After The End of the World
Jun. 14th, 2007 06:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shankieHi. Remember me? XD
I haven't been near the internet in over two months, if you can remember back far enough to know who the heck I am, and after promising to be around and everything! Yes, yes. I know. Promises were made. But instead of finishing up the pieces I've already yakked about, I had to post... well... this fucked-up thing here.
Once upon a time, I read a fic that bothered me so much I woke up last night from a dead sleep and wrote a different version. Very different, and I think brought on as a reaction to what's sparking up with Clark and Wally in Pirates. It's fucked up. Seriously.
If evil, controlling, homocidal Superman isn't something you can handle, this is so not the story for you.
After The End of the World
DCAU (years after the fact), Clark/Wally, NC17: violence, non-consensual sex, dark themes, piles of angst, annoying Superman robots, unhelpful dodo birds. EXTREMELY ambiguous character death, with one exception right up front, but I don't really mourn his passing.
As the nightmare of a world ruled with the iron fist of the Justice League finally comes to pass, Clark removes the two biggest obstacles in his way; Lex Luthor, and the Flash.
It was a long time coming. Wally could see it in Clark's eyes, the anger that would flash red, becoming simmering rage that never faded anymore.
A fist cracked through the conference table, breaking it in half down the center with a shuddering crack. "We protect these people, we live and die for them! Are we going to just sit up here and be contented by occasional gratitude while they bring it on themselves?"
"We can't lose our faith in humanity, Clark," Diana said, her voice consoling, not quite believing her own words.
Red still burned in Clark's eyes, anger they all felt, sure. The government freed men they'd worked and fought so hard to imprison, television blamed them for costumed villains, and the lawsuits for property damage in metafights were becoming a problem. Batman had a fleet of lawyers working night and day.
Wally plucked at a parting seam on his glove, wishing he could say something silly to lighten the mood or something uplifting to give them hope, but nothing came to him and his teammates didn't have much patience for him these days. Diana already told him she was thinking of returning to the island, for good. John was thinking of looking to be assigned to another sector. J'onn had already left, vanishing without a trace or a goodbye.
"It's time we took more aggressive action." Clark remained standing at the head of the table, his hands crinkling the metal. "We're fighting the symptoms while the disease breeds. We have to cut it out, and be sure it can't grow again."
"What are you saying?"
"Take control," Batman boomed ominously, neutrality in what little was visible of his face. “Of course.”
The room fell quiet, the remaining six all thinking it through. Wally looked around to see resigned agreement. They seemed to have forgotten all about the Justice Lords and the end of the world...
"The first step is Luthor. I know where he is, and I can't let the law protect him anymore," Clark growled, his eyes still burning. Wally looked around and saw resigned agreement in his comrades. "I'll take care of him, and then we move. Immediately."
There was agreement.
"Wait," Wally spoke up, clearing his throat nervously. "I..." he wanted to protest, and it died with the looks in the faces waiting for him to speak. "I'll go with you."
"Fine."
Clark turned and marched out of the room, serious about the immediately and resolve all through his steps as they thundered on the floor.
The halls filled with the sound of his footfalls and passers-by parted to the imposing figure Wally followed. His cape fluttered behind him like the mantle of a warlord, his muscles like taut cables flexing beneath primary blue.
Neither said a word, beyond a barked set of coordinates barked at the transporter technician that sent them down to Earth.
They materialized in a field of wildflowers and a bright day. Tall grass came up to their knees and the sky was cloudless, edged by tall, graceful trees.
"Where are we?" Wally asked.
There was no reply; Clark merely flew up into the air, and then surged back toward the ground, violently tearing a hole in the earth, that shook and broke open. Wally jumped out of the way of flying rocks and dirt, then looked down into the hole that had been burrowed straight down. There was a deep shudder as something solid was impacted and broken through.
Wally took a deep breath and jumped, running down the carved edges of dirt and torn metal, emerging from the dark tunnel in a low metal hallway.
Clark had punched his way through one of the walls, dust still settling. He was tearing a path straight through the compound, a few groaning guards or destroyed security measures left on the side.
He'd gone straight for Luthor, and Wally only caught up with him to find the villain dangling in the air, Clark's fist tight around his throat, pure hatred on his face.
"You've troubled me for the last time, Lex," Clark said calmly.
"NO!" Wally flashed with fear and ran for them, tried to pull off Clark's fingers in vain. "You can't kill him, Supes, we don't kill people!"
Luthor's lips went blue, shock on his bulging eyes. Sick horror ran cold through Wally's chest as he desperately tried to save him, finally punching into Clark's solid back until his knuckles cracked and broke.
The hands gripped around Clark's wrist fell away, and Wally held his bleeding hands as Lex Luthor's body fell lifeless on the floor.
"Clark... how could you? Don’t you remember..?"
"This is war, Wally. If you're not with us, you're against us." Clark's glowing eyes turned on Wally, flushing cold with terror. There was nothing of his friend in that face.
"I can't let this happen," Wally protested, standing up to him even if it meant his death. "I can't just stand by and watch you murder people!"
"Then I'll do the kind thing and remove the moral problem for you." He said it so calmly, so coolly he could have been saying anything.
Wally closed his eyes and waited for the blow, reciting a prayer in his head until it came. He felt his skull crack before pain blossomed everywhere and darkness sucked him down... and he didn't feel or think anything.
When he could feel something again, it wasn't pain at all. In a mental haze, Wally tried his fist, found his fingers responding as they should, his toes.
Surprised he was still alive, Wally opened his eyes and sat up, momentary dizziness taking him as his stomach rumbled and burned with hunger. The room was alien, shiny blankets underneath him on a small bed, the ceiling glowing with ambient light, curving metal walls reaching up like arms all around. There was a strange clear table and chair, but nothing else.
He couldn't even see where there was a door, and without windows, he felt as if he were deep in the earth, buried somewhere.
And he was naked- almost. Wally's hands flew around his neck, to something hard and smooth, no catches or locks or anything under his frantic fingers. He tried yanking it off, panic as he pulled and vibrated desperately against it to no avail.
Clark, his friend, had done this to him.
"I trusted you!" Wally screamed, answered only by a hollow echo. "How could you!? Listen to me, answer me!"
A metal panel on the far wall began to slide over and Wally covered himself hastily, biting nervously on the inside of his lip.
Laden with a tray of food, a Superman robot glided in and over to the table, giving Wally a friendly metallic look.
The door had been left open; Wally made a run for it. Fast as he knew they were, the robot made no move to stop him, setting the tray down neatly as Wally hit the doorway and fell on the ground in a nerveless heap.
He felt strange, current hitting his system, buzzing through his body before the pain registered, blinding, searing so intense Wally opened his mouth to scream and nothing but a strangled sound came out, curling in on himself and twitching.
The robot calmly pulled Wally away from the door and set him back on the bed, the pain instantly gone, leaving him feeling as if he were made of jelly.
"Please don't do that," the robot said.
"You could have warned me," Wally grumbled, trying to cover himself again. "I don't suppose I could have something to wear? Or could talk to Superman?"
"I'm afraid I can't comply with any requests."
Wally eyed the tray of fruits, meats, cheeses, bread... "Is that mine?"
"Yes. You will have everything you need."
"I need to talk to Superman, I NEED to get out of here!"
"I'm very sorry." The robot was wearing a simple red cape, and Wally decided it'd be better than the tacky blankets, and neatly stole it off his shoulders, running up the walls up to a ridge where they met the ceiling, just big enough for him to hold on to.
"I'm not going to be naked! Okay!?"
The robot looked at him curiously. "Further theft will result in punishment."
"I'm sure it will!" Wally clung on until it left, and the wall slid closed again.
Once alone, he let himself fall to the floor, landing in a defensive crouch; but the wall stayed closed, and it appeared he'd be getting no retribution for snatching a scrap of fabric.
He ate and drank; nothing but a pitcher of water, but it was wet enough.
Clark was keeping him prisoner in the Fortress of Solitude. There wasn't any other explanation. What did he tell everyone else? Did they think he was dead, or just missing? Would he keep him here forever? Wally refused to believe everyone was in on it. Clark wasn't right just now, he'd come to his senses.
He hadn't killed Wally, hadn't hurt him at all. Except for the shock collar. And locking him away.
With some returned strength, Wally explored every inch of the floors and walls, tried to pry up the glowing ceiling tiles to no avail, couldn't even find the seam on the door that opened, but did find a panel that opened another door when he touched it. Predictably, he found a tiny bathroom without a mirror, a toilet and a sink built into the wall, motion-activated.
He waved his hand in front of the toilet to make it flush a few times, played with the water, and gave up on trying escaping through the walls. It was all nice, the room far too large for it's bare furnishings, and Wally couldn't think even now Superman would have made up a prison cell. It might have been a nice guest room, with something on the walls and some better furniture.
Wally redesigned it in his head as he figured out what to do with the cloth he'd stolen, not wanting to risk cutting it up, not having much to work with, he eventually settled on making a loincloth out of it, a strip of the silver cloth on the bed--which was surprisingly durable--tying it around his hips. It wasn't much, but it was something, and was the least silly-looking arrangement he could come up with.
The robot came back a few hours later with more to eat and less to say, and a few hours after that the lights dimmed to all but pitch darkness, at what he assumed was nighttime, coming back on at what he imagined was morning, and the robot returned with berries, yogurts, cereals, and orange juice.
The meals weren't quite enough for him, but they were good. The robot reminded him it couldn't grant requests when he tried to ask for more, ask where he was, ask to contact someone.
Another day passed, and another.
Anger turned into despair with every failed attempt to escape out the door, to fight the robot, to pretend he was sick. The collar would cripple him into agonized helplessness and the robot would put him back on the bed with a polite reminder.
More days, more waiting for the lights to go on and off, and Wally had begun resigning himself to never seeing daylight again. If nobody had come for him yet, nobody was coming for him at all. They didn't know or they didn't care.
Wally didn't even look up as the door slid open, stayed huddled up on the bed with his face buried in his arms, waiting for the robot to leave.
"Hello, Wally," Clark said.
Without looking up, Wally charged, flying off the bed with all his impotent rage, at the stony figure he'd once idolized, trusted, that had betrayed him and everything he stood for.
Fast as he was, Wally didn't make it. Clark had expected it, and Wally just stumbled and fell at his feet wracked with pain shooting through him. It kept on longer this time, until he felt himself passing out, senseless when it mercifully stopped and left Wally a gasping pile on the floor.
"I thought even you would know better by now."
"I knew you were a good man. I trusted you," Wally whispered, slowly opening his eyes to Clark towering above. "Clark..." A swift kick took Wally's breath away, and he curled protectively around a cracked rib, a tight pained sound coming out of him.
"Don't call me that again."
It hurt, but Wally laughed. "What should I call you? Your Highness? My Lord? Master?"
"When you're ready to be more cooperative," Clark answered coolly, "I may be willing to let you out of here."
"Fuck you,” Wally spat.
Clark turned and left without another word.
Left to imagine what Clark might want out of him, Wally crawled on the bed without healing himself right away, leaving the pain to keep him focused, to remind him. Clark hadn't changed his mind, hadn't shown any kind of regret. Just his captor now, trying to break him into submission.
With so little to hang on to, Wally could feel himself giving up.
Maybe it had been premature, not listening to Clark. Maybe he'd slip up, let him out and leave a way to freedom open. He could find a computer; try to contact the rest of the League, someone he could trust. Ralph, Barda... someone outside, someone that couldn't be involved, someone that could help him escape.
When Clark came again, Wally was accustomed to the clockwork schedule of the robots, even if he had no way to tell the time beyond the lights being on or off. The door opened off-schedule, and Wally knelt facing it on the bed, hands palm-up on his thighs, doing everything he could to show he wasn't going to fight; there was no need to go shocking him. "Now this, this is much better, Wally. We can talk, this way."
"I'm listening," Wally managed to say, his throat tight.
"I know you're a free spirit. This must be very hard." Clark sounded almost sympathetic, walking over to him unhurriedly. He lifted up Wally's chin, who stared up without looking back, not daring to.
"What do you want?"
Clark brushed Wally's hair off his forehead, smoothing it thoughtfully. "I want a safer world, I want to know I have the power of keep people from hurting themselves," he said softly, still touching. "And I've succeeded in that. I don't suppose you would know that in here." His hand sharply grabbed into Wally's hair and made him whimper as he felt a few hairs pull loose from his scalp. He looked into Clark's eyes and was terrified by what he saw. "You were the only thing in my way. It had to be you, always you."
"I had to," Wally choked, heart hamming wildly in his chest. "It's wrong..." he was cut off as the fingers squeezed tighter, threatening to tear it all out, like knives in his head.
"Everyone else understands. You're like a child, Wally, you don't think, and you'll never understand. Why we let you tear around for years was just blindness to your glaring stupidity." Tears began squeezing out of Wally's eyes, from pain or the words or hopelessness he didn't know. "All you have to know now is you obey me, or I have no use for you. Understand that?"
"Yes," he gasped, "I understand."
"And?"
"And I... I... God, please, Clark..." Wally was struck across the face, blood in his mouth as he was released to fall on his arms.
"Never call me that."
"I'm sorry."
"And you stink."
"There's no shower..."
"Well, maybe you can go out if only to hose you off," Clark said with irritation, yanking Wally to his feet and striding out the door.
Wally had tried to leave, and every time, he'd been shocked. His feet were rooted to the floor, even as Clark slowly turned around outside it, annoyance all through him. "You can just stay if you want."
"No," he said resolutely, and hesitatingly made it through unscathed.
Being outside the door was like entering another world, open and wide, even still inside. He'd gotten used the size of the walls; the ones out here were much the same, and it seemed Wally was right about it being some kind of guest room; potted exotic flowers lined the walls, opening into a grand hall of glass enclosures of artificial environments, trees, grass, birds, and water under artificial sunlight. Alien birds; and a few alien critters peeking out from the vast space.
"This is the Fortress."
"Of course," Clark answered lightly.
"Can I have something to wear?"
"That works well enough," was the dismissive reply.
Wally looked down at himself, just folds of red fabric gliding between his legs. Padding barefoot behind booted steps that echoed a chill in the air that made his skin bump up a little.
It got colder through another door, the walls made of ice and the floors sharply frigid, but Clark didn't seem to notice as Wally rubbed his arms and shivered. Could he run barefoot across Antarctica, through the lifeless wasteland, tearing up his feet on ice only to have to make it, somehow, to safety? Wherever that might be now? Maybe. He wasn't certain; but he was certain of the cold metal on his neck and the powers of the man keeping him here.
He thought about running very, very hard. Even just to a communication console, a computer, a weapon even.
Wally made it maybe a hundred yards before the pain hit again and he went skidding across the icy floor, writhing in agony and failure.
"If administered regularly for a prolonged period, that device is known to cause permanent damage to the nervous system." Clark sounded admonishing, and merely waited for Wally to pick himself off the floor and sheepishly continue following him.
"What is it?" he asked timidly.
"Rannian slave collar."
Wally touched it; he should have remembered that. He'd worn one before; they all had, captured by Adam Strange. It had come with matching wrist and ankle restraints that time, felt... different. "Where's the rest of the jewelry?"
"I made some of my own modifications. You don't need them."
"Of course I don't," Wally grumbled.
They came to a door, and it opened to what could only be Clark's rooms. They were decorated in things he recognized to be gifts given to him over the years, statuary from distant worlds and knick-knacks from teammates in a living room complete with a blank video screen on one wall, facing plush, stylized furniture. He could see a big shiny bed through an arched doorway, but Wally was pushed into a spacious bathroom instead.
"Behave yourself," he said, and the door slid shut as he left.
Wally wondered if Clark was watching him, as he stripped and washed off, choosing a showerhead over the wide bathtub. Even so, he couldn't help but enjoy being clean, trying to remember just how many days he'd been without more than a sink.
Even without any better clothing than the loincloth to put on, he felt better, more human, as he stepped out to face Clark again, pointedly avoiding his reflection in the mirrors.
"Here," Clark said, tossing him a snaking metal object through the air; a belt of flat linked rings.
It buckled in place of his makeshift strip of blanket, and Wally stood awkwardly, waiting for some kind of direction, hating every moment of it. Hating Clark, hating this place, hating being half-naked, hating his teammates for not rescuing him. Hating himself most of all.
Clark had the video screen on, and Wally looked up as he turned up the sound.
News footage of the United Nations, gathering before Shayera and John. The reporter's voice was shaky and the suit-clad galleries were all terrified. Wally squeezed his eyes shut and hugged his arms around himself. "Turn it off, please," he begged softly. "I believe you."
"Good." Clark stood, shut the screen off with a clicking hum, the remote falling on his seat. "I'm sorry it has to be this way. If you were allowed to do as you pleased, would you do anything but get in our way? Kill yourself, get others killed in a half-baked attempt to win a losing battle?"
"That sounds like something Bats would say,” Wally mumbled dejectedly.
"Not in the same words. But he did, actually."
"So this was his idea?" Wally backed against the wall and shook his head. "That's impossible, that's a lie.”
“Is it?”
Wally looked away. “What do you want from me?”
Clark came close, uncomfortably close, and Wally shrugged futilely away from his hands as they settled over his shoulders.
“Don’t make me hurt you. That’s all.”
“That’s a joke, Clark.” As soon as he’d said it, Wally tensed up and waited for pain. He wasn’t disappointed, his bones creaking in Clark’s grip, buckling his knees. “Oh God, I’m sorry,” he rushed, felt on the verge of weeping. “Stop!”
Wally could feel the deep bruises when Clark let go, stepping back reproachfully.
“You’re insane,” Wally breathed fearfully.
“I’m seeing things very clearly.”
“You aren’t, my God, C... look what you’ve done, made everyone afraid of you! This can’t help anyone!”
“Oh, Wally,” he laughed harshly. “You never were good at the big picture. Go to your room.”
“What?”
“If you aren’t there in thirty seconds the system will know. Get out.”
Wally hesitated, and then he did as he was told.
In his absence, the robot had changed the shiny blankets and cleaned the clear table. Wally noted it all as the door slid shut behind him, and crawled into the bed.
The lights went off, the lights went on. The robot came in, the robot went out.
Wally wondered what was happening in the world, wondering if anyone was giving up meaningful resistance. Were the League all together in this? Was this just the inevitable end spinning it’s way out only a little differently than they’d feared?
Inevitability.
The lights went off, the lights went on. The robot came in, the robot went out.
What could Clark possibly want with him? He said he didn’t want to hurt him and then did and acted like he’d much rather have him dead and out of the way. Any moment, Clark would walk through the door and crush the life out of him. Burn him to a crisp. Strangle him with minimal effort.
End it all.
The lights went off, the lights went on. The robot came in, the robot went out.
When Clark came again, Wally fell over himself to find the posture that had worked before, waiting fearfully on his knees. He’d never felt so powerless in his life, his speed only drawing out the worst moments to unbearable length. He should be planning some way to stop all this, save the world. That was his job, that was what he did. But he couldn’t even save himself.
“Good news,” Clark said cheerily, sitting beside Wally on the bed. He reached out and stroked Wally’s face, who turned away and shied from him as much as he dared. “I’ve thought up something for you to do.”
“Please let me go,” Wally whispered desperately. “Please. I won’t do anything, I swear, just please...”
“No,” Clark said softly into his ear. Wally shuddered. “If you’re good, you won’t have to stay here all the time. Don’t worry.”
Wally swallowed hard. “That’s easy for you to say.”
“My robots, as you may have noticed, take care of things around here,” Clark said, his tone shifting away from being ominous. “Cleaning, maintenance, keeping a watchful eye. Very watchful.”
“I noticed. Can I have some clothes?”
Clark chuckled and ruffled his hair. “They’ve been very busy lately,” he continued. “As have I. Freeing up some of their time is where you come in. Caring for my menagerie. Keeping the place tidy.”
“Be your slave.”
“This is for your own good, Wally. You can be a prisoner here, or you can make yourself useful, earn my trust, and keep busy. Wouldn’t that be better?”
“Yes, Master.”
Clark stiffened and Wally cringed.
“The robot will tell you everything you need to know,” Clark said flatly, bristling, standing and rising ever so slightly off the floor. Wally had finally gotten to him, but the victory fell flat. “You may begin whenever you’d like.”
“Yes, Master.”
There was a growl as Clark stormed from the room. It gave Wally a little hope, that his friend might still be in there. Somewhere, fighting to stay alive, same as he was.
But if Wally hoped to find a way out by being out in the Fortress, he was wrong. None of the computers responded to him, just a few door panels. Any kind of controls, the armory, or a way out were blocked. Wally began to doubt the place even had a way out. He tried tampering with the door panels, vibrating against the walls, but aggressive action all had the same consequence. Crumpling on the floor as his collar punished him.
Gradually, he gave up looking.
Wally met Clark’s menagerie, the alien creatures that lived in all different glass-shielded environments. His favorite was the dodo bird; that enclosure was grassy and warm, and if Wally closed his eyes, he could imagine he was outside under the sun, that this life was only a terrible dream. But, like the ugly flightless bird, he was still there.
After a few days, color came back in his skin, and Wally realized he’d been here for longer than he’d really thought. The robots politely refused to answer any questions, even how long he’d been here, the date, the weather outside, anything. They would tell him how to de-ice the inside of the metal walls, where condensation would build it up, where to find cleaning supplies and what to clean with it.
The dodo bird made better company than the robots. Wally began to confide in the dull brown eyes and figured it meant he was going insane, too, but he didn’t really care. If the world had gone crazy, all he could do was join it. The dodo would squawk out its bulging beak and ruffle its feathers without comment.
By counting the lights going out, it was eight days before Clark came again, this time while Wally was feeding a three-headed lizard thing brown lumps, clucking at it to come out from hiding under a rock.
“You’re doing a good job.” Clark’s voice startled him, dropping all the food and whirling around, backing off apprehensively.
“Th-thank you.” Wally kicked himself for thanking Clark for anything, uncomfortably shifted on his feet.
Clark walked closer and Wally’s chest tightened up in fear, but it wasn’t him Clark was looking at. He bent down and made a low sound at the hiding lizard, who crawled out into the bluish artificial light. It slithered over the ground and over to him, licking curiously at a lump of food he’d picked up. The lizard curled his tongue around the food and Clark smiled as it stole it away and swallowed it whole. Clark petted it’s central head lovingly, in a way that made Wally’s heart ache for the past.
“I almost lost this one when Mongul attacked, when Bruce and Diana came here. The wall gave way and the cold almost got him, but he’s tough.”
“How are they?” Wally asked quietly, almost regretting speaking at all as Clark’s attention went back to him. “I mean... is everyone... alright?”
“It’s been very difficult,” Clark said neutrally. “Bruce and Diana are fine.”
“Do they... do they know I’m here?”
“They know where you stand.” Clark stood and Wally backed up on jittery legs. “They know what needs to be done.”
When Clark left, Wally shuddered in relief.
But, as more time passed, he didn’t expect he’d come to miss Clark’s presence. Maybe he’d gone psycho and evil, and maybe he had Wally on a short leash, but he was the only person Wally ever saw. There wasn’t even a TV to have talk at him, music just to hear a human voice. He remembered the smile on Clark’s face and how much he cared about the freaky lizard and it gave Wally hope.
The extent of his searching now was little more than trying to find a pair of pants. Clark’s room likely had something, but it was one of the locked doors he couldn’t get through. Tall and arching, with decorative carving all around the edge, and utterly impenetrable.
And he’d gotten used to being cold; he didn’t expect that, either. Wally learned to keep his body temperature up by vibrating just a little or running around a little when he had to, making wet footprints in the frigid expanses of space, which was most of the Fortress.
When Wally finally found the way out, it had been in front of him the entire time.
The glittering walls of the main cavern were opalescent white and blue, he could only think it was beautiful. They opened up at the bottom into a wide platform, stalactites of ice hanging from the massive ceiling, and the sound of lapping water echoed softly from an opening in the ice floor where water twinkled.
Wally approached the carved edge and leaned down over the slow water, looking into a deep chasm that had dark shapes moving at the bottom. Fish he thought; they had to be fish. Which meant the water led out into open ocean. He could swim away, maybe the collar wouldn’t notice if he left that way and he could make it. He knew he could.
He had to try.
The cold was already biting through Wally’s feet, but he stood and took a deep breath, resolved himself, and jumped in.
Cold sank in all through him as he swam, fast as he could, enough to eat or no, Wally pushed down past the circling fish and tunnels of ice, running into dead ends, doubling back on himself, but finding the way in seconds. Ahead he could see light glowing from the surface and freedom. Joy gave him wings to swim faster.
He could see the shining undersides of the waves when the collar went off.
Wally awoke, again surprised that he was breathing.
He didn’t have to open his eyes to know where he was; back in his bed, in his cell, the lights on, nothing covering his nakedness. Clark sitting beside him. He reached out and began stroking Wally’s arm, and this time, he let him without pulling away.
“You shouldn’t have done that. The robots almost didn’t make it in time.”
“It wouldn’t have happened if you’d take this damned thing off me.”
“I made some alterations. It’ll warn you if you approach your boundaries.” Clark reached over and touched Wally’s face with all gentleness. Wally flinched, but didn’t move away. “I would hate to lose you.”
“Yes, Master.”
This time, Clark didn’t stiffen, didn’t react to the name at all. Wally despaired.
“They didn’t save the cloth. I brought you a new one.”
“Can I have some pants?”
Clark chuckled and patted Wally’s cheek. “I rather like it, actually.”
Wally stared at him in confusion. Like it? Like that he had to fight off the cold all the time? Like that he felt exposed all the time? “I want something to wear. Please?”
“I have x-ray vision,” Clark laughed, standing fluidly. “It doesn’t matter.”
The door slid shut behind him and Wally waited until he thought he’d be gone and leapt up to it, pressing his hand against the plate that should open it, but didn’t.
Clark was looking at him. Trying to demean him, that was it. Keep him down. But as much as Wally hated to be touched by him... he was the only one that touched him anymore. That spoke to him, that knew or cared if he lived or died.
When, eventually, the robot informed him that he was now allowed to leave the room, Wally went about his duties without protest. Happy to be doing something, even taking a little pride in polishing up the control panel in the main hall. He didn’t even try using it anymore. The dodo bird made him laugh sometimes, and the robots occasionally even made for a joke in their strange way.
Wally had become accustomed to captivity and hated himself more than ever for not hating everything else quite so much.
There wasn’t any escape, he knew that now. Clark was never going to show up one day and change his mind. Nobody was going to rescue him.
The world had forgotten all about the Flash, and even Wally didn’t think about him much anymore. He would remember running free and it gave him nothing but sorrow, so he tried to forget. He could, sometimes. Then others, the lights would come on and wake him in the midst of a dream, bring him back from his old life and sharply back into reality.
His world was gone, never to be recovered. All that was left was Clark, even if he’d become a twisted, hateful version of the man that was his friend. It seemed impossible that, once upon a time, the two of them had laughed while they danced together at a League Christmas party, had snuck into the Watchtower kitchen for ice cream after a couple of fights, had once stood proudly together as heroes.
Filling time was the hardest part. Wally put a few days into one project or the other; his pride was a hiding place he carved for himself, melting out one of the heavy stalactites in the main cavern. He lined the bottom with leaves from the jungle vegetation in the enclosures and one of his sheets. Wrapped up in his thick blanket, Wally could stay out of sight of the watchful robots in relative comfort. He at least felt out of sight.
He was up there one day when a mighty splashing noise came from the underground water, with the long-forgotten sound of a jet engine whining and slowing as a sleek black plane landed on the wide platform.
Clark flew up from the water, and Batman emerged from the opening canopy of the jet, meeting on the floor and talking as they walked up toward the computers and Wally’s place high above. He hid down lower and peeked out at them, his eyes wide. He hadn’t seen anyone but Clark in so long that Batman’s dark presence was very strange, looking the same as Wally remembered, walking up the stairs with his black cape flowing out behind him, so regal and graceful. Batman didn’t seem as if he’d notice Wally, until he was looking up, straight at him.
Wally leaned over the edge a little more, hoping beyond hope that Batman would be his salvation, would begin angrily questioning Clark about what he’d done to him, would do something to free him. He fought injustice, didn’t he?
Batman looked down again and continued walking like he’d not seen a thing.
In disbelief, Wally watched them both walk up to the wide consoles, begin pouring over figures and diagrams and maps unclear at the distance. Bickering a little, but not any differently than they ever had, arguing over small points and conceding to each other huffily. He watched them, then huddled back into his hiding place, pulling his blanket tight around him.
Nobody was going to save him. Nobody at all.
In time, he heard the plane leave again and saw Clark hovering in front of his stalactite, arms crossed over his chest, majestic and beautiful. Wally’s magnificent jailor.
“Stay out of sight next time. I don’t want you causing trouble.”
“No, Master, I imagine you wouldn’t like that at all,” Wally spat back.
“You stink again.” Clark grabbed Wally and held him back down to the ground, pushing him through the door of his rooms and into the bathroom.
Wally dropped the blanket on the floor and dutifully unbelted his scant clothing, switching on the shower. He stepped under it with a sigh, the hot water so good after the cold, after being smelly again. He took his time, washing over and over, scrubbing his skin roughly.
Again, he redressed and uncomfortably stood by Clark’s chair as he watched a news report. A blonde cheerily reported that crime remained almost nonexistent, and a last conflict in the Middle East was being personally handled by the Justice League, and therefore, she was certain, they would see the end of civil war as well as global disputes.
Clark patted the space beside him on the chair. “Come here,” he said with a smile.
Wally sat down and wished he didn’t want to smile back.
“This,” Clark said musingly, twisting the hair that had grown on Wally’s chin, “this doesn’t suit you at all.”
Without warning, Clark pushed Wally back on the seat, holding Wally’s head against the cushion with an unyielding grip. “Relax,” he said, like an inappropriately chipper dentist. “This won’t hurt a bit.”
It wasn’t exactly comforting. Wally squeezed his eyes shut and thought a prayer as heat vision burned against his skin, his nose full of the smell of burnt hair. The heat moved with painful slowness, working a slow way over every unwanted strand.
A powerful, cold breath chilled his skin, made him shiver uncontrollably as it pushed the remains and smell away.
Clark let go, and Wally touched his face, now smooth under his fingers.
“Isn’t that better? Come, look.” Clark caught Wally’s hand and stood, leading him on shaky legs.
“Razors work, too,” Wally muttered under his breath.
The bedroom was just as grand as it looked in glimpses. Alien artwork was bright on the walls, the furniture graceful curving forms, leafy plants growing in decorative pots. Wally was steered in front of a full-length mirror and this time, he didn’t have the option to look away.
Clark stood behind him, hands on his shoulders, seeming so much taller than he was before all this. Wally hardly recognized himself; his hair had grown a little shaggy, and he was thinner, paler than he used to be. The chain belt glinted where it pressed into Wally’s hips, red fabric flowing between his legs, still strong, his body still muscle-bound. Still something of himself left, his useless powers. Clark touched Wally’s chin, lifting it ever so slightly in his admiration, and more light shined on the collar resting around his neck.
Strength faltered, just a moment, and Wally leaned into Clark’s grip, closing his eyes to shut out the sight of himself.
“It’s been hard for me, too,” Clark murmured. “I had to make so many sacrifices. Lois... oh Lois.” He sighed heavily into Wally’s neck. “Do you know how long it’s been, since we took power?”
“No, I don’t, actually.”
“Three months, six days.”
“Over three months,” Wally breathed unbelievably. “God, I haven’t seen the sky, haven’t...” he shook and hid his face in his hands, tears falling hot and wet. Had it really been so long? So long, and yet... so quickly, for everything to change so much.
“There, there,” Clark murmured, wrapping his arms around him. “It’s going to be alright, I promise.”
“It’ll never be alright! You’ll never...” Wally froze as Clark’s hands kept moving, over his chest, down his stomach. The heavy breath in his ear, the groin pressing against him...
Wally had never considered there might be more to his being condemned to half-nakedness, constant exposure. His tears stopped in sheer surprise at fingers brushing his bare hips.
“Clark? What are you doing?”
“I told you,” he growled, “I warned you not to call me that.”
“I--I didn’t... I...” Wally stammered in terror that Clark would squeeze, crush him in his arms, but they stayed soft, reaching under the cloth the squeeze his ass.
“You’ve been good. I can overlook it once.” With one sharp pull, the cloth pulled out of the belt and left Wally naked and trembling in Clark’s hands. “Yes, very good.”
“Please don’t hurt me,” Wally pleaded, unable to stop himself.
“I won’t,” Clark breathed, and nipped at Wally’s ear, his hand exploring back over Wally’s quivering thigh, fingers wrapping around his cock, squeezing a little. “At least, not much.”
Fear or not, Wally would have been a liar if he said he didn’t feel himself responding, warmth flushing over his skin. He’d been cold too long to push it away. “W-why?”
“Why?” Clark chuckled, making Wally start with fingers pushing in between the flesh of his cheeks, probing against the pucker of muscle. A moan fell unbidden off Wally’s lips. “Always showing yourself off, throwing yourself at everyone that caught your eye. You were always a whore.”
Wally flared with protest, but they were silenced as he was swept off his feet and landed in the center of the bed, Clark lowering over him with dark lust in his eyes. He brushed his fingers along the skin next to the metal belt still slung on his hips, prompting Wally’s breath to quicken.
His body felt like warm lead, heavy and pliable to Clark’s caresses. Clark sucked at his nipple, flicked his tongue over it, then nipped, Wally’s body jerking as drops of blood trickled over his skin. “You want it, don’t you, whore?”
“Don’t call me that!” Wally protested, and tried to shift up on his elbows, wiggle away.
Clark grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back into the covers roughly. His eyes glowed red, and Wally shrank from them. “Why? Isn’t it true?” Clark reached between Wally’s legs and grasped his growing erection like a trophy in his hand. “It feels true to me.”
“No,” Wally managed, rolling his head back and forth, trying not to let the touch feel good, but Clark refused to let go, refused to let it hurt or be anything but gentle, careful strokes. All the while nipping around his collar, groaning heavily against his skin.
“That’s what everyone used to call you, did you know that? That is how they remember you, Wally.”
“That isn’t true,” Wally whimpered. Clark kept stroking Wally’s cock, straining and leaking in his grip, began licking his way down the center of his abdomen, swirling tickling in his bellybutton before he drew up his tongue and ran it over the wet head of his erection. Wally gasped and blossomed with pleasure, threw his head back and bucked helplessly against Clark’s ministrations. “It’s a lie,” he breathed half-heartedly.
“Slut,” Clark laughed, and another lick swelled Wally’s balls up tight, his body arching back hard as blinding whiteness blared orgasm through him, buffeting and encompassing, until pleasure ebbed away over his sweat-slicked flesh. Wally gasped for breath, shaking like a leaf. He didn’t dare open his eyes.
There wasn’t anything to see. Clark picked up Wally’s limp body and turned him over, arranging him smoothly, arms over his forehead as it pressed into the pillows, a hand fondling Wally’s tender manhood while the other pushed his thighs apart, lifted his ass into the air.
He knew what was coming.
“I’ve never, never done this, this, before,” Wally stammered weakly.
“Really?” Clark sounded genuinely surprised, but his touch didn’t change.
“Can’t take a whore’s virginity,” Wally feebly joked, but his smile hadn’t formed before it faded.
“I’ll be gentle.” He could feel Clark’s breath over his spine, teeth nipping down, biting into the flesh of his ass, making him squeal. Clark’s idea of gentle seemed to have vanished with his idea of justice, but it hurt like scratching an itch, hurt and felt... good. All at once he stopped, gliding off.
Wally remained frozen in place, exposed, flushing with pleasure and shame. Digging his toes into the bed as he longed to run and never stop, to run out under the sky, untouchable. Free. The pillow became damp under Wally’s face. He couldn’t even pretend this wasn’t a captor who’d given into desire for his witless prisoner, because he couldn’t pretend he was who he used to be.
Clark’s skin was bare and hot as he settled back over Wally’s body, stroking his ribs tenderly.
“What... what if I don’t want it?” Wally whispered, his lips tight.
“You do,” Clark murmured lustily, unconcerned.
A knee pushed Wally’s legs further apart as the probing hand returned, pushing a finger against his tightly closed hole. It was damp and slick, effortlessly penetrating past the muscle with a wracking moan. Clark moved it in and out slowly, murmuring appreciative, unclear words as another joined it, and another, stretching him open. Wally writhed and bit into the pillows to muffle his sounds.
They pulled out and Wally still felt as if they were moving, knuckles back and forth, in and out, and his insides began to throb in longing, absence. Still, he whimpered when Clark’s hand pushed his cheeks apart, digging into his flesh. The slick head of his cock entered just as effortlessly as his fingers, his strength tearing Wally open, a mighty groan above as it kept pressing in.
Wally cried out and Clark’s cock thrust home, his balls pressing up tight against Wally’s ass. “You feel so good,” Clark moaned. “So tight.”
Consideration of a retort died as he began fucking him, burning and sharply painful, at first careful and measured, but Clark’s breath became heavier, his movements harder, faster, screwing Wally down into the shiny blankets mercilessly. Hands gripped bruising tight over Wally’s hips, like a handle to move him back and forth, rocking against the thrusting cock.
It might have gone on for an eternity or only seconds. Reality, time, all slipped away, leaving nothing but Clark ravaging his body like claiming his prize.
A long groan fell from Clark as he thrust up tight and shot his load deep into Wally’s bowels, holding him, squeezing until Wally’s hipbone cracked and he cried in pain. Clark gently, apologetically, drew out and gingerly turned Wally back over, touching the place, looking through Wally’s skin at the damage. “I didn’t mean to do that,” he said softly, leaning down to kiss Wally’s tears away.
“I don’t know what you mean by that,” Wally whispered, staring up at the glowing ceiling. His powers knit the bone and washed all the pain away as he lay there motionless, too worn out to fight. If only the robots would bring him more to eat.
His body was lifted into Clark’s arms, carried into the bathroom, held close as the bathtub was filled.
“See, you’re fine now,” Clark said. Wally nodded and kept an unfocused stare at the gleaming fixtures of the bath. Washed up in hot water, kissed tenderly, numb to the world.
Dressed again, cuddled on Clark’s lap, Wally didn’t make a sound, didn’t feel a thing as he watched the news.
Reporters merrily assured everyone of how good everything was now, how much better the world was, now that Superman and the Justice League were sanctioning Earth’s governments and military forces.
They had everyone in the grip of their fists, safe and sound.
I haven't been near the internet in over two months, if you can remember back far enough to know who the heck I am, and after promising to be around and everything! Yes, yes. I know. Promises were made. But instead of finishing up the pieces I've already yakked about, I had to post... well... this fucked-up thing here.
Once upon a time, I read a fic that bothered me so much I woke up last night from a dead sleep and wrote a different version. Very different, and I think brought on as a reaction to what's sparking up with Clark and Wally in Pirates. It's fucked up. Seriously.
If evil, controlling, homocidal Superman isn't something you can handle, this is so not the story for you.
After The End of the World
DCAU (years after the fact), Clark/Wally, NC17: violence, non-consensual sex, dark themes, piles of angst, annoying Superman robots, unhelpful dodo birds. EXTREMELY ambiguous character death, with one exception right up front, but I don't really mourn his passing.
As the nightmare of a world ruled with the iron fist of the Justice League finally comes to pass, Clark removes the two biggest obstacles in his way; Lex Luthor, and the Flash.
It was a long time coming. Wally could see it in Clark's eyes, the anger that would flash red, becoming simmering rage that never faded anymore.
A fist cracked through the conference table, breaking it in half down the center with a shuddering crack. "We protect these people, we live and die for them! Are we going to just sit up here and be contented by occasional gratitude while they bring it on themselves?"
"We can't lose our faith in humanity, Clark," Diana said, her voice consoling, not quite believing her own words.
Red still burned in Clark's eyes, anger they all felt, sure. The government freed men they'd worked and fought so hard to imprison, television blamed them for costumed villains, and the lawsuits for property damage in metafights were becoming a problem. Batman had a fleet of lawyers working night and day.
Wally plucked at a parting seam on his glove, wishing he could say something silly to lighten the mood or something uplifting to give them hope, but nothing came to him and his teammates didn't have much patience for him these days. Diana already told him she was thinking of returning to the island, for good. John was thinking of looking to be assigned to another sector. J'onn had already left, vanishing without a trace or a goodbye.
"It's time we took more aggressive action." Clark remained standing at the head of the table, his hands crinkling the metal. "We're fighting the symptoms while the disease breeds. We have to cut it out, and be sure it can't grow again."
"What are you saying?"
"Take control," Batman boomed ominously, neutrality in what little was visible of his face. “Of course.”
The room fell quiet, the remaining six all thinking it through. Wally looked around to see resigned agreement. They seemed to have forgotten all about the Justice Lords and the end of the world...
"The first step is Luthor. I know where he is, and I can't let the law protect him anymore," Clark growled, his eyes still burning. Wally looked around and saw resigned agreement in his comrades. "I'll take care of him, and then we move. Immediately."
There was agreement.
"Wait," Wally spoke up, clearing his throat nervously. "I..." he wanted to protest, and it died with the looks in the faces waiting for him to speak. "I'll go with you."
"Fine."
Clark turned and marched out of the room, serious about the immediately and resolve all through his steps as they thundered on the floor.
The halls filled with the sound of his footfalls and passers-by parted to the imposing figure Wally followed. His cape fluttered behind him like the mantle of a warlord, his muscles like taut cables flexing beneath primary blue.
Neither said a word, beyond a barked set of coordinates barked at the transporter technician that sent them down to Earth.
They materialized in a field of wildflowers and a bright day. Tall grass came up to their knees and the sky was cloudless, edged by tall, graceful trees.
"Where are we?" Wally asked.
There was no reply; Clark merely flew up into the air, and then surged back toward the ground, violently tearing a hole in the earth, that shook and broke open. Wally jumped out of the way of flying rocks and dirt, then looked down into the hole that had been burrowed straight down. There was a deep shudder as something solid was impacted and broken through.
Wally took a deep breath and jumped, running down the carved edges of dirt and torn metal, emerging from the dark tunnel in a low metal hallway.
Clark had punched his way through one of the walls, dust still settling. He was tearing a path straight through the compound, a few groaning guards or destroyed security measures left on the side.
He'd gone straight for Luthor, and Wally only caught up with him to find the villain dangling in the air, Clark's fist tight around his throat, pure hatred on his face.
"You've troubled me for the last time, Lex," Clark said calmly.
"NO!" Wally flashed with fear and ran for them, tried to pull off Clark's fingers in vain. "You can't kill him, Supes, we don't kill people!"
Luthor's lips went blue, shock on his bulging eyes. Sick horror ran cold through Wally's chest as he desperately tried to save him, finally punching into Clark's solid back until his knuckles cracked and broke.
The hands gripped around Clark's wrist fell away, and Wally held his bleeding hands as Lex Luthor's body fell lifeless on the floor.
"Clark... how could you? Don’t you remember..?"
"This is war, Wally. If you're not with us, you're against us." Clark's glowing eyes turned on Wally, flushing cold with terror. There was nothing of his friend in that face.
"I can't let this happen," Wally protested, standing up to him even if it meant his death. "I can't just stand by and watch you murder people!"
"Then I'll do the kind thing and remove the moral problem for you." He said it so calmly, so coolly he could have been saying anything.
Wally closed his eyes and waited for the blow, reciting a prayer in his head until it came. He felt his skull crack before pain blossomed everywhere and darkness sucked him down... and he didn't feel or think anything.
When he could feel something again, it wasn't pain at all. In a mental haze, Wally tried his fist, found his fingers responding as they should, his toes.
Surprised he was still alive, Wally opened his eyes and sat up, momentary dizziness taking him as his stomach rumbled and burned with hunger. The room was alien, shiny blankets underneath him on a small bed, the ceiling glowing with ambient light, curving metal walls reaching up like arms all around. There was a strange clear table and chair, but nothing else.
He couldn't even see where there was a door, and without windows, he felt as if he were deep in the earth, buried somewhere.
And he was naked- almost. Wally's hands flew around his neck, to something hard and smooth, no catches or locks or anything under his frantic fingers. He tried yanking it off, panic as he pulled and vibrated desperately against it to no avail.
Clark, his friend, had done this to him.
"I trusted you!" Wally screamed, answered only by a hollow echo. "How could you!? Listen to me, answer me!"
A metal panel on the far wall began to slide over and Wally covered himself hastily, biting nervously on the inside of his lip.
Laden with a tray of food, a Superman robot glided in and over to the table, giving Wally a friendly metallic look.
The door had been left open; Wally made a run for it. Fast as he knew they were, the robot made no move to stop him, setting the tray down neatly as Wally hit the doorway and fell on the ground in a nerveless heap.
He felt strange, current hitting his system, buzzing through his body before the pain registered, blinding, searing so intense Wally opened his mouth to scream and nothing but a strangled sound came out, curling in on himself and twitching.
The robot calmly pulled Wally away from the door and set him back on the bed, the pain instantly gone, leaving him feeling as if he were made of jelly.
"Please don't do that," the robot said.
"You could have warned me," Wally grumbled, trying to cover himself again. "I don't suppose I could have something to wear? Or could talk to Superman?"
"I'm afraid I can't comply with any requests."
Wally eyed the tray of fruits, meats, cheeses, bread... "Is that mine?"
"Yes. You will have everything you need."
"I need to talk to Superman, I NEED to get out of here!"
"I'm very sorry." The robot was wearing a simple red cape, and Wally decided it'd be better than the tacky blankets, and neatly stole it off his shoulders, running up the walls up to a ridge where they met the ceiling, just big enough for him to hold on to.
"I'm not going to be naked! Okay!?"
The robot looked at him curiously. "Further theft will result in punishment."
"I'm sure it will!" Wally clung on until it left, and the wall slid closed again.
Once alone, he let himself fall to the floor, landing in a defensive crouch; but the wall stayed closed, and it appeared he'd be getting no retribution for snatching a scrap of fabric.
He ate and drank; nothing but a pitcher of water, but it was wet enough.
Clark was keeping him prisoner in the Fortress of Solitude. There wasn't any other explanation. What did he tell everyone else? Did they think he was dead, or just missing? Would he keep him here forever? Wally refused to believe everyone was in on it. Clark wasn't right just now, he'd come to his senses.
He hadn't killed Wally, hadn't hurt him at all. Except for the shock collar. And locking him away.
With some returned strength, Wally explored every inch of the floors and walls, tried to pry up the glowing ceiling tiles to no avail, couldn't even find the seam on the door that opened, but did find a panel that opened another door when he touched it. Predictably, he found a tiny bathroom without a mirror, a toilet and a sink built into the wall, motion-activated.
He waved his hand in front of the toilet to make it flush a few times, played with the water, and gave up on trying escaping through the walls. It was all nice, the room far too large for it's bare furnishings, and Wally couldn't think even now Superman would have made up a prison cell. It might have been a nice guest room, with something on the walls and some better furniture.
Wally redesigned it in his head as he figured out what to do with the cloth he'd stolen, not wanting to risk cutting it up, not having much to work with, he eventually settled on making a loincloth out of it, a strip of the silver cloth on the bed--which was surprisingly durable--tying it around his hips. It wasn't much, but it was something, and was the least silly-looking arrangement he could come up with.
The robot came back a few hours later with more to eat and less to say, and a few hours after that the lights dimmed to all but pitch darkness, at what he assumed was nighttime, coming back on at what he imagined was morning, and the robot returned with berries, yogurts, cereals, and orange juice.
The meals weren't quite enough for him, but they were good. The robot reminded him it couldn't grant requests when he tried to ask for more, ask where he was, ask to contact someone.
Another day passed, and another.
Anger turned into despair with every failed attempt to escape out the door, to fight the robot, to pretend he was sick. The collar would cripple him into agonized helplessness and the robot would put him back on the bed with a polite reminder.
More days, more waiting for the lights to go on and off, and Wally had begun resigning himself to never seeing daylight again. If nobody had come for him yet, nobody was coming for him at all. They didn't know or they didn't care.
Wally didn't even look up as the door slid open, stayed huddled up on the bed with his face buried in his arms, waiting for the robot to leave.
"Hello, Wally," Clark said.
Without looking up, Wally charged, flying off the bed with all his impotent rage, at the stony figure he'd once idolized, trusted, that had betrayed him and everything he stood for.
Fast as he was, Wally didn't make it. Clark had expected it, and Wally just stumbled and fell at his feet wracked with pain shooting through him. It kept on longer this time, until he felt himself passing out, senseless when it mercifully stopped and left Wally a gasping pile on the floor.
"I thought even you would know better by now."
"I knew you were a good man. I trusted you," Wally whispered, slowly opening his eyes to Clark towering above. "Clark..." A swift kick took Wally's breath away, and he curled protectively around a cracked rib, a tight pained sound coming out of him.
"Don't call me that again."
It hurt, but Wally laughed. "What should I call you? Your Highness? My Lord? Master?"
"When you're ready to be more cooperative," Clark answered coolly, "I may be willing to let you out of here."
"Fuck you,” Wally spat.
Clark turned and left without another word.
Left to imagine what Clark might want out of him, Wally crawled on the bed without healing himself right away, leaving the pain to keep him focused, to remind him. Clark hadn't changed his mind, hadn't shown any kind of regret. Just his captor now, trying to break him into submission.
With so little to hang on to, Wally could feel himself giving up.
Maybe it had been premature, not listening to Clark. Maybe he'd slip up, let him out and leave a way to freedom open. He could find a computer; try to contact the rest of the League, someone he could trust. Ralph, Barda... someone outside, someone that couldn't be involved, someone that could help him escape.
When Clark came again, Wally was accustomed to the clockwork schedule of the robots, even if he had no way to tell the time beyond the lights being on or off. The door opened off-schedule, and Wally knelt facing it on the bed, hands palm-up on his thighs, doing everything he could to show he wasn't going to fight; there was no need to go shocking him. "Now this, this is much better, Wally. We can talk, this way."
"I'm listening," Wally managed to say, his throat tight.
"I know you're a free spirit. This must be very hard." Clark sounded almost sympathetic, walking over to him unhurriedly. He lifted up Wally's chin, who stared up without looking back, not daring to.
"What do you want?"
Clark brushed Wally's hair off his forehead, smoothing it thoughtfully. "I want a safer world, I want to know I have the power of keep people from hurting themselves," he said softly, still touching. "And I've succeeded in that. I don't suppose you would know that in here." His hand sharply grabbed into Wally's hair and made him whimper as he felt a few hairs pull loose from his scalp. He looked into Clark's eyes and was terrified by what he saw. "You were the only thing in my way. It had to be you, always you."
"I had to," Wally choked, heart hamming wildly in his chest. "It's wrong..." he was cut off as the fingers squeezed tighter, threatening to tear it all out, like knives in his head.
"Everyone else understands. You're like a child, Wally, you don't think, and you'll never understand. Why we let you tear around for years was just blindness to your glaring stupidity." Tears began squeezing out of Wally's eyes, from pain or the words or hopelessness he didn't know. "All you have to know now is you obey me, or I have no use for you. Understand that?"
"Yes," he gasped, "I understand."
"And?"
"And I... I... God, please, Clark..." Wally was struck across the face, blood in his mouth as he was released to fall on his arms.
"Never call me that."
"I'm sorry."
"And you stink."
"There's no shower..."
"Well, maybe you can go out if only to hose you off," Clark said with irritation, yanking Wally to his feet and striding out the door.
Wally had tried to leave, and every time, he'd been shocked. His feet were rooted to the floor, even as Clark slowly turned around outside it, annoyance all through him. "You can just stay if you want."
"No," he said resolutely, and hesitatingly made it through unscathed.
Being outside the door was like entering another world, open and wide, even still inside. He'd gotten used the size of the walls; the ones out here were much the same, and it seemed Wally was right about it being some kind of guest room; potted exotic flowers lined the walls, opening into a grand hall of glass enclosures of artificial environments, trees, grass, birds, and water under artificial sunlight. Alien birds; and a few alien critters peeking out from the vast space.
"This is the Fortress."
"Of course," Clark answered lightly.
"Can I have something to wear?"
"That works well enough," was the dismissive reply.
Wally looked down at himself, just folds of red fabric gliding between his legs. Padding barefoot behind booted steps that echoed a chill in the air that made his skin bump up a little.
It got colder through another door, the walls made of ice and the floors sharply frigid, but Clark didn't seem to notice as Wally rubbed his arms and shivered. Could he run barefoot across Antarctica, through the lifeless wasteland, tearing up his feet on ice only to have to make it, somehow, to safety? Wherever that might be now? Maybe. He wasn't certain; but he was certain of the cold metal on his neck and the powers of the man keeping him here.
He thought about running very, very hard. Even just to a communication console, a computer, a weapon even.
Wally made it maybe a hundred yards before the pain hit again and he went skidding across the icy floor, writhing in agony and failure.
"If administered regularly for a prolonged period, that device is known to cause permanent damage to the nervous system." Clark sounded admonishing, and merely waited for Wally to pick himself off the floor and sheepishly continue following him.
"What is it?" he asked timidly.
"Rannian slave collar."
Wally touched it; he should have remembered that. He'd worn one before; they all had, captured by Adam Strange. It had come with matching wrist and ankle restraints that time, felt... different. "Where's the rest of the jewelry?"
"I made some of my own modifications. You don't need them."
"Of course I don't," Wally grumbled.
They came to a door, and it opened to what could only be Clark's rooms. They were decorated in things he recognized to be gifts given to him over the years, statuary from distant worlds and knick-knacks from teammates in a living room complete with a blank video screen on one wall, facing plush, stylized furniture. He could see a big shiny bed through an arched doorway, but Wally was pushed into a spacious bathroom instead.
"Behave yourself," he said, and the door slid shut as he left.
Wally wondered if Clark was watching him, as he stripped and washed off, choosing a showerhead over the wide bathtub. Even so, he couldn't help but enjoy being clean, trying to remember just how many days he'd been without more than a sink.
Even without any better clothing than the loincloth to put on, he felt better, more human, as he stepped out to face Clark again, pointedly avoiding his reflection in the mirrors.
"Here," Clark said, tossing him a snaking metal object through the air; a belt of flat linked rings.
It buckled in place of his makeshift strip of blanket, and Wally stood awkwardly, waiting for some kind of direction, hating every moment of it. Hating Clark, hating this place, hating being half-naked, hating his teammates for not rescuing him. Hating himself most of all.
Clark had the video screen on, and Wally looked up as he turned up the sound.
News footage of the United Nations, gathering before Shayera and John. The reporter's voice was shaky and the suit-clad galleries were all terrified. Wally squeezed his eyes shut and hugged his arms around himself. "Turn it off, please," he begged softly. "I believe you."
"Good." Clark stood, shut the screen off with a clicking hum, the remote falling on his seat. "I'm sorry it has to be this way. If you were allowed to do as you pleased, would you do anything but get in our way? Kill yourself, get others killed in a half-baked attempt to win a losing battle?"
"That sounds like something Bats would say,” Wally mumbled dejectedly.
"Not in the same words. But he did, actually."
"So this was his idea?" Wally backed against the wall and shook his head. "That's impossible, that's a lie.”
“Is it?”
Wally looked away. “What do you want from me?”
Clark came close, uncomfortably close, and Wally shrugged futilely away from his hands as they settled over his shoulders.
“Don’t make me hurt you. That’s all.”
“That’s a joke, Clark.” As soon as he’d said it, Wally tensed up and waited for pain. He wasn’t disappointed, his bones creaking in Clark’s grip, buckling his knees. “Oh God, I’m sorry,” he rushed, felt on the verge of weeping. “Stop!”
Wally could feel the deep bruises when Clark let go, stepping back reproachfully.
“You’re insane,” Wally breathed fearfully.
“I’m seeing things very clearly.”
“You aren’t, my God, C... look what you’ve done, made everyone afraid of you! This can’t help anyone!”
“Oh, Wally,” he laughed harshly. “You never were good at the big picture. Go to your room.”
“What?”
“If you aren’t there in thirty seconds the system will know. Get out.”
Wally hesitated, and then he did as he was told.
In his absence, the robot had changed the shiny blankets and cleaned the clear table. Wally noted it all as the door slid shut behind him, and crawled into the bed.
The lights went off, the lights went on. The robot came in, the robot went out.
Wally wondered what was happening in the world, wondering if anyone was giving up meaningful resistance. Were the League all together in this? Was this just the inevitable end spinning it’s way out only a little differently than they’d feared?
Inevitability.
The lights went off, the lights went on. The robot came in, the robot went out.
What could Clark possibly want with him? He said he didn’t want to hurt him and then did and acted like he’d much rather have him dead and out of the way. Any moment, Clark would walk through the door and crush the life out of him. Burn him to a crisp. Strangle him with minimal effort.
End it all.
The lights went off, the lights went on. The robot came in, the robot went out.
When Clark came again, Wally fell over himself to find the posture that had worked before, waiting fearfully on his knees. He’d never felt so powerless in his life, his speed only drawing out the worst moments to unbearable length. He should be planning some way to stop all this, save the world. That was his job, that was what he did. But he couldn’t even save himself.
“Good news,” Clark said cheerily, sitting beside Wally on the bed. He reached out and stroked Wally’s face, who turned away and shied from him as much as he dared. “I’ve thought up something for you to do.”
“Please let me go,” Wally whispered desperately. “Please. I won’t do anything, I swear, just please...”
“No,” Clark said softly into his ear. Wally shuddered. “If you’re good, you won’t have to stay here all the time. Don’t worry.”
Wally swallowed hard. “That’s easy for you to say.”
“My robots, as you may have noticed, take care of things around here,” Clark said, his tone shifting away from being ominous. “Cleaning, maintenance, keeping a watchful eye. Very watchful.”
“I noticed. Can I have some clothes?”
Clark chuckled and ruffled his hair. “They’ve been very busy lately,” he continued. “As have I. Freeing up some of their time is where you come in. Caring for my menagerie. Keeping the place tidy.”
“Be your slave.”
“This is for your own good, Wally. You can be a prisoner here, or you can make yourself useful, earn my trust, and keep busy. Wouldn’t that be better?”
“Yes, Master.”
Clark stiffened and Wally cringed.
“The robot will tell you everything you need to know,” Clark said flatly, bristling, standing and rising ever so slightly off the floor. Wally had finally gotten to him, but the victory fell flat. “You may begin whenever you’d like.”
“Yes, Master.”
There was a growl as Clark stormed from the room. It gave Wally a little hope, that his friend might still be in there. Somewhere, fighting to stay alive, same as he was.
But if Wally hoped to find a way out by being out in the Fortress, he was wrong. None of the computers responded to him, just a few door panels. Any kind of controls, the armory, or a way out were blocked. Wally began to doubt the place even had a way out. He tried tampering with the door panels, vibrating against the walls, but aggressive action all had the same consequence. Crumpling on the floor as his collar punished him.
Gradually, he gave up looking.
Wally met Clark’s menagerie, the alien creatures that lived in all different glass-shielded environments. His favorite was the dodo bird; that enclosure was grassy and warm, and if Wally closed his eyes, he could imagine he was outside under the sun, that this life was only a terrible dream. But, like the ugly flightless bird, he was still there.
After a few days, color came back in his skin, and Wally realized he’d been here for longer than he’d really thought. The robots politely refused to answer any questions, even how long he’d been here, the date, the weather outside, anything. They would tell him how to de-ice the inside of the metal walls, where condensation would build it up, where to find cleaning supplies and what to clean with it.
The dodo bird made better company than the robots. Wally began to confide in the dull brown eyes and figured it meant he was going insane, too, but he didn’t really care. If the world had gone crazy, all he could do was join it. The dodo would squawk out its bulging beak and ruffle its feathers without comment.
By counting the lights going out, it was eight days before Clark came again, this time while Wally was feeding a three-headed lizard thing brown lumps, clucking at it to come out from hiding under a rock.
“You’re doing a good job.” Clark’s voice startled him, dropping all the food and whirling around, backing off apprehensively.
“Th-thank you.” Wally kicked himself for thanking Clark for anything, uncomfortably shifted on his feet.
Clark walked closer and Wally’s chest tightened up in fear, but it wasn’t him Clark was looking at. He bent down and made a low sound at the hiding lizard, who crawled out into the bluish artificial light. It slithered over the ground and over to him, licking curiously at a lump of food he’d picked up. The lizard curled his tongue around the food and Clark smiled as it stole it away and swallowed it whole. Clark petted it’s central head lovingly, in a way that made Wally’s heart ache for the past.
“I almost lost this one when Mongul attacked, when Bruce and Diana came here. The wall gave way and the cold almost got him, but he’s tough.”
“How are they?” Wally asked quietly, almost regretting speaking at all as Clark’s attention went back to him. “I mean... is everyone... alright?”
“It’s been very difficult,” Clark said neutrally. “Bruce and Diana are fine.”
“Do they... do they know I’m here?”
“They know where you stand.” Clark stood and Wally backed up on jittery legs. “They know what needs to be done.”
When Clark left, Wally shuddered in relief.
But, as more time passed, he didn’t expect he’d come to miss Clark’s presence. Maybe he’d gone psycho and evil, and maybe he had Wally on a short leash, but he was the only person Wally ever saw. There wasn’t even a TV to have talk at him, music just to hear a human voice. He remembered the smile on Clark’s face and how much he cared about the freaky lizard and it gave Wally hope.
The extent of his searching now was little more than trying to find a pair of pants. Clark’s room likely had something, but it was one of the locked doors he couldn’t get through. Tall and arching, with decorative carving all around the edge, and utterly impenetrable.
And he’d gotten used to being cold; he didn’t expect that, either. Wally learned to keep his body temperature up by vibrating just a little or running around a little when he had to, making wet footprints in the frigid expanses of space, which was most of the Fortress.
When Wally finally found the way out, it had been in front of him the entire time.
The glittering walls of the main cavern were opalescent white and blue, he could only think it was beautiful. They opened up at the bottom into a wide platform, stalactites of ice hanging from the massive ceiling, and the sound of lapping water echoed softly from an opening in the ice floor where water twinkled.
Wally approached the carved edge and leaned down over the slow water, looking into a deep chasm that had dark shapes moving at the bottom. Fish he thought; they had to be fish. Which meant the water led out into open ocean. He could swim away, maybe the collar wouldn’t notice if he left that way and he could make it. He knew he could.
He had to try.
The cold was already biting through Wally’s feet, but he stood and took a deep breath, resolved himself, and jumped in.
Cold sank in all through him as he swam, fast as he could, enough to eat or no, Wally pushed down past the circling fish and tunnels of ice, running into dead ends, doubling back on himself, but finding the way in seconds. Ahead he could see light glowing from the surface and freedom. Joy gave him wings to swim faster.
He could see the shining undersides of the waves when the collar went off.
Wally awoke, again surprised that he was breathing.
He didn’t have to open his eyes to know where he was; back in his bed, in his cell, the lights on, nothing covering his nakedness. Clark sitting beside him. He reached out and began stroking Wally’s arm, and this time, he let him without pulling away.
“You shouldn’t have done that. The robots almost didn’t make it in time.”
“It wouldn’t have happened if you’d take this damned thing off me.”
“I made some alterations. It’ll warn you if you approach your boundaries.” Clark reached over and touched Wally’s face with all gentleness. Wally flinched, but didn’t move away. “I would hate to lose you.”
“Yes, Master.”
This time, Clark didn’t stiffen, didn’t react to the name at all. Wally despaired.
“They didn’t save the cloth. I brought you a new one.”
“Can I have some pants?”
Clark chuckled and patted Wally’s cheek. “I rather like it, actually.”
Wally stared at him in confusion. Like it? Like that he had to fight off the cold all the time? Like that he felt exposed all the time? “I want something to wear. Please?”
“I have x-ray vision,” Clark laughed, standing fluidly. “It doesn’t matter.”
The door slid shut behind him and Wally waited until he thought he’d be gone and leapt up to it, pressing his hand against the plate that should open it, but didn’t.
Clark was looking at him. Trying to demean him, that was it. Keep him down. But as much as Wally hated to be touched by him... he was the only one that touched him anymore. That spoke to him, that knew or cared if he lived or died.
When, eventually, the robot informed him that he was now allowed to leave the room, Wally went about his duties without protest. Happy to be doing something, even taking a little pride in polishing up the control panel in the main hall. He didn’t even try using it anymore. The dodo bird made him laugh sometimes, and the robots occasionally even made for a joke in their strange way.
Wally had become accustomed to captivity and hated himself more than ever for not hating everything else quite so much.
There wasn’t any escape, he knew that now. Clark was never going to show up one day and change his mind. Nobody was going to rescue him.
The world had forgotten all about the Flash, and even Wally didn’t think about him much anymore. He would remember running free and it gave him nothing but sorrow, so he tried to forget. He could, sometimes. Then others, the lights would come on and wake him in the midst of a dream, bring him back from his old life and sharply back into reality.
His world was gone, never to be recovered. All that was left was Clark, even if he’d become a twisted, hateful version of the man that was his friend. It seemed impossible that, once upon a time, the two of them had laughed while they danced together at a League Christmas party, had snuck into the Watchtower kitchen for ice cream after a couple of fights, had once stood proudly together as heroes.
Filling time was the hardest part. Wally put a few days into one project or the other; his pride was a hiding place he carved for himself, melting out one of the heavy stalactites in the main cavern. He lined the bottom with leaves from the jungle vegetation in the enclosures and one of his sheets. Wrapped up in his thick blanket, Wally could stay out of sight of the watchful robots in relative comfort. He at least felt out of sight.
He was up there one day when a mighty splashing noise came from the underground water, with the long-forgotten sound of a jet engine whining and slowing as a sleek black plane landed on the wide platform.
Clark flew up from the water, and Batman emerged from the opening canopy of the jet, meeting on the floor and talking as they walked up toward the computers and Wally’s place high above. He hid down lower and peeked out at them, his eyes wide. He hadn’t seen anyone but Clark in so long that Batman’s dark presence was very strange, looking the same as Wally remembered, walking up the stairs with his black cape flowing out behind him, so regal and graceful. Batman didn’t seem as if he’d notice Wally, until he was looking up, straight at him.
Wally leaned over the edge a little more, hoping beyond hope that Batman would be his salvation, would begin angrily questioning Clark about what he’d done to him, would do something to free him. He fought injustice, didn’t he?
Batman looked down again and continued walking like he’d not seen a thing.
In disbelief, Wally watched them both walk up to the wide consoles, begin pouring over figures and diagrams and maps unclear at the distance. Bickering a little, but not any differently than they ever had, arguing over small points and conceding to each other huffily. He watched them, then huddled back into his hiding place, pulling his blanket tight around him.
Nobody was going to save him. Nobody at all.
In time, he heard the plane leave again and saw Clark hovering in front of his stalactite, arms crossed over his chest, majestic and beautiful. Wally’s magnificent jailor.
“Stay out of sight next time. I don’t want you causing trouble.”
“No, Master, I imagine you wouldn’t like that at all,” Wally spat back.
“You stink again.” Clark grabbed Wally and held him back down to the ground, pushing him through the door of his rooms and into the bathroom.
Wally dropped the blanket on the floor and dutifully unbelted his scant clothing, switching on the shower. He stepped under it with a sigh, the hot water so good after the cold, after being smelly again. He took his time, washing over and over, scrubbing his skin roughly.
Again, he redressed and uncomfortably stood by Clark’s chair as he watched a news report. A blonde cheerily reported that crime remained almost nonexistent, and a last conflict in the Middle East was being personally handled by the Justice League, and therefore, she was certain, they would see the end of civil war as well as global disputes.
Clark patted the space beside him on the chair. “Come here,” he said with a smile.
Wally sat down and wished he didn’t want to smile back.
“This,” Clark said musingly, twisting the hair that had grown on Wally’s chin, “this doesn’t suit you at all.”
Without warning, Clark pushed Wally back on the seat, holding Wally’s head against the cushion with an unyielding grip. “Relax,” he said, like an inappropriately chipper dentist. “This won’t hurt a bit.”
It wasn’t exactly comforting. Wally squeezed his eyes shut and thought a prayer as heat vision burned against his skin, his nose full of the smell of burnt hair. The heat moved with painful slowness, working a slow way over every unwanted strand.
A powerful, cold breath chilled his skin, made him shiver uncontrollably as it pushed the remains and smell away.
Clark let go, and Wally touched his face, now smooth under his fingers.
“Isn’t that better? Come, look.” Clark caught Wally’s hand and stood, leading him on shaky legs.
“Razors work, too,” Wally muttered under his breath.
The bedroom was just as grand as it looked in glimpses. Alien artwork was bright on the walls, the furniture graceful curving forms, leafy plants growing in decorative pots. Wally was steered in front of a full-length mirror and this time, he didn’t have the option to look away.
Clark stood behind him, hands on his shoulders, seeming so much taller than he was before all this. Wally hardly recognized himself; his hair had grown a little shaggy, and he was thinner, paler than he used to be. The chain belt glinted where it pressed into Wally’s hips, red fabric flowing between his legs, still strong, his body still muscle-bound. Still something of himself left, his useless powers. Clark touched Wally’s chin, lifting it ever so slightly in his admiration, and more light shined on the collar resting around his neck.
Strength faltered, just a moment, and Wally leaned into Clark’s grip, closing his eyes to shut out the sight of himself.
“It’s been hard for me, too,” Clark murmured. “I had to make so many sacrifices. Lois... oh Lois.” He sighed heavily into Wally’s neck. “Do you know how long it’s been, since we took power?”
“No, I don’t, actually.”
“Three months, six days.”
“Over three months,” Wally breathed unbelievably. “God, I haven’t seen the sky, haven’t...” he shook and hid his face in his hands, tears falling hot and wet. Had it really been so long? So long, and yet... so quickly, for everything to change so much.
“There, there,” Clark murmured, wrapping his arms around him. “It’s going to be alright, I promise.”
“It’ll never be alright! You’ll never...” Wally froze as Clark’s hands kept moving, over his chest, down his stomach. The heavy breath in his ear, the groin pressing against him...
Wally had never considered there might be more to his being condemned to half-nakedness, constant exposure. His tears stopped in sheer surprise at fingers brushing his bare hips.
“Clark? What are you doing?”
“I told you,” he growled, “I warned you not to call me that.”
“I--I didn’t... I...” Wally stammered in terror that Clark would squeeze, crush him in his arms, but they stayed soft, reaching under the cloth the squeeze his ass.
“You’ve been good. I can overlook it once.” With one sharp pull, the cloth pulled out of the belt and left Wally naked and trembling in Clark’s hands. “Yes, very good.”
“Please don’t hurt me,” Wally pleaded, unable to stop himself.
“I won’t,” Clark breathed, and nipped at Wally’s ear, his hand exploring back over Wally’s quivering thigh, fingers wrapping around his cock, squeezing a little. “At least, not much.”
Fear or not, Wally would have been a liar if he said he didn’t feel himself responding, warmth flushing over his skin. He’d been cold too long to push it away. “W-why?”
“Why?” Clark chuckled, making Wally start with fingers pushing in between the flesh of his cheeks, probing against the pucker of muscle. A moan fell unbidden off Wally’s lips. “Always showing yourself off, throwing yourself at everyone that caught your eye. You were always a whore.”
Wally flared with protest, but they were silenced as he was swept off his feet and landed in the center of the bed, Clark lowering over him with dark lust in his eyes. He brushed his fingers along the skin next to the metal belt still slung on his hips, prompting Wally’s breath to quicken.
His body felt like warm lead, heavy and pliable to Clark’s caresses. Clark sucked at his nipple, flicked his tongue over it, then nipped, Wally’s body jerking as drops of blood trickled over his skin. “You want it, don’t you, whore?”
“Don’t call me that!” Wally protested, and tried to shift up on his elbows, wiggle away.
Clark grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back into the covers roughly. His eyes glowed red, and Wally shrank from them. “Why? Isn’t it true?” Clark reached between Wally’s legs and grasped his growing erection like a trophy in his hand. “It feels true to me.”
“No,” Wally managed, rolling his head back and forth, trying not to let the touch feel good, but Clark refused to let go, refused to let it hurt or be anything but gentle, careful strokes. All the while nipping around his collar, groaning heavily against his skin.
“That’s what everyone used to call you, did you know that? That is how they remember you, Wally.”
“That isn’t true,” Wally whimpered. Clark kept stroking Wally’s cock, straining and leaking in his grip, began licking his way down the center of his abdomen, swirling tickling in his bellybutton before he drew up his tongue and ran it over the wet head of his erection. Wally gasped and blossomed with pleasure, threw his head back and bucked helplessly against Clark’s ministrations. “It’s a lie,” he breathed half-heartedly.
“Slut,” Clark laughed, and another lick swelled Wally’s balls up tight, his body arching back hard as blinding whiteness blared orgasm through him, buffeting and encompassing, until pleasure ebbed away over his sweat-slicked flesh. Wally gasped for breath, shaking like a leaf. He didn’t dare open his eyes.
There wasn’t anything to see. Clark picked up Wally’s limp body and turned him over, arranging him smoothly, arms over his forehead as it pressed into the pillows, a hand fondling Wally’s tender manhood while the other pushed his thighs apart, lifted his ass into the air.
He knew what was coming.
“I’ve never, never done this, this, before,” Wally stammered weakly.
“Really?” Clark sounded genuinely surprised, but his touch didn’t change.
“Can’t take a whore’s virginity,” Wally feebly joked, but his smile hadn’t formed before it faded.
“I’ll be gentle.” He could feel Clark’s breath over his spine, teeth nipping down, biting into the flesh of his ass, making him squeal. Clark’s idea of gentle seemed to have vanished with his idea of justice, but it hurt like scratching an itch, hurt and felt... good. All at once he stopped, gliding off.
Wally remained frozen in place, exposed, flushing with pleasure and shame. Digging his toes into the bed as he longed to run and never stop, to run out under the sky, untouchable. Free. The pillow became damp under Wally’s face. He couldn’t even pretend this wasn’t a captor who’d given into desire for his witless prisoner, because he couldn’t pretend he was who he used to be.
Clark’s skin was bare and hot as he settled back over Wally’s body, stroking his ribs tenderly.
“What... what if I don’t want it?” Wally whispered, his lips tight.
“You do,” Clark murmured lustily, unconcerned.
A knee pushed Wally’s legs further apart as the probing hand returned, pushing a finger against his tightly closed hole. It was damp and slick, effortlessly penetrating past the muscle with a wracking moan. Clark moved it in and out slowly, murmuring appreciative, unclear words as another joined it, and another, stretching him open. Wally writhed and bit into the pillows to muffle his sounds.
They pulled out and Wally still felt as if they were moving, knuckles back and forth, in and out, and his insides began to throb in longing, absence. Still, he whimpered when Clark’s hand pushed his cheeks apart, digging into his flesh. The slick head of his cock entered just as effortlessly as his fingers, his strength tearing Wally open, a mighty groan above as it kept pressing in.
Wally cried out and Clark’s cock thrust home, his balls pressing up tight against Wally’s ass. “You feel so good,” Clark moaned. “So tight.”
Consideration of a retort died as he began fucking him, burning and sharply painful, at first careful and measured, but Clark’s breath became heavier, his movements harder, faster, screwing Wally down into the shiny blankets mercilessly. Hands gripped bruising tight over Wally’s hips, like a handle to move him back and forth, rocking against the thrusting cock.
It might have gone on for an eternity or only seconds. Reality, time, all slipped away, leaving nothing but Clark ravaging his body like claiming his prize.
A long groan fell from Clark as he thrust up tight and shot his load deep into Wally’s bowels, holding him, squeezing until Wally’s hipbone cracked and he cried in pain. Clark gently, apologetically, drew out and gingerly turned Wally back over, touching the place, looking through Wally’s skin at the damage. “I didn’t mean to do that,” he said softly, leaning down to kiss Wally’s tears away.
“I don’t know what you mean by that,” Wally whispered, staring up at the glowing ceiling. His powers knit the bone and washed all the pain away as he lay there motionless, too worn out to fight. If only the robots would bring him more to eat.
His body was lifted into Clark’s arms, carried into the bathroom, held close as the bathtub was filled.
“See, you’re fine now,” Clark said. Wally nodded and kept an unfocused stare at the gleaming fixtures of the bath. Washed up in hot water, kissed tenderly, numb to the world.
Dressed again, cuddled on Clark’s lap, Wally didn’t make a sound, didn’t feel a thing as he watched the news.
Reporters merrily assured everyone of how good everything was now, how much better the world was, now that Superman and the Justice League were sanctioning Earth’s governments and military forces.
They had everyone in the grip of their fists, safe and sound.
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on 2007-06-15 01:02 am (UTC)no subject
on 2007-06-15 01:24 pm (UTC)I can't even believe I wrote this. XD
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on 2007-06-15 01:47 am (UTC)no subject
on 2007-06-15 01:22 pm (UTC)Aww, thank you. I hope I can manage to stick around this time. :D
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on 2007-06-15 02:18 pm (UTC)Now you got me thinking of what their reasons could be, what could have happened for them to turn like this, especially after you made it clear this is the League, and that they knew of the Lords.
But your unhelpful dodo killed me nicely =) ...
Welcome baack!
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on 2007-06-15 02:33 pm (UTC)But yeah, last night I got to thinking Wow, this story only has two characters in it, how bizzare. It was a little intentional, making it unknown to Wally if they really were in on locking him up or not. Does Batman not help because he doesn't want to... or because he can't? Wicked ups the feeling of isolation, or at least, that's what I was going for with that.
To be perfectly honest? The rest of the League weren't talking to me at all in this one. Beyond that they built a floating fortress patterned after New Genesis now parked off the coast of D.C., but that's not very helpful information. XD
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on 2007-06-15 04:34 pm (UTC)Alas, I'm sure that is not the one you are talking about.
I think I'm yet to find an evil!crazy!Superman story that makes he say 'oh, now I understand why he turned this way' (I only read DCU if Wally is involved, so that might be the problem). That your Batman (and the rest of the JL) agreed with Superman when he first raised the situation at their meeting gave me the chills ...
Uh. A floating fortress? (and J'onn is gone!). That's quite a random fact, they are obviously trying to turn you insane =P.
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on 2007-06-16 04:21 pm (UTC)I just think like Batman, I guess; anyone with that much power I just can't help but see as a ticking time bomb. Which is always in the back of my mind, even when I'm writing normal, sane, lovable Superman.
The fortress has a central tower with the League shield on it. It's very pretty. You might be right. XD
Woah... 00
on 2007-06-15 10:54 pm (UTC)Okay secondly I'll comment on this fic...
I have to admit that I was completely taken aback by this. Mainly because your Clark, from the various fics you have written, is nothing like this.
I thoroughly enjoyed the read and it was interesting that you only use basically two characters through the whole thing. Even though you did put warnings up I didn't hesitate to read, mainly because TPOV may have converted me ever so slightly. -Grins-
I have to be honest though this did kinda scare me shitless. Mainly because I think Clark truly believes that what he is doing is so right for the world and for Wally. That isn't a far deviation from A Better World but still...scary stuff.
Anyway I did love this in its twisted creepyness, way to come back with a bang. ;)
It's GREAT having you back.
Re: Woah... 00
on 2007-06-16 04:31 pm (UTC)It was an accident, having basically just the two of them through the whole thing (because those robots sooo don't count for much) but I think it was a happy accident. Reading it, I can't help but think the whole thing can be seen as Wally being Clark's concience, his humanity trapped in this harsh alien environment of his head and finally giving in. Which I didn't mean to do, but I like.
It took me so long to figure out what that acronym meant. Which is kinda sad, seeing as it's a title I came up with myself. Am I having a slow morning or what? XD
Writing this scared the bejezus out of me, so, YEAH. haha
It's good to be here, thank you. :D
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on 2007-06-19 04:18 am (UTC)So now that I finally reveal myself, I have the nerve to ask for a favor. Where can I find the other evil!Superman stories at? I do remember reading a few - one where Superman lobotomizes Wally, traps him against a tree, and uh...stuff ensues and another where Batman is taking care of Wally after a similar incident. I'd really like to find those stories, because I've been looking for them for some time now.
Anyway - I love your journal and your fic. You are most talented!
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on 2007-06-20 11:36 pm (UTC)I honestly don't know where you could find them, on that specific subject... hm. Pretty much everything, I think, is in the
I'm glad your enjoying my stuff, thank you very much. :)
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on 2007-06-29 03:00 pm (UTC)Am I wrong?
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on 2007-06-29 10:15 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2007-06-21 06:48 pm (UTC)The saddest part is that it seems like there IS no hope for Wally to ever get out. Unless, like you say that he's a connection to Clark's humanity in a way, there's a hope there, but other than that, no. Sad, man.
How you wrote this reminded me of 1984 with a mix of comic-y goodness. Great way of returning back to the LJ xD
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on 2007-06-21 11:03 pm (UTC)1984? Really? Nice. Thank you so much. :)
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on 2007-06-23 02:32 am (UTC)no subject
on 2007-06-25 04:48 pm (UTC)Convincing is good; everything about this scared me, including making Clark both evil and somewhat believable at least. XD
Thank you very much, I always enjoy writing Wally, especially if I can manage to do it well. :D
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on 2007-11-08 10:35 am (UTC)Wow.
That was terrifying and wonderfully painful. The part where Wally wants to imagine running while Clark gets undressed . . . I've read a lot of non-con, but that ached in such a new way. God, Wally. This was really amazing, thank you for sharing. :)
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on 2007-11-08 04:52 pm (UTC)Well, apparently, heh.
Thank you, I'm glad you enjoyed it. :)
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on 2008-04-02 05:57 am (UTC)no subject
on 2008-04-07 08:21 am (UTC)Superman going dark-side is one of my favourite things to explore... creepy is definitely a good word for the whole idea.
Evil Clark!
on 2008-09-08 09:56 pm (UTC)Re: Evil Clark!
on 2008-09-12 06:14 pm (UTC)I wouldn't say alternate version, more like... adopting the same kind of mood and feeling that the reader (and writer) is left with, kinda. I think the other one had Evil Clark the actual Justice Lords guy, too. If I remember correctly, it was a while back. I didn't buy the plot, but I liked the dynamic, I suppose.