Music of the Spheres 11: Revelations
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Disclaimer: The boys belong to DC and to each other, but not to me.
Notes: "Music of the Spheres" is a series set in the combined universes of "Batman Begins" and "Superman Returns." Other stories and notes on the series here.
Rating: R
Summary: On the second day of the cruise, Bruce and Clark bask in the afterglow, flirt, and have their First Argument. An interruption by Luthor's henchmen leads to some startling conclusions for both of them.
Word Count: 2289
"All right, wait, let's count." Clark Kent was lying on top of Bruce Wayne. They were both naked, sweaty, sticky, tired, and extremely pleased with themselves. Clark's arms were crossed on the other man's chest. He drew a small line on Bruce's chest. "The first time was here on the bed, you topping."
Bruce shook his head. "I was so not topping that first time."
"Really?" A quizzically tilted head and angelic smile. "Because I distinctly remember getting fucked..."
Bruce tried to hide his frisson at the contrast between the seraphic face and the earthy language. "I don't care whose anatomy was where, you were the one topping."
Clark grinned smugly and started drawing lines on Bruce's chest again, keeping count and muttering to himself. "The couch...the bed again...the floor...the sofa...the veranda...the couch again..."
"Don't forget the shower."
"Never," Clark said sweetly. His counting finger stroked across Bruce's nipple, eliciting a delighted shiver. "And...we just finished up back here again, so we've come full circle. Nine times in fourteen hours. Not bad."
Bruce stretched. "You didn't give me time to prepare. I can do better than that."
Clark pondered. "I think the blowjobs only count for half, since there's only one climax in those cases."
"Except that one time."
Clark looked embarrassed. "That was an accident, it doesn't count."
"You came all over the sheets--it counts."
"All right, all right, you win." Clark rolled off of Bruce and onto his back, stretching out.
"What do I win?"
"A lifetime supply of me?" Clark caught himself, blushing madly. "I'm sorry, forget I said that--" his retraction was cut off by Bruce's mouth on his, then warm breath at his ear.
"And just how do I redeem that prize?"
Blue eyes deeper than the sky. "I think you already have."
: : :
They had to get food eventually, so ventured together to the Lido deck for some pizza, and soon found themselves having their First Argument.
"What do you mean, 'After I move to Gotham,' Bruce?" Clark interrupted, dropping his rather soggy slice of pizza onto the paper plate with a squish. "I live in Metropolis."
Bruce looked mystified. "I just assumed...I mean, you don't have to move into the Manor once I rebuild it, you could have your own place..."
"You're not listening." Clark pointed at his chest. "Me. Metropolis boy. That's where I work. That's where I live. It's not that I don't want to live with you. It's just that I live in Metropolis. I'd never ask you to leave Gotham."
"That's different. It's where I grew up, I have a home there. You don't have any strong ties to Metropolis."
"I--" Clark stopped, thought of Jason. He had so much to tell Bruce--for starters, that Metropolis really wasn't far from Gotham, not for him. He opened his mouth to blurt out the truth at last--and a small child ran by, almost knocking over the table. Clark suddenly realized how many people were within earshot and changed the topic, cringing inside at having left it for so long. It seemed unfair: now that he actually wanted to tell Bruce, he couldn't. "I have responsibilities, a job, my editor's been so good to re-hire me, I owe him--and don't tell me you can get me a position somewhere in Gotham," he said as Bruce started to speak, "I am not going to be beholden to you for my job!"
"I wasn't going to suggest it," Bruce said somewhat sulkily. A rather tense silence followed. Bruce glared out over the water, and Clark sneaked admiring glances at his profile. It seemed so unfair that someone should be so much more handsome frowning than smiling; it almost made Clark want to misbehave to keep him in a bad mood.
On the other hand, seeing Bruce unhappy made him wretched.
"The two cities aren't that far apart," he said placatingly. "I can get there pretty quickly. We'll see each other often, I know it." He leaned forward and smiled winsomely. "Come on, snookums, be a dear and forgive me."
Caught off-guard, Bruce snorted involuntarily. The grim lines of his mouth relaxed a little. "I'll let the conversation go for now...on one condition."
"Name it."
You never, ever, call me 'snookums' again."
"You got it--"
"--thank you--"
"--my little pookie bear."
Bruce threw the leftover ice in his cup at him. Clark roared with laughter. Bruce stood up and grabbed his hand. "All right, back to the room with you. Someone needs to be taught proper respect."
Clark kept up a running monologue of endearments all the way back to the room. "You lead the way, sweetcheeks, my honey bunch...I'm right behind you, studmuffin, my sugar..." The elevator opened and let them into the corridor leading to their room. "Waiting for you to teach me some respect, O apple of my eye, my dove, my dearest, my reason for living, my king of glory, heart of my heart..." The door to their room closed behind them. "...my adored, my only one, oh Bruce, my love, my love, my love."
: : :
"Are you sure you don't want to come along?"
"Are you sure you don't want to stay?"
Clark was lounging on the bed in flannel pajamas as Bruce came out of the bathroom, tying his tie.
"Just give me a couple of hours to visit the casino, make a public appearance." More to the point, Batman needed to try and get into Luthor's room and do some investigation. Fortunately, Clark's dislike of noise and smoke meant he was willing to let Bruce go alone. Bruce felt odd standing there in front of Clark with the suit on under his tuxedo. The longer he waited to tell Clark, the more dishonest and uncomfortable he felt. But here, on Lex Luthor's cruise ship--who knew if this room was bugged? He had found none, but he was just cautious enough that it seemed better to wait until after they were back on solid ground. Bruce hadn't counted on everything suddenly seeming so very sure, so completely right. He just hoped Clark would forgive him for keeping it a secret so long.
Clark flashed him a grin. "I'll be waiting here for you." He got off the bed, eyed Bruce up and down. "Has anyone ever told you you look hot in a tuxedo?"
Bruce paused, considered.
"Let me guess," Clark continued, "Hundreds of people?"
"Oh no...more like dozens."
Clark grinned and tried to rumple Bruce's hair; Bruce dodged.
There was a knock on the door.
"Did you order room service?" Bruce asked.
"Nope."
Bruce opened the door to find two very large men in the hall. Before he could say anything, they elbowed him aside and entered the room, swinging the door shut behind them.
"We got a message here for a Bruce Wayne and 'Companion'," sniggered one of the men. Suddenly he was holding a gun pointed at Bruce's stomach. His partner was leveling one at Clark's chest.
Bruce saw Clark's eyes go wide and panicked, staring at the gun pointed at Bruce. He was completely ignoring the gun pointed at his own chest, the lovesick idiot. For his part, Bruce could only see Clark, absurdly vulnerable in his pajamas. Bruce would be protected by the suit, but Clark, Clark...He put his hands up, tried to stall for time.
"Hey fellas, what's all this about?"
"You don't really need to know," said the thug. He jerked his head at the other gunman. "Do it."
Things happened very quickly as the two gunshots, muffled by silencers, cracked through the room. Suddenly Clark was standing directly in front of the man who was shooting at Bruce, knocking him out with a quick punch. The thug who had been aiming at Clark had toppled over even though no one was near him at all. And Bruce and Clark remained standing, staring at each other.
Clark spoke first. "Um. How'd he miss me?" he asked lamely.
Bruce stalked stiff-legged as a cat over to Clark. He put his finger through the bullet hole in the flannel over Clark's heart to touch the perfect, unmarred skin beneath. Clark shivered at the contact, a shuddering tremor that went across his whole body like a high-strung stallion's. The movement was not remotely human, and for the first time Bruce Wayne truly comprehended, truly believed.
"Jesus," he breathed.
Clark seemed broken from paralysis by the oath. He whirled from Bruce and went to the other unconscious thug, picking up something nearby that glinted metallic. "All right, then, what the hell is this, huh? What is this?" he demanded, brandishing it at Bruce.
"It looks like...a...batarang?" Bruce suggested. Anger brushed across Clark's face. He flicked the batarang past Bruce's ear; Bruce picked it deftly out of the air.
"Do not tell me you're..." Clark stopped dead, glancing about the room. Bruce could see him considering the possibility of surveillance as well. If there were bugs the damage was already done, but still...
Bruce spread his hands in silent chagrin and mouthed, "I'm Batman."
Clark sat down hard on the bed and took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes. "God damn it," he said mournfully and rather distantly. "I thought I had two friends."
Bruce stared at his face, not really listening, thoughts cascading through his head like a broken kaleidoscope, no pattern or coherence. Clark's face. It was like that optical illusion, he thought dazedly, where you can see either the vase or the profiles, but never both at the same time. What the hell... He focused. Clark. He blinked. Superman. Clark. Superman. Clark Superman ClarkSupermanClark--Kal.
Kal. It clicked into place.
A lot of things clicked into place, and Batman began to feel very annoyed with himself.
One of the thugs stirred and groaned, which cut off further conversation. Clark--Kal?--Clark thumped the goon very gently on the head and he subsided. "Can't talk in front of the assassins," he said numbly, looking at Bruce. "What now?"
Bruce said, "I suppose these guys should get dropped off at a police station back on the mainland."
"I suppose."
"And someone else should...do some research."
Clark nodded, staring at him as if he'd never seen him before.
"And then, maybe we should...talk? Outside?"
Clark still looked rather shell-shocked. "Okay, Bruce," he said with a sort of insane calm, "Sounds good. I'll find you when I get back."
"All right." Bruce let himself out of the room, Clark still in his torn pajamas staring after him. He found a dark corner of the deck and removed the tuxedo. He just hadn't been able to do it in front of Clark, somehow.
Clark.
Superman.
Kal.
Batman shook his head. Focus on the burglary, Bruce. Think about your love life later.
He made his way toward Luthor's room, silent as the night but substantially more bewildered.
: : :
Superman winged over the ocean on the way back to the cruise ship. The cool night breeze fanned his face as he headed back to meet Bruceman--Bat Wayne--His brain stuttered wildly, mangling the familiar terms and settling into a sort of numbness. He couldn't seem to even begin to process all the implications of what he had just learned.
He saw the dark figure crouching on an abandoned deck and swooped up to it, hovering. The familiar rasp greeted his ears. "I didn't find anything incriminating in Luthor's berth. Some plans for taking over WayneTech, but any ruthless businessman worth his salt would have plans for that. It would be easier with Bruce Wayne gone, mind you. You?"
"The thugs are safe and sound back at the Metropolis police station. One of them regained consciousness before I dropped them off, but he didn't have much to say that would lead one to Luthor. I think maybe--"
Superman broke off. Batman was looking at him. Kal felt a sharp pulse of some emotion too strong and new to name go through him as he realized that was lust he saw in those shadowed eyes, in the set of the jaw. He could understand intellectually that if Bruce wanted him, Batman would as well, but to be face to face with it...face to face...
He lowered his feet to the deck, listening to the other man's heartbeat, undisguised for the first time. The same heartbeat he had heard hammering against his all night. Batman stood unmoving, his breath very slightly ragged as he looked at Kal. Superman took a step closer and heard the heartbeat accelerate. His own pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out the rhythm of the sea all around them.
"Show me your face," Kal whispered. "I want to see your face."
Batman hesitated. Then he reached up and peeled off the cowl in one fluid motion. Bruce's wolf-blue eyes, the sardonic eyebrows, the dark hair plastered against his forehead.
Bruce. In Batman's suit.
For Kal, it was like a lightning strike, a thunderclap of realization too intense to process. He had thought he had wanted Bruce before.
He had been wrong.
Kal heard an odd whimpering noise and realized it must have been him, since Bruce was still just standing there, unsmiling, gazing at him. Bruce. His lover, his partner, his mate. His equal and his other half in everything, his heart and his soul.
He put up a hand to touch Bruce, but found it shaking uncontrollably. He stood there, watching his hand shivering in the space between them, unable to bring himself to touch the other man. He wanted it too much, it was all too much.
Bruce reached out and wrapped his fingers around the trembling hand, brought it to his face. He was--impossibly--blushing, red staining his cheeks and making them hot to the touch. "I feel naked," he complained.
Kal felt shattered by lust, every fragment of him yearning. "Not naked enough."
Disclaimer: The boys belong to DC and to each other, but not to me.
Notes: "Music of the Spheres" is a series set in the combined universes of "Batman Begins" and "Superman Returns." Other stories and notes on the series here.
Rating: R
Summary: On the second day of the cruise, Bruce and Clark bask in the afterglow, flirt, and have their First Argument. An interruption by Luthor's henchmen leads to some startling conclusions for both of them.
Word Count: 2289
"All right, wait, let's count." Clark Kent was lying on top of Bruce Wayne. They were both naked, sweaty, sticky, tired, and extremely pleased with themselves. Clark's arms were crossed on the other man's chest. He drew a small line on Bruce's chest. "The first time was here on the bed, you topping."
Bruce shook his head. "I was so not topping that first time."
"Really?" A quizzically tilted head and angelic smile. "Because I distinctly remember getting fucked..."
Bruce tried to hide his frisson at the contrast between the seraphic face and the earthy language. "I don't care whose anatomy was where, you were the one topping."
Clark grinned smugly and started drawing lines on Bruce's chest again, keeping count and muttering to himself. "The couch...the bed again...the floor...the sofa...the veranda...the couch again..."
"Don't forget the shower."
"Never," Clark said sweetly. His counting finger stroked across Bruce's nipple, eliciting a delighted shiver. "And...we just finished up back here again, so we've come full circle. Nine times in fourteen hours. Not bad."
Bruce stretched. "You didn't give me time to prepare. I can do better than that."
Clark pondered. "I think the blowjobs only count for half, since there's only one climax in those cases."
"Except that one time."
Clark looked embarrassed. "That was an accident, it doesn't count."
"You came all over the sheets--it counts."
"All right, all right, you win." Clark rolled off of Bruce and onto his back, stretching out.
"What do I win?"
"A lifetime supply of me?" Clark caught himself, blushing madly. "I'm sorry, forget I said that--" his retraction was cut off by Bruce's mouth on his, then warm breath at his ear.
"And just how do I redeem that prize?"
Blue eyes deeper than the sky. "I think you already have."
: : :
They had to get food eventually, so ventured together to the Lido deck for some pizza, and soon found themselves having their First Argument.
"What do you mean, 'After I move to Gotham,' Bruce?" Clark interrupted, dropping his rather soggy slice of pizza onto the paper plate with a squish. "I live in Metropolis."
Bruce looked mystified. "I just assumed...I mean, you don't have to move into the Manor once I rebuild it, you could have your own place..."
"You're not listening." Clark pointed at his chest. "Me. Metropolis boy. That's where I work. That's where I live. It's not that I don't want to live with you. It's just that I live in Metropolis. I'd never ask you to leave Gotham."
"That's different. It's where I grew up, I have a home there. You don't have any strong ties to Metropolis."
"I--" Clark stopped, thought of Jason. He had so much to tell Bruce--for starters, that Metropolis really wasn't far from Gotham, not for him. He opened his mouth to blurt out the truth at last--and a small child ran by, almost knocking over the table. Clark suddenly realized how many people were within earshot and changed the topic, cringing inside at having left it for so long. It seemed unfair: now that he actually wanted to tell Bruce, he couldn't. "I have responsibilities, a job, my editor's been so good to re-hire me, I owe him--and don't tell me you can get me a position somewhere in Gotham," he said as Bruce started to speak, "I am not going to be beholden to you for my job!"
"I wasn't going to suggest it," Bruce said somewhat sulkily. A rather tense silence followed. Bruce glared out over the water, and Clark sneaked admiring glances at his profile. It seemed so unfair that someone should be so much more handsome frowning than smiling; it almost made Clark want to misbehave to keep him in a bad mood.
On the other hand, seeing Bruce unhappy made him wretched.
"The two cities aren't that far apart," he said placatingly. "I can get there pretty quickly. We'll see each other often, I know it." He leaned forward and smiled winsomely. "Come on, snookums, be a dear and forgive me."
Caught off-guard, Bruce snorted involuntarily. The grim lines of his mouth relaxed a little. "I'll let the conversation go for now...on one condition."
"Name it."
You never, ever, call me 'snookums' again."
"You got it--"
"--thank you--"
"--my little pookie bear."
Bruce threw the leftover ice in his cup at him. Clark roared with laughter. Bruce stood up and grabbed his hand. "All right, back to the room with you. Someone needs to be taught proper respect."
Clark kept up a running monologue of endearments all the way back to the room. "You lead the way, sweetcheeks, my honey bunch...I'm right behind you, studmuffin, my sugar..." The elevator opened and let them into the corridor leading to their room. "Waiting for you to teach me some respect, O apple of my eye, my dove, my dearest, my reason for living, my king of glory, heart of my heart..." The door to their room closed behind them. "...my adored, my only one, oh Bruce, my love, my love, my love."
: : :
"Are you sure you don't want to come along?"
"Are you sure you don't want to stay?"
Clark was lounging on the bed in flannel pajamas as Bruce came out of the bathroom, tying his tie.
"Just give me a couple of hours to visit the casino, make a public appearance." More to the point, Batman needed to try and get into Luthor's room and do some investigation. Fortunately, Clark's dislike of noise and smoke meant he was willing to let Bruce go alone. Bruce felt odd standing there in front of Clark with the suit on under his tuxedo. The longer he waited to tell Clark, the more dishonest and uncomfortable he felt. But here, on Lex Luthor's cruise ship--who knew if this room was bugged? He had found none, but he was just cautious enough that it seemed better to wait until after they were back on solid ground. Bruce hadn't counted on everything suddenly seeming so very sure, so completely right. He just hoped Clark would forgive him for keeping it a secret so long.
Clark flashed him a grin. "I'll be waiting here for you." He got off the bed, eyed Bruce up and down. "Has anyone ever told you you look hot in a tuxedo?"
Bruce paused, considered.
"Let me guess," Clark continued, "Hundreds of people?"
"Oh no...more like dozens."
Clark grinned and tried to rumple Bruce's hair; Bruce dodged.
There was a knock on the door.
"Did you order room service?" Bruce asked.
"Nope."
Bruce opened the door to find two very large men in the hall. Before he could say anything, they elbowed him aside and entered the room, swinging the door shut behind them.
"We got a message here for a Bruce Wayne and 'Companion'," sniggered one of the men. Suddenly he was holding a gun pointed at Bruce's stomach. His partner was leveling one at Clark's chest.
Bruce saw Clark's eyes go wide and panicked, staring at the gun pointed at Bruce. He was completely ignoring the gun pointed at his own chest, the lovesick idiot. For his part, Bruce could only see Clark, absurdly vulnerable in his pajamas. Bruce would be protected by the suit, but Clark, Clark...He put his hands up, tried to stall for time.
"Hey fellas, what's all this about?"
"You don't really need to know," said the thug. He jerked his head at the other gunman. "Do it."
Things happened very quickly as the two gunshots, muffled by silencers, cracked through the room. Suddenly Clark was standing directly in front of the man who was shooting at Bruce, knocking him out with a quick punch. The thug who had been aiming at Clark had toppled over even though no one was near him at all. And Bruce and Clark remained standing, staring at each other.
Clark spoke first. "Um. How'd he miss me?" he asked lamely.
Bruce stalked stiff-legged as a cat over to Clark. He put his finger through the bullet hole in the flannel over Clark's heart to touch the perfect, unmarred skin beneath. Clark shivered at the contact, a shuddering tremor that went across his whole body like a high-strung stallion's. The movement was not remotely human, and for the first time Bruce Wayne truly comprehended, truly believed.
"Jesus," he breathed.
Clark seemed broken from paralysis by the oath. He whirled from Bruce and went to the other unconscious thug, picking up something nearby that glinted metallic. "All right, then, what the hell is this, huh? What is this?" he demanded, brandishing it at Bruce.
"It looks like...a...batarang?" Bruce suggested. Anger brushed across Clark's face. He flicked the batarang past Bruce's ear; Bruce picked it deftly out of the air.
"Do not tell me you're..." Clark stopped dead, glancing about the room. Bruce could see him considering the possibility of surveillance as well. If there were bugs the damage was already done, but still...
Bruce spread his hands in silent chagrin and mouthed, "I'm Batman."
Clark sat down hard on the bed and took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes. "God damn it," he said mournfully and rather distantly. "I thought I had two friends."
Bruce stared at his face, not really listening, thoughts cascading through his head like a broken kaleidoscope, no pattern or coherence. Clark's face. It was like that optical illusion, he thought dazedly, where you can see either the vase or the profiles, but never both at the same time. What the hell... He focused. Clark. He blinked. Superman. Clark. Superman. Clark Superman ClarkSupermanClark--Kal.
Kal. It clicked into place.
A lot of things clicked into place, and Batman began to feel very annoyed with himself.
One of the thugs stirred and groaned, which cut off further conversation. Clark--Kal?--Clark thumped the goon very gently on the head and he subsided. "Can't talk in front of the assassins," he said numbly, looking at Bruce. "What now?"
Bruce said, "I suppose these guys should get dropped off at a police station back on the mainland."
"I suppose."
"And someone else should...do some research."
Clark nodded, staring at him as if he'd never seen him before.
"And then, maybe we should...talk? Outside?"
Clark still looked rather shell-shocked. "Okay, Bruce," he said with a sort of insane calm, "Sounds good. I'll find you when I get back."
"All right." Bruce let himself out of the room, Clark still in his torn pajamas staring after him. He found a dark corner of the deck and removed the tuxedo. He just hadn't been able to do it in front of Clark, somehow.
Clark.
Superman.
Kal.
Batman shook his head. Focus on the burglary, Bruce. Think about your love life later.
He made his way toward Luthor's room, silent as the night but substantially more bewildered.
: : :
Superman winged over the ocean on the way back to the cruise ship. The cool night breeze fanned his face as he headed back to meet Bruceman--Bat Wayne--His brain stuttered wildly, mangling the familiar terms and settling into a sort of numbness. He couldn't seem to even begin to process all the implications of what he had just learned.
He saw the dark figure crouching on an abandoned deck and swooped up to it, hovering. The familiar rasp greeted his ears. "I didn't find anything incriminating in Luthor's berth. Some plans for taking over WayneTech, but any ruthless businessman worth his salt would have plans for that. It would be easier with Bruce Wayne gone, mind you. You?"
"The thugs are safe and sound back at the Metropolis police station. One of them regained consciousness before I dropped them off, but he didn't have much to say that would lead one to Luthor. I think maybe--"
Superman broke off. Batman was looking at him. Kal felt a sharp pulse of some emotion too strong and new to name go through him as he realized that was lust he saw in those shadowed eyes, in the set of the jaw. He could understand intellectually that if Bruce wanted him, Batman would as well, but to be face to face with it...face to face...
He lowered his feet to the deck, listening to the other man's heartbeat, undisguised for the first time. The same heartbeat he had heard hammering against his all night. Batman stood unmoving, his breath very slightly ragged as he looked at Kal. Superman took a step closer and heard the heartbeat accelerate. His own pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out the rhythm of the sea all around them.
"Show me your face," Kal whispered. "I want to see your face."
Batman hesitated. Then he reached up and peeled off the cowl in one fluid motion. Bruce's wolf-blue eyes, the sardonic eyebrows, the dark hair plastered against his forehead.
Bruce. In Batman's suit.
For Kal, it was like a lightning strike, a thunderclap of realization too intense to process. He had thought he had wanted Bruce before.
He had been wrong.
Kal heard an odd whimpering noise and realized it must have been him, since Bruce was still just standing there, unsmiling, gazing at him. Bruce. His lover, his partner, his mate. His equal and his other half in everything, his heart and his soul.
He put up a hand to touch Bruce, but found it shaking uncontrollably. He stood there, watching his hand shivering in the space between them, unable to bring himself to touch the other man. He wanted it too much, it was all too much.
Bruce reached out and wrapped his fingers around the trembling hand, brought it to his face. He was--impossibly--blushing, red staining his cheeks and making them hot to the touch. "I feel naked," he complained.
Kal felt shattered by lust, every fragment of him yearning. "Not naked enough."