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.
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."
And so Bruce kisses him, soft and sweet, taking his time. Unlike that first kiss that was brief and fierce, making a statement to try and get him out of having to use words, this is exploratory and affectionate. He pulls back before they can turn it into anything more sensual, though-- he still kind of wants to go slowly. Give them time to adjust. But there's a small smile on his face when he lays his head back down, entirely content.
Clark enjoys every moment of it, burns it right into his brain to keep and savor. But when it's done, he lets it end before leaning back against the couch and gently running his fingers through Bruce's hair as they both relax.
Neoma settles in as well, feeling the peace practically radiating from her human strongly enough to know that she might nod off as well. And she likes the thought of being wrapped around Caterin when she does.
Bruce ends up dozing as well, lulled to sleep by how pleasant everything feels-- dreamlike, something he'd think was an idle fantasy if he didn't know better. He doesn't get many hours of sleep to begin with, so it's good. He likes Clark's hand in his hair more than he should.
Caterin sits still and enjoys everything, but doesn't sleep. She stays wide awake and watches over them all, looking quietly at Alfred when he comes to check up some hours later. No one wakes them up.
Caterin nods - which isn't a lie. She rested plenty, just didn't sleep. Her nose wiggles and she tilts her head before slipping out to hop down on the small of Bruce's back, just as he opens his eyes. He takes stock of where he is, the television waiting on the blue end-of-DVD screen (it's not fancy enough to loop back to the menu), and the quality of the gray dawn light coming through the window.
Suddenly he sits up. All but rolls off Clark before leaving the room in a whirlwind, door snicking shut behind him. Caterin remains, sitting on Clark's knee, looking at him.
Clark blinks as Bruce rolls away, but he doesn't move. Doesn't chase. Instead, he looks down at Caterin, who is on his knee, and gives her a chagrined little smile.
"Morning, Caterin." He considers his words, but- "Do you know if he's all right?"
He doesn't try to move her or seem to mind her presence on him. While he'd never reach out and touch her, he's always been of a mind that any daemon that decided to touch him was making a definitive choice of their own. And baring an issue with the owner of the daemon, not one he would decline. That kind of trust, or fellowship, or affection, was not to be dismissed lightly.
He has super hearing. But she's his daemon. And he knows how good of a front Bruce can put up, even in front of the people he cares about. Especially in front of them. He'd seen that gentleness with the coloring book. If Bruce was scared or nervous or upset, he'd never let that color things with a child.
"Do you think I should wait for him to come back, or let him get along with his day?"
Caterine stares at him for a long moment, then curls up right where she is on Clark's knees and closes her eyes. He could leave, but then he'd disturb her finally getting some shut-eye. Up to him.
("Where's Caterine? Can she play with Xana before school?"
Well, that's all the answer he needs. He leans back on the couch again, inviting Neoma down with a little grin to rest on his chest. He'll just nap a bit while he waits for Bruce to get back.
Good thing he'd booked off the night before. And thankfully, the world seemed to be cooperating with things.
He certainly hadn't done a mad dash of a run through Metropolis to make sure that every possible troublemaker he could find was locked up while he'd waited for the date. Certainly.
Some time goes by; after a while there's a knock at the door before it's pushed open by a lioness followed by Alfred and a pristine silver cart.
"Good morning Mister Kent," says the butler, breezily rolling the cart up alongside the sofa. "Master Bruce sends his apologies, and asked that I offer you breakfast."
"Or he would have if he'd stopped for half a minute," adds his daemon.
"Yes, thank you." Alfred's side-eye is withering. "He is currently dropping Master Dick off at school. The drive, as you may imagine, takes a few minutes. Hello, Caterin. Grapes?"
Neoma takes in that information silently. Grapes. Caterin likes grapes. Clark, on the other hand looks up without moving much. Caterin is stil curled up on him, after all.
"I'm all right, sir," he says with a chipper smile over at Alfred, "And how're you this morning?"
Caterin blinks awake at the mention of her name, stretches her little sugar glider body, and hops over to the breakfast cart. Yes, she'll have some grapes.
"Any morning breathing is an excellent one if I do say so," Alfred answers as he pulls the covering off the far - a small mountain of fresh waffles, fruit choices, whipped cream, syrup, so on, all in individual containers. Glasses of water, milk, orange juice, coffee. "And seeing Master Bruce with company is pleasing, this time." To Neoma: "May I offer you anything, ma'am?"
The lioness daemon is prowling a little, keeping an eye on their guests. It's not predatory but appraising; there's a sense that they aren't sure whether Clark is annoyed with this surreal setup or not.
Edited (repeatedly typos own imaginary animal's name ......... whyyyy) 2016-03-23 05:23 (UTC)
Neoma, for her part, flutters up to the top of the couch to look over at the lioness. After all, she doesn't think Caterin needs watching at the moment (even though she's more than a little enamored of the tiny sugar glider) and she hasn't met the lioness much before. She stares over and down and tilts her head curiously at her before answering Alfred.
"No, thank you."
Clark, on the other hand, sits up and lets his eyes go wide at the breakfast buffet.
"Oh wow. Um. Thank you. You didn't have to do that. But thank you."
Though he doesn't seem to be likely to refuse it. For one, it was good food. For another, it'd be rude to refuse hospitality. And-
"And I'm glad you're not annoyed I'm still here come morning. I didn't mean to sleep over without an invitation. But we both got some pretty good rest."
Alfred sets out a bowl of mixed fruit for Neoma anyway, in case she changes her mind. The lioness remains aloof, watchful of visitors on her territory.
"Certainly not sir," Alfred says as he prepares a plate for Clark, "as you say, you were able to get a measure of rest. Perhaps you haven't considered how rare that is for Master Bruce. I assure you, I am the furthest thing from annoyed. Can I offer you anything else from the kitchen, Mister Kent?"
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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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Neoma settles in as well, feeling the peace practically radiating from her human strongly enough to know that she might nod off as well. And she likes the thought of being wrapped around Caterin when she does.
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Caterin sits still and enjoys everything, but doesn't sleep. She stays wide awake and watches over them all, looking quietly at Alfred when he comes to check up some hours later. No one wakes them up.
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"Did you get any rest?"
Clark just shifts and moves his hand a little in Bruce's hair, almost like autopilot.
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Suddenly he sits up. All but rolls off Clark before leaving the room in a whirlwind, door snicking shut behind him. Caterin remains, sitting on Clark's knee, looking at him.
Hi.
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"Morning, Caterin." He considers his words, but- "Do you know if he's all right?"
He doesn't try to move her or seem to mind her presence on him. While he'd never reach out and touch her, he's always been of a mind that any daemon that decided to touch him was making a definitive choice of their own. And baring an issue with the owner of the daemon, not one he would decline. That kind of trust, or fellowship, or affection, was not to be dismissed lightly.
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(Meanwhile:
"Good morning, Bruce! Wow! Did you just get in? Was it a long meeting?"
"Mm, good morning. No, I fell asleep upstairs. What's for breakfast?"
"What were you-- Oh, Alfred's making waffles! Because we're out of Lucky Charms...")
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"Do you think I should wait for him to come back, or let him get along with his day?"
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("Where's Caterine? Can she play with Xana before school?"
"She's asleep. Ate too much."
"Aw, man."
"How about I drive you today?"
"Really?!")
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Good thing he'd booked off the night before. And thankfully, the world seemed to be cooperating with things.
He certainly hadn't done a mad dash of a run through Metropolis to make sure that every possible troublemaker he could find was locked up while he'd waited for the date. Certainly.
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"Good morning Mister Kent," says the butler, breezily rolling the cart up alongside the sofa. "Master Bruce sends his apologies, and asked that I offer you breakfast."
"Or he would have if he'd stopped for half a minute," adds his daemon.
"Yes, thank you." Alfred's side-eye is withering. "He is currently dropping Master Dick off at school. The drive, as you may imagine, takes a few minutes. Hello, Caterin. Grapes?"
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"I'm all right, sir," he says with a chipper smile over at Alfred, "And how're you this morning?"
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"Any morning breathing is an excellent one if I do say so," Alfred answers as he pulls the covering off the far - a small mountain of fresh waffles, fruit choices, whipped cream, syrup, so on, all in individual containers. Glasses of water, milk, orange juice, coffee. "And seeing Master Bruce with company is pleasing, this time." To Neoma: "May I offer you anything, ma'am?"
The lioness daemon is prowling a little, keeping an eye on their guests. It's not predatory but appraising; there's a sense that they aren't sure whether Clark is annoyed with this surreal setup or not.
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"No, thank you."
Clark, on the other hand, sits up and lets his eyes go wide at the breakfast buffet.
"Oh wow. Um. Thank you. You didn't have to do that. But thank you."
Though he doesn't seem to be likely to refuse it. For one, it was good food. For another, it'd be rude to refuse hospitality. And-
"And I'm glad you're not annoyed I'm still here come morning. I didn't mean to sleep over without an invitation. But we both got some pretty good rest."
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"Certainly not sir," Alfred says as he prepares a plate for Clark, "as you say, you were able to get a measure of rest. Perhaps you haven't considered how rare that is for Master Bruce. I assure you, I am the furthest thing from annoyed. Can I offer you anything else from the kitchen, Mister Kent?"
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