Chapter Text
Clark tended to look on the bright side of things. So when one of his coworkers desperately needed someone to cover a fundraising gala in Gotham, he had twisted it into an opportunity to eat a nice dinner and have a quiet evening. He even maintained this in the face of Lois’ laughter and her postulation that he’d either die of boredom or of toxic smog before the night was over.
However, as the night wore on in the stuffy, perfumed ballroom, he found his will to prove Lois wrong waning. He needed fresh air. He needed to get out. With a quick X-ray scan of the facility, he spotted a path to a balcony and followed it like a dehydrated man to an oasis in the desert.
Once outside, the night air didn’t even offer relief, because true to Lois’ earlier words, the air quality in Gotham bordered on uninhabitable. Nevertheless, Clark leaned against the balcony railing and scanned his eyes over Gotham. He tried his best to see the beauty in it, but for once even his positivity failed. It qualified as the only area in which Batman outpaced Clark in idealism.
Speaking of, Clark wondered what the guy was up to tonight. The dark night sky showcased a few stars, but no bat symbol, and Clark’s vision found no masked vigilante hopping from roof to roof. Was he having a night in? Or just fighting crime somewhere Clark’s eyes couldn’t pierce?
Also, considering Clark was in Gotham, should Clark suit up, fly over, and say hi after the gala? Or would that be too weird? It wasn’t really acceptable to say he was in town and stopping by out of convenience, because, theoretically, Clark could stop by anytime he wanted in five seconds flat from Metropolis. Or was that overthinking it?
Clark had broken the ice so recently, and he couldn’t imagine losing the ground covered for a quick hello. So, maybe he shouldn’t. Or maybe that would be a good step? Or—
“Bored?”
A voice startled Clark, a flashing red sign that he had been too engrossed in his thoughts to pick up on the person’s footsteps, and he turned to see none other than Bruce Wayne approaching him. His toned chest peeked out through the top two unfastened buttons of his shirt, and his bow tie hung loosely around his neck. Bruce swirled a glass of champagne in his hands, and sported a rouge on his cheek that could’ve been someone’s lipstick or a reaction to the cold. Simply put, he was even more breathtaking in real life than on the cover of GQ. He settled on the railing next to Clark, tossing him a glance as he waited for an answer.
“A little,” Clark confessed, mind already running through what he knew of Bruce Wayne and how involved he was in this shindig—so how much Clark should say. As a journalist, he wasn’t new to talking to the rich and powerful, but talking on a secluded balcony at night was something different altogether and those details clouded his mind.
Bruce laughed. “I’d rather crawl through hell for an eternity than spend another second listening to Mr. Sorch drone on. I’m Bruce Wayne, by the way.” He looked Clark up and down, a smile growing. “And you are?”
Red pricked at Clark’s cheeks, something only attributable to blushing hot blood since his kryptonian genes prevented the chill of the cold, but Bruce didn’t need to know that. “Clark Kent. I’m with the Daily Planet.”
“Metropolis?”
Clark nodded.
“But, you’re not from there, no?” His eyebrow and smile hinted that he had seen something—Clark’s accent, his manners, who knew?
“No, no. I’m from Kansas.” Clark smiled, thinking of home. “It’s very different from the city.”
Bruce barked out a laugh. “I bet.”
“Have you ever lived anywhere other than Gotham?”
“No.” His eyes swept across the skyline, a hint of adoration brightening his eyes. “I could never leave this place. It’s home.” He turned his gaze back to Clark, noticing the polite disagreement in his eyes. “Gotham’s an acquired taste.”
Clark smiled. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t need to.” Bruce stretched, showcasing his muscled physique, and when his arms came back down, one of them landed on Clark’s arm. He leaned in, closer now. “I could show you around if you’d like. But I do have a final destination in mind.”
Clark blinked. Was Bruce fucking Wayne propositioning Clark right now? What the fuck? Sure, this was normal for Bruce maybe, but absolutely not for Clark. He didn’t know what to say. Bruce obviously exuded attraction, like a statue chiseled from granite, but Clark didn’t really do casual really well, but also his twenties were going to come to an end soon, and if there was a time for anything, wouldn’t it be—
“Put your hands up and don’t say a fucking word.”
Fortunately, at that moment, four men in black riot gear and shiny pistols dropped onto the balcony from some hidden place above—again Clark couldn’t believe he had gotten too distracted to notice—and encroached on the two.
Now, Clark rose his hands swiftly even though he knew bullets couldn’t pierce him because his press pass said Clark Kent and not Superman, and the bullets would most definitely pierce the man beside him, celebrity playboy billionaire or no. Clark looked to the man in question, expecting to see fear that he would have to assuage, but instead Bruce wore a face of boredom and frustration.
“I really can’t say anything?” Bruce said as one of the men stepped forward to tie Clark’s hands behind his back. The rope cut into his wrists in a profoundly uncomfortable way, but it didn’t distract from the absolute fear that Bruce’s insubordination sparked in Clark. “I thought you guys did this so often because you enjoyed my riveting conversation.”
A second man pulled Bruce’s hands behind his back and wrapped the same rough rope around his wrists. He leaned over to Bruce’s ear. “Shut it, asshole.”
“See?” Bruce winked in response to Clark’s wide eyes. “We even have pet names.”
Dark shadows rotated as the goons completed their shift change in the warehouse. Steel crates crowded the corners, and comprised precarious towers that stretched to the high ceiling. Drafty wind blew in through the broken windows, and coasted over to the two hostages tied to their respective chairs. They faced each other which was an odd choice for the captors to make, but this was already such an odd situation so that detail barely made it onto Clark’s weirdness radar.
Bruce had kept up a breezy conversation with just about every one until the goons retreated to the farthest corners possible in order to escape his incessant talking, which now meant that Clark was his only target. On the bright side (the place Clark attempted to live on), maybe he would get to see Batman in action from a civilian perspective. But as the night wore on and Bruce just hopped onto new conversation topics, that hope slowly died.
“Batman should be here by now,” Clark muttered, testing his restraints. He could break them in seconds if needed, but he really, really could do without revealing his secret identity to a celebrity and a dozen criminals.
Bruce winced. “Yeah, you’re not going to be able to count on him showing up.”
Clark knit his eyebrows. “What?”
“We…” Bruce shrugged. “He doesn’t like me. Very much. At all. But, don’t worry. I have a deal with Robin. He’ll break me out as long as I get him ice cream after.”
Clark stared at him in shock. Batman really wouldn’t save Bruce Wayne simply because he didn’t like him? Hell, Batman hated Clark’s guts for a solid few years and he still saved him when the time called for it. What could Bruce have done to make Batman hate him so much? Clark had always trusted Batman’s assessment of others, but Bruce seemed so…charming.
Furthermore, what? The deal with Robin? First off, wouldn’t Batman know about that? Second, some part of that felt unethical, but Clark couldn’t pin it down. Perhaps the overlying crime-fighting child ethics, or the idea that Robin would be alone in this mission, or that Robin could be successfully bribed to disregard Batman with sufficient ice cream.
“Does Batman know about that?”
Bruce shrugged. “I’ve never asked. But, don’t worry. The kid’s solid. Plus, I get kidnapped almost every month. I even have a tracker for it. These guys were a little overdue by about four days, but I won’t hold it against them.”
Clark absorbed that about as well as a cement brick. What the fuck? He knew rich people were odd, but Bruce Wayne dominated on a level all his own. “If you know it’s going to happen, why not hire better security? Or—or something? I mean, not to blame you for being kidnapped, but…you know…”
Bruce grinned. “And deprive the Gotham Gazette of their monthly Bruce-Wayne-Gets-Kidnapped story? I wouldn’t dare. I love the press.” He ended that statement with a wink, and Clark sobered with the realization that Bruce was still flirting with him even while tied up in a warehouse.
Clark was starting to see how Bruce and Batman might not get on.
“That’s very considerate,” Clark ended on.
“I try my best,” Bruce flexed against the ropes holding him, probably to test the strength, but all it did was pop another one of his shirt buttons and force Clark to look away in haste. “So, do you have any plans after this?”
“That feels like tempting fate.”
“I wouldn’t want you trying to catch the last train to Metropolis this late,” Bruce said. “Stay at my place.”
“Do you invite all your fellow kidnappees back to your house?”
“Only the cute journalists.”
Clark laughed at his audacity. “You’re flirting with him while you already have a fresh hickey on your neck from someone else.”
“Oh, that.” Bruce tried to crane his head to look at his own neck to no avail. “Don’t worry about that.”
Clark grinned at his audacity. Shamelessness incarnate. “You’re incorrigible.”
“At least, you’re not scared of the whole situation, no?”
One part of Clark melted at the idea that Bruce kept flirting and joking around to comfort Clark, and another part hoped that there was more to that. Because, well…there was no denying it. Bruce Wayne was absolutely gorgeous.
“No,” Clark said. “I’m not. But, do you know when Robin is going to come?”
“As soon as I press my panic button.”
Clark’s mouth dropped open in shock. “You haven’t, yet?”
Bruce looked away, chagrined. “I thought we were having a nice time.”
“Bruce!”
“Okay, okay.” Bruce’s arms flexed in their tied position behind him. “Okay. Done. I’d give it five minutes tops. So, tell me about yourself since our earlier conversation got so rudely interrupted.”
“I’m not going home with you, Bruce,” Clark stated flatly, a smile quickly overcoming his stoicism which prompted Bruce to do the same.
“That’s fine. We can be friends.”
“Are you going to stop flirting?”
“What?” Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Do you not flirt with your friends?”
“No.”
“You’re missing out.”
One of the goons caught Clark’s eyes and gave a sympathetic sigh. “I can gag him if you’d like.”
Clark’s eyebrows rose in alarm. “No, that’s okay. Thank—Thanks.”
What was his life? Did he really just thank the guy who kidnapped him? What? What? What the fuck was going on?
Bruce simply rolled his eyes and lowered his voice to a whisper. “He’s always on the extraction team, and he always asks to gag me. Isn’t that so rude?”
Clark laughed.
“He didn’t even buy me dinner first,” Bruce added, to Clark’s further laughter.
“Okay, you're the most relaxed kidnappee I’ve ever met.”
“It’s only proper for Gotham’s favorite kidnapping victim,” Bruce continued breezily. The silence stretched and Bruce lowered his voice a tad, the register tickling Clark’s memory for some odd reason. “As long as they focus on me and not my ward.”
Clark nodded, a hint of respect emerging for the man in front of him. “That’s admirable.”
Bruce flashed him a winning grin and leaned back, his voice jumping back up to the cadence of a breezy socialite. “Don’t worry. Robin will be here soon, and you can get rid of me.”
Clark smiled. “It hasn’t been too bad.”
“Oh, so you’re warming up to me, now? Don’t tempt me.”
When a blur of red, green, and yellow swept through the window and subdued the dozen or so goons with gratituious flips, Clark did, in fact, feel a pang of regret that his kidnapping was coming to an end. Which was absolutely crazy of course and only because of the insane influence of Bruce Wayne.
Robin smiled wide, a gap in his teeth prominent. He stood with his hands on his hips in front of the two hostages, the groans of men on the floor punctuating his words. “You’re saved!”
“Good job, Robin,” Bruce complimented. The boy skipped over to Bruce and sliced through his ropes, helping him to his feet with a grin. Bruce ruffled his hair before snagging the batarang and cutting through Clark’s bonds.
Clark stood, copying Bruce’s motion of caressing his wrists to hide the fact he felt no pain. “Thank you, Robin.”
“Any time!” Robin said. He bounced on his tip toes, his hands locked in a begging position, as he turned to Bruce. “Since I saved you and him tonight, does that mean I can get double scoops?”
“That seems to be how the math works out.” Bruce turned to Clark as Robin squealed with delight and raised an eyebrow. “Care to join us? It’s a place of a dear family friend. There will be no paparazzi.”
That thought hadn’t even crossed Clark’s mind, but it made sense. Also, that was good because he really wouldn’t want Batman seeing that Robin was hanging out with a random man. Clark winced. He felt bad, like he would be betraying Batman by agreeing to the offer but Robin looked up with such a puppy face and Bruce really had been so nice and Clark was Clark, not Superman tonight so…
Robin ordered double scoops of the vanity Batman flavor, and then he told Clark he had to get the Superman flavor (which felt akin to cannibalism) and Bruce that he had to get the Wonderwoman flavor.
He spent some time complaining that they hadn’t made a Robin flavor yet, but when Bruce suggested they replace the Batman flavor with Robin, Robin devolved into giggles that only increased every time he looked at Clark.
“Did I do something funny?” Clark took another bite of his red, blue, and yellow ice cream. It did taste good.
“No,” Bruce said. “Not at all. He just thinks it’s funny that Batman doesn’t like me.”
“Do you like Batman?” Clark asked.
Bruce shrugged. “That moody prick? Not particularly.”
Robin fell off his seat, clutching his stomach with laughter. Clark imagined it would be funny to hear someone insult Batman if Batman was his mentor. But, Batman was Clark’s friend, so he had conflicted feelings about laughing.
Clark shrugged. “I think he does good for Gotham.”
“Really?”
“Really.” Clark paused and considered how a normal person would continue the conversation. He didn’t want to reveal his overly personal indignation on behalf of Batman. “Well, what do you think of my city’s hero?”
“Superman? I think he seems cool.” Bruce shrugged. “I don’t know much about the coming and goings of superheroes. I only know what he looks like.” A slow smile spread across Bruce’s face. “But that’s enough.”
It hadn’t been the first time he had heard someone swoon over Superman while he had to listen to it as Clark Kent, but that goddamned smile on Bruce’s face was enough to cause a blush to creep up his neck.
“Hey.” Clark pointed his spoon at Bruce. “You’re supposed to be flirting with me, not Superman.”
“Flirting!” Robin gasped. He had gotten back on his seat, and now dropped his spoon in his empty bowl. “You guys like each other?
“I think the Batmobile’s here to take you home, Robin,” Bruce said flatly, standing up. He gestured for Clark to stay seated.
“But, it’s not even late, yet!”
Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Do I need to tell Batman?”
Robin glanced at Clark and mumbled under his breath.
Bruce’s eyebrow grew more severe. “Robin?”
“Fine.” Robin stomped out of the ice cream place.
Bruce waved apologetically. “I’ll be back in a moment. Have to make sure he gets his seat belt on and all.”
Clark nodded. “Don’t worry about me.”
He dropped the empty cups into the trash and wiped down the table with a few napkins. The owner of the store gave him a thumbs up and Clark folded his suit jacket over his arm in preparation to leave.
When Bruce came back, he didn't come through the door, but stayed in the doorway and gestured for Clark to come out. “Our ride is here.”
Clark raised his eyebrows. Two sides of his mind warred at each other. The side that respected Batman enough to know he shouldn’t sleep with an enemy, and the side that had eyes and was currently looking at Bruce Wayne. “Our ride?”
“I assumed that was where the night was heading. But if you would like me to call a car to take you back to Metropolis, I can do that as well.” Bruce waited a moment, uncharacteristic awkwardness overcoming his stance in the silence. “I guess I misread the situation. I’ll go call the car.”
“No.” Clark stood. He needed to give an excuse, because it really wasn’t—maybe in the future—oh God. “I do—I do like you. You’re charming and nice. I just don’t really do casual hookups. I think I like you too much for that.”
Bruce laughed, his hand coming up to his neck in a bashful gesture Clark would’ve never associated with the billionaire. “Is the first date is too forward?”
“You consider being kidnapped together a date?”
“We did get ice cream afterward together.”
Clark tilted his head. “Fair enough.”
“But I understand,” Bruce said. Disappointment blossomed in Clark, but he attempted to smother that. “I’ll go call the other car.”
“Thank you. For both the car and everything. I didn’t actually have a bad night all things considered. My night was actually great.”
A genuine smile graced Bruce’s face. “Mine too.”
As he left the diner to go call another cab, Clark resolved that next time he saw Batman, he really would have to ask why he didn’t like Bruce. Because Bruce seemed amazing. A great guy. But, Batman always had a reason, and it would be foolish to proceed with anything with Bruce without consulting Batman first.
And Clark really, really would like to proceed.