ur vamp bruce drabble was absolutely delicious!! thank u kindly!!! it quite literally cldnt have been more intimate even if they were squished in a 1m by 1m room 100/10, no notes other than i'd love to see more
AHHHAHAH TYSM ANON i am glad u enjoyed 🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️
"you're sure this is all right," bruce repeats for the umpteenth time.
clark reminds himself not to let his impatience show. he wants this—wants it so bad he's practically trembling for it, but bruce is still hesitant, and clark can't fault him.
it's been two days since clark watched bruce lap at his blood, and clark cannot get the image of bruce's tongue and teeth stained red out of his mind. he also knows for a fact that bruce hasn't fed since then, can smell the desperation on him, the way his scent angles just slightly off.
unfulfilled. unsatisfied. clark really, really wants to rectify that, but—
"we've verified that you can't turn me," clark reassures, watching bruce's mouth flatten, his pale features stark in the darkness of the cave. "twice," he adds, failing to smother his fond smile. he puts a hand on bruce's shoulder, gratified when bruce lifts his gaze to meet clark's eye. "you need this. it's safe, and easy, and i want you to do it."
bruce's gaze is piercing even without the cowl. he observes clark with a subtle furrow in his brow, eyes darting across clark's face.
"you want me to," bruce repeats.
a flush crawls up clark's neck, washing over his cheeks before he can even think to try and will it away. gosh, even his ears are getting hot. "i—" clark starts, awkward and heavy with his own need. "yes," he continues. he swallows, and aims for a more definitive tone. "yes."
bruce continues to eye him, and clark tries not to squirm, even as his flush worsens. he watches bruce bite his lip as he deliberates. clark can see the sharp point of his canine, gleaming from the soft blue glow of the computer at his side.
"you said you liked it," clark adds quietly, remembering the breathy quality to bruce's voice when he admitted that yes, he did enjoy the taste of clark's blood. clark hadn't asked him to elaborate then—too occupied with escaping the warehouse and briefing the league on his kidnapping—but now he wishes he had. what did it taste like? what did bruce like about it? is there something clark can do or eat to enhance that taste? to make it better for bruce?
clark wonders, briefly, if he's gone too far, urged too much to the point that bruce might shrink away from his insistence. he doesn't want to ruin this before it even begins. he wants to help bruce, wants to ease the ache of his hunger and the uncertainty of an unreliable supply.
(and a private, selfish part of him wants to know what it feels like to have bruce drink from him, to be—claimed by him.)
"alright," bruce sighs eventually, his shoulders dropping.
clark suppresses a shiver, swallowing the eager noise in his throat and heaving a breath against the kick of his heart in his chest.
"okay," he whispers, letting the yoke of his shoulders ease, opening his posture to let bruce close.
bruce glides toward him, one hand gripping clark's bicep, the other going to clasp the back of his neck. clark tilts his chin up, excitement thrumming in his veins. bruce can probably smell it—can probably see the flutter of clark's pulse on the side of his throat, but he doesn't comment on it. doesn't tease. just leans closer, his own breath turning ragged.
"i've never done this before," bruce admits, his breath fanning over clark's throat. "tell me if it—hurts."
clark dips his chin just enough to show he understands. he doesn't want to dislodge bruce if he can help it. not when he's so close.
his teeth are wet against clark's pulsepoint, and clark realizes, from somewhere faraway, that bruce is drooling.
clark doesn't have much room to think, after that. bruce's teeth catch on his skin and sink, sharp and heated and right. clark grips at bruce's cape, desperate to clutch at something as bruce's tongue laves along his carotid artery to catch the spill of his blood.
the soft noise that slips past his teeth is entirely unbidden, but he's helpless to stop it. bruce pauses at his throat, going still at the sound, but clark plunges a hand into his hair and urges him back wordlessly. by some grace of god, it's enough to get bruce to continue.
clark goes limp when bruce's teeth sink deeper. he welcomes the weight of bruce's body against his, the static rising between his ears—and, mortifyingly, he feels his cock fill, heavy with blood against his thigh.
what would bruce's teeth feel like, pulling blood from all the way down there?
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