stands_for_hope | for knightbynight: For now and hereafter...

"The best way you can achieve that is to use the room, eat and enjoy his food, and know that you're home. If something else occurs to you, seize the moment, but don't feel as though you owe him more than being happy here." Or as happy as Clark could be. "He isn't that person."

"I will defer to your experienced judgment," Clark said. Because right now, he didn't have the bandwidth to sweat the small stuff. And almost everything was 'small stuff' right this moment.

"Though if that's the case, the job is fifty percent done."

Bruce kissed Clark's temple, because it was within easy reach, and curled himself a bit more comfortably around a very naked, very alive, very present man he'd missed a hell of a lot.

"You've got time to get the rest of the way there."

Clark's arm slipped around Bruce's shoulder and he let himself lean up against Bruce. He let his head rest lightly against Bruce's before asking--

"And what about you? How do I make you feel as good as I do right now?"

He could think of ways and the answer, though glib was on the tip of his tongue. He swallowed it back, because the last thing he wanted to pressure Clark for was sex. Actually, he didn't want to apply any pressure to Clark at all right now, to do anything except be there, and keep breathing and soaking up sun. To heal. To rest.

Those things didn't fit the standard definition of pressure.

He tilted his head just far enough to catch Clark's mouth in a soft, painfully gentle, kiss when what he wanted to do was press in and make himself believe in Clark's reality. His lip was still a bit sore from the earlier kiss, anyway.

"You're here. You came back. You asked to stay here. You already have."

He couldn't help that the sweet kiss made his heart flutter, or that his arm gave a soft squeeze around Bruce where he was holding him.

"Good. Good."

He let his head drop back against the pillows as his eyes slipped close. He wasn't sleeping, didn't need sleep right now, especially with the sun shining on him, but his muscles were relaxing and he felt like maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to deal with the world tomorrow.

After a moment--

"I'm trying to figure out if I really want sex or it's just the urge to wrap myself around you and never let go."

"And I'm leaving you alone to figure that out without input from me. If it was left to me we'd have fucked in the shower."

He paused, just a moment, and slipped his arm around Clark to rest at his back.

"It can wait. You're here now. There is no rush."

That just made him think of warm, slick skin; Bruce under his hands, the taste of his kiss, the exact texture of his hand wrapped around him. He made a soft noise of want and lifted a hand to adjust himself a little.

"Who's rushing?" he asked with a waggle of eyebrows before he couldn't help but grin. "Though I think I figured out my answer."

Bruce lifted his eyebrows when Clark waggled his and looked down at Clark.

"I think I just implied you didn't want it and you're too stubborn to ever take the easy way out."

No he didn't. He was smirking a little. He was also stubbornly not making a single, solitary move. Why? Because he loved Clark, but he was kind of a dick.

Clark seemed to consider that for a moment before deciding that blunt honesty was best.

"No, no, this doesn't really have anything to do with stubbornness," he said, thoughtful, matter-of-fact. "Mostly you just mentioned fucking in the shower and I really enjoyed that mental image."

His head tilted.

"I say image, but it's more like full sensory fantasy experience. If we're being honest."

"You know, you do have a shower up here."

Just that. Nothing else.

Who needed a full sensory fantasy? Bruce had a full sensory memory that cut off just before it got good.

Clark looked down at Bruce for just a moment before, almost too fast, Clark was walking across the room with Bruce on his shoulder, headed for the en suite bathroom.

"Noticed," he informed Bruce.

Bruce squawked like an offended chicken and flailed around at Clark until he figured out what was happening, and then more or less settled down.

Until they got through the doorway and into the bathroom. At that point he immediately started wriggling to get himself down and onto his feet.

"I could've walked, you know."

He felt obligated to say that. He wasn't really all that upset. If he'd been really upset, he would have smacked Clark's ass or bit him or something (no, that was still play. Really upset would have just been tension and silence).

"Of course you could have walked," Clark answered helpfully, because Bruce wasn't the only one who could be a dick when it suited him. "But maybe I wanted to carry my partner to the bathroom to make it clear that of things I want-"

He leaned in to go for a kiss, drawing back just far enough to say

"-shower sex with him is pretty damn close to the top."

Bruce wrapped his fingers in Clark's hair, held on tightly to make sure that Clark pulling away any further than to kiss would - well, be perfectly easy and probably give Bruce's fingers rope burn, but at least he was making his intentions clear.

He returned that kiss and he returned it with real intensity and want.

"Words work, too."

And that was all he said before he was right back in the kiss, holding on to Clark and kissing him, and Clark could figure out the shower himself. Bruce was busy.

Also wearing pants.

But mostly busy.

"Words. Okay." He managed that between rough kisses as he shuffled them into the shower. He paused then, looking straight at Bruce, and there was a fresh need there. The only time Clark had been this frantic, he'd kissed Bruce against the ceiling.

His hands ran all over, one sliding past the waistband of his exercise pants to pull Bruce closer.

"Want you. Now." A pause then-- "Please?"

The fact that Clark was frantic and needed like this wasn't exactly something Bruce relished, but it was something he understood. It certainly wasn't something he feared.

It was something that turned him on, even while he realized it was a symptom of Clark very much not being okay.

He went with the pull, caught himself against Clark's shoulders leaned in to kiss him - hot and heavy and hard. "Only if you get my pants off first." That should be easy enough for Clark.

Then they could get back to this plan and, for all the remark, there wasn't really any reserve there. He wasn't scared of Clark and Clark had had him for years, anyway.

It was a symptom of Clark being very much not okay, but it was a symptom like a fever was a symptom: the body in question was doing what it needed to get better, burning away the sickness in the heat between them.

The challenge of pants was no challenge at all, a slight lift and the resulting breeze the only indication he'd done anything at all. But there were no pants now, at least not in the shower. The shower just held them... and the basket of toiletries. Thankfully, Clark had snatched them up along with Bruce.

"Pants off."

Bruce got naked at about the speed he expected, and the move was just the same. He reached and turned the shower on, and there was only one brief shock of cold water he took to the shoulders and back before it ran hot.

Not hot enough to burn, but hot enough to steam and warm the air and his skin more than arousal already had. He didn't need to respond to the words again, so he simply gave Clark a nod and a quirk of a smile.

Followed by a "Now"

and he was on Clark, pressed tight against him, kissing him hard, demanding response from Clark. Teeth and tongue and lips and a whole lot of slick, warm, scarred skin pressed against him.

One of the many items in the basket, tucked behind some of the others, was a tube of exactly what Clark needed. Thankfully, x-ray vision could work for more than just seeing enemies behind a wall.

After a few rough kisses, Bruce was pressed against the tile as Clark nipped and sucked at the skin of his throat and shoulder and Clark decided to use the angle to grab at that very same tube. The cap was rolled against his own thigh to skitter away somewhere in the bathroom, the safety seal flicked off with a thumb, and some of it was squeezed into his hand as the tube was put aside and Clark reached between them to shift Bruce's legs just a little further apart.

Bruce hadn't mentioned lube. He hadn't kept his mouth shut because he didn't want it, but because he didn't want to put more hurdles between Clark and what he needed than were already there, just in having to get the shower on and Bruce's pants off. It wouldn't have been the first time.

He was still relieved as hell to feel Clark reaching, and hear the clink of the lid hitting the shower floor.

He braced his hands on Clark's shoulders and used that to get himself up a bit. They were similar in height, but there was still some.. lining up to be done and to give Clark the access he needed. HEsitation or reserve now? No.

In fact he actively egged Clark on as best he could, by reaching down when Clark did, opposite side, and wrapping his hand around Clark's cock.

He would have flown out to get the lube, either from a location in the mansion or if need be, what would have been the most confused drug store clerk in the universe if he'd had to. Pain could be good, especially for Bruce, but while Clark was beyond feeling guilt about it, pain to that level was not compatible with what he needed. Because part of what he needed was about Bruce.

Clark made a noise that was as much groan as growl, and while he was certainly doing the job of prepping Bruce with his usual thoroughness, his prep turned into something closer to fucking Bruce with his fingers.

And of all the things Clark had forgotten in that wasteland, the location of Bruce's prostate was not one of them.

Bruce could revel in pain, but the sort of pain that came from being fucked without lube and insufficient prep was much more in the category of things he could take and work around than anything he'd seek out, for sure.

Especially from Clark.

Especially now.

He didn't flinch or grunt or pull away, but he did adjust his position to be more solid, with his back against tile and knees bent up and braced, holding himself up and open. That worked great right up until Clark's fingers found his prostate and was doing more fucking than prep. At that point - well, Clark better be providing at least some stability

Because Bruce was half gone almost immediately. Snarled near silently, bit at Clark and panted against the hot, wet, skin of his throat. Kept his hand wrapped around Clark's cock and stroking for as long as he could, but even that eventually faded away as Clark drove him completely out of his mind.

There was no transition from Bruce holding himself up to Clark holding him up, or at least not one that Bruce would feel. Because as Bruce's body went limp in degrees, Clark's hold became more solid. Because Clark was utterly focused on Bruce. Utterly and completely focused on every twitch and sigh and shift. Because Clark needed, needed to do this. Needed to use his hands to give. Needed to know he was someplace safe enough that he could give, with the one person in the world who still made him feel safe.

It wasn't all he needed, though. Not with Bruce's hand around him. Not as Bruce's grip grew less firm and Clark took that hand to press fervent kisses to the palm, to suck the fingers between his lips. Back and forth, sweetness and sex, need and love. Waves in the vast ocean of everything that was between them, the same in function if not form. Another transition between one thrust and the next, but this one could only be so smooth, and certainly not unnoticed.

Clark's hands on his hips holding him, his cock pressing inside, and if Bruce could notice anything, it would probably be that that while Clark might have used half the tube to make sure everything was slick, he'd left him tight enough for Bruce to feel the difference. Clark kissed him as he pushed in, need from two sides, as his hands braced them, held them against the wall. He dropped from the kiss, overwhelmed, and buried his face in Bruce's throat, pulled him into his lungs, and tried not to fly apart just from this.

Edited 2015-10-01 19:27 (UTC)

The day Bruce couldn't tell the difference between Clark's fingers and his cock, he hoped someone put him out of his misery, because he was clearly brain injured, stupid, or otherwise reduced to a state in which he wouldn't find worth living.

That blunt heat, the press, the burn and slight ache of Clark pressing into him was intense. Intense and perfectly right - the feeling of himself giving away under pressure and strength and mostly just being able to feel the beat of Clark's heart and warmth of his body inside him was beyond anything he'd ever wanted of homecoming with Clark. It felt good, yes, physically and emotionally satisfying and erotic and so, so right.

With both hands free he was able to use the other one to tangle in Clark's hair, still damp from Clark's mouth as much as the heat of water pouring down around them, making the glide of skin on skin easier. He couldn't do a whole hell of a lot in this position to keep things moving, but he sure as hell didn't suddenly turn passive. He turned his head toward Clark and spoke softly, directly into his ear.

"You're home. You have me. I love you. Now fuck me."

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