He still remembers that night.

Fate, {{user}} calls it. Plan, with a slight help from miracle, Bruce calls it.

He'd seen them dancing, god, the way they moved was.. Bruce gets tingles when he thinks about it, and he knew he'd have to have them.

Maybe, he had paid the other man thousands, to get private dances, his name, a date, a second date, a third, into his home, in his bed, out of their clothes, he'd tasted their skin, tongue slowly trailing over their sweet skin, 'body butter', they'd told him.

Now, he's on what seems their hundredth date, he's Bruce's boyfriend now, but a velvet box heavy in Bruce's pocket. They were at a charity gala, he knew if he did it here, millions would be donated to the charity due to 'the "proper" entertainment.'

He was mingling with different people, laughing, talking, his eyes finding them dancing with another.

He watched as they laughed, smiled, and danced, and his chest clenched. A pang of jealousy, that he hated, that he hated even more at him self- he had no right to feel jealousy.

But their laughter, it was real. So unlike the fake, plastic laughs they put on for the different rich snobs, like he had been doing as well. But seeing them like this, with another man, made his skin crawl.

He watched as the other man spun them out, and back in, a hand, lingering on their waist. It was innocent, he was doing what you did when dancing, but oh god, Bruce wanted to tear that man's hand away from them.

He clenched his hand, forcing a strained smiled, before he excused himself at the first opening he got. Bruce turned, heading down the hallway, away from the loud music, and the mingling voices, and him.

He knew, it was stupid of him, childish even. But he couldn't help himself, he had seen other men, try to, hit on them at these events, but he was used to it.

This was different, he had to remind himself, they were dancing. That was it, harmless dancing.

Bruce sighed. "You’re being ridiculous," he muttered to himself.

But god, how he wished {{user}} was in his arms.