Gold Dust Woman.

Y/N’S POV

School just started back up and of course it started in the week of the heat wave. 

It usually wasn’t this hot in August. It was currently 96° outside so I decided to put on my flowly spaghetti strap dress that was baby blue and covered in flowers, paired with some white Tory Burch sandals. The dress was kind of short, but who cares?

I was debating whether or not if I wanted to wear panties with it since it was so hot but then I just decided to put some on. My favorite pair, white lacey thong with a baby blue bow in the front. After I slipped that on, I sprayed some perfume, grabbed my bag and went on my way. 

Chloe walked up to me and smiled. “Your dress is so pretty!” She complimented as I did a little spin for her. “Thanks! I got it on sale.” I smiled. Pete then came over and started talking about some video game him and Clark were playing all night. I was completely uninterested at the games they play, it’s always some race car game or basketball game. 

The bell rang signaling that it was first hour, I had AP U.S. history with just Clark. We sat down on our stools and I couldn’t help but to fan myself, I was burning up in here. “You okay?” Clark whispered as there was a history film playing at the moment. 

“I’m hot!” I stressed. “Yeah, you are.” He said with a smirk. I playfully rolled my eyes before responding to him. “You’re such a flirt.” I chuckled as I fanned myself again. I looked over to him and saw sweat beads dripping from his forehead. He looked so good. He laughed at my words and went back to watching the film. 

Clark and I weren’t dating, we were just friends. I mean sure we flirt with each other but I don’t think either one of us would admit the feelings we have for each other, if it happens, it happens. 

CLARK’S POV

I couldn’t help but to keep glancing at her, her boobs were practically spilling out of her dress and she looked good while she was sweaty. I wonder if that’s what she’ll look like after I fuc- “Now that you’ve all gathered the information that you need from this film, I want you to pair up with a partner and write down at least 10 facts of WW2.” Our teacher announced. 

I obviously paired with Y/N and we got out some pencil and paper. “I’ll go get some erasers.” She said as she walked off to the shelf of school supplies. I saw her bend over and got a peak of her white lacey panties along with the curve of her ass. 

I couldn’t stop staring, she looked so good and I could see a slight damp spots on her panties. She then stood back up to her full height before walking back over to our table and I hurried and looked away. “What’re you doing?” She giggled as she placed the erasers on the table. “Uhh-nothing!” I quickly said. She gave me a side eye before brushing it off. 

We were now working on the assignment and every time she leaned over I could see her cleavage. The way her sweat slowly dripped down her neck to her boobs was so hot. I would lick it off if she’d let me. I forgot I was staring directly at her boobs until she snapped me back to reality. “Stop staring at me my boobs, Kent.” She teased as my cheeks went red. I was speechless, I didn’t know what to say since she caught me in the act.

“I-I wasn’t staring-“ I tried to defend myself but she cut me off mid sentence. “Yes you were!” She laughed. Y/N wasn’t mad or anything which surprised me a bit. Is she into this? We’ve almost had sex a couple of times but we were always interrupted or she would stop it at the minute. I was about to say something but the bell signaling next period interrupted me. “Meet me in room 205 during 5th period.” Y/N said with a smirk as she grabbed her belongings and headed to her next class. The classroom she said is an empty classroom that turned into a storage room.

Is she asking what I think she’s asking? I definitely wasn’t complaining. 

Y/N’S POV

It was the middle of 5th period and I asked to go to the bathroom but I went to room 205 instead. It’s only fair that I give Clark what he’s been wanting for the longest. I walked into the empty classroom and saw Clark sitting in one of the chairs with those lost puppy eyes. He looked so cute. I locked the door behind me and walked up to him as he stood from his chair. “Why’d you wanna come in here?” He asked as I pushed him back down in the chair.

“I think you know why, Clark.” I softly stated while sitting down on his lap. I could hear his breath hitch from my touch. His eyes stared up at me before I slowly brought him into a kiss. He relaxed under me as we kissed, I could feel his boner rising up through his jeans so I grinded down on his lap. A slight whimper came from Clark’s mouth but it was muffled since my lips were still on his. 

Clark’s large hands gripped my ass which made me break away from the kiss to let out a moan. “Gonna let me fuck you in here?” His voice was low yet soft. His baby blues eyes were so intense when he stared at me. “You can fuck me wherever you want.” My tone came out as desperate, he should be the desperate one, not me. He chuckled at my words before swiftly lifting my dress above me and throwing it on one of the desks in the room.

I then lifted his shirt off him and felt up his delicious abs. Clark was jacked, he’s always hiding himself under his flannels and jackets. I was practically drooling over his six pack and his biceps. Clark’s hands made its way down my stomach and to the waist band of my baby blue lacey thong. “I think I might have to keep this pair for myself.” He whispered. My eyes blinked rapidly, my body was hot and desperate for him. 

I looked down to where his hand rested as he eventually moved it to inside my panties and palmed my pussy. My body jerked forward into him as I felt his slightly cold hand touch me. “You’re soaking down there.” He sharply sucked a breath of air as I tried to hump his hand to get friction but his other hand stilled my waist. “Clark!” I whined. “Be quiet. You tease me in that short little dress all day and think you’re gonna be in charge?” He replied with a mocking tone. I groaned to myself in regret. 

“I’m sorry..I didn’t mean to.” I apologized but he didn’t care. He was silent as he began to unbutton his jeans and slide them down along with his laptop. My eyes gawked at how big his cock is. I mean Clark is a pretty tall, buff guy but man..I never imagined him to be this huge. Sure I’ve had my fair share of teasing him and sitting on his lap but I never actually seen him bare like this. “Like what you see?” He cockily asked as fangs showed while he smiled. I simply ignored him, I was too intrigued with his cock. My hand went to touch it and it was hard.

He had to be like 7 or 8 inches. It was thick and heavy, and that fat mushroom tip was leaking out pre cum, it was making my mouth water. Clark straightened his posture and leaned a bit forward towards me. His breath was hot on my ear as he spoke up. “You gonna sit there or are you gonna ride my dick?” It was like something in more core started pulsing. His words, his tone, and the way he looked at me. 

I kept my eyes locked with his as I grabbed his cock and lined it up with my folds. Clark was trying to keep his composure but I could see through him. I then sinked down on his cock all the way, I held in my moan while Clark threw his head back with a loud moan. “I always imagined how good you would feel.” He choked out. I giggled at him, poor boy’s face was red like a tomato. “You better make me cum..” I whispered into his ear as my hands touched over his abs again. His stomach flexed as I started bouncing on him.

His eyes fluttered shut with his lips forming into the shape of an “o” but nothing coming out. “Clark!” I moaned out as I felt his cock stretch me out nice and good. My whole body was hot and I was filled with adrenaline knowing that anyone could just walk in here and see us. He started thrusting upward into me, matching my thrusts as I started whining. “Baby!” I cried out as my arms wrapped around his neck. 

“You’re so tight.” Clark grunted before looking down at his cock sliding in and out of me. My juices were coating his cock. Every time our laps met together loud smack sounds could be heard. I couldn’t help but to bring him into another kiss. One of his hands went to the back of my head and deepened the kiss, our tongues collided together while I moaned into the kiss. I needed this so bad from him. I longed to have Clark inside me..both ways.

His free hand went to my waist and started bouncing me. I broke away from the kiss-breathless from his touch. “Feels so goodddd!” I cried out with my head thrown back. A dark chuckle came from Clark’s mouth as he smirked at me. “Dick that good, huh?” He teased as I rolled my eyes. “Shut up!” I groaned while he bounced me up and down on his cock. “It’s like your pussy just sucks me in every bounce.”

My stomach fluttered at his words. It felt good knowing I can make Clark feel this good. My moans were mixed with sticky sounds of his dick going into my slick cunt. I felt Clark twitch inside me which made me grind down onto his cock. “Cum inside me, baby.” I softly said in his ear as my arms were wrapped around his neck. “Honey, you know I can’t.” Clark grunted. I purposely squeezed myself around him which made him look up at me. 

“Don’t do that again-please.” He begged. But I did it again anyways. His hands squeezed my ass as he came inside me. “Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!” He mumbled out as he was trying to pull out of me but he didn’t, it felt too good for him. I was fine with not getting my orgasm, I was satisfied with just having him inside me. His expression went back to that whole innocent farm boy, puppy dog eyes. Clark’s stomach was heaving up and down as he was still inside me.

He was breathless and sweaty, probably because of the heatwave going on right along with our activity..

Clark’s eyes finally focused back on me as my finger nails traced along his abs. “You’re not gonna be pregnant after this..right?” He hesitantly asked. I giggled at his nervous expression. Poor boy is freaked out. 

“No, Clark.” I answered while playfully rolling my eyes. 

You shake your head, already reaching for the package. “No ma’am, I got it.”

Her grin warms. She pats your arm lightly before handing the basket over. “Tell Martha I said hello. And walk carefully — those jars bite if they break.”

You cradle the basket carefully in your arms, the jars clinking softly beneath the cloth as you make your way down the familiar path. The sun sits low in the sky, casting everything in that soft, golden glow that makes Smallville feel like a photograph you could step into.

The Kent house fully comes into view — still the same pretty yellow, still with those white shutters that always looked freshly painted, even when they weren’t. There’s something comforting about it, like the place hasn’t changed a bit since you were a kid.

You step up onto the porch, the wooden boards creaking lightly under your feet, and lift a hand to knock on the door.

You knock gently, then shift your weight onto your other foot as you wait. The house is quiet inside, save for a distant sound, maybe a chair scraping or a floorboard creaking.

A moment later, the door swings open, and there he is.

Clark fills the doorway effortlessly, wearing a white, worn-in t-shirt and a faint look of surprise that quickly melts into something warmer.

“Oh — hey,” he says, his voice just a little breathy like he hadn’t expected it to be you.

You hold up the basket. “Grandma made some jam. Peach and apple. She wanted me to bring it over.”

Clark glances at the basket, then back at you, his mouth twitching like he’s trying not to smile too much. “Well…that’s nice of her. And you.”

He steps back, pulling the door open wider. “You wanna come in for a second?”

You hesitate for a moment, the nostalgic warmth of the house tugging at something inside you. Then, with a small nod, you step inside.

Clark closes the door softly behind you and leads the way down the hallway. “My folks aren’t home right now,” he says casually, glancing back at you with a half-smile. “Just me.”

You follow him through the quiet house, past the living room and down the short hall into the kitchen. Everything looks the same — the checkered curtains, the chipped ceramic rooster on the counter, the light that always hits just right around this time of day.

Clark nods toward the counter. “You can just set them over there.”

You move to the counter and start gently pulling the jars from the basket, one by one. The fabric-wrapped glass clinks softly as you set each one down.

Clark leans against the fridge, arms loosely crossed. “You always deliver stuff like this, or am I just special?” he teases lightly, the corner of his mouth twitching.

You roll your eyes with a small smile, focused on unwrapping the last jar —

But your fingers fumble.

The jar slips from your grasp, hitting the edge of the counter with a loud crack before tumbling to the floor and shattering into a sticky mess of glass and jam.

Your eyes widen. “Shit — sorry. I’m so sorry —”

Clark’s already moving, waving a hand. “It’s okay, it’s just jam.” He grabs a towel that was left on the counter.

“I got it,” he says, voice a little quieter now. “Just stay there. Don’t want you stepping on anything.”

He kneels in front of you, his broad shoulders blocking the light for a second as he starts to carefully gather the glass and sticky mess. You can hear the soft scrape of broken pieces against the tile, but all you can really focus on is the way the air suddenly shifts, it’s thicker now, heavier.

You’re both quiet, but it’s not the comfortable kind. It’s charged. Tangled in everything unspoken.

From where you’re standing, you can see the curve of his neck, the way the muscles in his forearm flex as he works. He’s close — too close, and somehow not close enough.

He looks up briefly, eyes meeting yours, and for a second it feels like the whole room is holding its breath.

Clark doesn’t move at first. He just stays crouched there, fingers curled loosely around the tattered red rag, breath caught somewhere between his chest and throat.

Your fingers slip into his hair slowly, and he blinks up at you like he’s not sure if this is really happening.

You brush the strands back gently, tracing along the softness of his waves before your touch glides down to his cheekbone. He leans into it, just slightly, like his body is moving before his brain can catch up.

Your thumb lingers there, warm against his skin, and Clark swallows hard. His eyes don’t leave yours. There’s something in them — something fragile and full and burning all at once.

Clark’s fingers slowly loosen around the rag, letting it fall from his hand without even glancing down. His gaze stays locked on you, wide and soft, his eyes shining with something almost puppy-like, like he’s silently asking for permission to stay this close.

Then, without a word, he shifts forward and wraps his arms gently around your legs, pulling you in just a little more, his grip secure but tender.

His cheek brushes against your thigh, and for a moment, he nuzzles into you, like he’s grounding himself, like the simple contact is enough to make his whole body relax. A quiet sigh leaves him, warm against your skin.

The weight of him there, his arms wrapped around your legs, his cheek nestled softly against you — it’s enough to send a quiet shiver through you.

You weren’t expecting it, but something hot starts to stir low in your stomach. A slow, blooming heat that spreads with every soft breath he lets out against your skin.

The warmth inside you grows hotter as his fingers start to gently squeeze and grope at the curve of your ass, testing and exploring, like he’s feeling out what he can get away with.

Without fully realizing it, he nuzzles his face closer — his cheek brushing right against the heat of your cunt, his breath warm even through the fabric. The soft drag of his nose, the accidental pressure, the low hum he lets out, it all sends a jolt straight through you.

Clark’s breath grows a little heavier as he tilts his head, pressing a slow, soft kiss right against your covered core. The fabric barely muffles the warmth of his lips, and the contact makes your stomach tighten, that heat burrowing itself even deeper.

His hands glide up under your skirt, fingertips teasing along your thighs before finding their way back to your ass. He gives a gentle squeeze — firmer this time, like he’s savoring the feel of you under his hands.

Moving with a careful slowness, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear. His eyes flick up to yours for just a second, searching, silently asking. He slowly starts to drag the fabric down, inch by inch, exposing more of you to the cool air and the heat radiating between you both.

Once your underwear pools at your ankles, Clark’s hands glide down your legs, steadying you as he presses a trail of slow, deliberate kisses up the inside of your thighs. Each kiss gets a little closer, a little more dangerous.

When he reaches the top, he pauses for a beat, looking up at you with that smug grin — his sharp canines barely peeking through, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

With a smooth motion, he shoves your skirt up around your hips, exposing all of you to him.

Without another word, he finally leans in, lips pressing firmly against your core. The first touch is warm, wet, and deep — his mouth working like he’s been dying to taste you, tongue gliding against you with slow, perfect precision.

His hands grip your legs tighter, holding you open as his mouth moves in rhythm, every flick and swirl dragging more heat out of you.

Your fingers dive into his hair, gripping tightly as a soft moan escapes you, hips shifting involuntarily under his mouth. His tongue works you expertly, sending sparks through every nerve as the pressure builds inside you.

Between shaky breaths, you manage to whimper, “C-Clark…we, fuck, we shouldn’t be doing this…”

With his mouth still working against you, his voice comes out muffled, low, and almost teasing.

“Then stop me.”

You don’t. You can’t.

Your grip in his hair only tightens, your thighs trembling as the heat inside you spirals higher, your body giving him every answer he needs.

The words stick in your throat, lost to the waves building inside you. Clark’s mouth moves with more purpose now — quicker flicks of his tongue that leave your legs trembling against his shoulders.

Your grip tightens in his hair, pulling just slightly, but he groans into you, sending a fresh pulse of heat through your core.

The pressure inside you coils tighter, tighter — until it finally snaps.

You cry out, hips jerking against his mouth as your orgasm crashes over you, sharp and overwhelming. Clark holds you steady, not letting up, his mouth working you through every last wave until you’re gasping, spent, and shaking under his hands.

When you finally come down, he slowly pulls back, lips glistening, eyes blown and locked on you like you’re the only thing in the world.

Clark rises slowly, hands still steady on your thighs as he stands between your legs. His breathing is heavy, his cheeks flushed, but his eyes are nothing but soft when they meet yours.

Without a word, he leans in and kisses you, like he’s trying to ground you both after everything. His lips move softly against yours, tasting you, holding you. His hands slide up your sides, fingertips tracing your skin with quiet care while he stays close, his forehead resting briefly against yours between kisses.

“I should go,” You whisper, barely able to get the words out,

Clark stills for a moment, eyes searching yours, like part of him wants to ask you to stay, but he doesn’t. He just nods, gently swiping your bottom lip with his big thumb.

“Okay,” he murmurs softly, voice still low and warm.

He steps back, giving you space as you adjust your skirt and smooth your clothes back into place. His eyes follow every small, shaky, movement, drinking in the sight of you one last time before you leave.

clark entered the kitchen, placing a hand on your upper back.

“hey, honey.” you said, drying off your last dish, placing it in the cupboard. he came up behind you, his arms wrapped around you, a kiss placed upon your cheek.

you turned around, wrapping your arms around him in retaliation, your head laid into his chest.

“thank you for dinner, baby.” he said, rubbing your back once more. you looked up at him, smiling, “always.”

you moved onto your tippy-toes, your hands cupping his face, planting a kiss on his lips, your arms laying at your side, resting your face in his neck afterwards.

he gave your back one last rub before pulling back, looking at you, giving you a smile.

“what’s that look for?” you asked. “i'm still just a little hungry,” he responded, pulling you close again, his hands placed upon your lower back.

“really?” you said, “do you want me to make you something else?”

“no, but i can make you something,” he said back. “oh yeah, what’s that?” you asked, looking up at him.

he began kissing you, his hands traveling down, roaming over your bottom and legs. the tension rose, the kiss deepening.

he began kissing your neck, untying your robe, traveling down to where his face was at eye-line with your cunt. he pulled down your soaking lace lingerie, kissing the inside of your thighs, soon beginning to rub his thumb over your clit.

you rested your hands on the counter, as he grabbed your thighs, parting them slightly. his tongue met your cunt, delving inside of it, his mouth sucking.

“fuck,” your hand gripped the counter, the other resting on his head, gripping his hair. his tongue continued moving in and out of you, stopping to flick your clit to catch his breath.

your hand on his head began guiding him, moving it at your desired speed. your moans were echoing in the kitchen.

as he continued working on your sensitive pussy, it began to tighten around his tongue, soon leaking out onto his face.

he cleaned and licked every drop from your cunt, looking up at you with his puppy dog eyes, your thighs. he stood up, grabbing some paper towel to clean off his face.

And even though you try not to watch him, you are. Quietly.

Your eyes find him in the lull between conversations, the clink of silverware and murmured talk fading behind the hum in your ears.

Every now and then, his gaze flicks toward you. Not for long — just a second. Just enough to make your stomach pull tight.

Your eyes meet once, twice, and the third time he holds it a beat too long.

Clark’s smile flickers, then steadies. He says something to the men beside him, nods once, and then excuses himself. His stride is casual, but direct — like he doesn’t want to give himself time to second-guess it.

He approaches with that knowing, sunlit grin that hasn’t changed since you last saw him in that kitchen.

“Hey,” he says, eyes crinkling just slightly as he stops next to you. “You hidin’ from me?”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms loosely as you shift your weight onto one foot. “No,” you say, your tone dry but barely holding back a smile. You could feel the warm blush creeping up your neck. “This just happens to be the only spot with decent shade.”

You look away for a second, pretending to watch your cousins chasing each other across the yard, but you can still feel his eyes on you — soft, a little amused, and unmistakably warm.

His grin fades at the edges, and something more serious settles behind his eyes.

He hesitates for the briefest moment, then looks right at you. “I didn’t make you uncomfortable, did I? In the kitchen? ”

The question hangs there, fragile and sincere. No teasing. No bravado. Just Clark — looking at you like your answer matters more than anything else going on around you.

“Of course not Clark.” you say, almost instantly. Your voice is soft but steady, your eyes holding his.

Clark’s shoulders ease a little, like he hadn’t realized how tense they were until just now. He nods once, looking down for a moment before glancing back at you. “Okay… good. I just—I wasn’t sure. It’s been on my mind.”

You feel a flicker of confidence spark somewhere low in your chest. Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, just like how he was that morning in the kitchen.

“It’s been on mine too,” you admit, your voice barely above the hum of conversation behind you.

Clark’s lips quirk up at the corners again — smaller this time, but real. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Kind of hard to forget.”

There’s a pause, the kind that feels like it could tilt either way.

Clark leans in just a little closer, voice low. “So…What now?”

“Well, that depends.” you respond, your body fully turning towards him.

Clark lifts an eyebrow, curious. “On what?”

“On whether you’re still the type to leave your window unlocked,” you say, tone light but laced with something bolder underneath.

His grin breaks slow, amused. “Depends who’s coming through it.”

You’re about to hit him with something equally smug when a voice rings out across the yard.

“Hey! Come take the picture with us!”

It’s one of your little cousins, waving frantically from the other side of the lawn.

“Midnight. Tonight.”

Clark doesn’t flinch. His eyes flick over your face like he’s memorizing it, and that slow, crooked smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

He exhales through his nose. “I’ll be up.”

You don’t wait for more.

You turn, calm and sure, the afternoon air curling at the hem of your dress as you make your way back across the lawn. And just before the space between you gets too wide, you throw him a look over your shoulder.

Clark doesn’t move. He just watches you go, jaw tight, heart racing.

—

The room is dark, lit only by the soft red glow of the alarm clock beside your bed and your open window. You’re lying on your side, head resting on your hand, eyes fixed on the blinking numbers as they inch closer to midnight.

11:59

You hold your breath.

12:00

The moment the digits shift, you slip out from under the sheets, moving like muscle memory. Your feet touch the floor as you grab your sweatshirt and quietly ease open your bedroom door.

The house is silent. Not a creak. Not a murmur.

You already know your grandparents are knocked out — probably asleep before the sun even went down. Still, you tread carefully down the stairs, skipping the fourth step out of habit because it always groans under pressure.

Outside, the summer air hugs you warm and thick as you step off the porch and cut across the yard. The Kent house glows faintly through the trees, familiar even in shadow.

You move through the dark like you’ve done it a hundred times, feet brushing softly through the grass until you reach the side of the Kent house. The wooden trellis is still there, sturdy from years of climbing vines and kids with scraped knees and too much imagination.

You grip it without thinking, fingers sliding into old notches, your feet finding familiar footholds. You climb expertly, barely making a sound, the night air thick and quiet around you.

When you reach the window, you push it open slowly. It gives with a faint creak, just enough to make your heart skip—but no lights turn on. No footsteps stir.

You slip inside, landing quietly on the wooden floor of Clark’s room.

And he’s not there.

The room is dim and still. You take a few cautious steps forward, your eyes adjusting, your breath held tight in your chest.

Then the door swings open.

Clark walks in holding a glass of water, and he stops short when he sees you. His eyes widen, just for a second.

“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath, pressing a hand to his chest.

You raise an eyebrow, smiling softly. “Did you forget?”

He closes the door behind him and sets the glass down. “No,” he says, stepping toward you with a small grin, “just didn’t think you’d actually show up on the dot.”

You smirk at his response, brushing your hands on your thighs.

“I’m punctual when it counts,” you say, letting your voice trail off with a hint of playfulness.

Clark watches you closely, the corners of his mouth twitching like he’s holding back more than he’s saying.

You take a quiet breath and glance around the room. It’s been a while, but the bones of it are exactly how you remember. The same desk pushed against the wall, cluttered with books and half-scribbled notebooks. Even the throw blanket on the bed looks the same — though it’s hanging a little looser now, a little more worn.

Only a few new things stand out: a few mechanic guide books on the floor, a newer lamp by the bedside. Still Clark’s room, though. Still him.

You glance back at him with a crooked smile. “Still messy.”

Clark lets out a short laugh, leaning against the dresser. “It’s an organized mess. I know where everything is.” You can only roll your eyes.

You walk over to the wall, eyes scanning the photographs tacked up between old ticket stubs and a faded map. Some of the pictures are familiar — Clark with his parents, school trips, a few grainy ones from old summer days. You pause at one, tilting your head slightly as you study it.

Behind you, Clark settles down onto his bed, his elbows resting on his pillows. The room’s low lighting casts a soft glow across your skin, and for a moment, he can’t look away.

His pulse quickens unmistakably, maddeningly as he watches the way your fingers lightly trail the edge of a photo, the way your lips curl into a small smile as you admire the pictures. He swallows hard, breath quiet and slow, like even that might give him away.

You glance over your shoulder, catching the way Clark’s looking at you, and lift an eyebrow, amused.

“You gonna keep staring at me,” you say, turning back to the wall, “or are you gonna say something?”

Your tone is playful, a little edged, like you already know the answer. You cross your arms loosely as your eyes move over the photos, letting the silence stretch a little longer.

Clark leans back on his hands, a slow grin spreading across his face.

“Kind of hard to have a conversation when you’re all the way over there,” he says, his voice low, teasing.

His eyes stay on you, warm and steady, like he’s not just talking about distance.

You squint your eyes at him before taking a slow, deliberate step toward him.

When you reach his bed, you lower yourself onto the edge of it — close, but not quite touching him. Your knee brushes his for only a second as you settle, and your hands rest lightly in your lap.

The room feels still. Charged.

Clark glances over at you, then back down at his hands. You shift your legs, cross and uncross them, trying to ignore how warm your skin feels in the still air.

Clark’s hands are resting on his lap, fingers tapping idly against each other. You’re staring at a spot on the wall like it’s giving you answers. He shifts, just a little, like he’s about to speak, but then doesn’t.

“This is weird, right?” you say finally, glancing over at him.

Clark huffs a breath, not quite a laugh. “A little.”

Your knee bumps his again barely but you don’t move it.

He looks over at you, his voice quieter this time.“I thought you’d say something first.”

You shrug. “I was waiting for you.”

He nods slowly, eyes still on you now. The space between you feels smaller somehow, but neither of you fills it. Not yet.

Your eyes meet his, finally. There’s a pause — just long enough to feel it. Neither of you smile, not right away. It’s just quiet. A glance that lingers, a breath held.

Then Clark leans in, slow and unsure, and you meet him halfway.

The kiss is soft at first. Careful. Like you’re both still making sure this is real. His hand brushes your knee, tentative, and your fingers find the edge of his sleeve without thinking.

It deepens only slightly, but the room seems to shift with it. The weight of all that tension easing, melting between you in the hush of that moment.

Clark’s hand moves to your waist as the kiss deepens, his touch firmer now, more certain. He shifts, tugging gently until you’re straddling his lap. The heat between you keeps building, and without thinking, your hips roll against his — just once.

Clark groans, low and broken, his mouth pulling away from yours as his hands clamp down on your hips to hold you still.

“Don’t do that,” he breathes, voice rough and ragged against your throat. “You — god, you can’t do that.”

You shift just slightly in his lap, feeling the way his fingers tense against your hips, how hard he’s working not to move.

“Why not?”

Clark exhales sharply, jaw clenched, eyes squeezing shut like he’s praying for strength. You lean in, lips brushing his as you speak, all teasing and sweet,

“You don’t think we’re here to talk, do you?”

Clark exhales hard through his nose, eyes flicking up to meet yours and he looks wrecked, like he’s hanging on by a thread.

But the way his grip tightens on your hips says he wants you to mean it. Badly.

Clark doesn’t answer with words — he just pulls you into another kiss, deeper this time, more intense. His hands roam your body with growing urgency, sliding beneath your shirt, up your sides, like he’s trying to memorize every inch.

You shift in his lap again, and his breath catches in his throat, but he keeps kissing you through it, mouth hot and hungry against yours.

Then his hands slip lower.

Slowly, he slides them under the waistband of your panties, his fingertips skimming over your bare skin.

“You’re so pretty like this.” he murmurs, words rich and slow, like he’s savoring every syllable.

The sound of it melts in your head, sticky-sweet and impossible to shake. It curls around your thoughts, settling low in your stomach and making everything ache.

Your face heats immediately, the compliment hitting somewhere deeper than it should. And when his fingers slip between your folds and he feels how soaked you already are — you freeze, just a little.

Clark watches your expression shift, sees the way your breath stutters and your eyes flutter as his fingers explore.

“Hey…it’s okay,” he whispers, that caramel drawl melting through you. “Just relax for me.”

Then his hand moves with purpose, he gathers all that slickness and glides it slowly up to your clit, circling it with a featherlight touch that makes your whole body tense and melt at the same time.

“You feel so good,” he whispers, still close, still gentle. “Let me take care of you.”

Clark’s fingers slide in slowly, and curl gently inside you, stretching you already. His thumb circles your clit in steady, measured strokes that make your breath hitch. You’re trembling, caught somewhere between desperate and delicate, and Clark’s grip on your hips tightens just enough to hold you steady.

He slips a hand up your shirt, fingertips grazing your ribs before cupping your breast. His mouth follows, hot and hungry, pressing soft, wet kisses along your skin before settling over your nipple.

He sucks gently at first, teasing the sensitive bud, tongue flicking over it in slow, deliberate circles that send sparks shooting through you.

“Fuck,” he breathes against your skin, voice low and thick with want. “You’re so fucking good.”

His fingers pick up pace inside you, curling and pressing just right, while his mouth sucks harder, nibbling gently now, and you feel your control slipping.

Your knees start to tremble, your hands clutching at his shoulders as waves crash through you, deep and overwhelming.

“Clark,” you moan, voice breaking, “I can’t —”

But before you can finish, your body crumbles, shuddering in his arms as the orgasm rips through you, raw and fierce. Your breath hitches, your hips jerk, and Clark holds you steady, never letting up on his touch.

When you finally come down, your body trembling and spent, he pulls back just enough to look at you — eyes dark, satisfied, and completely focused on you.

“You okay?” he asks, voice quiet but warm. You nod, breath shaky, hands still fisted in his shirt. But it’s the way you look at him that makes his jaw flex. He brushes his nose along your collarbone, lips following as he gently pulls his fingers out of your cunt.

Clark eases his fingers out, slick and shining in the low light. He brings them to his lips without thinking, tongue flicking over them lazily — but before he can do anything else, your hand wraps around his wrist.

His brows lift slightly, surprised, and then you guide his fingers toward your own mouth instead. You hold his gaze the whole time, lips parting slow, deliberately, as you take them in.

His breath hitches. You swirl your tongue around them, and his jaw clenches — not from restraint, but from sheer awe.

You press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, then trail lower — down the curve of his jaw, to the warm skin of his neck. His breath hitches as you move lower, brushing down the column of his throat, where his pulse beats wild under your mouth.

You keep moving, your movements fluid as you shift lower, easing yourself between him and the bed. Your hand slides over his abdomen, fingers dipping just low enough to brush along the bulge straining beneath his waistband.

Clark’s hand moves gently over yours, stopping you just for a second. His eyes meet yours, wide and a little glassy, his voice rough but sincere. “You don’t have to do that,”

“Shh,” you murmur, meeting his eyes. “I want to.”

Whatever hesitation was left in his eyes dissolves into something deeper. Hungrier. He swallows hard, his grip loosening slightly on your hand as he lets you keep going — his body already giving in to yours.

You work the knot of his drawstring loose and ease the waistband down just enough. He shifts under you, tension rippling through him like a live wire. You reach in and wrap your hand around the plush weight of him.

Clark groans, deep and low, head tilting back. He could feel every inch of your touch like a brand, searing and electric. His cock throbbed, already fully erect and straining towards your hand.

Your hand stills for a second. Even through the warmth of your palm, the size of him makes your breath catch — thick, and heavy in a way that has your heart skipping a beat.

You readjust yourself, your hands skimming over his sides until your mouth finds the sharp curve of his hip bone. You kiss there first, then move to the other. Clark tenses, a sharp inhale breaking the quiet, and you can feel his eyes locked on you.

You hesitate for only a second longer and finally lean in, your breath brushing against his skin.

Your tongue traces a slow, deliberate stripe along the side of his cock, and he groans, low and wrecked — his hand tightening slightly in the sheets.

“God,” he mutters, voice all gravel and disbelief. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Your lips hover for a beat, heat rolling off him, before you finally part them and sink down just enough to wrap them around the head of his cock.

Clark’s breath catches, his hips twitching before he forces them still, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head with a restraint that feels almost fragile.

You hum softly around him, letting the vibration travel, tasting the faint salt of his skin as your tongue teases the ridge beneath.

You keep your pace unhurried, tongue tracing over him before you seal your lips tighter around his tip and draw back just slightly, letting the sensation linger.

When you start to move a little faster and let your hand work in tandem with your mouth, the sound he makes is almost a whimper, his hips jerking despite himself. “If you keep d-doing that,” he breaks off on a gasp, “Jesus fuck,”

The way he says it — half a warning, half a plea, only makes you hollow your cheeks and ease forward again.

You don’t slow down. If anything, you pick up your pace, your lips sliding lower with each pass until you’re swallowing him as far as you can manage. His fingers curl tight in the bedding, his knuckles pale.

The warning dissolves into a sharp groan, and then he’s suddenly spilling into your mouth, the heat of it filling you as his voice unravels into breathless praise. “Perfect… god, you’re perfect… so so good for me,”

You keep going until he’s spent and trembling, only pulling back when you feel his hand cup your jaw in a soft, grounding touch.

When you finally pull back, wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, Clark’s still catching his breath, cheeks flushed a deep pink. At first you think it’s just from the heat of the moment — until his gaze flicks away, almost shy.

“That was, um, earlier than I -,” he admits, voice low like he’s hoping you won’t tease him.

You can’t help the little smile that tugs at your lips. “It’s okay, ” you tell him honestly, leaning up to press a kiss to his warm cheek. “It’s cute.”

That only makes his blush deepen, the corners of his mouth twitching despite the embarrassment.

You both sit in silence for a moment, the quiet settling comfortably around you. His hand still gently brushes your cheek, and you watch the subtle rise and fall of his breath.

Then Clark’s voice breaks the stillness, low and steady. “You should probably get back before anyone notices you’re gone.”

You glance toward the window, then back at him, your expression soft. “Already?”

He nods, eyes warm but serious. “Just, don’t want you to get in trouble.”

You lean in and press a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’ll be careful.”

You stand slowly, giving him one last look. His eyes hold yours, quiet and full, as if trying to memorize every detail before you go. The air between you hums with everything unsaid.

“See you tomorrow.”

A faint smile tugs at his lips, and he replies just as quietly,