agoodyarn | daemon au

"I am too," he admits, just as quiet. And, honestly, just as fragile. Clark is confident, comfortable, but that confidence and that comfort comes from his belief, firm as it is, in Bruce. But his heart is as fragile as anyone else's. And he knows that the world can do terrible things. He just chooses to believe, chooses to have faith, in what they've decided. What they're deciding. In the bond that they have and all it comes with.

"And I promise to you that I will always be honest to you about us. If there's something I'm upset about. IF there's something I'm unhappy with. I promise you, Bruce, that I will tell you. You'll be the first one to know."

A softer smile.

"No guessing games. That I can promise."

Bruce nods again. Should he be talking more? Probably. But Clark loves him for some reason, and it's not like him to be so verbally expressive, so... maybe it's alright to say nothing, and let the look in his eyes and the way he squeezes Clark's hand speak for him.

It's nice. Like this. Just being with him out here, their daemons expressing everything on an even deeper level - playing and touching, joyous and affectionate. Caterin can't be somber now, despite her human. It says a lot.

Clark answers that with a nod back; as long as he's understood. Then he shifts a little, closer, careful of the branch's stability as he leans over to press a kiss in return.

Neoma is having the time of her life up there with Caterin. So much so that she's giving little bat squeaks, which she usually thinks are undignified.

The branches are old and strong; if Bruce were to topple off now, he'd just land on his feet, the drop barely higher than he is tall. When he was six, it was like falling from a skyscraper. After the kiss he pushes up on his hands and turns around, settling with his back against Clark's chest, so they can both look up at their daemons running around. He pulls Clark's arms around himself and laces their fingers together.

"They're sweet," he says quietly. Caterin is gliding from branch to branch, accomplished in her sugar glider form.

Edited 2016-04-18 18:44 (UTC)

Neoma skitters after her with a few happy squeaks.

"They are. They're having a lot of fun."

Clark's arms give Bruce just a little squeeze, just a bit of affection. He punctuates it with a kiss to his hair.

"Let's use have lazy fun."

Bruce leans so that his head is back against Clark's shoulder, allowing them to nuzzle a little. His pulse picks up with it despite the plan to be lazy - he can't help it, being in Clark's arms and knowing how loved he is. The elation is a mix of that knowledge and the runoff of Caterin's joy playing with Neoma; Bruce is happy for her, because he knows how isolated he forces her to be.

"I can't remember the last time I was lazy," he murmurs.

When he hears Bruce's heart pick up a little, he leans into that nuzzle before leaning back; he doesn't want to push, but he wants Bruce to know that he's interested in that direction, that he doesn't mind the thought of such things in the least.

"A little lazy is good for the soul."

Oh, Bruce wants him. So much. But he doesn't want Clark to think he's overly focused on sex; he tries to ignore his desires, in that department, and still ends up sleeping around what most would deem 'too often'. It's always been a struggle for him to repress himself, and he doesn't want to put it on Clark.

And besides, if there's something to wait a little bit for, Clark won't get tired of him too quickly. Bruce tips his head back even further and noses the underside of the other man's jaw, a little sensuality along with his affection.

Clark responds with a noise almost like a purr, something that comes from his chest that Bruce can feel. Undeniable, his pleasure at that little gesture. He decides to match it with a bit of sensual tenderness of his own, a slide of his finger along the inside of Bruce's wrist.

Oh. That reaction does things to him. But it's not like they can do much, literally sitting in a tree; in response to that touch he opens his palm and traces his fingers against Clark's skin, barely-there. It's all just ... so, so good. Contentment and anticipation at once.

Yes. Clark wants him; heart and soul, of course, but also body. The barely-there touch to his skin gets a slight shift of Clark's hips and a tiny stutter in his breathing before he leans in to give a few more kisses to the back of Bruce's head.

He breathes out, letting his eyes fall shut as he trades soft touches with Clark and soaks in the other man's reactions. Bruce knows how passionate they'll be when things progress past making out, and that thought warms him and send the tiniest shiver down his spine at the same time.

"You feel good," he whispers.

"I could say the same," Clark says, a little more than a whisper but certainly not a normal speaking voice. Low and soft. "I like how your hair feels like this."

Without the product. Just... him. He likes the smell.

Bruce huffs out a laugh. "I don't like it styled either. I have to affect a certain degree of greasy jerk, though." The slicked-back Bruce Wayne look is distinctive of pure douchebaggery. It helps cultivate the image of everything he's not.

With unnerving ninja accuracy, Bruce reaches up and delicately removes Clark's glasses. He brings them down to run his fingers over the frames and eventually slip them on himself. Hm.

Clark smiles at that before taking the opportunity provided by missing his glasses to lean in and start pressing soft kisses at the back of Bruce's jaw, at his hairline, and can't help the soft sound of satisfaction as his arms give a small squeeze.

"Bet they look better on you than me."

"I think they're charming on you," Bruce says without trying to turn around - a little too much wiggling, given their positions, and he's comfortable. "When you aren't ruining your posture."

He knows the body language is so much more of the disguise than the glasses, for all his occasional ragging on them. But the few times he's seen Clark properly dressed, standing tall, with the glasses and boyish smile still... who thought the sweetheart Midwestern act would ever get to Bruce Wayne? And yet here we are.

"Thankfully, my posture is hard to ruin," Clark points out with a little smile as he continues the kisses. He's got you in his grasp now, Bruce. What will you ever do with this wealth of kisses?

"And I suppose they have... some charm." A tilt of his head. "It's not like I can argue with your aesthetic sense."

"Mmm." He's going to really enjoy these kisses, that's what. He even tilts his head back to facilitate it - the arm of Clark's glasses bump on something and Bruce huffs a quiet laugh before slipping them off and tucking them into the collar of his own shirt.

"My what? All black, all the time?"

With his head tilted back, there's some neck to work with now, and he takes advantage in the gentlest sort of way. Clark can't help it a little bit of the reverberation from his words flutters across the skin just below Bruce's jaw.

"You make everything elegant. Even black."

"You like elegance, huh?" Bruce makes a low, contended sound. "Hopefully I'm not ruining my own image climbing trees with you." 'Even black' is a little funny, as that's more or less all he wears. Maybe he doesn't look elegant in anything but, no one will ever know.

"You even climb trees elegantly," he counters with a shake of his head. No, Bruce, you've definitely not ruined your image.

"Elegance isn't in what you do. It's in how you do it. And you do everything," and this final sentence, like each of the others, is further punctuated by a kiss, "everything so gracefully."

It's only as final as he can keep himself from kissing again, which is why another kiss comes, and another sentence.

"And with poise."

One hand slides out to settle over Bruce's, and they're of a size, though Clark's fingers are a little wider and a little shorter than his.

Long bones and strong gloves; Bruce's hands go through so much punishment and he has to put so much time in effort into taking care of them. So easily, one night in Gotham's streets could bring an end to engineering and surgery and being able to run his fingers over Clark's. He's going to have such awful arthritis, if he lives long enough.

"You're going to spoil me with talk like that," he murmurs. And then, "You like my hands." An observation.

"Rotten," he agrees with absolute seriousness. And absolute delight. He's looking forward to it. He intends to spoil Bruce as much as he can. The man is in need of some honest spoiling that has nothing to do with the material.

"And yes, I do. I like your hands quite a lot. They're... mesmerizing, honestly. I love watching you work."

Mesmerizing. Bruce feels his cheeks heat up again slightly and wrestles internally with that kneejerk reaction-- he'll need to work on it. He's had such an impeccable handle on things like that and now Clark's throwing him off his game with one evening. And morning. And one confession-- alright, so it's not such a little thing, but still. Batman shouldn't be blushing.

"If I didn't have to go out tonight I'd never let you out of my bedroom."

For.. the record.

"Then I guess I'll look forward to getting in there sometime," and that kiss is soft and sweet, somewhat contrary to the slight tease in the words.

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