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Chapter Text

Superman has certainly seen better days.

Things were fine at first- Clark, suited up and fulfilling a few stereotypical Superman activities such as saving a cat from a tree and helping an elderly woman with her shopping, had at some point been alerted to a suspected mugging across town.

Situations like these were nothing Clark hadn’t encountered before, and he’d been made aware of this particular one after hearing the muffled cries and pleas for Superman before the person that made them was silenced.

He arrives on the scene within seconds to find two men struggling against one another in the shadows of an alley. One is pressed harshly to the stone wall, ghostly-white, with his hands bound behind his back and knife to the thoat. The other stands taller, sneering down whilst pressing the blade against skin.

“Hey!” Clark yells, startling the mugger enough for him to drop the knife as he whips around sharply. His eyes widen fearfully, taking in the intimidating stature of the red and blue hero, before turning swiftly on his heels and bolting it out of the alley.

Clark considers running after him, but it’s not like he’s going to get very far. Instead, he decides to check on the shivering man left behind first, and will catch up with the criminal shortly to issue him a lecture on knife violence before delivering him to the cops.

“It’s ok,” he says with a comforting smile, reaching out to the young man to unfasten his restraints. He feels ever so slightly heavier than usual as he moves his body towards the man, and there’s a growing pressure behind his eyes signifying the beginning of a headache, but he’s not slept a wink in at-least 3 days, what with the deadline of Perry’s latest assignment looming, and there are more pressing matters to attend to. Plus, the alley’s dark; untouched by the sun as tall tower blocks shield it from light- Clark’s sure that once he wraps this up and steps back out into the sun’s gaze, his energy will blossom back into his veins.

“You’re safe now. Here, let me help you out of those cuffs-”

As he steps forward however, he can’t help the sudden wave of nausea that hits and causes him to stumble slightly, and that is definitely not something that can be passed off as mild fatigue. The cuffed man averts his fearful eyes from Clark, instead turning his gaze to something behind his back. With his senses weakened by the nausea, Clark doesn’t have time to react before a sharp, searing pain explodes in his lower back, and he cries out in sudden agony.

The pain is white hot; blinding, and Clark is unable to stop his knees from buckling sharply as he falls unceremoniously to the floor. He knows there must be a Kryptonite weapon of sorts penetrating his skin, and drags his arms back in an attempt to grab and dislodge it, but his attacker is still there- still grasping the pulsing green gemstone as they sink it further into the now vulnerable flesh on his back. Another cry rips itself from Clark’s throat as the pain intensifies, but it’s gurgled and raw whilst a metallic taste of blood crowds his mouth.

There’s another hand on his shoulder, one which pulls his upper body back to give leverage for deepening the blade until it passes clean through- ripping the blue material across Superman’s front as a sickly green spike pokes out from his stomach.

He gasps, lifting shaking hands up to ghost over the blade which is allowing the steady beat of hot, thick blood to seep from the gaping wound.

The rattle of an engine starts to flail around inside of Clark’s skull, and he turns to watch an unmarked white van swerve quickly around the corner and tear it’s way towards him.

“Wha.. who-?” He tries, looking back up through heavy eyelids and a spinning vision to the cuffed man- or at least where the cuffed man had been. With a screeching of tires, the van stops just short of him, and he sees now that the man is being shoved towards it’s back door.

The mechanical thudding continues mercilessly as he slumps forwards, barely able to keep himself from face planting the floor with a weak arm bracing his sluggish body against the concrete.

“Jobs done, boss’ll be happy. Let’s get outta here.” A harsh voice snarls from behind him, and Clark watches a pair of heavy black boots emerge at his side and stomp past towards the van. There’s the echoing slam of a door, an elevated engine rev and a scudder from the wheels, and Clark is alone.

He needs to get out of here.

He needs to get up.

Lifting himself to stand almost causes him to black out entirely. The searing pain is lava through his veins, burning him from the inside out, and he has to bite hard on his lower lip to prevent himself from screaming.

Oh this is bad.

He falls roughly into the neighbouring brick wall and begins scraping himself along it towards the end of the alley.  

He can’t shake the haunted look in that man’s face from his mind- the fear that had flashed behind his eyes moments before Clark had gotten stabbed. Was he acting? Or was he being used as bait?

How had he not felt the presence of Kryptonite when he he’d first arrived? How had he let them sneak up on him like that?

His thoughts are foggy, and he can’t keep them from falling sluggishly from his mind as the pain pulses deep and overwhelmingly within him, and when he reaches the street, Clark can hardly see- let along think- about anything at all. His vision is blurred; his hearing shot, and any feeling throughout his body is snubbed by the all-consuming agony of the Kryptonite poisoning.

He collapses- only aware of this fact due to the sudden entrance of wet concrete pressed cooly against his cheek- and hears the buzz of screams and shouts from the public, looking on in horror at their Metropolitan hero before he promptly blacks out.

————

The news of Superman’s collapse spread like the plague, and breaches Gotham’s news outlets and gossip circles within the hour.

After the man had fallen unconscious he was promptly whisked away to Metropolis general hospital with frantic blue lights, and since then a crowd has formed which spans the length of the street and more so.

The little Bohemia district is gridlocked- the thick swarm of concerned and curious civilians and reporters alike form an almost impenetrable barrier between the hospital and surrounding Metropolis area. A dozen security guards are stationed before the doors, stoic and unflinching at the hurricane of questions about the Man of Steel’s condition.

Bruce Wayne is late.

Despite the virality of Clark’s condition, the billionaire hadn’t been made aware of it until after his meeting for the day had adjourned; quickly fleeing in pursuit of the hospital once finally informed.

His skin prickles unnervingly as he darts haphazardly through the traffic, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel impatiently. He doesn’t have the full story; snippets at best, but it doesn’t sound good. Reports had confirmed the presence of Kryptonite at the scene, and there was no way Superman would end up in a general hospital unless he was physically unable to resist it.

What the bloody hell had Clark been doing? Why hadn’t he called for backup? For Batman? Hell, Bruce didn’t even know Clark had a lead, let alone plans to pursue it. Sure it was broad daylight and hence not particularly Batman’s scene, but in such dire situations where Kryptonite is present, exceptions can be made.

Frankly, he was pretty pissed off at Clark’s carelessness.

The cars up ahead haven’t moved an inch in the past five minutes and Bruce can feel his patience wearing dangerously thin. No doubt the congestion has something to do with Superman, and it so it seems unlikely to be subsiding anytime soon.

Fuck this.

He’s able to mount the curb- parking ticket be damned, before taking off swiftly in the direction of the hospital. He’s not too far, and he doesn’t have anymore time to waste sitting in traffic. The crowd is less than preferable, but thankfully, Alfred has taught him well about the excessive politeness within British culture. With a generous amount of polite yet firm ‘sorry’s and ‘excuse me’s’, Bruce is able to work his way through to the front doors and awaiting security. (And if a rogue elbow had jabbed a couple people in the back at any point alongside the pleasantries… well that was neither here nor there.)

A tall, stern faced security guard looks at Bruce dismissively when he reaches the entrance, and his thick arms remain firmly crossed against his broad chest when he talks.

“No entry.”

“Excuse me?”

“No entry.”

He sighs, readying the classic billionaire bragging card, because needs must.

“Listen,” he starts, lowering his voice and making a show of leaning in. “It’s an honest mistake to make, but I’m not just anyone-” he flashes a charming smile towards the man. “I’m Bruce Wayne.”

It takes a moment for him to react but when he does, the guard merely snorts.

“And I’m Colin, but there’s still no entry, pal.”

Bruce’s patience had been wearing worryingly thin before, but now it was well and truly worn out flat. He hadn’t expected this to be the biggest problem- clearly Clark’s condition must be worse than he imagined if security is this tight. Again- why hadn’t that bastard called him?!

His heart races as his mind lingers; Clark bleeding out on an operating table- a shard of Kryptonite lodged firmly through his heart as he begins to flatline-

Fuck!

“This is ridiculous, I need to get in there.” He huffs. “How much? How much do you want to let me through? I could buy this whole goddamn building-”

“Look mate,” the guard- Colin- cuts in harshly. “This isn’t a pissing contest, alright? No one is allowed in. You’re gonna have to wait your turn for a piece of Superman- just like everyone else in the crowd.”

Before Bruce can reply, another guard approaches. “S’everything alright here?” The new man says loudly. He looks from Colin to Bruce, but the second his eyes slide over to the billionaire, they widen, and he suddenly looks almost fearful. Hope instantly takes root in Wayne’s chest- he can definitely use fear to his advantage.

“No- everything is not alright.” He snips quickly, glaring daggers at the newcomer and shoving an accusatory finger towards Colin. “He’s not letting me in. I mean, come on- do you seriously not know who I am? Do you know what I could do to your career with just a few calls?” It’s a tired, boring threat, but he has to try. Luckily, it seems to have the desired effect as the man begins to stutter.

“Y-yes, Mister Wayne,” he gulps, “and I sincerely appologise. But we aren’t letting anyone inside at this time.”

“Billionaires or otherwise.” Colin snickers, and Bruce itches to punch him clean across his snarky mouth.

There’s a low rumble of chatter behind him and the occasional camera flash as their confrontation intensifies.

“Sir, I am sorry,” the second guard tries again, “but unless you’re family, i’m afraid you aren’t getting inside.”

He’s about to either stalk off and find a back window to break into or forcefully shove his way through the doors and make a run for it, when an idea strikes.

It’s stupid and problematic and impulsive, and he definitely shouldn’t say it at all, but he needs to get inside to see Clark. Another camera flashes to his left and he cringes internally- oh, how the press will love this.

“I’m not here as a billionaire,” he snarls. “I’m here as Superman’s husband.”

There’s at once a chorus of gasps, an eruption of flashes, and both security guards drop their jaws open wide to catch flies.

Whispers and exclaims ring out on all sides.

 “Superman is married?”

“-To Bruce Wayne?”

“They’re married to each other?!”

“There goes my chances...”

“Well? Aren’t you going to let me in?”

It takes another few seconds for the men to compile themselves, and even then they’re still not completely with it, the utter morons. “You’re here as his- as his husband?!” Colin finally speaks, disbelief laced through his words.

“Yes I am.” He clips, tapping his foot angrily against the pavement. “Now will you let me through? You’ve wasted more than enough time already.”

“O-of course, Mr Wayne, Sir.” The man stutters, holding the door open. “Please- right this way.”

————

The camera flashes cease once Bruce finally gets inside, although the gossiping does not. There seems to be a Chinese whisper of sorts which runs alongside him as he’s escorted through the hospital, with nurses and cleaners and doctor turning to look at the billionaire shamelessly.

Head forward and determined, Bruce displays no tell of his emotions besides the working of his jaw as he bites down restlessly.

He enters the east wing where a doctor slips out swiftly from a room down the hall, and she looks up at the sound of approaching footsteps before meeting Bruce with an offered hand.

“Mr Wayne.” She greets, face neutral besides the slight lift of her brows. “my name is Doctor Auburn. I’ve been informed that you’re Superman’s husband?” 

If circumstances were different, he might have laughed at the absurdity of her words. He doesn’t of course, instead keeping his face flat and his response direct, but it’s a close one.

“Yes. What happened?”

“He came to us in critical condition after sustaining an stab to the lower back. There was internal bleeding as well as damage to his liver and kidney. We were able to remove the weapon, but once it had been withdrawn, the puncture closed almost immediately.”

Bruce hums. “Kryptonite. Did you manage to remove it all?”

Dr Auburn nods grimly. “We suspect so, and yes- the blade was extracted whole. He’s stable- his organs and skin have been seen to sew themselves back together, although he is still unconscious.”

“Can I see him?”

“Of course, but unfortunately we have no way of knowing how long he will remain in this state.” She opens the door again, this time waving him inside. “I’ll give you some privacy.” She says, before closing the door behind him.

Clark is in bed, eyes closed and completely still beneath a light blanket. The monitors besides him beat steadily, contrasting how quickly Bruce’s own heart is thrumming.

It’s always an unsettling thing to see Superman motionless like this, unconcious and vulnerable and anything other than bright and energetic. The man is no stranger to these kinds of situations; lord knows Lex amongst others has had his fair share of Kryptonite-centric attacks, although it’s not often that Clark is affected so greatly.

Bruce moves to the side of the bed and reaches over, pulling back the covers to expose Clark’s bandaged abdomen, and sure enough, the wrappings are clean- not a trace of blood in sight. With the Kryptonite out of the way, Clark should have no problem stitching himself back together fully. Looking down now at dark curls splayed limply across the pillow, Bruce takes a seat beside him in the bedside chair.

“Clark.”

He waits a few minutes, listening closely to the monitors for any change in reading, before trying again.

“Clark.” It’s louder; firmer, and with a sigh of relief, Bruce notices the slight elevation in Clark’s heart beat.

It takes a few minutes longer, but eventually, bright blue eyes attempt to open, at first unfocused and confused, before locking onto the figure at his bedside.

“…Bruce?”

“Yes, it’s me. You were stabbed, Kal, we’re in the hospital.” The older man explains. “How do you feel?”

Clark stares at him, brows furrowed, before eventually collecting himself enough to form a response. “I feel… tired.” He murmers whilst looking down at his bandaged stomach. “Aw heck, they got me good, huh? Straight through.”

Bruce grimaces but doesn’t say anything. He’s thankful to be seeing Clark alive and awake, but he’s also furious at the man for getting himself so badly injured in the first place.

“How long have I been unconscious? It was around lunchtime when passed out.”

Glancing at his watch, Bruce replies curtly, “approximately four hours.”

“Ah, right.” Clark nods, watching Bruce closely. They sit in silence for a moment, nothing but the rhythmic beeps of the monitors echoing through the room until Clark speaks again.

“You’re angry.”

Bruce tuts and sits forwards in the chair in a scolding manner. “Whatever you were up to must have been pretty wreckless for it to land you here.” He scoffs. “You should have called.”  

“I had no idea Kryptonite was going to be involved.” Clark defends, pushing himself up by his elbows. He hisses faintly, clearly still sore as his flesh knits itself back together, and Bruce has to stop himself from reaching out. “-I mean, It was broad daylight, for gosh-sake! I thought it was a simple kidnapping, I wasn’t going to call for backup over that.”

His anger softens at Clark’s explaination, and Bruce is pleased to hear Superman wasn’t getting too cocksure after all. He hums again. “A trap then.”

“Yes. One of them referred to it as a ‘job’ and said their ‘boss will be happy.’”

“Considering they were able to sneak up on you with kryptonite, this was clearly planned carefully.” Bruce nods. “I’m sure I can take a good guess as to who this ‘boss’ is.”

“Me too.” The reporter mumbles bitterly.

A short tapping on the door warns them both before a nurse enters to check on the monitors, and she beams at the sight of Superman up and talking.

“Oh, Superman, you’re awake! We we’re all so worried back there!” She smiles brightly, “how are you feeling?”

“I appreciate your concern, ma’am.” He returns the smile easily. “I’m feeling just fine, thank you. In fact, I think I’ll be heading out shortly.”

The nurse seems startled by his speedy exit, but Clark is quick to assure her that he’ll be ok, and remind her that he is in fact, a self-healing alien.

“Don’t worry, I’ll look after him.” Bruce winks at her, ignoring the eyebrow raised in his direction from Clark. “And we’ll be sure to check out with Dr Auburn before leaving too.”

“Well, if you’re sure you’ll be ok, it’s your choice whether you wish to stay.” She decides, and it’s clear by her tone that she’s unconvinced. “I just need to make a few notes for the records, if that’s ok?”

“Of course!” Superman replies warmly, and as the nurse begins to take down readings of his vitals, the man turns to Bruce and chirps, “Thank you for coming, Mr Wayne, I appreciate it.”

Bruce’s entire body cringes.

Ever-polite and proper, Superman was; rarely calling Bruce anything other than Mr Wayne when in other’s company. Granted, it’s not like Clark knows about the whole marriage thing, but clearly the nurse does, as she shoots a confused glace both of their way.

Bruce throws up a charming smile and rests a hand on Clark’s arm. “Well of course, what kind of husband would I be otherwise?” He widens his eyes on ‘husband’, and Clark’s fond expression falls away immediately into one of shock.

They stare at one another for too long to be comfortable- Bruce glaring in a way that screams, ‘go with it or so help me, Clark-!’ and the other man looking hopelessly lost before nodding slowly with a uncertain chuckle.

“Ha, yes. Yes- obviously! That… makes sense.”

As soon as the nurse leaves, Clark’s baffled expression returns, and he sits waiting for Bruce to explain.

“I hit a slight snag on my way in.”

Perhaps ‘slight snag’ was minimising it a bit, but there really is nothing to do about it now.

Clark blinks. “A slight snag? What does that mean?”

“It means they wouldn’t let me in unless we were family.”

“…Family.”

“Yes.”

“And by family, you mean you told them…”

He bites his lip sheepishly. “I told them we were married.”

Clark sends a withering look Bruce’s way at the news and sighs. “And can I ask, by them, was this to an isolated crowd or-?”

Bruce cringes again, turning away from Clark’s gaze and suddenly finding the ceiling to be very interesting to look at indeed.

“…There was, admittedly, a few reporters around.”

Clark groans and shoves his faces into his hands. “Amazing. Superman and Bruce Wayne, me and you, married- that’s- that’s…” the sudden reddening of Clark’s cheeks is clearly indicative of his embarrassment at being paired with the likes of Brucie Wayne, and Bruce feels himself getting rather irritated by the reaction.

“-That’s going to be a problem.” He finishes. “You couldn’t have thought of something else?!”

At this, Bruce rolls his eyes and huffs, “I didn’t have much of a choice, Clark. Believe me, being wedded to Superman is hardly ideal for me either- I won’t hear the goddamn end of it for months!”

“I would have been fine, I am fine.” The Kryptonian emphasises, crossing his arms. “You didn’t have to check up on me at all.”

Bruce laughs bitterly. “Ha, right, sure- because I should have just known you were going to be fine after being rushed here.” He stands, feeling worked up. “I had no idea what had happened, but hospitalisation for Superman is definitely not a good sign. I needed to get in to… check on your condition.”

It was as much as an admittance of care that Bruce would ever give, and Clark clearly hears it for what it is as well. His shoulders slouch and the harsh lines between his brows even out.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I really do appreciate you coming.” He offers a soft smile up at the man, who relaxes in turn. “We can work something out, it’s not like we haven’t dealt with worse, right?”

He nods at Clark, because on the list of problems faced by Batman and Superman, this is hardly taking top spot. Or atleast it wouldn’t be, unless of course you factor in Bruce’s not quite platonic feelings towards the Man of Steel… because if that’s on the table, well, then things are slightly worse off for Bruce than they initially seem.

It’s fine. He’s a grown man, for Christ-sake- he has enough sense and self-restraint to keep those feelings to himself, there’s no need to spoil their friendship with a boyish, one-sided crush.  

“I’ll call Alfred to pick us up- that is, assuming you want to get out of here now?”

“Sounds good to me," Clark agrees, swinging his legs over the bed and reaching for the suit folded beside the bed. “I’m feeling better by the minute.”

“Wonderful. I’ll get him to come round to side entrance, he won’t get very far trying the front with those crowds.”

It’s immediately obvious to Bruce that he’s fucked himself over as he watches Clark narrow his eyes knowingly.

“Just how many reporters heard you, Bruce?”

He decides to ignore the question to instead call Alfred, and It’s only after pocketing his phone that Bruce reluctantly replies. “It doesn’t matter. Even if just one reporter had heard, the story would still spread to every news station across Metropolis by morning- two of the most eligible bachelors this side of the country are secretly together? It’s a reporter’s wet dream.”

Bruce doesn’t miss the way Clark’s ears turn red at his crudity as the hero begins to pull on his suit, being careful not to jostle the still-tender flesh at his back and abdomen. “I guess you’re right.” It takes another minute for him to fully suit up, and the two men make for the door. Bruce keeps close to Clark’s side as an offering, which the other man leans ever so slightly into to keep his balance.

They’re half way down the corridor when Clark throws his head back dramatically and groans. “Ugh- work tomorrow’s gonna be a nightmare.”

“Hmm. Well if you’re lucky, Superman might just give you an exclusive.”

Clark glares. Bruce absolutely has no right to tease, but it is admittedly a little funny.

“It’s just celebrity gossip- stuff like this happens all the time. It probably won’t make the front page.”

They both know how highly unlikely that is, but Bruce politely doesn’t correct him. “That suit’s practically indecent with the way it’s torn.” He says instead. “You can change at mine.”

Superman laughs. “Golly! take me to dinner first before talk of removing my clothes, Mr Wayne.”

“Kal.” Bruce deadpans, lip twitching at the corners. “You were in nothing but your briefs back there. Plus-” he lowers his voice as they pass a few hospital staff. “-we’re supposed to be married. Do try not to blow our cover before we leave the building.”

“So bossy. I wonder why I ever thought to marry you.”  

“For my money, I’d imagine.”  

“Ah yes, of course.” Clark laughs again, filling the corridor with warmth. Bruce’s mouth turns up into a soft smile, and there’s no one around other than his best friend to see it.

This was going to be interesting.

Chapter Text

The Daily Planet is livelier than usual when Clark arrives the following morning for his shift.

There is a excitable buzz of motion and chatter as people dart around the office, and he quickly realises that many of those conversations are focused on Superman and Bruce Wayne.

Crossing the room to his desk, Clark sees numerous photographs of himself and his partner across tables, pinned onto cork boards and scattered between articles and potential headlines.

Lois is hunched over her laptop, typing furiously as he approaches. She hears him drop his bag to the floor and looks up, a mirthful expression on her face as she raises her eyebrows with a grin.

“You’ve really done it this time, Smallville.” She says, holding up a photo of the pair walking out to Bruce’s car yesterday. Her voice is quiet as to not be overheard, but the amusement behind her words is unmissable. “I mean, Wayne of all people? I’m surprised, I thought you hated the guy.”  

“Trust me, no one was more surprised that I was.” He replies, causing Lois to snort as he rolls a chair over so they can speak in hushed voices. He knew she’d see through the story considering her knowledge on both his and Bruce’s secret identities, and he was glad to have someone to joke with about the absurdity of the whole thing.

“I’m hurt, you know.”

“Hmm?”

“I mean, I thought we were at-least close enough for you to invite me to your wedding, but I see now, how it is.” She sniffs, turning her back to him dramatically.

“If I’d been made aware of my own wedding’s existence, you would have been the first person I’d invited.”

“Well in that case, I guess I can forgive.” she smirks, turning back to face him. She reaches out to touch a hand to his arm. “Seriously though, are you okay, Clark?”

Right, the hospital admittance.

Clark smiles at his friend’s concern. “Yeah, I’m all good now, thanks. And Bruce ran a few extra tests when we got back, just to make sure.”

“Oh did he now?” Lois winks knowingly, causing Clark to bury his face in his hands as warmth floods to his cheeks. Just how Lois had figured out about Superman, she’d also figured out about his massive crush on Batman.

“Don’t. I can’t believe this is happening to me.”

He’s spared of Lois’ teasing by a sudden shout from behind, and he spins round clumsily to be faced with a looming Perry.

“Kent!”

“Morning, Chief.” He greets nervously. Whatever Perry wants is most certainly going to be bad.

“Seen Superman lately?” Clark stares dumbly at the man, mouth ajar, as he weighs up his responses.

“Well it doesn’t matter, past is in the past,” Perry continues, “and right now, I need you to get an interview and information on his relationship with Wayne.”

“But- I mean, Superman doesn’t- I can’t just- sir-”

“Make it happen, Kent. I don’t know how you get his attention, go out to the roof and yell for all I care, but you’re apparently one of the only ones he’ll talk to.” He wafts his hand around as he speaks and shoots Clark a hard look void of any room for negotiation, before heading back to his office.

“I wonder what Superman will have to say about this?” Asks Lois’ gleeful voice, and Clark sighs once more.

“I guess I’ll just have to find out when I next see him.”

This is going to be along day.

—————

Bruce’s day is arguably longer.

He has no doubt that working at the Planet after a news story like this must be pretty terrible for Kal, but at least he has the separation from talk-of-the-town Superman and his civilian identity, Clark Kent.

Unfortunately, Bruce does not have this luxury. The story’s about him- playboy philanthropist Brucie Wayne, not Batman, and that’s really causing him some issues.

For starters, a crowd had formed around the entrance of Wayne Enterprises when he arrived this morning, overbearing and nosey as he pushed past them and their obnoxiously large microphones.

Inside wasn’t much better.

Despite the lack of direct questions from his employees, (no doubt too scared of getting fired) he still felt their watchful eyes on him throughout the day, and it put him on edge. Of course, it wasn’t unusual for him to be in the public eye- it was the norm, in fact- but with something like this; something so interlinked to his secret life and identity as a colleague and close friend of Superman, he couldn’t keep his nerves at bay and spent the better half of the day feeling snappy, tired and grouchy.

Luckily, his schedule opens up after midday, and the billionaire is quick to return home, and more specifically, to the Batcave. He’s been thinking about Clark’s trap all day, and so turns his attention to scanning through security camera footage for visuals on the attack. As suspected, facial scans on the men involved matches with previous scans of Luther’s goons taken through Batman’s cowl. He unfortunately loses track of the van due to camera blindspots, but the confirmation of Lex being behind things is better than nothing.

“Master Wayne, shall I lay the dining table for one extra moving forward?”

Alfred had greeted him at the front door that lunchtime with a playful twinkle in his eyes, and Bruce has just been waiting for the man to finally give in. Both him and Clark had omitted the small detail of their newly fledged marriage to Alfred when he’d picked them up from the hospital, and Bruce had been quick to slip out this morning before the man had gotten the chance to mention the headlines.

He doesn’t turn away from the screen, not wanting to rise to the obvious bait, and decides to go about the conversation in the pettiest way possible. “An extra? Why would that be, Alfred?”

A cup of tea and a plate of custard creams is placed to his right. “Well, for Master Clark, of course. I’m assuming that we’ll be seeing more of him?” Bruce can practically hear the smile pulling at Alfred’s lips. “That is- more than we already are, Sir.”

‘I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about, Alfred.” He sips his tea pointedly. “No, Clark will not be joining us for dinner.”

“Oh my apologies, Sir.” He busies himself with quietly clearing away a plate, which gives Bruce a moment of false hope that the man will drop it.

“I hadn’t realised the two of you were having a date night out.”  

Bruce chokes on his tea.

“Alfred.”

“Yes, Sir?”

He shoots a Batman-esque glare that could very well incapacitate a weaker victim, but unsurprisingly, this does absolutely nothing to squander Alfred’s mirth.

“Clark and I aren’t together.”

“Of course not, Master Wayne.”

“I was merely strategising when I said we were.”

“Absolutely, Sir.”

“…You’re enjoying this.”

“I haven’t the foggiest what you mean, my boy.”

“What’s this about you and big blue getting married?”

Dick all but materialises at Alfred’s side, clad with an enormous grin which makes any sense of dignity shrivel up pathetically in Bruce’s chest. The only thing that could make things worse would be for Jas-

“Congrats on finally growing a pair and confessing, old man.”

Bruce is less than impressed as Jason joins the line, looking much too smug for his liking. The two men nod in greeting, and it’s obvious by their matching smirks that they’ve planned this ambush between themselves. Bruce wouldn’t put it past Alfred being involved as well, if the humoured crinkles around his eyes are anything to go on.

Mortifyingly, his family have somehow pieced together over the years that Bruce’s feelings towards Clark lean more on the not-so-platonic attraction side of things, and so this whole marriage spiel couldn’t be more of an open invitation for teasing.

Dick hums. “B, do you think Clark would rather me call him ‘dad’ or ‘father’?”

Snorting, Jason takes a seat in a desk chair, spinning slowly in a contemplative manner. “Hmm…or maybe ‘Pa?’”

“Neither. None.” Bruce snarls, causing the pair to bite back snickers. “I know you’re fully capable of working out the truth behind these rumours, and why they had to be made in the first place.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Clark and I are friends. That’s all.”

“Aw man, that’s a shame,” his eldest pouts wistfully. “It would have been pretty cool to have Superman as a step-dad.”

“Don’t worry, Dickiebird,” the chair squeaks mockingly under Jason’s spinning weight. “there’s still time.”

Bruce’s eye twitches almost imperceptible, and he curses the choice of having swivel chairs down here for no other reason than for this exact moment.

Alfred hasn’t looked this amused in years. “Are you staying for dinner, Young Masters?”

“That would be great, thanks Alfred!” Dick smiles.

After a few seconds of deliberation, and much to Bruce’s surprise, Jason gives in as well. “Sure, why not.”

He can see it coming a mile away when Alfred turns to look at Bruce now, eyes twinkling once more, and says, “Seems we’ll be needing extra dinner places, after all, Sir.”

————

When patrol rolls around, Bruce is glad to finally escape the persistent jests directed his way from the boys (and occasionally Alfred) which had ensued over dinner. Dick and Jason had mercifully left him to wander the streets alone, and he’s handled nothing more than a few muggings before the man of the hour pays him a visit.

After yesterday’s hospital encounter, the pair had discussed next steps whilst back at the manor, and from where Bruce was standing, they had three options- deny it, lean into it, or ignore it completely.

It was clear to them both that denial of the marriage claim, regardless of it being the truth, would likely fall on deaf’s ears. Once the public latch onto something, especially something as juicy as this, there was little to be done to get them to loosen their grip on it.

“Not to mention the trouble you’d probably get in by the hospital.” Clark noted. “With a lockdown like that, lying about your connections to me would be seen as a security breach.”

“Mmm. And if it came out that we aren’t married, my insistence at seeing you would be hard to explain.”

“Easier to explain Bruce Wayne needing to see Superman because they’re husbands, rather than the alternative.” Clark raises a brow and smiles, “unless you’d like to use this as a catalyst for revealing yourself as Batman?”

“Tempting, but I think I’ll pass.”

Leaning into the marriage sham was similarly off the table. There didn’t seem to be a reason for them to act in such a forward way- sure, Bruce had lied to the security, but that didn’t mean the pair had to start exchanging spit in public to avoid facing legal action. Plus, Bruce really wanted to avoid getting that physically close with Clark considering his unfortunate feelings towards the other man. The thought of kissing him; touching him, for no other reason but to keep up a fraudulent relationship sounded quite frankly, torturous.

“We might as well continue as normal.” Bruce had settled on, with Clark nodding in agreement. “The damage is already done- so long as we don’t fan the flames, people will eventually get bored.”

The two heros hadn’t spoken a word since then, and so as the Man of Steel plops down beside him on a rooftop, Bruce feels some of the day’s tension dissipate at being back in the man’s familiar company.

“Batman! It’s good to see you.”

“Mmh. You’re a long way from Metropolis, Superman.”

“You‘ve got me there, B.” Clark chuckles, holding up his hands. “It’s a quiet night, thought I’d swing by to check how things are with my favourite bat.”

“How considerate.” Bruce says sarcastically as he scans the skyline for anything of interest. Clark sits down to his left, swinging his legs over the rooftop to swing lazily from the building. “I have no doubt that Luther was behind yesterday’s events. Your assaulters were his men, and this wouldn’t be the first time he’s gotten someone else to do his dirty work.”

Clark’s lips are drawn into a thin line as he frowns. “Of course it was. Were you able to track the van?”

“It was last seen heading west on Stagg Street- I lost sight of it after that.”

“Darn, It could have gone anywhere.” He says, standing. ‘I’ll head back, see if I can’t find it and- Oh! How was your day? You know, with everything that’s going on.”

Bruce is briefly taken aback by the inquiry, but keeps his expression drawn. “Fine. I left work at lunch. The atmosphere was… somewhat distracting.” He decides that Clark doesn’t need to know of the relentless teasing he’d faced after work at the hands of his children and butler respectively- that would only make things awkward.

“Tell me about it.” Clark sighs, “I’m in the process of writing it up an interview with myself now.”

“Oh?” Bruce replies, light amusement playing on his voice. “A good interview, was it?”

The other man snorts.

“Hardly. Too revealing, and the public will have a field day, but too vague, and Perry will have my head. I’m just hoping for neutrally ambiguous.”

“I’ll be sure to catch it.”

Clark smiles wide before he steps off the ledge to hover in front of the bat. “Well, I best be off- talk soon, B.”

“Good night, Superman.”

He mentally scolds himself when he realises he’d been staring at the Kryptonian, all up until he flew out of sight. With a dramatic flourish of his cape, Bruce slips down from the roof and into the shadows of Gotham’s alleys below.

He will not succumb to this distraction.

Chapter Text

His Superman exclusive was hardly the gossip fest that Perry had wanted, but Clark had done his best given the situation at hand.

When the hero had been asked to comment on his and Bruce Wayne’s relationship, Clark wrote that Superman was ‘appreciative for having Mr Wayne in his life’ and that he’d been ‘relieved to see a friendly face’ after waking up in the hospital.

The question of whether it was true that he was in a relationship with the billionaire was neither confirmed or denied, but rather, Clark had reported that Superman had stressed how ‘the relationship between himself and the people of Metropolis and beyond is of the greatest importance’ to him, and that ‘personal relationships will never get in the way of helping people’.

The rest of the interview included much of the same- Clark had been careful not to deny anything about their alleged marriage, but had similarly confirmed nothing; giving very little detail about Superman and Wayne’s relationship besides the barest of acknowledgements.

“Are you serious, Kent?” Perry sighs after reading over the final draft of Clark’s article. The reporter stands awkwardly behind his boss’ desk, pushing his glasses up as he listens to the man moan. “He hardly mentioned Wayne at all, let alone giving any details about their marriage.”

“Superman is a very private person, sir. He almost refused the interview entirely once I started asking about Mr Wayne.” What else is there to say? What else can he say?

It’s terribly awkward to purposely jeopardise your civilian identity’s work-cred by being overly obtuse about your superhero identity’s fake marriage with the guy you secretly have a crush on, who just so happens to also be your best friend.

And Batman.

Perry huffs, leaning back in his chair as he reads through the interview again. “It’s well written, I’ll give you that, kid. Let’s just hope that’s enough; clearly Superman’s frugality with information isn’t going to sell itself.”

Despite the pessimism, Clark can’t help but feel pleased by Perry’s comments. It was rare that the older man was so forward in his approval, and so Clark happily takes whatever he can get. The interview might have been a tad bland, but it was also ‘well written’, and a win is a win!

————

The next time Clark sees Bruce is a week later at a charity gala.

Talk of their relationship hasn’t yet settled, but it’s become more of an omnipresent background hum rather than front page news. The article Clark had published was received neutrally, if not with slight irritation by the general public due to it’s vague nature, but this allowed it to align perfectly into the pair’s plan of remaining low-key.

Bruce had messaged with a simple ‘good article’ text the day of its publication, which pleased Clark more than it should have.

Now, Superman is standing to the side of a stage in an extravagantly decorated hall whilst waiting to make a comment. The fundraiser is for a newly established children’s charity aiming to support misfortuned Gotham youth, and currently a spokesperson, Adrian Levitt, is addressing the crowd before him. It wasn’t often Superman would make an appearance at one these kinds of events- especially not one based in Gotham- but it was for a good cause, and plus, Bruce had invited him here himself. Clark is yet to see the man in question, but he knows he can’t be far. After all, tonight’s event was not only largely funded by Bruce, but he’s also the top donator for charity.

“-We are so proud of how far the charity has come, and are so grateful for your attendance and donations this evening…” Mr Levitt smiles wide from the stage’s podium, addressing the crowd graciously as Clark watches from the sidelines. His speech progresses with passion, and it isn’t long before he’s calling Clark up to to deliver a few words.

“Now, I’m delighted to introduce to you a very special guest here with us tonight,” The man begins, causing anticipation to blossom through the crowd via excitable chatter. “Please, give a warm welcome to Metropolis’ local hero, Superman, ladies and gentleman!”

At his words, Clark steps forwards, waving and smiling brightly as the audience applaud. He’s not appeared publicly besides patrols since the news dropped last week, and he can’t help feeling slightly nervous because of it. 

“Thank you, Mr Levitt, and hello everyone. It’s great to be here to support such an important and amazing cause…”

He keeps his speech brief but sincere, not wanting to steal the attention from the charity or it’s donators. Once he wraps things up, Mr Levitt heads back over to the podium, clapping and looking pleased.

“Superman, everyone! Thank you for those kind words.”

Clark nods before taking a step back politely, giving the spokesman room to continue adressing the crowd. Although his attention had started on Mr Levitt’s speech, it soon relocates and zeroes in on a familiar heartbeat approaching from backstage, and Clark hardly hears Adrian over the rhythm when he says, “-let’s hear it for our greatest supporter, Mr Bruce Wayne!”

Entering from the shadows, Bruce crosses the stage in an impeccable-as-always suit and a charming grin adorning his face. He makes eye contact with Clark and the pair nod in greeting, with matching smiles.

This was a professional environment; they were hardly going to lean into any kind of PDA in the middle of a charity fundraiser- and surely no one would expect them to either? A gentle acknowledgment seems fine to Clark, and clearly Bruce too, as moves past the hero to shake Mr Levitt’s hand before taking to the microphone.

“Hello- thank you, thank you- it’s a pleasure to be here with you all.” Bruce says confidently as the audience settles down. “I was pleased to hear of a new charity in Gotham working to support vulnerable children- something close to home given my own childhood and that of my son’s. I’m proud to be able to support something which recognises the importance of protecting today’s youth, and offers them not only the opportunities for a good childhood, but also the necessary support as they enter into adulthood.”

Bruce speaks for a few minutes longer, cameras flashing throughout, until he closes his speech with a comment about ‘taking advantage of the event’s open bar’ and leaving the stage. He’s waiting for Clark round back once Superman takes his own leave, leaned up against a wall with a champagne glass of ginger ale hanging lazily in his hand.

“Nice speech out there.” Clark compliments as he walks up to the man before nodding to the glass, amused. “Did you have that pre-poured? You’re awful quick with it.”

When he speaks, it’s a murmur only audible for Clark’s superhearing to pick up on. “That speech was slightly too intelligent and important for Brucie. It never hurts to lean into the drunken idiot approach to dumb things down.”

Clark laughs, ever impressed by Bruce’s dedication to the act. “How long will you be staying?” He asks as the sounds of the string quartet begin to fill the hall beyond the stage curtains.

“Long enough to get reasonably pissed, I’d imagine.”

“On that?” He looks pointedly at Bruce’s drink. “I think you’ll be here a while, Mr Wayne.”

Bruce’s lips twitch at the corners. “I’ll make it work. Are you coming too?”

He shakes his head. “I think I’ll head out. Just wanted to show my support really, and I don’t doubt I’ll be needed elsewhere at some point tonight anyways, so might as well get a headstart on patrol now, you know?”

“Oh, I understand. You’re just leaving your husband to get drunk and embarrassing on his own.” Bruce’s tone is deadpan, but his eyes are bright with humour. “Yes of course, darling, that’s completely fine.”

Clark somehow manages to bite back a laugh as he replies merrily, “knew you’d understand. I’ll see you later, Bruce.”

“Later, Superman.” Bruce calls back over his shoulder, already making his way over to the hall door.

Clark hears the chorus of obnoxious greetings and Bruce’s charming responses as he takes to the sky.

————

Superman works fast, but gossip reporters work faster.

It’s the morning after the gala, and Clark is still asleep in bed when his phone rings. He blinks a couple times against the sleep in his eyes to reach for his phone, surprised to see Lois calling him so early. It’s just gone 9 AM on a Saturday, which considering he doesn’t really need to sleep is pretty late by Clark’s standards, even on his day-off.

Sue him- his bed felt extra comfy this morning.

“Lois?” His voice is hoarse as he answers the call. “You ok?”

“You’ve not seen it then.”

“What?”

“Sorry Kansas, didn’t mean to wake you, but you’re front page of the Gazette.”

He runs a hand down his face pensively, groaning.

“That doesn’t sound good.” The curtains across his bedroom window are sheer, but Clark pulls them back to let the sun’s rays press into his skin directly to hype himself up for whatever this article has in store. “Is it about me leaving the gala early? I probably should have stayed for a drink.”

“Not really, but that does get mentioned.”

“Hold on-” he pads down the hall to the kitchen where his laptop sits on the island. Squishing his phone between his shoulder and ear, Clark sits and opens the device to grab up the latest Gotham Gazette article. “-I’m just getting it now.”

“Brace yourself.”

The page takes a second to load, but when it does, Clark almost lets the phone slip from his grasp to the floor as he gapes at the headline.

SUPER ‘SLEAZY’ MAN IS BREAKING BRUCIE’S HEART !

IS THE METROPOLIS STAR CHEATING ON BILLIONAIRE HUSBAND BRUCE WAYNE WITH GOTHAMITE BATMAN ?

It’s been just over a week since Gotham’s prince Bruce Wayne announced his marriage with Metropolis’ hero Superman, and things are only getting hotter. In an shocking twist, it appears that ‘golden boy’ Superman has in fact been engaging in an outrageous string of infidelity with none other than elusive vigilante, Batman.

Early last week, Superman was sighted visiting Batman on a rooftop in central Gotham, where the heroic pair were pictured getting rather cozy in their spandex suits with the exchange of soft smiles and longing stares. The Dark Knight’s territorial nature is no secret, although clearly, this meet-up reveals an exception to the rules.

But it seems that tall, dark, and scary isn’t the only thing doing it for the Kryptonian. If his consistent and exclusive interviews with Daily Planet reporter, Clark Kent, are anything to go by- tall, dark, and nerdy may also be up the man’s alley.

Kent was able to secure yet another publicised encounter with Superman- the twelfth one in fact, since the Metropolitan mascot made his crime-fighting debut. That’s eleven more than most, with the only exception being fellow Planet reporter and known ex-girlfriend to Kent, Lois Lane. We can’t help but wonder what relationship the two men must share; a simple case of friendly reporting, or is this perhaps getting friendly with benefits involved?

Both encounters take place just days after Superman’s admittance to hospital- an event so concerning for Bruce Wayne that he used the fact of their marriage in a desperate plea to visit his injured Beau. The striking contrast between Wayne’s care and Superman’s deplorable lack-of is not only deeply saddening, but also throws into question everything we though we knew about the supposed hero.

The strained relationship between the pair was painfully apparent at last night’s charity gala, funded primarily by Bruce Wayne himself. Guests watched as nothing but awkward smiles were passed between the hero and billionaire, and during their speeches, neither party so much as mentioned the other despite their involvement with the fundraiser.

In a heated moment backstage, the Gazette picked up an exclusive quote from Mr Wayne, where he said solemnly that he ‘understood’ Superman’s abrupt exit from the gala, stating, ‘You’re just leaving your husband to get drunk and embarrassing on his own.’ Unexpectedly, Wayne did just that, as he was seen steadily drinking from a constant stream of bubbling champagne glasses until he was escorted- considerably intoxicated- to a waiting taxi. A drunken display from the philanthropist is hardly new, but the insight of an unhappy marriage being a potential cause most certainly is.

Let us not forget how this isn’t the first time suspicions have been raised regarding Superman’s sexual deviances, what with rumours of a ‘secret harem’ picking up speed last year. Despite the eventual discredit to those past claims, the fact they were made at all looks undeniably poor for Superman in light of recent events. Can we be certain the Man of Steel is truly as righteous as he’s made out to be? Or is a marriage riddled with disloyalty and neglect a better indicator for this Kryptonian’s true character?  

Although he doesn’t swear aloud, Clark is currently listing off every curse known to both man and kryptonian in his head as he stares gobsmacked at the article.  

Oh this is so bad.

So so bad.

“Clark? You still there?”

“…Oh my God, Lois.”

“I know.”

“I mean- Oh my God, Lois!”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Super ‘sleazy’ man’? Sleazy! I mean, come on- seriously? That’s arguably worse than ‘supershit’!”

“I’d say it’s definitely worse than supershit...”

“-And for petessake, why are they digging up the harem nonsense again!?” he cries, utterly dismayed. “This is a lot. A whole lot of bad.” Lifting his free hand to the back of his neck, he breathes out deeply as he slips down into the chair. “Lois, they’re literally attacking all bases here- Superman, me, Bruce and Batman!”

Lois hums, displeased. He can hear her clicking away at the computer as she re-reads the page. “It’s cheap and poorly researched, but I hate to say it- extremely condemning.”  

Clark groans again. “This was not part of the plan.”

“Did you even have a plan?” She questions. “I can’t believe that between the two of you, neither considered this kind of backlash from the media. If it weren’t for the fact that you’re a reporter and he’s a celebrity, I’d think neither of you’d read a gossip magazine in your lives!”

And… there’s not a whole lot he can say to defend himself to that.  

“Ok admittedly, I hadn’t realised how things looked-” he cringes, “but! But, the article is one of the biggest reaches I’ve ever read!”

“Of course it is, but you know the public aren’t going to see it as that.”

“Mmm, I know.”

“I’ve got no idea what angle you guys are gonna take with this going forward, but unfortunately whatever you’re currently doing isn’t working.” Lois says gravely. “You need to put out a statement, Clark- both you and Bruce.”

“Mmmmm. I know, you’re right.” He sighs and drops his head to face plant the kitchen counter. “Thanks for letting me know about all this, Lo.”

“I always am.” She quips back playfully. “and no worries, Smallville, even as ‘sleazyman’, I’ll have you’re back.”

He snorts at that, despite how much he’s already despising the nickname. Maybe if he smashes his head through the marble beneath his forehead he’ll wake up from this terrible nightmare.

But no- sadly this is entirely too real, and Clark needs to do some serious damage control.

“I’ll give Bruce a call.”

Chapter Text

Bruce sips from a hearty cup of coffee whilst mulling over the morning’s headlines at the breakfast table.

He’d almost burst out laughing at the headline of ‘Super-Sleazy-Man’; something so absolutely outrageous and wildly inaccurate that it would be impossible to not laugh, just a little bit.

And that’s not to get it twisted- because let it be known that Bruce is downright livid at such a defamatory claim, but… the word play is pretty good.

Besides, he’ll be the one having the last laugh in the end anyway.

“Alfred, call my-”

“Lawyer? Already on it, Master Bruce.” The older man is dialling a number on the kitchen’s rotary telephone before Bruce can so much as finish his sentence. He hums in thanks before reading through the article again. How the hell the Gazette thought they’d get away with this is beyond him, and Bruce will be suing the ever-loving fuck out of them for it- thank you very much.

The article throwing both Batman and Clark Kent into the mix is concerning, although atleast the tree these reporters are barking up is that of the selfcestual variety rather than the secret identity one.

No- the most pressing issue is what this might do for Superman’s reputation, as Bruce is pretty sure that a serial adulterer isnt quite what the man is going for.

Speak of the devil; Bruce’s phone begins to ring; ‘Boyscout’ flashing up with an urgency Bruce can practically feel radiating from the screen.

“Clark.” He answers briskly.

“Bruce, hey! We err- we have a problem. A big one.”

“It wouldn’t happen to be the fact you’re cheating on me with myself, would it?”

“So you’ve seen it then- can you believe their nerve!”

“I’ve just been reading about one rather ‘sleazy’ man, yes.” He takes another swig from his coffee cup. “That Superman is certainly one very busy man.” If Alfred wasn’t currently on call to his lawyer, he’d definitely be shooting Bruce an unimpressed glare for teasing the poor man. He imagines the horrified expression playing on Clark’s face and wishes he could see it himself.

“This isn’t funny, Bruce, imagine how you’d feel if they called you that!”

“They have, Clark. Im called a playboy more than I’m called by my actual name.”

“Ok, well… well you’re not a very good example! You want them to think that- it’s a testimony to the effectiveness of your persona- I dont.” He huffs loudly through the speakers. “Superman can’t do that.”

Bruce stands, pours out another steaming cup of caffeine, and turns on his heels towards the living room. “I know. I already have people on it- with that level of baseless defamation I doubt it will be selling for any longer than an hour before we can get it pulled, and I’d guess at-least three people will be shortly fired for publishing it in the first place.”

“Lois thinks we need to put out a statement.”

“Yes.” He makes quick work of the piano before slipping behind the sliding bookshelf and descending into the batcave. “We should devise a new plan of action right away. When can you be over?”

There’s a sudden chair screech as Clark presumably stands himself, and then, “I can be there in five.”

“Good. And be careful not to talk to anyone else on your way- can’t have that harem rumour getting any bigger.”

“Rao.” Clark groans, followed closely by a light chuckle of disbelief. “Fingers crossed I don’t bump into my neighbour on the way out then.”

 “I believe that would be reasonable grounds for divorce.” Bruce muses before ending the call.

————

Clark, true to his word, finds himself taking a seat at Bruce’s desk within minutes of their phone call. The article is plastered big on the overhead screen, and Bruce eyes the headlining blurred pap of Batman and Superman with open displeasure. His gaze slides over to Clark, and he nods in greeting.

“Would you like a drink?” He asks, lifting a black mug with a worn bat logo printed across the side in question. “I can have Alfred bring you a coffee, unless you’d like something stronger.”

Clark snorts. “It’s not even 10 yet. Why, are you telling me that thing’s filled with whisky?”

“Naturally.” He deadpans. “Didn’t you read the article? You’re apparently the reason why I’m a raging alcoholic.”

He hadn’t had a chance for coffee yet this morning, what with Lois’ initial call and the subsequent one to Bruce, and although it doesn’t look like he’s only been up for 20 minutes maximum, he’s not feeling too hot right now under the menacing glow of the article above him.

“A coffee would be nice, thank you.”

If Clark didn’t know any better he’d think Alfred was a teleporting cryptid, when as if on cue, the man appears to his left with a second mug and coffee pot.

“Right you are, Mister Kent.” He offers whilst settling down the tray. Clearly Bruce didn’t just learn the art of a stealthy sneak up from anywhere.

“Oh! Thank you, Alfred.” He smiles gratefully.

“Of course. Now, in regards to the article, Sirs-” he steps back to address them both. “-your lawyer is confident he’ll be able to build a healthy defamation case, and told me to assure you that the article will be removed imminently and to await his call.”  

Bruce grunts. “They’ll hardly have a leg to stand on. Thank you for making the call, Alfred.”

“My pleasure, Sir. I’ll leave you to discuss matters between yourselves.”

After the door closes behind the butler, neither man speaks for several minutes. Bruce returns his glare to the screen; leaning forward with a hard stare and hands clasped pensively in front of his face. Clark shifts uncomfortably, suddenly very aware of how awkward this all is as the buzz words ‘sleazy’, ‘husband’, and ‘harem’ continue to loom.

They’ll have to come clean.

There could be no cheating in a fake marriage, and even less so when there’s no romantic relationship at all. Anything said or done which suggested otherwise, such as Bruce’s overheard comments at the gala or Superman’s ambiguous interview answers, were nothing more than cover-ups to prevent legal trouble with the hospital.

And sure, they might get into a bit of said legal trouble given the initial security breach, but that’s fine. It’s not like Bruce can’t just buy his way out of the reprocussions anyways.

That only leaves the problem of why someone like Bruce Wayne would be visiting Superman in the first place, but everyone has friends, right? And sure, a billionaire playboy buddied up with a superhero is a touch unique, but stranger things have happened!

Yep, Clark thinks, it’s about time they put this whole crazy marriage ordeal behind th-

“We’re just going to have to double down.”

Clark’s train of thought grinds to a sudden hault.

“What?”

Bruce hasn’t moved, but his eyebrows are now raised decisively instead of being thoughtfully furrowed.

“We’re going to have to double down on this marriage act.” He repeats easily, as if the answer is obvious.

“Double… down.”

“Clearly subtlety was the wrong approach. I miscalculated when I assumed we wouldn’t need to put on an act, but luckily this is salvageable.”

“Salvageable? How?” Clark laughs incredulously, “Bruce, they think I’m cheating on you with two people!”

The other man drops his hands and spins around in the chair to finally face Clark. “We’re supposed to be married, right? So we’ve been together for a while.”

“…Ok?”

“And no one knew. Clearly we-” he gestures between them with a finger, “-are good at keeping things a secret, good at keeping our hands to ourselves.”

“Right, but no one knew because we’re not together. My hands aren’t going anywhere near you like that in any scenario!”

“Clark.” Bruce clips. “No one knows that. To them, we’re just two people who have been publically outed after potentially years of partnership. We’re not used to acting lovingly in public.”

“You’re saying our married personas are shy.”

Bruce grimaces dramatically at the term but nods all the same. “Yes, and now, everyone ‘knows’ the truth- that we’re together. But because they’re all tactless and stupid, they’re immediately expecting us to act like we’re married too. When we don’t, they get bored. They assume an interview with some mild-manner reporter means you’re fucking him- because that’s interesting.”

“Again, this is salvageable how…?”

“Because we can lean into this… shyness, Clark. Talk about how careful we’ve been in the past, how alien it would be to be seen kissing in public, how we’re still getting used to people knowing. It would explain our ambiguity, our distance.” Bruce’s brilliant blue gaze is so intense that Clark hardly dares to breathe.

“-No one would believe or care for the cheating rumours with Batman or Clark if we give them a show.”

Someone needs to violently shake Clark awake from whatever freakish dream he’s gotten lost in, because for a second there, it sounded like Bruce was seriously suggesting they start engaging in some very public PDA.

Which couldn’t possibly be true.

So why is Bruce looking at him like he’s waiting for Clark to agree?

How long has he been quietly gaping for? Ten seconds? Twenty? Surely to goodness not thirty.

Ah yes, this is getting quite awkward now.

He clears his throat.

“So ah- so you’re saying, we need to do things like… kiss?”

Bruce almost startles at Clarks reply as if he’d stopped expecting to hear one. He blinks before nodding in a slightly grave manner.

“That’s what they’ll be expecting yes; dates, hand holding, kissing. I think we’ll get away without having to release a series of sex tapes, but you never really know with the press.”

Absolutely nothing can stop the absolutely furious flush that envelopes Clark’s face, which isn’t helped by the gentle upturn of Bruce’s lips at the sight of his suffering.

“I’m joking, Clark.”

Clark presses his lips into a thin line and reaches for his coffee, hoping to hide his embarrassment behind a prolonged sip.

“-Just one tape would suffice.”

It takes Clark a minute to clear his airways of freshly spluttered coffee, all the while maintaining a ruffled glare towards Bruce, who’s eyes are alight with mirth. He sets the mug back down and crosses his arms.

“Why not just tell the truth? We’re not married. Superman can’t be a cheater if he has no one to cheat on.”

“I’ve considered that approach.” Bruce nods. “But best case, it paints Superman as a liar.”

“That’s best case?”

“-and worst case is that they’ll believe it’s a shoddy break-up coverup story; that we want to pretend the marriage was never real instead of admitting to the horrifying truth.”

“Right, the ‘truth’ that isn’t truthful…” Clark mutters bitterly.

“Look, I know as both Superman and Clark Kent you’re strong on your morals, and so I’m sure you’re less than pleased to lie. It’s because of me that you have to, and for that I appologise.” He’s leaned forward towards Clark in the chair, and his voice is rich with an uncommon sincerity which Clark knows he’ll give into.

“-But this isn’t forever. After a few months, maybe half a year, we can stage a break up, and that will be the end of things. In my opinion, this is the least damaging option for your reputation.”

‘Least damaging’ he says… Clark could have laughed.

Oh God, he’s going to have to kiss and hold hands with his very attractive best friend whilst pretending that he’s not harbouring the fattest decade-long crush ever known to man.

“I got us into this mess,” Bruce continues, “but I’ll get us out of it.”

If he survives this without imploding, Clark reckons he deserves a vacation.

He breathes out deeply. “Ok,” he agrees, certain he’ll regret these next words. “I’m in. And you’re right, i’m really not happy about the lying, but I trust your judgement on this. Relationships and affairs do seem to be one of Brucie’s specialities.”

Bruce lets out a quiet breath of amusement and spins back around to the computer. “Wonderful. We’ll need to work out a timeline and boundaries, but that can be discussed over dinner. And hopefully-” he clicks the refresh button on the article next, and instead of reloading the page, the screen goes white with nothing but a 404-error message.  

“-Good.”

“Well that’s a start at least.” Clark chuckles and stands, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair. “And you said dinner? I can swing by again later, if you like- how does takeout sound? My treat.”

“Thank you for the offer, but that won’t be necessary.”

“Oh?” He pauses momentarily at pulling the jacket on to look at Bruce. “What else did you have in mind?”  

The man smiles charmingly- big and bright as if he had an audience, before picking up his phone and holding it up to his ear. “Ah yes, good morning- it’s me, Brucie- Yes, yes- Bruce Wayne, yes that’s me- the one and only!” Clark snorts and rolls his eyes at Bruce’s playboy persona, who talks playfully with a too-wide smile still planted on his lips.

“-I’d like to make a reservation for two for tonight, please- mmm- did you say 8?” He looks up to Clark briefly and winks, “-yes 8 is perfect for us, thank you- bye now- haha-! bu-bye.”

The second the call ends, Bruce drops his fake grin to replace it with a faint smirk. Clark’s palms would be sweating if they could. 

“What I had in mind, Mr Kent, is to take you out for dinner.”

Chapter Text

Shortly after their meeting, Clark had headed out with a promise to return later, giving Bruce just enough time (approximately nine hours) to fall headfirst into a cloud of deep dread.

He’d kissed many people in his life- in fact, it was a rarer sight to see Bruce Wayne without someone pretty hanging from his arm or clutching him tightly by the waist.

But those people had hardly ever been anyone important, and especially not anyone as important as Clark.

It was true that Bruce had grown rather attached to the man, and over the years he’d grown to consider Clark his best friend. The hazy, suppressed desire for something beyond a friendship was, up until a week ago, something Bruce hardly dared think about.

In light of recent events however, those thoughts have started taking up a worryingly large space in his mind, so much so that he’s considering packing up shop and becoming a monk- far, far away, perhaps back in a Tibet. He’d send Alfred and the kids a postcard every now and then, and pray to God that the monastery had lead walls to avoid any surprise meetings from Clark.   

But that would be cowardly, especially when this whole marriage problem had been risen by his own hand.

Proposing that they take this any further than a lose rumour had been beyond foolish of him, but in truth, Bruce had hoped Clark would accept the plan just as much as reject it.

He could kid himself and pretend that this would be just another fling, but it was anything but. Leaning into a fake relationship with Clark was morally grey in it’s self-indulgence, and stupid for it’s recklessness. Despite this however, Bruce stood by his guns that this was the way forwards for maximum damage control.

It’s also the way forward for generating the maximum amount of awkwardness between them both, but that will only be temporary.

…Probably.

He stays holed away in the Batcave for the rest of the day, thankfully free to brood in peace with only the occasional visit from Alfred. When he eventually leaves to get changed, he only manages to make it half way up the stairs before a cocky voice halts his ascent.

“You know, I really didn’t think Supes had it in him.”

Bruce sighs. It was hopeless of him to think he could ever escape today’s developments without further teasing from his boys, although Jason is mercifully absent. Silver linings and all that.

He turns to find his eldest leaning nonchalantly against the banister with a copy of the Gazette held between his hands, brows furrowed with faux concentration as he scans the headlines.

“That has gotta sting, B.” He continues solemnly. “And to think, Metropolis’s sweetheart is the reason for your alcohol abuse. This really is shocking…”  

“I thought I threw that out.” Bruce frowns.

“Oh, don’t worry-” chirps Dick, ruffling the offending pages obnoxiously; proudly, even,  “-this is my own copy.”

Of course it bloody is.

Bruce sighs again.

“This is slop, by the way. I’m shocked they even got approval to publish it at all.”

“I’m aware. We got it removed almost immediately.”

Dick nods. “Uh-huh. They were being pulled from the shelves when I saw them, but we were lucky enough to purchase a couple dozen before they went completely.”

Bruce purses his lips. “A couple dozen.”

“Ye-p.” He smirks, popping the ‘P’ crisply as he pulls out slightly crumpled stack of newspapers from god only knows where.

“And would I be right in assuming Jason was the one accompanying you?”

“Well duh, where’dya think the rest of these bad boys are?” Dick grins and waves the paper stack around again playfully. “Anyways, i’ll let you go,” he says, backing away from the stairs and throwing up a pair of finger guns. “Wouldn’t want to make you late for your date!”

Bruce frowns at Dick’s departing gesture, and it’s truly a miracle that his face isn’t yet swallowed by premature stress wrinkles curtesy of his family. Alfred must have ratted him out about having dinner plans, Bruce really should have known better to think he could slip out quietly.  

Twenty minutes later, Bruce exits the en-suite bathroom in a cloud of steam before entering his walk-in closet and running a hand across the row of neatly hung jackets, contemplating what to wear. The restaurant they’re booked for is certainly not shy when it comes to expenses, meaning Clark will have a stroke when he reads the menu’s somewhat excessive pricing. Bruce grabs his phone and clicks onto Clark’s contact to warn the man that his typical flannel and jeans combo isn’t going to slide.

BW- Wear something nice, they don’t permit casual.

CK- How nice? I was thinking the brown suit I wore to ur press conference the other week??

BW- Definitely not.

CK- ?? Come on its not that bad.

Bruce snorts- it was.

At said press conference, he and his team were being questioned on future plans to expand, whilst Clark, standing off to the side and scribbling notes, was sporting one of his most ill-fitting suits to date. He had to hand it to him, it was nothing short of astonishing how earth’s buffest man was able to play off his muscles as nothing more than excess weight. And that’s not to mention the fabric itself- Bruce had wondered if the tweed might give sandpaper a run for it’s money. 

BW- …The only place that suit would look good in is the trash.   

CK- :/

BW- Dark blue, February gala.

Bruce, tired of seeing the Man of Steel dress so damn crudely, had bought him that one himself. It had taken almost a week of convincing, what with Clark’s flat out refusal to accept the gift, but he did eventually give in and wear it to February’s Gala. (Batman had broken into his apartment and left the suit hanging in his closet. It would have been rude to give it back.)

CK- the Armani one ??? where are we going ??

BW- See you soon.

Unfortunately for Bruce, soon came a bit too quickly.

He’d eventually settled on a charcoal suit, and was in the process of fastening his tie when the doorbell rung. He pauses, checking his watch; Clark was almost half hour early, because of course he was, but that’s fine. Clark was no stranger to punctuality and Alfred would entertain him briefly- as he had done in the past- before Bruce arrives.

That was fine, until he hears the joyful announcement of “I’ll get it!” thundering through the house from his eldest.  

Bruce’s heart drops. Dick cannot be the one to open that door, the teasing- oh God, the teasing- would be astronomical. Neither of them would survive to make it to dinner.

Perhaps this was karma for speaking so poorly of Clark’s terrible fashion choices.

The speed in which Bruce flies from his room, across the landing and down the stairs would be rivalled by none besides the Flash himself, but as he tears into the foyer, he sees that it’s just not quick enough.

Playing out in horrifying slow motion, he watches helplessly as Dick reaches for the door handle, pulling it open with such unadulterated glee that Bruce worries he might be blinded by it.

And low and behold, behind the door stands Clark. His hair is tousled slightly from the wind, and he’s wearing the very suit Bruce had suggested for him. With his glasses adorning his face, it really is striking how different Kent can make himself appear if he needs to when compared to his usual oversized looks.

“Clark!” Dick beams, swinging leisurely on the door. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Oh erm- Hi Dick! I wasn’t expecting it to be you answering.” He returns the smile, but his eyes dart hesitantly to Bruce for a moment, who still stands motionless a good ten feet away, as if sensing something amiss. “I’m here for Bruce.”

“Oh, are you now?” The younger man teases, and the tone is enough to break Bruce from his pause and join them at the door. “But weren’t you only here this morning-?”

“Manners, Dick, you haven’t even invited him in yet.” He sighs, pushing the door open further. “Come in, Clark.”

“Ah, thank you.” He nods, face lightly flushed from the cold outside. “Sorry I’m a bit early, I hope that’s alright.”

“Completely alright, big blue. B here couldn’t wait to see you-”

“Shoo. Now.”

Dick holds up his hands, biting back a laugh. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll leave you two lovebird to it.” Bruce’s glare follows him until he ducks away into the kitchen, likely off to laugh some more about the situation with Alfred.

“Lovebirds?” Clark squeaks, regaining his attention. “Does he not know-”

Bruce rolls his eyes. “Oh he knows, just ignore him.”

“Well good, or else this would all be incredibly awkward.”

“Isn’t it already?”

“Touché.” Clark laughs, and Bruce feels the corners of his mouth quirk up.

“Would you care for a drink? We’ve still got an hour before the reservation.”

“Of course, lead the way.”

The pair head towards the living room, and Bruce gestures for Clark to take a seat on the plush couch whilst he pours them both a whisky.

“We might as well discuss things now, seeing as we have time.” Bruce suggests, holding out the crystal glass to the other man who accepts it with a nod.

 “About our relationship, you mean?”

“Yes,” he takes a seat, “this isn’t going to work unless we iron out boundaries; how much contact we’re comfortable with having.”

“I’d say I’m pretty comfortable with most things.” Clark shrugs. “I guess you could say touch is one of my love languages.”

“So hand holding? Hugging? An arm around your waist?” Bruce lists, “does that sound ok to you?”

Theres a slight tension in Clark’s jaw, but it’s quickly softened out after he takes a sip from his drink. “All good on my end. Is it the same for you?”

It would be fine. “All good.” He replies.

Clark hums, swishing the golden liquid around the glass for a moment. “They’d be expecting us to kiss.”

“Would you be okay with that?”

He’s still looking down into his drink as he speaks, the air slightly charged with discomfort. Bruce catches himself holding his breath.

“I um, yeah. Yeah I think so.”

His hesitancy is something Bruce understands, although for different reasons. Not everyone is comfortable kissing their friends, and while Bruce has no qualms doing such things himself, he does have a few of his own concerns over kissing someone he harbours a crush towards.

“We’re on the same page then.”

Clark looks back up, catching Bruce’s eyes. “You’d be ok with that?”

All too okay with that, he thinks. Not trusting himself to answer as himself, he smiles wide and Brucie-like. “Well of course. Who could say no to Superman?”

A light dusting of red rushes to Clarks cheeks at his partner’s forwardness, and Bruce feels both bad and relieved to have deflected the question away from himself. Quick to change the subject, he reaches into his pocket to for a small box.

“What’s that?” Clark asks, eyeing the container.

“Something we’ll be needing.” He opens it and spins it around to show the other man, where two golden bands glisten. “Rings.”

“Ah!” He exclaims, “Good idea!”

Bruce tips the rings into his palm. They’re simple; modest. He hadn’t seen much point in doing anything more than that, they were just for show, of course, the design wasn’t the important part.

He slips the slightly smaller one over his ring finger before holding out the other one for Clark to take. He hadn’t expected Clark to extend his left hand out for Bruce to put the ring on himself, but he did. His hand was large and warm in his own, and thankfully the ring fit him perfectly.

“How’d you know my ring size?” Clark asks, twirling the metal between his fingers.

Bruce shrugs. “Same way I knew your suit measurements. A good guess.”

“Not creepy at all, B.” Clark snorts, dropping his hand. “So… where exactly is it we’re going?”

“Oh nowhere too fancy, It only has the one Michelin star, I believe.”

Bruce bites his cheek to stop himself from laughing at the aghast expression engulfing Clark’s face.

“You’re kidding.”

The billionaire tilts his head and squints, feigning confusion.

“One Michelin star, Bruce?!”

“Oh! I’m sorry, darling-” Clark continues to gape. “-I could probably pull a few strings to get us somewhere with two, if that would suit your tastes better.”

“Bruce.”

“What? It’s our first public date, Clark.” He reminds flatly. “Do you really think Brucie would be taking his husband, the Superman, anywhere less?”

“Superman doesn’t mind! We could go to a food truck for all I care.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t, but this is meant to be a show, remember? It’s hardly going to make a good debut if we’re seen ordering a kebab.”

Clark sniffs disapprovingly. “…Fine. But I’m buying.”

Now Bruce really can’t hold his laughter in. “No you’re not, Clark.” He manages, having to set his glass down on the coffee table to avoid spilling it. The other man’s mouth is drawn into a thin line, but at Bruce’s sudden outburst, it isn’t long before he’s laughing as well.

“Worth a try.” Clark chuckles, “but next time, I really am paying.”

“Whatever you say, Mr Kent.” He smirks. “But the restaurant really is nice. In fact, this is just an excuse for me to go back- you’ll love it.”

Clark rolls his eyes but smiles none the less.

“Well then, I look forward to it.”

————

They lapse into comfortable chatter for the next half hour until it’s time to make a move. Alfred meets them at the door.

“Good evening, Mr Kent. I trust you are well?”

“Hello again, Mr Pennyworth! And I’m just super, thanks.”

“How excellent.” He says, eyes crinkling in faint amusement. “Master Bruce, do you require a lift this evening?”

“Would you mind? I should probably have a few drinks whilst we’re out. A lift would be great, thank you, Alfred.”

“My pleasure, Sir.” The man replies with a nod. “I’ll prepare the car.”

They’re left alone again, and Bruce is just about to shrug on his coat when Clark touches his shoulder, prompting him to face him.

“Your tie,” he reaches up, ghosting the fabric atop Bruce’s chest. “It’s not quite right.”

He’d practically forgotten the mad doorbell scramble earlier, but he remembered now how neglected his tie had become as he ditched everything to greet Clark at the door.

The other man’s hands are still hovering, and Bruce realises that he’s waiting for permission to adjust it for him. After a short nod, he lifts his head slightly to give Clark better access to the accessory.

They’re standing quite close now. With his head slightly tilted up, Bruce finds himself looking directly into Clark’s eyes, noting the flecks of both gold and green amidst the blue, something not noticeable from a distance.

“If this place is as fancy as it sounds, I can’t let you show up with a crooked tie.”

The hands under his chin are careful and swift. Bruce swallows, mouth suddenly becoming rather dry.

“That would have been quite embarrassing.”

Clark pats the knot, smiling. “There you go, all fixed!”

“Hmm.”

But Clark doesn’t pull away. Instead, he looks up, finding Bruce’s gaze already on him, who doesn’t move either.

Seconds pass.

Move for Christsake! You’re making it weird!

Bruce blinks. “Lose the glasses, Kent.”

It’s like a penny drops, and suddenly Clark’s eyes are widening and he’s huffing out a quiet laugh.

“Right, habit- sorry!” He finally steps back as he removes the frames, and what a sight this was.

Superman rarely appeared outside of his suit, just how Clark Kent was hardly, if ever, seen without his glasses on, regardless of company. In fact, Bruce could probably count on one hand the amount of times either events had occurred over the past decade of friendship.

Seeing Clark- Kal, wearing something other than the blue and red get-up was as shocking as he was stunning.

“Bruce?”

Fucking hell, he’s staring.

“I-”

“Holy smokes, Supes! I can’t believe my eyes right now!” Saved by the bell, it seems. Dick has reappeared, whistling at the newly un-bespectacled man and holding a bowl of what appears to be cherrios in his hands. “This is so weird, like when you see someone who usually wears glasses without them.”

Bruce raises an eyebrow. “Is that not… exactly what this is?”

“Well sure,” he wafts the spoon around dismissively, dripping a few rogue drops of milk onto the floor. “-but they don’t usually turn into Superman.”

“Heh, well thanks!” Clark smiles, pocketing his glasses into the inside of his jacket. “At least, I think that was a compliment?”

“‘Course, blue! You’ll be making headlines for sure. Hey, where’s Alfred? Has he given you guys the talk yet or-”

“Goodnight, chum,” Bruce interrupts pointedly, pulling his coat up over his shoulders and opening the door. “Clark and I were just leaving.”

“Good to see you, Dick.” Adds Clark as he follows the other man outside.

“And you!” Dick calls from the door. “And hey- have fun, but not too much fun, you two!”

Bruce hopes the darkness is enough to conceal the colour burning on his face.

———

A small crowd has formed around the entrance to the restaurant by the time Alfred pulls up in the Aston.

“The press are here?” Clark gawks, “how’d they know we were coming?”

“We’re the hottest couple right now.” Bruce supplies, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Word gets around.”

He hadn’t expected such a big turnout, but he wasn’t going to complain. Why bother putting on a show if there’s no one around to see it?

“Thank you, Alfred.”

“Of course, Sir.”

And then turning to Clark, Bruce says, “Stay here,” before exiting the car.

The camera flashes are immediate. As he walks around the vehicle, Bruce is sure to shoot a wide, pleased smile towards the crowd until he reaches the other door to open it wide, offering a hand to the man inside.

If the flashes were intense before, they’re nothing like they are now as Superman steps out by Bruce Wayne’s hand.

The door is closed, and Bruce is surprised to feel the man immediately break their contact in favour of resting a hand on the small of his back, drawing them together to press against each other’s sides.

They lock eyes, and understanding passing silently between them as they nod.

They can do this. It’s fine. Let’s go.

Superman’s smile is brighter than all of the flashes combined, and Bruce feels the need to comment on it. Brucie certainly would- it truly was impossible to ignore.

“My husband, everyone-” he announces, grinning at the crowd smugly and placing a hand upon Clark’s chest. “-Isn’t he gorgeous?”

Clark ducks his head bashfully, a softer smiling playing on his lips. Bruce wraps his own hand around the man’s waist, pulling them along towards the entrance whilst the crowd holler questions and remarks.

“Superman! Mr Wayne! Over here please gentleman!”

“How long have you been together please, Mr Wayne!”

“Camera’s this way, boys!”

“Readers of the Globe want to know, Superman-!”

“Mr Wayne! Was you a member of Superman’s harem?”

“Superman! Superman- what do you have to say about the affair rumours?”

This last one gives Bruce pause, and he turns to his left to see a short red-headed reporter holding out a microphone with wide, eager eyes. They still need to issue official statements on that particular topic, but for now, this would do.

He tugs at Clark’s side, redirecting the Man of Steel’s movements so he can speak into the microphone.

“While I’m not Superman, I still think I can answer that one.” He grins, nodding towards the man watching him closely at his side. “-This one’s mine. The only person allowed to touch him is me.” With a wink, Bruce draws back and the pair make their way to the doors; Superman just slightly pinker than usually.

“I didn’t take you for the possessive type, honey.” Clark mumbles against his ear. The pet name like a jolt of electric down his spine.

“Better get used to it, Darling.” Bruce quips, voice equally low as they approach the front desk where a woman is waiting for them.

“Good evening, Mr Wayne,” she greets warmly, “reservation for two?”  

They’re still holding one another, and he tries not to think to hard about the steady pressure of Clark’s hand against his back. “That’s correct, thank you.”

“Right this way please, gentleman.”

The food here was great- excellent even, but the décor easily stole the show.  The room their waitress guides them into is alive with rich red upholstery, and gently glowing thanks to the warm tabletop lamps. Tall, ornate ceilings are painted in soft blues and creams, dancing with cherubs and Gods and Godesses. Down the centre of the room, half a dozen pillars stretch from floor to ceiling, wrapped with statues of Greek heroes and horses and fabrics.

Clark gasps at the sight, and despite having seen it before, Bruce still feels his breath catch as he takes in the room.

“Rao.”

“Told you it was nice.”

“It’s beautiful.” Breathes Clark, looking to Bruce with eyes alight with awe. The warm lighting dowses him in a golden glow, making his eyes literally twinkle as he looks back to the room.

“Yes, beautiful.” Bruce agrees quietly.

“Just here for you, Sirs.” The woman stops in front of a table for two. Bruce was planning on pulling Clark’s chair out for him, but the hero beats him to it. He smiles, taking the offered seat. “Thank you, dearest.”

The waitress hands them menus and promises to be back shortly.

“Thank you.” Clark beams before turning his attention to Bruce whilst wearing an expression akin to a kid in a candy shop.

“Oh my golly, B!” He gushes, “I had no idea it would be so stunning here!”

Bruce winks, “good thing you fit right in.”

“Me?” Clark’s eyes drop down Bruce’s frame and back again. “Speak for yourself.”

Ah, they’re doing this then. Brucie can do that.

Someone around here will hear them; see them teasing and smiling. It’s all just part of the show.

“You know, as much as I trust you, my darling-” Bruce starts, leaning in across the table and playing with one of Clark’s sleeve cuffs. “-I certainly don’t trust the self control of others, especially not with you in that suit.”

“Well you were the one who bought it for me, honey.” Clark counters, smirking. “Do you like showing me off?”

“Hmmm. As long as people remember who you belong to.” He purrs, tracing the golden band on Clark’s finger with his own.

The other man opens his mouth to reply, blushing once more, but it’s in that moment that the waitress returns.

“Sorry to interrupt, gentleman.” She clears her throat apologetically. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

Bruce leans back but leaves his hand resting on Clark’s. “No worries, at all. And yes, please, we’ll have…” he glances down before pointing to one of the specialist wines on the menu, “-a bottle of this, thank you, and- K, darling, how does the vegetable burrata sound to start?”

Clark looks up from the menu with a frown, but nods.

“And the vegetable burrata to share, please.” He smiles charmingly.

“Of course, Mr Wayne.” She says, leaving them alone. The Kryptonian’s brows are still furrowed.

“Problem, Clark?”

“They’re charging almost forty dollars for soup, Bruce!” He whispers, shocked.

“I’ll cut the prices off of that thing if you keep looking at them.” Bruce warns. “Order whatever you like, I insist.”

“Well…” he contemplates. “The lobster frisk- fric-”

“Fricassée.”

“Yeah, with the sweet onion fondue. That sounds nice.”

“It does.” Bruce hums. “I was thinking that too, but I might get the Veal Blanquette instead.”

“Well you can try some of mine- if there’s any left.”

Bruce snorts quietly. “How very generous of you.”

Their wine arrives shortly after, and they order mains whilst a waiter pours them both a glass. Bruce holds his up to Clark.

“To being happily married.”

Clark chuckles as their glasses touch.

“To being happily married.”

The food is, as expected, delicious.

“Mmmhhh,” Clark sighs contently, taking a bite. “I would have married you sooner if I knew these were the perks.”

“You say that like I don’t frequently buy you dinner anyways.” Bruce huffs.

“True. Wanna bite?”

“Ah, so you have some to share after all?”

Clark shrugs, crafting a bite onto his spoon. “Gotta spread the love.” He holds it out, but Bruce doesn’t take it. Just how Clark had gotten him to put the wedding ring on his finger, Bruce rests his elbows on the table and presses forwards, mouth open expectantly.

To his credit, Clark does as he’s expected to, moving the spoon to Bruce’s mouth as he closes his lips over the utensil to take a bite. Maybe their unbroken eye contact during this was a bit weird, but Bruce doesn’t care too much. Clark’s cheeks redden.

Just for show, it was for just for show.

Plus, that lobster fricassée really is good.

“I’ve had a few interview requests.” Bruce announces after swallowing.

Clark coughs and looks back down to his bowl. “Me too. Are we accepting them?”

“It would be beneficial in propelling the story we want. We probably have some overlap; we could do them together, if you like.” He pauses to think and take a bite of his own food. “Actually, that might be best.”

“Kent could publish something,” Clark’s voice is quiet as he talks. “it might help with squashing the whole affair thing too, especially if we’re both present.”

“I agree, I’ll compile a list tomorrow. If you pop over, we can figure out who to accept and reject.”

“Pop over? I was expecting to already be there.”

“Oh? And why would that be?” Bruce looks up at him through his eyelashes, hopelessly amused.

“Well, being there in the morning usually comes with staying the night.”

He’s definitely blushing. Clark looks incredibly pleased with himself.

“…I’ll get the bill.”

———

The press have largely dispersed, although a few stragglers remain as they exit the restaurant.

Clark leans close, wrapping his arm around his waist. “Ready to go?”

Bruce grins and throws his arms around Clark’s neck, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Take me home, baby.”

“R-right.”

Flying with Superman is something Bruce is well acquainted with, but this is different. Finally free from the noise of the restaurant and surrounding city, he becomes hyper aware of the situation he’s gotten himself in. Pressed up close to Clark, not Superman, like he was used to at heights like this, on the way home from a fake date. For all anyone else knew, the pair were off to become very well acquainted with each other from the comfort of Bruce’s bed, and the thought of that was… well it was certainly something.

Bruce suddenly wishes that Clark had worn that ugly tweed suit after all, at least then the scratchy fabric might have acted akin to pinching himself.

Christ, the wine really seems to be getting to him.  

Neither of them speak, and granted it is only a short journey, but Bruce is certain Clark’s feeling equally awkward about the situation now that it’s over. He probably hated it. He’ll probably call the whole thing off after just the first date.

Bruce hopes he does.

He hopes even more that he doesn’t.

Then before he knows it, Clark is back on solid ground and placing him down at his front door.

“There you go, safe and sound!” He says, a little breathless from the flight.

“Thank you, Clark.”

“Least I could do, really.”

Bruce frowns. “For what?”

“Well, dinner for one.” Clark explains, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. “Thank you for taking me out, I had a great time.”

“You did?”

“Of course! Didn’t-” it’s now Clark’s turn to frown, worrying his lip. “Didn’t you?”

The playboy sighs, relieved. “I did. I just hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable? No! No I- I was more worried I’d made you uncomfortable.” He plays with the ring restlessly. “Which brings me onto my second point- thank you for doing this for me.”

“Clark.” Bruce levels a look at him. “We’ve been over this, I got you into this situation.”

“I know,” he agrees, “but you’re trying to get me out of it. The situation is… well it’s a bit awkward.”

Bruce almost laughs. Awkward was just scraping the surface of the many feelings he has about their predicament.

“-it’s a bit awkward and yet you’re still doing it, and I really appreciate that.” He smiles, placing a hand on Bruce’s shoulder.

“You’re a really great friend, B.”

Bruce is going to peel his skin off.

He offers the man his best mustered smile. “And you.”

“I’ll err- I’ll leave you to it then.” Clark concludes, stepping back into the night. “See you tomorrow? After work, I mean.”

“See you then.” He nods. “Night, Clark.”

“Goodnight, Bruce.”

The second the door closes behind him, Bruce knocks his head back against it, covering his face with his hands as his back slides down the wood.

Clark had just reminded him of their friendship status. It felt like Superman has just friendzoned him, which is stupid, because the nature of their relationship had always been clear.  

Now, more than ever, it’s painfully obvious he’s not sure he can survive this.

But he has to. Clark had been so earnest in his gratitude, he really can’t give up now, that would just be cruel; weak.

No, this was his mess, and he needs to clean it up.

God help him.