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It all starts because Dick leaves out a Fit, Fun, Fab: Pole Dancing DVD on his coffee table when Bruce pays him a surprise visit.
“Pole dancing?” He raises an eyebrow, but tries not to judge. Dick turns around, frowning at the non-sequitur. He sees where Bruce is looking, and flushes slightly. But when he finds that Bruce’s expression isn’t judging— is, in fact, carefully neutral— he relaxes.
After clearing his throat, Dick answers: “It’s a good form of exercise! Not everyone who does it does it for… you know. Not that there’s anything wrong with that either—”
“Is it difficult?” Bruce asks.
“Sort of? It reminds me a bit of aerial work, which, obviously, I’m used to. But the timing can be hard.”
A moment of silence passes.
“Could I do it?”
Dick blinks, looking nonplussed. “Uh— setting aside why you’d even want to for a moment— it also helps to have rhythm.”
Bruce raises an eyebrow, feeling like he should be offended. “I’m graceful.”
Dick sighs. “Yeah, you’re graceful, B— not rhythmic. There’s a difference. To have rhythm, you have to be able to relax, feel the music. And I’ve seen you dance,” he replies, not unkindly.
Bruce considers this for a moment. Dick has a point. Perhaps it’s best to try this another way. He’s still not quite ready to give up. Something about this incident has sparked an idea in his brain. “Technically speaking, could I learn?”
Dick sighs again, sounding very put out. “Yes, I suppose.”
“Alright then. How’s work?” Bruce asks, swiftly droppong that thread of conversation. But he keeps Dick’s statement in the back of his mind. It’s not like I haven’t mastered things which were difficult, before. How challenging could this really be?
°°°°°°°°°
Actually, it starts much earlier than his exchange with his eldest.
“If you’re right, I’ll learn to pole dance,” Batman mutters under his breath.
Superman— who is on monitor-duty with him— chokes and has to take a moment to clear his throat. “What?” He turns to stare at Batman, eyes comically wide.
Bruce repeats his ridiculous statement slowly: “If. You’re. Right. I will learn. To pole dance.”
They’ve been absently discussing Hal’s most recent update, given in briefing-form during the last League meeting. The most annoying of the Green Lanterns had essentially said that there was nothing to worry about, and everything was fine. Batman, of course, is not so sure. That was a week ago.
—
“What about the Gordanians?” he asks immediately after Hal gives his briefing. “I thought that they were supposed to be on the brink of civil war, Lantern.”
“Well, now they’re not. So don’t get your spandex in a twist, Spooky,” Hal replies.
Bruce grits his teeth, and clenches his fists. He’s on the verge of snapping when Clark intervenes. “I’m sure that Green Lantern can continue to monitor the situation, and will notify us if anything changes,” Superman says firmly, glancing between the two of them.
Batman stays pointedly silent. Hal, per usual, does not. “Of course. Though I doubt that anything will change.” Green Lantern’s eyes, and Clark’s, then go to Bruce.
“Fine,” he snaps. “Let’s move on to the next item on the agenda: the monthly budget.”
—
Now Clark is staring at him, looking flustered. “Come on, B. Try to be reasonable; Hal knows what he’s doing.”
Bruce snorts, thinking of all the other times which Hal Jordan supposedly ‘knew what he was doing.’ That’s likely. “Sure he does. Civil wars don’t just magically stop, Superman; there’s something else going on here. We just haven’t spotted it yet— I only hope that this doesn’t turn into another Atlanta incident.”
Clark winces at the deliberate reminder of their last— Hal Jordan-caused, might he add— fuck up. “That was different! Nobody saw them coming, so it’s hardly fair to—”
“My offer stands.” Bruce highly doubts that he’s wrong, which is why he made such a ridiculous suggestion in the first place. But instead of looking annoyed, Clark simply goes red-faced again, and turns back to the monitor. He doesn’t say anything else. Despite his annoyance, Bruce can’t help but raise a brow. Interesting, he thinks. Very interesting.
°°°°°°°°°
As it turns out, Bruce is not wrong; the Gordanian situation ends up needing the League’s intervention.
Yet he still cannot quite disregard his facetious offer. Clark’s reaction to it had been… too telling for him to do that. Privately, Bruce can admit that he is a bit of a show-off. He doesn’t seek out attention per se, but if it’s freely offered then he isn’t above peacocking a bit. Clark is not above egging him on when he’s in a certain mood, either.
Bruce also knows that he can a bit of a bastard as well. If there’s a situation in which he can tease his boyfriend, chances are that he will take it. Years of experience have taught him that sometimes, flustering Clark can lead to an… interesting pay-off. So the idea of learning to pole dance remains in the back of his mind throughout those months, until he accidentally learns that his eldest is also learning to pole dance.
°°°°°°°°°
Before he truly becomes invested, Bruce would like to make sure that this is a viable idea.
This means that he needs to find a secure place to practice, which actually turns out to be somewhat difficult to do. He could keep the… equipment in the master bedroom, but most nights it’s his and Clark’s bedroom. If this is going to be a surprise, then that won’t do. For obvious reasons, the Watchtower is out as well— Bruce snorts, imagining the chaos that would cause— and so is the manor.
It would be possible for him to find an in-person class and take it in a disguise, but after a moment of consideration, he dismisses that idea as well. Given how physical pole dancing is, there is too much room for error. Bruce also doesn’t want to risk anyone finding out. Naturally, then, his mind turns to the Batcave.
There’s already a built-in sound system; a rather good one at that. He doesn’t make use of it often, but Dick does whenever he comes home for a visit. So do Stephanie and Tim. Even Cass will use it on occasion. The cave is also— depending on the time of day— very private, and Bruce already spends most of his time down there, anyway. Nobody will be suspicious if he starts spending a little more time in the manor’s ‘basement.’
Another locational bonus is that there is an entire gym’s-worth of workout equipment available to him. If he needs weights, or whatever else is necessary to hone the skills required for pole dancing, it will probably already be in the cave. He can also borrow a few of the practice mats without notice. But even if the cave seems promising, that doesn’t mean that it will actually work.
So, one day, Bruce takes an early afternoon off and seeks out a good spot.
He finds one in the farthest reaches of the cave. It’s rather dark, a bit uneven, and somewhat cramped, but then again, Bruce can’t remember the last time anyone was back here. Once he makes his way past a few narrower areas, the space opens up and the floor levels out. There is even a smooth, metal support pillar— one could say pole— running from ceiling to floor. It is slightly wider than what he thinks a ‘standard’ pole should be, but then, he’s a bit bigger than a ‘standard’ dancer.
With a little effort, this could be made to work. Perfect.
Once his little practice area is set-up: mats under the ‘pole,’ a few borrowed flood lights, a Bluetooth speaker, and a box of cleaning supplies, he moves on to the next step. It’s time to figure out just what the hell he’s getting himself into. Again, this is not that difficult because Bruce is used to detective work.
He reads up on everything he can about the ‘art’ of pole dancing, and finds several experts online and analyzes their videos. He makes a to-purchase list of supplies— Dry Hands grip aid is one item— and concludes his virtual research. Christ. I’m really doing this. Bruce isn’t quite sure whether to feel more foolish, amused, or frightened.
Then he turns to Matches Malone for further assistance. “Tatyana, sweetheart, it’s been a while. I’ve got a request for ya, if you’d be willing to humor an old friend…”
Once Matches has done his job, Bruce decides that there is not much else he can to do prepare. Since Dick is the family acrobat, he follows his eldest son’s (unwitting) endorsement. He buys the Fit, Fun, Fab: Pole Dancing web series, created by Alana Roche.
Although Bruce has more core strength, and is far fitter than the average beginner, he follows the instructor’s orders religiously; overconfidence can easily lead to injury, after all. And while he’s hurt all the time as Batman, these kinds of injuries may be slightly harder to explain away.
°°°°°°°°°
“Alright, today’s the day you’re gonna learn your first spin! Who’s excited?” Alana near-shouts.
“About fucking time,” Bruce mutters at his laptop screen.
It’s been two weeks since he started this odd endeavor, and despite knowing how important it is to master the basics first— Batman has certainly told his Robins this enough times— he’s growing impatient. There are not a lot of similarities between pole dancing and vigilantism, but some of the basic safety advice, and grips, are translatable.
“The really important thing with spins is that you always want to have a baseball grip on the pole, and keep your weight away from it. We spin in the direction that our bodies are angled. Remember, a baseball grip means that we keep our arms flat, and elbows level. All fingers, and thumbs, should hold the pole. Now watch me, this is called ‘The Fireman.’”
He rewinds the video. Despite himself, Bruce is impressed. After three rewinds, he’s picked up on all the cues, and the sequencing. Think of it like another fighting-style, he tells himself. So, still feeling slightly stupid, Bruce tries it out. He feels a small jolt of satisfaction when he gets it right.
“Very good!” Alana says.
°°°°°°°°°
At the end of the first month, he’s progressing rapidly. Thought there have been some bumps.
—
“You seem to have more bruises than usual,” Clark remarks causally one night as they’re lying in bed.
“Hmm?” He sets down his phone, and meets his boyfriend’s concerned blue eyes. “It’s nothing, Clark. Just experimenting with a new fighting style.”
Clark sighs, and gives him a long look. Bruce makes sure to keep eye-contact the entire time. “I just want to make sure that you’re being careful, Bruce.”
“I know. And I am. Don’t worry.”
—
“Since you’re doing so well, let’s try something a little more complicated: a sequence. This is your first step towards a routine. Eventually, when you’re good enough, you can improvise and create something of your own. But for now, follow me!” He watches Alana straighten her legs, and bring one up so her foot is equal with her head. She leans toward the raised limb, grabs her ankle, and spins smoothly around.
Wineglass, Bruce thinks, naming the move. I’ll have to adapt that one; I’m not quite that flexible.
The instructor straightens up and goes into a new maneuver. She brings her legs upwards in an impressive display of core and arm strength, then passes them through her arms, forming a ‘v.’ She’s now parallel to the pole. Then she begins to spin.
“This is called a ‘Post Spin,’” Alana explains cheerfully as she completes the move. “Now I wanna see you try it!”
He manages it. Barely.
°°°°°°°°°
“Damn it!” Bruce hits the mat again— that’s the third time in the past few minutes. He knows how to fall, and it doesn’t much bother him, but fight falls aren’t much use in this situation; there are no poles involved in sparring. He picks himself back up, wipes the sweat from his brow, and rewinds the video, scowling. There are only a few weeks left until Clark’s birthday, which is his self-imposed deadline.
It has been three months since he started, and Bruce has moved on from basic sequences to basic routines. Everything was fine until Alana increased the difficulty of the individual moves. This means more difficult transitions. Currently, he’s trying to go from ‘Emotion-catcher’ to ‘Superman;’ yes, there’s a move named after Clark, which is endlessly amusing. As evidenced by his sore ass, it is not going well.
“If Ra’s could see me now,” Bruce mutters, snorting at that particular mental image.
He climbs up the pole with no problem, legs squeezed together, one hand in baseball grip, the other in reverse, and starts to spin with his legs tucked slightly beneath his torso. But, as usual, it’s the transition which gets him. As Bruce is coming out of the spin, arching upward again for the straightened posture required for ‘Superman,’ he slips.
Bruce sighs, and picks himself back up. He glances at the current source of his frustration, then at his phone, and back. Am I really that desperate? Yes. The answer is yes. He texts Dick: meet me at the cave, Saturday 7:30 p.m.
°°°°°°°°°
“What’s up, B?” Dick asks.
“Just follow me,” he replies tersely. God, I hope this doesn’t backfire. Dick will most-likely be thrilled that he is going to be helping Bruce for once, but his son could also use this as blackmail material. And Bruce can just imagine what will happen if Jason— or worse, Stephanie— get wind of what he’s been up to. Even Clark, for all that he’s trusting and willing to give him his space, is becoming suspicious.
—
“It seems like you’ve been spending a lot of time down here recently. Everything okay?”
Bruce jolts upright in his seat at the computer. It’s late— and he absently wonders exactly how long his boyfriend has been standing there, watching him work. He likes to do that sometimes, claims it’s soothing to see Bruce safe and in his element. “Don’t do that!” Clark should know by now not to sneak up on him.
Clark holds up his hands. “Sorry!”
Bruce sighs, saves his work, and stands. “It’s your birthday present,” he says shortly. “So stay out of here if you don’t want the surprise spoiled.”
“Must be some gift.” Clark arches a brow in question, and Bruce just rolls his eyes. Really, Superman should know better by now that fishing for information that blatantly won’t work. “Alright fine. I’ll stop bugging you about it.”
“Do that.”
—
“Bruce?” Dick’s voice brings him out of his reverie.
He blinks, realizing that he’s stopped just outside the ‘hallway’ between where he practices and the rest of the cave. I can’t believe I’m really doing this. Bruce takes a breath. “You can’t tell anyone.” Dick nods, so he continues: “I called you here because I’m having some… problems.”
“Wait. Am I here for a case, or relationship advice—”
He holds up a hand, and gives his eldest a reproachful look. “No. I need your acrobatic skills.”
“So it is a mission?” Dick asks.
Bruce hesitates. “Sure.”
°°°°°°°°°
Dick laughs at him. He laughs for so long and so hard that he falls over. Then he lies there, wheezing, for several more minutes. Bruce growls. “Oh, fuck— you are so lucky that I still have a modicum of respect for you, B, otherwise everyone would be hearing about this.”
Feeling very embarrassed, Bruce sighs. “Are you going to help me or not?”
“Yes. I’ll help you— for a price,” Dick agrees easily, swiftly getting to his feet.
He groans internally. “What do you want?”
“I haven’t decided yet. I’ll let you know when I do.”
I don’t really have a choice, do I? Bruce thinks. “Alright… Thank you.”
°°°°°°°°°
Dick repeats the sequence— with all of his normal grace— several times. It’s clear that his son has been able to transfer his trapeze and aerial skills well into this new medium. Then he talks Bruce through it. Somehow, he manages to not fall on his ass this time, which is a relief.
After a bit of practice, they stretch and wipe everything down.
“I assume that this is the big, mysterious ‘birthday project’ which Clark keeps telling me about,” his eldest says a while later.
“Yes.” He pauses. “You talk to Clark?”
Dick rolls his eyes, and mutters something which sounds like ‘some detective’ under his breath. “Yeah, we talk; I’ve known him for nearly half my life, Bruce. And you two have been dating for only, like, a quarter of that.”
Bruce blinks. I suppose he’s right. It’s just a strange realization, that his kids have known Clark for so long. He really has been standing by me, all this time. A wave of affection runs through him. “I see.”
Dick snorts, shooting him a highly amused look. Then, after a moment, he says, “I’ve decided what my price is. The next time I’m in Gotham, I get to drive the Vantage, and you, Damian, and I are all going out for ice cream.”
Bruce thinks about it for a moment. It’s a much more reasonable demand than what he’d been expecting. “Sure.”
Dick grins, and heads for the exit. He pauses just before disappearing from view. “Good luck, Bruce!”
°°°°°°°°°
Choosing a song turns out to be an incredibly difficult process.
Bruce thinks he understands now what Dick had meant when he said, “Yeah, you’re graceful, B— not rhythmic. There’s a difference.” He has already tried out several songs, but so far none of them have felt right. Not to mention, his own lack of rhythm is not helping matters; Bruce messes up a lot more with the music on than with it off. He isn’t used to executing moves with that level of background noise.
But there is only one week left until Clark’s birthday, and he would like to have at least a few days in advance to practice his routine with music. Frowning, Bruce impatiently switches the radio station to Gotham KMXYZ— the best of the 90’s, 00’s, and Modern Pop. The opening beat of the next song begins, and Bruce snorts. That’s almost too on the nose—
He blinks. Or maybe not.
°°°°°°°°°
“Why’re we going to the cave again?” Clark asks.
It’s the night of his birthday, and the party only ended an hour ago. Bruce has been waiting for the last of the guests, and his children, to leave so that he can give Clark his present. He takes a moment to suppress his irritation; this is the fifth time Clark has asked. “You’ll see soon enough.”
Bruce swallows, feeling how rapid his heartbeat is. This is ridiculous. Ridiculous. But he can’t stop himself from wondering: What if Clark hates it? But no. He won’t. Bruce still remembers his boyfriend’s reaction when he mentioned pole dancing all those months ago.
“You alright?”
He takes a deep breath. “I’m fine, Clark.”
°°°°°°°°°
“What’s this?” Clark asks, looking around the space. It seems smaller, and dingier, under his questioning gaze. Bruce feels nervous again. He spruced it up after his last rehearsal, adding a few nice touches like an actual light, a bench, and a real speaker. He also fixed the mats in place instead of simply having them situated under the pole (which is freshly-polished, of course). Clark looks at him inquiringly again.
Bruce realizes that he’s been silent for too long. “This is your birthday present,” he answers swiftly, removing his shoes and socks. “Remember our… conversation— after Hal gave us his first update about the Gordanians?”
Clark glances from him to the pole, and back. He frowns for a moment, and seems to be searching his memory for any such recollection. Then he gasps. “No. You didn’t!”
Bruce smirks, beginning working on his shirt. Though he’s still nervous, seeing his boyfriend’s pleasantly-shocked expression is proving to be helpful. “Even though I was right— I did.” The pants come off next, and then he’s in nothing but a very tight pair of black spandex; flesh-to-pole contact is essential for a good grip, after all. “Take a seat, Clark.”
°°°°°°°°°
Bruce gets nervous again as he walks up to the pole, but he does his best to ignore the feeling.
The silence seems overwhelming, for a moment, until he starts to move. These first few movements are just a warm-up. After a few easy spins, to get Clark in the mood, gauge his reaction. Bruce twirls around the pole a final time and comes to a smooth stop. Not missing a beat, he meets Clark’s eyes, reaches out for his phone, unlocks it, and presses play.
As the opening notes of Katy Perry’s, “E.T.” begin, thumping loudly over the speaker, Clark laughs. “Really, Bruce?” Bruce just smirks, bringing his legs up between his hands. He splits them into a ‘v’ and spins. Clark isn’t laughing any longer.
Throughout the performance, his boyfriend’s eyes do not waver. Instead, they carefully follow all of Bruce’s moves with the kind of precise attention which only Superman can manage. As Katy Perry sings the ending lines of the song, “It’s supernatural, extraterrestrial-al-al,” Bruce slides to the floor, then bows. The cave descends into a loud silence.
He takes a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow. Clark is staring. “Well, what did you think?”
“You, Bruce Wayne, are utterly ridiculous, and overly-dramatic— I loved it!” Clark grins.
Bruce takes a moment to carefully study his face, but there’s no sign that Clark’s lying. It seems that he really did enjoy… that. A rush of relief flows through him. Thank god. Bruce chuckles. “It’s your fault, Clark; you bring out the show-boater in me. But I’m glad. That you liked it.” He walks over to his boyfriend, who remains more-or-less where he was during the dancing. Only he’s standing now.
“How long have you been working on that?” Clark murmurs.
Bruce steps forward so that their bodies are almost pressed together. “You don’t want to know. But how would you feel about an encore performance… upstairs?” He presses a quick kiss to Clark’s lips.
“Mm. I like the sound of that.”