#timclark

He spends a lot of time with Clark. A lot of time in Metropolis high up in an apartment that’s too average a place for Superman, but just perfect for Clark Kent. It makes sense, him being here. They’ve been dating for nearly six months now, so when Tim’s hunched over his computer cross legged in the living room, he doesn’t flinch when a warm hand presses under his shirt and works his way up, rubbing his back.

It doesn’t interfere with his work, whether that be as executive of Wayne Enterprises or Red Robin. He still makes it to meetings and has Bruce’s back whenever he calls upon him. It’s just, after, he takes his bike down to Metropolis. Or, sometimes, he’ll go back to his own apartment to meet up with Clark. They do switch off, after all. It’s only fair, given Clark has super speed and is never late to work no matter where in the world he might be. Even if Tim tries to keep him in bed for as long as possible, he still enjoys being right on time (if not a little more disheveled and out of breath when doing so).

Still, Bruce looks at him in a way whenever Tim comes around. He’s good at hiding it, but so it Tim and he’s been around Bruce long enough to know the subtle changes in the way his jaw tightened or how he turns his back to him just a tad too quickly. Tim tries not to dwell on it, it shouldn’t need to be addressed, but this is Bruce and that means something.

After a little while, the pieces fall together. It’s easy enough to identify when you’re actually looking for it, but Tim’s not sure if he wants to know anymore.

For the first few, Tim just figured Bruce was being protective. It made sense, give Bruce’s distrust even to those he calls friends and how in the past he has been overly cautious with any meta getting too close to his family. He’s caught Bruce a couple of times glaring far too hard at him and Clark if they pause to kiss around him-- typically, Tim pulls away to catch Bruce’s stare over Clark’s shoulder. They’ll lock eyes and it’s just long enough for both to acknowledge each other, for Tim to observe, before Bruce is turning away and whatever fire or depth is behind Bruce’s gaze is gone with him.

Bruce usually doesn’t show up if Clark is invited to dinner which, in and of itself isn’t unusual-- he’s busy many times with or without Clark’s presence, but Tim takes note whenever he thinks Bruce is purposefully avoiding the dining room when he’s over. He refuses Clark’s help more, especially if it’s brought up by Tim first. He becomes more aggressive than, hits harder, fights longer, makes sure he does everything in his power to not need to alien to come along. He also, and this one Tim is most interested by, makes any excuse he can to make sure Tim stays in Gotham instead of Metropolis that night.

It’s never too sudden or too brash, that’s not in Bruce’s fashion. He also never pushes too hard, which is why this one took Tim longer to take notice of. He asks for help with research or files, standard things that usually bring Tim back to the cave anyway. Talk of training, of medical attention, of all the typical rhymes and reasons that Bruce simply mentions a few more times than usual, his head tilted ever so slightly more towards Tim than anyone else, and Tim takes the bait easily enough.

That is, until he figures it out. Until he’s shaking his head in a thankful no, stating he can bandage himself up on his own or with Clark’s help-- ‘It’s mostly superficial, just a few cuts and bruises, don’t worry B’-- or takes the files to look over, promising to send his results in the morning with a soft, tired, smile that leaves Bruce tight-lipped and giving his half nod before turning with a flip of his cape.

Tim doesn’t deny the invitations all the time. He still wants to spend the time with his family, and sometimes he does need to help with a case among the bats or needs more immediate help. He still goes, he’s just more aware of Bruce’s soft nudges to get him to go in the direction he wants.

The problem now is, he doesn’t fully know why. Why he feels the need at all, and it leaves Tim puzzled with both a sinking feeling in his gut and a soft touch of warmth springing to his cheeks. Whether it’s him or if it’s Clark.

When Tim settles on a small plan of his own, he realizes in some ways it’s cruel. He shouldn’t, if he’s being truthful with himself, but there’s still questions he wants answered and even beyond that, the very idea leaves Tim wanting in a manner he doesn’t truly want to face right now.

So, when patrol rolls around and ends with little difficulty or injury, Tim shouldn’t comply with the invitation to go back to the cave, to the manor, but he does. In all truth, he’s tired. It’s been a long enough week and the idea of riding to Metropolis right now doesn’t sound as tempting as it usually does. There comes no second question when Tim nods his head to Bruce’s suggestion, following close behind the batmobile back.

It’s been a good night, his muscles ache, the adrenaline in his veins crashing hard enough to drag him down. Tim stays in the showers longer than Damian or Bruce, just letting the water roll over his shoulders and back, making soft pleased noises among the steam before he finally starts to wash up. He’s not surprised when he finds Bruce still sitting at the computer when he finishes. His shoulders are tense, an easy spot as Bruce is not currently wearing a shirt. He stares at the man’s back before saying his goodnights before heading up the stairs. It’s easy to feel eyes on him as he ascends and, again, Tim notices how he shivers with how heavy it feels against him.

---

“Are you sure about this?” Clark whispers against his mouth, soft and quiet just as his hands flutter up and down Tim’s back. His feet have barely touched down on the carpeted floor and Tim’s already wrapped up in him.

“You know I sleep better with you,” Tim says, pressed flush against Clark’s front as he starts to attack the meta’s neck in bites and kisses. He’s only wearing his underwear; Clark’s hands feel like fire at his hips, burning brighter as they squeeze softly against skin and bone.

“This isn’t exactly sleeping, you know.” There’s humor in his voice.

Tim smiles, leans up close to Clark’s ear. “Then tire me out.”

He’s naked soon after that, with Clark’s clothes falling close behind. The bed feels too plush under him now as he’s pushed down into it with one heavy hand. Tim is kissed breathless, left chasing after more as Clark leaves his mouth to move down his body, leaving light bruises in his wake that aren’t as harsh or dark as those left from his night out. Clark is gentle with his touches, making sure that Tim is shivering and gasping from the pleasure of it all instead of the pain of pressing against something that’s still painful.

When Tim throws his head back into the pillow and just barely stifled a loud moan, he almost feels bad. Alfred will surely know of their activities when he does the next round of sheets. Damian, though he sleep in his own room far down the hall, may still hear them with how keen his hearing can be. It’s not technically fair, but Tim figures it’ll be worth it too get the glares and clipped remarks about it in the morning.

Clark’s mouth is perfectly hot and wet around Tim’s cock. His tongue rolling up and down the bottom of his as he sucks him down. It makes him blush with how easily Clark takes him, how he can look up through his dark lashes and bare into Tim with his bright blue eyes.

It’s moments like these that he really sees the difference, really truly realizes just how bright and burning Clark’s gaze really is. There’s nothing but lust in them now, blown thick with black, but still the blues look near glowing with what’s left of them in the dimly lit room.

Tim can only keep his stare for so long before he’s throwing his head back again, biting down hard on his knuckles but still the groan escapes from his throat. He rolls his hips up and Clark doesn’t choke, just rubs circles into his hips and angles his head down even further.

“Clark, Clark…” Tim pants between his hand at his mouth, using his free hand to grip onto his boyfriend’s head, grip the dark locks to keep him stable as he grinds up into that hot mouth. It’s too much, it’s always too much, and he loves how much Clark always leaves him right on the edge of it all.

“I’m going to finish in your mouth if you don’t stop,” Tim hisses, gripping Clark’s hair to pull hard until, finally, he relents and pops off.

He’s smiling with drool running down his chin. Tim thinks he shouldn’t look as good as he does.

“We don’t want that, now do we?” his voice rumbles deep within his chest, Tim able to feel the base of it shake through his own frame.

It’s hard peeling himself out of Clark’s grip, if only for just a second, as he crawls over to the edge of the bed to grab the bottle of lube that he keeps on hand there just in case.

He’s never actually invited Clark over in this sense before now. He’s only ever come for dinner or to pick him up, say hi, before he’s leaving again. Never to have sex. Never to fuck in the bed Tim calls his own in Wayne Manor. It’s a little jarring, unnerving even, but Tim’s barely thinking of nerves at this point as he pushes Clark onto his back to straddle his waist.

Tim stares down at Clark with a smirk as he squirts a good amount of lube onto his fingers before leaning over and reaching behind himself. He doesn’t let Clark watch, but he lets him listen. Lets him look at Tim’s expression as his mouth drops open and his breath hitches sharp in his throat.

“Easy,” he says even as his cock is rock hard against Tim’s thigh, even as his chest rises and falls in something that reminds Tim of control. All he wants to do is flip Tim over and finish him up; stretch him out as quickly as possible to get his cock in him, fuck him hard and fast how they both enjoy, but Tim is well aware of this fact, so he takes his time and puts on a show.

Clark does nothing to rush him. He lays back against the pillows to only watch as Tim works himself open. He spends a lot of time twisting two fingers inside of himself, scissoring them out on every pull to get his rim ready for the massive dick that is Superman. His cock is leaking precum all along Clark’s skin, and in turn whenever he thrusts lightly back onto his own fingers he can feel Clark’s cock spreading precum across his leg. He’s sweaty, they both are, and the room smells so heavily of sex now.

He fingers himself for a while, just to tease and just to feel Clark grow impatient below him. He would never actually do anything unless Tim said it was okay, but he can still feel the withheld power and want underneath Clark’s hands. He runs them up and down Tim’s thighs. He strokes Tim’s cock here and there, squeezing until Tim’s whimpering and humping between his fingers and Clark’s hand. He strokes himself, makes Tim feel how hot and heavy his dick is against his skin. It’s intoxicating. But still, he makes Clark wait. He puts on a show. He makes sure everyone is watching for this.

When Clark’s fingers start pressing deep enough into his hips to leave bruises, he knows it’s time to move on. His hole is slick, rim stretched as his fingers slide in and out of himself smoothly. He makes sure to wriggle his hips as he slowly slides them out, letting a drawn out purr leave his lips with his head fall back against his shoulders. In this position, his back bends into a graceful arch, holding it all balanced while he sits on his knees straddling Clark.

He hears the meta’s breath hitch and knows his point has been made. He only wishes it was a full moon, get the light to shine down onto him, make his skin glow. Clark always likes to comment about how he glows in the moonlight. Tim thinks it would have been nice to use that tonight, but no matter.

He looks back down to smile, licking his lips at the sight of Clark on his back, cheeks flushed deep. Tim slowly curved forward, running his hand up Clark’s leg before grabbing at his thick cock. It pulses under his hand, the head shiny and beading with precome. He grabs for the bottle of lube against to slick him up.

“Excited?” he lets out when, on a downstroke Clark twitches in his grasp.

Clark swallows, “You always get me like this.”

“I think you’re particularly hard tonight.” Tim quirks, flicking his thumb over Clark’s slit to gather up the precum before he brings the digit to his lips to suck it clean. “Think someone’s watching?”

It’s a risky move, he knows. It’s calling too much attention to the ghost in the room, but he’s feeling daring tonight. The blush on Clark’s cheeks is entirely worth it.

“I--”

“Relax,” Tim reassures with a press of his hand. Clark looks like he’s about to get up and leave, suddenly looking as though he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Clark, it’s okay. Just enjoy it. Enjoy me.”

He shifts along Clark’s hips, rising up on his knees to move up and grasp Clark’s cock, leaning back so it slides along his cleft, mock-fucking for a few thrusts before the head catches at his rim and he’s moaning, they both are, and Tim can’t help himself anymore.

The press of Clark’s fat cock head always leaves Tim unable to breathe for a moment, when it pops inside he gasps, biting at his lip as his body opens for Clark, lets him slide down the rest of him in a smooth motion, steady. Clark is fisting the sheets, probably going to rip them by the end of the night which won’t be the first set that have lost to his hold.

“God, you’re so thick.” he’s saying with a sigh, using gravity to slide down until his ass meets the meat of Clark’s thigh. He groans at the full feeling, wishing Clark could get deeper at this angle. “Love how I can just feel you.”

Below him, Clark is panting. He’s staring up at Tim with dewy eyes as though he’s in a dream. It makes Tim feel special; knowing that he can reduce Superman to this sloppy mess by just riding his dick just right.

He smiles as pretty as he can and starts doing just that.

At this point, he’s practiced. Just like everything in Tim’s life, he made sure to learn exactly how Clark likes to fuck and be fucked. He did his research and practiced until he got it just right. Clark’s head is thrown back into the pillows, his hands once more squeezing at Tim’s thighs and his hips to ground himself, leaving finger patterned bruises for Tim to count in the morning.

He’s enthralled by the short, hard thrusts Tim keeps up with. His thighs burn, but he’s used to worse so he can keep up nearly as long as Clark can. It’s worth it when the meta’s eyes flutter shut and he just lets his mouth fall open to moan as the weight of Tim bounces up and down on him, his cock sliding in and out of Tim’s wet heat hugging him so tight. Tim never goes far enough away to let Clark slip out, always making sure to go all the way back down so every inch of his cock gets attention.

Tim is feeling particularly mouthy tonight.

“You’re so deep, Clark. Feels so--ah--so good. I’d do this all day if you let me,” he says, clear and loud enough that he’s sure the walls can hear. “If you want. You just have to ask.” Tim lets his head loll back again, leans back so he can brace himself against Clark’s knees, fully exposing himself and needing to use more strength to get the same hard thrusts he wants. His own cock is sticking out from his body, hard and dripping. He lets his eyes drift, they move to his door.

It’s not where the camera would be, not where the multiple cameras would be, but it’s where Bruce would be standing, staring hard at the door.

Tim imagines him in just his sweatpants from down in the cave. At times he knows Bruce sleeps nude, but he’s sure the man would slip something on if he walked down the hallway. There are no lights on outside his bedroom door, so he can’t tell from the shadows themselves, but he can still think. This imagine. Imagine Bruce without underwear on underneath the sweats, imagine his cock is hard in them, bulging out, but Bruce doesn’t touch. He has more self control than that. But he wants to touch, wants to knock on the door or just let himself in. Wants to pull them apart and ravish Tim or ravish Clark and god, that shouldn’t be as hot as it is. It shouldn’t make Tim moan, make his heart pound, his cock twitch as his thrusts angle differently and he bounces just right to start stabbing at his prostate.

Tim shouts, clenching tight, and Clark reaches out to grab him, hold him, pulling him up as he hugs him close, gets a hand around his cock.

The sensation is enough to get him close, but the mental images of Bruce touching himself after he goes back to bed, about how he’s fist his own cock to the thought of Tim or Clark or--

Tim’s coming, hard, and he’s holding Clark tight, wrapping his arms around Clark’s shoulders for balance as his body shakes through his orgasm.

Every pulse leaves Tim clenching around Clark’s cock still buried deep inside of him. In his arms, Tim goes limp and Clark’s okay with that. He holds him as he thrusts up into his pliant body, still tight from coming, and comes with a loud groan of his own into Tim before rolling them over to cuddle, giving Tim long kisses that the other returns with glee.

They fall asleep still wrapped up in each other, sweaty and covered in cum, naked with the sheets tangled at their legs, but it’s perfect.

Tim wonders if the walls are still watching; still listening.

---

In the morning, Clark leaves early. It’s the weekend, but he’s promised Ma he’d come and help out on the farm, fix some broken fences and all. Besides that, Tim’s sure he doesn’t want to stick around to have breakfast with Bruce, so he doesn’t argue at all when he kisses him goodbye and watches him fly out with the sun just starting to rise.  

Damian is the first to comment, curling his nose as soon as Tim enters the kitchen to grab the box of frosted flakes from the counter.

“If he must stay the night a warning would have been nice.”

Tim makes a little huff as he rolls his eyes going for a bowl and spoon. “Sure, next time my boyfriend comes over to fuck me, I’ll let you know.”

Damian makes another face and Tim nearly snickers. “Father won’t be pleased you had the alien over uninvited.”

If Tim were anyone else, he might have taken pause at that. He might have choked and showed his hand, but he didn’t. He gives a half-hearted shrug while he gets the milk, giving away nothing as he pours it over his cereal and settles into the stool across from Damian. He doesn’t think of Bruce. He doesn’t think of him watching. He eats his cereal and shrugs.

“We’re dating. He needs to get used to it.”

Before he leaves, he doesn’t run into Bruce. He’s either still in his room or already down in the cave. It’s still early, but Tim decides to not wait around for him. He doubts confronting him now would be a good idea. So, instead, he showers, changes, and is gone.

---

If Bruce did do something, he doesn’t let on that he did. Neither of them say a word, neither of them make a move. There’s a slight avoidance of eye contact that Tim picks up on, but Tim knows when Bruce finally does look at him that there’s something behind his eyes. There’s something there and it burns brighter than it did before. It leaves his skin covered in goosebumps and his mind wanders to Bruce now more often than he wishes to admit. It is more difficult than he thought hiding this sort of secret that isn’t quite that.

He does avoid the manor, however. He makes more excuses to turn down the offers and has even stood tall with two cracked ribs just to make sure Bruce didn’t force him back to the cave. He’s not sure, but he thinks if he goes back there something will happen. It’ll all finally come crashing down, become something real instead of the little game he may have just made up in his own head.

He grows tense. When he hears Bruce’s voice in his ear Tim bristles up and feels hot. He needs, but he’s not sure if he wants the full answer or not. He starts to lose more sleep than he already does.

Finally, it happens. He’s slammed into a wall and knocked out in a near instant that leaves his entire world black.

When he wakes up, he’s back in the cave on one of the medical tables bandaged up and hooked up to a heart monitor. He groans, sitting up and is instantly scolded by Dick who was out on patrol with them that night.

“Croc still throws a mean punch,” he says, pushing Tim back down, but Tim’s been out for long enough and he doesn’t really want to be sleep on a hard med table.

“Everyone else okay?” Tim asks, looking around to see Bruce is standing nearby, watching with a bit of worry in his expression. He’s still got most of his suit on.

Bruce’s voice is deep, still Batman-rough when he speaks. “Cuts and bruises, mostly. Damian dislocated his elbow so I’ve already sent him to bed to rest.”

“I’m sure he’s taking that well.” Tim grumbles, swinging his feet to the floor. “Think I’ll do the same. An actual bed sounds nice and my neck won’t hate me tomorrow.”

“Tim--”

He holds up a hand. “I’m alright, Dick. It’s not exactly my first concussion.”

Tim pulls all the wires from his person, happy that he’s already been changed from Red Robin into more comfortable cotton pants and a shirt. He doesn’t imagine Bruce doing it.

Dick still helps him up the stairs, but as soon as Tim makes it into the hallway he pushes Dick away because he’s fine and he’s not a child anymore. He’s in his room for maybe ten minutes getting ready to fall into bed when he hears the door open and Tim rolls his eyes.

“Dick, I swear I can brush my teeth by myse--”

When he whirls around, it’s not Dick standing there with the door closed at his back. It’s Bruce.

“Oh,” he breathes out. “Well.”

Bruce stands there and he’s quiet. He stands there staring at Tim, glaring at Tim, and he doesn’t say a word. He’s at least now changed out of the suit, but he’s still acting like Batman instead of Bruce and it makes Tim clench his teeth hating this standoff.

“Listen--”

“I don’t want Clark coming here anymore.”

Tim’s eyes widen. It feels like getting hit all over again.

“Wha--”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for him to be here.”

The blood in his veins starts to boil. Tim’s still not sure where this reasoning falls, but he’s tired of just waiting for the pieces to fall into place for him.

“Why?” he finally snaps. “Why not? Because you can’t stand that we’re together? Christ Bruce-- is it me or him?”

This, at least, surprises Bruce. He has to pause before responding. His hands are curled into tight fists by his sides.

“Excuse me?”

Tim wants to bite his tongue. He doesn’t. “Are you jealous of me or him?”

It’s now there, hanging, dangling heavy and all Tim needs is to know. He needs to know if Bruce doesn’t like any of this because Tim got to Clark first or if Clark got to Tim first. He needs to know at what angle Bruce is taking this. If it is just him being overly protective or if he wishes to have acted sooner than now when Tim’s essentially living with Clark and Clark gets to kiss him good morning and goodnight every day.

“Well?” Tim spits, can’t help himself now, his head is starting to throb again and he can’t handle this. Can’t handle Bruce just staring instead of speaking, instead of ever using his words. Tim glares and steps forward, covering the short distance between them to stab a finger at Bruce’s chest, doesn’t care that he has to look up at him to make sure his point is fully felt. “What is--”

Tim’s words are snatched within the air as he’s quickly grabbed and spun around, back hitting the thick wooden door of his bedroom hard. It jars his body more than it probably should be after the fight with Killer Croc. His shoulders ache, making him hold back a hiss, but he’s not sure if that’s from the night or how Bruce is right now gripping them.

And Bruce is. He’s holding him tight, grasp solid as he keeps Tim pressed up against the door, blue eyes dark as they bare down into him. He’s panting softly, mouth slightly open. From this angle, he towers over Tim more than he has ever felt Bruce do. The lighting from his bedside table is all cast across his back making his features look darker and sharper as he now looks down at Tim.

The fight all but leaves him. All but.

“Do you want to fuck me, Bruce?”

The hold on him grows even tighter. It makes Tim wince slightly, can feel how the pressure makes Bruce’s hands shake ever so slightly. “Tim,”

“Because if you do, just tell me. Or if it’s Clark--”

“It’s not--” Bruce sighs, heavy, shakes his head. “It’s not you. Or him. It’s-- it’s both--”

And, suddenly, it all changes. Tim’s eyes go wide as he breathes in sharp, pressing out a soft ‘oh’ from his lips as he watches Bruce’s face soften and turn away from him, eyes looking down to the floor now, anywhere that isn’t Tim’s form.

“It’s always been...both of you. Separate, but then when you’re together and it’s...it’s too much.”

That’s not what Tim was expecting at all. He was expecting some sort of jealousy, that he wanted Tim and couldn’t stand the idea of him with Clark, or after so many years finally realizing how much he’d always cared for Clark only after Tim had him. He didn’t think there would be so much guilt. Bruce looks as though he’s been gutted, still being gutted, and Tim feels his own stomach sink with it all, his shoulders slumping.

“Bruce,” Tim reaches out, but Bruce takes hold on his hand before it can reach his face.

Bruce shakes his head. “You don’t need to.” He says, squeezing Tim’s hand, still not letting it go. “It’s a selfish thought, I know it is. You’re both perfectly happy.”

Still, Tim tries. “Bruce, I didn’t--”

Bruce holds him back, gently pushes him away and moves around him. “You should rest, Tim. I’ll have Dick check in on you every couple of hours.”

There’s no more room to talk, Bruce is good at that. He shuts down the conversation and finishes without fully giving all the information, without either of them fully expressing anything, and Tim knows here is where they’re supposed to simply forget about it and move on.

He doesn’t sleep for nearly any part of the night. He only nods off in between thinking, in between picking at his nails, and having Dick come in to look after him with food and water. Dick can tell that there’s something wrong, but doesn’t bring it up. He’s good about knowing when the right time is, and this is definitely far from it.

Tim needs to talk to Clark.

---

It’s not quite a month after, but it’s coming close. Nothing much has changed beyond Bruce still tensing up around him. He still avoids eye contact. Their conversations are still tight-lipped and short. It leaves Tim feeling just as hollowed out, hopes he hasn’t royally fucked up this, hopes he can make it better.

Tonight, he doesn’t wait for the subtle invitation to come back to the Cave. Bruce gives him a look behind the cowl as pulls up beside the car. No words are exchanged as Tim pulls off his helmet and heads for the showers. Thankfully, Damian has decided to make it a longer night and goes to train, leaving Tim to his own thoughts in the steam of the showers. He scrubs down every part of himself and makes sure his skin is pink from the heat before exiting, dressing quickly as his hair still drips wet to head for the stairs.

“Don’t be down here all night.” Tim throws over his shoulder without looking, saying this as if it were normal. As if Bruce didn’t immediately stiffen, turn in his chair at the computer to watch Tim ascend the stairs, to want to ask, but doesn’t.

Tim hopes he takes the hint.

Now, he is grateful for Damian still in his uniform, for Alfred in the kitchen making a late-night snack for him, for Bruce being still in uniform. His nerves are starting to gather, pool in his stomach and make his limbs twitch a bit, wanting to turn back, but he refuses. He passes by his own bedroom door in the hall, making his way down. It feels as though the hallway has grown, stretched out in a manner he can’t recall since he was much younger, just a barely-teenager wandering the halls of a place he has yet to call home feeling awkward and out of place. Now, as an adult, he hates that he feels the same.

Bruce’s bedroom door isn’t locked. Tim lets himself in, closing the door quietly behind him.

The room is tidy, much like all the others in the manor. Alfred keeps them all looking neat, for the most part, but at least Bruce’s looks more lived in than the others. For him, Dick, Jason, and Cass, their bedrooms are made up for ‘just in case’ moments and called ‘spare’ even if no one besides them ever sleep in them. They always look tightly made and fresh. In Bruce’s room, the pillow is bowed on one side of the bed where Bruce prefers to sleep. There’s a robe hanging at the back of his bathroom door still slightly damp from the morning. It holds the basics, but still looks lived in. The toothpaste is nearly gone, there’s half a bottle of pain medication on the bedside table, a dresser drawer partly open.

Tim explores, taking it all in. It eases his anxiety a little to slowly make his way around the room picking up on the little notes of here and there that make up part of who Bruce is. It is not a big part, but it’s enough.

On the dresser sits a bottle of cologne. It’s expensive and new, just the top fraction of the bottle empty, but Tim smells it anyway. It is nearly like a forest, but sharp at the end. It’s not entirely how Tim remembers Bruce smelling, but it’s a hint of everything mixed around. Tim turns from the little bottle, wondering, heads to the pillows. In particular, the one that’s dimpled and used, taking it in hand to smells the fabric.

Tim inhales deeply and here finds the true, full scent of Bruce Wayne. All dark, brooding, pine with the combination of soap, sweat, and copper.

“I wouldn’t take you as one to sniff clothing.”

The voice is deep over his shoulder. Tim would have jumped if he was anyone else, but instead he opens his eyes and slowly brings the pillow back down, turning his body towards the door where Bruce stands.

“Not exactly clothing. But still, wanted to know.” He gives a smile that he hopes is warm, nonthreatening. He didn’t come here to fight, after all.

Bruce doesn’t move from the doorway. His stare is looking passed Tim, not at him. “You should go to your own bedroom.”

Tim doesn’t move either. “I came to talk to you. About last time.”

“I said before, you don’t have to. I shouldn’t have cornered you or said what I did. It was out of place.”

At this, Tim can’t help but roll his eyes. Bruce always has to be so dramatic and run away from anything that involved feelings. Sure, Tim was pretty shit all around at this sort of stuff too, but he was also stubborn and decided this was something that needed to happen. “Or, you could actually let me finish.” He pushed up from the bed, moving over towards Bruce.

“Tim--”

“We discussed it, Bruce. We’re...okay with it. Giving it all a try, at least.”

“We?”

Tim nods, standing right in front of Bruce at this point. He’s rocking back and forth on his heels trying to not let the weight of everything rest so heavily on his shoulders. Bruce looks like he still wants to run away, so Tim keeps his smile soft.

“It’s crazy what can happen when you talk about things, I know.” Tim goes for a laugh, but Bruce isn’t buying into it. He makes Tim want to shake him. “I talked to Clark about it all, Bruce. What you said. And we’re willing. To try, I mean. If you want that.”

It’s hilarious watching the near two seconds it takes for Bruce’s brain to fully catch up and process everything that is being said right now. Tim can actually pinpoint the exact moment that it all clicks together and Bruce’s lips part to make for another round of protesting, but this time Tim is ready. He’s prepared and takes his opportunity, closing the distance between him as he grabs Bruce by the front of his shirt and pulls him into a kiss.

The angle is off. Tim has to actually stand up on his toes to reach as Bruce is still not working with him. Hands are at his shoulders, not pushing away or pulling him forward, but there and it stabilizes them both. Tim wants to hold on, wants to make it deeper, but also knows he can’t scare Bruce off so quickly, so he pulls back after a few seconds, sighing happily as space is slowly made between them once again with Tim leaning back on his feet.

Bruce still seems dazed. “Tim, we still can’t do this.”

Again, Tim rolls his eyes. “I told you, we discussed it.” He turns his head and looks to the window looking out to the yard. “Clark,” he calls, his voice nearly sounding sing-song in nature. “Get over here. You’re already late.”

It’s ridiculous, honestly. Having super speed and still being late to everything.

A few seconds later there’s a light tap at the window, knuckles against glass, and Tim moves quickly to open it, pushing aside the curtains as he draws it open. Clark’s there, floating as he does, dressed casually with one of his farm-boy plaid shirts on and his unnecessary glasses. He looks relaxed, happy even, as he touches down with boots on carpet and pulls Tim to his side, kissing him in greeting.

“Sorry, wasn’t sure when you wanted me.”

“Any point. You know how he gets.” Tim turns his smile from Clark to Bruce again, but quickly puts on a stern expression when he sees Bruce still standing looking like a statue watching them both. “Bruce. Come here, please.”

It takes a moment, but thankfully he listens. Tim watches as his throat bobs, swallowing hard, before he closes the door behind him making sure to turn the lock. Tim meets him halfway and grabs at him again, pulling him into another kiss and is pleased that this time Bruce’s hands end up at his waist. He purrs softly with the pressure, pulling away again with a smile.

“If you’ve changed your mind, that’s fine. But we have discussed things and if you want us both,” Tim shrugs, catching sight of Clark over his shoulder moving closer. “You can have us both.”

He doesn’t quite catch the look that Bruce gives to Clark at his back, there’s a silent exchange which ends up meaning something, because as soon as Bruce looks at him again he’s leaning down to catch his lips once more. Tim barely gets an ‘oof!’’ out as the hands wrap tighter around his waist, pulling him up to take his weight and carry him over to the bed, letting him fall back onto the comforter with a small bounce.

Tim’s cheeks heat up almost immediately, wondering if Bruce is aware just what a show of strength does to him.

There’s no time at all to take it in before he’s being devoured. It’s like a switch was flipped in Bruce, his hands everywhere tearing at Tim’s shirt until he could finally pull it from over his head, his lips almost never leaving Tim’s own in the process. His mouth already feels puffy and bruised, having to turn away to gasp in air, but that doesn’t stop Bruce at all. The man attacks his throat, biting a path down to his collar which leaves Tim moaning loud and growing hard incredibly fast.

“Clark,” he coos, grabbing for Clark still standing just beyond the bed.

He’s smiling, looking far too smug for his own good. “Don’t mind me, I’m enjoying the show.”

His voice seems to break Bruce’s concentration enough for him to realize it’s not just the two of them in the room, turning his gaze at the meta now and with a sharp pull at his belt loops Clark too is being dragged into the mix.

They’re kissing, and Tim knows what Clark meant by ‘enjoying the show’. Watching them both is intoxicating. Bruce is brash and demanding, but Clark keeps enough control that he doesn’t give in to the demands as Tim does. It’s slower, filled with tongue and teeth and watching when Clark grabs Bruce’s jaw to force him into the right tilt of his head makes Tim’s mouth water.

He’s hard in his pants and they’ve barely done anything at all. It’s pleasing to see Clark and Bruce look much the same, at least. He bites at his lip before pushing up from the bed, reaching for them both which makes them jolt as Tim rubs at their growing erections.

They looks down at him, breaking their kiss, and Tim gives an innocent batting of his eyelashes. “I think we all need to be more naked.” He says, feeling them both twitch against the palm of his hand. “And, I wanna see Bruce suck off Clark.”

Tim can nearly smell how their arousals spike.

Clothes are quickly thrown to the floor and Tim makes a mental note to make sure they both do it slower next time, because there will be a next time, and Tim really wants to admire both men. Right now, however, he knows there’s urgency. He’s not sure how long as Bruce has wanted this, but it’s long enough to make him desperate, and both Clark and Tim have thought about this all month long. They’re all tired of waiting.

Clark is shoved down onto the bed alongside Tim as soon as he’s naked, Bruce kneeling down between his spread legs. Tim’s mouth drops open at the very sight, surprised that Bruce has listened for a second time that night and that he’s getting on his knees to do it.

‘Oh shit,’ falls softly from his mouth as he watches Bruce’s calloused hands stroke Clark’s cock, filling it out completely. It’s a sight that Tim had only dreamed about as a teen trying to jerk off quickly in the dead of night, but now he’s here and the real thing is far better than his imagination could have conquered up.

His grip leaves Clark gasping, his hips thrusting up halfway to meet Bruce’s hand on every downstroke. He’s already beading precum, sliding down Bruce’s hand to slick the way. It’s everything Tim could have possibly wanted with Bruce’s sharp concentration on exactly what he is doing to Clark’s cheeks dusted in pink as he lets his mouth fall open with the noises he makes.

It’s nearly too much when Bruce looks up at him, locking eyes with Tim before stretching his mouth around the head of Clark’s dick, sinking down slowly onto it. Tim groans nearly as loud as Clark does as he lets more and more of Clark’s cock into his mouth, swallowing him down.

Tim is nearly jealous. He was nowhere near as good at taking Clark’s cock when they first started dating as Bruce is right now. He takes the girth of Clark like it’s no problem, like Clark isn’t as big around as a fucking coke can and sure, Bruce might have a bigger mouth but it’s still not fair. Tim wonders briefly where he even got such a skill set from and then quickly abandons the thought as mental images of Bruce on his knees for various men start popping up in his head. It shouldn’t make his dick as wet as it does.

He finds himself drooling as Bruce starts bobbing his head up and down, taking his time to get to the root of Clark before swallowing and moving his way up. It’s obviously driving Clark nuts as he puts a hand over his eyes and moans out again. Tim finds himself wanting and feeling the need to come far too quickly, so he moves, can’t just sit and watch Bruce deep throat his boyfriend anymore or else he will be thoroughly embarrassed by it later.

“Clark,” Tim calls, moves to throw his legs over the man’s torso, making sure to scoot up to give Bruce as much room as he needs. “Clark, tell me how it feels.” He pulls at his hand, clearing his face so he can drag his mouth down his cheek, nipping at his jaw. “Tell me how good he is.”

“His tongue,” Clark manages to gasp out after a moment to collect himself. He looks wrecked and he hasn’t even come yet. “It’s so hot. Pressing so hard against the base every time he swallows me-- fuck--” He inhales sharply, grabs Tim by the waist to balance himself. “He knows what he’s doing. Taking me so well, Bruce--”

Clark gives a thrust of his hips, a gentle movement that Tim knows well, has him looking over his shoulder to watch a collection of spit and precome slide out of the corner of Bruce’s mouth, making his path even slicker as he gives an audible growl and starts to move faster up and down the length. Clark arches, squeezes hard at Tim’s hips which leaves Tim moaning, grinding his cock against the span of Clark’s abs.

“Oh, fuck, more--” Tim is saying even if the action isn’t being done to him he still feels as though every vibration from Bruce’s mouth is traveling up his spine to making him quake. “Clark--”

“You don’t have to ask how it feels, Tim,” Comes a whisper in his ear, feeling the heat of Bruce at his back. He didn’t even hear him pop off of Clark. “I’ll just show you.”

Abruptly, Tim is pushed down against Clark’s chest and before he can register his new position, Bruce is spreading his ass and licking a stripe from his balls to his hole, instantly making Tim arch with the sudden spike of pleasure running up his spine. Clark takes him by the shoulders to keep him down as Bruce delves in, forgoing any more of teasing for the main course.

“Fuck!” Tim shouts, wriggling as Bruce’s tongue stabs into him, forcing him open so he can lick inside. It’s difficult trying to thrust back with Clark’s hold on his shoulders and Bruce’s grip on his ass. He’s pinned and meant to only take it, eyes rolling into the back of his head wanting to fuck himself back against Bruce’s tongue.

There’s so much saliva in Bruce’s mouth from sucking off Clark that Tim’s wet in a matter of seconds. He opens easily under Bruce’s tongue, relaxing as he shoves as much of his tongue inside of him as possible, using his hands to open him up as much as he could. He pulls back only to press two thick fingers inside of him, slicked by the mess coating Tim’s ass and falling from Bruce’s mouth. It’s nearly embarrassing how easily they slide inside of him, how much Tim wants this and accepts everything Bruce gives.

He’s making noises against Clark’s collar, pathetic little moans and pants that leave Clark’s skin damp with humidity. Clark’s still holding him, though his grip is less now, mostly petting him, rubbing circles into his back as Bruce eats him out.

Bruce thrusts his fingers in, licking around Tim’s rim instead, having slowed down now to fully get the taste. They all listen to the sounds of Tim’s pleasure, of Bruce slurping at Tim’s hole, dragging his teeth down the sensitive flesh until Tim’s jerking against his grasp. He gives a low growl, picking his head up to wipe his mouth.

“Clark,” he says, sounding rough from the man’s cock, “Grab the lube. Second drawer.”

Tim protests with little whines as Clark shifts below him, removing himself only long enough to follow Bruce’s instructions and throw him the half used tube from his nightstand. As soon as Clark is returned, Tim stops whining, though he’s only quiet for a couple of moments more before he’s gripping at Clark’s biceps, letting out a sharp gasp as Bruce starts really opening him up.

It’s like a fire has started in his belly, with Bruce at his back shoving three fingers inside of him, slicked up and jabbing hard, spreading out, and Clark at his front, smiling at him, rubbing his shoulders, leaning down to kiss him softly and tell him how good he looks between them both. It’s better than anything Tim could dream of, and better than ever having to make a choice between the pair.

“I’d love to see you open on my hand sometime,” Bruce says, his voice sounding almost dream-like as he watches his fingers disappear in and out of Tim’s body, his hole red and stretched, wanting to see how it would look closed around his entire wrist instead of just the three digits he’s got stroking him from the inside.

Clark laughs, plucking at Tim’s nipples until he’s wriggling again, moaning, looking a complete mess. “Haven’t gotten that far yet, but he’s good about getting four inside of him.”

Tim can practically hear Bruce’s heartbeat quicken with this information. He makes a very fast mental note to not tense up right before he feels Bruce’s pink shove in beside his other fingers, force their way inside of him wide. It leaves him yelping, back bending as best it could being held by the two men as he was.

He hears Bruce curse behind him, scramble for the lube again, Tim shaking with what he knows comes next.

“Please, please, please, Bruce.”

The fingers are pulled free and Tim is pulled up, kneeling on the bed right in front of Clark with his cock jutting out red and shiny, Bruce at his back, feels the cock slide along his crack once before Bruce aims and is pushing inside of him. He’s left breathless as the cock is pushed inside of him, feeling much like Clark’s far too big, too long, too thick. It pushes hard against Tim’s insides, forcing a path and making itself fit. Tim feels tears prickle at the corners of his eyes from the sensation, feeling overwhelmed just from being filled up by Bruce.

Clark looks up at him, smiling, looking like the rising sun like he always does. “You look so beautiful, Tim…”

His hands are gentle against Tim’s thighs, thumbing circles into his skin to make sure Tim knows he’s there, even if both of them know Bruce would never do anything to truly hurt Tim. It’s a perfect contrast of soft, fragile feeling, as Bruce starts up his thrusting, pounding hard into Tim leaving his body feeling used every time he pulls out only to shove right back in.

It’s all fast wanting, a brutal pace that leaves little time for Tim to breathe. But his cock is still so hard it hurts, desperate for any attention as it simply bounces in the air, slapping against Tim’s stomach with every thrust.

Thankfully, Clark’s there. Clark takes pity on him, moves one hand from his thigh up to his cock and holds him tight. He doesn’t move, instead lets the force of Bruce’s fucking to push Tim’s dick into fucking his fist. The dual sensation is too much.  

Tim comes with a scream, head thrown back against Bruce’s shoulder as he spills all over Clark’s fist and his own stomach. His body slumps, boneless, as soon as his muscles relax and Bruce thankfully doesn’t continue his jarring thrusts. Instead, he holds Tim close, cock still fully sheathed inside of him, and just grinds into him, hips rolling, which leaves Tim buzzing as he pressed up against his prostate, milking him for all he’s worth.

Bruce moans, pulling Tim into a kiss as his hips still and he’s coming too, as deep inside Tim as he’s able, listening to Tim groan with the pulsing of the cock inside of him as he licks the noise from his lips.

They falls together, Clark catching them before Bruce can crush Tim, separating them gentle and tucking them inside his sides. They’re stated, but they’re not so rude as to let that stop them from helping Clark out with his still throbbing erection.

Tim takes him in hand, rubbing hard against the head of his cock, playing around his foreskin. He rolls Clark’s balls in his hand, smiling as he listens to Clark start to lose it. Bruce is biting at his chest, sucking against his nipples, and doing his best to leave bruises and teeth marks in the perfect glow of skin that spans Clark’s chest. It’s gentle and rough just like Tim had and just like Tim is toppled quickly in the perfect combination of touch.

Clark spills into Tim’s hand with a loud sigh of satisfaction, thrusting up a couple times to ride out his waves of orgasm, making sure every drop of cum rolled down his cock and onto Tim’s sticky hands.

Tim settles, laying back, and brings his fingers to his mouth to suck them off. He can feel Bruce staring at him, but doesn’t look up until every digit is clean.

Bruce lets out his own sigh, falling back against the pillows. “I think you’re both gonna kill me.”

Tim snorts. “I haven’t even called you Daddy yet.”

“Tim.”

---

Later, when they’ve all come at least once more, when they’ve cleaned up enough to not complete ruin the sheets come morning, when they’re all exhausted and tangled together in the bed of Bruce’s room, Tim stirs from his place against Clark’s chest, turning towards Bruce at his other side. His eyes flutter open, seeing Bruce is awake.

The morning is still early, the sun not yet breaking over the horizon, but Tim knows it’ll be soon now. The sky is starting to get lighter, casting away the dark and the stars. Bruce looks like he’s been thinking, been awake for too long.

Tim scoots closer to him, tucks his head up under his chin, ear pressed against his chest. He can heart his heart pound.

“You’re panicking.” He whispers, doesn’t want to wake Clark.

Bruce says nothing for a while, but then he’s wrapping an arm around Tim. His hand feels like a weight resting against his hip. “I feel like I’ll wake up any second now.”

It sounds too honest, too raw. It makes Tim nervous.

“This isn’t a one time thing, you know.”

“It might be better that way.”

Tim blinks in the darkness, lifting his head to look up at Bruce who’s staring off into the distance. He looks ripped open, like a wound.

“Bruce,”

Bruce squeezes his hip. “I can’t have things getting fucked up with you two. You’re happy. I don’t want to ruin that. I don’t want something to change that can’t be fixed.”

Tim sighs, moves to grip Bruce’s chin gentle, turning his head until he’s forced to look at his eyes. “You know I care about you, right?”

“I know, Tim.”

Tim nods towards Clark’s sleeping form. “And he does too. He cares a lot.”

“Tim--”

“He listens to us, Bruce.” Tim licks his lips, feeling a knot in his throat. “He listens...he knows what our heartbeats sound like. He can pick us out anywhere on Earth. He knows, because he wants to know.” Tim settles his hand over Bruce’s chest, feeling for the thump of his heart, can feel it drum under his palm. “I wants to make sure we’re okay, no matter what. I think...I think we deserve that. That kind of love, for once.”

Bruce stares, says nothing. Tim licks his lips again, laying back down to get comfortable against Bruce’s chest, listening to his heart. Bruce holds him close, makes him feel warm and protected just like Clark does who’s only inches away, who’s feet are up against Tim’s, always keeping contact to know where he is. Always making sure Tim knows he’s there.

“You don’t have to stay,” Tim continues, the bedroom silent. “But we’d like you to. I’d like you to.”

It’s so quiet after, Tim might have thought Bruce had fallen asleep if it wasn’t for the rapid beating of his heart still hammering under his ear. He’s given no reply for a long, long, time and Tim figures he should let it go.

But then Bruce is shift, leaning to kiss Tim’s head, press his nose into the top of Tim’s hair, giving a shudder that feel too close to a sob. He rolls, wrapping Tim up in both of his arms, moving them both closer to Clark in the big bed.

Bruce breathes. “I’d like to try.”   

“I hate gossip columns,” Clark response, finally, pulling his mouth away long enough to say those four words before moving to the other side of Tim’s throat, making him tilt his head in the other direction and purr at the attention his ear was now receiving. It was dangerous what Clark could reduce Tim to by only nipping at his ears.

Tim licks his lips, lost in the sensation for a moment. “Not just columns. Front page news. Fully magazine spreads.” He has to pause to let out a groan, grind his hips down against Clark’s stomach. At this angle and height, he can barely feel the heavy erection in Clark’s pants and that’s so disappointing to him. “Start really talking about the boy toy I keep flying out to my hotel rooms on weekends.”

This grabs Clark’s attention long enough that he pulls away with a snort, giving Tim a cocked brow and a ‘really?’ expression that makes Tim grin. It’s adorable and hilarious whenever Tim talks to the other about the vast gossip rags that flood the market, many of them starting to pick up more pieces regarding Timothy Wayne’s love life. Particularly that of a bespectacled reporter coming in and out of his office building at every hour of the day.

“Boy toy?”

Tim shrugs, running his fingers through Clark’s hair and then pulling on the strands, leaning forward to speak directly into Clark’s ear. “You’re my man off the month. I should slather you in baby oil and parade you around the pool downstairs.”

The comment gets Clark to move. He carries Tim easily over to the couch, not even caring enough to go to the small bedroom right through the threshold a couple feet away. He crowds around Tim, covering him near entirely as he starts pulling at both of their clothes as fast as he can without ripping anything.

Tim lays back to let him. He loves watching Clark above him pulling at his own tie and unbuttoning his shirt just slow enough that he doesn’t pluck the buttons off. He makes an approved hum when the shirt gets throws down and Clark pulls at his belt. Tim whistles at the visual, not being able to help himself, which makes Clark pause as the leather falls from the last loop at his waist.

“Oh, please. Don’t stop the show, baby. I like what I’m seeing.”

Clark rolls his eyes, but than gets an idea and suddenly Tim’s wrists are being pulled up above his head. The belt is wrapped around them, pulled tight enough to feel like a threat even if both of them know Tim could be free in a matter of seconds. Still, Tim leaves his hands tied above his head, looking up at Clark through lidded eyes and smiles.

“Kinky for a fling.”

“Just a fling, hu?”

Tim lets out a soft laugh as Clark gets his shirt off and goes immediately for his pants after, pulling slacks and underwear down all in one go leaving Tim naked on the hotel couch. He’s hard and he makes sure Clark knows it, spreading his legs wide and arching his back so his cock falls against his stomach, inviting.

“You’re just a sugar baby after my Wayne fortune.” He teases, wiggling his hips which makes Clark shake his head fondly.

“That make you a sugar daddy?”

His fingers curl around Tim’s hips, lifting them up until Tim’s shoulders are only pressed into the couch now, the strain made easier with Clark holding all his weight.

“Only if you start calling me da-- AH!” Tim’s cut off with a gasp, throwing his head back as Clark swallows his cock whole. It makes him groan, pressing hard against the throw pillow below his head, frustrated that he has no leverage right now to thrust deeper into the heat that is Clark’s mouth. “Fuck, Clark, your tongue--”

It’s a request that is answered, the muscle flicking along the underside of his shaft as Clark sucks him down, humming with the taste of him as he drips pre-cum onto his palette. Later, Tim might call it a cheap trick to get him to stop talking as much, but right now Tim’s not complaining at all as he’s sucked off slow and deep, so much heat and suction it makes his head spin.

The sensation is only made worse when one hand leaves his hip to slide in along his crack, slick with lube that Tim wasn’t aware of until now. Perks of dating a super alien: things move really, really, fast when they need to and certain things you don’t have to worry about so much. There’s a finger inside of him before he knows it, probing at his walls smooth and spreading slick everywhere it can reach. The second plays around at the edge of his rim before delving in alongside its brother, spearing Tim on thick digits in a mockery of what Clark’s really packing.

“I should be more concerned about not getting torn apart, but if you don’t get your dick in me soon--”

Clark pops off Tim’s cock with a smirk which, in Tim’s opinion, should be illegal. Clark looks too good between his eyes, blue eyes bright, with spit and pre-cum at the corner of his mouth. Tim has to bite his lip as Clark flicks out his tongue to give him another full lick before pulling back.

“What would those tabloids say if they heard you right now, hu?” Clark’s voice is too even even now with two fingers thrusting into Tim’s asshole, scissoring him open to get him prepared. “Begging for the boy toy’s cock.”

Tim bites down on a moan, trying to thrust his hips back to get Clark to finger him deeper, curl just right to stab at his prostate, but the alien is being stubborn, refusing to give him exactly what he wants.

“They’d think I like to be dominated.”

Clark snorts. “You do like to be dominated.”

“So they’d write the truth for once. I’d give a full interview about how much I love getting bent over for your fat--”

Clark takes that moment to thrust a third finger into him, driving in deep which makes Tim arch and keen under Clark, his cock bouncing against his abdomen and twitching with the penetration.

“Clark, please,”

“Whatever you want, daddy.”

Tim laughs again at the word, but the noise doesn’t last long as Clark’s pulling his fingers out and grabbing Tim by the thighs, bending his body in half until his knees are right by his head. It’s an easy stretch for Tim once that makes him moan. His cock dangles near his face and Clark has the split-second thought to keep pushing him until he’s able to feed Tim his own cock, watch him blow himself and spill cum all over his lips, but holds back. Maybe next time.

His first thrust in is probably more gentle than Tim might appreciate, because Clark is still careful no matter how many times they do this, but the pace picks up quickly.

Tim’s body is tightly stretched around Clark’s length, squeezing so hard it might hurt anyone else, and it gives Clark a thrill to know Tim can never be fully prepared for how big he is. Every thrust in forces Tim’s hole back open; to stretch and accommodate, gaping open for him to plunge in and take over and over again. He’s wet with lube, making disgusting slick noises every time Clark pulls back. His balls slap loud against Tim’s ass on every hard thrust, the sound always accompanied by a sharp ‘ah!’ from Tim’s open lips.

Clark’s eyes move down from Tim’s face to the curve of his stomach, the tight stretch making it so every time Clark pushes into him, the force makes the ouline of his cock press up against his walls, press up against the skin, and Clark can see exactly how deep he’s getting into the other; how big he is in Tim’s body.

It’s an intoxicating sight, knowing he’s claiming Tim so wholly, to the point that Clark is sure it should be a problem with how much he loves it, but so far Tim has said nothing whenever he cracks his eyes open to look at just how far into his guts Clark’s dick is.

“I feel like it’s in my throat,” Tim manages to get out, his fingers twitching against their restraints as if he wants to touch the bulge at his stomach. The press against it and feel how hard Clark is plowing into him from both the inside and outside. “Come that deep inside me.”

“Tim,” Clark groans this time, Tim’s talking always getting to him. He says nothing else, however, and only picks up the pace. Tim’s hips with probably be bruised in the morning. His thighs and ass with how hard he’s pressing into them. And if it is causing Tim pain, he doesn’t show it. He only moans loud, throwing his head back against and just takes it, rolling his hips whenever he is able to get Clark to angle differently inside of him.

He’s a mess by the time that Clark stills his hips as deep as he is able and with a near-quiet groan is coming inside of him. His cum is hotter and thicker than any human’s Tim has encountered; unloading into him hot and heavy so deep Tim swears it will leak out of him for days to come. He moans all the way through it, body as tight as a bow string as every hot feeling like it’s filling him up more and more; stretching him to his very limits.

When Clark pulls out, it’s only disappointing long enough for him to shove four fingers inside of him, making Tim squeal. He thrusts hard, curling his fingers now so every movement as his prostate being hit over and over. His hole is open and sloppy-red, but still tight as his muscles coil up with his coming orgasm, hitting him like a tidal wave crashing over his body, cock shooting out over his own neck and chest, twitching over and over until he’s let out all his body is able and suddenly goes limp in Clark’s grasp.

He’s let down easily; legs unfolded and carefully put down onto the couch. His hands are untied and taken down from above his head, checked for any sort of damage, before gently messaged to get the blood flowing again.

Tim purrs with the treatment, riding out his post-high with Clark dotting all over him. After a few minutes, he’s carried like a doll off the hotel couch and into the bathroom where Clark starts the shower to clean them both up. He’s gentle and soft the entire way, which right now Tim appreciates with how sore and heavy he feels. His eyes are barely able to stay open as he clings to Clark, nuzzling into his chest.

“Best boy toy ever,” he sighs as Clark brings them both into the shower’s spray, hot water cleaning them up sweat and cum.