Fic: Glitter and Blue | DCU (SR/Nolanverse) | Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent | NC-17 | 1/1
Title: Glitter and Blue
Fandom: DCU (Superman Returns/Nolanverse)
Pairing: Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,812
Prompts: For PB 14: glitter, feathers, leather, chrome, sweat, ‘night off’, dance, music, black & blue, predatory; For DCU FFA: glitter
Summary: Six months after Clark got hit with pink K, Bruce finally takes Clark out to a club. It's definitely... an experience.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own everything, the schmucks.
Author's Notes: Yep, here I am, *finally* reposting this, after *finally* getting it written, 5 years after its predecessor, Pink and Black. XD Originally posted here on the PB.
Glitter and Blue
Clark almost couldn’t believe Bruce had finally agreed to come out to the club with him. He’d figured his partner had forgotten all about the promise made nearly six months ago while Clark had been under the influence of pink K, but as it turned out, not only had Bruce remembered, he’d apparently also been planning for the event.
Standing in line just outside Chrome, the hottest club in Gotham-where Bruce was certain to be recognized and photographed by paparazzi at some point-Clark couldn’t help staring. Instead of the usual classically masculine features that Bruce normally showed the world, there was electric blue eye shadow with hints of yellow and red, the darkest black eyeliner drawn out to nearly cats-eye sweeps of inky darkness, blue-black lipstick, a pale swash of shimmering silver over his cheeks, and glitter. Glitter everywhere. Glitter over his eyelids, his cheeks, his forehead, in his hair, and down his neck onto his chest, that peeked out through the holes of Bruce’s black, long-sleeved mesh shirt-if it could be called that. Even his black leather jacket sparkled with glitter, and his black pants sported what looked at first glance to be rhinestones-though Clark knew better-down the outside of each leg, all the way to his silver-studded thick-soled boots. The only thing breaking up the sparkling ensemble was a thin, electric blue feather boa that Bruce had looped around his neck like a scarf.
The effect was so mesmerizing that Clark barely noticed when they got to the head of the line, and were ushered in without even an ID check-because of course everyone in Gotham knew who the infamous Bruce Wayne was.
“You coming?” Bruce asked over his shoulder when Clark didn’t move to head into the club. His mouth was quirked ever so slightly upward at one corner, and Clark couldn’t help wanting to lick at it.
Shaking his head, Clark tried to get himself under control. “Yeah,” he replied, finally uprooting himself from the spot and following Bruce into the club. Honestly, it’d been a Herculean effort not to strip Bruce naked from the first moment he’d seen him like this, gliding down the stairs at the Manor like some predatory bird swooping in to ensnare its prey, and it wasn’t looking like it was gonna get any easier. Especially not now, with their descent into the darkened club, its pounding dance music and boisterous crowd a cacophony, the scent of sweat and sex wafting up to settle into Clark’s nose, and neon and twinkling lights swirling around and casting strange shadows.
If he didn’t know any better, he’d worry that he’d been hit with pink K again, the club was assaulting his senses so easily, but then Bruce was grabbing his hand and pulling him straight to the dance floor, a few steps below the bar, where everyone taking a break could watch the beautiful writhing bodies from up above.
At least they’d get a good show, Clark laughed to himself as he let the music flow into him, its pulse throbbing like a massive heartbeat, carrying them along with it. Thankfully, he’d taken Bruce’s example and run with it, changing from what he’d planned on wearing-blue jeans and a faded black t-shirt-into a shimmering black button-up over a silvery-gray tank, black jeans, and a yellow belt. Bruce’s colors, of course. Even if he’d already done his nails up in brilliant pink again, to match Bruce’s chromed black. A little yellow around the eyes and some pink lipstick, with Bruce insisting on glittering him up as well, and they were a perfectly matched set.
But all that faded away as they moved to the hammering beat of the club’s music, the two of them swaying and shifting and writhing against each other in perfect time. There was only the pulse and Bruce. Bruce’s body sliding against his as he pulled him close, the perfect curve of Bruce’s ass fitting snugly against Clark’s front, the firmness of those broad shoulders thrown back against his chest. Jeez, they’d only just gotten here, and all Clark wanted to do was throw Bruce down over the nearest surface and fuck him senseless. If this continued, their night out was gonna be a pretty short one.
Leaning over Bruce’s shoulder as the song came to a close, Clark shouted in his ear, “You wanna get something to drink?”
Bruce nodded up at him, giving him that dark smirk again. “Come on,” he said, gesturing with a head-tilt up to the bar.
A few moments later, with drinks in hand-a vodka tonic for Bruce and a Jim and Coke for Clark-Bruce was tugging him up another set of stairs to what looked to be a set of VIP suites. Naturally, Clark mused as he followed him eagerly. Not that he had any intention of doing anything indecent here at the club, but a moment away from the chaos was just what his senses needed.
The bouncer up on the VIP level gave them a quick nod as they passed, directing them to the third suite, its black curtains swept open, and as soon as they were inside, the space just barely lit with tiny pinpricks of LED lights and a miniature glittering mirror ball at the center of the round table, Bruce yanked the curtains shut, turned Clark around by the shoulders, took their drinks to set them aside, and shoved him. Hard.
Falling back into the deeply-cushioned booth, Clark gaped up at Bruce. “What are you doing?” he gasped.
“Taking advantage,” Bruce replied casually as he sank to his knees in front of Clark. “I’ve been wanting to get you up here all night. Ever since we left the Manor. Do you have any idea what you do to me, looking like this?”
Clark’s mind spun. Bruce was seriously pushing the limits here. What if someone caught them? And since when was Clark the one making someone crazy, when Bruce looked like … like an avenging angel from a psychedelic parallel dimension?
Finally, he managed a semi-coherent response. “Are you sure you’re not on Ivy’s pollen, or anything?” he asked. “Here I thought I was the one that was about to lose it.”
Bruce laughed, running his hands up and down Clark’s thighs and looking for the world like a starving man about to devour a banquet. His glittered eyes turned up to Clark’s. “I’m sure. Double checked before we left. And since I know you’re wondering, the club has excellent security. No one will get in here. No one would dare disturb the owner, anyway.”
“The … the what?” Clark whimpered.
Again, Bruce laughed. “I bought the club two months ago. Had a few … alterations made in the floor plan.” Pressing a button on the underside of the table, he grinned, and a portion of the curved booth at the rear of the space slid back and to the side, revealing what looked like a secret passage. “If you or I need to make a quick exit any time we’re here, we’ll be able to. No questions asked.”
For a moment, Clark could only stare, at the passage that likely extended both to the roof and to an underground escape route, then at Bruce, his face lit up with dark glee and glitter alike, and then back at the passage.
“You. You built us a secret escape route,” he mused aloud, not bothering to cover the sense of awe in his voice. “And bought the club.”
Bruce squeezed his thighs with strong hands. “I did. When I realized you’d started hoarding bottles of pink nail polish, I just couldn’t help myself.”
Clark was helpless against the grin that moved over his face. “You actually bought the club.”
“For you. For us,” Bruce said. Lifting a shoulder, he added, “For Gotham. Chrome would never have taken off without a little TLC, and we needed a good hot-spot.”
Without another word, Clark bent down and grabbed Bruce by the face, leaning in to kiss him squarely, their lipstick smearing and mixing. He just couldn’t get his mind around it, that a little chunk of pink kryptonite could be the catalyst for all this, that Bruce would go to all this trouble to fulfill such a small fantasy.
But his awed train of thought was derailed when Bruce broke their heated kiss and shoved him back into the booth again, kneeling between his legs and working open Clark’s belt and pants. Clark was hard in an instant, knowing what was coming and unable to think up any coherent reason why they shouldn’t do this here, and when Bruce took him in his mouth, deep and fast, there was no more thought anyway, only lightning and glitter and those shadowed blue eyes, watching him closely.
Holy God, Bruce’s mouth was sin personified, talented and wicked and the most dangerous thing Clark had ever encountered. It wound him up in ways he’d never thought possible before they’d met, unmade him and put him back together, showed him a level of heaven that even the purest solar rays had never revealed.
And in that moment, Clark began to feel as if he weren’t even in his own body anymore, his essence floating somewhere above, watching as Bruce tortured him and loved him and turned him inside out, that glitter and smeared blue-black lipstick everywhere, lights flashing and music pounding, rising up to meet them from somewhere far away.
A scream ripped itself from Clark’s throat, and he realized his hands were in Bruce’s hair, pink nails shimmering in the low light as he came, shooting down Bruce’s throat. He whimpered as Bruce swallowed him down, then licked him clean, that dark tongue darting out and curling around him.
“You … you-” was all he could get out then as Bruce tucked him back into his pants and did up his zipper and belt, rising to meet him with another kiss. His own taste met him, and he couldn’t help a groan, shivering despite the heat of the place.
“You’re welcome,” Bruce said against his lips. When he pulled back to settle onto the bench, that dark, searing look was in his eyes again, reminding Clark of some exotic bird of prey, but now one that had just fed. “Now drink up, so we can go dance some more. We’ve got all night, and I don’t want to waste a minute of it.”
Again unable to argue, Clark laughed breathlessly and pushed his hand through his hair. To hell with pink K; turned out all he needed was some glitter and nail polish, a dark club, and Bruce.
~*~*~*~
Fandom: DCU (Superman Returns/Nolanverse)
Pairing: Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,812
Prompts: For PB 14: glitter, feathers, leather, chrome, sweat, ‘night off’, dance, music, black & blue, predatory; For DCU FFA: glitter
Summary: Six months after Clark got hit with pink K, Bruce finally takes Clark out to a club. It's definitely... an experience.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own everything, the schmucks.
Author's Notes: Yep, here I am, *finally* reposting this, after *finally* getting it written, 5 years after its predecessor, Pink and Black. XD Originally posted here on the PB.
Glitter and Blue
Clark almost couldn’t believe Bruce had finally agreed to come out to the club with him. He’d figured his partner had forgotten all about the promise made nearly six months ago while Clark had been under the influence of pink K, but as it turned out, not only had Bruce remembered, he’d apparently also been planning for the event.
Standing in line just outside Chrome, the hottest club in Gotham-where Bruce was certain to be recognized and photographed by paparazzi at some point-Clark couldn’t help staring. Instead of the usual classically masculine features that Bruce normally showed the world, there was electric blue eye shadow with hints of yellow and red, the darkest black eyeliner drawn out to nearly cats-eye sweeps of inky darkness, blue-black lipstick, a pale swash of shimmering silver over his cheeks, and glitter. Glitter everywhere. Glitter over his eyelids, his cheeks, his forehead, in his hair, and down his neck onto his chest, that peeked out through the holes of Bruce’s black, long-sleeved mesh shirt-if it could be called that. Even his black leather jacket sparkled with glitter, and his black pants sported what looked at first glance to be rhinestones-though Clark knew better-down the outside of each leg, all the way to his silver-studded thick-soled boots. The only thing breaking up the sparkling ensemble was a thin, electric blue feather boa that Bruce had looped around his neck like a scarf.
The effect was so mesmerizing that Clark barely noticed when they got to the head of the line, and were ushered in without even an ID check-because of course everyone in Gotham knew who the infamous Bruce Wayne was.
“You coming?” Bruce asked over his shoulder when Clark didn’t move to head into the club. His mouth was quirked ever so slightly upward at one corner, and Clark couldn’t help wanting to lick at it.
Shaking his head, Clark tried to get himself under control. “Yeah,” he replied, finally uprooting himself from the spot and following Bruce into the club. Honestly, it’d been a Herculean effort not to strip Bruce naked from the first moment he’d seen him like this, gliding down the stairs at the Manor like some predatory bird swooping in to ensnare its prey, and it wasn’t looking like it was gonna get any easier. Especially not now, with their descent into the darkened club, its pounding dance music and boisterous crowd a cacophony, the scent of sweat and sex wafting up to settle into Clark’s nose, and neon and twinkling lights swirling around and casting strange shadows.
If he didn’t know any better, he’d worry that he’d been hit with pink K again, the club was assaulting his senses so easily, but then Bruce was grabbing his hand and pulling him straight to the dance floor, a few steps below the bar, where everyone taking a break could watch the beautiful writhing bodies from up above.
At least they’d get a good show, Clark laughed to himself as he let the music flow into him, its pulse throbbing like a massive heartbeat, carrying them along with it. Thankfully, he’d taken Bruce’s example and run with it, changing from what he’d planned on wearing-blue jeans and a faded black t-shirt-into a shimmering black button-up over a silvery-gray tank, black jeans, and a yellow belt. Bruce’s colors, of course. Even if he’d already done his nails up in brilliant pink again, to match Bruce’s chromed black. A little yellow around the eyes and some pink lipstick, with Bruce insisting on glittering him up as well, and they were a perfectly matched set.
But all that faded away as they moved to the hammering beat of the club’s music, the two of them swaying and shifting and writhing against each other in perfect time. There was only the pulse and Bruce. Bruce’s body sliding against his as he pulled him close, the perfect curve of Bruce’s ass fitting snugly against Clark’s front, the firmness of those broad shoulders thrown back against his chest. Jeez, they’d only just gotten here, and all Clark wanted to do was throw Bruce down over the nearest surface and fuck him senseless. If this continued, their night out was gonna be a pretty short one.
Leaning over Bruce’s shoulder as the song came to a close, Clark shouted in his ear, “You wanna get something to drink?”
Bruce nodded up at him, giving him that dark smirk again. “Come on,” he said, gesturing with a head-tilt up to the bar.
A few moments later, with drinks in hand-a vodka tonic for Bruce and a Jim and Coke for Clark-Bruce was tugging him up another set of stairs to what looked to be a set of VIP suites. Naturally, Clark mused as he followed him eagerly. Not that he had any intention of doing anything indecent here at the club, but a moment away from the chaos was just what his senses needed.
The bouncer up on the VIP level gave them a quick nod as they passed, directing them to the third suite, its black curtains swept open, and as soon as they were inside, the space just barely lit with tiny pinpricks of LED lights and a miniature glittering mirror ball at the center of the round table, Bruce yanked the curtains shut, turned Clark around by the shoulders, took their drinks to set them aside, and shoved him. Hard.
Falling back into the deeply-cushioned booth, Clark gaped up at Bruce. “What are you doing?” he gasped.
“Taking advantage,” Bruce replied casually as he sank to his knees in front of Clark. “I’ve been wanting to get you up here all night. Ever since we left the Manor. Do you have any idea what you do to me, looking like this?”
Clark’s mind spun. Bruce was seriously pushing the limits here. What if someone caught them? And since when was Clark the one making someone crazy, when Bruce looked like … like an avenging angel from a psychedelic parallel dimension?
Finally, he managed a semi-coherent response. “Are you sure you’re not on Ivy’s pollen, or anything?” he asked. “Here I thought I was the one that was about to lose it.”
Bruce laughed, running his hands up and down Clark’s thighs and looking for the world like a starving man about to devour a banquet. His glittered eyes turned up to Clark’s. “I’m sure. Double checked before we left. And since I know you’re wondering, the club has excellent security. No one will get in here. No one would dare disturb the owner, anyway.”
“The … the what?” Clark whimpered.
Again, Bruce laughed. “I bought the club two months ago. Had a few … alterations made in the floor plan.” Pressing a button on the underside of the table, he grinned, and a portion of the curved booth at the rear of the space slid back and to the side, revealing what looked like a secret passage. “If you or I need to make a quick exit any time we’re here, we’ll be able to. No questions asked.”
For a moment, Clark could only stare, at the passage that likely extended both to the roof and to an underground escape route, then at Bruce, his face lit up with dark glee and glitter alike, and then back at the passage.
“You. You built us a secret escape route,” he mused aloud, not bothering to cover the sense of awe in his voice. “And bought the club.”
Bruce squeezed his thighs with strong hands. “I did. When I realized you’d started hoarding bottles of pink nail polish, I just couldn’t help myself.”
Clark was helpless against the grin that moved over his face. “You actually bought the club.”
“For you. For us,” Bruce said. Lifting a shoulder, he added, “For Gotham. Chrome would never have taken off without a little TLC, and we needed a good hot-spot.”
Without another word, Clark bent down and grabbed Bruce by the face, leaning in to kiss him squarely, their lipstick smearing and mixing. He just couldn’t get his mind around it, that a little chunk of pink kryptonite could be the catalyst for all this, that Bruce would go to all this trouble to fulfill such a small fantasy.
But his awed train of thought was derailed when Bruce broke their heated kiss and shoved him back into the booth again, kneeling between his legs and working open Clark’s belt and pants. Clark was hard in an instant, knowing what was coming and unable to think up any coherent reason why they shouldn’t do this here, and when Bruce took him in his mouth, deep and fast, there was no more thought anyway, only lightning and glitter and those shadowed blue eyes, watching him closely.
Holy God, Bruce’s mouth was sin personified, talented and wicked and the most dangerous thing Clark had ever encountered. It wound him up in ways he’d never thought possible before they’d met, unmade him and put him back together, showed him a level of heaven that even the purest solar rays had never revealed.
And in that moment, Clark began to feel as if he weren’t even in his own body anymore, his essence floating somewhere above, watching as Bruce tortured him and loved him and turned him inside out, that glitter and smeared blue-black lipstick everywhere, lights flashing and music pounding, rising up to meet them from somewhere far away.
A scream ripped itself from Clark’s throat, and he realized his hands were in Bruce’s hair, pink nails shimmering in the low light as he came, shooting down Bruce’s throat. He whimpered as Bruce swallowed him down, then licked him clean, that dark tongue darting out and curling around him.
“You … you-” was all he could get out then as Bruce tucked him back into his pants and did up his zipper and belt, rising to meet him with another kiss. His own taste met him, and he couldn’t help a groan, shivering despite the heat of the place.
“You’re welcome,” Bruce said against his lips. When he pulled back to settle onto the bench, that dark, searing look was in his eyes again, reminding Clark of some exotic bird of prey, but now one that had just fed. “Now drink up, so we can go dance some more. We’ve got all night, and I don’t want to waste a minute of it.”
Again unable to argue, Clark laughed breathlessly and pushed his hand through his hair. To hell with pink K; turned out all he needed was some glitter and nail polish, a dark club, and Bruce.
~*~*~*~