Stranger in a Strange Land: Movie Night (6/8)
Title: Stranger in a Strange Land: Movie Night
Pairing/Characters: Clark/Bruce, Alfred, Dick
Rating: R
Warnings: None
Continuity: Justice League Unlimited
Summary: After Kal's superheroic debut, an impromptu lesson on heroic nonverbals turns into something quite different.
Word Count: 4700
Notes: For a prompt on the
worlds_finest birthday thread: "Krypton doesn't explode until Kal-El is an adult. He arrives on Earth still the last son, but having seen his planet die. To the JLA's surprise, Batman is the one to volunteer to help him." All chapters can be found here.
Dick's cheerful face looked down at Bruce as he hoisted the weights upward again. "And he didn't take too well to your advice?" Behind them on the monitor, Summer Gleeson was doing a human-interest story on Bruce Wayne's latest philanthropic project.
Bruce grunted as he held the barbell steady for a moment, then lowered it once more. "He won't even choose a superhero name, much less work on looking like one. He told me saving people was more important than worrying about theatrics and play-acting."
"Well, he's got a point," Dick said.
"Theatrics and play-acting are part of being a superhero," Bruce growled. "Not the most important part, but you can't just ignore how you come across to people."
"Maybe you can if you can fly and shoot lasers out of your eyes."
Bruce glared up at Dick's grin. "You've seen him in his suit. If he makes his debut like that... Well, tell me he doesn't come across as an astronomy reporter wearing a bright-colored spandex suit."
"A very good-looking astronomy reporter," said Dick blandly.
Bruce shoved the barbell up as if he might throw it across the room. "That's another thing," he snarled. "He asked me for relationship advice the other day."
Dick's eyebrows performed some complicated acrobatics. "He did?"
"Well, not exactly," Bruce amended. "He wanted to know how humans in our culture showed sexual attraction. He noticed Roni was flirting with him at the party." He scowled up at the weight. "Do you think he wants to date her? She'd be all wrong for him, even without the cultural and biological differences."
Dick's expression seemed to be caught between amused and quizzical. "Bruce, surely you can't--" He broke off and shook his head at Bruce's questioning look. "No, it's none of my business." He reached over and grabbed a towel as Bruce rested the barbell in its cradle, tossing it to land across Bruce's abdomen. "But I'm pretty sure he's not interested in Roni," he added with a smile.
Bruce sat up and scrubbed at his face and hair with the towel, still glowering. Behind them, Summer Gleeson broke into her own newscast: "In breaking news, we have reports of an apartment building on fire in Philadelphia. On the scene live is Jasper Kennelley with WPVI news."
The camera cut to a solemn-faced man explaining that there were dozens of families trapped in the building as the fire spread out of control. Bruce rubbed the back of his neck, calculating which of the Justice League was on active duty and who could get there most quickly.
The reporter's eyes widened and he stared upward. Someone behind him gasped: "Look! Up in the sky!"
The camera swiveled madly to take in--not Green Lantern, not Hawkgirl, and not Martian Manhunter. The form streaking toward the burning building was dressed in red and blue, a scarlet cape streaming out behind him.
Bruce heard Dick breathe: "Kal!" and realized he was on his feet, the towel wrung unheeded in his hands as he watched the Kryptonian plunge straight into the inferno.
: : :
There was a smell of smoke in the air, clinging to Kal's dark hair and bright costume. He sat at the heavy oak kitchen table in Wayne Manor, his head resting on his arms on the table, his shoulders slumped. "You were right," he said, his voice muffled.
Alfred put a mug of steaming tea on the table and cast a stern look at Bruce. Bruce stared back at him, suspecting he looked pathetically helpless: comfort had never been his strong suit. "Don't be ridiculous," he said gruffly, making Alfred frown more. "There were no lives lost. You saved them all, Kal."
Kal sighed and leaned more heavily on the table. "But the fire spread to the next building. Because people didn't listen to me when I asked them to stay calm. I had to spend a lot of extra time carrying them all out one by one, because they didn't pay attention to where I asked them to go. They acted like I was a...weird guy in a suit. And because of that, more people lost their homes."
"But not their lives. Not their lives, Kal." It was ridiculous how difficult it was to find the right words to say.
Kal's shoulders were shaking slightly--with reaction, with shock, Bruce didn't know. The tremor in the steely muscles, the shiver in the red cloth, tore at him. Without thinking, he put his hand on that quivering shoulder, gave it a gentle shake. "You did great," he said.
As soon as he felt the warm cloth under his fingers he braced himself for Kal's flinch. But Kal merely took a deep, ragged breath and didn't pull away. If Bruce didn't know better, in fact, he could have sworn Kal was nearly leaning into his touch. He rubbed the shoulder in circular, soothing motions, making meaningless sounds.
"I was so afraid," mumbled Kal into the table. "So afraid someone would die. That I would fail--everyone. There was a little boy there, a boy with big blue eyes, and the--the hem of his jacket caught on fire, and I thought--I thought--"
It was intolerable, this need to make him stop saying such things. Bruce put his arm around Kal's shoulders and squeezed as if he could halt the flow of words. "You saved him," he whispered. "You saved them all."
Kal reached up and gripped Bruce's hand like it was a lifeline for a moment, his shoulders rigid. Then he sighed and some of the tension seemed to go out of his body. He turned his face to Bruce and managed a weak smile. "Thank you. But you were right, I need to be...more than an unemployed astronomy reporter who can fly. I need to look like a hero. Even if I don't feel like one," he said, letting go of Bruce's hand.
Bruce nodded. "Very well. Change your clothes and shower and we'll start our lesson." He couldn't resist grinning at Kal. "And I'll have Alfred make us some popcorn," he added.
: : :
Bruce came into the living room an hour later to find Kal sitting on the couch, rubbing at his damp hair with a towel--and wearing nothing but a white terrycloth bathrobe.
Bruce almost backed out of the room, but Kal looked up and smiled from under his tousled hair, so there was nothing for it but to keep moving forward. Besides, Kal didn't look uncomfortable or embarrassed at all. And when Bruce thought about it, why should he? The robe covered more of him than most clothing, and certainly revealed less than the skintight costume he'd just been in. It was only Bruce's cultural conditioning that made wearing a bathrobe so...intimate. Only cultural norms that meant he was forcibly reminded that underneath that soft white cloth was nothing but damp, bare skin, that only moments ago there had been nothing on that skin but water...
Bruce handed Kal the stack of DVDs, trying not to stare and mostly--he hoped--succeeding.
Kal picked up one of the rectangular boxes and peered at the sepia-toned picture of a man with a rapier on the cover. "The Sea Hawk"? He ran his finger down the stack, reading off the titles: "Robin Hood, The Prince of Foxes, The Prisoner of Zenda, The Charge of the Light Brigade, The Scarlet Pimpernel, The Three Musketeers... What are these?"
"These," said Bruce, "Are your texts for our course in heroic nonverbals." He took out the disc for Scarlet Pimpernel, spinning it once. "Leslie Howard is a good introduction; Flynn and Fairbanks are for advanced scholars only."
Kal frowned as the opening scene unfolded. "But this is fiction," he said. "How can a fantasy help me?"
"You have to understand," Bruce said as the Scarlet Pimpernel engineered his first daring prison break, "That Batman and Flash and Wonder Woman--they're all fantasies as well. They're fantasies of bravery, of heroism. They're shining dreams of a flawless, incorruptible person who will show us the way."
"I'm not flawless," said Kal, his color high. "I'm not flawless...at all."
"Whereas I, of course, am perfection incarnate," Bruce smirked. Kal tilted his head as if he weren't quite sure Bruce was joking, his brow furrowed. "Of course not," Bruce went on hastily. "But when I put on the cape and cowl, I tap into that dream of perfection, I use it to help others. So can you. These movies--" He nodded at the screen, "--Are the foundation of that dream."
Kal's frown didn't go away, but he watched the movie unfold intently. Bruce sneaked looks at his profile, watching his dubious look slowly melt away into rapt attention, until he was leaning forward on the couch, his eyes shining. When Bruce hit "pause" Kal murmured protest: "But he was just about to--oh, hello, Alfred."
Alfred showed no signs of being startled that Kal was curled up on the couch in nothing but a bathrobe, of course, as he put a large yellow bowl of chipped porcelain on the coffee table in front of them. Bruce always kind of meant to buy a different popcorn bowl, but he'd been using this one since Dick was a little boy and it held more fond memories than it did popcorn at this point. Alfred held out a pair of chopsticks to Kal with a smile and a small bow, and Bruce slapped his forehead.
"I'm sorry, Kal, popcorn is usually a finger food. I totally forgot. I'm pretty sure you can manage it with the chopsticks, though." Kal had become quite dexterous in the use of chopsticks over the last couple of weeks to consume foods meant for the hands.
Kal extracted a piece from the fluffy mass and put in his mouth. "It's very good," he said, reaching for another. "Thank you, Alfred."
Bruce re-started the movie and they made their way toward Percy's inevitable showdown with Chauvelin. Kal was so engrossed in the movie that he didn't seem to realize that his bathrobe sash had loosened slightly and he was revealing a startling amount of leg, well up his thigh. Bruce kept waiting for him to notice and to tug it shut once more, but that long expanse of skin remained available for viewing, and Bruce was completely unable to keep from staring. The muscles were clearly-defined against the bright, clean skin. That's the vastus intermedius, Bruce thought in a desperate attempt to keep his mind focused. Vastus lateralis, rectus femorus... It wasn't working. God, he was beautiful. Beautiful and brave and alone and he would be horrified to know what Bruce dreamed of doing to him. Bruce dragged his eyes back to the movie, re-arranging his position and praying Kal wouldn't notice his arousal or realize what it was.
The credits were rolling. He'd seen nothing of the last confrontation or the final clinch. Kal sighed happily as the last names rolled off the screen. "That was...exciting," he said.
"Very," said Bruce fervently. He grabbed the next movie and put it in. "I think you might be ready for some Fairbanks now. The Three Musketeers--the classic 1921 version. This one's a silent film, so the physical action is even more important."
Kal reached for the chopsticks as the opening credits rolled, then paused and put them back down. With infinite care, he plucked one piece of popcorn from the bowl with his bare fingers and put it in his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed. "That wasn't so bad." A faint smile flickered across his face at Bruce's expression. "I've been thinking I'd better get used to some of your peoples' barbaric customs," he said, the undercurrent of laughter in his voice robbing the words of any insult.
"You don't have to--"
"--I want to fit in," said Kal firmly. He reached out and took another piece of popcorn with less hesitation, placed it in his mouth.
"Fitting in doesn't mean you have to abandon Kryptonian culture," Bruce protested.
Kal looked at him, his eyes very serious. "I will never forget Krypton. But I will not cling blindly to customs and ways that are not essential...or which are not true to who I am," he added. He took another piece of popcorn from the bowl and, his gaze still on Bruce, put it in his mouth.
As Bruce watched, unable to look away, the tip of his tongue darted out and touched his thumb, a brief flash of pink.
Bruce stood up so quickly he almost upset the coffee table. "Excuse me for a moment," he said. "I need to--to check on something in the cave," he announced. "Keep studying the movie, especially how D'Artagnan wins over the musketeers. I'll be back soon."
The damp, chill air of the cave dissipated the worst of Bruce's alarming ardor; running a half hour of diagnostics on the computer almost managed to drag his thoughts away from the image of Kal lounging tousled and relaxed on the couch. Almost. He touched a button on the console: "Nightwing. Do you need any help on patrol?"
"No thanks, B, we're set out here. Everything's under control." Was that an edge of laughter to Dick's voice? "Go back upstairs and watch your movies with Kal."
"How did you--"
"--Alfred mentioned you were giving him the Swashbuckling Seminar."
Of course. "Are you sure you're okay out there?"
"Bruce."
"Dick, he's...he's wearing a bathrobe," Bruce moaned.
Now there wasn't even an attempt to hide the laughter. "Bruce, stop worrying about it and go back upstairs, or I'll call Alfred and have him drag you back up there."
The call cut off. Impertinent brat. Bruce flipped a few more switches aimlessly, but he knew he was just stalling now. He inhaled cool, dank air, released it. He could do this. He could sit next to the most alluring man in the galaxy and stay professional and composed. He could do it, and he was going to do it, not least because he had come to respect and admire Kal. To have lost your whole world, to find yourself in a strange new culture that shocked you at every turn--to go through all that and still want to reach out to others and help them--a man like that deserved better than to be pawed over by some sex-obsessed alien. So Bruce could sit there and talk about Douglas Fairbanks like a friend and a colleague, and not like a man head over heels in--well, intense attraction.
It couldn't be any harder than learning to walk across hot coals, right?
When the living room door opened and Kal looked up at him and smiled, however, Bruce saw the folly of that analogy. In firewalking, one dreaded being burned, while here...
On the screen, D'Artagnan was being reunited with the other Musketeers. "That was wonderful," Kal said as the friends embraced. "Truly, you have magnificent tales here." The bowl of popcorn was filled to the brim again. "Alfred made us some more," said Kal when Bruce's eyes went to it. "He said he was certain you'd return soon." He picked up a piece of popcorn. "I'm glad you're back. What's next?"
Next was Errol Flynn and Robin Hood. Kal started laughing early, as Robin faced down all of King John's court. "This is where Dick's nickname came from," he announced with satisfaction. "I see it now." He said little more for the rest of the movie, but turned to Bruce now and then with shining eyes, as if eager to share his delight, oblivious to Bruce's turmoil.
As the final credits rolled, Bruce clapped his hands together briskly, and Kal stared at him as if still lost in medieval England. "You've seen enough for now," Bruce said. "Time to practice."
"Practice? But...I'm not going to be doing any sword fighting. Am I?"
"It's not the sword fighting that matters, it's the body language. Stand up."
Kal stood, his eyes still quizzical. Bruce thought about asking him to change his clothes, as heroism in a bathrobe seemed incongruous. On the other hand, if he could pull it off in a terrycloth robe, managing it in spandex might be easier. "Okay, let's start with standing."
"Standing," Kal echoed, looking down at himself. "I think I've mastered that."
"Not at all," announced Bruce. "Your feet are too close together. They should be planted hard against the ground, like this." He put his feet apart with an emphatic thump. "As if nothing can move you."
"Very little can," Kal pointed out. He was smiling slightly.
"Right, but you don't look it. You look like a good punch could send you reeling back. You need to look invulnerable. Make the bad guy question whether it's worth even attacking you. Make the person you're protecting feel protected, like the one safe place in the universe is behind you. Be bigger. Take up more space. Spread your legs a bit," said Bruce, then bit his lip, thankful that Kal probably wouldn't catch any lecherous overtones to that.
Kal looked dubious, but moved his feet apart. Involuntarily Bruce wondered--not for the first time that evening--if he was wearing anything under the robe. He shoved the thought away impatiently.
"Now you have to throw out your chest. Like D'Artagnan," said Bruce. "Like you're ready to hurl yourself at any danger without heeding the cost."
Kal closed his eyes, frowning, his head slightly tilted as if he were replaying the movie in his mind. He took a breath and put his shoulders back, pulling his hips in.
"A little more," said Bruce.
"I can't get my shoulders back any more than this," Kal complained.
"Yes you can." Bruce gripped Kal's shoulders, the terrycloth soft under his hand, the muscles beneath it anything but, and pushed slightly. "Take a deep breath and move them back more."
"I feel ridiculous."
"You won't look it. Trust me, when there are bullets bouncing off you and you're saving innocent lives, you will not look even slightly ludicrous."
Kal was still frowning, but he nodded and flung his shoulders back more. This had the unexpected effect of bringing his chest almost into contact with Bruce's; Bruce released his shoulders quickly and stepped back a pace.
"Lift your chin, like you're daring the world to take a swing at you. Like Errol Flynn."
Kal lifted his head, tilting it slightly sideways without being prompted so it looked rakish and just a little arrogant. "Like this?"
"Just like that, but you need to smile. Not like that, not politely. Smile like Robin Hood surrounded by soldiers, like you have no fear, like you know what's right and you're going to do just that." Kal stared at him. "Smile like a man who knows what he wants and is going to have it."
Kal blinked. Then without warning, he smiled, a bright and dazzling smile, joyous and almost relieved.
"Yes!" breathed Bruce. Even in a bathrobe, he was a stunning sight. "That's perfect. That's..." The words faltered in his mouth; he shook his head. "Perfect." He had to get away, he couldn't stay here a moment longer without betraying Kal's trust. The door was open behind him--
"I know what's right," said Kal. "And I know what I want." He was still smiling. "I know."
And then somehow Bruce's arms were around him and his mouth was--Bruce was kissing him.
A shocked stab of panic shuddered through Bruce--how had this happened? How had he lost control so completely as to simply grab Kal and assault him like this, like--
Kal tilted his head sideways and opened his mouth, awkward and eager, and the kiss careened wildly out of control as Bruce realized that it was Kal who had crossed that distance, Kal who had brought their mouths together as if he wanted it, as if, as if--
He heard himself make a muffled sound, part surprise and part something quite different. Kal pulled back, his eyes bright and his face flushed. "Did I do that wrong?" His breath was short, nearly panting. "I didn't--I read about the tongue part, but I didn't have any way to practice. I wasn't sure if proper etiquette was for me to do it first or to wait for you, but then I decided I really, really couldn't wait." He took a quick breath, then another. "Any longer."
"Whuh," said Bruce. There was supposed to be a question there, but he seemed unable to get past simple syllables. "Hhh." Apparently he'd lost vowels as well, now.
Kal started kissing him again, and it was messy and clumsy and somehow they were on the couch now, Bruce's hands clenching the edges of Kal's robe, shaking, he couldn't stop them from shaking. There was something deliciously firm pressing against his hip bone; he pushed his weight against it, his thigh between Kal's legs, and Kal made a husky, wordless sound that seemed to ignite nerve endings all the way down to Bruce's groin. Kal's hands were bunched in his shirt, Bruce could hear the threads groaning as his grip tightened, dragging him closer.
"Wait," Bruce managed to say. He was gasping, it was hard to speak. "Wait."
Kal's eyes flashed open. "No," he said. "You want this, you've wanted it since we met, I can feel how much you want it." He rocked against Bruce and Bruce had to close his eyes against the rush of arousal.
He shook his head, trying to clear it, struggling not to just rip the flimsy bathrobe right off those perfect limbs. "But...Kal, you don't owe me anything, you don't have to do this. You don't have to...to prove yourself."
For a moment, Kal's face went blank. His eyes glinted scarlet above fury-tight lips. Then his expression softened, and he almost smiled. "You," he murmured. "You impossible, noble, obtuse man." He turned his face away from Bruce. "I was seventeen when I saw that documentary on Kryptonians whose kielnith never ended. When I saw the locked rooms they were kept in, the rusted restraints used to keep them from running amok." His eyes were closed, his lips trembling at some inner vision. "And so I never spoke to anyone about what I felt, the...the perversions I couldn't stop dreaming of. I was alone. Ashamed. I was--" His voice broke. "--so alone. Even the al-kielnith, even they never were so degraded as to desire sexual intercourse with--with impossible partners." He looked at Bruce, his eyes bright and sad. "And then I was here, and it wasn't impossible, and it wasn't shameful, and I could not--" His voice caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob, "--I could not bear it." He blinked hard, and his lashes sparkled. "There were moments I felt such joy, such freedom. Moments when--Rao forgive me--I rejoiced that I was here with you. And then I hated myself again--that Krypton would be survived only by such a perverted and ungrateful monster, it was intolerable."
He smiled wanly, as Bruce made an incoherent sound of protest. "But hating myself didn't make it any less true that I was here and alive, wanting you so much that I couldn't sleep, I could hardly breathe. And that you wanted me too." He swallowed. "You...you do, don't you? I was so sure at first, and then you were so distant, but--"
This time it was Bruce that bridged the gap, stopping the flow of words with his mouth. It was a long, slow, languorous kiss; Bruce took his time and got to know the shape of Kal's lips under his, the rich heat of his mouth, the slick trembling of his tongue. He let his hand trace Kal's bare collarbone, and Kal jerked under his touch with a muffled cry into his mouth.
"I don't know where Kryptonian erogenous zones are," Bruce whispered.
Kal's answering laugh was shaky. "Everywhere you touch," he breathed. "Everywhere you look."
Bruce slipped his hand lower, sliding under terrycloth and across the muscles of Kal's chest. "You're right," he murmured as Kal's face tightened, rapt. "I've wanted this since I saw you, furious and frightened and beautiful. But there are so many other people in the world, you don't have to--to settle for me. Are you sure--"
This time Kal's laugh had a note of panic in it. "Please don't ask me that," he pleaded. "No, I'm not sure. I'm a horrible depraved freak, a genetic anomaly that shouldn't have even existed, I'm not sure I should be here at all, much less indulging my repulsive desires." He shifted under Bruce's hand with a fierce, desperate motion, and Bruce could feel the hard nub of his nipple brush his fingers. Kal shuddered and his mouth fell open in a silent "oh" of pleasure for a moment before he licked his lips and continued, "But am I sure you're the one I want? Am I sure that you're the only person I want to touch me like this, the only person in this world worth throwing myself at like this? Yes, yes, yes, a thousand times yes."
Burce knew that Kal was still sheltered, inexperienced. He'd realize soon enough that other lovers could satisfy him without the baggage Bruce carried. But for now he was selfish enough to take advantage of Kal's optimism, desperate enough to bend and bring his mouth to that tight brown nipple and make Kal cry his name as if it were all he'd ever wanted to say.
Batman. Batman. Bruce was determined to ignore the voice in his head until it added, Kal, and he heard Kal make a fuzzy sound and put a hand to his head. Are you in Gotham? We have a...situation there. Report. J'onn's normally-placid thoughts held a cyanide-sharp edge to them.
Bruce realized why as he threw open the curtains. In the distance, where the island of Gotham should have been, a vast and shimmering field of some kind curved to enclose it. He could see the towers of Gotham on the other side, see the stars dimly reflected in it. As Bruce stared, the skyline lifted upward and--began to shrink. On the side of the force field a symbol appeared, glowing: three circles set in a triangle, connected by lines.
Gotham was dwindling, diminishing until it hung in the air like a gigantic Christmas ornament, the lights of the city gleaming within. Dick, Bruce's mind gibbered. Tim, Barbara. On patrol in there.
A voice exclaimed something in an alien tongue; Kal was at his elbow, his hair rumpled and his robe askew, staring in horror out at the rapidly-shrinking globe.
"I know that symbol," Kal said.
------
(Part 7)
Pairing/Characters: Clark/Bruce, Alfred, Dick
Rating: R
Warnings: None
Continuity: Justice League Unlimited
Summary: After Kal's superheroic debut, an impromptu lesson on heroic nonverbals turns into something quite different.
Word Count: 4700
Notes: For a prompt on the
worlds_finest birthday thread: "Krypton doesn't explode until Kal-El is an adult. He arrives on Earth still the last son, but having seen his planet die. To the JLA's surprise, Batman is the one to volunteer to help him." All chapters can be found here.
Dick's cheerful face looked down at Bruce as he hoisted the weights upward again. "And he didn't take too well to your advice?" Behind them on the monitor, Summer Gleeson was doing a human-interest story on Bruce Wayne's latest philanthropic project.
Bruce grunted as he held the barbell steady for a moment, then lowered it once more. "He won't even choose a superhero name, much less work on looking like one. He told me saving people was more important than worrying about theatrics and play-acting."
"Well, he's got a point," Dick said.
"Theatrics and play-acting are part of being a superhero," Bruce growled. "Not the most important part, but you can't just ignore how you come across to people."
"Maybe you can if you can fly and shoot lasers out of your eyes."
Bruce glared up at Dick's grin. "You've seen him in his suit. If he makes his debut like that... Well, tell me he doesn't come across as an astronomy reporter wearing a bright-colored spandex suit."
"A very good-looking astronomy reporter," said Dick blandly.
Bruce shoved the barbell up as if he might throw it across the room. "That's another thing," he snarled. "He asked me for relationship advice the other day."
Dick's eyebrows performed some complicated acrobatics. "He did?"
"Well, not exactly," Bruce amended. "He wanted to know how humans in our culture showed sexual attraction. He noticed Roni was flirting with him at the party." He scowled up at the weight. "Do you think he wants to date her? She'd be all wrong for him, even without the cultural and biological differences."
Dick's expression seemed to be caught between amused and quizzical. "Bruce, surely you can't--" He broke off and shook his head at Bruce's questioning look. "No, it's none of my business." He reached over and grabbed a towel as Bruce rested the barbell in its cradle, tossing it to land across Bruce's abdomen. "But I'm pretty sure he's not interested in Roni," he added with a smile.
Bruce sat up and scrubbed at his face and hair with the towel, still glowering. Behind them, Summer Gleeson broke into her own newscast: "In breaking news, we have reports of an apartment building on fire in Philadelphia. On the scene live is Jasper Kennelley with WPVI news."
The camera cut to a solemn-faced man explaining that there were dozens of families trapped in the building as the fire spread out of control. Bruce rubbed the back of his neck, calculating which of the Justice League was on active duty and who could get there most quickly.
The reporter's eyes widened and he stared upward. Someone behind him gasped: "Look! Up in the sky!"
The camera swiveled madly to take in--not Green Lantern, not Hawkgirl, and not Martian Manhunter. The form streaking toward the burning building was dressed in red and blue, a scarlet cape streaming out behind him.
Bruce heard Dick breathe: "Kal!" and realized he was on his feet, the towel wrung unheeded in his hands as he watched the Kryptonian plunge straight into the inferno.
: : :
There was a smell of smoke in the air, clinging to Kal's dark hair and bright costume. He sat at the heavy oak kitchen table in Wayne Manor, his head resting on his arms on the table, his shoulders slumped. "You were right," he said, his voice muffled.
Alfred put a mug of steaming tea on the table and cast a stern look at Bruce. Bruce stared back at him, suspecting he looked pathetically helpless: comfort had never been his strong suit. "Don't be ridiculous," he said gruffly, making Alfred frown more. "There were no lives lost. You saved them all, Kal."
Kal sighed and leaned more heavily on the table. "But the fire spread to the next building. Because people didn't listen to me when I asked them to stay calm. I had to spend a lot of extra time carrying them all out one by one, because they didn't pay attention to where I asked them to go. They acted like I was a...weird guy in a suit. And because of that, more people lost their homes."
"But not their lives. Not their lives, Kal." It was ridiculous how difficult it was to find the right words to say.
Kal's shoulders were shaking slightly--with reaction, with shock, Bruce didn't know. The tremor in the steely muscles, the shiver in the red cloth, tore at him. Without thinking, he put his hand on that quivering shoulder, gave it a gentle shake. "You did great," he said.
As soon as he felt the warm cloth under his fingers he braced himself for Kal's flinch. But Kal merely took a deep, ragged breath and didn't pull away. If Bruce didn't know better, in fact, he could have sworn Kal was nearly leaning into his touch. He rubbed the shoulder in circular, soothing motions, making meaningless sounds.
"I was so afraid," mumbled Kal into the table. "So afraid someone would die. That I would fail--everyone. There was a little boy there, a boy with big blue eyes, and the--the hem of his jacket caught on fire, and I thought--I thought--"
It was intolerable, this need to make him stop saying such things. Bruce put his arm around Kal's shoulders and squeezed as if he could halt the flow of words. "You saved him," he whispered. "You saved them all."
Kal reached up and gripped Bruce's hand like it was a lifeline for a moment, his shoulders rigid. Then he sighed and some of the tension seemed to go out of his body. He turned his face to Bruce and managed a weak smile. "Thank you. But you were right, I need to be...more than an unemployed astronomy reporter who can fly. I need to look like a hero. Even if I don't feel like one," he said, letting go of Bruce's hand.
Bruce nodded. "Very well. Change your clothes and shower and we'll start our lesson." He couldn't resist grinning at Kal. "And I'll have Alfred make us some popcorn," he added.
: : :
Bruce came into the living room an hour later to find Kal sitting on the couch, rubbing at his damp hair with a towel--and wearing nothing but a white terrycloth bathrobe.
Bruce almost backed out of the room, but Kal looked up and smiled from under his tousled hair, so there was nothing for it but to keep moving forward. Besides, Kal didn't look uncomfortable or embarrassed at all. And when Bruce thought about it, why should he? The robe covered more of him than most clothing, and certainly revealed less than the skintight costume he'd just been in. It was only Bruce's cultural conditioning that made wearing a bathrobe so...intimate. Only cultural norms that meant he was forcibly reminded that underneath that soft white cloth was nothing but damp, bare skin, that only moments ago there had been nothing on that skin but water...
Bruce handed Kal the stack of DVDs, trying not to stare and mostly--he hoped--succeeding.
Kal picked up one of the rectangular boxes and peered at the sepia-toned picture of a man with a rapier on the cover. "The Sea Hawk"? He ran his finger down the stack, reading off the titles: "Robin Hood, The Prince of Foxes, The Prisoner of Zenda, The Charge of the Light Brigade, The Scarlet Pimpernel, The Three Musketeers... What are these?"
"These," said Bruce, "Are your texts for our course in heroic nonverbals." He took out the disc for Scarlet Pimpernel, spinning it once. "Leslie Howard is a good introduction; Flynn and Fairbanks are for advanced scholars only."
Kal frowned as the opening scene unfolded. "But this is fiction," he said. "How can a fantasy help me?"
"You have to understand," Bruce said as the Scarlet Pimpernel engineered his first daring prison break, "That Batman and Flash and Wonder Woman--they're all fantasies as well. They're fantasies of bravery, of heroism. They're shining dreams of a flawless, incorruptible person who will show us the way."
"I'm not flawless," said Kal, his color high. "I'm not flawless...at all."
"Whereas I, of course, am perfection incarnate," Bruce smirked. Kal tilted his head as if he weren't quite sure Bruce was joking, his brow furrowed. "Of course not," Bruce went on hastily. "But when I put on the cape and cowl, I tap into that dream of perfection, I use it to help others. So can you. These movies--" He nodded at the screen, "--Are the foundation of that dream."
Kal's frown didn't go away, but he watched the movie unfold intently. Bruce sneaked looks at his profile, watching his dubious look slowly melt away into rapt attention, until he was leaning forward on the couch, his eyes shining. When Bruce hit "pause" Kal murmured protest: "But he was just about to--oh, hello, Alfred."
Alfred showed no signs of being startled that Kal was curled up on the couch in nothing but a bathrobe, of course, as he put a large yellow bowl of chipped porcelain on the coffee table in front of them. Bruce always kind of meant to buy a different popcorn bowl, but he'd been using this one since Dick was a little boy and it held more fond memories than it did popcorn at this point. Alfred held out a pair of chopsticks to Kal with a smile and a small bow, and Bruce slapped his forehead.
"I'm sorry, Kal, popcorn is usually a finger food. I totally forgot. I'm pretty sure you can manage it with the chopsticks, though." Kal had become quite dexterous in the use of chopsticks over the last couple of weeks to consume foods meant for the hands.
Kal extracted a piece from the fluffy mass and put in his mouth. "It's very good," he said, reaching for another. "Thank you, Alfred."
Bruce re-started the movie and they made their way toward Percy's inevitable showdown with Chauvelin. Kal was so engrossed in the movie that he didn't seem to realize that his bathrobe sash had loosened slightly and he was revealing a startling amount of leg, well up his thigh. Bruce kept waiting for him to notice and to tug it shut once more, but that long expanse of skin remained available for viewing, and Bruce was completely unable to keep from staring. The muscles were clearly-defined against the bright, clean skin. That's the vastus intermedius, Bruce thought in a desperate attempt to keep his mind focused. Vastus lateralis, rectus femorus... It wasn't working. God, he was beautiful. Beautiful and brave and alone and he would be horrified to know what Bruce dreamed of doing to him. Bruce dragged his eyes back to the movie, re-arranging his position and praying Kal wouldn't notice his arousal or realize what it was.
The credits were rolling. He'd seen nothing of the last confrontation or the final clinch. Kal sighed happily as the last names rolled off the screen. "That was...exciting," he said.
"Very," said Bruce fervently. He grabbed the next movie and put it in. "I think you might be ready for some Fairbanks now. The Three Musketeers--the classic 1921 version. This one's a silent film, so the physical action is even more important."
Kal reached for the chopsticks as the opening credits rolled, then paused and put them back down. With infinite care, he plucked one piece of popcorn from the bowl with his bare fingers and put it in his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed. "That wasn't so bad." A faint smile flickered across his face at Bruce's expression. "I've been thinking I'd better get used to some of your peoples' barbaric customs," he said, the undercurrent of laughter in his voice robbing the words of any insult.
"You don't have to--"
"--I want to fit in," said Kal firmly. He reached out and took another piece of popcorn with less hesitation, placed it in his mouth.
"Fitting in doesn't mean you have to abandon Kryptonian culture," Bruce protested.
Kal looked at him, his eyes very serious. "I will never forget Krypton. But I will not cling blindly to customs and ways that are not essential...or which are not true to who I am," he added. He took another piece of popcorn from the bowl and, his gaze still on Bruce, put it in his mouth.
As Bruce watched, unable to look away, the tip of his tongue darted out and touched his thumb, a brief flash of pink.
Bruce stood up so quickly he almost upset the coffee table. "Excuse me for a moment," he said. "I need to--to check on something in the cave," he announced. "Keep studying the movie, especially how D'Artagnan wins over the musketeers. I'll be back soon."
The damp, chill air of the cave dissipated the worst of Bruce's alarming ardor; running a half hour of diagnostics on the computer almost managed to drag his thoughts away from the image of Kal lounging tousled and relaxed on the couch. Almost. He touched a button on the console: "Nightwing. Do you need any help on patrol?"
"No thanks, B, we're set out here. Everything's under control." Was that an edge of laughter to Dick's voice? "Go back upstairs and watch your movies with Kal."
"How did you--"
"--Alfred mentioned you were giving him the Swashbuckling Seminar."
Of course. "Are you sure you're okay out there?"
"Bruce."
"Dick, he's...he's wearing a bathrobe," Bruce moaned.
Now there wasn't even an attempt to hide the laughter. "Bruce, stop worrying about it and go back upstairs, or I'll call Alfred and have him drag you back up there."
The call cut off. Impertinent brat. Bruce flipped a few more switches aimlessly, but he knew he was just stalling now. He inhaled cool, dank air, released it. He could do this. He could sit next to the most alluring man in the galaxy and stay professional and composed. He could do it, and he was going to do it, not least because he had come to respect and admire Kal. To have lost your whole world, to find yourself in a strange new culture that shocked you at every turn--to go through all that and still want to reach out to others and help them--a man like that deserved better than to be pawed over by some sex-obsessed alien. So Bruce could sit there and talk about Douglas Fairbanks like a friend and a colleague, and not like a man head over heels in--well, intense attraction.
It couldn't be any harder than learning to walk across hot coals, right?
When the living room door opened and Kal looked up at him and smiled, however, Bruce saw the folly of that analogy. In firewalking, one dreaded being burned, while here...
On the screen, D'Artagnan was being reunited with the other Musketeers. "That was wonderful," Kal said as the friends embraced. "Truly, you have magnificent tales here." The bowl of popcorn was filled to the brim again. "Alfred made us some more," said Kal when Bruce's eyes went to it. "He said he was certain you'd return soon." He picked up a piece of popcorn. "I'm glad you're back. What's next?"
Next was Errol Flynn and Robin Hood. Kal started laughing early, as Robin faced down all of King John's court. "This is where Dick's nickname came from," he announced with satisfaction. "I see it now." He said little more for the rest of the movie, but turned to Bruce now and then with shining eyes, as if eager to share his delight, oblivious to Bruce's turmoil.
As the final credits rolled, Bruce clapped his hands together briskly, and Kal stared at him as if still lost in medieval England. "You've seen enough for now," Bruce said. "Time to practice."
"Practice? But...I'm not going to be doing any sword fighting. Am I?"
"It's not the sword fighting that matters, it's the body language. Stand up."
Kal stood, his eyes still quizzical. Bruce thought about asking him to change his clothes, as heroism in a bathrobe seemed incongruous. On the other hand, if he could pull it off in a terrycloth robe, managing it in spandex might be easier. "Okay, let's start with standing."
"Standing," Kal echoed, looking down at himself. "I think I've mastered that."
"Not at all," announced Bruce. "Your feet are too close together. They should be planted hard against the ground, like this." He put his feet apart with an emphatic thump. "As if nothing can move you."
"Very little can," Kal pointed out. He was smiling slightly.
"Right, but you don't look it. You look like a good punch could send you reeling back. You need to look invulnerable. Make the bad guy question whether it's worth even attacking you. Make the person you're protecting feel protected, like the one safe place in the universe is behind you. Be bigger. Take up more space. Spread your legs a bit," said Bruce, then bit his lip, thankful that Kal probably wouldn't catch any lecherous overtones to that.
Kal looked dubious, but moved his feet apart. Involuntarily Bruce wondered--not for the first time that evening--if he was wearing anything under the robe. He shoved the thought away impatiently.
"Now you have to throw out your chest. Like D'Artagnan," said Bruce. "Like you're ready to hurl yourself at any danger without heeding the cost."
Kal closed his eyes, frowning, his head slightly tilted as if he were replaying the movie in his mind. He took a breath and put his shoulders back, pulling his hips in.
"A little more," said Bruce.
"I can't get my shoulders back any more than this," Kal complained.
"Yes you can." Bruce gripped Kal's shoulders, the terrycloth soft under his hand, the muscles beneath it anything but, and pushed slightly. "Take a deep breath and move them back more."
"I feel ridiculous."
"You won't look it. Trust me, when there are bullets bouncing off you and you're saving innocent lives, you will not look even slightly ludicrous."
Kal was still frowning, but he nodded and flung his shoulders back more. This had the unexpected effect of bringing his chest almost into contact with Bruce's; Bruce released his shoulders quickly and stepped back a pace.
"Lift your chin, like you're daring the world to take a swing at you. Like Errol Flynn."
Kal lifted his head, tilting it slightly sideways without being prompted so it looked rakish and just a little arrogant. "Like this?"
"Just like that, but you need to smile. Not like that, not politely. Smile like Robin Hood surrounded by soldiers, like you have no fear, like you know what's right and you're going to do just that." Kal stared at him. "Smile like a man who knows what he wants and is going to have it."
Kal blinked. Then without warning, he smiled, a bright and dazzling smile, joyous and almost relieved.
"Yes!" breathed Bruce. Even in a bathrobe, he was a stunning sight. "That's perfect. That's..." The words faltered in his mouth; he shook his head. "Perfect." He had to get away, he couldn't stay here a moment longer without betraying Kal's trust. The door was open behind him--
"I know what's right," said Kal. "And I know what I want." He was still smiling. "I know."
And then somehow Bruce's arms were around him and his mouth was--Bruce was kissing him.
A shocked stab of panic shuddered through Bruce--how had this happened? How had he lost control so completely as to simply grab Kal and assault him like this, like--
Kal tilted his head sideways and opened his mouth, awkward and eager, and the kiss careened wildly out of control as Bruce realized that it was Kal who had crossed that distance, Kal who had brought their mouths together as if he wanted it, as if, as if--
He heard himself make a muffled sound, part surprise and part something quite different. Kal pulled back, his eyes bright and his face flushed. "Did I do that wrong?" His breath was short, nearly panting. "I didn't--I read about the tongue part, but I didn't have any way to practice. I wasn't sure if proper etiquette was for me to do it first or to wait for you, but then I decided I really, really couldn't wait." He took a quick breath, then another. "Any longer."
"Whuh," said Bruce. There was supposed to be a question there, but he seemed unable to get past simple syllables. "Hhh." Apparently he'd lost vowels as well, now.
Kal started kissing him again, and it was messy and clumsy and somehow they were on the couch now, Bruce's hands clenching the edges of Kal's robe, shaking, he couldn't stop them from shaking. There was something deliciously firm pressing against his hip bone; he pushed his weight against it, his thigh between Kal's legs, and Kal made a husky, wordless sound that seemed to ignite nerve endings all the way down to Bruce's groin. Kal's hands were bunched in his shirt, Bruce could hear the threads groaning as his grip tightened, dragging him closer.
"Wait," Bruce managed to say. He was gasping, it was hard to speak. "Wait."
Kal's eyes flashed open. "No," he said. "You want this, you've wanted it since we met, I can feel how much you want it." He rocked against Bruce and Bruce had to close his eyes against the rush of arousal.
He shook his head, trying to clear it, struggling not to just rip the flimsy bathrobe right off those perfect limbs. "But...Kal, you don't owe me anything, you don't have to do this. You don't have to...to prove yourself."
For a moment, Kal's face went blank. His eyes glinted scarlet above fury-tight lips. Then his expression softened, and he almost smiled. "You," he murmured. "You impossible, noble, obtuse man." He turned his face away from Bruce. "I was seventeen when I saw that documentary on Kryptonians whose kielnith never ended. When I saw the locked rooms they were kept in, the rusted restraints used to keep them from running amok." His eyes were closed, his lips trembling at some inner vision. "And so I never spoke to anyone about what I felt, the...the perversions I couldn't stop dreaming of. I was alone. Ashamed. I was--" His voice broke. "--so alone. Even the al-kielnith, even they never were so degraded as to desire sexual intercourse with--with impossible partners." He looked at Bruce, his eyes bright and sad. "And then I was here, and it wasn't impossible, and it wasn't shameful, and I could not--" His voice caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob, "--I could not bear it." He blinked hard, and his lashes sparkled. "There were moments I felt such joy, such freedom. Moments when--Rao forgive me--I rejoiced that I was here with you. And then I hated myself again--that Krypton would be survived only by such a perverted and ungrateful monster, it was intolerable."
He smiled wanly, as Bruce made an incoherent sound of protest. "But hating myself didn't make it any less true that I was here and alive, wanting you so much that I couldn't sleep, I could hardly breathe. And that you wanted me too." He swallowed. "You...you do, don't you? I was so sure at first, and then you were so distant, but--"
This time it was Bruce that bridged the gap, stopping the flow of words with his mouth. It was a long, slow, languorous kiss; Bruce took his time and got to know the shape of Kal's lips under his, the rich heat of his mouth, the slick trembling of his tongue. He let his hand trace Kal's bare collarbone, and Kal jerked under his touch with a muffled cry into his mouth.
"I don't know where Kryptonian erogenous zones are," Bruce whispered.
Kal's answering laugh was shaky. "Everywhere you touch," he breathed. "Everywhere you look."
Bruce slipped his hand lower, sliding under terrycloth and across the muscles of Kal's chest. "You're right," he murmured as Kal's face tightened, rapt. "I've wanted this since I saw you, furious and frightened and beautiful. But there are so many other people in the world, you don't have to--to settle for me. Are you sure--"
This time Kal's laugh had a note of panic in it. "Please don't ask me that," he pleaded. "No, I'm not sure. I'm a horrible depraved freak, a genetic anomaly that shouldn't have even existed, I'm not sure I should be here at all, much less indulging my repulsive desires." He shifted under Bruce's hand with a fierce, desperate motion, and Bruce could feel the hard nub of his nipple brush his fingers. Kal shuddered and his mouth fell open in a silent "oh" of pleasure for a moment before he licked his lips and continued, "But am I sure you're the one I want? Am I sure that you're the only person I want to touch me like this, the only person in this world worth throwing myself at like this? Yes, yes, yes, a thousand times yes."
Burce knew that Kal was still sheltered, inexperienced. He'd realize soon enough that other lovers could satisfy him without the baggage Bruce carried. But for now he was selfish enough to take advantage of Kal's optimism, desperate enough to bend and bring his mouth to that tight brown nipple and make Kal cry his name as if it were all he'd ever wanted to say.
Batman. Batman. Bruce was determined to ignore the voice in his head until it added, Kal, and he heard Kal make a fuzzy sound and put a hand to his head. Are you in Gotham? We have a...situation there. Report. J'onn's normally-placid thoughts held a cyanide-sharp edge to them.
Bruce realized why as he threw open the curtains. In the distance, where the island of Gotham should have been, a vast and shimmering field of some kind curved to enclose it. He could see the towers of Gotham on the other side, see the stars dimly reflected in it. As Bruce stared, the skyline lifted upward and--began to shrink. On the side of the force field a symbol appeared, glowing: three circles set in a triangle, connected by lines.
Gotham was dwindling, diminishing until it hung in the air like a gigantic Christmas ornament, the lights of the city gleaming within. Dick, Bruce's mind gibbered. Tim, Barbara. On patrol in there.
A voice exclaimed something in an alien tongue; Kal was at his elbow, his hair rumpled and his robe askew, staring in horror out at the rapidly-shrinking globe.
"I know that symbol," Kal said.
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(Part 7)