To Kiss a God

Chapter Six: Oliver Queen

"Do tell," Clark smoothly demanded, not missing a beat. He secretly hoped it came out as disapprovingly cool as he wanted it to. He may not have been able to pull his eyes away from Bruce but at least he could act like he wasn't affected.

Wayne either hadn't noticed his frigid tone, or he didn't care - because he responded without any inflection,

"I assume you're familiar with, Zazzala. You faced her minions last night. She refers to herself as 'The Queen Bee" or 'Insect Queen.'"

Clark nodded once.

"Not pretentious at all."

He hadn't really meant to say that but the small smirk that touched Bruce's lips made the comment worth it.

"Indeed," his rich resonate voice rolled over Clark's skin, making goosebumps breakout. Images of their night together flared through his mind.

"However, regardless of her name, she possesses a significant force. And if armed, they could pose a substantial threat." The smile had utterly vanished, leaving nothing but apathetic blankness over Bruce's face.

"And someone is trying to arm them. The henchmen you encountered yesterday were just the trial run if my sources are correct. Zazzala intends to make the major arms deal tonight."

Bruce leaned back, dark stygian eyes looking out Clark's window.

Clark couldn't help but admire him for a moment, devastating jawline and his suit clinging to him in a way where he could almost see his abs.

Bruce turned back sharply and Clark yanked his eyes up.

"My informants tell me she's meeting the seller tonight at the Le Coquillage Gala."

Clark blinked.

The Le Coquillage Gala was a glitzy event held annually in Gotham, where the ultra rich flaunted their billions on ostentatiously priced art in the name of charity. He had received his press invitation four months in advance, the glossy gold letters catching his eye in the overflowing pile of his Daily Planet mail. The Gala combined two of his least favorite things every year, rude rich people and boring fluff pieces.

An irony-touched smile crossed his lips, and now there was a major arms deal going down. He saw Bruce's eyes narrow a fraction at his own quick smile.

"I'm already a major sponsor for the Gala, Diana is a curator and you, of course, are one of the many journalists attending tonight. Between the three of us, we should at least be able to discern who the supplier is and hopefully, prevent the meeting." He paused before continuing.

"Normally, I would suggest a more direct approach but I fear attacking outright would result in scarring either party away. It would be ultimately wiser to infiltrate quietly..."

He leaned back, clearly finished. Practically a speech by Batman's standards.

"And you're here... Why?" Clark allowed a not entirely pleasant smile across his face. The hurt he had been feeling the last few days was quickly transforming into annoyance, if not outright rage. Bruce didn't falter a second in his answer.

"I wished to warn you of the plan in advance and to also plant the potential seeds of a relationship between us. If we, at some point are seen together in the future, it would be ideal if we did not appear as complete strangers. In addition, I was asked to give quotes for several major newspapers in the hopes of positive press."

Clark blinked. It made sense by all means. Practical, direct, and to the point. Of course a rich playboy with a less than respectable reputation would visit the journalists writing the articles about him.

He sighed, feeling suddenly tired.

"Alright. I'll see you there tonight."

Bruce nodded, dark eyes assessing.

"I'll see you there, Clark."

~~~~~~~~

He felt like a paranoid. I'll see you there, Clark. What the hell, was that supposed to mean something? He rapidly threw on his 'fancy' clothes, as Lois had called them. Struggling to smooth his shirt over the superman suit clinging to his skin. How about an apology? Or at least an acknowledgment of what had happened between them. He had just gotten back from the office, having typed up some garbage on the new building Lexcorp was constructing downtown. He tried to comb through his raucous hair. God, he was such an idiot. And he felt even worse because of his pathetic enamored responses. He should have known this would happen. Bruce was so notorious for throwing people away that there were literally tabloid articles dedicated to the subject.

But maybe... maybe there could be something. Maybe that's what his comment had meant .

He shouldered his bag, filled with the necessities of journalism and struggled with his apartment door. The event officially started at 7 but he had to be there at 6 if he wanted to get a good spot. And to scout out the area.

After thirty minutes of flashing cameras and pounding music, Clark concluded that it was worse than the year before.

The ostentatiously wealthy posed on the red carpet wearing watches more than twice his annual income and clothes that needed announcements.

The hypocrisy was astounding to him. They practically bathed in diamonds yet they needed an actual specific reason to feed the starving kids lining the gutters of Gotham.

It reminded him that there was more to fight then the villains that decimated the world. The reason he had became a journalist in the first place burned in his veins. To give a voice to the mute, to give power to the weak, and to stand up for what was right. The same reasons he had donned his scarlet cape all those years ago.

And here he was, about to write a fluff piece on how nice, how touching, how miraculous, it was for the ultra rich to merely be here.

He hated this event for more than just the superficial.

Bruce Wayne arrived in style. Sliding out of his glittering sports car like a panther, he flashed a devastating smile for the paparazzi. He looked downright mouthwatering. And the arrogant expression on his face said he knew it.

Charcoal black, perfectly tailored suit highlighting his muscles in a way that made Clark almost forget to take a picture.

He watched the facade slip over Bruce's face like a shadow, the sharp smile and perfectly timed movements. Perfection.

Then the blonde got out.

Tall, handsome, and equally rich.

Oliver Queen.

He stared, mesmerized, as Oliver stalked to the other side of the vehicle, blinding white smile on his full lips. He paused to give Bruce a tender nudge and his arm slid right around Bruce's waist.