Christmas Paradigm by cycnus39

It was 7 am on Christmas morning and he was standing under a dilapidated old pier thigh deep in seawater. The odd thing was, he didn't particularly mind. Someone had draped Christmas lights over the mouldy old wood in a fit of festive spirit and even though he had his eyes closed, they still made him happy because their cheery hum sounded like a slightly off tune Christmas choir.

He smiled at the silly simile. Okay, the truth was he was slaphappy with exhaustion. However, there was no escaping the fact that the hush of the sea calmed him, as did the presence of his companion.

"Don't fall on me," Bruce griped from where he stood just in front of him, adjusting his binoculars for the fifth time that hour.

"For the last time, I'm not going to fall asleep on you," he replied mildly. "And you can't see the ship through your binoculars because it's still ten minutes out."

"I can wait. You should go home."

"Is that what we're calling it now?"

Bruce growled a sigh and his heart rate picked up. He really was irritated. "You're not helping here, Clark. Go home and get some sleep."

"I'll be fine when the sun comes up. You've only had a few hours sleep in three days."

"So?"

"So you need sleep more than I do. You should be the one going home."

"Says the man who can't keep his eyes open."

He opened one eye and his x-ray vision immediately kicked in providing him with an unobstructed view of Bruce's very naked, provocatively tensing length. "Hmm, I'll try to keep at least one open from now on," he teased, leaned forward to drop a light kiss at the base of Bruce's neck.

Even though Bruce would have hardly felt the touch through the protective layers of the cowl, he still shuddered under a rush of arousal -- then spoiled the moment by glowering round at him. "I thought we agreed you were going to stop doing that?"

"You agreed. I just stood here."

"If you're bored, go home."

He closed his eyes again, focussed his hearing on the city behind them. In thousands of homes, families were waking up on Christmas morning. He heard loved ones greeting one another, children charging for their Christmas gifts, parents half-heartedly insisting on breakfast first, Christmas songs playing on the radio. He started humming along to Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer.

"Clark!"

He opened his eyes and smiled at Bruce's glare. "What?"

"Stop it." Bruce went back to fiddling with his binoculars.

He turned his senses out to the smuggler's ship. It was only a few minutes out. A grey dawn was beginning to creep over the horizon. "Your friends are cutting it close."

"That's how they like to operate."

"There are ten on board. Six below deck and four up top. They all have guns."

Bruce nodded. "I'll handle it."

"You're not even going to let me have one, are you?"

"No."

"I knew you were still in a mood about that bank robbery."

Bruce didn't comment, just turned his attention to the row of docks arrayed to the left of them. It was only then he realised Bruce had picked the spot under the mouldy old pier because it offered the best water level view of the bay while affording the best cover at the same time. If it wasn't for the fact that Bruce was concentrating on watching a pair of rowboats easing along from the centre dock, he would have kissed him again.

"Stay here," Bruce said while tucking his binoculars away in his belt. "And stay out of sight."

As Bruce waded off towards the steps growling under his breath about primary colours, he backed out of the water deeper into the shadows. Finding a comfortable looking rock, he sat down and expended a little more heat to dry off his costume.

He was idly watching the smugglers while listening to Bruce's progress along the warehouse roofs when he heard a child begin screaming a mile away in the city. He flew too fast for anyone to see, reached the apartment building when the child, a little girl, was still in mid scream. She was looking down. He saw the flurry of baby clothes falling to the street below, heard the rapid beat of the small heart, swooped in for the save.

The guinea pig in the christening robe wasn't particularly pleased to see him.

He couldn't help but laugh at the way it twitched its nose and blinked at him.

"Egbert!" the little girl cried out as he flew back up to the window. She had grabbed the guinea pig and clutched it to her chest before she realised there was a man floating outside her window.

"Egbert will be fine," he assured her as she gaped at him. "He's just--"

"MOMMY!" she shouted. "There's a--"

"Della, what's all the--" the mother froze in the doorway, staring.

"Good morning." He waved. "Merry Christmas."

The woman blinked, pulled her pink dressing gown more tightly around her and smoothed down her hair. "Hi, yeah, good morning and merry Christmas. Um, I'm sorry but you're standing outside my window and...Della..." The woman's gaze widened as she put two and two together and got six. "Oh my god, Della!" She rushed up and pulled her daughter into a desperate hug. "Oh, baby, I told you not to open the window."

"But Egbert wanted to see Mr Owens' Christmas lights, Mommy. Then he got naughty and wriggly and I dropped him."

"You...oh. Oh my god." She laughed and covered her mouth, picked up her daughter and balanced her on a hip as she faced him. "I'm so sorry. Really. I am," she gasped between giggles.

"It's fine, really." He chuckled even as he felt his cheeks warm. "I'm sure Egbert is a very special guinea pig."

"Can I offer you something? A hot chocolate?" she went on as Della nodded and hugged her pet. "I make my own with Swiss chocolate and hot milk. It's really good. Well, Della loves it," she finished, embarrassed.

"I'm sure I'd love it too," he assured her. "But I have a friend waiting--"

"Oh, I can do one for them too. You can take away. I have a pack of those big foam Dixie cup things I bought for eggnog last year. Never got around to making the eggnog." She laughed nervously. "I'm Sarah, by the way. Sarah Mitchell."

"Pleased to meet you, Ms Mitchell, and hot chocolate to go would be perfect."

"Sarah, please, and I guess you've met Della and Egbert and we know who you are, so...I'm babbling. Sorry. I'll go put the milk on the stove." She put her daughter down. "Della, you be a good girl and be nice to Superman while I get the treat drink, okay?"

Della nodded again and Sarah hurried out the room.

He smiled at Della.

The little girl watched him in doleful silence.

"Is there something wrong, Della? You look a little sad there."

"Are you going to marry my mommy?" the girl demanded with an accusatory glare.

He blinked. "Um...no."

Della continued to glare at him no matter what he said. He was glad when Sarah returned a few minutes later with the hot chocolates, though he did wonder when she had the time to brush her hair and put on makeup.

"There you go." She handed him two full, Styrofoam cups. "I do hope you and your friend enjoy it."

"Oh, I'm sure we will. Thank you." He nodded politely and flew away.

He felt Della's glare on him all the way back to the docks.

Instead of returning to the pier, he hovered eighty feet above the action, watched Bruce bring down gun smuggler after gun smuggler. It was a thing of beauty, poetry in motion. He wondered how people couldn't look at Bruce and see his resplendence. Then Bruce broke another smuggler's arm and he sighed, used a quick blast of heat vision to snap the rope holding open the cabin door so it bounced back in the face of the last man, knocking him cold. He then withdrew back to where Bruce's car was parked in a nearby alley, was leaning against the driver's door sipping hot chocolate when Bruce arrived a few minutes later.

"Stop for takeout?" Bruce asked dryly.

"I brought you one." He handed Bruce the other cup.

Bruce took it only to eye it warily.

"It's hot chocolate," he prompted. "It's good. Try it."

Bruce took a sip and didn't spit it out. "You've got fur on your costume."

"Yes, I do." He nodded. There was no way he was going to admit to Bruce he was rescuing a guinea pig. "How did it go with the smugglers?"

"As you saw. Are you planning on moving sometime soon so I can get in my car?"

"Sorry." He walked around the trunk and stood by the passenger door.

Bruce just looked at him.

He smiled. "Give me a ride?"

"Open," Bruce said and the door locks released.

They climbed in, put their cups in the drinks holder and buckled up in unison. As Bruce started the engine and pulled away, he reclaimed his cup and drank his hot chocolate while studying the array of buttons and switches decorating the dashboard. He frowned at a small green screen he didn't remember seeing before.

"Is that new?"

"No." Bruce was concentrating on driving, which was just as well given the speed they were travelling at through the winding alleyways.

"I don't think I've seen it before," he clarified. "What is it?"

"A White Martian detector."

"You mean there's a miniature flame thrower hidden behind it. And, no, I didn't peek."

"If you did you'd know it wasn't so miniature," Bruce returned playfully.

He grinned at that, decided he was going to kiss Bruce senseless when they got to the cave. "Forgive me, Mr Wayne. I didn't mean to cast aspersions on the size of your equipment."

"Speaking of equipment, you're going to have to do something about how they're transporting Volcana. Sedation and fire retardant guard uniforms are a joke."

"They're doing their best."

"Their best meant she escaped twice in twenty-four hours."

"I know that. I was there."

"You shouldn't have to capture the same criminal three times in one day just because they're too cheap to risk transporting the vacuum chamber they built for her. No matter how many keys to the city they give you, they're obviously not valuing your time."

"Again with the keys to the city," he growled. "Whenever you get annoyed with an aspect of Metropolis' infrastructure, you start on about the keys to the city."

"They should value you practically, Clark, not with pointless symbolism."

He could see this turning ugly. Biting back a spiteful retort, he jammed his hot chocolate back in the drinks holder and changed the subject. "What's Alfred making for breakfast?"

Bruce flicked a switch and a flat panel in front of the passenger seat flipped over revealing an eight-inch LCD unit. "Ask him yourself," Bruce said just as the screen burst into life showing Alfred's face.

"Good morning, sir. I trust all went well?"

"Yes, Alfred, thanks," he returned, happy to be speaking to someone who wasn't likely to exasperate him at any given moment.

"We're five minutes out," Bruce put in. "Just coming up on Memorial Bridge."

"Very good, Master Bruce," Alfred responded with his usual poise. "I thought pancakes this morning, sirs. Served with bacon and apple but with cinnamon tarts on the side as a Christmas treat."

His stomach rumbled appreciatively and he spoke up quickly to cover the noise. "That sounds wonderful, Alfred. We'll see you soon."

"Indeed, sir." The screen went blank and flipped back around.

As the car turned onto the large suspension bridge that linked Gotham City to Bristol, he looked over at Bruce, studying him first by the strengthening morning sun and then by the harsh, overhead flashes from the bridge's cold, white lights.

"I don't know how you do it," he said softly.

The car rumbled over the section bumps like a train rattling on its track.

They were nearing the end of the bridge when Bruce finally prompted, "Do what?"

"He spoils you because he loves you," he returned low. "You should let him do it more often." He felt like adding something blatant but seconds staggered by and then it was too late. But he Bruce knew exactly what he meant just as sure as he knew pushing the point would only make Bruce close down.

They turned off the bridge and cut under the expressway then up onto the dark, winding forest road that forked off to the various towns in the area.

"Blackbird to Oracle," Bruce said and there was an electronic buzz as the line automatically opened.

"You have reached Oracle. I'm off enjoying Christmas with my family. Please leave a message after the tone," replied Barbara Gordon's obviously live voice.

"Very funny," Bruce returned.

"That's what you almost got, Blackbird," Barbara went on. "I'm just automating my systems now."

"Remember to--"

"Done."

"And--"

"On it. Everything's in hand, boss."

"Acknowledged. Blackbird signing off. Give my best to your family."

"Always, Blackbird. Merry Christmas. Oracle out."

They continued winding on through the darkness. He was just about to speak when Bruce got there first.

"Hardly anyone drives on these back roads anymore. The expressway gets them there in half the time."

"Sometimes the experience is worth taking a little more time out your day," he replied. "Sometimes the journey is more important than the destination."

Bruce smirked. "Do you do greeting cards too?"

"Given the right incentives, I'm sure I could turn my hand to almost anything," he teased.

"Almost anything?" Bruce queried as they turned down a dead end track at an alarming speed and then, suddenly, they were gliding down the smooth ramps of the cave to the parking area.

"Almost anything," he confirmed as the car came to an abrupt but gentle halt.

The doors automatically opened when they unbuckled their safety belts and they climbed out onto the cave floor.

"What kind of incentives?" Bruce continued, walking around to meet him at the front of the car, making him forget about the hot chocolates they had abandoned inside.

"Warm ones." He met Bruce with a kiss, detached Bruce's cape even as he deepened the kiss, pulled Bruce tight against him.

Bruce responded in kind, plundered his mouth in return, body moving erotically against his own. He wanted more. Bruce's cowl and suit made his fingers feel numb, denied him the sensations he needed. As Bruce continued to move against him, taking some perverse pleasure in his frustration, his temper snapped. In a burst of super speed, he stripped Bruce naked. Disorientated, Bruce tried to push him away but he pulled Bruce in tight again, captured his mouth in the deepest of kisses. Bruce continued to resist for a few more rapid heartbeats but then shuddered under a renewed rush of arousal, rubbed his body hungrily against him once more.

He soaked up the feel of Bruce in his arms: smooth skin, hard muscle, soft hair. It was addictive, more potent than kryptonite, more invigorating than sunlight. But unlike the sun, Bruce was unpredictable, slipped out of his embrace to kneel at his feet. His heart seemed to hammer out his chest when Bruce tugged on his costume, released his erection from its cloth confines. When the wet heat of Bruce's mouth and throat engulfed his erection, his senses exploded. For a brief moment, he could hear and see everything for fifty miles. Then suddenly his senses narrowed with pinpoint accuracy and nothing existed except Bruce.

"Car."

He blinked, belatedly registered the cool air on his erection, finally made sense of Bruce's hoarsely gasped word as Bruce grabbed him by his left wrist and pulled him to the side of the hood. When Bruce bent over, flat to the perfect black metal, offering himself, he tried to keep control, tried to ease his slick erection into Bruce's tight heat slowly and calmly. But Bruce was growling, pressing back and their heartbeats were racing so fast, so loud, he couldn't tell Bruce's from his own and suddenly he was thrusting fast and hard, trying to catch up, and Bruce stopped breathing as his orgasm hit and then he was coming hard, pumping hot semen deep inside Bruce's body.

Bruce always got surly after sex. There were never any snuggles or afterglow. He put it down to the fact that Bruce only enjoyed the kind of sex that seemed like a great idea at the time but left him feeling a little sore. In more ways than one. Whatever the reason, to stop matters taking a bad turn, he always had to withdraw quickly and give Bruce his space. Usually Bruce put physical distance between them or at least turned away. This time Bruce turned towards him, slid down to sit on the floor beside the wheel.

He frowned and righted his clothes, looked away to the depths of the cave, but in the end had to say something. "Isn't that cold?"

"Not particularly." Bruce picked a short strand of hair off his chest to examine. "Guinea pig."

He felt his cheeks warm under Bruce's interrogative gaze. "Alfred's expecting us upstairs. We should hit the showers and change."

Bruce held out a hand and he pulled him to his feet, into a warm kiss. He then brought his hands up to cup Bruce's face, caressed his fingers up into Bruce's hair. Bruce deepened the kiss for a few heartbeats then withdrew, led the way to the showers.

Since the cubicles in the cave were purpose built and accordingly small, they had to shower separately. He wasn't particularly pleased with the arrangement but knew Bruce would prefer it that way. Although he had a tactile nature himself and would happily touch and kiss all day long without intent to arouse, for Bruce it was all or nothing and every touch had a purpose. It was difficult for Bruce to touch just for the sake of touching, to be held just for the sake of being near. It was something he felt needed remedied.

He showered quickly, selected the largest set of workout clothes from Bruce's hamper while drying himself off then dressed and cleaned up around the car at super speed before getting back in time to watch Bruce emerge from the shower dripping wet.

"I knew there was a Santa Claus," he couldn’t help but say.

Bruce gave him a wry look, sat tiredly down on the bench in front of the shower cubicles and picked up a towel from the neatly folded stack beside him to dry his hair. "If you're admitting to routinely sending letters to third parties requesting to see me wet and naked, I think I'll sue."

"Where would be the fun in that?" He walked up to retrieve a towel and then sat down on the bench beside Bruce. "If I have anything you want, I'll give it to you." He shook out the towel and began drying Bruce's back. "Just ask," he continued with a kiss on a flexing shoulder muscle. Then another muscle tensed to the right and he couldn't resist kissing that as well. "Have you ever been in a kissing booth?"

Bruce finished drying his hair, dropped the wet towel on the floor and met his gaze. "Have I what?"

"Ever been in a kissing booth. It's a--"

"I know what it is, Clark."

"And?"

"No." Bruce picked up a clean towel and bent over to start drying his feet and legs.

"You should try it." He took advantage of Bruce's position to rub the towel further down his back then over his hips and sides. "You'd make a fortune."

"I already have a fortune."

"Point." He laid the damp towel on the bench behind him and picked up a new one to dry Bruce's chest and arms while Bruce got a clean towel to take care of his thighs and everything else south of his stomach.

"Superman would make a fortune in a kissing booth," Bruce continued the silly conversation. "Then I could sue you for the naked thing."

"Wet and naked thing," he corrected. "The wet is an integral part of it." He had begun kissing the tensing muscles in Bruce's nearest arm when a thought suddenly struck him. "The League could do it."

Bruce stopped what he was doing to give him a warning glare. "Tell me you’re joking."

"As our New Year charity fundraiser. Wally hasn't come up with anything workable yet and this could really work. Think about it--"

"I have," Bruce growled. "It's a terrible idea, Clark. You need to go upstairs and get some sun. Now. Before your brain shuts down completely."

"Bruce, a Justice League--"

"Don't say it."

"Kissing booth fundraiser would work perfectly."

"No, it wouldn't."

"It won't be mandatory," he returned, getting irritated and more attached to the idea the more Bruce dismissed it out of hand. "Lots of us will volunteer for a good cause."

"You think?"

"Superman's doing it," he stated with finality, and, just like that, he'd committed himself to carrying out his silly, spur-of-the-moment idea.

"Terrific." Abandoning the bench and the towels, Bruce went over to the hamper and fished out a set of workout clothes. "And what happens when someone you kissed at your high school prom realises Superman is Clark Kent? Goes public with it?"

He would have answered but Bruce had just pulled on a particularly tight t-shirt and he was too busy admiring the way it clung to every curve and plane.

"I'll tell you what will happen," Bruce muttered to himself as he continued to dress. "There will be an international incident. We'll have to round up half the world's media, take them up to the Watchtower and accidentally jettison them into space. Along with the prom kisser. And everyone else he's ever kissed."

He had to laugh at that, go over and kiss Bruce sweetly on the lips. "Now that sounds like jealousy, Mr Wayne."

Bruce just blinked at him for a moment, clearly out on his feet. "You're actually going to go through with it."

It wasn't a question but he still replied, "Yes, I am. It will be fine. Trust me. I'll work all the details out with J'onn and it will go off without a hitch."

"When something involves that many people, Clark, it never does go off without a hitch," Bruce returned tiredly before moving past to lead the way up to the house. "I need coffee."

"What you need is sleep." He followed Bruce across the cave floor and up the stairs. "We don't have to be at the farm until this afternoon."

"Don't remind me," Bruce groaned.

He stopped on the stairs and folded his arms. "You said you'd go this year, Bruce. You said you wanted to go."

"And I'm going, Clark. I'll be fine after a few gallons of coffee," Bruce insisted, reaching the top of the stairs and pushing open the clock door to walk into the study.

After a moment, he followed.

The sunlight flooding through the large windows of the study hit him like a physical blow as he stepped onto the plush carpet. He gasped, his whole body tingling to an almost painful degree. He must have closed his eyes against the rush of power flooding his cells because when he opened them a moment later, Bruce was standing a few strides away, watching him.

"It feels different every time," he said with a reassuring smile.

Bruce turned and walked away without comment.

He followed slowly, loath to leave the sunlight. By the time he reached the kitchen, Bruce was sitting at the breakfast bar with a mug of coffee in one hand and a cinnamon tart in the other. Alfred had obviously cajoled Bruce into taking the tart because instead of eating it, Bruce just studied it over the rim of his mug.

"I assure you, Master Bruce, I only used the slightest dash of cyanide," Alfred was saying as he entered the room. "Ah, sir, good morning again and merry Christmas," Alfred greeted him with a warm smile. "Please do sit. Perhaps you can be the Master's chief taster," Alfred finished dryly while fixing him a large plate of pancakes, bacon and apple slices.

Well used to Alfred's scathing wit, Bruce ignored it all.

"Yes, thank you, Alfred. Merry Christmas to you too," he returned awkwardly, took his seat at the breakfast bar opposite Bruce. "I don't mind admitting I could eat an entire cow right now."

"A healthy appetite is an excellent attribute, sir." Alfred laid a loaded breakfast plate down before him even as Bruce returned the cinnamon tart to the plate untouched. "I fondly recall when members of this household possessed one." Alfred turned on his heel and went over to the sink to wash up.

Deciding it was better to keep his head down, he tucked into breakfast. He wasn't expecting the fluffy, melt in the mouth texture of the pancakes. And the apple, the apple had a sour tang that complemented the bacon amazingly and made whole dish perfection on a plate.

"Alfred, this is...this is wonderful," he said when he'd finally brought himself to swallow the heavenly concoction.

"I am very gratified to hear that, sir." Alfred dried his hands on a towel as he stepped politely over to continue the conversation. "The pancake recipe is of my own design though I feel I must acknowledge Ms Fanny Craddock's input. I will, of course, be happy to provide you with a copy."

"Thank you. That would be really great. I’m sure Ma and Pa would love to try them tomorrow morning. And the apple?" he went on, ignoring the way Bruce slumped a little in his seat at the mere mention of his parents.

"Granny Smiths, sir. We grow our own. They store exceptionally well. I'm sure we could be persuaded to part with some."

"Thank you again, Alfred." He grinned across at Bruce, who just smiled slightly and shook his head.

As he tucked into his breakfast with the abandon of the hungry man he was, Alfred cleared his throat and addressed Bruce.

"I trust the police department received an extra large delivery of gun smugglers in their stockings this morning, sir?"

"Indeed they did, Alfred." Bruce's mood seemed to be lifting now Alfred wasn't trying to force feed him tart. "And the information they'll provide will break open the ring right across Europe."

"Oh, well done, Master Bruce," Alfred praised, pleased and proud.

The tone was exactly the same one his parents used and he looked up from his plate to see how Bruce reacted to it. He found Bruce was looking directly at him. Bruce was also smirking. Then he noticed the evil glint in Bruce's eye and knew what was coming.

"Clark deserves your praise too, Alfred," Bruce began in that smug, rich boy way that always meant trouble. "Why just this morning he rescued a guinea pig."

He glared at Bruce but Alfred handled the news like the professional he was.

"Is that so, sir? Well, I have to say that animal is a very fortuitous member of the Rodentia order."

"Not really." He smiled even as his cheeks warmed. "Its name was Egbert."