Music of the Spheres: Brucie Takes the Cake
Title: Brucie Takes the Cake
Pairing: Clark/Bruce, Alfred
Notes: "Music of the Spheres" is a series set in the combined universes of "Batman Begins" and "Superman Returns." Other stories and notes on the series here.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: At a party, Bruce must go to extreme(ly ridiculous) lengths to save innocent lives.
Word Count: 840
Notes: A little fluff for the wonderful queen0fcups's upcoming birthday!
All of Gotham is abuzz with it the next day: tongues wagging, eyebrows raising, giggles stifled in a thousand throats.
Alfred Pennyworth opens the morning paper and rubs his mouth as if trying to keep a smile from breaking his stoic facade. Blithering Brucie’s Latest Blunder cries the society page.
There is a photograph underneath the headline.
Alfred re-folds the newspaper, places it on a tray with two glasses of orange juice, two bagels, and a liberal heap of smoked salmon and capers, and begins to ascend the stairs to the master bedroom.
: : :
“It must be here somewhere,” Bruce murmured into a vaseful of scarlet flowers. “Gordon’s tip was very specific.” Looking up, he beamed cheerfully at his hostess and raised his voice to public levels. “Ernestine, these are the most lovely poppies I’ve ever seen!”
“Peonies, dear.” If Ernestine Anstruther-Vane, matriarch of one of the oldest Gotham families, was nonplussed at Bruce Wayne’s casual use of her first name, she didn’t show it. “They’re peonies.”
“Right, right.” Bruce bent his head to the silky blooms and inhaled deeply again. “Keep looking,” he subvocalized.
From the second floor mezzanine, Clark Kent was checking the heartbeat of each guest on the main floor. A few were elevated, but most of them seemed to be due to alcohol or flirtation or nerves. Bruce’s heartbeat, of course, was steady as always. Nowhere on his smiling face and lazy amble would one find evidence that there was a bomb hidden somewhere in this bustling party, set to detonate at any moment.
Bruce strolled up the stairs to Clark and kissed him on the cheek. “Do you think perhaps we should be going?” Clark asked, stifling a yawn. He knew Bruce could read Shouldn’t Gordon evacuate? in his eyes.
“Now, now, love,” Bruce cooed, leaning on the mezzanine railing and examining the crowd below. “There’s no need to rush! I’m having a lovely evening.” Behind his smile, Clark could see visions of terror, stampedes--perhaps a feint right into Red Claw’s plans, for that matter. “Just a little more time.”
Below them, there was a blare of music and a burst of applause. The ballroom doors opened and a magnificent cake--six towering layers of hot pink icing, at least four feet high--was wheeled into the room.
Bruce and Clark shared a glance as the cake was set up just below the mezzanine. Clark squinted down at it, staring through garish pink icing and cake into the heart of it to see--
--He grabbed Bruce’s hand. “”The cake,” he hissed.
There was a sudden frozen moment, then Clark turned to go. “Wait,” said Bruce under his breath. “Get everyone out if I give the thumbs-down.”
“If you--what?” Before Clark had finished his sentence, Bruce was tossing back the last of his champagne and throwing back his head in a braying laugh.
“Is that a dare, Clarkie?” he slurred. As everyone gasped, he clambered up onto the railing on unsteady legs, wobbling back and forth alarmingly. “See? It’s no problem, I can totally--whoops!”
His foot slipped and Bruce Wayne executed a perfect backflip directly into the heart of the giant pink cake below him.
: : :
Batman’s rough voice rasped, “Gordon. The bomb was found and disarmed safely. I trust you to catch Red Claw and her--.” His voice broke off suddenly and there was silence for a second, then Batman continued, “--her men. Thanks for the tip.”
Bruce hung up the phone. “Stop that,” he growled at Clark, his voice somewhere between normal and “Batman.”
“I can’t help it,” Clark said innocently. “You’re so delicious.” He licked another few inches of skin and savored Bruce’s shudder. “I still can’t believe you managed to disarm that bomb without anyone noticing, all while flailing around in a giant cake. You are absolutely delectable.”
Bruce made a hissing sound as Clark made clear just how delectable he found him. “Damnit, let me go take a shower, at least. I’m all sticky.”
Clark snickered against Bruce’s skin. “No way,” he said firmly. “I didn’t get any of that cake thanks to you, so this is payback.”
He nipped lightly and Bruce kicked at him, his breath seizing up in his throat. “Stop it,” he moaned. “It tickles.”
“My hero,” announced Clark. “My sticky...pink...frosted...hero.”
: : :
Alfred Pennyworth pauses outside the door of the master bedroom, raising an eyebrow at the muffled sounds coming from inside.
Then he places the tray--with the newspaper photograph of Bruce Wayne plunging into a gigantic cake prominently displayed--on the floor next to the door. He picks up the pinstriped suit, carefully hung on the door, and makes a tiny, agonized noise in the back of his throat at the sight of the huge blotches of pink food coloring soaked into the expensive fabric. He sighs, shakes his head, and turns from the door.
It’s a beautiful, sunny morning, and when he’s safely away from the bedroom he finally allows the stubborn smile to break across his face.
Pairing: Clark/Bruce, Alfred
Notes: "Music of the Spheres" is a series set in the combined universes of "Batman Begins" and "Superman Returns." Other stories and notes on the series here.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: At a party, Bruce must go to extreme(ly ridiculous) lengths to save innocent lives.
Word Count: 840
Notes: A little fluff for the wonderful queen0fcups's upcoming birthday!
All of Gotham is abuzz with it the next day: tongues wagging, eyebrows raising, giggles stifled in a thousand throats.
Alfred Pennyworth opens the morning paper and rubs his mouth as if trying to keep a smile from breaking his stoic facade. Blithering Brucie’s Latest Blunder cries the society page.
There is a photograph underneath the headline.
Alfred re-folds the newspaper, places it on a tray with two glasses of orange juice, two bagels, and a liberal heap of smoked salmon and capers, and begins to ascend the stairs to the master bedroom.
: : :
“It must be here somewhere,” Bruce murmured into a vaseful of scarlet flowers. “Gordon’s tip was very specific.” Looking up, he beamed cheerfully at his hostess and raised his voice to public levels. “Ernestine, these are the most lovely poppies I’ve ever seen!”
“Peonies, dear.” If Ernestine Anstruther-Vane, matriarch of one of the oldest Gotham families, was nonplussed at Bruce Wayne’s casual use of her first name, she didn’t show it. “They’re peonies.”
“Right, right.” Bruce bent his head to the silky blooms and inhaled deeply again. “Keep looking,” he subvocalized.
From the second floor mezzanine, Clark Kent was checking the heartbeat of each guest on the main floor. A few were elevated, but most of them seemed to be due to alcohol or flirtation or nerves. Bruce’s heartbeat, of course, was steady as always. Nowhere on his smiling face and lazy amble would one find evidence that there was a bomb hidden somewhere in this bustling party, set to detonate at any moment.
Bruce strolled up the stairs to Clark and kissed him on the cheek. “Do you think perhaps we should be going?” Clark asked, stifling a yawn. He knew Bruce could read Shouldn’t Gordon evacuate? in his eyes.
“Now, now, love,” Bruce cooed, leaning on the mezzanine railing and examining the crowd below. “There’s no need to rush! I’m having a lovely evening.” Behind his smile, Clark could see visions of terror, stampedes--perhaps a feint right into Red Claw’s plans, for that matter. “Just a little more time.”
Below them, there was a blare of music and a burst of applause. The ballroom doors opened and a magnificent cake--six towering layers of hot pink icing, at least four feet high--was wheeled into the room.
Bruce and Clark shared a glance as the cake was set up just below the mezzanine. Clark squinted down at it, staring through garish pink icing and cake into the heart of it to see--
--He grabbed Bruce’s hand. “”The cake,” he hissed.
There was a sudden frozen moment, then Clark turned to go. “Wait,” said Bruce under his breath. “Get everyone out if I give the thumbs-down.”
“If you--what?” Before Clark had finished his sentence, Bruce was tossing back the last of his champagne and throwing back his head in a braying laugh.
“Is that a dare, Clarkie?” he slurred. As everyone gasped, he clambered up onto the railing on unsteady legs, wobbling back and forth alarmingly. “See? It’s no problem, I can totally--whoops!”
His foot slipped and Bruce Wayne executed a perfect backflip directly into the heart of the giant pink cake below him.
: : :
Batman’s rough voice rasped, “Gordon. The bomb was found and disarmed safely. I trust you to catch Red Claw and her--.” His voice broke off suddenly and there was silence for a second, then Batman continued, “--her men. Thanks for the tip.”
Bruce hung up the phone. “Stop that,” he growled at Clark, his voice somewhere between normal and “Batman.”
“I can’t help it,” Clark said innocently. “You’re so delicious.” He licked another few inches of skin and savored Bruce’s shudder. “I still can’t believe you managed to disarm that bomb without anyone noticing, all while flailing around in a giant cake. You are absolutely delectable.”
Bruce made a hissing sound as Clark made clear just how delectable he found him. “Damnit, let me go take a shower, at least. I’m all sticky.”
Clark snickered against Bruce’s skin. “No way,” he said firmly. “I didn’t get any of that cake thanks to you, so this is payback.”
He nipped lightly and Bruce kicked at him, his breath seizing up in his throat. “Stop it,” he moaned. “It tickles.”
“My hero,” announced Clark. “My sticky...pink...frosted...hero.”
: : :
Alfred Pennyworth pauses outside the door of the master bedroom, raising an eyebrow at the muffled sounds coming from inside.
Then he places the tray--with the newspaper photograph of Bruce Wayne plunging into a gigantic cake prominently displayed--on the floor next to the door. He picks up the pinstriped suit, carefully hung on the door, and makes a tiny, agonized noise in the back of his throat at the sight of the huge blotches of pink food coloring soaked into the expensive fabric. He sighs, shakes his head, and turns from the door.
It’s a beautiful, sunny morning, and when he’s safely away from the bedroom he finally allows the stubborn smile to break across his face.