*bare* with me

superman x batman

The first rule of the Justice League was simple: never let Batman organize team-building activities.

The second rule, established approximately forty-five minutes later, was that Superman was absolutely not allowed to choose the music.

Unfortunately, nobody had written either rule down.

“Why,” Batman asked, standing in the middle of the Batcave with his arms crossed, “is there a boombox on my computer console?”

Superman, dressed in a red hoodie and blue sweatpants, looked up from connecting his phone to the speakers.

“Because, Bruce, you need to relax.”

“I relax.”

“You spent twenty minutes yesterday interrogating a vending machine because it gave you the wrong brand of protein bar.”

“It was suspicious.”

“It was a vending machine.”

“It had motives.”

Clark Kent grinned. “And that's exactly why we're doing this.”

Batman stared at him.

Clark pressed PLAY.

A thunderous beat exploded through the Batcave.

Bruce's computer monitors flickered. Somewhere in the darkness, the Batmobile's alarm started going off.

“WHAT IS THAT?”

“Breakdancing music!”

“TURN IT OFF.”

“Nope!”

Clark threw his arms into the air and began dancing.

To Bruce's absolute horror, Superman was actually good.

Clark spun on one foot, dropped smoothly into a crouch, and popped back up with a series of sharp, perfectly timed movements. His hoodie swung around his shoulders. He finished with a dramatic pose, pointing directly at Bruce.

“Your turn!”

Bruce blinked.

“No.”

“Come on!”

“No.”

“Afraid you'll lose?”

Bruce's eyes narrowed.

Clark knew immediately that he'd made a terrible mistake.

“Alfred,” Bruce called.

From the stairs, Alfred appeared carrying a silver tray with two cups of tea.

“Yes, Master Bruce?”

“Prepare the training room.”

Alfred glanced at Clark, then at the boombox.

“I see. Shall I inform the Justice League that the apocalypse has begun?”

“Not necessary.”

“Very good, sir.”

He paused.

“Though I suspect Master Clark will require medical attention.”

“HEY!” Clark protested.

Alfred departed with the serene expression of a man who had seen far stranger things.

Twenty minutes later, the Batcave had been transformed.

The Batmobile was parked in the corner. The main computer had been covered with a protective tarp. Someone—probably Clark—had taped a piece of paper to the wall reading:

GOTHAM BREAKING CHAMPIONSHIP: BATMAN VS. SUPERMAN

Bruce stood beneath it, staring at the sign.

“I'm going to destroy that.”

“After the competition,” Clark said cheerfully.

Bruce had changed into black joggers and a fitted black T-shirt. His cowl was gone, revealing his carefully styled hair.

Clark had insisted that breakdancing required comfortable clothing.

Bruce had insisted that Clark stop talking.

Neither had succeeded.

“Rules?” Bruce demanded.

“Simple. We take turns dancing. Alfred judges.”

“And the loser?”

“Has to buy dinner.”

Bruce considered this.

“Acceptable.”

Clark extended his hand.

Bruce stared at it as though it contained a live grenade.

“It's a handshake, Bruce.”

“I know what it is.”

“Then shake it.”

Bruce reluctantly shook his hand.

Clark's smile widened.

“Oh, you're so losing.”

Clark went first.

His opening move was a cartwheel.

Bruce sighed.

Then Clark dropped onto his hands and began spinning.

Not just spinning. Spinning fast.

His legs extended in a perfect circle, his body balanced effortlessly above the floor. He transitioned into a headspin, rotating with such precision that Bruce briefly wondered whether Clark was using his superpowers to cheat.

“Are you using super-speed?” Bruce shouted over the music.

Clark stopped spinning and looked offended.

“Absolutely not!”

“You moved faster than the human eye could follow.”

“That's called talent!”

“That's called physics being violated.”

Clark finished with a backflip and landed in a superhero pose.

He spread his arms.

“Thank you, Gotham!”

Silence.

Then Alfred clapped politely.

“Very impressive, Master Clark.”

Clark bowed.

Bruce cracked his knuckles.

“Amateur.”

Clark's jaw dropped.

“AMATEUR?”

Bruce stepped onto the dance floor.

The music changed to a heavier beat.

For three seconds, he stood completely still.

Clark leaned toward Alfred.

“Is he buffering?”

“I believe so, sir.”

Then Bruce moved.

He slid across the floor with startling smoothness, dropped into a handstand, and rotated his legs in a flawless windmill. His movements were sharp, controlled, and almost frighteningly precise.

Clark's mouth fell open.

Bruce transitioned into a six-step, spun onto his shoulder, and popped back to his feet.

He finished by pointing at Clark.

“Your move, Kent.”

Clark looked personally betrayed.

“YOU CAN BREAKDANCE?”

“I can do many things.”

“Since WHEN?”

“Since before you learned to fly.”

“THAT'S NOT AN ANSWER!”

Bruce folded his arms.

“It's the only one you're getting.”

Alfred cleared his throat.

“An excellent performance, Master Bruce. Though perhaps slightly less intimidating than your usual approach to criminal interrogation.”

Bruce nodded.

“I'll work on that.”

The competition escalated.

Clark attempted a freeze, holding himself horizontally above the ground.

Bruce responded with a one-handed handstand.

Clark performed a series of body waves.

Bruce somehow incorporated a smoke pellet into his routine.

“BRUCE!” Clark yelled as gray smoke filled the room.

When the smoke cleared, Batman was standing on one knee, pointing dramatically toward the ceiling.

Clark stared.

“You used a smoke bomb?”

“It enhanced the choreography.”

“YOU CANNOT USE BAT-GADGETS IN A DANCE COMPETITION!”

“There's no rule against it.”

“I'M MAKING A RULE!”

“Submit it in writing.”

Clark lunged forward and grabbed Bruce's wrist.

“Rematch. Right now.”

Bruce looked down at Clark's hand.

Then at Clark.

Then back at the hand.

“Let go.”

“Not until you admit I'm better.”

“Then you'll be holding my wrist for a very long time.”

Clark's expression shifted into a mischievous grin.

“Fine. New challenge. Partner dancing.”

Bruce froze.

“No.”

“Come on. It'll be fun.”

“No.”

“Scared?”

Bruce's eyes narrowed for the second time that evening.

Clark immediately realized he'd made another terrible mistake.

“Put on the music,” Bruce said.

Alfred, who had somehow acquired a small notebook, began writing something down.

“Perhaps I should contact the League after all.”

Partner dancing proved considerably more complicated than either man had anticipated.

Clark kept accidentally lifting Bruce several feet into the air.

Bruce kept insisting that being carried was not part of the choreography.

Clark argued that the aerial maneuver was visually impressive.

Bruce responded by threatening to install kryptonite flooring.

Eventually, they found a rhythm.

Clark spun Bruce beneath his arm. Bruce caught Clark by the shoulders, pivoted, and guided them both into a synchronized sequence of footwork.

For once, neither of them was trying to win.

Clark laughed when Bruce missed a step.

Bruce gave him a look.

“Not a word.”

“I didn't say anything!”

“You were thinking it.”

“I was thinking you look cute when you're annoyed.”

Bruce stumbled.

Actually stumbled.

Clark stopped dancing.

“Oh my God.”

“Don't.”

“You stumbled.”

“Clark.”

“Batman, the terrifying Dark Knight of Gotham City, has been defeated by a compliment.”

Bruce grabbed Clark by the front of his hoodie.

“Finish that sentence and I'll make sure you spend the next week doing paperwork for the Justice League.”

Clark grinned, suddenly very interested in the distance between them.

“Worth it.”

For one brief moment, neither moved.

Then Alfred loudly cleared his throat.

“Gentlemen. The music is still playing.”

Bruce released Clark immediately.

Clark looked suspiciously delighted.

At last, Alfred announced the winner.

“After careful consideration, I have determined that the competition is a tie.”

Bruce frowned.

“Explain.”

“Master Bruce demonstrated superior technical precision. Master Clark demonstrated creativity, enthusiasm, and an admirable disregard for the structural integrity of the Batcave.”

“That's fair,” Clark said.

“It is not fair,” Bruce replied.

Alfred smiled.

“Therefore, you shall split the cost of dinner.”

Clark gasped.

“That's not how a tie works!”

“It is how my household works, Master Clark.”

Bruce nodded approvingly.

“Excellent judgment.”

Clark pointed at him.

“You planned this.”

“Prove it.”

“You're impossible.”

“And yet you keep coming back.”

Clark opened his mouth, then closed it again.

Bruce's expression softened just slightly.

“Same time next week?” he asked.

Clark's grin returned at full power.

“Only if we make it a duo routine.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Matching outfits?”

“Never.”

“Matching outfits with capes?”

“Clark.”

“Matching outfits with sparkles?”

Bruce turned off the boombox.

The Batcave fell silent.

Then, from somewhere near the stairs, Alfred called out:

“I shall order the glitter in advance, sir.”

“ALFRED!”

Clark collapsed onto the floor laughing.

Bruce stared at the ceiling, reconsidering every decision that had led him to this moment.

And somewhere deep within the Batcomputer, a new file quietly appeared.

PROJECT: ELIMINATE SUPERMAN'S ACCESS TO THE SPEAKERS.

Underneath it, in a different font, someone had added:

PROJECT: GOTHAM BREAKING CHAMPIONSHIP — ROUND TWO.

Bruce knew exactly who had done it.

He also knew he was going to win next time.

Probably.

End.

• ves is the bomb