solarcore: (#11893084)

[personal profile] solarcore 2021-01-01 06:23 am (UTC)(link)
The permission (which is how Clark is taking it) is a minor surprise, but taken in good faith. His expression skews thoughtful, a silent maybe I will to the tip of his head, eye contact unbreaking.

Until he is kissed, anyway, eyes closing on auto. Occurs to him only then that their kisses have thus far tonight been a little sideways, never matching up, and he can feel himself warm to it now, as though the delay had been by design. He returns the subtle intention of it, and the subtlety itself.

Kind of.

"Well, I like this guy plenty," Clark says. The bed creaks as he shifts his body around, to face Bruce a little better, knee bumping knee. The start of crowding in on him. "Not sure how you'd take me dialling it up a notch."
solarcore: (3)

[personal profile] solarcore 2021-01-01 09:05 am (UTC)(link)
"Everything in moderation."

Hands and knees, the mattress sinking beneath the density of them both converging around the same spot. Clark reaching past him to find a grip on the headboard, and the next time he kisses Bruce, Bruce can hear the creak of wood under stress from just the slight flex of Clark's hand.

Daring is met with more guileless interest reflected back at him, a lazy heat in clear eyes. He's never all the time exactly certain how this will go, what they might do together and to one another, even though the conclusion is generally a safe bet. Sometimes it's a trick, that the simple and easy moments feel so familiar, that he forgets they're still finding things out.

His other hand lands on Bruce's chest, gentle, feeling the thrum of his heart before he draws that hand downwards, fingertips seeking out sensitive points as he kisses Bruce's mouth again.
solarcore: (#11967035)

[personal profile] solarcore 2021-01-01 11:41 am (UTC)(link)
A break in kissing without backing up, just to help—knees shifting to work fabric off completely, reaching backwards to unhook crumpled sweatpants off his own ankles, flipped aside. Another swell of a kiss, of kissing, a little hungrier than before, as if forgetting he was asked a question. Or intent on making Bruce forget he asked a question.

(Probably, Clark would not call them fucked up. But he'd probably get around to that same premise. Maybe with a twee puzzle piece metaphor.)

"Nothing," he mumbles against Bruce's mouth anyway, voice pitched breathier, kiss broken further with his smile, "I was being sarcastic." He's allowed.

At some point, his fingers have slipped into Bruce's waistband. Every part of him is always a few degrees warmer than most might consider comfortable, usually, and that extends right down to the knuckles now press against that divot between hip and pelvis.

Kissing graduates down to his throat.
Edited (whole sentences just for you) 2021-01-01 11:41 (UTC)
solarcore: <user name="oslo" site="insanejournal.com"> (136)

[personal profile] solarcore 2021-01-02 07:49 am (UTC)(link)
The hair grip gets an appreciative hum. The hand pressed inside his thigh can feel the subtle twitch and flex of muscle as Clark moves a little to encourage it. The amount that Bruce declares he likes him gets a laugh breathed against his shoulder.

"Sounds like there's room for improvement."

—not a complaint, apparently. An impetus. It's what dumb banter is for.

Clark turns his wrist so that when his hand slips into Bruce's pants, it's to circle his fingers around his cock. He flexes his wrist so that waistband slips further down, give them both some room. The first time they'd done this, Bruce could probably have clocked that he's not Clark's first male partner, but that there haven't been a lot of them. Probably not a lot of people in general.

However, shyness on its own hadn't been too much of an issue. But don't worry, there were plenty of hangups to work through at the time.
solarcore: <user name="oslo" site="insanejournal.com"> (184)

[personal profile] solarcore 2021-01-03 10:47 am (UTC)(link)
There are things left to figure out, which is its own kind of nice. One of them, at least for Clark, is figuring out the balance. It's not missed on him, Bruce's level of care, for little things and for big things. It's different to what he might anticipate from Lois, where she makes him feel like a safe port in a storm, how right and good that feels. Whether it's Bruce's audacity to resurrect him or Lois admitting how far she'd fallen, how ready she was to be caught, through to—

Well. This stuff, maybe. Clark glances at Bruce for that question, hand gentle around him, coaxing him. Gentle, considering the friction of dry skin.

"Not in particular," he says, thinking about it. There'd been a hint of motion like he could get something more satisfying out of the brush of Bruce's knuckles against his cock, on its way to hard since Bruce had touched the waistband of his pants. Now, instead, he scoots backwards, giving Bruce space to find something more comfortable, and himself more room. "But I think I wanna take care of you to start with," with a gentle emphasis on the 'you'.

Mostly he means this: curls his fingers firmer around Bruce's cock, and lower his head down to take it only shallowly into his mouth, once he gets any sense of acquiescence.
solarcore: (042)

[personal profile] solarcore 2021-01-05 10:55 am (UTC)(link)
Nice to do this. Nice to settle down flatter on the bed, and easily pick up that near-inaudible sigh and the uptick in breathing, and feel Bruce's fingers follow or disrupt the natural wave in his hair. Nice to focus on this one thing, of stroking his hand up and down Bruce's cock as it warms and hardens against his palm, the going made easier when Clark lowers his head to lick along.

All lazily paced, non-frantic, and when he takes Bruce into his mouth, he doesn't push himself to do so deeply.

No pause as Bruce speaks save to look up at him. There's warmth there, as noted. Bruce would be forgiven for thinking that Clark is easy for flattery, as probably would Lois, when really it's mainly the source that matters. Eventually, he lifts his head a little, still stroking Bruce, more pressure in then upwards motion of it.

"Cold's not so bad," he says, quieter in the way he gets in bed. But then says, "When?"
solarcore: (7)

[personal profile] solarcore 2021-01-05 12:36 pm (UTC)(link)
Clark smiles, but it a subtle variant that manifests more around his eyes. Not surprised in the way Bruce is describing, but close, maybe. "That's sweet," he says, too sincere to be only making fun, if not immune to the fact it's also a call out. He likes the things Bruce's notices. Takes note of.

His arm curls around Bruce's leg, finding a grip beneath his thigh, and with a gentle tug—inasmuch as inevitable strength can be gentle—he pulls Bruce further down the bed by a few inches, as though that were easier and more convenient to do than for him to reposition his sprawl.

Stroking ceases, replaced with a hold and opened-mouth kissing, eyes half-closed, in search of those sensitive spots that elicit response, both voluntary and not. Patient. His own erection he can press into the mattress with the subtle shift of his hips and barely relieve some of the building ache, and he doesn't mind that at all.

He gives a contented hum against sensitive skin the next rake through of Bruce's fingers. What time is it again. What timezone, even. Who knows.
Edited 2021-01-05 12:41 (UTC)
solarcore: (#14572971)

[personal profile] solarcore 2021-01-07 03:41 am (UTC)(link)
The lock he has around Bruce's thigh is almost so casual as to be negligent, and yet as unmoving as set concrete. In reality, nothing is truly negligent, Clark keenly aware of everything, including what he's doing, a thought behind each touch, each point of contact, happy to soak each little detail at his own leisure.

The baritone sigh out of Bruce stirs him, enough that Clark almost echoes it. Pulls Bruce's cock into his mouth, shallow again, and then deeper, sustained teasing and testing traded in for something firmer.

(The tug to his hair doesn't net a reaction, not an obvious one. Certainly not an ow. But if it triggers a memory, a dim and barely conscious sensation of what it had felt like when the indestructible nature of his material body had been compromised enough that he had known the prickle of pain of a hand grasping through his hair, firm enough to lift his head—)

Well, he's busy.
solarcore: (157)

[personal profile] solarcore 2021-01-07 06:24 am (UTC)(link)
Clark's mouth is not kiss-bruised. In fact, his hair is barely out of place. His breathing is level.

Not his heart, though. That's beating faster. His shirt was half off his shoulders by the time they broke apart, having pushed Bruce with just enough effort to force the other man backwards and sitting, only from Clark's perspective, he was as gentle as a regular person would have to be in setting down a china teacup. There's probably gonna be a bruise there tomorrow morning, heart-sized and in the same neighbourhood.

And the itch to do more—more what—has him backing up, hands flat on his thighs as if to stop himself from that more. Doing more would be a line crossed in some direction or another. He is also uncomfortably hard in his jeans. That's another problem.

Well says Bruce. This is where they come to their senses.

"What are you doing," says Clark. Never mind. Maybe his breathing isn't completely level.
solarcore: (#14572977)

[personal profile] solarcore 2021-01-07 07:13 am (UTC)(link)
They only need to specify when it's not that night. That time they fought; no, together, against someone else. That night in Gotham; no, not that one, the other one. Clark's expression stills when it is evoked without qualification, fingers curling defensive into his palm, waiting for—

Not that. Open surprise gentles his features, staring fixed across at Bruce. In some other context, he might have thought this were a diversion, and a cheap one, distracting from the moment they're in now.

But it's not. It seems to snare right up in the now.

He remembers—one of a few times in the course of several wild minutes, having been slammed into concrete and barely moving, laid out on his back, and feeling as much as hearing the reverberating sound of Bruce's heavy metallic footfalls approaching him. He remembers thinking about the man hidden beneath layers of scratched up metal, the dull thump of his heartbeat, steady and reliable.

So he doesn't say, don't be fucking ridiculous, when he probably should.

"So were you," he says, which is only better than a confirmation by a matter of degrees, spoken quietly but not shyly. "As soon as you landed a hit."
solarcore: (#14572974)

[personal profile] solarcore 2021-01-07 08:37 am (UTC)(link)
They should. 'Shame' is not an unfamiliar emotion to Clark Kent, and yet it hasn't quite gotten its claws in over this. Guilt, yes, for losing his temper, for some old wellspring of rage to find something it can beat its head against, for how he had other more important things to do while he was busy throwing Batman through a wall, and for the way it very nearly got himself disastrously killed.

But.

That's well worn ground, paced over and over in the back of his mind. This feels like new territory.

"I don't know what to do about it," he says, opting for honest. Hackles lowering. He'd still been expecting a fight of some kind, and they still could, but Bruce's words are too measured. Inclusive. "But I guess nothing's not working for us."

So. What's left? Talking about it. Sex things aside: they've managed to avoid it altogether.

Clark reaches to tug his shirt back over his shoulder, but doesn't do it up yet. He wants to join Bruce on the bed, but—the distance still feels like a necessary thing. "Was it 'cause I was losing?" he asks, finally.
solarcore: (#14572980)

[personal profile] solarcore 2021-01-07 09:36 am (UTC)(link)
It's not pain free, all of it. Bruce believed some big things about him, back when, but it's nothing Clark is capable of holding over either of them ever since, and given the anvil of a warning he had dropped on Batman in prior evenings, maybe some of it had even been fair.

Still. He feels some late pulse of hurt on Bruce's behalf, and waits patiently.

The answer that comes, in contrast, almost makes Clark laugh—it does make him smile slightly, a twinge of it nested in the corner of his mouth.

Now he moves. He sits in the chair he remembers Bruce's inhabiting when he'd come to from his neurotoxin episode, listed more forwards, elbows to knees. "You had a place to do it in," he says. It's a little more nuanced than guessing at Bruce's own feelings. It is a tentative comparison of notes. More questioning; "An outlet."
solarcore: (163)

[personal profile] solarcore 2021-01-07 10:24 am (UTC)(link)
Clark holds his gaze, but it does take more effort than it normally does. Easy to swivel and talk to the ground or the ceiling or even unfocus and let the entire world and Bruce within it fall away into a confusing overlap of translucent layers and shifting shadows, but he doesn't do those things.

"The first time I swung at you," he says. "After the kryptonite. Which was awful, by the way," he feels moved to say, with a crook of an eyebrow. Let's be clear on that one, about what he is or is not into. Green smoke, nauseating and choking, infecting him with a painful kind of necrotic weakness, his heart fluttering and flinching in his chest. He would care to avoid that sensation again if at all possible.

Brow smooths, and he says. "But. After.

"I was coming up against something that didn't yield to me. Someone. And there were these moments where you could do whatever you wanted." Now he ducks a look away, even if every other sense is keyed into the man sitting a few feet away. "And so could I, without destroying you. That's never happened."

There were the Kryptonians, of course—he hasn't forgotten. But they were trying to kill him and everyone around him and little else, and he barely remembers the lightning speed strikes in the sheer sensory overload that was his first attempt at superheroism. Even in the murkier, hazier moments with Bruce, distinct moments still have a way of simmering up through his subconscious.

"And like you said. I felt more than I'd ever had, before. Literally."
Edited 2021-01-07 10:24 (UTC)

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