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Clark is never quiet. He clicks his tongue when he thinks, sighs when he’s angry. He is always tapping pens or fingers. It can be irritating within the office, stressful and confined, deadlines looming and tensions too high, but within the realms of the bedroom, Lois thinks nothing sounds better.
She can hear him as she pads down the hall. He’d left early to deal with some Superman business, and Lois had covered for him as she always did. Clark had smiled in gratitude, promised to make it up to her later before he sped away. Explosion at the docks. Perry sent Lana with Jimmy to cover the story. They’re both new, need their break, and Lois has an article on the financial discrepancies of LexCorp to work on. She watches the event unfold on the news out of the corner of her eye, and feels warm at the red and blue blur that dances across screen.
That was nearly three hours ago. The journey into Gotham takes just over thirty minutes, much longer than it had been before the big move, but worth it for what awaits her.
Alfred meets her at the door, smiles with fondness. He tells her that dinner is in the oven, and that Masters Bruce and Clark are upstairs. She hugs him as she always does, presses a kiss to his cheek and struggles out of her shoes, sighing when she’s on lower ground.
They swing from her hands when she climbs the stairs, takes familiar turns down familiar corridors. It makes her happy that this place has become so important to her. From a distance, before it all, it had seem like a cold maze of glass and minimalistic architecture. She knew it was more than that now.
The door to their bedroom is open ajar, but barely makes a sound when she pushes it. Nothing squeaks in his house, everything working to perfection. Just like Bruce, she thinks. Just like Alfred, she corrects.
Lois drops her heels in the doorway, and for a moment, she lingers. It’s always a sight, she thinks, to see her boys like this. It’s not as if they are unaffectionate with each other on a daily basis – in fact, she thinks they might be more so than her, despite the harshness of their alternative identities – but like this, they are wonderfully open.
Bruce rocks up and Clark’s lips part for a gasp. He doesn’t pull away to arch his back, but presses in close, touches their foreheads, nudges their noses. His hands grapple at Bruce’s broad shoulders, holding too tight when the right angle is hit or imbedding nails when he thinks he’s going to lose control. Bruce grasps his hips, would press bruises if he could, and makes Clark rock down. Makes Clark take him.
And he does. Excellently.
Bruce grunts a curse, thrusts losing their rhythm and Clark cries out. Lois’ heart lurches with it, the pressure making the back of her neck warm. She swallows, and presses her thighs together.
Alfred must be able to hear them, Lois thinks absentmindedly, and pulls the door to a close behind her. That makes them turn. Two pairs of eyes, darkened and sparkling from the dim light overhead, look to her.
She smiles, “I thought there was Super business.”
“There was a-and then,” Clark is cut off with a keen, mouth open, eyes clenching shut. Bruce looks explicitly pleased with himself.
“Bruce is very persuasive,” Lois agrees, and Bruce smirks at her.
“He didn’t exactly fight me,” Bruce’s voice is raspy, but he doesn’t sound as overwhelmed as Clark does. It comes from the hold he has on his control, the mask that has infused into his skin. It rarely cracks for people to see. That makes them lucky, Lois thinks.
Clark whimpers and rocks; Bruce hisses through his teeth and Lois decides that being a spectator isn’t as fun as participating.
She enjoys her suits, but she likes taking them off better. She starts at her jacket, moves to the wardrobe to begin hanging it up (she won’t let it crease, she has better care for her stuff than that). Then her shirt, which is flung towards the hamper. Her skirt slides down her legs, and someone behind her chokes.
Looking over her shoulder, Clark is trying to angle his head to watch her, but Bruce is holding him in place. He watches with a heavy gaze, mutters against Clark’s cheek and Lois knows what he must be saying. Dirt spilling from over his lips, Bruce would tell Clark of how pretty she looked, about how she was watching him being taken, about how this was a show. Bruce did like to put on a show.
Lois approaches the bed, and it dips beneath her when she climbs on. She kisses Bruce first, because he likes the attention and Clark likes to watch. He kisses her like it’s a fight, and he knows she’ll win. One hand splays across her bare stomach, feels it tense at the contact, and nips a challenge. She pulls at his hair until his lips part in a desperate pant. It makes her own curve upwards, pleased.
Clark is pink this close, something that is set into his cheeks, his neck, his chest. Lois strokes her hand over it and Clark leans into the touch, smiles at her in that adorable way that has her reaching up to taste it. Clark opens for her, and Lois licks in. He touches her cheek, holds it, and Lois feels like melting.
Lois feels the flex of Bruce’s thighs against her, and Clark moans. Lois swallows it.
“Does he feel good Clark?” she mutters.
Clark doesn’t speak, jerks his head in a nod.
Lois hums, folds her arms around his neck. She angled herself so their cheeks were touching but she could watch the light dancing on the sweat of Bruce’s heaving chest.
“Tell him,” she whispers the order into Clark’s skin.
She feels Clark shudder. “You feel good, so good, oh god.”
“And Bruce, don’t you have something to say to Clark?” Lois reaches to touch the base of Bruce’s cock, and feels how he jerks, Clark exclaiming too close to her ear.
Bruce rolls his jaw and lets out, “Tight, so tight.”
Lois makes an approving noise, nuzzle into Clark and says, “Come on Clark, ride him.”
He presses in closer to Lois and rolls his hips. He fucks down, takes and takes, muscles in his thighs flexing, toes curling into the sheets when he braces himself. Bruce curses, jerks up and Lois soothes him down. She doesn’t want him to move, she wants him to be used, and Bruce tenses in an effort to keep still.
“Good,” she tells him, leans over to reward him with a kiss.
Clark’s cock jumps with each movement, hits his stomach and leaves pre-cum there. Lois flickers her hand through it, plays with the head until Clark shakes and begs that they never stop. He babbles, hisses through clenched teeth, squeezes his eyes shut and gives over to pleasure. Bruce cannot look away, watches like he could brand this into his memory forever, and Lois can understand that need.
When Clark came, it was with a shout and a shake. His back arching, he paints his stomach, Bruce’s, Lois’ hand. His cock slaps into the mess when Lois lets go.
In this moments, Lois feels the tightness of her nipples and the wet between her thighs, and she demands satisfaction.
“On your back,” she orders, and the boys shift. Clark falling with uncontrollable feeling of being boneless, and Bruce shaking from the effort to keep from coming. Lois wriggles from her panties, doesn’t care where the lace ends up so long as they aren’t getting in the way when she throws her leg over Clark’s face.
Clark swears against her, the sound resonating and Lois shivers. Bruce presses heat behind her, hands moving to splay against her back, her front, to reach down and hold her open. He’s bending Clark in half to do this, Lois knows, and Clark’s legs are bracketing her just as she is him.
He looks up at her from between her legs, wide eyed and lustful. She pushes her hand through his hair, gentle and then rough when he finally tastes her. Lois pants, and tells him how good he is at this – good so good, look so good, there, there right there. Bruce rubs her nipples through the fabric of her bra, and now they’re more uncomfortable than sensitive, but she loves that. The itch that sends jolts between her legs in the moment, and remains for hours afterwards as a reminder.
It’s better when they’re sucked on.
Bruce will do that later, she decides, and grinds herself down.
There’s hot breath against her shoulder, lips and teeth. Lois leans into it, arches her neck and gasps at the sharp edges. Bruce only ever marked her where evidence could be hidden – she refused to go into work sex ruffled with hickeys as brands for the world to see – and later, he would kiss each one to thank her for allowing him to do such. Now, he mauled and thrust into Clark. Like this, the Kryptonian is at their mercy, and Bruce wouldn’t deny that there’s something undeniably hot about having a man this powerful, this good, weak before them.
Clark takes everything, yips with hypersensitivity, but he doesn’t stop. He eats her out like he’s desperate for it, like he needs it with every part of him, and Lois thinks that’s what makes him so good at this. He hasn’t always had skill – that is something Bruce had to teach him – but he has enthusiasm; dirty, sloppy, and all-consuming.
She lifts off him for a moment, just to watch him chase her, before she sits, leans back and tugs Bruce into a kiss. It’s all teeth, desperately strung, and Lois knows that Bruce is close. He would want to wait for her, but she can’t do that.
“Come on,” she hisses, “Come on, come on, cum in him. He wants it.”
Even like this, Bruce stills manages to glare at her. Lois kisses the frown from his lips, urges with a voice that shakes and hitches with each lick. She laughs when Bruce finally comes, swearing to the ceiling. Clark just breaths on her through it, and Lois allows him it until she can’t take it anymore.
“Make me cum,” she says, “And I’ll let you eat out Bruce.”
Clark whines, and Bruce’s breathing is uneven in her ear, but efforts are redoubled, hands holding her breasts, her thighs, bruising grips. The tightness in her stomach is unbearable and she can’t last. She can’t. She can’t.
Her climax rips through her, tears her apart and she is only held together by the calloused hands upon her. Bruce is whispering soft things in her ear, things he would never let anyone else hear, and it reminds her of why she loves him so. Clark is still licking, kitten touches because he knows how delicate she is after coming, but he can’t seem to stop himself. Lois lets him until it’s too much, pulls away to sit on his chest, and admires the glisten to his lips and chin.
Clark looks good covered like this.
He closes his eyes when Bruce pulls out, and Lois lays down upon him to pepper kisses to his face. Bruce drops beside them, hikes a leg over Clark’s own splayed ones, and mimics the gesture. Clark angles his head so he can touch Bruce’s lips, and Lois watches the wet slide with interest. They’re all brutal and hard angles, strength and resilience, but like this, they’re both so human. Lois touches a bite on Bruce’s neck that she hadn’t noticed before, and Bruce relaxes under it.
Clark is still hard against her leg. It is Kryptonian thing, they thought, the refectory period and whilst Clark never voiced discomfort at still being on edge, Lois had seen how much it took for him to be fully sated. If they wanted tonight to end that way, they had more work to do.
But Clark already knew that. He murmurs against Bruce’s lips, asks whether it is okay, whether he can, like Lois said, I will, can I? And Bruce is breathless in his agreement. Still they wait for her, wait until she nods before Bruce scrambles and Clark grasps. Lois taps each cheek, before she holds them open. Bruce looks at her, open and believing, and Lois remembers how long it took them to get to this point. For Bruce to trust them both so completely, to know what the three of them were and what that meant. It was hard work, but worth it. Lois knows this, definitely worth it.
Lois knows when Clark presses his tongue to Bruce’s rim, because his eyes flutter shut, and his jaw clenches. A second, and then Bruce shivers. Lois strokes hair away from his face, doesn’t want anything obscuring her view of this – he’s vulnerable like this, barely holding onto the control he covets and it’s good, so good. Lois tells him so and takes his grunts with her kisses.
Bruce doesn’t have Clark’s refractory period, but Clark would gladly work until Bruce is hard and leaking once more. Lois decides she cannot wait for that. It doesn’t take much to shift and lower herself onto Clark’s dick, and it has her breath hitching at the stretch. She watches the way that Bruce’s gaze narrows to watch, and can hear Clark’s muffled moan.
She unhooks her bra, sighs at the pressure being removed. She holds her tits, drags her nails over the rigid nipples and says, “Bruce.”
She doesn’t have to ask for him to rear forward and latch on. He’s all teeth here too, decidedly careful with pressure, knows when to scrap and suckle in the way that makes Lois’ thighs tremble. She angles upward to give Bruce more space, and presses down on Clark, rocks and rolls and rides.
Clark cums fast like this, twitching beneath them. Lois drops her fingers to her pussy, rubs wet and slick trembling fingers over her clit. She squeezes and Clark cums again.
“I wanna,” Bruce says, and cuts off, because he doesn’t like to beg, but Lois knows. She knows.
Clark drips out of her when she stands, sticks to her thighs in a way that makes her feel gross but powerful under Bruce’s awed stare. She lays against pillows and spreads her legs. Bruce grinds on Clark’s face, and then scrambles, uncoordinated in how his dick head nudges at her, misses twice before finally sliding home. He drops until they’re pressed against each other, chest to chest, always touching. His head is against her neck, panting open mouthed. He leaves kisses on the curve of her jaw, and braced on his elbows, he can slide his hands into her hair. He holds on.
Lois spreads her hands across his back, traces defined muscles and strokes the scars that prove how much Bruce Wayne has truly survived over the years. She cups his arse, spreads and presses her fingers into his hole. Just the tip, just enough to feel him jerk and she tips her head so that she can kiss whatever she can reach.
Clark’s tongue presses beside her finger, and Bruce thrusts into her roughly. Lois moans at it, pulls away so she is just holding him open – nails digging into soft flesh, bearing him to the world. Her legs wrap around the small of his back, hold him. He could break out, should he chose to, but why would he want to?
Bruce is quiet when he releases now, just unsteady breathing and juddering limbs. They stay too close, holding onto one another, for one breathe, two, and then Bruce groans and reaches back sloppily to bat Clark away.
“Insatiable,” he complains, and Clark grins, adorable and filthy.
Lois laughs, winces and insists that Bruce moves. He pulls out, drops down beside her and gathers her close. It’s Clark who gets up to go to the bathroom, rinses his mouth with Listerine, and returns to the bed with a damp cloth. Lois shivers at the touch, but allows herself to be cleaned. Smiles affectionately, and reaches up to drag her hand through his damp curls. Clark leans into the touch, kisses her wrist.
He leaves, returns empty handed and falls into the bed beside Lois. He is just as close, layers kisses onto her cheek and temple and reaches out for Bruce’s hand. Bruce holds back, because he’d never refuse Clark that. The connection of the circle makes Lois feel right, encircled and protected. She relaxes into the cotton sheets, tension finally gone.
“Good day at work?” Bruce murmurs.
Lois laughs, hums, “Significantly better now that I’m home.”
Home. It’s a relatively new word for them, connecting to this place. Bruce had trepidations about them being in his space, about opening that door and letting them in so completely. It wasn’t something that he was used to. Lois thinks he’s done a good job adjusting so far.
Bruce kisses her and Lois hums happily.
“And how was hero work?” she questions. “I heard there was a fire.”
It’s Clark that answers. “No one died.” He won’t say anymore, not until later, when the afterglow has faded. He feels that bring work to their bed with destroy some unspoken sanctity. Lois will not push him about this, and she knows Bruce won’t either. Bruce has much the same feeling.
“Good,” Lois comments, and closes his eyes, “And what about the board meeting?”
Bruce grunts. “Wayne Enterprises may have agreed on a new green energy program.” Lois’ eyes brightens and she opens her mouth. She is interrupted with, “I’m sure I can give the Daily Planet an exclusive when their lead reporter isn’t naked in our bed.”
Clark’s chest vibrates when he laughs. Lois grins sheepishly, and steals another kiss from Bruce.
“Promise?” the reporter in her still has to check.
Bruce rolls his eyes, “Want me to pinkie promise?”
“Would you?” Clark wonders and Bruce glowers. Clark leans over to kiss it away.
One kiss, and then another, another. They get distracted like this, and Lois is appreciative of the view. She touches their chests, caresses flesh and chest hair, just to feel their heartbeats beneath her palm. Her boys are reckless, dangerous messes at times, but they are hers and she adores them.
They sleep side by side, too close, skin sticking, flesh heated. Clark snores with a power no human can hold. Bruce sleeps as silent as the bat he adorns. Lois can slumber through, takes in the breaths and smacking of lips because each one means that they are alive and with her. It’s all she needs.