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summary: peter comes home a mess at midnight, and you wake up to him cumming inside of you. 1.2k words.
unconscious p-in-v, whiny!peter, whole house submissive, cum cum and cum, headcannon!spiderman cums alot, overstim, subtle praise, no BND spoilers
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after spending hours waiting in bed, dancing around your room—combing your hair and watching movies—you soon dozed off in sad acceptance that it was going to have to be one of those nights.
peter wouldn't come over until sunrise, and you had no choice but to tire yourself out with worry. entertainment wasn't enough to keep your mind off of him, but you tried anyway. and you soon fell asleep at around 2:00 in the morning, listening to the faint thrum of raindrops against your bedroom window with the TV humming in the background.
still, no peter.
the window slid open just an hour too late—and peter slinked in, ripping his mask off to find you tied up in your fluffy sheets with your bare legs reflecting moonlight. his curls dripped water all over your floor as he approached your cozy figure, panting from all that swinging it took just to get to you.
he'd lost all track of time. your furrowed eyebrows, permanently there, formed a pit in his already spun stomach. the only thing that kept him going all day was the thought of coming home to you, to your warm, tight little pussy and your sweet voice he loved so much.
careful not to muddle your duvet, peter slipped his spider-suit off and quickly shuffled on a pair of his sweatpants from last time. he couldn't stop himself from climbing onto the mattress, hands over your knees. he told himself he just wanted a good look at your pretty face—hair tousled, sprawled on your back with your shirt ridden up.
squinting through the dark, he realized it was his loose shirt you had on—and his cock sprang to life against his pants like a missile.
uh-oh.
biting his lips and thinking and thinking, peter's boner only grew harder and more persistent. he never knew how to deal with his dick—which was why he needed you so badly. and especially right then. "baby?" he whispered, immediately regretting it as he did. he didn't want to disrupt his beautiful girl's sleep, or force her to see him so pathetic and greedy.
taking matters into his own shaky hands, peter hooked under your sleeping shorts, and slowly—carefully—pulled them down and tossed the pair elsewhere.
you never wore underwear. and his mouth went dry at the sight.
with increasingly frantic movements, sudden juts of his hips and uncontrollable breathing, he lifted his dick out from its' enclosure and nudged your legs apart. the sight of you so peaceful and limp sent shivers up his spine, and he felt he was doing something terribly wrong.
"what am I doing. . ." he muttered to himself, tip against your clit until he dropped it to your entrance. you were glistening wet for him without even knowing it.
a hot flood of arousal tinted his skin and he impulsively dipped into you, deep enough to make him moan. which wasn't much—considering peter's boyish length.
"come on, baby. you can open up f'me," he cooed, falling victim to the urges that told him to slide into you faster than you'd usually let him. thwap, thwap.
he whimpered against his mouth, trying to keep quiet. his scornful dick had been burning hot all day at the thought of you, and he was bout' ready to cum with the first two strokes in your wet heat. he brushed over your cervix with one long, steady stroke—and watched as you stirred.
half of him wanted you to wake up. the other half—not so much. of course he missed your noises, and the way you'd spur him on. but maybe your soft, leveled snores and the dumb look of calm on your face excited him, and he guiltily murmured, "sleepy little girl, all tuckered out. couldn't wait a moment for me. . ."
subconsciously, your legs gently rode up by themselves and he slowed down, jaw clenching so hard he was afraid he'd break. you shifted uncomfortably, a hmmmph coming through your parted lips as you awakened.
then, it was your delicate fingertips that found him searchingly. a hand reached out and traced the side of his hip, your eyes still shut as you believed you were dreaming.
"parker?" you hummed, trying to turn over slightly—stuck whimpering instead.
he was completely lodged into you, hands gripping the sheets until his knuckles went pale. like the desperate boy he couldn't pretend he wasn't, peter dove into the crook of your neck and nibbled your skin. "h-hnph, you f-feel so good. . . think i can cum, soon?" his pleas were high and futile.
his thrusts went sloppy as you made noises of your own, coming from the back of your throat. he kissed all over your neck, inhaling your scent like a drug as he stuttered inside of you. "w-wake up. i wan' you awake," he complained, kisses escalating into aggressive biting and grinding. "i need your help, baby," his tone was laced with disappointment. childish disappointment.
"come–" he fucked up into you purposefully, and your body rode up on the sheets. "come on."
your eyes peeled open to the ceiling, but every other one if your senses screamed with your boyfriends needs.
his dick, his mouth, his little cries and groans spilling into your ear as he nearly drove himself to tears—resisting the orgasm, waiting for you to speak.
"fuck, ugh, fuck. hhmm, wh- what—" you were a confused, blubbering mess, and the smile that painted his face was devilish. he muted you with his own lips and when he pulled away you scanned his sweaty face to find his mouth agape, eyebrows furrowed as he admired you. "i gotta cum real' bad," he whined. "i-is this okay?"
you couldn't even nod in your delirious state of sleep. one hand gripping the headboard behind you, the other on his bare bicep.
"uh-huh, don't stop," you begged, unsure of the words that bubbled in your mouth, but saying them anyway. peter liked to talk. you knew this very well. "you're fuckin' me good. i-i'm gonna. . ."
"yeah?" he asked, genuinely, humping you and hiking your leg up higher at his side. the pleasure gnawed at your insides and all of your nerves convulsed around his veiny dick, your sleepiness knocked out of you with every inexperienced thrust he made. "i j-just couldn't wait, y'know?" he babbled cluelessly.
"you're a good boy, petey," you muttered. "i like your cock."
"unh," he gasped, forehead dropped against yours. his breaths escaped at a pace he didn't think he could reach, and his abdomen was clenching indescribably painfully. he had to come so badly. "mh, i wanna fill you up real good. y-you wan' me to fill this pretty cunt?"
"huh?"
before you could even gather yourself, your boyfriend's thick, hot spunk gushed around his cock and your pulsing walls. part-cum, part web-fluid leaked out of you onto the bed. you felt your head spin with your own quivering orgasm, too—watching as peter's veins popped against his neck and his eyes fluttered shut.
you tightened around the tip of him as he slid out before returning, watching as his wet hair wisped strands on his face that he fought away so they wouldn't interrupt him in pleasing his girl. "god, you're a pretty boy," you breathed, like an angel.
he whimpered and straightened, head falling back as his hands found your hips and he languidly stroked his cum back into you, huffing in relief. but you were a squirming mess in comparison. "f-fuck," you mumbled, vulgar and helpless as he lost himself in you. your heightened senses skyrocketed, as he pumped and pumped and pumped slinky fluids all up in your tummy.
"i don't ever wanna stop, baby. p-please don't make me stop." his mind forced him to continue forever, as long as possible, puppy eyes trained on your welcoming hole.
"jesus," you sobbed, feeling every inch of him against your belly before you had to kick him away. "it's too much. i can't—. . ."
"b-but. . ." and peter's movements only faltered because he ran out of energy and collapsed on top of you, lips finding yours in a messy kiss. "i missed you so much, today. all i could think about was you. and- and when i came home, you—"
"shhh. . ." you held his face, licking his teeth. the pool of fluids between your thighs made lewd sounds as your bodies meshed together.
peter-the-spider-parker, who had an abnormally large and thick amount of orgasm. and he never failed to have you feelin' like you'll throw up cum out from the other end, after stuffing you so well.
"i'm sorry," he broke away, panting. he rubbed his nose against yours. "i won't ever be late again."
unexpectedly, your lips turned up in a smile. his cheeks went pink at the wanton sight of you before him, as you spoke tauntingly, "actually, i think you should do it more often."
your hand found his chest. but when you looked up again, his face was heavily troubled. "you wan' another fucking?" he was quick to suggest, immediately after he processed your words.
your eyes widened.
"what? y—"
pllllshhh.
peter stuffed you to the brim, all over again, with a slam.
making out with frankie on the couch one night, giving the older man a bunch of kisses as his hand roams across your body and you start getting horny—reaching your hand over his bulge and stroking it back and forth through the fabric.. a smile will creep onto franks face from seeing you get all needy, unbuckling his pants, “there you go, that’s a good girl..” he’ll praise as he gives you hickies all over your chest and neck, letting you hump your leaky cunt over his hard on like some kind of puppy. you guys are like that for a couple minutes until peter comes home, looking all gloomy as he heads straight to his office.
of course you’re worried for your boyfriend, so you stop humping franks leg to find out what happened. “peter? what’s wrong baby?” you question, only getting a short response from the boy,” nothing, m’fine..” peter waves off and you pout to look back at frank, wanting him to do something but he just shrugs. but he can see that you’re concerned so he calls peter back, catching him as he’s halfway down the hallway, “c’mere kid I got somethin’ for you.”.
about five seconds later, peters standing at the doorway, his hands folded across his own as he watches you guys on the couch from afar.
“what’s got you all glum huh? you’re worrying the missus over here.”
“nothing—“ peter goes to say, but gets interrupted by frank.
“ah cut it with that bullshit, there’s obviously something wrong. why don’t you come and let her help you out a bit. yeah, you’ll help petey out real good won’t you sweetheart?” frank gruffs, smoothing his hand around your ass and giving it a light smack. your older boyfriend is grinning when you smile ear to ear and basically bounce on his lap in excitement from the suggestion. “mhm! cmon peter let me help you feel better.. please?”
a best passes before peters head falls and he picks up his feet to make his way over to you guys, taking his shirt off. you crawl over to him and his hands rest on your cheeks soothingly, “okay, we gotta be quick though I have stuff im working on..” peter mumbles, its more directed to frank because he knows how long frank will go with you if he has the time, he’s seen and heard it from his office. peters standing above you and caressing your heated face, breaking eye contact from the older man to dip his head down and offer a swift kiss to your lips as he takes his cock out. “atta boy.” frank would laugh in approval..
next thing you know you’re on your back, still on the couch with your head hanging off the edge while your legs are spread open and propped up on peters hips. he’s dragging his length out of your pussy about halfway out before driving back into you, rubbing your clit in little circles with his thumb as you squirm—if you could you would be a moaning mess. but frank was occupying your mouth so you could only be reduced to whines and muffled whimpers :( “doin so well for us pretty girl..” frank lowly groans, his head tilted back in ecstasy as he works his cock down your tight throat again, his calloused hand tightening around your neck. “jesus, you got a mouth on you sweetheart..”, and you can feel his cock pulse in your mouth, just waiting to burst a load down your throat.
all the while peter was working on your sensitive little bud and had already made you cum :(( arousal dripping onto the couch and making a wet patch on the fabric.. and all you can do is writhe between the men because they have you trapped between them and peter is trying to make you cum again. making you close your legs on his waist in overstimulation, whining with franks cock still prodding in your mouth. “I know it’s so much, being so so good.. but I need you to give me one more please? I had such a rough day sweetheart I n-need to feel you cum again cmon.” and there’s not much you can do but obey, you did offer to make him feel better after all.
but frank, the old man that he is, was watching from the side just waiting to make a correction on peters movement, “push her legs open, and rub her like—“
“think I know how to make her cum frank.” peter breathes out between his thrusts, eyes still steady on your tits bouncing side to side.
“nah i got more than a couple years on you kid. listen—“
and the two of them go at it like they usually do, arguing back and forth as they subconsciously touch you all over.. touching you so attentively that you cum on peters cock like he told you to do earlier, twitching and putting your hands up to push at peters abdomen—earning back the attention of your bickering boyfriends. you hear a grumble of, “fuck princess..” come from frank, obviously he liked seeing you squirm and whine under peter because it doesn’t take long for him to cum. groaning as he abuses your throat a couple times until he spurts his load in your mouth, holding you there to make sure you take it all. “swallow it all sweetheart—thaats it, shit..”
peter follows as well, he’s grumbling little curses as he fills you up with all that he has, all the frustration he had from the day leaving him.
it feels so strange when the both of them slide out of you, the needy hole between your legs all empty and dripping once peter was done with you—and your mouth sore :(( peters immediately on you and telling you how well you did and made his day so much better <33
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summary: clark has an unexpected outburst in the middle of his slumber, and unfortunately, wakes his crybaby up
very suggestive, intense babying, dom!Clark, out of pocket!Clark but NOT on red kryptonite
pairing: s2 smallville!Clark Kent x f!reader
- a.n, you guys have NO IDEA!! how hard it was to fight the 'daddy' urges. lmk if ur are fine with it... because i'm dying here
It was Lex he saw.
Lex in his long black coat, bent strategically over the pool table in his office. The stick in his hand reared back before he shot a red ball into one of the felt pockets.
Clark felt a surge of something go through his chest as he stormed, against his conscious mind, up to the man and shoved him by the shoulder. Lex stumbled back to reveal a smug expression on his face, as if he'd seen it coming.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Clark heard himself shout.
He felt as though these words had been bubbling up over some sort of conflict. What it was, he couldn't understand. But it came so natural to him.
Right there, Lex dropped the cue stick against the table and reached into the pocket of his slacks.
You, all of a sudden.
Lex paused, turning.
It was you who barged in through the back door, gaining Lex and Clark's attention. Clark's eyes flew open at the sight of you, with your long dark hair and your pretty green eyes.
"Bunny?" Clark called out.
You were far, but to even see you holding those godforsaken green rocks in your hand—his entire world fell apart. Clark froze in his spot.
You magically appeared right in front of him and sent Clark to the ground. He felt the energy of the rock suffocating him, a gnawing pain forming against his skin when Lex came up close behind your towering little frame and held the pistol behind the crown of your head and—
Bang!
—the lamp on your nightstand went flying to the wall and shattered into a million pieces.
You both shot up from the bed, clutching at your shared blanket.
"Clark..." You jolted out of your sleep, heart hammering against your ribcage. You scrambled into the headboard with your knees drawn up.
The entire lamp was obliterated, the window it hit on impact now crackling from a point at the center. The moonlight shone through the glass shards, casting uneven shadows across the bedroom.
Clark's bulky silhouette slowly rose as he sat up in the dark. You could barely see anything, let alone comprehend what was happening.
A break in? A ghost?
"Bunny..." Clark grumbled, coming to his senses just barely. His eyebrows knit up in confusion when he looked over to see you curled up in fear, staring at him as if he were a monster.
"What'd you do?" you whispered in shock.
His movements were lazy as he looked around, squinting and saying something faintly: "I can't believe you... would..."
What was he mumbling about?
You were both clearly confused, one unmoving in the corner while the other fumbled around helplessly.
Clark had slept over last night after studying ran late. You were ecstatic to have him by your side for the night. What you didn't expect, though, was for the guy to start tossing things around at three in the morning.
His hand reached out to touch you, only to find your face dampened by tears.
You hadn't a clue what was going on. Was he up all night, angry about something? What made him snap so suddenly?
"What happened?" he asked you, his voice coarse with unrest. His touch was completely tender.
You swallowed, looking around. "Y-You threw the lamp." you sniffled, "Why'd you do that?"
Your voice was so soft in the hard night atmosphere, it slinked through his ears like a whip. He knew that sorrowful tone all too well, it always gave him a pang to the heart.
He felt suddenly alarmed, like he had a mission to complete—to take care of whatever was the source your stress. It took him some time to realize that he was looking for himself.
Guilt seeping through his finger tips, he grasped at your jaw and came closer.
"Bunny, I-I had a bad dream. I'm sorry." and he began shuffling out of bed for a moment, though a quick change of mind had him reversing back toward you on instinct. "Don't cry." he pleaded.
Every sound that followed the incidental ruckus spiked your nervous system and made you flinch.
You curved away from his touch, barely looking into the genuine glint of his eyes. The blanket slipped off his abdomen to reveal it bare under the moonlight's glare.
The muscles in his jaw contracted at your rejection. "Did I hurt you?" he swallowed, scanning you carefully.
Your hair was just as tousled as he'd last remembered it before bed. Your eyes were sleepy, lips in a pout.
You shook your head. "I just got scared. You threw it so hard, Clark," you said, "like you wanted to hit someone."
Clark sighed. He wished he could go back in time, to stop him from destroying your furniture, and then kill himself in the process. Disappointing you made him feel like the scum of the earth.
He brought your warm face down in his hands and pressed a kiss to your forehead. "I'd never get that angry around you, bunny." he swore. Clark said this very often.
"I know."
"I saw some bad things in my sleep, it got me riled up. That's all." he said into your hair. His voice was so consoling it made you cry harder, much like his hand as it rubbed up and down your back. You just couldn't shake the panicked feeling.
He cradled your head in his arms, until fully scooping you in your curled-up way to have you in his lap. His hand ran up and down your thighs soothingly.
The cold air had begun seeping through the brand-new cracks in the window.
You wiped your eyes sloppily, fiddling with the tassels on the ends of the blanket.
"What do you say, I make you ten more lamps first thing in the morning?" he proposed lightheartedly.
"Jonathan used to sell those out the barn like hotcakes. I'll get them nice and pretty for my little girl." His words were coated in the gruff blanket of comfort he gave you.
You swallowed down saliva and salty tears, eyes trained on the broken pieces of porcelain and glass splayed across your floorboards, woven into your carpet.
You shook your head against his chest, suddenly feeling bad for throwing such a fit. You knew how exhausted he must have been. "It's fine. I don't need a lamp."
Clark laughed, the fatigue evident in his slowing breaths. His thumb swiped over your cheeks, again and again to wipe the tears.
He inhaled sharply, now suffocating you with his grip. "I hate it when you cry..."
"You know how it gets when you act out." you said, barely audible, your voice weak. "You're so strong."
Enveloping your hand in his, he pecked your knuckles with kisses. You looked up at his furrowed face, sharp in all the places that were usually delicate.
"I know..." he cooed, "my bunny hates those loud noises."
Spit loose in your mouth, "Yeah." you muttered.
"Yeah? She just hates them."
This was when you realized you couldn't tell the difference between his amusement and his guilt, when he spoke like that.
In spite of these suspicions that he got off on your tears, you just knew it made your stomach warm, and that you wanted to hear more of it.
"You want me to make it all better?" Clark offered, the corners of his lips turned up to flash his thin dimples at you.
You nodded, wondering where this was going.
He let out an exhilarating breath, leaning in to kiss your jaw. You let out a whimper in your delirium of sobbing and being tickled, and you giggled into his mouth.
You felt his steel-hard chest press to your back, the heat on his body tempering you through your tank top.
His strong arms came forward to slip your shorts down your legs, lifting your knees to pull them over. Your skimpy pink panties were all you had to cover your spot afterward—lined with lace and pretty things.
He ran two fingers up where your slit should have been, prodding gently at your button that poked through.
You saw it coming, then: "I told you to stop wearing these, bunny. C'mon..." he scolded quietly.
"Sorry." you whispered in passing. Something stiff rose beneath your ass, the feeling of his flesh so prominent through his basketball shorts, all while he drew tiny circles on your underwear.
He wanted to touch you so badly.
You didn't know when it happened, but the next thing you knew, Clark was the only thing you could feel all over—overwhelmingly enough.
He was all you could see, smell, hear—and those quickened huffs of air he let out behind you... your ears basked in them.
"Are you sorry for breaking my lamp?" you tested, your voice coming out as playful. You eagerly knocked his chin up with the point of your nose—peppering open-mouthed kisses down his neck.
His hand faltered in movement, slid up your waist, and cupped you by the face. His fingers penetrated your cheeks harder than he'd wished to.
"God, I'm so sorry. You're such a precious girl. You shouldn't have to deal with me, making you cry and all that."
"N-No. Please, don't go anywhere," You grabbed him, pulling him in closer by his ear as you craned your neck sideways to douse him in affection, "I like my alien boy... I'll be good for him."
As if he was ignoring you on purpose, he said: "I just wish you wouldn't cry because of me." Though, Clark's tone was taking a dangerous turn to almost-serious.
He sunk deeper against the headboard, letting his restless girl take a turn to straddle his lap and crawl over him as she pleased.
You did, and, hands trailing dauntingly up his toned body to cup his shoulders—swept a lick over his collarbone.
Oh, the lamp was history.
"I won't cry anymore. I promise." you practically whimpered, the straining dick under his clothes brushing against yourself.
His pearly teeth gave you a show. "You're such a good girl." he gushed, brushing wisps your hair away from your forehead.
The light coming in from outside lit a strip of glitter up the bridge of your nose, falling daintily over your lips and chin.
You batted your eyelashes at him, so that he could find just what you wanted in them. He knew that look very well—it was one of desperation.
Come on, Clark—just up and fuck me.
His eyebrows drew up, and he wished he could stop it. But he was no match for his desires. "I bet you're all wet and needy. My bunny's just cummin' at the thought of me, huh?" he drew out his vowels, smashing his wet lips onto yours for a kiss.
Carding his fingers through your scalp, he tugged you in. Your brain fit just right in the palm of his hand.
"Please," one of you whined.
That was all you could recall from that night, because the way Clark had fucked for the following hours unfortunately you left no room for thought.
You'd suppose it was his plan all along, to melt your brain so that you'd forget that he ever trashed your room.
Cause the next morning, the mess was all gone, and a new lamp greeted you on the side of your bed.
summary: your favorite boy toy, Clark, is swamped with homework tonight... but you're getting needy
smut, intense coddling, size diff, praise kink!reader, ageplay if you squint, lovers w/o label
pairing: smallville!Clark Kent x fem!reader
It was one of those nights. This past week had Clark swamped with exams, and you had been the only thing getting him through.
There he sat—with a stern face between his long red couch and his wooden table, scanning papers with a grip on them that made little tears every minute or so. The night had fallen completely dark by now, with stars glimmering in the sky from his loft window and reflecting off his telescope.
A faint song of your playlist sang out in the background as you lay, flipping through a magazine on the makeshift mattress he'd installed for you a couple days ago.
The last few glossy pages of your thing had faded into nothing but a bore, as the pen hanging from Clark's plush lips gained your attention. You couldn't tear your eyes away, twirling a bundle of hair between your fingers aggressively.
All you wanted was for him to be closer in that moment. All of the furniture between you two suddenly felt offensive, and the fact that his eyes weren't meeting yours offended you too.
Such pretty hair. A shame your fingers weren't through them as he studied...
With a dramatic huff, you tossed the magazine to the ground and planted your face in your palms, resting on your stomach. From the corner of your eye you saw his head perk up and scan your petulant form.
His face washed with genuine concern. Clark wasn't the most emotionally intelligent on the surface.
"Bunny?" he drew out.
Your stomach flooded with that familiar feeling at his voice. You turned your head to him, then melted into a stretched out puddle against the pillows. Determined to be more patient for his sake, you said nothing.
And so he returned his gaze to his papers, multitasking with some remaining focus on you. "What's the matter?" he asked, a little absent-mindedly.
"Nothing." you murmured, which set the room back into the same deadlock it'd already been in for the next fifteen minutes. It was then, which you decided, that you couldn't take it anymore.
You sat up, wobbling with exhaustion, and made your way over to Clark, bare feet padding silently against the old wooden floor. Your hands finally landed in the spiky softness of his hair and stayed there for a bit. He smiled, unable to keep from looking up at his baby.
Your other hand crept around his face, thumb swiping over his lips. The pen had fallen into his lap, leaving room for your finger to nudge at the space between. "When're you coming back to bed, Clark?" you pouted softly.
He pressed a kiss to your finger, holding it in his big hand to pull away and peck it some more. You giggled.
"I'm only a few more minutes. I gotta finish this one up, and then I'll be done." he reasoned. His voice was husky from how tired he was, it almost made you feel bad.
"You said that an hour ago." you grumbled.
He read your face carefully, contemplating for a moment. His blue eyes hung low.
Then, he pushed the weighty table away from himself to open up a few inches of space—and patted his lap without a word.
You dropped to your knees and straddled him accordingly—criss-cross on his right thigh. His next words were very well-anticipated:
"I have to do well on these exams, or Jonathan's gonna kill me, you know. You've gotta be patient." he lectured as always, one hand massaging the small of your back.
You toyed with the ends of your skimpy shorts, eyes down. He took note of your emotions and gave another kiss to your high cheekbone.
Seeing as you were unable of getting exactly what you wanted, "Well, It's getting late." you began in all seriousness, "I should get going soon."
The expression on his face hardened. He pressed his mouth together for a few long seconds, before speaking.
"Are you worked up?" he demanded gently, staring into your face and swiping a piece of dark hair away.
Blood gathered from your neck to your cheeks, flushing them rosy under his gaze. He knew you well enough to know how your body felt at any given time.
Well, that's not to say you weren't being obvious tonight.
"I'm just bored."
"And you want something." he affirmed with a nod, giving you a slight raise of his heavy eyebrows. His fingers twirled with the strings from your waistband while your eyes followed the movement.
You dropped your forehead against the side of his face, nudging at him like a feline. "I just need five minutes. That's all I need." you bargained, tracing circles on his chest with your almond-tip fingernail.
That wasn't at all true. Of course. But it was possible you'd only need five minutes, if you tried really hard.
He sucked in a sharp breath.
"Five minutes?" he sighed, his face twisted with dread. But then he softened, and thought deeply for another solution. He would be lying if he'd said he didn't want you closer, too.
Then, you heard the loud clack of him unbuckling his belt and watched as he slipped the leather strap out from the denim loops. Your eyes lit up with barely contained excitement.
His hands snaked around your hips quietly before he lifted you high, turned your back towards him, and dropped you down again. This time, your knees were on either side of his thighs. You felt his hot chest on your back as he readjusted, scoffing incoherencies.
"—Such a stubborn girl."
"—Five minutes?"
His palms slid under the thin fabric of your shorts shamelessly and cupped your bottom. He lifted you once more, then balanced you on one hand—using the other to strip your smooth legs naked. A pair of pearly blue panties greeted Clark's hungry eyes as he held you before him like a dinner plate.
"Did I get you these?" he asked, lust evident in the breathy way he spoke. You nodded, the movement of your hair brushing against your waist serving as his confirmation.
He placed you again on his lap.
"Are they comfortable?" he conversed. He'd hoped that sneaking in a few words within this short window of free time would compensate for how little he'll talk to you when studying.
You ran your fingers up your sides. "I like them."
"Yeah?"
"Yes."
With that, Clark hooked his index finger into the side of them and snapped it to shreds with one sly tug. He then did the same with the other side, and you could almost hear the grin on his face.
"Sorry, bunny." he whispered, throwing the useless piece of clothing off to the side.
He held his veiny dick in his hands to pump it a few. The lack of excitement from him, which he tried to conceal, was simply a result of wanting your pleasure to happen more than his own.
But you didn't notice, as you were blind to how much the boy valued you, some of the time. All you knew was that he had a boner and that was enough to make you happy.
In no time, he'd somehow managed to shove his entire length into place—in your heat—and make no ruckus other than a small grunt. You, however, fell against him and let out one of the most angelic whines he'd ever heard. His fingers left marks on your flesh.
Clark was instantly reminded of how all the worth it this nuisance was. He wanted to fuck up into you so badly, oh to hear more noises of yours, but he couldn't. That was not the plan.
"Now you stay here," he said, collecting your arms to move them out of the way and leaning over you to open his book again, "and don't move too much."
Your lips parted, a helpless sigh falling from them. And then you squirmed. It was impossible not to when you felt so full to the brim that your own breathing faltered.
His hand flew to your stomach, pulling you against his steel-hard frame to still your movements.
"I can't, Clark."
"I'm serious." he warned, his voice still tender and a little strained. He pulsed inside of you. You both felt it.
He chose to ignore it, jotting something down in his notebook as if he'd forgotten all about you. He was lucky to have a composure that allowed him to concentrate on his work, for a second.
You just sat there, holding your breath, occasionally whimpering. But you kept as quiet as you could with your hand over your mouth because you knew this was a chore for him.
You were so wet that you could practically smell yourself, and you were sure he could, too. Your stomach convulsed occasionally—the buildup somehow intense despite you not moving a single centimeter.
You couldn't make up your mind on whether this was more or less torturous than watching him from the other side of the loft.
Soon enough, it was starting to hurt from the pressure of your arousal. It really stung, actually. Could he feel it too? Oh, man.
"I need to move. One time." you pleaded, tears brimming your eyes, "Up and down, just one time."
He groaned, "You were doing so good, bunny."
"It hurts." you whispered.
Clark rolled his eyes, smacking his pen against the stack of papers. "Either you stay still, or you go over there."
He had no choice but to threaten you, now, seeing as his own arousal was beginning to foster a dangerous pit in his abdomen.
How was he supposed to focus with himself pushed up inside of you? This was incredibly more difficult than he thought it would be.
You went quiet.
...
The next few minutes were spent in that shared silence. But of course, even the strongest of men had their weaknesses.
His lips found the space around your ear, hot breath fanning across your skin. His touch before he even spoke, sent shockwaves down your spine and prompted another sound from you.
"You're doing such a good job." he had to compliment.
The way your touseled head fell onto his shoulder in exhilaration, your chest heaving against your flimsy tank top. It took everything in him not to bite into your shiny flesh and chew you like he wanted to.
"I'm gonna cum all over you before even starting my work." he whispered raggedly into your hair before pecking you with a nibble. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
You bit the inside of your cheek. His threat of distance still dangled loosely in the back of your mind, instilling you with the fear to respond. But you fell apart at his filthy words.
"Clark, I-I'm cumming." you said plainly. You came undone just like that, with a slick explosion between your thighs.
Your mind went dizzy, your body twitching and confused. "Oh, Jesus..." you sucked in through gritted teeth, clenching every muscle like your fists at your sides.
God, that hurt. You were so comfortable in his lap with limited space to move as volcanoes erupted massively throughout every inch of your body.
He huffed a laugh into your face, hands now snaking curiously down to the mess you made at the base of his cock.
You felt his thumb brush against your sensitive button. He was enjoying this all too much.
"That was a lot longer than five minutes." he hummed.
You scoffed and shifted into a fleeing position. "Fine. I'm done."
"No, no, no..." he tutted, holding you by your waist. A quick movement had your body pulled up—so that only the wet tip of him remained—and pummeled down with such intensity that the air was knocked out of your lungs.
A choked gasp left your mouths simultaneously, meeting the squelching noise that came from the ring where your bodies met.
"Oh, fuck. Fuck." you whimpered.
"Oh, my God," he moaned, the back of his head hitting the couch cushion. "You feel so perfect. You really are—u-ugh, so..."
Once more you were floating in air and then brought back down with a slam. "...perfect." he finished.
The boy had officially lost his mind.
Your bodies fit together like heaven-made puzzle pieces. There was no denying it—you two had great sex.
But this was too much for a post-orgasm. Your insides cried in overstimulation, your face a sobbing mess that you hadn't even noticed.
"No... it's too much. I need a break." you whined.
Clark dropped you, his palm running a soothing line up your sweaty thigh, his erratic ministrations stopping immediately.
"D-Did I hurt you?" he leaned over you, asking.
You turned your head to meet his foggy eyes above your shoulder. You felt yourself squeeze his dick slightly, your body betraying your next words terribly.
"I'm too full."
You swore the room's temperature rose as soon as the claim left your mouth.
Clark bit his lip, hid his face before you could catch it twisting rather pathetically, nodded, and offered you a familiar hand on your belly.
He slid it along your waist, feeling around for the shape of his cock—a tactic that secretly fueled his own desires against knowing you were in the midst of tapping out.
He touched you like you were the most fragile thing in the room, so gently so as to not break you. You really could not complain when he was touching you like that.
"How full, baby? Show me where I am."
Shuddering, you straightened your back, guiding his hand to the now bulging mound under your skin. He rubbed over it.
"Watch." he said, although it wasn't necessary, before starting up again. He slid you up and down on himself, gently brushing your cervix with every pump that weakened his grip.
You watched as the ball of his tip rolled up and down against your stomach with your mouth agape.
As you became more and more aware of how every inch of him impaled you so carefully, it stung a little less. Your mind broke apart as an endless wave of pleasure shot through your veins.
"See?" he said sardonically through ironic whimpers, "I know what my bunny likes."
It was another whimper that he let out just after that, his climax building up as your last one still struggled to subside.
"I'm so glad." he breathed incoherently.
You sometimes wanted to drink his moans up like fine wine. They were so weak, so unlike him, that it spurred you on so well to the point where you were about to orgasm for the second time right there.
Tears of ecstasy rolling down your cheeks, you arched your back. "I feel you..." you sighed, hand grazing over your abdomen where he continued poking through.
You pressed on it, causing him to violently fold against you and brace himself with both arms on the table. If you hadn't known Clark, you would've assumed you'd hurt him. But he was immune.
With this new loss of his stamina, you regained control over yourself and rolled against his lap. It was his favorite thing to see you doing with your pert little ass, and that string inside of him snapped instantly.
All you felt was a light 'pop' before his hot fluids shot out and painted your insides.
His lips found every bare scape of skin on you from your shoulders-up, instead of taking his first recovering breath.
All of your senses were overflowing with each other. You wanted to kiss him back, grab his hair—but you were putty in his hands.
"Clark, I need out." you ordered, nudging his dazed mouth away from your collarbones. A soft groan of defeat fell against your skin.
He only shuffled his hips slightly before blinking at you. The look in his eyes was pure addiction.
"One more... come on" he urged softly, as soft as he could, "I wanna make you cum again."
You frowned, picked yourself up, and rolled onto the floor beside him. You sprung up immediately, though—remembering that there was a dripping mess between your legs.
"You need to study." you said firmly. Your legs gave out as you hit the couch.
Panting, he turned himself so that he could look at up you. The sharp ends of his mouth curled up as if he had just received a bright idea, eyes trailing over your sweaty limbs.
"Do you want me to–"
"No." you interrupted. One look at his beet face told you exactly what he was thinking, licking his lips predatorily.
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