[ 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.) ]
[Clark's mouth is as close to heaven as Iroha deserves to know. He sighs more than moans but not because he cares to hush the sounds of pleasure seeping under his office's door. Moments like these are a double-edged sword; he is closest to his true self but self-restraint becomes all the more important.
One hand holds the back of Clark's head this time. He doesn't need two to position a human like a plastic doll. If he truly were a mind-reader the message wouldn't be you can do it again that he saw on the page but please, I need this. There was plenty of time in the future to delve into Clark's curious psyche. Now, now he thrust deep into his mouth with a petal-thin wisp in the back of his mind reminding him not to grip the pretty skull too hard, just smack his thighs against Clark's face and drown in the mounting lust. Its satisfaction neared, Iroha sounded less and less focused on anything other than orgasm.
He had the chance to watch Clark jerk himself off and regretted that he couldn't do that until the end without a sense of guilt for not fully meeting Clark's needs. Like this, he couldn't watch. The sensation was incredible. As rare as it was for Clark to come, Iroha didn't gorge his cock on a willing vessel all too often either. He breathed heavily through his mouth, and his free hand tore at Clark's shoulder then his chest. Pawing at his body like he needed even more of an outlet for the writhing pleasure.
The last sound he made before the worst of it, an almost hateful series of barely-coherent thrusts, was brutality incarnate. Iroha's fair face didn't look like a noise like that should come out of him but he was fucking incensed on the inside. His fist gathered up Clark's collar and he pulled out quickly -
Then started to come on him, a splash of his load on Clark's cheeks, mouth, his chin, the sweet journalist who cared about everyone in the world taking beat after beat of thick semen. Iroha used his hand to coax out all his body wanted to spread, and it was a lot. He was made for this. Territorial marking, scenting and claiming all in one. It was satisfying. It felt right.]
[ Clark might be obsessed-- obsessed with the stretch in his lips, the pressure of Iroha's thighs as they smacked into his face, the steady grip in his hair. He chokes a little, but it's delayed like an afterthought, as if Clark forgot that he needed air and so failed to recognise any difficulty he ought to be having breathing. It's hard to think when there is something in the spottiness those harsh thrusts accomplish in his vision, something that makes him want to reach lower between his legs and press into himself.
He doesn't. Clark is clumsy enough, uncoordinated enough, and sex makes him all the more lacking in finesse. ]
Ggck-- [ It's an undignified sound that comes out of him when Iroha pulls away, the act so quick that spit drips from his lips and onto his own exposed cock, and Clark only manages a half-inhalation before the warmth starts to hit him.
Oh, God, the feel of it makes him whine. His lashes flutter, eyes close to shutting as he feels every shot of Iroha's come coat him like paint on his skin. His lips part, catching what he can on his tongue, and realises too late that an open mouth means he can't muffle anything. The moans as he starts to peak himself, drunk on the feel of come on his face and dripping down his neck, sound deafening even around the pounding of his heart.
Clark swallows the come in his mouth only so he can let out some breathy approximation of Iroha's name. ]
Thank you. [ This, too, comes out raspy, low and strained and fucked out. ] Thank you, thank you, oh, Iroha--
[ And he bites hard into his lip to keep from squealing, his thighs going taut as his cock slides through his fist and starts to spurt, uselessly, onto the floor beneath him. Clark's eyes are wide like he's surprised, and then he finally succumbs to the want to close them, shivering and whimpering as Iroha's come starts to drip onto his clothing. ]
[Gratitude like that commonly made a swell of pride lift his spirits. Not this time, because he was nicely enveloped in the full-body bliss of having come, and come hard, with a dear friend. This wasn't work. Iroha had put maybe a little too much of himself into fucking Clark but there was not a trace of regret. If uncomfortable questions bit him in the ass later he'd deal with it then.
He breathed slower, his head and balls empty. The voice murmuring rip and tear, drink its blood quieting. He felt and heard Clark's orgasm rather than saw it, too caught up in his own. A powerful beat like that didn't fade immediately. It was a small consolation that he was sure he would have more opportunities to watch and make Clark orgasm whenever he wanted it. This one was the first. It mattered, and he was even more sure that Clark would never forget it.]
Hmn.. [His rough prison-hold has eased considerably and returns to that ever-more pillowy petting.] You've done so well. I'm so glad for your release, my darling.
[Iroha sinks to the floor too. Whatever streaks of come Clark's got on him, in front of him, whatever. There's nothing like a centuries-old brothel for keeping clean efficiently. He had heard the plap-plap of Clark shooting a mess on the varnished floor, the liquid hitting it with force. As good as that must have felt for Clark he knew it wasn't really over yet and wrapped his arms around him. Physically, he was shorter and far more lithe in his build but whether it looked ill-fitting for Iroha to be the one gathering up this damp disaster of a man still shaking from a wrung-out orgasm, it didn't matter.]
[ What is it about you've done so well that makes him feel so weary? Perhaps it's the fact that Iroha cared enough to watch the whole time, to put all that attention on him, to use that attention to observe and then those observations to praise. Clark is so used to being invisible, to being unseen or forgotten, so it's strange to have this-- strange, but not entirely bad.
His hand is filthy. It's embarrassing, but the way Iroha cradles him now tells him that it may not necessarily be a bad thing. The realisation that he's orgasmed on the floor of a friend's office gives him some sense of mortification, but Iroha's touch is so kind it's a lot easier to focus on that instead. ]
Iroha... [ Ah, if only Clark Kent were as articulate in his speech as he was in his writing. As it is he's overwhelmed and sheepish, and filled with a silly affection that has him burying his face in Iroha's shoulder.
His clean hand curls its fingers delicately in his shirt. For all the inches of height that Clark might have on him, his touch is gentle, a little shy. ]
...you know, [ voice rasping, Clark turns his head just enough to glance at the side of Iroha's face ] you still haven't given me that kiss.
[If these were the lengths Clark was willing to go to in pursuit of a kiss Iroha hoped the urge to be kissed struck him every day hence. He laughed airily, amused by the purity behind the request and the juxtaposition of the state Clark's mouth was in: freshly fucked with the taste of his own come inevitable if he kissed him now.
Without delay, Iroha fulfills his promise. There is nothing to say when actions will speak for him. He presses his lips to Clark's, appreciative they may be tender or oversensitive, perhaps. He'd done that to him and the knowledge felt good. He couldn't reveal that a real part of him huffed mine like a muscle-headed bull after mating. Maybe Clark knew anyway or could sense that Iroha's kiss was as pleasurable a wish-fulfillment as he'd known in ages.]
[ Clark can tell, in his own special way, that Iroha wanted the kiss as much as Clark did. He's oblivious to a number of things, but there's a tenderness to his touch that he knows is genuine-- a sweetness that has him smiling against his lips as his hand comes up to touch his cheek instead. He hasn't been kissed like this in ages, and in some ways feels like he'd craved it even more than he did the release that Iroha had just guided him through.
It doesn't have to be slow or hot or dirty to make Clark's heart flutter. When the kiss ends he's still smiling, and when blue eyes meet Iroha's own that smile turns into a full-blown grin, enough for his dimples to show.
He really does like Iroha too much for his own good. Clark pecks him once more, a press of lips upon lips, and then thumps his cheek back onto his shoulder.
He realises way too late that Iroha's come has dried on his face. The fact still makes him blush, though. ]
[Aah, that was nice. And an adorable grin to top it off. Iroha strongly craved sweets for some reason now that they'd finished and Clark had had his moment. How gross their current state of skin and dress was hardly mattered to Iroha but once the aura of a good screw cleared and it was back to reality, it would begin to be uncomfortable even for him.]
I imagine you will want a shower soon, yes.
[Iroha agreed and started to move, even with Clark hung on his shoulder. He would have to accept that, sorry. He made some vital dignity-improving adjustments to his clothes and had one last glance at Clark's red underwear. Red! Remarkable.]
Free of charge, of course...unless you would prefer I hang on to this.
[He steps over to the delicate vase displaying three roses and plucks the florists' card from its mid-bouquet display.]
[ By the time Iroha's moved to pull away Clark is doing the same, although he mutters a soft 'oh no' when he realises that he's been exposed this whole time.
It's mortifying. There is a significant amount of dried come on his hand, which makes him clear his throat as he sort of fumbles through tucking himself away and messing with the fastenings to his trousers. When he glances up again at Iroha's words, his head tilts in question, and then he follows his movements up until Iroha's by the flowers.
His expression changes to one of enlightenment. He'd forgotten about his card. ]
So you used it too. [ But Clark doesn't sound angry about it-- just fondly amused, and he brings his hand up to cover his mouth when he laughs, except it's the messy hand, so he ends up blushing instead when he notices it.
Ahem. ] Oh, it's okay, Iroha. You can keep them.
[ Clark gets to his feet with a surprising ease, especially for a man of his age who's been on his knees for so long. It's a beat before he lets out an 'ow', bending slightly to rub the offending joints with his palms. ]
But I really think I need my, uh, card back. I mean, the bank... gosh, it's taken years to keep a good credit score, and your guys used my card for meat with gold in it.
[Watching him restore a percentage of common social decency was just another familiar sight to someone with more experience than his age suggested. Shame was a very distant memory and thus Clark's initial embarrassment, and every appearance of it since he had walked in the room, was either unnoticed or endearing.
Once the truth was out of the open (one more thing Iroha felt no shame to have done) he returned Clark's smile, expectations met. It was in poor taste for friends to issue tests, deliberate strains on a relationship to judge the other party's reaction. Buying himself flowers was something like a test - a cousin, maybe - and Clark behaved just as Iroha predicted.
If he wondered if Clark was making similar measurements of his character, Iroha would hope he didn't appear unattractively paranoid. There would always be facets of others he couldn't predict or failed to see. Like the way Clark took a second to register pain. Sometimes that happened - body parts did go numb! If he had a reason to be suspicious he might recognize what had just happened. He did it himself often enough. But how could he be suspicious of Clark? His knees were numb. Iroha saw nothing else.]
On it!
[Iroha corrects him, in a far better mood than he had started the day in, then hands over the florists' card. Clark's credit card is tucked behind it. They are the same size, almost the same thickness and practically identical shades of off-white. Nothing like the venerable 'right under your nose' to make something invisible.
The lovely cursive handwriting reads: To my favorite - past, present and future. With love, Clark Kent]
On it. [ Clark echoes the sentiment with another little laugh, finally straightening (as much as his posture allows him to straighten, anyway) and moving to push his glasses up his nose.
...only to realise he doesn't have them. ] Ope. Say, Iroha, could I have--
[ Except the florist's card is extended towards him, and Clark looks surprised by it before he recognises the credit card oh-so cleverly hidden behind it. His mouth opens in a gasp, blue eyes wide, and when he takes both of them, it's only when it's close enough his nearsightedness isn't a problem that he sees the words.
Predictably, Clark melts. His eyes flick from the card to Iroha's face and back again, his lashes fluttering fondly. Past, present, and future. It's a sweet, sweet idea.
And Clark is, without a doubt, a hopeless romantic.
He nods then, taking his credit card and pocketing it, but handing the other one back.
Biting the corner of his lip, Clark's smile is crooked when he says, ] I'm good at messages, aren't I?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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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One hand holds the back of Clark's head this time. He doesn't need two to position a human like a plastic doll. If he truly were a mind-reader the message wouldn't be you can do it again that he saw on the page but please, I need this. There was plenty of time in the future to delve into Clark's curious psyche. Now, now he thrust deep into his mouth with a petal-thin wisp in the back of his mind reminding him not to grip the pretty skull too hard, just smack his thighs against Clark's face and drown in the mounting lust. Its satisfaction neared, Iroha sounded less and less focused on anything other than orgasm.
He had the chance to watch Clark jerk himself off and regretted that he couldn't do that until the end without a sense of guilt for not fully meeting Clark's needs. Like this, he couldn't watch. The sensation was incredible. As rare as it was for Clark to come, Iroha didn't gorge his cock on a willing vessel all too often either. He breathed heavily through his mouth, and his free hand tore at Clark's shoulder then his chest. Pawing at his body like he needed even more of an outlet for the writhing pleasure.
The last sound he made before the worst of it, an almost hateful series of barely-coherent thrusts, was brutality incarnate. Iroha's fair face didn't look like a noise like that should come out of him but he was fucking incensed on the inside. His fist gathered up Clark's collar and he pulled out quickly -
Then started to come on him, a splash of his load on Clark's cheeks, mouth, his chin, the sweet journalist who cared about everyone in the world taking beat after beat of thick semen. Iroha used his hand to coax out all his body wanted to spread, and it was a lot. He was made for this. Territorial marking, scenting and claiming all in one. It was satisfying. It felt right.]
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He doesn't. Clark is clumsy enough, uncoordinated enough, and sex makes him all the more lacking in finesse. ]
Ggck-- [ It's an undignified sound that comes out of him when Iroha pulls away, the act so quick that spit drips from his lips and onto his own exposed cock, and Clark only manages a half-inhalation before the warmth starts to hit him.
Oh, God, the feel of it makes him whine. His lashes flutter, eyes close to shutting as he feels every shot of Iroha's come coat him like paint on his skin. His lips part, catching what he can on his tongue, and realises too late that an open mouth means he can't muffle anything. The moans as he starts to peak himself, drunk on the feel of come on his face and dripping down his neck, sound deafening even around the pounding of his heart.
Clark swallows the come in his mouth only so he can let out some breathy approximation of Iroha's name. ]
Thank you. [ This, too, comes out raspy, low and strained and fucked out. ] Thank you, thank you, oh, Iroha--
[ And he bites hard into his lip to keep from squealing, his thighs going taut as his cock slides through his fist and starts to spurt, uselessly, onto the floor beneath him. Clark's eyes are wide like he's surprised, and then he finally succumbs to the want to close them, shivering and whimpering as Iroha's come starts to drip onto his clothing. ]
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He breathed slower, his head and balls empty. The voice murmuring rip and tear, drink its blood quieting. He felt and heard Clark's orgasm rather than saw it, too caught up in his own. A powerful beat like that didn't fade immediately. It was a small consolation that he was sure he would have more opportunities to watch and make Clark orgasm whenever he wanted it. This one was the first. It mattered, and he was even more sure that Clark would never forget it.]
Hmn.. [His rough prison-hold has eased considerably and returns to that ever-more pillowy petting.] You've done so well. I'm so glad for your release, my darling.
[Iroha sinks to the floor too. Whatever streaks of come Clark's got on him, in front of him, whatever. There's nothing like a centuries-old brothel for keeping clean efficiently. He had heard the plap-plap of Clark shooting a mess on the varnished floor, the liquid hitting it with force. As good as that must have felt for Clark he knew it wasn't really over yet and wrapped his arms around him. Physically, he was shorter and far more lithe in his build but whether it looked ill-fitting for Iroha to be the one gathering up this damp disaster of a man still shaking from a wrung-out orgasm, it didn't matter.]
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His hand is filthy. It's embarrassing, but the way Iroha cradles him now tells him that it may not necessarily be a bad thing. The realisation that he's orgasmed on the floor of a friend's office gives him some sense of mortification, but Iroha's touch is so kind it's a lot easier to focus on that instead. ]
Iroha... [ Ah, if only Clark Kent were as articulate in his speech as he was in his writing. As it is he's overwhelmed and sheepish, and filled with a silly affection that has him burying his face in Iroha's shoulder.
His clean hand curls its fingers delicately in his shirt. For all the inches of height that Clark might have on him, his touch is gentle, a little shy. ]
...you know, [ voice rasping, Clark turns his head just enough to glance at the side of Iroha's face ] you still haven't given me that kiss.
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Without delay, Iroha fulfills his promise. There is nothing to say when actions will speak for him. He presses his lips to Clark's, appreciative they may be tender or oversensitive, perhaps. He'd done that to him and the knowledge felt good. He couldn't reveal that a real part of him huffed mine like a muscle-headed bull after mating. Maybe Clark knew anyway or could sense that Iroha's kiss was as pleasurable a wish-fulfillment as he'd known in ages.]
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It doesn't have to be slow or hot or dirty to make Clark's heart flutter. When the kiss ends he's still smiling, and when blue eyes meet Iroha's own that smile turns into a full-blown grin, enough for his dimples to show.
He really does like Iroha too much for his own good. Clark pecks him once more, a press of lips upon lips, and then thumps his cheek back onto his shoulder.
He realises way too late that Iroha's come has dried on his face. The fact still makes him blush, though. ]
Probably have to get off your floor, huh?
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I imagine you will want a shower soon, yes.
[Iroha agreed and started to move, even with Clark hung on his shoulder. He would have to accept that, sorry. He made some vital dignity-improving adjustments to his clothes and had one last glance at Clark's red underwear. Red! Remarkable.]
Free of charge, of course...unless you would prefer I hang on to this.
[He steps over to the delicate vase displaying three roses and plucks the florists' card from its mid-bouquet display.]
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It's mortifying. There is a significant amount of dried come on his hand, which makes him clear his throat as he sort of fumbles through tucking himself away and messing with the fastenings to his trousers. When he glances up again at Iroha's words, his head tilts in question, and then he follows his movements up until Iroha's by the flowers.
His expression changes to one of enlightenment. He'd forgotten about his card. ]
So you used it too. [ But Clark doesn't sound angry about it-- just fondly amused, and he brings his hand up to cover his mouth when he laughs, except it's the messy hand, so he ends up blushing instead when he notices it.
Ahem. ] Oh, it's okay, Iroha. You can keep them.
[ Clark gets to his feet with a surprising ease, especially for a man of his age who's been on his knees for so long. It's a beat before he lets out an 'ow', bending slightly to rub the offending joints with his palms. ]
But I really think I need my, uh, card back. I mean, the bank... gosh, it's taken years to keep a good credit score, and your guys used my card for meat with gold in it.
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Once the truth was out of the open (one more thing Iroha felt no shame to have done) he returned Clark's smile, expectations met. It was in poor taste for friends to issue tests, deliberate strains on a relationship to judge the other party's reaction. Buying himself flowers was something like a test - a cousin, maybe - and Clark behaved just as Iroha predicted.
If he wondered if Clark was making similar measurements of his character, Iroha would hope he didn't appear unattractively paranoid. There would always be facets of others he couldn't predict or failed to see. Like the way Clark took a second to register pain. Sometimes that happened - body parts did go numb! If he had a reason to be suspicious he might recognize what had just happened. He did it himself often enough. But how could he be suspicious of Clark? His knees were numb. Iroha saw nothing else.]
On it!
[Iroha corrects him, in a far better mood than he had started the day in, then hands over the florists' card. Clark's credit card is tucked behind it. They are the same size, almost the same thickness and practically identical shades of off-white. Nothing like the venerable 'right under your nose' to make something invisible.
The lovely cursive handwriting reads:
To my favorite - past, present and future.
With love, Clark Kent]
oh that's really cute, i'm infuriated
...only to realise he doesn't have them. ] Ope. Say, Iroha, could I have--
[ Except the florist's card is extended towards him, and Clark looks surprised by it before he recognises the credit card oh-so cleverly hidden behind it. His mouth opens in a gasp, blue eyes wide, and when he takes both of them, it's only when it's close enough his nearsightedness isn't a problem that he sees the words.
Predictably, Clark melts. His eyes flick from the card to Iroha's face and back again, his lashes fluttering fondly. Past, present, and future. It's a sweet, sweet idea.
And Clark is, without a doubt, a hopeless romantic.
He nods then, taking his credit card and pocketing it, but handing the other one back.
Biting the corner of his lip, Clark's smile is crooked when he says, ] I'm good at messages, aren't I?
:3c
thank you so much for this thread! what a delightfully sinful surprise it was LMAO