silver_lined | Well, I stumble through the dark and light a candle...

He wanted to reach out, reach over, put him back in the right position. He knew how much pain Bruce must be in, could see his nerves screaming, but to tell him the danger would be to tell him other things. Things he wouldn't tell Bruce. Not when he was kissing him. Not when his hand was in his hair.

He always paid attention to Bruce. Always.

Bruce didn't stop kissing Clark until he was good and well done kissing him, but then he put himself back in a position that didn't make a body he'd broken and abused for decades try and exact revenge on him.

He left his hand in Clark's hair, anyway, closed his eyes and waited for a second or two for the protest to stop and to catch his breath.

And pretended to be completely diverted while he did it. In truth, he more or less was.

Clark let him lose his fingers in his hair and shifted his head the tiniest amount to move his fingers without his own effort.

He'd let his eyes close, but he peeked one open to see Bruce's eyes. He loved Bruce's eyes. They were still the most beautiful ice blue. Always had been, always would be.

His hand reached up and stroked Bruce's cheek. The skin was soft, papery, but it was Bruce's. And he could still see the faint sheen of rainbow light around Bruce that he'd loved to watch for years.

Bruce was exhausted. He wrote it off as a result of his trip into the past, and that was a large part of it. The minimal effort involved in rolling over and kissing Clark - and the pain caused by it - played a role, too.

It frustrated him, anyway. It frustrated him enough that even as exhaustion and the warmth of Clark's fingers on his cheek eased him toward sleep (if only because they were warm, Clark's, and soothing), Bruce fought it like hell. Actually growled through his teeth, just a bit.

"You know I can tell when you fake it."

"Who's faking anything?" he asked as he opened the eye a little further.

"I'm just seesawing between one pleasure and another. I like looking at you."

"Sleeping with one eye open to watch me?" he asked, sounding impossibly fond as well as a little exasperated. He tightened his fingers and gave Clark's hair a gentle tug - even by old man standards. "You're allowed to sleep, Clark. Look at me later."

He spent time here. There would be a book and reading glasses around for him in reach.

"I'm allowed to sleep when I'm tired," he huffed back before turning to give that arm a kiss to the inside. "I'm going to grab a book and settle in for a bit. Nothing pressing."

"I promise not to make another unsolicited trip until at least tomorrow," he said, a little drily. He let go of Clark, though, and switched hands to reach for his reading glasses and book.

In truth, by the time Clark made it back he'd almost certainly be asleep, no matter how fast Clark moved.

He was asleep, his reading glasses drooped on his nose. Clark reached over, pulled them gently off of his face, and put it over onto the dresser. The book hadn't even made it into his hands but he put Bruce's hands back together in the antigrav field so he could cradle him properly.

Bruce had his own book but he never read the book when Bruce was asleep. Instead, he laid down beside Bruce and watched him, running his hands up and down the other man's arms, his chest, along his sides. There was a feel to a touch, something unique and special, when it came to every single person. Every person was an experience and Bruce...

He'd take every bit of Bruce he could get.

When Bruce was much younger that sort of attention would have woken him up in a heartbeat. He was past that point. He knew Clark, inside and out- loved him, trusted him, to degrees and depths that nothing but time could build. Unshakable, infinitely deep, and complete.

It did serve to keep him from slipping too deep, going past sleep and into something dangerous.

He slept deeply, anyway. Kept sleeping deeply for hours.

Right up until pulse slowed down a little too far and his breathing went shallow and then he jolted awake and started coughing.

Clark moved almost instantly, reaching up to brace him and hold both the back of his neck and his chest to keep both of them from moving too much and causing damage.

"Careful," he said quickly, "careful. Even out. I'll get you some water once you even out."

Bruce grabbed onto Clark, where Clark was bracing his chest and actually had enough strength in his grip that if he'd been holding onto a human he would have been leaving indentations in skin and grinding bones together.

It was - panic-fueled. Neither panic nor that surge of strength lasted longer than it took him to do what Clark told him to do and gain enough control of himself to actually breathe (instead of the self-defeating hacking attempt to get a lot of air at once.)

He... evened it out. Will power.

"If you're going to bribe me..." It was tired and still short of breath but. Willpower.

Edited 2015-12-24 03:50 (UTC)

"I'd offer something better, but I was trying to get you to calm down," he said smoothly. The squeeze had been frantic but it'd been a good sign. Bruce's strength was uneven but it'd been slowly decreasing. That had been a good firm grip.

Bruce snorted and closed his eyes and kept working on just continuing to get his breathing to even out. "You could always try a nice glass of scotch," he snarked. Okay, that sounded more normal. He had this breathing thing back under control. His heart still felt strange, but it was evening out, too.

"Though I suppose I'll take your water and like it, since you're delivering."

He'd made a promise. He was going to keep it. Besides, he had - less of an idea what was going on than Clark did, and Clark wasn't freaking out.

"You get a nice glass of scotch when you've been awake for a bit," he said firmly, because scotch could put him right out. And he would admit, he was greedy for time with him. The more time he spent asleep, the less time he could have.

It was so selfish, but he couldn't help it.

Bruce agreed; he was likely to go right the hell back to sleep if he drank anything like a good scotch and that wasn't - that wasn't what he wanted or Clark needed.

He let go of Clark's hand and pushed back a little against the hand at his neck. "Set a timer," he grumped.

He didn't even want the damned stuff, he wanted Clark to know he was okay. "Do that while you're getting my water, and think about getting something to eat while you're at it." Or some sun, but that was basically eating for Clark.

Look, he'd stop worrying when he was actually dead. And not a second before.

"I don't need to set a timer," he said with a snort as he pushed himself out of the bed.

"I'm Superman."

He stood a few feet away from Bruce, looking him over thoughtfully before turning his gaze back to Bruce's eyes.

"And I'll eat something when you eat something."

"Superman's a dirty, rotten, manipulative bastard."

He smiled, faintly, though. Recognizing what Clark was doing didn't mean it wouldn't work. "Fine, if that's what it takes for you to take care of yourself, bring something back for me, too." He got himself propped a bit more upright in the bed. "But I expect to see you eat."

Clark was so focused on him, these days... He may as well manipulate back. Whatever it took. He loved the man. Really, really, loved him. Lived for him.

Edited 2015-12-24 04:51 (UTC)

"Superman learned from the best," and he walked over to press a kiss over Bruce's hair before heading to the kitchen. He went quickly, his ears carefully monitoring Bruce's vitals as he finished up the shake for them both.

Soon enough, he was back with a covered cup for Bruce (antigrav made things difficult) and a glass for himself.

"Liquid lunch."

Nothing changed in the time it took Clark to fix lunch, except Bruce figuring out how to settle himself better in a bed that didn't have gravity and to seriously contemplate getting up so as not to fall asleep again.

He made a rude noise when Clark came back with the cup. "For god's sake, Clark, turn the field off while I'm 'eating', and while we're at it only one of us needs to get their calories through a straw. When was the last time you actually ate anything? That you had to chew?"

...He was, just possibly, going to get more overbearing about this as his health declined. That scare when he woke up had rattled him, but not for his sake.

"I didn't feel like getting a tray or spilling food all over the bed," he pointed out with a snort. Practical. He was just being practical. But he turned off the field by request.

Which wasn't an answer, but it was the answer he was giving.

Bruce's jaw clenched and his eyes closed when the field turned off, but only for a moment and then he was fumbling a bit and prying the lid off his liquid lunch. Because he wasn't a toddler, dammit, and he was - frustrated and scared.

For Clark.

"When was the last time you ate, Clark?"

And not letting it go. Just getting - quiet about it.

"I eat every time you eat," he pointed out with a lift of the glass, taking a long sip to show Bruce that yes, he ate. Most of the time, he made sure to get sunshine, but right now he was eating.

"And I'm eating now."

Dammit, Kal.

What was he supposed to do? Point out that he was ancient and falling apart and human and Clark was an alien who was barely starting to turn grey? That would make for a comfortable evening together, wouldn't it?

He took a drink from his glass, too, though frankly his appetite was actually non-existent. "You're still an idiot."

And, yes, that was him rolling over for Clark. Just like he tended to do when he was really worried about Clark.

"I'll make myself a mushroom burger when I go to get you your scotch," he offered as he reached over and pulled Bruce's hand to his lips for a soft kiss to the fingers.

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