#*gestures*

"Sorry, Vickie," Bruce laughs. "But my dance card is full for the night, I've no time for answering your silly questions about the Bat."

"Now, now, Bruce, is that anyway to talk to an old friend?" Viki purrs. "Just one dance? And perhaps a quote on where you were three nights ago, during Mr Freeze's attack on downtown?"

"I was hiding under the tables along with everyone else." He gestures vaguely to show his departure and doesn't make it a step before a hand is clamping down in his arm. "Now, Vicki."

"Bruce," she returns charmingly. "You didn't come out along with the other hostages when they were released."

"My butler—dear Alfred, you know how he puts up with me—had to coax me out. All that ice, I was so scared. And I didn't even have my skates." He shakes his head. "Truly, a wasted opporunity."

Her face pinches, and that hand on his arm slides down, holding his hand, and he glances towards the dance floor winding down the current song, knowing she'll trap him there for half the evening if he indulges her even once. He doesn't want to entertain her questions, and he certainly doesn't want to engage in a raunchy dalliance in the coat closet or limo, which she always accepted as a consolation prize when he didn't answer her questions.

Things have changed.

"Well, there's no ice now, Brucie, but I'm sure you're still swift even on the dancefloor, no?"

"I've got two left feet," he lies blatantly, knowing he's starred in several dance competitions. "Sorry, doll."

"Now, now." Her eyes flick over him, analysing. "What happened to being a good sportsman, Brucie? Not even one question?"

"Oh I'd argue you've asked plenty, Vicki," Clark coos, sliding an arm around Bruce's waist. Bruce turns towards him, and is granted the press of warm lips against his cheek. They stare into each other's eyes for a moment, before turning their attentions back to the waiting woman. "No one said he had to answer them, though."

"Now where have you been?" Bruce sighs, pulling his hand back from Viki's grasp.

Clark hums, smiling down at him, and Bruce accepts the demand to press closer when Clark flexes his fingers where they currently rest in the dip of his waist. "Having an enlightening talk with Senator Rochestor. And getting us drinks," he adds, plucking two flutes off the tray of a passing server, and Bruce accepts the glass of bubbles with a smirk, taking a sip to hide it.

"If you don't mind, Keith, Bruce and I were having a conversation."

Clark takes a sip of the champagne, and kisses his teeth at Vicki's comment, shaking his head. "It's Kent, Miss Vale. See, it's that kind of forgetfullness that has you sounding like a paparazzo." He winks at her, and Bruce restraints a snort at her offended expression. "You forgot how us investigative journalists operate."

With that, Bruce finds himself swept away into the crowd, and allows himself to laugh freely as Clark guides them to the dancefloor. They each set aside their glasses without stopping, and Bruce allows Clark to tug them deep into the throngs heading to the floor for the next song.

Somehow they end up at the centre of the formation, and Bruce slides his arms up Clark's chest to cross over his shoulders, and Clark's palms settle at the base of his spine, pulling him close.

"I thought you didn't dance," he murmurs, and Clark's cheeks dust pink. He'd resigned himself to no dances when he and Clark came out with their relationship, because Clark didn't like to draw even more attention to himself, and ignored the pang in his chest for the elation of the music.

"Yeah, well. I've been practising. I could tell you missed it."

Bruce flushes darkly, and ducks his head, resting it against Clark's chest. "Thank you. You didn't need to do this for me."

A hand leaves his back, and Clark tips his chin up with gentle fingers. "I would do anything for you," he vows, as the gentle notes of the song begin, winding up to the chaotic chorus of notes.

His eyes are dark with devotion, and Bruce leans into his chest, ignoring the pounding of his heart, and ghosts a kiss over Clark's cheek as the hand returns to his back. "And I you," he swears, pulling back, and assumes position.

They stare into each other's eyes, and the elegant cacophany of notes begins as the rest of the band comes in, and they move.

It had such a hold on me in, like, 2007.

Considering the type of stuff that goes down behind closed doors in the medical operations, what pray tell does point five of a mutant mean? If you would be so kind as to explain

(no pressure to answer tho ofc, just curious ^^"')

your reading for today.

bonus: right-side up vers.