Work Text:
— I’m dying!
Damian cries another time, after Bruce tried, again, to convince him he does not have a cold, not even a temperature and if his stomach was really hurting he would not feel it on his chest. All this would be okay, he probably was just trying to ditch school (without any obvious reason as Bruce knows there is not any tests or anything of the sort for the following week), however, he is also refusing to eat anything since he has awaken earlier and it can lead to him really getting sick afterwards.
Bruce sighs and watch his son splattered on the sofa of the lounge, with dozens of pillows and the fluffiest of the blankets. He only convinced him to get down in hopes he would soon succumb to the smell of the food coming from the kitchen, as it is closer to the lounge than Damian’s bedroom, but all it made him do is roll around and cover himself to not smell it.
As Bruce tries to create another plan to make him at least drink some water and prove he would not send him to school that day (he had already missed half a day, anyway), he does not listen the knocker or Alfred getting away from the ruckus in the lounge.
Bruce sighs and watches Damian’s back as he is still kneeling besides the sofa.
— Damian, you’re not dying.
He says once more, but has no reaction back and frowns.
— Master Bruce, should I take your visitor to the other room?
Alfred’s voice makes him turn his head around, still frowning and ready to ask about who the hell would be his uninvited guest, but said guest is besides Alfred and it makes him stop.
Clark Kent, the Daily Planet reporter is there. He is not only there as Alfred clearly brought him along knowing pretty well about the ruckus on the lounge, his son faking his death, and the complete mess Bruce state is. Great, now he is seeing the disheveled appearance Bruce can be as he fails taking care of his son. He watches as Alfred raises his eyebrows lightly and he knows he has done it on purpose as Bruce would never act like a playboy jerk in front of Damian, much less as he fakes his deadly illness. He also gets to see as Clark’s eyes leave the ball of pillows and blankets on the sofa and turn to him, showing a friendly half smile.
— I was not… — Bruce starts as he raises to his feet, and Alfred clears his throat.
— I beg your pardon, Master Bruce. I must have forgotten to cancel your appointment after the sudden malaise Master Damian presented.
Ha! Sudden, they have been dealing with it for hours already.
Bruce is ready to present an excuse and send Clark back, he had not planned to meet him in these conditions and can’t execute his scheme at the moment. Damian turning around and showing his redden face (probably by how hot it is under all this mess), frowns and asks:
— Who is it?
— Him. He is a person.
Damian grumbles:
— I’m dying and you’re correcting my grammar!
Bruce notices he is ready to go down the blanket again and keep complaining, but stops when he listens:
— I’m sorry to disturb your afternoon. I should’ve imagined this was happening. — Damian turns to Clark who then smiles in such a friendly way that not even his ten years old little angry demon get to say anything to interrupt: — As an apology, I can teach how Mr. Wayne can prepare a secret medicine that cures all illnesses.
— All of them?
— Yes, my Ma used to call it a Secret Potion.
— Potion?
The clear interest in Damian eyes is what make Bruce yield.
— Fine, you can show Alfred how… — But he could not finish as Clark Kent says once more:
— There’s a secret ingredient that only you can add.
Bruce raises and eyebrow, his disbelief showing clear as day on his face. All the report does is keep that smile on his face. Alfred probably sensed that Bruce was ready to call it nonsense or any other worst naming, and intervenes:
— Very well, Master Bruce. I’ll keep watching Master Damian as you two prepare the potion.
Soon, Alfred gathers Clark’s belongings and places it on a table in the lounge and the stern stare he gives Bruce is enough to make him sigh and ask Clark to follow him. As they enter the kitchen, Bruce speaks:
— There’s no way we can get to hide medicine in his food. It’ll be useless as he is not even drinking water. And he is not even sick. — Then, he stops and turns back to glare at Clark. — And how did you get to come here, anyway? Even for an interview you should make an appointment first and not come to the person’s home.
— I got a meeting with you, Alfred said he would tell you about the date and you’ve chosen the location. — He tilts his head. — He said you refuse to enter the company this month, so…
Ah, Bruce should have guessed that, after all, Alfred has seen him investigating Clark Kent for the past weeks since that interview. Sure, he was the one who has given his phone number and said to arrange a meeting, he was planning on setting it up and discover exactly what this reporter had in mind as his investigation was fruitless and he only discovered reasons to think he is adorable and with a strong sense of justice, and had already written dozen of times about Luthor’s schemes and it makes sense why he would know their companies got involved. However…
Bruce rubs his hands on his face and take then to try and arrange his hair as he takes a deep breath and starts:
— Look.
— Does he drink milk? — Bruce freezes and stares at Clark Kent looking around the kitchen, maybe wondering why there are dozens of different dishes displaced everywhere. As Bruce just keep staring at him with a frown, when Clark turns to face him, he clarifies: — Your son, does he drink it?
— He’s vegetarian.
It is all he provides. Probably because it does not directly answer the question, Clark pries:
— Soy milk, then?
Bruce feels a bit angry with himself as he the tension on his shoulders melt a little and he just nods. Just his luck that the damned cute reporter knows what he meant by vegetarian and have not just assumed it referred to meat. Come on, he is trying to be angry. He can’t even do his Brucie Wayne spoiled brat slash playboy persona. And just his luck, it was all in front of the reporter who was trying to put him in the same sack as Lex Luthor. Also the one he kept on searching photos of that pretty smile (not really important at the moment, though).
He just watches as Clark roams around after politely saying “excuse me” and picking the ingredients for the magic potion. As he puts them all in front of Bruce and he examines it for some seconds, he states:
— It’s just hot chocolate.
God, why I’m not wearing my lens? Is all Bruce can think after watching that adorable smile appear in Clark’s face with that adorable dimple. He wishes to scan it to his brain.
— Not just. — Then he indicates the stove.
All Bruce can do is follow his directions. Patiently, Clark tells him what to do and Bruce feels the tension leaving him little by little as the stirs the pan. This may be why Bruce tries to speak:
— He’s just… I can’t really… it’s not really… you can’t write about…
This last bit makes him look again to Clark, who is just quiet and observing. It makes Bruce stomach churn and the threat he planned on doing get stuck in his throat.
— Don’t worry. This is not the type of thing I write about. Although, I have an impression that if I did, it would just add a new kind of fans to Bruce Wayne’s fanclub. A dad taking care of his child can be very appealing.
Bruce chuckles, instinctively he hides his mouth behind his hand. The he huffs and mumbles:
— It sounds as something I should be saying.
— I can quote that as yours if you’d like. — Bruce turns to him and raises his eyebrows as he watches the playful side smile on the reporters mouth. — Think of this. — Clark gesticulates to them and the hot chocolate. — As a fellow father helping. I also have one that can be… huh, difficult, sometimes.
Bruce turns to the pan once more, as if he had not already discovered it by himself. After all the stalking he did. To be fair, he has not gone after how he raised his children, just discovered he had two and when he found himself searching for the adoption registration of his second Bruce thought he might have gone too far and stopped. He did not want to involve the kids on it (meaning: on his stalking).
After saying Bruce can turn off the fire, Clark asks where he can pick a mug and after showing the cabinet, Bruce listens himself saying:
— Pick the one with the stripped cow.
As Clark shows him the mug, he asks in a low voice:
— You mean this one with the zebra?
When Bruce turns to face Clark again, he can’t hide the smile that appeared:
— You try telling him that.
Clark helps Bruce pour the hot liquid in the mug and declares it is all ready, however, Bruce stops suddenly and asks with a serious expression:
— What about the secret ingredient? — This question makes Clark smirk. — What?
— Huh, my Ma secret, right? No worries, you’ve already put it in.
Bruce narrows his eyes and tries to speak in a threatening voice, clearly failing (as he expected) when the smile on Clark’s face just grows wider.
— You’re keeping secrets, now?
He has not realized, but he has leaned on Clark’s direction, just as the reporter has done the same before he speaks, and it is when he notices how close they are.
— It’s love.
This makes Bruce blink. Then he retreats and tilts his head. The laughter comes right after and he can’t stop it. He even bends over his stomach as he just keeps laughing and trying to balance himself, he is pretty sure he gets to state:
— You’re so corny.
But Clark does not seem offended at all and just allows Bruce to keep laughing at his expense. He just tries to support him when his body tilts to the side and announces that he is supposed to deliver the drink hot. Even though Bruce knows it was not that funny, the feeling of easiness around Clark just makes him light, and after almost pulling his hair out the whole day because he has no idea what is happening with his son, just letting go feels so… good.
Bruce gets to sit in a small part of the sofa when he is back to the lounge, as Damian is sitting and staring at the mug with curiosity. He drinks slowly and just by the fact that his son is finally consuming some type of food, Bruce sighs and smiles. He is not really aware that he takes his hand to pet Damian’s hair, but notices it as soon as his son leans on his touch. They do not say anything and Bruce just waits for Damian to finish his drink.
— Feeling better?
Damian nods and his stomach does not wait much before growling.
— ‘m gonna eat.
And just as if he has not being throwing a tantrum since he has woken up this morning, he gets up and walks out of the lounge. Bruce listens Alfred announcing he is going to assist Master Damian and he, still too appalled with what just happened, is left alone with Clark Kent once more.
— Would you rather that I omit the part your son just walked away? I feel that a hug would be more appealing to your fans.
Bruce tries very hard to hold back his laughter, and when he has no success on it, he just hides his face and grunts.
— And people call me insufferable — he accuses, but all the reporter does is smile at him. — And you can only change the content of the interview to gossip if you intend to rant about how hot I was while doing it all. You know? All pretty and demure, the perfect wife slash husband material. Any gender included, actually, you can’t prune my fans’ creativity.
— Easy, you’re pretty so you’re always doing things in a pretty way.
Of all answers Bruce was expecting, this was not one of them. He was also not expecting to be left without words, or to feel the heat spreading to his face after hearing it. Come on, this is not the first time someone calls him pretty, he can’t shy away just for that. He listens himself saying it, anyway:
— You think I’m pretty.
It is not a question, but Clark Kent seems impelled to answer:
— Of course.
And it just worsen his mental and physical condition, really. He feels his heart racing and can’t seem to remember that the reporter is here for an interview. Or that he had intended to arrange a meeting with him and say smart and stupid things and discover whatever he wanted to know. Instead, he feels like a high schooler that has just been called pretty by their crush. Jesus, he had been crushing long enough over another man to be so easily swayed by a single compliment and a pretty smile with cute dimples. Okay, another man that is absolutely his type, even more by how sweetly he treated his son's fake terminal disease. God, does he have a weird kink for people being kind and gentle? Why is it not something freaky and not so mundane that would not be needed to control himself around these people?
— We can go to the study for the interview.
Is all Bruce manage to utter after recomposing himself (just barely).
He starts to lead the reporter out of the lounge and when he reach the study’s door and turns to indicate they are there, he has to refrain from just throwing himself on the other man. He is much closer than he expected and it makes more evident he has to lean his head back to look Clark on the eyes. Stupidly, the height different makes other parts of his body flutter, and trying to avoid doing something reckless and stupid (he really does not want to offend this specific reporter), he looks away and opens the door.
The only thing the mush that rested of his brain is able to mumble is:
— Ladies first.
One side of his lips curves in a half-smile as Clark Kent dares to tease:
— Am I supposed to add gentleman in my piece?
God, the amusement on the reporter’s eyes make Bruce bite his bottom lip to refrain from saying anything stupid like ordering him to lower his pants or just asking him to pet his head. Probably both.
Bruce is smart enough to offer a sit to the other and waiting before choosing his own. Unfortunately, he is still not smart enough to pick somewhere away from his newly discovered temptation and he places himself on the same sofa (maybe ten centimeters away) (he wants to be respectful, of course).
As nothing seems to go according to his plans today, he also listens and answer any minimal and too intrusive question Clark does. Bruce notices that having all of them answered with nothing besides the truth surprises the reporter, but he can’t control himself. How could he imagine that having this man inquiring about his business and all that Brucie Wayne would find utterly boring be so… sexy? Every word that leave his lips, every smart remark and every dot he connects with the information is just pure temptation. And the man is not even trying, really. Clark Kent is taking his job seriously and even more strangely than Bruce wanting to be petted by him, all this professionalism is wrecking him. He feels his blood boiling and has a hunch that if Clark calls him Mr. Wayne this sweetly again he will jump on his bones.
— Thank you, M…
Bruce sees the words forming on his mouth, and not really wanting to Clark’s piece to turn from “Luthor is a freak” to “Bruce Wayne is freakier and sexually assaulted me”, he decides to interrupt him:
— Sadly, it is all confidential. — He attempts to give one of his lazy and unbothered smiles as he adds: — You can’t publish, it’s under investigation.
Clark tilts his head and just because he finally lowers his notepad to his lap, is that Bruce notices his hand is caressing one of Clark’s thigh. Crap, when has he started to grope him? He was not even savoring the sensation.
— What if I speak with the officer responsible for it? They tell me what can be revealed to the public and I don’t need to use your name.
Bruce is really tempted to accept and say something stupid like “you can use my name while I go down…”
— Not by the police — he speaks before he can think better (as it is happening the whole time, apparently). He waits for Clark response, wondering if after noticing where his hand had wandered he should have removed it by now, but does nothing besides stare at his hand.
— I imagine it’d be even more difficult to have his comment on it, then.
As Bruce raises his eyes and meets Clark’s, he feels his brain stop working once more. He forgets how to breath and just watch the other’s smile. Bright and shiny, and not bothered at all for not being able to publish anything that he has discovered.
Probably for being too charmed by him, Bruce listens himself mumbling:
— I could throw myself from a building.
To add on the list of completely normal reasons for Bruce being this smitten with the reporter (like him wearing his sweater on the other side, biting the tip of the pen while thinking or showing that damned dimple when he smiles), Clark does not call him crazy and just inquires:
— Why though?
As if anyone would have a sane reason for jumping of a building.
— He could save me and you lock him up to make him answer your questions, obviously.
This thought seems to amuse Clark very much, he does not even deny it, just probes:
— Do you want to kidnap Batman to make him answer my questions? How would this work?
— We could pick some rope.
His mouth twitched, and the reporter only observes:
— I thought your usual savior was another hero.
Bruce snorts, then grinning, he adds:
— We kidnap him first.
Clark raises his eyebrows and questions:
— Superman?
As Bruce only nods, still showing a smile, Clark has no other reaction besides start to laugh. Although, he also asks how would they even do that and just listens (with clear amusement in his eyes) as Bruce declares:
— Everyone has a weakness.
— Is that so?
— Hmhum, but I also think that if we use normal rope and ask him to pretend to be kidnapped, he would do it.
— Would he?
— Are you doubting your city’s superhero? I can’t believe it!
Bruce shows a fake surprised expression and as their banter keep on going, their smiles never really leave their faces.
— I think I’m too close to the subject in question to give an opinion.
— Ah, you’re just showing off. Has he been rescuing you more than me? I’m jealous now. — He takes the opportunity to innocently pet Clark’s chest, and he does not remove his hand as he keeps playing with the collar of his shirt that peaks out of the sweater. — You should call me, next time.
— Would you rescue me then?
— I was thinking more about the three of us having some fun together, but sure, I have a helicopter.
— What if it’s underground?
— Hmm, then, unfortunately, you’re on your own. I can’t dirty my clothes on the sewers. I have standards.
— How disappointing, I’ll have to resort to another hero.
— I may reconsider if you help me clean up later.
— I’m the victim and I’ll have to clean up?
— We would be doing it together, of course. My bathroom is pretty spacious. — Bruce does not give enough time for Clark to answer, as he soon amends: — Even my bathtub is big, although it seems a down side right now. How would I find an excuse for you to squeeze closer this way?
The reporter smile open-wide as he remarks:
— This sofa also have more than enough space.
Ignoring that he feels a light heat cover his face, Bruce decides to play dumb as he says:
— Really? I haven’t noticed.
As he is not looking to the reporter when he speaks, he does not see the gleam of amusement on the other’s eyes.
The only thing that makes Bruce untangle himself from Clark is the notification sound on his phone, the one that alerts him of his kids. When he reaches his phone on his pocket, he frowns as he observes that it is only alerting him that one of them had entered the Manor without the key. Of course their security system is a joke to them. Thankfully, he had already added face recognition to the system and it will not activate the defense one. Briefly checking the cameras to be sure, Bruce puts the phone away and demands:
— Don’t move for a sec.
He does not wait for the reporter to answer and places one knee on the sofa, Bruce leans on his direction placing both hands on the backrest and moves his face close enough to their noses almost touch. Clark really does not move and just stares back at him, this makes Bruce smile and wonders how much he could push and the man in front of him just accept.
— Why?! Am I cursed? For fuck’s sake!
Even after the door opening and Jason screaming, Bruce does not move, only after listening the door slamming shut and he goes back to sitting innocently on Clark’s side.
— Is he one of your…?
The door opening again interrupts him and Stephanie enters the room with a smile from ear to ear, when she realizes both of them are just sitting there, she frowns and leaves.
— There’s nothing happening! I am the cursed one!
Bruce knows they keep on shouting on purpose, as when Stephanie left she has not even closed the door. He smiles faintly and reveals:
— This one technically is not one of mine, but…
— I’m not going back to check! Damian is dying on the lounge and they’re playing doctor!
— That’s way off! They’re…
— No! Don’t! I want it to be off, I don’t wanna picture it!
— Maybe you’ve seen wrong…
— Ah, please! Bruce is a mess and the guy has his sweater on the wrong side!
Bruce catches the voice of his other children starting to scream and describe some other absurd possibilities of what they have been doing at the study, but he stops paying attention when Cassandra calmly peaks into the room and when she focuses on him, she announces:
— Alfred made tea for us.
As soon as she appeared, she vanishes, and he listens the ruckus moving away at the mention of food. Bruce smiles when he notices Clark inspecting his sweater and finally realizing it is inside-out.
— I think they got the wrong idea about our interview — Bruce whispers playfully and Clark’s response is to raise one of his eyebrows. — How do you feel about some tea? We could keep plotting how to kidnap superheroes and all.
— In front of your children? They don’t seem to know how to keep a low profile. — This makes Bruce giggle. He fucking giggles as he watches a faint smile appear on Clark’s mouth. Clark makes motion to stand and Bruce follows. — It would be better if I leave, Mr. Wayne.
Oh, god. Not the mister thing again. Bruce was finally able to stop thinking about jumping on his lap. If there is someone Clark can blame for having Bruce leaning on his personal space again is himself only. Bruce barely stops from being too close before he whispers:
— We can arrange something, Mr. Honey Lips.
— Honey?
— Yep you keep making me speak, seducing me with these sweet words. — Clark smiles, but Bruce does not give him enough time for a reply. — Just like the song of a siren, what do you have to say in your defense? You’ve even got the Big Blue to talk more than once.
— As it has been pointed out before, it’s just needed to say please.
— Ah, you reporters, always twisting my words. — Bruce finally stands and offers the other his hand. — Let’s go back to the kidnapping plan, it was way more pleasant.
Still amused, Clark Kent reaches for Bruce’s hand as he stands.
— We can arrange a meeting for that, if you stop avoiding them.
— Please, Carlos, I was just too busy for that.
The reporter shows him a lopsided grin before commenting:
— I’ll wait for the date of our next meeting, Mr. Wayne.
Ah, it is totally his fault that Bruce suggests:
— What about tomorrow then? — He sees the surprise on Clark’s eyes, he probably was not expecting for a such upfront invitation. — I suppose none of my children will suffer from unpremeditated mortal illness again. At least, not so soon.
— You already have the potion recipe — he remembers. — I’ll be leaving Gotham in the morning. I’m afraid we’ll have to reschedule.
— Have you realized that confessing this you have revealed you can drink tea with us, Carlisle?
Clark actually laughs at this, and his adorable dimples appear once more and that is the only reason Bruce does not process immediately when he claims:
— You’re funny.
Then, the reporter misses the shock on his face as he watches something behind Bruce. Just enough time he can recompose and look back to see Dick at the door:
— Jason convinced me to come instead of him. He still believes if he does it, he’ll have to wash his eyes in sanitary water afterwards. — Dick observes them and just by his stare to their tangled hands it that Bruce remembers he is still holding Clark’s. — I’m not so sure he’s wrong anymore, though.
Bruce scowls and it is enough for his son to leave with a teasing smile, he can already imagine him telling the others whatever he imagines has been happening on the study.
— Your house is very lively, Mr. Wayne. — When he lays his eyes on the reporter, he knows he is genuinely telling it. This just makes something melts inside him once more. — To be honest, I only got free from work on the paper to come here today because, huh, do you know Cat Grant? Well, I’m covering for her tonight. I really have to leave.
Bruce sighs.
— Fine, you’ve made me run out of excuses to keep you here. Or talk to you again, you’re just…
— I would like to reach you to talk about this after the investigation. — Clark shows his notepad and adds: — If it’s not a problem for you, Mr. Wayne. I wouldn’t like to impose.
Bruce huffs and concedes as he tugs to the hem of his (still) inside-out sweater:
— Just because you’re really cute like this.