Love Potion?! Ivy NEIN!!
Title: Love Potion?! Ivy Nein!!
Fandom: DC
Pairings: Clark/Bruce eventually ;)
Characters: Clark Kent/Superman; Bruce Wayne/Batman; Pamela Isley/Poison Ivy; others mentioned
Word Count: 4,865
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Um...Crackish.
Synopsis: Some people just need to leave love to cupid. Otherwise it turns out like this. The world is not ready for a Bruce Wayne in love...at least, Gotham isn't.
Ah, I was supposed to post this like ages ago, but between work, RL, and a couple of other things (going out with friends and dancing on bars amongst a long list of things I did that I can't quite believe XD) Well...yeah. Apologies all around, but you know how it goes. :)
I cut off all my hair...and my brain is breathing now. So, here's part 1 that's been sitting here for like...months. :)
There was, without a doubt, a profitable margin in being a woman.
Pamela Isley, particularly well known as Poison Ivy after the somewhat unfortunate but ultimately beneficial rebirth of her body, was well aware of this notion. Being the weak minded woman mute in all areas of her life except for the passion that was nature at her rawest form, she knew too well of just how much gain their was in invoking the feminine qualities of one’s self. She might have never ventured into this abyss if not for her forcible rebirth, however fate was strange like that, and she’d been given another chance at life. Another chance at getting back at the world and using those feminine wiles to with do whatever she pleased.
Her book smarts only led to enhance her seduction of the world, and her new look on life was merged deep within Mother Nature itself. She knew that her life had been so utterly…dismal…before she’d gotten a botanical make over. It was more than obvious. No creature as they were before a metamorphosis could say they were perfect, and she was far from it.
Now though…now she knew how to move, how to subtly make her way through the coils of the male mind without them ever knowing, curling her threads around all important pulses and manipulating them until there was an outcome favorable to her and her alone. Sure, at the end of it all there were perhaps a few embittered souls, some more shamed rather than annoyed that they had been outwitted by a flower in its prime, but there was little more they could do than to blame it on themselves. After all, the seeds of lust were one’s own devices of undoing, especially the male mind on the female body.
Despite lust playing into her delicate hands, sometimes…sometimes…the overwhelming misconstrued notion of love was just a bit more powerful. Surely sex could take anyone anywhere with the right play and technique. How many hussies had moved up the corporate ladder without ever having to know just what in the hell they were doing? Too many. But love…love was the emotion that made women vengeful harpies when their hearts were broken and men bitter worthless lumps of flesh when the beat of that useless muscle was played for all it was worth.
Love was also a component of mindless bliss; bliss that often had men in a titter over how to woo and seduce the woman of their dreams through any means possible.
So it was under that little inkling of thought that Ivy decided that she needed to exploit this emotion to her extreme benefit…and quickly at that. She needed to find someone who would be susceptible to the barmy of what love was supposed to be, equally blinded by her beauty. She needed someone who had money as well. After all…her darlings couldn’t thrive without the means to provide the nutrients that they so needed. Human flesh was hardly a meal.
After careful consideration and perhaps glancing at a local magazine lying about thanks to Harley, she found the perfect target for her…next mission in life: to live comfortably off of the male mind sitting in one’s pants. Yes, the perfect target, one who most definitely would yield to her seductive dance…and a little help from a project she’d been cooking up. Falling in love took time. Too much time. So helping it along with a chemical or five wouldn’t be completely criminal. She’d hook him long enough to siphon him of a good bit of his money, and then…well, alimony had its uses.
Funny. She never considered herself a marrying type until now. Well, being married did have its perks…like half of everything the man owned. Oh yes. Her and her babies could live quite happily off of an income like that.
And what luck. It was Valentine’s Day this Saturday. It was almost a guarantee. Men were always looking to have that gem on their arms and perhaps something more to have as a delight for the later hours. She was nothing to sneeze at physically, and the sex pollen was a definite boost to hooking him by the little brain between his legs.
With a fair amount of glee in her step, she slid out of her favorite chair and dropped the magazine she had in hand back on the table. Sometimes Harley’s messes were a small blessing in disguise. She knew were her target would be this weekend. It was just a matter of getting close to him.
An image of the billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne smiled up at nothing, never knowing what was in store for him.
“I say sir, you do look rather remarkable,” Alfred said taking a step back. He hemmed and hawed as he tended to do when finishing off the final particulars that people raved about on their favorite billionaire, but he was content enough to do nothing more than fix the slightly crooked tie. “Well done, if I may say so myself.”
Bruce gave him a small tolerable smile, already wishing he could rip the tie off of himself. It was perhaps a pet peeve of all men who were dressed by others, or just the notable fact that a tie tended to be reminiscent of a noose when going to yet another gala/party/attempt to seduce the playboy into bed. It invited women to snag one by the ends of it, attempts of leading him to more provocative places alit in their eyes all glittered up with flattering or scary looking make-up. The men tended to be less dramatic about it, either want to string him up and choke him for hogging all the unwanted attention or do what the women wanted to…tie him to the bedpost.
It was quite an exhausting mind trip, and he was sure his face was going to be hurting by the end of it.
Smiling was really overrated, usually when he had to smile for long periods at the mundane faces talking about the same boring circles.
It was like this every year…especially around this time.
Valentine’s Day.
This year he didn’t even have the energy to groan openly at the aspects of it and what he’d endure.
Turning from the dusting and approving hands of his stylist/adoptive father, Bruce gazed in the mirror to stare at the virtual GQ model standing confidently in the latest of a long line of Armani suits he kept in his closet. This one was a black trimming number that did little to hide the body underneath it; tailored by a well known and sometimes roaming hand. That little old man who did his fittings did know what he was doing, and damn it all he hoped to high heaven that this time…
“Should I turn down the bedding for the guest room?”
Bruce shook his head a bit, steel in his eyes as he looked himself over. He would not be bait for the masses today.
“Let’s get this over with,” he said. He turned away from that image, another in his mind as he strolled after his butler/chauffer. Alfred was a man with many hats upon his head, but a man who knew his Master/son well enough to see that he was determined to make the most out of this infernal holiday blistering the lands with sweet endearments, candies of every type, frilly love laced cards, and frivolous nights that ended in a bout of shagging that left some with an ugly feeling of emptiness when it was all over.
They passed Tim’s room, not surprised to see Dick leaning out of it and waving softly in his odd little way. Roy was standing aside him, a knowing smirk pulling at his usually stoic lips.
Bruce all but rolled his eyes at the silent communication, half tempted to call Queen and ream him a new one just because.
Tim ducked out of his room, last, yawning a little but not from the desire to sleep. “Are you sure we can’t come watch this?” he asked. “And why are they,” he asked thumb jamming backwards at his appointed guardians, “baby-sitting me? I can watch myself.”
“They’re watching you because I know you,” Bruce answered. “You’ll be out on that bike getting into trouble and then I’ll have to ground you…forever.”
“Forever? Really.”
“At least until I decide I like you again. Who knows? It might be the next day…after I take that bike apart.”
Tim threw his hands up in disgust. “All right. I get it! Sheesh…I hope you don’t fail tonight.”
Bruce tugged at his tie a little, turning and muttering to himself, “me either.” Alfred smiled knowingly, encouraging Bruce to walk ahead of him. The butler turned around to stare at the two men looking after Bruce’s backside, and not unkindly told them in short, brusque but clear terms, “No shenanigans…and leave my kitchen ALONE.”
Roy had the good sense to blush. “Right.”
He was shoved aside a little bit by another body coming out of the room and running for the backside of Bruce turning to meet him at the last moment.
Kon-EL, a little winded, blushing a bit, and fighting not to bite his lower lip, met Bruce’s usually cold gaze. “It’s…still okay, right?” He fought not to fidget. It was hard not to when that gaze was on him, calculating, measuring everything in his head before he answered. Kon tried very hard not to ask the same question again, but, “It’s still…okay, right?”
“Yeah.” Bruce reached out and patted the boy on his arm, a rare small smile twisting his lips. “You’re good to go.”
Kon beamed in a way that reminded Bruce of someone rather familiar. “Well…I wish you well, sir.”
Yeah. Wishing. If only it were that simple. “Thanks.”
“And if he doesn’t get it…I could always spell it out for him.”
“Yes well…I’ll keep that in mind.” Sad thing about it, he would too. He patted Kon’s arm one more time before he slipped away from the known comfort of his home, his usual life, and slipped into the unknown slightly nervous wreck of a man about to risk it all because of a revelation that came just a little…later than it should have.
Tonight was promising to be intriguing…and it wasn’t even Valentine’s Day yet.
“Isn’t this lovely?”
“Yes, quite,” is what should have come out of his mouth. Rather a muffled something or other greeted her ears, causing her to spin around and glare at the mild mannered man sulking openly. He glanced down at her and blinked, his fingers on the edge of what were the remains of a confection he’d plucked from one of the waiter’s trays. “Clark!”
“Wha?”
“Tell me you’re not stuffing your face when you should be taking notes,” she hissed.
He swallowed what was in his mouth and tried not to wipe his hands on the side of his pants. It was rather hard when all he wanted to do was lick his fingers clean and get another treat from that tray. “Um…”
“D’oh, never mind! Just…go mingle. Talk to people. Find out what the hell people are talking about. Can you do that without getting something else to shove in that bottomless mouth of yours?”
He nodded, groaning a bit as she shoved the camera in his direction. “And take pictures!” she sniped after him as he turned to leave her. “I don’t know how Lois puts up with you!”
Clark shook his head at her. “The same way I put up with you,” he sniped back, surprising her and himself a bit as he added none too nicely, “By shoving another cookie in my bottomless mouth from really saying what’s on my mind.”
“…that’s not nice!”
“Who told you I was nice?”
The blonde he’d been partnered with for this occasion huffed and turned her nose up at him. He snorted, her jaw unhinging at the sound, gaping at him when he took the camera and put it right back in her slackened hands. She had to fumble not to drop the expensive piece of equipment. She didn’t quite make enough yet to entitle her to break something like that and replace it without screaming about the dock. Clark on the other hand had been with the paper long enough to see when there was an opportunist about, and the first thing they did, much like her within five minutes of meeting him, was think he was a push over and Lois’s lackey.
How wrong they were.
“Now, as much as it pains you to realize that I do, in fact, have a brain,” Clark said, eyeing her sideways, “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover and short amount of time to do it in. I’m the lead reporter, and you…you get to snap the lovely photos. Feel privileged. Go Mingle. Find out who came with whom. Can you do that without being presumptuous?”
He turned and walked away before she could respond.
He hated breaking in rookies. How he even managed to get stuck with her for this event was still a mystery even to him. There wasn’t much more to it than Lois having to cover something else, and Perry thinking that it was pertinent to take down the attitude of the newbie a few notches. She was a skilled writer; that much he could give her without too much grief, but her whole demeanor told on her.
She’d never get a straight answer with that eager face of hers.
Covering the annual “Lover’s Ball” in Gotham City wasn’t Clark’s cup of tea this particular weekend. It was one huge excuse for the high society to come together and gamble on one another through various games, events, and auctions, the proceeds and profits going to one of several charities. It was also a way of allowing the high enders to mingle without having to be subtle about scouting out potential love conquests. Valentine’s Day was tomorrow after all, and what better way to start the festivities than on a Friday night going into Saturday? It was the perfect weekend.
It was also a way to be annoyed for several reasons Clark didn’t want to think about.
It might have possibly involved a man he’d yet to see tonight, possibly, but who was he to assume that the man would even show up? Things like this were fifty/fifty. He might show, and then again, there was a good chance he’d slip in and out like the flipping ninja he was. Clark wouldn’t even know, and if he was lucky enough not to see it first hand, he was sure that little rookie would be snapping the photo for the gossip column when they screeched about the next big Valentine’s Day conquest for the resident playboy.
He sought out the next waiter and snatched a cupcake this time, lifting it to his lips as he spied something red passing him by. He’d only taken a bite of the sweet confection when the world began to smell like Gardenias blossoming under the warm sun tainted with the sweet delicate scent of honeysuckle and roses.
The confection lost its appeal and he had to swallow what was in his mouth with a glass of champagne.
Ivy sauntered passed the tall awkward looking man with a cupcake in hand, not bothering to waste her time in making him blush. Her scent could do that as well as a coy flutter of the eyes, green eyes veiled with glitter and royal purple glitz. He simply wasn’t worth the effort. Not many of the men around her were, but they surely knew how to pay attention to a rose when she presented herself right. She grinned to herself, natural glistening lips parted in such a pretty pout that one man actually tripped over himself as he passed her by.
She slipped by him, her firm and fine legs keeping their stride under the skimpy red and green number she had one. The man didn’t quite get up, although that was no fault of hers. His wife was none too happy, and decided to keep him on the floor with her handbag against his skull.
As much fun as it would have been to watch, she had bigger fish to catch, namely a certain bass by the name of Bruce Wayne.
Her little project had resulted in her doing some additional research, and what came out of it were a solution and an inevitable curse that she didn’t quite have time to fix. She’d shrugged her shoulders when she’d tested it out on some random fool. It wasn’t hard to find a willing male. The effects however, were less than desirable…annoying if one could will it that term without cringing. Still, the main effect was all she was aiming for, and developing a counter toxin for it didn’t seem viable. The effects only seemed to last for a day…which was more than enough time to snag the billionaire in her tangled web of ivy.
The small vile in her hands was warm against her skin, humming with promise.
There was a bustle of movement, and the crowd looked to the north of them. She looked as well, smiling again when the object of her temporary affections came into full view.
Bruce Wayne was in the building, and about to get a dose of love.
It didn’t take a genius to know when there was trouble afoot, and his nose tended to know when certain females were out and about. Anything, any scent strong enough to turn his stomach on sweets was the work of one female in particular, and knowing that she was here did not settle his mood. He scowled, annoyed that his cupcake had been ruined and that now he had to find out just what the red-head was up to.
“As if I didn’t have enough on my plate,” he muttered, walking after her obvious trail. The love sick men that had gotten a whiff of her were looking in her direction, muttering intensely to one another or themselves in hopes of gaining the attention of the beauty that passed them. She gave them coy smiles and waved at a couple, never the wiser to Clark’s scowl following her and her eventual path towards whomever she had her eye on.
Clark all but dropped the rest of his cupcake as he saw her headed for the one man who’d been out of sight a good bit of the night.
“And you would pick NOW to show up!” he hissed to no one in particular. “Damn it Bruce…”
Clark quickly moved passed the commotion of a wife slamming sense back into her husband and darted for the woman that men were stopping to start at and women were plotting to kill.
Bruce was never one for entrances. He didn’t care for them or care to make them if he didn’t have to. Usually the attention drifted to him when he walked into the room, so there was no denying that he did unwittingly draw that nuisance to him just about everywhere he went. This time, however, this time he’d managed to fly under the radar. Slipping into the party without a head turning towards him was a silent triumph within itself, so much so that he very nearly patted himself on the back.
Rather than make himself a spectacle for lunacy and lack thereof, he indulged in a little sightseeing for about an hour or so.
He saw many faces, familiar and some not so much, yet the one face he’d been looking for this night didn’t seem to even register that he was only a few feet away, sipping on his champagne from the concealing shadows of another part of the slightly gaudy room. Valentine’s Day was just around the corner, so mucking up a rather large room with red, pink, white hearts and cherubs seemed to be appropriate. Last year it was red everywhere, a glitter garnished it to look like some shimmering mutated scene out of a bad Jell-O commercial. This year it was more high school than anything else; people mingling under the music playing in the background; those with dates roaming proudly and those without hoping to hook up with someone.
He was riding solo tonight. Well…not for long he hoped.
Clark was looking around the room, most probably searching for him. The blonde woman he’d come with was perhaps the newest rookie on the reporter game, and he could already see why she was brought to this thing. She’d never get a good answer with such an open face. He watched them for a time, laughing succinctly when Clark finally rounded on her and told her about herself without really doing so. In that short span of time, he noticed that Clark had inhaled about four or five of the sugary confections, a note that he was annoyed.
He’d glanced at his watch then, amazed that he’d been unnoticed for an hour…and that he’d been holding an empty glass for just as long.
While it was tempting to stay where he was and perhaps let the night pass him by without him being seen by anyone, he’d already gone through the trouble of making himself look good, and opportunities didn’t necessarily knock twice for the same thing. Truthfully, he was stalling…and probably avoiding an awkward moment if he was indeed wrong about it all.
He wasn’t often wrong. Not often enough to doubt himself.
Bruce sighed to himself, moving around the cutlet of the crowd and into the spotlight of a part of the floor that wasn’t occupied by much else aside the swirling cheap lights of the ceiling. The moment the black figure tailored to perfection moved within the light of the party, eyes flickered to him, acknowledging his presence, his air, and the hesitant broad grin he gave several people when they turned to speak with him.
He felt Clark’s eyes on him immediately.
He struggled not to tug at his tie, slowly aiming his eyes to land on where he knew Clark was standing.
What happened next…well, Bruce really wasn’t sure of what happened next? When he recalled it later it wouldn’t make any more sense than when it did happen.
He smelt something strong and heady, the bloom of flowers high in the air. He thought of thorns and holly, and the bushes that tended to stick to everything when you walked through them, short of a viper curling around his heart and sinking its fangs into his skull. He shook his head, not quite sure of why someone would wear such a scent until he saw the flash of red staring up at him in full deadly blossom.
He sneezed.
Clark watched in fascinated horror as Bruce sneezed quite loudly. It was hard enough to knock his carefully placed locks in several directions, strands of it falling in his face when he righted himself and shook his head. He’d never seen the man sneeze so hard.
And then the coughing started.
Someone started thumping his backside in the attempt to help Bruce cough up whatever was choking him. Clark could only assume that it was that odd scent in the air, one that could only be produced by the red blossom directing a waiter to hurry over with a glass of champagne. One of the many waiters rushed over, handed the glass to her.
Clark shoved his way past the onlookers trying not to scream out loud to Bruce.
Alas, a stubborn portly woman and her intent on seeing the outcome of this little show delayed him from getting to the frontlines. He’d only squeezed by her in time to see Bruce down the glass without a breath, breathing easily as whatever coughing had occurred stopped as quickly as it had come. Eyes closed, he patted the gentleman’s shoulder in thanks.
Clark breathed in slight relief…and if one was to ask him what he felt next, he would have honestly told them that he felt fire.
Fire in the eyes that fell on him.
There were scenes in movies where the crowds would part for the arrival or passage of their beloved king; moments in time where life took the fabled outlook of life and played upon it just to tap on the senses of the brain. Where time seemed to stop, it flowed quite violently and feverishly, the gentle brush of something unknown making people tense and whisper to themselves when Bruce Wayne slipped by the Red Haired Woman trying unsuccessfully not to gawk. Still the loveliest sight to look upon within the room, the unnamed flower turned with the rest of the crowd as their deemed King traveled the short brisk distance between him and another man caught in the whirlwind that had swept him up without him knowing.
The energy in the air hummed its tension, and pandemonium laughed until it was all over the place once the King had gotten towards his goal.
Clark raised his hand to wave at Bruce casually.
Bruce took that hand into his own, tugging him closer.
What happened next…well, they read about it in the papers the next day trying to see if it actually did happen.
In short, that soft tug lead to something more of a pull, slackened reflexes kicking in for Clark just a little too late when he was pressed into the Billionaire and lost in the scent of a soft sweet musk that wrapped him in the strange mystery that was ultimately Bruce Wayne. Taken off guard, Bruce further invaded his space, fingers tightening in the cloth it had grasped as he took those lips and ravished them for the world to see.
Ivy kept herself from making something of a strange noise resembling that of a cat being skinned alive. She blinked once, twice, and then stared down at the vile in her hand.
She realized her mistake much too late…and cursed loudly.
The vile was half empty!
“Marry me.”
“WHAT!?” Ivy snapped her attention back towards the mayhem and reeled backwards with the crowd when Bruce smiled so bright that it nearly blinded them. She hadn’t been hearing things. Not from the way Clark was staring at Bruce much like a deer stares at a shotgun up close. “You can’t be serious!” she cried.
“I’m dead serious,” Bruce replied never once looking in her direction. Clark did, and he scowled. “I can’t deny my heart a moment longer…please…please marry me Clark…”
Awkward….
“That’s nice…um…Bruce…” Clark tried to extract himself from Bruce’s suddenly too strong grip, but there wasn’t a way to get free without having a ripped shirt as a souvenir. “Uh…I…that is…I mean…oh jeez…We can’t get married! We haven’t even dated!” What was he saying!? “I mean-“
Bruce sobered for a moment. Clark tentatively raised his hopes that maybe whatever Ivy had done was really quick, but those hopes died in a sea of awkward flames when Bruce nodded sagely, smiled at him, and took his hands again. “I understand perfectly.”
“You…y-you do?”
“Mmm. I will woo you…until you say yes. I will have your hand, my love…” Bruce paused to tenderly trace the slackened cheek of his “beloved”, eyes shimmering and heartfelt in their words and sight. Clark swallowed nervously, not sure of what to do, or say. He chose to stand there, blushing until the tips of his ears were red. “No one else shall have what I’ve deemed mine and mine alone. I will win you…and then, we will live happily.”
Clark didn’t know what was worse: Bruce sounding like a romance novel gone bad or being in the spotlight like this.
Thankfully someone else decided that it would be a good idea to break this up. A notable man who tended to stick his nose into everything and cause issues slipped up to the new couple and touched Clark on his shoulder, a remark on his lips that never quite made it past the scream leaving them.
Bruce’s hand was the cause of it, and the man was on the floor kneeling in agony with his hand twisted awkwardly in the Billionaire’s grip.
“Do NOT touch my fiancé!” he spat. “I will break every bone in your scrawny hand. Do you understand me?!”
And that was the BAT talking.
This was BAD. VERY BAD.
“Bruce…let go of the nice man,” Clark coaxed, gently moving to grab the hand doing all the twisting. “Come on now, he didn’t mean to touch me…that’s it…just let go…there we go…eh?!”
Bruce had let go, but he took to holding Clark again, kissing his cheek possessively. The ice cold stare he sent towards the man nursing his hand had him scrambling for cover in the crowd still staring at them.
Clark only had one person to blame for all this. Ivy was still standing gob smacked when she realized that Clark was glaring at her again. She grinned lopsidedly. What more could she say but, “Oops?”
It only gets worse from this point. :)
Fandom: DC
Pairings: Clark/Bruce eventually ;)
Characters: Clark Kent/Superman; Bruce Wayne/Batman; Pamela Isley/Poison Ivy; others mentioned
Word Count: 4,865
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Um...Crackish.
Synopsis: Some people just need to leave love to cupid. Otherwise it turns out like this. The world is not ready for a Bruce Wayne in love...at least, Gotham isn't.
Ah, I was supposed to post this like ages ago, but between work, RL, and a couple of other things (going out with friends and dancing on bars amongst a long list of things I did that I can't quite believe XD) Well...yeah. Apologies all around, but you know how it goes. :)
I cut off all my hair...and my brain is breathing now. So, here's part 1 that's been sitting here for like...months. :)
There was, without a doubt, a profitable margin in being a woman.
Pamela Isley, particularly well known as Poison Ivy after the somewhat unfortunate but ultimately beneficial rebirth of her body, was well aware of this notion. Being the weak minded woman mute in all areas of her life except for the passion that was nature at her rawest form, she knew too well of just how much gain their was in invoking the feminine qualities of one’s self. She might have never ventured into this abyss if not for her forcible rebirth, however fate was strange like that, and she’d been given another chance at life. Another chance at getting back at the world and using those feminine wiles to with do whatever she pleased.
Her book smarts only led to enhance her seduction of the world, and her new look on life was merged deep within Mother Nature itself. She knew that her life had been so utterly…dismal…before she’d gotten a botanical make over. It was more than obvious. No creature as they were before a metamorphosis could say they were perfect, and she was far from it.
Now though…now she knew how to move, how to subtly make her way through the coils of the male mind without them ever knowing, curling her threads around all important pulses and manipulating them until there was an outcome favorable to her and her alone. Sure, at the end of it all there were perhaps a few embittered souls, some more shamed rather than annoyed that they had been outwitted by a flower in its prime, but there was little more they could do than to blame it on themselves. After all, the seeds of lust were one’s own devices of undoing, especially the male mind on the female body.
Despite lust playing into her delicate hands, sometimes…sometimes…the overwhelming misconstrued notion of love was just a bit more powerful. Surely sex could take anyone anywhere with the right play and technique. How many hussies had moved up the corporate ladder without ever having to know just what in the hell they were doing? Too many. But love…love was the emotion that made women vengeful harpies when their hearts were broken and men bitter worthless lumps of flesh when the beat of that useless muscle was played for all it was worth.
Love was also a component of mindless bliss; bliss that often had men in a titter over how to woo and seduce the woman of their dreams through any means possible.
So it was under that little inkling of thought that Ivy decided that she needed to exploit this emotion to her extreme benefit…and quickly at that. She needed to find someone who would be susceptible to the barmy of what love was supposed to be, equally blinded by her beauty. She needed someone who had money as well. After all…her darlings couldn’t thrive without the means to provide the nutrients that they so needed. Human flesh was hardly a meal.
After careful consideration and perhaps glancing at a local magazine lying about thanks to Harley, she found the perfect target for her…next mission in life: to live comfortably off of the male mind sitting in one’s pants. Yes, the perfect target, one who most definitely would yield to her seductive dance…and a little help from a project she’d been cooking up. Falling in love took time. Too much time. So helping it along with a chemical or five wouldn’t be completely criminal. She’d hook him long enough to siphon him of a good bit of his money, and then…well, alimony had its uses.
Funny. She never considered herself a marrying type until now. Well, being married did have its perks…like half of everything the man owned. Oh yes. Her and her babies could live quite happily off of an income like that.
And what luck. It was Valentine’s Day this Saturday. It was almost a guarantee. Men were always looking to have that gem on their arms and perhaps something more to have as a delight for the later hours. She was nothing to sneeze at physically, and the sex pollen was a definite boost to hooking him by the little brain between his legs.
With a fair amount of glee in her step, she slid out of her favorite chair and dropped the magazine she had in hand back on the table. Sometimes Harley’s messes were a small blessing in disguise. She knew were her target would be this weekend. It was just a matter of getting close to him.
An image of the billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne smiled up at nothing, never knowing what was in store for him.
“I say sir, you do look rather remarkable,” Alfred said taking a step back. He hemmed and hawed as he tended to do when finishing off the final particulars that people raved about on their favorite billionaire, but he was content enough to do nothing more than fix the slightly crooked tie. “Well done, if I may say so myself.”
Bruce gave him a small tolerable smile, already wishing he could rip the tie off of himself. It was perhaps a pet peeve of all men who were dressed by others, or just the notable fact that a tie tended to be reminiscent of a noose when going to yet another gala/party/attempt to seduce the playboy into bed. It invited women to snag one by the ends of it, attempts of leading him to more provocative places alit in their eyes all glittered up with flattering or scary looking make-up. The men tended to be less dramatic about it, either want to string him up and choke him for hogging all the unwanted attention or do what the women wanted to…tie him to the bedpost.
It was quite an exhausting mind trip, and he was sure his face was going to be hurting by the end of it.
Smiling was really overrated, usually when he had to smile for long periods at the mundane faces talking about the same boring circles.
It was like this every year…especially around this time.
Valentine’s Day.
This year he didn’t even have the energy to groan openly at the aspects of it and what he’d endure.
Turning from the dusting and approving hands of his stylist/adoptive father, Bruce gazed in the mirror to stare at the virtual GQ model standing confidently in the latest of a long line of Armani suits he kept in his closet. This one was a black trimming number that did little to hide the body underneath it; tailored by a well known and sometimes roaming hand. That little old man who did his fittings did know what he was doing, and damn it all he hoped to high heaven that this time…
“Should I turn down the bedding for the guest room?”
Bruce shook his head a bit, steel in his eyes as he looked himself over. He would not be bait for the masses today.
“Let’s get this over with,” he said. He turned away from that image, another in his mind as he strolled after his butler/chauffer. Alfred was a man with many hats upon his head, but a man who knew his Master/son well enough to see that he was determined to make the most out of this infernal holiday blistering the lands with sweet endearments, candies of every type, frilly love laced cards, and frivolous nights that ended in a bout of shagging that left some with an ugly feeling of emptiness when it was all over.
They passed Tim’s room, not surprised to see Dick leaning out of it and waving softly in his odd little way. Roy was standing aside him, a knowing smirk pulling at his usually stoic lips.
Bruce all but rolled his eyes at the silent communication, half tempted to call Queen and ream him a new one just because.
Tim ducked out of his room, last, yawning a little but not from the desire to sleep. “Are you sure we can’t come watch this?” he asked. “And why are they,” he asked thumb jamming backwards at his appointed guardians, “baby-sitting me? I can watch myself.”
“They’re watching you because I know you,” Bruce answered. “You’ll be out on that bike getting into trouble and then I’ll have to ground you…forever.”
“Forever? Really.”
“At least until I decide I like you again. Who knows? It might be the next day…after I take that bike apart.”
Tim threw his hands up in disgust. “All right. I get it! Sheesh…I hope you don’t fail tonight.”
Bruce tugged at his tie a little, turning and muttering to himself, “me either.” Alfred smiled knowingly, encouraging Bruce to walk ahead of him. The butler turned around to stare at the two men looking after Bruce’s backside, and not unkindly told them in short, brusque but clear terms, “No shenanigans…and leave my kitchen ALONE.”
Roy had the good sense to blush. “Right.”
He was shoved aside a little bit by another body coming out of the room and running for the backside of Bruce turning to meet him at the last moment.
Kon-EL, a little winded, blushing a bit, and fighting not to bite his lower lip, met Bruce’s usually cold gaze. “It’s…still okay, right?” He fought not to fidget. It was hard not to when that gaze was on him, calculating, measuring everything in his head before he answered. Kon tried very hard not to ask the same question again, but, “It’s still…okay, right?”
“Yeah.” Bruce reached out and patted the boy on his arm, a rare small smile twisting his lips. “You’re good to go.”
Kon beamed in a way that reminded Bruce of someone rather familiar. “Well…I wish you well, sir.”
Yeah. Wishing. If only it were that simple. “Thanks.”
“And if he doesn’t get it…I could always spell it out for him.”
“Yes well…I’ll keep that in mind.” Sad thing about it, he would too. He patted Kon’s arm one more time before he slipped away from the known comfort of his home, his usual life, and slipped into the unknown slightly nervous wreck of a man about to risk it all because of a revelation that came just a little…later than it should have.
Tonight was promising to be intriguing…and it wasn’t even Valentine’s Day yet.
“Isn’t this lovely?”
“Yes, quite,” is what should have come out of his mouth. Rather a muffled something or other greeted her ears, causing her to spin around and glare at the mild mannered man sulking openly. He glanced down at her and blinked, his fingers on the edge of what were the remains of a confection he’d plucked from one of the waiter’s trays. “Clark!”
“Wha?”
“Tell me you’re not stuffing your face when you should be taking notes,” she hissed.
He swallowed what was in his mouth and tried not to wipe his hands on the side of his pants. It was rather hard when all he wanted to do was lick his fingers clean and get another treat from that tray. “Um…”
“D’oh, never mind! Just…go mingle. Talk to people. Find out what the hell people are talking about. Can you do that without getting something else to shove in that bottomless mouth of yours?”
He nodded, groaning a bit as she shoved the camera in his direction. “And take pictures!” she sniped after him as he turned to leave her. “I don’t know how Lois puts up with you!”
Clark shook his head at her. “The same way I put up with you,” he sniped back, surprising her and himself a bit as he added none too nicely, “By shoving another cookie in my bottomless mouth from really saying what’s on my mind.”
“…that’s not nice!”
“Who told you I was nice?”
The blonde he’d been partnered with for this occasion huffed and turned her nose up at him. He snorted, her jaw unhinging at the sound, gaping at him when he took the camera and put it right back in her slackened hands. She had to fumble not to drop the expensive piece of equipment. She didn’t quite make enough yet to entitle her to break something like that and replace it without screaming about the dock. Clark on the other hand had been with the paper long enough to see when there was an opportunist about, and the first thing they did, much like her within five minutes of meeting him, was think he was a push over and Lois’s lackey.
How wrong they were.
“Now, as much as it pains you to realize that I do, in fact, have a brain,” Clark said, eyeing her sideways, “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover and short amount of time to do it in. I’m the lead reporter, and you…you get to snap the lovely photos. Feel privileged. Go Mingle. Find out who came with whom. Can you do that without being presumptuous?”
He turned and walked away before she could respond.
He hated breaking in rookies. How he even managed to get stuck with her for this event was still a mystery even to him. There wasn’t much more to it than Lois having to cover something else, and Perry thinking that it was pertinent to take down the attitude of the newbie a few notches. She was a skilled writer; that much he could give her without too much grief, but her whole demeanor told on her.
She’d never get a straight answer with that eager face of hers.
Covering the annual “Lover’s Ball” in Gotham City wasn’t Clark’s cup of tea this particular weekend. It was one huge excuse for the high society to come together and gamble on one another through various games, events, and auctions, the proceeds and profits going to one of several charities. It was also a way of allowing the high enders to mingle without having to be subtle about scouting out potential love conquests. Valentine’s Day was tomorrow after all, and what better way to start the festivities than on a Friday night going into Saturday? It was the perfect weekend.
It was also a way to be annoyed for several reasons Clark didn’t want to think about.
It might have possibly involved a man he’d yet to see tonight, possibly, but who was he to assume that the man would even show up? Things like this were fifty/fifty. He might show, and then again, there was a good chance he’d slip in and out like the flipping ninja he was. Clark wouldn’t even know, and if he was lucky enough not to see it first hand, he was sure that little rookie would be snapping the photo for the gossip column when they screeched about the next big Valentine’s Day conquest for the resident playboy.
He sought out the next waiter and snatched a cupcake this time, lifting it to his lips as he spied something red passing him by. He’d only taken a bite of the sweet confection when the world began to smell like Gardenias blossoming under the warm sun tainted with the sweet delicate scent of honeysuckle and roses.
The confection lost its appeal and he had to swallow what was in his mouth with a glass of champagne.
Ivy sauntered passed the tall awkward looking man with a cupcake in hand, not bothering to waste her time in making him blush. Her scent could do that as well as a coy flutter of the eyes, green eyes veiled with glitter and royal purple glitz. He simply wasn’t worth the effort. Not many of the men around her were, but they surely knew how to pay attention to a rose when she presented herself right. She grinned to herself, natural glistening lips parted in such a pretty pout that one man actually tripped over himself as he passed her by.
She slipped by him, her firm and fine legs keeping their stride under the skimpy red and green number she had one. The man didn’t quite get up, although that was no fault of hers. His wife was none too happy, and decided to keep him on the floor with her handbag against his skull.
As much fun as it would have been to watch, she had bigger fish to catch, namely a certain bass by the name of Bruce Wayne.
Her little project had resulted in her doing some additional research, and what came out of it were a solution and an inevitable curse that she didn’t quite have time to fix. She’d shrugged her shoulders when she’d tested it out on some random fool. It wasn’t hard to find a willing male. The effects however, were less than desirable…annoying if one could will it that term without cringing. Still, the main effect was all she was aiming for, and developing a counter toxin for it didn’t seem viable. The effects only seemed to last for a day…which was more than enough time to snag the billionaire in her tangled web of ivy.
The small vile in her hands was warm against her skin, humming with promise.
There was a bustle of movement, and the crowd looked to the north of them. She looked as well, smiling again when the object of her temporary affections came into full view.
Bruce Wayne was in the building, and about to get a dose of love.
It didn’t take a genius to know when there was trouble afoot, and his nose tended to know when certain females were out and about. Anything, any scent strong enough to turn his stomach on sweets was the work of one female in particular, and knowing that she was here did not settle his mood. He scowled, annoyed that his cupcake had been ruined and that now he had to find out just what the red-head was up to.
“As if I didn’t have enough on my plate,” he muttered, walking after her obvious trail. The love sick men that had gotten a whiff of her were looking in her direction, muttering intensely to one another or themselves in hopes of gaining the attention of the beauty that passed them. She gave them coy smiles and waved at a couple, never the wiser to Clark’s scowl following her and her eventual path towards whomever she had her eye on.
Clark all but dropped the rest of his cupcake as he saw her headed for the one man who’d been out of sight a good bit of the night.
“And you would pick NOW to show up!” he hissed to no one in particular. “Damn it Bruce…”
Clark quickly moved passed the commotion of a wife slamming sense back into her husband and darted for the woman that men were stopping to start at and women were plotting to kill.
Bruce was never one for entrances. He didn’t care for them or care to make them if he didn’t have to. Usually the attention drifted to him when he walked into the room, so there was no denying that he did unwittingly draw that nuisance to him just about everywhere he went. This time, however, this time he’d managed to fly under the radar. Slipping into the party without a head turning towards him was a silent triumph within itself, so much so that he very nearly patted himself on the back.
Rather than make himself a spectacle for lunacy and lack thereof, he indulged in a little sightseeing for about an hour or so.
He saw many faces, familiar and some not so much, yet the one face he’d been looking for this night didn’t seem to even register that he was only a few feet away, sipping on his champagne from the concealing shadows of another part of the slightly gaudy room. Valentine’s Day was just around the corner, so mucking up a rather large room with red, pink, white hearts and cherubs seemed to be appropriate. Last year it was red everywhere, a glitter garnished it to look like some shimmering mutated scene out of a bad Jell-O commercial. This year it was more high school than anything else; people mingling under the music playing in the background; those with dates roaming proudly and those without hoping to hook up with someone.
He was riding solo tonight. Well…not for long he hoped.
Clark was looking around the room, most probably searching for him. The blonde woman he’d come with was perhaps the newest rookie on the reporter game, and he could already see why she was brought to this thing. She’d never get a good answer with such an open face. He watched them for a time, laughing succinctly when Clark finally rounded on her and told her about herself without really doing so. In that short span of time, he noticed that Clark had inhaled about four or five of the sugary confections, a note that he was annoyed.
He’d glanced at his watch then, amazed that he’d been unnoticed for an hour…and that he’d been holding an empty glass for just as long.
While it was tempting to stay where he was and perhaps let the night pass him by without him being seen by anyone, he’d already gone through the trouble of making himself look good, and opportunities didn’t necessarily knock twice for the same thing. Truthfully, he was stalling…and probably avoiding an awkward moment if he was indeed wrong about it all.
He wasn’t often wrong. Not often enough to doubt himself.
Bruce sighed to himself, moving around the cutlet of the crowd and into the spotlight of a part of the floor that wasn’t occupied by much else aside the swirling cheap lights of the ceiling. The moment the black figure tailored to perfection moved within the light of the party, eyes flickered to him, acknowledging his presence, his air, and the hesitant broad grin he gave several people when they turned to speak with him.
He felt Clark’s eyes on him immediately.
He struggled not to tug at his tie, slowly aiming his eyes to land on where he knew Clark was standing.
What happened next…well, Bruce really wasn’t sure of what happened next? When he recalled it later it wouldn’t make any more sense than when it did happen.
He smelt something strong and heady, the bloom of flowers high in the air. He thought of thorns and holly, and the bushes that tended to stick to everything when you walked through them, short of a viper curling around his heart and sinking its fangs into his skull. He shook his head, not quite sure of why someone would wear such a scent until he saw the flash of red staring up at him in full deadly blossom.
He sneezed.
Clark watched in fascinated horror as Bruce sneezed quite loudly. It was hard enough to knock his carefully placed locks in several directions, strands of it falling in his face when he righted himself and shook his head. He’d never seen the man sneeze so hard.
And then the coughing started.
Someone started thumping his backside in the attempt to help Bruce cough up whatever was choking him. Clark could only assume that it was that odd scent in the air, one that could only be produced by the red blossom directing a waiter to hurry over with a glass of champagne. One of the many waiters rushed over, handed the glass to her.
Clark shoved his way past the onlookers trying not to scream out loud to Bruce.
Alas, a stubborn portly woman and her intent on seeing the outcome of this little show delayed him from getting to the frontlines. He’d only squeezed by her in time to see Bruce down the glass without a breath, breathing easily as whatever coughing had occurred stopped as quickly as it had come. Eyes closed, he patted the gentleman’s shoulder in thanks.
Clark breathed in slight relief…and if one was to ask him what he felt next, he would have honestly told them that he felt fire.
Fire in the eyes that fell on him.
There were scenes in movies where the crowds would part for the arrival or passage of their beloved king; moments in time where life took the fabled outlook of life and played upon it just to tap on the senses of the brain. Where time seemed to stop, it flowed quite violently and feverishly, the gentle brush of something unknown making people tense and whisper to themselves when Bruce Wayne slipped by the Red Haired Woman trying unsuccessfully not to gawk. Still the loveliest sight to look upon within the room, the unnamed flower turned with the rest of the crowd as their deemed King traveled the short brisk distance between him and another man caught in the whirlwind that had swept him up without him knowing.
The energy in the air hummed its tension, and pandemonium laughed until it was all over the place once the King had gotten towards his goal.
Clark raised his hand to wave at Bruce casually.
Bruce took that hand into his own, tugging him closer.
What happened next…well, they read about it in the papers the next day trying to see if it actually did happen.
In short, that soft tug lead to something more of a pull, slackened reflexes kicking in for Clark just a little too late when he was pressed into the Billionaire and lost in the scent of a soft sweet musk that wrapped him in the strange mystery that was ultimately Bruce Wayne. Taken off guard, Bruce further invaded his space, fingers tightening in the cloth it had grasped as he took those lips and ravished them for the world to see.
Ivy kept herself from making something of a strange noise resembling that of a cat being skinned alive. She blinked once, twice, and then stared down at the vile in her hand.
She realized her mistake much too late…and cursed loudly.
The vile was half empty!
“Marry me.”
“WHAT!?” Ivy snapped her attention back towards the mayhem and reeled backwards with the crowd when Bruce smiled so bright that it nearly blinded them. She hadn’t been hearing things. Not from the way Clark was staring at Bruce much like a deer stares at a shotgun up close. “You can’t be serious!” she cried.
“I’m dead serious,” Bruce replied never once looking in her direction. Clark did, and he scowled. “I can’t deny my heart a moment longer…please…please marry me Clark…”
Awkward….
“That’s nice…um…Bruce…” Clark tried to extract himself from Bruce’s suddenly too strong grip, but there wasn’t a way to get free without having a ripped shirt as a souvenir. “Uh…I…that is…I mean…oh jeez…We can’t get married! We haven’t even dated!” What was he saying!? “I mean-“
Bruce sobered for a moment. Clark tentatively raised his hopes that maybe whatever Ivy had done was really quick, but those hopes died in a sea of awkward flames when Bruce nodded sagely, smiled at him, and took his hands again. “I understand perfectly.”
“You…y-you do?”
“Mmm. I will woo you…until you say yes. I will have your hand, my love…” Bruce paused to tenderly trace the slackened cheek of his “beloved”, eyes shimmering and heartfelt in their words and sight. Clark swallowed nervously, not sure of what to do, or say. He chose to stand there, blushing until the tips of his ears were red. “No one else shall have what I’ve deemed mine and mine alone. I will win you…and then, we will live happily.”
Clark didn’t know what was worse: Bruce sounding like a romance novel gone bad or being in the spotlight like this.
Thankfully someone else decided that it would be a good idea to break this up. A notable man who tended to stick his nose into everything and cause issues slipped up to the new couple and touched Clark on his shoulder, a remark on his lips that never quite made it past the scream leaving them.
Bruce’s hand was the cause of it, and the man was on the floor kneeling in agony with his hand twisted awkwardly in the Billionaire’s grip.
“Do NOT touch my fiancé!” he spat. “I will break every bone in your scrawny hand. Do you understand me?!”
And that was the BAT talking.
This was BAD. VERY BAD.
“Bruce…let go of the nice man,” Clark coaxed, gently moving to grab the hand doing all the twisting. “Come on now, he didn’t mean to touch me…that’s it…just let go…there we go…eh?!”
Bruce had let go, but he took to holding Clark again, kissing his cheek possessively. The ice cold stare he sent towards the man nursing his hand had him scrambling for cover in the crowd still staring at them.
Clark only had one person to blame for all this. Ivy was still standing gob smacked when she realized that Clark was glaring at her again. She grinned lopsidedly. What more could she say but, “Oops?”
It only gets worse from this point. :)