Chapter 1 - Wrong
The wind was whispering around the eaves of Wayne Manor as Superman flew down towards it. The stone mansion looked impressive and stately at it rose up in the dark night, but he knew that that the aristocratic exterior belied the warm rooms inside, especially the rooms in which the house's owner spent most of his time.
Bruce was already home – Superman knew by the lights on the second floor to the right. Bruce had just gotten home from work, probably, and would be changing out of the clothes he wore to the office and into the boxers, wife-beater, and socks that he wore under the Batsuit. Bruce, of course, would be planning to go out for a long night of patrol with Superman, but Clark had other plans.
He wanted to spend time with Bruce – he always did – but if the man looked too worn or tired, Clark would insist that he stay home and get some rest while Superman patrolled Gotham for the night. Bruce would put up a fight – he always did – but that really did not matter. Bruce might be Batman with all his gadgets and tools and training, but his boyfriend was Kryptonian with enough strength to crush granite and bend iron and even get one tired human superhero into bed despite all his objections.
For his part, Clark was never sure how their relationship started. They had always been close friends, best friends as far as he knew, but they got closer after Dick Grayson left and Jason had died. After spending an evening at Wayne Manor with a very depressed, sullen Bruce, Clark had insisted that he stay the night, sleeping in a guest room next to Bruce's. The next morning over coffee and toast, Bruce had impulsively pulled near him at the table, and a moment later they were kissing. They had not said anything, but it was understood that they had moved past friendship into something much more intimate and emotional.
Every since then, they had been together though they really only spend time together on the weekends because Clark felt he had to stay loyal to his job and mission in Metropolis and Bruce would never leave Gotham. The arrival of Tim Drake had complicated things, but Alfred had made mattesr easier by insisting that he take young Master Drake to visit Master Grayson in Bludhaven on Friday and stay there until late Saturday or early Sunday. Bruce had been hesitant about the plan, but at fourteen, Tim was eager to visit his cool "older brother" and hang out with Nightwing for a while. When asked if Tim could stay, Dick had agreed though Clark thought it was more because Dick liked showing off his apartment and weapons to Tim rather than trying to be accommodating to his adopted father. Tension was still tight between Dick and Bruce, but Dick and Tim never seemed to squabble too much except when Dick visited Wayne Manor and Tim wanted to do everything cool that Dick got to do and Bruce said no.
This being Friday night, Clark would get to have Bruce all to himself. Bruce had seemed very nervous when they spoke on the phone, too many "yeahs" and "mmm-hmms" for Clark's taste. His boyfriend was known for his quiet (brooding) manner, but he seemed especially reserved lately.
Landing on the second-story balcony of Wayne Manor, Superman took all of 1.24 second to switch back into his casual clothes and opened the French doors to Bruce's room. "I'm here," he announced.
Bruce was pulling the small closet door shut and he hastily turned around, pressing his back to the door. "Hey," he stammered, his face flushed. "You're early. It's not even seven. You said you would be here at seven. It's six-thirty-two – the clock says so, right there."
"I got off early," Clark nodded slowly, watching Bruce's face carefully. Bruce kept all his clothes in the large, walk-in closet on the other side of the room. The small closet did not hold much of anything, maybe a few towels and an extra coat or two if Clark remembered right.
Usually strong and stoic, Bruce looked agitated though he was trying very hard to mask his feelings. "Well, you're here. Cool, cool – are you hungry?"
Clark's razor sharp eyes caught a single bead of sweat running down the left side of Bruce's face, tracing down the strong jaw bone that Clark's fingers had traced before.
"What's wrong?" Clark asked.
"Nothing," Bruce's voice took on a desperate note as he kept standing in front of the closet door. "Let's go downstairs. We can eat food there. You said you were hungry."
"What's in the closet?" Clark asked. He could have easily turned on the x-ray vision and scanned through Bruce and the door, but he preferred to be told. That was one of the major things they had worked on over the last year: being honest. And by "working on", that meant Bruce had learned to be more honest as Clark was not happy about all secrets that his boyfriend kept.
Even the little, stupid things annoyed Clark to no end. Bruce would hide his worries about his business or the boys or a particularly nasty villain that he was having trouble fighting. Once he hid two broken ribs from Clark, insisting that he was fine and felt no pain; after that, Clark made him strip down to his boxers every Friday so he could inspect the damage and then fetch ice packs or heating pads or rubbing alcohol to tend Bruce's wounds though Bruce always insisted he was perfectly fine and did not need a nurse.
"Are you hurt?" Clark stepped closer, his brow drawing together in concern. "If it was Bane again – I told you once, Bruce, and I'm not telling you again. You stay away from that monster and you call me to come deal with him."
"It's wasn't Bane, and I'm not hurt. I'm just – let's go, okay?"
"Open the closet," Clark said in a calm voice that masked the frustration he was feeling.
"No, come on, man – let's go," two more beads of sweat ran down Bruce's face.
"You can open the closet or I can – simple as that," Clark announced, resisting the urge to cross his arms. He only crossed his arms when Bruce was in big, big trouble, and he had the feeling that soon enough he would need to cross those arms.
"Please," Bruce nearly whined. "Don't make me."
Clark reached out for the knob, and for a moment, he thought Bruce might actually try to push his arm away. But though he looked miserable and nervous and sweaty, Bruce only gave a low groan and stepped back just enough to let Clark open the door.
Clark could not imagine what Bruce had hidden in there – it could be anything from new dangerous tools to an animal (Bruce kept talking about some exotic snake he had seen that glowed in the dark, and Clark had said no, absolutely no snakes). However, nothing could have prepared Clark for what he actually did see.
On the floor of the small closet, in a tight black dress that clung to her curvy body, with her hair as tussled around her seductive face, Selina Kyle stared up at Clark with large, guilty eyes.
Bruce was already home – Superman knew by the lights on the second floor to the right. Bruce had just gotten home from work, probably, and would be changing out of the clothes he wore to the office and into the boxers, wife-beater, and socks that he wore under the Batsuit. Bruce, of course, would be planning to go out for a long night of patrol with Superman, but Clark had other plans.
He wanted to spend time with Bruce – he always did – but if the man looked too worn or tired, Clark would insist that he stay home and get some rest while Superman patrolled Gotham for the night. Bruce would put up a fight – he always did – but that really did not matter. Bruce might be Batman with all his gadgets and tools and training, but his boyfriend was Kryptonian with enough strength to crush granite and bend iron and even get one tired human superhero into bed despite all his objections.
For his part, Clark was never sure how their relationship started. They had always been close friends, best friends as far as he knew, but they got closer after Dick Grayson left and Jason had died. After spending an evening at Wayne Manor with a very depressed, sullen Bruce, Clark had insisted that he stay the night, sleeping in a guest room next to Bruce's. The next morning over coffee and toast, Bruce had impulsively pulled near him at the table, and a moment later they were kissing. They had not said anything, but it was understood that they had moved past friendship into something much more intimate and emotional.
Every since then, they had been together though they really only spend time together on the weekends because Clark felt he had to stay loyal to his job and mission in Metropolis and Bruce would never leave Gotham. The arrival of Tim Drake had complicated things, but Alfred had made mattesr easier by insisting that he take young Master Drake to visit Master Grayson in Bludhaven on Friday and stay there until late Saturday or early Sunday. Bruce had been hesitant about the plan, but at fourteen, Tim was eager to visit his cool "older brother" and hang out with Nightwing for a while. When asked if Tim could stay, Dick had agreed though Clark thought it was more because Dick liked showing off his apartment and weapons to Tim rather than trying to be accommodating to his adopted father. Tension was still tight between Dick and Bruce, but Dick and Tim never seemed to squabble too much except when Dick visited Wayne Manor and Tim wanted to do everything cool that Dick got to do and Bruce said no.
This being Friday night, Clark would get to have Bruce all to himself. Bruce had seemed very nervous when they spoke on the phone, too many "yeahs" and "mmm-hmms" for Clark's taste. His boyfriend was known for his quiet (brooding) manner, but he seemed especially reserved lately.
Landing on the second-story balcony of Wayne Manor, Superman took all of 1.24 second to switch back into his casual clothes and opened the French doors to Bruce's room. "I'm here," he announced.
Bruce was pulling the small closet door shut and he hastily turned around, pressing his back to the door. "Hey," he stammered, his face flushed. "You're early. It's not even seven. You said you would be here at seven. It's six-thirty-two – the clock says so, right there."
"I got off early," Clark nodded slowly, watching Bruce's face carefully. Bruce kept all his clothes in the large, walk-in closet on the other side of the room. The small closet did not hold much of anything, maybe a few towels and an extra coat or two if Clark remembered right.
Usually strong and stoic, Bruce looked agitated though he was trying very hard to mask his feelings. "Well, you're here. Cool, cool – are you hungry?"
Clark's razor sharp eyes caught a single bead of sweat running down the left side of Bruce's face, tracing down the strong jaw bone that Clark's fingers had traced before.
"What's wrong?" Clark asked.
"Nothing," Bruce's voice took on a desperate note as he kept standing in front of the closet door. "Let's go downstairs. We can eat food there. You said you were hungry."
"What's in the closet?" Clark asked. He could have easily turned on the x-ray vision and scanned through Bruce and the door, but he preferred to be told. That was one of the major things they had worked on over the last year: being honest. And by "working on", that meant Bruce had learned to be more honest as Clark was not happy about all secrets that his boyfriend kept.
Even the little, stupid things annoyed Clark to no end. Bruce would hide his worries about his business or the boys or a particularly nasty villain that he was having trouble fighting. Once he hid two broken ribs from Clark, insisting that he was fine and felt no pain; after that, Clark made him strip down to his boxers every Friday so he could inspect the damage and then fetch ice packs or heating pads or rubbing alcohol to tend Bruce's wounds though Bruce always insisted he was perfectly fine and did not need a nurse.
"Are you hurt?" Clark stepped closer, his brow drawing together in concern. "If it was Bane again – I told you once, Bruce, and I'm not telling you again. You stay away from that monster and you call me to come deal with him."
"It's wasn't Bane, and I'm not hurt. I'm just – let's go, okay?"
"Open the closet," Clark said in a calm voice that masked the frustration he was feeling.
"No, come on, man – let's go," two more beads of sweat ran down Bruce's face.
"You can open the closet or I can – simple as that," Clark announced, resisting the urge to cross his arms. He only crossed his arms when Bruce was in big, big trouble, and he had the feeling that soon enough he would need to cross those arms.
"Please," Bruce nearly whined. "Don't make me."
Clark reached out for the knob, and for a moment, he thought Bruce might actually try to push his arm away. But though he looked miserable and nervous and sweaty, Bruce only gave a low groan and stepped back just enough to let Clark open the door.
Clark could not imagine what Bruce had hidden in there – it could be anything from new dangerous tools to an animal (Bruce kept talking about some exotic snake he had seen that glowed in the dark, and Clark had said no, absolutely no snakes). However, nothing could have prepared Clark for what he actually did see.
On the floor of the small closet, in a tight black dress that clung to her curvy body, with her hair as tussled around her seductive face, Selina Kyle stared up at Clark with large, guilty eyes.