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“You remember Clark, Lex,” Bruce said as they were seated, flicking a hand at his companion.
Lex didn’t remember Clark, and he didn’t make an attempt to. He noted the cheap plaid shirt and wrinkled khakis. Not Bruce’s usual type, though the man’s tastes tended to be somewhat mercurial.
“Pleasure to meet you,” Lex said, reaching his hand across the table. Clark shook it once, inquisitive eyes meeting his from behind a bulky pair of glasses.
The rooftop was caught in the very last minutes of the golden hour, cooled significantly from the day’s surprising heat. They were eating al fresco on top of one of Bruce’s known haunts, ushered away from prying eyes (and ears) several stories above Gotham’s smog.
“Clark is a journalist. He wrote a few articles on your recent pet project,” Bruce said, leaning back into his chair. “That green energy thing? I think he interviewed your director of communications last week, actually. The one with the funny beard?”
Lex went still, recalling the article. One Clark Kent from the Daily Planet had, in fact, eviscerated his top comms professional in plain, factual prose on the fourth page of the Friday paper.
“So you’re the brains of this whole operation,” Lex said, turning the likely intentional slight into a lighthearted jab at Bruce. Across the table, Clark’s lips quirked with good humor.
“I don’t know about that,” the journalist said, glancing at Bruce out of the corner of his eye. His eyes softened. “Sometimes I certainly like to think so.”
Well. Lex wasn’t going to get into whatever sex fantasy that was clearly about. If Bruce wanted to play at being intelligent in bed, that wasn’t his business. It was almost kind of adorable, if he thought about it. Brucie playing at Bruce.
“I wouldn’t want to bore you with our shop talk,” Lex said, pasting on a smile he didn’t quite feel. “I’m sure Bruce can let you go for one night. It might get a little tedious, all these details.”
“Clark is here for my benefit,” Bruce practically purred, raising an eyebrow at Lex. “You know how I forget things sometimes, Lex. I want to make sure everything we discuss is…accurate.”
A challenge, then. Lex had nothing to hide. At least, not from Bruce.
“Off the record,” Lex said bluntly, directed at Clark. The other man nodded, hands spread across the table to show he wasn’t taking notes.
They were large hands for a writer, Lex thought distantly. Thick and well defined, like he worked with them often. Too smooth, however, for it to be rough work.
“Very hush hush,” Bruce agreed with a smile. He reached for his napkin, unfolding the cloth with a flourish. “So, Lex. You wanted to talk League.”
Lex glanced nervously at the waiters near the far edge of the rooftop. “I thought we might ease into it, Bruce.”
“I never ease into anything,” Bruce said, raising his eyebrows suggestively. Next to him, Clark choked on his water, sloshing it down his sleeve and across the table in front of him. “You should know that by now, Lexy.”
“I know you don’t,” Lex said, batting his eyes at Bruce. It wasn’t hard to play along. He wouldn’t fall for Bruce’s cheap innuendo, having built up a tolerance over the years. “Did you have a chance to review the proposal I sent you?”
“I skimmed it,” Bruce said, reaching out to flag down a waiter. “Very interesting request, Lex. Clark thought it was bold.”
It was no small irony, that the only thing standing between him and direct contact with the Justice League was Brucie Wayne. The League’s long standing benefactor had successfully managed to circumvent all League communications that didn’t involve requests for aid, making him -- and his company -- the de facto face of their work.
Yet again, Bruce was an overturned pawn in his path forward, attempting to play at being a knight. Lex wasn’t even certain the other man understood how much power he held in his hands.
“Clark read it,” Lex repeated, staring at the journalist in question. Clark shrugged, a placid expression on his face. Lex was getting no help from there, it seemed. He seemed fascinated by his water glass, of all things.
“Of course he did. It’s his business too,” Bruce said, sounding offended -- like Lex was the one being stupid. It was probably another sex thing.
Lex held his tongue as the waiter finally arrived with a bottle of rosé, pouring a generous serving into Bruce’s glass.
The waiter darted over, filling his glass until Lex motioned for him to stop. The man ducked his head, stepping around to Clark’s serving side.
“Water is fine,” Clark said, turning in his chair and giving the waiter an honest to god smile. “Thank you.”
The waiter flushed and stepped back, off kilter from the surprise attention. When Lex made eye contact with Bruce, his unimpressed expression was mirrored right back at him, as if to say so what?
“They’re moderate collaborative steps,” Lex said, sliding into his pitching voice as he took a sip from his glass. “Mhm. The Justice League needs partners beyond Wayne Enterprises. The organization itself requires long term stability, not just a healthy cash flow.”
“Ollie does chip in every now and then,” Bruce said, as if he took offense to Lex’s comment. “It’s not like I’m hogging it, Lex.”
That seemed to amuse Clark, who snorted into his water glass. Lex barely spared him a glance, grateful the journalist seemed past his water-spilling tendencies. If he got a lapful of ice sitting here, this was all over.
“My team feels differently,” Lex said, smiling at Bruce like he would a small, precocious child. “Why not democratize the process a little, Bruce? Make the Justice League a priority for us all?”
“That’s not what you said in your proposal.”
Lex blinked, turning to Clark. The reporter was sitting up straight in his chair, eyes focused directly on Lex for the first time that evening. They were a vivid blue, Lex realized.
His voice was low and somewhat rich. It fit him more than the meek tones he’d started out with. Lex wondered if it was an act, or just a crippling lack of confidence with new people. Probably the latter. Some reporters were strange like that.
“My proposal seeks to invest LexCorp profits in National Defense measures,” Lex said, tilting his head. “Such as, yes, supplemental funding to the Justice League. We’re not reinventing the wheel, boys -- we’re just joining the party a little late.”
“For nefarious reasons,” Bruce said, frowning at him. Lex was surprised he knew a word that big. He’d probably picked it up from his boyfriend.
“Can’t the increased publicity be reason enough?” Lex asked, trying to keep things light. For a moment they both stared at him, twin expressions of disapproval on their faces. “Oh, hell, Bruce. Forget about it. Let’s shelve this until we’ve had a little more wine, hm?”
The serving staff took initiative as the conversation shifted, bringing over the first course. Lex dug idly through his salad, watching with thinly-veiled judgment as Clark stared at the thick slices of mozzarella appreciatively.
Take a picture, he wanted to say. It might last longer.
It surprised him that Bruce would bring a boy toy to dinner who wasn’t table trained. Even at his worst, his most sloppy drunk, Lex had never seen him drop the rigid table manners instilled in their respective youths.
“So, Clark,” Lex said, dabbing his mouth with his napkin. “How did you meet Bruce?”
Maybe softening up the lover would help. Bruce did seem strangely fond of the other man. His arm was draped across the back of Clark’s chair, though he appeared to be restraining himself from his usual style of inappropriate touching.
“We worked together a few times,” Clark said, flashing a smile in Bruce’s direction. “It was easy to build a rapport. He’s very charming.”
Bruce preened at the compliment, shoulders flexing. His eyes slid slowly down Clark’s rumpled shirt. “I find you much more charming.”
Lex nearly rolled his eyes. Trust Wayne to make the most innocent of sentences downright filthy. “And keeping up with a billionaire isn’t too much for your relationship?”
“I’m very fast on my feet,” Clark reassured him, head bobbing. “Bruce and I both deal with a lot in our lives. It’s been good having a partner who understands that.”
Next to Clark, Bruce sent Lex a salacious wink. He seemed wildly amused by Clark’s entire little speech, and Lex didn’t want to touch that with a ten foot pole.
Despite Bruce’s wine glass hovering somewhere near half empty, he already seemed flushed from the alcohol. Lex wrote it off as heat from the fading sun, holding back another eyeroll.
“And how long have you been together?” Lex asked, keeping his tone slightly suggestive. Bruce always loved that. “I don’t think I’ve seen him in the tabloids, Bruce.”
Bruce shrugged. He waved another hand. “What I want out of the tabloids, I keep out.”
“Of course,” Lex said. He had doubts about that, but they weren’t useful to the current conversation.
“God, I think it’s been…” Clark trailed off, eyes narrowing adorably behind his glasses. “Almost two years now? It’s been a while.”
“Something like that,” Bruce said. He’d abandoned his salad, attention fixated entirely on his partner.
Lex perked up slightly in his chair. This was good information, actually -- if Clark had been with Bruce that long, and if he was as shrewd as he seemed to be, then that meant he’d seen at least some of Bruce’s League.
The League. He needed to stop thinking of them as Bruce’s. They didn’t take marching orders from him, despite how much Lex was sure Bruce wanted them to. His team had been insistent about that; they took his money, the shield of his publicity, and not much else.
“So you were around when all of this started,” Lex said, waving a hand at the table to encompass their previous discussion. “Tell me. Have you ever met Superman?”
“Really, Lex?” Bruce interrupted. “That’s what you want to talk about?”
“I know you wouldn’t give me a real answer,” Lex said. When Bruce opened his mouth to add in an innuendo, Lex cut him off. “Or a straight one.”
“Lex.”
Lex ignored him, turning back to Clark. “Well?”
“I’ve met him,” Clark said, glancing back at Bruce as if to check he wasn’t overstepping. “What do you want to know?”
“What is he like?” Lex asked casually, forcing himself to sit back in his chair. Maybe if he mirrored Bruce’s body language, Clark would loosen up too. “Is he taller in person?”
“I’d say he’s about as tall as Clark,” Bruce added. Clark’s fingers spasmed against the table. Sensitive about his height, maybe? He didn’t seem short.
“He’s Superman,” Clark said, plain and simple, like Lex was being inconsiderate. He smiled, eyes a touch too sharp over his glasses. “There’s not much else to say.”
“Some Metropolites really are just as possessive as those ones are about their Bat,” Lex said, nodding at Bruce, who let out a quiet, indignant hey.
“Do you count yourself among them, Mr. Luthor?” Clark asked politely. Lex wasn’t amused by the return of his reporter voice. Rarely had he ever liked interviews, even those off the record.
And he was certain Clark used the same voice on Bruce in bed. A phenomenon which didn’t need thinking about.
“I am a fan of Superman,” Lex said, hoping to win some brownie points. His staff said it was important to emphasize his Metropolis roots. “I was hoping Bruce might pass my proposal along to him. I’d kill for the chance to speak with him.”
“What if he didn’t like it, Lex?” Bruce asked, rudely redirecting the conversation before Clark could reply. “Besides. I hear the Bat calls most of the shots up there.”
“Batman is welcome to review it as well,” Lex said, unable to hold back the slight sneer. “I know he is also one of their founders.”
“Also?” Bruce scoffed, taking offense on behalf of his hometown hero. “Read a paper sometime, Lex.”
“Maybe I will,” Lex said, with a pointed leer in Clark’s direction. Bruce looked largely unimpressed with his attempt at intimidation, shrugging.
“Let’s just eat dinner. I think Clark can hear my stomach growling.”
That seemed to amuse Clark, who loosened up slightly. He set his fork down on the salad plate, genuine affection passing across his face.
It made Lex feel cold. He took a breath, sitting up from his faux-slouch.
The final courses were served with little fanfare. Bruce managed to finish his steak with only three lewd comments, the latter of which (whispered out of Lex’s earshot) made Clark blush a bright, furious red.
Lex bore it all with great dignity, mind circling around the next steps he’d outlined in his mind. He needed Bruce in order to access the League, and he needed the League to access Superman.
Anyone else would’ve been jumping at the opportunity to split the costs and operational capacity of the League, but Bruce was surprisingly slippery. Like a drunken, shiny fish, escaping from his grasp at the last second every time.
Lex waited until they were sipping on their digestifs before resuming their little game. He cleared his throat, smiling at Bruce.
“So,” he said. “Have I passed your little test, Bruce?”
“Test?” Bruce asked, blinking owlishly at him. “Did you want me to quiz you, Lexy? Clark’s really good at that, you know. He always asks the best questions.”
Sometime during the last course, Bruce had moved past tipsy and was currently knocking on the door of drunk. On the Brucie Wayne scale of drunkenness, it didn’t rank alarmingly high, but Lex was no expert. Was three drinks all it really took?
Drunk was good. Drunk meant agreeable.
Lex leaned forward, reaching for Bruce’s hand on the table. Clark went rigid next to him, turning an impressive glare on him as soon as their fingers made contact.
Goosebumps prickled down Lex’s neck. He pulled his hand back, puzzled by the expression fracturing across Clark’s face.
Someone got jealous, it seemed. Maybe he’d gotten their relationship all wrong. It wasn’t his forte, after all. There wasn’t anyone he’d roll over like that for, save one. And that person wasn’t Clark Kent, mid-level reporter.
“I want to meet with the League,” Lex said, pitching his voice down to the soothing tone his team had trained him to use in board meetings. “Present my proposal in person. You’d arrange that for me, wouldn’t you Bruce?”
Bruce’s expression flattened. “Request denied.”
Lex blinked at the sudden change in tone. “Denied? You didn’t even hear me out, Bruce--”
“Request denied,” Bruce repeated, in that same, odd voice. His eyes narrowed, losing the last of their haziness. “I know what you’re trying to do, Lex. It won’t work.”
“You’re making it sound so…” Lex trailed off, reaching for Bruce’s earlier word, “Nefarious. It’s a solid proposal, Bruce. If Superman just heard me out--”
“Superman has heard enough.”
Lex froze, staring at Clark. The other man’s voice had dipped into a similar register, eyes fierce behind the glasses that seemed to cage in his features.
The goosebumps from before turned into a hot, sickening flush. Lex stared at them both, at a total loss for words for the first time in his entire life.
It wasn’t possible. It -- there had been something in the wine. Some sort of hallucinogen, or some roofie from Bruce’s playboy extracurriculars. He’d known Bruce his entire life. Hell, he’d known Clark Kent for the last hour, and nothing about this was making any sense --
“No,” Lex breathed, unsure of where to focus. His eyes flicked between the two of them, heart hammering in his chest. “No.”
Bruce’s lips pressed together, breaking the illusion. “No,” he repeated, mocking Lex’s exclamation. “I think that more than summarizes it.”
He pushed to his feet, heading for the rooftop’s exit. He didn’t look back, as if trusting Clark to follow him. The reporter gave Lex one final look, pinning him into his seat with icy, otherworldly eyes.
“Don’t dig,” Clark said, a warning and a threat in one. “Not past here. You won’t like what you find.”
How could he have been so stupid?
Clark took pity on him, shifting his eyes away before they could burn through Lex entirely. He stood, following after Bruce without another word.
It took an embarrassingly long time for Lex’s heart to slow in his chest. When he was certain he could pick up his phone without dropping it, he dialed Mercy, shivering as the icy Gotham wind caught the roof at the wrong angle.
“Mercy?” he said into the phone when it connected. “We need to re-strategize.”