It was a throw-away comment. It hadn't been to illicit any sense of competitiveness, or even judgement. It was just a statement of fact. There wasn't anything Clark might want to do that Bruce would be uncomfortable with.
He didn't say things he couldn't back up, and while perhaps there were things that didn't turn him on, per se, for the right partner, the right reasons, that statement was truth absolute.
Fingers knotted in the bed sheets, face burrowed against the mattress as he dragged in breath, sounds coming out of his mouth like he had never actually uttered and they wouldn't stop - Bruce realised he'd been wrong. Clark, this, was more than he could manage. He couldn't- couldn't move, except to shudder, couldn't focus on anything other than the hot, wet, sinuous intrusion of Clark's tongue, the clench of his fingers around the backs of Bruce's thighs as he held him still, knees planted firmly apart, ass-up like some kind of-
God, if Bruce had known, if he'd only known.
It wasn't that it was a new intimacy, definitely not. It wasn't even that he'd never realised how much it turned him on. After all, it wasn't one of those things you were ambivalent about. Either you tried it and you liked it, or you tried it and you didn't, or you didn't try it at all. But the thing was, the thing that was really doing it for him was, he'd never had a partner that liked it as much as Clark apparently did. It was like no one had ever told him that some acts were more for the other person's pleasure than your own, and Christ, if this was Superman being selfish...
Bruce shuddered again, made another low, indecent noise, and tried to keep himself in position. Fucking four hours a day he spent in the gym. He could bench press three hundred and ninety pounds. Right now, his arms were shaking like they were about to give out under nothing so much as his own weight and it was like Clark didn't even realise, didn't care. If the noises Bruce was making were unconscious, involuntary, the noises Clark was making were positively obscene. He moaned and panted and muttered feverish words against Bruce's wet, over-sensitive skin, and Bruce knew - he just knew - Clark had no idea he was doing it, had been doing it almost from the second his mouth had touched Bruce, like he couldn't help it, like he wanted nothing more than to just crawl in there, like he wanted to devour-
The thought, the very idea, seemed to be the one little spark Bruce hadn't realised he needed. His climax was so fast, so sharp and unexpected, he didn't even have the breath enough to shout, but then Clark was making enough noise for the both of them, groaning a wild groan that broke over Bruce like a wave and left him dazed and defenseless until his arms finally did give out. He crashed into the bedding, grunted as Clark's weight came down along his side, Clark's hands and mouth pressing desperately and without coordination wherever he seemed to be able to reach.
"I'm sorry," he was saying between kisses. "I'm sorry," and Bruce couldn't work out for a moment what the hell he had to be sorry for, except that wasn't all he was saying, had been saying.
"I love you, I love you so much, I'm sorry."
Words wouldn't form in Bruce's mouth, he'd forgotten the skill. He struggled to get a hand out from under his own body and get it around Clark's cock, and almost before he had finished getting a decent grip, Clark came with a convulsive shiver, gasping helplessly against Bruce's shoulder.
It was a while, a long while, before either of them moved.
"I'm sorry," Clark said again, softly, far more consciously this time, and Bruce frowned into his pillow.
"Stop it," he grunted, and finally dragged his hand out from under Clark's hip.
"Sure, okay," Clark murmured, shifting to allow a little space, distancing maybe. "I didn't mean-"
"No," Bruce interrupted. Let Clark say anything more and he'd have to start using big words and he just couldn't manage it right now. "Stop apologising. Not for the other stuff. That's fine."
Clark was silent for a moment. "Fine," he repeated.
"'ll think of a bigger word later," Bruce told him. "Can't now."
"You can't-" Clark repeated, and then started laughing like he might have been high.
"Shut up," Bruce groaned. "Christ, afterglow, Clark. Fall asleep or something, would you?"
"Okay," Clark agreed softly, and he sounded to Bruce like he was grinning from ear to ear. Bruce could have checked, but he would have had to open his eyes to do it. "Okay. But do you want to, I mean, roll off the wet patch, maybe? Before you fall asleep?"
Bruce growled and flopped himself over onto the other side of the bed, and Clark followed, settling in behind him, shameless snuggler that he was.
"Bigger words," Bruce repeated, slipping towards sleep. "Show you, later. How much."
Clark might have replied, but all Bruce could feel was the gentle squeeze of Clark's arms and his warm, soft breath at the back of his neck.
Mini-Fill: Where Angels Fear to Tread; Bruce/Clark, rimming
He didn't say things he couldn't back up, and while perhaps there were things that didn't turn him on, per se, for the right partner, the right reasons, that statement was truth absolute.
Fingers knotted in the bed sheets, face burrowed against the mattress as he dragged in breath, sounds coming out of his mouth like he had never actually uttered and they wouldn't stop - Bruce realised he'd been wrong. Clark, this, was more than he could manage. He couldn't- couldn't move, except to shudder, couldn't focus on anything other than the hot, wet, sinuous intrusion of Clark's tongue, the clench of his fingers around the backs of Bruce's thighs as he held him still, knees planted firmly apart, ass-up like some kind of-
God, if Bruce had known, if he'd only known.
It wasn't that it was a new intimacy, definitely not. It wasn't even that he'd never realised how much it turned him on. After all, it wasn't one of those things you were ambivalent about. Either you tried it and you liked it, or you tried it and you didn't, or you didn't try it at all. But the thing was, the thing that was really doing it for him was, he'd never had a partner that liked it as much as Clark apparently did. It was like no one had ever told him that some acts were more for the other person's pleasure than your own, and Christ, if this was Superman being selfish...
Bruce shuddered again, made another low, indecent noise, and tried to keep himself in position. Fucking four hours a day he spent in the gym. He could bench press three hundred and ninety pounds. Right now, his arms were shaking like they were about to give out under nothing so much as his own weight and it was like Clark didn't even realise, didn't care. If the noises Bruce was making were unconscious, involuntary, the noises Clark was making were positively obscene. He moaned and panted and muttered feverish words against Bruce's wet, over-sensitive skin, and Bruce knew - he just knew - Clark had no idea he was doing it, had been doing it almost from the second his mouth had touched Bruce, like he couldn't help it, like he wanted nothing more than to just crawl in there, like he wanted to devour-
The thought, the very idea, seemed to be the one little spark Bruce hadn't realised he needed. His climax was so fast, so sharp and unexpected, he didn't even have the breath enough to shout, but then Clark was making enough noise for the both of them, groaning a wild groan that broke over Bruce like a wave and left him dazed and defenseless until his arms finally did give out. He crashed into the bedding, grunted as Clark's weight came down along his side, Clark's hands and mouth pressing desperately and without coordination wherever he seemed to be able to reach.
"I'm sorry," he was saying between kisses. "I'm sorry," and Bruce couldn't work out for a moment what the hell he had to be sorry for, except that wasn't all he was saying, had been saying.
"I love you, I love you so much, I'm sorry."
Words wouldn't form in Bruce's mouth, he'd forgotten the skill. He struggled to get a hand out from under his own body and get it around Clark's cock, and almost before he had finished getting a decent grip, Clark came with a convulsive shiver, gasping helplessly against Bruce's shoulder.
It was a while, a long while, before either of them moved.
"I'm sorry," Clark said again, softly, far more consciously this time, and Bruce frowned into his pillow.
"Stop it," he grunted, and finally dragged his hand out from under Clark's hip.
"Sure, okay," Clark murmured, shifting to allow a little space, distancing maybe. "I didn't mean-"
"No," Bruce interrupted. Let Clark say anything more and he'd have to start using big words and he just couldn't manage it right now. "Stop apologising. Not for the other stuff. That's fine."
Clark was silent for a moment. "Fine," he repeated.
"'ll think of a bigger word later," Bruce told him. "Can't now."
"You can't-" Clark repeated, and then started laughing like he might have been high.
"Shut up," Bruce groaned. "Christ, afterglow, Clark. Fall asleep or something, would you?"
"Okay," Clark agreed softly, and he sounded to Bruce like he was grinning from ear to ear. Bruce could have checked, but he would have had to open his eyes to do it. "Okay. But do you want to, I mean, roll off the wet patch, maybe? Before you fall asleep?"
Bruce growled and flopped himself over onto the other side of the bed, and Clark followed, settling in behind him, shameless snuggler that he was.
"Bigger words," Bruce repeated, slipping towards sleep. "Show you, later. How much."
Clark might have replied, but all Bruce could feel was the gentle squeeze of Clark's arms and his warm, soft breath at the back of his neck.