#no return

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The two of you were lounging in the living room in pajamas. You had your legs up, and Clark was still wearing his glasses. His big, strong hands were dwarfing your feet as he massaged them. His thumbs traced the raised hearts of your textured socks and pressed gently into your arches.

The news was on in the background, and an interview came on with Lex Luthor. At the sound of his voice, Clark pushed his lips up as his grip on your foot strengthened.

You pressed your lips together to suppress a smile. 

“Enjoying the interview?” he asked, looking up from behind his glasses with a stray curl on his forehead. 

“I'm not even listening,” you smiled. 

“Yeah,” Clark said with skepticism, then ranted to himself, “He's so full of it. Don't even get me started on Luthor Corps' new technology. Good grief.”

“Have you told him how you feel?” You asked.

Clark scoffed. “You think he gives a hoot how I feel? Gah, he’s everywhere. He has a whole newspaper in his pocket and still goes on these stupid shows.” 

Clark’s nostrils flared as he focused on your feet for a moment. Then he said, “We still haven't talked about that thing.”

“What thing?” you asked with a coy glint in your eye. 

Clark let out an exasperated sigh. “Don't be like this.”

He was talking about Lex Luthor trying to blackmail the two of you into sex. Lex was threatening to run a front page story on SUPERCEST, with a picture of Supergirl groping Superman in public.

He knew it wasn't even your fault that time. He was the one who'd physically taken your hand and put it on his crotch. He was the one so out of control with desire ever since he finally fucked you. 

You were smug about it, too: Finally, the choir boy had messed up. You felt like an angel, for once.

“Okay, I'll bite. How'd you get him to drop the story?” You asked.

Clark paused, scratched his cheek, then looked down at your feet and muttered, “I didn't.” 

“You what??” You asked. 

“I didn't,” he admitted, looking you in the face that time. Then, he got defensive: “You were right there! I said let him run it.”

And then he’d stormed out of Luthor’s office, taking you with him. But you’d heard Clark on the phone that night, reasoning with Lex, telling him to wait until after Christmas, at least. If Lex wanted his new paper to be family friendly, SUPERCEST couldn't be one of his first stories.

“But he didn't run it,” you said. 

“He didn’t run it *yet*,” Clark clarified.  “He's gonna run it Saturday. No one reads the weekend edition anyway.”

“Then we've still got time!” You sat up straight. 

“No,” Clark shook his head.

“We have to stop this,” you insisted. 

Clark glanced at the TV, did a double take, and your gaze followed his eyes as they narrowed on the chyron: “LUTHOR TEASES WEEKEND NEWS DROP.”

You grabbed the remote control and turned up the volume.

The news anchor said, “This has got to be some pretty big news in the world of superheros…. I mean, earth shattering. Am I right?”

“Oh, it's gonna knock your socks off,” Lex confirmed. He took a sip of water from his mug, then looked directly at the camera and said, “you know, unless someone knocks mine off first.” 

Your mouth fell open with a scoff, and your eyes betrayed you with the way they lit up. 

“There's still time,” You repeated and pulled your feet back, ready to spring into action.

Clark held both your ankles in the firm grip of one massive hand. 

You picked up your phone, and your thumbs raced across the keyboard in a blur. 

“You're not texting him,” Clark glared, close to losing his patience. A vein was surfacing on his neck. 

“I'm texting Lena,” you muttered, furiously typing. 

“Texting Lena.” Clark scoffed. “Is she coordinating her brother's blackmail now? If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were enjoying this,” he accused you.

“You really want it in the paper?” You challenged. “You're not worried about Superman's image?"

“Oh, don't even try that." Clark pulled you toward him by your ankles, then snatched your phone and pointed an indignant finger in your face. "Don't you go there with me." He tossed your phone into the nearby armchair. 

You retorted, “If I didn't know any better, I'd think you want the world to know.”

“Oh, please.”

“All we had to do was let him watch, but you'd rather the whole world find out than do it in front of Lex ONE time? Stop being such a baby.”

“We're not doing this.” Clark pinned you to the sofa, eyes searing, nearly glowing behind his glasses. 

“Don't make me overpower you,” you complained, “It's such a turn-off.” 

“Maybe you need one,” Clark snapped. 

He shoved a hand down into your soft pants. His wide hand forced your thighs apart as his fingers slid wetly between your legs. 

“Oh, come on!” he shouted. “For LEX???”

“What? Not for Lex!” You objected, cheeks heating.  

“Bull-oney,” Clark snapped, then pushed his middle finger into you. “You wanna do it in front of him. It turns you on.” 

“No, I just think–I think we should handle it.” 

“Uh-huh,” Clark nodded, adding his ring finger. 

“It’s not about me—gross!--You could just let him suck your cock,” you suggested. 

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?” Clark asked, curling his fingers with contempt. “You heard him: he wants us *both*... bet you've got all kinds of scenes in that sick little head of yours.”

“You wanna see it in the paper so bad,” you said. “I bet you jerk off about it.” 

“Ohhh my gosh,” Clark muttered under his breath as he withdrew his fingers. “Un…believable.” He tugged at your waistband, and with your help, your pants were on the floor in a flash.

Your pussy throbbed at the sight of the massive protrusion in his soft pants. The veins on the backs of his hands swelled as he held his drawstring.

“Admit it, that's what you want,” you taunted him. “For everyone to know I'm yours.” 

There he was: Angry Clark, still in his glasses, muscles bursting out of a tight, white tee as his chest heaved. Finally, he shoved his waistband down. 

You spread your legs around him and used your socked feet to help push the pants down over his butt. 

Clark nodded toward the television. “You like this? Feel like he's watching right now?” 

“It's not about HIM, oh my God, you're so childish.” 

"I'm childish?" Clark repeated. “Ohhh, wow.” He paused with his big, veiny cock in his big, veiny hand.

“You sure you wanna do this? You could fuck his throat instead," you offered.

Clark ignored the comment and sucked in a chest full of air as he considered what he was about to do. He was about to ruin a decent streak of not fucking you. He was about to throw away all the self control he'd rebuilt after detoxing from the delirium of soaking his dick in your cunt.

Each time he weaned himself off you, he tried to remember just how tortuous it was…how his balls ached. 

His eyes darkened. He was done for. 

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling his hips closer, making the leaking head of his cock bob against your dripping heat. 

He shoved his length into you, punching a moan from your depths as his eyes rolled back and his face tilted toward the ceiling. His neck vein throbbed and his Adam's apple jutted into the air with a slow groan of relief. 

"Bet you'd like this on the front page," you taunted, "X-rated edition."

"Good Gosh," Clark breathed. 

He pulled his hips back, then let his weight carry him forward again, slamming into you with a scowl.

His face relaxed as he began to thrust into you at a steady pace. 

After pounding you in silence for a minute, he began to tense again, then groaned in frustration. "He's never gonna leave us alone,” Clark complained. 

“There might be one other option,” you said. 

Clark slowed his pace, slid his thick manhood fully in, and asked, “What option?” 

“Deny, deny, deny,” you answered. “Say it’s a deepfake.” 

“So…. lie?” Clark asked, grinding his hips deeper. It was against his code, but his code was suffering lately. 

“For a good cause,” you confirmed. “To protect Superman’s image…which stands for hope…” 

“Ugh,” Clark gritted his teeth, and you admired his muscular neck as he looked above you, deep in thought, hips moving again.

You peeled off your shirt and watched his curls fall as he hung his head and admired the way your body took him. “Of course, in that case we’d have to stop,” you pointed out. 

“STOP?” Clark asked. He squinted with a slow thrust, then tried to control the volume of his voice as he asked, “Stop what?” 

“Stop this,” you gestured between your bodies. “Stop… fucking your cousin.”

“You think I can STOP?” he shouted with a sharp thrust.

“Yeah,” you answered, then wrapped your legs around his massive trunk. “But I don’t want you to.” 

Clark sighed, then pummeled you with heavy breaths and grunts.

He didn't need to come in you, he thought to himself. 

He didn't need to. 

He didn't need to.

As he approached climax, he said, “Don’t let me.”

“I won’t,” you assured him, “I won’t let–ahh,” you cut yourself off with a moan. 

“Don’t let me cum in you,” he begged. 

“I won’t–won’t let you cum in me,” you panted, words broken by the force of his thrusts. 

“Come on my tits,” you offered. 

The struggle was evident on his face, and in the tension of his neck.  

“It’s for your own good,” you reminded him in a soothing voice.

If Clark came inside you, his body would shift into hyperdrive semen production–even more than usual. His balls would be aching around the clock to be emptied. You’d never get a break. 

He pulled his hips back, but couldn’t  bring himself to pull out. He looked down, curls bouncing with shallow thrusts, desperation plastering his face.

“I ca–I dunno if I–Ugh,” his face strained with the mental effort of this nearly impossible task. 

“God damnit, Clark,” you pushed your palms into his chest and shoved him off, making him fly backwards as your pussy clenched and your spine arched. 

The force of your push would have set a normal man crashing through the wall, but he counteracted the momentum and paused, suspended in the air, admiring your pretty face all screwed up as you writhed below him. 

“Fuck,” you breathed, “Ughhh.” 

Clark floated forward and pumped himself furiously, biting his lip. Then, he pointed his cock at your tits and erupted. It felt like a hot supersoaker on  your chest. It kept coming, and coming, glazing your breasts. You could practically feel it–your walls fluttered, wanting it inside so bad, you could have cried. The pressure was hot behind your eyes.

“Jesus Christ,” you breathed, looking down at your shiny skin as the last of his seed dribbled onto you. 

Clark looked over your face and chest as he caught his breath, then asked, “you okay?” 

“I… I dunno,” you admitted. 

Clark squinted in concern, then lowered himself onto you, and rested his cheek on your sticky breast.

“You’re getting it all over yourself.” 

“I don’t care,” he whispered. He wiped his face all over the mess, then began to kiss your breasts. For the moment, you’d forgotten about Lex and his stupid newspaper. 

You swallowed the tiniest knot in your throat and asked, “Do you ever wonder why it’s like this?” 

“Why it’s so much?” Clark looked up with his cheeks and chin, even his nose, all shiny.

“No, why it wants inside me so bad,” you clarified and slotted your fingers into his hair. 

Clark took a deep breath, then exhaled sharply. 

“It’s just me, right?” you asked. 

Did it want to be inside you that bad, or did it just want to be inside someone?  Would it settle for Lex Luthor’s throat? 

When Clark didn’t answer, you tightened your fingers in his curls and gently tugged, making him look at you. 

“Clark.. It’s just me, right?”  You pleaded. 

His eyes were as wide as ever as they looked back and forth between yours. “Yeah,” he whispered, “of course,” then planted a soft, salty kiss on your lips. 

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tysm for reading!

ty anon for your interest, and special thanks to @aurorawritestoescape and @just-consume-it for your support ❤️❤️❤️