for knightbynight: For now and hereafter...

[stands_for_hope]

[some time after the events here]

Superman and Batman were partners in more than a work sense. Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent were an adorable (if mildly ridiculous) couple. Kal-El of Krypton and a man who defied any definition outside of the single letter 'B' made time on weekends, worked around world crises and teenage tempers, and occasionally fell into bed together when the stars aligned. Thankfully, they aligned relatively often.

Wayne Manor received a delivery of organic produce and baked goods once a week from a small, independent farm in the heartland. Lois Lane was a little less likely to agree with snide comments about the uselessness of Bruce Wayne, especially after seeing the utter madness that was Clark's desk after a few weeks. The texting habits of a certain blond teenager in Kansas rose sharply... and in parallel to that of a certain former street punk in Gotham.

Life was... well, it was good, even if it was also Life. Until it wasn't. Until everything changed.

They all had enemies, of course. But the problem with Superman's enemies was that they were coherent enough to decide to team up. And crazy enough to use the kind of weaponry that could make whole cars just vaporize into nothing.

Crazy enough to point that weapon at a somewhat-pinned Batman and a Wonder Woman who was digging him out from the rock. Crazy enough to point that weapon at Batman.

Bruce.

B.

Clark didn't even make the choice. His heart made it for him. The beam shot out of the Toyman's mechanical monstrosity and Clark flew, the pain of the beam itself nothing on the fact that he was leaving Bruce behind. That his vision of them as old men together would never happen. That he was leaving behind a world that needed him.

The guilt that, if it meant saving them, saving him, he didn't regret a thing.

Comments

[knightbynight]

Bruce went and sat down beside Clark, one leg folded under himself and the other knee uplifted. "Mm. Fine, I suppose, though continually startlingly like an adult."

Because he was, you know, an adult. "He'll be down to see you when he's finished being fussed over by Alfred and ...whatever Jason does."

[stands_for_hope]

Clark looked sideways over at Bruce.

"That's all your fault. You raised him. Letting him grow up... how're we ever going to live with that?"

Clark was teasing but he leaned into Bruce's leg, taking some stability and some comfort from the touch.

"They're brothers. They do what brothers do. I don't know what that is, exactly, but I've seen it a few times back home. It usually involves a lot of tussling."

[knightbynight]

Bruce dropped a hand to Clark's hair and slowly scratched his fingers through, from his forehead back. "I'll take your word for it, but if tussling breaks anything I'm grounding them both."

Because Dick was totally young enough to be grounded.

[stands_for_hope]

There's no worry, no anxiety around this. There's just Bruce's hand in his hair and he can let his eyes close peacefully.

"I'm sure they'll be fine," Clark observes almost absently. "Dick knows better than to let the tussling get out of hand. what with him being an adult."

[knightbynight]

"Dick isn't an adult."

Yes, yes Dick is an adult and Bruce knows it, he's just indulging in bald faced lying around the subject. He gives Clark another moment or two of the hand in his hair and then - "Get back up."

[stands_for_hope]

He turns his head to press a kiss to Bruce's hand before turning the rest of his body and pushing himself up. He's trying not to think too much, to make the reaction an instinctual one as opposed to relying on him to realize that he has to stop. It'll be harder to train but more useful ultimately.

"Again?"

But he has to be honest if he wants this to work. If they want this to work.

"Be more erratic. And press harder to start. Break off more. Fresh attacks set me off most."

[knightbynight]

"We needed a baseline."

It's an explanation, but not an apology. Nor is it any sort of feeling of having not done what he'd intended, or rejection of the information Clark has given him. It just, simply, is.

He's slower in climbing to his feet, in spite of not being entirely down. Oddly, the slightly decreased speed and heaviness give the illusion of him moving with more rather than less grace, but it's very, very illusionary.

Except he didn't finish the conversation, but simply launched hard at Clark as part of him getting to his feet, lower down and a lot harder.

And he is going to be doing what Clark suggested. Faster, harder, more erratic, more retreats, and with every intention of Making Clark lose control.

[stands_for_hope]

He would... if it got that far.

Because he hadn't been ready and the first attack was always the most alarming and he was still trying to sort himself out from the last.

It isn't so much a blow as it is Bruce suddenly on the floor with Clark pinning him down, eyes wild and muscles shaking. There's no excess pressure on the wrists being held above his head... but Clark's fingers have gone into the floor to hold him there and it is very very clear that even Clark isn't sure how this happened.

[knightbynight]

All that meant was, clearly, he didn't need to go nearly as far to get the reaction he was looking for or to find the line.

Bruce hit the ground and was pinned without a sound except a rough exhale on his end, and was otherwise completely, completely calm. The tranquilizers helped that, because his pulse tried to increase and then actually sort of... flopped back down in the slower rhythm.

"Listen to me and breathe with me.."

[stands_for_hope]

A swift nod, no words, but he started to breath in and out, in and out. He lowered his head and let it rest on Bruce's forehead and breathed with him. In and out.

[knightbynight]

Bruce was... in an odd space, honestly.

There was no need to fight panic at being pinned and restrained by Clark's hands on his wrists, however much that could have been a normal response. The drugs were taking care of that.

What they weren't taking care of was the fact that he was under Clark, and... well, while he wasn't thinking about sex at all with Clark in this condition, there was a physical response there that he had to try and fight past drug fog to handle.

He did fairly well with it for a while but then tugged on his wrists and made a decidedly uncomfortable noise in the back of his throat.

There were things about himself that he really hated. Most things, actually, some more than others. This one was up there.

[stands_for_hope]

Clark had smelled it from the beginning, so many breathes in and out right against Bruce's skin; he couldn't miss it. He's been all right with it, using the uptick in hormones in the air to remind himself of happier times, better times. Put him in the frame of mind of a Clark who'd been stopping in for a bit of a make out session before patrol instead of what he was right now. But when he heard the noise of distress, he darted away, leaving Bruce on the ground and Clark...

Somewhere in the cave.

"Sorry." echoed through the giant room.

[knightbynight]

Clark vanishing didn't do a thing to make Bruce feel less like a monumental fuck up of a human being, but then again Bruce... was a monumental fuck-up when it came to trying to be a human being.

He got to his feet, closed his eyes tight for a moment or two.

"You realize, of course, that wasn't your fault."

[stands_for_hope]

"I was using you again."

Still not visible.

"You smelled good. And simple. Like.... before. I should have moved before you were... uncomfortable."

[knightbynight]

Bruce walked over to one of the work stations and picked up one of his little bat shaped throwing stars and whipped one into a wall. Yes, into the rock wall, because he was goddamned Batman.

"I was turned on," Bruce said, flatly, "and you were struggling. Inappropriate. On My end, not yours."

[stands_for_hope]

A moment later, it was missing from the wall. Clark was still nowhere to be seen. He couldn't quite stand to meet Bruce's eyes yet.

"I was enjoying the fact that you were turned on. And I know you're uncomfortable with that aspect of your sexuality around me. Inappropriate on my end as well."

[knightbynight]

Bruce just picked up the whole little stack of metal and started throwing them into walls, in a clock-wise circle around the room - avoiding equipment, of course.

"That isn't an aspect of my sexuality, Clark, that's a psychological flaw." Which was not to say masochism couldn't be. "And a black hole I refuse to drag you into."

[stands_for_hope]

And not a one of them landed.

"But you can drug yourself and play nursemaid to whatever I am right now?"

[knightbynight]

"What you are right now is suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and I'm drugging myself with an eye toward making you better. Not indulging and enabling you." Which was, yeah, pretty much how he read the rest of it. "It certainly isn't dragging me into your madness."

[stands_for_hope]

There was a swish of movement and right behind him-

"Aren't I?"

[knightbynight]

Bruce doesn't turn, at all.

"No. You aren't." Flat, but - flatly confident.

[stands_for_hope]

His hand slips past Bruce and offers him the bat throwing stars even as he leans down and presses a firm, biting kiss to the side of Bruce's neck.

[knightbynight]

Bruce's fingers close around the throwing stars, but then Clark's mouth is on his neck, biting. His fingers clench hard around the sharp metal and his knees come close to buckling. His breath catches and he has to use his other hand to keep his balance when he goes lightheaded.

His response would be intense, anyway, but the influence of drugs in his system is making some aspects of it even more - like the dizziness.

"You aren't."

[stands_for_hope]

"Right now, I want to," is murmured into the skin of Bruce's throat, his nose pressing just behind Bruce's ear. His hand reaches around to open Bruce's hand on the stars. Lets them fall to the floor.

"Come with me?"

[knightbynight]

He doesn't think he has ever wanted anything more in his life. All it takes, all it takes, is Clark issuing him that invitation and breath against his skin and possibilities are flickering through his mind. He can even feel the ghost of those possibilities in his skin.

His breathing is too shallow and fast. His pulse sounds loud in his ears, even if it can't pick up the way it should and his entire body is aching for what Clark's offering. Desire thick in his throat and strangling him and -

"Clark."

He can even rationalize it. Think of ways it might be good for Clark, right now. Learning to control himself (does he even really want Clark to control himself - no), having someone trust him.

He's being played. He knows he's being played. That should matter to him more than it does. He's like some kind of addict with his fix in reach. He leans back, pushes back hard, trying to make Clark give him something.

"We're going to regret this."