Ficlet: Alternative | DCU | Clark/Bruce | PG-13 | 1/1
Title: Alternative
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 802
Prompt: For Porn Battle XII: ring, public, kisses; For this prompt on the S_B Birthday Prompts Post: Bruce proposes to Clark in the middle of the busy Daily Planet newsroom.; for the 2010 WFGE (yes, it's THAT late): F25: Bruce asks Clark to marry him. Cryptic or straightforward is up to author. Comicsverse, toonverse, or moovieverse (SR/BB/TDK). Happy ending please.
Summary: Bruce has something to discuss with Clark.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own everything, the schmucks
Author's Notes: Originally posted here at PB XII. Written to make up for my failure to complete a prompt I'd claimed in last year's WFGE. To whomever posted that prompt: I am SOOOO sorry for the delay (even though someone else DID manage to swoop in and fill it).
Alternative
The bustle in the bullpen of the Daily Planet is, for once, a welcome distraction for Bruce, drawing his focus away from the knot of anxiety in his gut. He doesn't know why he should be nervous, anyway; Batman is never nervous, never anxious, always stoic and steady.
But Bruce isn't Batman today. And the cause of his anxiety is just ten feet away and closing, meeting him halfway in the center of the bullpen.
Clark.
“Bruce, what are you doing here today?” Clark greets him with a handshake, using his other hand to shove those ridiculous-adorable, ridiculously adorable-glasses back up his nose where they've slipped down. “I didn't think the shareholders meeting was until next week.”
“It's not,” he shakes his head slightly. And it's always like this in the public eye for them; polite conversation on Clark's part, feigned disinterest on his, absolute bullshit all the way around. And Bruce has had just about enough of it. Especially in light of the newly-passed legislation that will finally allow a proper end to their sneaking around, an end to the rumors and half-truths that won't seem to die, an official alternative to the whole mess. “I'm actually here on personal business,” he answers honestly, cutting straight through the crap and catching Clark's gaze with his own, holding it hostage. His guts might be wound up in knots, the very idea of what he's about to do sending parts of him screaming, but as in everything else, he has to be firm, to let Clark know he's serious.
“Oh?”
Bruce nods, shoving his hands into his pockets, fingers nervously twitching around the small object stowed there. It should be in a box, he laments, warring with himself even now over how to do this. It's been days since he got it, and still, he can't quite decide on the best way to proceed. Which is probably why he's here; in the bullpen, with so many eyes on them, he can't back down, can't pretend it's a stupid idea-and oh, how he's still trying to convince himself that it isn't. Official or not, it's a big damn step, and even Alfred has cautioned him not to take that step lightly.
“I have a question for you,” he says after a moment, finding himself rooted to the spot, unable to do anything but breathe as the moment approaches.
Clark's eyebrows raise behind his glasses and the hair that's fallen down over his forehead. “Yes?”
Not allowing himself even a moment more of hesitation, Bruce pulls the tiny object from his pocket and presses it quickly into Clark's palm, wrapping those strong fingers around it, his eyes still fixed on his lover's, his partner's.
“Will you marry me?”
To his surprise, his voice comes out rough, used, wrecked with the fear that he's built up over the last few weeks, and afterward, his throat seems to close up, nothing else getting through but air, not until Clark's said something, and, God, let him say something!
But Clark only gapes at him, his eyes widening as he stares in shock at Bruce, and down at his hand, and back up at Bruce. It would be comical, if Bruce wasn't hanging on by a very tenuous thread.
Slowly uncurling his fingers, Clark finally sees the ring settled in the palm of his hand, a platinum band inscribed with their names inside. In both English and Kryptonian. And his breath catches in his throat. “Bruce....” he starts, blinking, and Bruce can't help the little shiver that works its way down his spine at the way Clark has said his name, like the most reverent word in any language. “I.... yes. Yes, I'll marry you.”
The air around them seems to spark with Bruce's relief, his heart thundering so loud that he's sure it's probably painful to Clark's ears by now. “Yes?” he repeats, just to make sure. He can't be wrong here.
“Yes!” Clark says again, a grin moving over his face, and all Bruce can see are those sparkling blue eyes, even as the bullpen erupts with a sudden cheer, having been drawn into the entire exchange. Cameras flash and click around them, and the Chief shouts at someone to get interviews, and none of it matters, because Clark's lips are on his, kissing him deeply, slowly, practically making love to him right there in front of everyone, and Bruce can't resist him, doesn't want to, no matter the consequences of the world finding out what they've been hiding all this time. Screw the world, he thinks, reveling in the heat of Clark's mouth, the sweet coffee taste, the feel of those arms wrapping around him to pull him closer.
If outing their relationship is the only way this can happen, the worst possible consequence of the alternative to hiding, then it's absolutely worth it. Clark is worth it.
~*~*~*~
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 802
Prompt: For Porn Battle XII: ring, public, kisses; For this prompt on the S_B Birthday Prompts Post: Bruce proposes to Clark in the middle of the busy Daily Planet newsroom.; for the 2010 WFGE (yes, it's THAT late): F25: Bruce asks Clark to marry him. Cryptic or straightforward is up to author. Comicsverse, toonverse, or moovieverse (SR/BB/TDK). Happy ending please.
Summary: Bruce has something to discuss with Clark.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own everything, the schmucks
Author's Notes: Originally posted here at PB XII. Written to make up for my failure to complete a prompt I'd claimed in last year's WFGE. To whomever posted that prompt: I am SOOOO sorry for the delay (even though someone else DID manage to swoop in and fill it).
Alternative
The bustle in the bullpen of the Daily Planet is, for once, a welcome distraction for Bruce, drawing his focus away from the knot of anxiety in his gut. He doesn't know why he should be nervous, anyway; Batman is never nervous, never anxious, always stoic and steady.
But Bruce isn't Batman today. And the cause of his anxiety is just ten feet away and closing, meeting him halfway in the center of the bullpen.
Clark.
“Bruce, what are you doing here today?” Clark greets him with a handshake, using his other hand to shove those ridiculous-adorable, ridiculously adorable-glasses back up his nose where they've slipped down. “I didn't think the shareholders meeting was until next week.”
“It's not,” he shakes his head slightly. And it's always like this in the public eye for them; polite conversation on Clark's part, feigned disinterest on his, absolute bullshit all the way around. And Bruce has had just about enough of it. Especially in light of the newly-passed legislation that will finally allow a proper end to their sneaking around, an end to the rumors and half-truths that won't seem to die, an official alternative to the whole mess. “I'm actually here on personal business,” he answers honestly, cutting straight through the crap and catching Clark's gaze with his own, holding it hostage. His guts might be wound up in knots, the very idea of what he's about to do sending parts of him screaming, but as in everything else, he has to be firm, to let Clark know he's serious.
“Oh?”
Bruce nods, shoving his hands into his pockets, fingers nervously twitching around the small object stowed there. It should be in a box, he laments, warring with himself even now over how to do this. It's been days since he got it, and still, he can't quite decide on the best way to proceed. Which is probably why he's here; in the bullpen, with so many eyes on them, he can't back down, can't pretend it's a stupid idea-and oh, how he's still trying to convince himself that it isn't. Official or not, it's a big damn step, and even Alfred has cautioned him not to take that step lightly.
“I have a question for you,” he says after a moment, finding himself rooted to the spot, unable to do anything but breathe as the moment approaches.
Clark's eyebrows raise behind his glasses and the hair that's fallen down over his forehead. “Yes?”
Not allowing himself even a moment more of hesitation, Bruce pulls the tiny object from his pocket and presses it quickly into Clark's palm, wrapping those strong fingers around it, his eyes still fixed on his lover's, his partner's.
“Will you marry me?”
To his surprise, his voice comes out rough, used, wrecked with the fear that he's built up over the last few weeks, and afterward, his throat seems to close up, nothing else getting through but air, not until Clark's said something, and, God, let him say something!
But Clark only gapes at him, his eyes widening as he stares in shock at Bruce, and down at his hand, and back up at Bruce. It would be comical, if Bruce wasn't hanging on by a very tenuous thread.
Slowly uncurling his fingers, Clark finally sees the ring settled in the palm of his hand, a platinum band inscribed with their names inside. In both English and Kryptonian. And his breath catches in his throat. “Bruce....” he starts, blinking, and Bruce can't help the little shiver that works its way down his spine at the way Clark has said his name, like the most reverent word in any language. “I.... yes. Yes, I'll marry you.”
The air around them seems to spark with Bruce's relief, his heart thundering so loud that he's sure it's probably painful to Clark's ears by now. “Yes?” he repeats, just to make sure. He can't be wrong here.
“Yes!” Clark says again, a grin moving over his face, and all Bruce can see are those sparkling blue eyes, even as the bullpen erupts with a sudden cheer, having been drawn into the entire exchange. Cameras flash and click around them, and the Chief shouts at someone to get interviews, and none of it matters, because Clark's lips are on his, kissing him deeply, slowly, practically making love to him right there in front of everyone, and Bruce can't resist him, doesn't want to, no matter the consequences of the world finding out what they've been hiding all this time. Screw the world, he thinks, reveling in the heat of Clark's mouth, the sweet coffee taste, the feel of those arms wrapping around him to pull him closer.
If outing their relationship is the only way this can happen, the worst possible consequence of the alternative to hiding, then it's absolutely worth it. Clark is worth it.
~*~*~*~