𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑲𝑷𝑳𝑨𝑪𝑬 𝑽𝑰𝑶𝑳𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 // 𝑨 𝑺𝑼𝑷𝑬𝑹𝑩𝑨𝑻 𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹𝒀
𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: Bruce Wayne (The Batman) , Clark Kent (Superman)
𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent, SuperBat
𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Bruce Wayne (The Batman) , Clark Kent (Superman), SuperBat, Bruce/Clark, Pattinson!Batman, Corenswet!Superman, Office!AU, Rivals to Lovers, Office Sex, Human!AU, Elevator Sex, Shameless Smut.
Clark Kent doesn’t trust billionaires - especially not Bruce Wayne, a man whose charm feels too precise to be anything but calculated. But when he’s assigned to interview him about Wayne Enterprises expanding into Metropolis, keeping his distance quickly becomes impossible, and what should be routine turns into something sharper, charged in ways Clark isn’t prepared for.
Somewhere between tension and restraint, every glance lingers too long, every exchange cuts a little deeper, and control starts to slip in quiet, dangerous increments. Clark still doesn’t trust him - and maybe that’s the problem. Because the harder he tries to keep his distance, the more it feels like Bruce Wayne is already too close - and knows it.
𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑲𝑷𝑳𝑨𝑪𝑬 𝑽𝑰𝑶𝑳𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 // 𝑨 𝑺𝑼𝑷𝑬𝑹𝑩𝑨𝑻 𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹𝒀
He told himself not to look. Told himself to sit down, pick up his pen, act like he hadn’t been wearing a path into the carpet for the last ten minutes, like this was routine, like Bruce Wayne was just another name on a schedule instead of something that had been sitting under his skin since yesterday. That resolve held for maybe half a breath before it snapped, because of course he looked.
Perry stepped out first, exactly as expected, broad and grounded, moving with the kind of certainty that made space feel already claimed before he even entered it. Clark barely registered him beyond that familiar shape, the predictable presence that usually settled things, steadied them. Not this time. His attention slipped past him almost immediately, pulled by something sharper, something that landed heavier the second it crossed the threshold. Bruce Wayne stepped out of the elevator like nothing about the moment required adjustment, like the transition from private to public space didn’t exist for him at all. There was no hesitation, no flicker of awareness, no shift in posture to match the room. He just moved - and the space seemed to follow.
Clark felt his jaw tighten before he could stop it, a quiet, involuntary reaction that settled somewhere low and stubborn. Of course he looked like that. He’d seen the photos - every curated, polished image that made its way through magazines and press releases, every carefully controlled version of Bruce Wayne that the public consumed without question. Clark had dismissed most of it as fabrication, lighting and angles doing their work, a constructed image designed to sell something larger than the man himself. Standing here now, watching him cross the bullpen floor, it became immediately, irritatingly clear that none of it had been exaggerated enough.
If anything, it had been restrained.
The morning light from the tall windows caught him at an angle that felt almost intentional, slipping across dark hair that fell into place with that same infuriating precision - just tousled enough to look effortless, just controlled enough to never fall out of line. The suit didn’t help.
It fit too well, the fabric settling along his shoulders and down his frame like it belonged there, like it had been built with him in mind rather than adjusted afterward. Nothing pulled, nothing creased. It didn’t hide anything, and Clark could see it even from across the room - the way the material shifted when he moved, the quiet suggestion of strength beneath it, the kind of control that didn’t need to announce itself to be felt.
His grip tightened around the papers without him realizing it.
Hated how easy it looked. Hated how unbothered Bruce seemed as he stepped fully into the newsroom, his gaze moving once across the space - not searching, not lingering, just taking it in with a kind of quiet awareness that suggested nothing here surprised him. Like he understood exactly where he was and had already decided it wasn’t going to matter.
Then Bruce looked at him.
Not by accident. Not in passing.
Clark felt it before he fully registered it, the shift in attention landing sharp and direct, like a line drawn between them that hadn’t been there a second ago. Those eyes didn’t flick away the way most people’s did when they caught someone looking. They were measured and aware. And there was something in them that made Clark’s stomach tighten, something that felt less like curiosity and more like recognition.
Clark dragged his gaze away first, the movement deliberate, almost forced, his attention snapping back to the papers in his hand even though he wasn’t reading them anymore. His pulse had shifted, just slightly, enough to notice, enough to irritate him further. He didn’t want to feel that - didn’t want to react to something as superficial as the way Bruce Wayne carried himself, the way he looked, the way he occupied space like it belonged to him. It shouldn’t matter.
Except it did, just enough to get under his skin.
He barely had time to straighten, to pull his expression back into something neutral, something professional, before the office door opened and Perry stepped inside, carrying the room with him like he always did. - Clark, - he said, already smiling, already certain, the kind of tone that didn’t leave space for hesitation. - Hope you’re ready. - He didn’t wait for an answer before gesturing behind him, and Clark’s focus snapped up whether he wanted it to or not.
Bruce followed him in without pause. The threshold didn’t slow him down, didn’t change anything about the way he moved. The coat shifted slightly with him, catching the light from the window behind Clark’s desk in a muted sheen that made the space feel even smaller, more contained. Clark forgot, briefly, what he was supposed to do with his hands, with himself, with the fact that this was actually happening.
Every detail held under scrutiny instead of falling apart - the sharp line of his jaw, the smoothness of his skin broken only slightly by the faint shadow along it, the way the suit followed the structure of his body without effort. And there was something else now, something subtler - the faint trace of cologne, clean and expensive, settling into the air between them just enough to register when the distance closed.
When Bruce looked at him again, it wasn’t brief. It stayed on him, calm and attentive. Intent in a way that didn’t bother pretending otherwise.
- Bruce Wayne, - Perry was saying, voice easy, like this was routine, like the tension hadn’t just shifted the entire room. - This is Clark Kent. One of the best reporters I’ve got.
𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑲𝑷𝑳𝑨𝑪𝑬 𝑽𝑰𝑶𝑳𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 // 𝑨 𝑺𝑼𝑷𝑬𝑹𝑩𝑨𝑻 𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹𝒀
This work is entirely my own and was written without the use of artificial intelligence. I do not support the use of AI in creative writing, and I do not grant permission for this work to be submitted to or analyzed by AI detection tools or similar systems.
