DISCLAIMER - Not mine, I couldn't afford the motor and household insurance
bills. I promise I'll scrub them down and give them back to DC comics, the
WB and anyone else who does own a slice of them when I'm done with them.
Story, such as it is, copyright Karen Colohan, September 2002.
by Karen Colohan
When you're enclosed in darkness, feeling it around you like a cocoon, you find that senses other than sight begin to take precedence. It's like that now, here in the dark, in this room, this bed. No light at all, the heavy curtains keeping out even the faintest hint of moonlight, there are only vague shadows to be seen. Stronger by far are the other sensory impressions, those of my own body and, close enough to touch, my lover's.
Take hearing, for example, I'm acutely aware of the ragged breathing, harsh and heavy, close by my ear. It tells me exactly where he is - propped up on one elbow and leaning over me - before I ever reach out to touch him.
When I finally make that move, my fingers clutching at the source of those panted breaths, there's a sudden hitch in the sound that speaks volumes. When I carefully tighten my grip the breathing dissolves into soft moans, exhaled on a gust of warm air that caresses my cheek.
Which brings me on to the subject of touch, both the sensations my own skin is experiencing and the feelings I'm engendering in my lover as I continue to stroke him gently. My fingers go exploring in the dark, tracing out familiar paths on the body curled next to mine on the bed.
Soft skin, warm and damp with sweat, feels slick against the flat of my palm as I drag it across a broad, muscular chest. My fingertips catch on the rougher texture of taut nipples and I circle each in turn, unleashing a new symphony of moans and whispered entreaties.
All the while my other hand has been working lower on his body, gripping the hard length of his swollen cock. This I know so well, the weight of it, the feel of it in my grip as familiar as my own. Hot and slick, pre-come spills over my fingers and I sweep it along his shaft, easing the slide of my hand as I pump his cock in a measured rhythm.
He's moving with me now, thrusting into my grasp and pushing himself steadily closer to completion. More pre-come pulses from his cock and the scent of it is sharp in the close darkness of the room. It overlays the clean smell of the fresh sweat rising on his skin. Under everything else I can still catch the faint traces of soap clinging to both of us, legacy of the shared shower we took before coming to bed.
Broad hands are moving over my own body now, urging me closer. I slide on the smooth, cool sheets until we're pressed tightly together. My own cock is hard and leaking and I loosen my grip on him enough to take us both in hand, jacking us with fast, hard strokes.
With the extra stimulation my breathing finds a harsher cadence, my chest rising and falling raggedly. I have to bite my lip against the sounds that threaten to spill out of my mouth.
He shows no such restraint. Gasps and soft cries are mixed with husky declarations, a litany of the obscenities he's finally learning to use when we're together like this. He knows how much I love to hear those words, spoken in a voice that still manages to retain a hint of the old shyness. He sounds like the fallen angel he is - innocence debauched by the knowing touch of my hands and mouth on his beautiful body.
Pressed close against him, I can't resist bringing one more neglected sense into play. I bury my face in the strong curve of his neck, my lips sampling the warm, golden flavour of his skin. He tilts his head back at once, silently asking for more. I lean in closer still, my tongue lapping at the salty beads of sweat, savouring the taste of it.
He gives a soft whimper as I lick across the warm throb of his pulse, his lifeblood running just under the surface. Then I graze my teeth over the sensitive spot, biting lightly.
His hands are clenching and unclenching steadily on my hips and I can feel the strength of his grip. He's pulling me against him, wanting more pressure, more friction, anything to increase the sensations I know have to be flooding his body the way they are mine.
One of his hands steals between us. It closes around mine where it still encircles our cocks, pressing firmly. Pre-come is leaking freely from us both, making our joined hands glide smoothly together.
He pulls back a little and my mouth is deprived of the sweet taste of his skin. Before I can protest the loss, his lips are closing over mine and his tongue is plunging deep into my mouth. He fucks it with quick, possessive thrusts that leave me breathless.
His tongue carries with it the distinctive, minty flavour of his toothpaste. I never thought I'd find such a prosaic taste arousing, but I do. I press my own lips harder against his, nipping and sucking as we both seek to dominate the kiss.
All at once his fingers tighten over my own, and suddenly he's the one controlling the rhythm and pressure of the touches that dance along the length of our cocks. He squeezes them together harder, his movements faster now.
If he's as close as I am, I know this can't possibly last much longer. I can feel my balls drawing up tight and there's an unmistakable tingling along my nerve endings. There's a particular sweetness to anticipating the moment of release like this.
He moans into our kiss and I swallow the sound, feeding on his need. My free hand slides from his chest, up his neck, finally tangling in the warm silk of his hair. My fingers close on the tousled curls convulsively as I feel myself start to lose control. He's jacking us with fierce determination, wanting us to fly together.
I tear my mouth away from his, panting harshly as my orgasm hits me. If I didn't know better, I'd say it wasn't possible for his hand to move so fast as he strokes us both, coaxing his own cock into spilling hot pulses of come that mix with mine. But I do know better, and I enjoy the feeling of the sticky wetness spreading between our bellies as we strain against one another, shuddering with the sudden intensity of climax.
The heat of his breath fans across my face as he pants and gasps with pleasure. In that moment I wish I could see him; I know how beautiful he is when he comes. I let my fingers slip from his hair, tracing the familiar contours of his face instead. I feel the soft brush of his lashes and the firm outline of his lips, warm and a little damp.
As I touch his mouth he sucks my fingers inside, and as he curls his tongue around them I wish it was my cock being drawn into that moist heat. Next time it will be, I promise myself. For now I'm content to enjoy the lassitude that slowly steals along my limbs in the wake of our shared climax.
He's breathing hard as well as his heartbeat gradually slows. He curls close as his body relaxes and his fingers loose their grip on our cocks, the skin becoming too sensitive to bear the touch.
A moment later I feel a sticky touch against my lips and realise he's brought our hands, fingers still entwined, up to my mouth in offering. I open for him, slowly suckling the come-slick fingers. This is another taste I love, the taste of our shared pleasure. I lick his hand very deliberately, cleaning every last trace of come from the skin.
He releases my hand from his mouth as I pull off of his. With our lips free, he steals a gentle kiss, soft and sleepy, before settling back onto the bed and pulling me into his arms. We're both sated and content.
"Goodnight, Lex," he whispers. "Love you."
I smile into the darkness, all my senses satisfied by Clark's presence in my life and in my bed.
"Goodnight, Clark," I reply.
I love you too...
I still can't quite find it in me to say the words aloud, but I know they're understood between us as I drop a kiss onto the sweet curve of his cheek.
Soon... but when we're in the light. I want to see his face the first time I say those words to him.
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