#purrrr

Clark's desk was still empty, of course. The chair next to mine was untouched, his coat not draped over it yet, and I could feel my irritation fester. If that had been me, I'd have been fired a month ago. But because of these damn exclusive Superman interviews, he had secured himself a spot at the company, no matter what.

I tapped my pen against the edge of my desk-- once, twice, just to give myself something to do with the irritation.

And then, right on cue, the elevator dinged.

Voices rose-- someone greeted him before I saw him, and then there he was, walking in like he had just stepped off the cover of his own feature, glasses a little fogged from the humidity, tie not even pretending to be straight. Still, with perfectly tousled dark hair like that, and with eyes the shade of dreamy lagoons, it was impossible not to stare. He smiled, nodded, and offered a sheepish morning to the general hum of recognition around him for getting the front page. And then, just to top it off, someone clapped him on the shoulder and congratulated him on 'another one'.

... God.

He even had the nerve to look embarrassed about it.

I looked back at my screen like I was busy, like I wasn’t tracking the exact number of steps it took him to get from the elevator to his chair, like I didn’t hear the gentle thud of his bag hitting the floor next to mine--

“Morning,” Clark murmured, settling into his chair. 

“Barely,” I replied, eyes on my inbox-- if I allowed myself to look at him, I'd just think about how broad his shoulders were now that he was so close, and I couldn't do that to myself, not at work.

Clark didn’t respond right away; he just scooted his chair in with unnecessary force, trying to get my attention. I didn’t look over, but I knew he was smiling. “You saw the story?” he asked, all innocence.

"Impossible to miss,"

"What did you think?"

Inhaling sharply, I shrugged; "I think it's very convenient that you're always at the right place at the right time,"

Clark huffed a quiet laugh; “You didn’t like it,"

“Oh, I never said that,”

“You didn’t have to,"

I finally glanced at him, trying not to gawk at his beauty. Clark was already watching me, elbows on his desk, with that same irritating softness around his plush mouth that made him look more sincere than he had any right to be. His tie was really a disaster, though-- looped too tight, one side bunched like he had gotten distracted halfway through. 

Not that anyone but me would notice or care; it was sort of endearing on days when he didn't have a new front-page Superman interview, anyway. “It's just interesting, that's all," I said. "That Superman only talks to you. One could argue that you might be bribing him."

That only made Clark's boyish smirk widen. “Superman is a man of the law,” he murmured, teasing as always. “He would never accept bribes. I ask and he talks, that's all,”

“Mhm... Right,"

I turned back to my screen, biting down on a grin myself. I didn’t need to look at him to feel the air crackle between us. The buzz of it always gave me a high-- always. What had started out as office friction had turned into something sharper, something hotter, and now it sat between our desks like a huge elephant no one wanted to admit was there.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Clark lean back and stretch slightly, his tight, white shirt stretching over his broad chest-- he had the balls to look smug about this, yet that slight rosy colour appearing in his cheeks contradicted his every move. He enjoyed this too, I was certain of it. “You know,” he murmured. “You could always pitch for the next one. Superman might be up to giving you an interview... Everyone knows you're the best writer in the office.”

I looked at him slowly, not yet impressed. “Oh, really now?”

Clark shrugged again, lifting his hands in faux surrender. “It’s not my fault he likes talking to me,”

I gave him a flat look, snorting. “You’re intolerable,"

“I think you should try,” he murmured, dragging a folder out of his bag as he disregarded my last words. “He might be up for it. On the record, and everything."

That was it-- my eyes rounded out. "On... the record?" 

That was new.

Clark's blue eyes practically shimmered as he put his earbuds in, casual as ever, yet his smirk betrayed him; "Who knows? You might get lucky tonight,"

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The scent hit me before I even dropped my keys-- garlic, butter, and something rich and comforting I couldn't put my finger on. I stopped halfway through taking off my coat, catching sight of him in the kitchen; Clark, sleeves rolled to his elbows, stirring something in my favourite pan like he had lived here for years.

I let out the breath I didn't know I had been holding. This was my favourite sight to come home to. 

I could already sense the smile in his voice without him having to turn to me; “Hey, you,” he murmured.

Oh, wow. “You made dinner,” I breathed, watching the way his white shirt stretched across his broad back-- finally, I could gawk at him now that we weren't at work.

“You were grumpy this morning,” Clark replied, unaware of the way I was looking at him right now; or was he? “I figured you wouldn’t eat if I didn’t make you.”

Of course. Of course he'd do this after our back-and-forth banter this morning. "I wasn't grumpy," I put my coat away before finally approaching Clark, leaning against the kitchen counter as I tried to see what he was making. "But you know I can't be acting over the moon for you at the office. Everyone would catch on."

He hummed, still stirring. I watched him work, letting the silence stretch between us in a way that didn’t feel uncomfortable. It never did with him-- not here, not like this. The air felt warmer than it should have, like the kitchen lights had dimmed a little just for the two of us. “Smells good,” I murmured, my back pressing against the kitchen counter as I turned, reaching up to brush a soft, black strand of his hair away from his forehead. 

“It’s your favourite,” He said it without looking up, like it wasn’t a big deal, like he hadn’t planned this out from the moment he left the office. Sweet, sweet boy. 

I could only smile; I liked us when we were alone, when we didn't have to hide our feelings. No cape, no headlines, no rivalry-- just Clark in my kitchen, sleeves rolled, cooking for me because he wanted to. Because underneath everything, he knew me, and I knew him.

... More than anyone.

“Clark,” I murmured softly, dreading my next words. "I'm worried someone's going to find out that you're getting these Superman interviews because... well, you are Superman. I wouldn't want you to blow your own cover."

Clark didn't answer anything at first-- then, his brows furrowed into that look I knew too well. "Is that why you were so grumpy this morning?"

"I wasn't grumpy," I mumbled, tracing a line down his broad shoulder to his hand. "Just concerned."

Clark finally set the spoon down, resting it carefully on the edge of the pan before turning to face me fully. His blue eyes were unreadable, and it made my anxiety bubble.  “I appreciate you worrying,” he said, voice low and soft. “But I’ve been doing this a long time. I know how to keep the lines separate.”

I searched his face, and the way his jaw flexed as he chose his words carefully. I scanned the quiet certainty in his posture, how even now (smelling like garlic and city air) he held himself like someone who had the world to carry. “I know you do,” I admitted. “But... still. Every time someone jokes about how close you are with Superman, I feel like I’m holding my breath.”

At that, Clark snorted, cracking up into a smile; "You're the one that makes the most jokes about that,"

"Yeah, but that's because!--"

"If anything, you're the instigator of those rumours,"

"I'm not, I just-- Clark, do you hear what I'm telling you?"

Muting his laughter, he let his shoulders slouch, showing that he was backing down. "I do have a solution, though," he murmured. "I wasn't joking about what I said earlier."

I didn't need a mirror to know my eyes shot out a spark or two. "Me interviewing you?"

"Yes,"

"As Superman?"

"Yes,"

"That sounds... fair," I mumbled. "Finally, you won't know the questions beforehand. It's actually much more ethically sourced than how you do it, if we're taking media laws into account."

Clark huffed a quiet laugh, brushing his fingers along the edge of the counter before stepping just a little closer to me. “Ethically sourced?” he echoed. “You’re going to cite journalism codes of conduct now?”

“I might,” I said, chin lifted. “Someone has to keep you humble.”

His hand found my waist-- light, familiar, and grounding. “So, let me get this straight,” he murmured, voice dipping just slightly. “This will be a legitimate, recorded interview with Superman. Questions unapproved. No edits. No off-the-record pauses.”

“Exactly,” I nodded once, hoping to bite down my smirk. “Full transparency.”

He tilted his head, black hair kissing his forehead, blue eyes narrowing thoughtfully behind his glasses-- “Will you go soft on him?”

“No,” came my answer, instant as ever. “I’m going to grill him like a Thanksgiving turkey.”

Clark grinned, all teeth this time. “I’d expect nothing less,”

The space between us thinned again, shrinking in that way it always did when we weren’t pretending. His thumb rubbed a slow, absent circle at the small of my back, and the scent of garlic and butter and whatever else he’d conjured tonight clung to the warmth around us like something domestic we were still getting used to.

“I can’t believe you’re agreeing to this,” I said, a little breathless, more off-guard than I meant to sound.

“You’ve wanted to get him in the hot seat for months,” he said, the excitement clear in his voice. “If it makes you feel better, and if it keeps people from asking too many questions, then yeah, Let’s do it. On the record.”

I held my breath, feeling my heartbeat soar. "Now?"

"Sure," Clark shrugged. He pulled me closer like it was no big deal, like he didn't know that every touch from him set me on fire-- "But if we're doing this, then we're going to do it my way."

"... What?"

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Oh, I should've known.

I should've known that Clark would do something like this, that cheeky bastard.

My attitude this morning could've set this off too, I had no idea-- all I knew was that I had to keep quiet if I wanted this audio to be able to go on the record. 

Still, it was impossible not to squirm as Clark's big hands greedily grabbed at my hips, long fingers caressing my skin as his tongue swirled my right hip-bone; holy fuck. He reached for my underwear, tugging it upward to get better access, to get me twitching harder against my duvet. "You've-- You've got a lot of heat on social media lately," I started, stumbling through my questions whilst running my hands through Clark's thick locks as he continued to make me weak. 

He hummed against my skin, leaving wet kisses up along my stomach. "I don't read that stuff," he murmured. "Superman doesn't have time for selfies."

I rolled my eyes, letting out a shaky sigh. How could he be so composed, even now? Even after he somehow managed to get me out of my clothes with all of his intact and on? "You're gonna-- You're gonna refer to yourself in third person?" I glanced at the audio recording device I had propped on the bed, swallowing hard as Clark's kisses started darting down again, his lips brushing against the hem of my dampening underwear. 

"Hm?" he answered, mind clearly wandering. 

"This is on the record-- Superman,"

"And what about it?"

"Doesn't it sound a bit--" My breath hitched as Clark's hands left my hips, now grabbing at the underside of my thighs to spread my legs. I glanced down at how he had situated himself between them, comfortable and cocky as ever, blue eyes darkening with want. My voice was barely a squeak; "Pompous?"

At that, Clark raised a brow at me, clearly amused. "Really, now? Pompous?"

I decided not to push it-- I had other things to focus on, now that I really had Superman here...

Between my legs. 

"Today, the-- the secretary of defence said he was going to--" Before I could stop it, my breath hitched once again, watching Clark press open-mouthed kisses against my clothed clit. Was he trying to make this impossible? Totally. This interview would be deemed impossible by any other interviewer, surely, but me? Nu-uh. I was going to prevail, no matter how hard he made this for me. "Look into your actions," I continued. "He's going to-- look into them."

At that, Clark laughed; I could feel the rumble of his chest vibrate the bed, with how big he was compared to me. 

"That's funny?" I snapped, trying to gain some leverage.

Clark raised himself a bit, blinking up at me with that classic, cocky, all-American boy smile like he had done nothing wrong. "My actions?" he echoed, hooking his fingers around my underwear. "I stopped a war."

I shrugged, hoping to act as normal; "Maybe,"

"Not maybe," he huffed, peeling my panties down my thighs. "I did."

"Well, you did illegally enter a country?--"

"For the sake of peace," Clark was getting snappy now; if I hadn't heard it in his voice, I would've pieced it together with how he tossed away my underwear, settling between my legs once again. "Don't be like that."

"Like what?" I mumbled.

"Like that,"

Before I could pry more, before I could say anything proper, my body betrayed me-- my back arched against the feeling of his warm breath falling against my soaked sex, and I held back a whimper that I certainly didn't want on my recording machine. 

"Be nice," Clark said, before gently wrapping his lips around my clit without warning, suckling me softly.

My hands practically flew into his dark, thick hair as I tried to cushion my moans into my pillow, but to no avail-- a quiet moan left me, and I could feel Clark smile against me. Still, I knew I had to keep my brain sharp, knew I couldn't give in this easily; "Did you-- consult with the president? Before trespassing?"

At that, Clark groaned against me, sending vibrations up along my spine that I had never felt before. "No," he mumbled against my sex, before grabbing my thighs harder, pushing them further against me like he wanted me to fold in half. I could only whimper as he then laved his tongue between my folds, circling my clit with the softest kitten-licks known to man-- he was trying to drive me nuts, wasn't he? 

"Fuck," I breathed. "Fuck, so you?-- fuck--"

"Language," 

"-- Sorry," 

I could feel his smooth skin against my inner thighs, freshly shaven, and the sensation only added to the overwhelming pleasure that built inside me with every move. Clark's tongue moved in slow, teasing circles now, his lips pressing open-mouthed kisses against me, icy-blue eyes flicking up to watch my reaction every so often.

I wasn't going to let him win; he could have the front page for all that I cared, but not this. I sucked in a sharp breath, ready to finally let out a cohesive sentence; "Do you know why that-- looks bad?"

Clark didn't answer, too busy wrapping his lips around my clit again, a little firmer this time, which was enough to have me fighting the urge to clamp my legs around his head. 

"Superman," I tried, glancing at the recording device once more; was this footage even usable? Should I bother not calling him his real name? "It seemed like you were acting as a-- as a representative of the United States without having consulted the-- the government?"

Irked, Clark raised himself to properly look at me; with his big hands still gripping the underside of my thighs, plush mouth glistening with my slick, he suddenly didn't seem so happy to be answering my questions anymore. "I wasn't representing anybody except for me," 

"Did you not think about-- what it would look like?" Now that I wasn't getting the life sucked out of me, I could finally catch my breath. I propped myself up on my shaky elbows, meeting Clark's blue eyes with compassion. "I understand that you must've been under a lot of stress, but--"

"Oh, you have no idea,"

"But could you perhaps have considered the consequences?--"

"That wasn't as important as!--"

"What is more important than avoiding war, Superman?--"

"People were going to die!" 

At that, we both stilled. 

My mouth parted in shock at the fact that sweet, gentle Clark had raised his voice at me like that. I stared down at him, frozen. 

It didn't take long before he raised himself to his knees, visibly taken aback by how much my questions were affecting him. He blinked a couple of times, trying to recover, as his hands slowly lifted from my thighs, letting them naturally crease over his. 

None of us spoke until I dared-- "I'm sorry,"

Clark didn't move. Avoided my gaze. Didn't breathe either, as far as I could tell. 

With a sigh, I reached for the audio recording device, shutting it off; that was enough for now. The interview wasn't as important as what was happening in front of me. I didn't care that I was undressed. I didn't care. Carefully, I sat up, daring to gently cup his face; "Clark," I murmured. "You're a good man. You did what you thought was right. I don't hold that against you, no one does."

Clark's jaw was tight under my palm-- still warm, still damp from me, but set. “I know you don’t hold it against me,” he finally said, his voice quieter now, but rough. “But you still asked, like you wanted me to say it was wrong. Like you thought it was."

“I don’t want you to say it was wrong,” I whispered, brushing my thumb along his cheek. “I want to know that you at least thought about it, Clark... That you didn’t just act on instinct or impulse."

His eyes flicked up to mine at that, too fast, too sharp. 

There it was-- proof that Superman was human, in his own way. Impulsive. Rash. Passionate. Rattled with guilt. 

Clark exhaled like it hurt to admit his mistakes, even though he hadn't said them out loud. He knew that I knew. Carefully, he leaned into my touch, just barely, his hands now hovering over my legs, unsure if he was still allowed to touch me after raising his voice, like that one slip of temper meant he didn’t get softness anymore.

My fingers sank into his hair again, stroking through it slower now, calmer. "You saved the day, Superman," I murmured, a trying smile finding its way to my lips. "That's what's important, okay?"

"Okay," Clark echoed, his heavy blue gaze avoiding mine. 

Enough. I couldn't stand to look at that sad face anymore; "Let's forget the world for a moment, hm?" I pressed a kiss to the right corner of his mouth. "It's just you and me, now," Left. "And that wouldn't be possible without you, so come here and reap your reward."

Finally, Clark's eyes peeked up at me again, interest spiking. "What do you?--"

I didn't let him finish that sentence. 

It also didn't take long before my arms draped around his neck, pulling him down with me onto the bed with a heated kiss. Clark accepted, caging me with his broad shoulders, mouth moving against mine like he wanted to remember every curve, every push, every whimper; he let out a pleasured sigh and smiled into the kiss, melting my heart.

Clark's passion was all-taking-- he moved to softly nibble on my earlobe, licking a stripe up the shell, which he knew always got me giggling, as we got him out of his black jeans. I could feel the way our breaths clashed, how our chests pressed together in a moment of fire none of us could control, pure impulse, before his reassuring words came as always; "I've got you," he murmured, the soft head of his cock prodding at my entrance, his big, calloused hands once again gripping at my thighs.

"Need you," I breathed, nipping at his strong jaw. "Want you, Clark-- need you."

Clark hummed; "Bet," he teased, before rocking forward, just enough for the head to push inside. 

The whimpers that fell from my mouth were impossible to stop, and my hands gave his dark hair an involuntary tug. "Fuck,"

I knew he didn't like swearing, and I knew that'd be the key to getting what I wanted. With an annoyed huff, Clark pushed his cock into me, letting out a shaky sigh against my shoulder as I shuddered against him. Thankfully, he couldn't see my sheepish smile of victory; I had waited for this since the second I saw that front page article. This feeling. Him inside of me. Just us.

The first few thrusts were deeper than usual, probably fueled by our fiery interview and my affinity for cuss-words tonight, but I didn't mind-- being filled up by Clark was such heaven, that I didn't really care how it happened. I'd sell my soul for this, surely; for my fingers to burn with euphoria coursing through my veins. 

Clark pulled out halfway and pushed into me again, firmer this time, making my breath hitch as my nails left crescent moons into his broad back. "You feel so good," he murmured, setting a slow, deep rhythm that had me melting into my duvets. "Missed you like this."

"Missed you too," I moaned, pressing a weak kiss to his shoulder. "Stop-- saving the world all the goddamn-- time."

At that, Clark could only laugh; "Cause this is more important, yeah?"

"Obviously,"

"Right," he purred, his slow, deep, dragging thrusts practically muting me from that point on. I could only clench around his thick length, suppressing my cries of pleasure against the muscular range of his shoulders. 

"Want me to stop saving everyone, hm?" Clark went on; "Want me to stay here and take care of you?"

I could only whimper-- yes, yes, yes. 

With a satisfactory hum, his plush lips found my throat, sucking a mark against my skin, branding me over and over; he might as well have stamped a Superman-stamp on my neck. "I would if I could," Clark huffed, groaning against my skin; I felt his cock twitch inside of me at the intrigue of that thought, and it made me clutch him harder as he fucked me into the mattress, instincts taking over. "Would stay here-- make you feel good, make you cum, make you-- satisfied--"

I could hear it in the roughness of his voice that he was close, closer than he usually was at this point. Was it really our heated arguments today that had fried both our nerves? I couldn't tell. 

To delay just a moment more, to continue revelling in our wet union, Clark propped himself up on his knees, guiding my legs over his thighs again-- his hand slipped between us, thumb finding my clit, rubbing firm circles, intent on getting me over the edge first. Fucking gentleman. 

I choked down another lewd moan, the pleasure building quicker than expected. "God, Clark, I-- I can't--"

"It's okay," he murmured, watching me with those big, blue, loving eyes I adored. "Want you to let go when you're close, okay? Could you-- Could you do that for me?"

"Anything," I breathed. "Anything for you."

Clark let out a hum of approval, warm as always, as my vision started going hazy; he continued circling my clit with the nicest of pressures, making my toes curl, making my breath catch, and I soon enough had to tell myself to breathe, chanting it over and over in my head. Without meaning to, in the midst of me fighting the building feeling in my whole body, I shifted my hips-- I didn't mean for it to angle Clark deeper, but it gave me the grandest of rewards.

Clark let out the filthiest groan, feeling his cock engulfed in wet, tight heat, and that did it for him. 

I didn't mean to, I swear.

His right hand left my clit, and with both, he now gripped my hips tighter as his thrusts turned erratic, desperate, impulsive, but with awareness of his strength; it didn't take long before he buried himself inside of me with a deep, shuddering gasp of relief. His forehead dropped against mine as he spilled inside me, body trembling from the force of it, panting with the shock of his unexpected release.

I had no idea what came over me, or how it happened-- but with how Clark was angled, it didn't take more than two upward rolls of my hips, helped by his strong hands, to have my clit pressing against his body, and it was a sensation so light, so desperate, so chased and sought by all-taking arousal, that it shattered me even harder when I realized I was cumming from practically... nothing. My legs trembled as I felt my clit pulse, lashes fluttering shut at the intense rush.

Only Clark could have me falling apart like that, and only I could have Superman collapse like this on a Friday night.

He might not be a man-- but he surely fucked like one.