♥, you, and that first prompt works just fine. (I reposted because I wanted to change an adjective.)
"Bruce. Bruce." Bob's been trying to get his attention for a while now, but Bruce hasn't moved from where he's staring intently at the oven. Grinning to himself, Bob walks closer and touches his shoulder.
"Hey," he says. "What's this?"
Bruce finally looks up at him. Not surprised, no (Bob doubts he could ever be sneaky enough that Bruce wouldn't notice, even when he's out of the suit), but bemused, like he's not sure why Bob's talking to him.
"What?"
Bob looks at him. "What are you doing?" he elaborates, pointing at the stove and the counter, where it looks like Bruce has been slicing pumpkins. The pumpkins that are now in the oven.
"Oh, that. Well, I'm making soup." And Bruce goes back to looking intently at the oven.
Biting his lip, Bob tries valiantly not to laugh. He sort of feels like he's talking to both Batman and Bruce at once, in a way--serious and focused but unmistakeably cheerful. "You know they have timers, these modern ovens."
Bruce makes a disdainful noise. "The recipe said about an hour, which is really very imprecise. I mean, ovens are different. It might be done after forty-five minutes, even."
Bob nods. "I see," he says, as seriously as he can make it. "I guess we'd better stay in here, then." And with that he crowds Bruce against the counter next to the stove, knowing Bruce is letting him, but it's still nice, this, leaning in and biting at his jaw.
Laughing, Bruce tilts his head and Bob makes use of the access he's been granted.
"If you make me burn my pumpkins, I'll take it out of your hide," Bruce breathes against his ear, and Bob smiles. The kitchen is warm, he's got Gotham's Black Knight up against the wall, and nothing hurts right now, nothing.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-08 02:17 pm (UTC)"Bruce. Bruce." Bob's been trying to get his attention for a while now, but Bruce hasn't moved from where he's staring intently at the oven. Grinning to himself, Bob walks closer and touches his shoulder.
"Hey," he says. "What's this?"
Bruce finally looks up at him. Not surprised, no (Bob doubts he could ever be sneaky enough that Bruce wouldn't notice, even when he's out of the suit), but bemused, like he's not sure why Bob's talking to him.
"What?"
Bob looks at him. "What are you doing?" he elaborates, pointing at the stove and the counter, where it looks like Bruce has been slicing pumpkins. The pumpkins that are now in the oven.
"Oh, that. Well, I'm making soup." And Bruce goes back to looking intently at the oven.
Biting his lip, Bob tries valiantly not to laugh. He sort of feels like he's talking to both Batman and Bruce at once, in a way--serious and focused but unmistakeably cheerful. "You know they have timers, these modern ovens."
Bruce makes a disdainful noise. "The recipe said about an hour, which is really very imprecise. I mean, ovens are different. It might be done after forty-five minutes, even."
Bob nods. "I see," he says, as seriously as he can make it. "I guess we'd better stay in here, then." And with that he crowds Bruce against the counter next to the stove, knowing Bruce is letting him, but it's still nice, this, leaning in and biting at his jaw.
Laughing, Bruce tilts his head and Bob makes use of the access he's been granted.
"If you make me burn my pumpkins, I'll take it out of your hide," Bruce breathes against his ear, and Bob smiles. The kitchen is warm, he's got Gotham's Black Knight up against the wall, and nothing hurts right now, nothing.