Fic: Better This Way | Superman I | Brad/Clark | NC-17 | 1/1
Title: Better This Way
Fandom: Superman I
Pairing: Brad Wilson/Clark Kent
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,096
Prompt: For The Superman Movieverse Pairings Challenge: spite, choke, vulnerable, denial, for the greater good
Summary: Clark knows he can't fight back, he knows what would happen if he did, and Brad takes advantage of 'Clarkie's' seeming weakness.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own it all. I own nothing. Darnit!
Author's Notes: Follows Victory Celebration. And I think I owe my Clark muse a stiff drink or ten for this.
Warnings: Serious non-con and possibly triggery as hell!! Brad is a Class-A sleaze.
Better This Way
Clark's mind whirled, panic and a different sort of dread filling him as Brad pulled him upright and off the bed, then pushed him to his knees. He could stop this in an instant, could push the jerk away with one hand and get out before Lana came back. He could... could... he could kill him with just a little too much force if he wasn't careful. Could break every bone in his body with one unintentional touch.
And that would be even worse than the prospect of Brad breaking his hand on Clark's jaw. Having to explain a dying or dead boyfriend to Lana, to his parents, to the authorities wouldn't be the best outcome here. Exposing his secret and living with the horror of having hurt someone like that wasn't his idea of good time, no matter that Brad didn't deserve his concern here.
No, it was better this way, better to let him do what he wanted, and save everyone the trouble and trauma and stay under the radar.
Still untucked and undone, he let Brad shove him around and into position, silently praying Lana didn't walk back in on this, hoping Brad would just give up and let him go. He couldn't fight back, couldn't let anyone know what was happening here, and Brad must've known it, because he was hissing obscenities at Clark the whole time. “Think you're such hot shit, Clarkie? Got to finger the head cheerleader and come all over her? You're nothing, you four-eyed freak!” Gripping himself, the jock shoved his dick into Clark's mouth, pulled him forward by the hair until Clark's nose was practically buried in Brad's crotch, his nose itching with the foul, pungent scent of him.
A sound somewhere between a groan and a growl escaping him, Brad pulled back and shoved into Clark's mouth again. “And you'd better not try to bite me, you shit. What would-fuck!-Lana think, huh? I gave you to her as a gift, and you pay that back with teeth? It'd break her heart, wouldn't it?”
Clark just wished he shut the heck up, all that hissing and spitting and filthy, spiteful hate turning into an angry buzz in his ears. If Brad would just come already, and be done, let him go, he could get out, and-
He nearly choked as Brad hit the back of his throat and kept on pushing, thrusting hard and cutting off his air supply. But Clark could hold his breath for hours, and it was only that knowledge that kept him still, kept him from thrashing and tossing Brad across the room as he pushed down Clark's throat repeatedly, groaning and snarling the whole time.
“You're such an obedient little fucker, aren't you? So damn eager to please-aaahhh! Anything for the pretty girl next door, right?”
Clark couldn't even hum his agreement, not that he particularly wanted to agree with Brad, but damn if it wasn't true. His chest constricted with anguish at the personal admission. Anything for the girl he'd loved since they were in kindergarden. Anything to make her happy. And if it meant keeping her bastard of a boyfriend happy, then he couldn't say no. He wouldn't. He-
With a strangled shout, Brad came down his throat, thrusting in hard and deep until Clark's nose was buried in thick curls, and Clark couldn't help swallowing around the dick in his throat, the bitter taste of Brad's jizz creeping back up onto his tongue despite his best efforts. Brad held him there for a long moment, both hands pulling his hair sharply and keeping his face buried as if he was literally trying to choke him to death. The thought occurred to him that the jerk might actually be trying to do just that, but this was where Clark drew the line, not willing to give him the satisfaction, even as his eyes stung with wetness and that foul odor filled his nostrils.
Shaking, he got his hands around Brad's hips and squeezed just enough to get him to withdraw as the bastard started to go slack and loosen his grip, lazy and sated.
And with a grunt of disgust, Brad shoved Clark by the head, sending him sprawling back onto the floor, limbs splayed out and scrabbling for purchase.
“Get outta' my house, Clarkie,” he spat, pulling his pants up and tucking himself in. “And don't you dare think you can ever touch my girl again. Don't even so much as look at her, or I'll kick your nerdy little ass.”
Not about to argue at this point, Clark managed to get himself halfway presentable by the time the shower shut off and Lana came back into the bedroom, a towel wrapped around her and her long hair dripping. “Brad? Thought you guys were coming already? Water's getting cold.” But her expression froze as the scene in front of her seemed to register, Clark wiping his chin with his shirt and grabbing his glasses from where they'd been tossed to the floor earlier. “You're not leaving, are you, Clark?” she pouted, clearly still drunk enough that she wasn't getting the full picture.
Unable to look her in the eye, Clark dipped his head and stammered an apology. “S-sorry, Lana, I, um, gotta go. I'll, um, see you on Monday.” And just barely holding back his speed, he fled from the room before Lana could even respond.
Once outside, he let himself dash home with a quick burst of nervous energy, his heart pounding loud in his ears as the sounds of the party receded into the distance behind him, not stopping until he got to the barn. Pulling up short once he got inside, he found the nearest dark corner and vomited, the putrid bitterness burning his throat and nasal cavity on its way up.
He could've stopped it. He could've.
But in the end, he couldn't. And what sort of life was he supposed to lead if he had to take that kind of abuse for fear of getting someone else killed? He didn't know, but the future didn't look so good. For him or Lana, with Brad in the mix.
At that moment, Clark had never wished so hard that he could just be normal, be human, and with the night's events playing out in his mind over and over, he headed inside to clean up and go to bed. If he could just forget about what had happened, pretend he wasn't even at the party, maybe he could face Lana on Monday and keep himself from putting a fist through Brad's sickening sneer and right into a locker. Maybe.
~*~*~*~
Fandom: Superman I
Pairing: Brad Wilson/Clark Kent
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,096
Prompt: For The Superman Movieverse Pairings Challenge: spite, choke, vulnerable, denial, for the greater good
Summary: Clark knows he can't fight back, he knows what would happen if he did, and Brad takes advantage of 'Clarkie's' seeming weakness.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own it all. I own nothing. Darnit!
Author's Notes: Follows Victory Celebration. And I think I owe my Clark muse a stiff drink or ten for this.
Warnings: Serious non-con and possibly triggery as hell!! Brad is a Class-A sleaze.
Better This Way
Clark's mind whirled, panic and a different sort of dread filling him as Brad pulled him upright and off the bed, then pushed him to his knees. He could stop this in an instant, could push the jerk away with one hand and get out before Lana came back. He could... could... he could kill him with just a little too much force if he wasn't careful. Could break every bone in his body with one unintentional touch.
And that would be even worse than the prospect of Brad breaking his hand on Clark's jaw. Having to explain a dying or dead boyfriend to Lana, to his parents, to the authorities wouldn't be the best outcome here. Exposing his secret and living with the horror of having hurt someone like that wasn't his idea of good time, no matter that Brad didn't deserve his concern here.
No, it was better this way, better to let him do what he wanted, and save everyone the trouble and trauma and stay under the radar.
Still untucked and undone, he let Brad shove him around and into position, silently praying Lana didn't walk back in on this, hoping Brad would just give up and let him go. He couldn't fight back, couldn't let anyone know what was happening here, and Brad must've known it, because he was hissing obscenities at Clark the whole time. “Think you're such hot shit, Clarkie? Got to finger the head cheerleader and come all over her? You're nothing, you four-eyed freak!” Gripping himself, the jock shoved his dick into Clark's mouth, pulled him forward by the hair until Clark's nose was practically buried in Brad's crotch, his nose itching with the foul, pungent scent of him.
A sound somewhere between a groan and a growl escaping him, Brad pulled back and shoved into Clark's mouth again. “And you'd better not try to bite me, you shit. What would-fuck!-Lana think, huh? I gave you to her as a gift, and you pay that back with teeth? It'd break her heart, wouldn't it?”
Clark just wished he shut the heck up, all that hissing and spitting and filthy, spiteful hate turning into an angry buzz in his ears. If Brad would just come already, and be done, let him go, he could get out, and-
He nearly choked as Brad hit the back of his throat and kept on pushing, thrusting hard and cutting off his air supply. But Clark could hold his breath for hours, and it was only that knowledge that kept him still, kept him from thrashing and tossing Brad across the room as he pushed down Clark's throat repeatedly, groaning and snarling the whole time.
“You're such an obedient little fucker, aren't you? So damn eager to please-aaahhh! Anything for the pretty girl next door, right?”
Clark couldn't even hum his agreement, not that he particularly wanted to agree with Brad, but damn if it wasn't true. His chest constricted with anguish at the personal admission. Anything for the girl he'd loved since they were in kindergarden. Anything to make her happy. And if it meant keeping her bastard of a boyfriend happy, then he couldn't say no. He wouldn't. He-
With a strangled shout, Brad came down his throat, thrusting in hard and deep until Clark's nose was buried in thick curls, and Clark couldn't help swallowing around the dick in his throat, the bitter taste of Brad's jizz creeping back up onto his tongue despite his best efforts. Brad held him there for a long moment, both hands pulling his hair sharply and keeping his face buried as if he was literally trying to choke him to death. The thought occurred to him that the jerk might actually be trying to do just that, but this was where Clark drew the line, not willing to give him the satisfaction, even as his eyes stung with wetness and that foul odor filled his nostrils.
Shaking, he got his hands around Brad's hips and squeezed just enough to get him to withdraw as the bastard started to go slack and loosen his grip, lazy and sated.
And with a grunt of disgust, Brad shoved Clark by the head, sending him sprawling back onto the floor, limbs splayed out and scrabbling for purchase.
“Get outta' my house, Clarkie,” he spat, pulling his pants up and tucking himself in. “And don't you dare think you can ever touch my girl again. Don't even so much as look at her, or I'll kick your nerdy little ass.”
Not about to argue at this point, Clark managed to get himself halfway presentable by the time the shower shut off and Lana came back into the bedroom, a towel wrapped around her and her long hair dripping. “Brad? Thought you guys were coming already? Water's getting cold.” But her expression froze as the scene in front of her seemed to register, Clark wiping his chin with his shirt and grabbing his glasses from where they'd been tossed to the floor earlier. “You're not leaving, are you, Clark?” she pouted, clearly still drunk enough that she wasn't getting the full picture.
Unable to look her in the eye, Clark dipped his head and stammered an apology. “S-sorry, Lana, I, um, gotta go. I'll, um, see you on Monday.” And just barely holding back his speed, he fled from the room before Lana could even respond.
Once outside, he let himself dash home with a quick burst of nervous energy, his heart pounding loud in his ears as the sounds of the party receded into the distance behind him, not stopping until he got to the barn. Pulling up short once he got inside, he found the nearest dark corner and vomited, the putrid bitterness burning his throat and nasal cavity on its way up.
He could've stopped it. He could've.
But in the end, he couldn't. And what sort of life was he supposed to lead if he had to take that kind of abuse for fear of getting someone else killed? He didn't know, but the future didn't look so good. For him or Lana, with Brad in the mix.
At that moment, Clark had never wished so hard that he could just be normal, be human, and with the night's events playing out in his mind over and over, he headed inside to clean up and go to bed. If he could just forget about what had happened, pretend he wasn't even at the party, maybe he could face Lana on Monday and keep himself from putting a fist through Brad's sickening sneer and right into a locker. Maybe.
~*~*~*~