Work Text:
"Oh no…"
It was when the gray of the sky rumbled that Clark Kent started to wonder if he had made the poor decision to leave the comfort of his house to wait for a ghost.
It was their usual spot of rendez-vous, near the lake, in a forgotten pavilion hidden by unkempt foliage, where no one would think to look twice. Quite far from his home, but not far enough to dissuade him from honoring his previous engagements. —Though he has to reconsider now. Although the Manor's distance can't compare to the long-winded path he had to face, the Wayne Estate is of a large opulence still, where the young master could have been caught sneaking out. In which case Clark dreaded to turn back home with wet clothes and muddy boots, his mother's fury isn't something he looked forward to.
Especially without having the pleasure of meeting his good friend.
Perhaps, that is why he was bidding his time under the marble folly. Perhaps. But saying so would be a lie. There is only one reason that would keep him from not heading to a warmer place and it is not the rain nor his ma's fretting.
Clark wrapped his jacket closer to his body as thunder wracked the clouds.
He leaned against the chiseled column, a few feet away from the pond, where ducks hid beneath the bushes, calling their young to burrow under their wings, frogs croaked in celebration while cattails and trees bend to the wind's will.
Clark inhales, filling his lungs with the clean and cold air. He was a boy made for sunshine, not the dull loneliness that came with an outpour. Yet, he knows how to appreciate it, the way it feeds the soil, the sound of it, the smell of it. Usually, sharp and earthy. — Today, soft and sweet.
"You waited for me."
Startled, Clark almost slipped and tumbled into the muddy water. Despite not attempting to brave the weather before it went from grim to terrible, he had waited and lost all hope when the soft pitter-patter turned heavy.
"Bruce?!" He blinks, "I thought… you would have…"
He blinks again.
Standing before him was Bruce, muslin shirt stuck to his pale skin, teeth chattering and cheeks high with color. He took deep breaths, combing a hand through his wet hair. He ran all the way here, Clark noted with dawning outrage.
The boy, never one lacking in mischief, gave him a sly grin.
"Y-you didn't think I'd l-leave you stranded did you?"
"My God…" Clark gaped at him, then immediately scowled. "Why would you even choose to leave in this weather?!"
The saccharine scent grew stronger with every step. Not uncommon. Clark always had a keen sense of smell when it came to Bruce. He always carried this pleasant fragrance, though it smelled heftier than usual. With the reputation of a troublesome sweet talker, he no doubt charmed the maids into indulging him with some pastries.
"W-wasn't pouring when I left." He grumbled, accepting the warm jacket from Clark.
Clark wasn't impressed by the answer. Bruce must have seen the heavy clouds. He must have known this situation was the only outcome.
"And you didn't think of taking a coat? I thought you own more than a fair share of those?"
"Yes, mother. Sorry mother." Bruce rolled his eyes.
Clark shook his head trying to mimic his father's disappointed face, but his attempt must fail because it only served to tickle a giggle from his friend.
"Stop laughing. I am cross with you!"
"How so?" He scoffed, huddling closer to Clark. "Should I remind you I am not alone here?"
They sat on the bench, built in the middle of their shelter.
Clark felt his cheeks fill with color. Evidently, the sky wasn't blue when Clark left either, but he at least didn't fall victim to the day's temper.
"Besides," he continued, "I wanted to see you, Clark." He spoke softly and simply as if it didn't knock the breath out of him. He knew that, as they grew older it was harder and harder for them to find time to meet with one another. They were both on the cusp of presenting, and becoming notable members of high society, where every smile, every glance, every word will be scrutinized and judged.
He was the son of an Earl and he? The son of a Gentry-man at most, though not even by birth. He was lucky enough to have been taken by people who loved him as their own.
Soon they will not address each other with such familiarity.
Sensing his thoughts, he received a bony elbow to his side.
Clark met an unamused quirk of a brow.
For Bruce, whenever Clark broached the subject of dropping the informality of their connection, he would get into these hissing fights. Impossible to win against someone who even as he never speak more than he needed, always managed to get his thoughts across. He promised Clark a million times over that they will never become strangers. Never will he part with him in such a way.
It amused Clark, but he knew Bruce's heart better than his own and he knew he spoke the truth.
"I missed you too."
Those icy blue eyes met his, with dazed warmth and the semblance of a smile around the edges of his pouty, pink lips. Strands of his hair fell into his face.
Clark brushed them aside.
He frowned when his finger brushed against his flushed skin.
"Bruce… You're burning!" He slotted his palm against his forehead. Bruce only closed his eyes leaning further into his touch.
His heart caught in his throat.
"Shut up." He uttered his favorite words, nestling closer to Clark, until his head rested on his chest. Clark's arms instinctively wrapped around his shoulders.
"Bruce…" He whispered, his eyes looking afar, where the Wayne Manor resided, a dark dot on the edge of the field. "Did you have a fever this morning?"
He felt the boy shake his head, shoulder still trembling slightly. Then he paused. And finally he nodded.
"'m not sick… just achy."
He regretted the sharp inhale of breath as soon as he drew it.
"Bruce…" He shook the boy. "We need to go— Bruce!"
"Don't move." His arms locked around his waist. "please… just…"
He sighed against him.
Clark's throat closed around a lump as he tried to inhale the least amount of sweetened air.
"Bruce…" He pushed the boy further away from him, not giving into his betrayed whimpers. Just enough to see his face. Bruce blinked his eyes open, his brows knitting in confusion. He'd never seen the boy like this. He should have known the moment he saw him, should have known Bruce wouldn't have parted with sentimental words he otherwise kept under lock and keys.
Guilt gnawed his insides.
There was a reason the responsible adults in their lives kept them away from each other. They both knew they were on the verge of presenting, and yet chose to ignore all concerns and still planned to meet one another.
If words were to get out…
Bruce fluttered his eyes, icy gaze glancing up from under his long and dark lashes.
Dear Lord—
Clark stood up abruptly, ignoring Bruce's protests.
He didn't have time for this.
He unbuttoned his top, leaving him only with an undershirt. The fabric still dry and warm in his palm.
"Bruce," When he was sure Bruce was listening to him, he crouched down to be at eye level with him. "I think you're presenting, we need to get back to the manor as quickly as we can."
"I'm not." He huffed.
"Bruce, Please…"
His friend pursed his lips, glaring at a point in the distance. A loud thunder split the sky. The rain hadn't stopped its descent from the heavens, in fact, it was getting worse by the seconds.
They really needed to get going.
"Bruce?"
With a sigh, he tipped his neck backwards, not taking his eyes away from Clark.
Clark exhaled.
With gentle hands, he wrapped his makeshift shawl around his neck. He hoped it would be enough to prevent the smell from attracting undesired attention.
Then, without pausing, he secured his red jacket around him using it to cover his head. For once, Bruce seems to be on board with the idea, if the content sigh meant anything.
"Bruce, we need to go." Clark, glanced back at the sky. "Can you walk?"
The boy shook his head, frustration shining in his eyes.
"It's alright," Clark squeezed his hands once. "I— I'm going to carry you back to the manor."
"Must we?" He whispered, disappointment marring his soft features. Once they go back, there is no way they will be allowed to see each other like they used to.
Clark swallowed the lump in his throat, forcing his lips to curve into a reassuring smile.
He allows his fingers to cup his cheek, swiping a stray tear away.
"We must."
Bruce didn't hesitate and dropped his chest flush against his back. His arms snaked around Clark's neck. Once he had anchored his thighs to the sides of his waist, they were ready to go.
Another rumble shook the sky.
Hopefully, in this rain, no soul would dare be curious enough to venture out. If anyone were to find them in this precarious situation, Bruce would be shunned long before he could ever make his debut in high society.
Clark didn't let himself linger or even think, before his legs started to race the winded path to the Wayne Manor.
The long path appeared longer and longer, each second stretched thin.
He can hardly see through the howling wind, or the heavy outpour. His lungs burned with each breath while a growing ache settled in his muscles. He wasn't small by all means, quite the opposite, he was strong enough to help his Pa do the more tedious work in the field. Yet he had to push his legs to keep moving, praying he wouldn't slip and tumble.
It was only made harder by the boy on his back.
Bruce buried his face in the crook of his neck. The tip of his cold nose tracing a pattern on his vulnerable skin. He switched between sharp intakes and hot, damp kisses. His teeth teased with a graze, followed by a wet tongue to sooth the burn he left behind.
Heat pooled in the pit of his stomach.
Clark couldn't protest, as any sound was swallowed back with a fierce determination to not impose upon his own longings by encouraging such behaviors. Nor pause in his haste to forbid the access to the most intimate part of himself. Above all, Clark didn't have the resolute will to halt his pace.
His grip tightened on his thighs.
He kept running until the manor loomed closer.
Clark had to think quickly. It would be unwise to pass by the entry or even the servants door, he couldn't have raced all the way here only to be caught by a gossiping steward. Thankfully, the rain served to scatter unwanted attention away from the entry near the stables, where the mud lay thick and viscous beneath his boots.
From there it was easy to find his footing unseen. As this side of the manor was mostly empty. Clark made his way through a familiar corridor. He knocked at a door where knew he would find the most trusted man in the Wayne manor.
"Master Clark— what…"
Had it been another day, Clark would have been red with shame at the state of himself, and the trail of dirt he left behind.
As of now…
"He's—I think he's—"
"Hush boy!" Alfred opened his door wider, shooting furtive glances left and right as he beckoned him inside.
"When did this even…How— I was under the impression Young Master Bruce was studying in his room."
"Uh… it's my fault," He said, trying to swallow around a dry mouth. Ironic, considering he was drenched head to toe. "I asked him to meet me at the— uh… outside."
He didn't need to see Alfred to know the man didn't believe a word of his lies.
The butler muttered something about idiotic youth and fumbled a ring of key into the wall. With a satisfying click, the wall turned into a door that opened into a narrow stairway. He assumed it was an old passageway for the servants.
Alfred turned around, hands stretching to relieve Clark from Bruce's weight.
As if sensing the threat, Bruce clambered down on Clark, clinging on his neck and wrapping his strong legs around his waist. Clark's hand reflexively tightened the grip on his thighs and brought him flush against him.
Alfred mumbled a prayer, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Come quick. We need to inform Master and Mistress Wayne. Come on! Quick!"
Clark climbed the stairs one at a time, walked into a long corridor, expertly dodging unwanted attention under Alfred's guidance, until finally they arrived in front of a room he had never been allowed to enter before.
Alfred instructed him to lay Bruce on his bed while he discretely went out the door to call upon the Masters of the house. The task was harder than it looked. Bruce didn't look like he wanted to part from him.
"Bruce…" He whispered worry lacing his voice.
In answer, he only received a sniffle and the hot slip of tears down his neck.
"It's alright," he mumbled, gently prying his arms away. "You're going to be fine, Bruce. I promise."
"I just want it to stop…" He whispered, failing to swallow back a pained whimper.
It wasn't just about the pain was it? It was all that came with it.
"I know B," Clark murmured. He wished he could offer him the comfort he ached for. Through words, through touch.
But he can't.
By the time the door burst open, Clark had managed to get him seated on the bed. Despite not witnessing the way Bruce clung onto him mere minutes ago, it didn't prevent the dawning horror at finding their boy on the cusp of heat in the presence of an Alpha-to-be. His state of undress didn't appear to sooth their growing anguish.
Clark stepped away, or tried to. The only reason Bruce allowed himself to be untangled from his back, was the promise to remain close. Or complying to have his fingers held captive between his.
Alfred coaxed him out of the room, with a gentle hand on his back.
It was torture. To detach his hands from his. To meet that betrayed gaze. To walk away from Bruce's desperate calls. Clark caught a glimpse of Mrs. Wayne tending to her son before the door shut behind him.
"Come Master Clark, there is much to discuss." Even as he said it, there was something in the old man's eyes, something that left him cold, and it was not the absence of a clingy Bruce.
The walk down toward Alfred's quarters was shorter than he expected. Now that he had delivered Bruce safely home, his feet grew weary and the aches of the travel were catching up to him.
Once seated near the hearth. He was given a blanket, some warm tea and a set of dry clothes, that he reluctantly put on.
His eyes were fixed on the flame, dancing and crackling in a swirl of white mist. It did nothing to ease the icy-chill burrowed in the marrow of his bones. He desperately chased the sweet smell of Bruce that lingered on his skin. Taking deep breaths through his nose.
He dared not to move. Fearing what he might do, where he might go if he did. Then and there, it was hard enough to live with the knowledge that he had abandoned one so dear to him.
The quiet lull Alfred had offered didn't last long.
Clark heard him before he saw him, but it still took him by surprise when he was yanked forward, nose to nose with Alpha Wayne. His feet dangling a couple inches from the ground. Sharp eyes trained on him. Their usual kindliness and patience gone.
"Did you touch him?"
Clark's eyes widened, mouth falling open. He couldn't even—
"What—?!"
"Did. You. Touch. Him?" He repeated through gritted teeth.
"No! I wouldn't— ever…"
The mere thought of taking Bruce's innocence in such a cruel and inhuman way, caused bile to crawl up his throat. The tight hold loosened, just a little, enough to get his toes on the ground. However, Mister Wayne remained focused and tense. —Until his gaze fell to his neck.
The hold on his borrowed clothes was abruptly pushed away.
Clark didn't manage to catch himself in time, his body hit the small table where the remains of his tea spilled down on the carpet. His hands found their balance on shards of porcelain.
The pain went unnoticed. The smell of blood only encouraged the simmering anger pacing in his vein.
"Master Wayne! Sir! You cannot treat the boy of the sort!" He heard Alfred at a distance, "He just brought Master Bruce home and he is—"
"In pre-rut."
What?
That can't be…
Even as Lord Wayne crouched near him, the man towered over him.
"Has anyone seen you?"
Clark bit back his first instinct to lash out at the Alpha, grounding himself to the sweetness lingering in the air.
He exhaled.
"No sir."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes sir."
"I need you to be truthful Clark, I will tolerate no lies." His voice was nothing more than a quiet whisper, but he could feel the chilling threat settling inside his flesh. "Tell me, boy."
"Only myself, you, madame and Alfred had seen him, sir."
Lord Wayne paused.
"Good." He said to himself, "Then no one saw the claim."
The Claim…
His bloodied hand slapped the side of his neck, where the residual burn of Bruce's touch persisted.
It can't be…
"My mistake was to allow my son to acquaint himself with you. I will not make that mistake twice." He shook his head, regret evident in his knitted brows. "You will speak of this to no one. NO ONE you hear?! Not even to your mother or father."
"S-sir…" His hoarse voice carried the horror of what was asked of him.
"I know far more of your status than you think, as I have helped Mr. and Mrs. Kent register you as their own when they pleaded for my aid. But you and I know that in spite of their affection, you will never be their son by blood." He spoke gently, "As a father, it is my prerogative to wish my son a plentiful life. Tell me, boy, is it one you can fulfill?"
"I… No sir…"
"Can you swear that your common blood will not hinder my son in any way?"
"No sir…"
"Then," He breathed, squeezing his shoulder in a tight grip. "Swear to me what you can, will you? Swear to me, that you will forget about my son and the mark he'd laid on your neck."
"I…" Tears stung his vision, descending in a wet trail down his shame ridden cheeks.
Each remark broke a little piece of himself.
"Swear to me." He pressed. "Swear it!"
"I swear!"
Lord Wayne let go of him, straightening to his full height.
"If I hear you broke your promise, I will be the ruin of your family. Understood?"
"Sir…"
"Do not believe my connection with the Kents will obstruct me from executing my warning."
This is what his father had warned him about. Men with wealth and power can pretend to be lambs but beneath their skin, hides sharp teeth and ruthless claws.
Clark exhaled the last bit of fight left in him.
"Yes sir…"
The lord of the manor, moved toward the secret stairs, leaving without sparing him a second glance.
"You alright my boy?"
Clark glanced back to see Alfred, who looked on with a kind smile, even as his eyes shone with sympathy.
In truth he can't reproach Lord Wayne impropriety of uttering such blasphemous words. How can he? Nothing of what had been said had been a lie. It was a truth he had always known.
Now more than ever.
It was official.
From this day on, the young master of Gotham had doomed his fate to a life with no name, no rights, no power or even a penny left after the death of his father. It was, by all accounts, no different than having a girl. Only a dreadful one when high society looks on just as poorly on a man with no dignity.
Any parents would cry at the injustice of the lords or blame their own child for the shame they have brought upon. But it is neither anger or shame that he saw in Lord Wayne's eyes. simply, terror at the future that awaits his only, precious child.
One that had claimed a lowly Alpha.
A mistake he cannot erase, as the bright red brand stood out proudly on his skin.
"What's…" Clark exhaled, lips trembling with the weight of what he had agreed to. "What's going to happen to me Alfred?"
"Master Clark…"
"I'm… I've barely ever gotten away with lying to Ma and Pa. I just promised Bruce I won't ever leave him and now…" He struggled to swallow back a sob. "I'm scared…"
The old man wrapped his arms around him, pulling him into a comforting hug, heedless of the blood and the mess Clark had made of his room.
Quite sobs wracked his body, as did the rain to earth.
He was only sixteen-summer-old.
Marked and Presenting.
He would have to bear the pain of a lone rut, with the grief of a lost mate.