A meow and a dog

"Bruce, what do you think of this one?"

"Oh, no, it's too sweet." The Son of Gotham sat on the milky white chair, and without hesitation pushed a plate that was biased toward him to Clark opposite him.

Clark smiled, "It's okay, we still have a lot."

——On the table used by the two of them, hundreds of small cakes were placed on small plates and decorated with various kinds of cream.

"And this one with chocolate sauce? I bet the chocolate on top will satisfy your appetite."

Bruce glanced at the chocolate candy on top of the delicate pastry and immediately dismissed it, "No, it uses bonbons. It doesn't seem like it would be appropriate for that occasion."

"Oh, your playboy taste buds, huh?" Clark pushed another plate forward, as if determined to satisfy Mr. Wayne's picky appetite, "I don't remember you being so picky at Alfred's." Carping."

"That's because it's Aff—unless you can make that flavor, small town boy." Bruce wasn't going to give in easily, especially at a time like this, "Did your Kryptonian head think about that?"

Clark leaned forward, and accurately poured the cream on the fork into Bruce's mouth, "Eat your cream, Bruce. Your mouth should be used for another purpose."

Bruce shrugged indifferently, and slowly licked off the cream splashed on his lips, "I hope you don't say such things in front of the alliance, Mr. Clark Wayne."

"Can't you fill your mouth with so many desserts, Mr. Bruce Kent?" Clark retorted, and quickly filled the playboy's mouth with a piece of cream again.

"Someone's pissed off?" Bruce said slowly, glancing at Clark. "I'll tell you, you're no match for me, small town boy—if you're only looking at the corn and stalks Talk about love."

Clark snorted, and stretched out his fork toward a piece of cream dotted with pale yellow clouds—and was blocked by Bruce.

"Bruce—"

"Oh," Bruce laughed, "Take back your sour tone, Superman shouldn't be like this."

"Then Batman shouldn't grab Superman's cake." Clark raised his eyebrows, not as angry as Bruce thought.

Master Wayne was dissatisfied and imitated Clark and stuffed him with a ball of cream, "That's what it should be."

Clark glared over to see Bruce enjoying his cold coffee. "Bruce, I think it's time for you to improve your living habits."

"Nothing— oops—" Bruce paused because the coffee was already steaming hot as he spoke, "...Looks like I'll have a free hot coffee machine in the future, Mr Clark Pennyworth?"

"If you'll let me into your Batcave," Clark said, satisfied to find himself regaining a bit of the edge, "Mr. Possessiveness."

Bruce blinked, swallowed a shard of cake nonchalantly, and commented, "This one is kind of greasy, but I think it's just right with fruit—and I like the color of it."

"Brown?" Clark stared at the piece of cake that was missing a corner. "It's like the color of my cabin, but lighter."

"Oh, don't mention that, you remind me of Wayne & Co's pile of papers."

"You haven't finished with that, Bruce?"

"Then let me explain why I came to the Met and who I met."

"Don't tell me you—"

The son of Gotham puts his head up and pretends to be arrogant-but it doesn't seem to be very successful, because Clark across the way can't help laughing, "I left them a text saying I went to the Metropolis, see you there A person. Guess who?"

"It's Lex Luthor? That's good. You're going to meet Superman's nemesis."

"Still a Wayne & Co. partner," Bruce said, taking a sip of his coffee, not noticing that the steam had completely obscured his face in a haze, "Small town boy, you guessed half wrong—that's Fox A fabricated explanation for my 'escape'."

Clark handed over some cream, and put it into his mouth after seeing Mr. Wayne's expression. "I like that word. And then, what's your interpretation, Bruce?"

"Hmm. Pick fruit." Bruce said casually, not noticing Clark's choking appearance.

"They believed it?"

"That's right, who made Bruce do too many crazy things, and this time it's not enough to fill in those great achievements." Bruce was quite proud, "But I don't think you will be so easy, little reporter? "

"My boss won't give me a day off." Clark pretended to be distressed, "What do you think I should do, Bruce?"

"That's easy," Bruce said with great ease, "you just need to fill in a new surname of 'Wayne' after the surname."

"But I think Bruce Kent speaks a lot?"

Bruce responded from his nasal cavity, "I think Clark Kent sounds better, and, Superman, you can't resist now."

"......How to say?"

Young Master Wayne leaned forward, dangerously shortening the distance with Clark, "What do you think I will do?"

"Use your Bat Deterrent, terrorize the citizens of Gotham, declare to them that Superman is Batman, and add an 'S' to the Bat logo on your suit. Then call the League and ask them to kidnap with kryptonite Take me and send me to the Batcave." Clark guessed wildly, and saw Bruce raise a Batman-like smile-which gave him a bad feeling.

"No, I won't do that." Bruce teased, retracted his body, and leaned on the back of the chair, "If you want to try it, you don't need to borrow kryptonite from the alliance. Besides, what color do you want?" of?"

Clark raised his eyebrows, stared at Bruce across the way, and tried to ease his tone, "Well, what's that?"

"I told them I was going to meet my wife and pick out the wedding cake with him - it's probably in the Gotham papers by now, if you hurry up, maybe you can catch this in the Daily Planet printing." Bruce said triumphantly, "You just accept your fate, Mr. Clark Wayne."

"Oh, Bruce, you know, some things can't just be believed in the news." Clark said lightly, and patted the back of Bruce, who was choking on coffee, "Also, how do you explain this to the league? Message, Mr Bruce Kent?"

The author has something to say:

Well, in fact, the source of inspiration is very strange. For example, the inspiration for this article is the short sentence "candy soaked in honey", but after typing it out, I found that the cake is simply soy sauce QAQ

Aooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooow ! !

In addition, a bad news: A certain will go to school to report tomorrow, and then it is estimated that there will be five days of military training, so there will probably be no updates in these five days-no slap in the face! ——But I will try my best to code and save the manuscript. Is it okay to talk about a small theater? (I said no slap in the face, hey!)