Chapter Text
Pink maybe wasn't exactly right. The gift in Bruce's hand was a pale-hued stone; if he knew no better, he'd say it was rose quartz. He wanted to know better. "Thank you." It was a gift, appreciation before inquiry.
"You like it?" Richard was still half unpacking, some of his return to earth, happy to see his room sort of energy still filtering out of him.
"A bit bohemian for the everyday." The stone, or pendant rather, had nearly a trance-inducing quality to it, with sharp angles and lines finding ways to a spiral like a staircase; it was captivating once you got to staring. "But yes, it was very thoughtful." Dick and the Titans had been all the way on planet Colu assisting Querl Dox with recon, and still, he'd taken the time to bring back a souvenir for Bruce.
"Donna said it should open your Anahata Chakra." The heart. "She's been on a real kick lately."
"So is this Donna's way of saying I'm too old to go stag?"
"I think she's worried about your blood pressure." Dick teased. "I don't know, doesn't have to mean anything, just a good luck charm, alright? Something different for your rock collection." Dick was asking the conversation to move on.
Dick was both somehow too old and too young to feel comfortable lingering in any sense of sentimentality. He might not have even truly noticed, but this was quite a milestone in their relationship. It used to be Bruce would return home with some small gifts and large stories. The scales were starting to even. Dick was branching off on his own more and more.
"Well, it brought you back in one piece, so it seems to be working it's magic already." Bruce gave Dick a pat on the back, eventually opting to pull him in for a hug. "Unpacking can wait, let's have some dinner, I want to hear all about your travels." Bruce pocketed the pendant as they went downstairs.
☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:* ・ °☆. 。
Bruce's first opportunity to wear the pendant was at a party. The theme was Midsummer's Night’s Dream, a yearly event held at the conclusion of Gotham's arts and theatre exhibit. Bruce's newly acquired pastel pendant fit alongside the ethereal tone of the occasion. Beyond that, he wasn't wearing much else. The dress code was both revealing and elusive, loose-fitting togas and identity shrouding animal masks. Puck would approve.
Bruce had been mid-conversation with Mayor Hill and Dean Nederlander on the success of the cultural event when he blindly reached back at a serving tray for another flute of champagne. As his luck would have it, someone else had the same idea. Their fingers grazed, and that gave Bruce just enough cause to turn.
"Sorry." The stranger standing before Bruce didn't glow; quite the opposite. It seemed as if every lantern, string of fairy lights, and moonbeam sponged right to him. He was pulling in light, demanding eyes travel to him, less they be left in the dark.
"That makes one of us." Bruce couldn't help but smile. He was no longer interested in the alcohol, busy drinking in the sight in front of him.
The man's hair was combed back, trying to be neat, but there were wisps of playful curls teasing at the edges. The light pastel blue cape he was wearing highlighted the soft tan to his skin, and there was plenty of it to see, for the man wasn't wearing a toga as most were; he'd opted for a leather skirt worn by Roman soldiers to battle. It ended above his knees, leaving his chest and abdomen on full display.
"Go on, have it. You need it more than me." Bruce spoke before his appraisal turned to straight ogling.
"That so?" The man's smile was bigger and bolder than anyone, in nothing more than a sheet and a prayer, should ever be, but it was not overconfident. It was just— Charming, amused, interested.
"Yes, I believe your mouth is watering."
"Suppose it is." Bruce was not alone in his bewitchment. He watched as the man's eyes scanned him, taking some small sips as he did so.
Bruce's clothing choice left slightly more to the imagination, an asymmetrical tease covering what it needed, accentuating what would be a shame to hide. It rode high, draping all the way over his right shoulder, but on the left, it was bare right to the crest of his pectoral.
The man kept looking, gaze holding eventually on a more daring fold. In contrast to that modest shoulder, Bruce's right leg, fully up to the hip, was exposed. Bruce smirked as the man's fingers twitched a little around his glass. He wanted to touch; he wanted to grab.
"Though it seems unfair to leave you thirsty." Perhaps the man had noticed what Bruce was acutely aware of himself. He'd been moistening his own lips under their shared stare, swallowing a bit harsh. He might've audibly heard his Adam's apple click. "We could go find you a drink together?" A hand extended out to him.
There was something very earthy in those blue eyes. From behind the man's gold crow-themed mask, the way he looked at Bruce, it wasn't entirely lecherous. There was lust, but an odd respect, manners, or fondness, seemed to hold alongside it; Bruce didn't know the man well enough to know which.
"Gentleman, I'll be right back." Bruce turned to the conversation that seemed ages behind him now.
"I doubt that. See you sometime next fall." Dent had at some point joined the fray, an arm over the mayor's shoulder as he shooed Bruce off. He'd shoulder niceties so Bruce could go off and pursue more enticing engagements, a true friend.
"Let's venture into the forest then." Bruce grabbed the man's hand, enjoying the just a hair too hard grip he gave.
"Why a fox? If you don't mind me asking?" The man questioned Bruce's mask choice as they finally found new drinks.
"Why a crow?" Bruce countered. He had his reasons, but it was a long story and not one for strangers, no matter how handsome.
"Not the most eye-catching of birds at first glance I'll admit but there's more to em than you'd think." The man turned with an 'I'm so happy you asked' sort of grin. He was the sharing type, it appeared. Bruce could think of worse things.
"Were you about to make an Apollo reference?” The crow was the sacred animal of the Greek sun god, Bruce could see some resemblance to artistic renditions. "You should, it suits you."
“Apollo?" The man blushed at the compliment "Mythology an interest of yours? I studied a bit in school."
Bruce followed the man to a comfortable cushioned bench where he willfully listened to facts and fables he already knew, nodding and smiling, just content, it was nice just to listen to the man speak, and boy could he ever.
Quality and quantity, any topic the pair dipped into. The man had opinions, obscure facts, or thoughtful questions. They ran the gambit from Greek myths to Shakespearian tragedies, sports rivalries to the best places to enjoy downhill skiing.
Something stuck out the more they conversed. The man spoke slower, with a softer edge to his vowels than most. There wasn't exactly an accent, more a temperament to his voice that stuck out. Bruce's brain couldn’t help but analyze every little detail about the stranger. "I’m positive I’ve never met you before. I can tell you're not from Gotham.“ He blurted out after further consideration.
"Really? So sure?" The man chuckled in mock offense. "Is my mask not doing its job? Or are your eyes just that incredible?" He had said incredible; he meant handsome. Bruce could hear the compliment hiding under the theory. In case there was any doubt, the man, Clark was his name, reached out, let a large hand frame Bruce's mask, boring holes into those 'incredible eyes'.
"If you think my eyes are good—"
"What an impatient fox." Clark's hand had dropped, looping a finger into the necklace around Bruce's neck, tugging him closer. Clark could speak and catch a hint. He was also a decent kisser, inquisitive and engaging, not too blunt but not satisfied to let a corner of Bruce's lips grow cold.
After being leaned into the cushioned bench, they were sitting on, Bruce found words, found a question he wanted answered. "Not that I'm complaining—" Bruce wasn't complaining; he was chasing Clark's lips, his tongue, any further embrace he could catch.
"Very glad for that."
When Clark grabbed at his bare hip, Bruce's mouth opened even wider to voice not a complaint but a praising groan. "But if I didn't invite you, how'd you find your way here?" Bruce simply wanted to know where to send the thank you fruit basket.
"Raffle at work." Clark grinned when Bruce let his fingers thread into his hair, fingernails scraping at the base of his neck. "Lucky me." Clark leaned in for another kiss but was halted at the arrival of company.
"There he is! I told you I'd find him!" Dent was a true friend, but sometimes he could be a right asshole. He and three scantily clad acquaintances of his stumbled onto the bench that quickly went from cozy to cramped. Bruce wasn't sure if this was to score points with one of Dent's mystery companions or as payback for some unknown trespass; it truly could have been either.
"We should get a picture!" Someone blurted. A sea of phones started a feeding frenzy of lights and commotion, laughs and poses, bodies being ushered around like musical chairs. It went beyond selfies. The familiar sound of professional paparazzi swarmed the group. When the commotion quieted, and Bruce turned to ask Clark for his number, he was gone.
☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:☆. 。 .: ・ °☆. 。 .:* ・ °☆. 。
Bruce tried not to lament on what could have been; occasionally, he would glance at his phone, a particularly cute photo, all things considered. In one frame, Clark had leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek, it wasn't a gesture Bruce was used to receiving from men, and it was a shame he hadn't truly appreciated it in real-time.
As luck should have it, Bruce didn't have to lament. Could have been wasn't good enough for his mystery man, it seemed. Bruce was informed as such a few days later at his office.
"Mr. Wayne?" It was the chief of security Carl ringing him, which wasn't a promising way to start a Monday.
"Yes?"
"Do you happen to be missing a —" Carl pulled the phone away from his face. "Will you just let me see it?" There was a pause. "Some pink rock on a rope?"
"Yes." Bruce's hand went up to his throat; he'd lost the necklace Dick had given him the night of the party. He'd searched everywhere for it but to no avail. "Someone's found it?" He'd assumed it'd been swept up with the hanging moss and flower petals, long gone to some compost heap by this point.
"Yes, but he's—“ The pause for dramatic effect did seem a bit overdone, but Bruce gave Carl his moment. "A reporter. He won't hand it over to me. He's insistent he gives it to you himself, but if it's yours, I can just call the PD and—"
"That won't be necessary. Just send him up." If the reporter was returning something to Bruce that now had two positive memories attached to it, Bruce felt it within him to reward them with something a bit more desirable than a restraining order.
A few moments later, the door opened, and Bruce was surprised, to say the least. "I like Carl, no-nonsense that guy." For one, no one liked Carl; it wasn't his job to be liked. "You — looked good with it on. Hate for you not to have it." There, in an outstretched hand, was the necklace he had lost.
"I think I liked you better as a Greek god." Bruce smiled. It was Clark who had returned the trinket. It truly was a good luck charm, just as Dick claimed.