Hi. How are you? Me? I'm super-duper. Know why? It's because THIS is the fic I meant to write. Cutesy datesy gross BLAH! I hate myself for even thinking that chapter! No. Give me this. I realize I've been building it up, but that's only because I'm so relievedto get this gross Batman shit out of my system FINALLY!
-Cro

The next few months were some of the happiest and most stressful of Clark's life. Pictures starting popping up on all the tabloids of him and Bruce, kissing, laughing, holding hands, and the Planet office had taken to teasing him about asking for a budget raise or open broom closets when Bruce visited- never within earshot of the stoic owner, of course, and Bruce made a point of never so much as looking at Clark to dissuade the rumors. But they persisted.

So too had the Justice League taken to teasing him mercilessly, even going so far as to bully Batman into joining. On one particular day, Batman shuffled over to Superman in the Watch Tower.

"We work with children," he'd growled.

"Why? What did Flash do?"

"They told me to ask you… if you and Bruce Wayne ever play Titanic."

"T…Titanic?"

"Where he's the ship and you're the iceberg…."

"Okay?"

"…and he goes down on you."

As Clark turned scarlet, Flash cackled and high-fived Wonder Woman's unwilling hand.

That was another source of serious stress. Whenever Bruce hinted at sex, Clark responded in the typical way, which is to say Bruce was the iceberg. He'd learned how to control what he'd started to call the Hunter in him, but just barely- the scent of Bruce's warm, sweet, swollen member still drove him feral, but only for a second before he beat his urges down. And every time, Clark couldn't help but fall in love a little harder with the fingers tearing at his hair, the muffled groans trying not to alert Alfred or Clark's neighbors, those hungry, steely eyes. And every time Bruce tried to reciprocate, the fantasy that kept Clark up at night, of the Hunter throwing Bruce onto the hard floor, licking, biting, sucking, taking Bruce's scarred body in every single way, unable to stop even if he wanted. So every time, Clark would get down onto his knees too and kiss Bruce as deeply and as sweetly as if he was just the soul that Clark had fallen in love with, with no heaving, hungry, heated body attached. So Bruce kept his distance, intensely frustrated.

But for every stress, there were two happinesses. Clark taking Bruce to a salsa class in Argentina. Bruce surprising him at his apartment for his birthday. Bruce making breakfast. Secret looks across the Watch Tower. The Louvre for lunch. Holing up in Siberia away from enemy surveillance with a warm quilt and a thermos of hot chocolate. Protecting Bruce. Kissing Bruce. Laying his head in Bruce's warm lap, whispering every vow of love he could imagine. Bruce letting down his walls just for him. Being vulnerable just for him. Being handsome and perfect and sweet and happy and warm and sexy and sleepy and wonderful- just for him.

Clark would fight an army of Hunters, if that's what it took to keep Bruce. He would endure all the torment in the world just to see that loving smile.

At least, that was the stream of thought coursing through Clark's mind as Perry White led Bruce Wayne past the copier.

"Yes, sir, as you can see we're operating under peak efficiency! I'm afraid it's more the demographic then anything, nobody buys papers anymore."

"So reduce production. Advertising online is much more lucrative, especially…Perry, who's this?"

They stopped right before a surprised Clark.

Perry was obviously surprised that Bruce Wayne didn't know the man he'd been photographed with dozens of times in the last three months. "This, ah, this is our reporter Clark Kent. Kent, you know Mr. Wayne."

Taking his cue from Bruce, Clark stuck out his hand. "It's nice to meet you, sir! What brings you to Metropolis?"

White was obviously floundering. He'd bought the tabloids hook, line and sinker. "Mr. Wayne is just checking on our…our budget efficiency, and…Kent, don't you have somewhere to be?"

Clark handed him the invoice he'd copied. "Not for another hour, I'm just editing Eric's copy on the Wickerson story for now."

Bruce nodded at Clark and turned to White in annoyance. "Peak efficiency, I see. You've got your reporters acting as editors? Let's just call the Emerson's Deli and tell them they make cheeseburgers now."

As Perry stuttered over his hurried excuses and explanations, Clark heard Bruce whisper low enough that only he could hear. "Five minutes. The security office on sixth."

The sixth floor had been closed for renovations for a week, and Clark wouldn't put it past Bruce to specifically order the complete reupholstering for exactly this meeting.

"AH!" Bruce exclaimed, interrupting Perry's explanation of utility. "I know where I recognize you from! You're that gentleman the Enquirer has been printing photos of! It's nice to finally meet the man I've been dating for almost three months!"

He laughed good-naturedly and Perry joined, a little nervously.

"Yeah," Perry chuckled. "It's amazing what Photo Shop can do these days! Why, I almost believed them!"

Clark scratched his cheek awkwardly. "Almost? Sir, you just begged me last week to convince Mr. Wayne to increase our printing budget."

Perry's furious face would have terrified Clark, if Bruce hadn't been covering an amused smirk with his hand.

"Get out of here, Kent!" Perry roared, and Clark dashed out so fast he overshot Eric's desk.

Backing up, he smiled sheepishly at the newbie. "So don't get in White's way today."

Eric was shaking in fear. "What did you do?"

"Wayne's here and Perry's just on edge. Good draft, by the way, just make sure you're using those Oxford commas, and try not to call Mrs. Wickerson "the widow" until they actually find him, okay?"

Lois and Lana walked down the hall and Lois waved Lana on when she saw Clark.

"Somebody's in trou-ble!" she sang.

Clark smirked at her. "Barely," he said.

"What did you do, step on his dog?"

"Mr. Wayne is visiting," Eric said.

Lois raised her eyebrows. "Oh? Did he catch you in flagrante?"

Behind Eric's desk, a deep-throated cough interrupted them. Lois and Clark looked and Lois gasped in mortification.

Perry held his head in his hands as Bruce quirked an eyebrow at Lois. Clark bit his cheek to keep from grinning.

"He's right behind me," Eric trembled, "isn't he?"

Perry sighed heavily. "Lane, goddammit. Those pictures were obviously photoshopped."

"Obviously," Clark said, mocking seriousness.

"Oh, of course, sir!" Lois snapped to attention. "Obviously!"

Bruce nodded meaningfully at Clark and broke in. "So this is the famous Lois Lane. Good work on the Senator Corbin story."

As Lois proudly explained how she'd uncovered his human trafficking ring, Clark excused himself and crept to the disused stairwell.

If he flew, he'd get up with enough time to pose himself seductively before Bruce made it upstairs. But even though this stairwell was only used for smoke breaks and gossip, the cameras loomed threateningly. Clark contented himself by running up the four flights of stairs and unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt.

On the desk? No, too inviting. Flexing playfully? No, Bruce never spoke to Clark at work, this might be serious. Butt? Yes. Yes, that would do.

The sixth floor was papered with construction signs and plastic sheets and the cameras hadn't been installed, so Clark flew to the security office at the end of the hall and prepared his butt to welcome Bruce to the-

"How the hell did you beat me up here?!"

Clark threw open the door to reveal a calm, heavy-lidded Bruce Wayne lying seductively on the empty security desk, the top few buttons of his shirt undone to show off a thick forest of chest hair; the effect was not lost on Clark, he just found the issue of being cheated out of his own seduction plan more pressing.

Bruce sat up slowly, languidly, spreading his knees apart on the edge of the white desk. "Elevator," he smirked, and Clark filled the gap between his lover's legs with his body as he covered Bruce's arrogant mouth with kiss after kiss.

"I love you," Clark murmured between kisses. "Oh, Bruce, I love you."

Bruce wrapped his legs around Clark's waist, pulling him close. "You'd better," he said.

"What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be in Shanghai?"

"I blew them off," Bruce said, wrapping Clark's tie around his fist. "This is more important."

Clark looked around the stark white room. "Necking in my workplace?"

"No. I'm going straight from here to the Fortress. I'm going to meet you there after you get off work."

"Oh. Is…everything alright?"

Bruce ignored him. "I'm taking the night off for this, so there's no rush. Just be there."

With a final wet kiss, Bruce unwrapped himself from Clark and hopped off the desk, buttoning his shirt.

"Don't make me wait too long," Bruce said as he left the room. "It is a necessary discussion,"

Clark was so nervous, he could barely pay attention to the protesters he was interviewing that afternoon.