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When it starts, it’s a small enough situation that Bruce doesn’t feel compelled to give it much thought. It happens after a mission, when Bruce is about to leave, and Clark leans over to give him a kiss. It takes him no effort to shrug and accept it, so he does. Clark beams at him and leaves. He thinks nothing of it, at the moment.
Perhaps he should have.
Bruce Wayne is attending a gala in Metropolis when it happens again. Clark Kent from the daily planet steals to the corner where he’s lounging to get a quote. Bruce simpers up a convincingly airheaded one; it’s sure to make waves this time. Clark smiles indulgently all the while, pretending to take notes seriously. Bruce admires his commitment to the bit. It’s one of the reasons he works so well with Clark.
What happens next is decidedly unexpected.
Bruce watches as Clark’s eyes dart to both sides, scoping out the room. Then he smiles fondly, and presses a kiss to Bruce’s lips. It lasts only a second, and then Clark is smiling indulgently once more, like he’s staring at just some hedonistic billionaire and didn’t just kiss him in a very public space. Bruce is too taken aback to say anything, which is a problem to be sure.
All the same, he shakes Clark’s outstretched hand and watches the man sweep back into the crowd. It appears no one has seen them, which is a stroke of pure luck. But the audacity of Clark to do it all is…
Well. Odd.
The next time is when he is in a meeting. Bruce makes it a point to keep tabs on all the goings-on in Wayne Enterprises, regardless of whether he actually shows up for the meetings. But, he makes it a point to show up for as many as he can.
He’s sitting in on one such meeting when his communicator lights up. Bruce quickly excuses himself to the restroom, noting the relieved looks on some faces at that statement. He makes a note to investigate them at a later time.
He shuts the door behind him, and reaches into his pocket to pull out the communicator. But before he can do anything, there’s a rather soft set of lips pressing over his; a set of lips that are all too familiar.
“Clark,” he says, monotonously, trying to get the man to show at least a shred of guilt. But Clark just grins at him.
“Code names, remember?” he says, gesturing at his Superman costume.
“That’s very hypocritical coming from the guy who used a league communicator to get me to come and kiss him,” Bruce counters. “Don’t do it again.”
“Of course not,” Clark says, the very picture of innocence. “You know me. I’m a boy scout.”
“Of course.”
Clark smiles again, and waggles his eyebrows suggestively. Or so he must think, but it just makes him look silly. It’s just as well that he can pull it off. “But since I’m here anyway…”
Bruce rolls his eyes. “Fine. Get over here.”
Bruce is perusing a very serious case file when Clark drops into the Batcave.
“I’m busy,” Bruce grunts, and Clark grins like Bruce has just welcomed him with a hug and a fruit basket.
“I can see that.”
Bruce raises an eyebrow. “So why are you here?”
“Oh, no reason,” Clark says, waving his hand dismissively. “Just some business to take care of. Figured I’d get your help.”
Now Bruce is intrigued. He prepares himself mentally to be ready to head out. “What’s the business?”
“You know,” Clark says, in that same airy tone. “The fun kind.” And he kisses Bruce before he can ask for clarification.
Bruce can’t even be mad about it. He just leans into the kiss, and closes his eyes. For a second, he almost forgets about the case file, drowning in the feeling of Clark’s lips on his.
Then Clark slips his tongue into his mouth, and that’s where Bruce draws the line, because if he lets this go on, he’ll never get anything done. He pulls back, and Clark pulls back instantly. “I’m busy,” Bruce chastises, and Clark smiles.
“Alright. Sorry I disturbed you.” He rises into the air. “I’ll leave you to your case file. Good luck!”
Bruce watches him leave, feeling like Clark has left him with a lot of questions.
When it happens again, it’s when Batman has just finished apprehending another mob boss and shutting down all his operations. He’s standing above on a high balcony, out of sight, watching the men be taken away.
He’s just about ready to head back out when a wind blows past him, and a set of lips firmly presses itself to his own. Hands slide over to grasp at his waist, pulling him closer and kissing him deeply.
He doesn’t even have to guess who it is. He could say the answer came to him instinctively, but that would be inaccurate. It was never even a question.
“Superman,” he murmurs against Clark’s lips, and feels the man smile. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m doing you. Obviously.”
“Superman.”
“Fine, fine,” Clark says, smirking. “I was just passing by, and I happened to see you. So, I… took advantage of the opportunity.”
Bruce stares at him. “And why were you flying over Gotham? My city?”
Clark shrugs, arms still wrapped around him. “I’ve always been a bit of a rebel.” And before Bruce can call bullshit, Clark kisses him again. God, the man is insatiable.
But as long as it’s happening, Bruce figures that he might as well enjoy it. He lets his hands slide along Clark’s chest to grip his shoulders. Clark sighs, and pushes him back against the wall. His hands are roving all along Bruce’s back, and Bruce stifles a groan. He’s liking all this a little too much.
“Fine,” he says, when they break apart. “Fine. Alright. Come on.”
Clark looks like he’s just been handed the sun. “Sure Batman. Whatever you say.”
It’s come to a point where Bruce is almost expecting it to happen.
Every day, like clockwork, Bruce can expect to find Clark showing up at his home, or the cave, or at his workplace. Every day, Clark will kiss him, Bruce will let him, and Clark will fly away. On days they have to meet up, Bruce will expect a discreet kiss from Clark regardless of the presence of others. Clark is always cautious in his audacity, never in a position where he might be discovered, but always toeing the line.
Most recently, Clark had cornered him after a league meeting, right as everyone had left, pushing him against the conference table and kissing him for all he was worth. He had pulled away from him in the exact second before Wonder Woman stepped back in to gather a missing belonging. And the time before that, he’d shown up on a rooftop where Batman was doing surveillance, and had taken great pleasure in pushing him down against it.
Bruce doesn’t want to admit it, but it’s… exciting. He might even go as far as to say that he looks forward to it. Almost.
The day it all comes to a head is when Clark pops up at his office for a human-interest piece, which is just another term for “easy story.” Clark has never been thrilled about doing human-interest pieces, as Bruce has been well informed by the man himself, but he always puts in all the work. Clark Kent never does anything halfway. It’s just fortunate for him that Wayne Enterprises has a Metropolis branch, and that Bruce Wayne was feeling especially amenable to seeing Mr. Kent again.
Bruce once again offers up a few standard, witless remarks and comments about the girls he’s gone out with (of which there are none), of all the parties he’s attended (if you called staking out a mob hideout a party), and other such bougie escapades. Just playboy things. Clark jots it all down with the utmost sincerity, asks him some pre-written, soulless questions, and smiles indulgently throughout.
And throughout, Bruce is waiting for the shoe to drop.
“Oh yes, fantastic kisser, absolutely,” Bruce says, and tenses ever-so-slightly. He’s half expecting Clark to lean over the desk and do some kissing of his own. But Clark just notes it all down.
“How fascinating, Mr. Wayne.”
Bruce barely stops himself from frowning confusedly.
“Great party, it was crazy,” he exclaims another time, and observes Clark’s posture, trying to notice any shifts in his movement. But Clark just nods and keeps writing. Bruce almost wants to be the one who jumps him this time. It’s maddening.
And, if the amused twinkle in Clark’s eyes is any indication, the absolute menace is enjoying himself.
Bruce doesn’t know when it went from Clark showing up at any opportunity to him being the one to ask for it. He doesn’t like it. This needs to end now.
So Bruce shamelessly rakes his eyes over Clark’s body, and lets a sultry grin spread over his face. “Of course,” he drawls, looking Clark straight in the eyes. “Company’s not too bad in here either. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Kent?”
But Clark only smiles, tilting his head to the side. “If you say so, Mr. Wayne.”
Bruce spends the rest of the interview fighting to keep himself in his seat. He waits till the interview is over. Clark shakes his hand, his very touch burning.
“Thank you for the interview, Mr. Wayne,” Clark says, the very picture of professionalism.
“Please, feel free to come again. I… enjoy seeing you.”
“Of course, Mr. Wayne,” Clark recites. And along with the standard, textbook replies to Bruce’s shameless lines, Clark drags his thumb across the back of Bruce’s hand, leaving a burning trail across his skin. “I’d love to do this again,” he whispers, voice deepening.
And then Clark leaves. Bruce waits for the door to close behind him before stalking over to his desk and draining both the glasses of water there, left for him and Clark.
Infuriatingly, he doesn’t stop thinking about it for the rest of the day. He can’t. It’s not just about the fact that he feels almost perpetually horny, it’s also the fact that he failed to get Clark to kiss him. Bruce has never claimed to not be a sore loser.
It doesn’t help that there seem to be couples kissing everywhere tonight. Suddenly Gotham seems to have become the city of love. Of course, it could be that his own fixation on it is causing him to observe more of it in his surroundings that he would normally, but he wouldn’t put it past the universe to spite him personally.
Once he returns home, he flops on his bed and grumbles about it to himself. Alfred wisely leaves him alone, somehow knowing intuitively that this is not something either of them would or should be comfortable discussing. Bruce would wonder, and fail to understand, how Alfred does what he does, but his thoughts are preoccupied.
And then they are interrupted by a knock on his window. A glance to the side reveals Clark Kent hovering outside. The man adjusts his glasses and waves.
Bruce only takes a moment to register Clark floating outside his window out of costume before he jumps off his bed and tears across the room to throw open the window. “Are you insane—” he tries to start, furious, but Clark just grabs him and rushes through the air to drop him onto his bed.
“Knew you’d let me in,” Clark says, and kisses him ferociously. Bruce realizes that he’s been duped. Clark knew that showing up out of costume would mean that Bruce would let him in no matter what, in fear of their secret identities being revealed. A wise move, because Bruce wasn’t feeling especially courteous towards him.
Though he can’t say the same now.
His arms slide along Clark’s back, grabbing handfuls of his shirt. Clark presses hot, wet kisses to his neck. “You’re infuriating,” he mutters, breath hot against Bruce’s skin. His hand is slipping under Bruce’s own clothes to run along his chest, splayed across his ribs. “Messing with me like that…”
“Like you weren’t messing with me— fuck—”
“I,” Clark mumbles, as he pushes up Bruce’s shirt to lick along his stomach, “was doing my job. I don’t exactly have time for the dance with no pants on the clock—”
Questionable phrasing aside… “That’s bullshit. I know you were having fun.”
Clark pauses his ministrations to look at him. “Maybe I was,” he says, slowly, as he slips a hand under the waistband of Bruce’s pants. “Maybe I was messing with you. And maybe I also couldn’t hold myself back for much longer.”
“So we both lost.”
“On the contrary,” Clark says. “I think we both won.”
And he kisses him again.
While basking in the afterglow, Bruce considers Clark.
In all their years knowing each other, Bruce has never known Clark to be a clingy man. An affectionate one, certainly, but even that only extends as far as a friendly hand on a shoulder, or a hug in some rare situations. Even Bruce’s assessment of him as uniquely affectionate might be rather relative to himself, considering that Batman is as cold as ice on a good day.
The point being that he did not see Clark as the type to be stealing kisses every day, let alone making the trip from Metropolis to Gotham to do so. Which, of course, is barely an issue for Clark, but it’s the principle of the matter.
Bruce stares over his shoulder at Clark’s sleeping face, observes the calmness of his features, the visible contentment in his gaze. He can’t ever remember seeing Clark this relaxed, ever. And he comprehends, in that moment, just how hard Clark fights every day to hold himself back.
He turns back to stare at the wall, feeling pensive. In knowing what he does, can he begrudge Clark this relief? It’s not even like Bruce is… opposed, in any sense of the word. But despite that, this is something he can do for Clark. Help him find an aspect of his life where he can let himself go, even just a little.
Just then, he feels Clark slide a hand over his waist, pulling him closer, holding him close. He presses gentle kisses all along Bruce’s back. And Bruce closes his eyes, and lets him, with all the understanding in the world. Each kiss pressed to his skin is a burning expression of some gratitude that Bruce doesn’t deserve, but which he accepts, for Clark’s sake.
Clark turns him over, and kisses him. And Bruce just kisses him back, hand slipping over to cup the back of his neck.
For Clark.
Somehow, it’s all the reason he needs.
“Well, hello there.”
Clark stops typing, and turns to face him, eyes wide. One would think he didn’t know Bruce was coming, both in the sense that Clark must have heard him just now, and also that Perry White must have mentioned to him that the owner of the planet would be popping in.
“Mr. Wayne,” Clark says, and his eyes flit around the room before landing back on him suspiciously. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“Not really,” Bruce simpers, waving his hand around. “I’m just here to see Ms. Lane. Looking lovely as always, Lois.” Lois just snorts.
“Oh Mr. Wayne,” she says, smirking at Clark, “we both know I’m not the object of your fascinations right now. Don’t you agree, Clark?”
“I— I wouldn’t know.”
“Really?” Bruce places a hand on Clark’s desk and leans closer to him. “Well, I simply must tell you all about him! He’s a real catch, you know.”
“Is he, now.”
“Yes,” Bruce beams. “Rather flighty, very needy…” He watches Clark’s face turn a delicate shade of red, not incomparable to a rose. “He just won’t stop coming onto me!”
“Sounds troublesome.”
Bruce watches Clark, the very image of detached interest, self-doubt and misplaced guilt dancing in his eyes. And Bruce takes the opportunity to lean closer.
“Hardly,” he says, and Clark stares at him, eyes wide.
“Bruce—”
“Because I trust him with my life, and more, with my heart. If he wants to come onto me, I could never be anything but honoured to give him whatever he wants.” Bruce whispers the words, quiet enough that they can only reach Clark’s ears.
Clark says nothing in reply, simply looking at him, gaze boring into him, his breath warm on Bruce’s face.
And then Bruce smiles. “That, and he’s built like a tank. Muscles for days. Now that’s a keeper, don’t you agree?”
“Mr. Wayne!” Clark sputters, as Lois stifles laughs. But Clark is also smiling, small but real, and Bruce sears the sight into his mind with all the diligence befitting the world’s greatest detective.
Now, the fun truly begins.
Bruce spends the rest of the day getting in Clark’s way. He’s supposed to have left, officially, but Bruce stealthily finds a way back into the building long after he’s supposed to have left. He hides in the supply closets, in the vents, all knowing that Clark can see him. That only Clark can see him. And Clark knows it too.
He knows it every time he walks by the supply closet, wondering if Bruce will pull him in. He knows it every time he is alone in a room and Bruce in hiding up in the vents, wondering if Bruce will come out to see him. And he knows it as he walks home, wondering if Bruce will come up to him instead of following him at a distance, eyes never once leaving the man before him.
And each time, Bruce leaves him hanging.
Bruce lets Clark slip into his building, and sets up on the building right outside his window. He watches as Clark enters his apartment, pulls a chair up to the window, and sits down, eyes unerringly finding him. Bruce settles down, crouched on the rooftop, staring into Clark’s window.
It’s only as the sky turns from blue to gold that Bruce moves, deftly jumping off the roof. In a matter of moments, Batman descends to situate himself right outside Clark’s window, hanging upside down from his grappling hook.
Clark’s eyes have never once left him.
“Hi,” Clark starts, a soft smile spreading across his face as he opens the window, leaning towards Bruce.
“Hm,” Bruce replies, before tilting his head and catching Clark’s lips with his own. Clark immediately brings his hands up to cup the back of his head, fingers skimming along the cowl.
“You’re shameless,” Clark huffs, once they part.
“And you’re insatiable.”
Clark smiles. “Apparently that’s your honour?”
Bruce nods. “It is.” He uncoils himself from where he’s wrapped around the rope, swings himself onto Clark’s windowsill. He takes the hand Clark offers him; pulls himself down to step into Clark’s apartment properly. Immediately, Clark is on him, hands reaching out.
Bruce lets Clark slide his fingers along his waist, over his middle, along his neck, and over his cowl. Clark slides it off, and cups his face to kiss him. Bruce slides his own arms around Clark’s waist, and leans into him completely.
Clark pulls away, and picks him up, feet leaving the ground. He turns and floats towards his bedroom. “Then let me give you what I want,” he says, and Bruce kisses him again.
“By all means.”
Clark smiles, once again, and closes the door.