Chapter Text
“Bruce?” Clark exclaimed at the unexpected sight of his comrade in heroism.
“Clark,” Bruce replied. “You’re okay.”
Their words echoed off of the grimy walls of the abandoned warehouse. Each of the caped crusaders was surprised to see the other in the strange place. To their knowledge, the warehouse was supposed to be empty. The only other audible sounds were the drips of unknown fluids from leaky, unmaintained pipes.
“Yea, I’m okay,” Clark clarified. “Why would I not be okay?”
Bruce reached into a hidden pocket in his bat suit and pulled out a crumpled-up piece of pink paper. Cut-out letters were pasted haphazardly into a message for Batman.
“Is that a ransom note?” Clark asked.
Bruce read over the note again. “Not technically. They didn’t ask me for money. They just said they had you captive and that I had to come here to have ‘any hope of finding you’.”
Clark put a hand over his heart and smiled bashfully.
“You were coming to save me? You must care about me a lot, Bruce.”
Bruce’s face remained as stoic as ever. “The world needs Superman.”
Clark playfully punched Bruce’s shoulder, and the following clank from the cold, hard suit was plainly audible.
“Why are you here, Clark?” said Bruce, changing the subject.
Clark gestured his big arms towards the amenities of the warehouse, more specifically to the logos on them.
“This used to be a LexCorp warehouse,” Clark explained. “I have reason to believe Lex Luthor is developing a new technology with kryptonite, and for obvious reasons, I can’t let him do that. Many signs pointed me here, so I came to investigate. This place seems super abandoned, though. Who do you think sent you that letter anyway? Do you think it was Luthor?”
Bruce unfurled the letter again. “No. This has the Joker written all over it. No one else would threaten me in such an infantile fashion.”
“The pink paper is a cute touch,” Clark teased.
Bruce did not laugh. What was strange, though, was that someone else’s maniacal laugh could be heard from somewhere inside the warehouse.
HA HA HA!
“Speak of the devil,” Clark said, looking around for the Joker.
“And he shall a-QUEER!” The Joker suddenly appeared out of the shadows. He was dressed in his usual attire, except it was stained–no–hastily painted with all of the colors of the rainbow.
“What are you doing, Joker?” Batman inquired, prepping to take his enemy down.
“Joker? I don’t know who that is,” the Joker laughed. “I’m the Woker, baby!”
“What?” Clark laughed.
Before anyone else could get a quip in, a hissing sound could be heard from above. As Clark and Bruce looked up, they saw a cascade of pink gas rapidly descending upon them, flowing from the old sprinklers in the ceiling. The Woker laughed heartily at the sight of it.
“ Why so queerious? ” he jested. And as the noxious gas clouded the warehouse, the Woker slipped away without a trace.
Clark and Bruce swatted at the air and coughed profusely as they tried to navigate their way out of the pink haze. Bruce’s hands wandered aimlessly until he stumbled upon a door handle.
“Superman! Over here!” he called.
Clark followed the sound of the helpful voice until he joined Bruce at the door. They heaved and pushed against its rusted hinges until it busted open. Clark and Bruce stumbled outside into a cold, dark alleyway. They took a second to breathe and collect themselves before beginning the awkward conversation.
“Did he just call himself the Woker ?” Clark asked between coughs.
“He did.” Bruce dusted himself off and met Clark’s eyeline. Weirdly, it felt like Clark was suddenly staring . Odd. “The Joker is a strange individual, but this is new, even for him.”
Clark heard and understood Bruce’s words, but, inexplicably, he couldn’t bring himself to reply. It was like there was an invisible force connecting his sky blue eyes with Bruce’s warm hazel. The men seemingly couldn’t take their eyes off of each other. Clark could almost swear that, under the mask and the makeup, he could see Bruce blush .
“I’m going to track down the Wo- uh- the Joker,” Bruce bluntly spoke.
Batman’s cape swiftly swung in the air as he turned away from Clark’s uncomfortable stare. His boots click-clacked loudly on the wet pavement, highlighting the tense and awkward silence.
“Right, I, uh…” Clark stuttered. “I’ll see you later then.”
Clark watched Bruce walk away until he disappeared from sight.
*
The Daily Planet was as lively as ever the next day, as if Clark needed another distraction from his work. He typed meticulously on his keyboard, trying to distract himself from his perplexing emotions. Just when he was getting into a writing groove, yet another distraction arrived at his desk.
“You okay, buddy? You’ve been real quiet today. I know your work isn’t that interesting.”
“I’m always quiet, Jimmy,” Clark defended.
“Not this quiet!” a familiar coworker chimed in.
Normally, a remark like that from Lois Lane would make Clark’s heart flutter. One could even say he had a crush on her. But in that moment, he couldn’t even pay attention to what it was she had said. His attention was captured by the man right next to him: the charming Jimmy Olsen. The way his coy smile sparkled in the light had Clark completely rapt.
Jimmy noticed the way Clark was staring. It was hard not to.
“Okayyy… well, keep your secrets, Clark. I’m gonna get back to work.”
As Jimmy left Clark’s desk, Clark lost himself in thought. What was going on with him? He couldn’t explain the emotions he was feeling, and it became physically impossible to focus. On impulse, Clark grabbed his jacket and his bag and headed for the door. Work wasn’t going to be possible that day. His coworkers watched as he exited without a word, and they all shrugged amongst themselves.
“Four, I need you to examine me. Something is wrong.”
Clark stormed into the Fortress of Solitude and threw himself onto the examination table to be examined. The high, icy ceiling loomed above, nearly as daunting as his unexplained predicament. Superman’s loyal robot ally quickly sped over to his master.
“On it, sir,” Four obliged.
Four conducted numerous medical examinations, scouring every inch of Clark’s body, looking for some ailment that needed to be cured. The results were not what Clark wanted to hear.
“There appears to be nothing physically wrong with you,” Four concluded.
“Check again, please. There is definitely something wrong. The Wo- the Joker assaulted Batman and I with this pink gas, and it’s done something to me–I know it has.”
Four contemplated the claim. “Can you describe your symptoms for me?”
Clark thought about his symptoms. There was no way to explain them that wasn’t embarrassing.
“I… I keep finding myself… drawn to– attracted to… well,” Clark started.
“Attracted to what?” Four inquired.
“Men, Four. I’m attracted to men,” Clark admitted, his worried face a pitiful sight.
“I believe that is simply homosexuality, sir. Nothing to worry about,” Four advised.
“I know what it is, Four. I just– I wasn’t like this before,” Clark explained.
“I see,” Four stated. “Well, sir, there is no known cure for homosexuality, as it is not recognized as a disease or disorder. I am unsure of how to assist you further.”
Clark pushed himself up and off of the examination table.
“Forget it, Four,” he moped. “I need some time to think.”
The mighty Superman sulked and trudged all the way to his bedroom, contemplating his new identity. What was he to do? Who was he to do?
*
The Bat Cave was quiet, as it always was. The only noise in Bruce Wayne’s environment was that of his own thoughts clouding his brain. The way Clark had stared at him the night prior was tattooed into his mind, taking up all of his brain space. It bred all sorts of following thoughts, like thoughts about Clark’s infectious smile, and his slick, dark hair, and the perfect curves of his lips.
Bruce couldn’t help but imagine what it looked like, felt like, underneath that thick layer of blue fabric. He wanted to see what Superman’s suit looked like on his bedroom floor. His brain wouldn’t stop. These thoughts pounded at his skull until the silence of the Bat Cave was broken. Bruce’s most trusted confidante had arrived.
“Hello, Alfred,” Bruce greeted.
“Am I interrupting something?” Alfred asked, approaching Bruce’s desk.
Bruce looked down at his research and realized he had absentmindedly drawn Superman’s iconic symbol over and over again.
“No,” Bruce claimed, discreetly flipping the papers over.
Alfred raised his eyebrows slightly. “Well, I was just checking in. But, if there’s something distracting you, you can tell me about it. If it’s inhibiting your ability to focus, then it’d be better to get it off your chest.”
“I have it under control, Alfred.”
Alfred took his cue to leave, slowly walking away from Bruce’s desk.
“Wait,” Bruce interrupted.
Alfred returned to the desk, ready to listen.
“I need to stop thinking about something,” Brice explained.
“Something?” Alfred interrogated. “Or someone?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Bruce insisted. “I just need it to stop.”
“Why must it stop? Is it really so bad to have thoughts other than business and vigilantism?” Alfred proposed.
“Yes.”
“It was a rhetorical question, Bruce. You’re allowed to be a real person sometimes. In fact, I think it would improve your life to do something other than work.”
“This could compromise my work, Alfred. You don’t understand,” Bruce insisted.
Alfred reached across Bruce’s desk and flipped over the incriminating papers. The messy doodles inflicted a pang of embarrassment in Bruce’s chest; vulnerability wasn’t his favorite virtue.
“I think I might have some idea, Bruce.”
Bruce instinctively turned the papers back over. “Then you should understand why I need to put a stop to all of this.”
“What I understand is that your desires don’t lose value because you have other priorities in your life. If you suppress every emotion you deem ‘distracting’, that will be your downfall; not an innocent… crush–for lack of a better word. I suggest you try to understand yourself before you try to suppress yourself. But that part is up to you.”
Bruce sighed and sank back into his seat in defeat. Alfred turned away and began to take his leave, but stopped once he remembered an important reminder. He turned to Bruce with a smirk on his face.
“Oh, and you have a visitor upstairs.”
*
The LuthorCorp secretary carefully pushed open the door and peeped his head inside, as to get his boss’s attention.
“What is it?” Lex asked. “I’m busy.”
“There’s someone here to see you,” the secretary replied.
“Just tell me who it is, you’re already wasting my time.”
The receptionist cleared his throat. “He says his name is… ‘The Woker.’”
Lex finally met his receptionist’s eye contact at the mention of his ally.
“Send him in,” Lex ordered.
“Okay, sir.” The receptionist disappeared behind the door. A few moments later, the door opened right back up and the Woker came bounding into Lex’s office.
“What do you want?” Lex got straight to business.
The Woker sat down in the chair across from Luthor’s desk, kicking one leg over one of the arms and leaning slightly towards the other.
“Well, I did what you asked. I completely BLASTED them with the gas. So, when does the plan start to work?” the Woker asked.
“The plan is already working. I don’t need you to do anything else,” Lex informed.
“But when will the Batman come crawling to me? Like you said!” the Woker smiled happily at the thought.
“I thought you would’ve figured this out by now, but I guess I should’ve known better than to overestimate the intelligence of someone who willingly calls himself ‘The Woker.’ The gas was pink kryptonite gas. Kryptonite . Kryptonite only has an effect on Superman. Batman was completely unaffected by it. So, to answer your question: never. The Batman will never come ‘crawling’ to you.”
Lex’s unbothered expression drove the Woker insane. He angrily sat up straight in his chair.
“Then why did I bring Batman there?” he cried.
“You have no one to blame for that but yourself,” Lex sneered.
“I thought the gas made people gay! It’s the gay gas! Gay gay gay!” the Woker began speaking in hysterics.
“No, you moron. The gas makes SUPERMAN gay. I planted the evidence that led Superman to that warehouse, and I devised this entire plan. And once his urges come in full force, he will never want to leave my side. Only then will I finally have nobody in my way,” Lex reveled in his genius.
“So the gas made him gay,” the Woker started. “But how does that make him attracted to you?”
“Because he’s attracted to men now,” Lex elaborated.
“Being gay doesn’t make you attracted to all men. Just the hot ones. Trust me, I would know. I’m the Woker, baby!” The Woker cackled at his own quip.
“I am a hot man, you imbecile. I’m rich, successful, powerful, and physically flawless,” Lex fumed.
The Woker got up from his chair and placed his hands on Lex’s desk, looming over him. A big, woke smile crossed his painted face.
“You’re bald, and you’re mean,” he whispered. “A total hottie like Superman would never go out with you.”
Lex stood up out of his chair and swept the Woker’s hands off of his desk, taking some office supplies along with them. Lex’s blood boiled with rage as he stared daggers into the Woker’s smug face.
“ GET OUT OF MY OFFICE! ” Lex screamed.
At the sound of the scream, the guards standing at the door rushed in and dragged the Woker away. Lex could hear the Woker laughing and laughing his maniacal laugh incessantly until it faded away with distance. Lex pulled a crumpled picture of Superman out of his suit pocket and reveled once again in his genius. Of course Superman would grovel at his feet. What other man could he possibly want?
*
“Bruce, I’m so happy to see you,” Clark cheered as Bruce ascended out of the Bat Cave. “Crazy things have been happening to me.”
“Like what?” Bruce asked, unaware.
“The gas. When we got hit with the gas, it must’ve rewired our brains and somehow changed… well, changed our sexualities,” Clark explained.
Bruce took a second to fully contemplate what he was hearing. He had almost forgotten about the gas. To him, it was just colorful smoke, but perhaps Superman was the target of the attack, and the gas changed him. Or maybe the gas did nothing at all, and maybe Clark was just battling with some new feelings. No matter what Bruce thought actually happened, he knew this wasn’t an opportunity to pass up.
“Right, the gas,” he echoed.
“So you’ve been changed, too?” Clark asked. “I was worried I was just losing my mind, but I’m glad we’re in this together.”
Bruce could hardly pay attention to the words coming out of Clark’s mouth. Just the movement of his lips as he spoke was tantalizingly enticing. The thought of Clark having any sort of attraction towards him sent Bruce mentally spiraling, imagining all of the things he wanted Superman to do to him.
“Bruce?” Clark spoke, seeing that Bruce had completely spaced out.
Bruce snapped back to reality.
“Yes. The gas got me, too,” he assured.
“Okay, perfect! So we can work together to find some sort of solution to this, right?”
Clark’s optimistic face was like sunlight to Bruce’s darkness.
“I’m sure there is some sort of antidote,” Bruce suggested.
Bruce couldn’t help but stare into Clark’s perfectly blue eyes.
“Or maybe the gas is temporary. Tempting us with these… urges, until we decide to act on them,” Bruce hypothesized.
“Act on them?” Clark repeated. “What are you suggesting?”
Alfred’s words echoed in Bruce’s mind as he fought to abandon his inhibitions. He reached out and delicately tried to take Clark’s hand in his. Clark didn’t fight the advance.
“I see,” Clark spoke, a slight tremble detectable in his voice.
“Follow me.”
Bruce took Clark up to the nicest grand bedroom in Wayne Tower. Clark gazed in awe at the beautiful architecture and interior design of the seemingly ancient and magnificent bedroom. It looked like something a king or queen would live in.
“This is beautiful,” Clark beamed.
‘Yes…” Bruce stared deeply into the intricacies of Clark’s chiseled face. “Beautiful.”
Taking his eyes off of the architecture, Clark stepped a little bit closer to Bruce, further fueling the palpable tension that had already begun.
“So…” Clark awkwardly stuttered.
Bruce closed the gap between them, pressing his lips against Clark’s. The feeling of his stubble brushing against Clark’s smooth skin sent a rush through his body. It was almost too good to be real. It was everything Bruce had ever wanted, but something wasn’t right. Bruce pushed away from Clark, maintaining intimate eye contact.
“Did I do something wrong?” Clark asked.
“No. There’s just something I need to say,” Bruce confessed.
“Go on.”
Bruce mustered up the courage to tell the truth.
“The gas didn’t affect me, Clark. I’m not under any poison or spell or command. This is what I want… what I’ve always wanted.”
Clark stood and stared at Bruce, absorbing this new information. It was hard for him to fully focus. All he could think about was what Bruce might look like naked.
“I have to say, it’s strange hearing you so vulnerable, Bruce. And I can’t say I’ve always felt the same way,” Clark started.
“Oh,” Bruce sighed.
“But I know what I’m feeling right now,” Clark continued.
Clark stepped forward, forcing Bruce to step backwards until his back met a wall. He was cornered. Clark pressed his torso into Bruce’s, holding Bruce between himself and the wall.
“And what I’m feeling,” Clark spoke, eyeing Bruce’s lips. “is that this curse might actually be a blessing.”
Clark dropped his coat to the floor and immediately crashed his lips onto Bruce’s. As they pushed
their faces together, nearly starting a fire between them, Clark began to unbutton Bruce’s black shirt, revealing the ghostly pale skin beneath. Clark was amazed to find some decently sized muscles underneath Bruce’s brooding exterior. They were undeniably enticing, but also no match for Superman’s strength.
Clark’s strong hands guided Bruce over to the elegant and expensive bed, laying him down with ease. Both of them had already begun to breathe heavily, and Clark hadn’t even taken his shirt off yet. Clark towered over the bed and reached for the hem of his shirt. Bruce watched intently as Clark pulled his shirt upwards. His incredible body was coming into view. First, his sculpted abs. Next, his huge chest. Finally, his bare shoulders and biceps. His muscles glistened in the low light, his sweat creating a smooth and shiny surface.
“You like that?” Clark playfully teased, flexing for Bruce.
Bruce couldn’t even hear him over the blood rushing in his ears. Clark reached for Bruce’s belt. He unclasped it and tore it right out of his pants. Clark gripped Bruce’s pants and slid them down Bruce’s toned legs. With the pants gone, Clark could clearly see what was hiding underneath.
“Oh, you definitely like that,” he deduced.
Bruce normally would’ve been embarrassed about being so seen like that, but with Clark he didn’t care. Superman could have it all.
“Your turn,” Bruce ordered, sitting up to get within reaching distance of Clark’s pants. Clark let Bruce take control and watched as he practically ripped the pants off of his body. All that was left for each of them was the final step. Each of their pairs of underwear clung tightly to their bodies, waiting impatiently to be released.
“Are you ready?” Clark asked.
Bruce nodded, trying to act as calm as he could about the event he’d been waiting for for ages. Clark swiftly pulled the underwear off of his body, cuing Bruce to do the same. Suddenly, all that was left was the two naked men and a bed. Clark climbed onto the bed, onto Bruce, and gazed down into his hazel eyes. The two of them expertly positioned themselves to fit perfectly together, and Clark sensually lowered his lips onto Bruce’s.
Bruce lifted his legs into the air and wrapped them around Clark’s muscly back, pulling him in closer. He could feel Clark’s presence exactly where he wanted it to be. He pulled Clark’s ear to his mouth and whispered softly.
“ Do it, Superman .”
A rush came over Clark’s body, tingling with anticipation. Bruce didn’t have to tell him twice. Clark positioned his hand between Bruce’s legs, sliding one finger delicately upwards. He penetrated Bruce, testing the waters. Bruce took a sharp breath in, reacting to the sensation. After a moment, Clark added another finger. Bruce placed a hand on Clark’s huge shoulder, squeezing it as Clark began thrusting.
“Is this good?” Clark asked.
Bruce looked into the eyes of the powerful man on top of him.
“ Super. ”
*
Bruce stood in the hallway the next morning, greeting a guest that Alfred had so kindly let into the building. Bruce’s hair was a mess and his clothes looked like they were thrown on in the dark.
“I just want to talk,” the Woker explained.
“Spit it out then,” Bruce urged. “What do you want?”
“I just want to know if you’ve been having any… gay thoughts recently? Anything remotely homosexual? About me, maybe?” the Woker asked, a hopeful look on his face.
Clark appeared in the hallway, fresh out of the shower. The only thing adorning his sculpted frame was a soft white towel around his waist.
“What’s this guy doing here?” Clark asked.
“You have got to be kidding me,” the Woker grunted. “Him?”
The Woker eyed Clark up and down, sizing up Batman’s prize.
“Honestly, I should’ve known. Well, forget it I guess. You two have fun. I’ll get you next time… I’m the Woker, baby… ha ha ha.”
The Woker turned around and trudged down the hallway and out of sight, hopelessly defeated.
“Well, I’m gonna go put some clothes on,” Clark mumbled.
Bruce rushed up to Clark’s side and stopped him in his tracks. He slipped one finger onto the inside of the towel and looked up at Clark.
“Or… we could start Round 2,” he suggested. The nature of his monotone, gritty voice didn’t quite match the nature of his request, but it somehow made it all the more sensual.
“How could I say no to that?”
He couldn’t.