Chapter Text
Clark stared at the cigarette Bruce had placed into his hand. He already had a few guesses about what part it would play in their session, but he looked at Bruce for an answer anyway.
"Smoking this doesn't necessarily have any effect on you, does it?", he asked, noticing Clark's confusion.
"It would be... unlikely?", replied Clark, unsure.
Bruce only looked at him, "You haven't tried", it was more of a statement than a question. No, Clark had never tried anything so specific. He had always been taught that drugs of any kind were bad, so he never did any, and that was that. Only once did he mentally compare his abilities to a pack of cigarettes, coming to the conclusion that his Kryptonian genes would rebuke any potential side effects. But after that, he never thought about it again. He wouldn't tell Bruce that, though. As far as he knew, Clark was just a regular person who just so happened to be superpowered. And, as far as the entire world knew, Supergirl was the only one who carried the genes of a Kryptonian. Clark preferred to keep it that way. He and Bruce had slept together for weeks, yet he didn't know what his true intentions were other than unconventional, but overall meaningless sex. The thought of outing himself as a relative of the superhero in Metropolis to a famous billionaire didn't particularly sit right with him.
"Uh, well, with the whole– uhm.. superhuman abilities.. and not getting sick and stuff, I just.. Well, I just thought that—", Clark started to ramble, but the man before him seemed hardly interested and stopped him.
"I want you to burn me with it during our play, I don't care how. Flick the ashes off on any part of me, or wait until the right moment to put it out on me", Bruce instructed, "I want to be degraded again. And, make it hurt. Make everything hurt.", he looked up at Clark with an expression that meant he wasn't just talking lightly, and he caught a flicker of anticipation in those eyes of his. Bruce really wanted this. However, Clark was hesitant. Hurting another person that way seemed a bit cruel to him. In the past, Bruce wanted Clark to pull his hair, scratch marks into him, bite him, sometimes slap him across the face if he acted out of line. But, being burnt by a cigarette? That was an entirely different side to Bruce's masochistic fantasies. It made their past sessions look vanilla. He wasn't sure if he could inflict such pain, and he wasn't sure how to respond.
While he thought, Bruce began to grow impatient, "We don't have to do this. If this is too extreme for you, I can send you home and we'll—"
"No!", Clark exclaimed, the urgency in his own voice surprising him, "I just... I need a light", he watched Bruce rummage for something in the pocket of his sweatpants before pulling out a small, slightly worn, box of matches. He supposed there was no turning back now. Licking his lips he brought the cigarette up to them, trying not to let his nerves get the best of him or else he'd drop it.
Bruce spoke again, "Other way"
"What? Oh.", Clark turned it around. He never smoked before. Even though it wouldn't harm him, he always believed that it simply wasn't for him. He was too... soft. A match struck the side of the box and it ignited, and with a firm hand, Bruce caressed Clark's jaw as he proceeded to light the end of the cigarette for him. He tried not to show it, but he practically fell apart for the feeling of Bruce's skin against his own, even if there was no real emotion behind his touch, just a reminder that he still had complete control over him.
"Deep breath in", Bruce instructed, his voice hushed and saccharine in contrast to his eyes that were full of hunger, hyperfocused on nothing else but the man in front of him. Without another thought, Clark slowly inhaled.
Usually, people burst into a fit of raspy coughs when they smoke for the first time. Clark had seen that happen. But, Clark was different. He couldn't feel the sting of smoke passing through his esophagus, so that saved him the embarrassment. It had a terrible taste, though. He could tolerate it. Bruce's hand slid from his jaw to his chest, then down to his stomach, before both hands started undoing his belt and slacks with a patience that was declining. With ease, Clark got into the headspace for their session. Bruce wanted him to be mean, so he'd be just that. He removed the cigarette from his lips and puffed out a cloud of smoke, feeling it pour out of his lungs as he watched Bruce free his cock from his boxers. He wasn't exactly sporting a raging hard-on for him, yet Bruce looked set on devouring him anyway, a challenge already set in his head.
Clark grabbed hold of his jaw the same way Bruce did his, except he put a modicum of force into making him look at him, "Ready?", he asked and he watched Bruce try to nod before going to push the top of his head down. Compliantly, he fell to his knees in front of him, "Then use that mouth of yours and get me hard", Clark said. He only had to say it once and Bruce quickly started to work his cock with his mouth. Finally, their scene began.
It was dark in Bruce's bedroom, save for the sliver moonlight slipping through the curtained window. The acrid smell of cigarette smoke hung thickly in the air, intertwined with the heat of sex and sweat. Bruce kept one side of his face pliantly buried into the pillow, spine arched gracefully with Clark's hand at the back of his shoulder, keeping him pinned where he was as he fucked Bruce soundly into the sheets. Smoke pooled into his lungs as he took a long, slow drag from the cigarette for the umpteenth time that night. It didn't taste any less terrible. A person like him truly shouldn't be smoking, but he was. For Bruce, and his unwavering desire to please him, make him feel good by entertaining all of his fantasies. It was wrong to put aside his morals for someone who only saw him as a toy, to pretend to be someone he clearly wasn't to keep his status as "The Prince of Gotham's Best Lay" and nothing more. Clark knew it was wrong. But...
With the cigarette placed between two fingers, he flicked the ash onto Bruce's scarred back. He could hear the red-hot embers searing flesh. A loud, pained grunt escaped Bruce as he flinched into Clark's firm hold. This was what he wanted; to be used and treated like nothing, and whatever Bruce wanted, Clark would give. As long as he was the one doing this with him and nobody else. He continued to fuck Bruce the way he liked— unrelenting, hard, deep— relishing the sound of every whimper he failed to suppress, "Did you like that?", Clark asked, his tone low and condescending. He watched Bruce nod and scoffed at him, "I knew you would. Such a broken thing you are, of course you'd love being a little ashtray for me"
It was brief, but Clark caught the weak, shaky sigh of contentment Bruce gave whenever he was talked down to. It was something he couldn't understand, Bruce wanting to be verbally degraded. Clark reckoned it hurt more than actively being burned. He was never one to be so mean—and so vulgar— but, willingly, he learned, practiced every so often to himself until it somewhat became second nature. Another slow pull and Clark's chest was filling up with tobacco and warmth once again, exhaled smoke billowing out through his nostrils and quickly dispersing. He flicked off the ash at the end of the cigarette again, this time aiming at a higher place on Bruce's back, right in between his shoulder blades. He hissed out a swear, silken sheets bunched tightly in fists as sweltering pain turned into intense, mind-numbing pleasure right before Clark's eyes. All the dignity Bruce carried within him seemed to bleed out and he begged, begged for more, begged for Clark, without a single care for how he sounded. He was gone. And, he had never looked more beautiful.
Bruce was always so gorgeous underneath him.
But, Clark couldn't tell him that. That would risk cutting their night short. Just then, something inside of him ached, and for a reason he just couldn't figure out, but—like everything else when it came to Bruce— he shoved it aside.
"You're so fucking worthless", Clark bit out, "Only good for me to stuff my cock in whenever I need, aren't you?", he brought the cigarette back up to his lips.
"Yes..", Bruce answered meekly, he didn't have to but he did, "More.. Please—"
God, the way he begged drove Clark mad, "What's that, baby? You want me to hurt you some more? Keep telling you how much of a pathetic little slut you are? Will that get you off?", the words came to his mind naturally and he let Bruce hear all of them as he plowed his cock deeper into him, finally grazing that beautiful spot inside of him. He'd been purposefully ignoring it until the right moment. With that, Bruce practically sobbed into the pillow now and Clark wouldn't be surprised if he was drooling. He hoped he was.
"Yes! Fuck yes!", he cried out, and Clark knew he was getting close.
"Good for nothing–", he nearly lost his train of thought, groaning in immense pleasure, "except being a cocksleeve and an ashtray, so fucking pathetic", another flick, then a sizzle as Bruce let out a yelp, startled, but euphoric nonetheless. Clark pulled him up off the bed and close to him in one swift motion with his arm, chest now flush against Bruce's back as a hand squeezed selfishly at his pec. Their sudden change of position didn't interfere with him fucking up into the man at a continued pace, Bruce thoughtlessly reaching back and grabbing a fistful of Clark's hair.
In a breath, he said, "Touch yourself for me". His mouth was awfully close to his ear and it made Bruce shiver as he did what he was told, stroking his achingly hard cock with his free hand, "You want me to put this out on you?", Clark then asked. He already knew the answer was going to be yes. He really just wanted to see Bruce lose the last bit of his mind for it. But, he could only reply with a fervent nod. That wouldn't do...
"Uh-uh, use those words, baby. Do you want me to put this out on you, or not?", he repeated.
"Yes! Put it out on me— anywhere you want, please! Clark! 'm so fucking close, plea—"
Bruce didn't need to say anymore, cutting himself off with a scream as Clark dug the still lit part of the cigarette deep into the skin above his hip. The pain was so sudden, Bruce tried to run from it but to no avail as Clark kept him still and made him take what he begged for. Spasms wracked throughout Bruce's entire body, not knowing which sensation to focus on as his hips thrusted sporadically into his own hand while he tried to fuck himself onto the large cock inside of him. Everything became too much, too much, and he came hard, thick white ropes of his spent making a mess of the expensive sheets beneath him, then he went limp and Clark let him fall back onto the bed while he used him.
"Fuck— I'm sorry, doll," said Clark, his facade starting to break down, "I still need to cum, too— but, you can take a little more cock, I know you can, just hold on", he didn't even realize how close he was when he sped up his thrusts, desperately chasing his own release while Bruce struggled to catch a single breath, too overstimulated and fucked out of his mind to recall how to breathe.
Finally, Clark made himself pull out after a couple more strokes, spilling onto Bruce's back where the ashes and burns were, giving Bruce the last of what he wanted for the night before dismounting him. The room fell into a silence that may have stretched on for what felt like hours with neither saying anything to one another as Clark got off the bed to retrieve his clothes from across the room. This was how their nights together usually ended; no more words, no clean-up or aftercare, no praise, not even a "thank you". Courtesy of Bruce's ground rules that prohibited them getting close. Clark was still trying to become accommodating toward it.
He could hear Bruce's breath stabilizing and the beat of his heart slowing down as the adrenaline started to wear off, but he didn’t make any effort to move. Probably wanting the remnants of their long-ended session to linger, or he was too tired to care. Clark couldn't stick around to find out which, he had to leave. Fully dressed, he made his way toward the door, prepared to escape the intimidating silence and go home.
"Kent...", he heard Bruce's tired voice from behind him, and he hastily turned around, "I'll see you soon", was all he said. He didn't even look in his direction.
"...Yeah", replied Clark.
"See you then."