Pairings/Characters: (this chapter): Clark/Bruce, Alfred
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): NC-17
Summary: Bruce recalls a special birthday gift from Clark.
Date Of Completion (First Draft): July 16, 2007
Date Of Posting: November 28, 2007
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 1126
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
I think of you
Night and day.
That I will never
“The Death Of Freedom”
The next few days were strained in the Wayne household. Bruce was consumed by the chasing of the acquisition by day and the Joker by night. He took no meals at the Manor, but when he was home, Clark did his best to be cheerful and was more eager to please than ever, and he continued the façade when he was alone with Alfred.
Alfred could see the distress, however. After his chores Clark took long walks in the cold around the estate, some of the light in his eyes dimmed.
Alfred had long suspected that Clark had fallen in love with his Master, which almost guaranteed him a broken heart, given the nature of the Master/slave dynamic.
The important question was: did Master Bruce feel the same?
Alfred pondered as he mixed the batter for a chocolate cake. The signs were there, but he could be wrong. Perhaps the young Master was simply tired of Clark, at least in the bedroom, but that did not fit. A man who had never kept a pleasure slave but who came home with one unexpectedly was not likely to tire of that slave quickly and toss him aside like a broken toy.
Alfred knew that some Masters sold off their slaves if they fell in love with them, some doing so at once, others gradually easing the beloved slave out of their beds and eventually, their lives, protecting themselves and their slaves. Certainly moving Clark out of the master bedroom could be the first step, but then, Bruce had chosen to keep Clark close by putting him in the very next room.
Alfred was torn. On the one hand he couldn’t blame the Master if he chose to sell Clark if love was indeed the case. If he was outed as Batman he would be destroyed, but outed as loving a slave would be just as destructive.
On the other hand, he wanted Clark to stay. Alfred knew part of his reasons were selfish: he greatly enjoyed the young man’s company, but he also believed he was good for Master Bruce. While risking the pressure of yet another secret life on top of the one that was Batman, the relationship could also help relieve the tremendous pressure, too. Bruce Wayne came across as supremely confident despite being only in his twenties, but he was a lonely young man.
And Clark was an enticing mix of vulnerability and strength. The vulnerability was obvious: he was gentle, kind, and eager to please beyond being a slave.
His strength? Alfred was of the opinion that slaves were extremely strong to survive the horrors many suffered on a daily basis. Clark was steel beneath the gentle façade, a streak of stubbornness evidenced in the nasty Caldwell business and earlier in the slavers’ hands.
Alfred sighed. What was best for his poor boys?
The phone rang and he picked up the handset. “Oh, hello, Master Bruce. What am I doing? Baking a chocolate cake.” Alfred chuckled. “Yes, sir, your favorite. Will you be home for dinner? Ah, well, Clark and I will save you a piece. Very good, sir.”
Alfred hung up the phone, glancing out the window as Clark walked over to the seawall.
& & & & & &
Bruce hung up the phone, settling back in his chair behind the large desk in his plush office at Wayne Enterprises. The view of the city was magnificent, the centuries-old buildings mixing in with glass high-rises.
That had been his birthday cake. His birthday had been celebrated not so long ago, in the waning days of September, at the cherrywood desk in his study at Wayne Manor…
& & & & & &
Bruce looked up, pleased at his slave’s presence. Clark was dressed in a light-blue shirt and jeans, a shy smile on his face. Bruce loved that shyness.
“I want to wish you a Happy Birthday and give you your present.”
Interest piqued, Bruce settled back in his black leather chair.
Clark suddenly leaned forward and kissed him. When he straightened up, he was unbuttoning his shirt, then slid to his knees.
“I know you already own my body, but I wish to give it to you now.” Sapphire eyes sparkled. “Perhaps sex on the desk is something new?”
Bruce eyes widened. Bold moves, but this was his birthday, so permissible. A smile spread across his face.
“It’s something new.” Bruce’s hand cupped Clark’s chin. “I happily accept your gift, my Starchild.”
Clark’s smile nearly dazzled him. His slave kissed his fingers, then buried his face in Bruce’s crotch, rubbing his cheek against the expensive fabric of his pants. Bruce shuddered, carding his fingers through soft, silky hair.
Clark unzipped his pants and skillfully teased and nibbled hot flesh, bringing Bruce close to climax, then stopped and sat back on his heels, unbuttoning the remaining buttons of his shirt. Bruce slipped the shirt off his slave’s shoulders as he grasped him, giving Clark a hard kiss, his cock bobbing with pre-cum. With a growl Bruce lifted Clark up onto the desk, scattering papers and pens and yanking off the jeans, bending Clark’s legs back and opening him fully.
Bruce grabbed the discarded jeans and dug out the tube of lubricant. He smiled at his slave’s preparation.
Just like a Boy Scout!
Bruce coated them both, then eased in, pleasure suffusing Clark’s face. Bruce slipped out, then rammed in, stroking Clark’s prostate, a cry ripped out from his slave. His rhythm grew faster and stronger, Clark’s moans of pleasure egging him on until both climaxed at nearly the same moment. Clark’s fingers white-knuckled on the edge of the desk as Bruce tried to stay standing on rubbery legs.
Clark gazed up at him beatifically.
“Happy Birthday, Master.”
Bruce laughed and slid out, leaning forward with a kiss.
& & & & & &
Bruce sat flushed in his chair, his pants stretched out tight. Eyes closed, the memories of his birthday drifted away slowly.
You can’t even last a single morning without thinking of him.
He’s too distracting. He keeps knocking you off your game. You broke your Code for him!
Don’t you think that disturbed me, breaking the Code? But it disturbed me more to watch him suffer for four more hours before applying the healing cream after Caldwell’s whipmaster scored his back. And I’d do it again!
Don’t you see? You’ll never keep focused with this slave in your life!
I know, I know!
Bruce rubbed between his eyes, a headache developing.
Grimly he got back to work.