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. As Bruce and Clark try and adjust to being lovers as well as Master and slave, on a warm spring night a new member of the Wayne Household is added: a little boy whom Bruce sadly identifies with. Dick Grayson further pushes Bruce along the path of Abolitionism as the child brings further Light into the Manor. The entire series can be found here.
Genres: Drama, AU
Rating: (this chapter): G
Summary: In the circle of sparkly glitter of the Christmas tree, Bruce enjoys the holiday for the first time in years.
Date Of Completion (First Draft): August 10, 2007
Date Of Posting: March 24, 2008
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 831
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
That Christmas magic
They were never
Alaina Z. Scott
“Snowflakes: A Story
Of Christmas Magic”
Snow fell softly outside the windows of the Manor, blanketing the grounds with Christmas magic.
Bruce Wayne, Lord of the Manor, Scion of the Wayne Family, Prince of Gotham, surveyed his Household as the traditional opening of presents continued in the living room by the huge tree. ‘Christmas magic’ was a rather sentimental description, Bruce smiling at himself, but he was feeling far more joyful than he had in years.
For far too long this holiday had brought pain. Now it could bring happiness again. The thread of pain when he thought of his parents and past Christmas mornings was there, but not as sharp as he looked at Clark's delighted face.
All of them were in robes and pajamas, cups of coffee in easy reach as breakfast was deferred until after the presents. It was more of a tradition to delay the meal if there were children in the house, but Bruce was feeling like a child again for the first time in years.
Clark sat cross-legged at Bruce’s feet, happy to retrieve presents for him and Alfred, who sat in an overstuffed chair by the couch. Bruce had been generous with his gifts but had also restrained himself. Despite paying his two slaves a weekly wage, their resources couldn’t begin to match his, and technically, all of their money belonged to him, anyway.
He didn’t want to embarrass either man with too much largesse, but he loved to lavish gifts on those close to him. Except for Alfred, he had had no one close enough to him to play Lord Bountiful for a very long time.
So now both his slaves had a tidy pile of gifts next to them, Clark’s eyes sparkling a reward for Bruce. Bruce looked down at the handsome watch in a black velvet box. The watch was not gold, silver, or platinum, but it was gold-plated with a simple face that was extremely tasteful in its simplicity. Clark had chosen it, escorted by Brendan into town for a Christmas shopping trip.
For that reason alone, Bruce treasured it.
There were a handful of other presents from both slaves, and Bruce was genuinely pleased at all of them. They showed thoughtfulness and care, and Bruce was touched that men he literally owned cared for him so much.
“Now, gentlemen, if you will clean up this debris…” Alfred waved toward the shiny pile of wrapping “…I will see to breakfast.”
Alfred rose from his chair, gathering his presents and marching out of the room.
Bruce and Clark exchanged amused glances, Bruce propping up a trash bag while he and Clark stuffed it with wrapping paper.
“Thank you, Master.”
Clark’s voice was so soft that Bruce almost missed it. “For what, Clark?”
“For gifts such as my new book, my very own book! and all the other wonderful things you’ve given me.” Clark looked shyly at Bruce, a smile on his lips.
Deep affection bloomed in Bruce’s chest. “You’ve given me so much, Clark. More than I can ever repay.”
Clark blushed pink. This humble mien endeared him to Bruce even more. He reached out and cupped Clark’s cheek, sapphire eyes blinking owlishly behind his glasses.
Clark reached up and covered Bruce’s hand with his own. "I love you,” he said softly.
Bruce never got enough of hearing those words. He drew Clark to him and kissed him tenderly.
& & & & & &
“You’ve outdone yourself, Alfred.”
Pride shone in Alfred’s eyes. “Thank you, sir.”
Bruce prepared to carve the turkey. He did so expertly, utilizing the ancient walnut-handled carving knife used only twice a year: on Thanksgiving and Christmas.
The rest of the table was laid out with whipped potatoes and chives, cranberry sauce, stuffing with celery and onions, sweet potatoes, homemade bread, and salad with cucumbers, tomatoes, walnuts, and green peppers.
The silverware gleamed gold, the bone-china plates decorated with a thin gold line around the center with the Wayne family crest etched in gold in that center.
The tablecloth was a bright yellow lined in gold. The antique lace cloth was not used for meals due to the fear of spills, but that cloth and all the dinnerware was centuries old, carefully preserved by a succession of Wayne family butlers.
Bruce was very proud of his heritage. He sliced into the turkey. His loyalty to that heritage had caused Clark and him pain, but he was determined to balance his love for Clark with his love for the family name and what it represented.
Bruce handed a plate to Alfred, carved again, and held out a plate to Clark, then finally sat down after carving for himself. Other bowls and plates were passed around, and conversation was light-hearted.
Bruce felt very happy as the snow continued to fall outside the windows.
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