[ The mattress dips as she gets to her feet and goes back around the bed to where she'd set the lasso on the table there. Wrapping a length of it around her hand, she looks at him, the light from the lasso gently illuminating her.
( he watches her as she moves β as she gingerly wraps the lasso around her hand. things like this... magical truth-telling lassos are not anything from his gotham β not anything he's encountered in any shape or form prior to finding himself here. it's still... strange to witness β to be around it as if it's commonplace and he wonders, if he ever ends up back in his gotham, if he'll come across all of this.
come across her, even. )
You don't have to comfort me. ( he says then, looking down some. ) Don't have to... reassure me.
[ She lets the lasso coil again on the table, steps towards him. ]
What I have to do. What I don't have to do. As though every moment I've spent with you, every word I've spoken to you, were not my choice to spend or speak as I will.
( maybe it's a testament to his lack of spending time around others β of his only ever really being on his own, save for alfred and the staff around the manor. of how there's no justice league, no robins or hoods that he's taken under his wing. how, much like here, for the most part, it's just him.
glancing over to her, he sighs with his eyes before he looks back across the room. )
Don't get your lasso tangled up in a knot, princess.
[ Impossible to describe how she feels to hear that title in his rough, quiet voice, the way she's heard it so many times before. The small shocks of recognition, the deep well of relief that opens up deep inside herself.
Somehow, it never sounds like a title, coming from his lips. She tips her chin up, watching him with laughing eyes, her words serene. ]
( sitting there on the bed, he doesn't let his gaze stray from her, not even when a low rumbling of thunder rolls through the sky above them. the rain picks up some β pats a little harder against the window, and bruce just sits there. looking to her. watching the way a fleeting flash of lightning illuminates her face β the curve of her shoulder within the darkness of the room. )
[ He watches her; she watches him right back. Thunder rumbling now outside, always chasing the flashes of Zeus's lightning as they crack through the clouds. The rain coming a little harder now. ]
You don't wish to be comforted, or appeased. What do you wish, Bruce?
[ She doesn't think he's lying; she doesn't think that's quite the truth. Stepping forward, she comes to sit on the edge of the bed at his side, looking over at him. ]
Well. It is the middle of the night. I suppose at the very least you might wish for more sleep.
( she comes there to his side β sits on the bed with him and bruce just slowly lets himself look over to her as she does. quiet. the rain and rumbles of thunder every now and then being the only thing filling the silence between them what with the television no longer being the white noise in the background.
after a moment, eyes fall shut and he hangs his head some, though not with the intention of falling back asleep. he's exhausted. but from the nightmares that still plague him. even here, in this place so far from gotham. blindly, he lets himself lean in β forehead pressing so gently to hers and just... sighs. )
[ His forehead nudges, warm, against hers, and she feels that same rush of emotion in her stomach, her chest, as she had before when he called her princess. Her eyes close, his breath warm against her cheek, her lips, as the rush fades away, replaced by a dull familiar ache.
If she could enter his dreams, protect him there from the shadows that attack when he's most vulnerable, she would. But all she can do is be here, now, her forehead warm against his, her breath slow.
She doesn't know if he's looking at her. The thought of opening her eyes to see those blue ones looking back at her from only inches away isn't one she wishes to dissect. ]
( for a long moment, it's just the patter of rain and their slow breaths that can be heard within the darkness of the motel room. he doesn't entirely know why he feels the need to be close like this to her. there's just... a sort of pull almost. as if deep beneath the surface of his skin β beneath his very core that has him here with her like this.
after another rumble of thunder within the clouds, he parts his lips, forehead still pressed to hers. eyes still shut. )
You should go back to sleep. You have to go find Cupid in the morning.
( yet even as he speaks, his words are soft. lingering, almost. )
[ Her lips part into a smile as she laughs, soundless, just a puff of warm breath escaping in her amusement. Her eyes open, just a little, heavy-lidded in the dark. ]
Eros.
God of love and desire. Not Man's World's watered-down Cupid that they stick on cards and in movies.
( as if feeling her gaze just barely there on him, his own blue eyes open and he stares to her for a moment before they're falling shut again β before he noses at her. soft. slow. much like his words. )
( still he lingers close. still his words are soft. as if meant for only them to hear within the darkness of a room occasionally lit by a brief flash of lightning across the sky. )
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( no one needs to see the sort of darkness that resides within him. )
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[ The mattress dips as she gets to her feet and goes back around the bed to where she'd set the lasso on the table there. Wrapping a length of it around her hand, she looks at him, the light from the lasso gently illuminating her.
As always, the truth is easy to speak. ]
You're a good man.
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come across her, even. )
You don't have to comfort me. ( he says then, looking down some. ) Don't have to... reassure me.
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[ She lets the lasso coil again on the table, steps towards him. ]
What I have to do. What I don't have to do. As though every moment I've spent with you, every word I've spoken to you, were not my choice to spend or speak as I will.
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glancing over to her, he sighs with his eyes before he looks back across the room. )
Don't get your lasso tangled up in a knot, princess.
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Somehow, it never sounds like a title, coming from his lips. She tips her chin up, watching him with laughing eyes, her words serene. ]
It never tangles.
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I wasn't being literal.
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Regardless. Kindly cease telling me what I do not have to do, Bruce. Assume I already know and choose to do it anyway.
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That go with everything?
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[ Stopping where she is, the rain pattering on the window filling the quiet in the room. ]
Everything.
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[ He watches her; she watches him right back. Thunder rumbling now outside, always chasing the flashes of Zeus's lightning as they crack through the clouds. The rain coming a little harder now. ]
You don't wish to be comforted, or appeased. What do you wish, Bruce?
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I don't know.
( it's said softly, much as the way he drops his gaze down, jaw tight. )
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[ She doesn't think he's lying; she doesn't think that's quite the truth. Stepping forward, she comes to sit on the edge of the bed at his side, looking over at him. ]
Well. It is the middle of the night. I suppose at the very least you might wish for more sleep.
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after a moment, eyes fall shut and he hangs his head some, though not with the intention of falling back asleep. he's exhausted. but from the nightmares that still plague him. even here, in this place so far from gotham. blindly, he lets himself lean in β forehead pressing so gently to hers and just... sighs. )
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If she could enter his dreams, protect him there from the shadows that attack when he's most vulnerable, she would. But all she can do is be here, now, her forehead warm against his, her breath slow.
She doesn't know if he's looking at her. The thought of opening her eyes to see those blue ones looking back at her from only inches away isn't one she wishes to dissect. ]
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after another rumble of thunder within the clouds, he parts his lips, forehead still pressed to hers. eyes still shut. )
You should go back to sleep. You have to go find Cupid in the morning.
( yet even as he speaks, his words are soft. lingering, almost. )
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Eros.
God of love and desire. Not Man's World's watered-down Cupid that they stick on cards and in movies.
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So he doesn't have fluffy little wings?
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[ Still amused, still warm. Still not moving, even as he shifts, his nose brushing against hers. Even as her breath catches, quiet. ]
And no arrows, either. Typically, he'd be depicted holding keys.
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Why keys?
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[ A dangerous proposition, at the very best of times. ]
Obvious, I know. Subtlety is not a trait very often associated with the gods.
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What about with you?
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I've been told it isn't a trait often associated with me, either.
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( he damn well knows he's being a jerk. )
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