Pairings/Characters: (this chapter): Clark/Bruce, Ollie Queen, Hal/Steve, Lex Luthor
Series Notes: In the 23rd century, Earth is a technologically-advanced society that practices the ancient institution of slavery. The wealthy freeman Bruce Wayne acquires a highly-prized pleasure slave whom has fallen in love with him…but can the Prince of Gotham ever return that love? And will it all be moot as a weak abolitionist movement slowly gathers strength while the Galactic Empire remains in a perpetual state of Cold War? The entire series can be found here.
Categories: Drama, AU
Rating: (this chapter): PG-13
Summary: The Harvest Ball is a glittering success on a magical night.
Date Of Completion (First Draft): June 7, 2007
Date Of Posting: October 16, 2007
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 1887 + 1931 (Total: 3818)
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
All Hallows’ Eve,
No time to grieve.
In the night
Masks always hide,
Prejudice and pride,
But love is strong
And doesn’t take long,
To be the heart’s guide.
“The Book Of Shadows”
NIGHT OF MAGIC
Bruce felt light-hearted as they danced, his Master’s eye pleased at the gorgeous figure that Clark cut. He was a pleasure slave but so much more: a companion, a sounding board, and now an ally in his war on crime.
A rush of affection consumed him and he smiled, the magic of the night sparkling all around them.
He thought of something. Digging into the pouch attached to his belt, he took out a glittering gold chain with a five-pointed star pendant. It was engraved with the version of the Wayne family crest used on slave jewelry: the stylized letter ‘W’ was in the center of a large five-pointed star, surrounded by five other stars set in a circle.
He slipped it over Clark’s head and pressed it gently against the hollow of his throat.
Clark’s eyes sparkled. “Master…?”
“Simply a gift to show you how treasured you are.”
Joy flooded Clark’s face, and he impulsively hugged his Master, who stroked his hair and smiled in amusement.
Pumpkin was the flavor of the evening: cupcakes, breads, soup, soft candies that melted in the mouth. There were more conventional foods: roast beef, chicken, salads, baby vegetables, fresh fruit. There was food plain, exotic, and sumptuous. Bruce allowed Clark to serve him this time and they sat and enjoyed the meal with Hal and Steve. Ollie and Lex were working the room, picking up tidbits of business information as some of Gotham’s elite talked amongst themselves, revealing their identities through slips of the tongue while others remained firmly masked.
Bruce went to the buffet to choose dessert. A gorgeous Egyptian woman appeared, green eyes so heavily kohl-rimmed that they served as her mask. A long, black wig jangled with glass beads, heavy gold jewelry studded with sapphires and emeralds winking at her throat and wrists. Her simple white dress left one shoulder bare, and a slit in her skirt flashed a shapely leg when she walked. Golden sandals clad her feet, the toenails painted red.
Queen Cleopatra, he thought with a smile.
Bruce smelled jasmine as she gracefully circled the table, and fingernails accentuating strong but slender fingers. Bruce watched her movements as he carefully scooped two slices of pumpkin pie onto china plates.
It had been a long time since he’d had a woman, and this one was stirring his body’s memories. She was beautiful and mysterious, her grace reminding him of a dancer.
Bruce took his time getting the pie, listening as the woman’s bracelets jangled as she scooped out some salad onto her plate. When he could linger no longer, he reluctantly began to leave.
“General,” she drawled, “Do you recommend the cranberry bread from this buffet?”
He turned back, turning on his Bruce charm. “I would.”
She used the silver server to scoop up a slice. “Are the bananas fresh? I do hate squishy, limp bananas.”
Bruce’s grin was blinding. “The bananas are fresh.” He cocked his head. “The strawberries are quite good.”
“And the melons?”
“Firm, from what I can see.”
Her laughter tinkled like windchimes, making him smile again. He watched as she speared a juicy piece of honeydew melon, lifting it to her ruby-red lips.
“Mmm,” she cooed as she sampled the cool fruit. “Yes, firm.”
Bruce was fleetingly tempted to make more of this flirtation, but then he glanced back over his shoulder at Clark, who was speaking with Steve. If this lady was willing, they could include Clark in their pleasure, as many assignations included pleasure slaves.
He was suddenly reluctant to include Clark. He wasn’t sure why. It was Clark’s job, after all, to spread his legs for anyone for whom Bruce commanded, but that reluctance to order it was strong.
Now even the thought of sex alone with the woman lost its appeal. He turned back and inclined his head slightly, taking his leave.
He returned to the table, setting down the plates. Clark smiled in thanks and Bruce knew he had made the right decision.
& & & & & &
Bruce drifted to the exhibit hall, observing the beautiful statuary when he saw a flicker of motion. He thought he was alone but someone must have had the same idea.
Another shift of shadow, and his eyes widened. He quietly backed away and returned to the ballroom, locating Clark standing by a window.
“Go out to the car,” Bruce whispered, “and take out the bag that’s secured in the secret compartment I showed you.”
Clark understood, taking the spare keylock that Bruce gave him.
“Meet me by the Aphrodite statue out in back.”
Clark nodded, slipping out of the ballroom.
& & & & & &
The cold night air was brisk as Clark strolled out toward the parking lot. He wanted to hurry but he also didn’t want to attract attention.
He reached the limousine, glad to see Brendan not around. It would have been awkward to explain his little errand.
He aimed the keylock at the trunk and it opened. A quick survey and he found the compartment, unlocking it with the code that Bruce had taught him. He grabbed the bag and shut the trunk.
He pretended confidence, hoping he wouldn’t be accosted. Luckily there was no one out on the grounds, any reporters outside located in front of the museum.
He slipped through the shadows, excited to be helping Bruce.
Out in the back of the museum it was also deserted. Suddenly Clark noticed a security guard strolling at the edge of the English gardens. Quickly he disappeared into the shadows, slipping silently through the hedges to the statue.
Bruce melted out of the shadows, Clark putting a finger to his own lips and gesturing toward the guard. Bruce nodded and took the bag.
Clark stayed out of sight while Bruce changed in the darkness. He could hear the rustle of silk and cloth, and he took a deep breath as the Batman emerged, his first close-up sight of the creature of the night.
Batman silently handed Clark the bag and then was gone.
Heart pounding, Clark tried to look casual as he headed back to the parking lot.
Clark stopped. He pushed the bag behind a bush and waited as he heard the footsteps of the speaker come close. Strong fingers grasped his chin and lifted his head.
“So, Minuteman, what are you doing here?”
“Just…Just getting some air.”
Hard brown eyes glittered in the man’s broad face. His thumb stroked Clark’s chin, a shrewd look entering those eyes. “You’re one of those rich boys’ catamites, aren’t you?”
Clark blushed at the old term. “I belong to Master Bruce Wayne, yes.”
The guard cocked his head. “The fuckin’ Prince?” A leer spread across his face. “And I bet he does do exactly that with you, doesn’t he?”
Clark willed his screaming muscles to stay still as the guard suddenly began massaging him between his legs. Every instinct was telling him to resist but of course that would bring down severe punishment on him.
The hand holding his chin clamped across his mouth and Clark felt real fear now. The only resistance he was allowed was to yell for help.
“Man, you’re a pretty piece of ass.” Clark could smell the man’s heavy cologne as he nuzzled his neck. Clark stood perfectly still, hopeful that the guard would extract his fun and then let him go.
A part of him was angry at himself for getting himself into this situation. Bruce depended on him to do the task assigned. If he couldn’t do even this small thing without getting molested, what good was he?
Clark gasped as his nipple was savagely twisted, his tormentor chuckling as he started to pull Clark close to him…
“What the hell are you doing, Barkley?”
“Go away, Marquand. This is none of your business.”
“Like hell it isn’t.” The other security guard grabbed Barkley’s arm and pulled, Barkley pushing Clark away so violently that he fell hard to the ground.
“Leave me alone!” Barkley snarled.
“I won’t! If Bruce Wayne finds you manhandling his bedslave, he’ll blow his top! Didn’t you learn when you got into the pants of the Worthington slave last week?”
Barkley yanked free and sneered, “She was made to open her legs on command just like this catamite.”
“Maybe so, but not at your command.”
Barkley glared at Marquand, then stomped away, muttering under his breath.
“Sorry ‘bout that.” The guard took Clark’s arm, noting how he stiffened at his touch. “Let me help you up.”
Clark looked into brown eyes again, but this pair was gentle. He allowed Marquand to help him to his feet.
“Looks like if it wasn’t for these…” Marquand touched a manacle “…you could have handled him pretty well on your own.”
Clark ducked his head shyly. “Thank you.”
Marquand smiled. “Do you need an escort?”
“No, thank you.”
“You should be all right, but yell if you see Barkley approaching. I’m sorry about this.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” Clark smiled a little. “Some people have good hearts.”
Marquand blushed. “Thank you.”
Clark walked back to the museum. He went inside, then doubled back to retrieve the bag with Bruce’s costume and brought it to the limousine, stashing it away until Bruce needed it later.
He had spoken the truth about good hearts. Some freemen did have good hearts and didn’t treat slaves worse than their dogs or cats. While there were far too many of Barkley’s kind in this world, he was thankful that people like Marquand existed, too.
Freemen like Ollie, Lex, Steve and Hal.
Freemen like Bruce.
He touched the pendant that was warm against his skin. Bruce would never hurt him, at least not maliciously. Bruce might be forced to allow things due to social constraints or the Code or other reasons, but if Bruce hurt him, there was always a reason.
Clark would always keep that in mind.
& & & & & &
The Bat waited in the shadows, the faint strains of the chamber music drifting down the hall. Otherwise all was silent.
There. A creak of leather, so faint that he barely heard it. The would-be intruder was good, very good.
He waited. He was good at waiting.
Another sound, a movement of shadows.
Right by the cat statue.
He moved, gliding soundlessly across the parquet floor. He shot out a gloved hand, grabbing the smaller one that reached for the statue.
The gloved hand had claws.
Green eyes glittered through the mask’s eyeholes, rosy lips curving into a smile. She was clad entirely in a black catsuit, accentuating every luscious curve of her body. Bruce admired the view while he held tightly to her wrist.
She said, “I suppose it’s logical for you to be at a costume party.”
“What can I say? I have a thing for masks.”
She laughed quietly, one clawed finger reaching for his face. He jerked back. “Darling, I wouldn’t mar that pretty face.” She gently laid a claw on Batman’s cheek, slinking closer.
He felt the sexual energy pour off her, his body beginning to respond. He smelled jasmine and his eyes widened.
“Now, I didn’t take Bast. I was just…looking.” She purred and slipped away into the shadows, Batman watching her in bemusement.
Catwoman was certainly intriguing, a woman who could engage his senses, but not his heart.
Clark was the one he loved, not Catwoman…
A great rush of joy surged up within him.
Yes! I love Clark!
In the next second, horror.
For a love that could never be.