[Justice League] Song Fics Take 1
Dec. 5th, 2011 06:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22a/n: Okay then. I intended to post a chapter of Event Horizon today but I thought it was in my reader's best interest to have said chapter edited first, so instead I bring you some little SuperBat ficlets.
Song: “Danuvius,” Audiomachine
Universe: Smallville AU
Warnings: fluff, intent to slash
Song: “Talking to the Moon,” Bruce Mars
Verse: Superman Returns/Nolan-films
Warnings: Angst, movie-spoilers
Song: “Sick,” Adelita's Way
Universe: Justice League
Warnings: slashy kiss, SuperBat
a/n: I shall try to get Event Horizon up tomorrow.
Song: “Danuvius,” Audiomachine
Universe: Smallville AU
Warnings: fluff, intent to slash
“I can.”
Bruce stares at him, at the unwavering way Clark stares right back, certain and unrepentant. “Impossible.”
Clark grins at him, all sparkling eyes and big, white teeth. “Watch me.”
Against all odds, eyes growing rounder and rounder, Bruce watches as Clark somehow manages to rise into the air, hovering no less than five feet above the ground. No wires, no equipment of any kind. He does a backflip, midair, just to prove his words further.
For the first time in his life, Bruce feels his jaw literally drop. He stares, circles around his hovering eventual-lover, and he can't find the words. They've all escaped him.
“I--”
“Fly with me.”
His gaze snaps up to Clark's, meeting amused blue eyes. “... What?”
“Come on, Bruce.” Clark lowers himself down a foot or two, and holds out his hand to Bruce, fingers waggling in invitation. “Let me show you the world.”
Despite himself, Bruce breaks out into laughter. “That is unbelievably corny – hey!”
Clark snatches his hand, dragging him up into warm arms that had never seemed to capable of carrying a full-grown man's weight before. Bruce shames himself by clutching onto Clark at first, looking down at the ground more than thirty feet below them, and climbing.
It's at once terrifying and exhilarating. It's a young summer day, the sun hot and unrelenting, but with the wind rushing past them, it seems so much colder. The ground below is a blur of color, the sky above a wash of blue, blue and more blue. Bruce's heart is thumping like mad within his chest, his grip on on Clark's shoulder and around his waist nearly white-knuckled.
He trusts Clark not to drop him, yet the wariness remains. They move so quickly everything is a blur, which is safer in the long run, from sharp eyes detecting them, but still...
“You're incredible,” Bruce says, the wind taking his voice and carrying it away, but Clark somehow hears him nonetheless.
Clark's arms tighten around him, speed slowing as he pauses over an old water tower, lowering them to the top of it. “I'm not human,” he replies, and there's an old ache in his words, an old wound that has yet to heal.
“So?” Bruce wobbles a bit on the curved metal, his legs shaky, but Clark's grip is steadying.
“Doesn't that bother you?”
Bruce lifts his shoulders and drops them, looking out toward the horizon. “Being human is overrated.”
“Easy for you to say.”
Bruce's lips curl upward. “The grass is always greener.”
Clark chuckles lightly, his chin resting on Bruce's shoulder. “One of Alfred's sayings?”
“He is full of them, isn't he?” Bruce pauses, reconsiders. “I'm not angry, by the way.” That, Clark had expressed before claiming he could fly, had been the main reason he'd not spoken sooner. Well, and the fear of becoming a government experiment.
Clark makes a noncommittal noise in his throat. “I knew you could be reasonable.”
Bruce reaches down, pinches the arm wrapped around his waist. “Brat. Now take me flying again.”
“If you insist,” Clark replies and swoops upward, taking Bruce with him.
Bruce stares at him, at the unwavering way Clark stares right back, certain and unrepentant. “Impossible.”
Clark grins at him, all sparkling eyes and big, white teeth. “Watch me.”
Against all odds, eyes growing rounder and rounder, Bruce watches as Clark somehow manages to rise into the air, hovering no less than five feet above the ground. No wires, no equipment of any kind. He does a backflip, midair, just to prove his words further.
For the first time in his life, Bruce feels his jaw literally drop. He stares, circles around his hovering eventual-lover, and he can't find the words. They've all escaped him.
“I--”
“Fly with me.”
His gaze snaps up to Clark's, meeting amused blue eyes. “... What?”
“Come on, Bruce.” Clark lowers himself down a foot or two, and holds out his hand to Bruce, fingers waggling in invitation. “Let me show you the world.”
Despite himself, Bruce breaks out into laughter. “That is unbelievably corny – hey!”
Clark snatches his hand, dragging him up into warm arms that had never seemed to capable of carrying a full-grown man's weight before. Bruce shames himself by clutching onto Clark at first, looking down at the ground more than thirty feet below them, and climbing.
It's at once terrifying and exhilarating. It's a young summer day, the sun hot and unrelenting, but with the wind rushing past them, it seems so much colder. The ground below is a blur of color, the sky above a wash of blue, blue and more blue. Bruce's heart is thumping like mad within his chest, his grip on on Clark's shoulder and around his waist nearly white-knuckled.
He trusts Clark not to drop him, yet the wariness remains. They move so quickly everything is a blur, which is safer in the long run, from sharp eyes detecting them, but still...
“You're incredible,” Bruce says, the wind taking his voice and carrying it away, but Clark somehow hears him nonetheless.
Clark's arms tighten around him, speed slowing as he pauses over an old water tower, lowering them to the top of it. “I'm not human,” he replies, and there's an old ache in his words, an old wound that has yet to heal.
“So?” Bruce wobbles a bit on the curved metal, his legs shaky, but Clark's grip is steadying.
“Doesn't that bother you?”
Bruce lifts his shoulders and drops them, looking out toward the horizon. “Being human is overrated.”
“Easy for you to say.”
Bruce's lips curl upward. “The grass is always greener.”
Clark chuckles lightly, his chin resting on Bruce's shoulder. “One of Alfred's sayings?”
“He is full of them, isn't he?” Bruce pauses, reconsiders. “I'm not angry, by the way.” That, Clark had expressed before claiming he could fly, had been the main reason he'd not spoken sooner. Well, and the fear of becoming a government experiment.
Clark makes a noncommittal noise in his throat. “I knew you could be reasonable.”
Bruce reaches down, pinches the arm wrapped around his waist. “Brat. Now take me flying again.”
“If you insist,” Clark replies and swoops upward, taking Bruce with him.
Song: “Talking to the Moon,” Bruce Mars
Verse: Superman Returns/Nolan-films
Warnings: Angst, movie-spoilers
The world somehow seems colder, emptier. Lonelier. Crime is at an all-time high, making Batman wonder if he's even doing any good. What about escalation, Gordan had asked. And now, Batman wonders if he may have a point. But doing nothing? That was never an option.
The criminals are getting smarter, more numerous, spreading their felonious behavior across the globe. To the point where Batman is reconsidering Superman's offhand mention of a league of some sort, a collaboration of superheroes to send aid where it's needed the most.
Then again, they wouldn't be having all of these problems if Superman hadn't vanished, discarding everyone and everything. Only Batman knows the reasons why but that doesn't make it feel any less like abandonment. He doesn't need Superman. Not at all.
But he does – did – enjoy having the annoyingly optimistic Blue Scout around once in a while. If only to have someone to practice witty retorts on. If only to feel like he's not alone for a few minutes everyday, that he's not fighting a losing battle.
Sure he's annoying in every way that matters. Sure he's a thick-headed optimistic fool, dancing a pointless dance of one-sided affection with that reporter. But he's also the world's greatest hope – much to Batman's annoyance.
Superman is gone. Nothing can change that. He's not coming back.
Batman can't keep watching the stars at night, waiting for a blue and red speck to descend from the black expanse. Maybe Lois has it right. Maybe the world doesn't need Superman.
But right now, Batman wouldn't mind having him around.
The criminals are getting smarter, more numerous, spreading their felonious behavior across the globe. To the point where Batman is reconsidering Superman's offhand mention of a league of some sort, a collaboration of superheroes to send aid where it's needed the most.
Then again, they wouldn't be having all of these problems if Superman hadn't vanished, discarding everyone and everything. Only Batman knows the reasons why but that doesn't make it feel any less like abandonment. He doesn't need Superman. Not at all.
But he does – did – enjoy having the annoyingly optimistic Blue Scout around once in a while. If only to have someone to practice witty retorts on. If only to feel like he's not alone for a few minutes everyday, that he's not fighting a losing battle.
Sure he's annoying in every way that matters. Sure he's a thick-headed optimistic fool, dancing a pointless dance of one-sided affection with that reporter. But he's also the world's greatest hope – much to Batman's annoyance.
Superman is gone. Nothing can change that. He's not coming back.
Batman can't keep watching the stars at night, waiting for a blue and red speck to descend from the black expanse. Maybe Lois has it right. Maybe the world doesn't need Superman.
But right now, Batman wouldn't mind having him around.
Song: “Sick,” Adelita's Way
Universe: Justice League
Warnings: slashy kiss, SuperBat
“When are you going to realize you're only human?”
“Probably the day you remember you're not entirely invulnerable!”
Superman's eyebrow twitches, the only betrayal of his building anger, other than the rising volume of his voice. “We're not talking about me!”
“We should,” Batman all but snarls, sliding to the right, continuing the endless prowl as he and Superman circle each other, like enemies about to come to blows. “You and your stubborn, reckless, foolish--”
“Oh yes. Insults.” Superman rolls his eyes, a childish retort in every way. “That's the way this always goes. Pretty soon you'll start in on how it's always my fault.”
Batman snorts. “Not always. Sometimes it's Flash.”
“Hey!” Flash retorts in the background, standing on the sidelines with the rest of the Justice League as they watch this recurring spectacle. None of them think to interfere.
Who would dare get in between the Man of Steel and the Dark Knight when they're in a mood like this? J'onn perhaps. But he's not here right now.
“But mostly yes. It's you,” Batman continues, ignoring Flash's brief, offended protest. “The pigheaded Boy Scout who can't follow a plan because his brain is muscle instead of rational thought.”
Superman throws his hands up in the air. “This coming from the uptight shut in who can't bother to be friendly to his own team much less us.”
“We're not friends. We are, for lack of a better term, coworkers. Friendliness is optional.”
“But appreciated!” Nearly a snarl from Superman, who's usually so calm no matter what vitriol Batman tosses his direction.
Silence sweeps through the meeting hall.
Batman, rigid in his own outrage, suddenly whirls on a heel. “I don't have time to waste on another argument with you.”
In a blur of blue and red, Superman grabs Batman's arm at the elbow. It doesn't take a genius to guess what Batman's response to that would be.
He shifts his weight and turns with a fist, aiming for Superman's head. The boy in blue ducks the punch with a skilled weave, and parries the steel-toed kick that follows. Superman tugs, brings Batman off balance, and in the second it takes for Batman to recover, Superman shoves him backward, slamming him against a wall.
Batman throws himself forward, a fist following, but Superman dodges again, grabs Batman's free hand and pins both to the wall with a resounding thud. The World's Finest superheroes glare at each other, chests heaving with emotion and brief exertion, before their lips collide in a kiss that's more attack than affection.
In the background, Diana sighs.
Flash laughs and rubs the back of his head. “There they go again,” he says, and turns to leave. Playing unwilling voyeur the first time had been enough mentally scarring material for him. He didn't plan to bear witness again.
The other members of the League trickle out, leaving Superman and Batman to their weekly, inevitable argument.
“Probably the day you remember you're not entirely invulnerable!”
Superman's eyebrow twitches, the only betrayal of his building anger, other than the rising volume of his voice. “We're not talking about me!”
“We should,” Batman all but snarls, sliding to the right, continuing the endless prowl as he and Superman circle each other, like enemies about to come to blows. “You and your stubborn, reckless, foolish--”
“Oh yes. Insults.” Superman rolls his eyes, a childish retort in every way. “That's the way this always goes. Pretty soon you'll start in on how it's always my fault.”
Batman snorts. “Not always. Sometimes it's Flash.”
“Hey!” Flash retorts in the background, standing on the sidelines with the rest of the Justice League as they watch this recurring spectacle. None of them think to interfere.
Who would dare get in between the Man of Steel and the Dark Knight when they're in a mood like this? J'onn perhaps. But he's not here right now.
“But mostly yes. It's you,” Batman continues, ignoring Flash's brief, offended protest. “The pigheaded Boy Scout who can't follow a plan because his brain is muscle instead of rational thought.”
Superman throws his hands up in the air. “This coming from the uptight shut in who can't bother to be friendly to his own team much less us.”
“We're not friends. We are, for lack of a better term, coworkers. Friendliness is optional.”
“But appreciated!” Nearly a snarl from Superman, who's usually so calm no matter what vitriol Batman tosses his direction.
Silence sweeps through the meeting hall.
Batman, rigid in his own outrage, suddenly whirls on a heel. “I don't have time to waste on another argument with you.”
In a blur of blue and red, Superman grabs Batman's arm at the elbow. It doesn't take a genius to guess what Batman's response to that would be.
He shifts his weight and turns with a fist, aiming for Superman's head. The boy in blue ducks the punch with a skilled weave, and parries the steel-toed kick that follows. Superman tugs, brings Batman off balance, and in the second it takes for Batman to recover, Superman shoves him backward, slamming him against a wall.
Batman throws himself forward, a fist following, but Superman dodges again, grabs Batman's free hand and pins both to the wall with a resounding thud. The World's Finest superheroes glare at each other, chests heaving with emotion and brief exertion, before their lips collide in a kiss that's more attack than affection.
In the background, Diana sighs.
Flash laughs and rubs the back of his head. “There they go again,” he says, and turns to leave. Playing unwilling voyeur the first time had been enough mentally scarring material for him. He didn't plan to bear witness again.
The other members of the League trickle out, leaving Superman and Batman to their weekly, inevitable argument.
a/n: I shall try to get Event Horizon up tomorrow.
