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There was a loud resounding smack as Hal Jordan, grinning from ear to ear, slammed a half folded newspaper right on top of the most occupied table in the Watchtower cafeteria. It successfully gained the attention of all four occupants, their heads snapping up from their lunch to stare at him in various levels of incredulity and annoyance. Most days, they were used to the spontaneous Green Lantern but interrupting what was supposed to be a relaxing break after hours of monotonous monitor staring tried even the more patient of the Justice League members.
Sensing a (not necessarily verbal) fight about to brew, Superman, the ever placating hero, cleared his throat and greeted Hal with a smile.
“Good afternoon, Hal.”
“Hey Supes.” Hal said back, then picked up the paper he was still clutching onto to wave it in front of them, “Guess what I found?”
The silence after his question lasted only for a beat before Diana, Arthur and J’onn all turned back to their food. Hal pouted.
“Oh come on! I swear, it’s good this time!” he exclaimed.
“That’s what you said last time.” Arthur said, not bothering to look away from his steak.
“Which then somehow ended up with us all buying two months worth of jello. Which, by the way, tasted mediocre at best.” Diana joined in, following the Atlantean’s example of keeping her eyes off Hal, didn’t even pause from shoving a fork full of salad into her mouth while doing so. Clark would have reprimanded her about talking with food in her mouth if he didn’t think she’d get back at him later by humiliating him extra hard in the training room. Also, he was kind of fascinated by how she was able to articulate so well while chewing.
“And then it ended with Batman giving us an hour long lecture on the importance of not spending League money frivolously.” J’onn added, having already finished his lunch and was just opting not to look up from his empty tray.
Hal sigh was sheepish. “Ok yeah, not my brightest moment but …!” and here he waved the paper in his hand again, as if its mere presence would entice others into paying him more than the minimum amount of attention, “This here? It’s genius.”
“Hal.” Superman tried this time, hoping he would be able to get through to the man. “I appreciate your enthusiasm in keeping up with the latest fads and informing us but… well I’m not really sure I can handle another Batman lecture so soon after the last one.”
It had been pretty bad. Batman had leveled them all with a bat glare, not even sparing a second to let anyone else have a word in while he admonished all of them in one of the empty meeting rooms. Which would have been pretty par for the course (you didn’t just go a week without encountering a Bat lecture) but this time his voice-level and slightly modulated as it always was-held disappointment rather than anger. Clark is sure he’d never want to hear that tone again.
“But you don’t understand! This time, it’s about Spooky!”
No one missed the shit eating grin returning to Hal’s face when they all suddenly perked up with interest, but they were all too curious now to care. With eyes pointed straight at the paper still being carelessly swung around, Hal finally dropped the poor abused article so that the front page faced up, giving everyone a clear view of the main topic.
There printed in black and white, in bold font read: Bruce Wayne, Batman’s Sugar Daddy?
Again there was a beat of silence as everyone drank in the information being presented. Then a loud laughter erupted around the table.
“Oh my god!” Arthur managed to bellow in between huffs of laughter.
“You can not be serious!” Diana giggled, too amused to pay attention to Arthur’s word choice.
J’onn and Superman were both too preoccupied with trying to stifle their own chuckling. The rest of the room was starting to give them weird looks.
“Oh come on guys!” Hal made a sound of disbelief and pointed at the paper, “You really don’t think this is real?!”
Arthur, who had calmed down enough to roll his eyes, responded with “No I really don’t.”
“Hal, this is Batman we are talking about.” Clark said, his smile not unkind.
“Exactly. Batman with his very expensive equipment. Where do you think this guy who's supposedly a regular human, gets the money for it?”
Clark opened his mouth but paused in surprise when no immediate answer came to mind.
Hal, noticing his hesitation, continued on with, “You’d have to be at least a millionaire to afford that sort of stuff right?”
A millionaire probably wouldn’t even cut it, Clark’s mind so helpfully piped in. With the way the suits function (and yes, Clark could tell the differences between even the most similar of Batman’s suits) each one would cost at least thousands of dollars to be made and fixed whenever they got damaged. All of his gadgets were probably in the same price range. And that wasn’t even mentioning the production cost of the Batmobile and its continued maintenance.
“Batman who we never see active during the day in his city? Sure he visits the Watchtower when he’s needed for meetings or missions or whatever but what does he do when he’s not here? Maybe…” Hal wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, “He’s cozying up to a certain someone out of costume when he’s not running around chasing after killer clowns?”
And Clark wanted to say something, to tell Hal that it wasn’t really any of their business what Batman gets up to during his free time. Clark certainly had no right himself to wonder, if the man wanted to keep his civilian identity a secret then it was his right, Superman still hasn’t shared his own double life to anyone, not even Lois during the short time they’d been dating. But still… somehow he was unable to utter a single sentence when his mind rewound back to the times Batman had been severely injured but refused help from the rest of the League and didn’t even bother to stay in the medical bay despite numerous broken bones. Batman, who’d always been self-reliant, prideful and never bothering to request aid from the League for anything that wasn’t life threatening (and even then, only if it needed immediate attention) which Superman had both fell for and felt hopeless frustration at. But what if the reason was because he already had someone else to rely on? A billionaire capable of funding all his nightly activities, afford the best medical care for him when he was injured and most probably was the anonymous ‘generous donator’ that basically paid off the construction of the Watchtower and kept up with its utility bills regularly.
And one who most likely knew his identity-is able to keep him company during the day and comfort him the way no one else can after his patrols. The one he comes home to-
“Even if he is.” Diana’s stern voice cuts into his thoughts, “That is not something we will pry into. Or have you forgotten, just because some of us chose to share our civilian identities to each other-you included Hal-that not all of us have done the same.”
Superman gives her a distracted smile when he turns to face him, proving her point to Hal who’s excitement has deflated upon being reminded that secret identities are not to be a topic of discussion in the Justice League. Everyone was entitled to their privacy, no matter the reason. This rule is, of course, not without its exception-should the world be endangered then, and only then, would one consider breaking this rule. As it was, Batman and his apparent benefactor were not on the list of future world threats and so is not to be pondered on.
While the rest of the group acknowledges this by changing their topic of discussion swiftly (although not without some reluctance from Hal), Clark can’t really pry his eyes away from the newspaper still sitting on their table.
-----
‘Bruce Wayne, Batman’s Sugar Daddy?’ he reads over and over again.
Clark remembers the one time he’d covered a story in Cat’s place during a gala being held by Wayne’s company. It was a lavish event, rich socialites from all over coming to attend and put in a good word with Bruce Wayne and further establish connections with each other. It wasn’t the sort of thing he usually attended but the favor he owed his coworker had come for him that night in the form of getting a quote or two from the Prince of Gotham himself. He’d remembered panicking about it, wondering how the hell he was going to approach the man who was being swarmed left and right by beautiful models and fervent business dealers alike. But then, strangely, as the night went on he watched Bruce Wayne begin to lose the crowd around him, making excuses disguised as compliments or requests from other patrons he supposedly saw on the other side of the room until he’d finally managed to clear any company and made his way to the outside veranda.
Clark had followed, curious and hopeful to get even a sentence for the article Cat needed that night. Wayne was facing away from him when he’d stepped outside, no one else but them enjoying the freedom from the event. He cleared his throat and Wayne whipped around with wide eyes, silver blue and shocked. For a second, they sharpened with something like anger (perhaps to being caught off guard?) then softened somewhat into something more calculated when he spotted the press badge around Clark’s neck before his whole face morphed into one of oblivious surprise. Clark is sure if it wasn’t him witnessing these changes, if it wasn’t a super powered Kryptonian able to tell even the most quick change of details in expressions, no one else would have caught any of it. His mind began to run a mile a minute with this information.
“Oh dear, and here I thought I was being sneaky.” Bruce said, his tone taking on a (calculated?) teasing.
Clark smiled indulgently back. “Well, to be fair you were successful for the most part but…”
“But you reporters are always so persistent.” Bruce replies but there’s nothing malicious in his voice so Clark opts to ask for a quote.
For the rest of the night, Bruce Wayne is exactly how the media portrays him to be; empty-headed but not a bad person over all. By the time they parted ways, Clark is a bit disappointed, wondering if what he saw in that split second, of something more behind those vacant blue eyes was just his imagination. Never let it be said that a journalist would ever turn their back on something that sparked their curiosity. So he did research. A lot of it. For months on end, and by the time he was blinking stupidly at his computer screen at 3AM upon the third night in a row of looking into Bruce Wayne’s many generous donations via the Wayne Foundation, he had a good inkling that what he saw the other night wasn’t the whole truth.
Bruce Wayne is a good man. And, he suspected, a clever one as well. One that has managed to keep his billion dollar company running despite the show he puts on as the idiotic CEO relying on others. A cover up, he supposes, for anyone who might have bad intentions towards him. It was a common enough story of power hungry men always aiming to control as much as they could, never satisfied with what they have; Clark isn’t naive enough to believe that there wouldn’t be people hungry for Wayne’s blood in his own company, especially if they believe him capable of anything more than being just the face of Wayne Enterprise.
Exiting all the websites of Bruce’s accomplishments he’d been able to read through so far, Clark sat there thinking of the day anyone that wasn’t him also came to this same truth. If that same someone was doing their own research for nefarious reasons and wanted to hurt Bruce instead. He felt his heart flutter, thinking of this man who wanted to do good and hid his true self away from others to accomplish this and then being put in the worst situation. He sat there, fists clenched; decided in that moment that if the day ever came, Superman would make sure Bruce made it out safe.
-----
At the Watchtower hangar, Superman approached with caution, floating just slightly above the ground and clutching onto the newspaper article that he seemed unable to throw away despite the turmoil it was causing him. He cleared his throat, watching as Batman stiffened then whirled around to face him, most likely annoyed with having been caught off guard.
(There was something that tickled the back of his mind at this, some sort of familiar scene he’d played before?)
“Hey B… uh…” he started, pausing to try to gather enough courage. He never was one to speculate and beat around the bush. If he suspected something, he usually went out to confirm it with confidence. Whether that be in the form of journalism with Clark Kent or outright asking with Superman.
Batman, who was already annoyed at having being interrupted from overlooking the new jets, snapped at him with a glare. “What is it, Superman?”
Stop being a chicken, just ask him if Bruce Wayne is really his sugar daddy!... oh dear God, what am I doing?! He’ll actually murder me.
“Uh you know what, never mind I figured it out as we were talking. Sorry about that, have a good day!”
And like a coward, he flew away, even using a little super speed to leave a very confused Batman behind.
“...what the hell?”
-----
“Mr. Wayne?”
“Oh dear, if it isn’t Superman himself! To what do I owe this pleasure?”
Superman held back a wince at the saccharine tone Bruce used for him. The way he held himself and the vapid look in his eyes all aiming in his direction gave the caped superhero pause, making him wonder if one day he’d be deemed worthy enough to have Bruce let down those walls he built. He mentally shook his head at that thought.
“Well, recently I’ve come to an understanding between you and a colleague of mine.” He started and noted the way Bruce’s eyes flashed with something that wasn’t fake bewilderment.
“Oh my… I’m afraid I don’t understand. Um, could you maybe dumb it down a little for me?” Although Bruce did a good job of conveying his embarrassment with body language and sheepish expression, his eyes held a cautiousness in them now.
Superman took one breath. Then, “I’m talking about you and Batman.”
There was the slightest inhale of breath and Bruce’s heart skipped a beat.
“What… do you mean?” Bruce tried to keep up the act but Clark could see an underlying concern there was well.
“Bruce, it’s alright. I know.” He told him, trying to muster as much certainty into his voice as possible. There was a silence that followed his statement, in which Bruce did nothing except stare at his face, his silver blue eyes searching intently for something.
And then the mask dropped and Bruce was scowling. Clark blinks in surprise when he realizes the expression is very similar to the one Batman wears when he is not particularly happy with one of his teammates. He shouldn’t be surprised, he supposes, at how much they influence each other.
“It’s alright Bruce, you and Batman-”
“Superman. How did you figure it out.”
Wow. Even their serious voice had a similar growl to it.
“Right, uh…” Clark cut himself off, thinking back to the article. A litany of ‘Bruce Wayne, Batman’s Sugar Daddy’ running through his head had him coughing and suddenly sputtering out, “I have to go Mr. Wayne. Have a very good day!”
“Wait, no! Not again! Son of a-!”
-----
That same night, Clark lay on his bed over the sheets staring blankly at his ceiling as he recounted the days events. He slid both hands over his face, mortified that he’d actually confronted Bruce about his relationship with Batman instead of asking the vigilante himself. And then shame filled him when he realized just how out of line he was for doing such a thing. He should have left it alone like everyone else did. Batman deserved his privacy and Clark had stomped over that.
And yet, he couldn’t help it. He hadn’t been able to get the notion of ‘Bruce and Batman’ out of his head. His chest burned with jealousy.
But for whom?
Who did he feel jealous towards? Which one did he envy? For Bruce who had Batman’s complete trust in helping him keep Gotham safe or for Batman who had Bruce’s home to call his own when he wasn’t patrolling? For Bruce who had Batman to protect him against Gotham’s worst or for Batman who had a generous lover to hold every night?
Clark’s breath caught as he imagined it.
Would Batman pin Bruce down onto the bed as soon as he came home? Would he be aggressive but not overly violent as they found satisfaction with each other’s bodies? Or would Batman allow Bruce to slowly but carefully peel away his armor and affectionately place kisses on the worst of his bruises instead? Would they look at each other with soft smiles as they make love , whispering words of endearment to each other with Batman’s real name falling from Bruce’s lips?
Clark groaned, closing his eyes and reaching a hand down to slip under the waistband of his pajamas despite the jealous fire in his chest raging into an inferno that threatened to engulf him.
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