História Love In The Dark - 8. Unspoken Desires

Bruce Wayne’s knuckles tightened around the steering wheel as he drove through the flat, open fields of Smallville. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the countryside, and the air was warm and heavy with the scent of hay and earth. He had spent the better part of the day searching Metropolis for Clark, but he hadn't found him at the Daily Planet, or his apartment. Lois had told him that Clark had taken some time off and gone back home to Kansas. 

So now, Bruce found himself on a lonely road heading to the Kent family farm, where Superman was supposedly spending his days doing something as mundane and yet deeply rooted as farm work. Bruce wasn't used to seeing Clark outside of his suit, outside of Metropolis, or outside the endless cycle of heroism. It felt strange to imagine him here, living the life of Clark Kent rather than Superman.

Finally, the familiar red barn came into view. Bruce parked the car by the side of the dirt road and stepped out, dust kicking up around his boots. He squinted against the sun as he scanned the area, his heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and nerves. It was ridiculous, really—Bruce Wayne didn’t get nervous. But today, with everything that had been swirling between them, everything that he was about to confront, he couldn’t help it.

He walked across the field, his steps slow and deliberate. As he rounded the corner of the barn, he saw him.

Clark was standing in the middle of the field, shirtless, working on what looked like repairing an old fence. His body glistened with a sheen of sweat under the afternoon sun, muscles rippling as he hammered a new post into the ground. His jeans hung low on his hips, and his bare feet were firmly planted in the soft earth.

Bruce froze.

For a moment, he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. His gaze lingered on Clark’s broad back, the way the muscles shifted beneath his skin, the effortless strength that seemed to radiate from him. Clark looked completely at ease here, in his element, with the world at peace around him. There was something raw, something deeply human about seeing Clark like this. No suit, no cape—just a man.

And Bruce… Bruce couldn’t deny what was happening in that moment. He couldn’t deny the way his breath caught in his throat, or the way his heart started to race. He couldn’t deny the heat that pooled low in his belly, a heat that had nothing to do with the summer sun and everything to do with the man standing just a few feet away.

Bruce clenched his jaw, trying to force the thoughts away. This wasn’t him—this wasn’t how he allowed himself to think. He had spent years controlling every aspect of himself, keeping every emotion locked down, every desire buried beneath layers of discipline and cold calculation. But standing here, watching Clark work in the golden light of the setting sun, that control was slipping.

And for the first time, Bruce wasn’t sure he wanted to stop it.

Clark hadn’t noticed him yet, still focused on his task. Bruce took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, and forced his feet to move. As he approached, Clark finally glanced over his shoulder. His face broke into a wide, easy smile when he saw Bruce, his blue eyes bright and warm.

"Bruce," Clark greeted, wiping the sweat from his brow. He didn’t seem surprised to see him—Clark always had a way of knowing when Bruce was near. "What brings you all the way out to Smallville?"

Bruce swallowed hard, forcing himself to maintain his usual stoic expression. "I came to talk."

Clark nodded, his expression growing a bit more serious. "I figured as much." He leaned the hammer against the fence post and turned to fully face Bruce, still shirtless, his skin glowing in the fading light. "Well, I’m listening."

For a long moment, Bruce didn’t say anything. He just stood there, his eyes roaming over Clark’s body, taking in every detail. He tried to fight it, tried to keep his mind from wandering into dangerous territory, but it was no use. He couldn’t help it. Clark was… beautiful. 

Bruce had always admired Clark’s strength, his power, his unshakable optimism. But now, standing here in the quiet of the farm, seeing him like this, Bruce couldn’t deny the pull he felt—an attraction that went beyond admiration, beyond respect. It was something deeper, something he had refused to acknowledge for too long.

"I’m sorry," Bruce said, his voice low, rougher than usual.

Clark tilted his head slightly, looking confused. "For what?"

"For avoiding you," Bruce admitted, his gaze flickering up to meet Clark’s eyes. "For pushing you away."

Clark’s expression softened, and he stepped closer to Bruce, his presence warm and grounding. "Bruce, you don’t have to apologize. I know you… and I know why you do what you do. I’ve never expected anything more from you than what you’re willing to give."

Bruce let out a quiet breath, his fists clenched at his sides. "Maybe you should."

Clark blinked, clearly taken aback by Bruce’s words. He stepped even closer, his hand reaching out to touch Bruce’s arm, the warmth of his skin sending a jolt of electricity through Bruce’s body.

"What are you saying?" Clark asked, his voice soft but laced with concern.

Bruce hesitated, his mind warring with itself. He had never been good at this—at opening up, at letting anyone in. But this was Clark. Clark, who had seen him at his worst, who had saved him more times than Bruce could count. Clark, who stood by him no matter what, who looked at him with those eyes full of hope and kindness, even when Bruce felt like he didn’t deserve it.

"I…" Bruce started, then stopped, swallowing hard as he tried to find the right words. "I’ve been trying to figure things out. Trying to make sense of… this." He gestured between them, his chest tight with the weight of everything he was trying to say.

Clark’s hand stayed on Bruce’s arm, steady and grounding. "You don’t have to explain it all right now, Bruce. Just… talk to me. I’m here."

Bruce looked into Clark’s eyes, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he let his guard down. Just a little.

"I don’t know how to handle this," Bruce admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "You… you mean more to me than I know how to deal with."

Clark’s eyes widened slightly, his grip on Bruce’s arm tightening just a fraction. "Bruce…"

Bruce shook his head, trying to hold onto whatever control he had left. "I’ve spent my whole life pushing people away. It’s easier that way. It keeps things simple. But with you… it’s not simple."

Clark’s expression softened, and he took another step closer, until there was barely any space between them. "It doesn’t have to be simple, Bruce. It just has to be honest."

Bruce swallowed hard, his heart racing as he stood there, inches away from Clark. He could feel the warmth radiating from him, could smell the faint scent of earth and sweat clinging to his skin. And for the first time, Bruce allowed himself to feel the desire that had been building inside him for so long—the desire to reach out, to touch Clark, to close the distance between them.

But he didn’t. Not yet. Not until he knew what Clark was feeling.

"What do you want, Clark?" Bruce asked quietly, his voice raw and vulnerable in a way it rarely was.

Clark’s gaze softened even more, his hand sliding down Bruce’s arm to gently take his hand. "I want you, Bruce," he said simply, his voice full of quiet sincerity. "All of you. Just as you are."

Bruce’s breath hitched, his heart pounding in his chest as those words sank in. For so long, he had tried to keep his distance, tried to control his emotions, tried to keep Clark at arm’s length. But now, standing here in the quiet of the farm, with the setting sun casting a golden glow over them, Bruce realized that he didn’t want to fight it anymore. He didn’t want to keep pushing Clark away. He wanted to let him in.

Slowly, Bruce closed the distance between them, his free hand reaching up to rest on Clark’s chest. The warmth of his skin beneath Bruce’s fingers sent a shiver through him, and for the first time in a long time, Bruce allowed himself to feel—really feel.

And it felt like coming home.

The soft chirping of crickets and the distant rustle of the Kansas breeze filled the warm evening air as Clark led Bruce into the farmhouse. It was quiet, peaceful, nothing like the world they were used to—Gotham’s ever-present chaos or Metropolis’s bustling noise. Here, time seemed to slow down, and for a moment, Bruce could breathe.

Clark had grabbed his shirt on the way in, but he hadn’t bothered to put it back on. He smiled, an easy, almost shy smile, as he glanced back at Bruce, who was taking in the simplicity of the Kent home. It felt different from everything Bruce was used to—different from the opulence of Wayne Manor, the cold steel of the Batcave, or the constant demands of their shared vigilante lives. 

And somehow, that difference felt like what he needed.

Clark led him up the narrow stairs, past old family photos and the faint scent of fresh bread lingering from earlier in the day. Bruce followed, his mind racing, his heart pounding in a way it hadn’t in years. He had faced death countless times. He had stared down the Joker, Ra’s al Ghul, and the endless horrors of Gotham. But tonight, what lay ahead felt like the most daunting of all: vulnerability. 

At the top of the stairs, Clark paused outside a small bedroom, the door slightly ajar. The room was simple—soft, muted colors, a bed covered in a quilt that looked handmade, with an old dresser and a window that opened out onto the fields. There was a warmth to the space, something that spoke of comfort and home, and it made Bruce feel strangely out of place but at ease all at once.

Clark looked over his shoulder again, his eyes searching Bruce’s, almost as if he were asking for permission, for some confirmation that this was what they both wanted. 

Bruce gave him a nod, not trusting himself to speak just yet. His body was already thrumming with anticipation, with the weight of everything unsaid between them. He felt his guard crumbling further, the walls he had so carefully built around himself coming down, one brick at a time.

Clark pushed open the door and stepped inside, Bruce following close behind. The room was bathed in the soft, amber glow of the setting sun, the light filtering through the curtains and casting shadows on the walls. Clark moved toward the bed, and for a moment, they stood in silence, the tension between them palpable.

Then, with a soft, almost hesitant smile, Clark reached out, his fingers brushing against Bruce’s cheek. The touch was gentle, and yet it sent a jolt through Bruce, igniting something deep inside him. Clark’s hand lingered, his thumb tracing a path along Bruce’s jawline before resting just beneath his chin.

"You’re sure about this?" Clark asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. There was something vulnerable in his gaze—something Bruce hadn’t seen before. Even with all his power, Clark was still asking, still waiting for Bruce to meet him halfway.

Bruce swallowed hard, his chest tight with emotion. He had spent so long denying this, denying himself, but standing here with Clark, in this quiet, sacred moment, he knew there was no turning back. He didn’t want to turn back.

"I’m sure," Bruce said, his voice rough with honesty.

Clark smiled again, that soft, genuine smile that had always had the power to disarm Bruce. And then, without another word, Clark leaned in, his lips brushing against Bruce’s in a tentative kiss. 

It was soft at first, almost too gentle, like Clark was afraid to push too hard, to take too much. But Bruce leaned into the kiss, his hand reaching up to cup the back of Clark’s neck, pulling him closer. And suddenly, that tentative touch became something more—something deeper, more urgent.

The kiss deepened, their lips moving together in a way that felt both new and achingly familiar, as though they had always been meant to find each other like this. Bruce could feel the heat radiating off Clark’s skin, the press of his muscles against him as they moved closer together, bodies drawn together by a force that neither of them could resist anymore.

Clark’s hands found their way to Bruce’s waist, fingers slipping beneath his shirt to rest against the bare skin of his hips. Bruce gasped at the contact, his own hands sliding up Clark’s chest, tracing the lines of muscle, the curve of his shoulders. He had seen Clark’s body countless times before—on battlefields, during missions, in moments of exhaustion—but this was different. This was intimate, personal, and it sent a shiver down Bruce’s spine.

Clark’s hands moved higher, tugging at Bruce’s shirt, and Bruce let him pull it over his head, the fabric falling to the floor in a forgotten heap. For a moment, they just stood there, breathing heavily, the air between them charged with electricity.

"Bruce…" Clark whispered, his voice filled with something Bruce couldn’t quite name. Longing, perhaps. Or maybe hope.

"Don’t stop," Bruce murmured in response, his hands finding their way to Clark’s shoulders, pulling him back in for another kiss.

This time, there was no hesitation. The kiss was hungry, desperate, their bodies pressing together as they stumbled toward the bed. Clark’s hands were everywhere, tracing the contours of Bruce’s chest, his back, his sides, as if trying to memorize every inch of him. Bruce let out a low, guttural sound as Clark’s mouth moved to his neck, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin there, sending shivers through him.

They tumbled onto the bed, their limbs tangling together, the soft quilt bunching beneath them. Clark hovered over Bruce, his eyes dark with desire, and Bruce felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight of him—this man who had always been so strong, so steady, now looking at him like he was the only thing in the world that mattered.

Bruce reached up, his fingers sliding into Clark’s hair, pulling him down into another searing kiss. And then there was no more hesitation, no more holding back. Their bodies moved together, their breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as they explored each other, learned each other in ways they had never allowed themselves to before.

The night stretched on, the air between them filled with whispered names, soft touches, and the quiet sounds of pleasure. Every touch, every kiss felt like an unspoken promise—a promise that they didn’t have to be alone anymore, that they didn’t have to carry the weight of the world on their own.

And when it was over, when they finally lay tangled together in the quiet of the farmhouse, their breaths slowing, their hearts still racing, Bruce felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Peace.

Clark lay beside him, his arm draped over Bruce’s chest, his head resting on Bruce’s shoulder. The soft rise and fall of his breath was soothing, and Bruce closed his eyes, letting the warmth of Clark’s body lull him into a sense of security he rarely allowed himself.

For a long time, they didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. The silence between them was comfortable, filled with the unspoken understanding that something had shifted between them—that something had changed.

Clark shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at Bruce. His fingers traced lazy patterns across Bruce’s chest, a soft smile playing at his lips.

"You okay?" Clark asked, his voice soft, full of concern and affection.

Bruce let out a quiet chuckle, his eyes half-closed. "Yeah," he murmured. "More than okay."

Clark’s smile widened, and he leaned down to press a soft kiss to Bruce’s lips. "Good."

They fell back into the quiet again, and Bruce felt his eyes growing heavy, his body relaxing into the warmth of Clark’s embrace. For once, he wasn’t thinking about Gotham, or the mission, or the dangers that lurked in the shadows. For once, he was just… here. With Clark.

And for the first time in a long time, that felt like enough.