Cuffed up

[kittymayhem]

Title: Cuffed up
Fandom: DCU
Pairings: Clark/Bruce
Characters: Clark Kent/Superman, Bruce Wayne/Batman
Word Count: 4,795
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slight Kink, slight masochism?? Lota sex though! NSFW!!!
Synopsis: Schedules suck...and red towels are offensive.

Follow up to the fic Spank Me



Cuffed up:

This madness had to stop.

Bruce gritted his teeth for the third time in a period of a week. He looked at his phone, and at his date book, eyeing the lines he’d scratched out and the one’s he’d circled. His Blackberry had deleted info and added info, none of it anything he was looking forward to. Meetings, clients, shareholders, the board; all of it was a jumbled mixed up mess of Bruce Wayne’s daily agenda. He was always somewhere, with somebody, and his cheeks hurt from smiling so damn much…but not for the reasons he wanted to.

His reason for smiling had just cancelled on him, and it was his own damned fault.

He pressed his head to the center of his desk, ignoring his ringing phone, his paging secretary, and the noise that he called the outside.  His Blackberry sat useless on his desk near his head, atop several documents that needed to be signed, dated, notarized, or whatever.  His planner was a shredded mess of things that needed to be done today and for the next six months of his life. He aimlessly brought his hand up to the desk and knocked it and something else off of the wooden surface.

His secretary wisely didn’t page him to ask if he was all right. He was NOT all right.

“Is it possible…for us to stay still?” he muttered to no one but himself. “Why…is that sooo hard?”

He lifted his head a bit to glare at the door that was closed. Out there, he had a feeling that his world was about to get a lot more hectic just because he said that. That impending feeling of doom hit him hard in the stomach, and he almost upended his lunch of a cold turkey sandwich.

The only thing keeping him rooted to this chair was about fifteen minutes late.

The intercom on his phone beeped.

“Mr. Wayne Sir…your two o’clock is here.”

He managed to lift a finger long enough to answer her. “Send him in.”

He dropped his hand back on the desk and didn’t bother to lift it or his head when the door opened. There was a bit of laughter, and he had to smile a little at it.

“Are you that hard up?” his two o’clock asked.

“You don’t know the half of it,” he muttered. “Let’s get this over with…”

His appointment walked in the door and shut it, locking it from their side and keeping the rest of the world out. Bruce quickly shut off his Blackberry, unplugged his phone, and got up long enough to shut the blinds to his office.

“You know…this is going to hurt.”

“I am aware of it…you did his, didn’t you?”

“Well yeah…after a lot of begging. I thought you would have killed him, then me.”

Bruce shook his head, fighting not to grin or groan at what actually happened that night. He bit his lip, forced himself to sit down in his chair and put his head on the desk again.

“You know…you might need to take your shirt off…”

It was all in the name of him. He told himself this again, and tried his best not to think about that night. After all, if he had his way, that night would rival tonight.

“You really love him, don’t you…”

“He has NO IDEA.”

Clark Kent….was officially tired.

Superman was beyond tired.

Kal-El just wanted to sleep.

Clark sighed entering the Manor he called home on days that ended with him too tired to make it back to his apartment. That was usually most days, but he had a good reason not to go back. Yet, that reason wasn’t here. He was actually nowhere in sight, and he suspected as much considering the rundown of Bruce’s planner for the next week. Three times this week their schedules had clashed, and lunches that were planned went unplanned and without the company of a dear one.

Then there was the sudden increase in natural disasters/villains on the loose. He shook his head, already disgusted with the week that had come and gone. First the landslides, then the hostile alien take-over in another galaxy, only for the day to end with Luthor up to his old schemes again.  Just thinking of the man had him seeing red, and he didn’t want to relive the painful reminder he’d gotten just a few hours ago.

Seriously, the man needed a new hobby. Kryptonite lasers were just beneath him.

He rubbed his arm lightly, already dreading the response he was going to get when it came to the man of the house. Bruce would look at it, look at him, and then it’d be a fight to make sure Bruce didn’t go knocking on Lex’s door with a gauntlet belonging to the Bat. Bruce had no problem doing so, which was one of the many infuriating and loving things about the man. He smiled a little.

He was a masochist. He missed Bruce enough to want Bruce to yell at him, just so he’d know that he was around.  He missed bickering with him…missed interfering with his “Bat” work…

Missed his warmth…

Just…missed him.

It was official. Schedules sucked.

Snorting to himself, he made his way up to the bedroom, shed his clothes, and somehow made it into the shower.

If he was lucky, he’d get out with enough time to pass out properly on the bed. Maybe he’d wake up long enough to see Bruce get in.

Right.

Somehow, getting home as late as he did didn’t seem to bother him much. He loosened his tie upon entering his home, well aware that the silence that greeted him was a sign that everyone had gone to bed. Or gone out. Somewhere in the frazzled mess that was his mind, he remembered something about Dick taking Tim out to a movie and letting him stay over at his place. It was written down somewhere…and the fact that the house wasn’t an igloo was a clue that they weren’t home. He didn’t smell the enticing scent of dinner warming over for him, so he figured Alfred had retired for the night somewhere off the grounds. It wasn’t uncommon…but that meant that no one was home.

Well…almost no one, though the only person aside himself in the manor was most likely dead to the world.

He sighed deeply, dropping his briefcase aside the couch in the living room and headed up the stairs for the master bedroom. Thoughts of the cave fled his mind on the way home, and now he was too tired and too sore to think about doing anything else. He stifled a slight grunt of pain as he jogged up the stairs two at a time. No use in waking him up just yet.

He had the first four buttons of his shirt open by the time his hand hit the knob to his door. His shirt was off when he slipped into the dimly lit area he called his room. His slacks were unbuttoned four steps into the room, and he was tossing his shoes, his pants, and his shirt in the corner when he finally got to the edge of the bed. Normally this was the part where he’d tumble into the dark sheets and pass out against the body curled up underneath it. He’d fall asleep and wake up, pressed against his lover and unable to do anything to relieve the ache that was more than present in the waking dawn. The alarm would sound, they would groan, and the day would begin with again…

But all that seemed to turn itself inside out and on its head when he spied his exhausted lover sprawled out on the bed in nothing more than a red towel.

A short red towel that hiked up the right way would give him total access to what lie beneath.

Whatever was in his planner and his in Blackberry for the next day went straight into the shit pile.

A man could only take so much. Bruce nodded to himself, his plans made, and darted for the bathroom with several thoughts in mind. Clark must have really been out of it if he still didn’t move. That was fine…there was more than one way to wake him up.

The comforting darkness was lifted away from his dreamless sleep with the soft delicious scent of cinnamon wafting through his nose. That darkness became a haze of earthy colors, his thoughts of nothing starting to focus on the lovely smell and the delicious manner in which it was being spread. Firm hands pushed and kneaded into his backside, working in the soothing scent and working out the tension knots that the day had left him with. They dug deeper and he groaned in appreciation, arching into the knowing touch as it worked its magic on his shoulders.

A soft lingering kiss on the back of his neck kept him from drifting again. He opened an eye and looked back, amazed that his sleep ridden self could paint a picture of his lover so quickly. He smiled softly, tilting his head just enough to taste the lips that had been haunting his mind most of the day.

“Bruce….”

Bruce smiled lightly, that rare smile that said so little and so much in the short span of time it was allowed to surface. He kissed Clark again, butterfly kisses that teased, cajoled, and urged his lover to wake up just a little more.  Clark grinned softly into each kiss, turning over and twining his arms around Bruce’s shoulders.

Or…he tried.

His hands were bound together. Where he’d normally be able to pull his hand apart easily, the binding force of something metal kept him quite bound and unable to move the way he desired. He brought his bound wrists up to his face, surprised to see that there was nothing there to bind him aside a simple pair of handcuffs.  They looked like ordinary cuffs one could find on a policeman, but the fact that he could not break them was a sign that they were enchanted somehow.

Clark looked between his cuffed hands and Bruce. He arched a brow in his direction. “I thought I was getting a massage…” he mused. “Not…arrested?”

“Yeah…well…I don’t think I need you getting away from me anytime soon.” A slow sensual smirk spread across his lips, lowering himself enough so that their breath mingled in the span of virtual nothingness. “I think…it’s time I paid you back…for the shower…”

“Oh?”

“Mmm…and...I think it’s time that I showed you…just what you do to me…”

Clark found himself breathless, inhaling the breath that was Bruce devouring everything about him in the span of seven seconds. He was pleasantly dizzy, eagerly kissing the man back and turning up the temperature in their bed a full fifteen degrees. Bruce grabbed his cuffed hands and forced them over his head, pinning them against the grey sheets with one hand while the other slowly made its way down his chest. The scent of cinnamon was still heavy, as his fingers were still slick with the massage oil.

Bruce tore his mouth away, drinking in the small gasp for air his lover gave.
  It never ceased to amaze him just how easily Clark could flip his switches from tired to seriously wanting it. He had no idea just how enticing he was sleeping here, alone, on the bed in nothing but that damned red towel, as if there wasn’t a care in the world to be had. He had to bite the inside of his cheek just not to jump him, to bury his face under that towel and suck him dry, turn him over and fuck him into next Tuesday. The man was a feast for the eyes…a feast that was his and only his.

Clark watched as Bruce sat up, letting his eyes rove appreciatively over his almost nude form.  His fingers traced the path of his eyes; a slow caress from his brow alongside his nose; lips kissing his gently when his fingers gently traced the outline of his kiss swollen lips. They moved along his chin, skimming over the span of his arching neck, though Bruce’s lips took their fill of that space as well. Clark moaned softly, moving into the touch of Bruce’s marking kiss, and shivering from the feather light touches of his fingers. The dual sensation was unlike anything he’d felt…warmth that nearly burned him, but left him wanting more of it. His hand found its way to Clark’s chest, but hovered over his heart while those fingers plucked and squeezed his nipples into erection.

“Bruce….aah!”

Bruce left his handiwork with a slow lick, marveling at the mark he’d left. It’d be gone soon enough, but he was content to know that he put it there for a moment.  He put his mouth to better use, licking a trail from  Clark’s collar bone to the right nipple, tracing the small nub with his tongue and suckling it between his lips.  Clark pressed himself into his mouth, torn between the squeezing pressure of Bruce’s fingers and the wicked talents of his tongue doing unspeakable things.  He writhed, spreading his legs, and invited Bruce to play a little lower. The evidence of his arousal was stiff under the barrier of that towel which had been loosened somewhat. He rubbed himself against Bruce, wanting skin to skin contact, but unable to properly voice it as his mind was in its own little nirvana.

The benefits to being good at multitasking were that one could efficiently think while doing several other things, and still manage to gain the upper hand. Bruce was one of those people, and he made it known when there was a clicking noise. Clark snapped out of it long enough to find that his hands were bound to the headboard, attached to a hook he’d failed to notice. Again he tested the strength of the cuffs and the hook, almost alarmed when there was no give. He looked down and Bruce sat up, his hands on the edge of that red towel keeping him from his prize.  However, that look in his eye was of a man who had something wicked up his sleeve.

Clark’s skin warmed and chilled at the prospect of something new having been added to the mix without knowing what it was.

“B-Bruce??”

“I’ve always wanted to try something…” he said softly. His hands began to peel away the offending towel, unmasking skin inch by delectable inch. When the trail of fine hair became a little thicker, he stopped and planted a loving kiss against his navel. “You can say no….if you want…”

“W-what…did you want…to do??”

Another inch was revealed. He dipped his tongue into his navel, teasing him with the possibilities of just what could happen.  “I’ve always…wondered what you’d look like…if I had my wicked way with you…”

“Don’t you always?”

“Yeah…but this…is a little different.”

And just like that…the towel was gone. It drifted off in the general vicinity of the floor, away from its owner and leaving him exposed for roving eyes. Bruce licked the corner of his mouth, already coming undone at the sight beneath him.

“Well, well…look at this…”

His hands were back, smoothing the soft skin of his inner thighs, fingers pressing against the toned muscle quivering because of his touch. Those hands stopped where his legs were joined to his hips, thumbs pausing long enough to rub sensitive flesh near his aching arousal. He rubbed in slow circles, feeling the warm flesh heat up further.  His cock was already hard, twitching at the breathy caress of Bruce’s lips ghosting over the angry red of his flesh. Bruce stopped at the very top, planting a soft kiss at the tip.

“You’re aching for this…and you don’t even know what it is,” Bruce smirked. His fingers roamed a little lower, still somehow slick with cinnamon scented oils, rubbing the soft underside of his perineum and forcing Clark to shift a little more. Clark’s soft panting became a little louder, legs trembling even more as he was teased mercilessly. His arms bound above his head left him helpless to Bruce’s touch,  or the slick tongue tracing the path of the underside of his cock. It was a prelude to that heat, that warm wonderful heat that never ceased to suck him dry within a matter of minutes. He wanted to be in that pliable mouth, to rock, keen, and swoon…but Bruce had other ideas.

The fingers that were steadily rubbing stopped. Bruce grabbed his hips, lifted him and dropped him again with his legs propped up in the air.  Clark bit his lip and trembled, exposed before the man that had the power to do anything that he pleased. He felt the soft chill of the A.C. against his skin contrast with the warming massage oil that had been spread on several pieces of his body.  Bruce remained in the center of it all, admiring the fine sight of Clark spread open and waiting for him. He’d never tire of it.

He’d never tire of filling himself with that image.

Or tire of tasting it.

Quicker than he could react to, Clark let out a startled choked cry as he was spread and forced open with a searching tongue and prying fingers.  His head fell back into the pillows, face flushed and a sure sign of his arousal; arms straining against the cuffs that would not break against his struggle.  He buried his face against his arm, whimpering at the teasing touch of Bruce’s tongue flickering around the rim, suckling and biting as his fingers slid in without effort.

“Aaaaahhh…Bruce!!”

Bruce hummed against the taste of warmth, sun, and spice, savoring it alongside the edible flavor of cinnamon he was steadily working into Clark. He twisted his fingers, stretching him slowly for what he had in mind. Clark remained none the wiser to his actions, writhing on the bed from the sensations of being stretched open for bigger and better opportunities.  That part would come later…

He kissed the firm globes of his left cheek, biting the flesh and tasting cinnamon.

He seriously had to buy another case of the stuff.

“Mmm…you taste heavenly,” Bruce breathed, “But…I think I’m ready for the next course.”

Clark felt an involuntary chill run down his back. That rich voice he’d fallen for was the guise of many emotions, and right now the dark rich tenor that rumbled against his leg was full of mystery. There was nothing to tell him what he was planning, or what he had in mind, which could have been anything at this point. His cock seemed to hum at the idea of not knowing, twitching in time to the lips that planted another sucking kiss along the underside. He threw his head back, soaking in the heat of those kisses, muscles straining against the bindings as Bruce licked another path up to the tip of him.

He cried out as he was engulfed in that warmth again, and nearly jumped when something cool, thick, and slick slid its way into his entrance in one smooth motion.

“B-Bruce?? Wha-ooooohhhh my----AAAH!!”

Bruce sat back, admiring his handiwork.  He took a mental shot of that moment, burning it into the back of his retinas and into his mind. He didn’t think he would ever have an opportunity to see this again, so he was going to make the most of it while he could.

Clark was lain out on the bed, that offensive red towel thrown away somewhere on the floor. Bound and chained to the top of the bed, his muscles tightened with every breath he took trying to get away from the over stimulation. His face was flushed, lips shiny and kiss swollen, drool trickling from the right side of his mouth onto the shoulder he buried his face against in order not to scream.  Those brown pebbles of flesh were peaked and pointing, glistening from the oils and begging to be sucked again. His taut stomach strained with the effort of trying to move his hips, only to find that he couldn’t without causing himself more stimulation. Lying slightly to the right was his angry red cock, hard, dripping, and alive with the promise of release.  The sheen upon that heated shaft was from Bruce’s mouth teasing him with that promise.  A lovely picture it was to harness…

But the selling point that nearly made Bruce come in his own boxers was the black vibrator currently inhabiting his regular place of occupancy. It wasn’t any wider than his own cock, now tenting the front of his boxers to the point where he was peeking through the slit, but it was a bit longer…and it had this neat little thing that it did when he turned the handle just…so…

Clark lifted his hips and let out a wordless scream, a moan tumbling from his lips as the buzz went from mild to intense. Every part of him vibrated, and he couldn’t escape the building pressure flooding below.  He cursed, shifting his hips again, but Bruce’s hands on his thighs kept him from moving his legs back up.

Bruce moved his right hand back down, taking the vibrating toy by the base and slowly sliding it out. Clark whimpered at the vibration sensation sliding against the more intimate parts of him, the tip of it brushing against his spot briefly on its descent outward. Right before it was removed, Bruce paused and slid it back in quickly, watching him accept it and bend to its demands.

He was almost disturbed at how much he wanted to just frame Clark like this, but who wouldn’t?

Anyone else who tried to frame this moment; he growled thinking about it, possessiveness taking hold of his mind and wanting to claim the one beneath him again. He grasped the base of it once more, setting up a slow agonizing rhythm that made him harder and Clark arch up off of the bed. He needed him to know…wanted to make him understand that this…what they did…everything was his to claim as much as it was Clark’s. No one else would see it. No one.

“I will…kill…any man who sees you like this that isn’t me,” Bruce growled. He pushed the slick toy back into him up to the hilt, rolling it in circular motions.  Clark gasped, his sack drawing up tight and nearly emptying itself as Bruce bent over and licked him root to tip once more. “Be clear…on that…much.”

“Bruce-!”

“DON’T.”

Clark nearly wailed at the effort not to. He thrashed his head from side to side, wanting nothing more than to break the cuffs that held him fast. Bruce left the vibrating toy in him, moving away from his overheating body in order to shed his wife beater and free his erection from his boxers. The black cloth was tossed somewhere in the direction of wherever the towel had been thrown, and the shirt removed revealed the work that had been done earlier this afternoon.

Clark regained a bit of himself long enough to admire the symbols over Bruce’s left pectoral, the angry red nothing compared to the meaning of the black that had been stained unto his tanned skin.  Bruce’s chest seemed to inflate proudly, like that of a male lion eyeing its tamed prey before devouring it. The symbols rose and fell with his breathing, moving closer and into his heart when he finally realized that it was his own dead language staring back at him, saying what Bruce would never say openly to anyone aside him.

Kal-EL is my heart

Bruce climbed back into the bed, crawling between his legs and gently removing the device. Clark moaned at the loss, sighing when Bruce aligned himself against him and slowly pierced him. The buzz had been a different sensation, but none compared to the feel of heat slipping into him, burning him from the inside out and branding him every time their hips met. Bruce stilled when he was buried to the hilt, falling forward to plant his hands on either side of Clark and kiss the away the tear that had fallen unknowingly.

“I mean it,” he whispered against his cheek. “I mean every single…symbol…”

“How-?”

“Does it matter?”

No it didn’t. Clark’s words were given back to him in amusement and love, and Clark allowed his mouth to be thoroughly reminded of just how much he was loved. Tongues danced a duel only they knew, and his hands slid down a moment later to bury themselves in the thick Black that was Bruce’s hair. Bruce thanked the heavens that he could multitask, moving the cuffs to another side of the bed and leaving them for when he thought about them again. He was too engrossed in their rolling over to think about putting them away. Clark left his lips, and sat up, sitting back and letting the thick shaft sink deeper.

Bruce’s fingers dug into his hips, eyes glazed over and lost in the memory of the mark that was on Clark’s back. It was as if he were immersed in velvet lava, hot, tight, and welcoming, gripping him tight and refusing to let him go. Clark was the picture of obscene; spread open and leaning against Bruce’s legs coming up to support him, his free hands pinching and twisting his own nipples as he rocked his hips back and forth.

Bruce brought his hands up and slapped his ass, massaging the firm flesh as he thrust up and angled himself to drive his point home. It had been too long, they were not going to wait this long again, and this was his when he wanted it…and he wanted it often.

Clark understood, and let himself be taken until he could no longer feel his head grounded .

“Yes…Bruce---I…I-can’t--!”

“That’s right…do it…NOW.”

Clark gripped the sheets on either side of Bruce’s thrusting hips, leaning back and letting the world wash away in a haze of blinding white. His panting gasps turned into a wail that rocked the walls and shivered as violently as he. His untouched shaft twitched and gave in, spraying them and inviting Bruce to grunt loudly as he was milked into completion. He branded him again, deeply and nearly unseating him as the rolling pleasure set every nerve on fire.  Everything spun and rose, twisting itself into this strange overwhelming nirvana that kept the colored dots behind his eyes in his line of sight for a long while.

For a moment, he could have sworn he’d orbited the moons of Saturn before it all came crashing down. Clark remained lain out against Bruce’s legs, drained and exhausted from the day and pleasantly sated. The limp body wasn’t inclined to move, so Bruce moved them, never once losing their connection.  He rolled them over again, kissing the damp brow of his lover and nuzzling his heated cheeks. He slipped his right hand over Clark’s left, stirring him back from his light doze.

Clark eventually came around, and brought his arms around his shoulders. They stayed like that for countless minutes, until Bruce’s small laugh brought Clark out of his sleepy haze.

“What’s so funny?” he asked tiredly.

“Nothing…but you should see what I have on MY back,” Bruce smirked.

Clark cuffed him in the head gently. “My legs can’t be tattooed to your ass,” he murmured.

“True…but I think I like the real deal better…”

“You think?”

“I know…”

“Bruce?”

“Hmm?”

“Where…did you get those cuffs?”

Bruce smiled and kissed his nose. “Same place I you got your tattoo.”

Clark nodded and started to drift off.  “Jason Blood is a kinky man.” A kinky man with taste. While he may have supplied the means for the evening, he was not without merit.

As Clark slipped off into a well earned sleep, Bruce admired his handiwork sitting prettily on Clark’s left ring finger. He’d notice it in the morning, and that was fine with him. He settled down to sleep aside him, thoughts drifting to paperwork, schedules, and events, all of them drifting around the known response he would get in the morning.

This madness had to stop…and it stopped when he decided to pencil in Clark for the next fifty or so years in the schedule that was his life.

Da END. *relief* Okay...I used the TOY, the Massage Oil, and the Cuffs.

I hope that was enough.

Next time...I'm taking pictures! XD