agoodyarn | daemon au

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."

Bruce looks down at his hand like it's an interesting, entirely independent entity. There is a very tiny sound that might be a hedgehog sigh. He releases his death grip on the chair and looks back up at Clark-- and seems to notice the flowers for the first time, blinking.

"You don't really know the way I am," he says, fingertips brushing the soft petals, frown still on his face. "We're so easy when we're working, and I don't know how to be like that when I'm not working. I'm Batman, or I'm doing the playboy shit and I don't really do anything else."

He casts about for something to say but comes up short, his gaze returning to the other man. "I like you a lot. I don't want you to be disappointed."

"I don't," he agrees, "or at least, I don't yet. I'm looking forward to finding out, though. I like you too."

But he shakes his head.

"The only thing that would have disappointed me would have been not getting that text."

He holds up the flowers a little.

"Should I pick a vase or just put them off to the side? I... probably should have realized they weren't exactly what you'd be looking for but... I did want you to know I was serious. About the kissing." And the wanting more kissing.

Nee, from her vantage point just below his hip, started looking around for Caterin, but she didn't seem inclined to move.

Edited 2016-03-21 20:32 (UTC)

Bruce takes the flowers (strangely carefully) and sets them on a sideboard amongst heirlooms and priceless pieces of art disguised as trinkets. Caterin is there, nosing around at the blooms, sitting beneath a plump flower and watching them with her quiet little eyes.

"I know you're serious," Bruce says softly. "You don't do things you don't mean."

Which is one of the reasons why Bruce thinks he's perfect. How can anyone really be that sincere with their goodness? ... And why does he like Bruce Wayne?

"Good," he says with a little lift of his chin. "I was worried that-- well, I mean. Sometimes people think I'm just being nice. But there's nothing nice about pretending to be interested in someone. I was just kind of... amazed you felt something back."

He ducks his head again, looking up with a bashful little grin.

"I was about ready to float when you kissed me that first time. I thought you were going to punch me at first, if I'm honest. And then that instead. Almost made me dizzy."

He reaches down and pulls Neoma up to shoulder height, glancing up at the small chandelier.

"Would it be all right if she hung from the chain there? She won't disturb the crystals or the filligree. She just prefers to hang."

Bruce doesn't say anything in response to all those things - he looks at Clark, his expression still serious, but there's something in his eyes that suggests he's very touched. Unused to it, too. After a moment he glances to one side.

"That's fine," about Neoma. Still hiding in the flower bouquet, Caterin wiggles her nose. "Would you like to sit down?"

The small table and comfortable, ornate chairs look casually arranged, but in reality Bruce spent an hour moving them here and there, inching them this way and that. They're on an angle, not directly across from each other, but not obnoxiously couple-y, either. Just enough to suggest intimacy without encroaching on either's personal space too much. There's already water, and a coffee pot.

Neoma flutters up to the chain and finds a spot to hook in as Clark makes his way to a chair and sits. He's surprised that the angle is exactly right to look over at Bruce. The man thinks of everything. He wishes he was half as clever.

"So how has your last couple of days been?" he starts, cheerful and clearly pleased to be where he is.

Bruce sits down and smooths an imaginary wrinkle on his pants, hoping his stealth fidgeting isn't obvious for what it is. What should they talk about? They have such rapport in the field, and their conversations flow easily there - though the topics are usually heavy, or technical. The friendly edge to them has grown naturally, and it always gives him a little jolt of warmth when it happens.

"It's been a lot of board meetings and plan approvals," Bruce says, and silently offers to pour him water or coffee, if he'd like any? "I design a lot of things. But I can't put my name to them. I have aliases that are freelance employed in several smaller companies and I funnel ideas in to Wayne Enterprises to be developed by teams that work for me. Every so often I go in and sift through to find them and see how they've turned out. Sometimes it's so vastly improved on it's kind of incredible, or dead on, or sometimes it's just like playing telephone at a frat party."

Rambling. About his backwards wriggling to be an engineer without anyone knowing he's an engineer. He almost rolls his eyes at himself.

He gestures towards the water; coffee isn't his favorite, though he'll drink it on occasion. Water is fine. Best he keeps the coffee for himself.

"That sounds a little like how things go with STAR Labs," he admits with a little smile. "Nothing quite so calculated, I guess. But I try to toss the occasional hint their way when it looks like they're onto something useful if I have files on anything similar."

He tucks an errant wavy strand behind one ear.

"It's a delicate balance, trying to help people without making things worse. Or, worse still, stepping in where I don't have any business. It's something I try and keep in mind in both fields."

He looks over at Bruce.

"I imagine it must be frustrating, though. To see your babies grow up with other engineers... or get perverted like that. I suppose that's one of the nicer parts of your job as Batman: you get to see things through all the way."

He makes a 'hm' noise, pouring water, then coffee for himself. "It's alright. I'd be bad at putting it through all the way myself anyway."

All the collaborations, pitches, critiques.. he's just not patient or diplomatic enough. "I don't know if I'd be an engineer if I wasn't how I am." Batman. "I'd probably just be a recluse. And they're not really 'babies'. I mean. I do have .. well, I'm looking after a child."

Dick Grayson, who he keeps very much away from all this (so far), and out of the tabloids as much as he can. Bruce doesn't mention him at all at work, for obvious reasons.

That makes him sit up a little, clearly warming to this topic.

"You're a father?" he glances around the room as if he might see some sign of the child, pictures or crayon drawings... the idea of a house so large that those things wouldn't be all over the place is a little outside of him, though he figures it out almost immediately.

"Girl or boy?"

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