Chapter Text
“And the award of the Philanthropist of the Year goes to… Bruce Wayne!”
Applause rolled down as soon as the prompter ordered. Eyes soon focused on a singular point: the man of desire.
Mr. Wayne’s speech was inspiring, especially the part about orphanages. It completely blew the other speeches out of the water, not really hard to be honest.
Clark had heard many speeches before, and they were all the same. Probably because they all shared the same writer, most rich people had no originality, it is known.
His eyes fatigued as others came up on stage, marketing whatever products they had.
He’d rather write an article on the wrongs of AI, Lex Luthor’s model in particular, than report on this self-complimenting “award” show. Fed up with the charade, he opted for a breather outside.
The moon shyly peeked at the horizon; night still young. But the noise was unbearable. Discreetly, he jumped on the roof and stayed there until his heart felt ready to handle the nonsense again. But as he approached the roof’s door, he bumped into Mr. Bruce Wayne himself, hunched over the roof’s barrier.
“Mr. Wayne,” he said, admiring the defined sculpture of a man. Thin perked waist, cigar in hand, piercing azure gaze.
“Tired of the noise too?”
Clark nodded and gripped his satchel. He then focused on the cigar, as to not ogle at his interlocutor, yet still pay attention.
“I’m not a smoker, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Mr. Wayne approached and blew on Clark’s face. “See? No smell.”
Clark stirred away from the lips in front. “A prop? Why?”
“I like to pretend, so that people leave me alone during my ‘smoking breaks’, it’s a great people-repellent at times. Wanna try?”
Mr. Wayne handed the cigar over and Clark couldn't resist.
He blew the fake smoke as well, and while he did so, the taste of Mr. Wayne’s lips lingered. Or at least the image he had of it. He gave it back.
Mr. Wayne took it. “So? Why are you here?”
“Taking a break too’”
“But how did you open the door? It was closed.”
Shit. “Someone must’ve closed after me. How did you open the door?” Clark deflected.
Mr. Wayne put his hands up. “You got me! Don’t tell anyone I lock picked, okay?” He winked.
Clark held his swooning and let Superman talk instead. “Lock picking is wrong.”
“I know, I know. Bad habits. I promise not to do it again, I promise!”
“You’re lying.”
Mr. Wayne smirked. “You’re perceptive, a true journalist. As expected from the guy who made this roof white.”
Clark looked down. The paint was relatively new, probably done shortly after his latest article about climate change, and how to reduce air conditioners’ usage. Wait. “You remember my name from an article?”
“Of course I do. I read the Daily Planet regularly to keep up with the news. I’d love it if they interviewed me.”
What an incredible opportunity.
Lately, Lex Luthor's AI had dominated the news market, to the point where old-school journalism was in danger of extinction. If Clark didn’t deliver an article proving his worth as an irreplaceable member of the team, he would lose his job. And his “exclusive” interviews with Superman weren’t unique anymore, so he needed another gig.
Clark took his clipboard out of his satchel, then leaped at the chance. “Could I be the one?”
“Sure.” Mr. Wayne undid his tie.
“Mr. Wayne, you won the Philanthropist of the Year award at the 52nd Gotham Academy Awards. What would you like to say to your peers who, collectively, haven't given half as much as you did this past year?”
“Oh? Now?” He laughed. “I like your boldness.”
Clark’s blood rushed, to his cheeks, and down there too, a bit. It was hard to resist the playboy’s laughter and flirting. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer here, nor now. We can schedule for later.”
Mr. Wayne shook his head. “No, it’s fine. My schedule is packed and I won’t have time anytime soon. Today is perfect, nothing seems to be happening anyway.”
Clark adjusted his clipboard. “Do you want me to repeat the question?”
“No, I remember.” Mr. Wayne tossed his cigar away, then took his award on the roof's barrier. “What I want to say to my peers… I assume you’re talking about fellow billionaires?"
Clark nodded.
“Well, they should compete with me and give away more. There’s enough problems in the world they could solve with wealth alone, so they should. It is but a duty for a citizen to aspire at a better life for all. Because that’s what societies were made for, and what we should thrive to pursue.”
His tone was playful at first, but once the deeper message came through, he sounded rougher, full of conviction. That was oddly attractive, but mainly thought-provoking.
Clark managed to write everything down, his near inhuman writing speed helped.
“Is this also the philosophy of Wayne Enterprises? Or do shareholders hold different values?”
“They hold stocks, not values.” Mr. Wayne held Clark’s writing hand. “Don’t write that.”
Cold. Cold hands slowly warming up to Clark’s.
“You’re hot.”
Clark jolted. “What?”
“I mean, your hands are hot.”
Right, what was he thinking? Bruce Wayne had a different model on his arm for every event, why would he look at Clark Kent among anyone.
“So,” Mr. Wayne said, stepping back, “about the last question. My shareholders do hold me accountable for my company’s philosophy, evidently. However, I’m still the majority shareholder, and therefore my word rises above theirs. It’s a complicated matter, and I don’t think any answers could satisfy you, if I’m being honest.”
Clark shook his head. “It’s more than enough for this question, but I have some more.”
“How about we go somewhere more appropriate?” Mr. Wayne briefly looked at the night sky.
What even was he doing? It was no place for an interview. He got too distracted, that’s for sure. “We can go wherever you’d like.”
“Then how about we go to my home? You could come and see me in my intimacy, it’d be better for you to see who I truly am. I could even give you a personal interview, one no other journalist could ever get out of me.”
Given the insistence, Clark felt obliged. And honestly, he couldn't refuse, his career was on the line.
They headed toward the Wayne Manor.
***
Clark admired the gargantuan edifice as Mr. Wayne thanked his driver. How polite.
“Personal driver?”
“No. I don’t have one. He is from the recently launched taxi service.”
“Wayne Enterprises has expanded widely in recent years, is there any motive behind this growth?”
“You don’t waste a minute, don’t you?” Mr. Wayne said, amused. He then put his hand on Clark’s back, next to the waist, while he invited with his other hand. “Shall we?”
They went in.
“Welcome,” the voice echoed. “You can put your affairs anywhere, make yourself comfortable.”
Clark hesitated. His ever-present satchel was essential as a journalist who used simple non-technological tools, but the main issue was his Kryptonian devices, like Krypto’s favorite ball. A simple glance would reveal his identity, but keeping the satchel could raise suspicions. No choice then.
He took the clipboard out, pen included, and hung the satchel on one of the many empty coat stand.
Did Mr. Wayne live alone? In this manor fifty times the size of an apartment in Metropolis? It must feel lonely.
He followed the billionaire once they got rid of baggages.
Numerous portraits adorned the walls, mainly of his parents, even his butler. But the portraits of him were rare, and all of them depicted his young self, always accompanied by someone else. None of them were a simple portrait of the current Bruce Wayne. As if he wasn’t that person.
Well, who would like to see a painting, or a picture, of themselves everywhere in their home? At least the man was no narcissicist, which explained the philanthropy.
They stopped in a bedroom, probably his.
“Would you like some fire?” Mr. Wayne proposed, pointing at the luxurious fireplace.
Clark kept his blazer on, because he felt chilly, but also because he didn’t want to show off his body by accident. He had sweat too much by sitting next to Mr. Wayne during the travel, so combined with a white shirt, his lines could be seen, maybe. There was the problem of his Superman suit too.
Stay professional, his colleagues would say. Easier said than done, especially when you see a sturdy bed large enough for two.
“I’m fine.”
“Alright, I’m warm too.” Mr Wayne glanced at him. “So this is perfect.”
They sat across each other on comfortable armchairs.
“At your ease?”
Clark nodded, resisting his urge to ogle at Mr. Wayne’s perfect face. The moonlight made the ordeal almost impossible as his curiosity died to know what the man looked like under this light, within this room. The more this interview will go, the less professional it will be.
He had to hurry, and Mr. Wayne had better to do than entertain a boy from Kansas.
“About the question asked earlier, do you need me to repeat?” he said, tensed.
“ ‘Wayne Enterprises has expanded widely in recent years, is there any motive behind this growth?’ Was it?” Mr. Wayne said smugly. “The motive behind the growth is money. It always is: money. We plan to expand even further so that we can reach more people. It is my way to fight against the layoffs caused by the rise of AI in workspaces. I hope to create as many jobs as I can to overcompensate, but also to help people in general.”
A perfect physique. A great memory. A heart of gold. What more?
Clark’s handwriting got shaky. “That’s inspiring.”
“Mr. Kent—Can I call you Clark?”
Nod.
“Clark, I need you to relax. I can’t answer well if you don’t, and we might have to stop if so.”
He stretched his collar. “I’m sorry, Mr. Wayne.”
“Take your blazer off too, it’s getting hotter. Also, call me Bru-ce.”
Hoping the dark would conceal his secrets, Clark did as told, then practiced, “Bruce.”
“That’s better, right?” Bruce unbuttoned his shirt, letting most of his pectorals to breathe. “That way, we can freely talk. And you can always edit things out to make it more formal, so it’s a non-issue, right?”
Clark peeked at the debut of his abs before refocusing on writing. “You’re correct.” He stared at his clipboard, afraid of freeing his true thoughts about Bruce.
They continued with the interview, this time with a casual tone. It went on and on, about the mundane, the business, the lifestyle.
Clark had experience with interviews, mostly of Superman. But as he, Superman, opened to more and more journalists all over the world, what used to be exclusive was not anymore. A mistake, in retrospect, but now that he had Bruce Wayne, maybe he could develop a relationship.
A professional one, to save his career. Of course. Of course.
“Do you mind if I wear my sleeping attire?” Bruce asked.
Clark shook his head. “I don't mind.”
Then the unbelievable happened.
Bruce took off his Oxford shoes, then undressed in front of him, completely shameless. His pants came down first. Then he stood and got rid of the shirt. The socks were next, and that was when he bent over.
The moonlight highlighted the figure. And the jockstrap, the only cloth left, formed a shadow resembling the bat-symbol for a moment. Heat must’ve imbibed his mind, because the hallucination disappeared as soon as his eyes analyzed every corner of the man.
Grabbable waist, toned muscles, hardened scars. Looking at Bruce was extremely satisfying, in every sense, and the perfect amount of body hair was the cherry on the cake. The cake being irresistible in this case.
“I usually sleep naked, but I’ll keep the underwear for professionalism.”
He snapped out of it. Did Bruce notice?
“You must be uneasy, but I have an idea to make you comfortable,” Bruce said, one eyebrow raised. “Wanna play a game?”
“W-What kind of game?”
Bruce returned to his seat, closing his legs. His bulge got prominent as a result, and it was the only thing Clark’s peripheral vision could focus on.
“From now on, for each question you ask, you have to take a piece of cloth off. In return, if I refuse to answer, I’ll have to do anything you want me to.”
Maybe he got tired of the interview and wanted to cut it short; Clark only had so many clothes on. Or maybe he wanted a naked Clark on his bed.
Definitely the latter. Because he, for sure, noticed the way Clark looked at him.
So much for professionalism.
Clark took his glasses off, starting the game. “Bruce, what is your opinion about celibate billionaires? And are you one of them?”
May the true interview begin.