daemon au

[stands_for_hope]

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.

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[stands_for_hope]

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."

[frightening]

"My mother's name was Martha," he says after a while-- and feels immediately stupid, because Clark probably knows that even though Bruce has never talked about it before. Most people who know anything about Bruce Wayne know about his parents; if Clark feels this way about him maybe he's googled him before, or something.

Bruce looks up at the tree once they're under the wide branches and hanging strings of leaves. He's glad Caterin and Neoma are getting along; he doesn't know if most adult daemons would take to one like Caterin, whom he knows is ... about as emotionally developed as he is.

[stands_for_hope]

But Clark's only response is to reach over and slide his hand around to wrap one arm to Bruce's waist and curl a little closer to him.

Yes, the details of his family are public record. And yes, he'd known about Martha Wayne. But Bruce is telling him about his mother, whose name was Martha. And that's another thing all together. Something that makes him humbled and appreciative. Something that makes him feel closer to the man beside him.

And he can watch their daemons play. Neoma is delighted, utterly delighted with Caterin, with her playfulness, her gentleness, her quiet, simple strength and her boundless love.

[frightening]

Bruce lets himself lean against Clark a little, touched by that reaction. Wordless, like so much of their communication in the field is starting to become. He still doesn't know how to make that ease work when they're not doing what they do-- but maybe he can learn.

"Do you visit your parents often?" he asks, and after a moment steps away and reaches up to get a grip on the lowest rung of the tree's sprawling limbs. He pulls himself up, heedless of getting bark and dirt and whatever-else on his expensive clothes.

[stands_for_hope]

Clark watches him for a moment before reaching up and, picking another nearby branch, hauling himself up. Regardless of whether or not he could, he's not actually using his flight. This is just muscle and effort. Once he's up, he settles on the branch to sit.

"Decently often. At least once a month, usually more. Depends on the season, though. I spend more time when they need more help around the farm."

[frightening]

"You really grew up on a farm, didn't you." Bruce sits with one leg on either side of the wide branch, picking at a slim leaf. Of course he's done his research on Clark Kent, but it almost feels like reading.. Little House on the Prairie, or something. Idyllic. No wonder Clark's so good, raised like that. "What do you help with? --I," Bruce cuts himself off, again feeling ridiculous. "I know I sound stupid. Sorry. My experiences are all one extreme or another, but never that."

[stands_for_hope]

"You're talking to a reporter, Bruce," he points out as he lets himself lean back and forth, swaying comfortably in the sunlight.

"There are no stupid questions, especially when it's clear that you want to know the answers." He glances up to see Neoma and Caterin playing a jaunty game of chase, catch, and cuddle.

"And I help with the fencing, put out new posts. We don't keep cows, but the folks next door do so it's best for us to keep our fences up. Checking over crops, tending, picking, loading. Sometimes my parents'll keep animals if someone needs a space or two, so tending to them. Maintenance on the truck or the tractor... all kinds of things."

He leans back a little.

"We grow corn, for reference."

[frightening]

"Don't phrase it that way," he says, wry but teasing, light. Bruce Wayne likes his share of journalists - Clark, Lois, Vicki - but for the most part, the media has been a large, invasive, unpleasant part of his life. Talking to a reporter has a wildly different meaning for him than most people.

"Corn in Kansas. You're.. well, of course you're Superman," Bruce sounds like he's almost laughing, there, soft and fond.

[stands_for_hope]

He realizes only after he'd said it what the connotations of that kind of statement could be. The first request gets a quick nod. He'll remember that.

"Wouldn't that be if we grew spinach?" he says back with a little grin, lifting an arm to do a Popeye-esque flex. Well, a partial one. He likes this shirt.

[frightening]

"Not like that," he huffs, and nudges Clark's foot with his. "You're so wholesome and all-American. And it's sincere. If I didn't like you so much I'd probably throw up."

Bruce is definitely a stereotype, too; rich upper class east coast. (Dictionary definition Gothamite, too, but seeing as he forged that particular type-cast, it's excused.) He pretends to be so many different people, but Clark ... Clark is genuine through and through, no matter if he's a journalist or Superman.

[stands_for_hope]

That gets a laugh out of him and he nudges back.

"Actually, I'm a very lucky immigrant who happened to end up in Kansas, where they grow corn." He turns his attention up to Bruce with a lopsided smile.

"If I'm sincere, it's because the people who raised me taught me the value of sincerity and believing in what you say and do. There's good, sincere people all over."

Another nudge.

"Including Gotham."

[frightening]

"Americans are immigrants." Bruce leans in, but just sways back after, an almost childlike movement. A lucky immigrant who happened to end up in Kansas where they grow corn is, as far as Bruce is concerned, as all-American as it gets. He's got the flashy boy scout uniform to prove it; House of El colors, sure, but they aimed pretty damn well all the way from Krypton to coordinate.

"Alfred's very sincere."

[stands_for_hope]

"Most of us are," he agrees, "of one stripe or another. But I try to remember both sides of that when I can."

Nudge.

"You're very sincere. You. The one I'm in love with. He's incredibly sincere."

[frightening]

"I'm not, though," he says with a nudge back, covering up the way his face tries to color at hearing Clark say the-l-word. "I lie to everyone, constantly. You know that."

Batman's tactics are manipulative and vicious, while Bruce Wayne's are honestly not all that much better. He has to make his good deeds seem accidental, he has to trick his board into working the way he wants to.

"Some things.." Bruce looks out across the grounds, towards the ocean - they can't see it from here, but he knows where it is. "How I feel about you. Dick. That's different. But it's not the norm."

[stands_for_hope]

He shakes his head, the action mild.

"The two aren't mutually exclusive. What you do and how you feel. About me. About Dick. About Gotham."

He leans in a little, just a little, and offers a smile.

"You call me sincere when I spend 90% of my day pretending I'm human. Your actions are sincere in intent, even if the methods involve subterfuge."

[frightening]

Bruce looks back over at him and leans in as well, but he moves all the way, and places a soft kiss against Clark's mouth before he straightens up again.

"You're too biased."

He appreciates it, though. It's obvious in how his proverbial feathers are un-ruffled. Bruce isn't accustomed to anyone being sweet with him, much less someone giving him credit for the work he does, and while it can be overwhelming... he does like it.

[stands_for_hope]

"Maybe," he admits, leaning in again. His lips are still warm from the kiss and he wants another one, but the part he likes the most is Bruce leaning over to give it to him.

"But I got that way watching you."

[frightening]

Bruce's blush is obvious this time and for a split-second he doesn't know what to do, and so he leans forward to kiss Clark again. That way Clark can't see his face, so there.

Up above, Caterin is amused at Bruce's reactions, and clearly happy. She goes back to playing with Neoma after a moment of observation; maybe there's a connecting thread here somewhere, with how she likes to be a sugar glider. Something soft and affectionate that struggles to survive without others.

[stands_for_hope]

It wasn't what he was aiming for, but it's never an answer that Clark will refuse. He reaches one hand up to stroke Bruce's cheek as they kiss. Yes, he can feel the warmth of that cheek, but he won't say anything or tease. There are all manner of things Clark will poke fun at him for; the strength and depth of his feelings isn't one of them.

[frightening]

Bruce wonders if he makes Clark feel like this - he hasn't caught the other man fumbling like he has, but then, Bruce has been busy berating himself every time he slips up. Not much of a detective in those moments. He hopes, though, that he'll be able to make Clark happy ... get him to feel this light, this touched.

Their kiss is sweet, and Bruce only deepens in for a short moment before pulling back, bumping his forehead gently against Clark's after. He's gotten his embarrassment back under control-- he really needs to work on that.

"Should we be worried about this?"

[stands_for_hope]

He blinks a little at the question, since he's not sure what exactly he should be worried about. But he likes being here, against Bruce, forehead to forehead.

"Worried about what?"

[frightening]

"How being together might affect our work," he says, sounding contemplative. "We argue plenty as it is. And.. do we tell anyone?"

He is so very out of his depth. His instinct is to not do this at all-- but he feels too strongly. He doesn't want to let it go.

[stands_for_hope]

"We argue," he agrees, "but we always come back to our equilibrium. And I can't imagine that changing, since a relationship doesn't change the trust and respect we share."

He scratches one ear.

"And I would think we should tell Diana, but I'm ambivalent about anyone else. Mostly, I think we should behave appropriately to any other workplace and whoever figures it out figures it out."

[frightening]

Bruce seems to consider this for a while, and then he nods before bringing his hands up to the sides of Clark's neck, forehead against his again. Just resting there.

After a little while, he speaks again quietly: "Alfred knows.. obviously. I want you to meet Dick, I just don't know when. Can you be patient with me while I work out what to do there?"

His boy, making sure he's comfortable and that he won't feel jealous or threatened, is the most important thing to him.

[stands_for_hope]

"Whatever you need," he says, and he says it easily, but his eyes are watching Bruce. He will give him what he needs, but it's because Bruce is important, not because he doesn't care. He won't enjoy waiting. But he'll do it for Bruce and for Dick.