Fic: A Priceless Gift | SR/Nolanverse | Bruce/Lois | NC-17 | 1/1
Title: With Fortune's Hand III: Four Relationships No One Knew About: A Priceless Gift
Fandom: Superman Returns/Batman Nolanverse/DCU Fusion
Pairing: Bruce Wayne/Lois Lane (as Bruce[/Clark]/Lois, w/past Clark/Lois)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,589
Prompt: For Porn Battle XII: grief, secrets, alone
Summary: After Clark's death at the hands of Doomsday, Lois's grief is crushing, but Bruce does his best to help.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own everything, the schmucks.
Author's Notes: Fourth and last in this part of the series. Aftermath-verse, obviously, but all you need to know is that this is almost 9 years after SR, and Clark and Lois are married and have 3 kids now. Warning for deathfic (see summary!), but no worries, Clark gets better (see Awaiting the Ghost of Christmas Past). Originally posted here at PB XII. This is the fic that's been holding up the series. Thank you, PB, for helping me get through it!
A Priceless Gift
Unable to stand the news coverage anymore, Lois turned off the TV and threw the remote at it, a growl ripping from her throat. She didn't know why she'd even bothered, when all they kept showing was film of the final few minutes of the battle, Superman dragging himself up out of a crater in the street, his eyes so red that even the camera had had no trouble making out the rage and heat there as he lifted himself into the air and shot forward to deliver the final blow that killed that... that monster. That killed himself as he met the beast's nigh-invulnerable fist along the way.
And afterward, when Lois and Jimmy had shoved their way through the crowd to get to Clark. To Superman. To her husband. The cameras had had a perfect angle on Lois throwing herself over him, pulling him up when it was clear that Doomsday was finished, cradling his head on her lap as she screamed, vision clouded with tears as everything seemed to be covered in blood, Clark's face a patchwork of bruises and cuts, and, and... and not even a lift of an eyebrow or a quirk of his mouth left to reassure her that he'd be okay.
God dammit, didn't WGBS have any morals? How could they show this and still look at themselves in the mirror every morning?
But the TV was off, and though that horrifying scene was only seared onto her retinas, the stench of blood and death and burned flesh still fresh in her nose, she didn't have to watch it happen again. She didn't have to see him die again.
This time, the tears came on quick, and Lois was sprawled on the floor, fingers digging into the carpet as the room went blurry, her lungs straining for breath as sobs wrenched themselves free.
He couldn't be dead. He couldn't be dead. He just couldn't.
Because... because the kids needed a father. And the world needed its hero. And she needed her husband!
Shaking harder as she cried, Lois almost threw off the arms that wrapped around her, that deep, soothing voice murmuring in her ear, “Shhh... Lois. It's okay. It's okay. I've got you.”
That only drew out a louder wail that grew into a scream as she shuddered, body stiffening as she let it out, her hands coming up to fist in his shirt.
His shirt.
Bruce's shirt.
“No...” she managed to cry between deep, sucking breaths, “it's not okay, dammit! He's gone!”
“I know,” Bruce tried to soothe her again. “I know.” And drawing her closer into his arms, he gathered her into his lap and cradled her there, rocked her gently as she wept.
But it wasn't what she wanted. It wasn't what she needed, she knew. She needed Clark.
Releasing Bruce's shirt, she reared back and slammed her fist into his chest. “Damn you!” she screamed. “Why did you have to leave me!?”
“I'm sorry, Lois. I'm so sorry.”
It was Bruce's voice, not Clark's, not the one she needed to hear.
Another punch, and another, and Lois was halfway to reaching up to strangle Bruce right there, because he wasn't what she needed!
His hands locked around her wrists, tugging them back down to pin them at her sides, and he caught her attention with a, “Hey! Hey, stop.”
She didn't want to stop, struggling against his grip to get free so she could throttle him, could make someone pay for taking her husband away, could-
The sudden press of Bruce's mouth against her own, and her body froze in place. “Hey,” he whispered harshly against her lips. “I miss him, too.”
That was enough to break the dam of the rest of Lois's tears, a fresh round of sobs escaping her as she melted into Bruce's embrace, completely this time, soaking his shirt as she buried her face against his chest. For a long time, they sat there, just rocking back and forth as Lois cried herself out, her lungs burning again, and when she finally fell silent, her body quivering with the last of her cries as she gasped for fresh air, Bruce smoothed down her hair and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “I miss him, too,” he repeated, his voice tight, and Lois felt the slide of tears against her temple that weren't her own.
Lifting her head, she saw the wet tracks on his face, the redness of his eyes, the open grief that she hadn't quite believed was there until this moment. “Bruce,” she whimpered, her chin trembling. “Want him back.”
“I know,” he nodded, the words choked. “I want him back, too.” Cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her again, but this wasn't the sweet kiss he'd given before. This was raw grief, hunger and anger and need, and Lois's chest tightened as she responded in kind, unable to stop herself. She needed... she needed....
A whimper escaping her, Lois moved more fully into his lap, pawing at Bruce's shirt, and when his hands brushed back and down to cup her bottom, she bucked against him, not expecting it when he lifted her off the floor that way, setting her gently on the couch. She whined when he backed off, disposing of his shirt and his pants as Lois made quick work of her own, kicking off her jeans and panties, and then he was there, settling between her legs and lifting them out of the way with broad hands.
Lois gasped, eyes rolling back as he pushed into her, and she trembled with it, her body responding on its own as Bruce leaned down to capture her mouth again, kissing away their shared tears as he thrust into her.
It wasn't gentle, it wasn't tender. It was hard and punishing, and everything they needed from one another, his brutal rhythm shoving Lois's whole body up the couch with each thrust, her hands twined into his hair and pulling hard, her teeth finding his bottom lip and biting, drawing blood that she tasted on her own lips as they crashed together. It was grief, it was mourning, it was catharsis, and they both shouted, Bruce's growl torn and rough as Lois's scream felt like shattered glass in her throat, a billion stars exploding within them as they came, Bruce thrusting and tensing, Lois shuddering and tightening around him.
Panting to regain their breaths as Bruce slid free and partly collapsed over her, they kissed again, slowly.
“Should get you cleaned up,” Bruce suggested gently after a while, and Lois couldn't help a huff of a laugh-her first since... since before Clark.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Another kiss against her temple, and she felt Bruce's watery smile on her skin. “You're welcome.”
~*~*~
After grabbing a shower, Lois settled on the couch again in a thick robe-warm for the middle of summer, but she had AC and the sun had already set, so who cared?-and Bruce brought her a cup of hot tea. “For your throat,” he explained, and she took it with a nod of thanks while he stepped back into the kitchen to make a phone call as he brewed his own cup.
Her head still swimming with what had happened, she drew her knees up on the couch and glared at the blank television screen, willing it to shatter, because it was all that damn thing's fault she'd melted down in the first place.
But it didn't explode or so much as crack, and she sighed and sipped at her tea. At least the kids hadn't been here, the three of them hidden away from prying eyes at Titans Tower with Dick and Roy and Donna and even Wally. The last thing they needed to see was their mother in this kind of distress, her world ending as she knew it as everything fell apart around her, the non-stop phone calls from other news agencies trying to get an interview with her about Superman's death, that'd prompted her to have her phone disconnected entirely, the constant speculation that her kids were his, the Enquirer showing up at her door the previous afternoon. It would've been too much for them to handle, even without the unexpected grief sex that she'd shared with Bruce. God knew they didn't need to know about that.
No one needed to know about it.
When Bruce back to the living room to settle beside her on the couch, she gave him a pointed look. “No one can know about this, okay?” If the demand in her voice was more of a desperate plea, she'd never admit it.
Bruce shook his head, his expression softer than she'd ever seen it before today. “Not a word. I swear.”
“Good.”
Reaching for her hand, he squeezed it gently, and took a breath. “I spoke to Diana. The memorial service for Superman will be Wednesday morning. You think you can handle that?”
Lois swallowed, and nodded reluctantly.
“Okay. Clark's funeral will be in Smallville. That's on Friday. I'm having the private jet brought down to get everyone there, is that all right?”
A squeeze of Bruce's hand before slipping hers free, and Lois swiped at the prickle of unavoidable tears in the corners of her eyes as she tried to pay attention to his notes about the services. “Yeah,” she nodded again, and as he went on, she was surprised to find that she felt a little better prepared to face it all, now that the worst of the crying was over, that the worst of her grief had been released.
For that priceless gift, she couldn't help but be grateful to Bruce.
Grateful for his unerring support.
Grateful for his friendship.
~*~*~*~
Fandom: Superman Returns/Batman Nolanverse/DCU Fusion
Pairing: Bruce Wayne/Lois Lane (as Bruce[/Clark]/Lois, w/past Clark/Lois)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,589
Prompt: For Porn Battle XII: grief, secrets, alone
Summary: After Clark's death at the hands of Doomsday, Lois's grief is crushing, but Bruce does his best to help.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own everything, the schmucks.
Author's Notes: Fourth and last in this part of the series. Aftermath-verse, obviously, but all you need to know is that this is almost 9 years after SR, and Clark and Lois are married and have 3 kids now. Warning for deathfic (see summary!), but no worries, Clark gets better (see Awaiting the Ghost of Christmas Past). Originally posted here at PB XII. This is the fic that's been holding up the series. Thank you, PB, for helping me get through it!
A Priceless Gift
Unable to stand the news coverage anymore, Lois turned off the TV and threw the remote at it, a growl ripping from her throat. She didn't know why she'd even bothered, when all they kept showing was film of the final few minutes of the battle, Superman dragging himself up out of a crater in the street, his eyes so red that even the camera had had no trouble making out the rage and heat there as he lifted himself into the air and shot forward to deliver the final blow that killed that... that monster. That killed himself as he met the beast's nigh-invulnerable fist along the way.
And afterward, when Lois and Jimmy had shoved their way through the crowd to get to Clark. To Superman. To her husband. The cameras had had a perfect angle on Lois throwing herself over him, pulling him up when it was clear that Doomsday was finished, cradling his head on her lap as she screamed, vision clouded with tears as everything seemed to be covered in blood, Clark's face a patchwork of bruises and cuts, and, and... and not even a lift of an eyebrow or a quirk of his mouth left to reassure her that he'd be okay.
God dammit, didn't WGBS have any morals? How could they show this and still look at themselves in the mirror every morning?
But the TV was off, and though that horrifying scene was only seared onto her retinas, the stench of blood and death and burned flesh still fresh in her nose, she didn't have to watch it happen again. She didn't have to see him die again.
This time, the tears came on quick, and Lois was sprawled on the floor, fingers digging into the carpet as the room went blurry, her lungs straining for breath as sobs wrenched themselves free.
He couldn't be dead. He couldn't be dead. He just couldn't.
Because... because the kids needed a father. And the world needed its hero. And she needed her husband!
Shaking harder as she cried, Lois almost threw off the arms that wrapped around her, that deep, soothing voice murmuring in her ear, “Shhh... Lois. It's okay. It's okay. I've got you.”
That only drew out a louder wail that grew into a scream as she shuddered, body stiffening as she let it out, her hands coming up to fist in his shirt.
His shirt.
Bruce's shirt.
“No...” she managed to cry between deep, sucking breaths, “it's not okay, dammit! He's gone!”
“I know,” Bruce tried to soothe her again. “I know.” And drawing her closer into his arms, he gathered her into his lap and cradled her there, rocked her gently as she wept.
But it wasn't what she wanted. It wasn't what she needed, she knew. She needed Clark.
Releasing Bruce's shirt, she reared back and slammed her fist into his chest. “Damn you!” she screamed. “Why did you have to leave me!?”
“I'm sorry, Lois. I'm so sorry.”
It was Bruce's voice, not Clark's, not the one she needed to hear.
Another punch, and another, and Lois was halfway to reaching up to strangle Bruce right there, because he wasn't what she needed!
His hands locked around her wrists, tugging them back down to pin them at her sides, and he caught her attention with a, “Hey! Hey, stop.”
She didn't want to stop, struggling against his grip to get free so she could throttle him, could make someone pay for taking her husband away, could-
The sudden press of Bruce's mouth against her own, and her body froze in place. “Hey,” he whispered harshly against her lips. “I miss him, too.”
That was enough to break the dam of the rest of Lois's tears, a fresh round of sobs escaping her as she melted into Bruce's embrace, completely this time, soaking his shirt as she buried her face against his chest. For a long time, they sat there, just rocking back and forth as Lois cried herself out, her lungs burning again, and when she finally fell silent, her body quivering with the last of her cries as she gasped for fresh air, Bruce smoothed down her hair and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “I miss him, too,” he repeated, his voice tight, and Lois felt the slide of tears against her temple that weren't her own.
Lifting her head, she saw the wet tracks on his face, the redness of his eyes, the open grief that she hadn't quite believed was there until this moment. “Bruce,” she whimpered, her chin trembling. “Want him back.”
“I know,” he nodded, the words choked. “I want him back, too.” Cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her again, but this wasn't the sweet kiss he'd given before. This was raw grief, hunger and anger and need, and Lois's chest tightened as she responded in kind, unable to stop herself. She needed... she needed....
A whimper escaping her, Lois moved more fully into his lap, pawing at Bruce's shirt, and when his hands brushed back and down to cup her bottom, she bucked against him, not expecting it when he lifted her off the floor that way, setting her gently on the couch. She whined when he backed off, disposing of his shirt and his pants as Lois made quick work of her own, kicking off her jeans and panties, and then he was there, settling between her legs and lifting them out of the way with broad hands.
Lois gasped, eyes rolling back as he pushed into her, and she trembled with it, her body responding on its own as Bruce leaned down to capture her mouth again, kissing away their shared tears as he thrust into her.
It wasn't gentle, it wasn't tender. It was hard and punishing, and everything they needed from one another, his brutal rhythm shoving Lois's whole body up the couch with each thrust, her hands twined into his hair and pulling hard, her teeth finding his bottom lip and biting, drawing blood that she tasted on her own lips as they crashed together. It was grief, it was mourning, it was catharsis, and they both shouted, Bruce's growl torn and rough as Lois's scream felt like shattered glass in her throat, a billion stars exploding within them as they came, Bruce thrusting and tensing, Lois shuddering and tightening around him.
Panting to regain their breaths as Bruce slid free and partly collapsed over her, they kissed again, slowly.
“Should get you cleaned up,” Bruce suggested gently after a while, and Lois couldn't help a huff of a laugh-her first since... since before Clark.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Another kiss against her temple, and she felt Bruce's watery smile on her skin. “You're welcome.”
~*~*~
After grabbing a shower, Lois settled on the couch again in a thick robe-warm for the middle of summer, but she had AC and the sun had already set, so who cared?-and Bruce brought her a cup of hot tea. “For your throat,” he explained, and she took it with a nod of thanks while he stepped back into the kitchen to make a phone call as he brewed his own cup.
Her head still swimming with what had happened, she drew her knees up on the couch and glared at the blank television screen, willing it to shatter, because it was all that damn thing's fault she'd melted down in the first place.
But it didn't explode or so much as crack, and she sighed and sipped at her tea. At least the kids hadn't been here, the three of them hidden away from prying eyes at Titans Tower with Dick and Roy and Donna and even Wally. The last thing they needed to see was their mother in this kind of distress, her world ending as she knew it as everything fell apart around her, the non-stop phone calls from other news agencies trying to get an interview with her about Superman's death, that'd prompted her to have her phone disconnected entirely, the constant speculation that her kids were his, the Enquirer showing up at her door the previous afternoon. It would've been too much for them to handle, even without the unexpected grief sex that she'd shared with Bruce. God knew they didn't need to know about that.
No one needed to know about it.
When Bruce back to the living room to settle beside her on the couch, she gave him a pointed look. “No one can know about this, okay?” If the demand in her voice was more of a desperate plea, she'd never admit it.
Bruce shook his head, his expression softer than she'd ever seen it before today. “Not a word. I swear.”
“Good.”
Reaching for her hand, he squeezed it gently, and took a breath. “I spoke to Diana. The memorial service for Superman will be Wednesday morning. You think you can handle that?”
Lois swallowed, and nodded reluctantly.
“Okay. Clark's funeral will be in Smallville. That's on Friday. I'm having the private jet brought down to get everyone there, is that all right?”
A squeeze of Bruce's hand before slipping hers free, and Lois swiped at the prickle of unavoidable tears in the corners of her eyes as she tried to pay attention to his notes about the services. “Yeah,” she nodded again, and as he went on, she was surprised to find that she felt a little better prepared to face it all, now that the worst of the crying was over, that the worst of her grief had been released.
For that priceless gift, she couldn't help but be grateful to Bruce.
Grateful for his unerring support.
Grateful for his friendship.
~*~*~*~