Fic: Pink and Black | DCU/Superman Returns/Batman Begins | Clark/Bruce | PG-13 | 1/1
Title: Pink and Black
Fandom: DCU (Superman Returns/Batman Begins)
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,611
Prompt: Pink Kryptonite (for dcu_freeforall - yup, I'm claiming the WF, too :p)
Summary: Bruce deals with the consequences of a seriously altered Clark after he's exposed to pink kryptonite. Nails get painted. Words are exchanged. Tears are shed.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own it all. I own nothing. Darnit. 'Cuz if I did, Clark and Bruce would be making out in every issue of Superman/Batman.
Author's Notes: This plot bunny grew out of this hilarious and oh-so-wrong pic, by samibee, and it wouldn't let me go until it was written. Originally, Clark and Bruce were supposed to go clubbing, but somehow the muses decided they wanted H/C. Maybe a sequel will be in order. :p Oh! Also testing out a new subject line format.
Pink and Black
“Clark! Stop!” Bruce shook the Kryptonian by the shoulders, hard. “Stop it!”
Suddenly alarmed by the rough treatment, Clark cocked his head to the side and eyed his friend.
“Dammit,” the Bat went on, “you've been going on about pumps and other prissy fashion nonsense for the last half-hour already!! Give. It. A rest.” His eyes were cold as he finished, his nostrils flaring in annoyance.
“But...” Clark protested. “Bruce... can I at least finish my nails?”
Releasing him, Bruce threw his hands in the air and spun away. “That's it. I give up. Paint your damn nails.” Sullen and feeling the need to brood for a while, he dropped back into his chair. At least this could give him a chance to analyze the sample of K more thoroughly and take some readings from Clark. As it was, his estrogen levels had spiked and his testosterone levels had gone completely nuts, cycling between highs and lows. Which, for a man, was not a good sign. Bruce half expected him to start crying any moment now.
But Clark fell silent beside him in the cave, still clad in his uniform and still decidedly painting his nails bright pink. The silence was a welcome respite from the prattling Clark had been doing earlier, until the Kryptonian had to open his mouth to start all over again. “You know, it's not like I was hurting anyone. It was just conversation.”
Bruce sighed heavily. “Conversation that I have absolutely no interest in,” he grumbled.
Clark looked annoyed at that. “I'm beginning to regret the fact that I brought some nail polish for you, too.”
“You what!?” the Bat gaped, his eyes widened to saucers.
“I brought you some nail polish. In your color,” Clark elaborated, reaching back into his cape with the still-unpolished fingers of his right hand. When his hand reappeared, it was clutching a small bottle of black nail polish. Black. Nail polish. For Bruce.
The Bat's mind spun for a moment. “What, you couldn't have brought fire-engine red?” he snarked back at his companion, snatching the bottle from him.
Clark's mouth quirked for a moment, before he averted his gaze and sighed, “Sorry, I guess I-”
“Stop it,” Bruce spat. Holding the little bottle in his fingers, he watched the almost shimmering black as it flowed within its container. It reminded him of chrome. Black chrome. Shining black chrome, like a silvered Bat. He had to admit it was... beautiful, in a way. Like moonlight and shadows.
Bruce hadn't painted his nails since that first semester at Princeton, when black nails were all the rage among the early goth set. Hadn't felt the need. Hadn't cared.
Unwittingly, the urge rose in him to throw propriety to the wind and embrace the moonlight and shadows.
With a sigh and a gulp he knew was easily audible to his companion, he looked back up to meet Clark's expectant gaze. “If you promise not to say one more single word about pumps or mini-skirts, I'll put it on.”
Clark's eyes glistened. “Can... can I put it on you?”
* * * * *
A half-hour later, Bruce's neatly manicured nails shone with black justice: short, blunt, and dangerous. But the Bat himself was trying desperately not to encourage any more of Clark's pink K induced insanity. Being sexually flexible was one thing, but being flaming was a whole different ball game, one that made Bruce want to scratch his own eyes out. He just... didn't do flaming. And he knew that Clark didn't, either, no matter what the color choice of his costume said. They were men. With masculine personalities.
Clark's continued - albeit more subdued - girly prattling was driving him nuts.
So once both their nails were dry, the polish hardened, and Clark had started in on trying to convince Bruce to take him clubbing, the Bat's annoyance finally boiled over in spectacular fashion. “No! Absolutely not. I will not take you to some brightly colored, strobe-lit, smoke-filled place, just so you can make a complete ass out of yourself, looking like some... some... Kryptonian queen with your hot pink nails!”
Clark blanched at his outburst. “What!?” A pause as he rose from his chair. “Oh... I see. You just don't want to be seen with me. Like... like this,” he waved his hands in front of himself, taking in his whole primary colored self, pink nails and all.
Bruce stood quickly to regain eye contact. “Hold on, that's not what I-”
“No? I think that's exactly what you meant! You've never been able to stand being seen with me. Like I'm in some violation of your brooding darkness! Like... like you're embarrassed of meeeee...” Clark trailed off, his words becoming a prolonged wail that morphed into a full sob, tears streaming down his face as he squeezed his eyes shut.
Bruce mentally slapped himself. Hard. He should have known better than to let the Big Bad Bat out with Clark still hopped up on pink K. Even if it had already been thirty minutes since he secured the sample behind thick lead shielding. And... the cold realization hit him that maybe Clark was right. Maybe...
No. That wasn't right at all. It wasn't true. He'd never been the least bit embarrassed by Clark. It was just...
“Clark. Stop crying,” he soothed, taking the slightly taller man by the shoulders again, more gently this time. “Clark,” he prodded him, “please.”
After another few moments of tears, Clark's sobs slowed and became heavy breaths. “I... sorry... I...”
“Shhh... Clark... you have to know that I'm not embarrassed by you. I could never be. The reality is that you're not yourself. The effects of the pink K simply haven't worn off yet, and... hell, you're probably suffering from withdrawal, since your estrogen is dropping.”
“My... oh!” the Kryptonian breathed. “But...” His eyes shone with tears and confusion.
“Clark, if we were to go out to a club, there would be no way for me to monitor your reactions to the K withdrawal. It's just too chaotic. And you know this... behavior... just isn't you. If you had to look back on the way you acted in front of a group of total strangers, and were... embarrassed by yourself, I... I would know that that was my fault.”
“Bruce...” Clark sighed, his mouth finally curving into a faint, grateful smile as he reached up and grasped the Bat around the waist. “I'm sorry. Thank you.”
Bruce released his shoulders, moving his hands up to cup his face, black-tipped thumb stroking his cheek. “It's okay. It's not your fault.”
“Still...” But Clark seemed to be losing himself in the touch on his face. After a brief moment, he took in a heavy breath, his brow furrowing. “I don't feel so good. I'm... really hot... all of a sudden.”
The Bat had to repress a smirk. “Probably a hot flash. Come on, let's get you out of that uniform and into bed. You should probably sleep the rest of this off.”
Looking at him sheepishly and a bit out of breath, Clark whimpered nervously, “Come with me?” His pink fingertips gripped Bruce's sides tightly, digging into black fabric and the flesh beneath. “Please?”
Bruce sighed, his gut beginning to twist with anger at the mess he and that damned pink rock had made of Clark. “Of course I will.”
* * * * *
Making sure Clark's legs were sticking out from the bottom of the covers so he could lose the rest of his increased heat, Bruce pulled the comforter up over both of them, draping an arm over his lover gently and pressing his chest into the Kryptonian's back. He nuzzled into Clark's thick hair just above his neck at the same time he reached for his hand to twine their fingers together tightly. “Comfortable?” he asked quietly, hoping the worst of it was already over.
“Um... yeah,” Clark sighed beside him, pressing back to snuggle closer. “I'm just... hot and itchy, and my head is feeling all... fuzzy.”
“It'll probably be like that for a while. Here,” he suggested, pulling Clark's arm out from beneath the covers and tucking the comforter up to their armpits. “That better?”
Clark shifted a bit. “Much. I love you, Bruce.”
“Shhh... I know. I love you, too, Clark. Now try to get some sleep,” Bruce commanded, squeezing his companion's fingers tightly again. In the moonlight beaming gently through the window, he saw the shimmer of their nails, pink and black, highlighted in beautiful contrast. His fingers shone pale against the black, Clark's seeming golden against the pink. Masculine and feminine, firm and soft, day and night, sun and moon. Both just... right. Them.
He couldn't believe how stupid he'd been earlier. How wrong he'd been.
“When I'm feeling better, can we go out anyway?” Clark asked, his voice a sleepy near-whisper. “I just want to... let go... but... don't want you to be embarrassed by me...”
Bruce took in a heavy breath, then kissed his partner's neck firmly, pulling him closer. He hadn't actually been out clubbing in many years, and the thought of Clark, in full control of himself, letting it all out on the dance floor was pretty enticing... “Absolutely, we can go,” he smiled against his lover's hair. Glancing again at the glimmer of two sets of shining fingernails, their message clear, he felt his heart swell with love and pride for his beautiful Kryptonian. “Anything you want. And I'm never embarrassed by you. Never. I swear it.” With another kiss to the soft skin beneath Clark's ear, he sealed the promise. “I swear it.”
* * * * *
Fandom: DCU (Superman Returns/Batman Begins)
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,611
Prompt: Pink Kryptonite (for dcu_freeforall - yup, I'm claiming the WF, too :p)
Summary: Bruce deals with the consequences of a seriously altered Clark after he's exposed to pink kryptonite. Nails get painted. Words are exchanged. Tears are shed.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own it all. I own nothing. Darnit. 'Cuz if I did, Clark and Bruce would be making out in every issue of Superman/Batman.
Author's Notes: This plot bunny grew out of this hilarious and oh-so-wrong pic, by samibee, and it wouldn't let me go until it was written. Originally, Clark and Bruce were supposed to go clubbing, but somehow the muses decided they wanted H/C. Maybe a sequel will be in order. :p Oh! Also testing out a new subject line format.
Pink and Black
“Clark! Stop!” Bruce shook the Kryptonian by the shoulders, hard. “Stop it!”
Suddenly alarmed by the rough treatment, Clark cocked his head to the side and eyed his friend.
“Dammit,” the Bat went on, “you've been going on about pumps and other prissy fashion nonsense for the last half-hour already!! Give. It. A rest.” His eyes were cold as he finished, his nostrils flaring in annoyance.
“But...” Clark protested. “Bruce... can I at least finish my nails?”
Releasing him, Bruce threw his hands in the air and spun away. “That's it. I give up. Paint your damn nails.” Sullen and feeling the need to brood for a while, he dropped back into his chair. At least this could give him a chance to analyze the sample of K more thoroughly and take some readings from Clark. As it was, his estrogen levels had spiked and his testosterone levels had gone completely nuts, cycling between highs and lows. Which, for a man, was not a good sign. Bruce half expected him to start crying any moment now.
But Clark fell silent beside him in the cave, still clad in his uniform and still decidedly painting his nails bright pink. The silence was a welcome respite from the prattling Clark had been doing earlier, until the Kryptonian had to open his mouth to start all over again. “You know, it's not like I was hurting anyone. It was just conversation.”
Bruce sighed heavily. “Conversation that I have absolutely no interest in,” he grumbled.
Clark looked annoyed at that. “I'm beginning to regret the fact that I brought some nail polish for you, too.”
“You what!?” the Bat gaped, his eyes widened to saucers.
“I brought you some nail polish. In your color,” Clark elaborated, reaching back into his cape with the still-unpolished fingers of his right hand. When his hand reappeared, it was clutching a small bottle of black nail polish. Black. Nail polish. For Bruce.
The Bat's mind spun for a moment. “What, you couldn't have brought fire-engine red?” he snarked back at his companion, snatching the bottle from him.
Clark's mouth quirked for a moment, before he averted his gaze and sighed, “Sorry, I guess I-”
“Stop it,” Bruce spat. Holding the little bottle in his fingers, he watched the almost shimmering black as it flowed within its container. It reminded him of chrome. Black chrome. Shining black chrome, like a silvered Bat. He had to admit it was... beautiful, in a way. Like moonlight and shadows.
Bruce hadn't painted his nails since that first semester at Princeton, when black nails were all the rage among the early goth set. Hadn't felt the need. Hadn't cared.
Unwittingly, the urge rose in him to throw propriety to the wind and embrace the moonlight and shadows.
With a sigh and a gulp he knew was easily audible to his companion, he looked back up to meet Clark's expectant gaze. “If you promise not to say one more single word about pumps or mini-skirts, I'll put it on.”
Clark's eyes glistened. “Can... can I put it on you?”
* * * * *
A half-hour later, Bruce's neatly manicured nails shone with black justice: short, blunt, and dangerous. But the Bat himself was trying desperately not to encourage any more of Clark's pink K induced insanity. Being sexually flexible was one thing, but being flaming was a whole different ball game, one that made Bruce want to scratch his own eyes out. He just... didn't do flaming. And he knew that Clark didn't, either, no matter what the color choice of his costume said. They were men. With masculine personalities.
Clark's continued - albeit more subdued - girly prattling was driving him nuts.
So once both their nails were dry, the polish hardened, and Clark had started in on trying to convince Bruce to take him clubbing, the Bat's annoyance finally boiled over in spectacular fashion. “No! Absolutely not. I will not take you to some brightly colored, strobe-lit, smoke-filled place, just so you can make a complete ass out of yourself, looking like some... some... Kryptonian queen with your hot pink nails!”
Clark blanched at his outburst. “What!?” A pause as he rose from his chair. “Oh... I see. You just don't want to be seen with me. Like... like this,” he waved his hands in front of himself, taking in his whole primary colored self, pink nails and all.
Bruce stood quickly to regain eye contact. “Hold on, that's not what I-”
“No? I think that's exactly what you meant! You've never been able to stand being seen with me. Like I'm in some violation of your brooding darkness! Like... like you're embarrassed of meeeee...” Clark trailed off, his words becoming a prolonged wail that morphed into a full sob, tears streaming down his face as he squeezed his eyes shut.
Bruce mentally slapped himself. Hard. He should have known better than to let the Big Bad Bat out with Clark still hopped up on pink K. Even if it had already been thirty minutes since he secured the sample behind thick lead shielding. And... the cold realization hit him that maybe Clark was right. Maybe...
No. That wasn't right at all. It wasn't true. He'd never been the least bit embarrassed by Clark. It was just...
“Clark. Stop crying,” he soothed, taking the slightly taller man by the shoulders again, more gently this time. “Clark,” he prodded him, “please.”
After another few moments of tears, Clark's sobs slowed and became heavy breaths. “I... sorry... I...”
“Shhh... Clark... you have to know that I'm not embarrassed by you. I could never be. The reality is that you're not yourself. The effects of the pink K simply haven't worn off yet, and... hell, you're probably suffering from withdrawal, since your estrogen is dropping.”
“My... oh!” the Kryptonian breathed. “But...” His eyes shone with tears and confusion.
“Clark, if we were to go out to a club, there would be no way for me to monitor your reactions to the K withdrawal. It's just too chaotic. And you know this... behavior... just isn't you. If you had to look back on the way you acted in front of a group of total strangers, and were... embarrassed by yourself, I... I would know that that was my fault.”
“Bruce...” Clark sighed, his mouth finally curving into a faint, grateful smile as he reached up and grasped the Bat around the waist. “I'm sorry. Thank you.”
Bruce released his shoulders, moving his hands up to cup his face, black-tipped thumb stroking his cheek. “It's okay. It's not your fault.”
“Still...” But Clark seemed to be losing himself in the touch on his face. After a brief moment, he took in a heavy breath, his brow furrowing. “I don't feel so good. I'm... really hot... all of a sudden.”
The Bat had to repress a smirk. “Probably a hot flash. Come on, let's get you out of that uniform and into bed. You should probably sleep the rest of this off.”
Looking at him sheepishly and a bit out of breath, Clark whimpered nervously, “Come with me?” His pink fingertips gripped Bruce's sides tightly, digging into black fabric and the flesh beneath. “Please?”
Bruce sighed, his gut beginning to twist with anger at the mess he and that damned pink rock had made of Clark. “Of course I will.”
* * * * *
Making sure Clark's legs were sticking out from the bottom of the covers so he could lose the rest of his increased heat, Bruce pulled the comforter up over both of them, draping an arm over his lover gently and pressing his chest into the Kryptonian's back. He nuzzled into Clark's thick hair just above his neck at the same time he reached for his hand to twine their fingers together tightly. “Comfortable?” he asked quietly, hoping the worst of it was already over.
“Um... yeah,” Clark sighed beside him, pressing back to snuggle closer. “I'm just... hot and itchy, and my head is feeling all... fuzzy.”
“It'll probably be like that for a while. Here,” he suggested, pulling Clark's arm out from beneath the covers and tucking the comforter up to their armpits. “That better?”
Clark shifted a bit. “Much. I love you, Bruce.”
“Shhh... I know. I love you, too, Clark. Now try to get some sleep,” Bruce commanded, squeezing his companion's fingers tightly again. In the moonlight beaming gently through the window, he saw the shimmer of their nails, pink and black, highlighted in beautiful contrast. His fingers shone pale against the black, Clark's seeming golden against the pink. Masculine and feminine, firm and soft, day and night, sun and moon. Both just... right. Them.
He couldn't believe how stupid he'd been earlier. How wrong he'd been.
“When I'm feeling better, can we go out anyway?” Clark asked, his voice a sleepy near-whisper. “I just want to... let go... but... don't want you to be embarrassed by me...”
Bruce took in a heavy breath, then kissed his partner's neck firmly, pulling him closer. He hadn't actually been out clubbing in many years, and the thought of Clark, in full control of himself, letting it all out on the dance floor was pretty enticing... “Absolutely, we can go,” he smiled against his lover's hair. Glancing again at the glimmer of two sets of shining fingernails, their message clear, he felt his heart swell with love and pride for his beautiful Kryptonian. “Anything you want. And I'm never embarrassed by you. Never. I swear it.” With another kiss to the soft skin beneath Clark's ear, he sealed the promise. “I swear it.”
* * * * *