Commentary: Anger Management
"Anger Management" was a companion piece to "The Unadorned Truth," which I posted commentary to recently. Like the original story, the commentary is NC-17, with themes of non-consensual sex, voyeurism, and bondage.
I had a bitch of a time "reverse engineering" this story. It was easy in "Unadorned Truth" to simply have Clark show up in Ultraman's place, naked. To write this story I had to get him there, and that proved very difficult. I remember sitting in a boring meeting with DaMo, passing notes back and forth in a frenzy discussing what the League's plan was to get Batman out and how it all worked.
The story originally started with Superman angrily refusing to impersonate Ultraman when someone in the JLA suggested it. But then DaMo pointed out that Superman, if he got his hands on the video first, would never let the League see it. So that created an extra-tense situation where Superman is hiding information from the League for Bruce's own good. The League has no choice but to trust him, all things considered, but it puts Clark badly on edge right from the beginning.
“It would make our job easier if we could see the video,” the Martian Manhunter noted. “Perhaps we could gain some further understanding of the situation.”
Superman gritted his teeth. “You don’t need to see the video. I’ve shared everything important from it with you.”
J’onn looked dubious but decided not to protest further. Superman had been on monitor duty when a video had arrived for the JLA from the Crime Syndicate of America, the alternate-universe supervillain group that had captured Batman three weeks ago. The Kryptonian had refused to let any other member of the JLA see it. J’onn knew the set of Superman’s jaw when he was not going to budge. He would have to be content with the details Superman was willing to share with them.
“Let us review the information we have, then. Owlman sent us a recording as proof that they have Batman. They must be holding him in this--" he pointed to a spot on the hologram before him, "small cell. It is under constant camera surveillance and is carefully shielded from psionics, which would explain why I have been unable to contact Batman telepathically. Ultraman visits him once a day while the other members of the Crime Syndicate watch via remote camera. No one else ever enters the cell.”
Infodump, infodump, infodump. My least favorite part of writing a story with an actual plot, and the main reason I like writing "The boys go golfing or watch T.J. Hooker." It's so hard to get this kind of background information in without boring the hell out of everyone.
The room had to be shielded from psionics so J'onn wouldn't know what was being done to Batman.
Diana frowned at Superman. “I don’t like your plan, Kal. You shouldn’t be going in there alone. And with the room shielded, we’ll be out of contact with you while we try to take down the machine they’ve got bridging our universes. I just don’t think we should split up.”
Superman glared at her. “The others will be distracted. They enjoy watching Ultraman interrogate Batman.” Sometimes we bring popcorn, Owlman had said. Sometimes we bring popcorn. “It will be the best time for the rest of you to find and destroy the machine. And I’m the only one who can get close to Batman, because I can pass for Ultraman.”
The "popcorn" line was one I thought was original...and then I re-read "Syndicate Rules" and discovered the Syndicate watching the JLA fight and passing around GL-generated popcorn. Dangit.
“You look just like him, but can you pass for him?” Flash asked. “I mean, I’ve seen him in action, and he is creeeeeeepy. Seriously freaky.”
“I’ll do what I have to do.”
I hoped this line would be jarringly like Batman. When it comes down to it, Superman will do what he has to do just as much as Batman would.
John Stewart took his turn to frown at Superman. “I would still feel better if you’d let us see that video. It could have strategic value-“
Kryptonian fists crashed onto the meeting table; the Watchtower shuddered. Green Lantern raised his hands in the air and gave Superman a raised-eyebrow look, part capitulation and part concern. Superman relaxed his fists and spread his fingers out on the table. He sighed.
“I’ve given you any information that would be strategically useful, you’re just going to have to trust me on this one. I swear I would never risk the success of this mission.” And with that the other members of the League had to be content.
John's a Marine, he'd be very concerned about tactics. It was hard to keep a good balance between the League being frustrated that Superman won't give them the full information and the League basically knowing they have to trust Superman.
This was the first time I'd ever written the full JLA, and I discovered it's a huge pain to keep everyone more or less involved and in character. hawkgirl and Flash don't get a single line in this scene, which frustrated me, but I wasn't going to work them in just for the sake of having them say something. I don't know how writers ever manage to write the League convincingly.
Alone in his quarters that night, Superman hit the replay button on the recording he had received from Owlman. He watched the man who looked exactly like him enter the room naked and grin leeringly for the cameras, then turn his attention to the man bound to the wall by a metal collar. Clark felt his heart thud to a stop again when he saw Bruce, his eyes dull, patterns of bruises marking his bare body. The man with Clark’s face put something from a tube on his fingers and without ceremony slipped them into Bruce, who hissed between his teeth, his erection rising between them immediately. Ultraman chuckled. “You’re a good student, Wayne.” Clark’s voice. Clark’s hands. “You want more?” Bruce’s face was closed and distant, but his body was tight with arousal as Ultraman touched him, as he took him. Clark watched as Bruce moved inexorably toward orgasm, his head falling back and his eyes fixed on Ultraman’s face. He watched Bruce’s face soften, a wave of yearning, almost tenderness, passing across it just before his climax. He watched his double turn his back on Bruce and leave the room.
Then he hit replay and watched it again.
And again.
And one more time.
After the fourth time, he stood up, savagely stabbed the “off” button, and stalked to his quarters’ shower. In the shower, he let hot water wash over him and rested his forehead on the smooth tile wearily. He had heard of people who washed themselves compulsively, scrubbing themselves until their skin was raw, trying to achieve some purifying they could never attain, some cleansing beyond that of the body. The column of Bruce’s throat, his head flung back in ecstasy. But nothing would ever abrade his invulnerable, untouchable skin, and nothing could ever get him clean enough again.
Gah, this was horribly hard to write. Superman has to be aroused by the video, but ashamed of his own arousal. I wanted very much to get across that it wasn't the rape that turned Clark on, but rather the illusion of consent Bruce's physical reactions give the video that arouses him. And he's also angry at the idea that there might possibly be consent, although most of him knows better.
I had to re-write this scene a few times to cover every moment of Clark's movement from the video to the shower, because I was so concerned that it would possible to read a missing moment as a sign Clark had actually masturbated to the video. Squick.
: : :
The air in front of the Leaguers shimmered and six vials appeared. “Batman’s notes on these nanites were pretty clear; he’d worked with the Atom on them.” The Batcave filled the viewscreen, Robin’s tense face at the computer. “When the generator is destroyed, these will kick in and bring you back to this universe. They’ll work on any living being within about a meter radius, too, so try to avoid bringing back any unwelcome guests with you.”
More infodump, more infodump, more infodump. Just how does Superman plan on getting Bruce out of there? If they're going to fight their way out, why stop and have sex first (well, ok, besides for our edification)? I had to come up with lame excuses for what was pretty simple the first time around. But at least Tim and Dick got to show up.
A soft rustling sound, and Batman dropped down behind Robin. Clark felt his heart leap for a mad moment--Bruce was safe, he was home, and Clark wouldn’t have to--but then the figure removed the cowl. Of course it was Dick, that was perfectly reasonable. Looking at Dick in Bruce’s costume, Clark felt anger grind through him. He breathed deeply and composed himself; he couldn’t afford the luxury of irrational anger, not now, not ever. He made himself smile at Tim and at Dick, a good kid, a good friend and ally, Get out of his suit this moment, you... “Thanks for getting these into working condition.”
Yes, I know Superman's being unfair to poor Dick here. He knows it too. He's terrified of what he's going to have to do, and terrified of how much he wants to do it, and it's driving the poor dear nuts.
Robin nodded curtly; Dick put a hand on his shoulder and looked out steadily at the assembled JLA . “Just... bring him back, ok?”
Hawkgirl’s mace crackled briefly. “Count on it.”
Aaaaand...that's Hawkgirl7s one line. *sigh*
: : :
Flash shoved Ultraman’s limp body into a closet with rather more force than was necessary. “We’ve put enough drugs in his system to leave him out for a couple of hours. Better than he deserves.” He turned to look at Superman, standing in his own Ultraman costume. “And thanks for all the help back there, big guy! You didn’t even lift a finger, what the hell is wrong with you?” Wally rubbed a bruise rising on his chin and grimaced.
Flash's one line. Dang, it's hard to write the JLA.
“I’m sorry.” Clark hadn’t dared to strike Ultraman. Once he had started, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to...he wrenched himself away from thinking about it, gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile to the rest of the League. From the way Diana frowned and Wally shuddered, he suspected it hadn’t been.
Hmmm, I'm apparently also fond of "smiles that scare the hell out of everyone around Clark and Bruce." They do strike me as the kind of character that might aim for happy and miss utterly and terrifyingly if they were under a lot of stress.
The Martian Manhunter, unruffled as always, turned to the Kryptonian. “Superman, even if we find the generator quickly, we’ll hold off on destroying it for ten minutes. That should give you enough time to get close to Batman. If we run into problems, you’ll just have to stall and wait. Try not to tip off your identity for as long as possible. The longer they are unaware of our presence the better our chances are.”
All right, J'onn! We get the damn plot already! I think I swore never to write anything with strategy involved every again after this, and I believe I have kept my promise. :)
J’onn put his hands to his temples and concentrated. “Our foes appear to be split up. Owlman and Superwoman are in one room and Power Ring and Johnny Quick in another. I’m not sure why they would watch separately, but they appear to be doing so.”
Power Ring and Johnny Quick, sitting in a tree...K-I-S-S-I-N-G...
This was good news. It meant Owlman would be distracted by Superwoman; Clark had no doubt that the two of them particularly enjoyed their own private peepshow. He nodded to his teammates. “I have to get going then, or they’ll wonder at the delay.” Five worried faces looked back at him. Looking at them, Clark was able to muster a real smile. “I’ll be counting on you guys.” Then he turned and headed to the door.
At the door to Batman’s cell, he found a niche for his costume and a small bottle. He pulled off his clothes and stood there for a moment, feeling terribly vulnerable.
I felt so bad for the guy here, all naked and afraid...not of his enemies, but of himself and of the person he loves.
Then he threw back his shoulders, raised his head and fixed a superior smirk on his face. Owlman was sharp and he had to be especially convincing in the first few seconds. He flung open the door and walked in as if he owned the place.
The first thing he did was toss a smile to the cameras. It was easy to look contemptuous and hateful when grinning at his unseen enemies. Then he turned and saw Bruce.
Above the silvery collar, blue eyes met his hungrily. He heard Bruce’s heartbeat accelerate painfully and the steely eyes drifted shut for a moment as a flicker of longing went across the detective’s face. His friend was already erect just from seeing Ultraman walk in the door. Clark felt the familiar anger wash over him: anger at the sadistic monsters who had trapped Bruce here, anger at himself, and underneath it all, another anger he hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge. He moved forward and stared a long time at Bruce, taking in every line of his body. The dark hair falling into his eyes, the set of his jaw, the curling hair on his chest and lower, the strong legs, the vulnerable bare feet. Clark had known that he would have to be physically aroused during this encounter, but he wished it hadn’t been so very easy. Damn his body.
Damn his heart.
He listened to Bruce’s ragged breathing as he waited for Clark-for Ultraman to touch him. Anger shot through him again and without thinking he reached down and stroked Bruce’s cock once, almost roughly. That was stupid, Ultraman never did that, it’ll tip them off-- and then Bruce made a sound deep in his throat at the contact, and Clark was lost. He didn’t care about the cameras, he didn’t care about the mission, he just knew that he was on fire and he had to make Bruce make that sound again, it had to be him, Clark making him sound like that.
I'm a big fan of inarticulate sounds. :)
He made his fingers slick and they were shaking, he tried to stop them shaking and they wouldn’t stop. He slipped them-God, yes, that felt good, and how he wanted it to be him that Bruce was looking like that for, not just someone who looked exactly like him. At the thought he felt fury and lust go through him like a knife of white light, and he heard himself snarling, “You like that, do you? You like to see your lover enter the room? Like to have him do this to you?” Bruce made that noise again, and Clark couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t bear the fact that it wasn’t him Bruce was seeing, and then the other man was speaking, his voice hoarse from disuse.
“If you believe it’s you I’m thinking of during this, then you’re more stupid than I thought.” The pleasure was gone from his face, leaving only contempt and hatred, and Clark felt a vast wash of relief. Of course Bruce wasn’t broken, of course he wasn’t, how could Clark have been so stupid...and then the implications of what Bruce had said started to sink in. He’s imagining I’m someone else, he’s imagining Ultraman is someone he actually wants to have do this to him...
I rather liked that Clark's first thought here is relief that Bruce is still unbroken, and only very slowly does he start to care about what he's actually said.
He heard his own voice, sounding dim and stunned, “Then...who?”
Bruce threw back his head, all glorious, bright defiance, and snarled at him, “Who the hell do you think, you son of a bitch?” and all of Clark’s anger was ashes, leaving only a shaking tenderness and a desire to wrap Bruce up in his arms and beg for his forgiveness. He saw the awareness on his face register on the other’s, like a mirror, saw the situation shift and change and become something very different around them both.
Bruce looked at him steadily and then--incredibly, unbelievably-the slightest quirk of a smile tugged faintly at the corners of the Dark Knight’s mouth. Trapped in enemy territory, drugged and naked, with Superman’s fingers exploring him intimately-only Batman could find the humor in that. His beautiful, brave, unbroken Bruce.
This smile isn't described in the first story because I didn't realize it was there, but then I imagined it and it seemed perfectly right. Bruce has a wicked sense of humor and I think he could appreciate the ironicly amusing side of this crazy situation.
Superman reached out to break the chain binding Bruce to the wall. Let the guards come, they could take them, just get Bruce free. But the look on the other man’s face had shifted again, to one of naked pleading. Show me, it said. Show me that I’m not theirs, that I’m not his.
Clark could do that.
“You’re mine” he said as he entered Bruce, as gently as he could while still playing the alpha-male. He meant it as a taunt to the watching villains, a mocking sneer that they would only understand later, but then Bruce answered him.
“Yes.” He said it so simply, so directly, and his eyes...
I imagine Clark didn't even think for a second that Bruce would answer him. It staggers him utterly here that Bruce is willing to "play along,"--and even more that at the deep level Bruce is willing to say that to him and mean it.
And after that Clark couldn’t stop saying it, over and over, for the sheer wonder of hearing Bruce answer him every time, and it didn’t matter where they were or who was watching.
At that final moment, Clark felt also the shimmering at the edges of his vision that meant the nanites were taking effect. Just a few moments more. He smiled, his own smile, and leaned forward and kissed Bruce as he had longed to do from the moment he walked in the room. They were on their way home.
A kiss is, of course, a complete tip-off to the Syndicate audience. I imagine pandemonium broke out in those rooms when he did that.
There is, of course, a good chance the two of them materialized completely naked and post-coital surrounded by the rest of the JLA. I almost wanted to write that, but it kind of changed the mood jarringly. :)
So there you have it, Jen's sole attempt to write the whole JLA and have an actual plot to date. I so have learned my lesson. :)
I had a bitch of a time "reverse engineering" this story. It was easy in "Unadorned Truth" to simply have Clark show up in Ultraman's place, naked. To write this story I had to get him there, and that proved very difficult. I remember sitting in a boring meeting with DaMo, passing notes back and forth in a frenzy discussing what the League's plan was to get Batman out and how it all worked.
The story originally started with Superman angrily refusing to impersonate Ultraman when someone in the JLA suggested it. But then DaMo pointed out that Superman, if he got his hands on the video first, would never let the League see it. So that created an extra-tense situation where Superman is hiding information from the League for Bruce's own good. The League has no choice but to trust him, all things considered, but it puts Clark badly on edge right from the beginning.
“It would make our job easier if we could see the video,” the Martian Manhunter noted. “Perhaps we could gain some further understanding of the situation.”
Superman gritted his teeth. “You don’t need to see the video. I’ve shared everything important from it with you.”
J’onn looked dubious but decided not to protest further. Superman had been on monitor duty when a video had arrived for the JLA from the Crime Syndicate of America, the alternate-universe supervillain group that had captured Batman three weeks ago. The Kryptonian had refused to let any other member of the JLA see it. J’onn knew the set of Superman’s jaw when he was not going to budge. He would have to be content with the details Superman was willing to share with them.
“Let us review the information we have, then. Owlman sent us a recording as proof that they have Batman. They must be holding him in this--" he pointed to a spot on the hologram before him, "small cell. It is under constant camera surveillance and is carefully shielded from psionics, which would explain why I have been unable to contact Batman telepathically. Ultraman visits him once a day while the other members of the Crime Syndicate watch via remote camera. No one else ever enters the cell.”
Infodump, infodump, infodump. My least favorite part of writing a story with an actual plot, and the main reason I like writing "The boys go golfing or watch T.J. Hooker." It's so hard to get this kind of background information in without boring the hell out of everyone.
The room had to be shielded from psionics so J'onn wouldn't know what was being done to Batman.
Diana frowned at Superman. “I don’t like your plan, Kal. You shouldn’t be going in there alone. And with the room shielded, we’ll be out of contact with you while we try to take down the machine they’ve got bridging our universes. I just don’t think we should split up.”
Superman glared at her. “The others will be distracted. They enjoy watching Ultraman interrogate Batman.” Sometimes we bring popcorn, Owlman had said. Sometimes we bring popcorn. “It will be the best time for the rest of you to find and destroy the machine. And I’m the only one who can get close to Batman, because I can pass for Ultraman.”
The "popcorn" line was one I thought was original...and then I re-read "Syndicate Rules" and discovered the Syndicate watching the JLA fight and passing around GL-generated popcorn. Dangit.
“You look just like him, but can you pass for him?” Flash asked. “I mean, I’ve seen him in action, and he is creeeeeeepy. Seriously freaky.”
“I’ll do what I have to do.”
I hoped this line would be jarringly like Batman. When it comes down to it, Superman will do what he has to do just as much as Batman would.
John Stewart took his turn to frown at Superman. “I would still feel better if you’d let us see that video. It could have strategic value-“
Kryptonian fists crashed onto the meeting table; the Watchtower shuddered. Green Lantern raised his hands in the air and gave Superman a raised-eyebrow look, part capitulation and part concern. Superman relaxed his fists and spread his fingers out on the table. He sighed.
“I’ve given you any information that would be strategically useful, you’re just going to have to trust me on this one. I swear I would never risk the success of this mission.” And with that the other members of the League had to be content.
John's a Marine, he'd be very concerned about tactics. It was hard to keep a good balance between the League being frustrated that Superman won't give them the full information and the League basically knowing they have to trust Superman.
This was the first time I'd ever written the full JLA, and I discovered it's a huge pain to keep everyone more or less involved and in character. hawkgirl and Flash don't get a single line in this scene, which frustrated me, but I wasn't going to work them in just for the sake of having them say something. I don't know how writers ever manage to write the League convincingly.
Alone in his quarters that night, Superman hit the replay button on the recording he had received from Owlman. He watched the man who looked exactly like him enter the room naked and grin leeringly for the cameras, then turn his attention to the man bound to the wall by a metal collar. Clark felt his heart thud to a stop again when he saw Bruce, his eyes dull, patterns of bruises marking his bare body. The man with Clark’s face put something from a tube on his fingers and without ceremony slipped them into Bruce, who hissed between his teeth, his erection rising between them immediately. Ultraman chuckled. “You’re a good student, Wayne.” Clark’s voice. Clark’s hands. “You want more?” Bruce’s face was closed and distant, but his body was tight with arousal as Ultraman touched him, as he took him. Clark watched as Bruce moved inexorably toward orgasm, his head falling back and his eyes fixed on Ultraman’s face. He watched Bruce’s face soften, a wave of yearning, almost tenderness, passing across it just before his climax. He watched his double turn his back on Bruce and leave the room.
Then he hit replay and watched it again.
And again.
And one more time.
After the fourth time, he stood up, savagely stabbed the “off” button, and stalked to his quarters’ shower. In the shower, he let hot water wash over him and rested his forehead on the smooth tile wearily. He had heard of people who washed themselves compulsively, scrubbing themselves until their skin was raw, trying to achieve some purifying they could never attain, some cleansing beyond that of the body. The column of Bruce’s throat, his head flung back in ecstasy. But nothing would ever abrade his invulnerable, untouchable skin, and nothing could ever get him clean enough again.
Gah, this was horribly hard to write. Superman has to be aroused by the video, but ashamed of his own arousal. I wanted very much to get across that it wasn't the rape that turned Clark on, but rather the illusion of consent Bruce's physical reactions give the video that arouses him. And he's also angry at the idea that there might possibly be consent, although most of him knows better.
I had to re-write this scene a few times to cover every moment of Clark's movement from the video to the shower, because I was so concerned that it would possible to read a missing moment as a sign Clark had actually masturbated to the video. Squick.
: : :
The air in front of the Leaguers shimmered and six vials appeared. “Batman’s notes on these nanites were pretty clear; he’d worked with the Atom on them.” The Batcave filled the viewscreen, Robin’s tense face at the computer. “When the generator is destroyed, these will kick in and bring you back to this universe. They’ll work on any living being within about a meter radius, too, so try to avoid bringing back any unwelcome guests with you.”
More infodump, more infodump, more infodump. Just how does Superman plan on getting Bruce out of there? If they're going to fight their way out, why stop and have sex first (well, ok, besides for our edification)? I had to come up with lame excuses for what was pretty simple the first time around. But at least Tim and Dick got to show up.
A soft rustling sound, and Batman dropped down behind Robin. Clark felt his heart leap for a mad moment--Bruce was safe, he was home, and Clark wouldn’t have to--but then the figure removed the cowl. Of course it was Dick, that was perfectly reasonable. Looking at Dick in Bruce’s costume, Clark felt anger grind through him. He breathed deeply and composed himself; he couldn’t afford the luxury of irrational anger, not now, not ever. He made himself smile at Tim and at Dick, a good kid, a good friend and ally, Get out of his suit this moment, you... “Thanks for getting these into working condition.”
Yes, I know Superman's being unfair to poor Dick here. He knows it too. He's terrified of what he's going to have to do, and terrified of how much he wants to do it, and it's driving the poor dear nuts.
Robin nodded curtly; Dick put a hand on his shoulder and looked out steadily at the assembled JLA . “Just... bring him back, ok?”
Hawkgirl’s mace crackled briefly. “Count on it.”
Aaaaand...that's Hawkgirl7s one line. *sigh*
: : :
Flash shoved Ultraman’s limp body into a closet with rather more force than was necessary. “We’ve put enough drugs in his system to leave him out for a couple of hours. Better than he deserves.” He turned to look at Superman, standing in his own Ultraman costume. “And thanks for all the help back there, big guy! You didn’t even lift a finger, what the hell is wrong with you?” Wally rubbed a bruise rising on his chin and grimaced.
Flash's one line. Dang, it's hard to write the JLA.
“I’m sorry.” Clark hadn’t dared to strike Ultraman. Once he had started, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to...he wrenched himself away from thinking about it, gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile to the rest of the League. From the way Diana frowned and Wally shuddered, he suspected it hadn’t been.
Hmmm, I'm apparently also fond of "smiles that scare the hell out of everyone around Clark and Bruce." They do strike me as the kind of character that might aim for happy and miss utterly and terrifyingly if they were under a lot of stress.
The Martian Manhunter, unruffled as always, turned to the Kryptonian. “Superman, even if we find the generator quickly, we’ll hold off on destroying it for ten minutes. That should give you enough time to get close to Batman. If we run into problems, you’ll just have to stall and wait. Try not to tip off your identity for as long as possible. The longer they are unaware of our presence the better our chances are.”
All right, J'onn! We get the damn plot already! I think I swore never to write anything with strategy involved every again after this, and I believe I have kept my promise. :)
J’onn put his hands to his temples and concentrated. “Our foes appear to be split up. Owlman and Superwoman are in one room and Power Ring and Johnny Quick in another. I’m not sure why they would watch separately, but they appear to be doing so.”
Power Ring and Johnny Quick, sitting in a tree...K-I-S-S-I-N-G...
This was good news. It meant Owlman would be distracted by Superwoman; Clark had no doubt that the two of them particularly enjoyed their own private peepshow. He nodded to his teammates. “I have to get going then, or they’ll wonder at the delay.” Five worried faces looked back at him. Looking at them, Clark was able to muster a real smile. “I’ll be counting on you guys.” Then he turned and headed to the door.
At the door to Batman’s cell, he found a niche for his costume and a small bottle. He pulled off his clothes and stood there for a moment, feeling terribly vulnerable.
I felt so bad for the guy here, all naked and afraid...not of his enemies, but of himself and of the person he loves.
Then he threw back his shoulders, raised his head and fixed a superior smirk on his face. Owlman was sharp and he had to be especially convincing in the first few seconds. He flung open the door and walked in as if he owned the place.
The first thing he did was toss a smile to the cameras. It was easy to look contemptuous and hateful when grinning at his unseen enemies. Then he turned and saw Bruce.
Above the silvery collar, blue eyes met his hungrily. He heard Bruce’s heartbeat accelerate painfully and the steely eyes drifted shut for a moment as a flicker of longing went across the detective’s face. His friend was already erect just from seeing Ultraman walk in the door. Clark felt the familiar anger wash over him: anger at the sadistic monsters who had trapped Bruce here, anger at himself, and underneath it all, another anger he hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge. He moved forward and stared a long time at Bruce, taking in every line of his body. The dark hair falling into his eyes, the set of his jaw, the curling hair on his chest and lower, the strong legs, the vulnerable bare feet. Clark had known that he would have to be physically aroused during this encounter, but he wished it hadn’t been so very easy. Damn his body.
Damn his heart.
He listened to Bruce’s ragged breathing as he waited for Clark-for Ultraman to touch him. Anger shot through him again and without thinking he reached down and stroked Bruce’s cock once, almost roughly. That was stupid, Ultraman never did that, it’ll tip them off-- and then Bruce made a sound deep in his throat at the contact, and Clark was lost. He didn’t care about the cameras, he didn’t care about the mission, he just knew that he was on fire and he had to make Bruce make that sound again, it had to be him, Clark making him sound like that.
I'm a big fan of inarticulate sounds. :)
He made his fingers slick and they were shaking, he tried to stop them shaking and they wouldn’t stop. He slipped them-God, yes, that felt good, and how he wanted it to be him that Bruce was looking like that for, not just someone who looked exactly like him. At the thought he felt fury and lust go through him like a knife of white light, and he heard himself snarling, “You like that, do you? You like to see your lover enter the room? Like to have him do this to you?” Bruce made that noise again, and Clark couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t bear the fact that it wasn’t him Bruce was seeing, and then the other man was speaking, his voice hoarse from disuse.
“If you believe it’s you I’m thinking of during this, then you’re more stupid than I thought.” The pleasure was gone from his face, leaving only contempt and hatred, and Clark felt a vast wash of relief. Of course Bruce wasn’t broken, of course he wasn’t, how could Clark have been so stupid...and then the implications of what Bruce had said started to sink in. He’s imagining I’m someone else, he’s imagining Ultraman is someone he actually wants to have do this to him...
I rather liked that Clark's first thought here is relief that Bruce is still unbroken, and only very slowly does he start to care about what he's actually said.
He heard his own voice, sounding dim and stunned, “Then...who?”
Bruce threw back his head, all glorious, bright defiance, and snarled at him, “Who the hell do you think, you son of a bitch?” and all of Clark’s anger was ashes, leaving only a shaking tenderness and a desire to wrap Bruce up in his arms and beg for his forgiveness. He saw the awareness on his face register on the other’s, like a mirror, saw the situation shift and change and become something very different around them both.
Bruce looked at him steadily and then--incredibly, unbelievably-the slightest quirk of a smile tugged faintly at the corners of the Dark Knight’s mouth. Trapped in enemy territory, drugged and naked, with Superman’s fingers exploring him intimately-only Batman could find the humor in that. His beautiful, brave, unbroken Bruce.
This smile isn't described in the first story because I didn't realize it was there, but then I imagined it and it seemed perfectly right. Bruce has a wicked sense of humor and I think he could appreciate the ironicly amusing side of this crazy situation.
Superman reached out to break the chain binding Bruce to the wall. Let the guards come, they could take them, just get Bruce free. But the look on the other man’s face had shifted again, to one of naked pleading. Show me, it said. Show me that I’m not theirs, that I’m not his.
Clark could do that.
“You’re mine” he said as he entered Bruce, as gently as he could while still playing the alpha-male. He meant it as a taunt to the watching villains, a mocking sneer that they would only understand later, but then Bruce answered him.
“Yes.” He said it so simply, so directly, and his eyes...
I imagine Clark didn't even think for a second that Bruce would answer him. It staggers him utterly here that Bruce is willing to "play along,"--and even more that at the deep level Bruce is willing to say that to him and mean it.
And after that Clark couldn’t stop saying it, over and over, for the sheer wonder of hearing Bruce answer him every time, and it didn’t matter where they were or who was watching.
At that final moment, Clark felt also the shimmering at the edges of his vision that meant the nanites were taking effect. Just a few moments more. He smiled, his own smile, and leaned forward and kissed Bruce as he had longed to do from the moment he walked in the room. They were on their way home.
A kiss is, of course, a complete tip-off to the Syndicate audience. I imagine pandemonium broke out in those rooms when he did that.
There is, of course, a good chance the two of them materialized completely naked and post-coital surrounded by the rest of the JLA. I almost wanted to write that, but it kind of changed the mood jarringly. :)
So there you have it, Jen's sole attempt to write the whole JLA and have an actual plot to date. I so have learned my lesson. :)