Music of the Spheres: Now and Always
Title: Now and Always
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Notes: Hey, wow, remember my "Music of the Spheres" series? It's been a while, but I wanted to revisit it! "MotS" is a series set in the combined universes of "Batman Begins" and "Superman Returns." Other stories and notes on the series here.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Bruce needs a reluctant Clark to act jealous in public.
Word Count: 1700
When Clark Kent re-entered the room, a glass of red wine in each hand, he was not surprised to see that the jackals had descended in his absence.
It happened at most parties; even though he and Bruce Wayne had been an “item” for almost two years now, there were always people eager to take the chance to potentially edge out the dowdy reporter and impress Gotham’s most eligible playboy with their wit and charm.
Clark stopped for a moment and took stock of the latest aspirants. Dotti Taylor, her golden hair piled on her head and her wide blue eyes cheerfully avaricious, clung to Bruce’s right elbow. Cedric Weber, wearing a mauve suit and flaunting cheekbones sharp enough to slice bread with, hovered at his left. And Vivianne May was relating some story about her latest society success, her long, ruby-tipped fingers sketching shapes in the air between her and Bruce.
Bruce looked enthralled by Vivianne’s story, but Clark could see the tiny lines of strain around his laughing mouth, the hint of tenseness in his shoulders.
Usually, Clark would just shrug and walk away, let people think they were making headway in Bruce’s affections and look forward to Bruce’s wicked dissection of their fanged banter in the bedroom later.
But not tonight.
He felt his fist tighten on the wineglass as if he were about to go into battle and stepped forward.
: : :
“But it doesn’t really fit my character, you know,” Clark had said a bit plaintively as they prepared for the party earlier that evening. “Meek little Clark Kent throwing a jealous temper tantrum in public? No one will buy it.” He frowned as he tried to adjust his bow tie.
“Oh, I’m sure you can find a way to sell it convincingly,” Bruce said, shaking a little aftershave onto his hand and rubbing it on his face. His ironic eyes met Clark’s in the mirror. “It’s for the Mission, Clark.”
“You really think that Daggett will be more likely to trust you if I put on an Alpha Male He-Man show over you? Come on.”
“You don’t know Roland Daggett,” Bruce said. His mouth tilted upward slightly and he reached out, brushing away Clark’s hands to start tying his tie for him. “I need to convince him I’m easily cowed by strong men, easily led. He won’t let me get close if he thinks he can’t bully me. I could just break into his compound and try to find those chemical weapon formulae as Batman, but it’d be easier if I could case the place as Bruce first. And for that to happen--” He put the finishing touches on Clark’s tie and leaned forward to kiss his Adam’s apple lightly.
“--You need him to trust you, I get it.”
Bruce wagged a finger in his face. “Trust has nothing to do with it. He needs to know he’s the pack leader, that I’m a good, submissive beta male that will show my belly when threatened by an Alpha.”
Clark sighed. “I’ve studied this, and you’ve lectured me about it, but I just do not understand all this hierarchy stuff. Not in my gut.”
Bruce poked his stomach. “That’s because you have a Kryptonian gut, and Kryptonians didn’t evolve from pack animals. You, my strange visitor, transcend hierarchies, you upend them, you ignore them completely. We mere humans have no way to process you.” His eyes gleamed. “You are...ineffable.”
“Well,” grumbled Clark, “If I put on the show you want, you’d better find a way to eff me later.”
Bruce’s chortle was dark and pleased with itself.
: : :
The tail end of that husky laugh still ghosted through Clark’s mind as he stepped forward. Dotti, Cedric, and Vivianne all affected surprise as he entered their space and handed Bruce his glass. “You’re back so...soon,” Cedric said, his lip curling slightly.
“Isn’t he such a solicitous little dear,” giggled Dotti, snuggling closer to Bruce.
“Yes indeed. Now why don’t you run along,” Vivianne drawled, gesturing languidly toward the crowd.
“I think I’d rather stay here,” Clark said evenly, and she raised a dark, glossy eyebrow, then smiled, showing well-manicured teeth.
“Actually,” she purred, “ Mr. Kent might have some valuable insight into this conversation, don’t you think, Brucie?”
Bruce shrugged and took a sip of wine, but Cedric pounced on Vivianne’s words.
“Oh yes, Vivi, what a good idea.” He turned to Clark. “We were just discussing the country life and its appeals. Dotti was saying she could never stand to live someplace that smelled of animal excrement, and I was saying that surely not everyone that lives on a farm smells of manure.”
“I mean,” said Vivianne, “I suppose it must wear off eventually, yes?”
Clark suddenly had to fight down an entirely incongruous laugh. This trio, with their eyes full of childish, avid cruelty, flirting with Batman without even knowing it...he felt almost sorry for them. Over the rim of his wineglass, Bruce seemed to sense his perverse mood and shot him a warning look. Clark choked down his laughter and managed a frown, trying to get into the spirit of the thing.
“I suppose I’d rather smell of pigs than of cheap cologne and new money,” he said.
Vivianne’s eyes flew open wide, and Dotti sucked in her breath in a sudden gasp.
“Oh my,” gurgled Cedric, “Does the puppy have teeth after all?”
Clark stepped forward and brushed Cedric off Bruce’s arm, taking his place effortlessly. “I believe even a puppy can only take so much of watching a pack of hyenas poaching on what’s his.” He pitched his voice to carry, and voices started to fall silent nearby, a ripple of attention spreading outward. Clark glimpsed Roland Daggett staring and felt a flush of something like embarrassment heating the back of his neck, putting an extra edge to his voice that he rarely had as Superman. “Honestly, I’ve had just about enough of you vultures thinking you’ll be able to replace me. You’re ridiculous and pathetic--” He turned his attention to Bruce, whose eyes were shining as he gazed at him in almost comedic adoration, “--And Bruce should know better than to encourage you. Shouldn’t you, Bruce?”
Bruce swallowed and lowered dark lashes before his gaze. “Yes, my dear,” he murmured. Vivianne hissed something under her breath, but Clark ignored her, taking Bruce’s chin in his hand.
“I don’t need anything from these harpies,” he said, letting his words flick scorn at the three gaping socialites, “But I think you owe me an apology, Bruce.”
"It's just some harmless fun, Clark."
Clark raised an eyebrow at him. "And are you having fun?" Bruce hesitated, and Clark repeated, "I'm still waiting for your apology."
Bruce licked his lips, and Clark felt his contradictory laughter and anger combine into a white-hot flame. “I’m sorry,” Bruce said, softly but clearly. “I promise to behave better in the future.”
Everyone was staring now. Clark could barely trust his voice at this point, so he merely leaned forward for a brief but bruising kiss. “I’m taking you home now,” he muttered thickly.
“Yes,” said Bruce.
Clark put a hand in the small of Bruce’s back and steered him from the room, leaving behind a startled crowd.
: : :
The elevator doors slid shut with a soothing chime, and Clark collapsed against the wall, letting out the laughter he’d been stifling. “That was the most ridiculous--”
Bruce whacked the highest floor with his elbow and pounced on Clark with one fluid motion.
The laughter and annoyance crystallized into urgency with no transition at all as Bruce rained greedy kisses on him, grabbing at his hair with a ferocity that would have hurt anyone else, his body tight against Clark’s. Clark heard a growling noise, low and sharp, and realized with a slight shock it was his own voice. “You’re mine,” the voice said, as Clark’s hands pulled Bruce closer.
“Completely,” Bruce asserted.
“I hate sharing you.” His fingers were hooked in Bruce’s belt; he yanked again and Bruce ground up against him, hissing in pleasure.
“They have nothing of me,” Bruce said fiercely. ”Nothing. I’m completely yours.”
The elevator doors opened into an empty hall--and a good thing, too, because Clark was beyond being able to take his hands off of Bruce. “Say that again.”
Bruce slipped from his grasp and took his hand, stepping out of the elevator. He crossed the hall and produced a card key from nowhere, opening the door. “I’m yours, Clark. Rup i khap, Kal,” he repeated, and Clark felt incandescent with need, with longing and desire.
The room was dark save for the glow of city lights and faint starlight beyond it. The bed was wide and white, and Bruce’s hair was dark against it, his body shining and shadowed with faint scars.
Clark kissed each of them.
“You enjoyed that,” he murmured against a thin white line on Bruce’s collarbone.
Bruce stretched and arched against him. “Didn’t you?” he said with a lazy, smoldering edge to his words, and Clark groaned slightly.
“Yes, damn you.”
Bruce caught his face between his hands to look at him. “I wasn’t lying about needing to put on a show for Daggett. But a good vigilante always...multitasks,” he said. The slight smile on his lips slipped away into something much more serious. “I needed that, Clark. Just for one moment, I wanted everyone to...know it.”
“They won’t give up just because I’ve thrown a hissy fit,” Clark said.
Bruce shook his head, his laugh touched with disbelief. “Hissy fit?” He touched Clark’s mouth with a gentle finger. “You have no idea, do you?”
“What?”
“Nothing,” murmured Bruce, leaning forward to kiss him again. “They’ll be back, yes. But not for a little while, I think.” Clark bent to kiss another scar, and Bruce sighed, a long, low exhalation. “I’m yours, Clark Kent. Now and always. Body and soul.”
Clark felt his lips tremble, and pressed them against perfect marred skin to still them. “Now and always,” he said as if it could be true. “Body and soul.”
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Notes: Hey, wow, remember my "Music of the Spheres" series? It's been a while, but I wanted to revisit it! "MotS" is a series set in the combined universes of "Batman Begins" and "Superman Returns." Other stories and notes on the series here.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Bruce needs a reluctant Clark to act jealous in public.
Word Count: 1700
When Clark Kent re-entered the room, a glass of red wine in each hand, he was not surprised to see that the jackals had descended in his absence.
It happened at most parties; even though he and Bruce Wayne had been an “item” for almost two years now, there were always people eager to take the chance to potentially edge out the dowdy reporter and impress Gotham’s most eligible playboy with their wit and charm.
Clark stopped for a moment and took stock of the latest aspirants. Dotti Taylor, her golden hair piled on her head and her wide blue eyes cheerfully avaricious, clung to Bruce’s right elbow. Cedric Weber, wearing a mauve suit and flaunting cheekbones sharp enough to slice bread with, hovered at his left. And Vivianne May was relating some story about her latest society success, her long, ruby-tipped fingers sketching shapes in the air between her and Bruce.
Bruce looked enthralled by Vivianne’s story, but Clark could see the tiny lines of strain around his laughing mouth, the hint of tenseness in his shoulders.
Usually, Clark would just shrug and walk away, let people think they were making headway in Bruce’s affections and look forward to Bruce’s wicked dissection of their fanged banter in the bedroom later.
But not tonight.
He felt his fist tighten on the wineglass as if he were about to go into battle and stepped forward.
: : :
“But it doesn’t really fit my character, you know,” Clark had said a bit plaintively as they prepared for the party earlier that evening. “Meek little Clark Kent throwing a jealous temper tantrum in public? No one will buy it.” He frowned as he tried to adjust his bow tie.
“Oh, I’m sure you can find a way to sell it convincingly,” Bruce said, shaking a little aftershave onto his hand and rubbing it on his face. His ironic eyes met Clark’s in the mirror. “It’s for the Mission, Clark.”
“You really think that Daggett will be more likely to trust you if I put on an Alpha Male He-Man show over you? Come on.”
“You don’t know Roland Daggett,” Bruce said. His mouth tilted upward slightly and he reached out, brushing away Clark’s hands to start tying his tie for him. “I need to convince him I’m easily cowed by strong men, easily led. He won’t let me get close if he thinks he can’t bully me. I could just break into his compound and try to find those chemical weapon formulae as Batman, but it’d be easier if I could case the place as Bruce first. And for that to happen--” He put the finishing touches on Clark’s tie and leaned forward to kiss his Adam’s apple lightly.
“--You need him to trust you, I get it.”
Bruce wagged a finger in his face. “Trust has nothing to do with it. He needs to know he’s the pack leader, that I’m a good, submissive beta male that will show my belly when threatened by an Alpha.”
Clark sighed. “I’ve studied this, and you’ve lectured me about it, but I just do not understand all this hierarchy stuff. Not in my gut.”
Bruce poked his stomach. “That’s because you have a Kryptonian gut, and Kryptonians didn’t evolve from pack animals. You, my strange visitor, transcend hierarchies, you upend them, you ignore them completely. We mere humans have no way to process you.” His eyes gleamed. “You are...ineffable.”
“Well,” grumbled Clark, “If I put on the show you want, you’d better find a way to eff me later.”
Bruce’s chortle was dark and pleased with itself.
: : :
The tail end of that husky laugh still ghosted through Clark’s mind as he stepped forward. Dotti, Cedric, and Vivianne all affected surprise as he entered their space and handed Bruce his glass. “You’re back so...soon,” Cedric said, his lip curling slightly.
“Isn’t he such a solicitous little dear,” giggled Dotti, snuggling closer to Bruce.
“Yes indeed. Now why don’t you run along,” Vivianne drawled, gesturing languidly toward the crowd.
“I think I’d rather stay here,” Clark said evenly, and she raised a dark, glossy eyebrow, then smiled, showing well-manicured teeth.
“Actually,” she purred, “ Mr. Kent might have some valuable insight into this conversation, don’t you think, Brucie?”
Bruce shrugged and took a sip of wine, but Cedric pounced on Vivianne’s words.
“Oh yes, Vivi, what a good idea.” He turned to Clark. “We were just discussing the country life and its appeals. Dotti was saying she could never stand to live someplace that smelled of animal excrement, and I was saying that surely not everyone that lives on a farm smells of manure.”
“I mean,” said Vivianne, “I suppose it must wear off eventually, yes?”
Clark suddenly had to fight down an entirely incongruous laugh. This trio, with their eyes full of childish, avid cruelty, flirting with Batman without even knowing it...he felt almost sorry for them. Over the rim of his wineglass, Bruce seemed to sense his perverse mood and shot him a warning look. Clark choked down his laughter and managed a frown, trying to get into the spirit of the thing.
“I suppose I’d rather smell of pigs than of cheap cologne and new money,” he said.
Vivianne’s eyes flew open wide, and Dotti sucked in her breath in a sudden gasp.
“Oh my,” gurgled Cedric, “Does the puppy have teeth after all?”
Clark stepped forward and brushed Cedric off Bruce’s arm, taking his place effortlessly. “I believe even a puppy can only take so much of watching a pack of hyenas poaching on what’s his.” He pitched his voice to carry, and voices started to fall silent nearby, a ripple of attention spreading outward. Clark glimpsed Roland Daggett staring and felt a flush of something like embarrassment heating the back of his neck, putting an extra edge to his voice that he rarely had as Superman. “Honestly, I’ve had just about enough of you vultures thinking you’ll be able to replace me. You’re ridiculous and pathetic--” He turned his attention to Bruce, whose eyes were shining as he gazed at him in almost comedic adoration, “--And Bruce should know better than to encourage you. Shouldn’t you, Bruce?”
Bruce swallowed and lowered dark lashes before his gaze. “Yes, my dear,” he murmured. Vivianne hissed something under her breath, but Clark ignored her, taking Bruce’s chin in his hand.
“I don’t need anything from these harpies,” he said, letting his words flick scorn at the three gaping socialites, “But I think you owe me an apology, Bruce.”
"It's just some harmless fun, Clark."
Clark raised an eyebrow at him. "And are you having fun?" Bruce hesitated, and Clark repeated, "I'm still waiting for your apology."
Bruce licked his lips, and Clark felt his contradictory laughter and anger combine into a white-hot flame. “I’m sorry,” Bruce said, softly but clearly. “I promise to behave better in the future.”
Everyone was staring now. Clark could barely trust his voice at this point, so he merely leaned forward for a brief but bruising kiss. “I’m taking you home now,” he muttered thickly.
“Yes,” said Bruce.
Clark put a hand in the small of Bruce’s back and steered him from the room, leaving behind a startled crowd.
: : :
The elevator doors slid shut with a soothing chime, and Clark collapsed against the wall, letting out the laughter he’d been stifling. “That was the most ridiculous--”
Bruce whacked the highest floor with his elbow and pounced on Clark with one fluid motion.
The laughter and annoyance crystallized into urgency with no transition at all as Bruce rained greedy kisses on him, grabbing at his hair with a ferocity that would have hurt anyone else, his body tight against Clark’s. Clark heard a growling noise, low and sharp, and realized with a slight shock it was his own voice. “You’re mine,” the voice said, as Clark’s hands pulled Bruce closer.
“Completely,” Bruce asserted.
“I hate sharing you.” His fingers were hooked in Bruce’s belt; he yanked again and Bruce ground up against him, hissing in pleasure.
“They have nothing of me,” Bruce said fiercely. ”Nothing. I’m completely yours.”
The elevator doors opened into an empty hall--and a good thing, too, because Clark was beyond being able to take his hands off of Bruce. “Say that again.”
Bruce slipped from his grasp and took his hand, stepping out of the elevator. He crossed the hall and produced a card key from nowhere, opening the door. “I’m yours, Clark. Rup i khap, Kal,” he repeated, and Clark felt incandescent with need, with longing and desire.
The room was dark save for the glow of city lights and faint starlight beyond it. The bed was wide and white, and Bruce’s hair was dark against it, his body shining and shadowed with faint scars.
Clark kissed each of them.
“You enjoyed that,” he murmured against a thin white line on Bruce’s collarbone.
Bruce stretched and arched against him. “Didn’t you?” he said with a lazy, smoldering edge to his words, and Clark groaned slightly.
“Yes, damn you.”
Bruce caught his face between his hands to look at him. “I wasn’t lying about needing to put on a show for Daggett. But a good vigilante always...multitasks,” he said. The slight smile on his lips slipped away into something much more serious. “I needed that, Clark. Just for one moment, I wanted everyone to...know it.”
“They won’t give up just because I’ve thrown a hissy fit,” Clark said.
Bruce shook his head, his laugh touched with disbelief. “Hissy fit?” He touched Clark’s mouth with a gentle finger. “You have no idea, do you?”
“What?”
“Nothing,” murmured Bruce, leaning forward to kiss him again. “They’ll be back, yes. But not for a little while, I think.” Clark bent to kiss another scar, and Bruce sighed, a long, low exhalation. “I’m yours, Clark Kent. Now and always. Body and soul.”
Clark felt his lips tremble, and pressed them against perfect marred skin to still them. “Now and always,” he said as if it could be true. “Body and soul.”