stands_for_hope | for knightbynight: For now and hereafter...

Clark had been near the edge practically since he'd entered Bruce, but the shifting around, something about that sent a spark up his spine and by the time that Bruce came, he was so close that he went off as much from the huff of breath against his ear as from the squeeze of Bruce's body. He came and he held Bruce tight against him, and he could not in his entire life have said that he was more satisfied than in that moment.

Thank goodness for flight as his knees weren't supporting him while he drew away from the wound on Bruce's neck, carefully licked away the blood in the shivering aftermath and started to kiss the uninjured line of Bruce's throat in thanks. In love. He only got a few kisses in before he just pressed his face against the skin and took a moment simply to breathe.

He'd needed that. They'd needed that.

Overwhelming physical sensation aside, he didn't even want to pull out just yet. This was... this was good for the moment. The both of them utterly entwined. Yes. Good.

He was home. He had Bruce. Bruce loved him.

Clark's release stung, but it also soothed. It mirrored and echoed his tongue licking away the blood from the bite mark he'd left in skin, and even the few kisses against the other side of his throat. The steady rise and fall of Clark's breathing, the warmth where they touched....

If this were a normal night (day), he'd get restless, start trying to move on and just move in fairly short order. Lingering with someone inside him wasn't... something he usually did, even with Clark. Today was different. They had needed this. He needed to love Clark and believe he was back.

So today he simply rested, caught his breath, let his pulse slow and let himself be held. Kept Clark in him, and counted the beats of Clark's heart - and felt the rough scratch of his beard, and counted it as one more bit of evidence that Clark was back home.

Eventually the world started again, rusty and slow and reluctant but insistent all the same. Clark withdrew slowly, carefully, but he didn't quite let Bruce down yet. He knew his own legs were shaky, after all. And Bruce didn't have the benefit of being able to float.

Instead, he had the benefit of Clark's arms around him.

He looked sideways at Bruce, then down at the mark on his shoulder, and let out a settled little sigh.

"The question is," Clark said, almost sleepy-sounding in his satisfaction, "one, did Alfred think to put a first aid kit under the sink. And two, do we want to think about it too much if he did."

Bruce was capable of ignoring his weak knees and taking his own weight and did, though there was definitely some shakiness there. Just very, very ruthlessly suppressed shakiness.

"Alfred has been dealing with the evidence of sex induced injuries long before they were inflicted by someone who gave a fuck, much less were someone I'd let stay to ask questions about first aid kits."

There'd be one around, somewhere.

He looked over at Bruce with a low, scraping chuckle and a shake of his head.

"I don't want to think about it, then. Just like you wanted to go to a hotel while we were at the farm."

Weird parental-type THINGS.

"Though I'm definitely sticking around." Which was when he turned his attention to staring around the bathroom with x-ray vi--

"Under the sink. Exactly where they usually are. Damn, he's good." He breathed in and out a few times before tipping his head towards it. "Wash off and I'll grab it. Then I'll wash off while you use it?"

"He raised me." Of course Alfred was good.

"Sure," Bruce agreed, and grabbed for the soap and a cloth almost immediately. It didn't take long for him to be washing, or to be washed off and to be getting out to slap disinfectant on the bite mark. He wasn't worried about it - at all - but just this once he wouldn't argue with Clark about it.

It was easy enough to do. If Clark wanted more than that done, Clark would say something when he came out.

Clark wasn't feeling particularly worried about it. He'd handled his own wounds for the last few weeks with much less than that; he'd mostly wanted to make sure Bruce didn't get annoyed by bleeding on something in the room since he'd been so pleased with it.

...Clark's brain had switched gears just a little the last month or so. It would probably slowly shift back, but at the moment, it was just a little left of his usual center.

Instead, once the kit had been retrieved and handed over, he went to wash himself off. It was a slightly more thorough job than had been done downstairs since he'd mostly just been sloughing off the grime in the cave. This was more of a shower. Once he was done, though, he reached for one of the fluffiest towels he'd ever experienced in his life.

"Towels... so... fluffy..." he noted intelligently as he started ruffling his hair under the towel.

"Absorbant," Bruce replied, dryly.

He would like left of center Clark a bit more, and have a bit less guilt about that if he didn't know the cause of it. As it stood, he guiltily enjoyed it a bit, but was going to at least try not to actively encourage it.

Clark needed help, not enabling, but... damn there were some nice aspects of this.

Meanwhile, Bruce tried to convince his heavy limbs to cooperate (refused to let them not) to pull on the pair of pants he'd been wearing. "I'm going to go raid your closet for a shirt," he said. And no it wasn't really a question.

Edited 2015-10-04 23:01 (UTC)

Clark didn't view it as such. Luckily, he'd find that the closet was stocked in a variety of shirts, all exceptionally soft in fabric and solid in color. While there were a few to choose from, they mostly tended towards reds and blues, a couple of blacks, and one or two other colors tossed in clearly for variety's sake.

...the plaid was in the dresser where it wouldn't offend Master Bruce's sensibilities.

When Clark himself would walk out, it would be in a bathrobe he'd found on the back of the door and a towel on his head. What had taken a moment, however, was that the beard had been somewhat trimmed. The hair remained long, however.

"Need a few supplies before I can deal with this," he admitted with a little smile as he tapped the towel. Then he was going to see if he could find underwear and perhaps a pair of pajama pants in the dresser.

Bruce selected a purple shirt that would look fantastic on Clark but was also not red or blue (he wouldn't - not his colors) , and pulled it on over his head. "What kind of supplies do you need?"

"A piece of crystal. I can grab it from the fortress or my apartment soon enough. But for now, I'm just going to see if I can find a rubber band or something.

He found himself the underwear (oh, the boxers were nice too) and a pair of red flannel pajama pants that were tugged on right after. Then, and only then, did he tug the towel off and hang it over the desk chair to dry off a bit before heading for the bed.

"I feel like I should get dressed for the day and actually do something," Clark admitted as he flopped out on the bed. But he wasn't doing that. Not even remotely. He was staying on the bed.

"I'll feel bad about this soon enough. But I can't even think of what to do." He looked up at Bruce. "I don't suppose you need any help repairing anything? Any heavy lifting?"

"We can find a way to keep your hair out of your eyes later."

Bruce went to the bed and slid in beside Clark, stretched out on his side and put his hand on Clark's chest. Again, right in the very center. It was a common enough gesture for him, but today he needed to feel evidence of Clark being real and live more than usual. Today it was a need.

"I have some planned upgrades to the most recent car. You can help with that, later. I'll find something to keep you busy but that doesn't make too many demands on your time, if you need me to. I think you should take today and spend it sleeping and eating, though."

Clark needed to decompress a little and continue to physically recover. Said Bruce.

Clark might have looked up at Bruce to call out the blatant (supposed) hypocrisy, except that he knew it was different for Bruce to see him like this than for him to see Bruce roughed up. Not just for him, but for Bruce. For all that Bruce could say that most of his love was expressed in money, Clark could see quite a lot of it in the little gestures. The hand over his heart. The way caring for Clark, whether he was out of his mind on silver kryptonite or a little wobbly from a month and a half in a barren wasteland, made some things all right that normally never would be.

More 'left of center' thinking, though closer to the center than the left.

"I'll definitely take you up on eating. I'll see about the sleeping. Multiple hours in a row hasn't really been on the schedule for a bit."

But he seemed content to lay in the bed with Bruce's hand over his heart for the moment. He'd get antsy when Bruce did.

Clark was here. He was alive. He'd come back - battered and a little worse for wear, but he'd come back. He was calling the Manor home, at least for a while.

Bruce felt like he might actually unwind.

And in a minute or three he'd done enough of that to move his hand and sit up. "I'm going to get food. Stay put. I'll bring it back."

He spread his hands and let them fall to his sides in a blatant 'not going anywhere' gesture. Then they were tucked up behind his head as he let his eyes slip closed.

"Give my thanks to Alfred if you see him," was all Clark asked, "I'll pay my compliments in person later, but he should know this is... well, amazing."

Bruce made a noise of assent to let Clark know that he'd heard and would, then padded out of the room on bare feet.

He was gone for maybe, maybe five minutes before Jason was in the room. He didn't knock, at all, just walked in and lounged with deceptive casualness against the doorframe and looked at Clark.

And slowly applauded.

Clark made sure to do his level best to keep himself calm as he opened his eyes to see Jason clapping. Then, making sure to keep his movements slow and loose (don't play the predator, this isn't an enemy) he sat up in the bed and turned to put his feet on the ground.

"I get the feeling you're less pleased to see me than most people were."

The real hell of it was, Bruce had passed Jason in the hall and given him a warning. Jason had still waltzed into the room without any kind of announcement and didn't much look like he was taking any care to be slow and careful now.

He wanted to punch the guy. In the face. Hard. He'd take being hit back for that.

"I'm not?" He feigned surprise, pushed off and took a walk around the room - toward Clark but not directly. Maybe he had two brain cells functioning. "You're right. I'm not. Do you know what you did to him?"

Do you know what you did to me was in there somewhere, too.

Clark let his eyes close, his head dropping almost to his chest. He nodded, but that wasn't enough.

"I can see it. I saved his life but..." he shook his head, soft and slow. Haunted. Then, breathing in deep, he looked up at Jason.

"But I came back. And... well, I don't intend to go anywhere. Not even back to Metropolis. Not really."

He breathed in and out, focused on his old breathing exercises, and tried to shift things a little.

"How are... things... with you and Kara? If you don't mind me asking."

He'd called Kara on the way to Bruce's as well, and there'd been some understandable screaming and crying as both she and Martha had alternately yelled at him and been so happy they could hardly speak.

"Funny you should ask." No, no it wasn't. "Things with us are fine. " His hands were clenched into fists and he didn't. care. He didn't care that Clark had saved Bruce's life. He cared that Clark had chosen to go away and leave them all and that he'd nearly destroyed the tiny little group of people he cared about. "Things with her - well, I heard you called her and she's as pleased as can be to have you back."

He nodded, because yes, she was happy he was alive. And angry at him for terrifying them. And promising him that he owed her a shopping spree. And that had been so wonderful...

But he wasn't ready to go home yet. He wasn't ready to be around his mother yet. Not with how twitchy he was. She had a tendency to swoop in with affection and if he hurt her because of it--

No. Not yet.

"I'm glad to hear it," and he was proud of how even his tone was. "It seemed like... well, like you two were good for each other."

He looked up at Jason finally.

"And you? How are you doing?"

Clark was trying so hard to be disarming and it was just ramping Jason up, almost in spite of himself. He was angry and hurt and he wasn't getting anything but normal from Clark. He'd started to trust this guy and-

He threw the punch, and - just didn't even speak first.

Clark didn't move so much as suddenly, Jason was against the nearest wall with Clark's hand at his throat holding him a foot off the ground. Clark himself looked startled, wild eyed, like he hadn't expected this result and his hand was shaking just a little. Clark looked like he wanted to move, like he wanted to put Jason down, but he wasn't quite sure how his hand worked at the moment and there was just as much likelihood that the command to let go would snap the boy's neck as it would release him.

Finally, after he was sure, after he was sure his hand would obey him, his fingers released and Jason was free to drop to the ground. Clark, for his part, swept back, shaking, and curled in on himself with a noise like a wounded animal. He hadn't wanted that. He'd never wanted that. He'd never hurt one of Bruce's kids. He'd NEVER hurt one of Bruce's kids, ever. He never wanted to hurt anyone, but especially not one of Bruce's kids. Oh god. Oh god.

Jason was pretty damned comfortable at being picked up by the throat and pinned against the wall. Oh, he didn't like it, his hand came up and wrapped around Clark's wrist while Clark had him there in automatic reaction but he didn't panic. He felt, instead, some kind of sick satisfaction.

Then Clark let him down and was back across the room curled up like a kicked dog and what the hell was he supposed to do with that? Except feel guilty in spite of himself.

And then be mad about feeling guilty.

Fortunately he was spared from anything happening by Bruce coming back. Just in time to ask, "What the hell happened?"

To which Jason's response was a typical "Nothing" and slamming out of the room. Bruce stared after him, even as the door was swinging way too hard toward the slam. He put the food down and went to Clark, instead.

Clark shook his head, but didn't look up.

"Go to Jason," and it came out in a bit of a croak. God, what if he'd made a mistake. What if he'd hurt the boy? What if he'd killed--

No, no, couldn't think like that. Can't think like that. He hadn't. He hadn't. He wouldn't and he hadn't.

"Make... make sure he's all right."

He finally managed to make himself look up at Bruce.

"Please."

for knightbynight: For now and hereafter...

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