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They're already a tangle of limbs when they enter quietly through Clark's kitchen window. As soon as they're inside, Bruce is on him again, heavy in the batsuit.
Bruce's lips and chin taste of rain, wet and cold. Clark will warm him up. He cups Bruce's chin with both hands, kissing him tenderly. All of that, all of Bruce, between the tips of his immovable fingers. And Bruce isn't afraid of him.
In fact, it's not enough for him. “I need to feel you,” Bruce growls. “Inside me, now.”
Clark grins. “Not so fast.” They haven't seen each other for a few days, had a joint mission tonight , and now that that's finally done, he's going to take his sweet time. He places a hand on Bruce's shoulder, stopping him from trying to get closer again as he huffs at Clark's remark.
That's to be expected.
Clark can handle Bruce and all his stubbornness.
Yellow light from the streetlamps below and pale blue from the moon stream in through the window, illuminating Clark's open work laptop on the small kitchen table, next to his cold and forgotten dinner. Gently, he places his hands on the sides of the cowl, clicks, and slides it off, revealing Bruce's face. His brow is damp with sweat.
Next are the gloves. Clark knows the catch to slip them off. He reveals Bruce's fingers and bloodied cuts on his knuckles. He kisses each one, and back up to his face, his lips. With one quick move, he picks him up and places him on the kitchen counter to work on his boots.
“Clark.” Bruce's finger nails scratch at the cheap material of Clark's counter, patience wearing thin as Clark drops down to his knees.
“Hm?” He laces down the boots rather quickly, not acknowledging any of Bruce's pleas. He could go way slower as punishment, but doesn't. He likes peeling Bruce out of his suit, piece by piece, revealing more and more of him as he goes.
“I'm not getting any younger here, Kent,” Bruce tries. Cute.
In response, Clark gets up again, placing his hands on the counter and leaning into Bruce's space. “I'm going to unravel you tonight.” He speaks slowly, millimeters from Bruce's lips. Bruce scowls, trying to hide the shiver that runs through him at Clark's words but failing miserably.
Clark feels warm lips against his own, a brush of skin, an exasperated puff of breath. Grinning, teeth clicking, he grabs Bruce's hips and hauls him up. Bruce's legs wrap around his frame as he moves through the tiny apartment.
He unlatches the heavy black cape, letting it flutter to the floor in the hallway. The hidden catches of his armor no longer hold secrets to Clark, and he drops pieces as he walks. The undersuit is a familiar gleam of black, enticing in its simplicity, hugging Bruce's form, sinful in and of itself. Clark peels him out of that too, and by the time Bruce hits the bed, only his white - and deliciously stained - jockstrap remains.
The bedroom is cold and dark.
That won't do. The air crackles with Clark's heat vision for a moment, just enough to raise the temperature. He flicks a switch, flooding the room in light, letting Bruce see everything, including himself in the reflection of the window.
Bruce leans up on his elbows, watching Clark with an intensity he's only recently become used to. Only since he's learned what it's like to have someone want him, all of him. Someone he can use his powers around, even in the bedroom, without feeling shame.
He lands softly, feet on the rug.
He climbs over Bruce, red cape falling down to cover both of them. “I'm gonna make you feel everything tonight,” he whispers against Bruce's lips, claiming them. “No shortcuts. No rushing.” He kisses down Bruce's chest, leaving hickeys in his wake, one high up on his neck, where he can't possibly hide it.
“Now everyone will know you're taken.”
“Clark. Get on with it.” Bruce tugs at his cape, the hem of his costume’s shirt.
Clark sits up. “Everything at its time.”
Bruce's body sings to him. The electromagnetic spectrum bends around him like fire, haloing him in colors only Clark can see. He'd describe them to Bruce if he could, but words fall short. His heartbeat echoes in Clark's own, blood rushing through his veins, much too fast. Clark knows exactly what he needs. Right now, it's to come undone.
He leans over to the bedside table and fishes out a bottle of lube and the cock ring that Bruce got him a while ago. It's black silicone, a sleek design with a thicker part that vibrates. Bruce likes it when Clark wears it while fucking him, so he can feel the vibrations against his perineum and his rim. Right now, Clark is going to put it on Bruce though. He needs him hard for a while.
“Get naked,” he orders, and watches Bruce quickly shimmy out of his last tiny item of clothing, throwing it onto the floor. Oh, he's needy. Clark can't wait to give him exactly what he wants.
Almost clinically, he strokes Bruce's hard length a few times, making him take shallow breaths to hide the moans. With practiced ease, he lubes the ring and slides it on, down to the base, and grabs his phone out of his cape pocket to turn on and control the vibrating function.
Bruce hisses when it comes to life, a low humming that Clark can feel even in his fingertips on Bruce's thighs.
“Good?” He asks.
Bruce nods. “Yeah.” His smile is beautiful. Good, he feels good.
“Okay.” Clark pulls off the top half of his suit, towering over Bruce. “I'll make you come five times tonight,” he announces, telling Bruce exactly what they'll do.
“Three,” Bruce negotiates. He usually starts coming apart after three, but Clark needs him beyond that this time.
“Five,” he tells him again. He watches Bruce bite the inside of his cheek. His cock twitches.
“Fine.”
Clark bends down again, kissing Bruce on the nose. “That makes me happy. You're gonna be good tonight, Bruce. For me. And in return, I'm gonna be so good to you.”
Bruce nods.
Clark reaches for his phone again, selecting a pulsing vibration that switches between fast and slow. When Bruce is good and settled against the pillows, huffing breathy moans and being so good and pretty, he moves down and finally takes his cock in hand. He presses a kiss to the glistening tip, where salty precum has gathered. He swirls his tongue around, licking up the sides, before enveloping him with his lips.
It vibrates in Clark's mouth, a low hum that he feels at the back of his throat. Clark knows he's decent at giving head, and has been getting much better recently. Bruce whimpers above him as he swallows him nearly down to the base, pressing his tongue up against the shaft on each drag.
“Clark.” Bruce already sounds so broken, so needy, Clark almost gives in right then to fucking him instead. But today he doesn't want to do anything quick, messy, passionate. He wants to make Bruce feel exactly how much he worships him, exactly how much he loves him. And for that he needs time. He comes up again, sucking and tasting Bruce's tip.
“You're so good,” Clark says, voice almost gone. Bruce is breathing hard, chest rising and reddish, flushed with heat. His cheeks are pink, lips swollen, a perfect portrayal of searing hot sin. “So sexy.”
“I'm not doing anything.”
He is, but Bruce doesn't realize, set in his ways and stubborn as he is. His fingers clamp in the sheets, instead of touching himself or Clark. His arms are taut, strong muscles brimming with force but obediently kept in place. Clark smirks. Bruce needs something extra, and he knows exactly what. He'll give it to him later, right after his first orgasm.
He lowers himself, until he's eye level with Bruce's balls, trapped in the ring. His thumb and fingers slide down Bruce's shaft, the glide made easier by his saliva. Clark hums as he mouths at Bruce's sack, meeting the cock ring’s vibrations head-on. He sucks one ball into his mouth, and then the other, vibrating his tongue. He feels Bruce's cock twitch, orgasm fast approaching. Bruce moans, trapped low in his throat, trying to not let it tumble out like it will later. Clark hears it anyway. It only takes a couple more strokes to have Bruce cumming, balls contracting in Clark's mouth and shooting his load far up his chest. Bruce goes tight as a bowstring as he rides through it, and then becomes soft, limbs melting into the pillows just the way Clark wants him.
Clark sits up on his knees between Bruce's legs, watching him come down. The ring vibrates between them, incessantly. Clark turns it down to the lowest setting again, not wanting to overstimulate Bruce just yet.
“How was that?” He asks, reaching for the lube. The movement reminds him of his own need, momentarily, the red fabric of his briefs strained painfully across his cock.
“Good.” Bruce swallows. “You can be rougher.”
“I don't want to be. Didn't I make you cum hard enough?” As demonstration, Clark swipes a finger through the sticky mess just under Bruce's right nipple, and licks it off.
Bruce grunts, stubbornly. “I need to feel you,” he says again.
“Yes, I heard you. Pain is not the only way to feel someone.” Clark uncaps the lube, holding it out for Bruce. “Do you want me to fuck you?”
“Hard,” Bruce smirks. Clark kisses the tease away, swallowing any protest while he deftly lubes up two fingers and circles them around Bruce's hole.
Bruce lets his legs fall wider, accommodating him as he pushes one in. “We'll see about that,” Clark threatens against Bruce's chapped lips, opening on a breathy sigh. He sneaks his tongue inside, exploring, licking the roof of Bruce's mouth, his teeth, his tongue. He finds Bruce's prostate, finger deep enough to brush along it and draw more moans, less demands. Not long now, and Bruce will see his way. He kisses Bruce's nose, his cheeks, the black around his eyes. Soon, he's up to two fingers, and then three, watching the wrinkle between Bruce's furrowed brows to keep track of any signs of discomfort.
After a while and more whispering, kissing and licking, the slide of his fingers becomes easier, drawing them out and pushing them back in with less and less resistance. Bruce's face is rarely so open, unable to hide the way he feels not only from his heart but also from his eyes, deep pools of black drawing Clark in. His hands are pressing points of contact on Clark's back, his shoulders, his neck.
“You're doing so well, opening so nicely for me.” Clark pushes his fingers back in, scissoring them to stretch Bruce more, so nothing will hurt.
“Fuck me?” Bruce pleads. He makes a compelling case, lips shining with spit and legs trembling around Clark. It's so easy to give in and just push and take. But that's not what Clark wants. He wants to give. Give Bruce everything.
He withdraws, sitting up a little, and remembers his earlier thought. Bruce's hands at his sides, obedient. The sash will help Bruce stay still and take everything Clark has to give. He leans over to the bedside table once again, rummaging through the contents in the drawer until he finds the long black satin piece of fabric he's looking for. He gets up.
“Turn over,” he tells Bruce. Immediately, Bruce does so, familiarity shining in his eyes as he catches a glimpse of the item Clark is holding. It promises pain, discomfort, but Clark vows to himself to tie it perfectly, so it can only bring peace of mind to Bruce. He slides the cool fabric through one hand, and then trails the end over the back of Bruce's legs and up his back. Mesmerized, he watches electricity dancing between nerve endings just below Bruce's skin, creating an anticipating shiver.
Bruce catches on quickly, bringing his wrists together behind his back. Clark loops it underneath first, making sure it's flat. Then up and around, creating a figure eight, and up again, to tie the ends into a nice bow. With a gentle rug, he tests the knot.
It holds.
It's nothing Batman can't get out of, but that's not the point.
“Comfortable?” He asks.
“Make it tighter.”
Clark sighs. “No. Answer the question.”
Bruce tugs lightly, flexing his fingers, and swings from side to side. His face is mushed in Clark's pillow, already creating black stains from his eye paint. “Yes.”
“Okay.” Clark gets up and takes the bottom half of his suit off, finally freeing his cock from its harsh confines. He manages not to hiss as it bobs up and down, blood filling it more and getting even harder. He doesn't want Bruce to look back at him. He wants him relaxed, awaiting what he undoubtedly knows is coming next. Still, Clark likes that he has the control here. He can make Bruce wait as long or as short as he wants.
Before he climbs back on the bed, he uses his phone to turn up the vibrations of the cock ring again. Bruce jolts, a ripple traveling through his glutes and rolling his hips sinfully into the mattress. Clark has to grip his own cock at the base to not cum from the sight alone.
And then he finally, finally kneels behind Bruce on the mattress, warming his hips with 2 hands and sliding down his butt cheeks and up his broad and scarred back.
He leans down, whispering in Bruce's ear. “You're so beautiful, baby.” His cock rests heavy on Bruce's crack, sliding slowly through the lube there.
“Dammit, Clark. Fuck me already.”
“So demanding.” He drags a finger down Bruce's right arm, across the satin at his wrist, and tickles his open palm. “I don't think you understand, Bruce. I decide what to do tonight.”
Bruce groans. His hips cant up and down, finding friction between the mattress and Clark's cock. “I'm close. You're gonna–”
“Shh. You got four to go, remember? Relax.”
Bruce bites his lips, clenching everywhere. Maybe the vibrating ring is too much, Clark thinks. But he hasn't worn it too long yet to warrant concern.
“Relax,” he says again, massaging Bruce's buttocks and pulling them apart to reveal his glistening hole. Clark lubes up his cock quickly, making sure it's warm before he lines up the tip.
He pushes into Bruce harmlessly, groaning as tight heat envelops him. When he's in about halfway, he pulls back. Bruce rolls with it, fingers curling, and grunting as Clark pulls out all the way. He doesn't make him wait long, pushing in again until Bruce starts trembling from his sheer size, not wanting it to hurt. He pulls back again, setting a snail's pace. He watches mesmerized as Bruce takes him in every time, snaking a hand around to tug at Bruce's trembling cock.
“Fuck, Clark. Harder,” Bruce insists, despite his lips quivering and breath shaking. Bruce doesn't know what he needs. Clark does. He can see all of him, bound like this. Every muscle still taut with unreleased tension, every synapse in his brain firing hidden thoughts, every beat of his heart fraught with fear.
He pushes in a bit further, slower and stilling. “Habe you not been listening? You'll take what I give.” He pulls back again, not all the way anymore. His thrusts become smoother, a near continuous motion, pushing and pulling at the same pace, but still relentlessly slow, so that Bruce has no choice but to feel everything. One hand on the center of his back prevents him from chasing Clark's cock with his own agenda.
“Dammit, Clark,” he grunts after a while of the same thing and neither of them getting closer to orgasm. “Fuck me harder. Please?” He adds, one eye open and looking at Clark, a deep pool of want and manipulation.
“Don't make me gag you too,” Clark warns, coming to a halt with only his tip still inside Bruce.
“Maybe you should.”
“Maybe I should,” Clark agrees, reasoning that if Bruce can't speak he has to feel even more. He pulls out, getting the ball gag from his bedside table. Bruce already opens his mouth in anticipation, jaw clicking. Gently, Clark places the black ball at Bruce's mouth and secures the straps around his head.
“Okay? Comfortable?” He holds up a thumb on question, not lowering it until Bruce nods. He positions Bruce on his knees again, supported by pillows, and pushes his cock back in. He grabs Bruce's cock with one hand. “Now you'll get to cum again.”
Bruce hums around the ball, something that sounds suspiciously like ‘please’. Bruce is tight around him, too tight and strict, and Clark has to keep his hips still with one hand while he jerks him with the other.
With the gag, Bruce sounds beautiful. He can't close his mouth to swallow his moans, and he can't tell Clark what to do. All he can do is whimper and moan and breathe loudly through his nose as he tumbles towards his second orgasm. Clark's thrusts are still just as slow as before, but he takes mercy and vibrates his hand around Bruce's shaft.
“Cl’rk,” Bruce sobs around the ball. The sweat on his brow is beautiful. All he can do is lie there and take what Clark is giving him. His body - chest and shoulders pressed into the mattress and face contorted in pleasure - rocks on Clark's slow thrusts.
“Cum for me, baby. You can cum. I want to see you come undone,” Clark encourages. He licks it into Bruce's ear, feeling his cock harden even more under his vibrating hand, balls drawing up.
When Bruce cums, it's trembling and pulsating and warm into his hand. He holds him and kisses him through it, on his shoulder blade.
Clark stills inside him, letting him ride the wave, careful not to veer into overstimulation yet. “Good job. So good.” It takes nearly all of Clark's will power to keep his own orgasm at bay with the way Bruce clenches around him.
When Bruce's shaking subsides, Clark pulls out, making quick work of getting the cock ring off of his lover, listening to the blood flow in and out again. He gets up to go to the bathroom and deposit the toy on the sink for now. Bruce remains boneless on the mattress, letting it happen, watching Clark from the corner of his eye with his usual intensity as he pads around the room.
He leans back over him, one knee dipping into the mattress at Bruce's side. “Still good?” Bruce's hair is greasy to the touch. His eyes are still far too cognizant.
But Clark can practically see the ripple traveling through him at the vibrations of his voice and the dip of his tongue on Bruce's earlobe. He lavishes his neck, down to his left shoulder blade and back up to his pulse point. Clark wants to make Bruce melt, dissipate all of the tension from his muscles and keep him selfishly in his arms the rest of the night.
He grabs hold of Bruce's shoulders and lifts him up, until they're both standing next to the bed, on the soft rug. Clark's curtains are still open, his windows providing them with a view of the sleeping city.
Clark feels Bruce sway in his arms, his hands, still tied at the back, trapped between their bodies. “How are your legs?”
Good, Bruce signals with his fingers against Clark's hip.
“Okay. I'm gonna fuck you right here, standing up.” He gently lifts Bruce's left leg so he can place his foot on Clark's bedside table. This way, he's more open for Clark to slide back in. It will be more comfortable for him. As he pushes back into Bruce's heat, cockhead welcomed by his warmth again, he watches their reflection in the yellow light of his bedside lamp on the window. Legs, tangled and close, so close. Their hips, as Clark bottoms out slowly, flush together. Bruce's breath hitches as he fills him up completely again.
Clark wants to drink up that sound. He wants to hear much more from Bruce.
His chest warms Bruce's scarred back, and his arms comfort his worried chest. He holds him close, as close as he can, one hand on the satin bonds between them, breathing warmth in his ear. He doesn't care if half of Metropolis can see them through the window. All that matters right now is Bruce.
Clark draws out, focusing on keeping a steady and glacially slow pace. He wants Bruce to feel everything. He wants to feel everything. Bruce moans lowly, around the gag. As he pushes back in, he starts talking.
“You're taking me so well, Bruce. You always do.” He licks at Bruce's earlobe, kissing the several marks he's already left on his neck and shoulders. He hears Bruce close his eyes.
They're getting closer. Bruce giving in.
“You're gonna take all of me today.”
“A’r’dy do,” Bruce mumbles stubbornly around the ball.
“No.” Clark shakes his head. “Every day. Everything. All my help,” he punctuates with a sharp thrust. Bruce can barely hide the shudder anymore when Clark brushes his prostate.
“All my trust,” Clark says, breathy. Bruce leans his head back. He lets Clark take the weight. Clark pushes in deep, all the way, as far as he can go with Bruce's hands tied between them. Bruce is so tight, such perfect heat enveloping him. “All of my cock.”
“All of my care. All of my love,” he finishes, on the corner of Bruce's helpless open mouth. There are tears in his eyes, gathered in glistening drops on his lashes. Clark strokes his hair back, out of the way. “I mean it.”
Bruce deserves all that and more, and while it will never be enough, Clark will keep trying to give him that. He's been hurt enough. Clark, impossibly, never wants to add to that, he thinks, while hypocritically pushing finger shaped bruises into Bruce's right hip, to mark him. To show Bruce that he's cared for, loved, cherished.
“Nnh, ahh,” Bruce moans.
So Clark pushes, and claims, making sure his hand print will remain visible sensually low on Bruce's hips for a good few weeks to come. He hears blood vessels pop under married skin. He hears cells contracting, groaning.
He hears Bruce's teeth gnawing on the ball in response, an intake of breath, right on the precipice of pain. Clark stops, before it becomes too much.
He moves his hand to Bruce's cock instead, the skin on his hip now hot and tender, to touch him there again. He's glad to find it hard again. Bruce moans, throwing his head back, as he strokes from tip to bottom.
“Good?”
Bruce nods, barely perceptible. But he leans more into Clark, and that tells him enough.
“You're gonna cum again,” he announces. He times his strokes with the steady increasing pressure that his own cock relentlessly builds against Bruce's prostate. He drinks up the slow, punched out moans that produces from Bruce, tongue trapped behind the ball and the breathing through his nose louder because of it.
Everything tightens, as Bruce nears his third orgasm. Even his fingers, trapped in the silk.
Clark takes mercy on him, increasing his pace until Bruce’s cum splutters, stuttering out of his cock with a graceful arc and lands on his bedside table.
Bruce moans, deeply, loud and long, as all the tension disappears. He lets Clark carry his full weight, finally. “That’s it, B. That’s it. You’re beautiful,” he praises, as he rocks him through it, slow but steady, his grip never faltering.
When Bruce’s moans eventually die down, Clark gently pulls out. His own dick is throbbing, waiting for its release. Not yet. Bruce still has two more to go, and Clark can wait.
With great care, he lowers Bruce onto the bed again. Bruce lets him, boneless, hands slack in their ties. His muscles look more supple, the line of his back less harsh. Clark turns him around, so he's on his back. His eyes are closed, the skin around them smudged with black and reddened with tears.
“‘indfol’?” Bruce pleads.
Clark considers it, briefly. A black blindfold over Bruce's eyes would certainly add to the look. But it also gives him a way to hide, to retreat. And that's not what he wants. He places a knee between Bruce's legs. “Should I be offended that you don't want to see me?”
“Too ‘uch. ‘enses.”
The ball is constricting Bruce's words, but not enough. Clark smiles. Bruce squirms in his binds, straining his neck to look up at Clark. He shakes his head.
“No. No hiding today. I want to see all of you.” He settles fully on the bed when the last words leave his mouth, pushing Bruce's legs apart and back. He doesn't try again, and that's a good sign. He's following Clark's orders, letting him place a pillow under his hips. The angle is perfect for Clark to slide back in. As he does so, he can hear Bruce biting the ball to pinch his moan, but it still comes out, constricted and beautiful.
“That's it. Let me hear you.” He coaxes Bruce's legs back, hands on the back of those formidable and powerful thighs, going deeper. Tears spring into Bruce's eyes again when Clark bottoms out, face close to his lover.
“Ahh, St– H’rts,” Bruce bites. Immediately, Clark pulls out.
“Where? Hands? Legs?” Clark removed his hands, revealing rapidly reddening prints on Bruce's thighs. He sucks in a breath. “Sorr-”
“Hi's.”
Oh. His hips. Okay. Clark lets go, allowing Bruce to have his legs up more closely approximating a 90 degree angle instead of folded in half. He's okay. Clark kisses his right ankle, now next to his head, and then lower on his calf.
“Thank you for telling me.” Another kiss. “Being honest. You're being so good, B.” He kisses the other leg, a shrapnel scar on his shin. Bruce sucks in a shaky breath, his heartbeat responding in kind. Bruce's body makes the most beautiful sounds.
“Can we keep going?” Clark asks, just to be sure. Bruce nods.
“I'm gonna fuck you slowly, okay?”
At another time, he could have imagined Bruce snapping at him ‘you've been doing nothing else' but now, Bruce just nods, shoulders devoid of any tension. Easily, Clark pushes back in. It's tighter now, with Bruce's legs up on his shoulders. Their faces are far apart like this, and he misses the chance to kiss away the line of tension that's still present on Bruce's forehead, but he's happy with lavishing an ankle for now as he slowly bottoms out again. He sucks at a heel, mouths at a tendon, swirls his tongue around the tibia as he rolls his hips.
Underneath Bruce's back, his tied up fingers are scrunching at the sheets as he clenches so perfectly around Clark again. His cock lies limply and drooling on his belly, but Clark can fix that. He takes it in hand, warming it again, thumb sliding over his balls. Slowly, as Clark aims an expert brush of his cock right over Bruce's prostate and strokes his cock, he nurses it back to full hardness.
Bruce is panting.
“You like that?” Clark rolls his hips, jostling Bruce a little with the force. Just enough. He moans, broken on the ball and a choked up answer. Clark rolls again, long and deep, making sure to hit the sensitive bundle of nerves inside Bruce with the exact right pressure every time.
“Ahh. Ahh,” his lover stutters underneath him. Unable to close his mouth, Bruce lets his consonants roam freely. Clark increases his speed and pressure minimally, playing Bruce exactly how he wants and coaxing the sounds out of him. He keeps milking Bruce's prostate, concentrating with his vision on hitting it exactly right and with his nerves on applying the perfect pressure.
Bruce is lost to it, eyes closed, body slack with no choice but to take the relentless prostate massage Clark is giving him. He looks almost peaceful. Or at least, as peaceful as Clark has ever seen him. He wishes he could take it all, even that last etch of worry, off of Bruce's hands and carry it for him. Rao knows he tries. But also that Bruce will never let him fully succeed.
Bruce's teeth gnaw at the ball in his mouth, signifying his incoming orgasm, even though Clark has barely touched his cock anymore. Before he knows it, Bruce is shaking with it, raw and dry, fingers curling around the satin bonds. Gently, Clark eases off, pulling out while holding Bruce through it.
He sweats profusely from it. Clark wipes away a single escaping drop on his brow before it has a chance to reach his eyes.
Bruce looks up at him with desperation: Did that count?
Rao, he's meek like this. And Clark selfishly doesn't want it to end. He smiles, and tuts and purses his lips. “Still two more, Bruce. I'm not counting a dry orgasm.”
It's as if something snaps inside Bruce as the words leave Clark's mouth. He exhales, letting himself sink into the pillows. Is he giving in?
Clark bends down. “Hmm, so good. Listening to me.” He kisses down Bruce's sternum and shuffles back on the bed until he's face to face with Bruce's half hard cock. “I'll give you one. You don't have to do anything.”
He takes Bruce into his mouth, easily swallowing him down to the base where the hair tickles his nose. He comes back up, licking the underside of the shaft.
And Bruce breaks.
He chokes on a sob at the heat enveloping him. At the overstimulation. At Clark's hands splayed on his hips, keeping him firmly in place.
Clark hears him swallow, pushing his tongue at the ball and biting down on it. He takes mercy on him, making quick work of sucking him off, swirling his tongue around the head, moans vibrating along Bruce's sensitive nerves. He speeds up, until Bruce's thigh muscles go taut, and his balls draw up to empty in Clark's mouth.
He swallows all of it, humming around Bruce's sensitive cock.
“That was four.” He kisses Bruce's right hip.
“‘lease,” Bruce chokes.
Clark sits up, bracketing Bruce's face between his hands on the sheets. “Please what?”
“Fi’e.”
Clark isn't sure if Bruce means that he argues that was the fifth orgasm or if he wants one more right away. Either way, according to Clark's counting, they have one more to go. “One more,” he says strictly. “I need to cum too, baby. Are you gonna make me cum?”
Bruce nods, all too serious. Much too present to Clark's liking. He takes Bruce's chin in hand, feeling how warm his jaw is from overexertion. He makes Bruce look him in the eyes.
“Wrong, Bruce. You're just gonna lie there and take it.” Clark hears Bruce's heart skip a glorious beat. His eyes widen in welcome surprise. He likes that. “And I'm gonna fill you up. I think I'm gonna take my time for this last one.”
Then, he gently lifts Bruce to turn him over on his front. He smooths his hands down Bruce's back, between his arms still trapped in the black silk. Clark's knots from earlier have moved a bit, but they're still sturdy. The main thing is, Bruce hasn't tried to break out of the bonds, even though he easily could have by now. Good. Clark straddles the back of his thighs, his hands travelling down to Bruce's ass cheeks, red and marred from Clark's hands.
He sucks in a shaky breath when Clark parts them. Bruce's hole is glistening, red, puffy from their earlier activities. He presses a thumb on the sensitive rim, and drizzles a bit more lube on it.
Bruce sighs into the pillow he's mushed his right cheek into at the cool sensation.
“Tell me if you can't take it anymore, B,” he commands, placing his tip back on Bruce's entrance. “And I'll know, so there's no point in holding out when something starts hurting.”
Obediently, Bruce hums, jerking a single nod of his chin.
“Okay, good. Good boy.” Clark can't help that his moans turn into a sigh and then a moan again when he sinks back into Bruce's tight heat. It feels so good. Bruce feels so good.
Not too slowly, he bottoms out again, feeling Bruce lie still underneath him. “You take me so well,” he whispers in his ear as he drapes himself completely over his lover. Bruce's legs are between his own, and it's so tight. Clark has to let himself adjust to the pressure lest he comes right away. He doesn't want that. He's planning to draw this out for as long as he can.
So he sets an excruciatingly precise rhythm. He draws out halfway, and then pushes back in again, forcing Bruce deeper into the sheets. On each thrust, he increases his speed, building pressure, moans and gasps, until he's fucking Bruce into the sheets, hips slapping against Bruce's ass. Right until they're both facing the abyss.
And then he stops.
The first time, Bruce's breath hitches, choking on a sigh.
Clark restarts, pushing in again at an agonizingly slow pace, increasing, accelerating, right until it's almost too much. Too much for Bruce, and too much for Clark himself.
He pants with it, slowing down. With the need to cum, the delicious pressure building on his cock and in his balls.
He stops again. The second time, Bruce groans with the loss of pressure, biting down on the ball in frustration.
Clark keeps building, and stopping, right on the precipice. He fucks Bruce with the precision of a machine, relentless, not straying from his path to edge after edge after edge.
He knows Bruce's cock is leaking, rock hard and purpling with the blood he hears rushing through it. He can hear his orgasm nearing, every time. It's the way his balls draw up, his muscles contract, his cock twitches against the sheets.
But Clark needs to do this. Bruce deserves it, until he's completely relaxed. And Clark deserves to wait until after Bruce has orgasmed again. Bruce comes first, even if he doesn't always agree.
Bruce sobs, eyes squeezed shut.
“G-good?” Clark stutters through his self-inflicted torture. “I'm gonna make you cum so hard. Just one more, baby. Just one more.”
“‘lease.” Bruce sounds wrecked. There are tears on his cheeks.
“Yes.” He wraps his arms around Bruce, nearly tasting the hair at the back of his neck. He thrusts, faster, faster, faster. And stops again.
Clark's fingers are trembling with it, twitching against Bruce's skin. He can't edge himself for much longer. Bruce could squeeze one muscle and he'd spill everything, right then and there.
When it's been nearly an hour of rhythmic edging, Clark can barely hold himself up anymore. Even Superman doesn't have the stamina to stave off his own orgasm forever.
His entire form is trembling, brimming with the need to climax. He just needs to hold out a little longer, until every shred of tension is gone from Bruce's body. He breathes harshly into Bruce's neck, pumping faster again.
Bruce's moans rise with his thrusts, right until his voice nearly breaks, and tears spill from his closed eyes. “Cla’k!” He shakes, cheeks adorned with a lovely shade of red.
“That’s it, B,” Clark says, and he reaches around Bruce to find his cock, rutting hard against the mattress. He strokes it lightly. The resulting clench around his own cock is almost too much, but he has to hang on, for Bruce. After all this torture Bruce at least deserves to cum first. He licks behind Bruce's ear, relishing in the shiver that produces. “Gonna make you cum now.”
Clark times his thrusts with his strokes, thumbing the head of Bruce's cock, right over the slit. It doesn't take long. Just a little more pressure, just a little faster, and then they're both seeing white. Clark buries his nose in Bruce's hair, muffling his wretched scream as he pumps him full of cum. Underneath him, Bruce shakes through his own orgasm, his seed spilling over Clark's fingers.
They breathe heavily for a while, until the edges of Clark's vision start to blur with sleep. Bruce must be uncomfortable with a limp Kryptonian on him, but he doesn't say anything or attempt in any way to get Clark off. He's so strong. Bruce could carry him easily.
Eventually, Clark starts placing kisses beneath Bruce's ear and reluctantly pulls his softening cock out. He feels completely spent. And seeing Bruce remain listless on the bed even after his weighted blanket has removed himself tells Clark that his mission of getting Bruce to relax was successful. His jaw must ache though, and his wrists are scuffed red underneath the bonds.
He takes those off first, gently pulling and undoing the knot. The material glides off of Bruce's scarred skin, landing on the bed, and Bruce flexes his fingers. Clark will help him. But first, his jaw. “Lift your head, sweetheart.” Bruce does as he's told, meek and obedient, letting Clark unclasp the strap of the gag, and taking the ball to place on the night stand. He can see teeth marks on it.
Bruce swallows, turning around and flopping exhaustedly onto his back.
Clark sits on his knees. “How's your jaw?”
Bruce opens and closes his mouth a couple times, rubbing it with trembling fingers. “Fine.”
“Let me,” Clark says, and lies down next to Bruce. With his thumb and pointer finger, he strokes down Bruce's chin, and back up his jaw to the hinges, right below his ears. Like this, his hand is cupped right around Bruce's neck, and Clark can feel the pulse singing underneath his sweat stained skin.
Bruce closes his eyes.
He trusts Clark absolutely. He's given himself over completely. It's louder than any declaration of love Bruce could proclaim.
I trust you.
Clark holds him like that for a while, watching Bruce's face relax as the warmth from his fingers spreads through Bruce's neck. He's his, entirely his.
I love you.
Clark bends down, kissing Bruce's forehead, and lets his fingers slide down again, to the tip of Bruce's chin. With two hands, he rubs circles at the hinges of Bruce's jaw, soothing the discomfort away.
As Bruce's breathing deepens, and his muscles relax, he slows down, until his fingers have stilled completely. Every time, he can't believe he gets to hold this beautiful man between his brutal hands and be reminded of his own gentleness. He caresses, feeling every groove of Bruce's skin and every speck of stubble under his fingers.
“Goodnight, Bruce,” he whispers against slightly parted lips, and curls into him completely, closing his eyes and drifting off into a deep, long sleep.