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tickle-bugs · 10 months

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But You Were Mine

Summary: Still hung up on the fit of Bruce’s body against his, Clark attempts the oldest possible ritual: getting to know his pseudo-sweetheart. Too bad Bruce Wayne is the most unknowable man on Earth. Sequel to Chase the Memory of it Still.

Yet again, blame @fickle-tiction for this. Doing a midnight post and run so I don’t have to look at this in the morning lol. Also warning for mild barely even lukewarm makeouts. Probably tamer than Part 1 lol.

Also also: the beginning scene with Clark and Lois works best if you imagine that Lois doesn’t know that Bruce is Batman but suspects him, all while thinking Clark doesn’t know that Bruce is Batman. So she’s trying to protect him from being lied to and Clark is like ‘but Lois I love him’

“Clark Joseph Kent, you’re a grade-A idiot.” Lois thwaps the back of his head with a rolled-up newspaper.

“I know,” Clark groans into the surface of Lois’s desk. She thwaps him again.

“So, let me get this straight.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “You somehow conned your way into a fake relationship with Bruce Wayne of all people, and now you have feelings for him?”

“I’ve always had feelings for him,” He mumbles, suddenly feeling very small in his seat. When he looks up at her, she’s glaring at him. Ah, he’s in trouble.

“You don’t know him.” She spreads her hands on the surface of her desk, knocking aside a few Daily Planet pens. He picks them up and puts them back.

“Yes I do.” Clark frowns.

“He’s an airhead playboy with zero priorities. You deserve someone who’ll be honest—“

“Oh? Like Selina?”

Lois gets very quiet. Her stare pierces like a fine needle through his throat. A few battered emotions flicker over her face, leaving in their wake a rare and unguarded Lois. Then, quicker than the cat that stole her heart, her face resigns into something sharp and deadly.

“I’m sorry.” He circles the desk and pulls her into a hug. After a begrudging glare, she tips her head into his chest. They inhale and exhale together—a routine they’ve shared for years. She relaxes into him.

“No, you’re right.” She chuckles. “I fell for a thief. That’s on me.”

“And I spent the night with the one guy I shouldn’t have. We can’t all be perfect.” Clark elbows her, looking for a smile. Lois’s eyes blow wide and she starts spluttering.

“You hooked up with him?” She thankfully keeps to a hissing whisper, but he can tell she wants to shout. He contemplates flying around the Earth fast enough to undo the moment, but she’s gripping his shirt tight enough to stop him.

“Well, okay, we kissed a bunch but it didn’t go further—“

“Oh god, we’re both hopeless.” She groans into her hands.

“No, not hopeless. We can both have what we want. I’ll call Bruce if, and only if, you call Selina.” He pulls her hands away from her face. She huffs and smiles.

“This optimism thing is going to bite you in the ass. How do you think you’re gonna maintain a relationship with someone who doesn’t know that you, uh, work two jobs?” She casts a weary glance towards the office door and drops her voice even lower.

“He gets me, Lois.” It’s all he can say. It’s the truth.

“Alright.” She brushes a thumb over his cheek. “Then get to know him at least. Find out if he’s the kind of guy worth being around.”

“I know he's worth it. That’s not ever in question.” Clark can’t help but smile a little as he thinks of Bruce. “It’s an internal thing. He sees me. I see him. We don’t have to pretend with each other. It’s…just us.”

Her keen eyes scan every inch of his face, even as he trails off.

“You should tell him.” She squeezes his arm.

“What? No. Absolutely not. I only said that because I know you won’t call her. C’mon, you’re supposed to be the voice of reason here.” He squints at her. She flicks him in the forehead.

“Okay, well the ‘voice of reason’ thinks you should say something before you lose this…somehow healthy-sounding relationship you have. With Bruce Wayne, of all people,” She mutters that last part, but Clark both hears and ignores it.

“We’re friends and it’s good. Really good. He trusts me at least a little. I don’t want him to think I have ulterior motives. If I could read him at all, figure out what he wants…but I can’t. I can’t lose him.”

“This isn’t the healthiest advice, but…start a list. Treat him like a case. What are some things that draw you to him? Things he hides? Things he shows only to you? If it makes you do that dopey giggle thing you do, he’s probably worth it.” She leans against the edge of her desk and crosses her arm.

“I don’t do a giggle…thing,” he mumbles, but his face is already heating up an incriminating amount.

“It’s cute. He’ll probably like it.” She tweaks his nose. He swats her hand away, but his spirits are far lighter.

His phone buzzes and he checks it as discreetly as possible.

B: Free this afternoon?

Clark smiles.

C: On my way. :)

“I’ve gotta go.” He stands and shrugs on his suit jacket.

“Boyfriend awaits?” She wiggles her eyebrows.

“Bye, Lois.” He rolls his eyes.

“Tell him I’d love to do an exclusive with him.” She snickers.

“I’ll tell him that when you call Selina.” He smirks. She gasps her way into laughter, her face blooming pink. Her hand comes up to play with a diamond necklace sitting on her collarbone--a cat-shaped pendant he’s never seen her wear before--and shakes her head fondly.

“I will after you kiss your playboy. Again.” She raises her eyebrow. Checkmate.

“Bye, Lois,” He says a little louder. She playfully shoos him from her office. He kisses her cheek.

Clark can only smile when he hears her phone ringing and the faint “Hey, kitty” through the glass.

….

It’s apt that Gotham is as dark and segmented as its protector, Clark thinks, because he’s never in his life met anyone as fragmented as Bruce Wayne. Everyone in the League is broken in some way, battered by traumas that still threaten to crush them, but Bruce is markedly...different. He covers the cracks in his soul with masks. For every unveiling, six more facades lay below it.

The reporter in him finds a dark fascination with it. The lost Kryptonian in him finds it…depressing. The human in him is currently bouncing on his heels in the lobby of Wayne Tower until Bruce finally meets him downstairs.

Bruce glides off of one of the elevators and nods at a few hushed executives who scurry in behind him. He must come off so effortless to them—not a hair out of place, a new suit and coat every day, but Clark can see the exhaustion clouding his eyes. Bruce Wayne is put together. Bruce is tired.

“You seem eager.” Bruce gives him a practiced small smile as they fall into step.

“I’m having the slowest of slow days. This was a much needed adventure.” Clark stretches his spine. It gives a loud, much needed crack. He’s just a little too big for his chair at the Planet and it’s starting to take its toll.

“We’re just walking down the street,” Bruce chuckles. He bumps the doors to the building open and Clark darts out. A light flurry of snow twirls through the air as they start their walk. He catches a snowflake on his tongue before he can think better of it. Bruce’s smile grows a little wider.

“So? Every trip away from my desk is an adventure. C’mon, I know a spot.” Clark nods to the side and they hang a left, passing under a train overpass.

“You know a spot in Gotham?” Bruce raises a brow.

“I get around.” Clark grins.

………………………………………………………………………………………….

They end up at a patisserie on the East side, a small family-run shop that deserves far more business than it gets. Clark can smell the wonders within from a good mile away.

Months ago, when he was helping Lois write a scathing exposé on Wayne Enterprises, this spot had served him well. Nothing better than a building full of sweets and a decent wifi connection to get you through betraying a good friend. Shredding that article was easily the best decision of Clark’s life, especially since Lois’s pivot towards flaying Lexcorp alive won her an award.

He buys them both coffee—black for Bruce, vanilla for himself—and sets about the intricate ritual of sweetening his coffee to perfection. This is normalcy. Normalcy is good.

“This is the only part of Gotham I like.” Clark steals little peeks at Bruce, waiting for him to inevitably make fun of him, but his eyes are elsewhere.

A refrigerated display tower of macarons stands proudly next to the register, boasting all sorts of delicious surprises. The splash of color is welcome among the somewhat dreary day outside.

“Hm?” Bruce’s gaze struggles to find its way back to Clark.

“You seem distracted.” Clark pops the stirring straw into his mouth and pulls the remaining coffee out with a little slurp. He pops the lid onto his cup much slower than necessary. The first time you crush a cup of boiling liquid in public tends to change you, after all. He’s grown since then.

“Heavy work day.” For a man so difficult to read, Bruce has never clearly been more full of shit. He doesn’t even try to look away from the cookie display.

“Do you…want a macaron?” Clark doesn’t bother trying to stifle his amusement.

“What? No.” Bruce withdraws slightly.

“What’s your favorite? My treat.” Clark jerks a thumb towards the display.

“Money isn’t the problem.” Bruce scoffs, but not unkindly. He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. Clark tries to ignore the still-fading lovebite on Bruce’s neck that he left.

“Then what is?” Clark leans forward on his elbows. Surprise flickers across Bruce’s face for the slightest of moments.

“…I’ve never had one,” Bruce mumbles, shuffling a bit in his seat. Clark beams.

“First time for everything. C’mon.” Clark vigorously beckons him over to the line. Bruce trails behind with an endearing awkwardness that he’s learned to identify: slow steps, shifty eyes, and silence.

Clark takes his time to point out his favorite flavors and make a few recommendations, but he feels like he’s stumbling around in the dark. His sweet tooth is only rivaled by Diana’s—even then, their tastes match so closely that he’s a little lost with someone like Bruce.

Bruce stares deeply at him. Clark’s rambling stutters to a halt. He pulls on his collar a bit. Adjusts his glasses.

Bruce’s eyes seem so warm. Must be the light.

“If today was my last day to live and you had to give me a macaron, what would you choose?” Bruce leans close. His eyes are on the display, thank god, because Clark doesn’t know that he can handle more of that eye contact right about now.

“It amazes me that you’re so committed to the dark and brooding thing.” Clark rolls his eyes, and after some thought: “Raspberry.”

“Hm. Okay.” And that’s that. Bruce orders quickly and walks away with his prize, leaving Clark to scramble after him. They sit back down in their quiet little corner, the naturally-frosted window fogging slightly at their presence.

Bruce opens his box of macarons clinically, like he’s stripping it for parts. He takes one out and admires the color, gives it a little test squish, sniffs it. Clark watches the process with vested interest until Bruce pulls out another box and slides it towards him.

“What’s this?” Clark pulls the box close.

“Strawberry Cheesecake macarons. I saw you eyeing them when we came in.” Bruce pokes the box again, sliding them just a little more forward.

“I’m not subtle, am I?” Clark pushes his glasses up again. He cracks the box open and pops a cookie in his mouth. His eyelids flutter shut and he does a little dance in his chair.

“It’s one of your more endearing qualities.” Bruce quirks a small, smug smile.

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Clark fake sniffles. The resulting eyeroll is incredibly satisfying.

Bruce takes a mouse-like nibble of the macaron, catching maybe an atom of cookie and filling between his teeth. He chews thoughtfully.

“So? Do we have a winner?” Clark rests his chin on his hand.

“I think so. You have good taste,” Bruce hums, taking another tentative bite of the macaron. A gentle, genuine smile peaks on his lips like a glimpse of the sun through storm clouds.

“That’s the second nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Clark swipes a macaron from Bruce’s box fast enough to send a small breeze fluttering between them.

“And it will never happen again.” Bruce peeks open one eye as he finishes his macaron.

Okay, bumping shredding that Wayne Enterprises article down to number two. This, Clark thinks, watching Bruce smile to himself, this is easily top of the list.

1 ) He likes raspberries.

It takes later in the week until they have a moment to truly spend a bit of time together. Criminal roundups never leave much personal time, and Clark’s hearing has him near-constantly running to save lives. But, on a quiet Wednesday night, he has a moment.

He loves visiting Wayne Manor. It’s been a while since he last swung by, but he adores the place. He could spend hours swooning over the architecture alone. It’s a beautiful place to disappear for a while, and he’s been doing that more and more lately.

He gets buzzed into the gates easy enough with a lie about taking the bus, and then he’s standing in the massive foyer and hanging up his coat by the door. The manor smells of old wood and citrus. Clark draws in a big breath of it.

He turns and jumps a bit when a flock of people are suddenly staring at him atop the stairs. Bruce’s kids, right. He knows Dick, Tim, and Jason. The others are still a bit fuzzy to him. They all leer from the landing like royalty watching a gladiator in the pit.

“Hey there.” He waves at the smallest and angriest of the bunch. This is Damien, he’s pretty sure.

“So you’re the new guy.” A blonde—Steph, he remembers her from the Christmas card—leans on the railing with her forearms.

“I wouldn’t mess with him, Steph. He’s tougher than he looks,” Dick murmurs out of the corner of his mouth, trying his best to be subtle. Clark gives him a friendly wave. He returns it.

“He looks like he wears a pocket protector. I could take him,” Steph whispers to Dick. Clark tries to rein in his expression so he doesn’t give himself away.

“I’m not sure we’ve met. I’m Clark. You’re all Bruce’s kids, right? It’s nice to meet you.” He tries to make himself look as friendly as possible. He gets a few waves, but mostly owlish stares. He sees where they get it from.

“Is your father home?” Clark sticks his hands in his pockets and tries to kill the silence.

“Bruce! Your boyfriend’s here!” Jason bellows. Clark bites his lip to hide his smile.

“Clark?” Bruce peeks around the corner, then shuffles quickly down the stairs.

“Hey. I, uh, had a few minutes. Just came by to see you before I went home.” Clark rubs the back of his neck with a smile, trying to kill the flutter in his chest.

“Bruce, say something,” Tim hisses, crouching behind the banister as if Clark can’t see him. Bruce startles, glares at him, and then gestures for Clark to follow him. As they pass, all of the kids watch him go, whispering in a building flurry that he doesn’t bother dissecting. He tells himself it’s because they deserve their privacy, but really…he’s nervous. Severely.

“I hope they didn’t make you uncomfortable. They can be a bit…eager.” Bruce’s smile is warm beneath the lights of the old manor.

“They’re wonderful. Terrifying, but wonderful.” Clark chuckles and bumps their shoulders together while they walk.

It’s these precious minutes that define their friendship more than anything. Clark tells Bruce all about his day, about his Lex Luthor exposé making the front page, about everything and nothing at all. He talks and Bruce listens, egging him on with gentle tilts of the head when he shyly falls into silence.

By the time they reach the gardens, it’s Clark’s turn to listen. Bruce tells him about the kids, occasionally stopping whenever he notices one lurking. He asks for his opinion on random scenarios. Clark can’t tell if they’re hypotheticals but he answers as truthfully as he can, chasing the little noises of appreciation that Bruce makes as he talks.

Not only are Bruce’s masks interchangeable, taking him from Bruce to Batman to Bruce Wayne, they’re also removable. Clark doesn’t know when he was bestowed with the honor of being with Just Bruce, but he’s immensely grateful for it.

“Good evening, Mr. Kent.” Alfred nods respectfully in his direction. “Master Bruce, you have a call from Mr. Fox. Line three, sir.”

“Thank you, Alfred.” Bruce squeezes Clark’s shoulder. “You can wait here, if you’d like.”

“Am I allowed to touch anything?” Clark teases.

“Anything you want.” Bruce winks at him, completely straight-faced, and disappears into the corridors of the manor. Clark’s face grows embarrassingly hot and he reclines against the lip of the fountain.

He birdwatches as he waits, counting which of Bruce’s kids make normal, completely non-suspicious trips through his personal space. Dick’s the least sneaky of the bunch, but it lends him a genuine quality. He sits and chats with Clark for a few minutes, asking him about work and the like. He asks about his relationship with Bruce and Clark mumbles something non-committal, cheeks warm.

Bruce, uh, never put out that statement about them breaking up. Clark thinks he might be alright if it never gets published.

As the hours draw on, he catalogs where the other Robins like to hide. Tim and Damien have an affinity for hiding in the massive hedges surrounding the gardens, while Steph takes to watching from the windows. Cass is the hardest to spot but he catches her on the roof a few times, perched and enjoying the warm dusk breeze. He sees Jason with her once too.

If he’s learned anything from their father, it’s that staring is caring. Probably.

When Alfred fetches him hours later, he arrives at a scene he wants to burn permanently into his memory.

Bruce is seated at the beautiful. obnoxiously long table in the dining room. He’s got a knee hiked up on the chair, picking idly at the fabric of his pants. On the table, a black kitten rolls around and bats at a toy. It’s sweet and oddly domestic.

“Hey.” Bruce doesn’t turn.

“Hi. Who’s this?” Clark holds a hand out to the kitten and it drops its paw on top of his palm, mewing softly. The squeaky, deflating noise that leaves him is not one he’s proud of. It’s so sweet and small.

“Nyx. She’s a stray. I give her food when I can.” Bruce scratches her head gently. Nyx purrs and lays down on the table, tucking her head into the attention. She’s a precious baby, is what she is. Clark has half a mind to take her home.

That is, until Bruce sneezes loud enough to send poor Nyx running. She flings herself off the table and into one of the manor’s seemingly endless corridors.

“Bless you.” Clark chuckles. Bruce pulls a face.

“Master Bruce.” Alfred hands him a box of tissues.

“I can hear you laughing, Alfred,” he sniffles, hair a bit ruffled from the sneeze. Clark purposefully averts his eyes.

“I would never, sir. Goodnight, Mr. Kent.” Alfred bows his head, sharing that mischievous glint in his eye.

“Goodnight, Alfred.” Clark grins, settling into the oversized chair beside Bruce.

2 ) He’s got a cat allergy, but he feeds the strays anyway. Bruce = cat person?

“Stop it.” Hearing the Batman voice and knowing it’s mostly because Bruce is annoyed is truly golden.

“Stop what?” Clark floats leisurely alongside Bruce, arms behind his head. Keeping pace with him isn’t hard--he’s fast for human standards, but not by Clark’s. He’s made it a habit anyways not to zip too far ahead as they’ve grown closer. It kills the banter.

“Look, all I’m saying is that if Batman started flying, criminals would absolutely take the week off. If I was a criminal and I thought Batman had suddenly gotten superpowers, I’d simply leave Gotham.” Clark flips upside down and hangs in front of Bruce, still drifting backwards in pace with him.

He can sense Bruce trying not to smile, but when he opens his mouth to tease, karma speaks instead. Clark smacks his head into the side of a building just as Bruce slips through a narrow space between it and its neighbor. Clark flies up over the building and catches up with Bruce again, scowling.

“I know you’re laughing.” Clark crosses his arms.

“Me? Never. Just thinking about how great it is to be grounded.” Bruce allows himself the tiniest of smirks, just enough to be infuriating, and it’s Clark’s turn to roll his eyes.

3 ) He restrains his emotions. Even the good ones.

Roaming the Hall of Justice late at night is a cultivated hobby of Clark’s. The best snacks hide in the dark, after all, and he knows that no one’s gonna come bother him about a missing bag of chips at this hour. He needs time to think and food to think with.

Clark’s feelings for Bruce could both span and fill an ocean. He doesn’t know when this happened. As far as he can remember, there’s always been this beacon of warmth in his chest guiding him to Bruce. Through every late night and early morning, through hopelessness and joy, Bruce is a constant. It’s too much to put on one person. Too risky.

The ‘l word’ pops into his head like a dark omen, and he skids to a halt. He glances around, listening for any league members skulking around. All he hears is his own thundering heartbeat.

Fuck. Fuck.

He makes his way into the kitchen past a snoring Arthur, pausing to snatch the jumbo bag of cheese puffs from his limp grasp. He slips quietly out into the hall, passing by the lounge, where Bruce and Diana are laughing—

Clark backpedals, nearly tripping over his own feet, but god it’s worth it. Bruce is clutching Diana’s shoulder and giggling, stuck in the loop of overwhelming laughter that follows an unyielding barrage of jokes.

They’re still suited up, probably fresh off a patrol, and Clark wonders how long they’ve been sitting here. A mountain of chocolates, the fancy ones, cover the surface of the table. Diana delicately sorts through and plucks the ones she wants from the pile as Bruce watches.

“Diana’s the new team comedian. None of you are funny.” Bruce recovers from his laughter, but the smile stays, and Clark makes an active effort to be normal about it. The delirium of another late night in a row must have gotten to him. That’s the only explanation.

“Barry will be devastated.” Clark chuckles. He leans in the doorframe and catches a cheese puff in his mouth.

“He will survive.” The sparkle in Diana’s eye has him wishing he had tuned into their conversation.

“If I had known y’all were partying in here, I would’ve come to hang out.” Clark crunches on another cheese puff, mostly to distract himself from the way Bruce’s eyes are sparkling. He didn’t know they could do that.

“There’s no reason you can’t party with us now.” Diana gestures to the seat next to Bruce.

Aw, what the hell? Eating junk food together couldn’t be much worse than doing it alone.

4 ) Bruce can laugh--he just has to be caught off-guard. He likes to laugh (?) (who doesn’t?)

“When you said you needed help, I thought you meant with translating.” Clark wanders into the room. The concrete is irritatingly cold on his feet.

Bruce types away wildly at a computer station with too many monitors. A pair of giant goggles on his head pull his hair out of his face. Clark leans over his shoulder to see what he’s doing, but the code flying across the screen is a nightmare.

At the opposite end of the room, a mechanical rig sits primed on a set of rails. In the center, a gnarly looking gun barrel stares out into an empty expanse.

“I’m trying to test new ammunition for the Batmobile, but my target system is down. Can’t reboot it.” Bruce clicks something else and the gun starts calibrating. A pathetic clicking sound picks up as targets struggle to ascend from the floor, twitching lifelessly in their compartments.

“Do you want help?”

“With coding?” Bruce turns with an expression just shy of condescending.

“God no. I am bulletproof, if you remember.” Clark sticks his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants.

“Doesn’t help. I need to study the impacts afterwards.” Bruce gestures to a massive chunk of concrete on a stand nearby. Clark hefts it into his arms with a quiet grunt.

“Just...keep up with the gun. I prefer my walls without bullet holes.” Bruce quickly turns away from him. Clark can hear his heartbeat pounding. He starts to ask, but the gun rig starts warming up and he sacrifices his curiosity.

“Alright. Whenever you’re ready.” Clark adjusts his stance to prep for the recoil. The machine whirrs and clicks as it loads itself with rounds. Bruce types in a few things on a nearby control panel and pulls the goggles down over his eyes.

The gun barrel spins and whines as it gains force. Clark hovers a few inches off the ground and tenses. He lines the concrete up with his chest, his eyes just clearing over top of it.

The machine fires quicker and lower than he anticipates.

A sharp zing zips up Clark’s side, then another, then another, and he drops the concrete, instead covering his smile while forcing himself to stay still. That’s certainly not his best idea--no block means no cover, which subsequently means getting pelted with another wave of bullets.

Clark crumples into a flurry of giggles before he can stop himself. He curls up as much as he can—partly to stop any new onslaughts, mostly to hide his reddening face. He’s been shot more than anything and it’s never bothered him. He didn’t know he could be ticklish to touch, let alone to goddamn bullets.

“Clark! Are you okay?” Bruce leaps over the gun rig and pulls the safety goggles up onto his head.

“Y-Yes. I’m fine. Your machine…thing packs a punch.” Clark clears his throat to stop the rogue snickers forming a conga line in his throat.

“I thought you were supposed to be bulletproof.” Bruce huffs, kicking the pieces of shattered brick out of the way. He swipes at Clark’s torso, probably trying to brush away the dust on him. Clark flinches under the touch and coughs over a laugh.

“I am. It just…felt…weird.” Clark snatches Bruce’s wrist a little too quickly. Bruce’s brow furrows and he leans close, eyes glued to Clark’s stomach with sheer worry. His face resolves into tense understanding. Clark lets his hand go.

“What? What?” He tries to catch Bruce’s gaze. There shouldn’t be anything wrong. He feels fine. Nothing pierced. Definitely not bleeding—he learned what that feels like and he hates it. But Bruce has an eye for things that Clark could never dream of noticing, and right now he’s staring like Clark already has a foot in the grave.

“Can’t believe you fell for that.” Bruce smirks. He pulls Clark close—hello—and kneads unhurried fingers into his stomach.

No one will ever believe him. Bruce Wayne is tickling him and no one will ever believe him.

“B-Bruce!” Clark strains out of Bruce’s grip as best as he can, trying not to break any useful bones, but his joints keep turning to jelly. His forehead collides with Bruce’s shoulder and he shimmies rather uselessly.

“This is very entertaining, in case you were wondering.” Bruce hums and starts pinching up Clark’s sides. His warm breath sends goosebumps flaring over his throat.

“I wasn’t!” It’s more of a squeak than words. Evil fingers manage to squeeze beneath his arms and Clark jumps directly into the air.

“Did you just fly away?” A genuine laugh floats out of Bruce, warm and a bit scratchy. Clark wishes he could hear more of that instead of his own dorky laughter ringing in his ears.

“Not on purpose—shut up!” Clark aims a half-hearted kick at Bruce’s shoulder. His face burns hotter than the sun and he hides in his hands.

Bruce grabs his ankle and tries to reel him in like a lost balloon. Clark almost falls for it until suddenly calloused hands are scritching along the bottom of his foot. He giggle-snorts. Kryptonite through the chest would be a mercy, at this point.

A hush falls over the room. Clark dares to peek through his fingers.

“Oh.” Bruce blinks, then the most wicked grin overtakes his face. “Do that again.”

“You’re the worst!” Clark pulls his leg towards his body and accidentally takes Bruce with it--who doesn’t seem the least bit bothered, by the way. Every time he lowers his leg, Bruce doesn’t let go.

“I don’t want to drop you!” Clark shrieks as if a bug is crawling on him, rather than a person.

“Then don’t.” Bruce squeezes his calf and Clark whines his way into a fit of cackles. His body trembles with the effort to not fly directly through the ceiling. The illusion of escape makes it so much worse, especially with Bruce’s fingers worming behind his knee.

“You coming down or am I gonna have to call the fire department?” Jesus, Bruce has a real talent for smirking out loud. Clark tries to shake him off without throwing him across the room. Bruce digs his fingers into Clark’s thigh like he’s climbing a tree and the resulting yelp has Clark resolving to flee the country.

“Y-You’re not building a great case as to why I should!” He flinches after a flurry of giggles and slams his head into the ceiling. Plaster and dust rain down on the two of them. Clark tries to cover the crater he left behind with his hands and a bashful smile.

“Alright, I’m done. I’d like to keep my ceiling in one piece.” Bruce pulls him down to Earth, only letting go when he’s sure that Clark won’t float away again.

“Ticklish Superman. Who knew?” Bruce scritches beneath Clark’s chin, just like at the gala all those weeks ago, and Clark shoves his chin down with a snort.

“No one, and I prefer it that way. Keep it quiet.” He can’t muster any severity in his voice and he’s not sure it would help if he could. The thought of Lois finding out--or worse, Diana--starts an inescapable loop of nervous smiles and a light fluttering in his chest.

“No promises.” Bruce smirks. “I hear Lois wants an exclusive. Maybe I’ll give her a call.”

“Don’t you dare. Bruce—“

He dials her office line, jogging towards the stairs. Clark shrieks and chases after him.

5 ) He’s mischievous. Deathly so.

…

After a long while of staring at his pitiful little list, Clark still finds himself restless. He has naught more than a skeleton, clinging scraps of Bruce’s infinite depths. The paper isn’t suited to contain him. He might actually know less than before.

Even as Bruce beats the shit out of him, he can’t think of anything else.

“Why don’t you let anyone get to know you?” Clark frowns at Bruce across the sparring mats. Bruce runs and leaps onto his shoulders, executing a flawless scissor grip. Clark raises his hand to support his back and Bruce swats him away.

“What?” Bruce grunts, bringing his elbows down onto Clark’s head. He barely notices.

“You’re always so stoic. You never let anyone see you happy.” Clark flips Bruce off his shoulders and down onto his back. He puts his hands on his hips and stares down at him.

“No, I never let anyone see me vulnerable. There’s a difference.” Bruce wraps his legs around Clark’s and takes him down, quickly rolling atop him. Within a second, Bruce unleashes a flurry of blows that, if Clark could feel more than dull impacts, he probably would fear.

“You’re allowed to be vulnerable in front of your friends, Bruce. That’s what makes them friends, not coworkers.” Clark catches his fists and holds them.

“I’ll pass along your suggestion. Are you going to fight back or should I go get Diana?” Bruce raises an eyebrow, breathing hard. Clark flips them both and pins Bruce down.

“I just think—stop wiggling—we should bond more, y’know? Know thy enemy, and all that.” Clark keeps pressing down until Bruce sighs and goes still in his grip. He knows he’s defeated. Smart man.

“That tends to apply to actual enemies, not coworkers.” Bruce sighs.

“Well, we’re more than that, aren’t we?” Clark presses, searching Bruce’s eyes. Bruce nods, looking all for the world like he might bolt from the room.

“Sooo, what’s your favorite color?” When Bruce is silent, Clark rolls his eyes and sits back. “Mine is yellow. Your turn.”

“…lavender.” Bruce eyes him warily. Clark helps him to his feet and they start the cycle again. The minute they stop fighting each other’s rhythm, they find a flawless sync.

“Nice! Okay, uh…favorite food?” Clark ducks under Bruce’s left hook and shoves him back.

“Alfred’s chicken noodle.” Bruce kicks Clark across the face and he lets himself go down. He brushes some of the dust off.

“That sounds nice.” He grins up at Bruce from the mat. The light haloes behind his head so beautifully.

“Yeah.” Bruce clears his throat. “And you…?” He pulls Clark to his feet and resets his stance.

“Can’t go wrong with a slice of fresh apple pie.” Clark sweeps forward with a wink.

Bruce shakes his head and snickers, then punches Clark hard enough in the ribs to crack his own knuckles.

…

Two sharp knocks on the doorframe announce Bruce before his voice does. Clark looks up from the dull light of his laptop.

“Got a second?” Bruce leans in the doorframe, cloaked in slight shadow. He’s dressed comfortably, surprisingly, in a soft t-shirt and sweatpants that hug him well. It makes Clark wanna pull him close.

“Always, yeah.” Clark sets his computer aside and sits up. Bruce leans against the edge of his desk and fishes something out of his pocket.

“Found some intel. I could use a fresh set of eyes on it.” The moon casts loving light across his eyes and jaw.

“Of course.” Clark sits up more.

“Found this nearby. I was hoping you could decipher it.” Bruce hands over a scrap of folded paper. Clark furrows his brow as he takes it, gingerly opening it up. He casts a curious glance at Bruce before he starts to read.

It’s his notes. His notes on Bruce. Shit.

He looks up slowly, horrified. Bruce smirks in full force, oozing mischief that Clark now knows is very much in character.

“Normally, I’m not a fan of being watched. Try to avoid it as much as I can.”

“You’re a hard man to read.” Clark clears his throat and folds the paper down to hide its contents further.

“Yet it seems you’ve cracked the code,” Bruce hums. Clark catches the faint glimmer of that old playboy spark. Bruce’s lips tilt into a devilish smirk.

“So, I’m right then? It’s important…for the record.” Clark scoots up against the headboard in an attempt to look casual. Bruce sits at the foot of the bed. Voluntarily. Clark stops breathing.

“I would say that parts are accurate.”

“Parts?” He clears his throat. Bruce snatches the paper from his grip. He starts murmuring as he skims the list.

“Let’s see…I like raspberries but I’m allergic.”

“You’re what?” The color drains from Clark’s face. Bruce shrugs.

“What else? Oh—I’m a dog person. I have a soft spot for cats.”

“Huh.”

“I am physically capable of laughter.” Bruce rolls his eyes.

“Proved that one already.” Clark smiles. Bruce scowls, then turns back to the paper. Clark remembers, in a terrible flash, the looping doodles of ‘Clark Kent-Wayne’ at the bottom of the page and chokes out a strangled scream.

He disintegrates the paper with a precise blast of heat vision. He feels a little bad for scorching the wall, but not that bad. The evidence is gone. Plausible deniability.

“Seriously?” He brushes the ash off his hands.

“I gotta keep my secrets.” Clark shrugs, but his face is incandescent with heat.

“What about that paper was so bad that it made Superman blush?” Bruce smirks.

“There is nothing on God’s green earth that you could do to make me tell you.” Clark grins from atop the high ground.

Bruce plucks his glasses off of his nose and sets them aside, careful not to touch the lenses. It’s a tender gesture for what is essentially a costume, but something in his heart flutters at the delicate care.

“Are you sure?” He leans close—close enough for Clark to catch a whiff of cologne and the intoxicating sparkle in his eye, close enough for Clark to lean in on instinct, and close enough for Bruce to wrap his hands around Clark’s waist like he’d been wishing he would since that stupid gala. Clark’s lips part.

“Okay, there might be a couple thi—“ Clark cuts himself off with a squeal, slamming his head into the headboard—the resulting crack speaks to a later promise of duct tape. As Bruce shoves his hands under his arms, Clark’s laughter bowls him over quicker than he can apologize.

“You are such a kid!” He throws his head back and cackles, curling into the tightest possible ball that his hulking form could take. Bruce leans over him.

“You have no grounds to call me that. You’re giggling.” Bruce raises an eyebrow,

“Because you’re t-tickling—” Clark regretfully finishes his sentence with a snort. Bruce lights up and chases the sound, relentlessly working his fingers into the grooves of his ribs. Clark hits his head again--there goes the rest of the headboard. And part of the wall.

Between the buzz of being touched by Bruce and being unused to this kind of touch, Clark melts into a haphazard pile of Superman with embarrassing speed. Bruce manages to work his fingers up further, right into his top rib, and he punches a hole directly into the nightstand, sending the lamp toppling over. Bruce relents then, passively assessing the damage while Clark drags in a deep breath.

“You really think it’s a good idea to tickle someone who could throw you into the sun?” Clark huffs, wobbling on a smile. Bruce smirks.

“Never said it was a good idea. Just an alluring one.”

“You find me alluring? Scandalous, Mr. Wayne.” Clark offers a teasing grin. Bruce’s brow crinkles with concern. He goes from fiddling with Clark’s waist to fiddling with his hands.

Bruce gets tactile when he’s stressed. Or when something’s on his mind.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Clark asks softly. He scoots just a bit closer.

“The day after the gala, I had Vicki write up a piece about you and I splitting. Like I promised. It was never published.”

“I noticed,” Clark says carefully, tracking every detail of Bruce’s face.

“I asked her not to.”

“Why?”

“I knew if the article went live, you would stop with the affection and the dates. I know it was only for appearances, but…I really enjoyed it. I wasn’t ready to let it go. I…care about you.” Bruce looks up at him, worry entrenched in the dips of his face. It slips to something resigned and neutral, a blank mask.

Clark smiles like a lunatic, covering his mouth to hide it. He contains the desperate urge to take a lap around the manor. Months, years, of pining bloom into sweet possibility within him. The weight of guilt sloughs off his shoulders. Bruce likes him.

“Y’know, for the smartest man in Gotham, you miss quite a lot.” Clark leans in and waits. Bruce’s eyes flick to Clark’s lips, and in a Batman-esque flash of motion, he swoops down and kisses him. Their bodies slot together almost magnetically. Clark flips them over and bears back down, swallowing Bruce’s gasp of surprise in his mouth.

In an insane way, kissing Bruce is like coming home.

He flings his arms around Clark’s neck, pulling him impossibly closer. Clark immediately, greedily, lets his lips travel along Bruce’s pulse point. He chases the memory of the gala, littering desperate bruises along the cologne-tinged skin. His hand lingers at the base of his throat, brushing reverent fingers as he marks every inch available to him.

Bruce yelps into a giggle, breaking them apart. Clark blinks, processing, then grins with unbridled power.

“This feels…counter-productive.” Bruce swallows, bobbing Clark’s hand. His skin is hot and red to the touch.

“Nice try. You already enabled me—that was your first mistake.” Clark tickles him everywhere he can reach, dodging elbows and headbutts. Bruce cackles from his core, stumbling through a few high-pitched syllables of protest as he twists. He works so hard to force his voice back into its usual octave that it cracks. Clark snickers.

“I am going to kill you,” Bruce growls, reaching back to return the favor. Clark slams his arm down on the mattress, caressing the back of his hand with immovable fingertips.

“Then this is a wonderful last night on Earth.” Clark nibbles on his earlobe. Bruce’s giggly scream and the ensuing threats on his life are music to Clark’s ears.

#my fics #ticklish!bruce wayne #ticklish!clark kent #bruce wayne #clark kent #superbat #dc #ALRIGHT the lois/selina thing came from somewhere ok bc i know its a teeny ship #tbh im not sure it even exists #but my lois is inspired by lena luthor from the cw supergirl series bc lesbianism + superman makes me happy #but i felt like if lois was into kara (which originally she was) clark would be working around the clock to get them together #which derailed the scene. so i put lois and selina together #wlw mlm solidarity clark and lois both being head over heels for their respective creatures of the night speaks to me #they're besties your honor #sorry this is not what i said i would post next but its what i finished off my pile so #also titles from better love by hozier bc that song is superbat to me

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yalocalfanficaddict · 5 months

Text

*vibrating to the point of combusting over the need to write something and title it with a Hozier song/lyric*

Ayo, new music obsession just dropped! Here's a random prompt list of Hozier stuff because my mind is rotting! Anything with Pt 1 and Pt 2 beside it, is just complimentary titles for potential series titles.

Take me to church:

Giggle At A Funeral

Born Sick

Like A Dog At The Shrine

Offer Me Your Deathless Death

Take Me To Church (A lil obvious with this one, but just imagine the Corpse Bride AU's)

My Lover's The Sunlight (Pt 1)

She Demands A Sacrifice (Pt 2)

This is Hungry Work

No Masters Or Kings (Pt 1)

When The Ritual Begins (Pt 2)

THERE IS NO SWEETER INNOCENCE THAN OUR GENTLE SIN (THE ANGST FOR THIS ONE *folds*)

Let Me Give You My Life

Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene:

Toying Somewhere Between Love And Abuse (Please just hit me with the back of a metal chair) (and by metal chair I mean angst)

The Wretched And Joyful

Shaking The Wings Of Their Terrible Youth (Arch-angels? Anybody?)

Freshly Disowned...Frozen Devotion

Sweetened Breath And Tongue So Mean (Removed pronouns for inclusivity)

Feeling More Human

I Lay My Heart Down (Pt 1)

It's Bloody It's Raw, But I Swear It's Sweet (Pt 2)

Wonder If Better Now Having Survived (Pt 1)

I'm Alive (Pt 2)

Jackie and Wilson:

From Behind The Red In My Eyes (Literally any character with red eyes will rule this title)

No Better Version Of Me

Most Familiar of Swine (Enemies to Lovers WHERE YOU AT??)

Wretched And Divine (I don't watch Good Omens, but think of the potential!!!!)

Laughing Away Through My Feeble Disguise

Found Me Just In Time

My Mid-Youth Crisis All Said And Done (Pt 1)

Never Felt So Young (Pt 2)

Call Me "Baby"

Hands Through My Hair

Soothe Me Daily

Raise 'Em On Rhythm And Blues

It'd Be Great To Find A Place We Could Escape Sometime

Dead And Buried In The Yard Outside

Watch The World Go By (Pt 1)

Watch It Burn And Rust (Pt 2)

It Wasn't For Us (Pt 3????)

Cut Clean From The Dream (Childhood Friends To Strangers???)

Let My Mind Reset

Looking Up From A Cigarette

Someone New:

Don't Take This The Wrong Way

You Knew Who I Was (Pt 1)

Every Step I Ran To You (Pt 2)

Electing Strange Perfections

Just A Little Ol' Little Bit

Everyday With Someone New (Here me out...Soulmate AU)

(There's An) Art To Life's Distractions (Pt 1)

The Art Of Scraping Through (Pt 2)

Some Like To Imagine

I Guess Any Thrill Will Do (Grumpy x Sunshine adventure!)

My Heart's Already Sinned

How Pure, How Sweet A Love

'Cause God Knows I Fall In Love (Denial for their feelings >>>)

The Stranger The Better

To Be Alone:

Never Feel Too Good In Crowds (Angst? Trauma Recovery?)

Crude And Proud Creatures Baying

All I've Ever Done Is Hide

When You Kill The Lights And Kiss My Eyes (FORBIDDEN LOVERS!!!!!)

I Feel Like A Person For A Moment Of My Life (Pt 1)

But You Don't Know What Hell You Put Me Through (Pt 2)

Kiss The Skin That Crawls From You

Oh, To Be Alone With You (Pt 1)

Questions I Can't Ask (Pt 2)

At Last, The Worst Is Over (BANANA FISH IF THEY HAD A HAPPY ENDING) (I'M SOBBING)

Not A Trace Of Me Would Argue (Whipped characters be like)

We Should Run Away

From Eden:

Something So Tragic About You (Please combine the next few lines as Pt 1s, 2s, 3s, etc. as you see fit!)

Something So Magic About You

Something Lonesome About You

Something Wholesome About You

Get Closer To Me

No Time For Me

You're Familiar Like My Mirror Years Ago

Idealism Sits In Prison

Chivalry Fell On It's Sword

Innocence Died Screaming

Something So Wretched About This (Hozier's favourite word unlocked lol)

Where To Begin?

What A Sin

To Hang From A Tree

In a Week (Ft. Karen Cowley):

I Have Never Known Peace

Like These Insects That Feast On Me

Our Heartbeats Becoming Slow

(We Lay Here) For Years Or For Hours (HANAHAKI WRITERS PLEASE HEAR ME OUT)

Two Corpses We Were (Pt1)

Two Corpses I Saw (Pt 2)

I'd Be Home With You (Could be used as a Hurt/Comfort or a Hurt/No Comfort)

The Slumber That Creeps To Me

I Have Never Known Color (Soulmate AU!!)

Flesh Calmly Going Cold

Your Hand In My Hand

So Still And Discreet

When The Weather Gets Hot

After The Foxes Have Known Our Taste (Pt 1)

After The Raven Has Had It's Say (Pt 2)

Sedated:

Just A Little Rush

To Feel Dizzy, To Derail The Mind

My Heart's In Atrophy

Nursing On A Poison That Never Stung (Pt 1)

Our Teeth And Lungs Are Lined From The Scum Of It (Pt 2)

We Are Deaf (Pt 1)

We Are Numb (Pt 2)

Something Isn't Right (Trapped in an Alternate Universe, anyone?)

Little Words

Slaves To Any Semblance Of Touch (Touched Starved Character's are gonna have a field day with this one lol)

We Should Quit But We Love It So Much (Never meant to be romances >>>)

Come And Save Me From It? (THE QUESTION MARK IS WHAT MAKES ME GO FERAL AHSBWBEDKSI)

Drag Me Away From It

Work Song:

Workin' On Empty

I Just Think About My Baby

I Could Barely Eat

Nothing Sweeter Than My Baby

Once From The Cherry Tree

Give Me Toothaches Just From Kissin' Me

When My Time Comes Around (Pt 1)

Lay Me Gently In The Cold Dark Earth (Pt 2) (THE ANGSSTTTTT)

Three Days On Drunken Sin (We aaaall know the smut writers will have a field day with this one, haha!)

An Empty Crib

No Grave Can Hold My Body Down

What My Hands And My Body Done

If The Lord Don't Forgive Me

Heaven And Hell Were Words To Me

Like Real People Do:

Why Were You Digging? (Pt 1)

What Did You Bury (Pt 2)

Those Hands Pulled Me From The Earth

(I Will Not Ask You) Where You Came From

Kiss Like Real People Do (AHKUDHUSdHBE JUST IMAGINE THE POTENTIAL-)

Eyes Always Seeking

In Some Sad Way, I Already Know

It Will Come Back:

You Know Better, Babe

Talk To It Like That (My mind went STRAIGHT to the gutter when I read it out of context)

Don't Give It A Hand, Offer A Soul

Leave It To The Land

Don't Let It In With No Intentions To Keep It

It Will Come Back

Smile At Me Like That

Hold Me

I'm Something Else When I See You (Myyy heaaart!!! Grumpy x Sunshine title for sure!!)

You Don't Understand, You Should Never Know

How Easy You Are To Need

It Can't Be Unlearned

The Warmth Of Your Doorways

Oh, Please, Give Me Mercy No More (WHUMP POTENTIAL!!!)

A Kindness You Can't Afford

Howling Outside Your Door

Foreigner's God:

Moved In Shameless Wonder

The Perfect Creature Rarely Seen

When The Land Was Godless And Free

Into The Empty Parts Of Me

My Heart Is Heavy

Always A Well Dressed Fraud

Never For Me

The Purest Expression Of Grief (HEAR ME OUT!! HEAR ME OUT!!)

Tender Charm

The Broken Love I Made To Them (Changed pronouns for inclusivity!)

Foreign To Me

Cherry Wine:

Eyes And Words Are So Icy

Like Rum On A Fire

Hot And Fast And Angry (Mad smut mad smut mad smut mad smut mad-)

I Walk My Days On A Wire

Oh Mama, Don't Fuss Over Me

The Blood Is Rare And Sweet As Cherry Wine (*glances at the Twilight fandom nervously*)

The Sheets Of Some Other

But I Want It, It's A Crime

Not Around Most Of The Time

I'm Their's And They're Mine (Inclusivity!!)

Fight And Fury Is Fiery

Loves Like Sleep To The Freezing

Sweet And Right And Merciful

It's Worth It (Pt 1)

It's Divine (Pt 2)

In The Woods Somewhere:

My Head Was Warm, My Skin Was Soaked

When I Awoke, The Moon Still Hung

The Darkness Hummed

I Prayed My Mind Be Good To Me

Into The Trees With Empty Hands

His Bone Exposed, His Hind Was Lame, I Raise A Stone To End His Pain (A lil long, but I think it sounds nice✨)

What Caused The Wound?

To Save A Life I Didn't Have

Forgot All Prayers Of Joining You

My Dearest Love, I'm Not Done Yet

Something In The Woods Somewhere

Run:

Rare Is This Love, Keep It Covered (FORBIDDEN LOVERS!!! I'LL DIE ON THIS HILL OF THIS BEING THE BEST TROPE)

Run To Me, Lover

Until You Feel Your Lungs Bleeding (HANAHAKI?? HANAHAKI!!)

To Be Twisted By Something (A knife? A rope? Possibilities are endless!)

A Shame Without A Sin

Rushing To The Shore To Meet

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haledamage · 11 months

Text

A cure I know that soothes the soul

started as a prompt fill for @queen-scribbles for the prompt “a kiss on the corner of the mouth, hoping for more but expecting nothing”, but it went completely off of the rails and onto the dining table so I decided to post it separately even though it technically fits the prompt. the new prompt fill is proving to be just as lengthy but not quite as smutty. also tagging @agentnatesewell since you asked me to 💖

Kira/Nate, almost 3400 words, sometime vaguely near the end or just after book 3, at the very least after they’ve both confessed how they feel. nsfw, due to explicit sexual situations and also due to improper use of antique furniture

---

Kira awoke with a gasp, fear and adrenaline continuing to race through her even as the remnants of her dream fell away and she started to recognise her surroundings.

She was in her bedroom at the Warehouse.

Safe.

Alone.

It was still well before sunrise, no light creeping in around the edges of her thick, dark curtains.

The details of the dream were already fading by the time she sat up in bed, but the fear lingered, raking sharp claws down her spine. With it came the prickly feeling of being watched, no matter how many times she glanced at the room’s shadowed corners to assure herself no one was there.

The unease still didn’t fade as she untangled the blankets from around her legs. Or when she found her phone, knocked from the nightstand to the floor at some point in the night (it cheerfully announced the time to be 3:35AM). Or after slipping into the en suite to splash some water on her face at the sink.

Out of ideas, Kira crept out into the hall, moving as quietly as possible in the direction of the kitchen and, hopefully, a cup of tea to help calm her nerves.

She slowed her approach when she saw the light already on, hesitating in the hall.

Maybe the library would be a better choice. She was still too on edge to be good company right now, and she didn’t want to unload her baggage onto whichever unsuspecting vampire had beaten her here.

As if summoned by her decision to sneak away, Nate’s face appeared in the kitchen doorway.

“Kira?” He gave her a surprised but welcoming smile. “Is everything all right?”

Some of her anxiety faded at the sound of his voice, enough for her to manage a small smile in return. “I’m fine,” she said reflexively. She took a deep breath and tried again, the truth this time. “I had a bad dream, that’s all. Just trying to clear my head.”

His brow furrowed with a worried frown, and he took a step toward her before stopping, uncertainty overtaking his concern as he pulled back. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She shook her head, but closed some of the distance between them, a silent offer to meet him halfway. “I don’t actually remember it. I just remember… something watching me. Or chasing me?” She shook her head again, crossing her arms to stifle a shudder. “I can’t seem to shake it off.”

Nate moved closer, though he still stopped a little outside arm’s reach and held out a hand. Making it clear that he was leaving the decision up to her; proving that he’d been listening.

“Come here, ya rouhi,” he whispered, a request, almost a plea.

Kira didn’t need to be asked twice. She crossed what space still remained immediately, bypassing the extended hand to instead wrap her arms around him. With a chuckle tinged with relief, Nate returned the hug, and she melted into the warmth of his embrace.

“What can I do?” he asked, kissing the top of her head, her temple, her cheek. “What do you need?”

“Just you, love.”

They stood there like that for a long time, the hallway quiet and dark except for the light peeking through the kitchen doorway. Slowly, Kira’s heart rate returned to normal, the prickly uneasy feeling fading enough that she could ignore it.

Eventually, Nate pulled away, just enough to see her face. He brushed her hair out of her eyes before settling his hand against her cheek. “Feel better?”

“Much better.” She let her eyes drift closed as she leaned into his touch. “Thank you.”

“Trust me, it’s my pleasure.” He leaned down to press a gentle kiss to her lips. “You should get some more sleep.”

It wasn’t a question, but it felt like one. He was leaving the choice in her hands whether she went back to bed or stayed there with him.

It was the easiest choice she’d had to make in months. “Can I stay here for a while? I don’t want to be alone right now.”

There was a brief, weighty pause. And then Nate’s body language changed, his touch shifting from comforting to purposeful, his hand sliding from her cheek down to her neck. His thumb slowly caressed the edge of her jaw, gentle, unhurried, maddening.

His voice changed too, dropping lower into something sultry and sinful. “Perhaps we just need to get your mind off of it.”

“Oh?” Kira tried to feign innocence, but the flush spreading over her face gave her away. “And how do you intend to do that?”

His lips brushed her cheek, just at the corner of her mouth, pulling back as she turned her head to try and kiss him properly. “I could make you some tea.”

“Tea. Of course. That sounds…” she licked her lips, fighting not to smile as his eyes darkened in response, “soothing.”

He repeated the motion on her other cheek, lips barely brushing her skin. “Or we could find you a book to read.”

She threaded her fingers into his hair and leaned up on tip-toe to close some of the height difference. “Sure. Reading can certainly be a… stimulating distraction.”

His arm tightened around her waist, helping her balance while also pressing their bodies flush together. “Or…”

Kira didn’t know if Nate intended to finish that sentence, but she didn’t wait to find out. “Nate,” she whispered against his lips. “Give me something else to think about.”

The words were barely out of her mouth before he was kissing her, slow and intense and already with an edge of urgency. Like he was starving for it, for her, like with each press and drag of his lips he was trying to make up for every minute he’d spent not kissing her--including the three hundred years before they’d met.

She opened for him eagerly, meeting his hunger with her own, swallowing his groan as the kiss deepened. They stumbled in the vague direction of the kitchen, both of them unwilling to untangle enough to watch where they’re going. They missed the doorway, but Nate’s back hit the wall next to it and that was good enough.

Kira dragged her mouth away from his to trail kisses down his neck instead. Her fingers were clumsy on the buttons of his shirt, too much need and not enough grace. “Maybe we should take this somewhere more private. In case the others wake up.”

In an unexpected display of impatience, he took over the task of unbuttoning his shirt, getting it undone and open in a flash of superhuman dexterity. He breathed out a gratified moan when her hands grazed his bare skin.

Task completed, one of his hands tangled in her hair, guiding her lips back to his, though he continued to try to speak between kisses. “They are all out on patrol. They won’t be back for hours.”

“Okay--” Kira started to reply, but her words were lost in a yelp as she was suddenly lifted from the ground. Her legs wrapped automatically around his waist without waiting for any input from her brain--which was good, because it appeared to have short-circuited entirely.

Nate looked up at her with a pleased grin that would’ve looked cocky on anyone else. “But perhaps it would be best to have a door between us and them. Just in case.”

She just nodded, not trusting her voice, clinging to his shoulders a little harder than necessary.

His grin sharpened to a sultry smirk. “Is something wrong, Kira?”

“Nope,” she answered, too quickly, blush darkening her face from the reminder that he could read her reaction so easily. “I knew you were strong, I just hadn’t considered what… other applications that could have.”

That wasn’t true, and they both knew it.

“And now?”

“Now, I’m considering. Intently.” Her hands found their way inside his open shirt again, exploring every inch of skin they could reach.

They didn’t do much better watching where they were going this time either, too wrapped up in each other, but somehow managed not to trip over anything. Nate carried her effortlessly, holding her with only one arm as he closed the kitchen door behind them with the other. It was still far from “private,” but Kira was having trouble caring about much beyond the lips on her skin and the arms around her and the hard length she could feel pressed between her thighs.

Eventually, they made it to Nate’s intended destination, and Kira let out a breathless laugh as he set her down carefully on the dining table. “You’ve been thinking about this since that comment I made at Tina’s, haven’t you?”

“Oh, my sweet Kira…” the way he said her name made her shiver; so did the look in his eyes, “I’ve been thinking about this since I bought the table.”

Her eyes slammed shut as that knowledge hit its target, along with all the implications that came with it. “Fuck.”

For once, Nate didn’t wince at her swearing. He just chuckled, low and smooth and clearly very pleased with himself.

Since his arms were now unoccupied, his hands instead found their way under her shirt, skimming purposefully up her sides and over her ribs, rucking the fabric up as he went. “Perhaps I should tell you the thoughts I’ve had about the sofas in the library as well.”

Tempting as it was, she shook that thought off--though she had no doubt she would remember this next time she had research to do. “I’d like that. Later.” She pressed her palm to the front of his jeans, dragging her hand over the hard swell of his cock. “Right now, I’d rather you just fuck me.”

Nate’s head fell back, eyes fluttering closed, jaw clenching around the low rumble of a growl that Kira could feel more than hear. He stayed that way, seemingly lost in sensation for the moment, barely moving beyond the restless stuttering of his hips as she mapped the shape of him through the thick denim.

“You are so bloody beautiful like this,” she murmured, releasing him just long enough to undo his belt and pull down his zipper so she could free him from his jeans. “I would almost think I’m still dreaming, but my dreams are never this lovely.”

He shushed her, pressing his thumb to her lips, the rest of his hand curling almost possessively around the curve of her jaw. “No more talk about dreams. We’re here to--” a sharp gasp escaped him as she took him in hand, “--to get your mind off of that.”

A smirk grew across her lips, widening as Nate traced the curve of it. “Oh, is that the only reason we’re doing this? How generous of you.”

“I would do anything for you,” he vowed without hesitation, followed by a groan as her tongue darted out to lick the tip of his thumb. He watched the motion with rapt attention. “But I won’t pretend my intentions were entirely altruistic.”

She turned her head to kiss his palm, then the inside of his wrist. “Good. You could stand to be a little selfish.”

There was something wild in his eyes when they met hers again. Untethered. But also fragile, like he could shatter if she touched him the right way.

Kira decided to risk it anyway. Without breaking eye contact, she leaned down and licked a broad stripe along the underside of his cock.

He swore under his breath, the language not one she recognized but the sentiment behind it clear enough. It was such a lovely reaction that she did it again, slower, savoring the taste of him as well as the sounds he made.

The angle made it difficult to do much more than tease him, but Nate clearly didn’t mind, praise falling from his lips in a mix of languages as if it was a struggle to hold on to any of them for long. She could identify some of them, and heard her name interspersed throughout, muttered like a prayer between endearments, ya rouhi, cariad, zhizn moya, mon cœur, beloved.

It wasn’t long before he’s tugging at her with shaking hands, the words “Kira” and “wait” exhaled on a shuddering sigh. She stopped immediately, leaning back to give him room to catch his breath--but instead of doing so he just followed her, claiming her lips in a bruising kiss, pressing her down until she was laying on the table again.

“You are exquisite.” He kissed the corner of her mouth, followed by another at the edge of her jaw. “You make me feel…” He trailed off, as if none of the words he had were sufficient. She knew the feeling.

His lips found the sensitive spot behind her ear, a shaky sigh escaping him as she arched her neck to give him better access, baring her throat to him.

“One of these days,” he said in a voice like rolling thunder - deep, exhilarating, a promise of things to come, “I’m going to get you somewhere I can take my time with you.”

Before she could respond, he was moving down, nipping at her collarbone and the crook of her neck. His hands were as restless as his lips, grabbing and caressing and kneading but never staying in one place for long, as if he was trying to touch her everywhere at once.

“Somewhere I can spend hours exploring you.” His fangs just barely scraped against her skin, a slight sting before he soothed it with a sweep of his tongue. It sent electricity sparking through her, setting her alight. “I want to learn every way you like to be touched. Every sound you make.”

Long, elegant fingers traced up the inside of her thigh and past the hem of her sleep shorts - Kira had never been so grateful to the summer heat for convincing her not to wear long pants - pushing them aside along with her underwear to delve into her slick folds.

She whined, high and helpless and shaped vaguely like his name, and Nate echoed it with a broken groan. His lips found their way back to hers, kissing her with the same torturously slow rhythm of his fingers, licking into her mouth as he pressed into her.

“I wish I had the patience for it tonight,” he breathed between kisses, “but you are irresistible.” He pulled his hand away, swallowing her whimper of protest. “I will do my best to make it up to you next time.”

It was a struggle for Kira to find her voice. Desire simmered under her skin like a living thing, burning away all semblance of thought or language until all she had left was “Nate, please.”

Those were the only words she needed. As soon as they were out of her mouth, Nate was lining himself up and pushing into her, slow and relentless, until their hips were flush against each other.

She groaned at the delicious stretch as he filled her, a shiver coursing through her. The motion made his hips jerk forward, hands clutching hard at her thighs, which in turn made her clench around him. An echo chamber of sensation, bouncing endlessly between them.

“Kira,” Nate pleaded, completely undone and devastatingly beautiful, “I can’t--” He growled between clenched teeth, all his eloquence lost under desire.

Kira knew what he was trying to say. She pulled him down to kiss him, all open mouths and tangling tongues. “Don’t hold back,” and then, again, “Nate, please.”

There was nothing tender or gentle about the way they moved together, both of them too far gone, desperate and driven.

Nate only barely stayed within the bounds of human ability, thrusts just a touch faster than a mortal man could manage, grip a little too strong, leaving bruises on her hips and thighs that he’d feel guilty about in the morning. Kira didn’t mind them; she just wished her own marks didn’t fade so quickly, that she could leave some visible proof that she wasn’t still dreaming.

The pleasure built quickly, coiling in her belly, growing tighter and tighter with every movement, every thrust and kiss and broken sound. She could already see the end in sight, and she tried to hold herself back, to slow down just a little and savor it, but then he shifted, changing angles and sliding into her just so--

She careened over the edge with barely any warning, and he followed close behind her. They held each other together as they shattered and shook apart.

It could have been minutes or hours later when Kira became aware of her surroundings again. The kitchen was quiet except for their slowing breathing, the sky still dark through the window over the sink. Nate loomed warm and heavy above her, his forehead resting on her chest over the still-racing beat of her heart.

She combed her fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his face enough to plant a weak kiss on his temple. That took the last energy she had, and her head fell back on the table with a dull thunk. “You know, I have to say, Victorian carpenters really knew their shit.” She gave the table a fond pat. “Very sturdy construction.”

Nate’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. “I’m sure they’d be happy to know their work is still appreciated.” He lifted his head enough to meet her eyes, expression blissful and adoring. “Though perhaps not quite in the manner it was intended.”

“We’re getting pretty good at using furniture in ways it wasn’t intended.”

He hummed in agreement and appreciation. “More than ‘pretty good,’ I think.” With a groan, he pushed himself off of her and sluggishly got to his feet, offering a hand to help her clamber somewhat-gracefully off the table. “But perhaps we should give it a break and take this elsewhere.”

It wasn’t a question, but it felt like one, and Kira let herself consider it while they put their clothes back to rights and checked to make sure they hadn’t left the kitchen a mess. It wasn’t that she didn’t know the answer; it was that she wasn’t sure she was brave enough to ask it yet.

As if he could sense her hesitation, Nate stepped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She leaned gratefully into his embrace, sighing contentedly when he kissed her cheek. “I should probably get some more sleep.”

“I agree,” he said neutrally, not giving her any insight into his own thoughts.

She closed her eyes and forced the words out in a whisper he probably wouldn’t have heard if he were human, admitting for the second time that night, “I don’t want to be alone.”

It was harder to say than it had been the first time. ‘Alone’ was what she’d always done best; she wasn’t quite sure who she was without it. Part of her thought it would be safer to just face the nightmares again.

He spun her around so he could kiss her, in equal parts comfort and relief. And then kissed her again, just because he could. “Would you…” he swallowed hard, and it made her feel better to know he was nervous too, “would it be all right if I stayed with you awhile? At least until you fall asleep.”

Kira liked that he made it sound like his idea, asking if he could rather than if she wanted him to. It took some of the pressure off, made her feel a little less vulnerable when she confessed, “I’d like that.” She could feel his smile when he kissed her again. “My room or yours?”

“Mine.” There was a hint of a purr in Nate’s voice, despite what they’d just finished doing. “I’ve wanted to get you in my bed for some time now.”

She laughed, feeling a knot of tension that had been lingering finally begin to unravel. “Then take me to bed, love.”

No sooner than the words were out, he lifted her off the ground once again, chuckling as she yelped in surprise. He carried her down the hall at close-to-human speed.

The bedroom door closed behind them just before the rest of the team returned home.

#rhi writes #twc #the wayhaven chronicles #kira kingston #kira/nate #am I brave enough to put this on ao3? I haven't decided yet #it feels weird to say but writing this helped me figure out a lot about where their relationship stands post-book 3 #but I'm not gonna rant about that in the tags it deserves its own post eventually #this also may be one of my favorite things I've ever written :3 #I love them so much and I want them to be happy #and to have so much sex on so many surfaces that aren't their actual beds lmao #title is from hozier's song 'moment's silence' because it felt appropriate and also because of who I am as a person

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