Request Ficlets: Defining 'Love'; Of Sandwiches and Broken Ankles; Hopelessly Vanilla; Nothing
Finally!! Here are the last four request ficlets for my one year LJ anniversary! :D *dances* It only took me what, a whole month, to get them all finished? XD *rolls eyes at self* Next time - 1 to 3 word prompts only. :p
Disclaimer: DC, WB, and Paramount own everything. I own nothing. Darnit.
Defining 'Love' | Star Trek: The Next Generation | Lal, Spot | PG | 346 w
Prompt: For liquidengineer0 - I think I'd love to see something from you involving Lal, from Star Trek.
Summary: Lal contemplates Spot's reactions to her.
Defining 'Love'
Holding her hands stock still, Lal let the orange striped cat rub against her fingers, the feline purring with a rumble deep in its throat and chest that seemed to travel all the way up Lal's arm to her elbow. Her Father had told her the cat's name was Spot, but Lal didn't understand how that could fit; the small animal had no spots at all. Would a more appropriate name have been 'Stripe', or 'Orange', if the naming process involved the physical description of the cat? For that matter, why not 'Lithe' or 'Sleek', or 'Furry'?
Lal was somewhat surprised when Spot stepped gingerly onto her lap where she sat cross-legged on the floor. Her Father had mentioned that she might do that, but only if she was comfortable with and trusted the person whose lap she was staking out as her sleeping place. How could a cat trust an android? What was there to trust? What actions defined trust to a cat? She simply wasn't sure what the parameters for trust and distrust were outside of humanoid interactions. In any case, it would require more observation and study.
Spot's purring became louder as she turned around several times, then settled down to lay nestled in Lal's lap, claws unsheathing and digging lightly into her leg through her skirt in a repetitive motion that Father had called 'kneading'. At first it... 'hurt' was the term Father had told her described the physical sensation of damage... The kneading hurt for a moment, but Lal accepted the gesture for the trust and comfort that Father had said it indicated.
After a few minutes, the small cat's eyes slipped closed, the kneading stopped, and the rumbling purr ceased, her chest rising with deep, even breaths. Smiling, Lal realized that Spot was asleep. An action that signified a cat's ultimate trust and love.
Knowing that love was a universal feeling that crossed species everywhere, if Lal didn't already feel love for her father, she might have wondered what there was to love about an android.
* * * * *
Of Sandwiches and Broken Ankles | DCU | Tim/Cassie/Kon | PG-13 | 372 w
Prompt: For milleniumrex - Tim/Cassie/Kon [...] how about a little preslash fun? YJ-era. Cassie's laid up with a broken ankle, and the boys are butting heads over who gets to take care of her. It's obvious to her that they want each other as much as they want her, and she clues them in on this fact.
Summary: Tim and Kon are too busy trying to be macho to see what's right in front of them, but Cassie isn't so clueless.
Author's Note: This came out a little tamer than I'd intended, but I think it's because they're so young here. :p
Of Sandwiches and Broken Ankles
“Here, Cassie, I made you a sandwich,” Kon smiled as he handed her the plate.
Next to the injured girl on the couch, Tim cleared his throat, then rolled his eyes and said, “I already brought her one, Kon.”
“Hey, no fair! It was my turn to bring her something.”
“No, it wasn't,” Tim said, standing. “You've been doing everything else for her, so I thought she might like someone else to help her out for a little while.”
“Are you kidding me?” Kon huffed, stepping close and crowding into Tim's space, trying to loom over him with his scant two extra inches in height. “You've been all over her since she broke her ankle! Give the woman some space!”
“Guys?”
“You're the one that's been all over her, Kon! Leave her alone, will you? For the record, I made sandwiches for all of us, if you'd only taken a minute to look,” Tim finished, sweeping his arm out to indicate the plate on the table, piled up with food.
“Helloooo...”
Kon puffed his chest out and tipped his chin up defiantly. “Fine. I'll go get some sodas.”
“Fine!” Tim glared back, and the space in front of him was swept with a light breeze as Kon disappeared, then returned with an armload of cans that he deposited on the table.
“Boys!!”
Kon and Tim turned to find Cassie glaring at them from her spot on the sofa. “What!?” they snapped in unison.
“Would you two either hit each other or just kiss and get it over with, already? All this macho crap is really getting old, and I'd like to finish watching this TV show and eat my lunch.
The boys both sputtered for a moment, seemingly horrified, and Cassie just rolled her eyes. But then they looked at each other, stilling. A moment passed. Two.
“Well?” Wonder Girl prodded them.
Breaking the eye contact, Kon shoved Tim away lightly, trying his damnedest to look disgusted, and failing miserably. He grabbed a sandwich and plopped down on the other side of Cassie.
Tim only glared, but finally grabbed a sandwich of his own and sat down.
Cassie shook her head, rolling her eyes again. “Boys.”
* * * * *
Hopelessly Vanilla | DCU | Clark/Lois, Bruce/Selina, Clark/Lois/Bruce/Selina | R | 444 w
Prompt: For roguecatwoman - Bruce/Selina and Clark/Lois have a double date.
Summary: Clark and Lois's dinner date with Bruce and Selina turns out to be more than Clark bargained for.
Author's Note: I didn't expect this to go this direction. Blame it on kalalanekent and anissa7118's upcoming Clois fic, that I've seen some steamy snippets of. ^_~
Hopelessly Vanilla
Dinner out with Bruce and Selina didn't turn out to be so much of an interesting evening with friends, as a disaster of epic proportions, once the main portion of their meal was done with and small talk had lost its appeal. Leave it to Lois to have jumped right into the conversation about their respective sex lives when Selina threw the bait out there, the women ignoring Clark's horrified stare and Bruce's eye roll.
Of course, it was Clark that came out looking bad.
“Let's just say that I put my whip to good use on occasion,” Selina practically purred, tapping her fingernails on her cheek as she rested her chin in her palm, green eyes gleaming with mischief.
Lois rolled her eyes. “I can't even get him to tie me up with safety knots. He's afraid I'm gonna break, or something.”
“Um, sitting right here,” Clark whined, feeling his cheeks reddening.
But the women plowed right on.
“How sad! The things you could do!” Selina's eyes lit up a little more as she smirked, the implications more than obvious to everyone at the table.
“I know, right? Can't even get him to spank me.”
Clark choked on his water, sputtering, wide eyed. “Lois!” he pled, before coughing some more.
Standing and reaching across the table, Bruce slapped his back, chuckling. “Face it, Clark, you're hopelessly vanilla.”
“Not helping, Bruce,” Clark glared as the other man sat back down.
Bruce crossed his arms. “Not my fault that your idea of kinky is a can of whipped cream.”
“Now that's just not fair!”
“Hey, I've got an idea!” Selina grinned, straightening, and she leaned over to whisper in Bruce's ear.
His eyes widened for a moment, and he nodded, a grin settling across his face. “Excellent idea.”
Clark's jaw fell open as he processed just what Selina had suggested, having heard the whisper loud and clear, and he held his hands up in protest. “N-no! No way!”
“Aw, come on, Clark, you just might learn a few tricks,” Bruce insisted.
Lois leaned forward on her elbows, eyebrow cocked with curiosity. “What?”
Selina purred again, “Spend the night with us. We can have some real fun.”
“Ooohh! Now that's an idea I can get behind,” the other woman cooed, and she waved down the waiter. “Check please!”
Bruce grinned beside his lover, wrapping an arm around her waist as he gazed heatedly at Clark. “You know what a 'safe-word' is?” At the other man's head-shake, he went on, “You will by the time we're through with you.”
Despite his reluctance, Clark couldn't stop the sudden ache in his groin.
* * * * *
Nothing | DCU | Clark/Bruce | R | 865 w
Prompt: For Angeloz - Clark/Bruce or Superman/Batman. Maybe one or both of them need at different times a massage which means they realise they love each other. Perhaps Bruce gets stubborn. So the second rub down leads to porn eventually.
Summary: Things change between Clark and Bruce when Bruce gives his teammate a massage after a hard fight.
Author's Note: Didn't quite fit the porn in. Darnit.
Nothing
It really was nothing. Just a massage. Just working out the knot around a grapefruit-sized bruise on Clark's back after they'd made it back to the Javelin to head back to Earth. Teammate to teammate, nothing more. Of course, Clark had insisted he was fine. And of course, Bruce would have none of it, knowing his friend had been hurt when he'd laid a hand on Clark's back and the taller man had winced, sucking in a hard breath through gritted teeth.
Helping Clark pull his tunic off over his head, Bruce couldn't hide a wince of his own, his stomach knotting at the sight of the rapidly purpling bruise. But it was nothing, simple triage as he methodically massaged the swollen muscle, gentle circular strokes in toward the center and out again. Nothing, as his partner relaxed beneath the ministrations, slumping forward to lean his elbows on his knees. Nothing, as Bruce's hands slid over Clark's bare skin, slowing as the tightness in his stomach coiled lower in his belly.
Nothing, as Bruce straightened sharply, drawing his hands back.
Nothing, as Clark looked at him with a pleading in his eyes that Bruce had to force himself to ignore.
When they got back to Earth, it was six weeks before the pair even saw one another again, Bruce avoiding dealing with the moment on the Javelin like it was the plague. Their only communications were brief, perfunctory, the Bat cutting Clark off before there could be any talk outside of League business. It even became routine for Bruce to beg off of any League mission that might require them to be in the same room, and often, he maneuvered their assignments to avoid the possibility of their crossing paths altogether.
For a time, it worked, Bruce living in the land of Denial, leaving Clark to wonder just what he'd done wrong. But the attack on Ceti Tau put a quick end to the avoidance, and it was with a grudging acceptance on Bruce's part that the two men battled side by side, back to back, falling into easy rhythms even when internal panic at the situation had them both snapping at each other like irate turtles. Naturally, when the fight was over, they found themselves once again taking the last Javelin home, alone together for hours with naught to do.
“It was nothing,” Bruce said out of nowhere a half-hour after they left the planet, the first words spoken between them since the fight, “what happened before.”
Clark only breathed, deep and even, decidedly not looking at his partner.
Reaching up to rub at his neck, Bruce pulled off his cowl and cape, then stretched out the overused muscles in his shoulders and neck. “It was nothing,” he said again.
This time, Clark turned and blinked at him. “No. It wasn't.”
Bruce growled under his breath, and stood to head back to find some liniment for a pulled muscle in his neck.
“You can't turn your head, can you?”
The concern in Clark's voice caught the Bat by surprise, and he had to forcibly refuse to tense up at it. “No,” he said, back to his friend as he went for the right compartment.
A heavy sigh, and Clark was behind him, hand reaching forward to take the tube of liniment from him. “Sit down. Let me take care of it.”
“Clark...” Bruce warned, gravel and glass in his voice.
“Sit.”
Of course, Bruce obeyed, tired and in pain, unable to move his head and wanting nothing more than to lay down and go to sleep. Clark's hands were on him at once, helping him slide the gray tunic off. A moment of icy cold on his skin, and then heat. The heat of Clark's fingers, pressing gently, reverently into the offending muscle, rubbing in long, slow strokes to ease the tension and slow the swelling.
The low groan that escaped Bruce's throat at Clark's healing touch made the Bat want to leap off the chair and move as far away as he could - it couldn't feel that good, no - but the weight of those hands wouldn't let him so much as move. He was trapped, for better or for worse.
“It's nothing,” Bruce whispered, more to himself than to his companion.
Clark's fingers pressed deeper, and Bruce had to fight the contradictory urges to sleep and to relax into those hands, let the touch become more. He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood to keep himself in check, for all the good it did. That same tightness pulled against his belly, heat pooling in places he'd rather not think about. When his eyes slid shut, his head lolled slightly back, and he realized through a haze of pain and pleasure that he could move again. He was free if he wanted to get up.
'Nothing' kept him seated, though, and as he finally relaxed into Clark's touch, a warm breath whispered over his ear. “It's never been nothing, Bruce. Never.”
Feeling the heat of the body behind him, pressing closer than ever, Bruce sighed heavily and laid his head back against Clark's shoulder. “I know.”
* * * * *
Disclaimer: DC, WB, and Paramount own everything. I own nothing. Darnit.
Defining 'Love' | Star Trek: The Next Generation | Lal, Spot | PG | 346 w
Prompt: For liquidengineer0 - I think I'd love to see something from you involving Lal, from Star Trek.
Summary: Lal contemplates Spot's reactions to her.
Defining 'Love'
Holding her hands stock still, Lal let the orange striped cat rub against her fingers, the feline purring with a rumble deep in its throat and chest that seemed to travel all the way up Lal's arm to her elbow. Her Father had told her the cat's name was Spot, but Lal didn't understand how that could fit; the small animal had no spots at all. Would a more appropriate name have been 'Stripe', or 'Orange', if the naming process involved the physical description of the cat? For that matter, why not 'Lithe' or 'Sleek', or 'Furry'?
Lal was somewhat surprised when Spot stepped gingerly onto her lap where she sat cross-legged on the floor. Her Father had mentioned that she might do that, but only if she was comfortable with and trusted the person whose lap she was staking out as her sleeping place. How could a cat trust an android? What was there to trust? What actions defined trust to a cat? She simply wasn't sure what the parameters for trust and distrust were outside of humanoid interactions. In any case, it would require more observation and study.
Spot's purring became louder as she turned around several times, then settled down to lay nestled in Lal's lap, claws unsheathing and digging lightly into her leg through her skirt in a repetitive motion that Father had called 'kneading'. At first it... 'hurt' was the term Father had told her described the physical sensation of damage... The kneading hurt for a moment, but Lal accepted the gesture for the trust and comfort that Father had said it indicated.
After a few minutes, the small cat's eyes slipped closed, the kneading stopped, and the rumbling purr ceased, her chest rising with deep, even breaths. Smiling, Lal realized that Spot was asleep. An action that signified a cat's ultimate trust and love.
Knowing that love was a universal feeling that crossed species everywhere, if Lal didn't already feel love for her father, she might have wondered what there was to love about an android.
* * * * *
Of Sandwiches and Broken Ankles | DCU | Tim/Cassie/Kon | PG-13 | 372 w
Prompt: For milleniumrex - Tim/Cassie/Kon [...] how about a little preslash fun? YJ-era. Cassie's laid up with a broken ankle, and the boys are butting heads over who gets to take care of her. It's obvious to her that they want each other as much as they want her, and she clues them in on this fact.
Summary: Tim and Kon are too busy trying to be macho to see what's right in front of them, but Cassie isn't so clueless.
Author's Note: This came out a little tamer than I'd intended, but I think it's because they're so young here. :p
Of Sandwiches and Broken Ankles
“Here, Cassie, I made you a sandwich,” Kon smiled as he handed her the plate.
Next to the injured girl on the couch, Tim cleared his throat, then rolled his eyes and said, “I already brought her one, Kon.”
“Hey, no fair! It was my turn to bring her something.”
“No, it wasn't,” Tim said, standing. “You've been doing everything else for her, so I thought she might like someone else to help her out for a little while.”
“Are you kidding me?” Kon huffed, stepping close and crowding into Tim's space, trying to loom over him with his scant two extra inches in height. “You've been all over her since she broke her ankle! Give the woman some space!”
“Guys?”
“You're the one that's been all over her, Kon! Leave her alone, will you? For the record, I made sandwiches for all of us, if you'd only taken a minute to look,” Tim finished, sweeping his arm out to indicate the plate on the table, piled up with food.
“Helloooo...”
Kon puffed his chest out and tipped his chin up defiantly. “Fine. I'll go get some sodas.”
“Fine!” Tim glared back, and the space in front of him was swept with a light breeze as Kon disappeared, then returned with an armload of cans that he deposited on the table.
“Boys!!”
Kon and Tim turned to find Cassie glaring at them from her spot on the sofa. “What!?” they snapped in unison.
“Would you two either hit each other or just kiss and get it over with, already? All this macho crap is really getting old, and I'd like to finish watching this TV show and eat my lunch.
The boys both sputtered for a moment, seemingly horrified, and Cassie just rolled her eyes. But then they looked at each other, stilling. A moment passed. Two.
“Well?” Wonder Girl prodded them.
Breaking the eye contact, Kon shoved Tim away lightly, trying his damnedest to look disgusted, and failing miserably. He grabbed a sandwich and plopped down on the other side of Cassie.
Tim only glared, but finally grabbed a sandwich of his own and sat down.
Cassie shook her head, rolling her eyes again. “Boys.”
* * * * *
Hopelessly Vanilla | DCU | Clark/Lois, Bruce/Selina, Clark/Lois/Bruce/Selina | R | 444 w
Prompt: For roguecatwoman - Bruce/Selina and Clark/Lois have a double date.
Summary: Clark and Lois's dinner date with Bruce and Selina turns out to be more than Clark bargained for.
Author's Note: I didn't expect this to go this direction. Blame it on kalalanekent and anissa7118's upcoming Clois fic, that I've seen some steamy snippets of. ^_~
Hopelessly Vanilla
Dinner out with Bruce and Selina didn't turn out to be so much of an interesting evening with friends, as a disaster of epic proportions, once the main portion of their meal was done with and small talk had lost its appeal. Leave it to Lois to have jumped right into the conversation about their respective sex lives when Selina threw the bait out there, the women ignoring Clark's horrified stare and Bruce's eye roll.
Of course, it was Clark that came out looking bad.
“Let's just say that I put my whip to good use on occasion,” Selina practically purred, tapping her fingernails on her cheek as she rested her chin in her palm, green eyes gleaming with mischief.
Lois rolled her eyes. “I can't even get him to tie me up with safety knots. He's afraid I'm gonna break, or something.”
“Um, sitting right here,” Clark whined, feeling his cheeks reddening.
But the women plowed right on.
“How sad! The things you could do!” Selina's eyes lit up a little more as she smirked, the implications more than obvious to everyone at the table.
“I know, right? Can't even get him to spank me.”
Clark choked on his water, sputtering, wide eyed. “Lois!” he pled, before coughing some more.
Standing and reaching across the table, Bruce slapped his back, chuckling. “Face it, Clark, you're hopelessly vanilla.”
“Not helping, Bruce,” Clark glared as the other man sat back down.
Bruce crossed his arms. “Not my fault that your idea of kinky is a can of whipped cream.”
“Now that's just not fair!”
“Hey, I've got an idea!” Selina grinned, straightening, and she leaned over to whisper in Bruce's ear.
His eyes widened for a moment, and he nodded, a grin settling across his face. “Excellent idea.”
Clark's jaw fell open as he processed just what Selina had suggested, having heard the whisper loud and clear, and he held his hands up in protest. “N-no! No way!”
“Aw, come on, Clark, you just might learn a few tricks,” Bruce insisted.
Lois leaned forward on her elbows, eyebrow cocked with curiosity. “What?”
Selina purred again, “Spend the night with us. We can have some real fun.”
“Ooohh! Now that's an idea I can get behind,” the other woman cooed, and she waved down the waiter. “Check please!”
Bruce grinned beside his lover, wrapping an arm around her waist as he gazed heatedly at Clark. “You know what a 'safe-word' is?” At the other man's head-shake, he went on, “You will by the time we're through with you.”
Despite his reluctance, Clark couldn't stop the sudden ache in his groin.
* * * * *
Nothing | DCU | Clark/Bruce | R | 865 w
Prompt: For Angeloz - Clark/Bruce or Superman/Batman. Maybe one or both of them need at different times a massage which means they realise they love each other. Perhaps Bruce gets stubborn. So the second rub down leads to porn eventually.
Summary: Things change between Clark and Bruce when Bruce gives his teammate a massage after a hard fight.
Author's Note: Didn't quite fit the porn in. Darnit.
Nothing
It really was nothing. Just a massage. Just working out the knot around a grapefruit-sized bruise on Clark's back after they'd made it back to the Javelin to head back to Earth. Teammate to teammate, nothing more. Of course, Clark had insisted he was fine. And of course, Bruce would have none of it, knowing his friend had been hurt when he'd laid a hand on Clark's back and the taller man had winced, sucking in a hard breath through gritted teeth.
Helping Clark pull his tunic off over his head, Bruce couldn't hide a wince of his own, his stomach knotting at the sight of the rapidly purpling bruise. But it was nothing, simple triage as he methodically massaged the swollen muscle, gentle circular strokes in toward the center and out again. Nothing, as his partner relaxed beneath the ministrations, slumping forward to lean his elbows on his knees. Nothing, as Bruce's hands slid over Clark's bare skin, slowing as the tightness in his stomach coiled lower in his belly.
Nothing, as Bruce straightened sharply, drawing his hands back.
Nothing, as Clark looked at him with a pleading in his eyes that Bruce had to force himself to ignore.
When they got back to Earth, it was six weeks before the pair even saw one another again, Bruce avoiding dealing with the moment on the Javelin like it was the plague. Their only communications were brief, perfunctory, the Bat cutting Clark off before there could be any talk outside of League business. It even became routine for Bruce to beg off of any League mission that might require them to be in the same room, and often, he maneuvered their assignments to avoid the possibility of their crossing paths altogether.
For a time, it worked, Bruce living in the land of Denial, leaving Clark to wonder just what he'd done wrong. But the attack on Ceti Tau put a quick end to the avoidance, and it was with a grudging acceptance on Bruce's part that the two men battled side by side, back to back, falling into easy rhythms even when internal panic at the situation had them both snapping at each other like irate turtles. Naturally, when the fight was over, they found themselves once again taking the last Javelin home, alone together for hours with naught to do.
“It was nothing,” Bruce said out of nowhere a half-hour after they left the planet, the first words spoken between them since the fight, “what happened before.”
Clark only breathed, deep and even, decidedly not looking at his partner.
Reaching up to rub at his neck, Bruce pulled off his cowl and cape, then stretched out the overused muscles in his shoulders and neck. “It was nothing,” he said again.
This time, Clark turned and blinked at him. “No. It wasn't.”
Bruce growled under his breath, and stood to head back to find some liniment for a pulled muscle in his neck.
“You can't turn your head, can you?”
The concern in Clark's voice caught the Bat by surprise, and he had to forcibly refuse to tense up at it. “No,” he said, back to his friend as he went for the right compartment.
A heavy sigh, and Clark was behind him, hand reaching forward to take the tube of liniment from him. “Sit down. Let me take care of it.”
“Clark...” Bruce warned, gravel and glass in his voice.
“Sit.”
Of course, Bruce obeyed, tired and in pain, unable to move his head and wanting nothing more than to lay down and go to sleep. Clark's hands were on him at once, helping him slide the gray tunic off. A moment of icy cold on his skin, and then heat. The heat of Clark's fingers, pressing gently, reverently into the offending muscle, rubbing in long, slow strokes to ease the tension and slow the swelling.
The low groan that escaped Bruce's throat at Clark's healing touch made the Bat want to leap off the chair and move as far away as he could - it couldn't feel that good, no - but the weight of those hands wouldn't let him so much as move. He was trapped, for better or for worse.
“It's nothing,” Bruce whispered, more to himself than to his companion.
Clark's fingers pressed deeper, and Bruce had to fight the contradictory urges to sleep and to relax into those hands, let the touch become more. He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood to keep himself in check, for all the good it did. That same tightness pulled against his belly, heat pooling in places he'd rather not think about. When his eyes slid shut, his head lolled slightly back, and he realized through a haze of pain and pleasure that he could move again. He was free if he wanted to get up.
'Nothing' kept him seated, though, and as he finally relaxed into Clark's touch, a warm breath whispered over his ear. “It's never been nothing, Bruce. Never.”
Feeling the heat of the body behind him, pressing closer than ever, Bruce sighed heavily and laid his head back against Clark's shoulder. “I know.”
* * * * *