Too Soft

He tore his gaze away from you and looked up at the ceiling in deep thought.

“Over Those Hills,” he said after a moment and you nodded. You didn’t expect him to remember the title. “What about it?”

You gulped. ‘Over Those Hills’ was the second book you’d published, but the first one to hit the New York Times best seller. The one that started to pay your bills soon after it was picked up by an agent.

“I wrote it,” you finally confessed.

For five seconds, his face remained motionless, then his cute dimples appeared in all of their glory, and an under-his-breath laugh rolled from his chest. You adored those dimples. Sometimes, you wished you had the power to make yourself tiny just so you could tuck yourself in one of them and make it your home forever. 

“Is that it?” he said through another small laugh.

“Clark…”

“That’s your secret?” 

“Yes!” He laughed heartily then. You nudged his arm, but you couldn't help but laugh, too. That laugh gave you a reason to look at the bright side of things when everything seemed grey. “Don’t mock me!”

“I’m not!” he raised his palms in self-defense. “I’m not, I promise, I just… It was a really good book. Very explicit, but so good.”

He read it?!

“You read it?!”

“Everyone was talking about it! I had to!”

You rose from the couch and paced behind it so he wouldn’t look at you. This was such a bad idea. He knew about the filthy things you wrote about, and if he found it hilarious that you were the one who wrote that book, what you were about to ask him was probably going to make him hysterical.

“So you’re a ghost writer,” he added more calmly now.

“No? I just have a secret identity.”

“You are Sierra Oz?” 

“Yes!”

He shifted to the other side to look at you. His long arm rested on the back of the couch, and that perfectly ironed dress shirt stretched over his biceps and chest. Those small buttons were about to burst open. 

“I still don’t understand what you need help with.” 

Your eyes met his gaze again. That smug look was still etched on his face. 

“I don’t want your help anymore.” 

“Oh, come on!” 

He stood up, attempting to reach your side, but you brushed past him and crossed your living room into your kitchen. His steps were right behind you.

“You’re gonna keep bugging me,” you said over your shoulder. 

“Of course I’m gonna bug you,” he said. “It’s what I do best, bug you to no end.” As you didn’t answer or look at him, he softened his voice. “Tell me.”

You turned around, leaned your butt on the kitchen counter, legs crossed, and folded your arms over your chest. You wanted to protect yourself as much as you could. Not because you feared he’d hurt you with his reaction—he’d never do anything to purposely harm you—but you were about to reveal an insecurity. 

You glanced down at your feet. 

“I’ve been on deadline for my third book for the last three weeks,” you began, “I… I’m writing from my male character’s point of view and… I have no idea what I’m doing.”

He didn’t answer, and you dared to look up at him. His brows raised with curiosity.

“I’m gonna need you to be a little more specific about what you need help with.”

This was so mortifying.

“I need your… opinion, I guess, or your experience, or something, anything, really, so I can write the sex scenes accurately from his point of view.” 

His smile dropped, and an adorable shade of pink rushed to his cheeks.

“Oh, I see now.” His brows knitted together, and his eyes got lost somewhere with a faraway look.

“Yeah… and I understand if you don’t want to since we’ve never talked about sex before and all.” 

Mostly because your lack of experience with men was very well known by people at the office. You weren’t a virgin, but you might as well be one, considering the last time you were touched by a man was over three years ago. By choice, though. 

“The topic hasn’t come up,” he replied with a shrug and tone that spread warmth all over you, and you weren’t that nervous anymore. “What do you wanna know?” 

You sighed and uncrossed your limbs. He had the ability to turn everything that caused you anxiety into balm.

“It’s not that I want to know something in particular. I just need help. I don’t even know how to start or where to start.”

After a moment, he suggested, “I could read what you have so far and we can go from there?”

It was around forty-five thousand words, and he was a fast reader, so while you handed him your laptop with your manuscript, a cup of hot cocoa, and made him settle on the couch to read it, you went back to the kitchen to bake something. Just so your mind would be occupied while in the other room, Clark would be reading a first draft, which was way more intimate than anything you two have ever done together. 

He’d been your best friend for the past two and a half years, but he didn’t know about your hobby. You mentioned your writing all the time, and the obvious thing to assume was your work articles, and you never bothered to clarify that you were writing novel-length stories. It was something so sacred to you that not even Clark could know. You went there—magic pocket universes in your mind—when you needed it the most. 

Like when he started dating Lois. 

Before her, you were convinced your love for Clark was entirely platonic, despite him being the most gorgeous man you’d ever laid your eyes on. And it was because you admired him. He was Superman. You wanted to be him. So yeah, it was easy to convince yourself you didn’t love him like that. 

But when she came around, and he didn’t have much time to spend with you, you realized, that deep admiration was closer to devotion. He was more than just a cool guy who one day decided to become your friend. He was your sun, but you weren’t his.

Lois was. 

You decided to drift away from him out of respect for her, which made you crave him, and found a way to still have him by writing a character that was just like him. You reached a peak of creativity while they were together. Almost a year of endless writing. 

Now, ever since he was single again, you’ve been experiencing writer’s block. You refused to relate it to him being single again, but who were you kidding? He was eating your brain. He occupied every thought, and now that he had more time to be your friend, you spent it all with him rather than writing, which was awful. 

You loved writing, but you loved him more. 

By the time the salted caramel brownies were in the oven, you started tidying up the mess you’d made, and like always, you hated your past self for not tidying up as you went. It was much easier, but no, you always stacked the mess until the very end.

“What’s that smell?” Clark’s warm voice entered the kitchen. 

 You turned around and found him leaning on the door frame with his arms folded over his chest. His broad shoulders strained against his dress shirt, and his smile wasn’t really on his lips but in his kind eyes.

“Your favorite.” You dusted your hands on your apron. “You read it already?”

He walked up to you while nodding. “You stopped just when the best was coming.” 

You rolled your eyes at him and went back to putting everything in the sink. Did he just make a pun?

“I’m scared to even attempt to write that.”

One step closer and he was right next to you. He didn’t understand personal space with you, and you didn’t care. You wanted him this close for as long as he decided. 

“Why did you choose to write from Wesley’s point of view to begin with?” 

You sighed in deep thought. 

“I first came up with the character, then his whole backstory unfolded. Wes is… he has so much to say. It’s his story. It has to be from his point of view.” 

“He chose you,” he said, like he perfectly understood the feeling.

Some silence dropped light between you two. He never forced words out of you, and you never felt the need to fill in the quiet moments with him. You believed that words were easily manipulated; silence was genuine by nature.

So while you hand-washed your utensils, he dried them and put them back in their drawers and cabinets. He knew where everything was by heart. 

“Are you really not impressed that I also have a secret identity?” You had to ask after a moment.

“You’re exactly the kind of girl who’d have this kind of interest,” he replied without hesitation. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

He draped the kitchen cloth over his shoulder. 

“You… You show yourself as shy and as someone who doesn’t have much to say in a room full of people, so it makes sense that your mind is full of universes.”

You took off your apron and dried your hands with it while sighing. It wasn’t good or bad, but the way he said it—with a knowing smile—made it sound like a compliment. Anything that came out of his mouth sounded like a compliment, really. 

“Just figure out a way so I can help you, and I’ll do my best,” Clark said. 

Suddenly, this—talking about sex with Clark—felt like the worst scenario you and he could be in. Your whole body gained temperature at once. You cleared your throat and made yourself busy by preparing the teapot with some tea leaves, facing away from him so he couldn’t see how flustered this whole situation made you. 

“I guess you could answer some questions about your experiences.”

“Uh… Sure.” His voice grew slightly high-pitched. Your mind raced with every scenario that had kept you away from writing. All of them involved words that had never come out of your mouth in front of him. After a moment, he pressed, “Like?”

You winced and twisted on the inside, then, after the teapot was filled, said, “I don’t know, tell me what the vagina feels like or something.” 

More heat spread all over. You sensed how he stiffened behind you. 

“That’s… very specific.”

“Well, yeah. I’m a very explicit writer, remember?” You said with a hint of playful hostility. “It can help if you go back to your most recent experience, I guess.”

You caught his reflection on the window in front of you. He rubbed a palm over his chin. 

“I don’t think I can talk about my experience with Lois.”

Because the wound was still too fresh, you thought. You filled a stovetop kettle with water and put it on high heat before facing him again.

“I don’t mind,” you shrugged, as if just the mere thought of it didn’t make you want to throw up. “It’s for research.”

He half-shook his head. “I-”

“Then, about some other experience with another person.” 

“That was… ages ago,” he laughed a little. His first girlfriend, you easily assumed, the one he had after high school and the one who broke his heart a year later. “I don’t even remember.”

A lump formed on your throat and it turned into a cold ice cube as you swallowed it. A part of you wished he had more women in his life, that way the fact that Lois was his second girlfriend ever wouldn’t hurt this much.

“How else are you supposed to help me, then?” You played it cool.

Guilt pinched his brows together. 

“I don’t know. I didn’t think you’d ask me about specific experiences.”

“You’re making me sound like a creep. I don’t want you to tell me about how you had sex. I just need to know what you felt. Physically.” 

“I-” his mouth hung open and let a long heartbeat pass. “You could ask Jimmy?”

The kettle rattled behind you and gradually, it started to whistle.

“Yeah, I might ask him to have sex, too,” you said as a joke, and of course, he didn’t read it that way.

“What?!” 

“Yeah, I could use a live narration,” you kept it going. “I could take notes in the moment. That’d be waaaay easier. I could even voice record it so it—”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Because… he’s my best buddy. I don’t want to see you two and know you… had sex.”

“Dude, if you’re not willing to help me-”

“I am!” He said loudly over the ever-growing high-pitched whistle. 

Wheee!

“No, you’re not! You’re not willing to tell me about your experiences, which is totally understandable so-”

“Why couldn’t you ask me to have sex?!”

“I- what?”

“I—” Wheeeee! “Can you turn that thing off?!” He gestured with his hand, exasperated.

Heat rushed to your face and ears. You reached behind you and blindly turned the stove off. 

Why would he even suggest that? He was Clark. He wasn’t someone who did things casually or without purpose and passion sprinkled here and there. He just confessed that Lois was one of the two people he’s slept with. 

He tore his eyes away but moved his hands in the air as he passionately explained: “Y-you’re willing to have sex with Jimmy for research but not with me?” 

“Because we’re friends!” You shot right back. 

“Exactly!”

You opened the top cabinet to hide behind the door, and took two mugs, placing them over the counter rather roughly. You breathed out to release the exasperation. You and him always had discussions out of the smallest things. He looked like a mad little bunny when he was angry, so sometimes you pissed him off on purpose. 

This time, though, nothing about how quickly this conversation escalated was on purpose. 

“I’m making myself some tea,” you said, softening your voice.

“I can see that.”

“This is my way of asking you if you want some too.”

Though he didn’t reply, you poured tea into both cups and added a teaspoon of honey in his. He replied with a gentle thanks as you handed him his mug. 

“Us, being friends, is exactly why we shouldn’t have sex,” you said.

He did that face—a suppressed smile, raised brows and a half-nod—like he understood your point but didn’t necessarily agree. 

“I think the complete opposite.”

“Clearly.”

“I’d do anything to help you. It’d be research. Homework.”

You bit back a smile and looked at your feet once again. He was being too casual about his idea, and the fact that he thought sex with you was a good idea unlocked a brand new feeling. Something between rainbows and raging fear with a pinch of endearment. 

“So, you, asking me to have sex with you, is you being a good superhero?”

“Sure.”

You stifled a sigh.

Sex with Clark was part of your dreams and daydreams, and you wondered. Not what it’d be like precisely (because you didn’t doubt for a second he was good at it), but you what it would do to your friendship. Every hypothetical ending of that daydream lead to the end of your most precious friendship. 

And you couldn’t risk that.

“I’d rather jump off the Daily’s rooftop,” you said. 

“I’d catch you halfway.”

“Oh, I know that!” 

You brushed past him and stomped your way to your balcony, with him following you like your shadow.

You were suffocating in your own thoughts.

“Wow, so you’d rather jump off a building than have sex with me, but you’d do it with Jimmy without a hint of hesitation?” 

Your balcony wasn’t as high as the Daily Planet’s rooftop, but still, the fall would save you from answering the truth.

It was very inconvenient having your desk right across from Clark’s. 

He was distracting when he pretended to be a normal human being. He was clumsy, said too many sorrys, he slouched, and he was cocky when it came to his work as a journalist (rightfully so, by the way). And even when he wasn’t doing or saying anything, he had your attention. 

Like right now. 

A crease dipped between his eyebrows as his fingers persistently clacked over the keyboard. He was as immersed in his own work as you were in him.

You sensed a strong glare from somewhere and your eyes found it behind him, past his shoulder. There was Lois, looking at you. She gave you a knowing smile with a nod and settled back on her desk. 

You knew she knew how you felt about Clark. Not because you’ve told her, but because you lived by the saying: a girl always knows. You bet a smart and observant woman like her could easily tell, despite your efforts not making it obvious. 

You shook the thought away, dropping your gaze back to your computer screen, and changed to the incognito tab where a blank document haunted you. The text cursor flickered like it was mocking you. You knew better than to work on your book during working hours and on your work computer, but every second counted now, even if you weren’t doing any writing, looking at the empty page was at least something. 

Right?

“Are you writing?” Clark whispered rather loudly from his seat.

“Yes, I’m writing,” you shout-whispered. 

He pulled himself up with his chair next to you and leaned forward to your screen, scrunching up his nose to adjust his glasses. 

“I don’t see anything.”

“Go away!” You said through laughter, pushing him by his shoulder. 

He was much (much) stronger than you, so he didn’t move an inch, and you only managed to push yourself away on your chair. You bumped into someone. 

“Whoa.” Jimmy stopped you from sliding even more. “Easy there.”

A light bulb lit up above your head then.

“Oh, hey!” You stood up and walked with him to the coffee station, giving Clark one glance over your shoulder.

Last night’s conversation didn’t lead to your confession, of course. Instead, you kept the idea of sleeping with Jimmy going and freed Clark from being your helper to your writer’s block. Seeing him evidently annoyed by the idea, prompted you to make it a personal challenge to give Jimmy more attention than ever before. Just to see what else Clark would do. You wanted to think he’d gotten jealous at your hypothetical proposal to Jimmy, but it was most likely his nature to want to keep you away from anything that could hurt you.

There wasn’t anything in particular about Jimmy that could possibly hurt you, though. You two didn’t click as friends, so even if you tried to make a move on him, you believed he would politely ignore you. He was a nice guy and had Clark in common, and that was it.

Still, as you reached his side, you asked him to pour you some coffee, and behaved like every other girl here who had a crush on him, knowing damn well Clark’s eyes were on you. He could melt your skull if he decided to use his heat vision.

You forgot all about personal space and got too close to Jimmy, giving him a toothy smile, and he gave you a quick once-over, as if he’d sensed how forced your nearness was. There was his polite way of rejecting you.

“O-kay, then.” You took half a step back and brought your mug up to your lips. 

From the corner of your eye, you caught Clark’s familiar tall and broad figure approaching you in long strides. He squeezed himself between you and Jimmy with a timid excuse me and reached for the coffee pot. 

As he lingered there, wordlessly, you asked him, “Can I help you with something?” 

“Just… making myself some coffee.” He shrugged.

Jimmy sipped on his steaming coffee loudly. “Will you guys make it tomorrow night?” 

You brushed past Clark and stood on Jimmy’s other side. “What’s tomorrow night?” 

“It’s his birthday,” Clark said, sipping on his coffee. His glasses fogged up. 

“I know it’s his birthday. I just didn’t know there was a party,” you told Jimmy.

“There wasn’t one until—” he glanced at his watch “—twenty minutes ago. So this is me—” he gestured at himself “—inviting you two.”

“Aw, thanks!” You leaned your hip on the counter and faced him fully, scanning his face like you wanted to count every freckle. “Why celebrate it on a weekday, though?” 

Clark cleared his throat just because. You picked a non-existent lint from Jimmy’s collar. 

“I’m hoping not everyone can make it.” Jimmy glanced down at your hand with apparent disgust. 

“Then why invite people you don’t want there?” 

He subtly backed away from you. 

“I don’t want to offend anybody.” 

“You can’t be everyone’s friend, Jimmy,” you said. 

“Leave him be,” Clark countered. “I get what you mean, man.”

 “I know you do.” Jimmy clapped a hand over Clark’s shoulder and said, already on his way back to his desk, “Let me know if you guys will make it. I need to know how much booze to buy.” 

We will! You and Clark replied at the same time, even when neither of you was much of an alcohol lover. 

You rolled your eyes at him and asked between clenched teeth:

“Dude, what is your problem?” 

“Just wanted to make sure you weren’t about to ask him to have sex with you, is all,” he replied under his breath. 

“I wasn’t,” you shot back, and crossed the bullpen to your desk. “If I did, I wouldn’t do it in front of everybody. I may ask him tomorrow night, at his birthday party. Maybe I could get there empty-handed, with just a red shiny bow on my butt and offer myself as a gift. It’d be a win-win.”

A rare frown pinched his brows ever so slightly and his lips set into a straight line. 

“Stop it.” 

Poking the bear was working. 

“Why does it bother you so much?” 

Clark paused and tore his gaze away for a moment. “It doesn’t bother me. You both are two of my favorite people, but you’re-”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m too pure for someone like him.” 

”Well, now I’m not so sure about that, considering what you write about-”

“At— shhh!” You looked around to make sure no one heard that first part. Everyone was doing their own thing. “Keep it down, superm—”

He clasped a hand over your mouth and his eyes widened. He was gentle while doing so, and something between determination and surprise balanced between those eyes. As if he’d been taken aback by his reaction, yet he didn’t withdraw his hand. Somehow, he’d cornered you against the wall, attempting to hide you from the world, and suddenly the everyday office noise faded. Like he’d put you in a bubble where only you and him existed. 

It melted you—his unexpected touch, his eyes from this up close, his sudden force—and he slowly uncovered your mouth, but his eyes behind his glasses were still telling you to stop talking. You’d called him Superman with distracted people around many times before, and he never acted this way.  

As soon as your mouth was fully freed, you breathed in through your nose to cool yourself. You needed an ice bath to get rid of that heat, but you still managed to reply, so sure:

“What if I told you he’s exactly my type?”

His jaw clenched. “I’d say you are lying.”

“You don’t even know what my type is.” 

“Yeah, I do,” he scoffed. “Dev from the mail room. Great guy.”

You scoffed even harder. ”What makes you think he’s my type?”

Dev wasn’t conventionally handsome, but he was definitely intriguing, and if Jimmy didn’t exist, girls here would surely stop by the mail room more often.

“He’s tall and generous and… has kind eyes.”

“If you believe that’s all it takes from someone to be my type, you’d also be my type, don’t you think?” 

His face lit up. “You think I have kind eyes?”

You stifled an incoming sigh and burst the bubble by making your way to the vending machine. He was predictable at this point, so you replied over your shoulder:

 “Clark, you are the epitome of kindness. Everything about you is kind.”

There was something romantic about the Daily’s rooftop at night.

The skyline lit up by the city lights was tempting to admire, just like a sunset, and you often found yourself here to take them in. To think. To escape the chaos of the office. To get inspired. 

You walked closer to the edge and breathed in the evening breeze. 

Until last year, this was yours and Clark’s spot. Before Lois. After her, it became the place you visited to escape them. 

“You’re not jumping, are you?” Clark’s voice echoed around.

Your eyes fluttered closed and your heart almost leaped from you. He’d followed you there, like the old times.  

“It’s no use now that you’re here, is it?” you shot right back teasingly. 

His footsteps stopped somewhere behind you. His presence was so strong, even when you couldn’t see him, he felt as impotent as a skyscraper.

“I thought you’d left.” Clark reached your side and you looked up at him briefly. He’d taken off his glasses and tucked them in his shirt front pocket. 

“I was about to.” 

“You don’t wanna go home?”

Your tongue clicked. “If I do… I would beat myself up for not working on my book and I don’t want to do that to myself. Not tonight, at least.”

He hummed in agreement. After a moment, he said: 

“I did some research on Sierra Oz. You could easily make a career out of your writing.”

You chuckled. Heat rushed to your face. “Thanks.”

“I mean it. You can free yourself from Perry for good.”

You’ve thought about it, many times but—

“I fear if I do, I’ll stop enjoying it.”

“Why?”

You sighed.

“Because it’ll become my full-time job, and I don’t want to ruin the magic of writing to escape. I need it to stay as a hobby. As something I come home to. To distract myself from my responsibilities as an adult. My responsible and mature job is being a journalist. With my other writing I allow myself to… dream beyond every wall of insecurity I’ve built while being a journalist.”

A loud and persistent honk filled the brief silence. Clark peeked down the street, surely to make sure everyone was alright. 

It was just some impatient guy wanting to turn left.

Clark came back next to you and said, “I wish there was something I could do.”

You pressed your lips together. He truly had offered everything.

“I appreciate you suffering with me through this,” you laughed a little. “And for offering help, as ridiculous as it was.”

“The offer’s still up,” he said, and your stomach fluttered. 

“And I still think it’s best if I do it with Jimmy.”

“Don’t do that to me.”

Your head snapped at him. 

“I- It’ll make things messy between all of us,” he added.

“Should I download a dating app, then?”

“That’s worse. Meeting strangers can be dangerous, especially men, and… it’s best if you do it with someone you know.”

He was so distressed about it, it was borderline cute. You had to tell him, “Clark, I wasn’t being serious. I wouldn’t… have sex with anyone for research. I just have to be a big girl and push through this rough patch because it happens. I’ll just give myself some time. Step away from the story for a while.”

“Do you have the time to do so?”

“I have time, just not a lot. And if I fail at it,” you sighed, “then it was fun while it lasted.”

Locked out of heaven by Bruno Mars was playing at Jimmy’s house when you arrived. 

It looked like a full-on party, which meant his plan of celebrating his birthday on a weekday didn’t work at all. Cat reached for your hand and led the way inside while you squeezed yourselves through the sea of people—grabbed a drink each—and made it to the backyard. 

There were even more people here, but at least it was out in the open. Jimmy was sprawled on a lounge chair with four women surrounding him by the pool, touching him and laughing at everything he said. He looked like a king, and it wouldn’t surprise you if at some point in the night a crown popped over his head while one of his girls started feeding him grapes.

You still didn’t understand how he managed to get this many women when Clark was right there… with Lois. Sitting on a bench under fairy lights like they came out right out of a rom-com, where the couple who broke up not long ago were about to give each other a second chance. 

Just the mere thought gnawed at your mind and twisted your insides. 

You weren’t supposed to be here, watching them rekindle their romance. You were meant to be buried in your couch with your laptop trying to do some writing, even if that also would ruin your peace, it was better than this. You hated how whenever she was near, you had immediate access to all of your insecurities. 

Before Lois could catch you staring, you brought your attention back to Cat and forced a smile. 

With her, you had the chance to stay a listener. She carried the conversations most times, if not always, which was why she was your better half at parties. You hated talking. Hated small talk. And she didn’t, and always made you feel included even if you didn’t say a word. 

So you just laughed and said yeah! and oh my gosh! and nodded while smiling with your eyes at whatever anyone who joined said. The conversations drifted in and out of your brain; your whole focus was on them.

Sometimes you wished you had Clark’s superpowers, just so you could eavesdrop on what they were talking about. Sometimes, you thought he could read your thoughts, too, even when he confessed to you all about being Superman, he told you all about his powers. 

It felt like he could. At least with you, because every time, he caught you staring. It wasn’t weird that he did. It was Clark, and he only made some cute faces or smiled at you to acknowledge your presence and went back to his oh-so-interesting conversation with Lois. 

At some point in the night, you moved close to the pool and ended up facing Clark and Lois again, and you and he kept locking eyes every once in a while. It became your own language when you decided to drift away from the friendship when he started dating her. You did it to protect yourself from getting more heartbroken, but you could never stop looking at him, and apparently, he couldn’t either. 

Cat said your name, and the buzz of the party came back to you.

“Huh?” You looked at her.  

“I said, do you think they’re getting back together?” she subtly asked you while looking in Clark and Lois’ direction. She was your better half, but she didn’t know how you felt for him. 

You answered a dry I hope so, as if the mere thought didn’t make you want to throw up. 

You sipped on your drink to force the words you didn’t truly mean down your throat.

“Like, look at him! He’s so smitten.” She sighed like she was the one in love. 

Right as she said that, Clark’s gaze found yours again and held it for what felt like minutes. It singed your skin, and you would’ve caught on fire if a stranger’s arm hadn’t draped over your shoulder.  

“Hey, sweetheart.” Some random guy had approached you. His alcohol breath was radioactive. 

“Ew, ew.” You sneaked away from him. “Get him off of me!”

“Don’t even try it.” Cat placed a strong palm over this guy’s chest, but he didn’t back off. “She’s with me.” 

“I don’t mind sharin’.” His face split with a creepy smile and almost ate her with his eyes.

“We said Back off.” You pushed him by his shoulder. 

Clark’s head snapped in your direction then, and you made eye contact for the hundredth time during the night. His nostrils flared and his lips tensed when he noticed you were uncomfortable. 

You were, yet you murmured, “I’m fine.” 

There was no need to say it any louder. You knew that as soon as he heard your voice, he selected his focus and could even hear your rapid heartbeat.

Clark nodded once, and brought his attention back to Lois as soon as the guy left. 

Your stomach tightened again.

What you felt about them together was beyond jealousy. It was a physical illness. A disease that attacked your chest and stomach and breathing all at once and even if you turned your back to them to avoid seeing them, you could still sense him, like he was part of your DNA. 

And when you didn’t feel him close, you became a turmoil of feelings. They were both gone. Did they leave already? Together? Gosh, you needed to sit down. You excused yourself and went inside to grab another drink. 

“You okay?”

Lois.

You turned around and forced a smile.

“Hi! Yeah, yeah, I came to get another drink but… they’re all gone.”

“Yeah, Clark noticed the ones you liked were gone, so he’s out there with Jimmy buying some more.”

You weren’t strangers with Lois, but just like with Jimmy, you weren’t friends either. Though you wished you were. She was one of those girls who you found incredibly cool and pretty and you died to be friends with.

Her feet faltered closer. She looked like she was about to say something, and even opened her mouth but nothing came out. 

“You want a drink, too?” You asked just to fill in the silence.

“No, I- I just wanted to tell you I’m glad you and Clark are talking again.”

You stared at her with a puzzled face. 

“Again? We’ve never stopped talking.”

“I know I meant… like before.” She swallowed thickly. “Before me.”

Oh.

You walked to the fridge to grab something and hide behind the door.

“When we were together,” she continued, “Clark said you’d been drifting away and that made him so sad.”

So she wanted to talk about Clark.

“Yeah,” you replied, lurking mindlessly through the beers. Not your favorite. “I just… people at the office talk, make up things, have made up things about me and Clark, and I didn’t want them to get between you two.”

You picked a random drink and closed the door. You dared to look at her. 

“Yeah, I’ve heard some things, and I appreciate you… thinking of us. But it’s not necessary anymore.” What was her point? She traded her weight from one foot to the other and laughed a little when saying, “You guys are soulmates. You’re like his missing rib or something, and I… could never get between that.”

You swallowed thickly. Your drink could burst because of how strongly you were holding it. Lois Lane, the most gorgeous woman at the Daily Planet, the girl you thought (and still think) was the love of Clark’s life, calling you his missing rib was so not expected. 

“I don’t understand.”

Lois laughed softly again and tore her eyes away. 

“I didn’t think I’ll have to spell it out for you, so I will.” She sighed. “Clark, he… has feelings for you.”

A laugh lurched out of you. Right there on her face like she’d said the funniest joke, but she didn’t, though she kept smiling. A smile that didn’t reach her eyes. A smile that wiped yours away a second later. 

“When his dad had the heart attack,” she continued, “he didn’t call me.” 

 He’d called you, at two am and with a shaky voice, asked you to come with him to his hometown because Pa was in the hospital, and he didn’t think he could be strong enough in front of Ma if something horrible happened. 

“You were already broken up then,” you merely replied. 

“I know, but if the same thing had happened to me, I would’ve called him, even when we were broken up. I would’ve called him, and… he didn’t call me.”

You pressed your lips together as guilt washed over you. 

“I’m his best friend, and he’s mine. And… that was it. He just needed someone, and he couldn’t reach out to you because he was still hurt.”

“No.” She shook her head. “He didn’t just need someone. He needed you.”

You breathed in deep through your nose. 

“I don’t see the point of this, Lois.” 

“It’s… girl code. I’m doing this for the same reason you stepped away when we were together. We didn’t have to agree to it, but you knew it was the right thing.” She sighed. “This is me doing the right thing.”

You opened the beer can and slurped on it. It tasted like crap. 

“Does he know about this?”

“Not exactly. But I had this same conversation with him. Just… from his perspective.” 

“So you told him, if he ever wanted to have something with me, you were okay with it.”

“He asked me, if I would be okay if, at some point, you and he started to be more than friends.”

This was too much nonsense out of nowhere, but you couldn’t help but instantly daydream of that. Of a world where you and he were something more than just friends. 

Had he started the conversation? When did he start to feel this way? Was this even true? And if it was, why would she tell you first and not him? 

“Are you still in love with him?” You had to ask.

Another smile that didn’t reach her eyes, but she squared her shoulders like nothing could break her. 

“I loved him,” she admitted. “But I don’t think I was in love with him. And I’m sure he felt the same way. He loved me, but he wasn’t in love with me.”

  Laughter burst from the entrance and gradually got closer to the kitchen—Jimmy and Clark and some other guys yelling about who knew what. Lois went to the fridge and got her own drink and just like that, the conversation was over, and she fled before Clark showed up with a six pack of your favorite crispy drink.

You were still there, frozen by every word Lois said.

When you locked eyes with Clark, his dimples creased softly, and without a word, he approached you. He took the beer out of your hand to hand you your new drink with the other. 

Your fingertips brushed together. Your eyes still lingered. 

“Are you okay?” Clark asked.

No. What Lois said messed with your head and, worse, gave you hope. You were probably imagining that glimmer in his eyes. 

“I’m…” you frowned confused. “I’m going to the bathroom.” 

You sneaked out of there before he could ask more questions and squeezed yourself between the people up the stairs, crossing the hall into the bathroom. Clark called your name behind you, which normally made you turn on your heels without a doubt. Now, you only walked faster.

Never as fast as him.

He got inside with you and shut the door behind him

“You sure you’re okay?” He asked.

His scent enveloped you whole.

“This is a very tiny bathroom.” You backed up, frowning at him like a child. Your back hit the cold tiles. “I need to pee.”

He frowned back at you. Not mad, but asking you something. 

“This one’s new.” He tugged at the sleeve of your blouse and grazed your palm with his knuckles.

“No?” You yanked your hand away. “I just don’t wear it that often.” 

His face softened, and he flashed you an incredulous smile. “You’re acting so strange right now.” 

You sighed. “I just… I want to leave, is all.”

“Okay. Let’s go.”

“You don’t have to leave just because I leave. We didn’t even arrive together.”

“And I wanna leave with you. We haven’t talked all night.”

“You’ve been… busy.” You looked away. 

Busy talking with Lois and looking at her and laughing with her. Were they talking about you? About his feelings for you?

“I’m never busy when it comes to you,” he replied without hesitation.

“I don’t believe you,” you shot back.

You didn’t believe her.

“Whoa, hey, why are you being like this? What do you mean?”

“Nothing! I just… need to pee.” 

“You’re drifting away from me again.” His tone turned as firm as a stone then. 

“What are you talking about?”

“This is how you behave when you want to pull away from me.”

You folded your arms over your chest. “I never want to pull away from you.” 

“But you have!”

“Because you were dating someone! I didn’t want to… intrude, and now you’re talking to her again so I-”

Clark almost pounced on you, both of his hands cradling each side of your face, so determined you thought he was about to kiss you, but all he did was press his forehead to yours. Your noses bumped together, and your heart started to bang against your chest, begging to leap out and kiss his own.

“I’m not talking to her again,” he murmured. “Not like that.”

Your breathing shook. Why couldn’t you believe him? He wouldn’t lie to you. 

“Don’t pull away from me again. Please,” he whispered. 

You would never pull away from him the way you once did. Even if it brought your writing spark back. 

All you managed to reply to his heartfelt plea was a breathless ‘Okay’. 

What else were you supposed to say?

He nuzzled his nose to your temple for a moment, then placed a barely-there kiss before leaving you there with your heart going wild. 

You’d never been this confused because of something Clark did.

You were no stranger to his touch. Casual touch. A hand on your upper back when walking you out of a place; his arm brushing yours when standing close. His nearness was normal, but your noses have never touched. His hands have only cradled your face once before. When you had a panic attack, and he figured the only way to ground you was by holding your face so you’d look at nothing but him as he guided your breathing and steadied your heart. 

It worked that time. 

Tonight, that same touch was the reason your hands were shaking. 

Don’t pull away from me again, please.

You splashed your face with cold water and let all your feelings go down the drain, clearing yourself of any emotion, and practiced your smile in the mirror a few times before returning to the party. 

Cat was nowhere in sight, and the only person you knew—besides Jimmy, who was still surrounded by women—was Clark, who unfortunately was all alone now, in that same bench under fairy lights. So available, like he was waiting for you. 

He lifted his head and his gaze found yours.

A strong pull dragged your feet towards him.

“I’m ready,” you shrugged. 

Only because he wasn’t hanging out with Lois anymore. If that were the case, you would’ve left without a trace. 

Clark seemed at your will, and didn’t bother to say goodbye to anybody. Just walked out the backyard with you—placed one hand between your shoulder blades—and opened his car door for you. You both were acting as though nothing had happened. It was something you had in common, which most times saved you from unnecessary conversations. 

Right now, you were choking on what you wanted to say, but with a single glance, you agreed not to mention a thing. It was for the best, because if any of you decided to clear up the situation… no, there was nothing to clear up.  

Everything was fine.

Except that you were both oddly quiet on the drive home. You weren’t always chatty, but at least your off-key singing of whatever song was playing on the radio and your hands as microphones filled those moments.

I get so breathless when you call my name

I’ve often wondered, do you feel the same?

There’s a chemistry, energy, a synchronicity when we’re all alone

So don’t tell me you can’t see what I’m thinking of

Well, you couldn’t sing that.

You looked out the window. 

Clark’s phone rang.

Thank god.

A girl’s voice came through the speakers before he could even say hello.

“Where are you?” 

Your eyes snapped to his phone.

Kara.

“Why?” He asked.

“I need you to look after Krypto for a few hours.”

You and Clark exchanged looks. He was panicking already. 

“At one in the morning?”

“It’s okay if you’re not here. I’m already here.”

“You broke into my apartment?”

“I brought him his toys and his food and his treats and his bed…”

Krypto barked in the distance. It sounded like he was already tearing something. 

“Do not leave him alone, you hear me, he’s gonna destroy everything!”

“He’s more mature now, you whiny bitch, we’re in therapy. He won’t do anything.”

“Kara, do not leave him alone.”

“I’ll pick him up first thing in the morning.”

Then she hung up. 

Clark gripped the steering wheel and gave himself three seconds as he breathed in through his nose. Then, he quickly glanced at you before focusing his eyes back on the road. 

“Do you mind if I pick up Krypto first? He’s… he’s gonna destroy everything if he’s unsupervised.”

This was the complete opposite of what you needed. He was supposed to drop you off and leave, see each other the next morning at work, and act like nothing was wrong. As if he hadn’t pleaded you not to pull away ever again while being a kiss away.

But you’ve met Krypto, so you replied, “Sure,” because yeah, he would destroy everything, and he oddly liked you. Clark called you the Krypto-whisperer.

With a quiet thanks, he did a U-turn, and in no time, you were at his place. 

It wasn’t that destroyed. Only a couch pillow was ripped open, and a few feathers were flying around. You caught Krypto just when he was about to chew on Clark’s bedroom door.

“Hey, little guy,” you greeted the dog with your silly voice, and as soon as he recognized you, he started whining and wagging his tail while sprinting toward you. “Hi, honey, long time no see,” you said through a laugh, crouching to give him those chin scratches he loved so much. “You missed me, huh?” 

Krypto whined some more and barely acknowledged Clark. 

You looked up at him. 

He was smiling proudly. “What is it about you that turns him into an angel?”

You made an indifferent cocky face and continued petting Krypto’s chin. You had no idea. Some people had that effect with babies; you had it with dogs. 

“Do you think she took him out for a walk?”

“Yeah, she might be a basket case, but she’s responsible when it comes to her dog.”

You stood upright and let out a sigh. “I guess… I’ll bring him home with me.”

“Please don’t.” Clark gave you those puppy-dog eyes. “Kara will freak out if she comes back and doesn’t find him.” 

“What am I supposed to do, then?”

“Stay? You can take my bed. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

This was so tragic, you could never say no to him. You shut your eyes briefly just to escape him for a little while. You needed it to be a brand new day already and leave what had happened in that bathroom behind for your own sanity.

“You can use any shirt you want as pajamas and… No, you know what? What else do you need? I’ll make a quick run to your place.” Clark touched his pocket to make sure his car keys were there. “Make a list, and I’ll pick up everything just… please don’t leave with him or without him,” he begged. 

You exhaled in defeat.

“It’s late, Clark, don’t worry.” 

You paced to his couch and plopped down. The couch you’d chosen for him. It felt like a cloud.

“Are you sure?” He asked. Krypto followed you first, curling up against the side of your thigh, and Clark came after, sitting next to him. “It won’t take me long.”

“I’ll sleep here just fine.” You waved a dismissive hand. “I’m exhausted.”

“From work?”

“From everything.” You sighed and went to scratch Krypto’s back. Clark’s hand was already there, and your knuckles brushed together fleetingly. It was nothing. “This life I’m currently in isn’t helping with my creativity.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m working too much,” you merely said. “I think I’m gonna ask Perry for a few days of my annual leave. You know changing environments helps with writer’s block.”

“That sounds like a plan. Where’d you be going?”

“I don’t know? Somewhere far away from here.”

“You can go to Smallville, to my parents’. They’d love to see you again. You won’t have to worry about anything there. Ma will start cooking for you the moment you step inside. I’m sure Pa will put up a hammock for you outside for whenever you want to enjoy the fresh air.”

You smiled at him and stifled the incoming sigh. He got his kindness from his parents, so there was no doubt they’d do what Clark said and more for you.

 “And I can use your bedroom?” 

“Yeah.” He smiled sideways. “There’s also a small café a few blocks away with a nice view. Great wi-fi. You can sit there and write for hours.”

You licked your lips and looked away. He was always so generous, and now that you were all alone, after that moment you had with him in the bathroom, all you could think about was what Lois had said.  

If it were true, you would kiss him right now just to thank him for existing. 

You cleared your throat. 

“I wish you’d given me the chance to pick up my laptop. Your view of the city inspires me.”

“You can use mine,” he said, already standing up, but you reached for his wrist. His hand fisted.

“It’s okay,” you said softly, and he sat back down. “I’d rather talk about it.”

His Adam’s apple jumped. “Talk about what?”

“Um, my book?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw, and he tore his gaze away.

You admired his face then, pale skin with a brushstroke of the cold city lights that his large windows swallowed. It accentuated his side profile, as if it wasn’t already addicting to stare at. You had him sketched in a notebook somewhere in your room just like this: the soft angle of his upturned nose and defined tip, the subtle curl of his lashes, his gentle cupid’s bow. You swore his dimples were still there despite his lips—ever so tempting—set into a line. 

His eyes darted down to his clasped hands. Dainty veins branched out from what was exposed of his wrists down to his knuckles. He wrung them together. You wanted to reach for them, lace your fingers together just because.

He looked at you. “Have you written anything new?”

You shook your head. “I've written everything I need, except for the sex scenes.”

“Are they really necessary?” There was genuine intrigue in his tone and in the way he wrinkled his brows at you, but he still felt the need to justify his question, “Not that having them is bad. I’m sure the scenes you have planned move the story forward as well as give your readers what they want.”

“Sex is very important for my characters, so yeah. I just… I hate that I chose his point of view.”

“Is it too late to start over?”

“I’m 45 thousand words in, so kind of. Besides, you know it has to be from his point of view. It would become a whole different story if told from Fatima’s perspective. She’s so bright and optimistic. She sees the world through rose-colored glasses. Wes doesn’t, except when he’s with her. Sex with her makes him hopeful.”

His sigh and half-nod hinted that he understood where you came from. 

“Have you really not tried writing them?”

You breathed out a small laugh through your nose and admitted guiltily:

“Like a million times.”  

“Why didn’t you show me?”

Because you’d tried writing the feeling of an erection provoked by a kiss, and it sounded like an injury. Were they painful? The thought of Clark reading it and probably laughing at the inaccuracy was a nightmare. 

“I deleted them.” You scratched your brow.  

“All of them?”

Of course not. They could be useful at some point, so you buried them in a document called ‘TRASH’.

“Yes.”

“You’re not supposed to delete things? You know they can be useful later. That’s like a main rule for a writer.”

“Shut up.”

He laughed a little and made himself comfortable, throwing himself back. He rested his head on the back of the couch, and that curl that perfectly fell over his forehead almost lured you to brush it. If it wasn’t because Krypto was between you two, you would’ve, so you limited yourself to a half-turn to face him.

“Try writing one again.” He looked up at you. 

“Right now? On your laptop?” You asked, and he shrugged. “I’m not… gonna write sex scenes in front of you, or anyone. I need to be in the right headspace. Alone.”

He tore his eyes away briefly, and his faint smile remained on his lips.

“What is it about them that stops you from writing them?”

“I have a very vivid imagination, and I like to think I can describe things well despite not experiencing them before. But this is different. I don’t have a penis, so I have no idea how to describe sex from a guy's point of view. Like…” You closed your eyes and failed at picturing the feeling. “I can’t imagine it. It’s one of those things you have to experience to describe well, so I need someone else’s insight. You already refused to help me, so I-”

“I didn’t refuse to help you,” he cut you off in full honesty, “I just gave you another solution.”

Your mouth hung open, and he gave you no chance to reply as he stood up and walked to his kitchen, like he wanted to give you a moment to think about it. But there were no coherent thoughts. He just dropped the bomb and left to put the kettle on.

You bit back a smile and pinched the bridge of your nose to ground yourself. If he was offering his carnal help again, what Lois said couldn’t be so far from the truth, right? 

Oh, this was bad. So, so bad.

Three minutes later, Clark reached your side again and handed you your orange Eevee mug. You’d told him once that the color of the mugs changed how you tasted some drinks, and how you preferred warm colors when having warm drinks. 

Most people who knew this about you thought it was nonsense. Clark, he kept different colored mugs just for you. 

“I guess… You can bring me your laptop,” you gave in. “But you have to walk me through it.”

Clark smiled, satisfied, set his mug on the coffee table, and came back with his laptop, gesturing at it as if to say it was all yours. You logged your email with a knot in your stomach and opened one of the many documents—the one with your manuscript. It was last edited a week ago, but at least there was a half-written scene that you could cling to and start from there.

You read the paragraph and tapped your fingers over the keyboard, mimicking the typing while you thought. Your head was empty.

“What does even an erection even feel like?” 

Clark cleared his throat and sipped on his mug loudly. You could hear the gears in his mind working. He was carefully crafting his words.

“Um, depends a lot on the context, I guess,” he answered. 

You looked at him. He had that tone when he was about to start talking and oversharing.  

“What do you mean?”

“Well, there’s… the one a man wakes up with sometimes, then there’s the one that happens because… of arousal.”

You brought your attention back to your laptop and typed the word arousal, ready to write any other thing he was willing to give you. 

“Go on.”

He paused for a moment, then clicked his tongue, setting his mug back. “I can’t, I can’t!”

“Oh, don’t be a wuss.” You rolled your eyes at him.

“Wow.”

“See, a part of me thinks this is more about you being a prude than you refusing to talk about your experience with—”

“I am not a prude.”

“Eh…”

“I offered you… Myself, that’s not something a prude would do?”

“A part of me also thinks you offered that kind of help because you wanted to use me to forget about Lois,” you then blurted out.

He was not supposed to hear that, but attempting to write sex scenes in front of him was like getting undressed. You were exposing a piece of yourself that no one has had the chance to see, and under it was a bit of insecurity. 

“That is… shockingly offensive.”

“I know. I’m–”

“You really think I’d—”

“No! It was… the voices.” You wiped the sweat above your lips. Was it hot in here? “The evil voices. You know how they get sometimes.”

 “I do wanna help you, but it feels wrong telling you about my experience with another person.”

Right then, Lois’ voice echoed in your head. Not like it often did; her saying his name in a loving tone or her laughter around him that stabbed you right through your heart.

Now—

Clark, he has feelings for you.

You guys are soulmates.

You’re like his missing rib or something. 

You swallowed thickly. 

Maybe it was true. You agreed that he was your soulmate, but you also believed that a person could have multiple soulmates. And about the rest… the voices now were telling you to just shoot for the moon to find out.

“Fine.” You shut down his laptop loudly. Clark jumped a little. “Let’s do it.”

“Do what?”

“Do… research. With each other’s body.”

God, you couldn’t even bring yourself to say the word.

He licked his lips. His mouth hung open. “Um, are you sure?”

“Oh, for god’s sake—” 

That was it. There was no moon to shoot for, and now you wanted to die from the embarrassment of even thinking about it.

You rose from the couch with the intention to leave and take Krypto with you. The little guy did the same, ready to follow you wherever you decided to go. 

“Okay! Okay!” Clark’s voice grew slightly high-pitched as he mirrored you. He laid a gentle hand on your upper arm to stop you and get you to look at him.

That mere touch turned you into a million tiny hearts. 

“Is just…” His hand lingered. Squeezed lightly. “I’m not prepared.”

Your face wrinkled in question. Was he not prepared emotionally? Did he need to give himself a pep talk to have sex with you or something?

“I don’t have any condoms,” he said, and your cheeks grew hot. 

If hearing him say a simple word flustered you this much, you had no idea how else your body could react by having actual sex with him. 

“Oh, right.” You looked away and held the thought for a moment. Apparently, you had to give yourself a pep talk. To remind yourself that if it happened, it was research, nothing else. “Does it feel too different with and without?” 

“I don’t know. I’ve… never done it without.” His voice turned small. Gosh, he was so responsible. “Do your characters do it with or without?”

“Very irresponsibly without.”

“Yeah, it’s… irresponsible.” He gulped, “But I mean if it can help you to be more accurate, we could—”

He was willing to have unprotected sex with you for your accurate research? How sweet and unfortunate of him to make you want to eat his face like that.

“There could be… catastrophic consequences.” 

He raised a finger. “Babies aren’t catastrophic in any shape or form–”

“Clark—”

“I mean, yeah, of course.” He frowned. ”Maybe, another time?”

“Yeah! Let’s… plan it.”

While Krypto settled on his little bed by the window with a long sigh, you and Clark sat back down on the couch like you were about to agree on a meeting. He pulled out his phone, which was tiny in his hand, and with his thumb gestured at some dates in his calendar. You were staring at it one moment, he said something, but you weren’t registering anything at all. 

You got lost in his lips moving, and the only thing you could think of was—

“Whoa.” Clark’s phone hit the rug with a fwump, all because the voices told you to drag yourself to his lap.

He was so close now. The closest he’s ever been. Not only his face but his body. You adjusted on top of him better and supported yourself with both hands on his hips while doing so. He was wide, and your skirt wasn’t too stretchy. It hiked up to your upper thighs. 

You would’ve thought he was scared of you if it wasn’t for how his dimples slowly bloomed at each side of his cheeks. They always betrayed him.

“What are you doing?” he asked. His eyes darted from your eyes down to your lips and up again. 

Exactly. What the hell were you doing? 

“It’s… gonna be too awkward if we plan it.”

He swallowed thickly, and you felt his muscles relax under you. His thighs spread open, which gave you more confidence to drop more of your weight on him. Who would’ve thought his lap was such a comfortable seat? 

“Okay.” His hands remained on his sides and nowhere near you. “So you want to do it now.”

You withdrew some of your weight. His apparent inhibition was turning you into a ball of nerves.

You braced yourself. “You’re making me sound like I’m begging you to have sex.”

“You’re not!” he reassured you, and settled his hands on your hips, feather-light, yet they started a fire in the pit of your stomach. 

“No, I’m not, this is research,” you agreed in a firm tone, even when on the inside you felt like you were about to burst out of your skin. “It’s… homework. Love for art.”

His hands skated higher up and heavier, and when you tore your face away out of unbearable embarrassment at his lack of words, he made it disappear by cradling the side of your face so you’d look at him again. You did, and his eyes were glued to your mouth. 

Oh, he was so amused by this.

He dragged his thumb over your chin and outlined the edge of your lower lip, and the fire began to spread. He leaned closer, and your breathing hitched, and your mouth went dry. 

“We should kiss, right?” His breathing fanned your lips. “For research?”

You pulled back. What if he kissed you and you vanished into thin air? Or worse, what if you didn’t vanish and were left there with his lips on yours with no idea what to do?

“I know what a kiss feels like.”

“Yeah, but—” he shrugged “—we might as well kiss, too. Sex without kisses is something only soulless people would do. Like… eating without chewing.”  

You didn’t reply, though you smiled. He pulled you in, and your head started spinning. 

It was a gentle peck, which spiked your heart rate. You didn’t think that muscle behind your rib cage could beat any quicker, but it did, and for a moment, you thought you might have a heart attack. But as his lips lingered, and you weren’t losing consciousness, you attempted to respond to his kiss.

Attempted to, and failed. Instead, you laughed. It was more of a harsh exhale at first, but then it vibrated against his lips, and he ended up kissing your teeth as your real laugh bubbled out.

“I’m sorry I-” You laughed some more right there against his mouth. 

His lips curled into a mile-wide smile.

“Don’t laugh.”  

“This is so awkward.” You pulled back. 

He sounded mad, but seemed graciously content. “It’s only awkward because you’re making it awkward by saying it’s awkward.”

“I can’t help it.” 

Then he went for a proper kiss, and your whole body melted. Now you laughed again as a coping mechanism. You felt like you might actually pass out if you didn’t.

“What is your problem?” he asked through a small laugh. “You’re all giggly and jumpy.”

“Can you blame me? This is so awk-”

A determined yet tender kiss shut you up. His lips, full and soft, pressed against yours, and the hand cradling your face dragged to the base of your skull.

You didn’t need anything else to surrender.

These kisses only existed in your daydreams, and they were overwhelming then. Experiencing them in real life was the other side of the coin, though. It brought you an odd sense of comfort, because the feeling you’ve been chasing for what seemed like a lifetime was right here flush against your skin. The feeling of belonging to someone, from your deepest insecurity to the brightest side of you. Your lips and his own made sense together, and it didn’t feel nearly as awkward as you said it was. 

Clark parted his mouth a little, inviting you in, but you stayed where you were, safe with soft, long-lasting pecks. The rest of your body was a level above, and you dared to lay one hand over his broad shoulder while the other found the nape of his neck.

“Will you stop talking now?” He asked between kisses.

All you could do was nod while gulping, and so he continued. Calm kisses that had you grazing the sky already, so high. He angled his face to one side, and the tip of his tongue teased the seam of your lips. You almost made a sound. You wanted his tongue everywhere on you, but you had to admit this was overwhelming. 

“You’re tense,” he murmured, rubbing a palm up and down your lower back soothingly.

“It’ll pass soon.”

A kiss.

“Yeah?”

Another kiss.

“Yeah,” you exhaled, and now you’re the one to kiss him. 

Open-mouthed, that forced said tension right out of you, and your tongue found his own for the first time. It was barely anything, but it was enough to pull a sound from his throat right away. An exquisite dark grunt that activated a throb between your legs. 

That was embarrassingly quick. 

“I think—” you pulled away from him to ground yourself. Were you really about to have sex with him just like that? “—um, when we start, I think I should voice record it since it will be like an interview and-”

He cut you off by kissing you again, just like before—tongue sweeping yours, but four times more confident—and your cunt pulsed some more. It wasn’t just the feel of his tongue now. It was how breathy the kiss gradually turned, and how handsy he was getting. His hands traveled down to your thighs, right below your skirt, and dragged them down to the back of your knees, tugging you closer. 

Clark let go of your lips with a wet sound and moved his mouth to your neck, giving you a quick nip. 

“Okay.” 

It tickled you. You pulled back a bit. 

“Sorry,” he said, and kissed your cheek. “Okay, yeah, you can voice record it.”

Then continued his path of kisses down to your collarbones. He undid the first button of your blouse. 

“Whoa, whoa, easy there, now, buddy.”

“Jesus.” He threw his head back. Now you stole a kiss on his neck. God, he smelled like heaven. It was sweet and masculine, but it wasn’t perfume. Aftershave, perhaps. “I’m gonna be… inside you at some point. You need to get used to me.”

“I am used to you,” you talked back, kissing right below his ear.

“No, mmm—” his hips jerked once “—Not to my kisses.”

He had a point, but you weren’t about to agree with him. You sat upright and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Why don’t we, uh, ask each other questions first, to break the ice?” You suggested.

He went back to dotting more feather-light kisses on your neck, and said in a low voice that sent tingles all over you:

“The ice has been melting since we talked in that bathroom, don’t you think?” 

He’d never used that tone. Dark in its meaning yet full of sun behind it. You wanted to squeal. 

“What position do you like the most?” You asked him anyway. 

Clark placed more kisses down your neck, throat, and up to your jaw and chin like he was following an already predetermined path. Your hips rocked by instinct once, and he gripped your sides, encouraging you to keep going and hiking your skirt higher in the process, which allowed you to spread your legs more open.

You didn’t move again, because you felt him. Not fully hard, but not soft at all either. So not shockingly big. Your mind hit you with images of how he might look just by feeling him like this—thick, heavy, and your cunt ached as it grew hot and soaked. You rocked your hips again, and you swore your clothed folds wrapped over the head of his cock. 

“Missionary.” He nipped your skin, and you snort-laughed again. 

“It’s so weird hearing you sa—“

He kissed that laugh right off your mouth. “Stop saying it’s weird!” 

You sighed, licking your lips and bumping your noses together before yet another kiss. It was a casual kiss. Was this casual for him? You were dying to know what this meant because on your end, you already knew this was going to ruin you forever. 

“So, missionary.” You dodged him when he leaned for another kiss. He smiled. “What do you like about it?”

“The intimacy.”

He leaned again, and you pulled back again, turning your face to the side. His kiss landed on the corner of your mouth.

“As if sex itself isn’t intimate.” 

“Yeah, but there’s something about looking into each other’s eyes. Breathing each other’s air and kissing the whole time.”

You gulped, and burning jealousy flashed before your eyes. He liked that position because he’d experienced it like that with someone else. Not you. 

Not yet, anyway.

“What is yours?” He then asked, wiping those images away.

You hummed in deep thought, teasingly pressing your hips down. You felt him again, and now you handled the waves of emotions it gave you way better. You liked sex as much as anyone who has experienced good sex, and it’s not that you’ve explored a lot of positions. You were… simple.  

You had no choice but to answer honestly:

“Missionary.” 

The corner of his mouth flickered. “What about it?” 

Slowly, he reached for each zip of your boots, dragged them down in sync, and let them fall off your feet. You wished you hadn’t put on tights.

“I like being smothered.” 

He laughed into another quick kiss and murmured, “You taste like cocoa,” then went back to kiss you again. 

“You gave it to me.”

“I wasn’t complaining.”

The kiss deepened then, like it was already second nature, and your mind turned hazy. You enjoyed the same sex position and you were already getting lost in the idea of having him smothering you, kissing you, breathing each other’s air…

You were so done talking. 

While your lips molded together through a slow-paced kiss, you began to rock your hips instinctively again. This time, you didn’t restrain yourself. You moved, and he liked it. He groaned into your mouth when you pressed down hard and guided your hips with his large hands so you’d rub even more against him. He was growing this hard for you, and his desire for you was coming out of his pores. 

You reached for the first button of his shirt and began to undo it. You felt him smile against your lips in approval, so you continued your way down. You expected to feel the warmth of his skin right away, even though you knew he was loyal to the white tank under it. You broke away from his lips for a moment to glance down at him. His tank was tight and didn’t leave much to your imagination. The swell of his pecks stretched the fabric, and the low neck cut allowed you to peek at a few chest hairs. 

Your whole body stuttered. 

He finished taking his dress shirt off and tossed it aside. His arms were thick, firm. Your hands caressed them with a mind of their own from his broad shoulders down to his biceps, all while he kissed your neck again. You needed to see him fully.

You tugged the hem of his tank and lifted it a bit, then he did you the favor, pulling it up his head and—

Holy—

Your cunt fluttered, and that first warm hint of arousal leaked to your panties. 

“Oh—” you gulped.

Your eyes skimmed over his body. He wasn’t gym ripped, but it absolutely looked like he was capable of lifting buildings. Just like his arms, his pecks were thick with muscle, and even though there were no visible abs, he was toned. Absolutely perfect. You wanted to lick every bit of him, but instead, you traced shy lines over his chest and tummy with your fingertips and down that subtle trail of hair that went from his navel and disappeared right below his belt. 

Clark lifted your face by your chin and leaned for a kiss. His lips felt warmer and more pillowy, and as the kiss grew hotter, his hands reached for your blouse buttons.

“Can I?” He whispered. You replied by continuing the kiss.

One by one, he undid them, and by the end, he let it fall loose at each side of you. He took a moment to admire you. You swore his breathing hitched at the sight. You didn’t think it would be this easy to be this exposed in front of him. You didn’t feel the need to brace yourself or slouch. You wanted to be fully naked for him already. You reached behind you and unclasped your bra.

His mouth parted, like he was about to say something, and his cheeks turned scarlet.

If he looked at you like this with just your bra off, he might make you feel like the prettiest girl in the world while wearing nothing but your skin. You wanted to tell him he could do whatever he wanted with your tits; he looked starved. 

But he, ever the gentleman, only placed a single loving kiss between them and brought you close into a tight, tight hug. The soft flesh of your tits squished against his chest, and you resumed the kiss. With your whole body. Every exposed part of you was touching him, and now your hips moved on their own, rocking over him in slow back and forth motions. 

Each stroke hardened him even more as if it were possible, and the feeling was addicting. You wanted to see how far it could take him. How much of this he could handle until he carried you to his room because this wasn’t enough for him anymore. 

Or not?

“Wait.” Clark put your hips to a harsh stop.

“What?” You pulled back.

Clark breathed out through his nose and perched you more on his upper thigh, then you noticed. His erection was straining against his pants like it was begging to be freed. 

You’d made him like this.

You pressed your lips together to hide a sheepish smile. 

“It’s okay, I just, em—” his voice turned tight. “Krypto— he’s… over there.” He gestured with his brows behind you. “If he’s here, I can’t do… everything I want to do.”

Right, Krypto. You’d forgotten he was here. You glanced at him over your shoulder. He was peacefully sleeping, but yeah, now that you were reminded that he was here, too, it blocked every sinful thought you’ve been having for the past twenty minutes. 

 “We have two options,” you murmured with a soft voice. “We can stay here while I tell Krypto to go to your room, or we can go to your room, very quietly, so he doesn’t wake up, and continue there.”

With a smiley kiss, he made the decision and effortlessly picked you up. You clung to him like a koala while he crossed the room into his bedroom. 

“Wait!” You shout-whispered. “My voice recorder!” 

“I didn’t know you were being serious about it.” Clark stopped halfway.

“Of course I was being serious. I’ll be a little busy to be taking notes. This is much easier. I can go back to your answers whenever I want and—”

He cut you off with a kiss and walked back to the couch to pick up your purse while still carrying you. 

“O-kay,” he whispered, nibbling your bottom lip. 

You had no idea he could be like this. Taking charge while still being so damn gentle. 

So Clark.

He gave Krypto one last glance to make sure he was still asleep, then continued the kiss and the path to his room, kicking the door shut behind him. 

From there, the plot was lost, as if knowing you were completely alone between the walls of his bedroom turned this situation into something secret and sacred. A hungry groan traveled from his throat into your mouth the moment he plopped you both onto his bed and his hands didn’t hesitate to grope you everywhere within his reach. You wanted to think that the way he was acting was no longer about his inborn duty to help but his true desire to make you his own. Because the way he was kissing you, like he might die if he didn’t, didn’t feel like a kiss out of compromise. 

It was… raw, and real, and so damn hot your panties were more than ruined and heavy with your arousal. You needed them off, but you were so lost in this hazy universe you and he were creating with each kiss that the sensory discomfort your panties gave you soon disappeared. 

Yanking you closer by your hips, Clark rubbed his clothed erection against your cunt with persistent rocking motions—over and over. You hoped he could feel how wet you were, and you wanted to tell him how good a job he was doing at relieving the ache he himself had provoked. 

At this point, though, there was no connection between your brain and mouth, and all you managed to give him was a moan, and he groaned back in response and continued rubbing himself against you. You were in heaven here, with him between your legs, and even then, a part of you also wished you could see this as it happened. You wanted to see how his back muscles flexed with every new movement he made over you. Watch him from every perspective, and get to see how his hips moved back and forth while still being somewhat dressed. You wished you could see your legs wrapped around his wide hips and how you met his thrusts just as desperately. 

Clark brought you back to this moment by murmuring something you couldn’t quite register against your lips, but you nodded anyway and let him do whatever he had asked you permission to do. He stopped the kiss for a moment, and you finally had the time to breathe. 

Now you heard it all, and saw it all. 

In the heat of desperation, Clark must’ve taken off his pants. He might as well have taken off his underwear, too, because they clung to him like they were vacuum-sealed. Your cunt fluttered at the sight of his cock, straining slightly curved to one side, and the thick outline of it was so clear you started salivating. 

“Tell me when you’re ready,” he murmured into the everlasting kiss. 

Your tongues swirled together, and you nodded again.

“Are you sure you’re comfortable doing it without a condom?” He asked agitatedly, dragging your tights down your thighs. 

You sucked his bottom lip into your mouth. “It’s a little late to be asking that, Clark, I’m already so wet.”

Jesus, he murmured, reaching between your bodies. He rubbed you over your panties, and a moist sound came from them. His brows pinched together, then he replaced his hand with his still clothed cock, rubbing himself there again. He was burning, and if your cunt ached on the inside, you could imagine the pain he was in when carrying something like that.

You bucked your hips, searching for some friction, all while you urged down the hem of his boxers. He didn’t hesitate to grant your wish and finished dragging it down all the way. 

A musk scent reached your senses when he freed himself. A scent that made your mouth water and your cunt throb; a scent that, despite being new to you, was so distinctively him. Then you finally looked down, and your breathing got caught in your throat. It was just how you’d pictured. Thick and proportional to his body. It hung heavy over your stomach, and the dark hairs of his groin put the flow of his smooth and pale skin to a halt.

Your breathing shook with anticipation, and you reached for it and stroked him by instinct, pulling the skin back and forth with each movement. He was firm, and your fingers barely met when you wrapped your hand around it. Clark almost crumbled on top of you when you touched him like that and gave you no chance to keep going. Did he not like it?

“Can I see you too?” he murmured . “All of you?”

The only barrier between you and he were your panties. You nodded, and instead of dragging them down, he tore them by the waistband on each side. You gasped at the first unexpected snap and bit your lip at the second one.

“I’ll get you some new ones,” he said into a kiss, and towered over you, allowing his cock to slip between your slippery folds. 

Smooth, and so achingly slow, at the rhythm of his tongue swirling yours. Pleasure started to bloom instantly; you almost came just like that. 

“Please.” You bucked your hips once, searching for more friction. 

“I—” His breathing shook. “I’m not sure how well I’ll be able to help you while I’m… inside you.”

“It’s okay.” You stroked his cheek and he leaned on it while blinking like it really soothed him. “Just try your best. If it doesn’t work–” You kissed him reassuringly. “–I’m sure you can help me once we’re done. You’ll remember what it felt like, right?”

Yeah, he exhaled, and didn’t hesitate to part your wet folds with the cockhead. He dragged it up and down between them—up and down—and the blissful feeling built and spread through your nerves. He kissed you back and stroked himself hurriedly at your entrance, smearing your arousal with the tip. 

It sounded so wet. His breathing shook. 

“Of course I’ll remember.” Another kiss, then he lined himself and grunted when you sucked the head right in. “I can be your ghost writer if you need me to.”

Meeting that subtle thrust, you reached for your voice recorder, and the beep blared around as you pressed play. 

You got filled with butterflies when you gasped in sync and locked eyes. He was inside you, and everything around you turned blurry. You wanted to kiss him much as you wanted to look into his eyes and he gave you both. Kissed you once, worked you open with a subtle thrust then looked into your eyes again. 

You would’ve moaned if you weren’t so aware that this was being recorded. It initially was a good idea, but now that you were overworking your breathing by containing your sounds, you were reconsidering it. He felt too exquisite, stretching you and calming the ever-growing ache with his girth. You knew you could take him fully so you urged another bit of his cock inside you by wiggling your hips toward him, despite feeling so stuffed already.  

As you took more of him, his whole body froze. Only his breathing shook, and his hips stilled when your own shifted to allow another inch inside. His head landed on your shoulder, and he hissed between clenched teeth against your neck, rubbing his face there. 

He turned awfully quiet.

“Clark?” You rubbed his back. He replied with a quick nip to your collarbone but didn’t lift his head. He didn’t move his hips either.

You lifted his head from the crook of your neck and looked at him. His lips were parted, his eyes only had a thin ring of blue around his big pupils and drops of sweat gathered above his brows. You brushed your thumbs over them.

He seemed weak, like you were made out of kryptonite all of a sudden.

“Are you okay?” 

He exhaled a shaky breath, and the corner of his mouth twitched into a smile before he rewarded you with a tender kiss. 

“Yeah,” he murmured. 

You needed to know what was going through his mind. 

“Tell me,” you said. “Tell me exactly how it feels.”

His eyes darted to the voice recording by your head. 

“I— give me a second.” He winced with his lips closed tight and shifted on top of you. You brushed his hair back. “It feels.” He rocked his hips once and stretched you some more. You bit your lip. “Um, I- it feels— you feel warm, almost… burning.” A crease formed between his brows. “So firm a-nd wet. You’re wrapped around my cock perfectly. There’s nothing… untouched.” 

Hearing him talk like that… You needed him to keep going. His voice stimulated your brain and each word traveled directly to every nerve in your cunt. 

He kissed you like he was already done talking, and you whined into his mouth in protest. 

“Clark-” you sucked his bottom lip into your mouth. “Focus.”

“I can’t.” He pressed his forehead against yours. 

“Yes, you can. You wanna help me, right?”

Clark nodded. “Yeah.”

“You can do it.”

He thrusted steadily again—deliberate rocking motions—and you tightened around him. 

“Oh, please, honey, don’t do that.”

Honey.

“Tell me.” You smiled.

“That’s… that’s all I got. It’s… um, comforting.”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Comforting?”

“So good,” he said through a shaky exhale. “I don’t have many words in my brain right now.”

“S’okay.”

 You nibbled his lip, and he was sweet about it. Didn’t fight back. Just let you take his lip between your teeth and drag it into your mouth. You rocked your hips under him, withdrawing half of his cock from you and thrusting forward to squeeze it all right back and then some more until his balls squeezed against your ass. 

He slammed into you hard once in response, and you gasped. 

“Do you think you’ll remember the way it feels?” you asked

“This isn’t something I’ll ever forget.”

He shoved your hips together again, harsher, and a delightful clash of skin against skin echoed around for the first time. 

“So you can tell me later, yeah?”

“I promise you.”

You reached for the recorder to turn it off and finally let yourself go, but he pinned your hand down.

“No, keep it going. I wanna go back to this.” He kissed you, and threaded your fingers together. “To these pretty moans.”

Your whole body relaxed and melted then. Completely gave in to him and this, and as soon as he picked up a rhythm, you couldn’t care less about this being recorded. You turned into a shameless, shuddering, moaning mess under him, meeting his thrusts desperately, and raking your nails across his shoulders and back. You wished you could tell him how much you loved this, but your mouth stayed busy responding to every kiss he initiated. 

It made so much sense that Clark was a kisser, and during sex, his passion for them multiplied ten times like there was a second meaning behind them. Each kiss was paired with a grunt or a moan and you clenched around him as a way of responding to them even when you were full of sounds, too. 

He let go of your mouth with a wet sound for a moment, brushing his lips across your cheek and gritting his teeth together, in pain, almost. 

“Sorry,” you had to say.

“Don’t–” he kissed the corner of your mouth. “Don’t be. You’ll know soon exactly what I’m feeling. But just know, it’s good. So good, it just… I won’t last if you do it often. I’m fighting myself here.”

Oh. 

“You can come.” You fluttered around him, and his brows knitted together. 

“No, it’s not fair.” His arms flexed when he pushed himself up, keeping his perfect rocking motions, like waves that were about to push you to the brim already. 

“This is homework,” you shot back.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy it.”

You tugged your bottom lip between your teeth and the way he smirked at your reaction embarrassed you. He knew you were enjoying this. Too much, maybe. You tilted your head to the side to avoid looking at him.

“Hey.” He kissed your chin. “Why won’t you look at me?” 

“It’s awkward.”

Clark laughed softly.

“This stopped being awkward a while ago.” He kissed your shoulder. “Not awkward.”

Propping himself on one elbow by your head, he reached between your legs and massaged soft circles over your clit. At the perfect pace and pressure. It took him eight seconds to build your orgasm, just how you did whenever you were all alone in your room, but he didn’t fully take you there. Just when you were close, he withdrew his hand. 

Why would he–

“Oh,” you moaned. 

He slammed into you hard.

You just needed a little boost; his cock did the rest.

Slipping in and out, over and over, Clark dragged out your orgasm and somehow kept it there, a ticklish sensation that pulsed and expanded and shrank but never disappeared. Harsh slams of his hips that tapped and tapped and tapped your sensitive nub with his wiry hairs and continued building the orgasm until it trespassed the teasing.

Until there was no going back from it. 

“Oh, Clark.” Your vision turned blurry.

Throwing your head back, you let yourself go and lifted your ass off the mattress to meet his slams. 

“There we go.” He leaned to your ear and nibbled your earlobe. “Is that good?”

“I—”

This felt beyond surreal. You wiped a warm stream running down the corner of your eye—sweat or blissful tears, you didn’t know—and looked down to admire your bodies clashing together. And only after a few seconds of chasing your orgasm, it struck you completely.

“Oh, g-gosh—”

You came, so hard, you couldn’t hold back any sound. You turned into a whiny mess as your cunt spasmed repeatedly until it turned overly sensitive. 

There it is, Clark caressed your cheek with the tip of his nose and a curl flopped down, tickling your forehead. He was everywhere on you, as much as you loved having him inside you, you urged his hips back so he’d pull out for at least a moment. 

His cock slipped out with a squelch, and it hung over your lower stomach, wet, flushed, and glistening with your creamy arousal. He tapped your clit with the head of his cock a few times then entered you again. And kissed you again.

“Is it okay if it takes me a while?”

Thrust.

“Weren’t you just complaining about you coming too soon?” You gasped. The orgasm somehow was still there.

Thrust.

“It’s under control now,” he smirked, and slammed so much harder. Your tits bounced under him. 

“You can control it?”

“I’ll tell you every detail about it.”

Then he shut you up. Not with a kiss like he had already made you used to, but with persistent, ruthless pounding. He turned rough, but never merciless. His thrusts were deliberate, crafted for you at the pace you needed and the force you craved. He never stopped making sure you were okay with this—by scanning your face at all times, kissing your lips and chin and forehead and whispering in your ear how good you felt. 

Even during sex, he was dangerously caring. 

You almost tell him how much you loved this. How much you loved him.  

“Can we change positions?” You panted. 

“I thought this was your favorite,” he teased. 

“It is, mmm, but no guy ever lasted this long. My legs are tired from being open.”

“Can I still see your face?” You nodded. “Where do you want me?”

You licked your lips.

“There’s a scene in my book, where she rides him and he thinks she’s the most perfect creature. I need to know what that position feels like.”

“You wanna ride me?”

You gulped. “For research.”

“Sure, okay.”

Without pulling out, Clark flipped yourselves so you’d be on top of him. You were supposed to ride him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to peel yourself from his solid torso.

“You okay?” Clark touched your face with both hands and brushed the pads of his thumbs across your cheeks.

“Maybe if… You rest your back on the headboard, it’ll be more accurate.”

He didn’t protest and dragged himself higher with you still on top. He even built a wall of pillows for more comfort.

“There?” He shifted back, smiling.

Now he was more sitting than lying, which made it more comfortable for you to move.  

“Perfect.” You ran your hands over his chest. You rocked your hips once, and his smile dropped. His whole face melted.

“Oh-” his lips parted. 

His hands rested on the globes of your ass, tender, and his eyes skimmed down to your breasts. Clark gulped like he was thirsty. 

“You can touch them.” You brought one of his hands up to your tit. His cock twitched inside you. You had to admit, this position swelled your chest with confidence. More so when Clark was like this, so starved for you. “Or lick them.”

“Yeah?” 

“As long as you tell me how it feels.”

You moved your hips again, this time in a wide circular motion that dragged your clit across his lower stomach and bent his cock a little. Your walls clammed around his cock.

“I will, I will, but… later.”

“No live reaction here either?” You rocked your hips again. 

He grunted. “I can’t, but I swear, I’ll tell you every little thing I’m feeling.”

You held onto the headboard, propped yourself on your knees and bounced your ass up and down. “Okay.” 

You picked up a tempo, one that made him groan each time, and now he didn’t hesitate to take one of your tits into his mouth. He hummed around it, swirling his tongue over your stiffened nipple. 

“You’re right.” Clark let go of your tit and looked up at you. “He absolutely thinks she’s the most perfect creature.”

Your heart and cunt fluttered equally in love. 

You tugged your bottom lip between your teeth to stop yourself from saying something you shouldn’t and grabbed his jaw, capturing his mouth into a wet kiss. 

And it was like this for a while. His hands explored your body the whole time, and he could’ve tattooed your name on your lips by how many times he’d said it. 

You rocked your hips back and forth while kissing him. And if you weren’t kissing him on the mouth, you were kissing his forehead, brows, cheeks, all while he kept himself busy sucking on your breasts. He liked them. So much, you felt him smile around him more than once. He even bit them, the two times you came just like this.

When you were closer to a third one, Clark held your hips still.

“I can’t finish inside you,” he panted and planted a kiss on your shoulder.

“Yeah, just… pull out.”

He maneuvered you so you’d be tucked against the pillows and propped himself on one hand. He slipped out with a grunt, almost in pain—you missed him already—and you looked down just at the right time. He stroked his cock hurriedly—thicker and heavier than how you’d first seen it—until warm ropes of cum shot and covered your skin. You could almost cry out of pure joy.

Clark Kent, coming all over you. 

What a sight.

“Oh my god,” he grunted through clenched teeth, staring down at the mess he’d made. “I’m sorry, this is—”

You brought him down into a kiss by the nape of his neck, and the soft press of his stomach smudged his cum all over. His hips shifted slightly, and his cock nestled between your folds. 

“This is perfect,” you finished his sentence.

This lasted too damn long, but you needed him inside you all over again.

You didn’t think of this. Of the aftermath. 

Clark was quiet next to you, awake, with his nose nuzzled in your hairline. Your heart was much steadier now, but it was still aware of how near Clark still was. You were scared to move, to breathe, to say the wrong thing.  

“Was I helpful?” He asked right there on your skin after a moment.

You lay a hand on his hip and tapped once. “You might’ve cured my writer's block.”

He laughed softly. Pecked your temple. “Why do you keep it a secret?” 

“Reputation, guess. I like my job. I like being a journalist and if people knew I write about people having sex, they wouldn’t take me seriously. People at the Daily talk.”

“It's not just sex.” He pulled back to look at you. Your heart leaped from you. “Y-your writing, your stories are more than just sex. They’re complex characters and the sex is something that makes them more human.”

Right.

“I know but… I don't know. I guess I also like having a secret identity, don’t you?” You glanced up at him. 

“I guess so.”

He cinched your waist and pulled you into a tight hug. You bit back a sigh. You were dying to know what this meant to him.

Would he have done it if he knew how much it would ruin you?

By the time you woke up, the first rays of sunshine were already eating away some stars.

You weren’t supposed to stay the night, but he said he could answer all the questions you had and even ended up writing scenes together. 

Which wasn’t a good idea. 

Seeing him write sex scenes and help you craft them to make them sound accurate from a male’s point of view sparked that heat inside you. And inside him. 

He was the one to start the kiss, tentative at first, and as you responded to it with a moan, there was no need to say anything else. It was a silent agreement, because you both knew that kissing again was out of script. 

You ended up having sex two more times. Both times without a single word shared because, god, there was no need for words. His eyes and body said it all. The second time was much less giggly. It was breathy, full of sighs and wet kisses and gentle love bites across your skin. 

The third time was lazy and sleepy, and the only thing Clark said was ‘stay like this’ in a murmur, instructing you to stay lying on your side so he’d fuck you from behind. Spooning you, and kissing you all over your neck, jaw, shoulders, and side of your breasts. His rocking motions were slow, and his large hands mapped across your body just as slow as if he wanted to make love to you twice at the same time. 

He finished just like that, over your hip, with a low and exquisite grunt deep in your ear, and reaching between your legs to massage your clit so you’d come, too. You did, and soon, you fell asleep in that exact same position, with your orgasm still rushing through you, his lips somewhere on your neck, and his hands cinching you close to him by your waist.

Now, as your eyes fluttered open, his arm was still draped over your waist. If you moved, there was the chance he might wake up. If you didn’t, he’d wake up anyway at the sound of his alarm and you’d still be here in his arms. 

Either option led you to the same outcome: address what happened, and you weren’t ready to talk about it yet. 

What would you even say? 

Thank you for your help, Clark. 

I am so in love with you, by the way.

I’m glad we did it! 

We’re the bestest of friends now. 

Super good friends. 

You went for the first option. You held your breath and shifted forward, away from him, and froze to make sure he didn’t wake up. Then did the same thing a few times until you managed to slip away from his arms. Your limbs felt heavy, as though you’d just gotten out of a pool. Even your skin was still sticky from the dried sweat, and as much as you loved being covered in his body fluids, you needed a shower. 

Not here, though. 

On your tippy-toes, you stood by the end of the bed, and once you made sure his chest kept heaving in and out at the same peaceful rhythm, you picked up one of his shirts and threw it on because most of your clothes were supposed to be on his living room, but before you walked out of his room to get them, you found your skirt, blouse and tights lying on top of his dresser, folded. He must’ve brought them here when he went to get his laptop to do some writing with you. 

How thoughtful. 

As you finished getting dressed, some puppy-whining came from the other side of the door. Krypto must’ve heard you. You opened the door and sneaked out of the bedroom to meet him.

“Hi, honey,” you whispered. “You hungry?”

Krypto did a spin as a yes, so you poured him some of his food, and as he ate, you wrote a note on a napkin for Clark, because even though you didn’t want to talk yet, you couldn’t just leave like that.

I DIDN’T WANT TO WAKE YOU. YOU LOOKED SO PEACEFUL. THANK YOU AGAIN. I SENT WHAT WE WROTE LAST NIGHT TO MY EMAIL AND DELETED IT FROM YOUR LAPTOP SO THERE’S NO TRACE OF IT. SEE YOU AT WORK. 

You ran through the busy streets, greeted Nino at the entrance, and reached the elevator just as the doors were closing.

“Hold it, please!” You yelled. 

A hand stopped the doors from closing. The same hand had been between your legs last night. 

Oh, crap. Clark was also late. 

The doors opened up and as soon as you made eye contact, your arms acted like they were made out of rubber. Your stack of files fell to the floor, and Clark rushed to pick them up at the same time as you. Your fingers brushed together. His soft scent reached you and flashbacks from last night struck you. 

His lips, his body covering you, his lips around your nipples—

“Hey,” he said, handing you your files back.

“Hi,” you replied.

Your legs shook. Just like last night.

You cleared your throat and held onto your files tight, the same way he was holding the strap of his briefcase, so tightly his knuckles turned white. 

 You stood at the back of the elevator, glued to the wall, as far from him as you could because you had an insane urge to kiss him. 

“I’m sorry I left without telling you,” you said. “I left a note on your fridge. I hope you—”

He craned his head to one side but didn’t quite look at you. 

“Yep. I read it. Thanks.”

God, he was mad. Was he mad?

“Good, good, that’s… good.” You gulped. “Did um, Krypto do anything after I left?”

“Yeah.” Clark exhaled. “He found my running shoes and chewed one of them. But he’s with Kara now so—”

You were praying for someone to stop the elevator midway just so this never-ending ride wouldn’t be so mortifying. He’d seen you naked last night. He’d kissed every inch of you. He’d made you come three times, and now both of you were acting like nothing had happened. 

Were you supposed to acknowledge what you did? To congratulate him for the amazing job he did? You opened your mouth to say something, anything, then the elevator doors dinged open.

A hoard of suited up chatty men entered, and Clark backed up next to you seemingly to give them space. Your arms brushed together, and you reached so your knuckles would accidentally touch, too. 

Slowly, you looked up at him, and he was already looking at you. He had that in-deep thought crease between his brows.

“Can we talk?” He asked in a soft tone.

You nodded, then said, “Yeah, at lunch?”

He half-nodded, and tore his eyes away. His knuckles brushed your own. 

The men walked out one floor before yours, then after the quiet seven-second ride to your floor, you both walked out in the same direction to your desks. It was oddly empty here. 

Just as Clark asked, “Where’s everybody?” Perry stormed out of his office.

Morning, he said with his cigar between his lips.

“These—” he slammed two stacks of files on your desk and Clark’s “—need to be rewritten. Everyone stupidly decided to call in sick today, so you two are the chosen ones.”

Stupid, he said again under his breath and locked himself in his office.

You and Clark exchanged looks.

If your intention was to leave on time today, you’ll probably have to skip lunch break.

You had no choice but to sigh and get to work.

A few injured soldiers from Jimmy’s party showed up with shades in once hand and electrolyte water in the other during the first two hours, so the office wasn’t just the two of you.  

With him right across from you, all you did was have flashbacks of last night. You didn’t regret it one bit, but not being able to talk about it was eating you alive. 

You would’ve thought he was mad at you because he didn’t even spare you a single glance. But he was Clark, and even if he wasn’t looking at you, he still checked on you. Sending you messages through the computer chat each time Perry came to check yours and Clark’s progress, but nothing else. He filled your cup of coffee in silence every time you ran out.

 Then he disappeared for two hours to do who knows what (Superman duty, of course).

By lunch time, he hadn’t made it back, and you weren’t feeling hungry, but went to get a pretzel at the cafeteria anyway and went up to the sunny rooftop to feed the pigeons and wait for him. He had one hour until you had to get back to work.

You paced from one side to the other under the shadow the big golden globe casted, rehearsing how this conversation with Clark would go. Every single outcome made you wish the globe would just roll off and crush you. 

Your lunchtime hour went by, the globe didn’t roll over you, and Clark didn’t show up. 

His stack of editing he should’ve worked on were still untouched, and when you were done with yours, you couldn’t help but grab some of his, too. 

At 5 p.m. o’clock, Perry came out of his office, ready to leave. 

“Where’s Kent?” He stopped by your desk.

“Bathroom,” you replied without looking up. “I think.”

“Tell him he has until tomorrow. You, are done for today. Go home.”

Superman was on the news. 

It usually made you antsy whenever he made it to the small screen, because most times it involved some kind of injustice that he so hard tried to fight against. 

Tonight, you fell asleep with him in the background. And you dreamed of him. Of his kindness, his passion to always do the right thing, his lips… Images of him were plastered behind your eyelids. Bits and pieces of last night, and even in your sleep he managed to turn all your sharp edges into heart-shapes. 

“Hi.” 

A whisper woke you up, followed by a hand brushing the crown of your head. 

You were smiling before you blinked your eyes open and hummed with bliss. “Hi.” 

His scent was in your room. He was here. His gorgeous face became clearer the more you blinked and you smiled even more. He was crouched next to you, his chin propped over the back of his hand. There was softness in everything he did. 

“You didn’t have to finish my work,” he said, and caressed your cheek with the back of his curled fingers. 

You reached for the remote to turn down the TV volume and said, “I know.” 

You sat upright and glanced at the digital clock on your nightstand. It was about to be midnight. Had he spent all afternoon—

“I’m in love with you,” he blurted out, and your breathing caught in your chest. This must still be part of your dream. You’ve been here before, in a dream. The bed sank as he sat by your side and reached for your hand. Brushed his thumb over your knuckles. This touch, though, was the same you had last night. Not a dream. “I’ve been in love with you for a while and I- should’ve told you the moment I started to feel this way, but I couldn’t then. And I don’t want you to think I offered you my help, just an excuse to make love to you. That’s not who I am, I hope you know that, but I- I was scared if I said something, you might’ve pulled away from me forever. But then last night… gosh, it changed me. I realized how much love I have for you stored in my chest, it almost feels like a brand new feeling I wasn’t ready to expose yet but I am so sure now. It’s still unknown, but it’s beautiful and so bright. I can give it all to you if you let me. If not, I will live with it.”

Every single word he said wrapped around you like a warm blanket, and you abruptly threw yourself onto his chest and swung your arms around his neck as tears welled up in your eyes. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” He picked you up off the bed, and you climbed onto him until your legs were wrapped around him, too. “If it’s not too late I—”

“Not too late,” you whispered.

Then, you laughed softly, just enough for him to notice. 

“Ah, yep, there she is.” He rubbed your upper back and enveloped you even tighter. 

You wanted to look at him, drown in his dimples, and kiss him, but you didn’t want him to see your tears. It’d break him, even if they were the happiest tears you’d ever shed, so you held onto him, and he swayed with you from side to side for a long while like a slow dance, though there was no song. The only sound between you and him was your heart thumping hard in your chest, begging you to let it all out.

“I… finished my first draft,” you said. “Would you read it?”

Clark squeezed you playfully and groaned in agreement. “Of course I’ll read it.”

You pulled back and finally dared to look at him. 

There were tears in his eyes, too. 

“Oh, Clark.” You kissed him once, long-lasting, and pressed your foreheads together. 

“Would you stay the night?” you sniffed your nose.

 “Yeah.” He kissed you back and sighed in. “I’ll stay the night.”

“… it’s so hot…”

“… I never thought something could be to sad and filthy at the same time…”

“… I just hope they can get their happy ending in the next book…”

You bit back a smile and tried to focus on the article you’d been working on since this morning. 

The girls behind you were talking about your book, that was released two weeks ago and had recently hit the New York Times best sellers.  

You were proud of it, and right after you handed the finished draft to your agent, you started working on a sequel, because your characters weren’t done loving each other, and deserved a happily ever after.

A copy of your book was placed next to your keyboard, and over it, Clark’s so familiar hand. A hand you’ve been holding at walks in the park for a few months now. 

A Post-it note was glued to the cover:

SIGN ME?

You slapped your palm over it before anyone could see it and looked up at him.

“You already have a signed copy,” you whispered.

“It’s not for me. It’s for Ma.”

 Your eyes widened. “Your mother?!”

You stood up and with your eyes, signaled him to follow you. You reached the small storage room by the emergency exit. The room you and he have claimed for yourselves whenever you wanted to kiss.

Some people at the Daily suspected you two, but you didn’t want to make it official just yet. No one had to know. 

“You are not giving your mother this book,” you said as soon as he shut the door behind him. “She can’t read this, Clark, it’s porn!”

“Imagine how I felt when she told me she’d read a book about some Sierra Oz and how she heard she had released another not long ago.”

“Oh my god.” You covered your face with your palms and you peeked at him between your fingers. “She did not.”

“She’s a huge fan,” he laughed.

“I’m so sorry.” You looked up at him. 

“I’d be mortified knowing my mother and her friends read these kinds of books, but knowing it’s yours… I think it makes me proud. She had good taste.”

“Stop it.”

Clark leaned and kissed you, and it soon turned heated. He cornered you against the wall and parted your legs with his knee. 

“Come with me,” he said against your lips.

“Where?” You pulled back and scanned his face. He was planning something. 

“To Smallville.” He kissed your cheek. “I want my parents to meet my girlfriend.”

“They already know me.”

“As my friend.”

You smiled. “They don’t know I’m your girlfriend now?”

“They know I have a girlfriend, but who she is is not something I want to tell them through a phone call.” He kissed you again. “I want to surprise them. They’re gonna be thrilled seeing you walk through their door.”

To think he wanted to bring you as a present to his parents made your heart soar. You adored the Kents, and you couldn’t wait to be part of the family someday.  

“You think so?”

“Know so.” He kissed you once more. “They adore you. So? What do you say?”

“Okay, yeah. But Ma can’t know I’m… Sierra.”

“Of course not.” He bumped your noses together. “I’ll… have to pretend I have no idea who the book dedication is about.” 

HELLO! If you reached the end, look at the book dedication! TEEHEEEE isn’t it so cute? I truly hope you enjoyed it! I loved writing it, and I loved writing Clark. This is my first story for him and very out of my comfort zone exploring new characters but here I am following the muse. I had so many alternative scenes for how I wanted them to fuck <33 but ultimately the one that made it here was my favorite. I didn’t want to extend the wait or else it would’ve turned tooooo angsty and I didn’t want them to suffer lols so I hope how it all unfolded is good!

Anywayyyy

This is a stand alone sorry BUT let me know if you’d like to see some blurbs about some things mentioned throughout the story like the time Clark called reader when Pa had a heart attack or the time they discovered she was a Krypto-whisperer or anything else you’d like to see from them!

I’d love to read your thoughts on it. Through comments or reblogs or asks. They’re are much appreciated.

thank you so much for reading 🫰💋