bradygirl_12 (bradygirl_12) wrote,
bradygirl_12
bradygirl_12

Fic: Rainbow's Freedom (Sanctuary Arc) (3/17)

Title:  Rainbow’s Freedom (Sanctuary Arc) (3/17)
Author: BradyGirl 
Pairings/Characters: Clark/Bruce, Ollie Queen, 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 bedslave whom he learns to cherish...but can he ever truly love a slave?
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
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Summary: Bruce brings his Prize home.
Date Of Completion: February 4, 2007
Date Of Posting: March 18, 2007
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 2170

When the Starchild

Fell to Earth,

He said,

Beloved,

Take me

To bed.

 

Marion Zimmer Grayson

“Tales of the Starchild”

2106 C.E.

 

III

 

WELCOME TO WAYNE MANOR

 

 

 

 

“Bruce!”

 

Bruce turned to see Ollie hurry over to him in the Braddock Hall lobby. “Hi, Ollie.”

 

The blond clapped him on the shoulder. “Glad you got him.”

 

“Thanks for helping me.”

 

“No problem.  Lex has never mistreated a slave as far as I know, but you just seemed the better fit.” Ollie laughed
at Bruce’s blush.  His green eyes sparkled.  Ollie looked better with his beard shaved off.  He had changed his look
a few months ago. “Though of course my bidding kinda drove the price up a little, but I was figuring that if I got him,
I could sell him to you.” He smiled. “Good luck with him.  He’s sure a beauty.  Will we be getting a close-up look at
him or will he be taking the Veil?”

 

“I don’t know yet.”

 

“Well, whatever you decide, enjoy him.”

 

“Thanks again, Ollie.”

 

As Ollie left, Bruce headed for the private anteroom in which his new purchase would be delivered.  

 

Once there, Bruce waited, restraining himself from shifting foot-to-foot.  He felt the weight of the lead box in the bag
on his arm and set it down.  He had the whole kit and kaboodle in the bag, too.  He wondered if Alfred would give
him the raised eyebrow when he saw all this.

 

The door opened and the auctioneer led his slave in.  Bruce drew in a sharp breath.  Up close, his new purchase
was even more beautiful, dressed in light-blue pants and a white silk shirt, sandals on his feet . 

 

“Here you go, sir,” said the auctioneer, handing over the length of chain attached to the bracelets.  He also handed
Bruce a red velvet pouch containing chains for the collar and keys for it and the manacles.  In the bag it went.

 

“Thank you,” Bruce said, his eyes never leaving the slave’s face.  The man’s eyes were still glazed but he waited
apprehensively for an order.  A wayward curl tumbled down over his forehead.

 

The metal of the chain length was cold in Bruce’s hand. “This way.” Bruce tugged on the chains.  The bracelets
were still linked by a small loop, the longer chain sparkling as Bruce began to walk, the other man following without
protest.

 

Bruce had requested that his chauffeur bring around the limousine to a back entrance.  Brendan was holding the
door of the car open.  His brown eyes widened at the sight of the slave, but he remained silent.

 

“Home.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Once inside the limousine, Master and slave settled on the leather seats.  The slave kept his eyes cast downward, as
was proper.

 

Bruce maintained the silence.  He was uncertain of how to proceed.  How did one make small talk with a man one
had just purchased? 
Hello there, my good man, you’re going to grace my bed and I own you lock, stock and
barrel. 

 

He sighed.  How was he going to fit this slave into his life?  He couldn’t keep him in bed twenty-four hours a day,
though that was a thought, preferably in restraints.  He quickly pushed that image out of his mind if he didn’t want to
embarrass himself in front of his new slave.  He didn’t know his bondsman’s skills outside the bedroom yet, so it
limited any options he might have at this point.  Would he loan him out for work of some kind, as many Masters did?
 
But that wasn’t usually done with bedslaves, except for the obvious ‘work’.

 

One look at his new slave and he knew there would be no loans.

 

Grateful for the tinted windows, Bruce laid his head back and closed his eyes, the chain metal in his hand very cold
indeed. 

 

& & & & & &

 

Wayne Manor rose tall and proud amongst the surrounding trees, Bruce feeling the pride he always did upon seeing
his home.  As the limousine stopped in front of the columned veranda, Bruce opened the door and tugged on the
chain.  His slave climbed out awkwardly.

 

Bruce realized they were indeed the same height as he had read on the ownership papers.  They were roughly the
same build, as well.  A good fit, indeed.  He felt drawn to very kissable lips.

 

The large oak front door was opened. “Sir?”

 

“Alfred.” Bruce looked as if he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. 

 

The dignified butler waited for an explanation.  Bruce took a deep breath and marched forward, slave in tow.

 

“I made a purchase.”

 

An eyebrow lifted. “Yes, sir.”

 

Almost defiant, Bruce said, “Will you settle my…him…into my room, please?”

 

Alfred’s expression showed no surprise. “Yes, Master Bruce.” He took the chain and said, “This way…what is his
name, sir?”

 

“I don’t know yet.” It was within Bruce’s right as the new Master to rename his slave if he wished.  In this case, he
was going to give a nameless man a name.

 

Alfred gently led his new charge into the house.

 

The slave blinked, dazzled by the opulence of the Grand Foyer: polished parquet floor, gleaming balustrade,
expensive statuary and fresh flowers on cherrywood tables.  A massive crystal chandelier dominated the foyer,
prisms of light dancing across the floor.

 

Alfred led the slave up the stairs as Bruce went into the study.  Behind a painting of water lilies was his safe.  He
stored the bill of sale and ownership papers in an envelope in which he kept Alfred’s documents.  He frowned at the
drug box.  He would have to keep it cold as the drug would lose its potency without long-term refrigeration.

 

That left the lead box.

 

For a moment he thought about opening it, but Bracken had been pretty certain that it wasn’t something he should
be doing unless it was an emergency.  There might be low-level radiation involved, and Bruce decided he would
keep it locked for now.  But where to put it?

 

An idea flashed through his head.  He picked up the box.

 

& & & & & &

Bruce entered the bedroom.  Alfred was turning down black silk sheets.

 

“Alfred, where’s…where is he?”

 

“Bathroom, sir.” Alfred straightened up. “Master Bruce, the young man seems quite tired.”

 

“Ah, yes.” Bruce held out the wooden box. “He requires injections once a week.  Wertham’s Disease.”

 

“When’s his next injection?”

 

“In seven days. He’s probably just tired from the auction.” I can imagine the stress level must be pretty high.
“Alfred, have our…new addition…take a nap.  If he wants lunch, please serve him.”

 

Alfred nodded.

 

Bruce went downstairs, grabbing an apple from the blue-and-white ceramic bowl on the hall table.  He settled in the
study, conducting business in an effort to try and get some normalcy back in the day.

 

Maybe I’m trying to make back the million bucks I spent.

 

Bruce was still a little shell-shocked over dropping that amount, but he thought of what waited in his bed and
decided to chalk it up to luxury goods.

 

& & & & & &

 

A knock on the door brought Bruce’s head up. “Come in.”

 

Alfred entered the study. “Sir, will you be taking dinner in here before going out?”

 

Bruce looked out the French doors, startled at the darkness. “Thank you, Alfred.  I’ll have some soup, please.  I
guess the beef stroganoff will have to wait.”

 

“Yes, sir.” Alfred turned to leave.

 

“And, Alfred?”

 

The butler turned back. “Yes, sir?”

 

“I won’t be going out tonight.”

 

Surprise flickered over the older man’s face. “Yes, sir.”

 

Alfred returned with tomato soup laden with vegetables.  Bruce spent another hour on business, finishing his soup. 
Tiredly he rubbed his eyes, leaning back in his chair.  Yawning, he scanned the newspaper as his last task, his eyes
settling on an article on Page 6.  He could have used the Internet but he liked the idea of a real newspaper, rare as
that was in this day and age.

 

‘Martha Kent, head of the Kansas chapter of the National Abolitionist Society, is the daughter of
well-known ACLU lawyer Hiram Clark.   She will be the keynote speaker at the Society’s planned
conference in Gotham City in October.’

 

The picture accompanying the article showed a middle-aged woman with reddish hair wearing wire-rimmed glasses,
a cheerful smile on her face.

 

Several minutes later Bruce left the study, bringing the bowl and spoon to the kitchen and washing and drying both,
then storing them away in the their proper places in the cabinets. 
Alfred will kill me if I don’t put them in the
right places,
he thought with a smile.

 

He headed upstairs, softly opening the door to his bedroom.

 

Moonlight streamed in through the windows, silvery ribbons of light illuminating the bed.

 

Bruce stopped in shock as he saw his new slave kneeling by the bed, naked, legs spread and head bowed, his wrists

crossed behind his back.  The soft curl tumbled over the forehead.

 

Bruce tried to calm his heart.  He quietly closed the door and approached his slave.

 

He’s been trained.  He’s got the position down perfectly.

 

Bruce grasped the strong chin and lifted his slave’s head.

 

Ethereal eyes that sparkled with starlight greeted him.  Bruce’s hand trembled.

 

“I am here to serve you, Master.”

 

The soft voice washed over Bruce.  Desire surged through his body, tingling along his nerves.  A tenderness
suffused him, and he used his free hand to brush away the curl from bright eyes.  Less glazed now.

 

“Rise,” he said softly.

 

His slave obeyed, Bruce glad their heights were the same.  It wouldn’t do for a slave to tower over his Master.

 

Bruce unhooked the chain attached to the bracelets and dropped it clattering to the floor.  His hand caressed the
broad chest, noting a pleasant heat radiating from the silvery skin.  He leaned in and whispered in his slave’s ear,
“To bed.”

 

His Prize stretched out on the bed, awaiting his Master’s pleasure.  Bruce stripped off his clothes, tossing them
aside.  He climbed onto the bed, straddling light-kissed flesh. He kissed the throat above and below the white-gold
collar, continuing down the chest, tongue lapping around a responsive nipple.  His slave moaned.  Pleased, Bruce
lapped at the other nipple, then laved a wet trail down the sternum to the navel, dipping into the indentation.  He
lifted his head, observing the beautiful face in the throes of passion.

 

Beautiful Starchild.

 

His slave had been off-world, so the name could fit.  Bruce buried his face in his slave’s neck, nearly laughing as he
smelled sunshine and freshly-mown fields.  A Starchild also of the earth.

 

Bruce slid his tongue down to the slave’s groin, breathing in heady musk.  His slave’s cock bobbed temptingly,
warm and throbbing as Bruce began to explore the satiny flesh.  More moans delighted his ears.

 

“M…Master.”

 

“Shh, my slave.  Patience.” Bruce caressed soft hair, then leaned over his slave’s face and rubbed the tip of his
cock over lush lips. “Prepare me.”

 

His slave eagerly took him in his mouth, the warm wetness sending a jolt of electricity through Bruce.  He groaned
as a very talented mouth sucked him gently, Bruce thrusting carefully despite his lust.  He came close to the edge
and pulled back, slipping out of his companion’s mouth.

 

Sweat gleamed over his slave’s body, the lock of hair curling over his forehead again.  Bruce leaned down and
whispered, “Turn over.”

 

His slave obeyed, presenting a wondrous sight indeed.  Bruce began caressing smooth, luscious buttocks, his finger
slipping between them gently. His slave’s body trembled.

 

Virgin.

 

A frisson of excitement stretched Bruce’s face into a grin.  He quickly grabbed a jar of cream from the bedside
table, coating his fingers and gently re-inserting one to begin preparations in earnest.  

 

Each stroke brought both men closer to losing it.  Moonlight glittered over the bracelets and silvery skin, creating
such ethereal beauty that for a wild second, Bruce thought his Starchild would melt away into stardust. 

 

Shaking, Bruce placed a hand on the small of his slave’s back.  His eyes feasted again on the creamy white mounds
awaiting him.

 

“My beautiful Starchild,” Bruce murmured, leaning forward and kissing the nape of his neck. “Be ready.”

 

His slave clutched at the silk sheets, spreading his legs to allow deeper penetration.  Bruce smiled.  So the Starchild
wanted it, too.

 

Slowly he began to enter his companion, massaging his slave’s back to keep him as relaxed as possible.  One had to
be extra careful with a virgin.  Tight heat grasped his cock, delicious friction exciting him as he pumped in and out.
 
Dizzy with desire, Bruce throbbed as he felt pressure began to build, his gaze falling on the sight of such beauty
submitting to him, his Lord and Master…

 

Bruce came with a sparkling intensity, energy coursing through every nerve and sinew as his seed bathed his
Starchild.  As he collapsed on top of his slave’s pliant body, a wave of tenderness swept over him.

 

“Clark,” he breathed.

 

The Naming was done.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

        

Tags: alfred pennyworth, clark kent/bruce wayne, ollie queen, rainbow's freedom, sanctuary arc, superman/batman
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