It seems no one have used the post for writing yet? I'm stuck at a family dinner surrounded by screaming children and it seems as good a time as any, so I'll start.
***
Clark hears it, a quiet exhale, a considering, promising sound that somehow reverberates all the way up his spine, giving him goosebumps despite the fact that they're indoors in a crowded kitchen, with the oven on no less. Not for the first time that evening he wishes his hearing weren't so sensitive -- there is simply no way he can ignore Bruce's muscles shifting under his shirt as he follows Clark's every move, his lips parting whenever Clark is turned or stretched or bent at a certain angle, his heart speeding up like a siren call. If Bruce's smirk the few times Clark catches his eyes is anything to go by, the man knows exactly what he's doing. Clark has had to turn away every time, face hot, reminding himself over and over that they have company.
Very stern, very rowdy, very superhuman company.
A family gathering, his mother has said, to celebrate the return of my boy. Three whole years have passed for everyone but him, Clark is not going to pretend that it doesn't hurt to see Lois intertwining her fingers with Diana's, his engagement ring held on a chain round her neck as a keepsake. He also can't, however, pretend that is doesn't hurt less compared to when he woke up six months ago. Perhaps because he didn't spend a second of those six months alone -- just not with the company he would expect.
The last chunk of carrot splits neatly into four under his knife. Clark looks up at his mother's puttering back, looks over at Alfred's dismissive wave, casts his gaze around one more time, desperate for something else to chop--
--and finds none, obviously. Bruce is leaving his seat by the table, throwing one last look over his shoulder before disappearing into the dark hallway. Clark despairs. It is Thanksgiving, the whole League plus his ex-girlfriend are in various degrees of inebriation all over his childhood home, here he is trying to be a good born-again Superman, and Bruce is practically taunting him to misbehave?
The turtleneck thing
***
Clark hears it, a quiet exhale, a considering, promising sound that somehow reverberates all the way up his spine, giving him goosebumps despite the fact that they're indoors in a crowded kitchen, with the oven on no less. Not for the first time that evening he wishes his hearing weren't so sensitive -- there is simply no way he can ignore Bruce's muscles shifting under his shirt as he follows Clark's every move, his lips parting whenever Clark is turned or stretched or bent at a certain angle, his heart speeding up like a siren call. If Bruce's smirk the few times Clark catches his eyes is anything to go by, the man knows exactly what he's doing. Clark has had to turn away every time, face hot, reminding himself over and over that they have company.
Very stern, very rowdy, very superhuman company.
A family gathering, his mother has said, to celebrate the return of my boy. Three whole years have passed for everyone but him, Clark is not going to pretend that it doesn't hurt to see Lois intertwining her fingers with Diana's, his engagement ring held on a chain round her neck as a keepsake. He also can't, however, pretend that is doesn't hurt less compared to when he woke up six months ago. Perhaps because he didn't spend a second of those six months alone -- just not with the company he would expect.
The last chunk of carrot splits neatly into four under his knife. Clark looks up at his mother's puttering back, looks over at Alfred's dismissive wave, casts his gaze around one more time, desperate for something else to chop--
--and finds none, obviously. Bruce is leaving his seat by the table, throwing one last look over his shoulder before disappearing into the dark hallway. Clark despairs. It is Thanksgiving, the whole League plus his ex-girlfriend are in various degrees of inebriation all over his childhood home, here he is trying to be a good born-again Superman, and Bruce is practically taunting him to misbehave?
Clark really, really hates to be underestimated.