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It all goes down during a birthday party.
Well, not just a birthday party, but the party in celebration of Metropolis’ mayor. His last birthday while still in power, one that is supposed to be ‘a night to remember.’ Big, important, and extremely fancy. One Bruce Wayne is invited to. One Clark Kent is meant to be taking notes to write about. The party of the year. An event unlike anything Metropolis has ever seen before. In one of the most important buildings in the city, with such historical value people should be scared to breathe.
That, that is the place where Clark and Bruce see each other again.
In all fairness, Clark can’t properly remember why his relationship with Bruce ended. Which straw had been the last. He can’t pinpoint it in their past, and pain blurred most of his memories from that night. All he can tell, all he remembers, is that it was the right thing to do. It had to be. Because they made so much sense together, it was insane to picture a good enough reason for them to end things. Yet, they did.
Clark would like to tell you that it was amicable.
He truly would.
The only problem?
Well… It wasn’t.
Amicable breakups don’t make the person you love most disappear. Amicable breakups don’t give you nightmares of the pain in Bruce Wayne’s eyes the moment you leave him. Amicable breakups don’t haunt you. Not like that.
What Clark can tell you, on the other hand, is that he knew Bruce would be here tonight ── and that was the only reason why he, himself, came. He can assure you, even, that Bruce’s presence is what got him to dress up a bit better than he normally would. His suit is still cheaper than the champagne people around him are drinking, yes. But it fits nicely, it makes his muscles seem bigger. And, well, it is the suit he was wearing over a year ago… When Bruce kissed him for the first time.
Something else Clark can tell you, without shadow of a doubt, is that he sees it. He notices the moment Bruce finds him in the crowd. Clark is closer to the bar, trying to hide and listen in on every conversation he can. Despite being too tall to go unnoticed, his lack of money does seem to make him nearly invisible. But Bruce would always find him. Would always make him feel seen.
Tonight, it’s no different.
Bruce is walking with some corporate men Clark doesn’t care much about. He is eyeing the crowd, almost as if he is looking for something, and then he spots Clark. Even from afar, even with the piano playing softly in the background, Clark is able to hear the second Bruce’s heart skips a beat.
The exact moment his own heart decides to nearly stop beating.
Bruce looks… Beautiful. There is no other word to describe him ── there never was. Wearing black from head to toe, carrying a champagne glass in one hand, he looks just like he tends to do in Clark’s dreams. His skin is as pale as Clark remembers, his bone structure as sharp, his muscles as hard. And, somehow, he has never looked this ethereal before.
In all honesty, Clark wants to move. He wants to go there, to get in front of him, to challenge him. Kiss him. Get on his knees for him. Hell, Clark can feel his entire body tingling with the amount of want that curses through his veins. He needs to move, to end the space between them, to have Bruce in front of everyone. He needs to──
“You are terrible at hiding it, you know?” Lois says, leaning against the bar right next to him.
Clark doesn’t want to look away from Bruce. He can’t. Firstly, because everything seems fragile ── especially this moment, whatever they share right here and now. And, most importantly, because he knows Bruce.
Bruce Wayne is a jealous man. The most jealous man Clark has ever met.
Something he grew to find insanely attractive about him.
Something he──
“Stop looking at him so much,” Lois sighs, and Clark can hear her sipping on her water. “Your relationship is meant to be a secret.”
“We broke up,” Clark says, looking at her. “No secret to keep. Not anymore.”
She blinks a few times.
“What?”
“Lois, I──”
“When?”
“Why does it matter?” he asks, quickly adding not to sound rude: “I mean, it won’t change things, so… Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound…”
“Here,” she puts her water down and hands him the first champagne glass she sees. “You clearly need this.”
In a world where he could get drunk? Yes.
Here? Not so much.
But he doesn’t know how to explain that to her right now. So, he takes it anyway.
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Alcohol doesn’t do much for him. It never has, and it, quite literally, never will. But it helps. Drinking, having to pretend to feel the effects of the champagne, and simply talking to Lois lets him take his mind off things. For a while at least.
As the minutes ── hours? ── go by, he tries to ignore it. He tries to pretend as if it isn’t there. That feeling of someone watching his every move. Clark tries, truly, to pretend that it isn’t there… But Kal-El, the stronger side of him that he tends to keep hidden, is drawn to it. As time passes, it feels like the energy coming from the one looking at him is slowly breaking Clark’s will. It’s pulling Kal-El in. Like a magnet, desperate to attract its missing piece.
And Clark knows who it is. Has known from the second that the feeling first hit him. So, he tries to avoid it. Because he has to. He can’t give in to the energy, the tension. But Kal-El seems to need him to. Because it doesn’t matter how strong his Kryptonian heritage makes him, it never did. Everything seems to weaken at the sight of Bruce Wayne. Whatever Clark is, wherever he is from, whatever that makes him, it pales in comparison to how Bruce makes him feel.
When put against that, Superman always loses.
Much like a moth, attracted to the one thing that might kill it. Knowing that the light only leads to fire, only leads to death. Yet incapable of turning away.
And Clark is about to bend, to look, to search for the fire. He is about to go towards it. When it suddenly disappears. Leaving him cold, blind, unsure of what to do next.
Lois says something, he is sure. He can see her lips moving quite clearly. And he has half a mind to notice how she seems to be expecting an answer. But he isn’t able to give it to her. The ground seems to be faltering underneath his feet. And he feels that ache in his chest that he did the night they broke up. Emptiness taking over him. As if the one thing keeping him alive was just taken from him.
He knows, somewhere in his mind, that he shouldn’t look for the reason. He would most likely find Bruce walking away, going somewhere with people he doesn’t care about. He would most likely find that Bruce’s own success has driven them apart that night. Unlike Clark’s fears that drove them apart weeks prior. Looking up would only lead to him wanting to go after Bruce.
Yet, he does it.
And oh…
Oh.
Clark was sure seeing his former boyfriend walking away, going in the other direction, would hurt. Simply because this time, when Bruce walked away, they wouldn’t be able to find each other in some other setting. It wouldn’t be with a promise of… Later.
Somehow, what he finds is worse.
Bruce is there, still in the same place Clark had spotted him moments before. The men he was surrounding himself with are gone. And Clark can’t help but wonder when did that happen. When did the important men decide to leave? When did Bruce decide to stay? Even if those are important questions to ask, there is one far worse in his mind.
Who is she?
Because Bruce is still there. Standing where Clark had left him. But the thing taking his eyes off of Clark is a woman. Next to him. Raising her champagne glass ever so slightly, to touch against his in a small gesture. Bruce smiles at her. And it doesn’t look fake. Even if it’s small, a barely-there type of smile. It feels… Familiar. As if he had done it many times before.
And, again, Bruce is a jealous man.
Has always been.
Would, probably, always be.
And that amount of jealousy seems to leave room for no other. Because it comes with great amounts of devotion. Clark could never feel jealousy the same way Bruce did, because Bruce’s jealousy would always keep his eyes glued to the Kryptonian. Even if Clark’s own eyes were most likely glued to Bruce as well, there was something different about the way Bruce would look at him. Something possessive, something reassuring. Something Clark was sure would always be there.
Until it wasn’t.
Because Bruce is still there, where Clark first saw him. And his eyes are glued to a beautiful woman. He is talking to her, allowing her to talk back. He is smiling. And, most important of all, he isn’t… Looking. His eyes aren’t following Clark’s every move, because he simply isn’t looking. Not anymore.
And, oh, the things it does to Clark.
Kal-El, his stronger side, his powerful side, is dangerously close to the edge. Not in a way that Clark would simply blow his cover and show everyone who he is. But in a way that he isn’t sure he can control the small ways his powers are able to shine through.
Clark tries to breathe. To keep his mind steady. To focus on something, anything, other than the way Bruce is looking at someone else. But he can’t. He doesn’t know how to. Not fully. Not when Bruce is so close, not when he feels so far away.
Yet, Clark tries to hold on. To remain himself, to remain human.
Bruce smiles softly again.
Then it happens.
She touches his arm. Suddenly, everything goes red.
Kal-El can’t breathe.
He is no longer sure he has ever done it before.
And the one thing capable of bringing him out of it, is the sound of the glass shattering in his hand.
He looks down, as people move towards him. Worried. There is champagne on the floor, and Clark’s hand has turned into a fist. Exactly where the glass is supposed to be. He opens his hand, and glass falls to the floor. Someone touches his shoulder.
“Let me look at it,” a man says.
He shakes his head, “I just… I’ll use the bathroom. It will be alright, no deep cuts.”
He closes his hand again. Unable to think of an excuse for his lack of blood. And, before anyone else can say something, before anyone else can even think about stopping him, he moves. His head down, unable to look at anyone, Clark makes his way towards the bathroom. Which he is lucky enough to find completely empty, as he goes towards one of the sinks and just…
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“Occupied,” Clark says, moments later, when the door opens again.
He doesn’t look up, to check in the mirror whoever walks into the bathroom. He barely allows the person time to process that all of the stalls are empty. He just… He can’t think. Not right now. Not when he can still picture that woman’s hand on Bruce. Not when his entire body seems to be on the verge of breaking.
Clark can barely hear past the ringing in his ear.
The only thing capable of breaking through it, the only thing capable of bringing him back, is the sound of the door being locked.
And he knows, much like he knows his own beating heart, that Bruce is there.
The air suddenly feels thick. The tension is so strong, not even a knife could cut through it. Clark’s entire body feels heavy, and he holds onto the sink with such strength he can feel it start to give in. He knows he can’t find a good, human, excuse for a broken bathroom sink. But he doesn’t let go.
Bruce, who hasn’t said a single word as he watches Clark break down, chuckles.
He takes a few steps forward then, getting closer and closer to his ex boyfriend. Without saying a word, Bruce ends the distance between them. And he does the unthinkable ── even if Clark himself had been thinking about it moments before. He touches Clark. It’s small. He simply lays his hand on Clark’s waist.
And Clark follows.
With a deep breath, he lets go of the sink and turns towards him.
“What…” he starts, the words stuck in his throat. “What are you doing here?”
Bruce eyes him carefully, “Why did you break that glass?”
Clark could find some excuse. He truly could. Even if he doesn’t lie, even if being truthful is part of who he is, he can bend it. He can… Find something that won’t make him sound as stupid as he feels right now. But his greatest dichotomy ── Kal-El ── is burning inside him, eating away at Clark’s selfcontrol.
That version of himself would always feel stronger with Bruce near.
So, Clark can’t exactly bite his tongue. And he can’t stop how angry he sounds.
“You let someone else touch you.”
And that should make him feel better, no? Being honest, saying what’s on his mind. Getting that off his chest. He should feel better. Yet, somehow, he feels worse… See, that was a poor choice of words on his part. Because it sounds almost as if that woman did something else. As if she had touched Bruce in a way more intimate way. Touched his body, felt his scars, perhaps gave him new ones. And that… The mere idea of that, makes the ugly thing inside him grow.
His own fucking words make him more jealous.
Bruce, who seems to have finally processed what Clark has said, lets go of him. Anger breaking through the mask just enough so that Clark can see. He is about to take a step back ── perhaps to yell ──, but Clark doesn’t let him. Instead, Clark switches their positions. Quickly, and with one simple movement, he grabs Bruce’s waist and pins him against another one of the sinks.
“You have no right──”
“She has no right,” Clark cuts in. “To touch you. To be near you. To even fucking look at you.”
Bruce’s pupils grow slightly.
“You broke up with──”
“I don’t care,” Clark cuts in again. “You are mine. As much as I’m yours.”
Oh.
Fucking finally.
Clark sees it. The moment Bruce’s mask falls completely, all of those feelings taking over. Anger, love, lust, and the promise of something only the two of them were ever able to comprehend. Bruce chuckles again. A sound that could have Clark dropping to his knees. A challenge. As if Bruce’s next move is to bark out an order in Clark’s direction.
It is.
Clark loves him for it.
“Prove it, Kent,” he says. No room for questions.
But Clark has always loved breaking Bruce beyond repair. Despite being prone to obeying Bruce’s every demand, there were moments where Kal-El’s own strength and stubbornness would shine through. He would fight Bruce’s order and give his own. They would keep challenging one another, waiting to see who would break first.
Clark usually did, to be fair. But not here. At least not for now.
So, he touches Bruce’s cheek with one of his hands. Gentle, even with that fire burning inside him. With his thumb, he caresses the man’s lower lip.
“Kent…”
“You used this pretty mouth an awful lot tonight,” Clark whispers. “Maybe it’s time to put it to good use, Brucie.”
Bruce nearly whimpers. Whatever walls he still had up seem to crumble right then and there.
But he doesn’t back down. Clark has never loved him as much as he does then.
“No,” he answers, moving his head back slightly so Clark loses his grip. “I’m not getting on my knees for you until you deserve it.”
“Sweetheart.”
“You fucked us up,” Bruce sounds almost cold. “You also used your mouth an awful lot. Maybe put yours to some good use. Unless you have someone else to use it with.”
“Not in the ways I want to use it with you,” he says. “Never have. Never will.”
Bruce raises an eyebrow, that glint of victory in his stormy eyes, “I’m not repeating myself again, Kent,” he says. “Prove. It.”
Clark does.
It’s almost instinctive. One second he is there, looking Bruce in the eyes. On the next, his knees are hitting the floor. His hands are moving down Bruce’s body, going straight for the kill. He starts undoing the zipper as Bruce unbuttons his own tux.
He is about to reach for Bruce’s underwear when something stops him.
“Beg.”
Again, no room for questioning. Bruce’s order is clear as day. And it’s enough to get Clark to stop, even if for a second. He nods, as a way of showing he hears and understands what he is meant to do. Which, yes, he does. But he will do it in his own way.
He goes for the underwear again, pulling it down along with those expensive pants Bruce is wearing. But his eyes are glued to the man’s face.
“Brucie,” he says, pulling the fabric down until it reaches Bruce’s thighs. “You are so hard…”
And it’s true. They have barely touched each other, and Bruce’s cock is visibly swollen and needy. As if the time they spent apart only made things… Hotter. As if both had been wanting each other so bad, the simplest of touches was enough to get them going. The discomfort between Clark’s own legs seems to add to that conclusion quite quickly.
Bruce allows Clark to touch him. Even if he won’t let Clark do what he wants to the most, he allows him to move his hand up and down Bruce’s length.
“I shouldn’t have talked to her…” Clark says. “The second I saw you, I should have brought you here and fucked you senseless.”
Bruce moans in response. A way of letting Clark know he was on the right path.
“The second I laid eyes on you, so beautiful… So hot…” he moves his hand slowly, dragging out a whimper from the other man. “Fuck, I wanted to have you so bad.”
Bruce lets out another moan, but doesn’t give in. Not even when Clark’s hand starts to work a bit firmer. He isn’t fast, he knows Bruce likes to truly feel him. He likes each move to be as precise as the one before, even if the pace is on the slower side. Bruce wants it to be, even. He wants it to last, and he wants it to be as epic as possible. Each damn time.
“I still want to have you,” Clark tries.
“You do?”
“I do…” he sighs. Touching Bruce’s hip with his lips. Kissing him softly. “I need to have you, sweetheart. I need to feel you. I haven’t had you for so long, you must be so tight…”
And Clark knows he is on the right track, because Bruce can’t help himself. He moves his hip, searching for Clark’s hand each time he drags it towards the tip. As if each movement could be the last. Even as Clark rubs his thumb against the slit. Playing with it as well as with Bruce’s sanity.
“But I need you in my mouth first,” Clark says. Gently biting the soft skin on Bruce’s hip. “I need to taste you, Brucie… Please.”
Bruce moves one of his hands to Clark’s hair. Grabbing it in a way that signs to him that it is okay to do it. But Clark is patient. He likes to hear Bruce’s consent rather than go by a silent command. He likes to hear the small amount of desperation in Bruce’s voice as he speaks. The sign that whatever hold Bruce has on him, is similar to the one he has on Bruce.
“Yes…” Bruce says, pulling Clark’s hair ever so slightly.
And that’s all he needs.
Clark moves his mouth to where his hand is. Still holding onto Bruce, Clark licks the tip. Both moan. Bruce because it feels good, wet and warm. And Clark because his boyfriend ── ex boyfriend, Clark ── tastes divine. He sucks the tip gently, allowing Bruce’s grasp on his hair to tighten before finally moving.
Bruce is big. Unfairly big. He is thick and so fucking easy to just choke on. But Clark takes him, always has. He guides Bruce inside his mouth, feeling the veins on his length with the tip of his tongue. Then, he allows Bruce to feel the back of his throat, allows him to throb there once or twice, before sucking as he moves away.
The sounds that come out of him are beautiful. To the point Clark is sure the piano, playing somewhere in the distance, is jealous of how melodic Bruce Wayne sounds as he moans.
Being as resistant as he is, especially when it comes to breathing, Clark spares no second. He bobs his head nonstop, bringing Bruce deeper and deeper as he goes. He moves his tongue, and plays with each one of Bruce’s sensitive spots. He even dares to hollow out his cheeks from time to time as Bruce’s sounds become more and more erratic. He basks in the way Bruce seems to be trembling, as if his legs are about to give in.
And he bites.
It’s not hard. At least not enough to mark or hurt. But he does drag his teeth along Bruce’s length and nibbles at the tip. Something he found out Bruce enjoyed. Pain, even the mere promise of it, has always done wonders to Bruce. He enjoys it. His entire body reacts to it in such a visceral way it surprised both of them the first time. So, Bruce’s moans become a bit louder as Clark’s teeth grazes his skin.
Bruce holds onto the sink, legs shaking, but he never asks Clark to stop.
He, in fact, does the opposite. He pulls Clark’s hair, forcing himself deeper into Clark’s throat. And he moves his hips against each one of Clark’s movements. Quickly becoming the horny, needy mess Clark loves so much.
So, Clark takes the next step.
None of them have lube ── at least he hopes so, considering they were broken up for a while at that point ──, so, he has to be careful with what he does next. With his right hand, Clark moves towards Bruce’s ass. That delicious round and firm ass of hiss, that Clark can’t wait to mark and claim as his once more. Carefully, he makes his way in between his cheeks, and finds that perfect little hole.
He was right.
Bruce is even tighter than usual. To the point it’s hard to get his finger in without too many whimpers from Bruce’s end. He does it eventually. Allowing both of them to adjust to the feeling before moving.
It’s a bit of work, to be honest. Bruce’s hole seems to be trying to both kick him out and drag him in. A feeling that grows as Clark starts to hit that sweet spot inside him. Bruce helps, though. He moves his hips against Clark’s finger, setting a pace that allows both of them to feel pleasure ── since Clark’s pleasure has always come from watching Bruce be taken apart.
Inside his mouth, Bruce’s throbbing dick feels harder than before. If that’s even possible. And each time Clark hits that spot inside him, it feels like it will be the last straw.
“More…” Bruce moans. “Another… Please.”
Clark obeys, even if he is not sure it won’t hurt. Knowing his lover? It will. And Bruce wants it to hurt.
The second finger goes in a bit more smoothly than the first one. Even if it still seems to find some ounce of resistance. Bruce’s moans grow slightly louder and reckless, but that doesn’t stop either of them. Clark still moves inside him, as Bruce chases his relief inside Clark’s mouth by himself. Going back and forth against Clark’s finger and the back of his throat. Forcing Clark to choke a bit from time to time as he loses control.
The third finger isn’t something Bruce has to demand for.
Clark moves it in instinctively when Bruce’s own movements become less erratic, a sign that he needs even more stimulation. This one is easier, and it seems to drag Bruce closer and closer to the edge. Each time Clark hits that spot inside him, Bruce’s legs shake violently. Making everything messier than they had intended it to be. He grabs Clark’s hair with enough strength to hurt. And goes for the back of Clark’s throat more often than not.
He is about to come. Clark is sure. He is expecting even.
What he isn’t expecting, though, is what Bruce says next.
“More…” he demands. Sounding desperate. “One more. Now.”
Clark doesn’t move. Bruce grows impatient.
“Kent, you are so fucking big, I need more… One more… Do it…”
It takes a beat. Not even a full second, to be fair. But Clark does it. He moves the fourth finger inside. Truly opening Bruce up with each move. And finally taking him over the edge.
Bruce stops moving after hitting the back of Clark’s throat. So, Clark hollows out his cheeks and moves his fingers deeper inside. And Bruce nearly screams. His legs shake again, he pulls Clark’s hair violently, and comes. Deep in the back of Clark’s throat, making him choke and giving him no other choice but to swallow everything ── not that he would ever do the opposite if presented with the chance.
Clark is gentle when removing his fingers from inside his boyfriend. He waits until Bruce himself starts moving back, to get out of his mouth, and takes his fingers away. That doesn’t seem to work much, because Brucie is sensitive enough to whimper at the feeling and shake slightly before allowing himself to rest against the sink.
When Clark gets up, he is not expecting anything else to happen. Even if he wants to, he knows ── in the back of his mind ── that he was lucky enough to simply have this. And he is about to tell Bruce just that, when the man pulls him in for a kiss.
Unlike the many times they have kissed before, there is nothing gentle about this. It is painfully filled with passion and want, and some amount of anger none of them seem to be able to pinpoint yet. It’s all lips, tongue and teeth. They bite each other with such violence, Clark is sure they wouldn’t be able to tell each other’s blood apart if he was able to bleed.
Bruce pulls him in impossibly close, Bruce bleeds into Clark’s mouth, and kisses him nonstop to the point Clark has to pull away as he hears Bruce’s lungs struggling.
“Fuck me,” Bruce demands.
Clark is too weak to say no, but has half a mind to know how complicated things will be if they do that. Bruce knows him well enough to tease more, to demand more, so he moves his hands down Clark’s body. Opening his pants and breathing heavy into Clark’s mouth.
“You said you need me,” Bruce adds as he slips his hands inside Clark’s underwear.
Clark moans, and Bruce takes that as a sign to start touching him, “Desperatedly.”
“Have me,” he demands. His hand moving up and down Clark’s length, impossibly strong and as fast as Clark likes it to be. “Now.”
“Fuck…” he moans, unable to come up with a good answer to why they shouldn’t do it. “Sweetheart, I’m going to…”
Bruce doesn’t stop. Instead, he smiles, “You won’t.”
And that… That’s an order Clark has heard time and time before.
“You won’t let me cum?”
“Not until you…” Bruce moves his hand with even more precision. Nearly dragging Clark’s orgasm out of him. “How did you put it, Kent? Fuck me senseless?”
“Please,” is all Clark is able to say.
Bruce kisses him, nothing but a peck. Then, he moves his lips towards Clark’s neck. Giving such gentle kisses, only stopping to nibble at the soft skin, that no one would think his hand is wrapped around Clark’s cock with such ferocity. And no one, not even Clark, could predict his next sentence:
“Bend me over this sink and fuck me.”
And, well, Clark doesn’t have to be told twice.
He holds Bruce’s hips and turns him around. The moment Clark looks at Bruce in the mirror, when they face each other in their reflections, he is sure he is falling again. Even if he never truly stopped. Bruce looks even better like this. His outfit messy, almost ruined in some spots. His hair disheveled. Sweat covering points of his skin that Clark would love nothing more than to lick. Bruce is, without a doubt, the most beautiful man in the universe.
Clark thinks, even if for a second or less, about saying it.
But Bruce’s hips moving against his bulge, begging to be touched, is enough to get his brain short circuiting. He is not sure what to do or say next other than touch him. So, that’s what he does. Clark pulls his own pants and underwear down just enough.
Positioning himself behind Bruce, he holds his own cock with one hand. While the other he moves towards Bruce’s hair. He isn’t exactly gentle about his next move, he presses Bruce’s face against the mirror hard. Watching closely as the surface reflects those blown out pupils back to him. And Bruce… Bruce is looking back. With that sick smile on his face, filled with want. A silent order for Clark to fucking ruin him.
He does just that.
Clark guides himself inside Bruce without any ounce of kindness. He is rough, and bottoms out almost instantly. It looks painful for a second, the look on Bruce’s face tells him so. But he doesn’t stop.
It’s loud, it’s rough, and it’s all they ever needed.
Each time Clark pounds into Bruce, the sink under them moves. The porcelain seems to be ready to break, and the glass cracks each time Bruce is pressed against it hard. But Clark keeps going. And Bruce keeps telling him to.
“Fuck!” he shouts. “Fuck, don’t fucking stop…”
And then…
“Clark, yes, fuck… Just like that.”
Even…
“Harder, sweetheart, you can do so much better than this…”
With his free hand, Clark raises it high enough to hit Bruce’s ass. It’s strong, it makes his own skin tingle with the impact. But he does it time and time again. Until the soft skin turns red, turns purple, and looks all used up.
Still, Bruce tells him to go harder. And the sink nearly breaks in half, forcing Clark to pull him away from it.
With Bruce’s back against his chest, Clark goes for his throat. He bites and marks as he sees fit. Moving inside him nonstop, while Bruce himself moves his own hips back ── forcing Clark deeper and deeper into him. Waiting, patiently, for the moment Bruce will be satisfied. For the moment Bruce will allow him to finally find release.
“Look at you, Brucie,” Clark whispers, looking up from his neck just enough so that they can face each other in the mirror. “Fucking yourself against my cock… Such a pretty slut for me.”
“Don’t…”
“Don’t call you a slut?” Clark asks, biting him again. Bruce moans. “Don’t you like to see what I do to you?”
“Clark…”
“How the big and strong Bruce Wayne becomes nothing but a needy little whore…” Bruce moans, Clark chuckles. “... when I’m deep inside him.”
“Deeper,” Bruce demands.
“You want me to break you in half, sweetheart?”
Bruce doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to. The way he looks at Clark is answer enough. So, Clark moves his hand towards Bruce’s chin. Forcing him to keep his eyes on their reflection, forcing him to see as Clark tears him apart. Forcing him to remember who he belongs to. Time and time again.
Bruce’s legs falter at some point, and the only thing keeping him up is Clark’s hold on his chin. It must be painful, but he doesn’t complain. In fact, he doesn’t even show it. He allows Clark to do whatever he wants. To fuck him, and then touch him. Despite how sensitive he feels, he lets Clark drag another orgasm out of him using his hand.
And the great Bruce Wayne comes undone, quite literally, against the fucking sink.
“Clark…” Bruce calls him. “I want you to cum inside me, now.”
And Clark, who had been holding himself back just for that moment, buries himself deep inside Bruce. And comes for him. Moaning, calling out his name like a prayer.