3 Ficlets: Waiting, Wanting; The Price of Godhood; Training Maneuvers | DCU | various pr's, ratings
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Title | Characters/Pairing | Rating | Word Count | Prompt | Summary
Waiting, Wanting | Clark Kent/Dick Grayson (Batman) | R | 654 w | For Porn Battle IX: black and blue, wounded, taboo | Clark finally realizes he can only wait so long.
When Clark finds Dick beaten within an inch of his life, the Batsuit torn and even the kevlar armor rent with deep gashes after a severely outmatched tussle with the worst Gotham has to offer, it's a no-brainer decision to get him back to the Manor as fast as his flight will carry them, his heart pounding loudly in his chest the whole way. Alfred works on Dick's injuries for more than an hour, tending to breaks and tears and contusions with the skills borne of years in the service of this family, while Clark hovers nervously in the background-sometimes literally-watching, waiting, and occasionally offering his vision for deeper scans.
It's excruciating, that waiting, waiting for Dick to wake up after the sedation has done its job and let the young man sleep off the pain of his wounds, but Clark waits nonetheless, if for nothing else than to satisfy himself that Dick will be all right, will recover with time. He won't admit to the need to see him open his eyes and grace the world-him, just him-with that thousand-watt grin, nor to the ache in his gut and chest that he hasn't felt since long before Bruce died, that crushing weight of terror over nearly losing someone he-
No, he won't admit that at all, even though his relief is absolutely palpable when Dick finally does wake, one eye swollen nearly shut and his face contorted by bruises and swelling.
“Hey, Clark,” Dick tries to smile with a split lip when he sees the older man waiting by his bedside in the second master suite; Dick never could bring himself to move into Bruce's rooms, and Clark doesn't blame him one bit. “Guess I lost, huh?”
“Badly,” Clark smiles back, his entire body awash with that relief and the sudden need to put his hands on Dick and make sure he's okay, even if it crosses a line that was drawn in the sand more than a decade ago. His hand seems to reach out of its own accord to brush Dick's hair back from his brow, and his breath hitches in his throat when he tries and fails to withdraw his fingers, even as they stroke the outer edge of a bruise darkening Dick's temple with black, blue, and purple. “You-” he starts, thought aborted and replaced with something less... needy. “It was touch and go for a while, but Alfred does good work.”
It's clear that Dick sees the words not said, and Clark swallows hard. Wouldn't be the first time there are things left unsaid, wouldn't even be the hundredth at this point.
“You're not gonna lose me just yet,” Dick says after a long moment, his own hand finding Clark's and squeezing, pulling those strong fingers into a tight grip. “Okay?” And with a shivered breath, he pulls Clark's hand to his bruised lips and places a firm kiss on his knuckles.
Clark loses all semblance of pretense at that moment, the last of his walls finally crumbling with the overwhelming weight of everything he's been holding back for so long, far too long. An anguished groan escaping him as his body shudders with the force of the dam breaking, he leans down and very gently brushes a kiss over Dick's forehead, eyes squeezing shut, before easing himself down beside the younger man and carefully wrapping an arm around him, pulling him as close as he can without inflicting any more damage. “Okay,” he breathes against Dick's hair. “Okay.”
To his surprise, Dick actually chuckles at that, lightly, with just the barest hint of a wince at the movement. “Good, because when I get healed up, I'm going to have to do the dirtiest things to you, and make up for all this time we've wasted.”
Returning a genuine laugh through the knot in his throat, Clark nods and kisses the top of Dick's head. “Wouldn't have it any other way.”
~*~*~*~
The Price of Godhood | Clark Kent/Diana Prince | R | 240 w | For Porn Battle IX: gods | Long after their human lovers are gone, Clark and Diana find solace together.
Crashing together so far away from everyone, everything, it's almost easy to forget that they haven't always been like this. Letting go, wild, unrestrained, it's the best adrenaline high either of them has had in centuries. Clark can grip Diana's hips and thrust as hard as he can without worrying about her breaking apart in his hands. Diana can twine her fingers into his dark hair and just pull without worrying about scalping him. It's easy, so easy to do this, to be together and tear each other up without the constant reminder to hold back, be careful. Like this, twined together and ruining the landscape around them as they buck and twist and tumble and laugh, the rest of the world simply falls away.
When their climaxes come, roaring freedom and pure ecstasy and completion, it's just Clark and Diana, Superman and Wonder Woman, Kal-El and the Princess, the gods of old that remain eternal, young, strong, invulnerable.
But in the moments after, when that rush fades, swept away with the breeze cooling the sweat on their heated skin, their pasts catch up with them, and solace is found in each other's arms as the ghosts of lovers-spouses-long dead call to them from that peaceful plane just out of their reach, reminders that being gods among humanity has exacted its price, and neither blood nor tears nor hope can stop the terrible ravaging of time.
~*~*~*~
Training Maneuvers | Charlie Gage-Radcliffe, Tim Drake | PG | 364 w | For isilweth at fandom_stocking: [...] a fic with Charlie and Tim | Charlie shows Tim just what she's made of.
If they hadn't been at it for more than a half-hour, by the clock high up on the wall of the training room, Charlie would've thought Robin had only just picked up his bo staff a minute ago. Heck, the guy hadn't even worked up a sweat yet! Not that she hadn't trained with women of similar stamina, or hadn't built up her own stamina in the process, but damn, he might as well have just sprung up from a dead sleep.
It was mind boggling, really, except for the part where she knew he'd trained with the best heroes and assassins in the world for most of his life now, and anyone that had been a protege of both Batman and Lady Shiva would naturally have to have an intensity that transcended normal by about a million light years.
Of course, that meant she had to step up her game by a factor of about seven thousand. She'd saved up enough energy of her own to really give it to him, so give it to him she would. Barely dodging a sweep of Robin's staff, she lunged to strike out at him with an extended foot--
--and bounced at the last possible split second, squeezing through that special non-space to reappear just behind him and deliver the kick to her opponent's Achilles tendon.
When Robin spun and dropped to a crouch to go with the direction of his fall, Charlie pulled herself into a crouch of her own, never taking her eyes off him. "Geez, you never tire, do ya'?" she shook her head disbelievingly.
Robin gave her just the barest hint of a smirk in return. "Sure I do, just not when it counts."
At that, Charlie just wanted to flatten him on general principal; sure, Bats wore their occasional arrogance way too well, but that didn't mean it didn't sometimes grate. Springing up, she bounced across the distance between them, grabbed his bo, made a kissy-face at him for kicks, and bounced off again, taking the staff with her as she laughed through the non-space in between.
"Catch me if you can!" she called out, and his muffled grunt of transferred frustration was music to her ears.
~*~*~*~
Title | Characters/Pairing | Rating | Word Count | Prompt | Summary
Waiting, Wanting | Clark Kent/Dick Grayson (Batman) | R | 654 w | For Porn Battle IX: black and blue, wounded, taboo | Clark finally realizes he can only wait so long.
When Clark finds Dick beaten within an inch of his life, the Batsuit torn and even the kevlar armor rent with deep gashes after a severely outmatched tussle with the worst Gotham has to offer, it's a no-brainer decision to get him back to the Manor as fast as his flight will carry them, his heart pounding loudly in his chest the whole way. Alfred works on Dick's injuries for more than an hour, tending to breaks and tears and contusions with the skills borne of years in the service of this family, while Clark hovers nervously in the background-sometimes literally-watching, waiting, and occasionally offering his vision for deeper scans.
It's excruciating, that waiting, waiting for Dick to wake up after the sedation has done its job and let the young man sleep off the pain of his wounds, but Clark waits nonetheless, if for nothing else than to satisfy himself that Dick will be all right, will recover with time. He won't admit to the need to see him open his eyes and grace the world-him, just him-with that thousand-watt grin, nor to the ache in his gut and chest that he hasn't felt since long before Bruce died, that crushing weight of terror over nearly losing someone he-
No, he won't admit that at all, even though his relief is absolutely palpable when Dick finally does wake, one eye swollen nearly shut and his face contorted by bruises and swelling.
“Hey, Clark,” Dick tries to smile with a split lip when he sees the older man waiting by his bedside in the second master suite; Dick never could bring himself to move into Bruce's rooms, and Clark doesn't blame him one bit. “Guess I lost, huh?”
“Badly,” Clark smiles back, his entire body awash with that relief and the sudden need to put his hands on Dick and make sure he's okay, even if it crosses a line that was drawn in the sand more than a decade ago. His hand seems to reach out of its own accord to brush Dick's hair back from his brow, and his breath hitches in his throat when he tries and fails to withdraw his fingers, even as they stroke the outer edge of a bruise darkening Dick's temple with black, blue, and purple. “You-” he starts, thought aborted and replaced with something less... needy. “It was touch and go for a while, but Alfred does good work.”
It's clear that Dick sees the words not said, and Clark swallows hard. Wouldn't be the first time there are things left unsaid, wouldn't even be the hundredth at this point.
“You're not gonna lose me just yet,” Dick says after a long moment, his own hand finding Clark's and squeezing, pulling those strong fingers into a tight grip. “Okay?” And with a shivered breath, he pulls Clark's hand to his bruised lips and places a firm kiss on his knuckles.
Clark loses all semblance of pretense at that moment, the last of his walls finally crumbling with the overwhelming weight of everything he's been holding back for so long, far too long. An anguished groan escaping him as his body shudders with the force of the dam breaking, he leans down and very gently brushes a kiss over Dick's forehead, eyes squeezing shut, before easing himself down beside the younger man and carefully wrapping an arm around him, pulling him as close as he can without inflicting any more damage. “Okay,” he breathes against Dick's hair. “Okay.”
To his surprise, Dick actually chuckles at that, lightly, with just the barest hint of a wince at the movement. “Good, because when I get healed up, I'm going to have to do the dirtiest things to you, and make up for all this time we've wasted.”
Returning a genuine laugh through the knot in his throat, Clark nods and kisses the top of Dick's head. “Wouldn't have it any other way.”
~*~*~*~
The Price of Godhood | Clark Kent/Diana Prince | R | 240 w | For Porn Battle IX: gods | Long after their human lovers are gone, Clark and Diana find solace together.
Crashing together so far away from everyone, everything, it's almost easy to forget that they haven't always been like this. Letting go, wild, unrestrained, it's the best adrenaline high either of them has had in centuries. Clark can grip Diana's hips and thrust as hard as he can without worrying about her breaking apart in his hands. Diana can twine her fingers into his dark hair and just pull without worrying about scalping him. It's easy, so easy to do this, to be together and tear each other up without the constant reminder to hold back, be careful. Like this, twined together and ruining the landscape around them as they buck and twist and tumble and laugh, the rest of the world simply falls away.
When their climaxes come, roaring freedom and pure ecstasy and completion, it's just Clark and Diana, Superman and Wonder Woman, Kal-El and the Princess, the gods of old that remain eternal, young, strong, invulnerable.
But in the moments after, when that rush fades, swept away with the breeze cooling the sweat on their heated skin, their pasts catch up with them, and solace is found in each other's arms as the ghosts of lovers-spouses-long dead call to them from that peaceful plane just out of their reach, reminders that being gods among humanity has exacted its price, and neither blood nor tears nor hope can stop the terrible ravaging of time.
~*~*~*~
Training Maneuvers | Charlie Gage-Radcliffe, Tim Drake | PG | 364 w | For isilweth at fandom_stocking: [...] a fic with Charlie and Tim | Charlie shows Tim just what she's made of.
If they hadn't been at it for more than a half-hour, by the clock high up on the wall of the training room, Charlie would've thought Robin had only just picked up his bo staff a minute ago. Heck, the guy hadn't even worked up a sweat yet! Not that she hadn't trained with women of similar stamina, or hadn't built up her own stamina in the process, but damn, he might as well have just sprung up from a dead sleep.
It was mind boggling, really, except for the part where she knew he'd trained with the best heroes and assassins in the world for most of his life now, and anyone that had been a protege of both Batman and Lady Shiva would naturally have to have an intensity that transcended normal by about a million light years.
Of course, that meant she had to step up her game by a factor of about seven thousand. She'd saved up enough energy of her own to really give it to him, so give it to him she would. Barely dodging a sweep of Robin's staff, she lunged to strike out at him with an extended foot--
--and bounced at the last possible split second, squeezing through that special non-space to reappear just behind him and deliver the kick to her opponent's Achilles tendon.
When Robin spun and dropped to a crouch to go with the direction of his fall, Charlie pulled herself into a crouch of her own, never taking her eyes off him. "Geez, you never tire, do ya'?" she shook her head disbelievingly.
Robin gave her just the barest hint of a smirk in return. "Sure I do, just not when it counts."
At that, Charlie just wanted to flatten him on general principal; sure, Bats wore their occasional arrogance way too well, but that didn't mean it didn't sometimes grate. Springing up, she bounced across the distance between them, grabbed his bo, made a kissy-face at him for kicks, and bounced off again, taking the staff with her as she laughed through the non-space in between.
"Catch me if you can!" she called out, and his muffled grunt of transferred frustration was music to her ears.
~*~*~*~