sunny

his other hand settles low at your waist, fingers resting just above the dip of your back. he draws you in without force, just a steady pull, soft and sure. he likes to keep you close enough to feel your heart beat against his.

he likes to hold you with one hand, cupping the side of your neck, fingers splayed across the back of it, gentle touch at the nape, his thumb caressing your jaw lovingly. his other hand rests at your waist, nearing the small of your lower back so he can pull you close and closer if he wants.

and then his lips, gosh, those soft, full, plush lips, moulding with yours. he tilts his head just a little to kiss you, those curls shifting with his movements.

clark only pulls away to look at you, it’s like he can’t help himself. his gaze lingers on your lips before it climbs back to your eyes, all soft and starry. he leans in again just enough for his nose to brush against yours. it’s a small, playful nudge. he does it again, just to see your smile start to pull at the corners of your mouth. you try to stay still, to meet his gaze with mock sternness, but it’s useless. he always gets it out of you—that shy, quiet laugh, the one that bubbles up before you even realize it.

you shake your head, barely, and murmur something like “you’re ridiculous,” but your hands are already reaching for him, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt like they’ve done this a thousand times.

you tug, gently but with purpose, pulling him in, and he follows your touch like gravity. his body leans into yours again, his hand at your waist tightening, fingers pressing into the dip of your back until there’s no space left between you.

he exhales through his nose just before your mouths meet again, a sigh caught halfway between a laugh and a moan, like he’s been holding his breath waiting for this.

when his lips find yours again, it’s slower this time. deeper. needier. his mouth parts beneath yours enough to invite you closer; an open door you’re already halfway through.

he sighs into your lips, letting his breath mix with yours, letting his hand at your waist tug you even closer if that's possible. his lips part open just enough to invite you in and deepen the kiss, which you do without hesitation, of course.

your tongue presses past the soft seam of his lips, slipping through the smallest space between his teeth. he squirms.

just the slightest shift of his shoulders, a barely-there gasp caught in his throat, like he wasn’t ready for it, even though you do this every time. you always find his tongue with yours in that same way. and he always acts like it’s brand new, like it takes him by surprise.

you huff out a laugh against his mouth, and his fingers twitch at your waist in response. he pretends he’s not just as flustered as you are.

you press your tongue between the gap of his teeth, huffing out a laugh when he squrims, every single time, the moment your tongue finds his between the press of your lips.

clark doesn’t just kiss with his mouth, by the way. he kisses with his entire body. he loves to press into you with every inch of himself: with the curve of his shoulders as they dip into yours, the line of his chest as it meets the rise of your own, his hands, his breath, the subtle tremble that runs down the length of his spine

he presses into you like he’s trying to become something smaller, something moldable, something soft enough to be held, and not feared. every inch of him seems to lean forward, like he’s being drawn to you without choice, like your touch rewrites gravity, like he wants to crawl into your chest and make a home in between your ribs, beside your beating heart.

he makes these quiet, barely-there sounds as he kisses you—little hums low in the back of his throat, hushed and breathy and almost shy, like they’re slipping out against his will. they’re the kinds of sounds that feel secret, just for you, tender things that fall apart in the space between your mouths.

and he likes to talk sometimes, actually, he really likes to talk, especially when he’s kissing you. not before. not after. no, right in the middle of it. lips still lazily slotted against yours, breath catching in that soft space between moan and mumble, words tumbling out all muffled into your mouth like his brain can’t help but share whatever’s swirling in it, even if it’s completely useless.

and half the time, it is.

you’ll be midway to melting into him, half a second from sighing his name into his mouth, hands moving to run through his hair, and there he goes—muttering about laundry or whispering a quick “can y’remind me to call ma back later?” in the same breath he’s using to kiss your bottom lip.

sometimes, it’s sweet. so sweet you want to cry a little—the way he’ll suddenly whisper a soft, breathless “you’re so beautiful,” right into your mouth. other times, you’re trying to decipher something about how he finally remembered to pick up that weird milk you like with your coffee after work, the one he’s forgotten to grab three days in a row. you try not to laugh into the kiss, but you do, every single time.

but god forbid you ever try to say something mid-kiss.

maybe it’s something stupid, like a joke you forgot to tell him earlier or something silly jimmy and lois got into at work today. maybe you just want to say “i missed you,” or remind him that the oven’s still on—but he doesn’t care. not in that moment.

he’ll nod, pretend to listen, let out these soft hums of encouragement like he’s totally invested. “mhm,” he’ll say, eyes fixed on your lips, watching the way they move. catching every flick of your tongue. every flash of your teeth.

he tries. he really does. but his patience is paper-thin, and the moment you pause to breathe, he’s already leaning in again.

“baby,” he’ll whisper, voice low and warm and soaked in affection, “can we talk later?”

his hand comes up to your cheek again, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, gaze drifting from your eyes back to your lips and then back again.

and listen, he does that thing where he looks right into you. eyes soft and pleading, blue as a spring sky just before rain, his lashes heavy, his smile barely there. it’s not fair.