Title: Rainbow's Freedom (Sanctuary Arc) (9/17)
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: Clark experiences unusual energy in autumn's sunlight.
Date Of Completion: February 23, 2007
Date Of Posting: April 7, 2007
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, DC does, more's the pity.
Word Count: 2117
The sun was gold,
So I was told,
And he was clothed,
In raiments bold.
Psalm To Aton
“Songs Of The Sun God”
The golden days of September were turning into the riotous colors of October. The trees around Wayne Manor blazed flame-red, bright gold, and burnt orange. Clark helped Alfred pick apples from the trees on the estate, the butler teasing him, “So that’s why I get help. You just want more pies!”
“You’ve found me out, Alfred,” Clark answered, eyes sparkling.
Routine settled upon Wayne Manor. Whether Bruce could stay or not, Clark exercised every morning, helped Alfred with chores, walked around the gardens, and read in the library.
Clark was happy to spend any time with Bruce. His Master was a busy man, but there were morning work-outs unless he needed to get into the city early, and evenings were spent in quiet companionship until Clark was sent to bed and Bruce would come to him in the early hours of the morning.
Clark kept the nightmares suffered while Bruce was absent from their bed to himself.
‘A slave should never bother his Master with trifles.’
The words from the Guide came back to him, but it was beyond that: he did not want Bruce to know aside from the Master/slave dynamic.
It was the same reluctance that forced his silence about his headaches and bouts of weakness. Bruce was kind enough to supply him with the medicine he needed to stay functional, so he felt it was only right to keep symptoms to himself.
I contribute to this household, and not just in Master Bruce’s bed.
The sex was great and made him happy. What little memory he had before coming to Wayne Manor was not pleasant when it came to sex, not at all.
Clark resolved to stay positive. Bruce treated him well. He had allowed Harvey a taste, but Clark had done more reading and realized the dilemma that Bruce had faced. Despite wishing for a different decision, Harvey plundering his mouth was not the worst thing that had ever happened to him.
And now, this very morning, he was going to fly!
& & & & & &
“We’ll test to see if you have a fear of heights.”
Clark nodded as he and Bruce stood at the bottom of the pole of the rigged trapeze. He began climbing the spikes until he reached the platform several feet up.
He carefully looked down, grateful that he wasn’t dizzy today. In fact, he felt excitement as he looked far, far down at Bruce.
“I’ll be right up.”
Bruce was a good teacher. He patiently explained safety precautions and techniques. Clark listened quietly, then was flying before he knew it.
The trapeze was sturdy, Clark sailing out over the net far below. Exhilaration coursed through him.
I belong here!
Bruce was pleased with his natural abilities. He flew, too, promising Clark that they would eventually work up a routine together.
When they reached the bottom of the pole, Bruce said, “You’re pretty natural up there.”
“Thanks.” Clark felt the adrenaline still running through his body.
“How about a swim?”
Delighted, Clark nodded.
They took a rough footpath down to a private beach located close to rocky cliffs. Clark tasted salty tang in the air, wading into the surf beside Bruce.
“Can you swim?”
“Guess we’ll find out.”
Confident that Bruce would rescue him if he lacked swimming skills, Clark plunged into the surf.
Not only could he swim, but he was good at it. Powerful strokes cleaved through the water as Clark reveled in the cold water. The Atlantic Ocean in October? ‘Bracing’ was a good word for it.
“Well, looks like we’ve discovered another talent,” Bruce said as they broke the waves.
“Must be my day for them.”
The cold water stimulated their muscles, Clark thrilled to feel so healthy.
& & & & & &
“The Batman foiled a robbery on Gotham’s Gold Coast last night. An upscale jewel thief, the Catwoman, was attempting to steal the Winthrop Diamond. The Batman saved the diamond but Catwoman got away.”
Clark watched the newscast with interest. The Batman was Gotham’s protector, rarely seen by the citizenry as he worked in the shadows. Some editorials on TV and in the newspapers opined that he was a vigilante and not to be trusted. The Government was not thrilled with him or the other costumed heroes operating in other cities: Green Arrow and Black Canary in Star City; the Flash in Central City; the Thanagarians Hawkman and Hawkgirl in Boston.
Clark had read up on the Dark Knight. He had been the first of the costumed heroes to appear and was the most feared among them.
“In other news, Commissioner Gordon assures the City Council that security will be tight for the upcoming convention of the National Abolitionist Society at the Gotham Convention Center this November. All the chapters from the 50 U.S. states will be represented by their chapter heads. Socialite Kathy Kane will represent this state…”
“Are you still interested in learning to bake apple pie?”
“Very,” Clark answered with a smile.
“Good. Your first lesson will be tomorrow morning.”
“You’ll still be the best baker and cook around here.”
Alfred snorted. “Flatterer.”
& & & & & &
Clark came awake slowly, the velvety darkness of Bruce’s bedroom warm and protective. He wished that Bruce was beside him but once again his Master was working late. He yawned and rolled out of bed, visiting the bathroom.
On his way back to bed the wind rattled the windows. Clark parted the drapes, watching the play of silvery light on the ocean. Just as he was about to let the drape fall back, he was startled to see a light flash in the sky.
The round yellow light encircled a bat symbol. Fascinated, Clark gazed at the famous Batsignal. A powerful car thrummed past the Manor, the only other sound the waves crashing on the rocks below.
The light shone like a pale sun, lining the scudding clouds with golden striations. That black bat was a symbol calling Gotham’s protector to Police Headquarters. It was a unique method of summoning the Bat from the shadows.
Fifteen minutes later the light winked out and Clark returned to bed, snuggling under the covers and feeling safe.
& & & & & &
A pretty impressive pile of leaves, if I do say so myself.
Clark admired the colorful pile, bagging them to carry to the woods.
The gardener, Ben Applewood, had been hired by Bruce years ago to keep up the estate. During the autumn he brought in extra help as the grounds closest to the house needed raking. Clark helped for the exercise, his manacles and collar glinting in the sun.
Ben combed his fingers through thick silver hair. His body was strong and well-muscled from hard work, and he had declared Clark a ‘good specimen’.
“Thanks, Mr. Applewood.”
“Mr. Wayne in town?”
“Yes, he had a lot of meetings today.”
“You still gonna bake him that pie?”
“I intend to.”
“You’re a treasure, boy.”
Clark smiled. The outdoor work always relaxed him. He felt comfortable as the sun warmed his skin.
Lifting his face, he drank in its rays, energy surging through his body.
Whoa! He stumbled as a wave of dizziness assailed him. Odd, usually I feel good in sunlight. Maybe too much of it isn’t a good thing.
He wondered at the sensation of energy coursing through his veins. It had pumped through him like a galloping stallion, wild and strong. He waited for his heart to stop racing.
Ben tossed a rake at Clark, who caught it mid-air.
“Wow!” Ben shook his head. “Guess that was a flimsy one.”
Clark looked sheepishly at the broken rake. “Sorry.”
“Aw, forget about it.”
Clark’s heart returned to normal.
“Clark, time for your lesson!” Alfred called from the kitchen door.
“Excuse me, Mr. Applewood.”
Clark was eager to start his baking lesson. Alfred was a good teacher.
“You seem to have quite a knack for this,” the butler observed. “Perhaps you already know how to bake.”
“I might,” Clark agreed. “But I’ve probably forgotten most of it.” He smiled. “It just feels natural somehow.”
Just like sitting in a warm kitchen with the smell of pies baking seems familiar.
Whether it was the comfort that he felt at Wayne Manor or an indication of his past, he would probably never know, but the kitchen brought a sense of happiness to him. After Bruce’s bedroom, it was his favorite room in the house.
The smell of fresh apples and cinnamon filled the kitchen, the radio playing jazz as Clark kneaded dough and cut apples for a second pie. The first one was baking in the oven.
“Master Bruce will be quite impressed.” A mischievous glint entered Alfred’s eyes. “He is quite hopeless in the culinary arts.”
After the second pie was placed in the oven, the two sat at the kitchen table and drank Earl Grey tea, the radio crackling with static. “You seem robust today,” Alfred observed.
Clark smiled. “Very much so.” He sipped his tea. “I feel really good today, Alfred. The best I can ever remember, short as that memory is.”
& & & & & &
Clark’s energy translated into helping Alfred with his chores and doing a quick job of it, then did more raking and pulling up the last of the vines in the vegetable garden.
By the time that Bruce came home, Clark was bouncing with energy.
& & & & & &
Bruce felt the energy as soon as he saw Clark. Amused, he watched as Clark eagerly presented him with a piece of pie.
“I’m impressed,” Bruce said sincerely. “This is delicious.”
“He’s a natural,” Alfred said with pride.
The whole evening remained charged with energy, Bruce suggesting a work-out a few hours after dinner. As they wrestled, Bruce was surprised by Clark’s unusual aggressiveness. Bruce slammed Clark to the mat, looming over him as sweat glistened on their bodies, their breathing harsh as Bruce gripped his slave’s arms.
“Looks like baking pies isn’t your only talent.”
Clark’s smile dazzled Bruce, and he leaned down and took Clark in a fierce kiss. Clark moved against him, hands sliding up and down his back.
“Mmm,” Bruce purred, pleased at the sexual charge between them. He tasted salty sweat on Clark’s neck, licking at the collarbone beneath the shining collar, down to the chest as he pushed up the T-shirt. Thumbs flicked sensitive nipples, replaced by a hot mouth. Suckling each nub had Clark writhing beneath him, hardness meeting hardness through their shorts. Bruce moved down, nearly ripping apart the shorts in his haste, blowing lightly over Clark’s straining cock as it was freed from cloth restraints. Bruce stroked it, skilled hands bringing his slave to climax, Clark’s fingers digging into his arms.
He pushed the errant curl from his slave’s forehead, his own blood pounding as his erection strained his own shorts. Clark’s eyes sparkled as his hand moved to the bulge, stroking and then pressing with the palm of his hand. Bruce groaned as Clark peeled his shorts off, Bruce’s cock sliding along Clark’s chest and brushing his lips as Bruce shifted and braced himself. “Suck me,” he growled as he grabbed handfuls of dark hair, Clark eagerly swallowing him whole.
Bruce flung his head back, hot wetness engulfing his cock, blood rushing as his energy exploded into his slave’s mouth, Clark’s hands cupping his buttocks.
Drained, Bruce slipped out of Clark’s mouth, curling up next to his equally-sated companion.
“Wow,” Clark said.
Bruce laughed. “I agree.” He nuzzled Clark’s neck, the collar’s cold metal a stark contrast to the overheated skin. He really is hot. Bruce sat up. “We need a shower.”
They dressed and walked up to the bathroom, tossing their sweaty clothes into the hamper and plunging into the shower, soaping each other and then kissing under the cool spray. Moans and grunts mingled with the sound of water as Bruce pushed Clark up against the tiles, pouring bath oil on his fingers and pulling Clark’s buttocks apart. The moans that filled the air drove Bruce on, his cock replacing his fingers as he pushed in.
“My beauty,” he whispered in Clark’s ear, his hand reaching around and fondling Clark’s balls. He slid in and out, then pressed hard one last thrust, Clark’s semen coating his hand as his own seed spilled down Clark’s thighs.
Yes, definitely talented, he thought with a grin as he kissed his slave’s shoulder.