Chapter Text
“Go out with me,” Clark said. “Please.”
Batman made a small, disapproving, and almost inaudible noise as he messed with the projector in the conference room and then one of the holograms from his gauntlet. Clark wasn’t fooled. Bats had incredible control over his body: if he hadn’t wanted to be heard, he wouldn’t have made a noise at all. Otherwise, B was too paranoid to hope that Clark hadn’t heard him.
“Please,” Clark repeated.
Batman looked up from his tasks. “No, Kal.”
It was time for his secret weapon.
“Will you go out with me?” Clark gave B his most charming smile and held the bouquet out as an offering.
Behind him, he heard Barry murmur to Hal, “Where did he get those?” but Clark ignored them.
And the bouquet kind of worked. Bats’ arms fell to his sides and then his cape closed over him. That was the only sign of his surprise as he hadn’t even flinched when Clark had pulled out the flowers.
“You got me black roses,” B said slowly. “Black. Roses.”
“You like black and roses are nice,” Clark explained.
“So, you give me black roses? Are red only for people whose favorite color is red?”
He then sighed, “Kal”一Clark continued to smile and placed the bouquet on the projector一“you know this is a bad idea.”
Clark shook his head.
“It is,” B insisted. “A failed romantic relationship could have drastic effects on League business, and even a successful relationship would influence mission behavior. We are very different people and we argue a lot一and, you don’t even know who I am.”
“Well, that’s not that important,” Clark insisted.
“You’d want to go on a date with me, cowl and all?” B asked and Clark knew him well enough to hear the twist of amusement in his voice.
“Yes.”
The lower end of Bats’ cape ruffled ever so slightly一imperceptible to anyone but Clark. It looked like he was almost disarmed by Clark’s conviction and sincerity.
“C’mon, B.”
“No,” the Batman snarled. He pressed a button on his gauntlet and the projector turned on and displayed a holographic 3D map.
“The meeting is starting,” the Bat announced and the rest of the League stopped pretending that they hadn’t been eavesdropping.
They sat down in their respective seats.
“I’m the chairman,” Clark mentioned pointedly.
The glare Batman sent his way was absolutely lethal; Clark’s stomach fluttered and he felt lightheaded. He had to stop himself from floating with joy.
“The meeting is starting,” Clark repeated, taking his own seat around the table.
He glanced at the projector before he addressed everyone officially. The roses were gone.
Though Mission: Woo the Bat as Superman seemed, maybe, to be tipping in his favor, reporter Clark Kent’s life was not going as easy; Lois was investigating the business dealings of Tony Gallo and the millionaire was a notorious hermit and avoided interviews that left Lois scrambling and complaining. Therefore, when Lois had found a rumor about Gallo’s attendance at the next Wayne Gala that was being thrown, she had begged Perry to get her an invite. And Perry had obliged her on the one condition that she brought Clark to ensure she didn’t cause a scene at Bruce Wayne’s party.
Neither one of them had cared that Clark hadn’t wanted to go. He’d said no to Lois, citing other obligations and a lack of real reason for him to come, but he’d been overruled by his boss, telling him just to get a quote from Wayne if he was so concerned with attending to do nothing.
So, the two of them were currently attending, each growing more anxious as the night went on; Bruce Wayne was as elusive as ever and it started to seem that Lois’ intel was off as Tony Gallo was still absent.
Finally, when the gala was more than halfway done, Bruce Wayne made his appearance, flanked by a drunk and giggling group of socialites. Immediately, Clark, and a million other reporters looking for a quote, bounded over to him.
Bruce Wayne bumbled around with the vague clumsiness of a man pretending to be sober and knocked right into them, sending champagne flying everywhere.
Of course.
“I’m so sorry!” Bruce Wayne said unapologetically, surveying the crowd of soaked reporters with barely restrained amusement, as the socialites behind him giggled.
Some of the crowd huffed while others took Wayne’s blunder with more professionalism.
Clark himself was only a little annoyed; Wayne was drunk and Clark could hardly blame the man for accidentally stumbling into a crowd of people hounding him. Clark just sighed, pulling at his wrinkled, pale yellow suit and trying to rub out the champagne.
For some reason, his reaction gained Wayne’s attention. Wayne grinned at him. One of his dark, sharply arched eyebrows quirked at him like he found Clark specifically amusing and his head tilted to the side, highlighting the definition in his cheekbones.
As a Kryptonian, Clark felt qualified to classify Wayne as inhumanly attractive.
“Clyde Conner, right?” Wayne asked, snapping his fingers and pointing at him. “I think I’ve seen you before.”
“Clark Kent, sir,” Clark corrected. “Daily Planet.”
“Right,” Wayne didn’t look embarrassed. “Whoops.” He batted his thick eyelashes at Clark. “I ruined your suit. Seems I should make it up to you.”
“Uh一”
“An exclusive!” Wayne wrapped a firm hand around Clark’s bicep. “C’mon, Kent.”
Clark turned, looking back at Lois一taking a small appetizer from one of the waiters一beseechingly, but she narrowed her eyes and jerked her head at Wayne firmly. Wayne pulled him up the stairs, grabbing another glass of champagne from his butler with a wink, and a spike of anxiety rushed through him at the thought of Wayne pulling him into one of the vast bedrooms. Instead, taking a sip from his drink, Wayne pulled Clark through the great wooden doors by the end of the house and brought him onto the terrace. A thick breeze wafted through the air, cold, Clark suspected, from Wayne’s almost imperceptible shiver.
“So,” Wayne smirked as he walked backwards and leaned against the railing. Below him, there were lush and colorful gardens. “Ask me anything, Kent.”
“Mr. Wayne, I wanted more of a statement or two about the charity, not really an exclusive.”
“Oh, c’mon, Kent.” Wayne rolled his blue eyes. “Then ask me about the charity. You really need me to do your job for you? I’m Bruce Wayne. You know how many reporters would kill to be you right now?”
Clark nodded, licking his lips and conceding the point, but his brain wasn’t able to follow him. Though Clark usually tried to keep himself from being distracted, especially by a pretty face, there was something almost unnerving about Wayne. Not just because of the man’s attractiveness, but in his manner: the cold wind sobered Wayne frighteningly.
“Kent?” Wayne prompted.
“The initiative,” Clark finally managed, grasping the first thought he could, “was that your idea, Mr. Wayne?”
“Of course. I know there’s numerous conspiracies about my business and my involvement, but I assure you that my passion projects are of my own volition.”
“So, you know about the rumors downplaying, to put it lightly, your role in the company?”
“Do you know how many rumors there are about me, Kent?” Wayne asked, quirking an eyebrow at him. “Not all of them are founded.”
“That doesn’t answer my question, Mr. Wayne.”
“Doesn’t it?” Wayne swirled his glass of champagne once. “How could I address all of them?”
“I would say that some of these rumors are more relevant to your profession than others.”
“Not everyone shares your impression. Some people like to know the ethics of who they support.”
“Some people’s idea of ethics are more”一Clark paused, searching for the right word一“…constrictive…than others. And I’d like to think that most would argue that your professional involvement, as a businessman, is far more important than your personal life. A charity is better received when its sincerity isn’t under scrutiny.”
“Are you accusing me of theft, Kent?”
“No. No, not theft.”
“Negligence, then, of my own company? I told you that regardless of people’s impressions of my business ventures, I don’t want my philanthropic projects to be misunderstood. ”
“Then why did you decide to add drug rehabilitation to Wayne Healthcare?”
“Traffic, actually.”
That made Clark pause. “The movie?”
“Heartbreaking,” Wayne insisted, nodding emphatically, as he licked his lips and covered his heart with a palm. “I’m not usually a soft touch, Kent, but something about it, it broke my heart.”
All that subterfuge and determination, and Wayne was insisting that a movie was his motivation?
Clark’s eyebrows jumped. “I don’t believe you,” he said suddenly. The words leapt from him before he could even think them but they echoed in Clark’s ears.
And that, that accusation created a ripple in Wayne’s demeanor, but when Clark listened to his heartbeat, it remained steady and strong.
“You don’t?” Wayne asked, but his eyes一a blue so effervescent everyone thought them removed from anything strenuous一softened.
Clark swore, for a millisecond, before he could re-evaluate and then disprove his suspicion, that Wayne understood exactly the issues with what he had said.
“No, Mr. Wayne.”
And there, there was Wayne’s light smirk, far fainter than anything shown in public. “Does it really matter why?”
Before Clark could even respond, his brain synapses firing both quick and yet not at all, his communicator device for the League vibrated in his pocket. Clark’s hand flew to the device, but he didn’t pull it out. Instead, he looked through his suit and saw its small, blinking yellow light. Calling all available League members. Not too bad, but not too good.
“Do you need to go?” Wayne then asked suddenly.
Clark narrowed his eyes and then blinked at him. “Yes, actually.”
“I suppose I’ll let you,” Wayne pouted exaggeratedly, but it remained on his face for only a second before he became more boisterous. He laughed and then stepped forward, stumbling a little bit, before Clark caught him.
“I think that’s enough alcohol, Mr. Wayne,” Clark said before he could stop himself.
Barking out a surprisingly deep and charming laugh, Wayne patted Clark's right hand that was wrapped around his bicep. “I’m quite alright, Kent. You can leave.”
“Mr. Wayne, I can’t, in good conscience, leave you out here alone.”
Another ripple broke through Wayne’s demeanor, but this time it was a small note of amusement lurking behind Wayne’s face. “Have some,” he suggested, tilting his glass forward for Clark to take.
“Mr. Wayne, I don’t一”
“Kent, everyone knows how territorial I am of my drinks. Don’t refuse a gift.”
Though Clark didn’t like to drink on the job, he knew if Perry found out about him refusing Bruce Wayne, he would be madder than a wet hen. It was best to just indulge Wayne and it wasn’t like Clark could get drunk, nor would a glass of champagne do anything even if he could. He took it from Wayne’s hand. “Thank you, Mr. Wayne.”
He took a sip and his brain immediately halted. Instead of the sharp and acidic sweetness of champagne, the drink was syrupy sweet. “Ginger ale,” Clark realized and he took another sip.
“Diet,” Wayne corrected when Clark finished and took back his drink. “I like to watch my figure.”
“I一” Clark’s brain was still frozen.
“C’mon, Kent. You need to leave and it’s time for me to rejoin the masses anyway.” Wayne walked towards the terrace doors, much surer and steadier than he had been the whole night, and raised an eyebrow at Clark.
On autopilot, Clark followed him, opening the door for him politely, and soon they were swarmed by a group of guests and rejected reporters. Ignoring them, Wayne wrapped an arm around Clark’s neck and stood on his tippy toes to kiss Clark on the cheek, clumsy once more. If Clark was shocked before, he was in an embarrassed haze now, the room feeling hotter than Clark ever remembered. Wayne winked at him, leaving Clark with a bubbly, “You’re welcome, Kirk!” and then left with his swarm of admirers, stumbling down the steps and cackling delightedly.
“Clark!” a sharp voice barked in his ear. Clark snapped his head to look to the side of him. Lois was staring at him in half annoyance and half shock. “Jeez, Smallville, did you actually sleep with him?”
Again, the communicator in his pocket rang. Shaking off his confusion, Clark only replied, “I have to go.”
And he left.
Behind him, Lois cackled, taking far more amusement from the situation than would ever be warranted. Clark lamented over leaving her at Wayne’s party, though the intel Lantern had shared about the stirrings of another invasion had been important. Clark had known that ditching Lois right after he had exited a terrace with Bruce Wayne, feeling all kinds of confused and bewildered yet also intrigued, was suspicious and sure, the comment Clark made today didn’t seem completely innocent, but Wayne had emphatically and amusedly denied the accusations when leaving the gala.
(“You mean glasses from the Planet? I tried, of course, but all he wanted was an actual interview. A pity some of you are so integrity-driven. I don’t know why we couldn’t do both.”)
“Christ Almighty, Lo,” Clark huffed, head in his hands, “all I said was that I liked him.”
Lois snorted, spinning around in her chair, clicking the top of her pen excitedly. “Beware the rich boys, Smallville, they’ve been trained to be charming. Hell, Wayne’s charm is the only thing telling us there is a brain in that pretty head.”
“Hey,” Clark warned, “don’t be mean.”
Lois scoffed. “He’s terrible,” she insisted. “I should know. I’ve had to interview him way more than you have.”
“Really?” He tried to keep his voice even and uninterested. When Lois didn’t answer, he glanced behind himself to look at her. Her eyebrows were nearly touching her forehead in bemusement and skepticism. “I’m not一you know一why?”
“Because that’s how Perry punishes me when I annoy him.”
Giving up his hiding place, Clark spun around to face her. She softened and tucked her pen behind her ear. “He’s the worst, Smallville. He’s dumber than bricks, he won’t take an interview serious enough to stop flirting, and he drinks like he’s still in college. I honestly don’t know how you came out of there with a good impression of the man without sleeping together.”
He pretends to drink, Clark wanted to say. Every time you’ve seen him make a drunken scene, he was stone cold sober. He’s playing us. I don’t know why, but he is.
But if Wayne wanted Lois to know, he has had ample enough time to let her know apparently. No, for some reason Wayne trusted him with his secret and Clark wasn’t going to break that. Though why he chose Clark was a mystery.
“Wayne’s shallow and vain, Clark. Don’t give him any credit. The only reason he picked you out of that group of reporters is because you’re hot.”
The next time Clark saw Bruce Wayne, he was covering a society section story in place of Gail Moore, who had sprained her wrist tripping over a trash can in the office that morning一and Clark had sent her one of those fruit bouquets as a pick-me-up. This time, Clark wasn’t nearly as annoyed about the assignment. For one thing, this was Vanessa Sinclair’s gala and her parties were much less exclusive than Bruce Wayne’s and for another, a part of him was practically itching to see Wayne again.
A small part, though, Clark insisted to himself. Practically minute.
And see Wayne he did. And hear him. As did the rest of Metropolis. And Gotham, probably, across the Bay.
From the room next over, Clark heard a group of people stand from their chairs angrily and start walking towards the double doors that separated the rich from the rest of the gala. More inclusive Sinclair was, but her galas were more segregated. Clark moved so he had a better view of the doors. He figured the commotion was inaudible to normal people because no one else in the party reacted. Finally, the double doors burst open, clanging on the walls, as a small group of high society socialites walked through, noses pointed in the air. They were led by Lex Luthor in a crisp black tuxedo, fuming.
Suddenly, Clark’s excitement plummeted.
Behind Luthor, though, came Bruce Wayne, also with his own pack of socialites, with a bold royal blue tuxedo that was practically painted on, displaying Wayne’s slim waist and highlighting Wayne’s eyes. It was a stark and intriguing contrast against Luthor’s classic style and even further exacerbated by the Prince of Gotham’s high and howling laughter.
“Alex, Alex, c’mon!” he crowed. “I was joking!”
At the sound of an argument, Clark was enveloped by the rest of the reporters at the gala. They all pushed and shoved to listen while their photographers went wild. Clark spared a pitying thought for the struggles of the Planet’s own photographer Donald and hoped he was managing okay.
Luthor suddenly whipped around, a blazing heat in his eyes. Clark knew the look; it usually preceded Luthor’s megalomania.
Immediately, though, Luthor seemed to catch himself: he took a breath, brushed a hand down his tux, and smiled. Perhaps because Clark knew what an angry Lex Luthor looked like, he was able to see how thinly Luthor concealed his fury.
“Of course, you were, Bruce,” Luthor sighed as he stepped forward, waving a hand dismissively. “I know, it’s just that you say things, Brucie, and they come out nowhere close to the way you should want them to.”
“I’m sorry!” Wayne cackled unrepentant. “I think you take things really sensitively and that’s fine. I just need to not make those jokes with you because you don’t find them funny.”
A quiet titter reverberated through the crowd behind him causing Wayne’s grin to broaden.
“My bad,” Wayne continued.
One of the socialites of Lex Luthor’s circle stiffened.
“I, for one, fail to see how that’s a joke!” Kaitlin Lydecker sniffed, clenched her champagne glass further in her hand, long black nails looking almost like claws.
A murmur of agreement ruffled through Luthor’s crowd.
“It was disrespectful!”
“Disrespectful?” Wayne repeated incredulously, mouth dropping open without losing an inch of amusement on his face. “Oh my God,” he huffed and laughed. “Fine. I won’t make those jokes with you anymore because that’s truly not how I meant it.”
Beside him, a tan-skinned girl with her vibrant copper hair pinned into a loose bun (Veronica Vreeland, Clark remembered from when he did some research on Wayne’s socialite friends) hit Wayne on the shoulder. He rolled his eyes and managed to contain himself finally.
“Alex,” Wayne sighed, stepping forward and batting his dark eyelashes now at Luthor in a bid to calm the other businessman一a move that wasn’t lost on anyone in the room. “How can I make it up to you? You know I think you’re the smartest man in the world.”
“Most do.”
Luthor’s quip dislodged most of the tension within his own circle. They laughed.
Wayne's crowd, Clark finally noticed, looked a little bigger than Luthor’s and nowhere near as compromising; they seemed to be annoyed by Luthor’s comment, rolling their eyes and glancing at each other. A reaction that Luthor definitely noticed, but there was no way Luther would be able to continue the argument now after his own joke.
“Exactly!” Wayne insisted. “Alex, you’re an inspiration to the rest of us. How far perseverance and intelligence can bring somebody. The true American Dream!”
Finally, Luthor’s anger dropped. He seemed to dismiss Wayne as stupid rather than malicious now. “Okay, alright, Brucie,” Luthor sighed again, laboriously and indulgently as he tried to appear magnanimous. “Well,” he then smirked, “you can make it up to me by letting me play with your applied sciences division.”
Wayne blinked. His smile now was tinged with a guilty grimace and his crowd winced. They all thought Wayne had no idea what he was talking about, that they were all in on the big secret.
“Applied sciences?” Wayne faux stalled. “Well, you’d have to ask my business manager about those things. He is rather protective about that one.”
CEO Lucius Fox was notoriously protective of all of Wayne Enterprises’ departments. The sentence seemed like a good throwaway.
The rest of the crowd appeared to think so; some of the less stoic socialites rolled their eyes while others let out soft snorts.
“Fox,” Luthor huffed, “and his Midas Touch.”
“I can get you in touch.”
Luthor glanced now at the paparazzi and slung an arm over Wayne’s shoulders. “Well, you made a suitable scene, Brucie,” he smiled. “Should we get back to it?”
Wayne cackled. He gestured towards the double doors and the pair of businessmen left. Their two crowds seemed less amicable at being forced to intermingle once again, but they all followed them. The reporters and photographers finally dispersed, chatting amongst themselves and making a beeline for the exit, as they wanted to get the story out first.
When Donald caught Clark’s eye and nodded at the door, Clark waved him off. He turned to the double doors and searched for Wayne through the walls.
The socialites were seated around their bold wooden table, still seeming unnerved with each other, while Wayne talked with Luthor. More like Wayne talked at Luthor, and he had too much influence for Luthor to disregard him.
Eventually, Vanessa Sinclair graced the socialites with her presence. She scolded Wayne for his disruption and rudeness, though she was teasing more than anything, while Luthor got a firm, disapproving glare.
Clark felt conflicted. On one hand, it did seem a little classist. On the other, Luthor was a criminal.
About half an hour passed, with Clark zoning in and out of Wayne’s conversations just to make sure he was still there.
Finally, when Clark glanced at the double doors and then looked through them, he saw the socialites mostly scattered and found Wayne out on a terrace by a bathroom.
Glancing around and listening intently, so intently that Clark heard the clanging of cleaning glasses, the wind at the silk curtains, and the movements of the chattering socialites, Clark made his way to the terrace doors and then opened them.
Wayne stood at the edge. He turned, one hand holding what passed as a vodka martini, wind playing with his shiny and dark hair, and then he grinned at Clark.
“What’s that?” Clark asked, gesturing at his martini.
“A drink.”
Clark raised an eyebrow. “How do you get your drinks at someone else’s party?”
Wayne shrugged overenthusiastically, lifting both his eyebrows and his lips curling. A performance by a terrific actor. The lightness in Wayne’s eyes made Clark feel like the other man was thinking something funny, but he refused to share with the class.
“You know,” Clark continued, standing next to Wayne, “all of tomorrow’s headlines are going to be: Drunk Billionaire Bruce Wayne Causes Rude Scene At Sinclair Gala .”
“I didn’t mean to,” Wayne deadpanned. His earlier vivacious personality was gone. “I forgot about Alex’s sensitivity.”
“What did you say to him?”
Wayne held out his drink; Clark obliged him and took it.
“I mentioned some of his more criminal activities,” Wayne continued as Clark took a sip.
Water, he noted, but then Wayne’s words caught up with him.
“He didn’t find it funny. Unfortunately…”
“What?”
“It was a joke,” Wayne insisted mildly. He was saying the words, but he wasn’t playing the part.
Clark stared. “A criminal?”
Luthor’s less legal hobbies weren’t well-known. Or, at least, not amongst the masses. Journalists and newspaper companies were another story, and all of them currently tied up in legal tape, but the general public一no.
However, Clark examined the way the socialites reacted. Their division between the two largest businessmen. Lydecker and Luthor’s crowd had been affronted on Luthor’s behalf meanwhile Vreeland and Wayne’s crowd looked disgusted.
“Can you blacklist a businessman?” Wayne asked suddenly, insultingly, like Clark needed someone to connect the dots for him.
And he did.
“Why would you do that?”
Persona back on, Wayne grabbed Clark’s tie with both hands. For all Clark’s might and capabilities, he could only stare at Wayne, wide-eyed, awed, and half-aroused as Wayne tightened Clark’s tie with his right hand, stroked down the length of it with his left, and flicked his wrist, making the tie slap Clark’s chest.
“I thought it might help someone, someday,” he purred and then he left.
Batman was ignoring him while they were on monitor duty. It wasn’t unusual for Clark to talk to B and get no response, but usually Clark could tell that he was listening anyway.
This time, Clark was under no delusions that B was paying attention.
In fact, Clark suspected he wasn’t even watching the monitors as religiously as he should’ve, probably investigating the new aliens instead. Clark felt vindicated that Batman trusted his judgement enough to let him take the lead on monitor duty and let his own attention wander, but Clark also needed advice here.
Also, he did like having B’s attention.
“You’re not listening to me,” he accused.
“What, Kal?” B snapped. If Clark were anyone else, he wouldn’t have noticed the slight whiny huff Batman made before he spoke. “I don’t care.”
Clark ignored him. If he only spoke to Batman about things B cared about, Clark would never get to talk about what he himself wanted. B spoke to him about things Clark didn’t care about all the time. “Tough.”
Batman growled. “You’re not going to ask me out again, right?”
“Not yet,” Clark replied. “I’ll give you some time to cool off.” He then prompted, “Bruce Wayne.”
Clark suspected Batman was lifting an eyebrow underneath his cowl. “You want to talk about Bruce Wayne?”
“You’re from Gotham, you know him.”
“Not personally,” B dismissed.
“Doesn’t matter. You’re a paranoid bastard, B, I know you have files on anyone potentially dangerous in Gotham. Bruce Wayne is the second richest person in the world and he lives in your city.”
This huff was more amused. “The Wayne Manor isn’t in Gotham,” B conceded as he pressed a finger to his gauntlet and a hologram appeared. It had nothing to do with Bruce Wayne, but the Batman continued. “And Wayne lived there his entire life, save for when he disappeared between the ages of 18 and 22.”
Clark beamed. “Thank you.” It was almost pathetic how giddy Batman’s indulgence made him. Before he could really focus on it, his brain caught up with Batman’s words. “Disappeared?”
“Officially, he went backpacking across Europe because he wanted to find himself. Unofficially, he went to Rwanda, Uganda, Zambia, Tibet, and Mongolia on a volunteer trip and donated around 30 million dollars.”
“That’s sweet,” Clark remarked, though he winced slightly at the suspect implications.
Batman turned to Clark unamused. “More a personal vanity project than anything else, Kal.”
“I’ve been doing my own research on Wayne Enterprises. Their outreach programs are thorough and they’re making advancements in green energy technology. He donates outrageous amounts into criminal reform and Blackgate and Arkham. His company employs some of the best wages and benefits in the country. The only stain on Wayne Enterprises I could find is Wayne’s own behavior. He doesn’t一he seems like he cares.”
Sighing, Batman pressed his gauntlet and the hologram disappeared. “Everything I told you was something you could’ve figured out yourself. What do you really want, Kal?”
Clark looked at him.
Sometimes, though Clark denied it, he did wish he could see the man under the cowl. Not because Clark wanted to know who the man was. Clark knew Batman was who the man was. Any personal identity was only a cover up. A ruse. But Clark wanted to know what color eyes were under those white lenses. What color the man’s hair was. He wanted to see the way B’s eyes lined when he was amused or angered. He wanted to know the arch of Batman’s brows in action. If they even arched, or if they were flat. If his armor matched his jawline entirely or if the man took misleading liberties.
What did the man’s nose look like? Were his cheekbones as defined as Clark suspected?
“Kal?” B prompted.
“What do you think of him?”
“He’s a spoiled rich kid. His charity work is genuine and condescending. He throws money at problems to solve them, but he doesn’t know what to do when that doesn’t work. Beneath all his scandals is just a privileged idiot that donates money because the ad on the TV is emotional, but the moment the channel changes, he gets distracted and detaches.”
“That’s harsh.”
“Wayne’s threat level is low. He has no villainous connections. I have bigger problems with Falcone, Maroni, Cassamento, or Sionis. Even Luthor is more of a problem for me. Wayne has money, but he’s too dumb to be too dangerous. In the event of Wayne becoming a threat, he’s more likely to involve himself in organized crime than terroristic. You deal with the megalomaniacs vying for world domination. Most of my criminals go to Arkham, not Blackgate.”
“I don’t think that’s true. That Wayne’s too dumb to be dangerous. I think he’s smarter than he lets on.”
Batman made the noise that meant he was annoyed at his judgement being questioned and he found the opposing argument stupid一a coughing grunt. One exacerbated by his disinterest.
“Really. He doesn’t drink. I’ve talked with him”一Twice, but Batman didn’t need to know that, or maybe he already did, it didn’t bold well to assume the Bat didn’t know something一“Wayne seems nice. Clever.”
B made the infinitesimal amused huff again. “You’re projecting. Wayne’s superficial. I know you’re a boy scout”
一Clark scoffed, playing his part with a, “I’m not from Terra, I don’t know really understand what that means, you know,” and Batman continued一
“but there’s one reason Wayne would continue to speak with you.”
“Jealous?”
“No,” Batman then made a fully amused sound. “I’d just advise against sleeping with him. His reputation might be a little too colorful for you.”
Clark choked. “Right, fine, conversation over. You win.” Clark bit the inside of his cheek. “As always,” he murmured.
Batman narrowed his eyes.
Clark raised his hands innocently. He was too used to the Batglare for it to really work on him anymore, not like it did on the others, but pissing B off was sometimes more trouble than it was worth. Big things, Clark would fight him on. But small stuff, when he was annoying B instead of angering him, Clark knew when to cut his losses.
An annoyed and bitchy Batman could be petty for a day. Or a week.
Or half a year.