Oh my god, and Bruce smiles, unable to stop himself. It's a little bit edged, because that's just who he is, but mostly it's warm, and nearly a laugh. Clark is so fucking charming, he almost can't stand it. Somewhere occasionally infuriating. The Bat is dead, and Bruce had tried very hard not to let it filter into the more embarrassing dreams, and then he's just some dopey farmboy—
He lets Clark back off by degrees, breathes deep. When he's almost there, just on the cusp of being able to sit up, Bruce moves.
Push. Both hands, forcing Clark back, and he'll either right himself on his knees or topple. Should be knees, if he remembers anything at all from the painstaking lessons. Either way, Bruce gets hands on his shoulders, fisted into his shirt, hauling him practically onto his own lap. A funny not-pin, but somehow, it seems like Bruce still has leverage. He shifts one hand forward from shoulder to neck, against his pulse. Checking in. Awfully close.
"We're going to shut it down for now," is what he says, instead of doing something stupid. "And you'll need to wear a monitor for 24 hours." Don't worry, it's just a sticker. Bruce is good at this.
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He lets Clark back off by degrees, breathes deep. When he's almost there, just on the cusp of being able to sit up, Bruce moves.
Push. Both hands, forcing Clark back, and he'll either right himself on his knees or topple. Should be knees, if he remembers anything at all from the painstaking lessons. Either way, Bruce gets hands on his shoulders, fisted into his shirt, hauling him practically onto his own lap. A funny not-pin, but somehow, it seems like Bruce still has leverage. He shifts one hand forward from shoulder to neck, against his pulse. Checking in. Awfully close.
"We're going to shut it down for now," is what he says, instead of doing something stupid. "And you'll need to wear a monitor for 24 hours." Don't worry, it's just a sticker. Bruce is good at this.