Title: Rainbow's Freedom (Sanctuary Arc) (7/17)
Characters/Pairings: Clark/Bruce, Alfred
Series Notes: In the 23rd century, Earth is a technologically-advanced society that practices slavery. The wealthy freeman Bruce Wayne acquires a highly-prized bedslave whom he learns to cherish...but can he every 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
Summary: Bruce is distracted by his Starchild.
Date Of Completion: February 15, 2007
Date Of Posting: March 30, 2007
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, DC does, more's the pity.
Word Count: 1452
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
The Starchild lived by the sea,
Living life quietly,
Absorbing the moon and the sun,
He was my only one.
Marion Zimmer Grayson
“Tales of the Starchild”
Bruce stopped at the kitchen door, watching Clark in the gardens.
Clark’s face was tilted toward the sun, his eyes closed and his arms outstretched as if worshipping Aton, Egypt’s God of the Sun. A light breeze blew off the ocean, ruffling Clark’s wavy hair.
Bruce walked toward his slave, resting a hand on Clark’s shoulder. The other man jumped, turning quickly.
Bruce had noted Clark’s skittishness before. No doubt a legacy of the slavers. He smiled to calm his slave.
“You look good in those new clothes.”
Clark looked down at his dark-blue pants and red sweater. “They’re very comfortable.”
“Good.” Bruce cocked his head. “You will have to change, though.”
“Change?” Clark’s eyes lit up. “For our exercise program?”
“Yes.” Bruce was pleased at Clark’s enthusiasm. “Come on in.”
They walked to the basement, which was set up with various gym equipment. Bruce wanted to keep Clark in good health, or as much as he could with the disease.
They changed into black leggings and T-shirts, Bruce showing Clark the different machines. After a round of the equipment, they faced each other on the mats. Bruce taught Clark some wrestling moves, impressed by his slave’s strength. Bruce was quick but Clark possessed his own share of alacrity. Bruce liked the match of skills. He was far more practiced but once Clark put in some hours, he was sure that his slave would give him a run for his money.
Sweat suited Clark. It glistened on his bare arms and neck accentuated by the glittering slave jewelry, Bruce’s pulse pounding. He remained clinical in his teaching but was thinking of the delights Clark offered in his bed.
As Clark copied a move, Bruce thought of his reactions to this man since he had first laid eyes upon him. What was about it him that had lured Bruce from the very start? Was it the incredible beauty? The promise of sexual delights? The vulnerability?
Because Clark was vulnerable. Bruce had seen it in his eyes. Was it because of his loss of memory? Certainly that could make a man unsure. Was it because of his slave status? Again, that could leave a man feeling vulnerable.
Bruce felt a rush of protectiveness toward Clark. Eager to please like an overgrown puppy, there was a sweetness and innocence about him that touched Bruce. He was a prized possession, surely, and…what?
“What?” Bruce stumbled. Clark reached out and steadied him by placing a hand on his arm.
“Are you all right?”
I lost focus.
Disturbed, Bruce stared at his slave for a moment, then said, “Lesson’s over today, Clark.” He smiled to soften his abrupt words, glad to see the sudden anxiety leave Clark.
The other man nodded, picking up towels and handing Bruce one. “Will you teach me how to fly?”
Bruce blinked, then laughed as he looked over at the trapeze. “You’re not afraid of heights?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, then, I just might teach you. I enjoy aerialist routines. Great method of conditioning.” Bruce flipped the towel over his shoulder as he led Clark to the shower off their bedroom. “Usually we always get a circus through in the spring and we get to see real professionals at work.”
They showered and dressed for lunch, eating in the kitchen as the scent of apple pie baking in the oven filled the room.
“Mmm, Alfred, smells heavenly,” Clark said.
“The apples are freshly-picked from trees right here on the estate. Master Bruce is especially fond of them in pies.”
Clark sniffed. “I can smell why.”
Pleased, Alfred said, “They will be ready for tasting at tea time.”
“Excellent, Alfred,” Bruce said. “I’ll be in the study.” As Bruce rose, he suggested, “Clark, would you like to get a book?”
“Yes.” Clark loved to read and was soaking up knowledge as fast as he could absorb it. Amnesiac or not, Clark’s intelligence was high.
“Good,” Bruce casually said as he exited the kitchen, “there are comfortable chairs in the study, too.”
Clark’s look of surprised delight amused Alfred. “Go on, I’ll clean up.”
Clark hurried out of the room with a big smile.
& & & & & &
Bruce wrote some notes while waiting on hold on the telephone. He glanced up and saw Clark settled comfortably on the couch, a book in hand and a stack beside him.
Bruce completed his call, watching the sunlight streaming through the window and bathing Clark in a golden glow, his rainbow-tinted bracelets sparkling like precious jewels.
An apt description, Bruce thought as he put down his phone.
“Tea time, sir.”
“Very good, Alfred.”
Alfred set down a still-warm piece of pie with a silver fork and linen napkin in front of Bruce, then handed a plate to Clark.
“Thank you, Alfred.”
The butler nodded. Bruce hid his smile. He knew that Alfred approved of the new slave’s manners. “Someone taught that boy correctly,” he had told Bruce. Manners, Alfred said, made men civilized creatures.
Civilized. I guess you could call us that, with our chains and guidelines and ownership papers. Very civilized to buy and sell a man like a piece of furniture.
Bruce frowned. Where had those thoughts come from? Without the solid foundation of slavery, there would be chaos.
He ate a piece of pie. Excellent, as always.
“Oh, this is delicious!” Clark was fairly glowing with appreciation.
Bruce smiled. Another thing he had noted about his slave was his love of food. Well, that was good. Healthy, in fact, if one ate the right food and didn’t go too far in excess. He wanted his Prize to be as healthy as possible.
Perhaps it was time to show him off a little. Bruce had a business meeting at the Gotham Stock Exchange tomorrow. That might be a good place to start.
Bruce felt a nervous energy tingling through his body. He remembered the wrestling session that morning. He tapped on the computer keyboard, trying to concentrate on his proposal.
My Starchild is certainly a distraction.
& & & & & &
Clark jerked awake. Heart pounding, he looked around the dark bedroom, sighing in disappointment at the empty space beside him.
Master Bruce is certainly a workaholic.
He got out of bed, pulling the drapes back at the window.
Moonlight silvered the gardens, sweeping out over the ocean. Clark felt himself relax. The peace of this place helped him when he became anxious or depressed.
His fingers clutched the drapes. A man without a past, slave or not, teetered on the edge of anxiety every day. A man like that only had the present and the future.
Clark let the drapes fall, the sound of a high-powered motor muffled in the distance. He headed back to bed, noting the time on the clock: 2:00. Sighing, he crawled back under the covers.
Fifteen minutes later, the door opened and Bruce slipped in. Clark turned his head. “Master?”
“Shh, my beauty.” Bruce divested himself of his clothes. Climbing into bed, he caressed Clark’s face. Clark kissed the palm of Bruce’s hand, a tingle of excitement running through his limbs sparked from contact with Bruce. His Master was alive with energy, beautiful eyes aglow with a desire that thrilled Clark.
Bruce slid his hands over Clark’s chest, brushing his nipples. He smiled at Clark’s moan, letting his hands stroke jutting hipbones, solid thighs, and the flat stomach. One hand cupped the heavy penis, stroking the sensitive flesh. Clark writhed beneath the expert touch, eager to give whatever Bruce wanted.
Bruce pleasured him to the brink, free hand combing through his hair. Clark clutched the headboard, eyes closed and head thrown back, thrusting his hips up as the final wave hit, spilling over into Bruce’s hand.
Panting, Clark relaxed into the pillows, his Master nearly purring with delight as Bruce ran a hand over his slave’s sweat-gleamed chest. He cleaned off his other hand, dark-blue eyes glowing.
“Very good,” whispered Bruce. His body trembled as he stroked himself, sure hands parting Clark’s legs. He prepared his slave with cream from the bedside table, his eyes nearly wild with lust.
“Ready,” Clark moaned, heart pounding as Bruce entered him, setting up a rhythm that brought tears to Clark’s eyes. He was filled with hot, demanding flesh, and his eyes focused on the shadowed face above him. As Bruce climaxed, he whispered, “All mine,” as he collapsed atop his slave.
Tears glistened in Clark’s eyes as his arms slid around Bruce.
He was safe…and happy.