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bruce
Bruce sighed as he peeled off his cowl, staring with strained eyes at the monitor in front of him. It was reaching four in the morning, and Bruce was meant to have a meeting at 8. With a deep breath, he leaned forward in his seat, trying to make sense of the words in front of him, their letters swirling together the longer he looked. He groaned, setting his forehead down on the desk. The last thing he needed was to fall asleep on top of his mountain of work again–he’d only get a judgmental glare from Alfred when he emerged from the cave the following morning. Wincing, he forced himself out of his seat, peeling off the kevlar of his suit, shaking off his boots. He limped up the stairs, forcing himself into a hot shower, wiping sweat and grime off his face. He lay in bed, dreading the hours until his alarm rang through his room, still not able to fall asleep despite the tiredness cloaking his mind and body. He stared at the ceiling, wishing for a sleep he wasn’t sure would find him.
clark
Clark arrived to the Justice League meeting, a smile on his face, the sun lighting the building. He sat down with a beaming look on his face, looking around the room to, less than excited expressions. Bat, though, never arrived. Instead Diana took to the front of the room, an ever diplomatic, impossible to read look painting her face.
“B is out sick, as I’m sure you all know,” she started. Clark looked around to the hums and nods of knowing. The bright expression on his face was quickly lost.
Batman was sick? And took a day off because of it?
What was going on?
6 months prior
clark
Clark sat hunched at his desk, hastily flipping through papers to try and find the documents he needed for his next meeting. Sheets fluttered on his desk, littered with scribbled notes, pens with no ink, and notes about research. He could practically feel Perry eyeing him as he finally found his notebook with a grin, he turned around to see his suspicion proved. There stood Perry, annoyance covering his face, and a sigh filling his chest.
With a nervous chuckle, Clark stood from his desk, grabbed a (hopefully working) pen, and followed Perry through the halls.
“Just keep it light and fluffy, Kent,” Perry lectured, his feet falling impossibly fast for a man of his stature.
“Chief, I’m not sure that’s quite fair to the audience,” Clark began, but was quickly cut off.
“Don’t ask questions, questions don’t get answered, don’t lie. Simple as that. You’re much better with the light and fluffy pieces anyway. Not like we need Bruce Wayne on our asses again,” Perry sighed, his quick stepping coming to a stop, leaving Clark practically running into the man.
“After you, Clark,” Perry said with a smile, kicking open the door.
Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent had a, tumultuous relationship.
If you would even call it that.
Clark thought Bruce was a rich, nepotistic idiot who’d never seen a day of hard work in his life.
Bruce thought Clark was fun to look at. And fuck with. And tease. And watch squirm.
“Mr. Wayne,” he let out breathily, trying to contain some animosity.
“Hello, Mr. Kent,” he softly smiled, his eyes wandering, his body language telling.
Clark froze, his jaw tensing before dragging out the chair in front of him. Sitting down and opening his journal to the notes he had scribbled down.
“Perry doesn’t think I can handle it, huh?” Bruce asked softly, leaning so ever slightly forward.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Wayne, I really don’t intend to go easy on you today.”
bruce
An uncomfortable gidiness filled Bruce as he got ready. Normally, a sense of dread filled him when he had to get ready for these bullshit galas. But a reporter would be there tonight. One that made Bruce more excited than he cared to admit.
He straightened his tie once more, sighing before leaving his room, his feet falling down the hall of his quiet manor to Damian’s room. He knocked lightly before cracking the door open.
“What d’ya think?” He asked softly.
“You look acceptable.”
“Love you too, bud,” Bruce chuckled softly, walking further into the room to plant a kiss on Damian’s hairline. The boy flushed and pushed him away.
“Don’t come back late,” he said. Softly adding a “please” after a beat passed.
“Don’t plan on it, kiddo. I’ll stop and say hi if you’re still up.”
Damian nodded, turning back to the book propped open on his desk.
clark
“Funny seeing you here,” a soft, seemingly tipsy voice spoke out from behind him.
Clark turned to see a flushed, ever-smiling Bruce Wayne.
His eyes practically sparkled in the light, the dark blue of his suit making them glow even more.
“You invited me personally, if I’m not mistaken, Mr. Wayne.”
Bruce stuck out his tongue in a fake gag.
“Hate it when you call me that. For the love of God, call me Bruce,” he chuckled.
That stopped Clark; he had no rebuttal to shoot back. He swallowed, staring at Bruce.
“Not even sure I know your first name in all honesty,” Bruce smiled.
“Clark.”
“Well, Clark, would you like to get some air with me?”
bruce
The two stood on the balcony, a slight breeze sobering Bruce and making him realize that he was truly out of his wits standing out here with the most attractive man he might have ever seen.
The moonlight highlighted Clark’s face, his strong nose, and cheekbones that looked like they’d been carved out of marble. Clark let out a soft chuckle, probably amused by this whole situation, too. Bruce smirked at him, wanting him to take him by the dorky, unfit jacket and never let him go. A slight chill ran through Bruce, the cold air making him shiver, his own jacket long lost in his overdramatic drunken charades.
Without a second of hesitation, Clark shrugged off his jacket, opening the arms to Bruce’s back. With a blushed smile, Bruce shifted his arms into the sleeves, quietly thanking Clark.
If Bruce thought the jacket fit Clark poorly, it hung off his frame even more unflatteringly. He smiled, turning to Clark.
“Why, what will the press say, Mr. Kent?” Bruce giggled, a faux mid-Atlantic accent slipping his mouth.
What the hell was that?
Luckily, Clark let out a chuckle at Bruce’s awkward, half-failed attempt at a joke. He turned to smile at Bruce.
“You’re a lot smarter than you let the press let on,” Clark blurted out. The way his face scrunched up was a pretty clear indication he regretted it the second he left his mouth.
“That’s not how I wanted to say it,” he winced. “You’re just,” his voiced trailed off softly.
“You sell yourself short,” he ended, looking back over the skyline of Gotham.
As the wind brushed through Clark’s hair, Bruce couldn’t help but put a pin in the familiarity of it all. God, he was just so handsome. And nice. And thoughtful. Maybe that was the problem. A stupid crush had taken all of Bruce’s sensibility. But he couldn’t help but question himself.
Did he know Clark from somewhere?
…Somewhere else?
He tried not to stare, stealing glances as Clark turned his head. His eyes narrowed, his brows furrowed. The soft curls bouncing in the wind, the beaming smile, the blue eyes, the strong shoulders.
Holy shit.
Clark Kent was Superman.
Clark turned back from staring at the skyline of Gotham, his head turned slowly to see Bruce. Eyes wide, lips parted, his heart felt like it was beating a hundred times a second, too. A smile graced Clark’s face.
“Everything okay?” Clark asked softly.
Bruce nodded, eyes not blinking once.
“It’s just a beautiful night,” he whispered.
Shit.
clark
Clark was sitting at his desk, his leg shaking so hard it was nearly moving his entire desk. He stared ahead at the screen in front of him, his eyes straining with effort. He could practically feel Lois’ eyes boring holes into his head.
“What’s wrong with you?” She asked from her standing point at Jimmy’s desk.
“Nothing’s wrong with me,” Clark bit back, as aggressively as he could ever really manage.
Lois let out a chuckle at his weak attempt.
“I don’t believe that.”
Clark sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping impossibly further.
“I’m just feeling antsy. I don’t know what to write.”
“Wow, what a shocker from Mr. Writer’s Block himself,” Jimmy butted in.
Lois and Clark just shot him a look, their twin blue eyes sending a signal on their own. Jimmy smiled benignly and turned back to his computer. Lois walked closer.
“What all do you have?” She asked, leaning over his computer, met with a blank document titled “Wayne Gala.”
“You got nothing from your 2-hour excursion to a Wayne gala? Seriously, Clark?”
“Well,” he started out.
Lois’ face grew more confused.
“We did talk,” a beat passed between them, “quite a bit,” Lois said nothing, “and I may have given him my jacket ‘cause he got cold.”
“Clark, you slut!” She slapped his arm.
“Hey, I didn’t even do anything!” He blindly smacked back at her hand.
“Gave him your jacket? That’s practically Clarkese for ‘marry me’, I would know!”
“Stop!” He whisper-yelled.
“Oh, you’re smitten, aren’t you? That’s why you can’t write anything. It’s gonna be an 800-word exposé on how much you wanna sleep with Gotham’s number one playboy.”
“He is not a playboy,” Clark breathed.
“Oh my god. You aren’t even gonna deny the part where I said you wanna sleep with him?”
“God, Lois.”
bruce
Bruce couldn’t help but feel excited as he got ready for patrol that night. Not the normal excitement and adrenaline to give Gotham justice. Or the comfort of knowing Damian was feeling under the weather, and was therefore, wrapped in a blanket on the couch, watching some silly movie with Dick—a movie he’d adamantly say was Dick’s idea when Bruce came in to check on him later that night. What Bruce was feeling felt like an excitment for life almost. He paused as he went to put on his cowl, shaking his head before swiping his hair out of his eyes and pulling it over his face, a smile tugging at his lips.
Bruce found himself perched on a rooftop, a pretty quiet night all things considered. His feet dangled over the building when he heard a soft thud behind him.
His arms tensed, readying to pull him onto the roof and turn around quickly. Until he heard a soft voice he had subconsciously been waiting to hear.
He dragged his feet onto the roof of the building, standing up from a crouch in one fluid motion. He turned around to greet Clark with a grunt.
“Superman,” he said gruffly.
Oh I missed you so much
“Hey, B,” he smiled, practically radiating sunshine with his smile.
Bruce’s jaw clenched, his happiness to see Clark felt like it was overtaking his body. So much he felt like he couldn’t consume it.
“Well,” he cleared his throat. Cracking his neck back and forth.
“I’d say you’ve got it from here,” Bruce gruffed, his heart hammering in his chest as he rapidly gulped air, trying to slow down his heart rate.
clark
They all sat around the table, quiet murmurs of conversation Clark never paid too much mind to. He was a bit of a people watcher at these meetings; there was always something interesting happening, someone to listen in on and pretend he wasn’t. He was listening to Diana in that moment when Hal caught his attention.
“How about you, Supes?”
“Hmm?” Clark hummed, his eyes turning away from staring through the window.
“Anyone tickling your fancy?”
Clark chuckled a bit, his cheeks growing red.
Hal and Barry let out a noise, leaning further forward into their chairs and across the desk.
“Well, there’s someone,” Clark began.
The two chuckled some more, Hal propping his head up with his hands, Barry bouncing his leg beneath the desk.
“How’d you meet them?” Barry asked.
“When’d you meet them?” Hal pressed further.
“Um, I’ve known them for a while. I meet them at work, though, I guess.”
“So it’s a co-worker?” Hal questioned.
“Is HR okay with that?” Barry awed.
The cheek-warming conversation was quickly ended by J’onn clearing his throat.
Clark blushed with a smile, turning away from the—embarrassingly loud—interrogation.
bruce
Bruce’s jaw clenched; he wanted to melt into the floor, and then curl into a ball and never be seen again.
God, how could he be such an idiot?
In what world would Clark like him? Superman for God’s sake.
Of course, it would be Lois.
Clark would never pick him.
He leaned back into his chair, switching the legs he had crossed in an attempt to seem casually unupset. He focused his eyes on J’onn, wanting to disappear from the room completely. His mind raced, his eyes wouldn’t focus on anything J’onn was pointing at on the bright projector in the dim room. Bruce swallowed, a lump growing in his throat, embarrassment flooding his veins.
God, he could never show his face around Clark again.
clark
Clark sat nervously in the conference room, his leg shaking rapidly, terror growing in his throat as it all dawned on him. In 30 minutes time he’d be sitting alone with a man he’d grown embarrassingly fond of. A notion that made him want to hide his face in his arms, propped against the table.
A knock at the door jolted Clark; he turned to see anyone but Bruce.
At the door stood Perry, a disappointed look on his face.
“Wayne cancelled,” he stated gruffly, “told you to go easier on him in that last piece, Kent. God knows we could have used some more Wayne articles.”
Perry sighed, pushing his glasses onto his forehead, and pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingertips.
“You can just go home, Kent. I’m gonna hope Wayne will agree to interview with someone else.”
Clark’s face dropped.
“He didn’t want to interview with me? He said that?” Clark whispered.
“Clark. Don’t take it personal. Just take it as a lesson to pitch softer when I tell you to.”
bruce
Bruce’s phone buzzed at the coffee table. Insistent ringing that made him want to melt further into the couch. Damian’s head lay softly on his chest, suddenly sitting up with an annoyed sigh.
“Please answer that before I lose the last of my sanity.”
The two had been watching a movie, some dark noir Damian insisted on putting on. Bruce too sat up with a sigh—like father, like son—reaching to see what the commotion on his phone was. On his home screen sat 3 missed calls from Clark Kent (Daily Planet) and one lonely voicemail. Bruce lightly rolled his eyes, pressing the phone to his ear to hear the frantic recording.
Hi B- Mr. Wayne. Um. This is Clark Kent, from the. Um from the Daily Planet. I just wanted to apologize if I. Um, if I offended you at all with the last piece. You um, you don’t have to respond to this. And, um, this isn’t something I’m doing because you’re like. Bruce Wayne or whatever I um. I just really enjoyed our conversation at the gala and um. Yeah I’m sorry. I hope you’re doing well. I um, my job as a reporter is hard. And I’m sorry if you feel like I compromised on any friendship we had. Um. have a nice night Mr. Wayne.
Bruce sighed, lightly tossing his phone back to his place on the table.
“Anyone important?” Damian pressed, leaning back into place.
“Not more important than our movie time, chum,” Bruce whispered softly.
clark
Clark arrived to the Justice League meeting, a smile on his face, the sun lighting the building. He sat down with a beaming look on his face, looking around the room to, less than excited expressions. Bat, though, never arrived. Instead, Diana took to the front of the room, an ever diplomatic, impossible to read look painting her face.
“B is out sick, as I’m sure you all know,” she started. Clark looked around to the hums and nods of knowing. The bright expression on his face was quickly lost.
Batman was sick? And took a day off because of it?
The confusion on Clark’s face must have been palpable, as Barry giggled and flicked one of many stock-loaded paper footballs.
“Don’t think Supes got the memo,” he smirked.
“I’m surprised Batman didn’t tell you of all people,” Diana stated flatly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re obviously his favorite,” Hal retorted.
“What? No I’m not.”
“Yeah maybe not if he didn’t tell you,” Barry chuckled, aiming his folded paper at a disgruntled J’onn.
A frown found it’s way onto Clark’s face. He shook his head, almost trying to knock it off.
bruce
Bruce listened to the soft falling footsteps landing on the rooftop. He kept his gaze ahead at the skyline of Gotham. He’d know those footsteps in his sleep.
“Missed you at our league meeting the other day.”
“Robin and I were feeling under the weather.”
“I heard,” a pause, “just not from you.”
“I’ve been busy.”
A hefty breath sounded behind him.
“Are you mad at me? Did I do something to upset you?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
The breath left his own lips now.
“Leave it be, goddamit. Not everything is about you Cla-” a stuttered breath. “Not everything is about you Supes,” he shook his head, finally turning to face the man and brushing past him.
clark
A heavy breath forced its way out of Clark’s mouth as he stood there stupidly. A breeze fluttered his cape, and despite the lack of coldness in his body, he couldn’t help but shiver. He blinked away the water pooling in his eyes, swallowed the stuffy feeling in his throat. His jaw tensed; any harder and he might start breaking some teeth. Clark shook his head with a sad chuckle, digging his heel into the roof under his foot, trying to find anything more interesting than the small pity party he was throwing for himself.
Maybe Batman was his best friend.
Maybe that’s why this hurt so bad.
Maybe Batman reminded him of someone.
Someone he loved dearly. Someone he doesn’t want to let go. Someone he missed.
Maybe Batman knew more than he did.
How the hell else would he know that much of his name?
bruce
It was a rare, quiet evening for Bruce. Alfred had taken Damian out shopping for Bruce’s birthday, though Damian would adamantly deny getting him anything—insist it was Alfred’s idea, and that he hadn’t been saving his weekly allowance for this exact moment. Bruce smiled into his book at the notion of it, his soft boy with the spiky exterior. Even the years apart couldn’t undo all of Bruce’s idiosyncrasies.
Bruce sat quietly in his study, a soft fire crackling, the wind and rain outside reason enough for him to want to stay in the whole night, but he knew that wouldn’t be a luxury of his. A knock sounded loudly at the door, and Bruce, in utter confusion, found his feet carrying him to the door.
He opened it with a confused look to see Clark Kent.
Very wet and somehow unshivering.
“When did you find out?” He spluttered, the rain falling into his eyes.
“Find out what?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Bruce. When did you find out?”
“At the gala. On the balcony,” he whispered.
“‘S that why you were avoiding me?”
“No,” Bruce said quietly.
“Then what the hell, Bruce? What’s up?” He guffawed.
Bruce stayed quiet, his eyes gazing down.
“At the meeting. You said you had feelings for Lois.”
“What meeting? When did I ever,” Clark’s voice trailed off. “No,” he whispered, “You can’t be.”
“You should probably come inside,” Bruce sniffed.
clark
Clark stood sopping wet in a kitchen that was about half the size of an entire floor in his childhood home, waiting for Bruce Wayne—Batman to bring him a dry change of clothes.
Bruce gave Clark the clothes without making much eye contact. Clark snuck off to a random half bathroom, changing before finding Bruce back in the kitchen, a freshly brewed mug of coffee sat in his hands.
The chair across from him was invitingly pulled out.
Clark sat down.
“I never said I had feelings for Lois, y’know. We tried that. Wasn’t for us,” Clark whispered.
Bruce blinked back a sad emotion from his face.
“Then what, you got feelings for Jimmy?”
Clark shook his head, “Never said it was a co-worker. Said it was someone I met at work.”
The sad look stayed on Bruce’s face, never budging.
“Y’know, for someone as smart as you are, you aren’t very bright, Bruce,” he whispered.
“I was freaking out to Lois a few weeks ago, actually. Thought I was too obvious about it all, and that’s why you cancelled on that interview with me. Thought I was in way over my head. She thinks you’re a bit of a tease, though. So she wasn’t exactly on your side either.”
“What d’you mean?”
“God, you’re really making me spell this out, huh?” Clark smiled.
He stood up, walking closer to Bruce, pulling him lightly out of his chair.
“I really, really like you, Bruce. I’m scared I might even love you,” he whispered, his voice unsure.
A beat passed.
“Are you sure?”
Clark laughed tearily.
“God, you’re an idiot,” he laughed, pulling Bruce in for a kiss.
Bruce pulled him in tighter, his hands finding purchase in his hair, like he wanted to melt fully into Clark’s skin.
“You’re the one who didn’t know I was Batman until tonight,” Bruce whispered against your lips.
“Not like I could see you and ask in this past month and a half.”
Bruce faked a wince.
“Sorry about that,” he smiled shyly.
“Yeah, yeah, Batman.”
“You’re one to talk, Supes.”