![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: Takes Three to Tango
Rating: PG-13, maybe R, but to be honest I'm not sure how the hell to rate this.
Pairing/Characters: Kal/J'onn/Bruce, Lois, Alfred, Dick (in passing).
Summary: Another ball. Another dance. But this one's different.
Disclaimer: not mine. But I can dream, oh yes!
It was inevitable, perhaps. Lois was a perceptive woman, but in this she was not entirely alone. There had been others at the charity ball who had noted that Bruce Wayne appeared to be in competion with one Clark Kent, reporter, for the affections of the nameless beauty who had shared a dance with each of them. The rumours were running wild, the gossip magazines rife with speculations. Bruce Wayne was lapping it up like there was no tomorrow. Clark Kent, even at the remove of Metropolis, was not so eager for the attention. And no-one knew who the mystery woman had been to ask her what her opinions on the matter might be, a point of speculation in and of itself.
So when Bruce Wayne announced his intended presence at another function two months later, with the same beauty by his side, and the guest list also happened to include a certain reporting team out of the Metropolis branch of the Daily Planet, donations had practically flooded the Gotham Orphan Fund as socialites jostled and fought for a seat in the dance hall at the Gotham Towers Hotel.
Which was, naturally, the point.
***
How did Bruce do this, time after time? That was all Clark could think, walking into the glittering hall with Lois grumbling at his side. He could face down Armageddon, Darkside, Luthor, and even, though admittedly this was pushing it, Lois in bad mood. But the seething throng of Gotham high society, and the thoughts of the performance the three of them intended to put on for them, set his knees gently knocking. How did Bruce face this, as a matter of course?
"... Smallville!"
He started, and looked sheepishly down into Lois' frowning face. He resisted the impulse to rub the back of his neck and go 'aw shucks', based on the theory that she probably had a can of Kryptonite mace stowed somewhere in that delicate little bag of hers. "Sorry, Lois. What did you say?"
His partner sighed heavily. "I said, stop panicking, Kent! For goodness sake, if you can't trust Bruce Wayne to be a convincing playboy, who can you trust?"
He blinked. "I do trust him!" he spluttered. More than anyone, save J'onn, but he didn't say that out loud. They all knew it, anyway. She raised a wry eyebrow at him.
"Don't you trust her, then? I mean him ... you know what I mean."
He nodded. "Of course!"
"Then what's your problem, Smallville!" she finished, exasperated. "You've played your part all your life! Nothing can possibly go wrong!" And as soon as she'd said it, she reached out to touch the wooden panelling of the entrance hall. Just in case. "Just shut up and be yourself, already!"
He nodded sheepishly, and then smiled at her. "Thanks Lois," he murmured softly, and she looked away, something that might have been a blush brushing her cheeks. And then she started as they entered the main dance hall, to see Bruce Wayne and his date in earnest conversation in the nearest convenient spotlight. Clark could hear her grit her teeth.
"Overdoing it, much?" Lois grumbled under her breath. "And no way that dress is physically possible! That thing should be in a puddle at her feet by now! Shapeshifting is cheating!"
"Mmm-hmm," Clark murmured distantly. Bruce's arm was curled around J'onn's waist, and the instant he'd stepped in the room, J'onn had sent him the sensation of Bruce's thumb stroking a small, soothing rhythm in the small of his back. An instant later, and Bruce himself sent wry amusement, for them, for the situation, with J'onn's steady confidence right behind it. Clark shook his head with a smile, and groused playfully back that he was always late for the party. J'onn reached up to hide Bruce's chuckle behind a slender wrist.
"You're two seconds away from an elbow in the ribs, lover boy." The low note of warning in Lois' voice pierced through the warm fog of their presence, and Clark returned to earth with a bump. He quickly held up a placating hand.
"Sorry! Sorry, Lois," he muttered quickly, and suppressed a laugh at her grumpy expression. She'd agreed to help with their little demonstration, but as she repeatedly pointed out, she had never agreed to enjoy it.
And neither had he, now that he thought about it. The first part of the evening was a nightmare, threading his way through the minefield of tittering questions and sly looks, trying desperately not to send longing looks at the doors, windows, ceiling, and direct them instead towards Bruce and J'onn as they circled. Not that that part was exactly difficult. But the unending babble of inane questions and snide insinuations might just have driven him mad, had Lois not taken it upon herself to run interferance for him, in her usual inimitable fashion. Sharp eyes, sharp wits, and the occasional sharp stiletto worked wonders, and Clark began to give serious thought to trying to get the woman canonised.
It wasn't exactly helpful that Bruce appeared to be having the time of his playboy life. J'onn may have been an expert in disguise, and adept at filtering out unwanted background noise, but even he was hard pressed to keep up as Bruce all but paraded them around the floor, playing the part of snooty competitor trumpeting his victory to the hilt. And the thrill of it, of this pretense that was finally, in so many ways, no longer a pretense at all, flooded through their connection from him. He held J'onn close to him, and the looks he sent Clark across the room were fiercely triumphant, as tendrils of his joy snaked out to wrap themselves around Clark, and make him yearn to be beside them. It wasn't until J'onn took Bruce's face in his petite hands, and sent him a warning clear as a bell through their kiss, that those vivid emotions toned down enough to calm the itching in Clark's feet. His gratitude echoed back to J'onn, and his Martian welcomed it with a smile.
The performance seemed to stretch interminably. Washed up beside the buffet, Alfred handed him a glass of champagne with a sympathetic smile and a nod to wish him good luck, and Clark wondered exactly how pathetic he must be looking for Alfred to show sympathy in public. Worse again was Dick's quick squeeze on his shoulder as the unfortunate young man breezed by and struggled not to grimace as the brunette at his side gave a giggle high-pitched enough to make dogs whine. If Dick could find sympathy for him in spite of troubles like that, he must be looking grim.
But it wasn't for much longer, he knew that. Music had started, the dance floor had begun to fill, Bruce and J'onn had begun to circle closer, and his stiff bearing and longing expression seemed to have heightened social anticipation to what Bruce judged to be the perfect pitch. It was almost show-time. And his lovers were nearly in reach.
J'onn laughed, a musical sound, as he and Bruce shimmied across the final stretch of dance floor, and as he turned to step off it, he affected the smallest of stumbles, tripping forward out of Bruce's arms.
And into Clark's, as he stepped forward like a gentleman to steady the falling woman. J'onn, with a very wry smile indeed, pulled the long, feminine length of himself up Clark's body until they stood face to breathless face. And laughed lightly.
If that didn't bloody get tongues wagging, Clark was going to have to worry about Gotham's populace.
A hush descended, broken by a couple of sharp giggles. But Clark wasn't listening. He was watching Bruce. They both were, he and J'onn, as the Martian turned in his arms to look back at his erstwhile partner. And Bruce certainly made it worth the looking.
Gotham's prince drew himself up, blue eyes flashing in regal anger, allowing just the smallest hint of the Batman to filter into his body language, filling the room with a sense of muted menace as he stared at the wary pair. He flashed a steely glare out across the room as another slightly hysterical giggle broke the hush, and silence fell so solidly Clark could nearly feel it. As Bruce stepped deliberately closer to them, the chill challenge in his face almost made them wilt.
Except that underneath it all, silently, he was laughing.
J'onn pressed himself closer to Clark as if nervous, and Clark had to voice a silent complaint at that, if they expected him to be able to dance later without making a fool of himself. J'onn gave a startled laugh, still surprised that he could be appreciated in that particular way, and Clark wanted to hug him until he felt the warm glow in his heart. He felt a leap of proud love from Bruce, and fought to turn his soft expression into one of suitable challenge, silently rebuking the pair of them.
When he and Bruce were face to face in stiff affront, with J'onn between them as a flimsy barrier, and the tension in the audience was approaching breaking point, Lois took her cue to step in. Stepping up between them, on the opposite side to J'onn, who she sent a withering glare for good measure, she faced down Bruce's glare and Clark's pleading look with equal aplomb. Fists on hips, she gave them a look that left no doubt in anyone's mind that as far as she was concerned, they were a pair of absolute idiots. Clark could wish it didn't look quite as convincing as it did.
"There's no law against a man helping a woman up, Mr Wayne," she pointed out, frostily. Bruce turned a portion of his chill stare on her.
"I didn't think either of us were blind, Ms Lane," he drawled back, equally cool. She snorted in an amazingly ladylike manner.
"I'm not," she snapped. "But a woman is entitled to choose. Or don't you think she can dance with both of you?"
Lois stopped as something changed in Bruce's face at that, and Clark felt himself lean back from the sudden gleam of wicked challenge in the playboy's eyes. Damn, but Bruce could certainly act! And then J'onn reached back to grasp his hand, and he felt the echo inside Bruce. Exactly the same dark gleam as he showed on the outside. Bruce had neglected to tell them something. Something important.
"That sounds like a challenge, Ms Lane," Bruce murmured, a lazy drawl heavy with the kind of sensual challenge that movie stars paid thousands in voice coaching to achieve. Then Gotham's prince turned to J'onn and him, with that same dark look, and he wrapped his arm tighter around J'onn's waist on instinct, to the seasoned Leaguer's muted amusement.
"What do you think, Ms Jones," the millionaire purred, deep and mocking, "can you dance with both of us?"
J'onn pulled shapely brows into a very real frown of confusion. "I don't know what you mean, Brucie dearest," he laughed, sharp and nervous. Exactly what part of the plan is this, Bruce?
Bruce's lips curled into a sneer, rich humour and excitement swirling up through him, the delight at managing to spring a surprise on a telepath and a man with superhearing, and Clark had time to notice that Lois didn't look the least bit surprised by this development before the predator wearing their lover's face stepped right up to them, caught Clark's waist with one hand, J'onn's arm with the other, and pulled them against him in a very rough approximation of a dance position. And smiled sharply.
"Allow me to repeat," he laughed huskily. "Can you dance with both of us? Because I'm sure that I could be persuaded to dance with both of you."
Clark's expression of outright terror was far from faked, and J'onn's wasn't far behind. The hurriedly stiffled gasps of affront and vicarious delight from the ring of avid observers didn't help matters, either. But then ...
Dance with me. Clark. J'onn. Make it look as awkward and forced as you like, but dance with
me. It's all in hand, I promise you. Just come with me.And for a moment, they hesitated, uncertain, but the absolute faith in his dark, blue eyes, and the deep and almost painful love that swelled up through him undid them both. J'onn moved first, firming his grip on Bruce's hand, and smiling at him with steady trust, and Clark firmed his arm around him and reached out to rest his other hand on Bruce's shoulder, struggling to shape his face into a mask of shocked denial when all he wanted to do was brush his thumb over his lover's cheek and wipe away the invisible tears of love that he sensed there.
Bruce's arrogant mask never faltered, not for a single instant, but the sudden weight of his heart pushed insistently on their chests, and J'onn reached out instinctively to cushion it's beating with the warmth of an ancient regard. For a moment, Clark felt redundant, then the silver threads of Martian joy wrapped around his heart in turn, and tugged it gently forward to join theirs. And the world changed around them.
Where they were no longer mattered. For all the masks, the audience, the pantomime, this moment was not, and never could be again, a lie. They were three, they were complete, and no force on any world could ever hope to shatter the strength of that knowledge. And for that moment, their hearts sang with it.
Then Bruce's eyes changed again, darkening, the rich challenge back in his face and mind. He stepped back a little, pulling J'onn's hand after him, turning the slender Martian until he fit into Clark's arms, and lifted Clark's hand to press them together. He stepped back again as they stared at him, and smiled sharply.
"Dance with him, then," he laughed, rich and proud. "I'm sure I'll do my best to keep up." He clicked an imperious finger at the band, a strong, stately beat filling the room, and waved a hand to clear the floor around them. Lois backed off with a glint in her eye promising retribution, but he ignored that magnanimously, and looked at them. "Well?"
They blinked at him, wary and worried, before J'onn turned back to Clark, gave a small shrug, and smiled. Clark looked down at him, back at Bruce, and smiled too. He bent down to kiss J'onn gently on the lips, feeling the warm, silvery current of their smile between them, and guided his partner out onto the floor. J'onn curved into him, the emotion of the music filling him, carrying him, and held on tight as the strings swelled in power, and the current of the dance caught them up.
For a moment in time, that was all that existed. The swell of the music, his lover in his arms, the warmth of love in two hearts. And then another rhythm began to pace itself around theirs. Another heartbeat, threading through the tango, another presence, centered and sure, predatory, circling. Bruce.
He paced a foot behind J'onn, matching them step for step, all the grace of the Bat in his movements as he watched them, at one slender remove, and his eyes were dark with love. J'onn straightened, the presence at his back unavoidable, intense. His eyes caught and held Clarks's, the reflection of passion from Bruce's eyes to Clark's to J'onn's, and back, an electric arc of connection, as the beat of their hearts sped and beat in time together. It built between them, that steady pressure of togetherness, and the world faded to nothing outside the bounds of their bond.
Then Bruce moved. Lithe and powerful as a hunting shadow, he stalked around them, the humming, dramatic demands of the dance of passion echoed in his predatory, deliberate movements. Every ounce of combat skill, all the instinct of the fight, he poured into the motion, curling himself around J'onn as Clark swept him instinctively into a dip, matching the powerful strike of Clark's leg on the backslide a bare inch behind him, his lips almost brushing the back of Clark's neck, his eyes catching, caressing J'onn's. Their shadow. Their lover.
And he touched them. For an instant at a time. He caught their hands, pressed them deeper together, and let them go in a heartbeat. He caught Clark's hip to turn around them, a brush of one strong finger. He skimmed one hand just above the line of J'onn's leg in a low turn, a whisper of air, barely felt though everything in them rose to meet that fleeting touch. He moved like the night around Clark's sun and J'onn's star, content to wrap them in his presence, confident that it would be felt.
And deeper, beneath the movement of bodies, beneath the mutable mask of the face, where no audience could hope to pry, he loved them. His mind reached out to theirs, reaching down into them with every brush, with every moment of contact. With every almost-touch, his heart beat against theirs, strong and needing, yearning for them.
Be close. Be together. Be with me. Love each other. Love me.
Remember me.
When I am nothing but your shadow, remember me. Remember the beat of my heart against yours. Remember my mind threading through yours. Dance together to the end of time, hold each other, love each other, when all else fades around you, and to the last, remember me.
I love you. Clark. J'onn. I love you.
And they did. Oh, they did. J'onn, with all the crying joy in his ancient heart, carrying the memory within him, and Clark, with the steadfastness of the sun, with the great, boundless love he carried in his heart. They loved him. They remembered him. Without hands, without touch, dancing together at the center of his world, they held him. Loved him. loved each other. Trusting the other to match their strength, to share it, to stand together under the weight of that memory, and never, ever let it fall.
They were three. They were complete. And would remain so, in memory, in truth, until the very end itself.
He caught them, as the whirl of enchanted music reached a last crescendo, wrapped his arm with Clark's beneath J'onn as he fell into the last bow, reached out with his other hand to wrap it around Clark's neck to pull him forward. Kissed him, as between them J'onn laid a hand on each of their hearts, and joined them finally, irrevocably, as three. Exulted in them, as they loved each other, as they loved him. Loved them. Always.
***
Lois wasn't happy, afterwards. When Bruce stepped back from the pair of them, his arrogant, princely mask firmly in place, a sneer on his lips and an appraising look in his eye as if he had discovered a whole other range of possibilities in kissing a man for the first time. His reputation had undoubtedly just gone through the roof. Both Clark and J'onn, still dazed and wrapped in the afterglow of that incredible emotion, had no trouble acting the bewildered, confused prey. The audience, Gotham's social scene, were amazed, incredulous, delighted, and left with the vague, nagging impression that they'd just witnessed something pornographic, despite everything having been perfectly chaste, until that last kiss.
And Lois wasn't happy.
She lost no time at all in hustling the three of them aside into an adjoining sitting room, slamming the door, glaring at them. Mostly at Bruce.
"Are you happy now?" she demanded, almost spitting. Clark blinked at her in confusion, J'onn hurriedly hid a smile, and Bruce raised a supercilious eyebrow, possibly owing to still being high enough to be suicidal.
"What ever do you mean, Ms Lane?" he asked, a playful smirk slipping across his features. He kept that smirk, even when she drove one finger into his chest with all the force of an armour-piercing bullet.
"What do I mean?" she barked. "I'll tell you what I mean!" She jabbed a finger at Clark, at J'onn, then at the door back into the hall. "My partner is currently in a state of nirvana usually associated with heavy drug use, the Martian may have to have that smile surgically removed, your son is making serious noises about arresting the three of you for public indecency, Alfred is sitting down somewhere with a cup of tea, crying his eyes out with joy, and I ..." She paused, and then slowly, deliberately, let her huge grin show. "I think I may have just had an orgasm. So, Mr Wayne. I want to know. Are. you. happy. now?"
He looked at her, while Clark had to blink rapidly at that last bombshell in particular, and J'onn really did look in danger of needing his smile forcibly removed, and then he smiled. Blissfully, smugly. And leaned in to press a slow sensuous kiss, right on her lips, grinning when she squeaked in shock and staggered back. Clark put his hand to his mouth to stop the relentless upward twitching.
"Ms Lane," Bruce murmured, smiling into her look of stunned amazement. "I'm positively euphoric."
