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theerurishipper · 9 months ago

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Superbat Week Day 4: Undercover

For @superbatweek2024

Just as Clark flies into the Batcave, he can hear the telltale signs of Alfred’s disapproval, directed at the only person foolish enough to invoke them constantly. The subtle inflections in Alfred’s voice, and the dry, sardonic tone indicates to Clark that Bruce has done something reckless, though not exceptionally so. Alfred would not have held back otherwise.

“What did you need me for, Bruce?”

The man in question lifts one eyebrow upon his arrival. “You’re late.”

“Nice to see you too.”

Bruce grunts, and turns to Alfred, who picks up a fancy suit, handing it to Clark with not a small amount of disapproval, though it is not directed at him. Clark can only stare bemusedly at the fancy suit that probably costs more than his entire salary. “If this is your way of telling me— again— that you don’t like the suits I own, I’m sorry to tell you that this is not going to change my mind.”

“Ah, I suppose it was worth a shot, sir,” remarks Alfred, the very picture of sarcasm.

“It’s not a commentary on your fashion choices,” Bruce responds, still typing away at his computer. “It’s a bodyguard uniform.”

Clark stares at the sleek, shiny fabric. “And you’re giving this to me because…?”

“You’re now Bruce Wayne’s official new bodyguard. Congratulations.”

“I can’t believe you just sprung this on me without asking me if I would agree!” Clark huffs, even as Alfred makes final adjustments to the suit he’s now wearing.

“Are you saying no?”

“…No…”

“Then I don’t see a problem. Besides, I checked your schedule, and you seem to be free enough to assist me.”

Clark blinks. “You what?” Beside him, Alfred sighs as he adjusts Clark’s sleeves.

“I see that our previous talks about boundaries have entered through one ear and escaped through the other already, Master Bruce.”

“I don’t remember any such talk.”

“As I said,” Alfred intones, waving a dismissive hand towards Bruce, who responds with a childish pout. Or as he would call it, a dignified silence.

“Aw, it’s alright, Alfred,” Clark consoles. “I don’t mind. It’s kind of sweet, actually.”

Alfred directs his eyes to stare down Clark judgementally. “You both certainly are made for each other.”

“Thank you.”

The details of the case are simple enough. Bruce Wayne is being targeted by a fellow competitor, a man by the name of Maxwell Steele, who wants him gone. Batman is currently looking into this competitor to find out why. Bruce is to be meeting with this competitor in an hour, and wants Clark to tag along as a lie detector posing as his bodyguard.

Clark can’t say he’s displeased with the idea, or the thought of helping Bruce out in this way. It’s even kind of exciting. He’s only ever seen this happen in movies.

“You’re a superhero, Clark. You can fly and shoot lasers from your eyes.”

“But I always preferred the secret agents over the bombastic superheroes,” Clark responds, grinning at his reflection in the mirror. “And now I get to be one for real! It’s cool.”

“If that is what ‘floats your boat,’ Master Clark.”

Clark grins, and slips on the shades the Bruce hands him. “So, do I look the part?” he asks, and listens with great satisfaction to the uptick in Bruce’s heart rate.

“…Yes, you do.”

Clark grins. This just might be fun after all.

Maxwell Steele is a man who is very much not upending the stereotypes this evening. He is as suspicious looking and sleazy as one would expect when they think of an evil businessman. Clark feels like he is way more excited than he should be; after all, he is standing right before someone who is trying his hardest to kill Bruce.

The man in question is rambling about his latest business ventures, while Bruce sits before him pretending to be someone who is only pretending to be interested. Clark finds it almost baffling how well Bruce can embody the spirit of the character he puts on.

“And, of course, we intend to finalize our dealings, of course—”

“I just have one question,” Bruce interrupts, leaning forward. “Your company has come under fire— several times, in fact— for your alleged involvement with some of the more… notorious criminals of Gotham. I must admit, I find the idea of doing business with someone involved in those kind of affairs rather frightening. Wouldn’t you think so too?”

Steele gives his sincerest effort to put on an expression of affront. As is, he just looks nervous and guilty. “Mr. Wayne,” he sputters, “I must tell you that everything you have ever heard regarding that is unsubstantiated!”

Lie.

“I would never support criminals in such a manner—”

Lie.

Steele leans back in his chair, and takes a deep breath.

“— and I have always tried to use my wealth to deal with them.”

Truth.

Clark frowns. That can’t be right.

“Honestly, Mr. Wayne, I take offense to your assumptions about me! Why, certainly you must have experience with having the vultures assume the worst of you. The most uncharitable tabloids are always looking for something to invent to disparage the characters of good men, and—”

“Yes, yes, I understand, Mr. Steele,” Bruce interrupts. “Thank you for meeting with me. We will get back to you with further details.”

Once the man leaves, and Bruce returns to his office, Clark closes the door behind them with a grin. “Who’s gonna tell him that being accused of sleeping around and being accused of colluding with criminal masterminds aren’t exactly in the same ballpark?”

Bruce grunts. “If he doesn’t know that by now, then no one’s ever going to be able to change his mind.” He levels Clark with a look. “What did you learn?”

“Well, he’s definitely lying about almost everything. But he did seem to be telling the truth when he mentioned that he was dealing with the villains, even though I don’t quite buy what he said.”

Bruce taps his finger on his chin, deep in thought. “Dealing with the villains… perhaps his phrasing is where we need to look. He’s making some sort of deal with one of them.”

“To kill you?”

“Possibly.” He looks back at Clark, eyes steely and focused. “I will pay him a secret visit tonight, and see what I can find regarding any unsavoury dealings. Maybe then—”

As it turns out, Bruce doesn’t even need to go looking for the trouble. The trouble just comes to find him. Clark throws himself over Bruce, rolling him across the shiny floor of his office as fire shoots in through the now shattered windows. Clark lands over Bruce’s body, and they watch as Firefly comes barrelling in through the window, spraying pieces of glass everywhere. Clark surreptitiously blows away some of the stray pieces before they can hurt Bruce.

“I gotta thank you, Wayne,” Firefly goads. “I just got a massive payday for trying to get rid of you. It’s almost too easy to make money these days, huh? Where’s the challenge?”

Clark rises to his feet. If he finds a way to get Bruce out of here, Batman can come and clean up this mess. But it wouldn’t do to break his cover, either…

“Get back, Mr. Wayne,” Clark growls, putting on a deep, intimidating voice. Behind him, Bruce does an excellent impression of a cowering puppy. Clark reaches out a hand as though shielding him. “I’ll protect you.”

Firefly bursts into laughter. “That’s rich. You think you can take me on? With what, your dopey sunglasses?”

You’d be surprised, Clark almost says. But he doesn’t. Because he’s a bodyguard, and they aren’t really supposed to quip around. That’s what the movies say.

Instead, Clark jumps for Bruce as Firefly unleashes another spray of fire. He shoves himself over Bruce, and then pushes him towards the window. “You’re toast, you asshole!” rages Firefly, flying towards him, flamethrowers at the ready.

In the three seconds it takes for Firefly to reach him, Clark takes the time to observe the crowd gathering outside the building, watching with bated breath. He watches Bruce’s expression twist into one of utter exasperation, the look of fear falling off his face once he is sure that Firefly is focused on Clark completely. And he watches the wires connected to the tank on Firefly’s back sway with the force of his flight.

As Firefly shoots towards him, Clark grabs onto the wire, pulling Firefly with it before the man can use his flamethrowers. Using the one on the left, Clark deftly spins the man around and around, wrapping him up in his own weapon. And then he knocks him out with a solid right hook.

Clark secures Firefly to Bruce’s fancy desk, which is bolted into the ground, making it a convenient restraint. With Firefly taken care of, Clark turns back to Bruce.

Only to find him teetering on the edge of his own building, hanging on to the edge of his destroyed wall. People are screaming, outside, and Clark just gives Bruce a judgemental look, knowing that no one can see him. “Don’t you dare.”

Bruce, for his part, just gives him an expression of utmost satisfaction. “Whoops,” he says, completely deadpan, before he lets his fingers go lax, starting his descent towards the pavement below.

Clark doesn’t even think twice. Grabbing Firefly’s flamethrower— the one connected to the wire on his right— he jumps after Bruce, and grabs him by the waist. Bruce, steady heartbeat belying that he is quite unconcerned despite the expression of fake terror on his face, turns to face him as they hang midair, and wraps his arms around his neck.

“My hero!” he simpers, loud enough for people to hear, and then he kisses him. And despite the sheer audacity of the man, Clark lets him, because he really does feel like he deserves it today.

“Hey, listen to this,” Clark says, laughing. “Bruce Wayne seduces new bodyguard after near death experience. Bruce, you’re famous again!”

“Very funny,” Bruce grumbles. “Of course they’d report on that instead of on Maxwell Steele’s arrest.”

“I guess being arrested for colluding with Firefly isn’t juicy enough for the Gotham Gazette.”

“Hm.”

Clark lets Bruce type at his computer a while longer, happy to just sit there and soak up the feeling of satisfaction of a job well done.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Bruce finally says, cutting through the silence. “How did you manage to speak in such a… different voice?”

Clark grins. “Extremely precise muscle control.” He lets his voice drop lower into the deep, silky baritone he’d adopted for his role. “Do you like it, Mr. Wayne?”

Bruce turns to face him, and Clark grins. He speeds off, and returns dressed in the suit, just in time for Bruce to give him a once-over. “I suppose I do,” Bruce replies.

“Which does remind me,” Clark vocalizes, slipping the shades onto his face. “We haven’t yet discussed the terms of my payment.”

“How much would you like?”

Clark stands, and stalks over to Bruce, keeping a serious, emotionless expression on his face. He rests his hands on the armrests of Bruce’s chair, and leans into Bruce’s space until their lips are only a few inches apart. “I believe,” he rumbles, “that we can come to some other arrangement.”

Bruce licks his lips, otherwise expressionless. But his hands come up to run all over Clark’s chest, over the muscles of his arm, around his neck. They come up to his face to trace around his eyes, or rather, around the shades covering them.

“So do I.”

Clark just grins, and kisses him. Being disguised as a bodyguard really did have its perks, even if it was only for a day. He got to have the whole movie experience, down to getting with a hot love interest in the end. It doesn’t get much better than that.

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#DC #DC Comics #Bruce Wayne #Clark Kent #Alfred Pennyworth #Superbat #Batman #Superman #Superbatweek2024 #Fanfiction #Arrives unfashionably late with the day 4 fic at the end of day 5 #Honestly this sorta covers all the prompts for day 4 but undercover seemed like the best fit

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theerurishipper · 10 months ago

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Superbat Week Day 3: Alien Biology

For @superbatweek2024

“I’ve been meaning to ask, how exactly is it that you fly?”

Clark looks at Bruce, eyebrow raised quizzically. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Bruce starts, gesturing at Clark’s form as the man in question happily eats Chocos out of the box, “how exactly does it work? J’onn, for instance, levitates with the help of his telekinetic abilities. It would be useful to understand how it works for you.”

Clark then gives him a huge grin, eyes twinkling with either amusement or the option Bruce hates most: mischief. “It’s because I actually have invisible wings!”

“Clark.”

“No, it’s true,” Clark insists, eyes wide. “Kryptonian biology is very different from most species, you know.”

“Clark.”

“Fine, fine,” Clark huffs. “It’s no fun trying to pull the wool over your eyes, you know? You could throw me a bone every now and then.”

“Of course,” Bruce admits. “But where’s the fun in that?”

Clark throws his Chocos at him, grinning.

“Hey, Spooky!”

Bruce turns begrudgingly at the grating sound of Hal Jordan’s voice. He supresses the part of him that is curious. After all, Hal usually— and thankfully— avoids him for the most part. It gives Bruce a lot more peace in his day, but also has the unintended and unwelcome side effect of making him interested whenever the man swallows his pride to approach him.

“Did you know about this? Did you know and just decide to keep this from everyone?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Hal rolls his eyes. “I’m talking about Supes, man.” He looks around the empty corridor, and leans in closer to Bruce, voice dropping to a whisper.

“Did you know that he has invisible wings?”

It must be an effect of all the idiocy in the air around him, but it’s almost like Bruce can feel his thoughts coming to a screeching halt in his head.

“I… he what?”

The first thing that occurs to him when his brain begins to function again is that Clark is probably way prouder of this idea than he has any right to be. And apparently, for good reason, because Hal seems completely taken in.

Bruce hates being wrong. Especially about this.

“Yeah! He sorta mentioned it in passing… but damn, you think you know a guy, huh?”

Bruce says nothing. He simply watches Hal stand before him, rubbing his head in consternation. And in his fugue state, Bruce makes one of the most questionable decisions of his life.

“I knew.”

“What?” Hal shrieks. “You knew? And didn’t mention this to anyone?”

“It wasn’t my secret to tell.”

Hal frowns. “I guess…” Then he sighs, running a hand through his hair, frustration visible on his face. “I guess you’d know that, huh? And I can safely say that it’s the truth, cause you’re allergic to pranks and fun.”

“Goodbye, Jordan.”

By the end of the day, the whole Watchtower knows of Superman’s magical invisible wings. Bruce can hear the poorly hushed conversations flooding through the entire satellite.

“Batman said he had them, so it must be true!”

“Yeah, he hates fun, he’d never go along with it if it was a prank!”

If only they knew.

“—And now people keep asking if they can feel them!” Clark huffs, head resting on Bruce’s lap.

“Mm.”

“It was funny at first, and it still is… but now, I think it’s falling apart.”

Bruce pats his forehead. “All pranks come to an end. It’s an immutable fact of life.”

“It’s just too good to be over so soon!”

Bruce wisely keeps his thoughts about the quality of Clark’s pranks to himself. Instead, he looks up from his laptop to observe the silent pout on his face, and makes a few calculated decisions. Then he picks up one of Alfred’s cookies and tosses it at Clark’s face.

“What’s this for?” asks Clark, confusedly.

“I’m throwing this at you, in lieu of a bone.”

Bruce has faced many dangers throughout his career as a superhero. Dangerous criminals, the best martial artists in the world, magic users, and even literal demons. But this might be the hardest thing he’s ever done.

“You want me to make Clark a pair of…” Zatanna trails off, and looks back down at the piece of paper he’d handed her. “…invisible attachable magic wings?”

“Yes.”

Zatanna looks up at him, looking absolutely miserable.

“What did you do this time?”

Bruce bristles and glares. “Nothing.”

“If you’re in the doghouse, it’s best you fix whatever you’ve done on your own—”

“It’s not an apology present. I’m helping him with a project.” Zatanna looks mildly curious for a split second, and realization dawns on her face.

“So his invisible wings aren’t real?” she whispers, looking stricken.

Self-control. Bruce is a master of self-control. He will not raise his palm to slap it against his forehead. He will not give into that ever-present urge.

“Of course not.”

“Damn,” she murmurs, looking away as though revaluating her entire existence. Luckily for her, so is Bruce.

But she bounces back fairly quickly, which is only a credit to her character. “All right, I’m down.”

“Thank you.”

“You know,” Zatanna insists as she rolls up her sleeves theatrically, wand already held in her hand, “I’ve never seen you go the extra mile for a prank before. You really love him, don’t you?”

“…Just do the spell.”

Clark’s wings are a big hit. The Hawks are especially thrilled. Bruce loses just a little more faith in everyone’s competency per second.

But seeing Clark’s excited face as he beats his invisible wings and bamboozles everybody within arm’s reach makes it all worth it. Not that he would ever admit as much to the man himself.

But unfortunately (or fortunately, if Alfred is to be believed), Clark knows him too well for all that.

“How hard was it to ask Zatanna to make these for me?” When Bruce doesn’t reply, Clark just grins, his arms coming to wrap around Bruce from the back. “I bet it was hard. I know how much you hate asking for favours.”

“They aren’t permanent, so enjoy them while they last.”

“Sure, sure.” Clark stops speaking, and the Batcave is left in its natural state of silence.

“Thank you, Bruce.”

Bruce doesn’t turn to look at him. “It’s just a pair of wings. Zatanna made them in five seconds.”

“That’s not what I mean. I just—” Clark leans in closer, pressing himself against Bruce’s back, and Bruce can feel his warmth flooding through him.

“This was the silliest thing ever, but you went along with it anyway.”

“Clark.” Bruce turns himself around in Clark’s arms, and lays a hand on his face. “It’s not silly. If you found it amusing, who am I to get in your way?”

“I was so sure you found it… what’s the word you used? Juvenile?”

Bruce gives him one of his lesser, weaker glares. “And now you’ve decided that I’m an expert in comedy? After all the time I’ve spent projecting the opposite?” Clark just laughs, quietly, subdued in a way that leaves Bruce feeling profoundly uneasy.

“I guess…”

Bruce pats his head, ruffling through his hair. “Since when have you cared so much about what I think?”

Clark just looks at him, and then sighs, dropping his head down onto Bruce’s shoulder. “I always care about what you think,” he mutters. “Your opinion means the world to me.”

Bruce’s first thought is to tell Clark that his faith is misplaced. That Bruce isn’t as worthy of admiration or respect as Clark seems to think. That Clark is giving him far too much credit.

But there’s something in the way Clark says those words, quiet and heavy, that renders him speechless, unable to say anything; something that leaves him wishing that it could be true. And so, he just stands there, in Clark’s embrace, trying to convey all the things he can’t say.

It’s Clark who breaks the silence, obviously. “You know… if I told you I had invisible wings right now, that wouldn’t be a lie…”

“I suppose so.”

“I guess I am different from you today. Biologically. Even on the outside.”

“I can’t argue with that.”

“So…” Clark lifts his head up to look at him, expression positively sultry. “There’s a lot of fun we could have with these. Don’t you think so?”

Bruce just looks into his eyes, and raises a hand to run his finger along the soft surface of Zatanna’s magical wings. He drags his hand back, and rests both his arms around Clark’s neck.

“Let it never be said that I don’t know how to have a good time.”

Clark laughs, and kisses him.

“You know,” Clark says, conversationally, idly messing with Bruce’s hair. “I might not have actually had magic wings, but you know what I do have?”

“A penchant for silly pranks?”

Bruce looks up to find Clark waggling his eyebrows, mayhem already gathering in his eyes. “Well, yes,” Clark says, “but I was thinking more along the lines of horns that can detect lies. What do you think?”

Bruce just sighs, and buries his face in Clark’s shoulder. “I can’t lie to your horns. That’s a terrible idea.”

“So…”

“Fine. Let’s do it.”

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#DC #DC Comics #Bruce Wayne #Clark Kent #Batman #Superman #Fanfiction #Superbat #Superbatweek2024 #Hal Jordan #Zatanna Zatara

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