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Telling Lois was a lot easier than his brain made it out to be. All it took was a simple “I asked Batman out and he said yes.” The hardest part was being subjected to her I told you so and victory dance. Clark, the hick that he was, could square dance, waltz, two-step, and line dance. All of which required some sort of rhythm, but he would call himself a dancer. Still, he could confidently say that Lois, smart, strong, independent, wonderful Lois could not dance.
The fact that he sat through her appalling promenade was testament to the strength of their friendship and his altruism.
Dates in Paris and picnics on indescribable planets whirled by and Clark was, as the kids say, “down bad”. Of course, it couldn’t last. That’s ominous. He and Bruce were fine, they were great even, brilliant, perfect. It was Clark’s fault, really.
“You’re practically glowing, Smallville,” Lois commented.
He was hosting their biweekly dinner. In reality it was a penta-weekly dinner barring any dates and work assignments. They should probably make more friends but that’s so much work as an adult.
As strong as he was, he could push down the smile that spread across his face. “Yeah, it’s wonderful. He’s wonderful.”
“Really?”
Something was going on. That was Lois’ on to your bullshit voice. Clark would know. He’d been on the receiving end of that tone more often than anyone else, he’d bet the Fortress on it. But he hadn’t bullshat - is that a thing? - anything recently. He made a typo in his most recent Metropolis City Council centric exposé, writing condiment instead of condemnation in his rush but she’d already poked fun at him for that.
Before he could manage to deduce what, this could be about - Bruce would’ve figured it out - a copy of the Daily Planet landed on his dining room table. “Front page before the fold, Kent.”
His heart rate spiked, not that Lois would know that. Who’s he kidding? She can probably tell, she’s Lois.
“Are you cheating on Batman with Bruce Wayne?”
That was a reasonable conclusion, what with a clear photo of Superman kissing the media labeled ‘Prince of Gotham’ Bruce Wayne on a rooftop. One didn’t need to be as astute as Lois Lane to come up with that. Clark could tell she was confused, trying to reconcile the Clark Kent she knew with the seemingly damning evidence of infidelity laid out before them.
This was bad, this was very, very bad. And if not bad than it was about three lefts, a right, a hayride, approximately one game of hopscotch, a trans-Atlantic boat trip, and a Sunday morning jog away from good.
“Where did you get that?” His panic was going to get the best of him if this wasn’t settled quickly and quietly. This is the kind of thing that could scare Bruce away.
Roa, he couldn’t lose him. Not now that he knew about that little, genuine smile he reserved for Robin’s jokes or the unrestrained laugh he saved for Dick’s particularly well-crafted quips. Not now that he’d seen how his eyes sparkled under the dual moons of Karntyn.
Even as his thoughts were spiraling into the worst possible scenarios, his cherished memories of their many dates, excursions, and quiet rooftop nights were being covered in a layer of reverence and nostalgia. Turning into fond remembrances of a time passed like Saturday morning cartoons and high school football games, against his will.
Lois startled almost imperceptibly at his directness and likely at his lack of denial. “Was supposed to print in this morning’s run ‘til someone with a lot more influence than us grunts had it pulled.”
Very subtle.
Clark released some of the tension that had drawn his shoulders up and driven his fingernails into his luckily impenetrable palms.
“Are you cheating on Batman with Bruce Wayne?” Lois repeated.
He wasn’t out of the woods yet. Lois was one of the smartest people Clark knew. His answer could change everything, but he couldn’t lose her.
“No,” he said, preparing himself for the backlash and exclamation.
Instead, in a move he was sure even Doctor Fate wouldn’t see coming, Lois’ eyebrows knitted together, and she replied, “Are you cheating on Bruce Wayne with Batman?”
Clark blue screened. “What?”
Lois huffed, hands on her hips, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Are you cheating on Bruce Wayne with Batman?”
“No,” he asserted. That is not the conclusion he would have come to. “I’m not cheating on anyone.”
If possible, Lois looked even more confused. She finally relaxed her accusatory stance and took her usual seat across from him at the table. Dinner was on its way. They needed to wrap this up for the delivery guy arrived.
After a particularly long stretch of silence, Clark knew better than to interrupt, Lois tried again. This time she seemed to be approaching with caution. “You’re in an open relationship with Batman.”
Clark actually laughed at that. At least all the cheating allegations were over.” No, Lois. I am not in an open relationship with Batman.”
“You’re in an open relationship with Bruce Wayne?” she said, questioning more than stating.
“No,” his phone chimed. The delivery driver had picked up their food and was on his way.
Lois crossed her arms over her chest, frowning. “I’m out of ideas.”
“I can’t tell you. I wish I could, but I can’t,” Clark supplied, feeling the heavy weight of guilt being staved off by his unwavering sense of loyalty.
“Oh!” his companion suddenly exclaimed. “No way.”
Clark smiled.
“No way. There’s no way.”
She’d finally figured it out. Not his fault, not even Batman could hold it against him. Plus, Clark wasn’t daft enough to assume every single one of his friends, coworkers, associates, and family members hadn’t undergone extensive, Bat-level background checks.
Given time to think, Clark recognized that there was no way, under any circumstances, Lois would have gotten ahold of this canceled print unless Bruce wanted her to.
“You’re in a polyamorous relationship with Batman and Bruce Wayne.”
Clark had never truly understood the meaning of flabbergasted until that very moment. That was saying something considering his parents once told him that he was found in an alien tin can in a corn field and was, in fact, an alien himself. It ripped a boisterous laugh out of him that would have been disingenuous if it wasn’t so hysterical.
He could hear Ma Kent in his head tellin’ him he sounded madder than a wet hen.
“Yeah, Lois,” he offered after taking a moment to collect himself. “I’m in a polyamorous relationship with Batman and Bruce Wayne.”
“Why do I get the impression you’re mocking me?”'
“Because I’m mocking you, Lane.”
“I’m so fucking lost. If you’re not poly, and you’re not cheating, and you’re not in an open relationship, what the hell is going on?” she questioned, more to herself than anyone else.
“You’ll get there,” Clark encouraged.
There was a knock on his apartment door. He checked the encrypted app for the most advanced security camera he’d ever heard of let alone seen that sat above his front door courtesy of his totally well-adjusted and not at all paranoid boyfriend to see the delivery guy setting their food on his welcome mat. Clark doubted the pentagon had cameras this high res. Coupled with the Oracle coded facial recognition software, Clark would know in seconds if this poor dude who was just trying to do his job, posed any threat to him or his.
He was on his way back to the dining table, which was still strewn with notes and research, when Lois stood up abruptly. “No fucking way,” she stated, backing away from the table like it was radioactive. “No fucking way.”
She was grinning now, laughing.
“Yeah.”
“No fucking way. I’ve met the guy. He’s a himbo. Oh my God, don’t tell Batman I called him a himbo. Oh my God. No fucking way.”
Clark was laughing with her. “I’m going to tell him right now. Speed dial,” he threatened.
“No, no,” the humorous atmosphere faded as Lois’ face paled. “Is he going to erase my memory? Should I call my parents and say goodbye? Am I about to be sent to a non-extradition country with a new name and no ties to my former self? Oh my God, am I -”
“Lois,” he placated, a bit ashamed of finding her rambling funny. “If he didn’t want you to know you wouldn’t know.”
“Oh, yeah, that makes sense.”
“Sit down, L. I know you’ve got questions,” he pulled out a chair for her, like Pa taught him, and started unbagging their dinner.
“Of course, I’ve got questions. Chief among them, and most importantly -”
“Redundancy,” Clark pointed out, happy to be correcting her grammar for once.
“Shut up, farmboy. It’s my turn,” she bit back but there was no venom. “Chief among them, and most importantly, how big’s his d-”
“Nope. Nope. No. Nope. I am not answering that. Absolutely not. Nope. No.”
“Driveway, Kent. I was going to say driveway.”