Chapter Text
He’s warm and sleepy and contentedly curled around something that smells like heaven and home. He nuzzles closer, arm tightening around the broad chest it’s draped on. His whole body buzzes with the resulting rumbling chuckle and he just lets his lips brush that glorious neck in response.
“Morning,” Clark murmurs. Bruce manages to respond with something syllabically similar. Clark rolls over, sliding one arm under Bruce to draw him even closer. They’re forehead-to-forehead, sharing the same breaths. Bruce doesn’t bother to open his eyes; he just lets a soft smile curl his lips.
“Time?” he breathes out.
“7:32,” Clark responds, just as quietly. “No one’s awake yet.”
Bruce hums in response. Three hours. Not bad.
“ But ,” Clark whispers, “I’ve been given instructions to make sure ‘Master Bruce remembers a normal human should aim for at least five hours of sleep.’” Clark’s voice lilts with an awkwardly posh accent, and Bruce can’t help but laugh.
“ ’m not normal,” he mumbles.
Clark just drags him closer. “Sleep, Bruce,” he murmurs, chin pressing on Bruce’s head.
“Make me.”
Clark’s laugh vibrates between them, and there’s suddenly lips pressing against his head. “Sleep, my light,” he murmurs.
“Cheater,” Bruce says, except it comes out more like “chea’r” and he presses closer with a groan.
“My light, my star,” Clark whispers, and Bruce can’t help but press even closer. “My love,” Clark adds reverently, and Bruce groans again.
Everyone thought Clark had the morals of a saint, but the truth is, he was a manipulative bastard when he needed to be. Or wanted to be. Or if it was any day of the week that ended with ‘y’ and had the sun crest over the horizon at some point.
Bruce was unshakable and unbreakable—except when it comes to Clark. And Clark knows it.
“Five minutes,” Bruce mumbles petulantly.
Clark sighs, and Bruce feels him rub his back (again, cheater ). “Fine,” he relents.
And, if the five minutes turn into fifty, Bruce is only slightly grumpy about it. Clark’s smile when he wakes up is worth it—as is the soft, slow, gentle kiss he’s rewarded with.
They roll out of bed, eventually, mostly naked and sharing kisses and Bruce is so glad his kids have learned to not burst into his room anymore. Clark stretches long and beautiful, and Bruce finds himself compelled to run his hands up and down the sculpted planes of his body. Clark promptly grabs his wandering hands, kisses him firmly on the mouth, kisses the palm of each hand, and reminds him that they both have things to do sometime this morning.
Bruce desperately wants to retort that it could include each other, but Clark, as ever, is right. Clark has an interview with the head of a charity organization who only comes stateside a few times a decade, and Bruce has a meeting to further cement Tim as his successor, and sometime around two this afternoon, the League has a meeting set for discussing new strategies and updates to the Watchtower and various teams. If Clark is late, he’ll probably miss his chance or have to skip the League meeting, and if Bruce is late, he won’t be able to slip away conveniently just after lunch.
Bruce makes sure to pout at him for good measure, though, before accepting one final kiss as Clark finishes tying his tie.
“See you tonight?” Bruce says, watching Clark as he slips on his glasses.
“Of course, my light,” Clark says, smoothing out the wrinkles in Bruce’s suit. He presses a soft kiss to Bruce’s forehead, and Bruce breathes in his cologne. “I love you.”
“Love you, too,” Bruce murmurs.
Clark just looks at him for a long moment before climbing out the window. Old habits, Bruce supposes. Or perhaps convenience.
Regardless, Bruce watches him fly away—knowing that, later, Alfred would chide him to use the door. Later, Tim and Damian and Stephanie and Cass would swarm him, and Kon would drop by for dinner, and Dick and Babs would call them, and he and Clark would collapse into bed together and wake up together and do this all again.
—
Bruce Zetas into the hub on the late side of early, skin still prickling from work. He lets himself indulge in an uncharacteristic sigh as he tries to settle into his kevlar and let the Batman side of him take over.
If one more damn person tried to pretend Tim wasn’t fifty times more capable than anyone else in the room, Bruce might have to seriously consider a late-night chat. On a skyscraper. With them being held only by a grappling line and Bruce’s unwillingness to resort to actual murder.
Clark’s already on monitor duty, and Bruce can practically feel the joy wafting off him. Even hunched over and squinting at screens going several thousands of times faster than a normal human eye could endure, his posture is relaxed. He’s absently bouncing his foot, his lip bottom is tucked into his mouth, and his shoulders are completely at ease. Bruce makes a note to ask him about the interview over dinner.
Bruce turns down the hall into the meeting room, where Hal and Oliver are chatting and Arthur and Diana seem to be having some kind of debate. From the look on Vic’s face, it seems like Patrick and Barry have roped him into some inappropriate conversation; opposite them, Captain Marvel seems fascinated by whatever Hawkman and Dinah are talking about. Minus members currently off-world or on-mission, Booster, Guy, Captain Atom, and Clark are the only ones not present.
The fact that even Barry “Always Late” Allen got here before him doesn’t make Bruce feel especially great, but, hell, Batman is known for dramatic entrances. Or, at least, startling ones.
Bruce quietly settles into his seat and just waits to see if—when—people will notice him.
Patrick does something that, frankly, looks disgusting—his arm contorted and bent in a way that only he could make sense—and Barry laughs loud and unabashed.
Arthur’s hands fling out diplomatically before coming back to make some motion that’s clearly meant to emphasize his point.
Captain Marvel interjects something that makes Hawkman face him fully and engage him entirely, while Dinah watches the both of them intently.
Oliver snorts dramatically at whatever Hal says, who kicks up his feet as he shakes his head. He gestures wildly, hands flailing toward where Bruce is sitting across from them. He shakes his head again with a laugh, and his eyes scan the room.
He immediately jumps a mile.
Bruce just stares back passively.
“Jesus mo - nkey on a platter, Spooky!” Hal shouts. “Give a guy a damn heart attack.”
“The meeting room is for business only,” Bruce replies smoothly. “Dating advice, diplomatic arrangements, and explicit instructions on how one’s superpowers can be beneficial in the bedroom are better suited to places outside here, unless absolutely necessary for the proposed mission.”
Patrick’s mouth clacks shut loudly enough to leave an echo, and Barry vibrates anxiously next to him. The flesh side of Vic’s face is darkened with embarrassment.
Oliver snorts, patting Hal’s shoulder. “See, even Bats thinks you’re hopeless.”
Bruce says nothing, just stares down Hal for a moment more before looking at the rest of the room. “We’re still short four members.”
“Guy’s in Memphis,” Hal says flatly.
“Kal’s on monitor duty,” Dinah says, holding up a hand to silence Captain Marvel.
Bruce looks at the rest of them, but no one else offers anything.
“Hal, contact Guy. Dinah, Kal,” Bruce says. “The meeting is starting at 2 regardless of their presence.”
“I’ll get Gold,” Oliver offers, pulling his cell out. Well. Oliver knowing Booster Gold was certainly frightening.
“Captain Atom’s signature was picked up twenty feet from a Zeta station. He should be arriving soon,” Vic informs them.
Hal’s grumbling into his cellphone and looking just generally exhausted with life. He shoots Bruce a glare as his foot taps impatiently.
Clark and Captain Atom arrive around the same time, locked into a conversation of some kind. Dinah lingers behind them for a moment before resuming her seat.
Hal hisses out an irate sigh as he tucks his phone away. “Guy’s not coming.”
“Is Guy aware—”
“ Yes , he’s aware that being on the League means being on the League and coming to meetings ,” Hal says, frustration in every word. “He apparently got roped into Lantern shit that involved going to bars and joining a bachelorette party.”
Oliver shakes his head and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “lucky bastard”.
Bruce’s lips tighten, but he nods. “Arrow?” he says, looking directly at Oliver, who shrugs.
“He said, I quote, ‘Let Batsy-boy know I’m hurrying my spectacular ass up’, unquote, and, quote, ‘Bat-bro needs to get a slower watch’, unquote.”
Bruce lets his gaze stray pointedly to the clock above the League TV, tilting his head to make it even more obvious. It’s precisely 13:59 EST.
“Cyborg, can you disable Zeta access at exactly 14:02 EST?” Bruce says.
“Bats—” Oliver starts to protest.
“I am being generous,” Bruce replies. “We established a time. Members were given sufficient warning to rearrange their schedules or opt out. Despite many of us having tight schedules and civilian duties to attend to, we have arrived promptly. Booster Gold is not exempt from these expectations.”
“The shutdown’s set up,” Vic says quietly.
“Still, Bats—”
“The League is about unity and cooperation. Failing to show up or arriving late disrespects the very foundation of our uni—”
The door swishes open, and Booster Gold practically slides in. “Yo, my bros!” Booster shouts with liberal finger guns as he enters. Clark’s mouth drops open, brows furrowed with disdain, but Booster just snaps his fingers at him. “Shut,” he says simply; he practically twirls to face them all. “I’ve got us a whammy of a doozy of a flimflam of a case, my dudes. Full hands on deck kind of stuff.” Booster grins wide and sweeps into a bow. Behind him, the clock reads 14:01.
“You’re late,” Bruce says tightly.
“Ah, p’shaw, my man. Don’t ruin my thunder.” Booster winks at him. “Look, my bros, my dudes, my lovely folks, I got us some work . But, like, the fun work that doesn’t feel like work.” He fiddles with one of his bracers for a moment, and the TV lights up. “The Lovely Lovers’ Aloha Paradise Retreat in the bee-you-tee-ful locale of Florida,” he says as he gestures to the brochure now on the screen. “Fun, sun, and a little bit of guns. Been getting some word that these lovely folks are gettin’ into some nasty stuff. Venom, trafficking, and weapon distribution. El Playa PD can’t get a single thing on them, but the internet is crawling with references if you know where to look.” A collage of various forums and chat boards pop up. Highlighted passages reference everything from buying drugs to buying people—all of them telling people to meet up at the lap.
“L-A-P, or LAP, my dear folks, is of course the Lovers’ Aloha Paradise, headed by L. Abram Peterson. A bit on the nose, no?” The image changes again—a postcard-perfect picture of a sunset. “And that’s where we come in. We take a sweet vacay to Florida’s beaches, talk up who we need to, and kick these bastards’ butts! Holla!” Booster mimes a slam dunk, a grin on his face.
Oliver’s arm immediately shoots up. “I volunteer as tribute!”
Booster grins wider as he wags a finger at him. “No can do, me amigo. The thing about all these lovely lovers at the Aloha Paradise Retreat is that it’s of one crowd .” Booster winks theatrically. His face falls slightly as no one reacts. “They’re all dudes, my bros,” he says slowly. “No ladies allowed.” His grin immediately lights up again. “ But I did score us some tickets. Two couples, two weeks. I just need me three guys.”
No one makes a sound.
“So,” Gold barrels on, “I was hoping Guy would be here, cuz I know he’d be down. But , I already know who’s going. Lantern 2.0, Big Blue, and Batsy-boy.”
“ What ,” Hal chokes out. “I’m—I’m s traight . What about—what about Marvel?”
“No can do, buckaroo.” Booster winks and shoots him finger guns. “Intel from the great and glorious future says the ol’ Captain is also a solid nope.”
Hal makes a strangled noise in protest.
“Look, Tall-Shiny-and-Handsome, there aren’t that many options if you use that big brain of yours. Atom over there? No civi ID he can swap into. Ditto to Cyborg. Hawkman has his awesome wings. King Fish and Barry-boy have wives back home.”
Hal makes another strangled noise as he looks imploringly at Patrick.
“I would sooner puddle than room with them,” he says flatly.
“See? It's you and me, bro.”
“Spooky—”
“Gold makes a valid point,” Bruce says, watching Hal’s soul die a little.
“B. C’mon. This is crazy. Two of us are straight,” Hal tries. Bruce just stares impassively at him. Oliver looks around for a moment before leaning into Hal’s space to whisper, “Wait. Who’s straight?”
Hal gestures vaguely to Bruce, looking more desperate by the minute.
“Oh, dude,” Oliver breathes out, shaking his head. Hal looks at him, confusion written on his face. “He is, isn’t…?” he says, words seeming to die in his throat as Bruce just continues to stare at him. Hal swallows hard. “Oh,” he mumbles, looking like he would very much like to be beamed up by Oa in that exact moment.
“Look, Straighty McStraight-Pants, I’ll take you as my date and be a perfect gentleman, alright?” Booster cuts in, just a little strained. “I’ll wine and dine you, and let you hang out on the beach or whatever you do. Easy-peasy.”
Hal slides down a little in his seat and nods.
“However valid your choices, though, Gold,” Bruce interjects, “we do like to keep at least the idea of diplomacy present in these meetings. In the future, I’d advise you to not forcibly coerce your fellow League members.”
Booster manages to look almost abashed for half a second, but plasters on a brighter smile as he holds two thumbs up. “Right-a-roonie, Mr. Bats,” he chirrups. “So. Mr. Green Lantern, sir, would you do me the honor of attending a lover’s retreat with me?”
Hal groans a little, but nods. “Yes. Fine. Whatever.”
“Wait,” Barry says, head tilted. “That would leave Batman and Superman together.”
“I don’t mind,” Clark says, in that humble-sheepish-don’t-mind-me voice he’s perfected. Bruce stays quiet, but his heart warms. Is this an ideal way to score a vacation? No. Are they very overdo for a date night that isn’t squeezed in between all their jobs and activities and usually cut short? Yes.
Batman can’t agree to this arrangement. But Superman can.
“Can they even get along that long?” Patrick interjects, and Captain Atom is the one to glare at him.
“I’m certain our teammates can put aside their differences for a mission,” he says, and Hawkman nods next to him.
“We put up with Booster,” Oliver says, stroking his goatee. Dinah scowls fondly at him.
“It could be…a bonding activity,” Diana offers softly.
“Really. It’s fine,” Clark says. “When are we leaving?”
Booster fiddles with his bracer again, and a scan of a pamphlet lights up the screen. “Well, the retreat starts in about a week. May 21?”
“That’s our anniversary!” slips out in protest before Clark can reel in. Bruce watches as his eyes go wide.
Patrick suddenly looks ten times more interested as he leans forward, elbows resting on the table.
“Anniversary of what?” His grin is almost Cheshire-cruel.
Clark sighs and pinches his nose and makes it clear that he very, very much regrets everything right now. “My…,” he hesitates for a moment and Bruce just wants to hold his hand and help him through this, “...marriage.”
“Um. Congrats?” Patrick manages out, head nearly slamming onto the table as his arms liquefy.
“Wow! First anniversaries are a pretty big deal, aren’t they?” Marvel says, practically glowing as a grin spans his face.
Clark pinches his nose harder and shakes his head—and Bruce desperately wants to help him out of this. But, right now, the only way out is through. And Bruce knows Clark knows this. “It’s actually been six years,” he mumbles, looking every bit the sheepish farmboy he was raised to be. “Or, will be.”
Marvel’s delight almost immediately crumbles, and the entire room goes silent.
“I, uh, didn’t know you and Lois actually tied the knot,” Hal ventures. Clark thoroughly looks like he wants to sink through the floor.
“We didn’t,” he says quietly. He scuffs the floor awkwardly, and Bruce can see everyone try to figure out who else it could be. Clark wrings his hands and stares at the ground. “I, um—I appreciate the support. Really. But my husband is very private, and we’ve both agreed it’s safer if no one knows about us.”
“Oh. Um. Congrats, still,” Hal says. He frowns for a moment. “Wait, does this mean you can’t join us? Cuz, y’know….”
“Oh. Um. I’d have to run it by him, but he’s usually pretty understanding,” Clark says; he rubs the back of his neck, and god does Bruce want to kiss away the furrows creasing his face with worry. “I mean, we’re just going to be acting. It’s not really a big deal.”
“Six years is a momentous achievement,” Diana says softly. “Perhaps we should ask someone else.”
Clark shrugs, and Bruce still just wants to hold him tight. “It’s…I mean, we’re both usually too busy. We don’t usually celebrate on the day. We…we’ll have more opportunities in the future.” Bruce can hear the disappointment in his voice—even though he’s doing a damn good job at hiding it. Because, honestly, it’s the first time in those six years that they had actually managed to carve out a free day for the both of them; Dick was going to take Damian, Tim was going to go to the Kents’ farm with Kon, Cass and Steph could be trusted to have a sleepover in a safehouse and not obliterate it, and Alfred was willing to find himself a hotel for the night. It was just going to be Bruce and Clark, a bottle of champagne, and a full day to just be —a day to revel in each other and revel in this beautiful thing they made together.
But, while this mission is a mission, they could also make it into a vacation. They could order room service and drink champagne and pretend, for Hal and Booster’s sake, that it’s all part of being in character. It’s not the same as watching The Devil Wears Prada as Clark ruthlessly picks apart how the company is run, or the same as being able to push each other down on the couch and kiss each other silly, or the same as crawling into bed and falling asleep in each other’s arms after being as loud and uninhibited as they want. But it’s also not Bruce getting pulled in last-minute to fix the mistake of some intern as Clark deals with the fact Lex Luthor decided to loose robots on the city. It’s not Perry reassigning Clark last-minute and denying him his time-off request, or Bruce dealing with the third Arkham breakout of the month. This time, at least, they’ll be together and able to relax. It’s not like that one time, on their third anniversary, when they’d just stopped the apocalypse the day before and Tim had broken his arm and they were all grieving the thousands of lives lost and processing the fact that seven of their own nearly died. They were together, yes, but they weren’t present.
Bruce makes a note to himself to tell Clark exactly this, to reassure him this is fine. To kiss him hard and tell him that he loves him and then find some way to arrange an actual date night some time in the near future.
“I mean, you don’t have to ruin your marriage over this,” Patrick says, face sculpted into a frown.
Clark shakes his head and forces a smile. “Booster’s right. We’re the only ones who can go.” His smile softens into something more genuine. “Plus, my husband’s pretty amazing. If I woo him just right, it’ll all work out.”
Bruce has to force himself not to smile, pinning the corners of his lips flat through sheer willpower alone; warmth floods him and he knows— he knows —he’s making what Dick has called “heart eyes” at Clark. He’s so glad his cowl is firmly on his head.
He’s so glad Clark is in his life.
Patrick shakes his head, and Oliver whistles softly before smirking. “You’re so gone, aren’t you?”
Clark looks directly at him, smile tilting to one side as Oliver visibly prickles. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”
Bruce is all of five seconds from leaping up and kissing that man square on the mouth. He has to clench his leg to keep himself still. He looks over at Booster. “Do you have a plan set?” he asks him, maybe adding a little too much growl to his voice as he tries to not show just how much he loves the man he married.
“Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, bro!” Booster gives him a double thumbs up. “So. We paid up for the premium package, which means we get to rub elbows with Mr. Peterson himself—and all of his snooty friends. I’m thinkin’, we play real nice with them and see if there’s an opportunity to check out what they’re doing. We schmooze, we party, we have a good time. We get a solid bit of evidence, and drop a line to the police—I’ve even got a contact that’s clean. If shit’s real cray-cray, we bust them ourselves.” A photo lights up the screen; it’s a man in his late fifties or early sixties, with hair too dark to be natural and too coarse to be real. “This is Mister L. Abram Peterson himself. He loves himself some rich snoots, so I’m thinking Bats and I can play ourselves. Really douse him with the Brucie charm and follow up with a one-two of Mikey Carter dapperness.” Booster pauses long enough to wink. “Our dates are flings that we’re trying to keep under wraps. Cute asses, nice faces, but nothing we’re ready to show the public. I heard about this through a friend and decided to take a little ‘business trip’ with Brucie and our secret boyfriends. Because money doesn’t matter and we can’t stand to be anything other than the best, we got the premium package. I didn’t have time to work out backstories for the baes, but I’m sure Supes and Lantern can do something. Oh! And I can make the fake IDs. I finally got the program working, so they’ll be as real as anything else.”
Bruce nods. It’s as solid a plan as anything.
“Itsy bitsy bad thing, each room is sans couch with one bed, so we’re gonna be gettin’ cozy.” Booster throws up jazz hands, and Hal immediately groans.
“It’s a manageable problem,” Bruce says, tamping down the joy that just fluttered up. No having to muss the unused bed and trying to pretend like they absolutely, undoubtedly slept separately. “Superman, Lantern, I expect suitable backgrounds to be completed by the end of tomorrow. Booster and I will review them, and make arrangements from there. Arrow, you will assist Lantern in finding suitable clothing for the retreat. Keep the receipts and add them to this month’s expense file. Kal, you will meet me tomorrow at 5 outside work. I will be assisting you with your wardrobe.”
Bruce watches Clark’s eyes twinkle as the smallest, almost unnoticeable smile tugs his lips. Clark already owns nice suits and nice clothes and only pulls out the shoddy suits and awkward clothes when he has to keep up appearances. It’s a proposal for a date night, and Bruce knows Clark will understand. Very slightly, Clark’s head bobs.
“I’ll see if I can slip out then,” Clark says, and Bruce forces back a smile.
“Gold, is there anything else to address?” Bruce asks. Booster’s face contorts in thought for a long moment.
“Noperooni! I think that’s all there is, my man. If the ol’ noggin gets more ideas, I’ll toss you the deets.”
Bruce nods. “That will suffice. Diana, I believe you had announcements of your own?”
—
Captain Atom catches Bruce as he leaves. He gestures vaguely to one of the hallways, and Bruce follows him.
“You don’t have to force yourself for the sake of the team,” Atom says quietly once they’re apparently sufficiently away from everyone. Bruce just stares at him. “With Kal, I mean.”
“I don’t understand,” Bruce replies flatly.
“I saw the way you looked when he talked about his husband.”
Bruce continues to stare at him, panic roiling.
“I…I’m assuming you were upset because Kal is taken,” Atom continues, and Bruce’s anxiety ebbs away. “If you need time, we can call someone in to take his place.”
“We don’t have time,” Bruce says evenly. “And I am not conflicted about Kal’s marital status. Kal is free to marry whoever he chooses.”
“Bruce,” Atom’s voice is dangerously soft, “I’ve seen the way you look at him. And, I mean, you looked like you wanted to punch something when he admitted how much he loves his husband.”
Note to self: get better at not-emoting.
Bruce keeps himself stone faced as he stares Atom down. “Superman’s marital status does not bother me in any way,” he says coldly. “To the contrary, actually. I am pleased Kal has managed to find happiness in a person, considering how difficult it is even without factoring in the nature of what we do.”
Atom looks at him with something akin to pity.
“Is that all?” Bruce asks—demands, really.
Atom frowns at him, but nods.
“In the future, I would recommend not concerning yourself with self-prescribed issues of your fellow Leaguers.” Bruce turns sharply and retreats to the Zeta.
In the Cave, Clark’s already waiting for him. He pulls Bruce close and kisses him hard.
“I’m sorry,” he says softly when he pulls away. “I should have been more careful.”
Bruce shakes his head and runs his fingers along Clark’s jawline. “There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he says, just as soft. “I liked hearing about how amazing your husband is. How you just have to… woo …him.”
Clark laughs, quiet and warm, and kisses Bruce again—gentle and slow. “Yeah?” he murmurs.
“Mm,” Bruce hums, kissing Clark again. And again. And again.
Clark pulls away slowly. “So…you’re okay with it? With the retreat?”
Bruce looks him in the eyes and lets his hands wander a little. “I mean…it’s going to be hard not to ravage you on every surface.” His hand slip down onto Clark’s chest. “I might have to just pull you into some nice, dark hallway and leave you dazed and mussed.” He traces the El insignia delicately. “But, yes, it’s fine.” He kisses Clark softly. “I know it’s not what we had planned, but maybe we should just start having an anniversary month.”
Clark smiles at him—brighter than the sun—before pulling him even closer and wrapping him in his arms. “I love you, my light.”
“Love you, my strength,” Bruce murmurs against his chest.
—
“Done-arooi,” Booster chirrups through the screen. “Mr. Joseph Ford from Midfield, Kansas, alumni of JSU, whose best friend Michelle Watson got him to schmooze Brucie Wayne and Mr. James Ferris of Star City, California, alumni of Lewis County College, who was recommended to Michael Carter by Oliver Queen for an IT position, are both in every database. Physical IDs will finish printing by tonight.”
Bruce grunts and nods, scanning through the file Hal sent through.
Bruce and Clark collaborated on Joseph’s background, so he knows it’s clear.
And, from the look of Hal’s, he absolutely shoved it Dinah’s way before it was sent to Booster. A definite boon—Dinah is a master of alibi. Hal’s is basically as solid as it’s going to get.
Except…
“Are you comfortable romancing an employee?” Bruce asks, and Booster practically cackles.
“Oh, yeah , dude. Mikey Carter is a sleaze, bro. Swoop and nab, y’know? Nouveau riche bastard type, right? So, yeah. Totes would grab dat ass if he could. No biggie, bro.” Booster laughs again. “I mean, if I’ve seen anything about Mr. Peterson, he appreciates a solid sleazy bastard.” Bruce can hear a chair creak as Booster leans back. “Plus. Balance, my bro. You get to be all polished and suave with your totally not-sus beau, and I get to be obnoxious and carefree with my HR-defiling piece of ass. Gives us two avenues for the price of one. Well. Metaphorically speaking. Shit’s cray ex-pen-sieve, ya dig?”
“Have you put the receipts in the expense report?”
Booster laughs. “Bro. Bro. No . This is a freebie. I made dumb money messin’ with stuff only my futuristic superbrain could come up with. I’m, like, small country rich—not a brag bro. Never like to brag. But, uh, yeah. It’s a drop in the pond.” Booster pauses for a moment. “We all needed a vacation, y’know? I mean, like, all of us all of us, but you three I knew I could get down lock. I can come up with something to get the others to chill for a hot sec. You and Supes? You guys never breathe. It’s all work, all the time. And Hal—Hal tries, but he gets stressed about not working. And then he gets stressed that he’s stressed. He literally can’t chill, bro. So. We bust baddie butt, take a breather, and come back nice and refreshed for the next crisis.”
Bruce is quiet, but mentally, Booster just went up in his internal rankings a little. But. He’s Batman, so he says, “Manipulating your team members isn’t conducive to a healthy dynamic, Gold.”
Booster laughs, but it’s softer—slightly more forced. “Got it, Bats.” He twists in his chair. “So. How’d shopping with Big Blue go?”
“He’s hopeless,” Bruce says flatly.
“Mm?”
“He doesn’t understand quality means money. He doesn’t understand things can be tailored. He kept finding the cheapest items on the rack and tried to convince me they were fine.” Or, at least, seven and a half years ago—when their relationship was new—this was how it was. Clark has since learned to appreciate the finer things, including the highest-quality flannel and denim one can find.
“Yeah. Ollie said it was the same with Hal,” Booster says, almost distractedly. “But if you don’t know, you don’t know, right, bro?”
Bruce, reluctantly, nods his head.
“Bonus is, though—they’re stupid hot. They can make anything look good.”
This almost startles a chuckle out of Bruce, but he manages to disguise it as a sneeze.
“Add the receipts to the expense file,” Bruce says, and Booster sighs.
“Hey, Bats, can I ask you something?” Booster’s chair creaks as he twists in it, and Bruce stays silent. He’s starting to work on a spreadsheet of their outfits for each activity, just to make sure they bought enough. “You and Supes—is there, y’know, something?”
“Kal is married,” Bruce says flatly.
“To you, though, right?”
“No.”
Booster sucks his teeth as Bruce desperately tamps down his nerves. “He looked at you, bro. For like, a hot sec when he dropped the ol’ hubster bomb. And he looks at you, like, a lot a lot. All soft and squishy and stuff.”
“Kal is married,” Bruce repeats.
“Bruce. B-man.” Booster leans closer to his screen. “I’m from the future. I know shit about this time. I know that in my time, it was no big if two dudes shacked up. Or four dudes, or three guys and a lady, and—anyway, what I’m saying is, if you’re with Kal, it’s chill. And, uh, sorry for ruining your anniversary.”
“How are the IDs looking?”
Booster just stares at him through the screen for a long moment, before huffing a sigh and turning to the side. “Golden. Driver’s licenses are done, work badges are almost there, and the passports are queued up. Do you want credit cards, or nah?”
“That would be ideal, yes.”
“On it, boss-man.” Booster dramatically cracks his knuckles. “Operation casual fraud is a-go-go.”