Work Text:
The newsroom is abuzz with chatter when Clark walks in two minutes late, juggling a coffee, his bag, and his phone in his hands. Perry barks at him about his tardiness as he walks by, Clark offering a tired routine apology in return—even the prospect of incurring his editor’s wrath isn’t enough to deter him from his Superman duties, sue him. Jimmy gives him a mindless wave, tongue between his teeth as he thumbs through his photos, Lois nodding at him in a brief acknowledgement, equally lost in her journalistic duties.
The source of the hum in the bullpen makes itself quite clear once Clark seats himself at his desk, dropping all of his belongings in a jumble. He smooths out his tie and suit jacket, concentrating on the babble while booting up his computer.
“Did you see that Bruce Wayne—”
“With Playboy? Did I ever—”
“Bunny ears and all.”
“There’s a reason he was voted People’s Sexiest Man Alive. Repeatedly.”
“Yeah, it’s scientific or something, isn’t it?”
“Taking his title of billionaire playboy to a whole ‘nother level…”
Clark’s ears perk up with each mention of Bruce’s name, curiosity gnawing at his insides. Playboy? Bruce had mentioned that there would be a new photoshoot releasing in several days the last time Clark spoke to him, but hadn’t shared what company he was working with this time. A surprise, he’d promised. One that Clark was certain to find amusing.
Shuffling and organizing the papers left on his desk by other writers and editors, Clark unveils a brand new copy of Playboy, a sticky note stuck on the top reading: Call me - B. Looking around his surroundings furtively to make sure no one is looking, Clark pulls the issue into his lap, mind racing a hundred miles per minute in unfiltered anticipation.
The cover is ludicrous, even obscene. Bruce, outfitted in lace panties, thigh garters connected to knee-high stockings, a chest harness, and honest-to-god bunny ears complete with a tail. The pose he’s striking is sultry and suggestive, on all fours with his legs spread apart, one thigh blocking his groin from the view of the camera, back arched and looking behind at the camera with a smoky gaze and a bit lip. The scant coverings leave no room for imagination, the muscle of his thighs, arms, and back, fully apparent and on display, the swell of his ass fully visible.
Jaw dropped in astonishment, face and ears burning, Clark has never been so glad for the deliberately oversized clothes he wears to work. It’s like his body has kicked into overdrive, all of his super senses alert and primed. Heat vision threatens to spill out of his eyes, he’s so turned on. He speed-dials Bruce and bolts to the supply closet at the far end of the hall that is rarely used, locking himself inside with the magazine. While waiting for Bruce to pick up, he rifles through the pages of the issue, teeth nearly going through his lower lip with each suggestive photo.
“Clark,” Bruce greets. Clark can hear the smugness in his voice and shudders bodily.
“Bruce,” Clark chokes out. “Good gosh, this is the photoshoot you were talking about?”
“Mhm,” Bruce hums in response. “Do you like it?”
Clark has to bite back an incredulous laugh. “Like it? Bruce, I’m at work, and I think the only thing I’ll be able to do today is think about the cover. I’m—gosh, Bruce, I’m actually hard, and I can’t do anything about it.”
“Says who?” Bruce teases.
“Bruce,” Clark admonishes.
“I have more pictures,” Bruce says. “Ones that didn’t make it to print.”
“Bruce,” Clark echoes weakly.
He groans, weak in the knees and unable to voice an argument for not showing him now at his place of work. His phone pings with a message attachment from Bruce, and no amount of willpower on this planet could stop him from opening it. And, well, Clark is rendered nearly incoherent. Bruce, leaning back in a chair as if it’s his own personal throne, thighs spread wide open. The delicate material of the panties doesn’t quite manage to contain his size, and Clark’s mouth waters as he takes in the visible bulge straining at the fabric and miles of bare skin.
Dumbstruck, he gawks at his phone in awe unblinkingly, all of the blood in his body rushing to his cock. His brain is nigh empty, stuck on trying to process Bruce dolled up in such a manner. The dichotomy of a muscled, fit business tycoon—and his boyfriend, at that—in lingerie of all things opens a door directly to Clark’s hindbrain, dormant fantasies swirling to life.
“Bruce.” Clark’s voice nears a snarl, lust deepening and roughening his vocal cords. “Good lord—this is…”
Bruce sounds nearly as affected, breaths heavy and uneven. “Touch yourself, Clark, I know you want to.”
“Are you—”
“Look at me,” Bruce commands, hanging up.
Clark looks far away into Gotham, locating Bruce in Wayne Manor, and he swears he drools at the sight of him in bed, dressed in the very same ensemble on the cover. He’s on his elbows and knees, a bottle of lube tucked in the covers beside him, legs spread wide open, hips in the air.
“I know you can hear me, Clark,” Bruce pants, slicking up his fingers. “Follow along.”
Fully aware that Bruce can’t see him, Clark nods along vigorously anyway, unclasping his belt. Arousal builds hot and heavy throughout his entire body, and he backs himself against a shelf for support. Bruce pulls his panties aside, easing one finger into himself, eyes fluttering in pleasure. Clark loses all ability for higher thought as he watches Bruce keen into his own touch, cock trembling under the thin, tight layer of fabric.
“Touch yourself,” Bruce repeats, voice thready and unstable. “Imagine that you’re the one fucking me. I know you could make me feel so much fuller. You could get deeper than I can, fuck me harder and faster. Better.”
Forgoing all sense of decency, Clark unzips his pants, pulling them down slightly along with his boxers to expose his hopelessly hard dick. He breathes in a sigh of relief as soon as the cool air hits his cock, palming it roughly. He watches Bruce stretch himself open, stroking himself in time with Bruce’s ministrations. The fabric ensconcing Bruce’s cock is darkening slowly from wetness, and Clark can taste the scent of arousal on his tongue.
“Clark, you feel so good,” Bruce moans, adding another finger.
He pointedly makes no move to touch his leaking dick, only burying his fingers inside himself with relish, hips rolling against his hand as he adds a third finger. Pre-come gushes from Clark’s cock in waves as he thrusts into his hand in kind, his glasses fogging up with the heat of his body temperature. Bruce moans Clark’s name like a broken record, the slick sound of skin on skin ringing in Clark’s ears. He’s a vision, spread out on his bed, fucking himself with reckless abandon, dressed like a present that Clark wants to unwrap with his teeth. His moans are wanton and unrestrained, lewd and oh so hot.
Clark’s strokes are coming sloppier, hips stuttering into his hand, and he comes so hard he thinks he almost blacks out, blood rushing to his ears and stars dancing in his vision as his body shakes with swathes of pleasure. Thighs trembling, standing on unsteady legs, Clark gives himself a second to catch his breath and clean himself up before he flies out of the Planet in a blur too fast for human perception, speeding to the Wayne Manor like an arrow flying true to its target.
“Hi, Clark,” Bruce grunts out, fingers still pressed inside himself.
Clark huffs, stalking over to where Bruce is still on all fours. “I’m glad you enjoy getting a rise out of me, Bruce.”
“I’m technically your boss,” Bruce reminds him. “I own the Daily Planet. If anything, I’m the one paying you to get yourself off on company time. C’mere.”
“That makes me sound like a hooker,” Clark half-heartedly complains.
“It’s true, isn’t it? Tell me you didn’t jerk off in the supply closet and I’ll take it back,” Bruce deadpans. Or rather, as much of a deadpan as one can muster with three fingers in their ass.
“Fine, but you’re the one explaining to Perry why I took off in the middle of the day.” Clark capitulates easily, all defenses dispersed with one look at Bruce’s pliant, suggestive pose.
He gently eases Bruce’s fingers out and flips him over onto his back, Clark’s knee coming to rest between Bruce’s wet thighs, pinning his wrists to the bed as he settles into place. Clark kisses Bruce frantically, breathing him in like oxygen.
“That—” Kiss. “Was so—” Bite. “Damn.” Lick. “Hot,” Clark pants between kisses.
“They let me pick the outfit,” Bruce exhales, lips pink and thoroughly kiss-bitten. “Thought—thought of you when I—thought of this. You fucking me.”
Clark laughs breathlessly, forehead dropping to Bruce’s. “You’re going to be the death of me, Bruce.”
Bruce grins up at him, clearly pleased. “You’re a good boy, Clark. Always so eager to please,” he acknowledges with glee, hand batting at Clark’s unzipped trousers.
The pet name and praise go straight to Clark’s heart and then trail down his spine to his dick, arousal burning through his veins. A guttural, raw sound rips through him involuntarily, body positively shivering with anticipation and pure, unfettered desire. Bruce is beautiful under him, eyes wide and pupils blown within an inch of their life, mouth slightly open. He closes his thighs around Clark’s knee and squeezes, grinding his cock against him.
“Take this off,” Bruce whispers into Clark’s mouth, brushing at his office attire. “Strip for me, Clark.”
Clark is nothing if not at Bruce’s beck and call, his every whim. He obliges with speed, shedding his clothes in a matter of seconds and returning to his position above Bruce, dick standing at attention already and raring to go for another round.
“Take me to bed,” Bruce murmurs, eyes half-lidded.
Well, Clark has never been one to disobey direct orders. Tugging Bruce’s ruined panties aside and hoisting up his thighs, Clark lines himself up and thrusts in without hesitation, enveloping himself in warm, wet heat with a punched-out moan. Bruce cries out his name, hands scrabbling for purchase on the expanse of Clark’s back.
Trying to take his time, Clark thrusts shallow and slow, resisting the urge to snap his hips at an inhuman pace, plunging into Bruce’s white-hot heat without reservation. The pleasure of it is still blinding, Bruce making obscene, filthy noises with each shift of Clark’s hips.
“More,” Bruce pleads, legs locking behind Clark’s back, pulling him in more. “I can take it, I promise.”
“Bruce,” Clark groans. “I’m—I’m not going to last for long if I start…”
“Don’t care,” Bruce huffs, shaking his head into the bed, bunny ears bouncing along. “Fuck me like you mean it. I won’t break.”
“Okay, yeah, right,” Clark agrees shakily, increasing his pace and force with great strain.
“God,” Bruce chokes out as Clark fucks into him so hard the bed rocks with it. “So—full, you’re so—Christ—big, my god. Nothing else compares. When—when I touch myself, I can never get so deep…”
“Is that so?” Clark grunts with exertion.
Bruce nods frantically. “Just look.”
Clark looks with his X-ray vision and bites his lip at what he finds. He’s so far inside of Bruce he might as well be in his stomach, stretching him out unbelievably.
“Oh,” he remarks unintelligently, mind filled with static.
“Impressed with your own handiwork, Boy Scout?” Bruce goads with delight, tears of pleasure threatening to roll down his face.
“Holy—my gosh,” Clark says, at a loss for words. “Bruce…”
“Doing so well, Clark, don’t you worry,” Bruce says. “So–” his hips stutter beneath Clark’s, “close.”
Clark takes the encouragement in stride, hips bucking at an inhuman pace, drawing a series of gasps out of Bruce. He sounds wrecked, letting out shaky breaths. Slick, lewd sounds fill the room, overwhelming Clark’s super hearing. His nerve endings feel like they’re on fire, threatening to combust spontaneously.
“Clark,” Bruce moans, writhing against him. “‘M—gonna—ngh.”
“Let yourself go,” Clark soothes, nearly breaking a sweat as he fights to keep up his pace. “I’ve got you.”
Bruce comes with a shout, arching against Clark as his body wracks with spasms through his orgasm. Come spills out of his half-clothed cock, heat streaking across both of their chests. Clark kisses Bruce deeply, whispering sweet nothings.
“Keep going,” Bruce gasps, clenching around Clark. “Don’t have to stop.”
Clark grunts, his own release almost forgotten with Bruce’s orgasm. He thrusts hard and fast, Bruce making pleasurable, fucked out noises through the overstimulation. Clark’s vision goes white as he comes inside of Bruce, wet heat flooding around him. It takes a superhuman effort for him not to collapse immediately, spent and ruined. Bruce mewls when Clark pulls out, lube and come dripping down his thighs.
“Quite a show you put on,” Clark whispers, resettling between Bruce’s thighs.
“Just for you,” Bruce agrees, licking his lips.
He stares at Clark hungrily, if not a bit tired, a sheen of sweat and pleasure glowing on his face. Still clothed in his bunny outfit, he looks straight out of a debauched wet dream, come smeared across his stomach, chest, and thighs. Clark is determined to commit this image to memory, to remember what Bruce looks like when he’s languid and loose, responsibilities temporarily forgotten.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Bruce smirks.
“You know what, I think I will,” Clark grins back. “It’ll certainly tide me over ‘til next time.”
He stands up and whisks through the bathroom, returning with a damp washcloth and a glass of water for Bruce. Gently, he cleans up the mess on Bruce’s stomach and thighs as Bruce stares at him with reverence.
“Good?”
“Great,” Bruce replies.
He holds his hand out to Clark, beckoning him closer. Clark, ever the gentleman, follows, lying back down and wrapping himself around Bruce. He’s nice and warm, hard muscle and angles, but softened by the light and the hazy afterglow of sex. It’s pleasant and comforting, but, regrettably, Clark still has a job to do.
“Stay,” Bruce pleads, an uncommon moment of vulnerability when Clark says as much.
It tugs at Clark’s heartstrings, and he’s never been one to say no to Bruce. Hell, he’d give him the world if he asked for it. Still, the world continues to spin on its axis with or without them.
“Okay,” he agrees, shifting in bed.
For now, there are no fires to put out, no natural disasters, no malicious billionaires. It’s just Bruce and Clark, in their own sanctuary, wrapped up in each other. This peace will not last forever, but for now, they can stay wrapped up in each other, forgetting everything around them save for each other.