Fic: Rainbow's Freedom (Shadow Of The Bat Arc) (22/35) (Part 2)
Title: Rainbow’s Freedom (Shadow Of The Bat Arc) (22/35)(Part 2)
Author: BradyGirl
Pairings/Characters: (this chapter): Clark/Bruce, Alfred, Edmund Caldwell
Series Notes: In the 23rd century, Earth is a technologically-advanced society that practices the ancient institution of slavery. The wealthy freeman Bruce Wayne acquires a highly-prized pleasure slave whom has fallen in love with him…but can the Prince of Gotham ever return that love? And will it all be moot as a weak abolitionist movement slowly gathers strength while the Galactic Empire remains in a perpetual state of Cold War? The entire series can be found here.
Categories: Drama, AU
Rating: (this chapter): PG-13
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Summary: Bruce runs into Edmund Caldwell (needless to say, not a pleasant encounter!) while Clark does some research (and gets some help from Alfred).
Date Of Completion (First Draft): July 12, 2007
Date Of Posting: November 12, 2007
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 1123 + 1543 (Total: 2666)
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Gloom gathers,
Love matters,
Souls battered,
Glass shattered.
Emily Adams Cutler
“Yellow Roses And Other Poems”
1859 C.E.
XXII
MIRROR, MIRROR
Clark undressed in preparation for a shower. He glanced at his reflection in the full-length mirror hanging on the inside of the closet door.
He disliked looking at his reflection. It was always with a mild sense of shock that he looked at himself. No memory of himself growing up and his bedslave status was probably a part of his discomfort.
He decided to study himself critically. What did his Master see when he looked at him?
Shaking slightly, he forced himself to look in the mirror.
Puzzled, he didn’t understand why he was such an object of lust.
His chest was smooth, but nothing that alluring. He’d seen better on the pleasure slave sites.
Blushing, he studied his arms. At least they were muscular and not muscle-bound.
His hands? He flexed his fingers. Way too big. Certainly not elegant like his Master’s.
Flat stomach. Always a plus!
He looked at his legs and feet. Big, clumsy; again, nothing special.
He turned. His back was okay, at least. And his shoulders were broad.
Buttocks? He blushed again. The word ‘doughy’ came to mind, but maybe they weren’t so bad after all. His Master wasn’t complaining!
His skin was a good, healthy color. That was fairly good.
Now the face.
Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to really study it.
The hair.
That was okay. It was a nice color and silky-soft. He used the best shampoos that Bruce provided to keep it that way.
His nose wasn’t broken or misshapen, and he had to admit that his eyes were probably his best feature: sapphire-blue, framed by long, sooty lashes.
His mouth.
A whore’s mouth.
He felt chilled as he remembered the slavers’ taunts. His trembling fingers brushed over his lips, remembering…and then quickly concentrated on the pleasure he could give his Master with his mouth.
He lowered his hand and his eyes fell to his cock. He had deliberately skipped over it until last.
A good length. Fits nicely in my Master’s hand, he thought with a touch of humor.
He sighed. He would never move with his Master’s cat-like grace. Next to Bruce, a sleek, high-spirited thoroughbred, he was just a plodding plowhorse.
His Master was not only graceful, he carried himself with an aristocratic air, and his looks matched: aquiline nose; full, almost sulky, mouth; dark, silky hair, and stunning, midnight-blue eyes framed by long lashes.
He had broad shoulders, flat stomach, and tapered waist. Powerful thighs allowed him to leap over Gotham’s rooftops, and the elegant hands were nimble and strong.
The scars were battle scars, and Clark was proud of them.
He was proud of Bruce, period.
He was still confused as to why his Master had paid so much for him, and now he worried that his inadequacies were causing Bruce to lose interest. A glint of determination entered his eyes and he squared his shoulders.
I’ll…I’ll just have to make up for that with enthusiasm and technique.
Satisfied to a degree, he went into the bathroom for his shower.
& & & & & &
Alfred busied himself with dinner preparations. He needed to cut up some vegetables for the salad and peel potatoes to mash.
He was amused at Clark’s research, then his smile faded. Could his young Master be tiring of his pleasure slave? He wasn’t the type to just throw things away, and that included his slaves. Alfred well knew the loyalty Bruce had, even toward a slave.
Alfred couldn’t accept Master Bruce simply tiring of Clark. The man who had rather sheepishly brought home a pleasure slave from that private auction would not toss him aside like an old shoe. Master Bruce had never kept a bedslave before, and yet had been captivated by this one.
Clark was not only beautiful but eager to please. Alfred was already extremely fond of him, glad for the gentle young man’s company.
And that eagerness to please?
Alfred suspected it was love. He carefully sliced tomatoes as he thought of all the signs: the willingness to please even beyond a slave’s duties, the worry in Clark’s eyes when the young Master went on patrol, the lighting of those same eyes whenever Master Bruce came home safe and sound.
Alfred was not sure if he was happy or disturbed by the possibility. A slave, especially one who served a Master so intimately, often fell in love, and usually got his heart broken. Alfred didn’t want to see Clark hurt.
Even more ambivalent were his feelings about his young Master falling for his slave. Did Master Bruce love Clark? Alfred thought he had seen some signs there as well, but they were not as clear as Clark’s were.
And what if Master Bruce did love Clark? The ramifications of such a state were numerous, and the overriding factor was loss of respect for the freeman if such a relationship became public, not to mention increased jeopardy for the slave. A Master who no longer commanded respect could not protect his slave as well as one who could.
Master Bruce had a responsibility to his family. As the Prince of Gotham, his lineage was clear, and bringing disgrace upon the family would shatter him.
Alfred sighed. All well and good, but he worried about the man he had raised after the murders of Thomas and Martha Wayne when the man was just an eight-year-old boy.
A man of singular purpose, driven and determined, but what of his happiness? Wouldn’t it be worth the risk for love?
“Hello, Alfred.”
The butler looked over at Bruce, who had just come in through the kitchen door.
“Hello, Master Bruce. Did your visit with Mister Carver go well?”
“Yes.” Bruce took off his scarf and jacket. “Where’s Clark?”
“In the study.”
“I’m going up to lie down for awhile.” He rubbed his eyes. “I don’t want to be disturbed.”
“Yes, sir.”
Alfred watched Bruce leave the kitchen. Perhaps his lessened interest in Clark was simply due to exhaustion. With the Joker on the loose, Master Bruce had been pushing himself hard.
Alfred turned on the radio while he took out the potatoes and began to peel them. Master Bruce was especially fond of his mashed potatoes and chives.
He knew that Clark liked them, too, and was especially fond of the garden-fresh vegetables Alfred prepared. Clark was always eager to work in the garden, and was looking forward to helping Alfred plant it next year.
Alfred always enjoyed spending time with Clark. He just hoped that the young Master would capture the Joker and get back to truly appreciating Clark.
He picked up some cucumbers and set to chopping.
“…the owner of Sherwood Florist, the immensely successful chain of flowers shops in Star City, has announced plans to open her first shop here in Gotham City this spring. Ms. Dinah Lance is pleased that Gotham is welcoming her with open arms.
“Ms. Kathy Kane, head of the local chapter of the National Abolitionist Society, is urging concerned citizens to contact their Congressmen-and-women and ask them to vote against the Branding Bill, scheduled for a vote in two weeks.”
Alfred paused in the act of chopping. This bill worried him. He had no desire to suffer through the humiliation, not to mention the pain, of his inner thigh being branded. He was too old for these indignities!
Not to mention that he, nor anyone else, should suffer these indignities to begin with. He chopped a little faster.
“The Royal House of Jorelle has announced the betrothal of their King to a nobleman of one of the most prominent Houses on the Jovaran planet. The wedding will take place after the usual length of betrothal time…”
People always were fascinated by royalty, no matter what planet they were from. He smiled as he thought of the fascination with Master Bruce and his princely title.
“Alfred, has Master Bruce returned home?”
Alfred turned to see Clark in the doorway. “Yes, he’s trying to get some sleep. He requested not to be disturbed.”
“I’ll be very quiet getting my book, then.”
& & & & & &
Clark entered the master bedroom, slipping through to the nightstand by the bed. He picked up the book he was currently reading, pausing to look down at the sleeping figure on the bed. Bruce was curled up on his side. A smile touched Clark’s lips.
Bruce stirred slightly, sighing. “Clark.”
Clark put down his book and knelt by the bed. Heart pounding, he tentatively reached out to touch Bruce’s cheek. Eyes fluttered open, joy in midnight-blue, then Bruce frowned.
“I asked not to be disturbed.”
“I’m sorry, Master, you spoke my name. I thought…”
“Oh.” Bruce rolled onto his back. “I need some more rest.” He lightly touched Clark’s hand, his eyes flickering over to the nightstand. “Go read your book as you’d planned.”
“Yes, Master.”
Clark rose from his knees, picked up the book, and went down the hall.
He had been rebuffed again, but not so severely this time. Maybe Bruce was getting more rest and would be more receptive to sex again.
Not making love. I can’t let myself think that it’s anything more than sex for him.
Half-discouraged yet encouraged, Clark went down the staircase.
Author: BradyGirl
Pairings/Characters: (this chapter): Clark/Bruce, Alfred, Edmund Caldwell
Series Notes: In the 23rd century, Earth is a technologically-advanced society that practices the ancient institution of slavery. The wealthy freeman Bruce Wayne acquires a highly-prized pleasure slave whom has fallen in love with him…but can the Prince of Gotham ever return that love? And will it all be moot as a weak abolitionist movement slowly gathers strength while the Galactic Empire remains in a perpetual state of Cold War? The entire series can be found here.
Categories: Drama, AU
Rating: (this chapter): PG-13
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Summary: Bruce runs into Edmund Caldwell (needless to say, not a pleasant encounter!) while Clark does some research (and gets some help from Alfred).
Date Of Completion (First Draft): July 12, 2007
Date Of Posting: November 12, 2007
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 1123 + 1543 (Total: 2666)
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Gloom gathers,
Love matters,
Souls battered,
Glass shattered.
Emily Adams Cutler
“Yellow Roses And Other Poems”
1859 C.E.
XXII
MIRROR, MIRROR
Clark undressed in preparation for a shower. He glanced at his reflection in the full-length mirror hanging on the inside of the closet door.
He disliked looking at his reflection. It was always with a mild sense of shock that he looked at himself. No memory of himself growing up and his bedslave status was probably a part of his discomfort.
He decided to study himself critically. What did his Master see when he looked at him?
Shaking slightly, he forced himself to look in the mirror.
Puzzled, he didn’t understand why he was such an object of lust.
His chest was smooth, but nothing that alluring. He’d seen better on the pleasure slave sites.
Blushing, he studied his arms. At least they were muscular and not muscle-bound.
His hands? He flexed his fingers. Way too big. Certainly not elegant like his Master’s.
Flat stomach. Always a plus!
He looked at his legs and feet. Big, clumsy; again, nothing special.
He turned. His back was okay, at least. And his shoulders were broad.
Buttocks? He blushed again. The word ‘doughy’ came to mind, but maybe they weren’t so bad after all. His Master wasn’t complaining!
His skin was a good, healthy color. That was fairly good.
Now the face.
Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to really study it.
The hair.
That was okay. It was a nice color and silky-soft. He used the best shampoos that Bruce provided to keep it that way.
His nose wasn’t broken or misshapen, and he had to admit that his eyes were probably his best feature: sapphire-blue, framed by long, sooty lashes.
His mouth.
A whore’s mouth.
He felt chilled as he remembered the slavers’ taunts. His trembling fingers brushed over his lips, remembering…and then quickly concentrated on the pleasure he could give his Master with his mouth.
He lowered his hand and his eyes fell to his cock. He had deliberately skipped over it until last.
A good length. Fits nicely in my Master’s hand, he thought with a touch of humor.
He sighed. He would never move with his Master’s cat-like grace. Next to Bruce, a sleek, high-spirited thoroughbred, he was just a plodding plowhorse.
His Master was not only graceful, he carried himself with an aristocratic air, and his looks matched: aquiline nose; full, almost sulky, mouth; dark, silky hair, and stunning, midnight-blue eyes framed by long lashes.
He had broad shoulders, flat stomach, and tapered waist. Powerful thighs allowed him to leap over Gotham’s rooftops, and the elegant hands were nimble and strong.
The scars were battle scars, and Clark was proud of them.
He was proud of Bruce, period.
He was still confused as to why his Master had paid so much for him, and now he worried that his inadequacies were causing Bruce to lose interest. A glint of determination entered his eyes and he squared his shoulders.
I’ll…I’ll just have to make up for that with enthusiasm and technique.
Satisfied to a degree, he went into the bathroom for his shower.
& & & & & &
Alfred busied himself with dinner preparations. He needed to cut up some vegetables for the salad and peel potatoes to mash.
He was amused at Clark’s research, then his smile faded. Could his young Master be tiring of his pleasure slave? He wasn’t the type to just throw things away, and that included his slaves. Alfred well knew the loyalty Bruce had, even toward a slave.
Alfred couldn’t accept Master Bruce simply tiring of Clark. The man who had rather sheepishly brought home a pleasure slave from that private auction would not toss him aside like an old shoe. Master Bruce had never kept a bedslave before, and yet had been captivated by this one.
Clark was not only beautiful but eager to please. Alfred was already extremely fond of him, glad for the gentle young man’s company.
And that eagerness to please?
Alfred suspected it was love. He carefully sliced tomatoes as he thought of all the signs: the willingness to please even beyond a slave’s duties, the worry in Clark’s eyes when the young Master went on patrol, the lighting of those same eyes whenever Master Bruce came home safe and sound.
Alfred was not sure if he was happy or disturbed by the possibility. A slave, especially one who served a Master so intimately, often fell in love, and usually got his heart broken. Alfred didn’t want to see Clark hurt.
Even more ambivalent were his feelings about his young Master falling for his slave. Did Master Bruce love Clark? Alfred thought he had seen some signs there as well, but they were not as clear as Clark’s were.
And what if Master Bruce did love Clark? The ramifications of such a state were numerous, and the overriding factor was loss of respect for the freeman if such a relationship became public, not to mention increased jeopardy for the slave. A Master who no longer commanded respect could not protect his slave as well as one who could.
Master Bruce had a responsibility to his family. As the Prince of Gotham, his lineage was clear, and bringing disgrace upon the family would shatter him.
Alfred sighed. All well and good, but he worried about the man he had raised after the murders of Thomas and Martha Wayne when the man was just an eight-year-old boy.
A man of singular purpose, driven and determined, but what of his happiness? Wouldn’t it be worth the risk for love?
“Hello, Alfred.”
The butler looked over at Bruce, who had just come in through the kitchen door.
“Hello, Master Bruce. Did your visit with Mister Carver go well?”
“Yes.” Bruce took off his scarf and jacket. “Where’s Clark?”
“In the study.”
“I’m going up to lie down for awhile.” He rubbed his eyes. “I don’t want to be disturbed.”
“Yes, sir.”
Alfred watched Bruce leave the kitchen. Perhaps his lessened interest in Clark was simply due to exhaustion. With the Joker on the loose, Master Bruce had been pushing himself hard.
Alfred turned on the radio while he took out the potatoes and began to peel them. Master Bruce was especially fond of his mashed potatoes and chives.
He knew that Clark liked them, too, and was especially fond of the garden-fresh vegetables Alfred prepared. Clark was always eager to work in the garden, and was looking forward to helping Alfred plant it next year.
Alfred always enjoyed spending time with Clark. He just hoped that the young Master would capture the Joker and get back to truly appreciating Clark.
He picked up some cucumbers and set to chopping.
“…the owner of Sherwood Florist, the immensely successful chain of flowers shops in Star City, has announced plans to open her first shop here in Gotham City this spring. Ms. Dinah Lance is pleased that Gotham is welcoming her with open arms.
“Ms. Kathy Kane, head of the local chapter of the National Abolitionist Society, is urging concerned citizens to contact their Congressmen-and-women and ask them to vote against the Branding Bill, scheduled for a vote in two weeks.”
Alfred paused in the act of chopping. This bill worried him. He had no desire to suffer through the humiliation, not to mention the pain, of his inner thigh being branded. He was too old for these indignities!
Not to mention that he, nor anyone else, should suffer these indignities to begin with. He chopped a little faster.
“The Royal House of Jorelle has announced the betrothal of their King to a nobleman of one of the most prominent Houses on the Jovaran planet. The wedding will take place after the usual length of betrothal time…”
People always were fascinated by royalty, no matter what planet they were from. He smiled as he thought of the fascination with Master Bruce and his princely title.
“Alfred, has Master Bruce returned home?”
Alfred turned to see Clark in the doorway. “Yes, he’s trying to get some sleep. He requested not to be disturbed.”
“I’ll be very quiet getting my book, then.”
& & & & & &
Clark entered the master bedroom, slipping through to the nightstand by the bed. He picked up the book he was currently reading, pausing to look down at the sleeping figure on the bed. Bruce was curled up on his side. A smile touched Clark’s lips.
Bruce stirred slightly, sighing. “Clark.”
Clark put down his book and knelt by the bed. Heart pounding, he tentatively reached out to touch Bruce’s cheek. Eyes fluttered open, joy in midnight-blue, then Bruce frowned.
“I asked not to be disturbed.”
“I’m sorry, Master, you spoke my name. I thought…”
“Oh.” Bruce rolled onto his back. “I need some more rest.” He lightly touched Clark’s hand, his eyes flickering over to the nightstand. “Go read your book as you’d planned.”
“Yes, Master.”
Clark rose from his knees, picked up the book, and went down the hall.
He had been rebuffed again, but not so severely this time. Maybe Bruce was getting more rest and would be more receptive to sex again.
Not making love. I can’t let myself think that it’s anything more than sex for him.
Half-discouraged yet encouraged, Clark went down the staircase.