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Bruce spun around the gala like he was born to be there, and Clark couldn’t do anything but watch in awe.
This was the first time he’d been brought along to any of Bruce’s events as Clark Kent, Brucie’s latest boytoy (Partner, they were partners- though none of the media saw that through the facade of fickle interest Bruce had spent well over a decade establishing) rather than as Mr. Kent, reporter for the Daily Planet.
So far, the experience had been… unique, to say the least. Clark wasn’t used to the kind of attention Brucie all but demanded. He wasn’t shy, but there was a big difference in speaking to a crowd as Superman, hiding behind the mask of a beloved hero figure, and speaking to the governor of New Jersey with only his glasses to hide behind. People were all looking at him, trying to decipher what had made him special or interesting enough to catch the eye of known serial romantic Bruce Wayne, and what his reason was for staying.
Rumors of their relationship (or affair, as the papers seemed keen to call it despite the fact there were no other parties involved- scorned or otherwise) had started swirling well over a month earlier. It had been the catalyst for Bruce inviting him along that night. The gossip columns were going to speculate either way, at least like this they’d have control of the narrative and be able to lay the basis for Bruce Wayne, Gotham’s infamous playboy finally settling down.
At least that was the hope.
Clark awkwardly snatched a glass of champagne off a tray as the waiter passed him by and took a sip. The alcohol would do nothing for him. But holding onto the champagne flute gave him something to do with his hands and give him something to somewhat hide himself behind.
His eyes found Bruce again, this time talking to some corporate executive and clearly having the time of his life playing dumb much to the annoyance of anyone unfortunate enough to find themselves trapped in the conversation.
After watching the admittedly amusing scene for a few moments and taking another sip of his champagne Clark made his way over to the group.
“Bruce, love,” He brushed a kiss past Bruce’s temple, “how much have you had to drink?” It was a check in, genuine, but also asking how much longer Bruce would have to stay.
“Only a glass or two Clark, babe” Bruce giggled, but his eyes were clear and his heartbeat remained steady. “Now I was getting Mr. Mahoney here to explain to me why they call it gross revenue when everyone always keeps telling me that more of that is a good thing.”
They’d decided on their code beforehand; the words they’d say to plan their next move with everyone else none the wiser.
In response to Bruce’s words, Clark slung his arm around Bruce’s waist, casual but claiming in a way that only felt possible because of the Brucie facade. He rested his hand on Bruce’s hip, right where the seam of his suit jacket hit the fabric of his suit pants.
“Alright then love, let’s hear what this gentleman has to say.”
After all, while Clark was looking forward to heading back home in the next hour or so, he wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to watch smarmy men struggle against the sheer force of Brucie. Plus, he’d drink in the public displays of affection so long as he could get them considering they had a league meeting the next day. He’d have to keep his hands to himself then, considering they’d agreed to keep their relationship to their civilian identities. They’d have to hide in the morning.
But right then, Clark could be head over heels in love with Bruce without hiding it.
And that, was too good an opportunity to pass up.