Disclaimer: Don't own, don't profit, just like to play
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Clark was sprawled out and dozing on the couch in his apartment, and Bruce was sitting at the kitchen table with coffee and a sheaf of paperwork. They'd intended to go out for a walk, see a movie, do the whole "cheesy date night thing" as Clark called it, but the November day had turned dark and cold quickly, so they'd come home after just twenty minutes out in the freezing air.
Bruce was ignoring his papers in favour of watching the younger man sleep. Before Clark had come into his life, he'd never really cared enough to watch someone sleep. Never really had the opportunity. He had rarely allowed someone into his own bed, and when he entered someone else's, he never stayed the night. Bruce Wayne had been the billionaire playboy, famous more for his one night stands and the different women on his arm each night than for his involvement in Wayne Enterprise. But like everything else in his life, that had changed because of Clark.
The public had yet to get wind of their relationship, and they'd only just revealed there was one to family and friends. It wasn't that Bruce cared about what people said, because he rarely put stock in public opinion, and it wasn't that he cared about society's view on male-male relationships. It wasn't that up until two years prior Bruce didn't really date so much as screw despite a failed attempt or two at commitment in the past. It was more that keeping their relationship a secret gave him something that was just his in a world where he was constantly under public scrutiny in almost every facet of his life as Bruce Wayne and as Batman.
It also kept Clark safe. Even if Clark didn't think he needed that layer of protection, Bruce knew what the media would do when they found out. He'd go from a serious, up-and-coming journalist to Bruce Wayne's boy toy. Clark had laughed when he said that and told him he was overreacting. And maybe he was. But he always protected what was his.
Clark, he discovered over time, had touched almost every aspect of his life. He'd stripped Bruce of his standoffish, brooding, and arrogant attitude, and made him see the sun through the clouds that perpetually surrounded his life. Clark had taken what he now saw as a lonely, dark existence, and turned it into something bright and full of life. He sat at the table sipping from the mug of hot coffee held in his good hand and lost in his own thoughts until the sound of Clark moving brought his attention back up.
On the couch, Clark shifted in his sleep and the hem of his bright blue t-shirt caught on the fabric and hitched up to reveal a slim line of skin just above the waistband of his low-slung jeans. Bruce's eyes fixed on that spot, his mind drifting to the night before when they'd been on that same couch, grinding against each other while Clark mapped and memorized all over again every scar and scrap of flesh on his upper body. He'd known exactly where to brush his fingers to wrench a shudder or a moan out of Bruce, and had moved to lightly bite and suck at the finger tips peaking out from the cast Bruce wore on his injured hand before sliding down and popping open the button of his pants.
Bruce closed his eyes at the memory, drawing in a deep breath scented with coffee and the warm, musky smell he associated with everything that was Clark. When he opened his eyes again, Clark had shifted once more and the sliver of skin had grown to reveal a hip bone and the hint of a strongly muscled stomach. Bruce pushed back the kitchen chair quietly and padded on bare feet into the living room. He knelt at Clark's side and brushed his fingers across the exposed flesh. Clark didn't stir. He lifted the shirt further to reveal more of Clark's stomach and leaned over to press a kiss to sleep-warmed skin before reaching to shift the papers Clark had been flipping through off the man's chest and over to the end table.
When he turned back, Clark was watching him through heavy-lidded eyes. Bruce looked back seriously for a moment before his attention drifted to Clark's abdomen. He moved in to press another closed-mouth kiss there before his tongue slipped past his lips to brush against the skin and biting lightly when Clark's breath came out in a rush of fading coffee mixed with the scent of peppermint gum. Bruce bit again and lifted his hand to push the shirt further up Clark's pliant body.
Clark's insistent tug on his arm brought Bruce up onto the couch, his body slipping between Clark and the back of the couch, his head propped up on one hand while the other rested across Clark's chest.
"'s a nice way to wake up," Clark mumbled, eyes still half-closed as he changed his position to allow Bruce more room.
Bruce chuckled, ribs expanding to press against the body next to his. "Good to know," he said.
"This has got to be the best way to spend a Sunday."
"You sure it's the best?" Bruce dropped his head and kissed the hollow at the base of Clark's throat, smiling when Clark arched up into to the sensation.
"Mm, I get the feeling you're going to prove me wrong." He tipped his head back, allowing Bruce better access to his throat.
He nipped at the edge of Clark's jaw, letting the rough stubble there rub against his lips before sliding over to press them against Clark's mouth. "I think I might just be able to. If you're willing to let me try, of course."
Clark hadn't realized his eyes had shut until he opened them to find Bruce leaning over him, smirk firmly in place. He grinned in response and sat up with a small whine of pleasure as Bruce pressed a cool hand against the heat of his back beneath his shirt.
"Bedroom," he said, swinging his legs off the couch.
"Here's fine," Bruce said, sitting upright and slouching back into the cushions.
Clark raised his eyebrows and smiled again. "Here?" Bruce nodded. "Okay. Here is good." He shifted over top of Bruce and settled himself in the man's lap, bringing his hands up to brush a strand of dark hair off Bruce's forehead. He reached for the cast-clad hand and pressed a single kiss to the pad of Bruce's thumb before settling the arm across the back of the couch. Bruce watched him intently.
"Don't want to hurt you," Clark said.
Bruce reached up with his free hand, letting it tangle in Clark's hair and stroke at the nape of his neck. When Clark shifted above him a moment later, he could suddenly feel the heat of his cock pressing against his stomach. Letting his hand fall from Clark's hair, he trailed it slowly down Clark's body to pop the button free of its hole and tug the zipper down until he was faced with his cotton-covered erection.
"Bruce." It was low and breathless, and it demanded a thousand things that Clark couldn't even begin to say.
"Pants off, Clark." He laughed when Clark moved too quickly to see and straddled him again with no clothes left on at all. "That's a bit more than your pants."
Clark's teeth found his earlobe and tugged gently. "I figured this was better." He leaned back and reached for Bruce's shirt buttons. "Your turn." It wasn't long before Bruce's clothes joined the pile Clark had made with his own on the floor.
Clark watched him as if he was waiting further instruction, but when Bruce opened his mouth to speak, he silenced him with a bruising kiss. The heat of their bodies pressing together was broken only by the sudden coolness of Clark's lube-slicked fingers finding Bruce's cock and stroking up and down just enough to coat him in the almost-sticky substance. Then Clark was rising up on his knees and sinking down onto him, and Bruce lost all coherent thought for the seconds it took for Clark to settle.
"I always t-think that's gotta hurt," he managed to say.
Clark moved up once and back down slowly. "Doesn't. Can't," was all he said before claiming Bruce's mouth with his own.
"Do you ever want it to?" Above him, Clark's body continued to move, rhythmically rocking against him as bright eyes fixed on his intently. He took his time answering, and Bruce let his head fall back against the couch in the interim while his hand found Clark's hip and stroked over the bone there.
"Sometimes. Sometimes I want to know what it feels like for you."
Bruce's hand moved to Clark's cock and he nodded, beginning to lightly tug at the heavy shaft. They fell into a silence for several minutes that was broken only by the sound of their bodies moving together and the occasional moan or stuttered breath.
"We can find a way. If you want," Bruce panted. Clark nodded, his eyes expressing the things he was too far gone to put words to. Bruce tightened his grip as Clark sped up the pace; now slamming down hard enough against him that Bruce knew he'd have bruises in the morning. He didn't care. Bruises were a price he'd happily pay for this connection.
When Clark brought his mouth down to cover his, Bruce knew it was almost all over. He kissed back, letting his tongue push inside Clark's mouth to stroke at the sensitive skin of his palette, relishing in the shudder it forced through Clark's body seconds before his eyes own slammed shut against the climax racing through him.
Above him, Clark moved until Bruce went soft inside him, keening softly when he slipped free. Bruce's hand was joined by Clark's and they moved in tandem over his cock until Clark shuddered again and hunched his body over Bruce's as he rode out his own release. Clark dropped his head to Bruce's shoulder and let loose a small sigh against the heated skin.
"You ok?" Bruce asked.
"Yeah," Clark replied, moving back so that he could meet Bruce's eyes and fixing him with a serious expression. "Just thinking about how I'm going to have to wash the upholstery before my mother comes over tomorrow."
Bruce laughed. "You wouldn't have to worry about it if you'd have let me get that leather couch."
"I wasn't going to let you indulge your leather fetish with my furniture, Bruce."
"My leather fetish?"
Clark brought his clean hand up to cover Bruce's mouth for a second before extending it up and pushing sweat-soaked hair out Bruce's eyes. "You meant what you said?"
"About the couch, or about the other thing?"
"The couch," Clark deadpanned.
Bruce smiled again. "I meant it. If it's what you want to try, we'll find a way to do it where you won't get hurt."
"Hurt was kind of the point." Clark grinned down at him.
"You know what I meant."
"Back to that leather fetish. I'm not the one who –"
Clark leaned in to kiss him, silencing him long enough to shift off his lap before breaking apart to stand, extending a hand. "Come on Mr. 'can't get his cast wet and refuses to wear a garbage bag' – I'll split a bath with you"
Bruce took his hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. "Bath sounds great," he muttered, sinking his teeth into Clark's shoulder and grinning at the half-hearted jump Clark's cock made against his hip. "Plenty of wet, naked skin to amuse myself with. Knew there was a reason I had a Jacuzzi put in there."
Clark laughed and pulled away, heading down the hall. "You make the coffee, and I'll start the water."
Bruce watched him go, taking in the long line of his muscular back and the comfortable way Clark moved as he disappeared down the hall and into the bathroom. He smiled to himself and headed to the kitchen when he heard the water start up and Clark shuffling things around in the cupboard, no doubt looking for the bubble bath Bruce had denied putting in there.
"Sounds good," he said softly to himself.