Fly With Me (Superbat)

2 - Piercing Eyes

   Life at the top is different. From a luxury suite with gourmet roomservice, to a luxury car that he only uses in this city (with a chauffer that's permanently employed for the possibility Bruce visits). He lives like money isn't an issue, and for him it's not.

   His suits are tailor made and fit every curve and ridge of his body to a T. While also concealing every scar, bruise and bite that can't be brushed off as a ski injury or kinky sex memento. His watch always a Rolex or above, but his gold Patek Philippe is his favorite. His hair is always perfect, jet black and styled with impeccable taste. Teeth brilliantly white, perfectly straight. Not a single flaw, even the girls he uses as arm candy are lovely. Yes, he's perfect, except for his eyes.

    They're blue grey and when he wants them to be, they look soothing and warm. However, if you catch them for even a moment when he thinks you aren't looking, they send chills down your spine. They're piercing, they can see through you to a psychological level. Intelligent and observant in a way that is so unnerving, especially coming from the party boy billionaire. 

   If you heard his voice it would fascinate you. A casual chat can make his voice velvet and adventure, suave and flippant as he can be. But he can snap with a sharp, cold tone or strike with a venomous edge to his voice just as easily if you finally break his usually indestructible patience. A rich chuckle can turn to a clipped and precise formal business tone with the ease and grace of a dancers footwork. 

   If you look closely, past the muscles attributed to private trainers and dieticians, past the suits and watches, past the faux dumb playboy persona, you may sense a secret. A dark, looming presence that he arranges his life around. But no one looks that close.

      Even when he vanishes suddenly from events, has odd injuries, or conspicuous disappearances that coincide with a certain winged vigilantes arrival. No one sees.

He's just Bruce Wayne after all.

. . . . 

      He strides into the Daily Planet like he belongs there, like his designer suit doesn't stand out like a Prada bag among dollar store knock offs. Everything stops.

     It's like time halts. The din of typing, talking, papers shuffling, pens clicking and coffee cups clinking onto desks between hurried gulps- all stopped. The only sounds as everyone stares in awe is the hum of a printer. 

   "Hello everyone, as your new owner I'd like to reassure you there will be few if any changes. I think you all do a wonderful job writing articles and stories and have no desire to change that." Once he finishes talking everyone launches themselves out of their chairs and crowd around him. He lets out a chuckle that could only be interpreted as, "ah, reporters." and holds up his hand for silence. He starts the inevitable barrage of questions by gesturing to Lois, front of the crowd as always. "Lets start with the obvious, why did you buy the Daily Planet."

"Simple, I have always thought it would be fun to own a newspaper." He flashes a casual smile and turns to another reporter. Clark lurks at the back of the group, watching Jimmy Olsen snap pictures. He misses the next few questions because he loses focus when Bruce Wayne (The Bruce Wayne!) looks at him. Clearly he meant to look over the crowd as a whole as he spoke, but his eyes held Clarks for a few seconds.

   The icy grey blue that had looked at ease and warm, much like his voice that now droned in the background, sharpened. In those few seconds he felt.. dissected.. but not exactly in a bad way? He didn't really know how to feel as those eyes wandered over his body, examining him. He felt like an ant in a lab but it was kind of flattering and.. hot that someone so handsome and desirable was looking at him like that. A blush crawls over his face and those cold eyes sparkle with just the slightest hint of amusement before he looks away.

   Then Perry White, the editor-in-chief, leads Mr. Wayne by the elbow into his office. Clark knows if he uses his super hearing he can probably hear Perry apologizing for their enthusiastic hounding and trying to work out what changes he'd like to make to this section of the newspaper. No doubt his first stop was here for the sake of breaking the story, he'll probably go see the finance people and printing next. Well, Lois definitely has this story in the bag, she always does. He better finish his other articles before Perry chews him out over cutting it close to the deadline.

     But to his horror, as the crowd starts to disperse and  he turns to go back to his desk he notices that his pants (and suit beneath) are so miserably tight! He scurries off to the bathroom, blushing so hard he thinks he might spontaneously combust! He barely catches Lois's eyes as he leaves, and they are wide- and then smirking. Fuuuuuck. He is never going to hear the end of this. 

    He sits in the stall, trying to will the lump in his pants into submission. Then laughing a scornful laugh when, of course, his body continuous to betray him. 'Fuck. I guess I don't really have any other choice than to take care of this so I can go back to work.' He thinks, miserably. He's always been a good boy, and just a little too straight laced, to ever deal with these kind of things. 'Not that I've never  masturbated. It's just not something I make a habit of. And I certainly haven't made a habit of public boners.' He unzips his fly and spits into his hand, wrapping it hesitantly around his dick, and giving it a few long strokes. He speeds up a little as he relaxes into the very carnal pleasure he's now indulging in. 

   Way too relaxed it seems.. he almost crushes his dick in his hand when the bathroom door locks and someone starts walking towards his stall.