Chapter Text
Clark had made up his mind - He had to stage some sort of intervention for Bruce. He had already talked to Diana about it, about the little bruises and scars on him every time he’d gotten back with his women of the night, and she had told him to ignore it. Well, he couldn’t ignore it anymore. It wasn’t surprising for a hero like him to be torn up, but lately he had put the pieces together that Bruce looked particularly torn up every time he had spent a night with a woman, with the worst scratches and cuts coming from nights with Catwoman, who he saw more frequently than the others.
It was one thing to get scratched up by villains, that was the cost of the trade. But to have repeated injuries from people who were supposed to be giving you affection… Clark couldn’t ignore it. Bruce was his friend. Well, he was also more than that - The two of them had had certain romantic exchanges already, or at least romantic-seeming exchanges. A shocking prospective to Clark at first, but Lois assured him she was quite unbothered by polyamory. As a matter of fact, she actually encouraged the blossoming relationship between them, something Clark was so grateful for that it only made their relationship stronger.
It was hard to compare them, really. Things with Lois were honest, simple, light. Thing with Bruce were… well… Clark was more than aware that Bruce was on the colder side and not overly fond of human connection. As such, he wasn’t inclined to expect flowers or long walks on the beach. Even still. Things had been going slowly. All things considered, ‘friends’ was probably still the best word for them. Sometimes Bruce didn’t even act like they were that. All the more reason to worry about him. Clark could be clueless from time to time, but he wasn’t an idiot - He was more than aware that Bruce didn’t think very highly of himself and that his luck with interpersonal relationships had been less than ideal for most of his life. Usually he thought it was best to leave well enough alone. But if Bruce was allowing some girlfriend to mistreat him like that, then Clark couldn’t ignore it. Even if Diana suggested he leave it alone.
Clark knew he wouldn’t want to talk about it even as he was heading over to his outrageous mansion in Gotham. It was an ambush of sorts - Still mid-morning, Clark knew that his friend the late riser would only just have gotten up. He had brought with him some cookies he’d made as a distraction and a touch of Southern comfort. He went up to the house and rang the doorbell, though perhaps ‘bell’ was an antiquated word for one of the most high-tech security systems in the world. In a moment he heard the voice of Alfred, Bruce’s butler, who’d taken quite a liking to him in the past several months.
“Good morning, Clark!”
Clark adjusted his glasses. “Uh, good morning, Alfred! Is Bruce home? I’m just stopping by to say hello!”
“He just woke up. I’ll tell him to expect you, he’s in the dining room. Have you had breakfast, Clark?”
“Oh, yes, I’m alright. Thank you, though!”
“It’s no trouble. Let me know if you change your mind and you’d like me to put something out.” There was a buzz and the door slid open.
Clark was always reminded of the gap between them when he actually went to Bruce’s house. He had so much more literal power than Bruce, as in, he could withstand bullets and volcanoes and whatnot and Bruce was more or less a standard human in very good shape. However, when it came to wealth, he was repeatedly reminded of his place beneath him outside of the superhero world. The Justice League paid the bills, but he and Lois still considered a steak dinner a treat. Growing up, his Ma and Pa had even less than he did now. Wandering through the urban mansion, fitted out with expensive decor and significantly more expensive tech, he couldn’t help but find it all a little ridiculous. But, he supposed, it was what Bruce was used to.
He made his way through the house to the dining room, where Bruce was having a light breakfast of toast and eggs with a black coffee, reading the paper as he did so. Clark’s heart sank a little bit when he saw him. He hadn’t bothered to button his black button down shirt, revealing the brand new, bright red claw marks from the night before. He had a cut on his cheek too, just as new. He still looked bleary from the night before, his hair tousled and his eyes half-shut. He took a sip of his coffee, not bothering to look up from his paper.
“What do you want, Clark? You shouldn’t come to my house when you’re in your disguise, people are going to start to associate us.”
“Well, I’ll only been a minute. If you like, I can put an interview of you in the Daily Planet to justify my being here,” he offered.
Bruce flicked his paper to straighten it out. “Don’t bother. Don’t want that ruse to get worn out. So what is it? What’s wrong?”
Clark pressed his teeth together, fidgeting with his hands as he placed the cookies on the table. The sound of the tupperware landing on the table was enough to make Bruce finally look up.
“Did you bring cookies?” he asked, perplexed.
Clark shrugged. “Well, if I’m coming over anyway. I had extra.”
As expected, Bruce gave them a wary look and did not thank him. He went back to his paper. “Mm.”
“Look, Bruce - I’ll cut to the chase. Diana told me not to bring this up to you, but I feel like it’s my responsibility as your friend to say something.”
Bruce’s brow immediately crinkled into an expression of confusion and concern, dropping his paper out of his eyeline and squinting at Clark. “Alright…”
Clark sighed, choosing his words very carefully. “I have… noticed recently that you’ve been coming to work with some injuries. Obviously that’s not uncommon in our line of work. But I’ve also noticed a trend that you tend to have them after you see particular… ahem… Lady friends of yours.” he gestured uncomfortably at Bruce, whose eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Particularly Catwoman,” he went on, “No offense to her, I’m sure she’s a nice young woman who has a lot of her own nuances and difficulties that I’m not familiar with. But, nevertheless, I still think it’s worth saying that, well… I have my concerns.”
Bruce stared at him like he had three heads. “About?” he asked finally.
“Well, Bruce, I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but frankly… I have my concerns that you’re being abused.”
Bruce was mid-sip of his coffee and immediately choked, the coffee spilling right back into his cup. He coughed.
“Now there’s nothing to be embarrassed about!” Clark said quickly, “All kinds of people can suffer from domestic abuse, it says nothing about your ability to defend yourself. It’s entirely mental.”
“Domestic abuse…?” Bruce choked out, his lungs still full of coffee.
“Again, I don’t mean it as a judgement of Catwoman necessarily, but I noticed several times when we asked you about new cuts, you specifically said-”
Bruce waved his hand helplessly, “Stop- stop talking,” he sputtered.
Clark’s face faded. Obediently, he nodded, giving Bruce enough time to sort through his thoughts. His eyes fell shut for a moment. He looked more confused than anything else.
“Clark…” he said finally, then failing to come up with more he began to laugh quietly for a moment, his head falling into his hand. A sad look came over Clark’s face as he leaned forward. Of all the times to see Bruce laugh.
“Is something funny, Bruce?” he asked Bruce.
“Yes, it is honestly pretty funny, Clark. You are.”
“Me being worried about you is funny?”
He shook his head, a wry smile still on his face as he took a bite of his toast. “Clark… Do you really think that anything happens in the bedroom that I don’t want to happen?”
“Well…”
Bruce gestured with his toast. “I’ve known Catwoman for much longer than I’ve known you. We have an understanding.”
Clark gave him a suspicious look. “An understanding where you hurt one another? What kind of relationship is that? Bruce, I don’t think that’s healthy.”
He sighed and dipped his toast into his eggs. “Clark,” he said, sounding tired, “You’re in over your head. Just because you know slightly more about me than the average member of the Justice League doesn’t mean I need you to protect me. If Catwoman was attacking me in any way that was non-consensual, I would call you. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.”
Clark creased his brow. “Non-consensual? Bruce, what does that mean?”
Another irritated sigh as he picked his newspaper back up. “Are you really going to make me explain it to you?” When Clark was silent, he put the paper back down and finally looked him right in the eyes. “Clark, it’s BDSM.”
More silence. Bruce’s face fell. “Come on.”
“Come on what? What does that stand for?”
“God, what planet do you live on?” Bruce crossed his arms. “I’m gonna tell you this once and I’m not going to explain it to you again. It’s invasive and demeaning, and I’m only saying it so you’ll go away. Understand?”
Leaning back thoughtfully, Clark nodded.
Bruce spoke somewhat slower than he usually did, with great intention, as if he was talking to a child. “I invite Catwoman over. She comes over at the time we agreed upon. She ties me to a chair. She scratches me and hits me with various objects. We both enjoy this. We have sex. She goes home. Night over, report to the Justice League first thing in the morning.”
Clark leaned forward, a look of horror appearing on his face. “What?!”
Bruce rolled his eyes. “You’re a prude, Clark.”
“How does that make me a prude?! Because I don’t want to be tortured and interrogated during an intimate night with a loved one?! I- wh- who likes something like that anyway?!”
“Half the Justice League. I should know, I’ve hooked them up with various tools you can’t find on retail.”
“Bruce, this- this just isn’t right! No one who claims to love you should be hurting you!”
He began to count on his fingers. “One - Catwoman is not my partner. She is an old companion with benefits, and at no point have I claimed to love her, or has she claimed to love me. Two - She isn’t hurting me if I’m asking her to do it. Nothing happens without my consent. I am not being abused . And I’m certainly not interested in listening to you get all Puritan about my sex life over breakfast. We don’t all come from middle-of-nowhere Iowa and learn that babies come from storks.”
“Kansas,” Clark corrected him irritably. He sighed, and stood up from his chair. “I see that I’m not gonna get through to you. Of course, it’s your right to do what you want behind closed doors. Just know that if you ever feel like things have gotten out of control, I’m here for you.”
He rolled his eyes, returning his eyes to the paper. “I’ll keep you on speed-dial,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Clark, feeling more than a little foolish, straightened out his suit jacket and went on his way.
That night as he laid in the dark beside Lois, he couldn’t get the encounter out of his head. He wasn’t sure if she was asleep yet or not, but he had to try and bring it up regardless. Lois was curled on her side away from him, crushing the pillow into her face in that cute way only she did. Softly, Clark whispered to her, “Hey Lois… are you still awake?”
“Mm,” she grumbled in response.
“I went to see Bruce today.”
“Mm?” A similar grumble, only this time a little more inquisitive than the last.
“I think he’s into some really bad business. I’m not sure I can get him out of it.”
Finally, Lois rolled over, rubbing her eyes hard and pulling the covers up a little higher over her bare chest. “Well, I’m sure he knows how to take care of himself. Has he asked for your help?”
“No…” Clark admitted guiltily, “But I have to intervene. Listen to this. Every time he sees Catwoman, or some other women for that matter, not that I’m sure Catwoman knows about them, but that’s not the point - Well, he always shows up all cut up and bruised! And today, he admitted that she was doing it to him, but he said he wanted her to do it! He called it… BM-DM or… something.”
Lois rolled over onto her other side, getting comfortable with her face buried in Clark’s bicep. “It sounds like he’s just kinky. Go back to bed.”
“Like he’s just what?”
She spoke slightly louder, her enunciation making her sound a bit more awake than she had before. “Kinky. I can’t say I’m surprised, honestly. Catwoman certainly doesn’t surprise me. All that leather.”
“What does leather have to do with it?”
“It’s a subculture, Clark. Why are you so worried about it? It’s what he does behind closed doors, just let him be.”
“Well, it’s just not right! He may give her permission to be violent towards him, but any healthy relationship shouldn’t have that kind of violence. I worry that he thinks too little of himself to know that…”
Lois propped herself up on her elbows, waving a hand in front of her to stop him. “No, Clark, you’ve got it all wrong. It’s not real violence. It’s like…” She thought for a moment, raising a hand to tame her bedhead. “It’s like, the pain and pleasure centers of the brain are very close together. Some people get turned on by little harmless kinds of pain, it does it for them.”
Clark scowled at that explanation. “Well, the whole thing sounds twisted to me.”
“Oh, come on, Clark.”
“Don’t tell me you’re in on this!”
She pressed her face into the pillow. “Probably not at the level Bruce is on, but I’ve done my exploring. Some fuzzy handcuffs, a little smacking around…”
Clark sprung up to one elbow. “Who’s smacking you around?!”
Now the tired affectation had left her voice and Lois was starting to look annoyed. “Ugh, Clark!” she exclaimed, “Since when are you so backwards? What two people do in the bedroom is none of your business! Bruce is fine. You shouldn’t be so judgmental about things you don’t understand.”
Clark settled slowly back into the bed, lying on his back again. He had to admit, she made a decent point. It sounded very shocking to him, but perhaps it had been rude to judge him so harshly. After all, if everyone could leave at any time and everyone wanted to be there… “I guess you’re right. Is it really that common?”
“Well…” she curled up against Clark’s side, placing her head on her chest and nuzzling in, “I scratch your back, don’t I? Bite your lip a little too hard from time to time. How does that feel?”
A soft pink blush came to Clark’s cheeks. He never was good at talking about these things. “Good…” he confessed.
“Well, there you go. Same thing. Go back to sleep.”
Clark nodded, doing his best to internalize what she’d said. Suddenly, he felt very embarrassed, even more than he already had when he left Bruce’s house earlier that day. He never aimed to come off as closed-minded. He was just worried, and ignorant more often than not. But that was no excuse. He was supposed to be Bruce’s friend - And not just that, he was supposed to protect the American population, no matter what they got up to in the bedroom! He felt very childish, digging deeper into the covers trying to escape the feeling. “I think I’ll go back tomorrow to apologize. The last thing I wanted was to make him feel judged,” he announced.
Lois grumbled, clearly unhappy that he was still awake. “Whatever you want, hon,” she said. Clark didn’t bother her about it again.
Clark was tempted to stop in on Bruce a second early morning, but he made a decent point about the two becoming overly associated. Twice in a row in broad daylight, he feared, was pushing it. As such, he set out at ten PM, knowing well enough that Bruce would still be up. He dressed inconspicuously, a long coat disguising his usual journalistic suit, unnecessary boxy black glasses still on his nose. He came to the door and Alfred let him in again without question. He met Bruce in the living room. It was the one room in the house that Clark really enjoyed, one he felt wasn’t overly ostentatious or dramatic. The city glittered past the framing of the offwhite curtains, a few sofas positioned around a cherry wood coffee table. Clark always loved the sparkle of the city, but Gotham was different than Metropolis. It seemed to get darker at night, with multicolored neon flashing like stars out of the blackness. It was beautiful, in its own way.
Bruce seemed less than pleased at his presence. He stood with his arms crossed in the middle of the room, his gaze stern and cold. “This better be good, Clark,” he said icily.
Clark ducked his head like a dog in trouble. “Can I sit down?”
With a sigh, Bruce gestured to the sofa.
“Thank you. Look, I… I don’t like how I came off the other day.”
Bruce’s head fell into his hand and he began to wander to the other side of the room. “How did I know this was what you were here to talk about?”
“The last thing I want is to come off as judgmental! What you do on your own time is your business,” Clark went on, “I talked to Lois about it. It made me realize I’d been very harsh. Which is the last thing I wanted. I was just trying to say I was concerned for you, but I guess it didn’t come out that way…”
Somewhere on Bruce’s path meandering across the room he’d found himself at an open cabinet, one with glasses and several bottles of alcohol inside. He pulled out the whiskey. “So the biggest journalist at the Daily Planet knows all about my sex life. Great,” he grumbled, “Whiskey?”
Clark perked up. This was usually the point in the visit where Bruce was asking him to leave. “Oh. Sure!” Bruce poured two glasses, one of which was a whole lot fuller than the other, and added no mixer to either. He handed Clark the shorter one and sat down in the chair opposite him. Clark eyed the amount of liquid in his own glass and then compared it with Bruce’s and asked, “Rough night?”
“Pretty standard,” Bruce answered with a shrug, and sipped from his own glass. After a moment of thought, he tilted his head at Clark and asked, “You really brought it up to Lois?”
“I know I probably shouldn’t have, but I talk with her about things that are bothering me. I suppose she probably knows a lot of things she shouldn’t know because of it. But trust me, she knows how to keep things to herself.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Bruce answered. “It’s you.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you worrying about me. I don’t know why you bother. I’m trying not to be insulted, you know. I know how to take care of myself.”
Clark shot him a confused look, sitting up a little straighter. “I’m well aware of that. But there’s more to living than just staying alive.”
Bruce peered into his drink. “Yeah, like what?”
“Well, like happiness.”
“Mm, so I hear.” He tipped the glass back and drained about half of the whiskey inside. It may as well have been water for how little he reacted to it.
Gently, Clark’s fingers tapped around the rim of his glass. “I just can’t get my head around it,” he said, lowering his voice sensitively. “I mean, wanting to blow off a little steam I understand. But… getting beat up? Don’t you get enough of that in your day job?”
“This is really driving you crazy, isn’t it?” Bruce observed, more intrigued than anything else.
“I guess it is… Gee, I guess that’s a little embarrassing,” he rubbed the back of his neck, a soft pink emerging on his cheeks. “I just want to understand, that’s all. It’s just so foreign to me.”
Rather than answering the question, Bruce took another moment to look him slowly up and down. He didn’t quite smile, but there was something amused in his eyes nonetheless. He took another sip of his drink, this one slower than the last. “You know, it occurs to me. I’ve never really thought about you in this context before. I’m honestly struggling to wrap my head around it.”
“What do you mean?” Clark asked.
Bruce leaned forward. “I mean, when Diana goes out on a date in her spare time, there’s no question at all what she plans to do with him after dinner. When Green Arrow and Canary are out on a mission together it’s plain as day how they plan to end the night. But you?” he gestured with his whiskey, “I always imagined you and Lois just played cards.”
Clark looked bashfully down at his lap. “Ah,” he said, a small smile of understanding coming over his face as he set his drink down. “Well, a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell. But in the interest of our friendship, Bruce, I will have you know that between missions with the Justice League, Lois and I find plenty of time for, ahem, hanky-panky.”
Bruce grinned into his drink, a rare sight to be sure. “Hanky-panky…” He repeated amusedly under his breath.
Slowly, his smile spread over to Clark, who smiled knowingly with his eyes still on the ground. “I guess I am a little bit of a prude, aren’t I?” he admitted.
“I’d say that’s an understatement.”
A smile still on his face, a slightly sad look came into Clark’s eyes. “Well… My parents always discouraged me from these things growing up. I guess I never really unlearned my hesitation around it.”
“Mm. Conservative types?” Bruce asked disapprovingly.
“Well, I wouldn’t say that, but… Old-fashioned, I guess. They certainly considered it the kind of thing you didn’t bring up around the dinner table. I guess they assumed I’d get married first. I mean, I did too, really, but Lois had a somewhat different attitude about the order of things and I… well… I didn’t exactly have a problem with it.” He took a sip of his drink. “It wasn’t really about that, though. They worried, I think very reasonably, about me hurting somebody. I didn’t always have the same control over my powers as I do now. Same reason they discouraged me from playing contact sports.”
The wry smile had left Bruce’s face as he considered the idea. “It never occurred to me that your powers would affect things in the bedroom. That’s gotta be tough.”
Clark shrugged. “Well. If it’s true that you get certain items for members of the League, then I’m sure you already know this, but with good communication and a little patience, you can always find a way for everybody to enjoy themselves safely.”
Suddenly Bruce was smiling again, casting Clark eyes over the rim of his glass. “Funny,” he said.
“What is?”
“You are.” He allowed Clark to sit and wonder what exactly that meant, offering no elaboration as he placed his glass, now empty save for a few drops, on the hardwood table. Elbows on his knees, he finally got back around to Clark’s question. “It’s not about getting beat up. It’s about being out of control.” Right away, Clark knew what he was talking about. That curious flicker alighted in his eyes again, his focus locking onto Bruce. He asked him nothing. Bruce went on. “The rest of the time when we’re getting the snot beat out of us, we’re thinking about the fact that if we can’t get the fight to sway our way again then somebody’s going to die. We spend most of our time thinking about how best to save people. Calculating how much we can handle. Doing the math on the minimum people that we have to sacrifice. The difference between that and what I do is that I have no control. I trust Catwoman. As much as I can trust anyone, anyway. So I let go. No responsibility, no choice. Don’t even have to think. Just let it all happen… The feeling is… Well. I don’t want to make you blush, Clark. But I quite enjoy it.”
Clark cast him a careful look, bringing a hand up to run along his chin. “Well, that I suppose I could understand.”
“I would have thought you’d understand it better than anyone.”
A crease appeared in his brow. “Why’s that?”
“Well, at least for me some things are out of my ballpark. But nothing’s out of yours. You’re easily the strongest member of the League, possibly the strongest being on the planet. Everything’s your responsibility. It must be exhausting.”
Clark’s eyes swept along the ground. That was true. “Well, I can’t complain,” he said humbly.
“You can,” Bruce corrected him, “You just choose not to. But don’t censor yourself because of me, Clark. I of all people know this life is less than glamorous.”
Clark’s gaze landed in the middle of his whiskey glass, still a little less than a quarter way full. It might have been nice, he thought. He complained on occasion to Lois, but even around her he watched his step. He did love the job, love what he did, love his life. But it was hard. He supposed that was one place where Lex did get through to him, the long monologues that stuck with him more than the torture did. It wasn’t so much the scheming or the hatred, more the idea that someone could be so motivated to kill him not because of rage alone, but because of envy. Clark’s greatest enemy was the man who thought he had the perfect life. And he couldn’t help but feel, each time he ranted and raved about how everything was so easy for him, that he had a point. What exactly did he have to complain about? Even still…
“Strike a nerve, Clark?” He looked up to see Bruce giving him a contemplative look. There was something gentle in his gravelly voice that hadn’t been there before. Clark forced a smile.
“I suppose you may have,” he admitted, running his hands against one another anxiously.
“Funny. Usually it’s you trying to get under my skin. Not every day I get under yours.” Bruce said. Then suddenly he stood, taking his empty glass and returning it to the counter near the cabinet.
Clark smiled. “Now, what’s that supposed to mean, Bruce?”
“I could get a little deeper,” Bruce went on, still facing away from him, “If you really wanna have an open mind.”
Clark’s smile fell. The tone in his voice had shifted. Both of them changed their affect from personality, Clark putting on something of a stammering, nebbishy affect as his human personality and then speaking with somewhat more gravitas as Superman. For Bruce, he was smooth and silver-tongued until he put on the mask, and his voice fell to a low and threatening rumble. That was how he sounded now. Like Bat-man. Clark sometimes had a feeling that Bruce Wayne was more an affect for him than Bat-man was.
He looked uneasily down at his glass. He knew what he was suggesting and could feel himself turn a shade redder than he already was. Slowly Bruce turned around, and he lifted his eyes to look at him. As he leaned backwards against the counter, he could see the perfectly muscular frame behind the black button-down, the top two buttons undone to reveal shining perfect collarbones. His eyes were ice cold, the way they always were, his gaze inscrutable. Clark caught himself staring. Then, from beneath him,
Crash! At some point the glass had slipped from his hand, shattering against the hardwood floor. Immediately he felt like an idiot. He did clumsy things like that all the time as journalist Clark Kent to sell the image, but it had been a long time since he’d been so careless sincerely. He jumped out of his seat, “Ah!” he winced, dropping to a knee to clean up the glass, “I’m sorry, Bruce, I can-”
“Don’t bother, I can have someone get it after you leave.”
“Well, I don’t want to make some maid do it…” He grumbled.
Bruce cocked his head at that. “That’s what I pay them for. And I pay them well.”
“Mm. Even still…” Quickly, Clark collected the pieces of glass, arranging them carefully in a pile on the table. Bruce made no effort to help him.
“Well?” he asked him.
Now finished with his task, Clark looked back up at him. Again he stood, adjusting his jacket as he swallowed. He knew he must have been beet red. “I’d have to get Lois’ permission. Those boundaries are very important,” he said. It was true, but Bruce’s wry smile told him it wasn’t the response he was expecting. Or, maybe it was, and he just found it funny. Found him funny, like he said.
“Oh, of course,” he said.
“That said…” He shrugged, “Well, it, uh… It sounds interesting, Bruce. Gosh, I’ll try anything once. Thank you for inviting me, uh, it’s very thoughtful.”
The smile fell from Bruce’s face as he eyes Clark again. “Nope,” he said firmly, “Still can’t picture it.” Then he grabbed his glass and began to saunter off to the kitchen to wash it. Over his shoulder, he called, “Come back Saturday night if Lois lets you. Goodnight, Clark.”
“Goodnight!” Clark called back. He took a breath and looked again at the shattered glass, only now beginning to process what exactly it was he’d signed up for.