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DC Comics: Learning to Fly [3/3]
part one.
part two
The hard voice, the order, the thick darkness and pride and disgust of monster and man - man? - was there a man beneath that fur, those red eyes? Yes, Clark was more certain of it when the wing brushed his cheek, all that strength withheld and replaced with gentleness.
He couldn't stay and fight, not without...
An idea flickered across Clark's mind and he let himself be brushed back, stumbled once, then whirled, shouting over his shoulder as he ran. "I'm coming back! Don't die!"
He ran as though his life depended on it. Back into the house, up the stairs, his heart pounding. He had seen, somewhere, a suit of armour--there! Clark dressed as quickly as he could, his heart pounding. Leather pulled tight around trembling muscles, chain mail pulled over his head, gauntlets dragged onto his arms, sword tied to his back. He was heading back down to the stables when the house led him aside, showed him an open casket full of more armour; this time a chanfron and breastplate for a horse, the shield of an ancient family marked on it. A vast, black bat on a yellow field. The Waynes, he recognised. How...
How had he missed it? All this time in this house, and he had managed not to notice the details, the little bat motifs worked into the decoration, the draped portrait in the main hall that he had never thought to look behind. And on the gates, wrapped in ivy and rusted almost black--the same bat. He had been living in the lost Wayne Manor all this time without ever realising it.
Who, then, was the bat? A guardian of this place, or... No, it was too ludicrous to imagine.
Outside, Lex Luthor and his horde bore down on the gates. They tore them off their hinges with a vast tree trunk, driving their way through into the grounds beyond with the young prince at their head, his horse rearing, steel hooves flashing like death's blades in the sunlight.
Clark rushed for the stables as fast he could, barely feeling the weight of the armour on his back. Batman needed him.
* * * * *
Outside- outside, Lex Luthor seemed to have picked up even more people along the way, dragging them along through their fear of a monster, stirring them up with rolling threats that the big Bat would steal their children and eat them if they did not kill it. Batman knew better than to stand there - pride or not, he had his intelligence. Not enough to not land himself in this state in the first place, but enough.
He had not looked back when Clark had ran towards the Manor - Clark should be safe in there. Batman would rather let himself be killed by a bunch of ignorant, panicking peasants led by a tyrant-prince than let Clark be killed. No, instead Batman had taken to the air, letting himself glide against the rushing winds to land on top of roof.
When Luthor and his army burst through the old, ornate gates of his Manor, Batman saw red. His eyes glowed, inhuman and monstrous, and he spread his wings wide around himself. At the same time, he swooped downwards, roaring an animalistic howl- and the mob started screaming immediately, pointing at him and fumbling at their makeshift weapons. Batman had expected that- and he had expected Luthor's aimed gunshot, and immediately ducked behind the trees.
He took a single breath.
"LEAVE."
The word resounded around them, the air screaming as his voice cut through it. The winds and the branches started to shake, leaves falling from the tree that he had situated himself on. The entire manor was silent, the mob staring in fixed horror and fear as the roaring and monstrously loud voice echoed around them again and again, each repetition beating on their temporary bravery.
"YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE. LEAVE, NOW."
The gates slammed open, iron clashing against stone. The hinges screamed at the strain, metal protesting the treatment. Luthor's horse started rearing backwards, hooves kicking up in the air in its terror, trying to buck of its rider.
To the mobs below, Batman was nothing more than a monster with red eyes, glowing in the sinking darkness. Lex Luthor, however, was not about to be conquered by a flying beast, nor even by the attempts of his horse to fight loose of him and run as it wanted to. He drove his heels into Bucephalus's sides, and forced the horse forward, driving the stallion forward toward the shadow, rather than away from it.
"Kill the beast!” Lex rallied. “Throw stones, light your arrows. Are you going to let this creature rule your hearts with fear?"
Clark would be inside, the mage prince knew, locked away in a prison vault or a high tower. He would have to kill the bat before he could 'rescue' him, even if the rumours he heard were that the boy was not a prisoner at all; no, he would never believe it. And if it were true, then he would take Clark back to Metropolis and lock him up in his own palace--for his own good, naturally.
Luthor drove his horse forward, toward the trees, toward the monster. It reared again, hooves flashing, trying in earnest to unseat him again, but Lex stayed fast, drove his spurs in once more.
"Come down and face me like a man, beast! Face me and die, as the abomination that you are!"
The hypocrisy in Luthor's words made Batman snort, and he didn't even bother moving from his perch. The mob surrounding Luthor seemed to get braver, reaching down to pick up rocks and stones to try to aim at him. But the wind was picking up, its howling like the cries of a thousand angry wolves rushing around their legs. The sun had already set, and the moon was far too bright and cold, casting silver on his black fur.
One man threw a stone, and Batman didn't move. It nearly reached him before it was whipped away, smacking against a wall of the castle. The thud of the impact resounded around them, like a death sentence.
Alfred's work.
"You call me a monster, and yet you expect me to face you like a man?" his voice rumbled, just loud enough to be heard above the howling winds, like the growl of a crouched black dog in a dark, silent room. Batman tipped his head back, such that his red eyes glowed in the cold moonlight.
"You don't deserve a man's respect. Only that of prey."
Then, he unfolded his wings and swooped, aiming to snatch Luthor off his horse and throw him down to the ground.
Lex might have laughed; he did not, because just for a moment, faced with the sweeping black monster, fear leapt into his throat. Gotham was not his home; it was unfamiliar and alien, and it terrified him. He leapt aside and from his saddle barely in time, rolling back to his feet as his horse whirled and screamed, kicking and kicking in frenzied panic as it galloped away.
Barely scratched from the descent, Luthor drew his sword and whirled on the beast, slashing out at the creature's wings, snarling in frustration.
"You would keep him all to yourself; my Traveller. But you should know that I do not take kindly to those monstrosities that touch what does not belong to them."
Again Lex attacked, slashing out at the creature, sword flashing silvered death, murder in his eyes.
Batman growled almost on automatic, throwing himself backwards. The sword didn't even graze him. My Traveller; Clark. This was who they were fighting about - Lex might believe that he was here to rescue him, while Batman knew that he was fighting to save him. After all, if Clark had wanted to leave, he would have been gone a long time ago. He was here because he wanted to be. He was here because there was nowhere he would rather be. This Batman believed.
(There were niggling doubts, but- he was not such a fool or so arrogant to believe that he knew Clark's feelings better than his own. He had been proven wrong before, and he would never prefer to be right than to have Clark with him.)
And he knew what Lex would do; knew that he would do just as Batman had done the first time, locking him away in a tower until all the life was gone out of him, coveting that precious exotic jewel because his own heart was bitter and cold. He could not allow that to happen to Clark-- not again.
"He isn't yours, princeling," and with that, Batman was dipping downwards, knees bending as he swiped a hand towards Lex's body.
As he swung, Lex deftly leapt over the attack, though it took all his effort to do so. He had been preparing for this battle, and now he drove up, summoning the dark magics that he had mastered, and his blade sung with a sick, purple-black lightning that danced across the metal and coiled up along his arm.
"More mine than he was ever yours." Lex hissed, his voice almost as inhuman as the Batman’s
The sword drove deep into the creature's gut, using Batman's weight and forward motion against him. It was much harder than he'd expected it to be, and Lex buckled under the sudden weight thrown down onto the hilt, onto his hand, staggering down underneath the falling creature.
"And now you die," he hissed, reaching up to pull the Batman's head closer to his own. "How does it feel to have loved and lost, monstrous fiend? To lose to me?"
Batman only smiled, uncaring about the blood that was no doubt staining his teeth. He could feel and taste the metal, and he reached out, the edges of his wing sharp. He shoved himself back, deepening and widening the gaping wound on the sword as he did so- but he slashed his wing against Lex's face. Once, twice, three times- then downwards, a slice against his chest, deep enough for him to bleed out if he didn't receive medical attention. Then, at the same time, his other wing slammed straight into Lex's groin.
He didn't know why he didn't aim for a killing blow; Lex's throat was so near to him. But Clark's face had flashed in front of him like a spectre, and Batman's breath had hitched, and his wings and claws had changed direction before he realised what he had done. He shouldn't have, but- but like this, with these scars, Lex would never be looked at the same way.
"He's not yours," there was no mockery in his voice, but fact. Known fact, steady as Clark's heartbeat when Batman had carried him out to the tree, weeks and a lifetime ago; steady like Clark's arm around himself as they had taken to the skies.
"Even if you might steal his body, you will never have his heart."
As Batman started to fall to the ground, his knees folding beneath himself, he could hear Lex screaming. It was distant, as if through a fog- and his hand was pressing futilely against the heavy wound opened up at his stomach. It wasn't going to heal; no matter the magic of the castle, no matter what Alfred did, the wound would bleed until Batman had no blood left within him.
Lex had used dark magic. That didn't bode well for Metropolis, did it...? Someone should do something about that- he should have done something. But not now. Now, he could hear the others coming in, weapons raised; they could smell blood, and knew the beast's end was near, and though their leader was injured, each considered the victory their own already. A monster's head would make a magnificent trophy.
There was blood on his lips, and Batman was prepared to grab the sword from his stomach and fight with it when it came--a bellowing roar like a lion. Batman turned, eyes widening when he saw that it was a horse that crashed through the rose bushes, rearing up, feathered hooves flashing in the air, beating Luthor and the other men away.
It was Lois, dressed in fine Wayne armour, the bat sigil across her chest, and Clark, raising his sword up in the air, shining in his matching golden armour. Again he urged Lois on, and she seemed to know what to do, rearing again so that Lex scurried, even bloodied and wounded as he was, to get out from underneath her killing weight. Clark drove his sword down at the others, and they scattered, some dropping their weapons in their hurry to get away.
When the horse came down there was a moment of bristling pause, and then heat seared through the sky, burning red lasers chasing Lex and his horde. Batman wondered if he was becoming delirious, because Clark's eyes were literally on fire, and he blinked, watching as his gentle farmboy charged after the quickly-retreating men. He was absolutely magnificent, gleaming in the gold armour, sword rallying high. Lois' hooves were a thunder only drowned out by Batman's own struggling heartbeat.
"Leave! Leave, and never come back!"
And they ran. They ran with tails between their legs, torches dropped to the ground carelessly. By some miracle, even Lex had left as well, still clutching at his face and groin, throwing himself on his saddle and bleeding still as he urged his horse to run. He had thrown a look behind at Clark that had gone entirely unnoticed by those left behind.
When Lex - the last to leave - was finally gone from the Wayne grounds, Clark yelled in victory. The gates swung shut behind them with a ringing, final clang, though they were crooked in places from the assault. Turning Lois he drove her back toward the fallen beast, half jumping half flying out of the saddle to land by his side.
"I'm here. They're gone. Batman..."
There was so much blood. With an effort Clark heaved the sword out of his chest, moving forward to press his hands to the wound. There were tears in his blue eyes. Batman blinked at that, reaching up with one wing, stroking against the flawless white cheek. What he had seen... Clark was like an avenging angel coming down from the skies, his eyes burning and chasing away evil.
Except that he was kneeling beside him. Batman could feel blood in his mouth, and every breath made the blood bubble at the back of his throat. He knew that he was going to die, and for a moment he thought of the rose in his room. The last petal wasn't ever going to fall; he wasn't going to wait for it.
He swallowed back a mouthful of blood and saliva before speaking, his voice low and weakening, "Your eyes... you have such beautiful eyes..." he stroked against his cheek. "You- you could've flown all this time on your own. Could've... fought them off... easily." Clark's cheek was so warm.
"Don't- stay here," he took a ragged breath. "Go home. Help people. You-" he sucked in a breath, swallowed the blood again. He felt like he was choking. "You're so beautiful. So amazing. Clark..."
Clark's hand reached up, trembling as it wrapped around the clawed fingers that stroked his cheek, his eyes stinging as tears budded in them. He held tightly and stared, seeming barely able to find his breath. Visible behind his eyes was a single horrible thought--I brought this upon him. I'm the reason he's dying.
Moving tentatively, Clark brought his hand down to Batman's face and let his soft fingertips explore the contoured edges. In the Darkness he was difficult to see, but for the red of his eyes. His thumb brushed warm wetness and instantly he knew that it was not tears but blood that he touched, and his face twisted in pain.
"I have...loved every minute I've spent in your company, and even if you were cold at first, I know that it was only with my best interests at heart that you pushed me away."
Again Clark stroked; his heart was breaking.
"But I don't want you to die. I'd do anything, even give my own life, if it meant that you didn't have to suffer this way."
His lips brushed Batman's forehead, his eyes closing. The tears were coming thick and heavy now, and they fell like hot raindrops onto Batman's skin. Cold raindrops followed--the storm broke finally, high above them, releasing a torrent of rain that soaked them both to the bone almost instantly. Clark fell against his chest sodden, his hair sticking to his face, his breath hitching as he cried.
"No," Batman said immediately, and he sat up halfway before his wound screamed at him. He choked, coughing, falling back down and turning his head, throwing up red and black that melted against the soil in the rain, slowly being washed away. He could barely see anymore- but he had to speak. He had to, somehow.
Pulling his hand away from Clark's, he reached up, cupping his cheek, careful to not scratch him with his claws. It was difficult to find Clark's eyes through the rain and the internal fog, but Batman managed it somehow, fixing his gaze on Clark before he spoke again, his voice barely above a soft rasp:
"Don't... say that." He bit back his words, that he was going to die soon anyway. He wouldn't say that; wouldn't cause Clark further grief and sorrow. For this man, words like that would only make everything worse. He took a breath- and spoke faster, his words starting to trip against each other.
"I don't want you to die for me. I-" he smiled slightly, knowing that it looked grotesque, red blood on white, pointed teeth. His vision was slowly disappearing, but he had to say this, even if it was the last thing he ever did. He had to-
"Live. Live, because-" Batman swallowed, forcing his heavy eyes open one last time. "Because I love you."
The words were spoken into frightening silence as Batman stopped breathing, his chest falling still under Clark's hands, his eyes rolling back. What life was left rattled out of him, gone, and Clark bit down on another sob that felt despairing, throwing his arms once more around the still form.
"I love you too," he breathed, fighting past the tears that rose in his throat to pour the words out on dead bat-ears. It was too late; Batman could no longer hear him, and when had he fallen in love with this grotesque creature, he wondered? When had he forgotten that he was a monster and fallen in love with him none-the-less. With the lonely soul underneath, who sometimes looked out through those same red eyes? With the Batman who had taken him flying and fought off wolves at the risk of his own life.
"I love you too," he repeated, and kissed the still warm, unmoving lips. "Please don't die. Please--"
But he already knew it was too late, and even as the rain continued to fall, even as he pushed his face into Batman's throat and held the body against his own as he cried, he knew that nothing he could do, or say, could possibly bring him back. His heart ached, sorrow wrapping its cold arms around him, and he no longer cared that he was soaking wet and bitterly cold, that the hypothermia could kill him. Someone he loved had been ripped from his world, just as they were getting to really know each other.
"Please." His sobs were incoherent now; they blended together just as they mixed with the raindrops.
Batman didn't hear the words; he couldn't hear anything. But the magic that surrounded him and the castle did, and at Clark's words and tears, those magics awoke again. There was a soft whispering sigh in the air, like a single waft of wind, but it smelled like sweet jasmine flowers.
A moment more. Clark sobbed again, his words mangled but pleading, utterly sincere, utterly ignorant. The magics seemed to smile to themselves- then there was lightning in the skies, bright lights that pierced through the clouds themselves to land around Clark and the Batman. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven; seven was a lucky number, a magical number. Seven lightning strikes in a circle around the two of them.
A perfect circle.
Then there was light. The rain stopped, chased away by the magic themselves, and the stars and moon peeked out of the clouds. The moon's light landed directly on Batman, and his wounds seemed to close slowly right in front of Clark's eyes. As Clark stared, gaping, Batman was healed by the moon's light as the winds around them picked up, turning whispers into heaving roars. His lips parted as if to ask what was going on-
A particularly sharp gust of wind, and Clark was blown backwards, out of the circle of light. He stumbled, throwing an arm in front of his eyes because everything was suddenly so bright. Batman's body couldn't be seen anymore, swallowed by the light, and Clark's breathing hitched. What happened- what could have happened to Batman's body? The tears were drying on his cheeks, but he barely noticed, trying to stare into the heart of the sun itself even as the light threatened to sear his sight from him.
Slowly, the light seemed to fade, but Batman could not be found. There was only a man. A tall man on his knees, staring blankly at his own hands. The man looked up, lips parting- he had blue eyes. Blue, not red.
"Clark?"
Just for a moment he stared, and then Clark raised his hands, rubbing in disbelief at his eyes as though somehow what he saw before him would vanish only to be replaced with reality again. The Batman's dead body laid out before him, rather than this...man.
A handsome man, with crisp dark hair and blue eyes, who spoke his name with reverence and affection.
"Batman?"
He hesitated, looking into those eyes, and it was impossible to tell; he didn't know what to think, looking around again in desperation before knee-crawling just a little closer, reaching up to touch the man's cheek, only to jump briefly at the sensation. He was warm, alive, and when Clark closed his eyes and listened, he could hear his heart beating.
The same heartbeat as the Batman.
Immediately his eyes opened again, shock settling in them, bright and unrefined. "It is you!"
And there was no holding him back. Clark flung his arms around the man's shoulders and pressed against him, buried his face into the bare neck.
"I thought I'd lost you. How--?" Pulling back, he stared, eyes running over the other man's face, trying to memorise every inch and facet; the more he looked, the more he could see Batman's face. How was this possible? The questions, though, could wait.
"Batman--" Clark began.
"Bruce," Batman corrected, suddenly, his voice hoarse and raspy from disuse. His hand cupped against Clark's jaw, thumb pressing against his chin, then up to trace the line of his lips. He swallowed, and looked incredibly uncomfortable for a moment, his arm loose around Clark's back. It was odd; he had never really noticed how tall Clark was until now.
Another breath, and Batman continued, "My name is Bruce. Prince Bruce, of the House of Wayne. Though- though, you can just call me Bruce."
Batman- Bruce was looking at Clark as if he was the most precious thing he had ever seen, the greatest of gifts he could have ever been given. His thumb had now moved towards Clark's cheekbone, tracing the line of it as if he was trying, too, to memorise the lines of his face. To touch him with human fingers, without the inconvenience of claws preventing him from feeling and memorising the exact contours, the smoothness of his cheek, the sunlight warmth of his skin.
"You saved me," he said after a long pause. "You're so beautiful, and I was a monster, changed by a witch's curse so my outside suited my insides." His voice was strangely shaky, completely unlike the fearsome tone that he had used during their first meeting. "But you saw through it, and you saved me."
He was cupping Clark's face with both hands now, leaning in to kiss him.
Gentle, chaste though the kiss was, it was seconded by a charge of emotion thrumming beneath Clark's skin, and the following kiss was deeper, Clark leaning up against him, winding one hand in black hair that was absolutely not fur, closing his eyes.
It was difficult to believe; Prince Bruce. His Batman was a Prince, put under a spell, made impossible to love--and yet Clark had fallen in love with him. They had flown together, fought for each other's lives, and at times mourned for the loss of each other; and yes, fallen in love.
Fallen hard.
A discreet cough came from one side, and Clark jumped away, moving behind Bruce at the sight; an old man with swept back grey hair and kind eyes stood above them, holding out a dressing gown by its shoulders, eyebrows raised expectantly.
Alfred's voice was soft.
"If it please you, Master Wayne, I believe your current state of undress to be inappropriate when entertaining guests." A nod to Clark. "Mister Kent. I would like to extend my thanks on behalf of the Wayne family and of myself. I never doubted you, Sir."
There was a blush painting Bruce's pale cheeks red when he pulled back, and he felt it—a burning, unfamiliar heat. It was an odd sensation, and he brushed against his own cheek with his fingers, then down to his own lips that Clark had kissed. Then, it seemed as if Alfred's words and presence had finally registered, and he spun around, finally realising that he was stark naked - monsters didn't fit into any of Prince Wayne's clothes - and nearly snatched the dressing gown out of Alfred's hand before pulling it on himself.
He cleared his throat, looking at his loyal butler for a long moment, dressed in a dressing gown and nothing else and feeling faintly ridiculous. Then, slowly, he reached out and drew Alfred into a tight hug. Something he hadn't been able to do while Alfred had been missing physically, trapped inside the stone of the Manor itself.
"It's good to see you, old friend."
Turning around, he wrapped his hand around Clark's wrist, pulling him closer. He didn't miss the chance to stroke against the inside of the wrist, or to cup his face again, staring into those brilliant, brilliant eyes. Looking at him like this, with eyes used to the daylight more than night-time, Clark was so incredibly stunning.
"I don't think you need an introduction," he murmured quietly, the words entirely for Clark even as he motioned towards Alfred. "But this is Alfred Pennyworth, my... butler." A flickering smile. "He's the one who has been feeding you all this time."
"You have always been kind to me," Clark answered. "I felt you watching over both of us; your pain and your joy. Thank you, Alfred."
They shook hands, and Clark offered another warm smile toward Bruce, raising his free hand a little higher to brush his black hair delicately back away from his face, as though seeing him again for the first time--all wonder and joy. Alfred dared not interrupt them both again, and stood quietly by while Clark stared.
After a moment he said: "Dinner will be prepared by the time you both return to the house, Master Wayne. If there's not anything else?"
He strode away when there was no reply forthcoming, smiling to himself. His Prince was happy, and the House of Wayne promised once again to thrive. He was no longer trapped as a castle, and life was good. Lois trotted after him, nudging at his pockets until Alfred produced an apple as though from nowhere and patted the horse's shoulder.
His last words reached their ears only because he raised his voice pointedly to do so:
"Come on, girl. Let's leave our young lovers to their peace, shall we?"
And again they stared into each other's eyes.
"Um--" Clark breathed. "You should probably get dressed."
Bruce looked at him for a long moment, and swallowed quietly. Slowly, he reached up and traced his fingers over the lines of Clark's face, starting from the end of his hairline then moving down. Feeling the warmth of his skin against his own, then the sharp angles of his cheekbones, then the strong jaw... tracing each inch of this exquisite face. He knew that he was being rude and improper; that he didn't bid Alfred goodbye when he walked away, or greet him properly now that he had returned. But it was okay; he could do that later—and Alfred always understood him.
Right now, he had all the time in the world. All the time he had ever wanted.
"I should," he said, voice low and rough, almost reminiscent of Batman's. He really should take a bath and dress, to dust the clothes he had worn as a human and wear them again. To help Alfred clean up the house and to start planning to make sure that Lex Luthor would never darken their doorstep again. There was so much to do.
So much, but Clark was in front of him. With one glance, Bruce forgot all 'shoulds' and 'have tos', cupping Clark's face in both hands. He leaned in and kissed him again, soft and gently, their lips barely touching. Then he made a small noise and buried a hand in Clarks's hair, pressing their lips more forcefully together, nipping at the bottom one and taking advantage of Clark's surprise to lick against the roof of his mouth.
When the kiss broke, Clark was laughing, tears of joy in his eyes, and he placed both of his hands on Bruce's cheeks and ran them down until just his fingers touched his face. His unbelievably sky blue eyes sparkled, as though his tears were crystals, and he pressed his laughing lips once more against Bruce's own.
"I love you," Clark whispered, again. One shape or another, it didn't matter; the love, he knew, had formed in him long ago, when he had been drawn here away from his parents, when the Batman had flown up before him and fought off wolves. When he had handed him a glass apple. When they had soared through the skies together. And now; now with magic all around them, and Bruce - his Prince - finally himself, able to express the love that he felt.
Clark still laughed in his lips and eyes, even if he was silent. His fingers stroked Bruce's cheeks for a moment longer, and then he drew back, stepping back until he was at arm's length, holding both of Bruce's hands in his own. He felt like he could fly.
And they did--up, up into the sky together, soaring into the starlit night with Bruce in his dressing gown, and Clark hand in hand with him. No wings, just magic--Clark's magic.
Bruce gasped quietly as he felt himself rising upwards, looking down to the ground, eyes wide with wonder. The one inadvertent gift that his curse had given him was the gift of flight, though it had taken him long to choose to practice it, and even longer to wish to use it. He would have missed it, if he had more time to think.
Yet now flight was given back to him, in the shape of a beautiful, powerful man who for some inexplicable reason loved him. Bruce looked at him for a long moment, words failing him because they simply weren't enough. What words could describe the sheer swell of emotions that just one glance at this man evoked in him? What could he possibly say that would be sufficient to tell Clark that he had never once felt anything so strongly, so happily, even before he had been cursed?
Slowly, he slid his hand into Clark's hair, curling slightly at the base of his neck, tugging at the small hairs there. Then, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against Clark's again, briefly. When he pulled back, leaning his forehead against Clark’s, his breath was ragged from the swell of emotions rising in him.
"It was worth it," Bruce said, his voice a little hoarse, almost dipping into Batman's. "Everything. Being under the curse and having to wait.. it was all worth it."
Because now I have you.
note: Because![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
skykissesthesea didn't put up her own post for the art, please please direct all feedback here! ♥
part two
The hard voice, the order, the thick darkness and pride and disgust of monster and man - man? - was there a man beneath that fur, those red eyes? Yes, Clark was more certain of it when the wing brushed his cheek, all that strength withheld and replaced with gentleness.
He couldn't stay and fight, not without...
An idea flickered across Clark's mind and he let himself be brushed back, stumbled once, then whirled, shouting over his shoulder as he ran. "I'm coming back! Don't die!"
He ran as though his life depended on it. Back into the house, up the stairs, his heart pounding. He had seen, somewhere, a suit of armour--there! Clark dressed as quickly as he could, his heart pounding. Leather pulled tight around trembling muscles, chain mail pulled over his head, gauntlets dragged onto his arms, sword tied to his back. He was heading back down to the stables when the house led him aside, showed him an open casket full of more armour; this time a chanfron and breastplate for a horse, the shield of an ancient family marked on it. A vast, black bat on a yellow field. The Waynes, he recognised. How...
How had he missed it? All this time in this house, and he had managed not to notice the details, the little bat motifs worked into the decoration, the draped portrait in the main hall that he had never thought to look behind. And on the gates, wrapped in ivy and rusted almost black--the same bat. He had been living in the lost Wayne Manor all this time without ever realising it.
Who, then, was the bat? A guardian of this place, or... No, it was too ludicrous to imagine.
Outside, Lex Luthor and his horde bore down on the gates. They tore them off their hinges with a vast tree trunk, driving their way through into the grounds beyond with the young prince at their head, his horse rearing, steel hooves flashing like death's blades in the sunlight.
Clark rushed for the stables as fast he could, barely feeling the weight of the armour on his back. Batman needed him.
* * * * *
Outside- outside, Lex Luthor seemed to have picked up even more people along the way, dragging them along through their fear of a monster, stirring them up with rolling threats that the big Bat would steal their children and eat them if they did not kill it. Batman knew better than to stand there - pride or not, he had his intelligence. Not enough to not land himself in this state in the first place, but enough.
He had not looked back when Clark had ran towards the Manor - Clark should be safe in there. Batman would rather let himself be killed by a bunch of ignorant, panicking peasants led by a tyrant-prince than let Clark be killed. No, instead Batman had taken to the air, letting himself glide against the rushing winds to land on top of roof.
When Luthor and his army burst through the old, ornate gates of his Manor, Batman saw red. His eyes glowed, inhuman and monstrous, and he spread his wings wide around himself. At the same time, he swooped downwards, roaring an animalistic howl- and the mob started screaming immediately, pointing at him and fumbling at their makeshift weapons. Batman had expected that- and he had expected Luthor's aimed gunshot, and immediately ducked behind the trees.
He took a single breath.
"LEAVE."
The word resounded around them, the air screaming as his voice cut through it. The winds and the branches started to shake, leaves falling from the tree that he had situated himself on. The entire manor was silent, the mob staring in fixed horror and fear as the roaring and monstrously loud voice echoed around them again and again, each repetition beating on their temporary bravery.
"YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE. LEAVE, NOW."
The gates slammed open, iron clashing against stone. The hinges screamed at the strain, metal protesting the treatment. Luthor's horse started rearing backwards, hooves kicking up in the air in its terror, trying to buck of its rider.
To the mobs below, Batman was nothing more than a monster with red eyes, glowing in the sinking darkness. Lex Luthor, however, was not about to be conquered by a flying beast, nor even by the attempts of his horse to fight loose of him and run as it wanted to. He drove his heels into Bucephalus's sides, and forced the horse forward, driving the stallion forward toward the shadow, rather than away from it.
"Kill the beast!” Lex rallied. “Throw stones, light your arrows. Are you going to let this creature rule your hearts with fear?"
Clark would be inside, the mage prince knew, locked away in a prison vault or a high tower. He would have to kill the bat before he could 'rescue' him, even if the rumours he heard were that the boy was not a prisoner at all; no, he would never believe it. And if it were true, then he would take Clark back to Metropolis and lock him up in his own palace--for his own good, naturally.
Luthor drove his horse forward, toward the trees, toward the monster. It reared again, hooves flashing, trying in earnest to unseat him again, but Lex stayed fast, drove his spurs in once more.
"Come down and face me like a man, beast! Face me and die, as the abomination that you are!"
The hypocrisy in Luthor's words made Batman snort, and he didn't even bother moving from his perch. The mob surrounding Luthor seemed to get braver, reaching down to pick up rocks and stones to try to aim at him. But the wind was picking up, its howling like the cries of a thousand angry wolves rushing around their legs. The sun had already set, and the moon was far too bright and cold, casting silver on his black fur.
One man threw a stone, and Batman didn't move. It nearly reached him before it was whipped away, smacking against a wall of the castle. The thud of the impact resounded around them, like a death sentence.
Alfred's work.
"You call me a monster, and yet you expect me to face you like a man?" his voice rumbled, just loud enough to be heard above the howling winds, like the growl of a crouched black dog in a dark, silent room. Batman tipped his head back, such that his red eyes glowed in the cold moonlight.
"You don't deserve a man's respect. Only that of prey."
Then, he unfolded his wings and swooped, aiming to snatch Luthor off his horse and throw him down to the ground.
Lex might have laughed; he did not, because just for a moment, faced with the sweeping black monster, fear leapt into his throat. Gotham was not his home; it was unfamiliar and alien, and it terrified him. He leapt aside and from his saddle barely in time, rolling back to his feet as his horse whirled and screamed, kicking and kicking in frenzied panic as it galloped away.
Barely scratched from the descent, Luthor drew his sword and whirled on the beast, slashing out at the creature's wings, snarling in frustration.
"You would keep him all to yourself; my Traveller. But you should know that I do not take kindly to those monstrosities that touch what does not belong to them."
Again Lex attacked, slashing out at the creature, sword flashing silvered death, murder in his eyes.
Batman growled almost on automatic, throwing himself backwards. The sword didn't even graze him. My Traveller; Clark. This was who they were fighting about - Lex might believe that he was here to rescue him, while Batman knew that he was fighting to save him. After all, if Clark had wanted to leave, he would have been gone a long time ago. He was here because he wanted to be. He was here because there was nowhere he would rather be. This Batman believed.
(There were niggling doubts, but- he was not such a fool or so arrogant to believe that he knew Clark's feelings better than his own. He had been proven wrong before, and he would never prefer to be right than to have Clark with him.)
And he knew what Lex would do; knew that he would do just as Batman had done the first time, locking him away in a tower until all the life was gone out of him, coveting that precious exotic jewel because his own heart was bitter and cold. He could not allow that to happen to Clark-- not again.
"He isn't yours, princeling," and with that, Batman was dipping downwards, knees bending as he swiped a hand towards Lex's body.
As he swung, Lex deftly leapt over the attack, though it took all his effort to do so. He had been preparing for this battle, and now he drove up, summoning the dark magics that he had mastered, and his blade sung with a sick, purple-black lightning that danced across the metal and coiled up along his arm.
"More mine than he was ever yours." Lex hissed, his voice almost as inhuman as the Batman’s
The sword drove deep into the creature's gut, using Batman's weight and forward motion against him. It was much harder than he'd expected it to be, and Lex buckled under the sudden weight thrown down onto the hilt, onto his hand, staggering down underneath the falling creature.
"And now you die," he hissed, reaching up to pull the Batman's head closer to his own. "How does it feel to have loved and lost, monstrous fiend? To lose to me?"
Batman only smiled, uncaring about the blood that was no doubt staining his teeth. He could feel and taste the metal, and he reached out, the edges of his wing sharp. He shoved himself back, deepening and widening the gaping wound on the sword as he did so- but he slashed his wing against Lex's face. Once, twice, three times- then downwards, a slice against his chest, deep enough for him to bleed out if he didn't receive medical attention. Then, at the same time, his other wing slammed straight into Lex's groin.
He didn't know why he didn't aim for a killing blow; Lex's throat was so near to him. But Clark's face had flashed in front of him like a spectre, and Batman's breath had hitched, and his wings and claws had changed direction before he realised what he had done. He shouldn't have, but- but like this, with these scars, Lex would never be looked at the same way.
"He's not yours," there was no mockery in his voice, but fact. Known fact, steady as Clark's heartbeat when Batman had carried him out to the tree, weeks and a lifetime ago; steady like Clark's arm around himself as they had taken to the skies.
"Even if you might steal his body, you will never have his heart."
As Batman started to fall to the ground, his knees folding beneath himself, he could hear Lex screaming. It was distant, as if through a fog- and his hand was pressing futilely against the heavy wound opened up at his stomach. It wasn't going to heal; no matter the magic of the castle, no matter what Alfred did, the wound would bleed until Batman had no blood left within him.
Lex had used dark magic. That didn't bode well for Metropolis, did it...? Someone should do something about that- he should have done something. But not now. Now, he could hear the others coming in, weapons raised; they could smell blood, and knew the beast's end was near, and though their leader was injured, each considered the victory their own already. A monster's head would make a magnificent trophy.
There was blood on his lips, and Batman was prepared to grab the sword from his stomach and fight with it when it came--a bellowing roar like a lion. Batman turned, eyes widening when he saw that it was a horse that crashed through the rose bushes, rearing up, feathered hooves flashing in the air, beating Luthor and the other men away.
It was Lois, dressed in fine Wayne armour, the bat sigil across her chest, and Clark, raising his sword up in the air, shining in his matching golden armour. Again he urged Lois on, and she seemed to know what to do, rearing again so that Lex scurried, even bloodied and wounded as he was, to get out from underneath her killing weight. Clark drove his sword down at the others, and they scattered, some dropping their weapons in their hurry to get away.
When the horse came down there was a moment of bristling pause, and then heat seared through the sky, burning red lasers chasing Lex and his horde. Batman wondered if he was becoming delirious, because Clark's eyes were literally on fire, and he blinked, watching as his gentle farmboy charged after the quickly-retreating men. He was absolutely magnificent, gleaming in the gold armour, sword rallying high. Lois' hooves were a thunder only drowned out by Batman's own struggling heartbeat.
"Leave! Leave, and never come back!"
And they ran. They ran with tails between their legs, torches dropped to the ground carelessly. By some miracle, even Lex had left as well, still clutching at his face and groin, throwing himself on his saddle and bleeding still as he urged his horse to run. He had thrown a look behind at Clark that had gone entirely unnoticed by those left behind.
When Lex - the last to leave - was finally gone from the Wayne grounds, Clark yelled in victory. The gates swung shut behind them with a ringing, final clang, though they were crooked in places from the assault. Turning Lois he drove her back toward the fallen beast, half jumping half flying out of the saddle to land by his side.
"I'm here. They're gone. Batman..."
There was so much blood. With an effort Clark heaved the sword out of his chest, moving forward to press his hands to the wound. There were tears in his blue eyes. Batman blinked at that, reaching up with one wing, stroking against the flawless white cheek. What he had seen... Clark was like an avenging angel coming down from the skies, his eyes burning and chasing away evil.
Except that he was kneeling beside him. Batman could feel blood in his mouth, and every breath made the blood bubble at the back of his throat. He knew that he was going to die, and for a moment he thought of the rose in his room. The last petal wasn't ever going to fall; he wasn't going to wait for it.
He swallowed back a mouthful of blood and saliva before speaking, his voice low and weakening, "Your eyes... you have such beautiful eyes..." he stroked against his cheek. "You- you could've flown all this time on your own. Could've... fought them off... easily." Clark's cheek was so warm.
"Don't- stay here," he took a ragged breath. "Go home. Help people. You-" he sucked in a breath, swallowed the blood again. He felt like he was choking. "You're so beautiful. So amazing. Clark..."
Clark's hand reached up, trembling as it wrapped around the clawed fingers that stroked his cheek, his eyes stinging as tears budded in them. He held tightly and stared, seeming barely able to find his breath. Visible behind his eyes was a single horrible thought--I brought this upon him. I'm the reason he's dying.
Moving tentatively, Clark brought his hand down to Batman's face and let his soft fingertips explore the contoured edges. In the Darkness he was difficult to see, but for the red of his eyes. His thumb brushed warm wetness and instantly he knew that it was not tears but blood that he touched, and his face twisted in pain.
"I have...loved every minute I've spent in your company, and even if you were cold at first, I know that it was only with my best interests at heart that you pushed me away."
Again Clark stroked; his heart was breaking.
"But I don't want you to die. I'd do anything, even give my own life, if it meant that you didn't have to suffer this way."
His lips brushed Batman's forehead, his eyes closing. The tears were coming thick and heavy now, and they fell like hot raindrops onto Batman's skin. Cold raindrops followed--the storm broke finally, high above them, releasing a torrent of rain that soaked them both to the bone almost instantly. Clark fell against his chest sodden, his hair sticking to his face, his breath hitching as he cried.
"No," Batman said immediately, and he sat up halfway before his wound screamed at him. He choked, coughing, falling back down and turning his head, throwing up red and black that melted against the soil in the rain, slowly being washed away. He could barely see anymore- but he had to speak. He had to, somehow.
Pulling his hand away from Clark's, he reached up, cupping his cheek, careful to not scratch him with his claws. It was difficult to find Clark's eyes through the rain and the internal fog, but Batman managed it somehow, fixing his gaze on Clark before he spoke again, his voice barely above a soft rasp:
"Don't... say that." He bit back his words, that he was going to die soon anyway. He wouldn't say that; wouldn't cause Clark further grief and sorrow. For this man, words like that would only make everything worse. He took a breath- and spoke faster, his words starting to trip against each other.
"I don't want you to die for me. I-" he smiled slightly, knowing that it looked grotesque, red blood on white, pointed teeth. His vision was slowly disappearing, but he had to say this, even if it was the last thing he ever did. He had to-
"Live. Live, because-" Batman swallowed, forcing his heavy eyes open one last time. "Because I love you."
The words were spoken into frightening silence as Batman stopped breathing, his chest falling still under Clark's hands, his eyes rolling back. What life was left rattled out of him, gone, and Clark bit down on another sob that felt despairing, throwing his arms once more around the still form.
"I love you too," he breathed, fighting past the tears that rose in his throat to pour the words out on dead bat-ears. It was too late; Batman could no longer hear him, and when had he fallen in love with this grotesque creature, he wondered? When had he forgotten that he was a monster and fallen in love with him none-the-less. With the lonely soul underneath, who sometimes looked out through those same red eyes? With the Batman who had taken him flying and fought off wolves at the risk of his own life.
"I love you too," he repeated, and kissed the still warm, unmoving lips. "Please don't die. Please--"
But he already knew it was too late, and even as the rain continued to fall, even as he pushed his face into Batman's throat and held the body against his own as he cried, he knew that nothing he could do, or say, could possibly bring him back. His heart ached, sorrow wrapping its cold arms around him, and he no longer cared that he was soaking wet and bitterly cold, that the hypothermia could kill him. Someone he loved had been ripped from his world, just as they were getting to really know each other.
"Please." His sobs were incoherent now; they blended together just as they mixed with the raindrops.
Batman didn't hear the words; he couldn't hear anything. But the magic that surrounded him and the castle did, and at Clark's words and tears, those magics awoke again. There was a soft whispering sigh in the air, like a single waft of wind, but it smelled like sweet jasmine flowers.
A moment more. Clark sobbed again, his words mangled but pleading, utterly sincere, utterly ignorant. The magics seemed to smile to themselves- then there was lightning in the skies, bright lights that pierced through the clouds themselves to land around Clark and the Batman. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven; seven was a lucky number, a magical number. Seven lightning strikes in a circle around the two of them.
A perfect circle.
Then there was light. The rain stopped, chased away by the magic themselves, and the stars and moon peeked out of the clouds. The moon's light landed directly on Batman, and his wounds seemed to close slowly right in front of Clark's eyes. As Clark stared, gaping, Batman was healed by the moon's light as the winds around them picked up, turning whispers into heaving roars. His lips parted as if to ask what was going on-
A particularly sharp gust of wind, and Clark was blown backwards, out of the circle of light. He stumbled, throwing an arm in front of his eyes because everything was suddenly so bright. Batman's body couldn't be seen anymore, swallowed by the light, and Clark's breathing hitched. What happened- what could have happened to Batman's body? The tears were drying on his cheeks, but he barely noticed, trying to stare into the heart of the sun itself even as the light threatened to sear his sight from him.
Slowly, the light seemed to fade, but Batman could not be found. There was only a man. A tall man on his knees, staring blankly at his own hands. The man looked up, lips parting- he had blue eyes. Blue, not red.
"Clark?"
Just for a moment he stared, and then Clark raised his hands, rubbing in disbelief at his eyes as though somehow what he saw before him would vanish only to be replaced with reality again. The Batman's dead body laid out before him, rather than this...man.
A handsome man, with crisp dark hair and blue eyes, who spoke his name with reverence and affection.
"Batman?"
He hesitated, looking into those eyes, and it was impossible to tell; he didn't know what to think, looking around again in desperation before knee-crawling just a little closer, reaching up to touch the man's cheek, only to jump briefly at the sensation. He was warm, alive, and when Clark closed his eyes and listened, he could hear his heart beating.
The same heartbeat as the Batman.
Immediately his eyes opened again, shock settling in them, bright and unrefined. "It is you!"
And there was no holding him back. Clark flung his arms around the man's shoulders and pressed against him, buried his face into the bare neck.
"I thought I'd lost you. How--?" Pulling back, he stared, eyes running over the other man's face, trying to memorise every inch and facet; the more he looked, the more he could see Batman's face. How was this possible? The questions, though, could wait.
"Batman--" Clark began.
"Bruce," Batman corrected, suddenly, his voice hoarse and raspy from disuse. His hand cupped against Clark's jaw, thumb pressing against his chin, then up to trace the line of his lips. He swallowed, and looked incredibly uncomfortable for a moment, his arm loose around Clark's back. It was odd; he had never really noticed how tall Clark was until now.
Another breath, and Batman continued, "My name is Bruce. Prince Bruce, of the House of Wayne. Though- though, you can just call me Bruce."
Batman- Bruce was looking at Clark as if he was the most precious thing he had ever seen, the greatest of gifts he could have ever been given. His thumb had now moved towards Clark's cheekbone, tracing the line of it as if he was trying, too, to memorise the lines of his face. To touch him with human fingers, without the inconvenience of claws preventing him from feeling and memorising the exact contours, the smoothness of his cheek, the sunlight warmth of his skin.
"You saved me," he said after a long pause. "You're so beautiful, and I was a monster, changed by a witch's curse so my outside suited my insides." His voice was strangely shaky, completely unlike the fearsome tone that he had used during their first meeting. "But you saw through it, and you saved me."
He was cupping Clark's face with both hands now, leaning in to kiss him.
Gentle, chaste though the kiss was, it was seconded by a charge of emotion thrumming beneath Clark's skin, and the following kiss was deeper, Clark leaning up against him, winding one hand in black hair that was absolutely not fur, closing his eyes.
It was difficult to believe; Prince Bruce. His Batman was a Prince, put under a spell, made impossible to love--and yet Clark had fallen in love with him. They had flown together, fought for each other's lives, and at times mourned for the loss of each other; and yes, fallen in love.
Fallen hard.
A discreet cough came from one side, and Clark jumped away, moving behind Bruce at the sight; an old man with swept back grey hair and kind eyes stood above them, holding out a dressing gown by its shoulders, eyebrows raised expectantly.
Alfred's voice was soft.
"If it please you, Master Wayne, I believe your current state of undress to be inappropriate when entertaining guests." A nod to Clark. "Mister Kent. I would like to extend my thanks on behalf of the Wayne family and of myself. I never doubted you, Sir."
There was a blush painting Bruce's pale cheeks red when he pulled back, and he felt it—a burning, unfamiliar heat. It was an odd sensation, and he brushed against his own cheek with his fingers, then down to his own lips that Clark had kissed. Then, it seemed as if Alfred's words and presence had finally registered, and he spun around, finally realising that he was stark naked - monsters didn't fit into any of Prince Wayne's clothes - and nearly snatched the dressing gown out of Alfred's hand before pulling it on himself.
He cleared his throat, looking at his loyal butler for a long moment, dressed in a dressing gown and nothing else and feeling faintly ridiculous. Then, slowly, he reached out and drew Alfred into a tight hug. Something he hadn't been able to do while Alfred had been missing physically, trapped inside the stone of the Manor itself.
"It's good to see you, old friend."
Turning around, he wrapped his hand around Clark's wrist, pulling him closer. He didn't miss the chance to stroke against the inside of the wrist, or to cup his face again, staring into those brilliant, brilliant eyes. Looking at him like this, with eyes used to the daylight more than night-time, Clark was so incredibly stunning.
"I don't think you need an introduction," he murmured quietly, the words entirely for Clark even as he motioned towards Alfred. "But this is Alfred Pennyworth, my... butler." A flickering smile. "He's the one who has been feeding you all this time."
"You have always been kind to me," Clark answered. "I felt you watching over both of us; your pain and your joy. Thank you, Alfred."
They shook hands, and Clark offered another warm smile toward Bruce, raising his free hand a little higher to brush his black hair delicately back away from his face, as though seeing him again for the first time--all wonder and joy. Alfred dared not interrupt them both again, and stood quietly by while Clark stared.
After a moment he said: "Dinner will be prepared by the time you both return to the house, Master Wayne. If there's not anything else?"
He strode away when there was no reply forthcoming, smiling to himself. His Prince was happy, and the House of Wayne promised once again to thrive. He was no longer trapped as a castle, and life was good. Lois trotted after him, nudging at his pockets until Alfred produced an apple as though from nowhere and patted the horse's shoulder.
His last words reached their ears only because he raised his voice pointedly to do so:
"Come on, girl. Let's leave our young lovers to their peace, shall we?"
And again they stared into each other's eyes.
"Um--" Clark breathed. "You should probably get dressed."
Bruce looked at him for a long moment, and swallowed quietly. Slowly, he reached up and traced his fingers over the lines of Clark's face, starting from the end of his hairline then moving down. Feeling the warmth of his skin against his own, then the sharp angles of his cheekbones, then the strong jaw... tracing each inch of this exquisite face. He knew that he was being rude and improper; that he didn't bid Alfred goodbye when he walked away, or greet him properly now that he had returned. But it was okay; he could do that later—and Alfred always understood him.
Right now, he had all the time in the world. All the time he had ever wanted.
"I should," he said, voice low and rough, almost reminiscent of Batman's. He really should take a bath and dress, to dust the clothes he had worn as a human and wear them again. To help Alfred clean up the house and to start planning to make sure that Lex Luthor would never darken their doorstep again. There was so much to do.
So much, but Clark was in front of him. With one glance, Bruce forgot all 'shoulds' and 'have tos', cupping Clark's face in both hands. He leaned in and kissed him again, soft and gently, their lips barely touching. Then he made a small noise and buried a hand in Clarks's hair, pressing their lips more forcefully together, nipping at the bottom one and taking advantage of Clark's surprise to lick against the roof of his mouth.
When the kiss broke, Clark was laughing, tears of joy in his eyes, and he placed both of his hands on Bruce's cheeks and ran them down until just his fingers touched his face. His unbelievably sky blue eyes sparkled, as though his tears were crystals, and he pressed his laughing lips once more against Bruce's own.
"I love you," Clark whispered, again. One shape or another, it didn't matter; the love, he knew, had formed in him long ago, when he had been drawn here away from his parents, when the Batman had flown up before him and fought off wolves. When he had handed him a glass apple. When they had soared through the skies together. And now; now with magic all around them, and Bruce - his Prince - finally himself, able to express the love that he felt.
Clark still laughed in his lips and eyes, even if he was silent. His fingers stroked Bruce's cheeks for a moment longer, and then he drew back, stepping back until he was at arm's length, holding both of Bruce's hands in his own. He felt like he could fly.
And they did--up, up into the sky together, soaring into the starlit night with Bruce in his dressing gown, and Clark hand in hand with him. No wings, just magic--Clark's magic.
Bruce gasped quietly as he felt himself rising upwards, looking down to the ground, eyes wide with wonder. The one inadvertent gift that his curse had given him was the gift of flight, though it had taken him long to choose to practice it, and even longer to wish to use it. He would have missed it, if he had more time to think.
Yet now flight was given back to him, in the shape of a beautiful, powerful man who for some inexplicable reason loved him. Bruce looked at him for a long moment, words failing him because they simply weren't enough. What words could describe the sheer swell of emotions that just one glance at this man evoked in him? What could he possibly say that would be sufficient to tell Clark that he had never once felt anything so strongly, so happily, even before he had been cursed?
Slowly, he slid his hand into Clark's hair, curling slightly at the base of his neck, tugging at the small hairs there. Then, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against Clark's again, briefly. When he pulled back, leaning his forehead against Clark’s, his breath was ragged from the swell of emotions rising in him.
"It was worth it," Bruce said, his voice a little hoarse, almost dipping into Batman's. "Everything. Being under the curse and having to wait.. it was all worth it."
Because now I have you.
the end
note: Because
skykissesthesea didn't put up her own post for the art, please please direct all feedback here! ♥