[Comprehensive Yingmei] Genius Lianmeng

Chapter 40 Another Secret

Bruce closes his computer, takes off his goggles, and finds a character from the diary curled up on the sofa in the living room, drowsy.

Clark Kent's old-fashioned glasses hung crookedly on his face, and his Superman-like handsomeness was completely covered up.The clean white shirt wraps his smooth and graceful muscles and body, if he is willing to hold his head up...

"Ah, Bruce!" Clark noticed from under his bushy eyelashes that his roommate was too close, and his center of gravity was unstable and he almost sat on the slide on the sofa.

The roommate held his waist and hips firmly—supporting 225-pound Clark seemed difficult for a fun-loving, elegant-looking playboy, but Bruce did it with ease.

"I didn't know my employees could be scared so easily." The billion-dollar East Coast babe let his hand rest on his roommate's lower back for a long time, "It seems that Metropolis is too safe under the protection of Superman." .”

"Speaking of Superman," said the little reporter, trying to ignore the hands that somehow began to move on his lower back, and trying to dissuade himself from a playboy's whim, "I must have had a super long, fat one this morning." The dream of an action suspense movie with a plot, logic, and storyboard editing, this dream makes me dizzy..."

"And now you can't remember?" The greatest detective instinctively believes that this dream is very important, and he will use all means to get the other party to tell the whole story, stripping out all the details that can be obtained.

The little reporter shrugged, adjusted his glasses awkwardly, frowned slightly and said, "I vaguely remember a black figure, which is vague and seems to be in Gothic style."

"Gothic? You mean, towering, eerie, eerie, mysterious, and scary?" Bruce's blue eyes narrowed, and all possibilities were passed through his highly trained genius brain, and then ruled out one by one.

"Aren't you really the Oneiroi, Bruce? Did you stuff this gothic figure into my sleep? What an exact adjective!" the little reporter said admiringly, "The shadow is tall and doesn't stop like a hand shadow projected on a white wall... there are two pointy, two pointy... devil's horns?"

"Tell me, dearest roommate, does this devil still have a pair of white eyes?" Bruce pursed his lips, his expression was forbearance and understanding.

"White eyes... Yes, his eyes are full of whites, without any pigment..." Clark tried to catch the tail of the dream.

"Can it fly?"

"I don't know, Bruce, it's gliding on the ground and disappearing over my head... What the hell is it? A vampire? A werewolf? A ghost? A trickster in a Halloween costume?"

"A patient, Clark," said the Playboy, in a flat, low voice, in a tone that was completely unworthy of the name.

"Ah?" The little reporter looked at him with husky-like eyes that couldn't be more stupid.

Bruce's hand was still on Clark's waist, and that hand seemed to be grasping something, stroking and moving nervously: "Mentally ill, Clark. He threw countless lunatics and criminals into Arkham M—a place known all over America, isn't it?—maybe he'll end up with a room there for himself."

"Arkham Asylum, Bruce, will never be the home of Gotham Knights and superheroes." Clark said suddenly and seriously.

"The concept of the metropolis, huh?" Bruce persistently played with his roommate's strong and beautiful waistline, and hummed casually, "When the citizens of the metropolis mention Batman, they always preconceive him as a guardian and a hero. Like your big alien blue guy with the "S" on his chest trying to hide his "M" attribute. Let's not talk about this mascot that hides in the dark of Gotham, tell me, Clark, this morning What entered your dream?"

The little reporter complied with the instructions and did not refute, but his face looked a little unhappy: "Dreams are always ridiculous, Bruce, you know... the shadow of Batman made my sleep very light, and then, the big movie A bluish white light enveloped me, a vast expanse of icy cold white light. The strange thing is, I feel the white cold light is very warm, and it wraps me extremely comfortably..."

"The North Pole, Kael-Air's lonely castle, according to the display and presentation of the dream, is probably the place where you were born." Bruce touched his chin and said.

"WOW~North Pole, I have never been to such a cold place." The little reporter raised his head and closed his eyes, as if he was still whispering in a dream, "The next dream will not be so pleasant, the white light shrinks and collapses, using Some kind of unknown way shielded me in a small space to seal the pen... Then... Then the dream changed again. I stood in the Daily Planet building, and outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, there were familiar high-rise buildings and heavy traffic... Colleagues They - the editor, Jimmy, Louis and others asked each other 'where's Clark', they couldn't see me in front of the window, and I seemed to be suppressed by the dream, couldn't speak, couldn't make a sound, couldn't move... It's like the whole world of loneliness is on my shoulders..."

"And what did you do, Clark? Did you try to get out of that loneliness?" Bruce said lightly and softly, as if Clark was just a kid terrified by a nightmare.

"Then, I opened the window and jumped in."

"...you don't look like the type to commit suicide."

"I'm not, Bruce, I'm not falling straight down like a cannonball, instead, the gravity of the earth has failed in my dream, and I'm flying, Bruce, I'm flying..."

As an incomplete copy, or a hybrid of superman and human, to what extent can Clark's superpower be awakened?

Bruce moved closer to his roommate again, and Clark had to lower his eyelids—as if he was afraid of losing control of his thermal vision—hidden in with his face flushed, his adrenaline soaring in positive correlation with his heartbeat, but the vicious superior and roommate still refused to follow him. Unrelentingly, he continued to approach slowly... so close that Clark could almost distinguish every layer of his scent...

In fact, he did tell the difference.

Not only did he smell the whole of the mixture, but the tiniest and most distant molecules were within reach.This group of smell threads named "Bruce Wayne" was split into basic thin threads by Clark's nose, until each thin thread could not be divided again... The straightened smell threads were neat and orderly. Putting it all back together, Clark with his eyes closed took on the shape of Bruce in his mind.

From hazy and misty to gradually clear.

The first thing that flooded into the nose was the smell of Bruce's hair, clean and clean, without wax or oil, only a little bit of naturally secreted body fat, as sweet as walnut oil mixed with honey.Then came his neck, warm and sweet beyond the existing language system.His armpits smelled like the sea breeze, and his torso smelled lighter, mixed with the fabric smell of high-end suits and incense, not the freshness of sweet orange or lime, nor drizzle, cold wind, spring water Or the coolness of pebbles, nor the pine scent of pine and cypress... Then there is a strong and masculine scent that makes people blush and heartbeat, an incomprehensible, intangible, indescribable and unclassifiable breath, which may just be Clark's imagination and hallucination , yet stubbornly and truly exist...

Clark's straight and graceful nose contracted and expanded gently, like a chick breaking out of its shell and doing stretching exercises.

His nose woke up.

Bruce was getting closer and closer, and his scent gathered in a torrent... His breath was so full, so rich, so strong... His smell drowned Clark...

Until the dude stretches out the part of him that seems most lacking in nurturing - the hand - and presses down on the neck of his companion who has turned on the super sense of smell (Clark feels like he is about to suffocate), he hides deep doubts with casual curiosity And the spirit of exploration: "What is this, Clark? An engagement gift from an underground lover?"

Clark raised his eyelids tremblingly, and carefully positioned his gaze...

On Bruce's beautiful and rough hand, there is a small shiny ring.The ring is crystal clear, the purest apple green, strung on a thin crystal chain.

A chain of crystals stretched down Clark's neck, shining like stars from the collar of his shirt.

The author has something to say: reverse CP...

The super sense of smell is not reflected in DC comics and related movies, but Xiaofeng thinks that as a large dog, it is better to have a good nose~

Ask for flowers~~~