DCU
Kryptonian Lesson Drabble
He is hovering high against the arched crystal ceiling when Bruce finally emerges from the bedroom; wearing nothing but a blanket wrapped loosely around broad, powerful shoulders. The sight sends the blood racing in Kal’s veins again, but for the moment he keeps himself hidden; content to just watch his new ovon in the stark, unearthly surrounds of the Fortress. Bruce does not seem concerned by Kal’s apparent absence; instead pads softly out of view, only to return momentarily carrying a plate of food. Kryptonian food; Kal has already instructed the Fortress to care for Bruce’s human requirements, and he feels a surge of proprietary pride at the man’s easy confidence with the alien technology. Then again, he had hardly expected anything less.
Tactically speaking, Kal is well-pleased with the match. Bruce is strong and graceful and brilliant and honourable; a stunning example of the best humanity has to offer. They are so similar, in so many ways, and it almost seems a foregone conclusion to formalise their alliance with the jachnarr. The House of El may be a broken shell of its former glory, but Kal knows that on this world it still has much to offer… and many enemies who would rip it asunder for that opportunity. And the House of Wayne is strong here, and its scion is wise.
They will do great things. Oh yes.
He descends from the ceiling slowly, and Bruce does not look up; though Kal knows the other man is aware of his presence. Perhaps always was. A flush of contented pleasure runs through him when he feels Bruce’s mind against his through the jachnarr in silent greeting. Bruce has been using the connection frequently since its formation, testing it gently but purposefully, like a new limb; weak now but with so much potential. Kal knows human minds are by no means naturally designed for the kind of empathy that the jachnarr brings; he also knows that if there is one human with the will to overcome that limitation, it is Bruce.
Feet silent on the cool floor, he folds himself gracefully behind his ovon; Bruce allows the man-handling with a kind of respectful trust that once more sends the tizhao coiling in Kal’s belly, though he quells it gently. Breakfast first.
Rearranged to his liking, he sits contentedly for a moment; watching their reflection in a glittering crystal wall, feeling the strong, hot weight of Bruce between his thighs and pressed against his chest. Solid and real. This is real, and he thinks the thought will never cease to be wondrous. Mere months ago he never would have imagined…
One large hand reaches up to rest against Bruce’s chest; against the symbol of his House burnt there. It… pains him still that the realities of his condition left Bruce unable to reciprocate the gesture — traditionally, the zrhythrev-ud should have gone both ways — and he vows that he will explain everything when he is able. For now, he is simply pleased by the unabashed pride with which Bruce displays the symbol; accepting of the intent if not comprehending the entire ritual.
Bruce eats slowly; lifting each piece of food to his mouth with the alien utensils and tasting it purposefully. As always, his manners are impeccable, but…
“Rrives rrup w ghao ndolao,” he says eventually, figuring Bruce cannot know what he cannot know.
Wolfish eyes flick up to watch his reflection in the wall. Bruce’s head is cocked to the side slightly, curious, and he points to their doubles. “Rrup,” he says, then point to himself. “Khahp.”
Kal nods, not bothering to quell the swirling pride at how quickly Bruce is picking up the near-dead language. His accent is still a little rough — the Gothamite in him making the words slurred and unintentionally lascivious — but improving constantly and Kal knows it will not take him much study to be fluent.
He engulfs Bruce’s hand in his; fingers lacing around Bruce’s grasp on the pikh. “Ndolao,” he repeats, then carefully moves Bruce’s grasp into something more appropriate. “Mbemao.”
He releases the hand, and Bruce flexes it slightly, testing out the new grip. “Rrives khahp w ghao mbemao,” he tries.
“Rrives rrupim w ghao mbemao,” Kal agrees, smiling slightly.
Oh yes. They will do great things.