In his hidden, stony cave, It's like a second heaven to know that Superman is not dead. Still, this is about the security of humankind.
After showing the new friend to his ward the way out of the cave, Alfred cleans away the remains from the meal. An hour later, with his usual calm, he collects a nest of hot tea, adding refreshing energy drinks and some healthy snacks. All are products that can survive several hours in the hands of the cave.
Now he just has to look for the frustrated and disappointed Bruce.
Not that the young gentleman would ever admit to possessing the vulnerability these feelings suggested. Cold Bat rage and focused goals were much easier to acknowledge.
“I can only assume you forgot to tell the other reasons for acquiring your impressing amount of kryptonite.” Alfred inquiries, approaching him in front of the computers.
Bruce tries to ignore his oldest friend and confidant, when that fails, "the bat glare" might help.
“The kryptonite...” Alfred continues, while placing the quaint nest of nutrition next to Bruce. “I do believe we got all of it in order for Superman’s survival.” He hums and lifts a pointed brow, almost smiling. “So “the… blue and red idiot doesn't die on my watch”, I believe were your exact words.”
Alfred pours tea for Bruce. The elderly man has, to prevent possible future gastric ulcers, reduce his ward's coffee intake. Not to mention that coffee, after a certain time, stops raising your level of alertness. A meaningless habit by everyone's judgement.
"I'd like a cup of coffee”, says Bruce.
A sigh, for some direct dramatic effect. When you try to guide Bruce and keep Batman alive, the little victories motivate you to try again.
“We have talked about what fits best with Batman's chemical health.
Alfred has lost count of all attempts to persuade the master to let go of his bad habit.
“You live in a circle”, Alfred informed again. “A habit where the coffee is needed to achieve the level of alertness you had before you took on your inconvenient choice.”
One bad circle for Batman, one would presume. Perhaps it even reduces Bruce's grumpiness? One can only hope, Alfred thinks with fondness.
“Then there is the matter of the portable sun, and the forming of the little quaint group of hero friends,” Alfred continues, as if they haven't discussed the subject of coffee, “and the surveillance of network groups focused on the blue boyscout.”
“Alfred, do you think I've pushed him away? Do you think he can... will understand?”, Bruce inquiries in an uncharacteristic moment of voluntary openness, vulnerability even.
With the teacup in hand, the butler looks at him with his eyes softening and the seconds ticking.
“Bruce, I don’t think he's .... petty ... But you surprised him with a great truth. No .. A fraction of a truth. The part that puts you in a bad light, and directs his attention away from the whole picture.”
The tea tastes like everything Alfred composes.
The suggestion of a smile lives a short time at the sight of Bruce who drinks of the tea.
“Thank you for your advice, Alfred, it means a lot.”
“Sir,” responds the man who raised him.
Batman’s name ran through the cave. Raising the bats from their sleep. Their high-pitched screams filling the cave. A perfect setting for Superman and the rest of his superhero friends.
Alerted, disappointed and after stopping the alarms the intruders have enabled, Batman turns away from his electronic displays.
Batman could see, him, the man himself, with his glowing red eyes.
He calculates, plans within plans, and suppresses feelings of disillusions.
Wonder Woman with her lasso of truth. Flash in his red costume. Aquaman in jeans pants and bare upper body. An annoying man with his green ring. A hot tempered woman with hawk wings, a man from Mars and a man united with a machine.
Super speed, and suddenly Superman stands way too close to Batman.
“Time’s up, I have come for the kryptonite,” Superman claims. Without room for negotiations, the man goes on: “You had your days to make it available to me!”
Before he can stop himself, Batman's body, by instinct, falls into a defensive position. Superman only raises an eyebrow (in disgust? Disappointment?), before his super speed bypasses all of Batman's defenses and lifts the knight of the night by his throat.
It’s all almost cartoonish.
“So you think you can stand up to me.” Mockingly, Superman floats from the ground, still with a good grip around his prey’s throat.
“You prove my point to me,” is everything Batman answers before Superman shows him a look of disgust, so unlike anything Bruce thought the hero was able to.
Or is it distress? Bruce knows that his own analytic frame is a little affected by fear and need for this man, this hero’s acceptance… and many more. Not that he would ever admit it, of course.
“Do not believe you are so much better than the rest of us? "You have no proof that you see the world clearer than me, Bat," You have a trace of evidence that you do not see the world so much clearer than me, Bat,” mocks his friend,
Surprised by Superman's lack of mercy, trust, Bruce swallows down beating fear.
"I've seen how you look at me, Batman”
“What?”, is everything Bruce is able to say before their lips meet, in anything but careful contact.
Willingly he separates his lips. All thoughts of the other peoples present forgotten and their kryptonite disagreement left aside. Hard lips, quickly become soft. A tongue asking for permission before invading the cave of Bruce's mouth. Lures Batman's lips to submission.
“Oh, Batman”, Superman smiles, seductively.
Without resistance, his hands goes on to search Batman's body.
Big, strong hands follow the contour of Batman's armor. Down and down, laying around the buttocks, grabbing, and holding Bruce closer to Superman's hard cock.
He can’t help himself, and leans into the touch. Desperately, he answers his own body's demands.
The kiss deepens, while their groins meet, hard against each other. Bruce stiffens when the hot, demanding fingers of the alien begin to tear up Batman's armor. Large pieces disappear, are thrown away. Muscular scarred skin is exposed to be embraced by the hands of the kryptonian.
Bruce can feel his willpower fade at every heavenly touch from demanding fingers and lips of Superman. He must concentrate to remember to free his own thighs grip from around Superman's hips. The sounds he can hear from his mouth, his body, are obscene, and so real.
Bruce's blue grey opens up, he sits up in his bed. The sweat of adrenaline rages through him, over him. Sitting in his excessively big bed, bathed in the early morning rays his cock demands, hard, undivided attention.
Bruce accepts the facts, as he understands it.
He may be all that stands between the world and this super-powered creature. An individual he, paranoid Batman, may have pushed away from all hope of communication. A man he wants to fuck and be fucked by.
Batman with his red beating heart decides.
This is not what he signed up for.
But Batman will persevere.
Pleasantly surprised to see his ward up so early, Alfred starts on his morning project of making a good breakfast. A delight gradually reduced by master Bruce's new convictions.
“We are in need of an ally, like Wonder Woman, to make Superman understand. We also need to find out who Superman's human alter ego is.”
Bruce stops, and then adds;
“I have my suspicions on who it is ... but it must be absolutely confirmed.”
Consequently, Alfred has confirmed with The Daily Planet that their star journalist Lois Lane (Superman's girlfriend?) will get the interview she has pursued, provided that her colleague Clark Kent is present.
Two days after, Clark Kent, potential Superman No. 1, and Lois Lane, the woman the world believes is his girlfriend, awaits a signal from Bruce's secretary.
Bruce breathes calmly, puts himself in Brucie mode and presses the button on his phone.
“Linda, dear”, Brucie sings, dripping flirting undertones. “You can let them in.”
“Yes, Mr. Wayne”, she answers, voice as professional as ever.
The two journalists see Brucie, leaning back, feet resting on the desk table, enjoying the window view over the city.
Slowly he turns his head to the new people in the room. The smile stretches over the face, misses the eyes, and his feet hit the floor. Sensually, detached, and seductive, in Brucie style he approaches them.
Behind deceptively empty eyes, Bruce studies Clark Kent.
The man in his loose-fitting suit, has a somewhat forward-bent, lumpy body shape. A posturer unquestionably different from the Kryptonian. The billionaire knows many tall men, in order to not be overly prominent, acquire the habit of making them self seem smaller. At the same time, it can be a calculated part of a disguise. In his quest to do no harm, Superman has acquired a body control anybody can feel envy for.
“Can I offer some refreshments?” He asks on his way to the wine closet.
“WWWWater would be good, thank you”, requests a stammering Mr. Kent.
“Coffee, black as night”, Lois Lane answers.
Lois Lane's wish reminds Bruce of the last 4 days under Alfred's coffee free project. It may be time for caffeine free or a rebellion. However no one creates war on several fronts if they can avoid it.
Bruce spices up the coffee handover to Ms. Lane with mandatory Brucie attention, and her response is wrapped up in flirting. With his most glorious smile he hands over water to Mr. Kent.
So close, Bruce can see that the color of the hair and possibly its texture is similar to Superman's, except for the actual haircut. The jaw seems softer, less prominent, but Bruce suspects it's a psychological effect of Clark's body language.
They shake hands. Clark Kent is somewhat relaxed and restrained in the handshake. Brucie smiles his well-behaved smile and looks into the unworldly, famous blue expressive eyes hidden behind thick glasses. Ah, there you are, Superman, Bruce thinks while looking into Clark’s eyes free from disappointment and any hint of hostility. Oh, Bruce thinks, suddenly, that it was not just talk of sexual attraction from his side.
It’s worse, so much worse.
With the willpower of Batman, Bruce moves the palpitations down.
"Hoping it also leads Clark's attention away from Bruce's eyes and any unintentional communication between them, Bruce calls Clark "Lark" by intentional mistake."
With disarming laughter he invites them to sit in two of the chairs at his desk table, where he is sitting in the backlight.
Matters of the heart are safely put away for later evaluation.
Even under the wide-fitting clothes and conspicuous body language, now that he knows what he is looking for, Bruce can recognize the muscles and wide shoulders.
From time to time there are unforeseen advantages to having the alias Brucie, playboy billionaire. Like having an oblivious “in disguise Superman” to extracted information from and to flirt with. Bruce is not in doubt, this is going to be entertaining.
“So, what can I do for y…..”
Before he can start the interview, an exploding boom fills the air. Fire lickes up from one of the buildings further down Gotham's center.
Damn .. thinks Bruce, aware of a part that had liked to observe Superman Clark Kent in full depiction.
“Eh .. I have to go out for a walk,” Clark Kent states.
“Brucie, can we have an interview with you on a later occasion?” Lois Lane ask before hesitating. “Can Clark continue the interview, maybe get a statement from you about this new situation?”
“eh ....”, starts mr Kent.
Peculiar. Does Lois Lane, Superman's supposed girlfriend, not know his secret identity? Or did she pretend in order to help him maintain his cover?
“My secretary will contact you,” says Bruce, “for a future interview.”
“Brucie,” Lois Lane smiles, “If you like Clark can…”
“Linda,” ask Bruice while pushing the button that opens a dialogue with her. “Can you show these good journalists out and give them a new date for a future interview?”
With a brilliant Brucie smile, deserving one of Alfred's raised eyebrows, he turns towards them both, saying,
“There’s a disaster further down the center, and we all know how journalists like to... inform the masses about them.”
Close to entertained, Bruce observes Lois external signs of an internal battle. Perhaps she weighs the possibility of the momentary pleasure of reproving Brucie, up against the prospect of a future interview.
Clark rolls his eyes before turning his full attention to Brucie. A focus not diminished by Clark's posture. This man is brilliantly beautiful in everything he focuses on.
Only Ms. Lane's arm on Clark’s shoulder stops a tirade from the journalist. That and the secretary who invites the journalists out of the room and, in the same sentence, welcomes them back.
As soon as they have gone, Bruce asks that Linda reschedule all the appointments for the day and not disturb him as he goes home, for safety reasons.
Fortunately, he has a lighter copy of the costume in the car, and soon enough, Batman takes the stage.