Chapter Text
Clark
Clark watches as Lois keeps sighing, tapping away at her computer with restless unease that Clark too easily recognizes. He waits, because he knows she'll come to him, when she's ready. After years of knowing her, he knows better than to push, especially since he has a pretty good idea what this is about.
A few days ago, someone came to the Daily Planet, requesting to talk to Clark specifically. It isn't exactly the first time this has happened, nor will it be the last, so Clark wasn't surprised and didn't think much of it before accompanying the young lady to a private meeting room and getting a recorder and his notepad ready.
She looked nervous, looking to the corners of the room with anxious eyes, nails digging in her thighs. It took her a moment to open up, though Clark is always happy to patiently wait, never pressuring anyone to share their story when they aren't ready.
And after he heard what she said to say… well, he readily understood why she had been so reluctant to share this with a stranger.
She's a meta-human, having been kidnapped and sold to the highest bidder on Isla Fortuna, a secluded island bought and owned by a morally corrupt billionaire who makes profit off of selling off meta-humans to the wealthiest and most dangerous figures in the world. She had thankfully escaped after her captor hadn't properly fixed her inhibitor collar, a piece of tech that has LexCorp written all over it.
The reason why she had wanted to tell Clark her story was because of his articles on Superman. The one she reallywanted to tell her story to was Superman, really; Clark was just the middle-man she hoped would tell the superhero about what happened to her so he could put a stop it.
Of course, after learning this, the first thing Clark wanted to do was to fly to that damned island and end the operation right there and then. And he almost did, until he told Lois everything and she, sensibly, reminded him that sometimes, the best way to save the world isn't to barge in and take the matter into his own hands using brute force. As Lois simply put, without proper procedures, the people behind the island and the entire operation would simply relocate, and none of this would actually end. They needed to gather enough information so they could expose everyone behind the scenes, and Clark knows that better than anyone.
Still, in the moment, Clark hated that she was right. Hated that he couldn't simply rescue every meta-human who fell prey to trafficking and end this barbaric cycle. The truth of the matter is, as Isabella—the victim—later told him, the auction only happens once a year, and even if Clark were to storm there now, he would find nothing, no proper evidence or information about where the other victims are now that they are sold off.
The authorities were no help, then again they rarely are, especially in matters that involve meta-humans. Clark instantly knew the investigation fell into their own hands, and although he knows Lois is, as always, more than ready to chase the truth into the darkest corners of the world, he also knows she's now hitting a wall. Either the contact she was supposed to meet yesterday fell through, or they simply didn't give her enough information to follow on a second lead, but—something happened, something that put her on edge, and now, she's taking it out on her keyboard and refusing to stop until she finds a thread worth pulling.
Eventually, she settles and lets out yet another very loud, audible sigh before she turns her seat around and her eyes find Clark, filled with frustration and an edge Clark knows not to mess with. So he smiles, albeit perhaps a little nervously, and waits until she stands and marches on to his desk before he says a word.
"How did it go yesterday?" Clark asks, figuring that's the best way to start the conversation.
"It was a total bust," Lois tells him, and Clark figured as much. "All I managed to get out of him was the next time they'll be doing the auction, but since he had a sudden change of heart and decided he no longer will be part of it, he doesn't know where it'll be held this year, because apparently it isn't on Isla Fortuna every year, and he refused to tell me any names. So I guess his guilt must not be running that deep, because—"
"When is it going to be?"
"Next weekend, if you can believe it. And we're nowhere close to being able to get any information or its location."
"About that…"
Lois raises a brow.
Alright, so, maybe, just maybe, Clark has a plan. He'd been mulling over it the night before—it came to him in a dream—but what better way to get information on the auction (and hopefully stop it) than infiltrating it? That way, he'd be able to get the names of the people behind it, the names of the people enabling it, and be on site to save the meta-humans from being trafficked. It's a win-win situation, really, because he'd be able to stop it right there and then, and at the same time, have enough incriminating evidence on the ones doing this so they can't do it again.
He tells Lois all of this, watches as she squints more and more as he tells her his plan, noting clear sketicism in her features. Until she finally interrupts him, and says:
"That's all great, Clark, but how will you be able to be invited? They're not going to invite a reporter to their island of devils. And, not to state the obvious, but your paycheck isn't enough to get a foot in the door."
Yes, Clark is well aware. That's why he isn't intending on being invited as Clark Kent, reporter for the Daily Planet, but rather…
"I'd be going as Bruce Wayne's guest. Partner. No one would even pay attention to me since all I'd be in their eyes is arm candy."
It's the perfect cover, really. It is true: no one will be paying attention to him. It's a perfect plan.
Lois doesn't seem to think so.
She crosses her arms over her chest, eyes still narrowed. "You want to go to a private island. Full of sickos. While pretending to be Bruce Wayne's arm candy. Bruce Wayne. Your best friend. Whom you're also secretly in love with."
"…Yes."
Alright, when she puts it like that, it doesn't seem like the smartest plan. But, also, Clark just knows it will be fine. He'll be going with Brucie Wayne. Not Bruce. There's a difference. The persona, the mask Bruce puts on when he's Brucie Wayne isn't the man Clark is in love with. So. It'll be just fine. Right?
Lois sighs. "I don't think it's a good idea. Bruce might not even agree with—"
"He already said yes."
Lois pinches the bridge of his nose. Frankly, Clark doesn't understand what the problem is. Bruce seemed to be quite on board when Clark met him yesterday at the Watchtower. He even said it wasn't a "bad plan", which, in Bruce terms, is a major compliment.
"It'll be fine, Lois. It's just a weekend, anyway. Plus, we'll be busy investigating and, you know, stopping the auction. Well. I'll be stopping the auction. It'd be too suspicious if Batman suddenly appeared when Bruce Wayne was in proximity. But the League will also be on stand-by, in case of any hiccups. It's a solid plan. You have to admit it."
"If you say so," Lois shrugs. "Don't get me wrong, as Lois Lane, reporter for the Daily Planet, I think this is a great plan that will get us all the information we need to fry these fuckers. But as Lois, Clark Kent's friend, I think this plan will give you a glimpse of something you keep telling yourself you can't have and make you really miserable when it's all over."
Maybe so. But what's the alternative? She goes instead of him, putting her in a very dangerous location when things are inevitably going to go down? Not that she'd mind, he knows, but the thought of sending someone else rubs him the wrong way, and not because he doesn't like having to see Bruce with other people. He knows Brucie Wayne has an image to uphold, knows it means nothing. Knows this'll mean nothing to Bruce too, there will be no difference even if Clark is the one on his arm.
And if that stings a little, well, that's Clark's problem.
But it'll be fine, right?
Yeah.
It'll be fine.
Bruce
"Everyone received a brief," Bruce starts, his eyes glued to the monitor, "I’ve outlined what everyone will need to know and which league members will most likely be the closest. I don’t expect that— Diana, are you listening? This is very important."
Bruce can't imagine why she hounded after him when the meeting ended only to ask him questions that she doesn't seem interested in hearing the answers to.
Diana sighs, shifting in her seat. There’s a look in her eyes that Bruce has grown uncomfortably familiar with throughout the years they’ve worked together side by side. Even though they started out rocky, she’s grown into a close confidante. Which is how he knows the swirl of thoughts in her head have nothing to do with the undercover, infiltration mission Clark and him will be embarking on soon.
"Yes, I’m listening," she drawls, a smile lifting her lips, though it looks coy. "We went over this during the meeting, you reminded everyone four times to look at the files you sent over. Bruce, everyone knows. Everything will be fine."
Bruce doesn’t buy it. Things are rarely fine. Even with his meticulous planning, circumstances always have a way of getting out of hand. Bruce knows that better than anyone and this particular mission, it’s bigger than both him and Clark. It’s bigger than his personal feelings on the matter, even.
It'd be easier if his mission partner wasn't Clark. For this particular mission, anyway. Bruce never has any issues playing the role of Brucie Wayne when it's with strangers, but to do this with someone he's been secretly pining over for years now is… dangerous.
But he can't very well refuse Clark's plan, can he? He's the one who devised it and came to him about Isabella Herrera, a name that had immediately pinged on his computer as a missing meta. A name he definitely remembered seeing during his own investigations.
The Justice League didn’t tend to deal with daily cases, such as missing person’s, but Bruce certainly did. His computer’s algorithm was always on the prowl for patterns, scanning through police reports and sightings. And, naturally, he’d noticed a suspicious amount of missing person’s cases popping up, though still relatively low in numbers. Definitely not high enough to bring this to the League's attention, in any case.
Still, Bruce knows it probably hadn’t even been an accurate number either considering people who went missing without friends or family to report it just…vanished without a trace. Though, at the time, Bruce had hit a dead end with that investigation. It wasn’t just that they went missing, these people disappeared.
There was no clear pattern in the groups of people either. Men, and women alike from all walks of life. Bruce had initially tried to run an investigation on each person, but there truly was no pattern, except for one thing: all of them were metahumans. Some of them weren’t documented to be as such, but given certain occurrences in their lives, Bruce had grown accustomed to reading between the lines.
It was obvious something was happening, but what exactly, Bruce wasn’t sure. And then Clark came to him with Isabella’s story. Everything clicked into place then. Bruce had wished he hadn’t been correct on his assumptions that metas were either being recruited or taken against their wills, but it would seem that his instincts when it came to terrible things were always spot on.
Apparently Clark had hit a dead end in his investigation about where the next auction was going to be held, which meant there was realistically one place Bruce could go to for answers: the Iceberg Lounge.
If he wanted to be invited to the auction, he’d have take measures to put himself out there to get noticed. It was never favorable having to go the Iceberg Lounge, but with the auction coming up, Bruce had very little time get himself added to the list and… he didn’t want to let Clark down. There was a lot riding on this. Every other lead had been a bust and if they didn’t find out where the next auction was going to be held, all those people in Isabella’s situation would become all the more difficult to locate. Bruce couldn’t let that happen.
So he drank and played nice with every disgusting person who decided they wanted to join him. Shaking hands and being decent at galas was one thing, but at the Lounge? It was a different story altogether. A couple times, Bruce had noted the hesitance on Oswald’s face seeing him there, considering the last time Bruce had been there he nearly got himself banned for indecency, destruction of private property and a brawl. That he instigated.
But considering he bought the most when he went to the Lounge, Oswald would be losing a very popular customer.
As the night had dragged on, Bruce found out very vital information from one of the patrons who happened to already be invited to the auction: Betty Jones, wife of the CEO of Jones Corp, known for their very shady deals and embezzlement. So, of course, Betty would know about a shady auction selling off meta-humans.
She had been more than happy to accept drink after drink from Bruce, boasting about how her controversially young husband had been invited to this year’s auction. Despite being so inebriated, she didn’t share much else with Bruce, but she did confirm for Bruce that the “valuables” were worth the hassle.
Despite the deep disgust he had felt, he said all the right words, kissed the right hands, and smiled pretty. Business as usual for Brucie Wayne, after all.
The next morning, a package sat outside the Wayne Manor, a convoluted invitation to the island of devils. Clark’s idea of getting themselves invited was going to work out after all.
But Bruce still isn’t convinced that this will all go well, despite all the preparations he’s made.
"We should talk about what you’ll wear," Diana muses, "I’m assuming there will be mingling and socializing, won’t there? Since he’ll be your partner?"
Instantly he catches onto her obvious baiting. He does not want to be discussing the auction or Clark’s role in all of this.
"There will be socializing, yes,” Bruce responds noncommittally. He’s more focused on getting Clark an ID and a suitable persona. Even if Clark Kent isn’t as notable as Lois Lane in the world of journalism, there have been plenty of articles published by Clark on the wrongdoings and corruption in LutherCorp and other equally corrupt businesses.
Bruce can’t have Clark Kent showing up as his plus one. Not without a solid alias that can be traced back to a fabricated life an actual person could have lived. He won’t endanger Clark like that. Man of steel or not, he’s not completely unbreakable. Neither are his friends and family. This could get ugly, if they're not careful.
"Any word on where it is yet?" Diana leans over, studying the screen. "Who’s John Wallace?"
"Clark’s ID," Bruce answers curtly, closing the file. "There’s no information on the island yet and we don’t have solid leads on where the previous auctions have been held other than Isla Fortuna. They send out the location for the attendees only a day in advance."
Although Bruce did manage to start a process of elimination simply based on who owned some of the private islands that had been registered, he realizes that there’s plenty out there that have been purchased under aliases, with offshore accounts and various other means. There might even be unlisted islands, which doesn’t help narrow down his search. It’s been one frustrating dead end after the other.
Diana hums. "How do the attendees know where to go?"
Bruce sighs, giving her a pointed look. "For all the questions you have, you could’ve asked during the meeting instead of staring at me and whispering with Clark."
She smiles. "With the aura you were exuding, I didn’t think you wanted to answer any. I thought you’d kill Hal for speaking."
Right. Maybe he has been a little tense lately.
Diana leans over her hands, carefully laced together under her chin. "This isn’t about Hal or questions, is it?"
Bruce grimaces. The cowl hides nothing when it comes to Diana’s perceptive eyes. He considers telling her off, but that’s also never really worked on her. She’s always mostly been amused by his short or rude responses.
"No."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"No."
"Bruce…" Diana sighs, leaning back in her chair. "It’s Clark, isn’t it? Are you worried?"
He really doesn’t want to talk about this. Especially at the Watchtower, where Clark could appear at any given moment. "There’s nothing to discuss."
"This will complicate things," Diana states with the assuredness only an Amazonian could have. "Having to play pretend with someone you want… taking him in your arms, potentially even kissing him…"
"Diana…" Bruce warns.
But she carries on. "Maybe this will be an opportunity for you. To tell him how you really feel. In my experience, people in our line of work always wait until it’s too late."
Bruce will not be held hostage in this conversation. He comes to a stand, stepping away from the screen. "I need to get ready. I have many preparations to make."
"Don’t run from this Bruce…" she gently places a hand over his arm. "I think you should really think about what this could do to your friendship with Clark."
Hm. What could it do? A sensible question to ask. For one, it could destroy everything he shares with his best friend. They’re about to embark on a very dangerous mission, considerably blind. Bruce has never been this unprepared for a mission. They hardly have an idea for the location, no blueprints, no layout, no idea of what the security will look like and Clark’s informant had been so drug-addled during the auction, her memory of everything that transpired had been extremely shaky according to Clark’s report.
They’ll be going in blind and it’s extremely unlikely Bruce will even manage to bring any weapons with him to the actual site of the auction because it's extremely likely they will be scanned going in.
No pressure.
And Bruce knows it's very likely he'll be distracted because of the nature of the mission and the role he'll have to play. Sure, he's spent years perfecting the Brucie Wayne persona and he's distanced himself from the man he has to play when he's out in the open, but this'll be different. This'll be with Clark. Bruce's not sure he'll be that proficient at putting his feelings aside when he'll have to be in such close proximity to the one he's wanted for so stupidly long.
Will Clark see right through him and realize how Bruce feels? Is that what will destroy everything between the two of them?
Bruce refuses to think about it. This isn't about him. His personal feelings are irrelevant. He will not jeopardize this mission, not when the stakes are so high.
He won't.
He won't.
Bruce receives an encrypted code on Thursday night, approximately 24 hours before the island is open to auctioneers. The code leads to coordinates that expire within five minutes: the location of the island.
There’s still time to plan, 24 hours is all he will need to come up with something that won’t get either Clark or him harmed, and will successfully nip the auctions in the bud.
The island is a rather small one, and trying to find the actual owners is a complete waste of time. People who dabble in matters such as the auction of actual humans typically don’t leave a paper trail. Considering the location changes yearly, Bruce assumes that the hosts also change, but whoever is running the operation remains behind the scenes and if Bruce wants to get closer to them, he’ll have to do it from the site. They must keep the information there on servers Bruce will have to get access to.
Through satellite imaging, Bruce is able to get a decent aerial view of the enormous grounds and the structures on the property. The satellite images don’t capture the details well enough and if Bruce does anything as hasty as hacking into the cameras undoubtedly surrounding the property, he risks the entire mission.
They’ve come too close to risk it now.
But he does note a rather large structure that could potentially be where the metas are being held for the auction.
Bruce notes down anything of value he sees. Pathways, sheds, routes of escape — anything. It’s likely there might be a frequency dampener on the island, otherwise it would be too much of a security breach. This means he’ll have to take something with him that won’t be detected to help get signals out to the Justice League at timed intervals.
In the end, Bruce doesn’t know how long he spends pouring over the plans, finances, the false story for Clark’s persona….
By the time he’s anywhere close to being finished, the sun has long since come up. Clark will soon be heading over where they’ll head to an airport that’s owned under Wayne Enterprises together. The flashier their arrival, the better. Bruce had been very particular that they be seen together in the instance that they’re being watched.
The people who host the auction are very particular about the guests, which only made Bruce all the more paranoid about Clark’s identity leaking or holes being found in their story.
As far as anyone will be concerned at the auction, his relationship with ‘John Wallace’ is new, since Bruce hasn’t been known to take long time partners to galas and events, especially because he doesn’t particularly have long time partners.
And yet, it would be suspicious if, or rather, when they're surveilled, it's found out that the man he supposedly wants to take with him to an extremely exclusive auction is someone he doesn’t even drive with.
Even more prep goes into ensuring everything necessary for the mission is packed in the car before they drive out. Clark is oddly quiet, but Bruce assumes he’s probably just as tense as Bruce is for the mission.
This is big. If they break this case, not only will they take down everyone involved in the event, but save many metas, likely even others off location and the ones sold off in previous years. After all, the amount of power being generated on that island can’t just be because of the building where the auction will be taking place. There has to be servers that Bruce can access.
In the end, there’s plenty to think about. And yet, it doesn’t take his mind long to stray toward Clark and the convincing act they’ll have to put on as a couple. Not that it’ll be very hard for Bruce to be convincing. Usually, putting on an act takes more out of him, but for this…
On the one hand, his personal feelings will make it more difficult for him to distance himself from the pretense, but on the other…
A part of him, buried deep, wants this. Wants to have an excuse to do all the things he's told himself he could never do, could never have.
It's dangerous. He knows. So he ignores those thoughts and puts all of his focus on the mission and the importance of it going right.
In the end, the drive is silent, with Clark quietly staring out the window and Bruce absently tapping his leg. When they arrive to the jet and finally get settled in to their seats, with Alfred taking charge of the flight there, Bruce sits across from Clark and sets a file and an ID card down in front of Clark.
"Your new identity," he explains, "I didn’t want to take any risks with your name or your family. We don’t know for certain what we’re up against."
Bruce wants to go into more detail, explain once more what the plan will be once they arrive, but honestly? With the way the light from the windows is hitting Clark’s hair so perfectly and how his unwavering attention focuses so intensely on Bruce, it’s pretty difficult to put together a string of intelligible words.
Even after all this time, Bruce hasn’t gotten used to the way Clark looks at him. He dreams of those eyes when he actually does sleep.
God, this mission will be the end of him.
"John Wallace," Clark hums, nodding appreciatively at the ID. "Strong name. I like it."
Bruce doesn't, but he keeps that to himself.
"I can't ever see you as anything other than Clark Kent," he says instead, "I will have to though, unless I want blow our cover completely." Which also means leaning heavily into the Brucie Wayne persona, something that has already begun to eat away at him. "I'm…sorry in advance."
Clark looks up at him, puzzled. "For what?"
"For…." Bruce sighs, "my behavior. At the auction. We can't seem threatening or suspicious, so…"
It's not often that Clark really sees him as Brucie Wayne and Bruce would've liked to keep it that way. Tarnishing his image in the eyes of the man he hopes to remain highly regarded by is not his idea of fun, but it's unavoidable.
"Oh, that's okay," Clark smiles. As always, his eyes shine. "I'm familiar with the Brucie act."
Fuck.
Bruce's breath drags out of his lungs as he lowers his head in shame. "I really wish you weren't. I just want to make sure you're prepared, Clark. If… you look uncomfortable, or caught off guard, or… unwilling, it might get suspicious."
"Don't worry," Clark assures. "I know what I signed up for. I won't ruin this operation. Trust me."
Bruce isn't worried that Clark will ruin anything, he's worried that he will.
How much of this will he be able to stomach? Bruce has tolerated plenty, but Diana was right. Throwing himself theatrically at the man who has haunted his every living and breathing moment is going to be a challenge.
Slowly, he reaches across the table between them and takes Clark's hand.
"I trust you. You know this. With my life."
Clark smiles, his gaze shifting down to their entwined hands. Realization seems to dawn on him, then he says, "Oh! Are we practicing our act? That's a good idea, actually."
Right. An act. Their act. Bruce gives Clark a faint smile.
"For starters, let’s not go around calling it an act unless you want to tell people we indulge in BDSM."
"Oh," Clark adjusts himself in his seat, the tip of his ears red. "Well, I actually thought in the BDSM world, it was called a scene."
Oh?
"Clark Kent telling me about BDSM," Bruce teases with a smile. "I know it’s called a scene, the question is, how do youknow it’s called a scene? Anything you want to tell me, Clark?"
"I… know things," Clark answers, rather cryptically.
Interesting.
"Clearly," Bruce nods appreciatively, his lingering gaze going over their hands. He rather enjoys seeing sides of Clark he didn't expect. It's always a pleasant surprise to learn that after all this time, there's still more to learn about his best friend. "Not going to elaborate to your partner, Mr. Kent?"
Clark awkwardly clears his throat. "There's really nothing to elaborate…"
"Then perhaps we should discuss how far you're willing to go," Bruce squeezes Clark's hand, "I'm known to be quite a physical drunk. I don't want you caught off guard."
"Are you a physical drunk, or is Brucie?" Clark asks, a seemingly amused smile dancing on his lips.
Bruce returns the smile. "I'm afraid Brucie is a lightweight and does a bit much when he's drunk. People like him better that way. Fair warning, he's an annoying drunk as well. How will John Wallace deal with such a handful?"
"I think John Wallace will deal just fine," Clark chuckles. "He's a very understanding lover."
"Is he now?" Bruce smirks, feeling an overwhelming burst of fondness for Clark and his willingness to play along. "He certainly must be for agreeing to go out with someone like Wayne."
Clark hums, offering a playful shrug. "Maybe he's fond of him."
"Fond? Goodness," Bruce chuckles, "John is in for a night of fun then. I'd say with an attitude like that, he'll be Brucie's favorite. Finally a man to keep him right."
Clark chuckles, the sound light and airy. He remains silent for a moment, his gaze falling to their entwined hands, before he solemly says, "to answer your question, I already knew what I was signing up when I came up with this mission. You won't catch me off guard, I promise. I know very well how you act in these social functions."
Bruce is both impressed and mildly horrified, though he does his best to keep the grimace from souring his features too much. The idea of Clark knowing these details is certainly helpful, but…
"Then I suppose you’re prepared for it all," Bruce teases lightly. "From the moment we arrive, we’re no longer Bruce or Clark. There might be listening devices stationed all around the island. We need to tread with caution."
Clark nods. "I know. Don't worry. Actually, starting now, I'm John Wallace. No idea who this Clark fellow is, though I hear he's a great reporter…"
Cute.
Bruce has to stop himself from grinning like a fool. Only Clark could make him feel this at ease while they're about to take on a faceless organization that's doing insidious things with meta-humans. Only Clark.
"Great, you say?" Bruce hums. "Are you trying to make me jealous?"
"What? No, I—" Clark pauses, realization dawning upon him. "Ohhhhhh," he adds, a slight flush to his cheeks before he presses his glasses up his nose. "No, dear, I wouldn't dare try and make you jealous."
Bruce resists the affectionate smile threatening to split his face. This is….extremely silly. They should be spending this time familiarizing themselves with the terrain….
"I would hope not, or I might have issues with this Kent," Bruce teases, leaning closer against the table, "I might even ask that you make it up to me."
God, this is already dangerous…
"Oh? And how might I do that?"
"I may have a few ideas," Bruce casually bumps his foot against Clark's ankle, "but I wouldn't want to have all the fun here and tire ourselves out before the real party…"
"Oh."
Clark blushes. Maybe Bruce is taking it a step too far. They're not even in front of people yet.
Smiling, he squeezes Clark's hand. "You're doing an exceptional job, Clark. You can relax. Actually, it'd be good if you reviewed all the information I managed to gather about the island."
"Yeah, I probably sh—" Clark pauses, eyes widening a little. "Hey, you're not supposed to call me Clark!" He adds, his voice dropping to a whisper, as if anyone could hear them.
Bruce can't help but chuckle, fondly squeezing Clark's hand. "It's okay, Clark. We can stop for now. You've done very well, gold star for you. There's drinks and food if you want any, I've got some work to catch up on."
"Alright," Clark nods, gently letting go of Bruce's hand. "I'll go use the bathroom and get myself a snack, then get through those files," he adds, standing from his seat and heading towards the end of the plane.
As much as Bruce hates the distance between them, he can finally catch his breath.
The mission hasn't even begun yet and he's already... struggling.
Fuck. Bruce needs to get a grip, or this is going to be a very long weekend.
How does one even begin to hide anything from a man who has super hearing, super vision and… super everything?
The real test will be hiding how he feels from the man who knows everything there is to know about Bruce.
Right. Should be a piece of cake.
(Not.)
Clark
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
The moment he's in the bathroom, Clark leans against the door and lets out a shaky breath, his heart stammering against his chest. Darn it, he's in trouble. Holding hands has his heart completely erratic; simple bantering has his breath caught in his throat. How is he going to survive this weekend? He won't. He simply won't.
Shit.
"It's fine, Clark," he tells himself, "you can do this. This is just another mission," he assures, even when he knows damn well this is not just another mission.
Gosh, maybe Lois was right. Maybe this was a bad idea. It's stupid, but he's already jealous of John Wallace. Which is ridiculous, because this is all an act. It means nothing. The affection and attention Bruce will be giving him means nothing.
The thought twists his chest uncomfortably. He already knew all of this going in, so why is it affecting him so much now?
He must've underestimated just how fast his heart would beat, just how much he'd like Bruce's hand in his.
Clark shakes his head. This isn't the time nor the place. He's on a mission. A very important mission. He can't blow his cover because he's flustered that his best friend (and coincidentally, the man he's very, very in love with) is holding his hand or… kissing him.
Because it'll happen, right? Clark is no fool. He's seen Brucie Wayne at events, always handsy, always flirting, always kissing. Clark has been jealous on countless occasions, even if he always reminded himself that it isn't really Bruce, that all of it is a very elaborate act and a mask Bruce puts on, one he eagerly takes off when he's Batman—his true self, even if, technically, (and perhaps ironically), Batman is the one who wears a real mask.
Clark sighs. The fact of the matter is, it doesn't matter how he feels. He can't let Bruce down. He can't let Isabella down, either. And all the meta-humans they need to save.
So Clark steels himself and after a much necessary pep talk, he exits the bathroom and gets himself something to eat, something to calm his nerves. At the very least, Bruce doesn't seem to notice his inner turmoil, lost on his computer in whatever adjacent case he's working on.
Clark smiles, a little. Bruce never takes a break. Not that he himself takes that many either, between his work as Clark Kent and his life as Superman, but it feels like Bruce takes it a step further. Clark doesn't remember the last time he's seen Bruce relax. If only they were going to a tropical island to have fun…
Clark almost chuckles at the thought; Bruce wearing an Hawaiian shirt and ridiculous sunglasses, sunbathing on a remote beach. Honestly, it would do him good. The man is so pale…
"Everything alright?" Bruce asks him, brow raised. "You've been staring."
Clark flushes, caught. He awkwardly waves, shaking his head. "Sorry, sorry. I was zoning out."
He was not. But Bruce doesn't need to know that.
The man only grunts in response, going back to his work for the remainder of the flight while Clark reviews everything Bruce has compiled. Clark is antsy when they land even if it is nighttime, and remains silent as they are greeted to the island by what looks like an hotel clerk, and promptly asked to be scanned before they can take a step further. The clerk only talks to Bruce, as if he already knows he's the one who was invited and Clark is only here as a trophy.
Clark doesn't mind it. Frankly, he feels a little tongue-tied by the whole situation, and he prefers focusing on taking note of the surroundings than sharing pleasantries with the clerk as he shows them to their room in the luxurious, extremely fancy building they are led into.
It makes Clark feel nauseous. The money put into this place is made off selling people. It is despicable. Absolutely despicable.
He doesn't know if Bruce feels his energy or if he's just being Brucie, but Bruce puts a reassuring hand on the small of his back, and it instantly calms Clark down, cheeks warming at the affectionate touch.
It's not for long, though, because they quickly reach their room and the clerk leaves them be, telling them to contact him if they need anything. Clark politely nods at him, wondering what the man gets out of this weekend for participating in, well, trafficking. Surely he gets a large paycheck for keep his mouth shut…
Oh, well. Clark isn't here to expose a random clerk, so he relents, and puts his bag on the ground while Bruce starts to look around the room for wire taps. Or, well, this is what Clark assumes he's doing.
Clark surveys the room and does his own sweep with his x-ray vision, and finds nothing. Shocking. He then follows Bruce's movements until Bruce nods at him that the room is safe, and Clark nods in response, too. They can both relax, at least in here. Clark does feel a little more relaxed, actually.
Until his eyes land on the bed, and:
"Oh. There's only one bed."
Golly.
"Of course there is," Bruce gives him a puzzled look as he unzips his bag, "you're my plus one after all. It would be rather odd if we slept in separate beds. Not that we'll do much sleeping while we're here."
Oh.
Oh.
"What?" Clark squeaks. Surely, Bruce can't possibly mean… that. They don't need to act behind closed doors, do they? It's not like they're being watched, Bruce just checked for that. Or maybe Bruce is paranoid he missed something?
Oh my god.
Will they have sex?!
No way.
"I'm hoping to get a better look of the premises and work on our plan, try to access the servers from here," Bruce continues, oblivious to Clark's racing thoughts. His eyes dart up from his bag to meet Clark's. "Are you okay?"
Oh.
"Yes," Clark replies, tone flat. He can't believe… gosh, he can't believe how stupid he's been, even if just for a second. Of course they're not going to have sex just for show. Golly, how silly he's been…
Bruce gives him a strange look before zipping the bag back up and setting it aside. "You can join me to do a sweep of the building. I'll need the extra set of eyes. I know stealth isn't really your preferred way of doing things, but… it will have to be."
"I can do stealth," Clark replies. "Wouldn't it be better for the both of us to be there if we get caught? We can pretend to be… occupied with each other."
Is it cliché that Clark imagines them getting caught and they have "no choice" but to suddenly start kissing each other to evade prying questions they'd otherwise have to answer?
Bruce hums, nodding slowly. "That's very smart," he flashes Clark an appreciative smile, "been studying up on espionage tactics?"
Oh, thank god. Bruce thinks it's smart.
"Well," Clark smiles, "I have been studying you for years."
"Have you now? Goodness, you'll make me blush," Bruce teases, making his way over to Clark, reaching over to gentle straighten out his collar. Oh.
What was that for?
"I'd like to go check our exit points as well," Bruce continues, his knuckles brushing against Clark's neck as he pulls away, checking his watch. "Make sure what I had from the imaging and paperwork is accurate."
"Sure," Clark nods, trying to ignore the way the warmth on his neck lingers. "Good idea."
"Yes, I'm full of them," Bruce steps toward the door, pulling it open and glancing down the hall. "I'm surprised they don't have people standing around, but… surveillance is to be expected. We should do our best to look as inconspicuous as possible."
"Of course," Clark agrees. "Should we… hold hands?" he adds, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"Naturally. You catch on quick." Bruce offers his hand to Clark, flashing him a charming smile. "Consider this an adventure, Mr. Wallace."
Gosh. Clark shouldn't be this flustered or excited about holding hands. Holding hands! He's not a prude, he's done his fair share of sex and sometimes, yes, it was quite kinky! Holding hands should not make his heart race the way that it does.
And yet…
It's Bruce. It's because it's Bruce. The man Clark has been pining over for years, the man he's longed for, the man he's kept at a safe distance frm his heart for fear of losing the friendship they had and the partnership they've developed over the years. Although Clark has always thought—always hoped—that if something romantic were to come out of their relationship, it would be the one that would last, he isn't naive. His life isn't a fairytale and neither is Bruce's, so, realistically speaking, it could be very likely that the relationship would end, either amicably or in total flames, but the fact of the matter is, it would end.
And what comes of them after that? Would they be able to remain friends the way they are now? Would they be able to work together so efficiently, so effortlessly?
Clark's not sure. It's why he never initiated anything and wouldn't, and why this mission feels so dangerous and… risky. Because, gosh, Lois is right, what is he supposed to do with himself now that he knows what Bruce's hand feels like in his? What it does to his heart?
How will he fare if—when—they actually kiss?
The worst part is, Clark wants to. His traitorous mind wants to know what it feels like to kiss Bruce, even if it's only part of an act. Will his lips feel soft, or rough? Will his kisses be gentle, light, or full of passion? Sure, Clark knows how Brucie kisses, he's seen it first hand, but how different will it be to be the recipient of those kisses?
Clark's mind wanders, distracting him from the mission at hand. Bruce's hand feels warm in his own, steady and strong. Clark watches how focused he is, how steady his heartbeat is. Of course, none of this affects Bruce. It wouldn't. Bruce is used to this, while Clark isn't. Still, is it foolish of him to hope he could make Bruce's heart stutter the way Bruce has done to his?
Probably. Clark needs to focus, focus and—
Clark's breath hitches. One hallway down where they are, he overhears a voice he instantly recognizes, a voice he should've known he would hear here:
Lex.
Shit! Lex knows him. Not that he's Superman, no, obviously not, but he knows Clark Kent. Only because he hates that Clark Kent, reporter for the Daily Planet, has done a number of interviews with Superman, his sworn nemesis. If Lex notices him… it could be bad. Terrible, even. Lex might tell everyone he's a reporter and get him off the island. Shit.
He can't be seen. The event is large enough that they might be able to avoid each other, at least until the auction, since Clark can track his voice and stay, well, away, but right now, Lex is coming towards them, he's just around the corner, and Clark doesn't even have the time to tell Bruce. What would he tell him, anyway? They can't just start running away. There's people here.
Clark needs to think, quick. He needs his face covered, he needs—
Oh.
Oh.
Yes. A kiss! It's the perfect solution.
Without any time to spare, Clark suddenly grabs Bruce, pulling him closer. Hands fly to his face, cupping his cheeks before his eyes slip closed and he crashes his lips against his, swallowing the low gasp that leaves Bruce's lips. It takes no time for Bruce to adjust to their situation, wrapping his arms around Clark's waist and returning the kiss with fervor.
Suddenly, the noise around them drowns out. Clark can't hear the footsteps, the voices, the shuffling. He can't even hear Lex, nothing. Nothing but the regular thumping of Bruce's heart, the deep moans rumbling in his chest, the sound of their lips parting and coming back together, molding so perfectly.
Gosh, Lois was right. She was so right. Clark is screwed, because this is perfect. Bruce's lips are equally soft and rough, his kiss equally affectionate and passionate, his hands equally gentle and demanding, fingers lifting from Clark's waist and carding through his hair to pull him even closer until their heated bodies are flush. Like Bruce can't get enough, like he wants more.
Of course, that's when reality comes crashing in. Because Bruce doesn't want more. He's just doing his part, kissing back because that's what Brucie Wayne—John Wallace's lover—would do.
For a moment, Clark burns with jealousy. Because he wants this to be real, he wants this to be Bruce and Clark, not Brucie Wayne and John Wallace. He wants this to be them, sharing their first, real kiss, full of love and affection and want.
But it isn't them, and this isn't real, so the noise comes back, the footsteps, the shuffling, the voices. Lex's, specifically, having walked past them, now further down an adjacent hallway.
So Clark pulls away, his breaths heavy as he parts from Bruce's warm mouth, and takes a small step back.
"Sorry," Clark mumbles, low. Loud enough for Bruce to hear, yet low enough for no one else to. "Lex is here."
"Wait," Bruce's voice is silent in the hall, rough as he takes Clark's wrist and tugs him closer, so close that Clark notes the redness to Bruce's lips, "it might be dangerous. Stay close."
"Oh, um, right, of course…"
Lex could come back…
"You saved us," Bruce adds, a small smile lifting his lips as he takes a look down the hall, "your quick thinking… this is why I enjoy working with you. I already managed to get more intel, and…"
The words blur. They blur, because Clark is stupidly staring at Bruce and his red lips. Red, because Clark kissed him. They kissed.
For the mission, of course. Like Bruce said, quick thinking. But oh, it's so much more than that. It felt… god, it felt so good. So perfect. Clark wants to taste those lips again, even if it'd only serve to make him miserable to know none of it is real.
He finds himself almost wishing Lex would come back around the corner, if only to have an excuse to claim Bruce's mouth with his own once more. Maybe he could even let his hands wander…
No.
No, this is wrong. He can't take advantage of this situation to live out his fantasies when Bruce is not privy to it. He won't.
Straightening himself, Clark refocuses, being careful to stare away from Bruce's lips.
"—it showed a room that I can't see in this hall. And— Clark?" Bruce's eyes seek his, a deep frown lining his features. "Are you okay? Should we head back to the room?"
"I'm fine," Clark replies. "Sorry. I was… focusing on trying to hear if Lex was coming back this way."
Lies, lies, lies. He hates it.
Bruce hums, glancing down the hall. "Think you could use that vision of yours to see if there's hidden rooms? If we're to find servers, I doubt they'll be in the open."
"Right," Clark nods, activating his x-ray vision to survey the rooms around them and beyond, only to find… nothing?
Of course. They wouldn't have their servers in a building where all their guests are lodging.
Clark shakes his head.
"Fuck," Bruce frowns, "I was hoping it wouldn't be in the building next door. It has the highest surveillance from what I was able to gather. I don't think that's a job for tonight, they're more likely to tighten security at night than in broad daylight, because who would be bold enough to prowl around during the day… of course, we are, but they don't know that."
"Right," Clark nods. Bruce knows best.
Bruce's hand suddenly finds his once again and he tugs him closer. "We should probably try and get some rest as well. We'll have a long day tomorrow."
"What happened to 'we won't do much sleeping while we're here'?" Clark teases, though the words feel like molasses in his mouth.
He is not in the right headspace to joke about sex with Bruce. Maybe he'll never be. Because now that he knows what Bruce's lips feel like, what it's like to have his body pressed to his… his mind supplies him with images that flusters him, images he shouldn't be thinking of when they're on a mission.
"I doubt I'll sleep," Bruce remarks dryly, looking down the hall suspiciously, "but if we won't get anywhere, there's no point in exposing ourselves," he says, shooting Clark a look. He frowns. "Are you sure you're okay? Did I hurt you?" He asks, and there's a brief moment he looks exasperated with himself, before he adds: "Not that….it's possible to hurt you, but you know what I mean."
Clark looks at Bruce, perplexed. Even if he'd be a regular human, how could a kiss like that potentially hurt him?
Well, maybe if Bruce had been wearing kryptonite lipstick…
"You didn't hurt me. I'm fine," Clark assures. "Just a little… annoyed I didn't factor in that Lex could be here. Honestly, he could've very well organized this whole thing. This," he gestures around them, "is all very Lex Luthor."
Bruce grimaces, nodding slowly. "It's very likely. His anti meta-human sentiment over the years has only become more public. I'm sure he has many people backing him who aren't as open as he is. That's why we're here." He begins to tug Clark along down the hall, but he remains rigid and tense, as if Lex will jump out from a random corner to jumpscare them. "I should've considered this in my plans," he adds, "I'm sorry."
"It's alright. We both made an oversight," Clark replies, offering Bruce a tight smile. "It happens."
"I don't make oversights," Bruce mutters quietly, "that's how people die. This was carelessness." When they reach their room, he gently places a hand to Clark's lower back, guiding him inside and carefully clicking the door shut behind them. "We'll have another chance."
"At dealing with Lex?"
"All of this," Bruce undoes his tie, slipping it off, "it's only our first night. We'll have a better time tomorrow."
"We'll have to avoid Lex until I'll be coming in here as Superman," Clark declares, taking a seat at the edge of the bed. "If he starts telling people there's a reporter here, they might cancel the auction and it's unlikely you'll be invited again after bringing me here."
"It's uncertain whether Lex will mingle with the crowd," Bruce muses, taking a seat on the armchair across from the bed, "he might give some speech or the other before the auction, but he's always preferred to hide in a hole rather than face a situation. I have a feeling he'll be easy to avoid, otherwise," he shoots Clark a smirk, "you and I can just evade."
Oh.
"Like… we just did?"
Bruce nods. It doesn't help that he's unbuttoning his shirt as he does. "Yes. You're very good."
"At… kissing?"
Why are they talking about this?! Oh god. Clark's face is burning.
"What else?" Bruce arches a brow, shrugging off his shirt and draping it over the arm rest. "You're very good at it. I don't think we'll have any trouble playing off what we're actually doing."
"Oh, well, that's… good."
Clark swallows hard. The words won't come out right. He's so thankful Bruce doesn't have superhearing like he does, because his heart is so ridiculously erratic he feels like even human hearing could pick up on it.
This is ridiculous. Bruce is definitely referring to him being good at pretending, right? He's not… he's actually complimenting his kissing skills. Obviously.
"Yes, but this will be for the us of tomorrow…" Bruce leans back against the chair, "are you sure you're alright? You look flushed."
Darn it.
"I'm just… a little warm," Clark offers as an excuse. "We are on a tropical island…"
"Fair," Bruce grunts, "it makes me miss Gotham. Do you want to cool down in the shower?" He asks, motioning to the ensuite bathroom. "You can go ahead before me. I have some things to look over."
"Alright," Clark nods, standing from the bed and taking a change of clothes to the bathroom before he turns on the shower and strips from his clothes, hopping under the hot water with a relieved sigh.
It helps, a little.
Until it doesn't, because Clark's traitorous mind suddenly drifts and he thinks of a scenario where Bruce suddenly joins him in the shower, being too riled up to continue his work because he can't stop thinking of the kiss, can't stop thinking about Clark's lips and how he must feel them against his again. How the mission has made Bruce realize his long buried feelings for Clark, coming to the surface never to be ignored again.
He imagines Bruce placing his hand to the back of his neck and pulling him closer, claming his mouth in a bruising kiss that leaves him breathless. He imagines Bruce pinning him to the nearest shower wall, pressing his bare body against his, holding both of Clark's wrists above his head as he starts to have his way with him, lips trailing hot kisses down his neck, his collarbone, his chest… until Bruce drops to his knees and takes him in his mouth, expertly using his tongue to get him off and rip shameless moans from his throat.
Fuck.
Clark is hard as a rock, and the water suddenly feels too warm. He turns it to the cold setting, though it does very little to calm his arousal and his devious mind from running through more fantasies, of Bruce facing the wall with his back arched, legs spread and ready for Clark to pound into him.
Or, of Clark being pinned against the shower wall, thigh hoisted up by Bruce's strong hand as Bruce fucks him raw, thrusts deep and fast and so, so good.
Shit.
Clark won't be able to come out of the shower at this rate. He stares at his erection with a glare, though he knows this is his own damn fault.
He wraps a hand around his length, heaving out a relieved sigh at the contact. Guilt courses through him at the thought of Bruce on the other side of the wall, working away and having no clue that Clark is about to masturbate to sinful thoughts of him when he's right there.
God, it's shameful. And yet, Clark can't stop, because fuck, it feels good. Just a few pumps in and he already feels the pressure building up, the pleasure coursing through him at an alarming speed. This isn't entirely new to him, after all, nothing brings him quite as high as when his treacherous mind drifts and thinks of his best friend, but… this is new, because now, he knows what Bruce's lips feel against his. Oh boy, do they feel wonderful.
Clark is addicted to the heat, to the perfect texture and the way Bruce's hands wandered, from his waist to his neck to his hair, and, oh—
Clark cums thinking about the low moans that left Bruce's lips, muffled by his own and yet Clark could hear them so clearly. Never has he been this glad for his superhearing, allowing him to hear such alluring, tempting sounds.
"Gosh…" Clark mumbles, shame rising in his throat when he sees the mess he's made, the mess he quickly cleans up for fear that Bruce would suddenly barge in the room. Not that he would, obviously, Bruce respects his privacy. Maybe he shouldn't, considering what Clark's just done, but…
Clark lets out a shaky sigh. He's not entirely sure he's ready to face Bruce and share a bed after this. He could choose to… well, not sleep. It's not like Clark actually needs the sleep, anyway. He sleeps mostly out of habit, though he often skips it when necessary.
Could he excuse himself and go do some more patrolling? Find out where the servers are, maybe?
No… Bruce said it was a task for another day, preferably not at night. Besides, if caught, especially by Lex, how could he explain what he's doing?
Sigh.
Clark can't very well avoid his mission partner or do a walk of shame, so he steels himself as he towels himself dry and changes into comfortable plaid sweatpants and a red tee, heading back into the room with the tips of his ears burning.
Bruce doesn't comment nor does he seem to notice, too engrossed in his computer. Thank god.
"I'll… head to sleep, now," Clark mumbles. Bruce only grunts in response and continues tapping away, leaving Clark to his own devices. Good. At least, Clark will be able to fall asleep without Bruce's heat next to him. Honestly, it'd probably be just make him hard again, and the thought alone mortifies him.
With that in mind (unfortunately), Clark settles in the bed (at least it's comfortable) and closes his eyes, letting the sound of the keyboard and Bruce's steady heartbeat lull him into sleep.