If this were earlier, maybe even minutes earlier, it'd be tempting to palm his hand over Bruce's mouth. Stop talking. Interesting thought for another time.
Right now, Clark is—
Closer than he meant to be, probably. He'd been good before now. Happy to take his time. Now this isn't that at all and Bruce's hands warm on his face feel like they could be as unlikely a touch as them like this, tangled together, inside each other, but none of it is, and all of it feels good and correct. His breathing is coming shallow, and there is that instinct to stop, to slam the brakes before he goes careening.
He does not. His whole body suddenly tenses, back arching as his hips push forward deep (with a tremor through his spine and shoulders, leashed, unwilling to harm, unable to fully become untethered) and a choked cry shudders out of him, some of it getting lost and muffled in Bruce's hands as he turns his head against them. Relief burns through him, and the breath he lets out is long.
The hand gripping Bruce's thigh has let go, steadying on the mattress, and then drifting to touch again as Clark refocuses. Has the wherewithal to make a decision—to stay buried in him—as his hand slips between the press of their bodies, fingertips brushing along the length of Bruce's cock, a little clumsily taking him into his hand.
no subject
Right now, Clark is—
Closer than he meant to be, probably. He'd been good before now. Happy to take his time. Now this isn't that at all and Bruce's hands warm on his face feel like they could be as unlikely a touch as them like this, tangled together, inside each other, but none of it is, and all of it feels good and correct. His breathing is coming shallow, and there is that instinct to stop, to slam the brakes before he goes careening.
He does not. His whole body suddenly tenses, back arching as his hips push forward deep (with a tremor through his spine and shoulders, leashed, unwilling to harm, unable to fully become untethered) and a choked cry shudders out of him, some of it getting lost and muffled in Bruce's hands as he turns his head against them. Relief burns through him, and the breath he lets out is long.
The hand gripping Bruce's thigh has let go, steadying on the mattress, and then drifting to touch again as Clark refocuses. Has the wherewithal to make a decision—to stay buried in him—as his hand slips between the press of their bodies, fingertips brushing along the length of Bruce's cock, a little clumsily taking him into his hand.