B&H part 46
4/6/06 02:30 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxy"Okaay--I'm re-loaded--"
Done. I finally got through this part. This wasn't supposed to be three parts, but it was the only way I could get the sucker out. *collapses* Next time you see this, it'll be Lex's story. I hope that bit doesn't try to kill me too.
They stopped trying to keep in touch with anyone—forgot how to care about any one else, because there was no one else in the world who knew what they knew. They worked until they moved as one seamless machine and still it wasn’t enough for Bruce. He pushed down layers and layers of want and needs of his own, ignoring and compressing them like layers of steel--hammered and folded and hammered and folded until there was nothing left but the purity of his desire for vengeance.
As Bruce sank deeper into himself, Clark turned outward. He was looking, looking for something that felt just outside his reach. When he found something close to what he wanted, he brought it home. He liked to watch Bruce work hard to not listen to the squeak of the iron bed, the wet slap of flesh against flesh, breath catching, releasing in a moan…the sound of Clark quietly laughing….
******
Bruce came into the room late one evening and silently handed Clark an American newspaper, folded to the business section. Far down the page, in small type reserved for interesting but not earth-shattering news, an article announced the marriage of Lex Luthor, and Victoria Harrison, whose fathers were Lionel Luthor of LuthorCorp and Richard Harrison of Harrison Foods Co.
He waited, watched Clark read the paper and after, sat in the tiny courtyard of the apartment building with him as he burned it, page by page. It felt like a ritual, a cleansing of some sort. The burning pages cast an almost cheerful light, the flames leaping and racing as they ate up the print and floated off into the night.
They watched the sparks fly up and drank rice whiskey until Bruce was thoroughly drunk. They talked about the stars and the rent and the price of booze. They talked about a lot of things, but not Lex.
When Bruce began to tilt towards the earth, Clark dragged him back up the stairs into their room and then let Bruce push him onto the bed.
He held Clark all through the night and told him how wonderful he was and how much he loved him and how it would soon be much, so much, better.
******
Clark wandered through the market place, killing time, waiting for the end of day. He’d found something that caught his interest, and found himself pulled along in the wake of another boy wandering through the market. He was in constant motion, knowing that he was being watched, wanted. He swam through the crowd, flirting, laughing, sucking on pieces of candy in way that made Clark hard—he smiled, enjoying the boy’s performance.
He looked mixed, possibly an American or European father, he thought. The boy turned and pushed away the dyed red hair falling into his gray almond eyes as he did. He looked Clark up and down with a smirk before whirling away again. The silk pants and shirt he wore flowed like water as he walked, sandals accentuated his slim feet. He was tall, slender and moved like a snake, a constant sinuous wave of motion.
Sexy.
He reminded Clark of home.
Clark caught up with him and whispered in his ear “how much,” and the boy smiled.
“Take me home and I’ll tell you.”
******
Bruce unlocked the door to the room, and heard harsh breathing and sighed. He put the bag of food down on one end of the table and kept his eyes away from the bed in the corner. He pulled the chair out from the table; grabbed one of the books stacked up there and tried to concentrate on the pages.
“Bruce…”
He kept his eyes locked on the book, tried to ignore his stiffening dick, tried to ignore the voice calling him.
“Bruce,” and his voice caught and Bruce glanced over. It hurt to see.
Clark sat on the bed, legs wide, and held a slim boy on his lap. Bruce watched Clark lift him on and off his dick, and the boy’s head dropped to his shoulder, one slim amber arm wound about Clark’s neck. Green eyes, gray eyes—they pierced him. Bruce barely noticed that he’d moved from the desk, backed up until he hit the wall. His hands splayed over the damp gritty plaster, and strained to hold him upright.
The boy's neck and body were a single arch, down to his hips, where Clark’s fingers left red bruises on the delicate skin, gold and bare, hairless…he was shaved clean. Bruce’s fingers twitched--they knew what it felt like to touch skin so smooth--like skimming over satin, like warm marble.
Red hair fanned against Clark’s cheek as the boy’s head rolled to the side, eyes closed, mouth opened on Clark’s neck. Bruce bit his lip as slim fingers circled around the dick flushed rose-gold, began to stroke and Bruce was torn between watching Clark’s face and watching the boy bring himself off.
“Bruce. Watch me.” Clark whispered and Bruce nodded.
“Clark, oh…Clark.” Bruce groaned as Clark fucked him, their eyes never left each other, even when Clark came inside the little hustler, he never closed his eyes, never took them from Bruce’s.
Bruce stood still, pressed against the wall as the boy collected his money and kissed Clark.
Anytime, he told him and kissed Clark’s cheek. Next time, if his friend wanted to join in that’d be fine, and he buttoned his shirt. Next time a discount, he told Clark in his charming accent, and slid his sandals back on. He brushed past Bruce; the silk of his shirt ghosting over his arm, and Bruce closed his eyes. He kept them closed as he heard the door shut, floor creak; felt Clark’s heat blanket him.
His mouth engulfed him. He shook to a mind-breaking orgasm, and bit his lips to shreds holding in a scream. Still in the dark, he slid down the wall.
“Enough,” Clark's voice cut through the fog in his head like a knife, “Enough. We have to go home--now--before we lose everything."
tbc
Done. I finally got through this part. This wasn't supposed to be three parts, but it was the only way I could get the sucker out. *collapses* Next time you see this, it'll be Lex's story. I hope that bit doesn't try to kill me too.
They stopped trying to keep in touch with anyone—forgot how to care about any one else, because there was no one else in the world who knew what they knew. They worked until they moved as one seamless machine and still it wasn’t enough for Bruce. He pushed down layers and layers of want and needs of his own, ignoring and compressing them like layers of steel--hammered and folded and hammered and folded until there was nothing left but the purity of his desire for vengeance.
As Bruce sank deeper into himself, Clark turned outward. He was looking, looking for something that felt just outside his reach. When he found something close to what he wanted, he brought it home. He liked to watch Bruce work hard to not listen to the squeak of the iron bed, the wet slap of flesh against flesh, breath catching, releasing in a moan…the sound of Clark quietly laughing….
******
Bruce came into the room late one evening and silently handed Clark an American newspaper, folded to the business section. Far down the page, in small type reserved for interesting but not earth-shattering news, an article announced the marriage of Lex Luthor, and Victoria Harrison, whose fathers were Lionel Luthor of LuthorCorp and Richard Harrison of Harrison Foods Co.
He waited, watched Clark read the paper and after, sat in the tiny courtyard of the apartment building with him as he burned it, page by page. It felt like a ritual, a cleansing of some sort. The burning pages cast an almost cheerful light, the flames leaping and racing as they ate up the print and floated off into the night.
They watched the sparks fly up and drank rice whiskey until Bruce was thoroughly drunk. They talked about the stars and the rent and the price of booze. They talked about a lot of things, but not Lex.
When Bruce began to tilt towards the earth, Clark dragged him back up the stairs into their room and then let Bruce push him onto the bed.
He held Clark all through the night and told him how wonderful he was and how much he loved him and how it would soon be much, so much, better.
******
Clark wandered through the market place, killing time, waiting for the end of day. He’d found something that caught his interest, and found himself pulled along in the wake of another boy wandering through the market. He was in constant motion, knowing that he was being watched, wanted. He swam through the crowd, flirting, laughing, sucking on pieces of candy in way that made Clark hard—he smiled, enjoying the boy’s performance.
He looked mixed, possibly an American or European father, he thought. The boy turned and pushed away the dyed red hair falling into his gray almond eyes as he did. He looked Clark up and down with a smirk before whirling away again. The silk pants and shirt he wore flowed like water as he walked, sandals accentuated his slim feet. He was tall, slender and moved like a snake, a constant sinuous wave of motion.
Sexy.
He reminded Clark of home.
Clark caught up with him and whispered in his ear “how much,” and the boy smiled.
“Take me home and I’ll tell you.”
******
Bruce unlocked the door to the room, and heard harsh breathing and sighed. He put the bag of food down on one end of the table and kept his eyes away from the bed in the corner. He pulled the chair out from the table; grabbed one of the books stacked up there and tried to concentrate on the pages.
“Bruce…”
He kept his eyes locked on the book, tried to ignore his stiffening dick, tried to ignore the voice calling him.
“Bruce,” and his voice caught and Bruce glanced over. It hurt to see.
Clark sat on the bed, legs wide, and held a slim boy on his lap. Bruce watched Clark lift him on and off his dick, and the boy’s head dropped to his shoulder, one slim amber arm wound about Clark’s neck. Green eyes, gray eyes—they pierced him. Bruce barely noticed that he’d moved from the desk, backed up until he hit the wall. His hands splayed over the damp gritty plaster, and strained to hold him upright.
The boy's neck and body were a single arch, down to his hips, where Clark’s fingers left red bruises on the delicate skin, gold and bare, hairless…he was shaved clean. Bruce’s fingers twitched--they knew what it felt like to touch skin so smooth--like skimming over satin, like warm marble.
Red hair fanned against Clark’s cheek as the boy’s head rolled to the side, eyes closed, mouth opened on Clark’s neck. Bruce bit his lip as slim fingers circled around the dick flushed rose-gold, began to stroke and Bruce was torn between watching Clark’s face and watching the boy bring himself off.
“Bruce. Watch me.” Clark whispered and Bruce nodded.
“Clark, oh…Clark.” Bruce groaned as Clark fucked him, their eyes never left each other, even when Clark came inside the little hustler, he never closed his eyes, never took them from Bruce’s.
Bruce stood still, pressed against the wall as the boy collected his money and kissed Clark.
Anytime, he told him and kissed Clark’s cheek. Next time, if his friend wanted to join in that’d be fine, and he buttoned his shirt. Next time a discount, he told Clark in his charming accent, and slid his sandals back on. He brushed past Bruce; the silk of his shirt ghosting over his arm, and Bruce closed his eyes. He kept them closed as he heard the door shut, floor creak; felt Clark’s heat blanket him.
His mouth engulfed him. He shook to a mind-breaking orgasm, and bit his lips to shreds holding in a scream. Still in the dark, he slid down the wall.
“Enough,” Clark's voice cut through the fog in his head like a knife, “Enough. We have to go home--now--before we lose everything."
tbc
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