Hot Tottie
Title: Hot Tottie
Fandom: DC
Pairings: Clark/Bruce
Characters: Clark Kent/Superman; Bruce Wayne/Batman
Word Count: 4,342
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: This is SO not safe for WORK!! XD
Synopsis: PWP, total and complete smut.
Ai...I've been messing with this since last night!! Gawd, help me...I might have to revise it a bit.
Have MERCY!
Hot Tottie:
I'm like oh Kimosabe
Your body is my hobby
We're freakin'
This ain't cheatin' as long as we tell nobody
Tell your girls you're leaving
I'll meet you in the lobby
I'm so cold, yeah I need that hot tottie
Hot Tottie (hot Tottie)
Hot Tottie (thought I'd never fall in love, thought I'd never fall in love)
-Usher “Hot Tottie”
++++++++++++++
It didn’t take a genius to know that Bruce Wayne wasn’t an idle player. The golden boy-toy of the billionaire status was well liked in the public; an admiration that no one could quite or would dare to deny was the object of some elusive wet dream hovering in awareness and in the dark. Some, if they were lucky, got a chance to actually get a taste of that dream. Others would hover; hoping to touch the open flame that blatantly moved around the room with a flare no one could measure up to. From his stunning good looks to the expensive shoes that seemed to make him glide along the floor, it was hard to hold a candle to this man amongst men, and he knew it, too.
Clark pressed himself against the wall, arms folded against himself as his eyes flitted from face to face. It was yet another charity event; another piece to put in the paper for the good of mankind and his paycheck. He shouldn’t have been here. Lois was the one who covered things like this. She was the fresh familiar face that could charm her way into exclusives and uncover some of the most interesting and bewildering things about this society. Having hips that could entice the hardest of men helped and skimpy dresses could place anyone’s guard down. Clark wasn’t in a position to wear that type of thing and get away with it. Not freely anyhow.
Unfortunately, Lois was on another assignment. A personal one. A date. Like a charity event wasn’t more important. Like Clark’s sanity wasn’t more important. She deliberately left him to fend for himself, the sneaky…
“Champagne sir?”
Clark waved the waiter off, mumbling something about being on the clock. His pad was tucked away on the inside of his jacket. His pen remained unused, safely hidden in his pocket. The questions he was supposed to ask were fluttering somewhere in the back of his mind, as it was currently peering out into a forbidden realm he did NOT want to think about.
He couldn’t help it after a moment. Not when Bruce was slyly looking at him as he chatted some random female up.
Clark didn’t think he could curse as much as he did in the span of ten seconds inwardly. His face remained impassive, but his heart was beating its fists against his ribs painfully. The female, a tall drink of blonde water that flowed like such, leaned up to whisper in Bruce’s ear. Ruby red lips nipped at the lobe, and Bruce pulled back with a smoldering look lurking in those dark blue eyes. The feral smile on his face was enough to leave her giggling.
Clark heard something rip. He groaned tiredly to himself and mentally reminded himself to take this jacket to the tailor, again. The rip wasn’t noticeable to anyone who wasn’t looking for it. He jammed his hands into his jean pockets and kept himself pressed to the wall, eyes raking over anything and everything that wasn’t the laughing billionaire lapping up the attention of yet another woman.
He wanted to go home. He wanted to be back in the middle of his apartment in his city, drink in hand and firm thoughts of going to bed after he consumed something to set his throat on fire. Clark had more than enough information to make an article out of this event. Who was who, the whys and the attendees and how much they planned on donating. The location though, made it quite impossible to just up and go without someone getting suspicious. He’d gotten here by plane, and going home without using that return ticket just wasn’t an option.
He was stuck here, in Montana, in Glacier Country, in the middle of December because Lois had a date.
The grand room of the lodge they were crammed into was nestled firmly in the middle of a snowy embankment, and getting from point A to the comforting walls of point B, his hotel room, was going to take some effort even for him. The winds were whipping themselves up recently. One could hear the rattle of the icy breaths of Father Winter clawing at the clear windows and shaking the boards of the wooden enclosure. A bit of the high society whom had other things to attend had gone already, either beating the weather before it could turn or retiring to their suites. Everyone else was still mingling, warm drinks in hand, laughter bubbling from various throats and snickers coming from those who couldn’t handle but so much of those warm drinks. Bruce was in the middle of it all, wrapped snug in his black cashmere sweater, hugged tightly in a pair of black stone washed jeans (that did nothing to hide that firm bubble butt of his slightly jutting out to the left), and walking about like the man he was in black snow boots.
It was officially time to go.
Clark slowly peeled himself off of the wall and headed for the entrance. He slipped by the bodies warm with drink and avoided the stumbling hands of those tipsy with laughter. It took about five minutes, but soon enough he was outside, ducking his head under his hat and running for the building about thirty feet away. Feet pressing into the snow with quick strides, he didn’t think about the puffs of warm air falling from his lips. He didn’t remember that he’d left his scarf sitting on one of the chairs. His hands still jammed in his pockets, he forgot that his gloves were in his coat and that his coat was open.
He all but shoved himself into the building he’d been headed for, bursting through the doors and headed for the first chair he saw. He sat himself down and sank into the warm leather, shoved his jacket off of him and put his head in his hands.
The fire crackled with Clark’s thoughts. Thoughts of scars, his lips upon those flawed marks; a breathy moan being pulled from the throat under his lips, hips pressed against his own and mitigating that they move to find the nirvana just beyond the measure of one’s bursting heartbeat.
The warmth of the fire was cut by the winds from the outside for the briefest of moments. Clark didn’t notice, not until cool hands raked through his hat slicked hair, knocking that wool lined thing off of it and onto the floor. He lifted his head at the light tug of his hair, falling back to look up into obsidian laced blue moving close enough to peer into their depths. That body fell forward, trapping him between the chair and it, settling on his lap with legs wrapped on either side of him, the firm feel of his cool jean clad ass in his hands now. Those cool hands shoved Clark’s bangs out of his eyes, forcing him to keep his gaze on the man who smelt of pine, sweet but heady cologne, and a bit of whisky.
Bruce’s feral grin was directed at him now, and Clark snarled and tugged at the hips that weren’t close enough. Bruce let him, groaning softly as Clark buried his head against his neck, lips stealing a taste of him possessively. He could feel him as he growled a little louder, his arms vibrating with the sound as they wrapped around his shoulders to press himself closer to Clark.
“I really wish you would not fuck with me,” Clark growled.
Bruce’s light laughter filled the empty lounge. “I thought that was the point.”
“You’re pushing it.”
“Am I?”
Bruce had this uncanny but well calculated way of shoving his hands on every imaginable button that belonged to Clark. It was enough to drive the reporter insane, and achieve the awaited effect of hauling Bruce up into his embrace and shutting him up before he could say something else. Cool lips pressed into his warm ones, parting at the insistence of his tongue shoving itself into the recesses of his mouth. The unique flavor of Bruce was one that should be savored at best, but Clark greedily devoured it. Bruce melted into the groove of his arms, almost purring as Clark ripped his lips away to snort openly at the unsaid retort shoved back into Bruce’s mouth.
“She’s on a DATE,” Clark growled, ignoring the bubbling laughter coming from Bruce’s chest. “If you have to know…”
“Does she-“
“If she knew, she’d be sitting between us…back in the other building…” Clark paused long enough to slip his hands under the sweater that kept him from that supple flawed skin, finger tips brushing alongside the sculpted sides of his trembling billionaire sitting deftly in his lap. “Even so…I’d still find a way.”
Bruce hummed, biting back a throaty moan as Clark’s fingers dug into a sensitive spot. “You talk a lot of shit…” he muttered.
“Really.”
Why Bruce always had to slam his hand on that ONE button Clark would never understand. He hauled them out of the chair, one arm supporting Bruce with a firm hand and the other keeping him from touching the ground. The dangerous glint in Bruce’s gaze kept Clark in motion, easily moving out of the warmth of the main lodge and towards a suite with Wayne’s name all over it.
The cold of the outside didn’t bother him a bit. He couldn’t say the same for the man in his arms, shivering as he came back to himself and realized that Clark had used the other part of him to get them here quicker than running could have. He opened his mouth, something scathing on his tongue, but that died with all notions of his earlier statement when he heard something rip. Clark torn the remains of his jacket off of him, reached for those insufferable pants that were like painted denim on those muscular thighs belonging to Bruce, and snapped the belt off with a tug of his finger.
“That cost me-“
“Does it look like I care?” Clark muttered. The button on his jeans went in the same manner, buried somewhere in the dim lighting of the room. “It’s in the way…and you’re fucking cold…”
“So? Warm me up.”
Bruce was an intelligent man. Clark had to keep reminding himself of this, even when he thought the man was a sheer lunatic. Did he know what he was asking for? He had to know. The man in his arms had to know the depths of what he was asking, and just what it would mean if Clark crossed that line. He stopped his ministrations, glaring up into the gaze daring him to do more, shoving him past the comfort spot they’d been in for so long without the pretense of living it out past the walls that surrounded them. What they did was no one’s business aside their own, and Clark was sure Bruce would die with it remaining that way.
Bruce seemed to have other ideas.
This changed things. This was WHY Lois was on that damned DATE.
This is why Bruce let that woman get so damn close!
Those pants met their end with a satisfying rip and Bruce was tossed on the bed without a second thought. He bounced once, barely having time to pull that thick sweater off of his body. It was still on his right hand as his head pressed itself backward against the pillows, a sharp gasp leaving him as Clark’s hot mouth found the chilled flesh of his right nipple. His right hand rubbed the left, fingers pulling and pinching the pink nub until they were hard points that were aimed upward. Clark nipped at the one he left swollen and wet, smiling against the chest that breathed unevenly beneath him.
Bruce was probably glaring at him, or at the ceiling, but he knew what the man was thinking. “You’re cold,” he said before Bruce could gather his wits again. He traced a delicate circle around the peaked flesh under his lips with the tip of his tongue, flicking it lightly and chuckling softly as Bruce trembled. “Rather than getting to the heart of the matter…I think we’d better warm you up nice…and slow.”
He could feel the man writhe beneath him in agony for what that meant. Turn about was fair play, and Lois was going to get hers when he was done here. That wouldn’t be for a while yet. At the moment, Clark was occupied with keeping that manipulative brilliant brain in Bruce’s head out of commission and eventually would get to overheating it.
“Fuck!”
“Eventually,” Clark murmured. He lifted himself to those kiss swollen lips, nipping the moist bottom just so. “Don’t worry,” he said, smiling against the scowl that soon morphed into a low moan, “You’ll get what you want…when I say.”
He lifted his hips, avoiding the thrust of Bruce’s looking for friction. Unlike others, he could keep this up all night, and the man beneath him was well aware of it. A frustrated growl made its way into the air, snuffed only by Clark’s lips latching onto the thrum of Bruce’s racing heartbeat. The man beneath him nearly came undone at the light bite. The broad span of Bruce’s chest came arching up off of the bed, the sweet sound of his soft undone whimper making this sweeter. Clark licked the tiny hurt, blowing softly through his lips as his fingers busied themselves with tearing Bruce’s underwear from his body.
Two, three soft tugs later, Bruce was still beneath him, hand still tangled in the sleeve of his sweater, slicked hair mussed up in the most delicious of ways, spit soaked nipples glistening in the light of the dim lamp, and Clark’s lips trailing a teasing trail down the plane of his left shoulder. Clark didn’t think it could get much better than this, but he’d proven himself wrong on countless occasions when it came to Bruce. Bruce’s hands were tangled in his hair, pulling, shoving, tugging…trying to move him to where he wanted Clark. The straining evidence of his arousal was hot and heavy in the open space that Clark kept between their hips. Clark could feel its heat, smell just how aroused Bruce was…but he paid it no mind deliberately.
Bruce bit back a string of curses as Clark’s head refused to budge any lower than his navel. He could feel the smile before it happened, and then there was nothing more than sensation and his mind being pushed into places he couldn’t quite go in the light of day. He didn’t think his navel could be this sensitive, but the sinful way Clark pushed his open mouth against his flesh, circling around it with his tongue as his fingers pinched his overly sensitive nipples to the point of near pain kept him from thinking too much. His stomach rolled in time to Clark’s slow careful exploration, hips undulating unconsciously to the rhythm set by the slightly bigger man. Whatever chill he might have caught was slowly being replaced by a pleasurable burn that flared with the suckling biting kiss that surely left a mark.
“You’re….enjoying this way…too much,” Bruce breathed and somehow managed to growl. “Stop-ah!”
Clark silenced him with a look at first, but that was tempered with his hand gently rolling the taut sac beneath Bruce’s straining erection. He sucked his teeth lightly, biting the edge of his mouth in concentration as Bruce fisted the sheets. “Obviously it’s not enough,” he murmured. “You’re still coherent enough to mouth off.”
“You-!”
Clark moved lower, biting the inside of his quivering thighs. He gently traced the fine line of taut muscle down and up, placing a slow open kiss on the juncture of Bruce’s left hip. He ignored the cock twitching beside his face, inhaling the scent of Bruce but never tasting the source of that delicious scent. Rather, he moved again, hands curling around the remains of those black briefs and tugging them from beneath Bruce, fingers gently brushing against the smooth skin of his backside and up the curvature of his legs in the company of his lips and tongue, mapping out the entire span of Bruce’s left and then right leg.
He kissed the soles of those amazingly soft feet, looking down. Bruce had stopped fisting the sheets, favoring to pinch and squeeze his own chest, mouth half open as he rolled his hips on the bed with harsh wanton pants leaving him every few seconds. Touching him now…Clark thought about it for a second, and shook his head as he kissed the ankle currently in his hand. No. He wasn’t going to make this easy for Bruce. The cold bastard had it coming.
And they hadn’t even gotten to the good part.
“You keep that mouth open, it will be occupied sooner than later,” Clark promised.
The tip of Bruce’s tongue licked the bit of moisture beading on his upper lip. Half glazed eyes took in the sight of Clark sliding between his legs, pursed lips blowing softly over the tip of his aching erection. And then the bastard moved right past it, laughing softly at the petulant look he gave him and removed with those large magic hands cupping the underside of his ass.
“You still have clothes on,” Bruce breathed.
“Mmm…well aware of that, thanks,” Clark murmured against his navel. “Now, Shut up.”
“Make me.”
“…you really like pushing it, don’t you.”
Whatever Bruce could have said died on his tongue. Clark was good at that; getting him to shut up so marvelously with just his hands. Bruce spread his legs, humming deep in his throat as those hands kneaded his flesh, a prodding finger teasing and brushing the twitching entrance almost screaming for Clark to possess. Clark kept the maddeningly slow pace, peppering his chest with soft open mouthed kisses that did nothing but tease him into a frenzy.
“Clark…stop fucking around,” Bruce groaned. It was absolute torture. He was so hard it was beginning to hurt. Clark simply returned to his earlier task, teasing his nipples with hard lingering sucks and worrying the little peaks between his teeth until they were red. The slow dribble of his weeping cock was beginning to burn. He’d never been this hard for this long…nor did Clark ever bring him to that point between life and death. He kept his hands in the sheets, tugging at them as he turned his head to keep from screaming.
He couldn’t touch himself…Clark would kill him if he did, and he didn’t know if he wanted to cross that particular line just yet.
But still…
“Do something! Anything!”
Clark left his left nipple, rearing back to sit on his knees and take in the view of a debauched looking billionaire. “So needy,” Clark said, eyes dancing in amusement. “But so fucking mouthy.”
Bruce panted a little, trying to get back some semblance of himself. He heard the faint rustling of fabric, and then he was up, looking deliriously down at Clark’s lower extremities. He reached for the buckle sitting tight within the loops of those jeans, but faltered, moaning low and long as he fell forward, head pressed against the soft flannel shirt no longer tucked into those jeans. He fisted those jeans, mumbling incoherently as warm breath puffed over the sensitive pucker, followed by a deliberately slow lick that had Bruce trembling near the end of it.
“Fucking…Bastard!”
Not quite yet, Clark thought. He lazily drew circles with his tongue, content to puff hotly over the sensitive patch of skin. He kissed and licked him open slowly, soft kisses driving Bruce to push back and grunt when Clark would nip at him. Clark kept at his task, savoring this flavor properly, ignoring Bruce’s fumbling fingers on his belt. He lifted his head and pulled at Bruce, forcing him down as his tongue thrust up. He kept him there, slowly drilling him from the inside out, listening to the rare sounds of Bruce Wayne whimpering in a pleasure induced agony he’d brought upon himself.
“Clark…Please!!”
Clark’s light hum did nothing to help. If anything Bruce shook at the unexpected numbing jolt that ripped through him and left him drooling steadily from above and below. He reached up to wipe his mouth clear, tongue laving at his fingers as he mindlessly rocked in time with Clark’s sinful tongue. Nothing had ever felt this good; he couldn’t remember anything being like this, like complete mindless bliss were touch took over and sensation dominated him in all forms. He couldn’t register anything but his nerves set ablaze, Clark’s hands hot and soothing and overwhelming all at once.
He could cum like this…
But…
“Aaaaaaah….no! Don’t-!”
Clark kissed each cheek in parting, hefting Bruce back up and turning him around. He rolled, pinning the naked man beneath him, pants open and relief flooding through him as his cock was freed by Bruce’s tugging and insistent hands. Bruce couldn’t think past that, hissing as a slick finger pressed inside and left him seeing sparks of bursting white light. Clark claimed his mouth again, stealing his breath away and giving it back in small doses of air that passed between them. Bruce rocked against his hand, the sure man who’d worked the room not an hour ago reduced to a begging mass of flesh clawing at Clark’s arms to let him find the edge. Clark kept him there despite his pleas for some sort of mercy, until Bruce went limp against him and waited.
“…about time.”
Clark kept at what he was doing, kissing the tense face from time to time as he shivered. The small bundle of nerves he kept fingering were firing lights behind Bruce’s shut eyes; that cock settled in an angry red that twitched even as Clark slid his fingers free. Clark didn’t touch it. He didn’t need to.
He flipped Bruce onto his back, forced his compliant legs open into a near butterfly split and shoved himself home, the warmth of that milking heat making it hard to think. He smirked as Bruce’s hands flew to his shoulders, his mouth opening in total awe and ecstasy as his untouched cock erupted into long pearls of white that hit him on his chin. He pushed himself up, groaning and screaming in delight, incidentally shoving himself further onto that massive cock that threatened to split him into pleasurable quarters as Clark began to thrust.
“You…fucking…bastard!” Bruce half laughed, half screamed. “Oh god!”
“Nice time for godly recognition,” Clark panted. “Remember that the next…time…”
A particularly hard thrust kept Bruce highly aware of Clark and his aim. His legs practically vibrated up and off the bed, wrapping themselves around the steadily thrusting hips of his stronger lover soaking in the heat of him. He hadn’t softened at all. He was still rock hard, and interested in another round that would end quickly enough if Clark kept that up!
“Shit…don’t stop! Don’t ever stop!” Bruce crooned.
“Don’t plan on it,” Clark huffed, snapping his hips a little harder. “This…is MINE. Only MINE.”
The bed creaked unceremoniously with every mind numbing body shocking slap of Clark’s hips digging into Bruce’s. Bruce would swear to the earth moving in time to it, dizzy from the nonstop pressure upon his prostate singing a different tune with every swipe of Clark’s massive cock inside of him. He’d never felt Clark this hard before, or reveled in it like a whore who couldn’t get enough. He was warm, so warm inside him…so firm and deliberate in his movements, seeking to drive him out of his mind with pleasure. It was working. Bruce was a drooling mess that couldn’t quite hold onto those steel shoulders, or himself after a moment.
Clark could feel it before it happened. Bruce stiffened in his arms, quaked, and let out a guttural scream that could undo the best of them. He fell forward, covering Bruce’s mouth with his own and marked him from the inside; shoving everything he had into him physically, mentally. It was overflowing, pooling in his stomach, filtering out into uncharted territory. Bruce shook again, and Clark shook with him, his mind blank and blaring with the edge of heaven shoving them down into a blissful doze that lasted several minutes.
Clark woke with a slight hum of content, smiling in the dark as his lips blew a bit of disheveled raven slicked locks out of his face. Bruce was out cold, boneless, and warmer than ever as he slept on with his face buried into Clark’s sweat slicked skin. He woke briefly as Clark slipped loose, groaning in protest until Clark wrapped himself and the blanket around them. Clark kissed his warmed forehead, pulling him closer.
“I’m not cold anymore,” Bruce mumbled.
“No, you’re not,” Clark chuckled softly. “Still think I talk shit?”
“Yes. In a good way,” he said leaning up to kiss him softly. “You can warm me up whenever.”
Clark was glad for that much, and more when Bruce uttered those three words freely against his lips. Clark said them back, kissing Bruce until his lover had tucked his head under his chin and fell asleep in utter content. In Bruce speak, that meant that things had changed, and he wasn’t going to up and run away from it this time. He held him tighter, eyes drifting shut as the lull of the soft winds from the outside pulled him into an undisturbed slumber.
He was going to have to send Lois’ DATE a box of chocolates.
*facepalm* Oh man. Okay...I'm going to work.
Fandom: DC
Pairings: Clark/Bruce
Characters: Clark Kent/Superman; Bruce Wayne/Batman
Word Count: 4,342
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: This is SO not safe for WORK!! XD
Synopsis: PWP, total and complete smut.
Ai...I've been messing with this since last night!! Gawd, help me...I might have to revise it a bit.
Have MERCY!
Hot Tottie:
I'm like oh Kimosabe
Your body is my hobby
We're freakin'
This ain't cheatin' as long as we tell nobody
Tell your girls you're leaving
I'll meet you in the lobby
I'm so cold, yeah I need that hot tottie
Hot Tottie (hot Tottie)
Hot Tottie (thought I'd never fall in love, thought I'd never fall in love)
-Usher “Hot Tottie”
++++++++++++++
It didn’t take a genius to know that Bruce Wayne wasn’t an idle player. The golden boy-toy of the billionaire status was well liked in the public; an admiration that no one could quite or would dare to deny was the object of some elusive wet dream hovering in awareness and in the dark. Some, if they were lucky, got a chance to actually get a taste of that dream. Others would hover; hoping to touch the open flame that blatantly moved around the room with a flare no one could measure up to. From his stunning good looks to the expensive shoes that seemed to make him glide along the floor, it was hard to hold a candle to this man amongst men, and he knew it, too.
Clark pressed himself against the wall, arms folded against himself as his eyes flitted from face to face. It was yet another charity event; another piece to put in the paper for the good of mankind and his paycheck. He shouldn’t have been here. Lois was the one who covered things like this. She was the fresh familiar face that could charm her way into exclusives and uncover some of the most interesting and bewildering things about this society. Having hips that could entice the hardest of men helped and skimpy dresses could place anyone’s guard down. Clark wasn’t in a position to wear that type of thing and get away with it. Not freely anyhow.
Unfortunately, Lois was on another assignment. A personal one. A date. Like a charity event wasn’t more important. Like Clark’s sanity wasn’t more important. She deliberately left him to fend for himself, the sneaky…
“Champagne sir?”
Clark waved the waiter off, mumbling something about being on the clock. His pad was tucked away on the inside of his jacket. His pen remained unused, safely hidden in his pocket. The questions he was supposed to ask were fluttering somewhere in the back of his mind, as it was currently peering out into a forbidden realm he did NOT want to think about.
He couldn’t help it after a moment. Not when Bruce was slyly looking at him as he chatted some random female up.
Clark didn’t think he could curse as much as he did in the span of ten seconds inwardly. His face remained impassive, but his heart was beating its fists against his ribs painfully. The female, a tall drink of blonde water that flowed like such, leaned up to whisper in Bruce’s ear. Ruby red lips nipped at the lobe, and Bruce pulled back with a smoldering look lurking in those dark blue eyes. The feral smile on his face was enough to leave her giggling.
Clark heard something rip. He groaned tiredly to himself and mentally reminded himself to take this jacket to the tailor, again. The rip wasn’t noticeable to anyone who wasn’t looking for it. He jammed his hands into his jean pockets and kept himself pressed to the wall, eyes raking over anything and everything that wasn’t the laughing billionaire lapping up the attention of yet another woman.
He wanted to go home. He wanted to be back in the middle of his apartment in his city, drink in hand and firm thoughts of going to bed after he consumed something to set his throat on fire. Clark had more than enough information to make an article out of this event. Who was who, the whys and the attendees and how much they planned on donating. The location though, made it quite impossible to just up and go without someone getting suspicious. He’d gotten here by plane, and going home without using that return ticket just wasn’t an option.
He was stuck here, in Montana, in Glacier Country, in the middle of December because Lois had a date.
The grand room of the lodge they were crammed into was nestled firmly in the middle of a snowy embankment, and getting from point A to the comforting walls of point B, his hotel room, was going to take some effort even for him. The winds were whipping themselves up recently. One could hear the rattle of the icy breaths of Father Winter clawing at the clear windows and shaking the boards of the wooden enclosure. A bit of the high society whom had other things to attend had gone already, either beating the weather before it could turn or retiring to their suites. Everyone else was still mingling, warm drinks in hand, laughter bubbling from various throats and snickers coming from those who couldn’t handle but so much of those warm drinks. Bruce was in the middle of it all, wrapped snug in his black cashmere sweater, hugged tightly in a pair of black stone washed jeans (that did nothing to hide that firm bubble butt of his slightly jutting out to the left), and walking about like the man he was in black snow boots.
It was officially time to go.
Clark slowly peeled himself off of the wall and headed for the entrance. He slipped by the bodies warm with drink and avoided the stumbling hands of those tipsy with laughter. It took about five minutes, but soon enough he was outside, ducking his head under his hat and running for the building about thirty feet away. Feet pressing into the snow with quick strides, he didn’t think about the puffs of warm air falling from his lips. He didn’t remember that he’d left his scarf sitting on one of the chairs. His hands still jammed in his pockets, he forgot that his gloves were in his coat and that his coat was open.
He all but shoved himself into the building he’d been headed for, bursting through the doors and headed for the first chair he saw. He sat himself down and sank into the warm leather, shoved his jacket off of him and put his head in his hands.
The fire crackled with Clark’s thoughts. Thoughts of scars, his lips upon those flawed marks; a breathy moan being pulled from the throat under his lips, hips pressed against his own and mitigating that they move to find the nirvana just beyond the measure of one’s bursting heartbeat.
The warmth of the fire was cut by the winds from the outside for the briefest of moments. Clark didn’t notice, not until cool hands raked through his hat slicked hair, knocking that wool lined thing off of it and onto the floor. He lifted his head at the light tug of his hair, falling back to look up into obsidian laced blue moving close enough to peer into their depths. That body fell forward, trapping him between the chair and it, settling on his lap with legs wrapped on either side of him, the firm feel of his cool jean clad ass in his hands now. Those cool hands shoved Clark’s bangs out of his eyes, forcing him to keep his gaze on the man who smelt of pine, sweet but heady cologne, and a bit of whisky.
Bruce’s feral grin was directed at him now, and Clark snarled and tugged at the hips that weren’t close enough. Bruce let him, groaning softly as Clark buried his head against his neck, lips stealing a taste of him possessively. He could feel him as he growled a little louder, his arms vibrating with the sound as they wrapped around his shoulders to press himself closer to Clark.
“I really wish you would not fuck with me,” Clark growled.
Bruce’s light laughter filled the empty lounge. “I thought that was the point.”
“You’re pushing it.”
“Am I?”
Bruce had this uncanny but well calculated way of shoving his hands on every imaginable button that belonged to Clark. It was enough to drive the reporter insane, and achieve the awaited effect of hauling Bruce up into his embrace and shutting him up before he could say something else. Cool lips pressed into his warm ones, parting at the insistence of his tongue shoving itself into the recesses of his mouth. The unique flavor of Bruce was one that should be savored at best, but Clark greedily devoured it. Bruce melted into the groove of his arms, almost purring as Clark ripped his lips away to snort openly at the unsaid retort shoved back into Bruce’s mouth.
“She’s on a DATE,” Clark growled, ignoring the bubbling laughter coming from Bruce’s chest. “If you have to know…”
“Does she-“
“If she knew, she’d be sitting between us…back in the other building…” Clark paused long enough to slip his hands under the sweater that kept him from that supple flawed skin, finger tips brushing alongside the sculpted sides of his trembling billionaire sitting deftly in his lap. “Even so…I’d still find a way.”
Bruce hummed, biting back a throaty moan as Clark’s fingers dug into a sensitive spot. “You talk a lot of shit…” he muttered.
“Really.”
Why Bruce always had to slam his hand on that ONE button Clark would never understand. He hauled them out of the chair, one arm supporting Bruce with a firm hand and the other keeping him from touching the ground. The dangerous glint in Bruce’s gaze kept Clark in motion, easily moving out of the warmth of the main lodge and towards a suite with Wayne’s name all over it.
The cold of the outside didn’t bother him a bit. He couldn’t say the same for the man in his arms, shivering as he came back to himself and realized that Clark had used the other part of him to get them here quicker than running could have. He opened his mouth, something scathing on his tongue, but that died with all notions of his earlier statement when he heard something rip. Clark torn the remains of his jacket off of him, reached for those insufferable pants that were like painted denim on those muscular thighs belonging to Bruce, and snapped the belt off with a tug of his finger.
“That cost me-“
“Does it look like I care?” Clark muttered. The button on his jeans went in the same manner, buried somewhere in the dim lighting of the room. “It’s in the way…and you’re fucking cold…”
“So? Warm me up.”
Bruce was an intelligent man. Clark had to keep reminding himself of this, even when he thought the man was a sheer lunatic. Did he know what he was asking for? He had to know. The man in his arms had to know the depths of what he was asking, and just what it would mean if Clark crossed that line. He stopped his ministrations, glaring up into the gaze daring him to do more, shoving him past the comfort spot they’d been in for so long without the pretense of living it out past the walls that surrounded them. What they did was no one’s business aside their own, and Clark was sure Bruce would die with it remaining that way.
Bruce seemed to have other ideas.
This changed things. This was WHY Lois was on that damned DATE.
This is why Bruce let that woman get so damn close!
Those pants met their end with a satisfying rip and Bruce was tossed on the bed without a second thought. He bounced once, barely having time to pull that thick sweater off of his body. It was still on his right hand as his head pressed itself backward against the pillows, a sharp gasp leaving him as Clark’s hot mouth found the chilled flesh of his right nipple. His right hand rubbed the left, fingers pulling and pinching the pink nub until they were hard points that were aimed upward. Clark nipped at the one he left swollen and wet, smiling against the chest that breathed unevenly beneath him.
Bruce was probably glaring at him, or at the ceiling, but he knew what the man was thinking. “You’re cold,” he said before Bruce could gather his wits again. He traced a delicate circle around the peaked flesh under his lips with the tip of his tongue, flicking it lightly and chuckling softly as Bruce trembled. “Rather than getting to the heart of the matter…I think we’d better warm you up nice…and slow.”
He could feel the man writhe beneath him in agony for what that meant. Turn about was fair play, and Lois was going to get hers when he was done here. That wouldn’t be for a while yet. At the moment, Clark was occupied with keeping that manipulative brilliant brain in Bruce’s head out of commission and eventually would get to overheating it.
“Fuck!”
“Eventually,” Clark murmured. He lifted himself to those kiss swollen lips, nipping the moist bottom just so. “Don’t worry,” he said, smiling against the scowl that soon morphed into a low moan, “You’ll get what you want…when I say.”
He lifted his hips, avoiding the thrust of Bruce’s looking for friction. Unlike others, he could keep this up all night, and the man beneath him was well aware of it. A frustrated growl made its way into the air, snuffed only by Clark’s lips latching onto the thrum of Bruce’s racing heartbeat. The man beneath him nearly came undone at the light bite. The broad span of Bruce’s chest came arching up off of the bed, the sweet sound of his soft undone whimper making this sweeter. Clark licked the tiny hurt, blowing softly through his lips as his fingers busied themselves with tearing Bruce’s underwear from his body.
Two, three soft tugs later, Bruce was still beneath him, hand still tangled in the sleeve of his sweater, slicked hair mussed up in the most delicious of ways, spit soaked nipples glistening in the light of the dim lamp, and Clark’s lips trailing a teasing trail down the plane of his left shoulder. Clark didn’t think it could get much better than this, but he’d proven himself wrong on countless occasions when it came to Bruce. Bruce’s hands were tangled in his hair, pulling, shoving, tugging…trying to move him to where he wanted Clark. The straining evidence of his arousal was hot and heavy in the open space that Clark kept between their hips. Clark could feel its heat, smell just how aroused Bruce was…but he paid it no mind deliberately.
Bruce bit back a string of curses as Clark’s head refused to budge any lower than his navel. He could feel the smile before it happened, and then there was nothing more than sensation and his mind being pushed into places he couldn’t quite go in the light of day. He didn’t think his navel could be this sensitive, but the sinful way Clark pushed his open mouth against his flesh, circling around it with his tongue as his fingers pinched his overly sensitive nipples to the point of near pain kept him from thinking too much. His stomach rolled in time to Clark’s slow careful exploration, hips undulating unconsciously to the rhythm set by the slightly bigger man. Whatever chill he might have caught was slowly being replaced by a pleasurable burn that flared with the suckling biting kiss that surely left a mark.
“You’re….enjoying this way…too much,” Bruce breathed and somehow managed to growl. “Stop-ah!”
Clark silenced him with a look at first, but that was tempered with his hand gently rolling the taut sac beneath Bruce’s straining erection. He sucked his teeth lightly, biting the edge of his mouth in concentration as Bruce fisted the sheets. “Obviously it’s not enough,” he murmured. “You’re still coherent enough to mouth off.”
“You-!”
Clark moved lower, biting the inside of his quivering thighs. He gently traced the fine line of taut muscle down and up, placing a slow open kiss on the juncture of Bruce’s left hip. He ignored the cock twitching beside his face, inhaling the scent of Bruce but never tasting the source of that delicious scent. Rather, he moved again, hands curling around the remains of those black briefs and tugging them from beneath Bruce, fingers gently brushing against the smooth skin of his backside and up the curvature of his legs in the company of his lips and tongue, mapping out the entire span of Bruce’s left and then right leg.
He kissed the soles of those amazingly soft feet, looking down. Bruce had stopped fisting the sheets, favoring to pinch and squeeze his own chest, mouth half open as he rolled his hips on the bed with harsh wanton pants leaving him every few seconds. Touching him now…Clark thought about it for a second, and shook his head as he kissed the ankle currently in his hand. No. He wasn’t going to make this easy for Bruce. The cold bastard had it coming.
And they hadn’t even gotten to the good part.
“You keep that mouth open, it will be occupied sooner than later,” Clark promised.
The tip of Bruce’s tongue licked the bit of moisture beading on his upper lip. Half glazed eyes took in the sight of Clark sliding between his legs, pursed lips blowing softly over the tip of his aching erection. And then the bastard moved right past it, laughing softly at the petulant look he gave him and removed with those large magic hands cupping the underside of his ass.
“You still have clothes on,” Bruce breathed.
“Mmm…well aware of that, thanks,” Clark murmured against his navel. “Now, Shut up.”
“Make me.”
“…you really like pushing it, don’t you.”
Whatever Bruce could have said died on his tongue. Clark was good at that; getting him to shut up so marvelously with just his hands. Bruce spread his legs, humming deep in his throat as those hands kneaded his flesh, a prodding finger teasing and brushing the twitching entrance almost screaming for Clark to possess. Clark kept the maddeningly slow pace, peppering his chest with soft open mouthed kisses that did nothing but tease him into a frenzy.
“Clark…stop fucking around,” Bruce groaned. It was absolute torture. He was so hard it was beginning to hurt. Clark simply returned to his earlier task, teasing his nipples with hard lingering sucks and worrying the little peaks between his teeth until they were red. The slow dribble of his weeping cock was beginning to burn. He’d never been this hard for this long…nor did Clark ever bring him to that point between life and death. He kept his hands in the sheets, tugging at them as he turned his head to keep from screaming.
He couldn’t touch himself…Clark would kill him if he did, and he didn’t know if he wanted to cross that particular line just yet.
But still…
“Do something! Anything!”
Clark left his left nipple, rearing back to sit on his knees and take in the view of a debauched looking billionaire. “So needy,” Clark said, eyes dancing in amusement. “But so fucking mouthy.”
Bruce panted a little, trying to get back some semblance of himself. He heard the faint rustling of fabric, and then he was up, looking deliriously down at Clark’s lower extremities. He reached for the buckle sitting tight within the loops of those jeans, but faltered, moaning low and long as he fell forward, head pressed against the soft flannel shirt no longer tucked into those jeans. He fisted those jeans, mumbling incoherently as warm breath puffed over the sensitive pucker, followed by a deliberately slow lick that had Bruce trembling near the end of it.
“Fucking…Bastard!”
Not quite yet, Clark thought. He lazily drew circles with his tongue, content to puff hotly over the sensitive patch of skin. He kissed and licked him open slowly, soft kisses driving Bruce to push back and grunt when Clark would nip at him. Clark kept at his task, savoring this flavor properly, ignoring Bruce’s fumbling fingers on his belt. He lifted his head and pulled at Bruce, forcing him down as his tongue thrust up. He kept him there, slowly drilling him from the inside out, listening to the rare sounds of Bruce Wayne whimpering in a pleasure induced agony he’d brought upon himself.
“Clark…Please!!”
Clark’s light hum did nothing to help. If anything Bruce shook at the unexpected numbing jolt that ripped through him and left him drooling steadily from above and below. He reached up to wipe his mouth clear, tongue laving at his fingers as he mindlessly rocked in time with Clark’s sinful tongue. Nothing had ever felt this good; he couldn’t remember anything being like this, like complete mindless bliss were touch took over and sensation dominated him in all forms. He couldn’t register anything but his nerves set ablaze, Clark’s hands hot and soothing and overwhelming all at once.
He could cum like this…
But…
“Aaaaaaah….no! Don’t-!”
Clark kissed each cheek in parting, hefting Bruce back up and turning him around. He rolled, pinning the naked man beneath him, pants open and relief flooding through him as his cock was freed by Bruce’s tugging and insistent hands. Bruce couldn’t think past that, hissing as a slick finger pressed inside and left him seeing sparks of bursting white light. Clark claimed his mouth again, stealing his breath away and giving it back in small doses of air that passed between them. Bruce rocked against his hand, the sure man who’d worked the room not an hour ago reduced to a begging mass of flesh clawing at Clark’s arms to let him find the edge. Clark kept him there despite his pleas for some sort of mercy, until Bruce went limp against him and waited.
“…about time.”
Clark kept at what he was doing, kissing the tense face from time to time as he shivered. The small bundle of nerves he kept fingering were firing lights behind Bruce’s shut eyes; that cock settled in an angry red that twitched even as Clark slid his fingers free. Clark didn’t touch it. He didn’t need to.
He flipped Bruce onto his back, forced his compliant legs open into a near butterfly split and shoved himself home, the warmth of that milking heat making it hard to think. He smirked as Bruce’s hands flew to his shoulders, his mouth opening in total awe and ecstasy as his untouched cock erupted into long pearls of white that hit him on his chin. He pushed himself up, groaning and screaming in delight, incidentally shoving himself further onto that massive cock that threatened to split him into pleasurable quarters as Clark began to thrust.
“You…fucking…bastard!” Bruce half laughed, half screamed. “Oh god!”
“Nice time for godly recognition,” Clark panted. “Remember that the next…time…”
A particularly hard thrust kept Bruce highly aware of Clark and his aim. His legs practically vibrated up and off the bed, wrapping themselves around the steadily thrusting hips of his stronger lover soaking in the heat of him. He hadn’t softened at all. He was still rock hard, and interested in another round that would end quickly enough if Clark kept that up!
“Shit…don’t stop! Don’t ever stop!” Bruce crooned.
“Don’t plan on it,” Clark huffed, snapping his hips a little harder. “This…is MINE. Only MINE.”
The bed creaked unceremoniously with every mind numbing body shocking slap of Clark’s hips digging into Bruce’s. Bruce would swear to the earth moving in time to it, dizzy from the nonstop pressure upon his prostate singing a different tune with every swipe of Clark’s massive cock inside of him. He’d never felt Clark this hard before, or reveled in it like a whore who couldn’t get enough. He was warm, so warm inside him…so firm and deliberate in his movements, seeking to drive him out of his mind with pleasure. It was working. Bruce was a drooling mess that couldn’t quite hold onto those steel shoulders, or himself after a moment.
Clark could feel it before it happened. Bruce stiffened in his arms, quaked, and let out a guttural scream that could undo the best of them. He fell forward, covering Bruce’s mouth with his own and marked him from the inside; shoving everything he had into him physically, mentally. It was overflowing, pooling in his stomach, filtering out into uncharted territory. Bruce shook again, and Clark shook with him, his mind blank and blaring with the edge of heaven shoving them down into a blissful doze that lasted several minutes.
Clark woke with a slight hum of content, smiling in the dark as his lips blew a bit of disheveled raven slicked locks out of his face. Bruce was out cold, boneless, and warmer than ever as he slept on with his face buried into Clark’s sweat slicked skin. He woke briefly as Clark slipped loose, groaning in protest until Clark wrapped himself and the blanket around them. Clark kissed his warmed forehead, pulling him closer.
“I’m not cold anymore,” Bruce mumbled.
“No, you’re not,” Clark chuckled softly. “Still think I talk shit?”
“Yes. In a good way,” he said leaning up to kiss him softly. “You can warm me up whenever.”
Clark was glad for that much, and more when Bruce uttered those three words freely against his lips. Clark said them back, kissing Bruce until his lover had tucked his head under his chin and fell asleep in utter content. In Bruce speak, that meant that things had changed, and he wasn’t going to up and run away from it this time. He held him tighter, eyes drifting shut as the lull of the soft winds from the outside pulled him into an undisturbed slumber.
He was going to have to send Lois’ DATE a box of chocolates.
*facepalm* Oh man. Okay...I'm going to work.