FIC: Impasse
I was supposed to be doing homework... but I had this bunny biting my leg, and it wouldn't let me be. So here, happy belated birthday pervyficgirl! I know it's very late, but you know, for some reason, tangerines and porn made me think of you :)
Also, jen_in_japan unwittingly provided the "plot". I know there's no plot. But she prompted it non the less :) Not beta'ed. Point out mistakes, I'll fix them.
Fandom: DCAU
Rating: Erm.. PG-15?
Pairing: Superman/Batman
Summary: Alfred is evil. Bruce is absentminded. Clark is a victim.
Word count: 817
Started on December 6th 2006 at 7:30
Finished on December 6th 2006 at 8:20
Impasse
Alfred was an evil mastermind.
Clark couldn’t find any other explanation. The Watchtower had been compromised, and the Justice League had regrouped -much to Batman’s annoyance- in the Batcave. The man didn’t seem to take very well to having another six crime-fighters sitting around, so when Alfred came from upstairs with a tray of refreshments, Clark felt relieved.
If there was someone who knew how to appease an unhappy Bat, that was Alfred. Clark had always thought of the elder man as something of an ally, a secret force to be called upon when the bat-circumstances surpassed him.
But Clark and Bruce had reached an impasse, and the longer they remained in that stagnant point -not moving forwards or backwards in their budding relationship of sorts-, the harder it was to get back into motion. The situation had obviously not slipped past Alfred.
The thing was, Clark wasn’t going to accept that the impasse was his fault. Bruce hadn’t done anything to press the issue either; it wasn’t like Clark was alone in that mess. And yes, perhaps Bruce had been the one instigating the initial motion, and yes, perhaps it had been Clark’s indecision that had stagnated the development, but that didn’t make him the sole responsible for their current situation. The longer he waited to say something, the more awkward the subject became. But Bruce wasn’t saying anything either. Not a touch, not a word, not even a pressing stare. Clark had asked for space, and Bruce had retreated to his stone cold façade.
This wasn’t Clark’s fault. Bruce was eerily intense one moment and then frustratingly detached the next.
Alfred was evil.
Along had come the refreshments, meant to appease the uncomfortable host and the fidgeting guests. Clark had taken one of the cucumber sandwiches from the tray and he had gone back to work on his substation. His team mates had done the same, J’onn and Shayera filling the remaining stations, leaving Diana, Green Lantern and Flash to look at the books.
In Clark’s defense, he had been working. It was just that the sucking sound was rather distracting, and it had been a cucumber sandwich tray, there wasn’t a reason why anyone would be sucking at anything, no matter how subtle the sound.
Clark looked up only to find the most obvious proof that Alfred was conspiring against him. Bruce had a peeled tangerine instead of a sandwich.
It wasn’t fair.
Once he started looking, of course, he couldn’t very well look away. Bruce had taken off his gloves to eat and was typing at full speed with a piece of fruit between his lips, the glare of the screen reflecting on his eyes. He was a tangerine monster, one that was surely to plague Clark’s dreams.
The greedy sucking was doing things to Clark. He frowned, mourning the betrayal of Alfred. Bruce stopped typing to read, and he reached up to pull at the fruit, breaking the skin slowly, sucking the juice and then finally taking it into his mouth. He licked his lips absently, and all the doubts Clark might have had were vanished the second a stray drop of juice slid down the detective’s finger, nesting in the joint of fingers and palm. The unthinkable happened -Clark swallowed hard; that wasn’t fair- and Bruce brought his hand to his mouth, the tip of his tongue darting shyly to retrieve the Machiavellian drop, licking the sensitive skin between his fingers, to be followed -by all standards of case research- an obscene display of sucking his index fingertip into his mouth, and then his thumb, which he proceeded to nip.
Bruce’s habit to nip his thumb had never been so distracting.
Clark followed the consumption of the whole tangerine, piece by piece, the display only interrupted by Shayera’s quick questions and J’onn’s hypothesis about their case.
Clark couldn’t remember what he was supposed to be researching. He had been conned by Alfred. He would have felt worse, but better men had fallen to the butler’s machinations.
When Bruce finished his idle spectacle, Clark rolled his chair next to his. Bruce finally looked his way -how on Earth had the man not noticed what he was doing, Clark had no idea-, his question dying in his lips as Clark captured one of his hands.
Slowly, hiding nothing of his intentions, Clark brought Bruce’s index finger to his mouth, capturing the tip and lapping at the tangy essence. Bruce opened his eyes wide for a moment -he had obviously not seen this coming, how could he not see this coming?- and tilted his head, looking intently at Clark.
Clark’s gaze never faltered, and he slowly released the finger. A slow, dangerous smile took over Bruce’s features as he returned to the monitor.
The deadlock had been broken. Clark licked his lips. They tasted like orange and leather.
He could get used to that.
Also, jen_in_japan unwittingly provided the "plot". I know there's no plot. But she prompted it non the less :) Not beta'ed. Point out mistakes, I'll fix them.
Fandom: DCAU
Rating: Erm.. PG-15?
Pairing: Superman/Batman
Summary: Alfred is evil. Bruce is absentminded. Clark is a victim.
Word count: 817
Started on December 6th 2006 at 7:30
Finished on December 6th 2006 at 8:20
Impasse
Alfred was an evil mastermind.
Clark couldn’t find any other explanation. The Watchtower had been compromised, and the Justice League had regrouped -much to Batman’s annoyance- in the Batcave. The man didn’t seem to take very well to having another six crime-fighters sitting around, so when Alfred came from upstairs with a tray of refreshments, Clark felt relieved.
If there was someone who knew how to appease an unhappy Bat, that was Alfred. Clark had always thought of the elder man as something of an ally, a secret force to be called upon when the bat-circumstances surpassed him.
But Clark and Bruce had reached an impasse, and the longer they remained in that stagnant point -not moving forwards or backwards in their budding relationship of sorts-, the harder it was to get back into motion. The situation had obviously not slipped past Alfred.
The thing was, Clark wasn’t going to accept that the impasse was his fault. Bruce hadn’t done anything to press the issue either; it wasn’t like Clark was alone in that mess. And yes, perhaps Bruce had been the one instigating the initial motion, and yes, perhaps it had been Clark’s indecision that had stagnated the development, but that didn’t make him the sole responsible for their current situation. The longer he waited to say something, the more awkward the subject became. But Bruce wasn’t saying anything either. Not a touch, not a word, not even a pressing stare. Clark had asked for space, and Bruce had retreated to his stone cold façade.
This wasn’t Clark’s fault. Bruce was eerily intense one moment and then frustratingly detached the next.
Alfred was evil.
Along had come the refreshments, meant to appease the uncomfortable host and the fidgeting guests. Clark had taken one of the cucumber sandwiches from the tray and he had gone back to work on his substation. His team mates had done the same, J’onn and Shayera filling the remaining stations, leaving Diana, Green Lantern and Flash to look at the books.
In Clark’s defense, he had been working. It was just that the sucking sound was rather distracting, and it had been a cucumber sandwich tray, there wasn’t a reason why anyone would be sucking at anything, no matter how subtle the sound.
Clark looked up only to find the most obvious proof that Alfred was conspiring against him. Bruce had a peeled tangerine instead of a sandwich.
It wasn’t fair.
Once he started looking, of course, he couldn’t very well look away. Bruce had taken off his gloves to eat and was typing at full speed with a piece of fruit between his lips, the glare of the screen reflecting on his eyes. He was a tangerine monster, one that was surely to plague Clark’s dreams.
The greedy sucking was doing things to Clark. He frowned, mourning the betrayal of Alfred. Bruce stopped typing to read, and he reached up to pull at the fruit, breaking the skin slowly, sucking the juice and then finally taking it into his mouth. He licked his lips absently, and all the doubts Clark might have had were vanished the second a stray drop of juice slid down the detective’s finger, nesting in the joint of fingers and palm. The unthinkable happened -Clark swallowed hard; that wasn’t fair- and Bruce brought his hand to his mouth, the tip of his tongue darting shyly to retrieve the Machiavellian drop, licking the sensitive skin between his fingers, to be followed -by all standards of case research- an obscene display of sucking his index fingertip into his mouth, and then his thumb, which he proceeded to nip.
Bruce’s habit to nip his thumb had never been so distracting.
Clark followed the consumption of the whole tangerine, piece by piece, the display only interrupted by Shayera’s quick questions and J’onn’s hypothesis about their case.
Clark couldn’t remember what he was supposed to be researching. He had been conned by Alfred. He would have felt worse, but better men had fallen to the butler’s machinations.
When Bruce finished his idle spectacle, Clark rolled his chair next to his. Bruce finally looked his way -how on Earth had the man not noticed what he was doing, Clark had no idea-, his question dying in his lips as Clark captured one of his hands.
Slowly, hiding nothing of his intentions, Clark brought Bruce’s index finger to his mouth, capturing the tip and lapping at the tangy essence. Bruce opened his eyes wide for a moment -he had obviously not seen this coming, how could he not see this coming?- and tilted his head, looking intently at Clark.
Clark’s gaze never faltered, and he slowly released the finger. A slow, dangerous smile took over Bruce’s features as he returned to the monitor.
The deadlock had been broken. Clark licked his lips. They tasted like orange and leather.
He could get used to that.