Blue Skies, With Sun fic
1/28/05 03:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxySee- I'm home and stuff starts falling out of my head. This is *kind* of a X-over--SV with Alien Heat by Michael Moorcock in the sense the background is swiped loosely based on it and you don't have to have read Alien Heat for this to make sense, it wouldn't help, trust me.
Anyhoo, you should read it because--fun!
Blue Skies, With Sun
Clark woke up to a sunny bright morning. Through the uncurtained window, the sun sent warmth that made his eyes blink open. The first thing he saw was the uncontained view through the window. It framed skies so clear a blue it was nearly blinding, white clouds so purely white, so daintily fluffy they were an assault on the senses, they verged on cliché.
It was going to be a fine day.
He showered slowly and thoroughly, taking his time and enjoying the heat seeping into his bones, the slip-slide feel of soap on his skin, the way the clouds of foam ran over and off him and swirled prettily away into the drain.
He dressed, black wool pants and a lavender dress shirt. His shoes looked like very good leather.
Clark stepped out onto the balcony of the penthouse apartment, welcoming the smell of sun heated grass and soil, the faint odor of newly shorn lawn. He let himself drop over the edge arrowing to the green ground below. He considered in the time it took to near the earth…and landed light as a feather.
“Mommy look it’s Clark!” A childish voice called out.
“Superman, dear,” a doting maternal tone corrected.
The young woman looked fondly at Clark and Clark felt—nothing…
“Can I hug Super Clark, mommy?” The little boy asked, his round young face lit up with glee and “Of course you can,” his mother replied “but don’t be long about it. We’re due to eat lunch, my jewel”.
The little boy wrapped himself around Clark’s legs and squeezed. Clark reached down and pulled him into his arms. And the boy threw his arms around his neck and pressed his smooth downy cheek to his. Clark realized the cheek was soft, dry, and warm. A regular heart beat thumped against his chest and Clark’s eyes filled with tears. A real boy. I’m leaving. I quit
A gentle sound filled the air, the sound of the ocean miles and miles and miles from sea, rolling across a wide, wide green lawn, wider and greener than Clark remembered. A shadow floated, two shadows floated together and screams wafted down to him like dust motes.
High above them two air cars collided with the abrupt sound of metal being tortured beyond the breaking point and Clark watched them fly apart .
“Will you save them Superman,” the serious little voice with its precious little lisp broke into his non-thoughts.
Clark looked into eyes bluer than the sky and just as unreadable. He shivered and put the child to ground. The truth is rare and seldom experienced between us and should be treasured
Flaming debris: chunks of super-hot metal, bloody-red fuel, and bloody shreds of meat rained down around them—the little boy and his mother watched him, interest plain on their untouched, unlined smooth faces— I love you. And I’m leaving
Clark leaped into the air avoiding bits of falling wreckage, bodies spun out of the center of the flaming mass and every one of them a skeleton of glass and metal coated with a thin quivering jelly of blood and skin….
The few people on the rolling sward of emerald green clapped as he flew, and made appreciative noises and it was all wrong and had been wrong for—forever?
He dropped like a stone to the earth and managed to embed himself to an impressive depth.
An aircar appeared above him, several simulacra and a few real humans appeared at the dramatically smoking lip of the crater. A concerned face blocked the sun, “Do you need to rest a while Clark?” a Real Human gently asked. A shining green needle slid into his arm and sleep wrapped his mind in cottony wool and he gratefully gave in to it—maybe this time they weren’t going to wake him and kill him again in slow degrees with the force of their love. I’m leaving. I’m very tired
Everyone loved Clark Kent.
Clark woke up to a steel gray drizzly morning. The sky was a gunmetal gray, wisps of fog like dirty gray ghosts clung to the impossibly thin gray spires hung with metal webbing visible in the uncurtained window. It was a sky for nightmares. Or maybe he was mistaken, maybe towers were always thin as needles and went up into the sky until you couldn’t see the tops. He got confused sometimes; sometime he thought he might be dreaming.
Sometimes he woke and people were in his –the penthouse, people he couldn’t hear but whose lips moved. Sometimes it wasn’t the penthouse, sometimes it was a little yellow…farmhouse. And it felt---good. It was a good feeling, on those days. Clark sighed and stood and stretched.
It was a very gray day, but good. Any day he was standing was good, his…Dad used to say. Yes, he was fairly sure Jonathan said that. Nearly certain.
He showered and dressed, blue denim pants and a red flannel shirt. He looked at himself in the mirror and knew he had to kill himself. Some how in some secret way. Some way Real Humans couldn’t detect.
After thousands of years and thousands of attempts, he was running out of ideas.
Damn it, where was he when he needed him? Clark frowned. Who? Where was who? Oh, make no mistake, I hate you too, but even so—I love you. And I’m leaving
His mind ran round and round this track as he registered calls for help, and judged which where real voices and could not be ignored and which were not, and could safely (with deep and near orgasmic delight) be disregarded.
Clark leaped off the balcony of the penthouse and flew out into the gray soupy fog to perform.
One hundred Humans later and his carefully chosen attire was drenched in blood and water and smeared with mud and oil and he smelled like smoke and death. Sometimes they let themselves die. It was for the authenticity. The first five hundred times he saw a dead man walking about in the next days after had been a shock. He was a slow learner sometimes, Clark thought ruefully.
He walked the dreary oily sidewalk intent on home--he needed the penthouse.
He seldom flew unless he was forced to anymore.
Light struggled to reach them from the few cracks breaching the misty, fog heavy atmosphere and in the murky gray, simulacra conducted the boring minutia of everyday life for busy Humans who had so much to do—eating, sleeping, fucking and occasionally being born. The world confused Clark—he tried not to think too much about it.
“Superman! Superman--” voices shouted out gleefully. “Help! Help!” A group of twenty or more Real Humans pointed into the sky, in the approved and traditional pose of Concerned And Frightened Citizenry—Clark gaped—he’d not seen so much Real flesh in one place in…he had no idea how long it had been. They were nearly jiggling in their excitement and he thought tiredly, ‘they’ve made a new toy to play with me.’
He looked skyward, and it was a brand-new toy, a very brand new toy. A giant…head. A head floated high above the ground, it’s awesome and eerie effect slightly spoiled by the need to dip and dive around aircars, the towers, and their insane and useless catwalks.
The enormous mouth of the gigantic head opened and a voice thundered out and shivered down and through his spine and made his ears ring.
“Supercreep—prepare to meet your doom at the hands of your arch-enemy and evil nemesis, the mighty Lex Luthor!”
Clark could only stare at the grotesque vision over their heads. Who ?–his –who…Lex Luthor?
For the first time in a thousand years, maybe more, maybe less, Clark wanted to go to the AI in the Fortress. The information would surely be there. Arch-enemy? Lex Luthor?
The Real Humans whispered amongst themselves and Clark could have heard if he cared to but he hadn’t cared to for hundreds of years…Lex Luthor?
They looked disappointed and that was a unique experience for Clark—something had gone awry? Clark felt a flare of hope—were they finally reaching the end of their capabilities? Was this fad for New Humanism backfiring…did he have a chance to die? And who was Lex Luthor?
The giant head had not ceased talking in all this time. It advised and warned that seasons in hell were about to begin and Clark nodded, sounded like Lex and almost smiled—wait, he told himself, I know this one and reached for a thought as slippery and silvery as a trout— the Human next to him exploded into a rain of semi-vaporized body parts.
“That’s just to let you know I’m serious, Super-jerk.”
Clark stood open mouthed in horror, a thin sheen of fluid over his whole body, the Humans around him gaped at each other, their bodies also glistening with liquefied flesh and bone and as one they disappeared.
The hideously ridiculous head laughed, a horrible parody of a warm and friendly laugh, a laugh that used to make him feel warm and special, a laugh that flowed warm and sweet as honey against a boy’s naked skin, made him hard in the middle of a long long and long ago Kansas night—
Clark found that retrieving memories centuries old could be painful. In the time he spent on the dirty sidewalk, writhing under the crushing weight of a life re-lived or at least revisited—Humans wiped out an unstable program calling for a super-villain to entertain Clark, a futuristic city landscape and vacuumed up the molecules of a certain Citizen who had the honor of being the first Human to die unexpectedly for centuries.
All in all, it had been a satisfying and highly entertaining afternoon.
Clark woke up to a sunny morning. Through the yellow plaid curtained window, the sun sent warmth that made his eyes blink open. The first thing he saw was the plaid framed view through the window. It framed skies a clear blue, a blue that made his heart sing for a moment, until he remembered all of it—all at once.
He sighed. Another day. With memories. He’d need to fix that again.
He showered and dressed, denims and a flannel shirt and memories chewed and chewed and chewed at him—arch-enemy, opponent, acquaintance, former lover, companion, boyfriend, friend…Lex…
Dear Clark,
Or Superman if you prefer—such a stupid name really.
I’m leaving.
I quit. I stop all further attempts to –well, I’m not sure what this is anymore. At any rate, I cease all future megalomaniacal attempts to take over the world, to destroy you.
The truth is rare and seldom experienced between us and should be treasured- in that spirit, let me tell you--I love you. Oh, make no mistake, I hate you too, but just so—I love you. And I’m leaving –I don’t want to live another day knowing you don’t love me and I doubt you ever did, not in the way I wish you could have. Oh dear. That sounds so …mawkish, but let it stand.
Earth is too small to contain both us and our hatred. (and love) so-I ‘m leaving. I’m very tired, People annoy me anyway, I may come back when they’re gone. (I do have a sense of humor). At sundown tonight, watch the sky, Helios comes to bear your troubles away in his golden chariot. That also is an attempt at humor.
Yours forever
L
Clark walked out to the yard of the yellow farmhouse. He circled slowly and looked with all his heart, looked at the rich fields bright with sunflowers, the trees, the bright green sabers of growing corn, the blue gray of the sky crowning it and wondered how far out into space he’d need to go before the sun dropped it’s hold on him and he froze or choked, if he could fly faster than the Humans noticed, distracted as they were with their new game of Sudden Death…
Clark launched himself into the velvet black of space…
He woke again and there was no sun, no sky, no window, curtained or otherwise, the only blue, a pair of eyes locked on his, pinning him on his back to the bed…
“I wondered how long it was going to take you to wake again.” He yawned, rubbed flaked dry skin from his arms —held his hand up with a smile and turned it, examining, admiring it, swept hands over body, as he spoke to Clark. “Wonder how many of these I went through in my sleep?”
A grin that flashed like a hot knife into his heart flowed over the face of Clark’s deepest, deepest dreams.
“Aren’t you glad I was here to catch you, Clark?” Lex reached down and stroked his cheek, softly almost reverently, before straightening and grinning that knife-sharp, sun bright grin again. “Shall we leave, begin again? We don’t need this place anymore.”
Clark smiled and sighed Lex was going to make it better again.
“A favor, Lex?” he asked and winced at how rusty and unused his voice sounded.
“Fuck Clark!” He laughed “Yes--anything!”
“A planet with a yellow sun? Can we find…a planet like that?”
“Oh, count on it, Clark,” Lex said, his eyes twinkling and Clark let his thirsty eyes drink in the sight and his thirsty heart open and swell again with life and his body vibrated to the sound of Lex’s voice, “Count on it.”
1-28-05
Anyhoo, you should read it because--fun!
Blue Skies, With Sun
Clark woke up to a sunny bright morning. Through the uncurtained window, the sun sent warmth that made his eyes blink open. The first thing he saw was the uncontained view through the window. It framed skies so clear a blue it was nearly blinding, white clouds so purely white, so daintily fluffy they were an assault on the senses, they verged on cliché.
It was going to be a fine day.
He showered slowly and thoroughly, taking his time and enjoying the heat seeping into his bones, the slip-slide feel of soap on his skin, the way the clouds of foam ran over and off him and swirled prettily away into the drain.
He dressed, black wool pants and a lavender dress shirt. His shoes looked like very good leather.
Clark stepped out onto the balcony of the penthouse apartment, welcoming the smell of sun heated grass and soil, the faint odor of newly shorn lawn. He let himself drop over the edge arrowing to the green ground below. He considered in the time it took to near the earth…and landed light as a feather.
“Mommy look it’s Clark!” A childish voice called out.
“Superman, dear,” a doting maternal tone corrected.
The young woman looked fondly at Clark and Clark felt—nothing…
“Can I hug Super Clark, mommy?” The little boy asked, his round young face lit up with glee and “Of course you can,” his mother replied “but don’t be long about it. We’re due to eat lunch, my jewel”.
The little boy wrapped himself around Clark’s legs and squeezed. Clark reached down and pulled him into his arms. And the boy threw his arms around his neck and pressed his smooth downy cheek to his. Clark realized the cheek was soft, dry, and warm. A regular heart beat thumped against his chest and Clark’s eyes filled with tears. A real boy. I’m leaving. I quit
A gentle sound filled the air, the sound of the ocean miles and miles and miles from sea, rolling across a wide, wide green lawn, wider and greener than Clark remembered. A shadow floated, two shadows floated together and screams wafted down to him like dust motes.
High above them two air cars collided with the abrupt sound of metal being tortured beyond the breaking point and Clark watched them fly apart .
“Will you save them Superman,” the serious little voice with its precious little lisp broke into his non-thoughts.
Clark looked into eyes bluer than the sky and just as unreadable. He shivered and put the child to ground. The truth is rare and seldom experienced between us and should be treasured
Flaming debris: chunks of super-hot metal, bloody-red fuel, and bloody shreds of meat rained down around them—the little boy and his mother watched him, interest plain on their untouched, unlined smooth faces— I love you. And I’m leaving
Clark leaped into the air avoiding bits of falling wreckage, bodies spun out of the center of the flaming mass and every one of them a skeleton of glass and metal coated with a thin quivering jelly of blood and skin….
The few people on the rolling sward of emerald green clapped as he flew, and made appreciative noises and it was all wrong and had been wrong for—forever?
He dropped like a stone to the earth and managed to embed himself to an impressive depth.
An aircar appeared above him, several simulacra and a few real humans appeared at the dramatically smoking lip of the crater. A concerned face blocked the sun, “Do you need to rest a while Clark?” a Real Human gently asked. A shining green needle slid into his arm and sleep wrapped his mind in cottony wool and he gratefully gave in to it—maybe this time they weren’t going to wake him and kill him again in slow degrees with the force of their love. I’m leaving. I’m very tired
Everyone loved Clark Kent.
Clark woke up to a steel gray drizzly morning. The sky was a gunmetal gray, wisps of fog like dirty gray ghosts clung to the impossibly thin gray spires hung with metal webbing visible in the uncurtained window. It was a sky for nightmares. Or maybe he was mistaken, maybe towers were always thin as needles and went up into the sky until you couldn’t see the tops. He got confused sometimes; sometime he thought he might be dreaming.
Sometimes he woke and people were in his –the penthouse, people he couldn’t hear but whose lips moved. Sometimes it wasn’t the penthouse, sometimes it was a little yellow…farmhouse. And it felt---good. It was a good feeling, on those days. Clark sighed and stood and stretched.
It was a very gray day, but good. Any day he was standing was good, his…Dad used to say. Yes, he was fairly sure Jonathan said that. Nearly certain.
He showered and dressed, blue denim pants and a red flannel shirt. He looked at himself in the mirror and knew he had to kill himself. Some how in some secret way. Some way Real Humans couldn’t detect.
After thousands of years and thousands of attempts, he was running out of ideas.
Damn it, where was he when he needed him? Clark frowned. Who? Where was who? Oh, make no mistake, I hate you too, but even so—I love you. And I’m leaving
His mind ran round and round this track as he registered calls for help, and judged which where real voices and could not be ignored and which were not, and could safely (with deep and near orgasmic delight) be disregarded.
Clark leaped off the balcony of the penthouse and flew out into the gray soupy fog to perform.
One hundred Humans later and his carefully chosen attire was drenched in blood and water and smeared with mud and oil and he smelled like smoke and death. Sometimes they let themselves die. It was for the authenticity. The first five hundred times he saw a dead man walking about in the next days after had been a shock. He was a slow learner sometimes, Clark thought ruefully.
He walked the dreary oily sidewalk intent on home--he needed the penthouse.
He seldom flew unless he was forced to anymore.
Light struggled to reach them from the few cracks breaching the misty, fog heavy atmosphere and in the murky gray, simulacra conducted the boring minutia of everyday life for busy Humans who had so much to do—eating, sleeping, fucking and occasionally being born. The world confused Clark—he tried not to think too much about it.
“Superman! Superman--” voices shouted out gleefully. “Help! Help!” A group of twenty or more Real Humans pointed into the sky, in the approved and traditional pose of Concerned And Frightened Citizenry—Clark gaped—he’d not seen so much Real flesh in one place in…he had no idea how long it had been. They were nearly jiggling in their excitement and he thought tiredly, ‘they’ve made a new toy to play with me.’
He looked skyward, and it was a brand-new toy, a very brand new toy. A giant…head. A head floated high above the ground, it’s awesome and eerie effect slightly spoiled by the need to dip and dive around aircars, the towers, and their insane and useless catwalks.
The enormous mouth of the gigantic head opened and a voice thundered out and shivered down and through his spine and made his ears ring.
“Supercreep—prepare to meet your doom at the hands of your arch-enemy and evil nemesis, the mighty Lex Luthor!”
Clark could only stare at the grotesque vision over their heads. Who ?–his –who…Lex Luthor?
For the first time in a thousand years, maybe more, maybe less, Clark wanted to go to the AI in the Fortress. The information would surely be there. Arch-enemy? Lex Luthor?
The Real Humans whispered amongst themselves and Clark could have heard if he cared to but he hadn’t cared to for hundreds of years…Lex Luthor?
They looked disappointed and that was a unique experience for Clark—something had gone awry? Clark felt a flare of hope—were they finally reaching the end of their capabilities? Was this fad for New Humanism backfiring…did he have a chance to die? And who was Lex Luthor?
The giant head had not ceased talking in all this time. It advised and warned that seasons in hell were about to begin and Clark nodded, sounded like Lex and almost smiled—wait, he told himself, I know this one and reached for a thought as slippery and silvery as a trout— the Human next to him exploded into a rain of semi-vaporized body parts.
“That’s just to let you know I’m serious, Super-jerk.”
Clark stood open mouthed in horror, a thin sheen of fluid over his whole body, the Humans around him gaped at each other, their bodies also glistening with liquefied flesh and bone and as one they disappeared.
The hideously ridiculous head laughed, a horrible parody of a warm and friendly laugh, a laugh that used to make him feel warm and special, a laugh that flowed warm and sweet as honey against a boy’s naked skin, made him hard in the middle of a long long and long ago Kansas night—
Clark found that retrieving memories centuries old could be painful. In the time he spent on the dirty sidewalk, writhing under the crushing weight of a life re-lived or at least revisited—Humans wiped out an unstable program calling for a super-villain to entertain Clark, a futuristic city landscape and vacuumed up the molecules of a certain Citizen who had the honor of being the first Human to die unexpectedly for centuries.
All in all, it had been a satisfying and highly entertaining afternoon.
Clark woke up to a sunny morning. Through the yellow plaid curtained window, the sun sent warmth that made his eyes blink open. The first thing he saw was the plaid framed view through the window. It framed skies a clear blue, a blue that made his heart sing for a moment, until he remembered all of it—all at once.
He sighed. Another day. With memories. He’d need to fix that again.
He showered and dressed, denims and a flannel shirt and memories chewed and chewed and chewed at him—arch-enemy, opponent, acquaintance, former lover, companion, boyfriend, friend…Lex…
Dear Clark,
Or Superman if you prefer—such a stupid name really.
I’m leaving.
I quit. I stop all further attempts to –well, I’m not sure what this is anymore. At any rate, I cease all future megalomaniacal attempts to take over the world, to destroy you.
The truth is rare and seldom experienced between us and should be treasured- in that spirit, let me tell you--I love you. Oh, make no mistake, I hate you too, but just so—I love you. And I’m leaving –I don’t want to live another day knowing you don’t love me and I doubt you ever did, not in the way I wish you could have. Oh dear. That sounds so …mawkish, but let it stand.
Earth is too small to contain both us and our hatred. (and love) so-I ‘m leaving. I’m very tired, People annoy me anyway, I may come back when they’re gone. (I do have a sense of humor). At sundown tonight, watch the sky, Helios comes to bear your troubles away in his golden chariot. That also is an attempt at humor.
Yours forever
L
Clark walked out to the yard of the yellow farmhouse. He circled slowly and looked with all his heart, looked at the rich fields bright with sunflowers, the trees, the bright green sabers of growing corn, the blue gray of the sky crowning it and wondered how far out into space he’d need to go before the sun dropped it’s hold on him and he froze or choked, if he could fly faster than the Humans noticed, distracted as they were with their new game of Sudden Death…
Clark launched himself into the velvet black of space…
He woke again and there was no sun, no sky, no window, curtained or otherwise, the only blue, a pair of eyes locked on his, pinning him on his back to the bed…
“I wondered how long it was going to take you to wake again.” He yawned, rubbed flaked dry skin from his arms —held his hand up with a smile and turned it, examining, admiring it, swept hands over body, as he spoke to Clark. “Wonder how many of these I went through in my sleep?”
A grin that flashed like a hot knife into his heart flowed over the face of Clark’s deepest, deepest dreams.
“Aren’t you glad I was here to catch you, Clark?” Lex reached down and stroked his cheek, softly almost reverently, before straightening and grinning that knife-sharp, sun bright grin again. “Shall we leave, begin again? We don’t need this place anymore.”
Clark smiled and sighed Lex was going to make it better again.
“A favor, Lex?” he asked and winced at how rusty and unused his voice sounded.
“Fuck Clark!” He laughed “Yes--anything!”
“A planet with a yellow sun? Can we find…a planet like that?”
“Oh, count on it, Clark,” Lex said, his eyes twinkling and Clark let his thirsty eyes drink in the sight and his thirsty heart open and swell again with life and his body vibrated to the sound of Lex’s voice, “Count on it.”
1-28-05
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