Bruce Wayne. The moment I see him, I think of a thousand steamy opening scenes. I could describe this man with countless elegant, languid images: a dewy cornflower, an ash-gray suit with a tie clip, the amber bubbles of Martell, a cat basking by a bay window in the afternoon until it melts into honey... He’s a handsome, empty-headed playboy, always half-lidded, his eyes hazy as if he could never quite wake up. He tosses out flippant, aimless quips, making politicians, tycoons, sultry women, criminals, and flashing cameras buzz around him like blind bees. His hormones are so impossible to ignore that they send people’s thoughts drifting toward the end of every winding romance... a bed. Or perhaps a bed isn’t even necessary?
“Damn, he is so hot! Fuck, get his pants off!” That was what a reporter for the Daily Planet, Superman’s well-known contact, the Mr. Clark Kent who preferred not to give his name, thought when he happened to meet Mr. Bruce Wayne. He recorded those feelings on his Facebook page.
Three years later, Superman rescues a battered Batman from the blazing ruins, and they both learn each other’s secret identities.
Superman: “M-Mr. Bruce Wayne!”
Batman looks into his blue eyes, thoughtful: “Cornflowers, Martell, a cat, and a bed?”
Superman: “!!!”
Batman... Bruce Baby half-lids his hazy eyes, as if he could never quite wake up, and says flippantly, “Or maybe we don’t need a bed?”
Superman is nearly socially dead: “By Rao...”
Theme: Suffering creates an immaculate heart.
