Ficlet: Certainty | DCU | Clark/Bruce | NC-17 | 1/1
Title: Certainty
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 586
Prompt: For Porn Battle XII: black kryptonite, urgent, double, dark, kisses; For this prompt on the S_B Birthday Prompts Post: Smut, Batman/Superman/Clark Kent, Black Kryptonite
Summary: Bruce doesn't know which one is Clark and which one is Kal.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own everything, the schmucks.
Author's Notes: Originally posted here at PB XII.
Certainty
It's too much for Bruce to take, the two of them wound so completely around him that he can't tell which is which anymore, which is Clark and which is Kal, which is the darkest embodiment of his lover, all the pain and anger and confidence and certainty, and which is the lighthearted farmboy, the outcast, the hesitation and caution, the care and empathy. With two sets of arms around him, both infinitely powerful, he finds that he doesn't much care, taking utter delight in both of them, the gooseflesh they both raise on his skin with perfect touches, the dirty and delightful things whispered in his ears.
When one takes his cock into his mouth, and the other straddles Bruce's shoulders, he thinks he's got them figured out, but a few moments later they switch, and one Clark tastes as sweet as another, one Kal dominates just as easily as the other. It's enough to make his head swim, pulling him along toward his orgasm so easily and quickly that he doesn't think there'll be much more time for fun at the rate they're driving him out of his mind.
But then one of them settles up against his side, kissing him lazily, while the other settles between his legs, and-oh yes, he's positive which one is which now-his eyes roll back in his head as Kal presses into him in one long stroke, deep and smooth, filling him.
“Kal,” he groans into Clark's kiss, tilting his hips to meet his lover thrust for thrust. “Please. I need-” The two trade a dark look, and again, doubts cloud Bruce's mind despite his best effort. But. He's sure. He knows. He-
When Kal's thrusts drag over Bruce's prostate and a hand-he isn't sure whose-wraps around his cock, it's enough to throw stars over his vision. He won't be able to hold out much longer. Not surrounded and filled as he is, the two of them stoking the fire within him as they move against him, with him, in him.
“Bruce!” the one between his legs shouts, and Bruce can feel the hot pulsing of Kal's cock deep inside him, their hips slamming together, a perfect fit. Always a perfect fit.
And that's it for Bruce. His breath caught in his throat, he manages a grunt as his orgasm overtakes him, waves of pleasure singing through his body, every nerve ending on fire. “Clark,” he whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut as someone strokes him through the aftershocks, his body shaking with it as Kal slips out and settles on his other side.
For a long time after, he's wrapped in their warmth, relaxed in their embrace. It's perfect.
But when he opens his eyes at last, his senses mostly recovered, only one man is next to him, brilliant blue eyes fixed on him, a little wistfully, perhaps. One of his wrists is wrapped in a length of Diana's borrowed lasso.
The antidote.
The sight sends a surge of regret through Bruce. “You didn't have to do that,” he tells Clark. “I couldn't-couldn't tell which of you was which. Though, I thought, maybe the-”
Clark silences him with a finger over his lips, a smile on his own, and mischief in his eyes. “Either way, you'd be wrong. It was all me, Bruce. And I was happy to do it. To make you happy.”
And that, Bruce can't argue with. It'd been Clark's suggestion from the get-go.
Drawing his lover down for a bruising kiss, Bruce resolves to find a way to return the favor.
~*~*~*~
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 586
Prompt: For Porn Battle XII: black kryptonite, urgent, double, dark, kisses; For this prompt on the S_B Birthday Prompts Post: Smut, Batman/Superman/Clark Kent, Black Kryptonite
Summary: Bruce doesn't know which one is Clark and which one is Kal.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own everything, the schmucks.
Author's Notes: Originally posted here at PB XII.
Certainty
It's too much for Bruce to take, the two of them wound so completely around him that he can't tell which is which anymore, which is Clark and which is Kal, which is the darkest embodiment of his lover, all the pain and anger and confidence and certainty, and which is the lighthearted farmboy, the outcast, the hesitation and caution, the care and empathy. With two sets of arms around him, both infinitely powerful, he finds that he doesn't much care, taking utter delight in both of them, the gooseflesh they both raise on his skin with perfect touches, the dirty and delightful things whispered in his ears.
When one takes his cock into his mouth, and the other straddles Bruce's shoulders, he thinks he's got them figured out, but a few moments later they switch, and one Clark tastes as sweet as another, one Kal dominates just as easily as the other. It's enough to make his head swim, pulling him along toward his orgasm so easily and quickly that he doesn't think there'll be much more time for fun at the rate they're driving him out of his mind.
But then one of them settles up against his side, kissing him lazily, while the other settles between his legs, and-oh yes, he's positive which one is which now-his eyes roll back in his head as Kal presses into him in one long stroke, deep and smooth, filling him.
“Kal,” he groans into Clark's kiss, tilting his hips to meet his lover thrust for thrust. “Please. I need-” The two trade a dark look, and again, doubts cloud Bruce's mind despite his best effort. But. He's sure. He knows. He-
When Kal's thrusts drag over Bruce's prostate and a hand-he isn't sure whose-wraps around his cock, it's enough to throw stars over his vision. He won't be able to hold out much longer. Not surrounded and filled as he is, the two of them stoking the fire within him as they move against him, with him, in him.
“Bruce!” the one between his legs shouts, and Bruce can feel the hot pulsing of Kal's cock deep inside him, their hips slamming together, a perfect fit. Always a perfect fit.
And that's it for Bruce. His breath caught in his throat, he manages a grunt as his orgasm overtakes him, waves of pleasure singing through his body, every nerve ending on fire. “Clark,” he whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut as someone strokes him through the aftershocks, his body shaking with it as Kal slips out and settles on his other side.
For a long time after, he's wrapped in their warmth, relaxed in their embrace. It's perfect.
But when he opens his eyes at last, his senses mostly recovered, only one man is next to him, brilliant blue eyes fixed on him, a little wistfully, perhaps. One of his wrists is wrapped in a length of Diana's borrowed lasso.
The antidote.
The sight sends a surge of regret through Bruce. “You didn't have to do that,” he tells Clark. “I couldn't-couldn't tell which of you was which. Though, I thought, maybe the-”
Clark silences him with a finger over his lips, a smile on his own, and mischief in his eyes. “Either way, you'd be wrong. It was all me, Bruce. And I was happy to do it. To make you happy.”
And that, Bruce can't argue with. It'd been Clark's suggestion from the get-go.
Drawing his lover down for a bruising kiss, Bruce resolves to find a way to return the favor.
~*~*~*~