Fic: Olive Branches | Nolanverse/SR | Clark/Bruce | NC-17 | 1/1
Title: Olive Branches
Fandom: Nolanverse/Superman Returns
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,072
Prompt: For the 2010 DCU Spring Porn Fest: alien, solace, Kryptonian fabrics and leather, the Tumbler, bruises, Kevlar, shield, Cave, hands
Summary: Clark has never felt quite so alien in his life, but that doesn't stop him from wanting to help.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own everything. I own nothing. Darnit!
Author's Notes: The first of my Porn Fest fics! *evil grin* Originally posted Here.
Olive Branches
Clark got to the Cave just moments after Bruce, delayed by a second explosion that had gone off in the warehouse just a minute after Bruce had left, injured and insisting on heading home under his own power. Frantic to see to his partner's condition, he nearly tore the roof off the Tumbler to get to him, finding him in the midst of detaching pieces of the Batsuit so he could get out of the car easier.
“Bruce!” he breathed as he tried to help him out and to his feet.
But Bruce was having none of it, shaking off his touch and turning a scowl on him as he pushed himself up and out on his own, leaving cape, cowl, body armor, leather gloves, and belt behind. “What makes you think I need your help?”
The word 'alien' hung there between them, unsaid though clearly there at the end of Bruce's statement. They hadn't exactly gotten along well since Clark had come to work with Bruce after his life in Metropolis had crashed and burned, not for lack of trying; a minute touch of xenophobia and paranoia seemed par for the course, despite Clark's best efforts.
“I... I don't-” was all Clark managed to get out before the Bat whirled and slammed him back against the harsh angles of the Tumbler.
“This is every other night for me,” Bruce growled at him, leaning close. Grabbing one of Clark's hands, he pressed it to his side, where he'd taken a steel beam to the ribs. “You feel that? Two cracks ribs, extensive bruising, all despite the Kevlar in the suit. It's good protection, but it's not perfect. It's not invulnerable,” he finished with a snap.
With his other hand, he grasped at Clark's thin suit, bunching the exotic fabric in his fist. “I don't have the luxury of walking around in Kryptonian finery. I get hurt, it happens, and I have to deal with it.”
If there was ever a time that Clark had felt more alien, more set apart from everyone and everything, he couldn't remember it, not with Bruce snarling at him and pointing out just how different he was.
“I'm sorry, Bruce,” he breathed into the narrow space between them, his captured hand still feeling at the broken ribs beneath Bruce's sweat-soaked undershirt. Brushing his thumb across the wounded area, he sucked in a gasp as he felt the other man hiss as the touch. “I'm sorry.”
“Sorry doesn't cut it, Kal-El. I know-” he broke off with a shudder, and Clark could see even in the dim light that he was going pale with pain, “know you mean well, but I know how to handle myself. I don't need you to take care of me, since you can't take care of them anymore. I'm not your substitute, pet family. I'm not-” He swallowed hard. “I'm not your pet human,” he rasped, letting go of Clark's suit and weakly slapping his palm against the raised shield.
The clarity of shame that hit Clark with those statements burned like a trip through a field of kryptonite. “I'm sorry, Bruce,” he said again, weaker and smaller. “I know I can't protect you, like I can't protect them, but that won't stop me from wanting to. I-”
And in that moment, he knew exactly it was he wanted, what he felt, even against all odds that Bruce would just keep pushing him away. Covering Bruce's hand with his own and smoothing his other palm down from those broken ribs to his partner's waist, Clark dipped his head and pressed forward, closing that short space between them and finding Bruce's lips with his own in a firm kiss.
For a second that stretched out to forever, Bruce didn't move, didn't respond, and Clark thought for sure he'd made a mistake, that all the apologies in the universe wouldn't be able to make up for this, but just as he started to pull back and wait for the backlash, the other man pressed deeper into the kiss with a frustrated growl in his throat, giving as good as he took. Then there was nothing but the two of them, breathing into each other's space, trading waves of body heat and sweat, only the cool, damp air of the Cave and the cold steel of the Tumbler behind Clark keeping them grounded.
There was just the barest hint of a thought to Bruce's injuries, driven away as the Bat pressed closer to Clark, proving his own point that that was everyday experience for him, and no, he really didn't need Clark's help in that area, and when Bruce moved to straddle Clark's thigh and work a hand down into his shorts and tights, Clark couldn't help a shiver and a small moan of pleasure. Hot fingers on even hotter skin, calluses providing just enough friction to make Clark really feel it, and he was lost to sensation, to Bruce.
A few strokes, returned as Clark worked his own hand past Bruce's belt to grip his equally rigid cock, and there was nothing holding him back from falling past the edge of the abyss into orgasm, his body jerking with the sudden shocking pleasure of it and his vision darkening around the edges as Bruce went stiff in his embrace and followed quickly. He hadn't felt like this in so long, hadn't felt a release like this, rapid and intense, since before, since Lois, and the long, slow recovery that came after was such relief from all the tension that had sat between him and Bruce that he couldn't help a small breath of a laugh from escaping him.
“What's so funny?” Bruce breathed back, his rasp loud in the quiet of the cave as he slumped against Clark, head dropped to rest on his shoulder.
“Nothing. Just... this. Was starting to think you hated me,” he answered honestly.
Bruce shivered almost imperceptibly. “No. I don't, Clark.” A long pause, and he went on, his voice recovering to almost normal, “We should get cleaned up. I need to wrap my ribs, and your fancy Kryptonian suit is all sticky with come.”
Clark let out a full chuckle at that, and caught Bruce's gaze in the dim light when he raised his head and pushed himself upright. “Is that an invitation?”
Bruce smirked at him. “What do you think?”
And this time, there was nothing hanging in the air after his statement besides 'duh', and Clark happily took that olive branch for everything it was.
~*~*~*~*~
Fandom: Nolanverse/Superman Returns
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,072
Prompt: For the 2010 DCU Spring Porn Fest: alien, solace, Kryptonian fabrics and leather, the Tumbler, bruises, Kevlar, shield, Cave, hands
Summary: Clark has never felt quite so alien in his life, but that doesn't stop him from wanting to help.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own everything. I own nothing. Darnit!
Author's Notes: The first of my Porn Fest fics! *evil grin* Originally posted Here.
Olive Branches
Clark got to the Cave just moments after Bruce, delayed by a second explosion that had gone off in the warehouse just a minute after Bruce had left, injured and insisting on heading home under his own power. Frantic to see to his partner's condition, he nearly tore the roof off the Tumbler to get to him, finding him in the midst of detaching pieces of the Batsuit so he could get out of the car easier.
“Bruce!” he breathed as he tried to help him out and to his feet.
But Bruce was having none of it, shaking off his touch and turning a scowl on him as he pushed himself up and out on his own, leaving cape, cowl, body armor, leather gloves, and belt behind. “What makes you think I need your help?”
The word 'alien' hung there between them, unsaid though clearly there at the end of Bruce's statement. They hadn't exactly gotten along well since Clark had come to work with Bruce after his life in Metropolis had crashed and burned, not for lack of trying; a minute touch of xenophobia and paranoia seemed par for the course, despite Clark's best efforts.
“I... I don't-” was all Clark managed to get out before the Bat whirled and slammed him back against the harsh angles of the Tumbler.
“This is every other night for me,” Bruce growled at him, leaning close. Grabbing one of Clark's hands, he pressed it to his side, where he'd taken a steel beam to the ribs. “You feel that? Two cracks ribs, extensive bruising, all despite the Kevlar in the suit. It's good protection, but it's not perfect. It's not invulnerable,” he finished with a snap.
With his other hand, he grasped at Clark's thin suit, bunching the exotic fabric in his fist. “I don't have the luxury of walking around in Kryptonian finery. I get hurt, it happens, and I have to deal with it.”
If there was ever a time that Clark had felt more alien, more set apart from everyone and everything, he couldn't remember it, not with Bruce snarling at him and pointing out just how different he was.
“I'm sorry, Bruce,” he breathed into the narrow space between them, his captured hand still feeling at the broken ribs beneath Bruce's sweat-soaked undershirt. Brushing his thumb across the wounded area, he sucked in a gasp as he felt the other man hiss as the touch. “I'm sorry.”
“Sorry doesn't cut it, Kal-El. I know-” he broke off with a shudder, and Clark could see even in the dim light that he was going pale with pain, “know you mean well, but I know how to handle myself. I don't need you to take care of me, since you can't take care of them anymore. I'm not your substitute, pet family. I'm not-” He swallowed hard. “I'm not your pet human,” he rasped, letting go of Clark's suit and weakly slapping his palm against the raised shield.
The clarity of shame that hit Clark with those statements burned like a trip through a field of kryptonite. “I'm sorry, Bruce,” he said again, weaker and smaller. “I know I can't protect you, like I can't protect them, but that won't stop me from wanting to. I-”
And in that moment, he knew exactly it was he wanted, what he felt, even against all odds that Bruce would just keep pushing him away. Covering Bruce's hand with his own and smoothing his other palm down from those broken ribs to his partner's waist, Clark dipped his head and pressed forward, closing that short space between them and finding Bruce's lips with his own in a firm kiss.
For a second that stretched out to forever, Bruce didn't move, didn't respond, and Clark thought for sure he'd made a mistake, that all the apologies in the universe wouldn't be able to make up for this, but just as he started to pull back and wait for the backlash, the other man pressed deeper into the kiss with a frustrated growl in his throat, giving as good as he took. Then there was nothing but the two of them, breathing into each other's space, trading waves of body heat and sweat, only the cool, damp air of the Cave and the cold steel of the Tumbler behind Clark keeping them grounded.
There was just the barest hint of a thought to Bruce's injuries, driven away as the Bat pressed closer to Clark, proving his own point that that was everyday experience for him, and no, he really didn't need Clark's help in that area, and when Bruce moved to straddle Clark's thigh and work a hand down into his shorts and tights, Clark couldn't help a shiver and a small moan of pleasure. Hot fingers on even hotter skin, calluses providing just enough friction to make Clark really feel it, and he was lost to sensation, to Bruce.
A few strokes, returned as Clark worked his own hand past Bruce's belt to grip his equally rigid cock, and there was nothing holding him back from falling past the edge of the abyss into orgasm, his body jerking with the sudden shocking pleasure of it and his vision darkening around the edges as Bruce went stiff in his embrace and followed quickly. He hadn't felt like this in so long, hadn't felt a release like this, rapid and intense, since before, since Lois, and the long, slow recovery that came after was such relief from all the tension that had sat between him and Bruce that he couldn't help a small breath of a laugh from escaping him.
“What's so funny?” Bruce breathed back, his rasp loud in the quiet of the cave as he slumped against Clark, head dropped to rest on his shoulder.
“Nothing. Just... this. Was starting to think you hated me,” he answered honestly.
Bruce shivered almost imperceptibly. “No. I don't, Clark.” A long pause, and he went on, his voice recovering to almost normal, “We should get cleaned up. I need to wrap my ribs, and your fancy Kryptonian suit is all sticky with come.”
Clark let out a full chuckle at that, and caught Bruce's gaze in the dim light when he raised his head and pushed himself upright. “Is that an invitation?”
Bruce smirked at him. “What do you think?”
And this time, there was nothing hanging in the air after his statement besides 'duh', and Clark happily took that olive branch for everything it was.
~*~*~*~*~