Crayola Moments

[kittymayhem]

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: 4,807
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!

List of Colors I've done so far:
<--- 9 drabbles/short fics
<--- 8 drabbles/short fics
 <--- 6 drabbles/short fics
( Carribean Green through Cornflower )

New Colors:



Cotton Candy:

“Open.”

“No.”

“Open.”

“NO.”

Bruce resisted the urge to roll his eyes skyward. He could hear the soft snickers from a certain alien from behind to echo the chortle coming from his butler. Alfred wisely didn’t comment on his actions, though he was reserved the right to laugh at the plight that had put itself before the one and only billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne.

Damien folded his arms over his small frame, mouth twisted in disgust at the foul thing he’d deemed poisonous the moment he saw it. Bruce had brought it home with instructions to administer it the moment Damien should wake from his fever.  Leslie, long since retired, was not without her maternal instinct, and while Bruce had played fatherly figure and messed it up a time or two, seeing any child sick in his care was a definite must not. He’d gone to her, having brought a sample of blood since the child in question was too sick and too ornery to go anywhere without some type of sedation. Leslie had ran the results, and deemed that Damien, the volatile bundle too sick to live up to that name, had a virus…and was in need of eating more vegetables.

“I will get better on my own without that stuff!” Damien rasped. “I am stronger than some little virus!”

“You’re a child,” Bruce said dryly, “one that caught the damn virus in the first place. If you don’t take this, you’re going to be miserable longer, and your nightly absence will in turn BE longer.”

“That’s ludicrous!”

“So is your inability to stomach a bit of medicine. Look, it’s even flavored.”

Damien eyed that bottle evilly, but contemplated it. “…what flavor?”

“Cotton Candy.”

“…I don’t-aagh!”

It was a tactic Bruce had perfected long ago and continued to work even when his son dutifully glared at him. The spoon was shoved in, pulled out, and he was forced to swallow from the shock of it all. Damien started to say something crass, but it fell short when his father placed his hand over his head.

“You’re still running a fever,” Bruce muttered. “That should break soon…until then, do me a favor?”

“…what?”

“Shut up and go to sleep, brat.”

Damien huffed and tossed himself onto his side, no longer up to telling his father about himself and his insane theories about viruses and him getting one. He dropped off much faster than he would have liked, aware of the sweet after taste of cotton candy, but unaware of the hand that hadn’t quite left his head.

“Conner hates you, by the way.” Clark remarked.

Bruce smirked sideways. “Yeah? Next time, tell him not to tell me when my son is sick.”

Dandelion:

There were nights that were more questionable than others.

Batman wasn’t a liar and he certainly wasn’t going to delude himself into thinking that odd shit never happened.

He still couldn’t quite believe that Dick had been turned into a puppet.

Or that he’d been turned into some horrid bat creature. Thank you Batmite.

Dealing with psychos like the Joker, he knew things could go from bad, to worse, to just plain messed up and wrong on so many levels that he’d have to be a shrink to himself for a week afterward. No therapist in their right mind would have Batman on their couch telling them about the odd happenings of the night and how they left him sleepless. That therapist would need one themselves and the cycle would never end!

“You murderer!!”

But this…this warranted the appropriate action of him scratching the back of his head. The letters “W-T-F” with an exclamation question mark right after them scrolled across his mind. He took a step backward.

She screamed again, louder and like she’d been stabbed seven times in the heart.

She certainly slumped down like it, but her strength went into prying his foot off of something and knocking him flat on his back.

“Oh my dear god…why?!” she screamed. “How could you!? You’re such a bastard, Batman! I never thought you of all people would do something so horrible!”

He didn’t even know what that horror was. All he’d done was appear, tell her to stop, fought her like usual, chopped up some plants, defeated her, and walked off…and then she was screaming at him.

What in the hell was wrong with Poison Ivy?

“My poor babies…” She sobbed into her cupped hands, cradling something. Batman couldn’t see what it was. He sat up to try and get a glimpse, but she was too busy shedding the water works for him to properly assess the situation. “I can’t believe that brute would…would do that to you…”

Batman, more than confused, got to his feet. It was at that very moment that Harley Quinn pranced out of the shadows, calling for Ivy in that high pitched voice of hers. Batman thought about moving and leaving her to deal with this weirdness, but something made him stay. It might have been the way Harley looked between him and her, and then rolled her eyes when she realized something he clearly could not figure out.

“Oh jeez, not this again,” she muttered. “Ivy, you need to get a grip.”

“I need to what?!” Ivy cried, outraged and still sobbing like she’d lost something valuable, “That…that man murdered them! He didn’t even give them regards when he blantantly stepped on them! Do you have any idea how hard it is to see them crushed beneath his feet?! Don’t they die enough by the hands of hideous children plucking them?!”

Batman didn’t want to believe it. He really didn’t. But he moved his foot anyhow and sighed heavily at the crushed yellow flower beneath his boot. It was one of those rare sighs, the one where his shoulders slumped, his head fell back, he counted to ten, and willed himself not to say what came to mind.

Harley, daring as ever, patted him on his shoulders. “You should see her when people trim their bushes,” she whispered. “She’s like Mr. J when you don’t laugh at his jokes.”

“I never laugh at his jokes.”

“Exactly. You ever wonder why he’s so nutso?”

If that was the reason, then he had a lot to reevaluate about that lunatic…and the one sobbing over the dead dandelion in her hands. He turned away, walked off, and ignored her when she started screaming about the grass.

Denim:

Have you ever in your life time looked at the one you loved and thought something not nice?

Not in the evil sense, but in the “I really shouldn’t say that in fear of my life” sense.

I have. As a reporter, it’s vital to ask questions and get answers to inquiries, but in other circumstances it’s just best to let actions speak louder than words.

There was the time that Dick was going through that phase with the beiber cut. Yes, that. It wasn’t intentional, a bad hair cut could do that to anyone if the lie is strong enough, and I believe the lie that was on his head for a period of two months taught him several things about fashion, fads, and how shallow some girls are; that being of course before he shacked up with Roy, but I’m getting off point. I said nothing about it. I wanted to, and Bruce had mentioned it under his breath a time or two. It was best to leave that one alone.

There were other things as well that I wanted to speak up about and didn’t. Have you seen Wonder Woman’s get up lately? It’s a little on the provocative side, and this coming from a man that wears red briefs outside of his uniform. No, I don’t know how that happened or why, but it stuck and little boys are inclined to wear their red briefs outside their clothing on Halloween. I’m sorry moms of the world. But getting back to Diana, I think she managed to give her pilot a nosebleed and several other members of the league. Granted not all at once, but I think she got the hint when she noticed Beast Boy panting at her backside once too often.

He still does. Not as heavily. But her suit is short of a bathing suit.

We could go on and on about this and things I’ve never said aloud. There are endless examples. I’m not even going to mention Lois’s choice in clothing or how she manages to run in heels like she does. What John says about it is not nice. Funny, but not nice.

But there are times where I can’t help myself, and whatever I say is muted by my actions…and I tend to get in so much shit because of it.

It really was not my fault. Bruce says it is, but it’s not.

It started out with this weird declaration of his being that he was going to be on the cover of Gotham Business Weekly. Like I cared. I shrugged and went back to my paper. I’d seen him in the papers and on covers such as that often enough to know that he was going to wear the usual dark attire. A little color would not kill him, but we’re talking about the hidden bat here. It wasn’t going to happen.

I thought that was all, but I really should have listened a little better than I had. I was reading this crap article by a fellow reporter and-well, anyhow, I was half listening. I said yes to something, and then I was paying attention to the cinnamon rolls Alfred laid out on the table.

The man makes a heavenly pastry.

Fifteen minutes later Bruce comes back from wherever he went and he was upset about something. Naturally, I didn’t ask him. I usually don’t. Silence gets him to talk. It wasn’t long before he asked me something about diet and routines, and all said to him was that if he wanted to shed some unwanted fat, he had to switch up his routine. I said nothing more than that. Saying anything else was going to have him remark about being fat and then I would feel guilty for eating another cinnamon roll.

A couple of weeks go by. Like he said, he was on the cover of Gotham Business Weekly. Same attire. Same bland expression. I tossed that magazine to the side and opted for the comics in the newspaper that morning. I was only part way done with Pearls Before Swine when Bruce’s hand reached out and snatched away whatever smart assed thing Rat was saying to Pig. I frowned and started to demand my paper back.

My tongue did this thing that I still hate to this day. It caught at the roof of my mouth and would NOT move. The garbled mess of language came tumbling out of my mouth. It was humiliating.

Bruce thought it was worth the smirk on his face when he modeled off a pair of denim jeans that looked too much like they’d been painted on for me to be civil about them. The stone wash denim was a snug fit, hugging every place possible and leaving no loose pocket of fabric to be bunched anywhere. When he turned around, the shape of his ass was kicking the sensible side of by brain into idiocy and I was drooling like the idiot I felt like. Two perfectly rounded and sculpted mounds embraced by that fabric were asking for someone’s hands to touch them.

I wanted to. I really, really, wanted to.

I asked him as casually as I knew how what he was doing in those.

He said, “I have a photo shoot with GQ. They sent these over for me to get into. I couldn’t before…”

“Before?” I sputtered. “How long have you had them?”

“Since I told you about the other shoot,” he said, giving me a weird look. “I asked you if I should switch it up. You said yes. I wasn’t going to wear these…but I thought it was time for a change. You said so yourself!”

Did I? I don’t quite remember.

I do remember what I did when he walked over to the fridge and bent low to get something off of the bottom shelf.

There was a satisfying rip and my fingers were moving of their own accord…and Bruce was not happy about his pants but he was quite content to leave those things in a shredded heap by the time I got done with him.

Bruce was on the cover of GQ magazine. He was in the same dark suit he usually wore…

But in the spread, he was in nothing but his denim pants, his shirt opened, his tie undone, and looking like he’d been debauched by a certain alien that morning when he told me the actual truth.

The one’s I’d ripped were a pair that he’d worn in high school. Impressive? Yes. Vital to know? Not so much. They were coming off whether he did it or I did. Bruce was just a little slow about it.

I don’t comment on Bruce’s fashion. I’m used to it. But when he switches things up on me, it makes me think not so nice things. Bruce still says it’s my fault. I don’t see how. I have a healthy appreciation for denim. I wear it religiously outside of work. There is nothing wrong with anyone wearing denim.

“What about these?”

When Bruce wears it, I don’t comment on it.

He knows what’ll happen. There are five pairs of destroyed jeans testifying to it.

“Clark!”

Make that six.

Desert Sand:

Superman bent over the rush of green, smiling rapturously at nothing and everything. He inhaled all that there was to inhale; the sight, the sounds, the smells…everything that made this moment vibrant. He didn’t quite care if he was getting strange looks from the others. He drifted from one to the next, just enjoying it for what it was.

Life.

Endless life in all forms shapes and colors.

He even admired the man eating plant trying to get at him from behind its casing, tracing the glass with gentle fingers along the lines of the vines pressing against it. The teeth were of no concern as they pushed at the glass. He drank in that moment and found himself not minding if that thing did shatter.

Someone else did mind.

Batman reached up and tugged at his cape, yanking him down with surprising ease. Superman wasn’t startled much, but he went with that questioning tug, spinning and turning into the unsuspecting embrace of his fellow leaguer. He buried his face into the black cowl, arms folding around his belted waist and resting without the intent of letting go for a long while.

This was the signal the others took as their sign to leave. Wonder Woman was the last to go, smiling at the image and unaware of the depths of that friendship. The door shut itself, and Batman allowed his gloved hands to rest on Superman’s shoulders, soothing him when he started to tremble.

“What happened?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

Nothing. Nothing was wrong. Not now. Superman didn’t say it. He lifted his head to meet Batman’s questioning gaze, seeing the concerned baby blues under the vinyl try to ascertain his state of mind. Rather than give into their need to know his psyche, he pushed himself forward and laid a soft kiss upon startled lips.

“Never have I seen a world do desolate as the one I came from,” he breathed. “There was no life…the earth was in ruins…rock and sand everywhere. The desert had spread until it touched everything, and there was nothing more than the red sun, the savage, and myself to breathe in dry air and live.”

“Superman…”

“I never want to relive such destruction. I never want to be in a place where the only sign of you is signals and vague clues…and I never want to visit the desert without water.” Superman tightened his hold, shifting his arms to wrap themselves around Batman’s neck to slowly pull back the mask. Batman let him, and for a moment it was nothing more than Bruce staring into Clark’s unsure eyes. He wasn’t sure if he was dreaming…or if this was heaven after he’d died in that savage land.

Those durable hands pressed into the small of his back, pulling him closer. “You will never thirst,” Bruce said quietly. “You will never wither. I won’t allow your sun to fade…and you will have more from me than vagueness.”

“Bruce…”

“You’re home. Home safe and sound. With me.”

Home. Clark felt the words tug him down. He was falling to the cold steel flooring, holding onto Bruce for dear life as it finally sank in. The harsh heat of that world vanished; replaced with the embrace he’d been waiting upon for too long. What seemed like forever had only been hours.

“We’ve got to stop getting zapped and taken elsewhere,” Bruce muttered dryly. “Otherwise Lobo will have it in his head to come back.”

Hours without that dry wit and his laughter at it. Clark settled into Bruce’s arms and stared at the plant lit surrounding them and said, “Did you know cockroaches will take over the world if left alone?”

Bruce endeavored to smash them whenever he saw them, and that was enough for Clark.

Eggplant:

Clark shifted somewhat to the left of him, the chair a bit uncomfortable but tolerable. He never did understand the reason behind furniture that wasn’t functional aside looking expensive, but this wasn’t his house. The cushion beneath his seat was lumpy and frilly, nothing resembling the softness it openly lied to one’s eyes about. After one final shift, he gave up and levitated just enough to give him some relief, appearing to have straitened his posture without giving much away.

Bruce, who was disciplined enough to lock out discomfort of many types, looked on in slight envy.

“Do you know that this is about?”

Clark shook his head. “No. I don’t know anymore about this than you do.”

“You don’t think-“

“No! I mean, I know I didn’t-“

“Okay…then what is she up to?”

Clark couldn’t know. She’d stomped up to his desk and announced that he was coming to dinner and he’d better not skip out. Lois was demanding when she wanted to be. He’d simply nodded, made sure he wasn’t wearing his work suit over to her apartment, and had the life sucked out of his face when Bruce answered her door.

Bruce had given him that mild panicked looked that could have easily been mistaken for gas. Clark had slipped into the apartment, asking with his eyes what his mouth could not. Surely Lois didn’t know about them, right? Bruce had shrugged, tilted his head, and slipped into his easy Bruce persona when Lois had come back out of the kitchen to greet him.

She was in the kitchen cooking up a storm. It smelt fine, which was a relief to their ailing stomachs. They still hadn’t quite caught the last concoction Barbara had whipped up and now it was living somewhere in her building terrorizing cats. Bruce still wanted to know how she’d managed to bring life to gravy, and why it ate cats.

“You boys are awfully quiet…” Lois called. “I thought you two had put aside your differences?”

“We have…but it’s been a long day!” Clark called back. “What’s for dinner?”

“It’s a surprise! I got it offline from a buddy of mine.”

He didn’t ask her who. His stomach gurgled under his hands. He couldn’t tell if that was a sign to run or a sign of hunger.  Whatever it was, option one was taken away from him when she waltzed out of the kitchen with a couple of bowls in hand. Spring Salad in one and steaming noodles in the other. It was hard to ruin pasta unless it was over cooked.

She quickly ran back into the kitchen and grabbed the last of her entrée.  Bruce picked at the salad with his eyes, hoping that it wasn’t going to jump.

“All right…now for the main course!”

Clark noticed something strange about her smile when she came back the second time. She was a little nervous, glancing down at the pan and back at them as if she were about to do something horrid. At least that’s what it seemed like. He immediately froze when she laid down the plate before them, not sure what to make of it but knowing that this…this dish wasn’t right.

“Um…looks good?” Bruce surreptitiously hit him in his thigh. That was a lie and they both knew it. It was a brown lump of something that was burnt around the edges, with what resembled bits of charred cheese and something red under the cap of black resting on top of everything. Clark swallowed the lump in his throat and wishing to the heavens that his stomach would magically fill itself.  “Can’t wait to try it!”

“What is it?” Bruce asked. “Salisbury steak?”

Lois winced a little and wrung her hands together. “No…it’s Eggplant Parmesan.”

Clark and Bruce stared at it.

Eventually one of them or both were brave enough to grab the spatula she supplied and helped themselves to a piece each. It came up easily enough. Maybe it was just burnt.

“Well…here goes nothing…”

There was a loud undulated curse and several smaller ones in the span of seven seconds. In those seven seconds, many things happened. The end result led Clark to find himself draped over Bruce staring wildly at the broken blade sticking into Clark’s shoulders and inches from his nose. Lois was gawking at them and the fork that had bent itself so far back that it looked like it had recoiled from the surface of that blob.

It probably had the better sense out of everyone.

The eggplant parmesan remained as it was, untouched, unscratched, and in need of no volunteers to try and ingest it. Lois recovered herself first, brushed off her skirt, and glared at the face sheepishly peaking out into the dining room.  “Whoops?”

That familiar admittance of shame hit them harder than the floor had. Clark sat up, Bruce pulled the blade from his shirt, and set it down far away from the dish on the table. “Barbara… you really need to find another hobby,” he groaned. “One that doesn’t involve making bullet proof food.”

“You let her into your kitchen?” Clark asked Lois. Lois shrugged, not aware of the damage that would do initially. “What’s she paying you?”

“Nothing. She said she had a secret to tell me about the two of you, and she’d spill if she got me to get you and Bruce over here for dinner. Now I see why…” She glared at Barbara lightly, willing the red head out of the kitchen. “Does your food repel people as well as utensils?”

“N-no…not really. I mean, I made some spaghetti and it didn’t turn out that bad…I mean, Dick was in the bathroom longer than necessary, but it was better than the Chinese food I made. I think he caught food poisoning from that one…”

“…and there really is no secret, huh?”

“No, there is. I mean, other than those two dating, that is. What? Why are you all looking at me like that?”

Clark grabbed Bruce before he could throw that charred mess at Barbara.

Electric Lime:

It was warfare on the senses.

Bruce certainly thought so as he tried his best not to hide his eyes at what had to be the brightest pair of undergarments in the history of mankind. They were luminescent, eerie, and just wrong in the bright lights that highlighted them and whoever was in them. The model was sublime, but that underwear…

“Tell me this is a joke…”

Bruce shook his head and resisted putting it down when more of that same color came flouncing down the runway in tune to what had to be the most absurd sounding music. It was a mix of techno mingled with metal and mindless banging as someone wailed in the distance about something despairing. He’d tuned it out the moment it had begun and now it was driving a nail between his eyes right into the center of his brain.

After a tense fifteen minutes of seeing it and watching it end with a flourishing train of models all wearing that god awful color, the designer walked out and gave his stiff thanks to the crowd. There was polite applause from some and enthusiastic cheers from his personal entourage, but the majority of the crowd groaned in relief when it was all said and done.

Bruce was among the ones that rubbed their eyes and vowed NEVER to buy anything from that line.

“Care to comment, Mr. Wayne?”

Bruce mock glared at his company. “Off the record, I want to know what he was drinking, Mr. Kent.” Clark laughed at him, but didn’t disagree. “On the record…it was…interesting.”

“You’re being polite.”

“I have to be. It’s the only way could get through this florescent nightmare.”

“Are you headed for the after party?”

Bruce pretended to think about it. “I’m expected to.”

“So, I’ll see you later then?”

“Sooner. Wait up.”

Clark tucked his pen and notepad away, and made a graceful exit complete with skillfully dodging the hands that wanted to rip up his suit. It was outdated, tweed, and itchy…the perfect disguise for a flawless man elsewhere in life. Bruce waited a heartbeat after Clark had vanished from his sight to wander in the opposite direction, showing his face long enough to the expectant crowd gathering for the after party backstage.

He left not fifteen minutes later, two parting bags in hand and a bottle of Aleve he kept stashed in his pocket. He headed for the car waiting for him on the corner, immersed in blessed darkness and harboring a man that truly had the world fooled by a pair of glasses.

The ride home was mostly silent. Hands twined in the darkness between them as he drove, Clark steered the way back to his apartment.

They took the short way up, Clark landing on his balcony with ease and letting Bruce down seconds later, following the stripping silhouette to the bedroom and making short work of his own clothing.

They tumbled into the bed, no pretenses between them.

When they woke again, it was a little past two, and rather than turn over and sleep for real, Clark padded into the kitchen and brought back two beers. He thumbed off the caps and joined Bruce outside, handing him a bottle as they looked out into the night.

Bruce pointed at something in the distance. “It was over there.”

“What was over there?”

“The moment I decided I was nuts.” He sipped his beer, eyeing the bottle after a solid swallow. “We were in a bar…you actually forced alcohol on my person.”

“Oh yeah…” That was a particularly bad night. The bad guys had wounded their hostages and managed to take down a fellow officer before ripping the town apart with a car crash. All over a dispute over who owned a logo. It was silly, and the night hadn’t ended on a high note for either of them. Clark was swamped with reports due in the next morning and Bruce had to deal with some legality between his corporation and several others. It was not a night to stay up.

But they had. They did their jobs. Once that was over and the fanfare had died, Superman had dragged Batman into an alley, changed, and marched Bruce to the first blinking lights he’d seen.

“Can’t say it was all bad,” Clark mused softly. “I lost my mind there, too.”

“What did it? It wasn’t the alcohol…”

“No…” He slipped closer to Bruce, smiling a little as he pressed his lips to his shoulder. “It was the florescent light over your head…a blinking lime that made you seem human and infallible. In the smoky haze of that bar, you seemed like a person, and not that wall you love to imitate.”

“Mmm…may that be the only Electric Lime in our lives,” Bruce chuckled.

Clark couldn’t have agreed more. After tonight, he was purchasing sunglasses for the glare of that awful line dubbed “Electric Lines” hitting stores the moment some idiot picked it up. Bruce slid into his arms and kissed him, lime flavored lips enticing the broad man back into the bed to spend the better part of the night redefining the term given to that fashion monstrosity.

Cotton Candy: Yes, I included Damien in this one because it was hard not to. You remember that bubbly gum medicine. They don't make it like they used to.

Dandelion: ....I dunno so don't ask cause I don't knnnooooow.

Denim: Have you ever seen denim on a guy that makes you want to bite your lip and think naughty things? Yessir!

Desert sand: Based off of the Episode "Hereafter" in JLA. Takes place after, since Batman was the only one who didn't crowd around the "not dead" man of steel. He gets a little more than hugs afterward. :D

Eggplant:...I'm sorry barbara. You just can't cook in this universe.

Electric Lime: ......Lime...you're out.

Next colors provided how long these drabbles turn out to be ARE:

Fern, Forest Green, Fuschia, Fuzzy Wuzzy, Gold, Golden Rod, Granny Smith Apple.

Suggestions are WELCOME. :)