Music of the Spheres 8: Osculations
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Disclaimer: The boys belong to DC and to each other, but not to me.
Notes: "Music of the Spheres" is a series set in the combined universes of "Batman Begins" and "Superman Returns." Other stories and notes on the series here.
Rating: R
Summary: In Metropolis: A second date, a kidnapping, and the aftermaths of both. With special thanks to toketsupuurin's The Thief Bride for the last interchange between Clark and Bruce, with apologies for a slight recasting.
Word Count: 5067
Bruce Wayne opened his hotel door at the knock to find Clark Kent's face framed by a huge bouquet of very florid lilies. "You told me to take this seriously," Clark said, his laughing face belying his words. "Aren't I supposed to bring flowers?"
"Something a little less...garish would have done," said Bruce, but he took the lilies from Clark's hands and went into his kitchenette in the hotel suite to cut the stems and arrange them in a glass.
Clark looked about the hotel room almost shyly, at the brass and mahogany everywhere. He couldn't help peeking into the bedroom, then caught himself, blushing. He bounced nervously on the balls of his feet. "Much nicer than where I was staying in Gotham."
"It helps to be one of the wealthiest men in the country," Bruce said airily as he placed the lilies on the small glass dining table.
"So what are you making us? It smells good."
Bruce gestured grandly toward the kitchen. "Bouillabaisse and a light salad. Nothing too fancy."
"Bouillabaisse, 'not fancy'? I'm impressed. You must be a hell of a cook to try something as complicated as that, especially with the limited facilities you have here."
Bruce didn't seem to be listening. He stalked up to Clark, glaring menacingly. Clark blanched. "What?"
The other man reached out and loosened the reporter's tie, slipping it from around his neck. "This isn't a formal occasion, Clark."
Clark swallowed hard. "I came right over from work."
"And I'm flattered by your haste, but I'd rather this be a relaxing evening." Bruce tossed the tie over the back of a chair and unfastened the top button of Clark's shirt, his fingers brushing skin. "Taking Bruce seriously" had meant not wearing the costume under his clothes just in case Bruce actually meant anything he'd been saying. Clark had felt stupidly optimistic when making the decision, but now he was relieved.
And desperately, poundingly aroused. Knees shaking slightly, he pulled up a chair and sat down quickly.
Bruce wandered into the kitchen to dish up a bowl of steaming bouillabaisse and arrange some salad. He put the dishes in front of Clark and watched with anticipation as Clark took his first mouthful of soup. "Well?"
Clark paused, looking thoughtful. Bruce looked at him expectantly. Clark took another spoonful, swallowed. "It's...delicious." He ate a third spoonful, savoring it.
Bruce's mouth fell open. "You're joking. You've got to be kidding." He grabbed his own spoon and took a quick mouthful. Disgust filled his face. "It's...it's not bad! Damnit!" He flung the spoon down and glared accusingly at the bowl. "I can't cook worth a damn, it was supposed to be horrible and then we'd laugh about it together and order pizza and it would break the ice and make you feel sorry for me!" He groaned. "I can't believe I messed it up..." He looked so comically betrayed and at a loss that Clark couldn't help it, he started laughing. Bruce glared at him in annoyance, which only made him laugh harder. He finally stood up, holding a hand up to try and stop Bruce from glowering at him, and collapsed onto the couch, still laughing. He threw a forearm over his eyes. His sides hurt.
It felt good.
His guffaws eventually died down to snickers, and he cautiously removed his arm to see Bruce standing over him, his look still sour but a smile threatening to settle into the corners of his mouth. Clark shifted his glasses slightly, wiped his watering eyes and sighed. The smile on his face slowly softened into something wistful. "I missed our first kiss."
"What?"
"When you kissed me last night, I was so surprised and disbelieving, I didn't focus on it. I totally missed it."
Bruce blinked. Then he got down on his knees next to the couch and put a palm along the side of Clark's face, moved it up to tangle in dark hair.
"Pay more attention this time, then."
: : :
Clark's hair tasted like soap. His mouth tasted faintly of saffron, and underneath that, something like cloves or cinnamon. The hollow of his collarbone tasted like salty sweat and something citrusy. So many different flavors...did everyone taste so good? Bruce couldn't remember ever being so overwhelmed with the taste of a person, finally real under his mouth and hands, not flat and distant on his computer screen. He felt an insane desire to simply spend the whole evening licking Clark all over, testing out every inch of him. He managed to get a few more buttons of Clark's shirt undone and settled for a nipple: also citrus. Lemon. Sunshine. Clark made a frantic mewling noise and pulled Bruce's head closer to him, and Bruce's world dissolved into light and taste and making Clark sound like that again.
Finally done with the reporter's chest--for now--Bruce paused to hitch himself up onto the couch, teetering beside the other man. He reached out to pull Clark's glasses off, but Clark batted his hand away. "Want to see you," he said somewhat muzzily.
Bruce grabbed the shooing hand in midair, pausing to lick between the fingers. Citrus again, but more like limes this time. He guided Clark's hand down to feel his arousal; he didn't know how else to make clear to Clark how serious he was, how serious this was. He could feel the warmth of Clark's hand even through the fabric of his slacks, and the reporter explored gently with surprisingly strong fingers, pressing and kneading, and Bruce couldn't stand it, he had to get that warm skin on his.
His hands were on the buckle of his belt when Clark gasped. The sound had nothing to do with arousal, it was pure shock. Clark went completely still, his eyes closed as though listening to a voice only he could hear. When he opened them, the expression on his face was one Bruce had never seen there before--not when he was holding a ticking time bomb, not when being shot at.
Clark Kent was terrified.
He lurched from the sofa, pulling his shirt on with shaking hands, his face suddenly haggard. "I have to go, Bruce," he stammered. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! It's not you, it's really not!" He wrenched the door open and took off in a dead run down the hall, scrambling for the stairwell after frantically, futilely, hammering on the elevator button.
Bruce closed the door and sank back onto the sofa. What had just happened? What had gone wrong? He remembered Clark's terrible reaction to dancing, his theory that the reporter had been assaulted somehow in the past. Had Bruce accidentally tapped into those memories again? He groaned and put his head in his hands. He had gone too fast, he had rushed Clark, panicked him somehow.
The tiny communicator beeped, and Bruce groaned again. He didn't want to deal with Kal right now. He wanted to find Clark and apologize to him, ask him for a second--a third chance? Did people even get third chances?
The communicator beeped again. Bruce sighed and pulled it out, tapped it. Before he could speak, Superman's voice broke in, the inhumanly smooth voice filled with pleading.
"B. I need your help. Please."
: : :
Batman stood on the roof of the Daily Planet. Superman wouldn't explain, just begged him to meet right away when he found out the vigilante was still in Metropolis.
Kal came out of the sky so fast Batman hardly saw him approach. No awkward negotiation about positioning this time--the Kryptonian scooped Batman up and the city blurred around them.
They came to rest in the warehouse district, eerily still. A crane lifted high above the low buildings, its hoist at the highest position. Dangling from the crane, tied by the waist, was--Batman blinked. It looked like a child.
He pulled out his binoculars, focused. It was the little boy he had met yesterday at the Daily Planet. Jason, that was his name. He dangled hundreds of feet above the ground, his tear-streaked face pale.
He was covered in sparkling green dust.
Batman put the binoculars down and looked at Superman. Kal's face was drawn with agony. "My son. That's my son," he whispered. Batman stared at him. "Luthor has kidnapped my son and coated him with Kryptonite dust so if I try to fly there to save him I'll probably fall and kill us both. The men on the ground with machine guns will finish him if I don't. The dust alone might kill him if I wait much longer."
Batman pondered. "On the plus side, this means Luthor doesn't have any notable quantity of the mineral, or he'd use it instead of dust."
Powerful hands grabbed the neck of his suit. Reinforced Kevlar creaked and buckled. "How can you even think of that right now? That's my son!"
Batman waited until Kal released him. "You've mentioned that. Give me a second to think. You know it's Luthor?"
"He...sent me a message. Pretended he was 'concerned' for me, had some information I might want to know. Plausible deniability, as usual."
"Does your son have any powers I need to know about? Can he fly, is he invulnerable?"
"I--I don't know. I'm not in his life much. He doesn't even know that he's--about our connection." Kal's voice was tight, his eyes mutely implored Batman: Help me. Help us. Please.
"GIve me ten minutes, Kal. Then take out the gunmen."
"They'll let Jason drop if I go after them."
Batman met Superman's eyes squarely. "Do you trust me?"
Kal swallowed. "Yes." It was almost a whisper.
Black-gloved hands on blue shoulders. "I won't let your son fall, Kal. Ten minutes." Then he was gone.
Kal waited in the darkness. He heard Jason's heart pounding, heard his wheezing breaths. Time dragged by.
At ten minutes, he launched himself at the gunmen. He had the first and second one down before the crane released its pulley.
Kal heard the click of the catch opening, heard his son's shocked intake of breath as he started to fall. He couldn't look up.
He heard the twang of a grapple line springing taut and the rippling flutter of silk, the soft impact of his son's body safe into leather-clad arms.
No time for relief as he found the rest of Luthor's crew, disarmed and restrained them. Not that they'd ever admit to being "Luthor's crew."
He found Jason's heartbeat and followed it to a rooftop where Batman was just finishing untying him and dusting off the green powder. Jason was tearful and shaking, but seemed unharmed. Kal felt the Kryptonite burn start on his skin at about ten feet and halted. It was just as well, or he would have swept Jason up in a paternal embrace. The kid didn't need to have some alien walking into his life, telling him Richard wasn't his real father. He needed stability, sanity, as normal a life as he could have, for as long as he could have it. So Kal only smiled reassuringly at Jason, his hair disheveled and one hand clutching Batman's black cape like a security blanket.
His son was safe.
"Where do you live, Jason?" the Dark Knight was asking. Jason gave his address in a tiny voice. "Shall we take you back to your parents, then?" The boy nodded and even managed a smile. Batman picked up Jason and readied a grapple. "You're not scared of heights, are you, Jason?"
The tremor in the child's voice came close to a laugh. "Not now."
"Good boy."
As Batman got ready to launch off the roof, Jason looked back at Kal. "Thank you," he whispered. Superman smiled. Then he met Batman's eyes.
"Thank you."
A nod. Then Jason was gone, held tightly in Batman's arms, on his way home to his mother and father.
: : :
Lex Luthor woke from a pleasant dream to the feel of an arm across his throat. He looked up into blackness and eyes that sparked rage.
"I would have thought that you, of all people, would have understood the necessity," he said, amused and annoyed. "We humans--"
The arm pressed somewhat harder, cutting him off. "Don't you dare give yourself that title."
"He's a menace."
"He's not the one who endangered a child tonight for his twisted idea of revenge." The vigilante's jaw clenched. "If you threaten that child again--if you threaten any human life again--I'll see to it you'll lose what matters most to you: Your fledgling empire. Your new partner and WayneCorp could crush you."
Luthor would have laughed if his throat weren't so constricted. "Bruce Wayne? He wouldn't dare. He'd probably win, but it would take him down too. You don't have that much power over him."
A laugh like steel on stone. "You wouldn't believe the kind of dirt I have on Wayne. When I say 'Jump,' Bruce Wayne says, 'How high?' Believe me, I can convince him to risk everything to take you down."
Luthor glared wordlessly at the Dark Knight, who smiled at him like a poison-edged dagger. And was gone.
Lex Luthor walked through the open French doors to his balcony and looked out over his city, rubbing his throat.
Apparently Bruce Wayne was going to be yet another impediment. As long as he controlled WayneCorp, Luthor would have to watch his step. That was a shame. Lex had rather liked the young man and been working on some...plans for him. Such a nice head of hair...
But Lex Luthor didn't like impediments. He found them...tedious.
This would have to be dealt with as well.
: : :
"Kal? I'm on top of the public library. Can you meet me there?"
"Sure." The voice sounded in Batman's ear and in front of him simultaneously.
"I've spoken with Luthor. I believe I've slowed him down a bit."
Superman crossed his arms. "How did you do that?"
"I gave him some incentive to not go after your child again. I hope you'll forgive me for not destroying him on the spot. I figured if I did that he'd have nothing to lose, which would make him even more dangerous."
Superman frowned and nodded.
"The kid's home and safe, by the way."
"I know. I checked."
"What, didn't trust me to drop him off?"
"No, I just...wanted to see him there." The alien's face was calm and serene.
Batman wondered if the question would be rude, then asked it anyway. "Doesn't it bother you that other people are raising your son? That humans are raising your Kryptonian son?"
The tiniest dent between the perfect eyebrows. "I was technically human at the conception. He might not be genetically Kryptonian at all." Batman couldn't help but wish he could run some tests on the boy: a human-Kryptonian semi-hybrid, fascinating. Of course, Superman would probably rip his arms off if he tried it. Or worse, give him that disappointed look, the one he gave people from whom he had expected better behavior.
The look he would probably give Batman right now if he knew what Batman had in a pouch at his waist, pilfered from Luthor's offices. Batman shifted uncomfortably. Twenty hours, Kal. Give me twenty hours. Then I'll give it back to you, I promise.
Superman was continuing. "He's happy and loved." A small, sad smile. "I gave up any right to disrupt his life when I left. And keeping our connection secret should minimize the amount of time he spends hanging from cranes. I keep an eye on him. He's a good kid. When he needs me, I'll be there for him."
He focused again on Batman. "Thank you. It shames me, now, to admit I haven't trusted you in the past."
Batman couldn't quite meet those eyes like azure arrows. He made his voice as gruff as possible. "We humans aren't always the most trustworthy lot. You're wise to be suspicious of most of us."
"Maybe. But not all." Kal reached out and touched him gently on the chest, just over the heart, his hand pale against the ebon suit. "Not all of you."
A darting motion and Superman was above him in the air. "Sleep well, B."
Batman was alone on the roof.
: : :
Bruce Wayne parked his car in the parking garage and walked eagerly toward the elevator that would take him to the Daily Planet offices. He had gotten back to the hotel late last night after his visit to Luthor to find an email from Clark:
I'm sorry about tonight, more sorry than I can say. I know "it's not you, it's me," is a stupid cliche, but...it wasn't you, it was me. I'm not exactly the easiest man in the world to date, Bruce. I'm going to have to ask you to give me a second chance this time. The email had ended by suggesting Bruce stop by the office before heading back to Gotham today.
Thus the morning found Bruce feeling almost cheerful as he made his way to see Clark again. By some stroke of luck, Clark had decided that he was the one in error, not Bruce. In fact, Bruce thought ruefully, it had been just as well in some ways, because if Clark hadn't bolted, Bruce would surely have had to when Superman called him.
From now on, Bruce resolved, he'd try to take things as slowly as he could with Clark. No rushing him. Who knew what traumas he had gone through, what issues he'd have to overcome? No, Bruce would have to try to let Clark decide when he was ready to take things to the next level. He was worth the wait.
As he punched the up button on the elevator, Bruce found his thoughts reluctantly coming to a key question, one that had to be answered: how far was he going to let Clark into his life? If he was willing to wait for Clark, willing to make this long-term, was he willing to reveal his double life?
Even as he made himself finally ask the question, though, he already knew the answer. He had trusted Clark with his life already. Clark was brave, discreet, loyal, intelligent--if he couldn't trust Clark with his secret identity, he could probably never trust anyone.
Once he had faced his answer, he felt relief wash through him. If he could make this work with Clark, he'd tell him everything. He had a brief image of Clark sitting near him in the cave, his smile warming the chill away, helping him research something, his strong hands on Bruce's shoulders, soothing away the soreness and tension. Hands slipping lower--no, better not to think about that too much right now. Slowly, slowly.
Of course, with Bruce's luck, Clark would insist on putting on some silly costume and fighting crime by his side. He was halfway through composing a speech explaining to Clark why he was not going to be risking his life on the streets when he realized he was getting ahead of himself a bit.
The elevator arrived.
As he entered the office, Clark saw him and smiled, and any lingering doubts Bruce might have had about Clark being angry about last night dissipated entirely in its delighted glow. Jason was perched on his desk, scribbling on a piece of paper with crayons. As Bruce drew nearer, Clark said, "He's taking a day off from school today. Had an eventful evening last night, didn't you, Jason?"
"Yep," said the boy absent-mindedly, coloring with intense concentration. "I wanted to go to the Halloween party at school today, but Mommy said no, she wanted me here."
"He's drawing a picture of what happened last night," said Clark with a grin.
Bruce glanced over at the picture, probably of Superman taking on those thugs--oh.
The stick-figure boy in the picture was surrounded by a great deal of black cloth, and under the exaggerated bat ears--Bruce was fairly certain that his expression had actually been a Threatening Grimace rather than the jaunty grin in the drawing, but he was hardly in a position to suggest revisions.
Bruce coughed for a moment. "You got to meet Batman? Cool." He reached into his coat pocket, but as he did, a man's voice cut into the conversation.
"Jason." A handsome man with an angry face came up behind the boy, putting a hand between him and Bruce. "Come back and sit with me for a while." Over the child's head, his eyes snapped fury. "I'm sure Mr. Luthor's business partner is too busy to waste time with children."
Bruce heard Clark's sharp intake of breath behind him and spoke quickly, keeping his face bland. "No bother at all. Nice kid. Good artistic potential."
Richard steered Jason away without an answer, shooting a look behind Bruce. "Clark. I expected better from you."
Awkward silence filled the space between the two of them in the wake of the encounter. "I'm sorry," murmured Clark.
"It's a reasonable reaction, if Luthor has threatened the child's life."
"Twice now. Apparently he tried to kidnap him last night."
"An extremely reasonable reaction, then."
Another pause. Clark pitched his voice low. "I've got half a mind to drag you onto this desk and kiss you right in front of everyone."
The idealistic idiot would probably do it too, throw away his job and his reputation to make some crazy point. Bruce spoke sharply to forestall any such insanity, trying to ignore the stab of lust that dissolved the room into haze around him. "Don't be stupid. Just tell them you're trying to weasel information from me, that should do the trick." This was why he'd have to tell Clark about Batman, otherwise the man would ruin everything by trying to defend Bruce Wayne's non-existent honor.
When Clark still looked mutinous, Bruce dug hastily into his coat pocket. "I guess it wouldn't be wise to give him this," he said, holding out the Superman action figure he had purchased on the way over.
Clark took it from him, meeting his eyes. His fingers lingered just a bit on Bruce's, but it felt like Clark had stripped him bare in the middle of the office. Clark put the toy in his desk drawer. "I'll hold on to it for him." He turned back to Bruce. "Are you sure you have to head back to Gotham so soon? I hardly got a chance to show you around. And it's Halloween...a good night for trick and treating. You can be one or the other, your choice." He waggled his eyebrows at Bruce meaningfully.
Clark certainly didn't seem shy right now. "I'm bitterly unhappy about it, Clark, but there's stuff I absolutely have to get done in Gotham this evening." Bruce steeled himself against Clark's sad eyes. He had to give the item he had found in Luthor's offices to Kal as soon as possible, which meant if he wanted to get a look at for himself he had to get back to the cave right away.
Plus he had a hunch that Batman's first Halloween in Gotham might be eventful.
Clark offered to walk with him to his car, and they headed for the elevator together. "I'm afraid I'm not the easiest man in the world to date either, Clark."
"I suppose you're worth it."
"You suppose?"
A sideways grin full of laughter. "So do I still get my second chance?"
"There's no way I'm letting you get out of it. As a matter of fact...I've just today been given two tickets for a weekend cruise leaving from Metropolis, compliments of Lex Luthor. For Bruce Wayne 'and companion.'" Bruce raised his eyebrows. "You free this weekend?"
"Hmmmmm." Clark's pondering as the elevator descended was comically overdone. "I don't know. I might be really busy this weekend."
The elevator doors slid open and they entered the parking garage. Bruce stepped out and looked back at the reporter. "Clark, we are men of action. Lies do not become us."
Clark felt a wide grin blossom on his face as he followed Bruce out of the elevator. "Oh, you do not want to start quoting the Princess Bride at me, Bruce. Trust me. I'll crush you." He tilted his head. "So if you're Westley, does that mean I have to be Buttercup?" He wrinkled his nose.
Bruce waved a hand. "Oh, no, no. You'd have to be Inigo, of course."
Clark put on his best faux-Spanish accent. "You seem a decent fellow. I hate to kill you."
An answering, challenging grin. "You seem a decent fellow. I hate to die."
Clark bowed and held out a hand as if holding a rapier. "Begin."
Bruce dropped into an extremely credible fencing stance. Rich kids and their crazy hobbies. Clark met his imaginary attack and they began a spirited fencing duel through the parking garage.
"You are using Bonetti's Defense against me, ah?" Clark did a couple of Inigo-style spins.
"I thought it fitting considering the rocky terrain."
"Naturally, you must suspect me to attack with Capa Ferro?"
Bruce broke character for a moment, stepping back and dropping his "rapier." "Good Lord, Clark, you really do know this whole dialogue. I officially proclaim you King of the Geeks."
Clark waved his rapier menacingly. "King and still reigning world champion. And you know the next line as well as I do, varlet. Have at you."
Bruce sighed and redoubled his attack. "Naturally... but I find that Thibault cancels out Capa Ferro. Don't you?"
"Unless the enemy has studied his Agrippa... which I have."
The other man leered at him, breaking character again. "Oh, I've also studied your Agrippa, believe me."
Clark smiled and put his heart into the next line as their swords and glances crossed. "You are wonderful."
Bruce's competitive grin faltered somewhat, but he continued gamely. "Thank you; I've worked hard to become so."
"I admit it, you are better than I am." The playboy was, in fact, breathtakingly lovely in the dim light, his motions fluid and confident. When Bruce relaxed, his body seemed filled with an almost unconscious, assertive grace. Clark wondered for the approximately millionth time what that grace would be like in bed.
"Then why are you smiling?"
"Because I know something you don't know." The millionth time today, that is.
"And what is that?"
"I...am not left-handed." Clark mimed tossing his sword to his right hand and came back at Bruce, driving him about the parking ramp, shadows and light flickering across them.
Bruce smiled. "You are amazing."
"I ought to be, after twenty years."
"Oh, there's something I ought to tell you," said Bruce. "I'm not left handed either." He mimed switching hands in turn, clearly gaining the advantage, breaking down Clark's increasingly feeble defenses, his eyes shining.
"Who are you?" was Inigo's next line.
Bruce's smile was edged. "No one of consequence."
"I must know," said Clark, and found he meant it. He felt like he still had no idea who this man really was, standing before him as if he would be comfortable with a real sword in his hand, beautiful and dangerous as a blade himself.
"Get used to disappointment."
Clark did the requisite shrug and they fought out the "duel" to its conclusion, which ended with Clark pinned to Bruce's convertible, "disarmed," Bruce's arm across his chest. He found he was breathing heavily, which didn't make any sense. It would take more than a fake sword fight to wind him.
Bruce grabbed him by his pants pockets and dragged him closer for a kiss that left Clark gasping even more. It wasn't possible, it just wasn't, that this man could want Clark Kent.
And yet there he was, his tongue most definitely and concretely exploring every inch of Clark's mouth and his very tangible hands resting possessively on Clark's hips.
Impossible.
Real.
Bruce.
He didn't realize he had said the name out loud until he felt a shiver go through the other man's body and heard the sharp intake of breath. "Clark," Bruce said as if it was the answer to everything.
Clark hadn't thought it was possible for the kiss to become deeper, more completely enthralling, but it did. The echoing sounds of the parking garage seemed to fade out around Clark and he found himself in a circle of hush, a near-silence that he didn't dare examine, hardly even dared to notice.
A timeless time later, Bruce pulled back. "I have to go or else I'll never get back to Gotham at all," he whispered.
"Would that be so bad?"
A rueful smile. "You make me wonder, Clark. But duty calls." He brushed a thumb across Clark's lower lip. "Promise me I'll see you this weekend, on the cruise. I won't rush you, I swear, but I need to see you again soon." The emphasized word sent ripples through Clark.
"I'll be there if you want me there."
Bruce got into his convertible. Before he started the engine and drove off, he looked at Clark, dark-winged eyebrows raised, and under them, his eyes--
"As you wish," said Bruce Wayne.
: : :
It was All Hallow's Eve. The hunter's moon was shining down on a Metropolis rooftop as the leader of Intergang cowered in terror just outside a broken pentagram, staring white-eyed at the remains of his men. In the center of the pentagram a book bound in red leather was still smoking slightly. A slender woman turned from the bloody wreck before her to face the leader.
"Is this all your world has to offer?" Her sneer was like silver bells. "Mere mortals? Is there none worthy of me in all this land?" She moved to face him, her face pale and cold, a dream of perfection.
He gibbered.
Bored and impatient, she reached into his head and took the information she needed. Smiling, she contemplated it. At last. A Redcross Knight indeed, brave and true and beautiful, not small and limited like these mortals.
Licking her delicate fingers clean, she walked toward the edge of the roof. Once there, she slipped into something more comfortable, her shape flowing into platinum scales and ruby talons.
The Queen of Stories spread her wings and took to the Metropolis sky.
Disclaimer: The boys belong to DC and to each other, but not to me.
Notes: "Music of the Spheres" is a series set in the combined universes of "Batman Begins" and "Superman Returns." Other stories and notes on the series here.
Rating: R
Summary: In Metropolis: A second date, a kidnapping, and the aftermaths of both. With special thanks to toketsupuurin's The Thief Bride for the last interchange between Clark and Bruce, with apologies for a slight recasting.
Word Count: 5067
Bruce Wayne opened his hotel door at the knock to find Clark Kent's face framed by a huge bouquet of very florid lilies. "You told me to take this seriously," Clark said, his laughing face belying his words. "Aren't I supposed to bring flowers?"
"Something a little less...garish would have done," said Bruce, but he took the lilies from Clark's hands and went into his kitchenette in the hotel suite to cut the stems and arrange them in a glass.
Clark looked about the hotel room almost shyly, at the brass and mahogany everywhere. He couldn't help peeking into the bedroom, then caught himself, blushing. He bounced nervously on the balls of his feet. "Much nicer than where I was staying in Gotham."
"It helps to be one of the wealthiest men in the country," Bruce said airily as he placed the lilies on the small glass dining table.
"So what are you making us? It smells good."
Bruce gestured grandly toward the kitchen. "Bouillabaisse and a light salad. Nothing too fancy."
"Bouillabaisse, 'not fancy'? I'm impressed. You must be a hell of a cook to try something as complicated as that, especially with the limited facilities you have here."
Bruce didn't seem to be listening. He stalked up to Clark, glaring menacingly. Clark blanched. "What?"
The other man reached out and loosened the reporter's tie, slipping it from around his neck. "This isn't a formal occasion, Clark."
Clark swallowed hard. "I came right over from work."
"And I'm flattered by your haste, but I'd rather this be a relaxing evening." Bruce tossed the tie over the back of a chair and unfastened the top button of Clark's shirt, his fingers brushing skin. "Taking Bruce seriously" had meant not wearing the costume under his clothes just in case Bruce actually meant anything he'd been saying. Clark had felt stupidly optimistic when making the decision, but now he was relieved.
And desperately, poundingly aroused. Knees shaking slightly, he pulled up a chair and sat down quickly.
Bruce wandered into the kitchen to dish up a bowl of steaming bouillabaisse and arrange some salad. He put the dishes in front of Clark and watched with anticipation as Clark took his first mouthful of soup. "Well?"
Clark paused, looking thoughtful. Bruce looked at him expectantly. Clark took another spoonful, swallowed. "It's...delicious." He ate a third spoonful, savoring it.
Bruce's mouth fell open. "You're joking. You've got to be kidding." He grabbed his own spoon and took a quick mouthful. Disgust filled his face. "It's...it's not bad! Damnit!" He flung the spoon down and glared accusingly at the bowl. "I can't cook worth a damn, it was supposed to be horrible and then we'd laugh about it together and order pizza and it would break the ice and make you feel sorry for me!" He groaned. "I can't believe I messed it up..." He looked so comically betrayed and at a loss that Clark couldn't help it, he started laughing. Bruce glared at him in annoyance, which only made him laugh harder. He finally stood up, holding a hand up to try and stop Bruce from glowering at him, and collapsed onto the couch, still laughing. He threw a forearm over his eyes. His sides hurt.
It felt good.
His guffaws eventually died down to snickers, and he cautiously removed his arm to see Bruce standing over him, his look still sour but a smile threatening to settle into the corners of his mouth. Clark shifted his glasses slightly, wiped his watering eyes and sighed. The smile on his face slowly softened into something wistful. "I missed our first kiss."
"What?"
"When you kissed me last night, I was so surprised and disbelieving, I didn't focus on it. I totally missed it."
Bruce blinked. Then he got down on his knees next to the couch and put a palm along the side of Clark's face, moved it up to tangle in dark hair.
"Pay more attention this time, then."
: : :
Clark's hair tasted like soap. His mouth tasted faintly of saffron, and underneath that, something like cloves or cinnamon. The hollow of his collarbone tasted like salty sweat and something citrusy. So many different flavors...did everyone taste so good? Bruce couldn't remember ever being so overwhelmed with the taste of a person, finally real under his mouth and hands, not flat and distant on his computer screen. He felt an insane desire to simply spend the whole evening licking Clark all over, testing out every inch of him. He managed to get a few more buttons of Clark's shirt undone and settled for a nipple: also citrus. Lemon. Sunshine. Clark made a frantic mewling noise and pulled Bruce's head closer to him, and Bruce's world dissolved into light and taste and making Clark sound like that again.
Finally done with the reporter's chest--for now--Bruce paused to hitch himself up onto the couch, teetering beside the other man. He reached out to pull Clark's glasses off, but Clark batted his hand away. "Want to see you," he said somewhat muzzily.
Bruce grabbed the shooing hand in midair, pausing to lick between the fingers. Citrus again, but more like limes this time. He guided Clark's hand down to feel his arousal; he didn't know how else to make clear to Clark how serious he was, how serious this was. He could feel the warmth of Clark's hand even through the fabric of his slacks, and the reporter explored gently with surprisingly strong fingers, pressing and kneading, and Bruce couldn't stand it, he had to get that warm skin on his.
His hands were on the buckle of his belt when Clark gasped. The sound had nothing to do with arousal, it was pure shock. Clark went completely still, his eyes closed as though listening to a voice only he could hear. When he opened them, the expression on his face was one Bruce had never seen there before--not when he was holding a ticking time bomb, not when being shot at.
Clark Kent was terrified.
He lurched from the sofa, pulling his shirt on with shaking hands, his face suddenly haggard. "I have to go, Bruce," he stammered. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! It's not you, it's really not!" He wrenched the door open and took off in a dead run down the hall, scrambling for the stairwell after frantically, futilely, hammering on the elevator button.
Bruce closed the door and sank back onto the sofa. What had just happened? What had gone wrong? He remembered Clark's terrible reaction to dancing, his theory that the reporter had been assaulted somehow in the past. Had Bruce accidentally tapped into those memories again? He groaned and put his head in his hands. He had gone too fast, he had rushed Clark, panicked him somehow.
The tiny communicator beeped, and Bruce groaned again. He didn't want to deal with Kal right now. He wanted to find Clark and apologize to him, ask him for a second--a third chance? Did people even get third chances?
The communicator beeped again. Bruce sighed and pulled it out, tapped it. Before he could speak, Superman's voice broke in, the inhumanly smooth voice filled with pleading.
"B. I need your help. Please."
: : :
Batman stood on the roof of the Daily Planet. Superman wouldn't explain, just begged him to meet right away when he found out the vigilante was still in Metropolis.
Kal came out of the sky so fast Batman hardly saw him approach. No awkward negotiation about positioning this time--the Kryptonian scooped Batman up and the city blurred around them.
They came to rest in the warehouse district, eerily still. A crane lifted high above the low buildings, its hoist at the highest position. Dangling from the crane, tied by the waist, was--Batman blinked. It looked like a child.
He pulled out his binoculars, focused. It was the little boy he had met yesterday at the Daily Planet. Jason, that was his name. He dangled hundreds of feet above the ground, his tear-streaked face pale.
He was covered in sparkling green dust.
Batman put the binoculars down and looked at Superman. Kal's face was drawn with agony. "My son. That's my son," he whispered. Batman stared at him. "Luthor has kidnapped my son and coated him with Kryptonite dust so if I try to fly there to save him I'll probably fall and kill us both. The men on the ground with machine guns will finish him if I don't. The dust alone might kill him if I wait much longer."
Batman pondered. "On the plus side, this means Luthor doesn't have any notable quantity of the mineral, or he'd use it instead of dust."
Powerful hands grabbed the neck of his suit. Reinforced Kevlar creaked and buckled. "How can you even think of that right now? That's my son!"
Batman waited until Kal released him. "You've mentioned that. Give me a second to think. You know it's Luthor?"
"He...sent me a message. Pretended he was 'concerned' for me, had some information I might want to know. Plausible deniability, as usual."
"Does your son have any powers I need to know about? Can he fly, is he invulnerable?"
"I--I don't know. I'm not in his life much. He doesn't even know that he's--about our connection." Kal's voice was tight, his eyes mutely implored Batman: Help me. Help us. Please.
"GIve me ten minutes, Kal. Then take out the gunmen."
"They'll let Jason drop if I go after them."
Batman met Superman's eyes squarely. "Do you trust me?"
Kal swallowed. "Yes." It was almost a whisper.
Black-gloved hands on blue shoulders. "I won't let your son fall, Kal. Ten minutes." Then he was gone.
Kal waited in the darkness. He heard Jason's heart pounding, heard his wheezing breaths. Time dragged by.
At ten minutes, he launched himself at the gunmen. He had the first and second one down before the crane released its pulley.
Kal heard the click of the catch opening, heard his son's shocked intake of breath as he started to fall. He couldn't look up.
He heard the twang of a grapple line springing taut and the rippling flutter of silk, the soft impact of his son's body safe into leather-clad arms.
No time for relief as he found the rest of Luthor's crew, disarmed and restrained them. Not that they'd ever admit to being "Luthor's crew."
He found Jason's heartbeat and followed it to a rooftop where Batman was just finishing untying him and dusting off the green powder. Jason was tearful and shaking, but seemed unharmed. Kal felt the Kryptonite burn start on his skin at about ten feet and halted. It was just as well, or he would have swept Jason up in a paternal embrace. The kid didn't need to have some alien walking into his life, telling him Richard wasn't his real father. He needed stability, sanity, as normal a life as he could have, for as long as he could have it. So Kal only smiled reassuringly at Jason, his hair disheveled and one hand clutching Batman's black cape like a security blanket.
His son was safe.
"Where do you live, Jason?" the Dark Knight was asking. Jason gave his address in a tiny voice. "Shall we take you back to your parents, then?" The boy nodded and even managed a smile. Batman picked up Jason and readied a grapple. "You're not scared of heights, are you, Jason?"
The tremor in the child's voice came close to a laugh. "Not now."
"Good boy."
As Batman got ready to launch off the roof, Jason looked back at Kal. "Thank you," he whispered. Superman smiled. Then he met Batman's eyes.
"Thank you."
A nod. Then Jason was gone, held tightly in Batman's arms, on his way home to his mother and father.
: : :
Lex Luthor woke from a pleasant dream to the feel of an arm across his throat. He looked up into blackness and eyes that sparked rage.
"I would have thought that you, of all people, would have understood the necessity," he said, amused and annoyed. "We humans--"
The arm pressed somewhat harder, cutting him off. "Don't you dare give yourself that title."
"He's a menace."
"He's not the one who endangered a child tonight for his twisted idea of revenge." The vigilante's jaw clenched. "If you threaten that child again--if you threaten any human life again--I'll see to it you'll lose what matters most to you: Your fledgling empire. Your new partner and WayneCorp could crush you."
Luthor would have laughed if his throat weren't so constricted. "Bruce Wayne? He wouldn't dare. He'd probably win, but it would take him down too. You don't have that much power over him."
A laugh like steel on stone. "You wouldn't believe the kind of dirt I have on Wayne. When I say 'Jump,' Bruce Wayne says, 'How high?' Believe me, I can convince him to risk everything to take you down."
Luthor glared wordlessly at the Dark Knight, who smiled at him like a poison-edged dagger. And was gone.
Lex Luthor walked through the open French doors to his balcony and looked out over his city, rubbing his throat.
Apparently Bruce Wayne was going to be yet another impediment. As long as he controlled WayneCorp, Luthor would have to watch his step. That was a shame. Lex had rather liked the young man and been working on some...plans for him. Such a nice head of hair...
But Lex Luthor didn't like impediments. He found them...tedious.
This would have to be dealt with as well.
: : :
"Kal? I'm on top of the public library. Can you meet me there?"
"Sure." The voice sounded in Batman's ear and in front of him simultaneously.
"I've spoken with Luthor. I believe I've slowed him down a bit."
Superman crossed his arms. "How did you do that?"
"I gave him some incentive to not go after your child again. I hope you'll forgive me for not destroying him on the spot. I figured if I did that he'd have nothing to lose, which would make him even more dangerous."
Superman frowned and nodded.
"The kid's home and safe, by the way."
"I know. I checked."
"What, didn't trust me to drop him off?"
"No, I just...wanted to see him there." The alien's face was calm and serene.
Batman wondered if the question would be rude, then asked it anyway. "Doesn't it bother you that other people are raising your son? That humans are raising your Kryptonian son?"
The tiniest dent between the perfect eyebrows. "I was technically human at the conception. He might not be genetically Kryptonian at all." Batman couldn't help but wish he could run some tests on the boy: a human-Kryptonian semi-hybrid, fascinating. Of course, Superman would probably rip his arms off if he tried it. Or worse, give him that disappointed look, the one he gave people from whom he had expected better behavior.
The look he would probably give Batman right now if he knew what Batman had in a pouch at his waist, pilfered from Luthor's offices. Batman shifted uncomfortably. Twenty hours, Kal. Give me twenty hours. Then I'll give it back to you, I promise.
Superman was continuing. "He's happy and loved." A small, sad smile. "I gave up any right to disrupt his life when I left. And keeping our connection secret should minimize the amount of time he spends hanging from cranes. I keep an eye on him. He's a good kid. When he needs me, I'll be there for him."
He focused again on Batman. "Thank you. It shames me, now, to admit I haven't trusted you in the past."
Batman couldn't quite meet those eyes like azure arrows. He made his voice as gruff as possible. "We humans aren't always the most trustworthy lot. You're wise to be suspicious of most of us."
"Maybe. But not all." Kal reached out and touched him gently on the chest, just over the heart, his hand pale against the ebon suit. "Not all of you."
A darting motion and Superman was above him in the air. "Sleep well, B."
Batman was alone on the roof.
: : :
Bruce Wayne parked his car in the parking garage and walked eagerly toward the elevator that would take him to the Daily Planet offices. He had gotten back to the hotel late last night after his visit to Luthor to find an email from Clark:
I'm sorry about tonight, more sorry than I can say. I know "it's not you, it's me," is a stupid cliche, but...it wasn't you, it was me. I'm not exactly the easiest man in the world to date, Bruce. I'm going to have to ask you to give me a second chance this time. The email had ended by suggesting Bruce stop by the office before heading back to Gotham today.
Thus the morning found Bruce feeling almost cheerful as he made his way to see Clark again. By some stroke of luck, Clark had decided that he was the one in error, not Bruce. In fact, Bruce thought ruefully, it had been just as well in some ways, because if Clark hadn't bolted, Bruce would surely have had to when Superman called him.
From now on, Bruce resolved, he'd try to take things as slowly as he could with Clark. No rushing him. Who knew what traumas he had gone through, what issues he'd have to overcome? No, Bruce would have to try to let Clark decide when he was ready to take things to the next level. He was worth the wait.
As he punched the up button on the elevator, Bruce found his thoughts reluctantly coming to a key question, one that had to be answered: how far was he going to let Clark into his life? If he was willing to wait for Clark, willing to make this long-term, was he willing to reveal his double life?
Even as he made himself finally ask the question, though, he already knew the answer. He had trusted Clark with his life already. Clark was brave, discreet, loyal, intelligent--if he couldn't trust Clark with his secret identity, he could probably never trust anyone.
Once he had faced his answer, he felt relief wash through him. If he could make this work with Clark, he'd tell him everything. He had a brief image of Clark sitting near him in the cave, his smile warming the chill away, helping him research something, his strong hands on Bruce's shoulders, soothing away the soreness and tension. Hands slipping lower--no, better not to think about that too much right now. Slowly, slowly.
Of course, with Bruce's luck, Clark would insist on putting on some silly costume and fighting crime by his side. He was halfway through composing a speech explaining to Clark why he was not going to be risking his life on the streets when he realized he was getting ahead of himself a bit.
The elevator arrived.
As he entered the office, Clark saw him and smiled, and any lingering doubts Bruce might have had about Clark being angry about last night dissipated entirely in its delighted glow. Jason was perched on his desk, scribbling on a piece of paper with crayons. As Bruce drew nearer, Clark said, "He's taking a day off from school today. Had an eventful evening last night, didn't you, Jason?"
"Yep," said the boy absent-mindedly, coloring with intense concentration. "I wanted to go to the Halloween party at school today, but Mommy said no, she wanted me here."
"He's drawing a picture of what happened last night," said Clark with a grin.
Bruce glanced over at the picture, probably of Superman taking on those thugs--oh.
The stick-figure boy in the picture was surrounded by a great deal of black cloth, and under the exaggerated bat ears--Bruce was fairly certain that his expression had actually been a Threatening Grimace rather than the jaunty grin in the drawing, but he was hardly in a position to suggest revisions.
Bruce coughed for a moment. "You got to meet Batman? Cool." He reached into his coat pocket, but as he did, a man's voice cut into the conversation.
"Jason." A handsome man with an angry face came up behind the boy, putting a hand between him and Bruce. "Come back and sit with me for a while." Over the child's head, his eyes snapped fury. "I'm sure Mr. Luthor's business partner is too busy to waste time with children."
Bruce heard Clark's sharp intake of breath behind him and spoke quickly, keeping his face bland. "No bother at all. Nice kid. Good artistic potential."
Richard steered Jason away without an answer, shooting a look behind Bruce. "Clark. I expected better from you."
Awkward silence filled the space between the two of them in the wake of the encounter. "I'm sorry," murmured Clark.
"It's a reasonable reaction, if Luthor has threatened the child's life."
"Twice now. Apparently he tried to kidnap him last night."
"An extremely reasonable reaction, then."
Another pause. Clark pitched his voice low. "I've got half a mind to drag you onto this desk and kiss you right in front of everyone."
The idealistic idiot would probably do it too, throw away his job and his reputation to make some crazy point. Bruce spoke sharply to forestall any such insanity, trying to ignore the stab of lust that dissolved the room into haze around him. "Don't be stupid. Just tell them you're trying to weasel information from me, that should do the trick." This was why he'd have to tell Clark about Batman, otherwise the man would ruin everything by trying to defend Bruce Wayne's non-existent honor.
When Clark still looked mutinous, Bruce dug hastily into his coat pocket. "I guess it wouldn't be wise to give him this," he said, holding out the Superman action figure he had purchased on the way over.
Clark took it from him, meeting his eyes. His fingers lingered just a bit on Bruce's, but it felt like Clark had stripped him bare in the middle of the office. Clark put the toy in his desk drawer. "I'll hold on to it for him." He turned back to Bruce. "Are you sure you have to head back to Gotham so soon? I hardly got a chance to show you around. And it's Halloween...a good night for trick and treating. You can be one or the other, your choice." He waggled his eyebrows at Bruce meaningfully.
Clark certainly didn't seem shy right now. "I'm bitterly unhappy about it, Clark, but there's stuff I absolutely have to get done in Gotham this evening." Bruce steeled himself against Clark's sad eyes. He had to give the item he had found in Luthor's offices to Kal as soon as possible, which meant if he wanted to get a look at for himself he had to get back to the cave right away.
Plus he had a hunch that Batman's first Halloween in Gotham might be eventful.
Clark offered to walk with him to his car, and they headed for the elevator together. "I'm afraid I'm not the easiest man in the world to date either, Clark."
"I suppose you're worth it."
"You suppose?"
A sideways grin full of laughter. "So do I still get my second chance?"
"There's no way I'm letting you get out of it. As a matter of fact...I've just today been given two tickets for a weekend cruise leaving from Metropolis, compliments of Lex Luthor. For Bruce Wayne 'and companion.'" Bruce raised his eyebrows. "You free this weekend?"
"Hmmmmm." Clark's pondering as the elevator descended was comically overdone. "I don't know. I might be really busy this weekend."
The elevator doors slid open and they entered the parking garage. Bruce stepped out and looked back at the reporter. "Clark, we are men of action. Lies do not become us."
Clark felt a wide grin blossom on his face as he followed Bruce out of the elevator. "Oh, you do not want to start quoting the Princess Bride at me, Bruce. Trust me. I'll crush you." He tilted his head. "So if you're Westley, does that mean I have to be Buttercup?" He wrinkled his nose.
Bruce waved a hand. "Oh, no, no. You'd have to be Inigo, of course."
Clark put on his best faux-Spanish accent. "You seem a decent fellow. I hate to kill you."
An answering, challenging grin. "You seem a decent fellow. I hate to die."
Clark bowed and held out a hand as if holding a rapier. "Begin."
Bruce dropped into an extremely credible fencing stance. Rich kids and their crazy hobbies. Clark met his imaginary attack and they began a spirited fencing duel through the parking garage.
"You are using Bonetti's Defense against me, ah?" Clark did a couple of Inigo-style spins.
"I thought it fitting considering the rocky terrain."
"Naturally, you must suspect me to attack with Capa Ferro?"
Bruce broke character for a moment, stepping back and dropping his "rapier." "Good Lord, Clark, you really do know this whole dialogue. I officially proclaim you King of the Geeks."
Clark waved his rapier menacingly. "King and still reigning world champion. And you know the next line as well as I do, varlet. Have at you."
Bruce sighed and redoubled his attack. "Naturally... but I find that Thibault cancels out Capa Ferro. Don't you?"
"Unless the enemy has studied his Agrippa... which I have."
The other man leered at him, breaking character again. "Oh, I've also studied your Agrippa, believe me."
Clark smiled and put his heart into the next line as their swords and glances crossed. "You are wonderful."
Bruce's competitive grin faltered somewhat, but he continued gamely. "Thank you; I've worked hard to become so."
"I admit it, you are better than I am." The playboy was, in fact, breathtakingly lovely in the dim light, his motions fluid and confident. When Bruce relaxed, his body seemed filled with an almost unconscious, assertive grace. Clark wondered for the approximately millionth time what that grace would be like in bed.
"Then why are you smiling?"
"Because I know something you don't know." The millionth time today, that is.
"And what is that?"
"I...am not left-handed." Clark mimed tossing his sword to his right hand and came back at Bruce, driving him about the parking ramp, shadows and light flickering across them.
Bruce smiled. "You are amazing."
"I ought to be, after twenty years."
"Oh, there's something I ought to tell you," said Bruce. "I'm not left handed either." He mimed switching hands in turn, clearly gaining the advantage, breaking down Clark's increasingly feeble defenses, his eyes shining.
"Who are you?" was Inigo's next line.
Bruce's smile was edged. "No one of consequence."
"I must know," said Clark, and found he meant it. He felt like he still had no idea who this man really was, standing before him as if he would be comfortable with a real sword in his hand, beautiful and dangerous as a blade himself.
"Get used to disappointment."
Clark did the requisite shrug and they fought out the "duel" to its conclusion, which ended with Clark pinned to Bruce's convertible, "disarmed," Bruce's arm across his chest. He found he was breathing heavily, which didn't make any sense. It would take more than a fake sword fight to wind him.
Bruce grabbed him by his pants pockets and dragged him closer for a kiss that left Clark gasping even more. It wasn't possible, it just wasn't, that this man could want Clark Kent.
And yet there he was, his tongue most definitely and concretely exploring every inch of Clark's mouth and his very tangible hands resting possessively on Clark's hips.
Impossible.
Real.
Bruce.
He didn't realize he had said the name out loud until he felt a shiver go through the other man's body and heard the sharp intake of breath. "Clark," Bruce said as if it was the answer to everything.
Clark hadn't thought it was possible for the kiss to become deeper, more completely enthralling, but it did. The echoing sounds of the parking garage seemed to fade out around Clark and he found himself in a circle of hush, a near-silence that he didn't dare examine, hardly even dared to notice.
A timeless time later, Bruce pulled back. "I have to go or else I'll never get back to Gotham at all," he whispered.
"Would that be so bad?"
A rueful smile. "You make me wonder, Clark. But duty calls." He brushed a thumb across Clark's lower lip. "Promise me I'll see you this weekend, on the cruise. I won't rush you, I swear, but I need to see you again soon." The emphasized word sent ripples through Clark.
"I'll be there if you want me there."
Bruce got into his convertible. Before he started the engine and drove off, he looked at Clark, dark-winged eyebrows raised, and under them, his eyes--
"As you wish," said Bruce Wayne.
: : :
It was All Hallow's Eve. The hunter's moon was shining down on a Metropolis rooftop as the leader of Intergang cowered in terror just outside a broken pentagram, staring white-eyed at the remains of his men. In the center of the pentagram a book bound in red leather was still smoking slightly. A slender woman turned from the bloody wreck before her to face the leader.
"Is this all your world has to offer?" Her sneer was like silver bells. "Mere mortals? Is there none worthy of me in all this land?" She moved to face him, her face pale and cold, a dream of perfection.
He gibbered.
Bored and impatient, she reached into his head and took the information she needed. Smiling, she contemplated it. At last. A Redcross Knight indeed, brave and true and beautiful, not small and limited like these mortals.
Licking her delicate fingers clean, she walked toward the edge of the roof. Once there, she slipped into something more comfortable, her shape flowing into platinum scales and ruby talons.
The Queen of Stories spread her wings and took to the Metropolis sky.