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.

"I don't eat," he says. "I mean, I don't gotta. No food in the place 'cept these." He grabs a spare peanut butter jar before tossing it away. "Don't worry, I'll grab something, babe. Like taking care of you." Well, that just fucking slipped out. He just met the fucking guy.

There's a crackle of pure affection, a stupid crush forming in his gut. This is bad, but he ignores that knowledge in favor of the instant gratification of kissing this handsome asshole. "Gonna spoil me," he murmurs. "I'll Door some eggs and shit." Whatever people eat for breakfast. "Just... gimme a minute. Wanna look at you."

Midnighter leans into the kiss, taking whatever he can get, and if there's a sigh of contentment caught in there, well. It's a real, true feeling. A hand slides down Clark's well-muscled back, over the curve of his ass, exploration and soft pleasure. "Damn, you're gorgeous," he murmurs, "sure you can't stay the night?"

Well, if he's enjoying it, shit. Midnighter is all too happy to grope at his leisure amid lazy kisses. "Do you have to sleep?" He realizes it's a weird question. "I don't, so... just wondering." Another kiss, a little deeper. "I can keep you awake for a second round..."

So the groping becomes a little more insistent, lingering on Clark's perfect fucking ass. "Then I can do that," he murmurs, voice growing deeper. He shifts them a little, so he's half on top of Clark, lying down with their legs intertwined, his hands running over him appreciatively. "I can definitely do that."

God damn, that's sweet, and Midnighter would be a dirty fucking liar (something he's trying desperately not to be, these days) if he pretended that wasn't a major plus for him. He kisses back more intently, a little deeper, taking the request with enthusiasm. His voice is always gravely and rough, but especially so when he breaks away to murmur, "I could do more to you than that all night."

Midnighter's brain was made to analyze, to see every angle; he catches the way Clark is clearly enjoying the hell out of being kissed, and keeps on it, long and lingering and increasingly deep. One kiss trails off to murmur hot in Clark's ear, "kinda wanna finger you," he says, though he's not sure that's a sexy way to say it to someone who hasn't been before... or just in general. Whatever, he's doing his best. "Maybe fuck you, if you like it. Take it slow. See what happens, y'know?"

Another long kiss, this one deeper than all the last, and then he finally moves away, moves off him to grab some lube out of the bedside table. Half hard already, he takes the moment to just look Clark over. God damn. No one should be allowed to be that fucking gorgeous.

He squirts some lube out and begins warming it between his hands. "How flexible're you?"

Midnighter laughs, live gravel being ground down. He flops down to pull Clark close, all quick movement punctuated by the bouncing of the mattress under them. "Well, normal people can do this, so I think you'll be fine, babe." And with that, he hefts one of Clark's legs over his shoulder so he can reach down and feel the curve of his ass while still being able to fully kiss him.

He curls one arm around Clark's neck, locking him in (or he would be, if he didn't know Clark could break the hold with a shrug of his shoulders-- somehow that makes this better?) for deep, lengthy kisses. His other hand finds trails to Clark's ass, rubbing at his taint a little before inching back to massage his hole.

So, that was a good reaction. Midnighter's a sucker for those, too. Always has been. Always wants more. He keeps the kisses deep, moaning gently into Clark's mouth as his fingers work deeper, one pressing gently in, testing.

Midnighter is, again, pretty good at reading people. He doesn't know if this is powers or nerves or both, but it's understandable, given their, uh, position. He moves his free hand, running it through Clark's hair, giving him a barrage of nuzzling kisses over his mouth and jaw and throat, murmuring, "it's fine, baby, it's fine, take your time, I got you, it's fine." Trust me. God damn, when did he want that so badly?

But he's a machine made for killing. Trust is like a fucking drug. He should have seen that one coming a mile away.

When Clark's ready, he lets one finger slide in slowly, gently but unsubtly trying to find his prostate. If Clark's nervous, that'll definitely fix that problem. And the idea of Clark keening for it, eyes rolling back with pleasure, that's- that's making Midnighter kiss a little harder in anticipation.