WFGE fic: From the Brim to the Dregs
Jan. 5th, 2013 01:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mithenTitle: From the Brim to the Dregs
Relationship: Clark/Bruce
Characters:Warnings/Spoilers: Vampirism
Rating: R
Word Count 1700
Summary: Clark is away on a mission, and Bruce is missing him in more ways than one.
Notes: Written for the WFGE! Prompt F10, Vampire!Bruce!
"Go away." Batman's voice echoed up the stairs as the grandfather clock swung open.
"Don't be ridiculous," Dick Grayson announced as he came down the steps. "Look, I know you're feeling...well...peckish--"
Bruce glared up at him before returning to his keyboard.
"--But Clark will be back from Thanagar in just a few days now. You're doing great."
Bruce didn't look at him, stopping his work to take a sip from the coffee mug at his right hand. But Dick knew the liquid in the mug was red and viscous, and Bruce grimaced as he drank it, as if it were bitter.
"You shouldn't be here," Bruce said.
"For heaven's sake--" Dick broke off at Bruce's look, "--I mean, for Pete's sake, I'm not going to let you brood down here all by yourself just because you're hungry."
Bruce's mutter was largely unintelligible but Dick caught something that might have been "eternal damnation" and "soulless." He sighed to himself: no one was supposed to talk about Bruce's...problem, so it remained an open secret among the rest of the family. It was as if Bruce feared that if anyone spoke the word "vampire" aloud, they'd realize he was a monster and flee the Manor screaming.
If Bruce was going to drive anyone to run shrieking from the Manor, Dick reflected, it would have happened long before he became undead.
Dick went over to the exercise equipment and began to do chinups. Bruce glared at him one last time, then returned to his work. Dick was relieved he hadn't ordered him from the cave.
It would have been a bit awkward when Dick had refused to go.
They both worked on in a silence that was...not exactly companionable, because Bruce was anything but that right now. But it wasn't sullen, and it wasn't fearful.
Dick felt that served to make his point.
: : :
When Dick finally left the cave, Bruce felt himself relax a little inside. It wasn't that the scent of Dick's blood tempted him, even with the hunger digging its claws deep into his guts, into his very heart. When it came to blood, he was something of a connoisseur, and only a Kryptonian vintage suited his palate. But Dick's cheerful tolerance could be wearing sometimes. He made it seem like vampirism was just another set of super-heroic limitations, like J'onn being vulnerable to fire or Green Lantern having problems with the color yellow. He didn't seem to appreciate the finer points of being a creature cursed by the Divine (Bruce would have liked to be agnostic about such things, but fighting alongside angels did make it difficult).
Though Bruce did have to admit, sometimes, that if Dick and Clark didn't reject him, he couldn't truly believe that the Light would either.
Bruce sighed and forced himself to concentrate on his electron microscope: those fly eggs weren't going to analyze themselves. The anastomoses seemed to indicate that...
It was no good. He scribbled some last notes about the typography of the eggs and closed his notebook, frowning as he took another sip from his mug. Of course Clark had stored large quantities of his blood here in the cave for emergencies, but stored blood lacked something essential for vampire sustenance. Bruce had done various analyses attempting to isolate and thus replicate the factor, but the fact was that he knew in his bones that it was something no one could replicate.
It was life itself.
The stored blood could keep Bruce going for a while, but it didn't quench his thirst at all. If anything, the hollow mockery of Clark's brimming life only inflamed his need for the real thing more. The icy burning at the core of his body made his hands clench in impotent anger: he hated that Clark was offworld, hated even more how dependent he was on him. Clark saved him from killing humans, at such cost to himself, and Bruce craved him with a visceral longing that left him shaking and sickened at himself.
He drained the bitter dregs of his mug and stretched. Better to sleep than to sit here brooding.
In a quiet corner of the cave was an oblong box of gray steel in a familiar shape. Bruce touched a button on the lid and it slid open with a quiet whoosh, revealing comfortable satin cushions. With a sigh, Bruce settled down inside his--well, he hated calling it a "casket," but it did match the description. As it turned out, one of the side effects of vampirism was that he could only get truly rested if he slept in a very narrow space. Bruce touched the matching button on the inside and the lid slid shut again, leaving him closed tightly up in darkness and silence. He closed his eyes and fell into sleep instantly.
His prey flew ahead of him, the red cape like a taunting ribbon of flowing life streaming out behind. Bruce flexed his great black wings and soared faster, the joy of the hunt an ecstatic drumbeat in his veins. Soon he would drink deep and be satisfied.
Finally his opportunity came--he cut off his quarry and fell upon it like a bolt of dark lightning, savoring the gasp of shock as the impact shuddered through his body. No time to be delicate, the need was too intense--a slash of keen fangs and life poured forth like a river of unholy joy, its sweet scent maddening him, urging him on, to pierce flesh over and over until fresh scarlet painted everything and the throb of life in the prey fluttered higher and higher, a candle about to burn out--
--There was light lancing into his eyes and something was pressed against his mouth, pushing his lips against his fangs with a sensuous pang. Still caught in the dream, Bruce gasped and threw his arms around the warmth of it, the impossible scintillating life. Trembling with want, the scent of blood singing in his senses, he bent his head to bury in fangs in tender flesh and--
--stopped a breath away from the skin, trembling.
After a moment he pulled away to look at Clark's smiling face. He wasn't sure what Clark saw in his own expression, but after a moment Clark said softly, "Hi honey, I'm home."
"Welcome home," he whispered, and couldn't seem to stop shaking. He let Clark lift him from the casket, clinging to him because he couldn't bear to let him go. Clark felt so good, and Bruce wanted him so much, he could hardly think straight. "How was the trip? Was Hawkman unbearable the whole way?"
"Bruce."
"Did the negotiations with Rann go well?"
"Bruce."
"And was the--"
"--Bruce." Clark took his face between his hands, looking deep into his eyes. "Why are you waiting?"
Hunger and pain tangled in his voice, roughening them: "Because you are more to me than a meal, damn it, and I will not fall on you like a starving man on a hamburger!"
"I'm devastated," Clark said mournfully. "A hamburger? I had hoped I at least was at the same level as a good ribeye steak."
"Don't mock me," Bruce snarled at the laughter in his eyes.
"Never," Clark whispered, and kissed him. "But I will mock any attempt at brooding, wallowing, or angsting about a life we've both chosen. A life with a man I happen to love," he added lightly.
Then he swiveled away from Bruce and laid down in the casket.
"Cozy," he said as Bruce stared at him. He lifted his arms. "Let's do it in here," he said. He huffed out an exasperated breath as Bruce continued to look at him, unmoving. "Bruce, you amazingly dense man, I've been looking forward to this for days. You can ask me about the Rann-Thanagar negotiations later. Right now, I just want--you." He lifted his hips slightly, so his erection strained at the red cloth. "I'm so desperate I'm betting I can get off just from grinding up against you while you suck on me."
Bruce heard himself make a small, agonized sound as he bent over the bright figure in his dark casket, running his fingers along Clark's body, feeling the predator-need pulling at him. "Be careful," Clark gasped as he stroked his erection, "I'll finish before you bite me if you do that." His eyes were heavy-lidded and dark, his lips slightly parted. "And finishing while your teeth are in me, it's the best feeling in the world, so perfect--" he said, and his hips bucked. "I can't wait much longer, Bruce." He tugged on Bruce's hand, pulling him into the coffin on top of him, their hips tight against each other in the enclosed space.
Bruce's teeth were very close to Clark's neck now, touching the carotid artery, shuddering with life. He pressed his hips down roughly, pinning Clark, and Clark made a choking sound.
"God, Bruce, I'm going to--"
"--Not until you feel my teeth," Bruce breathed against his neck. "Not until that moment."
Clark made an inarticulate noise, shuddering against him. "Yes," he whispered.
Bruce didn't move, letting the bloodlust wash over him like a red haze. I choose this, he thought. I am not driven to it. I am not a beast that gives in to my hunger.
Clark's breathing was ragged, as if he found the very touch of Bruce's breath on his neck erotic beyond bearing. "Please," he breathed.
I am a being of free will. I could choose to die rather than drink. I will never run amok. Bruce reminded himself.
Only then did he bite.
At the instant he felt his fangs break the flesh, he heard Clark stammer his name, felt the orgasm pulsing against his body as life throbbed into him in turn, and for a perfect moment they were united in twinned bliss.
This is the gift Clark gives to me, he thought in that moment.
Which left it a mystery why it was Clark who whispered "Thank you" later, as they slipped down together into sated sleep.
Relationship: Clark/Bruce
Characters:Warnings/Spoilers: Vampirism
Rating: R
Word Count 1700
Summary: Clark is away on a mission, and Bruce is missing him in more ways than one.
Notes: Written for the WFGE! Prompt F10, Vampire!Bruce!
"Go away." Batman's voice echoed up the stairs as the grandfather clock swung open.
"Don't be ridiculous," Dick Grayson announced as he came down the steps. "Look, I know you're feeling...well...peckish--"
Bruce glared up at him before returning to his keyboard.
"--But Clark will be back from Thanagar in just a few days now. You're doing great."
Bruce didn't look at him, stopping his work to take a sip from the coffee mug at his right hand. But Dick knew the liquid in the mug was red and viscous, and Bruce grimaced as he drank it, as if it were bitter.
"You shouldn't be here," Bruce said.
"For heaven's sake--" Dick broke off at Bruce's look, "--I mean, for Pete's sake, I'm not going to let you brood down here all by yourself just because you're hungry."
Bruce's mutter was largely unintelligible but Dick caught something that might have been "eternal damnation" and "soulless." He sighed to himself: no one was supposed to talk about Bruce's...problem, so it remained an open secret among the rest of the family. It was as if Bruce feared that if anyone spoke the word "vampire" aloud, they'd realize he was a monster and flee the Manor screaming.
If Bruce was going to drive anyone to run shrieking from the Manor, Dick reflected, it would have happened long before he became undead.
Dick went over to the exercise equipment and began to do chinups. Bruce glared at him one last time, then returned to his work. Dick was relieved he hadn't ordered him from the cave.
It would have been a bit awkward when Dick had refused to go.
They both worked on in a silence that was...not exactly companionable, because Bruce was anything but that right now. But it wasn't sullen, and it wasn't fearful.
Dick felt that served to make his point.
: : :
When Dick finally left the cave, Bruce felt himself relax a little inside. It wasn't that the scent of Dick's blood tempted him, even with the hunger digging its claws deep into his guts, into his very heart. When it came to blood, he was something of a connoisseur, and only a Kryptonian vintage suited his palate. But Dick's cheerful tolerance could be wearing sometimes. He made it seem like vampirism was just another set of super-heroic limitations, like J'onn being vulnerable to fire or Green Lantern having problems with the color yellow. He didn't seem to appreciate the finer points of being a creature cursed by the Divine (Bruce would have liked to be agnostic about such things, but fighting alongside angels did make it difficult).
Though Bruce did have to admit, sometimes, that if Dick and Clark didn't reject him, he couldn't truly believe that the Light would either.
Bruce sighed and forced himself to concentrate on his electron microscope: those fly eggs weren't going to analyze themselves. The anastomoses seemed to indicate that...
It was no good. He scribbled some last notes about the typography of the eggs and closed his notebook, frowning as he took another sip from his mug. Of course Clark had stored large quantities of his blood here in the cave for emergencies, but stored blood lacked something essential for vampire sustenance. Bruce had done various analyses attempting to isolate and thus replicate the factor, but the fact was that he knew in his bones that it was something no one could replicate.
It was life itself.
The stored blood could keep Bruce going for a while, but it didn't quench his thirst at all. If anything, the hollow mockery of Clark's brimming life only inflamed his need for the real thing more. The icy burning at the core of his body made his hands clench in impotent anger: he hated that Clark was offworld, hated even more how dependent he was on him. Clark saved him from killing humans, at such cost to himself, and Bruce craved him with a visceral longing that left him shaking and sickened at himself.
He drained the bitter dregs of his mug and stretched. Better to sleep than to sit here brooding.
In a quiet corner of the cave was an oblong box of gray steel in a familiar shape. Bruce touched a button on the lid and it slid open with a quiet whoosh, revealing comfortable satin cushions. With a sigh, Bruce settled down inside his--well, he hated calling it a "casket," but it did match the description. As it turned out, one of the side effects of vampirism was that he could only get truly rested if he slept in a very narrow space. Bruce touched the matching button on the inside and the lid slid shut again, leaving him closed tightly up in darkness and silence. He closed his eyes and fell into sleep instantly.
His prey flew ahead of him, the red cape like a taunting ribbon of flowing life streaming out behind. Bruce flexed his great black wings and soared faster, the joy of the hunt an ecstatic drumbeat in his veins. Soon he would drink deep and be satisfied.
Finally his opportunity came--he cut off his quarry and fell upon it like a bolt of dark lightning, savoring the gasp of shock as the impact shuddered through his body. No time to be delicate, the need was too intense--a slash of keen fangs and life poured forth like a river of unholy joy, its sweet scent maddening him, urging him on, to pierce flesh over and over until fresh scarlet painted everything and the throb of life in the prey fluttered higher and higher, a candle about to burn out--
--There was light lancing into his eyes and something was pressed against his mouth, pushing his lips against his fangs with a sensuous pang. Still caught in the dream, Bruce gasped and threw his arms around the warmth of it, the impossible scintillating life. Trembling with want, the scent of blood singing in his senses, he bent his head to bury in fangs in tender flesh and--
--stopped a breath away from the skin, trembling.
After a moment he pulled away to look at Clark's smiling face. He wasn't sure what Clark saw in his own expression, but after a moment Clark said softly, "Hi honey, I'm home."
"Welcome home," he whispered, and couldn't seem to stop shaking. He let Clark lift him from the casket, clinging to him because he couldn't bear to let him go. Clark felt so good, and Bruce wanted him so much, he could hardly think straight. "How was the trip? Was Hawkman unbearable the whole way?"
"Bruce."
"Did the negotiations with Rann go well?"
"Bruce."
"And was the--"
"--Bruce." Clark took his face between his hands, looking deep into his eyes. "Why are you waiting?"
Hunger and pain tangled in his voice, roughening them: "Because you are more to me than a meal, damn it, and I will not fall on you like a starving man on a hamburger!"
"I'm devastated," Clark said mournfully. "A hamburger? I had hoped I at least was at the same level as a good ribeye steak."
"Don't mock me," Bruce snarled at the laughter in his eyes.
"Never," Clark whispered, and kissed him. "But I will mock any attempt at brooding, wallowing, or angsting about a life we've both chosen. A life with a man I happen to love," he added lightly.
Then he swiveled away from Bruce and laid down in the casket.
"Cozy," he said as Bruce stared at him. He lifted his arms. "Let's do it in here," he said. He huffed out an exasperated breath as Bruce continued to look at him, unmoving. "Bruce, you amazingly dense man, I've been looking forward to this for days. You can ask me about the Rann-Thanagar negotiations later. Right now, I just want--you." He lifted his hips slightly, so his erection strained at the red cloth. "I'm so desperate I'm betting I can get off just from grinding up against you while you suck on me."
Bruce heard himself make a small, agonized sound as he bent over the bright figure in his dark casket, running his fingers along Clark's body, feeling the predator-need pulling at him. "Be careful," Clark gasped as he stroked his erection, "I'll finish before you bite me if you do that." His eyes were heavy-lidded and dark, his lips slightly parted. "And finishing while your teeth are in me, it's the best feeling in the world, so perfect--" he said, and his hips bucked. "I can't wait much longer, Bruce." He tugged on Bruce's hand, pulling him into the coffin on top of him, their hips tight against each other in the enclosed space.
Bruce's teeth were very close to Clark's neck now, touching the carotid artery, shuddering with life. He pressed his hips down roughly, pinning Clark, and Clark made a choking sound.
"God, Bruce, I'm going to--"
"--Not until you feel my teeth," Bruce breathed against his neck. "Not until that moment."
Clark made an inarticulate noise, shuddering against him. "Yes," he whispered.
Bruce didn't move, letting the bloodlust wash over him like a red haze. I choose this, he thought. I am not driven to it. I am not a beast that gives in to my hunger.
Clark's breathing was ragged, as if he found the very touch of Bruce's breath on his neck erotic beyond bearing. "Please," he breathed.
I am a being of free will. I could choose to die rather than drink. I will never run amok. Bruce reminded himself.
Only then did he bite.
At the instant he felt his fangs break the flesh, he heard Clark stammer his name, felt the orgasm pulsing against his body as life throbbed into him in turn, and for a perfect moment they were united in twinned bliss.
This is the gift Clark gives to me, he thought in that moment.
Which left it a mystery why it was Clark who whispered "Thank you" later, as they slipped down together into sated sleep.
(no subject)
Date: 2013-01-05 07:08 pm (UTC)If Bruce was going to drive anyone to run shrieking from the Manor, Dick reflected, it would have happened long before he became undead.
*snorts*
It would have been a bit awkward when Dick had refused to go.
*snorts again*
He made it seem like vampirism was just another set of super-heroic limitations, like J'onn being vulnerable to fire or Green Lantern having problems with the color yellow. He didn't seem to appreciate the finer points of being a creature cursed by the Divine (Bruce would have liked to be agnostic about such things, but fighting alongside angels did make it difficult).
*gently pets poor grumpy!Bruce*
The icy burning at the core of his body made his hands clench in impotent anger: he hated that Clark was offworld, hated even more how dependent he was on him. Clark saved him from killing humans, at such cost to himself, and Bruce craved him with a visceral longing that left him shaking and sickened at himself.
*pets Bruce again*
Was Hawkman unbearable the whole way?
*giggles*
Hunger and pain tangled in his voice, roughening them: "Because you are more to me than a meal, damn it, and I will not fall on you like a starving man on a hamburger!"
"I'm devastated," Clark said mournfully. "A hamburger? I had hoped I at least was at the same level as a good ribeye steak."
*hearts Clark*
I am a being of free will. I could choose to die rather than drink. I will never run amok. Bruce reminded himself.
*hearts Bruce*
Eeee, it was so nice to see vampire!Bruce again! Thank you for sharing this! :)
(no subject)
Date: 2013-01-06 10:45 am (UTC)*gently pets poor grumpy!Bruce*
Brooding Bruce is so fun to write, especially when he has a fairly good reason behind it! Dick doesn't put up with it, but I sympathize with him. *pets him carefully*
You know Hawkman is a total pain to travel with on long journeys, oh dear. :)
I enjoyed the chance to write vampire!Bruce again, he's very...mmm. Fun, in an angsty way. *grin*