My first fic in like EVAR
Title: Whispers in the Dark
Rating: R
Series: The Justice League
Pairing: Superman x Batman (Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne)
Summary: Clark and Bruce share a moment in the dark. Bad summary, I know, but still read please 8D
The darkness was a comfort, if a shallow one, for Bruce. It let him hide for a little bit from the nightmares that wandered his mind, from the sheer cynicism of the world he’d come to know and protect. In the darkness he wasn’t Batman or millionaire Bruce Wayne. He was just Bruce, just another person with no responsibilities and no ghosts to haunt him. It never lasted for long, these moments of quiet peace in the dark, but he let himself enjoy them while he could.
“Want me to turn on the lights yet?”
Bruce shifted beneath the covers, pressing his back a bit more firmly against the Man of Steel, whose arm lay wrapped around his waist, breath tickling the back of his neck. He felt Clark’s fingers work around the other side of his hip, squeezing him gently, as if afraid he would shatter Bruce - which he well could and they both knew it.
“No. Leave them off a bit longer.”
The only acknowledgement of the quiet request was the press of lips to his neck, another squeeze around his waist. He could smell Clark in the dark of their room - a heady aroma that was a strange mixture of sweat, musk, and something earthy, like wood or grass after fresh rain. He was used to smells of blood, sweaty terror, and the dank musk of caves. Lying in the dark with Clark tended to be a greater comfort than the dark itself at times, though he rarely let it show or let himself dwell too much on those feelings. Some scars ran to deep for even Superman to heal.
Clark shifting disrupted the quiet, Bruce lifting his chin a bit to give Clark room to press his face to his neck. It was the start of their little ritual whenever Clark or Bruce spent the night at each other’s place. Clark asked if Bruce wanted the lights on, Bruce said no, they lay together for a bit, and then Clark would start to nuzzle, to caress and cuddle.
Bruce never tolerated such actions from the other people he had taken to bed before, but said other people weren’t Clark Kent. To this day Bruce wasn’t sure what brought about these little dalliances that spanned years, but he suspected it came from a mixture of the human need for companionship, and the desire for someone who understood even an iota of the dark things that clouded his dreams. Of course, on that reasoning, he should have been drawn to Jahn, but on the inside Bruce knew he didn’t want the comfort of a man (well, Martian) that knew the intimate pain of seeing ones family destroyed, left in the mud amidst their own blood. A small part of him wanted that measure of anger to keep close to his chest, to keep some of that righteous anger so that the world he crafted for himself could keep that stability.
Diana was another option, but she tended to be probing, wanting to try and understand the world Bruce crafted for himself and lived in. She wanted to be part of it, and while the notion was certainly not unpleasurable to think of, making it a reality was out of the question. He wouldn’t put Diana through his own misery, and quite frankly having some try and probe and wriggle into his mind constantly got annoying. His millionaire self like his women less the sharp for a reason most of the time. She was strong, yes, but Bruce didn’t want her trying to be strong for them both, and he was unsure if she was strong enough to enter his world and live under its dark sky. He doubted anyone was.
Clark offered the understanding he needed at times, but only a vague one. He knew what it was to loose family, though his only experiences with it had been through holograms and images, sent off when not a few days old. Both Jahn and Diana would have probed, might have sought to fix Bruce, but Clark was content to let Bruce dwell in his fury, knew the limits of the comfort he could offer. The Man of Steel was a savior to the world, and be it a god given gift or alien senses, he knew how much support he needed to give to be that savior.
A broad, warm hand moved up his belly and down again, pausing to slowly trace the circle of his navel. Lips traced down the vein in his neck to his shoulder, teeth tugging at his skin. Slowly the hands coaxed Bruce to turn till he was facing Clark, making out the faint outline of the other’s body in the dark of his room. Clark’s hands slid over Bruce’s back, trailing down the curve of his back to stop just at the top of his buttocks, slowly kneading. The feel of the calloused palms sent a shiver through him, made his heart beat a bit faster.
Slowly Bruce felt his lower lip taken between Clark’s, the gentle tug of his teeth and then the press of a silken, warm wetness. He let the other tease him, his own fingers rising to work through the lush black hair and feel over the broad shoulders. Steadfastly he refused to part his lips for Clark, gleaning a bit of amusement in his life when Clark’s mouth became harder, a bit more insistent. Still he refused, nipping the pressing tongue gently and earned the quirk of Clark’s lips in return.
“I’m still trying to find out where the farm boy learned to do that with his tongue,” Bruce murmured.
The rich, deep laughter of his lover rippled between them, rough hands tugging Bruce close enough that every inch of their bodies touched. “Can’t you let some things remain a mystery?”
“You know me,” Bruce found himself smiling the tiniest bit, the bed hissing as Clark pushed him just a bit further onto his back.
“You sound like The Question,” Clark replied, his mouth finding Bruce’s again with the ease of familiarity.
This time Bruce didn’t keep Clark out, parting his lips and letting his own tongue slide out to run against his lover’s, coaxing a moan from him. Indeed, it seemed highly out of sorts that the savior of the Earth should have a tongue that moved like that inside his mouth, but for once Bruce wasn’t questioning where something came from and just letting himself enjoy the soft glide of Clark’s tongue through his mouth.
To soon Clark pulled back, but Bruce wasn’t left wanting. Clark worked his way down Bruce’s neck to his chest, touching on those spots that made Bruce shiver and wickedly exploiting them, a pleasurable torture Bruce submitted to with heightened pants and the slightly tightening of his hold on the bigger man. He knew Clark would hear the thrumming of his heart as that tongue glided down the curve of his belly, dipped into his navel and then circled it, as palms scared by punching more villains than he could count teased his hips and thighs.
He tried to keep the sounds down in his chest, tried to maintain that stoic mask that kept a wall between him and the world, but in the dark where he couldn’t even see Clark’s face he lost the ability to keep that mask. His throat opened and low moan pushed between his teeth as Clark finally dipped between his legs, that mouth doing things no saint would ever condone. His fingers settled in Clark’s hair and on his neck, thumb caressing the mane vane as the reporter’s head bobbed up and down over his growing erection. The man’s blood thrummed against his thumb, the skin hot beneath his palm. Slowly his fingers slicked back the black locks, starting to mat with sweat.
“Clark…. Ngh… I’m not super human,” Bruce panted, wriggling a bit beneath the other’s attentions, his state of arousal starting to be come a bit painful as Clark’s tongue continued to do such sinful things.
The silken tongue pressed to the cleft of thigh and hip, licking up to his hip, leading Clark’s lips to his belly once more. “Sometimes I forget,” he apologized with kisses as Bruce fumbled at the nightstand for the tube of lubricant he kept on hand for such occasions as this.
He let Clark take over, letting himself fall into the grasp of pleasure the other man offered surprisingly gentle fingers slipped inside him. It was this moment in their love making that Bruce found himself grateful for their near saint like patience, drawing out the rising feel of pleasure as the fingers worked deeper, stroking a spot inside him that left him shuddering and near senseless. Usually he hated that, the senselessness, but he felt a measure of safety with Clark, trusted him as he trusted few others, and let himself dive into it, feel it, let it bring up moans and cries from him, pleading and demanding.
It took effort to fight off the near delusional pleasure, to keep enough of his wits about him to give some measure of pleasure back. His nails trailed neat little patterns over Clark’s skin, wrapping a leg around Clark’s hip and rolling his hips up to tease, to remind Clark there was more yet to come if he would just take it.
“You sure?” Clark asked, pressing his lips along Bruce’s jaw to his ear, kissing the tender flesh just behind, fingers lightening their touch within Bruce to give him back enough sanity to speak again.
“You always ask. You know the answer,” Bruce growled, loosing his patience as desire mounted.
Clark shook his head, bringing their mouths together with a tenderness as close to love as either of them dared. His fingers left Bruce, and there was a brief fumbling of limbs before the world narrowed solely down to the man now sheathed inside of him. Bruce didn’t bother holding back his moan, fingers clenching white against Clark’s back.
The rhythm came easily and naturally - thrust his hips up, take Clark deep inside him, lay down against the pillows and sheets to let him slip away, then rise up again and let pleasure sizzle up his spine anew. In that secret part of him even he rarely saw he loved this, he savored this ability to surrender and let someone else take control for a time, to let himself just ride along and be the one taken care of and pleasured for once in his life.
Their mouths and bodies melded against each other, soft and plaint till it became hard to tell where he ended and Clark began. The taste of wine from dinner last night flooded his mouth, mixed with the mint toothpaste Clark favored on their nights together, scent filling his nostrils. The other men enveloped him completely; arms squeezing him close with possessive need as they moved faster, the sheets stinging slightly against Bruce’s buttocks.
“Bruce.”
His name leaving Clark’s mouth sent a new jolt up his spine, his only reply a loud moan of pleasure as Clark’s thrusts lengthened, pushing in with deep hard bucks. He could feel the other’s hips quivering against his thighs as Clark strained to keep himself in control, to keep from hurting Bruce though Bruce wouldn’t have minded a slash of pain in the midst of all this. He licked his lips, pressing his face to Clark’s shoulder as the heat built in his belly, twisting and tightening with each thrust till he was biting into Clark to hold back the whimpers.
“Damn it, Clark!” he snarled in a heated gasp against his skin, crying out when Clark obeyed and gave a single, sharp buck into him, far harder than the rest, hitting the spot inside him hard enough so that he saw white and plummeted over the edge.
Every muscle in his body tightened, his nerves singing delight as his orgasm took him, leaving him in a white oblivion for a priceless moment. When his senses once again found a foothold on reality, Clark was laying beside him, panting as hard as him, arms still securely wrapped around Bruce.
Bruce didn’t fight it, letting his body melt into those arms and against the hard chest, basking in the after glow. “Windows,” he rasped.
The house’s computer heard, the shades of the windows of his bedroom lightening, the rosy light of morning trickling in. Drowsily his eyes wandered over the contours of Clark’s face - the strong chin and high cheekbones, a nose that sat somewhere between button and broad, lips bruises and reddened from kisses, and eyes happily hooded. His skin glowed a bit from the light sheen of sweat that coat him, the raven hair slick and matted, the ever present coif out of place and botched thanks to Bruce’s wandering hands.
“Like what you see?” his lover’s voice came out in a pleased, after-sex purr.
“I haven’t run away screaming yet,” Bruce countered, eyes close when Clark brushed his brow with his lips, tucking Bruce against him and rubbing his back.
They fell quiet again, simply soaking in the other’s presence, their chests rising and falling in tandem. Clark stole a few kisses against Bruce’s shoulder and cheek, Bruce simply contenting himself with pressing his face to Clark’s neck and breathing in his scent with each breath.
“Alfred’s making breakfast,” Clark murmured in Bruce’s ear.
“Just now?” Bruce asked, glancing at the clock on his wall and noting the time - 9:45. Usually Alfred had breakfast going at 7:15.
In looking back to Clark, he caught the quick blush of the other’s cheeks, hidden expertly with a nuzzle to his shoulder. “He probably heard us.”
“Or maybe he just knew you were here,” Bruce countered.
“Or that,” Clark agreed with a light chuckle, shifting to lie fully on his back and tugging Bruce partially atop him.
Bruce arranged himself so he could lay his head on Clark’s chest; his heart beat pounding slowly in his ear. “And I suppose he figured I’d want to play playboy millionaire today.”
That drew a smile from Clark, not that it really took much, but it was still a nice sight. “How did you come by him?”
“Luck,” Bruce sighed, his head tucked beneath Clark’s chin.
He had just gotten comfortable with the crackle of the communication links interrupted the fragile peace of his bedroom. He turned and snapped up the small earpieces, handing Clark his.
“Superman,” Jahn’s voice sounded once the piece was in. “We have a crisis on a planet in the Delta IV Sector. We need you to lead the mission.”
“All right Jahn, I’ll be ready in a minute,” Clark replied.
Superman looked down at Bruce, and Bruce looked back, not the least bit upset. Being superheroes was what they did, and by now they were used to their nights together being interrupted - or in this case mornings.
“Ask Albert to make that roast I like so much?” Clark asked as he slid out of bed, tugging on his spandex like suit.
“Oh, so you’ll fix a problem in deep space in ten hours?” Bruce quipped from where he lay in bed, watching Clark.
Clark marched over with a swish of his cape, leaning down and kissing Bruce, tenderly possessive. “I am Superman.”
Bruce rolled his eyes, pulling the covers up and turning on his side, presenting his back. Clark pressed a last kiss to his hair then slipped out of his house via the balcony.
Not two minutes later, the intercom to the bedroom came to life. “Just one for breakfast sir?”
“Yes Alfred, just one.”
“Very good sir.”
“And Alfred?”
“Yes sir?”
“Let’s have roast for dinner.”
Rating: R
Series: The Justice League
Pairing: Superman x Batman (Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne)
Summary: Clark and Bruce share a moment in the dark. Bad summary, I know, but still read please 8D
The darkness was a comfort, if a shallow one, for Bruce. It let him hide for a little bit from the nightmares that wandered his mind, from the sheer cynicism of the world he’d come to know and protect. In the darkness he wasn’t Batman or millionaire Bruce Wayne. He was just Bruce, just another person with no responsibilities and no ghosts to haunt him. It never lasted for long, these moments of quiet peace in the dark, but he let himself enjoy them while he could.
“Want me to turn on the lights yet?”
Bruce shifted beneath the covers, pressing his back a bit more firmly against the Man of Steel, whose arm lay wrapped around his waist, breath tickling the back of his neck. He felt Clark’s fingers work around the other side of his hip, squeezing him gently, as if afraid he would shatter Bruce - which he well could and they both knew it.
“No. Leave them off a bit longer.”
The only acknowledgement of the quiet request was the press of lips to his neck, another squeeze around his waist. He could smell Clark in the dark of their room - a heady aroma that was a strange mixture of sweat, musk, and something earthy, like wood or grass after fresh rain. He was used to smells of blood, sweaty terror, and the dank musk of caves. Lying in the dark with Clark tended to be a greater comfort than the dark itself at times, though he rarely let it show or let himself dwell too much on those feelings. Some scars ran to deep for even Superman to heal.
Clark shifting disrupted the quiet, Bruce lifting his chin a bit to give Clark room to press his face to his neck. It was the start of their little ritual whenever Clark or Bruce spent the night at each other’s place. Clark asked if Bruce wanted the lights on, Bruce said no, they lay together for a bit, and then Clark would start to nuzzle, to caress and cuddle.
Bruce never tolerated such actions from the other people he had taken to bed before, but said other people weren’t Clark Kent. To this day Bruce wasn’t sure what brought about these little dalliances that spanned years, but he suspected it came from a mixture of the human need for companionship, and the desire for someone who understood even an iota of the dark things that clouded his dreams. Of course, on that reasoning, he should have been drawn to Jahn, but on the inside Bruce knew he didn’t want the comfort of a man (well, Martian) that knew the intimate pain of seeing ones family destroyed, left in the mud amidst their own blood. A small part of him wanted that measure of anger to keep close to his chest, to keep some of that righteous anger so that the world he crafted for himself could keep that stability.
Diana was another option, but she tended to be probing, wanting to try and understand the world Bruce crafted for himself and lived in. She wanted to be part of it, and while the notion was certainly not unpleasurable to think of, making it a reality was out of the question. He wouldn’t put Diana through his own misery, and quite frankly having some try and probe and wriggle into his mind constantly got annoying. His millionaire self like his women less the sharp for a reason most of the time. She was strong, yes, but Bruce didn’t want her trying to be strong for them both, and he was unsure if she was strong enough to enter his world and live under its dark sky. He doubted anyone was.
Clark offered the understanding he needed at times, but only a vague one. He knew what it was to loose family, though his only experiences with it had been through holograms and images, sent off when not a few days old. Both Jahn and Diana would have probed, might have sought to fix Bruce, but Clark was content to let Bruce dwell in his fury, knew the limits of the comfort he could offer. The Man of Steel was a savior to the world, and be it a god given gift or alien senses, he knew how much support he needed to give to be that savior.
A broad, warm hand moved up his belly and down again, pausing to slowly trace the circle of his navel. Lips traced down the vein in his neck to his shoulder, teeth tugging at his skin. Slowly the hands coaxed Bruce to turn till he was facing Clark, making out the faint outline of the other’s body in the dark of his room. Clark’s hands slid over Bruce’s back, trailing down the curve of his back to stop just at the top of his buttocks, slowly kneading. The feel of the calloused palms sent a shiver through him, made his heart beat a bit faster.
Slowly Bruce felt his lower lip taken between Clark’s, the gentle tug of his teeth and then the press of a silken, warm wetness. He let the other tease him, his own fingers rising to work through the lush black hair and feel over the broad shoulders. Steadfastly he refused to part his lips for Clark, gleaning a bit of amusement in his life when Clark’s mouth became harder, a bit more insistent. Still he refused, nipping the pressing tongue gently and earned the quirk of Clark’s lips in return.
“I’m still trying to find out where the farm boy learned to do that with his tongue,” Bruce murmured.
The rich, deep laughter of his lover rippled between them, rough hands tugging Bruce close enough that every inch of their bodies touched. “Can’t you let some things remain a mystery?”
“You know me,” Bruce found himself smiling the tiniest bit, the bed hissing as Clark pushed him just a bit further onto his back.
“You sound like The Question,” Clark replied, his mouth finding Bruce’s again with the ease of familiarity.
This time Bruce didn’t keep Clark out, parting his lips and letting his own tongue slide out to run against his lover’s, coaxing a moan from him. Indeed, it seemed highly out of sorts that the savior of the Earth should have a tongue that moved like that inside his mouth, but for once Bruce wasn’t questioning where something came from and just letting himself enjoy the soft glide of Clark’s tongue through his mouth.
To soon Clark pulled back, but Bruce wasn’t left wanting. Clark worked his way down Bruce’s neck to his chest, touching on those spots that made Bruce shiver and wickedly exploiting them, a pleasurable torture Bruce submitted to with heightened pants and the slightly tightening of his hold on the bigger man. He knew Clark would hear the thrumming of his heart as that tongue glided down the curve of his belly, dipped into his navel and then circled it, as palms scared by punching more villains than he could count teased his hips and thighs.
He tried to keep the sounds down in his chest, tried to maintain that stoic mask that kept a wall between him and the world, but in the dark where he couldn’t even see Clark’s face he lost the ability to keep that mask. His throat opened and low moan pushed between his teeth as Clark finally dipped between his legs, that mouth doing things no saint would ever condone. His fingers settled in Clark’s hair and on his neck, thumb caressing the mane vane as the reporter’s head bobbed up and down over his growing erection. The man’s blood thrummed against his thumb, the skin hot beneath his palm. Slowly his fingers slicked back the black locks, starting to mat with sweat.
“Clark…. Ngh… I’m not super human,” Bruce panted, wriggling a bit beneath the other’s attentions, his state of arousal starting to be come a bit painful as Clark’s tongue continued to do such sinful things.
The silken tongue pressed to the cleft of thigh and hip, licking up to his hip, leading Clark’s lips to his belly once more. “Sometimes I forget,” he apologized with kisses as Bruce fumbled at the nightstand for the tube of lubricant he kept on hand for such occasions as this.
He let Clark take over, letting himself fall into the grasp of pleasure the other man offered surprisingly gentle fingers slipped inside him. It was this moment in their love making that Bruce found himself grateful for their near saint like patience, drawing out the rising feel of pleasure as the fingers worked deeper, stroking a spot inside him that left him shuddering and near senseless. Usually he hated that, the senselessness, but he felt a measure of safety with Clark, trusted him as he trusted few others, and let himself dive into it, feel it, let it bring up moans and cries from him, pleading and demanding.
It took effort to fight off the near delusional pleasure, to keep enough of his wits about him to give some measure of pleasure back. His nails trailed neat little patterns over Clark’s skin, wrapping a leg around Clark’s hip and rolling his hips up to tease, to remind Clark there was more yet to come if he would just take it.
“You sure?” Clark asked, pressing his lips along Bruce’s jaw to his ear, kissing the tender flesh just behind, fingers lightening their touch within Bruce to give him back enough sanity to speak again.
“You always ask. You know the answer,” Bruce growled, loosing his patience as desire mounted.
Clark shook his head, bringing their mouths together with a tenderness as close to love as either of them dared. His fingers left Bruce, and there was a brief fumbling of limbs before the world narrowed solely down to the man now sheathed inside of him. Bruce didn’t bother holding back his moan, fingers clenching white against Clark’s back.
The rhythm came easily and naturally - thrust his hips up, take Clark deep inside him, lay down against the pillows and sheets to let him slip away, then rise up again and let pleasure sizzle up his spine anew. In that secret part of him even he rarely saw he loved this, he savored this ability to surrender and let someone else take control for a time, to let himself just ride along and be the one taken care of and pleasured for once in his life.
Their mouths and bodies melded against each other, soft and plaint till it became hard to tell where he ended and Clark began. The taste of wine from dinner last night flooded his mouth, mixed with the mint toothpaste Clark favored on their nights together, scent filling his nostrils. The other men enveloped him completely; arms squeezing him close with possessive need as they moved faster, the sheets stinging slightly against Bruce’s buttocks.
“Bruce.”
His name leaving Clark’s mouth sent a new jolt up his spine, his only reply a loud moan of pleasure as Clark’s thrusts lengthened, pushing in with deep hard bucks. He could feel the other’s hips quivering against his thighs as Clark strained to keep himself in control, to keep from hurting Bruce though Bruce wouldn’t have minded a slash of pain in the midst of all this. He licked his lips, pressing his face to Clark’s shoulder as the heat built in his belly, twisting and tightening with each thrust till he was biting into Clark to hold back the whimpers.
“Damn it, Clark!” he snarled in a heated gasp against his skin, crying out when Clark obeyed and gave a single, sharp buck into him, far harder than the rest, hitting the spot inside him hard enough so that he saw white and plummeted over the edge.
Every muscle in his body tightened, his nerves singing delight as his orgasm took him, leaving him in a white oblivion for a priceless moment. When his senses once again found a foothold on reality, Clark was laying beside him, panting as hard as him, arms still securely wrapped around Bruce.
Bruce didn’t fight it, letting his body melt into those arms and against the hard chest, basking in the after glow. “Windows,” he rasped.
The house’s computer heard, the shades of the windows of his bedroom lightening, the rosy light of morning trickling in. Drowsily his eyes wandered over the contours of Clark’s face - the strong chin and high cheekbones, a nose that sat somewhere between button and broad, lips bruises and reddened from kisses, and eyes happily hooded. His skin glowed a bit from the light sheen of sweat that coat him, the raven hair slick and matted, the ever present coif out of place and botched thanks to Bruce’s wandering hands.
“Like what you see?” his lover’s voice came out in a pleased, after-sex purr.
“I haven’t run away screaming yet,” Bruce countered, eyes close when Clark brushed his brow with his lips, tucking Bruce against him and rubbing his back.
They fell quiet again, simply soaking in the other’s presence, their chests rising and falling in tandem. Clark stole a few kisses against Bruce’s shoulder and cheek, Bruce simply contenting himself with pressing his face to Clark’s neck and breathing in his scent with each breath.
“Alfred’s making breakfast,” Clark murmured in Bruce’s ear.
“Just now?” Bruce asked, glancing at the clock on his wall and noting the time - 9:45. Usually Alfred had breakfast going at 7:15.
In looking back to Clark, he caught the quick blush of the other’s cheeks, hidden expertly with a nuzzle to his shoulder. “He probably heard us.”
“Or maybe he just knew you were here,” Bruce countered.
“Or that,” Clark agreed with a light chuckle, shifting to lie fully on his back and tugging Bruce partially atop him.
Bruce arranged himself so he could lay his head on Clark’s chest; his heart beat pounding slowly in his ear. “And I suppose he figured I’d want to play playboy millionaire today.”
That drew a smile from Clark, not that it really took much, but it was still a nice sight. “How did you come by him?”
“Luck,” Bruce sighed, his head tucked beneath Clark’s chin.
He had just gotten comfortable with the crackle of the communication links interrupted the fragile peace of his bedroom. He turned and snapped up the small earpieces, handing Clark his.
“Superman,” Jahn’s voice sounded once the piece was in. “We have a crisis on a planet in the Delta IV Sector. We need you to lead the mission.”
“All right Jahn, I’ll be ready in a minute,” Clark replied.
Superman looked down at Bruce, and Bruce looked back, not the least bit upset. Being superheroes was what they did, and by now they were used to their nights together being interrupted - or in this case mornings.
“Ask Albert to make that roast I like so much?” Clark asked as he slid out of bed, tugging on his spandex like suit.
“Oh, so you’ll fix a problem in deep space in ten hours?” Bruce quipped from where he lay in bed, watching Clark.
Clark marched over with a swish of his cape, leaning down and kissing Bruce, tenderly possessive. “I am Superman.”
Bruce rolled his eyes, pulling the covers up and turning on his side, presenting his back. Clark pressed a last kiss to his hair then slipped out of his house via the balcony.
Not two minutes later, the intercom to the bedroom came to life. “Just one for breakfast sir?”
“Yes Alfred, just one.”
“Very good sir.”
“And Alfred?”
“Yes sir?”
“Let’s have roast for dinner.”