Bruce huffs something like laughter and moves, allowing them to resettle where Clark wants. He ends up stretched atop him and he lays his head on Clark's shoulder, one hand stroking over his hair. They're both lucky that Bruce can be comfortable laying on a concrete floor, or snuggling up to a Kryptonian might be bruise-inducing. As it is those steel muscles are perfectly nice, as far as he's concerned.
He's gotten to love this, being curled up on one another. He's happy to be a big warm blanket on top of Bruce, but there's also a lot of appeal to having Bruce stretch on top of him like this.
He starts running one hand up and down Bruce's back, slow and relaxed, as the other cups the back of Bruce's neck. One thumb runs up and down the side there, and Clark can't help that he's smiling so much about it. This is good. He takes a moment to tip his head up into Bruce's hand before dipping down to kiss Bruce atop the head and...
Bruce's answer is a low affirmative noise. Of course he's staying the night, you invited him over and turned him into a relaxed puddle, he's not going anywhere. He noses against the underside of Clark's jaw and presses a kiss there before stilling again, comfortable. He likes how Clark smells. God, he's going to miss this once he leaves-- but at least it won't be for long. He doesn't have the time left to miss or do much of anything.
Clark just nods; good, he'd wanted to be sure before he settled in and curled up around Bruce, or at least know if he intended to head out at some point.
He shakes his head slightly. "Was just gonna make a smoothie," he mumbles. The kitchen in his new place is still halfway in shambles, but it's clean and the power works. A fridge and a place to plug in the blender is about all he needs to continue is reign of vegetable smoothie terror. "We can order something if you want." He doesn't want Clark to feel obligated to cook for him all the time.
"Order or I can make something," he says noncommittally. He's not married to either plan. It's obvious that he's musing on something for a moment, and then he tilts his head to Bruce again.
"I actually do like cooking," he reassures Bruce. Then his arm gives a little squeeze. "I'm just... good. Right now."
Translation: normally he'd cook without a thought but right now, he'd have to pull himself away from cuddles and he doesn't want to so he'll allow for the mild extravagance. After all, Bruce did have a job.
"I know." And Bruce likes his cooking, he just feels slightly strange about it. Maybe it's nothing, maybe he misses Alfred. Or maybe he just doesn't want Clark to get up. He kisses his throat, then up his jaw, his earlobe. Slow and not purposeful, just enjoying the lazy warmth between them. "Want to watch a movie?" It's such a deliriously silly, domestic idea that out of anyone else it'd be as scandalous as suggesting hard core bondage out of nowhere.
And it makes the widest, warmest smile spread across his face, even as his eyes slip closed at the lovely kisses.
"I pick food, you pick movie?"
Which was a 'yes'. An emphatic 'yes'. Dinner and a movie, basic as basic got, and yet it'd be their first...
Well, their first. Their first evening date. Their first dinner-and-a-movie. Not their first sweet, domestic moments together but the first time they'd set out for them.
He wants it like he's wanted for very little else.
Grunted assent. Sounds good. Bruce isn't in a hurry to move, though, not particularly hungry yet; they can spend the next while just laying here. It's such a luxury, and Bruce has puzzled out that this sort of thing recharges his patience batteries - something sorely needed when dealing with anyone named Jason Todd, it turns out. He wishes it wasn't like that, but Bruce doesn't know how the fuck else to go about it. He realizes he's let out a sigh and buries his face against Clark's shoulder, as if blocking out the rest of the world. Fuck off, reality. At least for the next few hours.
Reality can indeed fuck off for a few hours. Right now, they're in Clark's apartment. And in Clark's apartment, Bruce isn't going to get blamed for the terrible crime of being Bruce Wayne. Instead, he's going to get the back of his hair stroked with a gentle hand and an arm put around his middle to hold him close and a few kisses are going to be dotted soft and sweet along his forehead.
He definitely doesn't deserve this-- but, god, Clark just seems to understand and accept him despite it. Bruce knows he doesn't give even half as much back as he's getting, but he's trying, and he hopes Clark knows how much he cares and feels as cared for as he does.
After who knows how long, Bruce shifts and pushes himself up so that he can lean over Clark with his arms on either side of his head. It levels up their eyes, and Bruce looks at him for a moment before he leans down to kiss him, lazy and loving. Slow, full kisses that are all about how much Bruce loves him.
Clark isn't sure what Bruce is thinking (is almost never sure of what Bruce is thinking in moments like this) but when he leans down to kiss him, all Clark can do is melt into the kisses. He always feels so blessed when Bruce takes the time to show his appreciation, to tell Clark that he loves him in his own way. Sometimes that way is a small, private smile. Sometimes it's a hand against his back. And when he's very lucky, it's something like this: sweet, intense kisses that leave no misconceptions about how very much Bruce does love him.
All he can do is drink them in, kiss back and try and tell him, as passionately if perhaps not as elegantly (Bruce was always so elegant; it was one of his favorite features) how much he's loved in return. How glad Clark is that he's here. How much he treasures his time with Bruce.
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He starts running one hand up and down Bruce's back, slow and relaxed, as the other cups the back of Bruce's neck. One thumb runs up and down the side there, and Clark can't help that he's smiling so much about it. This is good. He takes a moment to tip his head up into Bruce's hand before dipping down to kiss Bruce atop the head and...
It's just good.
After a few minutes--
"Stay the night?"
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"Already had dinner?"
Or would he be cooking later?
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"I actually do like cooking," he reassures Bruce. Then his arm gives a little squeeze. "I'm just... good. Right now."
Translation: normally he'd cook without a thought but right now, he'd have to pull himself away from cuddles and he doesn't want to so he'll allow for the mild extravagance. After all, Bruce did have a job.
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"I pick food, you pick movie?"
Which was a 'yes'. An emphatic 'yes'. Dinner and a movie, basic as basic got, and yet it'd be their first...
Well, their first. Their first evening date. Their first dinner-and-a-movie. Not their first sweet, domestic moments together but the first time they'd set out for them.
He wants it like he's wanted for very little else.
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After who knows how long, Bruce shifts and pushes himself up so that he can lean over Clark with his arms on either side of his head. It levels up their eyes, and Bruce looks at him for a moment before he leans down to kiss him, lazy and loving. Slow, full kisses that are all about how much Bruce loves him.
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All he can do is drink them in, kiss back and try and tell him, as passionately if perhaps not as elegantly (Bruce was always so elegant; it was one of his favorite features) how much he's loved in return. How glad Clark is that he's here. How much he treasures his time with Bruce.