An Innocent Cicisbeo (1/4)
Title: An Innocent Cicisbeo (1/4)
Characters: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne; Wonder Woman, Perry White, Steve Lombard, Lois Lane
Fandom: DC Comics
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: R eventually, PG this chapter
Word Count: 1000
Summary: Clark Kent fled a loveless marriage and remade himself into Kal Starr, male escort and gem of the beau monde. Now his latest client is infamous fop and pink of the ton, Bruce Wayne, Earl of Gotham--and his estranged husband! When Bruce fails to recognize him, Kal struggles to keep from becoming entangled once more with the man who spurned his affection, both to protect his secret double life as a crime-fighter on the foggy streets of London--and his heart.
Notes: Written for the Unconventional Courtship challenge, and based on the summary for the Harlequin romance An Innocent Courtesan. "Cicisbeo" was an actual term of the time for a male "gallant and lover" of a married woman...I have manufactured a cheerfully pansexual Regency for the purposes of this story.
Kal Starr put the last touches on his pomade, letting that one unruly curl fall down on his forehead in the manner that he had been told was particularly charming. Downstairs he could hear the sounds of the pianoforte and the gentle murmur of polite conversation as patrons began to arrive for the evening. He adjusted his starched collar--the points fashionably but never vulgarly high--and was brushing a bit of of lint from his cream-colored kerseymere breeches when Steven Lombard stuck his head around the door.
"Starr, are you going to fuss in the mirror all night? The lords and ladies of the great metropolis of London await us!"
Kal lifted an eyebrow at Steve's clothing, from the well-padded shoulders down to the rosettes of his dancing-pumps. "Expecting a visit from Oliver Queen tonight?" Lombard was far from the wittiest cicisbeo at Il Pianeta, but even Kal had to admit no one could dance better than him.
"Jealous?" Lombard waggled his eyebrows and leered. "If you'd hone your skills in the art of love, Starr, maybe you could catch a better patron than that bluestocking princess of yours."
"I don't need to hone my skills in anything, Lombard," Kal snapped. The cicisbei and cyprians at Il Pianeta were free to negotiate a sexual relationship with their patrons, but it was by no means required--most clients simply wanted an evening of conversation and pampering, dancing and flirting with someone for whom they would be the center of the universe...for a little time. That Kal Starr had always kept it at that level had been remarked on, but beyond Lombard's teasing no one seemed to mind.
Lombard laughed and spread his hands. "No need to get prickly, Starr. Ready to get to work?"
"I should hope so," said an acerbic voice from the hall, and Kal hurried from his room to find Lois Lane waiting, tapping one foot impatiently, the ostrich feather in her black velvet turban nodding in time. With a rustle of muslin, she shooed them down the hall. "According to Mr. White, we must all be on our best behavior this evening--a new gentleman will be stopping in and he wants us to be truly captivating. Oh Kal," she said disapprovingly, "Won't you wear the sage-green waistcoat instead of that scarlet? It wouldn't clash so much with the dark blue tailcoat."
"But I wish to stand out," he said, kissing her on the cheek. "And some people like a little clash."
And then they swept down the great staircase into the salon of Il Pianeta.
The evening was in full swing by the time Princess Diana arrived, wearing a simple white dress in the Grecian fashion--when she had arrived in London four years ago, the story went, she had singlehandedly set off a craze for all things Greek. Kal went up to her and bowed deeply, kissing her outstretched hand, quite aware that the motion showed off his calves to their best advantage. "Princess," he murmured. "As always, your beauty enhances our humble salon as the stars enhance the empty night sky."
She laughed and pulled him to a seat where they could talk more easily. Many people watched them go with jealousy in their eyes: some for him, others for her. Princess Diana of Themyscira was known to be Kal's special patron, so none interrupted their conversation.
"What does my mistress's schedule hold this week?" Kal said. "Another ball? Perhaps a trip to the theater?" He often escorted her to such events, although she had told him frankly that his dancing still needed improving.
"I was thinking," she said lightly, her eyes scanning the room, "That perhaps we could get together Friday afternoon for another training session."
Kal's heart leapt and he made no attempt to hide the delight in his face. "My lady's whim is my command," he said, eliciting another pleased gurgle of laughter from her.
"You are busy tonight," she said, her eyes scanning the room. Across the way, Steve Lombard was dancing with Oliver Queen and Lady Dinah Lance in turns, and it was anyone's bet which of the two--or both together--would be accompanying him upstairs later. Catherine Grant was sitting on a loveseat with a politician's head in her lap, listening raptly to his discussion of the hardships of his work as he twined a lock of her golden hair around his finger. Lois Lane was everywhere at once--pouring drinks, playing the pianoforte, getting into spirited arguments about women's rights with delighted pinks of the ton.
"We have been doing quite well lately," Kal agreed. "It helps to have the patronage of an enchanting, cultured princess."
She rapped him lightly on the back of his hand with her fan, her eyes dancing, and was about to speak when the doors swung open and a newcomer arrived.
His jet-black hair was carefully arranged in the newly-fashionable Brutus style, his intricately-folded cravat stuck through with a diamond pin. His shirt-points were so high and sharp they looked as if they might cut his earlobes, and his waistcoat under the coat of dark brown superfine was thickly embroidered with silver spangles that caught the light. From his deliberately-disheveled curls to his immaculately polished black Hessian boots with the golden tassels, it was clear the man was a Corinthian indeed, a dandy of the most elegant type. He gazed around the room, looking down his nose at all and sundry, and smiled a wry and wicked smile.
"What's wrong?" The concern in Diana's voice made Kal realize he was on his feet, the hubbub of the room fading around him as he stared at the man in the doorway. She tugged him back down to the seat with a hand that was gentle yet implacable, and he sat with a distinctly ungenteel thump. "Have you met him before? That's Bruce Wayne, the Earl of Gotham."
"I know," Kal murmured, managing not to add, as Bruce started to walk towards them: And he's my husband!
Characters: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne; Wonder Woman, Perry White, Steve Lombard, Lois Lane
Fandom: DC Comics
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: R eventually, PG this chapter
Word Count: 1000
Summary: Clark Kent fled a loveless marriage and remade himself into Kal Starr, male escort and gem of the beau monde. Now his latest client is infamous fop and pink of the ton, Bruce Wayne, Earl of Gotham--and his estranged husband! When Bruce fails to recognize him, Kal struggles to keep from becoming entangled once more with the man who spurned his affection, both to protect his secret double life as a crime-fighter on the foggy streets of London--and his heart.
Notes: Written for the Unconventional Courtship challenge, and based on the summary for the Harlequin romance An Innocent Courtesan. "Cicisbeo" was an actual term of the time for a male "gallant and lover" of a married woman...I have manufactured a cheerfully pansexual Regency for the purposes of this story.
Kal Starr put the last touches on his pomade, letting that one unruly curl fall down on his forehead in the manner that he had been told was particularly charming. Downstairs he could hear the sounds of the pianoforte and the gentle murmur of polite conversation as patrons began to arrive for the evening. He adjusted his starched collar--the points fashionably but never vulgarly high--and was brushing a bit of of lint from his cream-colored kerseymere breeches when Steven Lombard stuck his head around the door.
"Starr, are you going to fuss in the mirror all night? The lords and ladies of the great metropolis of London await us!"
Kal lifted an eyebrow at Steve's clothing, from the well-padded shoulders down to the rosettes of his dancing-pumps. "Expecting a visit from Oliver Queen tonight?" Lombard was far from the wittiest cicisbeo at Il Pianeta, but even Kal had to admit no one could dance better than him.
"Jealous?" Lombard waggled his eyebrows and leered. "If you'd hone your skills in the art of love, Starr, maybe you could catch a better patron than that bluestocking princess of yours."
"I don't need to hone my skills in anything, Lombard," Kal snapped. The cicisbei and cyprians at Il Pianeta were free to negotiate a sexual relationship with their patrons, but it was by no means required--most clients simply wanted an evening of conversation and pampering, dancing and flirting with someone for whom they would be the center of the universe...for a little time. That Kal Starr had always kept it at that level had been remarked on, but beyond Lombard's teasing no one seemed to mind.
Lombard laughed and spread his hands. "No need to get prickly, Starr. Ready to get to work?"
"I should hope so," said an acerbic voice from the hall, and Kal hurried from his room to find Lois Lane waiting, tapping one foot impatiently, the ostrich feather in her black velvet turban nodding in time. With a rustle of muslin, she shooed them down the hall. "According to Mr. White, we must all be on our best behavior this evening--a new gentleman will be stopping in and he wants us to be truly captivating. Oh Kal," she said disapprovingly, "Won't you wear the sage-green waistcoat instead of that scarlet? It wouldn't clash so much with the dark blue tailcoat."
"But I wish to stand out," he said, kissing her on the cheek. "And some people like a little clash."
And then they swept down the great staircase into the salon of Il Pianeta.
The evening was in full swing by the time Princess Diana arrived, wearing a simple white dress in the Grecian fashion--when she had arrived in London four years ago, the story went, she had singlehandedly set off a craze for all things Greek. Kal went up to her and bowed deeply, kissing her outstretched hand, quite aware that the motion showed off his calves to their best advantage. "Princess," he murmured. "As always, your beauty enhances our humble salon as the stars enhance the empty night sky."
She laughed and pulled him to a seat where they could talk more easily. Many people watched them go with jealousy in their eyes: some for him, others for her. Princess Diana of Themyscira was known to be Kal's special patron, so none interrupted their conversation.
"What does my mistress's schedule hold this week?" Kal said. "Another ball? Perhaps a trip to the theater?" He often escorted her to such events, although she had told him frankly that his dancing still needed improving.
"I was thinking," she said lightly, her eyes scanning the room, "That perhaps we could get together Friday afternoon for another training session."
Kal's heart leapt and he made no attempt to hide the delight in his face. "My lady's whim is my command," he said, eliciting another pleased gurgle of laughter from her.
"You are busy tonight," she said, her eyes scanning the room. Across the way, Steve Lombard was dancing with Oliver Queen and Lady Dinah Lance in turns, and it was anyone's bet which of the two--or both together--would be accompanying him upstairs later. Catherine Grant was sitting on a loveseat with a politician's head in her lap, listening raptly to his discussion of the hardships of his work as he twined a lock of her golden hair around his finger. Lois Lane was everywhere at once--pouring drinks, playing the pianoforte, getting into spirited arguments about women's rights with delighted pinks of the ton.
"We have been doing quite well lately," Kal agreed. "It helps to have the patronage of an enchanting, cultured princess."
She rapped him lightly on the back of his hand with her fan, her eyes dancing, and was about to speak when the doors swung open and a newcomer arrived.
His jet-black hair was carefully arranged in the newly-fashionable Brutus style, his intricately-folded cravat stuck through with a diamond pin. His shirt-points were so high and sharp they looked as if they might cut his earlobes, and his waistcoat under the coat of dark brown superfine was thickly embroidered with silver spangles that caught the light. From his deliberately-disheveled curls to his immaculately polished black Hessian boots with the golden tassels, it was clear the man was a Corinthian indeed, a dandy of the most elegant type. He gazed around the room, looking down his nose at all and sundry, and smiled a wry and wicked smile.
"What's wrong?" The concern in Diana's voice made Kal realize he was on his feet, the hubbub of the room fading around him as he stared at the man in the doorway. She tugged him back down to the seat with a hand that was gentle yet implacable, and he sat with a distinctly ungenteel thump. "Have you met him before? That's Bruce Wayne, the Earl of Gotham."
"I know," Kal murmured, managing not to add, as Bruce started to walk towards them: And he's my husband!