Zerxus, meanwhile, is trying very hard not to think at all. With very few exceptions, he's managed to avoid breaking down like this in front of anyone since the war started. When you're the pillar of a crumbling community you can't afford to let anyone see the cracks.
So most of his memories of being guided and comforted like this are tied to his parents, to his brother, to Evandrin - and he cannot afford to make that emotional link. Even he knows that's too dangerous.
I meant that his emotional reaction to the prophesy isn't about me.
Broken he knows he didn't do, thank you. He is still pretty sure he's supposed to make it worse and maybe he will be ... probably he won't.
He slowly eases back from Zerxus but does not stop touching him. The hand stays on Zerxus' back. "Let's get you a glass of water and go back to your room. Do you want to bring your notebook?"
Not entirely. Whether Asmodeus is actually hinting at something or just being ominous for fun is hard to say.
"I'm fi - " It's reflexive, before it trails off into a choked laugh. No, it's officially too obvious that he is not. "Yes, I'd like to." He's already reaching for it, but distinctly avoids actually looking at anything he's written.
It is not. It is alarming and his assumption will be that it is a hint at something ominous because assuming otherwise would be entirely too trusting.
He grabs the notebook, does not avoid looking at what has been written, and puts his hand lower on Zerxus' back. "Stay close - and cancel your spell." Cancel, remove, whatever works. The light does not need to stay.
Once the light is gone and shadows return Bruce simply walks them into one of those shadows and out very near his suite.
There isn't much in the notebook yet beyond vague, dreamlike descriptions of falling stars, boiling oceans, and the roiling chaos of too many battlefields blending into one. He notes similarities to Cathmoira's destruction, and details of other catastrophes in the margins.
The last, and messiest, line is Who was screaming??
The light fades with an absent snap of his fingers and a total lack of argument, which says volumes by itself.
That he has firmly, mentally, moved Zerxus into his room is reasonable. That he is now calling it Zerxus is something he'll think about, later.
Or pointedly not think about it.
All the same, they emerge at effectively the doorway, and he guides Zerxus inside. He lets go exactly enough to start taking his borrowed pajama top off. "Does this happen every time you attempt sleep?"
He's more distracted by the puzzle pieces scattered in that notebook.
Judging by the way Zerxus keeps glancing at it despite himself, so does he.
"Not the - panic, afterwards. But there are almost always nightmares." Sometimes he exhausts himself enough, in a way that doesn't just make them worse. Sometimes he'll waste a spell to help - or, more likely, someone else will. "...I sleep alone, usually."
"Do you're think you're more likely to have another with or without me?" He wants Zerxus to get meaningful rest. He also wants more information. "Answer honestly." Yes, abusing the ability to issue orders, a little. There's too overt a loophole if all Zerxus wants is to sleep alone.
He should use that information against Zerxus. He should demand he go back to bed and to sleep, make it an order and order him to write down every scrap of information he can remember, immediately.
He wants more information about this prophesy.
His father is invested, interested, and intrigued. His father wants him messing with Zerxus mind.
What Bruce really wants, though, is just to curl up around Zerxus again and see if he can help the man get some meaningful rest. Not just at the moment but overall. He feels bad for him, against every scrap of better sense and conditioning and knowing better.
Knowing how is bound to end, and has ended.
"I'm not him, but we're going to try."
He can always spin it back to sex and fucking with Zerxus head that way. ...can and will. But the basic drive there is just reluctant, frustrated, infuriating and against his will, compassion.
He was so ready to turn away, turn inward, but Bruce is looking at him with such earnest intensity, and speaking with the same steady, gentle determination he's used himself with so many people.
It's disarming, and that's probably the point, because he is still talking to the prince of Hell - but he decided a long, long time ago to extend faith to people who were being kind.
"All right."
He cannot hear the low, satisfied rumble of Asmodeus's laughter.
Bruce can hear it. He would be somewhat... wary, regardless, but not understanding the reason for that satisfaction, it makes the back of his neck prickle. That is... probably a really, really, bad sign for him.
Bruce doesn't speak until he's in the bed and holding the covers up for Zerxus. "Journal with you." Just in case.
"Right." Judging by how easily he finds a stable, comfortable place for it, this is not the first time he's slept with a journal close at hand. No, the part he's more hesitant about is - actually relaxing, once he's in the bed.
He's still exhausted, he knows that on a logical level, but this was a lot easier when he was half conscious already.
It was certainly less awkward when Zerxus was half unconscious, rather than an inch away from his face. Bruce isn't exactly broadcasting a lot of emotion, but it's a rather closer look into his eyes and micro-expressions than he wants.
Especially when the desire for Zerxus to be able to rest is still a thing he (nearly against his will) wants.
There's a second or two of awkward, then he remembers that he had a 'plan' for this, before his father got... smugly amused. He slides his fingers into Zerxus' hair and kisses him. Slowly, deeply, and even warmly.
Primary objective, truthfully? Affection and getting this asshole to stop looking at him.
He's too startled to control his reaction, which is certainly becoming a theme. Distantly, it irritates him how easily he relaxes, how quickly his eyes flutter close, as if he's been yearning for this -
The face that he has been yearning for it is very much the point. In fact, it is the only point. It's the point because it means he's easy to distract, and because it means Bruce doesn't need to acknowledge how much he uses sex to meet... needs that are certainly not physical.
Hell, (pun intended), Bruce doesn't even have to consciously realize he does so.
He keeps the kiss deep and slow, but his fingers gradually curl tighter and there's the slightest hint of teeth. Interestingly there's nothing harsh about it, and the warmth doesn't fade at all. There's just more steadily building intensity.
And Bruce pushing... against Zerxus more than into him. Not quite 'telling' him to get onto his back or demanding it, but seeing what Zerxus does with the pressure.
That careful hint of sharpness drags a whimper out of him, and there's a disgruntled edge to it; Bruce had been so smugly certain about getting him into bed, proving him right would be so fucking annoying -
Gods, he really is one of the loneliest men in the world.
The pressure meets resistance in Zerxus pushing back, flexing against Bruce as his eyes open again. He makes no move to end the kiss, but there's a certain kind of glint in his eyes, a playful but stubborn defiance that says 'if you want me on my back, then earn it'.
Don't worry, Bruce won't be too smug about it. Not much more than a smirk that's still on his face when Zerxus opens his eyes, and a slightly cocked eyebrow.
Or maybe it isn't just smug that he's right, but just a touch of something deeper. A kind of 'I see you' message - that very very intentionally stays silent. Zerxus might be the loneliest mortal in the world; they may have to take a tie on loneliest man.
He breaks the kiss himself, presses the heel of his hand against Zerxus' shoulder and shoves - hard, harder than human strength but controlled, and follows through by rolling his entire body over Zerxus.
Zerxus is strong, but at the end of the day he's only human - and a horribly worn out one, at the moment. He keeps up that resistance obviously, but he hardly looks shocked or disappointed when he ends up flat on his back. That hint of mischief has bloomed into a broad, sharp grin that makes him look years younger.
"Am I?" How dare you. He has definitely never been accused of such a thing in his life.
Bruce gets his knees under him and sits up, astride Zerxus' hips. Then pauses. There's nothing about the fact that the man is grinning, looks young, is trying to play with him that should be confusing-
--but it is.
Just a touch.
It's another one of those things that doesn't fit the only way he can make sense of Zerxus choosing to come to Gotham. It isn't... broken and suicidal, bent on self-destruction. He hates that. It would be so much simpler if it were just that. That it isn't and can't be....
He shakes his head after that minute pause and snorts. It's inelegant but more teasing than truly derisive. "You are. Unfortunately for you, so am I. Do you want to test your luck with that, or tell me what it is you want?"
The confusion isn't surprising either, really, considering how baffled Bruce seems to be about so many things Zerxus takes for granted.
"I don't find it all that unfortunate." Slyly and stubbornly playful, but there's something quietly sincere in it. Slowly, deliberately, he relaxes his body, keeping his hands still at his sides.
"And I'm pretty sure paladins are meant to take leaps of faith."
Maybe he'd be less confused if most of his contact with mortals - at least meaningful contact - weren't Barbara and Jason.
Regardless...
"There's something wrong with you, and I have never been less turned on in my life." That? Is a lie. He's good at telling them, when he wants to be good at telling them. Right now? He's just fine with it being a really, really overt lie.
Especially in a pair of silk pajama bottoms.
"Hands on the headboard." Up and behind. That's... not intentionally an order, but it is an order.
He obeys, casually unhurried, gaze fixed on Bruce's. He's not the most flexible person; the stretch of his arms is reflected in the rest of his body, especially at the languid pace.
He'd really, really prefer Zerxus bothered -even hot and bothered- to whatever the hell this lazy, sexy, confident bullshit is.
...because it's confusing.
His eyes darken and very breifly flare red, then their clothes are just gone and he's dragging the nails of both hands down from Zerxus' collarbone to his hips. Just very, barely, breaking skin and drawing blood.
It's a lot, all at once; the reflexive fight-or-flight that has his hands tightening hard enough to make the wood creak, the rush of cool air against his skin, the blazing sting of those scratches.
Judging by the ragged gasp and wide eyes, Bruce has very effectively shaken his composure. That doesn't stop a hoarse, throaty laugh as he says, "Show-off."
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So most of his memories of being guided and comforted like this are tied to his parents, to his brother, to Evandrin - and he cannot afford to make that emotional link. Even he knows that's too dangerous.
Oh, no, he was broken long before you.
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Broken he knows he didn't do, thank you. He is still pretty sure he's supposed to make it worse and maybe he will be ... probably he won't.
He slowly eases back from Zerxus but does not stop touching him. The hand stays on Zerxus' back. "Let's get you a glass of water and go back to your room. Do you want to bring your notebook?"
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"I'm fi - " It's reflexive, before it trails off into a choked laugh. No, it's officially too obvious that he is not. "Yes, I'd like to." He's already reaching for it, but distinctly avoids actually looking at anything he's written.
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It is not. It is alarming and his assumption will be that it is a hint at something ominous because assuming otherwise would be entirely too trusting.
He grabs the notebook, does not avoid looking at what has been written, and puts his hand lower on Zerxus' back. "Stay close - and cancel your spell." Cancel, remove, whatever works. The light does not need to stay.
Once the light is gone and shadows return Bruce simply walks them into one of those shadows and out very near his suite.
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The last, and messiest, line is Who was screaming??
The light fades with an absent snap of his fingers and a total lack of argument, which says volumes by itself.
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Or pointedly not think about it.
All the same, they emerge at effectively the doorway, and he guides Zerxus inside. He lets go exactly enough to start taking his borrowed pajama top off. "Does this happen every time you attempt sleep?"
He's more distracted by the puzzle pieces scattered in that notebook.
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"Not the - panic, afterwards. But there are almost always nightmares." Sometimes he exhausts himself enough, in a way that doesn't just make them worse. Sometimes he'll waste a spell to help - or, more likely, someone else will. "...I sleep alone, usually."
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He wants more information about this prophesy.
His father is invested, interested, and intrigued. His father wants him messing with Zerxus mind.
What Bruce really wants, though, is just to curl up around Zerxus again and see if he can help the man get some meaningful rest. Not just at the moment but overall. He feels bad for him, against every scrap of better sense and conditioning and knowing better.
Knowing how is bound to end, and has ended.
"I'm not him, but we're going to try."
He can always spin it back to sex and fucking with Zerxus head that way. ...can and will. But the basic drive there is just reluctant, frustrated, infuriating and against his will, compassion.
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It's disarming, and that's probably the point, because he is still talking to the prince of Hell - but he decided a long, long time ago to extend faith to people who were being kind.
"All right."
He cannot hear the low, satisfied rumble of Asmodeus's laughter.
It wouldn't change anything if he could.
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Bruce doesn't speak until he's in the bed and holding the covers up for Zerxus. "Journal with you." Just in case.
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He's still exhausted, he knows that on a logical level, but this was a lot easier when he was half conscious already.
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Especially when the desire for Zerxus to be able to rest is still a thing he (nearly against his will) wants.
There's a second or two of awkward, then he remembers that he had a 'plan' for this, before his father got... smugly amused. He slides his fingers into Zerxus' hair and kisses him. Slowly, deeply, and even warmly.
Primary objective, truthfully? Affection and getting this asshole to stop looking at him.
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The fact that he has really isn't the point.
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Hell, (pun intended), Bruce doesn't even have to consciously realize he does so.
He keeps the kiss deep and slow, but his fingers gradually curl tighter and there's the slightest hint of teeth. Interestingly there's nothing harsh about it, and the warmth doesn't fade at all. There's just more steadily building intensity.
And Bruce pushing... against Zerxus more than into him. Not quite 'telling' him to get onto his back or demanding it, but seeing what Zerxus does with the pressure.
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Gods, he really is one of the loneliest men in the world.
The pressure meets resistance in Zerxus pushing back, flexing against Bruce as his eyes open again. He makes no move to end the kiss, but there's a certain kind of glint in his eyes, a playful but stubborn defiance that says 'if you want me on my back, then earn it'.
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Just did.
Don't worry, Bruce won't be too smug about it. Not much more than a smirk that's still on his face when Zerxus opens his eyes, and a slightly cocked eyebrow.
Or maybe it isn't just smug that he's right, but just a touch of something deeper. A kind of 'I see you' message - that very very intentionally stays silent. Zerxus might be the loneliest mortal in the world; they may have to take a tie on loneliest man.
He breaks the kiss himself, presses the heel of his hand against Zerxus' shoulder and shoves - hard, harder than human strength but controlled, and follows through by rolling his entire body over Zerxus.
"You're a brat." He knows it's more than that.
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"Am I?" How dare you. He has definitely never been accused of such a thing in his life.
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--but it is.
Just a touch.
It's another one of those things that doesn't fit the only way he can make sense of Zerxus choosing to come to Gotham. It isn't... broken and suicidal, bent on self-destruction. He hates that. It would be so much simpler if it were just that. That it isn't and can't be....
He shakes his head after that minute pause and snorts. It's inelegant but more teasing than truly derisive. "You are. Unfortunately for you, so am I. Do you want to test your luck with that, or tell me what it is you want?"
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"I don't find it all that unfortunate." Slyly and stubbornly playful, but there's something quietly sincere in it. Slowly, deliberately, he relaxes his body, keeping his hands still at his sides.
"And I'm pretty sure paladins are meant to take leaps of faith."
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Regardless...
"There's something wrong with you, and I have never been less turned on in my life." That? Is a lie. He's good at telling them, when he wants to be good at telling them. Right now? He's just fine with it being a really, really overt lie.
Especially in a pair of silk pajama bottoms.
"Hands on the headboard." Up and behind. That's... not intentionally an order, but it is an order.
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He obeys, casually unhurried, gaze fixed on Bruce's. He's not the most flexible person; the stretch of his arms is reflected in the rest of his body, especially at the languid pace.
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...because it's confusing.
His eyes darken and very breifly flare red, then their clothes are just gone and he's dragging the nails of both hands down from Zerxus' collarbone to his hips. Just very, barely, breaking skin and drawing blood.
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Judging by the ragged gasp and wide eyes, Bruce has very effectively shaken his composure. That doesn't stop a hoarse, throaty laugh as he says, "Show-off."
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