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Bruce sauntered lazily towards on the red carpet, absently smiling and waving at the sea of journalists and reporters around him. He was so used to the exercise that he did not even notice the blinding flashes of the camera, neither did he hear the people calling his name from the street. Strangely, he still had groupies out there.
"Mister Wayne, sir!"
Bruce turned around to look at the reporter. He did not know that one, probably someone new, but he raised an eyebrow in question nonetheless. From time to time, Alfred told him, it was good to answer one or two questions.
"Mister Wayne, are you aware of the rumors about you dating the reporter from Daily Planet, Clark Kent?"
Second eyebrow joined the first in a show of surprise. Clark ? He was not aware of that one.
"Wouldn't that be fun?" He asked rhetorically with a sly grin before turning back and finally climbing the stairs, a bit nonplussed at the news. If there was one reporter he would date, it certainly would not be Clark. The two of them were on the opposite sides of the spectrum, and that was without even talking about their aliases. The only thing Batman and Superman had in common was the "No kill" rule, and as far as Bruce knew, it was far from enough to build a relationship.
Bruce shook his head lightly to dislodge the thoughts and focused on the event of the night. Another gala-charity-thing he did not even remember the name of, which was of no consequences since nobody really expected him to. People were eying him warily, waiting for the next scandal and fervently hoping not to be part of it.
Sometimes, Bruce felt tired of that public persona he had to wear in order to protect his real self. Not even his dark knight identity, just the real him. The somehow introverted man who just wanted to be peacefully at home and not in a middle of a group of rich people judging his every move. The leeway he got for being orphaned had long disappeared, and with each scandal the patience of the rich people of Gotham ran thinner and thinner. The only reason he was still invited everywhere, Bruce knew, was because he was richer than all of them combined. In their little brain, they thought they needed him, and he in turn needed them to think exactly that.
Bruce bit back a sigh, plastered a slightly bored expression on his face and entered the room fully. Two hours, then he would be able to leave before it was socially appropriate and they all will be happy to have a new reason to complain about his rudeness.
*
The manor was blessedly silent when Bruce finally decided to make it to the kitchen for breakfast. He was a bit surprised that Alfred had not came up to wake him up, but sometimes the butler gave him small mercies like that and Bruce was not about to complain. As much as he had work to do, social events tended to drain him to the core and a few hours by himself in the dark was exactly was he had needed to feel better.
Or that was what he thought until he spotted the newspapers spread on the kitchen's table, surrounding a cup of coffee and a plate of toasts. The display suggested that Bruce had better not ignore the papers, and so he diligently took one to read what it was that his butler wanted him to know.
"Bruce Wayne confirms relationship with reporter Clark Kent" was the first headline and Bruce froze. That did not bode well for the rest.
"Why do rich people tend to be attracted to the commoners ? The story behind Wayne and Kent secret love"
Bruce was really partly curious about what they had managed to dig up to have something to say about a story and secret love, but that was not really a priority. Something told him that Kent or Superman was going to pay a visit, and both versions of the man would be downright pissed. Which, to be fair, he could understand.
"Kent and Wayne: a modern Romeo and Juliet?"
Why was he depicted as the damsel in distress in that one? He was going to save it in order to appease the fury of the other party involved. Kent did not look like he was that sort of man, but from his point of view it would be at least a little bit funny. From Bruce's perspective, it was a little insulting.
His phone rang before he could make it to the last paper and Bruce answered immediately. He might be cocky, but he was not suicidal.
"Wayne here."
"What did you do?"
Bruce closed his eyes and tried to breathe slowly. Fighting bad guys was always much easier than being confronted by his… acquaintance.
"I haven't done anything and if you're talking about the newspapers, it's not my fault." He answered blandly. There was not much he could say anyway. The facts were there.
"Not your fault?" Clark seemed to have difficulty believing him. "Have you read the articles ? Wayne smiled at the mention of his secret lover, Bruce Wayne silently admitting the relationship, the Gotham's richest man unable to hide his love for a common reporter."
And, fair, it was pretty bad, Bruce acknowledged. Though it was also quite impressive from the reporters to have managed so many heartfelt articles with just a smile and a short non-answer, but Bruce knew that type of person and he should have known better. He should have at least denied the statement instead of letting doubt creep in. He should have… but he had not.
He silently sighed.
"No need to sigh on me, Wayne" was the reaction he got and he cursed silently at the super hearing. Nobody was safe from it. "Have you read the Daily Planet?"
Bruce scanned the newspapers to find the only one he had not had time to look at and unfolded it gently. The front page displayed a picture of them during an interview from a few months ago when he had bought some building in Metropolis. They were sitting side by side, Clark cross legged with his notepad in hand and Bruce with his elbows on his knees, leaning toward the journalist. They were both looking at each other and slightly smiling in what Bruce supposed was one of their rare moments of closeness, and admittedly the picture was a great one. The only problem was that it was used to illustrate their supposed love story in a perfect way, since they looked close enough to match the narrative while staying professional.
"Your own journal, Kent? Shouldn't they ask you for permission?"
Clark sighed and Bruce barely refrained from telling him not to.
"I already gave them permission to use that picture for the last article. They did not, but permission was given anyway. There's nothing illegal here and it's too late, it's published."
Bruce hummed, scanning the text below the picture. All in all, if it was not about him he would have enjoyed the story. It was well written and made them look like they had fallen for each other in an oh-so-romantic way, wanting to preserve the secret to spare Kent from his coworkers and him from the critics the good society of Gotham would absolutely spread given his past relationships. And undoubtedly, anyone with a newspaper was already judging them. It would have been easy enough for Bruce to dismiss the whole story, or even to make a press statement, but the reporter was good and the story was actually plausible.
"Look… I don't think we can get away easily with this one. Your colleague is very talented."
"Yeah, Loïs has always been good." Clark answered drily and Bruce spluttered.
"Loïs? As in, Loïs Lane, your ex?"
"The one and only."
"Why?"
There was honestly no other question coming in his mind. He thought that Kent and Lane had kept a good relationship despite the short moment as lovers, and it was not something he would have expected from her. But then again, he did not really know her enough to make any statement.
"I called her before I called you and she said, and I'm quoting, that it was time for us to publicly assume what is evidently an already strong relationship before someone tries to flirt with one of us and the other reacts poorly."
"Are you the jealous type?" Bruce asked because if Kent's ex-girlfriend thought they were together then there was no way anybody else thought otherwise. Clark snorted lightly.
"She was clearly thinking of you."
"I'm not jealous, just protective." Bruce answered and even without the short laugh coming from the other side of the line, he would have known it was a weak defense.
"As funny as it is, what are our options?"
Bruce took a minute to think about it. His reputation was well past any form of salvation so he did not care in the slightest, but Kent was a good guy, even if there was no way he would admit that out loud, and he was a reporter. He had to stay clean.
"I'll find one or two scandals and you can dump me in a few weeks."
Silence was his only answer and for a moment, Bruce wondered if he had said something wrong. It was the most logical choice he could think about, since the best option for both of them would be to actually be in a serious, long lasting relationship in order to protect Kent and shed some positive light on him, but he seriously doubted neither of them was ready to be committed to each other.
"I'm coming over."
The phone went silent before Bruce had time to answer and he let out a deep sigh. Apparently, whatever was planned for his day had just been canceled in order to have an emergency meeting with his… significant other.
He waited ten minutes before heading to the shower, just in case Superman decided to fly in, but based on the recent development of their relationship he guessed it would be Clark Kent coming over, by train or car like the regular citizen he was. Which gave him about two hours to clean up and find appropriate clothes because there was no way he welcomed Kent, of all people, in sweatpants and oversize hoodie.
When Bruce finally emerged from the bathroom, hair still humid and skin pink from the warm water, Clark Kent was sitting at the desk in his bedroom, clearly annoyed at having to wait. Bruce raised an eyebrow.
"Alfred let me in." Kent answered flatly.
Bruce nodded. It was the obvious answer since nobody and nothing would have been able to enter the manor without express permission from one of them.
"So. Why are you here, exactly?"
"I don't like your plan."
Bruce fought off the burst of irritation at the casual answer. Just because he was often right did not mean he always had the best idea, however difficult it was to accept. He brushed a few strand of hair, noticing Kent's eyes following the movement, before waving in an universal invitation to elaborate.
"I don't think your reputation needs more scandals as it is, and it would probably benefit from something positive."
"That's right," Bruce acknowledged, "But not yours."
And Kent had the audacity to mirror his raised eyebrow.
"My reputation is pristine-"
"Which is exactly my point, Kent."
"-and if I dump you in two weeks because of a scandal or two, it won't be anymore."
Bruce fell silent. He frankly failed to see why and had no intention to ask the question. His plan was perfect and required minimal efforts from both parties involved, there was nothing to add to it.
"I think we should aim for a… long term commitment."
"Are you proposing right now? Because I'm not saying yes if you don't have a ring."
Kent closed his eyes in clear aggravation.
"Wayne. Could you please focus."
"Oh, but I am, Kent, all my focus is on you. Do pray tell why you think a long term commitment would work for any of us?"
Especially for them together. Bruce easily admitted that they fitted visually, but acting like a couple was another thing altogether and just looking nice would be far from enough.
"Are you aware of what your idea implies?" He asked because he really thought that Superman had taken a hit in the head and was not thinking clearly.
But it seemed like Clark Kent, in a true reporter fashion, liked to contradict him.
"Yes, I'm aware that I'd need to bear with you for the foreseeable future. Which is not my favorite part but I'm also aware of the benefits. Gaining a positive and stable reputation will give you more political weight to change things in Gotham and being with you will give me more of a public personality and allow me to enter circles I couldn't otherwise. And after a longer time we would be able to break up and… stay friends, which would not damage any of us."
And, alright, Bruce was intelligent enough to admit the reasoning was sound, whether he liked it or not. And he really did not like it. The benefits were not strong enough to balance the simple fact that they would have to spend time together, and he was not going to accept these terms.
*
Bruce casually placed his hand on Kent's hip, ignoring the stiffness and grinning towards the swarm of reporters. The fact that both Kent and him were about the same height prevented him from putting his arm around the other's shoulders, so he had to settle for the hip and if Kent was not happy, Bruce would gladly remind him it was his idea.
Their first appearance together was bound to make noise but even he had not expected that many reporters and what seemed like an even bigger number of photographers. At least they looked good together. He leaned into his supposed boyfriend.
"Loosen up, Kent."
Bruce resolutely ignored the goosebumps his breath made on Kent's skin and instead focused on the feeling of the body in his arms gradually losing tension. They would have to work on that, getting used to touch and being touched, and Bruce already knew that it would probably be the most difficult part of their little play. There was no way in any world they could be hundred percent physically comfortable with each other.
*
Alfred entered the living room with two cups of tea and a few sandwiches, only to purse his lips in what could be read as worry. On the couch in front of him, Master Wayne and his guest were sprawled with their legs intertwined, asleep in front of a movie which seemed to consist mostly of explosions.
The butler delicately settled the tea on the coffee table and looked at the two grown adults acting like teenagers, for once uncertain about the best course of action.
"You think too loud, Alfred."
"And you seem highly comfortable, Master Wayne."
Bruce yawned but did not move, seemingly not willing to disturb the still sleeping reporter.
"It's part of the plan and you know it since you helped make it."
Alfred bowed his head in acknowledgement, because it was the truth that he lent a hand to make the plan perfect, but somehow he still managed to look entirely unconvinced.
"The plan was for you and mister Kent to learn how to spend time together without wanting to murder each other. I see that it is a success if you feel comfortable enough to sleep next to him."
Bruce opened his mouth to protest but closed it almost immediately. Kent was literally sleeping next to him after all, it would be foolish to deny it and Alfred had no time for foolish behavior.
"Well that will only help us, won't it?"
"I am sure it will, sir," Alfred answered, "I am sure it will."
*
Somewhere along the way, maybe three or four months in, Bruce suddenly realized it was not that hard to spend time with Kent. Sure, most of their time together was either alone in front of a movie or surrounded by crowd in some event or another, but the silence was not awkward and slipping a hand around a waist had become quite natural. Kent still had goosebumps everytime Bruce whispered in his ear, but he was also leaning into his space everytime someone he did not know came too close and Bruce considered it as a victory. He felt like Kent was trusting him and he could admit, if only silently and for himself, that he enjoyed it very much.
Of course, Alfred never stopped from sending knowing looks in his direction, which Bruce was determined to ignore. The fact that he might consider a friendship with Kent did not warrant such a look.
*
As he was doing every Sunday afternoon, Alfred entered the living room fully expecting to find two grown adults sleeping on the couch, most probably in physical contact in a way or another. Often it was their legs tangled but sometimes the arms or shoulders were touching instead. Surprisingly however, both of them were awake and in what was apparently a sour mood. The butler paused at the door, waiting for a clue of what was going on and it did not take long to gain some information.
"Stop moving."
Master Wayne heavily sighed and ostensibly moved his left leg to put it on top of Kent's.
"I'm serious, Bruce. Stop moving."
Alfred's attention zeroed on their guest. It was the first time he heard him calling his Master by his name but it was the tone used that caught him. Under the exasperation, there was a clear hint of worry and exhaustion that nobody could miss. Not even the purposefully obtuse master of the manor.
"I'm fine, Clark. It's just a bruise."
"Which is darker than a black hole so please, can you take care of yourself for once and rest?"
Alfred was almost certain that mister Kent had already seen a black hole for real so the comparison did nothing to make him feel better, but he stayed where he was still. There was obviously something happening there and he did not wish to interrupt.
"You're a mother hen and I'm perfectly fine! It's nothing new, I'm used to it."
"You hurt. Stop arguing and lie down."
Both men stared at each other until Bruce seemed to accept his fate and briefly closed his eyes before looking up again, exhaustion evident on his face.
"Alright. Move over."
In matters of mother hen, Alfred considered himself one of the best, but clearly mister Kent had a good potential. Bemused, he watched as the men rearranged themselves on the couch until his Master was lying with his head on Kent's lap. There was definitely something going on between them, but Alfred was not sure if they even were aware of it. If he had to guess, he would say no. Never before had he seen two men more voluntarily oblivious than these two.
*
"Mister Kent, sir!"
Clark turned around, unsure to be the one actually being called. Nobody ever called him "sir" in the streets, but the reporter was eagerly waiting for a sign of acknowledgement and Clark nodded in his general direction.
"Sir, it's been eight months since your relation with mister Wayne has been made public and no one had seen you two kiss, why is that?"
Clark felt the blush creeping on his cheeks. Of course they had not kissed, and he doubted it would happen at all. Actually, he was fairly certain it would not, but that was not something he could share. And judging by the feeling of warmth on his face and the reporter' smirk, any answer would do.
"We are… not comfortable with public displays of affection."
The reporter raised a brow, clearly not convinced, and Clark realized that based on past behavior, it was highly improbable that Bruce would be uncomfortable kissing anyone in public. Especially if they were officially dating for eight months.
"I am not comfortable." He corrected quickly. And that was not even a lie. It took him long enough to stop being stiff when Bruce was sliding an arm around his waist or just taking his hand, kissing was really something else.
"But everything's going well between you two?"
It was Clark's turn to raise a brow questioningly.
"Of course! Why would you assume otherwise?"
"No kissing." Was the short answer he got and Clark was starting to feel aggravated by the whole thing.
"I'm not going to kiss my boyfriend in public just for you to feel better about it."
Curiously, the answer and prompt leaving following it seemed to delight the reporter.
*
Bruce sauntered into his living room with a smug look on his face.
"Clark. You surprise me everyday."
Clark looked up from his laptop where he was actually trying to work to see Bruce waving a newspaper at him with a mocking smile.
"What did I do?"
"Hum, apparently you defended my virtue or something. Also you claimed me as your boyfriend publicly for the first time in eight months."
Clark stayed silent, unsure about why saying out loud something that everybody already knew, or thought they knew, would do any good.
"What about your virtue? I never talked about that." Both of them heard the silent because any saving grace is long gone that the reporter did not dare to formulate.
Bruce actually laughed a bit at that.
"You basically said that we were not having public displays of affection because you're shy and I'm… let me check. Oh, I'm too besotted and respectful to do anything you wouldn't like. "
"See? Your reputation is improving already. Soon you'll be the knight in shining armor."
"Might be difficult to operate at night, then." Bruce answered dryly.
Clark only smiled and if Bruce had not known better, he would have swore the smile was fond.
*
To say that Alfred was not happy would be a serious understatement. Alfred was furious. He would even say he was murderous, but since the culprits were out of reach, he was keeping that feeling in check for the time being.
They will pay.
At the moment though, he had other things to do, like trying to make mister Kent go to rest.
"Sir."
Alfred was trying to be kind because he understood not wanting to leave the side of a loved one in danger, he really did. But he was also exhausted, and his master's life was safe, even if he would not be out and about for some time.
"Alfred. You know I can take care of myself, right?"
Alfred just gave his best skeptical look. Mister Kent has been sitting on the same chair for about twelve hours, in the same clothes, without eating or taking any rest. Of course he had a stronger body than the average human being but still. Alfred opened his mouth to comment and stopped.
He had not noticed at first.
How mister Kent's hands were on the bed, just close enough to brush his master's but not quite touching. How he was hunched on himself, leaning in the direction of the body resting on the bed. The lines of worry on his brow, and the slight pinch of his lips.
The man was entirely focused on master Wayne, body and mind together.
And it could have been friendship, after ten months spending most of their time together, but there was something in the way Kent's breathing stopped every time master Bruce moved that was telling Alfred it was more than that.
"When do you plan to tell him?" He asked softly.
He saw the moment the man in front of him thought about denying everything and playing dumb, but Alfred just raised his skeptical eyebrow. He already knew. There was no point fighting.
"I don't… I don't think I'm going to say anything."
Alfred sighed and took a seat. He was too old for that.
"Mister Kent, if I may. Love is nothing to be ashamed of."
"But it's nothing to impose on someone, either."
"That's true" Alfred conceded with a nod, "but talking about your feelings does not mean to force them on him. You were the one coming up with the long term plan, so I tend to think there was something for quite some time, now."
Kent blushed and Alfred smirked. No matter how old one was, being in love was always going to bring back teenagers behavior.
"I don't… it was not… It was not love. He's infuriating!"
Alfred could agree on that. That was a Wayne' speciality.
"What happened, then?"
Clark locked his gaze on the prone form in the bed.
"He's kind. He's always putting on the show for outsiders, everybody thinks he's some sort of egotistical eccentric but I've seen him helping people in the street, doing things in secret to solve problems that were not his own. That… I think that's what caught my attention at first."
Silence settled between the two men before Clark cleared his throat. Admitting to the first part, Alfred supposed, was easy enough. Bruce was kind, in his own ways. But going deeper was showing vulnerability.
"Then we had that interview and he was downright flirting with me. I knew it was his public persona but I couldn't help myself finding him funny. It was new, I guess. He's always so serious. Loïs says that seeing us together that day made her realize we were in love. But we weren't."
Alfred stayed silent, but inwardly thought that miss Lane was probably very right. After all, being in love did not necessarily imply fireworks and crazy declarations, despite what movies tended to demonstrate. He was willing to admit it was maybe not very deep, but there was already some sort of love indeed.
"And then Bruce said it'd be funny if we were dating and all my colleagues had gone crazy. And I was really upset at first but then I thought… I'm not proud, Alfred, and I really feel guilty but I thought why not?"
Oh. He was not expecting that.
"What did you think you'd get out of this?"
Clark glanced at him as if to gauge his reaction and Alfred carefully stayed expressionless. He had grown fond of the reporter and was reserving his judgment.
"Friendship. A chance to be seen as Clark and not just Superman. I thought if we got to know each other, the longing would disappear."
"But it did not." Alfred guessed, and Clark let out a bitter laugh.
"It got worse. I failed him in so many ways and I have no idea how to get out without hurting him."
The butler stayed silent and Clark resumed his vigil. Bruce's breathing was the only sound in the room, the only sign the man was alive and would wake up soon. After a while, Alfred stood and considered the pair in front of him. It seemed the situation was more complicated and easier at the same time.
"For what it's worth, sir, I think you should tell him the truth. Ten months is more than enough to care for someone."
*
Bruce took a short breath, trying to avoid putting pressure on his still very sensitive ribs. He hated cracked ribs. It was awfully painful and took forever to heal. Having to stand and chat with the rich people of Gotham was not helping his mood, and Bruce was particularly sarcastic. Fortunately for him, Clark was diligently staying at his side and soothing the burns he was inflicting. After some time, however, even Clark's kindness was not enough to help.
"Give me a moment." Bruce muttered before all but flying towards the balcony. A little time alone and seated would do him good, and he would be able to rejoin the party without starting a civil war. He was sure Clark would appreciate his efforts. Thinking about his official date made him smile. The reporter had been incredibly helpful during his recovery without invading his personal space, and Bruce was really grateful. He would have to find a way to show it. In the meantime, it was unfortunately time to go back and socialize.
It took Bruce three steps to locate Clark and three others to notice how uncomfortable he looked. Two more to realize the reason, a young woman flirting so obviously that absolutely everybody had noticed it, and the final straw was when she put a delicate hand on Clark's chest.
"Would you mind removing yourself from my boyfriend?" Bruce asked coldly, and the evident relief on Clark's face made his gut twist.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know…"
The woman did not move at all and did not look particularly sorry either.
"We've been in every single newspaper for almost a year, madam. Kindly keep your distance."
She only looked slightly annoyed at that and Bruce was starting to lose patience. Not that he had much to begin with. Clark was trying to move away and she somehow managed to follow him, which was incredibly rude.
"But he doesn't seem to mind." The woman purred, touching Clark's face.
Clark barely had time to open his mouth that Bruce was grabbing the woman's wrist to shove her away. He did it delicately enough that he did not hurt her, but his anger was clear for anyone paying attention. And at the moment, that was the whole room.
"Get out. If you ever touch him again without his consent, I will eviscerate you."
Clark gently took his hand and turned him so they could face each other.
"Bruce, I'm okay." He whispered softly without breaking physical contact.
"The audacity…"
"I know, hey, it's over. Breathe."
Bruce tried to do as told but his anger was still bubbling, and if he had to be honest with himself, his jealousy, too. He had never allowed himself to touch Clark in such a way despite the fact he was pretty sure he could have gotten away with it. He had always respected a painful distance, physical contact or not. Nothing too close, nothing intimate even if he craved it. And this woman…
"She had no right to touch you!"
Something passed on Clark's face so quickly he had no time to identify it, but the moment he opened his mouth to ask, Clark delicately grabbed his face and kissed him.
It took all of two seconds for Bruce to catch up and his hands automatically reached for the other's hips, trying to ground him. It was real. Clark was kissing him and it was burning warm and overwhelming and he never wanted to stop. The kiss was slow and soft and almost chaste, but Bruce felt like he was finally allowed to drink pure water after months in a desert, and he couldn't stop the little sound of protest when Clark pulled away.
"Are you feeling better now?" The reporter asked with a little smirk.
Well earned, Bruce acknowledged. He forced his hands to release their grip and nodded. To be frank, he was feeling better and worse at the same time, and not quite sure he was able to talk. Clark gently took his hand again and resumed their way through the party, ignoring the flashes of cameras and the gossip spreading. Absently, Bruce wondered about the newspapers' headlines for the next morning.
*
Clark was trying to work, he really was, but he had a hard time to focus. It had nothing to do with the fact he was currently in the manor's kitchen instead of his apartment, or that Alfred was cooking pancakes for breakfast and found it completely normal to have him here, and it was for sure not related to the fact that he seemed to have more or less moved in Wayne's Manor. He even had his own room.
Clark felt like this whole thing was getting out of hand.
"Clark! Good news!"
And Bruce was not supposed to be that cheerful in the morning. He was the grumpy one, the person who only grunted before the first coffee. Or second. Maybe third.
Clark raised an inquiring brow while giving his plate to Alfred to receive his part of the breakfast. Bruce waved a newspaper at him.
"We're getting married!"
Clark stared at his friend blankly, waiting for the drop of the joke, but as the seconds stretched without it coming, he finally cleared his throat.
"I'm sorry. What?"
Bruce looked at him mockingly before ostensibly showing the frontpage of the newspaper, and how did they manage to always land the frontpage, Clark wondered, when there were plenty of other more interesting topics at hand?
The picture of them was one of their kiss from the evening and, well. He had to admit that they looked very invested in it.
"I was not aware your relationship had evolved in such a way." Alfred declared while pouring a cup of coffee.
"Because it hasn't." Bruce deadpanned. "It was for the sake of the crowd."
Alfred hummed noncommittally and Clark got the distinct feeling he did not believe it.
"What about getting married, though?" He asked to come back to the interesting piece of information.
Bruce handed the paper with a flourish, visibly restraining himself from laughing, and Clark decided wisely to focus on the article.
The thing was not as good as the one from Loïs that had more or less started everything, thankfully. It would be easy to treat it like the junk it was.
"So I hold your left hand and they deduced it was my way to propose."
"Yes, and I have to tell you I'm a bit disappointed. I expected something bigger."
Clark gave a crooked smile and folded the paper neatly before putting it aside, crossed his fingers and looked at Bruce with as much seriousness as he could muster.
"Bruce. I might not have your wealth but I would never ask for your hand like that. I have standards."
"Oh?" Bruce asked, sitting on the other side of the small kitchen table to take hold of his coffee. "It's getting interesting. Do tell."
Clark cut his pancakes neatly.
"First, I would ask Alfred for his blessing."
Bruce snorted into his coffee.
"That is very kind of you, sir. I would indeed give you my blessing if you were to ask for master Wayne's hand."
"Thank you, Alfred." Clark said, ignoring the offended master of the house in front of him. He waited for Bruce to recover before handing him the jelly and used the moment to lightly brush their fingers. It gathered absolutely no reaction.
"After that I would bring you to one of your favorite places and then put a knee on the ground and ask you to marry me. With a ring."
"In public?" Bruce asked, gobsmacked. "Clark, I'm rubbing off of you."
Their ankles crossed under the table.
"Nobody would ever believe that I was the one to propose if it's not done publicly." Clark simply answered, and Bruce nodded approvingly.
"Not bad, but I think I can do better."
Alfred sighed. He had a feeling that he would hear about the potential proposals for quite some time.
*
Bruce walked behind Clark and settled a light hand on his neck.
"Still working?"
Clark sighed, leaning into the touch and tiredly rubbing his eyes.
"I can't focus. I make no progress and it's due in two days. I'm going to get fired."
Bruce started to slightly massage his friend's neck and Clark visibly slumped in relief.
"Well if you get fired I'll just buy the journal."
Alfred shook his head, only slightly refraining from rolling his eyes while the journalist's laughter echoed in the room.
*
Watching movies together had been a habit since the very beginning of their pretended relationship. When they managed to find time in between two patrols and a dozen of world saving missions, they just layed on the couch and watched the first thing they could agree on. Alfred brought tea and occasionally made a snide comment to either of them, depending on the one still awake, about their posture. But finding master Wayne entirely lying on top of mister Kent and sound asleep was unusual, even for him.
*
It started slowly.
The restaurant was humming with the noise of hundreds of conversations, people enjoying their evening and very expensive meals. Clark and Bruce were in a corner, not quite hidden but not in full view either. It was their weekly public date, and even if they tried to vary the backgrounds, the point was purely to be seen together so everybody could think they were trading love words.
They were actually debating the best way to immobilize someone without hurting them.
Bruce was demonstrating with his fork when he involuntarily sent it flying on the floor and he quickly got on his knees to pick it up before the staff could notice, Clark hiding his face in his hand to smother his laughter.
The morning after, all the press went crazy with their wedding announcement.
One week later, it was Clark's turn to put a knee on the ground to remove a little stone from his shoes while Bruce was snickering, mockingly saying he could buy Clark better quality shoes if only the reporter let him. Clark had smiled fondly and leaned in for a light kiss on the billionaire's cheek.
All the newspapers published articles stating that this time was the one.
Soon they found themselves making unwilling wedding proposals at every corner, and if it was funny at the beginning, it had quickly become a bit ridiculous. Clark was completely working from either his apartment or Wayne's Manor, refusing to set foot at the Daily Planet where his colleagues were on the brink of madness about the whole situation.
"Why are they all so willing to get us married?" He finally snapped when he spotted the latest article about the subject. A picture of them holding hands in front of a jewelry store illustrated the supposed proposal. They hadn't even stopped in front of the shop.
"They like stories." Bruce shrugged, hugging Clark in an attempt to comfort him.
But even he was willing to admit the whole situation was getting out of hand.
*
Alfred had enough. It had been fourteen months since the beginning of the plan and finding the two men always in each other's space but denying any feeling was getting on his nerves.
And Alfred had nerves made of steel.
But he also had limited patience for this sort of shenanigans and it was time for his wards to pull themselves together.
"We need to talk." Was what he said while bringing the afternoon tea and both Bruce and Clark looked at him worryingly from the couch. The piece of furniture was big enough for five people and they were barely using the space of one.
"You need to admit your feelings for each other." Alfred declared. "Both of you." He added because they were so blind about the situation that emphasizing the obvious was probably not enough.
Bruce raised a brow.
"I feel irritation towards Clark when he makes fun of my cooking."
"I feel annoyed at Bruce when he refuses to admit that I'm right." Clark immediately answered.
Alfred was really close to snap. He chose to retreat for the moment to preserve his sanity, but he knew he would have to come up with another plan. And maybe Bruce was the world's best detective, but Alfred was not bad, either.
*
The gala was a success. Everybody was having the time of their lives, there was champagne, and everything needing funds had received money. It was a success, and yet Clark just wanted to leave. If one more person asked if they planned to get married soon, the journalist was going to throw his glass at their faces, and it would definitely not look good.
"I want to leave." He whispered in Bruce's ear.
The billionaire looked at him with concern.
"Is everything okay?"
"No."
Bruce dragged him on the balcony and gestured at the security to ensure them a little privacy. It would not be much, since they were still visible, but at least they would be able to talk.
"Alright, tell me."
"I'm just tired, Bruce."
Bruce cupped his boyfriend's face in his hand to gently make them look at each other.
"I'm going to need more details." He said softly, gently brushing his thumb along the cheekbone.
Clark leaned into the touch. He always did, and he was highly conscious of it.
"It's just… everyone thinking they have something to say about our life and our relationship. I'm tired of being the center of every conversation and having to be careful about my every word. I don't think I can continue."
Bruce froze, his hands dropping uselessly by his side.
"Are you… are you breaking up with me?"
He was internally very proud that his voice stayed even, because he was feeling shattered to the core. He did not want to lose Clark. He was not ready to renounce what they had, was it under false pretense or not. It had been real for him for quite some time.
"What? No!" Clark looked horrified at the prospect and Bruce felt the knot in his throat loosen a little.
"I'm confused. You don't want to continue but you don't want to break up."
Clark ran a hand on his face, searching for words.
"It's not… the way everybody feels entitled to have opinions about us drives me crazy!"
"Celebrity comes with a few downfalls, yeah." Bruce commented drily. He could not even say he did not understand because, in all honesty, he did. "But that's what it means to be with me. I can't change that."
Clark pressed his hands on his eyes and Bruce had the weird impression he was trying to not cry.
"Can we leave?" The reporter finally asked. "Can we go home?"
Bruce took a sharp breath and nodded. The fact that Clark had called the Manor his home gave him hope, but he was powerless against the crowd's opinions. That was not something he could fight. That was not something Batman could fight, either.
They left the party in front of everyone and Bruce knew how it looked. The papers would make theories and assumptions about a fight, and the defeated look on Clark's face would make them believe the worst. Bruce gritted his teeth and avoided people, going straight for the car where he opened the door for Clark, earning a tired smile. As soon as they were inside, Clark threw himself in his arms and stayed there for the entirety of the ride, and Bruce just held tight. He had no idea where all of this was going.
*
Clark had a miserable week. He had been avoiding Bruce, knowing that it would hurt his friend, boyfriend or whatever they were, and he missed him terribly. He also knew that if he actually managed to avoid him it was only because the other allowed it and he was not exactly sure how to feel about that.
"Mister Kent! Sir, please, one question!"
Clark stopped and closed his eyes. He had no patience, no desire to talk to anyone and especially not another reporter, but he turned around anyway and gave the man an expectant glance.
"Mister Kent, did you and mister Wayne had a fight? You haven't been seen with each other since the gala."
Clark stared at the man in front of him, doing his job. The same job he had, really, even if in different circles. He had no idea what to answer. What would be the best thing to say?
"Mister Kent?"
Clark realized he had been silent for too long, which in itself was an answer.
"I broke up with him." He blurted out.
The reporter's eyes widened in shock.
"What? But… why?"
"I love him" Clark said and even in his head it did not make much sense, "I wanted to spend forever with him but you guys are always asking for the next step. We met, you asked about dating. We dated, you asked about kissing. We kissed! And then you asked for marriage and then, what? What's the next step? What happens when there's no next step? What if we just wanted to stay in that stage forever? As long as we were happy and not hurting anybody, why would you even care?"
The journalist was looking at him warily and Clark took a deep breath.
"Well, mister Wayne is a public figure…"
"Public figure means that he's doing things for the public, not that you have to comment every minute of his life. It's exhausting. How would you feel if someone was following you night and day to comment on your actions?"
Silence stretched for a few seconds. The man was visibly weighing his words and Clark had no energy left to care.
"You said you love him."
"I did say that, yes."
"Then why did you break up?"
"It doesn't matter anymore."
Clark left, and the only thing he wanted to do was cry.
*
Martha Kent had three registered contacts on her phone. Bruce Wayne, because he bought it for her and she adored him, the bank (unfortunately), and her son.
She had not bothered with the personalized ringtones since only the last two contacts actually called. Bruce checked in by text message from time to time, and the bank called once a year to try to sell her more services she did not need. So she knew it was Clark when her phone rang, and she knew something was wrong.
"Clark?" She asked, voice gentle. "What's going on, baby?"
The nickname earned a wet chuckle and Martha suddenly realized her son had been crying.
"Ma, I… I don't know what to do."
"Start with the beginning, sweetheart. Is it about Bruce?"
Clark sighed on the phone. Of course, it was the obvious answer. His mom had known everything from the beginning because he simply refused to lie to her and Bruce had agreed to that quite easily.
"I just… I think I'm in love with him."
"You think?" Martha answered teasingly and Clark let out a sad laugh. Right.
"I know. I… I miss him so much. And I'm pretty sure he feels the same, but…"
There was a pause. Clark might have been oblivious at first, but even he had noticed the way both of them had been physically closer since the kiss, and how Bruce was comfortable with him, completely at ease.
"Clark, baby. I know it's difficult for you to be scrutinized like that but you love each other. Isn't it worth fighting for? Just stop reading the newspapers if it helps, what people think about you is of no consequences. What matters, darling, is both of your happiness. And something tells me neither will be happy if not together."
Clark stayed silent and Martha patiently waited for him to process everything.
"Do you think I should marry him?"
"Do you want to?"
"I'm not sure I want to be married at all." Was the answer, and even knowing her son could not see her, Martha shook her head fondly.
"Then don't. Love is not ruled by being married or not, Clark. Love is hard work you promise each other to do every day. Sometimes it's easy, and sometimes you want nothing more than to throw kitchen plates at each other, but you refrain."
"Ma!" Clark laughed, amused and shocked at the same time.
"Surely you don't think your dad and I never fought?"
"No, I know you did. But you also always kissed in the middle of the kitchen." Clark answered drily, as if still being the little kid seeing his parents in love and shocked by the display of affection.
"Yes, darling. We talked about the fight and we apologized to each other. Love doesn't mean there's no obstacle, but it means you are two instead of one to overcome them."
"Thanks, Ma." Clark said softly. "You're the best."
"Well obviously! Now go to see your boyfriend, the poor lad has to be dying of worry."
And both of them knew it was true. Bruce would never show it, but the situation could not be easy for him either.
"I love you, Ma."
"I love you too, Clark."
*
Clark did not bother with public transportation. He just flew directly to the manor and awkwardly knocked at the front door with the weird feeling that he was asking permission to enter his own home. Except it was not his home. At least not officially.
Alfred opened the door with a raised brow, and Clark was not entirely sure of the meaning of it.
"Sir. Did you forget your key?"
Clark shuffled uneasily under the butler's gaze.
"Ah, no. I just… I'm sorry, Alfred."
"I don't believe you owe me an apology, sir." Alfred said while completely opening the door to let him in.
"Well, I think I do. You had to deal with the consequences, after all."
Alfred merely nodded before leading him in the empty kitchen to pour him a cup of tea. Clark sat at the table silently, waiting for the lecture.
"Sir, may I be honest?"
"By all means, Alfred." Clark answered weakly. Disappointing the butler was strangely just as hard as if it was his mother.
"I understand how it can be difficult for you to deal with the constant attention. I will not lie and pretend to be happy with the way you handled it. Actually, I'm quite upset."
The reporter shrank on himself under the reprimand. It was well earned, of course, but it did not make it easier.
"However…" Alfred paused, considering his words carefully. "I believe you hold master Bruce in high regard and you want him to be happy."
"I do." Clark answered so softly that Alfred almost missed it.
The butler nodded.
"Then I will only tell you this: above all, choose love. Whether it is love for yourself, master Bruce or anyone else, always choose it over all else. Nothing, in this world, matters more."
With that, Alfred quietly left and Clark soon found himself alone with his own thoughts. He did not know how long it took before Bruce entered the room, but based on the shock expression on his face, Clark guessed that Alfred had not warned him about his presence. The butler could be petty like that.
"No."
Bruce just turned back to leave and Clark jumped on his feet.
"Bruce, wait!"
The billionaire stopped but did not turn back and Clark belatedly realized how much he had hurt him. He felt his heart clench at the thought.
"I love you" he said bluntly, because at this point it was already almost too late. "For real. I'm sorry for the last week. I didn't know how to react between the press and the fact we were not supposed to be really together but it hurt like it was real, because it actually was but I'm an idiot so I didn't realized earlier and-"
"Clark."
Clark's mouth shut with an almost audible click and Bruce finally turned to face him.
"Sending a message wouldn't have killed you."
"I know, I-"
"No" Bruce cut him, and Clark shivered at the anger, the pain underlying his voice, "you don't get to say that you know. Or understand. I'm so angry at you right now. I'm furious."
Bruce took a slow, steadying breath.
"I told you celebrity and me was a package deal. You know me, you knew it. I thought…" another breath. "When you just stayed in my arms in the car I thought I was enough. And the next morning, you just disappeared."
Clark wanted to cry.
"I know I messed up." He whispered, forcing himself to look at Bruce and not drop his gaze on the floor.
"Undoubtedly."
"But I'm serious when I say I love you," Clark continued valiantly, "and you're more than enough. You're everything. I swear I'll make it up to you if you forgive me, Bruce, I swear. Please."
Bruce sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. He had spent the week moping like a teenager with a heartbreak, Alfred had been thoroughly unimpressed, but most of all Bruce had missed Clark.
"The place never seemed so empty." He said slowly.
Clark's heart stopped and started again wildly. Bruce gave him a tired smile.
"I don't want to wake up with you gone ever again."
"Are you proposing right now? Because I won't say yes without a ring." Clark answered jokingly, but his voice was weak and croaked. Hope was hard to contain.
Bruce did not answer, instead walking the short distance between them to frame Clark's face with his shaking hands. His breath crashed on Clark's lips and the reporter almost closed his eyes at the feeling, almost closed the distance but he forced himself still, letting Bruce decide.
The kiss started hesitantly. It was the first real one, where both of them were on the same page, and it felt important.
Then, Bruce's hands slid to Clark's hair and they were lost into it, drowning in a deep sea of warmth and love.
Alfred did not dare to call them for dinner, waiting for morning and breakfast instead, when he could make fun of their disheveled appearance.