Pairings/Characters: Clark/Dick, Jonathan/Martha
Genres: Fluff, Holiday, Romance, Slice-Of-Life
Summary: Clark and Dick enjoy Thanksgiving weekend at the Kent Farm.
Date Of Completion: November 25, 2014
Date Of Posting: November 28, 2014
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 1006
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Author's Note: Happy Thanksgiving, Everyone! :)
Gift of all
Merrilee Makepiece Standish
The porch swing creaked as Clark kept it moving, pushing off with his foot. The warm body snuggled in his lap was graceful and alluring, but then when was Dick not any of those things?
Clark’s arm was draped over Dick’s chest. They were both wearing jackets in the cool weather. Clark did not need to wear one, of course, but did it out of habit.
The leaves were off the trees by now as the fields were empty, the last of the harvest in. The sky was bright blue, but clouds were gathering on the horizon. Wind kicked up stray leaves and they swirled up in spinning arcs like dancing sprites.
“Oh,” Dick groaned. “I know I was careful yesterday, but your mother is such a wonderful cook! I couldn’t resist indulging in that incredible Thanksgiving dinner.”
“You worked it off.” Clark patted his lover’s stomach.
Dick blushed but winked with a lazy smile at the same time. The dichotomy never failed to intrigue Clark.
“Oh, man, that turkey! Tender and delicious, and when your father carved it…”
Jonathan sneaked a piece of warm turkey off the bone. Clark smiled and took it, closing his eyes in ecstasy. The first piece was always the best.
Jonathan popped a piece in his own mouth and offered one to Dick, who eagerly took it. His smile lit up the whole kitchen.
“Now that you boys are done snitchin’ that turkey, you can help out with getting the mashed potatoes off the stove, Dick, and yams for you, Clark.”
“Yes, Ma.” Clark hurried to obey while Dick carefully removed the boiling pot of potatoes from the stove. Jonathan resumed the carving, the whirr of the electric knife punctuating the conversation and clatter of pots and pans.
Dick put pats of butter on the piping-hot potatoes and added chives. Clark added brown sugar to the yams and took the plate to the dining room, which was set with the apple dishware, the handpainted designs still beautiful after a century of use. The table was decorated with a chrysanthemum centrepiece, the colors of red, yellow and orange complementing the pale yellow tablecloth with orange piping.
Dick brought in the mashed potatoes, the bowl covered with a lid to keep it warm. Dick smiled at Clark.
“Your mom’s in complete charge.”
“And you wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Other dishes joined the two already on the table: hamburger stuffing with bits of celery, bread stuffing with pearl onions, green salad with tomatoes and cucumbers, homemade cranberry sauce, fluffy biscuits, and a platter of green beans surrounded by onion rings…
“…and your mother made that ‘50s classic!” Dick said with awe in his tone.
Clark laughed. “Yes, she did. And it was delicious!”
“Does she cook anything that isn’t?”
“Well, back when I was a teenager she tried some new cheesy recipe thing and burnt it, but that’s the only error that I recall.”
Clark could hear his mother working in the kitchen and his father puttering in the barn. He could hear Bessie the cow lowing quietly in the fields with her rambunctious calf, grown since his birth in the spring.
Dick groaned. “How could I eat that slice of pumpkin pie for supper last night?”
“You could have had apple pie, or lemon, or mince. Pa loves mince.”
“You forgot cherry and blueberry.”
“Cherry and blueberry. Your mom made cherry and blueberry pies, too.”
“Who eats all these pies?!” At Clark’s raised eyebrow, he said, “Right. A super pie-lover. Martha should have baked a dozen pies!”
Clark laughed. “I wouldn’t object to that.”
Dick snorted. “No kidding.” He moved restlessly. “I’m going to have to work out extra to get these pounds off. Bruce would kill me if he saw what I ate yesterday.”
“Yes, well, Bruce isn’t here.” Clark felt a twinge of guilt that he was glad of that fact. Bruce could be a killjoy at times. Hastily he added, “You know your own body. A Thanksgiving feast will not turn you into Bouncing Boy.”
Dick grinned at the mention of the Legion of Super-Heroes member who could inflate himself into a giant ball shape and literally bounce!
Clark appreciated the beauty of his younger lover. Dick was pure perfection with his lithe grace and perfectly-proportioned muscles. Sparkling blue eyes, a fantastic smile, and soft and silky hair to run his fingers through tempted him too much. His heart thumped as he thought how lucky he was right now. The bright, sassy, hero-worshipping kid he’d met years ago had grown into a beautiful young man who held his heart.
Dick’s eyes lit up. “Is your mom making lunch?”
“She will soon.”
“You know what’s great the day after Thanksgiving?”
“What?” Clark combed his fingers through Dick’s hair.
“Turkey on wheat with some crisp lettuce and a light smattering of mayonnaise.”
So much for bemoaning too much food!
Amused, Clark said, “Go in and talk with her. We’re having turkey sandwiches for lunch. It’s a grand old Kent tradition.”
Dick rolled off Clark’s lap and leapt to his feet. He leaned down and gave Clark a deep kiss that left him dazed, winked and dashed into the house, the screen door slamming behind him.
Clark smiled as he closed his eyes and leaned back as the swing rocked gently. He could hear Dick’s excited chatter and his mother’s amused responses. He could hear Bruce saying long ago, “The kid’s as quick as the Flash.”
Clark enjoyed the cool breeze caressing his skin. The holiday weekend was peaceful and he was enjoying time with family and his beautiful lover. Thanksgiving was truly a time to count one’s blessings. He had those aplenty.
When Martha called him in for lunch, he opened his eyes, stretching for a languorous moment. Standing, he went inside the house with a smile on his face.