(FIC) Filigree (Bruce/Clark) PG-13
..happy belated birthday, Rai! Wooo! I owe like, a bazillion fics now, but the bunny about the golden eyed Superman and the gemstones you posted really wanted to be written *now* while it was still close your birthday *grins* Ficlet time, rar!
Fandom: DCU
Title: Filigree
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 800+
Notes: There was a story by jij where she compared Bruce's scars to golden mending of china, and I just fell in love with the idea... filigrees, filigrees, they are so pretty! so, when Rai said she liked to think about Clark's eyes turning golden, both ideas mated and turned into this. Hopefully it's not a bastard child, since those parents are awesome parents!
Filigree
If pressed, Bruce would say Clark’s eyes are like gemstones. Topazes, beautifully cut and almost iridescent, clear as the sky and just as vibrant.
Of course, it would take a lot of pressing for Bruce to start elucidating about Clark’s eyes, but it’s not because he doesn’t think about them. No, he spends a lot of time trying to catalogue the exact hue of blue that Clark’s eyes bestow upon everyone, as giving with his warm glances as he is with his time and his kindness. Sometimes, just sometimes, Bruce feels slightly jealous because he has to share the blue with everyone else, only for others not to recognize and appreciate the unique treasure they are given.
But there are other looks Bruce doesn’t have to share, like the way Clark’s eyes grow darker with love and desire. Bruce will never share this information, not under torture or duress, because that blue is just his, two precious exotic jewels that could never adorn a more beloved face. Late at night, with the shadows cast by the fireplace or the moon -winter or summer, there’s always shadows dancing over their bodies like fleeting tribal tattoos, a spell of lust drawn over their skin- he thinks his eyes might be hauynite, dark yet translucent, like the calm deep ocean, the color of tropical flowers he isn’t sure exist, at least, not on this Earth.
Bruce doesn’t think anyone would peg him as a romantic -indeed, the notion brings a sardonic smile to his lips- but he is quite territorial. His city, his family, his toys, his teams. If it’s not etched with his initials or his trademark symbol, then it’s etched with Bruce’s care, a love that is mostly quiet and hidden for fear of it being unwanted, or worse, stepped on. Bruce has never been very good at opening up, but what he feels still seeps out almost without his consent, threads that lead back to him and that look clumsily left behind. He wishes he could be tidier, that he could pick up his emotions and put them in the boxes he has constructed for them, but the scattered bits of his soul are left behind and he can’t quite bring himself to take them away from the people that find them, nor can he seem to pick them up to free the path of others that have no use for them. The chance of them being found is terrifying and a risk he forces himself to take.
He has left little pieces of himself all around Clark over the years. They were invisible for a long while, Bruce wincing every time Clark all but tripped over them without noticing, leading to him being angry -at himself, at Clark, at the world- wanting to clean up but unable to do so. And then, one day, Clark simply seemed to learn to navigate his way around those scattered pieces, seemed to pick them up and solve a puzzle that Bruce wasn’t sure had any solutions.
Since then, Clark has worked his way around his walls and labyrinths, into the heart that could not have been anyone else’s but his, and shortly after into Bruce’s bed. Bruce isn’t getting any better at being tidy with his emotions, he still leaves them around Clark like a little kid’s forgotten toys, but Clark picks them up and finds clues in them, extra pieces for the puzzle. They make sense to Clark, and Bruce can’t take them away. He wouldn’t know what to do with them if he did, so he prefers to have Clark keep them.
As Clark collects pieces of his heart, of his soul, Bruce collects shades of blue, hues and tones that vary slightly on the scales depending on the emotion they reflect. If the eyes are the mirror of the soul, then maybe Bruce collects pieces of Clark’s soul too. Impressions of a soul so brilliant that it seems to light those eyes from the inside.
Gemstones, perfectly cut. Clear and bright with laughter or dark and deep with love. In the heights of passion, light catches just so; when Clark’s breath is hot against his skin and his voice vibrates with breaking pleasure, the blue seems caught in a web of gold, a filigree of light pulsating with his hammering heartbeat, and Bruce is caught. It might be related to his relationship with the golden sun, Bruce has no way to know unless he asks, and he finds it potentially embarrassing to be found obsessing over Clark’s eyes.
The look of utter devotion and love that Clark gives him is his and his alone, the golden web that has caught him a secret that only they know. Bruce is a man of secrets. Those most dearest to him, he keeps in the most inexpugnable place he knows: his heart.
Fandom: DCU
Title: Filigree
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 800+
Notes: There was a story by jij where she compared Bruce's scars to golden mending of china, and I just fell in love with the idea... filigrees, filigrees, they are so pretty! so, when Rai said she liked to think about Clark's eyes turning golden, both ideas mated and turned into this. Hopefully it's not a bastard child, since those parents are awesome parents!
Filigree
If pressed, Bruce would say Clark’s eyes are like gemstones. Topazes, beautifully cut and almost iridescent, clear as the sky and just as vibrant.
Of course, it would take a lot of pressing for Bruce to start elucidating about Clark’s eyes, but it’s not because he doesn’t think about them. No, he spends a lot of time trying to catalogue the exact hue of blue that Clark’s eyes bestow upon everyone, as giving with his warm glances as he is with his time and his kindness. Sometimes, just sometimes, Bruce feels slightly jealous because he has to share the blue with everyone else, only for others not to recognize and appreciate the unique treasure they are given.
But there are other looks Bruce doesn’t have to share, like the way Clark’s eyes grow darker with love and desire. Bruce will never share this information, not under torture or duress, because that blue is just his, two precious exotic jewels that could never adorn a more beloved face. Late at night, with the shadows cast by the fireplace or the moon -winter or summer, there’s always shadows dancing over their bodies like fleeting tribal tattoos, a spell of lust drawn over their skin- he thinks his eyes might be hauynite, dark yet translucent, like the calm deep ocean, the color of tropical flowers he isn’t sure exist, at least, not on this Earth.
Bruce doesn’t think anyone would peg him as a romantic -indeed, the notion brings a sardonic smile to his lips- but he is quite territorial. His city, his family, his toys, his teams. If it’s not etched with his initials or his trademark symbol, then it’s etched with Bruce’s care, a love that is mostly quiet and hidden for fear of it being unwanted, or worse, stepped on. Bruce has never been very good at opening up, but what he feels still seeps out almost without his consent, threads that lead back to him and that look clumsily left behind. He wishes he could be tidier, that he could pick up his emotions and put them in the boxes he has constructed for them, but the scattered bits of his soul are left behind and he can’t quite bring himself to take them away from the people that find them, nor can he seem to pick them up to free the path of others that have no use for them. The chance of them being found is terrifying and a risk he forces himself to take.
He has left little pieces of himself all around Clark over the years. They were invisible for a long while, Bruce wincing every time Clark all but tripped over them without noticing, leading to him being angry -at himself, at Clark, at the world- wanting to clean up but unable to do so. And then, one day, Clark simply seemed to learn to navigate his way around those scattered pieces, seemed to pick them up and solve a puzzle that Bruce wasn’t sure had any solutions.
Since then, Clark has worked his way around his walls and labyrinths, into the heart that could not have been anyone else’s but his, and shortly after into Bruce’s bed. Bruce isn’t getting any better at being tidy with his emotions, he still leaves them around Clark like a little kid’s forgotten toys, but Clark picks them up and finds clues in them, extra pieces for the puzzle. They make sense to Clark, and Bruce can’t take them away. He wouldn’t know what to do with them if he did, so he prefers to have Clark keep them.
As Clark collects pieces of his heart, of his soul, Bruce collects shades of blue, hues and tones that vary slightly on the scales depending on the emotion they reflect. If the eyes are the mirror of the soul, then maybe Bruce collects pieces of Clark’s soul too. Impressions of a soul so brilliant that it seems to light those eyes from the inside.
Gemstones, perfectly cut. Clear and bright with laughter or dark and deep with love. In the heights of passion, light catches just so; when Clark’s breath is hot against his skin and his voice vibrates with breaking pleasure, the blue seems caught in a web of gold, a filigree of light pulsating with his hammering heartbeat, and Bruce is caught. It might be related to his relationship with the golden sun, Bruce has no way to know unless he asks, and he finds it potentially embarrassing to be found obsessing over Clark’s eyes.
The look of utter devotion and love that Clark gives him is his and his alone, the golden web that has caught him a secret that only they know. Bruce is a man of secrets. Those most dearest to him, he keeps in the most inexpugnable place he knows: his heart.