Ficlet: No Blame, No Going Back | SR | Clark/Jimmy/Richard | NC-17 | 1/1
Title: No Blame, No Going Back
Fandom: Superman Returns
Pairing: Clark Kent/Jimmy Olsen/Richard White
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 593
Prompt: For Porn Battle XI: take-out, movie night, closet, dream, loneliness, beer; For kissbingo: Body: Chest; For the Superman Movieverse Pairings Challenge: Beer, Trust, Take-Out, Timid, Friendship
Summary: Later, they'll blame it on the beer.... Or not.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own everything, the schmucks.
Author's Notes: Originally posted here.
No Blame, No Going Back
Later, they'll blame it on the beer.
Or maybe the poor choices for movie night that left them all bored to tears. Or maybe the halfhearted food fight brought on by slippery pot-stickers and Clark's 'poor' chop-stick skills. Or maybe Jimmy's half-drunk confessions to Clark and Richard about his sexual preference after the food fight turned into a game of keep-away and an unexpected-and one-hundred percent unintended-grope or three.
Or maybe they'll be honest and lay the blame where it belongs: on the loneliness they've all been fighting, with Lois gone and Jimmy living so far in the closet that he'd started compartmentalizing.
But right now, the blame doesn't matter. All that matters is the feel of skin on skin, hot and flushed, the three of them splayed out across Clark's enormous bed with Richard thrusting into Jimmy while Clark lies beneath them, supporting their weight effortlessly and offering up sucking kisses to Jimmy's neck, his shoulders, his chest, teasing each nipple with surprisingly talented lips, teeth, and tongue. Jimmy's never felt so wanted, so loved, pressed against Clark this way, straddling him as they roll their hips together, sweet friction building as their erections slide against one another.
It's nothing at all like Jimmy imagined, and everything he could ever have hoped for, the intense stretch as Richard fills him almost too much to take, his body on fire and nerve endings lit up like the Fourth of July as his two best friends surround him, all strong-and impossibly strong-arms and hands and legs. And just when it seems he can't take any more, his whole world explodes, white light and desperate pleasure, delayed so long, his body singing an angelic chorus of release and relief as a choked cry wrenches itself from his throat.
Richard and Clark are quick to follow Jimmy over the precipice, all their anguish and need expelled with matching guttural screams, their bodies tense and shuddering, and Jimmy can feel the pulsing wet heat between himself and Clark, and deep inside where Richard stays hard for a long while afterward.
Collapsing together on sweat-slicked sheets, the three men take their time recovering, savoring the high, their pulses still rushing as the loneliness is banished for a handful of minutes.
Jimmy's the first to speak as reality slowly reasserts itself, come and sweat and saliva drying sticky on his skin, his ass aching from the unexpected attention. “I, uh, suppose we could blame this on the beer,” he suggests, feeling an unbidden timidity settle over him, fresh as the days he'd first met the two men and known that anything he might ever dream of developing between them was nothing but a fantasy to be buried and forgotten. It's yesterday, six years ago, eight years ago, and this would never happen, especially knowing now what he eventually learned about Clark's other job. Clark and Richard would only ever be Jimmy's friends.
Twin nods and tentative murmurs of assent are returned from either side of him, and it's decided. This all the beer's fault. Something to be forgotten just as certainly as those old fantasies.
At least until those strong arms wrap around Jimmy again, holding him close, Richard nuzzling into his neck and Clark caressing his face, gaze boring into his and glistening with unshed tears, sorrow and apology and love and acceptance all right there, plain to see and impossible to hide or bury in denial.
Because, if they're honest with themselves, there really is no blame to be laid at all, and there's absolutely no going back.
~*~*~*~
Fandom: Superman Returns
Pairing: Clark Kent/Jimmy Olsen/Richard White
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 593
Prompt: For Porn Battle XI: take-out, movie night, closet, dream, loneliness, beer; For kissbingo: Body: Chest; For the Superman Movieverse Pairings Challenge: Beer, Trust, Take-Out, Timid, Friendship
Summary: Later, they'll blame it on the beer.... Or not.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own everything, the schmucks.
Author's Notes: Originally posted here.
No Blame, No Going Back
Later, they'll blame it on the beer.
Or maybe the poor choices for movie night that left them all bored to tears. Or maybe the halfhearted food fight brought on by slippery pot-stickers and Clark's 'poor' chop-stick skills. Or maybe Jimmy's half-drunk confessions to Clark and Richard about his sexual preference after the food fight turned into a game of keep-away and an unexpected-and one-hundred percent unintended-grope or three.
Or maybe they'll be honest and lay the blame where it belongs: on the loneliness they've all been fighting, with Lois gone and Jimmy living so far in the closet that he'd started compartmentalizing.
But right now, the blame doesn't matter. All that matters is the feel of skin on skin, hot and flushed, the three of them splayed out across Clark's enormous bed with Richard thrusting into Jimmy while Clark lies beneath them, supporting their weight effortlessly and offering up sucking kisses to Jimmy's neck, his shoulders, his chest, teasing each nipple with surprisingly talented lips, teeth, and tongue. Jimmy's never felt so wanted, so loved, pressed against Clark this way, straddling him as they roll their hips together, sweet friction building as their erections slide against one another.
It's nothing at all like Jimmy imagined, and everything he could ever have hoped for, the intense stretch as Richard fills him almost too much to take, his body on fire and nerve endings lit up like the Fourth of July as his two best friends surround him, all strong-and impossibly strong-arms and hands and legs. And just when it seems he can't take any more, his whole world explodes, white light and desperate pleasure, delayed so long, his body singing an angelic chorus of release and relief as a choked cry wrenches itself from his throat.
Richard and Clark are quick to follow Jimmy over the precipice, all their anguish and need expelled with matching guttural screams, their bodies tense and shuddering, and Jimmy can feel the pulsing wet heat between himself and Clark, and deep inside where Richard stays hard for a long while afterward.
Collapsing together on sweat-slicked sheets, the three men take their time recovering, savoring the high, their pulses still rushing as the loneliness is banished for a handful of minutes.
Jimmy's the first to speak as reality slowly reasserts itself, come and sweat and saliva drying sticky on his skin, his ass aching from the unexpected attention. “I, uh, suppose we could blame this on the beer,” he suggests, feeling an unbidden timidity settle over him, fresh as the days he'd first met the two men and known that anything he might ever dream of developing between them was nothing but a fantasy to be buried and forgotten. It's yesterday, six years ago, eight years ago, and this would never happen, especially knowing now what he eventually learned about Clark's other job. Clark and Richard would only ever be Jimmy's friends.
Twin nods and tentative murmurs of assent are returned from either side of him, and it's decided. This all the beer's fault. Something to be forgotten just as certainly as those old fantasies.
At least until those strong arms wrap around Jimmy again, holding him close, Richard nuzzling into his neck and Clark caressing his face, gaze boring into his and glistening with unshed tears, sorrow and apology and love and acceptance all right there, plain to see and impossible to hide or bury in denial.
Because, if they're honest with themselves, there really is no blame to be laid at all, and there's absolutely no going back.
~*~*~*~