a/n: Just a little fluffy, humorous ficlet for Valentine's Day.

Title: Simply Irresistible
Fandom: DCAU
Characters: SupermanxBatman, Clark KentxBruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyforth
Rating: T
Warnings: teasing a blowjob
Description: Clark is both persistent and creative. He's also, much to Bruce's dismay, irresistible.

For mistress_pirate's flash fiction Friday prompt of "SuperBat, will you be my Valentine?"

He found the paper card on the driver's seat of the Batmobile at midnight, while the clock tower was still sounding the final echoes that officially marked the beginning of the 14th of February.

There were few people who could properly access the Batmobile to leave something like this behind. Batman could count them on one hand. Though that didn't account any phaseshifters. And while Batman was loathe to blame J'onn, he knew how persuasive Superman could be. The only one on the team with greater puppy-eyes was Wally.

Batman tossed the card onto the passenger seat with a sigh and powered up the engines with a roar. There was a shipment of illegal firearms coming into the docks tonight. Batman didn't have time for such frivolous things.

Just before dawn, Batman returned to the Cave to find a cellophane bag of conversation hearts on his console. It had been tied off by a sparkly pink bow with a tiny folded tag addressed it to him. It hadn't been signed but then, Batman only needed one guess.
Every conversation heart read the same thing: I love you.

He saved them for Tim since he had no interest in eating them himself and trudged upstairs for a shower and a nap before he was due at Wayne Enterprises in a little less than four hours.

Bruce Wayne didn't have time for such things either.

The bundle of long-stemmed orange roses arrived in his office at noon at the same time as his lunch. The scent of them almost overpowered the curry he'd had delivered. His secretary giggled.

"Someone has an admirer," she commented.

"You are supposed to put all holiday-related deliveries in the copy room," Bruce reminded her with a stern look. He got countless gifts every year from admirers who wanted a chance at playboy Bruce Wayne. If not for his mask, he would have turned them all away. But he had a reputation to maintain.

"I know." She fluffed up the blooms, allowing the sweet scent to strengthen. "But these are different than the others."

Judging by the illegible signature on the card attached to them, she was right. But how she had parsed that just by looking at them, Bruce didn't know. He pinched his lips together.

"If you prefer, I can throw them out." Her expression was serious but something in her eyes suggested that she was humoring him.
Bruce firmly bent over his lunch. "You can leave them."

Her smile was perfectly professional but something like victory wrote itself into her exit from his office, a happy clip to her pace.
Bruce glared at the roses.

This was approaching the realm of ridiculous.

At five o'clock, as he was stepping out of the main doors for Wayne Enterprises, pleasantly surprised that no reporters waited for him, demanding to know who was to be his Valentine's date, Bruce looked up into the sky and nearly facepalmed. Alfred, who was holding the door open for him, had a bland expression, but inwardly, Bruce knew he was laughing. He had to be.

"He is imaginative, Master Bruce," Alfred said.

He wondered how long that plane had been circling the sky around Wayne Tower, proudly asking the world, "Will You Be My Valentine?"
It could have been meant for anyone since there was no name attached. But Bruce knew, down to his Batman bones, that it had been meant for him.

"Do you intend to answer him?"

Bruce's eyes narrowed. "Oh, he will get an answer. Home, Alfred."

"Very good, sir."

When he arrived at Wayne Manor, however, there was a package waiting for him just outside the gate. Upon opening it he discovered a half-dozen heart-shaped boxes of various European chocolates, each decorated with a red ribbon emblazoned with more heartfelt words of adulation.

This was beyond unacceptable.

"He is quite persistent, is he not?" Alfred observed.

Bruce didn't dignify that with a response. Instead, he retreated to the safety of his study, where he was assaulted by foil balloons. Hundreds of them. How Clark had gotten them into his house or found the time to acquire them, Bruce didn't know. He suspected Dick had something to do with it.

In fact, he blamed Dick. Or Tim. Frankly, it could have been either. Or both.

Bruce whirled on a heel and stomped upstairs to what he hoped was sanity. His bedroom was the last refuge remaining. His place of zen and peace.

He threw open the double-doors and stormed inside only to draw up short.

Clark grinned at him from the bed, completely comfortable as he reclined, arms crossed behind his head and entirely nude. No, that was incorrect. Clark did wear a sash across his chest and there was a tiny pink bow tied around his….

Bruce growled in his throat. "What do you think you are doing?" he hissed.

"Being romantic," Clark replied without so much as a flinch. "Did you like my presents?"

Bruce's reply could not have been intelligible. Clark's grin, however, didn't falter. He sat up and made a show of patting down his glittery sash.

"Bruce, you haven't answered my question," Clark said, innocently adjusting the pink bow on his…

Bruce could have breathed fire. "I don't need presents," he said, stomping closer to the bed, shedding clothes in the process. Damn Clark. And damn himself for being unable to resist the temptation that Clark presented.

"Not even this one?" Clark asked, smallest finger giving a light tug to one of the loops on the pink bow.

"How can you even ask that with a straight face?" Bruce demanded but he was already crawling onto the bed, eying that ridiculous pink bow.

"Because it worked." Clark was smug. Too smug.

Bruce would have to fix that. And as soon as possible. But first, his teeth itched to remove that stupid, insipid and altogether beguiling pink ribbon.

"You're going to clean up those balloons when they deflate," Bruce said as his exhalation made the ribbon flutter. "And the chocolates. And the candies. And the—"

"Fine. Whatever." Clark's hand settled on his shoulder, agreeing but not pushing. "Just stop teasing me."

"Consider it payback," Bruce retorted, his hands smoothing up Clark's thighs, kneading the corded muscle beneath.

Clark wanted attention? Fine. He would get it. But on Bruce's terms.

Clark groaned, head falling back against the pile of pillows. "Sadist," he accused.

Bruce smirked.

Clark had no idea.

a/n: I hope you enjoyed! As always, feedback is very welcome and appreciated.