Chapter Text
There isn’t really a manual for how to date two people separately.
There are, of course, several books on polyamory. Polysecure by Jessica Fern; The Ethical Slut by Dossie Easton and Janet W. Hardy; Stepping Off the Relationship Escalator by Amy Gahran. All these, and various other works of polyamorous literature, line Clark’s shelves in his apartment, read several times over and carefully annotated with color-coded highlights and notes in his tidiest penmanship.
But none of these aid him in the decision of which of his two equally long-term, equally committed relationships to celebrate his one singular birthday with.
He relays this to Lois while they’re figuring out their schedule for the week—a ritual Clark was happy to adopt with his partners to ensure he makes enough time for both of them in their busy lives, and one Lois only reluctantly agreed to. (She, Clark would like to note, has never read Polysecure.)
Of course, for every intended date, only about thirty percent actually go as planned, but Clark firmly believes it’s the thought that counts.
“Well, your real birthday is the 29th anyway, so it doesn’t even matter,” Lois tells him over their coffee. “Why don’t you just give one of us the 28th and the other the 1st?”
“That doesn’t solve the problem for next year, though,” Clark points out, musing. “Then, it’s a leap year.”
Lois snorts and gestures at her raggedy planner that, frankly, has never seen better days. “Clark. I barely survive these weekly schedules. Work with me here.”
“I’ll ask Bruce what he thinks,” he resolves, circling BIRTHDAY? in his own—much better cared for—planner. “Just make sure you leave the 28th open until then, and—you’re still coming for the weekend, right?”
Next weekend, Ma and Pa are hosting a belated party for him, since the 28th falls on a rather inconvenient Tuesday. It would be a small thing—neighbors, friends, family, partners, a gathering Clark is looking forward to more for the company of his loved ones than the occasion itself. But it leaves him in the unfortunate position of having to choose what he does on his actual birthday and with who.
“Why not all three of us?” Bruce suggests in the cave that night. “You, me, Lois? I already have reservations for Tuesday. I can add another seat at the table.”
Clark blinks. Huh. “That wouldn’t be weird?” He hadn’t even considered the possibility. For all of his time dating the both of them, they’d never all three gone on one. Mostly, he kept the two of them separate. They knew each other, but not in any particularly intimate way.
“It’s your birthday. You deserve to spend it with your partners, and we’re all adults. Dinner for three at Carlini’s, drinks and gifts at the Metropolis penthouse afterwards? Lois is welcome to stay the night too, there’s plenty of room.” He takes off his cowl and sheds his cape with practiced ease before heading towards the Batcomputer, leaving Clark with the proposal.
He’s been to Bruce’s Metropolis penthouse. It does have plenty of room. It sounds like a nice evening, a perfect evening for him if he’s being honest with himself. It’s been worth it, having the ability to love Lois and Bruce simultaneously, shamelessly, helplessly, but he wouldn’t deny sometimes the juggling of two completely separate relationships gets tiring. To have them both together—to eat and laugh and talk with them over a meal without one ear listening out for a faraway heartbeat—
Well.
It sounds nice.
“I’ll have to ask Lois,” he hedges, trying not to get his hopes up. “But if you’re really okay with it….”
“Ask Lois,” Bruce agrees, not turning around from where he’s started typing up the mission report. “I’ll change the reservation.”
Sometimes, Bruce’s tendency to assume he already knows all the answers pisses Clark off. This time, he really hopes Bruce is as right as he always thinks he is.
And, sure enough, he is.
Which is how Clark finds himself in a half-circle booth at Carlini’s on the evening of his birthday, with Lois to his left and Bruce to his right. The quiet din of the restaurant barely reaches the dimly lit corner their table is secluded in.
“Cozy,” Lois notes when they’re seated, a half-grimace on her face as she slides into the booth, her snug dress making the process an awkward one even with Clark’s arm out to steady her.
“Private,” Bruce adds with none of Lois’ sarcasm, and lends her other side an arm as well.
“Knew I shouldn’t have worn a dress,” Lois says when they’ve gotten her settled.
“And deprive us of the sight of you in it?” Bruce smiles at her as he moves to his seat across from her, his leg pressing into Clark’s. “Perish the thought.”
Clark nods in agreement. He’s had a hard time keeping his eyes off of her—not that that isn’t a problem in any of her outfits—but she looks particularly gorgeous tonight in red, her dress snug and backless with a plunging neckline, her hair falling in soft waves past her bare shoulders. “Happy birthday to me!”
Lois rolls her eyes, but it’s while barking out a laugh that shows off her collarbone. “Alright, down, boys.”
The thing is, Clark had worried so much about the evening being filled with awkward, stilted conversation and uneasy demeanors. But Lois and Bruce get along—actually properly get along, not like Lois’ tight smiles when she’s after a scoop or Bruce’s careful mask for the public. There’s certainly a level of performance going on—they both keep trying to outdo each other in their clever retorts and the flirtatious comments that occasionally border obnoxious, but—
It’s good, amicable, friendly. Bruce asks Lois and Clark about their latest stories. Lois asks after Alfred. Clark retells the comedically disastrous series of events on his fifteenth birthday. Laughter, banter, and wine flow freely through their appetizers and into their entrees.
“You’re grinning,” Bruce tells him, leaning in close enough that his mouth grazes Clark’s ear. His voice is low, and his cheeks are lightly flushed. Tipsier than Clark has ever seen him. Maybe he indulges more when he has a proper drinking partner, as opposed to Clark, who can enjoy the taste, but can’t get drunk.
The comment, as well as the proximity, flusters Clark into a bashful shrug, his eyes darting over to Lois who is digging into her pasta and paying them little mind. “Well, I’m happy,” he admits sheepishly. “This is nice. Best present I’ve gotten in a while.”
“Wait ‘til you see what I have back at the penthouse for you,” Bruce murmurs, and it’s suggestive enough to make Clark blush, but he backs off a moment later, returning to his steak with a quiet smirk playing on his lips.
Leaving Clark curious, Bruce catches Lois’ attention with a compliment towards the food which she concurs with readily, mouth full. They talk of their dishes casually as Bruce tops off both of their glasses, while Clark wills his face to cool.
He knows Bruce has an exhibition streak about a mile wide, but Clark’s pretty sure that his boyfriend shouldn’t have been nibbling his ear where his girlfriend could’ve seen—his girlfriend whose hand is suddenly creeping up his thigh.
He shoots Lois a warning look, but she just smiles blithely over her newly filled wine glass at him.
“You know,” Lois tells Bruce, her hand moving up Clark’s leg another inch higher in defiance as she talks, “I would kill for an entire bucket of this sauce. I always just use the jar stuff.”
Jeez, they’re both handsy drunks.
Worse—Clark finds himself enjoying it. Foreplay in public isn’t exactly rare in either of his relationships, and his body is well attuned to responding to their touches, heated gazes, and risqué comments. As Lois’ hand slides up his leg (unseen under the table) and Bruce sends him pointed glances (only when Lois isn’t looking), the heat in his belly grows stronger and his pulse speeds up, even as conversation carries on normally around the table.
Bruce’s foot taps against Clark’s right shoe before hooking around his ankle, and Clark can’t help the nervous laugh that escapes him, peeking at Bruce and Lois who both greet him with mirrored knowing expressions.
Yeah, there definitely isn’t a manual for what to do when the two people you’re dating are feeling you up at the same time without knowledge of the other.