Ficlet: Ache | DCU | Clark/Bruce | R | 1/1
Title: Ache
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Rating: R
Word Count: 907
Prompt: For Porn Battle XII: kryptonite, morning, home, cling, sex pollen, heat, kisses; For this prompt on the S_B Birthday Prompts Post: The aftermath of a 'sex pollen' encounter. Meaning someone wakes up and thinks they've horribly assaulted the other. Lots of angst and guilt and attempted avoidance, but with a happy ending.
Summary: Clark wakes up in a room that isn't his own, the night before a slowly clarifying blur.
Disclaimer: DC and WB *still* own everything, the bastards.
Author's Notes: Originally posted here at PB XII.
Ache
When the first rays of morning sun come up above the horizon to peek through the curtains, Clark is drawn out of sleep instantly, eyes fluttering open as his skin tingles with warmth. He stretches languorously, feels the pull in each muscle, and-and an uncharacteristic ache that seems to permeate his entire body, from his scalp all the way to his toes, and all sorts of interesting places in between, even his-
Shifting to sit up ramrod straight in the bed, he rubs the sleep from his eyes and takes in his surroundings. Everything's a mess; broken classical furniture, expensive paintings on the dark walls torn or knocked crooked, clothing strewn about... uniform pieces strewn about, his and... and....
It's clear that he's not in his apartment. He's.... His eyes fall to the bed, and the solid figure next to him, tangled up in the expensive sheets, scarred and bruised skin peeking out everywhere beneath a head of dark, tousled hair.
“Bruce?” he croaks, disbelieving, as he automatically pulls what little of the sheet he can get hold of over himself, because they're both stark naked, and... and he's sticky in places he'd rather not think about. “Bruce,” he says more forcefully, daring to nudge the small of his... his partner's back with his knee. “Wake up.”
That dark head turns, blue eyes blinking open slowly, and Bruce comes up with a startle, yanking his half of the covers up. “What the hell?” he growls, voice rough with sleep and overuse, as if he'd been screaming.
Clark shakes his head. “I... I dunno. I don't remember... anything. Just....” Pausing, he thinks back to the night before. He'd come to Gotham to help Bruce with an Arkham breakout, specifically to help corral-”
“Ivy!” they both say at the same time, as it dawns on them.
“Oh,” Clark goes on. “Then... then we... and we came back here.”
Running a hand through his hair, Bruce nods and blows out a breath. “The Manor must've been closest.”
Clark watches Bruce's expression shift as he notices the shredded uniform pieces strewn all over his bedroom, those ice blue eyes narrowing.
“What... um-” Bruce pauses, clearing his throat. “What happened? Did we-?”
But Clark just lowers his gaze, feeling the ache more pronounced now. “Um... yes. I think so. I didn't... hurt you, did I?” He's never thought his voice could come out so small.
Blinking at him, Bruce shifts, as if taking stock of his body's condition, muscle by muscle, part by part. “No,” he says at last. “Just a little sore in the arms, and... and my hips.”
Relieved, Clark lets out a long sigh and pushes a hand through his own hair, but then it dawns on him. If Bruce's hips ache, and his... his.... Oh, crap.
“I think,” he starts, tentative, “that we might have... that you might have, um....” Heat rises in his cheeks at the thought, even as pieces of the night start to come back to him in flashes: Bruce tearing at the cloth of Clark's tunic and tights, Clark rending the armor of the Bat-suit, Bruce shoving him down over the bed, chest first, and-
“I, um, I'm sorry,” Bruce says quietly, face turned away. “The spores must've been laced with K.” And Clark's never seen his friend look so... so ashamed before.
Surprisingly, it's not something that Clark particularly likes. Even feeling the burn of embarrassment for having been drugged by Ivy, he knows there's no shame in this, in what they've done.
“No,” he says then, catching Bruce's shoulder with a firm grip and tugging him around to meet his gaze, his sudden certainty surprising as well. “No. You didn't hurt me, either, Bruce. I can handle a little ache, anyway, and... and I'm not sorry that we did what we did, even if it took Ivy to make it happen.”
When Bruce's eyes widen at the confession-and damn, Clark really wasn't expecting to be so... so okay with this, but he is-the tension in the room seems to snap, and suddenly Bruce's hands are on Clark's face, his lips not far behind as he presses close to kiss him hard.
Shock melts into desire as Clark welcomes Bruce into his embrace, arms wrapping around broad shoulders.
“Not sorry, either, then,” Bruce manages between kisses, gently nipping at Clark's bottom lip, and that's all it takes before they collapse to the bed together, both still tangled in the sheet, heat rising between them and sparks dancing along Clark's skin, the soreness in his muscles giving way to an entirely different sort of ache. It's completely unexpected, this damn breaking, all the tension they'd been clinging to all these years, when it was each other they should've been clinging to, and Clark can't help but wonder why it took them so long, why it took Ivy's spores to snap them out of that cycle.
At that thought, Clark freezes, pulling back from their kiss enough to look Bruce in the eye. “Ivy,” he breathes against kiss-swollen lips. “She's still out there.”
But Bruce only shakes his head, a slow grin moving over his face. “She's not going anywhere. I know where to find her, and she can wait till after breakfast.”
Sagging with the relief that pours through him, Clark returns his lover's smile. “Good enough for me.” And with a surge of renewed passion drawing him back under, he tugs Bruce closer, kissing him deeply.
Ivy can wait for now, because at the moment, they have other things that need tending to.
~*~*~*~
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Rating: R
Word Count: 907
Prompt: For Porn Battle XII: kryptonite, morning, home, cling, sex pollen, heat, kisses; For this prompt on the S_B Birthday Prompts Post: The aftermath of a 'sex pollen' encounter. Meaning someone wakes up and thinks they've horribly assaulted the other. Lots of angst and guilt and attempted avoidance, but with a happy ending.
Summary: Clark wakes up in a room that isn't his own, the night before a slowly clarifying blur.
Disclaimer: DC and WB *still* own everything, the bastards.
Author's Notes: Originally posted here at PB XII.
Ache
When the first rays of morning sun come up above the horizon to peek through the curtains, Clark is drawn out of sleep instantly, eyes fluttering open as his skin tingles with warmth. He stretches languorously, feels the pull in each muscle, and-and an uncharacteristic ache that seems to permeate his entire body, from his scalp all the way to his toes, and all sorts of interesting places in between, even his-
Shifting to sit up ramrod straight in the bed, he rubs the sleep from his eyes and takes in his surroundings. Everything's a mess; broken classical furniture, expensive paintings on the dark walls torn or knocked crooked, clothing strewn about... uniform pieces strewn about, his and... and....
It's clear that he's not in his apartment. He's.... His eyes fall to the bed, and the solid figure next to him, tangled up in the expensive sheets, scarred and bruised skin peeking out everywhere beneath a head of dark, tousled hair.
“Bruce?” he croaks, disbelieving, as he automatically pulls what little of the sheet he can get hold of over himself, because they're both stark naked, and... and he's sticky in places he'd rather not think about. “Bruce,” he says more forcefully, daring to nudge the small of his... his partner's back with his knee. “Wake up.”
That dark head turns, blue eyes blinking open slowly, and Bruce comes up with a startle, yanking his half of the covers up. “What the hell?” he growls, voice rough with sleep and overuse, as if he'd been screaming.
Clark shakes his head. “I... I dunno. I don't remember... anything. Just....” Pausing, he thinks back to the night before. He'd come to Gotham to help Bruce with an Arkham breakout, specifically to help corral-”
“Ivy!” they both say at the same time, as it dawns on them.
“Oh,” Clark goes on. “Then... then we... and we came back here.”
Running a hand through his hair, Bruce nods and blows out a breath. “The Manor must've been closest.”
Clark watches Bruce's expression shift as he notices the shredded uniform pieces strewn all over his bedroom, those ice blue eyes narrowing.
“What... um-” Bruce pauses, clearing his throat. “What happened? Did we-?”
But Clark just lowers his gaze, feeling the ache more pronounced now. “Um... yes. I think so. I didn't... hurt you, did I?” He's never thought his voice could come out so small.
Blinking at him, Bruce shifts, as if taking stock of his body's condition, muscle by muscle, part by part. “No,” he says at last. “Just a little sore in the arms, and... and my hips.”
Relieved, Clark lets out a long sigh and pushes a hand through his own hair, but then it dawns on him. If Bruce's hips ache, and his... his.... Oh, crap.
“I think,” he starts, tentative, “that we might have... that you might have, um....” Heat rises in his cheeks at the thought, even as pieces of the night start to come back to him in flashes: Bruce tearing at the cloth of Clark's tunic and tights, Clark rending the armor of the Bat-suit, Bruce shoving him down over the bed, chest first, and-
“I, um, I'm sorry,” Bruce says quietly, face turned away. “The spores must've been laced with K.” And Clark's never seen his friend look so... so ashamed before.
Surprisingly, it's not something that Clark particularly likes. Even feeling the burn of embarrassment for having been drugged by Ivy, he knows there's no shame in this, in what they've done.
“No,” he says then, catching Bruce's shoulder with a firm grip and tugging him around to meet his gaze, his sudden certainty surprising as well. “No. You didn't hurt me, either, Bruce. I can handle a little ache, anyway, and... and I'm not sorry that we did what we did, even if it took Ivy to make it happen.”
When Bruce's eyes widen at the confession-and damn, Clark really wasn't expecting to be so... so okay with this, but he is-the tension in the room seems to snap, and suddenly Bruce's hands are on Clark's face, his lips not far behind as he presses close to kiss him hard.
Shock melts into desire as Clark welcomes Bruce into his embrace, arms wrapping around broad shoulders.
“Not sorry, either, then,” Bruce manages between kisses, gently nipping at Clark's bottom lip, and that's all it takes before they collapse to the bed together, both still tangled in the sheet, heat rising between them and sparks dancing along Clark's skin, the soreness in his muscles giving way to an entirely different sort of ache. It's completely unexpected, this damn breaking, all the tension they'd been clinging to all these years, when it was each other they should've been clinging to, and Clark can't help but wonder why it took them so long, why it took Ivy's spores to snap them out of that cycle.
At that thought, Clark freezes, pulling back from their kiss enough to look Bruce in the eye. “Ivy,” he breathes against kiss-swollen lips. “She's still out there.”
But Bruce only shakes his head, a slow grin moving over his face. “She's not going anywhere. I know where to find her, and she can wait till after breakfast.”
Sagging with the relief that pours through him, Clark returns his lover's smile. “Good enough for me.” And with a surge of renewed passion drawing him back under, he tugs Bruce closer, kissing him deeply.
Ivy can wait for now, because at the moment, they have other things that need tending to.
~*~*~*~