Chapter Text
“All right, and that’s everything.” Batman shifted the papers before him and put them away. “Good meeting everyone. See you all next week.”
He stood, picking up the folders he’d brought under his arm. Before he could go too far, Superman said, “Um—Batman. We all made plans to hang out tonight, and wanted to see if you’d be interested in joining us… this time?”
Superman asked him every time and every time he’d refused in the past. He knew it was for multiple good reasons, but maybe every time he thought, ‘maybe this time’. He hated leaving anyone out, even if it was by their own choice. The others all said he couldn’t force Batman to be more social, and while that was true, there was no harm in asking.
Everyone’s eyes were on Batman as he stopped by the door and looked over his shoulder. “Where? And as… what? In civilian clothes or as the League?”
That was more than they’d ever gotten from him before, and Superman wasn’t sure what the next step was. He blinked rapidly, surprise freezing him for a moment as he decided on simply asking the question.
“Civilian. In Gotham, actually—at the Iceberg Lounge.”
He turned fully now, and Superman could swear he saw a smirk playing at the edge of his face. “You want to go to a club in Gotham? With me?” He chuckled, the sound almost threatening.
“Of course,” Superman said, but something about the way Batman laughed at the idea made him wonder what exactly he was getting himself into by inviting him. “Does that mean you’re coming?”
“Well, it is my city,” Batman replied, that terrifying smile growing. “I’ll see you there. I’d be remiss if I didn’t witness all of you trying to have a peaceful time in Gotham.”
He turned and without another word, disappeared through the doors. The others all exchanged looks that were now relatively worrying.
“Gotham’s not… that bad, is it?” Flash asked nervously.
“It’s pretty bad,” Superman said with a sigh. “But I’m sure he’s just trying to rile us up.”
“I tried to tell you guys,” Green Arrow sighed.
Superman stared at the door, watching Batman as he walked to the Watchtower’s Boom Room and went through, back to Gotham.
“No, this is good,” he said, “He’s the only one left whose identity we don’t know. The fact that he’s willing to show us tells me he’s starting to consider us more of a team. We’re one step closer to earning his trust.”
***
Bruce removed his cowl as he sat at the Bat-computer, and looked through all the files he’d prepared on the secret identities of his colleagues. One of them was a fellow billionaire, a colleague to Bruce Wayne as well as Batman: Oliver Queen. And he’d run into Clark Kent quite a few times over the last year or so since Cat Grant had been busy with more pressing matters in celebrity news. But the galas all needed to be covered, it seemed—his own included. Then there was Barry Allen, the Flash. He’d met him once as Bruce Wayne when Barry’s CSI work had brought him to Gotham for a case. Diana Prince, Wonder Woman, he’d met in person during a meeting with the Wayne Foundation’s Gateway City branch. So. He’d met all of them in person at least once. How convenient.
He could have fun with this—and when he was done, they would never invite him to hang out after hours again. His time was too precious for frivolous things like this, serving no purpose except ‘social bonding’. He’d been alone for the majority of his life and he was fine. He needed them as teammates and coworkers, not to buddy up to them outside of work.
***
The club definitely wasn’t Clark’s first choice. As soon as they stepped inside he realized why Batman had reacted the way he did. This place was as obscene as it was opulent, with gaudy decorations of ice and lighting that made Clark feel like he’d walked into the bottom of the ocean. The atmosphere was a mess, hosting everyone from seedy underground types to people in high end suits, chatting about business and money in the millions, while ignoring everyone around them.
“Ah,” Diana said as she sat in the booth next to Clark. “I understand now.”
“Yup,” Barry nodded. “Should’ve stayed in Central.”
“Oh come on, it’s not so bad.” Oliver sat on the edge. “I come here all the time for meetings with Gotham’s favourite orphan.”
“Bruce Wayne?” Barry asked. “I’ve heard that guy’s a huge douchebag in person, philanthropy be damned. Unless he wants to fuck you.”
Oliver laughed. “Yeah, he’s a bit… eccentric.” He sat up straight as the doors opened, and an explosion of noise—obnoxious laughter and playful shouting—brought their attention to the door. Oliver snorted. “Speak of the devil. He always picks up fans on the way to our meetings, too.”
Bruce Wayne was at the front of the group, followed by an entourage of people who were far too energetic and dressed in ways that were only appropriate for a club. He was the only exception, wearing a sharp suit and multiple pieces of silver jewelry. He stumbled into the bar, laughing loudly, his hair amiss as he clung to the shoulders of a man next to him for support.
“Already drunk?” Diana grimaced. “Classy.”
Barry frowned. “Gotham’s favourite son, huh?”
“He’s actually nice when you talk to him,” Clark said. When he received a series of looks from the others, he shrugged. “What? Reporters get a lot of guff. He’s always greeted me with some respect when I’ve interviewed him. I think he hit on me once, though… but I’m not sure.”
“Well, I’m sure he won’t have any need to come over here.” Diana waved down a waitress, going around with a tray. “We should order before he ties up all the waitstaff with his…”
She stopped when Bruce Wayne did, in fact, come over to them. He was following the waitress, and though he was clearly drunk, she still smiled when he touched her arm.
“Hi, Brucie,” the woman greeted him with a smile. “You pickin’ up another tab tonight?”
“Of course I am, sweetheart.” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “F’r these guys. Give ‘em bottle service. On me.” He gestured lazily at the table, while his other hand put three hundred dollar bills on her tray—not even trying to be subtle.
And then, uninvited, Bruce Wayne sat at their table, pushing his way into the booth next to Oliver. It was strange—now that he was closer, Clark realized he didn’t really smell like alcohol at all.
“Ollie!” He kissed his friend on the cheek. “‘S good t’see you. Why’n’t you tell me you were gonna be in Gotham? Who’re you with?”
“Friends,” Oliver replied. “Listen, Brucie-boy, much as I love partying with you, this is a different thing. This is my… book club. And we’re kind of waiting on someone, so—“
“Book club?” Bruce guffawed. “You can read?”
“Yes, I can read!” Oliver laughed. “Can you? I don’t think you’ve read a single contract I’ve ever sent over.”
“Pfft. Why y’think I have lawyers?” Bruce Wayne leaned back and put his feet on the table, his shining oxfords the straw that broke the camel’s back.
“Okay, that’s enough.” Clark stood suddenly, glaring at the billionaire as the waitress came back with a bottle and a tray of glasses. Clark pointed at the billionaire’s feet on the table. “I don’t care who you are. This is unacceptable. You come here, crash our party, and expect to be treated like some kind of royalty? Uh-uh. Absolutely not. We’re waiting for a friend, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you to leave.”
Bruce just stared at him. If Clark hadn’t seen it a hundred times before, he might not have recognized that shrewd way he narrowed his eyes. That all-knowing smile that told everyone in the room how much better he was than the rest of them. His own eyes widened as the truth dawned on him.
It was him.
He was frozen, unable to say anything as he realized this drunken maniac with zero manners and all the audacity one needed to anger Superman with his presence alone… was Batman. No way. No one else seemed to recognize it—but his actions made sense now. Paying for their table, sticking to them like glue… of course. He recalled Batman’s knowing chuckle in the meeting room. He knew more about Bruce Wayne, the notorious playboy of Gotham, than anyone. But was he right? How could he prove it? And if it was him, why act like this?
“So?” Bruce gestured for him to continue. “Ask me, Clark. That’s right, isn’t it? You’ve interviewed me before—asked me tons of questions. So ask this one.”
Clark met his challenging gaze with his own. He sat down and said, “On second thought… stay a while. Make yourself comfortable. Bruce.”
“How generous.”
“What?” Diana stood now. “You can’t be serious. You!” She pointed accusingly at Bruce. “We dislike your company. Leave.”
“Um…” All their attention turned back to the waitress, who still stood awkwardly next to them. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but… your bottle? I brought some chasers and mixers as well, because Brucie always asks for them when he comes. But… if you’re leaving…”
Brucie. Clark wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. What was this? Who was he? No, it couldn’t be him. He couldn’t be Batman—look at him!
Brucie looked at everyone else, a challenge in his eyes. “That depends on my friends here.”
He didn’t look displeased in the least; in fact, he seemed like he would gladly leave if anyone insisted one more time. Was that the play? Did he want them to insist?
Barry sighed and looked at Diana. “I don’t think he’s coming, Di. We’ll keep the one that is here. At least he bought drinks.”
“Okay.” Oliver turned to Bruce. “A consensus has been reached. But you have to behave yourself, this isn’t really a party vibe.”
Clark was sure that if Diana had her sword, she would be brandishing it at him right now. He wondered how Bruce Wayne would react if he had a sword pointed at his face. That would probably tell Clark whether or not he was actually his colleague.
“Oh, so… no drinks?”
“No, the drinks are good.” Oliver laughed now. “Jess, could you get us some food too—on him. If you’re crashing, you’re paying, Brucie-boy.”
“Ahh, fine, take my AmEx.” He pulled out a black card that had a bat engraved onto it. “A promotion from GNB.”
Clark raised a brow at him. “I bet you never leave the cave without it.”
Bruce laughed loudly. “You’re funny—I didn’t take you for funny. More… kind of cute and bumbling. Is that what they look for in journalists these days? Cute and bumbling?”
He leaned forward, taking a maraschino cherry stem between his fingers and gingerly bit the cherry to pluck it from the stem. Clark felt something stir in his gut at the sight, the way his mouth wrapped around the cherry at its base. Oh… oh, no. That was a reaction he hadn’t expected, and he felt his face redden.
It couldn’t be him.
“Um… I don’t…”
“Bruce.” Oliver looked at him sternly, but he couldn’t stop the amusement from coming through anyway. “I said behave yourself. Stop flirting with my friend.”
“Boo. You’re no fun. What about you?” He turned his attention to Diana now. “You’re cute, what’s your story?”
“Taken,” she replied, deadpan.
“Oh, that’s no problem.”
“Also, not interested.”
“I can work with that.”
“Bruce!” Oliver tried to snap, but there was a laugh behind it.
“What? You said ‘friend’, singular. Am I supposed to ignore everyone else?”
“Um, hello,” Barry said, leaning back after taking a shot. “Am I invisible?”
“Seriously, Barry?” Clark asked, raising a brow.
“What? I want to see if he’s got any better material.”
“For you?” Bruce leaned over the table, running his hands through Barry’s thick blond hair. “Honey, you can have the whole closet.”
“Well, now I feel left out.” Oliver chuckled. “Where’s mine, Brucie-boy?”
“Anywhere you want, if you play your cards right. Ollie-Bollie.”
Oliver cackled. “You’re disgusting. Come on, do a shot with us.”
“Okay fine, he’s not so bad.” Barry slid the bottle and tray over to him. “Batman’s not coming, so we might as well keep him.”
“Batman? Oh, right.” Bruce laughed suddenly as he brought out a sheet of paper and put a square from it under his tongue. “He asked me to tell you he wasn’t coming. I completely forgot!”
They all stared, silence settling over them. Diana demanded, “Wait, you know him?”
“Oh yeah, we go way back. He found my parents’ killer.” He took a shot, swinging his head back, and slammed the glass back on the table. “Yiamas! You’re Greek, right? You sound Greek.”
“I am,” Diana replied. “I didn’t expect you to know that from an accent.”
“Well.” Bruce shrugged. “I’m what you might call well-travelled.”
“Wait, did you just casually take LSD?” Oliver demanded.
“Yeah.” Bruce blinked. “Oh, right, my bad. Not a party vibe. I forgot. Ah, well, want some? Anyone?”
Diana frowned at Bruce. “Hallucinogenics? No, thank you.”
Clark and Barry both declined, but Ollie said, “What the hell, I’m game.”
Bruce called over the same waitress from before (“Jess! Honey!”) and ordered a large pizza, wings, and an appetizer platter. When questioned if they actually needed that much, he just laughed as if Clark had told a hilarious joke, and said, “Trust me, we’ll put it away.”
After the drinks started flowing, the group delved into discussions about work—coded, of course, as part of their “book club” for the newcomer, who proved to be surprisingly accepting for someone who didn’t know any books by the name of That Bastard on the Motorcycle. Of course, it helped that he was high as a kite and drunk as a fish. He laughed at their jokes, and though Clark knew he should find him obnoxious, he instead found him charming in an almost disarming way. Whenever a waitress came by the table they would say hello in a friendly way, calling him ‘Brucie’ and he would call them ‘sweetheart’ or ‘honey’ in a way that wasn’t condescending, but endearing.
At one point, a waitress across the bar pointed at him, and the girl she was speaking to came over just to ask if he could hold her drink because she had to go to the bathroom and was afraid of someone spiking it. When asked if that happened a lot by Diana, he replied,
“It’s Gotham.”
“No, I mean, women asking you to hold their drink.”
“Oh, that.” He waved it off like it was a joke. “Of course! I’m a regular, people know me. So anyway, as I was saying…”
Clark found himself dumbfounded, and… incredibly attracted to the man. He was debonair, but approachable; outspoken, but somehow managed to make room for others in the conversation. When it suited him. And if there was a question he didn’t want to answer he just distracted from it, expertly putting space between the question and its answer by saying something irresistibly interesting, but also so alien, like:
“That reminds me! When I was kidnapped for the first time as a child, my butler had to pay the ransom out of pocket to get me back. It was so embarrassing. Everyone else at school had insurance for things like that.”
Oliver laughed. “That is ridiculous. Didn’t your parents have something like that set up?”
“Well, yes, but you know how death is.” Bruce chuckled. “It doesn’t exactly roll over into the butler’s name. Still, I couldn’t believe it. I told him next time, he’d better have it in place or we’d be out another few million. Which isn’t much, all in all, but it can be annoying.”
“Yeah.” Clark watched him with fascination, captivated by the combination of the strange way rich people lived and how casual he was about being kidnapped as a child. “A few million, what’s that? Like a cent?”
“Exactly!”
Oliver snorted into his shot, and downed it while Barry asked, “Were you kidnapped a lot as a kid?”
“Who wasn’t?”
“Most people, Bruce,” Oliver said. “They can’t all be heirs to five generations of a massive fortune.”
“Oh, of course. Then who would do the kidnapping?”
“Yes.” Barry stared at him blankly. “That’s the concern we have.”
Diana had softened toward him now and was smiling as she drank and ate. “I was kidnapped several times as a child, but never because of riches. The gods are fickle and sometimes cruel, so there were a few times my mother had to wrestle me away from one monster or another, or even Poseidon. We relate to one another in that way.”
“I suppose we do.” He raised a shot. “To rich kids and… uh, little girls fighting monsters!”
“Yiamas!” Diana cried, and the three of them took their shot simultaneously.
When they were done, Oliver groaned. “Man, Bruce, what did you give me? I think that LSD was a dud. It’s not doing anything. If anything, I feel more sober than I did before we started drinking.”
“Oh, don’t worry.” Bruce patted his shoulder. “It’s doing exactly what it was meant to do.”
Oliver was right, though. When people became high or drunk, they had a smell that Clark seemed to be able to pick up on but no one else could. It was… cloying. He didn’t have that, and Bruce hadn’t had it all night.
So when he went to go to the bathroom, Clark followed and met him again when he came out.
“Oh. Hey, handsome.” Bruce Wayne grinned when he saw Clark, and stumbled toward him, pressing one hand on the wall behind Clark to pin him there. “Came to get a quote? For your… Planet?”
“Not…” Clark cleared his throat when Bruce entered his personal sphere, and narrowed his eyes. “Not quite, Mr Wayne.”
“Ooh, Mr Wayne. I like that.” He came even closer, so Clark could smell him—-well. He smelled like… expensive cologne, but not inebriation. “Try ‘Daddy’ on for size and we can call it a night.”
“Daddy?” Clark repeated, his eyes wide. His voice cracked. “What are you—“
“Oh, good boy.” Bruce’s nose was beside his, his hand reaching up toward Clark’s glasses. His breath was… minty. Warm. His proximity made Clark’s heart race and his fingers were light against his skin. And those eyes… so fiercely intense, so focused, they made him question his earlier decision that this was not, in fact, Batman…. but his actions spoke volumes, and they said no.
“I-I just…” Clark fumbled to take Bruce’s hand, pull it away from the side of his face, where it climbed up to remove his glasses. He placed it back down by his side firmly. “Bruce. I… why aren’t you…”
Nimble fingers undid Clark’s top button, but Bruce looked at him like he hadn’t even noticed he was doing it.
“Go on.”
“I…” Clark swallowed. He was so… intentional in his seduction, like every motion was planned, every touch choreographed to a dance he’d done a thousand times. “I, um…”
He couldn’t think anymore. Between this intoxicating aroma hovering around them and the man pinning him there with his presence alone, Clark was stuck. He couldn’t move… or didn’t want to move. He just stared into those beautiful storm blue eyes, and felt his breath leave him the second before he leaned in to close the gap between their lips. He caught the note of surprise from the man before him, a truncated grunt in his throat, and felt the hesitation on his lips before he returned the kiss.
They both fell into it then. Clark let his hands wander, pushing up beneath the man’s shirt, but Bruce pushed him down, off his bare skin. Sweet as it was, Clark wasn’t going to complain about being made to grab his ass instead. He pulled him close at the hips, and felt a gasp against his mouth as their bodies pressed together. Lust was heavy on the air, covering them like a blanket—and even more so when Bruce rolled his hips forward to rub against him, bringing a low moan from Clark.
They parted when they heard a soft, “Um…” from the side. The same waitress from before was standing in the hallway, her face beet red as she addressed Bruce. “I-I’m so sorry, Brucie, but he’s here again. He’s… a girl is already going with him. I didn’t want to bother you, especially now, but…”
“It’s okay, Jess.” Bruce pushed away from Clark, and turned to look toward the dining room. “Let me deal with Penguin. He likes me.”
“Wait—do you need help?” Clark followed as Bruce started away.
“It’s best if you don’t get involved,” Bruce said. Before he left he leaned forward and whispered to Clark, “I want you to remember this later, exactly as it happened.”
He had Jess lead him toward the girl, who was clearly intoxicated and stumbling while she was being guided toward the door. Clark watched them as Bruce approached—the careful way he switched up his gait, the way he approached the woman and how he positioned his body between the two of them without seeming threatening as he took her shoulders.
Clark listened over the crowd and across the room, paying close attention as Bruce spoke to the girl alone. “Hi. Do you know this man?”
“Hm?” She stumbled forward. “No. But he’s taking me home.”
“Oh, I understand. How about this instead: you can come sit with me and my friends. You see that woman with the dark hair over there? In that booth?”
“Mhmm?”
“That’s Wonder Woman. You can sleep next to her, and she’ll keep you safe.”
The girl glanced at the man with her, and started stumbling over to the booth, with Jess’s help. The waitress whispered thanks to Bruce, squeezing his hand as she headed back toward the table and sat the girl down next to Diana—who accepted her without question. Her only acknowledgment of the girl was, “Oh. Hello,” as she wrapped her arm around her.
“As for you…” Bruce muttered to the man who was now just trying to get out of there. “I have a certain friend in this city. Wherever you go, he will be watching. So, be careful. Be kind. Don’t do this again—ever. Anywhere. Or you’ll find yourself with a permanent injury.”
The man stepped away from him, scowling, but there was fear in his eyes as he left the bar.
The rest of the night was peaceful for the most part. A fight broke out near the bar, but it only lasted until one man hit the other over the head with a bottle and was subsequently escorted out by security. As the night became later and later, the patrons became louder and louder, until the table was yelling to hear each other. Eventually the sound became too overwhelming, and the group decided it was time to disperse. Everyone pulled out their cards to pay for themselves, but Oliver and Bruce insisted on paying for everyone at the same time, resulting in an argument that resulted in a heated game of rock, paper, scissors—-which Oliver won, but conceded to let Bruce pay regardless.
Eventually, Clark stood on the edge of the sidewalk outside the lounge with Bruce, the only two left. A black sedan pulled up beside them, and Bruce said, “Want a ride? He can take you wherever you want to go.”
“I’m good,” Clark replied, smiling. “You’ve done so much already.”
“Fair enough.” Bruce started toward the car and opened the door. “This was… more fun than I expected. Thanks for inviting me.”
“What? I…” Clark caught his eye, and was met with that infuriating, smug smirk once again. His breath caught in his throat as he recalled leaning in to close the gap—-to kiss him. “No. What? No!”
Batman chuckled as he stepped into his car, saying nothing. But Clark stopped him from closing the door.
“You tried to seduce me!” he accused, a little too loudly.
The Bat raised a single brow as he reached for a bottle of champagne in a compartment next to him. He pulled out two glasses and wiggled them before Clark. “I’ll do it again if you get in——no interruptions this time.”
“I… that’s not…” Clark’s face burned. He stared at him, dumbfounded—captivated—fascinated—deeply attracted. And he climbed into the back of the car with him.