Fic: Rainbow's Freedom (Shadow Of The Bat Arc) (30/35)
Title: Rainbow’s Freedom (Shadow Of The Bat Arc) (30/35)
Author: BradyGirl
Pairings/Characters: (this chapter): Clark/Bruce, Alfred
Series Notes: In the 23rd century, Earth is a technologically-advanced society that practices the ancient institution of slavery. The wealthy freeman Bruce Wayne acquires a highly-prized pleasure slave whom has fallen in love with him…but can the Prince of Gotham ever return that love? And will it all be moot as a weak abolitionist movement slowly gathers strength while the Galactic Empire remains in a perpetual state of Cold War? The entire series can be found here.
Categories: Drama, AU
Rating: (this chapter): PG-13
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Summary: The storm hits.
Date Of Completion (First Draft): July 26, 2007
Date Of Posting: December 14, 2007
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 1246
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Stormy seas,
To thy knees,
Scream thy pain,
Let it rain.
Emily Adams Cutler
“Yellow Roses And Other Poems”
1859 C.E.
XXX
…TO THY KNEES
Clark riffled through the book, trying to find his place as he emerged from the bedroom.
“Damnit!”
He turned at Bruce’s snarl, shocked at the speed of Bruce as his Master grabbed him, wincing as his head slammed against the wall. His dull headache blossomed into fiery pain.
Bruce’s face was inches from his own, the smell of alcohol on his breath. Clark held the book tight to his chest, a skitter of fear running through him. The lights flickered for an instant.
Face contorted with rage, Bruce ground out, “Didn’t I tell you to stay out of my room?” He pulled Clark to him, then slammed him against the wall again.
“I’m…I’m sorry, Master.”
“’Sorry’ doesn’t cut it, Clark. You’ve got a bad habit of disobedience. And I really don’t need a pleasure slave anymore.”
“Master, please…”
“Enough!” Bruce thundered. “I’m…I’m tired of you! I need my peace back! I can’t do this anymore!” A final slam knocked the book out of Clark’s hand and it thudded to the floor. The wind howled as the windows rattled. “I’m putting you on the block!”
Bruce let Clark go, then turned and strode away.
Shock washed over Clark. “No, Master, please! Don’t send me away!”
What he had feared at the edges of his mind had come horribly true. Terror welled up in him as he thought of being put back in the slavers’ hands, the unknown of an auction, leaving Wayne Manor where he felt safe, and most of all, leaving Bruce.
He started forward, stumbling as a wave of dizziness hit him, sending him crashing to his knees with a jolt of pain. His hand stretched out beseechingly.
“Master, please,” he begged softly.
Was that a split-second of hesitation?
But Bruce did not turn around.
Clark had not cried when he had been tortured and humiliated by the slavers.
He had not cried as he had suffered the same fate at the hands of the Knickerbocker Hall guards.
He had not cried during the humiliation of the auction, exposed for all to see.
He had built up walls, necessary survival for a slave, enabling him to get up and face the day every morning, keep him going in a world that despised and humiliated him, his only refuge here at Wayne Manor, in the arms of Bruce Wayne…
…until now.
The dam broke: great, tearing, sobs cascading over crumbling walls…
& & & & & &
Bruce saw red. He climbed the grand staircase, cursing the pain in his leg.
As he reached the top, he saw Clark emerging from his bedroom. Tired of being angry with himself, he focused his anger on Clark.
Driven by rage, he pounced. He saw Clark wince as his head bounced against the wall. The lights flickered as he saw a flash of fear in Clark’s eyes.
That vulnerability angered Bruce even more.
I can’t protect him. I can’t protect anybody!
He heard the roar of gunfire and screams in the dark alley that haunted his dreams…
“Didn’t I tell you to stay out of my room?” He slammed Clark against the wall again.
“I’m…I’m sorry, Master.”
“’Sorry’ doesn’t cut it, Clark. You’ve got a bad habit of disobedience. And I really don’t need a pleasure slave anymore.”
He felt sick as he saw the growing fear in his slave’s eyes.
“Master, please…”
“Enough!” He was dimly aware of the storm raging against the house. It felt as if a storm was raging inside him, carrying him along on waves of fury that he couldn’t control. “I’m…I’m tired of you! I need my peace back. I can’t do this anymore!” As if the hands belonged to someone else, he slammed Clark against the wall a final time. The wind shrieked as something screamed inside of him, blazing through him like cold fire. “I’m putting you on the block!”
Bruce turned away. Dimly he heard Clark’s pleas but resolutely ignored him.
It was for the best, really, for the best. He would call Ollie and see if he would take Clark right away. Clark was better off without him. He didn’t need a crazy man for a Master.
He had never raised a hand in anger to a slave in his life, and he just done so three times to Clark! Sick with guilt he grasped at straws: he couldn’t stay focused as Batman if he was in love, his family’s reputation was teetering on the edge of his weakness, and Clark was at such great risk that he would be far safer in Star City.
It was for the best.
And maybe Clark would hate him enough now not to regret leaving.
Guilty over threatening Clark with the block, he almost turned back to assure him that it would be a private sale, but decided against it. He was truly frightened of what he would do next unless he got his rage under control. He had to cool off. Once he arranged things with Ollie and calmed down, he would face Clark and tell him that he would not be going on the block with all of its humiliations and uncertainties.
He heard the soft plea behind him even over the sound of the howling wind.
“Master, please.”
He nearly turned around but squared his shoulders. He had to stick to his decision. Clark would be safe (away from him); it was all for the best, really, he sucked at love and would hurt Clark over and over again, he had to keep him safe…
An agonized sound made him turn around.
For the second time in his life, his heart broke.
He ran back, all his carefully-ordered arguments and rationalizations melting away as he slid to his knees, putting his arm around Clark as his slave grabbed his other arm, clinging to him as he sobbed, “Please don’t send me away! Please, Master! I’m sorry! Don’t send me away!”
“I won’t; I promise; I’m so sorry…”
Bruce knew that he was lost. He couldn’t fight it anymore. Tears began to stream down his face as Clark cried out his terror and desperation.
Bruce stroked his hair, rubbed his back, and rocked back and forth with him as he pleaded, “I’m sorry; I love you; I’ll never sell you; forgive me…”
& & & & & &
Alfred quietly walked up the stairs and to the master bedroom. He nudged the door open and peered in.
An exhausted Bruce and Clark lay on the bed on top of the coverlet, holding each other as they slept, both with tear-stained faces.
It was all right, though. The building tension had finally reached a crescendo and broken in the storm of tears that matched the autumn storm that had by now lessened its fury. Rain still pelted the windows but it wasn’t as violent anymore.
Alfred withdrew, picking up the fallen book that had triggered the explosion. He went downstairs to the kitchen, almost whistling.
After such emotional catharsis, perhaps they would want only a light meal. Or perhaps they would be ravenous. At any rate, he would prepare something light and if necessary, whip up something more. After all, that was what microwaves were for.
There was a great deal that the two had to work out, but his boys would be all right now.
Author: BradyGirl
Pairings/Characters: (this chapter): Clark/Bruce, Alfred
Series Notes: In the 23rd century, Earth is a technologically-advanced society that practices the ancient institution of slavery. The wealthy freeman Bruce Wayne acquires a highly-prized pleasure slave whom has fallen in love with him…but can the Prince of Gotham ever return that love? And will it all be moot as a weak abolitionist movement slowly gathers strength while the Galactic Empire remains in a perpetual state of Cold War? The entire series can be found here.
Categories: Drama, AU
Rating: (this chapter): PG-13
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Summary: The storm hits.
Date Of Completion (First Draft): July 26, 2007
Date Of Posting: December 14, 2007
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 1246
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Stormy seas,
To thy knees,
Scream thy pain,
Let it rain.
Emily Adams Cutler
“Yellow Roses And Other Poems”
1859 C.E.
XXX
…TO THY KNEES
Clark riffled through the book, trying to find his place as he emerged from the bedroom.
“Damnit!”
He turned at Bruce’s snarl, shocked at the speed of Bruce as his Master grabbed him, wincing as his head slammed against the wall. His dull headache blossomed into fiery pain.
Bruce’s face was inches from his own, the smell of alcohol on his breath. Clark held the book tight to his chest, a skitter of fear running through him. The lights flickered for an instant.
Face contorted with rage, Bruce ground out, “Didn’t I tell you to stay out of my room?” He pulled Clark to him, then slammed him against the wall again.
“I’m…I’m sorry, Master.”
“’Sorry’ doesn’t cut it, Clark. You’ve got a bad habit of disobedience. And I really don’t need a pleasure slave anymore.”
“Master, please…”
“Enough!” Bruce thundered. “I’m…I’m tired of you! I need my peace back! I can’t do this anymore!” A final slam knocked the book out of Clark’s hand and it thudded to the floor. The wind howled as the windows rattled. “I’m putting you on the block!”
Bruce let Clark go, then turned and strode away.
Shock washed over Clark. “No, Master, please! Don’t send me away!”
What he had feared at the edges of his mind had come horribly true. Terror welled up in him as he thought of being put back in the slavers’ hands, the unknown of an auction, leaving Wayne Manor where he felt safe, and most of all, leaving Bruce.
He started forward, stumbling as a wave of dizziness hit him, sending him crashing to his knees with a jolt of pain. His hand stretched out beseechingly.
“Master, please,” he begged softly.
Was that a split-second of hesitation?
But Bruce did not turn around.
Clark had not cried when he had been tortured and humiliated by the slavers.
He had not cried as he had suffered the same fate at the hands of the Knickerbocker Hall guards.
He had not cried during the humiliation of the auction, exposed for all to see.
He had built up walls, necessary survival for a slave, enabling him to get up and face the day every morning, keep him going in a world that despised and humiliated him, his only refuge here at Wayne Manor, in the arms of Bruce Wayne…
…until now.
The dam broke: great, tearing, sobs cascading over crumbling walls…
& & & & & &
Bruce saw red. He climbed the grand staircase, cursing the pain in his leg.
As he reached the top, he saw Clark emerging from his bedroom. Tired of being angry with himself, he focused his anger on Clark.
Driven by rage, he pounced. He saw Clark wince as his head bounced against the wall. The lights flickered as he saw a flash of fear in Clark’s eyes.
That vulnerability angered Bruce even more.
I can’t protect him. I can’t protect anybody!
He heard the roar of gunfire and screams in the dark alley that haunted his dreams…
“Didn’t I tell you to stay out of my room?” He slammed Clark against the wall again.
“I’m…I’m sorry, Master.”
“’Sorry’ doesn’t cut it, Clark. You’ve got a bad habit of disobedience. And I really don’t need a pleasure slave anymore.”
He felt sick as he saw the growing fear in his slave’s eyes.
“Master, please…”
“Enough!” He was dimly aware of the storm raging against the house. It felt as if a storm was raging inside him, carrying him along on waves of fury that he couldn’t control. “I’m…I’m tired of you! I need my peace back. I can’t do this anymore!” As if the hands belonged to someone else, he slammed Clark against the wall a final time. The wind shrieked as something screamed inside of him, blazing through him like cold fire. “I’m putting you on the block!”
Bruce turned away. Dimly he heard Clark’s pleas but resolutely ignored him.
It was for the best, really, for the best. He would call Ollie and see if he would take Clark right away. Clark was better off without him. He didn’t need a crazy man for a Master.
He had never raised a hand in anger to a slave in his life, and he just done so three times to Clark! Sick with guilt he grasped at straws: he couldn’t stay focused as Batman if he was in love, his family’s reputation was teetering on the edge of his weakness, and Clark was at such great risk that he would be far safer in Star City.
It was for the best.
And maybe Clark would hate him enough now not to regret leaving.
Guilty over threatening Clark with the block, he almost turned back to assure him that it would be a private sale, but decided against it. He was truly frightened of what he would do next unless he got his rage under control. He had to cool off. Once he arranged things with Ollie and calmed down, he would face Clark and tell him that he would not be going on the block with all of its humiliations and uncertainties.
He heard the soft plea behind him even over the sound of the howling wind.
“Master, please.”
He nearly turned around but squared his shoulders. He had to stick to his decision. Clark would be safe (away from him); it was all for the best, really, he sucked at love and would hurt Clark over and over again, he had to keep him safe…
An agonized sound made him turn around.
For the second time in his life, his heart broke.
He ran back, all his carefully-ordered arguments and rationalizations melting away as he slid to his knees, putting his arm around Clark as his slave grabbed his other arm, clinging to him as he sobbed, “Please don’t send me away! Please, Master! I’m sorry! Don’t send me away!”
“I won’t; I promise; I’m so sorry…”
Bruce knew that he was lost. He couldn’t fight it anymore. Tears began to stream down his face as Clark cried out his terror and desperation.
Bruce stroked his hair, rubbed his back, and rocked back and forth with him as he pleaded, “I’m sorry; I love you; I’ll never sell you; forgive me…”
& & & & & &
Alfred quietly walked up the stairs and to the master bedroom. He nudged the door open and peered in.
An exhausted Bruce and Clark lay on the bed on top of the coverlet, holding each other as they slept, both with tear-stained faces.
It was all right, though. The building tension had finally reached a crescendo and broken in the storm of tears that matched the autumn storm that had by now lessened its fury. Rain still pelted the windows but it wasn’t as violent anymore.
Alfred withdrew, picking up the fallen book that had triggered the explosion. He went downstairs to the kitchen, almost whistling.
After such emotional catharsis, perhaps they would want only a light meal. Or perhaps they would be ravenous. At any rate, he would prepare something light and if necessary, whip up something more. After all, that was what microwaves were for.
There was a great deal that the two had to work out, but his boys would be all right now.