Summary: Clark and Bruce are at the seaside on a foggy day.
Date Of Completion: June 22, 2011
Date Of Posting: July 5, 2011
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC and does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 548
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Author's Notes: Written for tabru for my 2011 Summer-By-The-Sea Fic Prompt Request. Pairing: Clark/Bruce. Prompt: New England Coastline. :)
The entire series can be found here.
Cool and wispy,
Light and misty,
While the sea
Upon the shore,
And Crashing Waves"
The waves crashed against the rocks and slinked up the shore, the wind blowing across the sand as a foghorn sounded mournfully in the distance, the nearby lighthouse beacon cutting through the fog.
Mist clung to Clark’s hair and caressed his skin, the coolness feeling good on his overheated flesh. He welcomed the chance to relax under the clouds. He had recently taken in too much sunlight and needed to ease back.
This day on the New England coastline was perfect. The gray sea and craggy rocks reflected the strength of the people of the region.
Clark was perched cross-legged on a large, flat rock overlooking the beach, clad in jeans and a powder-blue T-shirt and dark-blue windbreaker. He was glad that he and Bruce had been able to get away for awhile. The Wayne ‘cottage’ was situated on the bluff, a venerable old 19th-century house with old-fashioned grace and charm, tucked away in the wilds of northern Maine.
“What are you, trying out for the part of Rodin’s Thinker?”
“The Thinker doesn’t sit Indian-style.”
Bruce snorted as he climbed up the rocks to sit beside his lover.
They both watched the waves roll in-and-out, the eternal rhythm soothing. Clark could feel the other man’s weariness, Bruce just a little slower in his movements lately. The recent days had been wild and endless, draining and exhilarating.
Here was peace, found on a rock-solid foundation. Like the New England coastline itself, Bruce was that rock in Clark’s life. He desperately needed that stability as all seemed to be chaos for so long.
Clark listened to the sound of the foghorn again, rubbing his hands up-and-down his arm.
“It’s like a train whistle, isn’t it?” Bruce asked.
“The foghorn. It sounds like a train’s whistle, mournful and lonely.” Bruce’s face was in shadow. “I could hear both from my room at the Manor.”
“I could hear train whistles. Foghorns were a little far for me.”
They sat in silence for several minutes, listening to the waves crash onto the rocks. Below them a crab scuttled in the tidal pools, disappearing as the tide rolled in. A seagull winged its way over the roiling waves, diving down to catch a fish in its beak. A freighter appeared out of the fog as it chugged along, disappearing again in the next patch.
Clark smiled as he saw Bruce’s hair was limp from the mist. They both looked as if they had just taken a dip in the ocean.
They sat on the rocks for another hour, letting the wildness of the sea soothe their souls as the mist continued to spray. They were alone in their own little world, cut off from the larger world beyond the fog.
Bruce slipped his hand over to grasp Clark’s, the Kryptonian smiling. Who said that the Bat didn’t know how to be affectionate?
They watched a seagull bob on the white-capped water, then Bruce squeezed Clark’s hand. They rose from the rocks, walking down the beach still clasped together as the foghorn moaned and the fog rolled in even heavier than before.