Dark Love- A Batman Love Story

11

Dedicated to LoveTmntMikey who's awesome... although our first conversation turned out pretty akward.

CLÍCHÉ LIFE. WHY. Of course this was going to happen. How did I not know I was foreshadowing my own future? (A/N No, I'm not saying she can see the futere. :/)
I still hyperventilated, though.
"A- Alo?" Clay stuttered dropping his map and sliding a side-bag off his shoulder. The leather bag dropped to the floor, along with some luggage, with a heavy thunk. He took a step and hugged me, almost squeezing my lungs out. I squeezed back.
Clay was big, really big. He was slightly shorter than me, but taller than he used to be. Black bangs covered his forhead, messed up hair he never cared to fix. His eyes were brown, like mine, and he had grown kind of fit over time.
Even with all the 'exercise', I still had some fat. Clay could eat fifteen hamburgers and not gain a pound.
Lucky little brother.
I let go and picked his things off the floor, wiping my eyes so he wouldn't see me cry.
Hey, he was still my brother.
But brother or not, I had cried enough today.
"Alo! What... what are you doing here? Isn't this that billionare's house... um... Brate.. Bob.. Bruce Wayne!" He asked me, more like screamed at me, as I led him through the lobby. "And why are you holding a knife?"
Remembering the blade, I stuck it between my teeth and used both hands to take the bags.
It helped because I could carry the luggage easily, and I didn't have to explain the whole thing at the moment.
But what was I going to tell him when I dropped the knife?
Oh, yeah... Clay? I'm dating Bruce Wayne - I sleep in the same room as him, but don't worry (Clay is veeery overprotective)- and I'm a vigilante.
Oh, and it turns out Aunt Jasmine is a homicidal phyco that lived in Arkham for a few years.
Aaaaaaand, she killed dad.
And attempted to murder me.
And you.
And Alfred.
And Batman, who's actually Bruce.
But she burned to death a while ago.
Happy?

But really... what would I SAY? Just yell out... HEY CLAY WANNA BE A HERO????? No.
Bruce would kill me... and... BRUCE.
What was I going to tell him? What about Alfred?
What. The. Hell.
I've got problems.
Big problems.
After getting to the kitchen, dropping the bags on the island, the knife om top, I told Clay to stay while I went to get somebody.
I sprinted up the stairs and tiptoed into my room.
I shook Bruce slightly, who was snoring with the covers up to his chin, "Bruce... wake up. We've got company." I whispered.
"Go away..." He grumbled, and turned over on his stomach.
He left me no choice.
"Bruce..." I took some steps back, "Wake..." Then I started sprinting at him, "UP." I jumped and landed on him with an umph.
"Ow... Alo... what- the- heck?" He turned over slowly again and I slipped off the bed, sitting on the fluffy floor. Bruce's hair was a mess in the shadows.
"Come downstairs, umm... somebody's here."
"Fiiiiiiiine... But I get to sleep late tomorrow..." He yawned.
"Oh, shut up. You don't sleep good most nights because of Batman. You should be used to it."
I still got Bruce to follow me down the dark stairs. Only the faint kitchen light helped us see.
Clay was leaning against the fridge, eyes half closed, a few yards away. He snapped up when he saw us coming. I stopped by the island, moving the luggage and jumping on the polished tile. Clay's face was shocked as he looked at Bruce, who was hugging my waist with his chin resting on my head.
"WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY SISTER LET GO OF HER!!" He yelled unexpectedly, pulling out a gun and pointing it at Bruce. My eyes instantly targeted the knife I left on his bag, and I picked it up, throwing it at Clay and knocking the gun from his hand, sending it crashing on the floor while the blade wedged itself into a cabinet.
Oh damn it... I'm not supposed to go ninja mode right now...
But Clay's astonishment was only momentary. He ran at me and pulled me away from Bruce, dragging me off the table, and held me protectivly.
"Clay, what are you doing?" I yelled, my voice muffled by his chest.
I struggled and turned around, seeing to full extent what had freaked him out.
Bruce was in his normal PJs: No pants or shirt, just boxers.
And I was in my normal waist-length yellow tank-top and black sweat-shorts.
What was wrong with that? Summer nights are still hot...
Oh.
"Clay, it's not what you think-" I pleaded.
"Who is this guy? Did he hurt you?" Clay held me tighter.
"No... Clay... he's Bruce Wayne, he owns this house. And he's... my boyfriend."

"HE'S YOUR WHAT?!" Clay couldn't hide his shock any longer.
His grip loosened with the news.
I wriggled free of his grasp and backed into a Bruce that seemed to have advanced in the last few seconds.
He- still sleepy- hugged me again.
"Alo... who's this guy?" He asked, snuggling into the crook of my neck.
Oh god.
I could feel his breath slowing down.
Hell, he didn't have a full nights rest most of the time, and he was SLEEPY? And he chose my throat as his next pillow?
Clay looked like he was about to snap.
"He's my brother, Bruce. Bruce, meet Clay, Clay, meet Bruce.
"Get. Away. From. My. Sister." Clay mumbled under gritted teeth. Bruce challenged him, pulling me closer. Clay glanced at the silver pistol a few feet from his feet.
But training made me quicker than him.
A few seconds later the bullets were in my fist, Clay panting. I pretended to pout and went back into Bruce's arms. He resumed to snooze into my shoulder.
"Clay, please-" I fake pleaded. Inside, however, I was trying not to laugh at the fact he couldn't kill Bruce, even if he pulled the trigger. Bruce continued to ignore life and heaved me onto the table.
"Get away from her or I WILL SHOOT." That got Bruce's attention. He looked up at the gun, then at my fists.
Bruce must have noticed a faint glimmer from between my clasped fingers, because he smiled proudly and kissed me on the mouth, taunting Clay.
My brother finnaly lost it and pulled the trigger. Click! No bullet came out. He tried again. Click! Click! Click! Click! Click!
I giggled, quickly covering my mouth with my free hand. Clay didn't seen to notice. Instead he tried to shoot again and again.
When had my brother turned so violent?
He probably forgot to take his medicine. He had anger issues.
Clay finally stopped 'shooting' and decided to check the pistol.
His face was priceless, and I doubled over in laughter.
Bruce smirked, but quickly hid it. I could see the question in his eyes.
Why are you laughing? Your brother tried to kill me!
"How much did the bullets cost you?" I asked him after I finished gasping for breath.
"Seventy-five." Clay growled, his armed hand throbbing with veins that only showed themselves when you gripped something tightly. It looked like he wanted to strangle Bruce. "Plus tax."
That meant these were decent murderer bullets. Or defense.
Or vise versa.
"Fine." I glared at him, warning. "Take your pills and I'll give you your bullets back when you calm down."
"You have my bullets?" He squeaked.
I opened my hand a little to show one, then closed it before he could even think about taking them back.
"How?" Clay's eyes were wide. He sneaked a look at Bruce.
"I have my ways." I answered, sending a look towards Bruce.
He wasn't there.
Then I noticed a hot breath on my leg.
The idiot was asleep. In the process of talking, I hadn't noticed him sit on the table beside me and doze off in my lap.
He wasn't going to wake up soon.
I sighed, covered Bruce's ears, and yelled out, "ALFRED!"
A couple minutes later he flew down the stairs.
"Yes Master Alo?" He asked. His reading galsses were resting in his head, cricked.
He must have fallen asleep while reading.
Alfred either didn't notice Clay, or chose to ignore him.
"I'm sorry to wake you. May you please drag Bruce to his bed?" Alfred froze for a moment.
"Silly me," I reassured him. "He's too heavy. I'll take him. May you find my brother, Clay, a room instead?"
Alfred finally seemed to acknowledge Clay's existence. He didn't seem surprised though.
I half dragged, half coaxed Bruce up the stairs.
After a few minutes, Clay took his anger pills, he calmed down, and we were all asleep.