They’re not supposed to work, at least that's what Bruce keeps telling himself. The arguments and the cutting words and the fact that they just aren’t made for each other. Clark has a softness that is sickeningly sweet, and Bruce is not the God between them, but he can devour solar systems with the darkness inside of him. They don’t work. They can’t work.
“Why do you keep coming back?” Clark asked into the crook of Bruce’s neck, licking along the trail of red bites he left two nights before. Shirts are gone, pushed off of broad shoulders hastily, and pants are close behind. Bruce fumbles with Clark’s belt, and he’s trembling to the point where Clark has to take over for him.
Clark snakes his hand around the back of his neck and pulls him in for a kiss, soft and warm. It’s far too sweet for someone that has a nickname with “dark” in it. Bruce is supposed to be with someone else. Someone who doesn’t see the good in everyone and everything because it feels like things are crashing around him when he tries to think of himself as good. He's not good. He does good things. He saves people, and he puts his life and body on the line every day, but the pain that he has left behind in his wake overshadows all of it. Sounds of crowbars clanging and bones breaking and countless young lives stolen of their innocence prove that to him.
Bruce could easily find someone else. Someone who mirrored him in ways that reflected not what he hated about himself, but what he chose to show the world. But the thought of hands that are soft despite being able to crush planets with ease being on anyone else makes him nauseous. He’s selfish because he knows he’s holding him back. He knows this is wrong. He doesn’t want Clark to get lost in his darkness with nothing to light his way out.
“This is the last time,” Bruce says, hazy, voice thick with want. He feels Clark smile against his lips. The last, last time was supposed to be the last time.
“You say that every time.” Bruce presses his hand to Clark’s length to feel how hard he is and to also shut him up with the moan that crawls up his throat.
The more they kiss, the more Clark tastes like sweet pomegranate that will keep him trapped there. His hands are like vines twining around his body, anchoring Bruce to him. He wants those lips everywhere. Leaving trails of goosebumps in their wake as he maps out his body with his mouth. Like he’s trying to commit his shape to memory to have something to hold onto when this is inevitably all over.
Each time feels like the first time, months ago, when Clark laid his forehead against Bruce’s and told him “Stop pretending.”
"I'm not pretending."
"You're pretending not to want this, but you haven't pushed me away."
He wasn’t drunk, but the whiskey he downed before coming warmed his face and made his skin tingle. He thought that if he let himself enjoy this fully sober he would never leave.
Clark always tries to be slow and thorough when he's fingering Bruce open, getting him ready to take him, but Bruce always begs for more. Harder, faster, and the need to feel the stretch of someone inhuman inside of him. Clark doesn’t want to hurt him, but Bruce craves it. Feels like it’s the only thing keeping him above water when he’s drowning in the affection he doesn’t deserve.
When they fuck, Bruce never tops. He is used to being in control in all aspects of his life. Either running a billion dollar business that he never wanted to inherit or leading a team of super powered heroes with an iron fist. The vulnerability of it all is what he craves. He never gets to follow. He doesn’t get to be led or be told what to do unless he’s beneath Clark, no other eyes but soft blue ones able to see him unravel like this.
Clark has him pressed against a wall, thick fingers are running through the deep black mess of Bruce’s hair, gripping to the point of almost being painful. His head is pulled back, Clark’s mouth is at his ear, panting “Does anyone else fuck you like this? Know your body like this?” A hand slides down to his throat, pressing enough to make his breath stutter. Bruce leans his head back on his shoulder, mouth open and groaning as each thrust hits his prostate he sees stars. The sweet reporter with the dorky glasses tucked away talking to him like this, taking him like this, it never feels real.
The sweetness always returns after they’re done. Soft fingers that left marks and stings turn achingly gentle. But the way he pushes him towards the bed, pressing Bruce’s face into the pillow and bottoming out in one thrust, is everything but gentle.
“Clark – oh my god, please –” words are coming out, no thoughts attached. As Clark pulls out of Bruce he misses the fullness and damn near whines.
“Turn over. Let me see you.”
Clark hooks Bruce’s left leg over his shoulder, his favorite position because he can feel every thick inch of him sliding in and out. When Clark presses into him and Bruce arches his back for a better angle, he lets out a shuddering breath. He looks into eyes filled with want and lust and something else Bruce hopes he isn’t imagining. When Clark sinks his teeth into Bruce’s neck he swears he hears him whisper, “You're mine.”
Bruce’s wrists are in Clark’s vice-like grip pinned above his head. An immovable weight holding the Batman down is the only time he ever welcomed feeling helpless. Legs spreading further, bracketing Clark's hips and pulling him closer, pressing him in deeper. Clark's face falls into the crook of his neck, biting down as he snaps his hips harder, panting heavily.
Each thrust onto his prostate was too much. He felt heat pooling deep in his belly as he came over himself in thick ropes, cock untouched.
“B, nngh you’re gonna make me…” he stuttered, hand moving to cup his chin, forcing the man beneath him to look at him. Bruce cut him off with a kiss. Not messy or sloppy like before, but hungry, needy. Clark grabbed Bruce’s hips like a lifeline. Fingers pressing deep into them that will leave reminders of this moment when he wakes up tomorrow. He cums inside of him with Bruce’s name on his lips, pulsing inside of him.
Bruce laid beneath him as Clark kissed him so tenderly it made him ache. His breath ragged, he wanted so much more of him, to be so much more to him.
—
He tries to slip out after Clark falls asleep but there isn’t really a way to sneak past someone with super hearing. Bruce can’t bear waking up to the warmth of him the next morning, when he can’t indulge in it the way he wanted to.
He gets dressed and doesn’t say goodbye, even though he can feel Clark’s eyes trained on him. He told himself this would be the last time. He wants to believe he means it.
Clark knows what’s expected of him. The Boy Scout™ and the sweet farm boy shouldn’t be fucking the dark knight into the mattress and spilling into him with a grip on his body that will certainly leave bruises.
I love you is on his tongue but imprisoned by his mouth and the crippling fear that Bruce will reject him. Terrified he’ll say that it was too much and he was too much.
So he says it with the way his tongue glides along Bruce’s bottom lip and the kisses he presses into all his favorite places on his body. The way he always makes sure to make Bruce look him in his eyes when he cums so he can feel and know and crave every part of him.
Please, stay is behind his eyes looking into the hooded blue ones staring back at him. So when he’s bent over in front of him, face pressed into the pillow while Clark fucks into him like he was made just for this he holds on like it will actually be the last time.
When he whispers filthy things into the other man’s ears, breath ghosting the back of his neck, he wants him to remember them the next time he’s being fucked by someone that isn’t him. That he’ll never be able to forget the feel of himself stretching around him and the way he makes every part of him vibrate.
Clark's hands fit the contours of his body like he was sculpted for this purpose. To be his. The curves of Bruce’s muscles and the deep blue of his veins, stark against his fair skin as he flexes, are mesmerizing. His lips are a sweet rosé pink and it feels like he can get drunk off of their kisses.
What Bruce doesn't do is show softness. When they're at the watchtower he’s not sneaking glances at him with slightly flushed cheeks like Clark is. So when he’s beneath him with Clark's name on his lips naked, desperate and writhing, something so vulnerable and beautiful and it takes every ounce of inhuman strength not to make a mess of him. He wants to make Bruce feel good, wants to make him continue making those noises, and whimpers, and pleas.
He should be with someone else. Someone that will pull him in instead of chase him away. He should be with someone else but he wants it to be him because what is super strength worth if he can’t knock down these walls he’s erected? He always asks himself if it’s selfish.
Overwhelmed by the feel of Bruce's heat around him he whispers a soft “You’re mine,” his hips are stuttering, legs shaking and he forces Bruce to look at him, eyes boring into him. Too overcome by the warmth in his chest he doesn't think about the slip, how honest he just was. How much he wants those words to be true.
When he looks into the fire burning in his gaze he understands why Icarus soared towards the sun. He could feel his own wings melting, spiraling towards the ocean blue in his eyes that would break him apart. If Ovid wrote this it would be less heartbreaking.
In lieu of a verbal response, Bruce pulls Clark’s mouth to his, sweet and sensual and his tongue talking in a different way. He can taste the tang of whiskey on his tongue and wonders if he’ll ever let himself be with him sober.
“So good for me, B. You take me so well.” Bruce will never admit how much he loves praise but it’s evident when he bites down on the finger in his mouth and his eyes roll back into his head.
“Such a pretty mess for me.”
When Bruce cums Clark is close behind. He can feel the other man clench around him through his release and he shudders. “B, nngh you’re gonna make me…” His release hits him hard and he pulls Bruce close as he fills him.
Bruce is always a different person after they’re done. These are the few moments he lets Clark be sweet to him. When he pushes his hair out of his eyes and uses a damp cloth to wipe the mess they made together off of his chest. This is when Bruce presses his face into the warmth of his palm when he cups his cheek. Melting at his praise instead of pulling away with a faux disinterested huff.
When the other man’s breathing calms, he uses the soft patter of his heart as a metronome to fall asleep. Fooling himself into thinking he’ll be there in the morning.
He feels him leaving him before he sees it. Can feel the dip of the bed as he tries to sneak away. He'd think he'd be used to it, but how do you get used to your future running away? He hears the stir of his shirt being pulled right side in and thrown over his torso. They don’t leave with a parting kiss, a goodbye, or the three words that are wrapped like shackles around them.
He loves him, but that's not enough.
----------------
Thanks for reading! Also posted on AO3. Leave a comment over there? :)
Fic Summary: Theo never backs down from a bet— dragging an already troubled lacrosse captain into a game of pretending to be in love but hateful in reality. Especially when he is already so deeply in love with his high school sweetheart.
Can they fool others long enough, and not fall for each other like fools?
Chapter Summary: It is the last day of the bet, Theo has done his best to make the other boy fall, but only to fall harder himself. Meanwhile Liam is happy to celebrate and reunite with Hayden... right?
i finally... fiished a multi chapter fic... HUZZAH
the entire thing is already complete with 8 chapters but ill update it every monday and thursday!
summary:
Adrien's mother returns! But now, Adrien seems to acting different, everyone can notice it, even himself. Why can't he remember basic facts about himself?
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
A philosophical discussion discussed as fluff. Fluff disguised as a philosophical discussion.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Callum/Rayla (The Dragon Prince)
Characters: Callum (The Dragon Prince), Rayla (The Dragon Prince)
Additional Tags: Fluff, Non-Sexual Intimacy, I mean you could read it either way, Cuddling & Snuggling, Kissing, self-indulgent silliness, Canon Compliant, inspired by a VSauce video of the same name, My first TDP fic!!!, felt cute might edit later
Summary:
In which Callum and Rayla discuss philosophy. But like, romantically.
