Taking it all in - the details. the fact that if all goes well he'll be living here for the next year - is distracting enough that it takes him a moment to answer.
"Well. You're putting a puzzle together, and you're not going to find all the pieces so you need to make...assumptions." Shaped by how he grew up, guided by the devil. "I'm not saying they were wrong. I don't know exactly what you found. Just - "
He shrugs, a little. "None of us are perfect. If Elias happened to find evidence of my weakest moments, and only that..." Or even just - a difficult decision without the circumstances around it. He's so many people twisted into villains that way.
He doesn't look up from the drawer, or his task at finding a matching set of pajamas to answer. "I'm certain that any view of anyone found after their death would be at best skewed, one direction or the other."
He does straighten then, and tosses the pajamas onto the bed. "I'm also certain that, by virtue of it being after they're dead it doesn't particularly matter. Though if you manage to get killed here, I'll certainly be interested to see what Elias thinks of your decision to leave him for Gotham."
He ... might actually.
God this was going to end badly for someone if he falls too far into being interested in anything here but sex and opportunity.
He freezes midway into reaching the bed. Then he takes a breath, and keeps moving. When he speaks, his voice has regained that careful, brittle steadiness.
"Elias knows that there's a chance I won't come home every time I leave."
He doesn't look up, focusing instead on the silken fabric draping over his hands. He hasn't felt anything this fine and soft since Avalir - and even then he wasn't usually the one wearing it.
"I've not the first idea what it is you think 'knowing' there is a 'chance' you'll die has to do with his reaction should it actually happen. I don't even know why you believe you know how he feels about it, now."
He pauses at the dresser to say that, then goes to the closet to pull open the double doors, and starts sliding through options, gravitating towards the ones with more red accenting.
Frankly, he likes those least.
He is at least aiming for more day to day wear than more formal.
"Because we've argued about it a lot." His tone has gone softer still, ruefully understanding and wearily proud. "He's a teenager, now. I know most of his opinions."
Not everything, and he doesn't try to, but when it comes to him, what he does or doesn't do - they need to air that out, even if it hurts in the moment.
It occurs to him, distantly, that maybe he's trusting Bruce entirely too much with his wardrobe. Still doesn't look up, though.
What. The. Fuck. Who does that? Is that normal? The picture of their relationship he's getting was already odd, but that one has him turned away from the closet and just staring at Zerxus in utter bafflement.
He does not look less baffled. "But why would you want it to be? Or for him to?" What in the world is the point? That isn't how power works and that's a hell of a power differential?
He's not thinking about Jason. How much push back he accepted.
"So I know how he really feels, and I can keep that in mind when I make decisions. So he knows that however angry he gets, and whatever he says to me when he does, I'm still his father."
That's going to be the most difficult part, being away this long; a year's worth of things just festering.
But they'll work it out, if and when the time finally comes. They always have.
"He's a good kid. If things really escalate, he always apologises." A smile tugs at his lips, and he shakes his head. "He made me cast Zone of Truth on him once just so I'd know he really, really meant it."
There's a faint, faint twitch of a smile at the last bit, something that doesn't so much soften his expression as come close to humanizing him. "That sounds very much like something you would do, in a fit of certainty so strong it's nearly become arrogance."
You barely know the man, Bruce.
"You should change." Clothes. A tendency to be that self-assured. Both apply.
Edited (I thought of a funny , shhh) 2024-12-13 00:32 (UTC)
He may not have noticed it before, but he's actively watching for those moment now. His own smile is downright tender.
"'Nearly' is you being polite, I think."
He will, of course, agree to only one of those possibilities, and his smile sharpens into a smirk as he drops the pyjamas to start unstrapping the gambeson. ...It's harder than it ought to be, those buckles have been through some shit.
"You can feel free to turn away any time." He sounds more playful than demanding; frankly, he's changed in front of a lot of strangers, and getting bashful about it -
Well, it means admitting that he's already in danger here, and if he doesn't do that then he's fine.
"I feel perfectly free to do whatever I'd like. Unfortunately, you've now made it more appealing not to."
It wasn't even a request.
Not that that wouldn't have been something he could have leveraged, but this? Now it's just some sort of game. In part because he doesn't want to look away.
"We'll see how long that lasts." Wry, but not self-conscious.
As he finally pries the buckles apart and pulls his arms free, it's clear what he means. It's been a long, dangerous trip without much time for rest or proper washing. Healing closes wounds but doesn't clean blood, soot or sweat.
He gives himself a second after that, grimacing as he stretches his arms and massages his muscles. Beneath the residue of violence and exhaustion, he's littered with scars. Most healed cleanly, the way magic would, but some look nasty - as if he didn't have magic left to spare, or was holding it in reserve.
"Self-image issues?" His tone is wry, too, but it's also somewhat pointed. He doesn't look away, at any point. He doesn't get less interested, either. In fact, given where his eyes end up settling and the way his gaze sharpens, he finds those scars interesting and at least a little bit of a turn on.
...it's more than a little bit.
Though: "You should shower before you dress again. It'd be a shame to waste the clean pajamas and sheets" Let the way they get dirty be fun at least.
He is, very pointedly, not looking in Bruce's direction.
Somehow he can feel that gaze anyway, even doing his best to focus on the dull ache in his thighs and shoulders, the uncomfortable pull of deeper, thicker scars.
He could easily be flushing from exertion. The gambeson has been just a little too tight on him for a while now, blood has dried in inconvenient places, the leather has gone too stiff in others -
"I can manage that." His tone is mostly neutral, at least. Mostly.
He has to crouch down out of sight to wrangle his legs out, so that also helps.
"Can you?" He sounds amused, but in a way that's still at least fairly gentle and with some... teasing? humor. Almost. It's not even awkward. Like the only kind of play he understands at all is either sexual or violent. "Are you sure? I am available to help."
...Yeah, that tracks. It should probably worry him more than it does, and he definitely shouldn't be encouraging it even though Bruce clearly needs more teasing in his life -
"That really depends on the size of your showers."
There are a very limited number of acceptable ways for him to connect to other people, and that's been true for a long, long time.
It's a dare now, though he's pretty sure he's the one issuing it - Zerxus is just trying not to take it. He walks to the bathroom door and pushes it open, resulting in the lights coming on.
Not only is there a sunken tub big enough to host an orgy in, the shower stall is the size of a small bedroom and all the walls (save the glass doors) are covered in showerheads.
He looks back at Zerxus and lifts both his eyebrows.
"...I can see how that isn't something you'd have seen much of in the recent past." He almost feels bad about that. Would if he let himself, does somewhere far away from the surface, anyway, in a way that's nearly all physical unease.
Then fixates on his own thing. "Take off the boots." It's a terrible look. That one is an order.
Zerxus is kneeling down again before he even thinks about it.
That's exactly as unsettling as it should be, but he focuses on unlacing his boots instead of letting that show on his face, or letting himself dwell on it.
He even manages to sound casual when he says, "Even before the war, that much running water was rare outside the richer cities."
It's even a little odd for Bruce, though it shouldn't be. It's short lived. He really just could not tolerate boots and nearly naked. The combination is terrible.
He rolls his eyes at that remark, and then lets (or makes) them flare back to red. No threat this time, just smart-assery of a pointed sort.
"Then you can enjoy the benefit of a richer individual while you are here."
Bruce lightly, casually, and apparently without a single thought in his head slides his fingers through Zerxus' hair when he relaxes - if only physically - on the eyeroll.
Good boy.
"The obnoxiousness of wealth does not outweigh the benefit, even amongst mortals, and you've come here to deal with me, instead." Interesting choice.
Zerxus almost tilts his head into the touch, on sheer yearning instinct, before he stops himself. His fingers feel thick and clumsy on his bootlaces, and it takes him a second to trust his voice.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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"Well. You're putting a puzzle together, and you're not going to find all the pieces so you need to make...assumptions." Shaped by how he grew up, guided by the devil. "I'm not saying they were wrong. I don't know exactly what you found. Just - "
He shrugs, a little. "None of us are perfect. If Elias happened to find evidence of my weakest moments, and only that..." Or even just - a difficult decision without the circumstances around it. He's so many people twisted into villains that way.
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He does straighten then, and tosses the pajamas onto the bed. "I'm also certain that, by virtue of it being after they're dead it doesn't particularly matter. Though if you manage to get killed here, I'll certainly be interested to see what Elias thinks of your decision to leave him for Gotham."
He ... might actually.
God this was going to end badly for someone if he falls too far into being interested in anything here but sex and opportunity.
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"Elias knows that there's a chance I won't come home every time I leave."
He doesn't look up, focusing instead on the silken fabric draping over his hands. He hasn't felt anything this fine and soft since Avalir - and even then he wasn't usually the one wearing it.
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He pauses at the dresser to say that, then goes to the closet to pull open the double doors, and starts sliding through options, gravitating towards the ones with more red accenting.
Frankly, he likes those least.
He is at least aiming for more day to day wear than more formal.
...and frankly he also likes those the least.
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Not everything, and he doesn't try to, but when it comes to him, what he does or doesn't do - they need to air that out, even if it hurts in the moment.
It occurs to him, distantly, that maybe he's trusting Bruce entirely too much with his wardrobe. Still doesn't look up, though.
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What. The. Fuck. Who does that? Is that normal? The picture of their relationship he's getting was already odd, but that one has him turned away from the closet and just staring at Zerxus in utter bafflement.
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"...That's a thing most kids can do with their parents, Bruce." There's a strain to that, both sad and angry.
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He's not thinking about Jason. How much push back he accepted.
The consequences of that, he's thinking about.
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That's going to be the most difficult part, being away this long; a year's worth of things just festering.
But they'll work it out, if and when the time finally comes. They always have.
"He's a good kid. If things really escalate, he always apologises." A smile tugs at his lips, and he shakes his head. "He made me cast Zone of Truth on him once just so I'd know he really, really meant it."
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You barely know the man, Bruce.
"You should change." Clothes. A tendency to be that self-assured. Both apply.
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"'Nearly' is you being polite, I think."
He will, of course, agree to only one of those possibilities, and his smile sharpens into a smirk as he drops the pyjamas to start unstrapping the gambeson. ...It's harder than it ought to be, those buckles have been through some shit.
"You can feel free to turn away any time." He sounds more playful than demanding; frankly, he's changed in front of a lot of strangers, and getting bashful about it -
Well, it means admitting that he's already in danger here, and if he doesn't do that then he's fine.
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It wasn't even a request.
Not that that wouldn't have been something he could have leveraged, but this? Now it's just some sort of game. In part because he doesn't want to look away.
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As he finally pries the buckles apart and pulls his arms free, it's clear what he means. It's been a long, dangerous trip without much time for rest or proper washing. Healing closes wounds but doesn't clean blood, soot or sweat.
He gives himself a second after that, grimacing as he stretches his arms and massages his muscles. Beneath the residue of violence and exhaustion, he's littered with scars. Most healed cleanly, the way magic would, but some look nasty - as if he didn't have magic left to spare, or was holding it in reserve.
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...it's more than a little bit.
Though: "You should shower before you dress again. It'd be a shame to waste the clean pajamas and sheets" Let the way they get dirty be fun at least.
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Somehow he can feel that gaze anyway, even doing his best to focus on the dull ache in his thighs and shoulders, the uncomfortable pull of deeper, thicker scars.
He could easily be flushing from exertion. The gambeson has been just a little too tight on him for a while now, blood has dried in inconvenient places, the leather has gone too stiff in others -
"I can manage that." His tone is mostly neutral, at least. Mostly.
He has to crouch down out of sight to wrangle his legs out, so that also helps.
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"That really depends on the size of your showers."
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It's a dare now, though he's pretty sure he's the one issuing it - Zerxus is just trying not to take it. He walks to the bathroom door and pushes it open, resulting in the lights coming on.
Not only is there a sunken tub big enough to host an orgy in, the shower stall is the size of a small bedroom and all the walls (save the glass doors) are covered in showerheads.
He looks back at Zerxus and lifts both his eyebrows.
Next objection, sir?
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"That's so much water." He's being actively seduced by a devil prince, naked save for boots and boxers, and this is the thing he's fixating on?
Yes.
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Then fixates on his own thing. "Take off the boots." It's a terrible look. That one is an order.
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That's exactly as unsettling as it should be, but he focuses on unlacing his boots instead of letting that show on his face, or letting himself dwell on it.
He even manages to sound casual when he says, "Even before the war, that much running water was rare outside the richer cities."
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He rolls his eyes at that remark, and then lets (or makes) them flare back to red. No threat this time, just smart-assery of a pointed sort.
"Then you can enjoy the benefit of a richer individual while you are here."
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"In my experience, the benefits do not outweigh the obnoxiousness." There's a reason he took Elias away from Avalir once Evandrin was no longer in it.
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Good boy.
"The obnoxiousness of wealth does not outweigh the benefit, even amongst mortals, and you've come here to deal with me, instead." Interesting choice.
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"I take my work very seriously."
Work. Yes. That's what they're doing.
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