FIC: In Case You Were Wondering, 1/3; WORLD'S FINEST; Rated PG-13
ETA: Oops. Forgot to include a fairly crucial visual inspiration.
Title: In Case You Were Wondering
Fandom: worlds_finest
Pairing/Characters: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne; Dick Grayson, Alfred Pennyworth, Krypto, Ace, Lois Lane, Jimmy Olsen, Steve Lombard
Disclaimer: They belong to DC, Warner Bros., etc.; I only play in the not-for-profit sandbox.
Genre: Romance, Pink Kryptonite, Valentine's Day
Warnings: None
Word count: 2,235 this part
Rating: PG-13 this part
Written for bradygirl's Valentine's Challenge. Prompts: Hearts, Sappy Card, Music (classic pop: Time After Time)
Summary: When everything starts out all pink and sparkly, where do you go from there? If you're the Man of Steel and Gotham's Dark Knight, things are sure to get complicated.
Notes: This was inspired by a number of things. This card, for starters; and a gorgeous piece of art by suavebastard where Clark is watching Bruce dress, for another. (I'd link to it, but don't know if that's allowed. If you're on the worlds_finest comm I'm sure you know which one I mean.) Plus, after reading and enjoying a bunch of Pink K fics, I could no longer resist the temptation to try one for myself. :)
It was also inspired by these:
Part Two
Part Three
~In Case You Were Wondering~
-1-
this evening
Bruce Wayne hated Valentine’s Day. Technically, he knew the holiday hadn’t really been invented by jewelry, card, and candy companies solely for the purpose of helping their profit margins. That, in fact, its origins could be traced back to the ancient Roman festival of Lupercalia when it had been a fertility rite to banish evil spirits and purify the city. Its blatantly sappy and commercialized present day form was, in truth, a relatively recent development.
This knowledge did nothing to alleviate the aggravation that came with the media dogging Bruce Wayne’s steps around Gotham in the hope one of them would land an exclusive scoop on the Prince of Gotham’s plans for the most romantic day of the year. Every club or restaurant he was known to frequent was staked out and scoped out, and God forbid if he was spotted glancing in the window of a jewelry store. The ‘news’ would be on Twitter and TMZ and every other media outlet within minutes, with speculation rife about which lucky lady had finally captured the playboy billionaire’s heart and would soon be walking down the aisle with him. Never mind that they were always wrong and that the same ritual was repeated every year with the same result. He might as well be Punxsutawney Phil, and at least the groundhog got the other three hundred and sixty-four days off.
Bruce Wayne hated Valentine’s Day. Kryptonians from Kansas, however, thought the holiday was swell, so adjustments had to be made. That the fallout from these adjustments was likely to be a media frenzy akin to sharks descending upon chum-filled waters was, curiously, not at all the deterrent he would have anticipated.
“Hey! Bruce?” Dick stuck his head in the door. “What do you want me to tell the Commissioner abou--” He came to an abrupt stop and gawped at Bruce over in front of the full-length mirror in dress shirt, sock garters-and boxers. “Whoa.”
Bruce glared at him. “What about Gordon?”
“Huh?” Mirth bubbling in his eyes, Dick seemed to have lost his train of thought. “Wait right here, I have to get a camera.”
“You do and you’re disinherited.”
“Yeah, and it would totally be worth it.”
“Dick.”
Blue eyes still sparkling with laughter, Dick said, “The Miller Street tagger. If he asks, what do I tell him?”
Finished with his cufflinks, Bruce’s attention turned to his bow tie. “If he asks, tell him what we know.” The day Jim Gordon batted an eye upon learning Gotham was currently ground zero for a gang of inter-dimensional delinquents with a passing resemblance to flying monkeys, was the day both of them would probably decide to pack it in. “So far they’re just a nuisance.”
“So far.” Dick nodded. His expression was almost suitably somber. Almost.
“Was there anything else?”
“No, no that was it,” Dick said. Still, he remained at his post just inside the door.
“Out.” Bruce pointed for emphasis. “Now.”
Dick left, muttering something about where was Wally when he needed him, to be almost instantly replaced by Alfred. Barely a twitch of an eyebrow, practically microscopic, betrayed Alfred’s thoughts as he placed a pair of freshly pressed pants on the bed. That was enough to make Bruce gaze in the mirror and reevaluate the boxers, however.
“Too much?”
“That would depend upon the purpose they are meant to serve, sir.”
“They’re meant to make a statement.”
“They certainly do that, sir.”
Bruce considered the boxers some more. “If Batman was going to wear boxers with hearts on them,” black boxers, with small, faintly fluorescent red hearts, each one pierced by an arrow, “this is what Batman would wear.”
“Just so, sir.”
Bruce sighed. “He’s going to laugh, isn’t he?” The whole evening would be a disaster. What the hell did he know about romance?
“I am quite certain he won’t, sir.” Unshakeable confidence underscored Alfred’s words as he bustled about attending to any last details, and Bruce felt his sense of self-possession gradually return.
Clark wouldn’t laugh. Clark would think it was awesome.
“Your boutonnière, sir?” As Bruce finished dressing, Alfred took the white carnation out of its box and affixed it to Bruce’s left lapel at his nod. “Quite fetching, Master Bruce,” he said as he stepped back and nodded his approval with a ghost of a smile.
Bruce made a face but took one more look in the mirror and just hoped to God Clark would think it was awesome.
~*~
that morning
Clark Kent hated Valentine’s Day. Oh, once upon a time he had been favorably inclined toward the holiday. Even now he could still appreciate the charming aspects of the holiday in a kind of abstract way. Every day should be Valentine’s Day just as good will to all shouldn’t be reserved for Christmas, of course, but he couldn’t see anything wrong with designating one particular day as the day.
No, his personal disenchantment was of fairly recent origin and could be summed up in one item in this morning’s Gotham Gazette. It was an article about the annual Cupid’s Carnival, a charity ball that was the kickoff to Gotham City’s social season. Glittering and glamorous, the highlight every year was the appearance of Bruce Wayne and his chosen arm candy of the night. For a couple of weeks gossip would run rampant with speculation about when an engagement would be announced. Then a week or so of speculation would follow when it was learned the relationship had ended, with fingers wagged in disapproval over that madcap Brucie toying with the girl’s affections.
There had been a time Clark had found the whole process amusing. It used to be entertaining to hear Bruce grumble about what he had to do just to keep up appearances. Not so much anymore. Not this year, after everything had changed…
Bathed in the pink, sparkly glow of a previously unknown variety of Kryptonite, Clark held his breath and waited as Bruce looked on-and as Krypto huddled on the cave floor, tail tucked between his legs as he whined softly. “It’s okay, boy,” Clark told him. “Not your fault.” He was glad to see Ace go over and give Krypto a reassuring nudge in the side.
It really wasn’t the dog’s fault. He and Bruce should have been more careful while they were examining the chunk of meteorite. The dogs had just been romping around the cave when Krypto had bumped into him, and then Clark had bumped into Bruce, and Bruce dropped the lead-lined box as the dogs scurried for cover, and the chunk of Kryptonite had rolled out to land at Clark’s feet. These things happened.
“Clark.” Bruce took a cautious step toward him. “How do you feel?”
“Not so bad, really. Maybe a little warm. And…kind of tingly?” It sort of felt good, actually. He looked at Bruce. “Is…anything different?” Green Kryptonite was bad enough but at least he knew what to expect from it. Some of the other varieties were considerably less straightforward.
Bruce shook his head. “No, no, you look the same.”
Well, that was a relief. It hadn’t made him invisible, or grow a tail, or turned him into a girl. Although an odd sort of pang passed through him at that thought. It wasn’t that he wanted to switch genders, only that if he did Bruce might actually notice him that way at last.
He would really like Bruce to notice him that way. As he watched Bruce pull off the cowl and run a hand back through his hair, Clark felt something in his belly tighten and flip over at how much he wished Bruce would want him that way.
“You’re so handsome,” he murmured and wasn’t even shocked to realize he had said that out loud.
Bruce was, though. Bruce was looking at him like he might have just grown a tail. “What?”
“I said you’re handsome.” He took a step forward, then another, until he was close enough to reach over and trace a finger along one perfect cheekbone. “You’re beautiful, Bruce, so beautiful.” He stroked an eyebrow, slid his fingers down to rest against Bruce’s lips. “You know how at League meetings sometimes you accuse me of not paying attention? That’s because I’m sitting there thinking of how gorgeous you are, so sexy in all this black leather and Kevlar and with that growl in your voice, and how much I’d love to get you alone and peel you out of it and find out if you growl like that when I make love to you.”
Bruce stared back at him, blue eyes wide. “Clark, you don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Oh, I do, Bruce. I really do,” he whispered, so close now he could feel Bruce’s breath caress his cheek with every exhalation. He carefully cupped Bruce’s face and came in even closer. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he breathed out in the exquisite fraction of an instant before he kissed Bruce’s lips.
Long before he had discovered the man beneath the mask, Clark had fixated on those lips. For so long they were practically all of him that was visible. Usually set in a grim, somber line, he had made a study of that mouth and learned to read its nuances. A slight twitch, a brief upward quirk had grown to be as satisfying as any all-out smile from anyone else. It had been a relatively small leap from there to wondering how incredible it would be to kiss him.
Pretty darn incredible, he concluded as he kissed Bruce and felt him respond. It was slow and gentle at first, barely there kisses, but they built like a stoked fire, and it was Bruce kissing him back that added more fuel. It was Bruce’s fingers tangled in his hair, and Bruce’s agile tongue as it licked into his mouth that made them both groan and gasp and press so tightly against each other that they couldn’t get any closer without being inside each other-and, oh Rao, Clark didn’t need that image in his head right now.
“Bruce,” his lips were against Bruce’s temple, dark hair silken against his lips, “I think I know what Pink Kryptonite does.”
“Yes.” Bruce sighed, and after another endless time of kisses and touches, softer now and wistful, as though this was goodbye, he pushed back from Clark. “It must share properties with Red K in that it lowers your inhibitions and alters your personality.” His matter-of-fact tone would have carried more authority if he wasn’t out of breath from their kisses.
Clark stared at him and tried not to be disappointed that Bruce would take that route. “Do you really believe that?”
“Yes,” Bruce said, not a note of conviction in his voice. “It might,” he glanced around the cave as if seeking something to anchor himself to, like Odysseus lashed to the mast so as to resist the call of the Sirens, “it might possess communicable properties that transmit the effects to anyone you’re close to…” He trailed off and licked his lips and it was all Clark could do not to kiss him again.
Instead he said, “Lowers my inhibitions maybe but, Bruce, that’s all it does. Unless I’ve been exposed to it since the first time we met, it did not create how I feel about you.”
“But-“
“No.” Clark put a finger against Bruce’s lips. “I have wanted this, wanted you, for so long. I just never let myself hope you might want me back.”
Bruce gave him a look then that was pure Batman and wonderfully familiar. “Idiot. You’re Superman. Anybody with a pulse would want you.”
“I don’t want anybody with a pulse. Just you.”
Bruce looked back at him for the longest time, as if he was turning first this than another possibility over in his twisty, complicated mind. “Twenty-four hours,” he finally said. “Give it twenty-four hours and if nothing has changed-“
“We can go on a date?”
Bruce gave him the look again, but he didn’t say no…
He hadn’t exactly said yes, either, and they hadn’t exactly dated. That was part of the problem. There had been heated, passionate, clandestine encounters-in Gotham, in Metropolis, at the Watchtower, under the three moons of Xirijaan-but there hadn’t been a I’ll-pick-you-up-at-seven-for-dinner-and-a-movie date.
Clark knew it shouldn’t have mattered. It might not have if he didn’t have to hear about Brucie going out with this movie star or that supermodel. He knew those dates didn’t mean anything. He had even experienced a sense of gratification when he noted they had become increasingly infrequent. It didn’t make it any easier to keep up the pretense though, that Superman and Batman were just friends, that Clark and Bruce barely knew each other.
Would the heavens fall if he and Bruce held hands as they walked down the street? Was catastrophe inevitable if they embraced and kissed for all of the world to see? Clark really didn’t think so. He didn’t know if his powers of persuasion were up to convincing Bruce, however.
He knew Bruce couldn’t take him to the ball. He wished Bruce would give him some indication that he wanted to, though.
Clark Kent hated Valentine’s Day. He suspected he was going to hate it for a really long time.
Title: In Case You Were Wondering
Fandom: worlds_finest
Pairing/Characters: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne; Dick Grayson, Alfred Pennyworth, Krypto, Ace, Lois Lane, Jimmy Olsen, Steve Lombard
Disclaimer: They belong to DC, Warner Bros., etc.; I only play in the not-for-profit sandbox.
Genre: Romance, Pink Kryptonite, Valentine's Day
Warnings: None
Word count: 2,235 this part
Rating: PG-13 this part
Written for bradygirl's Valentine's Challenge. Prompts: Hearts, Sappy Card, Music (classic pop: Time After Time)
Summary: When everything starts out all pink and sparkly, where do you go from there? If you're the Man of Steel and Gotham's Dark Knight, things are sure to get complicated.
Notes: This was inspired by a number of things. This card, for starters; and a gorgeous piece of art by suavebastard where Clark is watching Bruce dress, for another. (I'd link to it, but don't know if that's allowed. If you're on the worlds_finest comm I'm sure you know which one I mean.) Plus, after reading and enjoying a bunch of Pink K fics, I could no longer resist the temptation to try one for myself. :)
It was also inspired by these:
Part Two
Part Three
~In Case You Were Wondering~
-1-
this evening
Bruce Wayne hated Valentine’s Day. Technically, he knew the holiday hadn’t really been invented by jewelry, card, and candy companies solely for the purpose of helping their profit margins. That, in fact, its origins could be traced back to the ancient Roman festival of Lupercalia when it had been a fertility rite to banish evil spirits and purify the city. Its blatantly sappy and commercialized present day form was, in truth, a relatively recent development.
This knowledge did nothing to alleviate the aggravation that came with the media dogging Bruce Wayne’s steps around Gotham in the hope one of them would land an exclusive scoop on the Prince of Gotham’s plans for the most romantic day of the year. Every club or restaurant he was known to frequent was staked out and scoped out, and God forbid if he was spotted glancing in the window of a jewelry store. The ‘news’ would be on Twitter and TMZ and every other media outlet within minutes, with speculation rife about which lucky lady had finally captured the playboy billionaire’s heart and would soon be walking down the aisle with him. Never mind that they were always wrong and that the same ritual was repeated every year with the same result. He might as well be Punxsutawney Phil, and at least the groundhog got the other three hundred and sixty-four days off.
Bruce Wayne hated Valentine’s Day. Kryptonians from Kansas, however, thought the holiday was swell, so adjustments had to be made. That the fallout from these adjustments was likely to be a media frenzy akin to sharks descending upon chum-filled waters was, curiously, not at all the deterrent he would have anticipated.
“Hey! Bruce?” Dick stuck his head in the door. “What do you want me to tell the Commissioner abou--” He came to an abrupt stop and gawped at Bruce over in front of the full-length mirror in dress shirt, sock garters-and boxers. “Whoa.”
Bruce glared at him. “What about Gordon?”
“Huh?” Mirth bubbling in his eyes, Dick seemed to have lost his train of thought. “Wait right here, I have to get a camera.”
“You do and you’re disinherited.”
“Yeah, and it would totally be worth it.”
“Dick.”
Blue eyes still sparkling with laughter, Dick said, “The Miller Street tagger. If he asks, what do I tell him?”
Finished with his cufflinks, Bruce’s attention turned to his bow tie. “If he asks, tell him what we know.” The day Jim Gordon batted an eye upon learning Gotham was currently ground zero for a gang of inter-dimensional delinquents with a passing resemblance to flying monkeys, was the day both of them would probably decide to pack it in. “So far they’re just a nuisance.”
“So far.” Dick nodded. His expression was almost suitably somber. Almost.
“Was there anything else?”
“No, no that was it,” Dick said. Still, he remained at his post just inside the door.
“Out.” Bruce pointed for emphasis. “Now.”
Dick left, muttering something about where was Wally when he needed him, to be almost instantly replaced by Alfred. Barely a twitch of an eyebrow, practically microscopic, betrayed Alfred’s thoughts as he placed a pair of freshly pressed pants on the bed. That was enough to make Bruce gaze in the mirror and reevaluate the boxers, however.
“Too much?”
“That would depend upon the purpose they are meant to serve, sir.”
“They’re meant to make a statement.”
“They certainly do that, sir.”
Bruce considered the boxers some more. “If Batman was going to wear boxers with hearts on them,” black boxers, with small, faintly fluorescent red hearts, each one pierced by an arrow, “this is what Batman would wear.”
“Just so, sir.”
Bruce sighed. “He’s going to laugh, isn’t he?” The whole evening would be a disaster. What the hell did he know about romance?
“I am quite certain he won’t, sir.” Unshakeable confidence underscored Alfred’s words as he bustled about attending to any last details, and Bruce felt his sense of self-possession gradually return.
Clark wouldn’t laugh. Clark would think it was awesome.
“Your boutonnière, sir?” As Bruce finished dressing, Alfred took the white carnation out of its box and affixed it to Bruce’s left lapel at his nod. “Quite fetching, Master Bruce,” he said as he stepped back and nodded his approval with a ghost of a smile.
Bruce made a face but took one more look in the mirror and just hoped to God Clark would think it was awesome.
~*~
that morning
Clark Kent hated Valentine’s Day. Oh, once upon a time he had been favorably inclined toward the holiday. Even now he could still appreciate the charming aspects of the holiday in a kind of abstract way. Every day should be Valentine’s Day just as good will to all shouldn’t be reserved for Christmas, of course, but he couldn’t see anything wrong with designating one particular day as the day.
No, his personal disenchantment was of fairly recent origin and could be summed up in one item in this morning’s Gotham Gazette. It was an article about the annual Cupid’s Carnival, a charity ball that was the kickoff to Gotham City’s social season. Glittering and glamorous, the highlight every year was the appearance of Bruce Wayne and his chosen arm candy of the night. For a couple of weeks gossip would run rampant with speculation about when an engagement would be announced. Then a week or so of speculation would follow when it was learned the relationship had ended, with fingers wagged in disapproval over that madcap Brucie toying with the girl’s affections.
There had been a time Clark had found the whole process amusing. It used to be entertaining to hear Bruce grumble about what he had to do just to keep up appearances. Not so much anymore. Not this year, after everything had changed…
Bathed in the pink, sparkly glow of a previously unknown variety of Kryptonite, Clark held his breath and waited as Bruce looked on-and as Krypto huddled on the cave floor, tail tucked between his legs as he whined softly. “It’s okay, boy,” Clark told him. “Not your fault.” He was glad to see Ace go over and give Krypto a reassuring nudge in the side.
It really wasn’t the dog’s fault. He and Bruce should have been more careful while they were examining the chunk of meteorite. The dogs had just been romping around the cave when Krypto had bumped into him, and then Clark had bumped into Bruce, and Bruce dropped the lead-lined box as the dogs scurried for cover, and the chunk of Kryptonite had rolled out to land at Clark’s feet. These things happened.
“Clark.” Bruce took a cautious step toward him. “How do you feel?”
“Not so bad, really. Maybe a little warm. And…kind of tingly?” It sort of felt good, actually. He looked at Bruce. “Is…anything different?” Green Kryptonite was bad enough but at least he knew what to expect from it. Some of the other varieties were considerably less straightforward.
Bruce shook his head. “No, no, you look the same.”
Well, that was a relief. It hadn’t made him invisible, or grow a tail, or turned him into a girl. Although an odd sort of pang passed through him at that thought. It wasn’t that he wanted to switch genders, only that if he did Bruce might actually notice him that way at last.
He would really like Bruce to notice him that way. As he watched Bruce pull off the cowl and run a hand back through his hair, Clark felt something in his belly tighten and flip over at how much he wished Bruce would want him that way.
“You’re so handsome,” he murmured and wasn’t even shocked to realize he had said that out loud.
Bruce was, though. Bruce was looking at him like he might have just grown a tail. “What?”
“I said you’re handsome.” He took a step forward, then another, until he was close enough to reach over and trace a finger along one perfect cheekbone. “You’re beautiful, Bruce, so beautiful.” He stroked an eyebrow, slid his fingers down to rest against Bruce’s lips. “You know how at League meetings sometimes you accuse me of not paying attention? That’s because I’m sitting there thinking of how gorgeous you are, so sexy in all this black leather and Kevlar and with that growl in your voice, and how much I’d love to get you alone and peel you out of it and find out if you growl like that when I make love to you.”
Bruce stared back at him, blue eyes wide. “Clark, you don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Oh, I do, Bruce. I really do,” he whispered, so close now he could feel Bruce’s breath caress his cheek with every exhalation. He carefully cupped Bruce’s face and came in even closer. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he breathed out in the exquisite fraction of an instant before he kissed Bruce’s lips.
Long before he had discovered the man beneath the mask, Clark had fixated on those lips. For so long they were practically all of him that was visible. Usually set in a grim, somber line, he had made a study of that mouth and learned to read its nuances. A slight twitch, a brief upward quirk had grown to be as satisfying as any all-out smile from anyone else. It had been a relatively small leap from there to wondering how incredible it would be to kiss him.
Pretty darn incredible, he concluded as he kissed Bruce and felt him respond. It was slow and gentle at first, barely there kisses, but they built like a stoked fire, and it was Bruce kissing him back that added more fuel. It was Bruce’s fingers tangled in his hair, and Bruce’s agile tongue as it licked into his mouth that made them both groan and gasp and press so tightly against each other that they couldn’t get any closer without being inside each other-and, oh Rao, Clark didn’t need that image in his head right now.
“Bruce,” his lips were against Bruce’s temple, dark hair silken against his lips, “I think I know what Pink Kryptonite does.”
“Yes.” Bruce sighed, and after another endless time of kisses and touches, softer now and wistful, as though this was goodbye, he pushed back from Clark. “It must share properties with Red K in that it lowers your inhibitions and alters your personality.” His matter-of-fact tone would have carried more authority if he wasn’t out of breath from their kisses.
Clark stared at him and tried not to be disappointed that Bruce would take that route. “Do you really believe that?”
“Yes,” Bruce said, not a note of conviction in his voice. “It might,” he glanced around the cave as if seeking something to anchor himself to, like Odysseus lashed to the mast so as to resist the call of the Sirens, “it might possess communicable properties that transmit the effects to anyone you’re close to…” He trailed off and licked his lips and it was all Clark could do not to kiss him again.
Instead he said, “Lowers my inhibitions maybe but, Bruce, that’s all it does. Unless I’ve been exposed to it since the first time we met, it did not create how I feel about you.”
“But-“
“No.” Clark put a finger against Bruce’s lips. “I have wanted this, wanted you, for so long. I just never let myself hope you might want me back.”
Bruce gave him a look then that was pure Batman and wonderfully familiar. “Idiot. You’re Superman. Anybody with a pulse would want you.”
“I don’t want anybody with a pulse. Just you.”
Bruce looked back at him for the longest time, as if he was turning first this than another possibility over in his twisty, complicated mind. “Twenty-four hours,” he finally said. “Give it twenty-four hours and if nothing has changed-“
“We can go on a date?”
Bruce gave him the look again, but he didn’t say no…
He hadn’t exactly said yes, either, and they hadn’t exactly dated. That was part of the problem. There had been heated, passionate, clandestine encounters-in Gotham, in Metropolis, at the Watchtower, under the three moons of Xirijaan-but there hadn’t been a I’ll-pick-you-up-at-seven-for-dinner-and-a-movie date.
Clark knew it shouldn’t have mattered. It might not have if he didn’t have to hear about Brucie going out with this movie star or that supermodel. He knew those dates didn’t mean anything. He had even experienced a sense of gratification when he noted they had become increasingly infrequent. It didn’t make it any easier to keep up the pretense though, that Superman and Batman were just friends, that Clark and Bruce barely knew each other.
Would the heavens fall if he and Bruce held hands as they walked down the street? Was catastrophe inevitable if they embraced and kissed for all of the world to see? Clark really didn’t think so. He didn’t know if his powers of persuasion were up to convincing Bruce, however.
He knew Bruce couldn’t take him to the ball. He wished Bruce would give him some indication that he wanted to, though.
Clark Kent hated Valentine’s Day. He suspected he was going to hate it for a really long time.