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

Entry tags:

for knightbynight: For now and hereafter...

[some time after the events here]

Superman and Batman were partners in more than a work sense. Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent were an adorable (if mildly ridiculous) couple. Kal-El of Krypton and a man who defied any definition outside of the single letter 'B' made time on weekends, worked around world crises and teenage tempers, and occasionally fell into bed together when the stars aligned. Thankfully, they aligned relatively often.

Wayne Manor received a delivery of organic produce and baked goods once a week from a small, independent farm in the heartland. Lois Lane was a little less likely to agree with snide comments about the uselessness of Bruce Wayne, especially after seeing the utter madness that was Clark's desk after a few weeks. The texting habits of a certain blond teenager in Kansas rose sharply... and in parallel to that of a certain former street punk in Gotham.

Life was... well, it was good, even if it was also Life. Until it wasn't. Until everything changed.

They all had enemies, of course. But the problem with Superman's enemies was that they were coherent enough to decide to team up. And crazy enough to use the kind of weaponry that could make whole cars just vaporize into nothing.

Crazy enough to point that weapon at a somewhat-pinned Batman and a Wonder Woman who was digging him out from the rock. Crazy enough to point that weapon at Batman.

Bruce.

B.

Clark didn't even make the choice. His heart made it for him. The beam shot out of the Toyman's mechanical monstrosity and Clark flew, the pain of the beam itself nothing on the fact that he was leaving Bruce behind. That his vision of them as old men together would never happen. That he was leaving behind a world that needed him.

The guilt that, if it meant saving them, saving him, he didn't regret a thing.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He braced Bruce carefully with a hand on his abdomen before letting go of his wrists, slowly lowering him back to the ground. Something fluttered in his eyes, the darkness leeching away again as he dipped in and took a kiss. A sweet one.

The intense control slipped away too, leaving a loose-limbed Clark whose hands were warm and who swayed a little with the change.

"I love you," he said, seemingly random. It wasn't random.

Bruce - felt Clark sway and did his level best to support his own weight. That involved locking his knees and putting his hands lightly on Clark rather than grabbing hold or allowing himself to use Clark for support.

He put a hand on the back of Clark's neck, gentle and a little chilled, and returned the sweet kiss with a soft one of his own. He couldn't prevent his hand from being shaky, but he managed to find the willpower to stop it before he ended the kiss.

"I love you, too." That - was a statement of fact and easy because Clark needed to hear it. At least Bruce used that for explaining why it wasn't something he stumbled over.

His back was still sluggishly bleeding from where Clark had clawed through that scar.

"Are you okay?"

"I need to clean and bandage your shoulder," he said mildly before settling himself. Getting his feet under him. Then he helped to support Bruce a little more.

"And yes, Bruce. I'm fine. I'm..." he looked over at Bruce and there was no guilt. "Good."

He leaned in to look at Bruce now.

"How're you?"

Bruce did not cooperate with being supported. He didn't resist it, exactly, but he didn't sag into it. "My shoulder can wait."

He looked Clark over, searched his eyes until he was sure he believed what Clark was saying - or trusted that he wasn't not saying important things, and wasn't hiding them.

How was he? He - was completely unable to answer the question, because he didn't know. He didn't have the slightest idea. He was...shaky and half numb and unsteady and unsure and a bit lost when he decided maybe Clark didn't need him to be doing the supporting.

"I'm fine." He paused and then: "Cold."

Edited 2016-01-04 18:33 (UTC)

Clark nodded and ran warm hands up and down his back, staying clear of the shoulder. He leaned into Bruce a little, showing that his own state was a bit of a show even though he could certainly hold himself up.

He could hold himself up. But he wanted Bruce. He needed to touch him after that.

"Bed?" he asked as he looked at the bed in this room. Then his eye went to the wall, where he was clearly looking at the bed in the other room.

Bruce tightened his muscles both to keep from shivering and to provide something solid for Clark to lean into. He was - completely denying that he was starting to feel the marks Clark had left in his skin and even a mildly growing headache. It was all awareness filtering slowly in, much as realization of being cold had.

"Maybe my shoulder shouldn't wait. Do we need to shower or can you satisfy yourself with slapping a bandage on it?" He didn't want to stick to the sheets.

"Antiseptic and a bandage," he said with a quick nod before leading the way out of the room. "Then bed..."

He looked at Bruce.

"For a while."

Bruce followed, but he made a point of keeping a hand against Clarks' back. Which one of them was he reassuring? Clark, mostly. He was going to have a hell of an endorphine crash, but he had some experience with this that Clark... presumably didn't?

"As long as you need. Have you ever done anything like this before?"

He looked over at Bruce and gave him a faint little smile.

"Like this?" He shook his head a little. "Not really. The closest was probably my times as the Demolisher." Controlled darkness. Very different from something like possession or even red k. He breathed in and out a few times before letting his head droop again. "Though that was very different."

He let his head tip back a little.

"And the first night I went out, I came off of that by jacking off for almost an hour straight."

...which wasn't anything he was proud of, nor really a statement about much of anything. He was being honest because this kind of arrangement required honesty even above and beyond their usual relationship.

"All right."

That was all. He took the information, didn't read in a lot - well did but didn't let it influence his reaction and filed most of it away for later - and fucking escorted Clark to the bed.

"We can decide how you want sex or if you need it now, once we've taken care of this."

Then turned and went to find the first aid kit himself, for himself. He'd had it over to Clark since Clark could reach, but he was taking care of Clark. Badly, as it turned out, but he was trying.

Clark let him.

Clark let him the same way Bruce had let him hurt him. It wasn't about what someone could do. It was about what they let you do. And right now, Bruce needed to do that, so he let him. And when the first aid box was tossed his way, he applied the antiseptic and the bandage expertly but with as much speed as possible. Because he didn't want to break... whatever this was.

"I don't want sex," he admitted as he put the box over on the dresser and collapsed in the bed.

"I want you. That's all I want right now. You. And bed."

Yeah. That was the answer Bruce was afraid of.

Actually, Bruce was afraid of all of this aftermath, because having someone around for it was exactly where his experience stopped and it didn't stop there by accident - it was pure Bruce Wayne design. Getting himself torn up was familiar. Even if someone he loved doing it wasn't, the feelings were known.

Everything beyond that point wasn't and it changed much, much more on that 'someone who loved him/he loved' front than the acts themselves.

He didn't verbalize a single iota of that, just like he hadn't vocalized while having that injury cleaned, but he could. He could make this about Clark and be okay and forestall crashing until.

Until-

Until something. He'd figure it out.

"Then get into bed," he said, pulled the covers back and nudged Clark toward getting in and under and comfortable.

He climbed into the bed properly, squirming his way under the covers again.

"Next time, we have sex at the end there and then we collapse in the bed over there," he murmured tiredly. Which was insane. They'd just gotten out of bed. And with the sunlight as it was, Clark should be fine.

"I'm fucking it all up now. I can... hear your muscles tensing up again."

He let his eyes close.

"I'll... have a better handle on it. Next time."

"You are not fucking anything up, much less all of it up." He slipped into bed beside Clark and settled himself against him. He was hardcore about taking care of Clark and he, at least, knew damned well why Clark was exhausted - or at least tired. "You did a wonderful job and you're still doing it," he murmured.

See? He could be good at this. He really could be. Still had muscles tensing up and couldn't help that, but he could be good at steadying Clark. Probably. Maybe.

He looked up at Bruce then, deep blue eyes bleary.

"Are you sure?"

Bruce kissed Clark's forehead and looked him in the beautiful, bleary, eye. "I promise you. Now sleep. You need to recover mentally and emotionally, if not physically. I am here, and I will be here."

Clark watched him for another moment before his shoulders dropped and his eyes closed.

Bruce did not sleep. He watched Clark sleep, he eventually closed his eyes and evened out his breathing, but he did not sleep. He just - stayed there and waited, if he was honest at all, for Clark to wake up.

After about an hour, Clark opened his eyes and looked immediately over at Bruce. He knew one thing the moment he was awake: Bruce hadn't slept. Bruce hadn't even tried to sleep.

"I'm sorry," he said as he turned to look at Bruce, "you're probably ready to bounce on the walls. I can head back to the house."

Bruce gave Clark a fairly hard look when he apologized and held up his hand, palm facing Clark. "No." To the apology, to being ready to bounce off walls, going back to the house, none of the above and something else entirely. Something like 'you're fine', maybe. In some odd, badly articulated itineration.

He stretched himself out, tested his body. "I'm going to take a shower. Don't disappear while I do."

"I won't go anywhere," Clark assured him. That was one of the promises he'd made to himself, when they'd started it. Started it all the way back on the boat.

No running out. No hiding out. He couldn't let himself use his powers to give himself an out that Bruce didn't have. It was one small way he could make the relationship fair.

Bruce studied Clark's face while he reached around and peeled the bandage off his shoulder, folded it in half so it stuck to itself and then disappeared into the bathroom.

He... didn't have a change of clothes but he had clothes he could use in the other room. He'd collect them after he'd showered.

And showering was a forty-five minute affair while he worked off the feeling of cold, let himself shiver through some of his reactions and then started trying to figure out ... how to handle where they'd just been with each other. Things felt... so, so fragile to him. Like one wrong move and everything would fall apart - like he would, like Clark would, like everything between them would.

Too much exposure? Too much honesty? He didn't know but it felt like it was going to break and he felt almost like he wanted to preemptively break it but he was fighting that urge, as best he could.

Clark waited in the bed, pushing himself up to sit against the headboard as he let his head settle back against the wall.

He felt like his heart was only just behind his skin, like the barest brush could bruise it and more importantly, the man who happened to take up most of the space inside of it. Vulnerable. Separate in this, opposite instead of two parts of a whole as they usually were. As if they'd just lived the last hour or so in two completely different dimensions and were trying to explain the colors to each other using nothing but semaphore.

It wasn't pleasant, even if he felt like something that had been bunched and waiting was finally released. Even as he heard the street sounds of Gotham and his back didn't so much as clench.

He'd wait for Bruce. He'd always wait for Bruce.

Raw wounds with nerves exposed to air, that hadn't had a chance to scab over yet, much less heal. Separated from Clark, but profoundly and horrifyingly unsteady without him. He didn't know what to do, he didn't know how to be, and he sure as hell didn't know how to find his footing and his way back to anything like a comfort zone.

He pulled his clothes on slowly, only getting most of the way dressed, before detouring into the kitchen and filling to glasses with orange juice and carrying them back into the bedroom. He handed one to Clark before he sat cautiously down beside him, almost-but-not-quite touching and slowly drank.

He took the glass, stared at it for a minute, then drank. Once half the cup was gone, he looked over at Bruce and finally spoke.

"I feel like I never want to let go of you," he admitted, "but I also feel like I shouldn't touch you."

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