thingpuncher | OPEN / OVERFLOW.

Midnighter keeps kissing, slow and soft down Clark's perfect fucking chest, watching his muscles move in reaction to his lips. "Don't worry, babe," he murmurs, unzipping Clark's fly, and breathing hot air over a lovely cock, "I got a pretty active imagination."

Clark watches M make his way down, and as he actually undoes his fly and gets to his cock- he can't help shifting a little just from the breath on him, the way M is looking at him. He sucks in a breath of his own and closes his eyes to make sure he doesn't overload from it, fingers curling tight against the bedding as he waits.

"I'm not worried," he assures M in a little rush of breath. "I'm just- taking it in."

Midnighter looks up cautiously, kissing Clark's hip before murmuring, "you need me to stop or slow down, you just lemme know. I got some killer hearing, too." And then he runs his tongue over the length of Clark's fucking lovely cock, coming back up to the top and keeping his attentions at the head. Slow and steady.

Clark almost levitates from the feel of it, from the warm, wet heat up his length and the way he can feel and hear and see M hovering over him, slow and steady and clearly enjoying himself. His own eyes are fluttering between open and closed and his fingers are twisting the sheets under him to the point where if he keeps twisting, he might rip them. Hopefully, he'll be able to let go before then. He can't say for certain.

"S'good. That's good.'

Oh, this is good. Midnighter doesn't strictly love giving head, he doesn't hate it, but he likes when the person he's doing it for clearly appreciates it. He sucks down again, reaching a hand forward to cup and squeeze Clark's balls, which are somehow also perfect. Jesus, and Midnighter was the one made in a lab...

The hand around his balls- there's a wild thought that crosses over, that seems stupid in retrospect, that no one else has ever squeezed his balls. He has, obviously, over the years, and yet somehow another person doing this thing is a fucking revelation of a moment that has his teeth pressing hard into his lower lip and his hips wanting desperately to move inside the tight heat of M's mouth. That seems... rude, though, so he keeps himself still even as he can't help letting out an almost harsh groan.

One of his hands, one of them slips away from the covers and starts seeking him out, seeking out his shoulder of all things to just... to just pet him, all right? He's very very appreciative and this feels very good and squeezing is a possibly bad idea right now.

Well, that gets a fucking reaction. Midnighter sucks deeper, and focuses more on palming Clark's balls, slow massaging and caressing, occasionally reaching back to tease his taint as well. If this guy's ever been blown before, they were doing a hack job of it. The thought fills Midnighter with a stupid, jealous sort of enjoyment. The man before him is absolutely fucking beautiful, and he's getting the best hummer of his life from a machine made to kill. It does wonders for Midnighter's ego, to say the least.

He hums as he works, finally deepthroating, catching the sensitive head of Clark's cock in the strong muscles of his throat, vibrating faintly.

All right, maybe he didn't know what a revelation was, because this was... a whole other order of thing, the way the vibration feels like it's going through his whole body, like it's burrowing it's way all the way through him down to his bones and making them liquid. With the hand on his balls, the pressure around his cock...

Clark's practically vibrating himself, shaking with the need for-

Not more. There's already so much, so much sensation, so much building inside of him, and he knows what it is, what it feels like; he's taken himself in hand before. But this also feels like something else, the strange and wonderful mystery of it, of someone else touching him and who knows what they might do next because all of this just makes everything that much better.

"M..."

Because he's almost there. He's getting close and he doesn't want to be rude.

Midnighter looks up, gaze flickering to Clarks utterly fucking beautiful face. He looks like he's deep in a state of bliss, and Midnighter managed to give it to him. Midnighter, the killer, the murderer, the thing definitely not made for pleasing would-be veterinarians with jaws that could cut marbles.

He entertains a few fantasies, making Clark come and then fucking him, eating him out, fingering him, all of it sounds amazing. Christ, he's beautiful. He moves his mouth off Clark's gorgeous goddamn cock, pinching his fingers around the base. A dick move, yeah, but he's curious.

"What d'you want? Come in my mouth? On me? In me? Yours for the taking, babe."

It's the last thing he expected, and it has him gulping in a breath as he tries to wrangle words into- something from where he'd been, which was closer to the edge than it wasn't. He almost rocks into the fingers around him before he parses the question.

"I- I don't know. I just-"

He wants to come. He doesn't- options are mostly just a little overwhelming for the moment. But M clearly wanted an answer, so he scrambles his brain enough to try and get one.

"In your mouth?"

That seems... reasonable? It will make less mess, maybe. Hopefully it'll taste all right? He's read somewhere that vegetarians taste sweeter or something, so there's that. But he's not sure if that's just hearsay or- he's going to have to suck someone else off to test this or something, not that it helps him right now. He wonders what M tastes like.

"Man knows what he wants..." Midnighter murmurs as he leans his head down, taking Clark's cock again. A few long sucks, followed by swallowing him completely, and Midnighter hums as his free hand explores Clark's balls, his taint. He spreads Clark's legs a little so he can gently, gently tease his hole.

Man has no idea what he wants other than whatever M wants to do with him right now, which is why he's easy to move around and shift even as his muscles feel like they're going to strain themselves until they pop. The hand on his balls, the touch behind them- he's almost settled until he feels M teasing at his hole and then he's gone, teeth clamping shut, eyes shutting hard, and hands clenching tight against his own thighs as his senses white out and everything gets lost in the exponentially greater wash of pleasure than anything he's ever dealt with before. The sound he makes almost sounds like pain but it's just being overwhelmed and the first few waves of it lay him out on the bed, pliant as a doll.

And Midnighter knows the difference between pleasure and pain. He pets and sucks through Clark's orgasm before letting him go, kissing up his thigh, his stomach, before he can settle beside him, running his fingers over his chest. Christ, but he's gorgeous. Christ, but Midnighter's hard as a rock.

Midnighter kisses his shoulder and his jaw while he tries to discreetly rub one out. The poor (beautiful) guy shouldn't have to worry about that.

Clark is... recovering. Because he's orgasmed before, oh you bet he has. He's a college-age man, and before that he was a teenage boy, and one who had been seriously concerned about his ability to- well, to- that is-

Look, he'd had to investigate, thoroughly, before he'd ever thought of venturing beyond his own hand for enjoyment.

But that was-

He-

Okay, as his senses start filtering back into place, he notices M shifting and moving in ways that aren't actually necessary for kissing him. That's when his hand, somewhat shakily, reaches out to settle at his hip and he turns his head down to try and find his eyes.

"Gimme a- I wanna-

"You too."

Words will come back, but he's putting his effort into moving his hand down to try and reach between M's legs to get a feel for what's going on there.

"You don't gottanngh-" And Midnighter burries his face in Clark's shoulders as he lets out a pretty undignified moan. God damn, he loves being touched. The computer is throwing up warnings left and right, but he doesn't care, his hips bucking greedily into any contact Clark will give him. "Anything you, nngh, want, I-"

Even through the haze of everything else, he remembers the things that M's told him; his touch is careful, gentle. It's not hesitant, but he is exploring Midnighter's length with a decent amount of his attention focused on where seems to do what, how much M seems to respond.

He shifts a little, sliding his fingers around in a feather-light sheath around Midnighter's cock before pumping it slow and steady: one, two, back and forth. His other hand shifts a little so he can get a handle on M's ass, squeeze it a little to hold him as he works.

Light, but not too slow. He's trying to do what he likes only... a little more. Hopefully, M's down for it.

At that moment, Midnighter will take just about anything. He wraps his arms around Clark's (terrific) shoulders and presses a sucking kiss into his neck, wondering if he can even give this man a hickie. He's gonna try like hell, though, panting shamelessly and moving his hips eagerly into Clark's hand.

It takes a little longer than it should, really. He has to think around the images of blood and gore and the eminent warning that Clark is going to rip him to shreds with those hands. But he does come, accompanied by a loud, long groan, his face sweaty and pressed into the crook of Clark's neck. "Oh, fuck," he murmurs, breathless. "Thanks, I- you didn't have to. Shit. Perfect fucking... bastard."

If M hadn't been enthusiastic, he might have been a little worried. As it is, he works him down slow and careful before pulling his hand away, using the tips of his fingers that don't have something of a mess on them to leave a soft caress, almost like a good bye.

As M tucks into his neck, Clark uses the hand that isn't sticky to run up and down his back. Maybe it's soothing; mostly it's affection and a pleasure he wants to share at the both of them feeling (he hopes) really good.

The sticky hand he extricates carefully from between them and considers what to do with it. After a moment, he sticks one finger into his mouth to start sucking it off, half curious and half just, well, wanting to not make too much of a mess as he can.

It's... he can't say it's what he was expecting. It's definitely not bad. He has no objections to cleaning his fingers this way, at least for the moment. When he hears M, he can't help a smile.

"Neither of us had to do anything. But it's nice. When someone does." Feeling like he might have undersold the whole thing, he tries again.

"Really nice."

"Shit, I got tissues, man." Midnighter rolls around on his bed, still languid in his pleasure, to pull open a drawer on a bedside table. Tossing out some jars of peanutbutter, he grabs a box of tissues. And then he's all too happy to crawl back, nearer to Clark, to get the scent and warmth of him. "Real fucking nice, yeah. You're too goddamn sweet, y'know that?" It doesn't sound like an insult.

He takes the tissues and uses them to get the rest cleaned up, one arm tucked around M to let him get all the warmth and scent he might want. Clark's enjoying the closeness too, honestly. M feels... good. Solid. He likes this, a lot if he's honest.

"I don't know, you seem pretty sweet to me," Clark says, entirely earnest, and he means every word. M's been so affectionate and open and made him feel so good, both from the sex and just... feeling like he's just another person. Another person with powers, yes, but that that... doesn't stop him from being just another person. It's something he really enjoys, this weird 'not normal but not a freak' kind of feeling. It has him leaning over to press a kiss to the other man's temple.

Midnighter leans into it, letting out a soft little grunt of pleasure. "To you," he says. "I can be pretty bad to other people. Mostly they deserve it." They should have a talk about his day job, if this is going to be a thing. Does Clark even want it to be a thing? He considers idly.

"You wanna do this again, babe?" He keeps his voice level. "Not gonna take it personal if the answer's no. Lotta people just need to get shit outta their system."

The look on his face asks, without any words, why any sane and rational being wouldn't want to do that again. With the kissing and the- everything. Why not? Why wouldn't he?

He looks M up and down for a moment and figures out that he needs to say something before leaning in to kiss him on the forehead before resting his own against it.

"I like this. I like you. I don't know if you want to- I mean, whatever" because the sex stuff was great but the other parts, those were the ones that, in a lot of ways, were sticking the most "I want to be friends. Whatever else we decide. If that's okay."

Midnighter is hard wired to lean into that touch, to adore the feeling of someone stronger than him being gentle. He continues to relax more and more, contentment bubbling up in him. He doesn't want this to end.

"Then stick around," he says, nuzzling closer. "When'd you say you gotta get back?"

He's being a coward, he knows, he just wants this moment to last a little longer before he fucks it up by explaining he kills people and he wants exclusivity. Idly, he wonders which will upset Clark more.

"Not till tomorrow morning," he admits with a shrug as he tucks in a little closer and, yeah, now that everything's clean, he can let one of his hands kind of run lightly along Midnighter's hair and his head. He likes hands in his hair, so maybe M will too.

"But I can come back. Like I said, it's not too bad to fly here if you can't open a door."

Again, Midnighter leans into it. The computer says Clark will crush his skull. He doesn't. The feeling of trust and safety is blissful. "Stay the night," he says. "Wake up early and get you breakfast. The whole deal, babe." Please.

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