"That's Clark, nice..."

You rolled your eyes, setting the box down on the counter. "Are you going to bring up the college application timeline every time I come over, or is this a permanent feature?"

"It's a relevant metric," he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

You slid off the counter, stepping into his personal space. Clark didn't retreat, but his shoulders went rigid as his tall frame suddenly looked entirely too big for his modest apartment kitchen. When you reached up and slid his glasses off his face, tucking them into his front apron pocket, his eyes dropped instantly to your mouth.

"Clark," you murmured, resting your palm flat against his chest, right over the steady, heavy thud of his heart. "Do I look stressed about the optics to you?"

His breath hitched. The gentle composure flickered, replaced by a hot friction that made his large hand snap up to catch your wrist—not to push you away, but holding you there, pinned gently against him. His thumb dragged over the fast pulse in your wrist, his knuckles brushing the side of it.

"No," he rasped, his voice dropping an octave, losing every but of its Kansas politeness. "You look like you're taking advantage of the fact that I'm trying very hard to be responsible."

"I'm not asking you to," leaning in just enough that your lips brushed the stubble along his jawline.

A low groan caught in the back of his throat. The moral high ground collapsed as his grip tightened, pulling you off your feet and flush against the edge of the counter. His mouth finding yours with an urgency that proved he was done counting years.

Your head darts over to the window when a little gust of wind hits you, and there he is, standing in your living room: Clark. Well, right now, he's technically Superman.

"Clark-"

"It's Superman, ma'am," he says, cutting you off. "I believe there's a young woman at this residence who needs to be put in her place."

You swallow harshly, your body already feeling warm and tingly. He must've felt like it'd be easier to be dominant as Superman, and you're certainly not complaining about it.

"I didn't think you did house calls like this, Superman."

He hums, crossing his arms as his cape flutters slightly in the wind. "This is a...special circumstance. A favor for a close friend of mine."

Nodding, you watch as he shrugs his cape off and walks over to you. His eyes are dark, not their usual radiant blue, and the sight alone makes you shiver.

"Stand up."

You do as he says, standing immediately. He reaches out and gently caresses your cheek, almost a reminder of the much softer man inside, before his eyes wander your figure hungrily. His large hand gently wraps around your jaw, tilting your head back so you have to look at him.

"What are you wearing underneath?" Clark asks, gesturing to your loose pajamas. "It better be what was expected of you."

"It is."

"Then show me."

Your eyes glance over to the open window and the fact that none of your other windows have the blinds down. Someone could easily see. He gives your jaw a little shake.

"Don't worry about that," he says, leaning down, his voice deep. "You had no problem showing that body of yours off earlier. Anyone could have seen those pictures, and you knew that, didn't you?"

You bite your lip and look back up into his eyes. "Did you see them, Superman? The pictures?"

"Of course I did. I wouldn't make a random house call like this for no reason at all. I'm a hero, not a saint. Now show me."

He steps back and lets go of your jaw, watching intently as you pull your shirt up over your head. His eyes zero in on your torso, which is clad in the lingerie from the pictures you sent earlier.

"Keep going."

Seconds later, your sleep shorts join your shirt on the floor, full revealing the set. Clark has to hold back a groan at the sight, licking his lips instinctively. It looks so much better in person than it did in the pictures, and you look absolutely breathtaking in it.

"There we are," he hums, reaching out to tease one of the straps with his fingers. "You listened, so that's a good start."

His other hand comes down to undo his golden belt, tossing it aside. It's very obvious that he's aroused, his erection straining against his suit. You chew on your lip at the sight, and he hums.

"Go close the blinds and then kneel. Grab a pillow if you need it."

The blinds are drawn in record time and you grab a pillow before sinking to your knees in front of him. He looks down at you, his heart beating quickly. You're really enjoying this, it seems, and it only fuels him to keep this up.

"Give me your hands." When you do, he puts them on his waist, right where his suit pants are. "Go on, pull them down."

You curl your fingers around the waistband and pull them down, letting his cock spring free from behind the restrictive fabric. He's already hot and hard, with a bead of precum gathering on his tip.

"Good girl. You know what to do now, don't you?" he asks, tapping his cock against your cheek, then your lips. "Open up."

Your jaw slacks and your mouth opens. As soon as it does, he steps forward slightly, guiding his length between your lips into your mouth. He grunts when he feels your hot mouth around him, his head tipping back for a moment in an attempt to keep himself in check. This is far more arousing for him than he thought it'd be.

Without even needing to be told, you start bobbing your head, cheeks hollowing to suck. A shiver shoots up Clark's spine and he exhales shakily, a hand coming down to hold onto your hair.

"That's a good...good girl."

There are so many sounds that he wants to make and you know he's holding them back purposely, which turns you on. Your tongue starts dragging up along the underside of his cock, which causes his hips to buck forward before he can even stop it.

"Mm," he grunts. "You've got such a-a talented mouth. Have you thought about this before, being on y-your knees for me like this?"

You whimper around him and nod. It's true, you have thought about having sex with him as Superman, and he knows that. He'd be lying if he said the idea doesn't also arouse him.

"I know you have, you've wanted this for a while. You're such a dirty girl, wanting to have Superman's cock in your mouth."

His words make you moan, your skin feeling hot and electric. You’ve never heard him talk like this, and it’s very, very erotic. You hum and his hips buck forward again, pushing more of his length into your mouth.

You keep going, keep pleasuring him in the way you know he loves, until he starts to twitch in your mouth and he pulls you off. He takes a moment to catch his breath and think of what to tell you next. You’re really liking this, and even though it doesn’t feel like Clark, he’s happy you’re loving it.

“Bend yourself over the arm of the sofa,” he says, nodding behind you. “Spread your legs too.”

“Yes, sir, Superman,” you say, testing it out to see how he reacts. His cock twitches when you say it, and you smirk, keeping that in mind.

When you’re bent over the arm, he steps up behind you and pushes your legs out a bit further. He groans when he realizes that your panties are crotchless.

Clark can see how wet you are from here, and he hums.

“You really like this?” He asks, his voice softer. “I’m doing alright?”

Your head turns and you look back at him, offering a kind smile.

“You’re doing great, Clark,” you whisper. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

He nods.

“It’s…very different, but I like how much you like it, so it’s worth it.”

You nod, and he lines himself up with your entrance. He normally likes to do plenty of foreplay and preparation, but he has a feeling you’ll enjoy not having it in this instance.

His hips thrust forward and he slides in easily, grunting with the movement. You moan softly as he starts thrusting immediately, one hand on your hip and the other on your shoulder.

“Mm, that’s it,” he hums. “So good for me.”

Your eyes flutter shut.

“Oh god, S-Superman…”

He moves faster, quickly losing himself in the way you feel, wrapped around him so tightly.

“Do you want me to go faster?”

You nod, and he smirks.

“Beg for it, then. Go on.”

“P-Please,” you breathe. “Please move faster.”

His hips rock faster, which makes you moan a bit louder, and his grip on you tightens a bit.

“You’re so tight,” he groans. “S-So tight, it’s s-so good.”

“Mm…it’s all for you, Superman.”

Your words make him feel even hotter, and he starts fucking you even harder. He’s close and you can feel it. You clench around him again, wanting him to come.

“Oh gosh,” he breathes, almost to himself. “I-I…should I pull out?”

“No,” you say, looking back at him. “Stay inside, I wanna feel it.”

Clark nods, and after a few more strokes, his hips press flush against your ass as he fills you up. He moans and grunts, his head tipping back.

“Fuck…”

You sigh at the feeling, loving feeling him coming inside you. The two of you catch your breath for a moment before he pulls out and you stand up.

As soon as you do, he spins you around and kisses you deeply, needing to show you affection after that.

“Did I do alright on my first try?”

“You did great,” you hum. “I appreciate you trying for me, I know it’s difficult.”

He shrugs, kissing you again.

“A little, but it was worth it. Plus…” His hands slide down to your hips and he smiles widely. “Now I get to worship you as Clark, so it’s a win-win.”

Chuckling, you wrap your arms around him.

“You won’t hear any complaints from me.”

(divider by firefly-graphics here on tumblr!)

You merely groaned, sinking further into the couch cushions where you sat. Your hands went to cover your face, legs tucked up under you.

“Is there something wrong with me?”

Clark raised a single brow, flopping down onto the couch next to you. “Excuse me?”

You groaned, dropping your head on his shoulder. Either something was wrong with you, or literally everyone else. You were certain of it. You’d attempted once again to date someone. Last time, a girl talked about her ex the whole time. Before that, someone else had been very adamant about splitting every bill to the exact cent. Tonight, you’d given a chance to a guy who seemed a little insecure on the dating app you’d found him on. That was your mistake. He appeared normal enough at first. Maybe not totally your type, but you were always willing to give someone a chance if you thought you might at least have a compatible personality and a similar sense of humor. This dude had neither. 

“Once again, I give a chance to some loser on a dating app. Once again, I get fucked,” you huffed out, cheek smushed to Clark’s shoulder. “And not in a fun way.”

His ears went a little red, but they always did when you spoke like that.

He’d found you through Jimmy a couple years ago. You were an old friend from high school who was looking for a reliable roommate, and Clark, at the time, could certainly use someone to help ease the load of his bills. Metropolis wasn’t cheap for an up-and-coming reporter. You were sweet, funny, and according to Jimmy, extremely reliable. Clark found out that you could also be a bit of a mother hen, which he was more than happy to be on the receiving end of. He liked coming home to someone who cared about what happened to him. Especially when that someone made him blueberry pancakes on Sunday mornings and liked to go bowling with him on Tuesday nights.

But, you were never one to be terribly shy. Years later and he was still a little squeamish when you’d swear like a sailor or talk about your sex life. He didn’t want to think about you like that. At least not in front of you.

When he was alone, though, it was a bit of a different story. 

Of course, he felt guilty about it every time it happened. But he could only take so much, and it's not like he was one to date around or get his fix with a girl he doesn’t know all that well. He tried hard not to, but sometimes you’d discuss your latest escapade or walk around in nothing more than your cute little panties and a t-shirt and he would suddenly find any excuse to run to his bathroom. He didn’t always touch himself! No, that would be rude. Sometimes he just took a freezing cold shower, or he’d just stand there and think of his Pa talking about one of the cows giving birth or Steve eating a meatball sandwich. That usually got rid of it fast.

But, every now and then, he just couldn’t help himself. He’d scurry off to his room for a while, and try his best to see how quickly he could make himself finish. His record was two and a half minutes. No more than a casual bathroom break. He would be quite proud of it if it weren't for the overwhelming shame and guilt that followed for jacking off to the thought of his roommate. 

He gulped, resting his cheek against the top of your head. “What happened?”

“I’m never dating a man with zero confidence ever again.” You patted his thigh, pretending you didn’t notice how he tensed from the contact. You thought it was sweet how shy he seemed to be. “Go get dressed and I’ll give you the run-down. You’re gonna dirty up our couch in your little get-up.”

He snorted a laugh. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t you ‘yes, ma'am’ me.”

He just got up, smiling to himself. You watched him go, that giant of a man. Part of you almost wanted to just ask him to bed you. Maybe not date, you weren’t sure you were exactly his type. But god… if it wouldn’t totally fuck up your roommate situation, you’d have tried getting in his pants the first time you’d met him.

You still remembered it. 

When Jimmy had told you that he had a friend from work who was looking for a roommate, you didn’t expect 240 pounds of bumbling gorgeous. He blushed when you said hello, told you he’d cover three quarters of the rent while you got your bearings after your last roommate had put you out to couch surf, and could hardly look you in the eye after you’d made an extremely mild flirtatious comment. You may or may not have casually asked Jimmy if Clark was single after that. Jimmy shoved you and told you to leave the poor guy alone. 

In retrospect, he was looking out for both of you. It probably wouldn’t have ended in a signed lease as much as a single, glorious night. If you even got that far. You were certain that Clark was the boyscout to end all boyscouts. Once he’d told you he was Superman, you knew that your suspicions had been confirmed.

But agreeing not to fuck him didn’t mean you couldn’t look.

You ended up being glad you never did, anyway. He’d become a great friend in the time you’d been living together. He was courteous, kind, and you didn’t have to carry groceries a single time in over two years any time you’d gone shopping with him. He always bent to your will when it came to picking out what to watch for movie nights, and was shockingly funny when he wanted to be. It was a good deal. A great deal. A fantastic deal with a cute butt and stunning dimples.

Clark shrugged out of his suit in the privacy of his room, briefly pressing his nose to the shoulder of his suit where he could still smell your shampoo before he came to his senses. He took a fast shower, rubbing one out for good measure. He figured if he got ahead of the curve, there was less chances of getting hard out of the blue if you touched him literally anywhere. He bit into his lower lip, spilling against the shower wall with a soft sound that sounded suspiciously close to your name. But he’d never admit as much, even to himself.

He found himself on the couch with you that evening, listening intently to you spill your guts about yet another date from hell. He frowned as you recounted the man’s behavior, an arm slung around your shoulders as his face was pressed against your hair.

“Maybe you should take a break from the apps,” he mumbled after you’d finished.

You sighed. “Mm… maybe. But god, what gives? It’s not like I’m specifically seeking out true love right now. Some consistent sex would suffice, but even that is impossible.”

He coughed once, cheeks going red again. “Uh… right. Well…”

“Sorry. I know you get squeamish about that,” you mentioned with a chuckle.

“I’m not squeamish.”

“You get all blushy if I talk about sex.”

He huffed. “It’s… you just… you talk about it like–”

“See? Squeamish.” You chuckled, adjusting to look up at him.

Clark groaned, pushing you away. You laughed harder, pulling the tiniest grin from his lips.

“You’re mean to me. Just cause I don't share all of my… experiences.”

You raised a brow. “To be fair, I didn’t realize you even had experiences.”

He flushed again, hand on the back of his neck. Taking care of himself in the shower evidently didn’t prevent anything. He crossed one of his legs over the other, trying to mask what jumped up in his sweats.

“It’s not like I’m a virgin.”

“Could’a fooled me.”

He glared at you. “Be nice.”

“I’m plenty nice.”

“You make fun of me.”

“Only cause I love you,” you teased, pinching his cheek. “And cause I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about a girl since you dated Lois.”

He sighed, head leaning back onto the couch. “I don’t like doing– doing that unless I really like somebody. I just haven’t found the right person in a while is all.”

You smiled, softer now. You took his hand in yours, squeezing it softly as your head found its way to his arm again.

“That’s very sweet.”

“Don’t make fun–”

“I mean it, Clark.”

He glanced down out of the corner of his eye to where you leaned against him. His thumb brushed over your knuckles gently as you both refocused to the tv that was running in the background. He leaned over, kissing the top of your head.

“You deserve better than those folks you’ve been out with lately, you know?”

“I know.”

“Mm.”

You let out a soft breath. “The last girl I was out with tried telling me she didn’t like how I kissed.”

“Oh.”

“Which is total bullshit, by the way. She said she could ‘help me figure it out’.” You rolled your eyes. “I know for a fact that I don’t need help.”

Clark just nodded once. “R-right.”

“I don’t think anyone has ever told me that before.”

“Hm.”

“Are you going to say anything else to me?” You glanced up at him with a laugh.

“I’m, uh– I’m sure you’re a very good kisser?”

You snorted. “Have you ever had someone tell you that?”

“Tell me…?”

“You can’t kiss. Or need help or whatever.”

He shook his head. “Uh, n-no?”

“You think you’re good at it?”

He flushed again, looking away. “Come on…”

“Alright, you big baby. I’ll quit asking.”

He let out a slow breath. That ended up being a long night for him once he went to his room for the night.

Weeks later, he groaned as he woke up, still a bit dazed from a deep sleep. He woke to the sound of you shuffling around the apartment, but couldn’t yet bring himself to climb out of his cozy bed. It wasn’t until he heard his door creak open that he made an attempt at opening his eyes. 

“Good morning, sunshine,” you whispered, sneaking into his bedroom.

He laid there in his plaid pajama pants, washed in sunlight and tangled in his sheets. He blinked groggily as you walked in, smiling a little at the sight of you in little more than a t-shirt and panties. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to you being so… comfortable.

“You took my shirt again,” he rasped, holding out a hand as you crawled into bed with him.

You made yourself comfortable on his bed, cross-legged and taking his hand as he turned onto his back on the mattress.

“I like this shirt. It’s soft.” You shrugged, tugging lightly on the hem of his old Met U t-shirt. “Besides, if you keep throwing your clothes into my hamper, you can’t be mad when I take them.”

He just hummed once, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand. “Guess so. I like it on you anyway."

“Flirt.”

“That was not.”

“So you think I’m ugly?”

He scoffed, eyes going wide. “Wha– I didn’t say that!”

You tried to keep it together, but his immediate defense and embarrassment was too much to handle. You chuckled a little, his features softening but still stern as he muttered your name in a scold. 

“You’re so easy to rile up.” You grinned.

“You’re rude.”

“You adore me.”

He sighed, arm around your waist as he pulled you down with him. You squealed, settling yourself with your knees on either side of his hips. He intended merely to bring you a little bit closer, maybe get you to quiet down, but Clark realized too late what a pickle he’d just gotten himself into as he loosened his arm.

“Oh, geez–” he mumbled, feeling himself freeze up.

“If you wanted me on top of you that bad–”

“Quit it.”

“Yes, sir.”

He frowned, stomach dropping as he felt his blood rush south. You chuckled for only a moment before something else caught your attention, something that wasn’t there before suddenly insistently pressing against your bare thigh.

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” Clark squeaked out, eyes squeezing shut. “Shoot, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“Not your fault.”

“It kind of is.”

“You didn’t get hard on purpose, I’m sure.”

He groaned. “Please don’t talk about it.”

“Too late, it’s touching me.”

He whined. Honest-to-god whined. His hands settled on your hips, trying weakly to push you away. You had two options in front of you, you realized: allow him to push you away and pretend it never happened, or…

You gripped his wrists, stopping him from pushing you away. He looked up at you, alarmed with his ears turning red as fast as his cheeks did. 

“What are you doing?”

You just shrugged, pushing your hips back up from where he’d tried shoving you away. Clark gasped at the small amount of friction it provided to his restricted length. He breathed out your name again, though whether it was meant to be a warning or praise you weren’t quite sure. What you were sure of is that he looked really cute with rosy cheeks and parted lips, and a little dry-humping between friends never killed anyone.

“You can stop me if you really want to,” you spoke, voice barely louder than a whisper, your hips rolling against his with more purpose.

His jaw ticked, his eyes still closed. “I… I know.”

“Are you going to?”

He swallowed, hands gripping the fat of your hips with more strength, helping you along as you rocked against him again. He knew it would be reasonable to stop this. He didn’t do casual, he knew that he couldn’t. He also didn’t ever cross that line with you, despite the thoughts about you that seemed to plague his mind at any given moment. But this technically wasn’t anything, he rationalized with an extremely clouded mind. You both had clothes on, mostly. The most intimate skin contact was his hands on your hips and thighs. It was fine. He decided it was fine, so it would be fine. 

“No,” he finally answered after a moment.

Your hands ran over his wrists, his forearms, his fingers. You watched him carefully as his eyes slowly blinked open, hooded and dark. He watched the way your hips, clad in those soft blue panties, dragged over the evident bulge in his pajama pants. He let out a shaky huff, groaning under his breath.

“Gosh…”

“Yeah,” you breathed out with a short chuckle, hands against his bare stomach. Your fingers traced the little happy trail that snuck from his belly button down into his pants. His stomach jumped at the contact. “This is… nice. Good bonding time.”

“Bonding?” He laughed, breathing heavily. “I, uh–um… this is a heck of a way to bond.”

You just nodded, a small sound of agreement on your lips as he took a firmer hand guiding you over his erection. You felt the flimsy material of your panties clinging to your skin, soaked in your own arousal. You were sure you’d leave a spot against his pants, but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel embarrassed about it. 

Clark’s sounds grew louder, needier. His head was clouded over with want, his cock throbbing with a desire to be freed from the confines of fabric separating him from what he was sure would be a very soft, warm place between your legs. He’d thought about you a million times before, but this was the first time he could remember feeling truly, horribly desperate to be inside of you like this.

“Baby…” he groaned.

Fuck. You whined softly at the petname, your body moving against his with even more intention than you’d had a moment earlier. 

“Don’t stop,” you gasped, feeling a familiar coiling in your stomach.

He smiled, dazed out. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You dragged yourself against the length beneath you, pleased to become so aware that he was just as big as you’d imagined him to be. A new buzz beneath your skin intensified as your clit caught on what felt like the thick head of his cock. You tried the same movement again, garnering the same result. Over and over and over. 

Clark whined underneath you, fingers dug into your thighs. “W-wait. Wait, honey, I’m–”

“No. N-no, please, I’m so close.”

He grunted, frustrated and ready to finish as well. “M-me too.”

“Don’t quit.”

“Okay,” he rasped. “Okay. O-okay.”

“Right there, just like this.”

He sucked in a sharp breath, one arm tugging you down against his chest. His face buried in your hair, a harsh groan coming from the back of his throat as his hips rutted up against you. You moaned against his ear, cumming hard, pussy clenching and pulsing around nothing. Clark could hear your heart speed up as you finished, his own release coming only a few seconds later. He spilled into his pants, one hand on your waist, the other in an iron grip on your thigh. 

You both laid there for a little while, the glow of your shared orgasm settling between you. You felt elated, cheek against his clammy bare shoulder. Clark felt… humiliated? Excited? A scary combination of both, it seemed.

“I’m… I’m really sorry.”

You breathed slow, pushing up on his chest to look down at him. “For what?”

“That was, uh…” He looked away. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“To cum?”

He mumbled your name. “Gosh. Don’t say it like that. No, I meant doing all of that. I don’t–”

“I liked it, for the record.”

He swallowed. “Me too, but I shouldn’t have.”

“Clark. Come on,” you whispered, tilting his head to look at you again. “If you liked it and I liked it, then there’s nothing wrong. It was fun. You had a good time, right?”

He gave a pouty nod. “Yeah.”

“Quit pouting.”

“I’m not pouting.”

“You totally are. You just came and found a way to feel immediately guilty about it. You’re not Catholic, cut it out.”

“Ma did bring me to church sometimes when I was little…”

“Clark.”

He sighed, a soft smile making its way to his face. “Sorry. I– I did like it. That was nice.”

“We didn’t fuck. I think we can chalk it up to a fun activity between roomies.”

“You have an odd idea of what a roommate activity is.”

You smiled, brushing his dampened hair away from his face. 

If Clark thought he was struggling with how he felt about you before, it was a whole new ballgame now. He knew he had a bit of a crush, as evidenced by the way his dick would jump to life if he thought about you too hard. But it was suddenly leagues worse. 

He didn’t have to wonder what you’d sound like under him, he knew. He didn’t have to guess if you’d be soaked and warm for him, he had evidence in the form of a wet spot on the pants he’d worn that morning. You came rubbing yourself on him. He came in his pants. You got each other off. He wasn’t going to be quick to forget it. 

Going into work that morning didn’t help him out at all. He was certain his cheeks were still a little pink as he stumbled into his desk chair at the Daily Planet. Evidently, he wasn’t making it all up in his head. 

“Dude.”

Clark glanced up to see Jimmy staring at him pointedly. He raised his brows in question. 

“Who’s the girl?” Jimmy asked, his arms crossed. 

Clark sputtered. “Wha– there’s no girl.” 

“Bullshit. You look like you got laid.”

“I did not–” Clark sighed, adjusting his glasses. “Why would you even think that?”

“You just look… satisfied. Too happy to be here at nine in the morning.”

“I like my job.”

“Not that much, man. Come on, Clark,” Jimmy huffed, certain he wasn’t imagining things. “I haven’t seen you like this in… ever.”

Clark bit the inside of his cheek, turning back to his computer, trying to ignore Jimmy commenting on his behavior under his breath. Jimmy didn’t often let him be for very long, though. 

Clark was making an attempt to mind his business on a bench outside, quietly eating the PB&J he’d packed for himself that morning, until Jimmy found him. Clark glanced up, cheeks filled.

“Hi?”

Jimmy sat on the bench next to him, stretching out. He sighed heavily before he looked to his friend.

“You’re really going to do the whole ‘secret girlfriend’ thing again?”

Clark frowned, swallowing. “I’m not.”

“You’re really bad at lying.”

“I’m not lying. I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Jimmy snorted a laugh. “So you are hooking up with someone? Of all people?”

Clark sighed, his sandwich dropping down in his limp hand. “I’m not doing that either.”

“I’ll find out eventually, you know that, right?”

Clark just took another bite, ignoring the comment. Jimmy was annoyingly perceptive sometimes. Clark often thought Jimmy should’ve been an investigative journalist when he acted like that. But, he was finally offered some reprieve when Jimmy changed the subject, talking about some plans to go out for drinks that Friday. Clark nodded along politely, not bothering to fully listen until it was too late. 

He realized after Jimmy grinned and told him to bring you along that he’d accidentally nodded to going with them.

Clark showed up at home with a shy wave, and a request on the tip of his tongue.

“So…”

You looked in his direction as he washed the dishes that night, sipping wine while propped up on the kitchen counter. He was still in his button up from work, sleeves rolled just past his elbows, humming to one of your songs playing softly in the room. He looked downright delicious. You wondered if your little tryst that morning would become a welcome addition to your routine as a pair, or if Clark would try to brush it under the rug like it had never happened. You hoped for the former.

“Yeah?” You replied after a second.

He let out a small puff of air. “Uh… Jimmy asked me to go out with him and a few folks from the office on Friday, after work. He said you should come with us.”

“Oh?”

“Uh huh.”

“Is that an invitation?”

He shrugged once. “If… if you’d like to come with, I’d love to have you.”

“You half-had me this morning already,” you quipped with a snorted laugh.

He felt his cheeks warm, your name a soft, almost disapproving sound on his lips. It only made you smile further, causing him to grin back against his better judgement. 

“I, uh… maybe we should talk about that. At some point.”

You raised a brow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he affirmed with a nod, drying his hands after putting the last plate in the drying rack. He turned to you, crossing his arms. His breath hitched a tiny bit at the way your eyes dropped to his biceps. “Um… I just… I don’t know. That was different. For us.”

“I’d say so. Not exactly dry humping our brains out on a regular basis.”

“Hun,” he huffed, the pet name slipping out easily. “I’m trying to be serious.”

“Okay, okay,” you conceded, setting your glass down on the counter next to you. “Yeah. It was… unusual for us, for sure.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think that’s a bad thing?”

He blinked, his eyes a bit wider. “W-well, no. Not bad, just… just different.”

“Is it something you’d want to do again?” You got to the point, tilting your head in question.

“I don’t know. Maybe? But it wasn’t–” He paused, taking a breath. He had to look away, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed. “I don’t usually do stuff like that.”

“You seemed pretty damn good at it.”

He flushed, all the way down past his collar. “I-I mean with somebody I’m not dating. I don’t do that unless I’m with somebody. This time was different.”

“If you don’t want to, we don’t have to. But for the record, I had a very good time.”

“Yeah. I did too.” He nodded, meeting your eyes again. “Can I think about it? If I can do it again?”

You agreed softly with a smile. He gave you a warm hug, letting it linger a little longer than he usually would. You graciously ignored the bulge you felt against your leg again.

He acted as normal as he could, still quite obviously thinking about what you’d done together, but trying not to let it show. He couldn’t help it. He’d fantasized for so long that getting a taste felt absolutely surreal.

Friday night came, and so did his lingering gaze on your chest in the tight top you wore to go out with his coworkers. He didn’t mean to look. It was just hard not to when your breasts were pressed up the way they were. 

He sat by your side through the night, sipping on a sprite and getting all of your margarita refills from the bar. He laughed at every joke you made, hardly noticing the looks between Jimmy and Cat at his behavior with you.

The moment he excused himself to go to the “bathroom”, aka he caught wind of a burning building and had to do his Super-thing, they all moved in on you.

“Seriously?” Jimmy started with a laugh.

You looked at your long-time friend, his expression bewildered. “What?”

He merely groaned, leaving it up to Lois to shake her head at you. You glanced at them all, unsure what the gossip was.

“He has that lost-puppy look,” Lois said with a short chuckle into her drink.

“Maybe a dog in heat,” Cat added in, laughing when the comment pulled a few sour looks from the phrasing. “Oh, you know what I mean.”

You sighed. “What are you guys talking about?”

“Clark,” Jimmy replied simply. “He looks like he’s actively holding back from bending you over the table.”

“You’re gross.” You snorted a laugh, sipping your drink. Little did he know.

“And you’re no better,” he quickly added. “Leaning into his side, giggling at his jokes. He is not that funny.”

“But he’s super cute,” Cat sang out with a grin.

“He’s been staring down your shirt literally all night.” Lois looked at you with a raised brow. “He is classically horrible at hiding how he feels. You can’t seriously say you haven’t noticed him falling over himself for you.”

“You guys are all ridiculous.”

Jimmy groaned. “Oh, please. I’ve known you forever, dude. And we all know Clark. Like Lois said, he is classically shit at hiding his feelings. She would know.”

“And dare I say, he’s acting even more desperate than anything I saw from him in the beginning,” she mentioned with a grin.

Cat laughed. “Oh my god. It’s so cute, come on. You two would be so sweet together.”

“She likes a big boy, too,” Jimmy noted.

“James,” you scolded.

“Just saying. You always went for the tall ones in high school. Except that one guy… Emmett?”

“Oh my god.”

“He was an interesting choice.”

“He was nice!”

Jimmy snorted, muttering under his breath, “and a freak.”

“You’re so–”

“What?” He laughed. “Don’t be like that, we’re just having some fun. Like I’m sure Clark would love to have with…”

You all looked at him as he trailed off, like he’d come to an epiphany all of a sudden.

“What?” Cat prodded first.

Jimmy smiled, which was often dangerous. 

“Are you the reason he came into work the other day looking like he got some?”

You were taken off guard. Oh boy. “Pardon me?”

“You so are.”

Cat gaped. “You already climbed that?”

“No–”

“Oh, she so is,” Lois mentioned softly to Jimmy, gossiping like you weren’t sitting right there.

You scoffed, floundering. They were all out to get you, you were certain of it.

“Why don’t you all bully Clark about this instead of me?”

“We bully him every day,” Jimmy explained.

You huffed a breath, melting into your seat as they chattered on. Fortunately, your drink ran out, and you had an excuse to leave in order to grab a new one. You got up, making a beeline for the bar, and placed your order for a hard lemonade. It was time to slow down if you didn’t want to wake up hung over.

You waited for a couple of minutes before the smell of Clark’s cologne clouded your head. He always wore a little extra when you went out, and god, he smelled good as fuck when you were a bit tipsy. You looked up to see him sidling up next to you with a smile.

“Everything go okay?” 

He nodded. “Yeah, of course. Firefighters did a great job, I just grabbed a nice old lady and her cat. Everyone else was already taken care of.”

“Good.”

“Everything okay here?”

“Your friends are horrible.”

He furrowed his brow. “What happened?”

You chuckled. “They’re just… nosey. It’s all Jimmy’s fault.”

“Nosey?”

“Yeah.” You thanked the bartender, tipping her as she handed over your bottle. “They were interrogating me about you.”

“About me?” He crossed his arms.

Your eyes flicked to his shoulders, his arms testing the limits of that baggy t-shirt. “Mhm.”

He gulped. “What’d they say?”

“They’re trying to figure out if we’re fucking,” you stated, meeting his eyes again. “I told them no, but they have officially made up their minds.”

He let out a breath. “Gosh.”

“Yeah. Said you’re like a dog in heat who won’t stop staring at my tits.”

You laughed, but Clark blushed, shifting on his feet. Now it was his turn to let his eyes drop down. Okay, maybe they had a point about him looking at your boobs.

“They do look really nice.”

Oh shit. 

You blinked, not expecting him to be so forthcoming. But, to be fair, you did rub up on him until he made a mess of his pants only a few days before. 

“Huh.”

“S-sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“Don’t fucking apologize.”

He paused, nearly pouting. “But–”

“It’s okay. Quit worrying so much, Clark,” you said softly, touching his arm. You glanced back at the table, the small group talking amongst themselves. “Come on. We should probably go back.”

He didn’t budge. “Or… maybe we can go home.”

“Oh?”

“Y-yeah.” He shrugged, trying like hell to be nonchalant. “If you want.”

You nodded, your final drink left full on the edge of the bar.

The walk back to your shared apartment was quiet, your hands brushing with every step, though neither of you made the move to do more than those soft touches. It wasn’t until you walked into your building, waiting for the elevator that you realized he was taking you home. Kind of. Did it count if you shared that home? Maybe it didn’t matter.

You both stepped into the elevator, Clark hitting the button for your floor. 

You glanced over first, eyes lingering on his jaw, his hair, his ear, his lips… everything. Clark followed, his eyes flicking over your arms, stomach, chest, face, and landing back on your eyes. It was a blur. Neither of you knew who moved first, only that suddenly you were against one another, your lips locked.

His hands gripped your waist and hips, pulling you into his body. You deepened the kiss, slipping your tongue against his, sucking on it when he tried pulling back. He groaned, his knees feeling weaker in an instant. He whispered your name, kissing down your neck.

You let him pick you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He shuffled out of the elevator and towards your door, grateful that the hallway was empty. He fumbled with his keys, finally shoving it into the lock and stepping inside. 

“We’re gonna, like, really do this, huh?” you breathed out, giddy as he let you back down to kick off your shoes and jacket.

He grinned, dimples poking into his cheeks. “Yeah. Gosh, yes.”

He was on you again the moment you both were freed of your outerwear, scooping you up with ease. You worked on his t-shirt, pulling it up and over his head. It got flung somewhere in the living room. He pressed you to the wall in the hallway, tugging your top off and undoing the button and zipper of your jeans. His lips hardly left yours.

He walked again, leaving a trail of clothes behind like breadcrumbs. The moment he had you on your back in his bed, spread out on top of his sheets like you belonged there, his excitement turned to utter desperation. You watched as he pulled off the glasses he’d worn for the night and suddenly started pulling his belt loose, clearly trying to rid himself of his clothing as fast as he could. You followed suit with a thrilled fervor, shimmying out of your jeans and panties, ripping your bra off and flinging it somewhere unknown.

He groaned deep in his chest when he looked back to see you bare and waiting.

“I don’t deserve you.”

You chewed your lip. “You’re one to talk.”

He swallowed, your gaze burning his skin as it trailed from his chest, to his stomach, settling on his cock, bobbing and drooling, his tip swollen and aching.

“You’re so hot. Holy shit.”

His chest tightened at the rasp in your voice. He crawled on top of you, hands everywhere he could reach. He gripped your skin, lips and tongue and teeth leaving lasting marks down your neck and chest.

“Clark.”

He whined. “I wanna be in you so bad.”

“Do it.”

“N-no. Gotta get you ready first.”

You sighed in ecstasy, his fingers slipping between your legs. You let him kiss you like he needed it to live, two fingers shoved into your needy heat.

“You’re so wet. How are you so wet?” He heaved a few breaths, kisses all along your cheek.

“I was soaked the second you came out of your room before we left. You looked so fucking hot, and you smell so good, and… fuck, Clark, I wanted to choke on your cock when you put those dorky fucking glasses on before we left.”

He groaned pathetically. “You… Do you like the glasses that much?”

“You look like the hottest loser in the world with them on.”

He huffed a short laugh, though it was weak and wrecked. “Noted.”

“Let me suck it.”

“W-what?”

You pushed his hand away. “I’m ready enough. Back up. Please.”

He whined, reluctantly taking his fingers out of you. He shoved them in his mouth, eyes fluttering as he tasted you. You nearly drooled watching it. He let you push him onto his back, eyes locked on you as you took him in your hand.

“Thought you’d feel heavy,” you muttered, sucking his tip into your mouth. A broken noise escaped his chest. You slapped his dick against your tongue, the heft of him even better than you were hoping. “Fuck. Gorgeous cock.”

His hips jerked, his chest heaving. He thanked the heavens he had an abnormal ability to keep it up because he was certain that if he let himself, he would've cum all over your pretty face before you even took him. 

You sucked him into your warm, waiting mouth, hollowing out your cheeks as you started bobbing your head. He gasped, tiny sounds leaving him at every motion against his desperate length. You felt yourself dripping down your thighs, his cock down your throat further and further every time you went down again.

Your hand stroked what your mouth couldn’t fit, wanting every bit of him to feel cared for. But as good as it felt to suck his pretty cock, the kind of sound that he made when you moved down further caused the slick between your legs to increase even further than you realized your body was capable of.

Your lips closed around one of his heavy balls, your hand still insistently stroking him. His body tensed as he tried not to jerk hard against your face. You sucked on his full sack, alternating each side, unable to fit both in at once (even though you’d made an attempt). He nearly sobbed your name, your hand focusing on the hyper-sensitive head of his length.

You only pulled off when he physically pulled you away.

“Keep it up and I’m going to finish too fast.”

“That’s not bad.”

He huffed, a weak smile on his face. “Trust me, I’d love that any other time. This time, I want to do it right.”

You let him manhandle you, dropping you down against his pillows. He spread your legs apart, one look at how much wetter you’d become and his eyes closed for a few seconds.

“Holy c-crap.”

“What?”

He shook his head, looking back down. “You are just… dripping. Your legs are covered in it.”

“You have a really perfect dick. I got excited.”

He shuddered, rubbing your thigh gently. He knelt between your legs, draping your legs over his. He stroked himself, just staring at you. It was a minute before you made a quiet, impatient noise, finally calling him to action.

Clark pushed his flushed tip through the wetness between your legs. He watched the way your pussy glistened with arousal, his jaw slack and heart pounding. He let his heavy cock rest against your clit, slowly rutting against you just to watch the way your body jolted with the contact. He groaned, his eyes flicking briefly to your face. 

“You’re so beautiful. Pretty girl. Pretty… geez,” he huffed, eyes drawn back to your pussy. 

He gripped the base of his cock, tapping the blunt head against your sloppy clit, committing the sound of the wet slap to memory. He wanted to make sure he never forgot. He felt desperate. Overcome by need and the way you laid out for him, cunt on display just for him to play with. What an honor. 

“Can I put it in?” he mumbled, words slurring from pure want. “Please. Pretty baby, I wanna feel you. You’re so wet. Prettiest p-pussy ever, she’s so cute. Wanna feel you squeezin’ me–”

“Yeah. Yes, Clark, please. Put it in.”

He groaned, his eyes fluttering as he dragged himself down to your opening, chewing his lip as he pressed against you. He gulped, moving forward just enough to let you swallow his head. He gasped, chest heaving. 

“O-oh gosh.”

“Fuck, Clark.”

“Mm…” 

He adjusted his hips, pulling your lower half up onto his thighs. Your back arched, shoulders still pressed to the mattress as he molded your body to his, letting his cock slip in further until he was fully seated in you. He practically winced, holding back with everything in him.

“Feel better than I thought you’d be,” he mumbled under his breath. 

You breathed heavy, hands gripping his wrists where he held your hips as he delivered some shallow thrusts. Your eyes met his. “You’ve thought about it?”

He nodded, any of his usual guilt dissipating. “Yes. Yes, so many times. Knew you’d be perfect.”

“Shit. Here I thought you were a pure little boy scout,” you responded with a short laugh. 

“M’not bad. Just… just like you. You’re so… Geez,” he trailed off, head tilting back as his hips moved against yours. “You’re just really nice and pretty. You’re so sweet to me. Couldn’t help it, I just thought about you sometimes when I… when…”

“You jerked off thinking about me?”

He whimpered. “Don’t say it like that.”

“But you did.”

“Y-yeah. I did,” he admitted, pulling you up onto his lap.

Your arms circled his neck as he held you to his chest, thrusting up into you. You tried your best to assist, weakly bouncing on his thighs, but he was Superman, after all: he could very easily move you how he wanted to. And he did. He moved you along his cock with ease until you were quivering and whining his name. He moaned weakly as he felt your teeth sink into his skin, your pussy clenching and squeezing around him. He could hardly stand it, the sound of your soaked pussy even louder after you’d finished for him. He fucked into you with strong arms locking you in place until you were feeling him pump you full of his cum, breathing into your ear like he’d run a marathon. 

“Baby. Baby, baby, baby…” he whined, hips jerking a few more times as he babbled against your skin. “Oh, gosh. You’re so perfect, so good, honey. So good, you feel perfect.”

“Clark,” you sighed, blissed out.

He just shook in your grasp, body spent and somehow still so needy for you. He kissed up your neck, his lips moving along your skin. He nipped softly just under your ear. He pulled out of you slowly as his lips moved to your cheek, and finally to your mouth to kiss you properly. His tongue slid into your mouth as he laid you back down on the mattress, dancing along your own tongue. You kissed him back slowly, the action messy and full of want and untold affection. His hands touched your cheeks, moving down over your breasts.

“Gorgeous,” he spoke into your mouth, squeezing the soft flesh. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, sighing softly when they pebbled under his touch. “I love these.”

You just smiled, watching him kiss one perky nipple as an act of reverence. His lips moved along your breast, down your stomach, his fingers slipping over your slick pussy, catching on your sensitive little bundle of nerves.

“Wanna taste you,” he whispered against your thigh.

“You just came inside of me, Clarkie.”

He grinned at the name. “I know, baby. We made a mess, I’ll clean it up. Promise.”

His smile widened as your head tilted back, a heavy breath pulled from your lips. He moved his way up, a slow, open-mouthed kiss against your pussy when he finally met her. You moaned, eyes rolling back. He slid one of your legs over his shoulder, opening you up further as he licked his cum out of your fucked-out cunt. One hand gripped your thigh, the other kneading your tit, his mouth working you over. He sucked on your throbbing clit, tongue moving over every part of your soft flesh he could taste. Your hips jerked against his face. He chuckled quietly, his voice reverberated through you.

“Shit. Right there, please.” You gripped his hair, panting.

He obliged, eating you out like a man starved. His tongue scooped inside of you, his hips jerking against the mattress, already hardened again at the mixture of your flavor and his. It didn’t take long for him to have you careening over the edge again, gasping and whining, your grip in his hair tighter. He swallowed down everything you had to give him, gently licking you clean until you were begging him to slow down.

“You like it?” He looked at you with raised brows as he shifted his body to be over yours once more. 

“So much. Did so good, Clark.”

He brightened at the praise, licking the inside of your mouth like he did your cunt. 

“I’m ready again when you are,” he whispered against your lips.

It was a long night. A long weekend, in fact. One that ended in him deciding, while balls deep, that it would probably be a good idea to ask you out at some point.

Clark made it to work that Monday, floating on cloud nine with his head still swirling around little more than you. He smiled to himself as he stepped off the elevator, a pep in his step walking to his desk. He set down his things, scruffing his hand through his hair as he logged into his computer. He hadn’t noticed the suspicious eyes on him.

Jimmy watched him, shaking his head to himself. He let Clark have a moment, clearly elsewhere in his thoughts. But he couldn’t let him stew in love-sick peace forever. 

The asshole was just itching to get on your nerves.

Last time he'd broken into your apartment, Bruce had threatened to shove kryptonite up his ass (in less crude language, but the threat still stood).

But of course, there was no threat strong enough to keep this perverted version of Superman away from you

~~~~~

"He's...volatile," Bruce had explained, "we've done our best to keep him calm, but- well, he's not cooperative in the slightest."

You'd both been sat on the small couch in his office at the manor, him wrapping his arms around you securely, pressing his cheek to the back of your head.

You knew he felt bad about the whole thing, you'd seen the guilt on his face when him and the rest of the senior Justice League members approached you earlier that day, pleading for your help to keep their 'little problem' under control.

Apparently, Superboy Prime had become infatuated with you the day he arrived in your universe, after you chewed him out for bumping into you on the sidewalk outside your workplace.

In his own words it was your "tenacity" that drew him in, but you knew it was really the fact that you spoke to him how most people wouldn't. Not just him, most civilians avoided speaking to any caped hero unless necessary, scared of any bad juju.

But you'd grown up in the lap of the Dark Knight and his allies in the League, so when you saw a vaguely familiar face walking around Gotham in broad daylight, unfamiliar hero suit on display for all to see, you really tore into him.

Somewhere between your third and fourth time calling him a 'goofy looking idiot', he'd fallen for you, and fallen hard.

So when his (much nicer and more mature) counterpart, actual Superman, showed up to drag him to the Watchtower by the scruff, he'd been flailing after you, begging for your name.

You gave your Uncle Clark a long suffering sigh, telling him to keep the new recruits under a tighter leash, never bothering to look too closely at the man wriggling around in his hand.

(Both of you were mortified when Prime, disgruntled at the lapse in attention, barked obnoxiously in midair. Superman seemed to age decades in a split second, and you really couldn't blame him.)

Later, you'd been approached by the people you most respected, your father leading the group with his head hung low, and asked if you would please just speak to Prime for a moment. Supposedly, he'd been threatening to "ret-con" the universe if they didn't at least let him see you.

No one wanted to find out if he was serious about following through, so you shot Bruce a dirty look and walked into his holding cell, a snarl building on your lips.

It was a shock to both yourself and onlookers when Prime immediately shot to his knees in front of you, wrapping his hands around your abdomen and laughing excitedly into your stomach.

You'd spent the next hour talking to him while the rest of the League (and your family) watched from behind a wall of one-way glass.

When he wasn't trying to be a douche, he wasn't even bad company, just a little awkward at actually having someone converse with him. You could even find it in you to feel bad at the fact that he'd been so isolated for so long.

He was honest with you, almost apologetic at the way he'd lost it in your absence. His humor matched your's and you found it fun keeping him on his toes.

When it was time for you to leave, you made the impulsive decision to hug him, whispering that you wished him the best and to please stop threatening your loved ones.

Bad move.

The next deal he struck was to be able to properly court you in exchange for playing nice and following the rules.

Thus, your family looked distinctly guilty every time Prime sought you out, his promise of good behavior earning him the privilege of leaving the Watchtower at will.

More realistically, they could no longer hold him against his will, but tomato-tomahto.

He'd started showing up occasionally, flitting in and out of your periphery, usually catching you on your walk to work, linking an arm through yours and tugging you around the city.

He was sweet with it, bringing you your coffee at the door and cracking jokes that had you doubled over and wheezing. When he walked you back home after work, he'd spin stories of other worlds, other realities of your most precious people, as the two of you rested on a park bench.

You didn't mind most of those moments, almost enjoying the feeling of him properly trying to take you out, a rowdy excuse of a god sniveling after you.

What you dreaded was the visits he'd make at night, clad in his hero suit, banging on your window, and hollering humiliating pet names at the top of his lungs.

~~~~~

"For god's sake, Clark, I'm sleeping, I have work tomorrow, go away." You said, muffled into your mattress.

The next second, he was beside your bed, clicking his tongue and shoving you to the side, "You really ought to get the latches checked, baby, I didn't even have to break in this time."

Of course the latches didn't lock properly, you lived on the 81st floor, the assumption was that no one would get in via window anyway.

You wrenched your head out of your pillow stack, glaring at him blearily, "Clark, if you're not going to sleep then seriously leave."

There was no mistaking what the asshole wanted...

No it wasn't sex.

It was emotional connection.

Dork.

~~~~~

The last time he'd come over around this hour, he'd spoken hushed whispers into your ear about his biggest insecurities, his most haunting fears.

He was deathly afraid of being alone. His powers left him isolated, even beyond any other version of Superman. He couldn't stand the feeling of being disliked and was desperate for something to call his own.

Apparently, that thing was you.

That same night, Clark had run a fingernail down the side of your neck where the two of you were tangled in your sheets, you trying desperately to both be an active listener and get your rest in. He confessed that he "claimed" you, you were now his "MacGuffin" or whatever the hell.

Okay it was 4 AM, you couldn't be bothered to listen too closely.

You did, however, catch his feverish ramblings of how he'd follow you wherever you went, he'd take you to any world you desired, and he'd do anything just for you to stay with him.

He tried to make you mumble out some odd promise to stick by his side no matter what, but you just pushed his head to the side and muffled a scream into your pillow. No matter how much you tried to buck him off your bed, he wouldn't budge, a deadweight against your back.

Finally about to drift off, you heard just one more promise as he nosed incessantly at your neck like a big, clingy cat.

He promised that he would do his best by you, that he would take it slow, be what you needed. He'd behave. But only so long as you stayed yourself.

He'd be good for you, as long as you kept knocking him upside the head and cussing him out.

You, only you.

Now, when he was back with the clear intention to repeat that night, you could only curse your unlucky stars for sticking you with a masochist for a crazy boyfriend.

Something about you made him feel human, and something about him made you feel like a chew toy. It wasn't a great match, but as long as he stayed smushed under your thumb, no longer threatening the universe, it would have to do.

~~~~~

This time, he yanked your head into his lap while he sat back against your headboard. He stroked a hand idly through your hair while keeping his face turned toward the window.

Through one bleary eye, you thought he almost looked rather handsome, bathed in the moonlight like this.

Until he shifted his eyes down to you where you were sprawled out across your bed.

"The day you saw me...I was only stopping over in this world, actually. 'was planning to ret-con you all on my way out, too much discontinuity from canon, y'know?"

Even when you stiffened, he continued on, voice barely above a whisper, "I mean, all of Batman's children keeping so close to the big Bat? This whole "Justice League family" thing you guys have going on? It was so OOC, I was about to tear my hair out. Felt more like some teenager's shitty fanfiction than actual lore-accurate writing."

OOC? Canon? These were terms he'd thrown around before when telling you about the other worlds he'd ended, but he'd never bothered to really explain what they meant. Now you wished you'd pushed a little harder for details.

"But you...at first I thought you were just some dumb author's new reader-insert or OC."

You tried to push up off his lap, but his hands just forced you back down, never stopping their gentle scrapes on your scalp.

"I know better now. You're unique to this world. That makes you uniquely mine. You wanna hear a secret sweetheart? You're the only version of you in any universe I've ever been to. And I'm the only version of me. Aren't we just perfect together?"

He sighed, turning back towards the moonlight, harsh shadows visible along his jawline and on the other side of his nose. His blue eyes seemed to glow lowly in your dim room.

"A match made outside the lore."

He chuckled to himself.

"That saves us from any idiot writer fucking us up for a few decades. You'll always be you, and I'll always be me. The two of us don't exist anywhere outside of this room. I don't exist anywhere except for right here next to you. And for the first time ever...I'm not alone in that."

You let out a sound of discomfort, the parts of him you'd been warned about rearing their ugly heads.

He sighed again, "Go to sleep, baby. I'll be here when you wake up. You've got to be up early, don't you? Have to clock in for Big Bat. Don't worry, you can tell Bruce whatever I said, there are no secrets between us."

And for just a second his form seemed to blur around the edges, eyes glowing a much brighter electric blue.

When he next spoke, it sounded both distorted and absolutely clear at the same time, like he telegraphed it directly into your head.

"And you, cut the cameras already, it's rude to eavesdrop."

~~~~~~~~~~