solarcore: (#11893095)

[personal profile] solarcore 2017-12-24 02:30 am (UTC)(link)
This isn't like the last time, airlifting Bruce Wayne out of a targetted attack. In a different state, it's the tempo of his heart beat that finds Superman pivoting midflight, breaking the sound barrier, and hovering over the action below. Gotham's night time angles and glitter sprawl out below, and its the panicky rhythm of multiple heart beats that has him stopping to look, vision piercing slanted roofing, red cape billowed in the wind like a single scarlet angel wing.

Does not hesitate. He dives down, feet first, with kind of heavy speed of a cartoon anvil. Through the ceiling, debris obliterated, flooring shattered underfoot as he sticks the landing.

Someone turns their rifle on him, which he grips, and flings them off their feet with a flick of his wrist, expression grim and unforgiving. The weapon is thrown, shattering where it strikes the nearest man angling his way towards the black blur of cape attached to the set of sensory signatures that Clark is all too powerfully aware of.

He has no idea what's happening, but that's normally the case when emergencies involve armed assailants. Tidal waves are simpler.
Edited (alternatively i could just die and never make errors again) 2017-12-24 02:33 (UTC)
solarcore: (#11893097)

[personal profile] solarcore 2017-12-24 05:46 am (UTC)(link)
Bullets flatten on blue armour, on skin, Clark reflexively raising his arms and turning his shoulder to the onslaught. Red glows through closed eyelids, and light is set free in a quick jab, weapon exploding, half-melted, a strangled cry in the chaos. Then, rabbit-panic heart beats knock at his senses, and he's aware enough of Bruce grappling with one to register the second, and he turns the world around himself to face the hostages in the other room.

Thin wall shatters around him as he takes off at a blur of motion.

Huddled civilians feel the breeze overhead as man and alien go zooming. Superman stops; human is thrown, slamming hard enough into the opposite wall that pulverised plaster lifts like smoke in the air. He'll probably be fine.

Clark turns, all worried eyebrows, but the hostage is fine, breathing, no bullet holes save for the one embedded in the concrete in front of him. The wall dividing them from the rest of the action now half-collapsed, he sees where the boiling over of assailants is divided between attack and retreat, but then divides as one cuts a path through. Dragging something, a large canister, and whatever it is, it has his friends skitter backwards, listing towards retreat.

Something shouted. A threat or a profanity or both. The man twists the valve, and hefts the canister, some thin, dirty-grey vapour trailing from it as it's launched towards heroes and innocents both. Thick and faster.

Superman is a blur, a wind that drags at the thick weave of Batman's cape. Got it.

Both he and canister disappear via-- well, a new hole in the roof.

Edited 2017-12-24 05:47 (UTC)
solarcore: (#11916688)

[personal profile] solarcore 2017-12-24 08:29 am (UTC)(link)
The valve is gone, spun completely loose, but it doesn't take much effort to slap his hand down on the opening even as his eyeballs sting from whatever was inside. In his nose, the back of his throat, despite that Clark is almost sure he managed to hold his breath in time. Maybe not. Even where the heel of his hand stoppers the canister, his skin tingles unpleasantly.

Upwards, then, flying half-blind as he tries to blink against the blur of tear ducts working overtime. Get it together, Superman. Up, up, unsure how far up he has to go until he's certain the chemical inside won't come back down when he finally, gripping it like a football, (go long! at the back of his mind), throws the offending item off the planet with all his strength and momentum, which is a considerable amount.

Ugh. What was that stuff.

Shaking his head, Clark floats in place, before remembering himself and making his descent. By the time he's in view, the civilians have made it to the street, and he makes for the distinctive, dark shape that Batman makes among them. A graceful landing is ruined, however, as his foot catches on a powerline he did not see; it snaps with a flare of sparks, and he flips ass over head, wiping out against the side of a building, crumbled brickwork tumbling where he lands.

This was not really the impression he wanted to make on Gothamites, is an idle thought he has as he pushes his own cape out of his face.
Edited 2017-12-24 08:31 (UTC)
solarcore: (clark8)

[personal profile] solarcore 2017-12-25 11:08 am (UTC)(link)
Hoo boy.

One hand resting against brick and the other brushing the last of pulverised drywall from his hair, Clark is blinking hard to clear his vision. Instead of a glossy coat of stinging tears, though, it's just his eyeballs seem to be having a hard time focusing, and it's difficult to tell if that's a brain thing or an eyeball thing or if he should worry about it. But he feels fine. He feels--

Oh hi Batman.

He straightens his posture as Bruce comes near, eyebrows immediately drawing together. "Tha's not a very nice thing t'say to," he points at himself, or maybe his S, "th'guy who saved your life.

"Ssso you're welcome."
solarcore: (#11893083)

[personal profile] solarcore 2017-12-26 04:35 am (UTC)(link)
The distant sound of sirens, emergency vehicles approaching, and the lack of gunfire and shouting seems to register enough that Clark does not insist on going after the other thirty guys or whatever it was he had left Bruce to deal with when he'd exited stage up. The day is saved.

"I can promise."

Reassurance, of a kind.

Still bracing a hand to wall, Clark pat-pats his other hand on batshoulder, friendly and clumsy and thankfully not without enough force to dislocate or bruise anything, even if that ever present heaviness and strength is just there, waiting. He promises.

Takes a step, stops, doesn't like it much. "Br--" Mm, no, that's a secret. He lowers his voice, discreetly, "Batman," he says, anyway, "I feel..." Searches for the right word, and doesn't do a hell of a lot better than he did when he was, well, sober. "...really weird."
solarcore: (clark4)

[personal profile] solarcore 2017-12-26 08:51 am (UTC)(link)
At least Clark has his feet under him, but balance is altered, as if a straight line is something of a challenge. Sort of keeps his hands hovered so he's not touching things, even in getting into the car, showing them at Bruce to indicate that he did promise, quit fussing. Tugs cape out of the way of the door just in time.

Looks around. What is happening?

Especially as the engine hums to life, and the sleek barely-there motion is felt as it pulls away. "Batman?" Clark queries into the empty space. "Okay. Bye."

Magic car. Got it. His face breaks into a silly grin, a laugh welling up unstoppably as he settles backwards, just enough self-awareness to know he sounds slightly insane which only makes him laugh harder. A hand lands on some panel that chirps at him, and he pulls that hand back quickly. "Oh no. Sorry, Broosh Wayne's magic car. No touching."

Giggling returns anew, hands to face.
solarcore: (#11916689)

[personal profile] solarcore 2017-12-27 06:43 am (UTC)(link)
A friendly drunk, at that, and at least somewhat accommodating which is good, given givens, while still being difficult to wrangle even then, given even more givens. At least he hasn't tried to hug Alfred. Asked him if he misses England, it seems nice there. Once he rescued a people from an England building, on fire. That wasn't nice. What are you sticking on me.

Bruce Wayne, though--

Well, first he gets the sunniest of smiles, hazy eyed. Hand on the shoulder apparently translates as a signal to open his arms -- electrodes and wires ignored, ruining Alfred's efforts -- and list inwards where he's perched to pull him into a hug. Heroic chin bumps against a shoulder.

"I can'get drunk Alfred," sounds -- in tone and content -- like something a drunk person might say, admonishing, assuring. "I'm fine. Your car beeped at me but I didn't mean to."
solarcore: (#11916695)

[personal profile] solarcore 2017-12-27 07:42 am (UTC)(link)
"You smell good."

Vaguely accusatory as much as approving, and conventionally untrue, given no one can possibly smell fantastic post vigilante superheroism, and yet, there remains the faint traces of cologne and aftershave molecules, and probably some vaguely fanfiction notion of whatever registers as uniquely Bruce to supersenses. This observation is made from where Clark has comfortably tucked his head against Bruce's shoulder, the world spinning while Bruce remains solidly reliable, unmoving, holding him. Hug has turned into cling.

He will 100% die when he remembers/is told about stating this observation in front of Alfred Pennyworth, so that's something to look forward to.

"In soph'more I drank this whole thing of vodka as a dare and e'ryone kept expecting I get sick or drunk and they said I was cheating and it was water." He lifts his head. "But it wasn't. It was Pete's dad's. I'm drunk?"

Wait, what?
solarcore: (clark6)

[personal profile] solarcore 2017-12-27 09:41 am (UTC)(link)
Hard to say how much of this Clark follows, but he is listening, maybe more to the sound of Bruce's voice than the words it's actually saying. Grasping enough, anyway, that he is more helpful than hindrance to electrode placement, and his solid grip on Bruce finally relaxes, even if he keeps his hands on him.

Mouth presses into a line. Neurotoxin. :/

"I threw it," he says, "off the planet."

What else did he do? He saved a guy. He saved Batman. "Did all those people okay? I mean." Now that he is more conscious as to what the fuck, there seems to be a concerted effort to counter it -- at least for whole moments at a time. "We saved them. Bad guys though?"
solarcore: <user name="oslo" site="insanejournal.com"> (099)

[personal profile] solarcore 2017-12-28 12:42 am (UTC)(link)
This would suck if it were forever. An eerily valid outcome given the substance involved, but then, his Kryptonian body is a remarkably capable vessel, coming back from (almost) anything given enough time, enough sunlight. Eventually, readings will show a slow rate of improvement, of normalising. For now, the only cure for the fact that the world seems like it might spin off without him at any moment is Bruce.

But drunk's okay. He feels pretty good, in that straight sentences are hard and there is now a glimmer of worry with the science and consequences explained to him, but his blood is warm and Bruce is being sweet to him. He closes his eyes, content, at the feel-sound of Bruce's voice at his ear.

Registers what he's saying, opens his eyes and lifts his head to look at him.

"You," he says, placing his words very deliberately down, pointing, "were in trouble. There were many guns with guys, and I saved you."

They're a team, Bruce. :\
solarcore: (030)

[personal profile] solarcore 2017-12-28 09:14 am (UTC)(link)
"Y'welcome."

That would absolutely not have flown with a sober Clark Kent, who must by now be getting used to wading through Bruce's fronts, knowing what lies behind them. It flies for this Clark, who leans into him again, content as a labrador who's been well walked and getting petted for his efforts. Frisbees caught, sticks fetched, bats rescued.

"I heard your heart," he says, like that's a normal thing to say. His fingertips touch over where that heart is, the body's busiest little muscle, twitching tirelessly. His hand is warm, flattening there. "Had to see what it was doing."
solarcore: (clark1)

[personal profile] solarcore 2017-12-29 01:35 pm (UTC)(link)
Bruce sits down and Clark leans all the more. Distantly, he is aware that maybe he said something that he'd subconsciously been keeping in check -- not out of a desire to be secretive so much as it's never his first instinct to make people uncomfortable with the sheer amount of things he can do. But he isn't fully focused on all that.

Bruce is asking him so gently. "Normally," he says. "Normally and I don't always notice it, 'til I notice it. Heart, and." He gestures, loosely. And other things. But the heart is the first thing, the thing that can't be helped.

"Ss'how I knew you liked me after all," is added, with a broad grin, pushing into the lean. Eyy.
solarcore: (039)

[personal profile] solarcore 2017-12-30 12:56 pm (UTC)(link)
See? Bruce gets it. There will be time enough for Clark to actually consider the proper ramifications of this accidental confession, what it means in return, and what it says about them as people. This strange, mutual intensity, this fascination, how quickly Bruce went from someone who was abhorrent to Clark in every way -- the 1%, justice that punched down, that wielded his personal power to create terror instead of hope -- to someone he flies cross-country to try to protect.

Right now, of course, nothing seems very strange. Of course they want to look out for one another. They are team mates, and more than just that.

"I like that you like to look out for me too," Clark says, a little too accurately, though he seems pleased with himself for all those words happening in order, with syllables only bumping together a little bit with a slur. Mainly because he's murmuring it, in the quiet space they've created together. "S'nice." Nailed it.

Following what he considers to be the natural order of things, he turns enough to meet Bruce in a kiss. Something electronic beeps at them as readings adjust. Getting closer to normal.

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