Raised thigh meets immoveable butt. Likewise, the hand clasping Bruce's arm still stays like concrete, but it'd be unwise to assume Clark is ignorant to that struggle, attentive to the bend and flex and twist of muscle and bone beneath his grip.
"Oh, okay," Clark says, punctuated between a kiss to Bruce's mouth and then cheek. "I'll remember you said that."
A little more pressure, then, where he straddles Bruce's hips, more contact and warmth than friction. He lets go of Bruce's arm to bury both hands up his shirt, still leaning over him, and pushes the garment up, with the intent on getting it clean off.
It's been a while since he's felt nervous about sex with Bruce. There was a period of time where that was so, even in addition to the normal amount of nervous that Clark sometimes felt with sex and someone new, where they understood each other less, where they hadn't put words to this thing they shared. The only time that nerves threaten to make a return are times like this, where Clark insists upon control, to dictate what they're doing. There will be a tipping point, he knows, where he won't feel anything but keyed into what they're doing.
Until then, he tries to keep his expression even as he collects one of the chains, and one of Bruce's wrists. Fuzzy handcuffs. Don't laugh, Kent. He slips the leather around a wrist, slips the buckle into place, finds a notch to secure it.
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"Oh, okay," Clark says, punctuated between a kiss to Bruce's mouth and then cheek. "I'll remember you said that."
A little more pressure, then, where he straddles Bruce's hips, more contact and warmth than friction. He lets go of Bruce's arm to bury both hands up his shirt, still leaning over him, and pushes the garment up, with the intent on getting it clean off.
It's been a while since he's felt nervous about sex with Bruce. There was a period of time where that was so, even in addition to the normal amount of nervous that Clark sometimes felt with sex and someone new, where they understood each other less, where they hadn't put words to this thing they shared. The only time that nerves threaten to make a return are times like this, where Clark insists upon control, to dictate what they're doing. There will be a tipping point, he knows, where he won't feel anything but keyed into what they're doing.
Until then, he tries to keep his expression even as he collects one of the chains, and one of Bruce's wrists. Fuzzy handcuffs. Don't laugh, Kent. He slips the leather around a wrist, slips the buckle into place, finds a notch to secure it.
"How's that feel?"