A Lifting Fog
Oct. 6th, 2006 04:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shankieInstallments six and seven, with all of them here.
I forgot how damned long it takes to type up things written out on paper, jeeze.
Bruce Wayne pays Superman an unexpected visit, then an old debate gets a different perspective.
A Lifting Fog
Big Barda/Superman/Mister Miracle/Batman, and various combinations therein of various levels of subtlety, notably Big Barda/Mister Miracle and Superman/Batman. These ones are very Superman/Batman.
NC-17
"A stable home life is essential for escape artists. It's very hard to concentrate on death-defying feats while you're wondering where you'll hang your hat that evening."
- From Escape: The Diaries of Thaddeus Brown (and JLI #18)
Role-play
After a week; a week of the usual battles, in and out of uniform, Clark found himself flying over Metropolis at sunset. Friday evening, and his city hadn't needed Superman a single time today. When he did this, watching the colours of the sky paint themselves onto the gleaming towers, it was usually a moment that brought the beauty of the city back to him, but this time, it was like a mark of peace.
He wondered if anyone else had ever come up here at this time of day, seen this view. There were others who could fly, others who lived close by even, but it seemed like none of them were ever here long enough to find it.
A passing radio transmission played Handel, and he focused on it for a while, that and the racing wind at this elevation. The sun was a glowing sliver on the horizon, and when it vanished, he breathed a sigh of relief.
One day, just one day of tranquility. It felt like a victory. Like something marked by a celebration.
He was pleasantly surprised to find company waiting in his apartment. Bruce Wayne, like a newspaper snapshot, all business casual and hair gel. Not the suit he'd interviewed, the uniform he'd grown to respect, or the simplicity he'd grown to... become familiar with, but he supposed all those things were behind those blue eyes somewhere.
"This is either going to make my night or ruin it. I can tell already."
"I suppose that could be taken as a challenge."
Clark started to laugh at the unexpected reply.
"How did you get here?"
"Jet, twenty minutes ago. Where have you been?"
"Sightseeing."
"I've read that Metropolis is known for all the... interesting things to see," Bruce said almost playfully. "Unless I've been misinformed. Or Superman has other plans for the evening."
Clark was having trouble getting used to Bruce being this talkative, the playboy that could have and do anything he wanted. Bruce took his jacket off and stood up, plucking at Clark's cape as if to straighten it.
Then there was his tongue on Clark's neck, nails that somehow stayed well manicured clawing up under his uniform.
A week had been an eternity to wait, for the taste of his skin and those wonderfully human muscles pushing against his.
"You could have called ahead, Mr. Wayne."
"I didn't realize we were resting on formalities, Superman."
They weren't resting on anything as Clark flew them across the room, losing most of their clothes along the way, but Bruce seemed to like playing with the top of his uniform with his teeth, so he left it on. That, and the neat white shirt, now unbuttoned, that was like a thin veil over the scars and calluses underneath. Maybe the playboy never got this far.
"I always try to be polite," Clark retorted, punctuating the statement by making a cage of his fingers around Bruce's balls teasingly. "Especially when it comes to such upstanding members of the community as yourself."
Bruce was punctuating that statement all by himself, and Clark brushed his fingers up and down the erect shaft. Bruce shuddered a little, and Clark kissed the angle of his hips down the pale skin, wondering when it had last seen sunlight.
"I was thinking of making a suggestion just now, but I don't think you're much for my suggestions Bruce."
"Everyone else hangs on your every word, Superman, I just take them under advisement."
"No less than I'd expect from such a... shrewd businessman."
If Bruce had a reply, it came out as little more than a groan as Clark began sucking his way up from the nest of black hair and soaked up Bruce like sunlight as that stern face melted in pleasure, and he watched him, watched his lips shift quickly as Clark's tongue strummed from soft skin to wet and tender.
Sloppy noises and moans all like the beats of strange music.
Clark traced his tongue up Bruce's stomach and purposefully pushed the open shirt aside.
"Is this the only reason you came here?" he asked, and when Bruce murmured a yes, he could hear the tells of a lie in it, things he'd never give away under normal circumstances. He gave Bruce a skeptical look, but a sharp rapping on the door interrupted the inevitable follow-up question.
Bruce started, but Clark just gave him a smirk, then a look that said he was going to be finishing the conversation. He got one that said they definitely weren't in response, and shook his head as he changed uniform top for a robe and glasses to the sound of Lois shrilly making it clear she knew he was in there.
Clark's bedroom was just out of sight of the door, but he made himself a barricade as he opened the door to a frazzled and caffeine-hyped Lois in a Sharks sweatshirt brandishing a cell phone.
"Do you know what time it is?"
"Still time to make the morning presses. Stateside hasn't picked it up yet, but Lex just announced from Tokyo..."
"You couldn't call?" he said, cutting her off with more impatience than he'd intended to.
"I was in the neighborhood. Besides, it's not as if you're doing anything better."
Clark gave her an even look, and she frowned, looking at him sideways before she got a look of revelation on her face.
"You've always been able to handle Lex all by yourself," Clark replied.
She looked mock offended and tried to peek around him.
"I guess I'll leave you to it, champ," she said lightly, smirking as she took off towards the elevator.
"Goodnight, Lois."
"You sure can pick them," Bruce said as Clark shut the door.
"You're one to talk," Clark said, although he knew relatively little about what Bruce may be up to, actually up to, from day to day. He folded his glasses on the table and walked back into his bedroom, all silhouettes and shadows. "I suppose the moment is gone."
"Plenty more where that came from."
* * *
A Man's Job
"At that, Scott replies to Oberon," Barda said, pausing for a moment to quell a laugh, "ironing is a man's work." She clapped her hands together, obviously tickled by the memory, and Clark couldn't help but laugh along with her while Bruce just nudged Scott in the ribs.
Barda sighed and leaned back on the sofa, looking at her cup of tea thoughtfully. "Then Oberon set off some of Scott's fireworks accidentally, and destroyed our house. The Justice League struggled valiantly to rebuild it, but we had some protest from our neighbors. I can't imagine why. At any rate, that's the tale of how I became a professional wrestler, brief as my career was."
Clark looked to Scott for clarification, but he just shrugged. Perhaps 'explanation' had a different definition on Apokolips. The conversation had begun when Clark had asked her why she was wearing a tank top that read "I kicked Lobo's Butt" (because she had) and ended up in a few seemingly unrelated places.
All he ever read of League exploits was the papers and occasional mission reports, when he was recruited to be their mouthpiece, but neither did the truth any justice at all.
As much as he always liked the subject, he knew it was just her way of prolonging a distraction from The Robin Debate. It had Bruce sitting as far away from him as possible, stubborn bastard. He'd rather continue yelling and get it over with, but apparently the sound of Bruce and Clark bickering had gotten tiresome for the other two.
Robin, Dick Grayson as he'd worked out but whose name neither ever used, was a boy, nine years old. He couldn't possibly understand the danger he put himself into. He was a boy playing a game, a deadly one, and Bruce just couldn't see it that way.
It was insanity. Stalking madmen and heavily armed criminals with someone that hadn't hit puberty yet. How could he not understand what kind of exploitation that was?
God, how could he stand that man?
"I have to go," Clark said, "I have some stories due."
He gave goodbye hugs to Barda and Scott, but Bruce looked particularly unhuggable, and he carried the image back to Metropolis and his desk for an afternoon of clearing out his inbox and the eternal game of catch-up.
Clark had already done his research, so in a few hours time he had three bylines ready to hit the presses, and a fourth, his pet project of the moment, a good head-start to be ready for the morning paper. Front page for sure; the first gun-smugglers to return to Metropolis since he'd last assisted the police in clearing them out.
He ran to the site in question, to keep a low profile, and listened to the smugglers talk, taking mental notes but doing nothing; he wanted to get them with the press, make them an example of how poor a location they'd picked to try this kind of thing. Tomorrow's headline, proof-read and sent off to copy, and he'd accomplished everything he'd intended to.
Lois called after midnight.
"Smallville, you alone tonight?"
Clark rubbed the bridge of his nose and rolled his eyes.
"Yes, Lois. What is it?"
I got word your big story already got back to the gun runners, still working on how they caught wind of it."
"Someone at the Planet?"
"Maybe, wouldn't be the first time. I have a few ideas, but you have your own problems right now."
"Yeah, thanks."
He had to admit, as grating as Lois could be, there was something about her, about how much she put into every word, aloud or on paper. He'd hate to be the Planet's leak right about now. And it looked as if Superman would have to get involved in Clark's story after all.
The airstrip was abandoned, but they'd left behind a clue; a shredded print-out of Gotham's overnight forecast.
Hours behind, without a comfortable familiarity with the city, and no idea where to start looking, and he was just hovering over the hulking point of civilization. It would be like finding a needle in a haystack, if they were even here at all.
He reached the point of frustration at the same time the Bat signal lit up in the sky, a new addition to Gotham that drew him over police headquarters. He contented himself to find an overlooking spot and wait to catch Bruce as he left, watched him talking to the new commissioner of police, a red-haired man named Gordon who played with his glasses and puffed on a pipe, even in most of his publicity, which had been rather substantial for a man in his position.
"Wow, oh wow, you're Superman," a small voice said, attached to an equally small body in green shorts and a red shirt, who wrapped himself up in a yellow cape on the edge of the roof and looked up all wide-eyed under a flop of black hair. "I saw something so I came to check it out, but I never thought I'd ever meet you Superman. I'm Robin."
"It's nice to finally meet you, Robin," Clark said, keeping to his Superman voice and a smile, and extended his hand. A little arm reached out to shake it, dwarfed by Clark's own. "I've heard a lot about you."
"Really? Did Batman say something about me?" he asked enthusiastically, "I didn't know he did. He never talks about you."
"Never?"
"He just told me once you were dangerous."
"Oh. Well, he says lots of good things about you, and... I try not to be dangerous."
"I never really thought you were," Robin whispered conspiratorially, "sometimes I don't think Batman is right, but don't tell him I said that."
"It'll be our secret," he said with a grin.
He could already see why Bruce would want the kid around, the darkness felt lighter, and while he still had his reservations, he was starting to understand.
Batman landed beside Robin a moment later, and gave him a glance that sent the yellow cape off the roof and sailing away faster than even Bruce ever moved, fluid and quickly gone.
"I never asked him to be Robin," Bruce said. "I didn't make his uniform, I just made him earn it."
"Believe it or not, but that's not why I'm here. I need your help."
Bruce settled into a wraithlike perch that only he could manage to make comfortable looking.
"I'm listening."
Clark explained the situation with the vanished gun runners while Bruce just listened, nodding when he was finished.
"I have another matter to attend to. Robin can assist you."
"You can't be serious, he's..."
"He's perhaps capable of teaching you a thing or two," Bruce said dryly.
And thusly, Clark was flying over Gotham's industrial sections listening to the chatter of a boy in a yellow cape as he rode a motorcycle down the streets and alleys, narrating the city with a surprising wealth of knowledge. Who hid out where, the most frequently used sites for contraband storage on this scale, who owned what.
A tour of the underworld that ended abruptly as the engine below him cut off and they hunched side by side over a dingy skylight. An old mill with a service road that could be foreseeably used as a landing strip for light aircraft right next to it.
"I can't see anything, tell me where everything is."
Clark described the location and weapons on each of the five men below them; two suits watching with cell phones and three carrying crates into the back of a box truck. Bingo.
The second he finished explaining it, Robin crashed down through the skylight and dropped smoke bombs. Hot cups of coffee were used against the suits, and the boxes being lugged became counterweights as the men were disarmed and incapacitated, leaving Robin perched triumphantly over the last thug, sticking out his chest a little.
"That's how you do it," he said with a grin, "pretty cool, huh?"
* * *
Clark and Bruce arrived at the front door at the same time, and stood there looking at each other, in a wordless debate on who would go in first. Or something, like a stare-down that Bruce ended by opening the door with a snap.
Scott and Barda were watching Wheel of Fortune on the couch; Bruce sat next to Scott on one end, and Clark sat next to Barda on the other, accepting a handful of popcorn.
Clark and Barda talked about politics during the commercials, but the other two seemed much more focused on outdoing each other in solving the puzzles. Even so, Clark managed to get "Audrey Hepburn" and "An apple a day keeps the doctor away" first.
The competition got fierce as Jeopardy came on; Bruce still won.
The credits rolled by and the TV flicked off as Barda vanished into the kitchen somewhere and the other three looked at the blank screen in silence.
"I was wrong," Clark said. "He never needed my help, not once."
There was a long pause before Bruce replied, finishing the debate once and for all.
"I told you so."
I forgot how damned long it takes to type up things written out on paper, jeeze.
Bruce Wayne pays Superman an unexpected visit, then an old debate gets a different perspective.
A Lifting Fog
Big Barda/Superman/Mister Miracle/Batman, and various combinations therein of various levels of subtlety, notably Big Barda/Mister Miracle and Superman/Batman. These ones are very Superman/Batman.
NC-17
"A stable home life is essential for escape artists. It's very hard to concentrate on death-defying feats while you're wondering where you'll hang your hat that evening."
- From Escape: The Diaries of Thaddeus Brown (and JLI #18)
Role-play
After a week; a week of the usual battles, in and out of uniform, Clark found himself flying over Metropolis at sunset. Friday evening, and his city hadn't needed Superman a single time today. When he did this, watching the colours of the sky paint themselves onto the gleaming towers, it was usually a moment that brought the beauty of the city back to him, but this time, it was like a mark of peace.
He wondered if anyone else had ever come up here at this time of day, seen this view. There were others who could fly, others who lived close by even, but it seemed like none of them were ever here long enough to find it.
A passing radio transmission played Handel, and he focused on it for a while, that and the racing wind at this elevation. The sun was a glowing sliver on the horizon, and when it vanished, he breathed a sigh of relief.
One day, just one day of tranquility. It felt like a victory. Like something marked by a celebration.
He was pleasantly surprised to find company waiting in his apartment. Bruce Wayne, like a newspaper snapshot, all business casual and hair gel. Not the suit he'd interviewed, the uniform he'd grown to respect, or the simplicity he'd grown to... become familiar with, but he supposed all those things were behind those blue eyes somewhere.
"This is either going to make my night or ruin it. I can tell already."
"I suppose that could be taken as a challenge."
Clark started to laugh at the unexpected reply.
"How did you get here?"
"Jet, twenty minutes ago. Where have you been?"
"Sightseeing."
"I've read that Metropolis is known for all the... interesting things to see," Bruce said almost playfully. "Unless I've been misinformed. Or Superman has other plans for the evening."
Clark was having trouble getting used to Bruce being this talkative, the playboy that could have and do anything he wanted. Bruce took his jacket off and stood up, plucking at Clark's cape as if to straighten it.
Then there was his tongue on Clark's neck, nails that somehow stayed well manicured clawing up under his uniform.
A week had been an eternity to wait, for the taste of his skin and those wonderfully human muscles pushing against his.
"You could have called ahead, Mr. Wayne."
"I didn't realize we were resting on formalities, Superman."
They weren't resting on anything as Clark flew them across the room, losing most of their clothes along the way, but Bruce seemed to like playing with the top of his uniform with his teeth, so he left it on. That, and the neat white shirt, now unbuttoned, that was like a thin veil over the scars and calluses underneath. Maybe the playboy never got this far.
"I always try to be polite," Clark retorted, punctuating the statement by making a cage of his fingers around Bruce's balls teasingly. "Especially when it comes to such upstanding members of the community as yourself."
Bruce was punctuating that statement all by himself, and Clark brushed his fingers up and down the erect shaft. Bruce shuddered a little, and Clark kissed the angle of his hips down the pale skin, wondering when it had last seen sunlight.
"I was thinking of making a suggestion just now, but I don't think you're much for my suggestions Bruce."
"Everyone else hangs on your every word, Superman, I just take them under advisement."
"No less than I'd expect from such a... shrewd businessman."
If Bruce had a reply, it came out as little more than a groan as Clark began sucking his way up from the nest of black hair and soaked up Bruce like sunlight as that stern face melted in pleasure, and he watched him, watched his lips shift quickly as Clark's tongue strummed from soft skin to wet and tender.
Sloppy noises and moans all like the beats of strange music.
Clark traced his tongue up Bruce's stomach and purposefully pushed the open shirt aside.
"Is this the only reason you came here?" he asked, and when Bruce murmured a yes, he could hear the tells of a lie in it, things he'd never give away under normal circumstances. He gave Bruce a skeptical look, but a sharp rapping on the door interrupted the inevitable follow-up question.
Bruce started, but Clark just gave him a smirk, then a look that said he was going to be finishing the conversation. He got one that said they definitely weren't in response, and shook his head as he changed uniform top for a robe and glasses to the sound of Lois shrilly making it clear she knew he was in there.
Clark's bedroom was just out of sight of the door, but he made himself a barricade as he opened the door to a frazzled and caffeine-hyped Lois in a Sharks sweatshirt brandishing a cell phone.
"Do you know what time it is?"
"Still time to make the morning presses. Stateside hasn't picked it up yet, but Lex just announced from Tokyo..."
"You couldn't call?" he said, cutting her off with more impatience than he'd intended to.
"I was in the neighborhood. Besides, it's not as if you're doing anything better."
Clark gave her an even look, and she frowned, looking at him sideways before she got a look of revelation on her face.
"You've always been able to handle Lex all by yourself," Clark replied.
She looked mock offended and tried to peek around him.
"I guess I'll leave you to it, champ," she said lightly, smirking as she took off towards the elevator.
"Goodnight, Lois."
"You sure can pick them," Bruce said as Clark shut the door.
"You're one to talk," Clark said, although he knew relatively little about what Bruce may be up to, actually up to, from day to day. He folded his glasses on the table and walked back into his bedroom, all silhouettes and shadows. "I suppose the moment is gone."
"Plenty more where that came from."
* * *
A Man's Job
"At that, Scott replies to Oberon," Barda said, pausing for a moment to quell a laugh, "ironing is a man's work." She clapped her hands together, obviously tickled by the memory, and Clark couldn't help but laugh along with her while Bruce just nudged Scott in the ribs.
Barda sighed and leaned back on the sofa, looking at her cup of tea thoughtfully. "Then Oberon set off some of Scott's fireworks accidentally, and destroyed our house. The Justice League struggled valiantly to rebuild it, but we had some protest from our neighbors. I can't imagine why. At any rate, that's the tale of how I became a professional wrestler, brief as my career was."
Clark looked to Scott for clarification, but he just shrugged. Perhaps 'explanation' had a different definition on Apokolips. The conversation had begun when Clark had asked her why she was wearing a tank top that read "I kicked Lobo's Butt" (because she had) and ended up in a few seemingly unrelated places.
All he ever read of League exploits was the papers and occasional mission reports, when he was recruited to be their mouthpiece, but neither did the truth any justice at all.
As much as he always liked the subject, he knew it was just her way of prolonging a distraction from The Robin Debate. It had Bruce sitting as far away from him as possible, stubborn bastard. He'd rather continue yelling and get it over with, but apparently the sound of Bruce and Clark bickering had gotten tiresome for the other two.
Robin, Dick Grayson as he'd worked out but whose name neither ever used, was a boy, nine years old. He couldn't possibly understand the danger he put himself into. He was a boy playing a game, a deadly one, and Bruce just couldn't see it that way.
It was insanity. Stalking madmen and heavily armed criminals with someone that hadn't hit puberty yet. How could he not understand what kind of exploitation that was?
God, how could he stand that man?
"I have to go," Clark said, "I have some stories due."
He gave goodbye hugs to Barda and Scott, but Bruce looked particularly unhuggable, and he carried the image back to Metropolis and his desk for an afternoon of clearing out his inbox and the eternal game of catch-up.
Clark had already done his research, so in a few hours time he had three bylines ready to hit the presses, and a fourth, his pet project of the moment, a good head-start to be ready for the morning paper. Front page for sure; the first gun-smugglers to return to Metropolis since he'd last assisted the police in clearing them out.
He ran to the site in question, to keep a low profile, and listened to the smugglers talk, taking mental notes but doing nothing; he wanted to get them with the press, make them an example of how poor a location they'd picked to try this kind of thing. Tomorrow's headline, proof-read and sent off to copy, and he'd accomplished everything he'd intended to.
Lois called after midnight.
"Smallville, you alone tonight?"
Clark rubbed the bridge of his nose and rolled his eyes.
"Yes, Lois. What is it?"
I got word your big story already got back to the gun runners, still working on how they caught wind of it."
"Someone at the Planet?"
"Maybe, wouldn't be the first time. I have a few ideas, but you have your own problems right now."
"Yeah, thanks."
He had to admit, as grating as Lois could be, there was something about her, about how much she put into every word, aloud or on paper. He'd hate to be the Planet's leak right about now. And it looked as if Superman would have to get involved in Clark's story after all.
The airstrip was abandoned, but they'd left behind a clue; a shredded print-out of Gotham's overnight forecast.
Hours behind, without a comfortable familiarity with the city, and no idea where to start looking, and he was just hovering over the hulking point of civilization. It would be like finding a needle in a haystack, if they were even here at all.
He reached the point of frustration at the same time the Bat signal lit up in the sky, a new addition to Gotham that drew him over police headquarters. He contented himself to find an overlooking spot and wait to catch Bruce as he left, watched him talking to the new commissioner of police, a red-haired man named Gordon who played with his glasses and puffed on a pipe, even in most of his publicity, which had been rather substantial for a man in his position.
"Wow, oh wow, you're Superman," a small voice said, attached to an equally small body in green shorts and a red shirt, who wrapped himself up in a yellow cape on the edge of the roof and looked up all wide-eyed under a flop of black hair. "I saw something so I came to check it out, but I never thought I'd ever meet you Superman. I'm Robin."
"It's nice to finally meet you, Robin," Clark said, keeping to his Superman voice and a smile, and extended his hand. A little arm reached out to shake it, dwarfed by Clark's own. "I've heard a lot about you."
"Really? Did Batman say something about me?" he asked enthusiastically, "I didn't know he did. He never talks about you."
"Never?"
"He just told me once you were dangerous."
"Oh. Well, he says lots of good things about you, and... I try not to be dangerous."
"I never really thought you were," Robin whispered conspiratorially, "sometimes I don't think Batman is right, but don't tell him I said that."
"It'll be our secret," he said with a grin.
He could already see why Bruce would want the kid around, the darkness felt lighter, and while he still had his reservations, he was starting to understand.
Batman landed beside Robin a moment later, and gave him a glance that sent the yellow cape off the roof and sailing away faster than even Bruce ever moved, fluid and quickly gone.
"I never asked him to be Robin," Bruce said. "I didn't make his uniform, I just made him earn it."
"Believe it or not, but that's not why I'm here. I need your help."
Bruce settled into a wraithlike perch that only he could manage to make comfortable looking.
"I'm listening."
Clark explained the situation with the vanished gun runners while Bruce just listened, nodding when he was finished.
"I have another matter to attend to. Robin can assist you."
"You can't be serious, he's..."
"He's perhaps capable of teaching you a thing or two," Bruce said dryly.
And thusly, Clark was flying over Gotham's industrial sections listening to the chatter of a boy in a yellow cape as he rode a motorcycle down the streets and alleys, narrating the city with a surprising wealth of knowledge. Who hid out where, the most frequently used sites for contraband storage on this scale, who owned what.
A tour of the underworld that ended abruptly as the engine below him cut off and they hunched side by side over a dingy skylight. An old mill with a service road that could be foreseeably used as a landing strip for light aircraft right next to it.
"I can't see anything, tell me where everything is."
Clark described the location and weapons on each of the five men below them; two suits watching with cell phones and three carrying crates into the back of a box truck. Bingo.
The second he finished explaining it, Robin crashed down through the skylight and dropped smoke bombs. Hot cups of coffee were used against the suits, and the boxes being lugged became counterweights as the men were disarmed and incapacitated, leaving Robin perched triumphantly over the last thug, sticking out his chest a little.
"That's how you do it," he said with a grin, "pretty cool, huh?"
Clark and Bruce arrived at the front door at the same time, and stood there looking at each other, in a wordless debate on who would go in first. Or something, like a stare-down that Bruce ended by opening the door with a snap.
Scott and Barda were watching Wheel of Fortune on the couch; Bruce sat next to Scott on one end, and Clark sat next to Barda on the other, accepting a handful of popcorn.
Clark and Barda talked about politics during the commercials, but the other two seemed much more focused on outdoing each other in solving the puzzles. Even so, Clark managed to get "Audrey Hepburn" and "An apple a day keeps the doctor away" first.
The competition got fierce as Jeopardy came on; Bruce still won.
The credits rolled by and the TV flicked off as Barda vanished into the kitchen somewhere and the other three looked at the blank screen in silence.
"I was wrong," Clark said. "He never needed my help, not once."
There was a long pause before Bruce replied, finishing the debate once and for all.
"I told you so."
no subject
on 2006-10-06 09:35 pm (UTC)I also loved the Robin issue rearing its head in the second part. The description of B&C being mad at each other at Barda's was so...married. ;) Bravo on this. I really enjoyed re-visiting this universe.
And...welcome back!
no subject
on 2006-10-06 09:56 pm (UTC)I loved using Lois there, because I'm sure her view of Clark's love life looked something like two people playing Scrabble on a Sunday afternoon, hehehe.
Back at least for tonight, and trying to squeeze every moment out of it. XD
no subject
on 2006-10-07 12:03 am (UTC)A week had been an eternity to wait, for the taste of his skin and those wonderfully human muscles pushing against his.
That's a wonderful Clark line.
Sloppy noises and moans all like the beats of strange music.
And that's just plain fantastic. :)
I love your Robin, he's very old school and adorable. It was great to see him with Superman over without even really trying.
Good to see you around!
no subject
on 2006-10-07 12:03 am (UTC)no subject
on 2006-10-07 02:37 am (UTC)Sometimes a lot of those lines from quickwriting these kinda suprise me when I go back later, especially when I'm writing smut like that, and those were definitely two. XD
Maybe it's just these guys.
Some of my favourite Batman stories are getting into their golden years, so yeah, little Dickie has a lot to do with it. :D
no subject
on 2006-10-07 04:55 pm (UTC)Welcome back!!!!
no subject
on 2006-10-07 06:10 pm (UTC)Thanks, it's nice to play in the sandbox a little more again.
no subject
on 2006-10-07 05:55 pm (UTC)<3 Weeee! That's right, you tell him, Dicky!
These two were really great. The first one was very hot, and I was laughing out loud at Lois' look or realization that Clark wasn't alone. Oh, he was doing something better, all right. They seem so casual, but not exactly familiar, still exploring new territory and testing each other's boundaries. I really like the relationship you give them, very JLI.
And the second one was adorable. I lovelovelove Barda's "explanation" of how she became a professional wrestler. And little Dicky was perfect, so confident, so perfect for the job. It was really nice to see him be himself in all his young glory, and peek at the glory that Nighwing should be. Very cool. I'm glad to see you around! I missed you :)
no subject
on 2006-10-07 06:18 pm (UTC)I have so much fun playing with these guys, I really do. Even Lois. ::laughs:: And especially little Dickie. I want to give him a big ole hug. XD
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on 2006-10-08 03:51 am (UTC)...I try not to be dangerous." Cool Clark characterisation there! :)
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on 2006-10-08 05:38 pm (UTC):)
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on 2006-10-12 06:06 pm (UTC)I'm trying to be here, I am. I'm glad you liked what I am managing to put out.
no subject
on 2006-10-14 03:47 pm (UTC)::eyes the door you just opened::
::decides NOT to make a comment about it::
You're welcome.
no subject
on 2006-10-14 06:05 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2006-10-15 07:15 pm (UTC)