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It shouldn’t be so hot that Clark had the power to literally rip him in two and all he was doing was pushing into to Bruce just slightly too hard. Just slightly too hard, just slightly too fast, just slightly too rough, just slightly. Just enough to make Bruce loose his mind.
“You arrogant, self-righteous-” Clark drove in a fraction harder, Bruce came undone just a little more. “Needlessly risking yourself-”
Bruce didn’t get off on pain. Bruce didn’t get off on pain. With a loud stinging crack Clark swiped one massive hand across Bruce’s backside, no doubt leaving one hell of a red mark.
Bruce got off on pain. When the most powerful man on earth gave Bruce his equivalent of the most gentle of love-taps Bruce got off on pain. When Clark was so carefully applying just enough force for Bruce really feel it, just enough that he would be feeling tomorrow, the stretch and burn and deep inside ache that would remind him so vividly of every single moment of this, Bruce got off on pain.
“Why do you do it?” Clark demanded, pressing down against Bruce’s back stretching the hot naked line of his body against Bruce’s sweating, heaving back, “Why do you put yourself in danger when you know I would do anything for you? Be anything for you? Why do you risk yourself when you don’t have to?”
“If this-” Bruce’s voice was the driest of croaks. He swallowed around his racing heart and tried again, “If this is supposed to encourage me to stop, it’s not working.”
Clark growled, a belly-deep noise that almost sounded like a sob and rolled them. He moved them to their sides, pulling Bruce’s leg back over his hip so Bruce was stretched wide wide wide for Clark, reaching around to fist Bruce’s cock in a grip suddenly gentle.
Oh but this was worse. Far far worse. Clark, gently and tenderly moving in him, pressing all the right places, applying just the right pressure. The smooth, soft glide of him inside Bruce’s body, stoking embers that burned deeper and longer than the intense flames of the brutality before, his face pressed hot and intimate into the curve created by Bruce’s neck and shoulder.
Clark’s breaths turned shaky and his voice turned soft and Bruce’s insides turned into a warm slush that was barely jostled by the smooth, soul deep rhythm of Clark’s thrusts.
“I was so scared,” Clark confessed, the words seemingly being dragged out of him by the sobs he couldn’t keep from escaping. “I thought I would lose you. I was so scared.”
Bruce couldn’t breathe it was so sweet. Clark’s other hand snaked under his body to press a hand against Bruce’s chest, almost seeming to reach in and caress his still thundering heart. The heat of their joining, of Clark moving still so deep and strong inside him, seemed to radiate out until Bruce could feel each sweep of Clark’s hips in every part of his broken body.
Bruce could feel tears welling in his eyes. It just felt too damn good . He could feel the wet patter of Clark’s own tears against his neck, the salt of his sorrow being kissed away by Clark’s still muttering lips.
“So scared. Thought I lost you. I couldn’t live without you.”
Bruce couldn’t listen to this. He might die if he had to keep listening to this. His heart would swell until it burst and then wouldn’t Clark be sorry. He clenched and fluttered his muscles, twisted his hips, and reached back to grip at Clark’s hair. Turning and pulling Bruce pressed their lips together in what felt like fiery need but resulted in quiet desperation. He wanted to feel Clark, needed to feel Clark everywhere.
Their tongues caressed and danced and even now, pressed so tightly the seam of their mouths could have been welded shut, even now Bruce could feel Clark talking. Talking, asking, pleading. Begging Bruce not to leave him, telling Bruce Clark needed him.
The slow, endless press of Clark’s hips, the smooth measured glide of his hand over Bruce’s cock, the sensuous twist of his lips and tongue, the vibration of his confessions swallowed by Bruce’s eager mouth as though he could consume them and so make them a physical part of himself. It was all working to slowly drive Bruce mad. The feel of their sweat and heat and skin combined, Bruce could feel it in his soul.
With a sob that sounded desperately broken even to his own ears, Bruce came. And came.
It never seemed to stop, radiating out from somewhere deep inside him, washing through his body in deep golden waves his mind in a deep haze of Clark Clark Clark.
Words Bruce didn’t hear, refused to hear, were wept into his ear, sobbed out between gasps and moans as Clark came soon after, the tempo of his hips barely stuttering as he filled Bruce with yet more warmth.
They lay together, panting softly, feeling their bodies sing and hum, the fall as slow and sweet as the rise had been.
“Bruce, I-” Bruce shushed him.
He knew. He didn’t allow himself to know. They couldn’t do this. They already had. Bruce felt his heart, still swollen, still threatening to burst in his chest. It was out now, there was no putting it back in. The beautiful terrifying mess had been made. Bruce wasn’t sure he was up to the task of dealing with the consequences.
Clark pulled Bruce tighter, gently turned his head and kissed him. Softly, deeply, like there was nothing more precious to Clark in this moment than the tender press of their lips. In this moment, Bruce felt the same. And in the next moment. And the next.
Clark started to harden, still perfectly fitted into Bruce. He started to move, brushing the lightest of caresses over Bruce’s already stiffening cock. And Bruce thought he could leave worrying aside. At least until the moment passed.