(FIC) Mirage (Bruce/Diana/Clark, NC-17)
Soooo... Rock of Ages! By Grant Morrison, who you probably know I love with white hot crack passion! Some scans motivated me to write my apocalyptic cockblock bunny I was mumbling about the other day. Except there's no cockblocking! Just... an end of the world cliche :)(The art in those is not awesome, but the story is!)
Anyway, electric Superman is dead, Batman has spent the last 8 years being tortured by Desaad and seeing his other captured friends die and pretty much having a horrible time. But he still kicks butt and overthrows Desaad and pretends to be him. Diana has been fighting and kicking ass on Earth, fighting the zombiefied Darkseid minions, with the remaining heroes.
I felt like writing Trinity, but Clark was dead, so.. uh... Clark isn't actually here, here. Just. Kind of here. Anyway! I should be doing homework (or leaving fb...) but I got distracted by the smutlet... unbetaed! point, I correct!
Title: Mirage
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Bruce/Diana, Bruce/Diana/Clark, Clark/Lois implied
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 2400+
Summary: Wonder Woman and Batman are reunited for the final battle, but there's still one link missing.
The door closes behind her and Diana leans against it, her eyes going over the dark figure before her. Kevlar and leather cover powerful muscles, the cape falling from wide shoulders and swaying all the way to the floor.
He’s a mirage of days long gone. For a moment, she can focus on the black clad figure, narrow the world to just here and now, leaving the pain out of the equation… then he shivers, and she darts forwards, catching herself fearing he might disappear, shimmering out of existence like an illusion. She stops two steps behind him and bows her head, a small smile on her lips.
Neither of them can truly leave pain out of the equation.
Batman’s hands support him as he leans over the desk, the line of his shoulders going slightly less guarded -not entirely, but Diana can’t blame him- as he takes a deep breath. Diana closes the gap between them, putting her hands on his shoulders, her movements deliberate and slow, moving them close to his neck to pull at the cowl. His breath catches; his body taut as his every instinct tells him she’s dangerous, telling him to move and attack to try to survive. The Amazon smiles fondly as she sees him ignore his instincts, letting her pull at the cowl, exposing stark white hair, a metaphor of the man himself.
Behind the shadows, beneath the silences, he has always been a passionate man, the flame burning inside him bright behind curtains and walls. Her gauntleted hands -roughened by time and necessity, and she can’t help but wish they could have all been spared those horrors- run over his neck, fingers lightly touching the vulnerable spots as they go down his chest, tracing the insignia she hasn’t seen in almost a decade, settling in a hug that brings him to her. His breathing is irregular and she can smell his fear mixing with the musk of desire.
She rests her chin on his shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re alive,” she whispers. “Bruce.” She says his name slowly, carefully. He trembles again. Diana knows no one has called him that in years, knows his body trembles not because he wants her, but because he can no longer still the pain.
Another battle wound, one that starts in his mind and ends in his shaking hands.
He takes a deep breath, the trembling subsiding. “I’m… glad you’re alive too, Princess. I feared… that perhaps I would not see you, any of you, again.” His voice is deep and gravely, the voice of the Bat. Diana kisses his neck, wondering if he still remembers what Bruce sounds like, if the softer, gentler parts of him have not been completely destroyed.
“Some Princess. My mother, my sisters… Themiscyra. All gone.” Her own voice is rough from grief, the softer tones of the woman Bruce remembers have long been replaced by battle cries and steel. Diana hopes, wishes, that they both might recover a piece of themselves from this wreck.
Bruce turns in her embrace, his arms going around her waist almost shyly. Diana wonders if he has touched anyone with any intent other than to hurt since they last saw each other. “We must fix this. This can’t… it can’t be the end, Diana.”
“I don’t think there’s much left to fix, Bruce. But if Arthur’s right…”
He looks down, lost in thought. “If Arthur’s right we’ll be erased from existence. All we have done, all we have gone through.” He laughs lowly. “I want him to be right so much, Princess. But we must fight like he’s not. We can’t leave Earth unprotected.” He smiles, a rueful smile. “Well, whatever is left of Earth, I mean.”
He faces pain with a bleak sense of humor she remembers well, and she can’t help but smile back. His hands run up her back to tug at her helmet. She lowers her head, letting him take it off and put it over the desk, the gold even brighter in his dark gauntleted hands. Her fingers spread on his lower back, her heavy gloves cold against his warmth. He pulls her chainmail back, revealing the raven black hair, and fingers the rings that encase her waist-long tail. Diana wants to tell him there’s not enough time for that, and she wants to have time for other things; she wants to touch him and talk with him and remember all the things that have been good between them, but Bruce seems captivated by her hair and she can’t seem to deny him this simple luxury.
He takes his time, slowly working the rings off. She studies his face, the deep lines telling a story of duress. There’re wrinkles in his forehead where he frowns when he thinks and scowls, his cheekbones so sharp she can’t resist running her fingers over them, over the hollowed cheeks, the scar that runs down all the way to his jaw. His eyes return to hers, and they are sharp like blades. A cascade of black hair falls down her back and frames her own hardened features. Bruce smiles, an old fire lighting up in his dark brown eyes.
“Princess,” he murmurs. Diana knows she’s as much a vision to him as he is to her, and feels the tug of urgency. They don’t have much time, no time at all.
She will steal time from the world for this moment.
She leans forward and kisses him, their lips meeting hungrily. He shudders in her embrace, every muscle tense. She’s too close, too dangerous. Diana presses on, pushing him down the desk, climbing over him and pinning his body to the cold metal surface. His tongue tangles with hers; his armor is cool and hard to the touch, protecting the warm and vulnerable flesh. Diana needs to get rid of the armor, leave the barriers behind and be vulnerable and warm once more, maybe just once. She thinks Bruce needs that too, even as he tenses when she pulls the armor off. Her gloved fingers run cold paths on his scarred skin, the metal slowly drawing from his warmth. Diana’s hands can kill, they always could, but it’s been a long time since she lived in a world innocent enough where the final judgments were left to the people and not to them. They hadn’t been judges, juries and executioners; they had never wanted to be.
She breaks the kiss, pressed tight against him, her gauntleted hands cradling his face, his own buried in her hair. “I miss Clark,” she whispers.
Bruce chuckles. Diana can’t help but join him, laughing breathlessly. Before, when things were… right, it had always been the three of them. She had always had her loyal boys, Bruce had always had his flying angels, Clark had always had his stubborn warriors. They had tangled themselves so deeply together that losing them had been a great weight over Diana’s heart all those years, fighting alone and in small groups, never entirely certain someone had her back, that she wouldn’t be double crossed.
“I miss Clark too. I’ve missed him… a lot. I’m sorry I wasn’t… I’m sorry we left you alone,” he says. Diana wonders about his pauses, if there are things he doesn’t dare say, or if he needs a moment to gather the courage to say them.
“I’m sorry for never coming to get you,” she says, getting rid of his gloves. He lets her, allows her to take his armor and protection away, trusting her as he always has.
“It was a fool’s errand. Better that you didn’t. You would have ended… like the others. Or like me,” he says, finding a way under her armor, his sweat dampened hands caressing her back, skin on skin.
“We would have found a way out of it.” Diana knows they can’t be stopped when they are together. When they had Clark, there had been no room for failure. It had been almost magical, a blessing of the Gods she no longer thinks can hear her. “Is it selfish that I wish he hadn’t… given up?” She asks, her voice a whisper. A large callused hand has found her breasts under the armor, and he’s fondling her idly. She lets her own hand guide him, encouraging him. He seems lost in thought.
“He did what he had to do, and it was more than he could take. Back then… I can understand why it broke him.” Bruce sighs, seeming very tired. “In a way, I’m glad he didn’t live to see this, Princess… that he didn’t have to face... everything that came next.” He rubs his face with his free hand.
“I know,” Diana nestles her head on his shoulder, curling on top of him, and finds a pulse point on his neck, sucking at it.
Bruce swallows loudly as she brings his thoughts back to the matter at hand. “But as for being selfish… wishing won’t bring him back. We can afford to be selfish.” He rubs one nipple, pinching the sensitive nub until it hardens, moving back and forth from one breast to the other. His free hand rests on her thigh over the chain mail, warm fingers over cold steel.
She licks the spot she has been sucking, traces a path to the hollow of his throat, and he gasps. She sits up, straddling him and bending forwards to resume the sucking of the pale flesh exposed before her, and he pulls at her chain mail, finding the clasps that keep it in place.
“He would have insisted we went to find you,” she says as he pulls the armor off, leaving both of them half naked. “He loved you very much.”
Bruce closes his eyes, his smile pained. “I know. He would have convinced you, even thought you knew it was a stupid idea.” He opens his eyes again, dark brown meeting deep blue. “You would have followed him. You… loved him.”
“I loved you too,” she whispers. “I still do.”
He pulls her closer; she can feel him hard underneath the leather. It’s been years since she last drove Bruce to incoherence, since she last pulled both her boys close to her. They had been playful and free, had never asked anything from each other but what was freely offered. Bruce had been hers, theirs, just as she had been his and Clark’s, belonging to the circle of their arms for a minute or an hour before they had to belong to the world again.
When Clark married, Bruce and Diana had quietly supposed he would not return to their arms again. He loved Lois, belonged to her, wanted the world to know he had found his mate. Bruce and Diana wanted him to be happy, and he left them with their blessing.
They never thought he would return to them, which made his comeback all the more cherished. If Lois knew or not, Diana never asked. She doesn’t think Bruce did either. What they were to each other was hard to explain, so they barely spoke about it. They really didn’t need the words, knowing that they had their backs.
Their kiss is long and luxurious, Bruce’s hands running up and down her back. She hasn’t shed her gloves -she might not shed them at all, the way the steel makes Bruce shiver is entirely too tempting, but she wants to feel him, touch him. Her hands are as callused as his, rough, strong and demanding. She feels her blood heat, molten iron under soft skin and hard muscle, layers of armor over vulnerable flesh, armor over hidden wounds.
In a frenzy of caresses and slow kisses, they leave the external layers of armor behind, chain mail and Kevlar and leather thrown haphazardly to the floor. Diana pins Bruce down, strong hands forcing his shoulders to remain down as she takes him, the invasive feeling like a déjà vu. His hands clench at his sides, waiting for her to find her rhythm, find her own peace with this transgression. Diana’s feelings are a mix of wistful joy and a great desire to destroy this possible threat. She knows Bruce is not the only one who has been rewired to be suspicious of such close contact, and her hands close tightly on his shoulders. She’s in control, every thrust a conscious movement until instinct overrides danger and she throws her head back, her clasp on his shoulders turning into a caress that moves down to his chest. He sits up, meeting her thrusts now, one hand on her waist and another reaching to touch her. She leans forward, pressing against his hand, licking a red mark where her fingers have dig into his shoulders.
They leave another kind of armor behind, and she bites his neck, feeling him tremble and shiver. Bruce has always transformed pain into a weapon, never letting it consume him, but he’s close to unraveling. Diana realizes that whatever happens after this fight, even if they survive, she won’t keep her last mate for long. He’ll join Clark in oblivion, and Diana wishes she could hold both of them to her, protect them, keep them whole. She won’t be whole without them.
Bruce is pulling her hair, licking her throat, his movements losing all sense of rhythm or coherent thought. She buries her hands in his white hair, dancing with him at the edge of the abyss. “I know you loved him too. Don’t follow him yet,” she whispers between panted breaths.
He smiles against her skin, moving back to meet her gaze. For a moment, he looks whole, his eyes crystal clear. “Don’t stay behind, Di. Come with me.”
She smiles back, biting her lower lip. They close their eyes, welcoming rapture. The crystal breaks, and Diana follows her long lost Knight into the abyss, the ghost of Kal in the electric current going through them as thundering pleasure.
Entangled in each other’s arms, she can feel the electric sparks at the tip of her fingers, running through her skin, amplifying everywhere her body meets Bruce’s. They kiss again, both feeling the presence that is missing in the space between them.
If Arthur is right, they will join Clark soon. They will be whole again, and with such a prize before them, there is nothing that can stop them. Darkseid has already lost.
Bruce shivers in her arms, and she holds her mirage close to keep him from disappearing.
He holds her back.
Anyway, electric Superman is dead, Batman has spent the last 8 years being tortured by Desaad and seeing his other captured friends die and pretty much having a horrible time. But he still kicks butt and overthrows Desaad and pretends to be him. Diana has been fighting and kicking ass on Earth, fighting the zombiefied Darkseid minions, with the remaining heroes.
I felt like writing Trinity, but Clark was dead, so.. uh... Clark isn't actually here, here. Just. Kind of here. Anyway! I should be doing homework (or leaving fb...) but I got distracted by the smutlet... unbetaed! point, I correct!
Title: Mirage
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Bruce/Diana, Bruce/Diana/Clark, Clark/Lois implied
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 2400+
Summary: Wonder Woman and Batman are reunited for the final battle, but there's still one link missing.
The door closes behind her and Diana leans against it, her eyes going over the dark figure before her. Kevlar and leather cover powerful muscles, the cape falling from wide shoulders and swaying all the way to the floor.
He’s a mirage of days long gone. For a moment, she can focus on the black clad figure, narrow the world to just here and now, leaving the pain out of the equation… then he shivers, and she darts forwards, catching herself fearing he might disappear, shimmering out of existence like an illusion. She stops two steps behind him and bows her head, a small smile on her lips.
Neither of them can truly leave pain out of the equation.
Batman’s hands support him as he leans over the desk, the line of his shoulders going slightly less guarded -not entirely, but Diana can’t blame him- as he takes a deep breath. Diana closes the gap between them, putting her hands on his shoulders, her movements deliberate and slow, moving them close to his neck to pull at the cowl. His breath catches; his body taut as his every instinct tells him she’s dangerous, telling him to move and attack to try to survive. The Amazon smiles fondly as she sees him ignore his instincts, letting her pull at the cowl, exposing stark white hair, a metaphor of the man himself.
Behind the shadows, beneath the silences, he has always been a passionate man, the flame burning inside him bright behind curtains and walls. Her gauntleted hands -roughened by time and necessity, and she can’t help but wish they could have all been spared those horrors- run over his neck, fingers lightly touching the vulnerable spots as they go down his chest, tracing the insignia she hasn’t seen in almost a decade, settling in a hug that brings him to her. His breathing is irregular and she can smell his fear mixing with the musk of desire.
She rests her chin on his shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re alive,” she whispers. “Bruce.” She says his name slowly, carefully. He trembles again. Diana knows no one has called him that in years, knows his body trembles not because he wants her, but because he can no longer still the pain.
Another battle wound, one that starts in his mind and ends in his shaking hands.
He takes a deep breath, the trembling subsiding. “I’m… glad you’re alive too, Princess. I feared… that perhaps I would not see you, any of you, again.” His voice is deep and gravely, the voice of the Bat. Diana kisses his neck, wondering if he still remembers what Bruce sounds like, if the softer, gentler parts of him have not been completely destroyed.
“Some Princess. My mother, my sisters… Themiscyra. All gone.” Her own voice is rough from grief, the softer tones of the woman Bruce remembers have long been replaced by battle cries and steel. Diana hopes, wishes, that they both might recover a piece of themselves from this wreck.
Bruce turns in her embrace, his arms going around her waist almost shyly. Diana wonders if he has touched anyone with any intent other than to hurt since they last saw each other. “We must fix this. This can’t… it can’t be the end, Diana.”
“I don’t think there’s much left to fix, Bruce. But if Arthur’s right…”
He looks down, lost in thought. “If Arthur’s right we’ll be erased from existence. All we have done, all we have gone through.” He laughs lowly. “I want him to be right so much, Princess. But we must fight like he’s not. We can’t leave Earth unprotected.” He smiles, a rueful smile. “Well, whatever is left of Earth, I mean.”
He faces pain with a bleak sense of humor she remembers well, and she can’t help but smile back. His hands run up her back to tug at her helmet. She lowers her head, letting him take it off and put it over the desk, the gold even brighter in his dark gauntleted hands. Her fingers spread on his lower back, her heavy gloves cold against his warmth. He pulls her chainmail back, revealing the raven black hair, and fingers the rings that encase her waist-long tail. Diana wants to tell him there’s not enough time for that, and she wants to have time for other things; she wants to touch him and talk with him and remember all the things that have been good between them, but Bruce seems captivated by her hair and she can’t seem to deny him this simple luxury.
He takes his time, slowly working the rings off. She studies his face, the deep lines telling a story of duress. There’re wrinkles in his forehead where he frowns when he thinks and scowls, his cheekbones so sharp she can’t resist running her fingers over them, over the hollowed cheeks, the scar that runs down all the way to his jaw. His eyes return to hers, and they are sharp like blades. A cascade of black hair falls down her back and frames her own hardened features. Bruce smiles, an old fire lighting up in his dark brown eyes.
“Princess,” he murmurs. Diana knows she’s as much a vision to him as he is to her, and feels the tug of urgency. They don’t have much time, no time at all.
She will steal time from the world for this moment.
She leans forward and kisses him, their lips meeting hungrily. He shudders in her embrace, every muscle tense. She’s too close, too dangerous. Diana presses on, pushing him down the desk, climbing over him and pinning his body to the cold metal surface. His tongue tangles with hers; his armor is cool and hard to the touch, protecting the warm and vulnerable flesh. Diana needs to get rid of the armor, leave the barriers behind and be vulnerable and warm once more, maybe just once. She thinks Bruce needs that too, even as he tenses when she pulls the armor off. Her gloved fingers run cold paths on his scarred skin, the metal slowly drawing from his warmth. Diana’s hands can kill, they always could, but it’s been a long time since she lived in a world innocent enough where the final judgments were left to the people and not to them. They hadn’t been judges, juries and executioners; they had never wanted to be.
She breaks the kiss, pressed tight against him, her gauntleted hands cradling his face, his own buried in her hair. “I miss Clark,” she whispers.
Bruce chuckles. Diana can’t help but join him, laughing breathlessly. Before, when things were… right, it had always been the three of them. She had always had her loyal boys, Bruce had always had his flying angels, Clark had always had his stubborn warriors. They had tangled themselves so deeply together that losing them had been a great weight over Diana’s heart all those years, fighting alone and in small groups, never entirely certain someone had her back, that she wouldn’t be double crossed.
“I miss Clark too. I’ve missed him… a lot. I’m sorry I wasn’t… I’m sorry we left you alone,” he says. Diana wonders about his pauses, if there are things he doesn’t dare say, or if he needs a moment to gather the courage to say them.
“I’m sorry for never coming to get you,” she says, getting rid of his gloves. He lets her, allows her to take his armor and protection away, trusting her as he always has.
“It was a fool’s errand. Better that you didn’t. You would have ended… like the others. Or like me,” he says, finding a way under her armor, his sweat dampened hands caressing her back, skin on skin.
“We would have found a way out of it.” Diana knows they can’t be stopped when they are together. When they had Clark, there had been no room for failure. It had been almost magical, a blessing of the Gods she no longer thinks can hear her. “Is it selfish that I wish he hadn’t… given up?” She asks, her voice a whisper. A large callused hand has found her breasts under the armor, and he’s fondling her idly. She lets her own hand guide him, encouraging him. He seems lost in thought.
“He did what he had to do, and it was more than he could take. Back then… I can understand why it broke him.” Bruce sighs, seeming very tired. “In a way, I’m glad he didn’t live to see this, Princess… that he didn’t have to face... everything that came next.” He rubs his face with his free hand.
“I know,” Diana nestles her head on his shoulder, curling on top of him, and finds a pulse point on his neck, sucking at it.
Bruce swallows loudly as she brings his thoughts back to the matter at hand. “But as for being selfish… wishing won’t bring him back. We can afford to be selfish.” He rubs one nipple, pinching the sensitive nub until it hardens, moving back and forth from one breast to the other. His free hand rests on her thigh over the chain mail, warm fingers over cold steel.
She licks the spot she has been sucking, traces a path to the hollow of his throat, and he gasps. She sits up, straddling him and bending forwards to resume the sucking of the pale flesh exposed before her, and he pulls at her chain mail, finding the clasps that keep it in place.
“He would have insisted we went to find you,” she says as he pulls the armor off, leaving both of them half naked. “He loved you very much.”
Bruce closes his eyes, his smile pained. “I know. He would have convinced you, even thought you knew it was a stupid idea.” He opens his eyes again, dark brown meeting deep blue. “You would have followed him. You… loved him.”
“I loved you too,” she whispers. “I still do.”
He pulls her closer; she can feel him hard underneath the leather. It’s been years since she last drove Bruce to incoherence, since she last pulled both her boys close to her. They had been playful and free, had never asked anything from each other but what was freely offered. Bruce had been hers, theirs, just as she had been his and Clark’s, belonging to the circle of their arms for a minute or an hour before they had to belong to the world again.
When Clark married, Bruce and Diana had quietly supposed he would not return to their arms again. He loved Lois, belonged to her, wanted the world to know he had found his mate. Bruce and Diana wanted him to be happy, and he left them with their blessing.
They never thought he would return to them, which made his comeback all the more cherished. If Lois knew or not, Diana never asked. She doesn’t think Bruce did either. What they were to each other was hard to explain, so they barely spoke about it. They really didn’t need the words, knowing that they had their backs.
Their kiss is long and luxurious, Bruce’s hands running up and down her back. She hasn’t shed her gloves -she might not shed them at all, the way the steel makes Bruce shiver is entirely too tempting, but she wants to feel him, touch him. Her hands are as callused as his, rough, strong and demanding. She feels her blood heat, molten iron under soft skin and hard muscle, layers of armor over vulnerable flesh, armor over hidden wounds.
In a frenzy of caresses and slow kisses, they leave the external layers of armor behind, chain mail and Kevlar and leather thrown haphazardly to the floor. Diana pins Bruce down, strong hands forcing his shoulders to remain down as she takes him, the invasive feeling like a déjà vu. His hands clench at his sides, waiting for her to find her rhythm, find her own peace with this transgression. Diana’s feelings are a mix of wistful joy and a great desire to destroy this possible threat. She knows Bruce is not the only one who has been rewired to be suspicious of such close contact, and her hands close tightly on his shoulders. She’s in control, every thrust a conscious movement until instinct overrides danger and she throws her head back, her clasp on his shoulders turning into a caress that moves down to his chest. He sits up, meeting her thrusts now, one hand on her waist and another reaching to touch her. She leans forward, pressing against his hand, licking a red mark where her fingers have dig into his shoulders.
They leave another kind of armor behind, and she bites his neck, feeling him tremble and shiver. Bruce has always transformed pain into a weapon, never letting it consume him, but he’s close to unraveling. Diana realizes that whatever happens after this fight, even if they survive, she won’t keep her last mate for long. He’ll join Clark in oblivion, and Diana wishes she could hold both of them to her, protect them, keep them whole. She won’t be whole without them.
Bruce is pulling her hair, licking her throat, his movements losing all sense of rhythm or coherent thought. She buries her hands in his white hair, dancing with him at the edge of the abyss. “I know you loved him too. Don’t follow him yet,” she whispers between panted breaths.
He smiles against her skin, moving back to meet her gaze. For a moment, he looks whole, his eyes crystal clear. “Don’t stay behind, Di. Come with me.”
She smiles back, biting her lower lip. They close their eyes, welcoming rapture. The crystal breaks, and Diana follows her long lost Knight into the abyss, the ghost of Kal in the electric current going through them as thundering pleasure.
Entangled in each other’s arms, she can feel the electric sparks at the tip of her fingers, running through her skin, amplifying everywhere her body meets Bruce’s. They kiss again, both feeling the presence that is missing in the space between them.
If Arthur is right, they will join Clark soon. They will be whole again, and with such a prize before them, there is nothing that can stop them. Darkseid has already lost.
Bruce shivers in her arms, and she holds her mirage close to keep him from disappearing.
He holds her back.