truth_and_justice

Bruce doesn't need thanks, and after all this time, he doesn't want it. He doesn't know how to accept gratitude anymore, is uncomfortable with it most of the time. The way Clark is with him-- Bruce loves it, loves him, but sometimes he's so overwhelmed by it and maybe this is one of those times; he's desperate not to lose what they have but almost panicked in his instinct to escape being trapped. He's never been in a relationship like this - only two months but it's so intense, and so caring, and he doesn't want to hurt Clark and doesn't want him to know what he's going to do and--

He's so awful at this.

"How do we get out of this conversation."

The wry little smile tilts to one side.

"You say 'Clark, I'm going to make some coffee. Do you want any?'." He turned one hand to point out the door, "And then I follow you down, sigh at the abysmal state of your groceries, nip out to get some eggs, and make us breakfast when I get back."

Really, truly, Bruce does not deserve him.

He steps forward and takes Clark's face in his hands and kisses him, fierce and harder enough that surely it's nearly hurting him. He wants Clark to feel him, he wants him to remember in a week's time if everything goes to hell. I love you. I'm sorry.

When he breaks away he steps towards the door.

"Coffee."

He smiles at the aftereffect of that kiss, one hand lifting to rest a finger lightly on his own lips. Then he nods back.

"Yes, I'd like some coffee. If you tell me whether or not you have eggs, I can go grab a few things for morning omelets."

"No eggs. Vegetables." Ones not yet sacrificed to the blender. And yes, his capacity for conversation is rapidly dwindling down to zero after all that. He's not sure if he feels any better (odds say no), but he's done what he set out to do, with any luck. It should be all right for them to just take the rest of the day as their own, until Bruce burns everything down.

Clark's hand slips over to stroke down Bruce's back once, twice before he gives another smile.

"Then let me get dressed and I'll head out to grab supplies for breakfast."

Bruce kisses him again, much softer this time, and nods. He lets Clark go, heading to busy himself with the coffee maker. He tries to put his worries out of his mind - they're definitely still there, reality isn't going to go away even in this magic city. (See, Zatanna? Magic can't fix everything.) Clark had looked so miserable when Bruce was upset. He shouldn't have let him see.

Clark's dressed and out the door within a few minutes, returning with a small bag of groceries. One of those things is milk, another is eggs, and the last is some bread. There's no toaster, but thankfully, he can make due without for them both.

"How hungry are you?" he asks as he starts laying things out on the counter.

He shrugs. Normal morning levels of hungry? Bruce waits until Clark is settled to do what he's doing before stepping behind him and wrapping his arms around his middle, his chest to Clark's back, head resting on his shoulder.

Clark can't help the big, warm smile that lights on his face at the move, the way that his muscles relax and sink a little at the feel of those arms, the solid chest against his back. He turns his head a little and drops a kiss into the hair there before letting himself enjoy it as he shifts the eggs a little in the pan.

His free arm raises to settle over one of Bruce's and he gives one of those hands a squeeze. Love you too, Bruce.

Little things like this remain a complete wonder to Bruce, who's never so much as imagined them. For practical reasons as much as emotionally stunted ones: when's the last time a meal didn't simply appear out of thin air for him? He can't imagine any of the women he's shared his heart with cooking, really. Bruce holds him close, stroking his side with his thumb every so often. Is this how Clark behaved with Lois? That makes something in him ache; not in jealousy, but knowing that Clark believes he won't be with her again. He hopes they work it out.

It's so pleasant, just being held. Being with Bruce, simple and sweet and good. He almost overcooks the eggs, a veritable travesty in his books, and he plates them carefully as he silently assigns them as 'his' eggs. Bruce would get the ones he was just a little more careful with.

The next set of eggs come out perfect, get plated with care, and it's simple enough for Clark to pull over a pair of bread slices and stare at them for long enough to get a nice brown char on either side. They get placed on the plate next to the eggs and Bruce gets another kiss to the hair before he nudges his hand since breakfast is ready.

Bruce would protest about the egg division if he could tell what almost overcooked eggs look like; instead he just makes a small disgruntled noise at having to move, and drops a small kiss against the side of Clark's neck before stepping away. He snags their coffee and sets it up at the wooden table he's acquired - the sofa is still around, but it's currently serving as a holder-of-things at the moment, and Bruce's formal upbringing means he likes sitting at tables better when possible anyway.

Clark turns and gives Bruce a little smile that promises that they can spend the rest of the day curled up together, either reading or fiddling around on the internet or working on the apartment or having sex or doing whatever Bruce wants. But they should eat.

He brings his own plate, with some toast of his own, to the table and sets up across from Bruce with a quick little grin.

"You know, I probably should have asked," Clark admits as he starts in on his own, "but I just went with the way I've seen you take them before. Good?"

Bruce makes a 'hm?' noise, glancing over quizzically before he responds-- he's already got a forkful of eggs in his mouth.

"I like all your cooking," he says once he's not at risk of talking with his mouth full. Yes, it's good. He thinks about New Year's, when he threatened to cook for Clark. Might not ever be an opportunity to follow through on that, now.

He can't help smiling at that.

"Good to know," he says with a little smile and a shake of his head before breaking off some of the toast and breaking the yoke with it. The piece is popped into his mouth and some coffee is tossed down after it before he speaks again.

"What're you working on today?"

"Upstairs bathroom."

The plumbing that was in there was rotten beyond repair, so he'd just yanked it all out. He's got the replacement equipment and it's just a matter of putting it all in. If Clark finds that exciting, he's welcome to stay.

"Want an extra pair of hands for that?" he asks with a tilt of his head. "I'm good to stick around for a bit; no business until a little later today."

He can't help the little bounce in his tone.

"I've got someone who's going to be letting me help them learn to cook."

"Sure," he says, faintly amused. He thinks about nitpicking at Clark-- he's supposed to be keeping himself employed with that venture, this someone should be hiring him, not letting him. But he knows that's mostly an uphill battle, and he doesn't know if there's a point when Bruce might be gone in a week. He just huffs at the excitement. You nerd.

He gives a bit of a... pout. It's a pout. He can call it a 'put out expression' inside his own head, but he's pouting.

"It's the first time I'll get to try out the whole thing. I've already got something of a lesson plan sketched out and a four week course. I'm trying to make sure that they learn a little something each time they make a meal, keep the learning gradual."

"Don't make that face at me," is said with faint sass. Ace doesn't get away with it, neither can Clark.

"Mm. It's good you have a plan. I'm impressed." More teasing, because Superman? Planning something? Surely not.

He scrunches his nose at Bruce, because he does plan things, you know, jeez.

"There are going to be paying customers. They deserve a little more than me yammering about food. I want to make sure I'm making the most of the time they give me."

That's news to Bruce, Kansas.

"As long as you can be patient, I'm sure everything will be fine." He drinks his coffee, already itching for a second cup when this one's half gone. It's probably laughable for most people to hear Batman advise patient, but he's taught a lot of students over the years. His patient might not be warm and tolerant, but he has it in spades.

"Well, it helps that all we have in this place is time," he says with a shake of his head and a bit of his breakfast. "Not exactly rushing off to fight a giant robot in the middle of town around here."

"Mm." Eventually, something is going to go wrong. (Like a gigantic dream dragon thingy, for example.) But when something does go wrong-- well, Superman is here.

Batman isn't. Not really.

Bruce finishes his food and coffee, only moving to get more life blood caffeine. When he's done he takes Clark's face in his hands and kisses him, still feeling a little strange but choosing to express it through affection instead of torturing himself.

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