Chapter Text
Not so Merry and Bright: Annual Wayne Gala Broken up by Police
By Clark J. Kent
What started as the event of the season ended in an unusual way this Christmas Eve--and possibly generated more buzz than any of the previous years. The event, held this year at the Gotham Ritz-Carlton, did not end in gifts and fireworks, but rather came to an abrupt halt due to police presence. Lex Luthor, CEO of LexCorp, was taken in by GCPD for questioning regarding the kidnapping of one Tony Spina. Luthor declined to comment on the situation, but no charges have been laid at this time and a statement by a spokesperson from LexCorp says that Luthor “fully intends to cooperate with police in any way possible”.
When asked about the intrusion into his famous party, Bruce Wayne only shrugged. “Truth be told, I missed all the commotion,” said Wayne, “I didn’t even see them drag [Luthor] away.” Wayne also stressed that, while he was disappointed the party came to an unexpected end, he understands that the safety of Gotham and the people must come first.
“Are you rereading that article again?” Clark asked, his voice lightly teasing.
Bruce shoved down the paper. “No. I’m reading the sports column.”
Across the room, Clark rolled his eyes. “Right, right. Because Lombard is such a riveting writer.”
“He’s not bad.”
“Who won the hockey game that night?”
Bruce pressed his lips into a line. Honestly, he didn’t even know what teams were playing in the latest match. “The Flyers.”
“There wasn’t a game last night, B.” Clark smiled--his grin was smug and cocky and warm all at the same time. His smile alone was enough to drive Bruce crazy. And now he was sitting there, in Bruce’s room, with his dark hair loose in messy waves, wrapped only in Bruce’s old plaid bathrobe. It would be the death of Bruce, he swore.
Bruce felt his cheeks warm lightly now that he was caught out. “I think the article is great,” he admitted. “I mean, it’s a great plan. It’s your article talking about my party. Luthor can’t come for either of us without seeming bitter. People will dismiss his comments as petty revenge.”
Clark nodded once. “And it makes it all the sweeter that he walked into this all by himself. I mean, if he just stayed clear we never would have known. Everything would’ve blown up in our faces.”
At the thought of that, Bruce grimaced. “Luthor’s always thought he’s too clever for his own good. He couldn’t resist playing around with us. He was probably just waiting for someone to get the twitter notification that Superman had murdered a criminal in cold blood.”
“Hmm.”
“We might’ve figured it out,” Bruce said. “In the end.”
Clark laughed. “If the last few weeks have proved anything, it’s that the title of ‘World’s Greatest Detective’ is up for grabs.”
Bruce rolled his eyes. “And I thought you were supposed to be an investigative reporter, but you couldn’t tell I thought you were two different people.”
Clark gave an empty chuckle, but his face was turned down in a dark frown. “Someone could’ve died because we couldn’t figure our shit out,” he whispered.
“But he didn’t.” Bruce walked up to Clark and sat next to him on the sofa. In the soft morning light, his skin glowed. Bruce reached up and ran the back of his hand over Clark’s cheek. “Clark. It didn’t happen.” He cupped his face and leaned forward. Their foreheads pressed together. In the silence, he could hear Clark’s heart thumping in rhythm with his own. “We’re okay.”
Clark took Bruce’s hand and squeezed it. He pulled his head back from Bruce and frowned, a line wrought into the crease of his forehead. “There’s something else--another plan--I’ve been thinking about.”
“Yeah?”
“This is going to happen again. It might not be Luthor, and it might not even be us, but someone out there is going to try and destroy the public’s trust in heroes overall.” He leaned back slightly and sighed.
Bruce paused. He let his hands drop to his lap. The thought had more than crossed his mind--it had been keeping him up for the days since the gala. “I’ve thought the same,” he admitted. Logically, he knew he should’ve brought it up sooner. He should have grabbed Clark by the hand and hauled him into the cave on Christmas morning so they could lay down plans for the future.
But, selfishly, Bruce hadn’t.
Instead, he’d stumbled into the dark of his bedroom with Clark. And after Clark had returned from Christmas dinner in Smallville, they’d stumbled into his apartment. And then the fortress. And then the cave, but for an entirely non-planning related reason.
In the haze of the days between Christmas and New Year's, Bruce didn’t want to think about reality. He wanted to stay drunk off Clark’s warm scent and fiery kisses. He wanted Clark’s hands wrapped around his body. He wanted the flex of hard muscles and that throaty laughter and the graze of Clark’s fingers against Bruce’s jaw.
Bruce took in all of Clark. All of him. Here he was--the alien and the farmboy and the reporter. And here he was, sitting in Bruce’s bedroom on New Year’s morning. He wanted, once more, to let himself drift away with Clark, completely detached from reality.
But, here Clark was, thinking of the future. And--for a few moments--Bruce knew he had to swallow his wants. There were people who needed them.
“So,” Bruce continued, “what’s your big plan?”
Clark looked down slightly. “We need to be ahead of the people trying to divide us. And, yes, I mean us us, but I also mean the other heroes too. The Flash and the Lantern and Wonder Woman.
“I think we need to start a league.” Clark raised his chin and met Bruce’s eyes. While Bruce always thought of Clark’s eyes as warm, in this moment they burned.
Bruce ignited.
How could he have missed out on everything that was in front of him the whole time? Seeing Clark like this, now.... Bruce didn’t understand how he ever could have assumed he had ill intentions.
“You’re right, of course,” he said. He ran his hand up the hard plains of Clark’s muscled chest. Bruce leaned in close and whispered in his ear, “we need to stop playing games.”
Clark’s hand ran through Bruce’s hair. Bruce couldn’t be sure who moved first, but the next moment he was tangled up in Clark, wrapped in his arms, and burning with every touch. He pulled Clark’s lip in his teeth and smiled with satisfaction as Superman twitched.
“Happy New Year,” Bruce whispered, “Kent.”
“Happy New Year,” Clark said in a low tone, “ Mr. Wayne .”
Bruce, in spite of himself, grinned like a kid. The sun flooded the room and the snow blew against the glass and they stayed there, together, wrapped in each other’s warmth.
The truth of it all was this: as much as Bruce wanted Clark, he needed him too. He didn’t know what lay on the horizon--the world, he suspected, would always doubt heroes on some level. There were threats that lurked in space and threats that lurked in their own cities. But now, with Clark as his partner, he was certain that they could face whatever the world would throw at them. Together.
So , Bruce thought, bring it on.