Work Text:
Clark didn’t think when he entered Bruce's home. He gave not a single consideration that maybe he wasn’t wanted there. He simply found the familiar threads of the universe that led to the other god and followed those threads.
That’s how he walked into the room he was in now, standing in the middle of a place where he was very much not wanted.
It was a bedroom, he realised at once as he took in the massive, white bed in the middle of the room and the four figures lounging on top of it. The room was small with thick stone walls on three sides and a massive, tessellated stained glass rose window as the fourth wall. Sunlight beamed through the coloured glass, bathing the entire room in a myriad of rainbow light shards. The bodies of the other gods were dappled in blues, greens, reds, yellows, and pinks, light sticking to their skin like it was painted onto them.
They had all tensed the moment Clark had entered the room, shattering the steady calm that they must have been napping in.
Bruce, in a female form draped in loose robes and long black hair that came down to her waist, sat up. Her children were incredibly young at the moment; not one of them looked older than ten human years. Little hands clutched at the folds of her clothes, and small heads leaned in towards her breast. They seemed innocent, though the eyes were keener than any child’s should be.
“Clark,” said Bruce in a delicate voice, tone light, though something simmered underneath. Her body was soaked in color. A red diamond cut across her cheekbone. A blue triangle crossed the arch of her lips. One of the children rustled near her hip, and she placed a delicate hand on a dark head. She didn’t seem to care that her robe was coming loose around her, and the top of a dark nipple peeked through. “Why are you here?”
“I have a question,” he said, shuffling his feet a bit on the stone floor. Bruce’s eyes seared into him from the bed. “Forgive the intrusion.”
There were a tense few moments where Bruce glared and Clark just watched that lovely figure, before Bruce sighed.
She turned back towards her children, hushing their murmurs. “Stay here. I’ll be back soon.”
One of the children shot Clark a vile look before returning his attention to his mother. “Call us if you need anything?”
A small, affectionate smile graced Bruce’s lips. “Of course.” She leaned down to kiss the top of her child’s head. “Stay good.”
What a strange thing to say to her children, given their nature.
Clark waited as Bruce gracefully came to the side of the bed and stood. Her dark blue dress flowed around her, and she pulled it tighter to her body. She shook out her hair, tucking it behind her ears, and then pulled up a veil from seemingly out of nowhere to pull over the top of her head. It didn’t quite hide her hair, and dark strands twined around her cheeks.
“Let’s go,” she said shortly as she glided past Clark towards the door out of the room. The hallway beyond the bedroom continued the same gothic cathedral architecture. The floor and one of the walls were heavy stone, but again, one side was almost entirely windows. Instead of one large mosaic, these windows were singular lancets arched between stone. It took Clark a second to realise that, instead of the usual depiction of a Biblical event, this once seemed to illustrate a nun kneeling in a churchyard.
“This is a very beautiful place,” said Clark, moving towards the next window. “I’ve never seen it before.”
“It’s Jason’s wing,” said Bruce, her tone still frosty. “He was raised in cathedrals. His first mother was a nun.”
“Which bird is he?” Clark moved to the next window, this one was darker than the first two. “The mourning dove?”
Bruce’s voice got somehow cold. “You know I don’t like those names,” he said and Clark silently kicked himself. He had forgotten that Bruce hated the names given to the birds.
Clark remained quiet, going to the next window. It showed a dove flying through the apse of a cathedral. The nun was gone.
Bruce was heavy presence at Clark’s back, impatience growing in the air around them. “Kal, why are you here?”
Clark turned back, looking at Bruce and taking in the sight of her. She was so beautiful, crowned in the gold of stained glass light, bright blue eyes rivaling the light blue shards that speckled across her dress. Her full mouth was turned in a frown and the expression didn’t do anything to shake the deep affection rooted in Clark’s chest.
“I really did have a question,” he said, still held frozen by the sight of Bruce. “I’m sorry, I’m just getting a bit distracted.”
Bruce’s glare remained and then, slowly, like ice melting in the spring, her gaze softened. She snorted, a tenderness in the sound, and looked away. “Why can I not stay mad at you?”
“I don’t know,” said Clark, taking a few steps closer. “It must be my natural charm.”
They were nearly chest to chest now. Bruce did not pull away when Clark put his hands on her hips and closed the distance. He was taller than her in this form, her head barely meeting the bottom of his chin.
Bruce’s breath was coming slightly faster, quickening as Clark began to lean down. “Because there certainly are times where I deserve your anger,” he rumbled, finishing his thought.
Bruce’s body tense, subtly but definitely there. Something in her eyes was lost and she searched Clark’s gaze before stepping back. She shook her head, adding more space between them.
“No,” she said and the word sounded aimed towards herself. “No, I can’t do this.”
Clark tilted his head, lost on why Bruce was suddenly shying away. “Did I do something?”
“No, you…” Bruce nibbled her lip on the edge of her teeth and her eyes slid towards one of the stained glass windows, the one that showed the dove in an empty church. That seemed to steel something inside her and she stood up straighter. “You should leave now. We can talk about whatever you wanted later.”
With that, she turned, robes billowing around her. Pockets of red littered her back. “Goodbye, Kal.”
“Wait, Bruce, I don’t understand.” He didn’t chase after her, but his voice made Bruce pause before she opened the door to return to her bedroom. “What happened?”
She was out of the light now and instead of colour her figure was bathed in shadows.
“I need to return to my children,” she said simply, the ice returning to her voice. “They worry when I’m not there.”
Then, without another word, she opened the door and slipped into the tinted sunbeams of the bedroom. Clark heard her children call her name as the door closed.