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. The wealthy freeman Bruce Wayne acquires a highly-prized pleasure slave whom has fallen in love with him…but can the Prince of Gotham ever return that love? 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: Some violence.
Summary: A breach in the sanctuary of Wayne Manor rattles Bruce and Clark.
Date Of Completion (First Draft): March 22, 2007
Date Of Posting: August 9, 2007
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 1970
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
The scheming knave
Breached the wall,
The Prince’s Hall.
He took his slave,
And demanded gold,
The Prince railed
Against an act so bold.
The slave begged mercy,
But the knave simply sneered,
He took what he wanted,
Now hated and feared.
But the Prince struck
And drove off the knave,
And then wailed
As he discovered his slave.
He tended his Prize,
And never again,
Let a knave breach
With a heart
Filled with malice.
“Enchanted Fairy Tales”
The top-to-bottom cleaning Alfred had promised began. A full complement of cleaning personnel arrived at the Manor on a crisp autumn day. Alfred was in his glory, giving marching orders to the head of the crew, who took no offense. Free as he was, Aaron Breck was accustomed to slaves of the wealthy looking out for their Masters and in charge of such projects.
The free crew was efficient, working under Alfred’s direction with no complaints. Clark helped, too, but wore the dark glasses. Bruce wanted him partially Veiled, and the glasses were a good compromise.
Clark worked with one of the cleaning women in the library, a cheerful girl in her early twenties. She pushed a lock of light-brown hair back from her forehead and grinned. “Lots of ornate gimcrackery in here.”
Clark answered with a grin of his own. “I guess a house hundreds of years old will accumulate a lot of gimcrackery.”
She laughed. “You’re right.” She looked at the portrait over the fireplace. “Are they the Lord and Lady of the Manor?”
“Yes.” Clark looked at the handsome couple. Thomas Wayne had Bruce’s dark good looks, his eyes a dark-blue. His hand rested on the shoulder of the lovely woman seated in the chair, her dark hair shoulder-length and perfectly-coiffed. A string of lustrous pearls set off her dark-blue dress. The clothing spoke of quiet elegance, as tasteful as the room’s furnishings. They both had slight smiles, also bespeaking quiet elegance and simplicity.
The child in the picture always fascinated Clark, giving him a window into the happy childhood of Bruce before tragedy had struck.
The cleaning girl stood next to Clark, absorbed in contemplating the painting. Her shoulder brushed against his as she moved her hand to adjust her kerchief.
Clark and the girl turned. A young man in cleaning overalls stood in the doorway, a scowl on his face.
“Carl, what’s the matter?”
“Why are you cozying up to this whore, Angie?”
“What are you talking about?”
Carl strode in, fury in his voice as he roughly grabbed Angie’s arm. “I saw you brushin’ up against this whore. Where’s your dignity? Dontcha know he spreads his legs on command? Don’t act like one of them!” He shook Angie, who protested, “You’re hurting me!”
Clark started to move but restrained himself, vividly remembering the rule about touching freemen and the punishment he would receive. He winced as a sharp pain lanced through his head.
“No girl of mine is gonna act like a filthy slave!”
Angie wrenched free. “I’m no slave, but I won’t be your girl, either, if you keep acting like this!”
Carl glared at the defiant woman, then turned on Clark. “You filthy whore!” He shoved Clark hard. “Sniffin’ around a freewoman! I oughtta kick your fairy ass!”
“Carl, leave him alone!”
That egged Carl on. He slapped Clark across the face, grabbing a fistful of hair and sneering, “If I did guys I’d have you on our knees right now suckin’ me off!” His sneer turned into an ugly grin. “Though what the fuck?”
Every nerve in Clark’s body screamed resistance, his head throbbing but he clenched his fists at his sides. He wouldn’t disgrace his Master again.
He opened his mouth to call for help when Carl pressed his lips to his, his tongue snaking in. Choking, Clark moaned as he was slammed against the wall, his glasses falling off. Angie gasped at the un-Veiling.
Carl broke off the kiss, then hit Clark across the mouth, splitting his lip. Dazed, Clark began to slide down the wall as Carl hit him again, pain blossoming in his right eye.
Angie shouted, “Stop it, Carl! He didn’t do anything!”
Carl grabbed Clark’s shirt and ripped it, then hit him again.
The cold metal of Clark’s manacles and collar burned against his skin. He was stunned at how quickly he had ended up in this mess. He wound up on the floor, gasping as he was kicked in the ribs.
“Carl! Stop it!”
Aaron Breck was standing in t he doorway, Angie at his side. Carl backed off, Clark clutching his ribs. He grabbed his glasses and shakily put them back on, starkly aware that he was un-Veiled.
Aaron strode in and grabbed Carl’s shirt. “Are you fuckin’ crazy? That’s Lord Wayne’s personal Prize!”
Carl spat, “He’s just a whore!”
“Yeah, but he’s Bruce Wayne’s whore!”
Carl’s look of contempt seared through Clark, but he kept silent, trying to breathe despite the sharp pain in his side. He hoped his ribs weren’t broken. Bruce would be furious.
“You’ve put me in a helluva pickle, Winslow,” Aaron growled.
“You’re deep in the brine,” said a cold voice from the doorway.
Clark winced as he saw Bruce standing in the doorway looking like the Bat. He strode in, bending down to brush the hair out of Clark’s eyes. Clark was glad of the dark glasses to hide his shame. Somehow he had messed up, letting things get out of control.
Bruce’s face darkened as he touched the bleeding lip, his gaze sliding to the torn shirt.
“Did he violate you?” he asked in a low tone.
Clark stammered, “M…Mouth only.”
A low growl escaped Bruce. He touched the swollen mouth, then grasped Clark’s manacled wrist and helped him up, tugging him to follow.
The Lord of the Manor stood in front of Aaron, Carl and Angie while holding his slave’s arm. Alfred was standing quietly in the doorway.
“You laid hands upon my slave.”
Carl tilted his chin up, defiance sparking from his eyes. “That whore touched my Angie.”
“Is that true, my Prize?”
Clark tried to ignore the throbbing in his eye. Maybe he should concentrate on his screaming ribs instead. Either way, he was in for a world of hurt.
“No, Master.” His voice was soft but firm. “The young lady accidentally brushed against me. Neither one of us was improper.” He felt the urge to say, “Honor Served,” but of course that was reserved for gentlemen. Slaves had no honor.
“He’s lying,” Carl spat.
“I don’t think so.” Bruce’s fury was barely contained.
“You’d take the word of a slave over a freeman?”
“My slave doesn’t lie, Mr. Winslow.”
Carl looked ready to spew more venom, but Aaron grabbed his arm.
“Lord Wayne, I apologize for the action of my misguided employee. There will be no bill for the service today.”
Bruce held up his hand. “You will be paid. Your people have done their usual fine job. However, you will fire this…person…but give him proper references so that he will not go away with a feeling of…persecution.”
Bruce never looked more regal as he did now, Clark thought in awe. Everyone in the room instinctively deferred to him, even Carl starting to back down.
“Yes, m’lord,” Aaron said. “Winslow, come by my office tomorrow for your final paycheck and those references.”
Carl glared at Aaron, then threw a murderous look at Clark. Bruce’s own expression was thunderous.
“Mr. Winslow, if you ever lay hands upon my slave again, you will regret it. You violated my property, and I do not take such a violation lightly.” Bruce’s dark-blue eyes glittered. “Now remove yourself from my home.”
Carl flung one last look of defiance, then turned on his heel and stalked out. Angie looked at him go with a mixture of regret and relief.
“Continue with your cleaning, Mr. Breck.”
“Yes, Lord Wayne.”
As Aaron and Angie left the room, Alfred entered. “Sir, I can attend to Clark.”
“Thank you, Alfred, but I will do so.” Bruce tugged and Clark followed him upstairs to the bedroom.
Bruce directed Clark to sit on the bed. He disappeared into the bathroom, re-emerging with a bowl of water, a washcloth, and bandages. Clark looked down ruefully at the bruises on his chest. He was certain that his face was a mess.
Bruce’s touch was gentle, washing away the blood on Clark’s lip. He cleaned the scratches on his slave’s chest, getting out the healing cream. He applied it to the cuts, then bandaged the wounds. He checked the ribs, satisfied they weren’t broken, and wrapped them tightly.
Clark studied his Master, glad of the dark glasses hiding his scrutiny.
Bruce had been wearing his Lord of the Manor face while dealing with the incident. Now he was grim but had shed his haughty demeanor.
“Mr. Breck called you ‘Lord Wayne’.”
“It’s an honorific, like ‘Prince of Gotham’.” Bruce gently cleaned a cut on Clark’s cheek. “Men of Aaron Breck’s class served my ancestors well here in America. Despite the American tradition of no royalty, we’ve never lacked for class distinctions. My family settled in Gotham, as you know, and along with the Braddock family and a few others, we established Gotham as our fiefdom. That tradition continued through the modern era in different forms, but men such as Breck remember their family’s fealty to mine and use the term without thinking.”
Bruce removed Clark’s glasses. He winced at the black eye, a finger gently tracing the bruises. “I should have protected you, at least in my own home!”
Clark allowed himself the boldness of curling his fingers around Bruce’s hand. “You shouldn’t feel guilty, Master. You always protect me.”
From so much out there.
“Life is precarious even for the best-protected of slaves, Clark.” Bruce squeezed his hand, then released it. He cupped Clark’s bruised cheek. “Out there, people can hurt you. Some churl with no honor could have you up against the wall or over a table in the space of seconds, and you couldn’t do a thing about it except part your legs or open your mouth and let him in.”
Clark shivered. “I know.” He closed his eyes and nuzzled against Bruce’s hand, then slid off the bed and to his knees, startling Bruce. “I want only you inside me, Master.”
Bruce stared down at his slave. Clark was in the proper position of submission: legs spread, wrists crossed behind his back, but his face was tilted upward, his face bruised, his shirt torn…ready…waiting…wanting.
Clark moaned as Bruce caressed his face. “Please, Master,” he begged, brushing his cheek against Bruce’s groin. His body shivered again as he breathed in Bruce’s scent.
Bruce grabbed his hair, pressing his face directly into his crotch, his excitement already evident. Bruce then pulled his head back by the hair and Clark gazed up, his own groin throbbing.
Take me, Master. Make me forget anyone else. Take away their taste with yours.
Recent nightmarish memories skittered around the edges of his mind and Clark’s eyes closed as his Master thrust into his mouth. He sucked, tasted and nibbled, the musky aroused scent of Bruce filling him with his own ardor. Bruce filled him, his hips thrusting and fingers till entangled in his slave’s hair.
Please make me feel safe again.
The musk grew stronger, Clark sucking harder, wanting all of Bruce, wanting Bruce to fill him, possess him…
I love you, he thought as with a final growl and thrust, Bruce’s seed spilled down his throat, his own body jerking with his own orgasm.
As Bruce slipped out of his mouth, Clark rested his head against his Master’s thigh, Bruce carding his fingers through sweat-dampened hair.