Work Text:
Bruce’s cheeks are hot. Glowing bright red as soft pants escape glossy lips. The hand around his throat squeezes gently before relaxing again, a thumb coming up to stroke at the line of his jaw, traces his chin, presses down on his bottom lip.
“Oh,” a breath into his ear, “Look at you,” Clark’s tenting cock is rubbing, barely, against the exposed line of his back while another hand moves up and down along his stomach. The warmth of the palm searing even through the dress he wears.
“You put on quite the show tonight, sweetheart.” Clark’s hand trails down and to the side, and Bruce can’t help but hold his breath, tracking the way the hand moves hoping it would ease into the slit on the side of his dress and those familiar fingers slip inside him.
Except, Clark easily maneuvers it back to the center of his stomach, fingertips sending electricity down his core.
“You’ve been good tonight too,” His husband whispers, adding it as if it was an after thought. “Holding yourself back. Did you like my present, baby girl?” He nods. swallowing, Clark’s lips move from his ear to his temple and giving it a chaste peck before trailing back down to nibble at the shell of his ear.
Fists clenched into balls at his sides, knees trembling and pleas held back just so.
Clark had told him to be quiet, to watch and wait for his reward for wearing a vibrator all night; for managing to talk with investors and other business moguls alike while Clark adjusted the intensity in intervals, with his palm being a weight sitting on his hip—a collar that Clark tugged at with each fake smile he put on and each laugh he didn’t mean when men and women alike looked down at the way Bruce’s dress hugged his hips and thighs, the way the neckline swooped in low enough for his cleavage to show—Clark’s eyes were crescents that hid the glare and murder in his gaze every time someone dared to look at his wife.
And now. Now, he’s getting a reward. For being good. For staying by Clark’s side, for remaining under his husband’s arm, for being the pretty little piece tied around Clark’s body—he didn’t want to part from his handsome hubby anyway.
Clark stops his caresses to instead place his palm at his stomach, spreading his fingers wide. It’s heavy even through a layer of fabric separating them. The hand on him sitting just low enough that when Clark presses down Bruce can feel it on his navel too.
The hand around his throat lets go, Clark giving the space behind his ear a small kiss as the hand moves, sudden and quick as it tugs the dress’ neckline down. His tits bounce with the movement, instantly exposed to cool air. Bruce moans, soft and high, back curving with his tits first.
“No bra,” Clark tuts, “Naughty little princess, aren’t you.”
Bruce shakes his head, tears clumping his lashes and shimmering in his eyes, “No.” He gasps when a nail scrapes down at his nipple, the nipple covers he was wearing hitting the floor with a plastic plop, “Just for you,” he shifts, just enough for him to lean his head back to the other’s shoulder, tiling his head to nuzzle at the underside of Clark’s jaw, “For you.”
The hand fondling his breast slaps down, Clark’s voice a rumbling growl, “Who said you could look away?”
“‘m sorry,” he whimpers, receiving another slap even though he’s already facing forward once again. “‘m sorry, sorry—!”
“Keep that up and you won’t get your reward.” Clark cups his other tit, thumbs at his nipple before digging his nail down harshly. “And here I thought you’ve been a good girl all night.”
Jolting in his hold, Bruce shakes his head, taking care that he’s still looking at their reflection on the mirror. “I’m good! ‘m good, I swear!”
His mascara is going to be ruined, his eyeliner already dripping as it mixes with a few tears that escaped. Blinking rapidly, Bruce clenches his teeth and breathes through the swell of tears, shivering as Clark doesn’t relent with scraping with his nail on his nipple.
The left hand, sitting low on his stomach finally stops pressing down, pinky and ring fingers coming together as they slide down. The dress hinders the way still Clark keeps pushing, fabric bunching as he pauses just at where his wife’s clit is and jerks his fingers, pushes up firm and hard until Bruce is pinning himself to his chest, trying to angling his ass to press against Clark’s cock along with it.
With his right hand, he moves to the other breast and takes the nipple in his hold and pulls. Watching with bated breath as Bruce follows with a beautiful arch to his back.
His breathing is heavier now, his whole face and ears red—embarrassed and aroused as he is. Clark gives his cheek a peck for being good, tweaking his fingers up to his clit once again and chuckles at the full body jerk it causes.
Clark pauses, fingers resting against the crest of his wife’s throbbing pussy. He gives each of his wife’s tits a rough squeeze before letting go. They bounce as Bruce heaves, moving up and down rapidly.
Grinning, he keeps eye contact with the other, his free hand slipping into the pocket of his slacks and pulls out a small remote.
“We’re going to play,” he watches as Bruce’s eyes flutter, the whine he lets out strangled and cracked, “Just for a bit more, okay?” He thumbs the grooves of the remote, keeping it high and showing it for the other man to see. “Don’t cum until I say so, and if you keep your panties dry, I’ll fuck you.”
Lips to temple, Clark can’t tamp down the smile on his face, “I promised you a baby, didn’t I?”
Bruce’s response is immediate. Nodding shakily, shifting his stance to widen the distance between his heeled feet. The slits of his dress are doing wonders, giving Bruce space and movement he needs. “Words, princess.”
“Yes—” a swallow, a breathy little gasp, “Yes, I understand.”
He turns on the vibrator at the same time he tells him, “Good girl.”
Bruce bows forward with a high-pitched moan, only saved from tipping over by the arm wrapped around him—by the hand still holding him by his pussy.
“O-ooh—Cla—!” He wriggles in his hold but with a firm lead, Bruce is back to standing straight, his hands grasping at Clark’s forearm, digging his nails into his husband’s skin while Clark’s fingers remain pressed up hard against his clit.
Clark raises the strength and watches breathlessly as Bruce’s eyes widen, a shout dying as those glossy lips purse together, painted nails scrabbling at his arm and seemingly unable to hold on.
He switches from the highest setting to the lowest, in intervals, keeping Bruce pinned to his chest despite all the wiggling around, unable to help himself by laughing at his wife’s strangled attempts to keep his moaning at bay.
And just as he expected, it isn’t long before Bruce is pushing up into him, trying and nudging the cleft of his ass against Clark’s tented hard on, the layers of fabric useless as their body heat seeps through the threads. “Clark—” Bruce whimpers, one of his hands trying and failing to grab at fingers still pressed up against his clit, “I’m—please—don’t wanna cum, don’t—!”
He stops the vibrator, Bruce’s body sagging with heavy gasps, his tits bouncing from it. Humming, Clark eases his hold, sliding his hand upwards and away from the throbbing pussy between quivering thighs. “Don’t want to cum? Why not?”
Bruce sucks in a deep inhale, eyes half-lidded and words slow, “Want to be good for you.”
“Aww,” he coos, bending his knees just enough to fully press his dick into Bruce’s ass and grinds down as deep as he can with all their clothes hindering them, “Wanna cum on my cock, princess?”
Nodding, Bruce whimpers, pressing back, following Clark’s rolling hips. The remote drops with a clatter to the floor as Clark’s hands grab him by the hips, lifting him up to his toes as Clark bends lower, rubbing his twitching dick into the clothed seam of Bruce’s pussy, using his hold to lift and drop Bruce like a toy.
He looks up from where his tented cock is buried in fabric and the creases of Bruce’s body to the mirror, his own gasp strangled when it meets with his wife’s—thick lashes clumped up and make-up slowly running down his ruddy cheeks.
Clenching his jaw and gritting his teeth, Clark lets go with one hand, grabbing the dress and using the seam of the slit to rip through it. It crackles like thunder, threads snapping frayed, as Bruce trembles, barely holding on to his own weight as the rip spreads up to his torso, stopped by the bunched fabric of the neckline.
“Shit,” Bruce whispers, breath shaky and body teetering forward.
With the dress ripped, Clark flips the fabric over, groaning as he’s face to face with Bruce’s ass, panties sitting inside the cleft of his cheeks. He grabs the fabric, twines it around a finger and pulls up, relishing in the needy little whine deep in Bruce’s throat.
He relaxes, eases the pressure of cloth and the vibrator on his wife’s wet pussy before he pulls up again, a quick easy pull that has Bruce squealing, then eases it down again.
Clark looks back at the mirror, lets go of the panties to lift Bruce’s head up, grinning when his response is open his mouth, tongue sticking out, panting. “Told you to keep watch.” Bruce doesn’t react beyond his eyes blinking slowly and fluttering open. With his lover’s watchful attention, he bunches the fabric of his underwear again, pulls up and presses the curve of cock into him.
Through the layers, he can feel the length of the vibrator sitting nestled between Bruce’s pussy lips, and with the hardness of the device, he grinds against it, making sure the vibrator pushes up harder at his wife’s cunt.
Even with it off, and his cunt sitting empty, Bruce still shakes like he’s got a cock buried deep inside him.
Releasing a breath, Clark licks his lips, narrows his eyes as he deliberates. It’s been a long night of his wife shimmering pretty by his side, smile amicable and laughter like a bell.
They’ve been waiting for the party to end just for this.
Maybe, he thinks—there’s always a next time, after all—and with that, he pulls away just enough to unbutton his pants and zip it down, his belt clanking as the weight of the buckle aids in sliding his pants down his legs to the floor. He shoves his boxers beneath his balls and pushes the panties to the side.
Bruce’s eyes are wide, his breathing has slowed—they make eye contact as Clark deliberately holds on to his length, using the tip to caress along a fluttering hole and wet cunt and tiny little bud. Spreading slick and precum around, when he sinks in, the throaty rumble of his chest echoes in their bedroom and the squeak of relief Bruce lets out is a needy little thing.
Clark presses to the hilt, soaking in moist heat and clenching walls. With his hand now free, he grabs at the other’s hips, slides his palms up to rest at the curve of a slim waist and squeezes.
He fucks into him hard, their bodies tilting forward with each slam of their hips, Bruce’s ass bouncing, skin shaking in waves as they meet Clark’s pelvis. With a hiss, Clark grips down on meaty hips, “Mother—ungh! God, yeah, grip that cock—wanna be a mom so badly, huh—!”
“Ugh,” Bruce heaves, “Fucking—” he holds on to the arms holding him up, “Give me that baby, damn it—!” He hisses, Clark giggles for a split second, a picture of a kitten hissing and tiny little teeth biting at him coming unbidden. Bruce stomps a heeled foot with a whine. “Clark!”
“Fuck, you’re demanding.” He grunts, pulling back at the same time he maneuvers Bruce’s body away, cockhead trapped in a fluttering cunt. “I’m starting to think—” he thrusts in as he pulls Bruce down to his cock, “Fuck—getting you pregnant might be the wrong move.”
Bruce tilts his head to look over his shoulder, his eyes teary and the makeup around his eyes painting his cheeks in streaky black lines. “You—ha-ah—don’t wanna be a—aahhah—” he trails off with a whiny gasp, eyes falling close before snapping open again, “Shit! Shit—a dad?”
Maybe it’s the way he says it, all whiny and moaning on his cock, or the way his hands are desperately clawing at his arms and hands, unable to hold on properly, or maybe it’s the way his face is tear-streaked and make-up ruined, but something about the question has Clark hisses, teeth clenched tighter as he pounds into Bruce, bouncing him in squelching thrusts.
It’s a kink he never really liked—the idea of someone calling him “Daddy” during a scene or even just foreplay has him shuddering and cringing; has always preferred the use of his name, or in special cases, Sir would do the job just fine—but Bruce asking him if he wants to be a dad? The result is immediate as he wraps his arms around Bruce’s stomach, lifting them up, his wife’s toes grazing the floor in his heels as he uses his hold on him to lift him up and push him down, using his thighs to push up into Bruce’s seizing pussy.
Their sweat and slick makes the glide easier, wetter, messier. A steady, loud harsh rhythm of skin on skin.
And with the mirror in front of them, Clark can still see the moment Bruce cums, his thighs pressing together, tongue lolling out as he drools to the floor, heaving, his nails still dragging welts down his arms as he writhes in his hold.
“Yeah,” he whispers, “There you go, doll, cum on me.” Keeping the hold snug, Clark grinds up, moaning as his dick is squeezed. As Bruce’s writhing slows, Clark ups his movements from grinding to thrusts once again.
It isn’t until a breathy “Decaf” is spoken that he stops. Cautiously, he bends down just enough for Bruce’s feet to touch the floor, heels clicking and sliding as his legs tremble, unable to hold the weight. “You want me to pull out?”
“Yes,” Bruce closes his eyes, “The heels are killing my feet.”
“Okay, sweetheart.”
He pulls out gently, grunting when cool air hits his throbbing length like a slap, the slick on his skin hot and freezing against the air. Then, he arranges them to allow him to carry Bruce to the bed, lays him down softly with a kiss to a black-stained cheek before moving down to his plump lips.
Clark drags his lips across Bruce’s closed mouth, hums at the fruity taste of the lip gloss he’s wearing before prodding at the seam. Once Bruce parts his mouth, they finally meet in a kiss.
It’s a relief they’ve been waiting for—a sweet, loving meeting of lips on lips, of refamiliarizing an already familiar thing.
Bruce slips his legs out from under his husband’s body, parting his legs wide to cradle him between his thighs, rolling his hips up to meet Clark’s leaking cock, dripping precum into the space between them, staining their clothes in patches.
Their parting is all tingling tongues and swollen lips, each other’s tastes lingering on the other’s palate. Clark doesn’t stop his kiss though as he leaves a trail of them, from the sharp line of Bruce’s jaw to the elegant length of his neck, to the captivating broadness of a shoulder to a hefty tit. He only stops when he realises the dress still hindering the way, so with both hands he takes the dress and rips it further, finally able to showcase the fluttering line of Bruce’s stomach, a bit pudgy now from all the meals they eat daily, the line of his abs shadowed on pale skin.
Clark continues his journey, making sure to leave a lasting trail by biting on the fat now gracing Bruce’s body, soothing the sting with a tongue then biting down again. He evades the glistening display of his pussy in favour of giving his thighs attention, gnawing on the plush muscle with the imprint of his teeth and the evidence of his kisses, blooming prettily in reds and pinks.
When he finally gets to the other’s feet, he gives a slender ankle a kiss, then takes gentle care in slipping the heel off, thumbs digging in to the arch of a lovely foot. He gives the toes pecks in the hopes that it’ll draw the ache and pain away before doing the same to the other foot.
Bruce remains reclined on the bed, picture perfect as his eyes flutter with the attention and love, hair haloed around his head, hands on the bed by his head, humming in contentment.
Once the heels are off, Clark comes back up to cover Bruce’s face in pecks, his hands sitting on that curving waist, thumbs massaging at his stomach in wide hypnotizing strokes.
“Again?” He asks, his lips warm as they brush along to his ear, puffs of hot air making his wife shake beneath him.
“Again.” Bruce nods, planting his hands on the man’s shoulders and pushing him away, “First, take that off.” The laugh that spills out is light, unintentional, but Clark gets to see his lover laugh with him and that’s all that matters.
“Of course, princess.”
He doesn’t bother with unbuttoning his dress shirt, opting to rip it open instead, their mouths meeting once he leans back over the other, lips pressing together more than kissing, huffing into the other’s mouth.
Clark grips his length, smears his precum-tipped head, moaning when it meets slick and cum. Cockhead kissing a fluttering cunt—he rubs up to touch at a sensitive clit, grinding his tip down on the bud with a groan, watching closely as Bruce’s eyes fall with a sigh.
Their meeting is just as earth-shattering as it always is. Bruce’s walls opening up to him like he was born to take Clark’s cock, sliding in easily to the base. And just like the first time, seeing the way Bruce’s pelvis meets with his, his pussy and clit nestled close to Clark’s groin has him twitching, throbbing as his dick sits inside his wife.
Bruce sighs a breath out through his nose, licking his lips as he mumbles out, “Cum in my cervix.”
The sentence has his brain crashing—stopping to a halt as a burst of air escapes into the space between them. And then, lips twitching, Clark buries himself into the nook where shoulder meets a slender neck and quakes with laughter. Bruce isn’t too far along until he too is vibrating under him, teeth biting down on his shoulder and despite that, he can still feel the way Bruce’s mouth is curved upwards.
Once their laughter has subsided, fingers comb through curly hair until those fingers grip on tight, pulling Clark back. “Do it.”
The pull out is agonizing, Bruce hisses and eyes glaring then it disappears with a loud slap of skin on skin, Clark rutting up before pulling back out again. The thrusts are slow but hard—firm and deep, their bodies pushing up against the bed, so much so that Clark resolves it by planting his knee into the mattress, taking his wife by the waist and uses his body like a sleeve.
Bruce’s hands remain by the sides of his head, fists clenched into balls, neck stretched long as his head hangs on the bed.
In between pulling back and pushing Bruce down his cock, Clark gasps, frees a hand to splay it upon the other’s groin, and pushes down.
Bruce thrashes in his hold, grinding up into his palm and down on his cock as their bodies wobble. Clark lets go, stares for a moment as Bruce bounces on the bed writhing, his thighs quivering around his body, legs kicking out at the air.
He keeps his hand pressed down, a thumb simply resting on the other’s reddened, swollen clit and continues fucking a greedy cunt.
Hands reach out, fingers around his wrist and holding on as Bruce squirts. Breathless and sobbing, words barely formed as Clark fucks him through it. The sound echoes in plunging squelches.
“Clark!” Bruce cries out, “Clark—Cla—ah! Ungh, ungh, hah—Fuu, hngn!”
“Shit—C’mon, doll, you can take it.” He huffs, digs his fingers down on Bruce’s groin and navel, “Take it, take it—fu-uuck! C’mon—C’mon!”
Bruce calls out his name in a pitched cry, a hand letting Clark’s wrist go in favour of Bruce draping it over his eyes.
Clark leans down as he lets go of his hold the other’s hip, using his weight to push his palm down forcefully while he grabs the arm covering Bruce’s face, pins it down to the mattress as he ruts in harsh thrusts into his wife’s spilling cunt.
When he cums, his hips don’t stop, rhythm stuttered and uncoordinated as his cock spills thick down Bruce’s canal.
Body jerking and hips still grinding, Clark hides in his lover’s neck, pressing kisses in apology and doesn’t let up even as he finally has control over his body again.
Sluggishly, he removes the hand on the other’s abdomen, strokes at the flesh there before slipping out between their bodies, the arm in his hold slips and instead wraps around his shoulders, nails then start raking along his back, a tingling, pleasant shock of pain.
“Have fun?” Bruce rasps out, dragging his nails down harder.
“Definitely. You?”
“Mmhm.” Chest rumbling against Clark’s, “10 out of 10, would do it again. No notes.”
Clark pulls away gingerly, just until he’s propped up on his elbows to keep Bruce’s arms wrapped around him. He raises a brow, “No notes? None? At all?”
Bruce’s eyes narrow in response, lips pulling in a thoughtful line, “Just say it.”
“The whole—” He chokes, their foreheads thunking before he pulls back again, “Dad thing—you said—...”
With the distance between their faces, Clark gets first row seats to Bruce’s eyes widening, eyebrows raising and the most shit-eating grin on his face. “Don’t.” He hisses but of course Bruce wouldn’t as those white teeth bare at him in a smile.
“Did someone develop a daddy kink?”
Groaning, Clark moves to push away, only to be held down by the grip Bruce has around his shoulders. “It’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny.”
“You’re such a brat.”
Bruce’s lower lip pushes out in a pout, eyes purposefully wide as he flutters his lashes at him, “But daddy.”
“Ugh!”