#darkdetective

“Awh come on-!”The arrow goes loose from its quiver, bringing terror upon the local flora in fear of the Bat, who has always had a knack for catching him at the wrong time. Anybody else would feel chastened, but for the men behind the masks, history provides him his fair share of marks. Call it growing pains or a shared dorm at Princeton and honorary IDs to the “college drop-out” club, there’s a cavalier sensibility that guides him from the cape and cowl to the tree.

“When the time,” Not to mention the aim. Thought the sharpshot with a wince, plucking the arrowhead out from bark.

It is with little fanfare that Krypton’s son descends upon Gotham’s knight, whose fealty is sworn to the great city and the sweeping dark of her eves, and whose back is now at the wall of his haunt. He has been blessed with the knowledge of what he means to the Bat, if not the words out of the man’s mouth. That is the beauty of understanding, knowing without a doubt that he is treasured and loved in a way that scares a paragon of fear, that *allows* him to dig his fingers into the meat of his thighs as Clark steals kiss after kiss.

“I love you.” He breathes.

[ HEAT ] while in the middle of a make-out session, sender pushes the receiver up against the wall, unwittingly heating things up even more

It is rare that the dark detective’s attention is pulled from the task at hand—any task. To say he has laser focus is being kind. The man is an obsessive. Fortunately for him, his constant capricious mistress demands this of him and so much more. It is welcome, therefore, when a distraction comes along—and oh, what a sweet distraction is the farm boy from Kansas.

The stolen kisses become gifts, given in earnest and good faith, with great care. There are few people in this world who are kept in the Bat’s confidences—fewer still who could hope to get this close. And only one who needn’t hope. Superman’s deliberateness in the way he grasps and holds the caped crusader is a testament to this secret, powerful thing they have—almost too deep to be quantified.

Strange, that a four letter word could mean so much when the fathoms of it seem almost to have been plumbed to their limits.

Almost.

Wrapping his legs tighter around the Man of Steel’s waist, Batman pulls himself closer. “I hate when you pick me up.”

His eyebrows rise. Evidently he is not the only detective in the city. Well, given the size, that’s a foregone conclusion. The point is that someone is indeed picking up on a change, though, admittedly, he’s not tried terribly hard to pretend much of anything… beyond the usual.

Being Batman and all.

Batman grunts, shifting the microscope's stage a little, eyes narrow, lips pursed. He is deep into his work, but his ears are always attuned to Clark's voice.

"Sure."

It isn't as if he can't say no to Superman; there's simply no need.

"Do me a favor, Clark... lose the sense of humor." Batman's eyes narrowed behind his cowl as he worked, jaw tight, on removing the piece of kryptonite lodged in Superman's chest. Metallo was mere feet away, only dirt and old oak between him and them and this was not the time for jokes.

He doesn't look up from the micro-weld repair he is performing on the Batmobile, parked in some steaming Gotham alley, far from most prying eyes. Evidently not all, though he does not seem to bristle.