Chapter Text
Bruce entered the manor to the smell of a frustrated alpha. He'd hoped to have found his mate in a better mood, but time was running out - they could passively brush off this topic no longer.
"Clark?"
"In here." Clark sat in the center of the parlor untangling Christmas lights like he was defusing a bomb.
"Is this how you plan on busying yourself this weekend?" Clark, flanked by boxes of ornaments and other decorations, had a tinsel garland draped over his shoulders like a boa.
"That's the—" Clark was equal parts enraged and entranced by the strength yet delicate precision it took to undo these impossible knots. "Plan."
Clark's tongue quirked out between his teeth, the whole deal. It was half cute. For a brief moment, Bruce just enjoyed the view, then walked up and ran his fingers through Clark's hair. He even smiled when Clark paused his valiant efforts to loop his arm through Bruce's legs in a lazy sort of hold, nuzzling against Bruce's thigh to rectify the issue that they didn't smell enough of each other before resuming.
Clark loved all holidays—he'd just taken down the Hanukkah decorations a week ago, and those had gone up only after the hand turkeys he had snuck from the family under the guise of a fingerprinting exercise had come down. Clark was in the holiday spirit at a full sprint and wanted to do everything the season had to offer. Well, almost everything.
"Good you'll be preoccupied then. Might hardly notice my absence this weekend. I was worried I'd have to find something to keep you out of trouble." Bruce couldn't—no, didn't want to hide the bite in his tone.
"Absence?" Clark broke his concentration and stared up at Bruce at a loss. Had he forgotten outright?
"The Vreeland's Christmas Gala is this weekend. I still have a few things I need to do to get prepared." Bruce paused for a reaction, and he got one. There was a snarl in Clark's throat as his eyes shot back down to his task. He inadvertently tightened a knot instead of loosening it, frustrated that Bruce was bringing this up again. "So I'll take that as you still refuse to join me?"
"Do you need me to go?" Bruce wasn't sure if Clark was asking it that way on purpose. Need . No, Bruce didn't need him to go.
"I'd hate to take you away from all of this. I'm sure you're double-booked as it is. I heard you volunteered to be on call at the Watchtower as well." Clark had a habit of doing that. What was the last ball or charity event Clark had bothered to attend with him? There was always something else to do. Somewhere else to be.
Insanity was repeating the same action and expecting different results. Bruce got that same bothered, bordering on boiling, reaction any time he invited Clark to accompany him to anything that required a suit of black and white instead of red and blue. Bruce knew the response had been coming; he had just no clue why it was such a constant.
"I... Do you need me to go?" Clark repeated with a bit of a growl under his voice as their conversation appeared to take a sharp turn towards an argument.
"This is an important event, Clark. One that does a lot of good, you know that. I don't understand why you're dragging your feet against something both festive and altruistic. It should...appeal to you." Clark should want to go. Clark should not doom Bruce to bear the public eye alone. He still enjoyed Bruce's company, didn't he? It would be catastrophizing to think they were drifting apart and Bruce had been too busy to notice.
"I just...I want you to have fun, Bruce." Clark's tone had changed to apologetic, he stood and went to place a hand at Bruce's waist, but the Bat stepped back. "Bruce?" That empty fist bunched, not angry, just frustrated.
"Do you need me to go? I will." Clark approached again and this time Bruce allowed it, confused by this repetition. "If you ever need me, I'll be there for you. I promised that, didn't I? I promised you, Bruce, that I would give you everything I possibly could so that you could have everything you need." Clark ran his thumb across a line of teeth marks low near Bruce's collar. Bruce shifted into the touch slightly, but he held a stoic stare at his mate.
If Bruce wasn't so... confused, maybe he would have been amused. It was clear by the look on Clark's face that he wanted to lean into that spot, kiss and nip, maybe even break the skin, but Bruce was frustrated with his Alpha so that wasn't on the table. "I want you to go, Bruce. Have a good time. I think...you'd have a better time if I wasn't there."
"Because you don't fit in with them? Because your weaknesses are magic, Kryptonite, and silver spoons?"
"That isn't it." Clark opened his mouth to say it again, to go on about Bruce's needs, but Bruce didn't want to hear it.
"No?" What other reason would Clark turn him down? Clark was a social creature. He made a career out of small talk and story swapping. He loved the holidays, loved helping people, loved Bruce. The only variable that stuck out was the company.
"Are you worried Lex will be there?"
" He should be the one to worry ." That was a full and aggressive growl, the alpha clearly insulted by the implication that Luthor had him scared or hiding in any way.
"So that’s it? Your arch nemesis is a one percenter and he's soured you on the whole demographic."
Clark narrowed his eyes. "How many children's birthday parties do you go to? Been to the circus late—" Clark stopped and shook his head.
"You're riling me ‘bout the wrong things Bruce. Relax. Just ‘cause Lex is a menace to society doesn't mean I want to eat the rich." Clark leaned his forehead in against Bruce's. "Just one. Just you. Want to swallow you whole. You're mine, Bruce." Clark moved fast enough to lay a playful nip at Bruce's ear. Bruce was still upset, but he did let off some steam in a sigh at that.
"If I couldn't stand billionaires, I picked a silly person to fall in love with, huh?"
"What's the right way to rile you, Clark? Why won't you go?" Bruce slunk the tinsel from his partner's neck. He ran his cheek against Clark's throat, scenting slightly, wanting them both to calm down, to have a conversation about this. Clark was clearly on edge about this, but why?
"I said I would if you—"
"Why don't you want to? I have no need for you. Everything between us is a want Clark and that's the way it should be. Why don't you want to accompany me?"
"Because, I want you to have fun and trust me—" Clark did grab Bruce by the waist, squeezed a bit, let his nails dig somewhat claiming. "Trust me. I'd be no one's definition of fun at a place like that, surrounded by people who..." Clark tapered off but that wasn't an answer, that wasn't a reason.
"What?"
"I won't." Clark buried himself in the crook of Bruce's neck, breathing in the omega for a moment or two.
"Won't what, Clark? What do you think will happen? That they'll cook you up with the Christmas goose? No one does anything to you without permission. You're Superman."
"Exactly." That growl just wouldn't stay hidden. That time Clark pulled away, his head a bit low, embarrassed. "I just wouldn't be a perfect gentleman for you, Bruce. I'd try but I'd...lose it. You deserve a perfect gentleman, a perfect date." Was Clark concerned about his table manners and etiquette? Did he feel he would be mocked or teased by Bruce's peers?
Clark was too confident, too in tune with his sense of self, he didn't care what others thought of him that much. Did he? Clark was Clark twenty-four seven, hell or high water. Public perception didn't keep him from doing what he thought was right, what he wanted to do in the day to day; a simple Christmas party wouldn't throw him so far off his game. Would it?
Even if a snicker did come when he picked up the wrong fork, Bruce would be there alongside him, and that should be enough comfort and assurance, shouldn't it? Didn’t Clark know Bruce wouldn't leave him out to dry?
Clark knew Bruce hated social gatherings and yet was doing nothing, actively denying any relief. Unless Bruce groveled, unless Bruce needed him. Clark knew Bruce better than that, knew he needed no one. Bruce had just thought he found someone he wanted and who felt equally. Was he wrong?
☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:* ・ °☆. 。
“How do I look?”
“The same as you did in the last ten you’ve tried on.” Bruce rolled his eyes at his partner’s response.
“Caaaarlos—” he called melodically, and a young employee came trotting up. Now it was Clark’s turn to roll his eyes. “I’ve been told all these look the same. I didn’t come here to waste valuable hours trying on tuxedos that all look alike.”
“I understand, Mr. Wayne. Each of our tuxes are unique. If I may, this one has silk lapels instead of satin. See how it feels smoother to the touch? Also, the lapels are half a centimeter thinner and have a peak collar, while the last one had a styled shawl collar. A more traditional design this time for the family of Wayne.” Bruce smiled and nodded, motioning the fitter to leave them before turning to Clark.
“Clark, if you roll your eyes any more, they’re going to fall out of your head.”
“A half centimeter thinner. This is ridiculous, Bruce. How many suits are you going to try on?”
“Sweetheart, it’s not even a white-tie event.” Bruce tried to break the apparent tedium with a joke. Clark rolled his eyes and snorted.
“Yeah, not even Vreeland can be that conceited, can he?” At that bold assumption an undignified snort slipped out between Bruce’s lips and Clark grinned. Bruce cleared his throat, pulling his Brucie mask back to the front.
“Now, now, Clark, darling. No need to be obtuse. What do you think about these pants?”
Clark rolled his eyes again, muttering something that Bruce didn’t catch. While it was great fun teasing Clark in his Brucie persona, Bruce was no closer in solving the current mystery that was Clark Kent’s aversion to galas. As Clark usually loved watching Bruce try on different outfits in front of him, Bruce had thought that a suit fitting would rekindle something—anything—but Clark had only shown disdain, barely looking at Bruce the entire time.
“Here, Mister Wayne. I’ve found what you asked for!” Bruce’s eyes lit up as Carlos came in with another tuxedo for Bruce to try on. It was practically identical to the tux that Bruce had worn to another gala three years ago—that night Clark couldn’t seem to get his hands off of him. Unfortunately, he could no longer fit in the suit anymore, his shoulders now more broad with muscle. This one was almost exactly the same, with slight alterations with more up-to-date designs. Hell, it even seemed to almost fit perfectly. Only a quick fitting around the forearms would be needed. Bruce smirked to himself as he left the dressing room.
“How do I look?”
A cursory glance was given. “Just like the other eleven.”
Bruce couldn’t help but let out a breath of disappointment.
“Mister Wayne, our other suits have just arrived!” Carlos came bustling in with a white suit.
“Perfect timing, Carlos.” Bruce gave his biggest Brucie smile. “Here, Sweetie pie, put this on.”
With a cringe, Clark took the suit and went into the fitting room as Carlos took his leave.
“They’re just suits, Bruce,” Clark grumbled from behind the changing door.
“But suits can say a lot about you. You know that. That’s why you always wore oversized suits.”
“It was to hide my physique.”
“But it was also to help portray a type of demeanor. As my partner, I can’t have you owning a suit that clearly doesn’t fit you. What kind of husband would I be, having you walk around in clothing that doesn’t fit?”
“Someone who lets their partner pick out their own clothes.”
“Then I suppose all the rich and snooty will have said that I have fallen for some Neanderthal I picked off the streets.”
“A Neanderthal with muscles.” Clark appeared from the dressing room.
“A wretched, wretched, Neanderthal indeed,” Bruce muttered appreciatively, eyeing Clark up and down. “Can’t even wear a jacket right. Here, let me help.” Bruce went in and started fiddling with jacket’s buttons.
“Hey, I thought you told me not to button a suit.”
“I said not to button the bottom button of a tux.” Bruce breathed in deep. This close, Clark’s smell was intoxicating. A hint of vanilla and subtle alpha musk. Bruce would never have thought cheap cologne would smell so sexy.
“Carlos definitely has a good eye for these things. This suit is perfect for you. You look amazing.”
“Do I, now?”
Bruce looked back at Clark, and Clark raised an eyebrow, a smirk on his face. Bruce blushed.
“Yes.” Bruce swallowed, and continued to help Clark with his buttons nonchalantly. “A shawl collar helps align your physique, and the color—a black suit may have been more slimming, but with a white suit, it definitely brings out your eyes. It’s a shame you can’t wear a blue tie—” Bruce stopped as Clark wound one hand around Bruce’s lower back and lifted the omega’s chin with the other. Clark smiled lopsidedly.
“You think I look good in white?” Bruce rolled his eyes, but his face would not cool and his heart would not slow down.
“Of cour—mmmhm!” Bruce muffled as Clark claimed his lips. Clark's tongue caressing the roof of Bruce’s mouth, sending tingling sensations all through Bruce’s body. Bruce moaned. His alpha was finally acknowledging him. His mouth opened more, granting more access, and Clark took it. Growling, he pushed Bruce against the wall, and Bruce couldn’t be happier.
Please, kiss me more. Claim me. Mark me. Make me yours all over again. Don’t ever leave me. Stay. Please don’t ever stop.
But no matter how much Bruce wanted Clark to never stop kissing him, he was only human. Clark leaned back and Bruce gasped for air. His cheeks were red, his lips bruised and rosy for all to see. Clark looked just as perfect as ever, with the exception of slightly tousled hair and dilated eyes.
“ Alpha ,” Bruce uncharacteristically whined, and Clark growled again, his eyes growing darker. Fuck pride. They were both together, in the moment. His alpha wanted him. Clark wanted him . Clark hadn’t shown interest in him for weeks. And now Clark was here. Clark was holding him, Clark was kissing him—
“Alphaaa .” Please, please , his mind repeated. I want you. I need you. Show me that you want me just as badly. Show me that you still… Bruce gripped Clark’s neck, his other hand pulling on Clark’s black tie—
“ Bruce, no ,” Clark growled, using his alpha voice. It was like Bruce was plunged in cold ice water, and Bruce couldn’t help the distressed whine that came out from deep in his throat. He had done wrong. But how? Why? And for Clark to use his alpha voice—he never used his alpha voice on Bruce—the only alpha voice that could have any effect on him. To not only reject Bruce, but also use his alpha voice to tell Bruce to stop—it was all just too much. Bruce’s ego screamed at him to look Clark in the eye, to demand what was going on with him because something was obviously going on with him, but his omega instincts that were usually subdued were so strong now. So strong that Bruce had bowed his head, not even able to look his alpha in the eye. Every fiber in his being hurt. His alpha rejected him . The thought alone made another embarrassing whine escape from his throat, and he saw Clark’s hands spasm out of the corner of his eye.
“I’m so sorry, Bruce. I just…Bruce?”
Bruce swallowed. Get it together. Say something. He lowered his hands to straighten out Clark’s lapels.
“So,” Bruce tried for indifference, but his wavery voice gave him away, “how does it feel? Will we be getting this suit so you can wear it at the gala?”
Silence.
“Clark?”
“If you need me, I’ll go.”
“I told you, Clark, I don’t need you to go to the gala. What I need is for you to be open and honest with me.” Clark’s eyes fluttered shut, and he gently pushed Bruce back, the lapels sliding out from underneath Bruce’s fingertips. Clark ran his hand through his hair, a frown marring his face as he turned, and headed for the door.
Bruce swallowed as a cold pang pierced his heart. This mission to find out what was going on with Clark—it was no longer a little game. What had started out as being one of Clark’s mysterious quirks, a fun puzzle for Bruce to uncover or a slight nuisance that on good days was more endearing than annoying, was now entering dangerous territory. Now things were beginning to spiral out of control. And as Bruce felt the cold ice feeling crawl up and up from the depths of his heart, he knew he had to do something about his relationship, and fast.