"Yeah," Clark says. Whatever that was, yeah, because probably, now, or later.
In this case, it's both hands taking Bruce's face between them, lifting his head to meet Clark for a kiss, one that breaks itself against his mouth, licking in deep and dragging his teeth against Bruce's bottom lip, and then his jaw and then down his neck, his chest, where Clark can move easier, those slow circular motions picking up a little, pulling back further so he can sink in harder.
Need for a new angle, a new pace, after some time spent at this one, has Clark pushing himself up, bracing his hands against Bruce's outstretched arms, fingers curled around straining biceps, a new source of pressure as he pins him there firm enough for chains up at his wrists to slacken.
Faster, harder, but still patient, still relentlessly self-indulgent, apparently—all the while focused on each breath and groan out of Bruce, each tangling flex of chain, muscle twitches of his legs around his waist. On Clark's side, he is borderline meditative as he fucks him, eyes half-hooded, each curl and rise as precise as an inexhaustible workout. The hands braced against Bruce's arms, occasionally, squeeze gently, as more warm shivers begin to work through him.
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In this case, it's both hands taking Bruce's face between them, lifting his head to meet Clark for a kiss, one that breaks itself against his mouth, licking in deep and dragging his teeth against Bruce's bottom lip, and then his jaw and then down his neck, his chest, where Clark can move easier, those slow circular motions picking up a little, pulling back further so he can sink in harder.
Need for a new angle, a new pace, after some time spent at this one, has Clark pushing himself up, bracing his hands against Bruce's outstretched arms, fingers curled around straining biceps, a new source of pressure as he pins him there firm enough for chains up at his wrists to slacken.
Faster, harder, but still patient, still relentlessly self-indulgent, apparently—all the while focused on each breath and groan out of Bruce, each tangling flex of chain, muscle twitches of his legs around his waist. On Clark's side, he is borderline meditative as he fucks him, eyes half-hooded, each curl and rise as precise as an inexhaustible workout. The hands braced against Bruce's arms, occasionally, squeeze gently, as more warm shivers begin to work through him.