for frightening: To Infinity and... just a little beyond that

[stands_for_hope]

Generally, when it came to interstellar politics, the first name called up among the Justice League (for good or ill) was Green Lantern. And when the request for arbitration came to them from a distant planet, they'd initially suggested the Corps to do the job. That, unfortunately, had started a political fiasco of its own at first, given some less than savory behavior from the Guardians regarding the planet in question in the recent past, but thankfully Diana had been able to smooth the ruffled feathers and propose a solution.

That was why Superman, well known throughout the stars and the last survivor of a planet many considered to have gotten a similarly questionable shake from Oa, had been asked to take on the mission. Given the distance and the unfortunate tendency for situations like this to be a trap of some sort, it had been decided he'd need a partner and Batman had been, in Diana's words, 'the obvious choice.'

Of course, Bruce Wayne's capability to deal with and even carefully handle politicians was well known to her, as was his ability to smell a rat at 100 paces should there be something underhanded afoot. Then there was simply the logistics: Gotham had decent coverage with Batwoman and others, and with Superman off for a week, Diana was needed to handle whatever might happen in Metropolis.

Which was why, after a bit of discussion (just a bit), Clark and Bruce were on their way to Voepra Prime on what was more likely than not going to be a PR vacation.

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[frightening]

Bruce glances at his lover, one eyebrow raised, before his expression quirks into something like a small smile. Yes, alright. Bruce detaches his gauntlets, letting Clark do as he likes, not moving painfully slow but not hurrying, either. As the Kryptonian has pointed out: they've got time.

[stands_for_hope]

It's almost as if he could year the 'yes' out loud, the way his face lights up, and he leans in to press a soft, quick kiss to Bruce's cheek. Then it's a matter of carefully, methodically (but not terribly slowly) removing Bruce's armor and carefully placing it on one of the other bunks until he's left with the all-black undersuit under his hands.

[frightening]

There's a kind of ritual to it. Putting the armor on puts his head firmly in Batman's mindset - his real mindset. Taking it off, by that logic, should strip the monster away. It doesn't; dulls it, maybe, and helps remind him that there are other things in life, but there's no actual off button.

All the same, here they are. Bruce undoes the closure at his shoulder, the odd cut of the undersuit letting him more or less peel the thing off. This is the real pain in the ass, given how tight it is, but he's got it down to a fine art after all these years. Having another pair of hands helps, too.

[stands_for_hope]

Of course there's no off button. There's no off button to who Bruce is and Bruce is Batman.

Those hands are gentle as they slide over the curves and dips of muscle and bone, and the smile on his face isn't so much lustful as it is... happy. Being with Bruce, getting to do things like this, makes him happy. The lust is just a part of that, shown by how reverent those fingers are.

"Lay down?" because he did mean it when he offered to give him a backrub.

[frightening]

Bruce sits down on the edge of the nearest bunk, but shoots Clark a bit of a look. "You're going to do this in uniform?" Teasing but also challenging, typical Wayne. There's no reason for Clark to get undressed as well-- other than Bruce wants him to be, and it'll expedite things when Bruce inevitably runs out of patience and wants to tackle him.

[stands_for_hope]

Clark looks over at Bruce and leans down to press a kiss to his cheek again before shifting just a little to add another to the corner of his lips. Or perhaps his lips themselves. Sometimes, Bruce was helpful.

"I was thinking you could help me out of mine as well. That is, if you want to."

[frightening]

Mm, yes, he catches that second kiss, the tilt of his head somehow possessive. Mine. He reaches out and settles his hands on Clark's hips - a silent Yes - and rubs circles with his thumbs. He knows how much the other man likes his hands.

Bruce is very familiar with the Superman suit by now, knowing every catch and corner even before they became intimate with each other thanks to dozens of disasters (and his own detail-obsessed mind, perhaps). He runs his palms up Clark's chest, slowly divesting him of those primary colors, making sure that his fingers, the backs of his knuckles, any skin possible presses against Clark's where it can.

[stands_for_hope]

And it acts like a strange sort of balm, soothing and entrancing even as it heightens everything. Bruce might be able to feel it, possibly hear it, definitely see it, the way his muscles relax and his breathing goes even more even at his touch. The fact that it's possessive, well, that just makes him smile, honestly; he likes it, likes that Bruce considers him worth having, that Bruce will claim him as his own.

When the uniform is gone and they're both down to, well, next to nothing, Clark makes a point of catching those lovely hands and pulling one of them to his lips.

"Now, you probably should lay down."

[frightening]

"Going to have your way with me?" Bruce lets his fingertips drag down Clark's body as he sits again, turning to stretch out on the bunk-- which sounds like it'd be awkward, but Bruce manages to be graceful even when getting the shit kicked out of him, somehow.

[stands_for_hope]

If you asked Clark, he'd say it's just Bruce's natural poise, something he was either born with or learned almost immediately, something that's been with him since well before Batman had a name or a costume. He's intensely controlled, and he's certainly no lummox no matter how many jokes are made, but he'll never quite have that poise. His own tendency has a gravitas to it, but not nearly the same level of elegance.

"Going to give you a backrub, like I said," Clark informs him, "though should you decide it's time for something else, I'm fairly sure I'll be pleased with the results."

[frightening]

"Just touch me, Kansas," he says with a sigh-- a content one, as he folds his arms beneath his head and settles in, giving Clark a look that's too warm to be truly come-hither. He just wants him. Distracted from work, all of his focus is on this now, and Bruce wants Clark's hands on him, wants the two of them to vanish into their own world.

[stands_for_hope]

Which makes it all the better. Clark leans over as soon as Bruce is settled in and starts in with gentle rubbing, running his hands over the skin, getting a feel for where the muscles are bunched or tense. A few of them he softens up by leaning over to press a kiss, but he does actually start to massage as he'd said when he finds a knot or two that probably could be blamed on their distance from Gotham and Bruce Wayne being Bruce Wayne. He kisses those too.

[frightening]

As always, it feels incredible. It took Bruce a little while to be able to accept this kind of touch: sex is one thing, the physical aspect being mutual, and he'll always have something of a block when it comes to allowing it to be one-sided in favor of himself. Clark is so patient and determined, though. After a little while, Bruce rolls his shoulders and murmurs something wordless - raising his head so he can turn slightly and bully Clark into kneeling over him, chest against his back. Hmph. C'mere.

[stands_for_hope]

Such a bully. Clark has absolutely no choice about kneeling over him, chest to back. That's definitely why he's dotting a couple of kisses on those shoulders.

You rang?

[frightening]

Mmm, contented rumble. Bruce turns his head and noses at Clark's chin before he settles back down. Hopefully Clark will take the hint and stay pressed close; Bruce's breathing is slow and deep, almost meditative, and he wants to feel Clark's heartbeat against his for a while.

[stands_for_hope]

Clark picks up the hint with a smile and settles against Bruce, partially drapped on him. He lets his head settle on Bruce's shoulder, dipping just past his ear to leave a kiss or two on his cheek as well.

It's nice. Simple and wordless and nice.

[frightening]

One of the best shallow points of dating a godlike, sun-powered alien is the warmth. Bruce really likes having a personal, affectionate, living heater that can cuddle up with him. He slips one hand over his opposite shoulder so that his fingers can brush against Clark, seeking out his hand to lace their fingers together.

They don't get this often. Being still and quiet together while intimate, not from exhaustion but just because they want to.

[stands_for_hope]

That hand laces fingers with him easily enough, adding another kiss to his shoulder before just settling down. There's nothing to do, no rush, no 'needs'. Another layer of intimacy exists in the fact that in space, the number of sounds that he can hear, that he needs to process through, is but a fraction of what he's used to. One more come from the fact that out here, with Bruce and just Bruce, his names and his roles and all the things he needs to do in a day sort of... fall away.

He absently reminds himself to thank Diana for this.

[frightening]

Bruce dozes, a rarity in itself. It's a small miracle that he doesn't feel squished by the man draped across his back; Clark is not small, and he is dense as fuck. But there's something comforting about it. After a while - perhaps even a long while - Bruce stirs and rolls a shoulder, nudging and manipulating until he can roll onto his back beneath the other man (you can float, make yourself useful). Hi there. He wraps his arms around Clark and noses against his throat.

[stands_for_hope]

He does, of course, because he can tell where Bruce is going and he likes the cut of his jib, so to speak. Hi, there indeed. Arms around him, a nose against his throat; he'd started to wake up but he relaxes again even if he's entirely awake, his own hands settling at Bruce's side and one, careful, stroking the hair at his temple.

And maybe he leans in to press a kiss, but it's just a small one. He can't help it.

[frightening]

Mm. Help it less, then; Bruce raises his head and nips at Clark's chin, demanding another kiss. He runs moves his hands down to the small of his lover's back, fingers curling there, rubbing circles into his skin. Everything is still warm and slow, but his intent is obvious.

[stands_for_hope]

Obvious enough, but he's going to enjoy the approach, the warm and slow and sweet that they're sharing. There's so rarely the time for it, after all. But there was a nip, a very firm request for another kiss, and he's not about to let that go unanswered. This time, the kiss is straight to Bruce's lips even if it's at a bit of an angle and he lets it linger. Mmm.

He's reasonably convinced that that 20-something hours is going to feel all too short soon enough.

[frightening]

He shifts his weight so they can kiss without either getting a tweak in their neck, still drawing gentle patterns on Clark's skin with his fingertips. "This is why you wanted to drag me out into deep space, isn't it?" he murmurs against Clark's mouth. For once, there's no irritation in his voice; Bruce is thoroughly relaxed beneath him. He sounds pretty pleased with the arrangement, even - how could he not be, here and now?

[stands_for_hope]

He tries to figure out how to answer that, since of course he didn't create a political situation on an alien planet or make the Guardians be utterly terrible or decide on who was coming out here. It's especially hard with Bruce pressed to him head to foot and so many warm kisses still tingling on his lips.

"It's why I was looking forward to it," he finally decides on.

[frightening]

Bruce makes a low sound, almost a laugh. That massage really did wonders, apparently. He presses another few kisses against him, bumps their noses together. Well. If something goes wrong and Bruce has to be redressed at super-speed, Clark's in trouble. Until then: more slow, sensual kissing.