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It happened so gradually that Clark was hardly aware of it. Looking back, he couldn't pinpoint the exact moment when the situation had crossed the line. Now, of course, things were entirely out of hand and it was probably too late to do anything about it. Where had it all gone wrong?
Of course it was entirely reasonable to suggest to J'onn that Batman would be a logical choice for advice on a metallurgy analysis that needed doing. And it was hardly out of the usual to re-schedule a League meeting so Batman could make one of his rare appearances. And certainly no one could blame Superman at all for suggesting he and Batman be on the same team now and then.
When it was strategically useful for them to be so.
Which was often.
Actions aside, it was only natural that one's thoughts turned to the Dark Knight from time to time. He was an interesting man, after all, with a refreshingly different view on the world. So when about to give a speech, it made a certain amount of sense that Superman might imagine for a moment that Batman would tell him to stop slouching and speak up better. It wasn't that strange that, when visiting another planet, he might find himself wondering how Batman might respond to the sight of the scarlet dragons of K'Tharr, their wings dark against the aquamarine sunset.
He supposed it was when Clark got involved that things had started to become...dubious.
When Clark volunteered for a long assignment in Gotham, that wasn't so odd―although his disappointment at spending a week in the city and not running into either Batman or Bruce Wayne might have been something of a tip-off. But no, he had ignored the warning signs.
It was when he found himself wondering what Bruce Wayne would think of his tie that he started to get worried. Especially after realizing he had spent fifteen paralyzed minutes in front of his tie rack, immobilized by the thought that Bruce might happen to see him in a less-than-ideal outfit. But he had shaken off his concerns--Bruce was a stylish man, so it was only normal to hold him up as an ideal of sartorial elegance. He had resolutely ignored the way that things Bruce had said kept slipping into his conversations with others; he ignored the small glow he had felt when he found the chance to work a quote or a view of his into a discussion without other people necessarily knowing they were from Bruce.
But his self-delusions had started to crumble the day Lois Lane threw up her hands in the middle of a conversation and said, "Good grief, Clark! Do you have to bring Bruce Wayne into everything?"
Startled, Clark had quickly gone back over the discussion. He had just mentioned that the Gotham Gazette was doing a story on Wayne; that didn't seem so out of the ordinary. "What...what do you mean?" he stammered.
Lois shook her head. "Clark，this is the third time you've mentioned him in an hour. You've met him what, once? Twice? But it's like you're obsessed with him!"
Clark stared at her. "That's...that's not..." But he had mentioned Bruce three times in the last hour, he realized belatedly; even worse, he had mentioned Batman twice, although Lois wasn't aware of the implications of that. "He's...interesting," he finished lamely, and Lois had laughed at him.
After that, it was impossible to ignore the warning signs. He had resolved himself to be more aware of each time he mentioned of thought of Bruce and decided to count each time it happened, but had given up in alarm after three hours. He considered wrapping a rubber band around his wrist and snapping it each time he thought of Bruce in order to break himself of the habit, but he strongly suspected that the attempt at operant conditioning would only leave him with an indelible fondness for rubber bands. And it wasn't like the snap of the band would sting at all, of course.
So what was he to do?
The answer was apparently, he thought with disgust, "Go to Gotham and hang out at the coffee shop that Bruce often walks by during his lunch break, hoping maybe to run into him by chance."
Pathetic, he thought grimly, taking a sip of his coffee.
Even more pathetic was how he felt when Bruce didn't come around the corner. The man's habits were hardly regular, after all. There had been little chance they would meet.
He could always concoct some reason to visit the Batcave, a hopeful inner voice suggested.
He crushed that inner voice into a small ball and headed back to Metropolis.
The sky was a depressing slate-gray as Clark walked home from work later. He hunched his shoulders against a misty rain as he waited for the light to change. He should buy an umbrella, he thought glumly as he felt his hair getting slowly soaked. The Man of Steel, daunted by drizzle.
Batman would never forget his umbrella, he thought, then almost groaned out loud.
As if the sound were a cue, the drizzle stopped falling on him and Clark looked up to see a large black umbrella materialize over his head. "You're late," growled a voice, and he looked over to see Bruce Wayne standing there, one gloved hand holding a mother-of-pearl umbrella handle. "Barring emergencies, you reach this corner at six fifty. It's seven fifteen."
Clark blinked at him.
The light changed.
"Stop woolgathering. You'll miss the light," Bruce pointed out, taking his arm and walking him across the street.
"What are you doing here?" Clark stammered.
"I was thinking of you," Bruce said as though that was the only explanation needed. His arm was still linked with Clark's. "Let's have dinner in your apartment. Do Chinese takeout. That place you visit approximately three times a month is just another block. We'll order some kung pao, take it home."
Clark's favorite dish. "Only if we get some moo shu pork as well," Clark countered.
The smile Bruce gave him seemed to burn away all the drizzling rain entirely.
: : :
Bruce tasted like mint. He had brought a toothbrush with him, a fact which had thrilled Clark to the core. They were lying on Clark's Salvation Army couch, making out like teenagers. Bruce was nibbling on his earlobe and his hands were slipping down Clark's back to his belt, then under the waistband to encounter warm skin, somehow tentative and sure at the same time. The ceiling spun dizzily and Clark closed his eyes.
"I can't seem to stop thinking about you." The words were so much what Clark had been thinking that he was surprised to find he hadn't said them. "The boys keep rolling their eyes at me, mentioning Superman again. Talking about Clark Kent's latest story. Even when I was talking about what a pompous jerk you were, it was just an excuse to say your name again."
"You called me a pompous jerk?" The warm lips kissing along his jaw made it difficult to take the insult very seriously, and Clark felt laughter bubbling under his hurt tone.
"The most...irresistible...pompous jerk...I know." Bruce punctuated his statements with light kisses. "I began to get worried, you know. It seemed I could never get enough of you."
Clark did laugh then, he couldn't help it. "It's nothing," he said in response to Bruce's quizzical look. "I'm just happy." He hooked his fingers into pinstriped belt loops and tugged the other man closer. "Let's find out," he said. "Let's find out if we can get enough of each other."