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“Are you still mad at me?”
Silence.
Clark, smartly, let out a whine and meekly, he pressed his elbow, super lightly, against the other man’s side.
“I didn’t mean it! Well… uh, I did?” He admitted, once he received the look. His teeth grinded together and yes, indeed, he had to swallow to cope with the aftermath of that look, too. “But it’s not my fault! You can’t go all mighty on me and expect me to keep shut!”
Silence again.
And what did Clark do? He wrapped himself around Bruce, legs and arms around the moody man’s body and head resting on top of that strong, muscular and tense chest. It was a nice chest, no matter how moody Bruce was. And, maybe, Clark should not be thinking such things but alas… he was already Bruce’s personal koala, no way of stopping his instincts now.
“We’re goofing around, right? Anytime now, you’ll look at me, smile and tell me you’re not mad… right?” And oh he sounded so hopeful, but his attempts to extract that so-needed smile were to no avail, he still received silence from Bruce, who was starting to look, and feel, as still and cold like a goddamn corpse. “Bruce Wayne, I’m not kidding. I expect to spend my second honeymoon—”
“Third.”
“…what?”
“This would be our third honeymoon, you greedy asshole.”
The smile on Clark’s face then could not be bigger, it’d divide his face in two if it were. Oh, but he could deal with this side of grumpy Bruce. This one was better than the silent one, for sure.
“Third, sorry, my love… remind me where was our first?”
Bruce’s face looked conflicted all of a sudden, jaw tightening and those stormy eyes zeroing on his own face; Clark remembered where their first honeymoon had been of course, he remembered every second of it… since they took off and spent a few hours on a private plane, to the exact same second Bruce princess-carried him to their room and kissed him senseless. However, he just wanted to make Bruce talk, or at least, scream at him… which meant making the Dark Knight pop a few veins if needed.
This was an emergency, you see.
“Are we seriously discussing this?” Were Bruce’s words instead and Clark, as always, offered him his own kind of look, the puppy-eyed one. The one Clark knew Bruce detested for its many, many advantages. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t… I was just trying to make a point.”
“A senseless point, if you ask me,” Bruce muttered, “…we both know who is more resistant of us both—”
“Me.” Said both of them at the same time.
Ah.
Over the last half an hour, Bruce had been trying to convince Clark that he was more resistant than him, the man of steel himself. His point was that even if he was just a mere mortal with a bat suit that jumped from building to building at nights, he had more resistance than the one man whose mother planet was another, whose extraordinary physique could not compare to anyone’s and, of course, whose powers made him a bit more powerful than Batman himself. But, as it was expected, even after all those arguments, Bruce had opposed right away. And Clark had followed right after.
Before Clark could even begin to complain again, Bruce wrapped a hand around his neck.
Yes. The normal human against the Kryptonian, sue him for trying.
It was not so tight, but it was tight enough to make Clark shut up. With the silence by his side, Bruce propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at Clark; they had been in bed discussing this silly matter for what felt like hours and it had gotten to the point where Bruce was capable of doing shit to prove his point… including threatening the one man who could send him flying to the wall in a second. Lucky him, Clark would dare do no such thing.
“Tell you what,” Bruce said, whispering right against Clark’s lips, “let me prove to you how resistant I can be. If you win, I’ll let you have as many honeymoons as you want.” He made a pause when Clark grinned, but Bruce tightened his hold on him, which made Clark’s eyes narrow and a singular eyebrow raise. “If I win though… you’ll have to go to work with a black cape. My black cape. For a month. They will see whose bitch you are.”
Clark finally used his strength to grasp Bruce by the wrist, pushing him back down onto his back and using the momentum to straddle his stomach. His smile was gentle, small… but the glint in his eyes couldn’t be named any other way than sinful, hungry.
“Alright. Deal. If you win, I’ll let the whole world know who I answer to.”
: : :
“Oh, f-fuck… oh yeah, just like that, oh yes, keep it goin’. Keep doin’ it. Fuck.” Bruce had forgotten, maybe momentarily and for a few seconds, how mouthy Clark got when he was in his horny mode, but now that he heard those cracked words and breathy curses, Bruce was going to make sure the man spoke more often.
Currently, Clark was bent over the table, cheek plastered on the wooden surface and hands grasping the feeble edges; his legs were spread open and what remained of his clothes were pooled around his feet. Bruce had a hand on his lower back, keeping him steady as his fingertips pressed onto sensitive skin, just teasing. He hadn’t fingered Clark earlier that day, so he was making delicious sounds whenever Bruce got to press or even push a whole digit into his awaiting hole.
“Bruce, baby, baby, fuck… please, I’m—” oh, his sounds. The sounds of a submissive Clark Kent. One sound Bruce found endearing in many, many levels.
Taking mercy on the poor soul, Bruce reached out for the bottle of lube and poured a great amount onto his fingers before tossing the bottle elsewhere and focusing on his husband once again. He leant against Clark tad heavier then, his thighs touching the back of Clark’s and making him let out a breathless whine.
As he warmed up the sticky, heavy liquid between his fingers, he began to mouth at the back of Clark’s neck, nibbling and delivering bites whenever he felt another tremor make the man arch against him.
“You see, Clark, I’m going to make you come more times than you’d imagine possible… I am going to, kindly and lovingly, fuck you into oblivion.” Another pant from the man beneath him; dilated, blue eyes looking up at him from below. “And yes, babe, if you were wondering… I’m going to fuck you in every possible way I find. Starting with my hand.”
Just when Clark let out another moan, Bruce pressed a finger into his hole until the ring of muscle reached the knuckle. He began to twirl and crook it, massaging Clark’s insides and making sure to loosen up the muscles before shoving in another finger. Bruce kept a torturously slow pace at the beginning and whenever he added another finger, he tried to scissor him open at a faster rhythm. Soon enough, the only finger he had out of his husband was his thumb and oh yes, that one would go in as well. Soon.
“S-so full, fuck, Bruce, fuck, please… I just need—”
“What do you need, babe?” Bruce mumbled, voice soft in contrast to the rough way he pumped his fingers in and out; the squelching sounds of his lubed up fingers echoing in tandem with Clark’s whiny moans. However, no matter how rough he got, Bruce did try to smear more lube along his hand and make the ride more comfortable for the both of them. He was no romantic, but he would never do something to hurt Clark… just potentially leave him marked in more ways than one. The kind of marked and sore that would not let Clark sit for a whole fucking week without screaming his whole name. At least.
“Oh fuck, fuck… please… just d-do it!”
Bruce’s grin was savage and wicked, dark eyes roaming through Clark’s scrunched up face before he began to rub the tip of his thumb on the loose flesh. The man beneath let out a moan but if the way he pushed back against his hand was any signal, Bruce could tell he was enjoying himself. A lot. Biting down on his lip, Bruce finally managed to slip his thumb along the rest of his fingers and he didn’t stop pushing until the thicker part of his hand was safely tucked within Clark’s body and his wrist was the one feeling all the constricting movements of his muscles.
“Shit… Bruce… Bruce, fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck… move!”
“As you please… just, try not to cut my hand off, will you? I need my hand for this.” Despite his silly words, Bruce pulled out slowly until his fingertips were the only ones inside and then, slowly, he was shoving back in. He made a couple of smooth thrusts of his hand so Clark could get used to it but once the man seemed to find the rhythm more pleasant than uncomfortable, Bruce began a steady pace. Clark’s moans were muffled by his own arm, face scrunched up in a mix of pain and pleasure and god, if Bruce could only move his hand a little to the right…
“Oh yes, that’s the spot… fuck… keep it that way, fuck, babe…”
Bruce only hummed his approval, teeth attacking his bottom lip in concentration as a thin layer of sweat began to coat his forehead. Even if Clark could clearly overpower him in strength, he stayed still under Bruce’s push on his back, keeping the whimpering male there as he fucked him with his hand. Once and again. Once and again. At some point, Clark began to make even more noises; sucking his hand deep and then squeezing his wrist.
“That’s my good boy… what a good boy you are, Kent.” Bruce leant over to leave a kiss on a sweaty shoulder, pulling out slowly and feeling shocks of ecstasy shooting up Clark’s body in the process. “One orgasm. Let’s go for the second one, shall we?”
: : :
“…uh, Bruce?”
“Shh, still here… use those ears, darling.”
Oh but that was the thing, Clark could hear him real well; his almost silent steps as Bruce walked around the room, the usual thump of his heart, the intakes of air… it was there, Bruce was there, for sure, but there was something about the blindfold that really made him feel lost somehow. His head turned a little when he heard the mattress croak under an additional weight but Clark only purred when warm, calloused hands grasped him by the hips and dragged him back a little. He had to give it to Bruce, the man knew how to play dirty. And delicious, too.
“It’s unfair,” Clark muttered under his breath, a little quivery when those strong, big hands forced his face down but kept a firm hold on his hips to keep them up. He knew that Bruce liked to fuck him like that, face down and ass up, and seriously, Clark wouldn’t start to complain now, but god, what a moment to make him light-headed. Regaining some of his momentarily sanity, Clark proceeded. “It’s unfair that you don’t use your dick… I can orgasm as many times as you want, but if you don’t use your—oh my god.”
“Yeah, thought so.”
Bruce slid home in a single thrust, bottoming out and just humming when muscles began to move around his cock. See? That’s why fisting Superman felt so great and came in handy, Bruce could fuck him then with no time for adjusting and really, he still felt tight and hot and just perfect around him.
“…oh fuck, Bruce!”
He took that as his cue to move and he did. He grasped Clark by the hips, fingers digging roughly onto muscled skin as he pulled out completely, waited for that gaping hole to twitch and then shoved back in. Bruce repeated the same process until Clark was panting and grasping the sheets, flushed face plastered against the mattress and white, beautifully straight teeth attacking the poor satin sheets Bruce had ordered for the occasion.
With a smirk, the mortal, as Clark liked to call him, sunk in all the way and made Clark shut his eyes and moan. His pace wasn’t gentle or slow, it was fast and needy and delicious… at some point, Clark lost his balance and he fell completely down, large body on the bed and cock brushing against the sheets each time Bruce thrust back in. Oh fuck, wasn’t Bruce nailing him to the bed. And he was totally going to come. Again.
Clark could have thought Bruce would release as soon as he pounded into his body, but he hadn’t. Uh, so, maybe, he should’ve known this.
“You look so good like that, Kent.” Bruce purred from above, observing the way Clark’s nose wrinkled at the top but those covered eyes were the precious thing. He could practically smell the distress the blindfold caused, but he had to give it to Clark, he hadn’t tried to remove it, not even once. And their safe word hadn’t been said, so yes, indeed, Clark was taking it all in like a champ. “Come for me, babe… let me hear you again.”
That cooing voice, the way Bruce’s hips snapped down on him with an obnoxious sound, those big hands marking his ass and making him feel the burn… it was enough. Clark bit down onto the sheets, muffled moans slipping past his throat as his cock spilled and spilled and spilled… for a Kryptonian, he had to admit he hadn’t know he could come so much.
“That’s my good boy… such a good boy.”
And Clark, baffled, noticed Bruce hadn’t come yet. Not even once.
: : :
“Fuck, fuck you, fuck… this is s-so… holy mother of—fuck! So unfair!” He could hear Bruce’s snort behind him and he could totally feel that cock burying in again in the next thrust. “Y-you cocky son of a—fuck! Bastard!”
Clark was bracing himself against the counter top, fingernails digging onto the board and totally denting the material. His left leg was raised as well, leaving the man in a very compromising and open position. Which Bruce Wayne, the bastard, took advantage of. Another grunt was punched out of his chest when Bruce made a relatively harsher thrust but, at this point, Clark was sure he would dehydrate soon and he had already moved on to call Bruce mean names, so he could not be wasting more saliva. After four fucking orgasms though, who wouldn’t feel that way?
Bruce had used his fist the first one, for sure, but the other three? No, he had used that beautiful cock of his and Clark hadn’t heard him moan as helplessly as he himself was. Or break a sweat. Or tremble. Or, well, orgasm. Clark had no idea how he did it, but Bruce was doing it. He was proving how resistant he could be in the most torturous way and Clark was losing to him.
“Oh fuck…”
It was the only warning Bruce got before Clark clenched around him, white ropes of come shooting towards the counter and doing a drawing worth of a five-year old. Though, Bruce had to admit, it was way more PG-rated.
“Five.” Came Bruce’s melodious whisper.
“I fucking… fucking hate you… this can’t be possible.” Despite himself, Clark moaned when Bruce didn’t stop, the bastard just kept on thrusting; by latest experiences, Clark knew his cock would be ready again in a few minutes if Bruce kept over-stimulating his prostate. “How can you, god fuck, how can you do this!?”
“Well, honey… resistance.”
Clark was going to seriously injure his husband.
: : :
“Superman! Superman!”
The superhero landed smoothly on the ground, his characteristic smile on place, ready to face the people with mics and cameras while the rest of the Justice League helped with the rest. Clark had been assigned to answer the press for the next month… not like anyone could refuse Batman’s order once he had decided it, anyway.
“What happened back there?” Was the first question shot at him and Clark felt somewhat relieved about it.
“You know… children. Always playing with weapons much bigger than their hands. Though, it’s handled now, we were able to rescue them and now we are just waiting for the police to arrive so they can take them in.”
“And, Superman,” oh god, “…what with the change of outfit?”
No one would mention the small blush covering his cheeks then, but photos would be enough to evidence and mark the moment happening.
“Eer… I lost a bet. I am afraid my red cape is in my closet at the moment, confiscated.” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the rest of the team looking at him, some baffled, some amused and some others exasperated; the people had been handled, that was obvious, but that was not what he was focusing on, no, it was on the small smirk on Batman’s mouth. He could’ve sworn he saw the smugness radiating off that man even though he clearly couldn’t hear what Clark was saying. Clearing his throat, he looked back at the reporter’s confused face and smiled. “But, good news, I’m getting my fourth honeymoon after I get my cape back, so I did lose but I won something fantastic in return.”
“What!? Honeymoon!? Fourth!?”
“Superman! Eh, Superman!”
But Clark was gone, walking back to his team… and his cocky husband. The last question he head before slamming a kiss on that bastard’s mouth was: “Is it unresolved sexual tension!?”
But hey, ‘unresolved’ had nothing to do with it.