The Fake Boyfriend

Sneaky Beheavior

Bruce checked his hair before leaving his room, normal for a detail oriented man like him.

He checked his outfit, black fitted jeans and a black hooded coat over a grey turtleneck, in the elevators reflection on his way down to the underground level of his garage where he stored his excess luxury vehicles. Not too odd but the preening was excessive for an unsupervised Bruce.

And again he checked his hair in his reflection on the sports car he was debating using for his fake date.
It was perfect as usual, and Bruce felt it sink in that he was being a little too emotionally invested in what was meant to be a ruse. His previous I'll fated relationships rush through his mind, and he grimaces slightly.

He needs to get it together, he was Batman not the fresh faced tabloid disgrace he pretended to be during the day. He needed to approach this with logic and caution.

Clark being superman didn't mean he wasn't a liability or a threat.

. . .

Clark was practically worrying a groove into the ground outside the manors stately front entrance.

He couldn't help it, he was pacing anxiously as he waited for Bruce to pull the car around.

That's what he had texted him to do, but waiting was nerve-wracking in the best of circumstances, and an impending fake date with a celebrity who knew his most dangerous secret wasn't exactly the prom.

That didn't mean he wasn't also excited, he was wearing his neatest sweater and slacks, his hair combed extra nicely and a couple mints for just in case stowed in his pocket.

. . .

Bruce steeled his resolve and turned a rather performative smile toward where he knew Clark was waiting as he pulled the car around toward him. He's chosen a black sports car that celebrities thought was subtle and sneaky, but summoned paparazzi like moths to a clandestine flame.

Every bit of resolve and tactical thought left him, however, when he saw Clark waiting for him.

Clark's hair caught the light, glinting like an inky gloss, his big ocean blue eyes striking in contrast. Bruce felt his heart flutter innocently in his chest, a foreign feeling that brought an uncontrollable pink flush up his neck

He couldnt help but rake his eyes over Clark, quickly committing the scene to memory. His almost dolllike perfection and Mr.Rogers aesthetic made him so unbelievably cute.

That thought is so jarringly mundane and out of the ordinary that Bruce almost forgets to get out of the car. But Alfred's etiquette lessons were deftly drilled into his impatient head and on autopilot he steps out, moving to open Clark's door for him as swift and charming as if he wasn't fighting a war internally for control.

Clark is bashful but polite as if Ma Kent was still hovering ready to haul him off for a lecture.
"Thank you, Bruce. Your car is lovely."

Not the best small talk but when Bruce smiles at him, he feels like he must've said something right. Bruce's grey blue eyes crinkle in the corners, twinkling like precious gems over a soft smile. "I'm glad you like it."

. . .

Once Bruce is seated, the few moments of silence as he pulls out of the manors driveway feel like an eternity to the once again anxious Clark.

But he shrugs it off and takes in Gothams distinct atmosphere. Like a garden in a graveyard even the stately beauty of the manor felt grim if you looked at it too long. He regrets looking out the window as these thoughts cross his mind.

"Clark?", Bruce's voice startles him badly, jerking his head toward Bruce he fidgets awkwardly.

"Oh!- uh yes?"