As slow as it is - easy, almost sedated, the late hour and post-dinner idleness - there is still something electric, for Bruce, in the way they brush together, and shift into a comfortable position. For a second, just a heartbeat, he can feel a moment like finding the seam in a clay cup with his fingertips, where he could push it into something faster, harder, dare him to crank it up by several degrees. And either it would happen, or it would become a presence to be held onto.
He doesn't. (Not yet?) (They have time. Tonight, tomorrow, all week.)
Clark is mostly out of literal reach now, so Bruce occupies his hands with his hair, his shoulder. Thumb over his ear in an echo of the shower, but this time it's a sensual touch instead of a teasing one. He lets out a breath, a near-inaudible sigh, and relaxes to let the other man do whatever he'd like. And there is nothing about this he doesn't acquiesce to. Knock yourself out, Kansas.
"That's what your eyes look like sometimes," he says after a while, composure as stone as ever, even as his breath ticks up and his cock fills, everything flushes warm. "The ocean, looking at it from the shore. Way out at one of the poles, where everything is still blue and white. But you're never cold."
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He doesn't. (Not yet?) (They have time. Tonight, tomorrow, all week.)
Clark is mostly out of literal reach now, so Bruce occupies his hands with his hair, his shoulder. Thumb over his ear in an echo of the shower, but this time it's a sensual touch instead of a teasing one. He lets out a breath, a near-inaudible sigh, and relaxes to let the other man do whatever he'd like. And there is nothing about this he doesn't acquiesce to. Knock yourself out, Kansas.
"That's what your eyes look like sometimes," he says after a while, composure as stone as ever, even as his breath ticks up and his cock fills, everything flushes warm. "The ocean, looking at it from the shore. Way out at one of the poles, where everything is still blue and white. But you're never cold."