Edges
Clark hovered above Bruce. He pressed gentle lips against his wounds in tender kisses. Every scrape, every graze, every tear on his body was touched. And he ached with it. Clark Kent, Superman, the Man of Steel was practically worshipping Bruce's body. He couldn't bear to call himself Batman, in that moment. All his defences were stripped away, and his soul was laid so bare that Clark didn't need any sort of super vision to see what he needed to. He stared into Bruce's eyes and saw a soul so ragged and ripped around the edges that it hurt both Bruce and anyone who tried to care, to get close. But Clark was Superman, and more importantly, Superman was Clark, and they were both strong enough to reach out and take the rough edges in stride. And hopefully, in time, maybe the edges would become smoother, and Bruce could take comfort without feeling guilt or pain.
Clark hovered above Bruce and pressed soothing touches against his scars. The battlefield of marks that lined his chest, and shoulders, and arms, and legs. His entire body was covered in history, and Bruce's past was clear to Clark in that moment. And he understood in a way that hurt him because he bore no scars, he had no marks to show his history.
Clark hovered above Bruce and, softly, set his teeth against Bruce's heart. They stayed there, and Clark heard the steady, rhythmic, th-thump, th-thump, th-thump thrumming throughout his body. He pulled back ever so slowly, and Clark saw the impression his teeth had made on Bruce's chest. The white marks faded gradually, but the impression would always be there, and Bruce would remember, and Clark would remember. And from then on, Bruce's heartbeat was constantly in the back of Clark's head, a familiar, calming sound that offered reassurance.
Clark hovered above Bruce. They stared at each other. Bruce had not moved for several minutes. Clark smiled sweetly, suddenly bashful, and dropped his head quickly to place a chaste kiss directly on Bruce's own lips. Colour flooded his cheeks, and he pressed something into Bruce's palm before flashing a grin at him and disappearing with a small breeze that ruffled the papers on the desk.
Bruce brought his hand up and looked at the paper Clark had given him. It read,
Edges
He raised an eyebrow and turned the paper over.
Whenever you need
"Thank you, Clark. Kal."
Mid-flight, on the way back to Metropolis, Superman slowed, and stopped, and smiled.
th-thump, th-thump, th-thump
"You're welcome."
A/N:
Hi guys!
There's been a bit of radio silence from me lately, but that's mainly because I have been incredibly stressed out regarding school, especially maths, so here I am. Anyway, it's finally holidays (thank goodness for Easter!) so I'm hoping to get a bit more writing done now. I'm working on something to do with Moon Song, but I won't mention too much about it because I don't want to disappoint (I'm disillusioned, just let me have my hallucinations) anybody if it doesn't work out. On another note, I'm also writing, in fits and starts, an original novel/la, probably aimed at teens/preteens.
Anyway, I have recently been watching Justice League Unlimited, and Young Justice and animated Batman movies obsessively, and similarly reading Clark/Bruce por- fanfiction, and this little plot bunny popped into my head the other night and I didn't want to let it go. So here we are. Or rather, here you are, I'm going to bed!
Cheers,
Foxboxtango97 :)
