Fic: Rainbow's Freedom (Sanctuary Arc) (4/17) Part 2
Title: Rainbow's Freedom (Sanctuary Arc) (4/17) (Part 2)
Author: BradyGirl
Characters/Pairings: Clark/Bruce, Alfred
Series Notes: In the 23rd century, Earth is a technologically-advanced society that practices slavery. The wealthy freeman Bruce Wayne acquires a highly-prized bedslave whom he learns to cherish...but can he every truly love a slave? And will it all be moot as a weak abolitionist movement slowly gathers strength while the Galactic Empire remains in a perpetual state of Cold War? The entire series can be found here.
Categories: Drama, AU
Rating (This Chapter): Mild 'R'
Summary: Clark adjusts to life at the Manor.
Date Of Completion: February 9, 2007
Date Of Posting: March 21, 2007
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, DC does, more's the pity.
Word Count: 1054 (Combined Total: 3228)
The first part of this chapter can be found here.
Through the woods of gold,
Where the trees are strong yet old,
I saw a castle by the sea.
My weary heart
Spoke to me:
Sanctuary.
Janice Greenleaf Whittier
“Nature’s Gold And Other Poems”
2007 C.E.
IV
GOLDEN SUNLIGHT AND FRESH TOMATOES
“Clark.”
The slave looked up, shielding his eyes from the sun. “You’re back, Master.”
“Since I’m standing here, I’d say that’s self-explanatory.” Bruce laughed at Clark’s blush. “Don’t sweat it, Clark. Come on inside. The tailor and engraver are here.” He held out a new pair of glasses, dark ones this time. “Put these on.”
Clark wondered for what event the engraver would be engraving invitations. He stood up and dusted his hands off, removing his old glasses for the new. He realized that they would obscure a part of his face, not allowing the visitors to see it fully. He followed Bruce into the mansion.
The tailor, Edgar LaRouche, was a tall, thin man with long fingers, his practiced eye able to guess Clark’s sizes right away. He used his tape measure for precise measurements, discussing ideas with Bruce.
“He’ll need a dozen pairs of pants, silk shirts, boxers…let’s see, I’d like to see some white silk, maybe some yellow and green, and definitely light-blue. Of course there must be formal suits.”
“Will you be in need of a Veil, sir?”
Bruce considered. “Yes, the full complement. That can be done last. It’s only in case of no choice.”
“Very good, Mr. Wayne.”
Clark stood quietly throughout the fittings. He took a deep breath. “Master?”
“Hmm, yes?” Bruce was watching Edgar mark a dark-blue jacket with chalk.
“May I get a pair of jeans and flannel shirt?”
Bruce’s attention snapped back. Edgar looked horrified. A smile curved Bruce’s lips.
“Of course. Edgar needn’t supply them. Alfred can pick you up some clothes.”
“Thank you.” Clark’s smile lit up the room.
After Edgar was finished, the engraver stepped forward. A small man with quick movements, George Fontaine took fine, silver tools out of his leather carrying case.
“Have a seat,” Bruce said to Clark. He was scrupulous about not saying Clark’s name. That was not for public knowledge, just for his intimate circle, such as Alfred.
Clark sat on the couch, attaching a sheet of parchment. The stylized letter ‘W’ was in the center of a large five-pointed star, surrounded by five other stars set in a circle.
“Arm out,” said George.
Clark obeyed, startled as George started etching his bracelet.
George frowned, squinting behind his jeweler’s loupe. “Damn,” he muttered.
“What is it?”
“This…metal…its pretty tough.” George rifled around in his case. “This’ll require my hardest diamonds.”
The design took shape on the rainbow-sparkling bracelets, then on Clark’s collar. As George worked, Bruce explained, “The Wayne family crest is too elaborate, so way back when, they came up with this design.” Bruce’s teeth gleamed. “My ancestors probably read too many Captain America comics as kids. All this star-spangled goodness.” He frowned slightly. “The publishers foolishly killed him off in the early 21st century, but happily brought him back. I mean, how can you kill off an iconic hero like that just to make money?” Bruce’s voice relaxed Clark, who had to remain perfectly still.
This is truly…truly being owned by Bruce.
In some way, the marking of his slave jewelry was even more of a possession than being taken.
Though maybe not. He…he took me as a Master takes a slave, not an equal. So I guess it doesn’t matter how he marks me.
He owns me either way.
When George was finished, Bruce looked at the artisan’s handiwork.
“Excellent.”
Clark wasn’t sure if he felt ashamed, happy, …or safe.
& & & & & &
“Dinner is ready, sir,” Alfred said.
“Thank you, Alfred.” Bruce led Clark into the formal dining room. “Your seat is to my right.”
Clark took it, looking around with interest.
The furniture was heavy, dark and very old, but it was all polished and gleaming, the impossibly long table draped in snowy white linen. Bone china with handpainted gold accents were set before two chairs, a pair of yellow candles set in gold candlesticks a few feet away. The crystal chandelier was on low setting, creating a soft-edged ambience.
The meal was quiet but comfortable, Bruce pleased at the day’s accomplishments and Clark enjoying Alfred’s cooking. There was vegetable soup and a salad filled with the garden tomatoes. Tender roast beef with broccoli, carrots, and baby red potatoes satisfied Clark’s appetite. He was delighted to see the lemon cake make another appearance.
After dinner Bruce and Clark were headed for the living room when Clark paused by the library and looked in, longing on his face.
“You know how to read?” Clark nodded. “Then consider the library your playground. You may read any book you find on the shelves.”
Joy suffused Clark’s face. “Thank you, Master.”
Clark and Bruce watched television for a few hours, Clark becoming drowsy. A hand on his shoulder roused him.
“Go up to bed. Stay there and get some sleep. I work very late. I want you to be ready when I want you.”
Puzzled but pleased at the thought of more lovemaking, Clark obeyed. He was happy to climb into bed, eschewing any sleepwear. He had to be ready.
& & & & & &
Clark awoke, reaching out a hand. Empty. He rolled over and checked the digital clock. 3:00! He sat up, straining to hear anything. Had Bruce fallen asleep in his study?
He began to get out of bed, then remembered his orders. Well, surely a visit to the bathroom was permitted. He went into the private bathroom off the bedroom and emerged a few minutes later, walking over to the window. He parted the heavy black drapes and looked out at the moonlight silvering the grounds. Mesmerized by the beauty, he watched the play of that moonlight over the ocean.
So peaceful here.
Clark let the drapes fall back and returned to bed. Snuggling under the silk sheets, he reflected on the horrors he had known before Bruce had bought him.
The word ‘bought’ made him shiver. He burrowed further under the covers.
& & & & & &
“Wake up, Clark.”
The whispered command roused Clark. Blinking, he saw Bruce kneeling beside him on the bed.
“I hope you’re ready, Starchild.”
Clark had no time to even check the clock as Bruce stretched out on top of him.
He tilted his head back and Bruce began a slow, sensuous bathing of his throat with his tongue…