Work Text:
Wayne, unsurprisingly, had a driver.
“Well, I was hardly going to drive myself back from a bar, was I?” was all he said when Clark blinked at it dumbfoundedly, before sending him a wink. “I’m a responsible citizen, after all.”
Wayne held open the door for him and gestured with a little flourish, as if Clark were a debutante heading off to her first ball and Wayne her gallant escort. As befit a proper young lady, Clark politely refrained from mentioning either of Wayne’s very public DUI charges and climbed in. The interior was predictably luxurious, plush leather and what was, unbelievably, real mahogany paneling. In a car.
How the other half lived, huh?
Wayne slid in after him and relaxed back into his own seat, loosened his tie, undid the top two buttons with a flick of his wrist. The effortless elegance in the gesture was almost more distracting than the inches of revealed skin around his collarbones.
“Just so we’re on the same page,” Wayne was saying while Clark was still staring, “going into this, I have no expectations of you beyond tonight. I hope you don’t have any of me. Otherwise, I’d be happy to drop you off anywhere you’d like. Just say the word.”
Clark shook his head. “No. I, ah. I kind of assumed this was a…one night stand. That’s fine.” The words felt awkward on his tongue like this, as a thing happening to him and not to someone else.
But Wayne seemed pleased enough with the response and gave the driver an address in central Metropolis. Part of Clark had nervously expected Wayne to inch closer then, drape himself over Clark like he had at the bar; to crawl into his lap and whisper filthy promises into his ear. But Wayne remained a perfect gentleman, making polite conversation and all the right interested noises.
Clark couldn’t entirely tell whether he was disappointed or relieved.
It all felt so normal that Clark made it through the rest of the car ride, through the opulent lobby of the hotel, and all the way up to the entrance of Wayne’s suite before what he was about to do really hit him.
It was one thing to say, in theory, that he was going to have sex with someone he'd just met; it was a whole other thing to actually do it. Doing it meant actually doing it, kissing and touching, figuring out how much tongue was too much tongue and where to put his hands. What if he did it wrong? Not that he’d had any complaints before, but…but what if his previous partners were just being polite, for the several years they were together? Or what if he’d somehow forgotten how do this in the year plus since the last time he’d dated anyone?
He was distracted enough by the thought that he almost didn’t register Wayne taking his hand and tugging him into the elevator for the penthouse suite, but then the doors were sliding shut and Wayne was pressing him gently into the wall of the elevator, a hand cupping his jaw. He was close, close enough that Clark could see the gray flecks in his irises and faded scars along his jaw.
His breath caught in his lungs. Wayne was watching him from beneath thick, dark eyelashes, his stare oddly penetrating. “You seem nervous. Is this okay?” he asked softly.
Clark nodded. Wayne smiled. And then he was being kissed, a soft slide of lips and the gentle scrape of 5 o’clock stubble along his jaw.
It turned out that Clark didn’t need to worry about forgetting how to do this. His groan felt like a sigh of relief, a weight lifted, all that lingering anxiety dissipating with the simplicity of it all. He easily pulled Wayne closer, hands settling around his waist; angled his head to make the slide sweeter. Wayne chuckled against his lips and pressed closer, his free hand sliding up Clark’s back and gripping the fabric of his suit.
Distantly he heard the ding of the elevator arriving and Wayne was pulling away. Clark finally drew another breath. Wayne’s eyes were a touch darker than they had been.
“C’mon,” Wayne murmured and led him out of the elevator by the hand.
Clark only caught a glimpse of the penthouse – of high ceilings and a spiral staircase and a plush leather sectional – before Wayne was on him again, this time with clear hunger. Clark found himself responding instantly, the warm press of an eager body against his after so long nearly irresistible. There were hands threading into his hair, ruffling it out of its neat, slicked-back style. Tracing down along his neck, strong, callused thumbs rubbing against his jaw. Broad palms spreading across his shoulders and trailing lower.
When Wayne’s hands slid beneath his jacket, he made a soft noise in his throat. “Your body already feels incredible,” he said, his voice low and melodic, practically a purr. “You’ll let me see it, won’t you? See all of you?”
Clark felt himself shiver and nod, and then Wayne's fingers were somehow slipping his jacket off his shoulders; he hadn’t noticed him unbuttoning it because there was an eager tongue in his mouth, and honestly, that was taking most of his considerable focus. His glasses were kind of in the way with how close they were – nothing new there, but he’d gotten pretty good over the years at getting around that, since he couldn’t exactly take them off in front of anyone who didn’t know his secret. So he tilted his head a little more, so they could deepen the kiss. Wayne’s mouth was hot and wet and devouring and busy, now sliding his tongue against his, now scraping his teeth against his bottom lip, now sucking on his tongue, now doing something clever that Clark couldn’t quite compute because Bruce’s quick fingers were on the buttons of his shirt and sliding over his skin.
“Fuck,” Bruce said, although it was more of a groan than anything. He’d pulled back, breathing hard, dark eyes scanning across Clark’s bared torso with undisguised hunger. “God, I knew you’d be built, but this is— What did they feed you on that farm?”
Despite his self-consciousness, Clark felt a pleased flutter in the base of his stomach at the praise. “Mostly casseroles,” he said honestly, tone light. “Sometimes pizza. Ma makes ‘em both with plenty of meat.”
Wayne barked out a laugh. “You’ll have to give my nutritionist the recipe.”
“Sorry, family secret.” His eyes dipped lower – to the long column of Wayne’s throat exposed by his open collar, the way his broad shoulders and chest filled out his expensive suit – and stayed there. He was dimly aware of his lips tingling.
He tugged gently at Wayne’s jacket, encouraging. “Are you gonna…?”
“Maybe later,” Wayne said, then Clark was being backed up against the wall and there were hands on his chest, gently squeezing, strong thumbs pressing into soft muscle – kneading, almost, a strange sensation but definitely not unpleasant. And then those clever fingers moved, grazed deliberately over a nipple, pinching—
He gasped, head falling back against the wall. Oh, wow. None of his exes had ever really… He hadn’t expected that to feel so good, warm and sudden and molten, making him want to arch into the touch.
“You like that, huh?” Wayne purred, smiling wickedly.
“Mr. Wayne,” he groaned, “I—yes, that’s good.”
That wicked smile turned amused. “Okay, you really can’t keep calling me Mr. Wayne now. I think we know each other a little better than that, don’t we?” He leaned forward to tug Clark’s earlobe gently between his teeth. “Or at least, we will soon, if I have any say in the matter.”
“Bruce,” he corrected, because maybe Wayne… Maybe Bruce had a point about that. And, “Bruce,” he said again, because one of Bruce’s hands was sliding down to the front of his slacks, rubbing and squeezing and god, Clark was halfway to hard. Already.
Bruce didn’t seem to mind that Clark was embarrassingly eager, because he just said, “Fuck,” again, in that breathless way that made Clark feel pleased and hungry and a little light-headed, and sealed their mouths together again. His own hands were on Bruce’s hips, which— Geez, they weren’t at prom. He was allowed to explore a little, right? So he explored. Clark’s left hand slid upwards, up the curve of his back; his right to Bruce’s front, pressing into his stomach and along his chest. Bruce had a truly shocking amount of muscle for someone who ostensibly split most of his time between a fancy office and a series of equally fancy nightclubs. Whoever Bruce’s personal trainer was, Clark hoped they were paid well. They’d clearly earned it.
Bruce hummed encouragingly into his mouth and pressed closer, and now their hips were flush and… Oh, god. Bruce was hard too, hard and pressed against him and grinding. Clark shivered and made a desperate noise low in his throat – which, again, embarrassing, since they hadn’t gone any further than kissing and some heavy petting and yet Clark was still straining eagerly against him like a teenager—
Bruce made his own noise, a sharp inhale and a pleased sort of rumble in his chest. He pressed a wet kiss to Clark’s pulse point. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” he said, soothing. It didn’t really make sense, because Clark was fine, just a little overeager and maybe a little overwhelmed, but only a little and only because it was good. But before he could assure Bruce of all this, Bruce was pressing another kiss to the base of his neck and smoothly sinking to his knees.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out what he was planning. “Oh, geez, Bruce,” he stammered out, “you don’t— You don’t hafta—”
“I’ve got you,” Bruce repeated, that hungry gaze fixed firmly on the embarrassingly prominent tent in Clark’s slacks. There was already a stain forming by the zipper where he’d leaked through his clothes. Bruce pressed his nose against the stain, subtly inhaled (Clark wouldn’t have known if he couldn’t hear it, hear everything if he tried, even the rush of blood through Bruce’s hard cock and the hot drag of air in his throat) and nuzzled against him with a little sigh.
His first girlfriend Lana had never liked doing this. She’d always said the taste was funny, and his size made her jaw hurt. But if Bruce was faking his willingness, he was doing a really, really excellent job of it.
Bruce’s clever fingers made short work of his belt buckle and the fastenings of his pants and peeled them down in one go. No longer trapped uncomfortably in its confines, Clark’s hard cock sprang free, almost slapping Bruce in the face. Clark felt an immediate need to apologize – but then again, apologizing wasn’t very sexy, so he should probably just keep his mouth shut, right?
“Fuck,” Bruce said for the third time, now with a note of reverence that felt undeserved because Clark felt like a total mess. But nonetheless, Bruce’s heated gaze dragged up his body: from his bare thighs, to his exposed cock jutting out stubbornly from between his legs, to his stomach and heaving chest exposed by his open shirt, and finally to his red, dazed face and mussed hair, glasses askew. Clark was suddenly and acutely aware of how clothed Bruce was, still pristine in his three-piece suit, and how clothed he wasn’t, and it made him feel hot and squirmy and kind of like he wanted to cover his eyes, but—
But he couldn’t have stopped himself from watching Bruce lean forward, mouth open obscenely wide, and lick a hot, wet stripe from the base of him to the tip. Bruce gripped him tight, fingers firm across his hip bones and thumbs grazing along the v of his hips.
And then he swallowed him down.
Clark gasped, fingers scrabbling against the wall so they didn’t fly instinctively to Bruce’s hair. The mouth on his cock felt incredible, warm and wet and moving maddeningly around him, a hot, slick slide that has his thighs trembling within minutes with the effort not to move. The sound of them together was indecent, the wet, obscene noise of Bruce’s mouth working matched with a stream of embarrassing grunts and groans that Clark couldn’t quite suppress. All the while, Bruce watched him from under his lashes, eyes dark and fathomless, his neat clothing starkly at odds with the obscene hollow of his cheeks and the stretch of his lips.
“You’re…really good at that,” Clark managed eventually and Bruce— Bruce winked at him, reached around to grip Clark’s ass, encouraging him to thrust. Clark gaped down at him. “You’re sure?” he asked as evenly as he could manage.
In answer, Bruce picked up one of Clark’s hands and slid it into his own hair, which was as clear an instruction as any. It felt lush and little coarse and satisfying to grip, so he did, holding Bruce’s head steady as he fucked into his mouth in shallow, careful thrusts. Bruce made an encouraging noise and urged him closer, deeper—
And then suddenly it felt even better somehow, so good, so tight. Clark didn’t understand why that was until he noticed how deep he was in Bruce’s mouth. That he was pushing into Bruce’s throat.
God. God. He hadn’t been entirely convinced until that moment that deepthroating was a thing that happened outside of porn, but boy howdy was it happening now. His hips stuttered then and that finally made Bruce choke a little, which also felt really incredible – and that made him feel guilty because he didn’t want to hurt him.
“Sorry,” he whispered, stroking his thumb over Bruce’s scalp in apology and gentling his movements. But he didn’t stop, sliding Bruce’s head back and forth easily as he rolled his hips into that glorious pressure. Bruce shook his head minutely, moaned around him and dropped his right hand to his lap and— Oh god, he was touching himself, through his pants, rubbing the straining bulge there. Turned on from sucking Clark off and letting his mouth be used like that and—
“Shit,” Clark choked out, jerking his hips away, slamming back against the wall and letting go of Bruce’s hair entirely. Bruce still chased him, eager mouth still sucking and sliding and doing maddening things with his tongue— “Bruce, you need to— I can’t—”
But it was too late. Clark’s stomach was tight and his balls were drawing up between his legs and he was toppling over the edge, his orgasm so sudden it almost took him by surprise. He moaned, head tipped back as he shuddered through it, Bruce’s mouth still milking him for every drop.
After several long seconds, he collapsed back against wall, feeling warm and tingly and sated.
And, abruptly, abjectly mortified.
“Oh, god,” he moaned – distinctly not a sexy moan, this time. “I’m so sorry, I should have warned you better!”
Bruce, fortunately looking none the worse for wear, licked his lips and grinned up at him. “No harm done. Although that was a little, ah, sooner than I expected. Maybe I should have held back more.”
Clark’s face felt hot. “It’s, uh. Been a while,” he mumbled. It was an embarrassing thing to admit to someone who’d probably never had a dry spell in his life. “But I’d be more than happy to, uh, return the favor? If you’d like.”
The grin widened. “You’re a regular Miss Manners, huh?” Before Clark could point out that, you know, sucking Bruce off – or, really, touching him in any way whatsoever – wouldn’t exactly be a hardship, he indicated Clark’s slowly softening cock and added jokingly, “My original plans for the evening required a little more rigidity on your part, but I’m more than happy to be flexible.”
Clark perked up. “Oh! I mean I can still…you know. If you want. Just give me a couple minutes.”
Bruce looked at him oddly. “A couple minutes.”
Belatedly, Clark realized that a couple minutes might be slightly shorter than the average human refractory period. He winced. “Maybe more like five?” he tried.
Bruce, still watching him, shook his head slowly. “You’re unreal, Kent.”
“Um. Thank you?”
Bruce stood. “Bedroom,” he said tersely. Then something flickered across his face, almost imperceptibly quickly, before it settled again into a flirtatious smile. “I mean, so long as you’re amenable? There are plenty of other flat surfaces in this suite we could sample.”
“Bedroom’s good,” Clark said thickly.
Bruce barely waited for Clark to pull his loose pants up from around his ankles before he was taking his hand and leading him upstairs (why any hotel room should be big enough to need stairs was something Clark didn’t have the wherewithal to think about just then).
The bedroom was predictably opulent. A huge sliding French door spanned the whole of the outside wall and led out onto a large terrace, showing off a truly stunning view of the Metropolis skyline. The room itself was all minimalist futurism, sleekly curved furniture and polyhedronic art pieces and an expensively inoffensive color scheme. Together, they suggested that the hourly rate of the interior designer had been truly extortionate. In the center of it all sat a huge bed – not normal huge, as in definable via monarchical nomenclature, but huge in that it could comfortably house two separate but simultaneous mid-size orgies, without one so much as brushing against the other.
Clark paused in the doorway, taking it all in with renewed sense of disbelief that this was apparently his life tonight.
Unsurprisingly, Bruce was not similarly taken aback, immediately tugging off his jacket and dropping it haphazardly onto the floor. “Strip?”
Clark could only nod, quickly ridding himself completely of his open shirt, slacks and underwear. There was the shifting of fabric and the clinking of a belt buckle and Bruce was kissing him again. This time he was down to his shirtsleeves, pants open and underwear tugged down far enough for his cock to spring free. Clark could taste himself, which was an odd thought and also unexpectedly very hot, channeling the dizzying image of Bruce’s eager lips wrapped around his length.
The kiss was more frantic now compared to his earlier efforts, and it was easy to see why: Bruce was hard enough that Clark could feel him throbbing against his hip, smearing wetness against his stomach. Barely touched even after he’d let Clark come in his mouth.
He’d let Bruce take the lead for long enough, he decided. Time to pull his weight.
He gathered Bruce in close, grinding their hips together; Bruce inhaled sharply and gripped him tighter. He dipped his head to Bruce’s neck and sucked at his pulse point, breathed him in. He was so warm and alive in Clark’s arms, smelling of clean sweat and cologne and the faintest bit mechanical, like expensive cars and motor oil; moving against him with sinuous rolls of hips, breath warm on Clark’s skin.
Clark’s pulse was pounding again, but this time it wasn’t nerves. God, it had been so long, too long, since he’d last been with anyone. He’d forgotten how good it felt just to be near someone like this.
Bruce probably did this all the time, probably brought strangers back to a string of fancy hotel rooms and ravished them. It all felt like a different life. And Clark wasn’t exactly feeling out of his depth, not anymore, but he was painfully aware of how badly he wanted to measure up, wanted to be deemed good enough.
He wanted Bruce to think this was worth it.
“Tell me what you want?” he murmured against Bruce’s jaw. “I want to make you feel good.”
Bruce hummed and rolled his hips lazily against Clark’s. “Honestly, you’re already doing a good job of that just by standing here,” he murmured into Clark’s ear, low and seductive. “But what I want – what I really want – is for you to use those big, farmboy muscles of yours…” and here he trailed his hands along Clark’s biceps and gave them an appreciative squeeze “…and fuck me into the mattress. The harder the better.”
Clark’s mouth went dry. “You really want me to…” Just the thought of being inside Bruce made his spent cock start to fill again. “I mean, yes. Yes, I can… I can do that for you.”
Clark wasn’t an expert on one-night stands, but with the act of sex itself he’d had plenty of practice. And Bruce liked that he was strong. Wanted him to be a little aggressive. He could definitely use that.
Bruce let out a soft grunt of surprise when Clark scooped him up and walked them both over to the bed. Considering his size – only a little smaller than Clark, shorter by a couple inches and slightly narrower through the shoulders – Clark was willing to bet there weren’t a lot of people who could pick him up like that. And considering the way his cock jerked against Clark’s stomach, he definitely seemed to like it.
Clark grinned down at him as he deposited him on the bed and crawled over his prone body. “Was this the kind of thing you were thinking?”
The room was dim, the only light seeping in the ambient light of Metropolis at night, but Superman could see everything. The angle of the faint illumination cast the delicate angles of his face into stark, almost ethereal relief. Bruce was looking up at him with lust-darkened eyes, breath heavy but even and controlled, cock jutting out from his opened slacks and leaking onto the expensive fabric of his dress shirt.
“It’s certainly a start,” Bruce replied silkily, but the words were gratifyingly breathless.
Clark’s cock twitched between his legs.
Bruce’s eyes flickered down as if he'd caught the movement and he let out a long, slow breath. “I see you weren’t kidding about your recovery time.”
“I wasn’t,” Clark confirmed, tamping down an instinctive ripple of self-consciousness. After all, Bruce had so far seemed far more appreciative than put off by Clark’s eagerness. Instead, he leaned down and pressed his mouth to the base of Bruce’s neck, that patch of skin that had so distracted him on the ride over, sucking and nipping at the skin there; slid a hand down Bruce’s gorgeous chest to grip his cock.
Bruce moaned and arched into him while he moved his hand in slow, firm strokes. “I have supplies in the dresser. Do you know how to prepare someone?”
“Yes,” Clark confirmed. And then: “Oh, uh, thanks,” because Bruce was already moving with surprising agility to pull lube and condoms out of the drawer and dump them on the bed. He let his hand run along the inside of Bruce's tugged-down briefs. His skin was pale in contrast to his flushed, straining cock and his thighs were thick and solid beneath the fine wool of his slacks and Clark desperately wanted to see all of him uncovered.
“Can I take these off?” he murmured, hooking his fingers into the waistband of his slacks.
“No,” Bruce said. “I’m shy.”
Clark blinked, then let out a chuckle and said, “Sure you are,” grinning—
But then he froze, eyes wide, because he realized that Bruce wasn’t laughing.
“Oh,” he said, immediately horrified. Bruce was being serious and he’d laughed. “Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Relax, it’s fine,” Bruce interrupted before Clark could spiral any further. When Clark focused on his face, he was shooting Clark a reassuring grin.
And then in one, sinuous movement, he disentangled himself from Clark’s grip and flipped over onto his front. Slid his pants and underwear down to just below the curve of his ass and pushed himself onto his hands and knees.
“You can prep me like this,” he said, low and inviting, peering over his shoulder. “Okay?”
“Okay,” Clark said weakly, slightly overwhelmed by the effortlessly erotic sight of Bruce Wayne on his hands and knees for him.
Clark had a feeling that Bruce was trying to distract him. It was definitely effective. For all that Clark would have loved to see Bruce’s bare skin, there was something so enticing about the way he was shamelessly exposed only where it mattered: his loose shirt tails brushing the top of his round ass, waistband digging in slightly to the meat of his thighs.
Unable to rip his eyes away, he fumbled beside him on the bed for the lube, warmed it in his palm, slicked up his fingers and slowly, carefully slid his middle finger in up to the knuckle. Bruce was breathing deep and even as he did so, head bowed, seemingly focused on staying relaxed. And it was working. Clark watched him carefully for any signs of discomfort, but he easily took each of Clark’s thick fingers with a satisfied sigh, rolling his hips back to meet him.
When he slipped his pinky in alongside his other fingers, Bruce shuddered and let out a breathy chuckle. “I know you’re hung, but I think I’m stretched enough. I wanna feel you in me already,” he murmured, low and rough in a way that went straight Clark’s cock.
Clark gamely ignored it; kept his focus on Bruce. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said softly and curled his fingers inside, stroking against his prostate. Bruce groaned, cock twitching between his legs. “Like I said, I want to make you feel good.”
“And I said I wanted you to fuck me hard, didn’t I?”
“I will,” Clark assured him. “But only once I’m sure I won’t be hurting you.” After all, he didn’t like leaving these things to chance. The one downside to his strength was how easy it was to hurt people.
“You’re a real boy scout, you know that? But I think you’re taking the ‘always prepared’ part a little too literally,” Bruce muttered, then wriggled his hips a little in encouragement. “C’mon, don’t make me beg, here. I promise you, I’m ready. Extremely ready, even.”
“Okay, okay,” Clark said with a soft laugh. He slipped his fingers out so he could roll the condom over his own cock. And god, it ached already, even for this most perfunctory of touches. His heart was pounding as he lined himself up with his palms gripping Bruce’s hips. “I’m pushing in now, okay?”
“Mm, yeah,” Bruce urged him. “Yeah, come on, just do it—”
He trailed off on a soft, drawn-out groan when Clark sank in to the hilt in one smooth thrust. Bruce was right: he was ready. But Clark was still glad he’d taken his time, because Bruce was all slick, tight, hot, perfect pressure, so easy and so good that bottoming out punched the breath from him. He sucked in a deep lungful of air and tried to think unsexy thoughts, so this wouldn’t be over too quickly.
It was proving difficult, though, with the way Bruce’s breathing had gone strained and a little shaky and the absurdly hot visual of Bruce’s hole stretched wide around him. He rolled his hips experimentally once, twice and watched Bruce’s fingers curl into the mattress.
That seemed like a promising sign.
“Good?” he asked, rolling his hips faster now.
“Yes,” Bruce gasped. He was arching back into his thrusts now, head dropped low between his shoulders. “I’m so full.”
God, Clark’s insides were molten. “Yeah?” he breathed. On the next thrust, he pulled out deeper and snapped his hips forward. Bruce let out a punched-out grunt. “You wanted it hard, right? Harder than this?”
“Yes,” Bruce moaned. Clark obliged him and went harder, fucking him fast and deep.
The sound of them together was obscene, skin slapping against skin and the wet squelch from where they were joined, mingling with their harsh breathing and the barely audible sounds of pleasure Bruce let out with every thrust. It was almost surprising how quiet he was. Somehow, he’d expected Bruce to be loud, as ostentatious in bed as he was outside it. Clark might have been worried he was getting bored, if he couldn’t so viscerally feel his enjoyment, couldn't practically taste the musky tang of Bruce's arousal in the air.
It was nearly overwhelming, having all his enhanced senses focused on the sight and the sound and the smell of them together. Maybe that was cheating, a little. Clark could allocate some brain space to feel guilty about that later.
But later. Because then, his focus was all on—
“God, you feel so good,” Clark groaned, the words all but ripped from him without conscious intent because god, god, had fucking someone always felt so incredible? He felt almost dizzy with it, the heat and the pressure and Bruce’s beautiful body clenching around him with every thrust. “Is this what you wanted from me? Tell me what you need.”
“So good,” Bruce said in a rush of air. “But you can go harder, I can take it.”
Clark could go harder, of course. He could go much harder, in fact – too hard for Bruce, or any human, to take. But he could ramp it up a little and still keep things safe, if that’s what Bruce wanted from him. He so wanted to make it good for him.
“Alright,” Clark said. “Alright.” He gripped Bruce’s hips more tightly and went harder.
Bruce dropped to his elbows as his arms buckled, groaning a muffled, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” into his forearms. “You can…nn…keep that up?”
The force of his thrusts was enough to shake the bedframe, but Clark held him steady as he fucked him, intense and unremitting. “As long as you need,” Clark promised, which earned him a soft groan. “Should I keep going like this?”
“Don’t you dare stop,” Bruce replied, his voice practically a growl – and well, that seemed like a pretty straightforward response to the unasked question of whether Clark was doing the right thing. And it felt so good to watch Bruce claw at the bedsheets, dizzy with pleasure, and know that Clark had done this for him.
So he didn't stop. Time became a fluid concept: he couldn’t tell how long he’d been fucking Bruce at the same, unrelenting pace, apart from the way that Bruce’s white shirt grew damp with sweat, and the little noises he was making got ever so slightly more urgent. But it was easy to get lost in it. It was— It was so—
“Are you close?” Clark gasped. He could already feel his climax approaching – but if Bruce wasn’t there yet, Clark would manage. He came once already, which definitely took the edge off, right? He could find a way to last.
Bruce made a noise that sounded vaguely affirmative; shifted so that he had one shoulder was pressed into the bed and a hand free to jerk himself off. Clark couldn’t help but run a flat palm along the arch in his back, rumpling the sweat-damp fabric of his dress shirt – but his rhythm slowed, just for an instant, and Bruce made another muffled noise and pressed back against him, eagerly encouraging – and lord, this wasn’t going to last much longer at all, was it?
“God, I'm sorry, I can’t— I’m—” he gasped. And then he was swept under, balls drawing up tight as he came, eyes squeezed shut, all his senses focused helplessly on the beautiful pressure around his cock and the sensation of his spend filling the condom. He was gone, overwhelmed by it all, coming harder than he had in years even though it was his second of the night. He was distantly aware of Bruce pressing back against him, muffling a moan into the pillow as Clark’s fingers dug into the soft-strong muscle at his waist; of his own wordless groans as the hot pleasure of it swept through him.
When he came back to himself, he felt hazy and pleasantly empty, like he’d been hollowed out. “Jesus,” he murmured, somewhat surprised at himself.
Bruce wriggled impatiently beneath him. His own hand was still roughly stripping his cock. “Not to interrupt,” he rasped, “but I don’t suppose you could…?”
Oh, damn it. Clark had come early twice tonight. He wasn’t exactly putting his best foot forward tonight, was he? “Sorry,” he murmured, and readjusted his position so he could keep fucking him.
Bruce let out a startled noise, whole body jolting. “Fuck. You can—You’re still—”
Belatedly, Clark realized Bruce had probably just wanted him to jerk him off or something. “Sorry,” he said again. “I thought you wanted me to keep going, should I—”
“Yes, keep going,” Bruce growled, which, again, was pretty unambiguous as far as answers went. The hand on his cock was moving faster now, breath coming harsher and body tightening around him. “Fuck, I’m so close, don’t stop, don’t stop—”
“I won’t,” Clark said, because he’d already promised – and because even though he was a little oversensitive, he wanted to make Bruce come just like this, wanted to feel him shake apart around him. And besides, he was pretty sure he’d be able to stay hard enough to keep fucking him forever if Bruce asked him like that.
For better or worse, it didn’t take forever. After only a couple more minutes of Clark moving at the same, brutal pace as before, Bruce’s ragged breathing splintered on a rough moan. And then Bruce was going tense all over, groaning into the pillow, “Fuck, fuck, Super—”
“Sorry?” Clark squeaked, hips stuttering in surprise.
“Don’t stop,” was the snarled response – and maybe it said more about Clark than he was entirely comfortable acknowledging, but he obeyed, fucking him until Bruce’s body was clenching and shuddering gorgeously around him, and then fucking him through it. It looked like it was an intense for him as it had been for Clark, going through him in waves, one hand fisted in the sheets and the other moving tight and fast over his cock, a strangled moan ripped from his throat as he splattered the sheets with his seed. Because of Clark.
Just like he’d wanted.
Um. Except—
“Uhh, so, what was that you were saying? Before you came?” he asked delicately when Bruce finally sagged limply against the mattress.
Bruce was quiet for a couple seconds as he caught his breath. Then, still muffled into the pillow: “Is it important?”
“I guess not,” Clark lied, because he didn’t have an easily explicable reason to care that much, apart from that he'd been sure for a moment there that Bruce had been about to say his other name. “I was just wondering. You said ‘super’. Like…like ‘Superman’?”
“No,” Bruce replied. When Clark didn’t respond immediately, he added, “The word comes up in other contexts. As in: ‘Super job, Clark. Well done.’ For instance.”
“Uh-huh,” Clark said dubiously. “That… You were gonna say that?”
“I admit, it wasn’t my best attempt at dirty talk,” Bruce said waspishly. “I’d appreciate it if we didn’t dwell on it.” He shifted so he could shoot Clark a glare over his shoulder – although his eyes were a little too hazy with residual pleasure for it to pack much punch. “Are we really talking about this while you’re still inside me?”
“Ah,” Clark said with a wince. “Yeah, let me just—”
He pulled out carefully, tied off the condom deposited it neatly in the small bin beside the bed. But before he could do much else, let alone open his mouth to continue their conversation, Bruce was on him again. “Uh. Bruce?”
“You’re still hard,” Bruce noted, eyes fixed firmly between Clark’s legs.
“Oh,” Clark said. He hadn’t really softened after he came this time round, since Bruce had riled him up so much. If he didn’t still feel a little punchdrunk from orgasm, the undisguised appreciation on Bruce’s face might have felt embarrassing. As it was, he just felt pleased. Coming twice within an hour had really helped ease his latent self-consciousness, so it seemed. “Yeah, but it’ll go down on its own. I’m not expecting you to do anything.”
Bruce sent him a wry look. “Clark. What about my behavior thus far makes you think I wouldn’t want to do anything?”
And well. Bruce kind of had a point there.
“Okay. Yeah,” he breathed, already feeling a tingling anticipation building at the base of his stomach. He let Bruce push his knees apart and crawl between his legs. Leaned back against the pillows and watched him through hooded eyes.
A small part of Clark wondered why it felt like Bruce was trying to distract him from the whole what-was-that-about-Superman conversation – the same feeling he’d gotten earlier, when Bruce hadn’t wanted to explain why he was keeping his clothes on. But a larger part of him felt comfortably convinced that he was just being paranoid.
After all, Bruce didn’t know. How could he?
Heck, even if he had been about to say Superman, it didn’t mean he knew. Maybe he just had a crush on Superman. That happened surprisingly often, in the grand scheme of things.
Or maybe, he thought as he watched Bruce bend down and scrape his teeth against Clark's chest – and oh man, Clark was really gonna have to revisit this whole nipple thing at some point, because wow – maybe Bruce had been about to say something completely different and Clark was just overreacting.
Yeah, that was…that was probably it. Right? Most likely, Clark had nothing to worry about.
(It was perhaps by no coincidence that said larger part of him was principally focused on the slick hand closing around his cock and the wicked grin Bruce shot him from between his legs.
Perhaps.)
Sometime later, when Clark had come for the third time that night and Bruce, who’d gotten hard while Clark fucked his mouth again, had spent himself again on Clark’s chest and stomach, both of them collapsed bonelessly onto the bed.
“Wow,” Clark said intelligently. All thoughts of what Bruce may or may not have said had entirely slipped his mind.
Bruce turned his head so he could shoot Clark a lazy grin. “Mm, my thoughts exactly. So I was right, then?”
“Huh?”
“That this was more fun than staying at the bar.”
“Oh, right,” Clark said on a pleased sigh. “Well, I would have had three fewer orgasms at the bar, so I’d say that’s a no-brainer.”
Bruce let out a soft bark of laughter. “Oh, is that the metric?”
“I think it’s a good one, generally speaking.”
“And I’d agree,” Bruce said diplomatically. “But still, that’s not necessarily true. I could have sucked you off in the bar too, if we found a private corner somewhere.”
Clark’s face felt hot. “Oh. Um. Wouldn’t that be disrespectful to the staff and customers?”
Bruce rolled his eyes. “You really are a boy scout, aren't you?” he said. There was something sharply wry in his grin, and for a brief, strange moment Clark was reminded achingly of—
Lois.
He swallowed.
“I guess so,” he said. There was no chill in the room – Bruce was still flushed and sweat-damp – but Clark suddenly felt uncomfortably aware of his bare skin, prickling as if it were cold. He wanted to crawl under the covers, maybe. Wrap himself up. He wanted—
His gaze flickered to the stretch of empty bedsheets between him and Bruce. They were lying only a few inches apart, and had been much closer than that only minutes ago, but Clark still felt wary about closing the gap. What were the rules about cuddling after a one night stand? Was it seen as too intimate? Or was it just a nice thing to do after sex? He eyed the space between them warily. The last thing he wanted was to overstep and make things awkward.
But while he was still dithering, Bruce made the decision for him, shuffling closer to plop his head on Clark’s shoulder. Clark took the obvious cue and curled his arm around him. Rested his hand low on Bruce’s waist where his shirt had rucked up, just to feel his skin.
Bruce had probably just taken note of how Clark had gone quiet and a little tense and taken pity on him. But…but he was also slowly trailing his palm across Clark’s abdomen, and it was…
It was nice. He may not know Bruce very well, and he may not see him again after tonight, but it was nice to be close like this. The warmth of another person, pressed against him, slightly sweaty and still practically fully clothed though he was. They stayed just like that for several long minutes, Clark rubbing slow circles into his skin, feeling tired and hazy and pleased.
Until Bruce’s hand trailed lower, more teasing than absent-minded, and Clark felt his stomach muscles twitch. “Careful,” he said lightly. “If you keep that up, you’re gonna put me in mind of another round.”
Bruce’s eyes flashed with something hungry for a moment. But then he closed his eyes and sighed softly. “Don’t tempt me. I shouldn’t.”
“Shouldn’t?” he asked, frowning. It was a somewhat unusual word to hear from a man whose public image took the concept of ‘laissez-faire’ to new and dizzying heights.
“I should get back to Gotham before it gets too late,” Bruce explained. Before Clark could ask why, Bruce was already disentangling their limbs and sitting up.
“Oh,” said Clark, torn between disappointment that the cuddling part of the evening was apparently over and relief that he wouldn’t have to make his own awkward excuse to leave later tonight – or, more challengingly, come up with some reason to sleep with his glasses on while they slept. Sure, it wasn’t as if Bruce would necessarily recognize him without them, but…
Clark didn’t like taking risks. Not with his identity – with Superman. It was too important.
“That’s totally fine. I mean, I can just...” he said and made to sit up. But before he could, there were gentle fingers on his sternum.
“You’re welcome to the room. I’ve already paid for it,” Bruce said. “As long as you’re out by 10, everything else will be taken care of. Okay?”
“No, no, that’s fine!” he insisted – although not quite as vehemently as he’d intended, since he was still feeling very content and, admittedly, a little sleepy. “I’ll just…lie here for a second. And then I can be out of your hair right quick. Honest.”
Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. Tell you what: I’ll take a shower, and you can just rest your eyes for a second. Okay?”
“Okay,” Clark agreed. His eyes were feeling a little heavy, come to think of it. He could take a quick nap on this very comfortable bed, if Bruce really didn’t mind. Just a quick one.
He settled back down. “Okay. Thanks for tonight, Bruce. See you.”
He didn’t know it then, but in a few hours he’d awake to the sound of Superman’s name being called from Gotham. But one of the last things he saw before that was Bruce’s smile – a softer smile than the wolfish grins he’d thrown out all night. Quietly amused. “See you, Clark,” Bruce said and drifted off in the direction of the bathroom.
It was a nice smile, Clark thought to himself hazily.
It was kind of a shame this was just a one night thing. He’d like to see that smile again sometime.