Chapter Text
The giant billboard stood alongside the second floor of Metropolis’s highway. In it, a handsome man with astonishing blue eyes wore the uniform of the city’s American football team. He had a football in his hands and posed as if he was about to throw it; underneath it, in golden and red letters: Clark ‘the Man of Steel’ Kent prefers Kryptonite, the drink of champions.
Bruce Wayne tasted how the coffee he was drinking grew bitter in his mouth and, with disgust, emitted a low growl. His driver drove diligently, a silent man. The car took the next exit curve and got off the highway into the streets. The damn advertisement was everywhere. That year the Metropolis’s Meteors had won the Super Bowl once again, led by their unstoppable captain and quarterback.
Anyone who knew anything about sports knew the story behind the glory that enveloped that man. Tom Brady was the best NFL player until the rookie Clark Kent defeated him with a crushing lead at playoffs, taking the Meteors’ team for the first time in thirteen years back at the Big Game. Since then, Kent had become a trophy-making machine.
They parked in front of a private school’s door. Bruce got out of the car and went up the entrance stairs, where a beautiful blond woman opened the door and let him into the lobby. He only had to wait a couple of minutes for the bitter aftertaste in his mouth to disappear, replaced by a sweet sensation that enveloped him.
"Daddy!"
That call made him smile instantly, he kneeled down on the floor and opened his arms, counting the seconds it took his little one to throw himself to the embrace. Exactly seven seconds.
"Daddy, hello! Hello, dad" little Richard Wayne rubbed his cheek against his father’s. He hid his face on the curve of his neck and inhaled his smell deeply "I had an amazing day dad, they gave me chocolate cookies, I fell asleep in Latin and then we went out to play and we played football, and I was unstoppable Kent!"
Bruce laughed, he stopped hugging his kid and tousled his hair lovingly while standing up and then took his hand to walk to the exit.
"Latin classes aren’t for taking naps. You’re supposed to learn something from them" he reprimanded, not able to be truly annoyed at the child, although he frowned when he thought about what his son said last "Richard, football is a barbarian sport."
"I want to be a barbarian! Can you buy me a bottle of Kryptonite?" He glanced up, his eyes full of childish plea.
The wrinkles on Bruce’s forehead became more pronounced "Absolutely not, that’s an energy drink for adults".
"But dad, my friend Jason said his dad bought him one and it gave him superpowers!"
"Oh yeah? Tell your friend Jason, that lying is not a superpower. I won’t buy you a Kryptonite and I don’t want you to try it if someone brings it to school, do you understand?"
"Yes, dad" Dick sighed, he knew when he had lost a battle. Disheartened, he got into the car.
The driver started driving them to their next destination. Dick put on his seatbelt and got out a notebook from his backpack.
"In art class, I drew my favorite person in the whole wide world" the child’s cheeks blushed faintly due to his excitement.
Bruce started smiling in advance, trying not to appear too eager to see the drawing. However, when his son showed him the work of art, the smile immediately disappeared.
"It’s the Man of Steel!" if he could, the kid would have started to jump on his seat. Each time he talked about that football player, he was overcome with enthusiasm "And look, this is me grabbing his hand and this one over here is you, taking our picture. You see?"
Bruce squinted at the drawing to make out a brown spot at the corner of the paper. He had to summon all his willpower to be able to say something flattering about the picture.
"It is an outstandingly good drawing, son. I like the perspective."
"And do you like Clark? I sharpened my blue pencil to draw his eyes well".
Bruce pursed his lips and forced a smile that looked more like a muscular rictus.
"I love Clark"
Those words had Dick momentarily pleased. Everything related to the football player and his son was too intense. The kid was the biggest fan of the Meteor’s captain and it didn’t seem like a fleeting interest. That fact was giving him a stomachache; it wasn’t that he hated the sport, he just hated Clark Kent. They had gone to university together, in those golden years he was part of the college fencing team while Kent was a farmer with a football scholarship. His only merit was his ability to throw a ball, big deal.
They never had a good relationship, especially since Clark had rejected Bruce when he had found the courage to confess. With time, they went their separate ways, Bruce had married a beautiful Romanian woman who, after giving birth to a weak unhealthy baby boy, filed for divorce making it clear that she never wanted to be a mother and that the baby was the biggest mistake in her life. Bruce signed the divorce papers without hesitation, he didn’t even care that she took part of his fortune, the only thing that mattered to him was to take her out of his son’s life, as soon as possible.
For business reasons Bruce had decided to move temporarily to Metropolis, and he stayed because of Dick. When they moved, Dick’s health had notably become better; the nice warm weather was the perfect fertilizer for his little sprout to grow strong and healthy. So it didn’t take long for Bruce to buy a luxurious large flat near the city’s big central park.
"We’re home, Alfred"
"Welcome back, master Wayne"
The butler received him with two aspirins and a glass of mineral water with lemon slices swimming amid the bubbles. Bruce took the pills and drank the water with urgency, feeling grateful.
"Hey Alfie" Dick’s greeting always consisted of an affectionate hug that made the man he considered a grandfather smile. "Look, I made a drawing of my most favorite person in the whole wide world"
When Alfred saw the picture, he shot a glance at Bruce, who simply shook his head and walked away, fed up, not wanting to know more about that.
"Can we put it on the fridge’s door?" Dick ran to the kitchen, the door of the refrigerator was already full of other drawings. "We can remove this one of dad"
"I think there are already enough drawings of Mr. Kent on this poor refrigerator, how about you try to draw something else next time?" Alfred let Dick do whatever his heart desired.
Dick considered the suggestion for a moment while he used the magnets to place his new work of art. "Uhm, no." He smiled, happy with the glorious sight of his fridge and ran away, making a pause by the kitchen counter where he stole a piece of cinnamon bread.
While he listened to his son’s footsteps running down the hall, Bruce loosened his tie with a few fingers and took it off, and tossed it on the bed next to his coat. He took off his Italian shoes and he put his arms behind his back and arched it as he stretched a bit to relax his muscles.
He never turned off his laptop, although he sometimes forgot where he left it. Fortunately, he had Alfred, who always put it back on his desk.
"Dick, start your homework!" He reminded him from inside his bedroom and got a vague sound as an answer that could’ve meant anything. He turned on the laptop and sat in his comfortable leather executive chair. Quickly a bunch of notifications appeared over the Wayne Industries’ logo that was his default wallpaper.
“Report: Performance of…”
“Projects and funds for fiscal year…”
“Invitation: Charity Event of…”
“New Wayne Resort opens its doors… “
“Appointment: Breakfast with Clark Kent in…”
His brows furrowed so much they almost became one. That last message didn’t even make sense. He clicked it and his video player opened.
“Hello Bruce”
Selina, his personal assistant, she looked gorgeous as she smiled at her phone’s camera.
“I tried calling you on your cellphone but you didn’t answer, the shareholders chose Clark Kent as the face for the advertising campaign of our new car models. Apparently Mr. Kent has a lot of influence over male audience.” She laughed and her bright dark eyes stared intently at the camera. “I checked your schedule for tomorrow and you have the morning free after taking Dick to school, Kent’s agent will make sure he’s there on time. Go over your notes, I sent you the address where the meeting will be held. Ciao darling.”
The video ended and the player closed on its own, but Bruce was still looking at the screen without blinking, as if it was a portal to his past.
-:-
The fencing team of the University of Metropolis practiced for two hours five days a week, that day was the fifth time Bruce saw that football player seated on the benches watching the training with profound interest. He knew who that man was, not because he had spoken to him before, but because Clark Kent wasn’t the kind of guy who would go unnoticed in a crowd, especially if he was wearing his football gear and uniform. He even had the helmet between his hands as if he had left in the middle of his own practice just to be on time at the gym.
"We’re waiting Mr. Wayne." he instructor came into his field of view and reminded him that he should finish putting on his left glove, then he took his mask and walked to the piste as a fellow student gave him his foil. He checked its stability by moving it while getting at the starting line.
When Bruce Wayne got on the strip, everyone in the gym remained silent and were engrossed in the elegant presence of the fencer. When in position, Bruce did a graceful rassemblemet to salute his opponent and the instructor who was in this case also the referee for the match. His posture was perfect, his balance so natural that he made it seem like that sport was the easiest in the world.
"En garde! " The instructor made the first call, the fencers put on their masks and got into the according stance "Prêts? " That second word put them on high alert, the duel was about to start. Bruce took a deep breath and relaxed his stance: straight back, bent knees, feet apart, blade up and to the outside in the sixte line, point angled to be higher than his hand. "Allez!"
The moment the order was said, the assault began. Bruce advanced and made an attaque au fer, creating constant blows against his opponent’s blade, who made an excellent work of countering the action trying not to give up much terrain to Ruthless Wayne. Spectators held their breath as Bruce performed a polished changez-froisse, creating leverage by sliding along his adversary’s blade from the foil’s tip to the base or forte with firm pressure. His opponent made a step back and tried to engage the contre-attaque, but before he could move a muscle, Bruce did a balestra, the favorite movement of a spectator, which consisted of a jump forward with an appel, followed by a lunge. Bruce’s foil arched when the tip made a hit over his opponent’s heart and the crowd gave a round of applause at his triumph.
With an “Arrêt” from the instructor, the bout ended.
No one approached him to give their congratulations, that kind of social protocol was lost the first week when the Wayne heir made clear that he disliked any kind of flattery and physical contact. Now his classmates refrained from anything else and just cheered for him in his best performances and let him withdraw from the limelight.
"You were amazing"
The friendly voice took him by surprise, he had to turn just to be able to see through his mask who was talking; his heart skipped a beat when he saw Clark Kent in front of him, a radiant smile on his face. He didn’t know how to react.
"Oh, sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Clark Kent, I’m part of the football team, we share some classes on Mondays and Wednesdays"
While the jock offered his hand, Bruce was still unable to overcome the visual impact that the bright smile had on him. He forced himself to accept the greeting; this guy was just a classmate, there wasn’t any reason to feel intimidated by his presence. He was used to shaking hands with very important people, and Clark Kent was not important.
The moment he took the hand stretched out to him, he dropped his foil onto the floor, which made him bend down to grab it at the same time Clark did, their heads met with a bang.
"Ouch! Good thing you still have your helmet on"
The infectious laugh from the football player made him chuckle, still holding his hand, the friendly greeting had become an excuse to maintain the physical contact. However, Bruce couldn’t keep hiding behind his mask and had to let Clark go so he could take it off. The removal of the head protection left his hair slightly messy. Then he accepted the foil from the other’s hands.
"Thank you" Those were the first words he said to him. It was a simple yet educated way to show his appreciation but the smile in the other man’s lips grew bigger. He didn’t think that smile could become more charming, but it did.
"Hey, would you like to come to one of my practices?" Kansas boy made the offer as casually as he could, as if it wasn’t a big deal, but Bruce could see his nervousness in the way he hit his helmet against his thigh.
"I do not like football"
His response killed the mood, the room turned colder, and the light in Clark’s eyes disappeared while his smile faltered.
"Oh… Okay", he scratched the back of his neck not knowing what else to say.
Clark Kent was the tallest person he had ever met, his physical constitution was to be envied. Bruce wondered if those shoulders were as broad without the pads he used under his jersey. That line of thought made him imagine more of that body without clothes, he surely had an incredible firm toned abdomen. He cleared his throat and looked away.
"I must return to my training". The jock kicked softly some invisible dirt.
"Right", Bruce glanced at his face, it looked like Clark wanted to say something more, but in the end he just raised his hand as goodbye and left.
Although he was sure he wouldn’t see him back there again, the football player made an appearance the next day, and each day after that. Sometimes he would approach and start a conversation with small talk, which didn’t have good results; other times he would just smile and then leave walking backwards without taking his eyes off of the fencer until he ran into something or someone; and then one day he just wasn’t there. It was impossible for Bruce to concentrate at practice, he failed most of his moves and, for the first time ever, he lost. He’d never felt so frustrated before; he wasn’t used to failing, much less failing at something he had mastered; he had practiced fencing since he was six years old and now he was making foolish and irrational mistakes.
Furious, he walked away from the practice area, he heard the instructor call out to him but he didn’t mind him. He took the mask off his head and threw it to the side. Without stopping and still wearing the full white fencing uniform, he walked with long firm strides all the way from the gym to the football field.
The team was in the middle of training, trying out a new play, his eyes focused on number twelve, Clark Kent, and went straight to him.
"Hey! What do you think you’re doing?! Get out of the field, boy! They’re gonna crush you. Are you listening? Get out!"
The coach’s assistant tried to stop him, but Bruce quickened his pace, the players didn’t notice how someone else had entered the field and the play continued on. One of the players had the football and ran at full speed, others tried to stop him but the runner was more skillful and avoided them effortlessly until suddenly Bruce was in front of him. The assistant closed his eyes, not wanting to see how the newcomer was tackled and thrown to the grass. The overall reaction was the same, a simultaneous “oh” followed by a long “uh”. Bruce had crouched and, the moment he felt the runner try to jump over him, stood up quickly and forcefully to make the player rotate in the air and fall hard on the ground, causing him to let go of the football and bringing the play to an abrupt end. Everyone stayed still while Bruce picked up the ball, they made way for him while watching him in disbelief. He reached Clark and shoved the pigskin onto his chest.
"Why didn’t you go to practice?" He tried looking at those blue eyes behind the visor. He was seriously pissed off.
Kent needed a moment to process what was happening; it seemed surreal that Bruce was right there with his fencing uniform. He stood out like a white rose, that’s right, a white rose covered in thorns.
"Bruce, what… what are you doing here? I thought you didn’t like football", he took hold of the ball still pressing against his chest.
"I did not come to watch your barbarian game, I came so you could explain why weren’t you at the gym. It’s awfully rude to miss a date without notifying beforehand". The millionaire crossed his arms and berated him with his gaze.
Clark didn’t know how to answer, but his teammates eloquently mocked him with catcalls and double entendres.
"Kent! Take your boyfriend out of the field or you’re out of the next game!". The coach’s assistant blew his whistle hard and tried to restore order.
"Sorry, Coach!", Clark took off his helmet and rushed out of the field with Bruce in hand before things got worse.
A couple of minutes later they were under the bleachers, out of curious stares, guarded by the shadow from the metal and wood structure. Bruce was still in a bad mood, he had a demanding expression on his face and Clark had yet to put his thoughts in order.
"This is the worst place to talk, Clark Kent. I know you lack diplomacy skills, but this place is terrible. Now tell me, why didn’t you come to the gym?"
The boy from Kansas couldn’t help but laugh. Bruce narrowed his eyes as a warning.
"I fail to see what’s so funny, Kent. I lost my combat because of you. You can’t make me get used to your presence and then simply be absent, you’ll alter the order of things. You were supposed to be there like always".
"Why?". His question baffled the Gotham’s prince, and he didn’t hesitate to grasp that little advantage "Why, Bruce? Why am I supposed to be there every day?" He shortened the distance between them until Bruce had to move backwards until his back ran into a large metal beam, he immediately put his hands on both sides of the fencer’s face and reduced all space between them when he leaned over the other, imposing his physical dominance. "I’ve been there on a daily basis and it didn’t seem to matter to you, sometimes you wouldn’t even look at me"
"Don’t be absurd Kent, I noticed you every single day, it’s not my fault you don’t have any conversation topic that doesn’t involve the weather. <<The weather’s nice today, isn’t it?>> <<They said it’s gonna rain>> <<It’s really hot outside today>> " he mimicked the approaches the other had made and smiled satisfied when he perceived the slight blush on the jock’s cheeks. "Anyhow, I want you there tomo…"
Clark’s mouth shut him up with a kiss and the world spun so fast he had to close his eyes and cling to the number twelve in the football player’s chest. Those lips were warm, claiming him gently but firmly; he obediently opened his mouth and felt his knees buckle as Clark Kent’s tongue met his. The soft wet sensation was heavenly, his heart pounded so hard it deafened him. That was not a kiss, it was hundreds of fireworks exploding simultaneously through every inch of their bodies.
There was no way they would end their kiss all of a sudden, they had to slow it down little by little with short kisses, their caresses became shooting stars, dying out with each second that passed.
Clark moved, he took a step back and ran his fingers through his hair, nervous, watching him in a strange manner. Bruce could read that stare "We’re gonna play at a championship, I need to spend more time training, I wouldn’t have missed your practice if it wasn’t something important". He raised his hand with the intention of touching the other man, but the gesture died before it happened. "I can stay in this university because I play great, I don’t have any other way to graduate so I need to focus".
"I understand. Good luck in the championship, Kent"
When Bruce turned around uninterested, Clark felt as if someone had dumped a cold bucket of water on his head. Didn’t he kissed him back just a little while ago?
"Hey, wait!" He blocked his way. "Is that all, you’re not going to say anything else?"
The fencer’s face was a mask that showed total self-control, it was unnerving.
"I’d like you to come to the gym whenever possible for you. I don’t like losing"
Clark shook his head in disbelief, and gave a smile of resignation. Being in love with a guy that lacked any form of empathy and possibly had Asperger’s was not an easy task.
"I may not be able to go for a while"
"Then I’ll come see you"
"I thought you didn’t like football"
"I don’t"
He wasn’t sure if he was seeing things or if Bruce had smiled before leaving, soon after someone came to look for him and take him back to the training session.
-:-
Night had fallen over Metropolis, the businessman noticed he had stared at the idle screen on his laptop for the last couple of hours. He couldn’t stop thinking about that memory and the fact that things between them should’ve just ended underneath those bleachers, maybe that way it wouldn’t be as painful, maybe that way he wouldn’t feel such a deep hatred towards Clark Kent. Why had he kissed him just to reject him later?
He closed his eyes and rubbed them in frustration. How the hell was he supposed to negotiate with the person that broke his heart in college?
"Daddy?"
Dick’s voice was the magic spell that banished the shadows that roamed in his mind. The kid was standing by his bedroom door and the moment he made sure his father wasn’t busy, he entered full of confidence and smiles.
"Dad, Alfie says that dinner’s ready"
Bruce spun his executive chair so he could be directly in front of his child, he opened his arms and welcomed him into his lap. The light weight of that little birdie comforted his heart, Richard was he reason he woke up every morning, he was the light that saved him from his own darkness. Longing for more of that warmth, he hugged the child and stuck his nose against his fragrant hair, it smelled of sweetness and innocence.
The kid laughed at the gesture, and his intuitive and noble nature made him say the words the adult desperately needed to hear.
"I love you, daddy"
Bruce answered with a loving kiss, it was hard to accept that for a long time the only thing he wanted was to hear those three words from someone else. But now he didn’t need it anymore, there was a more important person in his life, someone worth fighting for. He was determined, he would go to that ridiculous breakfast, he’d see Clark Kent face to face without feeling a thing and he’d even get an autograph for Dick.
"Let’s go Richard, it’s time for dinner"
"And can I have a Kryptonite?"
Bruce rolled his eyes.
"Absolutely not"