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It was already completely dark when Bruce's chauffeur pulled into a dimly lit driveway. The tree-lined road led up to a villa where one of Bruce’s high society friends resided. The invitation for the night stated formal dress, and a gift for the hostess’ dog of at least a thousand dollars. Between them on the leather seats rested a box, which held a single gold-plated play bone for the birthday girl. Clark didn’t understand any of it. He went anyway.
He could hear the wind turmoil overhead, and clouds rolling in from the adjacent ocean. Fall was not his favorite season, but he liked it nonetheless. Bruce would always become more beautiful as himself with the dark and stormy clouds reflected in his gray eyes and more imposing as Batman in the dark night sky. The season suited him as much as it didn't suit Clark. But of course, there were some perks. He would be there to warm Bruce up after a long night in the rain. Another reason why he had started to like the colder seasons in the past two years.
Getting together with Bruce had been wonderful, after they'd both worked up the courage to confess their feelings to each other. It was quite a big deal to move from best friends to lovers after all. After two years they still hadn’t announced their relationship in public, because there had never been an urgent enough reason, and they both liked their privacy. Though Clark found it a harder secret to keep than his secret identity, frequently caught himself having to consciously keep his mouth shut to not blurt out something about Bruce, and Cat had been routinely teasing Clark about his either secret or non-existent relationship every time he had to leave a little early for a date with Bruce.
“Off to see your secret boyfriend?” She would say, chin in hand and looking up at Clark mischievously as his attempt to leave undetected at 4.45 pm once again failed miserably.
“What are you talking about? I don't have a secret boyfriend,” he would reply, with the same mischievous look etched into his face, every time.
She’d point her pen at him and laugh. “Oh, you so do, Clark Kent! Smiling at your phone all day, you're dressing up more-” and Clark would look down at his colorful shirt and tie and think, isn't this what I've always worn? But maybe it wasn't so much the clothes as it was his aura, his smile, the confidence in his step that was getting harder and harder to hide and stumble through. “-it's clear that you're head over heels for whoever this guy is. And I intend to be the one to find out who. It's gotta be something juicy. Someone famous maybe…? Is he not out? Putting you back in the closet with him?”
Clark would shake his head. “That's not it, Cat.”
“Then what are you always dashing off to do?”
“Saving the world?” he would try, with a crooked grin and adjusting his glasses.
Cat would laugh, and pluck away a tear from the corner of her eye. “Now don't go telling me you're Superman or something.” -and at this, Lois -walking by them, or furiously typing at her own desk next to Clark's - would start laughing too, which only served to solidify Cat's confidence in her suspicions of Clark's secret relationship. “You know I'll find out one way or the other, Clarkie. And besides, if you're so head over heels, don't you want to tell me all about him?”
And Clark would wink and say: “Maybe some day,” even knowing that that was highly unlikely.
Now though, as the imposing villa crept around to his view and their coming out was getting closer, that was getting more likely. Small lights led the way between trees that had long since been stripped of their leaves. The reality of what they were doing set in. Clark fidgeted with his seatbelt again.
"Nervous?" Bruce asked, next to him. He took Clark's hand.
"No. Just… different. What if I don't know what to do or who to talk to?"
"You'll be fine. You've always been good at talking to strangers. And you look fine," Bruce smiled at him.
"Thank you," he acknowledged the compliment. "I'm just afraid I won't have as much of Clark Kent to hide behind as I normally do." He already missed his notebook and pen, his press pass. Something in his hands and to hunch over. This event was exclusive, with no red carpet, but a line of cars leading up to the entrance where servants stood waiting with umbrella's to make sure the rich would not soil their clothes in the rain.
It had been purposefully chosen like this, by Bruce and him. This way, there was no chance of paparazzi leaking their relationship to the press right away. They were simply “testing the waters,” as Bruce had said.
"You don't need to hide to fool anyone. And relax, you're Bruce Wayne's plus one. No one will dare make you uncomfortable. I'll stay close to you and introduce you to some people." Bruce leaned over for a chaste kiss, a hand on Clark's shoulder.
“Thanks, B.” Clark squeezed his hand back. Bruce knew exactly how to put Clark at ease.
After a slow crawl, they finally got out of the back of Bruce's Rolls Royce. Clark tried to make sure the girl helping them with an umbrella was protected from the rain also, on their quick scurry up the stone stairs leading to the grand entrance. Once inside, the lights were blinding and reflected of gold ornaments and decorations. They certainly weren't among the first ones there; the party was already in full swing, people moving from room to grand room in the old villa. A clerk took their coats, and Clark suddenly felt a lot more naked. Bruce had dressed him in a suit nicer than anything he owned, and more fitted than he ever dared to wear. He plucked at the hem of his dress shirt a little bit to make it bunch up around his waist, but Bruce stopped him with a hand on his.
It had seemed like a good idea at the time, for this event to be the first one where Clark was Bruce's plus one and not just another reporter in the crowd trying to catch Mr Wayne alone. They wouldn't really have to make an announcement, but just show up and be together. That sounded easy enough.
“Put your arm around me,” Bruce whispered. So Clark did, and put his arm around Bruce's waist, and Bruce around his. Bruce looked beautiful in his tuxedo, the velvety night blue jacket smooth under Clark's hand. Clark mentally chastised himself for already imagining peeling it off of him layer by layer later that night.
As soon as they made it through the foyer and into the first grand room, people flocked towards Bruce, greeting him and seeking a chance to get noticed. Bruce greeted them all personally, knowing everyone's name and something about them as conversation starters. He introduced Clark to a few of them as “My newest. Have you met Clark Kent?” He asked a man in gray. “Normally he’s a reporter, but tonight he’s just here to have fun with me!”
Clark touched his glasses, and the people around them looked him up and down. He felt like a piece of meat, and wondered if this is what Bruce felt like all the time.
They finally made it to the hostess of the party, who Bruce greeted as “Aur! Love the bling! And this too,” he touched her black sparkling dress. “You're a star, sweetheart.”
“Beau! I'm so glad you could make it.” She half-hugged Bruce and air-kissed him, her champagne almost spilling out of her glass on Clark's foot. Beau?
“Of course, anything for you. I'll cancel even the most boring meetings to be here,” Bruce grinned.
“Oh shush, you love it, I can just tell,” she said, a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. Though she obviously couldn’t tell the boredom echoing in Bruce’s heartbeat, his calm expression, and his mind racing and multitasking between who knew what. Clark felt a rush of pride at knowing the truth. “And here’s the birthday girl!” The hostess directed Bruce to her dog and sat him down to take a selfie. Then she finally looked over at Clark, and looked him up and down. “And who did you bring?”
Clark stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you. Clark Kent, dai…. Ehh… Bruce's date,” he corrected himself quickly.
“Isn't he handsome,” Bruce said, gingerly patting Clark's chest with his free hand.
“Very.” She nodded approvingly, and Clark felt a little uncomfortable, like he was an object and not actually standing right next to them. “My name's Aurelia. This is my place,” she said, suddenly sounding a lot more serious. Clark wasn't sure why she decided to add that when it was already clear that she was hosting. Her perfect white smile was so fake that it didn't reach her eyes. She turned back to Bruce abruptly and took him aside, clearly trying to be subtle, making an excuse about fixing his bow tie, but it wasn’t subtle at all.
“Beau, you don't always have to show up with a date on your arm, you know that, right?” She whispered, walking out of earshot and not knowing Clark inadvertently picked it up with his super hearing. “No shame in coming alone sometimes.”
Bruce shrugged with one shoulder. He leaned towards her a little bit, to reply. “I happen to like the company, and I happen to like Clark's company very much,” he said privately. Clark didn’t care that he had accidentally eavesdropped. Even after being together for two years, hearing that and knowing Bruce was genuine still made him smile uncontrollably. He must have looked like a lovesick fool when the two billionaires returned to him.
“Right, I’ll leave you two alone then,” Aurelia said, and before Bruce could begin to bring himself to protest, she had already darted off to her next victims.
“Sorry about that,” Bruce said in his normal voice, hooking his arm through Clark’s again.
“Beau?” Clark asked.
“She claims it rolls off the tongue easier than Bruce, and B is too… you know.” Bruce made a vague hand gesture that Clark didn’t understand.
“Too what?”
“It’s not important. She’s not important. And I like it when you call me B,” Bruce added, looking at Clark. He had started calling Bruce ‘B’ long before they got involved romantically. Some of his kids did it too. It was a private thing, for people who knew both sides to Bruce, so it made sense why he didn’t mind Aurelia using a weird nickname for him. “Are you hungry?" Bruce pulled him out of his thoughts, and towards a long table laden with a great pile of very small items of food. And Clark wasn’t necessarily hungry, he never was, but he grabbed a plate anyway and got to work, his curiosity for the small items taking over.
Another round later, and when both the music and the people started getting louder, laughing and spilling their expensive drinks, Clark ended up in one of the corners of the room, leaning against something that looked like a bar but wasn’t. It was fake marble - he could tell - and adorned with a bouquet of fake roses. At least the vase was real china. Bruce had abandoned him a while ago and was talking animatedly to a man in a gray tux, his hand gestures large and comically wrong for the Bruce that Clark knew. Unsure of what to do or who to talk to, he looked around the room, his reporter mind spurring questions for some of the people he saw. But he couldn’t ask those here, not now, so he made a mental list of people the Daily Planet would have to get a hold of some time soon.
"You working too?" Someone asked, and joined Clark at the bar that wasn’t really a bar. Clark shot up a little at being found out, and then slinked down again into his normal Clark Kent posture. He knew he still stuck out like a sore thumb in this crowd, even though Bruce had tried his best to dress him for the occasion. It was that air of richness he didn't have. Or maybe he simply looked too focused for someone who was supposed to be two hours into a party with a limitless supply of champagne and wine.
"Uhh, no," he turned around to say. The man who had asked him was leaning over slightly, a confident poise to his hips, top button undone and an open jacket. He looked at Clark secretively, as if they shared something that no one else in this room did. Truth was, they did. Clark smiled. "I mean, usually I do,” he explained. “Or a coworker, more often. But tonight I'm not. It's that easy to see I'm not rich, huh?" He laughed a little nervously. Too, the guy had said, giving away a little bit of himself, although Clark was unaware of any other reporters having been invited to this event.
The other person laughed. “It’s easy to tell who is rich. And you’re clearly not drinking, you look pretty uncomfortable in that suit, and you’re looking around as if you’ve never been here. I’m guessing you usually do the more down-to-earth ones? Downtown, red-carpet kind of stuff. You have the right look for that.”
“Hmm, yeah, when I do these kinds of events… that’s about right I guess. Gosh, I didn’t think this would be so hard.”
The man laughed. “You'll get the hang of it. So, Bruce Wayne right? Oof, that must've been a pretty big deal.” The man looked over at where Bruce was, and back at Clark.
“Yeah,” Clark said, unable to stop a grin. “It's the first time we're out in public together. Oh, where are my manners? Clark Kent.” He stuck out his hand.
“Elliot.” Elliot took his hand to shake it firmly. “I prefer to keep it to first names on these,” he explained when Clark looked at him questioningly.
“Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to–” Clark started, but Elliot cut him off. He scooted a little closer and pointed at the crowd.
“I'm here with Abigale. Mrs. Ellsworth.” He pointed to a woman with graying hair, a long green dress. She seemed quite a bit older than Elliot, but who was he to judge. And married? Or maybe widowed. “She likes to talk about astrology when she's not talking about the prospects of her wine emporium. And evening walks after dinner. She's one of my easier clients. Shit loads of money and all she wants is some nice company.”
Alarm bells started going off in Clark's head at the word client, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
Elliot kept talking. “I'm surprised you're wearing glasses. My agency always makes me wear contacts.”
Agency? “Oh, no. I'm not–” Clark held up his hands, unsure of how to continue, but Elliot laughed.
“Dude, it's fine. You don't have to lie about it. I'm working too. We’re in the same boat, huh?” He bumped Clark’s rigid shoulder.
“No. We’re not,” he said.
Elliot continued. “Though I can understand Bruce Wayne maybe asking you to be discreet about it. I didn't know he needed to pay someone to escort him, anyway. Hey, does he let you fuck him, too? Or are you just here to look pretty on his arm?"
“No,” Clark said through closed teeth. “And I'm not an escort. I'm his date.”
Elliot looked over at where Bruce was leaning heavily onto a man, pretending to be drunk. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Clark ground out. “I’m a reporter.”
“Oh jeez, sorry. Well, if you ever need a change in careers, you could make a lot more money doing this,” Elliot said smugly and laughed. Clark didn’t.
Elliot stepped back a little, really looking at Clark again. “You’re serious? Sorry, man.” He looked at Clark incredulously. “Boy, that's bad. I'm so sorry.” Now Elliot was laughing, and Clark wasn't sure which was worse. “I just assumed, since you're obviously not of this crowd, and you were so tense earlier, introducing yourself to everyone.”
He had to give Elliot one thing, he was observant. He'd just come to the wrong conclusion. Still, an uncomfortable pit of anger settled in Clark's stomach, which in turn made him feel uncomfortable because he didn't like being angry.
“It's fine,” Clark said eventually. “Honest mistake. Now, if you'll excuse me. I'm gonna go get some fresh air.”
Leaving Elliot in his wake, still a little stunned, and not focusing on Bruce's heartbeat too much out of fear of rising anger, he found one of the more secluded balconies at the place to wait out the rest of the party.
The ride home was quiet, with Bruce tapping away at a tablet, his face stoic. Clark looked out the window, having half a mind to fly out under the guise of patrol or someone needing him, but he couldn't quite bring himself to lie about something like that and leave.
“How was your night?” Bruce finally asked when they entered his bedroom at Wayne Manor. He started pulling at his jacket, Clark’s fantasy evaporated, and quickly undid his bowtie. “Sorry I couldn't be with you all night. I really had to get Paul Levenitz to warm up to the idea of investing in this new research facility.”
“I got mistaken for an escort,” Clark blurted out right away. He couldn't care less about Paul Levenitz right now. “You know. The kind that you pay to spend time with.”
Bruce chuckled. Had the audacity to chuckle. “Hot. We could roleplay that sometime.”
“Bruce. Someone thought you had to pay me for me to want to be there with you tonight.”
“I understand what an escort is, Clark. Mistakes happen. And I’m sure you were able to explain yourself.”
“Yes. I could.”
“What?”
“You heard me.” Clark clenched his fists at his sides, hard enough to crush stone.
“Then please tell me exactly what it is you think I did.” Bruce raised his chin in a challenging way, making himself look bigger than he was. It reminded Clark of the Batman he used to clash with, the one that always thought he knew everything better.
Clark took a breath. Suddenly, Aurelia’s dismissal of him and Bruce’s subsequent I happen to like Clark’s company very much, stung in his ears and it tasted sour. Bruce’s attitude was only making it worse, believing that Clark wouldn't have caught on. “I can understand some idiot named Elliot mistaking me for a gigolo because I'll never look like one of the rich folks… but you… Aurelia implied that she thought I was an escort and you didn't even correct her. In fact, you pretty much confirmed it. Please tell me that that's not what that was.”
Bruce crossed his arms. “So you were listening.” and that was just what Bruce did. Making his opponent feel like they'd done something wrong, and making them drive themselves into a corner. Which may work on crooks. It may have worked on Clark, many years ago. But not anymore.
“And I clearly wasn’t supposed to,” he jabbed at Bruce.
“Normal people don’t eavesdrop like that, Clark.”
Bruce had the audacity to lecture him. Clark ground his teeth, stone to dust, and coal to diamonds. He counted to three. “You eavesdrop a lot more. And it was an accident. She was acting strange, so I listened. And might I remind you–” Clark pointed at himself, his carefully confined anger spilling out through his voice – “I’m not normal.”
Bruce said nothing, so Clark continued. “So. Why didn’t you correct her? Please tell me. I thought we were coming out tonight, but from where I'm standing it looks like you don't think this” - Clark gestured between them - “is worth it to even introduce me as your date, or anything beyond that.”
Bruce's expression turned inward, his eyes dark and sullen and devoid of their earlier confidence. “Maybe it’s not,” he said, quietly. “Whatever. It’s a moot point now.”
“What do you mean? Why would you lie about me being an escort, Bruce?”
“I didn't lie about it.”
“You didn’t deny it.”
“An opportunity presented itself, and I took it. It was…” Bruce seemed to search for the right word. His earlier confidence had been replaced by a sullen calmness. “Insurance. In case we… they-”
Clark lost his patience. They had to be what? Okay with Bruce being with Clark? “They what? As much as you hate it, Bruce, you’re a part of them. You do these things without me, without telling me, and I’m just supposed to be okay with it?”
“This is exactly why I didn’t tell you.”
“Then why? Is it that you have to ease your little rich friends into the fact that you're dating a commoner?”
“They’re not my friends, Clark, and you know that.” Bruce spoke calmly. He swallowed. “It’s that this won’t last. We are too different and it’s unsustainable.”
Testing the waters, Bruce had called it. And he had been, trying to see if he could pass Clark off as just another date, an escort with no interest in him and nothing beyond a pretty face. An exclusive party had been the perfect testing ground. Somewhere, deep down, Clark knew his heart would break for Bruce and his self-destructiveness if he thought too much about what all that meant. He would hold Bruce, and tell him not to shoulder the weight of the world alone anymore. That's what Clark was there for after all. But current Clark was irate, and couldn't see through the haze of his own anger and past the sadness in Bruce's eyes and the betrayal he had put upon Clark.
“This was nothing but an experiment,” he said in a low voice and slow. “to test if I would fit your rep.”
“Yes,” was all Bruce said. Tears were pushing through Clark's ire, and he had to clench his teeth to keep them inside.
Aurelia's comment could've only really meant one thing. “You've done this before. Hiring an escort.”
For two years they'd been together now. And two years Bruce had still gone to his parties, made appearances with some model or actor on his arm, and Clark had been fine with that, because it hadn't meant anything. But for him now to be lopped into the same boat with those people right away… to the public nothing had changed about Bruce. To his close high society friends, Clark had just seemed like another companion for a night, paid or not. It made him feel less than anything.
“Yes,” Bruce admitted. “It's hard to find time to make genuine connections between saving Gotham, running a company, and being in the JL. I have an image to uphold, Clark.”
“And how do I factor into that image?”
Bruce looked down. “Maybe you don’t.”
Clark looked at Bruce, and knew he was speaking the truth. That he really believed that Clark wasn’t right for him, for his mission did not require Clark. He finally unclenched his fists and spoke calmly. “Okay, thank you for letting me know where we stand. Keep dating random models or whatever it is you need to fool yourself into thinking you don’t need any genuine connections.”
Bruce’s eyes flashed with something akin to real anger for the first time that night. “Take that back.”
“Only if you can tell me that it isn’t true.”
Bruce stayed silent. And all Clark did in response was walk over to the window, and fly home.
The following days, Clark sulked. And stewed. And his mother had always told him not to stew, so it probably wasn’t the right thing to do, but he really didn’t want to talk to Bruce right now. He went to work, and Cat didn’t even make fun of him when she noticed his mood. He sighed while saving a cat from a tree, and tried a Superman-smile for a child he saved, but it just didn’t come out right.
“Are you okay, mister?” she asked him.
“I will be,” he said, although he wasn't sure.
At work, a week after the fight with Bruce, Lois pulled him aside and into an empty meeting room, not leaving an opening for him to escape or make up an excuse.
“What’s going on? You look miserable.” Of course she had noticed. She discreetly closed the door and left the light turned off, which was nice, because finally Clark could drop his fake empty smile.
He sat down on one of the chairs in the room, letting the metal and wood creak under his weight. He rubbed his temples. Lois leaned against the table next to him. “Nothing,” he lied. “Superman is just better off alone.” And that was the truth. It was simply impossible. To keep a relationship, a fulltime job, and respond to every call for help. Lois had experienced that first-hand. He was already too selfish, pretending to be Clark Kent instead of flying around 24/7.
“Oh, Clark. Stop it. We've discussed this countless times. You shoulder the weight of the world alone, and ask no one to do the same, but–”
“Because no one else can.”
“But we can help. You're allowed to ask. And you deserve someone that makes you happy too. So now you're gonna tell me exactly what Bruce did, because I swear to God I will go to Gotham and get it out of him by force if I have to.”
Clark chuckled. At least he could always count on Lois to save him. Then he sighed, thinking of last week again. “When we went out, last friday. It was supposed to be our first date in public. He let people believe I was his escort.”
Lois jumped off the table and clenched her hands to fists. She looked terrifying despite her size. “That bastard. Give me one good reason not to go to Gotham right now to kick Batman's butt, Clark.”
“Well, I talked to him about it- or more yelled, really. And I said some things too.”
“What did you say to him?”
“I pretty much told him he makes himself incapable of any emotional connection.” He mentally chastised himself. It sounded so much worse now, repeating it to Lois with a somewhat clearer mind. He put his hands in his hair. “Oh, why did I say that?”
“Maybe because he is.”
“Lois! Not helping. I keep replaying the whole thing in my head–”
“Don’t do that with that eidetic memory of yours, Clark. You’ll only get in your own head.”
“I just… I don’t think I let him finish saying what he wanted to say. I think he's hurting. I hurt him.” Lois sat down next to him and rubbed his shoulder. Clark took off his glasses and pinched his nose in an effort to keep the tears at bay, but it seemed futile. “Oh, Lois, I was so angry. He does these things without telling me, makes up his mind before even considering to consult me too. And the worst thing is, I know his logic is sound, and therefore he believes he's right and doing the right thing, but he doesn't look beyond that. The why, I mean. And neither did I this time.”
Lois took his glasses from him and pushed his bangs out of his face. “Oh, honey,” she said. “Bruce needs to learn there are two people in a relationship. And you need to talk to him about that, instead of moping all week. Now, what do you think he was right about?”
“About needing a contingency. In case we break up and he needs to go back to the Playboy routine.”
Lois nodded. “That tracks, in a very Bruce-way.” She stayed silent for a moment. “And what about the other question. The why?”
“I think… he believes he doesn't deserve love, that he doesn't deserve anything. Everything is for his mission, and not only does that translate into an incapability of receiving love, but sometimes I'm afraid it also means he won't ever truly be able to love someone. And here I go, telling him that he makes himself believe he's incapable of human connection. I should have told him he can love, he's allowed to. I feel so stupid.” Lois pulled him close then, and his “this is all my fault,” was muffled in the shoulder of her jacket.
“Nonsense,” she said. “He's a sensitive man. You both are. But I know he's capable of loving someone, Clark.”
“How?”
“Because I've seen the way he looks at you, when you're not looking.” She held up his face, to look into his eyes again and asked a very important question: “Now, have you slept?”
Clark averted his eyes. “Not for the past week. I’ve just been flying around trying to stay busy.”
She put his glasses back on his face. “Try to catch some sleep, and go talk to him after. Something tells me you two will be able to figure this out. I'll cover with Perry for you.”
He hugged her as they got up, already feeling a little better. “Thank you, Lo.”
Clark woke to a sound in the dark, echoing off his bookcase. “Bruce,” he said, greeting his intruder. He flicked on the light next to the couch where he'd been napping. Bruce stood in the door to his tiny entryway, dressed casually.
“Hey,” he said. “Sorry to wake you.”
“It's okay,” Clark said as he walked over. Sleep wasn't important to him. Or it would never be as important as Bruce. He pulled him into a hug. “I'm so glad you came. I'm sorry. I missed you.” he let his hands roam across Bruce's back, pulling him closer, and buried his face in his short dark hair. “I was going to come see you after my nap, but now you're here. You always beat me to it,” he chuckled.
“Clark? What are you doing?” Bruce muffled from somewhere below his chin.
“Hugging you.”
“How…” Bruce seemed to deflate. His hands hung uselessly at his and Clark’s sides. “I don't deserve this. How could you still want me?”
“Because I love you, and I want to be with you.”
“You shouldn't. You should hate me.”
“But I don't.”
“You should be angry with me.”
"Oh, I am. But you can be angry with someone and love them all the same, Bruce. I had to mope for a couple days but then I thought about it rationally, with some help from Lois, and I wasn't as mad at you anymore. But I'm still mad.”
“Okay.” Strangely enough, Bruce chuckled. It was a small sound and good to hear again. “I thought about it rationally for three days straight and then sulked until I felt so bad I had to come here to…”
“Talk?”
Bruce took a deep breath. “Yes. I think I owe you an explanation.”
“You do.” Clark sat down on his small couch and pulled Bruce with him to sit beside him. “Here.”
He was still holding onto Bruce's hands, and Bruce looked down at them, his brows furrowed.
“Oh, sorry,” Clark said and let go.
“Don't be.” Bruce's words were barely above a whisper. He took Clark's hands again. The drum of his heart beat through his fingertips and into Clark's own. Though calm, it was considerably faster than it normally was. Bruce was nervous.
“Like I said, that night. It was insurance,” Bruce started. Clark had agreed with himself to stay calm, and listen to Bruce before speaking, but he still had to clench his teeth a bit. The way Bruce was willing to so effortlessly brush their whole relationship aside made him mad at everyone and everything that had ever happened to Bruce, but mostly at Bruce himself, for treating Clark like something that could be pushed aside at a moment's notice and at only Bruce's convenience.
“Insurance for when we break up.”
“You mean if we break up.”
“Right. If.” Bruce looked into his eyes. When he spoke again, it sounded practiced and calm. “You being an escort could explain why you would not be with me anymore without me having to bounce back from a relationship gone wrong. I could easily brush you off as another fling with no strings attached. You'd have been another nobody.”
Clark swallowed. “Rationally, I can understand that. I'm mad at you going behind my back for a cover like that. At the fact that you felt you needed one at all. And one that would make people think you'd have to pay me to be in your company on top of that. It made my feelings for you completely irrelevant, fake, and… and seemingly unreciprocated.”
“I want you to know I didn't plan it. It came up and I used the angle, and it was an unfortunate coincidence that it happened to you directly as well.”
“Yeah, you could say that.” Clark let out an exasperated sigh. He’d been prepared to never really fit in with Bruce’s crowd, but not to the extent of what that might look like for him.
Bruce clenched his mouth and lifted a hand to touch Clark’s face. “Oh, Clark, I’m sorry,” he said. Clark didn’t need Bruce to tell him he meant it. He already knew that, from the shine in his eyes and the shift of his heartbeat at seeing how he’d hurt Clark. “I realize now that I was wrong to not deny Aurelia's assumption, and that it's on me for not introducing you properly as my boyfriend. I'm sorry for thinking you wouldn't catch on at all. And I'm sorry for not including you in a decision that was much too rushed.”
Clark released a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. Bruce's hands felt more clammy than usual, so he squeezed them lightly for reinsurance. “Thank you,” he said. “I need to apologize as well. I shouldn’t have interrupted you when you were trying to explain yourself. And I'm sorry for what I said about you making yourself believe you don't need emotional connections.”
Bruce seemed small suddenly, looking down. His hands hung loosely in Clark’s. “I think you hit the nail on the head with that one.”
“I'm still sorry I said it. I'm sorry I hurt you like that. Come here.” Before Bruce could protest, he pulled him into a hug. It was awkward, and jumbled, with Bruce’s leg half off the couch and most of his weight on Clark, but it was also true, and warm, and Bruce melted into him and mumbled “okay.”
By the time they let go, Bruce’s hair was messy, and Clark was sure his own was as well. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe it was a mistake to come out as a couple at all. Maybe it's better to just keep going as we were. The way it worked.”
“But you don't want that.”
“No,” Clark admitted. “I love you so much I want to tell everyone I know how much I love you and what a great guy you are. But I also understand that that would bring everything we do as our public personas out into the spotlight. Our lives will be scrutinized in a way we can't afford. Your public life won't be a cover anymore, and mine will become much too public. I can just go on the way we were, if it means I'll get to be with you.”
“There are faults in your logic, Clark. If you want to tell everyone, then how can you be happy going on living in secret?”
“Because my happiness doesn't depend on that. A lot of it depends on you being happy, though. And you're worth it.”
“See. That's where I think you’ll find you’re wrong. I’m not. I love you so much, and still I know it won't ever come close to what you deserve. I go behind your back doing things like this. I’ll go through anyone to get anything that’s directly beneficial to the mission. I’m not afraid to drop teammates if it’s for the greater good. And I’ll inevitably ruin this when I choose Gotham over you.”
“I wouldn't expect any differently,” Clark said. “And you couldn't be more wrong, honey. You are worth it. You are selfless and caring, and the only one who understands me completely. I couldn’t have wished for a better partner.”
“You sell yourself short, Clark.”
Clark brushed a hair out of his boyfriend’s face. He shook his head. There was something he hadn’t addressed yet. The deeper, underlying problem. “You said it was all an insurance, for if we split. Can we talk about why you think we might break up?
Bruce shrugged. “It tends to happen in relationships.”
“True. It’s not unheard of. But if we both love each other then what else is there to the equation?”
Bruce got up. He paced half a circle around Clark's coffee table. “You romanticize, Clark. Then what was our fight this past week? Isn't that part of the equation?”
“We - as all couples sometimes do - had a fight, and talked and talked it out.”
“You don't get it. Our work is sacrificial by nature. It's not unthinkable that one day, one or both of us will die. Therefore, it's unreasonable to put the other or anyone else for that matter through hardship.” Bruce continued softer. “It's better to be alone, I think.” Clark smiled, for even if Bruce's words broke his heart a little, his wavering addition gave Clark hope. Bruce didn't fully believe himself. No one should be alone.
He got up. “You're wrong, honey. No one should be alone. And what would our sacrifice be worth if we haven't touched others in our lives… with love, and smiles, and hope? I'd like to have loved… you, and others, and to have been loved in return. Mostly by you.” He cupped Bruce's cheek as he spoke.
Bruce looked away, his lips a thin line.
“I'm sorry I said that you make yourself believe you don't need emotional connections. That I ever gave you the idea that that was a solution. You have a right to be happy, Bruce, just like all the people you save every night. And I'd like to think I can make you happy, but if not, then that's okay too. You just need to say so and I'll respect that.” He'd leave Bruce, if Bruce could be happier with someone else.
Bruce took a shaky breath. He shook his head. “You do fit into my world, my life, all of it. I’m sorry for making you think otherwise. You… make me happy. I like coming home to you in my bed. ”
“Then isn't that all there is to it? Someone to come home to, to recharge, have a laugh every now and then. And maybe that's enough.”
“So this is why you shouldn't fall in love with a writer.” Bruce’s fingers sculpted into Clark’s sides, warm and where they belonged. His body pressed up close to Clark’s. Clark smiled, and it was all he could do to cup the back of Bruce’s head and guide him into a kiss.
“About our predicament and going public. I know I can't make you do something you don't want to do, but we can still talk about it until we find a solution that works for both of us. Some other time. Right now, I have something else on my mind.”
“Hmm. I think Bruce Wayne could afford to settle down for a more long term relationship. He’s almost 40 after all.”
“Really?”
Bruce nodded. “There’s a red carpet event for the new production by the Hunter theater group in Metropolis next weekend. Would you like to go with me? As my boyfriend?” Bruce clarified.
“I’d love to. If you're sure?"
"I am. I'll put... we'll put some things in motion. I'll tell you exactly what's going to happen."
"Thank you."
Bruce squeezed his hands. “Now, what else was on your mind?”
Clark grinned. He lifted Bruce's chin slightly with his thumb and index finger to stare into his beautiful eyes. “We’ve just made up after our first fight. I think that means we get to have makeup sex.”
“You mean to say we’ve skipped right past the angry fight sex?” Bruce pouted.
“Yup. And now I intend to make sweet, tender love to you. All night.” Clark pulled Bruce close again, and kissed his mouth, and then his neck, feeling the most important heartbeat in his world beat right underneath his lips.
Barely a week later they were back in the back of Bruce’s Rolls Royce, in tuxes and shining shoes. In the driver’s seat, Alfred was focused on the road and glanced back in the rearview mirror every now and then.
Clark grabbed Bruce’s hand. “Are you still sure about this? It’s not too late to go back.”
“I am sure,” Bruce said, rubbing the back of Clark’s hand. “I’ve been thinking, about what you said. It will be nice to not have to hide one part of our lives anymore. And no more pretending. Bruce Wayne will officially be off the market after tonight.”
Clark smiled.
Bruce brought his hand to his lips. “Though If you ever still want to roleplay being my escort, I would reward you handsomely for taking me apart the way I deserve.”
“Bruce… you’re incorrigible. And, you deserve the world. I’ll show you exactly how much.” He maneuvered his hand out of the way of Bruce’s mouth to kiss him instead. It was easy to get distracted by Bruce, to find the minutes in their lives that they could do stuff uninterrupted. And Bruce, of all things, chuckled.
“We have arrived, sirs,” came Alfred’s stern voice from the front of the car.
When they got out, the camera flashes rivaled the blinking stars overhead. Clark had never realized how bright it was from this side. As soon as the reporters saw Bruce, they started shouting, redirecting their cameras towards him and his companion.
“Put your arm around me,” Bruce whispered, an echo of that fateful night. This time, Clark did so eagerly, pressing Bruce close to his slightly hunched form. Bruce kissed his cheek and did the same.
As they slowly made their way up the red carpet and posed in front of the event's advertisers, between all the shouting for Bruce, mr. Wayne, and who is your date? and Bruce explaining that that was Clark, his boyfriend, Clark suddenly heard his own name being yelled. And his smile turned into a smug one, for that was Cat, dressed in a pretty pink dress, holding a recorder and her jaw on the floor. “I knew it! A rich guy and famous! How did you do that? Mr. Wayne, care to comment?”
The pair made their way over to where Cat was standing behind the fence. Bruce leaned over a little to speak into her recorder.
“This is my boyfriend, Miss Grant,” he said suavely. “And although I believe you know him well, I'll give you the exclusive… if you manage to get in touch with me before noon come Monday.” Everyone knew contacting Bruce Wayne on any given morning was nearly impossible, but Clark wondered if Bruce was aware of Cat's dedication. Her look of surprise was already replaced by a look of determination.
“And if you don't,” Clark said with a smile, “I'll tell you all about him over dinner. I promised I would, after all.”