Fic: Lost Years | DCU | Clark/Bruce | NC-17 | 7/18
Title: Lost Years - Part 7
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Rating: NC-17 (overall); NC-17 (this section)
Word Count: 3,892 (this section)
Prompt: For the World's Finest Gift Exchange, #F46: Batman and Superman are stranded on a lonely planet and are lost for years before returning home. What happens? Universe is writer's choice.
Summary: (this section) When Clark realizes a major snowfall is headed their way, Bruce finally loses it. The mother of all revelations is had.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own it all. I own nothing. Darnit.
Author's Note: This is the one you've all been waiting for!! ^_~ Sorry it took me so long to get it out; besides RL, the muses have been teasing me with snippets of this chapter all week. O_o I just had to figure out how it all fit together. :p And if Clark seems a little overly emotional in this chapter, I figure he has good reason.
Index Post
Part 7
It's just another fantastic morning for Bruce. Chicken/ducks squawking angrily at him from across the yard, Clark off collecting mud, clay, and sand, and him putting together a latticework frame to form the bricks in and freezing his ass off under the overcast sky. Just beautiful, he grumbles to himself.
He wonders why they didn't decide to get on with this project weeks ago as he fits the boards together, kneeling on the frozen winter grass out past the coop and the barn. They could have - and should have - been done with this and warming up in front of a cozy fire by now, but no. Had to build a barn. Had to build a chicken/duck coop, had to stock the cave...
Slamming a board into place with the heel of his hand, he lets out a frustrated grunt. Dammit.
No. The other projects were priorities. Necessities for survival. Food first. The need for a greater source of heat had only just become more important, although it was never like they didn't have the wood stove. Its heat might have been just enough to keep them warm through the winter, and...
He hadn't before considered that they might have a reason to not share their own warmth with each other... until last night.
But he's the one that dragged their beds apart, throwing his terrified Bat tantrum like some spoiled brat. He's the one that freaked out when Clark suggested building them a bed. He's the reason that they hadn't... weren't... aren't...
And dammit, he's getting tired of his own hand.
He just hopes Clark hasn't heard.
Though, none of that really matters now, not with his non-verbal declaration that anything beyond what they have is off limits.
You stupid jack-ass, he fumes at himself, thinking of the way he screwed everything up when he ran off to the cave for a week, the way he always screws everything up. He's certain Dick never forgave him for pushing him away. “What do you mean, I'm fired? What the hell, Bruce?”
Ditto for Selina. “Bats need to play just as much as cats do, Brucie. Get over yourself,” she'd shaken her head at him.
And Diana. “If you want to use your Mission as an excuse again, fine by me, but don't expect me to be around to hear it anymore.”
Even after all that, he still hadn't gotten the message. All he'd ever done was push people away. Push them away and make them regret ever giving him a chance.
I'm a one-man train wreck, aren't I? Figures it would take throwing him into relative isolation to force that out.
Damn you, Clark. Damn you for making me... want to... and...
With his mind focusing unwittingly on other things, he doesn't hear the other man come up behind him until his own name is carried to him on the cold wind, breathless and tired. “Bruce?”
Forcefully shaking off the thoughts, he practically jumps up from his work to see Clark dragging a massive load of clay into the clearing, the broad chunk secured by their handmade vine-ropes, with the leading end of the fibers pulled taut over the Kryptonian's shoulder.
“Drop it there,” Bruce tells him, suddenly overtaken by concern that Clark looks like he might be straining himself. “Christ, how many tons is that?”
The taller man nods and does as instructed, breathing more heavily than usual. “About three... and it's... damn heavy.” But he catches his breath after a moment as the Bat starts to inspect the clay to see what they have to work with, Bruce all the while keeping an eye on his partner.
“Go drink some water,” he says tersely.
Clark shakes his head. “No... I need to go back for the sand. And soon. Bruce... it's gonna snow.”
Everything seeming to come to a halt around him, the Bat glances at the sky. The whitish gray is the color of the Gotham sky just before a major snowfall. “Oh, you've gotta be kidding me!” he grumbles, fist slamming into the forgiving red clay.
“I'm sorry,” Clark offers, looking sheepish. “I don't know how much is coming, but I think it's gonna be serious. All the animals seem to be nestled in and waiting.”
“Great. That's just... exactly what we need right now. As if we didn't have enough to worry about...”
“Bruce, I swear, I didn't think it was coming for at least another week or so. It just hasn't been cold enough.”
“Well, it is now, isn't it!?” Bruce shouts back, losing his temper entirely as all his frustrations start to spill over. With anger searing up his spine in a fierce rush, he waves his arms around to encompass the entire homestead they've built. “Would you just look at us!? For the love of God, Clark, we're stranded on a fucking alien planet, and we can't even get our acts together enough to ensure that we'll be warm enough to make it through the damned winter!!”
At the Bat's tirade, Clark looks scandalized, flinching back, but Bruce isn't finished yet.
“And us!!” He points at both of their chests. “We have no other clothes yet than what we have on our backs! None!! It's gonna take weeks before we can even get a proper blanket made out of that weird cotton-like crap, much less actual clothes!”
Drawing himself up against Bruce's venom, Clark shoots back, “Well, I'm sorry we can't get Armani out here!”
Bruce shakes himself violently, pounding his clenched fists against the air, “That's... not what I mean, Clark!! We!! Are going!! To freeze!! To death!!”
“Hey, I'm not the one that threw a fit and pulled our cots apart! We can do this, Bruce, we'll make it, but not if you keep acting like... like such an immature ass hole about everything!!”
With that, the Kryptonian turns on his heel and stalks back to the house, stomps up the stairs, and slams the door behind him, leaving Bruce fuming and ready to kill something with his bare hands.
He's right, you know, part of him grumbles.
No!! He's wrong!
Look at you! Can't even admit to your little tantrum? And what the hell was that all about, anyway!?
Raking his fingers through his hair, he clenches his jaw against the realization. How is it they always manage to go right back to square one when things get intense? How is it that he always manages to turn into a raving lunatic!?
The thought stirs something else within him, and suddenly, a part of him snaps, crashing through every last barrier he'd erected around himself.
It's not about keeping warm, or making clothes, or chicken-ducks, or snow, or bricks, or any other goddamn thing. It's... it's him. And Clark. And pushing him away harder than he's ever pushed before, because... because... he's never been quite this... terrified. Of anything. Ever.
Oh. God... What... what have I done!?
With his pulse rushing angrily in his ears, the Bat shoves him, hard.
Oh, will you just go after him already, you giant ass hole!?!
* * * * *
That's it. I give up, Clark repeats to himself, scrubbing his hands over his face as he lay in his cot, staring blearily up at the ceiling. I just can't do this anymore. Not with the way he keeps acting. Dammit, why did I have to mention building a goddamn bed?
With his heart aching, squeezing painfully inside his chest, he brings his fists down on either side of himself, his mind spinning and yet stuck in a loop of, Why has this got to be so hard? Dammit, why!? He's sharply aware of Bruce, still standing out past the barn, breathing hard and fast, his heart pounding. Of the other man's crunching steps as he begins to stalk up toward the small house. His boots on the steps. His hand grasping the door handle.
No. Go away. I can't... can't deal with this. Please!!
Bruce's suddenly shorter breaths as he pulls the door open. Rush of cold air accompanying him as he steps inside and shuts the door behind him.
Clark flops over on his side roughly, facing away and squeezing his eyes shut. Just go the hell away and let me suffer in peace, Bruce...
“Clark.” More short breaths, anxious and shallow, matching the fluttering rhythm of Bruce's heart.
Just leave me alone. He swipes a hand across his cheek absently, not giving a damn if Bruce sees him shed a tear. Would serve him right.
“Clark.” Bruce's weight settles onto Clark's cot behind him. Warm hand on his shoulder.
“Don't touch me,” he croaks out, not bothering to even try to shake Bruce's hand off. His chest and gut clench even more. God...
But Bruce's hand doesn't move. Instead, tense fingers dig into his shoulder. The heat of the touch threatens to burn him through his uniform shirt. “Clark. Please.”
“Please? Are you kidding me?” Clark wails, jerking out of Bruce's grasp and rising swiftly from the cot to stalk to the other side of the room, never facing him. He leans against the broad slate with his palms, closing his eyes again. “Just... go to hell, Bruce. You... don't want anything to do with me, aside from having a bed-warmer and someone to do all the heavy lifting. All you ever want to do is argue and bitch and moan at every little thing when it starts to get rough around here, instead of working with me. I get it. All right? So just. Don't bother apologizing. I get it.”
“Dammit, Clark!” Bruce's voice rasps from behind him. “No, you don't get it!! I...”
The Kryptonian hears him rise from the cot and cross the space. “Don't,” he chokes. But the Bat's hand is on his shoulder again, fingers digging in more tightly, and with a sudden jerk, Bruce spins Clark away from the wall to face him. Shocked, Clark can't help his eyes snapping open and his jaw dropping.
It's clear to the Kryptonian that Bruce's wheels are spinning, the Bat's eyes seeming to sharply focus, then unfocus in a search for what to say or do next. There's a pause, where everything seems to stop, the weightlessness of the edge of the atmosphere before gravity reasserts itself.
Clark can't seem to breathe beneath his companion's fiery gaze, and-
The next moment is chaos. Bruce is suddenly on him, over him, around him, slamming him back into the wall, his mouth hot and searching, hands clenching Clark's arms, fingers tight and possessive. Clark can only respond, feeling the heat of reentry as even the air seems to burn around them, the kiss is so intense. His arms wrap tightly around his partner's waist, pulling him closer. God, he needs to feel him! Chest to chest, belly to belly, face to face. Please let this be true... I can't... if he doesn't... Please!!
It's raw need, pure, animal, a growl somewhere deep in Bruce's chest, a longing moan escaping Clark's mouth into Bruce's. Everything they've denied themselves for the last month spills out between them as they meld together, neither man bothering to stop the mingling tears they're both shedding. They couldn't if they wanted to, now.
After a long kiss fueled by searing grief, Bruce retreats long enough to shed his jacket and battered shirt, Clark tugging his own off. Leaning close again, with hands on either sides of Clark's head, the Bat whispers, “You have no idea how badly I want this, Clark. How badly I...” But he shakes his head, closing his eyes tightly. “I don't want to screw this up, too.”
Taking his companion's face in his hands, Clark returns his whisper, with, “Then don't,” then presses another hard kiss to Bruce's lips. I need you.
Another growl, and Bruce grabs Clark by the arms, pulling him away from the wall and steering him back to his cot, kissing him hard and kicking off his boots along the way. He shoves his partner down roughly, an inferno blazing within him that even Clark can feel, and tugs off his briefs and tights.
Shivering at the sudden lack of the other man's body heat, Clark tugs his own clothes off. And... God, Clark has never seen a more beautiful man than is Bruce Wayne, hard muscle and scars and a piercing blue gaze.
A gaze that seems to be pinning him in place, even before Bruce's body does. But then he's there, the Bat - his Bat - fitted tightly to him, skin to skin, body to body... cock to cock. Clark can't help arching into the man above him, moaning again as he lays his head back to expose his throat to Bruce's hot mouth.
Sucking and kissing every inch of the Kryptonian's neck, Bruce works his way down, lapping and biting and kissing, ravenous, landing on a hard nipple and sucking it even harder. Neither man thinks they've ever heard sounds like they're both making, Clark whimpering with needful mews and groans, Bruce purring and growling and marking every bit of skin he can get his mouth on as his with little nips. Nips that make Clark buck beneath him, wild and lustful, that make his Kryptonian twine his fingers into the Bat's dark hair, gripping him for dear life.
“Bruce... please...” Clark gasps as Bruce twirls his tongue around his navel, dipping lower. The Bat can't help a wide sneer as he works, hands everywhere, until his fingertips brush the underside of Clark's cock.
The Kryptonian trembles at the touch, electricity firing sparks through his belly, and he pulls Bruce forcefully back up to kiss him again, tongue hungrily invading the Bat's mouth, tasting, searching. After a hot moment, he pulls back from the kiss. “I need you,” he whispers against the other man's lips. “Please.”
Bruce moves quickly at the permission he only now realizes he was desperate for, sliding back down Clark's body and forcing his legs roughly apart, keeping his eyes trained on his Kryptonian's. The quick swipe of his tongue over his fingers is his only warning before reaching down and shoving his way forcefully into Clark.
Yelping with pain and pleasure, Clark digs into Bruce's shoulders and thrusts against his fingers, encouraging the Bat's rough movements. God, anything, please... more...
Not one to disappoint, Bruce works in a third finger, thrusting hard into his companion. He has to hold Clark's hip with his free hand to keep the other man from coming up off the bed, he's bucking so wildly, tossing his head back, unrestrained and moaning.
“Need... please...” is all Clark can seem to manage as Bruce's fingers stretch him, slamming into his prostate. “Bruce...”
Snickering at the yelp Clark gives when he withdraws his fingers, the Bat grips the other side of Clark's hip and slathers his clean hand with saliva. He coats his cock with it, a growl growing in his throat and chest as his gut coils with anticipation. The fantasy is real. It's here. It's now. “Clark...”
A hard shove, and he's surrounded by a tight heat that his imagination could never have done justice. The growl rips from his throat as his lover nearly screams beneath him, tensing briefly before relaxing into the movement.
They both shudder with pleasure as Bruce thrusts again, filling Clark. And again. And again. Until he really is buried to his hips in his Kryptonian.
Growling and purring above Clark's pleasured groans, Bruce quickens his pace, slamming into the other man almost brutally with need. The cot creaks dangerously beneath them, hitting the wall, and Clark begins swearing in a dozen languages, punctuating each thrust with an obscenity, some of which Bruce knows, all of which make him drive harder.
For his part, Clark can't seem to see anymore, his vision goes so white with pleasure. Every thrust crashes into his prostate, lighting fireworks in his belly, up his spine, into his head. Panting, he knows he can't last much longer, but, God! Bruce has barely even touched his cock!
Whimpering more curses - he doesn't even know what languages he's speaking anymore - he reaches between them to wrap his hand around himself. But Bruce knocks his hand away with another fierce growl, grabbing his cock himself. A hard squeeze, and Clark thrusts up into his hand. “Please...”
And that's all Bruce needs to hear. Pumping furiously, he jacks Clark as hard as he can, still thrusting into his Kryptonian. His body tightens as he builds toward release. Release that's been denied for far too long. It's coming. He needs to...
Clark lets out a moan, that becomes a shuddered groan, that becomes a prolonged cry, and with the world falling away from around him, the pressure and pleasure building within him finally crests, releases, and blanks out everything. Everything except him and Bruce. Everything except Bruce's hands on him and his cock in him. And he's shooting over Bruce's hand, hot and sticky and forcefully.
Watching Clark's orgasm sends Bruce over the edge, finally. Need to... come... “Clark!!!” His vision blanks out, his gut uncoiling as he bursts, buried deep within his lover, hand clenching his hip tight enough to bruise. Grimacing and howling, he thrusts again as the wave washes over him. So good... so good...
They could stay there forever, minds and bodies overcome with pleasure and release, but the waves of orgasm pass finally, ebbing until they're both left overly sensitive, physically spent and their anger and frustration exhausted.
Bruce pulls out slowly and collapses next to his Kryptonian on the cot, one leg draped over Clark's, an arm over his chest possessively. Clark gathers him close with both arms encircling his waist, feeling his Bat's thundering heartbeat in his chest. “Bruce...” he manages breathlessly, finding the other man's mouth and kissing him languidly.
After a long, sensuous moment, they break apart for air, still clinging to one another tightly, skin sticky with sweat and semen, and Bruce rests his head beside Clark's, nuzzling into his neck. His thoughts are a nebulous swirl of fear and satisfaction. So perfect... so beautiful... here... mine... Clark... yes... please... can't screw this up... together... alone here... don't want to hurt him... love you... so perfect... mine... Clark... need you... So many distracted thoughts as the blood slowly flows back up to his brain, he doesn't notice that Clark has pulled one of the patchwork hide blankets over them, sheltering them from the chill in the room. He's so exhausted, having finally let go of everything he's been burying for two months, all he wants to do is fall asleep, nestled against his partner, his companion, his lover. Finally...
But Clark's fingers brushing over his cheek pull him up from the cusp of sleep, and a sated purr escapes his throat. Can't screw this up... “I'm sorry,” he whispers.
“I know,” comes Clark's soft, sleepy reply, the Kryptonian willing to forgive and forget everything, if only it means Bruce will truly be his from here on out. “There's no having it both ways, you know. No going back now.”
Bruce tenses in his arms, hating himself for making a statement like that necessary. “I don't want it both ways. And I never want to go back. Not from this.”
The Kryptonian pauses, mulling over his partner's answer. “And if we get rescued tomorrow?”
“Never,” the Bat growls, tightening his grip around Clark's middle. “Not even if half the League were to bust through that door right now.” Exhaling heavily, he shuts his eyes against the fear making its last stand in his chest.
Responding to Bruce's tight grip, Clark can't help the mental image of the League suddenly appearing and wondering just what's happened during the time they've been here. The thought is almost comedic, but... he knows by now not to bother hoping for something that may never come. After a long silence, he whispers, “Are you as scared as I am?”
“Of what?”
“Not ever going home. Us. Take your pick.” Clark's voice nearly chokes.
Bruce sighs faintly. The admission he wants to make is a sentence he's never uttered before in his life. Never once has the Big Bad Bat admitted to his fears out loud. But here? Now? He realizes with a certain amount of bitter sarcasm that his reputation is safe with Clark. Finally, “I'm... I'm scared out of my mind, Clark. On both accounts. But... the not going home part definitely tops the list... now.” And with that, the worst of the gripping terror of opening himself up to loving Clark flees his heart and mind, leaving only the mild ache of regret in its stead. Tensing against an involuntary shudder, he nuzzles into his lover's neck again. Please don't let me screw this up.
“I... don't think they're coming,” Clark says after a moment, his chest rising and falling with uneasy breaths, his voice still quiet.
The Bat stills at that. “I don't think so either,” he chokes out, fingers digging into Clark's waist.
The Kryptonian rubs his palm in a lazy circle over Bruce's back, fingers ghosting over scars and gently massaging pressure points. “I'm sorry.”
“Haven't we been over this?” Bruce says between groans at his partner's touch.
A light chuckle. “I guess so,” Clark admits, before falling silent.
After a long moment, Clark's fingers still, and Bruce looks up to catch his gaze, finding the other man staring out the window, his attention focused elsewhere. “What?”
“It's snowing,” Clark says simply, eyes never leaving the window.
Turning his head, the Bat follows his companion's gaze to see fat, white flakes falling steadily from the sky. Peaceful. Silent. From his position, he can see the top of the barn, already disappearing beneath a thick layer of snow. “So much for baking bricks today,” he snorts.
“Heh. That's okay. We can work on the spinning, finish drawing up the plans for a paper press and soap house. I'll haul the clay into the barn so it doesn't get too wet, and there's plenty we can work on in there,” Clark suggests.
“Good plan. I can build the weaving loom in the barn.”
The Kryptonian starts to rise from the cot, but Bruce pulls him back down. “There's one more thing.”
“Oh?” Clark looks at him with raised eyebrows.
“A bed.”
Clark's heart lifts at the suggestion. “Really?”
“Would I have said it if I weren't serious?” Bruce glares at him jokingly.
A warm smile. “I... guess not.” He leans close and kisses Bruce firmly, fingers brushing his cheek. “Do you want to draw up the plans or shall I?”
“We do it together. But first, we get cleaned up, and have some hot cocoa.”
Clark's grin widens. “You read my mind.” Glancing out the window again, he says, “You know, It almost feels like we should be celebrating Christmas.”
“It's September, Clark,” Bruce smirks, finally letting him up and rising from the cot to collect his clothes, himself.
“I know, but still...”
Stopping to give his Kryptonian a light kiss on his way to the bathroom, he suggests, “We should keep the calendar the same... just in case.”
Clark can't help but agree, as foolish as that tiny bit of hope seems. “Christmas in the spring, then?”
“Absolutely.”
* * * * *
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Rating: NC-17 (overall); NC-17 (this section)
Word Count: 3,892 (this section)
Prompt: For the World's Finest Gift Exchange, #F46: Batman and Superman are stranded on a lonely planet and are lost for years before returning home. What happens? Universe is writer's choice.
Summary: (this section) When Clark realizes a major snowfall is headed their way, Bruce finally loses it. The mother of all revelations is had.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own it all. I own nothing. Darnit.
Author's Note: This is the one you've all been waiting for!! ^_~ Sorry it took me so long to get it out; besides RL, the muses have been teasing me with snippets of this chapter all week. O_o I just had to figure out how it all fit together. :p And if Clark seems a little overly emotional in this chapter, I figure he has good reason.
Index Post
Part 7
It's just another fantastic morning for Bruce. Chicken/ducks squawking angrily at him from across the yard, Clark off collecting mud, clay, and sand, and him putting together a latticework frame to form the bricks in and freezing his ass off under the overcast sky. Just beautiful, he grumbles to himself.
He wonders why they didn't decide to get on with this project weeks ago as he fits the boards together, kneeling on the frozen winter grass out past the coop and the barn. They could have - and should have - been done with this and warming up in front of a cozy fire by now, but no. Had to build a barn. Had to build a chicken/duck coop, had to stock the cave...
Slamming a board into place with the heel of his hand, he lets out a frustrated grunt. Dammit.
No. The other projects were priorities. Necessities for survival. Food first. The need for a greater source of heat had only just become more important, although it was never like they didn't have the wood stove. Its heat might have been just enough to keep them warm through the winter, and...
He hadn't before considered that they might have a reason to not share their own warmth with each other... until last night.
But he's the one that dragged their beds apart, throwing his terrified Bat tantrum like some spoiled brat. He's the one that freaked out when Clark suggested building them a bed. He's the reason that they hadn't... weren't... aren't...
And dammit, he's getting tired of his own hand.
He just hopes Clark hasn't heard.
Though, none of that really matters now, not with his non-verbal declaration that anything beyond what they have is off limits.
You stupid jack-ass, he fumes at himself, thinking of the way he screwed everything up when he ran off to the cave for a week, the way he always screws everything up. He's certain Dick never forgave him for pushing him away. “What do you mean, I'm fired? What the hell, Bruce?”
Ditto for Selina. “Bats need to play just as much as cats do, Brucie. Get over yourself,” she'd shaken her head at him.
And Diana. “If you want to use your Mission as an excuse again, fine by me, but don't expect me to be around to hear it anymore.”
Even after all that, he still hadn't gotten the message. All he'd ever done was push people away. Push them away and make them regret ever giving him a chance.
I'm a one-man train wreck, aren't I? Figures it would take throwing him into relative isolation to force that out.
Damn you, Clark. Damn you for making me... want to... and...
With his mind focusing unwittingly on other things, he doesn't hear the other man come up behind him until his own name is carried to him on the cold wind, breathless and tired. “Bruce?”
Forcefully shaking off the thoughts, he practically jumps up from his work to see Clark dragging a massive load of clay into the clearing, the broad chunk secured by their handmade vine-ropes, with the leading end of the fibers pulled taut over the Kryptonian's shoulder.
“Drop it there,” Bruce tells him, suddenly overtaken by concern that Clark looks like he might be straining himself. “Christ, how many tons is that?”
The taller man nods and does as instructed, breathing more heavily than usual. “About three... and it's... damn heavy.” But he catches his breath after a moment as the Bat starts to inspect the clay to see what they have to work with, Bruce all the while keeping an eye on his partner.
“Go drink some water,” he says tersely.
Clark shakes his head. “No... I need to go back for the sand. And soon. Bruce... it's gonna snow.”
Everything seeming to come to a halt around him, the Bat glances at the sky. The whitish gray is the color of the Gotham sky just before a major snowfall. “Oh, you've gotta be kidding me!” he grumbles, fist slamming into the forgiving red clay.
“I'm sorry,” Clark offers, looking sheepish. “I don't know how much is coming, but I think it's gonna be serious. All the animals seem to be nestled in and waiting.”
“Great. That's just... exactly what we need right now. As if we didn't have enough to worry about...”
“Bruce, I swear, I didn't think it was coming for at least another week or so. It just hasn't been cold enough.”
“Well, it is now, isn't it!?” Bruce shouts back, losing his temper entirely as all his frustrations start to spill over. With anger searing up his spine in a fierce rush, he waves his arms around to encompass the entire homestead they've built. “Would you just look at us!? For the love of God, Clark, we're stranded on a fucking alien planet, and we can't even get our acts together enough to ensure that we'll be warm enough to make it through the damned winter!!”
At the Bat's tirade, Clark looks scandalized, flinching back, but Bruce isn't finished yet.
“And us!!” He points at both of their chests. “We have no other clothes yet than what we have on our backs! None!! It's gonna take weeks before we can even get a proper blanket made out of that weird cotton-like crap, much less actual clothes!”
Drawing himself up against Bruce's venom, Clark shoots back, “Well, I'm sorry we can't get Armani out here!”
Bruce shakes himself violently, pounding his clenched fists against the air, “That's... not what I mean, Clark!! We!! Are going!! To freeze!! To death!!”
“Hey, I'm not the one that threw a fit and pulled our cots apart! We can do this, Bruce, we'll make it, but not if you keep acting like... like such an immature ass hole about everything!!”
With that, the Kryptonian turns on his heel and stalks back to the house, stomps up the stairs, and slams the door behind him, leaving Bruce fuming and ready to kill something with his bare hands.
He's right, you know, part of him grumbles.
No!! He's wrong!
Look at you! Can't even admit to your little tantrum? And what the hell was that all about, anyway!?
Raking his fingers through his hair, he clenches his jaw against the realization. How is it they always manage to go right back to square one when things get intense? How is it that he always manages to turn into a raving lunatic!?
The thought stirs something else within him, and suddenly, a part of him snaps, crashing through every last barrier he'd erected around himself.
It's not about keeping warm, or making clothes, or chicken-ducks, or snow, or bricks, or any other goddamn thing. It's... it's him. And Clark. And pushing him away harder than he's ever pushed before, because... because... he's never been quite this... terrified. Of anything. Ever.
Oh. God... What... what have I done!?
With his pulse rushing angrily in his ears, the Bat shoves him, hard.
Oh, will you just go after him already, you giant ass hole!?!
* * * * *
That's it. I give up, Clark repeats to himself, scrubbing his hands over his face as he lay in his cot, staring blearily up at the ceiling. I just can't do this anymore. Not with the way he keeps acting. Dammit, why did I have to mention building a goddamn bed?
With his heart aching, squeezing painfully inside his chest, he brings his fists down on either side of himself, his mind spinning and yet stuck in a loop of, Why has this got to be so hard? Dammit, why!? He's sharply aware of Bruce, still standing out past the barn, breathing hard and fast, his heart pounding. Of the other man's crunching steps as he begins to stalk up toward the small house. His boots on the steps. His hand grasping the door handle.
No. Go away. I can't... can't deal with this. Please!!
Bruce's suddenly shorter breaths as he pulls the door open. Rush of cold air accompanying him as he steps inside and shuts the door behind him.
Clark flops over on his side roughly, facing away and squeezing his eyes shut. Just go the hell away and let me suffer in peace, Bruce...
“Clark.” More short breaths, anxious and shallow, matching the fluttering rhythm of Bruce's heart.
Just leave me alone. He swipes a hand across his cheek absently, not giving a damn if Bruce sees him shed a tear. Would serve him right.
“Clark.” Bruce's weight settles onto Clark's cot behind him. Warm hand on his shoulder.
“Don't touch me,” he croaks out, not bothering to even try to shake Bruce's hand off. His chest and gut clench even more. God...
But Bruce's hand doesn't move. Instead, tense fingers dig into his shoulder. The heat of the touch threatens to burn him through his uniform shirt. “Clark. Please.”
“Please? Are you kidding me?” Clark wails, jerking out of Bruce's grasp and rising swiftly from the cot to stalk to the other side of the room, never facing him. He leans against the broad slate with his palms, closing his eyes again. “Just... go to hell, Bruce. You... don't want anything to do with me, aside from having a bed-warmer and someone to do all the heavy lifting. All you ever want to do is argue and bitch and moan at every little thing when it starts to get rough around here, instead of working with me. I get it. All right? So just. Don't bother apologizing. I get it.”
“Dammit, Clark!” Bruce's voice rasps from behind him. “No, you don't get it!! I...”
The Kryptonian hears him rise from the cot and cross the space. “Don't,” he chokes. But the Bat's hand is on his shoulder again, fingers digging in more tightly, and with a sudden jerk, Bruce spins Clark away from the wall to face him. Shocked, Clark can't help his eyes snapping open and his jaw dropping.
It's clear to the Kryptonian that Bruce's wheels are spinning, the Bat's eyes seeming to sharply focus, then unfocus in a search for what to say or do next. There's a pause, where everything seems to stop, the weightlessness of the edge of the atmosphere before gravity reasserts itself.
Clark can't seem to breathe beneath his companion's fiery gaze, and-
The next moment is chaos. Bruce is suddenly on him, over him, around him, slamming him back into the wall, his mouth hot and searching, hands clenching Clark's arms, fingers tight and possessive. Clark can only respond, feeling the heat of reentry as even the air seems to burn around them, the kiss is so intense. His arms wrap tightly around his partner's waist, pulling him closer. God, he needs to feel him! Chest to chest, belly to belly, face to face. Please let this be true... I can't... if he doesn't... Please!!
It's raw need, pure, animal, a growl somewhere deep in Bruce's chest, a longing moan escaping Clark's mouth into Bruce's. Everything they've denied themselves for the last month spills out between them as they meld together, neither man bothering to stop the mingling tears they're both shedding. They couldn't if they wanted to, now.
After a long kiss fueled by searing grief, Bruce retreats long enough to shed his jacket and battered shirt, Clark tugging his own off. Leaning close again, with hands on either sides of Clark's head, the Bat whispers, “You have no idea how badly I want this, Clark. How badly I...” But he shakes his head, closing his eyes tightly. “I don't want to screw this up, too.”
Taking his companion's face in his hands, Clark returns his whisper, with, “Then don't,” then presses another hard kiss to Bruce's lips. I need you.
Another growl, and Bruce grabs Clark by the arms, pulling him away from the wall and steering him back to his cot, kissing him hard and kicking off his boots along the way. He shoves his partner down roughly, an inferno blazing within him that even Clark can feel, and tugs off his briefs and tights.
Shivering at the sudden lack of the other man's body heat, Clark tugs his own clothes off. And... God, Clark has never seen a more beautiful man than is Bruce Wayne, hard muscle and scars and a piercing blue gaze.
A gaze that seems to be pinning him in place, even before Bruce's body does. But then he's there, the Bat - his Bat - fitted tightly to him, skin to skin, body to body... cock to cock. Clark can't help arching into the man above him, moaning again as he lays his head back to expose his throat to Bruce's hot mouth.
Sucking and kissing every inch of the Kryptonian's neck, Bruce works his way down, lapping and biting and kissing, ravenous, landing on a hard nipple and sucking it even harder. Neither man thinks they've ever heard sounds like they're both making, Clark whimpering with needful mews and groans, Bruce purring and growling and marking every bit of skin he can get his mouth on as his with little nips. Nips that make Clark buck beneath him, wild and lustful, that make his Kryptonian twine his fingers into the Bat's dark hair, gripping him for dear life.
“Bruce... please...” Clark gasps as Bruce twirls his tongue around his navel, dipping lower. The Bat can't help a wide sneer as he works, hands everywhere, until his fingertips brush the underside of Clark's cock.
The Kryptonian trembles at the touch, electricity firing sparks through his belly, and he pulls Bruce forcefully back up to kiss him again, tongue hungrily invading the Bat's mouth, tasting, searching. After a hot moment, he pulls back from the kiss. “I need you,” he whispers against the other man's lips. “Please.”
Bruce moves quickly at the permission he only now realizes he was desperate for, sliding back down Clark's body and forcing his legs roughly apart, keeping his eyes trained on his Kryptonian's. The quick swipe of his tongue over his fingers is his only warning before reaching down and shoving his way forcefully into Clark.
Yelping with pain and pleasure, Clark digs into Bruce's shoulders and thrusts against his fingers, encouraging the Bat's rough movements. God, anything, please... more...
Not one to disappoint, Bruce works in a third finger, thrusting hard into his companion. He has to hold Clark's hip with his free hand to keep the other man from coming up off the bed, he's bucking so wildly, tossing his head back, unrestrained and moaning.
“Need... please...” is all Clark can seem to manage as Bruce's fingers stretch him, slamming into his prostate. “Bruce...”
Snickering at the yelp Clark gives when he withdraws his fingers, the Bat grips the other side of Clark's hip and slathers his clean hand with saliva. He coats his cock with it, a growl growing in his throat and chest as his gut coils with anticipation. The fantasy is real. It's here. It's now. “Clark...”
A hard shove, and he's surrounded by a tight heat that his imagination could never have done justice. The growl rips from his throat as his lover nearly screams beneath him, tensing briefly before relaxing into the movement.
They both shudder with pleasure as Bruce thrusts again, filling Clark. And again. And again. Until he really is buried to his hips in his Kryptonian.
Growling and purring above Clark's pleasured groans, Bruce quickens his pace, slamming into the other man almost brutally with need. The cot creaks dangerously beneath them, hitting the wall, and Clark begins swearing in a dozen languages, punctuating each thrust with an obscenity, some of which Bruce knows, all of which make him drive harder.
For his part, Clark can't seem to see anymore, his vision goes so white with pleasure. Every thrust crashes into his prostate, lighting fireworks in his belly, up his spine, into his head. Panting, he knows he can't last much longer, but, God! Bruce has barely even touched his cock!
Whimpering more curses - he doesn't even know what languages he's speaking anymore - he reaches between them to wrap his hand around himself. But Bruce knocks his hand away with another fierce growl, grabbing his cock himself. A hard squeeze, and Clark thrusts up into his hand. “Please...”
And that's all Bruce needs to hear. Pumping furiously, he jacks Clark as hard as he can, still thrusting into his Kryptonian. His body tightens as he builds toward release. Release that's been denied for far too long. It's coming. He needs to...
Clark lets out a moan, that becomes a shuddered groan, that becomes a prolonged cry, and with the world falling away from around him, the pressure and pleasure building within him finally crests, releases, and blanks out everything. Everything except him and Bruce. Everything except Bruce's hands on him and his cock in him. And he's shooting over Bruce's hand, hot and sticky and forcefully.
Watching Clark's orgasm sends Bruce over the edge, finally. Need to... come... “Clark!!!” His vision blanks out, his gut uncoiling as he bursts, buried deep within his lover, hand clenching his hip tight enough to bruise. Grimacing and howling, he thrusts again as the wave washes over him. So good... so good...
They could stay there forever, minds and bodies overcome with pleasure and release, but the waves of orgasm pass finally, ebbing until they're both left overly sensitive, physically spent and their anger and frustration exhausted.
Bruce pulls out slowly and collapses next to his Kryptonian on the cot, one leg draped over Clark's, an arm over his chest possessively. Clark gathers him close with both arms encircling his waist, feeling his Bat's thundering heartbeat in his chest. “Bruce...” he manages breathlessly, finding the other man's mouth and kissing him languidly.
After a long, sensuous moment, they break apart for air, still clinging to one another tightly, skin sticky with sweat and semen, and Bruce rests his head beside Clark's, nuzzling into his neck. His thoughts are a nebulous swirl of fear and satisfaction. So perfect... so beautiful... here... mine... Clark... yes... please... can't screw this up... together... alone here... don't want to hurt him... love you... so perfect... mine... Clark... need you... So many distracted thoughts as the blood slowly flows back up to his brain, he doesn't notice that Clark has pulled one of the patchwork hide blankets over them, sheltering them from the chill in the room. He's so exhausted, having finally let go of everything he's been burying for two months, all he wants to do is fall asleep, nestled against his partner, his companion, his lover. Finally...
But Clark's fingers brushing over his cheek pull him up from the cusp of sleep, and a sated purr escapes his throat. Can't screw this up... “I'm sorry,” he whispers.
“I know,” comes Clark's soft, sleepy reply, the Kryptonian willing to forgive and forget everything, if only it means Bruce will truly be his from here on out. “There's no having it both ways, you know. No going back now.”
Bruce tenses in his arms, hating himself for making a statement like that necessary. “I don't want it both ways. And I never want to go back. Not from this.”
The Kryptonian pauses, mulling over his partner's answer. “And if we get rescued tomorrow?”
“Never,” the Bat growls, tightening his grip around Clark's middle. “Not even if half the League were to bust through that door right now.” Exhaling heavily, he shuts his eyes against the fear making its last stand in his chest.
Responding to Bruce's tight grip, Clark can't help the mental image of the League suddenly appearing and wondering just what's happened during the time they've been here. The thought is almost comedic, but... he knows by now not to bother hoping for something that may never come. After a long silence, he whispers, “Are you as scared as I am?”
“Of what?”
“Not ever going home. Us. Take your pick.” Clark's voice nearly chokes.
Bruce sighs faintly. The admission he wants to make is a sentence he's never uttered before in his life. Never once has the Big Bad Bat admitted to his fears out loud. But here? Now? He realizes with a certain amount of bitter sarcasm that his reputation is safe with Clark. Finally, “I'm... I'm scared out of my mind, Clark. On both accounts. But... the not going home part definitely tops the list... now.” And with that, the worst of the gripping terror of opening himself up to loving Clark flees his heart and mind, leaving only the mild ache of regret in its stead. Tensing against an involuntary shudder, he nuzzles into his lover's neck again. Please don't let me screw this up.
“I... don't think they're coming,” Clark says after a moment, his chest rising and falling with uneasy breaths, his voice still quiet.
The Bat stills at that. “I don't think so either,” he chokes out, fingers digging into Clark's waist.
The Kryptonian rubs his palm in a lazy circle over Bruce's back, fingers ghosting over scars and gently massaging pressure points. “I'm sorry.”
“Haven't we been over this?” Bruce says between groans at his partner's touch.
A light chuckle. “I guess so,” Clark admits, before falling silent.
After a long moment, Clark's fingers still, and Bruce looks up to catch his gaze, finding the other man staring out the window, his attention focused elsewhere. “What?”
“It's snowing,” Clark says simply, eyes never leaving the window.
Turning his head, the Bat follows his companion's gaze to see fat, white flakes falling steadily from the sky. Peaceful. Silent. From his position, he can see the top of the barn, already disappearing beneath a thick layer of snow. “So much for baking bricks today,” he snorts.
“Heh. That's okay. We can work on the spinning, finish drawing up the plans for a paper press and soap house. I'll haul the clay into the barn so it doesn't get too wet, and there's plenty we can work on in there,” Clark suggests.
“Good plan. I can build the weaving loom in the barn.”
The Kryptonian starts to rise from the cot, but Bruce pulls him back down. “There's one more thing.”
“Oh?” Clark looks at him with raised eyebrows.
“A bed.”
Clark's heart lifts at the suggestion. “Really?”
“Would I have said it if I weren't serious?” Bruce glares at him jokingly.
A warm smile. “I... guess not.” He leans close and kisses Bruce firmly, fingers brushing his cheek. “Do you want to draw up the plans or shall I?”
“We do it together. But first, we get cleaned up, and have some hot cocoa.”
Clark's grin widens. “You read my mind.” Glancing out the window again, he says, “You know, It almost feels like we should be celebrating Christmas.”
“It's September, Clark,” Bruce smirks, finally letting him up and rising from the cot to collect his clothes, himself.
“I know, but still...”
Stopping to give his Kryptonian a light kiss on his way to the bathroom, he suggests, “We should keep the calendar the same... just in case.”
Clark can't help but agree, as foolish as that tiny bit of hope seems. “Christmas in the spring, then?”
“Absolutely.”
* * * * *