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5 January 2003
Smallville extended universe (SV + DC comics) Spoilers for the Batman graphic novel Arkham Asylum: A Serious House on Serious Earth Feedback integrates my personalities: janestclair15@hotmail.com Disclaimer: Not even a little bit mine. Notes: This is fed far more by "Arkham Asylum" than anything in SV continuity. I can't imagine Bruce not needing comfort after the filth and psychological torture he's been through. He has to hurt all over. Anyone with even a teeny, tiny Batman fetish needs a copy of "Arkham". Serious Earth
by Jane St Clair He leaves Robin with Alfred and drives out to Smallville. Black Jag with black matte interior, Batmobilish in the way that all the best cars are. Crouches against Lex's door without being able to knock. He thinks he may have given all his power to make decisions back to Harvey. He needs things to be linear. Arkham to Wayne Manor, Gotham to Metropolis to Smallville. Even the closed door was enough to stop him. He's scraping his nails over the paving stones when Lex finds him. One black eye, bloody fingertips. Raw all over. Ready to be led when Lex catches him by the arm and takes him inside, kneels on the parquet in his bathrobe and boxers and unlaces Bruce's shoes. Strokes his feet while he peels off damp, icy socks. The whole house smells vaguely like chlorophyll and chlorine. There are bruises on Lex's shoulders. Mouth-marks trailing down his spine. He isn't alone, then. Someone strong enough to bruise him, apparently, but not badly. He can remember Lex at seventeen, too naked for his own good, black and blue from shoulder to hip. How good he looked in blunt trauma. That summer, they smashed three cars, two doors, broke the handle of the kitchen broom. Broke dishes, curtain cords. There were ligature marks on at least one of them at any given time. There are two glasses in Lex's study. One of them only smells like sugar. A big, inexpensive sweater is abandoned across the seat of one chair. And it's comforting, really, that Lex's tastes haven't changed. Bruce can picture big shoulders, dark hair, very young. He walks through to the bedroom and glances in. The boy asleep face-down on Lex's bed still has his jeans on. He was right about the colouring. "How old is he?" "Younger than you were, the first time." Somewhere beyond that room, Bruce finds the pool. Dark wood of the sauna, cold now, very quiet when Lex closes the door. Lex swings at him, fast and careful, and misses. He didn't really have a chance, but it's worth something that he tried. He just nods. Strips and stands there until Bruce comes for him. Wraps around him and slams Lex back against the wall. The impact pushes all the air out of Lex; Bruce's weight against his ribs doesn't let him get it back. It's this hard, frustrating fuck, Lex's back against the wood panelling and his legs around Bruce's waist. Never quite flexible enough, quite slick enough, for Bruce to just take him. He finds himself chewing on Lex's shoulder just to keep from howling. There's blood in his mouth. "What the hell happened to you?" Lex asks. He's shining. He rubs his wrists against Bruce's neck, offering. Belt around them, twisting above Lex's head, hooking the leather high up. Suspended by his arms, held in place by Bruce's fuck between his legs. Lex still loves: black hair, white skin, blue eyes, men big enough to hurt him, blunt trauma, emotional trauma, isolated adolescents, need. Lex bites him when he comes. Hissing into Bruce's hair, limp afterward. He pushes himself up on Bruce's hips and releases his own arms, drops back onto the bench. "Bruce. What happened?" "Bad week." Bats. Blood. Eyes. Coins. Loa. Walls. Insects. Insects. Incest. He remembers a fifteen-year-old Lex in red silk, alone with him in Metropolis, a perfect echo of his newly dead mother. Bruce crouches. Sits on the floor and lights the gas fire under the stones, pours water on when they're hot enough to make steam. After a minute, he arches back and bites Lex's ankle. He draws traces of blood again, dark and dull in his mouth. Lex cards Bruce's hair, and it reminds Bruce that his own fingertips are shredded. He steals Lex's hand. Kisses it, sucks the fingers. Lex slides in next to him, tight as an aggressive cat, and chews on Bruce's shoulders. The watch he forgot to strip off whispers nine antemeridian. Kinetic mechanical beauty. It's his second in this design: he needed very much to take the first one apart. Lex gets up and collects his robe. "I need to get back. Are you staying?" "For a few hours. I have meetings this afternoon." Lex nods. "You know where to find me. Food in the kitchen if you're hungry." He goes. It's quiet in the sauna. He's very, very calm. Bruce Wayne, fucked-out sometime lover of Luthor's heir, sprawled in the expanding steam, fondling his favourite timepiece toy. Batman starts whispering to him sometime later, crawling up the back of his skull. He makes a lunge out to destroy the watch, but Bruce quashes the push and keeps his watch where it is, intact. Batman crawls back down and lurks in the dark. Eventually, Bruce gets up and turns out all the lights, lies in hot steam in the dark, and melts. jane smallville batman |