Fic: How The Prince Picnics ;) (1/1)

[bradygirl_12]

Title: How The Prince Picnics ;) (1/1)
Author: BradyGirl_12
Pairings/Characters: Clark/Bruce, Alfred
Genres: Fluff, Romance, Slice-Of-Life
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Summary: Bruce's idea of a picnic isn't exactly like Clark's. ;)
Date Of Completion: June 13, 2021
Date Of Posting: June 16, 2021
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 971
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Author’s Note: Happy Belated Birthday,starsandsea! Enjoy! :)

Can potato salad
Match with silver spoons?

Meryl Crane
“Yin And Yang”
1989 C.E.

Clark was looking forward to his picnic with Bruce. Back home in Smallville, he and his parents enjoyed cook-outs in the backyard with a red-and-white-checked tablecloth tossed over the picnic table, but sometimes the family would take that tablecloth and go down to the pond and do the traditional picnic thing that included his mother’s fried chicken and potato salad.

This picnic would be on the grounds of Wayne Manor, and Alfred would be the fabulous cook. Either way, Clark considered himself a winner in the culinary department.

Clark flew to Gotham as Superman, alighting in the woods on the Wayne estate. He emerged as Clark Kent in faded jeans, a red flannel shirt and scuffed sneakers while carrying a bottle of wine. He walked up to the front door of the Manor and rang the doorbell.

He could hear footsteps approaching very clearly, and he was smiling as the door was opened. “Hello, Alfred.”

“Good afternoon, Master Clark. Do come in.”

“Thank you, Alfred.” Clark presented the bottle. “Not as fancy as from your wine cellar, I’m afraid.”

“No worries, sir.” Alfred glanced at the label. “Master Bruce will be down directly.” The butler indicated the living room.

Amused at the formality, Clark went into the room that was stuffed with antiques. He was surprised at being steered to the living room instead of the kitchen, but maybe Alfred wanted to get the food ready without distraction.

Clark went over to the fireplace and examined a vase on the mantel. It was beautiful, delicate and probably priceless.

“Hello, Clark.”

Clark turned and greeted Bruce with a smile. “Hi, Bruce.”

Bruce was dressed in gray slacks and a black turtleneck sweater. His Gucci loafers were shiny and probably felt as comfortable as slippers on his feet. Clark knew his clothes were a contrast, but that was normal.

The picnic will even things up.

“All ready to go?” Bruce asked.

“Absolutely.”

They kissed, and Bruce escorted his lover out of the Manor. Clark was surprised to see the limousine and Alfred in full chauffeur uniform holding the backseat door open.

“I thought we were going on a picnic.”

“We are,” Bruce assured him. “Get in.”

Clark climbed into the spacious backseat, closely followed by Bruce. Alfred shut the door and got behind the wheel.

“Let’s go, Alfred,” said Bruce.

“Yes, sir.”

The limousine drove down the driveway under Alfred’s steady hands. It was a short ride through the woods, and they emerged into a meadow filled with colorful spring flowers. Alfred parked on the edge of the meadow and Clark and Bruce got out. Bruce opened the trunk and handed Clark a collapsible table while he took two chairs. Alfred took out a large picnic basket and silver champagne bucket. Bruce reached in for a cooler.

The three of them trekked to the center of the meadow. Clark set up the table while Bruce arranged the folding chairs. Alfred put a white tablecloth over the table and placed the bucket and basket on top of it. Bruce had placed the cooler on the grass.

Alfred busied himself with setting the table with bone china engraved with the Wayne family crest, gleaming silverware and linen napkins. Wineglasses were the final touch.

“Have a seat, gentlemen,” said Alfred.

Clark was still speechless. This was not the kind of picnic he had expected. As he took his seat he watched Alfred take ice out of the cooler with a silver scoop and put it in the bucket. The wine bottle went into the bucket.

“I will start you off with homemade rolls,” Alfred said.

Alfred’s rolls were always light and fluffy and tasted great with a touch of butter. Clark ate two.

Pleased, Alfred informed Clark that there were several more rolls in the basket under a napkin. He set two glass plates of fresh salad before Clark and Bruce.

“All ingredients from my kitchen garden, sirs.” He poured Clark’s wine.

Clark appreciated the crisp lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, radishes and julienned carrots with raspberry vinaigrette dressing.

After the salads, Alfred served grilled chicken, snow peas, quinoa and baby corn in a savory lemon sauce.

The birds trilled and an occasional chattering from a squirrel was the auditory backdrop: a fine spring day out in the meadow with table, chairs, and multiple-course gourmet meal.

“I will leave you to your dessert, sirs.” Alfred left in the limousine.

Clark put down his fork. “Bruce, what is all this? Everything’s monogrammed…” he picked up the napkin from his lap and waved it “…and the menu is straight out of The Rooftop in Gotham.”

Bruce smirked. “Didn’t you enjoy the food?”

“It’s top-notch as always, but when I hear the word ‘picnic’, I think of Ma’s fried chicken and potato salad, Clausen’s Deli’s pickles, potato chips and apple pie, homemade, of course, or watermelon from the kitchen garden. Lemonade instead of wine, freshly-squeezed.”

“Looks like we have different interpretations of the word ‘picnic’.”

“Appears so.” Clark shook his head in fond exasperation. “Though I suppose Yogi Bear and Boo-Boo would raid either kind for a pic-a-nic basket.”

“Let ‘em raid. Ranger Smith is nowhere to be found.”

Clark smiled. “Is this how the Prince picnics?”

“I am the Prince of Gotham.”

“I’ve just never used a knife and fork on a picnic before.”

Bruce waved a hand. “Does it really matter?”

Clark looked at the fancy table. “”No, I suppose not.”

“Black Forest cake?”

Clark threw his hands up. “Why not?”

Bruce’s smile was confident as he took out the dessert from the basket. Alfred would not be back for some time. Dessert, a little sweet talk, a little loving.

A picnic fit for a Prince and his Consort, or at least Yogi and Boo-Boo.

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This story can also be read on AO3.