Superman Returns/Batman Begins: “The Way You...” 03: Heat Me Up (PWP | S/B | NC-17 | S/B | 1,333)
Date written: November 13, 2006
Word count: 1,333
Rating/Warnings: NC-17
Characters/Pairing: Bruce/Clark.
Author’s Note: Ack! I was so planning on going to bed and then my muse decided to tempt me with smutty visions in the shower. >.< And since I’m her slave I decided to write this out instead of being reasonable and going to bed, but now I must run away and pray that this basically un-betaed fic won’t burn a hole in my LJ. (And, and, P.S., this was written for the worlds_finest challenge of the month, in heat.)
The Way You…Heat Me Up
Clark shut the door behind them demurely but once it was closed he turned to Bruce so swiftly that he felt the air move even from two feet away.
“And what exactly were you doing in there?” He whispered, his eyes sparking off electricity.
Bruce raised a single eyebrow. “What? You know that I have to maintain a certain… reputation.”
“But with her?” Clark slashed a hand back in the direction they’d come from.
He sipped from his scotch, nonplused, even while Clark was becoming visibly more agitated. “Zaza’s not so bad,” he replied, leaning back on the desk and slipping a hand into his pocket.
“Not so bad? She was practically straddling you right there in the chair, Bruce.” He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “I mean, some of these women are irritating, granted, but she’s just… she’s a…”
“Bitch in heat?” Bruce supplied helpfully, suppressing a grin.
“Well.” Clark looked mollified. “For lack of a better term, yes.”
“I never pegged you for such a jealous type,” his eyes were sharp on Clark, belying the mild words.
“It doesn’t usually bother me this much. Not that you needed to make the suggestion to move the party to the hot tub.” Bruce just laughed. Clark stalked over and barricaded him against the desk by placing a hand on either side.
“Were you trying to make me jealous?” Clark rumbled, low. His eyes were still sparking, but with a different light.
“Of? I pity anyone who envies Zaza.”
“True. She’s quite…” Clark bit his lip, again unable to describe her.
“Vapid, disingenuous and superlatively inane?” Bruce was grinning now.
Clark leaned in, practically whispering over Bruce’s lips. “You’re making the smooth transition I had planned into angry make-up sex pretty hard here.”
A quick predatory smile flashed on Bruce’s face. He set down his glass and, without a word, shoved Clark back by his shoulders, ripping off his jacket and tossing it aside carelessly. Pinning Clark against the wall, he pressed their bodies together at all the important junctures.
“Why don’t you show me what you got, flyboy?” He crushed Clark in a kiss, one that might have drawn blood from a mortal man but had him surging for more. He slipped his wrists around Bruce’s waist and suddenly, the world was upside down.
When Bruce opened his eyes and tried to pull his head back he felt the weight of gravity trying to pull him back down and all he could see was Clark’s face, schooled into the perfect Kent “Well, gee, I’m from Kansas” air of innocence.
“What the hell?” He growled in an uncustomary, uncalculated burst.
“I thought you wanted me to show you what I had.”
Bruce noted the vertical direction of Clark’s hair and the press of what seemed like a wall against his back.
“The ceiling. That’s all you’ve got?” His voice was a bit hoarse; he couldn’t help but be very, very aware that every inch of him was connected with Clark, very warm and solid and aroused beneath him.
“I’ve only just started,” Clark whispered, ripping Bruce’s five-hundred dollar dress shirt in half. Bruce decided the time for talking had long past and quickly divested Clark of his belt and then in one sure motion, he reached down and grasped Clark’s straining erection; it felt like burning velvet in his hand. He covered Clark’s gasp with his lips, his other hand gripping hard on the other man’s scalp as they kissed, an intricate battle-dance that left them both breathless and wanting more.
“Shit,” Clark mumbled against him, muffled, and they started to float towards the bookshelves on the far right wall.
“Straining yourself?” Bruce managed to get out, one hand still firmly encircled around Clark and it took an incredible amount of control not to take advantage of the contact.
“Quiet!” Clark hissed and just then the door opened and lilting laughter wafted up to them; they were squeezed into the small space between the top of the bookshelf and the ceiling, hidden from the casual viewer. Clark was watching the group below with his usual Kryptonian intensity and Bruce grinned wickedly, squeezing his hand strictly harder than necessary and working his thumb in circles over the areas where he knew Clark was the most sensitive.
“Bruce,” Clark said in an anguished whisper, bucking lightly under him, “This isn’t a… we can’t…”
“It’s my house,” Bruce said into his ear, biting the lobe gently. “I can do whatever the fuck I want. Even you, flyboy.”
Clark’s eyes snapped with blue fire as Bruce’s hand picked up a faster tempo, starting to slide slick and fast with Clark’s need.
“We’ll see about that,” Clark said in a voice that was too loud and pinned Bruce against the impossibly tight space of the wall, stripping off the rest of his clothes in mere seconds before doing the same for himself. His own hand went to work and they started to move in a rhythm, their breathing harsh and hot on each other’s necks, kissing and biting and limbs tangling when they pressed closer and closer until hands weren’t enough anymore, and in some strange wrestling and re-arranging he ended up laying on Clark again, except this time back-down.
Clark’s hands ran up and down his thighs, his mouth right at Bruce’s ear so that his voice was throaty and Bruce could hear every bit of his desperate want. “I can hear one of them turning to look our way, Bruce. But I’m not going to stop,” Clark’s hands started to ease Bruce’s thighs apart and he didn’t resist in the slightest, his head falling back onto Clark’s shoulder.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if they could see us. If they could see me doing,” He wrapped his hand around Bruce’s cock but did nothing to satisfy the burning need there, “this to you.”
Bruce ground his hips down but couldn’t form any words; he was rapidly approaching the verge and Clark’s breathy words were going to unravel him from the inside out if he didn’t get some relief.
Clark, sensing as always just the right time, began to feather soft kisses on Bruce’s neck and angled his hips, slowly bringing them together, but Bruce was having none of it and he pushed down, his whole body quivering uncontrollably as he took Clark. Giving up all semblance of control Clark moved in a frenzy, their skin colliding so hard that it made audible slapping sounds; he whispered nonsense into Bruce’s ear and ran his tongue along Bruce’s jaw, down his neck, biting hot trails after it, groaning loudly as Bruce caught the rhythm by bracing his arms on the dusty wood beneath them and using every muscle he had to push harder, faster, to get more of the heat arcing along his muscles and to hear the sounds that could be mistaken for nothing but pleasure that Clark was breathing hard into Bruce’s ear.
And then one of Clark’s hands snaked from his hip straight to the center of the inferno and Bruce lost his mind, his body being moved by a need so great that it threatened to break him, letting it take him higher and higher until all he could hear was the harsh counterpoints of their breathing and all he could feel was Clark, Clark inside him and Clark’s heart beating like a drum against his back. With the last of his will, he bore down, hands scrabbling on the wood and in unison they groaned, shudders and nerve-searing currents of fire wracking their bodies.
Bruce didn’t open his eyes for quite some time, content to lay fitted against Clark, reaching down to intertwine their fingers and place Clark’s hand over his straining heart. He smiled when he felt Clark’s nose nuzzling his side, fluttering kisses on his cheek.
“Not bad, flyboy. Not bad at all.”
He grinned, turning over to plant a kiss on Clark’s chin.
“I’ll take you over a bitch in heat any day.”
Word count: 1,333
Rating/Warnings: NC-17
Characters/Pairing: Bruce/Clark.
Author’s Note: Ack! I was so planning on going to bed and then my muse decided to tempt me with smutty visions in the shower. >.< And since I’m her slave I decided to write this out instead of being reasonable and going to bed, but now I must run away and pray that this basically un-betaed fic won’t burn a hole in my LJ. (And, and, P.S., this was written for the worlds_finest challenge of the month, in heat.)
The Way You…Heat Me Up
Clark shut the door behind them demurely but once it was closed he turned to Bruce so swiftly that he felt the air move even from two feet away.
“And what exactly were you doing in there?” He whispered, his eyes sparking off electricity.
Bruce raised a single eyebrow. “What? You know that I have to maintain a certain… reputation.”
“But with her?” Clark slashed a hand back in the direction they’d come from.
He sipped from his scotch, nonplused, even while Clark was becoming visibly more agitated. “Zaza’s not so bad,” he replied, leaning back on the desk and slipping a hand into his pocket.
“Not so bad? She was practically straddling you right there in the chair, Bruce.” He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “I mean, some of these women are irritating, granted, but she’s just… she’s a…”
“Bitch in heat?” Bruce supplied helpfully, suppressing a grin.
“Well.” Clark looked mollified. “For lack of a better term, yes.”
“I never pegged you for such a jealous type,” his eyes were sharp on Clark, belying the mild words.
“It doesn’t usually bother me this much. Not that you needed to make the suggestion to move the party to the hot tub.” Bruce just laughed. Clark stalked over and barricaded him against the desk by placing a hand on either side.
“Were you trying to make me jealous?” Clark rumbled, low. His eyes were still sparking, but with a different light.
“Of? I pity anyone who envies Zaza.”
“True. She’s quite…” Clark bit his lip, again unable to describe her.
“Vapid, disingenuous and superlatively inane?” Bruce was grinning now.
Clark leaned in, practically whispering over Bruce’s lips. “You’re making the smooth transition I had planned into angry make-up sex pretty hard here.”
A quick predatory smile flashed on Bruce’s face. He set down his glass and, without a word, shoved Clark back by his shoulders, ripping off his jacket and tossing it aside carelessly. Pinning Clark against the wall, he pressed their bodies together at all the important junctures.
“Why don’t you show me what you got, flyboy?” He crushed Clark in a kiss, one that might have drawn blood from a mortal man but had him surging for more. He slipped his wrists around Bruce’s waist and suddenly, the world was upside down.
When Bruce opened his eyes and tried to pull his head back he felt the weight of gravity trying to pull him back down and all he could see was Clark’s face, schooled into the perfect Kent “Well, gee, I’m from Kansas” air of innocence.
“What the hell?” He growled in an uncustomary, uncalculated burst.
“I thought you wanted me to show you what I had.”
Bruce noted the vertical direction of Clark’s hair and the press of what seemed like a wall against his back.
“The ceiling. That’s all you’ve got?” His voice was a bit hoarse; he couldn’t help but be very, very aware that every inch of him was connected with Clark, very warm and solid and aroused beneath him.
“I’ve only just started,” Clark whispered, ripping Bruce’s five-hundred dollar dress shirt in half. Bruce decided the time for talking had long past and quickly divested Clark of his belt and then in one sure motion, he reached down and grasped Clark’s straining erection; it felt like burning velvet in his hand. He covered Clark’s gasp with his lips, his other hand gripping hard on the other man’s scalp as they kissed, an intricate battle-dance that left them both breathless and wanting more.
“Shit,” Clark mumbled against him, muffled, and they started to float towards the bookshelves on the far right wall.
“Straining yourself?” Bruce managed to get out, one hand still firmly encircled around Clark and it took an incredible amount of control not to take advantage of the contact.
“Quiet!” Clark hissed and just then the door opened and lilting laughter wafted up to them; they were squeezed into the small space between the top of the bookshelf and the ceiling, hidden from the casual viewer. Clark was watching the group below with his usual Kryptonian intensity and Bruce grinned wickedly, squeezing his hand strictly harder than necessary and working his thumb in circles over the areas where he knew Clark was the most sensitive.
“Bruce,” Clark said in an anguished whisper, bucking lightly under him, “This isn’t a… we can’t…”
“It’s my house,” Bruce said into his ear, biting the lobe gently. “I can do whatever the fuck I want. Even you, flyboy.”
Clark’s eyes snapped with blue fire as Bruce’s hand picked up a faster tempo, starting to slide slick and fast with Clark’s need.
“We’ll see about that,” Clark said in a voice that was too loud and pinned Bruce against the impossibly tight space of the wall, stripping off the rest of his clothes in mere seconds before doing the same for himself. His own hand went to work and they started to move in a rhythm, their breathing harsh and hot on each other’s necks, kissing and biting and limbs tangling when they pressed closer and closer until hands weren’t enough anymore, and in some strange wrestling and re-arranging he ended up laying on Clark again, except this time back-down.
Clark’s hands ran up and down his thighs, his mouth right at Bruce’s ear so that his voice was throaty and Bruce could hear every bit of his desperate want. “I can hear one of them turning to look our way, Bruce. But I’m not going to stop,” Clark’s hands started to ease Bruce’s thighs apart and he didn’t resist in the slightest, his head falling back onto Clark’s shoulder.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if they could see us. If they could see me doing,” He wrapped his hand around Bruce’s cock but did nothing to satisfy the burning need there, “this to you.”
Bruce ground his hips down but couldn’t form any words; he was rapidly approaching the verge and Clark’s breathy words were going to unravel him from the inside out if he didn’t get some relief.
Clark, sensing as always just the right time, began to feather soft kisses on Bruce’s neck and angled his hips, slowly bringing them together, but Bruce was having none of it and he pushed down, his whole body quivering uncontrollably as he took Clark. Giving up all semblance of control Clark moved in a frenzy, their skin colliding so hard that it made audible slapping sounds; he whispered nonsense into Bruce’s ear and ran his tongue along Bruce’s jaw, down his neck, biting hot trails after it, groaning loudly as Bruce caught the rhythm by bracing his arms on the dusty wood beneath them and using every muscle he had to push harder, faster, to get more of the heat arcing along his muscles and to hear the sounds that could be mistaken for nothing but pleasure that Clark was breathing hard into Bruce’s ear.
And then one of Clark’s hands snaked from his hip straight to the center of the inferno and Bruce lost his mind, his body being moved by a need so great that it threatened to break him, letting it take him higher and higher until all he could hear was the harsh counterpoints of their breathing and all he could feel was Clark, Clark inside him and Clark’s heart beating like a drum against his back. With the last of his will, he bore down, hands scrabbling on the wood and in unison they groaned, shudders and nerve-searing currents of fire wracking their bodies.
Bruce didn’t open his eyes for quite some time, content to lay fitted against Clark, reaching down to intertwine their fingers and place Clark’s hand over his straining heart. He smiled when he felt Clark’s nose nuzzling his side, fluttering kisses on his cheek.
“Not bad, flyboy. Not bad at all.”
He grinned, turning over to plant a kiss on Clark’s chin.
“I’ll take you over a bitch in heat any day.”