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[personal profile] solarcore 2021-05-05 06:20 am (UTC)(link)
Clark settles a hand at the nape of Bruce's neck as he leans in, staying steady and stable, thumb rubbing tiny arcs at his hairline. A wish that he could do more, expressed right there, and then stilling when Bruce speaks, says that.

Mm. His chin pokes Bruce's shoulder, head ducking, holding him tighter, like he too felt some small heartbreak at the sentiment alone.

"It's not too late with him," he says, finally, very certain for someone who has only met the guy for a few minutes. But it feels like a crucial few minutes. It feels like a few minutes that wouldn't have happened if this thing weren't true. That tight grip only lessens once he senses some even unconscious pull-back from Bruce, but otherwise remains, a steel circle of an embrace that Bruce could collapse into, if he wanted.

Clark adds, "Maybe he's just making his own way back."
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[personal profile] solarcore 2021-05-05 10:34 am (UTC)(link)
The not-collapse is felt more like Bruce relaxing than a real shift of weight, although Clark becomes aware of that too. Easily done, he holds Bruce to him, and stays quiet. He can, after all, do that much.

And then smiles against Bruce's shoulder, where he'd tucked his face down against it, at that suggestion.

"We'd love that," he says, cheer low-key but present. It's probably not just a tactic to change topic, maybe, but hopefully Bruce was also prepared for this to eventuate, laser-burned into his calendar, at least as far as Clark is concerned.

Gently, Clark moves his hands to Bruce's shoulders, sets him upright. Doesn't back off, though, still bracketing him in and using that proximity to touch his face, snare in eye contact. A silent kind of you okay? in big eyes and expressive eyebrows.
Edited 2021-05-05 10:35 (UTC)
solarcore: <user name="oslo" site="insanejournal.com"> (216)

[personal profile] solarcore 2021-05-06 06:35 am (UTC)(link)
Just sometimes, Clark thinks that this thing they have is selfish, or his part in it is. It's very physical, what he shares with Bruce, and intense, and strange, snared and tangled in hard edged life and death realities, past and present and future. Maybe it's also because it feels easy, like gravity, but also like base impulse, like jumping off something high, like biting down as hard as you can. Just human things.

But all of that feels overwhelmed when there are these moments, here, and Clark leans in and kisses him very sweetly, as the only reply possible to a thanks.

"You wanna get coffee?"
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[personal profile] solarcore 2021-05-06 01:11 pm (UTC)(link)
"I was talking about the coffee maker," Clark assures, smile tipped crooked, his hand dropping down from Bruce's face to rest on his arm. "But I do like Starbucks."

It's one of his three character flaws, along with dubious veganism-related ethics and being too good looking.

He would argue that this isn't just any moment, and maybe he's got a lot of kissing time to make up for, both in general and with Bruce Wayne and Lois Lane in particular, but also: fair. Implicitly, he'd also like to hold hands.
solarcore: <user name="oslo" site="insanejournal.com"> (135)

[personal profile] solarcore 2021-05-07 08:16 am (UTC)(link)
Clark needs both his hands for coffee making, given he does not take his black and intravenously, but stays close anyway, their sides touching within the bracket of Bruce's arm as he goes ahead and drowns his espresso in cream and cooking sugar. There's a deep chuckle before Clark says, "Vic's always gonna have data for you to sift through."

And arguably, there will always be movies to watch, but that's a nil on the prospect of doing more work when lounging in bed with coffee and a show is on the table.

"What's the mood? Citizen Kane or Body Snatchers?"

He's aware there are movies after 1959, it's just they have some catching up to do.
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[personal profile] solarcore 2021-05-08 03:00 am (UTC)(link)
Comfortable black and white and silver, Transatlantic accents, and fresh coffee aren't bad sensations to immerse yourself in. Touch-wise, there's Clark's shoulder resting comfortably against Bruce's, the line of contact from hip to knee.

Clark does not know Rick Grayson's biometrics well enough to track him anywhere on the eastern seaboard, but while they sit quietly, he does expand his field of sensory input to include the Wayne property in general. Work has concluded with the sun sinking down under the horizon, so there's no excess of construction or stranger-noises to sift through. He can hear Alfred in his own relatively modern living space, putting something heavy and iron onto a stovetop, the creak of metal.

Birds in the trees, retiring. When he does not pick out an extra heartbeat, Clark returns to the room by bringing up his coffee to drink from, setting it aside, and then nudges at Bruce. "C'mere."

He is superior to lean against than spare pillows. Baking warmth. Ergonomic. Good spoon potential.