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~Clark~
“Batman, can I be the bad cop this time?” Clark turned on his brightest smile for his favorite person.
Hal chimed in with a “Superman, you cannot be serious.”
“What? Batman always gets to be the bad cop. I think I’d like to give it a try.”
Hal looked at Clark incredulously. “There’s a reason for that.”
The three of them were standing outside the closed door of their interrogation room. After questioning, the criminal would be handed back over to the police. The man, apparently named Jerry, had claimed that he knew information the Justice League would find valuable. Jerry had been arrested for public indecency, of all things, and the chances of his claims being true were low. Regardless, Batman had insisted they check into the matter.
“Sure.” Batman all but grunted.
“Yes!” Clark pumped his fist in the air. He floated up a foot and quickly touched back down to the floor.
Batman smirked. “Not so fast, Boy Scout. There are entire books on interrogation tactics. How about we make a deal? You give it a try and I’ll score you on how well you do.”
Lately, Clark had noticed Batman seemed more stressed than usual. His frowns were a bit deeper, and his smiles fewer. What better way to cheer up his best friend than having a bit of fun? His friends constantly reminded Clark that he was dorky, so he felt he might as well ham it up a little.
Clark grinned and barged into the room with an “Alright Jerry, we need a name and we need it now!” He slammed the door shut behind him, but not too hard just in case he broke it…. It was still too hard, and the one-way glass next to the door cracked.
“Oh uh, whoops, a little too hard.” Clark winced. Realizing he had just inadvertently shut Batman out of the room, he turns back around and reopens the door. “Sorry Batman. Oh, I mean, that’s nothing compared to what will happen to you, Jerry, if you don’t talk!”
Batman strode forward and confidently leaned against the table Jerry sat at. “You better watch yourself around my partner here. Any little thing could set him off.”
A thrill of excitement ran through Clark that Batman was playing along with him.
Jerry laughed, “Superman? We talkin’ ‘bout the same guy?”
Clark suppressed a grimace. He didn’t seem that harmless, did he? Spotting the hanging light illuminating the room, he angled it at Jerry. “How about some light?” Seeing Jerry squint, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt. “Sorry, too bright?”
Batman shot him a pointed look.
“I mean, uh, that’s nothing compared to my heat vision, which could really do some serious damage.” Jerry was nonplussed.
Batman leaned forward smoothly. “Coffee?” He offered. With bared teeth Batman added, “It’s good.” For the first time since they entered the room, Jerry started to look uncomfortable.
Clark jumped on that train of thought, “You’re gonna need that coffee when I’m done with you!”
“How about a donut?” Batman growled.
Jerry’s eyes widened, “What is it poisoned or something?”
Batman grunted.
“Alright! I’ll talk!” Jerry put his cuffed arms up in surrender. “You give me immunity and I’ll tell you all about the special shipment.”
Batman frowned. “We’ll see what we can do.”
Jerry let out a sigh and began his story. “So I was workin’ for this guy. Uh, his name’s not important. But he was talkin’ to this other guy, also not important. And, well, I happened to overhear talk of a ‘special shipment’. They didn’t say what was in it but they mentioned something about a Destin Island and hiding the shipment from ‘even Superman’. Thought you might wanna know.” Jerry’s evasiveness and overuse of air quotes didn’t inspire confidence.
Batman glanced at Clark and they left the room, out of Jerry’s earshot. Hal was nowhere to be seen, likely off on another mission. Clark’s light mood turned more serious. “Might be Kryptonite.” He murmured quietly enough their informant wouldn’t hear.
“Hmm maybe.” Batman crossed his arms and tapped his finger. He always did that when he was planning. “We need to look into this further, but it should be a stealth mission. With the added potential of Kryptonite, Kal, I think you should sit this one out. I’ll take point. In the meantime why don’t you practice your interrogation skills a bit?”
~Bruce~
Two days later, Bruce was undercover as a 34 year old man by the name of Calvin Costa, making a purchase on behalf of an unknown wealthy millionaire. He had arrived at the island on a private jet that afternoon. The fake beard he wore itched and the glasses gave him a headache, despite the non-prescription lenses. Paired with the hat he wore, Bruce felt ridiculous. The disguise wasn’t completely foolproof, but it hid his infamous billionaire face from anyone who didn’t have X-ray vision.
It had taken Bruce some time to scrounge up the fake identity, find the organization on the isle, and convince them he was working for a buyer. In the end, money always talks, and Bruce had paid quite the premium for his invite.
An unfamiliar balding man greeted Bruce on the tarmac. “Nice to meet ya, Mr. Costa. Name’s Dan, but you can call me DJ.”
“Of course,” Bruce replied smoothly. “Call me Calvin.” They shook hands and Bruce was led onto a large compound of warehouses. Bordering the far end of the area was an extensive resort, surrounded by palm trees and filled with a strange assortment of wealthy sycophants and hired guns.
As they walked through the compound and towards the large retreat, Bruce took note of the larger men wearing Kevlar. They were outfitted with machine guns, knives, and likely more weaponry Bruce couldn’t simply see at a glance.
A flicker of movement caught Bruce’s eye. One of the thugs appeared unarmed, hiding in the shadows. Interesting. A sniper? No, not from that vantage point. He ripped his attention away to focus on the mission.
“I hear you have fine merchandise.” Bruce tried. He needed to figure out what these men were selling, while also not giving his own ignorance away.
“Yeah, don’t you worry Calvin. We got ‘em old, young, or younger if you catch my drift.” DJ sneered.
Bruce’s stomach clenched, suspicion slowly turning to horror.
“All types?” He gritted out. Maybe they were talking about illegally trading animals or something, not—
“Yeah you betcha: men, women, boys, girls. Whatever gets ya goin.”
“Right,” Bruce swallowed. This was serious. He briefly considered calling Kal in for backup. He’d love nothing more than to see Superman raze this place to the ground, but he needed more information first. “My employer doesn’t want anyone finding out about this. What are your… guarantees?”
“Heh, we hid the merch so good that not even the S-man himself would be able to find it.” The man’s smug attitude belied the fact he feared even saying the word Superman, lest the alien hear and come flying in. Bruce suppressed his disdain. A piece of shit like him wasn’t worthy of saying his best friend’s moniker.
They reached the doors of the resort entrance.
“We’ll give you a room here. You tell me your employer’s, ah, specifications, and I’ll bring it to you. I can even throw in a freebie for you to spend the night with.”
Bruce clenched his jaw. No, that wouldn’t work. He needed the location of all of the victims, and fast. Who knew how they were being treated? How long they would last? Many would likely need medical treatment and all would need psychological help.
“Absolutely not,” Bruce put every ounce of pretentious billionaire asshole he could into this performance. Lives were on the line. “My employer insisted I pick them out myself. The amount of money he paid, he expects a premium specimen. No, I’ll go and see everything there is to offer or the deal’s off.”
DJ’s smile turned into a frown for the first time. He looked angry. “Boss gets back tomorrow. We can take you then. You can spend the night alone, though.”
“I’ll manage,” Bruce gritted out. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.
~Later That Night~
Bruce woke with a jolt. Someone was watching him. Bruce had risked taking off his disguise in the darkness and privacy of his room, which may have been a mistake.
He scanned the area with each of his honed senses, but in the darkness all he could make out was— there. In the far corner of his room was a figure.
In one second, Bruce was reaching for the smoke bomb under his pillow while staring at the shadow at least twenty feet away. In the next , the figure was on top of him, straddling him, one arm holding both of Bruce’s above his head, against the bed. Bruce attempted to slip free of the hold, but it was as if the man’s hands were made of iron.
“Fuck,” Bruce swore. Some type of metahuman? He hadn’t anticipated the traffickers would have access to one. Well, actually he had, and had thoroughly vetted the island’s employees for that very reason. Apparently, he hadn’t vetted them well enough.
“How long have you been working with them?” The masculine voice was unfamiliar and deeply unsettling. Its sepulchral tones overlapped each other, giving the sound a low, inhuman quality.
Bruce felt his skin pebble. Some instinct buried deep in his brain screamed predator .
The man, now uncomfortably close and a bit easier to make out, appeared to be wearing a hood and balaclava, further obscuring his features in the dark.
“What-?” This was apparently the wrong response. Two glowing red eyes lit up from under the hood, blinding Bruce to his already dim surroundings. Bruce squinted and his eyes began to water.
“I’m the one asking the questions. How. Long?” Who did this man think Bruce was working for? Did he know Bruce was undercover as Calvin? Or had he somehow figured out a tie between Bruce and the Justice League?
“Can you be a bit more specific? How long have I been working with whom?” Bruce hadn’t meant for it to come out as snarky as it did. The red light was giving Bruce a headache.
“I don’t think you understand the situation you’re currently in.” Red Eyes hissed, “Mister Wayne.”
Shit . At the very least his cover as Calvin had been blown. But how? His disguise had been good. Not good enough.
The voice came again, low and menacing, “You’re the primary financial backer of the Justice League, and it turns out you’re consorting with human traffickers. Another billionaire who thinks he’s above the law.” The man leaned in closer. “So here’s the deal, you tell me how long you’ve been doing this, and where they are keeping all of the victims…You won’t like what happens if you hesitate.”
Alright then. This was apparently some do-gooder that Bruce just so happened to piss off while undercover. A misunderstanding of the worst kind.
An iron hand started pressing on Bruce’s throat. The touch was light, but the message was clear. Maybe less of a do-gooder hero and more of an anti-hero then. Bruce knew that he needed to either break his cover, or risk a broken neck. He gritted his teeth.
“I’m undercover, working for Batman.”
A snort, and then, “Yeah right, everyone knows Batman works alone.”
Bruce distantly realized that the man hadn’t blinked once this entire conversation, the steady red glow causing a dull ache to radiate in his head.
“I’m not buying it.” That pressure on his neck, slightly harder now. “Answer me, now!”
Well shit , and this really was the moment of truth now, wasn’t it? His identity wasn’t worth his life.
“Fine,” Bruce murmured calmly, “I’m Batman. I can prove it if you let me go.”
Finally, that unyielding pressure was gone from his wrists and throat. He did the only thing he could think of to prove he was Batman to a stranger. In one swift, fluid movement he had retrieved the hidden smoke bomb, activated it, and flipped out of bed, jumping out of the resort’s two story window.
Deep, grating laughter followed him. Bruce hit the ground running, darting into a nearby warehouse on the compound he had been staying at. He had been tracking the guards’ movements and knew this one to be empty. His current situation was… not ideal. He was wearing silk pajamas, completely barefoot, no utility belt, no weapons. He risked a quick glance behind, only to run—straight into a wall?
Oof— the air was knocked from his lungs, but Bruce’s training kept him on his feet. Shocked, he realized that the man was now in front of him, wearing a dark hoodie and jeans. Super speed? In addition to the strength and glowing eyes? The man smirked and Bruce felt an icy chill down his spine at the thought that he was being toyed with. Was this the way Batman’s prey felt they were being hunted? It was both thrilling and nauseating.
Batman quickly retreated backwards, attempting to blend in with the shadows. He headed down one of the many hallways that he’d memorized the layout of the previous day. Laughter, deep and menacing, reverberated around him. It seemed to come from every direction.
Quickly running out of workable contingency plans, Batman finally settled on his least favorite one. Desperate times, desperate measures.
Batman raced up a flight of stairs and headed for the building rooftop. He was almost there. Under his breath he murmured, “Superman, contingency 34C, help would be great.” He knew Kal could hear him from anywhere on the planet. Bruce had been trying to come up with a way to reveal his identity to Kal for a while now, but he supposed the choice had been made for him tonight.
Woosh . Red Eyes was back, directly in front of Bruce and blocking his exit to the rooftop.
His eyes weren’t red anymore. The eerie glow was fading into a vibrant blue. And rather than attacking, he just stared. After a few moments, he let out a new laugh, deep and full, gradually losing its inhuman tones.
Unease ate at Bruce. The back of his neck prickled and his stomach clenched as the seconds ticked by and Kal still had not yet shown up to save him. Where was he? Had something happened to Superman?
“B, you’re really Bruce Wayne?” This voice was completely different, and very familiar. In a swift motion, the balaclava and hood came off to reveal dark curls and the face of—
“Kal?!” Bruce sputtered. A moment of cognitive dissonance confused Bruce as he tried to juxtapose the red-eyed menace with his best friend. The threatening meta monster was his Boy Scout. The man who got him his favorite coffee and rescued kittens out of trees.
Bruce’s hands shook with the aftershocks of adrenaline. His fear turned to anger.
“What the hell was that?!” Bruce flung out a hand, as if gesturing to the events that had just taken place.
~Clark~
Oh no, B looks really upset. I am such a jerk.
Clark was still reeling from the shock that his gruff, no nonsense Bat’s secret identity was that of a very sexy and charming billionaire. The two figures were dynamically contrary to one another, like the repulsion of similar poles of a magnet. It was the perfect mask, the ultimate disguise. Clark struggled to merge the two individuals together in his mind and attempted to explain.
“You-“ Clark was wiping tears from laughter out of his eyes, “You said I should practice my interrogation techniques.” Clark fought to keep the grin off his face, not wanting to be mean. “Did it work?”
The look on the Bat’s, no Bruce’s , face was priceless.
“No,” Bruce grunted, “you’re not allowed to do that again.” Without the voice modulator in Batman’s suit, Bruce’s voice was slightly higher and richer.
“B…” Clark reached for Bruce.
Bruce growled and stepped back, swatting at Clark’s hand. He almost seemed to be… pouting? Clark stepped forward and brought his face within a few inches of Bruce’s.
“Look I really am sorry,” Clark murmured. “I was worried about you, B. After some investigation I tracked down the location of your mission and started listening in. When I recognized the voice of Bruce Wayne, the primary donor to the Justice League, trying to make a deal with traffickers, I felt like I needed to do something. I knew this wasn’t a job for Superman. I tried contacting you and you didn’t answer.”
“I was undercover .” Bruce growled.
“I was improvising. Asked myself, what would Batman do? And, well, here we are.” Clark bit his lip.
He hesitated a moment, then tentatively wrapped his arms around Bruce’s waist. Bruce sucked in a sharp breath and to Clark’s surprise hugged him back tightly. Bruce’s anger seemed to be calming down.
“You’ve been learning.” Bruce’s words were nearly a whisper, so quiet, only someone with super hearing would have even detected them.
“Was that a compliment?”
Bruce stiffened at the implication. “No.”
“You did compliment me.” Clark didn’t bother stopping the smile this time.
Bruce’s only response was a grunt.
~The Next Day~
After Bruce was led to the underground, lead-lined and soundproofed prison on the island, Clark was free to speed through every building and room Bruce had instructed him on the night before. Clark summarily found each and every trafficker, knocking them out with a flick, and lined them up in the center of the compound for Interpol to later take care of.
All of the victims were taken to medical facilities, and Clark was free to return home that night. He had just finished brushing his teeth to tuck in for the night when he heard a summons.
“Kal-El, come here.” Batman called, and of course Superman would always answer.
In less than a minute, Clark found himself in the Batcave. Bruce Wayne was sitting at a computer, wearing slacks and a dark silk button-down shirt. He looked comfortable in the rich fabrics. Clark bit his lip. Finally seeing the face normally hidden under the cowl was disarming.
“Bruce, I wanted you to know, my name is actually—“
“Clark Kent, yes I surmised that fact a few years ago.”
“Oh, how—?”
“Did I figure it out?” Bruce hummed. “The only known non-League contacts Superman has is Lois Lane and Clark Kent. Out of the two, you’re the one with approximately the same build and features. You also are both kind and passionate about helping others. My guess is you use some sort of Kryptonian tech to influence the minds of those who see you. Either your disguise is your suit, or your glasses. My money is on the glasses.”
Clark’s mind was spinning trying to catch up. Bruce was smarter than anyone gave him credit for, and Clark found the fact undeniably sexy.
Bruce stood up fluidly. The scent of expensive cologne distracted Clark.
“Do you find me attractive?”
“Wh-what?” Clark’s brain shut off. Had Bruce read his mind?
Bruce stalked forward. “Have you ever thought about kissing me?”
Clark backed up a few steps at Bruce’s advance. “Well, I, um—“ Was this some sort of test? If he answered yes would Batman feel uncomfortable around him?
Bruce smoothly unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt with one hand. Clark’s face was on fire .
Clark let out a very non-heroic whimper and took another step back, only to find himself trapped against the cave wall. Bruce slammed his hands against the wall, muscular arms further trapping Clark in place.
“B-Bruce.” Clark managed.
Bruce leaned forward, and Clark was captivated by his bright gray-blue irises.
“Well, Clark?”
Clark’s brain must have short circuited, because the next thing he knew, he had leaned down and kissed Bruce. His deepest secret, his love for his best friend, finally exposed. For once, Clark felt vulnerable, but there was no Kryptonite to be seen. He was burning, aching. When Bruce’s tongue brushed his, he shuddered with delight. Bruce was kissing him back.
Cracks had appeared in the dam holding Clark back from everything he had ever wanted. “Bruce, I love you.”
Bruce’s eyes widened with shock. For a split second, Clark felt the regret that comes with potential rejection. Had he interpreted the situation wrong? However, Bruce’s ears soon turned a delightful shade of pink. Leave it to Bruce to experience no shame with seduction, yet feel embarrassed over a confession of love.
“Took you long enough,” Bruce huffed. He pulled back and with a sly grin murmured, “I guess that interrogation tactic also works pretty well.”
“Were- were you getting me back? Oh my God!”
“That, and I also got you to finally admit you like me. Two birds, one stone. Much more efficient.” Bruce’s eyes gleamed with mischief.
“Not just like. Love,” Clark corrected, and he was rewarded with the prettiest full blush across Bruce’s cheeks.