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

Entry tags:

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I'll have some basic groceries delivered along with a take-out meal." It was a calculated decision. A relaxing, low key night and then Clark could cook in the morning or if he wanted and continue to make himself feel comfortable in the space.

And keep feeling more at ease within it, Bruce hoped. Normalize it, separate it from being a 'sex crib' or something... unsavory.

Clark couldn't help leaning down to kiss him lightly on the lips. Bruce really was... incredible. So incredibly sweet sometimes.

He wouldn't voice that sentiment since it would make him cranky, but he could think it.

"Perfect. How does Thai sound?"

"Xỳāng nī̂," Bruce said, completely deadpan.

Then he shifted around to fetch his phone from his pocket and hand it up to Clark. "You order that, I'll use the landline to order groceries."

Yes, he was sweet all right. He was not being sweet. He was being manipulative.

It's only manipulative if the person being 'manipulated' doesn't realize it. And Clark is well aware that Bruce is trying to make him comfortable, make him feel better, make him feel safe and good.

And it's sweet.

"You in a curry mood or something more complicated?"

"Surprise me." He sits up and swings his legs around and heads off to make the grocery order. Which, yes, he is fully capable of doing a good job of, particularly when it relates to a single meal.

Batman can do anything. But he has to want to do it well.

Clark, for his part, was good enough at ordering Thai to get what they might want. Then he started thoughtfully floating through the apartment, getting a feel for the space.

Bruce turned his head slightly toward Clark to keep an eye on the floating, but mostly stayed out of the way, made his order for groceries, called Alfred to let him know that he would be staying out with Clark, checked on Jason, did a quick new set of alerts for his phone and then stuck his head into where Clark was.

"I'm going down to pick up our deliveries. I'll be back within half an hour.

"I love the high ceiling here," Clark noted with a little smile before shaking off some of his relaxation to nod over at Bruce.

"I'll be here."

Bruce went out and was gone for right about that half hour before he came back with grocery bags in one hand and takeout ones in the other. He had to kick the door shut behind him, but he carried it all into the kitchen to unload.

"This place always reminded me a bit of you."

Clark was floating in the main area, stretched out as far as he could go for a moment before turning and smiling down at Bruce. Then he was gliding down to the ground, feet touching the carpet beside Bruce to lean in and kiss his cheek before helping with the groceries.

Bruce twitched the slightest bit in confusion at the kiss on the cheek, but then silently went to work with Clark to put away bread, milk, eggs, butter, orange juice, yogurt, and other similar, basic, breakfast things.

Then he started unpacking their dinner.

Clark wanted quiet, god knew Bruce had no issues with it.

Clark didn't need much else but what was there: quiet, Bruce, good food to eat, pleasant plans for the future...

They were here for reasons that were complicated around what they were doing here, and they were both still... not entirely okay. But right now, right here, it felt okay. Not like they were covering up or faking or not dealing with it. Just a moment of peace in a terrible situation.

Bruce plated the food, handed Clark his and settled down to eat. After food was gone, he found a low pressure, quiet, movie on television and spent a quiet, relaxing evening with Clark.

That was followed by an early night and Bruce actually waking up at a reasonable hour, still lightly tangled around Clark. Less grump than usual, but also a vague sort of restlessness from having had too much sleep and downtime.

Well, too much by his standards.

Clark was awake as Bruce woke up, and his hands ran over Bruce's shoulders and one hand into his hair.

"I feel..."

His voice was quiet.

"I feel like you need what we originally came here for. Am I wrong?"

Bruce had just woken up, but he was already somewhat tense from the second Clark touched him - before that, even - he woke up somewhat tense.

He tensed up more at the question.

"Is it going to help you?" He had an objective with all of this, even agreeing to... this thing with Clark. It was not to make Clark worse.

He nodded slowly.

Watching Bruce strain himself, watching Bruce stretch himself in a dozen different directions... he could feel it. He could see it. And it was, in a way, a strain on him as well. Being able to grapple with it, dealing with it, being trusted with his strength and his abilities--

"Yes," because he had a feeling Bruce needed to hear him.

Bruce wasn't sure he was capable of saying yes. He had a feeling he needed to be able to verbalize it, so he - made himself in spite of the feeling that he probably couldn't.

But "Yes" was literally all he said, before he leaned in and kissed Clark - hard, and with teeth. Like the instinct was still just to push buttons to try and make it happen, instead of just letting it.

But... he'd made sure first aid supplies came in last night. So he was aware.

Clark kissed him back just as rough, just as hard, but he could recognize the opening volley for what it was.

That was why he turned and started pressing Bruce into the mattress. Taking and taking and taking until he felt it was the right moment.

That was when his hand went around Bruce's throat.

"Now."

Bruce realized in the moment that Clark was pushing him back that he didn't know what he was supposed to do here. When he pushed buttons to make things happen - or when it just happened by unspoken agreement and it wasn't someone he loved - he knew how to do it.

With those new factors in play, he didn't. Did he just fall back? Did he resist? Did he fight with Clark about it? Would that turn Clark off? Would that be the opposite of helping Clark? Those barely scratched the surface of what went on his brain during period between Clark returning the kiss and Bruce's back hitting the mattress.

Ultimately, he was so busy with the gears in his mind turning that he didn't resist at all. When the hand went to his throat he did. Sort of - he reached up and grabbed at Clark's wrist instinctively, and he snarled. Not fear, though, no just arousal and need, tangled up with the instinct to fight anyone who had him in that position.

And he ... was still trying to find answers. Doing would probably provide them but he was watching the hell out of Clark. Not out of mistrust but because he desperately wanted to be helping Clark - or for at least this not to damage him.

For the first time since he'd come back, Clark was utterly calm. He had definite goals, definite rules. There would be no interruptions, nothing unexpected. Nothing he didn't utterly know and understand.

"Struggle if you want."

And his tone made it clear that he wouldn't be moved. The choice to act against him had consequences, his own strength worked against him when put against an immovable object.

"And the kryptonite is in the kitchen cabinet nearest to the entrance to the kitchen, farthest from the stove. It's in a lead box with a simple clasp."

And Bruce was lifted from the bed, braced with his other hand to prevent so much as a bruise.

Clark was answering most of the important questions Bruce had, without Bruce having voiced them.

Bruce also had some pretty clear expectations for how he was supposed to be acting with Clark, and how people were supposed to act when they did this sort of thing, and how he wanted to act and frankly his head was still a tangled up mess, with thoughts splintering off in a dozen directions at once.

That would, probably, fade. Clark giving him some answers cut some of those threads off short, rather than allowing them to continue to spin off into nasty snarls. The rest should smooth out with time, but in the meanwhile there was a lot more going on inside his head than outwardly.

He kept his grip solidly on Clark and he actually didn't struggle any more. Not hard, anyway, though there was a pretty nasty sound when he was lifted off the bed. Once he was up (or down or whatever) though, that was going to change, abruptly. Or maybe just once he really believed Clark was okay. Give him another second or two to keep... shifting gears and believing in this.

Clark waited a moment before carrying him to the other bedroom, holding him as easily as if he was carrying a pillow.

The one thing that Bruce might notice is the calm. The purpose in Clark's eyes, the steadiness of his hands. The absolute control. Here, in this place, for this, he was as self-possessed as he'd ever been.

Bruce was brought to the wall of the second bedroom and there was a blur before both of his arms were held over his head, held to the wall as Clark floated impassively in front of him, considering.

"Do you know when I first touched this part of myself? First realized it was there?"

There it was.

The moment when Clark got Bruce against his wall and his wrists pinned was the moment arousal flooded in with enough force and immediacy to smooth out some of the rougher snarls in his thinking, slow things down. Something about the warmth of Clark's hands on his wrists, the weight and strength and the fact that he could feel his own pulse against Clark's palms combined just perfectly to turn him on and calm him down.

His pupils visibly, abruptly, dilated until there was only a thin, silvery blue ring around all the black. His pulse stuttered, his breath caught, his entire body flushed in a way that made his skin feel both too sensitive and too tight. He dropped his weight against Clark's grip, let his wrists take his own weight and left Clark doing more work.

"I could make guesses. I won't."

"Not red kryptonite," he admitted with a thoughtful tilt of his head. "That was part of the horror of it. That I couldn't pull it out and put it away myself. I knew what it was when the red k pulled it out."

His other hand ran up and down Bruce's side, smooth and easy until he reached the spot just above the hip. There he turned his finger, let his nail catch the skin, left a shallow slice that dotted with blood a moment later. Blood that made his nostrils flair.

"No, it was earlier. The day after my father died. I tried to mourn and my tears were fire and for the first time, it was satisfying. I watched a field burn, knew it was me and me alone who'd caused that, and there was a part of me that felt good."

The other side now, a slightly different angle that actually made it easier. The same spot, the part of his body where he twisted. Bruce would feel it for days, in every step, every turn. He might even open the scabs if he was too quick.

"It wasn't the power. It wasn't the destruction. It was the pain. My pain. My pain given form, leaving a mark somewhere. Does that make sense to you, Bruce?"

Bruce didn't cry out - not at the shallow cuts, not at the slide of blood against his skin. Not because he didn't feel it, but because he did.

It hurt, it burned, it stung, but he was so... cross-wired mentally, that it may as well have been Clark's mouth and tongue on his skin as Clark's nails opening it. It just felt... good. Intense, deep, intimate, solid sensation that he arched into rather than away from, before he twisted and jerked against the hand holding his wrists.

"Yes." He was Batman, of course it made sense, but personally? That answer was more complicated. That was both yes and no. He understood the appeal but he couldn't - wouldn't- turn that outward. Inward, against himself, yes, but not on another target because he couldn't let himself.

"I can't." He stopped, blinked to try and focus his eyes and failed. "I can't cross that line with anyone else."

for knightbynight: For now and hereafter...

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject