golly

“That’s hilarious,” you thought immediately, tilting your head and imagining the look on Clark’s face. You considered it as a joke, something to make him laugh. But the longer you stared at it, the less ridiculous it seemed.

Actually… it started to feel kind of perfect.

You couldn’t help it, really. Giggling to yourself like an idiot while you asked the clerk for the piece. Because you, dating Clark Kent, Superman himself, were about to give him a cute little necklace with his own symbol on it.

If anything, you thought it would be a funny gag gift. You’d laugh about it the whole night, he’d say it’s cheesy and then you’d end up returning it the next day like nothing happened.

And you did laugh the whole night about it. He did say it was cheesy. But you never returned it.

Because he ended up loving it.

Clark walks around wearing his superman necklace proudly, without a single hint of shame when Lois or Jimmy tease him after catching a glimpse of it under his collar.

“My girl got it for me,” he always says, like that explains everything.

Which, in theory, it kind of does. You could get him the ugliest tie in Metropolis and he would still wear it proudly every single day of his life if it made you happy.

Because his girl got it for him.

In the end, the necklace did end up being the special gift you wanted for him. Because yes, it’s cringy, but it means something. It represents everything he stands for, hope, courage, who he is, what he is on this earth for.

And Clark? he adores it.

He practically lives in it. Never even thinks about taking it off.

You don’t complain either. There is nothing sexier than Clark stepping out of a steamy shower, water droplets raining from his dark curls, running down the sharp lines of his gorgeous body. Only a towel covering his lower half and that little necklace gleaming around his neck.

You love pulling him by it, kissing him around it, feeling the cold of the metal against your skin when he hugs you. Getting a peek of it under his work shirts. You just love how much he loves it.

But what you love even more, is when he fucks you wearing it.

When he’s on top of you, his arms braced on either side of your head to hold his weight, caging you with those huge muscles flexing with every deep thrust.

It’s hard to focus on anything when Clark’s cock is buried so deep inside you it makes your whole body shiver, but you always notice the necklace. How it swings with the rhythm of his thrusts, crashing gently against his collarbone with every rock of his hips.

And he knows you like to stare at it. That knowing smile on his face is proof enough.

“Look at you sweetheart, always taking me so well,” he praises in that deep voice. A grin grows on his face like he’s not actively making you see stars around the charm hitting his skin repeatedly.

“Come on, darling,” he whispers, the necklace almost brushing your chest. “I know you can give me just one more…”

And you can. You’d give him as many as he wants.

Clark coaxes you through it, always does. He knows how much he takes, how his cock fills you in ways you were never meant to handle. How every time he makes love to you he gets that dazed, blissed out look in your eyes, and those moans slipping from your lips like you’re not even thinking, just taking him in. All of him.

And this is only your second round.

“Fuck– right there, Clark,” you whimper, barely. Your eyes do the rest, telling him thank you for fucking me this good.

“Right there?” he asks back with a soft chuckle, like he’s delighted to see you fall apart like that.

So he does it again, rolls his hips the exact same way, just to hear the broken sound that escapes your throat as your head falls back in pure bliss.

He leans in closer, burying himself deeper, if that’s even possible. He braces his weight on his elbows now, so he can slide his large hands to cup the back of your head, cradling you carefully. He then lifts your face toward his and places a kiss on your forehead.

And you smile, God you smile, because Clark always manages to be the sweetest man on earth while fucking you into next week.

He pulls apart just enough to look into your eyes, still supporting your head in his hands because he knows you can’t do it by yourself at this point. His mouth stays parted, letting out those heavenly filthy grunts that make you let him use you in any way he wants just to hear them over and over.

He keeps the unrelenting pace without breaking a single sweat, slamming in and out your pussy in sloppy sounds as your wetness drips around him. And that damn necklace keeps swinging, but this time is lightly hitting your collarbone, your jaw, your cheeks. The cold metal is a sharp contrast to your hot skin.

It’s driving you crazy.

“Clark,” you pant, breathless. “T-that thing…”

He slightly tilts his head, stuttering his rhythm when he realizes what you mean. One hand leaves your head, already reaching for the chain, but you stop him.

“No no … leave it,” you say, grabbing the chain and looping your fingers around the charm, pulling softly to drag him closer to your face. Your breath ghosts over his lips, giving him a quick peck before whispering. “I like it.”

“Yeah?” he asks back with a groan, in that maddening tone he loves to use when you do something that drives him crazy.

You hold his gaze, nodding innocently, and slowly pull the charm into your mouth.

Just the tip of it, the cold metal resting against your tongue. You suck it in, swollen lips wrapping around the symbol he carried in his chest like he’s your personal savior. And lord, he is.

Clark makes a sound you’ve never really heard before. A helpless, strangled growl under his breath. His next thrust goes harder, like he just can’t help himself. Like you fucked something in his brain chemistry by doing that.

So he keeps pushing, his speed and strength less controlled now, getting completely lost in the way your face contorts in pleasure while your moans get strangled by the charm in your mouth.

“Sweet Jesus,” he rasps. “Don’t–don’t do that unless you want this to be over right now.”

You can’t help but laugh mid bliss, the necklace charm falling from your lips with a soft pop as a result. You lift your hand to his chest, trapping the necklace between your skin so it doesn’t hit you again.

“You better hold it together for me, superman,” you tease.

Even if Clark doesn’t admit it out loud, you calling him ‘Superman’ in bed just tickles something in his brain. It flips a switch inside him that tells him to fill you up until you carry a baby from him.

Especially after the whole necklace moment.

“I-I dont think I can, sweetheart.”

He stares at you, barely enough blue left in his eyes from his blown pupils. Flushed cheeks, lips wet and parted like he’s seconds from begging you to let him break you. Of course he wouldn’t. Unless you asked.

But he’s too gone at this point. That usual gentleness, that unhurried, teasing control that lets him drag things out for hours so you have time to recover is gone.

Clark slams into you with enough force to knock the breath from your lungs, his hands now locking under your thighs to fold you up for a deeper angle, like he can bend you however he pleases. And he does, only him. He’s moving now with a pace he doesn’t let out that often with you, in fear of hurting you.

But right now? He’s letting himself be desperate. All because of a little necklace.

“You … you put that thing in your mouth darling, you don’t even know what that did to me–“

“Oh, I know,” you moan, your fingers gripping his chest like a lifeline, nails digging in. “I–I love when you lose your mind like this.”

He chuckles breathlessly, almost apologizing. “You don’t see me much like this … do you?”

You shake your head, too breathless to speak again. Because no, you don’t. Clark is always in control. Always worshipful, mindful, making love like he’s got all the time in the world. But there are still times where even a God like him folds under the weight of wanting you.

And now? That necklace, that cute little gag gift his girl got him is now his fucking kink.

He suddenly shifts again, one hand fisting in the sheets beside your head while the other slips between your bodies, fingers finding your clit instinctively.

“Wanna come with you, darling” he blurts out, disheveled strands of dark hair falling into his eyes as he watches your face when he plays with that sensitive spot. “Don’t think I’m gonna last long … not this time. Not after that.”

Neither are you. You never do with him.

You arch beneath him, back going high, thighs shaking under him from the overstimulation. It doesn’t take long before his name tears from your throat when you reach your orgasm for the … how many times now? Can’t even remember what number it is since you started.

“F-fuck–“ You cry out, nails digging into his biceps for dear life.

He dives in to kiss you through it, deeply, passionate, so fucking heavenly like the only way he knows how to kiss. The chain traps between your lips, the charm cold and wet from your mouth pressing against his tongue. He feels it, God, he feels everything… and that’s it.

He slams into you once, twice, and then he’s gasping against your mouth as he spills inside you in twitches. His body shakes on top of yours, choking on a groan so deep you swear you’ll remember it for the rest of your life. You feel him pulse deep, feel him bury his cum as far as he can go, like it’s feral instinct.

Because Clark Kent comes as hard as he fucks.

He stays inside you, panting, his forehead falls to rest on your collarbone like he needs a minute to catch his breath.

Superman needs to catch his breath.

You’re coated in sweat, the sheets a mess beneath you, and that dumb little necklace is still swinging lightly between your hot chests. He doesn’t move in a full minute, giving you time to come down from your own high, hands going instinctively to his head.

“You alright there, supes?” You whisper amused, running your fingers softly through his hair. He lets out a muffled groan.

“I’m fine,” he mumbles into your skin.

You bite your lip to prevent a laugh from coming out. You know he’s lying. His arms are still shaking. His whole body is tense in that ‘I need to pretend I’m fine so I don’t embarrass myself’ way that only happens when you truly, deeply break him in bed.

Because it’s usually the other way around.

“Clark.” You nudge his cheek softly. “You came in like ten minutes into a round … you never come in ten minutes.”

He finally lifts his head, face flushed red, curls sticking to his forehead, and those beautiful swollen pink lips pouting. Yes, pouting.

“You put it in your mouth.”

“I mean, it’s just a necklace,” you snort, shrugging innocently.

“But it’s the symbol. It’s my … you know …” he gestures vaguely at his own bare chest, clearly flustered. “It’s the whole thing … you, and that mouth, and me, and … I’m only a man, okay?”

“No you’re not,” you’re giggling now, fully delighted, as Clark just buries his face again in the crook of your neck.

He laughs against your skin, tickling you. “You know you’ve ruined it for me, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t wear this necklace anymore without getting hard.”

You both laugh again, tangled together, his weight on top of you makes you feel warm and safe. And somewhere between the breathless kisses and your fingers tracing lazy shapes on his back, you smile at the cold feeling of the necklace trapped between your bodies.