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"Maybe we should do this again another night…" Clark murmurs as he slowly gets up off of Bruce.
"Absolutely not!" Bruce pulls his boyfriend down by the collar and locks his ankles behind Clark's back so they can't separate again. "This is the fifth time you've backed out of this, Kent. And while I am willing to wait for you for as long as you need, I am also not getting any younger here."
"Sorry…" His lover's face, smushed in between his hands, looks miserable, like he'd just seen Batman punt a puppy off a roof. It's a tragedy.
Bruce sighs.
"Look, I understand your reluctance, I do, but please remember that I love you, and I will love whatever alien appendages or whatnot you have going on down there." Bruce pulls Clark down until their foreheads touch. "If you need a push, then this is it, Clark. But if you really aren't ready, tell me clearly, and I'll back off. Please. Won't you let me see all of you?"
For a long moment, neither men say anything, the bedroom an echoing quiet. Bruce watches his partner, hoping this will finally be the night they can consummate their relationship: while Clark had been over the moon to take this long-awaited next step in Batman and Superman's relationship, almost a year has passed since then, and Bruce has yet to see anything below the belt.
It's been driving him crazy.
They've gone on dates, they've held hands, they've kissed, but sex? Absolutely no dice.
How could he have bagged the hottest man on the planet only to still be gatekept at the making out phase of their relationship like they're still horny teenagers? Actually, fuck that. Even teenagers would have at least been humping like rabbits at this point. So how the hell is Bruce getting politely and apologetically cock-blocked by his own lover every damned time they're alone together?
Of course, if Clark had shown no interest in sex at all, Bruce would have backed off—intimacy doesn't have to start and end with fucking, after all, but it doesn't mean he wouldn't mourn what it could have been like to get fucked by Superman.
But regardless of Bruce's potential lack of sexual engagement for the rest of his life, it had always been clear that Clark had a very obvious carnal interest in Bruce from the start.
The second date they'd been on, the two of them had barely left the restaurant and shut the door to Clark's apartment before they were on each other like starving wolves. They stumbled their way through the living room, knocking over books and papers and practically everything and anything not bolted to the floor as they clumsily made it to the bed.
Bruce had been so ready to finally experience what it was like to sleep with his insanely hot boyfriend, he could barely get his hands under control to not just paw at his lover's clothes.
Then, like a switch had been flipped, as soon as Bruce's back touched the mattress, Clark snapped out of where he'd had one arm crawling up Bruce's waist and the other groping his ass and nearly jumped off the bed in his haste to distance himself from his lover.
It had hurt, at first, to be so violently and physically rejected, but by the time Clark explained his alien biology and his insecurities in regards to them, Bruce's stinging heart had melted into understanding.
He'd explained then, that they could hold off on the sex and anything else Clark wasn't comfortable with until he was ready, and that he would love and adore anything that his lover may find repugnant about himself because it is a part of him, and that he loves him dearly and without limits.
They spent the rest of the night cuddling and watching some old reruns of The Grey Ghost, passing a bowl of popcorn back and forth until they both fell asleep.
Clark sighs. "You're right, you're right." He relaxes into Bruce's hold, letting his lover plant a few loving pecks across his face. "I do need that push. I just—the last time I did this with someone, she left screaming and in tears."
"Lois did—?" Bruce didn't think she was the type of person to react like that, no matter the circumstances.
"No! Not Lois, we never got that far before we— well anyways, it was someone from college and she kicked me to the curb faster than I could blink, and…" Clark buries himself into the crook of Bruce's neck. His next words come out a shaking whisper. "And I don't want to lose you like that, I can't."
"And you won't," Bruce whispers in the scant space between their lips. He ignores Clark's shaking hands when they cradle his head and stares deep into his lover's eyes, hoping it conveys the determination and love he feels for the other man. "I don't know what stick your last partner had up her ass but she was clearly an idiot to have let you go so easily. You are a gem, Clark. My greatest treasure. I chose you, I'm keeping you, and I will love you no matter what."
He concludes his declaration with yet more kisses, because planting only one is a crime. It makes his lover relax completely, and Bruce considers his pep talk a rousing success.
"Okay," Clark nods after a moment, then makes a move to sit up, which Bruce lets him, and now they're both cross-legged on Bruce's California King-sized bed watching each other in complete and utter silence.
"So…"
"Right! Right," Clark laughs nervously, realizing he'd missed his cue to reveal whatever alien junk he's hiding. "Um, actually, I think it might be easier to start with some…discussion? First?"
Bruce nods. At least it's a good starting place. "Alright. What do you want to tell me?"
"Well," Clark averts his gaze, hemming and hawing his way back to silence yet again.
"Look, if you're really not ready, we can go back downstairs and—"
"No, no!" Clark plants a hand in the middle of Bruce's chest to keep him from getting up off the bed. "You're right. If I don't do this now, I don't know if I will ever be able to get the guts to do it in the future." Clark cracks a crooked grin. "Like a band-aid, right?"
Oh, the nerve of the boy scout to look this adorable…
Bruce pulls the man in for another tongue-filled kiss before letting go. "So, you had something to tell me?"
"Yeah," Clark blinks, then refocuses, the minor distraction Bruce had deployed already forgotten. "So, while Kryptonians can look human at first, it isn't what we really look like, not completely, at least." He fidgets, nervously pulling one thumb over the other as he tries to figure out how to best phrase his next words. "Um, so basically, I hide a lot of my uh, more inhuman features when I'm out as Clark Kent. Well, I do the same with Superman, but that was by habit and if I changed, the world would think I wasn't the real— Anyways!" Clark shakes his head and holds his hands out, as if to physically keep the both of them on subject. "Getting back to things, after humans, Kryptonians resemble another earth animal pretty closely."
"And that is?" Bruce prods lightly, hoping Clark will continue.
"It's…a spider."
The voice is so quiet Bruce can hardly parse the words until a couple seconds later. But even after that revelation, Bruce is fairly certain his reaction is still not what Clark had expected.
"Oh."
Clark snaps up to stare at him with incredulity pouring off him in waves. Was he expecting something worse or something better?
"Just 'oh'?"
Bruce shrugs. "I mean, compared to what you built it up to be, I don't think having spider-like features is going to have much of an impact."
"Are you serious?" Clark throws his hands into the air. "I have eight eyes, Bruce!"
He watches as six smaller eyes blink open right at the bottom corners of Clark's main ones, three on either side. On closer inspection, they appear to be secondary eyes, meant for capturing movement over detail, while the two big ones are the standard primaries, similar to a spider's.
"Oh. So that's what they were." He had noticed the odd marks his lover sported, but had dismissed them as moles or freckles. The location had been quite symmetrical to the face, and to Bruce, it had made Clark's beauty something worth cherishing. To think they were actually eyes this entire time…
"Really??" Clark looks like he doesn't know whether to laugh or cry, so Bruce leans forward to press a chaste kiss over one set of eyes. They blink closed when he nears, then back open when he parts, looking up at him all cutely and— fuck. He is so fucking lucky.
Somehow, even this part of Clark is too damn adorable. This should be illegal; the man is just blinking at him.
"I'm telling you, Clark, there's no part of you that I wouldn't love. Because every part of it is a part of you."
That, at least, seems to mollify his lover, who falls sideways into the bed, pulling Bruce's leg to his chest to hug it like the world's most muscly pillow. Bruce pats Clark's soft curls lightly and waits as the Kryptonian slowly comes to terms with Bruce's easy acceptance.
"You don't even care that I have venom?"
At that, Bruce's hand freezes in the middle of detangling a particularly stubborn set of curls.
"Is that why I've been feeling so weak after we kiss? Is that the result of the venom?"
"Wha— No!" Clark springs back up. "I wouldn't do that! I might have been tempted, sometimes, but I swear I haven't done that at all! Not if you don't want me to, that is…"
Bruce acts as non-chalantly as he can, willing away the heat that's just waiting to rise to his ears. He hopes Clark won't notice his slip-up.
"Wait, does that mean—?"
Damn it.
"Clark—"
"Aw, B, that's so sweet!"
"Damn it…" Bruce hides his scarlet face in his hands, not even bothering to emerge when Clark wraps his arms around him and squeezes the air out of his lungs in a, frankly, impressive hug. He prays for salvation. "Are you sure you really haven't been dosing me with your venom all this time?"
Clark chuckles. It's a fantastic melody. "No, Bruce, I haven't been lacing our kisses with my venom. I think you are just far too in love with me."
He caps that statement with a brilliant beaming grin, and Bruce really has no choice but to stare in awe at the beauty of his boyfriend. It is so unfair.
"Do you have a problem with that?"
"No, not at all."
"Good."
The two of them meet lips again before Bruce breaks their bubble of peace because yes, there is, in fact, a reason why they are here.
"Don't think kissing me will get you out of explaining more about your alien biology, Clark. What's this venom composed of? Have you done an analysis on it in the Fortress?"
Clark slumps against Bruce's back, defeated. "Should've known you wouldn't get distracted that easily…" He mumbles, before draping nearly his entire upper body over Bruce. "It's some kind of muscle relaxant, meant to keep…uh…"
Clark trails off, and doesn't resume even after a long moment. Bruce ruffles Clark's hair. Hopefully, it'll calm Clark's racing thoughts.
"It's meant to what, Clark?" He asks gently.
"It's, um, well, you see, a lot of insects on Earth have this tendency for things to get fairly gruesome for the male counterpart, and it's kind of similar for Kryptonians?" Clark ends his statement in a lilt, like it's a question he's asking Bruce.
"You mean that you use venom during sex so you don't get killed." Bruce deadpans.
"Not exactly!" His boyfriend hurriedly explains. He waves his hands frantically, as if trying to dispel the possible notion that Batman could share similarities with female praying mantises. Bruce sniffs. At least he would have the decency to ask before taking a bite. "Men on Krypton tended to be more calm and introverted while the women were the outgoing ones, which reflected similarly in bed. Of course, there were always the outliers, but on the whole, in order to keep our mate still during…oh."
Bruce raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"
The blush that steadily creeps up onto his lover's face would be something to admire, but he's a little more invested in learning about Kryptonian biology to pay much attention to it.
"So there's another thing about Kryptonians that you might need to know," Clark nervously points out. "We might, uh, lay eggs?"
Bruce reads between the lines. "You mean you lay eggs."
"We deposit them." The last son of Krypton looks like he might just keel over and die right on the spot. "Inside."
"Oh. Oh."
"Yeah, uh anyways, there's a lot of rituals and behavioral things during sex that we do but um, yeah, we— we don't need to do any of that, really, it's not exactly imperative, you know?"
"Clark," Bruce places a single hand over his lover's mouth to stop the unending tide of words from flooding the room. "You don't need to hold back on my account. I did tell you that I would accept every part of you."
"Bruce, spiders aren't exactly well-received on earth. You don't need to spare my feelings." Clark plays with each of Bruce's fingers, pressing into the palm and watching the digits splay in automatic reflex. "I can end up getting fairly animalistic during sex, so really, if you aren't comfortable with this, we don't have to do anything you don't want to. I can just get you off when you need—"
"Clark."
The single word shuts his partner up just as effectively as kryptonite. Bruce belatedly realizes that his tone had gone a touch too Batman, a touch too caustic, too rough, and he sees it reflected in his partner's frozen expression.
"Clark," he says again, this time much softer. "If you can't believe my words, then read my heart. Can you hear how my body sings for you?" With that, he holds his lover's hand to his chest, right over his heart. He breathes in deeply, letting out the smallest of sighs as he cradles Clark in between his pecs. "Can you feel how much I yearn for you?" Bruce stares unabashedly into Clark's eyes, knowing without seeing how his pupils have constricted, his heartbeat beating a maddening tempo beneath their entwined hands.
"Please show me all of you," he croons, falling back into the pillows and taking Clark with him. He wraps his arms around the back of his lover's neck, petting his soft curls with a thumb. "And if I really do need you to stop, if there is some part of me that truly hates this, then I will ask you to stop." Bruce nibbles on an ear. "But I doubt that will ever come to pass."
Finally, Clark's last defenses crumble, and he feels it in the fall of his shoulders. Then he feels it in the thankful kiss to his neck. Then Clark is plunging his tongue into Bruce's mouth, hungry and desperate.
"Bruce, can I?" Clark pants between searing kisses. "Can I use my venom? Please? Just a bit?"
"Yes," Bruce shivers, the thought of experiencing something few, if none, have had the honour to witness, has him riding waves of excitement that coalesce in his groin. "Yes, please, I want it. I want you, Clark."
Before he can say anything more, a hot tongue meets his once more, and he tastes something sweet and slightly bitter enter his mouth. He swallows it down, their saliva diluting the venom swiftly into an echo of what it had once been, but soon, Bruce's entire body seemingly sinks in on itself.
His grip on Clark falters and falls back onto the bed, and the rest of his limbs follow suit. Bruce doesn't resist its effects, allowing himself to fall limp as he looks back into Clark's many eyes.
"I didn't add too much," Clark explains as he maneuvers Bruce's limbs so they're in a more comfortable position. "If you want to, you can shake it off. I want you to be able to at least signal if I do something wrong."
Bruce, to his credit, does at least try moving his limbs. While it's much more difficult to maneuver his arms and legs, just like Clark had said, it isn't impossible if he really needs to move.
"Alright, then," Bruce drawls, "what else do you have for me?"
Clark thinks for a bit. "I think I'd like to use my webs, if that's alright?"
"Spider silk?" Bruce asks, and his lover nods in confirmation. "Okay, have at it."
"I'm not sure if this is my personal preference or if it's a Kryptonian thing, but I've always wanted to wrap you up in my webs. It soothes something in me to know where you are, that you're here and you're safe." He pulls a long line of silken string out from beneath his tongue. "It wasn't really mentioned in the Fortress, though, so maybe it's just me."
The string spreads wide under Clark's fingertips, a gleaming tapestry of sticky web Bruce knows is stronger than steel. He wraps them swiftly around Bruce's hands, binding them together, then sticks the entire bundle to the bedframe above his head.
"I want to hold you still so I can take care of you, so you can be taken care of by me."
The feeling of the web itself is not unlike raw dough, or perhaps it's more like a mix between minx fur and dolphin skin, an odd combination of softness and durability that Bruce can't quite describe, with a combination of stickiness and elasticity that he doesn't think exists on Earth. When Clark tries to remove Bruce's shirt, however, he freezes, finally noticing the problem he'd made for himself.
"Oh."
"Just tear it off," Bruce drawls, "You know I have many more to replace it."
And while Clark would normally balk at wasting a perfectly good shirt, it's clear the temptation overcomes him, with the way arms are already reaching forward as he looks back and forth between Bruce, his bared chest, and the obstructing clothing keeping him from seeing more. He nods with a thankful smile then proceeds to carefully rip apart each sleeve, savouring the reveal of more and more skin at each small tear he makes.
"I can see you're enjoying this quite a bit," Bruce remarks.
"It's like opening a present? I'm not sure, but I like it. It feels like a kind of reward, glimpsing the skin after peeling off all your layers of armour." Clark shrugs, then goes to tear at the remaining sleeve.
"I hope this present of yours is enough to your liking then," Bruce purrs, rubbing a sluggish ankle up Clark's spine as the remains of his shirt is finally removed and then summarily deposited onto the bedroom floor. The movement makes the other man shiver, which Bruce smirks at, but then the Kryptonian quickly snatches his foot, pulling it around to his front.
He raises a judgemental eyebrow, and when Bruce does nothing but grin unabashedly, Clark lifts it to his lips, licking a long line of webby saliva into his sole.
"Clark!"
It's Bruce who shivers uncontrollably this time, as Clark maintains eye contact as he wraps more and more string around his ankle, then, once deeming it adequate, floats up to attach the end of it to the ceiling above them.
In the end, Bruce has a leg propped obscenely into the air, exposing the inside of his groin, while Clark sits triumphantly, admiring his work with a particularly lecherous gaze. Bruce's cock twitches from within its confines, smearing precome where it's trapped.
"You are breathtaking," a raspy whisper escapes Clark's lips before he envelopes Bruce's mouth with his own. Bitter and sweetness coats his tongue, and Bruce obliges the venom as it trails down his throat to sink deep into his bones. Clark caresses the remaining free leg, trailing an appreciative hand down sculpted thighs. He sighs dreamily. "The best present I've ever had."
Bruce tries to come up with an appropriate response, but comes up empty. His boyfriend is truly too good to him, sometimes. He can only smile in kind when Clark kisses his calf, halfway hoping his lover would speed it up and fuck him before the end of the night.
Clark then makes to unbuckle Bruce's pants, only to run into the same issue yet again. Bruce can't help but chuckle. He's about to remark about Clark's lack of planning in the bedroom, but cuts himself off when the sound of fabric tearing fills the room. Bruce is speechless with shock.
"What?" His audacious lover grins down at him, tearing more and more fabric as he speaks. "It's not like you can't replace them, right?"
"Give a farmboy an inch, and he'll take a mile…" Bruce grumbles, watching as Clark pulls the same crap on his briefs, and very soon, he is completely naked and strung up not unlike a fly on a web in front of his excited lover.
At least the metaphor sticks, Bruce thinks a little wryly.
After stringing his other leg to the ceiling, Clark takes his time savouring him. Rather than a spider, his alien lover looks more like a dog, licking over every inch of skin. When Clark had told him he acted more animalistically during sex, Bruce had expected something more along the lines of biting and growling, but as he lays there, basking in all the attention his boyfriend is showering him with, he feels less like prey about to be eaten and more like a kitten getting a wash from his mama cat.
Except, with the way hungry eyes leer at him from the foot of the bed, this mama cat is definitely going to fuck him hard into the mattress before the end of the night.
Clark moves from Bruce's ankles and then slowly, relishing in the leisurely journey he takes, he works his way down. The hot heat of his tongue makes Bruce melt even more into the bed, every part of him craving Clark's touch. The meandering speed at which his lover is travelling makes him want to scream, because although he loves the way Clark is lavishing his calves with sweet kisses and tender touches, they also make him ache for more with each swipe of his tongue. While it may be pleasant, it by no means satisfies the rampaging fire that's growing within him.
Clark makes sure to suck love bites into his skin every chance he gets, taking an especially long time on his sensitive inner thigh when he realizes that just a light nuzzle against the skin is enough to make Bruce's dick twitch.
Every time the man suckles at the skin there, Bruce can't hold back the sounds that spill from his mouth. It makes sparks dance behind his eyelids, and Bruce can barely control his strained breathing by the time Clark finally reaches his groin.
He then makes his displeasure known when Clark bypasses his aching dick and twitching hole to proceed with marking his stomach before sadistically heading up to his chest.
"Seriously, Clark?" Bruce complains as Clark licks a long stripe up his abdominals, from his stomach to his chest. His partner makes sure to pay special attention, laving at the skin just above his heart, smearing his saliva over the area. The lick is so extravagant that Bruce doesn't notice what's happening before the hot tongue is replaced with a sharp and sudden bite, shocking Bruce completely out of the daze he'd fallen into. He moves to arch off the bed, but his muscles have relaxed enough that he barely shivers where he lies.
That doesn't prevent him from crying out, however. "F-fuck, Clark," Bruce cracks open an eye to stare down at the red mark on his chest glaring back at him. It pulses in time with his heart, a quick and tortuous rhythm. His nipples peak from the stimulated pain and pleasure, and despite the venom coursing through his veins, every part of him trembles like a newborn fawn in front of a wolf.
God damn. Clark is playing with him.
Clark is playing his body like a fiddle, marking it as his and reveling in Bruce's every reaction. Every stroke of tongue is an act of adoration, but the mark over his heart is a declaration of whom he belongs to.
Bruce has never been more turned on in his life.
Bruce has also never been more teased in his life.
"Clark, damn it," he growls, "just fuck me already, Boyscout."
Clark hums, licking and sucking hickeys into Bruce's neck anyway, not bothering to hurry things along. Despite his pestering, Bruce still makes room for his lover, allowing him more access to his throat.
But still. "Clark. If you don't get your fingers in me soon…" He vaguely threatens, and although he's fairly certain Clark knows he doesn't actually plan on following up on whatever threat he'd just promised the man, he does at least stop.
"Well, if you're so impatient…" The time Clark spends slicking his fingers with lube is a monumental wait; his lover taking his sweet damned time flicking the cap back on and placing it onto the nightstand with care. "I guess I'll have to multitask."
Then abruptly, Clark yanks him down the bed, making his legs spread wide as the strings pull taut, Bruce an obscene puppet posing for Clark and Clark alone. His arms, tugged by its own string, pull straight up, forcing Bruce's ass up into the air to accommodate the limits of each line.
He barely has time to comprehend his new position when a wet digit circles his rim, momentarily exploring the entrance before swiftly plunging in to the second knuckle. After all that time spent lavishing every other part of Bruce's body so thoroughly, the sudden stimulation to his hole makes Bruce cry out in undiluted pleasure.
"Clark!"
At the same time, Clark leans forward, capturing Bruce's bound wrists in his free hand, and resumes his work from where he'd left off. The occasional soft bite to the underside of his arm coincides neatly with a brush of Clark's fingers against his prostate, leaving Bruce breathless and twitching with need.
By the time his lover finishes with one arm and moves on to the next, Clark has two fingers pistoning in and out of him, pushing in and pulling at his walls as if Clark is mapping out his insides with the pads of his fingers.
Bruce has the belated realization that Clark might be doing just that for when he lays his eggs inside him later, figuring out the best place to put them and he shivers, his hole clenching tightly at the thought. Bruce moans into the neck of his alien lover. While he knows their differing species makes it impossible to bear children, the thought of carrying Clark's eggs inside him, be they fertilized or not, makes Bruce hot with anticipation.
Clark is done with both arms by the time he fits a third finger in, but the moment he pulls back, he moves down Bruce's body, swallowing his cock without a second's delay. Bruce can barely keep up, only weakly thrusting up into the hot heat that is Clark's mouth. His lover hums, a disappointed chime echoing throughout the bedroom, and he pulls off of him with a pop.
Bruce's mouth is already a mess of drool when Clark's tongue breeches his lips, more venom filling him gulp after gulp until he's once more pliant and relaxed on the bed. When Clark swallows his cock again, Bruce just shivers at the white-hot inescapable pleasure of Clark's tongue licking at his slit and his thick fingers pressing against his prostate.
The dual pleasure is too much, and Bruce cries out, clenching as much as he can around thrusting fingers and spilling his seed down Clark's throat.
"Fuck…"
It should be illegal, the way Clark nonchalantly slides out of him and nuzzles into Bruce's throat with soft little pecks while Bruce feels like he'd just been torn asunder. Granted, it had been a while since he'd had anyone in bed, but he feels like he'd get wrung out by Clark either way.
Bruce makes a ragged noise from the back of his throat, signaling his return from his blissed-out state. "You didn't fuck me," is the first thing to come out of his mouth when he puts his brain cells back to where they're supposed to be, and maybe he had put some in the wrong place, because that is most definitely not what he'd meant to say.
Or rather, he'd meant to phrase it more tactfully, and watching the way Clark clearly squirms in place on the other side of the bed, it seems his observation hit a little too close to home.
"Sorry," Clark sheepishly replies. "I know, I meant to, but I— Sorry."
Bruce looks down at the bulge in Clark's pants. It doesn't look particularly strange, not in the way that might keep Clark from revealing it to him. "Whatever thoughts you have rolling around in your head, ignore them." He meets eyes with Clark. "I want to see it. Please?"
Silently, Clark nods, finally acquiescing to Bruce and unbuckling his pants. In one long pull, he shucks off both his slacks and his underwear, leaving him naked from the waist down and completely bare for Bruce to see.
Bruce stares. And stares.
Clark shifts in the silence. "Well?"
"I don't know what to say, really." Bruce tilts his head, looking at a slightly different angle, but doesn't otherwise react. "It's a dick."
Clark coughs. "And that's all you have to say about it?"
"The structure is fairly penile. While the shaft is segmented oddly and the tip is pointed, I don't see any problem with it in general. The color is an odd shade of red and looks almost like carapace, but honestly, I was expecting something far more…alien."
There's an echoing silence in the room before Clark huffs, throwing his hands in the air at the lackluster response. "Really? You aren't scared, or anything?"
"The internet is a vast and very imaginative place, Clark. You have no idea what goes on in the Superman forums after dark, and I will spend the rest of my life making sure you don't ever find out."
"…There's people discussing what my dick looks like in those forums, isn't there."
"…A prehensile tentacle and a flower are two of the most common schools of thought. Many fans would be terribly disappointed to know your real member isn't quite as…extraordinary as their imagination makes it out to be."
Clark slides a hand down his stomach, trapping his dick in between his fingers. "And you? Do you also find my dick, um, disappointing?" He looks both relieved that Bruce isn't running for the hills and yet somehow also frustrated that somehow, his alien cock is apparently also not alien enough.
Bruce huffs, and makes eye contact with his lover, exasperation evidence on his face. "I think," he rumbles, "that I'd like to get fucked open by that cock of yours before the night's out." He watches as Clark's cheeks grow a ruddy red, a heat underneath the skin that Bruce would have loved to touch and worship if only he weren't tied up. "I told you, Clark. I will love every part of you, no matter what. Even if it's a tentacle dick, a flower dick, or," he glances back at the long behemoth in between his lover's legs. "Even if it's an arachnid dick, I love it either way. I promise."
Clark smiles and leans forward, meeting Bruce in a kiss that encompasses all the love and gratefulness he feels for the man underneath him. After his last encounter all those years ago, he had been afraid to show this part of himself to any others, but he's glad that now that it's happened, he still has Bruce with him, accepting all of him.
It's more than what he could have dreamed of.
"Thank you…" Clark whispers when they part.
"Mm…There's no need for thanks, Clark. Not for something as trivial as this. But if you are thankful, there is something you could do for me." He croons seductively, and Clark feels something touching his dick, stroking exploratory fingers up and down his length. He jerks his head down, and sure enough, one of Bruce's hands is fondling his cock, thumbing each segment of his shaft with obvious curiosity. "Interesting…despite its appearance, the membrane is quite flexible, not unlike a human's."
Clark groans when Bruce pumps his length in a loose fist, causing him to buck into the motion involuntarily. "How did you…"
"It was difficult, separating myself from the sticky parts of your web," Bruce pulls his hand away from where it had been teasing the slit at his tip to tug Clark's lip back onto his own, and the two of them share a brief, impassioned kiss before pulling apart. "But not impossible."
Bruce ends that statement with a Bat-grade smirk, which he knows Clark always secretly hates because it usually only appears when Batman has just proved him wrong about something. But at least this time, his reward isn't a triumphant trip down to the Watchtower's medical ward, but another toe-curling kiss from his lover.
Not even the venom Clark feeds him is enough to dim his victorious grin.
"Now are you going to fuck me or not, Boyscout?" He drawls, limbs loose, but with a playful glint in his eyes. As he'd planned, it goads Clark into guiding his cock to his entrance and then, thanks to the venom relaxing him fully, pushing it easily inside.
Each segment brushes thoroughly against his prostate as it passes by, the slight gap between end of one and the start of the next allowing Bruce to feel every single ridge clearly as it penetrates him, sending sparks to the tips of his toes.
Bruce is panting by the time Clark hips meet his. He feels full, stuffed to the brim, Clark's cock filling him more than he's ever experienced. Clark is similarly affected, trying to regulate his breathing—no doubt, with his fraught history, this must be the first time he's actually had penetrative sex, and Bruce vows to help ensure this experience is a good one for his lover.
He tugs clumsily on Clark's hair until they share another intimate kiss, letting his partner know without words that Bruce is here, and here for him. Clark relaxes once more as their tongues languidly swirl around each other.
When Bruce squeezes around Clark's cock, his lover grunts and pumps his hip involuntarily, but doesn't otherwise budge.
"Please," Clark's voice is a shaking mess as he pants into Bruce's neck, licking and sucking at the skin as if it will distract him from the succulent pressure surrounding his dick. "Please, Bruce, can I move? I want to move, please, please let me move…"
The thoughtfulness of the gesture brings a lump to Bruce's throat. Even with all his past lovers and one-night stands, very few, if none, had asked for permission this far into things, and it makes Clark all the sweeter for it. He can't possibly deny this man anything.
"Of course, baby," Bruce hums, carding his fingers through soft curls. "Take what you need. You know I will always accept you, darling."
Not a second later, Clark's hips pull back then snap deep inside him at rapid speed, the mind-melting slap-slap of their hips connecting wrenching loud moans from Bruce as his prostate is battered over and over.
He'll never admit that he'd been nervous about tearing himself when he'd seen Clark's cock—all hard-shelled and intimidating. He would have made it work somehow, but feeling the velvety smooth slide of his lover's cock inside him now, he feels as if the universe had aligned to gift Clark with the perfect dick.
Each segmented scrape against his prostate creates sparks that dance behind his eyelids, his eyes misting from the all-encompassing pleasure coursing through his body. It's perfect. His boyfriend's cock is absolutely perfect. Clark pulls Bruce's hips down to slam against his, and Bruce knows very clear handprints will be blooming there before morning, a fleeting souvenir of their first glorious night together.
Bruce isn't quite ready for a second orgasm so soon after his previous one, so when Clark stills inside of him, pressing Bruce into the mattress with a heavy, superhuman pressure, he has the wherewithal to notice that while the hot liquid filling him up from the inside is a pleasant heat, it is most definitely not the eggs he'd been promised.
He isn't disappointed. At all.
He's just about to ask Clark about how Kryptonians lay eggs when Clark starts moving again, this time with slow but heavy thrusts that grind his thick cock right against Bruce's prostate, turning his brain entirely offline.
He throws his head back, arching as much as his limp body can off the bed, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Bruce can barely hear the way he's chanting Clark's name like a prayer, as his second orgasm of the night creeps up on him, a suffocating heat that engulfs him after every heavy roll of Clark's hips.
The graze of teeth against his neck is his only warning before Clark bites down. The pain of yet another marking shunts Bruce headlong into the throes of climax. He cries out, squeezing tightly around Clark, and it's enough for the man to thrust a few more times before stilling deep inside Bruce once more.
Bruce is still deep within his post-orgasmic haze when he feels Clark stiffen over him. He blinks bleary eyes up at his lover, whose face is shaking with tension.
"Clark…?"
"Bruce," his partner asks urgently. "I need to lay. I have to. Can I? Inside? Please?"
Clark's entire being is shaking now, likely from holding himself back for Bruce's sake, though it's completely unnecessary.
"Yes," Bruce answers him. "God, yes. Please fill me with your eggs. I want them. I want your eggs, please, Clark."
His words spill out in a cascade, his mind barely able to form anything more coherent, as Clark pulls him flush against his hips, the feeling of egg after egg traveling through Clark's cock to deposit deep inside of him. Bruce watches his stomach as it slowly grows into a noticeable little bump.
At this point, Clark has transitioned from frantic to relaxed, beginning to pepper Bruce with kisses as his cock continues to pump inexorably into him, and only when he starts to feel the strain of his skin pulling taut does Clark finally start to pull out, his Kryptonian instincts sated.
But then instead of cuddling with Bruce for a few more minutes, his lover scoots down to the foot of the bed, tucks his head in between his thighs, and then licks a thick web over Bruce's sore and puffy hole, completely sealing it.
"Clark? What—"
"I need to block it, so the babies don't fall out." Clark answers automatically, then freezes, as if just realizing where he is and what he'd just said. "Um, I mean, if it's okay with you? They won't hatch, I promise, but… please?"
Bruce lies back on the bed, feeling full to the brim with eggs—Clark's eggs, a very important distinction—and cuts Clark off with a shake of his head. "It's fine, Clark," he mumbles, feeling sleep's siren call. The comforting weight inside him is settling him more than he'd like to admit. "Just take them out in the morning…"
"Oh, alright." Clark shifts around, detangling his webs from Bruce's arm and legs. "Um, Bruce?"
He only grunts.
"Can I make us a bed?"
Bruce takes several seconds to parse that. "…With string?"
"Yeah."
"…Just make sure it's comfortable." Is all he says before Clark lifts up off the bed, speedily attaching webs to every corner of the room before weaving a decently sized hammock that hangs several feet above them.
At least if the web breaks in the middle of the night, they won't crash into the hard floor, he thinks.
Bruce is half-asleep by the time Clark deems their new accommodations ready for them, cradling his limp form in between strong arms before lifting and settling them both at the center of the web.
It dips just slightly, but similar to man-made hammocks, it cradles their bodies perfectly. Clark settles Bruce by his side, their legs tangling together as he wraps himself at Bruce's back. Hands wrap around him until they settle at his lower stomach, tracing loving circles into the skin.
"I love you, Clark. Every part of you."
"I love you too, Bruce." Clark presses a reverent kiss to the back of his neck. "Thank you. I…I really needed this. So thank you. I love you."
"Hmm…" Already drifting off, Bruce can only hum in reply. He drags a lethargic hand down to Clark's, pulling it up to rest against his chest, allowing Clark his heart. Hopefully, it conveys what he wants to say.
You have me no matter what, Clark.