multiversallogs | then the riddle gets solved and you push me up to this

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then the riddle gets solved and you push me up to this

Who: ~~Bruce~~ Tom & Seoraj.
What: Camping, completely free of ulterior ~~alibi~~ motive.
Where: North of Flag Hill.
When: Beginning roughly on the 30th.
Warnings: Weirdness, violence, sexuality.

They leave early, because that's the tradition of camping - before dawn, as they have to make it up to the northern edge of the city proper first ("'Morning-") - the provisional shops built into the cliff face that hosts the treacherous ways up into the forests are helpful, the proprietors less so; that they generally profit off fools isn't anything they keep quiet. Bruce isn't bothered. Cold morning air and physical exertion with dirt under his hands makes some far-off part of him feel at peace.

It's just starting to become properly bright out when they reach the summit that'll lead them into the woods, and he takes a moment to stop and look out over the view of the city. Up here it's quiet, but not silent - it's not an absence of sound, but an absence of people, and looking down on Baedal from the vantage point of the highest natural point in the only landscape they have available makes it feel like another world.

Remarkable.

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Hot running water sounds like a much more satisfying experience than dragging his aching bones all the way down home, and Seoraj doesn't take a great deal of convincing (or ... any, there's so much of him to drag) to get to the lodge. Dirt, grime, sweat, blood; it feels ground into his skin and he feels uncommonly like himself.

“You ever ask me to go for a walk,” he says, reflectively, dropping his pack down, “I'm getting the definition of walk from you first.”

Bruce is all too happy to be able to put his gear down, and he's surprised (wryly) at how comfortable their accommodations immediately strike him: low-ceilinged, almost lopsided, wood floors and walls and no windows, the back of the inn against the mountain and the front of their room against a hallway. The bathroom is practically a steam room, rustic and scalding. Perfect.

"Poor tactic," he observes, quiet as he pulls one boot off for the first time in days. "Ask me what the road will be like."

Walking is walking, it just depends on where.

Seoraj laughs quietly, a low and rough sound that suits the close warmth of their surroundings, which is more or less a concession to Bruce's point. If ever there was a man with whom you need to start learning to read fine print...

Not, mind, that he means to say he wouldn't go.

Investigating the bathroom instead of continuing that conversation, the door's ajar when the sound of water comes on, steam rising as the temperature heats up. Seoraj, untying the top-knot and braids in front of the bathroom mirror, considers his reflection and-- reflects, for a minute, on the situations in which he keeps finding himself lately. Funny how these things work out. Moments.

He leans sideways so Bruce can see him through the door.

“You coming, or what?”

...look, he's always been straightforward.

When that query is voiced (challenge is issued?), Bruce is out of his boots and jacket and is working on his belt buckle. He glances up, inquisitive (interested), and the barely-there quirk of his eyebrow is only a vague nod towards the potential hilarious crassness of that question. Hell would, after all, freeze over if Bruce Wayne made a dick joke.

What he does instead of speaking is tug his belt off and drop it in the pile of discarded climbing gear before meandering over to the stream room doorway, shirt pulled over his head along the way. He's bruised and cut up in places, but it's nothing compared to the remnants of days gone by; the bullet holes are the most suspect, but really - at this point, Bruce doesn't think Seoraj is going to be surprised at the state of him.

He doesn't hesitate. He pauses. It's not a terrible sight, from his angle.

Given the way that they met, and the tenor of all subsequent dealings (yes), Seoraj would probably be more surprised if Bruce didn't look like fifty miles of hard road; he has enough scars of his own that it doesn't even merit a raised eyebrow, not really. He hasn't figured out what made this man, but figuring him out is not exactly what it's all been about, anyway.

--he has no idea what it's about, he never had a plan, but here they are and it works, so he doesn't pause and he doesn't hesitate and he stops overthinking it because that's never really been his style. If there's something tentative about the way he moves toward him, reaches for him, there are two reasons for that: one, that Bruce is a pain in the ass to get a grip on at the best of times, and two, that he's still figuring out exactly where he wants to put his hands.

(Lots of places.)

Indecision is for other people - people who aren't half undressed and in a shower with the object of their desire, anyway - and if there's any doubt Bruce isn't on board it's killed by the way he steps forward; palms against Seoraj's abdomen, his chest, up to his shoulders and he kisses him, straightforward without being aggressive (this will always feel new to him, he thinks, no matter who it is).

Something in the back of his head chides him about rushing when parts of them are still bleeding but in this moment (his pants are still on, which is kind of funny, but it's not like they don't need washed), he doesn't really... care, or want to acknowledge that being an option at all.

The most disconcerting thing here is just the abrupt reminder that he has some height on Bruce, inches and mass - he's just not someone that Seoraj thinks of as being smaller than he is, and it doesn't really matter or mean anything, it's not as though he's small (...shut up), it's just something that's briefly unexpected for a moment before it becomes unimportant again. Rushing water and how close they are, that's more interesting and more immediate; he's more undressed, kilts being in a pain in the arse to clean and something he's going to deal with when he gets home and not before, his clothes in a pile in the corner.

His fingers splay out against Bruce's side, just under his ribs and sliding up, lazily intent, like he's got all the goddamn time in the world.

The height difference doesn't seem to bother Bruce, or even really register - it does, a slightly nagging note that's quieter now than it was a heartbeat ago, reminding him of why, exactly, this is always going to feel revelatory. But the memory begins and ends with height, and it doesn't cling; it's long past its ability to hold onto him and Bruce wouldn't let it, now.

He's not even got anything in his head that compares to this sort of sweet-natured attention, anyway.

Chest pressed against the other man's, Bruce slides his fingers through braided hair, over the back of his head, something he's wanted to do for a while. The slight pang as Seoraj's hand moves higher on the presumed-to-be-superficial bruise isn't enough to make him flinch, but he does move his hand a moment later, partly to let the muscles retract and partly with the ulterior motive of pushing the edge of his pants down, and... all right, that does make him flinch a little.

Bruce leans back a bit, staring down (not there) at his side, expression somewhere in between puzzlement and faint annoyance. He's in the middle of something here, rib cage, what the hell.

When Bruce shifts, Seoraj follows his gaze down (shut up) and the next time his hand moves it's (unfortunately) less sexual and more testing, feeling for injury with an eyebrow raised and the familiarity of experience (because if there's one thing he knows, it's figuring out how bad somebody fucked up this time). “I think you missed something,” he says, wryly.

The faint noise Bruce makes at being probed (no, you shut up) isn't the sort one wants to hear, given setting, as it's slightly pained and mostly uncomfortable. He shifts his weight and takes a breath, hand pressed to his side and - yep.

It isn't uncommon; the mental state he can force himself into as a way to circumvent pain response during combat means that sometimes he doesn't notice things like this until long after, when his head's settled back down into something more human.

Bruce is still staring, though, incredulous, and eventually the pain does indeed connect with the rest of him. He exhales, and: "Shit."

He almost sounds like he's laughing, there, and when he faces forward and drops his head on Seoraj's shoulder, he is laughing. (Not hysterical from exhaustion or even particularly emotive, but... for him.)

Laughter has a tendency to be infectious and Seoraj is the last person to be immune to the sheer absurdity of the moment-- it's more movement than sound, first, the shoulder under Bruce's head shaking with it, and it stays low, rueful. This isn't actually a first for him, but it's usually his forgotten injury that puts the brakes on, so if nothing else he can enjoy not being the one with the busted ribs right now.

(And not being the one who forgot he had them while trying to get laid, for that matter.)

His hands rest easy on the back of Bruce's hips and he shakes his head, grinning despite himself. “There goes that idea,” he says, and he's still laughing.

(He didn't forget, okay, he didn't know. It's hard being Bruce Wayne.)

Still in such proximity, he raises his head and catches Seoraj for a kiss, brief, perhaps quelling his laughter - though his own smile is still present. Then again longer, more intent, with either apology or promise or mere flippant enjoyment despite the strangeness of his facial hair. A moment's aside in concession can't hurt (more).

"For now," he says when he moves back, and if it's possible for him to sound faintly playful through his chagrin, he does.

But they still have to shower and, now, he has to shower and wrap his goddamn ribs, so they should probably quit screwing around. Alas.

“Too damned clever is your problem,” Seoraj informs him, letting go with a still-entertained hint of reluctance (they should and will quit screwing around, but...you know, alas). “Run ahead without minding yourself.” The quirked smile makes it more of an affectionate observation than any kind of actual censure - it's not like this is a new impression of Bruce he's got, here, when he considers it he really shouldn't be surprised.

There's room enough for the both of them under the water, anyway, so he sets to untangling his hair under the water and rinsing the blood and dirt from his skin, and there's something to be said for having things to look forward to.

Hot water cures a lot of ills, and even if it's somewhat cruel and unusual at the moment, it's appreciated. Bruce thinks about the last time he had cause to share shower space with another man and reflects on how there's not even any real camaraderie to remember. This is far from normal, and yet it's closer to it than most things he's experienced. Weird. (Not bad.)

Some topical herbal painkiller gets applied when he's done - despite his image, Bruce doesn't actually shun medical care or shortcuts out of a desire to appear tough or problems with ego; if he's hurt, he's hurt, and he wants to get it handled right. He's not actively an idiot. He's just... got a bit of a delayed awareness.

If Seoraj wouldn't mind lending a hand getting the wide-spanning medical tape around him, it'd be appreciated.

Two hands, even, once he's got a towel knotted around his waist; he'll hang his kilt to air it, shortly, and wear it home in the morning, but for now he's comfortable as he is and he'll sleep that way, too. Shortly, probably, because if they're keeping their hands to themselves (after Bruce's ribs are strapped-- which isn't an excuse to get nearer the other man but isn't entirely unpleasant, either) he could do with the rest.

“And here,” he observes, half to himself, “was me thinking I'd run to fat in this city.”

No fear of that.

That the pain doesn't actually take the edge off for him probably (definitely) says more about Bruce than anyone really needs to know - fortunately he's got a bit better willpower than all that. Though he does let his hands linger on Seoraj's arms, if only for a moment.

"Well, you're pretty lucky."

Yeah, Seoraj, see what you get to deal with now? Sass.

In that irritatingly laidback and honestly amiable way he has: “I am that.” ...which doesn't stop him from being slightly smug about it, actually, because yeah, he is feeling pretty good about himself right now, thanks for noticing.

Pleased enough (how did this happen?), Bruce smiles as he turns away, though whether or not he moved fast enough to hide it - well, he wasn't trying very hard. He wrangles a pair of shorts to wear, though seeing as he doesn't so much bat an eye at Seoraj's state (shut up), it can be assumed he just prefers having something on when he's sleeping. Maybe it has something to do with that whole control freak thing.

There's slight hesitation, then - and then he touches the other man with the back of his knuckles, slight, directing his attention minutely in a wordless query; sure they're behaving, are you going to enforce sleeping on difference sides of the bed here, or what?

The answer to that is a definite if similarly unspoken no-- sex aside (at least for now) he prefers this intimacy, a sense of easy nearness. There's nothing awkward about the way that he gets into bed with Bruce or the way that he makes himself comfortable with him; at this point insisting on sleeping on opposite sides of the bed and keeping their assorted limbs to themselves would feel strangely impersonal, and impersonal isn't really something that he does. For a moment or a month or however long, he's just more at ease sprawled out like he belongs exactly where he is.

Figuratively speaking. Not always figuratively speaking.

(And it's still new territory; putting it into more familiar context helps.)

Edited 2012-03-13 10:28 (UTC)

For Bruce this is only slimly familiar - he isn't a demonstrative person, with verbal or physical affection. This is something reserved for when he doesn't have to pick through every motion with such deliberation, that he wants but can't often reconcile. Vanessza may have learned by now that if she intimates he stay he will, but he doesn't presume, and certainly doesn't ask. The austere women he finds himself so often captured by still tend to bow without questioning to his closed-off whims.

But it's not like he's going to up and leave. He's practically cornered, with Seoraj, who doesn't seem like he'd mind anyway. So why the hell not.

Heartbeats after he's settled, he's asleep.

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then the riddle gets solved and you push me up to this

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