Archive of Our Own

Bruce was happy.

It was an unfamiliar feeling, one he was quite unsure of how to handle.

Love—that was familiar. Bruce had fallen in love before. He knew what love felt like, but comfort? Happiness? He'd never allowed himself to reach that point with anyone else before now.

Before Clark.

Clark was the first person Bruce had fallen in love with who truly wanted more than the almost-but-not-quite commitment he was so liable to fall into and who was, frankly, stubborn enough not to let Bruce push them away.

So here he was. In love. Feeling comfortable with that for the first time in his entire life. He didn't worry what would happen if Clark learned some desperate truth about him—Clark knew it all, already. He didn't harbor some secret fear that Clark would turn around and betray him—he kept the kryptonite ring, of course, but he trusted Clark. As long as they were both in control of their own actions, Bruce trusted him implicitly.

He wasn't fixed by Clark's love—he didn't think he was fundamentally changed in any way, but Clark still brought something out in him, something which had been buried so deep he'd forgotten it existed.

He was still angry—angry at the world, at the senseless loss of life, the cruelty, the deeds people were capable of. He still had his mission. Out there, on the streets of Gotham, he was the same Batman he had ever been. The same drive, the same anger, the same care.

But at home, with Clark, with his family…Bruce felt something like contentment. The world outside was as it had ever been, but in here…he could relax. He could smile. He could be…happy.

At least until the next disaster struck. And it always struck. There were still times Bruce spent weeks down in the cave: investigating, following leads, digging deeper and deeper into a case until he was incapable of being pulled out by any earthly means.

Of course, Clark was about as unearthly as it got. When he followed Bruce into the cave, soft kisses and firm touches coaxing him from his cave—at least long enough to shower, to eat, to nap for ten minutes in Clark's unyielding embrace. He always let Bruce go back to work, once he was satisfied he wouldn't collapse from exhaustion—he understood how important it was to Bruce.

That made all the difference.

And it helped—the recuperation, that is. The time away from the cave. As much as Bruce hated it, it was enough to reinvigorate him, to help him see the evidence through new eyes—to crack the case.

Everything felt right.

Bruce couldn't imagine things being better for him—except.

He knew Clark loved him. He knew Clark enjoyed when they were together. The way Clark held him, the way he kissed him, the way he smiled when Bruce walked into a room, the way he stared.

Clark loved him. Clark wanted to be with him. Clark was…was Clark happy? Was he content?

He claimed to be, over and over.

And Bruce believed him. Most of the time, he believed him. But not always.

It was the other times—the one in ten, the times Clark thought Bruce wasn't looking, when his smile faltered, when he seemed…wistful. Distant.

Sad.

Bruce was unaccustomed to being happy, but for Clark it had always seemed easy. If Clark was a root cause of Bruce's happiness, then Bruce had to assume the inverse was also true.

He was making Clark unhappy, at least to some degree, and he wanted to fix it.

He needed to fix it.

There was something so deeply unsettling about the concept—a happy Batman, a dejected Superman.

It was wrong.

And it was Bruce's fault, one way or another.

"Are you happy?" Bruce asked, heart pounding on a lazy Saturday afternoon in bed. He stared at the ceiling, resolutely not looking at Clark, bathed in sunlight that pooled through the window.

"What—Bruce, I…I love you. You're all I want, honey."

Bruce squeezed his eyes shut.

"Bruce? What's wrong?"

"You didn't say yes."

"What?" Bruce felt Clark sit up, felt a hand on his chest. "Bruce, what's wrong?"

"You dodged the question—you're unhappy."

"I'm—B, look at me. Please."

Bruce tore his eyes open to meet Clark's. For the first time, he wasn't hiding the sadness. It hit Bruce like a punch.

"I'm not…I'm not unhappy, Bruce."

Bruce inhaled sharply at the words. They were in direct contrast to the look in Clark's eyes.

"I promise, Bruce. You make me happy, I love being with you."

Bruce exhaled. "But?" he prompted. He prepared himself for the worst. But there's something better out there for me. But something is missing. But you aren't enough.

Clark nodded. "I just…I do feel…well, sad, sometimes. I guess."

"About what?" Bruce asked. "Us? Me?"

"No!" Clark's answer was immediate, no hesitation. "Well, not the way you think, at least."

Bruce frowned.

"I love you so much, Bruce. What we have…I wouldn't trade it for anything. Seeing you happy, getting to be with you, it's…it's perfect." He took a deep breath. "I just, sometimes, the way we went about it…I see couples on the street, and I hear folks at the office talking about their…their partners, and I want to be able to do the same. I want to scream you from the rooftops, Bruce."

"But, you—we agreed—"

"We agreed it made more sense to keep the circle small. That we've been so careful up to now to keep our public personas separate—Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne don't know each other. Superman and Batman do. It makes logical sense, but…"

"Is that all?" Bruce asked.

Clark frowned at him. "What do you—"

"Clark, baby." Bruce pulled him down into a kiss. "If you want Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne to date, then we can do that."

"What about people talking?"

"Then they'll talk—we just need to shape what they talk about."

A plan started forming in Bruce's mind—a way to make sure nobody asked any questions about why Bruce Wayne: airhead Gotham billionaire, and Clark Kent: straight-laced reporter were suddenly in a committed relationship.

"You've got that plotting look on your face," Clark pointed out. He was smiling—a smile that reached his eyes. "You know we don't have to tell the whole world, right? Just—"

"No," Bruce cut him off, pulling him into another kiss. "No take-backs. We're going to scream it from the rooftops, baby."

Clark laughed against his lips, then kissed his cheek. "I love you," he whispered directly into Bruce's ear.

Bruce smiled, relieved. The plan was solid—it would work.

"Alright," Clark said, hands on his hips in the cave. "Fill me in."

Bruce grinned. "Step one: The meet-cute."

"Remind me of the plan, again?" Lois asked from her desk right next to his in the bullpen.

Clark sighed. "It's simple, Lo. We just…gradually introduce the topic of, you know, us, to the public, so it makes less of a splash."

Lois hummed. "And that's why you're all dressed up for work?" She asked.

"I always wear a suit to the office, what do you—"

"Not one this nice. And your hair is combed, too! Careful, Smallville, don't want to give too much away."

"It's not going to—" Clark cut himself off as the elevator pinged, head swiveling to see…

Doug from the mail room.

Clark settled back in his seat as Lois fought a smile. "Look, he didn't give all the details. Said it would be more fun this way." Clark was a little peeved that Bruce was so cagey about the plan's diner details, but at the same time he couldn't deny the frisson of anticipation he felt whenever someone walked into the floor—it seemed like half the paper's staff were up here now, as though they were mocking him.

"All right, attention everyone!" Perry announced, stepping out of his corner office and clapping twice to get everyone's attention. It was unnecessary—everyone who worked in the Planet knew to hush up and pay attention when Perry White stepped out of his office.

"I have an announcement to make! As you all may know, keen journalistic eyes as you have, the paper has been in a transitional phase, in terms of investors, for the past few months. I'm happy to say, we finally have a new primary investor, who I'm looking forward to cooperating with, and—"

Clark sat up. He didn't need to hear the rest of the speech—which was fortunate, because as Perry spoke, the office door opened, and out stepped none other than Bruce Wayne.

Clark stared at him, eyes wide, mouth agape. Lois nudged him, and he managed to steel himself into a more neutral expression just in time for Bruce's eyes to land on him as he looked around the room. Clark's cheeks heated, and he saw the momentary flicker of a smirk on Bruce's face.

Oh, he was so going to make Bruce pay for this later.

"Thank you, Mr. White," Bruce was speaking over the crowd, who were significantly less attentive than they had been when Perry had been speaking. "I won't try to get in any of your ways here—I bought this paper because I believe in the work you all do here. I have no intention of disturbing that."

A few people milled away as he spoke—clearly content with the knowledge that there were no imminent major changes coming down the line.

"I would, however, like to speak with some people from different departments—just for an overview." Bruce smiled the fakest of fake smiles—vacant and vapid. "Hmm. How about you, over there. With the blue tie? Care to step in with me first?" Bruce was nodding to Clark, gesturing to the door to Perry's office.

Clark stood, feeling everyone's eyes on him.

He couldn't look at Bruce, knowing that if he did his feelings would be etched all over his face for a room full of highly perceptive people to see. He looked at the floor, shuffling into the office after Bruce and hearing the whispers follow him.

Clark closed the door behind him, finally looking up to see Bruce leaning against the desk, legs crossed at the ankle, palms braced on the hardwood surface.

Clark looked around—Perry's office was framed on two sides with floor to ceiling windows which overlooked the city, but there was no line of sight from the rest of the office.

Clark walked right over to Bruce, grabbed his face and kissed him. "What on earth?" he asked.

"The plan, Clark." Bruce took hold of Clark's tie, running it between his fingers. "Stage a first meeting, let people begin to associate us, then…slowly introduce the concept of a mutual attraction."

Clark slid his hands down around Bruce's waist. "There's a flaw in your plan," he pointed out.

"My plans are perfect," Bruce argued, tilting his head to give Clark access to his throat. "It's airtight."

"There's a big problem," Clark reiterated. "You walked in here looking like that. You look too good, honey. Nobody's gonna buy we just talked in here when you walk out looking like I just—" Clark licked a stripe over Bruce's throat, then nipped at the skin near his ear.

Bruce chuckled, then flattened his palm over Clark's chest, pushing him away. Clark pouted. "Easy, tiger. Later, okay?"

"Promise?"

Bruce licked his lips, eyes dragging over Clark's body. His eyes were bright, amused. Promise. A shiver ran down Clark's spine. "How long do we have in here?" he asked.

"Not long enough."

"Are you really going to talk to everyone individually?" Clark asked.

Bruce smiled. "Nah. Calling Lois in next, and while we're talking I'm going to receive an urgent call summoning me back to Gotham. Very unfortunate, really."

Bruce stood, straightening his suit, then smoothing Clark's tie before heading for the door.

"Hey, B?" Clark asked.

"Yeah?" Bruce's hand hovered over the door handle, looking over his shoulder at Clark.

"Did you really buy the whole paper just to publicly woo me?"

"It was a good investment." Bruce shrugged and opened the door with a perfectly careful smile.

"I'll be over as soon as I'm finished for the day," Clark whispered as he passed out of the room, catching Bruce's mask of polite disinterest slipping for barely a fraction of a second.

Clark held out a hand, and Bruce took it, squeezing once. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Wayne. I look forward to getting to know you better."

"Likewise." Bruce turned away from him, looking toward the crowd, who all bore the clear signs of having suddenly stopped talking about a person who just entered the room. Clark sucked on his teeth, ducking his head once more to walk back to his desk.

"Well?" Lois asked, before Clark could even sit down.

"Ms Lane, would you join me in the office for a moment?" Bruce called out.

Lois grinned, jumping up. "Oh, this is gonna be fun!"

Clark sank down in his seat. She was absolutely about to embarrass him—he could only hope Bruce's "emergency" didn't hold off for long enough to let her hit her stride.

Sure enough, five minutes later, Bruce emerged with apologies to the gathered staff and made a hasty exit from the building.

As soon as he was out of sight, the room burst into a dozen conversations at once, each analyzing what had just happened in their own ways.

"What a man," Lois said, leaning against Clark's chair. She put a hand on his shoulder, casual, not suggesting anything to the unassuming crowd, but everything to Clark.

"He's something, alright," Clark was forced to agree.

"I can't believe you did that," Clark said, pulling Bruce into his arms that evening. It was still light outside, but the sun was already beginning to fade. Their time was limited.

"Yes you can." Bruce kissed him.

"I love you." Clark pulled him towards the bed. "So, what's next?"

Bruce had plans. He had so many plans. Seeing Clark at work, watching how flustered he got when Bruce set his eyes on him—he suddenly understood the appeal of making their relationship public.

Making out on his boss' desk had simply been the cherry on top.

Step one was complete—they'd met for the first time, with plenty of witnesses to gossip, and it had gone off without a hitch.

Bruce was looking forward to step two.

He was going to woo the shit out of that man—outright, in person, for the world to see.

He dropped into the Planet's office a few days later, met with Perry for a "check-in," then made his way out to Clark's desk.

"Mr…Kent, isn't it?" he asked. Clark jumped, as if he hadn't been listening intently to Bruce's conversation in the next room just moments before.

"Mr. Wayne! Can I…help you?"

"I'd like a tour of the offices." Bruce smiled. "I quite enjoyed our conversation the other day, and I was hoping we could…pick up where we left off."

He saw Clark bite back a smile. "I'm working on an article, sir."

Bruce had to use every ounce of control he had over his facial muscles to avoid reacting to that, while Clark's eyes shone with amusement.

"I could show you around, Mr. Wayne! It's no problem, really." Bruce looked over to see Jimmy Olsen, standing on the other side of Clark's desk.

Jimmy was Clark's best friend—from the earliest days of their relationship, when they'd first had the conversation about how close to the chest to play it, Jimmy had been one of the people Clark wanted to tell—and Bruce had agreed.

Had Clark changed his mind about trusting Jimmy? Decided not to tell him after all? Bruce looked at him for a moment before it clicked.

Jimmy was fucking with them.

"It's fine, Jim," Clark stood, glaring daggers at his friend. "I can deal with with this."

Jimmy shrugged. "Some other time, eh, boss?" he offered.

Bruce nodded. "Of course, Mr. Olsen. Looking forward to it." He held an arm out towards the door, nodding for Clark to lead the way out of the room. As Clark walked ahead of him, Bruce let himself look, blatantly checking him out.

"Real subtle, buddy," Jimmy muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Bruce to hear.

Bruce tore his eyes away from Clark's ass to raise a scathing eyebrow. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he lied, before taking off after Clark, catching up just as he reached the elevator.

"So," Clark said, turning to him. "A tour?"

"I need to get to know my investment," Bruce shrugged. He waited until there was someone near enough to overhear, then added, "Getting to spend time speaking with you is simply an added bonus."

Clark looked around, eyes wide. The elevator pinged, doors opening to reveal it was empty, and Clark pulled Bruce inside. "What are you—?"

Bruce kissed him. "It's working," he whispered.

"What is?"

"The plan! I'm hitting on you, seducing you."

"Seducing me?"

"Out in the open, where everyone can see. By the end of this tour, the whole building will buzz with rumors about me wanting you."

The elevator came to a stop, and in the brief moment before the doors opened, Clark squeezed his hand. "This is fun," he admitted, then stepped away.

Bruce took a moment to collect himself before following Clark through the doors. It was altogether too easy to trail behind Clark, looking at him like a snack he wanted to devour. The hardest part, frankly, was not letting the flirtation and coy smiles turn softer than they had any right to be, not letting the love he felt for this man he'd known for so long shine on his face.

Clark was right, though—it was very fun.

"So, Mr. Kent," Bruce followed him into the break room. "Tell me about yourself."

Clark looked over his shoulder from the coffee machine. "What do you wanna know?"

"You don't strike me as someone from the big city. Where are you from?"

Clark smiled. "Good eye, Mr. Wayne. I'm from Kansas." He grabbed two mugs, poured the coffee. Bruce saw the start of a smile before he turned his back.

Bruce looked around—there were a small group assembled at a nearby table, clearly pretending not to eavesdrop. He smiled. "Let me guess: Farm boy?"

Clark laughed. "Another direct hit. What gave it away?"

Bruce sat on a nearby table, propping his foot on the chair. "Oh, you know, the good old-fashioned charm," he said, thoughtfully. "The manners, too. And…" Bruce paused to accept the cup of coffee Clark handed him, letting his eyes linger. "The physique—physical labor, not vanity."

Clark turned pink, hiding his smile behind his coffee cup as he sat next to Bruce—on a chair, not the table. "See? Manners." Bruce winked.

Clark shook his head with a laugh. "You're a—"

Bruce leaned down toward him. "What am I?" he asked.

Clark ducked his head, bashful. Bruce would say he was good at acting if he didn't believe the embarrassment was genuine.

"You're impossible."

It wasn't what Clark had been about to say. Bruce knew him well enough to know that much, and the near-slip made Bruce want to leave this office, drag Clark into a bedroom, or a closet, or another elevator and kiss him senseless.

"Mr. Wayne," Clark began, looking up at him. It was a familiar angle, one which Bruce had seen him in many times—not usually in a dull office break room with multiple people around, though.

"Call me Bruce."

Clark's eyes dropped for a moment, and Bruce could tell their thoughts were both in the same place.

"Alright, Bruce. Call me Clark. Want to continue the tour? I don't think we've seen—"

"Nah," Bruce dismissed the offer, downing the rest of his coffee. He was getting a little too close to the line here. Better to quit while he was ahead. "I've seen plenty, Mr. Kent."

"Clark," Clark corrected him. "Only fair."

Bruce hummed. "Maybe another time, then, Clark. I should be off."

"Busy man."

"Yeah, I have an appointment later. Downtown."

"Oh really?"

"Sure. Phone call, you know? It'll keep me stuck in my hotel room until pretty late, I'd wager."

Clark met his eyes. Bruce waited for him to look away first, but he didn't waver. After a full minute, Bruce admitted defeat, looking away. "I'll see you around, Clark."

"I sure hope so." Clark's face was bright red as Bruce stood and walked away. It took everything in him not to lean in, to kiss him goodbye.

Soon, he reminded himself. Soon.

Bruce hung up the phone as Clark appeared at his hotel window. He crossed to the window, barely giving Clark time to climb in before pulling him into a kiss.

They stumbled together back into the room.

"I'm going to ask you on a date tomorrow," Bruce said, between kisses.

"Not if I ask you first."

Clark was working again—or, at least, he was trying to work. He was distracted, at least in part by the people who kept casually dropping by his desk to ask about Bruce Wayne.

"John said he saw you flirting with him in the break room."

"Marie said you were hooking up in the supply closet."

Clark just shrugged them off, telling them there was nothing worth talking about, all the while dreaming about the day he could actually tell them about his feelings for Bruce.

It would be a dream.

When nobody was asking about Bruce, Clark was distracted by thoughts of him. They were going to go on a date, and Clark wanted to make it good.

A date. With the man he'd been with for months now, it shouldn't be as exciting as it felt, but they'd never gone on a traditional date before. They've had dinners at home, they've been around the world, they've had a picnic on the damn moon, but they've never had dinner and a movie, walking hand in hand in the park.

Clark wanted to make this date one they'd both remember.

Perry called him into his office to discuss a story, and when Clark emerged after their meeting, there were no fewer than fifty roses in a vase on his desk.

Oh, that man. They had agreed that Clark would be the one to ask Bruce out. He should have known better than to trust anything Bruce agreed to when he was blissed out the way he had been the night before.

There was a note, attached to the flowers in a cursive script Clark recognized instantly. It was Bruce's, the way he wrote when he was carefully considering each word, rather than the messy scrawl he used when his mind was moving faster than his hand, and he was just trying to keep up.

Clark,

While we may have met just a few short days ago, I feel as though we have known each other for years. There is something irresistible about you. If I'm not mistaken, it seems you feel the same—if so, I would very much like to take you out.

Dinner, 6pm tomorrow. I'll be at the paper to pick you up.

Dress nice.

B.W.

Clark ran his finger over the words, smiling to himself. God, he loved that man.

As though they'd known each other for years. Right.

Clark laughed to himself, tucking the card into his chest pocket. He knew for a fact he wasn't the first person in the office to have read it. He could already hear whispers, Cat Grant the loudest of all.

It was official.

Clark Kent was going on a date with Bruce Wayne.

As much as it annoyed him that he hadn't had the chance to ask Bruce out himself, he couldn't deny that Bruce's flair had been an effective way to make sure everyone knew.

The following day, he took more time than usual dressing for work. Bruce had seen him in all states of dress—and undress. There was no reason to dress up for him, but all the same, the idea of a date—a public date—had Clark overthinking every one of the suits he usually wore to the office.

He picked up his phone and called Bruce. It rang and rang for almost a full minute until a sleepy voice answered.

"Baby?"

Clark's heart flip-flopped in his chest. "Sorry—it's early. You were sleeping."

"'sokay, baby. What do you need?"

"No, it's. Sorry, it's silly. I'll let you sleep."

Bruce grunted, and Clark heard sheets rustle. "Talk to me, Clark."

"Where are you taking me tonight?" he asked.

"No spoilers. It'll be nice, though."

"Not even to tell me what I should wear?"

"Your usual work wear is fine, Clark. I promise."

"I wanna look good for you, though."

Bruce hummed. "You always look perfect."

Clark scoffed, but he couldn't help the smile that spread over his face at the words. "You're such a flirt."

"Absolutely, baby. Y'know, I like waking up to your voice," he admitted, voice slurring with sleep. "Should do this more often."

"I love you," Clark said, wishing he were in Bruce's bed, wrapped in warm blankets, Bruce's voice unaltered by distance and a phone line, inhaling the musk of his early morning, post-patrol, half-showered body.

Bruce didn't say anything. Clark heard him breathing, slow and deep. He'd fallen back asleep.

Clark whispered those three words again before hanging up and facing his wardrobe again.

It's just a suit, he reminded himself.

He was later than he would have liked to be arriving at work, so he kept his head down on his way to his desk, trying to pass unnoticed.

It didn't work.

"Nice suit, Kent!" someone called after him as he passed.

"Looking good—hot date tonight?"

Whistles and remarks followed him to his desk, and he just knew he was bright red by the time he sat down.

"How you feeling about the whole public thing now?" Jimmy asked, setting a cup of coffee down on his desk.

Clark was embarrassed by the attention, but he thought of his morning call to Bruce, imagined their date later.

He pictured walking hand in hand with Bruce, or sitting at a candlelit table in a fancy restaurant. Maybe there were people whispering, maybe taking pictures to share with less reputable newspapers.

Maybe his private life would get less private.

It was a risk—there was a lot at stake, if Clark Kent became a person of note.

But…it was Bruce's plan. Clark trusted Bruce's judgment, and no matter what angle he looked at it from—he wanted it.

"I can't wait," he confessed. He smiled up at Jimmy. "This is all so…it's a lot, but it's worth it. He's worth it."

"That's sickeningly cute." Jimmy scrunched his nose, feigning disgust. "You planning to work today?" he asked.

"Of course I am, Jimmy. Until six, today is just another day."

He meant it, too. Unfortunately that message didn't seem to reach anyone else in the office. People kept dropping by his desk with questions that didn't really need his input, following it up with prolonged silence, or borderline inappropriate questions about Bruce that the version of Clark they knew would have no idea of the answer to.

After the fourth "It's just a first date," before lunch, Clark decided he'd be better off spending the rest of his day checking out one of the buildings he wanted to include on his expose on unethical landlord practices in the city, maybe interviewing some tenants.

Maybe he'd suit up for a while, too, if the need arose. Help some people, accept the attention he was used to rather than this strange new fishbowl feeling.

He barely made it back to the office before six, locking his notes away in his desk just as the ambient chatter of the bullpen turned to conspicuous silence. Clark looked up and felt his heart skip again.

Bruce.

Clark knew he wasn't doing an effective job of hiding the love in his eyes—he just hoped that it looked like the usual first date butterflies, the early fluttering of new feelings.

He wanted to wrap his arms around Bruce and kiss him, but he held back. He walked to Bruce and paused in front of him.

"Ready to go?" Bruce asked.

"Absolutely."

They looked at each other in silence, and Clark could see his own excitement reflected in his partner's eyes.

He took a breath and started walking towards the door, slipping his hand into Bruce's as he passed.

There it was. They were doing it. They were holding hands, in public.

Bruce squeezed his hand, a silent message confirming they both felt this thrill.

"Gonna tell me where we're going yet?"

Bruce considered, gesturing towards a car idling by the curbside. He opened the door, and Clark climbed in the back. Bruce slid in next to him, tinted windows hiding them from the outside world.

Bruce leaned in and kissed Clark—not trying to take it any further than a peck on the lips, but making Clark feel golden all the same.

"Decided to keep it simple," Bruce explained as the car started.

Clark peered into the front seat. "Hi, Alfred!"

Alfred nodded at him in the rear view. "Nice to see you, as always."

"We're going for dinner," Bruce interrupted. "It's a nice restaurant. Discreet, but not totally private. People will see us together, but it won't look as though we're trying to be seen."

"Huh." Clark looked out the window for a moment. "Romantic proposition."

"Is it not—I…did I over-plan, again? The children tell me I have a tendency to do that. Romance may not be my—"

Clark kissed him again, interrupting the spiral. "Dinner is perfect, honey. And you're plenty romantic, don't worry."

Bruce looked down at their interlocked fingers. "It's just that…you've done so much—even when we were keeping it quiet, you took me to…to the most beautiful places, and I—"

"B, relax. You're doing…everything right. I can't wait for dinner with you. In a public-yet-discreet, just visible enough to be seen without looking obvious restaurant."

"We have arrived, sirs." Alfred announced from the driver's seat as the car stopped.

Bruce put a hand on Clark's shoulder, preventing him from getting out. Clark couldn't stop smiling as Bruce got out and ran around to open the door for him. "What a gentleman, Mr. Wayne," Clark said, loud enough for the people not-so-subtly looking around to see who was getting out of the big fancy car.

Bruce bit back a smile, hand coming to rest on Clark's lower back.

It was awkward for a moment, in the restaurant. Clark was suddenly struck by the fact that there were people watching them, that he was out of his comfort zone, and that he had to be careful not to make the extent of his feelings to obvious—this was a first date, after all. Slipping up and dropping an I love you could ruin the whole plan.

Bruce bumped their feet together under the table. "I'm glad you agreed to come with me tonight," he said. "I wasn't sure whether my advances would be…welcome. I am your boss, in a way."

Clark was confused for a moment, until he understood. "I thought I made my interest clear, Bruce."

Bruce shrugged, leaning forward and placing his hand over Clark's on the table. "I hoped."

Clark felt butterflies in his stomach, the same he'd felt the day he and Bruce had kissed for the first time. He flipped his hand, letting their fingers tangled together.

"I can't say I wasn't surprised when I saw the roses," Clark admitted. Surprised, he thought, because after a very…athletic debate, they'd agreed Clark would make the fake-first move.

"I saw them, and I thought of you. I wanted you to have them, and I realized I could. I could just…buy them for you."

Clark blushed. That wasn't part of the game—it was the truth. "Am I going to have to invest in some new vases, then?" he asked, steering them back towards playful. "Are flowers part of your usual seduction?" Under the table, Bruce's foot bumped his again, and stayed there.

"If you're still interested in dating me after tonight, then I'll make sure to include vases with each delivery going forward."

The food was delicious, and Clark even managed to forget the people casting glances at them from across the restaurant by the time their dessert arrived.

The flirtation came easy. It was fun. He usually felt a level of discomfort with it, when he had to hide his identity from someone he wanted to be close with. This wasn't that, though. He wasn't hiding, not from Bruce. They were simply pretending, playing a part.

It was hot, honestly.

Clark could see it in Bruce's eye as he took a bite of tiramisu, the heat, the want. He'd seen it before, many times, but out here where anyone could see…it was more than a little intoxicating. Clark smiled around a spoonful of ice-cream.

"Did I mention you look good tonight?" Clark said. He licked his lips, a plan forming. If Bruce was going to co-opt his plan to arrange their first date, then Clark would just have to take control over how it ended.

He watched as Bruce's ears turned pink. "So do you. You're…you're a little bit out of this world, Clark."

Clark laughed. What a dork.

Bruce took care of the bill, and Clark led him out of the restaurant.

Alfred was waiting outside in the car, but Clark stopped Bruce before he could open the door. Their eyes locked, and Clark felt drunk. He took hold of Bruce's tie and reeled him into a kiss. It wasn't a believable first kiss—far from it. There was too much familiarity, too much love.

There was no hesitation, no reluctance. A full minute later, Bruce pulled back, gasping for breath. "If we don't move this to the car right now, people are gonna get an eyeful, baby," he whispered into Clark's ear, so quiet it would be inaudible to anyone but him. His breath was hot against Clark's skin.

Clark hummed. Took a deep breath. It was one of the most difficult things he'd ever done, to step out of Bruce's space, talking two full steps back. "I'm sorry, Bruce—I don't…I don't do that kind of thing on a first date. I'll, um…I'll call you. I really enjoyed tonight."

And then he turned around, his heart racing, wondering if this was a mistake. Part of him wanted nothing more than to run back and drag Bruce into the car, to take him home and show him exactly how much he had enjoyed this date.

But another part thrilled at the way he was leaving Bruce wanting. The knowledge that he'd be thinking of that kiss all night, while he stood on a dark rooftop somewhere in Gotham.

"Fucking asshole," he heard Bruce mutter under his breath before he turned a corner. "God, you're good."

Then the car door slammed, and Clark went home.

"I'm gonna make you pay for that stunt, you know?" Bruce demanded, the next day when Clark arrived for dinner—home-cooked, this time.

"Oh yeah?" Clark asked. He kissed Bruce. "I saw the pictures this morning—there was a paparazzo behind us, did you know that? My favorite was the one of you watching me leave."

"You're gonna pay," Bruce repeated.

Clark grinned. "I sure hope so."

Bruce was whistling on his way into Wayne Enterprises. Actually whistling. Off-key and without any distinct melody, but still.

He'd dropped Damian off at school on the way, and the boy had reacted to his whistling like it was some sort of sonic weapon, covering his ears and running for cover as soon as the car stopped. It didn't hurt Bruce's mood, though—in fact, part of him had kept it up for the whole drive purely to annoy Damian.

He got more than a few funny looks as he walked in, spotting more than a few copies of the Gazette open to the gossip pages, where pictures of himself and Clark were plastered across a full page. People were whispering, and it didn't bother him in the slightest.

"Morning, Mr. Wayne!"

"Morning, Angela. Beautiful day, isn't it?"

He was acting almost exactly as he always did, on these rare days he showed up for work. He always played it up, greeting people by name, winking, flirting. He wasn't flirting today, of course, but he was doing everything else. The only difference was that he wasn't playing a part.

At least, not totally. These people might think he was giddy on the high of a new relationship, but it was deeper than that. Clark had been right—having people know about them was worth the risk. And as far as cover went, nobody questioned it. Clark may not be the type Bruce Wayne tended to date—far too reputable, head screwed on too tight—but it seemed people only found it notable for the possibility that it indicated Gotham's favorite playboy might just be settling down at last.

Bruce sat down behind his desk and propped his feet up on the dark walnut finish. He'd planned to pack a handful of meetings in today—ones he wanted to be in a good mood for, ones he didn't want to risk losing patience and walking out on.

He'd picked today for a reason—Clark would be in Gotham later, and they would be going out again. Bruce had deferred to Clark this time, allowing him free reign to plan their date.

He counted down the time, hour by hour, meeting by meeting.

Everything wrapped up shortly after four, and Bruce grabbed his coat, swanning out the door the moment he could. He looked up, catching a flash of red and blue disappearing behind a rooftop. A moment passed, and there was Clark, looking adorably disheveled as he rounded a corner.

"Hi! Wow, you're already out, am I late?" Clark asked, checking his watch.

Bruce shook his head, embarrassingly endeared. "Right on time, Clark."

Clark ducked his head and kissed him on the cheek. "Let's go, B."

Their hands found each other as they walked, fingers twining together. Bruce didn't know where they were going—he knew this city like the back of his hand, but Clark was leading him on a meandering path with no clear destination Bruce could discern.

Then he froze. Bruce heard it a fraction later, but still couldn't figure out an appropriate defense before the men jumped out, blocking their bath. There were five of them, circling them menacingly. They were armed, faces covered, posture confident—professionals.

Batman could fight his way out of this with ease, and Superman would barely need to try at all to get through them, but here and now, they were Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent.

Bruce squeezed Clark's fingers, and Clark squeezed in response. They were on the same page here. They let themselves be herded into the back of a van, then tied up with a bag over their heads. It would be nothing to Clark, of course—he'd be able to see through the dirty scrap of fabric over his eyes as easy as if it was the clear lenses of his glasses. Bruce wasn't at too much of a disadvantage either, of course. He could feel every bump in the road, every turn the van took as it drove them out to the docks.

"Bruce, are you still there?" Clark asked when the back of the van opened. Bruce had to hand it to him—the man could put on a performance when it counted.

"I'm here, Clark. It's going to be okay, it's—"

"Got 'em, boss," someone interrupted, a gruff voice—one of the men who had taken them, Bruce guessed.

It wasn't hard to figure out what was happening here—honestly, Bruce should have anticipated it. It had happened before—some tough guy trying to use Bruce Wayne's loved ones to get their hands on some quick cash by way of a ransom payment. It hadn't occurred to Bruce because it hadn't occurred to him to worry about the possibility of any of Gotham's low-level thugs trying to get to Clark of all people.

Of course, whoever this was had no idea who they had just taken.

Bruce allowed himself to be marched across gravel, probably the unfinished surface of the lot, and into a large, echoey room. The air felt stale, abandoned.

He was reasonably confident that if he put his mind to it, he could figure out the exact warehouse, but it probably wouldn't help right now.

There was some shuffling, then the room felt silent.

"We're alone," Clark whispered. "Two outside guarding the door, three in another room to the west."

"Probably not for long." Whoever these men worked for was unlikely to be anyone serious, but that didn't mean they were entirely stupid. If a ransom was to be demanded, there would likely be a video, for proof of life.

"What's the play?" Clark asked. "This is your territory."

"Play along. Act scared." Bruce pinched the button at the cuff of his shirtsleeve. "I'm activating a non-emergency beacon. Someone'll come, pretend to rescue the poor helpless billionaire and his poor helpless boyfriend."

"Non-emergency?" Clark asked.

"That's the part you're contesting here? Are our lives in imminent danger? This is nothing new, trust me."

The door creaked open again, and footsteps echoed around the room—two sets, this time. Someone tore the bag off Bruce's head, and he was face to face with the two largest of the goons who had taken them.

Bruce had been through this before—he knew what to do. He looked over at Clark, who was staring up wild-eyed through crooked glasses. Good, they hadn't been knocked off or taken—explaining Clark's sudden resemblance to a certain Kryptonian might make this whole situation more complicated.

Bruce simply made himself comfortable. "It's going to be alright, darling," he said, in an easy, relaxed voice. "Not the first time this has happened."

"Not the first time? What have I gotten myself into here?" Clark sounded genuinely frantic.

"I apologize—I would have told you, I just thought we had more time before it got to this. See, I tend to inspire a certain fascination with members of Gotham's less-than-model citizenry. They're harmless, I assure you. They'll hold us here, the company will pay the ransom, and then we can get back to our date—assuming your plans weren't time sensitive?"

Clark sighed. "I had reservations," he pouted.

"I'm sorry, in that case, I—"

"Shut up!" Goon number one yelled, and struck Bruce across the face.

"Hey!" Bruce whined. "That better not bruise."

"Or what? You'll tell daddy?" Goon number two jeered.

Bruce actually did wince, then. He could see Clark sit up next to him, and he worried he was about to break their cover to jump to Bruce's defense, but idiot number one got there first.

"Hey, not cool, man," Number One reprimanded his partner in a whisper. "Everyone knows he's an orphan."

Well, at least one of them had some empathy. Bruce could work with that.

"Look, we don't have to make this difficult," Bruce tried to reason. "I'm happy to sit here until the ransom is paid, no questions asked. Just, leave my parents out of it, alright?"

"Please," Two scoffed, "As if you're in a place to—"

One hit Two on the back of the head, cutting him off. "Go take a walk, Bobby."

Bruce took note of the name. "Bye, Bobby!" he called, as the brute turned and stomped out of the room like a toddler who had just been put in time-out.

"And then there were three," Bruce smiled. "Thanks. So, how are we doing this? Video? Photograph?"

"I could shake things up, send an ear," Mr. Suddenly-not-so-friendly snapped. "We're not friends."

Bruce whistled, low and slow.

Clark whimpered, and Bruce snapped his head around to check on him. "What's wrong?" he asked. Clark shook his head, pretended to pull at his bindings, and made a truly excessive amount of noise.

A distraction, if Bruce had ever seen one.

"This is…I didn't sign up for this! I never wanted—This is just—look, I'm a reporter, okay? I've been threatened before, but this…? Bruce, I like you, but I'm not built for this! How are you so casual about—"

The door smashed open, and Red Hood sauntered in with an easy gait, dusting off his jacket.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" he asked. Not-So-Friendly was white as a sheet at the sight, and Bruce took advantage of the distraction to work his hands free. "I heard whispers of a big job, had to come see for myself. What's the going rate for a good old Brucie kidnapping these days, anyway?"

Jason swung at him, taking him down in a matter of seconds as Bruce rubbed his wrists, annoyed at having to leave them bound for so long. He reached for his ankles, but Clark got there first, kneeling at his feet.

"Hi honey," he smiled, breaking the rope with a flick of the wrist and freeing Bruce. "Two more in the room over there—one's a bit of a pain.

Jason nodded and crossed to the door just as Bobby and the fifth guy emerged together—they were both on the ground in a blink.

"Hell of a second date," Bruce grinned. He kissed Clark. "Anyone ever tell you you're a pretty good actor?"

"Come on, man," Jason groaned, throwing his hands up. "PDA! I don't need to see that shit. Let's get the hell out of here before any of these fuckheads wake up and decide they wanna make a scene." He turned on his heel and stalked out the way he had come, leaving Bruce and Clark to follow. Bruce gave Clark another quick peck on the lips, then took his hand and led him out into the cool evening air, where they had to step over the unconscious forms of the two men who had been guarding the door.

Jason was already gone, and there were sirens approaching. "Ready to act again?" Bruce whispered as the cop car pulled up, followed by an ambulance.

"I get a do-over on this date, right?" Clark asked, once they'd answered questions and endured the shock blanket and fussing of paramedics.

"I don't know," Bruce shrugged. "I had fun—and the night's not over yet."

Clark's eyes flashed with heat, and Bruce pulled him into a kiss just as a camera flashed.

"Damn reporters," he muttered.

Clark laughed. "Hey, now," he warned, kissing Bruce again, fierce and heated.

"Let's get out of here. I'm sure we can find something to do in Gotham this time of night." Bruce stood and held out his hand.

"I know exactly what I wanna do right now. Who's in the manor right now?"

"Everyone, probably," Bruce admitted. "After a night like tonight, they'll expect a debrief."

Clark groaned. "Of course they will."

"Metropolis?" Bruce suggested.

Clark hummed. "That could work. Long trip, though, if you won't let me fly you."

Bruce laughed. "C'mon." He knew he'd have to face them sooner or later, to counteract whatever Jason's version of the events might include.

Bruce stood and turned his attention towards the cops. "Any chance one of you fine folks could give me and my date a ride home?" he asked.

Making out in the back of a cop car like a teenager hadn't been on the to-do list for the evening, but Bruce had to admit the expression on Bullock's face was worth it. He sauntered in the front door of the manor with Clark hot on his heels. The mask dropped as soon as the door shut behind them, but Clark didn't step away.

"Good date?" Dick asked, from his perch on the back of the couch, grinning from ear to ear.

"Sure looks like it, if the pictures being posted online are any indication," Tim muttered, not even looking up from his phone screen.

Jason snorted. "Should've seen them going at it inside the warehouse while I was doing all the work."

Bruce glared at him, then looked around the room. "I will debrief in three minutes, downstairs. I will take no questions, then you will all either go to work or to your own homes. Damian, you were planning to stake out a suspect tonight, yes?"

"They definitely think you kicked them out so we could hook up, you know that, right?" Clark kissed Bruce once they were alone.

"Well, can you blame them? They're good detectives—I trained them well." Bruce smirked and led Clark towards his bedroom.

Clark finally got his date—a week later, after some of the hubbub had died down over their kidnapping. He hadn't been able to escape the teasing at work. He suspected Steve Lombard was the one to blame for plastering his desk with that photograph—Bruce kissing him outside the warehouse, both of them clinging to each other. To all the world they looked like two people who had just been through a terrifying ordeal, relieved to have made it out the other side.

To Clark, he saw a moment of freedom. The moment it all finally slotted into place.

He kept one of the printouts of the photograph, and slotted it into a frame on his desk. next to the one of his parents with Jon on his last birthday. He looked at them side-by-site and took a moment to think about how right it felt before stepping out of the office into the bright Metropolis sun. It had that golden quality of a truly beautiful evening, but Clark wasn't sticking around.

He had a date to get to. Gotham wasn't known for its scenic surroundings, but Clark had found a spot he thought should work. Sure, the park in question had once been used as a base by Poison Ivy, but he was reasonably certain there were no lingering spores in the air—just impossibly beautiful plants growing wild and free.

He brought a picnic. There were plenty of other people here—couples walking hand-in-hand, children playing in the flowers, laughter and ringing voices filling the air.

Bruce looked around him as they walked to the spot Clark had picked out. "I've never been here in the daytime," he admitted. "It's…Wow."

"Right? Ivy's got a knack for park design, huh?" Clark spread the blanket and set the basket down on top.

Bruce snorted. "Less design, more an attempt at building an independently governed sanctuary with some…gnarly defenses."

"Yeah?" Clark sat and patted the blanket next to him. Bruce dropped down beside him, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially.

"Know that scar on my left thigh?" he asked

Clark smirked. He knew that scar well. "Rings a bell."

Bruce nodded to a vine growing on the other side of the park, lusciously green and perfectly innocent looking.

"Wait, really?" Clark asked.

Bruce looked around, then dropped his voice. "It was a tight spot. Tim cut me out, but not before a thorn the size of your thumb embedded itself."

Clark put a hand on Bruce's leg, right over where he knew that scar to be. "Maybe not the best spot for a date, huh?"

Bruce shook his head. "Hard to find a place in Gotham that hasn't scarred me, in one way or another. I love it, Clark. What's in the basket?"

Clark accepted his kiss along with his assurance—he knew by now how to tell when something was bothering Bruce. When the photo had first been published, Bruce hadn't spoken for a day. He'd shut himself up in the cave, analyzing every pixel, to ensure there was nothing which could compromise them.

Once satisfied, he'd spent the following week hunting down anyone involved with the kidnapping.

Clark had visited daily, sitting quietly beside him while he worked, dragging him to bed and holding him as he lay staring at the ceiling, until Bruce melted against him. Until he looked up from the notes and took a breath.

Until he kissed Clark's cheek and thanked him for being there.

And slowly, he started to smile again.

"Just a couple of things—Ma baked yesterday, so I—"

Bruce didn't need telling twice before diving in—Clark knew he wouldn't resist Ma's food, and she'd been baking more often since they went public—something about wanting to lure him home to visit more often, and to bring Bruce along with him.

The evening was beautiful. Bruce was wonderful.

Clark was he happiest he had ever been.

They lay side-by-side on the blanket, once the food was gone. Clark watched the clouds swirl across the darkening sky. The children and families had mostly left—it was just them, a handful of other couples, and a few teenagers who must have determined this was a relatively safe place to hang out as night began to fall—somewhere they could avoid the danger that lurked in the shadows of the rest of the city.

"I love you," Bruce said.

Clark turned his head to look at him, finding Bruce already watching him. "Love you too, honey." He rolled over onto his side, propping up on one elbow to look down at Bruce.

"Thanks," Bruce whispered.

"For loving you?" Clark frowned.

"For sticking by me when I'm not so fun to be around."

Clark shook his head, ducking down to kiss him.

"And for this."

"This?"

"For making me want to take this risk. For making this feel possible."

Clark melted. He rested a hand on Bruce's chest. The feeling he wanted to convey was too big for words, but Bruce simply covered the hand with his own and Clark knew he understood.

Clark could stay here forever—just like this. Forever, until Ivy's plants grew up and enveloped them, preserving them here for all time.

Then he heard something—a familiar sound.

Bruce jolted, reaching for a device tucked into his pocket. A Justice League beacon.

"Duty calls," Bruce frowned, sitting up. Clark stood and gathered their picnic in super-speed, then rushed them out of the park to the cave, kissing Bruce before they both changed into their suits and took off to join the fight.

Just another day.

Clark could hardly believe just how much could change, while the world remained exactly the same.

He couldn't help but to wonder what else might change—how much more love he was capable of finding.

He couldn't wait to find out.