Interlude 2/5: Go! Fight!! Win!!!
Lois Lane turned around in her seat and shook a large foam finger in Bruce Wayne's face. "We'll beat you this time, Gotham!" she announced gleefully. She and Richard White were sitting with Jason between them, while Bruce, Clark, and Jimmy Olsen were seated behind them. Everyone but Bruce was dressed in Metropolis red.
Bruce lounged backwards in his seat, away from the threatening finger. "In your dreams," he jeered back.
"With Washburn at running back, there is no way you can beat our offense this year."
"You people say that every time, and yet every game--despite whatever high-priced star you bring in--Gotham still manages to beat you," Bruce retorted. Lois, Richard, and Jimmy began a spirited barrage of statistical and strategic arguments why the Metros could take the Knights this time; Bruce just leaned back and smirked. He found he was actually enjoying the argument, though the persona was a delicate balance right now. He had to be kind of dumb but still likable, to keep Clark in everyone's good graces. Complicated.
He also had to keep scanning the crowd and the field. He and Kal had picked up some chatter that there was a possible terrorist threat to the game today, so both of them were on their guard. The costume under his sweater was lightweight, but still a constant, slightly uncomfortable reminder not to lose focus.
As Richard and Jimmy continued the assault on Bruce's certitude, Lois turned her attention to Clark, who was reading a newspaper. The foam finger came down hard on the paper, causing Clark to jump and squint nervously at her. "Don't you have some theories on why the Metros will win?" Lois demanded. "Or have you gone over to...the Dark Side? Followed your heart and become a Knights fan?"
Bruce slanted him a look.
"Gosh Lois, I just don't really go for...violent contact sports, on the whole," Clark stammered.
"I didn't give you premium tickets to the biggest regular season game of the year so you could read the newspaper, Clark!"
Clark hastily folded up the newspaper, looking apologetic.
Lois reached over and took Jason's Playstation Portable away from him. "You too, Jason. Pay attention."
Clark and Jason shared an aggrieved look, but grudgingly turned their attention to the field, where the teams were streaming out to begin the game.
: : :
As the teams left the field at halftime Bruce looked smugger than ever, and the Metropolitans were slumped unhappily in their seats. "I still can't believe that call," moaned Jimmy. "He was, like, five feet out of bounds--the ref has got to be on Gotham's payroll or something." As the gripe session continued, only one person noticed Clark sit up straighter, his gaze fixed on the field where the halftime show was setting up. Bruce caught his eye and nodded.
"Bathroom break for me," said Clark, getting up. "Anyone want anything while I'm up?" He listened to requests for popcorn and soft drinks, fidgeting a bit. "Okay, got it, back soon."
"I'll come along," said Bruce, stretching and standing. The two of them headed for the exit, taking the stairs two at a time.
The stadium lights went out as the halftime show began, plunging the crowd into darkness. On the stage at the center of the field, a dance routine started up, lit by criss-crossing beams of blue and red light, music pounding from the speakers.
The music was loud enough that no one heard the first gunshots, but it became obvious quickly that all was not well with the halftime show as a shadowy figure began to incapacitate some of the dancers, while others shrieked and fled the field. By the time the music stuttered to a stop and a wavering blue spotlight finally was trained on the center stage, Batman had already tied up five or six struggling figures.
Pandemonium.
Before chaos could break out entirely in the stadium, another figure appeared within the careening light beams, which quickly focused on him: Superman descended from the sky, his arms crossed, glaring at the dark figure in the gloom below. He paused in mid-air, looking down with his head held high. His voice resonated easily to every seat and the crowd fell silent to listen to him, to witness this first public confrontation between the two. "Just what do you think you're doing?" His clarion voice was cold, yet slightly amused.
Batman stared up at the figure in the sky. A nearby microphone caught his voice just well enough to send its rough tones echoing about the stadium. "I'm making your job look easy," he growled.
Superman tossed his dark head dismissively. "You've got a lot of nerve, Dark Knight."
"I got the job done. More than you did. If you're not up to it, step aside." The crowd muttered darkly. Batman snorted and released a grapple into the curving roof.
"This conversation is not finished," said Superman sharply.
"Oh, I think it is." Things happened very quickly after that, as Batman swooped upward in a wide, swift arc. Superman darted in front of him, hand outstretched to bar his way. There was a series of brief popping flashes in the air between them and Batman put up his legs and slammed into Superman with all his force, sending both of them reeling, grappling and tumbling out of the air end over end together, the line snapping with a harsh twang. As the crowd gasped, the two of them thudded into the turf below, the Dark Knight on top of the Man of Steel, straddling him.
Batman leaned forward, his mouth close to Superman's ear, and whispered something the microphones couldn't catch. The Kryptonian responded by contemptuously tossing Batman into the air in a dizzying arc. At the apex of the wide parabola, Batman released another grapple and vanished abruptly into the night, a stray microphone catching the wisp of a last rasping chuckle.
Superman pulled himself up from the turf, looking just a bit dazed. As applause swelled through the stadium, he helped the police carry the criminals away and quickly fixed the lighting array so the field was washed in radiance again. Acknowledging the applause with a bashful nod, he said, "I'm sorry about that display, ladies and gentlemen, you shouldn't have had to see that. I'm very sorry." The crowd whistled and stomped its approval, and Superman lifted up into the night sky.
The game had begun again by the time Bruce and Clark returned with hot dogs and soft drinks for everyone. "Did we miss anything?" Clark asked cheerfully as they sat down.
"Only the best half time show ever," said Jimmy. The three adults filled in the other two on the excitement, their voices overlapping and arms waving. It was pretty obvious to Lois and Richard where the two men had been during halftime: the high color in their faces, the quick breathing, and the way they were studiously not touching each other. Once the two stragglers were caught up on events, the conversation quickly became an assessment of the matchup between the two costumed crimefighters.
"Look, I'm playing devil's advocate here, I know," said Richard, raising his hands apologetically, "But did you see the way the Batman's kick knocked Superman for a loop? I mean, are we even sure the guy's human? Maybe he's another Kryptonian or a different kind of alien altogether, huh?"
"I don't care if he's a Norse god, he's not taking out Superman," Jimmy countered belligerently. "No one beats Superman. He's no superhuman, he just cheated. Used those flashbulb thingies to throw Superman off."
Lois leaned toward Bruce. "Hey, you going to defend your hometown hero?"
"When I'm surrounded by fanatics whose team is already three touchdowns down to Gotham at halftime? I'm not suicidal," laughed the playboy. "Besides, I agree with Jimmy a hundred percent. What Superman wants, he gets." He hooked an arm through Clark's and Clark inhaled rather giddily. "I don't know what that nutjob thought he was doing, coming all the way here to Metropolis just to show off."
One person was not joining in the argument. "They shouldn't be fighting," said a small voice. Jason was sitting with his arms crossed, glaring at the field from under his mop of brown hair. "They should be working together, not fighting. It's all wrong."
Bruce smiled. He made a motion as if to ruffle Jason's hair, but refrained. "Don't worry, Jase, I'm sure they'll be able to put aside their differences and settle things to their mutual satisfaction eventually." Jason looked unmollified.
"Are you kidding?" Jimmy snorted. "Did you see the look on Superman's face? The only thing he wanted was to pound Batman--hammer him right into the field." He smacked his fist into his hand for emphasis.
There was a gurgling noise as Clark fell over, convulsed in uncontrollable giggles. Everyone stared at him. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he choked before going off into gales of laughter once more.
"Discussions of violence make him very nervous, and he tends to get the giggles," Bruce said apologetically. He patted Clark on the shoulder. "There there, sweetie."
Clark yanked his shoulder away from Bruce's reassuring hand and sputtered something that sounded vaguely like an epithet in between gusts of agonized laughter. Everyone else decided it was most polite to ignore his outburst and went back to debating Superman versus Batman and, by extension, the Metros versus the Knights. As the game picked up again, Bruce wound his fingers through Clark's in a grip so strong it looked like it might almost hurt the other man.
Everyone else watched the Knights trounce the Metros. Clark mostly watched Bruce.
: : :
Bruce and Clark waved goodbye as the subway pulled away from them with Lois, Richard, Jason and Jimmy inside. They headed out of the station and down the street, until Clark abruptly pulled Bruce into a dark alley.
"Your apartment's only a few blocks away, Clark," murmured Bruce, his hands all over Kal's body already, his breath short.
"Can't wait. Can't wait that long," gasped Clark. They grappled together, reeling against the dumpsters and fire escapes. Clark let Bruce shove him hard up against a wall, wrenching at his clothes, kissing and biting in a frenzy. "God, Bruce, I don't know how I kept from taking you right there on the field, my dangerous beauty, my dark one..." His voice trailed off into a wild moan as Bruce went on his knees in front of him, yanking his clothes down, sucking and licking and biting madly with no technique, no finesse at all. Despite that, Clark came almost immediately, the evening's tension shattering inside him, transmuting into bone-deep satisfaction.
Bruce stood up, dusting off his knees and licking his lips like a cat. "Let's get home and you can return the favor," he said coaxingly. He leaned forward to touch his tongue to the sweat on Clark's temples, then kissed the corners of Clark's eyes, their turquoise turned sated and languid.
"You know why Superman and Batman fight all the time?" Bruce said smugly. "Because the make-up sex is incredible."
Bruce lounged backwards in his seat, away from the threatening finger. "In your dreams," he jeered back.
"With Washburn at running back, there is no way you can beat our offense this year."
"You people say that every time, and yet every game--despite whatever high-priced star you bring in--Gotham still manages to beat you," Bruce retorted. Lois, Richard, and Jimmy began a spirited barrage of statistical and strategic arguments why the Metros could take the Knights this time; Bruce just leaned back and smirked. He found he was actually enjoying the argument, though the persona was a delicate balance right now. He had to be kind of dumb but still likable, to keep Clark in everyone's good graces. Complicated.
He also had to keep scanning the crowd and the field. He and Kal had picked up some chatter that there was a possible terrorist threat to the game today, so both of them were on their guard. The costume under his sweater was lightweight, but still a constant, slightly uncomfortable reminder not to lose focus.
As Richard and Jimmy continued the assault on Bruce's certitude, Lois turned her attention to Clark, who was reading a newspaper. The foam finger came down hard on the paper, causing Clark to jump and squint nervously at her. "Don't you have some theories on why the Metros will win?" Lois demanded. "Or have you gone over to...the Dark Side? Followed your heart and become a Knights fan?"
Bruce slanted him a look.
"Gosh Lois, I just don't really go for...violent contact sports, on the whole," Clark stammered.
"I didn't give you premium tickets to the biggest regular season game of the year so you could read the newspaper, Clark!"
Clark hastily folded up the newspaper, looking apologetic.
Lois reached over and took Jason's Playstation Portable away from him. "You too, Jason. Pay attention."
Clark and Jason shared an aggrieved look, but grudgingly turned their attention to the field, where the teams were streaming out to begin the game.
: : :
As the teams left the field at halftime Bruce looked smugger than ever, and the Metropolitans were slumped unhappily in their seats. "I still can't believe that call," moaned Jimmy. "He was, like, five feet out of bounds--the ref has got to be on Gotham's payroll or something." As the gripe session continued, only one person noticed Clark sit up straighter, his gaze fixed on the field where the halftime show was setting up. Bruce caught his eye and nodded.
"Bathroom break for me," said Clark, getting up. "Anyone want anything while I'm up?" He listened to requests for popcorn and soft drinks, fidgeting a bit. "Okay, got it, back soon."
"I'll come along," said Bruce, stretching and standing. The two of them headed for the exit, taking the stairs two at a time.
The stadium lights went out as the halftime show began, plunging the crowd into darkness. On the stage at the center of the field, a dance routine started up, lit by criss-crossing beams of blue and red light, music pounding from the speakers.
The music was loud enough that no one heard the first gunshots, but it became obvious quickly that all was not well with the halftime show as a shadowy figure began to incapacitate some of the dancers, while others shrieked and fled the field. By the time the music stuttered to a stop and a wavering blue spotlight finally was trained on the center stage, Batman had already tied up five or six struggling figures.
Pandemonium.
Before chaos could break out entirely in the stadium, another figure appeared within the careening light beams, which quickly focused on him: Superman descended from the sky, his arms crossed, glaring at the dark figure in the gloom below. He paused in mid-air, looking down with his head held high. His voice resonated easily to every seat and the crowd fell silent to listen to him, to witness this first public confrontation between the two. "Just what do you think you're doing?" His clarion voice was cold, yet slightly amused.
Batman stared up at the figure in the sky. A nearby microphone caught his voice just well enough to send its rough tones echoing about the stadium. "I'm making your job look easy," he growled.
Superman tossed his dark head dismissively. "You've got a lot of nerve, Dark Knight."
"I got the job done. More than you did. If you're not up to it, step aside." The crowd muttered darkly. Batman snorted and released a grapple into the curving roof.
"This conversation is not finished," said Superman sharply.
"Oh, I think it is." Things happened very quickly after that, as Batman swooped upward in a wide, swift arc. Superman darted in front of him, hand outstretched to bar his way. There was a series of brief popping flashes in the air between them and Batman put up his legs and slammed into Superman with all his force, sending both of them reeling, grappling and tumbling out of the air end over end together, the line snapping with a harsh twang. As the crowd gasped, the two of them thudded into the turf below, the Dark Knight on top of the Man of Steel, straddling him.
Batman leaned forward, his mouth close to Superman's ear, and whispered something the microphones couldn't catch. The Kryptonian responded by contemptuously tossing Batman into the air in a dizzying arc. At the apex of the wide parabola, Batman released another grapple and vanished abruptly into the night, a stray microphone catching the wisp of a last rasping chuckle.
Superman pulled himself up from the turf, looking just a bit dazed. As applause swelled through the stadium, he helped the police carry the criminals away and quickly fixed the lighting array so the field was washed in radiance again. Acknowledging the applause with a bashful nod, he said, "I'm sorry about that display, ladies and gentlemen, you shouldn't have had to see that. I'm very sorry." The crowd whistled and stomped its approval, and Superman lifted up into the night sky.
The game had begun again by the time Bruce and Clark returned with hot dogs and soft drinks for everyone. "Did we miss anything?" Clark asked cheerfully as they sat down.
"Only the best half time show ever," said Jimmy. The three adults filled in the other two on the excitement, their voices overlapping and arms waving. It was pretty obvious to Lois and Richard where the two men had been during halftime: the high color in their faces, the quick breathing, and the way they were studiously not touching each other. Once the two stragglers were caught up on events, the conversation quickly became an assessment of the matchup between the two costumed crimefighters.
"Look, I'm playing devil's advocate here, I know," said Richard, raising his hands apologetically, "But did you see the way the Batman's kick knocked Superman for a loop? I mean, are we even sure the guy's human? Maybe he's another Kryptonian or a different kind of alien altogether, huh?"
"I don't care if he's a Norse god, he's not taking out Superman," Jimmy countered belligerently. "No one beats Superman. He's no superhuman, he just cheated. Used those flashbulb thingies to throw Superman off."
Lois leaned toward Bruce. "Hey, you going to defend your hometown hero?"
"When I'm surrounded by fanatics whose team is already three touchdowns down to Gotham at halftime? I'm not suicidal," laughed the playboy. "Besides, I agree with Jimmy a hundred percent. What Superman wants, he gets." He hooked an arm through Clark's and Clark inhaled rather giddily. "I don't know what that nutjob thought he was doing, coming all the way here to Metropolis just to show off."
One person was not joining in the argument. "They shouldn't be fighting," said a small voice. Jason was sitting with his arms crossed, glaring at the field from under his mop of brown hair. "They should be working together, not fighting. It's all wrong."
Bruce smiled. He made a motion as if to ruffle Jason's hair, but refrained. "Don't worry, Jase, I'm sure they'll be able to put aside their differences and settle things to their mutual satisfaction eventually." Jason looked unmollified.
"Are you kidding?" Jimmy snorted. "Did you see the look on Superman's face? The only thing he wanted was to pound Batman--hammer him right into the field." He smacked his fist into his hand for emphasis.
There was a gurgling noise as Clark fell over, convulsed in uncontrollable giggles. Everyone stared at him. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he choked before going off into gales of laughter once more.
"Discussions of violence make him very nervous, and he tends to get the giggles," Bruce said apologetically. He patted Clark on the shoulder. "There there, sweetie."
Clark yanked his shoulder away from Bruce's reassuring hand and sputtered something that sounded vaguely like an epithet in between gusts of agonized laughter. Everyone else decided it was most polite to ignore his outburst and went back to debating Superman versus Batman and, by extension, the Metros versus the Knights. As the game picked up again, Bruce wound his fingers through Clark's in a grip so strong it looked like it might almost hurt the other man.
Everyone else watched the Knights trounce the Metros. Clark mostly watched Bruce.
: : :
Bruce and Clark waved goodbye as the subway pulled away from them with Lois, Richard, Jason and Jimmy inside. They headed out of the station and down the street, until Clark abruptly pulled Bruce into a dark alley.
"Your apartment's only a few blocks away, Clark," murmured Bruce, his hands all over Kal's body already, his breath short.
"Can't wait. Can't wait that long," gasped Clark. They grappled together, reeling against the dumpsters and fire escapes. Clark let Bruce shove him hard up against a wall, wrenching at his clothes, kissing and biting in a frenzy. "God, Bruce, I don't know how I kept from taking you right there on the field, my dangerous beauty, my dark one..." His voice trailed off into a wild moan as Bruce went on his knees in front of him, yanking his clothes down, sucking and licking and biting madly with no technique, no finesse at all. Despite that, Clark came almost immediately, the evening's tension shattering inside him, transmuting into bone-deep satisfaction.
Bruce stood up, dusting off his knees and licking his lips like a cat. "Let's get home and you can return the favor," he said coaxingly. He leaned forward to touch his tongue to the sweat on Clark's temples, then kissed the corners of Clark's eyes, their turquoise turned sated and languid.
"You know why Superman and Batman fight all the time?" Bruce said smugly. "Because the make-up sex is incredible."