Fic: The Wayne Foundation (Clark/Bruce)
Title: The Wayne Foundation
Pairing/Characters: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Rating: PG-13
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Fandom: DCU
Summary: A flirtatious socialite kisses Bruce Wayne at a charity ball, and when Clark Kent drags him off for "a little talk," suspicions are confirmed. But that little talk isn't quite what people assume...
Word Count: 1200
The gossip columns and messages boards, and Tumblr--especially Tumblr--were ablaze with it the next morning, and there was no denying the facts of the matter. It had been a charity ball hosted by Bruce Wayne, for victims of domestic violence or something (those weren’t the details people focused on especially). There were paparazzi and socialites scattered everywhere, with Bruce Wayne at the center of it all, smiling and gracious. The reporters from Metropolis, Clark Kent and Cat Grant, had been hovering near the windows, taking notes and making small talk.
The people chatting with them had noticed when Cat Grant had grabbed Kent’s elbow and murmured, “Over there. Signe Coulston.” She’d nodded at a striking young woman with artfully tousled red hair, wearing a sapphire-blue gown. “She’s one of them.” Kent had frowned and shaken his elbow free, and no one in the little group had thought anything else of it until--
Until Signe Coulston had waltzed up to Bruce Wayne and linked her arm with his, smiling up at him. Clark Kent went very still as Signe suddenly tossed her arms around Wayne’s neck and kissed him full on the mouth, then backed off, giggling and blushing.
His conversational partners were largely startled--although Cat Grant had merely smirked--when Kent broke away and stalked over to where Bruce Wayne was standing, still looking faintly surprised. “You and I need to have a little talk,” Kent had growled, grabbing him by the elbow. “And you’ve got some explaining to do!” he added, dragging him out of the room.
Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne certainly weren’t the only people talking after that little scene. The “Bruce Wayne” tag on Tumblr was a total mess, and the morning talk shows got their hands on some amateur footage of the “tiff” and were airing it with glee.
However, if people had known what the two men in question were talking about, they might have been rather surprised.
“The Wayne Foundation,” Clark said in the CEO’s office of Wayne Towers, his arms crossed, still scowling. “That’s what Cat said it was called. And don’t bother to tell me you don’t know about it, I know you too well for that.”
“Of course I know about it!” Bruce sat down in his executive leather chair and twirled around once, bringing the rotation to an abrupt stop with one wingtip planted on the mahogany desk. “The so-called ‘Wayne Foundation,’” he said, waving his fingers in the air to mark the words, “is a group of bored socialites who have a betting pool on who can manage to steal a kiss from Bruce Wayne. He usually dodges, but now and then they manage to get past his guard and plant one on him, to the general merriment of all the group.”
“And you allow this?” Clark said.
“I can hardly keep them from being merry, Clark,” said Bruce, smiling up at him in full-on “charming vapid playboy” mode. The he relented and his face turned serious, though his eyes were still twinkling. “But I assume that’s not what you mean.”
“I just don’t like it,” Clark mumbled, looking out the window at the skyline.
“I promise it’s never anything more than a kiss, Clark. I wouldn’t--”
“Oh, you don’t think--” Clark looked at him, surprised. “I’m not worried about that, Bruce. I just...don’t like them using you like that. Like a toy, or a prize. Like a thing.”
Bruce chuckled, shaking his head. “Clark. Don’t know know by now I always have an ulterior motive? One of the only times Bruce Wayne appears in public are these charity gatherings,” he went on as Clark frowned at him, puzzled. “So if the Wayne Foundation wants to have a crack at me…”
“...They have to keep giving to charity,” Clark said, comprehension dawning on his face.
“Even better, some of them have truly been touched by the charities in question and have become activists for some really good causes. You know Antonietta Raye?”
“The woman who raised all that money for service dogs for veterans?”
Bruce nodded. “A founding member of the less-legit Wayne Foundation.”
Clark was staring at him in something close to awe. “You really are the most manipulative person on the planet. Tricking people into becoming useful members of society through stolen kisses.”
Bruce smirked briefly, then seemed to think of something else. “Oh, and they keep the most amazing database. It’s been really useful sometimes to track my own public behavior. I haven’t checked it in a couple of months--something has been distracting me, I believe,” he said, rising from his chair and giving Clark a quick peck on the cheek. “Shall we give it a look?”
Soon enough the two of them were staring at a computer screen, intently browsing through the data the “Wayne Foundation” had on Bruce Wayne’s likes and tendencies.
“They’ve got a whole complicated ranking system for how close someone gets to kissing me--do I avoid them? Do I kiss their hand? Their cheek? How enthusiastic do I seem? Then they cross-index it with a wealth of other factors.” Bruce nodded with grudging admiration. “It’s a very sophisticated algorithm.”
“What do you know,” Clark said, pointing to one set of data. “You have a marked predilection for dark-haired, blue-eyed people.”
“I’m so shocked,” Bruce drawled.
“And over here is a new set of data about dress color. Seems you’ve historically been more likely to reject folks in green clothing.”
Bruce pursed his lips and nodded. “It’s not a color associated with good things for me, that makes sense.”
“Ah ha,” Clark said triumphantly, “But about two months ago, they note a sudden uptick in increased success with people wearing certain shades of blue.”
Bruce looked taken aback. “Really? I hadn’t noticed that.” He peered at the numbers for a while. “Well, I’ll be damned. I don’t think they’ve made the connection to what exact shade of blue that is--I’ll have to make sure to favor yellow or orange for a while.”
“Perhaps a nice pale chartreuse,” Clark agreed, grinning.
“See what I mean? It’s fascinating. I can’t tell you how many times they’ve noticed some little thing that proved useful in maintaining my secret identity.” He nodded thoughtfully, drumming his fingers on the desk. “After tonight, there’s bound to be an uptick in male ‘aspirants,’” he said. “I’ll have to be careful to keep the ratio even.” Then he shot a glance at Clark. “If, uh...if I keep allowing it at all, I mean.”
Clark looked embarrassed for a moment, then grinned. “Tell you what. How about for every kiss they get from you, you owe me one? Then we’ll be even.”
“That will never do,” Bruce said, but before Clark even had a chance to look chagrined, he went on, “I’d be happy to owe you a hundred for every one they get.”
“Oh?” Clark brightened visibly. “That sounds very reasonable.”
“And considering they got one from me tonight,” Bruce went on, putting his arms around Clark, “I think I’d better get started.”
“That sounds…” Clark said between kisses, “...like an excellent idea.”
They lost count eventually, as twilight darkened toward midnight across Gotham outside the plate glass windows, and as the people at the party giggled behind their hands and eventually gave up on seeing Bruce Wayne and his possessively jealous boyfriend again that night.
Pairing/Characters: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Rating: PG-13
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Fandom: DCU
Summary: A flirtatious socialite kisses Bruce Wayne at a charity ball, and when Clark Kent drags him off for "a little talk," suspicions are confirmed. But that little talk isn't quite what people assume...
Word Count: 1200
The gossip columns and messages boards, and Tumblr--especially Tumblr--were ablaze with it the next morning, and there was no denying the facts of the matter. It had been a charity ball hosted by Bruce Wayne, for victims of domestic violence or something (those weren’t the details people focused on especially). There were paparazzi and socialites scattered everywhere, with Bruce Wayne at the center of it all, smiling and gracious. The reporters from Metropolis, Clark Kent and Cat Grant, had been hovering near the windows, taking notes and making small talk.
The people chatting with them had noticed when Cat Grant had grabbed Kent’s elbow and murmured, “Over there. Signe Coulston.” She’d nodded at a striking young woman with artfully tousled red hair, wearing a sapphire-blue gown. “She’s one of them.” Kent had frowned and shaken his elbow free, and no one in the little group had thought anything else of it until--
Until Signe Coulston had waltzed up to Bruce Wayne and linked her arm with his, smiling up at him. Clark Kent went very still as Signe suddenly tossed her arms around Wayne’s neck and kissed him full on the mouth, then backed off, giggling and blushing.
His conversational partners were largely startled--although Cat Grant had merely smirked--when Kent broke away and stalked over to where Bruce Wayne was standing, still looking faintly surprised. “You and I need to have a little talk,” Kent had growled, grabbing him by the elbow. “And you’ve got some explaining to do!” he added, dragging him out of the room.
Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne certainly weren’t the only people talking after that little scene. The “Bruce Wayne” tag on Tumblr was a total mess, and the morning talk shows got their hands on some amateur footage of the “tiff” and were airing it with glee.
However, if people had known what the two men in question were talking about, they might have been rather surprised.
“The Wayne Foundation,” Clark said in the CEO’s office of Wayne Towers, his arms crossed, still scowling. “That’s what Cat said it was called. And don’t bother to tell me you don’t know about it, I know you too well for that.”
“Of course I know about it!” Bruce sat down in his executive leather chair and twirled around once, bringing the rotation to an abrupt stop with one wingtip planted on the mahogany desk. “The so-called ‘Wayne Foundation,’” he said, waving his fingers in the air to mark the words, “is a group of bored socialites who have a betting pool on who can manage to steal a kiss from Bruce Wayne. He usually dodges, but now and then they manage to get past his guard and plant one on him, to the general merriment of all the group.”
“And you allow this?” Clark said.
“I can hardly keep them from being merry, Clark,” said Bruce, smiling up at him in full-on “charming vapid playboy” mode. The he relented and his face turned serious, though his eyes were still twinkling. “But I assume that’s not what you mean.”
“I just don’t like it,” Clark mumbled, looking out the window at the skyline.
“I promise it’s never anything more than a kiss, Clark. I wouldn’t--”
“Oh, you don’t think--” Clark looked at him, surprised. “I’m not worried about that, Bruce. I just...don’t like them using you like that. Like a toy, or a prize. Like a thing.”
Bruce chuckled, shaking his head. “Clark. Don’t know know by now I always have an ulterior motive? One of the only times Bruce Wayne appears in public are these charity gatherings,” he went on as Clark frowned at him, puzzled. “So if the Wayne Foundation wants to have a crack at me…”
“...They have to keep giving to charity,” Clark said, comprehension dawning on his face.
“Even better, some of them have truly been touched by the charities in question and have become activists for some really good causes. You know Antonietta Raye?”
“The woman who raised all that money for service dogs for veterans?”
Bruce nodded. “A founding member of the less-legit Wayne Foundation.”
Clark was staring at him in something close to awe. “You really are the most manipulative person on the planet. Tricking people into becoming useful members of society through stolen kisses.”
Bruce smirked briefly, then seemed to think of something else. “Oh, and they keep the most amazing database. It’s been really useful sometimes to track my own public behavior. I haven’t checked it in a couple of months--something has been distracting me, I believe,” he said, rising from his chair and giving Clark a quick peck on the cheek. “Shall we give it a look?”
Soon enough the two of them were staring at a computer screen, intently browsing through the data the “Wayne Foundation” had on Bruce Wayne’s likes and tendencies.
“They’ve got a whole complicated ranking system for how close someone gets to kissing me--do I avoid them? Do I kiss their hand? Their cheek? How enthusiastic do I seem? Then they cross-index it with a wealth of other factors.” Bruce nodded with grudging admiration. “It’s a very sophisticated algorithm.”
“What do you know,” Clark said, pointing to one set of data. “You have a marked predilection for dark-haired, blue-eyed people.”
“I’m so shocked,” Bruce drawled.
“And over here is a new set of data about dress color. Seems you’ve historically been more likely to reject folks in green clothing.”
Bruce pursed his lips and nodded. “It’s not a color associated with good things for me, that makes sense.”
“Ah ha,” Clark said triumphantly, “But about two months ago, they note a sudden uptick in increased success with people wearing certain shades of blue.”
Bruce looked taken aback. “Really? I hadn’t noticed that.” He peered at the numbers for a while. “Well, I’ll be damned. I don’t think they’ve made the connection to what exact shade of blue that is--I’ll have to make sure to favor yellow or orange for a while.”
“Perhaps a nice pale chartreuse,” Clark agreed, grinning.
“See what I mean? It’s fascinating. I can’t tell you how many times they’ve noticed some little thing that proved useful in maintaining my secret identity.” He nodded thoughtfully, drumming his fingers on the desk. “After tonight, there’s bound to be an uptick in male ‘aspirants,’” he said. “I’ll have to be careful to keep the ratio even.” Then he shot a glance at Clark. “If, uh...if I keep allowing it at all, I mean.”
Clark looked embarrassed for a moment, then grinned. “Tell you what. How about for every kiss they get from you, you owe me one? Then we’ll be even.”
“That will never do,” Bruce said, but before Clark even had a chance to look chagrined, he went on, “I’d be happy to owe you a hundred for every one they get.”
“Oh?” Clark brightened visibly. “That sounds very reasonable.”
“And considering they got one from me tonight,” Bruce went on, putting his arms around Clark, “I think I’d better get started.”
“That sounds…” Clark said between kisses, “...like an excellent idea.”
They lost count eventually, as twilight darkened toward midnight across Gotham outside the plate glass windows, and as the people at the party giggled behind their hands and eventually gave up on seeing Bruce Wayne and his possessively jealous boyfriend again that night.