agoodyarn | daemon au

She is apparently completely immune to Bat-glares, much like the man she's attached to. Is it because she's a bat herself? Or just because she's as indestructible as her human? Hard to say. Though if he knew anything, he'd know there's nothing at all casual about this.

"He was trying to tell you something." The 'you moron' was unspoken but it was clearly more out of a desire to be heard than any kind of politeness. She's thoroughly past that right now, after all. "You could have asked him for a moment of his time."

"He can drop by my quarters before I leave if he wants to try harder," Bruce snaps, feeling uncomfortable already. And this time he does shrug her off-- gently, one hand rising to make sure she's off his shoulder before he storms away. For a brief moment he wonders what that contact made Clark feel.

It's so unsatisfying to have sliding doors that he can't slam. Bruce shoves his cowl back as soon as he's in private again, the heel of one glove-covered hand pressed between his eyes. What the hell is he even doing. Why can he work so seamlessly with Superman and then as soon as they're trying to be themselves he falls apart with brittle nerves.

She flaps a few times to make it clear that she could follow but is choosing not to before giving him a Look and spinning to fly back to Clark.

There is, however, a light knock on the door of his quarters within a half an hour.

The door doesn't open immediately, but still promptly - and reveals Bruce, unmasked, trying to reel in an expression that's definitely bordering on a scowl. He's out of his armor and wearing the form-fitting black undersuit, getting some research and report work done before he heads out.

For a moment he says nothing and it seems like he's going to ask What the hell do you want, but then it passes and he turns away, stepping further into his quarters and letting Clark inside.

Strangely, Bruce seems to be still alone. It's hard to pick out, but beneath a pillow on his spartan bed, two small black eyes peer out of a shadow, observing.

Neoma is on his shoulder, but she flickers up to a ceiling spot to hang and watch the two of them. Or rather, the three of them. Don't think she's missed you, small black eyes.

Clark gestures up to the bat with a wince.

"I'm so sorry about earlier. I had no idea she was going to do that. I would have called her back if I had. I... I didn't mean to make you feel even more uncomfortable. That's the last thing I want."

Bruce just stares at him. Clark looks so off-kilter, and he feels a strange stab of guilt and disappointment-- the latter just makes him angry at himself, because what did he expect? For Clark to like it when Bruce's hand brushed against Neoma?

"It's fine," he says, forcing himself not to snap. He leans back against his desk, arms crossed over his chest. At first. He makes himself lower his arms, hands curled against the edge of the flat surface.

"I had asked you something."

"And then you left before I could answer you," which came out wry and, yes, warm. He'd been thinking about it most of his time in the monitor room with Barry, whatever had come out of his mouth as he chattered back to the other Leaguer.

"Personal reasons," he repeats, "that have to do with enjoying my time with you. Feeling... more secure when you're involved in something." He stepped a little closer. "Wanting you around because... well, I like you."

He opens his mouth to continue as Neoma swooped down from her little perch to land on the bed, just in front of the pillow. She doesn't speak, but she does place a single blueberry in front of her in a peace offering. Clark had been about to say something to her, but he can't help the faint smile that it gives him.

Edited (tense!) 2016-03-20 19:54 (UTC)

Bruce raises one eyebrow as Clark first begins to talk, silently saying What, you were going to go on about it in front of Barry? but he holds his tongue. Listens. Hates himself a little at how his heartbeat skips and speeds up when Clark steps closer, then even more when he says says I like you. He knows the Kryptonian can hear it.

And then his gaze darts to his bed. Where the hell did the bat even get a blueberry. After a bizarre, almost tense moment of silence, a tiny black paw with thin claws reaches out and slowly pulls the blueberry beneath the pillow. Bruce feels his shoulders tighten; whatever that little animal currently is, it's already very obviously not the elegant Siamese cat that is known to be tabloid darling Bruce Wayne's aloof daemon.

"Bruce?" and he sounds... a little lost. More than a little nervous, because what's keeping his spine straight and his feet on the ground is Superman more than anything. But it's not quite good enough to keep the nerves out of his voice because Bruce isn't answering with anything but his heartbeat and his muscles and Clark's learned that when it comes to things like this, you couldn't take that as an answer. For so many reasons.

On the bed, the little bat is clearly, curiously, peering at the other animal, or what she can see it and doing her best to look harmless and friendly.

Bruce's expression becomes strained as he watches the spot where his daemon is hiding-- it's nerve-wracking, so of course it has to happen when Clark is in here doing-- whatever this is.

"You make me nervous," he says eventually, arms raising to fold over his chest again. "Not because of your powers, I don't care about that. You're just-- perfect, and it's distracting. When we're not on a mission I'm just some. Asshole."

The pillow is slightly dislodged as a black nose pokes out, followed by a black and white head. A little skunk, curious and affectionate and packed with a very alarming defense system. She darts out and at the edge of the bed leaps, transforming mid-air into a sugar glider so that she can bridge the gap to her human. Bruce catches her and lets her dart up his shoulder to curl against his throat, over-large eyes staring at Clark.

Bruce is frozen. Great. Now he's a crazy asshole and a freak of nature with an unsettled daemon. In front of Superman.

But Clark doesn't look shocked or disturbed. Instead, he smiles and reaches out a hand for Neoma, who flaps a couple of times until she can hang off his finger in front of him.

"She's very pretty in all of her forms," Clark says with a tip of his chin to her. "What's her name?"

Because of course Batman has a shifting Daemon as an adult. He's Batman. Batman can do anything, even the impossible. Bruce says he's just some asshole, but if anyone's boring, it's Clark. Circumstances of birth that he had nothing to do with, sure, he's special, but he's never thought he was a particularly interesting person. Whereas Bruce is... always fascinating, always brilliant, always defying expectations and making his heart race, just a little.

"But I don't want to get thrown off the rails here. You're the farthest thing in the world from 'some... jerk'" because yes, even in private he's not calling Bruce an asshole, at least not right now, not like this, "and I'm definitely not perfect. Unless you want me to be perfect. You don't like me being perfect or you like it?"

And yes, he's babbling, just a little. Oh My God, Bruce.

"Do you like me? I mean, would you prefer if I didn't like you? Is that a problem? S-should I go?"

It's not impressive, he wants to scream. It means there's something wrong with me. But Clark is looking at him with this strange softness, and his daemon is nuzzling comfort into his skin, trying to soothe him. Like she always does-- Bruce thinks she tries to compensate for how often he forces them to be apart.

He can't take this.

Bruce moves and his daemon hops down. He reaches out with one hand, touches the side of Clark's face, and then leans in to kiss him. Firmly.

He pulls back after a second. Arms crossed again.

It's a part of Bruce being Bruce. Wrong and right don't really factor in, as far as Clark's concerned on this matter. Bruce has an unsettled daemon. Bruce's daemon is a sweet, affectionate creature who radiates shyness but still stays by her human's side while he's clearly having difficulty.

Bruce just kissed him. And then crossed his arms again.

...Neoma takes the time to put a claw over her eyes before fluttering back up to her hanging spot in the room. Because she knows very well exactly what's going to happen. Because Clark.

Clark, who gets his hands on either side of Bruce's face, starts kissing him, and doesn't look like he intends to stop any time soon. Yes, according to that step forward, the brush of his hip against Bruce's, he's not stopping until Bruce tells him to stop.

It takes a moment for Bruce to thaw - which is ridiculous, since he started it - but he does, returning that kiss tentatively at first, slowly letting himself unwind. He rests his hands against Clark's sides, then his biceps, marveling at the sensation of his mouth, his lips, his tongue. The way he tastes, the way their breath feels soft and close against each other.

On the desk, his daemon has turned back into a skunk. She sits on her hind legs with one small paw against Bruce's hip, little head looking at Neoma, then back to the two men, and so on-- concerned. Not aggressive or protective, but there's a kind of worry. After a moment she puts both paws on Clark and pushes. Bruce breaks the kiss and looks down, one hand coming to smooth over her back, down the white and black stripes. "It's alright, Caterin," he murmurs. She darts back and presses herself against her human, looking up at him.

Neoma flutters down to join Caterin on the desk, though she gives the other daemon her space. It's clear she's not sure what's going on, but for once, she's keeping her yap shut. Clark reaches down to reassure his little bat before smiling, blushing, at Bruce.

"I... think it was a little better than all right," Clark notes with a little duck of his head. Then he turned to Caterin.

"I'm sorry if I worried you, though."

Caterin doesn't say anything but keeps herself pressed up against Bruce, looking over at Clark and Neoma in turn. Bruce keeps one hand on her, stroking her fur. The skunk is a new habit, he's not sure what it's about - though her face does look awfully sweet.

"She doesn't know you," Bruce tries to explain. "I don't.. let anyone in." He means his quarters and his life; no one else in the League has even seen his daemon. She's used to it just being her and Bruce in private, and everyone he kisses is inconsequential, party to when he's acting. She doesn't know how to react to someone coming in and knowing him as Batman.

Clark frowns a little, pressing his lips together and rubbing at the back of his neck.

"Would you... I mean, should I head out? Let you two talk for a bit? I didn't... well, I didn't mean to intrude." A glance to Caterin, and there's no malice or jealousy or even frustration. Just concern. "I don't want to worry her. And if she's pushing me away well..." his shoulders drop, just a tiny bit, "I hope I wasn't taking liberties, Bruce. Whatever I feel isn't-- you don't have to--"

He breathes in, holds up a hand, and Neoma flutters back up to settle on his shoulder.

"If you need time, I get that. I really get that. It's enough that you're here, that you're a part of this. Like I said... personal reasons."

He's being unprofessional.

For a while Bruce and Caterin just look at each other, unreadable.

His gaze flicks back up to Clark. "You're not taking liberties. But I do need time, I think. I'm-- sorry, I know that's-- since I started it," he finishes lamely, feeling a little embarrassed now and not liking how that makes him feel.

"In a few days, would you come over for dinner?" Bruce winces at how stupid he sounds asking that, but Caterin nuzzles his hand encouragingly.

Clark expression goes from careful acceptance ('I do need time') to a smile as bright as the sun itself ('come over for dinner?') and by the end, he's nodding almost too fast to make out his expression.

"Of course." A short chuckle, clearly at himself. "Of course, yes. Definitely. I'd love that." He looks over at Neoma. "We'd love that. Just give me a ring when you're ready."

A scratch behind one ear serves to give a good pause for him to breathe. And remember how to breathe.

"My calendar's open, as long as nothing catastrophic happens."

Then he looks down at Caterin.

"It was nice meeting you, though." A glance at Bruce. "And... don't worry. I won't say a thing. A person's daemon their his own business." He lifts Neoma a little on his finger. "And it's not as if I haven't heard my own share of nonsense over Nee here."

Then he was looking back towards the door.

"So I guess I'll just--"

See himself out?

If Caterin is ruffled by that she doesn't show it, morphing back into a sugar glider and deftly climbing up Bruce's undersuit to sit on his shoulder against his neck again. Bruce nods, eyes grave. But-- before Clark makes it to the door he steps after him and reaches out to snag his hand (the one without his daemon on it).

"It'll be soon."

He squeezes Clark's hand, then lets him go.

He can't help the little smile and he gives Bruce's hand a squeeze back before he lets go.

"Soon," he says back.

Then he's out the door.

Twelve hours later, Bruce texts Clark a time and - just to be sure - the address of the manor. This is a proper invite, after all, he shouldn't be expected to have to dart in a window or enter via the cave.

Twenty four hours after that, he's waiting nervously in an ornate sitting room, trying not to pace too much before the large curved window. Alfred has given up on his ridiculousness and is waiting to get the door, his lioness daemon lounging nearby. Dinner is going to be a quiet, less-than-formal affair-- not that anything in Wayne Manor can truly be informal, but Bruce decided against one of the dining rooms. He didn't want Clark to think he's not taking it seriously, though, and also vetoed the idea of sitting in the main joint of his bedroom suite.

"This was a bad idea," he mutters.

"No it wasn't," says the quiet voice of his daemon, sitting on the nearby end table in the form of a small black hedgehog. "He likes you very much, I think."

Bruce just makes a 'hn' sound, and goes back to pacing.

Clark arrives exactly on time, as if he'd been listening to the chime of the clock on Wayne Manor to make his appearance. Neither early nor late, so Bruce was entirely prepared but also clear on the importance of the visit, Clark is dressed up like a human being who actually knows how clothes work. His shirt, a blue that brings out his eyes, is well-tailored and fits his frame. The pants are also fitted well, and his hair has actually been tamed into something a little playful but still polished. He'd even gotten a proper hanging hook for Neoma to hang from his belt so he could carry up the flowers that he'd brought: carnations in deep and light red. He didn't want to go overboard, after all.

Alfred is polite and dry - it's often difficult to tell the difference between genuine politeness and reserved silent judging, with Alfred, and today is no exception. His daemon offers no insight, her mamma lion gaze appraising but aloof. No comment is made on the new dynamic of Clark's presence.

In the sitting room, Bruce tries not to look nervous, and ends up just looking far too serious, his expression almost a scowl. Black turtleneck, black slacks, his hair relaxed and not in the severe rich asshole style he maintains in public.

"Hello," he says, one hand on the back of a chair, gripping it tightly. Alfred gives him a bit of a Look from behind Clark before closing the doors, leaving them to their own devices.

Clark looks at him for a moment before giving him a soft, warm smile.

"You know," he says gently, "I do actually like you the way you are. How you talk. The barely there smiles. Even how gruff you can be. You don't have to worry about offending me" almost impossible "or impressing me" already done "or... I don't know, upsetting me? Whatever it is that's making you grip that chair so tight."

He steps forward then.

"I came here for you. Not some... polished facade."

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