He lifts his head when kissed, making the most of it while it lasts, relaxing back when it ends.
As Bruce moves, Clark fidgets a little with the way his wrists are positioned. With enough straining, maybe by inducing that cutting off of circulation being described to him, maybe he could get to one of the knots. It'd take more work than that, fingers, teeth, time, and doesn't matter besides—what he expects to be able to do is to simply shred the fabric and snap metal with a twitch, and he can't.
The criss-cross and loop of ribbons down his arms hug and squeeze pleasantly, and do so more when he shifts, flexing down from wrist to shoulder as he adjusts to the position. When Bruce gets between his legs, mouth kissing at and biting at his chest, Clark shifts his arms like he might try to touch. The angle is wrong, as is the bite of ribbon, and he winds up just stretching right back, arms over head.
Contradictions. Pain and pleasure should be exclusive, and they're not. Loving putting his hands on Bruce, either to touch lightly or grip his hair or flip him over isn't exclusive to also enjoying it when the option is taken from him.
Less stillness, now. Little twitches at particularly sharp snags to the clips on his nipples, small squirms when Bruce's mouth draws bruises on his skin. Warm skin gets warmer, pinpricks of sweat raised down the sides of his torso, thighs, between where ribbon lays flat. Eventually, Clark does try to make use of where his cock presses against Bruce, raising his hips to rub skin to skin, even as clips pull and drag when he does.
no subject
As Bruce moves, Clark fidgets a little with the way his wrists are positioned. With enough straining, maybe by inducing that cutting off of circulation being described to him, maybe he could get to one of the knots. It'd take more work than that, fingers, teeth, time, and doesn't matter besides—what he expects to be able to do is to simply shred the fabric and snap metal with a twitch, and he can't.
The criss-cross and loop of ribbons down his arms hug and squeeze pleasantly, and do so more when he shifts, flexing down from wrist to shoulder as he adjusts to the position. When Bruce gets between his legs, mouth kissing at and biting at his chest, Clark shifts his arms like he might try to touch. The angle is wrong, as is the bite of ribbon, and he winds up just stretching right back, arms over head.
Contradictions. Pain and pleasure should be exclusive, and they're not. Loving putting his hands on Bruce, either to touch lightly or grip his hair or flip him over isn't exclusive to also enjoying it when the option is taken from him.
Less stillness, now. Little twitches at particularly sharp snags to the clips on his nipples, small squirms when Bruce's mouth draws bruises on his skin. Warm skin gets warmer, pinpricks of sweat raised down the sides of his torso, thighs, between where ribbon lays flat. Eventually, Clark does try to make use of where his cock presses against Bruce, raising his hips to rub skin to skin, even as clips pull and drag when he does.