Clark cried out as Bruce situated himself between his thighs and then promptly started biting and licking at his neck, hard. Where mortal flesh would have started bruising and bleeding in agony, Clark only felt ecstasy at the blunt teeth and molten hot tongue digging and swiping at his flesh. Bruce transferred his hold of Clark's wrists to one hand, using the other to trail down one of Clark's well built arms, then his heaving suit covered chest, then down his quivering stomach and then finally past his navel.
" Bruce!" Clark cried as Bruce started kneading him between his legs through the Kryptonian suit, all the while not letting up in his ministrations to Clark's neck and throat. This delicious torture went on for what seemed like a life-age until finally, Clark could stand it no more.
" B-Bruce... Oh God Bruce." He groaned.
With reluctance, Bruce withdrew from Clark's neck, pleased to see that his almost savage efforts had left Clark's skin reddened. He wished that he could mark Clark's whole body with bruises, but since that was not a viable possibility, Bruce was content with marking Clark in a more intimate way.
" What?" Bruce growled through gritted teeth.
Clark let out and shuddering breath before he spoke.
" Please, let me get out of my suit." He groaned.
Bruce let a wicked smirk curl up the corner of his mouth before he nodded and finally let go of Clark's wrists. Bruce then sat back, his hands trailing over Clark's still closed chest and making the younger man groan. Under Bruce's dark, lustful eyes Clark reached for the symbol emblazoned across his chest, the sign of " hope" and the house of El and pressed down on the center of it with two fingers. Before Bruce's very eyes the alien material swirled and formed little hexagonal shapes and it slowly receded from Clark's body, retracting into the symbol and shrinking into a tiny talisman attached to a delicate silver chain around Clark's neck.
Now Clark lay before him gloriously nude and his body more than ready for what lay ahead
" Nifty." Bruce commented dryly before he deftly pulled off the custom black leather gloves and spiked gauntlets he had on, taking care to set them down safely on the rooftop at the base of the Reaper statue before he turned his full attention back to Clark.
Bruce leaned in and proceeded to plunder Clark's mouth again, his now bare hands seeking out Clark's naked form while his black cap billowed around them almost like a tent, obscuring them greatly from the outside world. As he kissed Clark breathless, the Kryptonian moaned against his mouth and wreathed beneath his hands and Bruce pinched his nipples, kneaded his chest and stomach, and wracked his blunt nails over the slightly raised scar that cut diagonally across his chest, the only lasting mark of his death at Doomsday's hand.
With a groan, Clark wrenched his mouth away from Bruce's and gasped at a particularly hard squeeze. Panting hard, Clark gazed up at Bruce with hooded eyes. Then he reached up and took Bruce's cowl covered face into his hands. They said not a word, but Bruce understood clearly. Clark was ready for him. With a rumble, Bruce smacked Clark's hands away and lashed out, one of his hands burying itself into Clark's dark curls at the back of his head and then yanking mercilessly.
Clark let out an inarticulate mule as he head was forced back, his eyes falling shut as he lay spread beneath Bruce. With his other hand, Bruce trailed his fingers roughly down Clark's front before seeking out the zipper to his own armor.
A few moments later, Clark ragged, strangled scream filled the night air as Bruce entered him raw. Clark's muscles protested the intrusion, but remained in tact as Bruce sank into him. Bruce groaned as he was surrounded by the most perfect, tight heat. Without giving Clark much time to adjust, Bruce drew his hips back, almost pulling all the way out before driving back in with bruising force.
Chapter 3
" Bruce!" Clark cried as Bruce started kneading him between his legs through the Kryptonian suit, all the while not letting up in his ministrations to Clark's neck and throat. This delicious torture went on for what seemed like a life-age until finally, Clark could stand it no more.
" B-Bruce... Oh God Bruce." He groaned.
With reluctance, Bruce withdrew from Clark's neck, pleased to see that his almost savage efforts had left Clark's skin reddened. He wished that he could mark Clark's whole body with bruises, but since that was not a viable possibility, Bruce was content with marking Clark in a more intimate way.
" What?" Bruce growled through gritted teeth.
Clark let out and shuddering breath before he spoke.
" Please, let me get out of my suit." He groaned.
Bruce let a wicked smirk curl up the corner of his mouth before he nodded and finally let go of Clark's wrists. Bruce then sat back, his hands trailing over Clark's still closed chest and making the younger man groan. Under Bruce's dark, lustful eyes Clark reached for the symbol emblazoned across his chest, the sign of " hope" and the house of El and pressed down on the center of it with two fingers. Before Bruce's very eyes the alien material swirled and formed little hexagonal shapes and it slowly receded from Clark's body, retracting into the symbol and shrinking into a tiny talisman attached to a delicate silver chain around Clark's neck.
Now Clark lay before him gloriously nude and his body more than ready for what lay ahead
" Nifty." Bruce commented dryly before he deftly pulled off the custom black leather gloves and spiked gauntlets he had on, taking care to set them down safely on the rooftop at the base of the Reaper statue before he turned his full attention back to Clark.
Bruce leaned in and proceeded to plunder Clark's mouth again, his now bare hands seeking out Clark's naked form while his black cap billowed around them almost like a tent, obscuring them greatly from the outside world. As he kissed Clark breathless, the Kryptonian moaned against his mouth and wreathed beneath his hands and Bruce pinched his nipples, kneaded his chest and stomach, and wracked his blunt nails over the slightly raised scar that cut diagonally across his chest, the only lasting mark of his death at Doomsday's hand.
With a groan, Clark wrenched his mouth away from Bruce's and gasped at a particularly hard squeeze. Panting hard, Clark gazed up at Bruce with hooded eyes. Then he reached up and took Bruce's cowl covered face into his hands. They said not a word, but Bruce understood clearly. Clark was ready for him. With a rumble, Bruce smacked Clark's hands away and lashed out, one of his hands burying itself into Clark's dark curls at the back of his head and then yanking mercilessly.
Clark let out an inarticulate mule as he head was forced back, his eyes falling shut as he lay spread beneath Bruce. With his other hand, Bruce trailed his fingers roughly down Clark's front before seeking out the zipper to his own armor.
A few moments later, Clark ragged, strangled scream filled the night air as Bruce entered him raw. Clark's muscles protested the intrusion, but remained in tact as Bruce sank into him. Bruce groaned as he was surrounded by the most perfect, tight heat. Without giving Clark much time to adjust, Bruce drew his hips back, almost pulling all the way out before driving back in with bruising force.