solarcore: (#14572979)

[personal profile] solarcore 2021-05-08 07:33 am (UTC)(link)
How tempting, to sink right down and rut against him and kiss and share in the mess and the warmth and the need. Clark feels that impulse as blood draining straight to his cock when Bruce pants his name, and he doesn't think anyone in this room would be mad about it, if he did.

"Now I'm gonna fuck you," he says, instead, bitey smile more heard in his voice and felt in the murmured kiss than seen, this close. Now he allows more deliberate contact, lets Bruce's cock line up against his own through his pants, pressed back down against the hard surface of his belly. "For as long as I want."

Clark has only known trust to be like faith. Invisible, ghostly, ready to evaporate. It isn't like that with Lois, and it isn't like that with Bruce. With Bruce, it feels like concrete, steel, a trust fall in the darkness where the darkness itself catches you. Makes you wanna go back up, fall again.

He forces himself away. Snags up the little bottle of lube kept in easy reach (tactical foresight) and returns to kneeling upright in between Bruce's legs. His hand has wandered to his own groin to relieve some of that ache there while opening the bottle, and then pushing Bruce's thighs apart to tip a brief ribbon of the stuff to trickle down between his legs, a hand moving then to guide it, coat his own fingers liberally.
solarcore: (pic#14762441)

[personal profile] solarcore 2021-05-09 10:08 am (UTC)(link)
"Kind of."

His fingers are back to stroking Bruce's entrance, slipperier than before, a little cool from the coating of oily substance, but warming. Clark intends to take his time with this process, too, watching Bruce as he feels his way through deepening his touch, a gentle fucking in its own right. The feeling of that alone does things to him, a tension beginning to wind through his body, kneeling up on the bed with effortless ease, but everything a little locked in, from the tip of his head to the strain of thighs keeping Bruce's apart.

Anticipation. And Bruce's questions, nudging at his patience, calling attention to the ache of holding out.

"But it's gonna be worth the wait," he says. "You're so hard already." His free hand touches just the base of Bruce's cock, applying a particular kind of pressure that will make the throb and pulse of bloodrush just a little more pronounced. "I've barely even touched this." It's not a taunt, voice too quiet and gentle and rough at the edges. Pleased, if anything, affected.
solarcore: (pic#14762477)

[personal profile] solarcore 2021-05-09 10:35 pm (UTC)(link)
"I know."

Again, there's no room for these words to be smug in some way, just raw and murmured as Clark keeps working him, eyes locked on him, drinking in each involuntary twitch or compulsive squirm. Unceasing, where he works him, locked down in the discipline of being careful, of doing this properly. By now, Clark doesn't think that even in his most desperate state, he'd ever really hurt anyone doing this, but the knife edge of control feels so close to slipping, takes up so much focus, that it never seemed worth it, before.

Until now, anyway, and here he is, pressing right up against it. "I know," he says again, fingers pushing deeper. "'Cause I want you like that too. When you're near me, it's all I can do to keep my hands off you." And technically, Bruce is near him all the time, if such things can be measured in how long it takes to get from A to B.

His hand withdraws, and no, he isn't going to fuck Bruce with his pants on, shoving them down off his waist and kneel-stepping out. A soft sigh of relief, of cool air against his cock, which is shiny where it's been leaking too. He holds himself with his slick hand, a few strokes to distribute run-off lube from root to tip, but more distracted by, far more keyed up by watching Bruce. Enough. At least enough of this, of driving each other slowly insane.

In leaning over, helping him hitch a leg up so that he can press the head of his cock against Bruce's ass. "Okay?" and only waits for the barest of affirmation before, torturously slow but also not stopping, he pushes himself in.
solarcore: (pic#14762447)

[personal profile] solarcore 2021-05-10 01:59 am (UTC)(link)
The slow sinking in is perfect as it is. He feels Bruce's legs tug at him, hears chains creak and protest, feels that urgency strung through all parts of Bruce's body, and it feels nearly sadistically glorious to ignore that and move exactly as fast as he wants. It's not really denial when the end result is him buried to the hilt in the other man, anyway.

Clark thinks so.

And he leans in and down once there, a deliberate closeness that traps Bruce's cock between them, elbows against the mattress, hands gentle against Bruce's sides.

He rolls his hips, a relatively small movement that feels like a lot, given current configuration. "God you feel good," is breathed against Bruce's collarbone, followed by another luxurious roll that this time draws a groan out of Clark. And again.
solarcore: (pic#14762473)

[personal profile] solarcore 2021-05-10 06:04 am (UTC)(link)
"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.
solarcore: (pic#14762544)

[personal profile] solarcore 2021-05-10 11:41 am (UTC)(link)
"Yes," Clark breathes. "Yes."

And he keeps his hands where they are, stapling Bruce's arms to the bed, letting his centre of gravity become grounded and leaning his weight there. It lets him be near, it lets him take charge of what he's doing and what Bruce is doing, it lets him move the way he wants, and most importantly, it lets him watch. They share each other with different people, some of the same people, and he can't help but wonder, sometimes, if Bruce like this is just for him.

Untethered from his sense of self-possession, which is both sexy in its presence and now its absence. "Oh fuck yes," is maybe another repetition of his answer, half-whispered, mostly groaned, but more likely in response to his own sense of shivery urgency, the slow wind up of eventual release beginning to pull up through his body.

There's really nowhere to go from here but more, harder, faster. Even this very sturdy expensive bed shudders along with them as the pace is picked up, Clark chasing that feeling.
solarcore: (pic#14762442)

[personal profile] solarcore 2021-05-11 09:45 am (UTC)(link)
It took a little getting used to, not flinching away from this. To interpret thrashing and bucking for what it is, and what it isn't, i.e., struggle, i.e., stop. Clark holds fast, and doesn't stop. Slows, maybe, where he pushes in deep and holds Bruce through the climax of it, before resuming.

All of it—muscles locking up, spine arcing, guttural needy sounds he hasn't heard before, the hot liquid spatter between them, all of it seems to twist white hot through Clark.

He gets a hand under one of Bruce's legs, pushing it up until he can hook his arm beneath his knee, pushing him down against the bed. (God, he still has to be so careful, but also god, the incremental amount he doesn't have to be as so careful is a space he loves to exist in, for those bright, brilliant moments.)

"Bruce," is raw, out of him, and it's either seconds or minutes of this, of holding Bruce half folded against the bed, one hand locked hard against his leg and the other impossibly gentle on his chest, before Clark comes too, shoving himself off a precipice he's been balancing on for what feels like forever. There's the slightest flash of solar-light that floods out human blue in his eyes, momentary but bright in the dimness, before he flinches his eyes shut and turns his head, a shudder running through him.

He doesn't relax readily, cock still buried deep, hips still making small, borderline involuntary motions as the moment passes. A long sigh out.
solarcore: (pic#14762544)

[personal profile] solarcore 2021-05-12 01:36 am (UTC)(link)
The pressure on Bruce's arms lessens, his leg eased back into a less fraught position, but Clark only crowds in closer. He doesn't withdraw, laying random kisses against Bruce's throat and shoulders and face, riding afterglow down a river. For the moment, he's practically forgotten about the deadly heat that had just nearly erupted through his eye sockets.

This next thing may not work, he's aware, but he's willing to try, wants it very much, thinks Bruce might too, if he has the presence of mind to want anything more. Slowly, he rocks his hips again against Bruce, a less frantic, far gentler motion than moments ago. He's still hard inside of him, and he could stay that way if he wanted to. He does, though, err on the side of human comfort.

Still. "I love you," he's murmuring against Bruce's jaw, "I want you," between kisses against his throat, "more of you. I want to keep fucking you."

Clark slides his hands up Bruce's outstretched arms.

"Tell me," lifting his head to look at him, eyes dark, hazy.
solarcore: (pic#14762573)

[personal profile] solarcore 2021-05-12 08:19 am (UTC)(link)
Thank god.

It's very sexy of Bruce to say it out loud, or, Clark's body thinks so, given the surge of renewed arousal he experiences. Clark slips his fingers between Bruce's, holding him there, and moving against him, slow and gentle but wantonly sensual, gradually picking up some pace, but mostly staying in this one mode, one of nearness and entanglement and friction. This feels, for the moment, like the easiest thing to do, all he wants to do.

It's a slow grind to completion, this time, but he's non-verbal by the time he's close save for panting groans at each thrust in and drag out, his breath warm against Bruce's cheek and whole body hotter than that, pressed close. His hands slide out of Bruce's, gripping onto the chains above him, and there's a tug, a wrench, a metallic discordant chiming—

The dull pressure that's drawn a taut line all up Bruce's body from his restraints suddenly unravels as chain snaps as easy as anything. Clark's hands get under him, his arms wrap around him. He doesn't ask for it, for Bruce to hold him back, just expects he will get it.
solarcore: (#14572983)

[personal profile] solarcore 2021-05-12 10:49 am (UTC)(link)
They are a tangled mess by the time Clark finishes, the tight circle of his arms around Bruce suddenly going steely rather than applying pressure, a neutral kind of locking up when that second orgasm hits. He is quieter but not quiet, just gasping in at the feeling of pleasure dragged out of him, transported for those long moments. And then relaxing slowly, a more human quality entering into the hold he has on the other man, deadweighty and slack in the joints.

Relaxing enough to feel Bruce shake, and he forces himself not to start worrying. Letting fear in. Trusting them both that they're okay, even if they've fallen over some line in the sand of sanity.

Coming back to earth. The jungle sounds of Gotham outside and far below, though silent to human ears. Breathing, sweaty sheets in a tangle around them, them in a tangle among them. Clark becomes conscious of being collapsed on top and slowly gathers his strength back into himself as he lifts his head, turns it, nuzzles painfully tender at the side of Bruce's face until they sink into alignment for kissing, lazy with it, a hand moving up and down flat high on Bruce's chest.

Going slowly. First, disengaging, reaching between them to do so carefully, to shift only just enough that Bruce can lay his legs down properly, slipping more to lay at his side.

A soft groan creaking out of him as he does so. "God," whispered, an upturn at the corner of his mouth.
solarcore: (pic#14762455)

[personal profile] solarcore 2021-05-14 04:21 am (UTC)(link)
"I love you too."

Even without the literal feelings of exhaustion and soreness that even someone on top would be feeling, it feels tempting to just sink in place like this, unmoving and uncaring. Clark does, for a few seconds, before he reaches for Bruce's still entangled wrist, carefully unbuckling the cuff, removing it and setting it out of the way as he gently wraps a warm hand around worried skin.

Never as apologetic as he could sound when it comes to property damage, Clark says, "I'll replace those," which would be more of a fun mental image if online shopping didn't exist. Maybe still fun, a little.

He kisses the inside of Bruce's wrist, and then pulls him in close again for some unadulterated cuddling. No pretence at lounging around or something here. "I should probably put you under hot water soon," he says, even so.
solarcore: (pic#14762436)

[personal profile] solarcore 2021-05-14 11:18 am (UTC)(link)
The idea of leaving the bed feels impossible, let alone emerging into the outside world, cleaned up and dressed in clothing and standing on his two feet, but at least such an errand would take like forty seconds upon exiting the room, maybe a minute and change, give or take careful vegan donut selection. Clark consents to this prospect with an affirming grunt.

Yes, soon. Whatever soon looks like.

He shifts their positions, some, rolling back so that Bruce can settle more on, half in the comfort of the mattress while letting gravity do some of the cuddle-work.

Remembers, suddenly, the blinding-surge of solar light that had begun to scorch through his eyeballs, and the hand he has playing with the hair at the nape of Bruce's neck stills. What had he imagined, when he'd thought about manacling Bruce to the bed, seeing how far he could push things? What would he expect, if that's the goal being set?

He absently buries his nose in Bruce's hair, and maybe before Bruce can ask: "How're you feeling?"

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