Bruce will know by now that the glasses do actually have prescription lenses. Nothing strong enough to give him a headache, just some fuzziness in the distance. Clark's face is mostly in focus during that transition, down to the dimples that have materialised in the wake of theft. This is why you get called cute, Gotham City.
He takes the pumpkin spice donut, and its extra cinnamon, which might be located mixed in with the sugary coating that comes off fingertips and mouth corners like glitter. He bites into that, quietly tracking some thought that zigzags through synapses before he says,
"I didn't mean to light up like that," eventually, after a swallowed mouthful of dessert. "With the heat vision."
He keeps expecting his eyesight to go. Everything else does, in starts and stops, but he's managed to hang onto his crisp vision. Hair pinned back so stylishly, Bruce lets himself sink into the cold water, leaving enough of himself and his hand above the surface to wield a pastry.
Ah.
"Has it happened before?"
Curiosity weighs out, before telling Clark that it's alright. It is alright that it happened, but technically only because he only lit up, and nothing more. No donuts or chat about it after, if he'd blasted Bruce's head off. But he hadn't been afraid.
Speaking of unique things. There's an apology he could circle to, but Clark is making an effort not to immediately locate it. Too easy for a conversation about Bruce being in theoretical danger to become about reassuring Clark instead, even if that's something of an inevitable aspect, nor wholly unwelcome.
He pulls some donut apart in his hands, listens to ice clicking together. "Used to be something I could only do when I was angry, but it wasn't—about anger, really. Before I figured out how to do it on command, it was more like something I could do when there was nothing else I could. Overwhelmed," the word identified and landed on late. "It still happens that way, sometimes."
Anyway. Clark darts his attention back to Bruce. Injecting a little more humour into his tone, he adds, "I'd blame you, but I don't think that'd hold up, circumstantially speaking."
Not like that, is at least reassuring that he has never had a near-miss with Lois; the last thing she needs is two bed partners who pose a real unconscious threat. Bruce is bad enough, with his dreams, and the way he sometimes panics upon waking. Better that this potential from Clark be identified with him.
"Mm." An interested noise, that implies A Joke is coming on. He opens his mouth to say something - Sorry officer, dick too bomb - perhaps?
But no. Bruce eats a bite of donut instead. Letting the sugars and carbs equalize whatever his vitals are doing, after that extreme experience. When he finally passes out, at least he won't be too sex hungover.
"Do you worry about slipping, or does it feel like... just something that's going to happen, now and again?"
"I don't worry about slipping," Clark says, after a meditative silence of looking inwards, sorting through the attached feelings. Important, up top, he thinks, to say so. He thinks that Bruce would accept it, the risk, and even the idea of a Superman not in complete control of his superpowers, after all they've been through, but he's not sure it'd be acceptable, himself. "It takes more than that to actually..."
You know. Pew-pew. Good thing Bruce did it himself, or Clark might have been tempted to insert a donut where A Joke might have happened.
"But I think it could happen again, yeah. I just don't want you to think..." He trails off, then, a crooked smile as he says, "I know you trust me."
Still. It's not the cuddliest aspect of his superpowers.
Bruce eats some donut. Makes sure Clark is looking at him.
"I do trust you."
Difficult to get to that place, but here they are. This is not as romantic as rustic porcelain and old taps fitted into Delaware brick, aesthetic and poignant. There are buttons near his elbow, controls for automatic IV attachments, if any were present. Bruce watches him, and mulls over how he feels about it (though he knows already), and more importantly how to explain it.
"If any part of you, even an accidental part, frightened me, I couldn't do this. I realized some time ago it was going to be all or nothing on my end."
Which might actually be more dangers than the risk of his heat vision. But. What he's saying is, he's never going to flinch, and he's never going to believe Clark will give him reason to. Unspoken - and he hopes it stays unspoken, he doesn't want to talk about it, not right now - is the fact that he has dreamed his own death through those means; his brain thinks it knows how it feels to be killed by Superman's eyes. And he still isn't going to flinch. He doesn't have to steel himself against it. He believes in him that completely.
"I don't want you to pretend to not be what you are, when we're together. I don't want to fixate on it either." He gestures a little, with the last bite of his donut.
And us is wonderful. Us is this strange combination of ice water and cinnamon sugar and his glasses in Bruce's hair. The band of bruises on wrists that brought it on themselves. Clark is looking at him with the truly powerful, perhaps even super, puppy eyes, and only a few subtle eyebrow wrinkles.
It feels like a gift, what Bruce is saying, something handed to him that is unexpectedly delicate, and he doesn't quite know where to put it. So it's just held, admired, unsure what he can give in exchange of equal delicacy and value, and not minding that either.
"I think I'm more in danger of pretending than hurting you," he says, some humour in his tone that doesn't make him any less earnest. Old habits, et cetera. "But I want that, for both us."
There is an organ somewhere inside of Bruce that tells him to recoil from these moments of emotional honesty. That could scare him, not laser eyes and super strength. (Of course he isn't afraid, all Clark was doing back there was fucking his brains out, it's not like they were trying to kill each other. Cakewalk.) A vestigial thing regrown in all his efforts to be a living nightmare, gliding along rooftops and swooping through alleys.
He watches Clark. Eats the last bit of his donut, and lets his hand sink into the cold water. Fingertips just over the surface, conflicted about getting sticky residue into the water.
"We both have habits. About pretending."
Probably the thing they're mutually most in danger of doing. Clark and his need to stay apparently human, on top of having a secret superhero identity. And Bruce 'it's not any of your business if I love you' Wayne. What a team.
"I felt it, with my eyes closed. It was just warm."
That does something to Clark, some little heartfelt twinge, and he couldn't even really articulate why, but it's to do with this, being themselves. Bruce identifying something as horrifying as heat vision that can slice a tank in half as just warm, like stepping out into a sunny day.
Some puzzle piece gets clicked into place, and that is a mirror of what Bruce has said: if Bruce was frightened of him, even the accidental parts of him, Clark couldn't do this either. He couldn't be with someone where he had to negotiate their fear, or be so different from himself so as not to induce it. It's obvious, when put in these terms, but has never been made plainer than right now. And Bruce, existing, unafraid.
He considers articulating that, but realises that, as usual, Bruce is several steps ahead of him already.
Clark's crooked smile has gentled, warmed, and he sets the donut box aside. He leans over and lets a hand and sleeved arm sink down into biting cold ice to balance himself (needlessly) with a hand at Bruce's midsection, so that he can better kiss him.
Cold fingers wrap around Clark's arm, near his elbow, just holding onto him while they kiss. No sound besides the ice shifting, like a chime. Just warm. Like sitting by the fire. Like sunlight.
Like fucking up all his diy cryotherapy after getting the shit lovingly tortured out of him.
"You're melting my bruise treatment," Bruce murmurs against the other man's mouth, though he doesn't release the tender hold on his arm. In fact he nudges even closer, so that he can press their foreheads together. Gentle and fond. I didn't think I could ever be this person is too much on top of all the other things he's said, but he feels it, and turns the thought over in his mind like a river-smoothed stone.
Soon, he'll get out, dry off, and fall asleep. For a solid 24 hours, at least. He'll be sore but rested in a way he often isn't. And whether Clark is curled next to him, or at work, or pulling a shipping barge out of a canal, he'll be able to hear his heartbeat, peaceful and steady and content.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
He takes the pumpkin spice donut, and its extra cinnamon, which might be located mixed in with the sugary coating that comes off fingertips and mouth corners like glitter. He bites into that, quietly tracking some thought that zigzags through synapses before he says,
"I didn't mean to light up like that," eventually, after a swallowed mouthful of dessert. "With the heat vision."
no subject
Ah.
"Has it happened before?"
Curiosity weighs out, before telling Clark that it's alright. It is alright that it happened, but technically only because he only lit up, and nothing more. No donuts or chat about it after, if he'd blasted Bruce's head off. But he hadn't been afraid.
no subject
Speaking of unique things. There's an apology he could circle to, but Clark is making an effort not to immediately locate it. Too easy for a conversation about Bruce being in theoretical danger to become about reassuring Clark instead, even if that's something of an inevitable aspect, nor wholly unwelcome.
He pulls some donut apart in his hands, listens to ice clicking together. "Used to be something I could only do when I was angry, but it wasn't—about anger, really. Before I figured out how to do it on command, it was more like something I could do when there was nothing else I could. Overwhelmed," the word identified and landed on late. "It still happens that way, sometimes."
Anyway. Clark darts his attention back to Bruce. Injecting a little more humour into his tone, he adds, "I'd blame you, but I don't think that'd hold up, circumstantially speaking."
no subject
"Mm." An interested noise, that implies A Joke is coming on. He opens his mouth to say something - Sorry officer, dick too bomb - perhaps?
But no. Bruce eats a bite of donut instead. Letting the sugars and carbs equalize whatever his vitals are doing, after that extreme experience. When he finally passes out, at least he won't be too sex hungover.
"Do you worry about slipping, or does it feel like... just something that's going to happen, now and again?"
no subject
You know. Pew-pew. Good thing Bruce did it himself, or Clark might have been tempted to insert a donut where A Joke might have happened.
"But I think it could happen again, yeah. I just don't want you to think..." He trails off, then, a crooked smile as he says, "I know you trust me."
Still. It's not the cuddliest aspect of his superpowers.
no subject
"I do trust you."
Difficult to get to that place, but here they are. This is not as romantic as rustic porcelain and old taps fitted into Delaware brick, aesthetic and poignant. There are buttons near his elbow, controls for automatic IV attachments, if any were present. Bruce watches him, and mulls over how he feels about it (though he knows already), and more importantly how to explain it.
"If any part of you, even an accidental part, frightened me, I couldn't do this. I realized some time ago it was going to be all or nothing on my end."
Which might actually be more dangers than the risk of his heat vision. But. What he's saying is, he's never going to flinch, and he's never going to believe Clark will give him reason to. Unspoken - and he hopes it stays unspoken, he doesn't want to talk about it, not right now - is the fact that he has dreamed his own death through those means; his brain thinks it knows how it feels to be killed by Superman's eyes. And he still isn't going to flinch. He doesn't have to steel himself against it. He believes in him that completely.
"I don't want you to pretend to not be what you are, when we're together. I don't want to fixate on it either." He gestures a little, with the last bite of his donut.
Just be us.
no subject
It feels like a gift, what Bruce is saying, something handed to him that is unexpectedly delicate, and he doesn't quite know where to put it. So it's just held, admired, unsure what he can give in exchange of equal delicacy and value, and not minding that either.
"I think I'm more in danger of pretending than hurting you," he says, some humour in his tone that doesn't make him any less earnest. Old habits, et cetera. "But I want that, for both us."
no subject
He watches Clark. Eats the last bit of his donut, and lets his hand sink into the cold water. Fingertips just over the surface, conflicted about getting sticky residue into the water.
"We both have habits. About pretending."
Probably the thing they're mutually most in danger of doing. Clark and his need to stay apparently human, on top of having a secret superhero identity. And Bruce 'it's not any of your business if I love you' Wayne. What a team.
"I felt it, with my eyes closed. It was just warm."
no subject
Some puzzle piece gets clicked into place, and that is a mirror of what Bruce has said: if Bruce was frightened of him, even the accidental parts of him, Clark couldn't do this either. He couldn't be with someone where he had to negotiate their fear, or be so different from himself so as not to induce it. It's obvious, when put in these terms, but has never been made plainer than right now. And Bruce, existing, unafraid.
He considers articulating that, but realises that, as usual, Bruce is several steps ahead of him already.
Clark's crooked smile has gentled, warmed, and he sets the donut box aside. He leans over and lets a hand and sleeved arm sink down into biting cold ice to balance himself (needlessly) with a hand at Bruce's midsection, so that he can better kiss him.
no subject
Like fucking up all his diy cryotherapy after getting the shit lovingly tortured out of him.
"You're melting my bruise treatment," Bruce murmurs against the other man's mouth, though he doesn't release the tender hold on his arm. In fact he nudges even closer, so that he can press their foreheads together. Gentle and fond. I didn't think I could ever be this person is too much on top of all the other things he's said, but he feels it, and turns the thought over in his mind like a river-smoothed stone.
Soon, he'll get out, dry off, and fall asleep. For a solid 24 hours, at least. He'll be sore but rested in a way he often isn't. And whether Clark is curled next to him, or at work, or pulling a shipping barge out of a canal, he'll be able to hear his heartbeat, peaceful and steady and content.