trista_zevkia: (SuperBat)
[personal profile] trista_zevkia
Title: Christmas Snacks
Author: Trista_zevkia
Chapter: 1/1
Fandom: Batman/Superman
Characters/Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Rating: PG-17
Warnings: SLASH
Summary: Arguments about where to spend the holidays don't end this way often enough;)
Disclaimer: All this happened, more or less
Author's Notes: For ecto-gammat comment here

A hand reached out from under the magnificent machine that was the Batmobile, even if the owner wouldn’t call it that. The hand found what it was looking for, snagging a cookie off the silver tray next to his toolbox. It probably wasn’t sanitary, nor would some people be happy to find an expensive family heirloom resting on the cave floor. But some people would just be happy that the hand snagging the cookies was eating, getting some sort of nourishment.

Some people would see that hand reaching back out for another cookie and think devious thoughts. The hand moved back under the car, and there was a second for it to be moved to the mouth hidden under the car. The hand, the mouth and all that was attached to it, rolled out from under the car, cookie replaced with a heavy wrench held at a threatening angle.

“It’s just me, Bruce, Clark, your lover, boyfriend, teammate!” The words came out in a rush, almost too fast to be understood, but they got through to the man before he could attack the intruder with the wrench.

“I’d whack you upside the head if I didn’t need this wrench.”

“For what?” Clark asked, confused about the need for such threats.

“Switching out my cookies.”

“Switching, not stealing, so not a crime.”

“A real crime, because these are Alfred’s cookies.” Bruce picked up the tray and set it on top of the cabinet of tools.

“Switched with my Mom’s, so watch what you say.” Clark added his plastic container to the top of the tools cabinet.

“It’s green and purple, I thought it was a Joker trap!”

“You thought the Joker would break into the batcave, completely silent, no gloating, just to give you a cookie?”

“Joker. It’s right in the name.”

“Right. Besides, it’s a sugar cookie with red and green icing to make it look like an elf, not a purple and green harlequin.” Clark handed one of his cookies to Bruce, who frowned but took it.

“Under the car it looked purple. If you’re going to stay, make yourself useful and check the bats to make sure they’re hibernating properly.” Bruce started to turn back to his car, so Clark knew he had to proceed.

“Bruce, I came by so we could talk.”

Bruce picked up a mostly full glass of milk, but turned back to Clark. “What about?”

“The holidays.”

“What about them?”

“Well, Thanksgiving was kind of a bust.”

“You said you didn’t blame me for that.”

“I don’t! I know you had to stop Clayface from sending parts of himself shaped like turkeys into people’s houses to rob them. And I completely understand why no one wanted to eat turkey for days after that, what with having spent most of the night fighting bald clay turkeys.”

“Then why did you bring it up?”

“We were supposed to go to the Farm for Thanksgiving, and here for Christmas.”

“Your Mom blames me for ruining Thanksgiving?” Bruce’s hand hovered between the two dishes of cookies.

“No, of course not! She just wants to see her grandkids.”

“Her what?”

“She loves your kids, and thinks of them that way. And Kon, too.”

“She can come up any time she wants, she doesn’t have to wait for Christmas Eve or something.” Bruce muttered to the cookie he pulled out of the plastic container.

“She knows that, she also know she’s got a farm to run.” Clark took the milk from Bruce for a sip, before selecting one of Alfred’s cookies. “Even if she isn’t out plowing the fields herself, there is still a lot of work to do, all year round.”

“So, you’ve decided that we should spend Christmas in Smallville?”

“Not decided, but I do want to talk about it.”

“Again? Do you not remember the fight we had when we decided on the Thanksgiving at the farm and Christmas at the manor thing?”

“I remember the make-up sex.” Clark said, choosing to dwell on the positive.

“No smirking suggestively when you want an intelligent conversation.”

“Right, sorry.” Clark looked more regretful than sorry, but pushed on. “What’s so great about Christmas in the manor?”

“It’s not about the manor, it’s about practicality.”

“That’s what you said before, that got me to agree to Thanksgiving there and Christmas here, so I’ve thought about it. Dick, Tim, Damien, Kon can all share my room. You can afford cots for them, and they’ve slept in worse places. Cass and Steph get the guest room, we’ll share the barn and I’ll keep you warm.” Clark refrained from the suggestive look he wanted to finish with.

“And Alfred will crash on the couch or is he going to sleep with your Mom?”

“You didn’t mention Alfred before.”

“I’m not forcing him to spend another Christmas alone, like I did when I was off training.”

“So, Alfred gets the guest room and Cass and Steph get my room, and the boys get the barn. I’ll fly you back to the manor whenever you get around to falling asleep.”

“Leave those boys without somebody capable of making them stop killing each other?”

“Don’t underestimate my Mom, or Alfred for that matter.”

“Damien really does want to kill Tim sometimes. Not kill in a playful manner, but rip out his heart with a two handed mantis strike to prove he’s a better fighter. Damien doesn’t quite get it that we’re detective first.”

“So Damien and Dick in my room, Tim and Alfred…”



“No, Alfred is not sharing a room or a bed with anyone, unless he asks them. Leave the man some dignity. And where would you put Steph and Cass?”


“So Cass can keep Steph up all night, showing her how various farm implements can be used as weapons?”

“It might come in handy, the ability to take down a sniper with a pitchfork.”

“Have you not hung out with Steph when she doesn’t get at least five hours of sleep?”

“Good point. In fact, all good points.” Clark sighed heavily, the noise getting a frown out of Bruce. “We’ll stay here.”

“Why does it matter so much? The whole family will be together, and that’s what all those movies you and Dick make me watch claim is important.”

“My Mom, when I went to tell her about Thanksgiving. She understood, totally and didn’t blame anybody, but she looked so sad.”

“Old.” Bruce added in a small voice, substituting the word Clark wanted to use but couldn’t.


Bruce didn’t have words for that, so he pulled Clark into a bone crushing hug. Clark stopped his return hug just short of being literally bone crushing.

“What if this is her last Christmas? I just want her to have it in her home, you know?”

“Alfred’s got six years on her, and he looks so mortal after I get badly injured.”

“Are you discussing me, Sirs?” Alfred’s voice cut through the cave, as he came to retrieve the silver snack tray.

Clark attempted to pull out of the hug, nervous about Alfred seeing him like this.

Bruce held the hug until Alfred had picked up the tray, as showy as he could be about his love for Clark.

“Alfred, Clark wants to go to the farm for Christmas. Would you mind not having the house to decorate and just helping Martha in the kitchen?”

“I would be more than willing to help Mrs. Kent, but only if she asked me.”

“You’re not even worried about where you will sleep?” Clark asked, a little confused about how easily Alfred was accepting this change of plans. “You know the nearest hotel is like two hours away.”

“Fortunately, Master Bruce is very rich.”

“Even with Superman’s help, you don’t think I can build a hotel in three weeks or something?”

“Sir, this is not the time to be facetious. A caravan or some form of recreational vehicle will contain the boys and their enthusiasm. While we are there, you can begin construction on addition to the house for next year’s holidays.”

“In-laws aren’t supposed to be this forgiving or understanding, Alfred.” Clark asked with a sheepish grin.

“Never fear, Master Clark, I will have my say for the New Year’s Eve party.”

“Oh, kill me know.” Bruce muttered, rubbing at his forehead.

“Most amusing, Master Bruce.” Alfred replied, carrying the tray toward the elevator.

Clark leaned over to whisper in Bruce’s ear, hoping Alfred wouldn’t overhear. “Come upstairs and let me work off the calories from those cookies. You’ll forget all about wanting to be killed.”



“We’ll go RV shopping tomorrow, and then burn some more calories.”

“Yes, Sir!” Clark offered a neat little salute, and got a bird in reply. Deciding that was an invitation, Clark flew after Bruce, picked him up and took him to their bedroom. A little communication was a wonderful thing.


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May 2014

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