A/N So... this is my first fic, go easy.
The rating may change because I basically have no idea where I'm going with this.
I don't own anything. This is SLASH.
"Good evening Mr. Wayne. Your usual table?"
"Yes, thank you Sam. That would be fine."
The broad figure of Bruce Wayne was always an impressive sight, but tonight he seemed particularly devastating. Perhaps it was the fact that he did not, for once, have a scantily attired young woman hanging off of his arm. All the same Bruce had gone all out. The expensive suit, the perfectly shined shoes, and the solid gold cufflinks all exuded an air of wanting to impress. He walked through the restaurant as if he owned the place. In fact, he probably did.
As he passed he was greeted by the occasional congressman or billionaire.
"By yourself tonight, Bruce?"
"Not exactly."
"Ah, another of your lovely lady friends?" The congressman looked hopefully toward the door as if she might walk in then.
"Not exactly."
nananananananananana
"Do you have a reservation?"
"Uh, I'm looking for Bruce Wayne..."
The waiter looked at the man scrutinizingly. The dark hair and broad physique did not seem to match the glasses and oversized clothing. The man did not look at all like the sort of man to be associated with the likes of Bruce Wayne. Indeed, he looked uncomfortable to be in this class of restaurant at all.
"And he is expecting you?"
"Well, yeah."
"Very well. Your name?"
"Clark Kent."
Sam walked away and came back a moment later looking astounded; this was not where Bruce Wayne conducted business. "Follow me."
Sam led the way through the quiet restaurant to a table near the window. Draped in velvet curtains it was basically secluded from the rest of the diners.
"Clark!" Bruce stood up a little too suddenly and shook his friend's hand with vigour.
"Nice to see you too, Bruce."