Rescued (SuperBat fic)

2

The phone on my desk flashes red. I lift the receiver and listen as Tilda says, "Mr Wayne, there's a walk-in for you. Do you have time?"
I lift my personal phone and open my calendar to see an empty block of time before my business dinner.
"Yes Tilda. Just before you send them in, who is it?"
"A reporter from the Daily Planet, Clark Kent."
"Oh right, yes. Probably got wind of this deal we're trying to broker."
"Probably. I'll send him in."
I place the receiver back in its cradle, flip my phone in my hands, and straighten up in my chair as the door opens and Clark strides in. He stops a few feet over the threshold, taking in my large wooden desk, the conference table, and the leather furniture suite on the other side of the room.
"I wasn't expecting to see you," I tell him. "At least, not here."
"I wanted to check on your head."
"Sure."
He comes closer, his eyes skimming over my forehead; the thick pink line where the edges of my head lac were brought together and the irritated dots either side of it where the stitches split through the skin.
"That's some scar."
"It's not the worst I have."
He shrugs.
"Just glad to see you're okay, fighting fit."
"If you want to check, I've got some free time tonight, we could spar."
"No need for sparring," he says. "We're tracking a terror cell. We're hoping to catch them buying supplies this evening. Are you in?"
"I have a business dinner."
Clark chuckles.
"Terror cells don't buy their supplies at dinnertime. The call to arms is going to come at about half past nine."
"Alright."
He comes closer, hands in his pockets. He moves around my desk and leans on the wall behind me. I spin to face him. As I look up into his face, my heart kicks against my ribs and my breath hitches. I spread my legs in my chair, feeling my blood pound to my cock and the small twitch there.
I like Clark's attention. It's been too long since a man has studied me so closely, in such intimate silence.
I clear my throat, my voice rough as I ask, "What do you do when you're not working and fighting crime?"
Clark's brows knit together. His eyes land on the floor.
He mutters, "Not much, now Lois is gone."
I remember attending Lois' funeral. The way he struggled through his eulogy and the raw sobs that ripped through him filling the church afterwards.
"You need to have some fun."
"Probably," he mutters.
"We should hang out some time," I tell him.
My cheeks grow warm, my neck too. I scratch at the thin layer of stubble on my jawline.
"Yeah, maybe."
The phone on the desk flashes red again and I lift the receiver, "Yes, Tilda."
"We've just received the building plans from the chemical facility sir, you said you wanted to see them as soon as they arrived."
"Right, two seconds."
I push out of my chair and ask Clark to excuse me for a moment. I rush out to Tilda's desk and take the cardboard tube from her. Once back in my office, I extract the large paper and flatten it on the conference table. Clark comes over and leans on a chair as I place paperweights on the corners.
"Expanding?"
"Maybe," I tell him. "I want to take stock of our holdings first."
I stride over and lean out of my office door.
Tilda looks up from her PC.
"Sir?"
"Did we get the list of necessary refurbishments over yet?"
"I believe they're still compiling it."
"Right. Could you tell them to be faster, without forgetting to be thorough?"
Tilda nods.
I pull back and walk over to Clark. My shoulder nudges against his as I step up to the table.
"I assume you flashed your press-pass to get your walk-in?"
"Yeah," Clark mutters.
"Next time don't show it unless you're here on business. I'll add you to the visitor list and you can come see me here in the tower anytime."
I look over the plans, feeling his eyes on me. When I turn my head to look into his face, he looks away.
"I have to get on now. Nice as it was to see you, I think you ought to go."
Clark offers a hand for me to shake. I take it and use it to pull him closer. I throw my other arm around his shoulders and tell him, "I'm not just a fellow hero. I can be a friend, alright?"
I feel him nodding, his head against my shoulder. My breath hitches again. My cock twitches, hot.
Clark pulls back and steps by me, then politely says goodbye to Tilda as my office door closes behind him.
I peek out once more to ask Tilda, "Can you get me Lucius?"
I pace up and down the conference table, eyes on the blueprints of the Wayne Chemical facility. Lucius strolls in a few minutes later, putting a palm flat to my back, between my shoulder blades. I shrug it off.
"What's up, boss?"
"Wayne Chemical, we're reviewing the facility, right?"
"Yes, you know that. It's been several years since we put fresh investment in the various divisions and the buildings need refurbishments."
"And we're currently researching?"
"Fuels, pharmaceuticals, safer household chemicals."
"About fuels; I thought you and I discussed developing electric cars."
"We have. But if we continue the research we've started in biofuels we save a considerable expenditure starting up a division for electric cars."
"I haven't seen results in biofuels. I toured the facility recently; they're doing a good job but strides are already being made in electric cars. We're behind the curve. I want to sell the biofuels division and repurpose that portion of the chemical facility to set up electric engine research and production. I also want to see what we can do in terms of improving electric charging point infrastructure. Got it?"
Lucius' arms are folded across his chest, but he nods.
I put a finger to the biofuel lab building on the blueprint, and ask, "Have we consulted anyone on the expense of repurposing the biofuels building?"
He shakes his head.
"How about the price of razing it altogether?"
Again he shakes his head.
"I'll speak with the architect we keep on retainer," he mutters.
"Let me know when you do."
"Is that all?"
"For now."
Lucius pats my shoulder again and then heads out. I hear him pause by Tilda's desk. Some muffled conversation ensues. Tilda's nervous chuckle is distinct over his voice.
I stroll over to my desk and sit down, scooting my chair close to the desk and hunching over my laptop. The sheer number of unread emails, all quarterly divisional reports, intimidates me. I log out of my email and shut down my laptop. It's late enough in the afternoon that I can justify leaving early.
As I step out, I ask Tilda, "Lucius wasn't bothering you?"
"No sir. Is there anything you want me to handle this evening?"
"No thank you, Tilda. Head out by five, alright? I'll see you in the morning."
She smiles and turns her attention back to her PC. I stroll over to the elevator and rush out of the building, running over everything I know about the man I'm meeting for dinner and the company he's just left, the one that would be Wayne Corp's competition in the electric engine market.
A few hours later, as the man I'm interviewing pushes himself off his barstool, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out to see a bat emoji in the Justice League chat. I check the time - it's just gone nine. I undo my top button and run a finger along the collar of my Bat-suit. It feels hot and tight. When my interview, Sean, comes back from the bathroom, I am quick to make an excuse.
Me to Clark: Address? I'm on my way.
I step into the backseat of my car, give Alfred the address and strip off my business suit as Alfred moves into the flow of traffic. Happily, we're already in midtown, so Alfred only has to drive about five blocks before we pull up just outside the underground parking garage.
I creep across the concrete, spotting the gang crouched by the elevators, clumped close together. Unusually, Clark is at the back of the group. I stand close to him and drop into a crouch, legs spread wide apart, almost either side of Clark's back. Smiling to myself, I reach forward and tug gently on Clark's cape.
His head turns and he nods hello, whispering, "We weren't sure you would make it."
"Well I couldn't leave you hanging," I reply.
But all I can think is how I would deny him for hours, if he were mine. I wonder if he's the type that groans loud enough to disturb the neighbours.
As I blink away the thought, a white van rolls into the garage, weaves its way around and starts to disappear up the ramp.
Clark whispers, "It's stopped on the next floor, to the left."
En masse, we creep towards the ramp and jog up, light on our feet. We keep to the shadows and behind pillars and listen on alert as another engine enters the garage, brakes squealing faintly. A hatchback crests the ramp and drives over to the van, parking at an angle near to it.
Clark holds up a hand.
"Wait for it."
We watch as a tall man with a hint of beer belly emerges from the hatchback and knocks twice on the side panel of the van. The door slides aside, revealing a young-ish woman and two metal canisters.
I see Diana twitch and turn towards the action. Flash puts a hand on her elbow, mutters something inaudible to her. Clark nods to Flash and as the young woman in the van starts to roll a canister to her client, Flash zips over there and cuffs the customer.
Flash whistles.
We sprint over and Diana is quick to intercept the flight of the young woman.
I see Flash's mouth twist into a smirk as Diana tackles the young woman. He wants to make a joke. He wants to see Diana roll her eyes.
Standing closer now, I can see the eagle and cross tattooed across our bad guy's biceps.
I pull Clark off to the side. He frowns at me.
"What's up?"
"Fun as it was to watch Diana take that girl down, you didn't need me here."
Clark shrugs.
"You're part of the gang too. There might have been trouble. We can't plan for everything."
I tilt my head in deference.
"I still think the better way to test me is to spar."
"Fine, we can spar."
I hear sirens approaching. I stick around long enough to get a perfunctory thanks from the cops and hear the words our bad guy snarls about his mission, then slink away. I listen to the echo of my footsteps and berate myself for thinking Clark might have had more to say to me.