Fic: Sweetness (1/1)
Title: Sweetness
Author: sandia_spring
Pairings/Characters: Clark/Bruce
Genres: PWP, Fluff
Rating: R
Warnings: soft-core M/M sex
Spoilers: None
Summary: Clark seduces Bruce with fruit.
Date Of Completion: May 6, 2008
Date Of Posting: May 7, 2008
Disclaimer: I don’t own them, DC does; but if I did own them, we'd never leave the house.
Word Count: 1240
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Author’s Notes: I originally was going to expand on this, but it works better as a vignette, I think. Pure soft-core gratuitous fluff.
SWEETNESS
by sandia_spring
The peaches came from Wayne’s property-a relict orchard tucked back into a rarely-visited corner of the estate. Clark had discovered them on his latest visit to the manor, and on this night he gathered as many as he could carry. It was late in the season and there were few suitable fruits left, but the good ones he found fell like sun-ripened stones into his hands, heavy with juice. Clark smiled.
The Bat was irritable when he entered the Cave-all business and no pleasure-and he glanced neither at Clark nor at the equally delectable dish piled full of peaches that sat next to his computer screen. He ripped his cowl and gauntlets off, shoved himself into the control chair, and began data mining without missing a beat.
Clark sighed. “And hello to you, too.”
“Uhn,” said Bruce. More silence, broken only by the tak-tak-tak of the keyboard.
“So…I take it the night’s work was successful?”
“Uh-huhn.”
Clark draped himself over the back of the chair, clasped his arms over Bruce's chest. “You can drop the whole Dark Knight routine, you know. I think we're past that by now."
Bruce's scowl deepened and he leaned over the console. Anything to get away from the man's warm breath on his sweat-dampened hair. There was a silence that he would have characterized as uncomfortable if he'd been anywhere else, but he'd be damned if he'd be uncomfortable in his own home.
"I don't have time for this. What did you came here for?"
"I came to see you. Apparently it wasn't such a good idea." The arms tightened and pulled him back against the chair. He felt the breath in his hair again.
“Apparently,” said Bruce, not turning his gaze from the screen. He shifted in his seat, refused to look up. "Clark, I have work to do."
“You always have work to do,” Clark countered, nibbling the edge of his neck, “I haven’t seen you in a month.”
“You saw me two weeks ago at the docks.” Bruce tapped on the keyboard, steadfastly ignoring the nuzzling.
“We were staking out Intergang. That hardly counts.”
Bruce heaved a sigh and sagged back into the chair, telling himself he was focusing on the monitor screen as Clark began planting a sequence of kisses up the edge of his jawline.
“You’re sticky," he said.
“Mmph?” Clark was devoting his attention to Bruce’s ear.
“I said, you’re sticky."
Clark pulled back and grinned, "Peaches."
"What?"
He jerked his head toward the bowl on the desk. "Peaches. I've had something like three already."
Clark unfastened himself from Bruce, looked at the bowl, and chose a large round fruit the shape and color of the sun. He held it out.
Bruce shoved his chair back and glared. “Will you just stop?"
"Stop what? Here, have a peach."
"What--?"
“Just one. Have one peach, just for me, and then if you still want to go back to work you can.”
“Clark, you cannot seduce me with fruit.”
“Humor me. One peach. What’s it going to hurt?”
Bruce turned back to the computer. “This is ridiculous.”
He saw a soft swish of red and blue out of the corner of his eye, and against his better judgment he whirled back to Clark. "Will you put your clothes back on--?" He stopped cold.
He had been all over this world and into worlds beyond, seen gods, warriors and emperors, the finest of specimens from humans and species yet unnamed, and still the beauty of this man never ceased to amaze him.
Bruce stared, unable to speak, unable to think, only able to watch as the naked man before him slowly bit into a peach and savored it. The turquoise eyes held him fast. He was aware of his breath going shallow, his heart speeding up. Clark held the fruit out to him once again.
He took the peach in hand and smelled it. Sweet, like honey and flowers. He bit. Velvet and wet, like his lover’s mouth. The juice flowed over his chin and ran between his fingers. He took another bite, and Clark just watched him, a smile ghosting his lips, his arousal stirring.
Bruce ate the fruit down to the finish, licked his fingers off methodically and sat, silent as the stones of the cave, watching Clark. Like Adam, he had taken fruit from his lover, and like Adam, he was suddenly aware of his nakedness, under his armor, inside his own skin; he felt the heat of desire come upon him, and that was the last clear thought he had before he lunged.
A honey-and-floral sweetness permeated Clark’s skin. It was on his lips, under his tongue, on his chin, his neck, his nipples-oh God, those rose-colored nipples! He bit one and Clark cried out and arched his back up to meet Bruce’s mouth, and that sweet juncture made them both weak with longing. He struggled to rip off his armor, wanting only to feel the smooth warmth of skin, and at some point there was oil, faintly scented with jasmine, on his hands and between his thighs.
He seized the strongest man on Earth and pushed him down onto his back. Not for the first time, a small part of him was amazed that he could play with Kryptonian fire, make love to this man of unimaginable power, and come away unscathed. And not for the first time, that knowledge honed his desire to a razor's edge.
He hesitated at the brink, watching Clark’s face glow with unearthly passion, his eyes half-closed, lips parted, head thrown back in anticipation. Bruce leaned down and kissed him, tasted salt and sugar on his tongue, and then he entered, and the sensation was sweetness itself, the fierce abandon of drowning, of being completely known and of completely knowing. The moment crystallized around them, and there was nothing but heat, and the rushing of blood, and then time reasserted itself, and both fell spent, tangled in one another.
They dozed in the warmth of their combined bodies, and it was finally Bruce who moved, loosening himself from Clark and rolling to one side. He propped his head on one elbow and trailed his free hand up Clark’s chest to his chin, brushed the mass of dark wavy hair out of his face. The signature curl remained plastered to the sweat-damp forehead.
Clark moaned happily, caught Bruce’s hand and pressed it to his lips, kissing the inside of the wrist. “Well?” he said, turning to face Bruce.
“Well, what?” Bruce rested his left hand in the hollow of Clark’s waist, thumb stroking his ribcage.
“Do you still want to go back to work?”
Bruce's eyes narrowed, sparkling. "How do you do it?" he said, pressing his lips to Clark's neck.
"Do what?" Clark breathed heavily, closed his eyes as Bruce's mouth trailed down his throat.
"Make me--feel like--this--" The words slipped out between kisses.
Clark groaned, felt the ache of desire suffuse his belly once again. He rolled on top of Bruce, pinning him to the floor, rose up on his elbows and gazed down at those narrow, grey-blue eyes. "And how do you feel?" he whispered.
Bruce made a noise deep in his throat, bit Clark's ear and pulled him close. “Just peachy,” he said, and his growl was low and sweet.