Amy Lane's Blog: Writer's Lane, page 41

Rocking the Sweater

First of all, Kermit Flail will be on Tuesday-- repeat KERMIT FLAIL WILL BE ON TUESDAY!

Yeah, I decided to take Labor Day off-- sue me!

So, for those of you who didn't see it on Twitter or FB, this is ZoomBoy in his sweater. (You may recognize this sweater as the thing the dog was hiding under in yesterday's blog post. Woowoo indeed.)

Anyway-- here's ZoomBoy, rocking the sweater.

Now for those of you who don't know, I've been writing short fiction for Yarn! magazine-- I'm in issues 49, 50, and 51, and will continue to write for them until they kick me off, I think, because they're pretty awesome. BTW you can get the magazine from pocketmags.com if you prefer an electronic format and don't want to pay for shipping, but I will tell you that the production values in this publication are stunning and I'm proud to be a part of it.

Anyway, Rie, my editor, keeps telling me they want me to write patterns. And I"m always a little baffled. Can she not see that the things I make are sort of... erm... patternLESS? It's always "Well, I sort of did what the pattern said here, but I changed it here, and here and here and here and I used a whole different yarn and finally I crocheted it instead of knitted it because the sun was in WTF rising."

I told her I did "math-less crochet" and bless her, she said, "We'd like to see you write up some math-less crochet patterns-- that would be GREAT!" And now I'm like, "God. I'd almost rather go back and count my stitches."

But anyway-- this is a math-less crochet pattern. I chained a back as wide as ZoomBoys and wrapped it around his waist until a little past the sides so I"d have ease, then made a big rectangle for the back.

And two smaller ones for the front.

And then I sewed that together (or crocheted it together, actually) and  added sleeves. And a collar. And, well, there you go.

So there.

Math-less crochet.

Ta-da?

Seriously-- I may have to write an actual pattern for that.

There are test-pattern people who are going to have to FOLLOW AN ACTUAL PATTERN for that.

My brain just exploded.

Speaking of?

If you decide to get Yarn! magazine, expect to find an actual math-less pattern for fingerless mittens in issue 53, and a story to match.

The pattern's been submitted. I just need to write the story.

*headdesk* Life is weird. I mean, WEIRD.

But ZoomBoy likes his sweater, so that's pretty awesome.

I've started one for Mate.

Ta-da?

WOOOOOOWOOOOOOOOOOOO...

Okay, so Guest Dog Gibbs likes to sleep on me while I knit.

I knew that.

But I kept waking up in the morning and finding the sweater I'm crocheting for ZoomBoy on the ground.

"What in the fuck? Why? I don't understand!"

So, tonight, I got up to go get some water and the dogs followed me, and I got back to the living room and found the sweater on the floor.

And it's late.

And I'm sort of an imaginative person.

And the house is quiet.

So.  Quiet.

Jesus, so quiet.

And anyway, I'm still yelling and I set the sweater back on the yarn pile next to the chair, and I keep checking it surreptitiously out of the corner of my eye.

And then... I swear to God, IT MOVED!

OH HOLY SHIT IT MOVED AND WE'RE GONNA HAVE TO PACK OUR SHIT AND BUY A NEW HOUSE BECAUSE GHOSTS OMG OMG OMG THE SWEATER MOVED THE SWEATER MOVED WE'RE DOOOOOOOOOOMED!

And then I took a deep breath and took a closer look at that sweater--without my glasses, mind you, so mostly, all I can see is the bright lime green and turquoise of the damned sweater.

And some white yarn next to it.

Wait.

Some white yarn?

If you look at this picture REALLY closely, you can see the problem here.

Fucking dog.

Like seriously, fucking dog.

Scuse me, I gotta go change my shorts.

Busy Days Again

So, I've been to a few Back to School nights.

I've even been to a few at this particular junior high.

Let's just say, the thrill is gone.

It's not even that I don't want to be there--it's just that the back to school night, with the, "This is our routine, these are our standards, here's how you contact me," schtick is... well. I seriously want to talk to teachers and find out how awesome my kids are.

So when ZoomBoy texted to say he was done with play auditions and ready to picked up, well, I had no problem at all ditching math class and leaving early to avoid the traffic.

Anyway, there you go. That's as out of control as our family gets.

Mostly.

Me: So, you weren't waiting too long?

ZB: No. But I have a confession to make.

Me: Shoot.

ZB: Well, auditions didn't start until 4:30 and we got out at 2.

Me: What did you do with that time.

ZB: Mostly dick around and piss people off.

Me: Uh, well done?

ZB: It was. We REALLY pissed people off. We got the finger and everything.

Me: Next time tell me and I'll bring you lunch.

ZB: Okay! Lunch would have been great!

Me: *grumbles to self* Like you wouldn't be able to piss people off...


Also, and I don't know why I think this is hilarious except Squish was so sincere when she said it. She'd gotten up late so I didn't have time to braid her hair in the morning. She brushes it anyway, but can mostly manage a big fluffy ponytail.

And she got home and was sitting on the couch, brushing her hair, whining, "MOMMMMMMMY!!! I can't THINK with all this hair!"

And I'm thinking women all over the world would hear that and agree. I can't think with so much hair either.

Photo Op

Yes, I admit it.

I'm doing SuperBat again because I'm in more of a fiction mood than a non-fiction mood. I mean, I was going to blog anyway...

*  *  *

"Mr. Wayne?"  Clark fought the urge to adjust his tie and his glasses, and simply extended his hand in greeting. Bruce Wayne, billionaire, playboy, urban renewal champion, caught him in a crushing grip and smiled.

"Mr. Kent. I'm surprised they sent you out on this one. Don't you usually do crime beat?"

Clark fought the urge to roll his eyes. Bruce was there--impeccable in an earth-brown European cut suit, complete with--oh my God--the cravat that Clark had helped him tie that morning. Bruce knew goddamned good and well that Clark had been put on this story because Lois Lane had bribed Perry White with cookies to have Clark go because she was in Dubai following a lead on Lex Author, and she wanted him to dig up dirt on her favorite crush.

He liked Lois-- loved her like a sister, in fact--but he was tempted to lock her in a lead vault for all eternity because she mooned over Bruce Wayne like a love-struck teenager.

And dammit, Bruce was his. Which was--he could admit it--why he'd planted the lead that led Lois to Dubai.

Bruce had told him the interview was coming weeks ago. He was here as the Wayne Enterprises' front man, making himself at home in the penthouse of Metropolis's best hotel, surrounded by his entourage of PR personnel and engineers.

Tim Drake, who was working as his publicist for the moment, met Clark's gaze dryly.

Oh yeah--Tim knew. Bruce had mentored the boy, through his Red Robin days and into his service for Dick Grayson. He hadn't disclosed why Tim was back at Wayne Enterprises now, but Clark had a feeling it had something to do with the improvements Bruce was paying for in the Eye in the Sky. Bruce didn't admit he needed help often, but that project was a monster.

And his projects in Metropolis were the cover for that monster.

"I do, in fact," Clark said easily. "But it's not every day that an industrialist from Gotham beats out Lex Luthor's company for a contract in Metropolis. My editor thought this deserved a second look."

Clark was maybe the only one who knew what that tiny tick about Bruce Wayne's eyebrow meant.  Uh oh. Clark shifted in his seat, aware that tomorrow, he might not be able to so much as sit down.

"Well, there's not much to see here," Bruce said, smiling that disarming, playboy smile. "There was an opportunity to develop the margins between the thriving urban area and a rather depressed suburb, so I took it! Lots of money to be made in offering services, Mr. Kent--that's not really newsworthy."

Clark's eyes narrowed, and he was reminded again how much he hated Bruce's playboy persona.

"You're building a youth center and a daycare, Mr. Wayne. That's hardly a goldmine."

"But we're hiring the parents to work in the engineering firm nearby," Bruce told him, smiling disarmingly. "Really, I'm just getting a less distracted employee, that's all."

"You started the firm," Clark snapped. "It's renewable energy. From what I understand it'll cut the drain on Metropolis's power grid by ten percent."

Bruce waved at Lucius Fox airily. "Well, Lucius would know all about that. I just signed where he told me to, isn't that right, Lucius?"

"Sure," Lucius said, face impassive. "That paperwork doesn't do itself."

Bruce sent Lucius a killing look that the older man didn't bother to return.

Clark eyed Lucius with mild interest--and pretended he didn't see his wink.

"Did you have any other questions?" Bruce asked, leaning back in his seat. "We were going to have lunch brought up. You're welcome to join us."

Clark shrugged. "As long as it's all still on the record."

Oh, you bet it was on the record. It was on the record as he overheard Bruce's board talking about how much more money they could have made if they'd started a fracking plant instead but had refused. It was on the record when Bruce took a tearfully grateful call from the local WIC program, and another one from WEAVE, because the mothers were so relieved to have a job and childcare, and low income housing in a nice neighborhood. It was on the record as Bruce made arrangements with a local junior college for the workers at the plant to learn computer and management skills so they could more efficiently staff the engineering firm, as well as a mentor program that would funnel those truly gifted in math and spatial relationships into the sections that did actual engineering.

The only thing that was off the record was when the local mob boss called and told Bruce that he was so grateful for a chance to keep his little brother out of the family business, he and his boys would not only leave the area alone, they'd make sure any other "families" would lay off as well.

But Clark took note of it, and his eyes didn't leave Bruce Wayne once as he charmed and flattered and played the fool for his board members and staff and even the mobster, who all left that room convinced that the man was an idealistic ass who would find himself firmly taken advantage of in the end.

Clark was there in the morning as Bruce did his numbers.

He was highly aware that Bruce Wayne would make money off of this enterprise as he did off every other, and he would funnel the profits back into the community just as he did in Gotham.

Finally, the afternoon was over, and Bruce and his entourage were heading for the jet. Clark tilted his head, just a smidge, and Bruce smiled at them all as they got on the elevator.

"Lucius, please see everybody home. I'm going to spend one more night in Metropolis. Do you mind?"

Lucius gave a shrug. "Not at all. Don't do anything I wouldn't do." His eyes flickered to Clark. "Or would."

And then the elevator doors shut and Clark was on him and naked in the time it took to fly across the room.

"Are you crazy?" Bruce hissed, and Clark ignored him, ripping his three piece suit down the middle, like cracking an egg in half.

"Yes," Clark snapped, falling to his knees and burying his face in Bruce's taut, iron-ripped belly. "I am crazy, because I'm one of three people in this room who didn't think you were an arrogant idiot trying to impress the Metropolis social scene."

In one swift move, he engulfed Bruce's cock and sucked hard.

"Nungh!" Bruce tightened his fingers in Clark's hair and tugged hard, but Clark didn't yield. "I don't care what they think!" he hissed and Clark deep-throated him again, swallowing deliberately, knowing it would grip the head of the thing with powerful ripples.

Clark pulled back, gripping Bruce's prick with a solid stroke. "I care," he snapped. "Every time you joke about what an idiot you are, it's like you're disrespecting my property, and I hate it!"

"Well your property needs you to bend over," Bruce ordered. "Because otherwise I'm going to come on Superman's--"

Clark tugged on his balls, and he exploded.

Over Clark's closed eyes, his cheek, his open mouth.

Bruce's knees gave, and he sank slowly to the ground. Before Clark could wipe his face off, he felt Bruce's mouth moving over him, tongue extended.

He licked and suckled, and mouthed, eliminating his come from Clark's skin as he eliminated any trace of the man Clark knew him to be.

"Feel better?" he whispered.

Clark wrapped his arms around Bruce's waist and buried his sticky face against his neck. "No."

Bruce dropped a tender kiss in his hair. "Will you feel better after you write the article you're planning?"

"Maybe."

And he had the nerve to chuckle.

"Will you feel better if we make it to the bed and I do that thing I was planning to do when I told youth bend over?"

"It's a possibility. You know what would make me really feel better?"

Bruce sighed. "Not yet."

"Why not? You're nearing... an age. Why is it important everybody assumes you're an idiot and Lucius is the one behind the company even accidentally making money?"

"Because there's still a lot of good I can do by acting the fool," Bruce said patiently. "Why is it so important that anybody knows I'm not one?"

Clark groaned. "Because I love you, and you're brilliant, and you're kind, and you're brave. And nobody will know it and that kills me!"

"Nobody will know Clark Kent is Superman," Bruce said, standing up and offering Clark a hand up.

"But they'll know Clark Kent worked for a better world," Clark said, taking the hand and wrapping Bruce into the hardest, most all-concmpassing hug in his arsenal.

"And you'll know Bruce Wayne did." Bruce melted into his arms bonelessly, as though Clark was the only one on the planet who could take his weight.

Maybe because he was.

"You deserve more," Clark muttered, but they'd had this discussion before. There was no changing it.

Bruce laughed and pulled him toward the bed. "I don't even deserve you, but I'm taking you! Now bend over! I"ve got plans!"

Clark did, wrapping his wrists voluntarily in a towel, submitting his body to all the things Bruce craved.

Bruce craved Clark. Not money. Not accolades. He yearned to set the world right. He craved farm boy and  Boy Scout reporter, Clark Kent.

Clark would give him everything.

It's the only reward Bruce would ever take.

Release Day for A Few Good Fish-- LOVE ME SOME FISH!

So yes! Release day for A Few Good Fish.

Can I just say I love writing this series?

I love writing Jackson and Ellery throughout several books.

I love that I have many more adventures planned for them.

I love that even though my audience started out going, "Well... romantic suspense... I'm just not sure..." A lot of them seem to be firmly on board?

I loved bringing in Ace and Sonny, two of my favorite characters, into a new adventure.

I loved planning a romance for their friend Burton, which will be out in Hiding the Moon.

I loved how much people seemed to love Lucy Satan and Billy Bob.

I loved writing shit-go-boom-and-then-there's-sex.

I loved that Jackson was a broken boy at the beginning, and he's still a broken boy, and people are okay with it taking more than one book--more than three, actually-- to fix him.

And I love that I'm looking forward to writing another one, even before this one's out.

Welcome to the world of Jackson Rivers and Ellery Cramer, folks. If you haven't jumped in the fish pond yet, the first one's on sale for $.99-- enjoy!








A Few Good Fish

by Amy Lane

 Fish Out of Water: Book 3

A tomcat, a psychopath, and a psychic walk into the desert to rescue the men they love…. Can everybody make it out with their skin intact? 

PI Jackson Rivers and Defense Attorney Ellery Cramer have barely recovered from last November, when stopping a serial killer nearly destroyed Jackson in both body and spirit.

But their previous investigation poked a new danger with a stick, forcing Jackson and Ellery to leave town so they can meet the snake in its den.

Jackson Rivers grew up with the mean streets as a classroom and he learned a long time ago not to give a damn about his own life. But he gets a whole new education when the enemy takes Ellery. The man who pulled his shattered pieces from darkness and stitched them back together again is in trouble, and Jackson’s only chance to save him rests in the hands of fragile allies he barely knows.

It’s going to take a little bit of luck to get these Few Good Fish out alive!
Buy Link

Red Fish, Dead Fish
by Amy Lane
Fish Out of Water: Book Two
They must work together to stop a psychopath—and save each other.

Two months ago Jackson Rivers got shot while trying to save Ellery Cramer’s life. Not only is Jackson still suffering from his wounds, the triggerman remains at large—and the body count is mounting.

Jackson and Ellery have been trying to track down Tim Owens since Jackson got out of the hospital, but Owens’s time as a member of the department makes the DA reluctant to turn over any stones. When Owens starts going after people Jackson knows, Ellery’s instincts hit red alert. Hurt in a scuffle with drug-dealing squatters and trying damned hard not to grieve for a childhood spent in hell, Jackson is weak and vulnerable when Owens strikes.

Jackson gets away, but the fallout from the encounter might kill him. It’s not doing Ellery any favors either. When a police detective is abducted—and Jackson and Ellery hold the key to finding her—Ellery finds out exactly what he’s made of. He’s not the corporate shark who believes in winning at all costs; he’s the frightened lover trying to keep the man he cares for from self-destructing in his own valor.
Buy Link

Fish Out of Water
by Amy Lane
Fish Out of Water: Book One

PI Jackson Rivers grew up on the mean streets of Del Paso Heights—and he doesn’t trust cops, even though he was one. When the man he thinks of as his brother is accused of killing a police officer in an obviously doctored crime, Jackson will move heaven and earth to keep Kaden and his family safe.

Defense attorney Ellery Cramer grew up with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth, but that hasn’t stopped him from crushing on street-smart, swaggering Jackson Rivers for the past six years. But when Jackson asks for his help defending Kaden Cameron, Ellery is out of his depth—and not just with guarded, prickly Jackson. Kaden wasn’t just framed, he was framed by crooked cops, and the conspiracy goes higher than Ellery dares reach—and deep into Jackson’s troubled past.

Both men are soon enmeshed in the mystery of who killed the cop in the minimart, and engaged in a race against time to clear Kaden’s name. But when the mystery is solved and the bullets stop flying, they’ll have to deal with their personal complications… and an attraction that’s spiraled out of control.
Buy Link--ON SALE FOR $.99!!!!!!

Weekend Things

So, spent the weekend... well busy.

It's funny how my family--which should have been getting more and more self-sufficient and less mom dependent in the past few years, has, in fact, become the opposite.

They've become very "ishy" about me working over the weekends.

Friday I was getting all totally ready to nap before I picked up the kids so I could go to the reading at the Lavender Library Friday night, (which you can see if you follow the link)  when Mate texted and asked if I wanted to go out to lunch and keep him company while he did soccer errands.

Between that and the reading, no writing was done in this house.

Saturday was Squish's seeding tournament (four games in a day), and after we all got home and showered, Mate showed up and we went out to dinner and then went and caught Skyscraper at the cheap theaters, and then we all got home and passed out.

And no writing was done in this house.

This morning we took the dogs for a walk.  That was actually sort of adorable.

Mate would stop me every now and then with a warning. "Geoffie's behind you."

"I know."

"Well, be careful-- she's about to pull a full Empire Strikes Back ATAT maneuver on you, and you're gong down!"

It never happened, but the thought of me like the big transport carrier, legs tied together, toppling over on the pathway, did keep me very alert.

Also--and I posted this on Facebook, something cute happened.

A father was taking his kids for a ride--two of them on tiny bikes and one on a scooter like dad. The kid on the scooter was riding cleanup, trying to get his little sister on the princess bike with the booster seat for the doll in the back to get a move on.

"C'mon! Move! We're losing them!"

The little girl didn't say anything, even when her brother gave the bike a big heave from behind, she just let it coast to a stop--her eyes glued to the three dogs the whole time.

Finally I said, "Would you like to pet the dogs?"

She lit up and nodded and got off the bike and came over, hand cautiously extended. And then her brother did the same thing. I love it when kids know how to approach dogs. Some kids are all entitlement-- they run forward and EXPECT the dog to be okay with a stranger touching them. These kids knew dogs--they let the dogs sniff them and then gave gentle scratches to the tops of their heads between the ears.

And then, when the dogs had all been pet by both kids, they got on their little vehicles and went on their way.

Mate was chuckling the whole way back.

Decent kids, petting dogs. Sometimes the world really is that pure, right?

Anyway--we got home, and there was a long nap on my part, and then... finally...

After the kids went to bed...

Writing happened in this house.

Well, it had to get done eventually.

Update

First of all, Geoffie is doing okay. We'll see after her walk tomorrow if she needs to go back for more fluids, and mostly? I think we just wait to see if she starts throwing up like a hurricane or if she's going to pass the big chunk of rib bone in her stomach.

I have to say, this morning at the vets was really cute. She ran up to each of the nurses to personally greet them, her tail wagging, little barks coming, snuffling at their hands and all. They all knew her by name, and when I gave her to the one admitting her, she was happy to go.

I think they take good care of her there.

Because, you know, she's been there a lot.

Anyway-- tomorrow I'm joining my QSAF people at the Lavender Library in downtown to do a reading. It should be lots of fun--and hey! There's cookies!

Also-- don't forget, A Few Good Fish is out Tuesday, and I'm getting super excited about it! There will be a small blog tour, of course, and an excerpt posted on HEA Blog on USA Today, and generally good things!

Also, for those of you who didn't see it, Hiding the Moon is out in October. Now this book is sort of a sequel to Racing for the Sun, because Burton, the main character appears there as Ace and Sonny's friend.

Now, when I was writing A Few Good Fish, I needed someone on the inside to help Ellery and Jackson out. And the thing is, I'd already written a character who worked military black ops and would be happy to step up--Lee Burton. So, in order to have him and Ernie work well on the page, I wrote their story, starting on this blog, and then continued it and wrote the book in its entirety.

Which has this outrageously sexy cover, that looks SO GOOD next to Ace and Sonny's cover, and yet, so mysterious and awesome in its own right.

*happy sigh*

Ernie and Burton burn up the pages.

I love this sequence of books so much.

Anyway-- I know it's a wait for Hiding the Moon, but if you haven't read Racing for the Sun, now's your chance. And if you haven't read any of the Fish Out of Water books, you might want to start there.

*happy sigh*

Because these guys are seriously hot and shit does, indeed, go boom.

So everybody cross your fingers for Geoffie--I'm hoping she's seen the last of the vet for a while, but we'll have to see.

And yay!

I've got a new release out next week!

That's something to celebrate!

Geoffie, C'mon!

Okay-- so fingers crossed, everyone.

She's doing better.

Geoffie threw up last night--a lot.  (And there wasn't that much time to throw up, either. I went to bed at two a.m. and all the puke was found at seven.)

Anyway, took her to vets this morning, and she was cold and shaking and dehydrated, and a little part of me was mewling. Oh Goddess. Please. Not again. Not Geoffie. Dammit.

We had to shuffle financially, because, remember, last week we spent $500 on a dead cat. (I know that's horrible, but some part of me is still appalled at the injustice of that. I have to keep reminding myself that we made that poor creature more comfortable and that's important.)  Anyway, Mate and I quietly acknowledged that we were willing to spend much, much more money on a live Geoffie.

After a day in the vets office (and some unusually shitty communication-- they're usually much better than they were today) it was determined that she had a big chunk of rib bone in her stomach.They gave her lots of fluids and sent her home and the hope is either A. She'll metabolize the bone and it will break down or B. If it hits her lower intestine, we'll get her to emergency care in time to operate. The had her on fluids all day and put a big batch of subcutaneous fluids in her back before they sent her home--she looks like she's got a giant boil, right on her ass. It's sort of disgusting and hilarious, this is true.

We gave her an opioid so she could rest and deal with the thing in her stomach and I'm like, aghast.

"But... but... people give their dogs rib bones to chew all the time. I mean, we've cut down her human food by almost all of it--I thought big bones were safe and good for their teeth!"

"Well, rib bones are safe. Until they're not."

Me. *flails*

So, let's hope they're safe.

Let's hope her tummy is better when I take her back in the morning.

Let's hope all is well.

Right now, get some rest, sweetheart.

Mommy really wants a live puppy at the end of this.

And seriously, dog. Why is it always you???

Date Night for Titans

Okay-- so last night I started a SuperBat fic and sent it out and went, "Sorry, no sex!"



But I ended it RIGHT BEFORE they went on a date.



So their date has been playing out through my head all day.



It's VERY X-RATED.



You're welcome.



*  *  *



Superman kept him wrapped in his cape for the trip, torpedoing them through the stratosphere fast enough to freeze them both if he didn't.  Bruce didn't even ask where they were going--he assumed there was only one place they could go and be themselves that wasn't Gotham and wasn't the Eye in the Sky, and if Clark wanted to spend the odd night at his place that was fine.



As long as they were both spending the night at his place, because they spent enough nights out fighting crime and not by each other's side that Bruce got crabby about squandering any possible time together period.



Clark touched down lightly and Bruce tried to move from his chest.



"Stay," Clark whispered, and the embrace, which had been purely functional, so that Bruce Wayne might not fall through his lover's arms and freeze to death, became tender.



"Mm..." Bruce rested his head on Clark's shoulder again. Damned farm boy alien was really frickin' tall.



"You know I'm proud of you," Clark said softly. "For not just letting bad things happen to good people. It's a good part of you. I like it."



"You have the same part," Bruce objected--but he didn't move.



"Yes, but yours is more personal. I'm all about saving Metropolis. You're all about saving the kid living in the poor part of Gotham who got screwed over. Maybe together we can save the world."



Bruce smiled and raised his face to Clark's for a kiss. "Save the world later. Save me now."



Clark chuckled and gave him a quick, hard kiss on the mouth, and then stepped back.



"I'll save you later," he said, gesturing to the interior of the Fortress of Solitude. "Right now, we should eat."



Bruce took in the living area and gasped appreciatively.



Everything--furniture, bookshelves, video screen, technology-- was configured with a Kryptonian polymer. It's density could be controlled--so the couches were comfy and the table didn't sag in the middle--but it was all transparent, like perfectly frozen and sculpted ice. Fun to look at, but the effect was a little... cold.



It was modeled to look like an ice castle on the outside. Go figure.



Clark had decorated, just for this date.



The "table" --which was normally a big block of polymer--had been covered with a scarlet cloth, and white roses sat in the middle, in a perfect state of bloom.  It was set, a big tureen of soup in the middle and various covered dishes around that. Bruce assumed that the food in the platters was warmed and had been warming since right before Clark had come to get him.



Very clever. Bruce had no idea how long he'd been in the air but he was pretty sure he was going to sit down to a hot dinner.



"Who cooked?" he asked impishly, and Clark managed to look sheepish.



"Alfred," he sighed. "I told him we'd be gone all night if he could make something good for dinner here. I think you need to let him update the kitchen at your place. He almost cried when he saw mine."



Bruce grimaced. "Yeah... I don't think we can replace gas with Kryptonite powered flame, buddy. Some new pots and a rack I can get him. I think your power source would burn down my house."



Clark chuckled a little, and a crescent of pink appeared on his cheek. "You're right, of course. Here--you take off your coat and I'll go..."  He gestured to his uniform.



"Please tell me you're putting on the millionaire day-wear pajamas," Bruce said, knowing his eyes had gotten big and excited.



Clark rolled his eyes. "I'm putting on slacks," he said, that eternal prissiness that Bruce loved about him very much to the fore. "Because we're dressing for dinner, dammit. Now hang up your coat, wash your hands, and open the wine."



Bruce had to admit it. He got hard when Clark got bossy like this. "Of course," he said mildly. "White or red?"



"It's prime rib," Clark said, knowing Bruce sometimes did his own thing with wine.



"Red it is. Now go change. If we're going to dine, we're going to do it right."



Clark smiled warmly and float-glided through the dining room to the bedroom. You could actually see into the bedroom--there was a doorway but no door, and the walls were lightly frosted over. This was a fortress of solitude. If Clark invited someone over, they either didn't mind seeing him naked, or slept on the couch with no hard feelings.



Bruce business himself with the wine, and Clark came out in caramel colored slacks and a dark red dress shirt. No tie, and he was barefoot, but... but...



Damn.



"What?" Clark adjusted his cuffs and tried not to blush.



"That's not your broke reporter outfit," Bruce said. A little bit hard had just changed to a lot hard, and he took a hasty sip of wine while handing Clark his glass.



"No. You keep putting money in my bank account. It's embarrassing. I finally spent some."



Bruce chuckled a little. "Careful, farm boy, people are going to think you're a kept man."



"Shut up and sit down," Clark muttered, but his cheeks were still pink so Bruce knew he was pleased.



They sat and ate--and the food was amazing, but of course it was. Alfred had done it--when was Alfred not amazing?



But what was better than the food was the... the effort. 



"What?" Clark asked during a lull in the conversation. They'd both finished their steak and crossed their utensils, and Bruce couldn't help it. He needed.



"I want you," he rasped. "So damned bad. Tell me no, right now. Tell me dessert won't keep. Tell me my dick'll fall off if I take you here. Give me a reason, or I will have you bent over the table so fast it will feel like I've got super speed."



Clark stared at him, eyes going big and round, cheeks flushing completely.



And then he licked his lips, sinking his teeth into the pillowy bottom one.



Bruce shoved the plates out of the way and pulled him up by the back of the pants, licking at his ear as he did so.



"No reason?" he demanded. "No reason you can think of?"



"You don't fuck me over the table at your house," Clark taunted, and Bruce nipped his earlobe hard.



"This material's impervious to anything but an alien invasion," Bruce muttered. "That monstrosity at my house is an antique. And if Alfred walked in on us fucking on an antique, he'd die."



And with that, Clark bent over the table, arms spread submissively, ass thrust out.



Bruce let out a happy little keen and tugged at those pretty, loose fitting slacks.  The puddled at Clark's feet and Bruce gave a chuckle.



"Why Clark Kent, you are naked under your pants."



"Nungs..." Clark wiggled his ass. Actually wiggled his ass. 



"Are you sure you don't want dessert first?" Bruce asked, stripping off his jacket and his shirt while toeing off his shoes. He had a few items in the pocket of his slacks, and he pulled them out and put them on the table in front of Clark's eyes before removing the slacks and socks completely, draping them all on the giant comfy piece of acrylic polymer that doubled as a chair.



"Eating dessert now could be grounds for divorce," Clark moaned as Bruce ran fingertips down his spine and along his flanks.



"Not if I tied you up like this and dripped ice cream on your cock," Bruce sang, parting Clark's cleft with his thumbs, and Clark bucked up against the table a few times.  "Now hold still. Nobody can hear you scream out here, and I want to know what's going to give first. Your pride or my tongue."



And with that he sank to a naked crouch and began to lick between Clark's asscheeks.



Clark didn't hold back.



He moaned, he begged, he whimpered--but he didn't scream.



Bruce reached around and teased his cock, pinching the head, flicking the frenulum gently, rubbing a careful thumbnail between his testicles.



Clark buried his face in his arm and moaned, his thighs shaking with the effort to hold him upright, to keep himself calm.



Bruce's own cock was leaking copiously, hard, so painfully hard, but Clark had gone to so much trouble.



Bruce needed to give him the best dessert possible.



He reached to the table for the objects there and picked up the silk scarf first.



"Tying around your eyes," he decided. "Because it's pretty, and I know you can use heat vision but you won't so you won't wreck it."



Clark grunted and allowed himself to be blindfolded, and Bruce grabbed his necktie from his clothes pile.



"Now I'm going to tie your wrists, and we both know you can make a hash out of this in a heartbeat, but you bought me this tie and I love it and I wish you wouldn't."



This time Clark whimpered. This was playing dirty.



"And now..." Bruce drizzled just a little bit of lubricant into the crack of Clark's ass and took the other item-- a four-inch, flared base vibrator--and teased him with it. "Now, I'm going to give you not enough."  He thrust the thing in, waiting for the sound Clark made.



A full on, groin rumbling groan that shook the floor.



But not a scream.



"Close," Bruce teased, grabbing the thing by the handle and tugging. "Now to the bedroom, my man. We've got some shit to sort."



Clark didn't float-glide this time. He walked. Painfully. Knees obviously having trouble working. Sweat breaking out over his naked lower half.



By the time they got to the bed, Bruce's hands were shaking. He was going to have to give in. He was good at self-denial. Great at it in fact. But this was supposed to be fun for both of them.



He turned Clark so he sat on the bed, sat on the soft rubber handle, pushed the plug as deep as it could go. Clark moaned again, and Bruce could swear he felt the floorboards rumble under his bare feet.



He got to his knees before Clark and took his thick, dripping cock into his mouth.



Clark started to beg.



"This is good, oh God, I love your mouth, but please, please Bruce, this thing in my ass, it's... it's not you. Please, I'll scream if you fuck me, I promise, I just need you inside me and I'll scream!"



Bruce paused, puffing gentle air on Clark's exposed flesh.



"So, I can fuck you," he said, the tremor in his voice betraying his arousal, "but I won't get to taste your come."



"Please!" Clark begged, and if they'd been home, he would have rattled a couple of windows with that word.



Bruce pulled him to his feet and turned him around, bending him over and yanking out the plug before the vibrations completely eased.



He surged inside Clark's body with enough force to shatter another man, but not Clark.



Clark screamed, raw and guttural, the air around them blurring with the volume of his need.



Bruce fucked him without mercy, throwing his body forward with everything, brutally ravaging him with all the desire in his heart.



Their climax--their climax--took him by surprise. Clark moaned, and then screamed again, and clenched so tightly around Bruce's invading flesh that Bruce was thrown over in a heartbeat.



They both screamed, waves of pleasure, waves of orgasm, crashing into their bodies and shattering their souls.



Bruce collapsed over Clark's back, fumbling with the tie around his wrist so he could move.



Clark shoved his rumpled dress shirt up over his head, taking the blindfold with it and Bruce fell out of him, come running generously down the back of his thigh.



With a groan, Bruce fell on top of him again, never wanting to leave.



"That was... amazing..." Clark breathed. "That was worth the trip."



"You went to all that trouble." Bruce was never sure if he could convey what this meant to him. "Just... just for us. All we do, try ing to make the world better for other people. That was just for me."



"It was my pleasure," Clark murmured, voice serious as Bruce kissed the back of his neck and burrowed under his hair for his ears again.



"Just felt like dessert was the least I could do," Bruce told him, loving when his chuckle rumbled through them both.



"Get into bed, Bruce," Clark ordered gently. "We've got the kind of dessert you can eat."



Clark Kent, guileless farm boy, Superman, planet saving alien superhero, walked naked from his bedroom to the kitchen, Bruce Wayne's come marking his skin.  When he came back he had a plate filled with a confection of delicate pastry and ice cream and chocolate layers that was meant to be cleaved in half and served on delicate plates.



They ate it in bed, side by side, sharing the same fork.



They made love slowly, face to face, when they were done.



They promised to do it at least once a month afterward. Have time for both of them, here where nobody could intrude.



They made it maybe every two, sometimes once a season, but that was okay.



"A visit to the Fortress of Solitude" became Justice League code for, "A trip to get laid."



They sort of treasured that.



Date night--even superheroes need one.

I'm Free!

So, in honor of no jury duty for me...

Let's have no jury duty for Batman.

*

Clark looked at the little envelope in surprise.

"You're not going to try to get out of it?"

Bruce grimaced. "Everybody has to," he said patiently. "It's part of our justice system. Aren't you supposed to believe in that by the way?"

Clark rolled his eyes and reached for the milk. They were in the breakfast room, preparing for their day, both dressed in day-drag and reading their phones like the rest of America. It's just that Clark didn't expect anything so... pedestrian in the pile of domestic mail Alfred had brought Bruce that morning.

"I believe in it fine. I just don't think you--you in particular--are capable of participating in a fair, unbiased way."

Bruce gave him the side-eye. "And you are?"

Clark snorted. "Of course not! That's why I've had Diana hack the database and pull my name! It's only fair."

Bruce tilted his head. "You're cheating."

"I am not." But Clark shifted uncomfortably. He was. A little, yes. He was cheating. "But it's a small cheat to avoid a bigger one. I know if they're lying--I can tell if they're sweating, I may have even seen them commit the crime." He tried to control his runaway gestures. "So have you!"

Bruce chuckled.

"You know, it'll be fine. Don't worry. Odds are good my group won't even get called."

"Sure."  If there was a bomb within a fifty mile radius, Bruce would be sitting on top of it when it blew up. If there was a call to jury duty, Bruce would DEFINITELY get called.

"I tell you what," Bruce said casually, taking a swallow of premium sustainable mountain blend. "I'll serve my civic duty, and I'll do it without intervening as Batman."

Clark's eyes narrowed. "What about as Bruce Wayne?"

"Bruce Wayne is a fair bet. Bruce Wayne has resources--"

"No giant mainframe computer with it's own server and secret encrypted routes to almost every public service," Clark said bluntly.

Bruce shrugged. "Sure."

"No going out and punishing criminals by night," Clark continued.

"You mean, other than normal."

Oh. Yeah. That would be hard to measure. But still... "If you run into someone you've been introduced to in the courtroom, that's fine. But no searching him out."

"Deal."

"And if you go in and get rejected for a jury and don't have to serve, you and I get a date."

Bruce raised his eyebrows. "In public?"

"I will take you someplace--anonymously--and we will have dinner and a view and sex."

"So my reward for not doing my civic duty is anonymous sex?"

Clark just stared at him. "As opposed to no sex of any flavor if you don't stop being an... uh... jerk."

"You can't even say asshole when you're not just boiling mad at me, can you." Clark gloated, secure as a cat by the hearth. "Deal. Trust me. You're going to have to spring for the big meal in the private chateau. It'll be great." He smiled the super disturbing Batman smile with extra teeth. "I'll see if I can get you to say asshole then."

Clark's flush actually heated the air around them both, and Bruce threw back his head and laughed.

Well, with any luck, he wouldn't even get called in.

*

Bruce looked at the jury website and sighed. Yes, he had to go in. He grabbed his briefcase and called a car to the courthouse, making sure to give his assistant all of the salient instructions for the rest of the day.

"What if you don't get called?" poor Stella asked, legitimately confused. It wasn't like Bruce to not milk all of the daylight out of a work day.

"If I don't get called in, I'll have plans," Bruce said smoothly. "But do be active on the com. I may have to... issue instructions, as it were."

Stella stared at him, appalled. "But... but... you can't tamper with the system!"

"I don't plan to tamper with the system," he said, patting her cheek. "I just plan to use my resources to make sure justice gets done."

An hour later, he was sitting in a room with a dozen other jurors getting quizzed to see if they thought the 20 year old who'd gotten popped for a pocketful of party drugs should go to prison for life.

"Do you think the defendant's youth will influence your decision?" asked the prosecuting attorney.

"It should," Bruce responded. "As should the severity of the crime. If we're about to ruin somebody's life for what won't even be illegal next month I think it's important that we take into consideration the entirety of what was committed."

"Juror number twelve, you're excused. Report back to the jury pool for another selection."

Bruce scowled at the prosecutor--and at the judge-- and stood up, walking briskly through the courtroom to the hall beyond, buttoning his jacket as he went.

And hitting the com in his ear.

"Stell, I need you to find an outstanding defense attorney and send him to room 1202, to minister to docket XJ289."

"Sir?"

"Did you get all that?"

"Yes sir. What are my instructions for him?"

"The kid doesn't deserve to go to prison and to get him to do community service or something. He's being railroaded because prosecutor doesn't like party kids. It's gross. And since I'm not serving on the jury..."

"You can interfere. I understand sir."

"Be on standby for the next one."

"Yes sir."

The next one was a horror show.

"Wait," Bruce said as they were being seated. "That can't be the defendant in this case."

He recognized the young college student looking scared and vulnerable at the table.

"Looks like it," the juror next to him whispered. "Why?"

Bruce shook his head. He couldn't very well say Batman had actually caught the murderer and hung him from a streetlamp for all to see.

"Stella," he whispered into his com.

"Sir?"

"Need another defense attorney--make it the best--my location stat."

But even stat, it wasn't soon enough to avoid answering questions.

"Sir, have you met anybody in this courtroom before?"

"Yes," Bruce answered. "I've seen the defendant on his way too and from his junior college classes."  Usually late at night, as Batman watched his neighborhood. It sat on the border of a true den of drug addicts and criminals, separating them from the older, safer neighborhood on the other side. "He's kind to his neighbors, helps little old ladies across the street, and once found a kitten for a little girl in his building."

"You're ex--"

"And since I'm excused, why is he being charged with this crime? It's my understanding another person--somebody with deep ties to a local gang--had been found tied up with a bow and hanging from a streetlamp nearby!"  It had been in the papers, dammit. Bruce had looked!

"Well, the district attorney made the consideration--"

Bruce scowled. Dammit, the one thing Two-Face had been was not a schmuck on the little guy.

"That since the guy hanging from the lamp sounded batshit crazy you could pin it on this guy who saw the whole thing? That's fair."

Bruce was aware that the kid was staring at him like he was a god.

"This is not your concern, Juror 14--"

"But it is! This kid doesn't belong here! He doesn't belong in jail! He doesn't belong in debt! All he did was make sure nobody in his neighborhood got hurt!"

"Juror 14, you can be charged with contempt of court if you continue to--"

"But he's innocent!" Bruce bit out, and he heard it.

There was Batman in his voice.

An hour later, his own attorney was bailing him out of jail.

"Contempt of court," William said dryly.

"They were assholes."

"And that's contemptuous."

"Look, did we get actual attorneys to the other two people?" he asked, irritable.

"Yes, yes we did. And you know what else we got?"

"What?"

"A moratorium of Bruce Wayne serving jury duty any more. I swear, both judged and prosecutors almost shit their pants. It was lovely."

Bruce grimaced. "Where's the roof?"

"Why do you need the--"

"I've got an appointment. I don't want to be late."

Clark was doing that thing where he pointed one toe down and hovered a good six-inches off the surface of the ground.

"You interfered," he said severely.

"Not as Batman," Bruce answered.

"That's not true! You know the one defendant was innocent--"

"I k new he was innocent because I'm Batman. I intervened because I'm Bruce Wayne."  Bruce smiled playfully. "Do I still get my date?"

Clark sighed and opened his arms. Bruce stepped into them and allowed himself to be enveloped in the red cloak.

"You going to teach me where my asshole is?" Clark whispered into his ear, and Bruce shuddered.

"Since you came to get me and let me win, sure," Bruce replied, leaning his head against Clark's shoulder. Then he smiled. "Besides. You know where your asshole is. He's right there, interfering in all the things he can."