Fic: Promises | DCU/SR/Nolanverse | Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne (sort of) | R-ish | 1/1
Title: With Fortune's Hand IV: Four Relationships That Never Happened, But Could Have: Promises
Fandom: DCU/Superman Returns/Superman Movieverse Fusion, w/Batman Nolanverse
Characters/Pairing: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne (sort of)
Rating: R-ish (for talk of sex)
Word Count: 1,379
Prompt: For dcu_freeforall: Confession in a Desperate Situation
Summary: When Clark and Bruce are trapped in a collapsed building and Clark is badly injured, some interesting secrets come to light.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own everything, the schmucks.
Author's Notes: Last fic in this part of the With Fortune's Hand series. Takes place some years in the future, well after Clark has died and come back. Also, this is somewhat fandom meta-ish. Whoops. :p
Promises
“Superman, wake up.”
When his partner’s eyes only barely fluttered in the blue-white glow of the personal emergency light, a tiny moan accompanying the motion, Bruce knew he’d have to break protocol; no one could hear them down here anyway.
“Clark,” he said sternly, clasping his shoulder in a firm grip and shaking him slightly. “You need to wake up now.”
Finally, Clark’s eyes started to open, revealing those bright blue-green eyes.
Shit. There’d been more K in the bomb than he’d calculated.
Pale lips trembled. “Wh-what happened?” Clark managed, his voice sounding small and pained.
“The bomb went off prematurely. There was no way you could stop it in time,” Bruce explained, shifting to try and prop Clark up against a broken pillar. “And it looks like it used K as a fuel source, not just as shrapnel. Can you move at all?”
For a long moment, Clark seemed to take mental stock of himself, his eyes wandering, barely focused, then he let out a long sigh. “I … don’t think so. I mean, yeah, a little,” he said, wiggling his blood-stained fingers where they lay on his chest, and slowly flexing his right foot, the other lost somewhere under the debris, “but I don’t think I’m going anywhere. So tired.”
With that, his eyes fluttered again, and a small spike of terror pierced Bruce’s chest. “No,” he ordered. “You stay with me. Clark!”
A hard blink, and Clark sucked in a deep breath, coughing for his effort.
“I think you might have a broken leg,” Bruce said, unsure of how he could keep Clark awake and alive until help came. They were trapped under about ten stories of collapsed bank, and even though the vault door had miraculously shielded them from the full weight of the debris, it meant they were well and truly stuck until either Diana or Hal came to the rescue. Or even one Clark’s kids, Jason or Conner, the newly-adopted half-clone. Bruce still didn’t quite trust the kid, but … but Clark did, so he was trying, for his friend’s sake. If Conner wound up being the one to save them, it’d be one hell of a point in his favor.
Realizing that Clark had fixed his sickly green gaze on him, looking expectant and more than a little out of it, Bruce shook his head. “It’d be a hell of a time to still have your powers. But you’ll just have to hang in there, okay?”
Clark nodded weakly. Then, “I think … think it might be more than a broken leg, B-Bruce. Having a hard time … breathing.”
A deep frown, and Bruce gently felt over Clark’s chest, around his sides … there. “Broken ribs. I don’t think you punctured a lung, or else you’d be gasping like a fish out of water.”
“Feel like one,” Clark joked weakly. Clearly, his sense of humor was intact. Which actually meant a lot.
“You’re depowered, of course you do,” Bruce replied gently. “Now you don’t have to talk, just stay here, stay with me, okay?”
Another weak nod, and Clark’s bloodied fingers moved to cover Bruce’s gloved hand. “Warm.”
For a moment, Bruce was confused. Then it hit him, and he wasted no time tugging his gloves off and feeling Clark’s forehead.
Just as he’d feared. Clark was in shock. The poison was doing a serious number on him, and there wasn’t a damn thing Bruce could do about it beyond trying to lend him any warmth he had to spare. Shifting down, Bruce moved in close to Clark’s side, cradling his head in one arm and rubbing his bicep with his free hand to try and help warm him up.
“You still with me?”
“Yeah.” But Clark’s voice seemed weaker now. Shit. “’M here. Bruce….”
“Shh, I’ve got you. I’m right here,” Bruce said, trying to soothe him. “They’ll be here soon.”
“I know,” Clark said low. And after a moment, he started, “I ever tell you about that website Lois found?” He seemed genuinely amused, despite the pain in his tone.
Bruce raised an eyebrow behind his mask-which, hell, he didn’t exactly need at the moment, so off it went with a quick tug. “What website? What’s so funny?”
“Superman’s Tights. It’s a … a fan thing. With stories,” Clark explained quietly.
“Stories?” Whatever Clark was going on about, Bruce was just happy he was still awake, still here.
“Mm-hmm. About me and you. Superman and Batman. Like, dirty stories. Saving each other’s lives. Secretly husbands.”
Now that got Bruce’s attention quick. He couldn’t help a small sputter of surprise. “You mean-”
Clark huffed out a tiny laugh. “Yeah. And since they don’t know what you look like, they have Zachary Quinto cast as you, and I just call you ‘B’, since they don’t know your name, either. It’s kinda … hilarious.”
When Clark’s last sentence dissolved into a coughing fit, punctuated by whimpers, Bruce only smoothed a hand down his arm, nuzzling a little closer to keep him warm.
Eventually catching his breath and quieting, Clark went on, “There’s a bunch where I take you up to my palace on the moon and we have kinky sex with all sorts of kryptonite-studded restraints and toys, and there are Bat-condoms and Bat-lube.”
Bruce couldn’t help groaning at the mental imagery. “You can’t be serious.”
Clark managed a weak grin, blinking slowly. “It gets better: you’re the top.”
At that, Bruce could only snort. Of course he was.
“And … and there are stories about us saving the world together and having celebratory sex. And about us getting snowed in at your winter cabin-because Batman has to be loaded, to do what he does-and we have to keep each other … warm … and-”
If Bruce was a different sort of man, he might’ve been offended, but Clark was right, it was hilarious. The worst part was how close to the truth some of those stories seemed to be.
“Bruce?” Now Clark’s voice sounded incredibly small, almost nonexistent.
“I’ve got you, you’re not going anywhere, Clark.”
Another faint smile tugged at the corners of his friend’s mouth. “Just … I don’t want to leave them again. Can’t … can’t do that to them. Not again. Lois….”
It was all too clear that Clark meant his family now. No more joking.
“You’re not leaving them. I promise you that. Okay? I refuse to let you leave me all alone with your wife again. She’s a handful and a half, you know?” Dammit, he needed to keep Clark’s spirit up. There was still no telling how long their rescue would take.
Another coughing fit seized up Clark’s chest, and he nearly doubled over sideways with it, this time a wail of pain escaping him. Bruce could only hold him through it, rubbing his arms and murmuring reassurances.
“I … I know,” Clark said after a long moment, wheezing hard and shivering. “Thank you … for taking care of them … while I was gone, by the way.”
Bruce allowed himself a small smile of his own. “I was glad to do it.”
Thankfully, he was saved from having to discuss his time with Lois by the sound of grinding coming from somewhere above them. Steel groaned, the debris shifted slightly around them, and a fine cloud of dust billowed into their little pocket. Clark started coughing again, and Bruce squeezed his arms, shifting him up as far as they could go. “Hold on, Clark. The cavalry’s here. See, I told you you weren’t leaving anyone today.”
A sudden rumbling shift, and the vault door was lifted away, sunlight pouring in. Bruce squinted at the light, and only belatedly realized he’d taken off his cowl. With one hand, he yanked it back into place, scowling up at their rescuers.
“Took you long enough,” he growled.
Clark’s sons-sure enough, the adopted clone, Conner, was there-stared down at them with matching knowing looks, the boys’ faces gone a little pink.
Of course, they’d heard.
Bruce mentally slapped himself.
“Hurry up already,” he snapped. “Superman’s hurt.”
At that, they descended into the little space to tend to their father, and Bruce could only be glad this was finally over.
~*~*~*~
Fandom: DCU/Superman Returns/Superman Movieverse Fusion, w/Batman Nolanverse
Characters/Pairing: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne (sort of)
Rating: R-ish (for talk of sex)
Word Count: 1,379
Prompt: For dcu_freeforall: Confession in a Desperate Situation
Summary: When Clark and Bruce are trapped in a collapsed building and Clark is badly injured, some interesting secrets come to light.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own everything, the schmucks.
Author's Notes: Last fic in this part of the With Fortune's Hand series. Takes place some years in the future, well after Clark has died and come back. Also, this is somewhat fandom meta-ish. Whoops. :p
Promises
“Superman, wake up.”
When his partner’s eyes only barely fluttered in the blue-white glow of the personal emergency light, a tiny moan accompanying the motion, Bruce knew he’d have to break protocol; no one could hear them down here anyway.
“Clark,” he said sternly, clasping his shoulder in a firm grip and shaking him slightly. “You need to wake up now.”
Finally, Clark’s eyes started to open, revealing those bright blue-green eyes.
Shit. There’d been more K in the bomb than he’d calculated.
Pale lips trembled. “Wh-what happened?” Clark managed, his voice sounding small and pained.
“The bomb went off prematurely. There was no way you could stop it in time,” Bruce explained, shifting to try and prop Clark up against a broken pillar. “And it looks like it used K as a fuel source, not just as shrapnel. Can you move at all?”
For a long moment, Clark seemed to take mental stock of himself, his eyes wandering, barely focused, then he let out a long sigh. “I … don’t think so. I mean, yeah, a little,” he said, wiggling his blood-stained fingers where they lay on his chest, and slowly flexing his right foot, the other lost somewhere under the debris, “but I don’t think I’m going anywhere. So tired.”
With that, his eyes fluttered again, and a small spike of terror pierced Bruce’s chest. “No,” he ordered. “You stay with me. Clark!”
A hard blink, and Clark sucked in a deep breath, coughing for his effort.
“I think you might have a broken leg,” Bruce said, unsure of how he could keep Clark awake and alive until help came. They were trapped under about ten stories of collapsed bank, and even though the vault door had miraculously shielded them from the full weight of the debris, it meant they were well and truly stuck until either Diana or Hal came to the rescue. Or even one Clark’s kids, Jason or Conner, the newly-adopted half-clone. Bruce still didn’t quite trust the kid, but … but Clark did, so he was trying, for his friend’s sake. If Conner wound up being the one to save them, it’d be one hell of a point in his favor.
Realizing that Clark had fixed his sickly green gaze on him, looking expectant and more than a little out of it, Bruce shook his head. “It’d be a hell of a time to still have your powers. But you’ll just have to hang in there, okay?”
Clark nodded weakly. Then, “I think … think it might be more than a broken leg, B-Bruce. Having a hard time … breathing.”
A deep frown, and Bruce gently felt over Clark’s chest, around his sides … there. “Broken ribs. I don’t think you punctured a lung, or else you’d be gasping like a fish out of water.”
“Feel like one,” Clark joked weakly. Clearly, his sense of humor was intact. Which actually meant a lot.
“You’re depowered, of course you do,” Bruce replied gently. “Now you don’t have to talk, just stay here, stay with me, okay?”
Another weak nod, and Clark’s bloodied fingers moved to cover Bruce’s gloved hand. “Warm.”
For a moment, Bruce was confused. Then it hit him, and he wasted no time tugging his gloves off and feeling Clark’s forehead.
Just as he’d feared. Clark was in shock. The poison was doing a serious number on him, and there wasn’t a damn thing Bruce could do about it beyond trying to lend him any warmth he had to spare. Shifting down, Bruce moved in close to Clark’s side, cradling his head in one arm and rubbing his bicep with his free hand to try and help warm him up.
“You still with me?”
“Yeah.” But Clark’s voice seemed weaker now. Shit. “’M here. Bruce….”
“Shh, I’ve got you. I’m right here,” Bruce said, trying to soothe him. “They’ll be here soon.”
“I know,” Clark said low. And after a moment, he started, “I ever tell you about that website Lois found?” He seemed genuinely amused, despite the pain in his tone.
Bruce raised an eyebrow behind his mask-which, hell, he didn’t exactly need at the moment, so off it went with a quick tug. “What website? What’s so funny?”
“Superman’s Tights. It’s a … a fan thing. With stories,” Clark explained quietly.
“Stories?” Whatever Clark was going on about, Bruce was just happy he was still awake, still here.
“Mm-hmm. About me and you. Superman and Batman. Like, dirty stories. Saving each other’s lives. Secretly husbands.”
Now that got Bruce’s attention quick. He couldn’t help a small sputter of surprise. “You mean-”
Clark huffed out a tiny laugh. “Yeah. And since they don’t know what you look like, they have Zachary Quinto cast as you, and I just call you ‘B’, since they don’t know your name, either. It’s kinda … hilarious.”
When Clark’s last sentence dissolved into a coughing fit, punctuated by whimpers, Bruce only smoothed a hand down his arm, nuzzling a little closer to keep him warm.
Eventually catching his breath and quieting, Clark went on, “There’s a bunch where I take you up to my palace on the moon and we have kinky sex with all sorts of kryptonite-studded restraints and toys, and there are Bat-condoms and Bat-lube.”
Bruce couldn’t help groaning at the mental imagery. “You can’t be serious.”
Clark managed a weak grin, blinking slowly. “It gets better: you’re the top.”
At that, Bruce could only snort. Of course he was.
“And … and there are stories about us saving the world together and having celebratory sex. And about us getting snowed in at your winter cabin-because Batman has to be loaded, to do what he does-and we have to keep each other … warm … and-”
If Bruce was a different sort of man, he might’ve been offended, but Clark was right, it was hilarious. The worst part was how close to the truth some of those stories seemed to be.
“Bruce?” Now Clark’s voice sounded incredibly small, almost nonexistent.
“I’ve got you, you’re not going anywhere, Clark.”
Another faint smile tugged at the corners of his friend’s mouth. “Just … I don’t want to leave them again. Can’t … can’t do that to them. Not again. Lois….”
It was all too clear that Clark meant his family now. No more joking.
“You’re not leaving them. I promise you that. Okay? I refuse to let you leave me all alone with your wife again. She’s a handful and a half, you know?” Dammit, he needed to keep Clark’s spirit up. There was still no telling how long their rescue would take.
Another coughing fit seized up Clark’s chest, and he nearly doubled over sideways with it, this time a wail of pain escaping him. Bruce could only hold him through it, rubbing his arms and murmuring reassurances.
“I … I know,” Clark said after a long moment, wheezing hard and shivering. “Thank you … for taking care of them … while I was gone, by the way.”
Bruce allowed himself a small smile of his own. “I was glad to do it.”
Thankfully, he was saved from having to discuss his time with Lois by the sound of grinding coming from somewhere above them. Steel groaned, the debris shifted slightly around them, and a fine cloud of dust billowed into their little pocket. Clark started coughing again, and Bruce squeezed his arms, shifting him up as far as they could go. “Hold on, Clark. The cavalry’s here. See, I told you you weren’t leaving anyone today.”
A sudden rumbling shift, and the vault door was lifted away, sunlight pouring in. Bruce squinted at the light, and only belatedly realized he’d taken off his cowl. With one hand, he yanked it back into place, scowling up at their rescuers.
“Took you long enough,” he growled.
Clark’s sons-sure enough, the adopted clone, Conner, was there-stared down at them with matching knowing looks, the boys’ faces gone a little pink.
Of course, they’d heard.
Bruce mentally slapped himself.
“Hurry up already,” he snapped. “Superman’s hurt.”
At that, they descended into the little space to tend to their father, and Bruce could only be glad this was finally over.
~*~*~*~