Opposite Eventually Attract

Not So Solitary Confinement (i)

"What do you think you're doing?"

That was a pretty good question, and maybe an even better question might have been what he would've done had Bruce not woken up when he did. If Clark knew the answer, he would've said so in an instant. At this point, any kind of diversion to rescue Clark from his overwhelming mortification would've worked. Even if a simple explanation was the only thing he could come up with. The only problem was that in this particular case, he didn't have one.

Hopefully, avoidance would work.

"I was, well that is, you were," Clark stammered out nervously before his face and voice dropped to a deadly serious volume. "The nanomites."

Bruce crossed his arms over his chest, obviously not convinced and waiting for further explanation. Upon making eye contact, Clark suddenly lost all his resolve and immediately transformed back into an uneasy panicked mess.

"I think maybe you accidentally moved your arm in your sleep in a way that pulled me over here. Since I was asleep, I didn't put up any resistance, so-"

The longer Clark talked, the tighter Bruce's face got until he eventually heard enough.

Bruce let out a frustrated growl and stormed off the bed his annoyance apparently was so overwhelming. He completely forgot a very important detail. As soon as he made his move, the recoil of his arm not following the rest of his body caused him to spin around and crash into an equally surprised alien.

Bruce was now lying on top of a furiously blushing reporter who was looking everywhere but up.

"Guess you don't know your own strength?" Clark murmured weakly.

The sound of a throat clearing could be heard, and Clark could feel his face go from red, hot to pale cold.

"Master Bruce. Master Clark," Alfred replied.

"ALFRED! This isn't what it looks like!" Clark shouted as he immediately jumped up, causing Bruce to move to the side of the bed. He then looked over at Bruce, his eyes begging for assistance.

"It isn't," Bruce replied flatly, not seeming at all nervous or guilty, and his comment more pointed at Clark than anyone else.

As usual, Alfred gave no indication that he was fazed. He merely walked over to the window and started to open the curtains.

"I just came here to inform you that breakfast will be ready shortly, so whenever you are through getting ready, please come down."

"S-sure, thanks." Clark stammered.

___ ___ ___

"Here you are, Master Clark," Alfred replied as he set a plate in front of him.

"Is this what I think it is?" Clark's eyes lit up. "Blueberry buttermilk pancakes, with warm maple syrup. This is my favorite! There is no way this is a coincidence. How did you know?"

"My resources may have informed me," Alfred answered, his eyes briefly glancing in the direction of the man who now had a paper conveniently covering his entire face.

After their morning mishap, Bruce hadn't uttered a single word to Clark. In the end, Bruce decided not to question it further. Although he didn't want to admit it, he was too embarrassed to press the subject. Certainly, what had happened was some kind of misunderstanding. It was obvious he was the one to blame for pulling Clark over to his side during the night, and then, due to his overreaction, it had caused an even more uncomfortable scene. So, instead of injuring both men's pride any further, he simply decided to avoid the matter altogether.

"Wow, these are really good. They even rival Ma's recipe," Clark complimented through a hearty bite. It had been a long time since he'd been able to visit his parents, and this particular breakfast was making him feel very nostalgic.