FIC: Two Forms, One Soul (8/9)
Title: Two Forms, One Soul (Chapter Eight)
Pairing/Characters: Bruce/Clark
Continuity: Animated series, a few years after B:TAS.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Clark and Bruce deal with Fiorella--and their growing relationship.
Word Count: 1700
Warnings: Violent acts
Notes: Written for the 20_inkspots challenge with rai_daydreamer , who drew a gorgeous illustration for this chapter! Prompt #18: "Under the glass moon." (see the full table here).
When the first teeth tore through his skin, Clark screamed. He couldn't help it. This was the agony Bruce had spoken of, the anguished helplessness. There was a deafening tumult of wings around him, and he struck out blindly as another set of fangs fastened on his arm, cold as vacuum, sending splinters of pain lancing through him.
There was a cry, sharp as a hawk's, and a rushing maelstrom of air around him. The flock of vampires erupted in shrieks and they fell away, leaving only one pair of arms around him, one pair of dark wings, their silken rustling a shield between him and pain.
He looked up to see Bruce's face above him, moonlight etching the lines of his face and limning the outstretched wings in silver. "I didn't know you could do that," Clark managed as the vampires wheeled about, regrouping.
A small smile. "I didn't either."
The vampires came back at them, but this time they were both in the air, wheeling in synchronicity, heat vision and sheer inhuman strength devastating their opponents. Three more vampires fell and their ranks wavered and broke, a few scattering to safety. Soon only Fiorella remained, her eyes mad with hatred. She swooped at them, screaming, all strategy abandoned for simple feral rage.
Her nails raked across Clark's chest, shearing through alien cloth like it was gauze, leaving long lines of bright pain behind. But her final assault had left her open, and Bruce lunged forward with his stake at exactly the same moment Superman wheeled to lance heat at her.
She was ash before she hit the ground.
Clark stared about for other threats, but there were none. The adrenaline rush dropped off with sickening suddenness, and he found himself floating in midair, gasping for breath.
A rustling noise and Bruce was hovering in front of him, wings fanning the air like dark sails. He gathered Clark into his arms, supporting him, both of them supporting the other, moonlight around them in a silver flood. The huge black wings closed around the two of them, enfolding them in shivering silk, closing them off from the world.
Clark pulled him close and let him rest against him. "Oh," Bruce said softly. "You're hurt. You're..." He fell silent, and a moment later Clark could feel a delicate touch on his neck; Bruce's lips and tongue licking gently at him. "How dare they." Bruce's voice was low and fierce. "How dare they touch you," and Clark shuddered all over.
"Don't be afraid," said Bruce against his neck. "I'm not going to--"
"I'm not afraid," Clark interrupted him.
Bruce raised his head and met his eyes, and Clark saw longing there. And beneath that, shame. Without thinking, hoping only to wipe away that shame, he leaned forward to kiss the other man.
The kiss was hot and metallic with the taste of Clark's blood, which somehow only seemed to inflame Clark further. He groaned into Bruce's mouth, tongue exploring sweet slick heat, running along sharp teeth with wild abandon. He pushed his lower lip against the fangs that curved against them with voluptuous intensity, as if daring them to break the skin, and Bruce gasped, his wings snapping open and back, shuddering wildly against the sky.
The kiss ended slowly; each time one of them started to pull away the other would lean in to taste some more and they'd be lost again in the long, slow pleasure, the wonder of it. But at some point Clark found himself staring breathlessly into Bruce's eyes, dark with desire.
"Do you know what we are to each other now?" Bruce whispered.
"Yes," Clark said. "Yes, I think I do."
Bruce pulled him close, hip against hip in a frisson of lust. "Let me take you home. Let me show you what you are to me tonight. Let me love you."
If Clark had wings they would have been thrown open against the sky in turn, a quivering arc of rapture. "Yes."
: : :
Bruce shivered as Clark eased his shirt off him, torn to ribbons where the wings had sprung forth, born of his desperation and fear. "Where did they go?" Clark asked as he traced his shoulderblades.
"Don't know," Bruce managed through the passion blurring his thoughts. "Think about it later. Not now." Clark's uniform was so tattered that it came off in pieces, easily, revealing skin still marked with long welts, scarlet against the ivory. "Not now."
"Oh," Clark groaned as Bruce traced his hands down the beautiful, marred body. "Oh yes." The tights were peeled off and Bruce gave up on getting the rest of the ragged uniform off, entranced by what his efforts had revealed. Clark's cock hardened further as he stared, and the Kryptonian twisted his hips in a motion as wanton as it seemed to be unconscious. "Want," Clark gasped, eyes heavy-lidded, almost unseeing. "Want you so much."
"You'll have me," Bruce promised, stripping out of his clothes in turn, lust turning his hands clumsy as Clark watched, making small whimpering sounds at each inch of bare skin revealed.
Clark was totally relaxed, trusting as always, groaning with a luxurious pleasure as Bruce slipped slick fingers into hot tightness. "I'm ready now, Bruce, please," he stammered.
Bruce inhaled slowly, deeply, feeling his blood--Clark's blood--pounding in him, his whole body throbbing in arousal, demanding. "I want our first time to be good," he said. "We're going to be doing this for all eternity together, but we'll only get to do it the first time once."
"Eternity," Clark said, and there was something in his voice that thrilled Bruce to his core, some infinite promise. No fear in his voice, only joy and desire. "Forever."
Bruce was slow, gentle--as slow and gentle as he could manage when his whole body felt like it was blazing with desire. Clark hissed sharply, once, as Bruce entered him, then subsided, waiting. Pleasure was a potential in him that Bruce could feel, and as he moved forward--slowly and then more surely--Clark's face moved from expectant to rapturous, suffused with delight. A low, stuttering moan broke from his lips and he moved against Bruce, rolling his hips with a sensual ease that left Bruce gasping. His climax was shockingly close; he paused to try and slow the pace down a bit, a difficult prospect when his body was begging for release, yearning to plunge deep and hard...
Wait. Wait. There would be time for wildness later. For now, he wanted to watch the play of joy and lust on his lover's face.
Clark's head was thrown back, his lips parted and eyes closed. "Oh. Oh. Please," he murmured. "Please."
When he didn't continue the plea, Bruce answered, "Anything, Clark. Anything you want. Name it and it's yours."
"I want..." Clark's voice trailed off and Bruce pushed against him, a little more sharply than before; Clark gasped, lost in pleasure. "I want. Your mouth. Your teeth." He rolled his head against the pillow, baring his throat more. "In me."
Bruce felt a tremor pierce him; he stopped moving and bit his lip, a tiny sound escaping him before he could stop it. "You don't...you don't mean that," he whispered.
Clark's eyes opened slightly, sleepy and heavy. "I do. I want to feel it again. It was so good, Bruce, I want to feel it while we're doing...this--" Another roll of his hips that left Bruce clinging to sanity. "I want to come while you're doing it, come with your mouth on me--sucking--Oh God--" The roll become a shuddering buck, "Please, Bruce. Don't make me beg you more." His voice went small and yearning. "I can beg more. Anything you want. Just don't torment me any longer."
The satiny skin of Clark's neck was under his lips although he didn't remember leaning forward; he felt the rushing of Clark's blood under the skin.
As he pushed into Clark's body again, a long, slow motion, he bit down.
Clark made a low murmuring sound of pure delight as the life surged between them. Bruce had thought he couldn't possibly get harder, more aroused, but the tumult of power, pure and bright as sunlight, made every fiber of his being sing with lust.
Clark's pulse throbbed between them, and Bruce felt the echo of it all through his body, replacing the beat he had lost with his mortality. He found his thrusts matching the rhythm, their shared heartbeat, their shared life. It was slow at first, languid, sultry. But it quickened gradually, almost imperceptibly, an acceleration of inexorable delight. Harder. Faster. Deeper, until Clark was shuddering beneath him, gasping of angels and demons with delirious abandon, begging for Bruce to take all of him, everything, all of him.
Bruce ignored his feverish pleas, although the taste of wild surrender made him giddy; he wasn't half-mad with thirst this time, and he controlled the increasingly staccato tempo of Clark's pulse as it mounted higher, and then higher still. Buried deep in his love's body twice over, he let the rush of their bliss cascade onward, until the bond between them fluttered frantically and Clark cried something wordless and lost, the desperate beat of his blood driving Bruce into his own climax.
What seemed like an eternity of pleasure ebbed away slowly, leaving them limp and sated in each others' arms. As the final spasms died away, Bruce felt his fangs retract gently, sliding from Clark's skin. He pulled back to eye his lover with some worry, but Clark was smiling at him, his face less pale and wan than last time.
"I told you you could take more," Clark said, shifting his body slightly, drawing a small groan of mixed protest and pleasure from Bruce.
"Even a soulless creature of the night has his limits," Bruce said. Extricating himself with some reluctance, he tugged the black silk sheets up around them and curled up against Clark, savoring the warmth suffusing his body, a palpable afterglow.
"Don't say that," murmured Clark.
"What, that I have limits? I thought you always wanted me to--"
"No," Clark interrupted firmly. "That you're soulless. You're the same heroic, noble person you always were, the same person I've always loved. Your soul isn't lost."
Bruce put a hand flat on Clark's chest, feeling the low thrum of his heart, sure and steady. "Not lost," he agreed, closing his eyes, listening, "Not lost at all."
----
Click here to see Rai's full art of the battle!
Epilogue
Pairing/Characters: Bruce/Clark
Continuity: Animated series, a few years after B:TAS.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Clark and Bruce deal with Fiorella--and their growing relationship.
Word Count: 1700
Warnings: Violent acts
Notes: Written for the 20_inkspots challenge with rai_daydreamer , who drew a gorgeous illustration for this chapter! Prompt #18: "Under the glass moon." (see the full table here).
When the first teeth tore through his skin, Clark screamed. He couldn't help it. This was the agony Bruce had spoken of, the anguished helplessness. There was a deafening tumult of wings around him, and he struck out blindly as another set of fangs fastened on his arm, cold as vacuum, sending splinters of pain lancing through him.
There was a cry, sharp as a hawk's, and a rushing maelstrom of air around him. The flock of vampires erupted in shrieks and they fell away, leaving only one pair of arms around him, one pair of dark wings, their silken rustling a shield between him and pain.
He looked up to see Bruce's face above him, moonlight etching the lines of his face and limning the outstretched wings in silver. "I didn't know you could do that," Clark managed as the vampires wheeled about, regrouping.
A small smile. "I didn't either."
The vampires came back at them, but this time they were both in the air, wheeling in synchronicity, heat vision and sheer inhuman strength devastating their opponents. Three more vampires fell and their ranks wavered and broke, a few scattering to safety. Soon only Fiorella remained, her eyes mad with hatred. She swooped at them, screaming, all strategy abandoned for simple feral rage.
Her nails raked across Clark's chest, shearing through alien cloth like it was gauze, leaving long lines of bright pain behind. But her final assault had left her open, and Bruce lunged forward with his stake at exactly the same moment Superman wheeled to lance heat at her.
She was ash before she hit the ground.
Clark stared about for other threats, but there were none. The adrenaline rush dropped off with sickening suddenness, and he found himself floating in midair, gasping for breath.
A rustling noise and Bruce was hovering in front of him, wings fanning the air like dark sails. He gathered Clark into his arms, supporting him, both of them supporting the other, moonlight around them in a silver flood. The huge black wings closed around the two of them, enfolding them in shivering silk, closing them off from the world.
Clark pulled him close and let him rest against him. "Oh," Bruce said softly. "You're hurt. You're..." He fell silent, and a moment later Clark could feel a delicate touch on his neck; Bruce's lips and tongue licking gently at him. "How dare they." Bruce's voice was low and fierce. "How dare they touch you," and Clark shuddered all over.
"Don't be afraid," said Bruce against his neck. "I'm not going to--"
"I'm not afraid," Clark interrupted him.
Bruce raised his head and met his eyes, and Clark saw longing there. And beneath that, shame. Without thinking, hoping only to wipe away that shame, he leaned forward to kiss the other man.
The kiss was hot and metallic with the taste of Clark's blood, which somehow only seemed to inflame Clark further. He groaned into Bruce's mouth, tongue exploring sweet slick heat, running along sharp teeth with wild abandon. He pushed his lower lip against the fangs that curved against them with voluptuous intensity, as if daring them to break the skin, and Bruce gasped, his wings snapping open and back, shuddering wildly against the sky.
The kiss ended slowly; each time one of them started to pull away the other would lean in to taste some more and they'd be lost again in the long, slow pleasure, the wonder of it. But at some point Clark found himself staring breathlessly into Bruce's eyes, dark with desire.
"Do you know what we are to each other now?" Bruce whispered.
"Yes," Clark said. "Yes, I think I do."
Bruce pulled him close, hip against hip in a frisson of lust. "Let me take you home. Let me show you what you are to me tonight. Let me love you."
If Clark had wings they would have been thrown open against the sky in turn, a quivering arc of rapture. "Yes."
: : :
Bruce shivered as Clark eased his shirt off him, torn to ribbons where the wings had sprung forth, born of his desperation and fear. "Where did they go?" Clark asked as he traced his shoulderblades.
"Don't know," Bruce managed through the passion blurring his thoughts. "Think about it later. Not now." Clark's uniform was so tattered that it came off in pieces, easily, revealing skin still marked with long welts, scarlet against the ivory. "Not now."
"Oh," Clark groaned as Bruce traced his hands down the beautiful, marred body. "Oh yes." The tights were peeled off and Bruce gave up on getting the rest of the ragged uniform off, entranced by what his efforts had revealed. Clark's cock hardened further as he stared, and the Kryptonian twisted his hips in a motion as wanton as it seemed to be unconscious. "Want," Clark gasped, eyes heavy-lidded, almost unseeing. "Want you so much."
"You'll have me," Bruce promised, stripping out of his clothes in turn, lust turning his hands clumsy as Clark watched, making small whimpering sounds at each inch of bare skin revealed.
Clark was totally relaxed, trusting as always, groaning with a luxurious pleasure as Bruce slipped slick fingers into hot tightness. "I'm ready now, Bruce, please," he stammered.
Bruce inhaled slowly, deeply, feeling his blood--Clark's blood--pounding in him, his whole body throbbing in arousal, demanding. "I want our first time to be good," he said. "We're going to be doing this for all eternity together, but we'll only get to do it the first time once."
"Eternity," Clark said, and there was something in his voice that thrilled Bruce to his core, some infinite promise. No fear in his voice, only joy and desire. "Forever."
Bruce was slow, gentle--as slow and gentle as he could manage when his whole body felt like it was blazing with desire. Clark hissed sharply, once, as Bruce entered him, then subsided, waiting. Pleasure was a potential in him that Bruce could feel, and as he moved forward--slowly and then more surely--Clark's face moved from expectant to rapturous, suffused with delight. A low, stuttering moan broke from his lips and he moved against Bruce, rolling his hips with a sensual ease that left Bruce gasping. His climax was shockingly close; he paused to try and slow the pace down a bit, a difficult prospect when his body was begging for release, yearning to plunge deep and hard...
Wait. Wait. There would be time for wildness later. For now, he wanted to watch the play of joy and lust on his lover's face.
Clark's head was thrown back, his lips parted and eyes closed. "Oh. Oh. Please," he murmured. "Please."
When he didn't continue the plea, Bruce answered, "Anything, Clark. Anything you want. Name it and it's yours."
"I want..." Clark's voice trailed off and Bruce pushed against him, a little more sharply than before; Clark gasped, lost in pleasure. "I want. Your mouth. Your teeth." He rolled his head against the pillow, baring his throat more. "In me."
Bruce felt a tremor pierce him; he stopped moving and bit his lip, a tiny sound escaping him before he could stop it. "You don't...you don't mean that," he whispered.
Clark's eyes opened slightly, sleepy and heavy. "I do. I want to feel it again. It was so good, Bruce, I want to feel it while we're doing...this--" Another roll of his hips that left Bruce clinging to sanity. "I want to come while you're doing it, come with your mouth on me--sucking--Oh God--" The roll become a shuddering buck, "Please, Bruce. Don't make me beg you more." His voice went small and yearning. "I can beg more. Anything you want. Just don't torment me any longer."
The satiny skin of Clark's neck was under his lips although he didn't remember leaning forward; he felt the rushing of Clark's blood under the skin.
As he pushed into Clark's body again, a long, slow motion, he bit down.
Clark made a low murmuring sound of pure delight as the life surged between them. Bruce had thought he couldn't possibly get harder, more aroused, but the tumult of power, pure and bright as sunlight, made every fiber of his being sing with lust.
Clark's pulse throbbed between them, and Bruce felt the echo of it all through his body, replacing the beat he had lost with his mortality. He found his thrusts matching the rhythm, their shared heartbeat, their shared life. It was slow at first, languid, sultry. But it quickened gradually, almost imperceptibly, an acceleration of inexorable delight. Harder. Faster. Deeper, until Clark was shuddering beneath him, gasping of angels and demons with delirious abandon, begging for Bruce to take all of him, everything, all of him.
Bruce ignored his feverish pleas, although the taste of wild surrender made him giddy; he wasn't half-mad with thirst this time, and he controlled the increasingly staccato tempo of Clark's pulse as it mounted higher, and then higher still. Buried deep in his love's body twice over, he let the rush of their bliss cascade onward, until the bond between them fluttered frantically and Clark cried something wordless and lost, the desperate beat of his blood driving Bruce into his own climax.
What seemed like an eternity of pleasure ebbed away slowly, leaving them limp and sated in each others' arms. As the final spasms died away, Bruce felt his fangs retract gently, sliding from Clark's skin. He pulled back to eye his lover with some worry, but Clark was smiling at him, his face less pale and wan than last time.
"I told you you could take more," Clark said, shifting his body slightly, drawing a small groan of mixed protest and pleasure from Bruce.
"Even a soulless creature of the night has his limits," Bruce said. Extricating himself with some reluctance, he tugged the black silk sheets up around them and curled up against Clark, savoring the warmth suffusing his body, a palpable afterglow.
"Don't say that," murmured Clark.
"What, that I have limits? I thought you always wanted me to--"
"No," Clark interrupted firmly. "That you're soulless. You're the same heroic, noble person you always were, the same person I've always loved. Your soul isn't lost."
Bruce put a hand flat on Clark's chest, feeling the low thrum of his heart, sure and steady. "Not lost," he agreed, closing his eyes, listening, "Not lost at all."
----
Click here to see Rai's full art of the battle!
Epilogue