Music of the Spheres: Kaleidoscope
Title: Kaleidoscope
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
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: A Halloween costume party in Gotham leads to a night of shifting identities.
Word Count: 1300
Notes: Written quite a long time ago and put on hold, obviously, but despite its untimeliness I hope you can still enjoy it!
"Here we go again," Bruce murmured as they climbed the stairs to Kate Wentworth's palatial estate.
"Another year, another Wentworth party," Clark agreed under his breath.
"It could be fun," Bruce said somewhat wistfully.
"Yeah, like last year where I got the French Maid outfit? That was great."
"I found it fairly delightful," Bruce leered.
"I still suspect you of rigging the lottery so I got that costume," Clark grumbled.
Bruce's leer was touched with smugness. "I'll never tell."
"This is a pain," Clark grumbled. "I get enough of playing pretend in my daily life, thank you." He fell silent as they entered the mansion and the butler took their coats. "Besides, I don't like surprises."
Bruce punched him lightly on the arm; Clark could feel him gearing up into what he called 'Brucie mode,' the voice lightening, the gaze turning shallow. "I bet I'll figure out who you are even faster this year."
Clark smiled at him and matched his tone as Kate Wentworth advanced toward them. "You're not that good a detective, honey."
Bruce dimpled at him and tightened his grip on his arm briefly, his smile going just a touch predatory at the edges. "We'll see, sweetheart."
"Mes amis!" Kate air-kissed the space around their cheeks with gusto. "You're right on time. Grab a number from the bowl and go upstairs to change."
Clark gritted his teeth to avoid rolling his eyes and reached into the crystal bowl to grab a number. "See you again soon," Bruce said, giving him a hearty smack on the cheek and trotting up the stairs to his changing room, an entirely innocuous playboy.
Clark watched him go, his master of disguises, his ninja dressed up as a billionaire. Then he sighed and headed off to what he suspected was his inevitable humiliation.
: : :
Bruce took the box from the smiling assistant and was surprised at how heavy it was. He let himself stagger a bit. "What have you got in here, a suit of armor?"
The assistant's grin got even wider. "You're lucky, sir. Ms Wentworth is very proud of this one."
Bruce carried the box to a changing room. As he opened it, he caught a glint of buckles against black matte cloth, silk and kevlar.
Oh, damn.
: : :
Clark finished changing, feeling he had dodged a bullet. He glanced in the mirror, adjusting his silver antenna and straightening his mask. The metallic cloth surplice was a little large, but not embarrassingly so.
"Outer space alien" was a disguise he felt he could actually pull off pretty well.
He wandered out into the party, teeming with pirates, cat-girls, and ghosts, looking for Bruce. "Are you...Brent? Brent O'Donohue?" asked a princess with a conical hat.
"Graggle hark harkk," he said--a mangled parody of Kryptonian that sounded "alien"--and she shrugged and wandered off.
This was definitely his favorite Halloween costume ever.
He was almost enjoying talking to everyone in gibberish and watching them stare at him blankly when there was a murmur in the crowd. He looked at the stairs and--almost fell over.
Coming down the stairs was Batman.
Batman, and yet--all wrong. Batman didn't bounce down the stairs like a schoolboy playing hooky, and he didn't tilt his head like he found all this very amusing.
And Batman certainly didn't smile like that.
Clark recognized the smile and felt laughter start to curl in the back of his throat; he clamped down on it and enjoyed the view.
"I'm Batman!" the figure announced, throwing his arms out dramatically, and the crowd groaned.
"Bruce Wayne," Kate Wentworth said, her voice heavy with disapproval, "If you don't even bother to try and sound like him, you can't be surprised when everyone guesses it's you right away."
Bruce reached up and pulled off the cowl with a flourish, grinning unrepentantly. "I'm sorry," he said cheerfully as the crowd started to turn back to chatting and guessing, "Let me try again. I'm Batman?" His pitch was only a trifle lower, and Kate just shook her head in disgust.
"You are the worst role-player ever, Brucie. And after I spent so much on such a good replica, too!"
Bruce dropped a quick peck on her chagrined cheek. "Sorry, luv. I'll try to play the part better."
She smiled indulgently. "That's all right, dear. You just...be yourself."
She wandered off and Bruce started to mingle with the guests. Clark tried and failed utterly to tear his eyes away from the entrancing sight of vapid playboy Brucie Wayne dressed up as Batman, his eyes sparkling and his hair mussed. Someone else tried to talk to him, and he brushed them off with more "alien" gibberish, his eyes on Bruce. Bruce was trying to teach people something he was calling the "Batusi," to hysterical giggles from the crowd. The light tenor of his lover seemed even more alluring juxtaposed with all the dark and dangerous paraphernalia of the Batman, somehow. Layers upon layers, complications within complications, a tesseract of beauty and menace nested within each other.
Another person tapped on the shoulder. "Steve? Are you Steve Jones?"
< Leave me alone, > Clark said absent-mindedly, watching Bruce fuss and flounce with his cape. < Can't you see I'm busy? >
It wasn't until the other person wandered off again that he realized he'd spoken in Kryptonian without thinking about it. Well. It had probably sounded alien enough to be convincing.
After a while, Bruce extricated himself from the crowd and laughingly excused himself. "Gotta use the little bat's room--I might be a while, too," he said, gesturing at all the buckles and zips to renewed gusts of laughter. "Don't wait up, you may never see me again." He disappeared into one of the corridors of the mansion.
Clark followed him.
The bathroom door was untouched; a shadow disappeared around a corner just out of the corner of Clark's eye. Into the unlit areas of the Wentworth mansion, through darkened hallways full of echoes, the noise of the party falling away, Clark followed his elusive wraith.
The trail led into a small garden, gloomy and abandoned in the chilly moonlight. Pausing under an oak tree, Clark felt more than heard the figure dropping down from the branches behind him. "You shouldn't be wandering around alone," grated a dark voice as an arm wrapped around him, pulling him close. "Someone might take advantage of you."
"I was hoping," he gasped, pushing back against his captor.
Batman spun him around and pinned him against the oak, bark rasping his back. Clark raised his hands to remove the silver mask and dark-gloved hands captured them. "No. I like you in a mask." Batman's voice was a gray whisper, talons on stone. "My mysterious alien."
The dark figure went to his knees in front of him, pushing aside the metallic clothing.
Clark made a startled noise as skin was exposed to chill air, but the dark hands were unrelenting. There were lips caressing his right thigh, tantalizingly close. "It's just a little blowjob, honey, no one will catch us," lilted Brucie's voice. The lips shifted to his left thigh, coaxing. "I want you here. Now," said Batman. "You're mine."
Clark shuddered, his head falling back against the tree. "Ah, love," said Bruce at last, his voice warm and dear and familiar, breath brushing heated skin. "My alien, my hero, my reporter, my farm boy, my faerie prince. All mine."
Above him the ancient oak shifted in the moonlight, endless patterns and layers of leaves as Clark gazed up into them, dizzy with need and mounting desire. Batman's hands, Brucie's mouth, Bruce's soft sounds of enjoyment, mingling, melding.
Clark closed his eyes and felt the fragments and pieces of himself fall into new patterns, reshaped again by joy, a shifting kaleidoscope of delight.
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
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: A Halloween costume party in Gotham leads to a night of shifting identities.
Word Count: 1300
Notes: Written quite a long time ago and put on hold, obviously, but despite its untimeliness I hope you can still enjoy it!
"Here we go again," Bruce murmured as they climbed the stairs to Kate Wentworth's palatial estate.
"Another year, another Wentworth party," Clark agreed under his breath.
"It could be fun," Bruce said somewhat wistfully.
"Yeah, like last year where I got the French Maid outfit? That was great."
"I found it fairly delightful," Bruce leered.
"I still suspect you of rigging the lottery so I got that costume," Clark grumbled.
Bruce's leer was touched with smugness. "I'll never tell."
"This is a pain," Clark grumbled. "I get enough of playing pretend in my daily life, thank you." He fell silent as they entered the mansion and the butler took their coats. "Besides, I don't like surprises."
Bruce punched him lightly on the arm; Clark could feel him gearing up into what he called 'Brucie mode,' the voice lightening, the gaze turning shallow. "I bet I'll figure out who you are even faster this year."
Clark smiled at him and matched his tone as Kate Wentworth advanced toward them. "You're not that good a detective, honey."
Bruce dimpled at him and tightened his grip on his arm briefly, his smile going just a touch predatory at the edges. "We'll see, sweetheart."
"Mes amis!" Kate air-kissed the space around their cheeks with gusto. "You're right on time. Grab a number from the bowl and go upstairs to change."
Clark gritted his teeth to avoid rolling his eyes and reached into the crystal bowl to grab a number. "See you again soon," Bruce said, giving him a hearty smack on the cheek and trotting up the stairs to his changing room, an entirely innocuous playboy.
Clark watched him go, his master of disguises, his ninja dressed up as a billionaire. Then he sighed and headed off to what he suspected was his inevitable humiliation.
: : :
Bruce took the box from the smiling assistant and was surprised at how heavy it was. He let himself stagger a bit. "What have you got in here, a suit of armor?"
The assistant's grin got even wider. "You're lucky, sir. Ms Wentworth is very proud of this one."
Bruce carried the box to a changing room. As he opened it, he caught a glint of buckles against black matte cloth, silk and kevlar.
Oh, damn.
: : :
Clark finished changing, feeling he had dodged a bullet. He glanced in the mirror, adjusting his silver antenna and straightening his mask. The metallic cloth surplice was a little large, but not embarrassingly so.
"Outer space alien" was a disguise he felt he could actually pull off pretty well.
He wandered out into the party, teeming with pirates, cat-girls, and ghosts, looking for Bruce. "Are you...Brent? Brent O'Donohue?" asked a princess with a conical hat.
"Graggle hark harkk," he said--a mangled parody of Kryptonian that sounded "alien"--and she shrugged and wandered off.
This was definitely his favorite Halloween costume ever.
He was almost enjoying talking to everyone in gibberish and watching them stare at him blankly when there was a murmur in the crowd. He looked at the stairs and--almost fell over.
Coming down the stairs was Batman.
Batman, and yet--all wrong. Batman didn't bounce down the stairs like a schoolboy playing hooky, and he didn't tilt his head like he found all this very amusing.
And Batman certainly didn't smile like that.
Clark recognized the smile and felt laughter start to curl in the back of his throat; he clamped down on it and enjoyed the view.
"I'm Batman!" the figure announced, throwing his arms out dramatically, and the crowd groaned.
"Bruce Wayne," Kate Wentworth said, her voice heavy with disapproval, "If you don't even bother to try and sound like him, you can't be surprised when everyone guesses it's you right away."
Bruce reached up and pulled off the cowl with a flourish, grinning unrepentantly. "I'm sorry," he said cheerfully as the crowd started to turn back to chatting and guessing, "Let me try again. I'm Batman?" His pitch was only a trifle lower, and Kate just shook her head in disgust.
"You are the worst role-player ever, Brucie. And after I spent so much on such a good replica, too!"
Bruce dropped a quick peck on her chagrined cheek. "Sorry, luv. I'll try to play the part better."
She smiled indulgently. "That's all right, dear. You just...be yourself."
She wandered off and Bruce started to mingle with the guests. Clark tried and failed utterly to tear his eyes away from the entrancing sight of vapid playboy Brucie Wayne dressed up as Batman, his eyes sparkling and his hair mussed. Someone else tried to talk to him, and he brushed them off with more "alien" gibberish, his eyes on Bruce. Bruce was trying to teach people something he was calling the "Batusi," to hysterical giggles from the crowd. The light tenor of his lover seemed even more alluring juxtaposed with all the dark and dangerous paraphernalia of the Batman, somehow. Layers upon layers, complications within complications, a tesseract of beauty and menace nested within each other.
Another person tapped on the shoulder. "Steve? Are you Steve Jones?"
< Leave me alone, > Clark said absent-mindedly, watching Bruce fuss and flounce with his cape. < Can't you see I'm busy? >
It wasn't until the other person wandered off again that he realized he'd spoken in Kryptonian without thinking about it. Well. It had probably sounded alien enough to be convincing.
After a while, Bruce extricated himself from the crowd and laughingly excused himself. "Gotta use the little bat's room--I might be a while, too," he said, gesturing at all the buckles and zips to renewed gusts of laughter. "Don't wait up, you may never see me again." He disappeared into one of the corridors of the mansion.
Clark followed him.
The bathroom door was untouched; a shadow disappeared around a corner just out of the corner of Clark's eye. Into the unlit areas of the Wentworth mansion, through darkened hallways full of echoes, the noise of the party falling away, Clark followed his elusive wraith.
The trail led into a small garden, gloomy and abandoned in the chilly moonlight. Pausing under an oak tree, Clark felt more than heard the figure dropping down from the branches behind him. "You shouldn't be wandering around alone," grated a dark voice as an arm wrapped around him, pulling him close. "Someone might take advantage of you."
"I was hoping," he gasped, pushing back against his captor.
Batman spun him around and pinned him against the oak, bark rasping his back. Clark raised his hands to remove the silver mask and dark-gloved hands captured them. "No. I like you in a mask." Batman's voice was a gray whisper, talons on stone. "My mysterious alien."
The dark figure went to his knees in front of him, pushing aside the metallic clothing.
Clark made a startled noise as skin was exposed to chill air, but the dark hands were unrelenting. There were lips caressing his right thigh, tantalizingly close. "It's just a little blowjob, honey, no one will catch us," lilted Brucie's voice. The lips shifted to his left thigh, coaxing. "I want you here. Now," said Batman. "You're mine."
Clark shuddered, his head falling back against the tree. "Ah, love," said Bruce at last, his voice warm and dear and familiar, breath brushing heated skin. "My alien, my hero, my reporter, my farm boy, my faerie prince. All mine."
Above him the ancient oak shifted in the moonlight, endless patterns and layers of leaves as Clark gazed up into them, dizzy with need and mounting desire. Batman's hands, Brucie's mouth, Bruce's soft sounds of enjoyment, mingling, melding.
Clark closed his eyes and felt the fragments and pieces of himself fall into new patterns, reshaped again by joy, a shifting kaleidoscope of delight.