i wish i was your girl

And so came the summer of 2020. The musky, black face masks, the ill-fitting grad caps, the tedious six-feet distance…and the burden of packing away four years in a cheap, overloaded red SUV. It didn’t matter how much packing you did the days leading up; you’d never have enough time to fold away your biggest milestones.

Your first day in Lauder. The first hike to your 10:15 BIOL 1101 class. The first time you holed yourself up in the Van Pelt Library study rooms. Your belongings still had their undergrad sheen from yesterday, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t tug on your heartstrings.

There are some memories that you just can’t take with you. Feelings and fantasies that simply lack a physical form to bottle and save for later. You’ll walk through your now-barren dorm, suck in a breath of nostalgia, and still leave just as empty-handed as this morning…but your soul will carry the luggage of four years well-spent.

Empty-handed.

Empty…empty-handed, why is someone being SO fucking loud? Who the fuck is that–

“Yooooooooooooooooooo!” A deep, sage-like tone called down from the hall– the sound flooding through your open door. “Moose!”

You sighed, dragging a hand down your face in immediate regret. Oh right…I’m not completely empty-handed.

If there was anything you expected to bring back from UPenn other than a diploma, it certainly wasn’t a person. Let alone a person like him.

Loud; The zealous young man with a mind of steel and the orality of Socrates. A young prodigy– don’t let him hear that! –entirely new to the world bending to his handsome little needs and silly little wants. The kind of man who only appears once every five kids; a delicate balance of socialite and technophile.

Unfortunately, he was attractive on top of everything else. But hey, you agreed to move in with him should the job market continue its teenage temper tantrum. With any luck, your degrees might get one of you a job as a grocery bagger at Aldi’s on 44th and Market.

You groaned, rolling your eyes to the back of your skull before slipping out your old dorm door and slamming it behind you. You bit back a chuckle, not yet doing him the honor of acknowledging that stupid ass nickname that surprisingly stuck through junior year.

“Can you stop calling me that? I’d rather you just call me a fuckin’ fat-ass at this point,” you snorted, tucking your PennCard in your back pocket. “Whas’up? You ready to go? Did you say bye to the boys over at Phi-Psi?”

He nodded, stopping just before you with his burgundy-red leather college cart standing just beside his hip.

“Yeah, I wrapped up over at the house…I just have to return my cart, and then we can go.”

You smiled, nodding along with a quaint smile before you joined him in the short walk down the hallway. Your hand rested on the side of his cart, not in an effort to steer, but just to feel that this moment was real.

That the crackled, faux-leather cart that had once moved you in was now moving you out. Luigi noticed this and gently placed his palm between your shoulder blades, giving you a few gentle pats and a tiny sigh.

“I really can’t believe this shit is all over,” he chuckled, shaking his head.

“Right? It’s so weird, I literally did this in high school…but still, I didn’t expect it to hit me so hard,” you agreed, whirling your head around to face him.

“Yeah, one-hundred percent,” Luigi said, gingerly squeezing into the spacious elevator behind his cart. “I’m really excited to start actually living my life, though. I guess I’m just happy I'm not gonna be doing this life shit totally alone.”

“Well, duh,” You scoffed. “Your mom’s like…sooooo mama bear. Even without me as your roommate, trust, she’d literally be one step away.”

“Ugh, my god,” he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Literally. I’m a grown man with a dick and balls, but she still hovers me like I’m fi–”

“I didn’t say this was a Kathy-hate safe space,” you interjected, holding up a hand at Luigi to signal for him to stop speaking. “I love that woman with every cell in my body, don’t start.”

“You are actually her biggest glazer,” he snorted.

“Dude, we are literally on our way to pick up old furniture from her so we don’t have to sleep on plywood and our diplomas. Can you be grateful, you little bitch?” you beamed.

The elevator dinged, an airy little chime that echoed off the metal walls surrounding the two of you. The doors pulled open, revealing the white-tiled lobby with its fun-and-fresh decor. You were definitely gonna miss its nautical and airy vibe.

You helped Luigi push the cart out of the elevator doors and led its front out of the lobby. To think you were five feet away from full-fledged adulthood…and still bickering like children.

“I am grateful! I’m so grateful, I literally wouldn’t be here without her! I just think that–”

“Save it for after we move in. ‘Kay?” you asked, now pulling the front of the college cart over to the front desk, and signing it out. “Then you can say whateeeeever you want.”

“That’s…fair, actually,” he sighed, joining you on the sidewalk as you trekked your way to his car.

The air was warm– it danced around the caps and gowns of finally-finished postgrads as they scrambled back to their cars and families, who, without a doubt, would be a key component in their late packing process. You were more than grateful that Luigi had told you to start slowly packing your shit two weeks ago…without his annoying-ass micromanaging, you’d still be hauling things up and down Sansom.

“So,” you began, hopping like a little sanderling on one foot as you fixed the tongue of your shoe. “How was it? Were the five years of academic assault and false fire alarms worth it?”

“Eh,” Luigi winced, tilting his head side-to-side to convey his neutrality. “I think so…? I mean, if you ask me in a few months, I’m obviously gonna say yes, but right now I’m just remembering all the times I deadass cried my body weight…But I also remember spending time with you and Owen over at Phi Psi, and it doesn’t really seem that horrible anymore.”

“Yeah?” you chuckled, glancing over at him. “Even Dylan?”

“Okay, well…don’t start.”

You snickered, pulling open the passenger door as soon as you made it down the street. To say the car was packed was an understatement; every square inch of the backseat accommodated some sort of box, bag, suitcase, or carrier. All four to five years of partying, education, social dilemmas, and personal growth zipped up tight.

“Oh, shit…” Luigi murmured, placing one hand on the steering wheel while he searched for something in the door pocket. “Do you have the…fuck, what am I trying to say…the list! The list, with the–”

“The apartment list?” you chimed, immediately pulling down the sun visor and plucking a little folded– albeit, extremely crumpled – CVS coupon with a long list of things ranging from household items to types of plants.

Some items were crossed out. Some items had been circled multiple times, the various shades of ink conveying a much-needed reminder from your past selves. It seems you still needed furniture, blackout curtains, bath mats, and house slippers the most.

“Why didn’t we get house slippers already?” you asked, handing the crumpled coupon over to Luigi. “I could’ve sworn we went to T.J. Maxx like five times this week…”

“Well, we did,” Luigi chimed, an overly joyous grin piloting his face as he glared at you before firing up his car. “But every time we went, they didn’t have my shoe size, and you would start making fun of my feet, so we just went home.”

“Oh yeah, I did do that,” you chuckled, tossing your ankles over the dashboard. “What size you wear again? Fifteen? Eighteen…? Thirty–”

“Alright, now you’re pushing it,” he mumbled, rolling his eyes flamboyantly.

“My fault,” you giggled, throwing up your hands in defense. “Now you know how the Moose thing feels.”

“No,” he began, glancing over at you briefly as he cautiously pulled out of the tight parking spot. “Moose is different. You chose to eat that entire tub of Moose Tracks; I didn’t choose to have giant feet. There’s a difference.”

“Yeah, cuz I’m just massive and couldn’t control myself, right, right. Let’s make fun of the girl who wanted a sweet treat after exam season,” you sighed, dramatically shaking your head and crossing your arms over your chest.

“Nobody said any of that– what? –girl,” he stated, holding up a finger in protest.

He cocked his head to the side, raising his bushy black brows until wrinkled waves decorated the expanse of his forehead. Who knew such a big guy could behave like such a diva?

You laughed at him, bringing your legs to your chest in the passenger seat in an effort to get cozy. Which, despite the current predicament, was your little group’s chosen ride to most– if not all —social gatherings. 

Late nights and very early mornings spent with five, hell, sometimes even eight, people crammed onto the black, plush leather seats of his 2018 Nissan Rogue. Pre-gamed afternoons with all four windows down, blaring Meek Mill and Ke$ha til the speakers blew with an expensive-ass pop, only to do it again next Friday.

To save you the waterworks, this car hauled you through a lot. You were grateful for this little clown car being so loyal, despite its mileage.

“Do you wanna stop at T.J. Maxx first, or just drive straight to my mom's and get the other shit afterwards?” Luigi asked, fumbling with the car radio as he flipped from 101.1 all the way to 88.1.

“Uhhh–” you straightened in the seat, kicking off your shoes into the footwell, “ –Maybe just straight to your mom’s. I’m worried that if we stop at T.J. Maxx first, we’ll end up with extra shit and won't have room for the important things later.”

Luigi nodded, a compliant “hmm” sounding from the depths of his chest as he processed your words.

“You’re right, cuz I was gonna go to the T.J. Maxx next to the mall on City Ave,” He murmured, propping his phone up on his dashboard stand and routing to his parents’ house.

“I’m gonna play music on your phone,” you announced, leaning over to his side and snatching his phone up to open Spotify. “And none of that AJR bullshit…Y’like Wallows?”

“Wallows? That’s…that’s Lynn’s favorite band, right?” Luigi asked.

“Yeah, Lynn fuckin’ loves ‘em,” you nodded, scrolling through Nothing Happens before deciding on Remember When. 

If the irony of the title wasn’t enough, then the loud, beachy, old-nostalgia vibe in its instrumental surely had you hooked. It was different from the usual music you played, but this month was all about change. 

You were up against two hours of driving, possibly four if you count the process of picking up and loading the U-Haul with Luigi’s parents. Four hours of driving, five hours of unloading, and days of moving in. A long, grueling process that had already drained you before it even started.

The windows were half-up. The wind felt like vitality as it circulated through the car. The sun beamed through the windshield and scattered golden highlights inside the packed little Nissan. 

Summer personified. You hadn’t felt this alive since the final chime of that loud ass bell of your final high school class– and though your bodies were still, they buzzed with excitement.

“Nick!” You called, cutting through the heavy guitar and tunneling wind that nearly muffled your voice.

“Yeah?” he replied, shifting his focus between his best friend and the road ahead.

“Y’know, I’m really glad to be doing this with you!” you shouted. “I know I don’t voice it as much as I should, but I’m super grateful for you! I would’ve been moving back home if we hadn’t met!”

He smiled– the whiskers of his cheeks folding upward to reveal his pointed little canines. You’d always thought he looked like a cat…sly, smug, and smitten with the little canary in her little cage.

He’d like to bite it. Pluck the ruffled feathers from his mouth and listen to how the caged bird sings. He wonders what it’d be like to set it free beneath his jeans– and once, only once –he came close to finding out.

He could picture the memory in the back of his mind. Though it was fogged from the Smirnoff and sour diesel smoke, he could see the raunchy clouds behind your eyes. Your pretty body drunkenly straddled over his legs, pecking at his jugular in between giggles.

It started at a rush party. A breezy day in January– right before each respective house would extend their bids and crush some dreams. The dingy old speakers were steady knocking on eardrums, and the smoke from the grill lured any passersby into the open door of the Phi Kappa Psi frat house.

What started as drunken jokes and scorching innuendos had long since turned into a heated, sloppy battle of your tongues. If he hadn’t been bouncing his fucking knee, you would have gotten off of him much sooner. The steady thump-thump-thump of his kneecap just barely kissing the sensitivity of your core through the fabric of your dress.

He remembered it all. The little “ooh, I’m sorry!” that fell from your mouth when you accidentally brushed the half-chub in his pants with your knee, your wandering hands that he had to restrain more than thrice, and the slight look of panic when the alcohol briefly stopped coursing through your system for one sobering moment.

He kissed away your fear. And even though that night had long since been over, the effects bleed through the threads of your relationship. Not that it wasn’t already boundless before, of course not. Something was just…different.

His jokes were more boyish in nature; his words took on a cadence of sexual allusion that hadn’t made itself known before– at least, not that you could remember. His hands grew bolder, lounging about the more intimate areas of your body on slow mornings. Up your shirt and just past your sternum…warm, calloused hands on the skin of your décolletage.

It was an odd feeling. You hadn’t changed in his eyes, no, not at all. He viewed you like a Phi Kappa Psi brother, only one that just happened to be female. The bolder his actions, the less you actually seemed to care. Hell, the most he could get out of you was a disapproving gasp of his name or a slap on the wrist.

There was a long history of…intimacy between you, if you could even call it that. Luigi hadn’t even known that he’d fallen into the dynamic until it started scaring away his girlfriends. And shit, those were hard to come by.

And as he stared through the windshield, monitoring the hoards of traffic on I-76, his mind drifted to the sound of your voice quietly mumbling the lyrics of Wallows’ “OK.”

He glanced over at you, watching your form lounging about the passenger’s side, chair leaned as far back as the luggage behind would allow—the soft, barely-there curve of your breasts underneath your shirt. You were beautiful… in his eyes, no girl who came around the Phi Psi house could ever compare. 

He wasn’t ready to be tied down. And certainly not now that he was moving in with his best friend-turned-roommate. Truth is, he really didn’t see you any differently than he saw his brothers over at Penn. And don’t get it twisted! He’s not gay.

But damn, seeing you all cozy and carefree made his jeans pull taut.

He kept his eyes locked on traffic…for now, at least. There was over five thousand dollars in this car, and a life more valuable than anything monetizable. He couldn’t afford to lose sight of the road just because there's a woman in his car; that's virgin behavior.

But he was frustrated, both literally and sexually. All this fucking wind was hurting his ears, and all he wanted to do was recline back and take a nap. Whatever energy he thought he had before the trip had been sucked right from his soul as soon as his boxers began to feel restrictive. Maybe he shouldn’t have thought about that night.

“Moose.” He tapped you, pulling you out of your musical stupor. “Moose, look at me.”

“What, bro?” you huffed, glaring at him and turning down the music.

“Can you do me a favor?”

Normally, when Luigi had asked you for favors, he would outright ask like a normal person. Something about his tone and the way his eyes seemed to avoid yours sent a shock straight to your stomach. Though maybe he was just focused on driving.

“Depends…I’m not giving you money–” You began, unreclining your seat.

“I’m not–” he began, taking a hand off the wheel momentarily to hold it up in defense, “–asking you for money…I need–well, it’s more of a want, really…I want something from you. But you can’t whoop my ass when I ask, or else we’ll fuckin’ crash.”

“Nick, you’re scaring the shit out of me…” You murmured, staring at him blankly. “Are you gonna tell me that there's a fucking body in the trunk?”

“What? Where did you even– no, no. There’s no body in the trunk, I’m not like that…” He giggled. “I’m a pacifist.”

He leaned to the right, his lips just barely ghosting the shell of your ear as he asked what he knew may or may not push some buttons.

…

“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND?!” You shouted, near damn standing up in the passenger seat as you gripped the center console. “YOU WANT ME TO WHAT? WHAT THE FUCK EVEN MADE YOU ASK THAT?”

“Listen!” He exclaimed, calmly repeating your name and holding out a hand to prevent you from grabbing his arm while he drove. “I don’t know! I don’t even know, but why not just help me out!?”

“HELP YOU OUT?!” You shrieked, staring at him with raw shock. “LUIGI, WHEN THE HELL HAVE YOU EVER KNOWN ME TO FUCK MY FRIENDS?”

“That’s not fucking!” He protested. “Head is NOT fucking! Moose, c’mon, it’s making it hard to drive!”

“You’re a FUCKING perv! And to ask me this in a car going sixty-four miles an hour on the open road!? WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?”

You bickered back and forth for what felt like an hour. In reality, it was only three minutes. 

“You’re actually so fucking gross, no, I’m not gonna suck you off while you bob and weave through traffic. Even if I was going for that, we’d literally crash and die. I’d rather arrive at our house in one piece, you fucking slut,” you grumbled, hitting his bulky shoulder. “God, how the fuck are we friends…have you just been wanting to fuck me this entire time?”

“No!” He blurted, instantly frowning at your words.

“Oh, so I’m fucking hideous?”

“What? What the f– what does that even mean…No, you are not hideous. Far from. I just meant that I haven’t personally thought about fucking you! Not that you’re not…” he stammered, gesturing wildly with his hands, “Attractive! I mean, shit, I haven’t really stopped thinking about it since Phi Psi’s rush party!”

“Can you not bring that up?” You scoffed, crossing your arms. “I was drunk.”

“We were drunk. I was actually crossed. I don’t know, I just felt like since that day we’ve been in this weird-ass, like, touch thing, and I thought that maybe–” He explained, glancing at you now and again.

“You thought me letting you be comfortable was an open invitation to ask me to suck your dick?” You huffed, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Now that is not what I meant. I’ve literally had your whole tit in my hand more times than I can count, and you want me to think this is left-field? Moose, my fucking mouth has been on your nipple TWICE. TWICE,” He emphasized, shrugging his shoulders sarcastically, all the while his hands gripped the leather steering wheel.

For a while, it was silent. No music, no singing, just the tunneling wind and the slow sounds of acceptance as you realized…you had already gotten this far. In hindsight, maybe you shouldn’t have let him put your boob in his mouth during that one spring fling in 2017. Much less twice…

You sighed, the air passing harshly through your nostrils and drying out your sinuses. It took a minute, but after a good minute of contemplation, you reluctantly unbuckled your seatbelt and shot him a glare.

“You better not fucking crash,” you warned.

“Or what? We die like wolves?” He snickered.

“You fucking redditor…” You scoffed, cautiously sliding the button of his jeans out of its loop.

If you were being honest…this was kind of embarrassing. Whenever some bullshit would happen between you, you were usually both drunk or high. But this time, there was no intoxicant to shield you from your actions as you slowly worked your best friend out of his pants. Now there's really no going back…And that's just where you were. Sober and all.

You took a moment to calm yourself before unsheathing the guy you swore on everything was like a brother to you. Now, when you’d look at Luigi, you’d immediately know every single piece of his intimate profile. The thought alone was enough to put even the calmest of girls in a straitjacket and a bird cage for the rest of her life.

Even with this knowledge, you still pulled his heavy, dribbling dick out from the grey confines of his Calvin Klein boxers. Up close, it seemed like a monster…part of you was unsure how he fucked anyone with the spear of Asmodeus himself.

Heavy…dusty rose at the tip with a generous amount of prominent veins at the bottom, but maybe four at the top. If you hadn’t been staring down at it, you’d be able to see the way it curved slightly upward. You wouldn’t describe it as cute, really…that’s reserved for dicks with little to no veins and a prettier shade of pink.

His leaned more…handsome. He was well trimmed, which was surprising considering the amount of hair this man would spawn within days. It made you wonder about his maintenance routine and how often he had to keep up with it. 

Totally normal thoughts to have about your roommate.

You took him in your hands at the base, clear pearls of precum dribbling down his underside following a slow, experimental tug. He let out a low huff from his nose, leading you to glance up and see his grip tightening on the wheel.

“Don’t crash,” you reminded, slowly lowering your lips to his dribbling cockhead, tapping in on your tongue cautiously.

The taste of salt and skin spread exploded on your tongue as it swirled around his shaft. He smelled like woodsy body wash and some sort of faint cologne, maybe Versace Eros, but less metallic.

He was…a lot to handle. You sank your head, as far as your jaw would allow before it threatened to pop. Looking back, it was a miracle he managed to conceal this much of anything in his pants…though you had seen some clues maybe once or twice.

Your throat felt full. So much so, you were sure he could feel it clenching and spasming around him as your body’s instinct to retract the foreign object kicked in. Your eyes watered as you began to move in slow, calculated movements while your hands serviced what your mouth couldn’t.

Luigi began to pant, torn between watching you suck him up like he paid the rent this month and keeping his eyes on the road. On one hand, he’d miss seeing his pretty little roommate giving him a blowjob; on the other, they wouldn’t crash and die a fiery death under car parts weighing more than their flesh and bones.

So he compromised. He took glances at your bobbing head sparingly, and trained his ears to the sounds of your throat physically rejecting the presence of something wider than the esophagus.

He was sure you looked a mess. He could feel teardrops hitting his thigh every now and again, and the sound of you breathing heavily through your nose only spurred him on further. His boxers were a sopping wet mess; a puddle of spit, tears, and god knows what else dampening the fabric of his crotch.

“T-take your…time,” he coaxed, resting a hand on top of your head.

You grumbled, smacking the back of his hand defiantly as you slowly figured out how to work both your tongue and hands in tandem. It wasn’t exactly your first rodeo, but you had no choice but to slow the fuck down when something the size of a hydro flask hits your palate.

Your eyes burned with tears. There was spit and cum trailing from the corners of your mouth. Your nose had begun to run as Luigi took your little slap as a sign of disrespect and began to control the pace for you.

There were sticky, sappy, and wet strings of fluid attaching you to the base of his pelvis in every single corner. You couldn’t see his face; he didn’t let you. But you knew by the sharp, jagged pattern of his breathing that he was probably biting his lip to shut himself up.

“Fuck, you like that mean shit, bitch?” He spat, gripping a hand in your hair just as tight as he held the wheel.

He seemed to be getting off on the sounds of your throat’s protests. Whenever they stopped, he’d switch the pace and go so hard your chin consistently rammed against his balls. His sick ass found comfort in the squishy, gutty sound you’d make every time his tip speared the back of your throat.

But you wanna know the biggest part?

You trusted him. Here he was, piloting a thousand-pound vehicle that, if misused, could take both of your lives in seconds and then some. But you trusted him just enough to put your lives on the line just so he could use your throat. The thought alone, combined with the anxiety of keeping the fucking car straight, had already sent three loads down your throat twenty minutes ago.

“You’re a g-great fucking friend, fuck,” he whined, subtly pistoning his hips upward and spilling another thick, salty rope of cum on your tongue.

He pulled you off of him with a rather girly moan, using that opportunity to catch his breath while you carefully placed him back in his boxers and jeans again.

And just like that, the car fell silent again.

Your mouth was still wet with sin and a lack of self-control. Luigi was still red at the apples of his cheeks as he suddenly drove with the skill of a practiced army tank operator. He didn’t dare look over…not yet.

Not until you had wiped the clear, watery mucous from your nose, the spit from your lips, and swallowed his release in your mouth. 

In about an hour, you two would be back to normal, sharing an energetic conversation over some Katy Perry song from the Teenage Daydream album. The wind would tousle your hair, and your seat would be reclined as far back as the luggage behind would allow.

But…not right now. I think we need a moment to reflect. You’ll get there eventually…just turn right onto I-76.

Clark had been stationed right outside the doors of the dining room. His hands clasped behind his back and his sharp ears attuned to every little noise coming echoing through the thick mahogany doors.

You'd gotten up with a clatter, a half-hearted excuse and the sound of your silverware falling to the floor. 

Then you rushed past him, too fast to be considered polite, too fast for your usual careful poise.

So Clark followed. Followed the string in his chest that seemed to tied to you. Followed you into the private library, nearly an entire wing away from the conversation that drove you there. 

The door slammed behind you with enough force to rattle the windows, Clark barely dodging its swing. 

"Miss-" 

"Did you hear that?" You interrupt, voice clogged with fear. You spin to face him, dress tangling around your legs. Your eyes are glassy, tears threatening to spill over your lash line. 

"I did-" 

"They're just going to marry me off!" You cry, cutting him off again. 

Clark had heard it all, your father's voice echoing as he made a deal and stole your future all in the same breath. 

"Like I'm cattle and not their daughter."

Your hands pull at your dress, tugging at its seams and pulling it away from your body as much as the material will allow, which isn't much. One sleeve is falling off your shoulder, the other dangling close behind. 

Your breathing only grows heavier the more it sticks, exasperated pants that have Clark worrying about your health even more than your heart.

"It's too tight." You whimper, pulling again to no avail. 

Your hands go to your buttons, making quick work of them and pushing your dress down to your hips. Leaving you in just your corset and shift.

Clark's entire body goes rigid, and before he can betray his better instincts, he spins on his heel and turns his back to you. 

He's not sure what to do, what sin he committed to be worthy of such a cruel punishment. What kind of God would force him to endure losing you and being unable to help you all in the same night?

"Miss what are you doing?" He asks, voice pitched an octave higher than normal. 

Clark can hear your labored breathing, the way it only gets worse as you seemingly work towards losing another garment.

"The corset." You huff, nearly inaudible over the rustling fabric and the blood pounding in his ears. "I can't-" You panic, voice wet and airy as you grunt with effort. "Please!" 

A sob breaks free, bursting from your chest like it's been cut from it. It's unlike anything he's ever heard you make. Without even meaning too, Clark turns around. 

Your arms are twisted behind your back, reaching for the laces of your corset. It's tied tight enough that he can see them digging into your ribs, the way the skin ripples out from beneath it and how it holds you upright despite your distress.

"Are you hurt?" Clark asks, taking just a step forward, he feels his body listing towards you, desperate to help, to be useful. "What's wrong, what can I do?"

"Off." You bite, harsher but not mean. Your hands move to the front of the corset, frantically pulling. "Need it off."

The motion brings his eyes the absolute last place he wanted them to go.

Your bust.

Spilling over the fabric, so perfect and perched it almost looks painful. He swears if he looked at them long enough he would be able see your heart pounding.

The room goes hot, his face burning, shame and bile both rising in his throat as he corrects himself.

A well worn mantra plays in self inside his head.

Not mine.

Not my place.

Not what she deserves.

Clark is immediately in motion, hurried steps towards the door, "I'll fetch your ladies maid."

"No!" You panic, still making no headway, "Please I can't breathe!"

Clark's hand hesitates over the door knob, white gloves flexing with restraint. 

He makes the fatal, world-ending, honor-destroying mistake of looking at you one more time.

The realization hits him between the ribs. This is most vulnerable he thinks ever seen you. 

The most vulnerable you've ever allowed yourself to be seen. 

Something else builds in his gut. A fire sparking to life inside his soul, it climbs up his chest and burns everything it touches. 

Your hands are shaking as you pull at the corset. Your frustration evident through hiccups and half-baked cries of panic. 

He knows that his ultimate duty, the one thing he's promised to always do is, take care of you. 

And right now, despite his station, he can help you. Right now he can be more than a hand assisting you out of a carriage, or a silhouette in the corner of a room. He can be more than a voice announcing a caller, or the footsteps pacing outside your door. 

Then as if you can hear his resolve failing, you throw a dry log onto his raging fire. 

"Please Clark." You whisper.

Your voice is small, hardly above a whisper. 

Clark moves faster than you can say the word ruin. 

The distance between you shrinks, until suddenly he's closer than he's ever dared before. 

You're bereft, lip wobbling with your chin tucked as you keep trying to pull at the binding around your chest. You don't even feel his hands when suddenly-

Riiiiiiiip!

Seams pop, boning bending in his grip as Clark tears the wretched garment in half. 

It splits down the middle, expensive fabric and perfect craftsmanship no match for his brute strength. 

Clark doesn't even realize he's torn the damn thing until it falls to the floor between you in a crumpled heap. 

You double over, relief palpable as you finally take a full breath. Then another. Then a few more.

It's minutes before they even out, Clark's concerned gaze never leaving you. His traces your face, each curve as you slowly relax back into your features. Then your shoulders, watching carefully as they roll down from your ears. Your lips, as they open and close around each inhale. 

It's not until you straighten, that the gravity of the situation finally dawns on Clark. 

The gravity of your closeness, the way his hand ended up circled around your wrist at some point. The gravity of your undress, of your bare skin and the barely there material of your shift. The gravity of the fact that you're alone. In a locked room. 

If anyone found you it would spell disaster. 

A black mark on his name at best. A death sentence at worst. 

The word whore would become synonymous with your entire family. It's one thing for a lady to be alone with a gentleman. It's another entirely for her to be alone with a servant.

Clark seems to stop breathing altogether. 

Even as you finally soothe, as the tears on your cheeks start to dry, he can't seem to step back. 

He's close enough to count your eyelashes, a task he would probably enjoy more than he'd like to admit. They flutter, kissing your skin as you breathe them open and shut.

"Thank you." You whisper. 

"Of course." Clark answers, giving you a short nod, he finally releases your wrist. His hands tangle themselves together, knotting behind his back. 

"I think I probably owe you an apology." You half-jest. "I fear I was rather dramatic."

Clark's heart sinks. 

"I'd disagree." He insists, voice kind but firm. "I'd argue your reaction was perfectly suited to the situation at hand."

His voice sound far away, as if his own heart hadn't shattered at the prospect. A sudden free fall from his chest through the ground. Not at the idea of losing you -he'd made peace with that a long time ago- but at watching you be subjected to such a fate. 

"You're always so good to me Clark." Your voice is soft, the fondness in your tone not lost on him. "Still, I apologize. As grateful as I am, this-" You gesture to your state of undress "-was far too much to ask of you."

Clark would laugh if the situation were any less dire. He nods to were your corset lays across the floor, "I believe we're a little beyond that."

You do laugh, the surprised kind that bubbles out of your throat before you even realize it's started. Short and startled you let it lighten the room for just a moment.

"I'm sorry that was-" you fluster, refusing to meet his eyes. "-inappropriate."

Clark could almost laugh.

"It's alright." He assures you. "Are you sure you're okay?"

You nod, a light hum punctuating the movement. "I think so."

At long last, you look at him.

The proximity seems finally to dawn on you. Given away by a catch in your breath so minuscule Clark probably wouldn't have noticed it if he couldn't hear it.

If he couldn't see the way your chest faltered with it.

Eyes up. He chastises. 

Yet he still doesn't move, only further frozen by the fact that you aren't either.

Something settles in your expression. Something that wasn't there when you sat down to dinner. 

Your eyes are hollow, duller. No sparkle of mischief, or whisper of an untold joke. Your lips turn down at the edges, not an active frown but something more reserved. Your chest doesn't puff as proudly, none of your usual confidence propping itself behind your ribs.

Clark hates the word he finds for it.

Surrender. 

His heart pounds even harder.

"Clark?" His name is different on your tongue this time. Something saccharine behind it, something young and just a little afraid. 

"Yes?" He breathes, hardly conscious of it. You're still too close for him to think. 

You take the smallest of steps forward.

"Can I ask you something?" 

It's a silly question. 

Clark would sneak you out for an early morning ride before your father woke, cover for you when you were late to meet your governess.

Clark would bring you sweets, the cheap kind only sold at the markets on the streets you're not allowed to go to.

Clark would tell especially persistent suitors you were preoccupied, saving you their company and never letting your mother catch on to the fact that they ever called.

Clark would do anything you asked.

"Of course." He says instead.

It hangs there between you for a moment. Anticipation building as you work up the courage to speak.

"Do you think about it?" You finally ask.

Clark would kiss you. One night he wound find you well after the moon had settled high in the sky. Alone in the garden, he would cradle your face and place his lips on yours because you asked him too. Because you wanted to know what it felt like, because you wanted your first kiss to be on your own terms. 

He would set himself on fire and spend the every moment since that night tortured by the flames.

"Miss I-"

"Just answer me Clark." You plead, "Do you think about it?"

He pauses, swallows his fear puts yours first.

"All the time." He answers, because above all else, Clark Kent is a man of honor and men of honor don't lie.

However, despite all that honor, Clark Kent is still just a man. 

"Do you?" He asks.

You take a step towards him, stealing space that hardly existed in the first place.

"Every night." You lean closer, just enough to let the fabric of your shift brush his uniform. 

Clark goes still all over, each muscle turning to stone. Having already used flight and fight, the only thing left in his arsenal is freeze.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, your floodgates finally open.

"I can't stop thinking about it Clark." You sound torn, like it physically hurts you to say it out loud. "The way you held me, how safe I felt." 

The room spins, the weight of gravity pulling his body towards yours.

"The way I wanted more." 

You've always been brave. Always worn your heart on your sleeve and your courage right beside it. This time it's different, there's an insecurity clouding it, a quiet self-consciousness

"Miss-" Clark tries to protest, your name dying on his tongue. "I can't, we can't."

You huff, unconvinced. "Please, Clark." Your hands find his chest, gently fingering the felt of his uniform and the buttons adorning it. "I want to know what it feels like." Your voice is hardly above a whisper now. 

Clark's skin starts to sting. Burning as the flames start to lick at his finger tips. 

"You don't know what you're asking." Clark tries to argue. His body curves in anyway, shoulders pulling forward and closing a little bit more of the distance between you. "It's not so simple-"

"Isn't it?" You ask. You close the distance, hands curling around the lapels of his jacket as you press your chest to his.

He can feel the warmth of your skin despite all of his layers still between you. 

"I've heard about it. I know what to do." You insist. "I know I may not be what you want Clark…"

Clark doesn't hear the rest of what you try to say. The blood rushing in his ears as your words repeat. 

You think he doesn't want you?

That simply won't do.

Unlike that night in the garden, Clark doesn't take his time leaning in. One moment his hands are safely behind his back and the next they're on you.

One finds your hip and rests over the layers of fabric piled there. The other cradles your face, large palm holding your cheek and keeping your head in place as he throws all his good sense into the fire.

Clark kisses you the way he's been dreaming about. 

Like he can't get enough, like if you gave him the time he would memorize your lips and still want more. He nibbles on your bottom lip and licks into your mouth when your gasp. 

Clark kisses you like he has the right too. 

Clark kisses you like a man with nothing to offer but his heart and all the love inside of it.

He kisses you until there's no room to doubt what he feels.

When he pulls away, your eyes are still closed, his jacket still clutched tight in your hands. 

Clark's afraid to blink, to look away for a moment and miss the chapped swell of your lips or the pieces of hair he pulled askew. 

"You're all I want." He promises. His hands leave you, but only long enough to pull his gloves off. 

Your gaze lingers at his lips, pupils blown wide with hunger. "Show me." You beg. 

You push your dress the rest of the way down past your hips, letting it fall to puddle on the floor. 

"Show me what it's like to be wanted." You're firm, voice sure and filled with conviction. The voice of a woman who knows exactly what she's asking for. 

And Clark would do anything you ask.

The world disappears, his vision tunneling until all that's left is you.

Clark takes a step forward, then another, walking you back until you're pressed to one of the mahogany bookshelves. Deft hands peel back his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders and onto the floor beside your gown. 

This time you kiss him, craning your neck and pushing onto your toes to reach him fully. Its messier than the last one, all inexperience tangled with enthusiasm. 

Your teeth nip at his lips, fighting the angle until suddenly-

Clark's hands find the backs of your thighs like two old friends, palming the soft flesh through the thin muslin of your shift. When he uses them to lift its gentle, despite the strength you feel when you hold his arms, his touch is nothing but comforting. 

He hoists you against himself, pulling away just long enough for you to wrap your legs around his waist before pinning you between his chest and the bookcase.

Your hands can't find a place to rest, grazing from his biceps, to his shoulders, down over his neck and through his hair. Finally, you settle at his chest, palm splaying over sternum. 

His heart hammers beneath your fingers, strong and powerful as it's rhythm vibrates against your touch.

You kiss him softer than he deserves, at least in Clark's opinion. 

You kiss him like you never want to stop, like you could spend forever doing it. You hold him against you like he's something delicate, something worth protecting. 

Clark is a stark contrast. 

Clark wasn't born a gentleman for a reason. Despite his manners, his restraint, and the deep respect he carries for you, he grabs at your skin like he's afraid you'll disappear if he doesn't hold you tight enough. His lips cover yours like he would swallow you whole if given the opportunity. His fire burns and pools in one place, tenting itself against you as he presses impossibly closer.

His hand slips under the hem of your shift and dances across the skin of your upper thigh until he finds the heat of your cunt. His hand swallows it, cupping your entire mound and moaning as his fingers find dampness in the gusset of your stockings. 

You're burning too. 

Clark can't help but hold himself there, press his fingers flat against your folds and reveling in the way your hips stutter. 

You make a noise, something small and new. It falls from your lips like water from a faucet. 

Clark kisses you hard, as if trying to drink it. His hand slips away, replaced by thick press of cock through his trousers. Even through the layers he can feel you pulse against him, the privilege of being close enough to turn his vision blurry.

As if to testing the waters, he rolls his hips against you. Torturous and slow, just enough to let you get used to the feeling, the weight of something between your legs.

A thought crosses his mind and spills out before he can stop it. 

"Have you ever touched yourself here?" Clark asks. His voice is low, private, despite the empty room he speaks only loud enough for you to hear. Like no one else- not even the books deserves to know.

You fluster and turn away, pressing your cheek into shelf behind you as you avoid his gaze. 

Determined to get an answer, Clark uses what he's learned. 

Another roll of his hips, this time using one of his thumbs to press against the curve of your cunt. He pushes it in, just beyond the split of your folds and lets your wetness soak through to the pad of his finger.

You gasp, hips twisting off the wall and into his touch. 

"Need you to tell me." Clark insists, pressing his thumb just a little harder. "Or else I won't know how much you can take."

You shake your head, panic evident at the idea of him stopping. "Yes." You admit, breathless and whiny. "Yes I've touched-" you swallow hard around the words, the thought escaping completely as he starts to suckle on your neck. 

Clark smiles against your skin, pleased at both your answer and your reaction. He rewards you, pressing wet kisses down your neck, sucking the soft skin between his teeth. 

"What about inside?"

His hands slip back under your shift, and with the same careful strength he used earlier, Clark finds the seam of your stockings, and rips a hole directly in the center. Just big enough for his to fit his hand through, just enough for him to drag his fingers through your folds.

He finds your entrance with the focus of a man starved. As if his next meals lies between your thighs. 

He dips the tip of his index finger inside. 

"You ever have something here?" He asks. 

You tense -only for a moment- at the sensation, the realization of where his touch has led him. 

"Yes." You whisper. "Not my fingers though."

That makes Clark freeze.

"One of my ladies maids," you explain, "She got me a-" you hesitate, finding the word, "-tool."

Clark nearly doubles over. "A tool?" 

You nod, sheepishly biting your lip. "She said it would be less painful if I practiced with it." 

Clark struggles, his tongue seemingly having swelled to twice its size in his mouth. 

The image fills his mind faster than he can think. Hazy visions of you sprawled on your bed, night gown rucked around your waist as you writhe against something phallic and solid. It makes his blood turn to molten lava.

"Did it feel good?" He asks. 

He brings a hand down between your bodies, reaching for your cunt once more.

You nod, eyes falling half-lidded as his touch settles over you again. He rests it on the apex of your thigh, hand curling against the junction where it meets your cunt. Just near enough for him to feel the heat radiating off of it.

He hums in appreciation, both of the answer and your honesty. 

"Do I have your permission to make you feel good like that?"

Eyes turn to saucers, and without any hesitation you whisper, "Yes."

Pride swells in his chest, its hold on him getting stronger with every little noise he pulls from you.

With one goal in mind, Clark sets you on the floor, holding your hips as your feet find the ground. 

Then, as if melted by your gaze, Clark slips to his knees. The wood is hard beneath them, but your skin is so soft in his hands that he doesn't even notice.

One large palm tickles up your thigh, then over your hip, until he finds the waist of your stockings. Crooking a finger into their band, Clark begins to pull them down.

Inch by torturous inch, Clark reveals you to him. The curve of your hip, the way they cant toward him when his breathe brushes over your cunt. 

The tops of your thighs are as smooth as whiskey and just as sinful. He presses a kiss there, lingering to inhale the scent. Sweat, musk, and something floral from your soap. It goes straight to his head and before he knows it Clark has kissed all the way down to your knee. It's messier than he meant for it be, spots of his spit catching the light when he pulls away. 

you don't seem to mind, eyes blown wide as you watch him with unmasked fascination. 

Clark's holds your gaze as he pulls your stockings the rest of the way down, unblinking as he tugs them off your feet and tosses the garment somewhere behind him. 

He nuzzles into the curve of your knee when he's done, pressing one last kiss to the sensitive spot where it meets the top of your calf. 

Then he moves higher.

You tense, bracing for a kiss.

What you get is sort of like that.

Clark rucks your shift up on his assent, pushing it up over your ribs and leaving your cunt on full display.

"Heavens." Clark breathes, wondrous and awed. 

His eyes, blue, big, and begging. They find yours and ask the question with out words. 

You answer without them too, blinking slow as you spreads your thighs wide enough for his head to slot between.

Clark licks into your cunt like he's coming home to it.

One flat stripe through your folds, a slow pull as he maps out every ridge and valley with his tongue.

Then a second one, this time dipping it even further against you, groaning as he hits a pocket of slick. The taste blooms on his tongue, sweet and unlike anything else he's ever savored. A taste that will haunt him the rest of his life and he can't find it in himself to care.

By the third drag he's figured out where you squirm. 

His tongue passes over your clit, the hard nub all but vibrating with want. He closes his lips around it, trapping it between his teeth and giving a purposeful hum.

You gasp above him, thighs trying to close around his head only to be met by the firm grip of his hands, a palm on each leg holding them apart. 

Clark goes on like that, suckling at your clit holding you in place around him.

Your hands find his hair, plush curls tangling between your fingers. Clark can't tell if you're trying to pull him closer, or push him further away. He's not sure you know either. 

His tactic changes, tongue slipping out again to grind against your clit, pressing flat and holding its pressure. 

Your moan gets choked off, body stilling like you've ceased breathing all together. Some thing tight, strangled and high-pitched leaks from the back of your throat.

"Clark!" You squeak.

His belly burns with satisfaction, his want turned inside out from just how good his name sounds on your lips. 

A thought occurs to him them, possessive and wild. 

"Did you peak?" He follows up. "With the tool?"

You start to shake, body taut as his fingers take over his ministrations on your clit. 

"Peak?" You ask, eyes squeezed shut and hands gripping the book shelf behind you.

Clark has to stand, straightening to his full height and bringing him close enough to count your eyelashes again, although this time, they're hardly what he's think about right now.

He doesn't elaborate, too distracted by your governess' words echoing in his ears, something about you being a visual learner.

He'll show you instead.

His index finger pushes the rest of the way in, rubbing your clit as he eases it past the resistance of your cunt. 

You swallow him without hesitation, gasping at the sensation as your cunt sucks him in. He pulls it out, just enough to slide his middle finger in next to it. 

You're velvet around him, white hot and tight as a vice. It's unlike anything he's ever felt, unlike his hand or the lips he's felt around his cock before. It makes him twitch in trousers, a wet spot beginning paint the fabric where his tip rests.

Clark makes slow work opening you up, gently massaging your walls and your clit as he stretches you out. Each pass gives him a little more give, every curl of his fingers granting him a little more wetness to ease their glide.

And you- the memory of your face contorting with pleasure would be enough to have Clark reaching his peak for the rest of his life. He doesn't tear his eyes away to watch his hand, too spell bound by the way your lips quiver around each gasp and whine. 

It builds, the same motions repeated over and over until Clark curls his fingers slightly to the left and finds it. 

The spot that makes your whines blossom into something louder, something more full-bodied in the shape of his name. 

He attacks it with fervor, massaging the pads of his fingers against it until you start to shake. 

"Clark wait-" Your eyes snap open, panic written clear as you reach for his hand. "I'm … oh my god!" 

Clark's free hand captures your wrists, pinning them above your head and forcing you to take the pleasure. Forcing you to peak.

Slick coats his hand, gushing to his wrist as you clench down on his fingers. Your hips buck wildly, head falling back against the bookshelf with a hard thunk as your eyes roll back.

The pleasure is overwhelming, Clark is sure of it. 

He burns knowing he's the one who gave it to you.

You're still gasping when you come back down to earth, thighs shaking around Clark's waist as he releases your wrists.

Clark has to kiss you, pulled to your lips like fate itself designed them for him to touch. 

He's expecting to leave it there, carry the moment in his uniform pocket and tuck it under his pillow. 

Then you legs tighten around him. 

In one quick movement you pull him flush against you. 

"Are you sure?" Clark asks, watching with blown pupils as you reach for his belt.

"I told you." You remind him, "I want more."

More is delivered, more is freed from his waistband with a hiss and twitches when you wrap a curious hand around it. 

More is throbbing, leaking hot and heavy into your hand as you line him up with your entrance,

More presses itself into you with a gentleness you wouldn't have believed a man who rips corsets is capable of. 

Clark buries his face against your neck, breathing heavy as he slowly feeds his cock into you. Its almost precious, how soft he makes himself be. How malleable he is under your touch. 

Like clay, Clark morphs himself into whatever you need, friend, confidant, protector, and now the role he seems to fit most naturally, lover.

A role you match with equal ease. Body opening up for him with every push forward. You grimace through the sting, hands clutching his shoulders and digging your nails in so hard he's shocked you don't return the favor of ripping his shirt.

It's like that until he bottoms out, until he finally pushes his hips flush with yours and feels your heat all around him. 

His chest shudders with the force of it, the weightlessness that surrounds him and lifts his soul high enough to make it sing.

You clench down hard, cunt spasming around his length as you get used to it. 

You're both breathing hard, stilted gasps that brush across the others face. Tandem racing heartbeats.

The first thrust is shallow, Clark hardly pulling more than a quarter of his length out of your cunt before falling back in. 

You both moan anyway, ragged and wanton as you chase the sensation. 

It builds quickly from there, Clark gradually working his way up to a solid rhythm, not fast, no you're not something he wants to rush, but deep. Each pass is purposeful, Clark using everything he already knows to his advantage as he starts to climb that peak, this time right beside you.

He flies his fingers to your clit one last time, abusing the already tender nerves with one goal in mind. Harsh circles dragging around it, tracing every side and leaving no piece of it untouched. 

His hips twist, aiming for that spot that had you falling apart on his fingers. 

It's too much and not enough.

You fall apart like a precious glass. The way a vase scatters on the floor and becomes a new masterpiece. You cry his name, pleasure coating every syllable like candy.

Unable to stop it Clark lets go of his fears, of the dread that comes with all things unrequited. He presses his forehead to yours and with devastation honesty he says the words that always seem to be on the tip of his tongue.

"I love you." The words break free with the last of his resolve. Disappearing with the last of his self-preservation. He could cry with the relief of finally saying them. Eyes squeezed shut as he grinds himself into you, rolling his hips as you ride out your orgasm.

He's so lost in it, so busy trying to savor you that he almost doesn't hear your response. 

"I love you too." You whisper, hands stretching the skin of his back as you mindlessly claw at it. "God Clark, I love you so much." 

Clark's orgasm sweeps him away before he can even process your words. Hips stuttering as his mind falls away to bliss. 

The only coherent thought he has left is a single phrase, a mantra echoing through the pleasure. 

She loves me. She loves me. She loves me.

It stays long after the pleasure fades, after his cock stops twitching inside you and your breathing evens out. 

It lingers when he pulls out, when you whine at the emptiness and Clark uses what's left of your corset to wipe away the mess he's made between your thighs. 

The room stays warm, the heat of your bodies and smell of old books tangling in the air. A heaviness fills the space between you, melting between your souls and holding them hostage. The bitter sting of reality. 

"My parents have a farm." Clark says, leaning forward and pressing his forehead against yours. "A few weeks ride from here."

You hum, "I remember." He'd told you about them one night, when you couldn't sleep and asked him to tell you a story from where he was stationed outside the door of your bedroom. 

"I've always planned to go back, take over so they can rest." You go tense, eyes widening with worry. "I'd leave after you married-" He explains, "- I wouldn't be able to bear witness to that." He takes a deep breath, doing his best to steel his nerves,

For the first time, Clark is the one to ask you a favor.

"Run away with me?"

The question comes out breathless, more a plea than anything else. It bleeds from his lips and leaves copper in his mouth. 

"We could go." He offers sheepishly, already convinced you'll say no. "I cant promise you much, but I can promise I'll do my best to make you happy every single day."

You melt, cupping his face in both your hands and pressing the softest kiss to his lips. 

"Take me away Clark." You whisper, "Take me so far I never have to come back." 

You kiss him again, firmer this time, carding your hands through his hair. 

"Take me so far away I never have to look at another corset."

Clark would do anything you asked.

Clark Kent Masterlist