the mysterious pervert

“Tighter for me,” Superman murmurs, and it’s not even a deliberate choice for Kon to clench up around his cock, even though it hurts to. “Oh, just like that. Good boy. You really were made perfect, weren’t you.” 

Kon sobs. 

There is literally not a damn other thing he could do, hearing something like that in the same voice Clark uses when he’s talking to Jon. 

“There, there. You can take it, can’t you, sweetheart,” Superman hums against his jaw, pushing his mouth across it; fucking him deep. If it were anyone but Superman he was holding onto right now, Kon would be bruising them hard enough to lift fingerprints off later. “You’ll take anything I ask you to, won’t you.” 

“Yes,” Kon chokes, and doesn’t even try to tell himself it’s a lie. He’s stupid, but not that stupid. 

“Just perfect,” Clark sighs again, and then Kon gets fucked so hard he passes out again. 

At least–he thinks that’s what happened, when he wakes up back in bed again. The engines still aren’t running, and the broken bed is still just as broken as they left it. The bathroom feels pretty fucked-up now too, or at least at the wall and counter do. Kon doesn’t really remember that happening, but the sense-memory of metal warping under his curled fingers feels fresh. He’s sprawled out on his back on the wrecked mattress and feels like he just got hit by a planet. 

And Superman’s laying beside him on his side, turned in towards him and just petting his soaked and sore and oversensitive cunt, his invulnerable, uncalloused fingertips stroking it over and over, softer than they have any right to be for being as strong as they are. 

Kon whimpers before he even manages to get his eyes open, and tilts his aching, twitching hips up to give Superman easier access to whatever he wants before he even does that. Superman chuckles, and it’s quiet and amused and affectionate. Kon gets a glimpse of the same affectionate amusement in his expression through his own blurry vision as his eyes slit half-open, and then Superman pushes three fingers into him at once. He doesn’t do it fast or hard, but it’s fucking inexorable. 

And it also fucking hurts, because Kon’s cunt is fucked even rawer than before, but all his body does is just open up and take it. Not that it would matter if it didn’t, obviously, because he couldn’t stop Superman from doing whatever he wanted to him if he tried, but . . . but it does anyway. He’s never been this wet in his entire fucking life, even after all this and how long they’ve been going at it; even though it hurts this fucking bad to even be touched at all right now. 

“Welcome back, sweetheart,” Superman murmurs, pressing a kiss in against his temple. Kon screws his eyes shut again and bites his own tongue. “I was starting to miss you.” 

Nothing to see here. Just two bros discussing heart surgery 😳🫀

i love every single tag that's like "OBVIOUSLY it's ___"

For the 5 sentence fics thingie :)

Clark experiences the heatwave second-hand, not sweating but feeling Lex's sweat and the radiating human warmth where Lex is over him on the sofa. Every inch of skin is slick, his neck and the small of his back and between his legs, sending Clark's hands sliding over all that bareness. The hot spell was Lex's pretense for unbuttoning his shirt; the pants and underwear came off after with little excuse. Can Clark blame their recklessness on the tortuous weather that's slowly driving everyone mad when he doesn't feel the discomfort of heat and does feel this desire to lose himself in Lex's body all year round? Lex lets out groans that could be pain—if he wasn't pushing into Clark's touch.

(Because i was just looking at this art. Which is more than just suggestive, FYI.)