Possible futurefic for Mathletes-verse, for my darling coauthor batneko. Takes place at least a decade after that fic but can be read as a standalone Bruce/Clark.
“Bi, darling, bisexual,” he’d laugh whenever someone brought it up, but Cherri was smart.
Well, no, not really. She had fake boobs and a sparkly purple wardrobe and naturally blonde hair that she was fiercely proud of. She had a teacup bulldog and a 1.7 GPA at Gotham U and a mom who thought spelling Cherry with an i was a rather clever idea. People looked at her and thought she was dumb, and maybe she wasn’t smart, but she knew things. She knew fashion and how to use it to get guys, she knew yoga and how to use it to get guys, she knew dancing and how to use it to get guys, and she knew sex. She knew.
Bruce Wayne was gay. She danced with him, grinding in a club with alcohol on their tongues when they kissed, and she knew. She dated him twice, perfect blonde hair perfectly styled to match her perfectly fitted dress that displayed her body just perfectly, and she knew. She hung off his left arm while other girls competed to hang off his right at an endless stream of parties, and she knew.
She didn’t really understand until she saw the nerd though.
It would be a little harsh to call the blue-eyed young man that. After all, aside from the glasses he fit right in at the club, clothes fitted snug over an absolutely gorgeous body, huge and handsome and solid in a way the gym rats somehow failed to capture. Still, Cherri came from a world of easy cues and simple logic, and glasses=nerd no matter how you did the math.
Bruce ate him right up. They danced together on the rare nights the nerd made an appearance, danced like Cherri had never seen Bruce dance with a woman, had never danced with her. He danced like he was hungry, like he owned both their bodies, like he actually wanted to be there dancing with that man, not constantly glancing around for a drink or another partner or an exit.
And Cherri understood. And she laughingly waved him off when he remembered that he had been her date this evening before the nerd showed up out of nowhere, and demurely accepted the ride home from Bruce’s chauffeur, and silently stared across the city lights as the car sped through the city, reflecting on the knowledge that Bruce and his nerd would be dancing together until dawn. And she dredged up as many sober brain cells as she could manage and thought until her brow furrowed with effort, until the door was opened for her and she blinked up at her apartment building.
“I could be a beard,” she stated to the chauffeur, wanting to share her revelation with an earnest sort of honestly only the tipsy could achieve. “I would be okay with that.”
“I shall be sure to pass the message along to Master Bruce,” he replied with equal earnestness and only one slightly raised eyebrow, a fact she appreciated. It was nice to be taken seriously. She nodded firmly to herself and went home to her bulldog.
