So... daemons. Animal of a different gender from yours = your soul. Tag one of the characters on here with a starter, post your own with or without a request for one of mine or play here as you like.
Neoma's nice and still, though it's not a strained or uncomfortable stillness. Instead, it's the slow and steady, even movements that let the little sugar glider know that all is well.
Clark, for his part, doesn't remark on the food choices because of course Bruce knew his eating habits, or at least that important detail. Instead, he thanks Alfred, compliments him on the food, then works on giving the best compliment he can by eating heartily.
There's not much conversation during dinner itself. The food is good, after all.
Caterin is very quiet; the Siamese cat form that she dons in public is equally silent, though she spends most of her time in an expensive carrier. Safe from the over-bright flashes of paparazzi cameras. The fact that she's sitting with Neoma is a good sign, though, no matter how shy her movements are.
Bruce surreptitiously watches Clark, taking mental notes about the things he likes best. He's not sure if the silence they lapse into is comfortable or awkward-- is this a date? He's never been on a real one. In his life.
"Alfred took over on the menu," he says, just. Obviously. "My idea of dinner is usually protein powder with kale and chicken."
"I'd noticed," he says easily enough as he finishes off the last morsels on his plate. To judge by Clark's posture and his tone, it's a comfortable silence for him, as well as a pointed chance to give Bruce some time to conserve his energy. He's not blind to how nervous the other man is.
"But while the food is very good, and I'm very appreciative of Alfred's efforts," he places his fork and knife together on the plate, parallel to the edge of the table, "I'm mostly enjoying the fact that I get to share the meal with you."
He leans back then.
"Did you have anything else planned for after? Or do you have to go?"
"I don't foresee anything serious for tonight, so I can either go out for a few hours around three or stay in." ... Did Batman obsessively break a bunch of mobster spines over the past two days to make sure they definitely need a night off? Maybe. "The GCPD has a few bright spots lately. The officer I work with, Jim Gordon, has a trusted unit he's making headway with. I need to practice having faith in them."
It's difficult; he's already a control freak, and Gotham's police are notoriously corrupt. "I.. well, I don't know what to do if we're finished eating. I don't really have any hobbies. I thought about a movie or something but everything I own is old."
"Then I'll let you in on a secret that I guess even you hadn't found out yet," he says with a grin a moment later: "My favorite movie happens to be To Kill A Mockingbird. 'Old' is not a problem."
He starts neatening his place, very much an automatic reaction, before making himself put it down. He doesn't want to step on Alfred's territory, after all. Instead, he stands.
"And I'm especially glad to hear that the GCPD is doing better. Sometimes, people just need to know that someone believes in them to really give their best effort." He's always believed that faith, properly applied and backed up with effort, can work wonders.
Bruce doesn't quite smile at him. He doesn't really mean classic, though he's got a few of those, too. He stands up, and on cue Caterin lands on his shoulder before zooming down to hide in his trouser pocket.
"All right." Bruce extends his hand, almost wary, so they can-- what, hold hands like teenagers as they walk to another room? Yes. It's a bit of a walk, anyway.
Clark takes his hand as Neoma flutters down to settle on his shoulder and tuck up between curls and the back of his ear. Once he has a good handle on Bruce's fingers, he lets him have a little squeeze and leans in with a smile, urging him silently to lead the way.
This time he does give him a real smile, though it's small (but of course it is - it's sincere). Bruce squeezes Clark's hand in return and takes them down a hallway, up a staircase, and down another hallway. He murmurs apologetic-sounding explanations of some of the art pieces; he's aware his existence is absurd, but he doesn't want to change anything about the house.
In the movie room (what else can he call it), the centerpiece is a large top-of-the-line-a-few-years-ago TV and cabinet, and a comfortable leather sofa - he hasn't made the leap to custom theater seats or a projector, though he suspects he will soon, given the increased use with Dick around. Here there's some evidence of a ten year old, a pair of shoes and a coloring book with scattered markers. Bruce leans down to pick that up once they're in with the door closed. The care he takes with it is almost strange, as though he doesn't want to be rough or thoughtless with the little boy even by proxy.
Clark isn't even the least bit surprised at the way Bruce acts, because Clark is well aware that Bruce is, fundamentally, a gentle man. He may have trouble expressing himself, be too bundled in an armor of anger to let much it show, but Clark's woken to the softest touch at his brow after a particularly nasty bit of spellwork took him down. He's felt the care in the arm helping to carry him away from the remains of a robot powered by kryptonite. He's seen the tender way he stroked Caterin's fur and how hesitant, how careful, he's been at every step of the night's entertainments, as if this time with Clark is as delicate as a glass ball.
It's so easy to see if you're willing to look for it, Clark thinks more often than he'd like.
Clark lets him put the markers and the coloring book away and walks around to the couch, taking a spot near the middle, but still somewhat off to the side. He'd like to curl up with Bruce for the movies. If that's all right.
Neoma, for her part, skitters down from his shoulder to his front pocket. Thankfully, she's just small enough for it.
Caterin hops to the back of the sofa, waiting to find a suitable perch while Bruce goes to the DVD cabinet. He makes another somewhat apologetic noise as he draws a hand across a few of the spines, pointing out this or that. Some Zorro, but he skips over them, classic films, a surprising amount of bad genre B-movies, what is probably every piece of Grey Ghost material in existence that takes up almost a whole shelf, a few colorful kids things, I Love Lucy, old old horror films... "Do you have a preference?" he asks over his shoulder. "I think Jungle Book is still in the player."
He leans over a little as Neoma decides to eschew her human's pocket to join Caterin. She doesn't approach so much as settle right behind Clark and wait somewhat hopefully.
"I thought I saw some Grey Ghost DVDs back there. Or was that wishful thinking?"
"No, there are not some Grey Ghost DVDs," Bruce says, one eyebrow raising. "It is every Grey Ghost DVD. You're a fan?" He snags the oddball one from the collection - an out of print thing from the eighties, a film you can only get anymore in a remastered, re-cut version. The remastering is nice, but the original cut is definitely better. Bruce holds it up like-- yes? No?
"Yes," he says with what is clearly understatement, "I am very much a fan. And if that's the TV movie from the 80's, I definitely want you to put it in because I haven't seen it since then."
A short chuckle as he leans back and take a moment to just... admire. As silly and banal as the moment is, Bruce is a truly stunning man and while his attraction and his affection are far from purely physical, it's a chance he won't ignore. He still can't believe this is happening but he's very pleased it is.
Bruce flashes him a quick lopsided smile that's both confirmation of Yes, that's the movie and obvious happiness at discovering something they both like so much-- something that has absolutely nothing to do with work. Well, okay, Gray Ghost is a costumed vigilante, but he's not real. Close enough. Bruce puts away the Disney movie his ward's been watching on repeat and pops their 80s film in, ticking off the lights after he sets it to play.
Is there a smooth way to slide into place on a sofa with someone for the first time? Bruce thinks of the way he and Clark move alongside and in tandem with each other in battle, and thinks of all the times he's imagined what else they'd be good at. He sits close enough to brush against him, giving him a sideways glance. Silently asking permission.
Edited (tmw you notice spellcheck has been replacing gray with grey for a million tags) 2016-03-22 05:21 (UTC)
The permission is granted immediately; Clark is an extremely affectionate person who likes to hug and hold onto and touch the people he cares about. They're not strangers, after all. Whatever is changing here, they're not new to one another. And Bruce is certainly not the only one who's thought about their extremely functional working relationship translating well to other activities.
So yes, Clark tilts his head gesturing for Bruce to move on over. He's got his favorite hero--
Well, his favorite hero is going to be curled up against him in a moment but his favorite fictional hero is on the tv screen and his daemon seems deeply content to invite Caterin similarly on the back of the couch behind them.
They've held each other before, but always because on or both were injured, and while they've kissed before, those kisses were nervous catalysts-- at least for Bruce. It had only just become something more when Caterin had interrupted. (He's still grateful for that. He did need a moment.) Bruce settles in at the other man's side, taking in how warm he is, how he feels, how he smells. He ends up snuggled closer than he thought he might have been, but it's so nice...
For her part, Caterin watches with the concerned eyes of someone torn between being supportive and being used to living as the only one so close to Bruce. She hops back and forth a bit before casting a look at Neoma, as if wishing for assurance that Clark is safe for him.
Neoma just gives a nod. Yes, Clark is safe for him. Clark would never hurt him. And in fact... she opens a wing in offer. Caterin can get a snuggle as well. She's safe too.
Clark, for his part, seems pleased as punch to have Bruce curled up against him. They're roughly of a size to one another, so it takes a little finagling before they work out the best way to do it, but soon enough, Clark has his head resting lightly against Bruce's and he's got their fingers intertwined. And damn but he's happy.
Caterin carefully moves closer, careful, shy and half-distracted by wanting to make sure her human is okay. It's almost childlike. But she does end up curled in against Neoma's side beneath her wing, nose tucked in her fur. You'd think Batman's daemon would be fearless and battle-worn, but she's never been out with him. She waits at home, and worries. Clark had better take care of him. (Later she'll say I told you so and Bruce will accuse her of being more nervous than he was after dinner, but that's just how they are.)
As the first act transitions into the second, Bruce turns and presses Clark back onto the sofa lengthwise. It's a bold move, but he wants them both to be more comfortable - and he wants to have more contact with Clark. Fortunately the sofa is large and accommodating. Leaning half against him, palms on the other man's chest, he asks, "Is this okay?"
Neoma holds her with quiet contentment, as happy as her human is that they're both settled in. She hadn't liked knowing that Clark wanted someone but was afraid, and she'd been even more unhappy that Bruce was being so mean to him when he felt the way he did. But since she'd seen that Bruce was actually just scared of liking Clark just as much, she'd been much more settled. And she couldn't help but love Caterin, who was so sweet and caring.
Clark just smiles as Bruce pushes him back, offering no resistance or hesitation.
Bruce nods at him, offering another one of those brief smiles. He watches Clark for a moment before he moves to stretch out over him, partly to one side. He sort of can't believe this is happening, but he really does want it-- his pulse is faster, happy, and he tucks one arm around Clark as he lays down, cheek against his chest so he can still see the movie.
"You smell really nice," he murmurs after a while. Like a total weirdo.
He looks down with a crooked little smile on and he slowly, carefully lifts his hand to start sliding the side of his thumb down the back of Bruce's jaw.
"So do you."
...he can appreciate that, after all. It's not as if his nose isn't incredibly sensitive.
Bruce lifts his chin to give Clark better access, leaning into that touch. He could never have dreamed being touched so tenderly by him; his strength aside, Bruce never imagined Clark would want to. He's Superman, Kal-El, he could have anyone. But here he is, smiling at his grumpy, cold partner.
"Me too."
He thinks he sounds ridiculous and juvenile-- but then, he doesn't know what teenagers on dates sound like.
Clark doesn't know how this happened, how he got to be curled up on the couch with Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne, who could have anyone but for some reason, thought he was worth all of this effort, all of the stress. But he can't help but feel blessed for it.
And it makes him smile even more that Bruce seems to like the little touches. He lets himself run his hand into Bruce's hair, touch still light, gentle.
"If I fall asleep," he feels the need to note, "it's not because I'm bored. Or not enjoying myself. I'm just very relaxed, and content, and very very comfortable."
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Clark, for his part, doesn't remark on the food choices because of course Bruce knew his eating habits, or at least that important detail. Instead, he thanks Alfred, compliments him on the food, then works on giving the best compliment he can by eating heartily.
There's not much conversation during dinner itself. The food is good, after all.
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Bruce surreptitiously watches Clark, taking mental notes about the things he likes best. He's not sure if the silence they lapse into is comfortable or awkward-- is this a date? He's never been on a real one. In his life.
"Alfred took over on the menu," he says, just. Obviously. "My idea of dinner is usually protein powder with kale and chicken."
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"But while the food is very good, and I'm very appreciative of Alfred's efforts," he places his fork and knife together on the plate, parallel to the edge of the table, "I'm mostly enjoying the fact that I get to share the meal with you."
He leans back then.
"Did you have anything else planned for after? Or do you have to go?"
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It's difficult; he's already a control freak, and Gotham's police are notoriously corrupt. "I.. well, I don't know what to do if we're finished eating. I don't really have any hobbies. I thought about a movie or something but everything I own is old."
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He starts neatening his place, very much an automatic reaction, before making himself put it down. He doesn't want to step on Alfred's territory, after all. Instead, he stands.
"And I'm especially glad to hear that the GCPD is doing better. Sometimes, people just need to know that someone believes in them to really give their best effort." He's always believed that faith, properly applied and backed up with effort, can work wonders.
"So stay in with me and watch movies?"
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"All right." Bruce extends his hand, almost wary, so they can-- what, hold hands like teenagers as they walk to another room? Yes. It's a bit of a walk, anyway.
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In the movie room (what else can he call it), the centerpiece is a large top-of-the-line-a-few-years-ago TV and cabinet, and a comfortable leather sofa - he hasn't made the leap to custom theater seats or a projector, though he suspects he will soon, given the increased use with Dick around. Here there's some evidence of a ten year old, a pair of shoes and a coloring book with scattered markers. Bruce leans down to pick that up once they're in with the door closed. The care he takes with it is almost strange, as though he doesn't want to be rough or thoughtless with the little boy even by proxy.
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It's so easy to see if you're willing to look for it, Clark thinks more often than he'd like.
Clark lets him put the markers and the coloring book away and walks around to the couch, taking a spot near the middle, but still somewhat off to the side. He'd like to curl up with Bruce for the movies. If that's all right.
Neoma, for her part, skitters down from his shoulder to his front pocket. Thankfully, she's just small enough for it.
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"I thought I saw some Grey Ghost DVDs back there. Or was that wishful thinking?"
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A short chuckle as he leans back and take a moment to just... admire. As silly and banal as the moment is, Bruce is a truly stunning man and while his attraction and his affection are far from purely physical, it's a chance he won't ignore. He still can't believe this is happening but he's very pleased it is.
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Is there a smooth way to slide into place on a sofa with someone for the first time? Bruce thinks of the way he and Clark move alongside and in tandem with each other in battle, and thinks of all the times he's imagined what else they'd be good at. He sits close enough to brush against him, giving him a sideways glance. Silently asking permission.
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So yes, Clark tilts his head gesturing for Bruce to move on over. He's got his favorite hero--
Well, his favorite hero is going to be curled up against him in a moment but his favorite fictional hero is on the tv screen and his daemon seems deeply content to invite Caterin similarly on the back of the couch behind them.
Life's pretty good.
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For her part, Caterin watches with the concerned eyes of someone torn between being supportive and being used to living as the only one so close to Bruce. She hops back and forth a bit before casting a look at Neoma, as if wishing for assurance that Clark is safe for him.
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Clark, for his part, seems pleased as punch to have Bruce curled up against him. They're roughly of a size to one another, so it takes a little finagling before they work out the best way to do it, but soon enough, Clark has his head resting lightly against Bruce's and he's got their fingers intertwined. And damn but he's happy.
And the movie's good too.
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As the first act transitions into the second, Bruce turns and presses Clark back onto the sofa lengthwise. It's a bold move, but he wants them both to be more comfortable - and he wants to have more contact with Clark. Fortunately the sofa is large and accommodating. Leaning half against him, palms on the other man's chest, he asks, "Is this okay?"
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Clark just smiles as Bruce pushes him back, offering no resistance or hesitation.
"Better than okay." But- "What about you?"
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"You smell really nice," he murmurs after a while. Like a total weirdo.
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"So do you."
...he can appreciate that, after all. It's not as if his nose isn't incredibly sensitive.
"I like being like this with you."
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"Me too."
He thinks he sounds ridiculous and juvenile-- but then, he doesn't know what teenagers on dates sound like.
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And it makes him smile even more that Bruce seems to like the little touches. He lets himself run his hand into Bruce's hair, touch still light, gentle.
"If I fall asleep," he feels the need to note, "it's not because I'm bored. Or not enjoying myself. I'm just very relaxed, and content, and very very comfortable."
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"In case you fall asleep, can I kiss you first?"
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