FIC: To Have and to Hold
Title: To Have and to Hold
Characters/Pairings: Kal-El/Batman
Rating: R
Summary: After their wedding, Bruce and Kal-El begin their "Month of Sweetness," in which the newlyweds are sequestered together for a solid month.
Word count: 8000
Author's Note: A continuation of From This Day Forward, featuring an arranged marriage between Kal and Bruce in an AU where Krypton wasn't destroyed.
The church erupted in applause as Kal-El bowed to Bruce Wayne--no, not Bruce Wayne.
Bruce-El.
His husband and the newest addition to the House of El.
Bruce bowed back, his lips curving slightly. Kal knew already what those lips would feel like on his--warm and demanding and fierce, like they had been earlier that day when the strange black-costumed avenger had saved Kal from an assassination attempt, blowing to flinders Kal's prejudices about Terrans--and his pride in Krypton. When Kal had found out his rescuer was also his fiance, his objections to the wedding had evaporated miraculously.
Bruce bowed his head as Jor-El placed the wreath of scarlet flowers on it to welcome him to his new House, then the newly-wedded couple followed Jor-El out of the church, applause following them.
Bruce shot him a warm and possessive glance, and his knees went rather wobbly. What was he getting into?
Whatever it was, he was getting into it with his whole heart.
: : :
Bruce poked gingerly at a piece of food with his utensil, as if afraid it would bite him back. "What is this?"
Lara's smile was brittle. "Zhol, a berry. It's quite edible, I assure you."
Kal sat next to Bruce and smiled back at his parents, trying to melt the frosty atmosphere in the room a little bit. Jor-El and Lara were stiff and formal at this, their first dinner together as a family.
Bruce popped the berry in his mouth, grimaced, and gulped it down whole. "I'll have Alfred show you how to cook some real-- I mean, Terran--food."
Lara's smile could cut steel now. "I'm sure your slave will have many helpful cooking tips."
"Servant," Bruce corrected hastily. "Not slave."
"Oh, they don't have slaves on Terra? I didn't know that. It's natural, of course, for lesser-developed worlds to go through a phase in which slavery plays a role--"
Kal cut in quickly. "I believe there hasn't been slavery on Terra for at least a century and a half, Mother."
"Oh my," Lara said, "Almost two centuries slavery-free, how very enlightened."
Kal sighed: you slighted Lara's cooking at your peril.
Jor-El was sawing at his food with a ferocious tenacity, trying to ignore the way his wife was glaring daggers at his new son-in-law. "Well, my sons," he said mildly when the conversation seemed unlikely to progress any further, "Tomorrow your tal talith begins. We shall miss you."
"Tal talith?" Bruce looked honestly curious although Kal knew he could translate the literal Kryptonian.
"The Month of Sweetness. After being married, a new couple is sequestered in a special section of the family compound for thirty days. Food is delivered through a special door, and the couple is to have no contact with anyone but each other. It's to get to know each other better."
"Oh." If Kal didn't know better, he could have sworn Bruce was blushing a little. "We call that a 'honeymoon,' more or less."
"You didn't know about the tal talith?" Kal felt a moment's trepidation at the realization that even the most basic aspects of life might be unknown to his new husband.
Bruce shook his head, the flash of annoyance on his face unfeigned. "The Kryptonian government has very strict boycotts on books about Kryptonian culture. I was given some language textbooks--not that I could learn your crazy language--but nothing else. Neither culture seems to have much interest in understanding, or being understood."
This time Lara's smile was a little more forgiving. "Well, the tal talith will be your opportunity for that. Thirty days to reach a deep understanding with my son."
"I'm looking forward to getting to know you intimately," Kal said solemnly.
Bruce chuckled weakly, looking a little uncomfortable, and rubbed the back of his head. "Yes. Well. Sounds great. Thirty days. Wow." Under the table, his leg suddenly pressed against Kal's, and Kal felt himself flushing at this inappropriate behavior. Yet at the same time he felt a sudden crazy impulse to lean over and wrap his arms around Bruce--he almost laughed at the image of his parents' expressions if he did something so scandalous in front of them.
Being married to a Terran was definitely going to be a challenge.
: : :
"I'm so sorry, Alfred, I had no idea." Bruce was apologizing for the fifth time as Jor-El and Lara--and Alfred in lieu of Bruce's parents--escorted them to the wing of the compound where they would be sequestered. "You just get here and I abandon you for a whole month on an alien planet--I'm so sorry!"
The older man patted Bruce on the back, and Kal saw his father's eyebrows rise. Terrans were so demonstrative. "I shall be fine, Master Bruce. I'm hoping Lady Lara will show me how to make that delightful pudding-like dish I had when I arrived."
Lara clasped her hands together almost girlishly. "Oh my, that's my own special recipe--I should be honored to show you the method, Sir Pennyworth."
Jor-El swung open the ornately carved vermilion door and cleared his throat. < My children, you pass through this door into your Month of Sweetness, > he intoned gravely. < Learn of each other and reach understanding, to return to us full in your love and your life. > He bowed, followed by Lara and echoed by Alfred, and Bruce and Kal bowed back. They passed through the gate side-by-side, and the door thudded shut behind them with finality.
Day One
Kal turned to complete the ritual bow to Bruce--and found himself up against a wall with his husband's body pressed against his, lips being parted by an assertive tongue, hands roaming across his body with reckless abandon. "Kal, Kal, I thought they'd never leave us alone," Bruce said breathlessly. "At last, God, thirty days with you and I intend not to waste a one of them..."
Kal couldn't seem to help but return the kiss, feeling arousal burn his veins like wildfire. But when Bruce's deft and exploring hands found his groin, he came to himself enough to grab the other man. "What--what are you doing?"
"What does it look like? Making you mine, my flame, my life." Bruce's voice was husky with lust and longing. "I've wanted you since the moment I saw you, I've waited far too long."
"Wait. Wait." Kal pulled away, frowning. "You think the tal talith is for rutting?"
Bruce's face was blank with shock. "Rutting? No, honeymoons are for--" He gestured helplessly, "--making love. You know. Getting to know each other better!"
Kal wasn't sure whether to laugh or put his hand through a wall. "Does 'get to know you better' have some idiomatic meaning in English I don't know? Because the tal talith is not for physical copulation. It's a highly spiritual time where couples attune their mental energies to each other and dedicate themselves to the rigors of a life together."
Bruce blinked. Then he blinked again. "You mean...no sex?"
"No touching."
"For a month?" His expression would have been comic if it weren't so forlorn.
"What do couples do on a Terran honeymoon?"
Bruce smiled sheepishly. "We...rut. A lot. But," he added hastily, "Usually we know each other pretty well before we get married. Most Terran cultures don't have arranged marriage." His face took on an abstracted sort of satisfaction as he considered it. "I suppose this would make sense in a culture where marriages were often arranged. It would give couples a chance to connect mentally and emotionally before the physical joining."
"There, you see?" Kal smiled at him. "It's a useful tradition. And now," he said, moving toward one of the doors in the hallway, "I think we'd better get a good night's sleep. Tomorrow we begin at dawn with mutual meditation." When Bruce started toward the door with him, Kal shook his head. "Your room is across the hall, Bruce. Sleep well, my love."
"A month?" he heard Bruce groan as the door clicked shut behind him.
Day Two
Bruce tried to center himself and match his breathing to Kal's deep, even breaths. It was very difficult when his new husband was sitting mere feet away from him, shirtless and shining in the crimson Kryptonian sun. According to Kal, they were supposed to be "synchronizing their spirits" for two hours every morning in the compound solarium.
Bruce slitted his eyes open just enough to watch the sunlight stream over Kal's shoulders, outlining and defining every muscle to agonizingly beautiful effect. Almost two hours, and Kal hadn't once looked at him.
Bruce was beginning to worry that perhaps the Kryptonian libido was calibrated radically differently from its Terran counterpart. Perhaps passion simply wasn't part of the equation in a marriage here? Perhaps he was doomed to lust after Kal hopelessly--no. He closed his eyes again and breathed in deeply, remembering in every detail the kiss he had shared with Kal before the wedding. The way Kal's mouth had opened to him, the muffled, hungry sounds he had made: these were not the actions of a man incapable of passion.
He just had to be patient.
There was a soft chime from something that looked like a sundial on a wall and Kal took a deep, satisfied breath. "I think that went very well, don't you? I wasn't sure a Terran would be capable of meditating for so long."
Bruce felt his mouth twist a bit sourly. "We've got more patience and stamina than you might think."
To his credit, Kal looked chagrined. "I'm sorry, Bruce. I know I have unenlightened--" he stopped, grimaced, and backtracked, "ignorant views about Terrans. I'm not going to get over those overnight. That's another good thing about this month, right?" His eyes were conciliatory. "Speaking of which, I know your Kryptonian is really good--would you rather speak in that language?"
Bruce shook his head, pulling a loose white shirt over his head, since apparently his physique was not having the desired effect on Kal. "For my cover, I have to pretend not to speak the language. It's better if we don't get in the habit of speaking it to each other except in an emergency." He hesitated. "I'm sorry I was rude to your parents last night. Your mother's cooking is very good."
Kal wandered into the living room, not bothering to put on either shoes or a shirt. His body moved with an unconscious grace, the loose trousers hinting at fine legs. "It's going to be difficult, keeping that facade up."
His voice was neutral, but Bruce felt reproached. "If you trust your parents, I could...probably be honest with them," he said, unhappy with how grudging he sounded.
To his surprise, Kal shook his head. "My mother, perhaps. My father?" Kal flung himself onto a sofa, grimacing. "It will take some time to convince my father that the Kryptonian system is flawed. If it's possible at all."
Bruce tried not to stare too openly at the sight of his husband lounging like an odalesque on the sofa. "You were convinced fairly quickly."
Kal's smile was wry. "I realize now I've had doubts for some time. I just didn't want to admit them to myself." He nodded. "We're in this together, Bruce." Then his face lightened from determined back to cheerful. "But that's the future, and that's not what today is about."
"It's not?"
"No, today is about the past. The first day of the tal talith is dedicated to discussing what led the new couple to where they are today. You ask me anything about my past--anything at all--and I'll answer honestly."
"Are you a virgin?" Bruce was rather surprised to hear himself ask that, but if he could ask anything...and after all, they were married now...
Kal didn't looked shocked or offended, although he might have been blushing slightly. "I am not. I have experienced sex..." He glanced upward thoughtfully for a moment, "...with five different partners."
"Exclusively male?"
Kal nodded.
"When was the last time you had sex?"
Kal's lips tilted slightly. "Are all Terrans as focused on sex as you, or are you unusual?" He seemed honestly curious, but his tone was mischievous.
"I believe I am...within the standard deviation for Terran male sexuality," Bruce said a bit stiffly, and Kal's smile widened a little.
"I last had sex two years ago, during my school years. My mate was a friend of mine, my lab partner, and we agreed that becoming sexual partners would help us work together better in the lab--consistent release of physical tension as well as positive reinforcement of interaction together." Bruce felt his eyebrows quirk upward slightly, but Kal was continuing. "My turn to ask you a question." Bruce braced himself to explain his sex life, but Kal said instead, "Did you have a happy childhood?"
Bruce blinked as his mind switched gears. "I was...a solemn child, even before my parents were killed." He saw Kal's eyes flicker at his last words and went on hastily, "I didn't have a lot of friends, but I was okay with that. I read a lot. I guess you'd say I was happy."
"What happened to you after your parents were killed?" Kal's voice was low.
"The State tried to take me away for a foster home, but Alfred fought them."
Bruce was going to continue, but Kal sat bolt upright on his sofa. "Take you away from your House? You, the last surviving member of the House of Wayne?" His frown on young Bruce's behalf was thunderous. "That's one of the most barbarous things I've ever heard of."
His indignation was so intense Bruce had to hide a smile, but at the same time he felt oddly warmed. "It worked out okay. Alfred basically raised me all by himself in that big old house."
"To raise a child for another's House is a noble sacrifice." Kal's voice was solemn. "He is a great man, and I shall pay him honor."
There was another chime, and Kal rose. "That will be our lunch. Wait here." He came back bearing a tray, a quizzical look on his face. "What is this?"
Bruce couldn't help laughing a little. "Oh, Alfred." On the tray next to the alien foods were something closely resembling two chocolate-chip cookies. "He and Lara are either locked in a death match cook-off or getting along famously."
They ate the lunch--Bruce savored the way Kal's eyes went wide at his first bite of cookie; apparently there was no substance like chocolate on Krypton--and went back to talking as the sun's shadows lengthened across the floor. By the end of the day Bruce knew what Kal's schooling had been like, what his favorite foods were, which books and philosophers he loved. In return, Kal knew about Bruce's Mission and the years he had trained, where he had traveled, what he had studied.
"How did you feel when you found out we were going to be married?" Bruce asked idly after supper, as twilight crept through the room.
A long pause. "Angry," Kal admitted. "Frightened. I knew so little about Terra, and I wasn't ready to be married. I was afraid you'd be a brute and that my marriage would be nothing but pain and repulsion. But after I saw what you're really like, there in the church..." His cheeks reddened in earnest this time, and his voice dropped, "...I didn't mind any more."
There was a long silence as Kal looked at him almost hungrily, and Bruce found himself on his feet and moving toward his husband. Kal's gaze sharpened with something that could have been either trepidation or anticipation, but he rose to his feet as well and backed away with a slight bow. "It's time for bed, Bruce. I'll...see you in the morning for meditation."
Bruce took a deep breath and smiled reassuringly so Kal didn't think the sex-crazed Terran was going to drag him away. Not that he didn't want to. "I'll see you in the morning."
Day Three
"Portrait day?" Bruce's voice was a bit muffled as he pulled on a sweater after their morning meditation. His hair was tousled by the clothing, his eyes bright, and Kal felt uncomfortably aware of his physical presence. He had managed to keep his eyes closed all the way through the two hours of meditation again, but it hadn't been easy. His thoughts had wandered inevitably from contemplation of the symmetry of their souls to the warmth that seemed to almost radiate from Bruce, the curve of his mouth, the angle of his hips when he sat across the room from Kal.
It was contemplation of symmetry of a sort, he told himself.
"We have to paint portraits of each other," Kal said cheerfully as he opened up the drawers and started to pull out the art utensils. "Pictures that reflect the way we see the beloved."
Bruce looked at a loss as Kal set up a couple of easels across the room from each other. "Art is...not my forte," he said helplessly.
"The skill doesn't matter. What matters is the emotion behind the art." Kal picked up some pencils and began some preliminary sketches, glancing over at Bruce's face to see if he was getting the angles right. Bruce stood, staring at the welter of art supplies across the table, then reached for some chalks.
Hours passed as Kal labored to get the effect exactly right, moving from pencils to tempura paint, muttering to himself angrily when he got a detail wrong and had to scrape the canvas and start over. At midday the chime rang to announce lunch and Kal put his brushes down. "Uh-uh," he said as Bruce moved toward his painting, "No looking until we're done. I'll need a couple more hours."
The meal was another odd mix of Terran and Kryptonian foods that seemed, somehow, to work together. Lara and Alfred seemed to be getting along. They ate in silence today, as Bruce appeared to be lost in thought, frowning over his food. Kal let him ponder, watching the way his eyebrows furrowed as he thought, the gleam in his eyes, and angle of his cheekbones. The portrait was supposed to capture his mate's soul, and yet Kal was unnervingly aware of his body. It was a very odd feeling.
The sun was setting as Kal put the final touches on his painting. "I'm ready," he said, feeling awkward. "I'll go first," he said hastily, turning his canvas around.
Bruce looked at the painting. Kal hoped it would have the effect he had aimed for. The first thing that should catch the eye would be Bruce standing in the middle of this living room, his face blandly pretty, a scarlet flower tucked behind one ear in a foppish gesture. One hand was raised to brush through his hair, a small coy smile on his face. A portrait of a charming boy without a thought in his head. Kal waited as Bruce's eyes passed across the painting, the eyes flickering almost warily until they stopped and fixed on something.
"The mirror," Bruce said after a moment.
Kal couldn't help smiling in triumph. In the background of the room, among the vases of flowers and furniture, he had painted Bruce's reflection in a mirror. The silly flower didn't show at that angle, and in the reflection Bruce's smile was...shifted slightly, to look predatory and knowing, his eyes much deeper than the eyes of the "real" Bruce-El in the foreground. It might have been poor art skills on Kal's part.
Kal knew Bruce would know it wasn't.
"You like it?" he said, knowing he sounded too eager, not really caring.
Bruce was still staring at the painting. "Yes," he said simply. "I--yes."
Kal moved to look at Bruce's easel and Bruce moved to block him reflexively. "I'm...really not very good, Kal," he said. "Just...letting you know." He turned the easel around, biting his lip.
His technique wasn't as good as Kal's, no--but that wasn't the point. On the canvas, sketched in warm chalks, was Kal, crosslegged with his eyes closed as he had been in the solarium the last two mornings. The sunlight poured over his skin, limning every muscle in ruddy gold, and a tiny trickle of sweat was just starting to work its way down his chest. His head was thrown back slightly, the curve of his throat touched with scarlet sunlight as if reddened with kisses. Kal stared, feeling ridiculously...vulnerable. "You're not supposed to be looking while we're meditating," he said, surprised at how husky his voice was.
"I'm sorry," Bruce said, not sounding particularly repentant. "I can't help it. I've been memorizing you."
Kal sat down, feeling a thread of laughter struggling behind his indignation. "Bruce, we're supposed to hang these in our sitting room for guests!"
Now Bruce did laugh. "Well, you didn't mention that." He tossed himself onto the sofa next to Kal, snickering. "I'll draw a more publicly acceptable replacement later. And later," he went on, his voice dropping, "When I've had a chance to memorize all of you...I'll draw a private one for the two of us."
Kal felt a wave of dizziness go across him at the hints and promises in that voice, followed by a wave of anxiety: marriage was about a harmonious melding of minds and souls, not this desperate, prickling need. There was something terribly wrong with their union, that he craved Bruce's touch so much, and as so much more than the release of sexual tension. He wanted to feel that strong body underneath him, feel those hands close on his hips and pull him near, wanted to be kissed so hard it would leave him sore and bruised...
He stood up abruptly. "Thank you for the picture, Bruce. It...means a lot to me." Then he fled.
Almost before the door closed he was fumbling with his drawstring, his hands shaking and hot on himself. Release of physical energy, he told himself, a natural bodily function. And then words and rationalizations fell away and he was imagining Bruce's mouth, Bruce's thighs, friction rough and demanding as what he wanted. There weren't words for it. He was lost somewhere without language for what he needed, lost without any words but Bruce.
Bruce.
Day Four
Bruce was already seated on his cushion when Kal sat down across from him with a rather wan smile. Bruce smiled back as non-threateningly as possible and closed his eyes, determined to keep them shut for the full two hours this time. He was feeling deeply chagrined after spooking his husband so badly last night. He was coming on too strong and too hard and it was upsetting Kal, he could tell; he definitely needed to tone it down a notch. That kiss in the church, that spark of fire between them--he couldn't risk smothering it entirely.
So he kept his eyes resolutely closed the whole two hours and was thus surprised to open them at the chime and find Kal gazing at him hungrily--not even at his face, the azure gaze was roaming across his chest and lower. He snapped his eyes closed again before Kal could notice, waiting, heart hammering, until Kal said, "Meditation time is up, Bruce." When he opened his eyes again, Kal's face was as composed and friendly as ever--but Bruce knew he hadn't been imagining the ravenous hunger in his gaze.
He wasn't sure how much longer he could obey Kryptonian customs if he saw more evidence Kal wanted him.
"So let me guess," he said as blandly as possible as he pulled on his shirt, "If two days ago was the past and yesterday was the present, that means today must be dedicated to the future."
"Indeed," Kal said. "Today we plan our life-path together." They went back to the living room and Bruce sat down on his usual sofa; after a moment's hesitation, Kal sat down next to him rather than on the sofa across the way, his back to one of the arms so that he was perpendicular to Bruce, his legs tucked under him. "I suppose the first thing to discuss is the..." He paused, looking for words.
"The crime-fighting thing?"
"Yes, the...'crime-fighting thing.'" Their shared laughter seemed to break some of the discomfort between them. "Will this involve actual running around and hitting things? Because I'm in pretty good shape, but I'm not much of a fighter."
Bruce frowned. "At first, I think your role will be more tech support and research. No way can I do this without someone helping me to understand Kryptonian society. You wouldn't have to take on a costumed role, I don't think."
Kal was tracing the patterns on the sofa, his eyes lowered. "What if I wanted to?" He looked up sharply as Bruce started to speak. "I did train in Klurkor--only to the sixth discipline, but my master said I showed much promise. You could train me."
"Would you really want to?"
Kal's eyes gleamed. "I want to be by your side in all things, Bruce. If you can teach me to not be a hindrance."
"You--" Bruce cleared his throat. "You are unlikely to ever be a hindrance," he said carefully. To have someone by his side, to not be alone...it was more than he had ever hoped for. "I doubt the people of your word are frightened by bats," he said lightly to dissipate some of the intensity of the moment.
"What is a bat?"
"It's a...winged animal, on Earth. People have superstitious fears about it. My costume, the one you saw in the church...it's meant to evoke a giant bat." He shrugged. "Probably the first and last time I'll wear it, I suppose."
Kal looked thoughtful. "When I saw it, it reminded me of a predator of the Mazhin Woods, a nightwing. It's a black bird with dark blue patches on its wings and sort of...horns, like the ones you had." He smiled. "It supposedly feeds on the blood of the wicked. We frighten small children with it when they're misbehaving. 'The nightwing will come and drink your blood while you sleep if you tell a lie,' that sort of thing."
Bruce's eyebrows rose. "That sounds about perfect."
"Even better, Nightwing is an ancient Kryptonian hero, a knight who fought injustice with his partner, Flamebird." Kal laughed. "I don't think I'd make a very compelling Flamebird."
"Why not?"
"Oh." Kal waved his hands dismissively. "Flamebird was a symbol of hope and courage, bright as the dawn and terrible as a thousand bared swords. And look at me."
"I am," said Bruce, his mouth slightly curved. He couldn't help it--for a moment he could imagine Kal dressed in orange and gold, brilliant and dazzling. Kal flushed and looked away, and Bruce struggled to get his expression back under control. "This month would be a good time to start training," Bruce said cautiously. "I could at least check and see how your reflexes were, if you could pick up some basic martial arts."
"That, uh...that would require touching me," Kal said, still looking away. "We're not supposed to."
Bruce nodded, adding a wordless sound of agreement when he realized that Kal still wasn't looking at him. After a moment, Kal went on, "But...it would be a shame to waste this month when we could be getting a head start on the Mission."
"You--so--you," Bruce stopped himself and went on more carefully, "You'd be willing to train a bit? I promise I'd behave."
Kal shot him a look that would have been smouldering if it hadn't transmuted so very quickly back to guileless. "Good." He smiled slightly. "I think we could use our morning meditation time tomorrow, if you don't mind."
"I thought that was the time to attune our souls," Bruce couldn't help but note acerbically.
Kal's smile turned a bit shy. "I think our souls are fairly well attuned, actually."
Bruce mouth was dry. "Well, then. It's a...date?"
"Indeed. There is one more section of our life-path that we need to discuss, of course."
Bruce pulled his thoughts away from images of Kal sweating and panting under him, "There is?"
"Yes. That of offspring."
"Offs--children?" Bruce's thought took a sharp left turn out of lurid and into confused. "Kal, we're...both male."
Kal looked mildly puzzled. "Yes?"
"That's not--I mean--" Bruce waved his hands. "Neither of us is female."
"What difference does that make?" Bruce would have suspected Kal was joking if he hadn't looked so sincerely puzzled.
There was a long silence as both men struggled to figure out why this conversation was so surreal. "Wait. Stop." Bruce rubbed his forehead. "This might be embarrassing to you, but I want you to explain exactly how one has a child on Krypton."
"Why would it be embarrassing? When two people wish to have offspring, their DNA are combined in the House birthing matrix. Five months later, the process is complete and a new member enters the House."
"Any two people? Male or female?"
"Of course."
"And you don't...bring the child to term within your own bodies?"
Kal's face wrinkled in disgust. "What? You're telling me Terrans don't have birthing matrices? That's--that's--"
Bruce cut him off hastily. "--Anyway, my point is that on Terra it's not possible for two men to have a child. We don't have the technology to combine DNA."
The disgust faded into sadness. "If that were true, the House of Wayne would cease to exist unless you...mated," he said the word with some reluctance, "simply in order to have an heir. This is better."
Bruce grimaced. "I didn't know I was signing up to have children as well."
"The House of El cannot be allowed to cease. It's possible," said Kal thoughtfully, "That human and Kryptonian DNA are incompatable. In that case I would probably have offspring with my cousin, who is also of the House of El."
Bruce bit back his first retort. With sex unlinked from reproduction, and with genetic technology so advanced, there would be no moral objections to such a practice.
There was so much he still didn't know about this culture.
"It...offends you, to consider having offspring with me?" Kal said somewhat wistfully, looking at his expression.
"It's...not something I've ever considered," Bruce said truthfully. "It will take some time for me to get used to the idea."
Kal nodded. "That's fair." He stretched and rose with an air of changing the subject. "I'll show you some Klurkor techniques tomorrow if you'll introduce me to some Terran martial arts."
"I'm looking forward to it."
An ambiguous turquoise glance. "And I as well."
Day Five
Kal paused, his hand inches from the door handle, and took a few deep breaths. He hadn't slept well, his mind roiling with unease about their planned departure from proper Kryptonian ritual. He'd tried to tell himself that this would never be a normal Kryptonian marriage--Bruce's ignorance about birthing proved that--and so it was silly to blindly follow Kryptonian custom. He was being adaptable.
He was being a mass of jangled nerves and desire, was what he was being. Mission be damned, all Kal knew was if he didn't get a chance to feel those hands on his body soon, in any capacity at all, he'd go mad. This was all wrong, these emotions were entirely unseemly, these cravings entirely...un-Kryptonian. He should walk out of this room, go to his parents and tell them that this union was impossible.
He walked out of the room and went to the solarium, where Bruce was already waiting, glorious in the morning sun.
Bruce smiled and Kal knew that the only thing more impossible than this union was imagining turning his back on it.
"Shall we start with you telling me a little about...what was that Kryptonian martial art again?"
"Klurkor." Kal started to draw his shirt off, gesturing at Bruce to follow suit. "Men always practice Klurkor bare-chested." He bowed to Bruce reflexively, slightly surprised when Bruce bowed back, then approached his husband. "The basic starting position for a Klurkor throw is..." he reached out and rested one hand on Bruce's bare right shoulder, feeling sun-warmed skin move over muscles. He swallowed. "Raise your left arm a little." When Bruce did, Kal put his hand on the side of Bruce's torso, slightly under the armpit. Then he drew the hand down along Bruce's bare side, very slowly, feeling Bruce's breath hitching under his fingers. When he reached Bruce's clothed hip, he stopped. "There."
"What--" Bruce took a deep breath. "Why not just start with your...your hand there?"
"It's important to align the spirits of the opponents before a throw," Kal said gravely, his fingertips still tingling with the texture of Bruce's skin beneath them. "Now, just relax and let me..."
Bruce's body was elastic and supple against him as he walked Bruce through the throw, ending up with Bruce pinned beneath him. He got up hastily and said, "Again." Once more he put his hands on Bruce and drew one down, slowly, achingly slowly, memorizing the feel of the skin under his fingers, every inch.
Bruce's face was flushed and his eyes half-closed when Kal's hand finally reached his hip. "Ah," he panted slightly. "Are our spirits...aligned now?"
"Oh yes," Kal said softly, and they went through the throw again.
When they came up the next time, Bruce stopped him as he reached out. "Can I try it now?" Kal nodded, and Bruce put one hand on his shoulder, then the other just below Kal's arm. "I need to...focus on our spirits?" he said uncertainly.
"Yes," Kal said. "Feel my essence beneath your fingertips. Call it to battle with you." Bruce's hand slid slowly down his side, like a trail of fire. It might have been shaking.
Or it might be him. Kal couldn't tell anymore.
Bruce executed the throw quite well for his first time, and was up and out of the pin almost before it was complete. "One more time," he said, and put his hands on Kal again.
This time his thumb trailed almost to the edge of one nipple, perhaps by accident, and Kal felt the world swimming around him. By the time Bruce's hand reached his hip it was all he could do not to shift his body to bring it into contact with where he wanted it, where he needed it. They stood there a very long time, eyes locked, each of them breathing much more heavily than the slight exertion warranted. "Throw me down," Kal whispered, and Bruce's hand closed on his hip for a moment, his eyes half-lidded and burning.
And then they were both on the floor again, and this time Bruce didn't get up immediately. Instead he held the pin and buried his face at the junction of Kal's neck and shoulder, shuddering. Kal could feel Bruce's lips moving soundlessly against his skin, could feel his hips tight against him, close and taut, and felt hot shame and despair. It was perversion, what he was doing, what he was feeling. Sex was an action of mutual benefit to the parties involved. It wasn't this--this hot, agonizing need that seemed about to tear him to pieces with how good it was. It was a perversion.
It was glorious.
Bruce rolled away and they did the throw again, not speaking, their hands sure and warm passing along each others' bodies. Their breaths became gasps, their gasps became moans, and the morning wore away as they touched and tumbled and pressed briefly and came apart to touch again.
The lunch chime sounded as Bruce's hand was halfway down Kal's side and it took Kal a moment to remember what the sound meant, to tear himself away from the sensation of Bruce's skin on his. He felt...very strange. Like he hadn't been thinking at all, only feeling. Reveling in touch, drowning in sensuality. "Lunch," he said, surprised at how thick his voice was.
Bruce's eyes were on his lips, and for a moment Kal thought his husband was going to lean in and kiss him, but he backed up a step and bowed. < Thank you for your patience and instruction, > Bruce said, slipping into Kryptonian in order to use the high formal language. He came back up, his eyes bright and sweat sticking damp curls of hair to his brow, and for a moment Kal thought he was about to lean in and kiss his husband.
Instead, they went in to lunch.
They ate in silence today as well, but not the contemplative silence of two days before. This was a...hungry silence. Kal watched Bruce's throat move as he drank, watched his fingers on the utensils. He couldn't stop watching, devouring every detail, every shade of sunlight on his husband's body, the exact shade of light in his eyes. Bruce finally broke the silence: "What's up for this afternoon?"
Kal was still engrossed in watching the deftness with which his husband was peeling a piece of fruit, the scarlet rind teased away to reveal shining white flesh...he cleared his throat. "Poetry."
Bruce's face twisted in torment. "Kal...not poetry. Please. I'd almost rather try and cook a meal for you."
"Oh, that's not until the tenth day," Kal responded, and Bruce groaned and covered his face. "If it helps, you may compose it in English."
"Thank you," Bruce muttered sullenly.
Two hours later, Kal was trying not to laugh as he watched Bruce chewing ferociously on a pen, his brow furrowed. There was a smudge of blue ink at the corner of his mouth, and Kal felt hot as he tried not to think about pointing it out to Bruce, touching it with his finger, putting his lips to it...
"Okay," Bruce said, tossing down his pen. "I'm ready."
Kal glanced down at his paper. "You go first," he said.
"Oh, no."
"I showed you my art first."
Bruce sighed and started to hand the paper over, but Kal shook his head. "You're supposed to read it out loud."
"Oh, for the love of--" Bruce grimaced. "Okay. Okay." He cleared his throat and lifted the paper until it hid his eyes, took a couple of deep breaths, and started.
You with the dark burly hair and the breathtaking eyes,
your inquiring glance that leaves me undone.
Eyes that pierce and then withdraw like a blood-stained sword,
eyes with dagger lashes!
The paper rustled slightly but continued to hide Bruce's face.
Oh excruciating face! Continual light!
This is where I am thrilled, here, right here.
There is no book anywhere on the matter.
Only as soon as I see you do I understand.
There was a long pause. The parchment remained lifted to hide Bruce's face. "Bruce," Kal said softly. "That was--was--do you really see me that way?"
Bruce lowered his poem slowly and Kal could see that his cheeks were slightly red. He opened his mouth a couple of times, closed it again. "Yes," he finally said, simply.
"It was beautiful. Thank you." The words seemed inadequate. Even in Kryptonian he didn't seem to have any way to express it.
Bruce bit his lip. "I have to confess something." He looked up at Kal and grimaced. "I didn't write that. It's from a poem by a Sufi poet. Not my words." His voice dropped almost to a whisper. "But my feelings."
"Well. That's...what matters," Kal stammered, taken aback at the raw emotion in Bruce's voice.
"Your turn," Bruce said. Kal stared at him. "To read your poem."
"Oh! Oh, Rao," Kal muttered. "Right." He exhaled slowly, looking at the piece of paper in his hands. "I wrote it in Kryptonian, in the form of the hal-alath." His heart was pounding, his mouth dry, but it was too late to turn back.
< The white petals
Of my new-picked blooms
Shine in darkness.
I part the curtains
to spill moonlight
across them.
Soon they will blush
in the dawn. >
He finished the poem in something of a rush and drew a deep, trembling breath. Surely Bruce's Kryptonian wasn't good enough to hear the second layer of meaning in the poem, the subtle word-play around "part the curtains" and the innuendo of "moonlight"...Please don't let him understand what I was saying, ran through his mind.
Please, please let him understand, ran through his heart.
He stared down at the piece of paper, unable to meet Bruce's eyes. There was a rustle of motion and fingers hesitantly cupped Kal's chin, drawing his face up; Kal tried not to shiver at the touch. "Kal. My husband." Bruce's eyes were gentle and worried. "Forgive me. I need to understand. Sometimes you seem to want me to touch you. Other times it seems...unwelcome. I'm an alien, and far from home. I need you to explain to me what's going on."
"It's wrong," Kal whispered, even as he turned his face into Bruce's touch, let his lips caress the warm skin.
"You said you had partners before. Why is sex wrong after marriage and not before?"
"It's not the sex," Kal said, puzzled. "Why would you think there's anything wrong with sex? It's a natural way to release tension and increase positive reinforcement for certain relationships. But only a pervert would...want it so much. The...touching. Your...your hands on me. I--" he choked on humiliation and lust, "--I feel sick with wanting you, like it's all I can think about near you. Your body, Rao, your body." He nipped lightly at Bruce's fingers, tasting the skin, wanting more. "Marriage is between minds and souls. It's wrong to want to be naked up against you, just holding you, all against me..." He took an almost sobbing breath. "I'm not an animal, I swear. It will go away, this need, I just have to be stronger--"
Bruce moved his thumb very slowly along the curve of Kal's jaw, and Kal had to set his teeth to keep from crying out, keep from throwing both of them down on the floor. "Kal," Bruce said, his voice surprisingly gentle, "Do Kryptonians often touch each other?"
Kal frowned at the oddness of the question. "Of course we must when having sex, or when on the subways and in public."
"How about--hugging? Or holding hands?"
"Well. We will give children hugs when they're hurt, or hold their hand to guide them across the street and so on."
Bruce's other hand rose to cup his face. "When was the last time your parents hugged you?"
Kal tried to concentrate past the welter of sensations the touch was causing him. "My eighth birthday." A flicker of deep sadness on Bruce's face. "They love me very much, Bruce. Touching has nothing to do with love."
"I can tell they love you," Bruce said softly. "But..." His hands were in Kal's hair now, tracing lines of delight. "I can see it in you, the yearning to be held and touched; you're so warm and passionate, my Kal, how could you ever live here? How were you going to survive, with no one to hold you through the night, no one to kiss every inch of you, no one to cherish your caresses?"
"I--I don't know," Kal said, the truth of it aching in his voice, and then Bruce was kissing him and there was nothing wrong about it at all, only the realization of how much he had needed it, this warmth, this connection.
He pulled away to catch his breath. "Bruce. I have a confession to make too," he said.
Bruce lifted one of his hands to his mouth, exploring the spaces between his fingers with a warm tongue. "You plagiarized your poem too?"
"No, no, that was all me," Kal said, laughing at the tickling brush of Bruce's tongue. "But...I lied to you about Klurkor. We don't fight shirtless. And...we don't need to 'align our spirits' before every throw. I just...wanted to touch you."
Bruce's expression passed through incredulity and into laughter. "You--you--"
"I know," Kal said, smirking. "I should be ashamed of myself."
"No," said Bruce, leaning forward, "You shouldn't." His hands were on Kal, his body against him, his mouth-- "Never again."
Day Thirty
Bruce glanced over at Kal, who was holding on to his hand. The ornate carved doors in front of them started to open, and Bruce dropped his husband's hand, letting his fingers trail across the palm as he released his hold. Kal sighed slightly, then stepped forward to meet Jor-El, Lara, and Alfred.
Everyone bowed deeply. Lara lifted her voice, her tone formal: < Welcome back, my sons, to the world you will shape together from now. Your Month of Sweetness is complete. I pray that your energies are attuned and in harmony. > She smiled, the formality broken. < I'm glad to have you back. >
< My thanks, mother. We're glad to be back. >
< Did all go well? >
Kal's mouth curved slightly. < There were some misunderstandings at the beginning, but once we got past those...we attuned our energies pretty much nonstop all month. > His voice was studiously bland, but Bruce heard the flicker of wicked humor under it. Oh, my sweet, sly love.
Lara smiled at Bruce and switched into English. "Welcome back, my son. Your foster-father has taught me a great deal about Terran cuisine!"
Alfred looked sheepish. "My apologies, Master Bruce. I have attempted to explain to her that I am not your 'foster-father,' but she--"
Lara waved an aristocratic hand. "I prefer to use the correct term when possible, whatever you Terrans may use." She beamed at Alfred. "Today Mr. Pennyworth will be teaching me how to make the beaten cream!"
"Whipped cream, yes," Alfred said as they began to walk back toward the main compound.
Lara dropped back to walk next to Bruce as Kal fell in beside his father, talking about something House-related. "Bruce, I was wondering...perhaps we could go shopping tomorrow? You need a full Kryptonian wardrobe, after all."
"Uh...certainly," Bruce said, taken aback at this apparent change of heart. Alfred had been playing P.R. agent as well as cook, it seemed.
Lara glanced at Kal, walking ahead of them. "He looks happy," she said softly to Bruce. "My son has rarely looked so happy. The weight of the House of El is heavy on his shoulders, I fear. But today, he looks...content." She smiled. "I think attiring yourself for his aesthetic contemplation would be pleasant, don't you?"
"I...yes," Bruce said. "Yes, I'd like that." He gestured down at the sandals she was wearing, dark leather with straps that rose to wrap her legs to the knee. "Is that style of shoe for women only? They're very attractive."
Lara beamed. "Men wear them also, and I believe they would look quite stunning on you. Don't you think, Kal?" she called to her son. "Wouldn't some sandals like mine look good on your husband?"
Kal's gaze moved down his legs. "I think he'd look breathtaking in them." In anything, his expression indicated.
Or in nothing at all, it hinted further.
Improbably, Bruce found himself looking forward to shopping with his mother-in-law.
After all, if one is going to fight crime and corruption on an alien world...why not do it in style?
Characters/Pairings: Kal-El/Batman
Rating: R
Summary: After their wedding, Bruce and Kal-El begin their "Month of Sweetness," in which the newlyweds are sequestered together for a solid month.
Word count: 8000
Author's Note: A continuation of From This Day Forward, featuring an arranged marriage between Kal and Bruce in an AU where Krypton wasn't destroyed.
The church erupted in applause as Kal-El bowed to Bruce Wayne--no, not Bruce Wayne.
Bruce-El.
His husband and the newest addition to the House of El.
Bruce bowed back, his lips curving slightly. Kal knew already what those lips would feel like on his--warm and demanding and fierce, like they had been earlier that day when the strange black-costumed avenger had saved Kal from an assassination attempt, blowing to flinders Kal's prejudices about Terrans--and his pride in Krypton. When Kal had found out his rescuer was also his fiance, his objections to the wedding had evaporated miraculously.
Bruce bowed his head as Jor-El placed the wreath of scarlet flowers on it to welcome him to his new House, then the newly-wedded couple followed Jor-El out of the church, applause following them.
Bruce shot him a warm and possessive glance, and his knees went rather wobbly. What was he getting into?
Whatever it was, he was getting into it with his whole heart.
: : :
Bruce poked gingerly at a piece of food with his utensil, as if afraid it would bite him back. "What is this?"
Lara's smile was brittle. "Zhol, a berry. It's quite edible, I assure you."
Kal sat next to Bruce and smiled back at his parents, trying to melt the frosty atmosphere in the room a little bit. Jor-El and Lara were stiff and formal at this, their first dinner together as a family.
Bruce popped the berry in his mouth, grimaced, and gulped it down whole. "I'll have Alfred show you how to cook some real-- I mean, Terran--food."
Lara's smile could cut steel now. "I'm sure your slave will have many helpful cooking tips."
"Servant," Bruce corrected hastily. "Not slave."
"Oh, they don't have slaves on Terra? I didn't know that. It's natural, of course, for lesser-developed worlds to go through a phase in which slavery plays a role--"
Kal cut in quickly. "I believe there hasn't been slavery on Terra for at least a century and a half, Mother."
"Oh my," Lara said, "Almost two centuries slavery-free, how very enlightened."
Kal sighed: you slighted Lara's cooking at your peril.
Jor-El was sawing at his food with a ferocious tenacity, trying to ignore the way his wife was glaring daggers at his new son-in-law. "Well, my sons," he said mildly when the conversation seemed unlikely to progress any further, "Tomorrow your tal talith begins. We shall miss you."
"Tal talith?" Bruce looked honestly curious although Kal knew he could translate the literal Kryptonian.
"The Month of Sweetness. After being married, a new couple is sequestered in a special section of the family compound for thirty days. Food is delivered through a special door, and the couple is to have no contact with anyone but each other. It's to get to know each other better."
"Oh." If Kal didn't know better, he could have sworn Bruce was blushing a little. "We call that a 'honeymoon,' more or less."
"You didn't know about the tal talith?" Kal felt a moment's trepidation at the realization that even the most basic aspects of life might be unknown to his new husband.
Bruce shook his head, the flash of annoyance on his face unfeigned. "The Kryptonian government has very strict boycotts on books about Kryptonian culture. I was given some language textbooks--not that I could learn your crazy language--but nothing else. Neither culture seems to have much interest in understanding, or being understood."
This time Lara's smile was a little more forgiving. "Well, the tal talith will be your opportunity for that. Thirty days to reach a deep understanding with my son."
"I'm looking forward to getting to know you intimately," Kal said solemnly.
Bruce chuckled weakly, looking a little uncomfortable, and rubbed the back of his head. "Yes. Well. Sounds great. Thirty days. Wow." Under the table, his leg suddenly pressed against Kal's, and Kal felt himself flushing at this inappropriate behavior. Yet at the same time he felt a sudden crazy impulse to lean over and wrap his arms around Bruce--he almost laughed at the image of his parents' expressions if he did something so scandalous in front of them.
Being married to a Terran was definitely going to be a challenge.
: : :
"I'm so sorry, Alfred, I had no idea." Bruce was apologizing for the fifth time as Jor-El and Lara--and Alfred in lieu of Bruce's parents--escorted them to the wing of the compound where they would be sequestered. "You just get here and I abandon you for a whole month on an alien planet--I'm so sorry!"
The older man patted Bruce on the back, and Kal saw his father's eyebrows rise. Terrans were so demonstrative. "I shall be fine, Master Bruce. I'm hoping Lady Lara will show me how to make that delightful pudding-like dish I had when I arrived."
Lara clasped her hands together almost girlishly. "Oh my, that's my own special recipe--I should be honored to show you the method, Sir Pennyworth."
Jor-El swung open the ornately carved vermilion door and cleared his throat. < My children, you pass through this door into your Month of Sweetness, > he intoned gravely. < Learn of each other and reach understanding, to return to us full in your love and your life. > He bowed, followed by Lara and echoed by Alfred, and Bruce and Kal bowed back. They passed through the gate side-by-side, and the door thudded shut behind them with finality.
Day One
Kal turned to complete the ritual bow to Bruce--and found himself up against a wall with his husband's body pressed against his, lips being parted by an assertive tongue, hands roaming across his body with reckless abandon. "Kal, Kal, I thought they'd never leave us alone," Bruce said breathlessly. "At last, God, thirty days with you and I intend not to waste a one of them..."
Kal couldn't seem to help but return the kiss, feeling arousal burn his veins like wildfire. But when Bruce's deft and exploring hands found his groin, he came to himself enough to grab the other man. "What--what are you doing?"
"What does it look like? Making you mine, my flame, my life." Bruce's voice was husky with lust and longing. "I've wanted you since the moment I saw you, I've waited far too long."
"Wait. Wait." Kal pulled away, frowning. "You think the tal talith is for rutting?"
Bruce's face was blank with shock. "Rutting? No, honeymoons are for--" He gestured helplessly, "--making love. You know. Getting to know each other better!"
Kal wasn't sure whether to laugh or put his hand through a wall. "Does 'get to know you better' have some idiomatic meaning in English I don't know? Because the tal talith is not for physical copulation. It's a highly spiritual time where couples attune their mental energies to each other and dedicate themselves to the rigors of a life together."
Bruce blinked. Then he blinked again. "You mean...no sex?"
"No touching."
"For a month?" His expression would have been comic if it weren't so forlorn.
"What do couples do on a Terran honeymoon?"
Bruce smiled sheepishly. "We...rut. A lot. But," he added hastily, "Usually we know each other pretty well before we get married. Most Terran cultures don't have arranged marriage." His face took on an abstracted sort of satisfaction as he considered it. "I suppose this would make sense in a culture where marriages were often arranged. It would give couples a chance to connect mentally and emotionally before the physical joining."
"There, you see?" Kal smiled at him. "It's a useful tradition. And now," he said, moving toward one of the doors in the hallway, "I think we'd better get a good night's sleep. Tomorrow we begin at dawn with mutual meditation." When Bruce started toward the door with him, Kal shook his head. "Your room is across the hall, Bruce. Sleep well, my love."
"A month?" he heard Bruce groan as the door clicked shut behind him.
Day Two
Bruce tried to center himself and match his breathing to Kal's deep, even breaths. It was very difficult when his new husband was sitting mere feet away from him, shirtless and shining in the crimson Kryptonian sun. According to Kal, they were supposed to be "synchronizing their spirits" for two hours every morning in the compound solarium.
Bruce slitted his eyes open just enough to watch the sunlight stream over Kal's shoulders, outlining and defining every muscle to agonizingly beautiful effect. Almost two hours, and Kal hadn't once looked at him.
Bruce was beginning to worry that perhaps the Kryptonian libido was calibrated radically differently from its Terran counterpart. Perhaps passion simply wasn't part of the equation in a marriage here? Perhaps he was doomed to lust after Kal hopelessly--no. He closed his eyes again and breathed in deeply, remembering in every detail the kiss he had shared with Kal before the wedding. The way Kal's mouth had opened to him, the muffled, hungry sounds he had made: these were not the actions of a man incapable of passion.
He just had to be patient.
There was a soft chime from something that looked like a sundial on a wall and Kal took a deep, satisfied breath. "I think that went very well, don't you? I wasn't sure a Terran would be capable of meditating for so long."
Bruce felt his mouth twist a bit sourly. "We've got more patience and stamina than you might think."
To his credit, Kal looked chagrined. "I'm sorry, Bruce. I know I have unenlightened--" he stopped, grimaced, and backtracked, "ignorant views about Terrans. I'm not going to get over those overnight. That's another good thing about this month, right?" His eyes were conciliatory. "Speaking of which, I know your Kryptonian is really good--would you rather speak in that language?"
Bruce shook his head, pulling a loose white shirt over his head, since apparently his physique was not having the desired effect on Kal. "For my cover, I have to pretend not to speak the language. It's better if we don't get in the habit of speaking it to each other except in an emergency." He hesitated. "I'm sorry I was rude to your parents last night. Your mother's cooking is very good."
Kal wandered into the living room, not bothering to put on either shoes or a shirt. His body moved with an unconscious grace, the loose trousers hinting at fine legs. "It's going to be difficult, keeping that facade up."
His voice was neutral, but Bruce felt reproached. "If you trust your parents, I could...probably be honest with them," he said, unhappy with how grudging he sounded.
To his surprise, Kal shook his head. "My mother, perhaps. My father?" Kal flung himself onto a sofa, grimacing. "It will take some time to convince my father that the Kryptonian system is flawed. If it's possible at all."
Bruce tried not to stare too openly at the sight of his husband lounging like an odalesque on the sofa. "You were convinced fairly quickly."
Kal's smile was wry. "I realize now I've had doubts for some time. I just didn't want to admit them to myself." He nodded. "We're in this together, Bruce." Then his face lightened from determined back to cheerful. "But that's the future, and that's not what today is about."
"It's not?"
"No, today is about the past. The first day of the tal talith is dedicated to discussing what led the new couple to where they are today. You ask me anything about my past--anything at all--and I'll answer honestly."
"Are you a virgin?" Bruce was rather surprised to hear himself ask that, but if he could ask anything...and after all, they were married now...
Kal didn't looked shocked or offended, although he might have been blushing slightly. "I am not. I have experienced sex..." He glanced upward thoughtfully for a moment, "...with five different partners."
"Exclusively male?"
Kal nodded.
"When was the last time you had sex?"
Kal's lips tilted slightly. "Are all Terrans as focused on sex as you, or are you unusual?" He seemed honestly curious, but his tone was mischievous.
"I believe I am...within the standard deviation for Terran male sexuality," Bruce said a bit stiffly, and Kal's smile widened a little.
"I last had sex two years ago, during my school years. My mate was a friend of mine, my lab partner, and we agreed that becoming sexual partners would help us work together better in the lab--consistent release of physical tension as well as positive reinforcement of interaction together." Bruce felt his eyebrows quirk upward slightly, but Kal was continuing. "My turn to ask you a question." Bruce braced himself to explain his sex life, but Kal said instead, "Did you have a happy childhood?"
Bruce blinked as his mind switched gears. "I was...a solemn child, even before my parents were killed." He saw Kal's eyes flicker at his last words and went on hastily, "I didn't have a lot of friends, but I was okay with that. I read a lot. I guess you'd say I was happy."
"What happened to you after your parents were killed?" Kal's voice was low.
"The State tried to take me away for a foster home, but Alfred fought them."
Bruce was going to continue, but Kal sat bolt upright on his sofa. "Take you away from your House? You, the last surviving member of the House of Wayne?" His frown on young Bruce's behalf was thunderous. "That's one of the most barbarous things I've ever heard of."
His indignation was so intense Bruce had to hide a smile, but at the same time he felt oddly warmed. "It worked out okay. Alfred basically raised me all by himself in that big old house."
"To raise a child for another's House is a noble sacrifice." Kal's voice was solemn. "He is a great man, and I shall pay him honor."
There was another chime, and Kal rose. "That will be our lunch. Wait here." He came back bearing a tray, a quizzical look on his face. "What is this?"
Bruce couldn't help laughing a little. "Oh, Alfred." On the tray next to the alien foods were something closely resembling two chocolate-chip cookies. "He and Lara are either locked in a death match cook-off or getting along famously."
They ate the lunch--Bruce savored the way Kal's eyes went wide at his first bite of cookie; apparently there was no substance like chocolate on Krypton--and went back to talking as the sun's shadows lengthened across the floor. By the end of the day Bruce knew what Kal's schooling had been like, what his favorite foods were, which books and philosophers he loved. In return, Kal knew about Bruce's Mission and the years he had trained, where he had traveled, what he had studied.
"How did you feel when you found out we were going to be married?" Bruce asked idly after supper, as twilight crept through the room.
A long pause. "Angry," Kal admitted. "Frightened. I knew so little about Terra, and I wasn't ready to be married. I was afraid you'd be a brute and that my marriage would be nothing but pain and repulsion. But after I saw what you're really like, there in the church..." His cheeks reddened in earnest this time, and his voice dropped, "...I didn't mind any more."
There was a long silence as Kal looked at him almost hungrily, and Bruce found himself on his feet and moving toward his husband. Kal's gaze sharpened with something that could have been either trepidation or anticipation, but he rose to his feet as well and backed away with a slight bow. "It's time for bed, Bruce. I'll...see you in the morning for meditation."
Bruce took a deep breath and smiled reassuringly so Kal didn't think the sex-crazed Terran was going to drag him away. Not that he didn't want to. "I'll see you in the morning."
Day Three
"Portrait day?" Bruce's voice was a bit muffled as he pulled on a sweater after their morning meditation. His hair was tousled by the clothing, his eyes bright, and Kal felt uncomfortably aware of his physical presence. He had managed to keep his eyes closed all the way through the two hours of meditation again, but it hadn't been easy. His thoughts had wandered inevitably from contemplation of the symmetry of their souls to the warmth that seemed to almost radiate from Bruce, the curve of his mouth, the angle of his hips when he sat across the room from Kal.
It was contemplation of symmetry of a sort, he told himself.
"We have to paint portraits of each other," Kal said cheerfully as he opened up the drawers and started to pull out the art utensils. "Pictures that reflect the way we see the beloved."
Bruce looked at a loss as Kal set up a couple of easels across the room from each other. "Art is...not my forte," he said helplessly.
"The skill doesn't matter. What matters is the emotion behind the art." Kal picked up some pencils and began some preliminary sketches, glancing over at Bruce's face to see if he was getting the angles right. Bruce stood, staring at the welter of art supplies across the table, then reached for some chalks.
Hours passed as Kal labored to get the effect exactly right, moving from pencils to tempura paint, muttering to himself angrily when he got a detail wrong and had to scrape the canvas and start over. At midday the chime rang to announce lunch and Kal put his brushes down. "Uh-uh," he said as Bruce moved toward his painting, "No looking until we're done. I'll need a couple more hours."
The meal was another odd mix of Terran and Kryptonian foods that seemed, somehow, to work together. Lara and Alfred seemed to be getting along. They ate in silence today, as Bruce appeared to be lost in thought, frowning over his food. Kal let him ponder, watching the way his eyebrows furrowed as he thought, the gleam in his eyes, and angle of his cheekbones. The portrait was supposed to capture his mate's soul, and yet Kal was unnervingly aware of his body. It was a very odd feeling.
The sun was setting as Kal put the final touches on his painting. "I'm ready," he said, feeling awkward. "I'll go first," he said hastily, turning his canvas around.
Bruce looked at the painting. Kal hoped it would have the effect he had aimed for. The first thing that should catch the eye would be Bruce standing in the middle of this living room, his face blandly pretty, a scarlet flower tucked behind one ear in a foppish gesture. One hand was raised to brush through his hair, a small coy smile on his face. A portrait of a charming boy without a thought in his head. Kal waited as Bruce's eyes passed across the painting, the eyes flickering almost warily until they stopped and fixed on something.
"The mirror," Bruce said after a moment.
Kal couldn't help smiling in triumph. In the background of the room, among the vases of flowers and furniture, he had painted Bruce's reflection in a mirror. The silly flower didn't show at that angle, and in the reflection Bruce's smile was...shifted slightly, to look predatory and knowing, his eyes much deeper than the eyes of the "real" Bruce-El in the foreground. It might have been poor art skills on Kal's part.
Kal knew Bruce would know it wasn't.
"You like it?" he said, knowing he sounded too eager, not really caring.
Bruce was still staring at the painting. "Yes," he said simply. "I--yes."
Kal moved to look at Bruce's easel and Bruce moved to block him reflexively. "I'm...really not very good, Kal," he said. "Just...letting you know." He turned the easel around, biting his lip.
His technique wasn't as good as Kal's, no--but that wasn't the point. On the canvas, sketched in warm chalks, was Kal, crosslegged with his eyes closed as he had been in the solarium the last two mornings. The sunlight poured over his skin, limning every muscle in ruddy gold, and a tiny trickle of sweat was just starting to work its way down his chest. His head was thrown back slightly, the curve of his throat touched with scarlet sunlight as if reddened with kisses. Kal stared, feeling ridiculously...vulnerable. "You're not supposed to be looking while we're meditating," he said, surprised at how husky his voice was.
"I'm sorry," Bruce said, not sounding particularly repentant. "I can't help it. I've been memorizing you."
Kal sat down, feeling a thread of laughter struggling behind his indignation. "Bruce, we're supposed to hang these in our sitting room for guests!"
Now Bruce did laugh. "Well, you didn't mention that." He tossed himself onto the sofa next to Kal, snickering. "I'll draw a more publicly acceptable replacement later. And later," he went on, his voice dropping, "When I've had a chance to memorize all of you...I'll draw a private one for the two of us."
Kal felt a wave of dizziness go across him at the hints and promises in that voice, followed by a wave of anxiety: marriage was about a harmonious melding of minds and souls, not this desperate, prickling need. There was something terribly wrong with their union, that he craved Bruce's touch so much, and as so much more than the release of sexual tension. He wanted to feel that strong body underneath him, feel those hands close on his hips and pull him near, wanted to be kissed so hard it would leave him sore and bruised...
He stood up abruptly. "Thank you for the picture, Bruce. It...means a lot to me." Then he fled.
Almost before the door closed he was fumbling with his drawstring, his hands shaking and hot on himself. Release of physical energy, he told himself, a natural bodily function. And then words and rationalizations fell away and he was imagining Bruce's mouth, Bruce's thighs, friction rough and demanding as what he wanted. There weren't words for it. He was lost somewhere without language for what he needed, lost without any words but Bruce.
Bruce.
Day Four
Bruce was already seated on his cushion when Kal sat down across from him with a rather wan smile. Bruce smiled back as non-threateningly as possible and closed his eyes, determined to keep them shut for the full two hours this time. He was feeling deeply chagrined after spooking his husband so badly last night. He was coming on too strong and too hard and it was upsetting Kal, he could tell; he definitely needed to tone it down a notch. That kiss in the church, that spark of fire between them--he couldn't risk smothering it entirely.
So he kept his eyes resolutely closed the whole two hours and was thus surprised to open them at the chime and find Kal gazing at him hungrily--not even at his face, the azure gaze was roaming across his chest and lower. He snapped his eyes closed again before Kal could notice, waiting, heart hammering, until Kal said, "Meditation time is up, Bruce." When he opened his eyes again, Kal's face was as composed and friendly as ever--but Bruce knew he hadn't been imagining the ravenous hunger in his gaze.
He wasn't sure how much longer he could obey Kryptonian customs if he saw more evidence Kal wanted him.
"So let me guess," he said as blandly as possible as he pulled on his shirt, "If two days ago was the past and yesterday was the present, that means today must be dedicated to the future."
"Indeed," Kal said. "Today we plan our life-path together." They went back to the living room and Bruce sat down on his usual sofa; after a moment's hesitation, Kal sat down next to him rather than on the sofa across the way, his back to one of the arms so that he was perpendicular to Bruce, his legs tucked under him. "I suppose the first thing to discuss is the..." He paused, looking for words.
"The crime-fighting thing?"
"Yes, the...'crime-fighting thing.'" Their shared laughter seemed to break some of the discomfort between them. "Will this involve actual running around and hitting things? Because I'm in pretty good shape, but I'm not much of a fighter."
Bruce frowned. "At first, I think your role will be more tech support and research. No way can I do this without someone helping me to understand Kryptonian society. You wouldn't have to take on a costumed role, I don't think."
Kal was tracing the patterns on the sofa, his eyes lowered. "What if I wanted to?" He looked up sharply as Bruce started to speak. "I did train in Klurkor--only to the sixth discipline, but my master said I showed much promise. You could train me."
"Would you really want to?"
Kal's eyes gleamed. "I want to be by your side in all things, Bruce. If you can teach me to not be a hindrance."
"You--" Bruce cleared his throat. "You are unlikely to ever be a hindrance," he said carefully. To have someone by his side, to not be alone...it was more than he had ever hoped for. "I doubt the people of your word are frightened by bats," he said lightly to dissipate some of the intensity of the moment.
"What is a bat?"
"It's a...winged animal, on Earth. People have superstitious fears about it. My costume, the one you saw in the church...it's meant to evoke a giant bat." He shrugged. "Probably the first and last time I'll wear it, I suppose."
Kal looked thoughtful. "When I saw it, it reminded me of a predator of the Mazhin Woods, a nightwing. It's a black bird with dark blue patches on its wings and sort of...horns, like the ones you had." He smiled. "It supposedly feeds on the blood of the wicked. We frighten small children with it when they're misbehaving. 'The nightwing will come and drink your blood while you sleep if you tell a lie,' that sort of thing."
Bruce's eyebrows rose. "That sounds about perfect."
"Even better, Nightwing is an ancient Kryptonian hero, a knight who fought injustice with his partner, Flamebird." Kal laughed. "I don't think I'd make a very compelling Flamebird."
"Why not?"
"Oh." Kal waved his hands dismissively. "Flamebird was a symbol of hope and courage, bright as the dawn and terrible as a thousand bared swords. And look at me."
"I am," said Bruce, his mouth slightly curved. He couldn't help it--for a moment he could imagine Kal dressed in orange and gold, brilliant and dazzling. Kal flushed and looked away, and Bruce struggled to get his expression back under control. "This month would be a good time to start training," Bruce said cautiously. "I could at least check and see how your reflexes were, if you could pick up some basic martial arts."
"That, uh...that would require touching me," Kal said, still looking away. "We're not supposed to."
Bruce nodded, adding a wordless sound of agreement when he realized that Kal still wasn't looking at him. After a moment, Kal went on, "But...it would be a shame to waste this month when we could be getting a head start on the Mission."
"You--so--you," Bruce stopped himself and went on more carefully, "You'd be willing to train a bit? I promise I'd behave."
Kal shot him a look that would have been smouldering if it hadn't transmuted so very quickly back to guileless. "Good." He smiled slightly. "I think we could use our morning meditation time tomorrow, if you don't mind."
"I thought that was the time to attune our souls," Bruce couldn't help but note acerbically.
Kal's smile turned a bit shy. "I think our souls are fairly well attuned, actually."
Bruce mouth was dry. "Well, then. It's a...date?"
"Indeed. There is one more section of our life-path that we need to discuss, of course."
Bruce pulled his thoughts away from images of Kal sweating and panting under him, "There is?"
"Yes. That of offspring."
"Offs--children?" Bruce's thought took a sharp left turn out of lurid and into confused. "Kal, we're...both male."
Kal looked mildly puzzled. "Yes?"
"That's not--I mean--" Bruce waved his hands. "Neither of us is female."
"What difference does that make?" Bruce would have suspected Kal was joking if he hadn't looked so sincerely puzzled.
There was a long silence as both men struggled to figure out why this conversation was so surreal. "Wait. Stop." Bruce rubbed his forehead. "This might be embarrassing to you, but I want you to explain exactly how one has a child on Krypton."
"Why would it be embarrassing? When two people wish to have offspring, their DNA are combined in the House birthing matrix. Five months later, the process is complete and a new member enters the House."
"Any two people? Male or female?"
"Of course."
"And you don't...bring the child to term within your own bodies?"
Kal's face wrinkled in disgust. "What? You're telling me Terrans don't have birthing matrices? That's--that's--"
Bruce cut him off hastily. "--Anyway, my point is that on Terra it's not possible for two men to have a child. We don't have the technology to combine DNA."
The disgust faded into sadness. "If that were true, the House of Wayne would cease to exist unless you...mated," he said the word with some reluctance, "simply in order to have an heir. This is better."
Bruce grimaced. "I didn't know I was signing up to have children as well."
"The House of El cannot be allowed to cease. It's possible," said Kal thoughtfully, "That human and Kryptonian DNA are incompatable. In that case I would probably have offspring with my cousin, who is also of the House of El."
Bruce bit back his first retort. With sex unlinked from reproduction, and with genetic technology so advanced, there would be no moral objections to such a practice.
There was so much he still didn't know about this culture.
"It...offends you, to consider having offspring with me?" Kal said somewhat wistfully, looking at his expression.
"It's...not something I've ever considered," Bruce said truthfully. "It will take some time for me to get used to the idea."
Kal nodded. "That's fair." He stretched and rose with an air of changing the subject. "I'll show you some Klurkor techniques tomorrow if you'll introduce me to some Terran martial arts."
"I'm looking forward to it."
An ambiguous turquoise glance. "And I as well."
Day Five
Kal paused, his hand inches from the door handle, and took a few deep breaths. He hadn't slept well, his mind roiling with unease about their planned departure from proper Kryptonian ritual. He'd tried to tell himself that this would never be a normal Kryptonian marriage--Bruce's ignorance about birthing proved that--and so it was silly to blindly follow Kryptonian custom. He was being adaptable.
He was being a mass of jangled nerves and desire, was what he was being. Mission be damned, all Kal knew was if he didn't get a chance to feel those hands on his body soon, in any capacity at all, he'd go mad. This was all wrong, these emotions were entirely unseemly, these cravings entirely...un-Kryptonian. He should walk out of this room, go to his parents and tell them that this union was impossible.
He walked out of the room and went to the solarium, where Bruce was already waiting, glorious in the morning sun.
Bruce smiled and Kal knew that the only thing more impossible than this union was imagining turning his back on it.
"Shall we start with you telling me a little about...what was that Kryptonian martial art again?"
"Klurkor." Kal started to draw his shirt off, gesturing at Bruce to follow suit. "Men always practice Klurkor bare-chested." He bowed to Bruce reflexively, slightly surprised when Bruce bowed back, then approached his husband. "The basic starting position for a Klurkor throw is..." he reached out and rested one hand on Bruce's bare right shoulder, feeling sun-warmed skin move over muscles. He swallowed. "Raise your left arm a little." When Bruce did, Kal put his hand on the side of Bruce's torso, slightly under the armpit. Then he drew the hand down along Bruce's bare side, very slowly, feeling Bruce's breath hitching under his fingers. When he reached Bruce's clothed hip, he stopped. "There."
"What--" Bruce took a deep breath. "Why not just start with your...your hand there?"
"It's important to align the spirits of the opponents before a throw," Kal said gravely, his fingertips still tingling with the texture of Bruce's skin beneath them. "Now, just relax and let me..."
Bruce's body was elastic and supple against him as he walked Bruce through the throw, ending up with Bruce pinned beneath him. He got up hastily and said, "Again." Once more he put his hands on Bruce and drew one down, slowly, achingly slowly, memorizing the feel of the skin under his fingers, every inch.
Bruce's face was flushed and his eyes half-closed when Kal's hand finally reached his hip. "Ah," he panted slightly. "Are our spirits...aligned now?"
"Oh yes," Kal said softly, and they went through the throw again.
When they came up the next time, Bruce stopped him as he reached out. "Can I try it now?" Kal nodded, and Bruce put one hand on his shoulder, then the other just below Kal's arm. "I need to...focus on our spirits?" he said uncertainly.
"Yes," Kal said. "Feel my essence beneath your fingertips. Call it to battle with you." Bruce's hand slid slowly down his side, like a trail of fire. It might have been shaking.
Or it might be him. Kal couldn't tell anymore.
Bruce executed the throw quite well for his first time, and was up and out of the pin almost before it was complete. "One more time," he said, and put his hands on Kal again.
This time his thumb trailed almost to the edge of one nipple, perhaps by accident, and Kal felt the world swimming around him. By the time Bruce's hand reached his hip it was all he could do not to shift his body to bring it into contact with where he wanted it, where he needed it. They stood there a very long time, eyes locked, each of them breathing much more heavily than the slight exertion warranted. "Throw me down," Kal whispered, and Bruce's hand closed on his hip for a moment, his eyes half-lidded and burning.
And then they were both on the floor again, and this time Bruce didn't get up immediately. Instead he held the pin and buried his face at the junction of Kal's neck and shoulder, shuddering. Kal could feel Bruce's lips moving soundlessly against his skin, could feel his hips tight against him, close and taut, and felt hot shame and despair. It was perversion, what he was doing, what he was feeling. Sex was an action of mutual benefit to the parties involved. It wasn't this--this hot, agonizing need that seemed about to tear him to pieces with how good it was. It was a perversion.
It was glorious.
Bruce rolled away and they did the throw again, not speaking, their hands sure and warm passing along each others' bodies. Their breaths became gasps, their gasps became moans, and the morning wore away as they touched and tumbled and pressed briefly and came apart to touch again.
The lunch chime sounded as Bruce's hand was halfway down Kal's side and it took Kal a moment to remember what the sound meant, to tear himself away from the sensation of Bruce's skin on his. He felt...very strange. Like he hadn't been thinking at all, only feeling. Reveling in touch, drowning in sensuality. "Lunch," he said, surprised at how thick his voice was.
Bruce's eyes were on his lips, and for a moment Kal thought his husband was going to lean in and kiss him, but he backed up a step and bowed. < Thank you for your patience and instruction, > Bruce said, slipping into Kryptonian in order to use the high formal language. He came back up, his eyes bright and sweat sticking damp curls of hair to his brow, and for a moment Kal thought he was about to lean in and kiss his husband.
Instead, they went in to lunch.
They ate in silence today as well, but not the contemplative silence of two days before. This was a...hungry silence. Kal watched Bruce's throat move as he drank, watched his fingers on the utensils. He couldn't stop watching, devouring every detail, every shade of sunlight on his husband's body, the exact shade of light in his eyes. Bruce finally broke the silence: "What's up for this afternoon?"
Kal was still engrossed in watching the deftness with which his husband was peeling a piece of fruit, the scarlet rind teased away to reveal shining white flesh...he cleared his throat. "Poetry."
Bruce's face twisted in torment. "Kal...not poetry. Please. I'd almost rather try and cook a meal for you."
"Oh, that's not until the tenth day," Kal responded, and Bruce groaned and covered his face. "If it helps, you may compose it in English."
"Thank you," Bruce muttered sullenly.
Two hours later, Kal was trying not to laugh as he watched Bruce chewing ferociously on a pen, his brow furrowed. There was a smudge of blue ink at the corner of his mouth, and Kal felt hot as he tried not to think about pointing it out to Bruce, touching it with his finger, putting his lips to it...
"Okay," Bruce said, tossing down his pen. "I'm ready."
Kal glanced down at his paper. "You go first," he said.
"Oh, no."
"I showed you my art first."
Bruce sighed and started to hand the paper over, but Kal shook his head. "You're supposed to read it out loud."
"Oh, for the love of--" Bruce grimaced. "Okay. Okay." He cleared his throat and lifted the paper until it hid his eyes, took a couple of deep breaths, and started.
You with the dark burly hair and the breathtaking eyes,
your inquiring glance that leaves me undone.
Eyes that pierce and then withdraw like a blood-stained sword,
eyes with dagger lashes!
The paper rustled slightly but continued to hide Bruce's face.
Oh excruciating face! Continual light!
This is where I am thrilled, here, right here.
There is no book anywhere on the matter.
Only as soon as I see you do I understand.
There was a long pause. The parchment remained lifted to hide Bruce's face. "Bruce," Kal said softly. "That was--was--do you really see me that way?"
Bruce lowered his poem slowly and Kal could see that his cheeks were slightly red. He opened his mouth a couple of times, closed it again. "Yes," he finally said, simply.
"It was beautiful. Thank you." The words seemed inadequate. Even in Kryptonian he didn't seem to have any way to express it.
Bruce bit his lip. "I have to confess something." He looked up at Kal and grimaced. "I didn't write that. It's from a poem by a Sufi poet. Not my words." His voice dropped almost to a whisper. "But my feelings."
"Well. That's...what matters," Kal stammered, taken aback at the raw emotion in Bruce's voice.
"Your turn," Bruce said. Kal stared at him. "To read your poem."
"Oh! Oh, Rao," Kal muttered. "Right." He exhaled slowly, looking at the piece of paper in his hands. "I wrote it in Kryptonian, in the form of the hal-alath." His heart was pounding, his mouth dry, but it was too late to turn back.
< The white petals
Of my new-picked blooms
Shine in darkness.
I part the curtains
to spill moonlight
across them.
Soon they will blush
in the dawn. >
He finished the poem in something of a rush and drew a deep, trembling breath. Surely Bruce's Kryptonian wasn't good enough to hear the second layer of meaning in the poem, the subtle word-play around "part the curtains" and the innuendo of "moonlight"...Please don't let him understand what I was saying, ran through his mind.
Please, please let him understand, ran through his heart.
He stared down at the piece of paper, unable to meet Bruce's eyes. There was a rustle of motion and fingers hesitantly cupped Kal's chin, drawing his face up; Kal tried not to shiver at the touch. "Kal. My husband." Bruce's eyes were gentle and worried. "Forgive me. I need to understand. Sometimes you seem to want me to touch you. Other times it seems...unwelcome. I'm an alien, and far from home. I need you to explain to me what's going on."
"It's wrong," Kal whispered, even as he turned his face into Bruce's touch, let his lips caress the warm skin.
"You said you had partners before. Why is sex wrong after marriage and not before?"
"It's not the sex," Kal said, puzzled. "Why would you think there's anything wrong with sex? It's a natural way to release tension and increase positive reinforcement for certain relationships. But only a pervert would...want it so much. The...touching. Your...your hands on me. I--" he choked on humiliation and lust, "--I feel sick with wanting you, like it's all I can think about near you. Your body, Rao, your body." He nipped lightly at Bruce's fingers, tasting the skin, wanting more. "Marriage is between minds and souls. It's wrong to want to be naked up against you, just holding you, all against me..." He took an almost sobbing breath. "I'm not an animal, I swear. It will go away, this need, I just have to be stronger--"
Bruce moved his thumb very slowly along the curve of Kal's jaw, and Kal had to set his teeth to keep from crying out, keep from throwing both of them down on the floor. "Kal," Bruce said, his voice surprisingly gentle, "Do Kryptonians often touch each other?"
Kal frowned at the oddness of the question. "Of course we must when having sex, or when on the subways and in public."
"How about--hugging? Or holding hands?"
"Well. We will give children hugs when they're hurt, or hold their hand to guide them across the street and so on."
Bruce's other hand rose to cup his face. "When was the last time your parents hugged you?"
Kal tried to concentrate past the welter of sensations the touch was causing him. "My eighth birthday." A flicker of deep sadness on Bruce's face. "They love me very much, Bruce. Touching has nothing to do with love."
"I can tell they love you," Bruce said softly. "But..." His hands were in Kal's hair now, tracing lines of delight. "I can see it in you, the yearning to be held and touched; you're so warm and passionate, my Kal, how could you ever live here? How were you going to survive, with no one to hold you through the night, no one to kiss every inch of you, no one to cherish your caresses?"
"I--I don't know," Kal said, the truth of it aching in his voice, and then Bruce was kissing him and there was nothing wrong about it at all, only the realization of how much he had needed it, this warmth, this connection.
He pulled away to catch his breath. "Bruce. I have a confession to make too," he said.
Bruce lifted one of his hands to his mouth, exploring the spaces between his fingers with a warm tongue. "You plagiarized your poem too?"
"No, no, that was all me," Kal said, laughing at the tickling brush of Bruce's tongue. "But...I lied to you about Klurkor. We don't fight shirtless. And...we don't need to 'align our spirits' before every throw. I just...wanted to touch you."
Bruce's expression passed through incredulity and into laughter. "You--you--"
"I know," Kal said, smirking. "I should be ashamed of myself."
"No," said Bruce, leaning forward, "You shouldn't." His hands were on Kal, his body against him, his mouth-- "Never again."
Day Thirty
Bruce glanced over at Kal, who was holding on to his hand. The ornate carved doors in front of them started to open, and Bruce dropped his husband's hand, letting his fingers trail across the palm as he released his hold. Kal sighed slightly, then stepped forward to meet Jor-El, Lara, and Alfred.
Everyone bowed deeply. Lara lifted her voice, her tone formal: < Welcome back, my sons, to the world you will shape together from now. Your Month of Sweetness is complete. I pray that your energies are attuned and in harmony. > She smiled, the formality broken. < I'm glad to have you back. >
< My thanks, mother. We're glad to be back. >
< Did all go well? >
Kal's mouth curved slightly. < There were some misunderstandings at the beginning, but once we got past those...we attuned our energies pretty much nonstop all month. > His voice was studiously bland, but Bruce heard the flicker of wicked humor under it. Oh, my sweet, sly love.
Lara smiled at Bruce and switched into English. "Welcome back, my son. Your foster-father has taught me a great deal about Terran cuisine!"
Alfred looked sheepish. "My apologies, Master Bruce. I have attempted to explain to her that I am not your 'foster-father,' but she--"
Lara waved an aristocratic hand. "I prefer to use the correct term when possible, whatever you Terrans may use." She beamed at Alfred. "Today Mr. Pennyworth will be teaching me how to make the beaten cream!"
"Whipped cream, yes," Alfred said as they began to walk back toward the main compound.
Lara dropped back to walk next to Bruce as Kal fell in beside his father, talking about something House-related. "Bruce, I was wondering...perhaps we could go shopping tomorrow? You need a full Kryptonian wardrobe, after all."
"Uh...certainly," Bruce said, taken aback at this apparent change of heart. Alfred had been playing P.R. agent as well as cook, it seemed.
Lara glanced at Kal, walking ahead of them. "He looks happy," she said softly to Bruce. "My son has rarely looked so happy. The weight of the House of El is heavy on his shoulders, I fear. But today, he looks...content." She smiled. "I think attiring yourself for his aesthetic contemplation would be pleasant, don't you?"
"I...yes," Bruce said. "Yes, I'd like that." He gestured down at the sandals she was wearing, dark leather with straps that rose to wrap her legs to the knee. "Is that style of shoe for women only? They're very attractive."
Lara beamed. "Men wear them also, and I believe they would look quite stunning on you. Don't you think, Kal?" she called to her son. "Wouldn't some sandals like mine look good on your husband?"
Kal's gaze moved down his legs. "I think he'd look breathtaking in them." In anything, his expression indicated.
Or in nothing at all, it hinted further.
Improbably, Bruce found himself looking forward to shopping with his mother-in-law.
After all, if one is going to fight crime and corruption on an alien world...why not do it in style?