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Despite the way Dick tried to hide how amazed he was, Bruce relished the way the boy’s eyes had widened as he took in the sight of Wayne Manor. Lavish with dark woods and velvet drapings, there was no end to the wonders of eloquent historic art lining the halls. Even though Dick had played dozens of roles of the rich, being immersed in the real thing was different, evident in all the little mannerisms that brought his shapely lips into little oohs.
Politely the butler waited until Dick flushed red and took off his fedora and gloves to hand over. He ran his hand through his hair immediately, exposing the trendy voluminous and wavy pompadour hairstyle that the youth seemed to favor beneath it. Bruce tore his eyes away and directed him to his library, making his way to a small decanter and crystal glasses that had been set to the side. He poured them both a brandy and held out the glass for Dick to take.
“Your home is lovely, Bruce,” Dick said, sitting down across from him at the fireplace. Dick was dressed nicely, jacket opened to expose the waistcoat beneath. It hugged his midsection delicately, and Bruce wondered if he could convince the boy to let him pick his clothes out just so he could see what styles would favor his form the best. He was certain very little wouldn’t.
“I’m glad you found it to your liking,” Bruce replied, taking a sip of his brandy. He joined Dick at the fireplace, adjusting his suit jacket while watching his younger companion’s gaze move to the mantle. Every inch of the manor exuded old money, but Bruce was no fool, knowing quite well the number of rich compatriots who likely showed Dick any number of luxuries to entice him with.
“Of course, how could one not? It's a far cry from my upbringings.”
“Oh? Do tell.”
“I’m sure you know the story by now,” Dick said with a carefree laugh. There was no shame in his bright blue eyes, and he tilted his head playfully with a salute of his glass before taking another sip.
“I’ve heard the story the papers say, but I’d rather hear the story from you.”
It was a smart choice of words, watching the subtle ploy bring a light dusting of crimson to the young man’s cheeks. He could tell it wasn’t directly flattering, but effective none the less in evoking Dick’s ego. The likelihood of fans telling Dick what they knew about him seemed to be the norm over the number of fans asking him directly, and Bruce tucked the knowledge in with the rest he’d been collecting as to what made the young boy tick. Dick leaned back in his seat and gave a one-sided shrug after he seemed to think something over, casually telling the story as though he’d said it a hundred times.
“I was born in the circus. My parents, as you very well know, were master performers on the trapeze. We constantly traveled by caravan and boat across Europe and North America. It meant you couldn’t own a lot of things and we weren’t exactly wealthy, and while it had its drawbacks, it was also freeing and liberating.”
“I wish I could have been there to see you perform. It sounds fascinating.”
“Yes, it truly was. To see the world at such a young age, to bring joy where so many wars had destroyed hope…”
“Entertainment is just as important for morale and any other.”
“I like to think so.”
“Perhaps one day you will regale me with tales of your youth?”
“If you’d like, but I better not find any of it in the papers,” Dick said with a frown, clearly teasing before his grin washed away any idea that he wasn’t.
“Of course it would make for tantalizing news to all your fans.”
“My fans have plenty enough information about me as it is.”
“And they’re lucky for it.”
“How do you figure?” Dick asked, a curious brow quirked.
“You barely managed to miss the draft. The world is made better for it, of course, and that is what your fans have to be lucky for.”
Dick’s pensive reflection gave Bruce pause. Perhaps he’d pressed on a topic that bothered the young boy. Many had wanted to run off in war but were too young for it, but he hadn’t counted Dick amongst them until that moment. To push the conversation forward without getting lost in tedious doldrums, Bruce enticed him onto another subject he knew all too well.
“What led you to Broadway?”
“After my parents passed away, one of the locals the circus worked with when in town decided to look after me, and after a while he took me to the Broadway show Claudia. I think I never laughed so hard since my parents had passed away and he encouraged me to try out for a local production when I told him how much I missed performing. The rest is history.”
Bruce watched Dick’s recounting with a growing sense of appreciation. The wistful look in the young man’s eyes verified all he’d come to know about him, the tender hope and joy he feels performing. It gave him certainty that no other owner should have him, they’d never appreciate the genuine desire resting in the young man’s heart. He set his drink down on the circular wooden table to his left, fingers still resting on the rim as he spoke.
“What are your plans for the future?” Bruce asked, keeping his voice light.
“I had hoped to sign another contract, to play something extraordinary but I haven’t had any opportunities despite my auditions going well. I’m going belly up at this rate.”
Dick’s eyes fell, the vestiges of gloom finally pulling away the carefree look that had emanated so easily from him seconds before. Bruce sat up, hand escaping his glass.
“You must have snubbed someone powerful to get blacklisted after coming so far. Can you imagine what it is?”
“That’s the thing, Mr. Wayne-”
“Bruce, please,” he insisted.
“Bruce…I can’t for the life of me figure out what I’ve done wrong. I’ve tried my best not to play favorites all these years, to work hard for any director or owner, been more than accommodating to their every demand.”
“Hmm…” Bruce sat back in his seat again, stroking his chin in thought.
“I have a confession to make,” Dick finally said when the silence had stretched out, fidgeting in his chair.
“Go on,” Bruce coaxed gently, when it seemed the young man might have lost his nerve.
“I took this meeting with you, because…well I hoped you’d help me get to the bottom of it. The only thing I can think is somehow someone spread a rumor that I’d been talking to a movie producer or that I’d gotten a sugar daddy and wanted to be a kept man, but I’d never leave the stage! Performing is my life. I don’t know where I’d be without it.”
Bruce let the words settle, the implications leaving their imprint in the conversation before he continued curiously, “and what do you think I would be able to do?”
“I know that theatre and movies are the only thing you seem to go out for, which means, you must know all the players, all the…behind the scenes men.”
“You’re not ill-informed, but I hardly see what sway you believe an avid theatergoer has on your musical career.”
Dick looked crossed between dismayed and determined, dancing on the line of propriety. It was a good look on him, one Bruce relished to see unfold past polite decorum at some point, but he held his tongue knowing teasing the boy too much might chase him off.
“It’s precisely because you’re a theatergoer that it matters. I’ve received all kinds of telegrams and mail from people hoping to see me on stage. I just don’t know how to prove that it benefits not only myself, but any production that puts me into play.”
“Are you bragging?” Bruce said when he couldn't resist any longer, smiling.
“No-no! I’m only saying that they will make money from me. I can be of good use for both our sakes.”
“Say I do speak to a few people I know, and nothing comes of it, what will you do?”
Dick looked pensive and laid back in his chair forlorn. “I can’t imagine not performing…Maybe I can find a small production willing to take me on. I’d do it for free if I have to, anything.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Really?” Dick shot up, eyes bright all over again. He smiled wide, and Bruce knew all too well it was genuine despite how it made his gut twist into knots. Despite wanting to lift his hand to touch the curve of cheek that dimpled, he kept his hands firmly in his lap.
“I make no promises.”
“Thank you, Bruce. It means the world to me that you’ll even try. You’re a real swell guy. The best.”
Bruce nodded, taking up his glass again while Dick’s danced around-still too excited to sit back down. The rest of their conversation went smoothly, more anecdotes shared, their comradery lasting into the late afternoon when at last Dick had to go. It was as though the warmth of the sun had set, and the cold and dark of his life returned when the young man stepped out of the manor's door.
“Shall I prepare supper, sir?” the butler asked once they were alone once more.
“Please, Alfred. I need to make a few calls, don’t disturb me for at least an hour.”
“Very well, sir.” Alfred replied solemnly and bowed before he left.
It was exactly a week later when Bruce dressed and donned his best homburg, the stiff wool snug, completing the look of prestige and business. He’d done everything he could to ensure not a hair was out of place, knowing his outing would make the news. After Alfred saw him out the door and handed his keys over, he took in the bright blue of the sky-a perfect day to dine out and a perfect day to meet the young man that had occupied his ever waking thought. He checked his pockets over, glancing at the time on his pocket watch before he deemed himself ready.
The drive was smooth, the bustle and enterprising Gotham never ceasing in its endless desire for advancements. Even his own car, a black Rolls-Royce Phantom III Vutotal Cabriolet, was a new rebodied convertible with the top down. The clean curved lines and shine drew the eyes of those walking alongside the road, a rare care amongst the average motorist, and as he arrived at the Rainbow Club’s entrance, he was unsurprised by the few reporters that were already flashing their bulbs his way.
He was banking on word traveling fast, playing up to the glitterati reputation he’d carried in his more wayward youth. The valet took his keys, enticed by the white leather and gold trim enough that Bruce thought the young man had barely noticed him. With his ticket secured he headed inside, checking his coat and hat, he followed the hostess to his seat amongst Gotham’s wealthiest patrons.
“There could be another joining me, a Richard Grayson, or you may know him as-” Bruce began as he arrived at his linen covered table.
“The Broadway star? Dickie Grayson?”
“The one and only,” Bruce said, making himself comfortable.
“Of course, sir. And if anyone else wishes to join you?”
“If he brings a companion, they can join, but no one else.”
“I’ll see to it. The waiter should be with you shortly.”
It took only twenty minutes for the young man to show, cheeks nearly cherry red and eyes glistening. While he wore a fashionable suit, it was unbuttoned to show off his waist again and his hair was as effortlessly poised as always, the natural curve barely containing much product. Bruce found himself starstruck for a brief moment before he attempted to greet him, but could hardly get a word in edgewise before Dick was already speaking.
“I don’t know what you did Mr. Wayne! But it worked! You’re an ace! I’m going to star in a large production, one they expect to blow the audience away and I really think it will! The script is killer diller, the sets and costumes, you wouldn’t believe what they’ve got planned!”
Dick’s exuberant outburst drew the watchful eyes of those nearby and Bruce, remaining calm, motioned for Dick to join him for lunch.
“Please, I insist, call me Bruce and lower your voice.”
“Sorry, Bruce,” Dick said hurriedly as he sat down. Bruce wondered how hard it was for the young man to stay still when it seemed his very skin vibrated with excitement. He leaned forward, as though it was conspiratorial what Bruce had to say.
“I drove a hard bargain, but they told me they wouldn’t do it without signing you for a minimum five year contract with the production company.”
“You’re on the nose, but the production team is one of the best! Their plans are grander than any play I’ve been in now that the rations for wartime has ended. Again, the costumes alone-”
“You’ll look dashing on stage.”
Bruce knew the compliment wouldn’t faze the boy, having heard it from so many admirers, but he couldn’t help that the words slipped out of his mouth. Dick’s fans had become fanatical, writing every theatre’s manager or producer demanding his return, so many of them professing love and adoration. Yet here Dick was, having lunch with him instead of any of them-guaranteed for the next half-decade.
“It’s not just that,” Dick said, waving off the compliment with a lopsided smile, dimple forming in the process. Bruce wanted to reach out and kiss it this time.
“What is it then,” he stated instead, enjoying how close they continued to be.
“The stories. So many have been dedicated to the war effort, and I for one am looking forward to something a little more hip.”
Bruce couldn’t help but smile, imagining all kinds of roles Dick would excel at in the coming years. His beauty was a classic sort, and it seemed no matter what kind of clothes the boy was in, he looked radiant. It seemed to him Dick was made for the stage, and the stage had waited all its existence just for Dick to step upon it. His lofty thoughts were interrupted when the waiter came to the table.
“How may I serve you today, sir?”
Dick looked at Bruce hesitantly, but seemingly all too familiar with his companions paying for his meal, continued to order to his heart’s delight when Bruce easily agreed to it in gesture. The boy had a hardy appetite, and as their meal carried on, he wondered how often he ate with others-if the rumors of sugar daddies on beck and call were true.
It was hard to keep the rising annoyance out of his expression, the thought barbing him in ways he hadn’t anticipated. Dick would simply make him wealthier. He wanted Dick’s name in his theatre, in his productions, and it struck him then and there as he sipped on coffee that he wanted Dick in his life. Permanently. Suddenly all his efforts felt as though they’d amounted to nothing. Five years could give him time to ensnare Dick further, but he also did not want to trap the boy in Broadway if the silver screen called for him.
“Have you considered getting yourself a manager?” Bruce asked, seemingly out of nowhere in their conversation about his script.
“My guardian handles my affairs. He’s pretty good at it.”
“No doubt, and I’m sure he’s got you best in mind, but I suggest you should consider it further. This recent incident could have been avoided if you had someone in the game on your side.”
“I did have someone on my side,” Dick said with a pause, his glittering gaze all but blinding Bruce. “You were on my side.”
It was difficult to determine if the boy was doing it on purpose, eliciting such feelings in him. Did he know how desirable he was when he said such things? Bruce’s expression remained stoic, businesslike in the face of it despite how it made his heart race. With it under control, he continued, using Dick’s words instead.
“I am on your side, which is precisely why I am recommending this course of action, Dickie.”
“Do you really believe it’s necessary?”
“Your stardom has risen locally and scouting talents from Hollywood are often poking their noses-”
“I told you I want to be on the stage. It was only a rumor.”
“I believe you, but you may feel differently in five years. You also could do more than just that stage work. I know for a fact you’ve been asked to do magazine work. Mr. Harper made mention of it when I spoke to him about the production.”
“I don’t know,” Dick said, sitting back in his chair. The topic weighed heavily on his shoulders from the way his expression had turned pensive and reserved.
“A manager can negotiate the best deals, ensure that you only do what you want, what you’re most comfortable with. I know a few people who I can personally vouch for.”
The trap was set, and Bruce began to eat, cutting his chicken apart to take a bite. He wouldn’t press it any further, watching the weft of it already weave itself into the young man’s mind. It wasn’t until they were nearly done with their meal he brought it up again.
“Your men, would they give my guardian a position in their company with them? Or rather, allow him to still get his cut, and still make calls?”
Bruce took a sip of his tea before he answered, giving it just enough time to look as though he hadn’t thought of the scenario amongst dozens of others.
“I’m sure they deal with this kind of thing with their talents all the time. Let me worry about it and I’ll have them give you a call with the details.”
“I don’t know how I’m going to possibly ever repay you for all your help, Bruce.”
Now that brought a smile to his face, unable to hide how Dick calling him by his name unprompted made him feel. There were so many ways Bruce thought that Dick could thank him with, as he had imagined all kinds of things Dick’s lips alone could do. He reached out and touched Dick’s hand, leaning forward ever so slightly.
“You go out on that stage and show them what a man backed by a Wayne can do by being yourself. I could ask nothing in return other than that.”
Dick’s expression melted, a soft look that touched Bruce’s heart. He didn’t think the young man was naive enough to think Bruce’s motivations were so pure, but he withdrew his hand before it became too obvious it was improper. Surprisingly Dick kept his hand where it’d been, gaze falling to where their hands had touched before he seemed to recover.
“When will you go out again?” Dick asked suddenly, meeting his gaze, quickly interjecting reason. “I’d like to keep you updated on the production, since you’ve done so much. Like an insider’s scoop.”
“Lunches?” Bruce asked, keeping himself calm as he could.
“If it's not too much,” Dick said cautiously, nervous. Bruce couldn’t help but like that look on him too.
“How often?” He wanted to hear the word everyday .
“Once a week?”
Bruce was stunned silent, torn between shock that Dick would suggest so often, but also knowing it would subject Dick to the very rumors he’d been embroiled in prior. And not so shockingly, in his caring state misread him.
“That is too much to ask, isn’t it? I’m sorry, it can be once a month if you need. I could come to the manor. You don’t have to come out at all.”
Bruce lifted his hand before Dick could carry on and steadied himself with a breath before he shook his head. Dick’s earnestness was touching, the care for his reclusion somehow not as revolting as it might have been with another.
“It’s not too much, but having you at the manor, Alfred would be delighted to arrange. He’s always harping that I should take in more guests.”
Dick’s smile was radiant, warming him to the core all over again, but Bruce wondered if that smile would stay if he knew the truth of his motivations, even if it seemed their eyes were still fixed on each other's long past propriety.
“Are you sure you’re not looking for a free meal?” Bruce finally said to break the tension. Dick’s laughter was light and airy, and he looked down at the remnants of his dish.
“I’ll work hard to earn every bite, and when I debut on the production, maybe you’ll let me treat you to something. It might not be the Rainbow Club, but it’ll be good, I promise.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Bruce agreed, drinks brought together with a soft clink of glass.
“Look at the time! I’ve got to get to a fitting,” Dick said, wiping his face and standing. “Really Bruce. I can’t possibly thank you enough.”
“You can thank me by keeping an ear out for that phone call,” Bruce rose, napkin deposited on the table.
“You betcha,” Dick said, sticking his hand out.
The handshake was firm, with as much exuberance in it as Dick’s voice and eyes carried, and Bruce wondered if the calluses on his hands had anything to do with his trips to the gym. With Dick’s departure, his own leftovers held no appeal but he didn’t want to look as though he were following him out. Staring at the empty seat across from him, he occupied his time with replaying their conversation over again and again while he picked at the last of his chicken.
The plan had worked to draw the young man out, and he couldn’t help but smile knowing he’d managed to put himself so favorably in Dick’s eyes. With weekly lunches in the foreseeable future now fresh in his mind, his heart was pounding with exhilaration to be so close to him so consistently. Once he was home he set to finding Dick a proper manager, one that wouldn’t trample on the boy for gain, or miss opportunities by being too wet behind the ears.
He’d never felt so alive and invigorated in those following weeks. Though he’d eyed a certain redhead that had begun hanging around the boy too, his jealousy was tampered as it was all too easy to make their weekly lunches a focal point of their lives and with Dick busier than ever with his growing modeling career and work at the theatre, he hardly had time for much more than fleeting dalliances. Bruce kept himself calm with the knowledge that they might come and go, so long as Dick kept up his end of their agreement.
He’d taken the young man to the most secluded restaurants, amongst them outdoor venues that enticed walks in small gardens to stretch energetic legs, but also darkened venues where a touch or two would go unnoticed by other patrons nearby. Their lunches sometimes turned to dinners by firelight, or burlesque shows, sometimes even drawing the cameras of overactive photographers that bordered on harassment. Despite how their clawing attention bore into him, he endured it all just to see Dick’s dimpled smile grace him again and again.
When the show was nearly ready, Bruce found himself peeking into their preview performances, test runs before the critics could tear their teeth into it. It was a treat to see Dick on the stage in his element, none the wiser to his slipping in to watch him. It wasn’t often he felt the need to hide himself away from Dick, but his growing need to see him was becoming improper. Fear he’d drive the boy away was growing, but if Dick was feeling smothered, he hadn’t let it known in his body language. And Bruce was attuned to it like a second skin, every micro expression beloved and cataloged over their last five months.
It wasn’t until the opening night however that he really felt his excitement growing to another level. His skin was buzzing, the invitation from Dick himself. He dressed to the nines, a bouquet of flowers and champagne prepared to be delivered to him at the end of the production fresh and ready for celebration. Enough of Gotham’s elite were going to be present that he was more than certain the reporters and photographers would capture their arrivals and departures, and he didn’t need his growing obsession with Dick to be on the pages anymore than they already had been.
Despite the vapid article here and there, only one reporter had begun to sniff around him with eager determination. Vicky Vale was a thorn in his side, and one who wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to hound him on opening night. As Alfred brushed his suit and he checked his cufflinks to ensure they were secured, he met the gaze of his butler in the Victorian antique mirror.
“I believe I will throw a ball, an art’s ball here at the manor.”
“Sir?”
Alfred looked positively flummoxed, brows raised and eyes somewhat wide. Bruce had rarely ever shocked the man so thoroughly and he nodded, turning his attention to the blue handkerchief he’d picked out to match his eyes.
“Yes, Alfred. I’m thinking of inviting the production company, plus all of Dick’s associates that he’s made in his honor. A rising star needs all the publicity and connections he can get, and Miss Vale could use some more fodder for her articles.”
“I shall prepare the details at once for your approval. Do you wish to theme it, sir? It is very popular these days to dress in costume.”
“Let’s go with that,” Bruce agreed, wondering if he might convince Dick to wear something ancient Grecian to draw out his natural features. He’d look so lovely with the golden tan skin exposed under the glow of soft incandescent lighting, glittering with the sweat of dance and drinking.
“Is there a time period you wish to encourage, or a general theme to the costume?” Alfred asked, interrupting how he’d already begun to undress Dick. He cleared his throat, willing his body to calm.
“Ancient societies. I’ll leave the rest of the details to your capable hands. Ensure elegance, however this is for a production team and not high society. Keep it in mind when picking out the food, beverages, and entertainment. Perhaps an up and coming Jazz band. I want them all to have a good time, a party they’ll remember for the rest of their lives.”
“Certainly sir, as you wish. I will see to a timeline and present you with the best dates for you to choose from. Might I recommend their six month anniversary?”
Bruce nodded and checked his pocket watch, “have the driver come round. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
“Very well, sir.” Alfred bowed in departure and left Bruce alone in his dressing room. He made his way into his office, shutting the doors behind him for privacy, crossing over the thick plush center rug to his mahogany desk and sat down. He opened a drawer he kept to himself under lock and key and withdrew a thick leather bound book. Below it a small glittering package was obtained. It fit into his inner suit pocket with his billfold perfectly, before he opened the book and flipped through its pages. Each thick sheet was adorned with clippings from newspapers and magazines, candid shots amongst the professionals in black and white and sometimes color.
He rarely ran his fingers over them, lest they smear and degrade, but he found himself affixed to a photo he’d had printed personally amongst the dredges, one of him and Dick at the entryway of the manor taken by none other than Alfred himself. If he didn’t have such an abhorrent view of photographers sneaking into his life, he’d pay them to sneak into Dick’s. As it was, he’d collected all kinds of personal shots, bribed from police and editors alike. He wondered if it would sicken the young man to know they’d been taken, those precious and private movements, but all he did was ensure they never saw the light of day outside of his own collection.
With a heavy sigh, he stowed the book back under lock and key and he made his way downstairs. The streets were packed, advertisement hardly needed with Dick as the headliner. The gaggle of adoring fans had congregated near the entrance, erroneously assuming Dick might come through so close to the opening hour. The flash of lights stole them from his view however when he stepped out of his car while a singular police officer tried to keep them at bay.
Once inside however, the thrumming energy of anticipation continued in hushed excited whispers, a few critics exchanging cards with other patrons, and Bruce checked his watch. He arrived precisely thirty minutes to the start of the show. It gave him enough time to gather a playbill, nearly ready to go to his seat when he noticed a small table somewhat in the way. On it were silk scarves, square in nature, all seemingly inspired by the sheet music on sale beside it.
The colorful display had one in particular that reminded him of Dick the most, and he purchased the set when he discovered it was Dick’s solo. He’d rarely seen anything like it on Broadway, and delicately folded the scarf up to join his interior jacket pocket. Once his coat and hat was checked, he finally made his way to the coveted seat of the house.
Front row. Center of the mezzanine.
His view of the orchestra and stage was impeccable, and listening to the dissonant tones of instruments warming up and practicing their own little snippets he couldn’t help but feel the energy in the theatre rise as the seats began to fill in. The show would be just long enough to forgo the intermission, despite its lengthy time, and Bruce settled in, giving very little in way of conversation to those who sat down near him.
His focus remained fixated on the large velvet red draping, golden tassels and curvature of rich wooden hues, attempting to ignore the growing conversation around him. It grated on his nerves, and while he’d considered a box seat to avoid others, he wouldn’t dare miss even a moment of Dick’s performance the seat would have stolen from him.
Relief came when the voices hushed then settled into silence when the lights dimmed and he shifted up in his seat to watch the orchestra’s dissonance turn to a single note tuning swell. It vibrated through the theatre, sending a rush up his very arms in goosebumps. He hadn’t even realized he had held his breath until the music began and the curtain began to part.
Captivated, Bruce only had eyes for Dick. Every moment he spent on stage brought laughter, cheers, gasps, and ahs; his dancing was phenomenal and showed off his superior stamina with moves only an acrobat could perform, and his voice, a beautiful nightingale capturing hearts. Both of which, despite their skill, paled in the face of Dick’s acting.
None of the previews had prepared Bruce for the full effect of Dick’s words, flowing through him as the music had. It sent chills down his body, Dick’s radiance outshining those around him, yet never did he leave any of fellow actors in the lurch, working and supporting them as wholeheartedly as he had his own effort. The finale ended with a duet, soon joined by the entire cast at the end, dancing as though they were wild and free and looking to the future when it ended.
Bruce and nearly everyone immediately rose to their feet, the booming sound of applause and whistling deafening in the cozy theatre. It was a success in all rights, and Bruce couldn’t wait to frame the best article for Dick as a gift with the sheet music. He quickly made his way through the throngs of people, greeting an usher at the entrance to the backstage to meet with the producers.
It was a quick affair, shaking hands and sharing congratulations before the talent finished their first off stage pep talk with the director. Bruce made his way to Dick’s dressing room, finding one of his men at the door.
“Everything is set inside, sir.”
“Thank you. Have the car brought round to the back.”
“Yes, sir.”
Bruce straightened his jacket, ensured his hair was proper in a nearby mirror and came to stand at Dick’s door, willing himself to be still and resolute while he waited. Laughter and jubilation filled the halls almost immediately, dozens of cast members finally joining stage hands in the clustered spaces. The throng of people parted as Dick came, their own praises washing over him, and through it all their eyes met.
Instantly the young man’s expression went wild, his parting words to his co-workers quick before he bounded eagerly forward and threw his arms around Bruce. It startled him, unable to return the hug before Dick had pulled back.
“Please, come in while I change. I’ve got to get ready for the after-party!”
“If you insist,” Bruce said, following behind Dick. He glanced curiously out in the theatre but the other actors were far too excited to notice him slip in and shut the door behind him. The click of the lock was drowned out by the exclamation Dick made.
“Bruce! Look at all these flowers!”
Dick had many adoring fans, many of whom bought him types of red roses wrapped in baby’s breath. It was classic and simple, sweet, yet lacking compared to the bouquet he’d made sure his man had put in the center of it all. The other’s fan’s flowers only amplified his own in the display. Dick was touching them, leaning into the smell of the hydrangeas and white ranunculus. A few peonies had made their way into the mix, and Bruce watched with a soft expression, telling Dick he loved him in the only way he knew.
“They’re so beautiful,” Dick murmured, drawing one of the smaller buds out that had only just begun to bloom. He cut the stem down with a pair of silver scissors that adorned the mess of his dressing station and came closer. His shy eyes briefly lifted to greet Bruce’s before he fixed the flower in place with his lapel pin.
“They’re meant for you.”
“I wouldn’t be here today, I wouldn’t have felt so alive, please, let me share with you.”
“If you must…”
“Good,” Dick nearly whispered, seemingly transfixed with his hands on Bruce’s chest. Red blossomed through the exaggerated stage makeup, and Dick pulled away to busy himself at his station.
“Where in the house did you sit? I didn’t see you in the box seats,” he asked, taking off the odds and ends of his costume.
“Front and center. I wanted to make sure I saw it all.”
“Or was it to avoid flaunting your identity? I haven’t quite figured you out. At times you seem content for the world to see everything, and then at others, you hide in the shadows.”
Bruce stiffened, wondering if Dick knew he’d been watching. Dick smiled and looked at him through the mirror.
“It’s okay. One of the stage hands told me you were lurking about one day. You just wanted to check in on the production after I talked about it so much, right? I tried to find you in time but you’d already left. Maybe next time you can stay and I can show you more of the theatre.”
“I’d rather we open this champagne,” Bruce said, moving to the silver bucket Dick had yet to notice to change the topic.
“I didn’t mean now! I told you I have to go to the after party. You could come!”
“No, I think not,” Bruce said as he popped the champagne. He was thankful Dick didn’t pressure him about it, unwilling to sit and watch his fans fawn all over him up close and personally. With the two glasses filled he handed one to Dick.
“Should we toast to a successful opening night?” Dick asked.
“Yes, and for all future success that will come.”
“How about we toast for everyone’s safety and health, so that no matter what happens, the show can go on.”
“I like that,” Bruce said, champagne returned to the ice. He held his glass up, the soft chime of crystal. Bruce took a sip while Dick drank nearly half in one go.
“That’s delicious,” the young man said, mirth returning to his eyes.
“Help yourself to plenty. You should celebrate your night away.”
“I will, trust me. But first, these clothes.”
Despite the words, Dick drank down the rest of his glass before setting it down. Bruce poured him another, taking his time and pretending he wasn’t watching Dick change out of his costume. Between his shoes and pants, Dick had already drank another glass. Bruce could tell it was going straight to his head, as every bit of makeup removed exposed his flushed cheeks and the red of it blossomed all the way to Dick’s exposed chest.
“Now you did promise to let me do something special for you,” Dick said suddenly, moving near Bruce to grab for his shirt. It brought them close enough Bruce could reach down and kiss him, but neither of them moved one way or the other.
“What did you have in mind?” he asked, voice nearly a whisper.
“It’s a secret,” Dick said, his smile widening, eyes glittering from his tipsy state.
“When do I find out this secret?”
“I made arrangements with Alfred but he wasn’t allowed to tell you until after tonight.”
“I should fire him for not telling me…”
Dick frowned and took his shirt off, moving away to pull on the white undershirt first. “That’s no fun! I swore him to secrecy. His honor was on the line.”
“His loyalty should be worth more.”
Dick gave a soft tsk before he laughed, “you drive a hard ship, Bruce.”
“I am not a fan of surprises.”
“I see that now,” Dick said, reaching back again for his white collared shirt. “Maybe you can indulge me this one time.”
“I indulge you all the time,” he replied with a teasing flat tone.
“Indulge me more.”
They stared at each other before Dick whisked away to put on his shirt. He was all grins while he sloppily buttoned up his shirt, and all Bruce could think about was ripping them all off again.
“Maybe I’ll spare the old butler this once.”
“There we go. I’d hate to think I’d cost him his job. How would I perform with such a heavy heart if you did?”
“Your acting says otherwise.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Dick laughed, moving away to where his waistcoat hung. It was chaos in the small space, but all Bruce could focus on was the cinched waist Dick’s clothes accentuated.
“Good. Perhaps my gift will too.”
“Don’t tell me there is more,” Dick said coyly, eyes glittering with delight.
Bruce pulled the gift from his jacket and held it out. Dick could barely contain himself, too tipsy for decorum as he tore into the package like a child at Christmas. Inside the velvet box was an exquisite wrist watch. The face was squarish, golden numbers matching the golden dials and outer frame with dark leather straps.
“You really shouldn’t have,” Dick said, voice sobered somewhat having only seen such pieces on movie stars in film.
“You’ve earned it,” Bruce said, setting his glass to the side. He came forward and pulled it out of the case. Once he’d fastened it on Dick’s wrist, his fingertips lingered.
“You’ve given me joy to watch you perform. More joy than all my years of shows combined. You give me reason to wake and leave the house. It's worth a lot more than this watch ever could.”
“Bruce…” Dick murmured, looking up. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t need to say anything,” Bruce replied, not able to take some kind of rejection if he’d read the situation wrong.
A knock at the door startled them both, Bruce pulling his hands back and busying himself with his glass when Dick went and answered the door. He didn’t ask about the lock, merely greeting his co-lead.
“We’re ready to go, common and stop whistling dixie, slow poke! Marcy’s ragging on us all not to drink but look at you, already celebrating without us!”
The woman teasingly popped Dick’s chest, pulling laughter out of the young man as he played right back.
“Celebrations wait for no one!”
“Don’t tell me you’re sauced already!”
“Hardly! I’ve only got a buzz on. You tell that pain in the neck we’re going to make sure she’s the drunkest of us all. I’ll be out back in a Gotham minute.”
“Alright, don’t make me come back again,” she said with a wag of her finger and a wink before disappearing out past the door.
When Dick finally shut the door and faced Bruce again, the air felt charged. Something had changed between them, but there was no time to figure out just what it was.
“I’m sorry I’ve got to dash,” Dick said hurriedly, throwing on his jacket and checking for his wallet and keys. He came close, shoes tied and hat on his head. It seemed to want to say something more, but settled on holding out his hand to shake. Bruce met his grip, their gazes unfaltering.
“Go have fun, Dickie.”
“I will. Take care Bruce.”
“Take care.”
When Dick was gone, Bruce fell into Dick’s chair and took his glass up. In one fell swoop he downed his drink, remembering the feel of Dick’s soft wrist. Actors changed in front of people all the time, Bruce reminded himself. It meant nothing special, he told himself. He couldn’t stop himself imagining Dick spread out on his back amongst the flowers, or stop himself from imagining licking champagne from his belly.
He wasn’t sure how long time had passed dreaming of his paramour when a stage hand closing up for the night rapped on the door for his attention.
“Mr. Wayne? We’re closing up for the night. Do you need me to call you a taxi?”
“No, my driver must be waiting for me by now.”
“I’ll go get your coat. Do you have your ticket?”
Bruce nodded, handing it over before he got to his feet. He poured himself another glass of champagne; touching Dick’s things softly, cataloging all the little trinkets and tokens, and ultimately catching sight of himself in the mirror. He looked like he was love sick, and he reached up to touch the soft petals of the bud on his lapel. It wouldn’t do anymore. He had to have all of Dick.
When he arrived home, Alfred was there to greet him, taking his hat and coat.
“How was your evening, sir?”
“It went well. When Dick comes on Sunday, make sure the majority of the staff is out of the house. I only want those who are the most trustworthy here. Did he give you a list?”
“Yes, it looks to be the makings of Rabbit Curry.”
“He believes you hadn’t told me.”
“I shall continue the ruse, of course.”
“Thank you, Alfred. I don’t want to be disturbed for the rest of the night.”
“Very well. Have a good night.”
Bruce was restless, his dreams haunted by the specter of Dick’s half dressed state. He woke up more than one or twice to a body unsatisfied, needs met and yet still he yearned. The day and a half wait was practically unbearable, but when Dick arrived on his doorstep dressed casually in a way he’d only seen snapped by the press, he couldn’t help but feel he’d finally gotten to see the real man behind the stage.
“Hope I’m not too early.”
“Dickie, what a surprise.”
“You knew I was coming, didn’t you?”
“Only that Alfred insisted I keep my day open for an interesting lunch.”
“You’re no knucklehead.”
“That I am not,” Bruce agreed easily and let Dick in. “I’ve also sent most of the staff away so you wouldn’t be bothered.”
“You didn’t have to do that, but I’m sure they’re happy for the break.”
“The kitchen’s this way.” Bruce led him through the halls, now somewhat familiar to Dick after so many visits, to a new kitchen, one where Alfred was already in with the ingredients that Dick had ordered laid out.
“See I knew you knew.”
Bruce chuckled softly, sitting down on a stool near the wall with his arms casually crossed. He’d dressed down himself as well, happy the domestic moment seemed rid of too much propriety.
Dick began by unbuttoning his shirt sleeves and rolled them up, his blue sweater vest contrasting the white nicely. It looked new, perhaps something they’d given him from one of his catalogue shots, but Bruce didn’t say anything, instead watching as Dick began to cut vegetables, directing Alfred on occasion when the old butler’s insistence to be useful was raised. Eventually Alfred left to busy himself with something else.
Their conversation was light, Dick regaling him with his trope’s after party antics; how despite all of them getting drunk off their gourds, they’d sobered up plenty in time for the next performance. He eagerly shared news from the production manager, things the papers had already released, but Bruce wasn’t willing to rain on Dick’s parade as he nodded along.
Time seemed to pass quickly, smears of flour somehow managing to make their way onto Dick’s face when the last of it was added to the pots to simmer. Bruce was at his side, lifting a wet cloth to pat at the white powder.
“It smells delicious.”
“I was afraid it was too homey…”
“Where’d you learn to cook?” Bruce said instead, working on the next smear. Dick took a moment to answer, unable to decide between looking up or staring at Bruce’s chest.
“My guardian. He had to work a lot and I cooked to earn my keep. My neighbor, Shirley, helped me learn a lot of recipes too.”
“I can’t wait to try it,” Bruce whispered, drawing down the cloth. It gave Dick every opportunity to move away, but they were transfixed, the anticipation from the other night suddenly back buzzing in his chest. He leaned in, unsure, hesitant. It could ruin everything, and yet all he could think about was kissing him.
“It will be a while for the spices to really set…” Dick whispered.
“We have a while.”
“We do.”
“Tell me this is too much.”
“No,” Dick said breathlessly.
“Tell me you don’t want this.”
“Kiss me, you fool.”
Bruce took his lips for himself, all the months of pent up desire flowing out of him. His arm had found its way around the young man’s waist, dragging him in against his body while the other threaded through the loose hairs at the nap of his neck. The world sharpened down to the two of them, the soft moans Dick made going straight to his gut.
His heart was pounding, thrilled that any one of his sparse staff could walk in on them, knowing none of them would whisper a word of it outside of each other. It had taken years to build the kind of trust with his staff and now they’d all know Dick was his. Finally after all his watching him agonize over the star for years.
His appetite was not placated by kiss alone, his greedy hunger apparent as he pushed Dick against the kitchen island. It earned him a wanton whine, and quickly Bruce hoisted the young man onto the tiled top. If he’d doubted Dick’s thirst, it was quickly dispelled when the young man wrapped his legs around Bruce’s waist to pull him in closer. He could feel the thick want hot between them and Bruce worked Dick’s belt open with agonizing speed. His hands travelled reverently up Dick’s shirt, grasping and pulling at his skin. He brushed over sensitive nipples, needing every inch mapped beneath his fingertips before they finally dipped back down to his waist.
The button of Dick’s pants was next, zipper and garments no match for his burning lust. Dick’s exposed hips were as delicious as had imagined them to be, and slender muscular legs greeted him once he’d had the pants free. He’d barely had time to admire the expanse of skin and manhood when Dick’s hands had come forward to rid him of his own. Deep in his heart, he flared with jealousy, wondering who else Dick had given himself to if he were so familiar, but it didn’t matter anymore. That was then and this was now, and he kicked off his bottoms without even wasting a second.
He pulled the cooking oil over, slicking his hand up before he met Dick’s gaze. They kissed suddenly, as if talking about it would be too much. Bruce encouraged Dick’s hip at an angle, pressing into him to spread the oil. It brought out soft gasping moans, Dick’s powerful legs grasping around Bruce for more. It drove him wild, spreading the young man open wider and wider to take him. He wanted their first time to bring nothing but pleasure, even if he wanted him laid out like a buffet on his kitchen counters. Once he felt the muscles relax enough he slipped his fingers free. Dick protested, but eagerly looked down between them while Bruce oiled himself up.
“Bru-Bruce! How’s that going to fit!”
“Shhh, you’ll see,” he coaxed, moving himself against the tightened bud. “Just relax.”
He pressed through muscle, enveloped in heat and yet he held Dick, going slow and steady with every deepened pitch of his hips. Dick’s voice was low and guttural, hot against him when he tossed his head forward to lean against Bruce’s shoulder.
“You’re doing so good for me,” Bruce praised, stroking him comfortingly as he restrained himself from going too fast, being too hasty. The jealousy in him was quelled when he realized Dick likely hadn’t had someone as big, pride welling in his chest with the thunderous elation of finally giving something new. No dream or fantasy lived up to the very real sound of Dick’s wrecked voice reverberating in his kitchen.
“A little more, that’s it,” Bruce coached, meeting Dick with his own baited breath. He burned and ached for more, starting the slow withdrawal before he sank in again. Every pass soothed the beast within him, even as he ached to go harder but it was worth it, pulling from Dick noises he’d never heard the young man make.
Every utterance was tucked away in his mind, hoarded should his yearning find him alone again. Dick’s head rose when their hips met again, and they kissed, arms wrapped around his neck as the lithe legs encouraged more speed. Using the counter to brace them, Bruce rose onto the balls of his feet and began to quicken his pace much to Dick’s delight.
The sound of their skin meeting joined their muffled grunts and groans, kisses stealing away what their shallow breaths gave. It was madness, folly plain and simple in a world that wouldn’t accept their union, but Bruce was elated with every thrust, chasing pleasure in a man whom no woman had ever matched, who no soul had ever dared dreamed. Soon he could feel Dick coiling on him, jerking in sweet release with a wail. He could hardly deny himself the same, grunting as his hips stuttered and all his longing had finally come home.
Lunch had never tasted so good in his life.
Months passed with secret rendezvous, hushed love making behind curtains and in dressing rooms. The manor held no room they wouldn’t disappear into, the easiest to loose themselves in each other. And every time was as captivating as the last, the appeal of finding himself between Dick’s legs as good as the last.
It had all come in a blur, bliss stealing time so quickly that he hadn’t even realized the ball was at hand. He’d gone through great lengths to invite the artistic denizens of Gotham that would benefit from it most, from lowest of stage hands to the highest of production managers, the honor resting primarily on Dick’s production crew as a whole.
On the evening of, the soft breeze coming through his window carried with it the music drifting out of the ballroom and Bruce put on the last of his costume. While he was admiring the handiwork in the mirror, he wondered which outfit Dick had chosen, hoping he’d lavished himself with something sinful with a flare of colorful trim. The door suddenly burst open, Dick’s angry expression greeting him. In his hands he held a slew of documents that he lifted up and shook in Bruce’s direction.
“Right from the start! I can’t believe it!” he yelled.
“What’s wrong, Dick?” Bruce asked, attempting to placate the irate man as they came closer to each other.
“You! You’re what’s wrong with me! You bastard!” Dick threw the documents with all his strength at Bruce, the shuffling of paper the only noise left.
Bruce bent down and began pulling them together, attempting to read them without his glasses. They were accountings with dates and times and people, various statements informing on Bruce’s dealings. His gut went heavy with iron, cold seeping into his veins.
“This isn’t what it appears to be, Dickie.”
“Don’t-don’t play me for the fool, Bruce! How could I have not seen it, the gifts, the attention you gave me! Everything was always so conveniently pointed to you!”
More papers, more statements, everything damning him from the beginning of Dick’s career on Broadway.
“It’s slander. They only want to drive you from me. Miss Vale would stop at nothing for a story. This wouldn’t be the first time she’s twisted things. What we are, she could never accept it.”
“Then tell me straight to my face that you haven’t been playing me from the start, that you recently didn’t orchestrate me into being blacklisted so I would have nowhere else to turn but a production company you’re a secret investor in! Tell me you didn’t pay that manager extra to ensure I stayed right where you wanted me! Only presenting jobs where you could control me! Tell me this wasn’t all a lie!”
“It's not a lie, I love you!” Bruce said, tossing the papers down to the floor. He took Dick by his arms, grasping desperately against the tears that had begun pouring down his face.
“This isn’t love!”
“Yes it is! I love you, Dickie. I’ve loved you since the moment I’ve set eyes on you on that stage. Everything I’ve ever done has only been to make you a shining success!”
Dick slowly looked up, his heavy breaths near sobs struck with disbelief.
“Can’t you see,” Bruce continued, releasing Dick’s arms to cup his face and brush away the tears. “You were born for the stage. You were born to perform. I would never take that away from you. Whatever lies these men have sprouted, they cannot deny that I have had only that in mind. We can’t turn back now. You have everything you’ve ever wanted, don’t you? Was my loving you so bad?”
“Bruce…” Dick sucked in a shaky breath, blinking out the most recent tears that clung to his thick lashes.
“Please don’t cry, Dickie. Please…I love you,” Bruce whispered, kissing him softly.
“I love you,” Bruce whispered again, possessive in his next kiss.
“Bruce-”
“I love you,” he chanted, bringing them close to the bed.
“Bruce, please,” Dick protested momentarily before he reciprocated, falling back with Bruce into the soft covers.
“Don’t leave me, Dickie. I need you,” Bruce continued, slotting himself between Dick’s legs.
“Nnngh…I-I…” Dick murmured, moaning as Bruce hitched up his soft blue tunic and pressed them together at the hips.
Their words fell away, a mess of touches, desperate grasps, and soon they were joined with a grunt. Dick cried out, tossing his head back. Bruce descended upon it, nipping at the delicate column as he buried himself in Dick’s velvet warmth. His body demanded more and more; every forbidden craving clawing for satisfaction, to own Dick in every way he could possibly take with nothing in between them.
He wanted the party below to hear them, every thrust of his hips canting the four poster bed against the wall. It thud in its own carnal rhythm. For all its trappings, none of it compared to the man below him. He wanted Dick to sing, bracing himself up to pay tribute to his golden god. Each stroke was given to entice, to bring Dick to his rapturous end and soon their music was made all the more sweeter with Dick’s wailing to the heavens.
Bruce panted heavily, the fire of their joining spent between them together in one final violent thrust. When the calm came, and their very breath began to slow, he kissed away the streaks of tears, pressed on the faint dimple of his cheek, and caressed and held Dick as though he were the most tender precious thing in the world.
“You can’t leave me, Dickie…never…”
“I know.”