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The other 'heroes' (Bruce was hesitant to call them that—they were all just trying to hold together a society which was falling apart faster than a grocery bag in the hand of an elderly woman halfway across the street) had already left the sewer (honestly. A sewer, when he had a perfectly good cave..) they were meeting in when the real drama began. Which was saying a lot, because between the skirmishes with local muggers and the bickering of the vigilantes, Bruce had already had a long day.
He slumped against a wall and pulled his mask off to wipe his face. He'd never done that in front of Clark before, because they always separated for a few hours of the day, and Bruce usually waited to remove his mask until he was on his own property.
Bruce had known Superman's identity since Clark Kent had arrived at his doorstep asking for an interview.
Or—well, no. That was giving himself too much credit.
The interviewer was sitting on his couch, and asked him whether he had heard about the rumors jokingly implying that he was in a relationship with Batman.
Bruce laughed it off and insulted his alter ego (mainly to give himself and Alfred something to laugh about later on, but also because he knew it would help his public image and disassociate himself from the figure at the same time). He had also made an offhand comment about Superman—and it was just to add to the joke—one hero over another, whatever.
But he caught the glint in the interviewer's eye. He had introduced himself as Clark Kent, but at that comment, he sort of—smirked, a little, and then he took off his glasses.
The glasses really did a lot to change his face—they drew the eye away from his inhuman stare, and they softened it, slimmed it. Removing them so too removed the suspension of disbelief that held back the majority of Gotham City from seeing his true identity.
Clark quickly cleaned them with a handkerchief from his pocket and put them back on, and most citizens would never have noticed his brief, risky motion (which Bruce theorized he did entirely on purpose, just because more risk was more fun)—but of course, Bruce was Batman, and had had the good fortune to meet Superman more than once.
Of course, Alfred would mock him for how long it took him to notice, because Alfred had clocked Mr Kent by his voice when he had scheduled the appointment.
Bruce had asked Clark to stay for dinner after completing the interview. Clark had stayed, and he didn't go home at all that night.
It was then that—in Bruce's mind, at least—they had made their identities clear to each other.
In fact, Bruce had him pushed up against a wall when Clark said, "You know, some people say I look like Superman," and Bruce had responded, "I bet they do. Speaking of which—" and had stepped back, which he briefly regretted due to the increased distance between himself and the most ridiculously STACKED man he had ever seen.
He led Clark into his bedroom and opened his high-tech wardrobe which contained his Batman suit.
Clark had inhaled sharply, and said "Oh, should I call you Batman?". Bruce had never considered that showing this side of himself to someone would be as interesting as it was. Voice almost as deep and raspy as it was in the mask, he responded, "If that's what you'd like to call me, you may."
The next day, they'd gone out for breakfast. They'd separated for the day, and Bruce had thought that would be the end of it—one lovely evening with a very well-built man who seemed to enjoy Bruce's company.
But that night, Clark had re-appeared on Bruce's doorstep, flowers in hand. They had eaten dinner, until Bruce had offered to show Clark his Batmobile, and they abandoned their food in favor of spending several hours in the back seat.
The pattern had continued for the next three months.
Bruce had believed Clark had been acutely aware of his identity that entire time.
However, Clark's sharp inhale and slack jaw could only mean one thing.
Bruce sputtered, already exasperated, "You had to have known it was me. You must have! There's no way you couldn't—you've been to the bat cave! You had to walk PAST MY HOUSE! Which you have spent the majority of the last three months at!"
"I'm sorry for not noticing like, ONE HOUSE, Bruce!" Embarrassment did not go with Clark's outfit. You had to wear a unitard, cape, and tights with an incredible amount of dignity for it to work.
"IT'S A MANSION!!!!"
"I just didn't see it!"
"YOU HAVE X-RAY VISION!!! Not to mention, supposedly, you're an investigative reporter. How the hell could you not notice that you were sleeping in Batman's house?"
"It's not really x-ray vision, actually, it's more like—I can see around things? I can see in four dimensions." Clark's explanation was actually incredibly interesting, but Bruce would not let it distract from the topic at hand (they'd definitely revisit the topic later, though—what the fuck?).
"You call me Batman IN THE BEDROOM!"
"People have kinks?"
A pause, as Bruce tried desperately to come up with a response to that—utterly unhinged response.
"You—I—PEOPLE don't just HAVE BATMOBILES, THOUGH!"
"YOU'RE A BILLIONAIRE!" Clark's voice was rising too, and at this point both of their shouts were echoing through the sewer.
"SO YOU THOUGHT I JUST HAD A BATMAN FETISH???? YOUR TYPE IS A RANDOM BILLIONAIRE WITH A BATMAN FETISH???"
"Well, aren't you?"
"Clark." Bruce said, offended.
"Bruce." Clark said, cheekily.
"Take it back."
"No—and here's something else—you couldn't find a BETTER WAY to help the city than be a stupid VIGILANTE??? You have a BILLION DOLLARS. What the fuck," Clark slipped into his liberal-rant voice and Bruce knew he was a goner.
"I do other things! I use charities—real charities, and I invest in city infrastructure, and I pay my taxes, and I vote for—"
"There's no such thing as a good billionaire!"
"That's true! But I was born one! You know I do all I can. You've known I was a billionaire this whole time."
"I didn't know you were spending money on—on gadgets—because you want to be a stupid vigilante!"
"YES YOU DID!"
"Well, before I thought they were for sex reasons."
"AND THAT'S BETTER?!"
"IT'S SAFER!!!" Clark shouted, voice breaking. It was clear this was more important to him than the rest of it.
Which was sweet, actually.
"O-oh." Was all Bruce could get out.
"I am not human, Bruce, you are. Today you almost died!"
"What could you possibly mean by that, Clark?" said Bruce, already slightly annoyed again. "I didn't even get injured."
"You almost got stabbed in the neck!"
"I'm literally wearing armor, Clark, what more could I do?"
"I just want you to be careful."
"It's not like I'm reckless—"
"You wear. a cape. so you can glide."
"With state-of-the-art technology; it's incredibly safe—"
"It's incredibly reckless—"
"It's not!" Bruce said, and almost slipped into the sewer water between them.
"Oh, come on," said Clark, levitating. He flew to Bruce's side of the sewer and steadied him before gathering him into his arms.
"I'm fine!"
"Yes, all right, I know. But it's getting late."
Bruce went to protest more, but he found himself a bit powerless against Clark's raised eyebrow.
"Don't tell me you don't want Superman to fly you home."
"Just to the Batmobile," Bruce compromised. He absolutely did want Superman to fly him home, but Alfred would be intolerable.