Work Text:
“Will it ever stop hurting?”
“No. Never.”
…
He invites Arthur over for Christmas.
He can’t say he knows how exactly, but he knows why.
Arthur has always stood out to Bruce, something he will only admit to himself. He’s never been immune to recognizing beautiful people, he’d only done what was professional always, and paid it no mind. Trivial infatuations never worked out in his ten active years, and he wouldn’t consider this one, necessarily. Arthur has a way about him that stands out, his looks being one, sure, but also his voice. He’s always been the busiest League member, handling the title of king so he was not always present at meetings, nor missions. When he did show, however, yes, he’d catch Bruce’s eye. He’d pay attention when he spoke, or when he glanced someone's way. Bruce would take notes while Hal or Diana were speaking and would briefly glance at Arthur, for no reason but to look. Sometimes he’d catch Arthur staring back at him. He thought nothing of it. They’d speak with one another long after the meetings were over, mostly work-related and most times joined by other members staying late. The times where they were alone were… nice.
Before his death, Arthur would talk about his son with joy, would talk about Mera, or his home life only to cut himself off, like it was irrelevant, or that Bruce didn’t care. Bruce should have corrected him, but he never did. Bruce never really spoke to Arthur about himself.
Arthur has always been a great teammate. He’s selfless and brave on the field, extremely communicative. But it was little things about Arthur that made his endorphins rush. The way he smiled and looked away when they were alone. How he leans on his trident after a long day, or how his curly blonde hair falls into his eyes when he’s disheveled after a mission.
He’s paid so much attention to Arthur over these years. He’s easily able to see Arthur’s pain, for he’s seen those same tormented eyes in himself.
After he lost Jason, he rejected everyone or any attempt to help. Part of him grows ill at the thought of Arthur descending into the state Bruce fell into. Arthur’s smiles are fake. His eyes are tired. He hugs himself nervously when speaking. He’s not seeking help. So Bruce invites him over, tells him he doesn’t celebrate Christmas but that Alfred and Tim do and that Dick and Cassandra will be there.
It’s worth it for the genuine smile and to hear Arthur say thank you. That he would love to go. That he needs to see Alfred and the boys again, that he wants to meet Cass. That he just doesn’t want to impose or disrupt the mood.
You won’t, Bruce thinks.
…
Fondness fills Bruce’s chest when Arthur enters the manor, dressed down in a light crewneck after months of only speaking with Arthur in uniform. When he introduces Cass, she hugs him. Arthur stops, stunned, then responds and wraps his shaking arms around her. Following is the most wonderful Christmas Day Bruce has had in a while. Arthur and Alfred catch up within the first few hours and later Arthur teases Tim about how small he was the last time he saw him; he speaks with Dick as an adult after so long. Arthur seemed content and happy, something Bruce hasn’t seen since before AJ passed. Long after everyone’s turned in, the two of them remain in Bruce’s study, on the couch by the fire, sipping neat drinks respectively. Arthur laughs, and Bruce knows the alcohol does nothing for him.
“It does, but only when I’ve drunk enough.”
“Not trying to test that tonight,” Bruce says, raising himself slightly from the couch to tap his glass with Arthur’s. “Glad you were here tonight, Arthur.”
“Thanks, Bruce,” Arthur says with a somber smile and looks down at the drink in his hands. “And thank you for having me. I couldn’t imagine I’m good company.”
“I knew you probably would have…been alone.”
Arthur winces and sets his drink down. Bruce notes his shaking fingers. “Ever since what happened to AJ, Mera and I…”
“I know.”
Arthur hugs his arms. “I’ve been talking to Dinah. She’s been… helping me through it. I hope.”
“That’s good. You know,“ Bruce says and takes a sip of his drink. “I never saw anyone after Jason. It corroded me. I worked nonstop. I worked because it took everything in me not to… kill him.”
Arthur isn’t looking at Bruce. “He begged me for mercy. I had Manta I just needed…”
Bruce doesn’t say anything; he sets his glass aside.
“But I couldn’t,” Arthur says. “As the King then, I had no right to take anyone’s life in cold blood. As a League member, I could and would not. But what does that say about me, that I couldn’t kill the man who murdered my son?”
Bruce crosses the couch and sits right in front of Arthur. He places a hand on his arm, unsurprised when he feels it trembling. “You’re the best of us, Arthur. The strongest of us all.”
Arthur’s heart is beautiful. His compassion is unrivaled.
“I don’t know that I believe you,” Arthur says. He meets Bruce’s eyes. “Does it ever stop hurting?”
Bruce’s hands have a mind of their own, one trailing up to Arthur’s shoulder. “No. Never.” He holds Arthur the way he should have allowed others to embrace him and Arthur ducks his head, leaving Bruce unable to see his eyes. They are so close to one another, their knees knocking together, Bruce’s hands running over Arthur’s shaking arms in comfort. It’s the warmest Bruce has felt in a long time, but he stops fighting back the pain in his chest as he thinks about the last time he ever saw Jason. He lets himself go, for Arthur’s sake if not for his own. “It’ll hurt until the day we die.”
…
“It’s late.”
“Right,” Arthur says.
He turns to look at Bruce from the balcony windows. They’ve been watching the gentle snowfall in the darkness as the clock rounded closer to the next day. In the distance, Gotham is sleeping.
“I have guest rooms, if you’d prefer,” Bruce says, shocked at his own nervousness. Arthur looks hesitant, but doesn’t decline. It would be a while to the docks, and Arthur needed to rest. He nods. “Okay.”
The silence between them is heavy as he guides Arthur through the halls. There’s a comfortability between them and an unspoken tension, one neither has broken. It’s only when they’re about to part ways at Arthur’s door that Arthur slowly pulls Bruce in for a hug, hiding his face in the other man’s neck. Bruce’s heart leaps at the embrace and he makes every attempt possible to have Arthur feel held.
When Arthur pulls back, he keeps his hands on Bruce’s shoulders. Bruce’s own hands slide down to Arthur’s waist but he doesn’t let go. He sees it coming when Arthur leans in and kisses him. It’s light and chaste. Bruce’s chest pained
The implications of this were not lost on him. He’d never fought his attraction to Arthur, but also never encouraged it. He knows this is not the smartest decision as League members, as people with damn near completely different lives. But Bruce couldn’t care right now. Arthur was hurting and all Bruce wants to do is hold him.
Arthur pulls away, watching Bruce with observing eyes and relaxing once he finds Bruce in the same satiated state as himself. Arthur’s hand shakes against Bruce’s collarbone.
“It’s been so lonely,” he whispers.
Bruce looks down. “I know.”
“Would you…” Arthur sighs. “Would you stay with me? Just to sleep.”
“Of course.” Bruce leans in and kisses Arthur’s lips and cheek. Sparks ignite in his hands and his thumb runs warmly under Arthur’s ear.
They dress down and settle with each other under the covers. To Bruce and Arthur’s comfort, it’s not strange, quite the opposite. They fall into each other’s embrace like old lovers. Their breathing settles. Their hearts are quiet. Bruce pulls Arthur into his arms,with Arthur resting his face against Bruce’s chest.
His instinct is to take care of Arthur, to protect him. He holds him close, grateful to feel that Arthur’s shaking has stopped.
“Goodnight, Bruce. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Arthur.”