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Watchtower Cafeteria, 09:00 hours.
"No," Nightwing says in horror, backing away from the table. "What is that doing here?"
A sickeningly familiar-looking face stares out at him from the glossy pages, all white teeth, tanned skin, and piercing blue eyes. Bruce's face, his mind reminds him after a stunned second. Your dad.
Sexiest Man Alive! It proclaims in large font. Inside, some vapid ex-model sums up Bruce's more specific assets, including what looked like at least two pages of swimsuit shots. And then in black and white-was that-
"No," Nightwing said dumbly, in shock. "NUDE? BRUCE?"
"What's wrong?" Barry zips by, grabbing the magazine from the communal cafeteria table. He scans the pages quickly, paling. "Oh. Oh shit."
"No one sees this." Nightwing says, ripping the magazine from his hands. "How come he never tells me about this shit, I swear to God, Bruce, you do one more GQ shoot and I'll-"
Barry watches as his friend walks away, muttering under his breath. "O...kay then."
A shiny new copy of People's Magazine appears not two hours later, suspiciously untouched, sitting out like it was waiting to be read. Diana notices it first, eyes widening as she refills her iced cappuccino from the machine by the buffet.
"Interesting," she says to herself, thumbing towards the black and white photos in the back. Her eye catches on more than a few of them, and she can feel heat rising in her cheeks. Scandalized, she closes the cover and fans herself. "Bruce."
"Bruce who?" Zatanna asks as she enters the cafeteria, twirling her wand. Her eyes widen as she sees what Diana's holding up. "Shut up and give me that. Pronto."
Diana hands it over wordlessly. Zatanna's pupils dilate a little as she looks the articles over, tongue moistening her lips. She hesitates. "I know it's wrong because he's our boss….but hot damn."
"Your boss," Diana clarifies, eyes unfocused. She's thinking a little too hard about Bruce's eyes in the last shot-sitting backwards in a chair, eyes smoldering under waves of dark hair, flecked with grey. "Not mine. But he could be if he asked."
"Diana," Zatanna gasps, but she's staring hungrily at the magazine too. "It's not like you haven't seen him without the cowl before."
"Not the point," she says, glancing at the door. "Does anyone else know about this?"
"God, I hope not," Zatanna says, glancing around furtively. "It'll cause mass hysteria. Female hysteria, that is. How much cold water can the Watchtower shower system hold again?"
"Mine," Diana says instead of answering, grabbing the magazine and bolting, abandoning her cappuccino. A ripping noise echoes in the cafeteria as the main spread tears in two, fluttering to the floor. "Let go!"
Zatanna scrambles after her, bustling past a confused looking Dinah and Oliver in the doorway, swearing backwards as she sprints after the fleeing Amazon.
"What's their problem?" Oliver asks his wife, frowning. A loud shriek echoes down the hall, then some grunting noises. "Think we're gonna see a catfight?"
Dinah looks down at the glossy shreds of paper, recognizing a familiar jawline. "Bruce is going to be so pissed."
"Bruce? What does he have to do with-" Ollie breaks off, frowning at the clipping. "People's chose him?! What the fuck-"
The second copy is returned, carefully glued back together, by noon. Green Lantern, sipping the third coffee of the morning, snaps into full awakeness at the sight of Bruce Wayne in nothing but his own skin on the cafeteria table.
"Brucie," he says, smirking around his coffee rim. He whistles. "Would ya look at you."
He takes a cursory look at the other photos, and understatement of the century, they're hot. He feels himself getting hard underneath his jumpsuit and blinks in surprise. "That's...surprising."
Looking around guiltily, he closes the magazine and beats a hasty retreat, muttering under his breath about cold showers.
J'onn looks up as Shayera enters the cafeteria, still purusing the strange literary material he'd found on the table. He waves at her, returning to the pictures of Batman with intense curiosity.
Shayera grabs a mug and fills it with coffee, walking over to sit with him. Her eyes catch on the cover and she drops the mug. Coffee and porcelain scatter across the floor. J'onn looks up in alarm.
"Are you alright, Shayera?"
The Thanagarian had two spots of color high on either cheekbone. "What are you reading?"
"Batman is in this," J'onn says happily, pointing to the photos inside. "This article is very informative about his casual life...thought I am confused by some references."
Shayera's eyes go wider, if at all possible, and she leans in. "These are some….wow, okay, not really expecting that one. Nude photos?"
"It seems to be irrefutable evidence of his sex appeal," J'onn observes, "How can one argue with their primary claim upon seeing such photos?"
Shayera winces, "It's kind of...risque to take nude photos. You know how private Bru-Batman is."
"I think he expresses himself very clearly here,' J'onn says, pointing at a shot of Bruce in a pool, so brazen it makes her flush again. "I prefer this shot over the others."
"I thought you didn't find humans sexually attractive," Shayera grits out as soon as she's able.
"I don't. But the photos are still...pleasing." J'onn looks up and smiles. "Is this sort of pose generally...sexually stimulating? I can sense your heart rate increasing, as well as respiration and blood flow to-"
"And that's enough of that." Shayera grabs the magazine and slams it shut on the table, getting up. "I'm going back to my quarters."
J'onn frowns, like he's hurt by her sudden departure. "Would you like company? Have I offended you?"
"No! Bye!" She says a little too quickly, ducking out of the cafeteria like a bat out of hell-ha. That's funny. She'll have to tell Bruce that one when this is all…
Yeah, better not to think about that, She thinks to herself as she closes her door with a little more force than necessary. Sorry, Bruce.
Ollie frowns as Dinah's eyes slide shut, slowing to a halt. They're three acts into a four act play, naked and writhing under his sheets, but something's off. Something's-
"You're thinking about those pictures," he accuses, straining to hold himself still. "Admit it! You're imagining I'm Bruce, aren't you?"
"Of course not," Dinah refuses to look at him, tugging at him with her ankles. "C'mon, just-"
"Tell me the truth," he says, a warning low in his voice. "Dinah."
She squirms at his tone, looking up at him finally. "Would it make you mad if I said I was?"
He shifts a little inside her in response, making them both groan. "Just so you know. I hit that first."
"Ollie!"
He grins at her, delighted. "Boarding school. He was seventeen-"
"Ollie!"
"-and no, I'm not mad," he says into her hair, "He's hot. I'll admit it. Those pictures were fucking intense."
A loud thump from next door interrupts his thoughts. He and Dinah stare at each other as Shayera's frustrated yells vibrate the walls. "Looks like you're not the only one getting a little hot and Brucie'd."
"That's a terrible pun," she says, rolling her eyes. "You are terrible."
"Can Bruce do this?" Ollie asks, rolling his hips, "Actually, shit, don't answer that. He probably can. Fuck."
Cyborg cross-references the Watchtower's daily searches and frowns, looking closer at the screen. Bruce Wayne photos. Bruce Wayne nude photos. Bruce Wayne sex tape. Bruce Wayne pool arrest…
"What in the hell…" in his other eye, a quick search brings up People's Magazine, and the photos in question. "Oh. Oh no."
"I hate to break it to you, buddy," Barry says, feet kicked up on Nightwing's table, "But your dad is hot. His photoshoot is trending on twitter. Beyonce wants to go on a date with him."
Nightwing puts his head in his hands, unable to avoid the nausea looking at Bruce's naked body causes him. "Isn't she married?"
Barry holds up the now infamous chair picture, looking outraged.
"Does it matter?"
Two copies of the magazine go missing by three. One is returned, a sticky note pasted to the front:
Clear your search history. Yes, this means you.
Clark enters the cafeteria around four, noting the eerie silence on the social floor of the Watchtower with unease. It takes less than a second to spot the magazine and leaf through it. He blushes red enough to match his cape.
To say that Bruce is startled by a sudden visitor to his lap is a bit of an understatement. Nevertheless, he doesn't fall out of his chair, wrapping startled arms around his boyfriend. "Clark?"
"Bedroom," Clark says, pupils dilated, his eyes a ring of blue swallowed in black. "Now."
"Is something-oh," Bruce stumbled as Clark picks him up, a hand running down his chest. "Okay. Alright-"
"Something got into Clark today," Bruce says to Jordan as they walk towards the conference room, finishing up a tactical discussion before the meeting. "He's late."
"Something got into a lot of people today," the Green Lantern mutters under his breath, looking away. He's been a little strange today as well, ducking his head during their conversation. Bruce frowns.
"What was that?"
"Nothing," Jordan says a little too quickly, darting into the conference room. Strange for the talkative pilot, but nothing new. "Catch you later, spooky."
Bruce strides into the conference room, his cape whispering across the polished marble. His screen is already set up, the entire league patiently waiting for his monthly briefing. With a sigh, he settles in for another boring lecture. Everyone's eyes seem to be on him as he walks in, hungry.
"Thanks for coming," He says, grabbing his laser pointer. "Now, let's talk about the situation in Dorea-"
Less than a minute in, a hand shoots into the air.
"Yes, Diana?"
The Amazon smiles wide, leaning forward. "Wouldn't you be more comfortable with your cowl off, Bruce?"
"I'm fine," he says briskly, turning back to his notes. A disappointed murmur settles over the crowd. What on earth?
After a few more minutes, he senses the temperature in the room rising. By five, the heat's enough to defy even his suit's insulation. He thinks he spots Wally running back and forth from the thermostat, but he can't be sure.
Fine. He can weather pranks like this. Lord knows he's been through worse.
Only half-conscious of the motion, still three centuries deep in Dorean history, he pulls the cowl back and sets it on the table. His hair sticks up, sweaty, and he pushes it back with an irritated growl.
A soft sigh emanates from several audience members, then a few gasps. Bruce turns around just in time to see Clark snap his pen in half, splattering ink everywhere. The room goes silent.
"Is there a problem with attention today?" he asks, feeling not unlike a grade school teacher. Several affirmative replies reach his ears. He scowls. "This is important. Pay attention."
"I will pay you," Oliver whispers in her ear, then pauses, counting the money in his hands under the table, "Four thousand, eight hundred and fifty seven dollars, if you magic Bruce's armor away."
Zatanna raises an eyebrow, leaning back. Bruce is still teaching obliviously in front of the entire JL, pushing his hair back every few seconds. She swore some of the junior members were about to fall over. "Did you take up a collection?"
"Think of it as a donation," Ollie whispers in her ear, "Bruce's pecs are a gift to humanity, trust me, I've seen them."
Clark makes a noise next to her, something like a gasp and a groan, when Bruce drops his pointer and bends over to pick it up. Someone moans into their hand. Zatanna sighs and holds out her hand for the cash.
Bruce doesn't stop speaking as his armor disappears, but the sensation is enough to make him blink. He completes his sentence and uses the transition in points to look down. At least they left me boxers. Zatanna looks vaguely guilty in her seat next to Ollie, but he can't tell for sure if it was her.
Determined to get through the meeting, he continues onto the Oa correspondence, leaning back just the slightest, watching the crowd carefully. A dozen gazes lock onto his legs, looking him up and down. Clark looks like he's about to explode in his seat, furiously trying to take notes that Bruce knows without looking is chicken scratch.
"And that's it for today," he finishes up, crossing his arms. "Any questions?"
Three dozen hands at the very least shoot up, waving anxiously. Bruce resists the urge to smack himself.
Six slightly blurry photos of Bruce lecturing in his boxers to a transfixed league are tucked into the one remaining copy of the magazine in the cafeteria by seven. Copies are made and distributed for those unlucky enough not to be able to attend.
Diana attempts to steal all of them. Fights break out across the Watchtower as Shayera confronts her, screaming about IMs. Victor sends the wifi down with a click and leaves the tower hastily. Batman can deal with this himself.
"I'm coming, I'm coming," Dick says, stumbling towards his door. He opens it, raising his eyebrows. "Bruce…"
Still in his boxers, his adoptive dad looks strangely uncomfortable. He shifts a little on his feet. "I need a change of clothes. Mine keep disappearing."
His tone leaves little to the imagination concerning just who might be responsible. Dick waves him in, closing the door behind him. "Rough day?"
Bruce grunts. Dick throws him a pair of slacks and a too-big shirt that should fit. As soon as they touch his hands, they disappear into thin air.
"Son of a bitch," Bruce says, staring down at his hands. He looks so sad, it's almost adorable. "I'm cold."
Dick hands him a blanket, only for it to disappear in a similar fashion. "Uh...okay, that's weird."
"Zatanna," Bruce mutters, looking increasingly more frustrated. Dick backs up a little. "But why my clothes?"
"Are you kidding me?"
Bruce stares at him.
"Right," Dick says awkwardly. The other man raises an eyebrow. "Remember those photos you took for People's that you didn't tell me about?"
"Left hand up," he tells Jordan, backing up on the mat. "Watch for my strike, then turn. Don't move early."
The pilot moves in closer instead, getting an arm across Bruce's midsection (still painfully bare), his hands burning. A hand lands suspiciously near his ass. "I think I'll be able to maneuver more...accurately this close."
"I think you might lose your hand if you maneuver that closely," he growls at him, glaring. Jordan backs up, looking dejected.
"You're no fun,"
Bruce smirks, sliding into a stretch. Jordan's eyes glaze over. "For that, you get to run suicides."
"Come on!"
Clark enters the Cave at eleven, the day dragging him down. He sets down on the smooth stone and walks towards the computer bay, hearing Bruce's voice drift down.
"-buy People's magazine. No, don't give me that bullshit, Lance, I own six others. They're upset? I'm not upset with them for chrissakes. Listen-"
Clark can't stop the grin that breaks out on his face, crossing the final feet to Bruce's chair. His boyfriend is still sans clothes, leaning back with a glare that does something to him for a moment. It looks just like the photo, just...a little more angry.
Bruce holds up a finger, voice still in CEO mode. "Uh huh. No. Fine. Have them call your people in the morning. Sure." He hangs up with a sigh, tipping his head back. Clark's mouth goes dry as his throat is exposed, struck dumb. "Clark?"
"Yeah."
"I want you to burn every copy of People's magazine for me in a hundred mile radius. You asked me what I wanted for my birthday, and I decided."
Clark reached down and ran a hand through Bruce's hair, frowning. "But you looked good. I thought you liked the pictures."
"I didn't think they'd use those ones," the billionaire admitted, sounding weary. "Now no one on the Watchtower can look me in the eye. Hal Jordan tried to come onto me during sparring today."
"I'll speak with him," Clark says immediately, fists clenching. At Bruce's glare, he relaxes. "I won't beat him up, I swear."
"No, you're too nice for that," Bruce sighs, pushing his hair back out of his eyes. "You'd probably just give him a lecture about disappointment and appropriate workplace boundaries."
It was eerie how close that was to the truth. Clark blinked. "Are you shivering?"
"I'm cold," Bruce said, a whine in his voice. He glares at his computer screen, helpfully opened to twitter. #BruceWayneDaddy is trending. "Every time I put on a shirt, it disappears. Blankets, pants, socks, even a swimsuit, and I have to patrol later-"
He tips his head back again and Clark loses it. He grabs Bruce up and flies them to his bedroom in a flash. The billionaire was too stunned to react. "Clark?"
"You are the most beautiful, sexy-" Clark breaks off as Bruce glares at him, "-badass man I've ever seen. And if you keep looking at me like that, I'm going to explode."
Bruce leans back into the bed, looking up at him in confusion. "Like what? This?"
"Yes!"
"This is how I normally look at you!"
"I know, that's the problem!"
"Jesus Christ," Bruce says, grabbing the back of his neck and forcing him down. "You're an idiot."
"I love you too," Clark says, and kisses him. They relax into it, the room silent for a few minutes.
"One last thing."
An exasperated huff. "What."
"What's the over under on doing this in a chair?"
THE END