Happy Yule! (and fic: Longest Night [DCU - Clark/Bruce] 1/1)
Just flying by to drop some Yuletide greetings on my lovely f-list!!! Here's wishing you all a wonderful Winter Solstice. May the sun's return bring bright blessings into your lives as the new year dawns. ^_^
To celebrate, here's a little ficcish gift from me to all of you. Enjoy!
Title: Longest Night
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Rating: PG
Word Count: 846
Summary: Bruce is not looking forward to the longest night of the year. Clark stops by to shed some light on the darkness.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own it all. I own nothing. Darnit.
Author's Note: Just a little something I whipped up on the spot; self-therapy for the holiday season blues, I suppose.
Longest Night
The air is already icy and well on its way to becoming a nasty wintry mix when Bruce heads out on patrol, the sun already set and well below the horizon. He checks the clock in the Batmobile on his way into Gotham. Five thirty. Damn, it's gonna be a long night, he groans to himself, well aware that any grumble will be picked up by a dozen or more Leaguers on the other end of an open comm.
Only four days before Christmas, and he's damn lucky to find a place to stash the car downtown, with the streets clogged up with late shoppers. Idiots, he thinks sourly. They could have been done and home by now, leaving the streets quiet, but no. They insist on crowding the shopping district, making themselves targets for muggings, robberies, murders, you name it, making his job just that much harder.
It's quite possibly one of the worst nights of the year for him, Halloween aside. Too many hours of darkness. Too many people rushing about. Too many pick-pockets. Too much stress and too much grief rolled into one writhing mass of frustrated, depressed humanity. Bruce can't even count how many people over the years he's stopped from throwing themselves off of buildings and bridges at Christmastime.
He has no idea how Dick ever managed as a cop during the holiday season.
Two hours into patrol, Bruce has already caught six pick-pockets, kept one guy from leaping from Gotham Cathedral, and busted up an angry group that seemed intent on assaulting a harmless bunch of Pagans conducting their Winter Solstice celebration in Gotham Square Park. He's cold, his suit isn't keeping out as much of the occasional light sleet as he'd like it to, and he just wants a cup of coffee. Alighting on the rooftop of Wayne Tower, he gazes down at the insanity far below him.
He just can't understand why people do it to themselves.
"You look cold."
The warm voice is like a blanket thrown over him, and he shivers involuntarily. "I'm fine," he replies in a low tone, turning away from the twinkling vista to see Clark perched on a ledge a few feet away, two lidded cups of steaming coffee in his hands.
"Heh," the brightly-colored hero chuckles at Bruce's lie, floating down to hold a cup out to him. "You're freezing. Here."
Bruce can only cock an eyebrow at his partner beneath the cowl, daring him to say another word. But he takes the coffee numbly, sipping, letting it burn his tongue on its way down to heat his core, to thaw him from the inside out. Letting out a brief groan in pleasure at the slightly sweetened nectar, he slides his eyes shut briefly, just tasting, allowing himself a moment of peace and warmth. He can have that, at least.
"Better?" Clark asks, laying gentle fingertips on Bruce's spine through silken cape and light armor, trailing down past a spot that usually makes the Bat turn into a kitten.
Bruce shivers again. He can't let himself turn to goo tonight. Too much work to do, too many people to snap out of their holiday induced insanity. "Yes. Thanks, Kal," he grumbles.
"No problem. Glad I could help." Clark's grin is like a beacon of hope against despair, light penetrating the longest, darkest night of the year like an errant sunbeam, come to claim the world again.
Thinking it's quite the appropriate metaphor, Bruce gives away a tiny quirk of a smile, telling the Bat to go to hell for just a minute so he can bask in the rays of the sun. You are so beautiful, do you know that? he wonders at the Kryptonian.
"Is something wrong?" Clark asks, his brow furrowing beneath that one curl.
"No." He glances back down at the city, the frantic hum of Gotham dragging him back to reality. Another sip of coffee. Tongue burned again. But this time, the warming is simply soothing, and he manages to keep his head cleared. "This is already turning into a damn long night," he finally says, his voice low again.
Clark's response comes with the flutter of a broad crimson cape, suddenly settled around his shoulders along with a heavy, and quite warm, arm. "I'll be here."
Bruce leans into his lover. "Thank you."
Another sip of coffee. Not so much burning now. He's perfectly willing to settle for patrolling on the longest, darkest night of the year as long as he has his light beside him. Glancing up at Clark, he lets his mouth quirk into another faint smile, knowing - as he's reminded every year at this time - that despite the dark, despite the insanity of the season, the light will always return, will always reclaim what is rightfully his, will always come with love and devotion to conquer the cold and the despair of the night.
"Happy Winter Solstice, Clark," he whispers.
"Happy Winter Solstice, Bruce." And with a warm kiss, the cold darkness of the longest night is banished.
* * * * *
To celebrate, here's a little ficcish gift from me to all of you. Enjoy!
Title: Longest Night
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Rating: PG
Word Count: 846
Summary: Bruce is not looking forward to the longest night of the year. Clark stops by to shed some light on the darkness.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own it all. I own nothing. Darnit.
Author's Note: Just a little something I whipped up on the spot; self-therapy for the holiday season blues, I suppose.
Longest Night
The air is already icy and well on its way to becoming a nasty wintry mix when Bruce heads out on patrol, the sun already set and well below the horizon. He checks the clock in the Batmobile on his way into Gotham. Five thirty. Damn, it's gonna be a long night, he groans to himself, well aware that any grumble will be picked up by a dozen or more Leaguers on the other end of an open comm.
Only four days before Christmas, and he's damn lucky to find a place to stash the car downtown, with the streets clogged up with late shoppers. Idiots, he thinks sourly. They could have been done and home by now, leaving the streets quiet, but no. They insist on crowding the shopping district, making themselves targets for muggings, robberies, murders, you name it, making his job just that much harder.
It's quite possibly one of the worst nights of the year for him, Halloween aside. Too many hours of darkness. Too many people rushing about. Too many pick-pockets. Too much stress and too much grief rolled into one writhing mass of frustrated, depressed humanity. Bruce can't even count how many people over the years he's stopped from throwing themselves off of buildings and bridges at Christmastime.
He has no idea how Dick ever managed as a cop during the holiday season.
Two hours into patrol, Bruce has already caught six pick-pockets, kept one guy from leaping from Gotham Cathedral, and busted up an angry group that seemed intent on assaulting a harmless bunch of Pagans conducting their Winter Solstice celebration in Gotham Square Park. He's cold, his suit isn't keeping out as much of the occasional light sleet as he'd like it to, and he just wants a cup of coffee. Alighting on the rooftop of Wayne Tower, he gazes down at the insanity far below him.
He just can't understand why people do it to themselves.
"You look cold."
The warm voice is like a blanket thrown over him, and he shivers involuntarily. "I'm fine," he replies in a low tone, turning away from the twinkling vista to see Clark perched on a ledge a few feet away, two lidded cups of steaming coffee in his hands.
"Heh," the brightly-colored hero chuckles at Bruce's lie, floating down to hold a cup out to him. "You're freezing. Here."
Bruce can only cock an eyebrow at his partner beneath the cowl, daring him to say another word. But he takes the coffee numbly, sipping, letting it burn his tongue on its way down to heat his core, to thaw him from the inside out. Letting out a brief groan in pleasure at the slightly sweetened nectar, he slides his eyes shut briefly, just tasting, allowing himself a moment of peace and warmth. He can have that, at least.
"Better?" Clark asks, laying gentle fingertips on Bruce's spine through silken cape and light armor, trailing down past a spot that usually makes the Bat turn into a kitten.
Bruce shivers again. He can't let himself turn to goo tonight. Too much work to do, too many people to snap out of their holiday induced insanity. "Yes. Thanks, Kal," he grumbles.
"No problem. Glad I could help." Clark's grin is like a beacon of hope against despair, light penetrating the longest, darkest night of the year like an errant sunbeam, come to claim the world again.
Thinking it's quite the appropriate metaphor, Bruce gives away a tiny quirk of a smile, telling the Bat to go to hell for just a minute so he can bask in the rays of the sun. You are so beautiful, do you know that? he wonders at the Kryptonian.
"Is something wrong?" Clark asks, his brow furrowing beneath that one curl.
"No." He glances back down at the city, the frantic hum of Gotham dragging him back to reality. Another sip of coffee. Tongue burned again. But this time, the warming is simply soothing, and he manages to keep his head cleared. "This is already turning into a damn long night," he finally says, his voice low again.
Clark's response comes with the flutter of a broad crimson cape, suddenly settled around his shoulders along with a heavy, and quite warm, arm. "I'll be here."
Bruce leans into his lover. "Thank you."
Another sip of coffee. Not so much burning now. He's perfectly willing to settle for patrolling on the longest, darkest night of the year as long as he has his light beside him. Glancing up at Clark, he lets his mouth quirk into another faint smile, knowing - as he's reminded every year at this time - that despite the dark, despite the insanity of the season, the light will always return, will always reclaim what is rightfully his, will always come with love and devotion to conquer the cold and the despair of the night.
"Happy Winter Solstice, Clark," he whispers.
"Happy Winter Solstice, Bruce." And with a warm kiss, the cold darkness of the longest night is banished.
* * * * *