saint

thick, corded muscles bulge underneath the frilly fabrics of pink and white. a heart cutout is stretched out close to its limits on his chest, revealing the thin tufts of hair that you can probably use as a stim. he watches you with unbridled glee and excitement as you take in his entire getup. black cat ears perch on the top of his head, little golden bells jingling with every move, and it takes you a moment to notice the pink collar around his neck with a silver heart in the middle. your gaze locks in on the buckle attached to the heart before it clicks that he’s wearing a leash attached to it.

he’s taken the liberty to get off work early so he can come home and get the apartment cleaned up. the entire place is spotless and you’re coming home with the smell of a warm, freshly cooked dinner waiting for you.

he helps you take your coat and shoes off in the entryway, tucks you into your seat at the table, serves you your food with a kiss to your temple—all of the things that clark always does for you—but the second you spot the black tail underneath the back of his skirt, you feel molten heat curling in your core.

you can’t quite put a finger to it. you’ve always been attracted to clark’s competence. he’s always spoiling you and he’s always running first to worship the ground that you walk on. it’s always been attractive  so goddamn sexy to you, but this is just icing on the cake.

but now? you’re feeling hot under the collar.

which . . . leads you to your current situation.

clark is underneath you, large hands on your hips as you hold his leash with a firm grip and your free palm splayed on his chest. his cheeks are burning red, hot pants falling from his lips, dark hair mussed up and his cat ears askew as you slowly grind and roll your hips. you feel him twitch and throb inside of you as he bites down on his bottom lip, chasing to catch his breath as he focuses on trying not to cum.

the ribbing along the length of his thick girth massages the insides of your walls so perfectly. he has dottings on his purplish, mushroomy tip that generously drips precum before you could even touch him. it gently curves towards him and it’s so responsive to your body and juices, almost seeking you out and reaching for the exact spot that’ll make you see stars in your vision.

he’s thick, heavy, and he’s so deep inside of you as you take your time to ride him like this. you’ve already cum twice—one by his hands and mouth, and another like this—but you’re not sated yet. you want to see how far you can push your pretty boyfriend.

“baby, baby, baby, please.” his whimpering is music to your ears. every shudder of his shoulders, every breath that hitches, every microadjustment he makes on the grip he has on your hips are all telltale signs that you know he won’t last too long. he’s barely making much sense, so lost in the pleasure of having the tail plug in his ass while you’re grinding your hips down against him.

sometimes he’s mumbling your name, others it’s a mix of his favourite pet names for you and a thousand “please”s that only makes your walls clench around him even more.

“but you’re such a good kitty for me, clark.” you croon in the sickly sweet voice that you love to use to watch the gears in his head kick and stir. he whines and you feel his cock twitch impatiently inside of you when you purr his name so lovingly.

“babyyy, your pussy feels too good, please, please, let me cum, baby,” he begs. your walls clench around him which dominoes into him bucking his hips up into yours, hitting you deeper than you thought he could in this position. “baby, baby, please, please, my love. feels good, i love you, love your tight little pussy, baby.”

you tug on his leash to still him but he’s moving too much. he’s fucking up into you, toppling you forward until your face is buried into the crook of his neck. he’s mumbling apologies into your hair as he thrusts into your cunt with wild abandon. you’re desperately trying to hold onto that last strip of dominance and assertiveness but it’s slipping like sand through your fingers when it feels too fucking good.

“clark, baby–” you gasp and pull at his leash a little harder this time at the same time he’s babbling mindlessly.

“pussy’s so good, i love you, i love you, baby, ‘m so sorry. ‘m so sorry, didn’t hurt you did i? shit– you feel so perfect around my cock, always taking me so well–”

air gets knocked out of your lungs when he suddenly flips you both over. he uses the grip he has on your hips as leverage to pin you down against the softness of your bedsheets and he doesn’t stop.

his large hands move down to push your knees to your chest before he’s mounting you in a mess of frills and lace that’s half-torn, half-threatening to burst at the seams as they struggle against his bulging muscles.

clark presses his forehead against yours, glasses long forgotten on your nightstand, as he gazes sweetly into your eyes. you could almost cum again from this sight. he’s panting hotly over your soft lips, his cheeks and the tips of his ears a pink far deeper than the pink of his maid outfit. he props your knees over his shoulders and your lips part in a quiet ‘o’ at the new angle.

“c-clark, baby,” you stammer, but he doesn't stop. his cock is bullying against the roof of your cervix—you can feel him in your stomach. his pupils are dilated and fully blown with lust as he cages you with his strong arms, soft grunts and groans coming from above turning into music for your ears.. “what’s gotten– what’s gotten into you?” you’re struggling to formulate a sentence with every push and pull of his heavy cock, your walls greedily sucking him in every time his hips draw back only to squelch noisily when he pounds deep into you.

“‘m sorry baby, jus’ love you so much, soo much, baby, you’re so good t’me.” he lowers himself and sweetly peppers kisses all over your face, lapping up at the sweat on your neck and breathing in the stench of sex that clings to your body like a second skin. “love you so much, ‘m so happy and lucky that you’re in my life, that you chose– you chose me.”

is it possible for him to go harder? he doesn’t go faster, but he’s thrusting into you rougher and deeper than he usually does. pure desperation and his love for you fuels him like a fucking drug. one of his hands snakes down between your bodies to find your neglected clit and that’s when your mind goes blank.

“i love you, i love you, baby, so much, fuck!” your fingers could cramp up from gripping onto the leather of the leash so tightly. the muscles in your thighs tremble from this new position and holding up a good amount of his weight as he jackhammers into you with wild abandon. his thumb rubs tight circles on your pearl, palm splayed flat against your lower belly, and you finally allow yourself to moan out loud.

the sound of wet skin slapping against skin echo off the walls in your room, accompanied by the mingling of your wanton moans and his needy, whiny whimpers. a part of you knows that your neighbours would probably complain tomorrow morning especially with the creaking of your bed frame but you’re too lost in the pleasure to think twice about the consequences.

“i’m so close, just like that, baby. just– just keep doing that, doin’ so good, such a good kitty for me, right?” you manage to reach your free hand into his dark locks.

your fingers curl at the base of his scalp. you pull, and he gives you the most pornographic moan you’ve ever heard from him. his cock twitches once, and twice, and he’s babbling mindlessly again.

“good god, baby, gotta let me cum, please, i’ve been so good for you.” clark’s voice breaks slightly at the end you god, it hits you like a fucking truck. the knot in your belly snaps and you’re gushing around him. he doesn’t stop fucking you through your orgasm, only lightening the rolls of tight circles on your clit.

“shit, yeah– fuck, cum for me, baby.” you moan helplessly when he relinquishes all of his remaining restraint. black spots dot your vision, your eyes rolling back as waves of ecstasy tsunami all over your body.

he whimpers out your name, barely tucked behind his teeth as a cuss follows suit, tumbling from his kiss-swollen lips. he removes his hand from your swollen pearl to hold himself up, his hips stuttering against you until he’s spilling his seed. his cock twitches and throbs as he paints your walls white with his cum,, groaning softly.

clark finally slows down to a stop.

“are you okay, baby?” he doesn’t move to pull out from you, instead cupping your sweat-slicked face after he gently moves your legs back down around him. “did i go too hard? i’m so sorry, i just– i kind of lost control there, you have that effect on me.”

“i’m okay, i’m okay.” you nod. your hands move to cup his face in return, accepting all of the loving, doting kisses that he’s planting all over your face and lips. you can’t help but smile and giggle as he rolls your both over until you’re back into your original position, with you on top of him.

“okay, okay.” clark kisses the crown of your head. you’re both panting, the air conditioning icy against your heated bodies, catching your breath. “that was amazing. you’re amazing. i love you so much.”

“valentine’s day got you in the mood, love?” you tilt your head back to look up at him, a teasing grin forming on your features.

“possibly.” he sheepishly admits with a grin that matches yours. “round 2 in a bit?”

there’s no way you can possibly face your neighbours tomorrow morning . . .

he also loves hearing the sound of your voice. plain and simple. you’ve read him paragraphs from your favourite books, dramatised cringey lines in the shows you’re currently watching just to get a reaction out of him, and also talked his ear off about the latest accidental rabbit hole of research or conspiracy theory you’ve stumbled upon.

your voice, no matter how much you claim sounds ‘terrible’, is his favourite sound to listen to.

it’s the soothing balm to his weary soul after a long day of dealing with recruits and idiots back at base. it’s the soft, warm embrace when he’s far away on a mission, worlds apart from where you remain safe in your shared apartment.

but somewhere between simon’s attraction towards you and his love for your voice, the wires cross. sometimes.

he should seriously be paying attention to what you’re saying on the phone and not jerk off to your voice. he should, but he just misses the sound of your voice and you happen to sound so cute and whiney rattling off to him that he just can’t help himself.

a gentle palming over his sweats turned to wrapping his fingers around his veiny girth, pumping his fist up and down the length of his aching cock to the sound of you.

you—currently all cosy in bed, wearing one of his shirts and boxers while you’re talking his ear off about an accidentally deep dive on a new conspiracy theory. if he hadn’t missed you this much, he wouldn’t be jerking himself off while you talk about how the ‘real trees’ are actually ancient and the size of literal giants that today’s trees are biochemically engineered. like bananas.

it’s a miracle he’s holding up a conversation with you made up entirely of “‘s that right, love?”, “sounds real ‘nuff”, and “mhm, tell ‘em”s.

you just sound so fucking perfect and attractive when you’re heated over harmless things like these. it’s also one of the reasons why he enjoys getting a rise out of you so you can scold him and he’s standing there with a boner, before properly thanking you by fucking you ‘til you’re left with nothing but mindless, incoherent babbles.

simon tries to pace his breathing, not wanting to pant too heavily into the receiver. he relaxes his grip around his base but closes his fingers tighter around his swollen tip. his cock’s swollen in his hand, red and angry and dripping with precum that’s meant only for you.

his ochre eyes flutter shut as he pictures you in your shared bed. you’re guaranteed to be wearing one of his shirts, maybe his boxers because you love his scent on you. he’s never admitted it, but it drives him insane when his clothes start to smell like you.

he loves the little crease in your brow when you’re frowning, the small pout of your lip when you’re agitated. he loves the way you huff and fold your arms underneath your chest, the defiant narrowing of your eyes in his direction every time he teases you while you’re riled up. it’s hot.

he can tell you’re doing exactly those as you’re ranting to him in bed.

“i don’t think i could ever handle having a dragonfly as huge as a bus, bug. how am i going to fight against it if it wants to eat my food?” there’s a whine towards the end of your admittedly outlandish concern as you lament dramatically to him.

his cock twitches in his fist. fuck.

“they’re not goin’ to steal your spring rolls, baby.” simon manages to grunt out. he bites down on his lower lip to fight back a groan, massaging his tip as he tries to replicate how the back of your throat feels. he pictures exactly that in his head, 

“you wouldn’t know that.” you argue with him and he doesn’t hold back the breathy chuckle that escapes him. “anyway, i was thinking of . . .” your words blur in his ears, melting into a smooth melody that does nothing but fan the flames of lust.

simon finds himself imagining what it’d be like for him to go down on you while you’re on your little rants. he knows you don’t like to show how flustered you get, but your body betrays you anyway.

“miss ya so much, darlin’.” he allows the confession to fall past his lips in a low groan.

“i miss you too, simon.” oh, how he loves the way his name sounds when you say it. “captain said it wouldn’t be longer than a week, right?”

“probably.” he brings his phone further from his mouth so he can lean forward to use his spit as lubrication on his erection. he loves it when you get messy with him, coating him with nothing but a mixture of your cum and juices. “can’t fuckin’ wait to get home t’you.”

and bury his nose in the crook of your neck. and to fuck you on every piece of furniture that you own to make up for lost time. and cook you a nice meal after that before cuddling up to you the whole day.

his breathing is getting laboured now, hot puffs almost vaporising against the cold air around him. every hitch of your breath, every stammer in your sentence, every slight falter in your focus in delivering your rants do nothing but spur him on.

“keep going, love.” his hips jerk slightly against his large hand. “let me hear ya. keep talkin’.”

so you do.

you keep talking, now about what you’ve been up to since you last called, and simon keeps fucking his fist to you.

if simon could crawl through the screen and make you lose your composure, he’d do it in a heartbeat. he’d make you keep going, force you to tell him all about everything whilst watching every single thing he does to your most sensitive parts.

he knows what makes your breath hitch. he knows where to caress to get you to stutter through your sentences. he knows where to wrap his lips around, what to massage, tease, and flick with his tongue to make you whine. he knows exactly where to pinch and roll and rub with his calloused fingers until you start begging for him.

he’ll stop if you stop talking.

he’ll continue when you can formulate a full and proper sentence, only to smile against your soft, pliant body once you start fumbling through them again.

you’ll start to get desperate for release and he’ll start to get hungry for your sweet moans. it wouldn’t take long until his coy game will be forgotten, until he’ll start working his mouth and hands all over his favourite spots on your body to caress and tease, until he’s drinking every last drop of your sweet nectar and you’re screaming his name over and over again until you’re gushing around his lips and digits.

“oh, then i spotted this little malinois baby at the shelter that we volunteer at. he was so growly and he reminded me of you so much.” you coo affectionately and he almost let a groan slip past. “after getting familiar with me, he was just the sweetest little guy ever.”

“yeah?” simon grunts roughly, his fist pumping up and down his leaking cock faster. he can feel his blood pounding in his ears, heart hammering against his chest as he tries his hardest to regulate his breathing through his mouth. sweat lines his forehead, dripping down his thick neck and down to the thin pillow underneath his head.

“yeah!” you chime with excitement before you continue talking.

it’s a miracle that price managed to find some cheap hotel in the outskirts to lay low in before they make their next move and close the mission. he’ll be home to you in three days but that’s three days too long.

heat coils in the base of his spine as he feels his orgasm climbing. fuck, he misses the warmth of your body, of your tight hole that squeezes him like a vice every time. he misses the way you moan his name, nails digging into his muscles and feeling that satisfactory burn of pain and pleasure that makes his cock throb and twitch while nestled deep inside you.

“simon?”

“yes, love?” he hopes that he sounds stable enough to you.

“check your messages.” your instruction leaves him a little confused but he obeys silently. his forearm is straining from the effort of fucking his fist.

“gimme a second, love.” simon allows himself to exhale and grunt when he brings his phone away from his ear. it’s a little smudged from his sweat but a quick wipe and a few buttons, he sees the notification in his messaging app with you.

with his thoughts void of anything else but pleasure and you, he mindlessly taps on your name.

“jesus, fuck–!” he chokes on his own breath and his orgasm comes surging all of a sudden as soon as his dark eyes land on the photo you sent him. all air is knocked out of his lungs, a soft gasp of your name finally heard from his parted lips. his hot white seed spurts all over his lower abdomen, catching in the trimmed hairs of the dark brown trail leading down to his cock.

his stomach contracts and relaxes as he tries to pace his breathing, coming down from the unexpected high. holy fuck, he’s lightheaded. he’s never cum this hard from just jerking off to your voice.

simon lifts his phone up just enough for him to steadily hold it above his face.

it’s a photo of you, in one of his shirts, with nothing else on. a mirror photo. you’re posed promiscuously over the edge of your shared bed. your round ass is in full, perfect view. he can see the length of your legs, the small dip of your lower back. every single one of his favourite parts of you can be seen, including the cheeky smirk in your face when you snapped it.

he finally allows himself to relax, a breathless chuckle escaping his lips as he brings his phone back to his ear.

“and how long have you known, love?” he really thought he’d done a good enough job at hiding it.

“simon, my love, we’ve been in a relationship for half a decade. i know when you’re jerking off to the sound of my voice.” you don’t sound mad at all, and he’s relieved. “and you also accidentally put yourself on speaker halfway, so i kinda heard it all.”

“wha’?” his bushy brows pinch into a frown and he pulls his phone back to his face to take a look. surely enough, he’s accidentally got the speaker on. “fuckin’ tech.”

he’s grumbling incoherencies while he brings his phone back to his ear.

“five minutes a good enough cooldown before i start teasing you?” simon can hear the teasing smile in your voice, that cheeky lilt never failing to make him smile.

“‘s like y’know me like the back ‘f your hand, love.” he unceremoniously kicks his boxers off as he shimmies to the edge of his bed. the cheap wood creaks underneath his weight as he shuffles to the small bathroom to clean himself up.

“oh, good. cause our lovense is fully charged and i’m making sure you take responsibility for cumming without me.”

the corners of his lips curl into a wide grin.

oh, you’re going to be the absolute death of him.

Every sound you make is making this worse, he thought frantically, arms already shoved in his jacket, snatching his briefcase, abandoning everything else.

The second he hit the rooftop, he launched into the night. Wind and vapor trailed behind him as he ripped through the sky, dread clawing higher with every heartbeat.

You were his girl. His best friend. His North Star. His everything. If you were hurt— If he was too late—

The apartment came into view: lights on, door locked, no signs of damage. But your pulse remained sharp and erratic.

He crashed through the balcony in a blur, caught himself on the curtains, ripped it down from pure impatience, glasses askew, breath ragged.

"Sweetheart?!"

Clark stopped so abruptly, his briefcase almost launching out of his hand at mach speed.

Because there you were, flat on your back on the couch, biting your lip, his shirt on your body riding high, one hand clamped over your exposed breast, the other sunk between your legs.

And nestled between those shaking thighs....Was that...?

Your slick fingers gripped a red-and-blue glistening vibrator—his symbol, his shield flashing brightly with each pulsing buzz.

Clark dropped briefcase with a thud.

Your eyes went wide in horror. A strangled moan escaped anyway, your back bowing off the cushions in a desperate, dying climb toward release, right in front of him. Still your husband gawked from the threshold, thunderstruck and hard as a brick.

You clamped your legs shut, scrambled to kill the vibrator, to breathe. "Clark! Oh shit! I—I didn’t think you’d be back so—oh my God—stop looking at me like that—"

But why? When his sweet, sharp, insatiable girl was using a knockoff of his shield to fuck herself in their living room. And she was close.

"I didn’t know they made those," he managed, voice more ravenous than shocked.

You could’ve burst into flames. You weren’t even sure if you were still wet or just sweating with panic.

"L-Lois thought it was funny—a gag gift, said for when Perry kept you—God, why am I talking—I was just—Can you please just forget this happened?!"

Clark blinked, throat dry. He pressed a fist to his mouth, inhaled slowly, then exhaled even slower, grounding himself before he gave into the need to take you right there. His slacks were tight enough to hurt now.

"…Did you finish?"

You fell silent. Chest heaving. Couldn’t lie now. You shook your head. Of course, Clark thought, your orgasm was no doubt spoiled from mortification.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, " he apologised softly, stepping forward, dropping to one knee as if during a prayer. "You were right there, huh?"

You nodded, eyes averted, still panting, thighs clenching helplessly. He reached forward, large hands ghosting over your knees before gently coaxing them apart

"Let me help you, hon. Let me make up for it."

"Clark…"

"I need to," he murmured, eyes trained on your cunt, still fluttering, still dripping, still waiting, still...."She’s so pretty when she’s desperate."

You whimpered. He brushed his knuckle down your inner thigh, so tender it made you shiver. His other hand plucked the toy from your grasp, lips pursed, eyeing his family crest.

"Won’t be needing this," he muttered, setting it aside without a glance. "Not when the real thing’s home now. Unless... you want to compare?"

His thumb circled your clit in slow, unhurried motions, savoring the way you jolted beneath his touch. Your mouth opened from pleasure and shock, then closed again, because Jesus. Was he...?

"You’re… serious?"

"Yeah," Clark shrugged, sliding his palms beneath your ass, tugging you close. "Could be fun. You tell me how they stack up."

His voice dropped as his eyes locked onto your dripping pussy. "Though I’ve got a guess which one gets the better reviews."

He leaned in slowly, dragging his tongue just over your core. Testing. You groaned, half-annoyed, half-aroused.

"Go on," he invited. "Tell me which feels better."

And then he finally licked you—slow and deep, like he wanted to take his time convincing you. One long, unbroken stroke from your soaked cunt to the tip of your swollen clit. Your hips bucked violently, hands flying to his hair. Another swipe his tongue. Then another. You cried out, thighs quivering around his shoulders.

"Oh God—you're—baby, you’re such an ass sometimes!"

He chuckled into you. "That mean the toy’s losing already?"

"Yes! God, yes—it doesn't even come close—"

"Hm, that’s what I thought," he hummed, victorious.

"Ah!—fuck—me, Clark—"

"One sec," he promised gently, already bending forward again. His glasses started to fog, but he didn’t bother plucking them off. He sucked on your clit, adding more pressure with every mewl. "Tastes like someone missed me."

Your hand flew to his ear, pinching lightly. "Don’t tease right now—"

"I’m not," he countered, squeezing your ass, thumbs brushing your hips. "Just need to make sure you're okay."

You blinked down at him, dazed.

"You scared me," he confessed, breath catching against your inner thigh. "I heard you, your heartbeat. Thought something happened. I—I panicked."

You had no time to appreciate his sweet concern. His mouth returned to you, humming, and vibrating, and growing hungier by the second. "But it was just this," he muttered, plunging two fingers deep into you alongside his mouth.

You cursed, sobbed, head falling back against the cushions, hips rutting helplessly up to meet his mouth and hand. His other hand slid up, gently kneading your breast, rolling your nipple.

Clark's brain was melting, because Good Gosh, how had he ever thought about front-page news, deadlines, and rational thought when this was happening just a few miles away?

"Sweetheart," he murmured faintly, gaze flicking to object on the couch beside you. "Can you hand me what you were using?"

.