MARVEL & DC IMAGINES

] the sun [



Description: apricate. v. 1690s, "to bask in the sun," from Latin apricatus, past participle of apricari "to bask in the sun," from apricus "exposed" (to the sun)

Words: 1362

Notes: Yo so I tried the whole "write late at night" thing that Jen did, and this came out BEAUTIFULLY. I actually really enjoyed Man of Steel, so after I watched it again I was struck with the mental image of Clark reaching out for the sun, and I don't know why but that was very impactful for me. As much as I love Batfam, Clark Kent will forever hold a special place in my heart. I published this at around 12:48 AM on 11/25/17, after awaking at 11-ish going HOLY SHIT THE SUN THING.

"I loved you as Icarus loved the sun; too close, too much." - ?

The grass is healthy and alive beneath your body, almost cocooning your form with its height. You card your fingers through the blades and knot your hands in them, feeling the dirt sink into your nails, the Earth's heart beating and pulsing under your touch. It's just shy of sunset when you hear the squeaky front door teeter shut. The breeze brings Clark Kent's scent closer, and eventually, his body joins yours, planted in the Earth and grown there.

"You know, I'm supposed to be the one who gets their powers from the sun," Clark remarks.

This may be true, but the sun is a beautiful thing. He is the one who taught you this. You'd spent too many mornings watching Clark sit on the balcony of your apartment in Metropolis, waiting for the sun to rise. When it finally broke high enough in the sky to bend the shadow of your building, even if it had yet to cast over the stone balcony, he'd reach over the edge as far as his body would allow and watch his hand underneath the soft rays. The way his long fingers curled and grasped at the light, trying to hold it in his palm, always managed to awake something in you. Now, Clark realizes what you meant.

Your figure is hidden in the ankle-high grass that he has to cut, feet and soul bared for the sun to touch. He watched in a delicate, white-noise filled slow motion as your digits raised to touch the sun back. It had reached the point where the great oak at the beginning of the property no longer obstructed it from view. But part of the light was tossed over the lawn in leaf-patterned fractures, painted on the grass' brush-stroked backdrop. It is not a red sun, an orange sun, or even a gold sun. It is yellow. Yellow that makes your skin glow and his eyes close.

"I know," You breathed. There is no smile on your visage, but your eyes are shut and the muscles in your face have lost their tension. Peace is absorbed into your skin like a sponge absorbs water, and you wonder if the sun is the source of Clark's contentment and hope as he is yours."But you can't feel the moonlight as well as you can feel the sunlight. It's just a mimicry. An echo."

Clark digested your words, lips quirked and legs crissed-crossed as he sits beside you. He smiles down at you as you threw an arm dramatically over your eyes,"Offly poetic of you, Ms. Y/N."

"Pssh!" You snorted, rolling over and half-into his side as you hugged yourself in your mirth."Oh, please, Clark. You are clearly, out of the two of us, the most poetic. And not to forget, dramatic."

"I'd like to politely disagree, if I may—" Clark began with a grin, watching you curl around his back and against his legs while you laughed. His tone was playful and mocked a colonial presidential candidate. You held yourself up on an elbow, folding your calves against your thighs and revealing the sunflower he had gifted you earlier. You pointed at him with it,"No. I have proof that you're more dramatic. I can quote you, directly."

"Please," Clark smirked, shrugging his palms in a "why not?" gesture before clapping them against his jean-clad knees."Be my guest."

"Oh, Y/N," You stage-whispered with a deeper tone that was nothing like Clark's, pulling the sunflower into your chest to represent yourself. You tried to convey the emotion of the scene in which he'd spoken the words, cradling your broken body to his chest and shielding you from the flying debris around you."You're my sun." You told Clark dramatically.

Clark cupped one side of your face, and your smile dropped abruptly when he began to imitate your voice and quote your past words,"And you're mine, Clark Kent."

He broke out into laughter when you huffed incredulously,"I don't sound like that!"

Regardless of your mild annoyance, you still press your nose into the sunflower's petals, embracing a different kind of warmth. You turn your back on the sun and face Clark, chest expanding with the airy feeling that took a forever to realize was love. You felt like he'd taken you flying again, or you were on a roller coaster that was constantly falling, your heart weightless—okay, maybe you were a bit more dramatic than Clark, but still...

"You are more dramatic," Clark held a finger lightly against your lips to stop your playful retort,"But you are also more romantic." He compromised.

"That we can agree on, mon chéri." You held the sunflower between your teeth and winked at him. His smile grew by a fraction and you found his hand resting on your bare knee, slowly gliding down your thigh to the edge of your farmer's shorts and back up again. The sweet caress makes your playful attitude diminish, replaced by the true romantic one in which Clark praises. You returned to your position lying on your back, your spine to the Earth, and hold the sunflower over your heart as you slip your hand down his back,"Apricate with me."

Clark, instead, rolls onto his side and turns his gaze on you, wriggling his legs and kicking at his heels until his shoes come off. When he's freed, he smirks and cocks an eyebrow,"Apricate?"

"It means to bathe in the sun. Use that in an article, paper boy." You spread your limbs gratefully embracing the sun, arm-span falling over Clark's body. Tenderly, you laid your fingers on his eyelids and drew them shut,"Close your eyes for me."

Clark did so, eyes fluttering shut completely. The gentle pads of your fingers left his face, but then soon slid over his knuckles and knotted with them. You're closer when you whisper, and with the absence of his sight he can sense everything intensely, from the dips of your chest to the light callouses on your fingers,"What do you hear?"

He focuses on his ears. He hears the cicadas chirping in the aging trees on the property, the shuffle of slippers on wood as Martha shimmies about the kitchen while Jailhouse Rock plays on the crackling radio. He hears the tinkle of a cow-bell from the farm over, and the light whistle of the breeze combing through leaves and ancient wood. Clark hears your heartbeat, a clarity amongst everything, and he squeezes your fingers.

"A truck driving down the highway," He whispers. You close your eyes and feel the sun leak into your pores, and now you can imagine everything he can hear, everything he can taste or touch. He's beautiful, you think to yourself. Not in the attractive, pretty way that Clark still is. But in the awe-inspiring, earth-moving, sun-lit and utterly heart-pounding way. The way where people look up at you and whisper in wonder,"Is it a bird? Is it a plane?" The way you could only dream of being, the way you are lucky to see on the other side of the bed each morning.

"Somebody painting their house. Water dripping in a well," Clark releases your hand and lays it over your waist. You push yourself back into him, head tucked into the grass with his eyes still shut against your skin. You watch the sun start to set on the horizon, Clark humming as he lays a kiss on your spine,"My favorite heartbeat."

"Oh, Clark." You sighed, cupping his face from behind. You felt him turn his head into your hand and lay another kiss on the heart of your palm,"You really are my sun." You echoed his words with a grin on your face.

Clark settled his nose between your shoulder blades, wiggling an arm under your waist and the other across your hip. The grass tickles his cheek when he responds, beaming,"And you're mine, Ms. Y/N."