FIC: A Midnight Tryst
Jan. 13th, 2009 11:41 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mithenTitle: A Midnight Tryst
Characters/Pairings: Matches Malone/Superman
Rating: NC-17 for raunchy language and skeeviness.
Summary: Matches Malone has the goods on Superman and his buddy Kent, and intends to use it to his advantage. This is a continuation of Eel O'Brian's Very Strange Night.
Word count: 1900
Notes: A belated birthday fic for the wonderful and talented![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
batfan_sarah ! *hugs*
The note was almost ludicrously cliche: letters cut from a newspaper taped together to form a message. Tell Superman to meet me at midnight in Centennial Park. I got something he wants.
No signature, just a match taped to the bottom of the letter.
Clark Kent folded the letter, frowning. He still wasn't feeling quite at full strength after a few hours of Kryptonite exposure the night before, when Black Mask had kidnapped him to use as bait for Superman. Clark shuddered slightly, remembering how the green glow had sapped his strength, had been slowly killing him. Then he shuddered again when he remembered Matches Malone looking him up and down. "Pretty boy," he'd drawled, but the eyes above the chewed match had been Bruce's, worried and planning.
He'd--he'd kissed him. Matches--Bruce--had kissed him. Only to slip him the key, Clark tried to tell himself, but that didn't explain why the kiss had lasted a lot longer than the time it needed to transfer the bit of metal. And it didn't explain the shaking hands on his belt, then lower, groping and grabbing in a frenzy of lust.
And it certainly didn't explain the way Clark had shoved himself against that touch, the way his mind had gone blank with need, his body hot with want. "I can have you anytime I want," Matches had said, his voice taunting and yearning and demanding and requesting.
Yes. Anytime he wanted.
And now the note.
He put the letter down on his desk and realized he was out of breath again, almost panting. Malone said Clark had a pretty mouth. He'd said he wasn't as hot as the Man of Steel.
Tell Superman to meet me at midnight.
He was so hard it hurt.
I got something he wants.
It was twelve hours to midnight.
Eleven hours, fifty-nine minutes, and thirty seconds.
: : :
Centennial Park was always well-lit, but there were still places that were shadowed at midnight, places where trysts and assignations happened. Superman startled a few pairs of lovers from the bushes as he patrolled the park, his mind elsewhere, until he heard the familiar Jersey-accented drawl nearby.
"Superman. Good of ya to come."
He turned to find Matches Malone leaning against a tree--a tree that had been resolutely Matches-free just a moment ago. He was wearing an absurdly ugly powder-blue suit with a wide striped tie; sunglasses covered his eyes despite the dark of the evening. He was chewing on a match, and the leer he turned on Superman immediately made Clark's body start to run riot.
Superman crossed his arms and looked scornfully at the petty criminal. "Clark Kent told me you wanted to speak with me?"
A dark chuckle. "Speak with ya. Yeah, that's what I wanted. To start with." He looked Superman up and down. "Kent told you what happened? That I saved his sissy little nancy life?"
"He told me."
"Maybe he didn't tell ya that I nicked a bunch of Kryptonite from Black Mask after that. That's right, I got myself a bunch of the stuff that can kill you dead, buster." He pointed his finger at Superman like a gun and made a clicking sound with his teeth, grinning.
Clark kept his voice cold, although he was having some problems breathing somehow. "Are you attempting to blackmail me, Mr. Malone?"
"Oh please," the thug said, "Call me Matches. All my friends do. And you and I are gonna be so much more than friends."
"Like hell we will. I'm not going to submit to petty bribery by some two-bit hood." Superman bit off the words, sneering.
"I thought you might say that," said Matches, one corner of his mouth lifting smugly. "Mr. Truth and Justice, our high and mighty, untouchable one. So here's something else to consider: I got security camera shots of your buddy, Clark Kent, in a serious liplock with yours truly. And he wasn't exactly fighting me off, if you get my drift," he said, lifting his hands and wiggling his fingers in the air. "You think that getting caught making out with a gangster would be good for his rep-u-tay-shon?"
"You bastard," snarled Superman, knowing Matches could see the hard-on pushing at his red briefs at the memory, "You'd ruin a good man's life just to get at me?"
"Oh baby," drawled Matches, his eyes fixed on Superman's crotch, "You have no idea what I'd do to get at you," and Superman didn't feel capable of acting anymore.
He let his shoulders sag. "What would I...have to do to get you to promise to leave him alone?" he whispered.
"Maybe I'd be satisfied if you'd just get down on your knees on the ground in front of me and beg me nicely to be good," sneered Matches.
Superman glared at him, not moving. "As if I'm going to give you more blackmail material."
A low chuckle. "Don't worry, sweetheart. There's no cameras anywhere on this spot, I checked. No, what you do here is for me and me alone. Now--you were about to get on your knees and ask me pretty please to leave your pal alone, I believe."
Slowly, as slowly as he could stand, Clark walked over to where Matches was leaning against the tree. He sank to his knees, reluctance in his every motion, ravening lust in his heart. Staring down at the ground, he muttered, "Mr. Malone, please be nice to Mr. Kent."
"Look at me," said Matches. Clark raised his head slowly, keeping his face studiously ashamed. The thug's face under the sunglasses was flushed, his breath short. "Call me 'honey' and ask again."
Clark licked his lips, slowly. Matches' crotch was right in front of his face and Clark could see the fabric shuddering from the twitching of the erection beneath it. "Matches...honey...won't you please be nice to me and Mr. Kent?"
"Oh yeah," muttered Matches, "Yeah, I'll be nice." He reached down and there was the sound of a zipper being undone; in the shadows Clark could see hard, ruddy flesh. "You're gonna suck me off now."
Clark managed to keep himself from immediately leaning forward and finally, finally--more fun to slow it down, he reminded himself, although his pulse was hammering and he was having a hard time thinking--"You're holding all the cards now, Matches. You win." He moved forward until his lips were almost touching Matches' cock; above him he could hear Matches swallow. "I've got no choice but to do anything you want," he said, and took Matches deep into his mouth, all in one long motion.
Matches' hips shuddered against him and his knees almost buckled; Clark could hear a long, stammering exhalation as he licked and sucked. "Yeah. Yeah," Matches said as his gasping breaths became words again. "That's it. Oh, you're good. I knew that mouth would be good wrapped around my cock. Fuck. Fuck," he said, bucking against Clark. "Yeah. The Man of Steel. Fucking Big Blue Boy Scout. Sucking me off like a two-bit hooker in a city park. Ah," he added as Clark did something with his mouth, "A fucking good hooker. Yeah. More of that. Do it."
His scent filled Clark's senses; a scent that he couldn't disguise like he could his face and his voice, and Clark lost himself in mindless motion until his own arousal became too imperative to deny any longer. Tugging at his tights, he got one hand in and started stroking himself, pleasure coiling unbearably.
Matches made a hoarse sound. "Oh, you horny bastard, you like this. Pull down those tights all the way and let me see you jacking off," he growled, and Clark did, pumping at his own cock, hearing himself making mumbling noises of bliss as he sucked fervently.
"Oh God," said Matches, and his accent was notably less Jersey now, his diction less thuggish, "Oh God, you're really doing this." His hands were in Clark's hair, gripping hard, pulling. "I can't--can't--God, I want to see you come first. Want to see you come so hard because you're getting off on sucking me off, want to see that gorgeous hard cock of yours--ah," he gasped. "I'm going to fuck you so many times, so many ways, you're going to beg me for it over and over, you're mine now, Kal-El, my Kal-El..." He shuddered and groaned, every muscle in his body tense. "God, I can't wait any longer, you're too good, come now, please--" And Clark felt his climax thunder through him at the plea, undeniable; he heard himself making small whimpering sounds, heard a groan of delight and sucked even harder until Matches' hands tensed in his hair and he cried something wordless and came in turn, long and shuddering.
Clark stayed on his knees and the hands clenched in his hair slowly relaxed, the clutching shifting to something like stroking as Clark continued to nibble and lick at sensitive skin for as long as possible. "You can...you can stop now," said a hoarse voice above him.
Clark looked up from below his lashes as he slowly, reluctantly eased away from hot skin. The sneering mouth was lax with pleasure now, the tension gone from shoulders and jawline. Clark smiled. "Are you finished debauching me, you worthless scum?"
The man groaned slightly as he zipped up his pants. "Kal," he whispered. "I don't know what I was think--"
"You were thinking I wanted this," Clark said, still on his knees. "That I wanted, just for a little, to be depraved and dirty and flirt with some handsome thug." He reached out and traced the zipper on the powder-blue pants. "That I wanted to put aside my morals for a bit and give in to the temptation to be shamelessly wanton and perverted." He met the sunglass-covered eyes squarely. "With someone I trust more than anyone else in the world." He waited. The other man's face was still blank. "I still want it," he added, in a whisper. "If you do."
There was a long moment. Then the handsome mouth twitched into a sneer once more and rough hands grabbed him and dragged him to his feet. "You were pretty good, tiger," Matches announced. "Not bad at all, for a novice. You got potential, if you ever want to turn pro."
Superman backed off a little, crossing his arms. "And you'll leave me and Kent alone now?"
Matches snickered. "I didn't say that."
"But you promised--"
"You're gonna trust the promise of a bastard like me?" Matches made a tsking noise. "You're even more naive than I thought. Nah, I'm not done with you yet." He stepped forward and took Superman's chin in his hand, tilting it up. "Tell your friend Kent I'll be getting in touch with him. He'll be meeting me somewhere for a little fun later."
"Cl--Clark?" Superman's stammer was unfeigned this time. "Why would you want to get Clark too?"
"Are you kiddin' me?" Matches leered at him. "That Kent kid, he's gorgeous. Maybe you never noticed it under those ugly suits, but he's got a bod anyone would want to bang. I'm gonna pop his cherry so hard he'll cry with joy. Gonna show him just how kinky a farm boy from Kansas can be." The leer went a little quirky at the edges. "Kal-El. I want both of you. And I intend to have you."
Clark tried to sound imperious and cold. "And just what do you intend to do with me?" But his voice was hoarse and husky and warm, and he wasn't even sure he cared.
"Right now?" Matches said. "Right now I intend to kiss you."
And he did.
Characters/Pairings: Matches Malone/Superman
Rating: NC-17 for raunchy language and skeeviness.
Summary: Matches Malone has the goods on Superman and his buddy Kent, and intends to use it to his advantage. This is a continuation of Eel O'Brian's Very Strange Night.
Word count: 1900
Notes: A belated birthday fic for the wonderful and talented
batfan_sarah ! *hugs*The note was almost ludicrously cliche: letters cut from a newspaper taped together to form a message. Tell Superman to meet me at midnight in Centennial Park. I got something he wants.
No signature, just a match taped to the bottom of the letter.
Clark Kent folded the letter, frowning. He still wasn't feeling quite at full strength after a few hours of Kryptonite exposure the night before, when Black Mask had kidnapped him to use as bait for Superman. Clark shuddered slightly, remembering how the green glow had sapped his strength, had been slowly killing him. Then he shuddered again when he remembered Matches Malone looking him up and down. "Pretty boy," he'd drawled, but the eyes above the chewed match had been Bruce's, worried and planning.
He'd--he'd kissed him. Matches--Bruce--had kissed him. Only to slip him the key, Clark tried to tell himself, but that didn't explain why the kiss had lasted a lot longer than the time it needed to transfer the bit of metal. And it didn't explain the shaking hands on his belt, then lower, groping and grabbing in a frenzy of lust.
And it certainly didn't explain the way Clark had shoved himself against that touch, the way his mind had gone blank with need, his body hot with want. "I can have you anytime I want," Matches had said, his voice taunting and yearning and demanding and requesting.
Yes. Anytime he wanted.
And now the note.
He put the letter down on his desk and realized he was out of breath again, almost panting. Malone said Clark had a pretty mouth. He'd said he wasn't as hot as the Man of Steel.
Tell Superman to meet me at midnight.
He was so hard it hurt.
I got something he wants.
It was twelve hours to midnight.
Eleven hours, fifty-nine minutes, and thirty seconds.
: : :
Centennial Park was always well-lit, but there were still places that were shadowed at midnight, places where trysts and assignations happened. Superman startled a few pairs of lovers from the bushes as he patrolled the park, his mind elsewhere, until he heard the familiar Jersey-accented drawl nearby.
"Superman. Good of ya to come."
He turned to find Matches Malone leaning against a tree--a tree that had been resolutely Matches-free just a moment ago. He was wearing an absurdly ugly powder-blue suit with a wide striped tie; sunglasses covered his eyes despite the dark of the evening. He was chewing on a match, and the leer he turned on Superman immediately made Clark's body start to run riot.
Superman crossed his arms and looked scornfully at the petty criminal. "Clark Kent told me you wanted to speak with me?"
A dark chuckle. "Speak with ya. Yeah, that's what I wanted. To start with." He looked Superman up and down. "Kent told you what happened? That I saved his sissy little nancy life?"
"He told me."
"Maybe he didn't tell ya that I nicked a bunch of Kryptonite from Black Mask after that. That's right, I got myself a bunch of the stuff that can kill you dead, buster." He pointed his finger at Superman like a gun and made a clicking sound with his teeth, grinning.
Clark kept his voice cold, although he was having some problems breathing somehow. "Are you attempting to blackmail me, Mr. Malone?"
"Oh please," the thug said, "Call me Matches. All my friends do. And you and I are gonna be so much more than friends."
"Like hell we will. I'm not going to submit to petty bribery by some two-bit hood." Superman bit off the words, sneering.
"I thought you might say that," said Matches, one corner of his mouth lifting smugly. "Mr. Truth and Justice, our high and mighty, untouchable one. So here's something else to consider: I got security camera shots of your buddy, Clark Kent, in a serious liplock with yours truly. And he wasn't exactly fighting me off, if you get my drift," he said, lifting his hands and wiggling his fingers in the air. "You think that getting caught making out with a gangster would be good for his rep-u-tay-shon?"
"You bastard," snarled Superman, knowing Matches could see the hard-on pushing at his red briefs at the memory, "You'd ruin a good man's life just to get at me?"
"Oh baby," drawled Matches, his eyes fixed on Superman's crotch, "You have no idea what I'd do to get at you," and Superman didn't feel capable of acting anymore.
He let his shoulders sag. "What would I...have to do to get you to promise to leave him alone?" he whispered.
"Maybe I'd be satisfied if you'd just get down on your knees on the ground in front of me and beg me nicely to be good," sneered Matches.
Superman glared at him, not moving. "As if I'm going to give you more blackmail material."
A low chuckle. "Don't worry, sweetheart. There's no cameras anywhere on this spot, I checked. No, what you do here is for me and me alone. Now--you were about to get on your knees and ask me pretty please to leave your pal alone, I believe."
Slowly, as slowly as he could stand, Clark walked over to where Matches was leaning against the tree. He sank to his knees, reluctance in his every motion, ravening lust in his heart. Staring down at the ground, he muttered, "Mr. Malone, please be nice to Mr. Kent."
"Look at me," said Matches. Clark raised his head slowly, keeping his face studiously ashamed. The thug's face under the sunglasses was flushed, his breath short. "Call me 'honey' and ask again."
Clark licked his lips, slowly. Matches' crotch was right in front of his face and Clark could see the fabric shuddering from the twitching of the erection beneath it. "Matches...honey...won't you please be nice to me and Mr. Kent?"
"Oh yeah," muttered Matches, "Yeah, I'll be nice." He reached down and there was the sound of a zipper being undone; in the shadows Clark could see hard, ruddy flesh. "You're gonna suck me off now."
Clark managed to keep himself from immediately leaning forward and finally, finally--more fun to slow it down, he reminded himself, although his pulse was hammering and he was having a hard time thinking--"You're holding all the cards now, Matches. You win." He moved forward until his lips were almost touching Matches' cock; above him he could hear Matches swallow. "I've got no choice but to do anything you want," he said, and took Matches deep into his mouth, all in one long motion.
Matches' hips shuddered against him and his knees almost buckled; Clark could hear a long, stammering exhalation as he licked and sucked. "Yeah. Yeah," Matches said as his gasping breaths became words again. "That's it. Oh, you're good. I knew that mouth would be good wrapped around my cock. Fuck. Fuck," he said, bucking against Clark. "Yeah. The Man of Steel. Fucking Big Blue Boy Scout. Sucking me off like a two-bit hooker in a city park. Ah," he added as Clark did something with his mouth, "A fucking good hooker. Yeah. More of that. Do it."
His scent filled Clark's senses; a scent that he couldn't disguise like he could his face and his voice, and Clark lost himself in mindless motion until his own arousal became too imperative to deny any longer. Tugging at his tights, he got one hand in and started stroking himself, pleasure coiling unbearably.
Matches made a hoarse sound. "Oh, you horny bastard, you like this. Pull down those tights all the way and let me see you jacking off," he growled, and Clark did, pumping at his own cock, hearing himself making mumbling noises of bliss as he sucked fervently.
"Oh God," said Matches, and his accent was notably less Jersey now, his diction less thuggish, "Oh God, you're really doing this." His hands were in Clark's hair, gripping hard, pulling. "I can't--can't--God, I want to see you come first. Want to see you come so hard because you're getting off on sucking me off, want to see that gorgeous hard cock of yours--ah," he gasped. "I'm going to fuck you so many times, so many ways, you're going to beg me for it over and over, you're mine now, Kal-El, my Kal-El..." He shuddered and groaned, every muscle in his body tense. "God, I can't wait any longer, you're too good, come now, please--" And Clark felt his climax thunder through him at the plea, undeniable; he heard himself making small whimpering sounds, heard a groan of delight and sucked even harder until Matches' hands tensed in his hair and he cried something wordless and came in turn, long and shuddering.
Clark stayed on his knees and the hands clenched in his hair slowly relaxed, the clutching shifting to something like stroking as Clark continued to nibble and lick at sensitive skin for as long as possible. "You can...you can stop now," said a hoarse voice above him.
Clark looked up from below his lashes as he slowly, reluctantly eased away from hot skin. The sneering mouth was lax with pleasure now, the tension gone from shoulders and jawline. Clark smiled. "Are you finished debauching me, you worthless scum?"
The man groaned slightly as he zipped up his pants. "Kal," he whispered. "I don't know what I was think--"
"You were thinking I wanted this," Clark said, still on his knees. "That I wanted, just for a little, to be depraved and dirty and flirt with some handsome thug." He reached out and traced the zipper on the powder-blue pants. "That I wanted to put aside my morals for a bit and give in to the temptation to be shamelessly wanton and perverted." He met the sunglass-covered eyes squarely. "With someone I trust more than anyone else in the world." He waited. The other man's face was still blank. "I still want it," he added, in a whisper. "If you do."
There was a long moment. Then the handsome mouth twitched into a sneer once more and rough hands grabbed him and dragged him to his feet. "You were pretty good, tiger," Matches announced. "Not bad at all, for a novice. You got potential, if you ever want to turn pro."
Superman backed off a little, crossing his arms. "And you'll leave me and Kent alone now?"
Matches snickered. "I didn't say that."
"But you promised--"
"You're gonna trust the promise of a bastard like me?" Matches made a tsking noise. "You're even more naive than I thought. Nah, I'm not done with you yet." He stepped forward and took Superman's chin in his hand, tilting it up. "Tell your friend Kent I'll be getting in touch with him. He'll be meeting me somewhere for a little fun later."
"Cl--Clark?" Superman's stammer was unfeigned this time. "Why would you want to get Clark too?"
"Are you kiddin' me?" Matches leered at him. "That Kent kid, he's gorgeous. Maybe you never noticed it under those ugly suits, but he's got a bod anyone would want to bang. I'm gonna pop his cherry so hard he'll cry with joy. Gonna show him just how kinky a farm boy from Kansas can be." The leer went a little quirky at the edges. "Kal-El. I want both of you. And I intend to have you."
Clark tried to sound imperious and cold. "And just what do you intend to do with me?" But his voice was hoarse and husky and warm, and he wasn't even sure he cared.
"Right now?" Matches said. "Right now I intend to kiss you."
And he did.
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Date: 2009-01-13 03:04 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-01-13 10:12 am (UTC)