Kiss Me, Take My Breath Away (A Superbat AU)

Let's cry together or not at all

The next day is a bit more difficult for Clark and Bruce.

Bruce wakes up with his lower tail aching, and he knows it's not exactly smart to go hunting in this state to put himself at risk. It's quite possible for a siren to get by on kelp and sea weed, but Clark, the resident human, needs to eat. He carefully thinks about his options (quite few really), and makes up his mind.

Then he starts humming, because singing will most certainly wake Clark up, and he's quite content to stare at the sleeping form for a few more minutes. Tousled hair, face pressed against a bed of palm leaves, shirt ridden up to show a delicious sliver of toned skin – it's distracting, but oh so intoxicatingly pleasant.

To be fair, he doesn't expect a lot of game. Maybe a few minnows, some shrimp or some carp-the usual suckers ready to be anyone's lunch - but the sheer amount of damn fish that crowd around him after five minutes is disturbing, because he doesn't think that Clark is going to eat this much and the poor bastards don't want to leave. A fleeting thought of oceanic masochism passes through his mind, but he chuckles and shoes it away.

But seriously, there's so many of them, it's annoying now. Dozens of little eyes staring at him expectantly, not realizing he's invited them to breakfast to put them on the menu. By the time Clark wakes up, Bruce is trying to shoo an overly friendly octopus away, without much success.

"Bruce?" Clark sounds confused. That's probably because there is a horde of sea creatures looking at him curiously.

"Yes?"

"What are you doing?" The octopus still hasn't let go of his waist yet. It's embarrassing really.

"Trying to make you breakfast?" The excuse sounds much weaker than he thought it would, and Bruce himself winces a bit at how it sounds.

However, Clark has this innate ability to look overly adorable in the morning and before he knows it, Bruce is moving forward, and subsequently letting out a feral hiss at the stab of pain in his lower tail.

"Bruce, shit-are you okay?"

"If I say yes, will you worry less?"

"No." The answer is quick and unabashed, and the siren feels something in his chest flutter in response. He is still getting used to the fact that Clark cares, and not in the I-want-to-stuff-you-in-a-terrarium kind of care. It's touching, as the humans would say.

Clark takes a thorough look at Bruce, and makes his verdict after a few minutes.

"You're not moving a muscle until tomorrow, you know that right?"

"I'm fine."

He tries to move off his rock perch again and his whole tail groans in disapproval. The pain is evident in his expression, and Clark rushes to push him back down, shushing him and ordering him to stay still. The determined look in Bruce's eye is now worrying.

"If you move, I will probably make a sound you have never heard escape a human body before, Bruce. You have sensitive ears if I recall correctly." The fierce look the Clark gives him while brushing hair out of his face is beautiful. Is he starting to get stubble?

Well damn.

More to the point, it's a low blow but screaming might actually work considering Bruce wouldn't get very far trying to cover his ears and flail away at the same time. Clark might be the smartest human Bruce has ever met, though one doesn't exactly give their lunch an IQ test before digging in, so he's not one hundred percent sure if he's right.

"Such tactics seem beneath you Clark. Aren't you supposed to be the good one?"

The sailor raises a single eyebrow in response.