FIC: The Circuit Closes (Bruce/Clark/Lois, NC-17)
Title: The Circuit Closes
Characters: Bruce/Clark/Lois
Disclaimer: They belong to DC and to each other, but not to me.
Words: 1600
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Lois confronts Bruce and Clark about their new soul-link, with the inevitable outcome.
What has gone before: "Perversions," "Right," and "Private Thoughts."
"You're saying what?" Lois Lane heard her voice spiral up into anger and tried to tamp it back down. Bruce Wayne was leaning against their television cabinet, his handsome features half smirking and half something Lois couldn't place. Across the room, Clark Kent was sitting on their sofa, eyes wary. Lois was facing down Bruce like an angry cat, feeling impotent fury taut and tense in her body.
"I'm saying that apparently our cherished Kryptonian--" Bruce's sea-dark eyes flicked toward the sofa and Lois felt her breath catch at the adjective, half-joking, all serious, "--has, wisely or not, created a soul-bond between the three of us."
"I didn't mean to," Clark said like a chastised child.
Fury running through her. Fury and not lust. She hated Bruce Wayne, the manipulative bastard, and damned if she was going to share Clark with him. "So what the hell do we do now? How do we break it?"
Bruce looked at her. His eyes ran down her frame, almost insultingly intimate. "We don't do anything. At least, not anything to break it. It's probably not possible." He met her eyes levelly, all trace of the playboy obliterated. "And I don't want to. I want this. I want you." The pronoun was clearly both singular and plural, and Lois felt her pulse hammer harder. She fought an urge to cross the room and try and slap the arrogant bastard. It would be useless to even try, and once he blocked her blow, once he touched her...Lois put her hands behind her back and felt her fingernails digging into her wrist.
Bruce was continuing as if he had no idea how much Lois was struggling, as if this was a sane conversation. "You and I are going to complete the triangle."
"Complete..." Lois could feel Clark's eyes on her, bright and clear.
Bruce took one step toward her. His eyes glinted. "Clark's fucked both of us." Clark made a small sound at the language, half-protest, half-yearning. "Now it's our turn."
"You think you're going to just walk into our apartment and announce that you're going to...to fuck me right in front of my husband." She shouldn't have used that verb. She wanted to say it again, to watch the answering fire spark in his eyes, to hear Clark's breath hitch.
"That's a good summary," said Bruce dryly. Another step closer to her. She held her ground. She wasn't going to fall back from him.
"Why's it got to be you fucking me?" she challenged, "I could fuck you."
The light in his eyes was terrifying. "Do you and Mr. Moderate have a strap-on readily available?" he asked. Another step. He was almost close enough to touch her now. Clark was still just watching.
She dropped her eyes, cursing herself for letting him psych her out. "No," she said grudgingly.
A very low chuckle. "Well, I'll just have to buy us one, then. For later."
She looked up to stare at him and he reached out and brushed a finger across the side of her face for a fraction of an instant.
The circuit snapped closed and she felt energy, desire, lust burn through her body, multiplied threefold. She heard herself moan something and then she was up against him, fierce and hungry, the mental ecstasy more overpowering than the physical. God, how she had needed this, how she had wanted this...
They managed to stagger to the sofa, buttons flying as Lois ripped at Bruce's shirt, cursing when they didn't give immediately. They collapsed onto the sofa and across Clark's lap, Lois ending up with her shoulders across her husband's legs, staring up into his wide turquoise eyes as Bruce pulled her shirt up, unfastened her bra with the ease of long practice, and bent his dark head to her breasts. "Clark," she moaned as she felt the tongue and the teeth closing on her nipple, felt a brief worry that she had said the wrong name, realized it didn't matter, they were all together now and there were no wrong names, none at all.
Clark's eyes were heavy with lust, not entirely human at all. He reached out and put one hand on the back of Bruce's head, caressing the dark hair, staring down at Lois. In her mind, Lois could feel his pleasure, his sense of rightness. It was alien, more alien than she had ever imagined, but intoxicatingly so--heady, rich, ecstatic. Beautiful. His thoughts stroked across their human minds like trailing flame, filled with certainty. He had both of them now. He was going to make them both happy. So happy. He could make them feel this--pleasure abruptly spiked through Lois, impossibly intense, and she cried out in perfect unison with Bruce. The presence in her mind sparkled with delight, with a questioning tone: was that good?
"Yes...." Lois heard her voice twined with Bruce's, aching. She felt a sudden thought cross her mind, that she wished her husband would hold her down, pin her wrists above her head so she couldn't move, couldn't do anything but be right here, right in this moment.
Even as she thought it, a warm hand circled her wrists together, pulled her arms up and held her to the sofa.
Clark had never done that to her, Clark would never dare without knowing she wanted to, and she had never said it, never, never...she pulled wildly on the impossibly strong hands, her body bucking, but her shattered pleasure echoed through the link, undeniable, and Kal didn't let go.
Lois went limp and closed her eyes, dizzy at the triple sensations running through her: Kal's possessive delight, Bruce's desperate need, her own shocked pleasure. She felt Bruce pulling her slacks down, heard him fumbling with his own belt buckle and wrestling with some cellophane, then cursing slightly when he dropped it. "Relax, Bruce," her husband said, laughing slightly.
"Relax, the man says relax," Bruce growled. Sounds of a small package being opened. Bruce's ragged breathing.
"Let me help you with that," said Kal softly, reaching out with the hand that wasn't still holding down Lois. Bruce tensed and Lois could feel, surreally sharp, the sensation of Kal's hand stroking down an organ she didn't have, so that's what it felt like, ah...she twisted and brought her hips up against Bruce as hard as she could manage, desperate to make contact with the erection she could feel hot under Kal's hand, hot in Bruce's mind.
Bruce laughed, low and husky. "Oh, Lois," he said, "Aren't we lucky he likes his lovers impossibly demanding and unpleasant?"
She opened her eyes to glare at him, but when she met his azure gaze she found nothing there but affection and ironic self-awareness, and she found herself grinning in return, the circuit closing in another way. "Just get around to fucking me, loverboy," she said as haughtily as possible while pinned to her husband's lap. "Or are you planning on chickening out?"
The mental link shaded and slanted her words into what she really meant, and she felt both warmth and panic at realizing she could never get away with bravado or bluffing with them, never again.
Don't leave. Please.
Bruce's mouth was wry and his eyes were gentle. "The goddamn Batman never 'chickens out,' wench."
I'll never leave either of you.
And then they were joined, physically and mentally, Kal's mind stoking the fires in both of them, their pleasure compounding, multiplying, spiraling, there was no end to it, no end, only a pause, a moment of savage ecstasy in which Kal groaned sharply, their names tangled in his mouth. Still held tightly against his lap, Lois felt the muscles of his thighs tense, felt him buck against her, and heard his groan echoed by Bruce and her own voice as they all tumbled over together into bliss.
A long pause in which their breaths resounded hoarsely, perfectly in synch. Lois lifted her head and found her wrists free; Clark's head was lolling back on the couch, Bruce's nestled between her breasts. Clark had his arms stretched out along the back of the sofa. She rubbed at her wrists--although, of course, they didn't hurt--and stretched her arms luxuriously.
Bruce muttered something inarticulate and nuzzled up against her at the movement; Clark swept an arm down and curled it around both of them. "I 'spose we ought to get to the bed if we're going to get some sleep," Clark mumbled, making a vague motion as if to rise.
Lois smiled lazily, savoring the weight of one lover on her, the support of the other beneath her. "Who said anything about sleep?" she said smugly.
Bruce made a blurry sound and raised his head to look at her. "Lois, women may be multi-orgasmic, but Clark and I are not. And I say we're done for the night."
"Oh?" Lois said softly, and reached out along the link, stroking and caressing. Clark and Bruce both made startled noises which trailed off into moans at the end. She rubbed her shoulders against Clark's sudden erection and heard him gasp, turned the sound into a pulse of lust that left all three of them aroused afresh, unsatisfied, wanting.
Lois smiled at Bruce. "And I say we're not."
---
Concluded in "A Cage to Keep Passion In"
Characters: Bruce/Clark/Lois
Disclaimer: They belong to DC and to each other, but not to me.
Words: 1600
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Lois confronts Bruce and Clark about their new soul-link, with the inevitable outcome.
What has gone before: "Perversions," "Right," and "Private Thoughts."
"You're saying what?" Lois Lane heard her voice spiral up into anger and tried to tamp it back down. Bruce Wayne was leaning against their television cabinet, his handsome features half smirking and half something Lois couldn't place. Across the room, Clark Kent was sitting on their sofa, eyes wary. Lois was facing down Bruce like an angry cat, feeling impotent fury taut and tense in her body.
"I'm saying that apparently our cherished Kryptonian--" Bruce's sea-dark eyes flicked toward the sofa and Lois felt her breath catch at the adjective, half-joking, all serious, "--has, wisely or not, created a soul-bond between the three of us."
"I didn't mean to," Clark said like a chastised child.
Fury running through her. Fury and not lust. She hated Bruce Wayne, the manipulative bastard, and damned if she was going to share Clark with him. "So what the hell do we do now? How do we break it?"
Bruce looked at her. His eyes ran down her frame, almost insultingly intimate. "We don't do anything. At least, not anything to break it. It's probably not possible." He met her eyes levelly, all trace of the playboy obliterated. "And I don't want to. I want this. I want you." The pronoun was clearly both singular and plural, and Lois felt her pulse hammer harder. She fought an urge to cross the room and try and slap the arrogant bastard. It would be useless to even try, and once he blocked her blow, once he touched her...Lois put her hands behind her back and felt her fingernails digging into her wrist.
Bruce was continuing as if he had no idea how much Lois was struggling, as if this was a sane conversation. "You and I are going to complete the triangle."
"Complete..." Lois could feel Clark's eyes on her, bright and clear.
Bruce took one step toward her. His eyes glinted. "Clark's fucked both of us." Clark made a small sound at the language, half-protest, half-yearning. "Now it's our turn."
"You think you're going to just walk into our apartment and announce that you're going to...to fuck me right in front of my husband." She shouldn't have used that verb. She wanted to say it again, to watch the answering fire spark in his eyes, to hear Clark's breath hitch.
"That's a good summary," said Bruce dryly. Another step closer to her. She held her ground. She wasn't going to fall back from him.
"Why's it got to be you fucking me?" she challenged, "I could fuck you."
The light in his eyes was terrifying. "Do you and Mr. Moderate have a strap-on readily available?" he asked. Another step. He was almost close enough to touch her now. Clark was still just watching.
She dropped her eyes, cursing herself for letting him psych her out. "No," she said grudgingly.
A very low chuckle. "Well, I'll just have to buy us one, then. For later."
She looked up to stare at him and he reached out and brushed a finger across the side of her face for a fraction of an instant.
The circuit snapped closed and she felt energy, desire, lust burn through her body, multiplied threefold. She heard herself moan something and then she was up against him, fierce and hungry, the mental ecstasy more overpowering than the physical. God, how she had needed this, how she had wanted this...
They managed to stagger to the sofa, buttons flying as Lois ripped at Bruce's shirt, cursing when they didn't give immediately. They collapsed onto the sofa and across Clark's lap, Lois ending up with her shoulders across her husband's legs, staring up into his wide turquoise eyes as Bruce pulled her shirt up, unfastened her bra with the ease of long practice, and bent his dark head to her breasts. "Clark," she moaned as she felt the tongue and the teeth closing on her nipple, felt a brief worry that she had said the wrong name, realized it didn't matter, they were all together now and there were no wrong names, none at all.
Clark's eyes were heavy with lust, not entirely human at all. He reached out and put one hand on the back of Bruce's head, caressing the dark hair, staring down at Lois. In her mind, Lois could feel his pleasure, his sense of rightness. It was alien, more alien than she had ever imagined, but intoxicatingly so--heady, rich, ecstatic. Beautiful. His thoughts stroked across their human minds like trailing flame, filled with certainty. He had both of them now. He was going to make them both happy. So happy. He could make them feel this--pleasure abruptly spiked through Lois, impossibly intense, and she cried out in perfect unison with Bruce. The presence in her mind sparkled with delight, with a questioning tone: was that good?
"Yes...." Lois heard her voice twined with Bruce's, aching. She felt a sudden thought cross her mind, that she wished her husband would hold her down, pin her wrists above her head so she couldn't move, couldn't do anything but be right here, right in this moment.
Even as she thought it, a warm hand circled her wrists together, pulled her arms up and held her to the sofa.
Clark had never done that to her, Clark would never dare without knowing she wanted to, and she had never said it, never, never...she pulled wildly on the impossibly strong hands, her body bucking, but her shattered pleasure echoed through the link, undeniable, and Kal didn't let go.
Lois went limp and closed her eyes, dizzy at the triple sensations running through her: Kal's possessive delight, Bruce's desperate need, her own shocked pleasure. She felt Bruce pulling her slacks down, heard him fumbling with his own belt buckle and wrestling with some cellophane, then cursing slightly when he dropped it. "Relax, Bruce," her husband said, laughing slightly.
"Relax, the man says relax," Bruce growled. Sounds of a small package being opened. Bruce's ragged breathing.
"Let me help you with that," said Kal softly, reaching out with the hand that wasn't still holding down Lois. Bruce tensed and Lois could feel, surreally sharp, the sensation of Kal's hand stroking down an organ she didn't have, so that's what it felt like, ah...she twisted and brought her hips up against Bruce as hard as she could manage, desperate to make contact with the erection she could feel hot under Kal's hand, hot in Bruce's mind.
Bruce laughed, low and husky. "Oh, Lois," he said, "Aren't we lucky he likes his lovers impossibly demanding and unpleasant?"
She opened her eyes to glare at him, but when she met his azure gaze she found nothing there but affection and ironic self-awareness, and she found herself grinning in return, the circuit closing in another way. "Just get around to fucking me, loverboy," she said as haughtily as possible while pinned to her husband's lap. "Or are you planning on chickening out?"
The mental link shaded and slanted her words into what she really meant, and she felt both warmth and panic at realizing she could never get away with bravado or bluffing with them, never again.
Don't leave. Please.
Bruce's mouth was wry and his eyes were gentle. "The goddamn Batman never 'chickens out,' wench."
I'll never leave either of you.
And then they were joined, physically and mentally, Kal's mind stoking the fires in both of them, their pleasure compounding, multiplying, spiraling, there was no end to it, no end, only a pause, a moment of savage ecstasy in which Kal groaned sharply, their names tangled in his mouth. Still held tightly against his lap, Lois felt the muscles of his thighs tense, felt him buck against her, and heard his groan echoed by Bruce and her own voice as they all tumbled over together into bliss.
A long pause in which their breaths resounded hoarsely, perfectly in synch. Lois lifted her head and found her wrists free; Clark's head was lolling back on the couch, Bruce's nestled between her breasts. Clark had his arms stretched out along the back of the sofa. She rubbed at her wrists--although, of course, they didn't hurt--and stretched her arms luxuriously.
Bruce muttered something inarticulate and nuzzled up against her at the movement; Clark swept an arm down and curled it around both of them. "I 'spose we ought to get to the bed if we're going to get some sleep," Clark mumbled, making a vague motion as if to rise.
Lois smiled lazily, savoring the weight of one lover on her, the support of the other beneath her. "Who said anything about sleep?" she said smugly.
Bruce made a blurry sound and raised his head to look at her. "Lois, women may be multi-orgasmic, but Clark and I are not. And I say we're done for the night."
"Oh?" Lois said softly, and reached out along the link, stroking and caressing. Clark and Bruce both made startled noises which trailed off into moans at the end. She rubbed her shoulders against Clark's sudden erection and heard him gasp, turned the sound into a pulse of lust that left all three of them aroused afresh, unsatisfied, wanting.
Lois smiled at Bruce. "And I say we're not."
---
Concluded in "A Cage to Keep Passion In"