Work Text:
They sat beside each other in a dark and enclosed room in a secluded corner of the JL headquarters, the situation resembling that of a confessional. Clark didn't know exactly what he'd done, yet Batman had hurriedly excused himself when Superman made that fateful revelation. He couldn't imagine what Batman possibly had against Clark Kent that made his identity as Superman this significant for him. Rashly, he had followed Batman through the corridors of the building, believing this all to be his fault. It was highly possible that Batman didn't even want him to pursue him, but he had allowed him to corner him into here. If he wanted to be alone, he would have evaded Clark altogether.
Just five minutes ago, Clark had mustered up the courage to reveal his identity to the Justice League, under the agreement that they'd all do the same, he had pulled his glasses out and let his civilian name slip from his mouth. Amongst faces of approval and disbelief, Batman's mouth curled from his usual hardened neutrality to a frown, caked in a hideous surprise. Clark had nervously smiled, understanding the risks of his actions but also the benefits that came with it.
That was until Batman stood up, knocking over his chair and kicking it out of the way as he stormed off with a small "excuse me" and his cape billowing behind him. Before thinking, Clark had rushed after him, inadvertently adopting his meek civilian persona, leading him into this room, which almost looked like a repurposed supply cupboard with its rows of empty shelving and two discarded chairs folded up in the corner. Batman knew how to escape a situation, he couldn't be easily trapped. This was on purpose.
"Batman, I," Clark stopped himself, unsure of what to say.
Batman was the next to speak, "we need to talk." He unfolded the chairs, inviting the other to sit next to him. There were no windows in the room, the only light coming through a vent in the door. The chair was uncomfortable, as if it was trying to make him uneasy.
"Do you need to talk to Superman or to Clark?" His breath tensed as he spoke. Either answer was just as bad.
"Clark." He responded stoically.
"Is it something I've done? I don't want a mistake I made as Clark to affect my relationships as Superman," he placed his hand on Batman's knee, but was met with the other jerking his leg from underneath.
"I think you've done enough. I think we've both done enough." His tone of voice didn't waver, and other than his knee jerk, he barely moved a muscle. Clark didn't understand. Even as Clark he tried to display respect and kindness to everyone, especially with his job as a reporter. He could usually investigate any situation down to its root, but he couldn't possibly think what he'd done to annoy Batman. He'd never written an article about his sloppy behaviour or contradicting methods, he always tried to remain impartial on matters regarding superheroes.
"You attended the Gotham Diamonds Gala last week, no?" Batman asked. Clark recalled it well; he had described it as a 'delightful event' and 'admirable charity work' in his article. It wasn't his usual scene, but they were down a reporter and had asked him to go. Trying to figure out the trajectory of this discussion, he nodded. "I was there too."
This wasn't surprising information. Although Batman had not been invited as a superhero, there was little stopping him from supervising the event from afar, and there was always the possibility of his attendance as a civilian. The dust and stuffy heat of the room began to get to him. He writhed in his seat, unable to conceal his nervous disposition.
"I know what you did," he said, looking Clark directly in the eyes for the first time. His face flushed a sickly rosy hue. He had tried not to think about that all week, having been overridden by guilt at his lack of professionalism. Truly, he wished the floor would open up and eat him alive, or at least if he could simply fly off. Only his respect for Batman kept him in his place as crude memories of the thrill of the moment came back to him. What he did may not have been illegal, but it was undoubtedly stupid and broke numerous rules of conduct he'd agreed to as both a journalist and a superhero. He could blame it on the Prosecco, but that didn't take away his conscience. "It's that reason that I want to do this in private."
Clark watched as Batman reached up to his head, fingers delicately grasping at his cowl. He lifted the mask up and off, revealing a face that was so much worse that Clark could have ever imagined. Handsome, chiselled and smooth, it took Clark back to the Gala, his hands frantically unbuttoning the tuxedo of the wealthy socialite, hidden around a corner, separate from the main party event, having a party of his own.
"Bruce Wayne?" He couldn't hide his shock and horror, realising that Batman was none other than the infamous playboy and womaniser, who he himself had embarrassingly fallen victim to as well. After one charismatic conversation at the Gala, Clark picking at the miniature brownies the whole time, they had parted, but their eyes had stayed fixed on each other. At some point, Bruce had disappeared, Clark couldn't help himself but to find him. One thing led to another.
Batman, now having two names and two faces, only let out a sigh.
"Oh my God," Clark managed to say, now in a full state of panic. His breathing picked up, his blood raced through his veins. He had ran his hands up and down Bruce's bare sides as the other hungrily caressed his neck and collarbone, the potential risk of being caught making his heart pound harder. "But you're nothing like him, I don't-"
"He's just my persona. He diverts attention."
"I don't understand why you'd actually go through with it if he's just a persona. Why play with me in private if its a rouse? I mean, all the girls, the models," His elbows rested on his knees, his head buried in his hands.
"It's a stupid reason, really," he began, "I just wanted to."
Clark remembered it vividly, the heat of passion radiating from both men, hands rubbing up and down each other's thighs, leaving bruises of sex over their chests, Bruce's fingers in his hair, his cock down his throat.
He took a minute to process the information, grateful for the dim light of the room concealing his expression. He finally spoke, in a low voice, "do you regret it?" He was unsure if he wanted a reply. The room felt a whole lot smaller than it already was.
"No," Bruce said in return, “but I wish I hadn’t done it.”
“Aren’t they the same thing?”
“No. I enjoyed it, I think we both did, but if I’d known it would lead to this I would have acted with more restraint.” The act in itself was little to be ashamed of, a mere expression of desire, but the consequences had potential to be disastrous. They’d already proved them to be so.
"What should we do?" He was asking too many questions. This was not a situation he ever thought he'd be in, questions were only natural. One stupid night with possibly the least convenient person in the world, and he was stuck, in a cramped room, on some stiff plastic chairs, discussing how to go forwards with accidentally fucking his coworker.
"There's no point in pretending it never happened for the sake of Superman and Batman. We did it, we made a mistake." Bruce's words were little reassurance to Clark, but he had to appreciate the attempt, "we can't undo it."
"The others are going to want to know what happened, how we know each other."
"Let them know."
"Huh?"
"Let them know we had a fling, but nothing else. I was Bruce Wayne that night, attacking his prey, a humble reporter." Flashes of memories penetrated Clark's mind. Bruce grinding himself on his leg, clawing at his naked back, their best attempts to suppress their moans, instead resulting in breathy grunts, the taste of Bruce's head on his tongue. So much for the humble reporter. He could still see the stars, burnt into his vision. "Our relationship started and ended that night."
That's right, the events of that night were between Bruce and Clark. Nothing had to come between Batman and Superman. Knowing how well his cock fit inside his mouth and all the places he’d bruised his tonsils would not get in the way of their defeating villains. It always comes back to work, doesn't it? Something flipped inside him. "What if it didn't?" The words slipped out of his mouth before he knew what he was saying.
"Are you asking to be my boy toy?" His voice was laced with Bruce's tonal desire, but Clark could still hear Batman's sternness underneath. Listening to him now, he felt stupid for not realising the similarities earlier.
He sat himself straight up, "I guess so. Just a casual thing. Bruce Wayne and the reporter he met at a gala one time. No one has to know anything more."
"And the League?"
"How were we to know our identities the first time? They don't need to have the details." Bruce leant back in his chair, folding his arms in thought, his shoulders lifting up and down with his breathing. Knowing what, or rather who, was underneath, Clark couldn't help himself but imagine him underneath him, shoulders and biceps flexing, sweaty and panting with carnal passions. Bruce's lips were soft and plump, which frankly only added to his raw sexual appeal. He truly understood the hype having seen him up close.
"Okay," Bruce replied, after some time, "but we aren't to bring our superhero personas into this. No sex in our suits. We fucked up once, we can't take big risks now."
As hot as sex in their suits would be, Clark obliged, knowing it was for the best.
"Okay." Having come to an agreement, Bruce began to put his cowl back on, ready to return to the other League members. He stood, but was stopped by Clark's hand, "are you going to tell the rest of them your identity?"
"Yes, I will. You've done it, now its my turn," lifting his mask once more, he smirked at Clark, letting Bruce's personality shine through, "just so you know, you're the best I've had."
He turned to exit, leaving Clark still sat in the fold up chair, a proud grin decorating his face. Mustn't let it go to his head.