stands_for_hope | for knightbynight: For now and hereafter...

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for knightbynight: For now and hereafter...

[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.

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"You pulled away from me," he said quietly, and it was hard to say if the tremor was in his voice or just in him. "I wanted to give you those things. I wanted to make us both feel... fulfilled. And you pulled away."

There was something shattered in his eyes.

"I figured I'd finally proved to you that I wasn't the man you fell in love with. I figured you saw... you saw this." And he gestured to himself, up and down himself. "And you figured out that I'm not... him anymore. I'm just... a liability with the face of someone you used to love, taking up your time and your energy and... giving nothing back."

He was not entirely sure he has the mental capacity he needs for this, but he damned well knew he wasn't going to not do it, either.

"You aren't the same. You won't ever be the same," he said, his voice neither cruel nor excessively gentle. "You are the only one in this room who is having trouble with that. You aren't a liability, and you aren't taking without giving. The fact that you're worried about that and needed my permission to shut out the world to recover tells me that what I fell in love with," and yeah, he nearly tripped over those words, anyway, because he was him, "is still very much there."

He leaned against the door, rather than sit. This was a conversation he wanted to have standing up, even if he had to lean to do it. "I pulled away from you because I fully expected you to be completely disgusted with me. I wanted to create the distance before you did. That wasn't fair to you, and I obviously underestimated you." But - of course there was a but. "It isn't something I like about myself. It disgusts me. "

The realization in there was that, at least, maybe Clark had really changed enough that it wouldn't be damaging to Clark to do.

When he saw Bruce lean against the door, everything flew out of his head, all the bullshit, and he was there, his hands reaching out to help Bruce stand, supporting him, taking his weight onto his hands.

"It doesn't disgust me," Clark said finally, once he was touching Bruce, once he was close enough for Bruce to look him in the face and know. "You don't disgust me."

Bruce wasn't quite sure how he went from leaning into a door to being steadied by Clark, but it wasn't a point he felt a particular need to figure out at the moment, either.

"And I don't think you're a liability masquerading as someone I love," he said, voice both wry and warm. "Does that actually change the way you feel about it?"

"A little," he admitted with something almost like a smile. It was a little too tired and drawn to quite manage it, but it wasn't a sad expression. "It's slowly hacking away at it. After all, Batman's never wrong."

And he leaned over and kissed Bruce's cheek, all delicate sweetness and care.

"Come to bed? Just... nothing else. Just come to bed?"

"I'm not sure I'm capable of anything more than coming to bed," he admitted, self-depreciating and amused.

Except he gave Clark a gentle kiss, before he slid away from him. Only, though, to head for the bed. "And you're right. Batman is never wrong."

About other people.

"About other people," Clark noted as he made his way to the bed himself. It's not that he read the narration. He just needed to make that point because he's not the only person soon to be in his bed who has issues with self-worth.

Clark stripped off his shirt and tossed it in a corner before slipping under the covers and opening his arms.

Bruce stepped out of his shoes rather than sitting down to take them off, and didn't bother with his shirt. He did, however, drop and immediately roll into Clark's arms.

"He isn't wrong about himself, either. He just has higher standards."

"He has impossible standards," he pointed out as he got his arms around Bruce and started pressing kisses into his hair. "And he doesn't realize that his partner is perfectly willing to accommodate his kinks as long as we go about it the right way."

Another kiss, followed by a nuzzle.

"You were right to pull away. If we do want to do that, we should do it correctly. And that will require more talking than either of us were up to at the time."

Bruce was just drugged enough to accept the affection without tensing up or hackling up and to, really, come very close to drifting off while Clark acted like an exceptionally affectionate, albeit huge cat.

Then Clark started talking and Bruce stiffened, pulled back and then snorted. "You're talking about BDSM negotiation."

Clark raised an eyebrow.

"What else?" and yes, Superman is talking about BDSM. Calmly. Like he's discussing lunch later. "I think we're a little beyond 'safe, sane, and consensual' for some of what you want, but we can definitely manage 'risk-aware and consensual'. That is, if you're still interested."

"Well, I'm glad you've recognized that it isn't safe or sane," Bruce manages after a moment, and more than a bit wry sounding. "Risk aware is important, I suppose, if you actually want to do this. Don't impede my ability to do my job. That means don't break any major bones or cause blood loss that will take more than a day or so to recover from." Was he being dismissive?

You bet your ass.

"Just because we're adding bloodplay and masochism to things doesn't change the fact that we both put the mission first," he pointed out as he reached over to take one of Bruce's hands with his own.

And to be fair, the more I think of it, the less I think there's a way for any sex with me to really qualify as 'safe'.

"I figured I'd keep it to tissue damage. I'm exact enough that broken bones shouldn't come into it regardless." He considered the question again. "Though there's always dislocation and carefully placed bruising to make up for it."

Bruce tugged at his hand and swatted vaguely at Clark.

Clark was being extremely endearing and affectionate.

Bruce was being a sleepy cat who was being asked to engage in a serious conversation. That the result was some batting and swatting instead of hissing and clawing was pretty good. He wasn't even trying to get free, just be the one doing the handholding.

Clark's language gave him pause and he stopped and deliberately forced his brain to get a little more together. He was silent for a moment or two. "I suppose there's an argument to be made that it's certainly one way for you to learn where your limits are and how to move and act within them."

Something felt off. That something may well be his own shame or selfishness or dragging this out as if it was a perfectly acceptable kink, but. He was wary.

Clark's response to being swatted was the obvious one: he gave Bruce what he wanted in regards to the handholding and leaned in to kiss and nuzzle at his throat.

"I'm not arguing that it'll be good for me therapeutically," Clark murmured in between a few kisses, as much because he didn't actually think the argument held water as because it wasn't about that "but I think it'll be good for us."

Bruce kept holding Clark's hand and accepted the nuzzling and kissing at his throat, head tilted slightly and all but he was clearly distracted. What he was distracted by, in the moment, were the wheels turning in his own head.

He was silent for a bit. Possibly for a long enough bit to be worrying, possibly not. He wanted this, obviously. Hell, in some ways he needed it. It would get the middle... woman out from between them, but he could not shake the feeling that this was just pure... selfishness on his end.

"Do you want to do this because you think it will be good for us, or because you want to do it?"

"Both," and that was the truth, enough that he pulled back to look Bruce in the face. "Emotionally, because I feel frustrated and pushed away when you hide a part of yourself from me as if I'd think any less of you for it. And for the record, I don't."

He held up a hand.

"I'm not saying you have to feel any particular way about it, but I don't."

Then he breathed out with a little sigh as he let his head rest against a pillow.

"Sexually, causing pain doesn't actually do anything for me." He lifted a finger quickly, though, "however, I'm well aware that pain and pleasure are relative. How can I not? Given my senses, what would be enjoyable for someone else is painful for me. What does do something for me is pleasuring and fulfilling my partner."

He met Bruce's eyes then, utterly serious.

"If you want it, or maybe... need it, there's nothing I want more."

Bruce listened to everything Clark had to say, before he realized exactly what it was about this that was bothering him. That realization struck like a lightening bolt and suddenly he really understood.

He understood why he was uneasy with the idea, he understood why he didn't want to talk about this with Clark and did tend to wall it off and hide it, and he understood why it frustrated Clark and what Clark was trying to get around.

"I love you." The sky was blue, the grass was green, and nothing was new. "I'm completely willing to do some - maybe even a good deal - of this to you, and I will enjoy it. The thing I'm trying to keep you away from isn't masochism. It's using someone else to abuse and punish me. That's not a role I want you to fill, and frankly I don't think it's a role you want to be cast in, either."

There were two totally separate issues there. Hurt him in sex, yes, god, please. Take him apart? Was... a different kind of masochism. It was pure expression of loathing, albeit self loathing, not love. The thing Clark was offering was out of love and he'd take that.

But he couldn't ask, and wouldn't let, Clark do the other.

Fine line, but intent and psychology and Bruce more than action, but still important.

Edited 2015-12-15 13:13 (UTC)

He leaned in then and pressed a kiss to Bruce's forehead, let it linger, let his lips press that heat into Bruce's skin.

"I don't," he admitted, "but I don't think less of you for that either. Just so that you know."

He tilted his head down to start kissing and nuzzling at Bruce's temple. Not because the conversation was over, but because he needed it. He needed it for a moment, that sweetness, the comfort. Because there was more to say here and he didn't want to say it. Didn't want to admit to it. But that was half the problem, wasn't it? And if he couldn't tell Bruce, who could he tell?

If Bruce could tell him about his own darkness, how could he deny Bruce his?

He drew back then, breath shuddering a little, eyes wandering from Bruce's even as he tried to meet them. Tried.

"Because it might be what I need too."

If Bruce were slightly less drugged or hadn't realized that Clark was seeking comfort from him, Bruce would have had a harder time with the affection right now. Since both of those were in place, he threaded his fingers into Clark's hair and lightly dragged his fingers over Clark's scalp.

He understood what Clark was saying, understood where it came from, and once he had it framed as something that wasn't all about him he had to agree. It might actually be good for both of them. The idea still scared the hell out of him. Not for himself but for Clark.

But he was trying to get Clark to understand that he could be okay, could be something besides ...goodness and perfection and sunshine and light and be worthwhile. This... applied.

"All right. Then let's talk details."

Clark nodded, but he couldn't help curling closer, ducking his head. This was... not easy. This was not anything he was comfortable with, not anything he felt right about. This was the darkness in him that he'd shut away for years, that he'd literally 'killed' in front of the world.

The shadow that he hated inside himself.

The one he'd never shown anyone without a mask.

The one he was trusting Bruce with, God help him.

He drew back and swallowed hard and breathed in.

"Details," was the best he could come up with.

"...Maybe after I've slept off the sedative."

They were ridiculous and just taking turns being uncomfortably exposed and self-loathing. He wasn't coherent enough to really think this through.

But he knew Clark was going to need to be able to read him more honestly no matter waht, if this was something they were going to do.

He nodded almost too fast before leaning up and curling more firmly against Bruce. Once they'd both slept. Once they'd had some time for the thought to settle.

"Thank you. For loving me. Even like this."

"If I didn't love you like this, I wouldn't love you at all," Bruce murmured, sleepy and hazy. He flexed his fingers in Clark's hair, and then he slept.

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