FIC: Heaven Tonight (entry for the WFA)
Well, here it is, the repost of my long-finished bawlfest baby :) I wouldn't have finished it without jen_in_japan and damo_in_japan's support through the mojo-less days :) Thanks, you two! Thanks to everyone who read it and to everyone who voted for it, too. I'm blown away :)
Title: Heaven Tonight
Pairing: Batman/Superman
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Character death
Summary: Clark’s memories run rampage during his first New Year’s night without Bruce.
AN: The title and the inspiration came from HIM's 'Heaven Tonight' song.
Heaven Tonight
Diana and Clark stood saying their goodbyes in the hangar of the Fortress of Solitude. They had returned from the Metro Tower together, both wearing their gala costumes. Superman’s suit was a rich red instead of blue with a black cape and a silver S in his chest, a silver Kryptonian tiara crowning his black curls. Diana wore long white robes richly embroiled with gold, and her hair was held up with two wing-shaped clasps. All their peers had looked dashing that night, and Metro Tower had been filled with cheer and laughter, the warmth of friends and family. It was a shame that the night had to end and they had to part their ways. She held her friend’s hands, dreading leaving him alone in the empty Fortress.
“Have a good night, Kal. Don’t stay up too late,” Diana said, her eyes warm, “call me if you need anything.”
“Thanks for a great dinner, Diana. I promise I’ll call if my head gets stupid.”
The Amazon smiled affectionately at him and gave him a tight hug. Clark closed his eyes, taking the scent of her hair in, putting his arms around her. He fought a pang of hurt as they parted.
“Happy New Year, Di.”
“Happy New Year, Kal. May the Gods bless you in the months to come.”
That they surely hadn’t blessed him in the months before was on the tip of his tongue, but he refrained himself. There was nothing either of them could do to alleviate Clark’s sadness.
---
Clark stood in the doorway of his quarters, his eyes lost as he remembered the two days that had changed his life forever. He couldn’t bring himself to look at his empty bed; the images of the past kept flashing back, overlapping the present emptiness.
The first of the memories was a sweet one. He had been running over that one everyday ever since… …for months, now. He had been so nervous that first time, so nervous and so happy. They had laughed at lot, they had been too eager not to be awkward.
:::---:::
“Promise you won’t leave,” Clark said, breathing heavily. Bruce seemed to have the strange ability to steal all the air from his lungs.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Bruce’s words were muffled as he sucked on Clark’s neck and pushed them backwards through the Fortress hallway.
Clark buried one of his hands in Bruce’s hair, threading it with his fingers, reveling in the way it felt against his oversensitive skin. He felt like he was flying right into the brightest star in the sky. His senses rippled with sensation, and he closed his eyes as Bruce traced the outer shell of his ear with a wet, playful tongue.
Clark tripped over his own feet as he grabbed a tighter hold on Bruce’s Kevlar clad hips. They tumbled against a wall, and Bruce was laughing, his forehead resting on Clark’s shoulder.
“Okay, we might have to stop making up in the hallway or we won’t make it to your bedroom, Elokyn.”
Clark’s stomach seemed to attempt a somersault. “Say that again,” he whispered, turning to bury his face on his partner’s hair.
“We either head straight to your bedroom or we stop pretending that we’ll get there, Clark. C’mon, keep your thoughts straight.”
“No, not that. What you called me.”
Bruce leaned back, staring straight into Clark’s eyes. The usually cold steel blue eyes were warm and reflected the mischief of the wolfish smile tugging at his lips. “Take me to your bedroom, Elokyn, my gift from the stars,” Bruce looped his arms around Clark’s neck, his fingers threading his hair and caressing his scalp, “before I have my wicked way with you right here.”
Clark pivoted and turned their positions, trapping Bruce between the wall and his own body. He dipped his head and claimed the other man’s lips again, sucking on his tongue and exploring his partner’s mouth with renewed passion, like he hadn’t been doing so for weeks now, or for the past half hour. His hands left the vigilante’s hips and grabbed his face, tilting it for a better angle, bringing them closer together.
:::---:::
Clark sighed at the memory. It had seemed like the world would stay still for them, if just for the moments they were together. It had always been about who they were, masks and all, the men they were for the sake of others.
Clark hadn’t found another one like Bruce in his life, with that all-consuming fire in his heart and his determination to do everything that needed to be done, someone who even when faced with the harsher tasks never stopped caring. Clark had witnessed how the other man’s heart broke time and time again, and had seen him get back on his feet, standing proud and keeping on. He was an inspiration, a reminder of the strength in those Clark swore to protect. Bruce’s own example had been what had allowed Clark to pursue their relationship without worrying it would interfere with their respective missions. Humankind was strong and resilient and resourceful, just like Bruce, and they didn’t need them to survive. People like Clark and Bruce were there to help, but they could be spared those stolen moments and the world wouldn’t end. It had taken some time to convince Bruce, of course, the man was nothing if not stubborn, but in the end, the need had won. Their need to have someone to fall back to when things went wrong, to have someone understand without explanations, to have a partner in which they could trust everything they had. They were, after all, so alone.
And they had been so good together.
Clark’s mind filled with a different memory, one that refused to be blocked and took him someplace far from his Fortress, from this home where he had shared both bed and dreams with Bruce.
:::---:::
A deafening thunder filled the air. Superman threw the chunk of debris he was maneuvering to the floor and turned mid-air towards his partner, who was helping a family into one of the Justice League carriers.
Batman glanced up at him, nodding.
Superman took to the skies, feeling the oppression of the disaster clutching his chest. So many people needed help, the earthquake had torn down San Francisco with devastating effects; he could barely keep up with the comings and goings of the relief carriers. There were firemen and policemen everywhere, helping people, putting out fires, looking for others under the debris. The sight of mankind’s heroes was an inspiring one, but there was still so much to do, it was overwhelming. He could hear them all, the desperation, the fear and hope entwining and tugging at his heart.
He landed on a cracked downtown street, looking for trapped survivors through the layers of debris. The air was eerily still, and the dust floating in the air blocked the sunlight. The smell of the sea was almost imperceptible as it mixed with the smoke of the many fires spurting all through the city, the pulverized plaster and concrete, and the gas leaks. The acrid smell of fear permeated everything. Clark fought against the knot in his throat; he didn’t have time to waste, people needed his help.
But the bitter truth was that he couldn’t help them all.
:::---:::
Clark sighed, bringing himself away from the memories. All too often, he was reminded of his inability to save everyone. No matter how gifted he was, he still had limits. He could fail, falter and despair like any other, but the important part was to pull himself together and try to be better when the next day came.
He knew that in the big scale of things, what he saw as his biggest failure wasn’t such a grand event. People lived and people died and that was the way the world was. But his heart had broken and he had lost so much… he was still trying to get back on his feet. He still tried to be better every morning, but it was hard to wake up alone in a cold bed. He fought the good fight, but it was harder without a back against his, without the weight of his other half against him and without anyone to put his weight against.
He tried to walk into his bedroom, but his feet remained still. He glared at his boots for a moment, but his features softened slowly into a smile as his mind drifted back to the memory of their first time. Of course, to be able to lose something, he had to have something important in the first place.
:::---:::
“Okay, Clark, just what exactly did you do to put these boots on, mmh? Did you paint them over your skin and you’re making me struggle for your own sick amusement?”
Clark would have laughed if only the offending boots weren’t in the way of Bruce undressing him. They had disposed of their capes in the hallway; Bruce’s utility belt had been absentmindedly dropped in the doorway, his gloves were… someplace Clark couldn’t remember, though he could very much remember the change of sensation as warm, slightly damp skin had replaced the cold slippery rubber. He growled in frustration at the boots, reaching out to help his partner. Bruce sat back on his calves, grinning, and his expression was so smug -like he was proud of Clark’s frustration, the impossible man- that Clark had to bypass his boots to tackle him.
He straddled Bruce’s hips, running his hands over the Kevlar-clad chest, looking for the catches. When, after a minute, he had only managed to find three of the clasps and couldn’t open one of them, Bruce’s smug grin turned into a full blown laugh.
Clark mock-glared at him, and when he realized Bruce couldn’t sober up, he couldn’t fight a smile. The other man’s deep laugh echoed in the room and the hallway, and it was a nice sound, one that Clark’s didn’t hear enough. “So, are you going to help me or are you going to lay there laughing? Fully clothed, I might add.”
Bruce sobered up, and the sight of the man beneath him, smiling and looking at him with a mix of joy and desire was something that Clark was sure he would never forget. “Stopped Armageddon twice in the past four months and I can’t take off your pixie boots. I think I’m going to lay here laughing for a bit.”
“They’re not pixie boots,” Clark said sternly.
“Clark, I’m not capitulating to go-go boots.”
“Ha-ha, very funny. Just how many catches does your armor need, anyway? Does your rogue’s gallery attempt to get you naked very often?”
Bruce’s expression was unreadable, and he remained silent.
“…do they? Thanks for the mental image, Bruce! That’s really gross.”
“I’m not gross, clothed or naked. That’s not a conductive attitude to getting in my pants.”
“Sorry, sorry. I’m really interested in getting in your pants, preferably now, and out of mine.”
Bruce pushed himself up, putting his weight on his arms at his sides, his face getting dangerously close to Clark’s chest.
“Well, I could-”
Bruce licked Clark’s left nipple over the blue fabric.
“-give you-”
He proceeded to nip him playfully, licking and biting until the nub was hard and noticeable under the costume.
“-a hand-”
Bruce moved to his right nipple, showing it the same treatment, and Clark was swallowing hard, mesmerized by the vision of the soft lips, swollen after their make out, grazing his clothed chest. When the tip of the pink tongue darted out to lick him again, leaving a dark damp spot, Clark growled.
“-but I’m currently busy, as you can see.”
“Enough,” Clark said, shaking his head. They had been skirting around each other for too long. It had been three wonderful weeks since their first kiss, though they had never gotten this far before. There had been no time, or they had been called away by their duties, but Clark wasn’t willing to do any more waiting. Being with Bruce felt right, it felt--
Bruce slipped his hands beneath his shirt, tugging it upwards, and his hands felt cold against Clark’s overheated skin. Clark shivered as he pulled his shirt off, Bruce’s hands traveling up and around his back, grasping his shoulder blades to keep himself upright, sucking at the newly exposed skin greedily.
Clark’s body tightened with pleasure and he started rocking back against Bruce. It didn’t take long before Bruce had to release his nipple and lay back on the bed, his hands settling on Clark’s hips while his thumbs drew pressing circles against the hipbones. His eyes were closed and his neck was fully exposed, vulnerable. The trust involved in that level of surrender and his own primal urge to claim and mark sent a jolt down Clark’s spine. Bruce’s thumbs were avoiding Clark’s aching need, but they were close enough to tease.
“You can’t be comfortable under all that armor,” Clark said huskily, lying down on top of the other man.
“You have no idea,” Bruce said, his eyes still closed, his lower lip trembling a little as he let out a shaky breath.
“Are you willing to cooperate now?” Clark teased.
“I thought I was cooperating,” Bruce said, furrowing his brow as he opened his eyes. “Get off me and I’ll get out of the armor.” Clark rolled off him, and Bruce groaned as the pressure over his body shifted. He stood up and Clark sat back to watch as deft fingers located and unclasped the hidden armor catches.
“God, I want you,” Clark said lowly as the armor started to come off.
Bruce’s hand’s stilled and he raised his eyes to meet Clark’s gaze. He shook his head as he took a deep breath. “Don’t do that to me, Clark.”
“What?” Clark asked, grinning playfully. “Tell you that you’re driving me crazy? Tell you how much I want to pin you down, touch you and taste you until I’m sated enough to string two words that aren’t ‘Yes’ and ‘Bruce’?”
“Damn you,” Bruce said, rubbing his eyes, as if he could wipe the lust clouding his judgment.
Clark was up on his feet and kissing his partner before the other man could speak again. He broke the kiss and started moving down the pale body, placing hard kisses over the scars until he was on his knees, tugging down at what was left of the armor. He looked up at Bruce, who was staring intently at him, his steel blue eyes flickering with desire.
“What do you want, Bruce?” Clark asked as he carefully freed his partner’s erection from the black jockstrap.
Clark waited for an answer, and finally looked up again as it never came. “Bruce?”
“…your boots.”
Clark looked down on himself, staring at his boots in confusion.
“Clark?”
“Yes?”
“One of us has to start thinking again.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re not naked, I’m not being ravaged, and you’re still wearing your boots.”
“I know. I kind of like them, though.”
“Clark…”
“Yes?”
“Get naked. Start ravaging. Now.”
Clark sat down and pulled at his boots, struggling a little with them. “You have got quite a fixation on them, Bruce. Anything you want to tell me?” Clark teased him.
Bruce turned back and walked towards the bed. He sat on the edge, bare naked, his eyes lost, deep in thought.
“Krypton to Bruce, anyone there?” Clark got rid of the second boot and stood up to get rid of his tights. Bruce remained silent, and Clark lifted his gaze, dread clutching his gut as he saw the lost pensive look on his partner.
“Bruce? You okay?”
“Clark,” Bruce paused to lick his lips, and then spoke slowly, like he was testing the words. “I… love you.”
Clark froze. Bruce wasn’t looking at him, and that wasn’t a good sign.
“I love you,” he repeated, staring at the floor, this time with more conviction. His words were still careful, wary, like he expected some grand disaster just because he had said-
“Oh. Oh, Bruce. Nothing bad is going to happen. Look at me.”
Bruce blinked, then looked up to meet Clark’s gaze.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Clark whispered as he walked to crouch in front of Bruce. It seemed very important to tell Bruce that he wasn’t going to die just because Bruce loved him. “We’re going to be fine. Nothing is going to happen to me,” he said, smiling. “You fool. I’m Superman.”
Bruce chuckled, lowering his head. “I just… wanted to say it. Because I do.”
“I know. I love you too, in case you hadn’t noticed. You could say it and look at me in the eye, you know. It would be nice.”
Bruce looked up, then away, a pained smile on his lips. “Maybe later?” He asked, apologetic.
Clark smiled. He didn’t need Bruce to say something he already knew, something he could feel in the way the other man looked at him, in his touch and voice and his every breath. “We have all the time in the world.”
:::---:::
Back then, Clark had thought that they did have all the time in the world. For a while, they had had enough time to do everything they had wanted. The first time Bruce had looked at him in the eye and told him he loved him, Clark had been unable to wipe the grin from his face for the rest of the day.
It had been a weird thing about Bruce, Clark thought as he allowed his memories to bring color and sound to the currently empty and silent fortress. The man was nothing if not dry and assertive, yet he made Clark smile a lot, even during the times of duress… especially during those. His confidence in Clark and in himself grew exponentially in them as a team, and Clark couldn’t be anything but touched by it. If Bruce said it was possible, if Bruce thought they could do it, who was Clark to say otherwise?
It had seemed that nothing could stop them as long as they were together.
::---:::
Superman was holding a broken fallen slab of concrete over his head, clearing the way for almost a dozen of the earthquake survivors that had been trapped inside the building’s staircase. The upper structure of the building was still holding, but part of the interior secondary structure had collapsed. Once they were all in the ruins of the lobby, Superman picked up the injured security guard and guided the rest of them to safety. He flew them in pairs towards the reunion point where they were received by the JL evacuation personnel.
He was heading back downtown when he heard the loud rumble of a building falling. He felt compelled to go check the area, but there was already a team lead by GL dealing with the most damaged buildings, making sure to tend to the most unstable areas before they crumpled down.
Clark retrieved the last two people from the small group he had rescued and was flying back to the reunion point when J’onn’s distressed voice echoed in his head.
-My friend, you need to come here right now.-
-I’m in my way, J’onn. What’s wrong?-
-There’s been an accident. The stress triggered the powers of a dormant meta-human. A building just collapsed.-
-Were there people inside?-
-Yes. Batman and Shayera were bringing them out when it happened.-
Clark’s heart lodged in his throat and he sped up, reaching the safe limits of his passengers. He didn’t dare to go faster, but he had a bad feeling in his gut.
-Have you been able to contact them?-
-…Yes. Hurry up, Kal.-
-J’onn? Wait! Are they okay? Is Bruce okay? J’onn!-
-They are alive. I must go now; he needs me more than you do. I’m helping them to contain the meta.-
-I’ll be right there.-
Clark had noticed J’onn’s choice of words. They were alive, but that didn’t mean they were necessarily well. He cursed under his breath, trying to reign in his thundering heart.
They had to be okay.
::---::
Clark rubbed his eyes tiredly, trying to wipe away the memory of that day from his mind. He didn’t want to think about what happened next, so he let his mind wander about other things. Some days, he couldn’t help it, everywhere his mind wandered off to lead to Bruce.
Despite his vulnerability -and that was a word that Clark hardly ever related to him- Bruce was one of the strongest persons Clark had known. There was something about him, an aura of confidence that tricked Clark into forgetting just how easy it was to hurt him. Bruce had been a marriage of opposites, the hard eyes that calculated and planned and the soft hands that built and taught.
The man had been impossible to predict. One minute he was a daredevil pulling feats that left metas and humans alike open-mouthed -both in awe and rage, depending on the feat- and the next he was pliant and soft in Clark’s bed.
During the endless shifts in the Watchtower, Clark missed his silent company. It had been nice, having someone to talk to, but it had also been very comforting to have someone to be silent with. The quiet between them was filled with an ease born from hundreds of missions together, from being acutely tuned to each other’s movements, an understanding that bordered on a psychic bond. Clark unconsciously fixated on his partner’s breathing and heartbeat, the sound of his presence, like a low hum in the back of his mind. It was comforting. He remembered telling Bruce so one day, sitting on a bench in Robinson Park. He had blushed, realizing too late that his attention might make his lover uncomfortable, but Bruce had just nodded. He told Clark that he could feel him when he was close too, a distinctive presence on the edge of his senses. Clark had wondered if it was due to Bruce’s training or if it was some consequence of a kryptonian bond. The how hadn’t mattered, of course. Bruce had found it comforting too, and he had smiled.
Maybe Clark had been a fool in love, but Bruce smiling at him during an early spring Gotham morning in Robinson Park had made him happy.
::---::
Bruce was straddling his lap.
They were sitting in the middle of Clark’s bed in the Fortress of Solitude, and Bruce was straddling his lap.
His arms were holding him tightly, one hand stroking Clark’s back lazily, from between his shoulder blades to the small of his back, drawing a sinuous route in his skin, stopping here and there to coax a knotted muscle to relax. His other hand was playing with his hair, tugging lightly at his scalp every time Clark rocked against him.
Bruce was straddling his lap and kissing him like tomorrow was never going to reach them. Slowly, he wrestled Clark’s tongue, sucking him into his mouth, carefully deepening their contact. The detective was surely taking his sweet time to…
To…
Clark wasn’t sure to do what. He wasn’t complaining, either, he was busy tracing Bruce’s scars and applying pressure to tired aching muscles. Every now and then, Bruce would moan into their kiss, or sigh, and Clark would rock against him, and Bruce would pull his hair just slightly. Clark wasn’t sure if it was to urge him on, or to rein him in. He really didn’t care. All he wanted was to make him moan or sigh, and so he let his hands roam.
Trapped between their bodies, Clark’s cock brushed against Bruce’s over and over again, and Clark could feel his insides knot and unknot as he pushed Bruce closer, hard abs pressing against their aching needs, and it was good. Clark felt like he was on fire. His heart leaped with every wave of pleasure, but Bruce’s pace was slow and maddening, and of course the man’s heart wasn’t trying to get out of his chest like Clark’s. His breathing was hardly disturbed. Clark noticed his breathing was fairly regular too, and that took him by surprise. They had been so eager to get out of their clothes and onto the bed that he expected their activities to be much more demanding. Yet he couldn’t remember ever feeling everything quite so sharply, pleasure so full and vivid that left his mind not clouded with lust, but lucid and eager for more. It was unexpected.
Clark broke the kiss, and Bruce sighed again, opening his eyes to look into Clark’s. The pools of steel blue staring down at him had never been so at peace, pupils slightly dilated, yet focused. Bruce shifted in his lap, and Clark swallowed hard. “You’re doing something…” Clark whispered, his lips an inch away from Bruce’s, who was about to continue making love to his mouth.
Bruce smiled, and it was part mischief, part sweetness, like Bruce couldn’t bring himself back to a point where he could play games with Clark. Clark didn’t feel like playing games either, so that was fine with him, but the smile was… different. Special. “You have a tantric master in your lap, Clark. What were you expecting?”
Naked ravaging crossed through Clark’s mind, but he kept quiet. A voice in his head told him they wouldn’t always have this much time. It was their first time. If they had kept going the way they had been in the hallway, they would be laying spent by now. This felt different, a good kind of different, and Bruce felt…
Bruce felt fantastic, like he didn’t belong anywhere else in the world but there, with Clark. Like he couldn’t possibly fit anywhere but on Clark’s lap, against his chest, pressed close to him. Clark wanted to say something, but he couldn’t find any words. He just smiled back at Bruce, and proceeded to kiss and suck at the other man’s throat, lingering in the joint of his shoulder and neck. Bruce sighed again, in pleasure and contentment, hooking his feet behind Clark’s back, his heels digging slightly in the small of Clark’s back. It seemed to be intentional, as every time they rocked together a small spasm of pleasure ran through Clark’s belly to his back and up, liquid fire leaping upwards and making him shiver.
Bruce’s hand grazed his sides, and Clark bucked under his touch. It was weird how Bruce was rendering him helpless with nothing but the most common of touches… but like everything else in their lives, there was nothing really common in his touch. Clark’s hands grasped Bruce’s waist the way the other man had done early on, his thumbs drawing circles on his hipbones and abs, and Bruce’s body tightened, arching against him, his eyes closed. He swallowed slowly, and Clark kissed the bobbing Adam’s apple.
Bruce’s breathing was deepening. He moved his hands to Clark face, tracing his features with feather-light fingertips. Clark closed his eyes, and felt the soft fingers move lightly over his eyelids, and then Bruce’s mouth was back on his, sucking at his lower lip.
Clark felt Bruce shift into their kiss. His hands were away for a moment and then they were back, fingertips brushing Clark’s belly and going lower, grasping his cock with a friendly squish. Bruce pulled away enough to get space to move his hands between them, and Clark felt the loss of the body that had been pressing tightly against his. He let his hands wander again as Bruce applied something slick and cool on him -lube, his mind provided after several heartbeats-, and he couldn’t get enough of the expanses of skin laid before him, he needed to touch, and be touched, and he was devouring Bruce’s mouth because it was the only logical thing to do.
Bruce broke their kiss and lifted his hips, one hand hooked around Clark’s neck and the other keeping a firm grip of Clark’s hilt. He took Clark in slowly, and all was blinding white for a moment. Clark gasped, and Bruce had to stop, laying his head on Clark’s shoulders. Clark noticed he was trembling, and placed soft kisses on his neck, by his ear.
Bruce chuckled. “Give me a moment,” he said, his voice low and hoarse. Clark matched his breathing and felt Bruce relax against him, around him, taking him deeper. Bruce’s breathing turned to aborted sobs and choking, and he half chuckled again, his control obviously slipping. “Some tantric master, oh god. Oh god, Clark.”
Clark placed a kiss in his temple, reassuringly. “You’re perfect.”
Bruce gasped. “Hardly. I’m just…” He whimpered as a spasm took over his body.
“I’m hurting you,” Clark whispered worryingly. He couldn’t bear the idea of hurting him, and Bruce’s body was painfully tense against his.
“No, you’re… I’m… it’s just been so long. Just…” Bruce swallowed hard, burying his face against Clark’s neck. “…just give this idiot a moment.”
Clark soothed the tremors running through his partner, supporting the other man and caressing him slowly, trying to ease the tension. Bruce’s breathing pattern changed, and he felt how groups of muscles relaxed with each breath. Bruce lifted his head and his eyes were lost and unfocussed, and Clark frowned. Bruce closed his eyes and allowed his weight to pull him down, taking Clark to the hilt, and he bit his lip, throwing his head back. Slowly, the breathing pattern changed again to match Clark’s, and Bruce opened his eyes, blue and intense. “Okay, Elokyn. Thanks for being patient.”
Clark chuckled. “Why would you thank me for that?”
Bruce’s lips quirked upwards, a small smile that was part Bat, part man, all Clark’s. Clark kissed it, claiming it for his own, and Bruce rocked slightly against him. Bruce’s hands were soft -so soft that Clark had no idea where the man kept the ruthless ragged edges of the Bat when he was outside of the costume-, and prompted him to move and touch before settling in his hair, tugging at it and massaging his scalp.
Nothing had ever felt so right. Nothing had ever felt so good.
They lost themselves in the feeling of each other, and Clark couldn’t tell how long they had been there, slowly riding into completion. It had felt like eternity.
It hadn’t been long enough.
::---::
Clark closed his eyes, trying to block the image of him and his lover during that night, the beginning of the best eight months of his life. The image was etched into his mind’s eye, though, and as painful as it was to relive it alone, it was better than to not have it at all. He could almost conjure the smell of Bruce, the memory was so vivid, and he felt his throat close.
He ground his teeth, trying to swallow so he wouldn’t choke on his memories, but it was too late. Memories had been haunting him all night as he stood in the doorway, and a final image flooded into his mind.
Their first time, they had found completion in each other.
When they had said goodbye, Bruce had wanted him to find peace. Clark didn’t think the other man knew what kind of impossible feat he was asking of him.
But Bruce had always trusted him to do the impossible.
::---::
Clark landed next to J’onn in the debris-cluttered street. The dust in the air was thick, and Clark felt it fill his lungs as he took a sharp breath. Shayera was kneeling next to a mountain of fallen concrete blocks, her right wing bent out of shape and stained with blood. Clark turned to J’onn, who had an unconscious teen girl in his arms.
“…J’onn?” Clark didn’t dare to ask anything directly, afraid of the answers. Later, he told himself he knew what was to come the second he had heard a falling building and had looked for Batman’s gaze earlier that day. He had felt it in the air, he simply hadn’t known what it meant until it was too late.
“It was a telekinetic discharge,” J’onn explained, looking at the girl in his arms. “She was too scared, and it triggered her powers. I’m keeping her asleep and contained. Kal, he is--”
Before J’onn could finish speaking, Clark’s senses picked up the vital signs of his partner, the ones that were like gray sound in the back of his mind, always present and soothing. There was nothing soothing in the weak heartbeat or the ragged breathing, though.
Clark blanched. “Call Robin, J’onn. He must be around here… and Nightwing. Rao help me, I don’t think Dick is anywhere close…”
“I have spoken to them already, my friend. Nightwing is waiting for transport, and Robin’s ETA is ten minutes.” J’onn grabbed Clark’s arm, pressing it slightly, trying to offer him comfort. “I don’t think he has ten minutes, Kal.”
Clark walked towards Shayera, the dust slowly clearing his view. She was holding a gloved hand -J’onn had to be wrong, he had to, he couldn’t let this happen-, and she was laughing through the tears. Her face was smudged with dust and soot, and the trails of tears left clear marks on her skin.
“You promise?” Clark heard her ask.
“Cross my heart,” was the rough answer. Clark couldn’t breathe and his feet were glued to the cracked asphalt. Bruce wasn’t supposed to sound like that. Ever.
Shayera looked up, noticing Clark’s presence. She gave him a sad smile, and nodded, prompting him to step closer. “You wouldn’t lie to me, right?”
“Never,” Bruce whispered, and Clark got close enough to see that it was indeed Bruce, not Batman. The cowl had been removed -probably by Shayera, she was looking at Bruce with such tender eyes it hurt to look at her. Steel rods stuck out of the concrete in strange angles and a quick X-ray look told Clark why they couldn’t remove him from under the blocks. His body was crushed under the weight and stray steel rods pierced his body like a pin cushion. Blood was quickly pooling around him, a crimson canvas for the black cape flourish below him. “Clark’s here?” Bruce asked, closing his eyes, and Clark took the last few steps to kneel by his side.
“Where else would I be?” Clark said, trying to fight his own tears.
Shayera let go of the trembling hand and Bruce reached out for him. Clark caught his hand in middle air and brought it to his face, kissing the gloved palm.
“Saving the world, Elokyn… that is your… job description… after all.”
All the weight of the world seemed to fall over Clark’s shoulders, and he slumped, trying hard to control his breathing.
Shayera touched Bruce’s shoulder lightly, then stood up. “I’m going to give you lovebirds some privacy. B, I… I will hold you to your promise, you hear me? I’m not letting you off the hook.”
Bruce nodded, his cloudy blue eyes never leaving Clark’s face. They had always like been moths to the flame, circling around each other, colliding, burning high. They had been in a collision course with disaster, and they both knew it -Bruce’s life span was human, and they both had dangerous lives; virtually anything could happen, but Clark hadn’t expected disaster to strike so soon. He wasn’t prepared… he was never going to be prepared.
“I can’t let you go, please. Please, don’t go.” Tears finally rolled down Clark’s face and fell over the black glove, rolling further down the slippery material and then, at last, were lost in the warm pool of life at Clark’s feet.
Bruce’s smile never faltered. In all the time Clark had known him, he had never been one to smile much, but it seemed he was going to keep charging against the established until the end. His gaze, though, was very sad, and Clark wiped his eyes with his free hand.
“I’m so sorry, Clark...”Bruce grimaced in pain as his battered body shivered.
Clark caressed the pale clammy cheek, and gave a mental nudge to J’onn. -Don’t let him suffer, J’onn, please.-
-I’m blocking his pain receptors. What else he feels, I cannot spare him.-
“Promise… you won’t be… mad,” Bruce whispered. The sound of his breathing turned wet, and Clark bit his lip to restrain himself.
“Mad at whom, B?” He managed.
“At people and… at… me?”
Clark chuckled, a sad hollow sound. “No, B. I can’t stay mad with you for long. I promise.” Clark remembered something else. “What did you promise Shayera?”
“That I wouldn’t… leave you… alone.”
“But you will.”
Bruce closed his eyes, obviously in pain. “Hope springs… eternal.” He was having trouble breathing, each breath turning more shallow and superficial.
“I’ll look after your boys. And Gotham. I won’t let Gotham down.”
“I know... Take care… yourself.” Bruce opened his eyes, and for a glorious moment, they were clear and bright, reflecting the warm smile on his lips. “I love you.”
Clark allowed himself to laugh through the tears. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right, but he smiled nonetheless. “I love you too. I’m glad-I’m glad we had… that we had a chance…”
He was going to be alone again, Clark realized, his heart plummeting to his stomach. He was going to lose Bruce and he was going to be alone in the silence, no blanket of comfort of beating heart and steady breath to wrap himself, no strong soft hands to hold him, no smell of leather and cologne and Bruce. He was going to lose his partner, his friend, his equal, his mate. It wasn’t right.
A carrier flew over them, visible for a moment over the cloud of dust, flying people away from the disaster zone and to safety. Bruce’s lips were tainted with blood, but there was something savagely beautiful about the way he looked, proud and content. “We did it, Clark… for a while… we did it.”
“We did.”
“It was great…” Bruce trailed off, closing his eyes as they lost their focus and became foggier.
Clark sat with him for a couple of minutes, but Bruce didn’t say anything else. By the time Clark broke into sobs, it had been eight minutes since he had arrived by his mate’s side. Aside from the peaceful look on his face, Clark didn’t remember much else from that day.
::---::
Bringing himself back to reality, Clark shook his head.
“Computer, engage simulation,” he said brusquely, forcing himself to look at his bed in the dark. He had refrained from indulging in this deception for months, the idea always lurking in the back of his mind. He knew that doing this didn’t change a thing, there was no way to bring Bruce back. He was just lying to himself, seeking empty comfort in a complicated illusion.
Knowing all this didn’t make a difference. He swallowed the lump on his throat as the Fortress system initiated and a dim flash of light touched the left side of his bed -Bruce’s side. The light faded, leaving a prone silhouette on its wake.
Clark’s breath caught as he walked closer to the bed, making out the lines of muscled shoulders under the covers, the raven tousled hair against the pillow. The faint sound of deep, steady breathing filled the room, and Clark felt his hands shake. Finally, the distinctive smell of Bruce’s cologne, aftershave and the batsuit’s leather assaulted his senses, and he couldn’t help but whimper. He had missed him so much.
Clark stripped slowly, his eyes never straying from the sleeping form on his bed. He climbed under the covers, careful not to disturb the other man, though he knew that there was no way he could wake up the illusion. There wasn’t enough technology in the world to duplicate the overwhelming personality of the man he had loved, not even for a night.
He scooted closer and tried to steady his hands as he reached out to bring the naked man into the circle of his arms, his mind providing the details that the simulation couldn’t replicate -the warmth of his body, the way Bruce’s naked body molded and fit so perfectly next to his, how his muscles rippled under his touch and the mumbled complaints that the man uttered in his sleep when Clark touched him softly enough to tickle.
It didn’t feel real, but then, Clark hadn’t wanted it to feel real. He didn’t think he could let him go twice. He just needed the comfort of having him near, to fall asleep with him in his arms one last time.
If he couldn’t have the real thing, Clark would settle for this moment. He couldn’t bring himself to start a new year without Bruce.
Title: Heaven Tonight
Pairing: Batman/Superman
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Character death
Summary: Clark’s memories run rampage during his first New Year’s night without Bruce.
AN: The title and the inspiration came from HIM's 'Heaven Tonight' song.
Heaven Tonight
Diana and Clark stood saying their goodbyes in the hangar of the Fortress of Solitude. They had returned from the Metro Tower together, both wearing their gala costumes. Superman’s suit was a rich red instead of blue with a black cape and a silver S in his chest, a silver Kryptonian tiara crowning his black curls. Diana wore long white robes richly embroiled with gold, and her hair was held up with two wing-shaped clasps. All their peers had looked dashing that night, and Metro Tower had been filled with cheer and laughter, the warmth of friends and family. It was a shame that the night had to end and they had to part their ways. She held her friend’s hands, dreading leaving him alone in the empty Fortress.
“Have a good night, Kal. Don’t stay up too late,” Diana said, her eyes warm, “call me if you need anything.”
“Thanks for a great dinner, Diana. I promise I’ll call if my head gets stupid.”
The Amazon smiled affectionately at him and gave him a tight hug. Clark closed his eyes, taking the scent of her hair in, putting his arms around her. He fought a pang of hurt as they parted.
“Happy New Year, Di.”
“Happy New Year, Kal. May the Gods bless you in the months to come.”
That they surely hadn’t blessed him in the months before was on the tip of his tongue, but he refrained himself. There was nothing either of them could do to alleviate Clark’s sadness.
---
Clark stood in the doorway of his quarters, his eyes lost as he remembered the two days that had changed his life forever. He couldn’t bring himself to look at his empty bed; the images of the past kept flashing back, overlapping the present emptiness.
The first of the memories was a sweet one. He had been running over that one everyday ever since… …for months, now. He had been so nervous that first time, so nervous and so happy. They had laughed at lot, they had been too eager not to be awkward.
:::---:::
“Promise you won’t leave,” Clark said, breathing heavily. Bruce seemed to have the strange ability to steal all the air from his lungs.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Bruce’s words were muffled as he sucked on Clark’s neck and pushed them backwards through the Fortress hallway.
Clark buried one of his hands in Bruce’s hair, threading it with his fingers, reveling in the way it felt against his oversensitive skin. He felt like he was flying right into the brightest star in the sky. His senses rippled with sensation, and he closed his eyes as Bruce traced the outer shell of his ear with a wet, playful tongue.
Clark tripped over his own feet as he grabbed a tighter hold on Bruce’s Kevlar clad hips. They tumbled against a wall, and Bruce was laughing, his forehead resting on Clark’s shoulder.
“Okay, we might have to stop making up in the hallway or we won’t make it to your bedroom, Elokyn.”
Clark’s stomach seemed to attempt a somersault. “Say that again,” he whispered, turning to bury his face on his partner’s hair.
“We either head straight to your bedroom or we stop pretending that we’ll get there, Clark. C’mon, keep your thoughts straight.”
“No, not that. What you called me.”
Bruce leaned back, staring straight into Clark’s eyes. The usually cold steel blue eyes were warm and reflected the mischief of the wolfish smile tugging at his lips. “Take me to your bedroom, Elokyn, my gift from the stars,” Bruce looped his arms around Clark’s neck, his fingers threading his hair and caressing his scalp, “before I have my wicked way with you right here.”
Clark pivoted and turned their positions, trapping Bruce between the wall and his own body. He dipped his head and claimed the other man’s lips again, sucking on his tongue and exploring his partner’s mouth with renewed passion, like he hadn’t been doing so for weeks now, or for the past half hour. His hands left the vigilante’s hips and grabbed his face, tilting it for a better angle, bringing them closer together.
:::---:::
Clark sighed at the memory. It had seemed like the world would stay still for them, if just for the moments they were together. It had always been about who they were, masks and all, the men they were for the sake of others.
Clark hadn’t found another one like Bruce in his life, with that all-consuming fire in his heart and his determination to do everything that needed to be done, someone who even when faced with the harsher tasks never stopped caring. Clark had witnessed how the other man’s heart broke time and time again, and had seen him get back on his feet, standing proud and keeping on. He was an inspiration, a reminder of the strength in those Clark swore to protect. Bruce’s own example had been what had allowed Clark to pursue their relationship without worrying it would interfere with their respective missions. Humankind was strong and resilient and resourceful, just like Bruce, and they didn’t need them to survive. People like Clark and Bruce were there to help, but they could be spared those stolen moments and the world wouldn’t end. It had taken some time to convince Bruce, of course, the man was nothing if not stubborn, but in the end, the need had won. Their need to have someone to fall back to when things went wrong, to have someone understand without explanations, to have a partner in which they could trust everything they had. They were, after all, so alone.
And they had been so good together.
Clark’s mind filled with a different memory, one that refused to be blocked and took him someplace far from his Fortress, from this home where he had shared both bed and dreams with Bruce.
:::---:::
A deafening thunder filled the air. Superman threw the chunk of debris he was maneuvering to the floor and turned mid-air towards his partner, who was helping a family into one of the Justice League carriers.
Batman glanced up at him, nodding.
Superman took to the skies, feeling the oppression of the disaster clutching his chest. So many people needed help, the earthquake had torn down San Francisco with devastating effects; he could barely keep up with the comings and goings of the relief carriers. There were firemen and policemen everywhere, helping people, putting out fires, looking for others under the debris. The sight of mankind’s heroes was an inspiring one, but there was still so much to do, it was overwhelming. He could hear them all, the desperation, the fear and hope entwining and tugging at his heart.
He landed on a cracked downtown street, looking for trapped survivors through the layers of debris. The air was eerily still, and the dust floating in the air blocked the sunlight. The smell of the sea was almost imperceptible as it mixed with the smoke of the many fires spurting all through the city, the pulverized plaster and concrete, and the gas leaks. The acrid smell of fear permeated everything. Clark fought against the knot in his throat; he didn’t have time to waste, people needed his help.
But the bitter truth was that he couldn’t help them all.
:::---:::
Clark sighed, bringing himself away from the memories. All too often, he was reminded of his inability to save everyone. No matter how gifted he was, he still had limits. He could fail, falter and despair like any other, but the important part was to pull himself together and try to be better when the next day came.
He knew that in the big scale of things, what he saw as his biggest failure wasn’t such a grand event. People lived and people died and that was the way the world was. But his heart had broken and he had lost so much… he was still trying to get back on his feet. He still tried to be better every morning, but it was hard to wake up alone in a cold bed. He fought the good fight, but it was harder without a back against his, without the weight of his other half against him and without anyone to put his weight against.
He tried to walk into his bedroom, but his feet remained still. He glared at his boots for a moment, but his features softened slowly into a smile as his mind drifted back to the memory of their first time. Of course, to be able to lose something, he had to have something important in the first place.
:::---:::
“Okay, Clark, just what exactly did you do to put these boots on, mmh? Did you paint them over your skin and you’re making me struggle for your own sick amusement?”
Clark would have laughed if only the offending boots weren’t in the way of Bruce undressing him. They had disposed of their capes in the hallway; Bruce’s utility belt had been absentmindedly dropped in the doorway, his gloves were… someplace Clark couldn’t remember, though he could very much remember the change of sensation as warm, slightly damp skin had replaced the cold slippery rubber. He growled in frustration at the boots, reaching out to help his partner. Bruce sat back on his calves, grinning, and his expression was so smug -like he was proud of Clark’s frustration, the impossible man- that Clark had to bypass his boots to tackle him.
He straddled Bruce’s hips, running his hands over the Kevlar-clad chest, looking for the catches. When, after a minute, he had only managed to find three of the clasps and couldn’t open one of them, Bruce’s smug grin turned into a full blown laugh.
Clark mock-glared at him, and when he realized Bruce couldn’t sober up, he couldn’t fight a smile. The other man’s deep laugh echoed in the room and the hallway, and it was a nice sound, one that Clark’s didn’t hear enough. “So, are you going to help me or are you going to lay there laughing? Fully clothed, I might add.”
Bruce sobered up, and the sight of the man beneath him, smiling and looking at him with a mix of joy and desire was something that Clark was sure he would never forget. “Stopped Armageddon twice in the past four months and I can’t take off your pixie boots. I think I’m going to lay here laughing for a bit.”
“They’re not pixie boots,” Clark said sternly.
“Clark, I’m not capitulating to go-go boots.”
“Ha-ha, very funny. Just how many catches does your armor need, anyway? Does your rogue’s gallery attempt to get you naked very often?”
Bruce’s expression was unreadable, and he remained silent.
“…do they? Thanks for the mental image, Bruce! That’s really gross.”
“I’m not gross, clothed or naked. That’s not a conductive attitude to getting in my pants.”
“Sorry, sorry. I’m really interested in getting in your pants, preferably now, and out of mine.”
Bruce pushed himself up, putting his weight on his arms at his sides, his face getting dangerously close to Clark’s chest.
“Well, I could-”
Bruce licked Clark’s left nipple over the blue fabric.
“-give you-”
He proceeded to nip him playfully, licking and biting until the nub was hard and noticeable under the costume.
“-a hand-”
Bruce moved to his right nipple, showing it the same treatment, and Clark was swallowing hard, mesmerized by the vision of the soft lips, swollen after their make out, grazing his clothed chest. When the tip of the pink tongue darted out to lick him again, leaving a dark damp spot, Clark growled.
“-but I’m currently busy, as you can see.”
“Enough,” Clark said, shaking his head. They had been skirting around each other for too long. It had been three wonderful weeks since their first kiss, though they had never gotten this far before. There had been no time, or they had been called away by their duties, but Clark wasn’t willing to do any more waiting. Being with Bruce felt right, it felt--
Bruce slipped his hands beneath his shirt, tugging it upwards, and his hands felt cold against Clark’s overheated skin. Clark shivered as he pulled his shirt off, Bruce’s hands traveling up and around his back, grasping his shoulder blades to keep himself upright, sucking at the newly exposed skin greedily.
Clark’s body tightened with pleasure and he started rocking back against Bruce. It didn’t take long before Bruce had to release his nipple and lay back on the bed, his hands settling on Clark’s hips while his thumbs drew pressing circles against the hipbones. His eyes were closed and his neck was fully exposed, vulnerable. The trust involved in that level of surrender and his own primal urge to claim and mark sent a jolt down Clark’s spine. Bruce’s thumbs were avoiding Clark’s aching need, but they were close enough to tease.
“You can’t be comfortable under all that armor,” Clark said huskily, lying down on top of the other man.
“You have no idea,” Bruce said, his eyes still closed, his lower lip trembling a little as he let out a shaky breath.
“Are you willing to cooperate now?” Clark teased.
“I thought I was cooperating,” Bruce said, furrowing his brow as he opened his eyes. “Get off me and I’ll get out of the armor.” Clark rolled off him, and Bruce groaned as the pressure over his body shifted. He stood up and Clark sat back to watch as deft fingers located and unclasped the hidden armor catches.
“God, I want you,” Clark said lowly as the armor started to come off.
Bruce’s hand’s stilled and he raised his eyes to meet Clark’s gaze. He shook his head as he took a deep breath. “Don’t do that to me, Clark.”
“What?” Clark asked, grinning playfully. “Tell you that you’re driving me crazy? Tell you how much I want to pin you down, touch you and taste you until I’m sated enough to string two words that aren’t ‘Yes’ and ‘Bruce’?”
“Damn you,” Bruce said, rubbing his eyes, as if he could wipe the lust clouding his judgment.
Clark was up on his feet and kissing his partner before the other man could speak again. He broke the kiss and started moving down the pale body, placing hard kisses over the scars until he was on his knees, tugging down at what was left of the armor. He looked up at Bruce, who was staring intently at him, his steel blue eyes flickering with desire.
“What do you want, Bruce?” Clark asked as he carefully freed his partner’s erection from the black jockstrap.
Clark waited for an answer, and finally looked up again as it never came. “Bruce?”
“…your boots.”
Clark looked down on himself, staring at his boots in confusion.
“Clark?”
“Yes?”
“One of us has to start thinking again.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re not naked, I’m not being ravaged, and you’re still wearing your boots.”
“I know. I kind of like them, though.”
“Clark…”
“Yes?”
“Get naked. Start ravaging. Now.”
Clark sat down and pulled at his boots, struggling a little with them. “You have got quite a fixation on them, Bruce. Anything you want to tell me?” Clark teased him.
Bruce turned back and walked towards the bed. He sat on the edge, bare naked, his eyes lost, deep in thought.
“Krypton to Bruce, anyone there?” Clark got rid of the second boot and stood up to get rid of his tights. Bruce remained silent, and Clark lifted his gaze, dread clutching his gut as he saw the lost pensive look on his partner.
“Bruce? You okay?”
“Clark,” Bruce paused to lick his lips, and then spoke slowly, like he was testing the words. “I… love you.”
Clark froze. Bruce wasn’t looking at him, and that wasn’t a good sign.
“I love you,” he repeated, staring at the floor, this time with more conviction. His words were still careful, wary, like he expected some grand disaster just because he had said-
“Oh. Oh, Bruce. Nothing bad is going to happen. Look at me.”
Bruce blinked, then looked up to meet Clark’s gaze.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Clark whispered as he walked to crouch in front of Bruce. It seemed very important to tell Bruce that he wasn’t going to die just because Bruce loved him. “We’re going to be fine. Nothing is going to happen to me,” he said, smiling. “You fool. I’m Superman.”
Bruce chuckled, lowering his head. “I just… wanted to say it. Because I do.”
“I know. I love you too, in case you hadn’t noticed. You could say it and look at me in the eye, you know. It would be nice.”
Bruce looked up, then away, a pained smile on his lips. “Maybe later?” He asked, apologetic.
Clark smiled. He didn’t need Bruce to say something he already knew, something he could feel in the way the other man looked at him, in his touch and voice and his every breath. “We have all the time in the world.”
:::---:::
Back then, Clark had thought that they did have all the time in the world. For a while, they had had enough time to do everything they had wanted. The first time Bruce had looked at him in the eye and told him he loved him, Clark had been unable to wipe the grin from his face for the rest of the day.
It had been a weird thing about Bruce, Clark thought as he allowed his memories to bring color and sound to the currently empty and silent fortress. The man was nothing if not dry and assertive, yet he made Clark smile a lot, even during the times of duress… especially during those. His confidence in Clark and in himself grew exponentially in them as a team, and Clark couldn’t be anything but touched by it. If Bruce said it was possible, if Bruce thought they could do it, who was Clark to say otherwise?
It had seemed that nothing could stop them as long as they were together.
::---:::
Superman was holding a broken fallen slab of concrete over his head, clearing the way for almost a dozen of the earthquake survivors that had been trapped inside the building’s staircase. The upper structure of the building was still holding, but part of the interior secondary structure had collapsed. Once they were all in the ruins of the lobby, Superman picked up the injured security guard and guided the rest of them to safety. He flew them in pairs towards the reunion point where they were received by the JL evacuation personnel.
He was heading back downtown when he heard the loud rumble of a building falling. He felt compelled to go check the area, but there was already a team lead by GL dealing with the most damaged buildings, making sure to tend to the most unstable areas before they crumpled down.
Clark retrieved the last two people from the small group he had rescued and was flying back to the reunion point when J’onn’s distressed voice echoed in his head.
-My friend, you need to come here right now.-
-I’m in my way, J’onn. What’s wrong?-
-There’s been an accident. The stress triggered the powers of a dormant meta-human. A building just collapsed.-
-Were there people inside?-
-Yes. Batman and Shayera were bringing them out when it happened.-
Clark’s heart lodged in his throat and he sped up, reaching the safe limits of his passengers. He didn’t dare to go faster, but he had a bad feeling in his gut.
-Have you been able to contact them?-
-…Yes. Hurry up, Kal.-
-J’onn? Wait! Are they okay? Is Bruce okay? J’onn!-
-They are alive. I must go now; he needs me more than you do. I’m helping them to contain the meta.-
-I’ll be right there.-
Clark had noticed J’onn’s choice of words. They were alive, but that didn’t mean they were necessarily well. He cursed under his breath, trying to reign in his thundering heart.
They had to be okay.
::---::
Clark rubbed his eyes tiredly, trying to wipe away the memory of that day from his mind. He didn’t want to think about what happened next, so he let his mind wander about other things. Some days, he couldn’t help it, everywhere his mind wandered off to lead to Bruce.
Despite his vulnerability -and that was a word that Clark hardly ever related to him- Bruce was one of the strongest persons Clark had known. There was something about him, an aura of confidence that tricked Clark into forgetting just how easy it was to hurt him. Bruce had been a marriage of opposites, the hard eyes that calculated and planned and the soft hands that built and taught.
The man had been impossible to predict. One minute he was a daredevil pulling feats that left metas and humans alike open-mouthed -both in awe and rage, depending on the feat- and the next he was pliant and soft in Clark’s bed.
During the endless shifts in the Watchtower, Clark missed his silent company. It had been nice, having someone to talk to, but it had also been very comforting to have someone to be silent with. The quiet between them was filled with an ease born from hundreds of missions together, from being acutely tuned to each other’s movements, an understanding that bordered on a psychic bond. Clark unconsciously fixated on his partner’s breathing and heartbeat, the sound of his presence, like a low hum in the back of his mind. It was comforting. He remembered telling Bruce so one day, sitting on a bench in Robinson Park. He had blushed, realizing too late that his attention might make his lover uncomfortable, but Bruce had just nodded. He told Clark that he could feel him when he was close too, a distinctive presence on the edge of his senses. Clark had wondered if it was due to Bruce’s training or if it was some consequence of a kryptonian bond. The how hadn’t mattered, of course. Bruce had found it comforting too, and he had smiled.
Maybe Clark had been a fool in love, but Bruce smiling at him during an early spring Gotham morning in Robinson Park had made him happy.
::---::
Bruce was straddling his lap.
They were sitting in the middle of Clark’s bed in the Fortress of Solitude, and Bruce was straddling his lap.
His arms were holding him tightly, one hand stroking Clark’s back lazily, from between his shoulder blades to the small of his back, drawing a sinuous route in his skin, stopping here and there to coax a knotted muscle to relax. His other hand was playing with his hair, tugging lightly at his scalp every time Clark rocked against him.
Bruce was straddling his lap and kissing him like tomorrow was never going to reach them. Slowly, he wrestled Clark’s tongue, sucking him into his mouth, carefully deepening their contact. The detective was surely taking his sweet time to…
To…
Clark wasn’t sure to do what. He wasn’t complaining, either, he was busy tracing Bruce’s scars and applying pressure to tired aching muscles. Every now and then, Bruce would moan into their kiss, or sigh, and Clark would rock against him, and Bruce would pull his hair just slightly. Clark wasn’t sure if it was to urge him on, or to rein him in. He really didn’t care. All he wanted was to make him moan or sigh, and so he let his hands roam.
Trapped between their bodies, Clark’s cock brushed against Bruce’s over and over again, and Clark could feel his insides knot and unknot as he pushed Bruce closer, hard abs pressing against their aching needs, and it was good. Clark felt like he was on fire. His heart leaped with every wave of pleasure, but Bruce’s pace was slow and maddening, and of course the man’s heart wasn’t trying to get out of his chest like Clark’s. His breathing was hardly disturbed. Clark noticed his breathing was fairly regular too, and that took him by surprise. They had been so eager to get out of their clothes and onto the bed that he expected their activities to be much more demanding. Yet he couldn’t remember ever feeling everything quite so sharply, pleasure so full and vivid that left his mind not clouded with lust, but lucid and eager for more. It was unexpected.
Clark broke the kiss, and Bruce sighed again, opening his eyes to look into Clark’s. The pools of steel blue staring down at him had never been so at peace, pupils slightly dilated, yet focused. Bruce shifted in his lap, and Clark swallowed hard. “You’re doing something…” Clark whispered, his lips an inch away from Bruce’s, who was about to continue making love to his mouth.
Bruce smiled, and it was part mischief, part sweetness, like Bruce couldn’t bring himself back to a point where he could play games with Clark. Clark didn’t feel like playing games either, so that was fine with him, but the smile was… different. Special. “You have a tantric master in your lap, Clark. What were you expecting?”
Naked ravaging crossed through Clark’s mind, but he kept quiet. A voice in his head told him they wouldn’t always have this much time. It was their first time. If they had kept going the way they had been in the hallway, they would be laying spent by now. This felt different, a good kind of different, and Bruce felt…
Bruce felt fantastic, like he didn’t belong anywhere else in the world but there, with Clark. Like he couldn’t possibly fit anywhere but on Clark’s lap, against his chest, pressed close to him. Clark wanted to say something, but he couldn’t find any words. He just smiled back at Bruce, and proceeded to kiss and suck at the other man’s throat, lingering in the joint of his shoulder and neck. Bruce sighed again, in pleasure and contentment, hooking his feet behind Clark’s back, his heels digging slightly in the small of Clark’s back. It seemed to be intentional, as every time they rocked together a small spasm of pleasure ran through Clark’s belly to his back and up, liquid fire leaping upwards and making him shiver.
Bruce’s hand grazed his sides, and Clark bucked under his touch. It was weird how Bruce was rendering him helpless with nothing but the most common of touches… but like everything else in their lives, there was nothing really common in his touch. Clark’s hands grasped Bruce’s waist the way the other man had done early on, his thumbs drawing circles on his hipbones and abs, and Bruce’s body tightened, arching against him, his eyes closed. He swallowed slowly, and Clark kissed the bobbing Adam’s apple.
Bruce’s breathing was deepening. He moved his hands to Clark face, tracing his features with feather-light fingertips. Clark closed his eyes, and felt the soft fingers move lightly over his eyelids, and then Bruce’s mouth was back on his, sucking at his lower lip.
Clark felt Bruce shift into their kiss. His hands were away for a moment and then they were back, fingertips brushing Clark’s belly and going lower, grasping his cock with a friendly squish. Bruce pulled away enough to get space to move his hands between them, and Clark felt the loss of the body that had been pressing tightly against his. He let his hands wander again as Bruce applied something slick and cool on him -lube, his mind provided after several heartbeats-, and he couldn’t get enough of the expanses of skin laid before him, he needed to touch, and be touched, and he was devouring Bruce’s mouth because it was the only logical thing to do.
Bruce broke their kiss and lifted his hips, one hand hooked around Clark’s neck and the other keeping a firm grip of Clark’s hilt. He took Clark in slowly, and all was blinding white for a moment. Clark gasped, and Bruce had to stop, laying his head on Clark’s shoulders. Clark noticed he was trembling, and placed soft kisses on his neck, by his ear.
Bruce chuckled. “Give me a moment,” he said, his voice low and hoarse. Clark matched his breathing and felt Bruce relax against him, around him, taking him deeper. Bruce’s breathing turned to aborted sobs and choking, and he half chuckled again, his control obviously slipping. “Some tantric master, oh god. Oh god, Clark.”
Clark placed a kiss in his temple, reassuringly. “You’re perfect.”
Bruce gasped. “Hardly. I’m just…” He whimpered as a spasm took over his body.
“I’m hurting you,” Clark whispered worryingly. He couldn’t bear the idea of hurting him, and Bruce’s body was painfully tense against his.
“No, you’re… I’m… it’s just been so long. Just…” Bruce swallowed hard, burying his face against Clark’s neck. “…just give this idiot a moment.”
Clark soothed the tremors running through his partner, supporting the other man and caressing him slowly, trying to ease the tension. Bruce’s breathing pattern changed, and he felt how groups of muscles relaxed with each breath. Bruce lifted his head and his eyes were lost and unfocussed, and Clark frowned. Bruce closed his eyes and allowed his weight to pull him down, taking Clark to the hilt, and he bit his lip, throwing his head back. Slowly, the breathing pattern changed again to match Clark’s, and Bruce opened his eyes, blue and intense. “Okay, Elokyn. Thanks for being patient.”
Clark chuckled. “Why would you thank me for that?”
Bruce’s lips quirked upwards, a small smile that was part Bat, part man, all Clark’s. Clark kissed it, claiming it for his own, and Bruce rocked slightly against him. Bruce’s hands were soft -so soft that Clark had no idea where the man kept the ruthless ragged edges of the Bat when he was outside of the costume-, and prompted him to move and touch before settling in his hair, tugging at it and massaging his scalp.
Nothing had ever felt so right. Nothing had ever felt so good.
They lost themselves in the feeling of each other, and Clark couldn’t tell how long they had been there, slowly riding into completion. It had felt like eternity.
It hadn’t been long enough.
::---::
Clark closed his eyes, trying to block the image of him and his lover during that night, the beginning of the best eight months of his life. The image was etched into his mind’s eye, though, and as painful as it was to relive it alone, it was better than to not have it at all. He could almost conjure the smell of Bruce, the memory was so vivid, and he felt his throat close.
He ground his teeth, trying to swallow so he wouldn’t choke on his memories, but it was too late. Memories had been haunting him all night as he stood in the doorway, and a final image flooded into his mind.
Their first time, they had found completion in each other.
When they had said goodbye, Bruce had wanted him to find peace. Clark didn’t think the other man knew what kind of impossible feat he was asking of him.
But Bruce had always trusted him to do the impossible.
::---::
Clark landed next to J’onn in the debris-cluttered street. The dust in the air was thick, and Clark felt it fill his lungs as he took a sharp breath. Shayera was kneeling next to a mountain of fallen concrete blocks, her right wing bent out of shape and stained with blood. Clark turned to J’onn, who had an unconscious teen girl in his arms.
“…J’onn?” Clark didn’t dare to ask anything directly, afraid of the answers. Later, he told himself he knew what was to come the second he had heard a falling building and had looked for Batman’s gaze earlier that day. He had felt it in the air, he simply hadn’t known what it meant until it was too late.
“It was a telekinetic discharge,” J’onn explained, looking at the girl in his arms. “She was too scared, and it triggered her powers. I’m keeping her asleep and contained. Kal, he is--”
Before J’onn could finish speaking, Clark’s senses picked up the vital signs of his partner, the ones that were like gray sound in the back of his mind, always present and soothing. There was nothing soothing in the weak heartbeat or the ragged breathing, though.
Clark blanched. “Call Robin, J’onn. He must be around here… and Nightwing. Rao help me, I don’t think Dick is anywhere close…”
“I have spoken to them already, my friend. Nightwing is waiting for transport, and Robin’s ETA is ten minutes.” J’onn grabbed Clark’s arm, pressing it slightly, trying to offer him comfort. “I don’t think he has ten minutes, Kal.”
Clark walked towards Shayera, the dust slowly clearing his view. She was holding a gloved hand -J’onn had to be wrong, he had to, he couldn’t let this happen-, and she was laughing through the tears. Her face was smudged with dust and soot, and the trails of tears left clear marks on her skin.
“You promise?” Clark heard her ask.
“Cross my heart,” was the rough answer. Clark couldn’t breathe and his feet were glued to the cracked asphalt. Bruce wasn’t supposed to sound like that. Ever.
Shayera looked up, noticing Clark’s presence. She gave him a sad smile, and nodded, prompting him to step closer. “You wouldn’t lie to me, right?”
“Never,” Bruce whispered, and Clark got close enough to see that it was indeed Bruce, not Batman. The cowl had been removed -probably by Shayera, she was looking at Bruce with such tender eyes it hurt to look at her. Steel rods stuck out of the concrete in strange angles and a quick X-ray look told Clark why they couldn’t remove him from under the blocks. His body was crushed under the weight and stray steel rods pierced his body like a pin cushion. Blood was quickly pooling around him, a crimson canvas for the black cape flourish below him. “Clark’s here?” Bruce asked, closing his eyes, and Clark took the last few steps to kneel by his side.
“Where else would I be?” Clark said, trying to fight his own tears.
Shayera let go of the trembling hand and Bruce reached out for him. Clark caught his hand in middle air and brought it to his face, kissing the gloved palm.
“Saving the world, Elokyn… that is your… job description… after all.”
All the weight of the world seemed to fall over Clark’s shoulders, and he slumped, trying hard to control his breathing.
Shayera touched Bruce’s shoulder lightly, then stood up. “I’m going to give you lovebirds some privacy. B, I… I will hold you to your promise, you hear me? I’m not letting you off the hook.”
Bruce nodded, his cloudy blue eyes never leaving Clark’s face. They had always like been moths to the flame, circling around each other, colliding, burning high. They had been in a collision course with disaster, and they both knew it -Bruce’s life span was human, and they both had dangerous lives; virtually anything could happen, but Clark hadn’t expected disaster to strike so soon. He wasn’t prepared… he was never going to be prepared.
“I can’t let you go, please. Please, don’t go.” Tears finally rolled down Clark’s face and fell over the black glove, rolling further down the slippery material and then, at last, were lost in the warm pool of life at Clark’s feet.
Bruce’s smile never faltered. In all the time Clark had known him, he had never been one to smile much, but it seemed he was going to keep charging against the established until the end. His gaze, though, was very sad, and Clark wiped his eyes with his free hand.
“I’m so sorry, Clark...”Bruce grimaced in pain as his battered body shivered.
Clark caressed the pale clammy cheek, and gave a mental nudge to J’onn. -Don’t let him suffer, J’onn, please.-
-I’m blocking his pain receptors. What else he feels, I cannot spare him.-
“Promise… you won’t be… mad,” Bruce whispered. The sound of his breathing turned wet, and Clark bit his lip to restrain himself.
“Mad at whom, B?” He managed.
“At people and… at… me?”
Clark chuckled, a sad hollow sound. “No, B. I can’t stay mad with you for long. I promise.” Clark remembered something else. “What did you promise Shayera?”
“That I wouldn’t… leave you… alone.”
“But you will.”
Bruce closed his eyes, obviously in pain. “Hope springs… eternal.” He was having trouble breathing, each breath turning more shallow and superficial.
“I’ll look after your boys. And Gotham. I won’t let Gotham down.”
“I know... Take care… yourself.” Bruce opened his eyes, and for a glorious moment, they were clear and bright, reflecting the warm smile on his lips. “I love you.”
Clark allowed himself to laugh through the tears. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right, but he smiled nonetheless. “I love you too. I’m glad-I’m glad we had… that we had a chance…”
He was going to be alone again, Clark realized, his heart plummeting to his stomach. He was going to lose Bruce and he was going to be alone in the silence, no blanket of comfort of beating heart and steady breath to wrap himself, no strong soft hands to hold him, no smell of leather and cologne and Bruce. He was going to lose his partner, his friend, his equal, his mate. It wasn’t right.
A carrier flew over them, visible for a moment over the cloud of dust, flying people away from the disaster zone and to safety. Bruce’s lips were tainted with blood, but there was something savagely beautiful about the way he looked, proud and content. “We did it, Clark… for a while… we did it.”
“We did.”
“It was great…” Bruce trailed off, closing his eyes as they lost their focus and became foggier.
Clark sat with him for a couple of minutes, but Bruce didn’t say anything else. By the time Clark broke into sobs, it had been eight minutes since he had arrived by his mate’s side. Aside from the peaceful look on his face, Clark didn’t remember much else from that day.
::---::
Bringing himself back to reality, Clark shook his head.
“Computer, engage simulation,” he said brusquely, forcing himself to look at his bed in the dark. He had refrained from indulging in this deception for months, the idea always lurking in the back of his mind. He knew that doing this didn’t change a thing, there was no way to bring Bruce back. He was just lying to himself, seeking empty comfort in a complicated illusion.
Knowing all this didn’t make a difference. He swallowed the lump on his throat as the Fortress system initiated and a dim flash of light touched the left side of his bed -Bruce’s side. The light faded, leaving a prone silhouette on its wake.
Clark’s breath caught as he walked closer to the bed, making out the lines of muscled shoulders under the covers, the raven tousled hair against the pillow. The faint sound of deep, steady breathing filled the room, and Clark felt his hands shake. Finally, the distinctive smell of Bruce’s cologne, aftershave and the batsuit’s leather assaulted his senses, and he couldn’t help but whimper. He had missed him so much.
Clark stripped slowly, his eyes never straying from the sleeping form on his bed. He climbed under the covers, careful not to disturb the other man, though he knew that there was no way he could wake up the illusion. There wasn’t enough technology in the world to duplicate the overwhelming personality of the man he had loved, not even for a night.
He scooted closer and tried to steady his hands as he reached out to bring the naked man into the circle of his arms, his mind providing the details that the simulation couldn’t replicate -the warmth of his body, the way Bruce’s naked body molded and fit so perfectly next to his, how his muscles rippled under his touch and the mumbled complaints that the man uttered in his sleep when Clark touched him softly enough to tickle.
It didn’t feel real, but then, Clark hadn’t wanted it to feel real. He didn’t think he could let him go twice. He just needed the comfort of having him near, to fall asleep with him in his arms one last time.
If he couldn’t have the real thing, Clark would settle for this moment. He couldn’t bring himself to start a new year without Bruce.