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[truth_and_justice]

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[truth_and_justice]

Elegance, firm muscle, dexterous hands, and warmth that's all the more potent for being hidden away from most people.

All the same, the touch continues, soft and steady.

"You have a stunning smile."

[frightening]

That gets an incredulous grunt, because no he does not, and barely anyone sees it, anyway. Bruce wriggles another posture adjustment, because as nice as this position is and for as much as Clark's solidness tends not to bother him, it's a little bit like having his neck and shoulders against a stone staircase.

"You should be softer for how many pies you eat," he says in mild complaint.

[truth_and_justice]

He does. And barely anyone sees it anyway. That's one of the best parts of it, why it's so devastating. It always knocks his heart for a loop.

"Sorry. Don't come in squishy."

His skin is impossibly smooth but there's nothing soft or human about the way his flesh feels.

[frightening]

Bruce likes that he's not human; he couldn't be with Clark if there was anything 'in spite of' about it. (Beyond Clark's impossibly cheerful attitude, sometimes.) The grumbling is idle and mostly affectionate.

"I know how my ex-girlfriends feel now." .. He's not exactly made of feather pillows, either.

[truth_and_justice]

He leans over and presses a kiss to Bruce's cheek.

"You're very comfortable," he objects mildly.

[frightening]

"I'm sure everyone feels like a marshmallow to you," Bruce says, a small yawn catching him on the tail end of it. He's not tired-- just feeling lazy, which is incredibly rare. He moves around a little again, adjusting the way Clark's arm is looped around him.

[truth_and_justice]

Clark actually smiles at the readjustment. He loves the strange little liberties Bruce takes with him, his spaces... it makes him feel like he's a part of his life instead of a thing in it. That Bruce feels so blithely, naturally comfortable with him.

"You're a nice firm pillow," he corrects, "and some people are marshmallows."

[frightening]

"I never get to be a marshmallow," he complains, in one of his patented No one will ever believe I said this to you because I'm Batman moments. Bruce lays his hand over Clark's and settles in after his adjustments, content.

[truth_and_justice]

"I'm remembering that," he says, and it's the least threatening threat ever, "Bruce Wayne is sad he can't be a marshmallow."

He slips his thumb up and around to rub lightly along the side of Bruce's hand.

And he leans over just a little to press a soft kiss into Bruce's hair.

[frightening]

"Doesn't matter." No one will believe him. Bruce changes his mind about where he's settled and sits up - not all the way, just enough to turn over and cross his arms over Clark's chest, resting there.

[truth_and_justice]

"Matters to me," because if you think he's forgetting that one, Bruce, you're sadly mistaken. It's going to come out, at some point, at some time, probably when it will make you want to facepalm the word. Congratulations, you have the worlds strongest troll in your bed.

Who's putting his phone on the floor beside the mattress and box spring. He's done with it for the moment.

[frightening]

His response to that is just a low rumbled noise as he reaches out with one hand to stroke his fingers through Clark's hair, his own phone left somewhere across the bed. Bruce isn't entirely sure how they managed to slip so easily back to this, after the news of his suicide broke-- though he suspects a lot of it is plain old repression. There's something important about it, regardless, and he wants to be here with Clark. For him.

[truth_and_justice]

Repression's a word. It's not a bad one, but at the same time, it doesn't cover everything. After all, they've gone through more than your average boatload of crap over the years, huge world-changing fights where one or the other swore they were done except that they can't ever be done with each other, are too deeply tied into each other to ever really be done. And here, with what they've both been through, that's still true. But here, it's also true that they've been through so much individually that an extended fight-

Well, it wouldn't be good for either of them.

That's why Clark leans into those fingers like a flower to the sun and tips his head back to press a kiss to Bruce's arm in warm delight.

[frightening]

Clark is so sweet and affectionate, and Bruce still doesn't understand why he's not with someone less screwed up. He doesn't doubt how Clark feels, but it's still boggling. Bruce isn't good for him-- for anyone. He lays his head down across his folded arm and leaves his other hand there, gentle playing with the other man's hair.

"We should go camping," he murmurs.

[truth_and_justice]

And Clark smiles at the fingers in his hair.

"I'd like that. Have you ever been before?"

He glances over at Bruce because, well, there were experiences in his own childhood that he was sure were not a part of Bruce's and very much vice versa.

"For fun, I mean."

Just to clarify that this isn't about experience, know-how, or capability.

[frightening]

"What's the difference between for fun and for meditation?" .. Honest question, because the answer is obviously No; he's done a lot of things for a lot of reasons, but leisure and pleasure are far, far down the list. He's gone camping for training, but also to clear his head. 'Fun'? What.

[truth_and_justice]

Sometimes, just sometimes Clark isn't sure if he wants to punch someone (not Bruce, definitely not Bruce) or just kiss the man curled up next to him until he can hardly stand it anymore.

"Well, when you're doing it for fun, sometimes you go canoeing, you make s'mores, you tell stories around the fire, or" that gets a grin at Bruce, "cuddle up under blankets with your significant other. You hike around the woods looking for interesting trees or to watch birds..."

He lets out a soft laugh.

"And sometimes you get sick of camp food and you run out to the nearest fast food place to grab something ridiculous and greasy. Fun."

[frightening]

Don't punch Alfred, please.

Bruce considers all that, and continues to loop pieces of Clark's wavy hair around his fingers. "S'mores are fine," he decides. "You can talk if you want." He wants to go because it'll be quiet, and detached. Clark has to come along because-- well, they've come this far. Bruce can't ditch him to vanish into the woods for a week at this point, he knows it would go poorly. And besides, he wants time to think about what he's going to say to him about ... everything.

"Maybe I'll even let you cuddle me." Big words for the guy curled up on his boyfriend right now.

[truth_and_justice]

He would never punch Alfred. Alfred is a saint upon any Earth he walks on. The only person he considers more competent as a parent in the entire world is his own mother. Sorry, Jon.

Clark's response to the pure ridiculousness of this comment is to lean down and kiss the side of Bruce's head again.

"Truly magnanimous of you. Talking, cuddling, and guaranteed s'mores."

[frightening]

"S'more." A correction. He'll definitely eat one, more than that is up in the air. Bruce lays his head against Clark's chest and sighs almost silently, enjoying how warm he is as usual. Hopefully Clark doesn't think this is for Valentine's Day, as at this point Bruce has forgotten that it exists. (He's trying to forget his birthday exists, too, in light of the conversation with Barry.)

[truth_and_justice]

Clark wouldn't even dream that Bruce would remember Valentine's Day other than a day when romantic-themed crime might be more likely. His birthday, on the other hand--

Well, Clark's going to do something there. But he's not going to specifically point out that it's for his birthday, or say happy birthday, or do anything to indicate that whatever his plans are have anything to do with said birthday. Because he believes Bruce's birth is something that should be celebrated, but he knows how Bruce will take it.

"One s'more for you. One for me. S'mores."

It comes with a light squeeze.

[frightening]

A grunt at that. Alright, alright. Bruce noses against his chest and eyes him after, still not tired but not keen on moving. What the hell have you done to him, Clark, being content to just lay around. For shame.

"I need to start doing push-ups while we sit around," he murmurs, his eyes closed.

[truth_and_justice]

"I'd offer to sit on you while you do it except I feel like there's a dirty joke in there somewhere," he muses absently before looking down at Bruce.

"Though I like this. This is nice too."

[frightening]

"You can sit on me either way." Bruce opens his eyes partway, giving Clark a half-lidded look that's either faux-sleepy or flirtatious, who knows.

This is nice, though.

[truth_and_justice]

Clark's chest shudders with a held-in laugh as he leans down and over to kiss him, sweet and slow. It's a tiny bit awkward because of the position, but Clark really doesn't mind. Bruce requires kissing for that, for reasons he probably couldn't adequately explain if he tried to put it into words.

When he's done--

"I'll keep that in mind."