agoodyarn | daemon au

Neoma will do her best to sooth Caterin, nuzzling up to the other creature. She knows how terrifying it is. Clark wears his heart on his sleeve, after all, right out there for people to stomp on it. Hears all the nasty things people sometimes say about him. She understands. And she'll hold Caterin.

Clark's smile will, somehow, get just that much brighter when Bruce leans in. Because Bruce has so much sweetness, he's so beautiful, and he sees it. He sees it and he doesn't know how no one else sees it but he won't turn away from it. Not when it seems that he makes Bruce so happy, especially.

"I love... making you feel like this."

Caterin appreciates Neoma's comfort. She's so protective of Bruce, and honestly, she feels a little protective of Neoma, too. It must be exhausting to keep up with someone like Clark; Caterin is on the opposite end, always left behind and hidden away.

And then--

Bruce's eyes go wide for a second, like a small startle when he hears the word love. His heart picks up against his will. He forces his gaze away, even more embarrassed at that reaction.

"I..." don't know what to say. He looks at Caterin, and despite her nervousness, all she offers looking back is support, and strength. "Ten minutes after we met," Bruce says quietly. "I knew I wanted to be with you."

And he was ornery and argumentative and hostile, yeah.

Neoma's used to it. And she has her own resilience. They will, she decides as they curl around one another, protect one another.

Clark smiles, but there's a bit of a wince in the smile, because he heard that heartskip and it gave him so much hope. He feels, immediate and bright, and he'd had to stop himself from saying what he'd wanted to say. Now he wishes he had.

"It took me a little longer," he admits, soft. Still so happy. "About half an hour. Forgive me for being slow?"

"Well I wasn't very nice about it," he murmurs. Bruce leans in to touch their foreheads together again. It feels good to be closer-- he wants to feel his skin pressed against Clark's, he wants everything. He's been so convinced it won't ever be real that he can't get enough now that it is. "I can forgive you, if you can forgive me."

"Good," he says, soft, still close, "Good and true. They're always better than nice."

He tips his chin, presses their lips together in the barest brush.

"Forgiven. And never forgotten."

The way he'd felt his whole world bend and shift and curl around this man who made the world better not through power but by grabbing it and forcing it into what it should be, tirelessly and without even the barest desire for thanks. He knew what it felt like when all the air left the room but this was different. This was everything fading away, something he hadn't felt since his senses had come into their own. Focus. Clarity. And a magnet pull from his chest towards this man.

"I love... you. Too. If that wasn't clear."

It's-- God. His heart skips again and he just stares at Clark, wonder in his expression, in his eyes. It's too soon, isn't it? You've known since you met he reminds himself. Bruce breathes in, trying to scramble together something to say.

"I really don't-- deserve that-- Clark." His voice shakes and he's shocked at himself.

I love you too.

He does, fuck, he does.

He'd admitted that it wasn't love at first sight, but it was close enough. True enough. Certain enough.

And he smiles, because he could hear those unspoken words. They're right there in his eyes, and he can hear them loud and clear, and that's all he needed. All he needs.

"You do."

A faint tilt of his head.

"And it's true either way."

Bruce curls forward and wraps his arms around Clark's shoulders, needing to be closer to him. He buries his face against the other man's neck, breathing him in, feeling his heat, listening to his breath and his pulse.

"Stay," he murmurs. "Until we have to go to work-- stay here with me."

"Not going anywhere," he says as his hand slid into Bruce's hair, started stroking, holding him. "I don't have work until tomorrow morning. And nothing's going on in Metropolis."

Nothing more important than this.

Bruce feels so bizarrely needy after that confession. Like he's afraid Clark's going to change his mind, and he-- he doesn't know. How do you keep someone from changing their mind about being in love? Bruce knows he isn't changing his mind, not ever. It feels crazy to say.

"Kiss me?"

Clark looks up at him, smiles up at him, and gives a little nod even before moving. Because there's one thing he needs to make sure Bruce knows.

"I'm not letting go, though."

Which isn't a choice or even a warning. It's more of a piece of information for Bruce to be aware of.

Because then he's kissing him.

Bruce is ... happy. Elated. He's unused to the feeling. He lets himself sink against Clark, kissing him and holding him. The sofa is overstuffed and comfortable so they can stretch out however they like-- and Bruce would like quite a lot, having very much enjoyed the way they'd fallen asleep together.

He doesn't know how much time they spend making out, but eventually, when his mouth feels almost bruised and he thinks he might go crazy if they don't stop or go further, he pulls away and rests his head against the leather sofa cushion, just looking at Clark. (Going further sounds pretty great, but so does waiting, somehow.)

"Do you want to go for a walk?" he asks quietly.

Clark is almost intoxicated from it, from the kisses and the closeness. It takes him a moment as Bruce draws back a little to look at him for him to focus on anything but going after him for another kiss. To the question-

"Sure. Lead the way?"

It does take a moment. Even after Clark answers, Bruce just looks at him, and then swipes his tongue along the seam of his lips, coaxing him into a slow, open-mouthed kiss that's mostly tongue. Clark feels and tastes so good.

Almost abruptly Bruce stops and rolls back, onto his feet. He's restless, and showing Clark the grounds will be good for him. Get some air. He's not used to all this-- feeling and having it not go towards anger.

He laughs just once at the abruptness, though it's clearly a laugh of delight as opposed to mocking him. Not that he's opposed to mocking him a little. His own return to his feet is more languid, spent watching Bruce with a warm (if slightly teasing) smile.

"Where're we going?"

"Outside," Bruce says with a shrug, straightening his shirt in what he hopes is a non-nervous way. "It should be nice out. For Gotham." Maybe a little gloomy even up here, but not cold, and not disgustingly humid.

Caterin hops over, sugar glider again, to scramble up and hide in Bruce's pocket. She's been good not interrupting so far and is relieved at the opportunity to join him again; Bruce sticks his hand in his pocket, almost apologetic.

Neoma actually starts to fly after Caterin before swooping back over to Clark, settling on his shoulder and tucking up behind his ear. Clark can't help but smile a little at that.

"There's a decent amount of sunlight. I'm sure it'll be nice."

He offers his hand to the one that isn't in a pocket.

Bruce takes Clark's hand, giving him a small smile as he does. It's a bit of a hike to even get outside - Bruce finds a small sweater slung on a railing, and they have to backtrack so he can put it away in Dick's room. It's rare for things like that to slip Alfred's notice, and Bruce says it feels like finding a four-leaf clover.

They go out through the back of the house via what was once the servant entrance (now unused; they pass several rooms full of covered-up furniture). There's a path that leads to a garden, meticulously cared-for, gazebo and all, but Bruce leads them further out to the expanse of land the manor sits on.

"I fractured my arm falling out of that tree once," he muses, nodding at a gigantic, ancient willow not far away. "My dad about lost his mind."

"Was it as big then as it is now?" was the question he ended up asking as he looked over at the tree. He couldn't help that his hand slipped back just a little to brush against the arm near him, as if assuring himself that Bruce was currently just fine.

"Though either way, I can imagine it was terrifying. My parents... well, it was more about what I broke than what broke on me."

A tilt of his head.

"Though there was that very disturbing period where my flight was less than voluntary."

"I don't think it could have grown much since then," Bruce says, looking up at it as they get closer. "It seemed.. ten times as big, then." He must have been five or six, scrambling around when he shouldn't have been, always imaginative and happy to play with Caterin alone.

Bruce flicks his gaze over to him. "Floating away? Did you have to get a kite string?"

He looks over at Bruce with just a bit of wryness to that smile.

"You make that joke but you're talking to a kid who had a rope around his waist for a few weeks."

Bruce considers it for a moment-- his usual over-analysis, maybe. "That must have been frightening, for a kid." Caterin fusses in his pocket and he fetches her out, holding the small animal for a moment before letting her hop down to bound through the grass towards the tree. Apparently they'll be climbing. "How old were you?"

Neoma launched herself towards the tree. Unlike most bats, she had no problem with sunlight. Probably due to her human's nature.

"Eight. And it was, I guess. It was a rough couple of weeks. But I figured it out. My Pa helped me."

"He sounds like a good man."

Bruce always has quiet, almost delicate-sounding respect for good parents. Like he's holding something breakable and can't bear to risk any damage coming to it. At the tree, Caterin is dancing to and fro on a wide branch, eager to play with Neoma.

Neoma is flitting through the trees, heading down to Caterin with a happy squeak.

"He is. I was very lucky that it was Martha and Jonathon Kent who found me."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject