Red Flannel and Black Gauntlets
Title: Red Flannel and Black Gauntlets
Fandom: DC
Pairings: Bruce/Clark eventually
Characters: Clark Kent/Superman, Bruce Wayne/Batman, Alfred Pennyworth, mentions of others.
Word Count: 2,258
Rating: PG-15
Warnings: Language, Humor, slighty OOC
Spoilers: None
Synopsis:
A trip out of town for Valentine's Day is just what the doctor ordered. No. Seriously. The Doctor, or doctors in this case, said that Bruce Wayne is supposed to take a vacation. This weekend. No ifs, no ands, and no buts about it. Clark is somehow roped into going with him, since it was his fault that Bruce was at the doctor's office in the first place, and things...just escalate from there.
Had he not been sure that he was awake, he would have sworn to the first person that asked that he was in the middle of some strange scene out of a movie. What movie he couldn’t pin, but the lumberjack in it was definitely Clark. Bruce wondered vaguely if there was a chopping block around here somewhere…and then he wondered how appropriate it would be to label this moment a Hallmark.
( Part 1: Matters of the Heart )( Part 2: A change of heart )( Part 3: Pretending hearts )( Part 4: Suite of hearts )
( Part 5: Heart Murmurs )( Part 6: Heartthrob )
Newest Chapter:
Heartbeat:
“You stay here. You’re not catching a cold on me now.”
He hadn’t protested the gentle command, not when it was laced with warm lips on his forehead and the bliss of doing something other than kissing was still coursing through his veins. Everything was a blissful smoky haze that pulled him to slumber a little more with the warmth of the fire keeping him down. An afghan over his shoulders, his belly full, and his body sated, he simply closed his eyes and let himself drift for about an hour.
That hour came and went before he knew it, and he woke to the sounds of snow being shoveled quickly out of the way of the main path they’d come down yesterday. Bruce idly remembered something about Clark digging them out, though he said he’d used his gauntlets to do so. He was too comfortable to drag himself from his spot. He did eventually, but not to check on Clark outside. He drifted over to his bags in the bedroom, a soft knowing smile tugging at his lips as he saw the rummaged clothing to get to the hidden pocket underneath it all. His utility belt was untouched. That lay on the bed with a sticky note with the word ‘Really?’ sitting in neat scrawl upon the yellow surface.
He tucked everything back in its place, content to not answer that note. He was sure that Clark’s other suit was with him as well, and if not…
Stranger things have happened. Like this weekend.
From there it had been enjoying the warm air of the cabin, strolling into the kitchen to make him something warm to drink. A warm cup of chamomile with a liberal amount of honey, and he found himself pressed against the bay window that gave him a clear view of Clark tossing the snow like it was air.
Sure enough, the man did have his gauntlets on. They were the black contrast against the pure powdered snow that hadn’t packed itself enough to be of real concern. It was the perfect snow; the type kids ran into and tossed into the air with their boots, packed into snowballs that wouldn’t stick, and made snow angels that lasted until the skies opened themselves again. It was thick and cool; the inviting environment for skiers and snowboarders to run out into the moment their eyes touched the bright frozen winter wonderland.
Somewhere out there he was sure such a thing was happening. He knew because he’d seen it in passing as work became a way to forget. The snow in Gotham was never this white, nor this pure, always dirty and shoved to the side, not for children to play in and not for adults to watch in passing. They were too busy trying to figure out the next day, the next hour, the next moment, that sights such as the one before him were taken for granted.
There was a mighty heave of flannel covered muscle working itself easily with one shovel after the other. Those gauntlets were warmer than any gloves could be, though now they didn’t serve to dig as they probably had in the beginning. The snow was up to Clark’s knees. He wore nothing more than his boots and a pair of jeans that hugged his legs tightly, worn with time and comfortable enough for the man to move without much restriction. There was a vest, probably for appearance’s sake, but what caught his eye was the red plaid flannelled shirt covering the white turtleneck.
Had he not been sure that he was awake, he would have sworn to the first person that asked that he was in the middle of some strange scene out of a movie. What movie he couldn’t pin, but the lumberjack in it was definitely Clark. Bruce wondered vaguely if there was a chopping block around here somewhere…and then he wondered how appropriate it would be to label this moment a Hallmark.
The last time he checked, Hallmark didn’t make salacious cards mirroring the thoughts blossoming in his head. If they did, it wasn’t as fun as having what would be on the cover of the card right there with him.
Clark turned around to face the window. He waved cheekily at Bruce with one of his gauntlet hands.
The billionaire, once so adamant about staying at home, was glad no one else was around to see him go weak in the knees.
“So…where were we again?”
“Hmm? I don’t know…I think it’s your turn.”
“Is it? Damn…I need a moment to think of a good question.”
“…do we have any wine?”
Bruce feigned looking around, prompting Clark’s quick response in grabbing him before he could wander too far. Not that he was going anywhere but where he was currently residing. Clark’s clothing was still cool from coming inside not three moments ago, chilling Bruce slightly through his sweater and jeans. His bare feet danced backwards with Clark’s gentle pushing, soon becoming an all out grab and lift that had Bruce sputtering and laughing at Clark’s insistence getting onto the couch. They landed, Clark’s back hitting the arm of the couch and Bruce sprawled in his lap, arms flying around his shoulders to make sure he didn’t fly inadvertently.
It was exactly the right position for Clark’s hands to slide under Bruce’s sweater to warm his slightly chilled fingers on warm skin.
“This is not how I thought this weekend would go,” Bruce admitted quietly. He tightened his arms around Clark and allowed him to kiss the underside of his jaw. “Not at all…”
“What was your version of it?” Clark asked. “It can’t be worse than mine.”
“Well…I’d figured that on the first day I’d piss you off-“
“You did.”
“And somehow you’d probably find some way to dump me in the snow because I would have been a stubborn ass about a lot of things, including taking that infernal medication…”
“It makes you lucid.”
“It makes me unbearably sensitive like a pure wimp in one of those damn Harlequin Romance novels,” he said over Clark’s laughter. “Shit, I was crying my eyes out last night! And why am I admitting this out loud!?”
“Same reason I’m not telling you to shut up…cause it needs to be said and I want to hear it.”
Clark really was a different man than he had been ten years ago. He would have never joked about that in such a teasing but honest answer, or had his hand up his shirt softly rubbing whatever skin it passed over. “Oh? And what else could you possibly want to hear? Oohh…”
Clark nipped at his throat, hiding the smirk he knew Bruce would feel. “Anything you feel like saying from now…until whenever you want to stop talking.”
His hands felt really good…almost too good. Bruce was having a hard time keeping his face from flushing as he tugged himself away just a bit to look at Clark in the eye. Clark raised a brow at him, and ultimately groaned sitting back again. “Your timing sucks.”
“…I should probably take back what I said this morning in light of now, huh?”
“Yes.”
“I take it back…and as dumb as it may sound…we need to talk.”
Clark dropped his hands back down but never removed them from Bruce’s waist. So they were going to talk like this? Bruce figured it was better than sitting on the opposite ends of the couch and waving manically at one another trying to get the other one to understand what was being said. There might have been a whole bunch of misunderstandings then and he wasn’t up for trekking backwards when they’d moved a considerable distance in the past seventy two hours. It was a remarkable leap only because a week prior did they have a somewhat civilized dinner with just the two of them, in a diner Clark knew on the way back from dealing with a rather nasty fight. It was the first time in a long while that they’d stayed in the same room without the pretense of business to distract them, and the first time in weeks were the tension wasn’t thicker than the burger he’d devoured.
“Why do we manage to go zero to sixty so quickly?” Bruce asked. “It’s so…bizarre.”
“We’re not the same people we were.” Most definitely not. Clark was wiser and less inclined to leap in head first, and Bruce had several new scars Clark cared little for because of how they came about. He did understand what Bruce meant however, and it was bizarre. Yet… “This is how we are,” he replied. “Two stubborn fools that have so much on their agenda it’s hard to see outside of what we believe to be truth without actually seeing the whole picture.”
“…did we switch roles?”
“A little yeah. So, spit out what you want to say.”
“Now you’re scaring me.”
Clark did his best not to laugh at Bruce squaring his shoulders and letting out an irritable sigh. He hadn’t tried to push this. He really didn’t see the need. Squashing it this morning should have been enough of a deterrent. Bruce had mentioned not a few seconds ago how hot and cold they were with one another and this was a prime example of it.
However…
“…I didn’t sleep with Lois.”
…Bruce had this way of making everything turn on its ear to leave Clark blinking stupidly up at him blushing horridly at nothing and everything. “Excuse me?”
“I lied…because…at the time…it was a way of making you leave me alone.” Why was he admitting this now?! Of all the things to say, he had to admit that? Really? Bruce wanted to rewind time and change what he said, but now Clark was all ears intrigued and Bruce was sure he could light a fire with his cheeks. It was a low point of his life, a point he’d shoved to the limits and forced Clark to back away for reasons he would never admit to, until now. He swallowed, readied himself to be tossed unceremoniously to the floor, and said, “I did love you…the idea of you then…and all you wanted to give…but you have no idea how scary that was for someone like me as I was then.” It was one thing after another after another. A vicious cycle that left Bruce alone in the middle of the night wishing he hadn’t said anything and could lean on someone solid to hold him up. Things were unstable. People were unstable. They came and went without word and he couldn’t handle losing Clark to the job…or to someone else down the line.
“I...would have rather not have had you…than to lose you because of me.”
“Bruce…”
“I know. It doesn’t make much sense. Well, it didn’t.” He was still ready for Clark to toss him. It was better than this stone silence that weighed the room down. “If we’d made a go at it then…it would have gone up in spectacular flames. Right now…I’d like to believe that you realize that I am and can be a jealous temperamental jerk when something I want is out of my reach or is going to be taken from me. The only reason…I ever even took her out was to dig my heel in your back and keep her away from you…because if she did notice you, I’d never get you back. Ever.”
Bruce did get tossed. He was tossed backwards onto the couch, Clark looming over him to seal their lips together; Bruce’s startled hands gripping the slightly damp locks of Clark to pull him down though there was no need. He was memorizing the back of his throat, the tip of his tongue teasing in its retraction to allow a breath. Bruce’s next intake of air was with Clark’s talented intruder sliding underneath his sensually caressing the underside as it warranted the proper immediate response of a submissive lover.
They parted again, Clark nipping Bruce’s kiss swollen lips. “That is the sweetest…most backwards thing anyone has ever done for me.”
“Eh…huh?”
“…you still speak in whole sentences, right?”
“Mmmnooo. More kiss, less talk.”
“Bruce…mmmph! Mmm…”
Bruce tightened his arms, inhaling all that there was to be given, slyly but invitingly opening up his legs to allow Clark to rest between them and feel just what his effect was upon his scar riddled body. Scars or no, the effect was still the same; his sweater was much too hot, the material was scratching his overly sensitive nipples and his pants were highly uncomfortable even with Clark’s arousal pressing into his. There was a remedy for this, but first…
“Clark Jerome Kent…you’d better love me,” Bruce breathed unsteadily, “because I am about to give you the one thing no one else could ever have.”
“…you’re not a virgin. Are you?”
Swatting Clark’s shoulder was going to become a nice little habit that did nothing. It just spurred Clark on, though he had no need to be told the meaning of Bruce’s admission. He could hear it under him, the quick rapid beat of a heart that wasn’t going to quit on him. The Doctors saw to the physical part. He was going to see to the emotional.
“If you give me your heart, you’re not getting it back,” he warned lightly.
Bruce smirked up at him. “What makes you think I want it back?”
“…you’re speaking too clearly now.”
“Then fix it.”
He did.
Wow...this was short. More in a moment and the smut is in the next chapter! :)
Fandom: DC
Pairings: Bruce/Clark eventually
Characters: Clark Kent/Superman, Bruce Wayne/Batman, Alfred Pennyworth, mentions of others.
Word Count: 2,258
Rating: PG-15
Warnings: Language, Humor, slighty OOC
Spoilers: None
Synopsis:
A trip out of town for Valentine's Day is just what the doctor ordered. No. Seriously. The Doctor, or doctors in this case, said that Bruce Wayne is supposed to take a vacation. This weekend. No ifs, no ands, and no buts about it. Clark is somehow roped into going with him, since it was his fault that Bruce was at the doctor's office in the first place, and things...just escalate from there.
Had he not been sure that he was awake, he would have sworn to the first person that asked that he was in the middle of some strange scene out of a movie. What movie he couldn’t pin, but the lumberjack in it was definitely Clark. Bruce wondered vaguely if there was a chopping block around here somewhere…and then he wondered how appropriate it would be to label this moment a Hallmark.
( Part 1: Matters of the Heart )( Part 2: A change of heart )( Part 3: Pretending hearts )( Part 4: Suite of hearts )
( Part 5: Heart Murmurs )( Part 6: Heartthrob )
Newest Chapter:
Heartbeat:
“You stay here. You’re not catching a cold on me now.”
He hadn’t protested the gentle command, not when it was laced with warm lips on his forehead and the bliss of doing something other than kissing was still coursing through his veins. Everything was a blissful smoky haze that pulled him to slumber a little more with the warmth of the fire keeping him down. An afghan over his shoulders, his belly full, and his body sated, he simply closed his eyes and let himself drift for about an hour.
That hour came and went before he knew it, and he woke to the sounds of snow being shoveled quickly out of the way of the main path they’d come down yesterday. Bruce idly remembered something about Clark digging them out, though he said he’d used his gauntlets to do so. He was too comfortable to drag himself from his spot. He did eventually, but not to check on Clark outside. He drifted over to his bags in the bedroom, a soft knowing smile tugging at his lips as he saw the rummaged clothing to get to the hidden pocket underneath it all. His utility belt was untouched. That lay on the bed with a sticky note with the word ‘Really?’ sitting in neat scrawl upon the yellow surface.
He tucked everything back in its place, content to not answer that note. He was sure that Clark’s other suit was with him as well, and if not…
Stranger things have happened. Like this weekend.
From there it had been enjoying the warm air of the cabin, strolling into the kitchen to make him something warm to drink. A warm cup of chamomile with a liberal amount of honey, and he found himself pressed against the bay window that gave him a clear view of Clark tossing the snow like it was air.
Sure enough, the man did have his gauntlets on. They were the black contrast against the pure powdered snow that hadn’t packed itself enough to be of real concern. It was the perfect snow; the type kids ran into and tossed into the air with their boots, packed into snowballs that wouldn’t stick, and made snow angels that lasted until the skies opened themselves again. It was thick and cool; the inviting environment for skiers and snowboarders to run out into the moment their eyes touched the bright frozen winter wonderland.
Somewhere out there he was sure such a thing was happening. He knew because he’d seen it in passing as work became a way to forget. The snow in Gotham was never this white, nor this pure, always dirty and shoved to the side, not for children to play in and not for adults to watch in passing. They were too busy trying to figure out the next day, the next hour, the next moment, that sights such as the one before him were taken for granted.
There was a mighty heave of flannel covered muscle working itself easily with one shovel after the other. Those gauntlets were warmer than any gloves could be, though now they didn’t serve to dig as they probably had in the beginning. The snow was up to Clark’s knees. He wore nothing more than his boots and a pair of jeans that hugged his legs tightly, worn with time and comfortable enough for the man to move without much restriction. There was a vest, probably for appearance’s sake, but what caught his eye was the red plaid flannelled shirt covering the white turtleneck.
Had he not been sure that he was awake, he would have sworn to the first person that asked that he was in the middle of some strange scene out of a movie. What movie he couldn’t pin, but the lumberjack in it was definitely Clark. Bruce wondered vaguely if there was a chopping block around here somewhere…and then he wondered how appropriate it would be to label this moment a Hallmark.
The last time he checked, Hallmark didn’t make salacious cards mirroring the thoughts blossoming in his head. If they did, it wasn’t as fun as having what would be on the cover of the card right there with him.
Clark turned around to face the window. He waved cheekily at Bruce with one of his gauntlet hands.
The billionaire, once so adamant about staying at home, was glad no one else was around to see him go weak in the knees.
“So…where were we again?”
“Hmm? I don’t know…I think it’s your turn.”
“Is it? Damn…I need a moment to think of a good question.”
“…do we have any wine?”
Bruce feigned looking around, prompting Clark’s quick response in grabbing him before he could wander too far. Not that he was going anywhere but where he was currently residing. Clark’s clothing was still cool from coming inside not three moments ago, chilling Bruce slightly through his sweater and jeans. His bare feet danced backwards with Clark’s gentle pushing, soon becoming an all out grab and lift that had Bruce sputtering and laughing at Clark’s insistence getting onto the couch. They landed, Clark’s back hitting the arm of the couch and Bruce sprawled in his lap, arms flying around his shoulders to make sure he didn’t fly inadvertently.
It was exactly the right position for Clark’s hands to slide under Bruce’s sweater to warm his slightly chilled fingers on warm skin.
“This is not how I thought this weekend would go,” Bruce admitted quietly. He tightened his arms around Clark and allowed him to kiss the underside of his jaw. “Not at all…”
“What was your version of it?” Clark asked. “It can’t be worse than mine.”
“Well…I’d figured that on the first day I’d piss you off-“
“You did.”
“And somehow you’d probably find some way to dump me in the snow because I would have been a stubborn ass about a lot of things, including taking that infernal medication…”
“It makes you lucid.”
“It makes me unbearably sensitive like a pure wimp in one of those damn Harlequin Romance novels,” he said over Clark’s laughter. “Shit, I was crying my eyes out last night! And why am I admitting this out loud!?”
“Same reason I’m not telling you to shut up…cause it needs to be said and I want to hear it.”
Clark really was a different man than he had been ten years ago. He would have never joked about that in such a teasing but honest answer, or had his hand up his shirt softly rubbing whatever skin it passed over. “Oh? And what else could you possibly want to hear? Oohh…”
Clark nipped at his throat, hiding the smirk he knew Bruce would feel. “Anything you feel like saying from now…until whenever you want to stop talking.”
His hands felt really good…almost too good. Bruce was having a hard time keeping his face from flushing as he tugged himself away just a bit to look at Clark in the eye. Clark raised a brow at him, and ultimately groaned sitting back again. “Your timing sucks.”
“…I should probably take back what I said this morning in light of now, huh?”
“Yes.”
“I take it back…and as dumb as it may sound…we need to talk.”
Clark dropped his hands back down but never removed them from Bruce’s waist. So they were going to talk like this? Bruce figured it was better than sitting on the opposite ends of the couch and waving manically at one another trying to get the other one to understand what was being said. There might have been a whole bunch of misunderstandings then and he wasn’t up for trekking backwards when they’d moved a considerable distance in the past seventy two hours. It was a remarkable leap only because a week prior did they have a somewhat civilized dinner with just the two of them, in a diner Clark knew on the way back from dealing with a rather nasty fight. It was the first time in a long while that they’d stayed in the same room without the pretense of business to distract them, and the first time in weeks were the tension wasn’t thicker than the burger he’d devoured.
“Why do we manage to go zero to sixty so quickly?” Bruce asked. “It’s so…bizarre.”
“We’re not the same people we were.” Most definitely not. Clark was wiser and less inclined to leap in head first, and Bruce had several new scars Clark cared little for because of how they came about. He did understand what Bruce meant however, and it was bizarre. Yet… “This is how we are,” he replied. “Two stubborn fools that have so much on their agenda it’s hard to see outside of what we believe to be truth without actually seeing the whole picture.”
“…did we switch roles?”
“A little yeah. So, spit out what you want to say.”
“Now you’re scaring me.”
Clark did his best not to laugh at Bruce squaring his shoulders and letting out an irritable sigh. He hadn’t tried to push this. He really didn’t see the need. Squashing it this morning should have been enough of a deterrent. Bruce had mentioned not a few seconds ago how hot and cold they were with one another and this was a prime example of it.
However…
“…I didn’t sleep with Lois.”
…Bruce had this way of making everything turn on its ear to leave Clark blinking stupidly up at him blushing horridly at nothing and everything. “Excuse me?”
“I lied…because…at the time…it was a way of making you leave me alone.” Why was he admitting this now?! Of all the things to say, he had to admit that? Really? Bruce wanted to rewind time and change what he said, but now Clark was all ears intrigued and Bruce was sure he could light a fire with his cheeks. It was a low point of his life, a point he’d shoved to the limits and forced Clark to back away for reasons he would never admit to, until now. He swallowed, readied himself to be tossed unceremoniously to the floor, and said, “I did love you…the idea of you then…and all you wanted to give…but you have no idea how scary that was for someone like me as I was then.” It was one thing after another after another. A vicious cycle that left Bruce alone in the middle of the night wishing he hadn’t said anything and could lean on someone solid to hold him up. Things were unstable. People were unstable. They came and went without word and he couldn’t handle losing Clark to the job…or to someone else down the line.
“I...would have rather not have had you…than to lose you because of me.”
“Bruce…”
“I know. It doesn’t make much sense. Well, it didn’t.” He was still ready for Clark to toss him. It was better than this stone silence that weighed the room down. “If we’d made a go at it then…it would have gone up in spectacular flames. Right now…I’d like to believe that you realize that I am and can be a jealous temperamental jerk when something I want is out of my reach or is going to be taken from me. The only reason…I ever even took her out was to dig my heel in your back and keep her away from you…because if she did notice you, I’d never get you back. Ever.”
Bruce did get tossed. He was tossed backwards onto the couch, Clark looming over him to seal their lips together; Bruce’s startled hands gripping the slightly damp locks of Clark to pull him down though there was no need. He was memorizing the back of his throat, the tip of his tongue teasing in its retraction to allow a breath. Bruce’s next intake of air was with Clark’s talented intruder sliding underneath his sensually caressing the underside as it warranted the proper immediate response of a submissive lover.
They parted again, Clark nipping Bruce’s kiss swollen lips. “That is the sweetest…most backwards thing anyone has ever done for me.”
“Eh…huh?”
“…you still speak in whole sentences, right?”
“Mmmnooo. More kiss, less talk.”
“Bruce…mmmph! Mmm…”
Bruce tightened his arms, inhaling all that there was to be given, slyly but invitingly opening up his legs to allow Clark to rest between them and feel just what his effect was upon his scar riddled body. Scars or no, the effect was still the same; his sweater was much too hot, the material was scratching his overly sensitive nipples and his pants were highly uncomfortable even with Clark’s arousal pressing into his. There was a remedy for this, but first…
“Clark Jerome Kent…you’d better love me,” Bruce breathed unsteadily, “because I am about to give you the one thing no one else could ever have.”
“…you’re not a virgin. Are you?”
Swatting Clark’s shoulder was going to become a nice little habit that did nothing. It just spurred Clark on, though he had no need to be told the meaning of Bruce’s admission. He could hear it under him, the quick rapid beat of a heart that wasn’t going to quit on him. The Doctors saw to the physical part. He was going to see to the emotional.
“If you give me your heart, you’re not getting it back,” he warned lightly.
Bruce smirked up at him. “What makes you think I want it back?”
“…you’re speaking too clearly now.”
“Then fix it.”
He did.
Wow...this was short. More in a moment and the smut is in the next chapter! :)