[ After finally wrangling the answer out from Iroha (only for the answer to be something so obvious, good grief), Clark is only marginally flustered as he makes his way to the brothel. He looks a bit dishevelled when he gets there, but only because rushing makes him even clumsier than he normally is.
Exhaling softly through his mouth as he stands at the entrance, he steels himself before pushing in.
And, of course, he feels himself burning up in the face almost instantly just knowing what sort of place this is.
He stammers at the front desk through some attempt at asking where Mr. Iroha is, please, and in the same way kind of stumbles through doing his best not to look or hear anything he isn't meant to as he goes along. Clark's head only perks up when he sees Iroha, finally, and he makes his way over and pretends he isn't red in the face. ]
Well! [ His voice cracks. ] W-Well. Here I am.
[ He tries to look stern, but the embarrassment is way too powerful. ] I'm ready to search you.
[To the appeal and gratitude of many clients, Kikuya is not the type of whorehouse one calls a whorehouse. It is refined and beautifully designed from the ancient architecture to the stylish, minimal decor. Although there is a distinctly lustful air to the conversations and mannerisms of the all-male staff, no one is fucking out in the open.
Drinks and music, pleasant conversation - that is all some are in the building to enjoy. It doesn't take an excess of effort to avoid the worst (or best) of what goes on behind closed doors. But given that the person taking Clark's coat and leading him further inside the den of demons appears young enough to have homework, it's nonetheless exactly the sort of place deserving of Clark's blushes and stammers.
Iroha is on the phone but he stops texting as soon as he sees Clark, smiling at the sight of his brave entry to a place he doesn't belong. Then he is greeting in so painfully clumsy a way that he has to cover his mouth to stop from laughing hard enough to be heard outside.]
--- Are you, now?
[He is trying so hard not to laugh but can't hold back forever, sorry. #rip]
Yes. [ He lifts his chin somewhat, and then inevitably slouches again in that awful, awful posture. ] I, um--
I brought hand sanitiser. [ Something he digs for in the pocket of his trousers, and as soon as his hand is withdrawn from it, there's a cute, pocket-sized bottle of sanitiser in it for his use. ] So, you know.
[ Iroha's laughter doesn't seem to deter him much, at least. ] Very prepared.
I just, ah... am I supposed to-- you should be standing, shouldn't you?
[ He squirts a bit of the sanitiser into his palm and slips it back into his pocket with his free hand, then rubs them together in a way that can only be described as utterly, stupidly determined. ]
Iroha calms down in the wake of confusion. Had Clark said what Iroha thought he had heard? Yes, since he can see the actual bottle now. For a few sharp seconds he is offended before his knowledge of Clark's nature comes to the rescue. The product is intended for his protection from germs or whatever on Clark's hands, not the other way around.
The screen on Iroha's phone has time to go dark as he reels from this hilarious set of circumstance which he had not foreseen in the slightest. That itself is a gift to someone so accustomed to the trappings of the job, and he closes his eyes in a moment of humour so zen it's beyond his capability to actually laugh. It's too much.]
You are truly a work of art, Clark Kent.
[Iroha does comply by pushing himself away from his desk - which does not feature a computer. For all the details and accounting he is responsible for as the top manager he stubbornly does things in an old fashioned way. His clothes are hued like a peacocks feathers; dark teals and shadowy navy blues. He steps around the bulk of the furniture, which doesn't so much suggest that people get fucked on it so much as the fact that Iroha uses it for his actual responsibilities, and leaves himself open.]
[ "A work of art". Clark's face heats up despite himself, and he manages a quiet 'thank you' that more or less fades away the closer Iroha gets. His feet space apart like he's expecting to receive a football, but honestly, having to... to touch him, with the very real knowledge that Iroha actually likes him, is something that mild-mannered reporter Clark Kent isn't equipped to handle.
But it's all right. Pa taught him to be brave. And there's nothing wrong with faking it 'till you make it, right? ]
Uh, do I start like... [ Oh, but Iroha's clothes are so pretty. Clark gulps, then pats both his own cheeks to get himself together. ] W-Well, we'll start above the clothes, then.
[ Like a security search. Yes. Clark's been searched before.
So he pats two hands, first, over Iroha's shoulders. Clark runs warm, and the hands that start sliding over his shoulders and down his arms are the same. He bites his lip, and if the arms don't warrant anything, he'll move over to...
Slide his hands...
Down his chest instead.
The tips of his ears are red. Clark hadn't been joking, when he mentioned Iroha's chest looked strong.
[Observing people is one of Iroha's lifelong hobbies, one which began in an effort to assimilate for survival's sake and transformed over time into a genuine interest. He sincerely enjoyed the social - although sometimes tepid - aspect of a nightwalker's skillset. As blatant as Clark's discomfort was to anyone, Iroha found he could drink it in all day. The sweetness was a taste he loved. As easy as it was to lie about affection he had been truthful.
Still faintly smiling at it all, he left Clark to pep himself up at his own pace, gathering courage with a glance at his fashionable opponent and finally making good on his determination.
It is indeed very much like a security search, Iroha agrees silently. His body isn't overly stacked - too much wouldn't suit the lithe frame he possessed. He felt the weight and presence of Clark's hands on his shoulders and arms, thinking only of the heat that Clark is far from the first man to be warmed by the fires of embarrassment alone in Kikuya.
Iroha's watching eyes catch the lip bite and that too is a delicious sight. Absolutely worth every bit of effort he had taken to reel in this fish. Not everyone believed nerd glasses and fingers cramped from typing at deadlines were attractive, but Iroha knew what he liked.]
...Not at all, my dear. I am perfectly at ease.
[Ah, he was so adorably tense. Clark was as naked as anything in finding something he liked too - and he was right, Iroha was strong. The geode-purple colour of his shirt made Clark's hands look a bit more prominent than against a lighter colour but Iroha was watching Clark's face. He breathed at an even, unaffected pace. Nothing credit-card shaped stood out as if hiding in a pocket, unfortunately.]
[ The failure to find the credit card makes Clark's shoulders slump, and he takes a moment to look up through his lashes at the look on Iroha's face. He regrets this almost instantly-- the way he smiles is handsome in a truly sinful way-- and though Clark opens his mouth as if to ask something, he decides it probably won't make much of a difference, anyway, except for making him look like more of an idiot.
At least Iroha doesn't look like he's lying. He looks fine, indeed, and while Clark may just blush a hole into the earth, he finds himself continuing all the same.
He sinks, slowly, onto one knee, lips parted and eyes wide like he's surprised by his own decision. But another flick of the eyes up to Iroha's face tells him that this... is okay, probably.
With two hands he slides down the circumference of one leg and then the other, and he does his darnedest not to bring his hands too high up Iroha's thigh, or else he might combust entirely.
Every inch of him is strong in a subtle way. Clark's mouth is going dry in his mortification.
He may be doing his best not to make this too intimate or inappropriate, but his own overactive mind makes it like steam is coming out of his ears. ]
[Iroha exhales a little sharper than intended when Clark crouches in front of him. How bold, and immediately a thousand threads of seduction he could tug on spring to mind. Iroha is highly self-controlled so none of them come to pass despite knowing he would enjoy yielding to the temptation. The sight of Clark in that pose is lovely on its own and for now he contents himself with that.
The sensation of Clark testing different potential hiding spots is only a bit unusual in its rigidity. Again the observation Clark makes to himself is dead-on accurate; Iroha's body is deceptively capable. It isn't on his mind at all, though. Not when he can see Clark looking at him and weighing how comfortable he is, if he has gone too far, if his heated thoughts are apparent on his face. They are.]
You won't uncover what you seek by playing it safe.
[His voice is somewhat softer than it has been since Clark entered the room and something about it hints he isn't talking about a single desire yet unfound. Iroha doesn't have the cleavage to use the tradition hiding spot of a hooker but Clark has barely begun. He can't say if Clark will accept the invitation and double-down on his boldness yet, so he nudges him just a bit more:]
Perhaps you will do better without these?
[Not removing but reaching out to touch the side joint of Clark's glasses. It is the most innocent way of undressing him, but in his experience Iroha knows the accessory's removal has a way of making the wearer feel vulnerable.]
[ Clark's breath hitches as if Iroha's touched something sensitive, even if it'd just been his glasses. ] Huh?
But I, ah... I won't see very w-well without them.
[ As if the credit card is still at the forefront of his mind. As if now, kneeling here, he can think of anything that isn't horrifyingly indecent. Somewhere in the back of his mind he imagines his parents' disappointment in him, but is it really so bad when he knows Iroha likes him in the first place?
That means he has a right to these thoughts, doesn't it?
His stomach flutters. ]
But I... I suppose, [ he wets his lip, turning his gaze from the line of Iroha's hip to look up at him instead ] if you think it'll help.
[Iroha hums in agreement with everything Clark has said. A masculine tone both confident and stone-steady, unswayed in contrast to how unsure Clark feels inside.]
You haven't found a thing with them, have you.
[Gently as ever he grasps and slides the glasses off Clark's face. He has beautiful eyes. A vivid blue unlike Iroha's dark-skies gray. He watches them.]
Don't stop.
[A straight-forward command layered in meaning which he casually drops in the air while flipping one side of Clark's glasses to tuck one arm down and inside the center part of his shirt, as if he were their owner. More commonly seen with summer sunglasses but Iroha had never needed either and so had a little fun while the chance presented itself, like an imp collecting Clark's belongings one at a time until a hoarded trove was all his own.]
[ Clark didn't think he could feel any hotter than he already did, but Iroha surprises him anyway. There's something about the practised ease of his touch, the gentle tuck of Clark's glasses in his shirt-- his lips have parted on their own accord, and the uttered command has him caught between flushing deep and smiling brightly, his head dipping as he does as told.
The slide of his hands along Iroha's thighs is a little firmer now, a little more meaningful. Clark feels the muscle there before he catches where the front pockets of his trousers are. And if that doesn't yield anything then, well, he'll bring them around to brush over Iroha's back pockets instead.
Don't stop. Lord, the words repeat in Clark's head like the worst kind of mantra.
His fingers brush, tentative, over the belt loops on Iroha's trousers. There's no way to hide a credit card there, none at all.
But Clark's hands come around again, brushing lightly over Iroha's front button. ]
Should I... [ His lashes flutter. ] Can I look with my e-eyes?
[Normally, Iroha dressed for professionalism and comfort with the intention of not drawing attention away from the available courtesans. Since knowing Clark was going to be in the same room he had changed, since he had conveniently taken his shirt off solely to entice the man in front of him. Soft to the touch and fit very well, he could feel Clark's touch poignantly. The slow-fed lust within was starting to nag him more insistently.
The same result around his backside, too. Both in Clark's hunt yielding nothing and in the turning of invisible pages in Iroha's mind. Watching him take another step. Watching the consequences revealed in Clark's demeanor and wondering if he imagined how it felt on the receiving end.
When Clark spoke up then altered the phrase's ending, only going to something nearly nonsensical, Iroha's last domino clicked over to its other-coloured side.]
In addition to your hands, you mean?
[The way Clark phrases it sounds childish and it crosses his mind that he's never done this before. There's a chance. He toys with the idea of teasing him more, threatening him with the suggestion that he might refuse. But he wants it, so he doesn't.]
[ And that's it, isn't it? Some bolt of definite, absolute heat crashes down his spine, but Clark ignores it in favour of undoing that button and pulling the zip along with it. The flaps of Iroha's trousers open to either side, and though the reaction isn't one he's necessarily willing to admit to, he feels his mouth water all the same.
Clark swallows that down, and he shifts his other leg to kneel properly on Iroha's office floor.
In truth, besides his late wife he's had no other experiences in intimacy. Nobody pays Clark Kent any attention, and he's not in any hurry to get it. It's one of the reasons Iroha displaces him so much; he teases and he prods and Clark isn't used to someone looking at him, and hearing him, and speaking to him with that undercurrent of want.
But he certainly doesn't argue it now, letting Iroha's trousers hang loose on his hips as he slides firm fingers along the lines of his Adonis belt before they hook in his underwear.
For what it's worth, Clark looks awed. And when he makes good on that word, using his mouth to kiss both Iroha's belly and the hem of his underwear in one go, it's with a quiet reverence and a soft sigh.
[It looked like it felt wonderful to discard all pretense. Iroha felt and saw Clark embrace the permission he had been granted and was reminded how pleasurable it was to bestow that freedom onto another person. The soulful release was paired with the physical; Clark's to-the-quick undressing twisted the knife deeper.
Part of his interest in Clark was how he could be sometimes very surprising. Even now Iroha had no idea how far this encounter would go. Only that Clark had gone quiet, and being kissed like that made Iroha hum lightly under his breath in sheer enjoyment. Tricks and toys were fun but who could resist being treated like gold?
At last, Iroha couldn't restrain himself from touching Clark in return. He reached out to caress the back of his head, feeling Clark's hair, playing with it thoughtlessly. He liked that mouth exactly where it was, and although he wasn't fully hard he wouldn't take much to get there. He doubted Clark was capable of envy, so Iroha didn't give his size a second thought except to anticipate the promise of warmth and wetness filling out to completeness.
He left the room's silence untouched, neither encouraging Clark verbally to hurry nor taking action to expose himself more. He appreciated seeing him carve the pace himself, especially now on the cusp of being taken out.]
[ The touch of Iroha's fingers to his hair makes Clark smile, mouth curved soft in the first kiss he presses to the shape of him in his underwear. He's never been with a man, and there is both a kind of excitement and nervousness in that; in general, though, Clark thinks he's just excited to be touching someone in an intimate way again after so long without it.
And goodness, Iroha is so warm where he traces him with his lips.
Clark's eyes shut and his thumbs hook in the waistband of Iroha's underwear, and-- unsure if this is good or bad or somewhere in-between-- opens his mouth entirely to slide his tongue up along the sleeping length of his cock.
It's a lot, too. A lot of him to taste, to map out. Clark's tongue is warm like the rest of him, and he licks all the way up to Iroha's waistband and the softness of his skin only because he's rolling his underwear down.
When he opens his eyes again the blue in them is darker, his cheeks flushed even when he hasn't done anything yet, not really. Clark pulls back slightly just to watch himself slide that underwear down and take Iroha in hand, and inexplicably his knees slip a little closer together, his thighs touching with the pulse of want that runs through him like a current. ]
Did you-- did you really hide my card somewhere? [ It's such a stupid question to ask, especially with the way Clark's lips press to the tip of Iroha's cock in punctuation. But he looks up at him as he licks the head of his dick, and he looks at him as he brushes lips down to the base only to slide his tongue back to the tip-- tasting, feeling, worshiping as Clark is wont to. Arousal and awe go hand in hand, especially because Clark doesn't think he deserves this.
But maybe it's the fact Iroha's out of his league that makes it that much more fulfilling to wrap his lips around him. ]
[Iroha's body and mood had been relaxed throughout their conversation but these sensations made him feel soft inside, encouraging a deeper comfort. His posture had stayed straight and fine but soon he would need to lean back on his desk. Not just yet though. Office-sex was not a habit, part of it being that Iroha didn't take partners on as often anymore and partially because there were so many other rooms in Kikuya that were made for it.
This was alright. No one bothered him when the door was closed. The staff didn't call him the demon manager because he was nice. His breathing slowed the more Clark took the initiative, the pressure of his mouth and the closeness of him making those beautiful feel-good signals fire off.
When his cock is exposed - he's so incredibly ready for Clark's mouth. Iroha closes his eyes naturally and he waits for it, thoughts of Clark's tongue soon giving him what he wants and knows he's going to get are the only thing on his mind.]
hgk?
[The noise Iroha makes is too different things trying to happen at the exact same time. Surprise, from Clark's question taking a turn he utterly didn't expect when he realized the man was saying something, and a vocal expression of pleasure he couldn't reign back as soon as Clark actually kept going despite having brought up that silly trap. Iroha had already dropped it completely from his mind. He was fairly good at controlling the way he reacted to unexpected things even when his dick was in someone's mouth but coming from Clark?! He hadn't thought he needed to be so guarded.
His face turns pinker; quite the accomplishment. Iroha didn't think Clark had the guile to wait for that vulnerable moment to ask him a question but that certainly was his tongue exploiting the worst/best of Iroha's sensitivity. Being caught in a lie wasn't enough to make him squirm but the way Clark looked at him was almost, almost enough to make him feel guilty.]
-- Somewhere.
[He hisses before he responds, Clark's lips closing on his cock's eager thickness made it a little difficult to focus. It is a vague non-answer but his gaze has moved to a sideboard against the wall. Obviously he would much rather be looking at Clark - on his knees, mouth taking in his dick? yeah. - but over among other bits of decor and old-looking books was a small vase of three roses. Blood red petals, fresh and stunning in their priceless beauty. They're a gift from Clark, even if he doesn't know it.]
[ Clark likes new experiences perhaps more than the average person, but that doesn’t make this any less of a lot. With one hand around Iroha’s prick he tests the weight of him on his tongue, and the feel of it is just as addicting as the heat, the taste of his skin. It’s not like he has anything to draw on for this, not really—but the way Iroha fills his senses is overwhelming in itself, and altogether it makes goosebumps erupt all over Clark’s skin. ]
Mmh… [ It’s a soft sound, muffled as Clark’s lips stretch and his cheek bulges with Iroha’s cock rubbing against the inside of it. He sucks and those cheeks hollow, and saliva builds in his mouth and drips a bit when he starts to move his head forward and then back. When it gets to be too much he pulls off, but only to swallow what’s built on his tongue. Clark’s fist is wet when he slides back and forth, spreading his own spit over hardening flesh. ]
You feel amazing. [ He speaks less with the intention to sound particularly dirty and more honest, straight from the heart. Clark licks at the head of Iroha’s dick in broad strokes that match the pump of his hand, and he takes in a breath through his nose before he takes him in again, deeper. Hard flesh slips over his warm tongue and Clark shivers again with it, moaning, his other hand finding purchase on Iroha’s hip with a tentative brush of the thumb (like he isn’t allowed to touch him here, Christ, as if he hasn’t already got his cock in his mouth).
When he bobs his head, the stretch of his mouth over Iroha’s girth is sweet. The sensory load of it turns him on, and when he tilts his head back just that much he feels the slide of Iroha’s tip against the roof of his mouth before it nudges forward.
The hand on Iroha's hip moves, landing on the hand that's on Clark's head. When he glances up through half-lidded eyes it's with a calculated slide of Iroha's hand through his hair-- a meaningful one, encouraging him for more. ]
[If given the choice Iroha would select an inexperienced partner over one as knowledgeable as himself every time. It wasn't a fetish or obsession, nothing so crass as deflowering virgin purity and all that nonsense. He simply marveled at their discovery, took pleasure from being a participant, witness and catalyst to every new sensation. It thrilled him to the core to see, feel Clark so genuinely, tenderly test and embrace every inch.
Not that a blowjob was rocket science but Clark picked it up with gratifying quickness. Of course he must know what he liked to receive but Iroha's guesses on his sexual history only had his observational skills to back up the conclusion. Maybe he had done it before after all. Or imagined it with enough frequency and longing that it was second nature. Whatever the truth, Iroha's pulse quickened with every suck and swallow.
Clark compliments him and a subtle laugh prefaces Iroha's response - which is cut quiet in a heartbeat, replaced by a breathless moan. The words were nothing but air suddenly but they hadn't mattered much to begin with. He wanted to say what Clark made him feel in his heart too; that no dirty talk turned him on as fiercely as the honesty in his words, the genuine enjoyment on Clark's face as he sucked him off.
He could last for a long time no matter what was being done to his body, which he thought might matter if Clark kept up that enthusiasm. Iroha noticed everything - the hesitant way Clark touches his hip, still as if he believed he wasn't deserving. It would be maddening to keep up his choice to be as passive as he could tolerate so as to not overwhelm Clark when he already looked drunk on the taste, the engorgement inside his mouth.
Thank goodness, Iroha thinks then when Clark tells him with no uncertainty that he wants more. Not just that it's acceptable... That air of obligation especially prominent between men. Clark invites it and Iroha snatches that offering unhesitatingly.
He makes an appreciative sound and allows another layer of his bottomless hunger free. Grabbing Clark's skull harder, both hands taking and trapping his head in a firm cage. Iroha has no choice but to be precise with how much strength he uses and this output ought to be enough not to allow any movement. Then he gives Clark more - having done so well until now, Iroha thrusts carelessly deep into that perfect warmth, raking saliva from the back of his throat. Rewarding him for bringing that cock to its full impressive size by fucking his face. Clark's glasses, in place where they'd been hung earlier, bounced along with the snap of Iroha's hips and caused a faintly audible, rhythmic clack-clack each time the frame struck the buttons on his shirt.]
Those hands hold him steady and it sends a whole new thrill down his spine (somewhere in the back of his mind, some other part of him relishes that act of restraint—it’s not something he’s used to, not in the least). His eyes widen, but it’s less about surprise and more about how the sensation goes straight to his cock. They roll into the back of his head, in any case, as his cheeks flush red and his lashes flutter with the pace that Iroha sets for himself. Clark’s trousers might be made to fit loose—he’s never been one to wear things that fit properly—but he’s hard in them, throbbing, and it’s difficult not to whimper as his throat is breached and it only makes his prick brush ever more insistently against its cloth prison.
He’s sensitive, if the way he shudders untouched is any indication. He’s sensitive to the slide of Iroha’s cock in his mouth, the way it takes over everything, the weight and heat and force of him as he pushes in without relent. Clark can’t help the choked, whining noises from coming out; it’s all so wet, and messy, and his hands have fallen to touch Iroha’s hips because Lord, he’s got to hold onto something. They curl as if seeking comfort instead of forcing boundaries, and Clark’s tongue curves dutifully under the weight of Iroha’s dick, wet and warm. He tastes him and takes him and sighs with unadulterated pleasure, and by the time his eyes have managed to open properly again the blues of them have glassed over the slightest bit.
He’s touch-starved, is what he is. Touch-starved and foolish and caring a little too much. Iroha takes him and he’s just happy to be there for it, to be the one chosen for it—he’s happy that he gets to have this, and feel this, and while it’s impossible to smile with his mouth so full of cock, it certainly isn’t impossible for the corners of his eyes to crinkle.
Clark glances up, watching Iroha’s face, his nostrils flaring with some attempt to breathe. It ought to be clear now that he doesn’t have a proper gag reflex, though clearly he’s overwhelmed enough that tears have begun to dot his eyes. Clark uses one hand to caress down Iroha’s thigh in an affectionate touch before stroking back up to his hip again. The other brushes the space between his legs and a little lower.
That makes him shiver, too—touching himself while Iroha takes him—and it makes him swallow around Iroha’s length with a soft noise as his lips close a little tighter around him. ]
[Some men can take a large insertion while composing a grocery list in their mind. It means nothing and evokes nothing. Iroha has always been attracted to those more dissimilar to himself; and it's exactly what Clark provides. He's so beautiful, being changed by having a cock working his mouth with seemingly insatiable lust. Thrusting hard with a merciless ease. As if the size it sought to breach him, seeking the back of his throat over and over in a blunt punishment designed to make him choke on it no matter how thick and plentiful his collected saliva tried to make it easy.
Iroha was delighted beyond words. He could feel the stirring in his deepest soul pulling at its chains to be let out. To wrap an unstoppable hand around Clark's throat and spend its demon seed into his helpless, willing but unwilling vessel. Iroha fought the urge even as his pupils dilate in want, his hands clench Clark's skull harder and his hips beat the rhythm into his face.
Every corner of the room was familiar to him of course, so he knew Clark had no way of seeing it in a reflection or the like, but when witnessing the pinprick tears bead at the corners of Clark's eyes caused Iroha's own to begin shifting to a vicious, violent red - he forced himself to pull back.
Withdrawing his cock for a moment helped the restraint. Clark prrrobably needed to breathe too, even if he appeared to have managed so far. Mostly. The oxygen deprivation and suddenness of being fucked so intensely gave him that needy look. Iroha hadn't considered Clark so desperate for this type of attention, or any touch at all, when he'd begun to tease and pursue him.
It's just a momentary pause for Iroha to admire the spit sticking to his erection, making it glisten, with a clearer head. He pulls the sides of his pants further down his thighs and continues, this time just using one hand to restrain Clark while the other holds his jaw to keep his mouth wide open. He chose to ignore the self-relief Clark tried to give his own prick while all this was railed into him, just for now. He thrust slower and more individually instead of the ceaseless fury of a moment ago. He withdrew almost entirely before it home again - still keeping a decent pace of working himself over using Clark's mouth but far more aware and conscious of each entry.
Iroha's unashamed moans slowed and he pulled back one final time. He wasn't finished with Clark, though. He let go of his jaw just to reach down and grab his tie in the same way - as if Clark didn't have the option of saying no. He was going to take it and he was going to like it.
He kicked Clark's thighs apart. So far he hadn't acknowledged that Clark must be hard, desperate and his cock wanting. But now Iroha's gaze upon his crotch was focused as if he had been allowed to hide how good it felt by Iroha's benevolence, which had just ended.]
Show me.
[He keeps Clark's tie pulled taunt and high like a leash.]
[ The pop of Iroha’s prick when it leaves his mouth is almost deafening in the otherwise relative silence, and Clark coughs a bit, once, even if the reaction is a touch delayed. His eyes are glassy, lips shiny with spit, and he takes in these shuddering gulps of air but doesn’t forget to offer Iroha a happy little grin—a show of appreciation, really, for giving him so much.
It isn’t surprising, then, that the hand to his jaw is one he adjusts to easily, even as he works it just a bit because of the stiffness there. His lips part, tongue giving the smallest tremble in anticipation, and the moment Iroha’s pushed himself in again, inch by deliberate inch, Clark’s eyes flutter shut as he moans softly around him. It’d been delightful earlier, being overwhelmed by speed and force and having to take what he was given, but this is wonderful in a different way—wonderful because Iroha shoves himself in so slowly that Clark feels everything with acute intensity, so strong that he has to grip himself just a bit in his trousers, knowing he’s already gotten the front of his underwear the slightest bit stained. Each noise is wet, messy, and Clark doesn’t have the finesse to keep his drool from dripping out the corner of his lips each time Iroha shoves home, but he takes and feels and shudders, and even rocks his hips up the slightest bit against his own palm. ]
Hah… [ He’s almost sad when Iroha pulls away and doesn’t come back, his head coming forward as much as it’s allowed as if chasing the sensation before it’s gone forever. But then his eyes go wide, all dark and fucked out, the moment he feels himself sink as his knees spread further apart on the floor, and though he opens his mouth in a question he ends up choking on his own words instead.
Goodness, it’s something else seeing his tie pulled taut like that and feeling the pressure of it around his neck. Clark’s lashes flutter again in surprise—these are all new sensations, all of them things he wouldn’t know how to expect—and if it’s possible, his cheeks burn even darker at the demand that comes his way. He’s not stupid; Iroha’s eyes are between his legs where Clark’s dick has begun to strain, he can tell that that’s what he wants to see. But somehow, even after having his brain fucked out of him, the thought of baring himself makes him a little shy.
He nods, though, as much as he can, words cut off with the pressure around his throat and Clark not wanting to try his luck. With shaking hands he brings them over to the button of his trousers, and though it takes a few tries, it finally comes loose. The zip is pulled, a pair of red briefs exposed, and Clark want to hide away because he’s sure the bulge in them must be obscene even without the nakedness. ]
I… [ He’s not sure how he would’ve continued that statement, especially with how rasped his voice has gotten, and though his eyes flick briefly to gauge Iroha’s expression, inevitably he shuts them in the closest thing to privacy he can achieve.
His briefs roll down and his prick is hard, flushed and curved and wet at the tip as it springs free. The cold air makes him shiver, but it throbs all the same; Clark throbs, and there’s something so absurdly vulnerable about the whole thing that he thinks he might go drunk with it. ]
[Although Clark can't complete the thought aloud Iroha can guess the phrase's meaning. Was a single word enough to believe Clark's thoughts were I don't want this, I love this? It was a difficult emotion to express. Often seen in others with stressful jobs. The weight of the world seemingly on their shoulders alone. In charge of so much, responsible for too much. Wasn't it heavenly for someone else to take control?
Sex was entrenched in psychology. As long as Clark believed he could never show this side of himself to anyone - no matter how untrue that belief may be - it would be a great relief to embrace the humiliation. Just as Iroha settled on a conclusion, his eyebrows raised at the sight of red briefs.
So bright! How unexpected, the invisible Mr. Kent wearing a dramatic colour. On his most intimate parts, hidden away. He really did yearn to be exposed after all. Iroha's mind sifts through this and that, gaze locked on Clark with his eyes closed like a child thinking if I can't see them they can't see me. Iroha was naturally inclined to want to taste the fear that made grown men lose their sense of reason.
He eases off the choking grip on that convenient part of a business man's uniform. Bending him over the antique varnished desk would be nicely symbolic. If Clark's pressure point was his job then it would be all the more deep a release to spend himself in a similar space. He couldn't possibly allow himself to be fucked in his own office, but wouldn't you know Iroha would bet Clark had imagined it.
Iroha hummed to himself while teetering towards various choices as the seconds ticked by. He leaned over to bestow some tenderness; stroking Clark's lips from how wet they'd become, using his fingers and the back of his hand. Daring him with proximity to open his eyes.
Finally, he spoke in something far closer to his usual tone than one might expect given the circumstance. Secretly he was turned on beyond his expectations. Anticipating how Clark would react. Iroha didn't need to lean much closer since Clark's height was absurd even on his knees. All to slide the knife as deep as possible.]
You are going to jerk off for me, Clark. Until I have seen enough and allow you to take my come on your face.
[Implying that Iroha may not even grant permission for Clark to come before he did, stopping him from finishing. But there was nothing more damning than a compromised man's imagination.]
[ The brush against his lips makes him sigh, affectionate despite everything, and he does indeed open his eyes, even if his cheeks are peppered with colour. ] Iroha... [ He's embarrassed, but his erection doesn't flag, hard as ever and dripping precome from the tip untouched.
And he worries he might just come altogether simply at the command given him. ] Ah, please-- [ There's a terrible mix of shock and arousal the more Iroha speaks; Clark bites his lip just to shut himself up, but his head dips as much as it's allowed, catching the obscene curve of his dick and the little twitch it makes when he clenches his thighs.
It's like he'd forgotten he has hands until Iroha reminded him of them. He brings one of them up, and his eyes flick to watch through his lashes while he licks his own palm. ]
I didn't know you were recording this... [ And maybe he should be scared about that, but Iroha is his friend, first and foremost. This is blackmail material, and this might ruin Clark's reputation at the Planet, but Iroha is a professional and Iroha likes him, which means. ]
Mmh. But if you're going to come on my face-- [ His wet palm slides over his own cock and Clark's lips part while his hips jerk, toes curling in his shoes. ] ...is it bad, that I want to see?
[ To see what he looks like fucked out and messy. To see how much come Iroha has for him, to remember this and the way it'd felt. To see what it looks like getting his throat fucked, and Lord, the memory has him wrapping his fingers around himself. ]
I really want to see. I want [ he gulps ] the memory.
[ His eyes close again, but only because he's brought his free hand up his clothed upper body, up to brush where his nipple is and press at pebbled flesh while he drips into his own hand. Clark's fist works his prick slowly first, squeezing every time he reaches the tip, and by the time he starts pinching at his covered chest he can't stop from whining little nnhs.
His drags his teeth over his lip, wanting to hunch over as his hand moves faster, smacking lightly every time he reaches the base of himself. ]
[Fuck, but didn't Clark make beautiful expressions? Iroha laughed silently to himself while watching him, watching the fallout. Only the slightest misstep; Clark wasn't afraid of blackmail at all. No fear in his eyes or anger at the deception. An unusual mindset but the easygoing way Clark not only accepted but welcomed the chance to watch what had been done to him, that was arousing in its own way.
Most people shut their eyes instinctively when receiving a facial. The viewpoint was different too, and reality could never be replayed. Iroha caressed Clark's hair in praise, petting his head with soft fondness. Good boy. Other than that singular point of contact he held back. Just to see him thoroughly indulge himself, palming his cock and being so crass as to use his own saliva instead of asking for lube. What could be more intimate than being the subject of a friend's gaze?]
You will have what you want.
[He didn't address the question directly if it was good or bad - Clark was fucking his hand hard now that sort of moral issue could wait. Besides, considering who he had asked, the answer was obvious.]
You will always be given anything you desire if you ask it of me.
[Iroha shied away from promises. Abhorred them. But he did make them occasionally. When the time was right, when Clark had done so well in baring this filthy side of himself. He wanted more. Of all the things Iroha loved about sex it was an honor to core someone like an apple and see their perversions come to light.
He noisier Clark became, the more frantic, the more inspired Iroha was to stop memorizing this incredibly hot creature in front of him and join in. Since Clark had enjoyed being deepthroated he easily returned to that with a suggestion, stroking Clark's cheek then nudging the tip of his cock to his lips once more.]
It’s a dangerous prospect. But kneeling here with his prick out, jerking himself off as beads of precome keep rolling down—Clark’s past that point of danger anyway, isn’t he?
He isn’t used to indulgence. His muscles are twitching as he rocks up into his own hand, his lip quivering with the soft noises that keep coming out of his throat, and Clark wonders if it’s obvious he hasn’t come in a long time.
Maybe. Iroha can read him like a book.
The way he kisses the tip of his dick before wrapping his lips around it once more comes so naturally that Clark is certain Iroha had read his mind before Clark could even decipher his own damn thoughts.
It feels good, though, and Clark is doing his best to keep his eyes open even as he tilts his head to accommodate the slide of Iroha’s cock back into his mouth. He can’t get enough of the taste, the heat, even the scent of him, and it’s less because Clark wants to get facefucked and more because of all the people to take over his senses, it’s someone he genuinely likes.
His breath hitches. Iroha’s cock rubs against the roof of his mouth and the lining of his inner cheek and Clark tries to rub his tongue against the underside of him.
There’s a kind of peace to having his mouth full again. Clark looks up this time, all flushed face and spit-shined lips, as he tilts his head and tries to swallow with his throat. The hand around his own cock tightens, squeezing, and the hand on his chest slips to brush up Iroha’s thigh, stroking soft pads over his abdomen before his fingers curl into his hip oh-so gently.
You can do it again, is what he’s trying to say, his head bobbing clumsily and the hand on his prick following that shy, shy rhythm. Clark thinks he’s going to come, he’s so unbearably close, and he chokes a bit because he’s so embarrassingly noisy.
Maybe the plea shows in his eyes. (Clark’s never been much of a liar.) ]
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Exhaling softly through his mouth as he stands at the entrance, he steels himself before pushing in.
And, of course, he feels himself burning up in the face almost instantly just knowing what sort of place this is.
He stammers at the front desk through some attempt at asking where Mr. Iroha is, please, and in the same way kind of stumbles through doing his best not to look or hear anything he isn't meant to as he goes along. Clark's head only perks up when he sees Iroha, finally, and he makes his way over and pretends he isn't red in the face. ]
Well! [ His voice cracks. ] W-Well. Here I am.
[ He tries to look stern, but the embarrassment is way too powerful. ] I'm ready to search you.
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Drinks and music, pleasant conversation - that is all some are in the building to enjoy. It doesn't take an excess of effort to avoid the worst (or best) of what goes on behind closed doors. But given that the person taking Clark's coat and leading him further inside the den of demons appears young enough to have homework, it's nonetheless exactly the sort of place deserving of Clark's blushes and stammers.
Iroha is on the phone but he stops texting as soon as he sees Clark, smiling at the sight of his brave entry to a place he doesn't belong. Then he is greeting in so painfully clumsy a way that he has to cover his mouth to stop from laughing hard enough to be heard outside.]
--- Are you, now?
[He is trying so hard not to laugh but can't hold back forever, sorry. #rip]
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I brought hand sanitiser. [ Something he digs for in the pocket of his trousers, and as soon as his hand is withdrawn from it, there's a cute, pocket-sized bottle of sanitiser in it for his use. ] So, you know.
[ Iroha's laughter doesn't seem to deter him much, at least. ] Very prepared.
I just, ah... am I supposed to-- you should be standing, shouldn't you?
[ He squirts a bit of the sanitiser into his palm and slips it back into his pocket with his free hand, then rubs them together in a way that can only be described as utterly, stupidly determined. ]
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Iroha calms down in the wake of confusion. Had Clark said what Iroha thought he had heard? Yes, since he can see the actual bottle now. For a few sharp seconds he is offended before his knowledge of Clark's nature comes to the rescue. The product is intended for his protection from germs or whatever on Clark's hands, not the other way around.
The screen on Iroha's phone has time to go dark as he reels from this hilarious set of circumstance which he had not foreseen in the slightest. That itself is a gift to someone so accustomed to the trappings of the job, and he closes his eyes in a moment of humour so zen it's beyond his capability to actually laugh. It's too much.]
You are truly a work of art, Clark Kent.
[Iroha does comply by pushing himself away from his desk - which does not feature a computer. For all the details and accounting he is responsible for as the top manager he stubbornly does things in an old fashioned way. His clothes are hued like a peacocks feathers; dark teals and shadowy navy blues. He steps around the bulk of the furniture, which doesn't so much suggest that people get fucked on it so much as the fact that Iroha uses it for his actual responsibilities, and leaves himself open.]
Go on, I am at your mercy - and wish you luck.
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But it's all right. Pa taught him to be brave. And there's nothing wrong with faking it 'till you make it, right? ]
Uh, do I start like... [ Oh, but Iroha's clothes are so pretty. Clark gulps, then pats both his own cheeks to get himself together. ] W-Well, we'll start above the clothes, then.
[ Like a security search. Yes. Clark's been searched before.
So he pats two hands, first, over Iroha's shoulders. Clark runs warm, and the hands that start sliding over his shoulders and down his arms are the same. He bites his lip, and if the arms don't warrant anything, he'll move over to...
Slide his hands...
Down his chest instead.
The tips of his ears are red. Clark hadn't been joking, when he mentioned Iroha's chest looked strong.
It feels that way, too. ]
Y-You're not uncomfortable, are you?
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Still faintly smiling at it all, he left Clark to pep himself up at his own pace, gathering courage with a glance at his fashionable opponent and finally making good on his determination.
It is indeed very much like a security search, Iroha agrees silently. His body isn't overly stacked - too much wouldn't suit the lithe frame he possessed. He felt the weight and presence of Clark's hands on his shoulders and arms, thinking only of the heat that Clark is far from the first man to be warmed by the fires of embarrassment alone in Kikuya.
Iroha's watching eyes catch the lip bite and that too is a delicious sight. Absolutely worth every bit of effort he had taken to reel in this fish. Not everyone believed nerd glasses and fingers cramped from typing at deadlines were attractive, but Iroha knew what he liked.]
...Not at all, my dear. I am perfectly at ease.
[Ah, he was so adorably tense. Clark was as naked as anything in finding something he liked too - and he was right, Iroha was strong. The geode-purple colour of his shirt made Clark's hands look a bit more prominent than against a lighter colour but Iroha was watching Clark's face. He breathed at an even, unaffected pace. Nothing credit-card shaped stood out as if hiding in a pocket, unfortunately.]
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At least Iroha doesn't look like he's lying. He looks fine, indeed, and while Clark may just blush a hole into the earth, he finds himself continuing all the same.
He sinks, slowly, onto one knee, lips parted and eyes wide like he's surprised by his own decision. But another flick of the eyes up to Iroha's face tells him that this... is okay, probably.
With two hands he slides down the circumference of one leg and then the other, and he does his darnedest not to bring his hands too high up Iroha's thigh, or else he might combust entirely.
Every inch of him is strong in a subtle way. Clark's mouth is going dry in his mortification.
He may be doing his best not to make this too intimate or inappropriate, but his own overactive mind makes it like steam is coming out of his ears. ]
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The sensation of Clark testing different potential hiding spots is only a bit unusual in its rigidity. Again the observation Clark makes to himself is dead-on accurate; Iroha's body is deceptively capable. It isn't on his mind at all, though. Not when he can see Clark looking at him and weighing how comfortable he is, if he has gone too far, if his heated thoughts are apparent on his face. They are.]
You won't uncover what you seek by playing it safe.
[His voice is somewhat softer than it has been since Clark entered the room and something about it hints he isn't talking about a single desire yet unfound. Iroha doesn't have the cleavage to use the tradition hiding spot of a hooker but Clark has barely begun. He can't say if Clark will accept the invitation and double-down on his boldness yet, so he nudges him just a bit more:]
Perhaps you will do better without these?
[Not removing but reaching out to touch the side joint of Clark's glasses. It is the most innocent way of undressing him, but in his experience Iroha knows the accessory's removal has a way of making the wearer feel vulnerable.]
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But I, ah... I won't see very w-well without them.
[ As if the credit card is still at the forefront of his mind. As if now, kneeling here, he can think of anything that isn't horrifyingly indecent. Somewhere in the back of his mind he imagines his parents' disappointment in him, but is it really so bad when he knows Iroha likes him in the first place?
That means he has a right to these thoughts, doesn't it?
His stomach flutters. ]
But I... I suppose, [ he wets his lip, turning his gaze from the line of Iroha's hip to look up at him instead ] if you think it'll help.
[ Iroha can take them off if he wants to. ]
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[Iroha hums in agreement with everything Clark has said. A masculine tone both confident and stone-steady, unswayed in contrast to how unsure Clark feels inside.]
You haven't found a thing with them, have you.
[Gently as ever he grasps and slides the glasses off Clark's face. He has beautiful eyes. A vivid blue unlike Iroha's dark-skies gray. He watches them.]
Don't stop.
[A straight-forward command layered in meaning which he casually drops in the air while flipping one side of Clark's glasses to tuck one arm down and inside the center part of his shirt, as if he were their owner. More commonly seen with summer sunglasses but Iroha had never needed either and so had a little fun while the chance presented itself, like an imp collecting Clark's belongings one at a time until a hoarded trove was all his own.]
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The slide of his hands along Iroha's thighs is a little firmer now, a little more meaningful. Clark feels the muscle there before he catches where the front pockets of his trousers are. And if that doesn't yield anything then, well, he'll bring them around to brush over Iroha's back pockets instead.
Don't stop. Lord, the words repeat in Clark's head like the worst kind of mantra.
His fingers brush, tentative, over the belt loops on Iroha's trousers. There's no way to hide a credit card there, none at all.
But Clark's hands come around again, brushing lightly over Iroha's front button. ]
Should I... [ His lashes flutter. ] Can I look with my e-eyes?
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The same result around his backside, too. Both in Clark's hunt yielding nothing and in the turning of invisible pages in Iroha's mind. Watching him take another step. Watching the consequences revealed in Clark's demeanor and wondering if he imagined how it felt on the receiving end.
When Clark spoke up then altered the phrase's ending, only going to something nearly nonsensical, Iroha's last domino clicked over to its other-coloured side.]
In addition to your hands, you mean?
[The way Clark phrases it sounds childish and it crosses his mind that he's never done this before. There's a chance. He toys with the idea of teasing him more, threatening him with the suggestion that he might refuse. But he wants it, so he doesn't.]
Yes. And your mouth.
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Clark swallows that down, and he shifts his other leg to kneel properly on Iroha's office floor.
In truth, besides his late wife he's had no other experiences in intimacy. Nobody pays Clark Kent any attention, and he's not in any hurry to get it. It's one of the reasons Iroha displaces him so much; he teases and he prods and Clark isn't used to someone looking at him, and hearing him, and speaking to him with that undercurrent of want.
But he certainly doesn't argue it now, letting Iroha's trousers hang loose on his hips as he slides firm fingers along the lines of his Adonis belt before they hook in his underwear.
For what it's worth, Clark looks awed. And when he makes good on that word, using his mouth to kiss both Iroha's belly and the hem of his underwear in one go, it's with a quiet reverence and a soft sigh.
He kisses a touch lower. ]
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Part of his interest in Clark was how he could be sometimes very surprising. Even now Iroha had no idea how far this encounter would go. Only that Clark had gone quiet, and being kissed like that made Iroha hum lightly under his breath in sheer enjoyment. Tricks and toys were fun but who could resist being treated like gold?
At last, Iroha couldn't restrain himself from touching Clark in return. He reached out to caress the back of his head, feeling Clark's hair, playing with it thoughtlessly. He liked that mouth exactly where it was, and although he wasn't fully hard he wouldn't take much to get there. He doubted Clark was capable of envy, so Iroha didn't give his size a second thought except to anticipate the promise of warmth and wetness filling out to completeness.
He left the room's silence untouched, neither encouraging Clark verbally to hurry nor taking action to expose himself more. He appreciated seeing him carve the pace himself, especially now on the cusp of being taken out.]
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And goodness, Iroha is so warm where he traces him with his lips.
Clark's eyes shut and his thumbs hook in the waistband of Iroha's underwear, and-- unsure if this is good or bad or somewhere in-between-- opens his mouth entirely to slide his tongue up along the sleeping length of his cock.
It's a lot, too. A lot of him to taste, to map out. Clark's tongue is warm like the rest of him, and he licks all the way up to Iroha's waistband and the softness of his skin only because he's rolling his underwear down.
When he opens his eyes again the blue in them is darker, his cheeks flushed even when he hasn't done anything yet, not really. Clark pulls back slightly just to watch himself slide that underwear down and take Iroha in hand, and inexplicably his knees slip a little closer together, his thighs touching with the pulse of want that runs through him like a current. ]
Did you-- did you really hide my card somewhere? [ It's such a stupid question to ask, especially with the way Clark's lips press to the tip of Iroha's cock in punctuation. But he looks up at him as he licks the head of his dick, and he looks at him as he brushes lips down to the base only to slide his tongue back to the tip-- tasting, feeling, worshiping as Clark is wont to. Arousal and awe go hand in hand, especially because Clark doesn't think he deserves this.
But maybe it's the fact Iroha's out of his league that makes it that much more fulfilling to wrap his lips around him. ]
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This was alright. No one bothered him when the door was closed. The staff didn't call him the demon manager because he was nice. His breathing slowed the more Clark took the initiative, the pressure of his mouth and the closeness of him making those beautiful feel-good signals fire off.
When his cock is exposed - he's so incredibly ready for Clark's mouth. Iroha closes his eyes naturally and he waits for it, thoughts of Clark's tongue soon giving him what he wants and knows he's going to get are the only thing on his mind.]
hgk?
[The noise Iroha makes is too different things trying to happen at the exact same time. Surprise, from Clark's question taking a turn he utterly didn't expect when he realized the man was saying something, and a vocal expression of pleasure he couldn't reign back as soon as Clark actually kept going despite having brought up that silly trap. Iroha had already dropped it completely from his mind. He was fairly good at controlling the way he reacted to unexpected things even when his dick was in someone's mouth but coming from Clark?! He hadn't thought he needed to be so guarded.
His face turns pinker; quite the accomplishment. Iroha didn't think Clark had the guile to wait for that vulnerable moment to ask him a question but that certainly was his tongue exploiting the worst/best of Iroha's sensitivity. Being caught in a lie wasn't enough to make him squirm but the way Clark looked at him was almost, almost enough to make him feel guilty.]
-- Somewhere.
[He hisses before he responds, Clark's lips closing on his cock's eager thickness made it a little difficult to focus. It is a vague non-answer but his gaze has moved to a sideboard against the wall. Obviously he would much rather be looking at Clark - on his knees, mouth taking in his dick? yeah. - but over among other bits of decor and old-looking books was a small vase of three roses. Blood red petals, fresh and stunning in their priceless beauty. They're a gift from Clark, even if he doesn't know it.]
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Mmh… [ It’s a soft sound, muffled as Clark’s lips stretch and his cheek bulges with Iroha’s cock rubbing against the inside of it. He sucks and those cheeks hollow, and saliva builds in his mouth and drips a bit when he starts to move his head forward and then back. When it gets to be too much he pulls off, but only to swallow what’s built on his tongue. Clark’s fist is wet when he slides back and forth, spreading his own spit over hardening flesh. ]
You feel amazing. [ He speaks less with the intention to sound particularly dirty and more honest, straight from the heart. Clark licks at the head of Iroha’s dick in broad strokes that match the pump of his hand, and he takes in a breath through his nose before he takes him in again, deeper. Hard flesh slips over his warm tongue and Clark shivers again with it, moaning, his other hand finding purchase on Iroha’s hip with a tentative brush of the thumb (like he isn’t allowed to touch him here, Christ, as if he hasn’t already got his cock in his mouth).
When he bobs his head, the stretch of his mouth over Iroha’s girth is sweet. The sensory load of it turns him on, and when he tilts his head back just that much he feels the slide of Iroha’s tip against the roof of his mouth before it nudges forward.
The hand on Iroha's hip moves, landing on the hand that's on Clark's head. When he glances up through half-lidded eyes it's with a calculated slide of Iroha's hand through his hair-- a meaningful one, encouraging him for more. ]
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Not that a blowjob was rocket science but Clark picked it up with gratifying quickness. Of course he must know what he liked to receive but Iroha's guesses on his sexual history only had his observational skills to back up the conclusion. Maybe he had done it before after all. Or imagined it with enough frequency and longing that it was second nature. Whatever the truth, Iroha's pulse quickened with every suck and swallow.
Clark compliments him and a subtle laugh prefaces Iroha's response - which is cut quiet in a heartbeat, replaced by a breathless moan. The words were nothing but air suddenly but they hadn't mattered much to begin with. He wanted to say what Clark made him feel in his heart too; that no dirty talk turned him on as fiercely as the honesty in his words, the genuine enjoyment on Clark's face as he sucked him off.
He could last for a long time no matter what was being done to his body, which he thought might matter if Clark kept up that enthusiasm. Iroha noticed everything - the hesitant way Clark touches his hip, still as if he believed he wasn't deserving. It would be maddening to keep up his choice to be as passive as he could tolerate so as to not overwhelm Clark when he already looked drunk on the taste, the engorgement inside his mouth.
Thank goodness, Iroha thinks then when Clark tells him with no uncertainty that he wants more. Not just that it's acceptable... That air of obligation especially prominent between men. Clark invites it and Iroha snatches that offering unhesitatingly.
He makes an appreciative sound and allows another layer of his bottomless hunger free. Grabbing Clark's skull harder, both hands taking and trapping his head in a firm cage. Iroha has no choice but to be precise with how much strength he uses and this output ought to be enough not to allow any movement. Then he gives Clark more - having done so well until now, Iroha thrusts carelessly deep into that perfect warmth, raking saliva from the back of his throat. Rewarding him for bringing that cock to its full impressive size by fucking his face. Clark's glasses, in place where they'd been hung earlier, bounced along with the snap of Iroha's hips and caused a faintly audible, rhythmic clack-clack each time the frame struck the buttons on his shirt.]
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Those hands hold him steady and it sends a whole new thrill down his spine (somewhere in the back of his mind, some other part of him relishes that act of restraint—it’s not something he’s used to, not in the least). His eyes widen, but it’s less about surprise and more about how the sensation goes straight to his cock. They roll into the back of his head, in any case, as his cheeks flush red and his lashes flutter with the pace that Iroha sets for himself. Clark’s trousers might be made to fit loose—he’s never been one to wear things that fit properly—but he’s hard in them, throbbing, and it’s difficult not to whimper as his throat is breached and it only makes his prick brush ever more insistently against its cloth prison.
He’s sensitive, if the way he shudders untouched is any indication. He’s sensitive to the slide of Iroha’s cock in his mouth, the way it takes over everything, the weight and heat and force of him as he pushes in without relent. Clark can’t help the choked, whining noises from coming out; it’s all so wet, and messy, and his hands have fallen to touch Iroha’s hips because Lord, he’s got to hold onto something. They curl as if seeking comfort instead of forcing boundaries, and Clark’s tongue curves dutifully under the weight of Iroha’s dick, wet and warm. He tastes him and takes him and sighs with unadulterated pleasure, and by the time his eyes have managed to open properly again the blues of them have glassed over the slightest bit.
He’s touch-starved, is what he is. Touch-starved and foolish and caring a little too much. Iroha takes him and he’s just happy to be there for it, to be the one chosen for it—he’s happy that he gets to have this, and feel this, and while it’s impossible to smile with his mouth so full of cock, it certainly isn’t impossible for the corners of his eyes to crinkle.
Clark glances up, watching Iroha’s face, his nostrils flaring with some attempt to breathe. It ought to be clear now that he doesn’t have a proper gag reflex, though clearly he’s overwhelmed enough that tears have begun to dot his eyes. Clark uses one hand to caress down Iroha’s thigh in an affectionate touch before stroking back up to his hip again. The other brushes the space between his legs and a little lower.
That makes him shiver, too—touching himself while Iroha takes him—and it makes him swallow around Iroha’s length with a soft noise as his lips close a little tighter around him. ]
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Iroha was delighted beyond words. He could feel the stirring in his deepest soul pulling at its chains to be let out. To wrap an unstoppable hand around Clark's throat and spend its demon seed into his helpless, willing but unwilling vessel. Iroha fought the urge even as his pupils dilate in want, his hands clench Clark's skull harder and his hips beat the rhythm into his face.
Every corner of the room was familiar to him of course, so he knew Clark had no way of seeing it in a reflection or the like, but when witnessing the pinprick tears bead at the corners of Clark's eyes caused Iroha's own to begin shifting to a vicious, violent red - he forced himself to pull back.
Withdrawing his cock for a moment helped the restraint. Clark prrrobably needed to breathe too, even if he appeared to have managed so far. Mostly. The oxygen deprivation and suddenness of being fucked so intensely gave him that needy look. Iroha hadn't considered Clark so desperate for this type of attention, or any touch at all, when he'd begun to tease and pursue him.
It's just a momentary pause for Iroha to admire the spit sticking to his erection, making it glisten, with a clearer head. He pulls the sides of his pants further down his thighs and continues, this time just using one hand to restrain Clark while the other holds his jaw to keep his mouth wide open. He chose to ignore the self-relief Clark tried to give his own prick while all this was railed into him, just for now. He thrust slower and more individually instead of the ceaseless fury of a moment ago. He withdrew almost entirely before it home again - still keeping a decent pace of working himself over using Clark's mouth but far more aware and conscious of each entry.
Iroha's unashamed moans slowed and he pulled back one final time. He wasn't finished with Clark, though. He let go of his jaw just to reach down and grab his tie in the same way - as if Clark didn't have the option of saying no. He was going to take it and he was going to like it.
He kicked Clark's thighs apart. So far he hadn't acknowledged that Clark must be hard, desperate and his cock wanting. But now Iroha's gaze upon his crotch was focused as if he had been allowed to hide how good it felt by Iroha's benevolence, which had just ended.]
Show me.
[He keeps Clark's tie pulled taunt and high like a leash.]
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It isn’t surprising, then, that the hand to his jaw is one he adjusts to easily, even as he works it just a bit because of the stiffness there. His lips part, tongue giving the smallest tremble in anticipation, and the moment Iroha’s pushed himself in again, inch by deliberate inch, Clark’s eyes flutter shut as he moans softly around him. It’d been delightful earlier, being overwhelmed by speed and force and having to take what he was given, but this is wonderful in a different way—wonderful because Iroha shoves himself in so slowly that Clark feels everything with acute intensity, so strong that he has to grip himself just a bit in his trousers, knowing he’s already gotten the front of his underwear the slightest bit stained. Each noise is wet, messy, and Clark doesn’t have the finesse to keep his drool from dripping out the corner of his lips each time Iroha shoves home, but he takes and feels and shudders, and even rocks his hips up the slightest bit against his own palm. ]
Hah… [ He’s almost sad when Iroha pulls away and doesn’t come back, his head coming forward as much as it’s allowed as if chasing the sensation before it’s gone forever. But then his eyes go wide, all dark and fucked out, the moment he feels himself sink as his knees spread further apart on the floor, and though he opens his mouth in a question he ends up choking on his own words instead.
Goodness, it’s something else seeing his tie pulled taut like that and feeling the pressure of it around his neck. Clark’s lashes flutter again in surprise—these are all new sensations, all of them things he wouldn’t know how to expect—and if it’s possible, his cheeks burn even darker at the demand that comes his way. He’s not stupid; Iroha’s eyes are between his legs where Clark’s dick has begun to strain, he can tell that that’s what he wants to see. But somehow, even after having his brain fucked out of him, the thought of baring himself makes him a little shy.
He nods, though, as much as he can, words cut off with the pressure around his throat and Clark not wanting to try his luck. With shaking hands he brings them over to the button of his trousers, and though it takes a few tries, it finally comes loose. The zip is pulled, a pair of red briefs exposed, and Clark want to hide away because he’s sure the bulge in them must be obscene even without the nakedness. ]
I… [ He’s not sure how he would’ve continued that statement, especially with how rasped his voice has gotten, and though his eyes flick briefly to gauge Iroha’s expression, inevitably he shuts them in the closest thing to privacy he can achieve.
His briefs roll down and his prick is hard, flushed and curved and wet at the tip as it springs free. The cold air makes him shiver, but it throbs all the same; Clark throbs, and there’s something so absurdly vulnerable about the whole thing that he thinks he might go drunk with it. ]
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Sex was entrenched in psychology. As long as Clark believed he could never show this side of himself to anyone - no matter how untrue that belief may be - it would be a great relief to embrace the humiliation. Just as Iroha settled on a conclusion, his eyebrows raised at the sight of red briefs.
So bright! How unexpected, the invisible Mr. Kent wearing a dramatic colour. On his most intimate parts, hidden away. He really did yearn to be exposed after all. Iroha's mind sifts through this and that, gaze locked on Clark with his eyes closed like a child thinking if I can't see them they can't see me. Iroha was naturally inclined to want to taste the fear that made grown men lose their sense of reason.
He eases off the choking grip on that convenient part of a business man's uniform. Bending him over the antique varnished desk would be nicely symbolic. If Clark's pressure point was his job then it would be all the more deep a release to spend himself in a similar space. He couldn't possibly allow himself to be fucked in his own office, but wouldn't you know Iroha would bet Clark had imagined it.
Iroha hummed to himself while teetering towards various choices as the seconds ticked by. He leaned over to bestow some tenderness; stroking Clark's lips from how wet they'd become, using his fingers and the back of his hand. Daring him with proximity to open his eyes.
Finally, he spoke in something far closer to his usual tone than one might expect given the circumstance. Secretly he was turned on beyond his expectations. Anticipating how Clark would react. Iroha didn't need to lean much closer since Clark's height was absurd even on his knees. All to slide the knife as deep as possible.]
You are going to jerk off for me, Clark. Until I have seen enough and allow you to take my come on your face.
[Implying that Iroha may not even grant permission for Clark to come before he did, stopping him from finishing. But there was nothing more damning than a compromised man's imagination.]
Will you want to see the recording?
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And he worries he might just come altogether simply at the command given him. ] Ah, please-- [ There's a terrible mix of shock and arousal the more Iroha speaks; Clark bites his lip just to shut himself up, but his head dips as much as it's allowed, catching the obscene curve of his dick and the little twitch it makes when he clenches his thighs.
It's like he'd forgotten he has hands until Iroha reminded him of them. He brings one of them up, and his eyes flick to watch through his lashes while he licks his own palm. ]
I didn't know you were recording this... [ And maybe he should be scared about that, but Iroha is his friend, first and foremost. This is blackmail material, and this might ruin Clark's reputation at the Planet, but Iroha is a professional and Iroha likes him, which means. ]
Mmh. But if you're going to come on my face-- [ His wet palm slides over his own cock and Clark's lips part while his hips jerk, toes curling in his shoes. ] ...is it bad, that I want to see?
[ To see what he looks like fucked out and messy. To see how much come Iroha has for him, to remember this and the way it'd felt. To see what it looks like getting his throat fucked, and Lord, the memory has him wrapping his fingers around himself. ]
I really want to see. I want [ he gulps ] the memory.
[ His eyes close again, but only because he's brought his free hand up his clothed upper body, up to brush where his nipple is and press at pebbled flesh while he drips into his own hand. Clark's fist works his prick slowly first, squeezing every time he reaches the tip, and by the time he starts pinching at his covered chest he can't stop from whining little nnhs.
His drags his teeth over his lip, wanting to hunch over as his hand moves faster, smacking lightly every time he reaches the base of himself. ]
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Most people shut their eyes instinctively when receiving a facial. The viewpoint was different too, and reality could never be replayed. Iroha caressed Clark's hair in praise, petting his head with soft fondness. Good boy. Other than that singular point of contact he held back. Just to see him thoroughly indulge himself, palming his cock and being so crass as to use his own saliva instead of asking for lube. What could be more intimate than being the subject of a friend's gaze?]
You will have what you want.
[He didn't address the question directly if it was good or bad - Clark was fucking his hand hard now that sort of moral issue could wait. Besides, considering who he had asked, the answer was obvious.]
You will always be given anything you desire if you ask it of me.
[Iroha shied away from promises. Abhorred them. But he did make them occasionally. When the time was right, when Clark had done so well in baring this filthy side of himself. He wanted more. Of all the things Iroha loved about sex it was an honor to core someone like an apple and see their perversions come to light.
He noisier Clark became, the more frantic, the more inspired Iroha was to stop memorizing this incredibly hot creature in front of him and join in. Since Clark had enjoyed being deepthroated he easily returned to that with a suggestion, stroking Clark's cheek then nudging the tip of his cock to his lips once more.]
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It’s a dangerous prospect. But kneeling here with his prick out, jerking himself off as beads of precome keep rolling down—Clark’s past that point of danger anyway, isn’t he?
He isn’t used to indulgence. His muscles are twitching as he rocks up into his own hand, his lip quivering with the soft noises that keep coming out of his throat, and Clark wonders if it’s obvious he hasn’t come in a long time.
Maybe. Iroha can read him like a book.
The way he kisses the tip of his dick before wrapping his lips around it once more comes so naturally that Clark is certain Iroha had read his mind before Clark could even decipher his own damn thoughts.
It feels good, though, and Clark is doing his best to keep his eyes open even as he tilts his head to accommodate the slide of Iroha’s cock back into his mouth. He can’t get enough of the taste, the heat, even the scent of him, and it’s less because Clark wants to get facefucked and more because of all the people to take over his senses, it’s someone he genuinely likes.
His breath hitches. Iroha’s cock rubs against the roof of his mouth and the lining of his inner cheek and Clark tries to rub his tongue against the underside of him.
There’s a kind of peace to having his mouth full again. Clark looks up this time, all flushed face and spit-shined lips, as he tilts his head and tries to swallow with his throat. The hand around his own cock tightens, squeezing, and the hand on his chest slips to brush up Iroha’s thigh, stroking soft pads over his abdomen before his fingers curl into his hip oh-so gently.
You can do it again, is what he’s trying to say, his head bobbing clumsily and the hand on his prick following that shy, shy rhythm. Clark thinks he’s going to come, he’s so unbearably close, and he chokes a bit because he’s so embarrassingly noisy.
Maybe the plea shows in his eyes. (Clark’s never been much of a liar.) ]
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oh that's really cute, i'm infuriated
:3c
thank you so much for this thread! what a delightfully sinful surprise it was LMAO