Ficlet- Picnics
Author: Northernwalker
Pairing: Bruce/Clark
Rating: G
Warnings: none.
Universes: Batman Begins/Smallville. And the Justice League.
Summary: WF prompt- Bruce and Clark go on a picnic. This refused to be any longer than it is, and the boys didn't want to talk.
Bruce Wayne lazed in the sun.
This was not usual behavior for him. He’d never been a sun-worshipper, despite his public image as a hedonist. He also generally avoided picnics- Gotham’s idea of “an informal little picnic” tended to involve three wines, lobster Newberg and hot-and-cold-running servants, which struck him as rather defeating the purpose.
Yet here he was, a local lager in his hand and a few crumbs of one of Alfred’s incomparable pasties remaining on his plate.
He looked up into the rich blue sky through the half-bare boughs of an elm tree. The occasional bright leaf drifted to the ground, blending into the autumnal carpet. The small clearing in which he rested was warm, the air soft on his face and bare forearms. The faded blue blanket underneath him had been dug out by Alfred, who had informed him that his parents had liked to use it when they picnicked.
His glance drifted to his companion, who knelt on the edge of the blanket as he repacked the basket. Clark had shed his red flannel shirt and the sun gleamed along his golden arms as he worked. He stopped with an apple in one hand and the salt and pepper shakers in the other, tipping his face to the sky and seeming to absorb the sunlight. Bruce smiled. Picnics might just have their good side.
He had made no sound, but Clark turned to face him, a sunny grin meeting Bruce. He put the last few things in the basket and then rolled over to join Bruce in his spot. Bruce shifted to pillow his head on Clark’s shoulder and closed his eyes as a spare blanket dropped over them.
Bruce Wayne slept in the sun.
Pairing: Bruce/Clark
Rating: G
Warnings: none.
Universes: Batman Begins/Smallville. And the Justice League.
Summary: WF prompt- Bruce and Clark go on a picnic. This refused to be any longer than it is, and the boys didn't want to talk.
Bruce Wayne lazed in the sun.
This was not usual behavior for him. He’d never been a sun-worshipper, despite his public image as a hedonist. He also generally avoided picnics- Gotham’s idea of “an informal little picnic” tended to involve three wines, lobster Newberg and hot-and-cold-running servants, which struck him as rather defeating the purpose.
Yet here he was, a local lager in his hand and a few crumbs of one of Alfred’s incomparable pasties remaining on his plate.
He looked up into the rich blue sky through the half-bare boughs of an elm tree. The occasional bright leaf drifted to the ground, blending into the autumnal carpet. The small clearing in which he rested was warm, the air soft on his face and bare forearms. The faded blue blanket underneath him had been dug out by Alfred, who had informed him that his parents had liked to use it when they picnicked.
His glance drifted to his companion, who knelt on the edge of the blanket as he repacked the basket. Clark had shed his red flannel shirt and the sun gleamed along his golden arms as he worked. He stopped with an apple in one hand and the salt and pepper shakers in the other, tipping his face to the sky and seeming to absorb the sunlight. Bruce smiled. Picnics might just have their good side.
He had made no sound, but Clark turned to face him, a sunny grin meeting Bruce. He put the last few things in the basket and then rolled over to join Bruce in his spot. Bruce shifted to pillow his head on Clark’s shoulder and closed his eyes as a spare blanket dropped over them.
Bruce Wayne slept in the sun.