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The club was packed, and Bruce Wayne was getting overwhelmed. Work had been strenuous, and he had gotten back from an emergency call ten minutes before he was supposed to come to this sleazy place. The only reason he was here was because there was a lead on one of his many cases; it was a miracle he could keep them all straight in his head. Swirling the rum in his glass, Bruce wished he would break his no-drinking rule just so he could relax for once.
And when Bruce Wayne wanted to relax at a club, he did one thing; pull aside the first pretty little thing he could find. So his eyes scanned. They scanned over pretty little midriffs in crop tops and thick thighs stretching thin shorts. The woman he picked had a succubus tattoo, peaking out from beneath her little shirt. He wouldn’t mind staring at it while he had her on her stomach later.
——- later ——
When Bruce Wayne reemerges, he has lipstick marks on his collar and neck, and a few hairs out of place. The woman next to him can barely walk, so he guides her with a hand placed at the small of her back. Someone hits into his shoulder rather hard, and when Bruce turns, his blue eyes meet azure ones, hidden behind haphazard glasses. He squints.
Clark Kent. A man from Metropolis; a simple journalist. His glasses are a bit too big for his face, and his suit is bunched in all the wrong places. He awkwardly smiles, gripping a pen so hard his knuckles are white. “Mr. Wayne! What a coincidence, sir!” The man adjusts his glasses with a slightly-trembling hand. “My name is Clark Kent. I was, um, looking to ask if I could get you alone.”
Bruce cocks a brow, looking the other man up and down. “What a first impression, I must say. I did not take you to be so… straightforward.” Bruce smirks, running a hand through his hair. The other man stares at him for a moment before his cheeks bloom into an adorable pink. “I— um, I meant….” Clark stumbles. Bruce chuckles, a deep, strained sound.
The woman next to Bruce has seemingly disappeared, so Bruce steps closer to Clark. “Mr. Kent” he purrs, “you don’t need to be shy if you’re looking for some… companionship.” Bruce expertly slides a hand to the small of Clark’s back, keeping him from slipping away. Clark tries to hide his red ears in the lapels of his suit jacket.
Clark can’t find it in himself to clarify what he meant, not when Bruce’s expensive cologne floats around him, practically fogging up his glasses. “Follow me…” Bruce murmurs, but his tone offers no option other than to obey. So that’s what Clark does; obey. Because who is he to correct a misunderstanding when it means getting Gotham’s playboy alone?
When the door is closed and locked behind Clark, he’s suddenly pushed against the door and kissed within an inch of his life. The tabloids weren’t wrong; Bruce Wayne is a damn good kisser. Of course Clark has read the tabloids; when he needs to do research, he is nothing if not thorough. Clark can barely remember what he was supposed to get information on as Bruce sucks and bites at his lower lip.
Maneuvering Clark to the bed, Bruce pulls his head away and goes to take Clark’s glasses off. Clark hurriedly grasps his wrist. “P-please don’t remove them, I’d like to see you.” Bruce pauses, a small smile on his lips as he tilts his head. “…alright. I’ve heard weirder rules.” He sighs before pushing Clark onto his back, beginning to trail his lips down the other man’s now-red neck.
Clark is used to being the dominant one in bed, so he barely knows what to do with himself as Bruce mouths against his neck. “Mmm… Mr Kent, you taste divine.” Bruce purrs, sending shivers down his spine and straight to his throbbing dick. His voice is huskier, making Clark blush. He’d never admit it, but a deep, gravelly voice drives Clark wild.
“t-tell me about it” Clark hears himself say, in a desperate attempt to keep Bruce talking. Bruce smiles against his skin. “What, you like my voice?” Clark blushes, not used to being read so quickly. Bruce takes his attempt to burrow into his jacket like a turtle as a yes. “Well… I certainly don’t mind talking, if you’d prefer…” he trails a hand down Clark’s suit jacket. “But first, let’s get you out of this tacky thing.” Clark frowns like he’s been personally insulted, but Bruce pays it no mind as he peels the jacket off and tosses it to the side.
Clark’s nipples are already hard, two small peaks in his shirt. Bruce flicks at one, and Clark whimpers; he’s insanely sensitive there. Bruce’s brows lift and he shifts to straddle Clark’s waist, beginning to unbutton the other man’s shirt. “goodness, what a pretty thing you are” Bruce hums. When Clark’s shirt has been unbuttoned and abandoned, Bruce grins. “You were hiding this beneath that suit of yours?” He runs two warm hands down Clark’s abdomen. Clark shivers, having expected to be touched with more aggression than he currently is. It’s nothing compared to the way small, feminine hands feel against his skin, but he finds the new sensation addicting in its own way.
Bruce gently takes two handfuls of Clark’s pecs, squishing them and making the man beneath him shift, looking away. Fingers deftly play with Clark’s nipples, making him squirm, gasping softly. He pinches softly and Clark arches his back, lifting Bruce in the air slightly. “Sensitive, hmm? Cute.” Clark’s ears redden further and he looks away. The teasing fingers leave, one hand gently gripping his chin and tilting it back. “Keep your eyes on me.”
Clark immediately does as told, earning a “good boy” and making his hips buck uncontrollably. Bruce tilts his head to the side. “You like praise, hmm?” Clark hesitates, mouth opening and then closing like a fish. Bruce chuckles, hands returning to nipples. Clark stares at Bruce’s long lashes, desperate to please. Bruce pinches again, a little rougher than before, and Clark’s breath catches, thighs tensing and back arching. “Ah, golly!~” Clark whines, and Bruce chuckles. “You can curse, y’know.”
Clark bites his lip when Bruce leans forward, beginning to suck at the reporter’s neck while busying his hands. Bruce can feel the way Clark’s neck shifts when he swallows, and he nibbles. “A-ah!~” Clark whimpers when Bruce’s teeth pinch at his skin, hips jerking at the dual stimulation. So easy to please.
When Bruce gets his teeth on a nipple, they’re both already thoroughly red from previous playing. Clark keens when Bruce swirls his tongue around the peak, white-knuckling the sheets as he throws his head back. When Bruce finally, finally leaves his nipples alone, Clark’s chest is heaving. Bruce runs his hands down the man’s sides, stopping at his dress pants. “May I?” Bruce murmurs. Clark smiles, nodding. His hair is a mess now, glasses balanced awkwardly on the bridge of his nose. Bruce unbuckles painstakingly slowly, sliding the slacks off with a patience Clark does not have at the moment.
“God, your body is…impressive.” Bruce swallows hard, eyeing the tent in Clark’s boxers. He notices a wet spot, looking back up at Clark’s red face. He palms Clark through the fabric, making Clark gasp, worrying his lower lip. “Already? All I’ve done is kiss you, darling.” Clark barely recognizes his own voice when he speaks. “I’m, um…” Bruce’s fingers caress him and he loses his train of thought immediately. “Big?” Bruce purrs. “Don’t you worry that pretty head of yours.”
Despite his cockiness, Bruce’s breath still catches once he pulls Clark’s boxers off. He wasn’t kidding. “I-it’s alright if you change your mind, I can—“ Clark begins. Bruce cuts him off. “Shhh… I never said I couldn’t handle you.” Sitting on Clark’s thighs, Bruce wastes no time in getting his hands on the other man, stroking up and down slowly. Clark tenses, soft gasps escaping his throat. “A-ah~” He whimpers, closing his eyes as he tries to stay still.
Bruce doesn’t even need to use spit or lube; Clark has already covered himself in precum. Once Bruce settles on a rhythm, Clark has to fight from using his super strength; he’s still in his civilian persona, after all. Bruce gently runs his nails against the underside and Clark trembles, “golly” and “gosh” falling from his lips continuously.
The closest Clark gets to cursing is when he feels lips stretch over his tip. He has to fight from bucking into Bruce’s warm, wet mouth. Bruce rests his hands on the base of Clark’s cock, stroking gently as he begins to take Clark into his mouth. “Y-you don’t need to take all of me”, Clark pants. Bruce would clap back if he could speak at the moment, so instead he swirls his tongue around the tip, making Clark whimper so sweetly.
“Ooh gosh~” Clark’s hand has found its way to Bruce’s hair, resting but not pushing. “I’m, ha~, getting close. D-do you want to pull off?” Clark stammers. Bruce smiles to himself, as well as he’s able. He’s considerate, even when about to cum. In response, Bruce pushes Clark further into his throat, making his throat contract around the obstruction. Clark cums with a soft cry, hips bucking once as he spills into Bruce’s warm throat.
When Bruce pulls off, Clark’s eyes are brimming with tears as he gasps for breath, smiling. “Golly, you’re really good at that.” He murmurs softly. Bruce chuckles, throat raw now. “You really don’t curse, do you?” He murmurs, making Clark blush. Once Clark’s chest settles a bit, Bruce gives a tentative stroke. Clark trembles, eyes flashing to meet Bruce’s. “Up for more, pretty boy?” Bruce purrs. Clark wants to argue, to call Bruce the pretty one, but just keeps his mouth shut, nodding.
Bruce licks the underside teasingly slowly, keeping direct eye contact with Clark. Clark gasps again, shoulders shuddering as he bites his lower lip. Bruce kisses the tip and then tongues at the slit, making Clark’s shoulders shake. Pinning Clark’s thick, muscular thighs down, Bruce slowly drags his teeth along the sensitive tip. Clark practically convulses, eyes rolling back in his head as he flops back on the bed, gripping the sheets with almost enough strength to tear them.
Bruce repeats the move until Clark is sobbing softly, pleasure clouding his senses as he fights the building desire to cum again. When Bruce licks at his tip and then blows on it, Clark’s hips jolt and he whines. Bruce almost chuckles but resumes his methodical playing. Bruce sucks at his tip until Clark is trembling and panting “Wayne… Mr Wayne please…” When Clark’s hips try to jolt for the second time, Bruce pins them down and doubles his efforts, making Clark’s vision go white as he cums, again.
When Bruce finally stands, he’s got a wet stain on the front of his boxers. Clark flushes, this time out of embarrassment. “Oh… I didn’t get to make you—“ he begins, but Bruce gently shushes him. “It’s fine. I enjoyed making you whine.” How Bruce knows to say the right things thoroughly boggles Clark’s cloudy mind. Bruce climbs onto the bed, pushing Clark onto his back once more and settles on his lap. The fabric of Bruce’s boxers catches on Clark’s sensitive dick, making him whine. Bruce just smirks, resuming his previous playing with Clark’s chest.
The mix of his sensitivity both in the chest and the groin is making Clark feel almost high as his eyes roll into the back of his head. “Ooh gosh, Mr Wayne!~” He mumbles mindlessly, “A-ah~” Clark’s hips jerk as he cums for the fourth time, now having soiled both his boxers and Bruce’s. He tries to apologize, but Bruce shushes him, again. “They were already wet, don’t worry about it.”
“Well… I suppose I ought to get back to the club. I have some work to do.” Bruce licks his swollen lips and smiles, fixing his hair as though he didn’t just give Clark the best head of his life. Clark shakily nods, beginning to sit up. “Well… thank you.” He begins, voice soft. Bruce walks over to his jacket, fishing in the pocket. He finds a plastic card and hands it to Clark. “If you’re ever in town again, be sure to let me know. I’m sure I could fit you into my schedule.” Bruce smirks. Clark just nods, in shock as he watches Bruce get dressed and exit. He flips the card around a few times in his hand, mulling it over. He supposes this is the billionaire’s version of giving out a phone number.
When Clark gets dressed, he takes extra care to smooth his wrinkled dress pants. Bruce’s cologne still clings to the air, and Clark finds an odd comfort in it. He runs a hand through his messy hair, fixing himself in the mirror. Bruce left no marks on his skin, but left his nipples very sensitive, dragging against the material of his dress shirt. When Clark finally exits the room, he sees the woman hanging all over Bruce earlier, kissing another business man. He smiles to himself; at least she kept busy when he took Bruce’s attention.