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The Gala is in full swing, and Brucie is having the time of his life, as usual.
He laughs loudly and asks why birds don't just get heating in their houses, if they're worried about the cold.
Then he enjoys the awkward silence for a few minutes before swagging away, martini in hand.
He leans against the wall, taking a looong sip.
This is the life. He will never regret making his civilian persona an absolute idiot.
Watching people take psychic damage from talking to him is absolute bliss.
In his ear, the comm crackles.
“B,” comes the voice of Nightwing, trying and failing to sound professional, “we need you to distract Lex Luthor. But please, please, please don't start reminiscing about your college days again."
Brucie grins, seemingly at nothing. A nearby socialite backs away slowly.
“Understood,” he murmurs into his glass.
Nightwing sighs. He recognizes that tone. But he's too far away to do anything about it.
"Just... remember that multiple of your children are on the comms tonight, okay?" he says, before focusing back on his task.
Bruce takes another martini, and thinks to himself that his children don't know him well enough if they think that's going to deter him.
As he wanders closer to where Lex is giving another speech about himself, he wonders what he should do.
He can't pull some of his more... outrageous stunts, he's not at home. The turf does not favor him, as the kids would say. Now if it wasn't in Metropolis....
But, when life gives you lemons, and all that.
His eyes catch a glint of light reflected from a handsome young reporter's glasses. The man, Clark Kent, is currently doing a truly terrible job of pretending to be a normal reporter, but from someone who has just come back from a space mission, that's to be expected, really. A movie actress lands a kiss on her date for the night, and Clark snaps a quick photo, still looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.
Hmmm, thinks Bruce. Superman... Lex... Kissing...
Now there's an idea.
He brushes off an invisible speck of dust from his suit, loosens his tie, and makes a beeline towards Lex, his bald head shining like a beacon. Luthor notices immediately. Of course he does. His eyes narrow with the deep, personal irritation of a man who only hates two things in life — undeserved power, and stupidity — and is about to be approached by someone representing both.
“Bruce,” Lex says flatly. “Shouldn’t you be explaining to the scientists how lasers have feelings, and whatnot?”
Bruce leans casually against the bar. Then he lowers his voice just enough to sound intimate.
“Luthor, baby.” he drawls.
Lex freezes. He knows that tone. Bruce has used it for decades, and every time, it’s meant the same thing: Lex’s day is about to be ruined, and there’s nothing he can do about it.
Across the room, Clark frowns slightly. He knows that tone too. It's the tone Bruce uses when he's about to go feral and knows no one can stop him. Bruce continues, calm as a man discussing the weather.
“I fucked Superman.”
At first, there's no reaction. Just silence. Absolute silence. People stare.
Clark’s brain detonates.
Bruce - Batman - B slept with—
Clark’s stomach drops.
—Superman?
There is a full, horrifying second where Clark Kent, mild-mannered reporter, experiences a sudden spike of extremely personal jealousy.
Then his brain catches up.
Wait.
I’m Superman.
Clark blinks.
I do not remember sleeping with Bruce.
....
Why do I not remember this?
Lex Luthor’s eye twitches. He doesn't know what he's feeling, but he does know one thing.
“Bruce…” he says slowly.
Bruce lifts his glass, completely unbothered. He smiles, showing off perfect teeth.
“Yes, darling?”
“You realize I’m going to have to kill you now.”
“Unlikely.”
The glass Lex has been holding shatters on the floor, as Lex Luthor launches himself across the room like a missile fueled entirely by spite and rage. Bruce is on the floor in the next second.
Lex tackles him hard enough that several nearby guests scream. He pulls at his hair.
“You, you, scheming, stealing little —"
Bruce kicks him and rolls on top. He stays there, breathing.
“You could have joined us,” he moans out, “If only you weren't in outer space...”
There's a shrill scream, and Lex swings again.
Bruce rolls backwards across the marble floor, comes up on one knee, and looks absolutely delighted. "Now, I'm not proposing " he says immediately "But if you were offering..."
Lex Luthor looks like a man who has discovered a new and deeply personal definition of hatred.
“You—” Lex hisses, grabbing Bruce by the jacket and slamming him against the wall. “You think this is amusing?”
Bruce tilts his head, and blinks like an innocent lamb. Which he is. Just ask any Gothamite.
“Is it not?” he says. “I thought you'd like to know. What with you having a crush on him and all."
Across the room, Clark Kent chokes. His brain is trying to process approximately ten disasters at once.
Bruce Wayne just told Lex Luthor he slept with Superman. He said that Luthor had a crush on...
Clark aborts that train of thought before he can burst into tiny pieces.
But that just makes him focus on the other part. Clark feels his ears burn.
Bruce Wayne just told Lex Luthor he slept with me.
Clark adjusts his glasses.
Technically, not me. We did not sleep together.
Clark stares into the void.
Did we?
His brain rapidly scans the last decade of memory. Thousands of battles. Two near-apocalypses. One extremely awkward Christmas at Wayne Manor.
No sex.
Definitely no sex.
Or was there?
His brain helpfully provides a mental image of Bruce Wayne leaning sexily against a wall and saying “Luthor, baby.”
Clark nearly drops his camera.
Why, Brain?
Back at the bar, Lex is still shaking Bruce.
“You lying, attention-seeking, oxygen-wasting—”
Bruce squints thoughtfully.
“Hmm.”
Lex stops. Bruce taps Lex’s wrist.
“You’re wrinkling the suit,” Bruce says mildly. “It’s Italian.”
Lex releases him purely so he can throw a punch. Bruce ducks. The punch instead obliterates a decorative fruit arrangement. A grapefruit rolls across the floor like a tiny witness. Bruce straightens his jacket.
“Really, Lex,” he sighs. “I was just trying to share a tender, personal memory.”
“A WHAT!”
Bruce lifts another martini and gestures vaguely with it. “You know. Two lonely, misunderstood people. A quiet night. The stars overhead. The romance. I mean, its in the movies!”
Lex’s eye twitches.
“You expect me to believe Superman would sleep with you?”
Bruce blinks.
Then he looks genuinely offended.
“Lex,” he says. “I’m rich.”
Across the room, Clark chokes. Again. A nearby reporter pats him sympathetically.
“You okay, Kent?”
Clark nods weakly.
“Yes,” he croaks. “Just— something in my throat.”
Lex runs both hands over his face.
“You are a child.”
“Unfair,” Bruce pouts. “Children don’t own six yachts.”
“SEVEN,” someone in the crowd yells.
Bruce raises a finger.
“Ah, but one is technically not a yacht. It's got a boy name. It's a man-yacht.”
Nightwing’s voice crackles in Bruce’s ear.
“B.”
Bruce hums innocently.
“B,” Nightwing repeats, in the tone of a man who is five seconds away from developing a migraine, or bashing his head. “What exactly are you doing?”
“Distracting Lex,” Bruce murmurs into his glass.
“You started a fight.”
“Semantics.”
Another voice cuts in.
“Did he say he slept with Superman?” Red Robin asks.
“Yes,” Nightwing says flatly, like a man who has lost all hope. "He always does this."
“Oh my god.”
Clark’s head snaps up.
He cannot hear the comms, but he can hear Bruce continuing the story.
“…and of course the cape was a bit of a hazard,” Bruce is saying thoughtfully.
Clark’s soul tries to leave his body. Lex stares at him.
“You’re lying.”
Bruce shrugs.
“You're welcome to ask him next time you see him. Or the Daily Planet. They know a lot about him, don't they?”
Clark freezes. The entire room slowly turns to look at the nearest reporter from the Daily Planet.
Clark Kent.
Clark feels every muscle in his body lock. Bruce also turns.
Their eyes meet.
Bruce Wayne smiles like a man who has just spotted a particularly entertaining big red button labeled DO NOT PRESS.
“Clark!” he calls cheerfully.
Clark considers several options. Flying out of the roof by blasting a crater sounds very tempting.
But Lois would kill him.
Maybe he should just ignore the... situation.
But ignoring Bruce Wayne while the entire room is staring at him would also be suspicious.
Clark walks forward like a man sentenced to the gallows.
Very slowly.
His internal monologue is screaming.
Do not confirm this.
Do not confirm this.
Do not confirm this.
He stops a few feet away.
“Mr. Wayne,” Clark says, with strained politeness.
Bruce beams.
“Clark, my dear fellow! Just the man I was hoping to see.”
Lex’s eyes narrow.
“You know him?”
Clark laughs nervously.
“Ha! Oh— well— Gotham charity circuits, you know—”
Bruce throws an arm around Clark’s shoulders. Clark nearly levitates out of his skeleton.
“Lex here thinks I’m lying,” Bruce says conspiratorially.
Clark’s brain shuts down.
“About…?” Clark croaks.
Bruce sighs theatrically.
“My little fling with Superman. Just a few days in bed, you know. Hasn't he told you yet?"
Lex slowly turns to Clark. His eyes are gleaming. It would be surprising if he started shooting lasers. Clark pushes his glasses up.
“…Mr. Wayne,” he says weakly.
Bruce squeezes his shoulder.
“You don’t have to be shy,” Bruce says soothingly. “We’re all friends here.”
Clark stares straight ahead like a man staring into the sun.
“Mr. Wayne,” he says again, voice faint.
Lex watches him like a hawk. Clark realizes something horrifying. If he denies it too strongly, Bruce will escalate. Bruce always escalates. Clark sighs.
“…Mr. Luthor,” he says very, very carefully.
“Yes?” Lex hisses out. "You have something to say?"
Clark gestures vaguely.
“Mr. Wayne… sometimes says things.”
Bruce gasps softly.
“Clark.”
Clark closes his eyes.
“…that may or may not be entirely grounded in objective reality.”
Lex slowly exhales. Bruce looks deeply betrayed.
“Wow,” Bruce says. “After everything we shared.”
Clark whispers under his breath:
“Please stop talking.”
Bruce grins. Lex points at Bruce.
“You see?” he snaps. “Even Kent thinks you're insane.”
Bruce considers this. Then he says: "I think he's just shy."
Lex groans.
“Or maybe,” Bruce continues thoughtfully, “he doesn't want to talk about the time I slept with him.”
Clark’s brain explodes. He stutters, turns red, and realizes his reaction as good as proves Bruce's words.
Lex’s eye twitches again. He screeches. And launches himself at Bruce.
And in Bruce’s ear, Nightwing groans:
“…we are never letting you go to galas alone again.”