FIC: My Best Friend John (2/2)
Title: My Best Friend John (2/2)
Characters: Clark Kent/J'onn J'onnz
Disclaimer: They belong to DC and to each other, but not to me.
Words: 2500
Rating: PG
Summary: The Martian Manhunter gives Superman a crystal to help him sleep better, with unexpected results.
Notes: Written for the DC Appreciation Week (
dc_appreciation) and crossposted at
dca_fic)
(link to Part One)
The Third Night
Clark wandered the streets of Smallville, looking for John. They were supposed to meet tonight, he knew that. Where was he? His reflection glimmered from the store windows as he passed--a gangling adolescent, maybe thirteen or so. He sensed vaguely that there was something strange about that, but he couldn't remember what at the moment. He'd ask John about it when he found him. Everything always made more sense with John around.
He heard the voices coming from a vacant lot before he saw them. "Hey, freak. Freaky kid. You and your weird eyes. You don't belong here, you know."
John's level voice: "I've never done anything to harm you."
A sniggering laugh. "Oh, pussy-boy greeny-eyes is gonna go cry to momma? That whatcha gonna do?"
Clark charged into the lot, his heart pounding. John was there, older now, his freckles more muted and his sandy hair shaggy. He was standing with his hands shoved into the pockets of a well-worn leather jacket, eyes cast down, in front of a group of jeering older boys. "What the hell are you doing?" yelled Clark at the mob, fury driving him past all caution.
John stared at him. The other boys brayed laughter, and the leader swaggered over to Clark. "Oh, it's the weirdo's buddy. Should have known you'd show up to help him. Well, now we can beat you both up together, you little faggo--"
Clark punched him in the nose.
The teen staggered back, howling and clutching at his face. "Get 'em!" he shrieked at the rest of his gang, and Clark found himself with his back to John's, surrounded by angry bullies.
The fight was fairly even; John and Clark were limited in their physical abilities and outnumbered, but had teamwork and righteous rage on their side. They gave about as good as they got, until the older boys backed away and melted into the distance--literally faded away, which made Clark stare and then let out a long breath.
"That's right. This is a dream." He took in John's bruised cheekbone and the streak of blood on his forehead. "Why--why would I dream of people trying to hurt you? I'm so sorry, John!" He felt his lower lip trembling slightly and struggled to compose himself, his young body pitching forward into emotions he had long since learned to reign in.
John's smile was serene and a touch unworldly under bright green eyes. "You didn't dream of people trying to hurt me, Clark. You dreamed of yourself getting to rescue me." He reached out and touched the corner of Clark's eye and Clark winced. "You're going to have quite a--what is it called? A 'shiner' there yourself." Clark tried to look away, but John wouldn't let him, holding his face toward him. "And it was a pretty fun fight, wasn't it?"
Clark started to laugh, a rather shaky laugh. "I guess I needed to blow off some steam, huh?" He took a deep breath, closed his eyes. "All right." He opened them to find the scene had shifted entirely; the two of them were now in an empty campground at night. Cottonwoods and oaks dotted the dim horizon; somewhere an owl hooted softly. Before them was a small firepit filled with twigs and branches.
Clark made a small, delighted noise. "We used to come here sometimes, in the summer. Pa would build a fire and we'd--" he broke off with a chuckle as he found a book of matches in his jeans pocket, then leaned forward to set a match to the kindling.
As the flames licked around the wood, he remembered his companion and looked over quickly to find John staring at the fire. "John, are you--" he asked in alarm, but the other boy shook his head slowly, firelight casting golden glimmers through his pale hair.
"It seems to have no effect on me in this form, in this realm." He drew near, looking into the glowing flames, then reached his hands out tentatively to the fire. "It is...pleasant," he said wonderingly.
Clark opened a cooler that had been sitting, waiting for them, on a nearby picnic table. "Root beers," he said cheerfully, handing a bottle to John. "And check this out." He pulled out a bag of marshmallows, a couple of chocolate bars, and a box of graham crackers. "S'mores!"
"S...mores?" echoed John dubiously.
"Oh trust me, you are going to love these," said Clark smugly. He handed John a sharpened stick that had been resting against the table, opened up the bag and impaled a pillowy white cube on it. "Hold it over the fire, let it toast." Soon the smells of wood smoke mingled with the sweet scent of cooking marshmallow.
John's first try caught fire and dropped into the coals, to his chagrin. "It's easier after the fire burns down a little, no problem," Clark reassured him, grabbing another. He took John's stick from him and slid the hot marshmallow between two graham crackers with a generous slab of chocolate. "Here," he said, holding it out to John eagerly.
The look of bliss on John's face as he consumed the treat was quite rewarding. Clark ate his own and licked his fingers with relish, then made them both another.
The fire was dying down by the time they finished their root beers. "Come here," said Clark, walking off into the darkness. John followed him to find Clark standing near a large, flat-topped granite boulder near the edge of a field. Clark clambered on top of it and laid down, looking up; John followed suit.
The sky above them was a dizzying array of stars, clustered thick and brilliant as gems in the ebony sky. "I used to lie here and wonder where I was from, which direction was home," Clark said softly. He pointed to a reddish light, low on the horizon. "Look...Mars."
He dropped his hand back down and somehow it ended up in John's, their fingers entwined as they looked up into the sky together. The world was very silent and Clark could hear his heart pounding. "Clark," John whispered, almost too low to hear, "I was wondering--"
A sharp buzzing noise. Vaguely Clark realized it was his JLA pager. He sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes, and picked up the pager. "Mm?"
Flash's voice: "Big Blue? We need your help in Star City, pronto. Looks like the Secret Society's reformed and is taking out some pent-up aggression there."
"On my way," said Clark a bit muzzily. He hung up and stared down at his hand. "Damn," he said softly.
: : :
Star City was under siege when Superman arrived, and soon he found himself facing down the Ultra-Humanite, Star Sapphire, Sinestro, and Metallo. No one else seemed to have gotten there yet, and Superman braced himself for the assault, sizing them up.
A voice in his head, rich with affectionate laughter: They're nothing but a bunch of bullies, Clark.
Superman smiled and the four villains fell back a step. He lunged forward.
His back-up would be there soon.
The Fourth Night
J'onn found himself in a long corridor. It appeared to be a high school hallway, dark and silent at night. In the distance he heard music and began to walk toward it. He caught sight of his reflection in a glass trophy case as he went down the hall: John's wary green eyes glittered out at him. He was taller now, with a hollow-chested, gangling slouch, his freckled face solemn. Sixteen, maybe seventeen. He was wearing a plain gray sweatshirt and broken-in jeans. He kept walking.
The music led him to a set of gymnasium doors leaking light and sound into the hall. A banner above the door proclaimed "Smallville Homecoming." There was a table out front with a few high school student at it, marking off names. "Oh, it's John," said one of them as he approached, checking off his name. "Go right on in."
Inside the gym, rock music was blaring and colored lights bounced off the walls and the faces of the crowd. In the middle of the floor, a large group of teenagers banged up against each other in something approximating a dance. John ignored them and scanned the edges of the crowd.
Clark was leaning against a wall in the back, alone, sipping a cup of cider from the concessions stand. He was gazing out at the mob of dancers with a wistful look on his face. John took a long, level breath and walked over to him.
Clark smiled when he saw John: not an abrupt flash of smile, but a slow, delighted smile that lit up his face like a gradual sunrise. The music seemed to fade away so they could hear each other easily over it. "I...wasn't sure you'd come tonight," Clark confessed.
"I wouldn't have missed it for anything," said John.
Clark seemed to realize he was staring at his friend and broke eye contact, looking flustered, to stare back out at the dancers. Then he glanced over at John again as a new song started. "Let's dance," he said, grabbing John by the arm and dragging him out onto the floor.
John stood awkwardly in the middle of the floor. "From my understanding of Earth culture, it is not considered appropriate for two members of the same sex to dance together in your hometown."
Clark's eyes glinted anger and for a moment John could see Kal behind them. "Well, screw Earth culture then. I want to dance with my best friend."
John continued to stand, looking somewhat helpless. "I...do not know how."
"You just...um, like this." The song was a fast one, and Clark started to dance--a rather graceless shuffling of feet like most of the other teens around him. John mimicked his moves and Clark smiled, then moved forward until they were dancing with each other. The crowd on the floor seemed to push them together, their hip bones banging awkwardly and sweetly from time to time, and Clark's smile was luminous and shy.
The music shifted into something slow. All around them couples put their arms around each other to move close together, more like a swaying embrace than a real dance. John started to leave the floor, but somehow found Clark's arms around his waist, nudging John's arms onto his shoulders. "One more dance?" Clark whispered into his ear, leaning close. John smelled soap and a touch of sweat, felt Clark's body against his, and nodded, speechless.
Over the music, two girl's voices caught John's ear. "--no, I wouldn't bother asking Clark to dance, he seems to have found his partner for the night."
The other girl's voice was amused. "It's about time, isn't it? The two of them are practically inseparable, after all. Clark's had a crush on him for ages."
John could feel Clark's neck turning hot with an agonized blush. He didn't dare pull back from the embrace to look the other boy in the face, but he brushed his lips across the heated skin, so lightly that perhaps Clark wouldn't be sure if it was deliberate or not. He felt Clark suck in a gasping breath and tried not to blush too much himself. The mirrored ball above them cast blue and green lights all around, like stars. John closed his eyes and lost himself in the music, in the feel of Clark's arms around him.
As the song ended, Clark stepped back, his face still rather pink, his lips slightly parted. "Let's get out of here," he said abruptly, grabbing at John's hand. "They're doing hayrides outside."
The crisp fall air fanned John's hot cheeks as they stepped outside. There was a tractor with a trailer attached to it, filled with bales of straw and hay, loose piles of fragrant dried grass clumped all around. John and Clark climbed into it, sitting down on one of the bales. No one else seemed to be joining them, and the tractor pulled off with a jerk, trundling slowly into the wooded fields.
John looked up at the sky, feeling Clark's body warm next to him. "This is quite pleasant, but I'm not sure I see the point."
There was a chuckle in Clark's voice. "Well, usually it's an excuse for couples to do a little making out."
"Oh." John felt himself blushing again. The tractor hit a particularly large pothole and he slid off the slippery bale into the loose straw on the floor of the trailer. Clark snickered and John lobbed a handful of hay at him, smacking him right in the face.
"Oh, bring it on, man," said Clark in a mock-snarl, heaving a handful of straw back at John. Soon they were trading off showers of sweet-scented grasses, which somehow turned into a wrestling match. There was hay everywhere, in Clark's dark hair, on his sweater, and somewhere in the tussle, somehow Clark's mouth ended up on his, tasting of apples and cinnamon, and the wrestling was forgotten entirely in the sensation of Clark's mouth, warm and gentle and inviting, his teeth nibbling slightly on John's lower lip, running his tongue across it luxuriously, tasting and caressing, breaths warm and fast in the cool autumn air.
They did nothing but kiss for what seemed like a perfect forever, the steady thrum of the tractor engine seeming to dissolve their bodies together, Clark's mouth all that John needed from the universe, the sweetly dusty scent of hay all around them. Slowly he became aware Clark was whispering hoarsely between kisses, almost to himself. "J'onn...J'onn," and he felt shock run through his body at hearing Clark say his waking name. He opened his eyes slowly to see Clark staring at him, blue eyes luminous in the moonlight, glowing like the earth seen from space. Seen from Mars.
"J'onn," Clark whispered again.
"You..." he wasn't sure how to say it, wasn't sure what the words were. "...Waking, too? Not...just here?"
Clark's mouth was against his again. "Anywhere you want, J'onn. Anywhere, love," he whispered into his mouth, into his soul, and J'onn woke up still tasting the word, feeling it reverberating through him, alone in his bed in Colorado.
He looked down at his emerald skin, felt the night silence around him like a living thing, waiting. "Kal?" he whispered, reaching out with his thoughts as well, and then, "...Clark?"
A whisper of movement and color at his window. J'onn looked over to see the Kryptonian hovering outside, peering in. The bright costume was Superman's, the otherworldly face Kal's.
The eyes, shy and eager, were Clark's.
J'onn walked over to the window and let his best friend in.
Characters: Clark Kent/J'onn J'onnz
Disclaimer: They belong to DC and to each other, but not to me.
Words: 2500
Rating: PG
Summary: The Martian Manhunter gives Superman a crystal to help him sleep better, with unexpected results.
Notes: Written for the DC Appreciation Week (
dc_appreciation) and crossposted at
dca_fic)
(link to Part One)
The Third Night
Clark wandered the streets of Smallville, looking for John. They were supposed to meet tonight, he knew that. Where was he? His reflection glimmered from the store windows as he passed--a gangling adolescent, maybe thirteen or so. He sensed vaguely that there was something strange about that, but he couldn't remember what at the moment. He'd ask John about it when he found him. Everything always made more sense with John around.
He heard the voices coming from a vacant lot before he saw them. "Hey, freak. Freaky kid. You and your weird eyes. You don't belong here, you know."
John's level voice: "I've never done anything to harm you."
A sniggering laugh. "Oh, pussy-boy greeny-eyes is gonna go cry to momma? That whatcha gonna do?"
Clark charged into the lot, his heart pounding. John was there, older now, his freckles more muted and his sandy hair shaggy. He was standing with his hands shoved into the pockets of a well-worn leather jacket, eyes cast down, in front of a group of jeering older boys. "What the hell are you doing?" yelled Clark at the mob, fury driving him past all caution.
John stared at him. The other boys brayed laughter, and the leader swaggered over to Clark. "Oh, it's the weirdo's buddy. Should have known you'd show up to help him. Well, now we can beat you both up together, you little faggo--"
Clark punched him in the nose.
The teen staggered back, howling and clutching at his face. "Get 'em!" he shrieked at the rest of his gang, and Clark found himself with his back to John's, surrounded by angry bullies.
The fight was fairly even; John and Clark were limited in their physical abilities and outnumbered, but had teamwork and righteous rage on their side. They gave about as good as they got, until the older boys backed away and melted into the distance--literally faded away, which made Clark stare and then let out a long breath.
"That's right. This is a dream." He took in John's bruised cheekbone and the streak of blood on his forehead. "Why--why would I dream of people trying to hurt you? I'm so sorry, John!" He felt his lower lip trembling slightly and struggled to compose himself, his young body pitching forward into emotions he had long since learned to reign in.
John's smile was serene and a touch unworldly under bright green eyes. "You didn't dream of people trying to hurt me, Clark. You dreamed of yourself getting to rescue me." He reached out and touched the corner of Clark's eye and Clark winced. "You're going to have quite a--what is it called? A 'shiner' there yourself." Clark tried to look away, but John wouldn't let him, holding his face toward him. "And it was a pretty fun fight, wasn't it?"
Clark started to laugh, a rather shaky laugh. "I guess I needed to blow off some steam, huh?" He took a deep breath, closed his eyes. "All right." He opened them to find the scene had shifted entirely; the two of them were now in an empty campground at night. Cottonwoods and oaks dotted the dim horizon; somewhere an owl hooted softly. Before them was a small firepit filled with twigs and branches.
Clark made a small, delighted noise. "We used to come here sometimes, in the summer. Pa would build a fire and we'd--" he broke off with a chuckle as he found a book of matches in his jeans pocket, then leaned forward to set a match to the kindling.
As the flames licked around the wood, he remembered his companion and looked over quickly to find John staring at the fire. "John, are you--" he asked in alarm, but the other boy shook his head slowly, firelight casting golden glimmers through his pale hair.
"It seems to have no effect on me in this form, in this realm." He drew near, looking into the glowing flames, then reached his hands out tentatively to the fire. "It is...pleasant," he said wonderingly.
Clark opened a cooler that had been sitting, waiting for them, on a nearby picnic table. "Root beers," he said cheerfully, handing a bottle to John. "And check this out." He pulled out a bag of marshmallows, a couple of chocolate bars, and a box of graham crackers. "S'mores!"
"S...mores?" echoed John dubiously.
"Oh trust me, you are going to love these," said Clark smugly. He handed John a sharpened stick that had been resting against the table, opened up the bag and impaled a pillowy white cube on it. "Hold it over the fire, let it toast." Soon the smells of wood smoke mingled with the sweet scent of cooking marshmallow.
John's first try caught fire and dropped into the coals, to his chagrin. "It's easier after the fire burns down a little, no problem," Clark reassured him, grabbing another. He took John's stick from him and slid the hot marshmallow between two graham crackers with a generous slab of chocolate. "Here," he said, holding it out to John eagerly.
The look of bliss on John's face as he consumed the treat was quite rewarding. Clark ate his own and licked his fingers with relish, then made them both another.
The fire was dying down by the time they finished their root beers. "Come here," said Clark, walking off into the darkness. John followed him to find Clark standing near a large, flat-topped granite boulder near the edge of a field. Clark clambered on top of it and laid down, looking up; John followed suit.
The sky above them was a dizzying array of stars, clustered thick and brilliant as gems in the ebony sky. "I used to lie here and wonder where I was from, which direction was home," Clark said softly. He pointed to a reddish light, low on the horizon. "Look...Mars."
He dropped his hand back down and somehow it ended up in John's, their fingers entwined as they looked up into the sky together. The world was very silent and Clark could hear his heart pounding. "Clark," John whispered, almost too low to hear, "I was wondering--"
A sharp buzzing noise. Vaguely Clark realized it was his JLA pager. He sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes, and picked up the pager. "Mm?"
Flash's voice: "Big Blue? We need your help in Star City, pronto. Looks like the Secret Society's reformed and is taking out some pent-up aggression there."
"On my way," said Clark a bit muzzily. He hung up and stared down at his hand. "Damn," he said softly.
: : :
Star City was under siege when Superman arrived, and soon he found himself facing down the Ultra-Humanite, Star Sapphire, Sinestro, and Metallo. No one else seemed to have gotten there yet, and Superman braced himself for the assault, sizing them up.
A voice in his head, rich with affectionate laughter: They're nothing but a bunch of bullies, Clark.
Superman smiled and the four villains fell back a step. He lunged forward.
His back-up would be there soon.
The Fourth Night
J'onn found himself in a long corridor. It appeared to be a high school hallway, dark and silent at night. In the distance he heard music and began to walk toward it. He caught sight of his reflection in a glass trophy case as he went down the hall: John's wary green eyes glittered out at him. He was taller now, with a hollow-chested, gangling slouch, his freckled face solemn. Sixteen, maybe seventeen. He was wearing a plain gray sweatshirt and broken-in jeans. He kept walking.
The music led him to a set of gymnasium doors leaking light and sound into the hall. A banner above the door proclaimed "Smallville Homecoming." There was a table out front with a few high school student at it, marking off names. "Oh, it's John," said one of them as he approached, checking off his name. "Go right on in."
Inside the gym, rock music was blaring and colored lights bounced off the walls and the faces of the crowd. In the middle of the floor, a large group of teenagers banged up against each other in something approximating a dance. John ignored them and scanned the edges of the crowd.
Clark was leaning against a wall in the back, alone, sipping a cup of cider from the concessions stand. He was gazing out at the mob of dancers with a wistful look on his face. John took a long, level breath and walked over to him.
Clark smiled when he saw John: not an abrupt flash of smile, but a slow, delighted smile that lit up his face like a gradual sunrise. The music seemed to fade away so they could hear each other easily over it. "I...wasn't sure you'd come tonight," Clark confessed.
"I wouldn't have missed it for anything," said John.
Clark seemed to realize he was staring at his friend and broke eye contact, looking flustered, to stare back out at the dancers. Then he glanced over at John again as a new song started. "Let's dance," he said, grabbing John by the arm and dragging him out onto the floor.
John stood awkwardly in the middle of the floor. "From my understanding of Earth culture, it is not considered appropriate for two members of the same sex to dance together in your hometown."
Clark's eyes glinted anger and for a moment John could see Kal behind them. "Well, screw Earth culture then. I want to dance with my best friend."
John continued to stand, looking somewhat helpless. "I...do not know how."
"You just...um, like this." The song was a fast one, and Clark started to dance--a rather graceless shuffling of feet like most of the other teens around him. John mimicked his moves and Clark smiled, then moved forward until they were dancing with each other. The crowd on the floor seemed to push them together, their hip bones banging awkwardly and sweetly from time to time, and Clark's smile was luminous and shy.
The music shifted into something slow. All around them couples put their arms around each other to move close together, more like a swaying embrace than a real dance. John started to leave the floor, but somehow found Clark's arms around his waist, nudging John's arms onto his shoulders. "One more dance?" Clark whispered into his ear, leaning close. John smelled soap and a touch of sweat, felt Clark's body against his, and nodded, speechless.
Over the music, two girl's voices caught John's ear. "--no, I wouldn't bother asking Clark to dance, he seems to have found his partner for the night."
The other girl's voice was amused. "It's about time, isn't it? The two of them are practically inseparable, after all. Clark's had a crush on him for ages."
John could feel Clark's neck turning hot with an agonized blush. He didn't dare pull back from the embrace to look the other boy in the face, but he brushed his lips across the heated skin, so lightly that perhaps Clark wouldn't be sure if it was deliberate or not. He felt Clark suck in a gasping breath and tried not to blush too much himself. The mirrored ball above them cast blue and green lights all around, like stars. John closed his eyes and lost himself in the music, in the feel of Clark's arms around him.
As the song ended, Clark stepped back, his face still rather pink, his lips slightly parted. "Let's get out of here," he said abruptly, grabbing at John's hand. "They're doing hayrides outside."
The crisp fall air fanned John's hot cheeks as they stepped outside. There was a tractor with a trailer attached to it, filled with bales of straw and hay, loose piles of fragrant dried grass clumped all around. John and Clark climbed into it, sitting down on one of the bales. No one else seemed to be joining them, and the tractor pulled off with a jerk, trundling slowly into the wooded fields.
John looked up at the sky, feeling Clark's body warm next to him. "This is quite pleasant, but I'm not sure I see the point."
There was a chuckle in Clark's voice. "Well, usually it's an excuse for couples to do a little making out."
"Oh." John felt himself blushing again. The tractor hit a particularly large pothole and he slid off the slippery bale into the loose straw on the floor of the trailer. Clark snickered and John lobbed a handful of hay at him, smacking him right in the face.
"Oh, bring it on, man," said Clark in a mock-snarl, heaving a handful of straw back at John. Soon they were trading off showers of sweet-scented grasses, which somehow turned into a wrestling match. There was hay everywhere, in Clark's dark hair, on his sweater, and somewhere in the tussle, somehow Clark's mouth ended up on his, tasting of apples and cinnamon, and the wrestling was forgotten entirely in the sensation of Clark's mouth, warm and gentle and inviting, his teeth nibbling slightly on John's lower lip, running his tongue across it luxuriously, tasting and caressing, breaths warm and fast in the cool autumn air.
They did nothing but kiss for what seemed like a perfect forever, the steady thrum of the tractor engine seeming to dissolve their bodies together, Clark's mouth all that John needed from the universe, the sweetly dusty scent of hay all around them. Slowly he became aware Clark was whispering hoarsely between kisses, almost to himself. "J'onn...J'onn," and he felt shock run through his body at hearing Clark say his waking name. He opened his eyes slowly to see Clark staring at him, blue eyes luminous in the moonlight, glowing like the earth seen from space. Seen from Mars.
"J'onn," Clark whispered again.
"You..." he wasn't sure how to say it, wasn't sure what the words were. "...Waking, too? Not...just here?"
Clark's mouth was against his again. "Anywhere you want, J'onn. Anywhere, love," he whispered into his mouth, into his soul, and J'onn woke up still tasting the word, feeling it reverberating through him, alone in his bed in Colorado.
He looked down at his emerald skin, felt the night silence around him like a living thing, waiting. "Kal?" he whispered, reaching out with his thoughts as well, and then, "...Clark?"
A whisper of movement and color at his window. J'onn looked over to see the Kryptonian hovering outside, peering in. The bright costume was Superman's, the otherworldly face Kal's.
The eyes, shy and eager, were Clark's.
J'onn walked over to the window and let his best friend in.