#didn't proofread

Clark Kent still won’t quite give in. 

(No matter how many times you bat your eyelashes.)

He still maintains the fact that he never should’ve fucked you in the first place. 

“It was a lapse in judgment, and I’d had a little to drink.” He’ll say. “Wasn’t thinking straight,” he’ll say. “I took advantage of you. You’re too young for me. You’re beautiful, honey, what do you even see in an old man like me?” He’ll say. 

Doesn’t matter that he’s a grown man and one beer is like a Sprite to someone his size. Doesn’t matter that you yourself were a legal, willing adult. None of it matters to Clark when he truly believes that he has your best interests at heart. 

But ultimately, joke’s on him. Because like they say about a gateway drug, one hit and he’s got you hooked. 

And he’s nothing if not your dealer, enabler: letting you in when you knock, giving you a stool to perch on while he fixes his beat-up old truck.. Paying when the two of you order in, (he won’t take you out for fear of your reputation.) giving you a well-worn flannel when you get cold. 

Clark’s not exactly above blame, here, either. 

After a certain point, some would call that a relationship. Yet your boyfriend, Clark, decidedly won’t. 

And that’s not the only thing he won’t do. 

He won’t let himself kiss you back for too long, won’t let you touch below the belt on his jeans. Won’t fuck you, but he’ll happily tease you. 

Distractedly, obliviously, until he’s looking at the scene before him, ashamed, unable to hide the hard-on pressing against rough denim underneath you. 

The History Channel’s on, yet you’re unable to give the documentary playing quite the attention it deserves. Why?

Because for the past twenty minutes, Clark’s been playing with your clit like he just needed something to do with his hands. 

See, your boyfriend’s weird about history. He’s super into it, so at first, you thought he’d be some sort of armchair expert. But there’s huge swaths of human history like pre-1930 that he just knows nothing about. 

“Over the centuries, many conspiracy theories have come out about the Titanic. One of the most popular all ties back to insurance fraud. The RMS Olympic, another ship owned by the White Star Line,” the narrator drones, voicing over a B-roll of grainy black and white pictures. 

Your lips are shut tight as the blunt tip of Clark’s finger dips inside of you, your eyelashes fluttering over the tops of your cheeks as pleasure rolls over you in a wave. He’s been at this so long, he could probably look at you sideways and you’d come. His thumb swipes over your clit again, lazily, like he still doesn’t realize what he’s doing, and a whimper escapes from behind your teeth.

“Y’okay?” He mutters, his eyes still never leaving the TV. You’re about to grab his wrist, the situation just feeling more and more ridiculous by the second. But you didn’t fight it as he slipped his hands past the waistband of your shorts, your underwear, and you’re not going to fight it now. 

And you know, clear as day, if either of you acknowledges it, he’ll stop. And you’d do anything to guarantee that he doesn’t. 

“Yes, Clark.” You reply, thighs trembling as he adds another finger inside of you, curling them in tandem just like he’s interested in the new sensory experience. 

“Had no idea people could be conspiracy theorists ‘bout something like a boat. Seems a bit silly, don’t it?” He drawls, and your eyes go upward, pleading with whatever deity that’s above to give you strength. 

“P-people are,” you start, sighing as he rubs your clit with purpose now, almost like he’s giving you a reward for your nonchalance. “Conspiracy theorists about, just about, everything.” 

You’re pretty proud of yourself for getting that full sentence out. It feels like your boyfriend is too, with the way he pushes his fingers all the way inside of you. The heel of his palm bumps against that agitated bundle of nerves, creating a friction as he fucks his fingers into you. 

The sweetest torture: the tensing of your muscles as you writhe against the worn leather of his couch, your hand slapped firmly over your own mouth, and the only sign of his possible awareness to the situation being a slight tinge of red across his cheekbones. 

“Oh, shit,” you cry, toes curling. Your stupid, stupid boyfriend. “Fuck, Clark!” 

It’s then, then, that he’s startled from a daze, tearing his eyes away from the picture of J.P. Morgan on his television screen to look at you. 

And what a mess you are: your eyes rolling back into your head, hair mussed, body shaking as you wet the thin skin of his wrist with your arousal. 

For once, he lets you ride it out, muttering sweet nothings (mainly to himself, since you’re too far gone to properly hear anything) as you clench around his fingers. 

It’s impossible to ignore the erection he’s sporting, his thighs widening to give himself more space as you look him over. It’s a hard goodbye, his fingers leaving your fluttering hole, but it’s bittersweet: Clark brings his hand up to his lips and sucks like he’s starving. 

“You’re a jerk.” You snarl, cranky due to the fact that he’s more or less unbothered and you look so desperate for it. 

His hand grabs your face, rough, fingers still wet against your cheek as he pulls you closer. 

“A brat won’t tame herself.” He replies, breath fanning over your lips, his just out of reach. 

Fingers confident in their strength easily pull up on the chain of your cuffs, forcing your arms back over your head and pressing your chest to the ground; even the strain on your shoulders and the cold touch of the stone floor doesn’t stop your nipples from perking up, heat pooling between your legs.

Knees press into the bends of you own, spreading your thighs and pinning you in place. A free hand falls to our ass, squeezing and massaging the soft, cushy flesh. The gentle touch is tainted at the edges by the press of claws in your skin

Honey, thick and sticky, slides down your crack and his finger follows the trail. His digits dip between your legs and return coated in a mix of honey and your arousal.

“S-sivaan...” you find yourself whimpering pitifully. His name is a forbidden taste on your tongue but you can’t help whispering the deathly sweet word.

His hand falls to your hips, raising them to solidify your place; bent and arched, displayed like a bitch in heat for his gratification. You can’t see him, but you feel the soft touch of his long hair resting upon your back as he leans over you. The tip of his cock soon follows, nudging lightly against your entrance.

When he speaks, his voice almost growls past your sense of human hearing to be felt right in your mind.

“Hold still, prey.”

A shot of excitement pierces through you at the way he says that word; you can’t help but raise your hips towards his, teasing the head of his penis in hopes he’ll give it to you sooner than later.

And work, it seem to. Because next thing, he chuckles and the hand that had been holding your arms in awkward position releases you, only to grasp the nape of your neck and push your face into the floor.

You can’t mind, though, because immediately, he cants his hips forward, driving his member past your barrier.

A moan is drawn out of you and your walls squeeze around him  — an action that makes him grunt — as he feeds you inch after inch of his hot, thick, none too holy cock. His bushy wolf tail swishes over the backs of your legs in low display of satisfaction.

He continues to press in until his hips meet yours and you feel it; that swelling at the base of his cock. The knot that’ll soon seek to anchor you to His Divinity and fill you with the blessing of his seed.

He halts there, just enough to tilt his head back and hum low in his throat a sound that, you believe, resembles a purr.

“Mm...” His hand releases your nape, ghosting down your spine — which elicits a shiver from you — to rest upon your hips. With a steady grip, he prepares you and him for what’s next, for him to rut against you and breed you as his own.

“Are you ready, my suppliant lamb?” he growls.

‘Seriously?’ you yell-whispered. You still didn’t want to break the gentle stillness of the morning.

A lazy frame spilled across your half of the bed.

‘I was gone five minutes!’ you continued to complain.

Minseok stretched, yawned, and groaned, scratching his chest as he unwillingly woke up. His hair stood at weird angles, and the pillows had left ridges down the side of his face.He peered at you in confusion.

You set the coffee aside and reached to smooth out his hair, now more amused than anything.

At your touch, Minseok moved over as best he could before being ensnared in the tangled mess of sheets. He humphed grumpily, begrudgingly patting the spot beside him.

You should have suspected, but you didn’t. You innocently climbed up and settled in next to Minseok. You turned to reach for your coffee on the bedside table, but you were suddenly impeded.

Like a cat waiting for someone to walk by, Minseok sprang his trap. His arms wrapped around your middle, holding you in place. He sighed, proud of himself, and settled down with his head resting on your abdomen.

You could only laugh in stupefied response, still trying to get to your coffee.

‘No,’ he said firmly. His bottom lip stuck out in an adorable pout.

‘Coffee,’ you whined in return.

‘You left,’ he said.

‘What?’

‘You left cuddling with me...for coffee?’ His words were strung together in a sleepy slur, but the playful disappointment was still evident.

‘A girl has her needs,’ you said.

Minseok groaned again as he pushed himself up to sitting straight.

You took advantage of your opportunity and snatched your mug off the table. You held it in front of you with both hands, a protective barrier between you and your suddenly clingy boyfriend.

Minseok turned to halfway face you, dipping in low with his nose near the rim of the cup. The look in his eyes gave you all the instruction you needed.

‘Taste?’ you said. You tipped it towards him.

One eyebrow rose as he met your gaze. Only, he didn’t break the contact, the intensity between you heating as he took the first sip.

If only your hands didn’t shake holding the mug.

Minseok pulled up and swallowed. Somehow, even in his disheveled state, he smoldered. He took the coffee from you and firmly set it back on the table. He turned back to you slowly, a half-grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

‘A word of advice,’ he said. He leaned in closer and paused an inch away from your face.

‘Hmm?’ You smiled at him, your heart full of him and his ridiculousness.

‘If you’re going to bring coffee to bed, bring two next time.’

A few minutes later Kat was stepping out of her apartments elevator, stumbling into the nearby wall, tripping over her own feet as she struggled to find her keys in her bag. She wasn’t sure how long she was standing outside of her apartment talking to herself as she tried to find her keys, but eventually the door opened by itself revealing Adena on the other side, her arms crossed, dressed in her pajamas, and not smiling back at Kat’s drunken grin. “Hi baby,” Kat beamed sweetly.  She stretched her arms out to hug Adena who turned around and started walking back to their bedroom.

“I’m sorry!” Kat whined loudly. “I didn’t know it was so late. I lost track of time!”

“Please, throw another cliche at me,” Adena finally stopped walking and turned around rolling her eyes at Kat, who was still trying to get by with a pout and puppy dog eyes.  “Seriously, Kat.  I have been away for weeks, you have been working all week.  You promised tonight would be just for us.” Kat continued her pout as she approached Adena, stumbling a little bit and laughed a little bit at her clumsiness hoping Adena might laugh...she didn’t.

“I know, I messed up,” Kat put her hands up in defense, continuing her slow walk to Adena.  “I really did lose track of time.” Adena continue her glare and Kat knew she would have to try hard. “Jane and Sutton made me.”

“You use Jane and Sutton as your excuse too often,” Adena crossed her arms again and leaned against their bedroom door frame.  

Kat snapped her fingers jokingly, “Worth a shot though right?” Kat smiled and took another step towards Adena and could see Adena’s frostiness melt a little bit more.  

“Don’t even think about it,” Adena held her hand in front of her stopping Kat from touching her.  But Kat grabbed her hand and cupped it her own, quickly pulling it up to her lips and giving her fingers a kiss.  Kat watched Adena melt even more.

“You’re not going to be mad at me forever, are you?” Kat looked up innocently from Adena’s hand.

“No,” Adena grumbled and Kat took a step closer, putting her arm on Adena’s waist.  

“I’m sorry I had too many shots tonight,” Kat whispered and leaned in to nuzzle into Adena’s neck.  Adena still trying to not give in.  Kat began to kiss Adena’s neck, making her way up to Adena’s ear. “I promise I can make it up to you,” Kat whispered.

“You’re not too exhausted?” Adena asked, remaining steadfast and not moving, but having to close her eyes when Kat began to nibble on her earlobe.

“Never too exhausted or too drunk for you,” Kat whispered and went back to kissing Adena’s neck.  

Adena finally lost all of her resolve and pulled Kat to her lips pulling her into a passionate kiss.  Kat began to walk them backwards into the bedroom, her legs still feeling a little bit like jello and having to break the kiss when she tripped over a shoe on the floor.  “Shit sorry,” Kat’s apology was cut short by Adena crashing their lips together again.  Kat continued another few steps forward until Adena’s legs hit the bed, quickly falling on top of Adena.  Adena scooted back to the top of the bed, Kat quickly crawling with her.  

Kat sat up to take her top off, but forgot about the buttons on her blouse and getting her shirt caught on her head.  She finally heard a laugh from Adena’s lips for the first time that night, as Adena helped her get her shirt off.  “Not too drunk, huh?” Adena quipped once Kat finally got her shirt off.  

“Maybe a little drunk still,” Kat shrugged a little bit.  “But I’m good, let’s keep this party going.” Kat leaned down to go back to kissing Adena, but just as she started to kiss Adena’s neck and moans began to escape Adena’s mouth Kat pulled away again. “Sorry...real quick I have to pee!”

Adena groaned loudly, slamming her head against the pillow while Kat jumped up in her bra and jeans and ran to the bathroom.  After several minutes longer than Adena was happy with waiting she got up from the bed and headed to the bathroom to see what the hold up was.  The door was closed, but she could distinctly hear the sound of Kat gagging. “Kat? You okay?” Adena pushed the door open a little bit and found Kat huddled over the bathroom.

“I had too many shots,” Kat whimpered.

Adena rolled her eyes, but was mad for about 10 seconds and quickly went to go sit with Kat and hold her hair back.  “You owe me,” Adena sighed.

“It was Jane and Sutton,” Kat mumbled before leaning into the toilet again.