Fic: "The Memory of Music" (Music of the Spheres)
Title: The Memory of Music
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Disclaimer: The boys belong to DC and to each other, but not to me.
Notes: A stand-alone story in the series "Music of the Spheres." Other stories and notes on the series here.
Rating: PG
Summary: Clark decides to celebrate an anniversary.
Word Count: 1,100
Bruce fumbled for the key to Clark's apartment. He supposed he could just knock; Clark was almost certainly inside. He could probably just ask Clark to open the door and Clark would hear him.
But he had to admit he kind of liked using the key to let himself in.
"Hi honey, I'm home," he called ironically as the door swung open. "I'm not sure why it was so important for me to come all the way down to Metropolis, but--" He stalled out as he looked into the apartment.
It was still as Spartan as always, but the tiny card table had a nice tablecloth and burning white tapers on it. Soft music was playing. From the kitchen came the scent of basil and the sound of someone humming cheerfully to themselves.
Frowning, Bruce stepped into the apartment. "Clark?"
His lover popped his head out of the kitchen, eyes shining behind dorkishly thick glasses. "Yo," he said with a smile, waving a hand clad in a bright oven mitt.
"What's the occasion?" Bruce didn't come down to Metropolis terribly often, and when he did they usually ate out.
Clark appeared and placed a bowl of tossed salad on the table. He glanced at Bruce with a small smile. "It's our first anniversary."
"Annivers--" Bruce fumbled mentally to figure out what Clark was talking about. It wasn't of the day they had met, and it wasn't of the day they had decided to consider their wedding day--the fact that Clark secretly shared that day with Lois never ceased to amuse Bruce. "Of...?"
Clark didn't seem disappointed that he couldn't place it. "Of the cruise."
"Oh." Bruce remembered it now: the music and dancing, the desperate race to the bedroom, the silence broken only by the sound of the waves and Clark's calm and joyous voice. "The anniversary of the first time we--" Clark nodded, blushing slightly, and Bruce felt himself grinning. "That's an interesting choice of anniversary. Sorry I didn't remember it or I would have brought a cake."
His lover smiled back at him, pushing his glasses up on his nose with the bulky oven mitt. "That's okay," he said easily. "I just...wanted to commemorate it, a little. It...meant a lot to me. That day. That--all of that." Bruce hid another smile; it wasn't often reporter Clark Kent found himself at a loss for words.
Clark waved at the table. "Anyway, sit down. Your timing is perfect; the casserole just got done." Bruce took a seat and watched the other man bustle about the kitchen, pouring two glasses of wine. "It's spinach and brown rice. I mean, not up to Alfred's standards by a long shot, but it's the thought that matters, right?" The Kryptonian opened up the oven and pulled out the casserole, an old, battered china container filled with steaming food.
It happened so quickly that Bruce couldn't prevent it: the casserole slipped on the surface of the oven mitt, twisted sideways, and went crashing to the kitchen floor, smashing into a pile of china fragments and food.
For a long moment Clark stood, surrounded by bits of broken casserole. "Damn," he said rather distantly.
Bruce couldn't help but sound a little exasperated. "Clark, you could have just caught that, you know. Superspeed? Hello? Hell, you don't even need the stupid oven mitt." Clark looked at him and Bruce continued, "I know, I know, you don't want to use your powers in your civilian life. Trust me, I appreciate the paranoia. You get used to using them in private and you slip and use them in public one day and that's that."
Clark shook his head slowly. "It isn't that. I mean, that's part of it. But..." He knelt down and nudged at a fragment. "That was my grandmother's casserole. Ma's going to kill me."
Bruce sighed. "You'd save yourself a lot of grief if you'd allow yourself to use powers in private."
Clark nodded, still looking at the mess on the floor. "Yes," he said softly. "That's true." He looked up, blinking a little, and smiled. Bruce's statement seemed, inexplicably, to have cheered him up somewhat. "Well, I seem to have managed to ruin our anniversary dinner. Any suggestions?"
Bruce pulled out his cell phone and hit a few buttons. "Hello, Jade Dragon? I'd like to place an order for delivery."
: : :
The candles were burned down to stubs, surrounded by empty paper containers with lurid dragons etched on them. Bruce mopped up a last bit of duck sauce with a pea pod. "Exquisite meal, Clark."
"Why thank you, Bruce. I pride myself on my elegance and class." Clark waved his chopsticks airily.
Bruce opened up one of the little packages of fortune cookies, cracking open the cookie and extracting the fortune. "The best one of these I ever got was one that said: 'You are not illiterate.''
Clark huffed surprised laughter. "That's a good one."
Bruce smoothed out the paper and read out loud. "You are a person of culture. Cultivate it." He paused and lifted his eyebrows at Clark, adding, "'In bed,' of course."
"Oh, high culture indeed." Clark cracked his open. "Your happiness is intertwined with your outlook on life." He paused. "You know, my happiness being intertwined with my outlook on life in bed seems rather appropriate."
Bruce crunched the cookie with relish. "I can think of some things I'd like to see intertwined with your happiness in bed."
Clark propped his chin in his hand and looked at Bruce, a smile slowly lighting his face. "Do you have the time?"
"I haven't taken a night off for a couple of months. And everyone's been laying low since I brought in Romano last week." Bruce shifted the chair so their knees touched, and Clark's smile deepened. "Besides, we don't have anniversaries every day." He stood up to throw out the empty containers; on a shelf above the trash a chip of crockery caught his eye and he reached out to touch it, setting it rocking. "I'm sure Alfred would inform me that's it's not a sin to take some time now and then to re-establish connections with people I care about."
Clark's eyes sparkled. "In bed?"
Bruce went back to where Clark was still sitting and straddled him, pulling him close for a long kiss. "I'm sure Alfred wouldn't put it that way," he said as they broke apart very, very briefly, "but it's still excellent advice."
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Disclaimer: The boys belong to DC and to each other, but not to me.
Notes: A stand-alone story in the series "Music of the Spheres." Other stories and notes on the series here.
Rating: PG
Summary: Clark decides to celebrate an anniversary.
Word Count: 1,100
Bruce fumbled for the key to Clark's apartment. He supposed he could just knock; Clark was almost certainly inside. He could probably just ask Clark to open the door and Clark would hear him.
But he had to admit he kind of liked using the key to let himself in.
"Hi honey, I'm home," he called ironically as the door swung open. "I'm not sure why it was so important for me to come all the way down to Metropolis, but--" He stalled out as he looked into the apartment.
It was still as Spartan as always, but the tiny card table had a nice tablecloth and burning white tapers on it. Soft music was playing. From the kitchen came the scent of basil and the sound of someone humming cheerfully to themselves.
Frowning, Bruce stepped into the apartment. "Clark?"
His lover popped his head out of the kitchen, eyes shining behind dorkishly thick glasses. "Yo," he said with a smile, waving a hand clad in a bright oven mitt.
"What's the occasion?" Bruce didn't come down to Metropolis terribly often, and when he did they usually ate out.
Clark appeared and placed a bowl of tossed salad on the table. He glanced at Bruce with a small smile. "It's our first anniversary."
"Annivers--" Bruce fumbled mentally to figure out what Clark was talking about. It wasn't of the day they had met, and it wasn't of the day they had decided to consider their wedding day--the fact that Clark secretly shared that day with Lois never ceased to amuse Bruce. "Of...?"
Clark didn't seem disappointed that he couldn't place it. "Of the cruise."
"Oh." Bruce remembered it now: the music and dancing, the desperate race to the bedroom, the silence broken only by the sound of the waves and Clark's calm and joyous voice. "The anniversary of the first time we--" Clark nodded, blushing slightly, and Bruce felt himself grinning. "That's an interesting choice of anniversary. Sorry I didn't remember it or I would have brought a cake."
His lover smiled back at him, pushing his glasses up on his nose with the bulky oven mitt. "That's okay," he said easily. "I just...wanted to commemorate it, a little. It...meant a lot to me. That day. That--all of that." Bruce hid another smile; it wasn't often reporter Clark Kent found himself at a loss for words.
Clark waved at the table. "Anyway, sit down. Your timing is perfect; the casserole just got done." Bruce took a seat and watched the other man bustle about the kitchen, pouring two glasses of wine. "It's spinach and brown rice. I mean, not up to Alfred's standards by a long shot, but it's the thought that matters, right?" The Kryptonian opened up the oven and pulled out the casserole, an old, battered china container filled with steaming food.
It happened so quickly that Bruce couldn't prevent it: the casserole slipped on the surface of the oven mitt, twisted sideways, and went crashing to the kitchen floor, smashing into a pile of china fragments and food.
For a long moment Clark stood, surrounded by bits of broken casserole. "Damn," he said rather distantly.
Bruce couldn't help but sound a little exasperated. "Clark, you could have just caught that, you know. Superspeed? Hello? Hell, you don't even need the stupid oven mitt." Clark looked at him and Bruce continued, "I know, I know, you don't want to use your powers in your civilian life. Trust me, I appreciate the paranoia. You get used to using them in private and you slip and use them in public one day and that's that."
Clark shook his head slowly. "It isn't that. I mean, that's part of it. But..." He knelt down and nudged at a fragment. "That was my grandmother's casserole. Ma's going to kill me."
Bruce sighed. "You'd save yourself a lot of grief if you'd allow yourself to use powers in private."
Clark nodded, still looking at the mess on the floor. "Yes," he said softly. "That's true." He looked up, blinking a little, and smiled. Bruce's statement seemed, inexplicably, to have cheered him up somewhat. "Well, I seem to have managed to ruin our anniversary dinner. Any suggestions?"
Bruce pulled out his cell phone and hit a few buttons. "Hello, Jade Dragon? I'd like to place an order for delivery."
: : :
The candles were burned down to stubs, surrounded by empty paper containers with lurid dragons etched on them. Bruce mopped up a last bit of duck sauce with a pea pod. "Exquisite meal, Clark."
"Why thank you, Bruce. I pride myself on my elegance and class." Clark waved his chopsticks airily.
Bruce opened up one of the little packages of fortune cookies, cracking open the cookie and extracting the fortune. "The best one of these I ever got was one that said: 'You are not illiterate.''
Clark huffed surprised laughter. "That's a good one."
Bruce smoothed out the paper and read out loud. "You are a person of culture. Cultivate it." He paused and lifted his eyebrows at Clark, adding, "'In bed,' of course."
"Oh, high culture indeed." Clark cracked his open. "Your happiness is intertwined with your outlook on life." He paused. "You know, my happiness being intertwined with my outlook on life in bed seems rather appropriate."
Bruce crunched the cookie with relish. "I can think of some things I'd like to see intertwined with your happiness in bed."
Clark propped his chin in his hand and looked at Bruce, a smile slowly lighting his face. "Do you have the time?"
"I haven't taken a night off for a couple of months. And everyone's been laying low since I brought in Romano last week." Bruce shifted the chair so their knees touched, and Clark's smile deepened. "Besides, we don't have anniversaries every day." He stood up to throw out the empty containers; on a shelf above the trash a chip of crockery caught his eye and he reached out to touch it, setting it rocking. "I'm sure Alfred would inform me that's it's not a sin to take some time now and then to re-establish connections with people I care about."
Clark's eyes sparkled. "In bed?"
Bruce went back to where Clark was still sitting and straddled him, pulling him close for a long kiss. "I'm sure Alfred wouldn't put it that way," he said as they broke apart very, very briefly, "but it's still excellent advice."