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?"
solarcore: (pic#14762455)

[personal profile] solarcore 2021-05-17 06:46 am (UTC)(link)
The laugh that gets is not anything but pleased, quiet and low and thus more felt than heard. The hand at Bruce's neck resumes its absent-minded stroking.

(Not a no.)

From here, Clark can lift his head, curl his arm around more to nudge Bruce's jaw up with his knuckles in a kind of comfortable headlock, the sole purpose of which being aligning them for a kiss, and it's all the things it should be in this moment: slow and warm and lazy. Not all the way dialled down, which feels impossible anyway when they are tangled like this and still nasty. Like Clark doesn't want to quite yet leave the moment.

The kiss ambles off, Clark relaxing his embrace more so that Bruce can lounge or move or reposition as needed, hands still on him anyway. "I like doing this with you," Clark says, in that fuzzy tone that indicates there is zero filter between thought and voice, something deeply content in the understatement of it all.
solarcore: (pic#14762446)

[personal profile] solarcore 2021-05-18 06:06 am (UTC)(link)
Clark's face does the thing it does when someone says or does something that isn't only sweet but revealing, in some way. Almost a frown, not quite, warmer and softer than that, and ultimately irrelevant because it heralds intimacy, such as: another kiss.

"Me too," he says, once he does this, in that too close space they're sharing.

Fingers splayed on warm skin. Everyone's heart rates back to normal, breathing levels. Hilarious detail: there is one (1) curl of his hair out of place, for virtue of the fact that Bruce's hands were prevented from making the usual mess of it.

Tips of noses bumping on accident, as he leans back a little. "Let's clean up," he suggests. "Before you start sending me on errands."
solarcore: <user name="oslo" site="insanejournal.com"> (216)

[personal profile] solarcore 2021-05-19 06:51 am (UTC)(link)
The sound Clark makes is categorically a groan, but a nuanced groan. A you're killing me kind of sound along with a but it's very sexy of you undercurrent, Clark's head briefly falling back when Bruce journeys kisses down his throat, under his chin. Part of their problem, where one starts something and the other has a hard time not immediately being dragged down.

It's with this knowledge, and shared knowledge at that, that Clark sighs, "Bruce," in protest. Pls. They'll never leave this bed alive, if someone isn't responsible.

But it's not just a matter of slutty Pavlovian physical response, but warmly simmering affection. It's nice to be wanted, and to know that no matter how much you may want in return, it'll always be received. His hand curls through Bruce's hair, just feeling, sweat-damp locks slipping easy through fingers as he answers the question with, "Pretty sure I shouldn't wait til after," because that's clearly what Bruce meant.
solarcore: (pic#14762544)

[personal profile] solarcore 2021-05-19 10:29 am (UTC)(link)
Common sense prevails. What a shame.

Clark rolls them both out of bed with only one last kiss, like a reward for them both. The shower is run at a comfortable temperature, neither brilliantly hot as he sometimes like it, nor shockingly cold as might be more practical, but not as fun to drag Bruce under the spray of, and, you know. Kiss him some more. Drink the water running in rivers off his jaw, down his throat.

Reaches past him to collect some soap, and lather his hands with it. Never out of range, always some part of them touching, like a hand on a hip, or an arm bent half around the other. It feels both typical of them both and also oddly heightened, more vigilant in winding around each other than usual even if the behaviour itself feels familiar.

He runs a soapy hand down Bruce's chest, abdomen, palms over his cock in too firm a way to be negligent.
solarcore: <user name="oslo" site="insanejournal.com"> (184)

[personal profile] solarcore 2021-05-22 09:57 am (UTC)(link)
This is definitely more responsible than fooling around in a comfortable bed. Ruining kneecaps on hard tile for the sake of cleanliness. Well. He's not complaining either.

Although Clark's hands do flutter up and over Bruce's arms and shoulders as he kneels down, some expression of concern that never makes it further than that. In initiating kisses, in response to them, they'd been just as hungry and bitey as they'd been moments before, and by the time Bruce is on his kneels, blood flow has started to once more redirect cockwards, knowing a stronger pulse of it at the promise of it.

"I don't want you to stop," Clark says.

Now, here, in the shower, or generally, existentially. Not any less than the insatiable way he already does. Clark's hand, skimming across the side of Bruce's face, back up into his hair. Impossibly comfortable standing naked in front of him, already flushed warm from these past moments of kissing. It should feel selfish, and sometimes it does, but it's as though each little moment of contact reaffirms that he can be.
solarcore: (#14572978)

[personal profile] solarcore 2021-05-23 08:13 am (UTC)(link)
There's a light thunk where the back of Clark's head connects with the tile behind it, around when Bruce takes him in his mouth as deeply as he does. It feels like the building of tension that somehow also relieves it at the same time, an itch that grows as its scratched. The run off of where water strikes them tickles over skin, seems particularly articulated where rivers choose to run, like individual fingertips tracking over his skin, down his chest, his legs.

His hands move blindly, gently, following the ridge of Bruce's jaw, or tracking through damp hair, or smoothing down from neck to shoulders. It doesn't take him long at all to build towards erection, for his hips to start the gentlest of motions.

"You know I want you just as much," he finds himself saying, all exhale, a subtle string of tension. It helps to keep his eyes closed, let the world diminish to cold tile behind him, Bruce's mouth around him, the white noise created by water spray. "Only reason I could hold out so long to tonight is keeping your hands off me. Glad I did, but even then—"

Something had to give. He could have lasted longer, if they were anyone else, never mind the moment and comment both that motivated revenge.

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