Crayola Moments
Title: Crayola Moments
Fandom: DC
Pairings: Mainly Bruce/Clark; others mentioned.
Characters: Clark Kent/Superman, Bruce Wayne/Batman, Kon-El/Superboy, Tim Drake/Robin, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Barbara Gordon/Batgirl/Oracle; others mentioned
Word Count: 4,449
Rating: R
Warnings: Language, Humor, Slightly OOC, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Sap
Spoilers: None
Synopsis: Little drabbles based on the colors of the Crayola List.
A little history behind this story:
I was reading a fanfiction that was about another pairing in a different cartoon that I can't help but read. There was one fic in particular that jumped out at me, and when I read it, I thought that it was rather interesting and quite cool to have different drabbles based on the colors of the Crayola box. Since I don't write the particular fandom that it was addressed in, I decided to take that idea and stick it to this fandom.
There are approximately 133 colors in the intial list for Crayola Colors. The complete list can be found here.
Rather than post 133 entries, I thought it would be better to just lump nine or ten into one entry. I might change my mind later...but for now, I think we'll just stick with this.
For anyone up to the challenge, or wants to make it one, I invite you to do so. See what you come up with. It's rather interesting!
Crayola Moments:
Almond:
The bedding was warm.
He thought it would be cold. He spread his hands over the sparse of the silken sheets and blankets, eyes still stinging but attentive to the texture and feel of what was beneath him. There was the tear in the corner, unnoticed by most but him. He’d put it there this morning, clamoring up into this massive bed to get at his parents and excitedly bounce up and down like any kid his age would have when he was promised a movie. His parents were always so busy. They’d promised him that they’d take him to the movies today.
Yesterday.
The bright red circle was still on the calendar. It was a blaring color in the darkness, untamed and telling all of where it was and what it meant. The calendar beneath his small fingers was littered with scrawl and many things he didn’t quite understand, but today…yesterday…the red only circled his name and the word movie date within it.
He blinked tiredly up at the canopy.
The rain kept falling from the outside, dripping incessantly against the windows ceil as it gathered against the panes. They were like little tapping fingers, each one keeping him awake, aware, and blinding him with that static of noise shock brought. The thunder rumbling in the back at a distance was the roar he’d thought to have heard when the red bled…
It stained the paper…it stained his shoes.
It stained his life, but he was just a kid who didn’t know what life was…yet.
He was tired.
He buried his face into the pillows again, and this time let out the sob that had wanted to erupt from the moment he’d turned around in that alley.
He didn’t cry because of what happened. He didn’t sob because he’d never see them again. He hadn’t accepted that yet, and he’d cry about that another night.
Right now…he cried because the pillow smelt like his mother.
His mother always smelt like almonds.
Antique Brass:
The first time Bruce found him, he was sitting at the edge of a fountain, head in hands and breathing unsteadily to calm himself down. Even at a distance, he could see that the man was lost. Not lost as in didn’t know his way around because he had indeed lived here for quite some time, but lost as in how to move on from this moment. It was never easy when someone got to this moment…he’d been here once or twice, and each time was a little harder than the last.
To know that everything had changed, and you were forgotten…it wasn’t an easy place to be.
Bruce hadn’t meant to wander as close as he did. It was perhaps an instinct his body couldn’t quite ignore even after all the hardening he’d been through. Many trials, tribulations, and mistakes made him the hardened body that felt nothing outwardly, but he was a broken jagged mess on the inside always a step from walking over that edge. He’d done it to himself not as a means of proving a point, but to keep people from ever feeling the depth of what he felt on a day to day basis.
But now…nothing in this world could explain how broken his scarred heart was to see that strong face weeping openly into hands that could bench a building. Nothing could tell him how he walked into the open courtyard of this park and presented himself in the moonlight to the blurred vision of a man gifted from the heavens abroad.
He’d been gone for so long…
He didn’t think once that he’d ever relive this sweet pain.
Bruce dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around him, inhaling the scent of whatever space was and the scent of the country. The rumpled and ripped shirt under his fingers grounded him, and he sighed against the trembling body burying himself into his arms.
“It’s…all over…”
“Not over, Clark,” Bruce whispered. “Just another chapter ending…and another beginning.”
They sat by that old brass fountain for an untold time, until Bruce took Clark by his hand and led him away from the gnarled past and pushed him into a sand written future.
Apricot:
Clark Kent was a busy man.
A busy man that didn’t have time to do what he wanted because he had two jobs.
So rather than complain about it, he trudged on, exhausting himself until another busy man who happened to intricately weave himself in that hectic schedule put his foot down, bought his job, and demanded that he take a vacation right then and there.
Bruce Wayne was in front of him, hand planted on his desk, and telling him in no uncertain terms that at that very moment, he was on vacation for a week. Not a day off, not two days off, but a whole week; a whole week’s vacation that included a week off from his other job. So truly it was about two weeks…and Bruce wasn’t taking no for answer and said as much.
Clark hadn’t ever been so shocked in his life.
The office was quite shocked as well, but they took it in stride as another anomaly they would never figure out.
Regardless of what happened that morning, that afternoon they were on a plane to a small island somewhere south of the border. Bruce wouldn’t tell them where they were going. He wouldn’t even let Clark pack more than a few outfits before he was shoving him out the door of his apartment and into a plane waiting for them. Clark expected press to get wind of this, especially since they were at the Daily Planet when it started. No one, not one camera that belonged to a Paparazzi or tabloid hound awaited them. There was no fuss, no muss, and Clark was seated with firm instructions to sleep.
He did sleep.
It felt so good that getting up was a chore.
That chore was rewarded by Bruce’s soft kiss and the promise of more.
Clark wasn’t inclined to ask where they were. He’d learned a long time ago that it was just better to go with the flow that was Bruce Wayne on a mission, and his mission as of now was to make sure that Clark Kent did absolutely nothing that wasn’t necessary. He’d gotten them into a very expensive looking but exotic hotel, ushering him to their suite and locking the door with that infamous sign swinging from it.
Clark was laid on the bed, his clothing removed, and the promised kisses reigning his senses until he was delusional. He’d come back to his senses to see Bruce smiling down at him, sated but eager to keep Clark relaxed and mindless. Clark had no problem complying, promptly falling asleep with Bruce tucked against him humming happily.
When he woke again, he was greeted by a tray food fresh fruit, sliced, chilled and waiting for his lips from nimble fingers tracing the soft skin of his bottom lip. He bit down, savoring the sweet somewhat tangy flavor, the other half bitten off and shared between them as evening took hold.
Clark Kent begun his first vacation with an Apricot flavored kiss.
He’d never been so glad for vacation before.
Aquamarine:
He left his shoes on the shore…
He left his hands at his sides…
He turned his face to the waters of a rising tide.
His heart was somewhere forgotten…
His soul…he wondered if he ever had one.
To be denied existence was similar to having not been born at all. He wasn’t sure of the ways or how it happened, but he was here…standing here with the waters against his feet, submerging them and falling away to gather their will to rise once more. The chill further proved that he was indeed here, not a dream. Not a figment of someone’s strange imagination in a book somewhere or floating in a tube that was harbored underground in the dark.
Or maybe he was dreaming. Maybe…
The anger was a white hot horrid red in his chest that suffocated him every time. It blinded him, made it easier to throw his fists and not think about what he was doing or why. He wanted to forget. He wanted to wash it all away the only way he knew how, and it usually ended with him being reprimanded about a gift he never wanted. He was a creation…a failed attempt of a mad man’s desire…a failed attempt at the perfect being…the one who couldn’t look him in the eye even when he talked to him.
Perhaps it was for the best.
He dropped his jacket into the sands…the winds quiet but firm, scented with the ocean’s ever present life. Somewhere beneath it there was salvation. Somewhere under the soft crashing waves was an answer, but a puzzle all its own. It was calming standing here, looking at a place he couldn’t live within. It was better than dreaming about finding a way to fit in a world that was already set for normalcy or hoping that someday his origin wouldn’t play into what he was, how he felt…
If it mattered.
The winds picked up a little, and he lifted is eyes to the sight of someone he hadn’t been expecting. He air in his lungs failed him, and for once his fists did nothing. He simply stood there, hearing something, saying nothing, and felt his whole world lurch backwards when the words he’d wanted to hear so badly made him ache all over again.
He raised his hands to the air.
He felt a spark of something stir…
His arms were filled and he was crushed against the perfect being apologizing for something neither of them wanted. He pressed deeper into that grip, releasing all he felt, thought, and wanted in that one embrace… boneless but free of the burden life had become.
Behind them, another man walked to place his hand on his trembling shoulder. He’d never seen him outside of that mask, but tonight…tonight his face reflected the aquamarine ocean’s soft song as it crashed against their feet.
Asparagus:
“Um…is it supposed to be that color?”
She threw her hands on her hips and glared at him. “I thought I told you to go sit down!”
“I am! But…seriously, is it supposed to BE…that color?”
She swatted at him and Kon decided that it was better to retreat back into the dining room where the others were waiting anxiously. Bruce was sitting at one end drumming his fingers in boredom, or his attempt at boredom depending on who one asked. He was trying not to think about what was going on in that kitchen as were the rest of them focusing on other menial behaviors. It was best not to think about it. Thinking about it made their stomachs hurt.
Clark was absently picking at his shirt, his left eye twitching from time to time. His sense of smell was much sharper, as was Kon’s. Kon sat down aside him, not exactly leaning on him but leaning in far enough to catch his eye. Kon made a soft concerned sound and Clark tried not to gasp. He kept picking at his shirt, but he left Kon hold onto his wrist under the table. Bruce already had switched tactics and now was simply leaning on one arm. The other arm was under the table, grabbing Clark’s knee in duress. He may not have had as sharp a sense of smell as they did, but he knew that constant yelping for something not to burn was not a good sign.
“Um…does anyone remember the reason why we agreed to this?” Tim asked from across the table.
Dick was tempted to tell him to shut up, but he couldn’t bring himself to talk. He was afraid if he did he might inhale some of whatever that was cooking in there and he’d never have a stomach again. He kept his eyes on the napkin he was picking at, ignoring the weight of Tim grabbing hold of his arm and clinging. Something had fallen in that kitchen and she wasn’t happy about it.
After a tense moment, she appeared in the doorway, a mess, hair askew, and splotched with flour and something brown. In her hands was a pot that was steaming hot, bubbling over a bit, and probably alive from the way she handled it.
“Babs…what is that?”
Barbara said nothing. She smiled in triumph and placed that pot in the center of the table, uncovering it and the yellow tinted smoke that poured upward.
Kon almost broke Clark’s wrist. If Bruce was any stronger he would have bruised his knee. Clark tore a hole in his shirt anyhow. Dick ripped his napkin clean in half. Tim…Tim was a brave little soul. He got up a bit to peer in that pot and see just why that bubble belched like it did and moaned with more of that yellow smoke…
“It...Is that a piece of asparagus?” Tim asked. There was something floating in the gunk, the only piece of sickly green in the entire pot that just didn’t make sense.
Barbara leaned in to take a closer look. “Um…I guess that one survived. The rest are burnt at the bottom. I cooked around it.”
“…and…this is…what again?”
“Asparagus Stew.”
Tim took his pen out of his pocket and dipped it into what was supposed to be dinner. He came back with half of it in tact and the rest…“…you’re not going to pass home economics with this. It’s not even green.”
Barabara took the pot back and promptly trashed it. The boys groaned in relief until she came back with another tray…this time with something hard, black and smoking. “I suppose no one wants charcoal cookies, either, huh?”
Atomic Tangerine:
Batman was at a loss for words for once in his life, and it wasn’t by choice.
Superman was getting up from the rubble of what had been a grand explosion, having gotten caught in it like so many others, though smoking a little more than usual and probably just as confused as he was. He knocked the biggest piece of concrete from his head and tossed it into the pile sitting on either side of him, groaning tiredly and willing himself to stay on his feet.
That didn’t last, and neither did Batman’s silence.
He covered his mouth with gauntlet hand and ever so slightly tried not to snicker.
“Are you seriously laughing at me?” Superman muttered.
Batman turned away. “Ah…no.”
“Yes you are!”
“…and if I am?”
“Look, she was trying out hair dyes and I volunteered. I didn’t think it’d come out like this!”
Batman kept his face averted. If he looked at him, he was going to lose it. Royally lose it. As it was, he stayed off to the side and thought about their next move, until Superman was in his face and glaring at him something awful.
Batman kept his mouth covered, but his laughter broke free.
“And…what color was that supposed to be again?”
Clark muttered to himself. “….mahogany.”
“….atomic orange is a better name for it.”
“….someone switched the contents.”
And Batman, the stoic dark figure of the night, fell to his knees laughing so hard he couldn’t quite breathe.
Clark huffed in annoyance and vowed then and there never to let his wife try anything with his hair again.
Banana Mania:
Bruce Wayne was not a fan of bananas.
Sure, he’d eat them once in a while, but he just wasn’t sold on the fruit that someone had to fight to open. It was a damn shame that simians had found an easier way to open them, which made him less of a fan knowing that the human race had been eating them upside down in a sense. They filled one up before they could really devour the entire thing, and there were so many things made with bananas in them that it was hard to appreciate the flavor.
He could easily live without them. He had decided that when he was younger and forced to endure eating them for a week for potassium’s sake. Hard regimens with training left his muscles wobbly and susceptible to cramping, and there was nothing fun about having to walk off two cramps in both legs and having to visit the facilities at the same time. It was most uncomfortable, and once was enough for the billionaire.
After a week of that sickening fruit, he’d switched to pills, although being careful not to go over the regular dosage. Potassium, while a godsend for cramps, was a killer in its own right. At least it was a way to keep from eating that one fruit that smelt sweeter than it was unless it was ripe, and was practically inedible when the skin was firm and slightly green. Apples usually were ripe enough often for him not to worry about getting a sour bite. Oranges he could get from the container out of a store. He’d eat grapes, kiwi, and melon…and perhaps kumquat if it didn’t sound so vile.
Bananas? No.
After a long grueling day in which he had dealt one too many blows to his ego by enduring the narcissistic ways of his board and being subjected to a dinner where they served banana flambé as the desert, he was ready to toss his tie to the side of his bed and plop in it to sleep his stress off. Alfred wasn’t one to stop him when he was in that kind of a mood, and Tim wisely found something else to do elsewhere. Dick wordlessly volunteered to take charge of him that night, which left Bruce an open doorway to do as he desired.
He hadn’t walked into his room a few feet when he was assaulted by his lover eagerly making him forget all about today. Clark was supposed to be in Metropolis for another day or so wrapping things up, so having him here, kissing him senseless and ruining another pair of pants in an effort to get closer was more than welcome.
Bruce let himself be led over to the bed and found light above it, nirvana gripping his spine as Clark did only what he could do religiously.
When his sight came back, and he could breathe a little easier, he forced his head to look down at Clark smiling smugly next to his sated flesh. Never in his life had anything felt so good, and not many could brag about trying to take all of him. Clark had done so, and well…and he was enjoying nuzzling his flaccid shaft with soft licks of worship.
Bruce groaned in response, forcing himself to ask, “How…”
And Clark, somewhat sheepish but proud all the same, looked up at him and replied, “Banana.”
Bruce Wayne had a healthy respect for that fruit after that and ate it with relish the next morning.
Beaver:
Dick was giggling horridly at something.
Bruce spied the youth sitting in his room; book in hand and watching him trying not to giggle anymore than he had. It was impossible. He broke out into a fit of laughter and fell backwards, kicking his legs up and holding himself to keep from falling off of the bed.
Dick wasn’t actually reading the book. He was watching something on the television.
Bruce hadn’t stopped to think about it much when he marched in that room and turned it off. Whatever it was that had Dick laughing so much was a distraction from his homework and that wasn’t going to fly. He told him as much and instructed him to get back to his studies.
Dick complied with a giggle and did as he was told.
A few years later, when Dick was grown and out of the house and Tim was introduced as the Robin that did the impossible because Bruce vowed never to have another Robin after…that incident…Bruce walked past Dick’s old room and Tim’s new one, and heard that same giggling all over again.
There was another one to join it, and then another when he really listened.
He walked backwards and peered into the open doorway, spying Tim on the bed in stitches and Kon red in the face but laughing just as much. Dick was on a chair nearby; wiping his face from his laughter induced tears and pointed to the screen again that was running in the background.
It was a computer screen. The television was off, but the computer was up and running and playing something from YouTube. Bruce was familiar with the site, having browsed it a time or two when he was bored and wanted to see if anyone else could be as nostalgic as he could. There were a lot of videos and uploads of things he never would have imagined wanting to be viewed, but the numbers spoke volumes.
He stepped into the room to get a closer look, reminded of back then and wondering just what in the hell Dick had been giggling about so. Tim was laughing just as hard now, and it revolved around these two little cartoon things, one with an afro, the other with a strange looking hat and both with buck tooth teeth singing to disco about something…
Bruce looked at the title and asked, “What in the hell is an angry beaver? And why…are they singing about beaver fever?”
He never saw his eldest boy laugh so hard in his life, or seen Kon blush so much. Tim was no good to anyone, on the floor crawling and laughing insanely.
Bruce thought long and hard about it…and wondered when his sons had become perverts.
Bittersweet:
The noise of the café drowned out the thoughts in his head.
Coffee steaming in his hands, he could see his reflection staring back up at him in the same morose way he was looking at it.
He’d been waiting for a solid hour and this was his first cup.
His laptop to the side and his pen and paper sitting neatly on his briefcase, he’d taken the time he’d known he’d have to finish up a couple of projects. He kept an eye out in case he showed up, but soon he stopped looking. He’d learned the first time he’d done this to stop looking after the first five minutes and learned the second time that it was better to wait to get anything consumable. It was rather strange to have eaten and be full and watch your companion stuff himself silly while answering questions…or not. Sometimes it was a gamble if he would or not. If he did, he was lucky. If not, it was the wrong question to ask.
There was always an answer, but the will to voice it was something different.
It had become a routine between them in an effort to find some common ground. Knowing of one another was enough once, but now they were trampling into one another’s turfs and that had ruffled more than a few feathers on their part. Regardless of what was and what would be it was more than apparent that they had to know more about the other without going behind the other’s back. It looked too suspicious, and one of them, the one that was late anyhow, was rather good at digging up information.
It still made him rather uncomfortable to know that he had something like that in case he should lose himself.
What he wouldn’t admit was that he was more than uncomfortable with losing himself than allowing him to have that thing.
He also wasn’t quite ready to admit to himself that he was growing fond of these little meetings. Whether he was waiting a few moments, an hour, or maybe forgotten about until he decided to leave, Clark Kent wasn’t a stranger to his feelings or his instincts. He was being tested in some way, if not consciously. His pa always said that patience was a virtue. He’d been quite patient as of late.
Patient with himself, his heart sinking into his stomach, and the expectations that this may not work out the way he wanted it to.
The door chimed to the small diner and someone came bustling in.
The scent of rain filled the diner, and Clark looked up in time to see Bruce panting heavily, dripping wet from the sudden downpour he hadn’t noticed until then, and looking about to find him. He spied Clark before he could be signaled and rushed over to sit himself down opposite aside him.
“Clark-“
“It’s all right.” Clark kept his eyes on his coffee. “I wasn’t waiting that long.”
Bruce usually sat back with a huff after Clark said that, but today he grabbed his warm hand with his wet one. The chill was like a small shock to his body, jolting him out of his funk and bringing him to stare at this man sitting across from him, squeezing his fingers gently while his face fell apart from the usual mask.
“It’s not okay…and I haven’t been fair about this, and you damn well know it,” Bruce said. “So stop lying to me. I don’t want to know the person that forgives someone who allows them to step all over their back. I want to know you…the real you. The one that probably wants to get up and leave right now because I have no business asking you to forgive me for doing something so childish.”
It was quiet for a while. Clark kept staring at Bruce, and Bruce kept a hold of his hand. When it looked like they would remain frozen like that, Clark finally moved, taking his glasses off of his face and glaring at Bruce the way he wanted to from the first time he’d done this. “Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me,” he muttered, “and you’re right…you have no business asking me for forgiveness.”
“I-“
“Because there is nothing to forgive. Now, can we put some coffee in your body and talk like actual people now, or do we have to play twenty questions while you stuff your face?”
Bruce gave him a lopsided smile and took the cup of coffee into his hands. He drank the heated liquid as if it was heaven and a piece of that heaven was muttering under his breath about bats and their strange behaviors.
The bittersweet flavor warmed him from the inside out, as did the hand that stayed in his.
Almond: A young Bruce Wayne the Night his Parents were killed.
Antique Brass: A variation on how Clark reappears after vanishing into space and coming back to find the world moving on without him.
Apricot: That was fun. :) Obviously Bruce dragging Clark on vacation. I wonder if they really do go on vacation.
Aquamarine: Everyone's aware of the strain between Superboy and Superman...so I played on Kon's feelings, and had Superman coming to apologize with Bruce aiding in his silent way.
Asparagus: I don't LIKE it...and some people should never cook...ever.
Atomic Tangerine: You know the deal. Sometimes the hair color you want you don't get...I had to remove all my hair because of something similar to this. :P Aw well...hair does grow back.
Banana Mania: .....let it speak for itself, yah?
Beaver: *snerk*....I can't help myself.
Bittersweet: A pre-slash moment...when the boys are in need of getting to know one another and finding out they really need to start without the masks.
All right, more soon. :)
Fandom: DC
Pairings: Mainly Bruce/Clark; others mentioned.
Characters: Clark Kent/Superman, Bruce Wayne/Batman, Kon-El/Superboy, Tim Drake/Robin, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Barbara Gordon/Batgirl/Oracle; others mentioned
Word Count: 4,449
Rating: R
Warnings: Language, Humor, Slightly OOC, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Sap
Spoilers: None
Synopsis: Little drabbles based on the colors of the Crayola List.
A little history behind this story:
I was reading a fanfiction that was about another pairing in a different cartoon that I can't help but read. There was one fic in particular that jumped out at me, and when I read it, I thought that it was rather interesting and quite cool to have different drabbles based on the colors of the Crayola box. Since I don't write the particular fandom that it was addressed in, I decided to take that idea and stick it to this fandom.
There are approximately 133 colors in the intial list for Crayola Colors. The complete list can be found here.
Rather than post 133 entries, I thought it would be better to just lump nine or ten into one entry. I might change my mind later...but for now, I think we'll just stick with this.
For anyone up to the challenge, or wants to make it one, I invite you to do so. See what you come up with. It's rather interesting!
Crayola Moments:
Almond:
The bedding was warm.
He thought it would be cold. He spread his hands over the sparse of the silken sheets and blankets, eyes still stinging but attentive to the texture and feel of what was beneath him. There was the tear in the corner, unnoticed by most but him. He’d put it there this morning, clamoring up into this massive bed to get at his parents and excitedly bounce up and down like any kid his age would have when he was promised a movie. His parents were always so busy. They’d promised him that they’d take him to the movies today.
Yesterday.
The bright red circle was still on the calendar. It was a blaring color in the darkness, untamed and telling all of where it was and what it meant. The calendar beneath his small fingers was littered with scrawl and many things he didn’t quite understand, but today…yesterday…the red only circled his name and the word movie date within it.
He blinked tiredly up at the canopy.
The rain kept falling from the outside, dripping incessantly against the windows ceil as it gathered against the panes. They were like little tapping fingers, each one keeping him awake, aware, and blinding him with that static of noise shock brought. The thunder rumbling in the back at a distance was the roar he’d thought to have heard when the red bled…
It stained the paper…it stained his shoes.
It stained his life, but he was just a kid who didn’t know what life was…yet.
He was tired.
He buried his face into the pillows again, and this time let out the sob that had wanted to erupt from the moment he’d turned around in that alley.
He didn’t cry because of what happened. He didn’t sob because he’d never see them again. He hadn’t accepted that yet, and he’d cry about that another night.
Right now…he cried because the pillow smelt like his mother.
His mother always smelt like almonds.
Antique Brass:
The first time Bruce found him, he was sitting at the edge of a fountain, head in hands and breathing unsteadily to calm himself down. Even at a distance, he could see that the man was lost. Not lost as in didn’t know his way around because he had indeed lived here for quite some time, but lost as in how to move on from this moment. It was never easy when someone got to this moment…he’d been here once or twice, and each time was a little harder than the last.
To know that everything had changed, and you were forgotten…it wasn’t an easy place to be.
Bruce hadn’t meant to wander as close as he did. It was perhaps an instinct his body couldn’t quite ignore even after all the hardening he’d been through. Many trials, tribulations, and mistakes made him the hardened body that felt nothing outwardly, but he was a broken jagged mess on the inside always a step from walking over that edge. He’d done it to himself not as a means of proving a point, but to keep people from ever feeling the depth of what he felt on a day to day basis.
But now…nothing in this world could explain how broken his scarred heart was to see that strong face weeping openly into hands that could bench a building. Nothing could tell him how he walked into the open courtyard of this park and presented himself in the moonlight to the blurred vision of a man gifted from the heavens abroad.
He’d been gone for so long…
He didn’t think once that he’d ever relive this sweet pain.
Bruce dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around him, inhaling the scent of whatever space was and the scent of the country. The rumpled and ripped shirt under his fingers grounded him, and he sighed against the trembling body burying himself into his arms.
“It’s…all over…”
“Not over, Clark,” Bruce whispered. “Just another chapter ending…and another beginning.”
They sat by that old brass fountain for an untold time, until Bruce took Clark by his hand and led him away from the gnarled past and pushed him into a sand written future.
Apricot:
Clark Kent was a busy man.
A busy man that didn’t have time to do what he wanted because he had two jobs.
So rather than complain about it, he trudged on, exhausting himself until another busy man who happened to intricately weave himself in that hectic schedule put his foot down, bought his job, and demanded that he take a vacation right then and there.
Bruce Wayne was in front of him, hand planted on his desk, and telling him in no uncertain terms that at that very moment, he was on vacation for a week. Not a day off, not two days off, but a whole week; a whole week’s vacation that included a week off from his other job. So truly it was about two weeks…and Bruce wasn’t taking no for answer and said as much.
Clark hadn’t ever been so shocked in his life.
The office was quite shocked as well, but they took it in stride as another anomaly they would never figure out.
Regardless of what happened that morning, that afternoon they were on a plane to a small island somewhere south of the border. Bruce wouldn’t tell them where they were going. He wouldn’t even let Clark pack more than a few outfits before he was shoving him out the door of his apartment and into a plane waiting for them. Clark expected press to get wind of this, especially since they were at the Daily Planet when it started. No one, not one camera that belonged to a Paparazzi or tabloid hound awaited them. There was no fuss, no muss, and Clark was seated with firm instructions to sleep.
He did sleep.
It felt so good that getting up was a chore.
That chore was rewarded by Bruce’s soft kiss and the promise of more.
Clark wasn’t inclined to ask where they were. He’d learned a long time ago that it was just better to go with the flow that was Bruce Wayne on a mission, and his mission as of now was to make sure that Clark Kent did absolutely nothing that wasn’t necessary. He’d gotten them into a very expensive looking but exotic hotel, ushering him to their suite and locking the door with that infamous sign swinging from it.
Clark was laid on the bed, his clothing removed, and the promised kisses reigning his senses until he was delusional. He’d come back to his senses to see Bruce smiling down at him, sated but eager to keep Clark relaxed and mindless. Clark had no problem complying, promptly falling asleep with Bruce tucked against him humming happily.
When he woke again, he was greeted by a tray food fresh fruit, sliced, chilled and waiting for his lips from nimble fingers tracing the soft skin of his bottom lip. He bit down, savoring the sweet somewhat tangy flavor, the other half bitten off and shared between them as evening took hold.
Clark Kent begun his first vacation with an Apricot flavored kiss.
He’d never been so glad for vacation before.
Aquamarine:
He left his shoes on the shore…
He left his hands at his sides…
He turned his face to the waters of a rising tide.
His heart was somewhere forgotten…
His soul…he wondered if he ever had one.
To be denied existence was similar to having not been born at all. He wasn’t sure of the ways or how it happened, but he was here…standing here with the waters against his feet, submerging them and falling away to gather their will to rise once more. The chill further proved that he was indeed here, not a dream. Not a figment of someone’s strange imagination in a book somewhere or floating in a tube that was harbored underground in the dark.
Or maybe he was dreaming. Maybe…
The anger was a white hot horrid red in his chest that suffocated him every time. It blinded him, made it easier to throw his fists and not think about what he was doing or why. He wanted to forget. He wanted to wash it all away the only way he knew how, and it usually ended with him being reprimanded about a gift he never wanted. He was a creation…a failed attempt of a mad man’s desire…a failed attempt at the perfect being…the one who couldn’t look him in the eye even when he talked to him.
Perhaps it was for the best.
He dropped his jacket into the sands…the winds quiet but firm, scented with the ocean’s ever present life. Somewhere beneath it there was salvation. Somewhere under the soft crashing waves was an answer, but a puzzle all its own. It was calming standing here, looking at a place he couldn’t live within. It was better than dreaming about finding a way to fit in a world that was already set for normalcy or hoping that someday his origin wouldn’t play into what he was, how he felt…
If it mattered.
The winds picked up a little, and he lifted is eyes to the sight of someone he hadn’t been expecting. He air in his lungs failed him, and for once his fists did nothing. He simply stood there, hearing something, saying nothing, and felt his whole world lurch backwards when the words he’d wanted to hear so badly made him ache all over again.
He raised his hands to the air.
He felt a spark of something stir…
His arms were filled and he was crushed against the perfect being apologizing for something neither of them wanted. He pressed deeper into that grip, releasing all he felt, thought, and wanted in that one embrace… boneless but free of the burden life had become.
Behind them, another man walked to place his hand on his trembling shoulder. He’d never seen him outside of that mask, but tonight…tonight his face reflected the aquamarine ocean’s soft song as it crashed against their feet.
Asparagus:
“Um…is it supposed to be that color?”
She threw her hands on her hips and glared at him. “I thought I told you to go sit down!”
“I am! But…seriously, is it supposed to BE…that color?”
She swatted at him and Kon decided that it was better to retreat back into the dining room where the others were waiting anxiously. Bruce was sitting at one end drumming his fingers in boredom, or his attempt at boredom depending on who one asked. He was trying not to think about what was going on in that kitchen as were the rest of them focusing on other menial behaviors. It was best not to think about it. Thinking about it made their stomachs hurt.
Clark was absently picking at his shirt, his left eye twitching from time to time. His sense of smell was much sharper, as was Kon’s. Kon sat down aside him, not exactly leaning on him but leaning in far enough to catch his eye. Kon made a soft concerned sound and Clark tried not to gasp. He kept picking at his shirt, but he left Kon hold onto his wrist under the table. Bruce already had switched tactics and now was simply leaning on one arm. The other arm was under the table, grabbing Clark’s knee in duress. He may not have had as sharp a sense of smell as they did, but he knew that constant yelping for something not to burn was not a good sign.
“Um…does anyone remember the reason why we agreed to this?” Tim asked from across the table.
Dick was tempted to tell him to shut up, but he couldn’t bring himself to talk. He was afraid if he did he might inhale some of whatever that was cooking in there and he’d never have a stomach again. He kept his eyes on the napkin he was picking at, ignoring the weight of Tim grabbing hold of his arm and clinging. Something had fallen in that kitchen and she wasn’t happy about it.
After a tense moment, she appeared in the doorway, a mess, hair askew, and splotched with flour and something brown. In her hands was a pot that was steaming hot, bubbling over a bit, and probably alive from the way she handled it.
“Babs…what is that?”
Barbara said nothing. She smiled in triumph and placed that pot in the center of the table, uncovering it and the yellow tinted smoke that poured upward.
Kon almost broke Clark’s wrist. If Bruce was any stronger he would have bruised his knee. Clark tore a hole in his shirt anyhow. Dick ripped his napkin clean in half. Tim…Tim was a brave little soul. He got up a bit to peer in that pot and see just why that bubble belched like it did and moaned with more of that yellow smoke…
“It...Is that a piece of asparagus?” Tim asked. There was something floating in the gunk, the only piece of sickly green in the entire pot that just didn’t make sense.
Barbara leaned in to take a closer look. “Um…I guess that one survived. The rest are burnt at the bottom. I cooked around it.”
“…and…this is…what again?”
“Asparagus Stew.”
Tim took his pen out of his pocket and dipped it into what was supposed to be dinner. He came back with half of it in tact and the rest…“…you’re not going to pass home economics with this. It’s not even green.”
Barabara took the pot back and promptly trashed it. The boys groaned in relief until she came back with another tray…this time with something hard, black and smoking. “I suppose no one wants charcoal cookies, either, huh?”
Atomic Tangerine:
Batman was at a loss for words for once in his life, and it wasn’t by choice.
Superman was getting up from the rubble of what had been a grand explosion, having gotten caught in it like so many others, though smoking a little more than usual and probably just as confused as he was. He knocked the biggest piece of concrete from his head and tossed it into the pile sitting on either side of him, groaning tiredly and willing himself to stay on his feet.
That didn’t last, and neither did Batman’s silence.
He covered his mouth with gauntlet hand and ever so slightly tried not to snicker.
“Are you seriously laughing at me?” Superman muttered.
Batman turned away. “Ah…no.”
“Yes you are!”
“…and if I am?”
“Look, she was trying out hair dyes and I volunteered. I didn’t think it’d come out like this!”
Batman kept his face averted. If he looked at him, he was going to lose it. Royally lose it. As it was, he stayed off to the side and thought about their next move, until Superman was in his face and glaring at him something awful.
Batman kept his mouth covered, but his laughter broke free.
“And…what color was that supposed to be again?”
Clark muttered to himself. “….mahogany.”
“….atomic orange is a better name for it.”
“….someone switched the contents.”
And Batman, the stoic dark figure of the night, fell to his knees laughing so hard he couldn’t quite breathe.
Clark huffed in annoyance and vowed then and there never to let his wife try anything with his hair again.
Banana Mania:
Bruce Wayne was not a fan of bananas.
Sure, he’d eat them once in a while, but he just wasn’t sold on the fruit that someone had to fight to open. It was a damn shame that simians had found an easier way to open them, which made him less of a fan knowing that the human race had been eating them upside down in a sense. They filled one up before they could really devour the entire thing, and there were so many things made with bananas in them that it was hard to appreciate the flavor.
He could easily live without them. He had decided that when he was younger and forced to endure eating them for a week for potassium’s sake. Hard regimens with training left his muscles wobbly and susceptible to cramping, and there was nothing fun about having to walk off two cramps in both legs and having to visit the facilities at the same time. It was most uncomfortable, and once was enough for the billionaire.
After a week of that sickening fruit, he’d switched to pills, although being careful not to go over the regular dosage. Potassium, while a godsend for cramps, was a killer in its own right. At least it was a way to keep from eating that one fruit that smelt sweeter than it was unless it was ripe, and was practically inedible when the skin was firm and slightly green. Apples usually were ripe enough often for him not to worry about getting a sour bite. Oranges he could get from the container out of a store. He’d eat grapes, kiwi, and melon…and perhaps kumquat if it didn’t sound so vile.
Bananas? No.
After a long grueling day in which he had dealt one too many blows to his ego by enduring the narcissistic ways of his board and being subjected to a dinner where they served banana flambé as the desert, he was ready to toss his tie to the side of his bed and plop in it to sleep his stress off. Alfred wasn’t one to stop him when he was in that kind of a mood, and Tim wisely found something else to do elsewhere. Dick wordlessly volunteered to take charge of him that night, which left Bruce an open doorway to do as he desired.
He hadn’t walked into his room a few feet when he was assaulted by his lover eagerly making him forget all about today. Clark was supposed to be in Metropolis for another day or so wrapping things up, so having him here, kissing him senseless and ruining another pair of pants in an effort to get closer was more than welcome.
Bruce let himself be led over to the bed and found light above it, nirvana gripping his spine as Clark did only what he could do religiously.
When his sight came back, and he could breathe a little easier, he forced his head to look down at Clark smiling smugly next to his sated flesh. Never in his life had anything felt so good, and not many could brag about trying to take all of him. Clark had done so, and well…and he was enjoying nuzzling his flaccid shaft with soft licks of worship.
Bruce groaned in response, forcing himself to ask, “How…”
And Clark, somewhat sheepish but proud all the same, looked up at him and replied, “Banana.”
Bruce Wayne had a healthy respect for that fruit after that and ate it with relish the next morning.
Beaver:
Dick was giggling horridly at something.
Bruce spied the youth sitting in his room; book in hand and watching him trying not to giggle anymore than he had. It was impossible. He broke out into a fit of laughter and fell backwards, kicking his legs up and holding himself to keep from falling off of the bed.
Dick wasn’t actually reading the book. He was watching something on the television.
Bruce hadn’t stopped to think about it much when he marched in that room and turned it off. Whatever it was that had Dick laughing so much was a distraction from his homework and that wasn’t going to fly. He told him as much and instructed him to get back to his studies.
Dick complied with a giggle and did as he was told.
A few years later, when Dick was grown and out of the house and Tim was introduced as the Robin that did the impossible because Bruce vowed never to have another Robin after…that incident…Bruce walked past Dick’s old room and Tim’s new one, and heard that same giggling all over again.
There was another one to join it, and then another when he really listened.
He walked backwards and peered into the open doorway, spying Tim on the bed in stitches and Kon red in the face but laughing just as much. Dick was on a chair nearby; wiping his face from his laughter induced tears and pointed to the screen again that was running in the background.
It was a computer screen. The television was off, but the computer was up and running and playing something from YouTube. Bruce was familiar with the site, having browsed it a time or two when he was bored and wanted to see if anyone else could be as nostalgic as he could. There were a lot of videos and uploads of things he never would have imagined wanting to be viewed, but the numbers spoke volumes.
He stepped into the room to get a closer look, reminded of back then and wondering just what in the hell Dick had been giggling about so. Tim was laughing just as hard now, and it revolved around these two little cartoon things, one with an afro, the other with a strange looking hat and both with buck tooth teeth singing to disco about something…
Bruce looked at the title and asked, “What in the hell is an angry beaver? And why…are they singing about beaver fever?”
He never saw his eldest boy laugh so hard in his life, or seen Kon blush so much. Tim was no good to anyone, on the floor crawling and laughing insanely.
Bruce thought long and hard about it…and wondered when his sons had become perverts.
Bittersweet:
The noise of the café drowned out the thoughts in his head.
Coffee steaming in his hands, he could see his reflection staring back up at him in the same morose way he was looking at it.
He’d been waiting for a solid hour and this was his first cup.
His laptop to the side and his pen and paper sitting neatly on his briefcase, he’d taken the time he’d known he’d have to finish up a couple of projects. He kept an eye out in case he showed up, but soon he stopped looking. He’d learned the first time he’d done this to stop looking after the first five minutes and learned the second time that it was better to wait to get anything consumable. It was rather strange to have eaten and be full and watch your companion stuff himself silly while answering questions…or not. Sometimes it was a gamble if he would or not. If he did, he was lucky. If not, it was the wrong question to ask.
There was always an answer, but the will to voice it was something different.
It had become a routine between them in an effort to find some common ground. Knowing of one another was enough once, but now they were trampling into one another’s turfs and that had ruffled more than a few feathers on their part. Regardless of what was and what would be it was more than apparent that they had to know more about the other without going behind the other’s back. It looked too suspicious, and one of them, the one that was late anyhow, was rather good at digging up information.
It still made him rather uncomfortable to know that he had something like that in case he should lose himself.
What he wouldn’t admit was that he was more than uncomfortable with losing himself than allowing him to have that thing.
He also wasn’t quite ready to admit to himself that he was growing fond of these little meetings. Whether he was waiting a few moments, an hour, or maybe forgotten about until he decided to leave, Clark Kent wasn’t a stranger to his feelings or his instincts. He was being tested in some way, if not consciously. His pa always said that patience was a virtue. He’d been quite patient as of late.
Patient with himself, his heart sinking into his stomach, and the expectations that this may not work out the way he wanted it to.
The door chimed to the small diner and someone came bustling in.
The scent of rain filled the diner, and Clark looked up in time to see Bruce panting heavily, dripping wet from the sudden downpour he hadn’t noticed until then, and looking about to find him. He spied Clark before he could be signaled and rushed over to sit himself down opposite aside him.
“Clark-“
“It’s all right.” Clark kept his eyes on his coffee. “I wasn’t waiting that long.”
Bruce usually sat back with a huff after Clark said that, but today he grabbed his warm hand with his wet one. The chill was like a small shock to his body, jolting him out of his funk and bringing him to stare at this man sitting across from him, squeezing his fingers gently while his face fell apart from the usual mask.
“It’s not okay…and I haven’t been fair about this, and you damn well know it,” Bruce said. “So stop lying to me. I don’t want to know the person that forgives someone who allows them to step all over their back. I want to know you…the real you. The one that probably wants to get up and leave right now because I have no business asking you to forgive me for doing something so childish.”
It was quiet for a while. Clark kept staring at Bruce, and Bruce kept a hold of his hand. When it looked like they would remain frozen like that, Clark finally moved, taking his glasses off of his face and glaring at Bruce the way he wanted to from the first time he’d done this. “Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me,” he muttered, “and you’re right…you have no business asking me for forgiveness.”
“I-“
“Because there is nothing to forgive. Now, can we put some coffee in your body and talk like actual people now, or do we have to play twenty questions while you stuff your face?”
Bruce gave him a lopsided smile and took the cup of coffee into his hands. He drank the heated liquid as if it was heaven and a piece of that heaven was muttering under his breath about bats and their strange behaviors.
The bittersweet flavor warmed him from the inside out, as did the hand that stayed in his.
Almond: A young Bruce Wayne the Night his Parents were killed.
Antique Brass: A variation on how Clark reappears after vanishing into space and coming back to find the world moving on without him.
Apricot: That was fun. :) Obviously Bruce dragging Clark on vacation. I wonder if they really do go on vacation.
Aquamarine: Everyone's aware of the strain between Superboy and Superman...so I played on Kon's feelings, and had Superman coming to apologize with Bruce aiding in his silent way.
Asparagus: I don't LIKE it...and some people should never cook...ever.
Atomic Tangerine: You know the deal. Sometimes the hair color you want you don't get...I had to remove all my hair because of something similar to this. :P Aw well...hair does grow back.
Banana Mania: .....let it speak for itself, yah?
Beaver: *snerk*....I can't help myself.
Bittersweet: A pre-slash moment...when the boys are in need of getting to know one another and finding out they really need to start without the masks.
All right, more soon. :)