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This is wrong. Bruce knows it’s wrong.
The hand that slips into his shirt is warm as it caresses his skin. It pulls Bruce several inches backwards on the bed, jostling him to full consciousness. He should say something. Instead, he just lets that broad hand wind up his torso until it brushes against a nipple, and he shivers in response.
Clark, he almost says as the hand begins to fondle him, but the hot, heavy weight rubbing against his ass causes the breath to stop short in his chest. Clark is already halfway to erect, and from the gentle groan that escapes his lips, he must be having a very pleasant dream. He pulls Bruce closer, grinding harder against his ass, only the thin material of their underwear separating his cock from Bruce's needy hole. He ignores it for another minute, but he already knows what direction this is going to take.
Clark isn't going to stop. He never does. And it's because Bruce never wakes him.
Until last year, this never used to happen. Bruce shared a bed many times with Clark in the past, and despite his own debilitating and embarrassing feelings for his friend, he always managed to contain himself. But one unforgettable night, Clark told Bruce he was trying a new kind of self-hypnosis to maximize the restorative effects of sleep on someone who doesn’t technically need it. It caused Clark to sleep more deeply, though he would still be easily woken by emergencies, his senses still subconsciously tracking the usual signs of great danger around the world. He was hoping it would help his mind recharge, given all the responsibilities he had to juggle, and Bruce assured him he would help monitor Clark for any unusual or dangerous changes.
Bruce didn’t notice any particular differences that night, but the next time they roomed together for a league mission, it occurred for the first time. Bruce had been so shocked he couldn’t even react when Clark’s cock slid between his thighs, and then he came to the logical conclusion that to wake Clark would be even worse. The embarrassment and guilt of doing such a thing to Bruce would devastate Clark, so Bruce simply opted not to tell him. He lay there, still as he could as Clark fucked between his thighs, trying to will himself out of his arousal. It was a spectacular failure. He wound up hobbling to the bathroom, his legs coated in his best friend’s semen, where he desperately jerked himself off while Clark’s heady scent still surrounded him.
The shame he felt afterwards was deep and rattling, and he cleaned the bed as best he could, vowing to keep the night’s activities a secret. The following morning he told Clark a little white lie: that he was rather more active in bed than before, but otherwise harmless. Bruce phrased it with a gentle kind of concern that Clark might accidentally jostle or kick his bedmate. Clark apologized for disturbing Bruce’s sleep, but mentioned that as he had no current plans to share a bed with anybody else, he would continue the hypnosis, and Bruce couldn’t find it in himself to disagree.
The next time it happened, Bruce swore to himself he would tell Clark. The time after that as well. Somehow, after a dozen opportunities, he’s still never managed to bring it up, and at this point, he isn’t sure he ever can. He's dug himself a grave too deep by never mentioning it earlier.
It doesn't help that he isn't opposed to what Clark does to him in his sleep-hypnotic state.
Tonight, Bruce prepped himself, just in case. Took that extra time in the bathroom while Clark had already dozed off to stretch himself open on lubed fingers on the off chance that it would happen. It doesn't always. Sometimes Clark does just conk out until the alarm or their JL signal goes off. But Bruce had hoped. Readied himself. Shimmied out of his briefs just now as Clark began rocking into him, his erection slipping through the slit in his boxers.
So it's easy now to position the tip of Clark's dick, so wet and sticky with need already, at his entrance. To nudge the fat head past the clench of his rim, until Clark's body registers that kiss of Bruce's heat, and he—
“Fuck,” Bruce curses into the mattress as Clark slams home in one go, sheathing himself completely, knocking the air out of Bruce. He begins thrusting immediately, his arms wrapping tight around Bruce's torso, restraining him, holding him in place so Clark can fuck him like a fleshlight.
Clark's control of his strength slips in his sleep. Never enough to hurt Bruce, but definitely enough to drive Bruce insane. He’s embracing Bruce hard enough to bruise. His cock punches in deep, the rhythm controlled solely by Clark, his hips smacking hard against Bruce’s ass with each thrust.
He never says anything, which makes it all the worse. If on that first night Clark had moaned someone’s name, the horror would have shocked Bruce enough into action. But as it stands, Bruce can pretend that he’s the person Clark wants in his arms. He’s the one Clark is dreaming about, who he desires so deeply that his body moves of its own accord.
He can pretend he’s the one Clark loves.
Bruce’s hands are digging into the sheets as Clark pulls him back onto his cock again and again. His own dick smacks uselessly against his stomach as he’s bounced roughly back into Clark — he doesn’t touch himself because it makes the situation feel less egregious. As if he can fool the world into believing he isn’t getting anything out of this if he just lets Clark use him like a toy. He doesn’t need the extra stimulation anyway. Letting Clark ravish him is enough to get him off every time.
Clark pounds into him for several endless minutes, leaving Bruce boneless and lightheaded. His limbs are jostled roughly each time Clark’s dick rams back in, his hole just a fucksleeve for Clark. Before he can give himself completely over to the mindless pleasure, Clark suddenly shifts, rolling atop Bruce so that he's now pinned prone beneath him.
“Agh-” The grunt slips out against his will, and he almost bites his own tongue as Clark starts thrusting again, this time reaching even deeper than before. Clark's weight keeps him trapped, unable to escape without actively trying to fight back. He feels dazed, completely at Clark’s mercy as that huge, weighty cock hammers in and out without any regard for Bruce’s needs. His ass is starting to grow sore from the impact of Clark’s hips, and each time Clark goes balls-deep inside him, Bruce clenches in anticipation. He’s addicted to the sensation of being flooded with Clark’s thick semen. Clark comes hard and long when he orgasms. Bruce loves the feeling of each endless pulse of cum shooting deep inside him, marking him like he’s Clark’s bitch.
He arranged himself to let Clark fuck his face, once. Shortly after Clark nodded off, Bruce slid down the bed, pulling the covers aside and curling up small so he could fit in this awkward position. It felt ridiculous at the time, but it paid off when he successfully got Clark’s cock down his throat. He almost choked on it, Clark gripping his head tight as he brutally fucked Bruce’s face, unknowingly abusing Bruce’s throat as he shoved himself in to the root, balls slapping against Bruce’s jaw with each thrust. Bruce was a mess of tears and saliva as Clark violated his mouth, but he loved every second of it. He came just from being used like a cheap toy, coming close to blacking out as Clark emptied his load straight down Bruce’s throat. He swallowed down as much of the deluge of cum as he could handle, but it overflowed out of his mouth, even with Clark pressing Bruce’s face right up against his groin as he came. Bruce was a total mess afterwards, brain foggy and cumdrunk as he dragged himself off to the bathroom so he could clean himself up before wiping Clark down.
He’s warped into Clark’s personal cumdump and Clark doesn’t even know. Taking every chance he gets to let Clark breed him, preparing his hole so that Superman can just shove right in, coming his brains out just from being treated like a masturbation toy — Bruce is an irredeemable slut. And he’s using his poor friend against his will.
Clark would be disgusted if he knew Bruce wanted him badly enough to use him like this. Because Bruce is using him, even if he’s the one being treated like a fuckhole. His hole constantly craves Clark’s Kryptonian cock; he doesn’t get off nearly as well from any other kind of stimulation anymore. No one else compares to Clark. Bruce almost feels like he was made to be Superman’s fleshlight. Unfortunately, this is the only way for him to get what he wants.
Clark continues reaming Bruce, his stiff cock jabbing roughly into Bruce’s prostate on most thrusts. Bruce is close, his nipples and cock grinding helplessly against the mattress each time Clark fucks in. He’s still completely pinned.
“Ah- Clark,” he whines as his vision goes spotty. Each time Clark bottoms out inside him with a brutal thrust, Bruce’s whole body grows more taut. The rough sheets beneath him rubbing his sensitive skin, Clark’s weighty warmth braced around his back and legs, Clark’s hands holding down Bruce’s arms so that he can’t escape even he wanted to — it takes only two more brain-rattling minutes of rough fucking for Bruce to come, his semen splattering all over the sheets and his stomach. Clark’s rhythm forces several more streaks of cum out of Bruce’s poor over-sensitized dick each time Clark rams back in.
Bruce is wiped out afterwards, content to lie there like a ragdoll as Clark chases his own release. In the past, Bruce’s walls clenching tight around him as Bruce reached his orgasm would be enough to bring Clark to his peak soon after. Bruce could recover enough in the next few minutes to clean them up so that Clark was none the wiser the next morning.
But tonight Clark doesn’t stop.
One hand shifts to push Bruce’s face into the mattress; dazed, Bruce wheezes for air as Clark lifts his hips so that they’re tilted back, putting his ass on display. Clark mounts him like he’s a bitch in heat and continues plowing him without a moment’s pause. Bruce can’t help the sob that breaks free from his throat as Clark’s massive cock cleaves him open, filling Bruce so entirely that he can’t think straight. In his sleep, Clark has always played a bit rough, but this is a whole new level. Bruce isn’t his imaginary lover anymore. He’s just a warm hole for Clark to fuck, and Clark’s subconscious fully intends to use him that way.
Bruce can only whimper into the mattress as Clark pounds away. He’s too frazzled to even keep track of time. His body feels both boneless and wire-tight, and the noises he’s making are no longer subdued nor coherent. The hand pinning him down by the neck finally releases him, but then Clark grips Bruce by the wrists instead, pulling him back by the arms so he can’t escape Clark’s relentless pace. Bruce can only take it, drowning in the pleasure that he was too weak to resist.
All he can do is lie there and accept the consequences he was hoping for all along.
“Clark. Kal, please,” Bruce starts mumbling into the sheets as his cock grows hard again from the unending stimulation. His brain is too overwhelmed to remember why this is a bad idea. All he knows now is the white-hot bliss keeping him suspended in place. Unfortunately, words elude him on the next deep thrust, and he can only cry out loudly instead, tears pooling in his eyes as Clark doesn’t stop.
“Bruce?” asks a groggy voice, and the jolt of fear that runs through Bruce isn’t enough to cut through the fog of his uncontrolled pleasure. “What is- oh, god, you feel so good-”
Bruce thought that upon waking Clark would immediately push him away, separate in disgust, but instead his grip on Bruce’s wrists tightens, and his dick grinds in hard against the spot that makes Bruce’s vision go offline.
“Is this really- fuck-”
“ ‘m sorry,” Bruce slurs out, too cockdrunk to explain himself now. “Clark, I need it- want your cum-”
“Bruce, I really shouldn’t- not again-” Clark tries to protest, but his hips don’t cease moving. His dick continues coring into Bruce, and Bruce distantly notices himself making wretched little moans each time Clark shoves back in.
“'s okay,” he attempts to reassure Clark, but it dissolves into begging as Clark releases his arms to plaster himself along Bruce’s back again. It feels so right to be trapped in place, surrounded by Clark’s weight and surrendered to his needs.
“Are you sure?” he asks, voice rumbling against the sensitive skin right under Bruce’s ear.
“Please.”
“Alright, okay.”
Bruce collapses forward, too exhausted to hold himself up as Clark frantically fucks into him as if he can’t control himself.
“Oh, B, you’re always so perfect,” Clark mutters. “Felt so bad the first time this happened but you’re so- god, I never want this to stop, could keep you like this forever- I can barely believe this isn’t another dream-”
“Hnn,” Bruce whimpers against the sheets. He can’t make heads or tails of what Clark is saying right now. All he can think about is how much he loves it when Clark goes all out. The bed is starting to creak under their exertion.
“Was never 100% sure it was real or not but now- there’s no way I’m giving this up- I’m not going to pretend this time, Bruce. You’re mine, now, okay?” He tenderly kisses the base of Bruce’s neck even as he continues ravaging Bruce’s hole.
“Mm,” Bruce moans in agreement. “Yours.”
A low snarl of sound answers him, and Clark pulls Bruce back hard, flush against him as he finally comes. He continues fucking into Bruce as he shoots his load, filling the room with the obscene sound of him grinding his seed deep into Bruce on each rough thrust. It seems to go on forever. Bruce’s mind is adrift, his vision blurry as his body is helplessly rocked by each remaining slow piston of Clark’s hips as he paints Bruce’s clenching walls with yet another thick spurt of cum. Bruce finally got what he wanted, and it’s enough to make him come again, though it feels almost like an afterthought for his body. It leaves him shuddering in Clark’s grip as that perfect cock continues flooding Bruce with semen.
When his orgasm finally subsides, Clark collapses onto his side, tugging Bruce alongside him so that they’re spooning. Bruce is still operating at only a quarter of his brain’s capacity, his thoughts all still focused on the euphoric glow of being stuffed full of Clark. He clenches weakly around Clark’s length, and gets a hiss of pleasure for his trouble.
“Don’t tease me; you’ll get me going again.”
“Good,” Bruce murmurs dreamily. “Should always be like this.”
“I agree.” Clark’s arms encircle Bruce, and Bruce can feel the soft pressure of Clark leaving a kiss in his hair. “Promise me we’ll talk about this in the morning?”
Bruce grunts, too sated and senseless to try and wriggle his way out of it. He gives Clark’s hand a squeeze, and lets his head lay back against Clark.
Clark takes this as a sign of agreement, and Bruce can feel him relaxing behind him. Despite the mess and the sensation of Clark still buried inside him, Bruce feels sleep tugging him under. The cleanup and the conversation will hold until tomorrow.
As Bruce’s eyelids grow heavy and Clark’s breath evens out, Clark’s hips roll forward gently, drawing a soft sigh from Bruce. He can feel that cock starting to stiffen inside him again already.
It seems unlikely that either of them are going to get much sleep tonight.