Y'all come at me with such good titles and I'm here staring at my AO3 page like :|
Bruce had a band on his arm.
Immediately the ballroom was filled with whispers. He was only carrying one drink, so clearly his beau wasn't there yet, but it was the first season he'd worn anything claiming he had one.
"I'm going to ask you something. Please don't be offended," Clark said.
"Don't tell me what to do," Bruce replied, which was basically an 'okay.'
Clark squinted at him, unsure. Luckily, Lois seemed to realize it was just him pulling Clark's leg (mostly because it was easy). "Is the band because you have a prospective mate, or because you're tired of women throwing themselves at your feet?"
"Lois, I wasn't going to say it like that!" Clark exclaimed.
Bruce stared at Clark for a moment, absolutely stunned at even his accidental admittance that that was what he was thinking. Clark was usually polite. This might have been because he'd learned by watching that there was a fifty-fifty chance that Bruce would react to nosy questions by laughing them off or beating the shit out of the asker, depending on who they were and what their intentions were.
Lois wasn't someone he wanted to beat up, and technically Clark wasn't, either. It was nice that Clark didn't know, though. It was always nice keeping Clark on his toes. "Yeah,” he answered simply.
“What,” Clark asked, whipping back toward him.
Bruce fluttered his glossy bat wings and turned to walk away. “I think I see rum punch at the snack table.”
“I can’t believe you are being mean to me when I am the only person here that is honestly delighted you finally found a mate,” Clark said, knowing Bruce’s sensitive ears would catch it.
“I can’t believe you expected anything less,” Bruce replied, knowing he’d hear it as well. Their friendship, when he allowed himself to call it that, was built on mutual bullying. They just had different definitions for the term.
He was just putting together a horrendously large plate of hors d'oeuvres when he heard people begin talking excitedly. Someone was approaching. They were going to come through the open skylight. Very few people showed off like that these days, mostly because so many previous people had gotten injured. The skylight was small, so people had to press their wings in close to get through it, and to be going at a speed that was impressive, it meant that wings had to extend immediately after passing through or risk slamming into the ground at high speeds. Most people couldn’t get their wings out fast enough. After the third ambulance a few years ago, most people had given it up. Only the few flyers who were actually built for dives and abrupt pullouts did it anymore, and only as a treat.
This wasn’t one of those flyers.
Bruce turned just as a pair of red-bottomed shoes appeared through the skylight.
Tony burst down through the skylight with all the grace of an owl, wings pressed back together as he dropped feet-first into the room. His wings were already beginning to spread open before they cleared the ceiling, flashing bright red-orange-yellow-gold in the light of the chandeliers. He immediately heard bursts of whispers breaking out throughout the room--“A phoenix! Here! In Gotham!”
Tony circled the ballroom once, twice, before his eyes finally caught Bruce and he maneuvered over to land lightly on his feet in front of him. He brushed some imaginary dust from his somehow-immaculate suit, then turned a beaming smile on Bruce, hands reaching up to push his hair out of his face. “Sorry I’m late!”
“You’re not,” Bruce said, handing him the plate. He pulled the arm band with his family crest from his pocket. “You like making scenes. You like being the center of attention.”
“I wore my best suit,” Tony said, which was basically agreeing with him without giving him the satisfaction of it. He immediately shoved an entire crab puff into his mouth.
Bruce heard more whispers as he carefully tied the band around Tony’s arm. ‘A phoenix? And a bat?’ ‘How gauche!’ ‘What would Bruce’s poor parents say?’ ‘What would Stark’s parents say?’
He pretended it didn’t hurt. It mostly didn’t, except he also wondered what his parents might say sometimes. Alfred had told him they would be happy he was happy. But his family had only married other bats for generations.
He didn’t like bringing it up with Tony, though. Tony’s parents, and he by extension, had already been through it. The Carbonells had been phoenixes for centuries. Then the war had happened. Maria Carbonell and Howard Stark had holed up in the same place during a bombing at the same time. Maria had taken one look at Howard’s broad, bland wings and said, “Well. They’re certainly broad, aren’t they.” And then they’d eloped, to her family’s fury, to the point that they wouldn’t care for their orphaned family member after his parents had died.
Tony’s wings flew up, feathers flashing a warning, and it was only then that Bruce realized people were trying to approach them. Tony was looking at him, frowning. Bruce let his hands drop from the band he’d wrapped around Tony’s shoulder to show that he was his beau.
“I will literally sink my teeth into anyone who is mean to you, you know,” Tony said quietly.
Bruce closed his eyes and sighed, exhausted down to his bones, even as he tried not to feel touched. “Tony, you can’t go around biting Gotham’s elite.”
“Fucking watch me, what are they gonna do, bite me back? I hope they do. I hope they’re ready to get absolutely clobbered,” Tony began, incensed.
Clark and Lois swept in as the other guests quickly backed off in terrified confusion. “Why is Tony biting someone?” Lois asked. She looked excited, like maybe it would be a good news story.
“The same reason he always bites people,” Bruce deadpanned. “They never expect it.”
“They don’t, they expect me to wing-bash them, but like, I accidentally broke a guy’s ribs, and Alfred isn’t even my butler but he still gave me a mean look that made my balls shrivel up inside me,” Tony agreed, complaining.
Lois stared at him, speechless. Bruce had to admit that it was nice not to be on the receiving end of the stare for once.
Clark rolled his eyes. “Anyway, Tony, it’s nice to see that you and Bruce are together. I think you’ll be good for each other.”
“We won’t,” Bruce said, at the same time Tony scoffed.
“...Anyway, I’m gonna go let the kiddos pluck me like a goose,” Tony added, turning to head toward the children’s table.
“Tony,” Bruce barked, stomping after him. “Do not!”
Collecting a phoenix feather was considered good luck. Normally, people just rushed to collect one when they hit the ground. Tony, however, had no problem letting children just fucking take one from his wings, the maniac. He apparently thought ‘they grow back immediately in a little puff of flame!’ was a good argument. Bruce was going to hopefully shake the stupid right out of him. It hadn’t worked yet, but the day would come when it did, he was sure of it.
