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Clark roused to the warm caress of sunlight against the skin on his exposed foot. The sheet, which was haphazardly strewn across his hips and back did little to ward off the chill of the late fall air let in by the open windows. He hadn’t closed the balcony door when he flew in last night, and Bruce hadn’t bothered to see to it himself either.
Arching, Clark stretched towards the weak sunlight filtering through Gotham’s notoriously overcast sky.
A heavy hand landed on his shoulder. Bruce’s voice was sleep-rough when he said, “Good morning.”
Bruce was completely human, no superpowers except absurd wealth and astounding detective abilities, yet he seemed uncannily able to tune into Clark. One second he slept, the next he woke at the mere shifting of Clark’s body next to his.
Then again, the alertness Bruce had likely went farther than just his awareness of Clark. Bruce played many roles and needed to keep vigilant at all times.
“It’s still early for Bruce Wayne,” Clark pushed to his elbows so he could look at the man curved towards him. “After a night out on the town like that.”
Bruce Wayne had spent several hours attending a gallery opening and subsequent after party. Clark hadn’t been there, but it was second nature to take three seconds here and there to check in on the other members of the Justice League, wherever he was. He’d seen the way Bruce Wayne had played host to the attention of a much younger lady. That young lady, no doubt, was of some frivolous importance to high society in Gotham. She’d been angling for an invite to somewhere more private but Bruce Wayne had been oblivious.
“You’re right.” Bruce’s fingers trailed delicately up the curve of Clark’s spine until goosebumps broke out over his skin. Bruce continued, “It’s barely six in the morning.”
Still braced on his elbows, Clark hummed in agreement. He wanted to trace the crows feet around Bruce’s eyes, smooth his thumb over the shadows that seemed almost permanently smudged beneath those hazel eyes. But that wasn’t the sort of intimacy he and Bruce were supposed to have.
This— whatever —was convenient, if reckless on both their parts. No doubt, Bruce had considered all outcomes to their dalliance. Whatever conclusion he’d come to, he kept to himself. Clark, for his part, had been thinking about it too much while trying to run from the thoughts altogether.
Bruce rolled up and over, using the hand still playing on Clark’s shoulder to push him to the bed. The immediate heat against Clark’s skin where Bruce’s chest pressed felt like a soft brand. He mouthed along the back of Clark’s neck and asked, “Do you need to leave soon?”
Reaching out with his hearing, Clark searched for any immediate disasters. Relief, slightly tinged with guilt, relaxed him farther against the bed. He would need to meet up later for a working lunch with a potential article source, but that wasn’t for hours. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to bask in the weight and warmth of Bruce pinning him.
“No,” he confirmed, lips already reflecting the smug tilt to Bruce’s where they brushed over the nape of Clark’s neck.
Bruce didn’t say anything in return. Instead, he continued his languid exploration of Clark’s neck and shoulders. It was softer than anything they typically stumbled into, but this was the first time Clark had stayed the night.
He’d flown in late, merely a half hour after Bruce had returned, alone, from the party. Glitter had shimmered in the lamp light against Bruce’s cheek where the young lady’s sparkly lipstick left a souvenir. Meanwhile, dust and dirt clung to the creases of Clark’s fingers after having helped pull survivors from a collapsed building in Rio de Janeiro.
“Shower?” Bruce offered as he casually undid his cuff links, taking a step towards Clark.
Willing his suit off, Clark took pleasure in watching Bruce’s gaze track each revealed inch of skin. He smiled the bright, so-called Boy Scout smile and strode into the bathroom. “Thanks.”
Bruce followed him—stalked him like a calculating predator.
Now, Clark shivered at the blunt bite of Bruce’s teeth into the cap of his shoulder. Bruce’s palm, soft from manicures and lotions in order to play the part of Bruce Wayne, skimmed over Clark’s side—down, down, down—until those thick, strong fingers could knead into the muscle of Clark’s ass. Bruce was crouched over him, sheet slung across his back and draping over the both of them. Clark could almost pretend there was no world, no sense of time or urgency, waiting for them on the other side.
He was hard. His cock was trapped between his hip and the bed, but the arousal swirling in his stomach and flushing his body with heat wasn’t all-consuming just yet. He arched into it when Bruce’s tongue dragged down the dip of his back, where Bruce hadn’t even known he was sensitive that way.
“I’m not expected anywhere, for hours,” Bruce said, picking back up their earlier conversation. His breath was hot as he spoke, lips brushing against the small of Clark’s back.
“I’m sure we can find something to keep you occupied.” Clark started to roll over, reach for Bruce so he could drag him up the bed into a proper kiss.
The hands on his hips stopped him. Bruce rubbed his stubbled cheek over Clark’s skin, bringing up a fresh wave of goosebumps. “Like this.”
Clark didn’t know exactly what Bruce was planning, but he knew he wasn’t worried. He settled down again, and took a steadying breath as he allowed Bruce to continue teasing him with his mouth. A bite here, a long slide of the tongue there, and Clark was quickly pulled from latent arousal to desire . He couldn’t stop squirming, as undignified as it might feel when he thought of this later. He wanted to do something, to have more.
“Bruce,” he didn’t whine. His voice was deep and curt.
His cock was leaving a wet spot in the bedding, and the pressure of his own weight shifting did little to ease the need.
The sheet slid down as Bruce crawled backwards, pushing between Clark’s legs. He didn’t say anything, but Clark could hear the way Bruce’s heart was pumping faster. He could smell the faint scent of Bruce’s precome as it beaded at the slit of his cock. Bruce wasn’t unaffected by his seemingly mindless playing.
Shifting on the bed again, Clark’s hand bumped against the bottle of lube that had been forgotten and pushed under the mountain of pillows. He grabbed it and blindly offered it in an open palm next to his hip. “Here.” The word came out breathless.
With the reminder of just how close they could be, Clark found himself unable to think about little else than the unrelenting slide of Bruce into his body. Clark rocked his hips back and forth.
Finally , Bruce’s fingers wrapped around the bottle and Clark’s hand. He slid his hand up until his thumb brushed against the inside of Clark’s wrist before pulling back and taking the bottle with him.
With a relieved huff, Clark closed his eyes. He waited for the snick of the lid popping open and for Bruce to push a slick finger inside the place Clark felt acutely empty. The sound didn’t come, however.
Instead, Bruce sat up and pulled the sheet with him. Clark’s back was exposed to the chilled air of the room, and goosebumps rushed over his skin for an all new reason. He wasn’t vulnerable, even prone as he was on his stomach. Clark— Superman— couldn’t be truly vulnerable without the threat of kryptonite. Despite this, Clark felt vulnerable with the other man kneeling above him as if surveying a project or a problem to be solved. Clark kept his eyes lightly closed and forced his muscles to stay relaxed beneath the scrutiny. It was taxing to pretend to be unaffected.
Hands cupped along Clark’s rib cage and slowly trailed down the angle of his waist until Bruce’s fingers slotted along the cut of muscle at Clark’s hips. The motion had been so solid, so confident, that Clark could no longer hold back the shaking breath that ripped out of him. Bruce was taking his time with Clark.
Leaning forward, Bruce kissed the space Clark knew existed between the dimples at the base of his spine. Clark’s eyelids twitched, and he had to grind his teeth to keep from moving away. The way Bruce was touching him, as if this meant more than it was supposed to—as if Clark meant more—was too much. It was too soft and too sweet. Clark wanted it in the worst way and knew he shouldn’t, couldn’t. Bruce rubbed the end of his nose there and shifted lower onto the bed until his chest spread Clark’s thighs farther apart.
“Wh-what are you doing?” Clark swallowed through a dry mouth. He pulled his arms back up to push against the bed.
Bruce’s chin propped against the crest of Clark’s ass, and he said, “Making use of my time.” With one hand, he spread Clark until he was exposed completely. A finger rubbed lightly there, dry and smooth. Bruce tucked his face down and slowly dug his teeth into one side of Clark’s ass. After he—slowly, so slowly it felt like a whole different sensation altogether—let Clark’s flesh slip from his teeth, Bruce clarified himself. “I want to rim you.”
Surprise and shock zipped through Clark at the idea. He knew what rimming was; he’d heard lewd stories and accidentally seen strangers doing all sorts of things like that. But he’d never participated in any fashion. It hadn’t occurred to him to want it, and no past partners had broached the idea either.
Now, Bruce was mouthing at the skin close to Clark’s opening after simply stating his desire like that. Clark felt flushed with an uncertainty that was nearly drowned out by the wanton need coiled along his skin. From far away, he wanted to ask why and would it feel good , but more than that, Clark wanted Bruce to keep touching him and to stop teasing him.
When Clark didn’t stop him, Bruce pressed a kiss to one cheek before reaching over for a pillow and working it beneath Clark’s hips. The friction coupled with the cool sensation of the pillowcase against his cock pushed a quiet moan from Clark’s throat. He wanted to reach down and ease the tension, but he kept his hands, balled up, by his sides. He decided to see how this was going to go, to see what Bruce wanted.
“Good,” Bruce’s voice was husky with desire and pleasure. It was barely spoken, but Clark could hear the smile in his voice as Bruce gave that bit of praise.
The first touch wasn’t even Bruce’s tongue, like Clark had been bracing to expect. It was his lips, wet and soft, against Clark’s skin. He let his bottom lip drag, staccato. Clark hissed involuntarily. Two seconds later, Bruce was ducking down and pressing the end of his tongue against the taught skin behind Clark’s balls.
“Nggh,” Clark let out an incomprehensible sound at the feel.
Bruce didn’t give him much time to recover. He licked up and down that short stretch. Bruce’s stubble was close cropped, only the growth from overnight, but Clark could feel each bristle like a dull needle. It was distracting and somehow grounding as Clark’s body was slowly taught a new sensation. Bruce wasn’t just using tongue and lips; he was using his chin and nose to coax Clark to a breaking point.
Methodical and quiet, Bruce worked his way up and down, over and over again. It was just the sound of Clark’s own breath and choked off whines coupled with the rasp and slick slide of saliva meeting skin for skin in Clark’s ear. When he swallowed another lungful of air, he could taste the salty, bitter scents of his and Bruce’s precome. His world of consciousness was narrowed to the pinprick of their existence together.
It was a momentary relief when Bruce moved up to trace along the furled muscle. It felt like something more solid— a simple, solid sensation that Clark’s mind could latch onto. The pressure there was almost familiar—wet, warm, insistent—but it was so much more delicate than a finger seeking entrance. Clark slid a hand from the bed up to the back of his own head to tug at his hair. He felt like he was being driven slowly mad with need . Everything felt so close to perfect, but it wasn’t enough . Bruce licked agin and again with the flat of his tongue before he pulled away.
The rough sound of Bruce spitting, followed by the splat of saliva hitting him there had Clark hiding his face. Bruce didn’t give him time to react before leaning back in and pushing the tip of his tongue inside. Images of other things slipping and sliding around Clark like that filled his head as he couldn’t stop imagining Bruce cleaning up the mess with his mouth, after . It was dirty, and Clark loved it.
Rimming. This is what it felt like, and this was why people did it. He felt wet everywhere, slippery and exposed, and Clark didn’t know what to do about it . But he didn’t need to do anything except let Bruce continue. Let Bruce do as he pleased and drown in the feeling of his own desire being stoked to ever greater heights. His cock was still trapped, still leaking and hard with the need to climax even though he was nowhere near that precipice, just continuously circling and circling.
Bruce wasn’t as quiet now. Whenever Clark’s body reacted in a way that pleased him, a gruff groan would roll out in response. Clark could feel the vibration of sound against his skin in such an intimate way. It felt like a completely different kind of power to be given, pleasing Bruce by letting himself be pleasured. Arching back into Bruce and tilting his ass up for better access only seemed natural when he had Bruce’s absolute attention like this.
Just as Clark started to relax, to stop fighting the conscious weirdness of it all, Bruce’s tongue moved back down. He sucked ever so lightly at that stretch of skin before dragging his chin up, pressing in and pulling an unexpected groan from Clark. He tensed all over again, worried for a split second that something else—something decidedly unsexy—was going to happen.
“It’s okay,” Bruce’s voice was gravely. He rubbed a hand across Clark’s lower back in a soothing motion before pressing his chin into that same spot.
Oh , Clark realized with a start what was happening. He forced his body to relax again and took a deep breath. The feeling was intensely good, radiating out in warm waves. Clark shivered with the unexpected pleasure. His skin felt hypersensitive to the rasp of Bruce’s stubble, yet the discomfort balanced the overwhelming need building.
“Just like that,” Bruce praised again. He moved away, and Clark whimpered at the loss. “I’ve got you.”
A careful hand slid beneath Clark’s hips to gently guide his cock until it was tucked down, exposed. Bruce leaned in and lapped at the slick dribbling down from Clark’s slit, slow and methodical for one long drawn out moment until he closed his lips around the head and sucked. Only once, just long enough to have Clark’s legs twitching.
Clark pleaded, “ Bruce ,” with every bit of urgency spooled in his being.
Bruce didn’t continue, didn’t send him over that glorious edge yet. Instead, he let the sharp of his teeth ghost across Clark’s shaft. He pressed the tip of his tongue into the middle of Clark’s sac. He kissed Clark along the smooth skin behind and kept kitten-licking upwards until he could push his tongue back inside, as deep as possible.
Clark accidentally tore the sheet his hand was twisted into, but neither of them paid any mind. Bruce started gently pressing a knuckle against Clark’s skin, methodically applying varied pressure to that place that had Clark reeling. He had no way to relieve the need, nothing of substance to rub against now that Bruce had repositioned his cock. Each rock of his hips did barely more than glance across the fabric of the pillow.
He was completely at Bruce’s mercy.
“Please, Bruce. I-I need...” Clark kept moving, kept shifting as Bruce played with him.
It wasn’t enough. Couldn’t be enough, surely.
He was wet and open now as Bruce tongued at him, sucked at the rim and slid his tongue in and out.
“Fuck me,” Clark hissed the words out desperately.
Bruce stayed frustratingly quiet behind him. His knuckles alternated kneading in lightly and deeply. It was almost like when Bruce was buried inside, but the feeling was more of an endless tease. So close, but Clark didn’t know if he could get there.
Hot tears gathered at the corners of his eyes, wetting his lashes. Clark had never felt so helpless in the throes of passion like this. It was at once frustrating and freeing. He shuddered, took another deep breath, and stopped fighting.
Bruce wouldn’t leave him like this. He wouldn’t tease him and tease him without finishing the job. He trusted Bruce to take care of him, to make him feel good.
The hand that Bruce had soothed him with earlier rubbed slowly once again against Clark’s back. He never stopped touching and tasting Clark. The side of the pillow must have been soaked by that point. Clark had never been this turned on, had never been coaxed like this. Bruce traced his tongue up and down, rocked his knuckles around and around, until the only thing Clark knew was heated pleasure coursing through his body.
The climax, when it came, was a gradual bloom that lit him up all over. He came with a sob, with Bruce grunting his praises and finally, finally stroking his cock.
Time no longer existed. Clark’s body was carefully turned and the pillow was removed. Clark could feel the brush of Bruce’s skin against his, heard the sound of his ragged breath as it blew softly, warmly, over Clark’s neck.
“Wow,” was the only thing that Clark could articulate after he’d recovered. He was still hard, could go again if Bruce asked. But the need was sated for now.
He’d never felt like that. No one had ever taken him apart the way Bruce had.
Bruce pressed a slow kiss to Clark’s shoulder and said, “You were perfect.”
“What about you?” Clark turned to look at his...at Bruce. He smiled, still dazed. With a flick of his eyes downward, he asked, “Don’t you want to finish?”
Bruce cupped himself before pulling his hand away and rubbing against Clarks hip. “Not right now. I did what I wanted.”
Clark closed his eyes when Bruce pulled him into his chest. “What are you going to do with the rest of your morning?”
As much as Clark enjoyed the brief vacation from responsibility, it was only ever going to be brief. They both had obligations for their personas and their powered lives. He would have to be satisfied with whatever bit of respite he could carve out for himself with Bruce until the time that Bruce decided the risk was too high.
Bruce was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, “Do you have time to go for coffee with me?”
Clark scratched at his hair which surely looked a complete disaster now. “You have one of those fancy espresso machines in your kitchen.”
“I do, but,” Bruce said as he slid a hand over Clarks chest. His fingers threaded through the hair there before Bruce brushed his thumb over a collarbone. “I want to take you out for coffee.”
Clark paused. He finally asked, “Out for coffee?”
Bruce tucked his face against Clark’s neck and let out a slow breath. “Yeah, out for coffee.”
Clark circled the back of Bruce’s wrist and agreed. “I’d like that.”