Crazy to think he does it - his stupid vital signs dance - even with people who can't hear it. But there is an extra layer of trust, knowing that Clark can. A special note of intimacy in the awareness of it, and the thought that the Kryptonian can hear it, and know what it's saying.
Bruce makes a soft noise as Clark echoes his earlier swerve, appreciative, indulgent. They are two people who could probably do with something like this every now and again; being made to slow down. And not because someone might pass out from artificial atmospheric pressure, or keel over from broken ribs. Once in a while, Bruce wonders if the way they have a difficult time keeping their hands off each other isn't simply because of all the reasons that make sense on the surface, but also because there are a lot of years behind them with nothing at all.
What if they'd run into each other, on their winding journeys? Clark in Tibet, being peered at by a man training to be a 'monk' that the locals don't speak of; Bruce catching sight of a mysterious stranger on an oil rig. He, at least, has never been the type to let a curiosity go without investigation, even if the other would have wanted to vanish.
A loud squeal heralds a car going too fast up the ramps, and the reminder of the public venue. Bruce doesn't pull back right away, or even a beat after, but he does. And then presses a kiss to the side of Clark's mouth anyway, in no hurry, even as he slouches a bit. The windows are illegally tinted too dark, but still. None of your bees wax, world.
no subject
Bruce makes a soft noise as Clark echoes his earlier swerve, appreciative, indulgent. They are two people who could probably do with something like this every now and again; being made to slow down. And not because someone might pass out from artificial atmospheric pressure, or keel over from broken ribs. Once in a while, Bruce wonders if the way they have a difficult time keeping their hands off each other isn't simply because of all the reasons that make sense on the surface, but also because there are a lot of years behind them with nothing at all.
What if they'd run into each other, on their winding journeys? Clark in Tibet, being peered at by a man training to be a 'monk' that the locals don't speak of; Bruce catching sight of a mysterious stranger on an oil rig. He, at least, has never been the type to let a curiosity go without investigation, even if the other would have wanted to vanish.
A loud squeal heralds a car going too fast up the ramps, and the reminder of the public venue. Bruce doesn't pull back right away, or even a beat after, but he does. And then presses a kiss to the side of Clark's mouth anyway, in no hurry, even as he slouches a bit. The windows are illegally tinted too dark, but still. None of your bees wax, world.