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“I hate these things.” Bruce turned around from the mirror in his bedroom, facing Clark.
“Shirt collars?” Clark smiled, stepping closer to take over where Bruce was trying to smooth everything down. His hands came up around the back of Bruce's neck, folding over the back of his crisp white shirt collar and pushing the fabric of the bow tie underneath.
“That too,” Bruce sighed. “You know what I mean. Downstairs. Those people. In my house.”
“It's for a good cause,” Clark tried, but he didn't sound too convinced.
Bruce hummed. “Sure.” Like this, Clark was close. So close, Bruce would have to tilt his chin to look him in the eyes, but he didn't. Clark hadn't stepped away yet and he savored that, plucking some dust and what appeared to be a hair from krypto off his dark blue jacket shoulder. This close, Bruce could see how wrinkled his cheap shirt was. Ah well. That too, was for a good cause.
“In any case, your real birthday party will be much better. Did you know Alfred is making three different cakes?”
“He knows I won't eat that.”
“But the kids will. And I will.”
“Hm.” Bruce occupied his hands with fixing Clark's collar now. He didn't like his birthday. It meant another year closer to either death or crippling injury - or worse, retirement. Another year that separated him from Clark and the fragile thing they had.
But Clark didn't seem to think any of that. He took Bruce's chin between thumb and forefinger, forcing eye contact. He had smile lines around his eyes, a deep twinkle in his pupils. When he bent closer, his hot breath ghosted over the shell of Bruce's ear. “And I can promise you you'll enjoy your real birthday present.”
Bruce huffed. He pulled away. “Is it you?”
“No guessing,” Clark tutted, and kissed him, closed-mouthed, chaste, and quick. It was all they could do before tonight, lest they get distracted and ruin all their handiwork on their clothes again.
Bruce stepped back, out of Clark's space. The other man stepped around him, grabbing his pristine black tux jacket and held it up for Bruce to slip his arms into. “Thank you,” he murmured. They were facing the mirror again, Clark behind Bruce, smoothing down his shoulders and sleeves. When he was done, he stepped next to him and slid his glasses on. It was fascinating to see Clark's posture change in real time. Where first he'd stuck out more than an inch above Bruce, now he was barely taller at all.
Bruce tried a smile, dazzling and white. Not real.
They looked the perfect image of air-headed Brucie Wayne and mild-mannered Clark Kent.
Two people who would never be together.
“I still hate this.” Bruce stepped away, towards one of the windows overlooking the backyard and manor grounds, where dusk was starting to set in and servants were checking lights along the paths in the rose garden. “I'm sorry for tonight.”
“Don't be,” Clark said, turning to him. “I can live with other people flirting with you knowing I'm the only one who gets to have you when they all leave.” There was a teasing lilt to his voice, and he stepped closer again, but not all the way, and Bruce missed his hot breath on his ear from before.
Clark was smiling again. Clark smiled as a coping mechanism. There was some benefit to it, Bruce supposed. Endorfines and all that. It wasn't something he'd ever tried though.
“Say what you really want,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning back against the windowsill.
Clark's smile dropped. “I want to be by your side. You know that.”
“You should be by my side, on my arm all night.”
“Then why don't we? We could. Just, go downstairs together. It would be so easy.”
Bruce looked away from Clark's hopeful eyes. “You know we can't.” They had talked about this. It wouldn't be difficult to make the connection. Two unlikely people. Gotham, Metropolis. Batman, Superman. It was all too valuable to compromise.
“Right.” Clark hugged his sides. Bruce would lose him. He couldn't keep him happy.
“Sorry.”
“It's okay. I signed up for this, right? I'm used to keeping secrets.” Clark reached out his hand, touching Bruce's cheek. “We both are.”
Bruce looked up at Clark. He wasn't smiling anymore, but there was something else there, something unfathomably soft.
“It's for a good cause,” Bruce tried. The corner of Clark's mouth lifted up, twitching.
“It is.” His hand slid down to Bruce's, pulling him up to stand again. “Now, I'll fly around and enter with the other guests, and you're gonna walk down those stairs looking as beautiful as you always do. And you'll know I'll be staring at you. And that I love you. No matter who knows or doesn't know.”
“Clark.”
Clark squeezed his hand. It's okay, it said. He would do this for Bruce, as long as he needed to. Sacrifice his own happiness and well-being, over and over again - for Bruce.
He looked down at their joined hands. He loved Clark so much.
Clark stepped away and opened the window, but Bruce pulled him back. “Wait.” I don't know how to keep you happy, he nearly spilled. He took a breath. Slow, steadying. His mouth curved. “I love you too.”
Clark smiled, a real one. Not self-deprecating. They kissed again, one warm hand on Bruce's cheek. It was unhurried, open, a promise for more.
“I know,” Clark whispered. He stepped out of the open window, and floated just outside Bruce's grasp for a moment, before he curved away into the darkening sky.