Archive of Our Own

The benefit had been in full swing, Clark's sensitive hearing continuously picking up on random bits of laughter and conversation, the clinking of champagne glasses and the shuffling of feet across the most lavish hall of this newly reopened Gotham Museum of Arts. Lois already made some of the rounds, Clark could actually hear her taking a quote from the Mayor, eyes glinting sharply like they tended to when she was on the trail of a new, groundbreaking story. And, despite being more than a little distracted, Clark had managed to take some quotes too, hoping to appease Perry. The editor and Chief of the Daily Planet had not been happy with sending two investigative reporters to the same location. Clark needed to have something by the end of this evening if he didn't want to be put in the dog house again, his recent urgent Superman business already making him miss a lot of deadlines.

But his mind just kept straying.

In a nervous tick Clark adjusted his loose red tie for what felt like a millionth time, eyes scanning the room.

Still nothing.

He was late.

Now, of course, it wasn't anything new for him, but… Clark couldn’t help but worry. This was Gotham, after all. And, as far as he’d learned over the previous month, the man was a trouble magnet, lackluster when it came to his own personal safety despite being one of the most high profile kidnapping targets. And reckless with his hobbies, to boot.

A hand caught onto the crook of his elbow, Lois' sudden appearance making him jolt and look down, thoughts scattered.

“Got what you needed?” He asked, smiling at his friend, and Lois huffed.

“Wouldn't you like to know." 

She was clearly teasing, and Clark laughed, shaking his head in disbelief at Lois' unsubtle way of telling him to stop trying to poach her story. Clark never did, really, but after having to practically beg Lois to be her plus one on such short notice he really couldn't fault her for being suspicious.

After a beat her expression smoothed into something more genuine, and even a little concerned. 

“Seriously, though, Smallville. You don't seem like you're having fun. In fact, you've been anxious all evening. You know you'll have to tell me eventually what this is all about, right?” 

She gave him an appraising glance, some playfulness returning. Clark's cheeks might have heated a little. Okay, so maybe he was wearing his best fitting suit. It was still a little cheap and definitely oversized, so it wasn't all that flattering, but it showed off more of his physique than what was usually expected of mild mannered Clark Kent. Before they set out, Lois also remarked on Clark's use of cologne, a nice unobtrusive woodsy scent still clinging to his attire, hair styled with a little more purpose than usual.

Bashfully, Clark adjusted his glasses.

“I know, Lo," He said, "And I promise I’ll tell you later, it's just…”

With impeccable timing, the grand doors swung open.

A smiling Bruce Wayne, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit and bowtie with a crisp white button up sauntered into the room. He seemed to already be a little drunk. Almost immediately, men and women alike flocked to Gotham's Prince, as if attracted by his brilliant smile, a glass of something sparkly materializing in his hand like a magic trick.

Lois scoffed.

“Look who finally decided to show. C'mon, Clark, we should–"

But as soon as she tried to tug him away she found resistance, her eyes confused as she looked at her frozen friend.

Clark barely even heard her, eyes only on the man that just entered. Bruce Wayne was– Beautiful. Simply beautiful. The fitted, formal black suit clung to his figure in a flattering way, slimming his toned body and accentuating his broad chest and trim waist. The silver cufflinks perfectly fitted to his white shirt and square pocket. It was a classic, timeless look, but Clark couldn't help but think that it looked simply breathtaking on him. The corners of Wayne's eyes crinkled as he said something flirtatious to an heiress, making his sharp features soften. It did terrible things to Clark's brain, as well as his heart.

Lois waved a hand in front of Clark's face, making him jolt.

He blinked, snapping out of it, his friend's baffled expression meeting him when he looked back towards her. Clark's cheeks heated. This was– Not part of the plan. He'd been caught staring, and now Lois would definitely not let this go, like a shark sensing blood in the water. Unable to help himself, however, he still threw a little glance back at Bruce Wayne, just to– Just to make sure. That he was really here.

Lois' eyes widened. Then, narrowed.

“Clark," She said, warningly, "Don't tell me this is what I think it is.”

She sounded incredulous and Clark shrunk in on himself, unable to meet her eyes.

Lois practically had to take a step back.

“No way," She said, mouth hanging open, "No way you–"

Clark would have probably found her face funny if he wasn't too busy being mortified. Was he really that transparent…?

“But he's..?” Lois continued, gesturing helplessly at Wayne. When that didn't prove sufficient, she raised her hands up in the air exasperatedly. 

“But you always disliked Wayne! You said it yourself; the man is just a spoiled rich guy, and you hate rich people! Okay, maybe hate is a bit of a strong word for you, but–"

“Lois–"

Clark's weak attempt at an interjection was promptly cut off.

“Wayne's such an asshole! A flighty, shallow coward with a pretty face and a bank account about the size of his ego. He goes through partners faster than new, expensive suits. The last time I interviewed him, in-between all the flirting he kept asking if I was from that ‘golden globe’ paper, and then it turned out he didn't even know what a globe even was! Hell, there's so little neurons in that brain of his, I'm not even sure that he can string a thought together that isn't about parties or sex and–"

“He's not like that!” Clark snapped, suddenly, Lois' mouth falling shut.

Almost immediately, Clark felt apologetic for his outburst. Lois just lifted a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

“Sorry. Sorry, I just…”

He sighed.

“I was wrong about him," He admitted quietly.

Clark's outburst had drawn a few gazes, but people quickly lost interest upon noticing that it was just two reporters, "Bruce Wayne is… He's not what he seems to be.”

Lois looked highly skeptical, but she patted his hand in an attempt at reconciliation.

“Okay. Okay, whatever you say, Smallville, I'm sorry that I trash talked your celeb crush, I guess.”

“He's– He's not my ‘celeb crush’," Clark denied vehemently, even though his cheeks, tellingly, flushed under her scrutiny, "I just… Really admire him, okay?”

Unbidden, his eyes flitted back to Bruce Wayne, catching the way the man leaned forward to kiss some woman's hand, his perfect, pale lips stretching into a charming smirk. His eyes didn't smile with him, something sharp flickering in them, almost too fast to catch. Far too fast for any human, but this wasn't the first time that Clark had caught it in the many interviews and videos he'd watched of the man. For– for research of course. And not because those eyes of his made Clark’s poor heart jump.

Over in the sycophants crowd, Wayne's eyes were already back to their normal, vacant state. Clark couldn't keep his eyes away.

“Huh," Lois said, and Clark felt really bad for only just remembering that she was still there, "You…actually like him.”

Clark groaned, burying his face in his hands.

That first time he had actually met Bruce Wayne was just a crazy coincidence.

Clark had been really tired that day. The fight with Metallo had taken a lot out of him, and he'd still been recovering from the kryptonite ray Luthor had subjected him to just a day prior, his strength not fully back. Still, his superhearing had picked up on bits of conversation from a table not too far from his, the small cafe he occasionally frequented to work on his articles unusually lively.

“Isn't that…?” A girl sitting behind the table not too far away from Clark whispered.

Clark's hands paused over the keyboard, hovering.

“Ohmygod– it is!!”

Two young girls, looking excited beyond belief and not-so-sneakily taking pictures on their phones teetered, little gasps and laughter escaping, their eyes glued to the tall, dark haired man near the register.

Clark blinked.

Then, he adjusted his glasses, brows furrowing as he looked the man up and down, from the tips of his expensive shoes and to the airy smirk that was playing on his lips as he talked to Michael, the friendly barista. The man had taken his grey jacket off, tie loosened and a few buttons at the top of his shirt undone, looking just as flashy and opulent as he did on tv and in papers.

Clark’s mind had vaguely registered that apparently those photos of Wayne weren't as entirely edited as he'd previously thought, his eyes looking towards the two other customers situated in the back, no one but him and two girls having noticed the presence of a celebrity.

Michael looked positively star struck though, especially as Wayne carelessly threw down a hundred dollar bill like it was nothing, a wave of dislike rolling through Clark. He ducked down, back to his laptop and a half filled word document, really not caring about the reason why the Gotham Prince had suddenly decided to pay a visit to this random shop in Metropolis. Didn't really seem like one of his usual haunts, and besides, Clark was sick to his stomach with all these egotistical billionaires. They were always the same, really, even if Wayne seemed mostly harmless in comparison to the likes of Luthor.

Speaking of which; Wayne must have been coming from one of Luthor's events that was supposed to be held nearby, if memory served Clark right. It only raised his dislike as he purposefully clamped down on his senses, trying to get back to work. Cat would have probably strangled him for missing such a perfect opportunity to weasel a quote out of Wayne but it wasn't like Clark was going to tell her.

So, for the next half hour or so, Clark had gone back to work, making decent progress on that article and completely forgetting about Wayne.

And, exactly because of that, he'd missed a suspicious looking man in a black hoodie and face mask loitering outside, the man slipping through the cafe door just as Clark started to get up from his seat to go and order himself another cup of hot chocolate.

A gun was thrust into Michael's side.

“Fork over the cash!” The robber barked, aggressive and nervous, dangerously so. Michael paled.

The other occupants of the cafe froze in their seats. The man, in his harried state, moved the gun threateningly towards the rest of them, particularly focusing in on Clark who’d been caught half standing.

“Don't fucking move!”

Clark didn't.

Carefully, and already scanning past the man's mask to see his face with minor difficulty, he lifted his hands in the air. He really should have noticed the thug, and he grit his teeth, trying to think of a way to get out of this situation with everyone left unscathed. He wasn't Superman at the moment, so he couldn't exactly explain how he'd deflect bullets, and, unfortunately, he stood quite far from the register, his speed not fully recovered to pull off anything that wouldn't be a dead giveaway.

Trembling behind the counter, Michael reached for something, probably the emergency button.

“I said don't fucking move, all of you, or I'm gonna blow your fucking brains out!” The robber screamed, rounding on him, Michael letting out a scared little whimper and scrambling away from his desk.

Michael was a nice guy, a little younger than Jimmy, and Clark's heart sank when the barrel of the gun turned back on him. It was right next to his face. He was fast, but he wasn't sure he'd make it in time if the robber shot, even if that meant exposing his secret identity. And he couldn't– Clark just simply couldn't endanger Ma and Pa or anyone at the Daily Planet like that, and it was his own fault for being so distracted but-

Before Clark could spiral, a man suddenly slipped from his seat, so silent Clark hadn't even noticed, his eyes widening in realization.

“Please! Please don't hurt anyone, but especially me!!” Bruce Wayne pleaded.

And Clark… stared.

He just stared, slack jawed, as the robber immediately whirled the gun on the billionaire before visibly doing a double take, Wayne's hands raised placatingly in the air.

“Wait– Are you fucking–"

The robber seemed so startled that he'd even lost some of his dangerous nerves, "Aren't you that rich guy from TV?”

“Yes, yes– I'm very rich, just please don't hurt me,"  Bruce Wayne said, answering a question from a robber that Clark almost missed in his astonishment.

Because… Undeniably, and unfathomably…

Bruce Wayne was shielding Clark.

What..?

Wayne sounded scared. Terrified even, and it almost looked like he didn't mean to speak or bring attention to himself, but…

Wayne was still talking. Babbling incoherently about all the money he had, something about his cowardly act soothing the amateur criminal, and Clark only just realized a startling thing as he strained his still recovering hearing.

Bruce Wayne's heart was steady.

It was calm, despite everything, despite the man  pleading for his life.

Clark felt his own eyes widen, lifting them to stare at the back of Bruce's head.

And now… Now that he was actually thinking about it, he could… He could tell how carefully Bruce was picking his words. How deliberately he held his body, not only shielding Clark and the other patrons from the line of fire, but also distracting him, drawing all of the attention onto himself and…

Technically, Clark didn't actually need to breathe. But the realisation had managed to take his breath away, eyes glued to the way Bruce Wayne's expensive shirt clung to the lines of his back.

The robber squinted at Wayne, looking him up and down.

“A lot of money, you say…”

Wayne nodded, somewhat enthusiastically.

“Oh, yes, lots of it," He confirmed, before asking, nervously, "Say, how about I write you a check and you leave me and the people of this good establishment alone, huh…?”

Wayne even managed to flash a shaky smile, from what Clark could see, but that only set the robber off, the man threateningly advancing on the billionaire. For a moment, Clark panicked, twitching and nearly giving into the instinct to use his super speed, but Wayne didn't even flinch.

The man's face only contorted in shock, hands lifting ever so slightly.

“I'm not that dumb, rich boy," The robber sneered, throwing the words out like an insult before casting a warning glance towards Michael, "Get the fucking money. Now. Or the rich guy will become an example.”

Just as he said it Clark could already hear the whir of the police car tires a few blocks away, the radio notifying two officers about the situation.

Clark twitched. He didn't manage to notice who amongst the cafe visitors had alerted the police, but as Michael fumbled with the register, the robber grew more and more impatient, demanding they all overturn their wallets, staring with Bruce himself, who slowly obeyed, taking his time in patting his suit for it as if he'd forgotten where exactly he put it.

After that, it wasn't long before the thug had been apprehended.

When the officers surrounded the building, Wayne was still distracting the now panicked robber who had made them all kneel on the floor, his little comments drawing all his attention. And Clark couldn't look away. He watched, transfixed, as Wayne expertly navigated the situation, subtly directing the guy away from the idea of taking any of them as hostages, before nudging the robber to try and make a run for it. And, to the naked eye, none of that would have been anything more than dumb luck, but Wayne's heartbeat didn't waver for a second, not even when a gun had been pulled right up to his forehead, the robber hissing at him to stop fucking talking.

And Clark felt transfixed.

In the hustle of everyone in the cafe being rushed out and checked over by medics Clark had managed to lose sight of Wayne, a twinge of disappointment passing through him when he'd finally been able to properly look for him.

Bruce Wayne just vanished. Almost as if he wasn't even there, Clark's mind buzzing and his journalistic instincts screaming that this was not a coincidence.

He might have come home to research Wayne further on his laptop.

Wayne was, in fact, at a Luthor Gala that day, apparently ditching it for that cafe, the articles about Luthor taking offense at that conveniently burying the ones on the robbery. A little… Too conveniently.

And the deeper Clark dug, past all the shameless scandals and stupid, vapid quotes, the more he discovered.

It was written between the lines, really.

Wayne's charity work was extensive, even for a man with such incredible wealth at his disposal, and his company was not only notorious for its green initiative, but also for the incredible employee benefits, often providing down on their luck people with opportunities. And Clark couldn't help but think that there was no way Wayne wasn’t the driving force behind that, even if most of the credit was given to his ‘second in command ‘ – Lucius Fox. Apparently, Wayne barely even ran his own company. Or it would have seemed so at first glance, if only Wayne Enterprises hadn't become one of the most profitable empires ever since the man had returned from his travels, some years back.

Said travels were also incredibly interesting, and they've received barely any coverage despite Bruce Wayne completely vanishing in his youth before reemerging to start drinking and partying like no one else's business.

The tragedy of how Bruce had lost his parents at a young age was a commonly known one, but, for some reason, there were barely any articles on Wayne adopting a kid after a very similar tragedy, the name Richard Grayson practically scrubbed from the internet, online speculation being that Wayne was incredibly protective of his new ward.

Something inside Clark melted a little when he'd looked at a photo of Wayne holding his hand protectively on Richard Grayson’s turned back, shielding him from the cameras. Wayne's brows were knit, something almost fierce in his gaze, so unlike all of his other photos.

When Clark was doing his research he couldn't stop thinking about the steady beat of Wayne's heart. Usually, Clark would find it hard, differentiating people's heartbeats, having to learn the sounds of Ma and Pa’s, or Lois' and Jimmy's purposefully, but Wayne's heart– It was so measured, Clark could practically still grasp its memory, having to stop himself from unconsciously trying to pick up on it.

As another picture of Wayne caught his eye in the next article, Clark stilled, startled. Because… Bruce Wayne was shirtless. His toned, lightly scarred body and lascivious smirk directed straight at the camera sent a jolt straight through Clark's spine, along with a sudden, intense attraction.

And it was only then that Clark realized just how handsome Bruce Wayne really was. Handsome enough to apparently be featured as America's hottest bachelor for the second year in a row, now, in numerous magazines, that picture of him shirtless managing to fry something crucial in Clark's brain.

Immediately, Clark shut off the laptop, face red as he regretted every single decision that led him to this.

Still, researching Bruce Wayne and gathering any and all articles mentioning his name might have become a habit of his after that, Clark unknowingly falling a little more each and every day the more secrets he uncovered. And maybe… And maybe he did actually subscribe to some fan accounts, after. Just to further that research.

Back at the benefit, Lois whistled.

“Oh, Smallville, this is down bad, even for you. And don't even think for a second that I'll let you off the hook without hearing that story," She said, then looked at Bruce Wayne. Grimaced, "Well. As your best friend, guess I gotta do this, huh?” Confidently as always she hooked a hand back under Clark's elbow to steer him. Immediately, alarms started blaring in Clark's head.

“Let's go get your billionaire.”

“Lois!” Clark hissed, panicked. But he was still inexplicably letting her move him towards her new target, legs almost feeling like they'd moved on their own, "We can't just– He's– he's busy and–"

Lois just smiled at him sharply, and Clark thought that he really was on point with that shark comparison earlier as she led him straight to the gallows.

“Watch and learn, Smallville." 

She expertly navigated them through the crowd, Clark feeling actual, real sweat beads across his forehead with each step. And oh Rao– Bruce was even prettier up close and-

“Good evening, Mister Wayne, can we get a moment of your time here?” Lois interjected smoothly, just as the peels of rich people laughter around Bruce Wayne died down. Said man threw them both one brief, surprised glance before his eyes widened in recognition.

“Ah, miss Lang!”

Lois' smile twitched. 

“Lane," She corrected swiftly, "Lois Lane. From the Daily Planet.”

That seemed to draw some tight lipped smiles from the group that surrounded Wayne, the rich and famous now looking at her with suspicion.

Lois' reputation sure did wonders, the crowd around them slowly turning to start their own conversations, not wanting to get into her crosshairs.

Wayne, however, did not at all look cowed by the potential of star reporter Lois Lane being here to try and dig up his dirty secrets. He just gifted her with his most dazzling smile, Clark's invulnerable legs starting to feel a little like jelly.

“Of course, of course. Please excuse me, Miss Lane, I somehow seem to keep forgetting.”

“Well,” Lois said, cheekily, “There is a way you could make it up to me.”

And with those words, she stepped to the side, revealing Clark who froze like a deer caught in headlights.

“I've actually wanted to introduce you to my colleague, here," Lois said, Wayne's hypnotic icy blue gaze skidding over to him, “And maybe you could let him ask a few questions for an interview.”

Clark's throat seemed to go dry under the weight of his attention. Thankfully, Lois, the savior that she was, subtly elbowed him in the side, hard, spurring Clark into motion.

“Clark– Clark Kent. It's a– It's a pleasure to meet you, Mister Wayne, " He said, inwardly dying of embarrassment. He tried to smile, awkwardly, heart beating fast in his chest as he offered a hand.

Bruce Wayne only seemed amused at his stuttering as he reached out and shook it, the graze of his fingers surprisingly calloused.

“A pleasure indeed," Wayne said, eyes briefly flitting down his body. His hand lingered, the touch scorching, and it was almost as if he– as if he was flirting with– “And please, call me Bruce. Your colleague here sure refuses to.”

Clark gulped.

Not that he was looking, but he could practically hear Lois' eye roll.

“Now, if you two gentlemen would excuse me, I still have a few other quotes to take.”

Lois patted Clark on the back and smiled at Bruce, ready to slink off after successfully fulfilling her wingwoman duties. Ones that weren't needed, because Clark wasn't actually crushing on Bruce Wayne. Obviously. And Clark wasn't panicking. Wasn't panicking at all, even as Bruce smiled back at her, all charm and perfect, white teeth.

“Why, of course. You can leave your colleague over here in my capable hands.”

And with that, Clark was standing alone in front of a man he admired greatly, nerves turning his thoughts into incoherent screaming.

At least Bruce seemed to be entertained by his floundering.

“So… for your questions?” He prompted.

“Que– Right, right. Mister Way– Mister Bruce, I mean," Clark had imagined what it would be like. Ever since that day at the cafe he's wanted to express his admiration about Bruce's incredible bravery, his heart, his loyalty to his city, but for some reason, what came out was: “I– I wanted to ask about how long have you protected the people of Gotham from the shadows?”

The shift was almost imperceptible. Almost. They always seemed to be, with Bruce, and Clark had to admit that his powers were definitely doing the heavy lifting here. Bruce simply laughed airily, despite the muscles in his jaw tensing. He looked to the side, lazily sweeping the people around them with his gaze, most of which seemed to have been preoccupied.

“Oh, I'm afraid I don't know what you mean.”

Something about this sent an excited shiver through Clark's spine.

“I– I mean the work you put in in secret. I– I've looked into everything you do through your company and outside of it, and…”

Bruce cut him off with a wave of a hand.

“I think you're misunderstanding something here,"  He said, sounding entirely disinterested. But his eyes; sharp, way too sharp, were now trained on Clark's face, "I barely know anything about any of that company or business stuff. Never have been a fan of the numbers. Unless they have plenty of zeros at the end, if you catch my drift. That's why I have smart people do all that boring work for me.”

“You– you're plenty smart yourself. I've read what the people you helped say about you," Clark said, concerned about the man speaking down on himself. And maybe it was too revealing, too personal for an interview, but he still added, cheeks flushing a bit, "Some… Some might even call you a hero.”

Somehow, it almost seemed like the wrong move. Bruce's smile had gone tight.

“Mister Kent–"

But whatever he'd wanted to say next was cut off by a sudden explosion.

____─ ·𖤓☾· ─____

It was a complete disaster.

Not only did Clark get stuck in an overrun building with a civilian, unable to change into his Superman costume since both of them somehow had the same idea to dart into the corridor that led further into the museum and away from the exit, but it also just so happened to be Bruce Wayne. The man he’d developed a deep admiration for (and a very professional one at that, no matter what Lois thought).

Clark let out a nervous breath, straightening as much as he could without losing character so that they weren't actually face to face, that singular inch between them sending his brain into panic mode.

“You know, Mister Kent, if it weren't for those big shots out there, I'd almost assume that you followed me here on purpose," Wayne joked quietly, his low, husky voice nearly short-circuiting Clark's brain, the two of them practically smushed together in a small storage closet. Something about Wayne's gaze seemed sharper than it was before, though, as the man studied him, sending a strange shiver down Clark's spine, "Although, usually, by this part, I would expect to have significantly less clothes on.”

“I– Wh– I would never," Clark sputtered, turning a few shades redder and immediately having to limit his voice, too. Outside, he could hear the distant steps of armed men getting further away. They were quickly overturning the Museum in search of something, the lead in the walls preventing him from seeing anything.

Clark really didn't enjoy Gotham.

Although, looking down at Wayne's face, at the small, uncharacteristic furrow forming in between his brows that somehow made him look even more handsome(objectively speaking, of course), Clark briefly thought that he could maybe find more reasons to like this city.

As soon as Wayne noticed Clark staring, however, the blinding grin was back.

“Well, I am terribly bored now. So, why don't you stay here a bit while I take a look around, yeah?”

And with that, Wayne was already sliding out the door, a panicked Clark only managing to let out a hurried “Wait!” before following, the two of them ending out in the open.

“I– I'll go with you, Mister Wayne," Clark hurried out, the billionaire's stride pausing.

Clark simply couldn't let the man go alone. As surprisingly capable as he was in these sorts of situations, he wasn't the one who was actually bulletproof.

“I know you can handle yourself, but I think we should stick together," He added, hurriedly, giving the man a reassuring smile, "For– for safety.”

“Oh, no, that will not be necessary,” Wayne laughed, the sound fake and airy, “In fact, I think you should just stay here, in this perfectly good hiding spot.”

“What– no, I can't– I can't do that. I'm not leaving you,” Clark argued, hotly, his brows knitting together in worry.

“You know, even for a reporter, you really are quite insistent, Mister Kent,” Wayne's smile was tight, the man gesturing further ahead of them, “Fine, then. Lead the way. But we better find the exit fast.”

Clark's shoulders drooped in relief, the man giving Wayne another smile before taking him up on the offer. He did make a note to keep a close eye on the man, however, still worried for his safety, as they carefully made their way through museum halls, worried about him trying to slip away while Clark wasn't looking. 

Wayne didn't really say much after that. In fact, he had actually stayed more silent than Clark would have thought, both of them sticking close to the wall and trying to keep as low of a profile as humanly (or inhumanly, in Clark's case) possible. But Bruce Wayne's heart was as steady as always. Still, worried about the man's prolonged silence, Clark whispered eventually, as he turned back to him.

“Don’t worry, Mister Wayne. I'm sure Batman is already on his way to deal with all this.”

Wayne's jaw ticked.

“Oh, I'm sure.”

The way through the winding halls of the overrun Museum was slow, Clark carefully listening for any possible adversaries.

Exept… He was definitely fumbling it (really, this museum did not have to be this big and this led lined). And even Bruce Wayne was slowly starting to get annoyed with him leading them in strange circles, his placid smile turning more and more pinched by the minute.

“Not to doubt your orientation skills, Mister Kent, but I do think we should actually take this route, if we want to find the exit," The man pointed out as Clark made them stop at another crossroads, hearing the steps of the robbers way too close for comfort, "Also, we passed this pot thrice.”

Clark let out a nervous laugh, sparing a look at said intricately carved pot.

“I– Um, yeah. Yeah, you're probably right.”

Wayne just lifted a sculpted eyebrow. Then, without waiting for Clark, he turned the corner, the exact one Clark was so unsure of, stride swift and confident. A little panicked, Clark hurried after.

“Wait-! Maybe we should go the other way, actually…" 

“Why?” Bruce looked unamused, and Clark really had to scramble for an explanation other than ‘I have superhearing’ and ‘I don't think that's a good idea’.

“It's, um– Haven't we been there already?”

“No. I'm pretty sure we haven't," Bruce dismissed as he stubbornly continued walking.

“Wait, Mister Wayne, please–"

At the end of the corridor, there was a loud crash.

Almost in sync, they moved fast, backtracking, but it was too late already, the people Clark heard dogging their footsteps closing in on them far too quickly. Wayne let out a quiet curse, one Clark was probably not supposed to hear, both of them ducking into an alcove filled with priceless artifacts. There was nowhere to hide. They were backed into a corner, footsteps of armed and probably trigger happy men fast approaching. Clark squared his jaw. He couldn't let anything happen to Bruce.

His thoughts halted as Wayne suddenly looked at him with a seriousness he'd never seen on his face before, "Get behind that column. I'm going to try and distract them, but if any of them open fire you run. Got it?”

His voice had gone low and severe, a change so dramatic it almost threw Clark for a loop. But Bruce was already turning away from him, heading towards the exit of the alcove, and in his desperation to stop him Clark grabbed onto his wrist.

“I can't let you do that!” He whispered fiercely, heart thudding at the sheer idea of Bruce in danger.

Bruce's eyes flickered dangerously.

“Let go of me.”

“No," Clark whispered. And they were quickly running out of time. He– He never had to tell anyone about this before–

“Damn it, Kent," Bruce hissed, the footsteps of men much, much closer now, but before Clark could even really process it, the loose grip he'd had on Wayne's hand was broken and he was shoved backwards with surprising force. His eyes grew wide, not expecting something like that from a billionaire, back colliding with a wall hard enough it would have probably hurt were he a normal human.

And– 

No–

Clark realized far too late what Wayne was planning to do when two men with guns finally rounded the corner. And he was already tapping into his superspeed to try and prevent it, when-

Whack.

The guns, not even having been properly raised were knocked from right out of the men's hands with a familiar well-aimed batarang, a brightly colored child vigilante knocking with force right into one of the guys, and a new, slightly older looking vigilante with a bat symbol on her chest and red hair swiftly dispatching the other guy with some well timed kicks.

It wasn't long before two teenagers landed before them, Robin even doing a showy summersault.

“Do not fear, Robin is here!” The kid proclaimed before bowing to his frozen audience.

The new, slightly taller vigilante snorted.

“And Batgirl.”

And–

What.

Apparently, the Bat had two sidekicks now, Clark's brows furrowing.

Speaking of. Where was Batman…?

“Mister Wayne," Robin acknowledged, looking between the two men curiously. Batgirl stepped forward.

“Are you two alright?” 

“Just peachy," Wayne replied with a grin, seriousness gone as if it hadn't even been there.

“It's not safe here. Please, follow us.”

Things happened way too fast after that. Batgirl and Robin swiftly herded them towards the nearest exit, having to deal with a few more goons in the way, Clark vaguely recognizing them as people working for the Penguin.

Bruce's car was already waiting for him, and Clark didn't even manage to say goodbye or thank him for everything that had happened as it sped off and Lois rushed to him, finally finding him after this whole ordeal.

Batman sure took his time arriving at the scene. Clark couldn't help but feel a little annoyed at that, especially now that he knew Batman had recruited another kid into this dangerous life. Superman and Batman were on good terms, of course, at least in terms of mutual respect and staying out of each other's business but that didn't mean Clark needed to like or approve of the man's methods.

He made a little note in his head to confront Batman about this later, when their paths would inevitably cross again.

But, as Lois spoke to him, questioning him about what he had gotten up to with Bruce Wayne, he-

He couldn't answer.

Because, in there, in that brief, reckless moment.

Wayne undeniably shielded him, again.

The image of Wayne pushing him into the wall, his beautiful, cold eyes so close was practically seared into Clark's mind, the strong scent of his cologne and the way his brows furrowed, mouth downturned in a grim line-

He turned towards his friend who must have been standing there a while with her arms crossed on her chest and an absolutely exasperated expression.

“Lois…” He let out, voice weak and mind still searching out the sound of that steady heartbeat, "I think you were right.”

He couldn't deny it any longer.

Clark was completely, hopelessly in love with Bruce Wayne.

____─ ·𖤓☾· ─____

Clark was not moping by the time Monday rolled around. The simple fact was that he was probably never going to see Bruce Wayne again. And even if he did, the impression he left probably wasn't stellar, and even Ma, after he'd confided in her about the whole fiasco, sounded apologetic about his prospects. Besides, what could Bruce Wayne ever possibly see in some mild-mannered country bumpkin reporter.

And he would have probably continued sadly typing up his new article for the rest of the workday had it not been by an unexpected voice breaking through the bullpen’s usual chatter.

“Kant! There you are. My favorite reporter." 

Clark's head whipped up so fast he wasn't sure he didn't actually tap into his superspeed by accident.

Because there Bruce Wayne was, as if summoned by thought and strolling into the Daily Planet office like he owned the place, looking absolutely devastating in a casual but probably more expensive suit and sunglasses. And when their gazes met the billionaire immediately beelined it for his desk.

Even Lois did a double take at that. Wayne just took off his sunglasses to send her a grin, the casual flick of the wrist catching them on his partially unbuttoned shirt.

“M-Mister Wayne! What are you doing here?!” Clark sputtered, feeling just as surprised as all the rest of his gawking co-workers. He tried to not deflate at the fact that Wayne had forgotten his name already. It was a known fact that the man didn't really bother with social norms like that, and even if he had an inkling that it was part of the act Clark still couldn't help feeling a tad disappointed.

“I thought I told you to call me Bruce," Bruce grinned, tone teasing even if something in his eyes flashed dangerously, "And, you know… I have just been thinking recently –”

”Don't hurt yourself doing that," Lois muttered, not even pretending to not listen in on their conversation.

“ – I don't yet own any newspapers," Bruce continued, completely ignoring her snark and casually leaning on Clark's desk. It brought Clark another whiff of his pricey cologne, Clark's supersenses going into a bit of an overdrive, “Isn't that a shame?”

Clark wasn't sure he was breathing convincingly enough at the moment.

“Y-yeah?”

“I'm an influential man, you see," Wayne continued, waving a hand vaguely in the air, "And this Daily Planet of yours – seems lovely, doesn't it? You might even say that in our short time together… You inspired me.”

His eyes swept the room, hand lifting briefly to give his other coworkers a jaunty wave and a grin. Clark was pretty sure he heard Cat’s pen snapping.

Clark was so dead. Although Bruce's intense eyes and airy smile would probably do him in first, what with how fast Clark's heart was beating.

Right. Golly, Bruce was still waiting for his response. 

“I-I don't think I should share my opinion as someone who works for the company,” Clark said, trying to not seem so flustered. He actually gave the question some thought for a moment, trying to calm his heart and think rationally about what he knew of the state of the company. The Planet certainly wasn't doing so great these days, what with how obsolete the printed medium had become in the era of the Internet. And even if it had a loyal patronage… Well… Someone like Bruce Wayne putting his weight behind it might have actually been the thing that the Planet needed. It would certainly keep it away from the greedy hands of Lex Luthor, "But… it might actually not be so bad if you were to purchase it.”

Clark's cheeks still felt hot. And maybe… Maybe it actually meant a lot to him. The fact that Bruce Wayne could do that for the Planet.

And that– And that would technically make Bruce Wayne his boss. So Clark could….

Could see him more often maybe.

Lois, behind her desk, facepalmed.

“I– Wayne Enterprises just has a great company ethic and employee benefits, is all, " Clark finished lamely, giving Bruce a shy smile.

The billionaire's face had gone unreadable, the man still looming over him in a way that made Clark fidget. In a blink, however, his smirk was back in place, eyes flicking to the screen of Clark's computer.

It was mostly blank, only a few lines of text visible, the story about Gotham Clark picked up on — definitely on accident, and not because he was thinking of… Well.

“Working on your latest exposee, I presume?”

Despite the lightness of Bruce's tone, the question felt weirdly important, Clark's heart totally not doing a flip at the man being interested in his work, "Uh– No, no. Not yet. I… I just need to gather a bit more information for that.”

“Do you, now?”

“Mister Wayne," Perry’s gruff voice came, the man sounding a little disgruntled, but definitely a lot less booming than he usually was when ordering around reporters.

Bruce Wayne finally leaned back from Clark's space, putting his hands in his pockets and sending the man one of his grins. As relieved as that made Clark, he also immediately missed the closeness.

Wayne pushed away from his desk, graceful as ever.

“Ah, how unfortunate that our time has been cut short. I'm off to discuss the acquisition, but I'll come visit you again, Clint.”

And with one final, long glance, he was gone, disappearing after Perry White in his office. His strong, steady heartbeat was still close, if Clark focused on it, reminding him that he didn't somehow hallucinate this whole interaction.

Lois’ chair squeaked as she rolled herself closer.

“Sheesh, Smallville. What did you do to piss Wayne off this badly?”

Astonished, Clark blinked at his friend.

“I– What? I pissed him off…?”

Lois just stared at him for one long, judgemental minute. Eventually, she shook her head.

“You're… Unbelievable. You know that, right?”

As soon as Bruce Wayne was out of the Daily Planet office Clark was accosted by his co-workers. Honestly, he should have probably expected that, Cat especially grilling him for all details of his and Wayne's non-existent involvement. Thankfully, Clark was able to slip away once their work day came to a close, sneakily flying off from the roof and dealing with a few emergencies on the way back to his quiet apartment.

The jacket Clark was carrying under his arm nearly slipped away from his grasp as soon as he got into the hallway leading to his apartment, his steps halting in his surprise.

Because…

Right there, on his doorstep…

There were flowers.

A beautiful, purple bouquet wrapped in sleek, dark grey covering. There was a purple, soft looking ribbon to match. But no card.

Rhododendrons, if Clark remembered correctly, his heart absolutely leaping in his chest. He hadn't even seen them in any flower shop before. It must have– It must have taken real effort to find them in Metropolis.

Clark's whole face felt like it was on fire.

And if he kept smiling to himself as he placed the bouquet in the most prominent place in his apartment… No one had to know.

____─ ·𖤓☾· ─____

It continued like that for a few days. Bruce Wayne kept on going into the Planet's office as they finalized the paperwork, usually ending up leaning on Clark's desk, or swirling idly in his chair, if he'd gotten there before him, chatting casually with his other coworkers. But this time, Bruce had managed to ambush him in the storage room, just the two of them and a bunch of shelves and cardboard boxes with office supplies, a smaller printer tucked away in a corner.

“Kant,” Bruce said, making Clark's heart jump a little and leaning on a shelf casually. It was honestly quite bizarre, seeing the man in this setting, “There you are.”

“It's Kent, Mister Wayne," Clark corrected, righting his glasses to hide his flustered reaction. By this point, it was obvious that the man kept getting his name wrong on purpose. Lois found it utterly irritating. But, after getting a glimpse of what Bruce was actually like behind the facade, Clark found it almost… Cute.

“Still not giving up on the ‘Mister’?” Wayne grinned, his tone casual, but eyes sharp as ever, “I think we know each other too well for that by now.”

The words were colored with meaning, Clark's heart speeding up a little at the memory of the flowers that were still in his apartment. And Bruce just kept on flirting with him. So… Maybe –

“Only if you call me Clark,” He said, aiming for casual.

The back of his neck felt hot as Bruce Wayne studied him, quiet, before the signature grin was back on his face.

“Clark it is, then.” He agreed, easily, the sound of his name on those lips making something inside Clark feel all gooey and soft. He hurried to pick up the supplies he had come here for, not wanting any of his co-workers to speculate about what they'd been doing in the storage room, only managing to fumble and nearly topple the messy stacks of office supplies that were on the shelf, only for a hand to suddenly shoot past him, preventing the heavy box from falling.

Clark froze.

Casually, Bruce pushed the object back into place, his hand going right over Clark's shoulder.

Slowly, Clark turned, Bruce, again, standing close, atmosphere wrought with tension in the small room. The billionaire was practically boxing him in, Clark's hunched shoulders allowing for them to be nearly eye to eye, and his heart hammered, eyes tracing the lines of Bruce's face, before–

Clark's brows furrowed, eyes snapping to Bruce's in concern.

“You should rest more.”

It slipped out almost without his permission, making Bruce blink in confusion. Clark's face had gotten noticeably redder, and he averted his eyes, trying to explain himself.

“It's– It's just, you look tired– Like you don't get much sleep…”

Bruce always looked like that, to Clark, the touches of makeup not really hiding the tightness in the creases of his eyes or the darker than normal eyebags from him. But today, the exhaustion was especially apparent on his face, eyes more sunken and heart rate slightly elevated, now that Clark was listening for it.

Immediately, Wayne's hand dropped from the shelf beside Clark's head, something strange passing over his face.

“Oh, trust me, I get plenty of rest whenever I want to,” He dismissed, Clark opening his mouth to say something, worry gripping his heart, but light footsteps from the corridor interrupted his thoughts.

The door to the storage room opened, revealing someone Clark did not at all think he'll see here. Because there, in the door, Richard Grayson stood, his blue eyes immediately snapping to those of his legal guardian.

“B!” The kid said, Bruce also seeming surprised at his sudden appearance, because he'd stepped forward immediately, brows furrowing.

“Dick?..” He asked, looking the kid over with a parental kind of worry that squeezed at Clark's chest, “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you. You've been spending a lot of time in Metropolis lately,” The kid said, sending Clark a curious, surprisingly perceptive glance, “You didn't tell me you were visiting the Daily Planet?”

It was at that moment that a harried Jimmy appeared behind Dick, with a “Holy– You're fast, kid– Oh– Hello again, Mister Wayne, uh– Sorry, when I told him where you were he just ran ahead.”

“Hello, Jimmy. Thank you for bringing him here.”

Wayne gave him a brief smile before turning back to Dick.

“I'll get Alfred to send you back.” He said, already fishing his phone out of his pocket.

“What? No– you can't! Whatever it is, you know I can hel–” Dick cut himself off, brows furrowing as he looked towards Clark again. This time, Bruce's smile was tight.

“It's okay, chum. We will talk about this later when I get home. I promise.”

“..Okay.” Dick agreed, Clark just standing there as Bruce shot him another brief glance over his shoulder, thinking that he was missing something.

“Clark,” Bruce acknowledged, something in his gaze steely as he gently steered Dick out before dialing a number – probably his butler. Still lost in thought, Clark's hearing only picked up the distant end of the conversation.

“It's fine, Alfred. I'll just walk back to the hotel room.”

____─ ·𖤓☾· ─____

Metropolis was usually pretty sunny, but by the time Clark's work day ended the sky was covered in heavy, dark clouds, a light drizzle of rain already starting to fall.

All day Clark couldn't get that interaction between Bruce and his ward out of his mind, something in him being sure that things were not right here. Lois insisted he just finally talk to Wayne, and maybe she was right. Whatever happened, he couldn't leave things as they were. But suddenly, it was as if Wayne had just disappeared again, Clark only catching a brief glimpse of him as he was packing his stuff.

“Yeah, Mister Wayne just left.”

Clark nodded towards Rachel who was working at the reception that day, before hurrying out after the man, his mind replaying what he'd overheard Bruce say to his butler.

In mere seconds, the light rain turned into a real downpour, Clark's hands and hunched shoulders barely shielding him from the onslaught, the streets of Metropolis a lot more empty than usual as even those with umbrellas hurried to find cover due to the strong winds. And maybe it was cheating, but Clark couldn't help but listen out for that same, steady heartbeat before he'd finally caught up to a lone figure, catching it quickly ducking under a walkway bridge.

“Bruce–” 

Bruce's shoulders tensed, fractionally, before he turned, Clark finally allowing himself to slow as they both ended up somewhat shielded from the raging weather. Outside, the deluge had only gotten stronger.

Bruce was drenched. His dark, usually neatly styled hair now clung to his forehead, small rivulets of water running down his face from it until he pushed it away, steely eyes watching Clark with a shiver-worthy intensity. The light make-up he'd had on before smudged, revealing the dark circles under his eyes and only adding to the ferocity of his gaze. Not that Clark himself was much better, his cheeks heating a little from embarrassment as he rubbed a hand over his glasses, careful to not make them slip from his face.

“Clark,” Bruce said, toneless, and the sheer whiplash of him finally dropping the Bruce Wayne persona made Clark want to fidget, the atmosphere growing all the intenser for it. There was a silent question hanging in the air, Bruce's eyes skidding briefly over their surroundings before returning to him, as if checking for something.

“I'm sorry, I–” Clark started, unsure where he was really going with this, “I just wanted to talk to you.”

Bruce stayed silent, but the incline of his head was answer enough, Clark still trying to parse through everything that had happened, all the mixed signals, and Dick Grayson's appearance and worry, and–

Clark's breath caught, realization feeling colder than the wind near the Fortress.

For a moment, it was just silence and the sounds of the pouring rain.

“You were… threatening me, weren't you..?”

The question came out almost soft. He'd been– He'd been such an idiot, this whole time, a mix of disappointment at the fact that Bruce didn't actually like him like that and himself for getting it all wrong and making both Bruce and his family worry hitting Clark hard.

Of course– Of course Bruce didn't craft this whole facade without a purpose, having maintained it for years, and, worst of all, having it all uncovered by some random reporter…

“I didn't mean to learn your secret," Clark breathed, looking into Bruce's eyes. 

His chest felt tight.

Blankly, Bruce studied his face, before taking a step closer, icy blue eyes that Clark couldn't stop thinking about for a while never leaving his face.

“But what are you going to do with it?” He asked, the timbre of his voice low and making involuntary goosebumps break out on Clark's skin. He'd only heard Bruce sound like that once. When they'd been caught off guard by the robbers at the museum.

“I– I… Bruce…” 

Bruce was too close. Too close, and too attractive, and too real, Clark's head spinning with it.

“What is it that you want, Clark?”

Bruce asked, and under the low, pleasant rumble of his voice… Something was tired.

“Name your price. Ten million? Hundred? A billion?”

It snapped Clark straight back to reality, his shoulders straightening.

“What?! I– I don't want your money, Bruce.” He sputtered, alarmed. Bruce's lips only tightened, eyes narrowing as they continued to study the other man's face.

Just a few steps away from them, the rain was still pouring down, with seemingly no intention of stopping any time soon, the water rushing through the street and into the drains next to the pavement.

“Then what do you want?..” Bruce asked, stepping even closer, the space practically no longer existent between them. Bruce briefly looked down, his hand coming up to rest at Clark's lapel and taking the other man's breath away. His other hand moved to unbutton the top buttons of his own collar, baring his pale collar bones.

Traitorously, Clark's eyes moved from it to Bruce's lips, even as his brain struggled to catch up with the intensity that was Bruce Wayne.

“..My body?” Bruce asked, lowly, with that same, quiet intensity and Clark jolted, hands immediately coming to grip at Bruce's own, stilling them.

“Jesus– No, no, Bruce– Please, I don't– I don't want that!” Clark blurted, face crimson and fully alarmed now, his brows creasing in worry at just how far Bruce was willing to go to keep his secrets.

Bruce's lips pulled downwards.

“But you're attracted to me,” He pointed out, Clark frantically willing his face to not get even redder. 

“I… Yes,” He managed to get out, mind spinning for answers as to how he could get Bruce to trust him now, despite everything, “But I would never ask that from you or from anyone like that, Bruce. Never.”

His hands gently squeezed Bruce's own, a spark of anger flaring in the other man's eyes.

“This isn't about me, Kent.” He snapped, Clark almost feeling taken aback as Bruce broke the gentle hold he had had on his hands. Bruce's jaw tensed “There are others who–” 

Bruce cut himself off, closing his eyes and stepping back. The soft way he'd addressed Dick with flashed in Clark's mind, the way he'd called Alfred, and this time, it was Clark that rushed forward, clutching at the other man's wrist and making Bruce look back at him.

“I'm so sorry,” He hurried to get out, “It’s all my fault. I should have made it more clear that I was never going to tell anyone.”

And Clark couldn't blame Bruce for the sceptical way the other man regarded him with. And maybe– Maybe Lois was right, and Clark just needed to honestly get it all out.

“I… You might not believe me, but I.. I know what it's like having to hide who you really are. And how necessary it can be, to protect the ones closest to you…” He said, pushing past the fear of skidding too close to the topic of Superman.

“I would never want to take that away from anyone.”

He finished, trying to convey as much sincerity as he could. The rain continued on drumming its unknowable rhythm just a few steps away from their shoes. Bruce was silent. And, well, if this was time for confessions… Clark swallowed.

“We've…” He started again, looking back up to the man's face. “You might not remember it, but after Luthor hosted that event last month… At the cafe you– You shielded me. You didn't have to put yourself in the line of fire like that. But you did. I…”

Clark's heart was hammering, Bruce's mouth opening silently as he listened.

“That was when I–”

I fell for you.

It was true. It was something so small, and yet… Ever since then, Clark had only fallen deeper and deeper in love with this beautiful, contradictory man.

“I like you, Bruce.”

He confessed, Bruce's eyes studying his expression wordlessly before he let out a quiet breath, closing his eyes.

“Everything in me is telling me I shouldn't, but…” Bruce said, his voice quiet.

He opened his eyes.

“...I trust you.”

They were close again. Clark didn't actually notice when that happened, his hand still holding onto Bruce's.

And they just looked at each other, standing in this alcove almost as if shielded from the rest of the world by a wall of water, before Bruce's eyes flicked down towards his mouth and back up to his eyes. His dark lashes fluttered and Clark's breath caught in his throat as he listened to that steady heart speed up to the rhythm of his own–

Unconsciously, Clark leaned in a little–

Only for a car to suddenly whizz by, splashing water under their feet and jolting them both out of it, Bruce's hand once again breaking his tightened hold, the man straightening and righting the cuffs of his still wet clothes.

“I should go,” He said, avoiding Clark's eye, “My hotel isn't actually far from here.”

And Clark had never felt more like a bucket of liquid ice had been poured out on him as Bruce turned, intent on braving the rain yet again.

“Wait– Bruce!” Was the only thing he'd gotten out before the man was already gone, leaving Clark to stare at a spot where the other just stood.

Clark looked at his empty hand, eyes wide and heart still beating wildly in his chest.

Because…

Because he almost kissed Bruce.

And Bruce– He almost let him.

____─ ·𖤓☾· ─____

Clark no longer saw Bruce around the office.

From what he knew, the paperwork had gone through, and Bruce Wayne now practically owned the Daily Planet, even if no actual changes to this leadership were felt. It was typical practice for Wayne Industries, but Lois still remarked on how strange it was of Wayne to just buy it and do nothing, especially with how he paraded around the office prior. Her gaze seemed to imply something, but Clark was far too anxious about everything that happened and what this absence meant now. And yet, time passed.

With no sign of Bruce.

He could still see the tabloids, and what the man was up to in Gotham, but the billionaire never seeked him out, making Clark deflate completely.

And he was worried. He could admit that to himself, now. Worried about Bruce and his wellbeing, about how he and his kid were doing. And while Superman could freely fly over to Gotham, Clark Kent simply couldn't, not without a good reason.

Thankfully, Lois was there, and she was simply the best.

“Here, Smallville,” Lois said, shoving a paper in front of his face on that day, Clark dazedly blinking at it before lifting his head to look at her.

The paper was waved more insistently in front of him, Clark bumbling to grab it, brows furrowing.

“Um..” Clark said, confusion apparent on his face at a neat looking embossed envelope, probably an invitation to some event or something. He resisted the urge to X-ray it, “Thank you? What is this?”

Perry didn't usually assign him any fancy events, outside of his field. But maybe, in his distracted state lately he'd missed something.

“Read it.”

Sceptically, Clark followed her instructions, eyes widening as he took in the address.

His head snapped up.

“This is– How did you…”

Lois was already smirking down at him knowingly.

It was an invitation to a Wayne Gala. At Wayne Manor.

Usually, reporters weren't allowed there; heck, not many of these were held at all since Bruce was little, but this invitation… It allowed Clark to attend despite it.

“Had to sell my soul to Cat so she could get it,” Lois explained, huffing and pointedly crossing her arms over her chest, “You owe me big for this one.”

Clark's grin was big and blinding.

“Hey, maybe all she'll ask for is a date at a fancy restaurant,” He teased, Lois nearly smacking him with said envelope over the head for that little comment. Tellingly, her cheeks heated a little, gaze briefly checking that Cat wasn't anywhere near the vicinity.

Honestly, Clark found whatever she and Cat had going pretty cute.

Still, when he dodged her wrath, his smile turned softer and more grateful.

“Thank you. Thank you so much, Lo. You're the best.” He said, earnest, and she smiled back gently.

“Oh I know,” Lois teased, still, “Now go get your billionaire.”

Clark's cheeks heated.

“He's not my… We're not. Like that.”

Clark had told her before (with a lot of redactions for Bruce's sake, of course) about what happened between them, and clearly, despite him insisting that Bruce probably didn't feel the same she'd come to her own conclusions.

Lois just grinned, this definitely being payback for the Cat comment. She patted him on the back.

“Well, you better start thinking about what to wear. Can't show to a Wayne Gala in one of your usual suits.”

____─ ·𖤓☾· ─____

The tuxedo he hurriedly rented at a way too high price was a little uncomfortable, Clark far too used to his normal, oversized suits and pants. Still, compared to most guests he felt vastly underdressed, the rich and famous of Gotham and neighbouring cities mingling in-between themselves. Clark's eyes also picked up a few other prominent figures, like the Mayor, a few of the Martha Wayne foundation workers and the police commissioner.

He'd gotten here just a little late, having to rush it after work and simply flying over the Bay to get here faster, hair still a little wild and windswept. And maybe– Maybe this wasn't the best idea, but it was his only chance to really speak to Bruce Wayne if the man was set on avoiding him now. His eyes scanned the crowd for those familiar dark locks and broad shoulders until he'd finally caught them.

In the distance, he could see Bruce, looking as perfect and untouchable as always and talking to some important people.

His heart squeezed, even as he'd already started pushing through the crowd, with no real plan, just a desperation to talk to him, to not leave things as they were.

“Oh, sorry–” Clark said, nearly stumbling into a kid who was also rushing through the crowd somewhere, only for that kid to stop and look at him, both of them recognizing each other.

Dick Grayson stared up at Clark, squinting his eyes slightly.

“You're that reporter,” He said, and Clark smiled slightly, unsure of what to say before a voice called out questioningly:

“Dick?” 

A ginger haired girl, just a few paces away from them, turned, Dick simply flashing Clark a big smile before darting after her, something in the picture of the two of them vaguely familiar. For a few moments, Clark just stared, before remembering himself.

Of course the brief interruption was enough for Bruce to disappear, Clark having to reach out his hearing to search for that familiar heartbeat in this sea of noise. And still, as he made his way through the crowd and to a balcony, having to dodge some awkward questions and insinuations from a few people along the way, he couldn't help feeling more and more nervous, unsure of if what he was doing was right.

That is, until he'd caught wind of the conversation.

“You looked like you could use another drink,” Some guy murmured, Clark's hearing picking it out amongst many other voices because it sounded close to Bruce, a quick x-ray scan confirming that the man did indeed follow him out to a balcony.

Bruce grinned at him, Clark clocking it as one of his fake ones, because it was far too bright and camera ready. He was leaning on the railing, clearly having gone there to step away from the party for one moment.

“Thank you, but I think I've had enough of those for the evening. If I get any more drunk tonight I think my butler might rip me a new one. Gotta keep up appearances at my own party, you see,” Bruce joked, breezy and dismissive, but the guy next to him didn't seem like he clocked that at all, or really cared to, because he didn't relent.

“Oh, come on, it's not like a few more wouldn't hurt. And besides, don't you want to let loose a little? Have some fun?” He stepped closer to Bruce, trying to loom over him despite being slightly shorter and making his voice go all low and suggestive, "I can certainly show you a good time.”

“Not tonight, I'm afraid.”

“Oh, don't play coy,” The guy pushed further, and Clark could practically smell the alcohol on his breath, even from all the way over here, “Why else would you go all the way out here if not to make yourself available?” 

Briefly, something steely flashed in Bruce's eyes, but he just kept on smiling politely, and Clark's brows drew together, mouth thinning as he finally reached the doors to the balcony, startling the pushy man.

After giving Clark a brief glance, however, he seemed to dismiss him, based on his cheap shoes and rented tux.

“Leave. Me and Bruce were actually in the middle of something here–”

“I'm Clark Kent,” Clark interrupted, righting his glasses and willing his eyes not to flash red. He strode further, ending up next to Bruce and the guy who took an involuntary step back, “From the Daily Planet. And I'm here to ask Mister Wayne questions about today's event. That is, if you wouldn't want to be the one to give me an interview about your business dealings instead?”

The guy's anger flared at the subtle threat, eyes narrowing.

“I thought press weren't allowed at these events,” He spat, Clark already preparing some comeback when an arm suddenly looped under his own, Bruce's face grinning up at him before the man turned to the pushy rich guy.

“Oh, I just had to make an exception for Clarkie over here,” He said, making his tone light and vapid, “I recently acquired the Daily Planet you see. Always good to keep up with the papers.”

Clarkie..?

Clark's heart sped up slightly as Bruce leaned into him, the man before them dumbstruck enough to simply open and close his mouth like a fish.

“Now, what was it you wanted to ask, Clarkie?” Bruce teetered, the full force of his act making Clark blush, completely forgetting about the other guy who simply shut his jaw tightly before retreating back into the ballroom, muttering something unpleasant under his breath.

Not even a few seconds later, when the doors finally swung closed again, Bruce's hands were off of him, Clark almost immediately missing the closeness.

“Gonna have to cross him off future guest lists,” Bruce muttered, and it almost– Almost sounded like a dry joke, Clark's mouth opening in surprise before their eyes met, calm icy blues meeting his own.

And, just like always, Clark's breath caught, Bruce always managing to make him feel like this. Said man's eyes lingered, travelling down his body and tracing the lines of his suit appreciatively.

Just to give himself something to do, Clark looked to the side, nearly tweedeling his arms before finding that glass that the pushy rich gut set down, reaching for it and ‘accidentally’ making it tumble off and straight into the bush.

“Oh, um– Oops. How clumsy of me,” Clark said, righting his glasses again, and Bruce's lips twitched.

“That drink wasn’t spiked. And besides, even if it was I would have probably been practically immune to it anyway,” Bruce said, all too casually, a million questions immediately running through Clark's head. Of course he knew it wasn't; if it was he'd be able to smell it, but…

“Also, Alfred will probably make me pick that up,” Bruce finished, looking down over the railing, and Clark immediately felt apologetic.

“I'm sorry– I mean, I can– I can go pick that up right now, if–”

“Clark.”

Clark snapped at attention, the other man looking straight at him.

“What are you doing here?” Bruce asked, his voice serious, and Clark stood straighter, one hand still resting lightly on the railing.

“I just.. I wanted to talk, and I couldn't exactly just show up somewhere I know you'd be without it– Seeming weird,” He said, earnestly, Bruce's calculating gaze making him feel a little warm despite the cold evening breeze.

“Not here,” Bruce finally said, in a lieu of agreement and already turning to the balcony doors, “Follow me.”

____─ ·𖤓☾· ─____

The office Bruce led him to was located far from anywhere guests were allowed to roam, secluded and quiet, Clark noticing the way Bruce's shoulders seemingly eased as they stepped in. It was bright, and somehow almost warm despite the grand and gothic aesthetic, some personal items sparsely scattered throughout and old looking books lining the shelves.

Bruce stopped by the desk, leaning his back on it and crossing his arms over his chest lightly, his eyes following Clark as he slowly stepped through the space, feeling a little like he'd been accepted into some sort of sanctuary. 

“Drink?” Bruce asked, his voice back to its natural, low timbers, all facades discarded.

“No, thank you.” Clark smiled, feeling a bit of that same strange tension from before creep between them again, “I don't really drink.”

Acceptingly, Bruce just nodded.

“What did you want to talk about?” He asked, a tad careful, and Clark had to let out a little breath to not have his mind spin at the memory of that almost kiss.

“I… It feels like we didn't actually talk about anything last time.” He admitted, earnestly. Everything had been too abrupt, too emotional, and, well– And maybe a bit like a scene from a romantic movie, ones Clark definitely did not watch. Much.

“Do you have questions?” Bruce said, something in his eyes intense again. Clark smiled.

I– Yes, I do, lots, but I also wanted to say sorry again, for making you worry that I would blackmail you with what I had.”

It's been something that was constantly on his mind. Too many misunderstandings, too many assumptions. Even as something felt like it almost started sparking between them. Although that might have been wishful thinking on his part.

“I've… had a lot of time to think about everything and I'm– I'm sorry. I know I got in your way, and made your son worry, without ever intending to.” He confessed, Bruce just watching him skeptically for one long moment before sighing.

“...You really are just that nice, aren't you.”

It wasn't really a question. Clark blinked, not entirely sure where it came from.

“Um..? Thank you..?” He asked, smiling, and at his unsureness, Bruce looked amused, although behind those eyes it was as if gears were spinning. His eyes, again, roamed the planes of Clark's body, making the other man fluster.

“There are just some things I haven't been able to figure out about you.” Bruce said, apropos of nothing, gaze lifting back up to his face, “Those glasses aren't prescription, are they?” 

Clark hesitated.

And somehow, in front of Bruce, it felt almost like confirmation.

“No, I wear them mostly because my eyes are screen sensitive.”

“And your workday today ended at five,” Bruce pressed, before standing and slowly walking over towards Clark, his traitorous heart speeding up yet again as Bruce's arm slowly reached out for the glasses–

Clark caught his wrist, panicking a little internally, because this was– No, surely–

Bruce's eyes widened, before narrowing.

“... You're Superman.” He breathed out in realization, the words falling heavily between them.

For a moment, Clark's heart stopped. His first instinct was to deny it, ask Bruce not to tell anyone, not to think of him differently– But, instead of reacting how Clark thought he would, Bruce’s brows drew together, and he let out a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly.

Clark blinked.

“Why didn't you just tell me? All this time… All this time I thought–” Bruce asked, incredulous, Clark a little too dumbfounded to speak for a moment.

His face was slowly reddening again, under Bruce's annoyed stare, and, well, at least… At least it didn't seem to change anything…?

“..Sorry?” Clark tried, Bruce actually rolling his eyes at him, before suddenly tugging Clark down by his tie, Bruce's soft lips meeting him in a ferocious, slightly angry kiss.

The surprised sound Clark let out was probably very not Superman-like, Bruce seeming to absolutely not care as he kissed Clark within an inch of his alien life, the playboy's skills admittedly making Clark practically melt into it.

Not knowing what to do with his hands for a second, Clark hesitated before really leaning into it, eventually letting them settle on Bruce's perfect hips, an encouraging sound from the other making him grip tighter.

After a minute or so, the kiss turned softer, Bruce slowing down to match Clark's rhythm. The billionaire was a lot less breathless than Clark would have liked despite them kissing for a long time, and with a wave of courage rolling over him, he dived down again, recapturing his lips and hoisting one of his legs up his own body, finally letting the floodgates of all of his own pent up emotions loose.

Bruce let out a groan, his hands winding around Clark's neck and tangling in his curls.

After one final nip to his bottom lip Bruce finally moved away, Clark dazedly looking at his beautiful, disheveled form.

Clark could feel his own cheeks heating again.

“I– That was…” He was quickly growing redder by the second, none of this feeling real.

“Will you go out with me?” Clark blurted, Bruce looking at him with surprise for a moment before letting out a low chuckle and dropping his tired head on his shoulder. Clark realized he'd still been hoisting Bruce's leg half up his body, and he slowly lowered it to the ground, resettling his hands in a more comfortable, dance-like position. Bruce didn't seem like he would let go of him any time soon, Clark's chest feeling so full and warm it could burst with affection.

“I guess I’ll allow it, boyscout,” Bruce said, lifting his head up to glance at him again, a small, incredibly beautiful smirk on his face, and Clark couldn't help feeling incredibly giddy, especially as he pulled Bruce in for another, significantly softer kiss.

____─ ·𖤓☾· ─____

Needless to say, Clark was practically on cloud nine. He and Bruce had been dating for only three weeks, but he'd never been so comfortable with anyone in his life, especially with Bruce now knowing that he was Superman. It also made things easy when either of them wanted to see each other, Clark zipping by to the Manor or Bruce's office for a cute little lunch date. But Bruce had also gone out of his way to show up for Clark, surprise visiting him in Metropolis a few times and making himself pretty comfortable in Clark's small apartment.

Even if Clark initially almost assumed that he was being robbed.

They hadn't really told any of their friends or families yet, deciding to keep things simple, but with a monthly anniversary of the start of their dating nearing, Clark couldn't wait to tell Ma and Pa about his perfect, slightly grumpy, incredibly cute and intelligent boyfriend, who seemingly knew almost everything from how to pick a lock (okay, Clark may still not have entirely gotten over the whole breaking into his apartment thing) to a ton of different languages and random science facts. 

Lois probably knew. Of course she did, what with how Clark was practically beaming walking around the office even if it confused poor Jimmy.

Bruce said that Alfred – his kind-of-not-really dad-butler, – and Dick also probably strongly suspected something, since they both knew him well. He even casually mentioned that at least Dick wasn't at the stage of trying to simply bug or follow him to find out for sure yet, which Clark found both cute and alarming. But, admittedly, Bruce's family sounded incredible. Clark both felt incredibly nervous and excited to meet them soon in an official capacity.

Obviously, there was also the issue of the media storm that would come as soon as Bruce Wayne officially revealed that he was off the market, but so far, they'd managed to keep a low profile with everything, Clark using his superhuman abilities and Bruce his preternatural perceptiveness and stealth that the man insisted were entirely natural.

And slowly, Clark learned more and more about the real Bruce Wayne, everything about him so much more than he could have ever imagined, and yet the knowledge never being enough.

He felt like he could dedicate his whole life to just learning about Bruce. About how the man's nose wrinkled at the way Clark added too much sugar to his coffee or wore that tie he disliked, or how he looked when forced to relax and swaddled in blankets, or the perfect tilt of his lips when he felt actual, real amusement.

Bruce was also always incredibly understanding of any Superman business, something Clark really appreciated.

And he also was a bit of a jerk who kept making fun of Clark when he finally found Clark's admittedly embarrassing Bruce Wayne collection, from all of the pictures he'd gathered and saved to the printed out news coverage and magazines, and even a knock off mug that Clark desperately tried to hide the first time Bruce ended up in his apartment. But it was okay, too, because Bruce kissed Clark better each time, afterwards.

They were currently cuddling on Clark's tiny couch, after another home date, which Clark thought privately of as being his favorites.

It took Bruce a bit to fully relax into Clark's apartment, like he did at the Manor, something about him always trying to stay vigilant, but when he finally did, Clark saw the most precious and calmly warm and honest version of Bruce; one that occasionally demanded Clark kiss him and was pretty receptive to Clark's usual sappiness and need for cuddles.

Clark's hand tightened on Bruce's back, his heart full as Bruce wordlessly moved even closer, Clark leaning in to brush a kiss into the other man's hair, the familiar scent of his shampoo light and pleasant. On the tv screen, credits were rolling, the two almost halfway through their Gray Ghost marathon.

Bruce never really stayed the night before, always citing that he was busy, so Clark was especially happy that they'd finally gotten to spend it like this, with Bruce actually resting beside him. Rao knew Bruce needed more of that.

“Comfortable..?” He asked, Bruce only grunting in response and making Clark smile.

After a moment, Bruce finally lifted his head off Clark's shoulder, eyes already half-lidded as he leaned in to brush a chaste kiss on Clark's lips, Clark soon leaning in for another and another.

In the quiet, they just breathed together, content to just sit in each other's presence, until Bruce's eyes finally pulled back to the screen, the man retaking his spot on Clark's shoulder.

There were exactly three words Clark wanted to say at moments like this. But he couldn't. Not yet, at least, for fear of spooking his somewhat flighty boyfriend.

“I still never figured it out.” Bruce said, quiet and contemplative like he sometimes got, now that the opening of the show started playing.

“Why Grey Ghost comes to the conclusion that the victim was the killer in the next episode?” Clark asked, rubbing small circles into Bruce's back, the man leaning into it appreciatively.

“No, not that,” Bruce said, much to his surprise, “I've thought about all our interactions since we met as Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent in that cafe. Everything I did and said, and from then onwards. But I can't figure out why you knew. There are so many alternative explanations to Bruce Wayne being somewhat competent in an armed robbery.”

Despite Clark always finding it funny when Bruce would talk about his persona in third person, his cheeks heated. Because… Because he still didn't tell Bruce about the whole listening to his heart thing, especially now when it's become something that he'd relied, maybe even depended on for comfort. One of his most favorite sounds.

But Bruce turned to him again, getting out of Clark's loose hold a little, to direct his icy blue gaze towards him.

“How did you know I was Batman?” He asked, casual. And–

And Clark's brain seemed to have screeched to a halt, like an old record.

“Wait, you're what–”