Motivation
Title: Motivation
Fandom: DC
Pairings: Clark/Bruce
Characters: Clark Kent/Superman, Bruce Wayne/Batman
Word Count: 4,249
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: BDSM
Synopsis:
He couldn’t hear anything more than something opening and closing, the familiar sound of something being popped open. There was nothing to do but wait, and with the way Clark was feeling, he could have been waiting anywhere from a few moments to an hour or more. Clark wasn’t above it. He’d done it before…and that was because Bruce had made the miscalculated judgment of going out with one woman twice.
For the playlist series. :)
No, its not that BAD...but this is like the first time i've gone HERE with this so...be gentle.
Motivation:
And when we're done,
I don’t wanna feel my legs
And when we're done,
I just wanna feel your hands all over me, baby
But you can’t stop there,
Music still playing in the background
And you're almost there
You can do it, I believe in you, baby
So close from here…
Baby I’ma be your motivation
--“Motivation” Kelly Rowland “Here I am”
Bruce Wayne was a man of distinguished characteristics that made him who he was to the known world of the public. Being a figure of money and means, he was expected to have a certain amount of persona that left him easy to read with the assumptions that he was nothing more than a lucky playboy that barely managed to keep hold of his father’s fortune. Some people were of the belief that the man was just a figure head, and shook their heads at their televisions and papers when the latest pictures of the billionaire came about flaunting him and his latest conquest on the front pages. Usually he was smiling, and the woman of the hour was smirking for all she was worth. Whether people wanted to believe it or not, Bruce Wayne did not simply pick a random woman and go on the town with her.
No, there was a whole system in place that involved three things.
The first was how attractive the woman was. Now that wasn’t a reason to really consider anyone for a date, but the fact of the matter was that if the woman was beyond hot, the attention on him was far greater and therefore increasing his charm. His charm was the lure he used to attract potential investors, and there was nothing like a smoking hot babe barely in her twenties draped on his arm and hoping to do the impossible. If the day ever came that there was a Mrs. Bruce Wayne, the papers would set themselves on fire and half the population of women in the higher social circles would try and find a way to kill the unfortunate woman. Death by Social Blackballing seemed to be the preferred method, which led to the second part of the system.
Just how flaky was she? Intelligent women who were beyond hot were not something anyone wanted to deal with and more than less had some work done to enhancing their beauty. Those who were lucky enough to look like they hadn’t had work done and had doctors that didn’t flap their lips at any given opportunity, tried really had to impress the billionaire with their false sense of self. Smart people acting dumb. It just wasn’t the same as having an actual ditz or flake draped over his shoulder whenever it was opportune for them. Usually it happened when there was a camera. With a ditz he didn’t have to worry about impressing her too much. A flake usually had her fill of him when there was nothing else he was willing to buy her and she happened to spy some other potential eyeing her up and down. It made it easier on him to leave her without having to make up an excuse, and usually it worked. The younger they were, the dumber they tended to be, and the shallowness was enough to see the bottom of the pond before getting to the edge.
Everyone had a vice in life. His happened to be finding these girls and making a show of them with him, parading them everywhere he could in the name of keeping the real Bruce Wayne under wraps, and why the third reason behind his dating was so vital.
It was probably going to get him killed one day, but perhaps in a way that would make leaving this earth with a smile worth the effort. It all boiled down to this one moment, staring into the raging silent eyes of an untamed stallion, swirls of blue hardened as he waltzed into his home. Bruce sat himself on the couch, tossing his jacket to the side. He toed off his shoes, glad for once that Alfred was at the Manor and not here at this apartment. He might have had a fit about the dishes sitting in the sink from a dinner for one, and probably ripped him a new one about leaving his clothes everywhere. As it stood, there was already a person waiting to do that, but that person was already leaning to do a little more than that as he found himself nose to nose with a face that just wasn’t suited for lying. No matter how straight that face tried to be, its eyes never lied.
So he didn’t resist when his arms were pinned on either side of him.
“You…are a masochist,” his lover breathed. The hot/cold wash of breath over his ear made it impossible to sit in these clothes a moment longer, his body already reacting to the touch it craved and wanted to know all over again. He didn’t care if his face was flushed, or that he moaned like a true bitch in heat. He didn’t care that he opened his legs like the inner whore he was, or that he pushed up against the force pinning him down.
It was all for that recognition in those eyes, the ones that finally caught on and sneered down at him as the inner Alpha came surging out.
Bruce found himself being hefted up and over those broad shoulders without the slightest grunt of protest coming from the dominant force that was Clark. “You’d better not be smiling,” he warned. Bruce fixed his face to keep that smile from appearing, but that didn’t stop the hand that smacked his ass in warning. He lay still then, moving only when he was placed back down a moment later and shoved into the bathroom.
“Wash.” Clark grabbed him again, this time by the collar of his shirt to bring them nose to nose again. “You have fifteen minutes. I’d better not smell any trace of her on you and you had better be clean everywhere.” He dropped him again, not caring that Bruce had fallen on his knees. His back turned to the billionaire; he headed out of the door. “I expect you to be where you should when I come back,” he instructed. “Otherwise, you will be punished.”
Bruce stared after him, never moving until the door was firmly shut behind that backside. He supposed he was getting off somewhat lucky, since he didn’t instruct him to leave to door open this time. He’d really gone all out plucking this last floozy to take out on the town. Not only was she a total flake, she was a top ranking model, natural, and she immersed herself in gobs of whatever she was wearing. He was sure that the outfit she wore was meant to stir certain fires, and stir them they did…only not his. Had it been anyone else with her, she probably would have had a reason to be gloating the night morning.
At the moment, she was only a strike in a long list of women needed to get to this point.
He got up, rubbing his slightly throbbing left cheek. The shower was calling and he only had about thirteen minutes before Clark came back with something more painful than his hand.
The door opened thirteen minutes later.
Bruce kept his head bowed, listening to the soft padded footsteps on the carpet. He didn’t have the option of seeing. The fold came around his face so quick he almost opened his mouth. Years of discipline gave him the edge and warranted a chuckle from the man above him.
“Good job rinsing yourself of that smell,” Clark’s voice commented. “Your clothes have been burned.”
Bruce knew not to say anything, but his face often told on him as it did now. The soft malicious laughter did things to him, only broadening itself when those large hands raked themselves through his damp hair. He hadn’t had time to dry it properly, which is what Clark was probably hoping on. He had no way of knowing, not without seeing that face. “Don’t be so upset,” Clark said. “It’s unbecoming.”
He was lifted none too gently by his arms and shoved over to what he could feel was the bed. However, he didn’t feel anything cotton like covering the massive mattress. The sheets had been changed to something silk like, flowing against his slightly chilled skin as he was forced to lay down face up. Arms yanked above his head, they were tied on either side of the bed with only enough slack to allow circulation. He didn’t dare pull at them. He remained perfectly still, although his breath was coming in somewhat ragged when those hands pulled at his legs, tugging them open and planting them on opposite sides of the bed bent at the knees.
The soft puff of heated air on his shaven sack caused a tremor he could not still, and earned him another soft knowing laugh from the one it came from.
“You’re getting better…” Clark mentioned. “I have to admit you’ve really outdone yourself this time.” A single finger traced the smooth skin of his testes, rubbing in maddeningly slow circles that Bruce fought not to squirm from. He tapped the insides of his thighs. “Keep them there and don’t move.”
This was probably the worst part of it. He couldn’t see a damn thing, but he could hear, and Clark was a master of stealth. He couldn’t hear anything more than something opening and closing, the familiar sound of something being popped open. There was nothing to do but wait, and with the way Clark was feeling, he could have been waiting anywhere from a few moments to an hour or more. Clark wasn’t above it. He’d done it before…and that was because Bruce had made the miscalculated judgment of going out with one woman twice.
He shuddered as he remembered that night. He hadn’t ever experienced tunneling vision until it was all over, and then he’d been up all night and forced to go to work as is. It was the last time he did that, although Clark’s smug look for a week was slightly worth not being able to sit.
The bed dipped. There was heat between his legs, radiating from the body it belonged to still clothed from the feel of fabric on skin. He went willingly with the movement of his legs, grunting softly against the push given to lift him up and expose him even further.
What happened next knocked the breath out of him. He ground his teeth, back arching against the hands that grabbed hold of his waist, unable to keep from gasping as he was impaled slowly, surely, and without the slightest bit of hesitation on Clark’s part. “Don’t move,” came the grunt, and then rock bottom with Bruce’s legs trembling on either side of Clark’s lap. It was a sure sign that he’d really done it this time. He slowed his breathing, or tried to. It was difficult when the burn of being impaled morphed into a warm sting that was only amplified by whatever Clark had used as lube. It was too slick to be just saliva, and the longer he stayed in that position, the more it warmed itself until it was an all out heat that threatened to burn him from the inside out.
He thought that would be the worst of it, but he guessed wrong again. Those hands moved from his back, sensuously sliding to trace the straining curve of his muscular body; fingers gently plucking the raised hardened flesh of his nipples. Here Bruce finally made a soft sound, though it was more from fear when his body figured out what was about to commence. His brain was screaming, “He wouldn’t-“, and echoed its disbelief with a shake of his head.
“And who are you to tell me no?” Clark growled. “You should have thought about that when you decided to take this last one out.”
He had asked for this, and though he had wanted nothing more than to gain this man’s attentions, never in their entire history had Clark openly exploited his carefully guarded secret with a blast of cold air on his chest, only to have his nipples pinched and twisted just enough to make him scream.
The evidence of his body’s betrayal of his cries rested in the air between them, untouched and twitching as he was forced to endure the heat of Clark’s cock buried deep within his warmth and the over sensitized peaks of his nipples being chilled and warmed by the devilish mouth that descended to trace over that flesh with the tip of his tongue, flicking the tip of one nipple before sucking hard, and pinching the other to the fine line between pain and pleasure. Bruce squirmed, unable to keep from doing so, arms twisting in the ties that bound him. The slow churn of hips digging into his; that cock barely moving but pressed against the eager sweet spot being abused relentlessly; the sounds of his cries and whimpers for mercy, the slick feel of that cinnamon laced lube…
Bruce felt it happening before he could stop it. He pushed up, an agonizing cry ripped from him when Clark tugged at his sack and kept him from that peak. He thrashed then, his mind in a fog that wanted more and could take no more of this persistent misuse of his hotspots being manipulated all at once.
“You’ll come when I say…and not a moment before,” Clark breathed. His bit the side of his neck then, sucking that bit of flesh until Bruce felt the purpling beginnings of a love bite he could not hide. He kissed his handiwork, chuckling softly, as he made his way up to the shell of his ear. “I’m going to fuck you for HOURS,” he hissed. He smiled at the gooseflesh that rose at his words, twisting Bruce’s face to meet his own. Bruce didn’t have to see to know. Clark was livid, and he was intent on making him pay this time. “When I’m done…no one else will touch you. You’re MINE…and you will be screaming it soon enough.”
Bruce swallowed openly before his mouth was being ravished by the masterful one seeking to claim the body beneath it.
His jaw ached.
His arms hurt in ways that he couldn’t even have imagined before now.
His backside was raw and throbbing, surely decorated by raised flesh reddened by repeated blows.
His legs were of no use to him, hanging limply in the hands of Clark moving him to sit in his lap with that unrelenting cock sliding back into him for what had to be the fifth time.
It was still enough to get his body to jerk at the sensation, the unfamiliar feel of being so open startling him and giving new life to the rumble of Clark’s chest. The sheen of sweat upon his overheated skin mingled with the cold air of the AC, chilling him for a brief moment. Clark’s warm front kept him from feeling the complete charge of that cold, however the man was only reaching up to raise another mark upon his flesh. He panted against it, unable to recall just how many marks Clark had lain on him with that sinful mouth, and unable to tell if he’d ever be able to kick that drug.
It had been a harsh session, harsher than any other they might have had.
He’d been on his knees for a solid half hour, his mouth full of the cock that was in him now, unable to do much more than remain there which was a true test of his patience. He wasn’t allowed to suck, move, or do anything remotely in the ways of fellatio, which made his own cock leak in frustration. The taste of Clark was something he could never resist, and having to taste that man without doing what he was meant to…it broke something in him.
Clark had removed the spit soaked cock from his lips, drool shining that tool and dribbling on either side of his mouth and chin. He’d allowed him to work his jaw shut, only to shove him onto the bed again and tan his hide with the palm of his hand. It was so unexpected, Bruce clawed at the sheets, hissing with every blow. His ass red and beaming in the soft light, he’d expected that to be the end of it.
Clark’s tongue had other ideas.
Toes curling in remembrance of Clark’s mouth over his hole, that tongue pressed into him and opening him wider than ever, he thought his heart would give out long before his cock. He hadn’t ever been this hard, nor wanted anything more than to just beg and make Clark end it before he passed out. He didn’t beg, and Clark didn’t let up, not even after he removed his mouth and shoved that thick monster up there to fuck him straight into the mattress.
True to word, Clark did do what he said. He’d fucked him in every position possible, minutes at a time, until they were both sweating and panting, and unable to take a moment more of it.
And like the true domineering bastard he could be when pushed to his limits, Clark had placed them in the one position that never failed to make Bruce see the back of his eyelids. The insides of his thighs were just as red as his rear end, being slapped repeatedly when Clark had taken a few moments to torture him with the warmth of his mouth. Every mind numbing bob had him closer and closer to that precarious edge, smacked back down with a sharp pop to either thigh; writhing only moments into it and lost to either sensation. Those hands; those cruel soothing hands of heat gently gripped the insides of his thighs, pressing sweetly into his inflamed flesh, making Bruce feel that lingering sting and sending him backwards a little more. It pushed Clark deeper, and pressed against that spot ruthlessly.
There was nowhere to go; nowhere to get away from it. He didn’t want to get away. He wanted to embrace it and let it drive him insane. He’d long since passed the moment it could be stopped, and now it was much too late. Bruce willingly clutched the end hairs of Clark’s slick mane, his hands bound around that neck and trying to ground him to something solid. The raw feel of the burning of his skin, the hot throb slick and deeper than he could remember, his body easily yielding to it, craving it, drawing up the guttural groan that left him gritting his teeth until he couldn’t stop his throat from opening. It sent him spiraling down a strange dizzying high that had him crying out into the air and pleading mindlessly, finding some energy to move his hips to encourage Clark to move. Clark took his bitten kiss swollen nipples between his fingers again and shoved, forcing Bruce to move up and down persistently.
“This is the last time,” Clark breathed against his chest, “Because I am not going to repeat myself. Speak when you are spoken to until I say otherwise. Is that clear?”
Bruce couldn’t get his voice to work right, but he somehow managed with a shuddering yelp when Clark bit him none too gently on his shoulder. “Y-yes sir…”
“Now…who do you belong to?”
It usually would have taken more than this to get him to answer, but he’d gone too far and was too raw to deny it despite his mind telling him to resist. “Y-you…AAHNN!!”
“I want to hear you say it louder,” Clark growled. His hips hadn’t stopped, plunging harder upwards, jabbing the swollen spot with prickling stings traveling up and down the insides of his thighs and ending at the very center of where they were joined. “Say it louder…or I leave you like this.”
“No! PLEASE!”
“Then say it LOUDER. WHO…do you…BELONG…TO?”
“YOU! Oh god, please…PLEASE!”
The guttural sounds coming from his throat were unrecognizable. He couldn’t believe for one moment that it was him making such sounds, grabbing fruitlessly with his bound hands to find something to ground his raw body from the unbearable throb it had become in the masterful hands still twisting and pulling at his already over sensitized nipples; that scalding tongue tracing over one of the older marks given to him; his cock pulsing painfully between them, reddened, untouched, and a hair trigger away from erupting.
His response sent them falling forward or backward, Bruce writhing under the pressure, screaming with every thrust; his body trembling uncontrollably now as it climbed higher and higher to that edge between delirious and insane, unrefined and spread like a wanton whore who hadn’t gotten her fix in more than a decade. He was everything he couldn’t be in the light…everything this man had molded him into with no more than a glance.
The scarf was snatched from his face, the dim light nearly blinding him from being unable to see for so long. He glanced up, forehead pressed against Clark’s, breath mingling between their lips, pressed chest to chest and connected in the most intimate of ways. He only saw that livid possessive blue marking him from the inside out, and then there was that white haze of soundlessness that grayed out everything and left him reaching nirvana under a throat wrenching scream.
The soft burn of Clark’s release into the warmth that was his lover’s left Bruce boneless, broken and a properly owned man in the eyes of their unique understanding. He willingly took that unsaid gift, Bruce moaning sweetly into Clark’s mouth, the cool sheets beneath them taking away the sting of those marks. They stayed like that for what could have very well been forever or at least until the first lights of the semi bright sky peered through the window.
The clock read 5:42 a.m.
Bruce let his free hands fall from Clark’s shoulders.
He couldn’t move even if he tried, and he didn’t. Clark was the one to move him, though it was only to shift him into a more comfortable position tucked against his steel like frame. Even then he couldn’t do much more than breathe, relishing the comforting healing touch of those hands stroking him back down from that ethereal fire. He kept his head bowed under his chin, grateful that he’d chosen a night where he didn’t have to find himself on his way to the office in the morning.
“You have some shitty ways of motivation,” Clark muttered. “I suppose it was coming…”
“Mmm…”
“No more, you understand me?” He was forced to look up into those eyes; the firm blue orbs nothing more than steel around the words flowing from his growling throat. “I promise you that I will tattoo my name on your ass with my eyes if you go on one more date with another woman. I get it…and I’m not having it.” His face was grabbed, tilted upwards with a light jerk. There was no room for argument. What was would be and would not change until one of them gone. “You’re mine. Only mine. No one else touches you. Ever.”
Bruce felt the soft forgiving kiss upon his forehead and it was enough to allay whatever fears that may have festered when his mind reset itself. It had been a dangerous gamble, but the Alpha tendencies of a certain man of steel had flooded the atmosphere and left him warmer than ever. To be owned like this; it meant something more than just being a possession. A possession was what he was when he was with those women. He was a prize, a goal, a means of getting somewhere further. He wasn’t a person, wasn’t truly important past the shape of his money, and wasn’t worth a second thought unless it was to gossip and drop names.
With Clark…he was more. He was someone to mold. Someone to break. Someone to bind and undo what years of repression had left a bitter man unsure of how to move past the mistrust of others. He was someone important, someone to cherish…and most importantly someone to love. He couldn’t just take it as it came freely. He needed to see, to feel Clark’s love, to shove it to its breaking point and make him shatter that drive that was Bruce unchained within the world. He didn’t want to be the man making the decisions outside of his home.
He didn’t want to be owned with just words.
“You are indeed a masochist,” Clark breathed, “but…one I can love for a lifetime.”
He’d taken the last step of breaking that wall, shoving them both against that spiked wall to send them pas their limits. Clark took, and Bruce gave; giving himself fully and not regretting a moment of it.
Yes it was a shitty form of motivation, but it had worked.
He closed his eyes and sank into that blissful warmth that came when one was sure they were owned for a lifetime. Clark held him, fingering the biggest mark he’d made with a small knowing smile right over the center of Bruce’s heart.
*faints*
Fandom: DC
Pairings: Clark/Bruce
Characters: Clark Kent/Superman, Bruce Wayne/Batman
Word Count: 4,249
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: BDSM
Synopsis:
He couldn’t hear anything more than something opening and closing, the familiar sound of something being popped open. There was nothing to do but wait, and with the way Clark was feeling, he could have been waiting anywhere from a few moments to an hour or more. Clark wasn’t above it. He’d done it before…and that was because Bruce had made the miscalculated judgment of going out with one woman twice.
For the playlist series. :)
No, its not that BAD...but this is like the first time i've gone HERE with this so...be gentle.
Motivation:
And when we're done,
I don’t wanna feel my legs
And when we're done,
I just wanna feel your hands all over me, baby
But you can’t stop there,
Music still playing in the background
And you're almost there
You can do it, I believe in you, baby
So close from here…
Baby I’ma be your motivation
--“Motivation” Kelly Rowland “Here I am”
Bruce Wayne was a man of distinguished characteristics that made him who he was to the known world of the public. Being a figure of money and means, he was expected to have a certain amount of persona that left him easy to read with the assumptions that he was nothing more than a lucky playboy that barely managed to keep hold of his father’s fortune. Some people were of the belief that the man was just a figure head, and shook their heads at their televisions and papers when the latest pictures of the billionaire came about flaunting him and his latest conquest on the front pages. Usually he was smiling, and the woman of the hour was smirking for all she was worth. Whether people wanted to believe it or not, Bruce Wayne did not simply pick a random woman and go on the town with her.
No, there was a whole system in place that involved three things.
The first was how attractive the woman was. Now that wasn’t a reason to really consider anyone for a date, but the fact of the matter was that if the woman was beyond hot, the attention on him was far greater and therefore increasing his charm. His charm was the lure he used to attract potential investors, and there was nothing like a smoking hot babe barely in her twenties draped on his arm and hoping to do the impossible. If the day ever came that there was a Mrs. Bruce Wayne, the papers would set themselves on fire and half the population of women in the higher social circles would try and find a way to kill the unfortunate woman. Death by Social Blackballing seemed to be the preferred method, which led to the second part of the system.
Just how flaky was she? Intelligent women who were beyond hot were not something anyone wanted to deal with and more than less had some work done to enhancing their beauty. Those who were lucky enough to look like they hadn’t had work done and had doctors that didn’t flap their lips at any given opportunity, tried really had to impress the billionaire with their false sense of self. Smart people acting dumb. It just wasn’t the same as having an actual ditz or flake draped over his shoulder whenever it was opportune for them. Usually it happened when there was a camera. With a ditz he didn’t have to worry about impressing her too much. A flake usually had her fill of him when there was nothing else he was willing to buy her and she happened to spy some other potential eyeing her up and down. It made it easier on him to leave her without having to make up an excuse, and usually it worked. The younger they were, the dumber they tended to be, and the shallowness was enough to see the bottom of the pond before getting to the edge.
Everyone had a vice in life. His happened to be finding these girls and making a show of them with him, parading them everywhere he could in the name of keeping the real Bruce Wayne under wraps, and why the third reason behind his dating was so vital.
It was probably going to get him killed one day, but perhaps in a way that would make leaving this earth with a smile worth the effort. It all boiled down to this one moment, staring into the raging silent eyes of an untamed stallion, swirls of blue hardened as he waltzed into his home. Bruce sat himself on the couch, tossing his jacket to the side. He toed off his shoes, glad for once that Alfred was at the Manor and not here at this apartment. He might have had a fit about the dishes sitting in the sink from a dinner for one, and probably ripped him a new one about leaving his clothes everywhere. As it stood, there was already a person waiting to do that, but that person was already leaning to do a little more than that as he found himself nose to nose with a face that just wasn’t suited for lying. No matter how straight that face tried to be, its eyes never lied.
So he didn’t resist when his arms were pinned on either side of him.
“You…are a masochist,” his lover breathed. The hot/cold wash of breath over his ear made it impossible to sit in these clothes a moment longer, his body already reacting to the touch it craved and wanted to know all over again. He didn’t care if his face was flushed, or that he moaned like a true bitch in heat. He didn’t care that he opened his legs like the inner whore he was, or that he pushed up against the force pinning him down.
It was all for that recognition in those eyes, the ones that finally caught on and sneered down at him as the inner Alpha came surging out.
Bruce found himself being hefted up and over those broad shoulders without the slightest grunt of protest coming from the dominant force that was Clark. “You’d better not be smiling,” he warned. Bruce fixed his face to keep that smile from appearing, but that didn’t stop the hand that smacked his ass in warning. He lay still then, moving only when he was placed back down a moment later and shoved into the bathroom.
“Wash.” Clark grabbed him again, this time by the collar of his shirt to bring them nose to nose again. “You have fifteen minutes. I’d better not smell any trace of her on you and you had better be clean everywhere.” He dropped him again, not caring that Bruce had fallen on his knees. His back turned to the billionaire; he headed out of the door. “I expect you to be where you should when I come back,” he instructed. “Otherwise, you will be punished.”
Bruce stared after him, never moving until the door was firmly shut behind that backside. He supposed he was getting off somewhat lucky, since he didn’t instruct him to leave to door open this time. He’d really gone all out plucking this last floozy to take out on the town. Not only was she a total flake, she was a top ranking model, natural, and she immersed herself in gobs of whatever she was wearing. He was sure that the outfit she wore was meant to stir certain fires, and stir them they did…only not his. Had it been anyone else with her, she probably would have had a reason to be gloating the night morning.
At the moment, she was only a strike in a long list of women needed to get to this point.
He got up, rubbing his slightly throbbing left cheek. The shower was calling and he only had about thirteen minutes before Clark came back with something more painful than his hand.
The door opened thirteen minutes later.
Bruce kept his head bowed, listening to the soft padded footsteps on the carpet. He didn’t have the option of seeing. The fold came around his face so quick he almost opened his mouth. Years of discipline gave him the edge and warranted a chuckle from the man above him.
“Good job rinsing yourself of that smell,” Clark’s voice commented. “Your clothes have been burned.”
Bruce knew not to say anything, but his face often told on him as it did now. The soft malicious laughter did things to him, only broadening itself when those large hands raked themselves through his damp hair. He hadn’t had time to dry it properly, which is what Clark was probably hoping on. He had no way of knowing, not without seeing that face. “Don’t be so upset,” Clark said. “It’s unbecoming.”
He was lifted none too gently by his arms and shoved over to what he could feel was the bed. However, he didn’t feel anything cotton like covering the massive mattress. The sheets had been changed to something silk like, flowing against his slightly chilled skin as he was forced to lay down face up. Arms yanked above his head, they were tied on either side of the bed with only enough slack to allow circulation. He didn’t dare pull at them. He remained perfectly still, although his breath was coming in somewhat ragged when those hands pulled at his legs, tugging them open and planting them on opposite sides of the bed bent at the knees.
The soft puff of heated air on his shaven sack caused a tremor he could not still, and earned him another soft knowing laugh from the one it came from.
“You’re getting better…” Clark mentioned. “I have to admit you’ve really outdone yourself this time.” A single finger traced the smooth skin of his testes, rubbing in maddeningly slow circles that Bruce fought not to squirm from. He tapped the insides of his thighs. “Keep them there and don’t move.”
This was probably the worst part of it. He couldn’t see a damn thing, but he could hear, and Clark was a master of stealth. He couldn’t hear anything more than something opening and closing, the familiar sound of something being popped open. There was nothing to do but wait, and with the way Clark was feeling, he could have been waiting anywhere from a few moments to an hour or more. Clark wasn’t above it. He’d done it before…and that was because Bruce had made the miscalculated judgment of going out with one woman twice.
He shuddered as he remembered that night. He hadn’t ever experienced tunneling vision until it was all over, and then he’d been up all night and forced to go to work as is. It was the last time he did that, although Clark’s smug look for a week was slightly worth not being able to sit.
The bed dipped. There was heat between his legs, radiating from the body it belonged to still clothed from the feel of fabric on skin. He went willingly with the movement of his legs, grunting softly against the push given to lift him up and expose him even further.
What happened next knocked the breath out of him. He ground his teeth, back arching against the hands that grabbed hold of his waist, unable to keep from gasping as he was impaled slowly, surely, and without the slightest bit of hesitation on Clark’s part. “Don’t move,” came the grunt, and then rock bottom with Bruce’s legs trembling on either side of Clark’s lap. It was a sure sign that he’d really done it this time. He slowed his breathing, or tried to. It was difficult when the burn of being impaled morphed into a warm sting that was only amplified by whatever Clark had used as lube. It was too slick to be just saliva, and the longer he stayed in that position, the more it warmed itself until it was an all out heat that threatened to burn him from the inside out.
He thought that would be the worst of it, but he guessed wrong again. Those hands moved from his back, sensuously sliding to trace the straining curve of his muscular body; fingers gently plucking the raised hardened flesh of his nipples. Here Bruce finally made a soft sound, though it was more from fear when his body figured out what was about to commence. His brain was screaming, “He wouldn’t-“, and echoed its disbelief with a shake of his head.
“And who are you to tell me no?” Clark growled. “You should have thought about that when you decided to take this last one out.”
He had asked for this, and though he had wanted nothing more than to gain this man’s attentions, never in their entire history had Clark openly exploited his carefully guarded secret with a blast of cold air on his chest, only to have his nipples pinched and twisted just enough to make him scream.
The evidence of his body’s betrayal of his cries rested in the air between them, untouched and twitching as he was forced to endure the heat of Clark’s cock buried deep within his warmth and the over sensitized peaks of his nipples being chilled and warmed by the devilish mouth that descended to trace over that flesh with the tip of his tongue, flicking the tip of one nipple before sucking hard, and pinching the other to the fine line between pain and pleasure. Bruce squirmed, unable to keep from doing so, arms twisting in the ties that bound him. The slow churn of hips digging into his; that cock barely moving but pressed against the eager sweet spot being abused relentlessly; the sounds of his cries and whimpers for mercy, the slick feel of that cinnamon laced lube…
Bruce felt it happening before he could stop it. He pushed up, an agonizing cry ripped from him when Clark tugged at his sack and kept him from that peak. He thrashed then, his mind in a fog that wanted more and could take no more of this persistent misuse of his hotspots being manipulated all at once.
“You’ll come when I say…and not a moment before,” Clark breathed. His bit the side of his neck then, sucking that bit of flesh until Bruce felt the purpling beginnings of a love bite he could not hide. He kissed his handiwork, chuckling softly, as he made his way up to the shell of his ear. “I’m going to fuck you for HOURS,” he hissed. He smiled at the gooseflesh that rose at his words, twisting Bruce’s face to meet his own. Bruce didn’t have to see to know. Clark was livid, and he was intent on making him pay this time. “When I’m done…no one else will touch you. You’re MINE…and you will be screaming it soon enough.”
Bruce swallowed openly before his mouth was being ravished by the masterful one seeking to claim the body beneath it.
His jaw ached.
His arms hurt in ways that he couldn’t even have imagined before now.
His backside was raw and throbbing, surely decorated by raised flesh reddened by repeated blows.
His legs were of no use to him, hanging limply in the hands of Clark moving him to sit in his lap with that unrelenting cock sliding back into him for what had to be the fifth time.
It was still enough to get his body to jerk at the sensation, the unfamiliar feel of being so open startling him and giving new life to the rumble of Clark’s chest. The sheen of sweat upon his overheated skin mingled with the cold air of the AC, chilling him for a brief moment. Clark’s warm front kept him from feeling the complete charge of that cold, however the man was only reaching up to raise another mark upon his flesh. He panted against it, unable to recall just how many marks Clark had lain on him with that sinful mouth, and unable to tell if he’d ever be able to kick that drug.
It had been a harsh session, harsher than any other they might have had.
He’d been on his knees for a solid half hour, his mouth full of the cock that was in him now, unable to do much more than remain there which was a true test of his patience. He wasn’t allowed to suck, move, or do anything remotely in the ways of fellatio, which made his own cock leak in frustration. The taste of Clark was something he could never resist, and having to taste that man without doing what he was meant to…it broke something in him.
Clark had removed the spit soaked cock from his lips, drool shining that tool and dribbling on either side of his mouth and chin. He’d allowed him to work his jaw shut, only to shove him onto the bed again and tan his hide with the palm of his hand. It was so unexpected, Bruce clawed at the sheets, hissing with every blow. His ass red and beaming in the soft light, he’d expected that to be the end of it.
Clark’s tongue had other ideas.
Toes curling in remembrance of Clark’s mouth over his hole, that tongue pressed into him and opening him wider than ever, he thought his heart would give out long before his cock. He hadn’t ever been this hard, nor wanted anything more than to just beg and make Clark end it before he passed out. He didn’t beg, and Clark didn’t let up, not even after he removed his mouth and shoved that thick monster up there to fuck him straight into the mattress.
True to word, Clark did do what he said. He’d fucked him in every position possible, minutes at a time, until they were both sweating and panting, and unable to take a moment more of it.
And like the true domineering bastard he could be when pushed to his limits, Clark had placed them in the one position that never failed to make Bruce see the back of his eyelids. The insides of his thighs were just as red as his rear end, being slapped repeatedly when Clark had taken a few moments to torture him with the warmth of his mouth. Every mind numbing bob had him closer and closer to that precarious edge, smacked back down with a sharp pop to either thigh; writhing only moments into it and lost to either sensation. Those hands; those cruel soothing hands of heat gently gripped the insides of his thighs, pressing sweetly into his inflamed flesh, making Bruce feel that lingering sting and sending him backwards a little more. It pushed Clark deeper, and pressed against that spot ruthlessly.
There was nowhere to go; nowhere to get away from it. He didn’t want to get away. He wanted to embrace it and let it drive him insane. He’d long since passed the moment it could be stopped, and now it was much too late. Bruce willingly clutched the end hairs of Clark’s slick mane, his hands bound around that neck and trying to ground him to something solid. The raw feel of the burning of his skin, the hot throb slick and deeper than he could remember, his body easily yielding to it, craving it, drawing up the guttural groan that left him gritting his teeth until he couldn’t stop his throat from opening. It sent him spiraling down a strange dizzying high that had him crying out into the air and pleading mindlessly, finding some energy to move his hips to encourage Clark to move. Clark took his bitten kiss swollen nipples between his fingers again and shoved, forcing Bruce to move up and down persistently.
“This is the last time,” Clark breathed against his chest, “Because I am not going to repeat myself. Speak when you are spoken to until I say otherwise. Is that clear?”
Bruce couldn’t get his voice to work right, but he somehow managed with a shuddering yelp when Clark bit him none too gently on his shoulder. “Y-yes sir…”
“Now…who do you belong to?”
It usually would have taken more than this to get him to answer, but he’d gone too far and was too raw to deny it despite his mind telling him to resist. “Y-you…AAHNN!!”
“I want to hear you say it louder,” Clark growled. His hips hadn’t stopped, plunging harder upwards, jabbing the swollen spot with prickling stings traveling up and down the insides of his thighs and ending at the very center of where they were joined. “Say it louder…or I leave you like this.”
“No! PLEASE!”
“Then say it LOUDER. WHO…do you…BELONG…TO?”
“YOU! Oh god, please…PLEASE!”
The guttural sounds coming from his throat were unrecognizable. He couldn’t believe for one moment that it was him making such sounds, grabbing fruitlessly with his bound hands to find something to ground his raw body from the unbearable throb it had become in the masterful hands still twisting and pulling at his already over sensitized nipples; that scalding tongue tracing over one of the older marks given to him; his cock pulsing painfully between them, reddened, untouched, and a hair trigger away from erupting.
His response sent them falling forward or backward, Bruce writhing under the pressure, screaming with every thrust; his body trembling uncontrollably now as it climbed higher and higher to that edge between delirious and insane, unrefined and spread like a wanton whore who hadn’t gotten her fix in more than a decade. He was everything he couldn’t be in the light…everything this man had molded him into with no more than a glance.
The scarf was snatched from his face, the dim light nearly blinding him from being unable to see for so long. He glanced up, forehead pressed against Clark’s, breath mingling between their lips, pressed chest to chest and connected in the most intimate of ways. He only saw that livid possessive blue marking him from the inside out, and then there was that white haze of soundlessness that grayed out everything and left him reaching nirvana under a throat wrenching scream.
The soft burn of Clark’s release into the warmth that was his lover’s left Bruce boneless, broken and a properly owned man in the eyes of their unique understanding. He willingly took that unsaid gift, Bruce moaning sweetly into Clark’s mouth, the cool sheets beneath them taking away the sting of those marks. They stayed like that for what could have very well been forever or at least until the first lights of the semi bright sky peered through the window.
The clock read 5:42 a.m.
Bruce let his free hands fall from Clark’s shoulders.
He couldn’t move even if he tried, and he didn’t. Clark was the one to move him, though it was only to shift him into a more comfortable position tucked against his steel like frame. Even then he couldn’t do much more than breathe, relishing the comforting healing touch of those hands stroking him back down from that ethereal fire. He kept his head bowed under his chin, grateful that he’d chosen a night where he didn’t have to find himself on his way to the office in the morning.
“You have some shitty ways of motivation,” Clark muttered. “I suppose it was coming…”
“Mmm…”
“No more, you understand me?” He was forced to look up into those eyes; the firm blue orbs nothing more than steel around the words flowing from his growling throat. “I promise you that I will tattoo my name on your ass with my eyes if you go on one more date with another woman. I get it…and I’m not having it.” His face was grabbed, tilted upwards with a light jerk. There was no room for argument. What was would be and would not change until one of them gone. “You’re mine. Only mine. No one else touches you. Ever.”
Bruce felt the soft forgiving kiss upon his forehead and it was enough to allay whatever fears that may have festered when his mind reset itself. It had been a dangerous gamble, but the Alpha tendencies of a certain man of steel had flooded the atmosphere and left him warmer than ever. To be owned like this; it meant something more than just being a possession. A possession was what he was when he was with those women. He was a prize, a goal, a means of getting somewhere further. He wasn’t a person, wasn’t truly important past the shape of his money, and wasn’t worth a second thought unless it was to gossip and drop names.
With Clark…he was more. He was someone to mold. Someone to break. Someone to bind and undo what years of repression had left a bitter man unsure of how to move past the mistrust of others. He was someone important, someone to cherish…and most importantly someone to love. He couldn’t just take it as it came freely. He needed to see, to feel Clark’s love, to shove it to its breaking point and make him shatter that drive that was Bruce unchained within the world. He didn’t want to be the man making the decisions outside of his home.
He didn’t want to be owned with just words.
“You are indeed a masochist,” Clark breathed, “but…one I can love for a lifetime.”
He’d taken the last step of breaking that wall, shoving them both against that spiked wall to send them pas their limits. Clark took, and Bruce gave; giving himself fully and not regretting a moment of it.
Yes it was a shitty form of motivation, but it had worked.
He closed his eyes and sank into that blissful warmth that came when one was sure they were owned for a lifetime. Clark held him, fingering the biggest mark he’d made with a small knowing smile right over the center of Bruce’s heart.
*faints*