Work Text:
The offices of the Daily Planet were nearly silent, the dim buzz of the cold fluorescent lights the only sound besides the clatter of Clark Kent's typewriter. He glanced at the clock: almost midnight. A quiet night in Metropolis, and Clark Kent was getting caught up on some work long after his colleagues had gone home.
He was almost done with his story when he heard the elevator chime faintly. Footsteps in the hall; someone was humming a show tune. It resolved into words that reached Clark:
People stop and stare, they don't bother me,
For there's nowhere else on earth that I would rather be....
Clark smiled and continued concentrating on his typewriter.
Despite his advance warning, Clark was still surprised when a dozen bright pink long-stemmed roses materialized between him and the typewriter. His ninja benefactor beamed at him, dressed in full pinstriped regalia. "Why Mr. Kent," said Bruce Wayne, "It's so nice to see one of my employees working so very diligently."
Clark schooled his face into polite puzzlement. "What are these, Mr. Wayne?"
"They're roses, Mr. Kent."
"Indeed."
"For you," Bruce said, bowing slightly.
Clark touched the silken petals lightly. "I couldn't possibly accept such a lavish gift from my employer, sir."
"This?" Bruce's shrug was nonchalant. "This is nothing. If I wanted to be lavish, I would have brought you a Rolex or some new cuff links. Would you like that?" He perched on Clark's desk, leaning in close. "I can be lavish if you'd like."
Clark cleared his throat, looking around the empty office. "Mr. Wayne, this is really quite inappropriate."
"How could wanting to reward one of my finest employees be 'inappropriate'?" Bruce was practically purring. "I just want to show you how much I...appreciate you." He brushed fingers across the back of Clark's hand and Clark jerked back like he'd been shocked. "You're so cute when you're playing hard to get," Bruce crooned.
"I'm not playing," Clark said, letting a hint of a pout enter his voice.
"I like a man who's hard to get," Bruce said, capturing his chin in a strong hand and leaning in to kiss him.
Clark pulled away from the curving lips and stood up. "Really, Mr. Wayne! You may employ me, but you don't own me."
"Oh, don't I?" He reached for Clark again, but Clark dodged his hands and fled to a conference room. By the time Bruce got there, Clark had the wide walnut conference table between them. "Mr. Kent, stop being so difficult," Bruce said with comic exasperation. City light flooded through the plate-glass window, painting his face in cool blues. He lunged to the right and Clark countered, resulting in an awkward chase around the table.
"You, sir, are an insatiable lech," Clark announced. "I suppose you'd like nothing better than to take me right here on this table."
Bruce's smile was glittering, febrile; there was something urgent around the corners of his eyes that made Clark pause. "The only thing I'd like more would be to do it during working hours. Your co-workers could stand outside the door and whisper about us while I made you scream in ecstasy."
The image made Clark blink, distracted; in an instant Bruce was vaulting over the table, sliding across it to lock his legs around Clark's waist and grab his tie to drag him into a long, passionate kiss. Clark threw himself into it as if he could hold himself back no longer, crawling onto the table to press all of himself against Bruce's body, the faint sounds of the city far away compared to the sound of Bruce's hoarse breathing. This was new, Clark thought through the haze of delight as Bruce grabbed his belt to pull him closer. Bruce had never been willing to go so far beyond flirtation in semi-public.
"Employee of the month," Bruce groaned against his mouth, "I'll make you employee of the month if you're nice to me..." His hands were deftly stroking at the front of Clark's pants, and he made a stammering appreciative noise at what he found there. "Employee of the year, sweet Mr. Kent, if you just, if you'll just--"
"Why, Mr. Wayne," Clark murmured. "I don't know what to say--I'm just all aflutter..."
There was a silence, and then Bruce's shoulders started to shake. He put a forearm over his mouth, but Clark could see his eyes sparkling with laughter above it. "Aflutter?" Bruce finally managed before starting to laugh again. "Aflutter? Clark, that is the most unconvincing...what are you, a man or a moth?"
Clark leaned in and kissed his throat, feeling the laughter humming through it, smiling and waiting. It died down slowly, in gusts and bursts, until Bruce was silent, staring at the ceiling and letting Clark nuzzle his neck. "Hard day?" Clark asked after a while.
A long, slow sigh. "A little boy," Bruce said. "Found him in the park. Six years old. Fractured skull. Probably his step-father. Not sure yet. He's under surveillance. The lab results won't be back for five hours."
"I'm sorry," Clark said. Held him.
"I needed to be someone else for a little while. Someone who didn't let a child die."
Clark winced, but had learned years ago not to argue with Bruce's overdeveloped sense of responsibility, just as Bruce had learned not to protest his. He pressed a kiss onto Bruce's temple. "I'm glad you came to me," he said.
A long silence. "I'm glad too." The lights of the city flickered across the ceiling and Bruce's hands moved gently through his hair. Then Bruce shifted to meet Clark's eyes. "Line?" he stage-whispered, a mischievous glint blooming in his eyes.
Clark didn't match his tone, not yet. "Why, Mr. Wayne," he said, touching Bruce's face with his fingertips, his voice devoid of flirtation. "I'm all aflutter."
Bruce's eyes were wide and dark for a second, and then he smiled: his real smile, the one that dawned so slowly you might miss it if you looked away, the one with his heart in it. "I like it when you flutter," he said, his hand slipping back down to Clark's belt and lower.
Clark smiled and slipped back into character, letting outrage sharpen his voice. "I'll have you know this is sexual harassment and I'll be filing an-oooh. Um, filing a--oh God--a report...just as...just as soon as you get done doing that. Sir."
Bruce's throaty laugh made work, worries, and the world itself go away for a little while.