly into a volcano if Clark guided him to the edge. He turns dutifully when Clark’s hands press against his back and sits on the bench in the locker room. Clark presses his hands against the towel, scrunching the material up in his capable hands instead of just rubbing it. He then places the damp towel over Bruce’s shoulders before picking up the pair of scissors he’d brought earlier.
Bruce’s breathing is calm and deep and if his instincts as Batman hadn’t made him borderline paranoid, he’s certain he’d have been able to fall asleep right there on the bench.
***
The bench doesn’t have the best height for cutting hair, but there isn’t anywhere else that will be much better without exposing Bruce to the entire League. And while Bruce may not be shy or easily embarrassed, Clark would much rather work on his hair in peace. Quiet. Private. It feels intimate in a way he hasn’t felt when Hal had asked him to cut his hair. He’s helped Diana out more than once, but that’s mostly because Clark isn’t a fan of how she’ll just cut through her hair with a sword if there isn’t a salon nearby. That’s Amazons for you.
Clark knows that Bruce doesn’t mind being without the cowl per se, but he prefers it to stay on, even at the Watchtower. They might know each other’s identities but that doesn’t mean Bruce feels comfortable walking around without his mask the same way Wally or even Hal does. So it isn’t entirely unreasonable that Clark also wants them to stay in the locker room. At least that’s what he tells himself as he runs his hands through Bruce’s damp hair.
It already looks much better than when they started. Clark has never seen anything quite like the mess that was unveiled for him. Bruce’s hair was… like nothing Clark’s seen before on the billionaire. He could barely believe his own eyes. Not because Bruce’s hair was really that bad, but compared to how it usually looks? It’s horrendous. What in the world had happened to Bruce’s head?
Has it really been that long since he’s seen him without his cowl on? That can’t be right. But it must be because Bruce’s hair is– it’s a mess. It nearly reaches below his ears, and while Clark has been able to undo most of the damage, it was completely knotted in some places when he started.
Clark feels the echo of feelings when he first laid his eyes on that bird’s nest on top of Bruce’s head. His fingers had twitched with the need to run them through the chaos that Bruce calls his hair. He’d been caught in his own head, though. Thinking how it wouldn’t be appropriate, of course. He couldn’t just offer to, what, brush Bruce’s hair? Bruce would never take his cowl off again and their fragile friendship would burn to the ground. And yet Clark couldn’t keep his mouth shut. It’s just… Bruce has never looked this unruly, this unkept before. At least never in front of Clark. It’s… it’s endearing somehow, that they’ve come this far. That Bruce will allow Clark to be this close to him, to help him like this.
It's one thing to be injured – Clark knows Bruce hates being perceived as weak or hurt, but he can’t just ignore a dislocated shoulder, much as he tries – but it’s another to be seen as a mess. Clark knows Bruce doesn’t always think too much of his own appearance, he’s Batman, after all, but at least from the articles he’s seen about Bruce Wayne lately, he hasn’t been able to tell that his hair was this bad.
A little longer, perhaps, and Clark thinks it suits him, suits Bruce Wayne. But having all that hair, knotted up and tangled in the cowl? That shouldn’t have been possible. Bruce would’ve never let it get that bad. Something must’ve happened. Which is why Clark offered to help, that’s all. If he can help Bruce in any way, even something as small as this, he’ll do it.
He’d honestly thought Bruce would reject him. It’s not as though Clark has ever demonstrated his skills and he did spring it on Bruce rather suddenly. Batman liked to be prepared, to have all information before making a decision, which is why his answer surprised Clark as much as it did. He wasn’t about to let the opportunity slip by though.
Clark’s been wanting to get his hands on Bruce’s hair for months now, if not longer. The first time he saw Bruce being all Bruce Wayne amongst the other socialites after knowing who Bruce really was, he’d barely been able to believe his own eyes. His hair looked so soft, so silky, swept away from his face in a voluminous style. Framing his chiseled face perfectly. Clark had never felt such a pure need to touch. He hadn’t, of course, because that wasn’t who he was. Who they were. But that didn’t take the need away.
And now here he is, clipping Bruce’s hair away and brushing through the inner layers. Clark doesn’t usually just cut someone’s hair without asking them what they want, but with Bruce… with Bruce he just knows. He knows what looks good on Bruce and not only because he’s spent a worrying amount of time staring at the man. If he wants to keep the length, Clark will make that work, but judging from Bruce’s reaction to Clark’s questions, it seems more likely that Bruce wants something easy, something that doesn’t take a lot of time to maintain.
He keeps the neck short, perfectly straight, fading into the longer pieces at the top. He runs a comb through the longer strands, watches as Bruce’s hair falls over his face and notices how he’s closed his eyes. Bruce looks relaxed in a way Clark can’t remember ever seeing before. It makes his heart swell. He cuts a good two and a half inches off the length and can’t help but hum under his breath as he does so. It’s a calming practice, cutting someone’s hair, even if that someone is Batman. Maybe especially when that someone is Batman. Clark runs his hands through Bruce’s hair, tussling it a bit to see what it looks like relaxed. He cleans up the edges with the clippers, is careful around Bruce’s ears and the back of his neck where most men are sensitive.
Clark steps onto the other side of the bench, sitting in front of Bruce to run his hands through the now mostly dry hair, moving it from side to side to get a better feeling of if he’s missed anything. He’s startled by the intense blue eyes staring back at him but tries to focus on Bruce’s hair. He moves the bangs to the side, sweeping it back from Bruce’s face and sends him a grin.
“Look how gorgeous you are now,” he says excitedly. He’s done a good job, if he does say so himself. All the knots are gone, and Bruce looks less like a neglected child and more like the handsome billionaire that he is.
Bruce is frowning though. At Clark’s words, he realizes a moment too late.
“Not that you weren’t before!” He hurries to add, a little awkwardly.
Bruce stands from the bench to look in the nearby mirror, running his hand through the strands hesitantly. There’s something like astonishment on his face. It might be a grateful smile tugging at his lips too, but Clark’s too busy staring at the slight flush that fills Bruce’s cheeks. If he didn’t know any better Clark would say that Bruce is blushing. It can’t be, it must be the heat in the room or maybe he’s just really uncomfortable. Oh, shoot. Clark should’ve probably not used a word like gorgeous. Not that Bruce isn’t, of course, but it suddenly seems a lot more intimate a compliment than he’d meant it to be.
“What do you think?” Clark can’t help but ask.
“It’s nice,” Bruce answers. Short and direct.
If it had been anyone else Clark might’ve taken offense to the lack of enthusiasm, but this is Batman he’s looking at. Nice might be the sweetest thing Bruce has ever said to Clark while in costume. At least outside of danger. ‘Nice’ and ‘don’t you dare die on me’ can’t really be compared in these circumstances.
“I’m glad you like it,” Clark says. “Please don’t mess it up.”
“It’s my hair,” Bruce comments, but he’s smiling a little bit. Not enough that anyone who doesn’t know him would notice. Clark knows though, he notices.
“It’s my hard work,” Clark counters with a grin. Bruce shakes his head, but he doesn’t object, which just makes Clark smile that much broader. “No, but seriously. Don’t let it get that bad again.”
Bruce runs a hand through the hair again, trying to glance at himself in mirror. Another thing Clark notices. Bruce doesn’t respond to Clark’s comments though, so he takes it upon himself to keep the conversation going.
“How did it get to this anyway? Did something happen?”
“No, nothing happened.” It doesn’t exactly sound like a lie, but there’s something in Bruce’s heartbeat. A slight hesitation in his breath.
Clark frowns, which in turn makes Bruce look rather… flustered? That can’t be right. Batman doesn’t get flustered.
“My stylist-” Bruce says, a hint of desperation to his voice. “She’s on maternity leave.”
“Oh,” Clark says. That should be explanation enough, but somehow it isn’t. Bruce doesn’t have to use the same exact stylist every time, although he is a creature of habit. Even so he’s got more than enough money to hire the best of the best. It shouldn’t be an issue to get his hair cut. Clark is pretty sure most hairstylists would give their dominant hand to get the chance at washing Bruce Wayne hair, not to mention actually cutting it. He feels an odd sense of pride swell in his chest. “When’s she coming back?”
“Not for a few months at least,” Bruce explains. He seems troubled by this, and Clark can’t help the next words out of his mouth.
“I could do it. Cut your hair. Until she’s back,” he says, stutters. He’s not exactly sure where this bravery comes from. Bruce must have others, someone more capable to help. Then again, he did look very much like a homeless man with his knotted hair. Clark can’t trust him to take care of it himself. He’s just offering his services like any friend would. Never mind that he gets to bury his hands in Bruce’s thick hair every four to six weeks, if he’s lucky.
“Alright,” Bruce says. The blue of his eyes seems even brighter than usual, and Clark has a hard time looking away. There’s a beat of silence and then: “Thank you.”
“No problem, B,” Clark says happily. It really is no problem. He likes doing people’s hair, it’s a fun little hobby, away from the superhero part of his life. He also can’t remember the last time Bruce thanked him not once, but twice in one day. He feels like he’s walking on clouds. He glances at his feet discreetly to make sure they’re still planted on the ground.
“Now, will you let me shower or do you not trust me to wash my own body either?” Bruce asks, and all signs of him being embarrassed are gone in the blink of an eye. There is something playful in his demeanor, but Clark doesn’t want to assume anything. Bruce has been known to flirt, even if Clark has never been on the receiving end of his sultry looks.
“Well, if you want a hand with that too,” Clark drawls. He can’t help his teasing tone just to see how Bruce might react. He doesn’t know what he expects, but Bruce biting his lower lip and his cheeks reddening isn’t it. He isn’t complaining though. The bashful look suits Bruce very well.
“Idiot,” Bruce mutters as he stalks past him towards the showers.
Clark laughs. He doesn’t follow Bruce in but only because he knows Bruce is fine. He’s been monitoring his heartrate, listening for any ticks that would indicate he’s in pain. Well, more pain than usual at least. The painkillers are working wonderfully, keeping Bruce’s discomfort to a minimum, and Clark will have to remember to send a thank you note to Alfred. Bruce may be strong, but even strong men need someone to look after them once in a while. Sometimes even two someones, if Clark has any say in it.
***
That’s that. At least that’s what Bruce thinks as he runs a hand through his admittedly very healthy hair. It feels silky and he can’t help but wonder if Clark has missed his true calling. He can’t remember the last time his hair looked this good without a team of professionals running around him for hours – and even then, it would always either fall flat at the end of the day or it would be all stiff to the touch.
So, yes, that’s that. Clark has cut his hair and they made a deal to make it a regular thing. Bruce can’t believe his own luck, he will absolutely have to send Adrienne another fruit basket. Having Clark’s hands in his hair, having him cut it and having Clark… well, pamper is the closest word Bruce can find to describe the experience in the locker room. Having Clark pamper him, spoil him with his touches. It was everything Bruce imagined and more.
Clark works steady, confidently. There’s the same unwavering strength in his hands when he washes Bruce’s hair as when he punches aliens on the battlefield. It’s a mesmerizing experience to witness. Bruce is happy with the outcome, although he could have gone without the dislocated shoulder, the humiliation of his hair being that bad and a few other details. All in all, it was good though, and Bruce is glad his obsessive side found a solution that didn’t expose him too bad. And that’s that.
Except that isn’t that.
Because of course it isn’t. This is Clark Kent, investigative journalist from the Daily Planet, they’re talking about. Of course, that cannot be it.
Not even a week later Clark corners him in the monitor room. Alright, corners might be a bit harsh; they’re supposed to be on duty together but there’s no reason for Clark to stand so damn close. There is absolutely no reason for him to send Bruce those puppy dog eyes of his.
Clark rocks back and forth on his toes, hands behind his back as he grins.
“What?” Bruce barks. He narrowly avoids crossing his arms over his chest. His shoulder is still bothering him, but it’s more about seeming unaffected that worries Bruce.
“Can I see it?” Clark asks as he bounces. Bruce wants to reach out and grab his shoulder to keep him still. He doesn’t move.
“See-” He starts. Clark is referring to his hair, Bruce realizes. He narrows his eyes. It’s only been a few days since Clark cut it, there shouldn’t be a reason for him to want to see it. Unless he somehow messed up and hasn’t realized until now. Clark wouldn’t lie about something like that though. Clark wouldn’t lie, period. “Why?” He asks, suspicious.
“I want to see what it looks like when you style it yourself,” Clark explains and finally stops rocking. His tone turns teasing. “I want to inspect your work.”
“I’ve been wearing the cowl for several hours, Clark,” Bruce argues.
“I know, but-” And then he has the audacity to rub the toe of his boot against the floor like a shy schoolgirl. Bruce promptly ignores the flutter in his chest as Clark looks up at him through his lashes. “I want to see it though.”
“Fine,” Bruce sighs. He makes a point of rolling his eyes dramatically as soon as the cowl is off. He can’t have Clark thinking he actually enjoys getting to show his hair off. He’s been doing good with Clark’s directions, hasn’t deviated from them even once. There’s an odd pride in it that he doesn’t want to look too closely at.
There’s no way the sound that Bruce hears is an actual squeal and there certainly is no conceivable way it came from Clark. Bruce snaps his head up and despite it being impossible, there’s no other way to describe the noise that left Clark’s mouth as anything but a squeal. He looks downright giddy.
“There,” Bruce says, balancing the cowl on his hip. “You happy?”
He doesn’t have to ask. He can tell Clark is happy even without the airy ‘squee’ sound he let out. Bruce is sure his hair looks a mess and- since when has he ever cared about that? Probably around the same time he bought all the different shampoos Clark recommended and actually started using them. It’s silly, he knows, Clark won’t see his hair most days. But the look on his face as he sees Bruce’s hair? Worth every extra minute in the shower. Even if all the new soaps make his entire bathroom - not to mention his hair - smell like bananas.
It was that or coconut and Bruce could not take the thought of everything smelling like artificial coconut.
It’s a reflex, Bruce can tell, when Clark reaches out to run his hand through Bruce’s hair. He gets as far as pushing around a few strands before he catches Bruce’s eyes. The hand is snatched back faster than Bruce’s eyes can track.
“Oh,” Clark says, voice oddly breathless. Bruce wants to steal the last of that breath with his lips. He presses his own together to stop that train of thought. “Sorry. Just wanted to make sure there were no knots.”
“I know how to wash my hair, Clark,” Bruce says, mentally chasing his own thoughts away, hoping and praying to every deity he can think of that Clark doesn’t notice the heat in his cheeks. He probably does. Clark always notices. There should be a law against some of this man’s abilities, Bruce thinks as he frowns.
“Well, I’ve seen plenty evidence to the contrary,” Clark is quick to respond.
Bruce tsks and averts his eyes. He reminds himself that he accepted the humiliation as a worthy price for having Clark’s hands on him, but it’s hard to remember the details when Clark is grinning at him with that teasing glint in his eyes. Eventually though he’ll have to actually respond and not just sulk like a grumpy teenager. He’s not really insulted (much), but Clark could be nicer. He shouldn’t, obviously. The fact that he’s comfortable enough with Bruce to tease him, makes Bruce’s heart flutter pathetically in his chest. So maybe not a grumpy teenager then, but he does have the whole love-sick thing down to a T.
“How did I do then?” Bruce asks as he schools his expression into one of indifference. He mostly succeeds. He’s pretty sure, at least. He throws his hands out to make the display complete. He must look like an idiot.
“Hm?” Clark’s distracted, and suddenly Bruce’s interest peaks. What could hold Superman’s attention in such a strong hold that he forgets he’s in the middle of a conversation? Perhaps someone is calling for help somewhere on Earth. Clark doesn’t look like he’s listening for dangers though. Bruce has become well-versed in all Clark-expressions to his own annoyance.
“With my hair,” he clarifies. “How did I do?”
“Oh,” and Clark’s attention is back entirely on Bruce. He’s not sure it ever left but Clark’s eyes did look a little glossy when he caught them with his own. “Absolutely gorgeous, you look very handsome.”
Bruce is used to compliments, gets more than his share at events, on the street, and even on the internet, but the words seem somehow different coming from Clark. More sincere, more real. He feels the corner of his mouth tug up stubbornly. He tries to squash it down. Batman doesn’t preen. Bruce Wayne doesn’t either and he’s not about to start now.
“Alright,” is all he can make himself say before turning around to smush the cowl down over his face again. It might not hide his entire face, but it’ll do well enough at concealing the flush in his cheeks.
While Bruce feels more comfortable wearing his cowl at the Watchtower, he does slowly start wearing it less and less. At least when he’s just there for monitor duty and it’s just him and Clark. The others know his identity, of course, but he’s found it beneficial to keep Bruce Wayne separate from the Justice League. At least until now.
The way Clark looks at him, looks at his hair. The way he smiles so warmly at Bruce, as if Bruce is the one who has done him a favor and not the other way around, makes Bruce feel small and warm and oddly safe in a way he can’t remember feeling for a long time. He’s not an idiot, he knows exactly what this means, but he’s not going to dwell on it. It’s fine, he’ll get used to Clark’s compliments and the way he’ll always find an excuse to touch Bruce’s hair.
‘To inspect his work’, yes, that’s why he’s running his large hands gently through Bruce’s hair whenever he gets the chance. Not in front of the League, never in front of others. It’s like it’s a thing between only the two of them, and Bruce is willing to admit he likes it that way.
While they made a deal, Bruce doesn’t exactly feel comfortable asking Clark to cut his hair the first few times. He finds a solution that’s called ‘set a date and stick to it’ and it works. He’ll just stare at Clark for a while longer than usual and he’ll get the point. It’s easy, it’s not something they discuss much despite Clark’s growing habit of touching Bruce’s hair, and Bruce likes the arrangement.
It starts with the hair: a haircut every six weeks, at least. How Bruce has gone without it, Clark doesn’t even want to know, he tells Bruce with disdain. It’s not like he has a complicated cut or anything, he’s just… How did Clark put it, again?
“You’re just- you’re an idiot, that’s what you are.” Clark’s exact words. Bruce would feel insulted except for the fact that Clark is right. He is an idiot. He just never thought he’d be this much of an idiot – least of all in front of Clark.
So, Clark cuts his hair. It’s not a big deal (to anyone but Bruce, at least). But then it becomes a thing. This time he doesn’t do it on purpose. It’s Clark who offers to teach him how to style his hair properly, it’s Clark who offers to come with him to buy the right products.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Bruce, but-” Clark says, and Bruce rolls his eyes. You buy one wrong shampoo and suddenly you’re never to be trusted again.
“I swear you’re doing this on purpose,” Clark then accuses when Bruce is once again injured on a mission and can’t wash the blood out of his own hair. He argues, of course he does, but he also closes his eyes in bliss when Clark washes his hair thoroughly.
Clark is always gentle with him. Massages his scalp and neck, his temples even if he’s really tense. Clark talks when he’s washing Bruce’s hair. Clark’s always been more of a talker than Bruce and that fits them both perfectly fine, but what’s surprising is that Bruce talks too during the haircuts and washes. Somehow as soon as Clark’s hands are in his hair, the lock on Bruce’s mouth clicks open and out spills his guts.
He tells Clark about how he and Dick have been fighting a lot, but that he’s trying his best to make it better, to do better. He tells Clark how Jason’s attitude is growing, but he’s still so proud of far the kid has come. He tells him about Alfred’s trip to England, that left Bruce in charge of food and how awful that went. Clark insisted on coming over and making them dinner and Bruce couldn’t find it in himself to reject the offer. He does not tell Clark about Jason’s questions and comments after he left.
He talks about his work at Wayne Enterprises and in turn Clark tells him about his work at the Daily Planet. Clark tells him about growing up in Kansas, both the farm-boy part and the alien part of his upbringing. He talks about his Ma and Pa and about his friends growing up. He tells Bruce about his struggles when he first moved to Metropolis, when he first became Superman. He explains how to make his favorite dish, and how come Bruce has never had chicken ala king – what kind of life has he led than he hasn’t had Clark’s Ma’s chicken ala king?
And Bruce… Bruce falls harder for every word out of Clark’s mouth. He thought his crush on Clark was harmless, a thing he could ignore, but the second Clark opens up to him, properly opens up and Bruce gets to know him? He’s done for. There’s no turning back and the thought should terrify him, and in some ways it does. More than that though Bruce is just… content. He enjoys spending more time with Clark, he loves letting Clark run his mouth for hours, while Bruce just nods and listens.
Bruce likes what it does for their team too. He’s more- Clark calls him more human, but Bruce has never been anything but human. He does feel less irritable though, he’ll give Clark that. Even the other members say so, although not as directly. Well, Wally, of course, has never been one for hints, so he calls Bruce “a domesticated bat” once, but he quickly learns not to comment any further.
It doesn’t deter Clark from teasing him though. Nothing does at this point. Bruce should be annoyed, but he’s mostly just trying not to let the lovesick expression on his face show too much. Clark hasn’t called him out, which should mean that he’s doing a good job, but then again Clark is way too nice to embarrass Bruce like that (he hopes).
It starts with the hair; it evolves into talking. That’s fine, Bruce can handle this, he can be reasonable and not obsess. The touching too he can deal with. Clark’s hand on his shoulder isn’t anything new, neither is a pat on the back. The way he’ll wrap his hand around the back of Bruce’s neck isn’t exactly strange and it isn’t unwelcome, so Bruce doesn’t comment on it. It’s nice, actually, that Clark is there to calm him or make him relaxed when he’s extra tense or stressed out.
The dinners are nice too, although not entirely necessary. It isn’t like Alfred is gone every week, but somehow Clark ends up coming to the manor for dinner either way. It’s… nice. Comfortable. Bruce is getting a little suspicious, but he tries to swallow the feeling.
Don’t be obsessive, don’t question every good thing in your life . It’s easier said than done, of course, but he manages. Mostly. And spending time with Clark outside of uniform is comforting in a way Bruce doesn’t experience often, so he handles his crush, he breathes through the neck massages and tries not to blurt pathetically romantic words out in Clark’s face whenever he’s without earshot. Being Superman means he’s always within earshot though. Bruce needs a panic room lined with lead.
They fall into a nice rhythm. Not just with the haircuts but with everything else and Bruce tries not to be pessimistic and just enjoy the calm. It helps that Clark is a figurative sunshine invading his entire life and that he can’t not trust him with his… well, his everything.
But then one day when they’re on monitor duty together, Clark tugs at a strand of his hair. He’s taken to not even bothering to wear the cowl when he knows he’s just going to stare at screens all night with Clark by his side. Besides, there’s a bigger possibility of a neck rub if he’s already cowl-less, he’s learned.
“Don’t you think it’s time for another haircut?” Clark asks and his hands are rougher than usual. It’s not painful but he doesn’t usually tug at Bruce’s hair. It’s more a caress than anything and there’s something in his voice too, someone off with the tone.
Bruce frowns. Something’s clearly off, but he doesn’t know what. It worries him, but he tries not to let it show.
“It’s only been three weeks,” he says.
“I still think it’s time,” Clark argues and turns on his heel.
There’s still at least fifteen minutes until next shift begins and although Bruce has already seen Hal and Wally in the hallway, they’re not supposed to leave the monitor room unoccupied. He stands though, can’t help it. Clark never leaves monitor duty early unless it’s really important and he seems agitated. Bruce is certain Flash and Lantern won’t mind taking over a bit early.
Bruce finds Clark in the locker room fiddling with his tools. He takes pride in having the proper scissors and a sturdy trimmer, but he doesn’t usually spend this much time polishing the blades. He doesn’t look up when Bruce enters but they have a routine now. Bruce settles by the sink, where Clark’s already made sure to prepare a chair for him. They’ve gotten an actual chair with a back designed for salon purposes – or, well, Bruce got one because he’s not getting any younger and sitting on a stool isn’t good for his back. Neither is crime fighting but he can’t switch out a chair and have Gotham suddenly calm and peaceful, so he’ll settle for a comfortable place to sit while Clark cuts his hair.
Bruce leans back as is their routine and waits for Clark to join him at the sink. It takes longer than usual but Bruce doesn’t comment on it. Clark will talk when he’s ready. He’s told Bruce that washing people’s hair is a calming process for him and that also means that he talks easier when he’s busy with his hands.
When Bruce’s hair is soaking wet and Clark lathers up his hands with the banana shampoo (“It’s for moisture, Bruce, you have such thick hair, you need to take proper care of it!”) and neither have said a word, Bruce starts to worry a little. It’s been an easy shift, nothing out of the ordinary, yet Clark’s mood suddenly changed.
They bumped into Hal and Wally on the way back from getting coffee. Did he mess up Clark’s coffee somehow? No, that couldn’t be right. Mostly because Clark wouldn’t be so petty as to get angry over that but also because Bruce knows Clark’s coffee order better than he knows his own. Research, remember? That can’t be it then. Bruce is so lost in thought that he nearly misses when Clark starts scrubbing at his head. The usually comforting scalp massage seems off and they both know it.
Clark sighs as he rinses Bruce’s hair. There’s another sigh when he starts carefully rubbing the conditioner in. A third sigh and Bruce knows he’s almost there. It’s more sighs than Clark usually lets out in an entire week. He’s starting to sound more like Bruce and- well, that thought does make Bruce feel all kinds of warm, but now is not the time to get stuck in his feelings for Clark. Bruce waits a beat, then another.
“I didn’t know you and Hal were close,” Clark finally says.
Bruce gapes slightly. He did not expect that to be the words out of Clark’s mouth. He frowns as he says, a little uncertainly: “We’re not?”
It’s no secret that he and Hal have had their differences but while they’ve worked through most of them (Hal being a grade A ass can’t really be fixed), they’re not exactly tight. They’re civil, of course, and much better at being around each other now than they used to be. Bruce wouldn’t describe them as close though, not anywhere near as close and he and Clark at least. He tolerates Hal. He… more than tolerates Clark.
“He touched your hair,” Clark says. As a way of explanation? Bruce isn’t sure. It’s not doing much to ease his confusion. Is Hal the reason Clark is this upset? That can’t be. Clark is much more composed. There must be another reason, a logic reason, for him to be this clearly rattled.
“He was admiring your work,” Bruce says, slowly.
It’s true. When they’d bumped into Hal and Wally earlier, they’d commented (teased, more like) on Bruce’s hair and how he was wearing the cowl less and less when it wasn’t an emergency. It didn’t matter if he and Clark didn’t advertise their deal, the others were bound to notice. These two especially, Flash and Lantern always had to stick their noses in other people’s business. This was why Bruce usually scheduled them with other people for monitor duty. He’d gotten sloppy with the planning though.
Hal had ruffled his hair. Bruce had – of course – smacked his arm away and grunted an insult at him. He really should stop being so comfortable at the Watchtower. Just because Clark had invaded his heart home didn’t mean that Bruce had to be this relaxed. At least not near Hal of all people. The man could smell weakness a mile away. How in the world had Clark seen that display of juvenile teasing as them being close?
“Hm.” The low hum sounds foreign on Clark’s lips. It’s usually Bruce who communicates in grunts and hums and it feel weird to have the roles reversed. Bruce, of course, doesn’t say nearly as much as Clark usually does. He doesn’t keep the conversation going. Bruce sits in silence.
“I don’t think you should let him touch you like that,” Clark finally says. He isn’t looking at Bruce’s face but instead focusing on his hair. Bruce, even with his limited knowledge, doesn’t think he’s supposed to spend this long coating the hair with conditioner. He doesn’t comment on it though. It seems like the physical distraction is the only thing making Clark talk.
“Like what?” he asks. Hal had patted his head, rather harshly even. There’d been nothing malicious about it, but it wasn’t exactly gentle either. Nowhere near how Clark handles his hair. Or him, for that matter.
“So- so intimately,” Clark mutters as he finally turns the faucet on and starts rinsing Bruce’s hair. He’s still avoiding eye contact. It’s not easy trying to catch Clark’s eyes from the position he’s in, but that doesn’t stop Bruce from trying. Clark is always easier to read when he can look him in the eyes.
“You touch my hair all the time, Clark,” Bruce says softly. There’s something itching at the back of his mind, the words at the tip of his tongue. He’s almost got it. The reason Clark is upset, the reason he won’t look at Bruce. It’s an easy word, it’s something he knows himself. There’s just something- something that doesn’t click yet.
“I- yes.” Clark is very focused on the task at hand. Wringing Bruce’s hair carefully before applying more product to his hands.
“Yes?” Bruce prods. One-word answers aren’t helping him much here and while he prides himself on being patient, Clark’s silence is getting to him. He doesn’t usually have to fight like this to hear his voice, his thoughts. It’s disturbing and Bruce feels somewhat off-balance with this dynamic. It’s unsettling.
“Yes,” Clark repeats as he finishes rinsing Bruce’s hair.
Patience wearing dangerously thin Bruce yanks the towel out of Clark’s hands instead of waiting for him to wrap it around his head. He rubs at his head, ignoring the little noise of protest leaving Clark’s mouth. That sentence – the answer at the tip of his tongue has evaporated.
“So, what’s the problem?” he asks harshly. He’s irritated at himself more than anything, but Clark isn’t exactly helping. So what if Hal touched his hair? What does that have to do with Clark? He’s acting like Hal just took his favorite toy and played with it without permission. It’s difficult enough figuring out what’s wrong with Clark when he won’t talk but having a conversation while seated and with drenched hair isn’t making Bruce any less annoyed.
“It’s not the same thing, Bruce,” Clark says as he reaches for the towel. Bruce bats his hands away.
“Of course, it is,” he says. “It’s just-” Oh. Bruce’s hands still, the towel still on his head. It’s not the same thing at all. It’s Clark’s favorite toy. It’s Clark’s. Oh, how blinded are you allowed to be by your own emotions? Bruce thinks he might have found the limit. That little word is back on his tongue and this time he can actually feel its weight. “It’s not.”
Clark doesn’t say anything.
“It’s not the same, is it, Clark?” Bruce asks carefully. This time he’s grateful that he’s still seated, because Clark’s eyes are turned towards the floor and it’s the only reason, he’s able to catch them with his own. Blue meets blue and neither look away. Bruce feels little silly peeking out from underneath the towel, but he’ll take feeling silly over not being able to look at Clark.
“That’s not really for me to say,” Clark says, voice soft. At least he doesn’t look away, even if he is trying to backtrack his own words. Bruce can’t have that.
“But it is for you to say that I shouldn’t let Hal touch me?” he asks. Challenges, really. Clark is easily as stubborn as Bruce is, so he knows poking at him will shake him out of his own head. Sure enough, Clark straightens a bit and frowns at Bruce’s words.
“Just your- your hair,” he says. Clark is an honest man, he’d never back down from any conversation if it was important, much less lie his way through it. Which is what Bruce counts on when he speaks next.
“Just my hair?”
“That’s-” Clark stalls. Swallows. It’s clear that he knows he’s messed up somewhere. How he hasn’t realized before now is a mystery Bruce will have to look further into, but for now he just leans forward so Clark can’t look away from his face.
“Yours?” Bruce supplies with a small smile. He’s not trying to bully Clark here, but there is something to be said about making the world’s strongest man blush and stumble over his own words. It’s a little intoxicating knowing he holds that kind of power over Clark.
“I don’t-”
“It’s okay,” Bruce is quick to reassure. “If that’s how you feel.”
“It is?” Clark’s obviously taken aback.
It makes Bruce’s chest tighten and he knows he has to make sure Clark understands; make sure he doesn’t doubt himself anymore. The word he was looking for earlier is too familiar to him, he knows how much jealousy can alter one’s perception. He doesn’t want Clark to misinterpret anything between them. The words feel heavy on his tongue, but he pushes them out, nonetheless.
“I won’t want anyone else’s hands on me.”
There’s a beat of silence but Bruce maintains eye contact. Clark looks like he’s searching Bruce’s eyes for something, some kind of answer to a question he hasn’t asked. Bruce lets him look, lets him search for as long as he needs.
“You don’t.” It’s not really a question, not the way Clark says it, but Bruce decides to answer him anyway.
“I don’t.” He puts as much conviction into the word as he can.
“Why?” Clark’s voice is soft like he’s afraid of the answer. Bruce is just as afraid to say it out loud, but it’s now or never. He can tell.
“I only want you,” he says.
“To-” Clark starts.
“Not ‘to’ anything,” Bruce interrupts. “I only want you.”
Bruce should’ve seen it coming, what with him spilling his guts someplace as romantic as the locker room in the Watchtower – he really should’ve thought this through – but somehow, he still jumps when Clark’s hand touches his cheek. It slides down to his jaw, cradling it like Bruce is something precious, something to be careful with. Clark always treats him gently, oh so gently. Which is why he’s not surprised that’s how he kisses him too.
It's fleeting, a brush of their lips. Soft and sweet and everything Bruce would expect of a first kiss from Clark. They’re not fifteen though and Bruce has spent more than enough time longing for more of Clark than he thought he’d ever be able to have. So sue him for being a little impatient. He grabs onto Clark’s collar and pulls him closer, swallowing the surprised noise he emits. The hand on Bruce’s jaw tightens slightly, but only enough for Clark to tilt his head, sucking at Bruce’s bottom lip.
The towel falls to the floor as Bruce tilts his head up, grip tightening in Clark’s collar. He tastes of coffee, too sweet for Bruce’s usual taste but if he could have it like this… he’d enjoy Clark’s dash of cream and seven sugars any day. He’s sure he’ll never have enough of this.
Superman or not, the folded position can’t be very good for Clark’s back, so Bruce finally lets go of his collar. Clark straightens, but only just enough to get a grip on Bruce’s arms and pull him up too.
“Does this mean you’ll keep letting me do your hair from now on?”
“Clark, sweetheart,” Bruce laughs, the pet name slipping out without him meaning to. “I’ll let you do me from now on. Pretty sure my hair’s included.”
“You’ll have to explain that to Adrienne,” Clark teases.
“I’m sure she’ll manage without me,” Bruce says as he rolls his eyes. He’s certain Adrienne will do nothing more than tell him it’s about time he found a stepdad for all of those kids. Bruce won’t think too hard about that comment; mostly because he thinks it’s still a bit early calling Clark anyone’s stepdad. Then again…
Clark’s smile is so bright it looks like his face is glowing but for once Bruce doesn’t want to shield his eyes. He just wants to bask in Clark’s happiness. He can do that now, he’s allowed. Clark is all his.
