A Lifting Fog
Nov. 3rd, 2006 10:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shankie"Every time I sit down to write today, nothing comes out."
"Writer's block?"
"No, not exactly. But you know what? I think writing some foursome porn could fix it."
"You're such a freak."
When the Planet publishes a story that challenges the existence of superheroes, Scott's latest invention provides some welcome reprieve.
A Lifting Fog
Big Barda/Superman/Mister Miracle/Batman, and various combinations therein of various levels of subtlety.
NC-17
Making Headlines
Gotham’s own urban legend made his way into the Planet from time to time; usually page four or the end of section A; once in the Sunday edition special on meta activity. The theory was, this Batman had one of a variety of powers, from invulnerability to telepathy or flight. If he even existed, of course.
If only they knew the truth.
This time, he was page one material, after a poison scare in Gotham’s seafood from the Joker, and the ensuing deaths of copywriters and occurrences of the ghastly fish some ways up and down the east coast; topped off with a photograph that looked suspiciously like a certain vigilante taken by a cameraman that had been parked in front of one of the hatcheries. The story wasn’t so much about that as it was if costumed heroes were the cause of costumed villains in their continuous terror on so many cities, and even internationally these days.
It was something Clark didn’t like thinking about.
And it seemed that he wasn’t alone in it; the story was the talk of the League embassy, as much as he heard in his brief visit. It seemed that people went quiet when they saw him walking by, though he couldn’t imagine why. Tora seemed particularly upset by it, and Gardner was hardly helping in a tirade about beating the hell out of the reporters at the Daily Planet until they got the facts straight. Which was clearly amusing Scott to no end, as he half-listened to it while on the phone with Barda. Trying to explain why he was going to be home late; he wasn’t very happy about it, and it didn’t take super-hearing to know it.
Scott hung up, and looked at him, then began whispering, and Clark did focus in to hear, looking discreetly in the direction of Max Lord’s office.
“I hope you don’t have any plans tonight, we’d miss your company.”
Clark smiled and nodded slightly, then went to tell Lord exactly how he felt about using him for marketing the League like some product. As much as he’d listen.
* * *
“Such questions are meaningless, and not worthy of discussion. Foolishness, to think that evil’s form makes it any more or less of a menace,” Barda said sharply, and Clark stepped back a bit, even if he was being threatened with little more than an offered mug of coffee.
“I didn’t write it.” Her expression went from a scowl to a smile at that, and she patted his arm that would be, from anyone else, a bit patronizing.
“I know it. Lets speak of more pleasant things.”
“I’ve heard your training Fire.”
“I would be, had some fiend not stolen my car. Stolen my car, right off the street!” She slammed her fist into the counter, and the granite top cracked angrily, which made them both stop and regard the damage, and Barda sighed. “Second time this month.”
“I could, uh, carve you a new one,” Clark offered and shrugged.
“Ah, I knew there was a reason I kept you around,” she said, slapping him on the back just hard enough to make him take a step forward as she passed, then called down to the cellar. “Scott, are you quite finished yet?”
“Masterpieces aren’t built by the whims of fair maidens!” he called back, and Barda rolled her eyes.
“Honestly.” She feigned indignation and leaned against the doorframe, looking past Clark’s shoulder at the fourth heartbeat that had joined them during the exchange, attempting to lurk by a set of floral drapes.
Bruce looked pensive, even for Bruce.
“I think that’ll do it, actually,” Scott said, appearing in the doorway twirling a pair of unassuming looking steel manacles on his finger. “Lets see you get out of these,” he said, pointedly at Bruce.
“We’ll see,” Bruce said dryly.
Scott chuckled to himself and walked over, snapping one set over the dark gray sleeves of Bruce’s snug shirt, then on his ankles once he’d kicked off the leather loafers, and stood back; Bruce stood stiffly with his arms bound behind his back, and kept his eyes on his audience as he began to work his magic.
Or at least try.
Minutes passed, and he grew more and more frustrated, then finally glared at Scott and slumped his shoulders in defeat. “Fine. You win.”
Scott stepped forward again, and made as if to let him go, then stopped, one hand around the steel, and ran another over Bruce’s stomach. “Doesn’t that mean I get to collect a prize?” They exchanged an almost challenging look, and then kissed chastely a few times.
“Excellent,” Barda said, “I’ve waited some time for you to finally find a way to keep him gift-wrapped.” She slung Bruce over her shoulder easily and carried him into the bedroom, where he landed on the bed. Gracefully, in spite of the restraints, offering no protest.
She sat next to him, touching his knees, the insides of his thighs, and made him squirm a bit by grasping his quickly obvious erection through the fabric of his trousers. “Clark, would you like to do the honours, and unwrap our gift?”
He was all too happy to oblige, and floated down and only with the slightest touch over Bruce. The demonstration of flight curiously made Bruce’s heart beat ever so much faster. Even moreso as he pulled the shirt away like tissue paper.
Bruce was magnificent.
Clark brushed his hand over the bare chest, gently kissing a new addition to his battle scars; a recent gunshot wound by his right shoulder, still healing. It would certainly leave a mark.
“You should be more careful,” Clark murmured, and Bruce bucked sharply against him in protest. “Well, you should.”
The defiant look went away when Clark settled his hands around Bruce’s hips, rubbing his thumbs on his groin to just avoid the straining hardness trapped underneath his clothes, and Bruce growled softly.
“Aren’t you always the one preaching about patience?”
He couldn’t help himself but to tease a moment more, then ripped away the trousers with a quick motion. Bruce wasn’t wearing underwear, and Clark couldn’t help but imagine a bare cock rubbing against Kevlar.
“Those pants were cost you a month’s salary,” Bruce gritted.
“I’ll start a tab,” Clark said breathlessly.
Clark pushed up Bruce’s knees, to kneel in front of them, tasting the tender skin along the sides of his legs.
“All I could ever ask for,” Barda said, growling seductively and grabbing onto his left shoulder, pulling him up against her for a long, wet kiss.
Clark felt addicted to the taste of his skin, and when Bruce was thrust forward, he easily switched to sucking up along his neck and nipping playfully at his ears. Scott came up behind Clark and leaned over to match his attentions on the other side, and Bruce began to moan softly.
Barda had him in her hands, forced open to her tongue, and he writhed helplessly against Clark’s chest. By the feeling of Scott behind him, it was making them both hard, impossibly so by the time Bruce was shuddering in the throes of an orgasm. Barda had a triumphant look as she let him fall back, catching his breath and glimmering with beads of sweat.
“No resting just yet Bat boy,” Barda said, flipping him over and around to place his bare ass in front of Clark and there was the sound of a belt buckle and Scott sliding off the bed.
He sat up against the headboard, Bruce’s head between his knees, stroking his face tenderly and stroking himself with the other. Clark brushed his nails along Bruce’s sides, and it became clear he was up for more, curling his legs up together behind one of Clark’s legs as he knelt up.
“So strong, yet so fragile,” Barda whispered over Clark’s shoulder, stroking Bruce’s flank appreciatively. But Bruce didn’t hear her, having thrown himself into pleasuring Scott noisily, propped up with Scott’s hands. Scott’s muscles were all straining, but his face was soft and enraptured.
Clark was sure his face matched that look. This body was not one whose appeal wore off like some novelty.
Barda wrapped her arms around Clark’s waist, unbuttoning his slacks and freeing his erection in her hands, hot and unyielding. He arched back as she began running a hand slick with lubrication almost coyly over it, and he made no attempt to stifle his own low sounds.
Her hands were on Clark’s hips as he slowly buried himself in Bruce, lightly, without guidance so much as urging to pull out with a heady sigh around Scott’s wet and flushed manhood, and then in again. So tight and inviting it took Clark’s breath away as he indulged in its sweetness. Clark shut his eyes and arched back as Barda’s hands and the fucking was like a perfect moment hanging in the air.
When he felt the building pressure in his loins, he slowed to draw it out further, as Scott had finished and pushed up Bruce against his chest, watching Clark as he ran his hands over Bruce’s body in an embrace.
Barda bit hard into Clark’s bicep as he came, a sharp overtone of pain and conquering fireworks in his blood. “So beautiful,” she breathed out as it ebbed away, and he felt pleasantly worn out.
Scott had to fetch the keys to the cuffs out of the basement, and gave Bruce a pair of black sweatpants to wear as they lounged sleepily in the living room. Bruce had curled up in Scott’s lap on a recliner, and Clark wondered what was troubling his mind that he was trying to escape from. He’d learned to know when there was something, when the bleak façade he put up became more meek and tactile. Scott kissed his hair, and it must have elicited some reaction; Barda touched Clark’s arm to get his attention, then gave a knowing smile.
“I think you two are so cute,” she whispered. “My puppies.”
Clark laughed at that, shaking his head at the analogy.
“Puppies making headlines by picking fights with the mean strays.”
“Precisely.”
Bruce heard that and growled, filling the likeness nicely with his dislike of it.
“We’re not puppies,” he said, “we’re the big dogs.” Bruce’s face broke out into a slow grin, and Clark rubbed the bridge of his nose, chuckling. Sometimes it was easy to forget how infuriating the man could be.
"Writer's block?"
"No, not exactly. But you know what? I think writing some foursome porn could fix it."
"You're such a freak."
When the Planet publishes a story that challenges the existence of superheroes, Scott's latest invention provides some welcome reprieve.
A Lifting Fog
Big Barda/Superman/Mister Miracle/Batman, and various combinations therein of various levels of subtlety.
NC-17
Making Headlines
Gotham’s own urban legend made his way into the Planet from time to time; usually page four or the end of section A; once in the Sunday edition special on meta activity. The theory was, this Batman had one of a variety of powers, from invulnerability to telepathy or flight. If he even existed, of course.
If only they knew the truth.
This time, he was page one material, after a poison scare in Gotham’s seafood from the Joker, and the ensuing deaths of copywriters and occurrences of the ghastly fish some ways up and down the east coast; topped off with a photograph that looked suspiciously like a certain vigilante taken by a cameraman that had been parked in front of one of the hatcheries. The story wasn’t so much about that as it was if costumed heroes were the cause of costumed villains in their continuous terror on so many cities, and even internationally these days.
It was something Clark didn’t like thinking about.
And it seemed that he wasn’t alone in it; the story was the talk of the League embassy, as much as he heard in his brief visit. It seemed that people went quiet when they saw him walking by, though he couldn’t imagine why. Tora seemed particularly upset by it, and Gardner was hardly helping in a tirade about beating the hell out of the reporters at the Daily Planet until they got the facts straight. Which was clearly amusing Scott to no end, as he half-listened to it while on the phone with Barda. Trying to explain why he was going to be home late; he wasn’t very happy about it, and it didn’t take super-hearing to know it.
Scott hung up, and looked at him, then began whispering, and Clark did focus in to hear, looking discreetly in the direction of Max Lord’s office.
“I hope you don’t have any plans tonight, we’d miss your company.”
Clark smiled and nodded slightly, then went to tell Lord exactly how he felt about using him for marketing the League like some product. As much as he’d listen.
“Such questions are meaningless, and not worthy of discussion. Foolishness, to think that evil’s form makes it any more or less of a menace,” Barda said sharply, and Clark stepped back a bit, even if he was being threatened with little more than an offered mug of coffee.
“I didn’t write it.” Her expression went from a scowl to a smile at that, and she patted his arm that would be, from anyone else, a bit patronizing.
“I know it. Lets speak of more pleasant things.”
“I’ve heard your training Fire.”
“I would be, had some fiend not stolen my car. Stolen my car, right off the street!” She slammed her fist into the counter, and the granite top cracked angrily, which made them both stop and regard the damage, and Barda sighed. “Second time this month.”
“I could, uh, carve you a new one,” Clark offered and shrugged.
“Ah, I knew there was a reason I kept you around,” she said, slapping him on the back just hard enough to make him take a step forward as she passed, then called down to the cellar. “Scott, are you quite finished yet?”
“Masterpieces aren’t built by the whims of fair maidens!” he called back, and Barda rolled her eyes.
“Honestly.” She feigned indignation and leaned against the doorframe, looking past Clark’s shoulder at the fourth heartbeat that had joined them during the exchange, attempting to lurk by a set of floral drapes.
Bruce looked pensive, even for Bruce.
“I think that’ll do it, actually,” Scott said, appearing in the doorway twirling a pair of unassuming looking steel manacles on his finger. “Lets see you get out of these,” he said, pointedly at Bruce.
“We’ll see,” Bruce said dryly.
Scott chuckled to himself and walked over, snapping one set over the dark gray sleeves of Bruce’s snug shirt, then on his ankles once he’d kicked off the leather loafers, and stood back; Bruce stood stiffly with his arms bound behind his back, and kept his eyes on his audience as he began to work his magic.
Or at least try.
Minutes passed, and he grew more and more frustrated, then finally glared at Scott and slumped his shoulders in defeat. “Fine. You win.”
Scott stepped forward again, and made as if to let him go, then stopped, one hand around the steel, and ran another over Bruce’s stomach. “Doesn’t that mean I get to collect a prize?” They exchanged an almost challenging look, and then kissed chastely a few times.
“Excellent,” Barda said, “I’ve waited some time for you to finally find a way to keep him gift-wrapped.” She slung Bruce over her shoulder easily and carried him into the bedroom, where he landed on the bed. Gracefully, in spite of the restraints, offering no protest.
She sat next to him, touching his knees, the insides of his thighs, and made him squirm a bit by grasping his quickly obvious erection through the fabric of his trousers. “Clark, would you like to do the honours, and unwrap our gift?”
He was all too happy to oblige, and floated down and only with the slightest touch over Bruce. The demonstration of flight curiously made Bruce’s heart beat ever so much faster. Even moreso as he pulled the shirt away like tissue paper.
Bruce was magnificent.
Clark brushed his hand over the bare chest, gently kissing a new addition to his battle scars; a recent gunshot wound by his right shoulder, still healing. It would certainly leave a mark.
“You should be more careful,” Clark murmured, and Bruce bucked sharply against him in protest. “Well, you should.”
The defiant look went away when Clark settled his hands around Bruce’s hips, rubbing his thumbs on his groin to just avoid the straining hardness trapped underneath his clothes, and Bruce growled softly.
“Aren’t you always the one preaching about patience?”
He couldn’t help himself but to tease a moment more, then ripped away the trousers with a quick motion. Bruce wasn’t wearing underwear, and Clark couldn’t help but imagine a bare cock rubbing against Kevlar.
“Those pants were cost you a month’s salary,” Bruce gritted.
“I’ll start a tab,” Clark said breathlessly.
Clark pushed up Bruce’s knees, to kneel in front of them, tasting the tender skin along the sides of his legs.
“All I could ever ask for,” Barda said, growling seductively and grabbing onto his left shoulder, pulling him up against her for a long, wet kiss.
Clark felt addicted to the taste of his skin, and when Bruce was thrust forward, he easily switched to sucking up along his neck and nipping playfully at his ears. Scott came up behind Clark and leaned over to match his attentions on the other side, and Bruce began to moan softly.
Barda had him in her hands, forced open to her tongue, and he writhed helplessly against Clark’s chest. By the feeling of Scott behind him, it was making them both hard, impossibly so by the time Bruce was shuddering in the throes of an orgasm. Barda had a triumphant look as she let him fall back, catching his breath and glimmering with beads of sweat.
“No resting just yet Bat boy,” Barda said, flipping him over and around to place his bare ass in front of Clark and there was the sound of a belt buckle and Scott sliding off the bed.
He sat up against the headboard, Bruce’s head between his knees, stroking his face tenderly and stroking himself with the other. Clark brushed his nails along Bruce’s sides, and it became clear he was up for more, curling his legs up together behind one of Clark’s legs as he knelt up.
“So strong, yet so fragile,” Barda whispered over Clark’s shoulder, stroking Bruce’s flank appreciatively. But Bruce didn’t hear her, having thrown himself into pleasuring Scott noisily, propped up with Scott’s hands. Scott’s muscles were all straining, but his face was soft and enraptured.
Clark was sure his face matched that look. This body was not one whose appeal wore off like some novelty.
Barda wrapped her arms around Clark’s waist, unbuttoning his slacks and freeing his erection in her hands, hot and unyielding. He arched back as she began running a hand slick with lubrication almost coyly over it, and he made no attempt to stifle his own low sounds.
Her hands were on Clark’s hips as he slowly buried himself in Bruce, lightly, without guidance so much as urging to pull out with a heady sigh around Scott’s wet and flushed manhood, and then in again. So tight and inviting it took Clark’s breath away as he indulged in its sweetness. Clark shut his eyes and arched back as Barda’s hands and the fucking was like a perfect moment hanging in the air.
When he felt the building pressure in his loins, he slowed to draw it out further, as Scott had finished and pushed up Bruce against his chest, watching Clark as he ran his hands over Bruce’s body in an embrace.
Barda bit hard into Clark’s bicep as he came, a sharp overtone of pain and conquering fireworks in his blood. “So beautiful,” she breathed out as it ebbed away, and he felt pleasantly worn out.
Scott had to fetch the keys to the cuffs out of the basement, and gave Bruce a pair of black sweatpants to wear as they lounged sleepily in the living room. Bruce had curled up in Scott’s lap on a recliner, and Clark wondered what was troubling his mind that he was trying to escape from. He’d learned to know when there was something, when the bleak façade he put up became more meek and tactile. Scott kissed his hair, and it must have elicited some reaction; Barda touched Clark’s arm to get his attention, then gave a knowing smile.
“I think you two are so cute,” she whispered. “My puppies.”
Clark laughed at that, shaking his head at the analogy.
“Puppies making headlines by picking fights with the mean strays.”
“Precisely.”
Bruce heard that and growled, filling the likeness nicely with his dislike of it.
“We’re not puppies,” he said, “we’re the big dogs.” Bruce’s face broke out into a slow grin, and Clark rubbed the bridge of his nose, chuckling. Sometimes it was easy to forget how infuriating the man could be.
no subject
on 2006-11-04 03:42 am (UTC)Also.
Hot. Hot. HOT!
<--see icon
no subject
on 2006-11-04 03:56 am (UTC)no subject
on 2006-11-04 04:06 am (UTC)lol
no subject
on 2006-11-04 05:42 am (UTC)i'd love to see you do a branch off of this with just bruce and clark...but you know me ;p
no subject
on 2006-11-06 04:11 pm (UTC)As if they don't get to play enough, psh. :D
no subject
on 2006-11-06 05:02 pm (UTC)but i had to say something.
PS
be on AIM more often! i keep getting on and you're just on your phone dingy *cries*
no subject
on 2006-11-06 06:11 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2006-11-07 09:17 pm (UTC)*dance*
no subject
on 2006-11-04 05:43 am (UTC)Okay, now I'm in love with Barda. LOL I can just see this in my mind, and it cracks me up.
Great addition to this series, Shae. I really do love this scenario. Every time I see a new installment I'm like Pavolv's dog. LOL Bravo!
no subject
on 2006-11-06 04:16 pm (UTC)Thank you, I do try. I can only point at how these guys make themselves, though, can't take all the credit. XD
no subject
on 2006-11-04 06:13 am (UTC)no subject
on 2006-11-06 04:16 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2006-11-04 06:18 am (UTC)“I would be, had some fiend not stolen my car. Stolen my car, right off the street!” She slammed her fist into the counter, and the granite top cracked angrily, which made them both stop and regard the damage, and Barda sighed. “Second time this month.”
Bwahahahaha!!!! Oh man!! That's hilarious! I was laughing heartily on my bed. I... just the idea of Barda's car beig stolen, damn. One would think Scott could design her a secutiry stick or something XD
Bruce had curled up in Scott’s lap on a recliner
Every time I think they can't get more adorable, they do. They totally do.
This was really, really hot. Like microwaved honey, extremly hot. I just adore this foursome, you give them such a great dynamic! and Bruce's grin in the end, up to mischief, willing to play... damn. I want art for this!! You feed me too much awesome fic, Shae. *hearts you*
no subject
on 2006-11-04 04:40 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2006-11-06 04:22 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2006-11-06 04:21 pm (UTC)In JLI, someone actually did steal her car; with the Mega Rod in the trunk. Doh. They all got suited up to track it down and it ended up quite the fine mess.
I love Bruce full of mischief; what can I say? Bats up to no good, muahahaha.
Now I'll have to be careful so you don't OD. ::laughs:: But seriously, thank you very much, you make me feel like a million bucks. XD
no subject
on 2006-11-05 12:55 pm (UTC)Also: massive hotness here. Your foursome is just so fun and wildly erotic.
no subject
on 2006-11-06 04:25 pm (UTC)Wildly erotic. I like that; and am immensely flattered. :D
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on 2008-01-20 11:24 pm (UTC)DpGcRheKAKyATY
on 2008-01-21 10:56 am (UTC)BWiuLtLjfgHaNZgKFCo
on 2008-01-25 01:53 am (UTC)MwzjJnVksQ
on 2008-02-20 04:26 pm (UTC)