shankie | A Lifting Fog

A quickly written fourth segment, for

tmelange. All segments found here.

Scott invites Clark over to witness a master escape artist in action. But Bruce isn't the only thing that's under lock and key.

A Lifting Fog

Big Barda/Superman/Mister Miracle/Batman, and various combinations therein of various levels of subtlety, notably Big Barda/Mister Miracle (obviously) and Superman/Batman.
PG-13

Bonds

What do master escape artists do with each other in their spare time?

Practice.

Clark had posed the question to Scott that morning at the League embassy, even as the obvious answer popped into his mind, like a teasing in-joke that they both laughed at.

"If you'd like to know, drop in tonight. 7pm sharp, or you may miss it." Scott smirked behind his yellow mask and left to follow Oberon and deal with their latest bit of strife.

And Clark kept the thought in the back of his mind all day, until he landed on their lawn just before the hour.

Barda was waiting with a glass of iced tea, which she gave him with a playful smile, then used the free hand to knit her fingers through his without a word. She lead him inside, and down through the basement door into Scott's workshop.

The basement was larger than it appeared on the outside, with a high ceiling and a dizzying array of technology from both Apokolips and New Genesis, in varying states of wholeness. The arsenal could no doubt tip the balance to an earthly war, but he had little doubt their security was more than adaquate... and it wasn't the most impressive sight.

Without any doubt, that honour fell to Bruce.

He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of brief spandex shorts and a blindfold, locked within an intricate metal device that strapped his arms around behind his back and his legs to where the entire thing was bolted to a rafter. It was swinging slightly, but Clark could barely see any motion from him, just the occasional tensing of a muscle in his arms or a determined gritting of teeth.

Scott was chewing on the plastic handle of a screwdriver, and looked up from where he was hunched over his long workbench.

"Clark. Glad you could make it."

Bruce let out a terse breath that made them all look over at him.

Scott smirked and rubbed his hands on a towel, swiveling his stool around and leaning back against the bench. He pointedly checked his watch.

"Could you please stop doing that?" Bruce graveled through his teeth.

"I'll stop when you get loose," Scott replied, "You could at least pretend to be unaware of your surroundings when you can't see."

"I don't need to see to know you're gloating, Mister Miracle."

"I wouldn't say gloating," he replied, with a twinkle in his eye, "I'd never think of taunting the less fortunate."

"I'm feeling perfectly fortunate today, thank you very much."

"And still perfectly trussed up in those bonds."

"Hn."

"And distracted," Barda added, not hiding the amusement in her voice, "I don't think you can do it."

Bruce growled and there was a twitching of muscles along his right arm.

"At this rate, we won't have any time to spar before dark fully sets," Barda said to Scott.

Scott slipped the watch off his wrist; a stopwatch, that currently read eight minutes and counting.

"I think you can take it from here," he said, and handed it to Clark.

"And by all means, continue providing distraction," Barda said with a laugh as Scott followed her up the stairs.

Before long, he could distantly hear the clattering of their weapons outside. The stopwatch hit nine minutes and Bruce sighed.

"Think you can do it?" Clark asked.

Bruce pushed his head back and groaned in frustration. Clark couldn't help but feel a bit... empowered.

Distraction he could provide, but it took a moment of working up nerve before Clark stood up, setting the watch on the workbench with a distinct click against the wood surface. Almost by accident, he caught a shift in Bruce's heart rate, almost imperceptible even to him. He put his glass down, too, and approached with caution.

Clark floated up off the floor enough to make his face level with Bruce's bare feet, and blew out a cool breath over his toes. Bruce shivered, and there was another skipped heartbeat.

"You know what I can't figure out about you, Bruce?"

"I'm sure you'll enlighten me."

"I'm hoping it's you that could do some... enlightening." Clark brushed his fingers over the calloused instep. "I've never slept with someone without even knowing if they liked me or not."

"I think you're keen. Happy?"

"Impossibly." He traced the soft skin on the inside of his left leg down to the edge of the black spandex and back up again, and smiled as his muscles twitched underneath his touch, as if it tickled and he was trying to deny it. "But I should have known better than to expect an answer."

There was a small grunt, followed by a soft click around Bruce's hands.

"I thought I did answer you."

"You'd think." Clark fingered the inside of Bruce's knees, as much as he could while they were banded to Scott's rig, and nipped at the tip of his big toe. "So you spend a lot of time hanging upside-down. But do you live in a cave?"

Bruce snorted, and there was a more audible clicking noise before his hands came loose and he deftly freed his legs, then flipped over and landed on the floor, pulling the blindfold off. He tossed it to Clark almost smugly.

Clark hit the stopwatch. Eleven minutes, twenty-three seconds.

"A personal best?"

"Hardly, damn you." Bruce pulled on a gray sweatshirt hanging from a nail in the concrete.

"Does that have anything to do with my newfound appreciation for spelunking?" Clark replied with a grin, in spite of the nervous edge he was still fighting off.

"It's a hazardous endeavor."

"I'm sure there are various techniques you could teach me. In the interests of safety."

Bruce smirked, and without a word, left Clark watching him walk back up the stairs, silent as a cat. Clark ran his hands through his hair and sighed, and almost missed the whispered word from the top of the stairs.

"Perhaps."