Clark undoes the buttons of his shirt at super speed, tugs the shirt off smoothly, and shoves the undershirt off even quicker. His pants go next, sliding easily enough to the floor, leaving him in his boxers. He grins up at Bruce before tugging those off as well, letting them drop on the floor to join the pants. Then he looks up expectantly at Bruce.
There's a small smile for that, and Bruce steps close and takes Clark's face in his hands, kissing him soundly. He doesn't have any master plan to take them past that initial bit-- but he knows he doesn't want to spent the evening making out on the sofa, it won't be enough. He just wants him, wants Clark's hands on him, wants to touch everything, learn everything. Bruce steps away but it's only to tug on his arm and direct the both of them to his bed.
Clark's hands found their way to Bruce's shoulders, then down to his sides, and around to his back as Bruce came closer before he stepped back and his hands slipped away. He didn't mind, though, grinning up at Bruce as he stood up to follow.
Even as a teenager Bruce was never one for mindlessly fooling around - everything was with deadly intent, no matter when or what. He tries to play at that a bit now, and maybe manages a little; mostly, though, he's himself. Focused and intense. And, fortunately, more confident in his curiosity than he'd been the time before.
(Still bossy. That's probably not surprising.)
Ultimately Clark knows what he's doing where Bruce doesn't (how, he'd like to know, seeing as he was pretty sure he knew everything there was to know about the other man's dating history), and after, when Bruce's brain has re-congealed at least a tiny amount, he says: "I don't know to do that." Only Bruce Wayne could manage to sound vaguely grumpy in this moment.
Clark looked up from his position between Bruce's legs to smirk up at him, just a little.
"Maybe next time, I'll let you take notes."
But he didn't have much more to say on the matter since he was happier starting to kiss his way up Bruce's body to get back to his lips to curl up against him.
Bruce frowns at him, and it might have actually been convincing if he wasn't still flushed and sweat-covered and glassy-eyed. Jesus Christ, Kansas.
"Why wouldn't I want to?" --also less effective than normal, but the implication of that being an unbelievably stupid suggestion remains. Of course he wants to, has Clark just not been paying attention, or what. Bruce kisses him, one hand on the side of his neck, and then rolls them so that he's settled atop the other man.
He chuckles into the kiss and pulls Bruce closer, against him, and nuzzled a little as Bruce rolls.
"Oh, I'm definitely doing that again. I can see you enjoyed that." A few more kisses. "But I'm not sure how a pen and paper-- or would you try and type them into your phone?"
He's smug and happy and enjoying himself in every possible way.
He growls a little and kisses Clark, something possessive in it as he runs a hand over his hair, looking at him with a serious expression.
"You know I have an eidetic memory," he murmurs against him, preceding another slow kiss. Notes are in his head. All of these things in his head forever in full technicolor glory. The good things in his life - moments where he and one of the boys actually get along, Selina smiling genuinely at him, all this time with Clark - are unbelievably precious. Because he remembers everything awful in that same detail.
"Mental image," he explains as he leans into the kiss. Notes are in his head, Bruce knows how to do plumbing, and he's done his own laundry before. Clark knows all these things, but sometimes you say things to tease, because Bruce's stares are as precious as his smiles in certain ways. He loves driving him a little crazy either way.
He makes a noise into the next kiss, because there's a next kiss, he keeps wanting more kisses. The noise says he loves Bruce, loves his grumpy face and his bossiness and all the 'warmth sharing' they've done out in the city. But it's a noise because that was just the best way with Bruce most of the time. Thought conveyed without Bruce needing to acknowledge it.
Bruce kisses him, lazy and warm and still somehow so intent. He can't turn it off. "The mental image you should be having," he says in between kisses, "is that of how much I'll have to practice to get it right."
After a while, as Bruce is nosing against Clark's jaw, leaving slow kisses against his throat, "When I fix up that townhouse, I'm putting in a reasonable bathroom so I can pull you into the shower with me."
Tragically not feasible in a studio apartment facility.
"And have you considered what you'd like to do with me in that nice big shower?" he asks, and it's so very clear that he's delighted. Turned on and delighted. And melting, just a little. Bruce leaving slow kisses is a damn menace.
"Mm." An affirmative noise, as Bruce continues. He likes how Clark responds to slow, light touches. Like Bruce is hypnotizing him, capturing his full attention - attention normally spread out to the whole Earth and beyond. His hand describes nonsense designs on the other man's bare shoulder, fingertips tracing over his skin.
Maybe they could just do this for the next week. Not like they've got anything else to do. And certainly nothing that comes close to being so important.
Slow, light touches utterly undo him and hypnosis is not a bad term for what it does. He can feel so much, the lightest stroke of Bruce's bioelectric field against his skin, the grooves of his fingerprints, the barest edge of Bruce's nail on occasion. He's making up letters and words from the random tracing and it all seems to make sense to him in this wonderful half-state.
He can't help but lean in for another few kisses. He's so hungry for them. It's one of the few things he needs. And he chases it accordingly.
Bruce kisses him until his mouth is almost bruised with it, and the rest of him is edging towards being interested in going for another round. Which-- you know, is definitely not the worst though he's ever had. He grazes his teeth lightly against Clark's lower lip, then against his chin. He sighs out something and then rolls, pulling the other man over him, arms winding around his shoulders. They should move and wash up, or he should attend to his laundry, or... or they should stay right. Here.
Definitely stay right there. Mostly because with Bruce beneath him, the light hiting his eyes just so, catching the angle of his features... Clark can't help but start kissing him pretty much wherever his eye ends up landing. Bruce heavily underestimates his physical charms.
When he gets to Bruce's shoulder, though, he looked up and gives him a grin.
"So you pulled on leather pants after a shower... why was that again?"
Being like this beneath him-- it should feel like being shoved into the wall did, in some way, but it doesn't. Bruce has acclimated, and more than that, he's choosing it. He pulled Clark into this position, and knows he could shove him off and the other man would go without hesitation. Part of him recoils away from the feeling of being safe, knowing it's all bullshit, that nothing and nowhere is safe, but another part thinks this might be what he's feeling.
He leans down and presses a few more kisses along Bruce's skin before asking the obvious questions.
"How fast you can turn on a Kryptonian? The rate at which my blood can flow from my brain to between my legs?" Another few kisses. "Am I getting warm?"
"Mm." Why hesitate, when Clark knows? But that mm is only half an agreement. "This Kryptonian," he corrects. They all wear enough armor and leather and skin-tight nonsense at times, and he's never given the time of day to anyone looking at him in his work clothes, so it was something worth considering. (Also he's halfway confident he caught his Victorian monster slayer date checking out his ass in those, so.)
Did you just give me a hickey? Bruce finds it in him not to laugh (surely those are far more common sights, here) and instead runs his hands down Clark's back, lazily continuing the kind of barely-there touches he'd been doing earlier.
"Maybe next time I'm curious about something, I'll give it a go when we're not about to leave... mm." How do you feel so good he wants to ask, but maybe the way he shifts under Clark just slightly, curving into his touch, communicates the sentiment.
Yes, yes he had. It hadn't exactly been part of a plan, per se. But he'd been mixing up the ways he could taste Bruce's skin and he'd sucked and there'd been a mark and now he couldn't quite regret it. It would fade eventually, soon enough really. And he was actually thinking that might be an excuse to do it again. Something touchable, visible. Something like the poem on his fridge.
"That's a sound tactical decision," Clark agrees and yes, Bruce feels so good. Bruce feels amazing. He's not the only one pressing into every point of contact. Clark is impossibly soft skin over yielding flesh and Bruce is hard, solid muscle on top of him with a thousand marks and hairs and scars, as unique as a body could be.
He doesn't exactly hate the feeling (in fact his brain has decided he quite likes it), but he might knee Clark if he tries to do that again over the visible collar of most of his clothes. And that thought is a strangely exciting one, too: knowing he can react, physically, however the hell he wants and doesn't have to worry about holding himself back. He can't accidentally hurt Superman.
Superman can accidentally hurt him, though, which doesn't seem quite fair for Clark. (And that's how his thought process goes, yes-- unfair for Clark, not dangerous for himself.) There's not anything he can do about that one-- unless Clark wants to let Bruce rig up a red sun radiator purely for sex purposes. Huh.
"Well... that's what I do." Tactical decisions. Yes. His brain isn't shorting out slightly at all this, what are you talking about. Shush.
Clark is fine without red sun generators. Because honestly, he's not worried about hurting Bruce. Not when every languid moment together has been so blissfully good.
"For science," he says after a moment of lazy kisses with just a couple of nibbles added in, "the most prevalent reaction to the experiment was a tie between" more kisses "a desire to lick up this one drop of water that'd made it's way down your chest" a kiss to where the path of that water had been, "and a need to take those pants off you with my teeth and... well..."
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What next?
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(Still bossy. That's probably not surprising.)
Ultimately Clark knows what he's doing where Bruce doesn't (how, he'd like to know, seeing as he was pretty sure he knew everything there was to know about the other man's dating history), and after, when Bruce's brain has re-congealed at least a tiny amount, he says: "I don't know to do that." Only Bruce Wayne could manage to sound vaguely grumpy in this moment.
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"Maybe next time, I'll let you take notes."
But he didn't have much more to say on the matter since he was happier starting to kiss his way up Bruce's body to get back to his lips to curl up against him.
"If you really want to."
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"Why wouldn't I want to?" --also less effective than normal, but the implication of that being an unbelievably stupid suggestion remains. Of course he wants to, has Clark just not been paying attention, or what. Bruce kisses him, one hand on the side of his neck, and then rolls them so that he's settled atop the other man.
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"Oh, I'm definitely doing that again. I can see you enjoyed that." A few more kisses. "But I'm not sure how a pen and paper-- or would you try and type them into your phone?"
He's smug and happy and enjoying himself in every possible way.
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"You know I have an eidetic memory," he murmurs against him, preceding another slow kiss. Notes are in his head. All of these things in his head forever in full technicolor glory. The good things in his life - moments where he and one of the boys actually get along, Selina smiling genuinely at him, all this time with Clark - are unbelievably precious. Because he remembers everything awful in that same detail.
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He makes a noise into the next kiss, because there's a next kiss, he keeps wanting more kisses. The noise says he loves Bruce, loves his grumpy face and his bossiness and all the 'warmth sharing' they've done out in the city. But it's a noise because that was just the best way with Bruce most of the time. Thought conveyed without Bruce needing to acknowledge it.
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Batman doesn't do anything halfway.
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A couple more kisses.
"And I eventually need to do thins other than kiss you."
Just not any time soon.
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Tonight is all them.
After a while, as Bruce is nosing against Clark's jaw, leaving slow kisses against his throat, "When I fix up that townhouse, I'm putting in a reasonable bathroom so I can pull you into the shower with me."
Tragically not feasible in a studio apartment facility.
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Maybe they could just do this for the next week. Not like they've got anything else to do. And certainly nothing that comes close to being so important.
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He can't help but lean in for another few kisses. He's so hungry for them. It's one of the few things he needs. And he chases it accordingly.
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When he gets to Bruce's shoulder, though, he looked up and gives him a grin.
"So you pulled on leather pants after a shower... why was that again?"
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He huffs out a laugh. "Research."
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He leans down and presses a few more kisses along Bruce's skin before asking the obvious questions.
"How fast you can turn on a Kryptonian? The rate at which my blood can flow from my brain to between my legs?" Another few kisses. "Am I getting warm?"
He was, but that was another matter entirely.
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"I like it."
He dips down to start on Bruce's neck, just a little.
"Feel free to try anything you like."
He sucks a little more firmly on the skin there. Leaving his own little mark, even if only temporarily? Maybe.
"Especially if they're like that."
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"Maybe next time I'm curious about something, I'll give it a go when we're not about to leave... mm." How do you feel so good he wants to ask, but maybe the way he shifts under Clark just slightly, curving into his touch, communicates the sentiment.
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"That's a sound tactical decision," Clark agrees and yes, Bruce feels so good. Bruce feels amazing. He's not the only one pressing into every point of contact. Clark is impossibly soft skin over yielding flesh and Bruce is hard, solid muscle on top of him with a thousand marks and hairs and scars, as unique as a body could be.
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Superman can accidentally hurt him, though, which doesn't seem quite fair for Clark. (And that's how his thought process goes, yes-- unfair for Clark, not dangerous for himself.) There's not anything he can do about that one-- unless Clark wants to let Bruce rig up a red sun radiator purely for sex purposes. Huh.
"Well... that's what I do." Tactical decisions. Yes. His brain isn't shorting out slightly at all this, what are you talking about. Shush.
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"For science," he says after a moment of lazy kisses with just a couple of nibbles added in, "the most prevalent reaction to the experiment was a tie between" more kisses "a desire to lick up this one drop of water that'd made it's way down your chest" a kiss to where the path of that water had been, "and a need to take those pants off you with my teeth and... well..."
He looks up.
"You got the rest of that."
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