#bat man

bruce, walking into a meeting early to find a few members chatting.

“yeah i’ve totally made out with bruce wayne.”

and he stops in his tracks.

because oliver just set himself up perfectly.

never let it be said that bruce is anything if not a dramatic bitch.

he’s self aware enough to know that.

and crazy enough to actively push that as far as it will go.

oliver is lounging at the meeting table, a smirk on his face.

dinah is rolling her eyes from the seat next to him, while hal, barry, clark, and diana are hanging around listening closely.

j’onn and arthur don’t even seem remotely interested.

and no one even noticed he had entered.

perfect.

“i know for a fact that’s a lie, oliver.” he says, keeping the gruff voice he uses as batman.

he revels in the startled yelps that echo around the room, prepared to give every single one of them a conniption. he just barely manages not to smirk.

“oh yeah, batsy? you so sure about that?” and oliver has always been a good liar, but under pressure he just seems a bit desperate, and bruce really can’t hold back the smirk this time as he places his hands on the table and looks his long time friend straight in the eye.

“yes, i am. because i can distinctly recall telling you in the eighth grade that i would never kiss you if you couldn’t beat me in a fistfight. and you never have.”

at his words, the league around them freeze, looking between him and oliver with such wide eyes that bruce has to fight not to laugh.

oliver’s face is the picture of indignant.

“i was fucking thirteen and you starting telling me how alfred said that anyone who couldn’t beat you in a fistfight doesn’t deserve your companionship!! i mean i don’t even understand how you beat me, you-“

and he cut himself off, looking at a smirking batman with wide eyes.

every leaguer waited with baited breath.

“BRUCE THOMAS WAYNE TAKE THE FUCKING COWL OFF RIGHT NOW!” oliver shouted, standing and pointing a finger right at his chest.

as bruce removed his cowl in front of his friends for the first time, oliver took a step back, face aghast, while the rest of the league seemed to stare dumbfounded.

“you have lost 93 fights against me in the last eighteen years, ollie. i keep a tallie.”

and as if a switch was flicked, the dumbfounded stare is replaced by indignant mortification as he gestures around the room to defend himself.