Fic: Sparkling Wine, Sparkling Skin (1/1)
Title: Sparkling Wine, Sparkling Skin (1/1)
Author: BradyGirl_12
Pairings/Characters: Clark/Bruce, Brutus
Genres: AU, Drama, Slavefic
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Drunken debauchery
Spoilers: None
Summary: A night of drunken revelry brings a golden opportunity for slave Bruce.
Date Of Completion: April 17, 2011
Date Of Posting: April 17, 2011
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 1015
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Author’s Note: Written for my 2011 Slavefic AU Fic Prompt Request for tabru. Pairing: Master Clark/Slave Bruce. Prompts: Revelry, Victory, Wine. :)
The wine sparkles
And skin glistens
As Victory is ours!
Celebrate!
Old Norse Saying
11th Century, C.E.
The Warriors knew how to make merry, especially after a great victory. Bruce was kept busy serving wine as he moved gracefully. He was grateful that Master Clark allowed him clothing, and of good quality, too. His sapphire-blue shirt clung to his body, the pants tight, but he would take it over bare-assed naked. As it was he had to use all his skill to avoid numerous groping hands. His slave manacles glinted in the light of the hanging oil lamps.
“Victory is ours!” brayed a drunken Laertes as he thrust his goblet upward.
“Victory!” echoed the other Warriors.
Bruce grunted as he was snagged by Brutus, a man so huge that the others called him Goliath. He drew Bruce to his chest, rubbing between his legs with a massive hand. Bruce smiled and kissed the Warrior fiercely, slipping his hand down Brutus’ breeches and rubbing his cock, Brutus biting his neck above his slave collar. Bruce was efficient, bringing the Warrior to a quick climax, Brutus grunting as he kissed Bruce hard, his massive body shuddering. Laughing, he shoved Bruce off his lap, slapping him on the ass.
Bruce was not offended. Brutus was a good man, just drunk. He picked up his discarded wine carafe and reached Master Clark, barely avoiding other Warriors and their grabby hands.
Clark grinned as Bruce reached his side. “Perilous,” he said as he cupped his slave’s buttock, squeezing gently.
“Very.” Bruce poured the sparkling wine into his Master’s goblet. “So the revelry will continue all evening?”
“Count on it.” Clark giggled. “We Warriors know how to celebrate.”
“Yes.” Bruce enjoyed his Master’s massage, leaning in to kiss him. Clark had always treated him well, and Bruce had grown fond of him. And the man was a wonder in bed. “I can make merry for you to enjoy.” Bruce’s lips brushed Clark’s ear. “In your tent.”
Clark’s eyes were glazed from drink but he had incredible stamina. Drunk or not, Bruce could look forward to a good fuck. His cock twitched at the prospect.
As always, Clark looked beautiful. He wore a pale yellow tunic and a gold necklace with a sapphire embedded in the center. His muscular thighs were barely covered by the skirt of his tunic. Dark hair tumbled into crystalline-blue eyes. He smiled a Clark smile.
“Let’s go.”
Bruce helped him up and they left to the sound of ribald comments and laughter, half-stumbling, half-walking toward Clark’s tent once they reached outside. The stars were out on this clear night, and Bruce relaxed a little. He always liked the cover of night as opposed to the glare of day.
As Chief, Clark had the best accommodations, his tent decorated with battleaxes and shields, and the silk hanging had been a tribute from a conquered tribe.
Inside the tent, the sweet smell of incense came from the censers, and Bruce roughly kissed his Master, who squeezed his buttocks. Falling onto the makeshift bed, Clark laughed as he rubbed between Bruce’s legs. Bruce helped Clark pull down his pants, shivering as his Master’s fingers fondled him. He removed Clark’s clothes and moaned as his cock responded as Clark’s skin sparkled in the light from the hanging lamps. He was beautiful, like a god fallen to earth.
“Ready?” Clark asked with a grin that made Bruce laugh, pinching the nipples on that perfect chest. Clark shuddered, slapping his slave’s ass. Bruce quickly prepared them and slid into Clark’s welcoming body, moaning and cursing as he thrust, Clark matching him him thrust-for-thrust. He moved his head from side-to-side, his eyes closed and long lashes brushing his cheeks. Bruce drove into his Master’s body harder and faster, the slap of skin-against-skin loud in the tent.
“Bruuuce!”
Bruce gave one last grunt as he came, the two of them groaning in pleasure. Clark giggled, then passed out, Bruce cleaning them up. He felt well-used. It was unusual for the Master to be the one fucked, but Clark did what he liked. And he always took his turn at fucking his slave, which he did...frequently.
Bruce looked down at the angelic face. He brushed a lock of hair from Clark’s brow.
I’d love to wait around for your turn to take me, Clark, but this is goodbye.
He rummaged for his hidden rucksack, tying it around his waist as he slipped a dagger inside his shirt, putting on boots instead of sandals. The mountains were rough terrain, so it made sense. He grabbed several apples and rolls and put them in the rucksack. He took one last look at Clark and slipped out of the tent.
He kept to the shadows, his ears and eyes alert but his mind racing. He regretted leaving Clark, who had been good to him, but he had to get back to his people. He had been gone far too long since his capture and the slave collar had been snapped on him, but the time was right. With everyone drunk and making merry in the main tent and their own, he could slip out without being noticed. Shouts of laughter and howls of pleasure filled the camp.
He would stay out of sight as much as humanly possible, especially while still wearing the slave collar and manacles. He would have to remove them somehow, but for now, he needed to get away first.
He heard a noise and paused, looking back at Clark’s tent. The shadows seemed to move, then coalesced into a man, moonlight glinting off the dagger he held in his hand as he slipped inside the tent.
One of the recently-vanquished enemy? Or a traitor?
And Clark was vulnerable, passed out.
Bruce clenched his fist. If he went back and raised the alarm, he could forget escaping. Drunk or not, these Warriors would sober up quickly when they realized that their beloved leader was being attacked. If he did not go back…
Cursing, he ran into the tent, the shouts from inside bringing the Warriors running.
web tracker
Author: BradyGirl_12
Pairings/Characters: Clark/Bruce, Brutus
Genres: AU, Drama, Slavefic
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Drunken debauchery
Spoilers: None
Summary: A night of drunken revelry brings a golden opportunity for slave Bruce.
Date Of Completion: April 17, 2011
Date Of Posting: April 17, 2011
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 1015
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Author’s Note: Written for my 2011 Slavefic AU Fic Prompt Request for tabru. Pairing: Master Clark/Slave Bruce. Prompts: Revelry, Victory, Wine. :)
The wine sparkles
And skin glistens
As Victory is ours!
Celebrate!
Old Norse Saying
11th Century, C.E.
The Warriors knew how to make merry, especially after a great victory. Bruce was kept busy serving wine as he moved gracefully. He was grateful that Master Clark allowed him clothing, and of good quality, too. His sapphire-blue shirt clung to his body, the pants tight, but he would take it over bare-assed naked. As it was he had to use all his skill to avoid numerous groping hands. His slave manacles glinted in the light of the hanging oil lamps.
“Victory is ours!” brayed a drunken Laertes as he thrust his goblet upward.
“Victory!” echoed the other Warriors.
Bruce grunted as he was snagged by Brutus, a man so huge that the others called him Goliath. He drew Bruce to his chest, rubbing between his legs with a massive hand. Bruce smiled and kissed the Warrior fiercely, slipping his hand down Brutus’ breeches and rubbing his cock, Brutus biting his neck above his slave collar. Bruce was efficient, bringing the Warrior to a quick climax, Brutus grunting as he kissed Bruce hard, his massive body shuddering. Laughing, he shoved Bruce off his lap, slapping him on the ass.
Bruce was not offended. Brutus was a good man, just drunk. He picked up his discarded wine carafe and reached Master Clark, barely avoiding other Warriors and their grabby hands.
Clark grinned as Bruce reached his side. “Perilous,” he said as he cupped his slave’s buttock, squeezing gently.
“Very.” Bruce poured the sparkling wine into his Master’s goblet. “So the revelry will continue all evening?”
“Count on it.” Clark giggled. “We Warriors know how to celebrate.”
“Yes.” Bruce enjoyed his Master’s massage, leaning in to kiss him. Clark had always treated him well, and Bruce had grown fond of him. And the man was a wonder in bed. “I can make merry for you to enjoy.” Bruce’s lips brushed Clark’s ear. “In your tent.”
Clark’s eyes were glazed from drink but he had incredible stamina. Drunk or not, Bruce could look forward to a good fuck. His cock twitched at the prospect.
As always, Clark looked beautiful. He wore a pale yellow tunic and a gold necklace with a sapphire embedded in the center. His muscular thighs were barely covered by the skirt of his tunic. Dark hair tumbled into crystalline-blue eyes. He smiled a Clark smile.
“Let’s go.”
Bruce helped him up and they left to the sound of ribald comments and laughter, half-stumbling, half-walking toward Clark’s tent once they reached outside. The stars were out on this clear night, and Bruce relaxed a little. He always liked the cover of night as opposed to the glare of day.
As Chief, Clark had the best accommodations, his tent decorated with battleaxes and shields, and the silk hanging had been a tribute from a conquered tribe.
Inside the tent, the sweet smell of incense came from the censers, and Bruce roughly kissed his Master, who squeezed his buttocks. Falling onto the makeshift bed, Clark laughed as he rubbed between Bruce’s legs. Bruce helped Clark pull down his pants, shivering as his Master’s fingers fondled him. He removed Clark’s clothes and moaned as his cock responded as Clark’s skin sparkled in the light from the hanging lamps. He was beautiful, like a god fallen to earth.
“Ready?” Clark asked with a grin that made Bruce laugh, pinching the nipples on that perfect chest. Clark shuddered, slapping his slave’s ass. Bruce quickly prepared them and slid into Clark’s welcoming body, moaning and cursing as he thrust, Clark matching him him thrust-for-thrust. He moved his head from side-to-side, his eyes closed and long lashes brushing his cheeks. Bruce drove into his Master’s body harder and faster, the slap of skin-against-skin loud in the tent.
“Bruuuce!”
Bruce gave one last grunt as he came, the two of them groaning in pleasure. Clark giggled, then passed out, Bruce cleaning them up. He felt well-used. It was unusual for the Master to be the one fucked, but Clark did what he liked. And he always took his turn at fucking his slave, which he did...frequently.
Bruce looked down at the angelic face. He brushed a lock of hair from Clark’s brow.
I’d love to wait around for your turn to take me, Clark, but this is goodbye.
He rummaged for his hidden rucksack, tying it around his waist as he slipped a dagger inside his shirt, putting on boots instead of sandals. The mountains were rough terrain, so it made sense. He grabbed several apples and rolls and put them in the rucksack. He took one last look at Clark and slipped out of the tent.
He kept to the shadows, his ears and eyes alert but his mind racing. He regretted leaving Clark, who had been good to him, but he had to get back to his people. He had been gone far too long since his capture and the slave collar had been snapped on him, but the time was right. With everyone drunk and making merry in the main tent and their own, he could slip out without being noticed. Shouts of laughter and howls of pleasure filled the camp.
He would stay out of sight as much as humanly possible, especially while still wearing the slave collar and manacles. He would have to remove them somehow, but for now, he needed to get away first.
He heard a noise and paused, looking back at Clark’s tent. The shadows seemed to move, then coalesced into a man, moonlight glinting off the dagger he held in his hand as he slipped inside the tent.
One of the recently-vanquished enemy? Or a traitor?
And Clark was vulnerable, passed out.
Bruce clenched his fist. If he went back and raised the alarm, he could forget escaping. Drunk or not, these Warriors would sober up quickly when they realized that their beloved leader was being attacked. If he did not go back…
Cursing, he ran into the tent, the shouts from inside bringing the Warriors running.
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