Seven Deadly Sins Fic: Slow Burner - Bruce/Clark, Lois/Clark, PG-13
Summary: Revenge is not a dish best served cold.
The pollen is slow and goes unnoticed even as the last of The Injustice League are swept away in a tornado of betrayal, bad decisions and sheer incompetence.
There is no effect as Clark effortlessly picks both Lex Luthor and Livewire up and personally flies them to The Slab; his ears deaf to their extensive assortment of insults and promises of retribution.
There is no noticeable change in Bruce’s behaviour as he wordlessly hands over the unconscious bodies of a few of his most dangerous enemies to the GCPD; his mind already preparing for their next schemes.
If the stolen glances and lingering touches are noticed by their teammates at the debriefing later on, they are not remarked upon.
Back in Gotham City, deep with the confines of The Batcave, Bruce efficiently updates his files on Rupert Thorne. Meticulously, Bruce pays special attention to the mobster’s dealings in and around Metropolis. He isn’t sure why.
In Metropolis, Clark can’t settle down for evening. He is restless and agitated for no reason that he can fathom. In a moment of exasperation, Lois suggests a quick midnight flight several times around the planet to get rid of all the excess energy. Unthinkingly he does so without a word, unsure as to why he repeatedly cuts through Gotham air space despite Bruce’s warnings regarding metas in his city.
Just before dawn, Bruce climbs into his bed and dreams of earnest eyes and firm, steady hands and warm passionate kisses. He wakes before the climax, the familiar face rapidly fading from his mind. Disconcerted, he marches into the shower and tries to wash the unexpected and unwelcome feelings out from under his skin.
After sunrise, Clark wakes and shakes images of brooding blue orbs, urgent fingers and grazing teeth from his memory. Unsettled, he turns to his wife for comfort but her tender kisses and loving arms do little to quash the flames burning within the pit of his stomach.
A week later at the next JLA meeting, angry, resentful gazes are held and irate voices are raised. Both are noticed by their fellow teammates, yet not commented upon.
Later on that evening, out on patrol, Bruce takes out all his frustrations, all of his fury, all of his unspoken yearnings out on a henchman who just wasn’t quick enough to get away.
At the same time in Metropolis, Clark stares dully at his confused wife after their latest argument. Resenting everything she is, was and ever will be. There are moments when he almost hates her for not being him.
In the rec room at Arkham Asylum, Poison Ivy casts a casual glance over at the calendar and smiles cruelly to herself. Revenge is not a dish best served cold, but pre-planned.
The pollen is slow and goes unnoticed even as the last of The Injustice League are swept away in a tornado of betrayal, bad decisions and sheer incompetence.
There is no effect as Clark effortlessly picks both Lex Luthor and Livewire up and personally flies them to The Slab; his ears deaf to their extensive assortment of insults and promises of retribution.
There is no noticeable change in Bruce’s behaviour as he wordlessly hands over the unconscious bodies of a few of his most dangerous enemies to the GCPD; his mind already preparing for their next schemes.
If the stolen glances and lingering touches are noticed by their teammates at the debriefing later on, they are not remarked upon.
Back in Gotham City, deep with the confines of The Batcave, Bruce efficiently updates his files on Rupert Thorne. Meticulously, Bruce pays special attention to the mobster’s dealings in and around Metropolis. He isn’t sure why.
In Metropolis, Clark can’t settle down for evening. He is restless and agitated for no reason that he can fathom. In a moment of exasperation, Lois suggests a quick midnight flight several times around the planet to get rid of all the excess energy. Unthinkingly he does so without a word, unsure as to why he repeatedly cuts through Gotham air space despite Bruce’s warnings regarding metas in his city.
Just before dawn, Bruce climbs into his bed and dreams of earnest eyes and firm, steady hands and warm passionate kisses. He wakes before the climax, the familiar face rapidly fading from his mind. Disconcerted, he marches into the shower and tries to wash the unexpected and unwelcome feelings out from under his skin.
After sunrise, Clark wakes and shakes images of brooding blue orbs, urgent fingers and grazing teeth from his memory. Unsettled, he turns to his wife for comfort but her tender kisses and loving arms do little to quash the flames burning within the pit of his stomach.
A week later at the next JLA meeting, angry, resentful gazes are held and irate voices are raised. Both are noticed by their fellow teammates, yet not commented upon.
Later on that evening, out on patrol, Bruce takes out all his frustrations, all of his fury, all of his unspoken yearnings out on a henchman who just wasn’t quick enough to get away.
At the same time in Metropolis, Clark stares dully at his confused wife after their latest argument. Resenting everything she is, was and ever will be. There are moments when he almost hates her for not being him.
In the rec room at Arkham Asylum, Poison Ivy casts a casual glance over at the calendar and smiles cruelly to herself. Revenge is not a dish best served cold, but pre-planned.