Yay, done! And because I like to make things more difficult for myself, for those of you playing at home, there are in fact exactly twenty questions in the whole fic.
Captcha, you have it wrong, the underpants should be red not blue _____
He slid off to Bruce's side, keeping his hand on the side of his neck, holding him. In the span of a few lazy kisses Bruce's extraordinary conditioning struck again. His heartbeat tumbled towards its normal slow thud under Clark's fingertips, and Clark pushed his hips against Bruce's--God, his body. Without Bruce to focus on that full-body awareness of Clark's had zeroed in hard on his own in that same time. He was practically throbbing with it pressed against him, like his body was searching for more of that hot pressure of its own volition even though Clark was reluctant to do anything about it himself. He'd managed so far following Bruce's lead, it seemed selfish not to give Bruce whatever he could when he would never be able to do all the things Bruce would.
Clark rolled gratefully onto his back to give Bruce room as soon as Bruce tugged the tails of his shirt free. He went for his shirt to finish the job Bruce had started in the cave as Bruce deftly flicked the button on Clark's pants to get them open and shoved down enough to leave Clark with his erection poking obscenely through the open fly of his khakis. The release meant he had no sensation at all, thrusting into nothing while Bruce kissed him.
"Don't bother," Bruce said. "I've got what I need," and then he kissed him again and suddenly there was air in Clark's lungs he hadn't put there. He clenched his fists at the shock, too bewildered to respond before Bruce breathed in with a hiss and air suctioned out of Clark the same way.
"Bruce—" Clark started, a sound snapped in half when Bruce frowned sternly and smeared his thumb hard across Clark's lip.
"You don't need to do that anymore." Bruce held him while he filled him again, making his chest go tight. He could take in more than Bruce's lung capacity could possibly supply and it was still overwhelming just for how foreign the sensation of having it pushed inside of him was. When Bruce seemed satisfied that Clark understood what he wanted he let Clark's chin go, and with one last shove at Clark's underwear went right back to his other point of interest.
Clark fought against the urge to gasp, to breathe. Whether he needed it or not it was still an instinct he had to consciously defy, enough to make him lightheaded despite the lack of oxygen deprivation, the physical strain he would never feel. Just as the tension of Bruce jerking him off wound tighter, beginning to tingle up the base of his spine, Bruce broke to delicate teasing right at the head of his cock, too much and not enough at the same time.
Clark felt more exposed than he'd have thought possible when he was the one wearing all his clothes. Everything was so quiet, only the undeniably lewd sound of Bruce's hand and the occasional hiss of air. Bruce alternated his touch to keep Clark dancing on that edge without sending him over and on every third or fourth of his own slow, calm breaths would seal their mouths together and give Clark one.
He couldn't call it holding his breath, because it wasn't his to hold. He was empty, hollowed out when Bruce inhaled, stretched and full when he breathed out, another way to let Bruce inside of him even though he would never be able to get through Clark's skin.
He was a cock and mouth, reduced to the parts Bruce wanted access to. He could give him that much.
It was much too long, twenty chances to breathe, maybe thirty, before Bruce settled into a rhythm and pushed it steadily past the point of teasing, inexorable, dragging Clark along with him. Right as the tension became unbearable he pressed his mouth to Clark's ear, timed so perfectly it had to be intentional.
"Next time I want to do it while I'm fucking you." It was the real thing of the facade Bruce had played at, wry without the warmth, and Clark smothered himself in the heat of Bruce's bare shoulder because he didn't have the air to sob. His own heartbeat hammered in his ears alongside the steady drum of Bruce's as he came in a rush of dizzying release.
He'd been reduced even more from two points to one, his entire existence was Bruce stroking him right through it heedless of the mess he was making all over Clark, soaking through the exposed vee of Clark's undershirt at his throat, on his neck, Christ.
And then Bruce was turning Clark's head back with a thumb on his chin. "Go ahead."
He caressed the line of Clark's jaw and watched with that deep, scalpel-sharp fascination while Clark sucked in air, like somewhere next to the part of Bruce that would lovingly stroke Clark's cheek he was updating a precise catalogue of every one of his reactions and how to elicit them, every possible chink in his invulnerability that could be explored. Bruce had opened him up after all.
In his daze Clark dimly registered Bruce moving away, and he made a half-hearted attempt to follow, only to remember he was still wearing his clothes and--he pulled distastefully at his shirt--that he was sticky. By the time Clark's sluggish thoughts caught up to his body, Bruce was long gone, out of sight behind the sleek wall that ensconced the bathroom. Clark gave up and flopped back to the bed.
"Awfully shortsighted not to undress when you had the chance," Bruce said, an echo in the cavern of the lakehouse. A soft, white washcloth landed on Clark's face with a wet plop.
"My hero," Clark said, muffled and glad to have his smile covered. ___
Later, when he was cleaner and drier, Clark lay still while Bruce traced the whorls of his ear methodically with a fingertip.
"I know how fast you can go when you're moving consciously," Bruce said. "So what happens when it's involuntary? A doctor's hammer to the knee, that kind of thing."
"You're interrogating again," Clark murmured, holding Bruce's elbow when he tried to pull away. "No, no. You're a detective. You would be remiss if you didn't conduct a thorough investigation."
"I guess I did have just one more question." Bruce's weight settled against Clark more solidly, and there was a long, calculated silence as he grazed his thumb up and down the column of Clark's throat.
FILL: "Twenty Questions", Bruce/Clark, breathplay, (4/4)
Captcha, you have it wrong, the underpants should be red not blue
_____
He slid off to Bruce's side, keeping his hand on the side of his neck, holding him. In the span of a few lazy kisses Bruce's extraordinary conditioning struck again. His heartbeat tumbled towards its normal slow thud under Clark's fingertips, and Clark pushed his hips against Bruce's--God, his body. Without Bruce to focus on that full-body awareness of Clark's had zeroed in hard on his own in that same time. He was practically throbbing with it pressed against him, like his body was searching for more of that hot pressure of its own volition even though Clark was reluctant to do anything about it himself. He'd managed so far following Bruce's lead, it seemed selfish not to give Bruce whatever he could when he would never be able to do all the things Bruce would.
Clark rolled gratefully onto his back to give Bruce room as soon as Bruce tugged the tails of his shirt free. He went for his shirt to finish the job Bruce had started in the cave as Bruce deftly flicked the button on Clark's pants to get them open and shoved down enough to leave Clark with his erection poking obscenely through the open fly of his khakis. The release meant he had no sensation at all, thrusting into nothing while Bruce kissed him.
"Don't bother," Bruce said. "I've got what I need," and then he kissed him again and suddenly there was air in Clark's lungs he hadn't put there. He clenched his fists at the shock, too bewildered to respond before Bruce breathed in with a hiss and air suctioned out of Clark the same way.
"Bruce—" Clark started, a sound snapped in half when Bruce frowned sternly and smeared his thumb hard across Clark's lip.
"You don't need to do that anymore." Bruce held him while he filled him again, making his chest go tight. He could take in more than Bruce's lung capacity could possibly supply and it was still overwhelming just for how foreign the sensation of having it pushed inside of him was. When Bruce seemed satisfied that Clark understood what he wanted he let Clark's chin go, and with one last shove at Clark's underwear went right back to his other point of interest.
Clark fought against the urge to gasp, to breathe. Whether he needed it or not it was still an instinct he had to consciously defy, enough to make him lightheaded despite the lack of oxygen deprivation, the physical strain he would never feel. Just as the tension of Bruce jerking him off wound tighter, beginning to tingle up the base of his spine, Bruce broke to delicate teasing right at the head of his cock, too much and not enough at the same time.
Clark felt more exposed than he'd have thought possible when he was the one wearing all his clothes. Everything was so quiet, only the undeniably lewd sound of Bruce's hand and the occasional hiss of air. Bruce alternated his touch to keep Clark dancing on that edge without sending him over and on every third or fourth of his own slow, calm breaths would seal their mouths together and give Clark one.
He couldn't call it holding his breath, because it wasn't his to hold. He was empty, hollowed out when Bruce inhaled, stretched and full when he breathed out, another way to let Bruce inside of him even though he would never be able to get through Clark's skin.
He was a cock and mouth, reduced to the parts Bruce wanted access to. He could give him that much.
It was much too long, twenty chances to breathe, maybe thirty, before Bruce settled into a rhythm and pushed it steadily past the point of teasing, inexorable, dragging Clark along with him. Right as the tension became unbearable he pressed his mouth to Clark's ear, timed so perfectly it had to be intentional.
"Next time I want to do it while I'm fucking you." It was the real thing of the facade Bruce had played at, wry without the warmth, and Clark smothered himself in the heat of Bruce's bare shoulder because he didn't have the air to sob. His own heartbeat hammered in his ears alongside the steady drum of Bruce's as he came in a rush of dizzying release.
He'd been reduced even more from two points to one, his entire existence was Bruce stroking him right through it heedless of the mess he was making all over Clark, soaking through the exposed vee of Clark's undershirt at his throat, on his neck, Christ.
And then Bruce was turning Clark's head back with a thumb on his chin. "Go ahead."
He caressed the line of Clark's jaw and watched with that deep, scalpel-sharp fascination while Clark sucked in air, like somewhere next to the part of Bruce that would lovingly stroke Clark's cheek he was updating a precise catalogue of every one of his reactions and how to elicit them, every possible chink in his invulnerability that could be explored. Bruce had opened him up after all.
In his daze Clark dimly registered Bruce moving away, and he made a half-hearted attempt to follow, only to remember he was still wearing his clothes and--he pulled distastefully at his shirt--that he was sticky. By the time Clark's sluggish thoughts caught up to his body, Bruce was long gone, out of sight behind the sleek wall that ensconced the bathroom. Clark gave up and flopped back to the bed.
"Awfully shortsighted not to undress when you had the chance," Bruce said, an echo in the cavern of the lakehouse. A soft, white washcloth landed on Clark's face with a wet plop.
"My hero," Clark said, muffled and glad to have his smile covered.
___
Later, when he was cleaner and drier, Clark lay still while Bruce traced the whorls of his ear methodically with a fingertip.
"I know how fast you can go when you're moving consciously," Bruce said. "So what happens when it's involuntary? A doctor's hammer to the knee, that kind of thing."
"You're interrogating again," Clark murmured, holding Bruce's elbow when he tried to pull away. "No, no. You're a detective. You would be remiss if you didn't conduct a thorough investigation."
"I guess I did have just one more question." Bruce's weight settled against Clark more solidly, and there was a long, calculated silence as he grazed his thumb up and down the column of Clark's throat.
"Do you have a gag reflex?"