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Clark stares at Batman's chin. Or rather, he's staring at Batman's chin on Bruce Wayne's face. That chin. It's all he ever sees. That, and the shimmer of the night reflected in the bat’s eyes.
But now it's out in the open, right in front of him. Not even 6 feet away, crammed as they are in the glass elevator on the side of the Lexcorp tower.
Unbelievable.
Batman is Bruce Wayne. And Clark is stuck in an elevator with him (Batman!) on December 31st, 10 minutes before midnight.
Logically, he should say something. They should just get out of here now. Between the two of them, Batman and Superman, it shouldn't be a problem. ‘I could punch us out of here,’ Clark could say, revealing himself indefinitely. Something he's never done before, to anyone. It's a leap he doesn't want to make quite yet.
Clark Kent would be scared, stuck in an elevator. He'd fidget about missing new year's eve and the article he's supposed to write on Luthor's party.
Bruce Wayne has panicked at first, complaining about missing out on champagne and a new year's kiss, but the man across from Clark has ceased doing just that about 10 minutes ago. Now he stands rigid, back straight, staring right back at Clark.
Behind Wayne - Batman(!) - sprawls Metropolis, far below and twinkling with lights.
That chin. He'd know it anywhere.
Clark takes off his glasses. It's the least he could do. Level the playing field. He folds them into his jacket pocket and precious seconds tick by. Nothing happens.
“I could…” he starts, because punching through the metal is still an option. It's always an option.
“...punch us out of here. Yes, but you shouldn't,” Wayne says suddenly with all the gravity of Batman. And it's Batman's eyes that stare back at Clark.
Batman's eyes, not covered in black makeup. They're beautiful. Sharp. Haunting. For a moment, Clark allows himself to get lost in them. But then Wayne reminds him where they are again. Batman shrugs his chin, indicating the camera in the corner of their little box. Of course. No sound, only picture. At least they can talk freely.
Wayne shifts, towards him. “Not if you don't want to reveal your secret identity to the masses, Superman.”
Clark blinks. He squints his eyes. He clenches his jaw, can't help it at being found out. It's his secret, that no one else should be burdened with.
“Nor yours, Batman.” There. Now they're equal. Wayne seems unfazed. And Clark only has questions. “You knew? This entire time?”
“No. But I figured it out when you kept staring. You barely blinked.” It seems Clark hadn't been the only one caught looking at the other's face.
“You barely moved.”
“Your cheekbones looked familiar.”
“Your heartbeat was suspiciously low for someone panicking over missing out on champagne.”
Wayne raises his chin. “Hm.”
Clark pushes off the jammed elevator doors he was leaning against. “So, what do we do?”
“We wait. Barring any emergencies.” At that, Wayne raises an eyebrow in question at Clark.
Clark listens. He's always listening. And there are always cries for help, but in the past 2 years of being Superman, he's learned that those are usually answered by someone nearby. And he's there when they're not. “There are none, right now.”
When he blinks their confined space back into focus, Wayne is still looking at him. Staring. Learning, Clark realizes. He could be looking out the window, taking in the view, but instead, they're caught up with each other.
Clark fidgets.
“I'm a reporter.” Small talk to pass the time, he figures.
“I know.” Wayne points at his press badge. Right. Clark tugs at it, feeling the laminated card glide through his hands. And Wayne is a CEO. And a vigilante. That conversation is a dead end.
What do you talk about with Batman?
Wayne looks away. “Someone is bound to come looking for me. We won't be in here long.”
“Of course. Good. I doubt anyone would come looking for me.” Clark chuckles. It's easy to be Clark Kent, nobody.
Wayne raises an eyebrow. “Is that why you're working?
“None of my coworkers wanted the new year's eve assignment. I figured, I might as well.” He shrugs. In the process, he steps closer to Batman.
“And there's no one waiting for a kiss from Superman at midnight,” Batman deduces.
Clark shakes his head. “Is– is anyone waiting for a kiss from Bruce Wayne?” A silly question. Of course someone is.
“No one I'm interested in.” Wayne stares into his eyes, and Clark can't look away.
The other man is a little shorter than he is, especially now that he has unfurled from Clark Kent's bad posture and stands up straight. Clark looks at his watch. It's 11.55.
Being stuck in here with Batman doesn't have to be all bad. “Well, if you ever need help, with… You know. I'll gladly give you my number. Or you can always call out for me.” Clark knows he's rambling, and he expects another one word none-answer from Wayne, but the billionaire leans in slightly.
“I'll remember that, Superman.”
“Clark.”
“Clark,” Wayne amends. His lips form around the world like it's precious. Like he's trying it out. His warm voice makes it sound completely new to Clark, sending tickles right to his rapidly increasing heart. “Then call me Bruce.”
“Okay, Bruce.”
Bruce's heartbeat increases.
The Bat has come out of Gotham, on a night like this. Clark is still curious. “You must regret coming to Metropolis now.”
Bruce looks up. To their unreachable destination. “I'm here for Luthor. I don't like how he's been buying up property in Gotham. Figured I'd use the opportunity to get some intel.”
“Plans for after the party?” The corner of Clark's mouth curls up. “I'll help, if you want me to.”
The answering grunt is all Batman. He's considering it, Clark translates in his head.
The space has gotten smaller, it seems like. Or maybe they're just standing that much closer, the backdrop of the glimmering city forgotten. Clark looks at his watch again. He steps away to rub at his neck, spinning in their confinement.
“Three minutes to midnight. I can forget about that article. My editor is gonna be pissed.”
“I'd argue an article about being stuck in an elevator with Bruce Wayne would satisfy your editor.”
Clark snaps back to Bruce. “You’re offering an exclusive?”
Bruce shrugs. The last minutes of the year crawl by. Clark hates small spaces. He likes feeling the wind on his face. He must have walked around the elevator a dozen times by now. But Bruce is still standing in the same spot, incredibly, inhumanly calm.
He has turned to the window, his back to Clark to look at the city far below. Maybe he feels more comfortable now, no need to track Clark's every move anymore. Maybe he even trusts Clark. Their precious secret sits between them, a warm weight and knowledge that they'll now be forever linked by this piece of information alone. Inexplicably, Clark feels his cheeks warm up.
He steps closer to Bruce, looking out the window with him. “At least we'll have a good view from here.”
“It's just another midnight,” Bruce says. Batman isn't the sentimental type.
Clark is. But even he feels like maybe he is right where he should be.
They're standing side by side. There's a light dusting of pink on Bruce's cheeks. Maybe it's just warm in the unmoving box they're trapped in.
Clark twiddles his thumbs. He's always admired Batman. “What if we kissed, at midnight?” Right as the last word leaves his mouth, the midnight black sky explodes into a cacophony of colors. Oh.
Bruce turns to him, and takes Clark's right hand to shake it. “Happy New Year, Clark.”
“Happy New year, Bruce.” Clark's cheeks burn with embarrassment. He hates the obvious disappointment he feels. Maybe Bruce didn't actually hear his question, he hopes.
They're still holding each other's right hand.
Bruce seems to stare straight into his soul.
His eyes are mesmerizing. His lips, even more. And when Clark's gaze flicks down there and Bruce's heartbeat speeds up in response, Clark can't do anything but close the distance between them.
As their lips touch, Clark experiences fireworks far more beautiful than those outside. His fingers cart through the short hair at the back of Bruce's head. Bruce makes considerable effort to pull Clark's body flush against his own, and Clark lets him. He's never wanted to be this close to anybody.
Bruce kisses with all the seriousness of Batman. Clark can feel the crease between his eyebrows as he nips at Clark's lips. He can hear every intake of heated breath. He feels Bruce's hands, cupping his jaw, his neck, at the small of his back.
He wraps Bruce in his arms.
And even the confined space of the elevator is too big at that moment.
They lick into each other's mouths, exploring, learning, harmonizing. Clark sighs into it. They take each other's weight, and that's enough.
Batman knows his secret, and Bruce wants to kiss him. This might just become the best year yet.