Pairings/Characters: Lois Lane, Clark/Bruce, Lucius Fox, Edgar Pettibone
Genres: Fluff, Humor
Summary: Clark needs a new suit. Bruce is the expert.
Date Of Completion: November 28, 2010
Date Of Posting: December 7, 2010
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 1671
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Author’s Notes: Written for suavebastard: Fic Prompt No. F 3: Bruce knows a lot about suits. It's only natural for Clark to ask him for advice when he decides he needs a proper tailored suit for whatever reason. Bonus points if Bruce gives a demonstration of the measurement process! for the 2010 World’s Finest Gift Exchange.
“Smallville, you are not going to New York to accept our joint Pulitzer Prize in a rumpled suit!”
“No way, Smallville. You’ve got to clean up good for this.”
Clark sighed. “I don’t know anything about fashion.” He held the handset cradled between his ear and shoulder as he typed his article, the chaos of The Daily Planet newsroom swirling around him.
“Considering that you have a closet full of flannel shirts, I agree with you. Damn, I’d take you shopping, but I’m not coming home from Afghanistan ‘til after the ceremony. I’ll meet you in New York.”
Clark finished his article and started proofreading. “I guess I could always ask Cat…”
“No way, Clark! That woman wears leopardskin pants and tortoiseshell necklaces! No, we need to find someone else.” Clark swore he could hear the wheels turning in her head. “Hey, what about your boyfriend?”
“Yeah. The Prince is a clotheshorse, right? Get him to help you.”
“I don’t think Bruce will be interested in shopping for a suit for me.”
Lois snorted. “You’d be surprised! Give him a call, Clark. Don’t chicken out. I am not getting up on that stage with you in a suit that’s as wrinkled as an accordian.”
“You know what I mean. Now get crackin’, Smallville!”
Clark sighed but dutifully punched in Bruce’s number.
Bruce nodded to Lucius, who took the file folder and left the office. His desk phone rang and he picked up the handset while he made some notations on the open file before him.
“Hello, Clark. Why the question?”
“Well, this is the line into my office here at Wayne Enterprises. Why be surprised that I answered?”
A sigh came over the phone. “I just wanted to ask a question.”
“Will you help me pick out a suit?”
Bruce frowned at the paragraph he was reading. “What?”
“Will you help me pick out a suit?”
“They’re all the same pretty much, aren’t they? Rumpled and off-the-rack?”
“Ha, ha. Can you help me out? I need a new one right away, or Lois will kill me.”
“Lois? What’s she got to do with this?” Bruce made a notation in the margin of the report.
“She doesn’t want to be seen with me in one of my regular suits when we receive our Pulitzer Prize.”
“Ah.” Bruce turned the page. “A woman of good taste.”
“You’re a regular comedian, aren’t you?”
“So will you help me?”
“I’m pretty busy right now, Clark.”
“Oh. Well, maybe I’ll ask Dick to help.”
Bruce snorted. “I love my boy, Clark, but his taste runs to bangles and beads and sequins, not Brooks Brothers.”
“Okay, I guess I could ask Ollie. He runs in the same circles you do, and he has a quirky sense of style.”
Bruce stopped reading. “’Quirky’ isn’t the word for it! All right, meet me here tomorrow at 10:00. I’ll clear it with Perry.”
Relief (and amusement?) laced Clark’s voice. “Thanks, Bruce.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m a Prince.”
“So they say.”
Clark’s laughter was his farewell as he hung up.
Bruce shook his head. He loved Clark and Dick dearly, but their fashion sense left something to be desired. Clark definitely needed his expert advice.
Clark met Bruce the next day at Wayne Enterprises, and they were off to Bruce’s favorite clothier. Clark smiled and nuzzled Bruce’s neck in the back of the limousine, Bruce smirking but petting Clark’s thigh.
“Careful, Bruce,” Clark whispered. “You’ll get me all excited.”
“You started it,” Bruce smirked.
Bruce smelled good, his cologne expensive but light, the fragrance pleasing. Clark let his senses fill with the man he loved, trying to quell his nervousness.
They reached their destination, Bruce heading the way into Farrington’s, Gotham’s most exclusive men’s clothier. As Clark followed Bruce inside, he was immediately hit with the smell of Old Money encased in refined quiet, the fabrics of sample suits rich and discreet, like Bruce’s ridiculously-expensive charcoal-gray suit.
A salesman materialized out of nowhere, the slender, gray-haired gentleman dressed in a high-quality gray suit, his entire bearing dignified, his manners impeccable.
“Good morning, Mr. Wayne.”
“Good morning, Edgar.” Bruce touched Clark’s shoulder. “I need a special suit for my friend here.”
Edgar immediately began assessing Clark, the reporter’s discomfort growing as he was certain that Edgar was turning his nose up at his suit. Well, it was a little rumpled.
The whole place made him feel nervous. He was used to buying his suits off-the-rack at Sear’s or some other department store in Granby, the next town over from Smallville. He cultivated a rumpled image deliberately, to distance himself from Superman’s glamour as much as possible, but he really wasn’t a clotheshorse. He liked red plaid flannel shirts and well-worn blue jeans instead of suits, but Lois was right: he needed a good suit for this award.
Though you can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.
He sighed. He wasn’t like Bruce or Dick. They were both lithe and graceful, and even though Dick preferred glitz and glitter, he looked perfect in the expensive suits he sometimes had to wear as the Wayne heir. He felt clumsy and awkward around them.
I’m just a plowhorse next to their thoroughbreds.
“Hmm, do you have anything in mind, sir?” asked Edgar, studying Clark.
“Blue is definitely his color,” Bruce said dryly.
“I agree.” Edgar had a hand on his chin and circled Clark. “Very broad in the shoulders, I see.”
Bruce nodded. “Clark’s build is similar to mine.”
“Yes, I see. Well, in any event, measurements must be taken.” Edgar nodded crisply. “I shall get my tape.”
After the salesman departed, Bruce knelt on one knee. “I think you need some inseam measurements, like so.”
"Bruce!” Clark’s face reddened as Bruce’s hand ran up his inner thigh.
“Just taking your…measure.”
Bruce rose as Edgar came back.
“All right, Mister…”
“Kent,” Bruce supplied.
“Mr. Kent, I need to take your inseam.”
Clark blushed a little as Bruce smirked, but he stood still as Edgar got to work.
The man was a consummate professional. Bruce didn’t mind teasing Clark, but he would never let any funny business happen.
Edgar took the necessary measurements, then he spoke to Bruce. “His measurements are very similar to yours, Mr. Wayne. Somewhat similar coloring, too.” He picked up a swatch from a sample book. “Will this color do?”
Bruce studied the dark-blue material. “Perfect.”
“Very good. A vest would also look good.”
“A white shirt is classic.” Bruce nodded. “And a light-blue tie…”
Bruce and Edgar looked at Clark. Edgar said, “Sir, the light-blue color is a better choice…”
“I want red.” Clark's face was set in 'stubborn mode'.
Bruce caught Edgar’s eye and nodded slightly.
“Very well, sir.” Edgar wrote down the measurements “I assume underwear and socks will be included?”
“Yes. Could you show us some socks, please?”
“Certainly.” Edgar went to get the socks.
“Bruce, I can’t afford all this! I’ll have to buy the suit on credit, but I’ll just have to use what I already own for the rest.”
Bruce shook his head. “I don’t think so. Everything here will match perfectly.”
“Bruce, I told you, I can’t afford this.”
“I’m buying it all.” Clark opened his mouth to protest, but Bruce held up a hand. “Consider it a gift.”
“Yes, you can.” Bruce took Clark’s hand. “I love you. That’s reason enough.”
Clark’s eyes blinked behind his glasses. “Thanks, Bruce.” He smiled. “I love you, too.” He squeezed Bruce’s hand, then his eyes widened. “But what will Edgar think of you buying me all this?”
“Oh, that you’re my kept man,” Bruce said airily as he waved his hand carelessly.
Clark blushed, then an evil gleam appeared in his eyes. “So that makes you my sugar daddy?”
Bruce was startled, then licked his lips with a loud smack. “Sweet.”
When it came time for Clark to travel to New York, Bruce insisted on using his private jet, also exercising their membership in the Mile High Club.
And when they reached New York, the big day finally arrived, Clark and Bruce traveling to Columbia University and were directed to the classical, ionic-columned Low Library. Lois hurried over, dressed in a dark-green suit of watersilk, a gold necklace gleaming at her throat, not too heavy or garish. She wore a matching bracelet.
“Thank god, Bruce. Never let it be said you don’t have good taste.” She smoothed the lapel of Clark’s suit.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Bruce said dryly.
Lois grabbed Clark’s arm. “Come on, Smallville, let’s get our table.”
Clark grabbed Bruce’s arm in turn. “Come on. You’re with me.”
Amused, Bruce allowed Clark to drag him toward the table in front of the stage as Lois dragged Clark. The human chain (well, two-thirds human, but Bruce had long ago figured that Clark was more human than most of the species) chugged along with Lois in charge.
“So did you work your manly charms on Smallville?” asked Lois as they sat down. She crossed her arms on the table.
“Of course. No man can resist the Wayne charm.”
Lois rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Well, looks like Clark must have maxed out his credit card with this ensemble.”
“Actually, it was a gift,” said Clark, smirking at Lois’ surprise.
“Wow, pays to have rich friends, Smallville.”
“A rich boyfriend.”
Lois rolled her eyes again at her partner’s smugness.
Bruce sipped his water. “I had good material to work with.”
“Oh, brother. You guys really have it bad!”
Clark and Bruce smiled at each other while Lois asked a waiter for “Whiskey, and lots of it!”
And Bruce was very proud when Clark received his well-deserved Pulitzer Prize, looking beautiful in his well-tailored suit as he stood next to a beaming Lois.
Free Web Counter