Scaredy-Cat

“just come one more time for me baby, then i'll stop.” that's what she said to you three orgasms ago. maybe four. you actually don't know.

your back hurts, your poor cunt is so sensitive even the wind against it could make you squirm. you could try to drag yourself away from kara, but she can easily just hold you still and slam her strap inside you again. a sob escapes your mouth, the way her tip was hitting you so deep was almost too much to handle. almost.

“oh my god kara, you're such a bitch, i-” your complaints are quickly interrupted by a hand grabbing your hair by your scalp and pulling it, almost making you scream from overstimulation. “if you want me to stop just say the safeword baby.” she mumbles against the shell of your ear, planting a soft kiss there. she completely pulled her dick out of you, rubbing the tip against your folds and sensitive clit. “if you say it i'll stop right now.”

she waits for your response. you know that if you really said it she'd stop, she'd hold you and kiss your face until you fall asleep in her warm embrace. but you choose to stay silent, a whimper coming out your lips as you bury your face on the pillows again. a chuckle comes out kara's lips, letting go of your hair. “yea, that's what i thought.” you didn't want her to stop at all.

she pushed her whole dick inside you again, making you bite the pillow to not let an primal scream out and bother your neighbors. she grabbed your hips and kept slamming it against hers, letting her own sounds bless your ears.

uncontrollable sobs escape from your mouth, and the orgasm that hit you was inevitable. you didn't even have strength to grab the sheets anymore, becoming completely limp on the bed, brain feeling like mush.

kara lets out a shaky breath, pulling her strap out and crawling to get closer to you. she gently turns you around, and the exhausted expression on your face made her heart thump inside her chest.

she caresses your face, covering your cheeks and nose with little kisses while you were still trying to catch your breath. “you're so good to me.” she grabs your shaky hand and kisses your palm, not taking her eyes off you. “i love you.” you close your eyes, barely feeling anything down your waist. “yea no shit.” you reply.

she laughs at your face, and you don't know if it makes you want to kiss her or push her off the bed.

“since i'm a great girlfriend, this was the last one.” she tells you, and, for a moment, the feeling of relief washes over your chest. “just need to clean you up.”

and when you realize what she just said and snap your eyes open, kara is already between your legs and giving your pussy a torturous lick. “gotta get my dessert, right?”

“you really want that, don't you?” kara whispered near your face, her strap sliding in and out your cunt, and she swears she can feel your gummy walls gripping her length. she watches you nodding intensely, the pleasure already overwhelming you. “yes, yes yes yes yes yes. please baby.”

she rests her forehead against yours as she holds your face with her hand. she was repeatedly hitting your sweet spot, making you dig your nails on her back. “god, you're nasty.”

hesitantly, you feel a weak slap on the side of your face, the same side kara was caressing five seconds ago. you know she's holding back, and you'd think it's sweet that she's worried about hurting you if you weren't desperate to cum.

“fuck kara, i'm not made of glass.” the small crack in your voice sounded like you were about to cry from frustration, and she doesn't know if it worries her or if it makes her even more wet. “gee you can't do shit, can-”

this time you feel an actual slap on your face. one that stings, one that makes a tear roll down your eye. and before you know it, you feel a hand squeezing your neck— not hard enough to completely suffocate you, but also enough to feel the strong grip kara has.

loud moans escape from your lips, nails digging into the skin of her butt and drool running down your mouth. kara stays silent at first, looking at your reaction with wide eyes and a big smile on her face. “oh god. you're so into it.” she leans closer to kiss you, muffling her own moans. “can't believe i'm with someone so weird.” she mumbles between kisses, hand moving to give you a hard slap on the side of your ass.

her thrusts get messier, rougher, her grip on your neck slightly tightening. she can feel you're getting close— she already memorized how fast your heartbeat is when you're about to cum, how loud your moans get and how you hold onto her like your life depends on it.

the hand on your neck moves to grabs your face and holds it, planting a sweet kiss on your cheek as she ruins your poor cunt. “cmon lovebug, show me how much you love when daddy treats you like a damn whore.”

and that was enough for you. the strongest orgasm you ever had hits you instantly, nails scratching kara's skin as you bury your face on the crook of her neck. it takes you a while to finally let go of her and fully lay your body on the bed.

she gently slides the strap out your pussy before leaning down to check on you, brushing the hair sticking on your sweaty forehead.

“are you ok baby? did i hurt you? did you like it?” her concern warms your heart, your hands pulling kara to lay her head on your chest, and she immediately obliged. you wrapped your arms around her shoulders and placed a kiss on her head.

“i'm good. you were perfect.” you whisper against her scalp, throwing your leg on top of hers. relief washes over kara, and she finally allows herself to snuggle against you and bury her face on your collarbone.

“i wonder if you have any other kinky stuff going inside your head.” she mumbles against your skin, earning a chuckle from you. “i do, but i'll keep it as a secret for now.” “ugh.”

He's wearing his favourite cardigan, with a thick blanket wrapped around his shoulders, but even so, he still looks just as miserable as you feel.

"Doing okay in here?" He asks.

In response, you exhale, your breath visible in the air, making him smile wryly.

"Thought as much. Can I come sit? Can't sleep anyway."

You scoot over on your bed, pat the space beside you.

"Course you can." You tell him; you're used to being up in each other's personal space after so long spent in close proximity.

Sometimes you feel like the two of you are right on the edge of becoming something more. More than friends. More than the only two human beings for sixteen light years.

Neither of you are quite bold enough to make that first move.

Still, you're perfectly comfortable sitting side by side with him, resting your head on his shoulder while he in turn rests against you.

You both have something to read, but it's difficult to focus when your bodies are using so much energy trying to keep warm.

"Never going to sleep at this rate..." You complain, huddle a little closer to him.

He makes a little hum of acknowledgement, the sort of sound you're used to hearing when he's thinking.

"Maybe if we pile all the blankets together and then -"

Ryland doesn't finish his sentence, instead flushing an adorable shade of pink as he realises what he's saying. What it might sound like he's implying.

Your brain catches up, processes what he's suggesting, and then you nod. It is a good idea; the pair of you could conserve more body heat together, just by pressing up close to one another within a small space.

"No, that's a good idea. We should. We'll stay warmer together that way. That and if we can't sleep, at least we have company?"

Ryland feels far less awkward as he realises that no, you don't think he's a pervert for suggesting it. Instead, the two of you work together to gather the blankets from your bed and move them to his.

"Body heat?" He confirms, and it's your turn to feel a little shy as you agree.

With the lights off and in near total darkness, you both strip down to your underwear and dive under the blanket pile, trying to be close enough to one another to stay warm, whilst also not making the other feel crowded.

The bed isn't exactly enormous though, and any gap left between you just lets cold air in, so you end up far closer together than either of you perhaps originally considered you'd be.

"Definitely need to talk to Rocky about the temperature in here..." Ryland mutters, and you hum agreement.

"Kind of hard to complain when they're doing so much for us already..." You say quietly, "I always feel so bad asking for anything."

Oh, he can relate to that all too much, but there's a difference between being burdensome and needing to survive, which he swiftly reminds you of.

You lay together in silence for a little while, but the cold is still too much, so you end up drifting closer and closer together, until you loosely wrap one arm around his waist and tug him against you.

"Only works if we stay close," you remind him as he wraps one of his warm, solid arms around you.

Ryland laughs softly, remembering his own words from what feels like a lifetime ago on the aircraft carrier, when you'd been standing close together on one of the observation decks, trying to keep warm whilst also getting some fresh air.

That little reminder seems to diffuse any nervous tension between you, though.

It's been so difficult, everything you went through together, assuming you would die together, slowly regaining your memories together.

You've both reached the mutual conclusion that there had been something there, before. That there certainly was now, but you were so hesitant to act on it, both of you. Perhaps not quite believing that you did, in fact, have time now.

There had, after all, been a time where you had expected to go on this mission without him. You'd closed yourselves off to one another, you think, to try and spare yourselves any more pain, any more damage.

One of the more recent memories to return to you is called to the forefront of your mind again; you in the medical bay, before they'd put you under.

The way you'd seen him, already comatose. The devastation you'd felt, knowing he had been condemned to his own death to save humanity. That your sacrifice would benefit humanity, but not the one person you had hoped you could save.

You'd very gently brushed his hair off his forehead, couldn't remember anything beyond that.

But the feelings that he inspired within you had never left, even if there had been a lot of time that you hadn't understood them.

So you're not actually surprised that you feel so comfortable like this, his arms around you, your cheek pressed against his shoulder.

Idly, your free hand moves, brushes across his bare skin. He feels a little warmer, at least, but not much.

"Is this okay?" You ask, because you know that he's cagey about being touched, always makes jokes about keeping walls up between himself and others.

Ryland doesn't remember whether he's held you like this before; he doesn't think he has, but it feels perfectly natural to him. Right.

"Yeah, it's okay." He kind of likes it, actually. Likes the way your fingers gently run through the soft hair at the nape of his neck. The way your touch is so gentle; reverent, not cautious.

He doesn't know what he did to earn that softness from you. Doesn't remember, and he doubts you do, either. What he does know, is that it's a gift, one he doesn't intend to squander or take advantage of.

It's been years since he held someone like this; his ex-girlfriend breaking up with him had devastated him, made him more comfortable icing people out, keeping a distance to prevent feeling that pain again.

Something about you makes him want to take the risk.

Just as he's thinking this, your fingertips gently brush his hair out of his eyes. He needs to trim it again, it's getting a little too long, and falls in his face sometimes.

The gentle touch feels strangely familiar, though he isn't sure why, and wonders whether he's dreamed it before.

Sometimes, he does things without thinking, acting or speaking on impulse. This is one of those times.

He leans in closer to you, one hand moving to gently cup your face, tilt your head up.

"Ry-?" You ask, and it's your nickname for him that does it, has him closing the minimal distance between you and brushing his lips across yours.

You think you feel time stop; years, you've wanted him to kiss you. Have desperately wanted to be in this very position, with his arms around you. Of course, there had always been far more pressing matters at hand.

But now... Now you have nothing but time.

"Is this okay?" He asks, and you can hear the uncertainty in his voice, which only makes the warmth and desire you feel for him grow.

You answer him with another kiss, slow and careful, letting it naturally progress into something deeper and more intense.

Slowly, cautiously, Ryland licks into your mouth; you both sigh into the kiss at the same time before you're gently tugging him half on top of you.

Chest to chest, you thread your fingers into the longer hair at the top of his head, caressing, pulling him down into another kiss.

For a while there's silence in the room except the soft sound of your kisses, the little sighs you both make as you run your hands all over each other.

You don't know where to touch; your hands drift between his chest, his arms, into his soft hair. Every single brush of your fingertips seems to make him purr, his hands all over you, still being somewhat reserved with his touch.

So, when his hand slides down to your hip, you catch his wrist, link your fingers with his, guide his hand into your underwear, between your thighs.

He takes the hint, cups your pussy gently with his hand, gasps slightly when he feels your slick heat.

"Feel what you do to me, Ry?" You whisper, grateful that he can't see the shyness in your expression, even if your voice sounds confident.

The shiver that runs down his spine has nothing to do with the cold, and everything to do with your confession, the accompanying evidence.

Between the two of you, you get your underwear off, leaving you both entirely bare to one another. 

Slowly, gently, he drags his middle finger through your wetness, coating the digit before he presses it inside.

You gasp out a breathy little sound as his finger sinks knuckle deep with ease. He's almost caressing you as he slowly drags it out, presses back in.

Even after years of tension between you, there's still no rush to it; as much as the desire between you is heightened, finally reaching a boiling point, time is something you have now.

Ryland genuinely doesn't remember the details regarding the last time he was with a woman. Of course, it's been years. He never really was one for casual hookups; he thinks there might have been one or two after his ex-girlfriend left him, but nothing more than an awkward one night stand.

That doesn't mean he doesn't know what he's doing; he's not inexperienced, more... Out of practice.

But that's fine, because you seemingly have absolutely no issues with what he's currently doing to you. Quite the opposite, in fact. You're making some truly beautiful little sounds for him as he eases a second finger inside you, your back arching up slightly off the bed to press yourself against him.

Okay, so he can remember the last time he slept with someone, but he definitely doesn't remember ever feeling this desired.

You're so wet for him, the hot, open mouthed kisses you give him are needy and full of passion. It makes him genuinely wonder why you hadn't done this sooner, how you'd managed to contain yourselves.

Logically, he knows why, and they were all very genuinely good reasons, but right now? They seem like stupid reasons. Particularly when you start kissing and nibbling his neck, finding sensitive spots that draw pretty sounds out of him.

Almost reluctantly, he slides his fingers out of you, a little amused by the way you whimper when he does so.

“‘s okay,” he reassures you, “I'm not going anywhere…” 

And he isn't, has absolutely zero intention of doing so, instead kissing a slow pathway along your jaw, down your throat. 

“What are you-? oh-” your breath hitches in your throat as he gently sucks one of your pebbled nipples into his mouth. 

The sudden warmth feels good, has you squirming a little beneath him as he circles his tongue around your nipple before pulling away, repeating the motion on the other side. 

Perfectly content, he alternates between each side for a little while. 

Just when you're really starting to make pretty sounds for him, he keeps kissing his way down, ignoring your soft whimper of protest. 

Under the blankets, he settles himself between your legs, your thighs draped over his broad shoulders. 

You're glad it's dark, so he can't see the shy expression on your face as he kisses your inner thigh slowly. 

It's torture; for a moment you think he might just do this for hours, until you're desperate. He doesn't seem in any great rush. 

But then, finally, once you're shaking a little with sheer need, he presses a feather light kiss to your core. 

You inhale sharply, a little whimpery sound that jolts through him, rushes to his cock and makes him ache against the sheets. 

But he's good at ignoring his own desires, focusing solely on you for now. 

He presses soft kisses to your clit, traces circles around the sensitive little bud with the tip of his tongue, getting a feel for what makes you give him the best reaction. 

You’re very reactive, he soon discovers, making the prettiest little sounds as he buries his face between your thighs. 

Letting your slick drip onto his tongue, he drinks you down like you’re sweet, expensive coffee, guided by your moans and whines, your fingers threading into his hair and tugging gently. 

That latter action has him groaning into you, low moans as he wraps one arm around you, resting across your stomach to keep you in place, gentle but firm. 

You gasp and whine and moan for him as he sucks on your clit, laps at your folds, gently sucks on those, too, the gentle scratch of his facial hair adding to the already overwhelmingly delicious sensation. 

He moans into you, holds you in place as your hips try to move of their own accord, alternating between sucking your clit and fucking you with his tongue until you're practically sobbing his name. 

You were already so close after he fucked you with his fingers, but this time he lets you tip over the edge. 

The intense climax ripples through your entire body, leaves you shaking beneath him, thighs twitching slightly on his shoulders. 

He makes soft, appreciative little sounds as he eats you through it, messy and greedy, lapping up every drop of slick and cum that trickles out of you. 

You reach for him with a broken little whine as he pulls away, wipes his mouth on your inner thigh with a satisfied groan. 

Shakily, you slide your legs off his shoulders.

You're both warming up, but it's the last thing on either of your minds right now. Near desperate, you tug him up, all the way on top of you; he cages you in beneath him, his strong arms on either side of you as he settles himself comfortably between your thighs again.

It doesn't escape either of your notice that your bodies seem to slot together near perfectly, as though you were made for one another.

Finally, you can feel the heat of his hard cock against your belly. It's only once you can feel him that you realise how badly you've wanted him, for so long.

Brief memories flicker through you; jolts of warmth as you remember brushes of hands, little touches, lingering in each other's space.

For a moment, he isn't quite sure what to do; doesn't want to make you feel like he's pressuring you for anything, regardless of how eager you seem to be.

But then you hook one leg up around his waist, your foot settling at the small of his back, your fingers threading through his hair, and his nerves fade away. Once again, it strikes Ryland how natural this feels; how easily your bodies fit together.

Resting on one arm, he uses his free hand to reach between you. He still feels a little shy, even as he wraps that same hand around his shaft, gives himself a slow, lazy stroke before letting you feel the full length of him against your slick soaked core.

Your eyes widen a little as you realise just how big he is. It's not like you've never thought about it; you have, in detail.

In your past experience, though, there's been a certain arrogance to men who are well endowed. He doesn't have that attitude to him at all.

Slowly, he drags the velvet soft tip of his cock through your folds, back and forth, teasing, coating himself in your slick.

"Still okay?" He asks, voice soft, though there's a slight hint of roughness to it from arousal.

"Still okay," you whisper back, run your fingers through his hair, a habit you seemingly can't get enough of now that you're allowed to do it.

"Keep going?"

Maybe he's being too cautious, but he needs to hear you say it, half for his anxiety's sake, and half because he wants to hear you say it. Needs to hear how much you want him.

"Ry," you breathe, nip at his collarbone, "please don't stop now. Please, I need you..."

He likes the nickname you call him, the way your voice softens every time. He's been so used to being referred to by his surname only, it's surprising to hear his given name again, let alone a shorter version.

Once, he wasn't one for nicknames, but he doesn't mind when it's you.

More than the nickname you've given him, though, he likes the way you ask him to touch you. It makes his brain feel particularly fuzzy and stupid, lust taking over most of his other senses.

Even so, he's careful as he notches himself at your entrance, presses just the tip of his cock inside you; that first little stretch has you whimpering into his shoulder, so he slows even more, almost to a stop.

"No, nonono please, keep going..." You plead, so breathy and sweet in your begging that he can't help but give in.

He's still gentle, though, eases himself inside you inch by inch. Focusing on being careful, he doesn't try to stay quiet, his little groans escaping his mouth right beside your ear.

Finally, finally, he's buried to the hilt inside you, moans as he gently grinds his hips against yours.

"Fuck-" he exhales, nuzzles into your neck, "god, you feel so good..."

And you do; Ryland has almost forgotten what it feels like to be inside someone, the velvet soft warmth of you wrapped around him is a long forgotten sensation, one that’s instantly addictive, and definitely worthy of the rarely uttered expletive that just fell from his lips. 

For what it’s worth, you can’t form an articulate sentence just yet. Instead, you’re too busy focusing on the feeling of him stretching you open, the delicious sensation of being full of him.

Your breaths come in ragged little gasps, needy, your hands sliding under his arms to settle on his back. Your palms splayed, short nails lightly digging into the muscle of his shoulders.

“God,” you breathe, nuzzle into his neck, press warm, open mouthed kisses to his pulse point.

You aren’t quite sure what you expect his reaction to be. Not the almost whimper that he muffles into your shoulder as he rolls his hips, a little sharper than originally intended, making you mewl for him.

“’m sorry,” he pants, presses his forehead to yours, stills again, clearly worried that he’s hurt you.

“No, it’s okay,” you reassure him, “I’m okay, you’re just kinda… big.”

In the very dim light, with your faces so close together, you can see him blink, the slightly puzzled – and shy – look on his face.

“I am?”

He sounds just a little too innocent, though, and you give him a little poke, giggling.

“Ryland Grace, there’s no way you don’t know that.” You mock chastise him, still giggling when he shakes his head.

“Maybe I just wanted to hear you say it,” he mumbles against your shoulder, presses a kiss to your soft skin before he asks, almost shy again, “can I move now?”

“Mm,” you answer, deciding not to waste time on words when you could be kissing him instead.

Sliding one hand back out from under his arm, you instead run the palm of your hand up his chest, over his shoulder, settling at the nape of his neck. Originally, your intention was to just pet the short strands of hair, but then he moves.

Ryland has a temper, somewhat, beneath his usually polite and awkward exterior, and there’s a certain arrogance there, too. Somehow though, you’d always assumed maybe he’d bring that same awkwardness into this situation. Thought that perhaps he would be the shy and nervous type.

Apparently, that was the wrong assumption to make. He knows you well after years in close confines, knows every intimate, tiny detail about your reactions and body language. 

So, that kind of close relationship transfers near seamlessly into this. He pays close attention to the way you respond to him, gives you slow, shallow thrusts at first. 

Your little moans and breathy whimpers are muffled into the kiss you give him, open mouthed and needy. He lets that guide him, too. 

Keeping himself propped up on one forearm, his free hand runs down your side, caresses your ass and thigh before he hikes it up a little higher on his hip, allowing him deeper. 

You gasp, the hand in his hair tugging lightly at the longer strands, making him groan softly. 

“Yeah? You liked that?” He sounds half amused, half curious, rolls his hips to see if he can get you to make that same sound again. 

“Oh, you did…” he murmurs, kissing your collarbone when you moan for him.

It really is curiosity, desire to learn how to make you feel good, with that faint undertone of arrogance that ends up coming off as the softest of dominance, can barely be classified as such. 

Regardless, it makes you weak, has you clinging to him as he slowly works up to a steady pace. There's no rush; after waiting so long, he wants to draw this out, just in case you both decide never to do this again. 

So, he keeps his pace slow and sensual, has you running your hand up and down his back, clinging to his shoulder each time he hits deep, regardless of how gentle he's being with you. 

“Tilt your hips for me, honey, can you do that?” 

Ryland’s voice is impossibly soft as he all but coos the words at you, purring when you obey. You bring your other leg up to wrap around his waist, keeping him where he is, which is to say, in the perfect place. 

“Yeah, exactly like that, there you go…”

Showering you in little kisses, keeping himself braced on one forearm, he moves again, builds up a steadier pace in this new position as you whimper, barely audible moans right into his ear as he cages you in beneath him, holding you like you’re the most precious thing in the world. 

It takes you a moment to realise that he’s forcing himself to be quiet, muffling his own little groans into the kisses he plants all over you.

“It’s okay,” you breathe, turn your head so you can kiss his jawline, “I wanna hear you. Let me hear you, Ry, please?” 

That seems to be the encouragement he needs; Ryland makes no effort to hide the sounds that pour, unchecked now, from his parted lips as he steadily builds up a harder, deeper pace. 

Your moans, the filthy sounds of his cock inside you, his groans of pleasure, they all harmonise and echo in the room as you cling to him. 

Already, you can feel that familiar pressure building in your core, somewhat amazed that you’re so close again already. But then again, this has been long overdue. Literal years of tension between you, near endless yearning. 

“I don’t know h-how much longer I can-” 

Every word he speaks is ragged with arousal, letting you know just how close he is to the edge. That doesn’t bother you; nothing could possibly bother you right now, not when he’s steadily pounding you into the bed, groaning into your soft skin. 

He doesn’t stop, especially not when he feels your walls start to tighten around him; your short nails bite into the muscle of his shoulders as you cling to him, a more intense orgasm than the previous tearing through your body. 

“Oh my god,” you whine, breathy and desperate and barely coherent through your high pitched moans. “Oh my god, Ry-” 

Ryland thinks that he could definitely get used to hearing you cry his name like that as he fucks you through the peak of your release, chasing his own now with reckless abandon. 

His hips collide with yours as you writhe beneath him, clinging to his biceps now, as though trying to ground yourself. 

Meanwhile, he’s completely lost in you. In the feeling of your body against his, the whimpers you breath into his ear, the way you feel wrapped around his cock as he fucks you harder, deeper. 

His own climax hits him out of nowhere; he felt it building, of course, but didn’t expect it so soon; he feels almost like some kind of animal as he grinds against you, his breaths coming in ragged groans as his hips finally still.

Even in his present state, all he can manage is a soft little “wow”, murmured into the side of your neck. He kisses just below your earlobe, and you laugh, exhausted. 

“Wow doesn’t even cover it,” you say, breathless, “I’d be more inclined to say something far more expletive laden, but… that’s just me.”

That drags a laugh from him, because it’s true. Generally speaking, you do have a far more expansive repertoire of curse words than him. Carefully, he pulls out of you with a low groan, suddenly feeling the exertion throughout his entire body. Not wanting to collapse his entire weight onto you, he rolls onto his side, pulling you with him, your leg still draped around his waist, over his hip. “You alright?” He asks softly, brushes his nose against yours. One hand flat against his chest, you hum, tilt your head so you can steal a brief kiss. “Mm, more than alright, actually,” you reply, which is true. You haven’t felt this weightless and happy in a long, long time. His arms around you, the little kisses he peppers over your face, it just feels right. 

“Good. I’m glad. I feel the same way,” Ryland adjusts his arms around you, just so you can both be a little more comfortable. You nuzzle into him, pleased when a little purring sound rumbles in his chest in response. You should probably go try clean up, but you’re warm and comfortable, and neither of you are in any rush. 

Eventually, you do extract yourself from his arms to go pee and clean up, shivering by the time you crawl back under the sheets into his waiting embrace. “Feel better?” 

“Yeah, less gross, but now I’m cold again,” you complain with a little huff, burrowing your face into his shoulder. There’s a little pause before his fingers slip under your chin, tilt your head up so he can kiss you. “Well… we did just find a way to generate heat. And we both know we can’t call a theory proven without multiple experiments.” He says, very seriously, even though he’s trying not to smile. 

“Did you seriously just ask me for round two in science terms?” 

“... maybe.” “You’re such a nerd,” you tease, exasperated, “but you’re my nerd, so it’s okay.” 

Your nerd, huh? Yeah. Ryland thinks he can live with that. 

You are curled into a tight ball on the "bed"—that massive, reinforced platform layered with every soft textile and scrap of insulating foam salvaged from the Hail Mary. Every few minutes, a sharp, white-hot wave of pain rolls through your abdomen, a familiar monthly visitor that feels particularly cruel when you’re light-years away from a pharmacy.

Under your shirt, the jagged line of your "Rocky Scar"—the mark left behind when your Eridian friend saved your life—pulses in sympathy-like with the cramps. It’s a reminder of survival, but right now, you just feel like a mess of malfunctioning nerves and a waste of carbon.

A heavy, metallic thump-clack echoes across the floor. You don't have to look up to know it’s Rocky. His five-legged structure is as familiar to you as your own mind. Beside him, the lighter, more melodic tapping of Adrian’s claws follows.

"Question?" Rocky’s synthesizer voice rings out from the nightstand, clear and inquisitive. "Why is Human Y/N still in the insulation pile? The 'sun' has cycled twice. Teaching time is soon. Grace confused. I also confused."

You groan into your pillow, a sound that translates to the Eridians as a low-frequency distress signal. Adrian moves closer, her form rotating with concern. She reaches out a warm, stone-like limb, hovering it just inches from your back.

“Temperature is high,” Adrian’s whistles and clicks are translated by the small device clipped to her harness. “You are leaking heat. Is there a hull breach in your biology? Is human dying!? Please do not die! It would be very inconvenient and sad.”

"I'm not dying, Adrian," you wheeze out, squeezing your eyes shut as another cramp ripples through you. "It’s just... a human thing. My body is resetting. It hurts. A lot."

Ryland wanders in then, looking disheveled, holding a mug of chamomile tea the Eridians replicated. He sees the three of you huddled together and immediately softens. He knows the look in your eyes; he’s seen you power through lab accidents and alien microbes, but he knows this particular brand of misery is one that requires total surrender.

"They're worried about you," Ryland says softly, sitting on the edge of the platform and placing a hand on your shoulder. "Rocky thinks you’re melting because your core temp jumped a degree. I tried to explain human reproductive cycles to him, but he just got offended that your body 'destroys its own systems' once a month. He thinks it’s bad engineering."

“It IS bad engineering!” Rocky interjects, his claws clicking rapidly against the floor. “Why break the internal walls? Just keep the walls! If I built a ship that melted its floor every thirty days, Grace yell at me!”

"He's not wrong," you mutter, pressing your face into Ryland's thigh. "Ryland, tell them I'm okay. I just need to be a potato for about four days."

Adrian tilts her head, her 'eye' focusing on where you are clutching your stomach. “You are in pain. Pain is for when predators bite. There are no predators in the dome. Except maybe the vacuum, but the dome is strong. If you are in pain, we must fix.”

"You can't fix it, Adrian," Ryland says, stroking your hair. "It just has to happen. Heat helps, though."

The word heat seems to trigger something in the Eridian pair. On a planet where the surface temperature could melt lead, "heat" is their specialty. They are technically biological furnaces, their carapaces radiating a steady, dry warmth that far exceeds any electric heating pad.

Rocky steps up onto the platform. The bed groans under his weight, but it’s sturdy. “I am heat, statement.” he declares with a flourish of his limbs. “I very good at being hot. I am the best heater on Erid. Adrian is also a good heater. We will insulate the problem.”

Before you can protest, Rocky moves with surprising gentleness. He doesn't crowd you; instead, he maneuvers his heavy, five-sided body so that he is braced against your back, his warm carapace pressing firmly against your spine. The heat is immediate and intense, sinking through your shirt and into your aching muscles. It’s a dry, deep warmth that seems to vibrate.

Adrian doesn't want to be left out. She climbs onto the other side, tucking her limbs in and resting her front-side near your abdomen, being careful not to put her full weight on you. She feels like a living stone warmed by a desert sun.

Ryland watches them with a look of pure, unadulterated affection, full of care. "I think you've been secured by the Eridian Heating Company," he jokes. He crawls into the middle of the pile, slotting himself behind Rocky so he can still reach over and hold your hand.

"This is... actually amazing," you whisper. The crushing weight of the Eridians combined with their radiating heat acts like a full-body pressure therapy. The sharp stabs in your stomach begin to dull into a heavy, manageable ache.

Then, the sound starts.

It begins as a low-frequency hum, so deep you feel it in your teeth before you hear it. It’s a rhythmic, pulsing vibration coming from both Rocky and Adrian. It isn't the musical whistling of their speech; it’s more primal, a steady thrum-thrum-thrum that echoes the beat of your own heart.

"Are they... purring?" you ask, your eyes fluttering shut as the tension finally drains from your shoulders.

"Yeah," Ryland whispers, his voice thick with sleepiness. "Rocky told me about this once. When they have 'pebbles'—their young—they communal-sleep. They produce a resonance in their carapaces. It’s meant to stabilize the heart rates of the young and keep them calm while they grow. It’s a biological lullaby."

“You are small,” Rocky’s translator chirps, though his voice is lower now, hushed. “You are un-harmonic. You are pebble today. We vibrate buzz pain away. Sleep now, statement. Grace, sleep. You are noisy when worry.”

Ryland chuckles, his fingers interlacing with yours. "Copy that, Rock'. Sleeping now."

The dome is silent save for that incredible, ancient purring. It’s a sound that has existed on Erid for millions of years, a song of protection and kinship. Nestled between the two aliens and the man who traveled across the stars with you, the pain in your body feels insignificant.

You feel the scar on your side—the one that matches the one on Ryland's arm. It feels warm, almost glowing against the heat of Rocky's shell. You aren't just a human in a dome anymore; you are part of their kin, a family that doesn't care about biology or species, only about the fact that one of their own is hurting.

The lavender and apricot light of the artificial sunset fades into a deep, restful indigo. As the Eridian purring synchronizes, your breathing slows. Ryland’s head drops onto your shoulder, his breath hitching in a soft, rhythmic snore. Adrian shifts her weight, her claws making a tiny, comforting tink against the bed frame.

The last thing you feel before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep is the overwhelming sensation of being loved—not just by a man, but by a planet. You are tucked into the safest place in the universe: a cuddle pile at the edge of the galaxy, guarded by two biological furnaces who think you’re a very poorly engineered, but very dear, friend.

Outside, the Eridian winds howl and bash against the glass, but inside, there is only the warmth, the purring, and the steady, unbreakable bond of home.

Plug!dex that looks at you like you're crazy when you pull up 30 minutes early to his house but lets you in anyway (WHIPPED!) Only because he copped a new strand and wanted you to be the test subject! No other reason!

Plug!Dex grumbles and rolls his eyes while taking care of you after that new strand fucked you upppp. It's nothing extravagant but he does keep making sure you don't slump forward and destroy his rolling table. I mean coffee table

Plug!Dex took forever to warm up to cause he has to keep up an image when you know damn well eventually he got a soft spot for you. But if you're waiting for him to say it out loud, don't hold your breath

Plug!Dex pulls his gun on you after he finds out you were messing around with some of his much more dangerous asshole friends with intent to show you what could happen if shit goes left, which only resulted in you swirling your tongue around the tip of the barrel and gazing into his eyes to get his reaction

Plug!dex won't give you discounts but will green out with you any day. Just know it will always either start or end with fucking. Non negotiable!

Plug!dex won't claim you outright but makes it clear to his homeboys that if they even stand too close to you, they're fucked

Plug!dex slaps your ass in front of anybody whenever you walk past him. Same theme as the bullet above; he won't claim you officially but it's code for "that's mine"

Plug!Dex lets you tattoo him if you're a tattoo artist

Plug!dex will stand in front of the door in your way until you change clothes. At first it was just when he let you tag along to parties and hangouts but it became in general. And if you pull the "you're not my man" card he follows up with "I'll fuck you like I am. Go change."

Plug!Dex physically pulls you away from his homies if you're getting too chummy with them or vice versa. It's usually you doing it just to get him a little ticked off with the possibility of dealing with you later

Plug!dex lets you do all the work when you fuck him while high. If you're both sober best believe you're getting slung over his shoulder and put through the mattress

Plug!Dex calls you stupid for turning down good guys. Especially if he sees it but is not opposed to you showing him why you keep doing it

Plug!dex has a tape you both wanted to make in his main phone for safekeeping and jerks to it when he misses you

I NEED THIS MAN 😭😭😭😭😭😭

Not when you brought the water to his desk, or for the rest of the day. When you got in the next morning, he was already at his desk, but didn’t do more than mumble a good morning. His shoulders had squared and rippled, when you’d walked past.

You’d gone to the bathroom, and made sure you didn’t reek of something rancid. Maybe there was a sulfur leak in your apartment and you’d just gotten used to it. Maybe you’d stepped in dog poop on the train and no one’s told you.

“Do I smell bad?” You’d asked Jimmy, and he’d looked at you like your were crazy.

“I don’t know? I don’t go around smelling people like a- A serial killer-“

“I’m not asking you to smell me like a serial killer.” You’d hissed, leaning down to block him in his chair. “I’m asking you to smell me like a friend, Lois smells me all the time-“

“Then go ask Lois!”

“Lois is in Gotham, I can’t ask Lois-“

“Then ask Clark, he’ll be happy to smell me-“

“I can’t ask Clark.” You’d whined. “Come on, please smell me-“

Jimmy had eyed you suspiciously. “If this is some weird mating dance, I’m not interested-‘

“It’s not a mating dance!”

“It seems like a mating dance-“

“It’s not-“ You’d shaken your head. “Just stop being a fucking pussy and smell me!”

Someone had cleared their throat behind you. Jimmy’s eyes had widened, fixed right over your shoulder, and you’d known who it was before you turned.

You know that low, controlled sound. You know the rush that his attention brings, and the shiver up your spine whenever he’s close. You close your eyes tight, breathing through your nose, and turn to Clark with a plastered smile.

“Hi, Clark! No one was trying to smell anyone-“

You cut yourself off when you see him. You almost forget how to speak.

He’s a wreck. Curly hair is plastered to his brow, his white button up is more sweat stains than dry spots, and there’s a vein pushing out of his neck that seems painful. His glasses keep trying to slip off his nose, and he’s shifting like even just standing is uncomfortable. He’s pale and red all at once, ruddy in his face and paper white in his fists. The flush deepens near his neck, and returns to his arms right before the cut off of his rolled up sleeves. He’s breathing through his mouth.

His eyes are black, and gleaming.

You scramble away from Jimmy, yanking yourself back from going to press a hand to Clark’s brow.

Clark takes a jagged, stumbling step back.

You look back to Jimmy, and he gives you a tight shake of his head. He doesn’t know what to do either. You’ve never seen Clark with so much as a paper cut, and now it looks like he needs a hospital.

“Hey, buddy.” Jimmy tries, voice soft. Like he’s speaking to a feral animal. “You feeling alright?”

Clark jerks his head to Jimmy, and his nostrils flare. Like he’d almost forgotten Jimmy was there.

Jimmy leans back. And you know he doesn’t mean to. It’s Clark. The softest, sweetest heart you know, shoved into a giant’s body.

But like this, Clark doesn’t look like a man. He looks like something that’s crawled out of your darkest wet dream. Like something that should be in the sky, fighting Superman. With the black eyes and sudden, jagged movements, he looks like an animal.

He looks dangerous.

And he doesn’t respond right away. Clark stares at Jimmy, breathing heavily, then squeezes his eyes shut. You and Jimmy exchange another worried look. If he’s been corrupted by something—in this world, you can’t rule anything out—and he attacks, you’re not sure you can fight him off. Emotionally or physically. Clark’s huge, he’d crush Jimmy with one fist and you’d be nothing but an annoying fly to be swatted across the room.

But whatever’s going on with Clark, he seems to drag it under control. He opens his eyes, and a thin ring of blue is back.

“I’m fine.” He rasps, staring at Jimmy. “Just- Didn’t sleep well. You know.”

Jimmy blinks. “No, uh- I don’t-“

Clark looks at you.

And you could swear the blue flickers, when your eyes meet.

“You smell good.” He mutters.

He turns like something’s dragging him, and walks away. You and Jimmy stand there for about three more minutes—in total baffled silence—before Jimmy’s mouth falls open.

“What the fuck is up with him?”

Nobody seems to be sure.

On Tuesday, he seems a little better. He eats lunch with you. Wheels his chair next to yours like usual while he’s editing, because you always catch typos he misses, and he’s a good reporter but not the best writer.

“You can’t use that word here.” You tap his laptop screen. He frowns.

“There are no other words I could use, though-“

“Corrupt?”

“But- Oh.” He sighs, hitting backspace. “See? That’s why you’re the expert.”

You laugh softly, and Clark gives you his usual small, almost shy smile.

“How’s your piece coming?” He asks kindly—always kindly—and you groan.

“Dogshit.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad-“

“My main source backed out.” You grumble. “Like a little baby bitch. I can’t make this level of accusations again LuthorCorp without a source, it’s asking for a defamation lawsuit, and after the last one Perry would kill me-“

“But you won the last one.” Clark frowns, and you give him a pointed look.

“Yeah. Because I had a source.”

“Ah. Right.” He pauses, pushing his glasses slowly up his nose.

You watch the movement as subtly as possible. You love it when he does that. It’s a tiny, adorable quirk that makes you want to rip his hand away and push them up yourself.

“What if I said I have a source for you?” He asks softly, and you perk up.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.” He grins. “You know, I’d think you’d have faith in me, I wouldn’t lie about that-“

“Shut up, I’m excited-“

“I can tell.” He boops your nose, and you stick your tongue out at him.

He does that all the time. He says you get a bunny nose when you’re excited about something, and then you hit him because nothing about you is bunny like.

Sometimes you say that, and he chuckles.

You have no idea. He mutters under his breath.

And sometimes he hits your nose, and your breath hitches because he touched you.

Today you keep it under control.

It’s Clark that freezes. Coughs and goes red, wheeling his chair an inch back. You frown at him, ready to ask what’s wrong, but he shakes his head like he’s already denying you an answer.

“It’s- Uh- Superman.”

You blink. “What?”

“Superman can be your source.” He grunts, shifting in his chair. “I can ask him to. For you.”

“I- You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

“I can find someone else-“

“No, I- I’ve got it.”

He stares at you. You stare back, heart swelling with something sweeter than you usually allow it to feel.

You’re used to your feelings for Clark. You try not to think about them, especially not in his presence. There’s no amount of love you’d risk your friendship for.

But he makes that rule hard to follow sometimes. When he starts being stupidly perfect.

You smile at him, wide and unrestrained. “Thank you.”

He nods—tight and jerked—stares for a long, long moment. He shoots to his feet.

“I have to go to the bathroom!” He announces to the whole bullpen.

Clark sprints away. Jimmy gives you a questioning look, and you shake your head.

He doesn’t come back for an hour. When he does, his face is wholly red again.

He’s back to not looking you in the eyes. Back to looking so sick you’re worried he might be going feral.

And you have no idea what to do.

Lois gets back on Wednesday, and the first thing she says to you is What’s up with Smallville? Perry corners you at your desk to ask if you’ve got any idea what’s Clark’s been up to that might be doing this to him. Steve loudly jokes that everyone should be placing bets on when Clark passes out. Cat keeps trying to bring him tea—a thin guise so she can suggest home remedies to whatever super hangover he has—and Clark always drinks it with shaking hands.

He listens to all her suggestions without interrupting, but whenever Jimmy suggests Urgent Care—you’ve given up on trying to get him to the ER—Clark grunts a sound like no and won’t hear another word.

You’re getting really worried. Everyone gets sick, but Clark’s always talking about his very good immune system.

And nobody gets sick like this. Legally, Perry should be making him go home, but no one can get close enough to confirm a fever, and it’s somehow not effecting his work performance.

“Clark.” You sit on the edge of his desk, keeping your voice soft. “You need to go to a doctor.”

His whole body locks up. His fingers freeze on his keyboard, and he bows his head like he’s in prayer.

“Clark-“

“Please.” He says, so quiet you almost miss it. “Back up.”

You blink. “Back up?”

He nods, and there’s a sting in your heart.

He hasn’t asked anyone else to back up.

But you slide off his desk, and take a single step back. Another, when he doesn’t relax from the first.

You clear your throat, tucking your hands behind your back. Clark lets out a heavy, ragged exhale, and looks up.

He still won’t fully meet your gaze. His darkened eyes are fixed right over your head, and you try not to let it hurt more than it already does.

“Clark.” You’ve lost a little bit of nerve. You try not to let him hear it. “The doctor-“

“I don’t need a doctor.” He tells the ceiling, and you sigh.

“You’re sick-“

“No. I’m not.”

“Dude, I- I can feel your fever from here.” The heat, rolling off his body like he’s an active star. “At least just go so they can say you’re not sick.”

He doesn’t answer. You almost take a step forward, before reeling yourself back. He doesn’t want you too close.

“Please?” You say. “It would make all of us feel better.”

That makes him look at you. For just a split second, barely a heartbeat, but long enough.

His eyes go wholly back. He wheels his chair backwards, like there’s something toxic coming off of you that he’s trying to avoid.

And it hurts. It hurts so much your face burns with shame, and your stomach does a sick clench of pain.

It’s never fun, for the man you’ve quietly been in love with for years, to look at you like you’re proximity might kill him.

The only thing that stops you from crying is worry for him.

But that’s not enough to hold back the crack in your voice.

“Clark- Please-“

He shakes his head, jaw clenching. You swallow, and take another step back.

“Oh- Okay. Sorry.”

You turn on your heels. Behind you, Clark rasps your name.

And you look back. You can’t help it.

But all he does is stare at you.

So you walk away.

Clark doesn’t come in on Thursday. Jimmy goes to check on him, but won’t report back on what he finds. When he gets back to the office, his face is bloodless and eyes wider than an owl.

“Is he-“

“He’s not sick.” Jimmy stares at you like you’re a ghost. “He’s- Um- We should- Give him space.”

You frown. “But-“

“Lots of space.” Jimmy mutters under his breath, already walking away. “And maybe me some bleach. Freakin’- Gross-“

Lois comes up next to you, watching Jimmy head into the bathroom. You’re wringing your hands, lips pressed in a painfully tight line, and Lois grabs your wrists.

“Don’t go visit him.”

You shoot her a glare. “I wasn’t going to-“

“Yes, you were.” She raises her brows. “Don’t.”

“But-“

“Don’t.”

“What if he needs something-“

“I texted his cousin. She knows what to do.”

“To…” You narrow your eyes, pulling your hands from Lois’ grip. “You know what’s going on with him, don’t you.”

Lois shrugs. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“Lois-“

“He’s going to be fine.” She says, giving you a firm look. “Don’t check on him.”

She walks away without another word.

On Friday, you go to Clark’s apartment.

You don’t go inside. Lois’ voice keeps ringing in your head, and while you’re more than willing to disobey her, it’s the way she’d said it.

Don’t.

His door is right there.

Lois’ voice fills the gaps in city noise. Pointed and direct. Almost hopeless. Like she knew you wouldn’t listen.

Don’t.

You made him soup, because you’re pathetic. He’d left his jacket at work on Wednesday, and you’d brought it home to clean up before returning it. You’d had a whole painted daydream made of pastels and watercolor, where you’d give Clark his jacket, he’d swoon with how romantic that is, and then kiss you.

But like real watercolor, the colors bleed and run. Blur together. It’s too fuzzy a picture to be reality.

You stand at his door. You don’t remember walking inside the building.

Don’t.

But you want to.

Don’t.

He could need someone, what if his cousin was busy, what if he’s been waiting for you to check on him-

Don’t.

Lois’ voice isn’t louder than your heartbeat. But it’s level. And your pulse is erratic in your throat and fingers.

And you keep seeing Clark’s face. Keep thinking of how he’d been stiffer than concrete, until you’d moved away.

He wouldn’t want to see you right now. He’d made that clear.

You put the soup and jacket on the doorstep, and ring the doorbell.

Before Clark can open it, you walk away.

On Saturday, you hole up in your apartment and work.

It’s a  distraction. Anything not to think of Clark. To think of how sick he is, how he might be in pain, how he might need help but not from you. How lately he can’t stand to be in the same room as you, and apparently everyone gets to know what’s going on with him except you-

You groan, tipping your head back against the couch.

This is exactly what you’re trying not to think about.

It’s hard, though. Impossibly hard. If only because you open your email, and see a bunch of messages from Clark. You open Teams, and his messages are pinned at the top. You send Jimmy something, and have to include Clark as a contributor. Lois sends you something, and Clark is CC’d.

He’s everywhere. You can’t stop checking your phone for a message, even if Jimmy says he’s basically out of commission. Can’t really do anything right now, he’d grumbled, making a sour face. Too… Sick.

He’d said it weird, but everything about this is weird.

Usually you’d talk to Clark about that.

You miss him.

Goddamnit.

Apparently, you’re very bad at not thinking about Clark.

You busy yourself. Clean the apartment, do the laundry, waste the day, don’t think about Clark.

He gave you this pencil. Let you borrow this  sweater, that you’ve been hoarding like a dragon with gold since. Sent you the cheesecake in the back of your fridge as a birthday present, and it had been horrible but you’d kept it anyway.

You lie flat on the floor, and fail not to think about Clark a little more. Maybe you should text him. Just so he knows you’re thinking of him. Or text Lois and ask for his cousin’s number, so you can ask her if he’s okay. Or let the anxiety fully overpower Lois’ voice in your head, and go visit him.

You’re about to go with that last option, when there’s a bang on your window. You shoot up with wide eyes, expecting a massive bird.

Instead you find Superman, standing in your fire escape. It’s hard to see him, in the shadows of dusk. His head is strangely bowed, his shoulders slumped in a way you’ve never seen on TV. Maybe he’s just more casual, when he’s doing home visits.

But why is he home visiting you.

Usually that would freak you out. This week, it’s just another fucking thing.

You open the window slowly, poking your head outside.

“Hello?”

Superman looks up at you, and your mouth goes dry.

He doesn’t look well.

Red and pale face, messed up hair, heaving chest. Clenched fists, sweat-slicken face, blown out eyes with barely a ring of blue-

Like Clark.

Just like Clark.

And it’s not just the ragged appearance. It’s something deeper. It’s the way he’s staring at you like he’s  worried you’re going to attack him. Like he’s restraining himself from moving, like you’re a repellant and he wants to fly away.

Or something else.

Without the glasses, there’s something else.

He looks desperate. The shadows on his face look longer. Maybe it’s just the sickness overtaking him, but he looks hungry. Desperate and starved. There’s an openness on his face that wasn’t there before. And he’s not looking at you like he’s afraid or skittish.

He’s looking at you like he’s a predator. Like you’re prey.

“Clark?”

“I’m here for your interview-“

You speak at the same time. Your voice is a breath. Superman—Clark? —pushes out his words like they hurt, and falters in a second.

He stumbles back like he’s been hit. You scramble forward to catch him, your body not worried about anything but Clark is going to fall.

Your hand wraps around his wrist. He makes a deep, rumbling sound from his chest. Almost a growl.

His eyes flutter. He moans out your name, trying to tug weakly away.

“Clark- Wait-“

Superman’s body goes slack, and he collapses in your arms.

At one in the morning on Sunday, too much is happening.

You put Clark—Superman? —in your bed. Took his temperature and dropped the thermometer in shock.

He’s burning at 150 degrees.

He should be dead. You’re not even sure how you touched him without burning up.

The thermometer clatters to the ground, and Clark shifts in his sleep. Groans out a garbled, pained noise that sounds like your name.

You swallow, hugging yourself tight. It’s hard not to reach out to him, but you don’t feel like you should. He hadn’t wanted you near him, and you’ve already crossed a few lines by putting him in your bed.

Then he moans, ripping the thin sheets off his body.

That time it was definitely your name.

Superman moaned your name.

You back out of the room slowly, with an embarrassing amount of effort. You can’t rip your eyes away from him.

Clark in your bed, calling for you and rolling around like a rutting beast. Whatever’s tormenting him isn’t enough to wake him up, but it’s enough to drive you out of your mind. You bite the inside of your cheek, and force yourself to close the door. It solves the looking at him problem.

It does nothing for hearing him.

And he’s loud. You’re lucky the apartments have thick walls between units, or you’d get a noise complaint. Clark is almost howling from his room, and whenever you give into temptation and go to check on him, he’s somehow managed to rip another item of clothing off in his sleep.

It starts with his top. The symbol on his chest gets torn to shreds, revealing a broad, flushed chest. He’s got a small happy trail. Muscles that you want to trace, and boobs that might be bigger than yours.

Your eyes wander to his abdomen. There’s a happy trail that leads down, down, down, and-

Oh.

That’s… Big.

You slam the door closed, and run back to the kitchen. Cold water does nothing against the heat building in your core. You splash it on your face and drink two glasses, but you might as well be downing sea salt. You’re thirstier than when you started.

The image seems to be burned behind your eyes. Clark’s bulge. Superman’s bulge.

You still haven’t really dealt with that.

Clark is Superman. Superman is Clark. You’re sure. You’ve spent the last hour on the couch, sketching out timelines and checking your work. The random disappearances in the middle of the day. How you’ve never seen him get drunk. The fact that he’s built like a Greek god but never works out, and whenever Jimmy asks him for a routine he just says grow up on a farm.  

And be a Kryptonian. That would probably also help.

To be sure—you have to be positive, before Superman wakes up and you start throwing around accusations—you cut out a pair of paper glasses and build up all your courage.

When you step into your room, it hits you like a tidal wave. The smell of sex, sweat and cum and something deeper. Clark’s ripped off his tights, and apparently the outside boxers are the only thing he’d been using for cover.

You don’t let yourself look. Your traitorous eyes try to, but you refuse to glance past his thick thighs. You won’t violate him like that. You’re here for confirmation, and nothing else.

Carefully, you wipe the sticky hair from Clark’s brow. His whole body shudders under your light touch, and he bucks up to chase your fingers when you pull away. A deep whine escapes from his lips, and you swallow.

Dear lord.

Very, very slowly, you put the paper glasses on his nose. He wrinkles it, trying to buck them off, but you plant a hand on his chest.

You don’t mean to. You move before you can think.

Clark relaxes. His body goes slack like putty, save for a single hand flying to your wrist, holding tight.

He could break you. He’s Superman. You’ve watched—albeit from afar—him pick up whole buildings. But his touch on you is light, as if you’re glass. His jaw relaxes. A purr rumbles under your hand, and his thumb starts to trace small circles.

You stare at him, every logical thought in your head evaporating in the heat of the room. The glasses confirmed exactly what you wanted them to.

Clark is Superman,

And somehow, that’s the least important thing that’s happening right now.

His brow is unfurrowed, his mouth hanging open as he pants out your name.

“Clark?” You breathe, and he moans.

This time, he calls your name. His eyes flutter in his sleep, and his hand starts to move. Dragging yours down his chest. Over his pecs, his ribs, to his abdomen and-

You yank away with a squeak, when you realize. Clark whines, immediately seizing up the second you pull away.

He looks like he’s in pain. Your touch helped, and he’d liked it, and-

No. You can’t. You won’t. You’re stronger than that, and he’s not in his right mind. Whatever’s effecting him—whatever’s strong enough to effect Superman—can’t be letting him think clearly. It would be one thing if he asked. Another to touch him in his sleep, just because he’d moved your hand there. He probably doesn’t even know it’s you.

But he’d been calling your name. He’s calling your name right now.

The steam of the room is getting to your head. You stumble away, squeezing your eyes shut when Clark keens in pain.

If you weren’t such a masochist, you’d put in earbuds to avoid hearing him. But he keeps calling your name.

And you’re not that strong at all.

Clark wakes up at four in the morning. You haven’t even managed to close your eyes.

You’re so dazed from the everything that you don’t hear him coming. You just realize the moans have stopped, and hear a quiet mumble of your name.

When you turn, Clark’s standing in the door of the living room.

He’s naked.

Fully naked.

And this time, you’re too tired stop your eyes from wandering.

He’s glorious. It’s not just the muscle and size of him, it’s all Clark. How his flexing arms are the ones that catch up when you stumble over yourself, and his legs are the ones that bring you coffee in the morning. Those fisted hands hold your hair back when you’re sick and boop your nose. His tense knees bump against yours under almost every table, and his chest keeps you tucked safely away from the world whenever you have a meltdown.

But it’s also the muscle and size of him. He looks wound up, so tight you’re worried he may snap. The coat of sweat on his skin is begging to be licked off, and his thick arms could wrap around your neck and you wouldn’t complain.

And his cock. 

You don’t know how he manages to walk around with that thing. It’s bigger than the toys you’ve seen in shops, bigger than the ones in porn that have to be fake, bigger than the lewdest drawings on the internet. Thick and veiny, hard and standing proud. His balls are heavy, and you kind of want to put them in your mouth. Every inch of him is slicked with cum, and you realize you just licked your lips far too late.

Clark clears his throat. You look up with burning cheeks and wide eyes.

“Clark, I- I’m so sorry-“

“Don’t.” He mutters, shifting on his feet. You can see his arms jerking wildly. Like he’s actively stopping them from moving. “I’m the one that should be sorry, I- I shouldn’t have come here.”

He winces at his own word choice, rubbing a stain of  release on his thigh. He’d been humping  the sheets all night. You’d heard the squeak of the mattress, and-

“I broke your bed.” He mumbles, not meeting your gaze. “I’ll fix it when- This passes.”

“Clark-“

“Stop saying it like that.”

You blink. Clark takes a deep breath, and looks up at you.

His eyes are shining. You can’t tell if it’s with frustration, or sadness, or that something else.

“Please don’t say my name. Like that, or- At all.” His throat bobs. “It makes everything very hard.”

Your lips twitch, and you glance back to his dick. He sighs.

“Yeah. I know. There are only so many words I can use, you know.”

You laugh softly, despite everything.

Clark grabs the doorframe with a groan. It cracks under his hands, and he won’t stop staring at you,.

“Don’t laugh either.”

“I- I’m sorry-“

“And don’t apologize, or- Or look at me-“

He cuts himself off with a long moan, and you fix your gaze very pointedly on the ceiling.

“Cla-“ You cut yourself off. “Should I call you Superman?”

“No- That- That’s weird-“

“Kal-El?”

“Worse.” He grunts, and you sigh.

“I need to be able to call you something.”

“It would be better if you didn’t talk, actually.”

That makes you glare at him. He winces, face scrunching in apology.

“No, not- Not like that-“

“Not like what-“

“It’s just, when you talk-“

“It’s hard?” You snap, and you don’t know why you’re so mad all of a sudden. Maybe it’s how you haven’t slept in almost two days.

It’s probably that. But also, something needs to break. If Clark just Supermans away after everything, you’re going to kill him.

“Please don’t sat that word.” Clark mumbles, and you shake your head.

“No. I’m going to talk, and you’re going to listen and give me answers.”

“I- I don’t think that’s a good idea-“

“You don’t get to decide what’s a good idea right now, boner-boy.”

He wrinkles his nose. “That… Doesn’t seem fair.”

“Maybe, but you know what’s also not fair?” You cross your arms over your chest, raising your chin. “Ignoring your best friend for a week, then showing up with a fever and- And magic boner then telling her to shut up!”

“I didn’t tell you to shut up-“

“You said I shouldn’t talk.”

“I said it would be better if you didn’t talk.” He mumbles, staring at the floor. “That’s not the same-“

“Shut up.”

“Sorry.”

The wall cracks further. You wrinkle your nose.

“You better fix the wall, Kent.”

“I will. ‘M sorry-“

“Stop apologizing to me, and just- Just tell me what’s wrong!”

You take a step forward. Clark shrinks back, but doesn’t move away.

“You’re not allowed to- To be mad.” He glances up under his lashes, and lets out another labored sigh. “Be more mad.”

 That’s not  promising, but your worry outweighs your anger. You nod, watching him expectantly. He closes his eyes, like he can’t bear to see your reaction.  

“You know kryptonite?”

You blink. “Of course I know kryptonite, I don’t live under a rock.”

“Right. Well,” he coughs. “There’s, uh- This thing. Called red kryptonite. And it does… Weird things. To me. And other Kryptonians. Which is just Kara- My cousin- I think you’d like her-“

“Clark.”

“Sorry- Sorry.” He groans. You can trace a bead of sweat down his brow.

“Red kryptonite?” You prompt, softer than before.

His cock twitches. You try not think about it.

“I got exposed to some.” He mumbles. “Last weekend. And it never does the same thing twice, but usually it’s something like… Shrinking me. Flipping my personality, or giving me an extra power or curse or- Once it turned me into a fish-“

“It what-“

“I got better.” He says quickly. “But it’s usually immediate. This wasn’t. I- I even hoped I got lucky. That it wasn’t going to effect me at all. Then I got into the office on Monday, and saw you, and…”

He trails off, words hanging in the air.

Saw you.

You activated the red kryptonite in him.

There’s a very reasonable guess to what it’s doing. You still need to hear him say it, before you do something about it.

“What happened when you saw me?” You breathe, and he gives you a pleading look.

Makes a loose gesture to his erection. You bite back a smile. He’s going to need talking into this.

“Clark.” You say gently, and he groans.

“Please don’t make me say it.”

You give him a look, and he turns even redder than before. Stares down at his feet like a scolded child. It’s almost adorable, while also remaining impossibly hot.

“It’s very… Demanding.” He mumbles. “About certain things that I would like to do. And it is very particular about who I need to do it with. But- I can’t ask that of you-“

“Can’t you?”

Your question is quiet. You know he’ll hear you.

And Clark’s head snaps up, his jaw hanging open. He shakes his head.

“You- You can’t mean that-“

“Why not?”

You take a small step forward. Clark grabs the other side of the door way, tracking your every movement with that predatory focus.

“I’d like to.” You murmur. He grunts.

“You don’t have to pity me-“

“It’s not pity.”

He chuckles dryly. “Feels like it. I know you don’t- That’s not how you feel-“

“Who says it’s not how I feel?”

You fix him with a challenging glare, and Clark swallows.

“Uhh… Steve?”

You scoff. “Steve’s been trying to ask me out for three years, of course he’d tell you that.”

Clark shakes his head, his whole body trembling.

You’ve stopped a foot away. More than close enough for him to grab you. But he has to make that final step himself.

“I- I could hurt you.” He says, giving you that puppy look.

You shrug. “I like being hurt a little.”

His cock jumps. He doubles over, and you’re a little worried he’s going to break your whole apartment if he doesn’t move soon.

“Clark.” You whisper, taking a small step forward. “I trust you. And I- I want this. I want you.”

“No, you-“

“Don’t tell me what I feel.”

He shuts his mouth, still giving you that desperate look. You want to soothe him, but you just hold your ground.

“Will it hurt you?” You ask. “If you ignore it?”

He nods, tight and controlled.

You steel yourself, even as your nerves start to buzz.

Not with fear.

With excitement.

“Then use me.” You whisper, holding his darkened gaze. “Please.”

And Clark snaps.

He kisses you so hard you stumble. Knees buckle as Clark’s fevered lips overtake yours, and your startled squeal only lets him kiss you deeper. Your fingers fly out for something to hold onto, and find only the air.

Clark picks you up like you’re made of feathers, and there’s something steady about there being no ground at all.

If you were in your right mind, you’d think something about free fall and having no worry if there’s nowhere for impact. If you can only be caught.

But you’re not in your right mind. Because Clark isn’t kissing you like a kiss.

He’s inhaling you, and it’s already lighting you on fire.

There’s a thick arm wrapped around your waist, the other holding your back. A hand wrapped around your neck, angling him to kiss as deeply as  he wants. His tongue presses over yours as he walks himself backwards.

You push back, and he moans. It’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

Clark’s back hits the wall, his legs sinking slightly as you make out. Nothing in his hold on you falters. If anything, it tightens. Like even with your open mouth moving against each other, there’s no way he can get close enough.

You respond to everything he gives you. Clark squeezes the back of your neck lightly, and you hum happily, smiling into the kiss. He grunts, when you thread your fingers through his hair.

He sinks further down, kisses turning short and desperate. He sucks on your lower lip, nipping softly and hauling you further up his body. Your nails dig into his scalp, and he drops his arm on your waist to grab your ass.

“Clark-“

“So- Sorry-“ He groans, and you can feel him rolling beneath you, trying to get himself back under control. “You’re just- So pretty, and- And soft, and-“

He drops fully to the floor, and you start slightly when he rips his mouth from yours, before burying his face in your neck.

“Smell so good.” He almost  whines. “So good.”

You take a deep breath, trying to collect yourself. You’re the sane one right now. The Clark beneath you is still your Clark, but he’s also a man who’s in a fugue state of lust. Not the mild, usually level headed, noble little dork you love.

Clark whines, when you run your nails gently against the back of his neck. He’s almost shaking, kissing and sucking on your neck like he can’t even help himself. You don’t think he can.

It makes sense why he was avoiding you. This would’ve been quite the HR violation in the copy room.

“It’s okay.” You coo, kissing the side of his head. “You can take what you need, Clark, I told you I want it-“

“You- You can’t-“

“Don’t tell me what I get to want-“

“No, you can’t.” He detaches himself from your neck, going completely still. His grip on your hips is bruising.

You don’t mind at all.

“I’ll hurt you.” He mutters, and you sigh.

“We talked about this-“

“I’ll hurt you.” He squeezes his eyes shut, over pouncing each word, and you stare at him for a moment.

You shift in his lap, trying to peer closer, and he hisses. His fingers dig into your sides, and his head slowly bows against your chest. Licking and kissing softly, as if he can’t physically stand to be that far from you.

And you feel it.

The literal alien cock pressing against your ass. You’d think was a stick if you didn’t know better.

Oh.

Right.

Clark must hear the way your heartbeat picks up, and put it together. He sighs, warm breath tickling over your breasts.

“I need to get you ready.”

You swallow. “I- I’m pretty-“ You can feel your heartbeat in your cunt, and there’s the familiar tingling ache that’s always a good sign. “I feel pretty ready-“

Clark grunts. “Not ready enough.”

“How do you know-“

“Nose.”

“Nose- Oh.” You flush. He can smell your arousal. “But that’s a good thing, right-“

“Not enough.”

He seems reduced to short worded grunts. You’re not faring much better, but there’s also a massive man below you that can’t stop sucking around your tits.

“Can you… Always smell me?” You manage to ask, and he hums.

That’s his agreement hum.

Your jaw drops.

“Are you serious-“

“I can’t help it.”

“You- You could wear nose plugs-“

“No. Like it too much.”

Your thighs squeeze, those deep words shooting straight to your cunt, and Clark groans.

“You- Can’t move-“

“You should move-“

“Won’t hurt you.” He grunts, like he’s making a vow. “Just- Need a second.”

You let out a slow breath, looking up to the ceiling. The idea comes faster than you want to admit, but you’re desperate.

“You were better when you woke up.” You say causally, stroking your fingers through his hair. “Lucid.”

Clark grunts. You smile at the air.

“You came in bed last night.”

He stiffens slightly. “Wet dream.”

“About who?”

You feel the ghost of a smile, against your chest. “You’re very… Mouthy. Like this.”

And you’ve been told that before. But something about the way Clark says it—like something he’s measuring, a note he’s jotting down for a piece—makes you feel all glowy and stupid inside.

“Wow. Mouthy.” You tease. “Not very polite, Clark.”

“There are other words I could’ve used for it.” He mumbles, and you giggle.

“Yeah? Like what?”

Clark draws slowly back, staring at you with those drunken, dark eyes.

“A brat.”

A lot of the fight leaves you, very fast. No ones ever looked at you like that. Like you’re something they want to chew on, carefully and deeply. To leave a mark while keeping every part of you both ruined and intact.

And his voice. Lower than you’ve ever heard, and hoarse with desire. You were already a lot woman. This just seals your fate.

“I should jerk you off.” You blurt.

Clark makes a sound like a wounded animal, and drops his brow against yours.

“You- You can’t just say that-“

“But it will help.” You give him your best, pouty and pleading expression. “You’ll feel better enough to- To get me ready.” You try to keep your voice level, as if you’re not thrilled just to say the words. “And then… More.”

Clark doesn’t answer. He just closes his eyes again, breathing heavily through his mouth. You wait, but you start to get a little worried he didn’t hear.

“Can you please look at me-“

“No.” He grinds out, and you frown. Reach up to cup his face.

“Clark-“

“Don’t ask me to move.” His words are tight. Pushed through his teeth.

You feel his cocks twitch, near your ass.

“Clark.” You make your voice soft. Traced the tensed line of his jaw, the bridge of his nose. He whimpers at the touch, and you smile. “It’s okay.”

“I- I need to get you-“

“I’m going to touch you, okay?”

His throat bobs, but he nods. Short and tight.

Enough.

You scoot back, and Clark lowers his legs at a painfully slow pace you accommodate you. Your ass drags over his dick, and he hisses, rutting up.

“Sorry-“

“It’s okay.” You say quickly, smiling slightly. “Good preview.”

He looks at you in befuddled exasperation. Opens his mouth like he’s going to snap something else out about you being a brat.

You settle against his knees, and don’t give him a chance.

The sound Clark makes when you wrap your hand around his cock is holy. Deep and guttural, like a man already wrecked. You let him sit in your loose grip for a second, watching his chest heave and eyes flutter.

He’s throbbing under your touch. You can barely hold him with the single hand.

You add a second, and squeeze at the base.

Clark makes another one of those beautiful noises, and grabs your wrist.

“Be- Be careful.”

You pause. “Does it not feel-“

“Feels good.” He grunts. “Too good. Gonna- Oh, fuck-“

Your mouth falls open. Clark swore.

You started to stroke his cock, and he swore.

And more. You need more. More of his swears, his sounds, his sweat running down his bare chest and the way he’s moaning your name. You need to see him fall apart, because once he’s back in control—once this massive dildo of a dick is inside you—you’re not going to be able to focus on such things.

You set a quick pace. Skin slapping and hot, unraveling him quickly.

Clark calls your name, his hands slamming back to grab at the walls. You watch in awe as his fingers sink into the wood, creating a slot for him to hold onto.

“Like- Like that- Shit.” He tosses his head back, moaning loud and lewd. “Yeah, baby, oh- Right there-“

He cuts himself off, rolling his hips up into your touch. You squeeze him again, switching your hands so one can thumb at the weeping slit on his head. Pre-cum leaks all over your fingers, and your lean further down.

You want to taste him.

When you slide off his legs—keeping your hands working—Clark says your name in a rough, garbled warning.

“What- What are you-“

You wrap your lips around the tip of him, flicking your tongue where your thumb had been. Clark makes a sound you’ve never heard from anyone before, his free hand flying to grab your neck.

The grip is tight, but painless. You’re in no danger of pain.

There’s something thrilling about how he’s gripping you so possessively. Like a life line.

You drop your hand to play with his balls. Clark bucks up into your mouth, bumping against the back of your throat.

“Sorry- Fucking Christ-“

You moan happily around him, drooling lips pushing down further. Your tongue swirls around him, and you suck, bobbing your head up and down. Trying to make him lose control again.

It doesn’t take long. Not when you reach up to his hand on your neck, and push it down.

“Are you-“

You moan, and Clark gives in.

He fucks your face like it’s a toy. Cock slipping in and out from between your lips, your spit staining with his pre-cum. Tears prick at your eyes, but you dig your nails into his thighs, refusing to be pulled off.

“Look- Look at you- Holy- Holy shit-“

Clark moans your name, and you let your hand drift back his balls. He slams up at the featherlight touch, and the tears start to flow.

“You’re so good at this sweetheart, so- So good-“ Clark moans, hips thrusting to meet every bob of your head. “Your mouth is so warm, and- And soft-“

You suckle lightly, the praise going right to your core. Your ass is sticking in the air, grinding up into nothing as he uses you.

And you can feel how close he is. His balls are tightening under your fingers, his cock twitching and pulsing, and-

Clark yanks you off suddenly, with one last cry of your name. Before you can protest or try to go back down, you see why.

He’s cumming.

And he’s not stopping.

Thick white ropes spurt from his dick, and you stare, transfixed. Every time you think he must be done, more comes. When the geyser finally stops, there’s not a place it hasn’t hit.

Clark lets out a shaky breath. You look up to him with wide eyes. He stares back, licking his lips.

“If you-“

“Do that inside me.”

You speak at the same time again. Clark blinks, leaning back slightly, and you flush.

“I- I mean- Clark-“

He starts to drag you forward, and your words turn into a squeak. Your being manhandled right into his lap, your ass still sticking up in the air and your hands just barely bracing you on the ground.

“I heard you.” He drawls, running a hand over the curve of your ass. “Pretty well, actually.”

His hand drags over your exposed core, and you whimper.

“Don’t- Don’t tease-“

“Trust me.” He mutters darkly. “I won’t.”

Two thick fingers toy at your clit, and you push yourself higher into the air. He knows exactly how to flick that little button, to drive you insane.

“Oh- Oh god-“

“If I had time.” Clark murmurs, almost to himself. “I’d keep you here for the rest of the day. Watch the sweetness drip down your legs,” his fingers trace over your sensitive inner thighs. “Let you make a mess in my lap. Wait ‘till you’re begging for it, then touch you,” one, broad finger rubs around your fluttering hole. “Nice and slow, until you feel what I’m dealin’ with right now.”

You moan, gaping at the floor. Clark gets a southern, Kanas drawl when he’s horny. It makes you clench around nothing, and he chuckles.

“Oh, you like that.” He presses the tip of his finger in, and you whine. “Yeah, I know. Know better than anyone, sweetheart.”

He pushes his hips slightly, forcing your ass higher into the air. There’s a rip, and cold air hits your core, making you shiver. His cock, still so hard, bumps against your tummy right as his finger slips into your cunt.

“Claaaark.” You moan, squeezing tight around him.

You’re rubbing backwards, trying to take him deeper. He splays one hand on your lower back, keeping you from getting what you want while still letting you chase the false hope.

He crooks his finger slightly, twisting it in a circle. You go limp, wrapping your arms around his thigh and pressing your cheek down for support.

“That’s it.” He mutters. “Just seeing what you need, it’s alright. Shit,” he lets out a sharp breath, cock twitching against you. “You’re so wet. I- I gotta-“

You hear it start to possess him, and you can’t be surprised when he pulls the finger out. Still, you twist to whine at him, maybe try to drag his hand back. He’s strong, but you’re horny, and that’s sure to help you somehow.

Instead, you trip on your own hands and collapse back down at the sight before you.

Clark cleaning your arousal off his fingers, eyes closed and face slack like he’s having a fine meal.

You can’t look away from it. It’s the hottest, most lewd thing you’ve ever seen. You whimper when he goes back into for more, dragging two fingers between your pussy lips before returning them to his mouth. He does it over, and over, and over again. Sometimes giving a little attention to your clit, like he’s milking you for more.

You’re a flushed, wiggling mess when he finally pulls his fingers away with a pop. His eyes are wholly black, gleaming with lust and fixed on yours.

There’s nothing left of you but putty, when Clark slowly starts to rub your pussy again. You’re a smeared, wrecked mess that can’t stop grinding back onto his hand, and he smiles down at you.

It’s predatory, but still soft. Exactly what you expect from him now. Pulling out the hair that got stuck in your mouth, all while slowly fingering your cunt.

“Wanted to do that for so long.” He coos, pushing two fingers deep inside of you. “You’d come into the office and start gettin’ wet right next me, I was slobbering like a dog. Thought I’d lose my mind, every single day.”

His fingers go deeper, bumping against your g-spot. You keen, making an almost unearthly sound from your chest. Clark notices it. Of course he does.

“There she is.” He mutters, starting to pump his fingers fast. Pushing against the gummy point over and over, until you’re drooling.

Your head has never been this empty during sex before. But you’ve also never been put over Clark’s lap like this. Fingered into oblivion while his dick pushes into your stomach. You start to push up—he needs attention—but Clark pushes you back down with a grunt.

“Need to be inside you.” He grunts. “Need you ready.”

Well. If he needs it.

It’s easy to relax into the feeling. Clark starting to thumb at your clit, rubbing it back and forth like a bop-it toy. Between that and his fingers, Clark is almost pulling pleasure out of you like a machine. It doesn’t take long for you to feel like you’re close. Your face his presses into his bare leg, your pussy fully pried open and well touched. You can feel the familiar tension inside you, about to burst.

“Clark- Clark-“ You don’t have the strength to twist, so you scratch at his leg. “I- I’m gonna-“

“I know.” He mutters, and fuck, you don’t doubt him. “Whenever you’re ready, sweetheart. Cum on my hand, let me feel it.”

It only takes a few more moments. Release hits you quickly, and lasts long. Thighs shaking and loud moans escaping your lips as Clark keeps playing with you.

You’re dazed from the orgasm. It’s the strongest you’ve ever felt, and your cunt is still pulsing when Clark’s fingers pull away.

“You’re ready.” He mutters, and you agree with a garbled sound.

He laughs, leaning down to kiss the back of your head as you quiver. He pulls you up into his lap, and you can feel his cock sliding between your folds. Both of your are so slick with everything there’s no friction. The tension in Clark tells you he’s close to going feral again, but his voice is still sweet.

“Just- Stay like that, beautiful.” He kisses the side of your head. “And if it- If anything starts to feel bad, tell me. I’ll stop.”

And you believe him. You know just how much this is affecting him, but you also know he’s Clark. And there isn’t a force on earth that could make him hurt you like that.

“Can you- Can you please say you’ll tell me-“

“I’ll tell you.” It’s barely more than an exhale.

Clark hears it.

“Good. Good girl.” He kisses your neck this time, and you whimper. “Let me- Can’t do it here. Not right.”

You’re not sure what he’s talking about until you’re airborne. Clark tosses you over his shoulder, holding you steady with one arm around your knees, and you blink at the cum and sweat stained floor. You might have to move, after this.

Maybe Clark could let you live with him.

Too fast. And not the thing to worry about right now.

Get fucked stupid, then think about your living situation and relationship status.

That’s a good plan. The best plan.

There really couldn’t be a better one, you decide. Not when Clark starts to rub your clit again, using the full pressure of his palm.

“Keeping her ready.” He rumbles, and you hum. You’re certainly not complaining.

You’re already close to another orgasm, when he lowers you down onto the bed. Your back hits the mattress, and you immediately reach between your thighs, fondling at your pussy hopelessly. Nothing feels as good as Clark’s hands. He might’ve already ruined you forever.

“Don’t do that.”

Those very hands catch your wrists. You stumble over your breath, when you look up at Clark.

He’s back into feral caveman mode. Stroking his cock with one hand, the other squeezing yours gently before setting it down at your side.

“I touch you.” He grunts, and you can’t argue with that.

You lay down, spreading your legs slowly. In offering. Clark makes that guttural sound, his dick somehow looking like it’s gotten harder. You swallow. It’s very hard not to touch yourself with a massive, hulking god standing over you and jerking himself off. For Clark, you’re going to try.

He’s been reduced back to deep noises from his chest and moans of your name, but he’s not making any attempt to move on you. He’s just… Staring.

Stroking his cock, and watching you. Looking between your wet, gaping pussy and flushed face, beating himself into his fist.

He moans, and doubles over. Pumps so fast his hand becomes a blur, and god you’d like him to do that to you later.

His face lands on your inner thigh. Soft stubble grazing the oversensitive area, cold breath pushing against your clit. You grab his hair, back arching off the bed at the taunting pleasure. Clark moans, watching you clench around nothing.

You cry, as his face fully presses into your cunt. It’s right as he finishes himself off, his cum painting the mattress and covering your ankles.

Clark rises back up, and for a second you just stare at each other.

“Didn’t mean to do that.” He rasps, and your lips twitch.

“I liked it.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Of course you did.”

Clark falls back over you, kissing you deep and slow. You call tell that the clear-headed affect of the orgasm is lasting for a shorter and shorter time.

And Clark choses to use it, just to kiss you.

He tests the head of his cock up and down your pussy, making sure to push it against your clit before going back down, and starting to slide slowly in. There’s almost no resistance, and he hums against your lips.

“Goin’ slow.” He mumbles. “While I can.”

You nod. It’s all you can manage.

He feels just as big—if not bigger—than he looked. Never has a cock stretched you so greatly, and so well. The fullness is incomparable, and you’d be worried you couldn’t take it if your pussy wasn’t greedily swallowing him whole.

“That’s it.” Clark groans, pushing in every inch so torturously and amazingly slow. Forcing you to feel every single inch. “There’s you go, just- Just take it- Fuuuck-“

He moans your name, and you kiss him. You want to feel everything he has, vibrating through your chest. Straight into your cunt.

Clark bottoms out, hiding his face in your neck. You blink up at the ceiling, trying to push off more tears. It’s good, unbelievably good, and your body doesn’t know what to do with it.

“Tight.” Clark mumbles against you, and you laugh breathily.

“Big.”

He looks up at you, and for a second, you only see Clark. Your best friend, looking out of you, always kinder than he needs to be.

“’m serious.” He says, low and rough. Like a secret. “When I call you pretty. When I- When I say I want you-“

You kiss him, and Clark melts into you in a second. You can’t stop your smile.

“I know.” You breathe, and he nods.

“Love you.” He pushes in almost an inch deeper, like the words spur him on. “So much.”

You blink, and his eyes widen.

“That’s- Um- I don’t think I meant to- You feel really good and my brain is soupy-“

Kissing to shut him up will only work so many times. You cover his mouth with your hand, every inch of you feeling alive. From his words, his body, every single inch of this glorious man that’s somehow, all yours.

“My brain is soupy too.” You whisper, clenching purposefully around his cock.

Clark grunts, rutting forward. You giggle, and he gives you a dangerous look.

“Very soupy. But,” You beam. “I love you too. And I’m very serious.”

Clark pauses. Smiles into your hand, eyes shining in the dark. You feel a little like your floating. You’d like to be rocketed right up to heaven.

“Make me dumb.” You breathe, and Clark’s shoulders square.

Your hand is knocked away in a second. His mouth attacks yours, and the moment he starts to move, an orgasm is ripped from your very core.

You scream, locking up and clenching around him. Clark moans against your lips, grabbing your knees and pushing them up to your chest. It’s a deep angle, and you can feel every inch of him, sliding in and out of your cunt. His balls slap near your ass, and his mouth hangs open as he stares down at him.

He’s fully gone to the red kryptonites effects. There’s no question, as he bends you in half and starts to fuck you like a doll. But he still doesn’t let his strength slip. You feel completely safe in his hands.

Safe and attended to.

You’ve never fucked a man who makes sure to hit your g-spot so much, and Clark’s barely even lucid right now. But he drills down into it, moaning your name and making those sinful, beautiful sounds.

It’s too much for your poor pussy. Two is a lot of orgasms. Three is your—usual—max, and that’s usually with time between. But Clark isn’t letting up. And you’re getting close again.

“Cla- Clark-“ You whine out, and he fucking growls. “Clark, I’m gonna-“

He makes a deep noise of understanding, and starts to fuck you harder. You cry out, grabbing uselessly at the sheets as the next release gushes from your pussy, flying up your spine like ecstasy.

Clark finds his own release there. With you clenching tight around him, writhing with overwhelmed pleasure and moaning his name like a hymn as you come. He throws his head back and starts to fuck like an animal, roaring your name.

He grabs your jaw, demanding your eyes on his. His thumb presses on your lower lip.

Cockdrunk and empty headed, you open your mouth and start to suck.

It feels even better than you’d thought. At first it’s nothing, just painting your walls and sticking so deep inside you, you think it knocks you into another, tiny orgasm. Then it’s more, spurting out of your pussy as he keeps fucking into you. An obscene fountain, staining your ass and thighs.

Then it’s too much. You’re not sure you can breathe, but the lights dancing on the edge of your vision only add to the euphoria.

Now, it’s everything. You’re full. So full. You never want to be empty again.

And you don’t think Clark would allow that anyway.

Because he’s still fully hard inside of you. And with how he’s staring at you, you don’t think there’s a space of sound mind anymore.

Clark just stares at you, still mindlessly sucking on his thumb and growls.

You giggle as he grabs your hips and flips you onto your stomach. Drags your ass back up into the air and pushes himself back in with a thick moan.

There’s a chance that his cum is transferring some of the sexual stamina onto you. It’s the only possible way you can last this long. Clark fucks into you from behind, kissing up and down your spine as his balls slap against your clit. Your fourth orgasm hits you, and you think you see he stars.

Clark cums again. You don’t know how there’s still possibly space for it, but nature finds a way.

You giggle into the sheets. Clark kisses your shoulder, rutting deeper and deeper into your abused pussy.

He might take your laughter as a challenge. Suddenly you’re being flipped over, and Clark’s impaling you on his dick once more, forcing you to slide down and feel every inch.

It’s a good thing you get giggly when you have good sex.

If he sees it as a challenge, you’re ready to lose, over and over and over again.

On Sunday, Clark fucks you through the afternoon and into the night.

There isn’t a spot in the apartment that doesn’t feel the aftermath. After making you ride him, he clambered over you and held you to his chest, fucking you with just your knees on the bed. After that you ended up on your back, then riding him again, then somehow on the floor. Against the wall. In the doorway, your face pressed against the window, Clark flying and holding you in his lap. By the time the sun was over your head, you were a wordless, dumb mess. Clark had you in a headlock and you were smiling like an idiot, taking his cock over and over again until you think you reshaped each other.

Now, standing in the shower to wash off the everything, you think if you reached down and touched yourself, you’d find Clark completely rearranged your guts to his shape. When you’d looked at him during the soft, quiet cleanup, his cock had certainly looked like you’d molded him to only fit in you.

It’s an oddly romantic thought.

There are lots of those to go around.

Clark’s waiting for you in the living room. He’s been trying to clean, but you don’t think there’s a point.

“I told you I’m going to have to move,” you joke, and he sighs.

“Well, I- I really tried, but-“ He wrinkles his nose. “I think it got in things. When I- Yeah.” He groans. “I can see it.”

“See it-“

“X-ray vision.”

“Oh.” That fun revelation had gotten lost in everything else. It’s going to take some getting used to.

Clark bows his head, almost in shame.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you,” he mutters.

You shake your head. “It fine-“

“I wanted to-“

“Clark.” You place a hand on his chest, smiling softly. “It’s okay. Really.”

He blinks at you, then relaxes.

“Really?” He asks anyway, and you nod.

“Really.” You nod to the floor. “I can even start apartment hunting right now.”

Clark laughs at that, and you beam.

It’s the same. Even after I love yous and the sex marathon, it’s still just Clark. And you’re more lucky to have that, than anything else.

“You could move in with me.” He suggests quiet and nervous, and your eyes widen.

“I-“

“If it’s too fast, you don’t have to, I- Geez, I haven’t even taken you out on a date yet, never mind-“

“Clark.” You raise your voice, forcing him to quiet down. “I was thinking the same thing earlier.”

He starts slightly. His lips twitch. “You were?”

You nod, and he grins like you handed him the sun.

“It’s not- Maybe too fast-“

“Maybe.” You shrug. “But I- I’ve loved you for years.” You look down to your fingers. “And we kind of lived together before. For work. And you’re my friend, first, so if you think it’s fine-“

Clark pulls your own trick. He grabs your face, and shuts you up with a deep, long kiss. You smile, rising up to meet him, and it’s barely been a day, but it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m gonna do it right, though.” Clark says against your lips. “Take you out. Woo you.”

You laugh. “Bring it on.”

✦End note: sex pollen fics are so fun i feel like im getting a secondary high✦

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It was no surprised Steve wanted kids – I mean, his six little nugget confession had become a running joke in the group – but as you two got older, things started to speed up and after all the responsibilities as adults came, kids got pushed to the back burner.

It was a surprise when Max and Lucas announced her pregnancy two years after they graduated. They were so young but they were happy and when they had their daughter, Eleanor, everyone fell in love with her. Steve especially.

Today was Lucas’ first father’s day and the group made the plan to spend the day together to celebrate him and his newfound fatherhood. Steve was practically glued to baby Eleanor – he begged Max to help him feed her, burp her and soothe her to sleep. He looked so perfectly content the entire day.

And the minute you two left? He pounced.

It’s well into the evening now – hours have passed since you arrived home and not once have you made it off the bed.

Steve is laying over you, chest to chest, with your legs spread wide for him to settle between. His cock is buried so deep inside you, kissing your cervix with every deep thrust.

You’re a mindless mess underneath him. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, holding him like a lifeline. Your hair is a knotted mess against your pillow, eyes droopy and hooded from borderline exhaustion.

“Fuck you feel s’good, baby,” Steve moans into your ear. His skin feels slippery from the light layer of sweat glistening from it. His hair is wild and damp, undoubtedly tender from the way you’ve tugged on it all night.

You’ve given up on trying to respond verbally and instead let your body do the talking.

Your nails dig into the back of his neck, legs closing and ankles locking around his waist – pulling him deeper into you.

“Shitt,” He whines. His thrusts pick up in speed and he lifts his head from the crook of your neck to look at you. “‘M gonna fill this pretty pussy, yeah?” He breathes.

You nod before you can even fully comprehend him. Right now, you’d give him whatever he asks for.

He smiles down at you. “You’d look so pretty pregnant with my baby. So full of me all the time, everyone would know,”

Your pussy spasms around his cock as he speaks and his hips stutter at the sensation. Your thighs quiver around his waist but you beg for more.

“I would – I would!” You cry out, breath shuddering when the tip of his cock hits that perfect spongey spot inside you

“I know you would, honey,” Steve grunts, thrusting harder as his orgasm approaches. “Can’t wait for it to happen. Can’t wait for you to make me a dad – you’d be such a good mom, baby,”

Every time he opens his mouth, It was obvious his day cosplaying dad got to him.

He’s whining almost incoherently at this point, his cock twitching inside you with every thrust. The room is surrounded with the unmistakable smell of sex and the sound of his skin smacking against yours.

You lift your head to look down at where he connects with you. There’s a white creamy ring around the base of his cock, growing more and more wet the more he thrusts inside you, and your pussy practically drools around him.

You’re both so close it almost hurts.

You look back up at him – A curl hangs over his forehead, his skin flushed and rosy. His lips are parted, soft groans and whines slipping past. His face is twisted in overwhelming pleasure but he does his best to keep his eyes on you.

He’s so fucking beautiful.

“Do it Steve,” You whine, back arching into him. “Make me a mommy, make me yours.”

Almost instantly, your words push him over the edge. His eyes squeeze shut and he pushes himself deep to a hilt inside you – you can feel his cock pulse as warm ropes of cum shoot inside you.

It’s enough to kickstart your own orgasm. Stars cloud your vision and for a few seconds, all sound washes away and all that’s left is Steve. His body, his warmth, his smell, just him.

Steve slams his mouth against yours, swallowing every cry and whine you give him as you ride out your high. Your thighs convulse so hard around him, he uses both palms to squeeze them in place.

You both lay wrapped in each others arms for a few moments as your breathing returns to normal. Steve moves first, gently lifting himself off you and slowly pulling out.

You whimper from the sting of the loss of him and he gently shushes you, planting kisses across the expanse of your ribs and stomach. He kisses a trail down your sternum until he reaches the inside of your thighs.

His warm mouth kisses, sucks, bites along the skin of your thighs – leaving marks in his wake until he’s in eye-line with your pussy. He watches the way his cum begins to leak out of you but before it can slip onto the bed, his hand raises and he scoops his spent in his fingers. Without warning, he slowly begins to fuck his cum back inside you.

You mewl at the intrusion – overstimulation already holding onto you but he doesn’t stop.