FIC: Self Control
Title: Self Control
Characters/Pairings: Clark/Bruce
Rating: NC-17
Notes: The conclusion to the mini-series Control Issues.
Summary: Clark and Bruce meet to try their mind-control sex games face-to-face for the first time.
Word count: 1400
Bruce watched as Clark settled the circlet on his forehead, making him look like a rather self-conscious king. The weight of the matching circlet was heavy on Bruce's brow. Clark looked nervous. He fidgeted with his robe, brushing invisible lint off it as if to reassure himself that he could still control his own limbs.
Bruce felt nervous too, but he wasn't so foolish as to show it. They'd been playing with the mind-control circlets for almost a month now, taking turns controlling each other, and this was the first time they'd ever used them while in the same room.
Bruce wasn't sure who exactly had suggested it. It seemed a logical next step, to meet at the Manor and try this. And yet now, looking at the nervous, handsome face across the room from him, he felt...uneasy. It was one thing to be carrying on a weird yet satisfying long-distance relationship; another altogether to be physically there, able to...touch and taste and...
He broke off that line of thought. "Are you ready?" Clark nodded. Bruce hadn't even needed to insist he'd be the one "in control" in this encounter; they both had taken it for granted. He reached up and touched the ruby embedded in the circlet.
Clark's face went oddly, unnervingly blank, the animation draining from his body. Bruce almost broke the connection immediately: in the past, unable to see the other man, he hadn't had to look into the eyes of what seemed suddenly to be a life size doll. It was no different than before, he reminded himself. Clark was there, waiting--in fact, Bruce could feel the tiny pulse of awareness in his mind that was his link to Clark.
He felt the impulse grasp him to go to Clark now and open the robe, reveal all that strong bare skin, run his hands across it in abandon. Even as he thought about it, though, he met the man's blank, glassy stare and shuddered to himself. He'd be able to feel if Clark disliked it, but...he wasn't sure he'd find embracing a mannequin satisfying.
The pulse in his mind that was Clark turned querying and somewhat impatient. "Don't rush me," Bruce answered the emotion. "I'm busy admiring you." Which he was, as long as he didn't meet those flat blue eyes.
On a whim, he started to run his hands along the borders of the robe, very slowly, letting his fingers brush his own skin. The thread of emotion quickened and brightened as he slid the robe open a tiny bit. "It's nothing you haven't seen before in the infirmary, Clark," he murmured, but the link remained avid and hungry. "We've been so busy feeling each other, maybe it's time I forced you to just sit there and watch me. Watch me enjoy looking at you." The link thrummed with an interest that left him feeling giddy, but Clark's face remained slack and expressionless.
He caressed his own skin lightly, letting Clark's interest start echoes of arousal in him. He felt a moment's pang of panic--what am I doing, right in front of Superman, am I crazy?--but took a deep breath. Clark couldn't move. Couldn't stop him. Couldn't...well, couldn't laugh at him for being foolish. That would be the worst possibility. The link was taut with intensity, but Clark's body betrayed no reaction. It couldn't, unless Bruce told it to.
He sat down again, legs spread, and slid open the robe enough to slide his hand within, cupping his own balls gently, enjoying the surge of energy in the link. "All you can do is watch me," he said. "Watch me do this to myself, as I think of you. Think of your body against mine, all hard." He felt the surge transmuting from the emotional to the physical, felt himself growing hard under his own touch. "Oh Clark." His breaths were quickening. "Hard, pushing against me with that beautiful body of yours, demanding--" He broke off with a groan, unwilling to finish the sentence, feeling Clark's ferocious interest through the link, blazing.
It was good, so good. He looked up to meet Clark's eyes--and was shocked anew at their blankness. He found himself struggling to sense some kind of life in them, some kind of response. It was oddly...unsatisfying, to sit here masturbating in front of someone with no reaction that he could see. It would be more arousing, he thought uncomfortably, if Clark were in another room. That way he could focus on the emotion, and not on that empty face...
His arousal was fading despite his own touch, despite the heat of the link, a heat that turned puzzled and questioning as his ardor cooled. Bruce struggled to concentrate and lose himself in the moment again, but it was no good, and after a moment he sighed and rested his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands, looking at Clark. "This isn't working," he mused aloud.
He watched Clark's face for a moment, considering their options. There was only one he could see.
He stood and went to Clark. The circlet was warm in his hands as he slid it from Clark's brow. As the metal lost contact with Clark's skin, Clark's mouth opened, but Bruce cut him off. "--Don't say anything. Don't move," he said. He had meant to sound brusque and commanding, but instead it came out...silky. Confiding.
Clark froze with his mouth half-open, then closed it carefully. Bruce saw his Adam's apple bob once as he swallowed.
Bruce backed up with the circlet in his hands, pulling his off as well and placing them together on the end table. He sat down. "Don't move," he repeated, looking at Clark.
Clark's eyes were bright, vivid, heavy with lust. Bruce could see his breath quickening as he stared. "Watch me," Bruce whispered. "You won't move. Because I told you not to. Watch me." Without any transition at all he felt like he was blazing with arousal, hard and solid and demanding. Clark's eyes followed Bruce's hands downward, downward, to where they twitched the cloth aside and gripped himself, not tenderly. Bruce grunted and thrust into his own hands and Clark's eyelashes flickered just a fraction, the muscles of his face tightening. Bruce could see the other man's arousal pushing against the cloth of his robe, but Clark didn't move. Bruce could see the tendons in his hands twitch, see the muscles bunch ever so slightly, but the other man restrained himself.
The sight of Superman, mightiest being on Earth, sitting unmoving, aroused and unsatisfied because Bruce told him not to move, was like fire on his nerve endings, making his motions jerky and disjointed, pleasure ravaging him. Bruce heard himself making sounds. The sounds were words: "Yes. Watch me. Don't move. Choose not to move, because I say so. My words. My will." Clark's arousal was imperious, jutting hard against the robe, and Clark's eyes were slitted against pleasure: The pleasure of vibrant stillness, of leashed potential. Power between them like a cord, taut and straining, more tangible than the link had ever been. Control. True control. Bruce's own control seemed to be slipping somehow; slipping, cracking, pleasure stabbing sweetly through the cracks into his soul. He made some wordless sound that seemed to be nothing but want and need. Clark didn't move.
Bruce saw a lazy smile, smug and wicked, curve Clark's mouth, his greedy eyes roaming Bruce's body, Bruce felt like the world was unraveling around him. "You--You--" he wasn't sure if the next word was going to be an epithet or an endearment; the two seemed jumbled together in his mind. "Come here," he gasped, and it was a command, not a plea, not at all. "Come here. Now."
Clark's mouth was on his in time to taste the "now," his hands on Bruce in time to catch him before he broke entirely. No distance between them now, no control beyond what they would always have over each other.
: : :
The Manor was quiet. Bruce propped himself up on one arm to stare at Clark, his face a bare outline in the darkness. By dim starlight, he saw Clark's eyes open, the lashes sweeping up as if they felt Bruce's gaze on them. Clark smiled very slightly and reached out to touch Bruce's mouth with a gentle finger, almost wonderingly.
There was only one final command left for Bruce to make, unvoiced and silent, spoken only with his eyes: Love me.
And the unspoken answer, freely given: Yes.
Characters/Pairings: Clark/Bruce
Rating: NC-17
Notes: The conclusion to the mini-series Control Issues.
Summary: Clark and Bruce meet to try their mind-control sex games face-to-face for the first time.
Word count: 1400
Bruce watched as Clark settled the circlet on his forehead, making him look like a rather self-conscious king. The weight of the matching circlet was heavy on Bruce's brow. Clark looked nervous. He fidgeted with his robe, brushing invisible lint off it as if to reassure himself that he could still control his own limbs.
Bruce felt nervous too, but he wasn't so foolish as to show it. They'd been playing with the mind-control circlets for almost a month now, taking turns controlling each other, and this was the first time they'd ever used them while in the same room.
Bruce wasn't sure who exactly had suggested it. It seemed a logical next step, to meet at the Manor and try this. And yet now, looking at the nervous, handsome face across the room from him, he felt...uneasy. It was one thing to be carrying on a weird yet satisfying long-distance relationship; another altogether to be physically there, able to...touch and taste and...
He broke off that line of thought. "Are you ready?" Clark nodded. Bruce hadn't even needed to insist he'd be the one "in control" in this encounter; they both had taken it for granted. He reached up and touched the ruby embedded in the circlet.
Clark's face went oddly, unnervingly blank, the animation draining from his body. Bruce almost broke the connection immediately: in the past, unable to see the other man, he hadn't had to look into the eyes of what seemed suddenly to be a life size doll. It was no different than before, he reminded himself. Clark was there, waiting--in fact, Bruce could feel the tiny pulse of awareness in his mind that was his link to Clark.
He felt the impulse grasp him to go to Clark now and open the robe, reveal all that strong bare skin, run his hands across it in abandon. Even as he thought about it, though, he met the man's blank, glassy stare and shuddered to himself. He'd be able to feel if Clark disliked it, but...he wasn't sure he'd find embracing a mannequin satisfying.
The pulse in his mind that was Clark turned querying and somewhat impatient. "Don't rush me," Bruce answered the emotion. "I'm busy admiring you." Which he was, as long as he didn't meet those flat blue eyes.
On a whim, he started to run his hands along the borders of the robe, very slowly, letting his fingers brush his own skin. The thread of emotion quickened and brightened as he slid the robe open a tiny bit. "It's nothing you haven't seen before in the infirmary, Clark," he murmured, but the link remained avid and hungry. "We've been so busy feeling each other, maybe it's time I forced you to just sit there and watch me. Watch me enjoy looking at you." The link thrummed with an interest that left him feeling giddy, but Clark's face remained slack and expressionless.
He caressed his own skin lightly, letting Clark's interest start echoes of arousal in him. He felt a moment's pang of panic--what am I doing, right in front of Superman, am I crazy?--but took a deep breath. Clark couldn't move. Couldn't stop him. Couldn't...well, couldn't laugh at him for being foolish. That would be the worst possibility. The link was taut with intensity, but Clark's body betrayed no reaction. It couldn't, unless Bruce told it to.
He sat down again, legs spread, and slid open the robe enough to slide his hand within, cupping his own balls gently, enjoying the surge of energy in the link. "All you can do is watch me," he said. "Watch me do this to myself, as I think of you. Think of your body against mine, all hard." He felt the surge transmuting from the emotional to the physical, felt himself growing hard under his own touch. "Oh Clark." His breaths were quickening. "Hard, pushing against me with that beautiful body of yours, demanding--" He broke off with a groan, unwilling to finish the sentence, feeling Clark's ferocious interest through the link, blazing.
It was good, so good. He looked up to meet Clark's eyes--and was shocked anew at their blankness. He found himself struggling to sense some kind of life in them, some kind of response. It was oddly...unsatisfying, to sit here masturbating in front of someone with no reaction that he could see. It would be more arousing, he thought uncomfortably, if Clark were in another room. That way he could focus on the emotion, and not on that empty face...
His arousal was fading despite his own touch, despite the heat of the link, a heat that turned puzzled and questioning as his ardor cooled. Bruce struggled to concentrate and lose himself in the moment again, but it was no good, and after a moment he sighed and rested his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands, looking at Clark. "This isn't working," he mused aloud.
He watched Clark's face for a moment, considering their options. There was only one he could see.
He stood and went to Clark. The circlet was warm in his hands as he slid it from Clark's brow. As the metal lost contact with Clark's skin, Clark's mouth opened, but Bruce cut him off. "--Don't say anything. Don't move," he said. He had meant to sound brusque and commanding, but instead it came out...silky. Confiding.
Clark froze with his mouth half-open, then closed it carefully. Bruce saw his Adam's apple bob once as he swallowed.
Bruce backed up with the circlet in his hands, pulling his off as well and placing them together on the end table. He sat down. "Don't move," he repeated, looking at Clark.
Clark's eyes were bright, vivid, heavy with lust. Bruce could see his breath quickening as he stared. "Watch me," Bruce whispered. "You won't move. Because I told you not to. Watch me." Without any transition at all he felt like he was blazing with arousal, hard and solid and demanding. Clark's eyes followed Bruce's hands downward, downward, to where they twitched the cloth aside and gripped himself, not tenderly. Bruce grunted and thrust into his own hands and Clark's eyelashes flickered just a fraction, the muscles of his face tightening. Bruce could see the other man's arousal pushing against the cloth of his robe, but Clark didn't move. Bruce could see the tendons in his hands twitch, see the muscles bunch ever so slightly, but the other man restrained himself.
The sight of Superman, mightiest being on Earth, sitting unmoving, aroused and unsatisfied because Bruce told him not to move, was like fire on his nerve endings, making his motions jerky and disjointed, pleasure ravaging him. Bruce heard himself making sounds. The sounds were words: "Yes. Watch me. Don't move. Choose not to move, because I say so. My words. My will." Clark's arousal was imperious, jutting hard against the robe, and Clark's eyes were slitted against pleasure: The pleasure of vibrant stillness, of leashed potential. Power between them like a cord, taut and straining, more tangible than the link had ever been. Control. True control. Bruce's own control seemed to be slipping somehow; slipping, cracking, pleasure stabbing sweetly through the cracks into his soul. He made some wordless sound that seemed to be nothing but want and need. Clark didn't move.
Bruce saw a lazy smile, smug and wicked, curve Clark's mouth, his greedy eyes roaming Bruce's body, Bruce felt like the world was unraveling around him. "You--You--" he wasn't sure if the next word was going to be an epithet or an endearment; the two seemed jumbled together in his mind. "Come here," he gasped, and it was a command, not a plea, not at all. "Come here. Now."
Clark's mouth was on his in time to taste the "now," his hands on Bruce in time to catch him before he broke entirely. No distance between them now, no control beyond what they would always have over each other.
: : :
The Manor was quiet. Bruce propped himself up on one arm to stare at Clark, his face a bare outline in the darkness. By dim starlight, he saw Clark's eyes open, the lashes sweeping up as if they felt Bruce's gaze on them. Clark smiled very slightly and reached out to touch Bruce's mouth with a gentle finger, almost wonderingly.
There was only one final command left for Bruce to make, unvoiced and silent, spoken only with his eyes: Love me.
And the unspoken answer, freely given: Yes.