Chapter Text
Bruce had spent his whole life being an alpha. He might not have had proof before he presented but he had known none the less. He had made it a priority, as such, to never abuse his power as an alpha. His parents had both been alphas, and while society had made it clear they were odd, Bruce had grown up with two alphas that showed him what he was made for.
Becoming Gotham's protector therefore came easy to him. He was an alpha, it was just a part of his nature to protect what he loved. And for all it’s flaws he truly loved his city.
He’s an alpha, and over the course of his life he’s met many an alpha, some good other not. And when Clark Kent bumps into him at a gala, he just knows the man isn’t an alpha. It’s not just the fake pheromones he wears that are then haphazardly covered with scent blockers. It’s just the way he doesn’t get it.
This innate thing that drives Bruce seems to be lacking from the other man. Which wouldn’t really be interesting, plenty of omegas and betas pretend at being alphas after all. But that’s Kent’s other problem, he clearly isn’t one of those either. The man is a conundrum, defying all logic and categorization.
Bruce wants to figure him out but before he can his comm informs him of another crime that needs Batman’s attention.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Days later Bruce knows what Clark is, a Kryptonian not bound by human hierarchy, and yet he feels as though there’s more mystery to be solved. They’re on their first date, dinner over and desert about to be chosen when it happens. When Bruce looks back on how he unraveled the mystery that is Clark Kent he knows it’s this moment that started it all.
“Actually that’s not a good idea.” Clark says after Bruce had ordered a slice of cake for them to share. Bruce pauses, completely puzzled by the abrupt shift in Clarks demeanor.
“Uh… well, what would you like for desert?” after ordering for both of them all evening he isn’t sure what the change means.
“How about a sundae to share?” and with that settled the waitress takes the desert menus and scampers away.
“What was that about?” Bruce asks.
“Sorry if that was sudden, I just.. I have an allergy to cake.”
For a moment Bruce is going to accept this before the reality of who he’s having dinner with sinks in.
“I’m sorry did you just lie about being allergic to cake?”
If the deer in headlights look Clark gives him isn’t enough proof, the squeaked out “No.” certainly confirms it for Bruce.
The only issue is, why lie? What could Clark possibly want to hide?
------------------------------------------------------
While he had been tempted to interrogate his boyfriend to get the truth he figured he had better wait for the right opportunity. He made sure to confirm that Clark didn’t have some traumatic memory associated with cake, or an allergy to one of it’s ingredients (which would be bizarre seeing as the man’s invulnerable but that’s weird alien biology for you).
Finally, after weeks of not bringing it up Halloween rolls around and his plan to get the truth is finalized. He sets up fun activities for them to do (not on Halloween but the night afterwards instead) and between the scavenger hunt that the kids had demolished them at, and the horror movie trivia, it was easy to get Clark to relax. So the man didn’t notice the final activity for the night was suspicious until it was too late. Each of the kids had been blindfolded and had to guess what foods they were given.
They each got three foods: a fruit, a favorite of someone else, and a Halloween treat. Most of the kids had messed up on one or two, but then Bruce managed to fail to guess all three of his. In his defense lemon and kiwi really did taste the same to him. Finally they blindfolded Clark giving him peach, a cucumber sandwich, and with all the kids having finally made their way out of the room Bruce finally fed him a bit of cake.
He had spent days agonizing over what flavor before settling of devil's food to stay on theme. He figured Clark would do one of three things: get angry (which is why he had sent the kids out), get upset at the betrayal, or go into some sort of allergic reaction which is why their was an epi-pen waiting on the table.
Clark, of course, defies his expectations. After a pause of shock he tears the blindfold away and a fearful look comes into his eyes.
“Bruce please tell me that wasn’t cake.”
“And what if it was?” Bruce says, cringing as he asks.
“You need to get away from me, just lock me inside a containment cell or somethings. Please, I don’t want you to see me like this.”
Bruce refused to leave but he made sure to lock the door to prevent any incidents from occurring. By the time he turned around the Clark he knew was gone.