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Bruce Wayne knew his worth, thank you very much. He was a billionaire, for Christ's sake, and a hot, young one at that. Men and women alike, everywhere he went, wanted a piece of him.
Except for Clark Kent, apparently.
Here's the thing about Kent: he was gorgeous. He was a big, Kansas beefcake wrapped up in a cheap suit, press pass, and huge—almost too big for his face—glasses. Bruce didn't even know that was something he could be into, but he was drooling for this man. Truly, genuinely drooling. Making a fool out of himself every time he saw the man to get even an ounce of attention from him. He had become somewhat of a spectacle in the upper-crust circles of Metropolis and Gotham, these past few months. Everyone knew that he was absolutely enthralled with the Metropolis reporter, and it had started to be a common topic of conversation. A few weeks ago, at a charity gala, he had even overheard two Gotham City representatives speaking about it:
"What is Wayne doing over there?"
"Oh, Brucie? Yeah, he's head over heels for that Kent guy. I mean, it's just pitiful."
"Doesn't he know he's causing a scene?"
"I don't think he cares. Can't say I blame him, though. Have you seen Kent? I just know he's got something going on under that-"
He had stopped listening there. So, yeah, Bruce knew he was acting a bit silly. But, that politician had been right: he didn't care. He needed Clark Kent carnally. It was simmering under his skin, something hot pricking at his every move while the man was in his vicinity.
And it didn't just happen at events.
No, that would've been too good to be true. Something sweet, even. No. Bruce thought about him every hour of the day, no matter where he was. Was he a breakfast person? He seemed like one. He wondered how he took his coffee, if he even liked it. Wondered what their conversations would play out like, if they were dating. Would he be teasing? Considerate? Friendly, but with the added affection you have when you're in love with someone? And, when the day turned into something darker, more restless, he thought about what kind of lover Kent would be. How he'd treat Bruce just right, no matter what. Those were the most dangerous thoughts of all, because they weren't able to be brushed off. Those thoughts left physical evidence of their presence.
In short, Bruce was going crazy.
At least he had a fundraiser next week with a certain reporter confirmed to be on the guest list. He just had to wait until then.
And he did wait. Extremely patiently, he might add. Friday night came before he knew it, and he was standing in Gotham's art museum scanning the crowd. The same way he'd been searching for the past forty-five minutes. He sighed.
The socialites next to him, Tami and Joan, giggled.
"Oh, Brucie," Tami slightly swung her champagne flute. "Looking for Kent again?"
"I heard he was double-booked with some grand opening across the bay," Joan added.
"He's so dedicated," Bruce all but swooned, and it didn't feel like an act. He wasn't usually like this—it was like Kent specifically brought it out of him.
"You think he'll ever take you up on your offers?" Tami inquired, eyes wide in that dumbstruck socialite way.
"A man can dream, Tam."
"Well, you've got plenty of other suitors lined up if he doesn't!" she laughs shrilly with Joan, like they know him, and it's at that moment that Bruce sees the most beautiful man on the planet walk through the door. It's like his world stops. His brain becomes a steady stream of Clark, Clark, Clark, as he pushes away from the two women with a half-muttered excuse.
As he makes his way over to where Clark is standing, pressed against the wall with his old-fashioned notepad out, he nearly pounces. The man looks up from his incessant scrawling as he feels someone approaching, but his smile is stilted when he realizes that it's Bruce. Ouch.
"Mr. Kent," he purrs, regardless.
"Hello, Mr. Wayne," that warm, honey-smooth voice drawls out. Bruce feels something hot climb the length of his spine.
"You're certainly working hard tonight," he looks at the man through his eyelashes, a surefire way to get him hot and bothered. "Or so I hear."
"I try to, yeah," he says, and his eyes nervously move away from Bruce's. Bingo.
"Well, it's paying off. I hear you're in the running for some journalist award?"
"Yeah," Clark says, softly. His eyes meet Bruce's again and they are so, so earnest it hurts. "I didn't realize you kept up with the Polk awards, Mr. Wayne."
"How could I not? It's an award for the best of the best, and now one of the contenders is the Daily Planet's own Clark Kent? For reporting on Gotham? That's, like, a perfect storm for me."
"Right," he laughs awkwardly, shifting on his feet. "Well, thank you."
"No need," Bruce grins at him and takes a sip of his ginger ale, though Kent probably thinks it's a champagne. Sometimes this crush (infatuation??) had him wishing he could drop the act. Maybe Kent would like him more, then. "You know, I'm not only a guest here tonight, but also a benefactor. You need a few words for your piece, there?" He nods his head at the notepad in Kent's hands.
"Sure. If you're willing, Mr. Wayne," he tentatively responds, toeing some kind of mental line.
"Oh, more than. Come on, then, I know a spot," Bruce grabs his elbow, guiding him to a more secluded area of the gala. He's not blind to the pointed stares and whispers they get on the way there.
As they get settled, Clark speaks up.
"You know, Mr. Wayne, you've been trying to get me to interview you for the past six months."
"You caught me," he puts his hands up in a faux-surrender.
"Why?" Kent slightly tilts his head, bringing one hand up to fix his glasses. It's adorable and much too endearing.
"Is this part of the interview, Mr. Kent?" he teases.
"No," the other man manages to get out, puzzled look on his face. Like he's trying to figure Bruce out. It's cute.
"Well, then," Bruce lets his voice drop into something more natural—flirtatious, but in a genuine way. Not that he wasn't genuine before. "I'm sure you know why, Kent."
Clark stutters through his next sentence, but the rest of the interview is as frustratingly professional as usual. At least, from Clark's side of things it is. Sometimes, though, Bruce can see the tips of his ears turn pink after a particularly on-the-nose innuendo, and that's message enough to keep going. God, he looked good while flustered.
Clark Kent was all he could think about, sometimes. Most of the time. Even when he donned the cowl, when the reporter should be the last thing on his mind. Especially then. Which is why he found himself zoning out of another one of Superman's rants during monitor duty.
If Clark had even an eighth of the enthusiasm Superman had while in his presence, Bruce would be a happy man. Seriously, that man was so excited to be near him. Bruce swore he was like a living beam of sunshine, that megawatt smile never leaving his face. And he followed Batman around like a dog. During training, on monitor duty, before League meetings, after League meetings, just hanging around the Watchtower, everywhere. Bruce would have half a mind to find it endearing, if his heart wasn't already spoken for.
"Whatcha thinking 'bout, B?" Superman's jovial voice cuts his thoughts off.
"Nothing," he says, but it's half a second too late. There's a slight blush tinting his face. Fuck, if only Kent knew what he did to him.
"Ooooooo, someone's got a cru-ush," he sing-songs, childish wonder in his voice, and it's pissing Bruce off already. He is not talking about Clark Kent with Superman. "C'mon, who is it?"
"None of your business," he retorts, extremely maturely.
"Oh, I see how it is," Superman darts out his tongue to wet his pink lips before they're tugged into a smile. Stupid-ass smile, he thinks. "It's top-secret."
"N- yes," Bruce grumbles back. "It is."
"I'm not going to let this go until I figure out who it is, you know," he laughs. Laughs.
"I'd expect nothing less from you, Superman," he sighs. Did Superman's smile look forced, or was he just tired? It didn't matter, he supposed. Bruce bet he just wanted to get home. Didn't he say something about being in Gotham for a work trip somewhere in his rambling, though? Whatever. Bruce wanted to get back to Gotham, too.
And he did so the second monitor duty was over. He was practically itching to get out on patrol, he needed somewhere to focus his energy.
Superman was frustrated. That wasn't a crazy statement, if you knew what was going on. All he wanted was an ounce of attention from Batman, but the only Gothamite looking his way was Bruce Wayne. Yeah, that Bruce Wayne. Which he guesses he should feel grateful for. Wayne was a more than well-sought-after man, but he just couldn't find it in himself to look on the bright side. Which was so unlike him. As his less-than-perfect monitor duty shift with Batman came to an end, he found himself feeling more upset. Yes, it was silly how much he cared about Batman without anything remotely warm being given back, but he was always fine with that. He knew B appreciated him, in his own bat-way. Except, now there was apparently someone else. Someone who could get Batman's heart pounding and his face flushing and his speech stuttering. Was it so wild for Superman to be upset that it wasn't him?
When he looks back on this moment, him walking the dark streets of Gotham back to his hotel, he blames his thoughts of Batman for why he is caught off-guard.
A man about four inches shorter than him in a ski mask presses a gun to his chest.
"If you know what's good for you, you'll do as we say," comes his voice.
Clark realizes he'll have to put on a performance.
"I- please, I'm from out of town, I-" he stutters, putting his hands up.
"Save it." Another man, also in a ski mask, approaches them. He also has a gun. What's with Gotham and guns? "Give us your wallet."
"I-it's in my back pocket, but I swear I don't have anything you want, please," he breathes out. Compliance is key in these situations. He was just glad they weren't trying to hurt him (at least, right now they weren't—they might when they realize he doesn't have any cash on him), because it would be pretty hard to explain why he wasn't groveling in pain. "I make next to nothing. I'm a reporter."
Why was he telling them his life story? A small town Kansas boy's first time getting robbed in the big city, he supposed.
"Wait," one of the men, the first one, motions for the other to stop. The hand digging in his pocket stops, and the gun at his chest shifts down, as though it's having second thoughts. "Ain't you the one who called out the District Attorney for takin' bribes and lying under oath?"
He lets out a small sigh of relief. He had been the one to break that story. That was why he was most likely about to win a Polk award, which Bruce Wayne had somehow known about, and—why was he thinking about Wayne right now?
"Yeah," he says, motioning to the press pass still hanging from his neck. "Clark Kent, Daily Planet."
"Joe, put his wallet back," the first guy murmurs, low enough that Clark shouldn't hear, but he does anyway.
The second guy—Joe, apparently—silently slips Clark's wallet back into his pocket. Huh.
"It's good work, what you're doin'," the first guy claps him on the shoulder, putting his gun away. "My son's sentence was revoked, 'cause of you. He's a good kid. Didn't deserve the pen."
"I'm so glad, sir," he smiles, albeit timidly, at the man.
"Hey, you have a good rest o' your night, alright?"
"Yeah, you too," he calls as the men walk away.
"Sorry 'bout the wallet stuff," Joe calls back. Clark huffs a laugh, shaking his head. He stares at the concrete a moment in disbelief before resuming his walk back to the hotel.
"Did you just get out of a mugging by being a good journalist?" a deep, growling bass comes from his right. Startled, he looks into the alley next to him, and there he is. The Dark Knight. The Caped Crusader. His best friend. The Batman.
"B- uh, Batman!"
"That's me," he says, and it sounds almost... teasing?
"Wow, I, uh, didn't expect to see you here!"
Somehow, even through the cowl's white-out lenses, Clark can tell he's getting a look.
"Right. I guess this is kinda your space," he laughs to himself. God, he looks like a fool! In front of Batman! "Um, I'm a big fan?"
"Are you, now?"
Clark blushes at the jab. Hot, fiery desire churns at the base of his stomach. Yeah, he'll be thinking about this for at least a month.
"Yeah, it's really... admirable, what you do. For Gotham."
"Well, thank you," the corner of his mouth tilts up in a half-smile, though it looks a bit more like a smirk, and wow. Superman had to work gruelingly hard for one of those, and Clark Kent just gets one? Just like that? He hadn't even done anything to deserve it!
"No problem, Batman."
A beat of silence.
"Well, if that'll be all, I'm gonna get back to my hotel room, 'm not trying to get mugged again, you know how it is," he babbles, gesturing vaguely to a building a few blocks away.
"You didn't answer my question," Batman speaks up, though, before he can leave.
What?
"I, uh, kinda thought it was rhetorical," Clark says back.
"Touché," he replies, and he's definitely smiling now. It's small, lips closed, but teasing, and definitely a smile. "Let me take you back to your room, Kent."
Clark blue screens. "What?"
"It's the least I could do, after not being on the scene before those men had changed their minds."
"Right, okay," he looks at Batman, standing across from him. Those strong legs, his built chest. The way his lips looked like they were the softest thing about him. His breathing stutters. "You gonna grapple-gun me outta this alley, or what?"
Batman chuckles. Has he ever heard that sound before? He immediately adds it to the endless mental catalogue of Batman in his brain.
"If you'd like," he smirks. "Though, I have to make sure that you're not afraid of heights first."
"Only the normal amount," Clark looks at him, bashful from the attention. Batman moves closer, wrapping a sturdy arm around his waist.
"Then you'll have to hold on tight," he quips, and then they're flying. Well, by Batman's standards. It actually is kind-of scary, flying without using his powers. He's completely at the mercy of the man clutching onto him, and isn't that a thought. He grasps Batman tighter, because he can't use his powers to conceal his weight and he does not want to fall. It didn't seem to have been a problem for the Bat, though, which was way more attractive to him than it should've been. He quickly calms the thoughts of Batman flipping him around like a ragdoll from his mind and focuses on the city beneath him. In no time, he's being gently (gently???) placed on his feet. When he looks up, he realizes it's the balcony of his hotel room. How Batman knew where he was staying down to the room, well. He didn't think he'd ever know.
"Thank you, Batman," he says, though it's embarrassingly breathless even to his own ears. He's just glad the man doesn't have super-hearing because his heart is pounding a million miles a minute.
The Dark Knight just nods his head, damned smile still on his face, making sure Clark is able to open the sliding door before he vanishes into the night.
As Clark closes the balcony door and sits on the edge of the hotel room bed, he puts his head in his hands. His face is practically steaming from blushing so hard. He didn't know it was possible for him to fall even more in love with Batman than he already was, but tonight had proved that wrong. He was just so nice to civilians, it was endearing and far too much for him to handle.
He was fucked.
Bruce was fucked.
He had thought flirting during galas and their interview was enough to get Clark Kent flustered, but that was nothing compared to the response he got flirting with him while under the cowl. He couldn't believe this—that was what finally got to the man? Batman?
Everything seemed backward. Bruce Wayne's flirty, borderline crass comments barely turned the tips of Kent's ears pink, but a less-than-romantic conversation with Batman had the man turning shades of red he'd never seen before and stumbling over his words.
It reminded him of the way Superman sometimes acted, the times when Batman talked more. And he didn't know how to feel about that. He'd ignored Superman's painstakingly-obvious feelings because of his affections toward Clark Kent, but everything he found endearing about Kent was already present in Superman. And at least Superman wanted him.
Speaking of Superman, Bruce Wayne could use a heroic rescue right about now. He'd been blindfolded with his hands and feet tied in this Metropolis warehouse for nearly fifteen minutes now, and it was getting tiring. He knew about seventeen ways to get out of this situation, but he couldn't rightfully put any of them to use without arousing suspicion. So, until the amateur (and they were clearly amateur) kidnappers began hurting him, he was stuck.
All he wanted was one normal day. He would wake up in his gloriously comfortable bed next to Clark Kent, who's already awake (Bruce bets he rises with the sun, he seems like the type) and watching him sleep, smoothing a hand over his hair. He'd get a tender kiss on the forehead, a warm smile, and a reminder that breakfast is downstairs. He would ignore that reminder in favor of pulling Kent down into a kiss, unashamedly squeeze those biceps he knew Kent tried to hide and make him breathless until he's pulling away with an "I have work, honey," (because he's sure Kent uses those classic pet names). He'd let him get out of bed, but Bruce would have his way with the man anyway because he'd throw him a sultry look, tossing his head back and sexily arching his back in a "stretch" under the covers, as Clark tried getting ready. The sex would be hot. Kent would end up being late to work because it was so hot. He'd spend the rest of his day doing various work for WE at his office, then wrap up casework for his night job when he got back to the Manor. When Kent got off work, he'd come home to Bruce and they'd share bits of their days over dinner. He'd be sweet, thoughtful. Bruce was sure Clark would genuinely want to hear about what he did. When they finished their meal, delicious as Alfred's food always was, they'd relax in the study. Bruce would read and Clark would be working on something related to an article he was writing, because he was so truly passionate about his work. Bruce would ask him about it just to see the light in his eyes, to hear the intelligence in every word. Just thinking about it had Bruce shifting in his spot on the chair.
Right. He was being held for ransom.
Just one day. That's all he's asking for.
Luckily, before Bruce can get too impatient, he hears a familiar whoosh of air and swish of a cape.
"Excuse me, gentlemen," that strong baritone starts. "Looks like I'm here to unravel your plans."
That was bad. He felt the corner of his mouth twitch up despite himself. Bruce was always telling Superman he had to stop with the one-liners, but he always did find them a little funny. And he guessed they did lighten up situations for the victims involved.
He hears the men who kidnapped him get dragged away, presumably to the Metropolis police department, and then another whoosh of air, this time closer to him.
"Don't worry, Mr. Wayne," Superman reassures in a soft voice. The ties break, and his blindfold is gently pulled off. Their eyes lock, and Bruce bites his lip. He can't even try to stop the teasing quip before it's rolling off his tongue.
"Oh, I'm not," he looks the man up and down. "Feel free to save me any time you'd like, Superman."
The man huffs out a breath, smile not leaving his face.
"Are you alright?"
"I am now, thanks to you," he bats his eyelashes. "Whatever could I do to repay you?"
"Just knowing you're safe is enough for me, Mr. Wayne," his painfully earnest best friend responds, holding out a hand to help Bruce out of the chair. He takes it.
"Such a gentleman," Bruce all but purrs. He mindlessly traces a finger over his symbol, and the tips of Superman's ears are tinged pink. He smirks. "Are you going to take me home?"
"Sure thing, Mr. Wayne," he nods. He holds out an arm, presumably for Bruce to grab onto. He does, with much more gusto than necessary. His fingers curl around one big, bulging bicep, squeezing gently. He lets out a rather obvious hum of appreciation, if only to see the way Superman's composure slips just a fraction.
He does end up taking Bruce home. Something about their interaction has Bruce fighting full-blown arousal, and on the way over, wrapped up in those strong arms, he allows himself to imagine it: Superman, in his bed, sprawled out beneath him. He'd be panting, begging Bruce to sink down on his aching cock. He'd be big. Somehow, Bruce knows this is a fact. Maybe he'd make the hero wear glasses, add to the fantasy of who he really wanted there.
Standing on his balcony, face inches from Superman's as he's shifted out of the man's arms, he almost leans in.
But, no.
He couldn't do that. Not to Superman, not to Clark. It was a disgusting thing, to bring someone into your bed pretending they were someone else. Even if they had enough similar features. No, it wasn't right. And he couldn't even think about the disappointment that would come after, knowing it wasn't Clark in his bed. Somehow, bizarrely, it would feel like cheating on him. And, to make matters worse, Bruce knew Superman, but Superman didn't know he knew Bruce. The implications of that alone were enough to draw Bruce away from the man in front of him.
It was fun to imagine, though.
It was nearing two weeks since the last time Bruce had seen Clark Kent, and he was itching to be in the same room as the man.
Bruce swears he's better than this—desperately, restlessly waiting to have scraps of a conversation with someone—but it just feels so right. Like he's meant to be this way about Clark, and only Clark. Like he was made to breathe the same air as him, share the same spaces.
So, when he's in a WE board meeting and they suggest a press conference to stimulate discussion surrounding the company's efforts to expand healthcare accessibility in Gotham City, he jumps at the opportunity.
Which is how he finds himself squinting his eyes, craning his neck to scan the crowd from his seat under bright lights. He reaches for a glass of water perched neatly in front of him and downs it. Press conferences were a necessary evil. Despite everyone's best efforts, there were always a few questions about his personal life that tainted the discussion.
After Bruce gives his obligatory statement for WE, the conference truly begins.
He answers a few questions he had expected: logistics and timelines of the projects, where funding was coming from, goals he hoped to accomplish, et cetera.
Reporters continue to queue up questions from around the room, ranging from actually on-topic to wildly inappropriate. One sticks out to him, though.
A huge hand raises up, alongside the most gorgeous body Bruce has ever had the pleasure of witnessing. The moderator calls on the journalist.
"Clark Kent, Daily Planet. How will you ensure these resources actually get integrated into lower-income communities?"
Bruce is transfixed. His throat goes dry as he listens to the question, because that had been a concern of his throughout their entire planning process. Every step of the way, he pointed out flaws that would make clinics inaccessible, pharmacies too constricting, testing too expensive. It was truly a labor of love for Bruce, and he would continue to monitor everything for as long as it took to truly make a difference. He feels his heart rate tick up and his face flush. Bruce couldn't remember the last time he truly, genuinely blushed the way he was now.
"Th-" he started, but had to clear his throat. He leaned into the mic. "That's an excellent question."
Kent smiles that slow, sweet smile of his that proved he was pleased. He sat down, but Bruce didn't look away from him as he answered. He knows it's the longest duration he's talked since his statement, but he's just so passionate about this aspect of WE's healthcare initiative. He can hardly hear himself wrap up his response over the sound of blood rushing in his ears because he sees Clark Kent's dimples again and he can't smother the smile that appears on his face.
"No private interviews will be given," the moderator announces as soon as he's done, following some statement about how time for questions was up. Subtle groans of disappointment sound from around the room. "However, help yourself to the food and refreshments in the main lobby."
Bruce watches all the reporters get up to shuffle around the room and mingle with people they knew. His eyes lose Kent somewhere in the crowd, and by the time he gives up on finding the man the entire room has emptied. He's supposed to leave right now so he can make a 12:30 meeting, but he has to see his favorite reporter one more time. Say something to him.
He slinks out the door and makes his way toward the lobby, lacking a real plan of how he'll talk to Kent and avoid everyone else. He's figuring it out as he goes. He's figured out much tougher situations in much less time, and under much more pressure. It'll be fine.
As he passes by a secluded bathroom, his path is suddenly stopped because he's running into a large, solid mass that wasn't there a second ago.
"Oomph," he grunts, stumbling—though not for long, because a rather large hand is steadying him, gripping his shoulder.
"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry," comes a bumbling voice. He knows that voice.
"Why, hello," Bruce looks up at him through his eyelashes, sultrily. A move he knows works on the man. "Fancy seeing you here."
"Oh, hi there, Mr. Wayne," Clark gives a breathy laugh, and Bruce finally takes in his appearance. He looks... well, he always looks good, but he looks slightly more disheveled than he was the last time Bruce saw him. He can't dwell on it too long, though, and leave the man hanging.
"I thought I told you to call me Bruce," he mutters cheekily, smile on his face.
"I don't think so," Kent cocks his head, slightly squinting his eyes as if trying to remember. He's so cute.
"Well, now I have for sure. Call me Bruce, Clark."
"Okay," he says quietly, those gorgeous baby blues fixed only on him. It makes Bruce's heart flutter.
"What happened to you?" he tilts his chin down a bit, referencing the man's appearance.
"I... tripped and fell?" he stammers out, voice raising in a question at the end of his sentence.
"You don't sound very sure," Bruce chuckles.
"No, I did! I'm just kinda embarrassed," Clark brings a hand up to rub at the back of his neck abashedly, and it's so cartoonish it should be a turn-off, but all it does to him is send a fresh wave of want coursing through his body.
"Did you lose your suit coat on the way down?" he smiles, teasing.
"Oh shoot," Clark whispered, and it didn't feel meant for Bruce's ears. He's shrugging out a laugh, though, as he responds. "Must've left it in the bathroom. I had to wash it off; I also spilled coffee on myself."
"Goodness," Bruce leans forward, letting out a laugh of his own. "It's a wonder you're still in one piece."
"Yeah," he smiles, and those dimples.
"Not to say I can't think of a few situations where I wouldn't mind seeing you fall apart a little," Bruce winks at him, and there's that pretty pink blush. He knows he's laying it on thick, but he needs this man.
"Yeah? I'll keep that in mind, Bruce," he smirks, face still flushed, and oh. Oh. Bruce doesn't know what to do when Kent is flirting back. He must've waited too long, because then Clark is chirping out a "See you around!"
He stands there, frozen, for about a minute before he forces himself to move. His feet are on autopilot on the way to the car, and when he slides in the backseat and Alfred tries to make conversation, he blanks. There's a soft smirk from the older man, and then he's left to dwell on his thoughts.
It's a long drive, so he does the thing everyone with nothing else to do does: he checks social media. Which is always a gamble with him—especially on Twitter. He just wanted to see what the public response to the new plan was. (He promises that's why.)
EVERYTHING GOTHAM ✔️ (@gothamcityupdates)
Bruce Wayne unveils plans for more widespread, affordable healthcare in Gotham City. Watch here:
[PRESSCONFERENCE.VIDEO]
Greg Nielson (@gregnielson1973)
Glad they're finally funding a project like this. Wayne's been trying for half a decade.
🦇 (@g0thamg1rl)
omfg bruce wayne get UPPPP😭😭😭
not mandy (@mandy584927)
"that's an EXCELLENT question" with that expression???? like it's actually painfully obvious
mer (@merylg14)
No like don't even play rn #needthat
z :) (@luvzariah)
which one? lmao
mer (@merylg14)
#both
gray (@graysonsmith)
Honestly you gotta hand it to him, Bruce Wayne is nothing if not dedicated to getting that reporter in his bed
bb (@butterflyybabyy)
like you wouldn't do it too
lorie!! (@lorieinwonderland)
umm have you SEEN clark kent???? duh
hi (@user37783257012)
i'm so invested in ts and i'm in star city
grace! (@gracesecretshhh)
they NEED to fuck and i have never been more serious
gray (@graysonsmithh)
I would literally pay money to see them make out sloppy style
⚡ (@ilovetheflashyay)
you're getting flamed in the replies but i stand with you
a (@larrytruther6969)
if someone looked at me the way Bruce Wayne looks at Clark Kent...
Oliver Queen ✔️ (@therealoliverqueen)
this is my heated rivalry
BW Daily (@brucewaynedaily)
OLIVER QUEEN????
abbie (@abbielolz)
I know everyone's talking about the romantic/sexual tension between Wayne & Kent (for good reason), but can we take a second to appreciate how much they both obviously care about social justice? Wayne is always funding these projects for Gotham and talking about them with genuine compassion and optimism & Kent is always writing about corruption and ways people could be doing better and, I mean, the HOPE in those stories??? Enough to make a grown woman cry. Two of the biggest bleeding hearts to ever be are at a press conference making googly eyes at each other and I'm loving every second of it. I actually really hope they fall in love.
lils (@londongirl96)
"two of the biggest bleeding hearts to ever be are at a press conference making googly eyes at each other" - couldn't have said it better myself. modern day shakespeare fr
Marc (@marcusmarc89)
power couple of the CENTURY
Bruce finds himself blushing at the blatancy of people's comments—and at how well they reflected his own thoughts. He didn't think he was so transparent.
"Everything alright back there, Master Bruce?" Alfred's stable voice intones from the driver's seat. He's amused.
"Y- uh, yeah. Tired," he clears his throat.
Alfred just hums, clearly not believing him. But he's merciful enough to not ask again. Bruce appreciates it.
"Do remember we have to get you ready for the charity ball tomorrow by seven-thirty sharp."
"I remember," Bruce sighs back.
"Half a night off will not result in the end of the world, Master Bruce," Alfred counters.
Now it's Bruce's turn to hum.
As usual, Bruce was bored out of his mind at the event. There was only so much dirt you could gather from rich people in a set period of time, and his patience was running low because he hadn't seen Kent all night.
He knew the man was supposed to be here because Cat Grant had broken her leg and there was no way Lois Lane would sully her good name by attending a pompous party for the one percent, even if it was just to gather notes for someone else to write about. He was sure Clark didn't want to, either, but he was too kind to refuse someone a favor.
Bruce swore he wasn't looking for the man, that he was just venturing to a quieter place to take a quick (very quick, he was still Bruce Wayne) breather, but as he turns a hallway corner, he caught sight of Clark.
"Kent!" he sees the man try to duck away, but it's pretty hard to hide when you're that tall. And broad. Mmm. Bruce, focus.
He doesn't know what's gotten into him tonight to make him so bold, but somewhere in the back of his mind he thinks it's about damn time. He shoves the man into a spare room, shutting the door behind them. "Why don't you want me?"
"Uh- I-" the man balks, before giving up. "Um, what?"
"Why don't you want me?" Bruce runs a desperate hand through his hair. "I mean, do you? I got mixed signals the other day. Am I not good enough for you? Is that why? That's probably true, you know, but you could just have one night and get over it! I could be anything you want me to be and it wouldn't matter!"
Clark doesn't respond, those earnest blue eyes wide, and he can't stop himself from continuing.
"Wouldn't that be something? Something absolutely horrible for me, of course, because every time I'm even close to being in your vicinity I'm tripping over myself trying to make you want me. Can't you see that I want you so bad, I'd let you do anything you wanted? Have me in whatever way worked for you? I wouldn't even care if it hurt me, Kent, as long as you wanted me in some way. Isn't that pathetic?"
Bruce pauses, breaths heavy. Clark opens and closes his mouth like he feels obligated to say something. Before he can think of something, though, Bruce goes on.
"And I don't even understand why you at least don't want to have sex with me. You know, everyone in that room out there," he gestures wildly in a vague direction. "Is either dying to get in my bed or is dating someone who is. And that should feel great! But it doesn't, Clark, because the only one I want in there is you. And it's like you won't even look at me. You consume my every thought at these things, even when you're not there, and most of the time it feels like you forget I exist until you get dragged to these events I'm sure you so despise coming to. And, even then, you don't so much as give me a second glance. I don't get it. I don't! Because I saw you, one time, with Batman and you were damn-near creaming your little farmboy jeans trying to flirt with him! What appeal does a man in a kevlar bat-suit have that I couldn't give? Don't answer that. I just-"
He sighs and realizes the hot sting of tears forming in his eyes too late. He angrily scrubs them away, then just ends up holding the heels of his hands on his eyes. He takes a deep breath. Another. "I know, believe me, I know that I sound crazy. I've never felt this way before. About anyone. And it's just my luck that I feel like this about someone who couldn't care less what I did. But it's not your fault. God, I sound crazy. I feel crazy. I'm sorry," he suddenly stands up, blinking hard as he realizes what he's just done. "I'm sorry. Please don't bring this up to anyone. I'd be mortified. Not that you owe me anything. The opposite, really. There's a story, huh." he chuckles humorlessly. "Bruce Wayne's off-the-rails confession to a guy he never even really talks to. Bet it'd get front page."
Clark was at a loss for words. He knew the billionaire across from him had been trying to get in his pants, sure, but this? He didn't know how to deal with this. It was all but a confession of love. Which was... something. And it's not like he didn't have some interest in him! He had eyes. It was also nice to see someone chasing him, for once. But, his heart belonged to Batman.
"Bruce, I-" he started, with no plan of what he'd say next.
"No, please. Really, it's fine. Don't. I'm sorry," his poker face would be believable if not for the tears streaking his cheeks.
"No, wait," he reaches out, gently grabbing Bruce's wrist before he can open the door and walk away. From this? From him? While so upset? He doesn't know.
What he does know, though, is that as soon as his fingers find that pulse point, he can't help but listen in to Bruce's heartbeat. It goes against his moral code, to impede on someone's privacy like that, but he doesn't care because this man is distraught. He-
Oh.
Oh.
That's...
"Bruceman!" he exclaims. "I mean- Ba- Bruce, you're Batman!"
Because he's still listening to Bruce's—Batman's—vital signs, he hears his heartbeat pick up a considerable amount, blood rushing faster.
"Uh... what?"
"How long have you known?" Clark's own heart drops at the thought that Batman has known his secret identity and has been using it to toy with him, shove his own feelings right in his face and taunt him with things he couldn't have. He didn't think the man would be so cruel, but he guesses he's always seen the best in people. He had always been told that would come back to bite him.
"Kent, what the hell are you talking about," Bruce Wayne, Batman, B looks at him with- no, that can't be right. Bewilderment?
"No, it's not a- I swear, just-" he lets out a sigh of frustration, all coherent words seemingly lost because he's looking into the love of his life's eyes for the first time. Well, the first time knowing he's looking into the love of his life's eyes. They're beautiful, just like the rest of him. He can't get anything to come out of his mouth, so he just rips the glasses off his face.
Bruce gasps—well, the closest sound to a gasp he's heard out of the man—and Clark realizes his hand is still holding on to Bruce's like a lifeline, so he loosens his grip and rubs his thumb along the inside of his wrist.
"It's me, B," he nearly whispers. He can't name the emotion he's feeling—embarrassment, desire, shock, anxiety, and love all mixed together—and he's sure it shows.
"Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me," Bruce mutters, bringing his other hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose.
"Um, so I take it you... didn't know?"
Bruce fixes him with a look. A look he only gives to Superman. Superman, who is actually Clark Kent. This is so twisted.
"Right. Um. I feel like we need more time than we have on our hands right now to talk."
"I agree. I can leave in, say, five minutes? I've been here long enough," Bruce nods.
"Are we going to be seen leaving... together?" Clark's face is fully covered in a blush, and Bruce suppresses the part of him that is positively delighted to see that.
It doesn't work.
He grins.
"Would you like that, Clark?"
"I think you know I would, B," he smiles back, less confident but no less flirtatious than Bruce. "Just a matter of whether you would."
"I've made myself pretty clear on that matter."
"Then it's settled," he smiles, purer—more himself—this time, and Bruce realizes he hasn't let go of his hand. He doesn't want to be the one to break the contact, though, so he intertwines their fingers. A step forward, as well as a question.
Clark responds by squeezing his hand. A yes. Bruce smiles at him.
"Let's go make some gossip columnist's day," he teases, tugging on the man's hand to move them toward the exit.
Before he can make his way out the door, there's a gentle thumb brushing underneath his eyes. Wiping a stray tear, he realizes. But then he's still cupping Bruce's face, looking into his eyes with that something that was going to be the death of Bruce. Clark Kent was Superman. Superman was Clark Kent. And Bruce could have him. Bruce could have him, because he was Batman. Batman was him.
What a world.
"Should we give them something to really talk about?" Clark mumbles, almost shy, but there's intent behind his words. He is a man of integrity, after all. And he keeps his promises.
"Mm, what are you insinuating?" Bruce hums back, lips inches away from Clark's own as he leans in, looking up at the man through his eyelashes.
"I think you know," he breathes out, and then they're kissing. He doesn't know who started it, but it doesn't matter because he's kissing Clark Kent. Superman. The... love of his life. Was it crazy to say that?
It didn't matter. Clark was kissing him, soft lips moving against his so sweetly, and that wouldn't do. Not if they wanted to be a spectacle. Bruce tangles his fingers in those gorgeous curls, tugging a bit to allow him control. Clark gasps softly, and Bruce uses this to his advantage, venturing his tongue into the other's mouth. It's tentative, mapping out the area. Clark's tongue is seemingly not as shy as the rest of him, though, and suddenly makes its way into Bruce's mouth also. It's pushing, fighting for control. Bruce lets him have it, but only for a split second. Then he's breaking away, sucking on the corner of Clark's jaw.
"You can't leave a mark," the man sighs, and he sounds dejected. Huh?
"Why not? I thought you wanted to give 'em something to talk about," Bruce frowns into Clark's neck. "And... I want to."
"No, like, you actually can't," Clark adds. "Invulnerable, remember?"
"Oh," Bruce is let down, but only for a moment, because then he's saying: "Guess you'll just have to mark me up, then."
"Yeah?" Clark exhales.
"Yeah."
They spend way too much time in that room, longer than they intended to. Bruce is sure it looks like they were doing much more than they actually were, but, well, he guesses that's what they intended. They had both lost the plot about ten minutes ago.
"Maybe one day we can fuck while I'm in the bat-suit," Bruce whispers, low and sultry, trailing his tongue up the expanse of Clark's neck before he pulls back altogether. "Since you're such a big fan."
Clark honest-to-god whimpers.
"Oh, you like that idea?"
"Bruce."
"C'mon, Superman," he winks, and walks out the door.
He doesn't have to look back to know Clark is following.