agoodyarn | for frightening: Goddammit Bruce

Clark meanders around answering, doing what Bruce has come to think of as that midwestern thing of sidling up to what he's trying to say. But because it's Clark, he's trying to pick apart and be honest, too. Bruce just stares, one hand on the steering wheel, turned slightly towards the other man.

He doesn't press. The answer is probably difficult because the question is difficult. What the hell is Bruce asking, exactly, anyway. In his head, they've always had these feelings somewhere under the surface, and maybe Clark was better articulated with himself about it because God knows Bruce can't figure anything out about how he feels, but for some reason he never imagined Clark aching for it, for him, waiting and watching and thinking about it, letting it interfere with Lois and God knows what else.

Probably because Bruce is an idiot who ignored it from Clark just like he ignored it from himself.

That's a significant amount of time.

Bruce removes his hand from the wheel and reaches over, turning fully and leaning close. He kisses Clark fierce and possessive, hand holding his head, fingers tangled in his hair.

Every time. Every time Bruce pulls him in, every time Bruce leaves a trail of breadcrumbs, and Clark comes and someone who didn't know, didn't understand, might think it was ridiculous, how easily he goes pliant in Bruce's hands, how willing he is to be tugged into this or that.

But Clark knows, how hard it is for Bruce to deal with these things, to express these things, to accept these things. He knows that so much of this leaves Bruce feeling lost and overwhelmed and there is not a bone in his body, not a single muscle, willing to make it even the tiniest bit harder for the other man. Not with the way he trusts him. Not with what he knows, what he sees.

Fierce and possessive and Clark is happy to be claimed, happy to be worthy of such fierceness, and he melts into the kiss for a moment before answering it properly, rocking between Bruce's lips and Bruce's hand in his hair with obvious need.

Bruce is moving in starts and stops with this, and he knows it. Acclimating one step at a time, finding each of them disorienting, evening out, then getting pulled into a too-strong current in the next step. It's got to be frustrating, but Clark just sticks with it. Like he's stuck with every other frustrating thing Bruce has put him through.

The kiss is rough, demanding-- part of Bruce thinks he should probably be rolling over a little here, with all the miscommunications and thousand-mile emotional roads being his fault, but that's not him, is it? This is him, solid rock with jagged edges, uncompromising, too much in too many ways.

It's a long moment before he has to pull back to drag oxygen into his lungs, because he doesn't need to breathe as often as most humans; definitely his Tibetan ninja training was meant to be used for making out with Kryptonians. But when he does pull away, he leans his forehead against Clark's, still holding him by the back of his head, his eyes closed. He knows Clark is listening to his pulse, his heart, which is steady and even despite the elevated rate. There's a meaningfulness to it he can't articulate.

One day, he'll be able to tell Bruce that his heartbeat never leaves his ears. He's mentioned it at one time or another, because it's been a useful tool more than once, but he's never explained what it means. It's just a power, an ability. It's a tool.

But it's never really been that, because Clark's control of his abilities depends so firmly on want. What does he want to hear? What does his mind think of as important? And his parents are there.... he'd never deny their importance or their place in his heart, but that's about safekeeping. That's about knowing they're okay.

And of course Clark likes knowing that Bruce is all right, enjoys the reassurance of that steady beat when he's trying to work or sleep or otherwise go about his business, but that heartbeat is so much more.

He'd put Bruce's hand over his heart earlier to make a point and this felt like the counterpoint, the answer. He listens to Bruce's pulse, his heart, his breath, the flow of his blood in his veins, the shift of his muscles and bones, and they guide him home. The steady beat, sometimes frantic in battle, sometimes slow in study. Always unique. Always at the back of his senses. A constant of the world.

There is the sky and there is the sun and there are the stars and there is Bruce's heartbeat in his ears, telling him the world is still spinning properly.

Edited (omg I've been trying to send this foooorever and then I realized typos) 2015-11-14 13:39 (UTC)

He'd be humbled to know, and at the same time, it'd hurt him in such a deep way. Bruce is human, breakable, so very mortal. Even in the best case, most unbelievable and fantastic scenario where Batman actually manages to die peacefully in his bed at ninety-odd years (which is not happening, they all know), he remains a temporary fixture in a universe so vast it's impossible to imagine so much as a memory of him will continue on for too long. What does that mean for Clark? For Kal. Just as Bruce Wayne is mortal, so is Clark Kent; he can't be a mild mannered reporter at the Daily Planet forever. Eventually, Clark Kent will have to die in some innocuous way, so that no one ever has to struggle with making sense of a co-worker who doesn't age. And he won't age as long as there's a yellow sun. Kal will go on and Clark won't, as everyone he knows grows old and passes on, any connection to Kansas and his first century on this mad, tiny planet flicking out like so many candles at the end of their wicks. One after the other.

What brings him home, then?

It's unfair to both of them to dwell on it now.

Bruce kisses Clark again, this time gentle, a different kind of promise. He doesn't want to acknowledge to himself how easy it is to get addicted to kissing Clark, because he hates that kind of thing about himself. But it is and he feels that way, just a little, not wanting to stop, on the edge of wanting him enough to turn the damn car's engine off. But he doesn't. He pulls back again, sitting up straighter, giving Clark a long look as he lets his hand slide around to his jaw, drawing his thumb over the other man's lips. He really is beautiful. His eyes, especially.

Alright. Christ. Driving back, now.

As Bruce's hands leave him, remove themselves to the steering wheel and the shifter, Clark just nods to the two of them as if there was something to respond to before leaning back in his seat.

"I'm surprised you haven't asked about Lois yet," he admits with a sideways glance that never even attempts to catch Bruce's eyes.

You mean your ex who I definitely slept with before you were an item, which you were inexplicably less annoyed about than me sleeping with Selina or Talia? Bruce does not ask, because we're not even sure if that happens in every continuity and isn't just editors trolling each other.

"Should I ask about Lois?" Bruce is a non-monogamous person. Clark knows this. As far as he's aware Clark is not so much that way, but he's assuming either he and Lois's on-and-off (?) relationship is off, or that she's fine with it. He can't begin to imagine Clark being with her and not mentioning his intent to screw around with somebody else, even if hypothetical screwing around was purely emotional. As for him: everyone Bruce is with knows the score, and they're free to do the same. Maybe that's why he and Selina keep coming back to their trainwreck of a relationship - not just loving each other (which they do), but operating the same way and not being too grudging.

(Mostly. She'd gotten real mad about Zatanna once, but Bruce still thinks that was a holdover from him being real mad about Zatanna.)

Lois could and did sleep with whoever the hell she wanted before him and after him and it was none of Clark's damn business, as far as he was concerned. ...as for the other two ladies, Selina he can tolerate because they have something of an Understanding of sorts even if they don't like each other because Some Things Are More Important but Talia, don't get him started on Talia because Things will get set on fire.

"You don't really have to," because it's not really an issue, "but you usually want to know everything. And it's the obvious question."

"Alright. What does Lois think?"

Bruce knows a lot already: he knows Clark wouldn't lie to her or go behind her back to lie by omission, he knows Clark wouldn't make Bruce complicit in cheating. He knows that even if he's had critiques about the public nature of Superman's connection to Lois Lane over the years, that what they do about their feelings is their business and not his.

But apparently it's going to be an interesting conversation, so he asks.

It's actually not. Really, it probably the most boring thing they've discussed outside of sports salaries.

"She thinks I should have asked you out about two and a half years ago," Clark informed him with a quick frown and a spread of his hands before tucking one up behind his head.

Because they loved each other, they really did, but Clark and Lois had had too many conflicting pieces to ever find anything like peace together. There were just things that one or the other couldn't provide and instead of making themselves angry or bitter, instead of hurting one another, they'd fallen back on the core of their relationship: love. Lois loved Clark and Clark loved Lois. But a life together just... wasn't in the cards. Not while they were who they were and needed what they needed.

So Superman and Lois Lane continued to make people coo while Clark and Lois themselves had a relationship that consisted of being very very good friends who happened to have sex when the mood struck them while people assumed whatever they wanted and Clark stalled to his best friend about it because--

Well, it all seemed rather silly now.

"She also said that when I stopped being ridiculous about it, she'd be happy to play the filling in a sandwich, but I'm not sure if she was being facetious."

Clark, she absolutely was not being facetious.

Good lord, Clark, how many people did you confide in about this. Though Bruce supposes Lois is a given, and if pressed he would have to admit Diana gets a pass. It better not be more than that, though. Have some dignity, Superman.

.. And, no, that's actually quite interesting.

Bruce meets his eyes in the mirror (he doesn't turn his head too much while he's driving this fast on a road this dangerous), one eyebrow raised. "She wasn't. And neither am I when I say I'd co-sign that proposal. Though I may decline to use that exact wording."

Superman has plenty of dignity. And really, there's only one other person he'd confided to and that was his mother and She Doesn't Count. And what's wrong with confiding in people, hmm? Why have three wonderful, wise, brilliant women at his disposal and not ask for their opinions on something this sensitive. Because the other alternative had been to ask Bruce himself and--

Well, he probably should have. But he hadn't even thought that was an option. Trust Bruce to have the pure stones to innovate that new feature in their relationship.

The answer to Lois's (apparently serious) offer has him swallowing a little.

"Aha."

And you don't need to be the world's greatest detective to see that he doesn't object to the idea, but just as Bruce had never considered such a thing, neither had Clark actually-- you see, now there's a mental image and-- how would they ex--

He's glad Bruce drives fast right now. Very glad. Especially that part where Bruce doesn't turn his head to look at him. That's a really great feature.

Now that is fun. Observing Clark in his peripheral vision, being aware of him so crisply - he certainly doesn't have metahuman senses, but he doesn't need them. Clark is bulletproof, not immune to having his body language read.

"I can imagine it quite clearly, actually."

This is probably unfair of him. They're almost at the house, though.

"She's bossy. I like that. You'd have to listen to both of us."

Do this, move there, watch.

Clark shifted in his seat and did his best to breath in deep, settle his entirely too active imagination.

"You're enjoying this," came the accusation as he slid a look sideways.

When he breathes in, can he tell that Bruce is turned on by the idea? Inquiring minds.

"Sex should be enjoyed. I'd like to enjoy sex with you quite a lot more."

They're at the gates now, slowing to a less unsafe-for-anyone-else speed. He notes internally that it would have been near fifteen minutes if not for that emergency stop. Good.

"Though as appealing as you might find the idea of calling Lois, I want you to myself for a while."

Other things that are probably unfair: the voice he's using.

Oh, he can smell it. That's part of the reason its having the effect it is on him. The 'problem' with this little situation is that there was really only one direction for this all to go: Clark was only ever going to get more turned on. Because if Bruce had decided to call up Lois-- well, that was rather obvious. But Bruce's desire to have him to himself, the pure thrill of getting Bruce to himself...

Let's hope Bruce wasn't planning on accomplishing anything in the next hour or two because he probably won't. Not with the voice he was using. But he's not exactly helpless. He just has to learn the new twists and turns to this particular aspect of Bruce.

"And what are you planning on doing with me?"

He parks the car, reversing into the garage with flawless precision, taking a moment to do that without answering the question. It's important he doesn't ding any of the other vehicles in his football field sized garage.

"Thought I might have you hold a water bottle and towel for me while I hit the gym."

... Bruce.

...that was a growl. That was definitely a growl.

"Reconsider that answer."

It's... not a command but it's definitely a piece of advice. Don't test Clark, Bruce. You know he's devious. And while their games can be quite enjoyable when they both attend to the unspoken gentleman's agreement that tends to spring up in these situations, Clark's not afraid of you and that means he'll play dirty. Ridiculous and dirty.

That way leads to finding shaving cream in intensely irritating places. Or having all of his produce replaced with bananas.

A little more restraint then-

"Unless that's really all you can think of."

There's no way Clark's going to miss how Bruce's heart rate picks up at that growl, though nothing about his face or how he holds himself changes. Bruce doesn't expect him to miss it, he expects him to hear and know how much he likes that he can rile the other man up. Knowing he can get the Man of Steel on edge with desire is a hell of a feeling.

(Childish pranks = not getting laid, for the record. Bruce has more outlets than Clark does, and messing with the produce means messing with Alfred. Proceed at your own risk down that path, Kansas.)

"Out of the car."

That is a command. Not growled or forced out, but calm and almost soft-spoken, the way Bruce always drifts through life, used to being listened to. He gets out, shuts the driver's side door, and walks around the BMW to stand in front of Clark. He reaches out and gently takes the thick-rimmed glasses off, tucks them into Clark's shirt pocket. His hand stays there, palm spread out against his chest, sliding down over his stomach and side to hold at his hip.

"Is it physiologically possible for me to be on top, out of curiosity?" ... You know, while we're on the subject of the next few hours. It's very much not a dealbreaker if Bruce can't fuck him, but he's got no idea. And as previously noted, Bruce likes knowing everything.

Childish pranks would only be indulged in if Bruce had already ixnayed such things. And for shame: Clark would never meddle with Alfred. Enlist his aid, if at all possible, or have him referee if not. But one does not meddle with Alfred. What kind of villain do you take him for, Bruce?

Clark looks down at the hand on his chest, at the glasses in his pocket, and slowly turns his gaze to Bruce's eyes. He tilts his head to the side.

"I'll be honest and admit no one's ever tried it with flesh and blood," he says before lifting a finger, "but Lois has a few toys that did the trick without being damaged or warped. Physiologically, I'm reasonably certain my piezoelectric field expands to cover anything inside me, making it as invulnerable as I am."

A tilt in the other direction.

"But you're welcome to experiment."

Eyebrows lift slightly. It's amazing more people can't read Bruce by eyebrows alone; even when he's got the cowl on, there's a sense of it. He's not really a toy person (gadgets are for work, thanks), but there's still something of merit about the mental image that information produces in his head.

Additionally-- well. Around anyone else his expression would remain set in stone, but because it's Clark, he allows himself to just barely emote the fact that he had to stop an impulse to laugh. Invulnerable erections. And this is not the way experimental alien probing is supposed to work.

Bruce places his other hand on Clark's hip, mirrored, and raises it to his shoulder, tracing over his chest as if there were no fabric in the way. Slowly, "How fast can you get us back to my bedroom?

To be fair, he'd had an invulnerable erection inside him only a couple hours ago. Clark doesn't actually have any other kind. But that doesn't stop him from pressing his lips together to keep from laughing as well. This whole thing is just so much... happier than he'd ever dreamed it might be. Of course, he'd always known that Bruce had quite the sense of humor, loved his sense of humor even given how subtle it is. As a matter of fact, he has a running tally of the times it's taken an entire meeting for one of their coworkers to figure out that Bruce had made a joke. The longest processing time, courtesy of Hawkgirl, had clocked in at three days, two hours, and forty seven minutes.

Clark watches Bruce's hands move across his body, checks both of their locations then leans down to look Bruce in the eyes.

"Blink."

As soon as he did, he'd open his eyes to find himself in his own bedroom, pressed against the door with Clark on his knees and staring up at him with a playful smile. He hadn't had to do anything as complex as changing Bruce's clothes or really deal with too many doors, the way he'd gone, so Bruce's stomach should be fine, but there was still a moment's pause and examination as Bruce opened his eyes.

He expected that and was ready for it, so indeed, there's no sudden lurch of nausea. Bruce remembers the first time he'd experienced that - against his will, mind you - puking over a cruise ship railing while Lois Lane swore a blue streak about the both of them. Well, the four of them, as far as she knew at the time. How times change.

Still, it's a slow blink, and he opens his eyes only after he's absolutely certain they're stationary. Bruce's gaze trails down until it lands on Clark.

"What," he begins, archly, reaching out to thread the hands of both fingers through the other man's hair, "are you doing down there?"

It's been a long time since that cruise. ~~Clark was never going to forget those bunny slippers. Or the heart boxers. Or that bath robe.~~

He looks down at the ground, frowns a little, and turns a pair of truly devastating eyes up at Bruce. Really, how could you deny that face anything? (You could, if you were Bruce Wayne, because you know who's behind them and Batman can do anything, but still.) Especially when he arches like a cat up into the hands in his hair.

"I was hoping you would let me have something I want," Clark says with a crooked little smile. "Figured I'd start on my knees. Make it clear how interested I am."

Edited (grammar flop) 2015-11-14 23:16 (UTC)

It is very gratifying to have Clark move like that beneath his hands. He doesn't react visibly to those eyes, though, keeping his face impassive. If Clark wants to play a little, he can do that. (Correct. Batman can do anything.)

Bruce lets the fingers of one hand slide away from Clark's hair only to trace over the features of his face, running over his forehead, brow, along his cheekbones to his strong jaw. His clear eyes are infinitely watchful, incredibly focused. All of his attention settled here. Just here.

Still serious: "Explain it to me."

for frightening: Goddammit Bruce

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