Fic: To Be Honest
Title: To Be Honest
Characters/Pairings: Clark/Bruce
Rating: R
Summary: Bruce and Clark play with the Lasso of Truth.
Word count: 1650
Notes: Written for the WFGE Gift Exchange. F07: Superman and Batman: “I'll show you mine if you show me yours.”
"I can't believe you're even suggesting this."
"Oh come on. Where's your sense of adventure?"
Clark continued to look suspiciously at the gleaming golden loops in Bruce's hand. "I can't believe Diana would loan you her Lasso."
Bruce looked smug. "I offered her a trade she found satisfactory."
"You didn't--you didn't agree to record this, did you?" Alarmed, Clark scanned the room and turned up nothing. That didn't mean anything when dealing with the World's Greatest Detective, however. Especially a World's Greatest Detective who was currently sprawled out across a four-poster bed wearing nothing but a thin silk robe, the lasso glittering alluringly against the silk where Bruce held it. The idea of Diana--of anyone but him, to be honest--seeing Bruce this relaxed and sensual sent a shiver of possessive lust up Clark's spine.
Bruce's smile was lazy, nearly feline. He looked Clark up and down slowly. "Would it get you hotter if I said I had?"
"Um." Clark wasn't sure how to answer that. He imagined having Diana watching what he did to Bruce, hearing what Bruce said when Clark penetrated him, seeing the way he writhed and clawed at Clark in a demanding frenzy. Imagined someone else seeing how completely abandoned Bruce was when Clark took him.
Suddenly it was clear what the answer to Bruce's question was. Clark just wasn't sure if he wanted to answer it. "Maybe," he said reluctantly, and Bruce laughed.
"Come here, Clark," said his lover, and Clark slowly crossed the room and sat down on the bed. Bruce brushed the coils of gold up against Clark's thigh; the shiver of energy Clark felt could have been his imagination. "That's probably not really Diana's Lasso anyway," Clark said. "You've just made a replica for fun."
Bruce reached out and captured Clark's hands in a loop of gold. "How often did you masturbate last week, Clark?"
"Three times," Clark said without thinking.
"And did it get you hot just now to think of Diana watching us?"
"God, yes," Clark said.
"Why?"
"I liked the idea of her seeing that you're mine. That no one fucks you better than I do." Clark realized his voice had dropped to a throaty growl and he was staring hungrily at Bruce. Flushing, he pulled his hands out of the loop. "Okay. It's the real thing," he said.
Bruce's smile remained unruffled, but his breath was just a bit shorter. He shifted his body slightly and Clark suddenly noticed he was erect now, pressing against the red silk of his robe. Then he pressed the Lasso into Clark's hands. "Okay then, tie me up."
Clark stared at the Lasso and then at Bruce. "You? I thought--I assumed you'd be tying me up."
Bruce looked a bit annoyed. "You're the one with the truth fetish, Clark. Besides, getting you to tell the truth doesn't usually take such extreme measures." His eyes glittered slightly. "Though based on your answers to those questions, maybe I should..."
Clark looked down at the golden rope. It felt silky in his hands, almost frictionless. "I'm not sure you really want to show me your soul that much, Bruce."
Bruce leered, and the sight of Bruce Wayne leering was almost enough to unhinge Clark entirely. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours." He huffed a sigh as Clark continued to look irresolute. "Clark. I'm willing. I'm able. Let's do it."
"You'll just free yourself," Clark protested weakly as Bruce wrapped strong hands around one of the posts.
"It's a magic lasso, Clark," Bruce said. "I could potentially get out eventually, but it would take much, much longer. And if you pay attention to my advice while you tie me up, it might be totally impossible." The leer had shifted into something subtler, something closer to an invitation, and Clark knew he was lost.
Bruce gave him advice on how to tie the lasso tighter, tugging at the ropes critically and suggesting alterations. "I don't want to make it too tight," Clark said.
"It's not too tight," Bruce said. "It feels good, to be honest." He paused. "Which I have to be, now."
Clark looked down at his handiwork: Bruce sprawled across the bed, his hands fastened securely by gleaming gold. Clark leaned forward and kissed Bruce's wrists, just above the rope, and Bruce made a low sound in his throat. If only they had three more Lassos, Clark thought, then he could tie Bruce spread-eagle... The image that called up made him feel slightly dizzy as he trailed kisses down Bruce's arm, exposed where the silk robe had fallen away.
Bruce's mouth was warm and relaxed beneath his; Bruce bit his lips slightly at the end of the kiss. "I'm not going to tell you the truth if you don't ask me anything," he murmured.
"You're acting like you actually want me to interrogate you," Clark said.
Bruce arched his back slightly. "Oh, but I do," he said. "I want you to interrogate me mercilessly."
Clark put a finger lightly to Bruce's throat, then trailed it slowly down his chest, parting the silk robe beneath it. He stopped at the sash, taking hold of the band of silk. "You're enjoying this."
"I...yes," Bruce said, his voice a bit husky. "Yes. I'm enjoying this."
A tug, and the sash fell away; Clark moved aside the rich red silk to expose Bruce's body. The sight of Bruce--of Batman--lying vulnerable and bound before him made Clark feel a strange heat rising in him. So beautiful, so beautiful, a voice in his head seemed to be crooning--English or Kryptonian, he couldn't tell. "Doesn't it make you uncomfortable, to be so helpless?"
"Yes," Bruce moaned. "Yes. But...it's good. I can trust you." His hips bucked upward toward Clark's hovering hand. ""Yes. I trust you."
Clark stroked Bruce's hip lightly, causing him to twist his body into the touch. "You're trying to get loose," he noted, seeing Bruce's hands fumbling with the ropes.
"Instinct," Bruce gasped. "I can't help it. But I don't--I don't think I can get free." The statement seemed to inflame him almost past bearing. "Can't get free," he said again, luxurious heat in each word, eyes half-shut and lips parted. "Oh, Clark. You could do anything to me now."
Clark trailed a finger along Bruce's erection, almost too light for the sensation to register. "I want to know what you want," he said.
"You," Bruce said immediately.
"I'd like slightly more specifics," Clark said, laughing, letting his fingers trail along Bruce's body like feather-touches. "I want...I want to know your most secret fantasy, what you want to do with me that you've never told me. Maybe you've never even admitted it to yourself. Your darkest, deepest fever dream of a fantasy." Bruce's eyes fluttered shut, and he made a hoarse sound in the back of his throat that didn't quite become words. "Tell me," said Clark, inexorable, hands coaxing and teasing. "You have to tell me the truth."
Bruce twisted under his hands in an agony of arousal, every muscle tensed. "I want you to marry me," he blurted.
Silence fell. Bruce's eyes opened wide with something like shock. "Marry you?" Clark said stupidly.
"Yes."
"You never said."
"I--" Bruce bit his lip. "I never knew until now."
Clark leaned forward and nibbled at Bruce's thigh. "What kind of wedding? Tell me."
Bruce gave a stuttering groan. "A big one. Everyone there. Gotham society, all our friends." He arched up against Clark's mouth, urgent and hot, words tumbling out of him like a dam breaking. "Want to see you in a tux, take your hands, kiss you in front of everyone, hear all the Gotham matrons talk about how that Kent boy is handsomer than they thought, how lucky I am to have someone so stable in my life. A wedding with cake and flowers and confetti and silly toasts, in a huge white church with stained glass--ah," he stammered wordlessly for a bit as Clark bit and licked. "Yes. Yes. With the--the rings, and the vows. Forever."
Clark moved up Bruce's body until he was whispering in his ear. "I'll call the caterers tomorrow," he murmured.
Bruce reared away from him. "Don't you dare share my perverted fantasies with the world," he growled, "Or I swear I'll hunt you down and...and..." he squirmed, unable to come up with a threat both dire and truthful, "...and be really angry at you," he finished lamely.
"Oh, but I want to hear more." Clark licked his lips. "What do our rings look like?"
"White gold," muttered Bruce, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment and something more. "Simple bands, with a Kryptonian inscription on the inside that no one gets to see but us."
"And what color are the bridesmaids' dresses--awk!" Clark squawked as Bruce wrapped his legs around him and dumped him unceremoniously onto the floor, cutting of the flow of questions for a moment.
A charged silence, and then Clark was back up on the bed, wrestling back on top of Bruce until Bruce leveraged him back off, both of them starting to snort with laughter and Bruce saying, "Teal, teal," in between gusts, "Teal satin!" Clark pinned his legs down and kissed and licked as Bruce twisted and howled protest, and then the laughter started to give way to other kinds of noises entirely, and the wrestling shifted to something else, and Bruce told the truth as much with his pants and groans as he ever could with words.
Later, Clark kissed the line of Bruce's jaw as he untied the Lasso. Arms free, Bruce stretched languidly, eyeing Clark with a half-lidded gaze.
"Oh, Bruce," said Clark softly, stroking a hand down the scarred silk of his lover's body. "I had always suspected you were a kinky bastard, but really..." He leaned close to murmur in Bruce's ear, his breath hot, "...I apparently had no idea."
Characters/Pairings: Clark/Bruce
Rating: R
Summary: Bruce and Clark play with the Lasso of Truth.
Word count: 1650
Notes: Written for the WFGE Gift Exchange. F07: Superman and Batman: “I'll show you mine if you show me yours.”
"I can't believe you're even suggesting this."
"Oh come on. Where's your sense of adventure?"
Clark continued to look suspiciously at the gleaming golden loops in Bruce's hand. "I can't believe Diana would loan you her Lasso."
Bruce looked smug. "I offered her a trade she found satisfactory."
"You didn't--you didn't agree to record this, did you?" Alarmed, Clark scanned the room and turned up nothing. That didn't mean anything when dealing with the World's Greatest Detective, however. Especially a World's Greatest Detective who was currently sprawled out across a four-poster bed wearing nothing but a thin silk robe, the lasso glittering alluringly against the silk where Bruce held it. The idea of Diana--of anyone but him, to be honest--seeing Bruce this relaxed and sensual sent a shiver of possessive lust up Clark's spine.
Bruce's smile was lazy, nearly feline. He looked Clark up and down slowly. "Would it get you hotter if I said I had?"
"Um." Clark wasn't sure how to answer that. He imagined having Diana watching what he did to Bruce, hearing what Bruce said when Clark penetrated him, seeing the way he writhed and clawed at Clark in a demanding frenzy. Imagined someone else seeing how completely abandoned Bruce was when Clark took him.
Suddenly it was clear what the answer to Bruce's question was. Clark just wasn't sure if he wanted to answer it. "Maybe," he said reluctantly, and Bruce laughed.
"Come here, Clark," said his lover, and Clark slowly crossed the room and sat down on the bed. Bruce brushed the coils of gold up against Clark's thigh; the shiver of energy Clark felt could have been his imagination. "That's probably not really Diana's Lasso anyway," Clark said. "You've just made a replica for fun."
Bruce reached out and captured Clark's hands in a loop of gold. "How often did you masturbate last week, Clark?"
"Three times," Clark said without thinking.
"And did it get you hot just now to think of Diana watching us?"
"God, yes," Clark said.
"Why?"
"I liked the idea of her seeing that you're mine. That no one fucks you better than I do." Clark realized his voice had dropped to a throaty growl and he was staring hungrily at Bruce. Flushing, he pulled his hands out of the loop. "Okay. It's the real thing," he said.
Bruce's smile remained unruffled, but his breath was just a bit shorter. He shifted his body slightly and Clark suddenly noticed he was erect now, pressing against the red silk of his robe. Then he pressed the Lasso into Clark's hands. "Okay then, tie me up."
Clark stared at the Lasso and then at Bruce. "You? I thought--I assumed you'd be tying me up."
Bruce looked a bit annoyed. "You're the one with the truth fetish, Clark. Besides, getting you to tell the truth doesn't usually take such extreme measures." His eyes glittered slightly. "Though based on your answers to those questions, maybe I should..."
Clark looked down at the golden rope. It felt silky in his hands, almost frictionless. "I'm not sure you really want to show me your soul that much, Bruce."
Bruce leered, and the sight of Bruce Wayne leering was almost enough to unhinge Clark entirely. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours." He huffed a sigh as Clark continued to look irresolute. "Clark. I'm willing. I'm able. Let's do it."
"You'll just free yourself," Clark protested weakly as Bruce wrapped strong hands around one of the posts.
"It's a magic lasso, Clark," Bruce said. "I could potentially get out eventually, but it would take much, much longer. And if you pay attention to my advice while you tie me up, it might be totally impossible." The leer had shifted into something subtler, something closer to an invitation, and Clark knew he was lost.
Bruce gave him advice on how to tie the lasso tighter, tugging at the ropes critically and suggesting alterations. "I don't want to make it too tight," Clark said.
"It's not too tight," Bruce said. "It feels good, to be honest." He paused. "Which I have to be, now."
Clark looked down at his handiwork: Bruce sprawled across the bed, his hands fastened securely by gleaming gold. Clark leaned forward and kissed Bruce's wrists, just above the rope, and Bruce made a low sound in his throat. If only they had three more Lassos, Clark thought, then he could tie Bruce spread-eagle... The image that called up made him feel slightly dizzy as he trailed kisses down Bruce's arm, exposed where the silk robe had fallen away.
Bruce's mouth was warm and relaxed beneath his; Bruce bit his lips slightly at the end of the kiss. "I'm not going to tell you the truth if you don't ask me anything," he murmured.
"You're acting like you actually want me to interrogate you," Clark said.
Bruce arched his back slightly. "Oh, but I do," he said. "I want you to interrogate me mercilessly."
Clark put a finger lightly to Bruce's throat, then trailed it slowly down his chest, parting the silk robe beneath it. He stopped at the sash, taking hold of the band of silk. "You're enjoying this."
"I...yes," Bruce said, his voice a bit husky. "Yes. I'm enjoying this."
A tug, and the sash fell away; Clark moved aside the rich red silk to expose Bruce's body. The sight of Bruce--of Batman--lying vulnerable and bound before him made Clark feel a strange heat rising in him. So beautiful, so beautiful, a voice in his head seemed to be crooning--English or Kryptonian, he couldn't tell. "Doesn't it make you uncomfortable, to be so helpless?"
"Yes," Bruce moaned. "Yes. But...it's good. I can trust you." His hips bucked upward toward Clark's hovering hand. ""Yes. I trust you."
Clark stroked Bruce's hip lightly, causing him to twist his body into the touch. "You're trying to get loose," he noted, seeing Bruce's hands fumbling with the ropes.
"Instinct," Bruce gasped. "I can't help it. But I don't--I don't think I can get free." The statement seemed to inflame him almost past bearing. "Can't get free," he said again, luxurious heat in each word, eyes half-shut and lips parted. "Oh, Clark. You could do anything to me now."
Clark trailed a finger along Bruce's erection, almost too light for the sensation to register. "I want to know what you want," he said.
"You," Bruce said immediately.
"I'd like slightly more specifics," Clark said, laughing, letting his fingers trail along Bruce's body like feather-touches. "I want...I want to know your most secret fantasy, what you want to do with me that you've never told me. Maybe you've never even admitted it to yourself. Your darkest, deepest fever dream of a fantasy." Bruce's eyes fluttered shut, and he made a hoarse sound in the back of his throat that didn't quite become words. "Tell me," said Clark, inexorable, hands coaxing and teasing. "You have to tell me the truth."
Bruce twisted under his hands in an agony of arousal, every muscle tensed. "I want you to marry me," he blurted.
Silence fell. Bruce's eyes opened wide with something like shock. "Marry you?" Clark said stupidly.
"Yes."
"You never said."
"I--" Bruce bit his lip. "I never knew until now."
Clark leaned forward and nibbled at Bruce's thigh. "What kind of wedding? Tell me."
Bruce gave a stuttering groan. "A big one. Everyone there. Gotham society, all our friends." He arched up against Clark's mouth, urgent and hot, words tumbling out of him like a dam breaking. "Want to see you in a tux, take your hands, kiss you in front of everyone, hear all the Gotham matrons talk about how that Kent boy is handsomer than they thought, how lucky I am to have someone so stable in my life. A wedding with cake and flowers and confetti and silly toasts, in a huge white church with stained glass--ah," he stammered wordlessly for a bit as Clark bit and licked. "Yes. Yes. With the--the rings, and the vows. Forever."
Clark moved up Bruce's body until he was whispering in his ear. "I'll call the caterers tomorrow," he murmured.
Bruce reared away from him. "Don't you dare share my perverted fantasies with the world," he growled, "Or I swear I'll hunt you down and...and..." he squirmed, unable to come up with a threat both dire and truthful, "...and be really angry at you," he finished lamely.
"Oh, but I want to hear more." Clark licked his lips. "What do our rings look like?"
"White gold," muttered Bruce, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment and something more. "Simple bands, with a Kryptonian inscription on the inside that no one gets to see but us."
"And what color are the bridesmaids' dresses--awk!" Clark squawked as Bruce wrapped his legs around him and dumped him unceremoniously onto the floor, cutting of the flow of questions for a moment.
A charged silence, and then Clark was back up on the bed, wrestling back on top of Bruce until Bruce leveraged him back off, both of them starting to snort with laughter and Bruce saying, "Teal, teal," in between gusts, "Teal satin!" Clark pinned his legs down and kissed and licked as Bruce twisted and howled protest, and then the laughter started to give way to other kinds of noises entirely, and the wrestling shifted to something else, and Bruce told the truth as much with his pants and groans as he ever could with words.
Later, Clark kissed the line of Bruce's jaw as he untied the Lasso. Arms free, Bruce stretched languidly, eyeing Clark with a half-lidded gaze.
"Oh, Bruce," said Clark softly, stroking a hand down the scarred silk of his lover's body. "I had always suspected you were a kinky bastard, but really..." He leaned close to murmur in Bruce's ear, his breath hot, "...I apparently had no idea."