Chapter Text
One week ago
Three months after the wedding, Bruce and Clark were still in the honeymoon stage.
Well, mostly.
They hardly argued about anything, except, there was one tiny thing that Bruce could not for the life of him get Clark to agree on.
And that was attending galas together.
One of the things Bruce was most excited about with being married was having someone to accompany him to the dreaded things. Bruce hated galas, but Brucie was expected to be at them. and so, Bruce forced himself to attend.
Still Clark would not go with him. Granted, Clark did bring up some good points. They didn’t have a public marriage, or even a public relationship, and bringing it into the open could be harmful to them or their kids. Not to mention, being in the spotlight over a secret marriage coming to light was never good for someone with a secret identity.
Clark also frequently brought up that he was at most of them, just for work. They would both show up at different times, Clark in his baggy suit and press pass, and Bruce in his suit that cost more than Clark's yearly salary and a persona that took more than a little bit of energy (and a bit of alcohol) to maintain. They would make eye contact across the party, maybe exchange a few words, but that was it.
“Plus, Bruce, I don’t want to mess anything up. You don’t need me to embarrass you.” Clark said after one argument that was mostly just Bruce begging Clark to come with him.
“Clark, I would never be embarrassed by you.”
“I know, B, but these things, they aren’t mine. I’m a reporter, not some rich Gotham socialite.”
Bruce had tried to convince him, tried to tell him that nothing Clark could do would ever embarrass Bruce, but it was to no avail.
And Bruce hated it. Galas meant no kissing, no real conversation, not even being in the same vicinity for most of the night with his husband. the same man that he had spent the past five years in a relationship with and the past three months married to.
And Bruce had to pretend like he didn’t even know him.
So maybe they occasionally argued about it.
The last gala he had been invited to had been the same as usual: Bruce begging Clark to go with him as his date, Clark politely declining, Bruce begging a little more, and Clark less-politely declining. They'd played these games many times, and Bruce wasn’t going to stop until he got a yes.
But this time was another bust. Bruce walked into the party, a black tux fitted sleekly to his waist and shoulders. His black hair slicked into a perfect hairstyle, and his signature Brucie Wayne smile plastered on his face. He made his rounds a couple times, talking to the people he should be talking to, flirting with the people he didn’t want to be flirting with, and pretending to be getting more drunk by the second.
After an hour, Bruce was already planning some sort of escape when he saw Clark across the room.
Clark wore his oversized grey suit, the nicer of the few suits he wore when he was working, but still covering up the toned muscles and broad shoulders Bruce knew were there and loved desperately.
Clark met his eyes, Bruce let go of his Brucie mask, just for a second, so Clark could see just how exhausted he felt of playing this game. Clark shook his head in sympathy, and then fastened a look that said go have fun, you don’t need to be working here.
Bruce shot one right back, says you.
Clark grinned and Bruce was so enthralled he couldn’t help but make his way over to him.
Brucie Wayne and Clark Kent had had a couple friendly interactions over the past few years. Enough that it wasn’t weird that they would be talking to each other, but not enough to be considered friends. Still, Bruce didn’t exactly care.
He slung an arm around Clark’s shoulders, playing a little more into his drunken demeanor despite being completely sober. He felt Clark stiffen under his arm, and Bruce grinned at him mischievously.
The man Clark had been talking to took one look at them and immediately began to walk away.
“Hi, Clarkie.” Bruce said in a low tone only Clark could hear.
Clark shuddered, but played it off with a, “Mr. Wayne, how about we get you some water, huh?”
Bruce threw a hand across his forehead and sighed dramatically and let Clark lead him over to the bar, “Oh how you wound me, Mr. Kent.”
Clark snorted, but otherwise ignored him.
“Two waters, please.”
The bartender looked at Clark a little oddly, but passed him the glasses anyway. Clark gave him the cup and watched him take a sip.
“So, Mr. Wayne. How are you liking this gala?” In other words, how long until you want to go home?
“It’s fine, could use some more entertainment though.” or Now. I'm thinking of making a distraction so I can escape.
Clark shook his head, exasperated. He was already used to this act of Brucie’s.
Bruce saw the opening with a spark of inspiration, “In fact, I might just make some entertainment right now.”
Clark glanced at him, a little confused of what his plan was this time, but went along with it as Bruce grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the main crowd of people.
“Wait, Mr. Wayne—“
“Oh— God, I am just so clumsy, aren’t I?”
Bruce took the opportunity to run directly into a waiter holding a tray full of champagne glasses, which now had spilled over both Bruce and Clarks suits.
The waiter rushed to apologize to Bruce, but Bruce waved him off, instead opting to make a scene about how he had to get the champagne out of both his and Clark's suits before they stained, already pulling Clark towards the door.
Clark resisted a little, wary about what people might say, “Mr Wayne, really, it's completely fine.”
Bruce looked at him, “No, no, I insist, what type of host would I be if I didn’t help?”
“Ah—Mr. Wayne, you aren’t even hosting tonight.”
At this point all eyes were on this interaction, and by Clark’s expression, Bruce knew there were already whispers and would only be more talk about Brucie Wayne and some random reporter leaving together tomorrow, no matter how innocent it might seem to be.
Oh well, Bruce wanted to go home and he didn’t want to go without his husband.
Bruce lowered his voice a bit and whispered, “Come on, Mr. Kent. Let me take care of you.”
And if Clark blushed, no one but them saw it.
One day ago
When Bruce saw the invite to this week's gala, hosted by none other than Lex Luthor, he immediately wanted to decline.
Lex Luthor events usually included a lot of drinking and dancing that eventually escalated into basically mass public sex. Bruce was not exactly a fan of them.
Luthor also was smart. It was hard to be Brucie around the man because of how much he noticed. Around others, if the Brucie mask slipped a little, he could play it off if they happened to see anything amiss. But Luthor somehow could read him better than a lot of people, and it was safe to say it thoroughly got on his nerves.
This also meant that he couldn’t really interact with Clark. The rumors from the last gala would be bad enough, and Luthor had people who could make them much, much worse. So both Bruce and Clark would have to play their roles perfectly.
Unless—
“Clark?” Bruce called from his desk in the Manor.
Clark was by his side in a second, “Yeah, B? What’s up.”
Bruce vaguely motioned to the invite on his computer screen, letting Clark read over it. Clark’s expression shifted to a grimace.
“Ugh. Luthor.” Clark said with a sigh.
“Are you going to work at it?” Bruce asked.
“Uh. Probably. Cat’s out sick and Perry usually wants me and Lois for Luthor events.”
“Well,” Bruce began softly. “Can you get out of it? You could come with me. Together. People are already speculating about us, why not confirm the rumors?”
Clark met his eyes, considering, “Don’t you think that would be worse? I mean people speculating is way different than telling everyone we’re married.”
“Please, Sweetheart. I don’t think I can do another one of these galas without you.” Bruce might’ve been playing it up, just a little. He batted his eyelashes innocently at Clark.
And Bruce might’ve known just how much Clark would fold. He dragged a hand over his face, “How can I ever say no to you when you do that?”
“So that’s a yes?”
“Fine, that’s a yes. But if something happens you have to deal with the press.”
Bruce jumped up from his chair, throwing his arms around Clark and pressing a messy kiss to his cheek, “You know, you’re the best husband I could ever ask for.”
“This is all it took to make you this happy? You sure I'm not just your trophy husband?”
Bruce kissed him again, this time on the mouth, and a bit more sensual.
“You know that’s not what I meant.” Bruce whispered against his lips, which turned up into a smile.
“Gross.” A voice said from the doorway. Both Bruce and Clark stiffened. “Father, I need assistance with my math homework.” Damian said, still with a faintly disgusted look on his face.
Bruce quickly unlatched himself from Clark, who was now sporting a blush that went past the line of his t-shirt. “Oh, sure thing Dami. I'll be right there.”
He glanced back at Clark, “Luthor’s, tomorrow at 10, don’t be late.”
Clark gave him a mock salute, “Yes, sir. Mr Wayne, sir”
Bruce didn’t give Clark knowledge of how that made him feel, but he grinned wickedly at Clark, “Oh and sweetheart, wear the ring.”
Twelve hours ago
Galas and events were always a pain. The ballrooms filled with drunken, swaying bodies and loud voices that spewed nothing but gossip was sometimes a little much for Bruce, despite his experience with the things.
They were beneficial, nevertheless, for both Bruce Wayne and Batman. It gave Bruce some time to work up his Brucie act and flirt with the socialites he didn't want to flirt with, and it gave Batman a chance to look into the shady dealings that always seemed to be happening at these events.
Still that didn’t mean he didn’t hate them.
After the gala last week, the tabloids had all been filled with articles about Gotham's prince and the mysterious reporter, who was quickly discovered to be the Daily Planet's own Clark Kent.
The first few days after the speculation started had been hard for Clark. His friends at work had swarmed him for information and a line of reporters had positioned themselves outside of the Daily Planet's doors in order to try to catch a few words from Clark, who said nothing.
But now that was all coming to a close. Clark had finally said yes to coming with him.
Before the gala, Bruce and Clark had gone through all of the possible outcomes of what could happen. Gotham was very protective of her playboy prince, and they both knew people were not going to let their relationship go easily. Bruce just hoped they wouldn’t go after Clark, not that he couldn’t take care of himself (a superpowered alien tended to be able to do that), but because Clark was sometimes a little too hard on himself, and Bruce knew he would blame himself if something happened.
Now that they were married, it was a little bit harder to deal with the press. Clark lived at the manor full time, and Clark and Bruce often went into public together. They were careful, but there was still a lot of speculation about the nature of their relationship.
Bruce didn’t really care. His reputation meant that he was used to constantly being in the papers for relationship scandals all the time.
Clark, on the other hand, was more used to writing about it. Being in the papers as a speculative prospect of Brucie Wayne was something entirely different from the usual life of Clark Kent, but that was what he had signed up for when he got into a relationship with Bruce.
“Bruce, I can’t believe you talked me into this.” Clark said the morning of the gala. “all eyes are going to be on us.”
“Maybe I want them to be,” Bruce said with a sly grin, walking over to Clark where he laid on the bed. “Everyone will be jealous that they don’t have you on their arm.”
Clark laughed awkwardly and threw an arm over his eyes, “I think it’s more the other way around, B.”
“Not with the suit I got you.”
Clark’s head snapped up, “You got me a suit?”
Bruce nodded, “It’s in the closet. Did you really think I was going to introduce you as my husband in one of your horrendous work suits?”
“I guess it would make sense for my billionaire husband to have got me a suit.”
Bruce walked back to the bathroom, and started undressing himself to take a shower, “You coming?” he called out to Clark.
Clark ignored him, still sprawled out on the bed, lost in thought. “B, I don’t know how I'm gonna be able to pull this off, even if I look the part of your husband, I know I'm going to say something wrong or do something wrong and embarrass you.”
Bruce slipped back over to the bed, grabbing Clark’s hands and pulling him into a seated position. He ran a hand over Clark's toned forearms, unable to resist.
“You aren’t going to embarrass me. I know you, Clark.”
“But you have this whole persona about you, and it works, it keeps you and the boys safe. But what if I ruin it?”
Bruce smiled at him softly, placing a kiss on his forehead, “Maybe I want you to ruin it, maybe I want to show you off.”
Clark dropped his head onto Bruce's shoulder.
“Okay, well don’t hate me when I mess it up.”
“I could never hate you, my love, and you could never mess anything up, at least not permanently. Now come shower with me.”
Bruce grabbed his hands again, and Clark let him pull him off the bed and towards the bathroom.
Clark still looked a little down as he started to take his clothes off. Bruce ran a hand through his sleep-messy curls, and let it run down the hard lines of his neck to the sinewy muscle of his chest and stomach. Clark shuddered at the touch, but leaned into it anyway.
“I love you, Clark, please don’t think I'm embarrassed of you.” Bruce drawled lazily, but the look in his eyes said that he meant every word.
Clark sighed “Okay, B. I believe you. I love you too.”
Present day
Tonight was the night they would finally attend a gala together, as husbands, not as secret boyfriends or barely acquaintances.
The party had already been going at full swing. The crystal chandeliers swinging with their dim light, the partygoers bustling around making friendly conversation, and far too much wine already making everyone a little louder and more carefree.
Bruce sat at the open bar in the corner of the room, currently nursing a half-full glass of scotch while having his ear talked off by Clare Beaumont, daughter of one of the many rich business owners at the party and Gotham’s queen of gossip, and her rich boy-toy of the week—some man named Steve—or Stephan Rosewell. Bruce didn’t particularly care about either of them.
Bruce also didn’t usually drink at these types of things. Sure a glass of wine in his hand was a good prop for his persona, but he rarely actually drank any. It was important to remain mostly clearheaded in case something happened and Batman needed to step in. Today he didn't have it in him to care.
Bruces took another swig of his drink, eyes fixed on the entrance. One glance at the clock showed that it was already 10:30.
Where was Clark?
“Excuse me for a second” Bruce mumbled to the couple, holding up his phone. He ignored the way Clare’s eyes zeroed in on his left hand, where the white gold wedding band sat. He stepped off to the side of the bar, pulling out his phone.
Bruce barely heard Clare’s whisper of “Did you see that wedding ring? When did Brucie get married?”
Her boyfriend shrugged and they opted to melt into the crowd, probably to tell more people about Bruce's mysterious wedding ring.
He dialed Clark, who immediately picked up.
“Clark, where are you?”
“B, I am so sorry. Dick needed help with something and I ended up leaving a little late. Now I'm stuck in traffic and I meant to call you but I didn’t want to interrupt, and Bruce I am so sorry—“ he rattled off the apology rapid-fire.
“Clark, hey, take a breath. It’s fine, just get here as soon as you can.”
Clark audibly exhaled, “Okay, B. I’m close I promise. I’ll be there soon.”
“Bye Clark, love you—“
“Wait— B don’t you think this suits a little tight?”
Bruce stifled a laugh, “I got your measurements, Clark, it’s perfectly fine. I’m sure you look great.”
Clark sighed over the phone. “Yeah, okay. See you soon.”
“Bye.”
Bruce headed back for the bar, knocking back the rest of his drink quickly and putting the glass on the counter. Bruce wasn’t going to admit to Clark that he was nervous, but he was. Bruce knew these people, he’d grown up around them, and Clark was more than worthy enough for Bruce, but still, introducing someone as his husband was definitely different for Bruce.
Not bad different, Clark wouldn’t embarrass Bruce like he was worried about, just, different. If anything Clark would be more embarrassed by just how gaudy the rich CEOs and celebrities were.
Bruce sat back at the bar, eyes still fixed on the entrance, thankfully, no one else decided to bother him much as he waited for Clark.
And wait he did. Bruce sat at the bar for another ten minutes, already drafting a curt message to Clark that practically demanded he hurry up and get his ass in there. He paused only when he heard a curt voice shriek, “Not my new shoes! Ugh, reporters.”
Bruce looked up just in time to watch the interaction between an older woman who had somehow stumbled directly into, of all people, Clark Kent.
She tripped ungracefully and determined to clutch the front of Clark’s suit, rather than the wine glass that had been in her hand. Bruce watched as the contents of the glass spilled over both her and Clark, before the glass landed on the ground with a shattering clang.
“Oh, I am so sorry. Please, let me help you get cleaned up.” Clark rushed to her side, despite it not being his fault and his white undershirt being practically see-through with champagne.
The woman scowled at him, pulling off her expensive satin shoes, “I think you’ve done quite enough.”
Bruce couldn’t help but stare at the lost expression on Clark’s face, how could a woman have the audacity to blame Clark of all people for this? Before Bruce knew it he was already heading towards him, drawn to him like a planet orbiting around the sun.
The woman stalked away, but the other partygoers kept their eyes on Clark, some even laughing at him.
“Who is that? I could take a bite out of that piece of meat.” Bruce heard a woman whisper. Mine, he wanted to say, but he didn’t. But of course his husband looked absolutely gorgeous in his navy blue tux, especially with practically his whole muscled chest showing through the undershirt.
And if Bruce heard it, surely the man with superhearing would as well.
Clark let out an awkward laugh at the scrutiny, staring down at the soaked suit. Bruce quickened his pace to get to Clark; he knew how much he was hating this right now.
Eventually the staring began to die down, and conversation started back up. Bruce wove through the crowd, only pushing a little, but it was slow moving. People would grab his arm or shoulder to pull him into conversation, but Bruce would simply shrug them off with a smirk and continue on his mission.
The attention that had been on Clark had shifted to Bruce, moving through the crowd like a man possessed, and maybe he was. Bruce didn’t care, better him than Clark.
By the time he got to where Clark was, the crowd had moved back around him and the glass and champagne had been cleaned up, but Clark hadn’t moved an inch. He stood there, staring at the floor and tugging on his suit, looking entirely upset and uncomfortable.
Finally he glanced up at Bruce, his eyes lighting up, but the smile on his face looked a little too much like a grimace.
“Bruce! Hey, I'm so sorry. I didn’t mean to cause so much of a commotion, and be so late. Gosh, I knew this would be a disaster—“
Bruce cut him off successfully with a kiss. It wasn’t much more than a peck, but the room still noticed. The crowd shifted with undeniable surprise, and conversations switched towards the topic of Brucie and this new man.
“Hi Clark.”
Clark looked a little shocked for a moment, until he remembered what had just happened, “Bruce. I’m so sorry.”
Bruce sighed, grabbing Clark’s hand to lead him away from the entrance of the room. Whispers were mumbled around them as eyes watched their every move.
“B, everyone’s watching.”
“Let them. Now they’ll know you’re mine.”
Bruce saw Clark’s expression brighten a little at that as he firmly pushed Clark down into one of the chairs by the bar. Bruce shifted his body to stand in between Clark’s legs.
Clark glanced down at the new body position, one eyebrow raised and a smirk dancing on his lips. Lips that Bruce was definitely not staring at.
Clark looked good. Granted, he always looked good, but today especially. His curls were an unruly mess like always, but they looked more like they had been styled until Clark ran his hands through them a few too many times. The navy tux fit him perfectly, just like Bruce suspected. The pants tight and sculpted around his perfect ass and the suit jacket showing off the narrow of his waist and broad shoulders. The white undershirt was unbuttoned a little more than usual and still damp with champagne.
Bruce was drooling over this man.
He shook himself out of his thoughts and leaned forward and grabbed his chin, pulling it up so Clark would look him in the eyes. Clark was blushing faintly, probably from Bruce ogling him in the sexy suit. He pushed the thoughts down.
“Clark, sweetheart. I know what you’re thinking right now and you aren’t and never will be embarrassing me. That wasn’t your fault, okay? And even if it was, accidents happen and she had no right to be that rude to you.”
Clark seemed a little lost for words, arguments dying on his tongue.
“Okay, B.” He sighed a little, closing his eyes. “You promise?”
“Yes, I promise. Now relax a little, this is a party.” Bruce grabbed his shoulders, pulling his back up. He was manhandling him a little bit, but Clark didn’t seem to mind. Bruce just hoped there wouldn’t be anything about it in the papers tomorrow.
“Let me get you a drink?” Bruce asked softly.
“I can’t get drunk, it would be a waste.”
Bruce rolled his eyes, as if anything to do with Clark would be a waste, signaling to the bartender, “Two glasses of champagne please.”
Clark groaned, “I think this time plus the last gala has been enough champagne for me.”
Bruce smirked back at him, “Maybe it would do you some good to actually drink it, not just spill it on yourself.”
“Last time was your fault and you know that.”
Bruce just shrugged, taking the glasses from the bartender and handing one to Clark.
“Brucie!” a high pitched woman’s voice called out to him. Bruce forced down a groan and turned sharply to see Clare Beaumont, apparently back for another round of gossip on Bruce Wayne’s mysterious partner.
“Hello again, Clare”
If Bruce was being honest, as much as everyone in the event got on his nerves, Clare was one of the worst. Her sharp eyes took in all the details of Bruce and Clark, cataloging the gossip for later.
“Brucie, who is this? Aren’t you going to introduce us?” He did not like the way her eyes ran up and down the lines of his husband's body. One look at Clark showed that he didn’t like it either.
Bruce let a fake smile light up his face as he hooked an arm through Clark’s, “My husband! Clare, this is Clark. Clark, Clare Beaumont.”
A slight spark of recognition flickered in Clark’s face, probably recognizing her from all the times Bruce had complained about her.
Clark smiled shyly, “Nice to meet you.”
Clare ignored him and instead turned to Bruce, recognition also showing in her face, “Clark? Clark Kent? Brucie Wayne, Prince of Gotham married, and to a journalist?” She grinned wolfishly, “Not what I was expecting.”
“And what were you expecting?” Bruce asked, tightening his grip on Clark’s arm.
“Definitely not for you to settle down. I guess miracles do happen.”She let out a high-pitched laugh, and pranced away.
Clark turned towards him, “I can see why you always complain about her.”
Bruce sighed, “Hate is not a strong enough word for how I feel about Miss Beaumont.” Bruce began moving Clark towards a different part of the room.
Clark laughed and sipped his champagne, letting Bruce move him.
“Come on, there’s some people I want you to meet.”
“People you actually like or people Brucie likes?” Clark asked.
“A mix of both.”
“Bruce!” a familiar voice called out warmly. Bruce made his way to her to give her a warm hug.
“Hello, Selina.”
Her attention shifted to Clark, “And who might this be?”
“This is Clark, my husband.” Bruce said with a soft smile. Clark stiffened a little beside him, but he still managed to smile at her, even if his hands fidgeted a little. Clark knew of Selina Kyle, both in and out of the suit, but he hadn’t met her yet.
Selina, on the other hand, did not know about Clark Kent, and her eyebrow raised in surprise. “Well, Bruce Wayne, finally tied down? I wasn’t expecting that. Congratulations to you two.”
She tapped her glass against both of theirs in turn, “Cheers to a long and happy marriage!”
Bruce shook his head in amusement. Selina winked, and then prowled off to go talk to someone else. Bruce squeezed Clark’s shoulder gently, “You okay?”
“Yeah, it’s just weird to be introduced as your husband—“ he faltered, “not that I don't like it or anything, I'm just not used to it I guess.”
Bruce chuckled at seeing Clark flustered. He lowered his voice a little, “It’s definitely different. I’ve spent quite some time playing the playboy in this persona, it’s weird to be introducing a husband.”
Bruce and Clark were chatting a bit amongst themselves, sipping their glasses of champagne when a man walked up to them.
He wore a bright red suit, both him and his bald head standing out amongst the crowd of people.
“Hello, Brucie. Oh—who is this lovely face.”
Bruce tried to conceal his scowl, instead letting an easy smile take over his face, “Lex, this is my husband, Clark.”
Bruce didn’t bother introducing Clark to him. They already knew each other. Lex might not have known they were married, and he definitely didn’t know Clark was Superman, but Clark Kent and Lex Luthor had been in each other's circles for some time.
He slipped an arm around Clark’s waist, giving him a little squeeze.
“Husband! Oh, my. I can’t imagine how someone like you is handling being married to Bruce Wayne.”
Clark’s eyes narrowed, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Lex grinned menacingly, “Oh, nothing! I’ll see you both later. Enjoy the party!”
And then he was gone.
Bruce sighed, “Don’t let him get to you, Clark. He’s playing with you.”
Clark glared in the direction Lex had gone, “He was rude to you.”
Bruce couldn’t help the warmth spreading in his chest at Clark’s anger and protectiveness, “He was also rude to you.” Bruce placed a hand on Clark’s cheek, getting him to turn towards him. Clark leaned into the touch. “It’s alright, Clark. Listen, I'm going to go get something a little stronger,” he raised the now empty champagne glass in his hand and nodded towards the bar, “Want anything?”
“No, I’m good.”
Bruce grabbed the glass from his hand, handing both to a nearby waiter, “Will you be alright over here by yourself? I won’t be long.”
Clark smiled at him, but the expression seemed tense, “Yeah, I'm good, B.”
“Hey, Clark? Relax, you’re doing just fine.”
Clark laughed, a little nervously, but Bruce could see him try to loosen up a bit. At this point, his suit was almost completely dry, and the memory of that was long gone to the rest of the drunken crowd.
“I’ll be right back.”
Bruce stepped away, maneuvering back towards the open bar. He ordered another scotch, on the rocks, and watched Clark.
A few people came up to talk with him, seemingly polite enough. Bruce would never admit it, but he loved watching Clark, no matter what the occasion.
As Superman he was all practiced smiles and grace, an embodiment of hope and strength all wrapped up in a red and blue bow.
As Clark Kent he projected a clumsy, midwestern man who came to the big city to be a reporter. He was all manners and unsuspecting human gestures, all so that he wouldn’t be discovered as Superman.
But when he was just Clark, Bruce's husband, he didn't have to be practiced anything. His other lives led to a lot of focus on his every move. But when it was just them, he was relaxed and so utterly himself, it made Bruce so happy to see how much easier for Clark it was to be around him.
“Hey Bruce,” A voice said, pulling him out of his thoughts.
He glanced over at the bar, where Selina stood, leaning against the counter with easy gracefulness. She looked out at where Bruce had just been staring, where Clark still stood stiffly.
Then she laughed, “Oh, you are so whipped.”
Bruce rolled his eyes, not gracing her with a response. The bartender handed Bruce his drink, and he nodded a thanks.
“You know, I actually was surprised to see you with someone.”
“I’ve changed.” Bruce said, but it lacked the edge he meant for it to have.
“You really have. I’m happy for you.”
Bruce looked into her eyes, trying to understand where the joke was that he was missing, but there was nothing but sincerity in her expression.
He sighed, turning towards her, “Thanks. Well, I'm going to get back to my husband.” But she wasn’t looking at him, but rather, something over his shoulder.
“That husband?”
Bruce quickly turned around. There was Clark, still standing in the same spot Bruce had left him, but instead being cornered by a man in a red suit that was being far too handsy for his liking.
One of Luthor's hands had slid around his waist, and the other rested by his neck, his fingers close to being nestled in Clark’s black curls. His lips were near Clark’s ear, whispering something that was making him blush uncomfortably.
Clark was tense. His arms were plastered to his sides and his body stiff and rigid. Luthor was pulling him a little bit, attempting to drag him towards the corner of the room. Clark couldn’t be moved if he didn’t want to, but he had to, at least a little bit, in order to keep up his public persona. Still, he was digging his heels into the plush carpet, trying to subtly shake out of Luthor's arms.
And Bruce saw red. Clark's eyes darted around the room, probably looking for Bruce, who had already started moving towards him. He shoved a couple people out of the way. Anything to get to Clark faster.
“You know,” Bruce heard Luthor saying when he got close enough. “I meant what I said earlier. A man like you is much too good for a man like him.”
“Lex— I-I really don’t know what you mean.”
“Come on, Clark. You can’t say you don’t see it.” Lex whispered, voice dipping into more sultry tones as his hand began to slip into Clark’s hair.
“Luthor.” Bruce growled, pulling Clark from his grasp. Clark moved easily to his side, his body seeming to recognize Bruce's presence before his brain did. Clark’s eyes snapped to his, and then relaxed in recognition.
“Oh, hello again Bruce! I was just having a chat with Mr. Kent here.”
“Quite the chat.” Bruce said, slipping an arm tighter around Clark’s waist.
Lex’s grin faltered a little, “Well, Clark, you know how to reach me. I guess I'll be off!”
And then Lex was gone, slipping away into the crowd with the same grace as a snake.
“You okay?” Bruce said softly.
“Yeah. You know how Lex is.” Clark said, his voice shook a little, but he managed. Clark ran a nervous hand through his hair, messing up the curls that Luthor had touched.
Bruce did know how Lex was, but his mind couldn’t help but replay the moment. Lex with his hands on Clark’s waist, Lex with his hands in Clark’s hair, Lex whispering in his ear.
Clark looked at him curiously.
Bruce exhaled, “Let’s get out of here.”
“What? Don’t you need to be here for appearances or whatever?” Clark said.
Bruce was already pulling him towards the door. “I don’t care. I’m telling Alfred to bring the car around.”
“B, it really wasn’t that big of a deal. I’m okay.”
Bruce looked at him softly, this perfect man that was somehow his, “I know, but I can’t stand it. I don’t want anyone else around us anymore.”
A small grin pulled on the corners of Clark’s mouth. “Hmm, you really got that jealous, didn’t you.”
“Yes.” Bruce said, leading Clark towards the door. “You’re mine.”
Clark laughed at that, “I really am. Always, B.”
Clark smiled at him, so bright it was like staring at the sun. His dimples deepened, white teeth on full display. Bruce couldn’t help but love how Clark always saved these smiles–the real ones– for him.
“I love you, Clark.”
Clark snorted, “And I love you, Bruce.”
“Let’s go home.”