World's Finest Gift Exchange Fic Prompt 43: Batman and Superman under a mistletoe
Title: Mistletoe
Author: D.M. Wyatt
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Fic Prompt 43: NC-17 - Batman and Superman under a mistletoe.
My Story: Bruce throws his annual Christmas party for Gotham's elite and Clark tries to catch him under mistletoe, but Bruce isn't cooperative and Clark finds reason to worry.
Warnings: Graphic sexual content,mild TC, Established (even if a new) relationship between Clark and Bruce, but not set in any definite place within Superman/Batman continuity. However, if you had to pick a 'verse', it'd probably be Smallville-verse crossed with Batman Begins movie-verse. I do love Tom Welling's Clark and Christian Bale's Bruce and there is no Robin.
Word Count: 5743
1 of 1
~:::~
"You know it's the symbol of love, don't you?"
Bruce looked over at his younger, yet taller and much beefier, companion; confused by what he was talking about. "What is?"
Clark smiled radiantly and his bright eyes twinkled as he pointed. "Mistletoe." He got closer to Bruce, no doubt trying to encourage him to move the few steps needed to get him underneath the sprig hanging from the nearby archway.
Bruce did not budge, which let Clark invade his personal space, but he did not move one inch closer to the mistletoe. Neither did he let Clark's infectious smile actually infect him with anything other than annoyance, but it was a close thing. He barely managed to frown instead of smile as he lifted a cup of eggnog to his lips.
"No, it's not."
He sipped the divine drink that no one made better than Alfred. Despite the high alcohol content, it went down so smoothly it almost didn't seem like drinking at all. He would only allow himself one cup of the highly caloric drink, so he was going to savor it for as long as possible.
He frowned when a twinge of pain came from his right shoulder as he lowered the crystal cup. The sore shoulder was a lingering reminder of his last fight with Joker. He shifted the drink to his left hand and tried to ignore the residual soreness.
Clark frowned. "No?"
He only allowed his amusement to touch his eyes; his voice was cool and to-the-point. "No. Mistletoe is a parasitic, poisonous shrub."
Clark looked confused, yet adorable. "Why do people kiss underneath it then?"
"It was a tradition popularized by sexually inhibited Victorians who wanted socially acceptable excuses to openly kiss others in public." Bruce took another sip and thought for a moment. "Originally, it was a pagan practice that was likely intended to promote fertility. The European variety has vaguely sexual configuration of paired berries, leaves and branches, unlike the bushier American plant." He allowed himself a slight smirk as he continued. His tone got deeper as he teased Clark, which was surprisingly easy to do. "The distinctive berries create a white juice that is viscous and vaguely reminiscent of something that has nothing to do with berries..."
Embarrassed, Clark ducked his head down as he flashed Bruce a smile and blushed fetchingly. The blush went all the way up to his hairline. Bruce took another small sip of his eggnog amazed at how the strongest creature on the planet could literally kill with a glance if he'd wanted to (not that he ever did), but could still blush so vibrantly. His smirk disappeared into an intense look when he noticed that Clark's eyes had darkened with desire.
Clark smiled as his large hand gently squeezed Bruce's Armani clad arm. "Interesting, so why don't you let me kiss you? You can prove you're less inhibited than a Victorian, even if only a little..." He looked up at the sprig of mistletoe. "It's only a few steps away."
Bruce glowered. "You know I don't like public displays of affection, Clark."
The younger man affected a patently fake innocent tone in his voice. "This isn't public, we're in Wayne Manor."
Bruce looked around the rooms filled with more than three hundred of Gotham's elite who had gathered for his annual Christmas party. The guests mingled and drank freely as they waited for dinner to be served.
As he looked at his companion, Bruce's eyebrows knit in his displeasure. "Later. When we are alone."
"Just one kiss..."
His voice was firm. "You know how I feel on this subject, Clark."
"We haven't been dating very long, so this is your chance to show Gotham that you're off the market and that I belong to you. Don't you want that?"
"No I don't. The fact is that you are mine and I am yours and there is no need to prove it to anyone."
"Then, you can kiss me to wish me a Merry Christmas."
"I sent you a card."
"And it was a very nice Christmas card. Alfred's hand lettering was beautifully done, by the way, but just one little kiss won't hurt..."
"I said no, Clark."
"You're not going to let me win this, are you?"
Bruce didn't answer. He just sipped his eggnog and arched an eyebrow in Clark's direction.
The younger man sighed heavily and almost pouted. "Oh, you're no fun." As if a thought had occurred to him, Clark's face softened and he smiled mischievously. It looked like he'd come up with a plan. "I'll catch you underneath a poisonous shrubbery before the night is through, Bruce." His smile broadened, "You'll see..."
Bruce, this time, couldn't help but let a smile touch the corners of his mouth. "Is that a challenge?"
Clark looked at Bruce over the top of his glasses, which had slipped down his nose. "One slip and before you can even blink I'll have you in my arms and kiss you in front of everyone." His smile turned predatory but his tone was light and teasing, "It'll be such a deep, wet kiss you'll have to wipe your mouth after..."
Bruce solemnly promised, "I am not going to slip."
"I wouldn't be so sure..." Clark winked and pushed his eyeglasses back up. He moved back into the crowd toward the bar. Bruce watched him the whole way. Alcohol didn't affect Clark like a human, but he didn't like the taste, so he got mulled cider. Despite dinner nearly being ready, the younger man started to nibble on peanuts as he intently watched the only billionaire in the room.
As Bruce moved from one room to the other, he was ever aware of the location of various sprigs of mistletoe scattered throughout the main rooms of the Manor. He didn't remember ever having as much in the Manor before. Bruce considered the fact that the vast amounts of the poisonous plant on display had been the result of a conspiracy between Clark and Alfred.
He made a mental note to talk to Alfred about not indulging his younger companion in such whimsy in the future. In the crowded rooms, proximity to the sprigs of the poisonous shrub was difficult to avoid completely, but he somehow managed as Clark smiled at him, his beautiful eyes sparkling.
Bruce chatted with his guests and tried to make everyone feel as welcome in the intimidating, yet elegant, home as they would in their own. As he mingled and enjoyed the chamber quartet softly play Christmas music, he kept an eye on Clark who watched him in return. Several times, Bruce had some close calls of the mistletoe variety which caused Clark to smile broadly.
Despite the wrinkled and ill-fitting off-the-rack suit, Clark drew appreciative glances because the Kryptonian's smile almost literally lit up the room. More than one socialite tried to tempt his drop dead gorgeous, if somewhat rumpled, companion to step under the mistletoe with them, but Clark only had eyes for Bruce. He managed to deflect their advances and stayed at the bar as he munched handfuls of peanuts.
Bruce also had to gently ward off not-so-subtle hints to step underneath the mistletoe from several young women. He graciously turned them down and did it in such a charming way that they seemingly didn't mind all that much. He'd been especially proud when he'd made several of them blush. However, Bruce had guessed they all had romantic intentions, apparently unaware of his newly minted off-the-market status or his other than heterosexual proclivities. He thought it best to not encourage them, not even a little bit. It just wouldn't do.
However, having to dissuade such unwelcome attention, even while charming the ladies as he played up being a hedonistic billionaire playboy, had put Bruce on edge. Each time, Bruce shot a glance over at Clark as the other man laughed at his discomfort.
And each time, Bruce had scowled at Clark's amusement which only caused the younger man to laugh harder at his expense before he popped yet more peanuts into his mouth.
~:::~
As they walked together towards the ballroom, Bruce was happy dinner was finally ready to be served. It wasn't just because he was hungry, which he was; it was because he enjoyed watching Clark eat.
Bruce, unlike Clark, ate very deliberately. He was very careful of his fat and carb intake and, except for special occasions like this party, ate only healthful food and drank infrequently. He considered himself in training at all times and indulged himself very rarely.
Clark, on the other hand, ate every meal like it was his last and it was a joy to live vicariously through his unashamed gluttony. Since he didn't need to exercise, Clark could eat anything and did. He loved all kinds of foods. Actually, Bruce thought he was surprisingly adventuresome when it came to trying new things, but he could be picky too. If he tried something and didn't like it, he would never eat it again.
However when he ate something delicious, his joy was so primal and complete it seemed almost orgasmic, and Bruce was always enjoyed seeing Clark enraptured. So much so, watching Clark eat was probably Bruce's favorite spectator sport, although he hoped it didn't show.
Bruce had wanted the evening to be magical for Clark since he was a bigger fan of the holiday than him. It's far too sentimental for Bruce, but the magic of the season still captivated Clark. So, he wanted dinner to be special for his younger companion and especially wanted the decorations to be a surprise.
So he had the crew who setup the ballroom do it behind closed doors. Despite Clark's abilities, he'd made him promise no peeking. Clark had so Bruce was glad he'd been spared the expense of ripping out the ballroom's wood paneling to line it with lead.
The other guests waited outside, no one allowed to enter until Bruce and Clark had. They milled and all three hundred pairs of eyes looked toward Bruce and Clark as they approached. Clark blushed at the attention but Bruce's solemn eyes were on Clark the whole time.
Alfred stood ready at the doors and waited for them to approach. "Master Bruce, Master Clark..." He gave a slight bow, typical Alfred, and stepped aside so the two men could enter. Before he opened the doors, Bruce held back and impulsively whispered to Clark.
"Close your eyes."
Clark laughed, "What?"
"Close your eyes."
The younger man was a bit embarrassed and blushed. He glanced to the side at an elegantly attired matron who smiled at them with a knowing look in her eyes. His blush deepened, "Bruce..."
"Never mind them." He looked into Clark's beautiful eyes, his glasses had again slid down his nose and he got a clear view. Bruce couldn't help but let a hint of a smile touch his mouth. "I want to surprise you... Close them, and no peeking."
"Okay...."
Clark closed his eyes and Bruce pushed open the double doors and took Clark's arm and led him into the center of the room to make sure the setting make its full impact on Clark. He stepped aside so he could see whether the first look Clark of the decorated ballroom had the desired affect.
"Open your eyes."
The younger man gasped when he looked around and Bruce was overjoyed at Clark's awe.
The workers had turned the ballroom into a winter wonderland; artistically placed "snow" was in mounds in the corners of the room as if they'd been snow drifts. The snow sparkled, hints of glitter making the snow twinkle like freshly fallen powder. There were fresh Christmas trees covered in twinkling lights, so the scents of pine, cinnamon, orange and cloves only added to the atmosphere.
There was an elaborate model train set on a large table in one corner of the room. The train tracks wound through a miniature village that was somehow a mix of Smallville, Metropolis and Gotham City. Tiny versions of The Daily Planet and Clark's apartment building in Metropolis somehow blended in well with models of Wayne Manor and the yellow Kent family farmhouse and their red barn.
The tables were tastefully decorated with flickering candles, cinnamon sticks, orange pomanders and fresh flower arrangements. Each place setting had a small gift box of handmade chocolates, the gift tag acting as the place card. Bruce was very happy with the way the large space had been setup, making seating for three hundred seem intimate and magical.
Clark looked around the room in wonder.
Bruce smiled his first true smile of the night as he looked at Clark. He smiled back a smile so bright that, although it didn't literally brighten the room, it lightened Bruce's heart.
~:::~
Dinner was delicious. The caterer had prepared Cornish game hens with an apricot glaze. It was a recipe of Alfred's that was one of Clark's favorites. Alfred had arranged for the second helping to be served without Clark even asking. He blushed when the second plate was brought over, but he still joyfully devoured it.
When desert was served, Clark got an extra large slice of Alfred's famous pumpkin pie. Then the lights dimmed, the room lit only by the twinkling lights on the Christmas trees and flickering candles on the table tops. Clark looked up at Bruce, his eyebrows raised in an unspoken question. Bruce just winked. Clark's glasses slid down his nose in his surprise as his mouth dropped open. Bruce never winked.
Clark looked over to a cleared area of floor as a group of people entered the room. Men and women filed in. They were dressed in black formal wear that was accented in Christmas colors, red, gold and green. The women wore red silk bows in their upswept hair and glitter in their make-up; the men had holly berry boutonnieres in their lapels and wore cummerbunds of green, red and gold plaid.
They gathered into a group and faced Bruce's and Clark's table. Each man stood next to a petite woman, and the women held up crystal candle holders as the men held open large books. They flipped the books open to the first page and, their faces lit by the warm glow of the candle light, began to sing. It was such a beautiful sight they looked like they'd stepped from a living painting.
Bruce looked back at Clark whose face shone with an awed wonder. He was so delighted, his pumpkin pie sat uneaten, clearly forgotten.
As the carolers sang, Bruce didn't watch them at all, not even when the soprano had performed her beautiful solo. Instead, Bruce watched Clark the whole time. When they neared the end of their set and started to sing Carol of the Bells, Bruce thought Clark had stopped breathing.
If Clark had been human Bruce might have been worried for his safety, but he was only glad of the affect the evening's entertainment had his younger companion. He knew that Carol of the Bells was Clark's favorite carol and he asked them to save it for last. The carol, was, in fact this caroling group's best song. It was the main reason he had selected them.
They'd been expensive, and having a singing group at one of his parties was something he'd never done before, but it was all worth it to see the look of enraptured joy on Clark's face. The relationship was relatively new and (he felt) a bit fragile, so it made Bruce deliriously happy to see Clark so overjoyed that his eyes sparkled with unshed tears.
As the last note died in the still room and as applause, too loud and enthusiastic to be simply polite, washed over them, Clark looked over at Bruce. He spoke in a voice, husky with emotion. "That was beautiful, Bruce. Thank you for doing all this..."
He'd leaned closer, Bruce worried for a moment that Clark meant to kiss him, but he limited himself to only placing a hand on top of Bruce's. Clark looked about to say something then his smile faded. He looked to the side and tilted his head with a slight surprised look on his face, as if he heard something. Whatever it was made his face suddenly go pale.
Bruce stiffened, "Something wrong, Clark?"
He looked over at Bruce, who had expected to hear about some unexpected danger, but Clark blushed and pulled his hand away, in an almost self-conscious way. He shook his head, and quietly replied, the lie unconvincing. "No, nothing's wrong."
He pushed the plate away, leaving his pumpkin pie untouched.
~:::~
Bruce was pleased with how well everything had gone, but his contentment at the party's apparent success had been tempered by Clark's inexplicable change in mood. Ever since dinner, he'd been quiet and distracted. Bruce didn't know what was wrong, but something had happened and he was scared to find out what it was.
They'd only been dating a few months and navigating through a new relationship, combined with trying to work together, had sometimes made for tense moments. However, he knew Clark loved him despite Bruce's less than lovable nature. It was unfathomable to Bruce, but he was glad of it. Clark had quickly become everything to him even though he had never confessed the true depth of his feelings to Clark.
Even at one point, when the party had started to thin out, Bruce had been so distracted by the change in Clark he had been accidentally caught under a mistletoe. The same matronly woman who had smiled at him and Clark earlier had taken advantage. Bruce had expected Clark to show up as soon as she had withdrawn, but when he looked over at Clark he found him standing at the window as he quietly sipped mulled cider and stared out onto the softly falling snow. He hadn't even noticed... Clark's abandonment of their game, the challenge to catch Bruce under mistletoe, made him even more worried.
Uncharacteristically, he had another cup of Alfred's eggnog because Bruce was more than concerned. He needed another drink to ease the worry...
He just couldn't understand what could have changed Clark's mood so quickly that didn't include something bad for Bruce. Fear of losing Clark ate into him and that, along with the lingering pain in his shoulder, made him surlier than normal, although he felt he'd hidden it well from his guests. To a one they all sincerely thanked Bruce for a wonderful time as Alfred held open the door for them before they went into the dark and increasingly snowy night.
The arrival of the storm had ended the party early and it hadn't even reached midnight when the last guest had departed. Bruce was glad to see them leave, but he dreaded the other shoe falling. He suppressed a sigh as he approached Clark where he stood looking through the window and out onto the grounds.
The heavy snow that fell blanketed the landscape. It turned everything into a sparkling confection. Despite the beauty of the landscape, Clark's eyes were troubled. When he had heard Bruce approach, he turned and smiled almost wearily to him.
"Hey..."
Bruce considered his options a moment before replying, he wanted to give Clark an out. "You seem tired," he replied quietly.
Clark raised his eyebrows in surprise and then he swallowed hard. The new lie was not anymore convincing than the earlier one after dinner. "Yeah, I am a bit."
"Maybe we should just head up to bed."
Clark nodded and followed as Bruce led the way up to his... no, their bedroom. He didn't say a word but Bruce could almost hear Clark struggling with the weight of whatever it was he was worried about. As they got to the top of the steps and got close to the bedroom door, Clark loosened his tie, removed his glasses and unbuttoned his jacket.
Bruce looked in concern at Clark's almost brooding look. He eyed Clark's inhumanly flat stomach, which he could see now that his baggy, off-the-rack jacket was open. He desperately wanted to lighten the mood and attempted a joke, "I'm glad you're invulnerable, Clark."
His younger companion shot him a worried look and asked quietly, "Why?"
Clark's tone should have warned him off, but he stayed his course. "I think you ate enough to feed an army tonight. No else could eat as much as you do and still look so good." The joke must have been lamer than Bruce had feared because Clark stopped dead in his tracks.
Bruce silently vowed to never try to tell a joke ever again.
"Is that why you lo..." Clark blushed and seemed to reconsider what he was going to say and Bruce was glad that the L word wasn't going to be used.... "Is that why we're together, because I don't get fat?"
Fear clenched Bruce's chest. He hoped his voice didn't betray him, "No, of course not..."
Clark looked down at Bruce, his eyes sad. "Why then?"
"What do you mean, why?"
"I think it's a fair question."
"Isn't it enough to know that we are? Do people have to have stated reasons to be together?"
"Probably not most people, but you do. Yes."
"Why do you say that?"
"You do everything so deliberately, you have to have had a reason you asked me to stay..."
Bruce was confused how to reply mostly because there was no good answer to Clark's question. This was the exact reason why he had resisted getting involved with anyone seriously before now. Being in a relationship could be like navigating a minefield blindfolded and with your hands tied behind your back.
There was almost no chance of getting out in one piece.
He frowned, refusing to be drawn into that argument. "Clark, where is this coming from? Why now?"
Clark replied quietly, "They were talking about us. Couldn't you hear them?"
Bruce was speechless, uncharacteristically unsure how to respond, and merely shook his head in reply.
Clark looked at Bruce with an intensity that was a bit unnerving. "They wondered why a man like you would be with a guy like me." His eyes went up and down Bruce's three thousand dollar suit and sighed as he indicated his own ill-fitting, wrinkled Men's Warehouse attire. "Apparently they took one look at me and couldn't understand it..."
"Oh, I see. Did anyone offer any opinions on why I would be with you?"
Clark shrugged, "They had theories..."
Bruce growled in his annoyance, "Their theories are wrong."
"How do you know? I didn't even tell you what they said..."
"I know it because they clearly don't have all the facts. Coming from someone who doesn't know you, any theory they would have cannot be anything but wrong."
Clark looked at him confused but remained quiet. Bruce swallowed and took a deep breath. He wasn't good at soothing words and comforting touches. He gently placed his hands on Clark's shoulders and looked intently into his beautiful eyes. "Clark, they only see the rumpled suit and the glasses. That's not you. You are so much more than that. If they knew the real you, if they knew every part of you, there would be no question of why I am with you."
Clark looked down and shrugged. Bruce put a hand under Clark's chin and initially the Man of Steel didn't allow him to lift it, but he gave in. Clark allowed Bruce to tilt his head and looked back into Bruce's eyes. Bruce continued, "I'm not good at saying it, and you know that I probably will never be, but it doesn't mean that I don't feel it. Don't doubt what I feel because of what others say about me." His hand moved up to Clark's cheek almost of its own volition, and he tenderly caressed the slight stubble with his thumb. His voice was soft, with a hint of emotion he couldn't hide. "If they really knew us, they'd have to ask themselves not why I'm with you, but why you're with me."
It was Bruce's turn to be quiet. "I know I'm hard to love..."
Clark's face turned concerned. He spoke earnestly, "No, you're not. For me, it's as easy as breathing..."
He very gently pulled Bruce into a tender kiss, a kiss that was warm and soft and comforting. Bruce almost desperately opened his mouth, tasting Clark. He tasted of cinnamon and cloves and apples along with something else that was undeniably just Clark.
Their tongues were at first gentle, but as desire flared the kiss became more insistent, need took over. Their mouths seemingly locked together as Bruce's hands quested down Clark's body, and he pulled at his tie and tried to find the buttons for Clark's shirt.
Bruce's need rose and he had to touch more, feel more. He had to touch Clark's skin, feel his body pressed up against his, skin on skin. He started to pull at Clark's clothes as Clark pulled at his.
He ignored his sore right shoulder, which ached, but his need was all. Their lips were in constant contact as they moved toward the bedroom door. They left behind a trail of clothes, shoes and ties on the hallway floor leading to the master bedroom suite.
They entered the room, their lips locked together as they slowly worked their way over to the bed. Alfred had set a fire in the fireplace and the only light in the room was the warm, flickering glow. Bruce pushed Clark's boxers down over his straining erection and Clark kicked them free.
Free of the last of their clothing, Bruce pushed Clark toward the bed. Their lips came apart only when Clark unexpectedly fell backwards onto the bed, he'd gotten there before he'd realized it. They'd tumbled together to the bed, their legs in a tangle.
All of Bruce's weight went onto his right arm when he tried to catch himself. A spike of unexpected pain jolted him, centered on his sore shoulder. He gasped when his arm collapsed and he fell on top of Clark.
Clark stilled and looked up at him with concern. "You okay?"
"Yes, just the Joker's latest." He tried to push himself up with his right hand but the joint wouldn't support him without pain. He gave up with a groan and rolled onto his side next to Clark.
Clark frowned, clearly worried. "Maybe we should just go to sleep...."
"No, I want you, besides there's a challenge still to settle." Bruce could barely restrain himself from sounding smug. "I told you I wouldn't slip."
Clark's smiled and his beautiful eyes twinkled. "The night isn't over."
Bruce glanced over at the clock, which showed only a handful of minutes before midnight. "You're being typically overly optimistic."
Clark laughed. "This isn't a fairy tale, Bruce. My chariot isn't going to turn back into a pumpkin at midnight." He leaned closer, his voice dropping into a deeper, huskier tone. "The night isn't over yet." His eyes became even darker with desire, "It's not even close to being over...."
They kissed deeply and Clark gently rolled them over, using a bit of flight to make it more smooth and gentle transition for Bruce, so that he was on top. Bruce didn't object, despite usually taking the more aggressive role during their lovemaking. He couldn't ignore his sore shoulder.
He didn't really mind, however. As much as Bruce wanted to always be the Alpha Male in the relationship and always stay in control, there was something compelling about having the most powerful being on the planet made tender love to him. Having Clark take the lead was an indulgence he rarely allowed himself, but his gentleness warmed him almost more than anything else in his life did. His life was full of hard fact and tough opponents and heavy responsibility and agonizing pain; it was comforting for someone to make tender love with him.
Clark clearly adored Bruce. It was plain by the look on his face as his fingers and lips traced every scar on his body. To Clark those marks weren't flaws, but echoes of pain he sought to soothe. He would kiss them delicately and lovingly, like he'd wanted them to heal, but Bruce knew they never would.
Bruce welcomed Clark's devoted care of him. It made him feel warm and safe and deeply loved, but there was a tinge of guilt that wouldn't leave him and made him doubt...
The look of pure adoration on Clark's face was like a knife into Bruce's heart. It almost hurt him physically to see the most powerful man on the planet adore him so much. Part of him worried he wasn't worthy of his respect, much less his love and devotion; he was simply too aware of his own flaws. Another part of him loved Clark deeply in return for it.
He ran his fingers across the smooth, yet invulnerable flesh. Clark's skin was so soft it felt like silk, despite how tough he knew it was. Bruce enjoyed feeling the play of muscles underneath the skin as Clark ran his hands over Bruce's body. Bruce squeezed Clark's shoulders so hard his grip would have bruised anyone else. Clark's hands suddenly seemed like they were everywhere at once.
Bruce wasn't sure he'd ever get accustomed to Clark being able to use both hands while being on top. There is no need for him to use a hand or elbow for support when he can control his gravitational field, but Bruce wouldn't ever complain about the results.
His breath quickened as his mind shifted and his brain gave into sensation and need took over. The world became only their bodies, just skin and muscle and lips and fingers.
Clark's hands and mouth and legs pressed against his body and it wasn't enough, it could never be enough. The Kryptonian was like a drug he was addicted to, he could never get enough... His taste, his smell, was like nothing else he'd ever experienced before.
Their bodies moved together, soft sighs and low moans the only noises along with the sounds of skin sliding against skin and rustling sheets. As Clark's talented mouth moved down Bruce's body agonizingly slowly, Bruce's fingers gripped his hair and pulled harder than a human could have stood it and it merely enflamed the other man's desire. Bruce could feel the proof of it, hot and hard pressed up against his legs as Clark kissed his stomach, his tongue flicking his belly button.
His need built as Clark's hands gently caressed the inside of Bruce's thighs. Out of breath and unable to speak his need, all he could say was a breathy, "Clark..." He pressed down on Clark's head to try and encourage him to move down. He needed release... "Clark."
His lover mercifully closed his mouth over his aching erection, the heat and closeness overpowering... He thrust and Clark took it all and Bruce's world narrowed down the feel of Clark's hot mouth surrounding him.
He came and Clark swallowed and kept swallowing. Bruce relaxed back into the soft mattress, boneless and tired and content, but Clark wasn't done yet. He kissed him deeply and Bruce's desire revived with the erotic mix of flavors; apples and cinnamon and cloves and the taste of himself still lingered in Clark's mouth. Despite his exhaustion, Clark's tender and patient lovemaking further enflamed Bruce's desire.
Clark murmured to Bruce under his breath, soft and loving. Bruce could only hear the occasional English word, 'beautiful' or 'mine' among soft, whispered words in a tongue he didn't understand. The alien sounds of a language no one else spoke drifted over him as Clark patiently made love to him. His lips and teeth trailed down his body, setting his skin on fire with enhanced sensation.
Finally ready, Clark reached over to the bedside table and pulled lube out of the drawer. He kissed Bruce deeply and kneed his legs apart. He kissed him again and pushed back and knelt in between his legs, his erection heavy, hard and weeping, and quickly slicked himself and his fingers.
Clark then gently pushed Bruce's legs up and apart as he looked at him almost in awe. The love he felt for Bruce radiated from him as one hand trailed down his stomach as a finger pushed in. He rubbed and stretched him, further enflaming his need. He pressed in yet another finger and another, and Bruce moaned in response.
"Clark..." He looked up at his lover, outlined in the flickering firelight. He was so handsome it nearly hurt Bruce to look upon him.
Beautiful, so beautiful...
Bruce hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud until Clark smiled in response. His voice husky with desire and emotion, the words he spoke meant so much more than what he said, "You're beautiful, Bruce, and mine." Clark pushed in and Bruce was lost in sensation, pleasure with a hint of pain. Their bodies moved together and, lit only by the warm glow of the fire, they both came with cries and an overwhelming explosion of sensation.
It took a few moments for Bruce to come back to the world again. He found Clark lying on his left side, an arm loosely thrown over his waist. His breathing was slow and deepening, falling asleep. Bruce affectionately kissed the top of Clark's head, his curls tangled and damp with sweat.
"I'm almost sorry you never found me under mistletoe..."
Clark chuckled softly. Almost asleep, he murmured, "Who said I didn't?"
Bruce frowned as thought about the night. "But you..." Then a thought occurred to him and he looked up and laughed.
There, far above their bed, was pinned a sprig of mistletoe tied with a red satin ribbon. Only someone with an extremely tall ladder, or the ability to defy gravity, could have gotten the mistletoe to hang from the eighteen foot high ceiling. "You did it..."
He felt Clark's tired smile against his chest. Bruce hugged him and again kissed his dark curls. Clark's breathing slowed and deepened into sleep and Bruce lay awake as he watched the flickering shadows caused by the fire dance across the ceiling.
Only once he was sure Clark was sound asleep did he confess, "I love you, Clark."
Bruce fell asleep comforted by the warm presence of the man whom he loved more than he could understand.