Untitled

“You excited?” He beamed at you as you approached him.

“Yeah, the quad biking looks awesome.” He loaded his stuff up onto his spindly shoulders, grabbing one of yours off you before you could say anything.

“Mum bought me snacks, I reckon we eat them after dinner in our tent.”

“Boys and girls can’t share tents.” You both turned to see your classmate Susie Jenkins appear around the tree, a gaggle of her loyal followers behind her. She crossed her arms over her tiny body, her eyes gleaming.

“Why not?” Clark’s forehead furrowed in confusion.

The girls looked at eachother and giggled. “You might do things, like k-i-s-s-i-n-g.”

Your nose scrunched up, “why would we do that?”

Kissing was gross. Only adults like your parents kissed. Or in Disney movies.

“Because that’s what boys and girls do when they like like each other.”

She said it so matter-of-factly, like she knew everything there was to know about feelings. Maybe she did, she was two months older, which in the mind of a ten year old might as well have been decades.

Your cheeks grew crimson at the accusation. You dared a glance at Clark to see him growing a similar shade.

“We don’t like like eachother.” You snapped back quickly in defence of both of you.

The girls giggled again and exchanged looks, like they knew something you didn’t.

“Come on, we're playing cops and robbers!” A boy from your class ran past, shouting at the top of his lungs as he tried to rally as many kids as he could.

The girls' attentions shifted in the blink of an eye. Playing with the boys was much more interesting than teasing the two of you.

“You and Clark are going to be k-i-s-s-i-n-g!” Susie sing songed, sticking her tongue out at the both of you before scampering off to join the flock.

You and Clark stood still for a moment, the red slowing draining from your cheeks under the autumn sun.

“That was stupid.”

“Very.” You agreed quickly.

“Anyway.” Clark shrugged. “You want to share snacks tonight?”

You paused, Susie’s words still ringing in your ears.

“Maybe- maybe we shouldn’t share a tent." You suggested, twirling a strand of your hair between your fingers as you avoided his gaze. "We don't want everyone thinking we like like each other, right?"

A look your young brain hadn't learnt to decipher flashed across his features, before settling into one you did know. Disappointment.

You felt it then, something shifted between you two. Like a coat of your innocence had been permanently stripped away. Looking back, you guessed it was because it was the first time you'd been put in a gender shaped box and Clark had been put in a different one.

"Yeah, maybe that's a good idea."

You looked up at him. Your stomach did that strange flipping thing again, like it couldn't decide if it was nervous or excited, or both.

"Come on, I'll help you set your stuff up."

You watched him curiously as he hauled your bags up onto his shoulders. Boys were very annoying. And had germs. Clark was a boy, yes, yet he’d always been the exception. But you'd never felt anything like this before when you'd looked at him.

He looked over his shoulder at you and shot you a grin, "you coming or what?"

A thought popped into your head as you smiled back at him, one that left you rethinking your whole world view.

The thought that maybe kissing wouldn't be that gross...depending on the person.

two

The wooden floors of Smallville High's gymnasium had been polished so aggressively that you could see your reflection in them.

The aging hall had been decked out with streamers and balloons. An old disco ball twirled half heartedly in the centre, casting everything in cheap neon hews of pinks and purples.

The air conditioning puttered weakly, trying to unsuccessfully cope with the mass of teenage bodies clustered together.

Beads of sweat pilled at the base of your skull. Your wilted corsage dangled from your wrist as you wrapped your arms around the nape of your date’s neck.

“I know I’ve said it like a hundred times, but you look really pretty.”

You giggled as you mumbled your thanks, averting your gaze as your cheeks flushed.

Over your date's right shoulder you caught a glimpse of him.

He was already looking at you.

He had always been taller than the other boys, a mess of gangly limbs and black curls. But as he stood there in his tux he somehow looked even larger, heroic even, a Clark shaped diamond in the rough of acne-ridden hormonal teenagers.

You had caught him off guard, not giving him enough time to hide the raw cut of his features. You noted the tick of his jaw under the disco light, the crease of his brow, the look in his eyes that - if you wanted to be hopeful and perhaps delusional - you would say looked something like longing.

It happened so quickly you thought you might have imagined it. You blinked and his features had gone neutral, like he'd slipped a mask on. He shot you a grin from across the dance floor before slipping back into the crowd of creased tuxedos and poofy dresses.

"You ok?"

You hadn't realised you'd been staring. You looked back up at your date. Owen McIntyre, the Smallville High quarterback, sweet, respectful.

Not Clark.

The reminder was like an unexpected smack in the face. The room suddenly felt far too crowded.

"Um- yeah it's just hot in here."

His face pinched with the perfect amount of concern. "Do you want me to go get you a drink?"

"Thank you but I think I might just pop out and grab some air." You squeezed his arm gently, as if it might soften the blow. "I'll be right back, I promise."

"Ok." He nodded, "I'll be here." You felt flushed with guilt as you shot him one last smile before leaving him in the middle of the dance floor. The pink sparkles of your dress winked back at you from the wood as you moved.

The cool spring air was a welcome relief on your skin as you slipped outside. The music and laughter of your classmates faded into a dull roar behind you. You picked up your dress and descended down the back steps towards the football field.

He turned lazily to face you, almost like he knew you would find him out here. Perhaps he did, you both always seemed to find your way back to one another.

"Needed a break too?"

"It's like a sauna in there." You complained as you sat down on the bench beside him, internally praying that your dress wouldn't get marks all over it.

"I'm surprised you lasted as long as you did."

He watched as you kicked off your heels, planting your throbbing feet on the dewy grass. You sighed, tipping your head back as you let the breeze blow through you.

"I can fly to yours and grab you another pair of shoes."

"Thank you but these ones go best with my dress and unfortunately beauty is pain. Besides aren't you meant to only be using your powers at the farm?"

He shrugged. "What Ma and Pa don't know won't hurt them."

You shot him a bemused smirk before letting your eyes flutter shut. "Since when were you such a rebel?"

"Blame yourself. Ma always said you were a bad influence."

You snorted at that, "nice try. That woman adores me."

"That's true." He admitted softly, your closed eyes giving him a chance to admire you freely. "You're having a good time?"

"Yeah I am."

"And Owen he's-" You peaked one eye open at that to see Clark looking at you like he half regretted even opening his mouth.

"Owen is behaving himself don't worry." You teased him. "Very gentlemanly...for a football player."

He chuckled at that, although his smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

"That's good. You deserve it."

You ignored the way your heart fluttered at that. You'd become a master at it, pushing those feelings deep down into a little box and throwing away the key.

"Susie looks like she's enjoying herself." Another thing you'd mastered. Deflection, distraction.

"Yeah I think she's having fun."

You snorted at that, making Clark jerk his head to look at you, a ghost of a smirk threatening to twist up onto his lips. "What?"

"Nothing it's just- I can't believe you're going steady with Susie Jenkins of all people."

The tips of his ears turned pink. "Susie's nice." He protested. "And we spend a lot of time together."

"No I get it, all those late nights working on the next issue of the Smallville High Chronicle or the debate club, it's romantic stuff, I mean who wouldn't fall in love?"

You laughed as he lightly shoved your shoulder playfully. You swung back his way, nudging his ribs.

"If that's your way of telling me I need to take her on a proper date, don't worry I'm working on it."

Your stomach felt familiarly nauseous at that.

"Also like you can talk." His eyes met yours once more. "The quarterback and the head cheerleader? Talk about predictable."

His words weren't designed to hurt, but they did, hitting you square in the chest. Another reminder of the stark differences between you and him, the rift between you that you felt deepen more and more everyday.

You did well at school sure, but Clark? He was one of the best and brightest. Chess club, science fair, debate club - he did it all. Alongside Susie Jenkins. They made perfect sense on paper, hell even when you saw them walk down the halls you had to admit to yourself that they looked like the perfect couple. Like their photos belonged side by side in the 'most likely to succeed' section of your yearbook.

There'd been a part of you that had hoped he might ask you to prom, that you could fall back on the promise you'd both made when you started high school. The promise that if you didn't have dates, you'd go with eachother.

But then he started holding Susie's hand in the hallway and sitting with her at lunch. So when Owen asked you, what else were you to do other than say yes?

"Alright fair play Kent." You raised your hands up in mock surrender. "Touche."

A heartbeat passed between the two of you, just enough silence to make you genuinely laugh at the way Clark delivered his next words so incredulously.

"And who says going steady anymore?"

He watched you as you laughed, memorising the way your mouth split open, the way the corner of your eyes crinkled.

"I do. Trust me, I'm bringing it back."

He knew you had no idea how true that statement actually was. That you could make any phrase you wanted a trend. He saw what you didn't. The way others orbited around you, hanging onto your every word. The longing glances the boys shot you in the hallway, and the envious ones the girls made behind your back.

If you hadn't been friends since childhood, would you even spare him a glance? You probably would, because you were, well, you. The kindest, most generous person Clark had ever met.

His heart hammered traitorously in his chest as you casually leant your head on his shoulder, your eyes fixed on the constellations hanging above you. He supposed there was one perk of living out in the country. You let out a cute yawn. Ok, two perks.

"Should we go on a double date?" The words blurted out before he could stop them. Like his brain was trying to remind him that you both were indeed here with other dates.

You pulled your head off his shoulder to look up at him in disbelief. "Why on earth would we do that? Susie hates my guts."

"She does not!"

You raised a brow sceptically. "She doesn't exactly try to quieten her voice when she calls cheerleaders 'brainless bimbos' during gym."

Ok, you might sort of have a point. Susie did kind of hate you. But it wasn't because you were a cheerleader. It was because Clark had accidentally let slip that he was thinking of asking you to prom one night while the two of them had been working on the paper together.

In Clark's defence, they hadn't even really gone on a date yet when he said it. But Susie had kept that locked in the unbreakable vault that was her brain and had never let him forget it.

It was a stupid idea anyway. The second he had heard Owen talking about his plan to ask you to prom with his football friends, he'd completely scrapped it. You were you, Owen was Owen and Clark was Clark. You deserved to go with someone like Owen, headstrong and equally as dynamic and adored. They might as well have already handed out your crowns for prom king and queen.

Thankfully, the faint hum of a familiar song spared him from having to respond to you.

You sat up excitedly, "I thought Eric specifically banned the Mighty Crabjoys from the prom playlist?"

Clark shrugged, unable to hide the smile on his face at your excitement. "Guess he changed his mind."

You didn't need to know that Clark had bribed Eric from chess club and also the DJ for the evening with the offer of doing his homework for the rest of the semester to get him to play this song just for you.

He rose to his feet, trying to fight the tremors in his hands.

"Would you-" He swallowed down his nerves. "Would you like to dance?"

Your attention was fixed on him then. A slow smile spread across your lips as you looked up from his extended hand to his face. "Thought you'd never ask Kent."

Clark felt like he was floating in that moment.

You must have been a sight. The two of you awkwardly twirling around on the field, your grass stained bare feet stepping clumsily on his boots, your head tipped back as you laughed.

You weren't exactly sure when the song had ended. But even when you realised that it had, neither of you made an attempt to move.

You suddenly became painfully aware of his hands on your hips, the feeling of his hair at the nape of his neck curled around your fingers.

"You're beautiful."

You weren't sure if he'd meant to say it out loud. He said it so quietly, bordering on reverently. In that moment, you knew that no one had ever looked at you like that before and perhaps they wouldn't ever again.

You knew in that moment that if you kissed him right now, you were almost certain that he would kiss you back. It would be inconvenient, messy, but possibly the best mistake you could make.

But then you thought about Susie and Owen, the look on your parents' faces if things didn't work out. The fact that you were pretty sure your heart would give out if he rejected you, or even worse, if you lost him as your best friend.

You could tell he sensed it was coming by the way his hands stiffened at your waist and his face hardened ever so slightly, like he was bracing for impact.

"We should probably head back inside."

"Yeah." He nodded. You felt empty without the weight of his hands on you.

You watched as he knelt down to pick up your shoes.

"Um- there's something I have to tell you." You tentatively took your heels from him, clutching them against your chest as you waited for him to keep speaking.

"I found out today that I got a full ride to UM."

You blinked as you processed his words.

"Like as in, a scholarship? For journalism?"

He nodded, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.

"Oh my god Clark!" You shrieked as you jumped on him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Whatever moment you'd just shared was discarded, lying next to your heels abandoned once again on the freshly mowed grass. Right now you were back to being just the two best friends that you always had been.

He chuckled into your hair, catching you with ease as he squeezed you back.

"I can't believe this! Why didn't you tell me!" You exclaimed as he placed you down gently.

"I wanted to wait for the right moment."

"I'm so happy for you. You deserve this so much." It was true, for as long as you could remember Clark had dreamed of going to the University of Metropolis, he had a banner hanging up in his room for crying out loud.

"I can't believe you're going to be living in Metropolis."

"I know, going to need to start looking into insurance policies."

It wasn't lost on you in that moment what this meant. You'd applied for a bunch of colleges, but none were in Metropolis. In a few short months the two of you would be the furthest apart that you'd ever been. You couldn't imagine it, what your daily life would look like without Clark Kent in it.

You realised it then as you looked up at him. He wasn’t your shadow, he was your sun.

You forced a smile onto your face. "Well, sounds like you’re going to be needing to invest in a good foldout sofa."

three

It was a Wednesday and you had just gotten back from class when your phone rang. You glanced down to see your mum’s face staring back at you.

You were running late for your shift at the liquor store. Usually in these circumstances you would just let it ring out, figuring if it was particularly urgent she would call you again. But some inexplicable force tugged at you, making you press accept.

“Hi mum.”

“Hi honey.”

You froze at her somber tone. Your mum was never somber, she was practically a walking ray of sunshine. The last time she'd been this serious was when she had to break the news that she hadn't had time to bake a pumkin pie for thanksgiving.

“Is everything ok?”

You heard your mum let out a small sigh. “I just wanted to call to let you know that… well honey, Daisy passed away.”

You slowly took a seat on the edge of your bed. "Oh."

“You know she was nearly 20 which is an extraordinarily long life for a dairy cow and-“

“When did she uh- when did she pass?”

“A few days ago. It was very peaceful.” She reassured you.

Your mind reeled.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you sooner I just know how busy you are with classes and work and I thought maybe Clark would have told you so-"

"No that's ok Clark didn’t tell me, we um-" You bit the inside of your cheek. "We haven't talked in a little bit."

"Oh, I see." You could hear it in your mum's voice, the way she was fighting to hold herself back from asking if you were ok and if something had happened between the two of you.

The truth was, nothing significant had happened. The two of you were almost on opposite sides of the country and both leading very busy lives. Clark had gotten an internship at the Daily Planet, a newspaper in Metropolis and you were working two jobs to support yourself through college.

Over the last couple of years your contact had dwindled, weekly phone calls turned into fortnightly and then just on special events and then none. You still sent each other the occasional text, for birthdays and holidays mainly, but for the most part you'd lost track of each other.

Given all of that, it shouldn’t have been a surprise that he hadn’t told you about Daisy, but it was. It was an ugly wake up call as to how much the pair of you had drifted.

"Well Martha mentioned they're just going to have a small little funeral tomorrow, Clark's flying over for it, so that will be a nice way to say goodbye."

"I'll be there." The words left your lips before you had time to think them through.

You knew it wasn't an invitation. But the string that connected you to Clark was finally tugging at you firmly after being loose for so long. You needed to see him, needed to re-enter his orbit.

"Honey are you sure-"

"I'm sure." You hurried over to your desk, putting your phone on speaker as you plonked into your desk chair.

"What about your classes and work and-"

"I'll sort it out." You opened your laptop to start looking at flights. "It's Clark, mum." You added, just a touch too softly for it to be casual.

You heard your mum emit a small sigh through the receiver. "I know darling."

That's how you ended up on the Kent's doorstep less than twenty four hours later, your duffle slung over one shoulder and sleep caking your eyeline.

The 'welcome to the farm' doormat was still spread on the wooden deck, although slightly faded now. The wind charm you and Clark had made in primary school clinked pleasantly in the afternoon breeze.

You felt doubts start to creep in as you stood there, your hand hovering over the doorbell. Was he going to want to see you? Was he going to think you were crazy for flying all the way over here? Maybe if you turned and ran right now you could get back home in time to go the college party your friends had begged you to go to, with Clark never knowing that you had been here.

The possibility of running away was squashed under the sound of footsteps crunching on the dry leaves that littered the driveway.

You heard him before you saw him.

“I’ll get it from the truck Pa!”

You turned just as he appeared from around the side of the house. He froze as his eyes landed on you. He was wearing a white shirt under an unbuttoned and faded flannel that was rolled up to his elbows. His hair was windswept, framing those painfully familiar blue eyes which were wide in shock.

All doubts flew out the window at the sight of him. The sound of your duffel thumping onto the porch made a few pigeons scatter. You took a few tentative steps forward, and before your brain could catch up to your legs, you were running.

He met you halfway, your body crashing into his, his outstretched arms pulling you straight into him. You could feel his taught muscles ripple underneath his shirt. He’d filled out dramatically since you’d seen him last.

He nuzzled his face into the crown of your head. You were wearing a new perfume, a more refined scent. He inhaled deeply, he could smell traces of the same shampoo you’d used in high school underneath.

“I’m so sorry about Daisy.” You murmured into his chest.

The realisation hit him square in the chest then. You’d flown all the way home just to be there for him. He squeezed you tighter, like he was trying to prove to himself that you were real.

You twisted up in his arms to look at him. His eyes were brimming with unshed tears.

“I can’t believe you’re here.”

You smiled softly up at him. “You better believe it Kent.”

The rattle of the front flyscreen door creaking open made the two of you pull apart.

“Well well well, do my eyes deceive me or has our other city slicker finally come to their senses and remembered to pay us a visit?”

Your grin widened at the sight of Martha and Jonathan standing at the doorway. Clark loosened his grip to allow you to hurry towards them, embracing them both tightly.

“Come in come in, there’s leftover blueberry pie in the fridge.” Martha ushered you inside. She ran a hand over the back of your head under the guise of being endearing, but her eyes were sharp and assessing as always.

She frowned. “Have you been feeding yourself at college? You know I hear these horror stories of students living off cans of tuna and that is something I simply will not allow.”

You turned back around to look at Clark, pulling a face that signalled “help me”. Clark let out a laugh as you got dragged inside.

The funeral had been short and intimate, only you and your family, the Kent’s and a couple of other locals gathered outside under the large oak.

You and Clark had locked eyes a few times, slow tears rolling down both your cheeks as you remembered all of the afternoons you’d shared running around with Daisy in the fields as Martha desperately tried to corral you inside for afternoon tea.

As the sky began to be brushed with golds and pinks, the others filtered home. You and Clark sat out on the back porch watching the cows lazily chew at the reeds.

Martha was cooking up a storm in the kitchen, the scent of thyme and rosemary filtering through the open windows.

Your head rested on his shoulder, a half drunk glass of wine beside you. Cicadas chirped around you. The two of you had caught up over lunch, and although there were endless things to say, you were both content sitting in the quiet of dusk, enjoying each other’s company. Now that you were together, it was like no time had passed, that deep crevice separating you two sealed up like a distant memory.

You felt so at ease that you were pretty sure if you closed your eyes, you’d slip into a slumber.

“Do you miss home?” Your voice eventually broke the peaceful silence.

“In moments like this, yeah.”

You blinked up at him lazily, a soft smile on your lips. “Me too.” You reached for your wine.

“I should visit more often.” You confessed after a few moments.

You felt him nod. “So should I.”

You sat up to look at him properly. “Maybe we make a pact.”

“This isn’t going to be like that time we made a pact to dye our hair blue and only one of us followed through is it?”

You gave him a pointed but playful look. “No, but thank you for reminding me of that. I’ll have to get mum to find the photos she took.”

You laughed as he elbowed your ribs. “I’m serious, a pact to visit home more, to keep each other accountable.”

“Ok.” He nodded seriously. He stuck out his pinky.

“And a pact to not let us go this long without talking again.” He added as you entwined your finger with his.

Your smile faltered, guilt tendrilling around your heart as you nodded.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.”

Neither of you looked away, your fingers still interlocked.

You tried not to think about all the memories you’d missed out on making, all his friends you didn’t know, the fact you didn’t know if the Mighty Crabjoys were still his favourite band, or if he still had a glass of milk before bed every night.

“I’ve missed you.” You confessed.

You felt his pinky tighten around yours. His eyes were swimming with so much emotion that you couldn’t decipher between them all.

“I’ve missed you too.”

You had no idea how much. Clark thought about it then as you looked up at him. The fact that he could lean forward and kiss you, spill years of locked confessions to the altar of you.

The entitled ring of your phone beside you was like water on a flame.

“Sorry.” You apologised. Clark felt like a part of him had been ripped away as your finger untwined itself from his.

Clark didn’t miss the way your face faltered when you glanced down at your screen.

“Everything ok?” He studied your face intently.

“Um yeah.” You answered unconvincingly as you picked up your phone.

“It’s Mark- my um- my boyfriend.” You tacked on quickly when you saw the confusion flash across his features.

“I should probably answer.”

Clark took a heartbeat too long to respond, his brain frazzled at the revelation.

“Oh no problem.” He stood up hastily. “I’ll um- I’ll give you some privacy.” He jerked his thumb awkwardly to the back door.

You shot him a grateful smile that looked half pained, before pressing the phone to your ear.

“Hi babe.”

Clark shut the door behind him before he could hear anything further.

“You need help with anything Ma?” He rubbed his sweaty palms on the back of his jeans.

“All good honey.” Martha waved him away dismissively. She peered out the window over the sink,

“Who’s missy on the phone to?”

“Her boyfriend Mark.”

Your father and Jonathan looked up over their newspapers to exchange glances.

“Oh.” Your mum didn’t try to hide the distain in her voice as she took a break from peeling potatoes to peer out the window beside Clark and Martha.

Martha tutted and shook her head.

“What?” Clark asked her.

“We do not like Mark in this household.”

“We don’t?"

Your mum shook her head.

Why?” Clark tried and failed miserably at hiding his excitement.

“Because he’s a loser.” Your mum stated matter-of-factly. “He’s in finance or something and never makes anytime for her but expects her to drop everything when it suits him. They’re constantly fighting.”

Sure enough, you were now pacing back and forth on the back patio. Your voice was raised, your features twisted into a grimace as you gesticulated wildly with your free hand.

Clark knew he should give you your privacy, but he found himself unable to look away.

You hadn’t mentioned you had a boyfriend this entire time. He couldn’t ignore the flicker of hope that sparked as he wondered to himself, was that omission on purpose?

Martha and your mum leant back to exchange knowing smiles behind Clark’s back.

-

Your mum dropped you to the airport the next morning. You had been quiet on the drive, your nose stuck in your phone as you exchanged a flurry of angry texts with Mark.

He was upset that you had gone home "on a whim" when you'd agreed to go to the party with him. You thought you'd sorted it on the phone yesterday, but apparently not.

You sighed, chucking your phone into your lap in defeat as you pulled into the drop off zone.

“Thanks so much mum. I’ll text you when I land.” You twisted around to grab your duffle from the backseat.

She cleared her throat. “Sweetheart." You froze mid arm reach, caught off guard by her intense expression.

"I know it's not really my business and that you and Clark have been friends forever but-"

"Mum-" You began in protest.

"Just let me say this one thing." She held up her hand sternly and suddenly you felt like you were eight years old again being scolded for playing up.

“I know that staying just friends is safe.” She paused as she watched you. “But that doesn’t mean that you should.”

Your mum’s words haunted you the entire flight home, then followed you on a loop into the taxi, up the stairs and into your apartment.

You sat on your bed cross legged staring at your phone. Clark’s contact stared back at you. You leant forward, finally about to work up the courage to press the call button when your phone vibrated and his photo filled the screen, making you jump slightly.

You hastily accepted, trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach as you pressed it to your ear.

“Hi.”

You couldn't help but smile at the sound of his voice. “Hi stranger.”

“I was just calling to see how your flight was.”

“Funny that, I was just about to call you.” You answered, shuffling around on your bed to lay on your back, flopping your head down onto the pillow.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” You stared up at the ceiling.

“I realised I went the whole visit without asking you how your powers were going. Quite rude of me.”

Clark chuckled. “My powers are getting stronger everyday, actually I- well this is going to say crazy but I went to Antarctica-“ He cut himself off.

You opened your mouth to ask a million and one questions but he beat you to it.

“Actually.” His tone was different this time, a bit more pensive, almost nervous. “Why don’t you stay with me for the weekend and I can show you. I did buy that foldout couch for a reason, you know.”

“Yeah, I’d love to.” You said it before you could think about what plans with Mark or your friends you might have, or even what shifts you had rostered. But you didn’t care, you'd choose him every time.

“I’ll have to see if there’s any flights though.”

“Text me your address.” You could hear his smirk over the phone.

Your brow furrowed in confusion at his statement, but you complied regardless.

“Be right back.” You pulled your phone away from your ear at the sound of the tone indicating he had hung up.

You had just started typing another message to him when there was a soft tap on your balcony window.

You let out a laugh in disbelief as you came out into your living room.

Clark was standing on your balcony, his hands behind his back and a mischievous grin on his face. You slid the door open, shaking your head as he bowed dramatically with a sweep of his hand.

“Your flight is ready for departure ma’am.”

four

“I think maybe we flip the couch around again so it’s against that wall.”

“So… how we had it originally two hours ago?”

His tone wasn’t pointed, it never was. It was a skill of his, the ability to sound unassuming and innocent. It was only when you really knew him that you could pick up the subtle traces of sarcasm.

“Yes Clark exactly like we had it originally two hours ago.” You smiled, mockingly patting his shoulder.

You would have felt guilty about using Clark as your free furniture removalist, except you knew that picking up a couch was the equivalent of picking up a feather to him and the fact that he had dragged you to a bottlecap museum and held you captive there for 3 hours last weekend.

“We’re going to be late you know.”

“No we’re not, I just have to change into my dress.” You called out as you hurried down your hallway, dodging the land minds that were your unpacked boxes, which were currently taking up about half the space of your shoebox apartment.

You had been in Metropolis for two weeks now. After a couple of years in an unhappy job and months of Clark insisting, you’d finally bitten the bullet, handing in your resignation before packing up your life to move across the country the very next day.

With the rest of your friends dispersed around the country and the rest of the world, you only had Clark here. So naturally you’d jumped at the suggestion of meeting his closest friends from work.

“Best you meet my day job friends before my other work colleagues.” He’d insisted when you’d asked him if the ‘justice gang’ would be invited.

“Ok we can go.” You announced as you made your way back into the living room.

You were wearing a new dress and heels, a little gift that you’d bought yourself for moving to a new city.

Clark looked up from the couch, struck dumb as he blinked slowly, taking you in.

“Is it too much?” You frowned, glancing down at your tight dress. “I thought the bar we were going to was meant to be quite nice.”

“Uh no.” He shook his head feverishly as he rose to his full height, wiping his palms on the front of his pants.

“Definitely not. You look- you look really beautiful.”

You shot him a grin as you smoothed down the front of your dress.

“You ready?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Oh wait.” You watched as he fished out his glasses from his back pocket, sliding them up the bridge of his nose.

“Now I’m ready.”

You still weren’t used to it, the alter ego of it all. You remembered the first time he'd walked out in the superman suit. The way his shoulders rounded out, his spine straightened and chest puffed. Even the way he talked, his voice deep and rich in confidence. It was like he was a different person.

You always knew he was destined for extraordinary things, but seeing your best friend transform into the superhero that carried the weight of the world on his shoulders was something you don’t think you’d ever fully get used to.

You hadn’t expected to feel nervous, but as the two of you stood outside the bustling bar you felt a flutter behind your ribs.

Clark had a whole life here that you weren’t a part of. You couldn’t help but worry that you weren’t going to fit in, that your presence would be like an ill fitting puzzle piece, trying to clumsily jam its way into this space in his life.

Wordlessly his warm hand engulfed yours, squeezing it gently.

“They’re going to love you.”

You smiled at him, squeezing his hand back. He always knew what to say, even if you didn’t know you needed him to say it.

You let Clark guide you inside, following him to the back of the bar to a corner booth.

They spotted you at the same time you did them. Your eyes grazed over them. A freckled face with a wide, welcoming grin. Jimmy. A platinum blonde with flawless makeup, Cat. Lastly, a dark haired woman, with piercing, analysing eyes that were looking you up and down. Lois.

“Hey guys.” Clark greeted as you reached the table. As he introduced you, their smiles were friendly, but you could tell they were sizing you up. They were being protective, and you were glad for it. Clark deserved people that looked out for him.

“So, what was Clark like as a kid?” Jimmy was the first to jump in as you slid into the booth.

“How much time have you got?”

“Ooh any embarrassing stories?” Cat asked eagerly, ignoring Clark’s groan of protest.

“I’ll do you one better. Buy me a couple of drinks and I’ll show you photos. I believe there’s one out there somewhere of him dressed up as Doc Brown from Back to the Future?” You turned to Clark, shooting him an overzealous wink.

“This was a mistake.” He groaned, burying his head in his hands.

Jimmy chuckled, a devilish grin on his lips as he took a sip of his beer. “Oh yes, you’ll fit right in.”

As the night wore on and the drinks flowed, you found yourself getting more and more comfortable.

You loved watching Clark like this too, laughing and relaxed, completely in his element. You’d always known it, but tonight confirmed it, Metropolis had brought him to life.

“I get it now.” Lois announced as you came back to the booth after going to get her and you another round.

“Get what?” You asked her, noting the ghost of a smirk on her lips as you slid her drink across the sticky surface.

“Why Clark doesn’t shut up about you.” You couldn’t control the way your face flushed, which you were sure is what she intended.

“Well when you grow up in Smallville, there’s not that much to talk about other than the people you grew up with.” Her eyes narrowed slightly at your deflection, meeting your gaze as she assessed you.

She brought her drink up to her lips. “so, Clark said you were dating someone right? A Mark or a Jack? A financier or something?” Her voice had raised slightly, just enough that you felt Clark’s knee tense under the table.

A change in tactics.

You kept your face neutral, unreadable as you picked up your drink and took a casual sip.

“Mark was my college boyfriend, I was with Jack until recently for a year. Both were in finance.”

She nodded, like she didn’t know all of that already. Clark was right, she was formidable.

“Was?”

“Yeah we broke up a month or so before I moved here. Clearly didn’t learn my lesson the first time about dating men in finance.” You remarked.

“So, you’re single?”

You did it before you could stop yourself. A glance at Clark out of the corner of your eye. His jaw was clenched, face taught, like he was trying not to look like he was listening. The two of you caught eyes briefly, before yours flickered back to Lois in embarrassment.

The interaction lasted less than a few seconds, but you knew she’d caught it by the way her eyes glimmered in amusement.

You cocked your head slightly, quirking a brow up as you smirked at her. “Why? You interested?”

She let out a genuine chuckle at that before raising her glass. “I like you.”

You grinned. “Feeling’s mutual.” You clinked your glass against hers.

Clark couldn’t stop looking at you as the night went on. You still didn’t see the way the others radiated around you, clinging onto every word as you held court, telling stories and anecdotes. Even Lois was enraptured. You slotted in so naturally, like you’d known them your whole life.

He couldn’t describe the feeling of seeing his two worlds blend so seamlessly together.

The two of you kept finding eachother’s eyes. Clark would usually get embarrassed at getting caught looking at you, but something was different tonight. He got the familiar flutter of nerves, but he didn’t have the urge to quickly look away. Instead the two of you held each other’s gazes for a few moments, like you were having an entirely seperate conversation to the one going on around you.

The two of you were finally alone for the first time when Cat and Lois went to the bathroom and Jimmy went to go order another drink.

“You didn’t tell me you and Jack broke up.” You nearly jumped when you felt Clark’s hot breath on the shell of your ear.

“Didn’t I?” You said innocently, glancing up at him.

“No.” Clark stated. “I would have remembered that.”

Had he been sitting this close the entire time? You swallowed, letting the alcohol steel your nerves.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You couldn’t tell him that the reason was that it would suddenly make the fact that both of you were single at the same time for the first time in a long time very real. And for some reason, that scared the shit out of you.

You shrugged nonchalantly. “Must have slipped my mind with the move coming up.”

Clark looked like he was about to say something else, probe further, but he changed his mind last minute.

“Well I’m glad, he was an asshole.” He muttered into his beer.

You snorted at his blunt words. “Yeah he was.”

You twisted your glass around on the liquor stained table as you muttered, “Maybe I’ll have more luck in Metropolis.”

When you looked up at him again, something unreadable had shifted in his gaze, something that made your heart leap into your throat.

“Maybe you will.” You swore you felt the ghost of his fingers brush your thigh.

“Who’s ready for shots!” Jimmy’s voice barrelled in between the two of you.

You laughed at Clark’s face at the sight of 10 tequila shots being slammed down in front of him. Lois and Cat arrived shortly after, eagerly grabbing a shot each.

“To new friends and new memories.” Jimmy raised his glass. You all echoed his words, clinking your drinks together before downing the liquor. You winced as the tequila burned your throat, desperately reaching for the relief of the lime wedge.

Clark watched in amusement as you grabbed the next one far too quickly. You shot him a playful glare when you spotted the judgment on his face.

You were finally living in the same city as your best friend, if that wasn’t a reason to let loose, you didn’t know what was.

Unfortunately, you’d never been great a handling your liquor. A couple of hours later you were a giggling, slurring mess and feeling nothing short of euphoric.

You waved goodbye to your new friends, who were in a no better state, as Clark guided you off the dance floor of the club you’d all ended up at.

“Ooh we should fly home!” You exclaimed excitedly once the pair of you spilled out onto the empty street.

“I don’t think your stomach could handle that.” Clark chuckled. “Besides, it’s not far.”

You pouted your bottom lip, but were quick to forget his indiscretion as you stumbled towards home.

“I love your friends. And Metropolis. And life. God I love life! Life is so good.” You babbled as you slung an arm around his waist.

“They’re your friends now too.” He reminded you, fighting back laughter as he watched you. “And I’m very glad to hear that.”

He guided you up to your apartment, leaving you to change into your pyjamas as he grabbed you a glass of water and some preemptive painkillers from the kitchen. Thankfully you were a compliant drunk today, and when he returned to your bedroom you were changed and tucked under the covers.

“Come lie with me.” You patted the spot next to you as he placed the makeshift hangover kit on your bedside table.

“It’s pretty late…”

“Please.” You begged, batting those irresistible eyes at him.

Clark withheld a sigh, how could he ever not indulge you?

“Ok, but only if you drink some water.” He bargained.

“Deal.”

He withheld a laugh as you sat up and eagerly gulped down half the glass. He slid his shoes off before tentatively perching on the other side of the bed.

You frowned at the distance. “I don’t have cooties.”

He did laugh breathlessly at that, but of course still complied, shuffling closer to the centre. Content, you slid back down horizontally, twisting so you were lying on your side facing him.

He was lying on his back, his thumbs twiddling on his lap as he looked up at the ceiling. You grinned at his awkwardness.

“Come here.” He turned to look at you, blinking in surprise as you leant forward and eased his glasses off his face gently.

“Woah wait!” You gasped. “You’re Superman?”

“You’re an idiot.” He remarked dryly yet was unable to fight the grin on his lips.

You giggled, placing his glasses on the pillow beside him. You fell into silence, your eyes scanning his face.

“I like you without your glasses.” You whispered with surprising softness. His eyes flickered to meet yours again.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You look more like my Clark.”

His heart skipped a beat at that.

“And I can see your eyes better.” You continued, alcohol loosening your tongue.

“I love your eyes. I could stare at them for hours.”

“I love your eyes too.” His voice was barely a whisper. He was trying not to let that all too familiar flicker of hope spark into a flame. You were drunk right now, he had to remind himself repeatedly.

“You’re lucky I’m a great secret keeper.” You changed the topic only as quickly as someone drink could. You twisted the pillow under your head around you as you studied him. “Your secret identity is under lock and key. I’m a vault.”

“Oh yeah?” He smirked. “What other crazy secrets have you got hm?”

Something flickered across your features then, like his innocuous question had triggered something inside you.

“I can’t tell you. It would ruin our friendship.”

His stomach dropped, completely caught off guard by your unfiltered confession.

He swallowed nervously, glancing up at the ceiling again, finding himself unable to meet your gaze as the next question he was almost too scared to ask formed on his lips.

“Why- why would it ruin our friendship?”

A few heartbeats of silence passed, enough to make him think you were working up the courage to formulate your next words or that you might not have heard him.

He turned to look at you to repeat the question. He let out a shaky breath of laughter. You were fast asleep.

He learnt forward, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and out of your eyes. He lay there for a few moments, admiring your features. Your face was the picture of serenity, completely unaware of the emotional upheaval you’d just caused.

“Sweet dreams baby.”

The next morning you were woken up by a thumping headache, your throat scratchy and sleep gluing your eyelids together.

It took a few minutes for you to realise the incessant thumping was not just in your head, but was also the sound of someone knocking on your front door.

“I’m coming!” You moaned, rubbing at your eyes as you dragged your heavy limbs out of bed.

“Morning sunshine.” A way too chirpy Clark greeted you as you swung open the front door.

“Ok, we need to dial down the positivity by like 50%.” You winced, rubbing your temples as you tried to stay upright.

“Don’t you mean dial it up by 50%, I brought greasy breakfast bagels.”

You blinked as Clark brought up a paper bag, waving it in front of you. The smell of greasy bacon hit you square in the stomach.

“I don’t even know if I can eat that, but thank you.” You shuffled zombie-like into the kitchen, Clark trailing after you.

“You should eat, it’ll make you feel better.”

You sighed as you flopped down onto one of the bar stools. You reluctantly pulled out a bagel, unwrapping it like it was a bomb about to explode.

“How much of last night do you remember?” He asked casually after a minute or so passed.

“Not much after we left the first bar.” You confessed. “I remember you walking me home, but that’s it.”

You glanced up at him after a few moments. There was an odd look on his face, something that resembled disappointment.

“Why?” You asked sharply. “Did I say something stupid?”

“No no.” He said way too quickly for it to be anything but suspicious. “You were very well behaved.”

Your eyes narrowed as you tried to decipher his expression. You wracked your brain as you tried to think of what you might have said, but you were drawing a complete blank.

There was a small voice in the back of your head telling you this topic might be best left alone, like your subconscious knew something that you didn’t.

“Ok, if you’re sure.”

He nodded in response, although the odd expression on his features lingered.

“Well in that case I’ll only have mild hangxiety for the rest of the weekend then.” Your nose wrinkled as you tentatively sniffed the bagel, your stomach lurched.

“You still want to go furniture shopping?”

He laughed at the look of pure horror that crossed your features.

“Or…. we could have a movie day and rot on the sofa? And before you ask, yes we can watch 10 Things I Hate About You.”

Even after all these years it still scared you sometimes just how deeply he understood you.

five

It was a normal Friday. You had offered to cook dinner at yours so you and Clark could celebrate the end of the work week.

You were hovering over the stove, glass of wine in hand. Clark was sitting at the kitchen counter behind you asking you about your day. You tried to ignore how beautifully domestic this scene must have looked to an observer.

The news was playing on the television in the living room. It had become a habit for you, so you could keep up with whatever intergalactic villain Superman was battling, and more importantly so you knew if Clark was going to be late to whatever plans the two of you had.

You sensed him move in the chair behind you as he suddenly went quiet. You saw it when you glanced over at him, the physical shift that you had started getting accustomed to. The sharpening of his jaw, the laser focus, the puffing of his chest.

The tv was suddenly all you could hear as silence enveloped you both. You looked at it over his shoulder. A giant monster running rampant downtown, the usual.

Your gaze flickered to him. Neither of you needed to say anything, the slight inclination of your head towards your balcony was enough.

“I’ll be back before it gets cold.”

You blinked and he was gone, the only evidence of his presence was the half finished glass of red on the counter and the slight flutter of your balcony door curtains.

You tried to ignore the bundle of nerves that always pooled in your veins. He went and faced this sort of thing all the time, he was always back within a couple of hours.

Except this time, he wasn’t.

You were glued to the broadcast, your dinner long abandoned and burnt to a crisp on the stove.

This opponent had been stronger than normal, that was evident to you the second you saw the streak of red and blue take a dive into the concrete surface of downtown.

The justice gang had shown up not long after, but even with their forces combined they were on the back-foot.

A gasp caught in your throat at a shot of him lying motionless in the rubble, his cape in tatters, crimson dripping from his mouth.

Nausea curdled in the pit of your stomach. He wasn’t getting up. Clark always got up.

You were frozen - stuck between flight or fight mode. You were going to run to him you decided, find him amongst the chaos and somehow make him better.

But just as soon as that thought had formed in your head, shouts of victory seeped through the speakers.

The monster had been defeated and Metropolis was safe once more, the reporter emphatically declared. You watched as footage cut together, showing the justice gang waving at cheering crowds, the emergency services flooding in behind them to help those that had been injured.

No sign of Clark.

You tried to cling onto some hope. Sometimes when his energy had been depleted enough he’d fly to his fortress to restore himself to full health. But he would always text you to let you know he was ok, it was a promise he’d made you at the beginning when you’d told him you didn’t know how much stress your heart could take in these situations.

You stared at your phone, willing for it to ping. You weren’t sure how long you sat there. Dread was seeping deeper into your bones, cementing you in place.

You knew he wasn’t entirely, but in your mind Clark was totally invincible. That thought was like a comforter, cushioning the stress you burdened when he donned his suit.

But as you sat there time wore on you finally let yourself think the unthinkable - what if he wasn’t coming back?

You could feel yourself spiralling. What would a world without the sun be like? The thing you drew your life force from, shared everything with. Well, not everything, a snide voice inside you piped up.

Were you going to spend the rest of your life asking yourself what could have been if you hadn’t been so afraid to tell him the truth? Now you might never have an answer, all because you were too afraid to ruin things.

You didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t call Jimmy or Lois or Cat, and you didn’t have the heart to call Martha or Jonathan, you couldn’t be the bearer of insurmountable grief just yet.

There was only one person you could call. Your shaking hand reached blindly for your phone. You could barely make out the screen, tears blotting your vision.

Your bottom lip trembled as you pressed it to your ear.

“Hiya, you’ve reached Clark. Sorry I couldn’t get to the phone, please leave me a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. And remember, it’s a great day to have a great day!”

The shrill beep that followed mocked you. You didn’t have time to overthink, your body was so desperate for release that the words flowed out of you before you could stop.

“Hi.” You winced at the way your voice wavered. “I um- I’m just sitting here and I just wanted you to know that I’m- well I’m kind of angry at you because you said you’d be back before dinner got cold and now- now it’s all burnt and ruined because you had to go be an amazing hero and save people, which is really kind of selfish of you when you think about it.” A delirious laugh strangled itself out of your mouth.

“And uh- I guess I’m also kind of angry at you because-“ You cut yourself off as tears spilled down your cheeks.

“Because I’ve had to admit to myself that I’m a coward. And I’m a coward because I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember and I’ve never done anything about it, even though I think maybe you might even love me too. So please-“ Your voice cracked again, a soft whimper emerging from the back of your throat.

“Please don’t make me live the rest of all time regretting that I never did anything about it and asking myself what if. I can’t do this without you. Please.”

You threw your phone at the couch, shoving your head into your hands as your body racked with sobs.

You weren’t sure how long you sat like that, folded up in a ball. The tv was still on in the background. You could hear the city below you getting quieter as most of its inhabitants turned in for the evening.

If you had to guess, you’d say it was around 3 am. That was when you felt it. The subtle tilt in energy that your body had become so good at sensing, the gravitational pull of the soft thud of something landing on your balcony.

You heard the balcony door slide open gently, like he was afraid to disturb the room. You rose from the couch, your legs weak underneath you.

It was raining, a soft mist clouding the city skyline behind him. He was still wearing his suit, his cape leaving a fine sprinkling of water on the wooden floor as he moved. You could tell he had healed, but even his fortress couldn’t wipe away the black smears under his eyes that revealed pure exhaustion.

The slight widening of his eyes gave away his surprise at seeing you on the couch.

You were trembling still, but you managed to move towards him. He met you halfway, his arms ready for you, like they always were. He lifted you up like you weighed nothing, your feet dangling in the air as you threw yourself into him.

His suit was still damp. You nuzzled your face into his neck. He smelt like a mixture of rain, smoke and metal with just a trace of the cologne you’d bought him buried underneath.

This was real. He was here, safe.

You let out a strangled sound, something halfway between a whimper and a sigh of relief. His large hands fisted your pyjama top in response before his palms flattened against your back in comforting strokes.

You pulled away, still cradled in his arms. He exhaled a shaky breath as you brought a hand up to cradle his jaw, your eyes running over every inch of his face for signs of discomfort.

“I’m ok.” He reassured you, his warm breath fanning your face.

“The creature had traces of kryptonite in its powers. It knocked me around more than normal.”

His eyes shifted to the mess on the stove. “Have you been up this whole time?”

“I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t know if you were-“

You couldn’t even say the words out loud. His features softened even further. “I’m sorry.”

You shook your head fervently. “Don’t you dare apologise. You’re safe, that’s all I care about.”

A smile ghosted on his lips as he studied you. “Have you eaten?” He placed you down gently.

“No I couldn’t do anything other than-“

The realisation hit you square in the chest then. That your deepest secret was sitting innocuously in his phone, just waiting for him to discover it in a voicemail.

You took a step back, your throat suddenly dry as all the air inside your lungs disappeared.

Clark’s brow furrowed at your sudden change in demeanour. “What’s wrong?”

“I- have you checked your phone?”

“No, I flew here as soon as I could. Why?”

You were backed into a corner with no way out, like a spooked animal.

“I left you a voicemail.”

“Ok?”

“You shouldn’t- I don’t think you should listen to it.”

He stiffened up at that. “Why?”

Your brain was working overtime, desperately trying to think of an excuse. You knew deep down that if you asked him to delete it without listening, he would. That was the kind of person Clark was, integral almost to a fault.

But your mum’s words were holding you back. You had always played it safe with Clark, but should you play it safe this time?

You thought about the blind panic you had felt only moments ago. The dread that you might have to go your whole life without knowing what could have been. And now you’d experienced that, you weren’t sure you could go back to pretending anymore.

You tried to still your shaking hands. Your safety net was hanging on by a thread, and you were about to unravel it.

“I… I said some things that would ruin us. Our friendship.”

He paused, digesting the gravity of your words.

“What things?” His question was slow, tinged with hope and caution.

“Are you really going to make me say it?” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

You knew that he knew it then. You could see it on his face. He took a step towards you, that invisible string pulling so tight it felt like it was about to snap.

“Yes.” His voice was throaty, his bottom lip quivering.

“I-“ Your cheeks dampened as fat tears slid down to drop onto your collarbones.

“I said that I was a coward because I have spent practically my whole life loving you and have never done anything about it.”

Clark looked down at you like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, like he was trying to convince himself this wasn’t a dream.

“I hate that it took you nearly dying for me to tell you.”

Now that you’d started, you couldn’t stop. It was addictive, the feeling of unburdening yourself of years of emotional baggage.

“But all I could think about while I sat here was all the times I should have not worried about ruining the friendship and just kissed you anyway. And the fact I might have gone the rest of my life regretting that was something I couldn’t handle.”

Clark was crying now too, his hands full of tremors as he brought them up to cradle your face. He touched your skin so gently it was like you were made of glass.

“Sometimes… sometimes I think I was sent to earth by my parents not just to protect humans, but also to love you.”

He pressed his forehead to yours, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones.

“Loving you is engraved into my soul. It’s part of who I am, and it always will be.”

In the soft yellows and blues of the moonlight and the lights of Metropolis shading your living room, you kissed him.

You could taste the salty brine of your tears mixing with his as your lips moved in sync. Your hands threaded into his damp hair, years of pent up feelings making the two of you almost feverish.

You finally pulled apart when you could no longer breath, your chests heaving in time with one another, your bodies trembling.

You stared at each other, like you were both trying to figure out why this had taken you both so long to do.

You could feel his smile against your mouth as he spoke, his nose bumping yours as he held you tight.

“So, friendship ruined I guess?”

You let out a breathless giggle against his lips as you nodded, “Yeah, friendship very much ruined.”

He grinned, stealing one more kiss and then another and then a third for good luck, before answering you.

“Finally.”

– thursday, 9:42 P.M.

it had started the way movies nights at your apartment always did: clark stretched out on one end of your couch, his arm over the back of it, a bowl of popcorn sitting between you, and you on the other end, your socked foot tucked under his thigh, claiming the space like it was normal (which it was). you're halfway through some cheesy drama neither of you were really watching, spending most of the time catching up on life other than the daily planet.

you lean over, tossing your half eaten dragon roll from the takeout sushi platter onto the coffee table, before returning back to slumping against the couch, eyes scrutinizing the t.v.

then came that scene – hot and heavy kitchen counter action, complete with frantic kissing and someone getting hoisted onto the marble and you can tell it's a scene the actors had to practice at least three times by how seamless and graceful it seems.

you scoff, reaching for popcorn from the bowl between the two of you. "god, i miss that."

clark glances over at you, a brow quirking upward. "being thrown onto a kitchen counter?"

you popped a kernel into your mouth. "being kissed like that. hell, being touched like that. my last date ended with a side hug and apple cash request for half the appetizer."

clark winces, face visually contorting. "ouch."

you sigh dramatically, leaning your head back against the couch. "i'm in a dry spell so bad, it's actually concerning."

clark laughs. your transparence was something he had to get used to at first but over time, he realized that's just how you were. unfiltered. bold. honest in a way most people weren't. it didn't scare him. if anything, it made talking to you easy.

he nudges your leg. "join the club. last girl i dated told me i was 'too polite to be hot.' whatever that means."

your brows furrow, internally scolding the woman for ever saying a thing. "it means she had no taste, clark. trust me, you're hot and polite. some of us are into that, y'know."

clark flushes a little at that, lowering his head to conceal his shy smile but you see it anyway.

maybe that's why you said the thing. because of his dumb, stupid, clark smile.

you reach for another handful of popcorn, keeping your eyes fixed on the movie screen even though you've completely lost the plot. you may be blunt at the best of times, but even you have a little shame, so you cover it up well. "you know," you begin, tone softening considerably enough for clark to look over at you again, "we could fix that."

clark tilts his head, confused. "fix what?"

"the dry spell." you glance at him now, meeting his eyes. "you and me. just one night. a mutual exchange."

his mouth parts, just slightly, and then it opens and closes like a blubbering fish. you can practically see the gears turning in his head, the way his jaw flexes before he clears his throat. "are you serious?"

you shrug like it's no big deal, like your heart isn't hammering against your ribcage. "sure. we're both adults. good friends. we trust each other. and we're both painfully single. why not?"

he says nothing for a moment. you can see him doing that thing that he always does: thinking it through, being careful, considering every angle, every potential consequence.

your nails dig into the rough fabric of your couch, dwelling on the proposition you just made. with every second that passes, regret sinks heavy in your stomach.

you open your mouth, ready to backpedal and make a joke of it. you'll laugh it off, blame the movie or your hellish dating era–

clark cuts you off before you get the chance, his voice low. firm. certain.

"okay."

your breath catches, brows lifting slightly.

his eyes are on you now, his expression steady, unreadable but darkened in a way that makes your skin prickles and goosebumps rise on your arms. "if you're sure," he adds, softer this time. "i'm in."

you blink. "yeah?"

he nods. "yeah. just two pals keening for mutual relief." despite the joke in his words, he delivers it a little more seriously.

you nod along. "exactly. just sex. no strings. no feelings. we're still friends after this."

"right," he agrees sharply, adjusting the black frames on his nose. there's something different in his expression now, something unreadable. it's times like these when you wish you could read his mind. you share a planet with a superalien and yet, there's no accessible device you can use to know exactly what clark kent is thinking. pity.

"okay," he says again, resting his palms against his thighs. one of his thighs presses to yours. did he scoot over? "so, when do we start?"

your eyes flutter, startled at the sudden shift.

"um... now?"

and then he looks at you, really looks at you in a way that sucks the breath from your lungs, his gaze drags across your face like he's memorizing every detail he's never let himself linger on too long.

a beat passes.

"now works," he murmurs, nodding to himself and you're unsure if you're seeing things but you think you catch his adam's apple bob in this throat.

he turns to face you and there's another moment of silence between you, darting eyes looking into each other's with neither of you sure how to make the first mood. the tense air falters slightly when you both laugh, visibly shaking as if trying to fray the nerves you feel.

"you're allowed to kiss me, clark." you crack a smile, further easing the tension and giving him the go-ahead.

clark nods, reaching his arm up. his hand comes up gently, fingers brushing along your jaw, like he's hesitant in case you pull away. but you don't. you can't. you're frozen in place, heart pounding in your ears as clark kent, your best friend, your coworker and lunch break buddy, closes the distance and kisses you.

it starts slow and you shouldn't be surprised.

he's soft, tentative, like he's testing the waters, but the second your lips part and your hands slides up the back of his neck, feeling the curls at the nape of his neck, it's like a dam breaks.

the kiss soon turns hungry, almost desperate in a way that makes you feel dizzy.

he groans into your mouth, deep and guttural, the sound vibrating through your chest when you gently tug at his hair, pulling him closer to you. his hands find your hips and he grips them tightly as he sits beside you.

your free hand trails down to tug at his shirt. he's quick to lift it off, breaking the kiss for a mere second, tossing the fabric somewhere behind the sofa.

you don't remember how you ended up in his lap, only that you're straddling him now, grinding down over the thickening length pressed against his jeans.

your hands aren't shy in the way they glide across the newly discovered fair skin of his torso. he's on the fairer side but you can imagine the farmer's tan he'd probably sport had he stayed home and not moved to metropolis.

you knew clark was a big guy. everyone did. he's a tower of a man, standing over you at six-foot four-inches, yet with the most gentlest of demeanors.

there's nothing gentle about clark's body though. you have half the mind to ask him when he finds time to go to the gym consistently but the other voice in your head tells you it'd ruin the moment.

clark's hands travel everywhere, too: up your thighs, your waist, your back. he touches you like he's been waiting for this. starving for this.

he hides pent up energy a lot better than i do, you think to yourself.

your teeth scrape against his bottom lip, holding the soft flesh between them and he exhales sharply, like you've knocked the wind out of him.

"bedroom?" he pants against your mouth when you release his lip.

you nod breathlessly. "please."

he stands with you still clinging to him, lifting you like it's nothing (seriously, what can this man bench?), and in a matter of seconds, you're in your room.

it's not the first time he's been in your room. it's not even the tenth. he's helped you assemble ikea furniture in here. he's helped you hang picture frames and fix a broken drawer. he's sat on your bed, fully clothed, eating pad thai while you struggled to find what to wear for a particular date.

but this...

this is different.

this time you're underneath him, flat on your back, watching as he looks at you like he's never really seen you before. granted, he hasn't. not like this.

his hands smooth under your shirt, eyes trained on the faded material. you're about to ask what he's staring at when he murmurs softly, "this is mine."

you glance down, eyeing the oversized fabric plastered with the logo of an indie band you know nothing about. a distant memory flashes in your eyes. "y'gave it me after that big storm," you remind him, your tone matches his. "never asked for it back."

"so you decided to steal it?" he asks, eyes flitting up to yours, a hint of amused challenge in his eyes.

"more like long-term borrowing," you correct him firmly. "i was going to return it eventually," you add.

"eventually," he echoes, like he doesn't believe you for a second.

his fingers toy with the hem of the shirt, brushing along the bare skin of your navel. it sends a shiver across your body, not only by his touch alone, but how he looks at you.

you swallow. "you want it back?"

clark hums, leaning in, nose brushing against yours. "eventually," he teases.

he kisses you again.

it's slower this time, like he has all the time in the world to taste you. his hands skim your sides, pushing the shirt up gradually, savoring each inch of skin he reveals. your arch to help him, letting the fabric slide up off your arms, over your head and get tossed somewhere beside your bed.

clark sits back just enough to look at you, really look at you, and the look on his face makes goosebumps raise your skin. his eyes drag down your chest, still clad in a bra.

"um, may i?" he asks, voice strained.

a smile cracks your features, warmth blooming in your chest at the his display of shyness during your moment of intimacy. you nod with a hum of approval, grateful that the bra you decided to wear today had the clasp at the front between the two cups.

clark breathes out a quiet sound of relief, like he's also grateful for the simplicity. his fingers find the clasp easily, but he doesn't rush. he hesitates for just a second, giving you one last chance to change your mind, even though your body is already arching toward him in invitation.

the clasp clicks open with a soft snap and you bra loosens against your skin.

with a bated breath, you feel clark slide the straps from your shoulders carefully, until the bra has been tossed aside to join your – his – shirt on the floor. you blink up at him as he finally takes you in fully, his breath catches.

"you're beautiful," he says simply, like it's a fact. not a line, not flattery. just the truth.

you swallow hard, unable to speak, so you reach for him instead, pulling him down into another kiss, your hands wrapped around the back of his neck. this one is deeper, messier. your tongue slide together, desperate and hot enough to make your thighs press together.

clark groans into your mouth, feeling the movement of your legs, as if he knows exactly what it means. his hands slide down your sides, settling on your hips, thumbs tracing slow circles, just under the waistband of your sweatshorts.

then he shifts, dragging his mouth along your jaw, down your neck, pressing slow kisses to every inch of skin he can reach. you gasp when his lips find the sensitive spot below the corner your jaw, your fingers tightening in his hair as he sucks softly.

"clark," you whisper, barely able to get the word out.

he lifts his head slightly, eyes searching yours. "tell me what you want," he murmurs.

you bite the inside of your lower lip, feeling the heat pool in your lower belly. "i want you to touch me. really touch me."

he lets out a breath, nodding.

clark moves lower, trailing kisses down your chest, pausing to mouth at your breast, his tongue flicking over your nipple until you arch beneath him with a croon. you moan softly when his lips close over your nipple, sucking at the stiffened flesh. your eyes flutter shut as his large hand gropes the breast that's not in his mouth, before it begins to trail down.

his hand coasts down your stomach, slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts, and then he goes lower, beneath the cotton of your underwear.

your breath hitches when his fingers brush over your slit, already soaked and his breath stutters against your skin. he releases from your nipple with a soft 'pop,' eyes meeting yours.

"oh my," he groans, "you're so wet."

you whimper, half-embarrassed, half-desperate. "yeah, well... you're kind of hot."

he huffs to himself – maybe a laugh, maybe it's out of disbelief – and presses a kiss to the slope of your breast before slipping a finger between your folds, circling your clit with a precision you don't want to know from where he learned. your body jerks at the contact, a soft moan leaving your lips.

clark watches your expression closely, trying to read your pleasure.

"like this?" he asks lowly, swallowing the lump in his throat.

you nod frantically, your fingers tangling into his hair as you pull him closer. "mhm... just like that."

his touch grows more confident, smiling to himself as he coaxes another croon from you when he pushes the finger inside your velvet walls.

you gasp, hands moving to clutch his shoulders, eyes fluttering shut at the slow and deliberate stretch of his digit inside you.

he hums in approval at the feel, like the warmth of you is enough to drive him crazy. his thumb moved to your clit, circling in tandem with the curl of his finger, drawing sounds from your lips he's never heard before. now that he has, he doesn't think he'll ever forget them.

your hips buck up to meet his hand, your breath hitching as his finger begins to move faster and with more purpose. he carefully adds a second finger, watching your reaction closely.

"oh, clark," you pant, voice breaking.

"does it feel good?" he checks in softly, continuing to crook his fingers inside your gummy walls.

"y-yeah, real good," you nod, lashes batting.

your body burns and your pulse pounds in your ears, thighs trembling as he works you closer and closer to the edge with just his fingers.

"clark, i'm– oh my god–"

you're at the precipice. he can feel it, too.

"mhm, go ahead, sweetheart," he hums against your temple, his thumb circling faster over your clit.

you're unsure if it's his fingers or the pet name that triggers your orgasm but you cum with a sharp cry, legs tensing and back arching as waves of pleasure roll through your body. he doesn't pull his fingers out until you're gasping, twitching and whimpering from the overstimulation.

when you finally open your eyes, you look at his expression: tender. a littler in awe.

you pull him into a kiss before you can overthink it, your lips a 'thank you' for the orgasm he gave you. one of your hands drift down and feel how hard he his through the denim of his jeans.

"your turn," you murmur against his lips.

clark shakes his head slightly, kissing your jaw. "we're not playing a board game."

you arch a brow, still catching your breath. "clark."

he grins softly. "okay, fine. 'm not going to argue with you."

you laugh breathlessly tugging at the loops of his jeans before your reach the button of them. he lets you unbutton his jeans, finding the zipper and pulling it down.

clark hisses when the zipper comes in contact with his bulge, separated by the cotton of his boxers. you glance up at him, eyes flitting to his face, just in time to see him bite down on his lower lip and knit his brows together.

you push the denim down his hips and he helps, standing off the bed momentarily to tug the rest of them down his legs and kicking them aside.

"those, too," you murmur, eyes zeroing on his boxers, more specifically the hard outline behind them.

clark exhales sharply, his cheeks tinting a faint pink as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and leans over to slide them to his legs before stepping out of them and leaving them in the pile on the floor.

your breath catches as he straightens again, fully bare now and yeah... you're in awe.

your eyes roam over him and he shifts slightly under the weight of your gaze. he's not bashful per se, but he's something close to it.

"jesus, clark," you whisper.

"what?" his ears flush a darker pink and that makes you grin because of course he's shy about it. it's so him, it almost makes your chest ache.

"you, clark," you smile, chuckling through your nose. "that," you add, nodding toward his cock, hanging thick and heavy between his legs.

he sucks in a breath and you find his reaction dear. of course the guy with the biggest dick you've ever seen is modest about it. and of course it's clark kent of all men.

"c'mere," you beckon him over, sitting up in your bed. "wanna make you feel good."

he kneels at the edge of your bed, voice strained, raspy with want. "you don't have to," he murmurs but the twitch of his cock says otherwise.

"i want to," you answer softly, gently tugging him by the arm until he's settled against your headboard.

"sweetheart..." he trails off.

there it is again. that damn pet name.

"let me," you ask, practically beg, eyes boring into his with desperation. "please."

his lips purse as if he's holding something in and then he's nodding. "okay."

you wrap your fingers around him, heat returning to your belly when you realize your hand barely encircles his entire circumference. you stroke him once slowly, and clark's eyes flutter shut. his jaw tenses, tossing his head back against the headboard.

"god," he breathes, the sound low and guttural, like the air's been vacuumed from his lungs.

you smirk a little to yourself, tucking the moment away in your memory.

your hand moves again, slow and steady, watching his every reaction. you watch the way his chest rises and falls a little faster now, and the way his brows scrunch together while his lips part with a groan when you twist your wrist just the right way.

"feel good?" you ask.

clark's eyes flutter open, glassy and dark with heat. "yeah," he rasps. "feels... feels great."

you beam at his words, pride filling your chest.

you shift lower on the bed, settling between his legs and placing a hand on his thigh for support. his breath catches when he realizes where this is going and you don't give him a chance to overthink it.

you run your tongue along the underside of his cock, slow and deliberate. he lets out a sound that's part groan and part whimper, hips twitching up instinctively.

he moans your name softly, pressing the back of his head harder against the headboard. part of you wishes you could take a picture.

you hum around the thick head of him as you take him into your mouth, swirling your tongue and easing forward until you feel the weight of him on your tongue, nearly overwhelming in girth. his hands twitch at his sides before one reluctantly moves up to your hair.

clark doesn't push. doesn't guide. he just holds, like he needs something to ground him.

you set a rhythm, bobbing your head and stroking him with one hand what you can't take. you relish in the way his moans grow louder, more broken, a sound you want etched into your mind forever.

"sweetheart," he calls, voice tense with strain. "you have to wait– i'm–"

you glance up at him, eyes wide and pupils blown, trying to read his expression.

"you're going to make me cum," he warns, voice cracking.

why does he say that like it's such a bad thing?

you double-down, sucking harder in response, flattening your tongue along the underside of his cock again, and that's it.

clark groans, loud and low and helpless, as he comes, hips bucking once before he stills them. his hand fists your hair while the other attempts to cover his mouth as if he's afraid of waking the whole building (too late, you think).

you ease off him slowly when his thigh trembles beneath your hand, lifting your head up and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you look up at him.

he looks completely and utterly wrecked. his hair is mussed, his skin is flushed pink and damp with sweat. his eyes are still dazed, slowly blinking at you as he comes down from his high. he looks... so pretty.

"jesus," he pants softly. "you really didn't have to do that."

"i know," you murmur with a small smile, crawling up his body until you're in front of his face. "i wanted to."

and then he smiles at you, a dazed one that sucks the breath from your lungs that you cant help but lean in to kiss him. he reaches up to cradle your jaw, uncaring at the fact that he can taste himself on you. his other hand drifts to your waist, pulling you closer and against him.

your tongues meet each other's, gliding together in almost a lazy manner. his kiss is languid, almost reverent, like he's trying to memorize the inside of your mouth.

you sigh into it, boneless and content as your body arches into his, bare chests pressing against each other's.

his hand drifts to your hip, toying with the hem of your shorts. "can't believe these are still on," he murmurs against your lips.

"you're the one who fingered me without taking them off first," you remind him with a chuckle.

"mm, my fault," he muses, beginning to tug down the material. you let him, allowing him to slide down your shorts until they're low enough for you to kick off and off the bed. "and these?" he asks, fingers playing with the lacy hem of your cotton panties.

you pull your head back slightly, eyes darting between his. "you want to?" you ask softly.

he swallows as he looks at your face in the dim light, just as flushed as his. "if you want," he answers, fingers still idly pinching the lacy fabric between his fingers.

you nod once with certainty. "yeah," you answer in a breath. "i do."

clark leans in to kiss you again, hands gripping your waist to flip you and ease you onto your back. he pulls away, his hands skimming your sides as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your underwear. his eyes meet yours once more, another silent check.

you lift your hips up in answer.

he slides your panties, soiled from your first orgasm, down slowly, tossing them aside into the growing pile on the floor.

you let him pull your thighs apart, exposing your core to the air and his gaze.

"you're so..." he trails off, but he doesn't finish, like the words fail him.

you look up at him, curious despite feeling so vulnerable before him. "so what?"

he smiles softly as if he's amazed. "just... beautiful."

your breath hitches at his words. it's so clark for him to say; it's so earnest and devastating at the same time, it makes your heart stutter in your chest.

he takes another glance down at your pussy before he snaps out of it, scooting away to reach for something on the floor. "i think i've got a condom in my wallet," he murmurs, a little hurried.

you choose not to dwell on wondering how often clark gets propositioned with sex to regularly carry a condom in his wallet.

it's clark after all.

any woman would be lucky to be with him.

you stop him, your voice calling out, "i've got a box somewhere in my nightstand."

the look on his face as he turns to look at you is boyishly flustered and adorable. you watch him crawl back over to you, hovering over you as he reaches in your nightstand drawer and retrieves a foil packet.

clark kneels up on the bed, leaning back against the back of his calves and carefully opens the packet. he rolls it on his hardened cock and you swear your brain circuits watching him do something so mundane and yet so intimate.

is this how you usually reacted to a date rolling on a condom?

then, he's hovering over you and his hand moves between you both, wrapping around himself and dragging the head of his cock slowly throughout your folds, gathering slick.

you whimper softly, hips twitching instinctively.

"you're sure about this?" he asks through gritted teeth, like he's not pressing his tip against your entrance, his restrain a hairline away from snapping. his glasses are already fogged and you hate to admit to yourself that it's one of the hottest things you've ever seen.

"yeah," you nod, letting out a breath.

he nods back at you, maybe to himself, before pushing inside you.

you cry out softly at the invasion, the head of his cock stretching your walls as he sinks into you. your hands scramble to find something, anything, to hold on to. they end up gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his warm skin as your breath stutters.

clark is big. thick. huge as he fills you in a way that feels overwhelming yet perfect at the same time.

"'s tight," he rasps, staying still as your walls flutter around the two inches he has inside you. "'m sorry."

"don't apologize," you pant, your eyes fluttering. of course he's apologizing for being too big. "i can take it."

he groans at your words, unable to resist pushing deeper inside you, another inch entering your tight walls. "sweetheart, y'sure? i don't have to go in all the way–"

how sweet.

"please," you whine, legs wrapping around his waist and pulling his hips closer to you, not letting him pull out.

he grunts at your eagerness as you urge him in closer, deeper as he sinks another inch into you, the stretch burning just enough to make your toes curl.

"fuck," he breathes, like the sound is punched from his lungs. is this the first time you've ever heard him swear? you think stars form your pupils just because he sounds so pretty when he curses.

you feel so full, so deliciously and impossibly full and yet you still want more, knowing there's a little more of him to go. you babbles something along the lines of 'more' and 'please' and who is clark kent but the man who'd grant your every wish?

with one final roll of his hips, he bottoms out, cock fully seated inside you. he lets out a low groan, feeling his pelvis press against your slick fold. the breath in your throat hitches at the pressure, the fullness you feel.

for a moment, the two of you stay sill like that, bodies locked together and foreheads touching. clark removes a hand from your hips to gently brush your jaw with the pad of his thumb.

"you okay?" he murmurs, voice so soft it makes your chest ache.

you nod, nails pressing into his back, but your grip loosens slightly. "yeah," you manage to say, a little breathless. "just... give me a second."

clark kisses your cheek, then your temple. "take all the time you need."

and so you do. you catch your breath. you adjust, the dull ache between your legs slowly becoming one of pleasure. you give him a nod, tilting your hips, silently inviting him to move and he takes the cue.

he starts the thrust, slowly at first but it's deep. so deep. every movement is unhurried and almost reverent. his gaze remain on you, maintaining an intense eye contact through every thrust, his lips parted as soft groans leave his lips.

"i can feel you everywhere," you whisper, half-dazed. "you're everywhere."

his pace stutters for a beat at your words. he lifts his head to look at you, to really look at them. you think you see a flicker of something raw in his gaze but you can't be sure.

he leans down to kiss you and it's messy, deep, and needy, while his hips roll into yours with a growing urgency. his hips pick up their pace, moving harder and faster now, each thurst enough to make your vision blur with pleasure.

you clutch his back tighter as the coil in your belly gets tighter. your walls flutter wildly around him, desperate for release.

"sweetheart," clark pants, his voice ragged. "i'm so close."

you nod, voice barely a whisper, "me, too."

clark buries his face in the crook of your neck, breath stuttering as his body tenses. you feel him twitch inside you, his release crashing through you like a tidal wave, your own orgasm ripping through your core in response.

you cling to each other as your breathing slows, skin slick with sweat and hearts pounding in your chests. clark stays inside you for a moment, catching his breath, and you’re both too dazed to say anything.

then he presses a kiss to your forehead.

and that’s when you know.

you’re fucked.

totally, completely, emotionally fucked.

the next morning, you blink awake to an empty bed.

the sheets are cold and tangled where he was only hours ago. the faint scent of his cologne lingers, but the warmth is gone – vanished with him.

your hand instinctively reaches out, only to find the space beside you painfully vacant. no familiar weight. no slow morning breath against your skin.

you sit up slowly, heart hammering in your chest, eyes scanning the room. you notice the faint imprint on the mattress where he had lain, and your hands brushes over the cold sheets.

his clothes are missing too. no sign he'd ever been there.

you swallow the lump in your throat, running a hang through your messy hair and check the clock on your nightstand: 7:02 A.M.

how could he just... leave? no goodbye?

your mind races but you push down the swirl of panic, reminding yourself: no strings. no feelings.

you shake your head bitterly.

but the ache in your chest says another story.

your morning routine is quiet, your mind muddled with the memories of the night prior: the way clark's hands skimmed your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake, the way his mouth moved so smoothly against yours, the way he practically engraved himself in your gummy walls.

you expected some form of conversation when you woke up that morning. then again, what would you even say? good job, clark! maybe too good of a job haha... ha.

maybe not.

but still!

a text. a note. something.

you keep glancing at your phone like it'll buzz with a text from him. but your screen stays blank. almost mockingly silent.

it was supposed to be uncomplicated. it was to just be physical. fun, even. and that's all it was – right? so why does it feel like he permanently carved himself into you and then disappeared, making you feel hollow?

you try not to spiral, really. but it's hard when your body still aches from how he held you, how he was inside you. you continue relaying the night like a film reel with a stuck stop button.

within an hour, you arrive at the daily planet still shaken, though you pat yourself on the back for looking otherwise; your hair is neatly done, lip gloss on and blazer crisp over your shoulders. your stomach is still in knots but you're hoping the distraction of news will take your mind off it.

you half expect clark to avoid you completely, given how he left your apartment. instead, he's there, at his desk (early for once) and as chipper as ever.

"morning," he greets, offering that charming grin that usually makes your chest warm. today, it makes you want to scream.

you manage a polite smile, your throat dry. "morning."

he holds up a to-go tray, offering you the contents in it. "got your usual. extra shot of espresso. thought you might need it – perry's been on edge all morning."

your fingers wrap around the warm cup, but your heart twists at the casual way he says it. thought you might need it. not because of perry, but maybe because he spent the night buried inside you.

he moves on, heading over to jimmy's desk to talk about the recent superman sighting.

apparently there'd been some alien creature on the clinton bridge – some grotesque, hulking thing with four arms and acidic spit, according to eyewitnesses. superman had swooped in early enough before any casualties were made, defeating the alien. you suspect clark is the key reporter on the case, given his connection to the superhero.

still, since when did clark go to jimmy first about stories?

you stare down at the coffee in your cup as if it'd give you an answer.

the morning drones on. perry barks headlines across the office, jimmy's frantically pacing the tiled floors while chewing a pen cap and clark... clark is perfectly normal. he's chatting with interns, bouncing article ideas off perry, tossing you a smile when he passes your desk.

around noon, you're about to get up for lunch when he beats you to it, strolling over with a brown paper bag and a casual, "hey, got you that turkey pesto you like. hope that's okay."

you blink at him, startles as you crane your neck up to look at him. "oh. yeah. thanks." you glance toward the break room. "are you...?"

"nah," he cuts in, shaking his head. "swamped with edits. gonna eat while i finish the luthor piece."

and just like that, without waiting for you to respond, he's gone.

you try to not let it bother you. you try to convince yourself that this is how it was always supposed to be. always supposed to be before your big mouth ruined it.

but all you can think about is how warm he was in your bed. how soft his eyes were in the dark. how different he felt.

and how different everything is now.

what you don't see is the way clark watches you from his desk. how he catches every flicker of confusion on your face, every little sigh when you assume no one's listening.

the weekend creeps by in slow and dragged hours.

with no deadlines hanging over your head (no perry yelling in your ear about headlines), nothing to dive into, nothing to keep your brain from looping over every moment of that night – the silence is so loud.

you try to distract yourself. you do laundry, you achieve some cleaning, all while some old rom-com plays in the background – which just makes matters worse because even that couple seemed to check in on each other the morning after.

clark hadn't.

by sunday evening, you're mostly numb to it. not okay, but dulled around the edges. detached.

if clark could carry on so easily, so seamlessly (as if sleeping with your best friend was no big deal), then so could you. you'd have to.

monday rolls in with a dreary drizzle and a headache you can't shake, despite the two aspirin you'd taken already. when you step into the planet, clark is already at his desk, tapping away at his keyboard with the same focused expression he always wears.

he looks up when you enter, lifts a hand in greeting and gives one of his clark boyish smiles. "hey," he says, like nothing is different. "usual on your desk."

you blink. "thanks," you murmur.

the coffee cup is still warm when you pick it up. the lid has your name scribbled on it in his handwriting – something he does when he picks up coffee for everyone else in order to remember whose is who. your lid was always different – special – though. a smiley face is scrawled beside your name, just like always.

now, the smile seems like it's mocking you.

you shuffle into the morning meeting and take the seat farthest from him. clark barely notices. he doesn't even look at you.

at least not that you can tell.

lunchtime comes and goes. he stops by your desk with a neatly packed container of leftovers. "made extra this weekend. figured you wouldn't say no to pasta."

you look up at him, then the container in his hand. you can smell it from here. you love his cooking and you can feel your stomach rumble at the sight of it.

"thanks, but i brought mine." you give him a pressed smile, pulling out your own container from home. it's got a sad excuse of a sandwich in there but still, you're too proud to accept his.

you see something flicker across his face, so subtle and brief you're not sure if it was ever there at all, but he recovers fast. "oh. okay. cool." clark pats your desk softly before walking away.

by wednesday, your strategy of coping has been reduced to silence and sidestepping. an absolute shutdown.

you haven't looked clark in the eye once.

not really.

you pretend he's not there, except when you have to acknowledge him. and when you do, you do it with the same kind of politeness you'd give a coworker you don't really know.

you've been packing your own lunch consistently now, every day. it's not because you're being petty, but because you can't keep accepting his gracious offers.

today, he hovers by your desk with a paper bag and a hopeful smile. "brought you that chicken teriyaki over rice you like," he says. "figured you might not have had time–"

"i packed something," you cut in, before he can finish. you plaster a polite smile on your face. "but thank you."

you don't wait for his reply, turning back to your computer and after a moment too long, he sets the bag down and walks off.

you don't touch it.

today 7:15 P.M.

and that leads you to where you are now, scrolling on tinder in hopes – desperate hopes – for something, anything to distract you from your mood.

but there's a knock at the door.

you thought, no, you hoped clark would skip movie night. you really did. after days of keeping your head down, of ducking out of rooms the moment he walked in, of dodging any and every attempt at closeness, you figured he'd get the hint.

you freeze on the couch, bowl of half-eaten cereal in your lap and an oversized hoodie swallowing you whole, phone in the other hand, screen still showing off a man’s dating profile. you consider ignoring the door. you could pretend you're asleep, or not home, or–

"hey," clark calls from the other side of the door, his tone gentle. "i brought thai. they were out of the dumplings you like so i got extra spring rolls."

your stomach flips.

you set the bowl down on the coffee table, standing from your seat and slowly pad over to the door, hesitating for a moment before you open the door.

there he is.

normal as anything. stupidly handsome in a soft blue henley and worn jeans, his hair a little messy from the breeze. he holds up the takeout bag with a hopeful little smile.

you can't believe it took you sleeping with him to realize just how handsome clark kent is.

"movie night," he says simply, raising the bag for emphasis.

you blink, mouth opening and then shutting.

"i'm... not really feeling up to it tonight," you say, pulling the sleeves of your hoodie over your hands. "sorry. kinda under the weather."

it's a decent lie. passable. you even sniff for good measure, eyes avoiding his.

clark doesn't say anything right away.

behind his glasses, his gaze dips over you, scanning the faintest tension in your shoulder, the steadiness of your pulse, the evenness of your breath, the warmth of your skin. they're all signs that your body is just fine. signs that you're lying.

he doesn't call you out on it. he just lets a slow nod carry his chin. "okay..." he murmurs quietly, frowning. he hands you the bag of takeout anyway. "you can text me if you need anything, alright?"

you nod and start the shut the door.

he turns to leave, letting the door shut behind him and you move to place the bag on the coffee table.

but then clark stops. you don't even hear his footsteps on the stairs before they pause and double back to your door. the knock is softer this time.

you open the door again, brows furrowed in confusion.

clark stands before you, his own brows knitted. "did i... do something wrong?" he asks, his voice careful.

you freeze.

"what?"

"you've been avoiding me," he reveals gently. "not just today. all week."

your mouth is dry and it takes a second for you to swallow. "i've just been busy. tired," you answer weakly.

clark exhales through his noise, eyes narrowing slightly. he doesn't buy it. you can feel him not buying it. the air between you tenses but he still doesn't push you.

you sigh and rub your hand over your forehead in attempt to buy time and think of some excuse for your detached behavior that doesn't make you seem pathetic.

"i just needed space," you say finally, eyes still averted.

clark shifts his weight. "so i did do something."

"no!" you manage, too fast. too loud. then softer, you force calm into your tone. "no. you didn't... not really."

clark waits. patient. unmoving.

the silence is long enough that your embarrassment starts to rise hot in your cheeks. you should shut the door. thank him for the food. tell him you'll see him at work tomorrow and crawl back into the shell you've spent the last week building around yourself.

but you don't.

you lean your shoulder against the doorframe, staring off to the side.

"i just thought it'd feel different," you admit, voice so quiet and just above a whisper, you're unsure if he hears it.

clark's brow creases. "different?"

"afterward," you clarify. "i thought..." you sigh. "i don't know what i thought." your words trail off and clark doesn't rush you to elaborate.

he waits.

"i guess i didn't expect you to act so normal," you finally settle on. "and then i didn't expect me to care so much that you acted so normal."

clark's eyes darken, and something in his jaw tightens. "i wasn't trying to brush you off."

"you didn't," you say quickly. "that's the worst part, clark. you didn't do anything wrong. you were just... being you. sweet and thoughtful and friendly and perfect."

with a calm tone, he murmurs, "well, apparently not if you're not okay."

you finally meet his gaze, though your head remains slightly tilted downward, looking up at him through your lashes.

"i was the one who said it'd just be physical. i made a whole thing of it. i joked about it. and then i–" you catch yourself. the words tremble on your tongue, about to slip.

clark doesn't look away, his gaze settled heavily on you. "you what?"

you hesitate, swallowing the lump in your throat.

"i caught feelings," you admit, the confession dragging out of you like you're wincing. "i said no strings but i lied. not on purpose, but... i did."

a beat passes.

you avert your gaze, too afraid to see his expression.

here's where your mouth moves before your brain can compute, attempting to fill in the excruciating silence.

"i didn't expect to feel this way," you say, quieter now. "but i do. and i just... i don't know how to be your friend and pretend like that night didn't change anything for me. i... i'm just sorry."

clark's eyes search your face, his face unreadable for long second.

then, he finally says your name. and the way he says it is so soft, so full of emotion, it feels like a kiss. he takes a step closer to you, crossing the threshold into your apartment.

"i didn't want to leave that morning," he says suddenly, voice low. "i had to."

that makes your head shoot up. you blink, head shaking slightly. "had to?" you echo.

his eyes flicker, almost like he regrets saying it, but he nods. "there was something... urgent. i should've left a note. i thought i could just... make it up to you. you know, the coffee, lunch, the usual clark stuff."

"i didn't know how to act," he continues, his head tilting down as he looks at you. "i didn't want to assume what that night meant to you since you brought it up in the first place... hell, i even asked steve about hookup culture and what was the appropriate thing to–"

"clark." you snap your head up to meet his eyes with incredulity. "you asked steve? for dating advice?"

clark huffs, shaking his head. "no, not dating advice. hookup advice," he corrects, matter-of-fact-ly.

"oh my god," you mumble to yourself. "you asked steve, the guy who has a horrible track record when it comes to woman for advice."

"well, i couldn't ask jimmy. he'd know it was about you and then i'd never hear the end of it."

you blink, stunned, your mouth opening slightly before you let out a short, surprised laugh. "you are so bad at this."

clark shrugs sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "yeah, well. sue me for trying to respect your boundaries while quietly losing my mind."

you're taken aback. "you were losing your mind?"

his hand drops, and he takes another step closer to you. "you seriously can't believe i just walked away from that night and felt nothing," he murmurs, voice quiet and earnest. "i've been thinking about you nonstop. i couldn't be around you for more than a few minutes because every time i see you i..." he trails off, gulping.

"you what?" you ask softly, your breath halting.

"every time i see you, i want to touch you," he says, voice low, almost like he's confessing a sin. "i want to pull you into the nearest room and kiss you. touch you. hold you. have you."

your breath hitches in your throat.

clark takes another step forward, so close now you have to tilt your chin to meet his eyes. "and it's not just physical. i think about how you laugh when you're half-asleep. how you hum when you're focused. i think about things i shouldn't know after one night."

you swallow hard, your throat suddenly dry. "clark..."

"let me be clear," he says quickly. "i do feel the same. maybe – probably more."

you glance up at him, noting the sincerity in his expression, the barely restrained tension in his frame.

"i'm not going to pretend it was just sex," he says. "not when every second of it felt like something i didn't want to end. not when i still think about the way you sounded – how you looked under me."

your breath stutters, legs nearly giving out at the memory alone.

his voice dips even lower, if that's possible. "not when i've had to physically stop myself from calling you every night since, just to hear your voice while i–" he cuts himself off, swallowing the words.

your stomach drops and a familiar heat grows. "while you what?"

"i think you know."

"every night?" you ask, your voice a small murmur.

he exhales sharply, face flushing but his eyes are still as darkened as ever. "yeah."

your chest tightens at the confession. there's a beat of silence where the air between you feels heavier than ever, thick with things you never thought he'd say. never thought he felt.

"i tried to respect the line you drew," he says softly, almost apologetically. "but i crossed it the second i touched you and i haven't been able to stop wanting you since."

your heart pounds in your ears. you want to speak, say something, but your throat is dry and your mind is racing too fast to catch a single coherent thought.

so you choose to act instead.

you surge up, gripping the collar of his henley, and kiss him.

it's clumsy at first, all heat and urgency and too many feelings shoved into the kiss. his hands immediately find your waist, anchoring you as your fingers tangle in his shirt, wrinkling the blue material between your fingertips. you're already tugging at him. tugging him further into your apartment – he takes the hint and kicks the door behind him.

he groans into your mouth when your hands slide uo under his shirt, palms brushing over warm skin. his muscles twitch beneath your touch, like he's been waiting for this.

he lifts you effortlessly – god, you missed his strength – and your legs wrap around his waist like it's second nature. your back meets the wall with a soft thud, and his mouth never leaves your. it's greedy, relentless. it's like he's making up for lost time. granted, he is.

his hands roam with a desperate urgency, memorizing every curve and contour of you with free reign. the heat between you is palpable, a built up tension bursting at the seams. you cling to him, breath hitching as his lips trail down your jaw to your neck, nipping softly.

"you don't know how much i've missed this," he murmur against your skin, voice rough with need.

you shiver, fingers threading into his hair as he kisses lower, just beneath your ear, along the line of your throat. his breath fans hot against your skin. you're practically melting into him, undone by the weight and warmth of his body.

"i thought about you every night," he confesses, his pressing forward, still hoisting you up against the wall, making your breath hitch. all the while he presses open mouthed kisses to your skin. "your laugh." kiss. "your face." kiss. "your body." kiss.

you whimper, the memory of it rushing back all at once. you feel yourself clench around nothing, the heat in your belly pooling.

the words are stuck in your throat. you're too embarrassed to admit what he already seems to know: it was supposed to be just a hookup and you thought you could keep your heart out of it. but you failed. spectacularly.

so, instead, you lean in, teeth catching his bottom lip in a kiss that's filthy. needy. his groan rumbles against your chest, hand squeezing at the flesh beneath your thighs as he carries you, sliding up to your ass.

"i need you," you whisper finally.

his eyes darken at your words. "you have me," he rasps, and then his mouth is back on yours.

he carries you with effortless strength toward the bedroom, only breaking the kiss to make sure he's not bumping into anything in your hallway. your legs still stay locked around him, arms around his shoulders, fingers still tangled in his hair like you're afraid this moment isn't real. like he actually isn't here.

when his knees hit the edge of the side of your bed, he lowers you onto the mattress with a care that contradicts the heat in his gaze.

"tell me to stop," he murmurs against your lips, his forehead brushing nose, voice barely holding back restraint. "and i will."

you shake your head. "please don't."

and that's his green light.

his mouth is back on yours as his hands trail down your body. they slide along the curve of your waist, the dip of your hips until they find the hem of your hoodie. you easily slip out of it as he helps pull it over your head, tossing it aside. he pulls away for a moment glancing down at the shirt your wearing.

"what?" your question cuts through the tense air.

"you look better in my shirts," he murmurs, pinching the material between his fingertips.

you smile – grin, really – finding amusement in his words. "you should give me some more then," you answer, arms hooking around his neck. he lets you pull him in, smiling against your mouth as you attempt to press another kiss.

his hands grow more eager, tugging the shirt up and over your head in one swift motion.

he lets out a sigh, eyes raking over your chest with reverence and hunger all tangled together. his large hands cup you through your bralette, thumbs brushing over the lace.

you whimper beneath him, fingers tugging at his henley until he stands over you, yanks it over his head. that was hot.

you'd forgotten just how solid he was. all broad chest, sculpted arms. smooth skin over muscle. the kind of body that made you ache.

your hands glide over his chest, fingertips trailing down the dip of his sternum to the line of his abs. his muscles twitch under your touch, and then he's lowering again, mouth hot and wet against the swell of your breast as he works your bra off.

he mouths at you, tongue flicking and teeth scraping enough to make you gasp, "clark." your lashes flutter, fingers reaching to tangle in his curls. one of his hands stay at your chest while the other slips between your thighs, cupping you through your shorts, your heat unmistakable.

he groans, like it hurts. "oh my," he breathes, pressing his forehead between the valley of your breasts for a moment, like he's taking a moment to pull himself together. but then his fingers are moving again, sliding beneath the waistband of your shorts and underwear in one slow motion. he drags them down legs, eyes never leaving your center.

you're wet. he sees it. you feel it.

"sweetheart," he murmurs like a prayer.

that damn pet name.

he knows you like it, he can tell by the way it makes your heart stutter in your chest. clark makes a mental note to continuing calling you it.

then he sinks to his knees on your floor between your spread legs, your calves dangling off the edge of your bed. his hands grip your thighs, thumbs brushing reverently along the inside, like he's committing this to memory.

you're also committing the sight to memory. despite the obsceneness of clark kent kneeling between your les, there's still something so pure in his face: the adoration shining in his ocean eyes behind those glasses.

he presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, then higher and higher.

you suck in a breath when his lips ghost over the skin of your inner thigh and his glasses nudge you slightly. it unintentionally reminds you that it's him, still him, still the clark who holds open doors open and rambles about his dorky interests.

except now his hands are parting your thighs further, spreading you open.

"d'you wanna take off your glasses?" you murmur softly, swallowing thick.

he's quick – almost too quick – to shake his head. "mn-hm, wanna see you clearly," he answers, not revealing the real reason. he exhales shakily, seeing you up closes and the sound alone makes your core throb.

"so, so pretty," he says, almost to himself. he drags his thumbs along your folds, gentle at first. "

you drape your arm over your eyes, too flustered to answer and he smile – you can hear it in his voice, "don't hide from me now."

before you have a chance to answer, his mouth on you.

you gasp as his tongue licks a slow, careful stripe through your slick. when you whimper, hips shifting, his hands tighten on your thighs to hold you steady.

he eats you like he's starving, like you're the only thing he's allowed himself to have after months of being denied. his tongue flicks, circles, presses just right against you and he groans every time your body jerks against his face.

"been wanting to do this," he grumbles against your clit, pressing a chaste kiss to the sensitive bundle of nerves. "thought about it for days."

you gasp, back arching when his tongue plunges into your center, nose rubbing between your folds.

"clark," you whine, nails digging into his scalp as you push him closer to you, keening at the sheer pleasure from his nose and tongue. you don't know how long he's pressed to you like that but you're sure it's longer than a person can be before they need air.

he finally pulls away. "dunno why i didn't last week," he huffs to himself, as if he's scolding himself, breathing a puff against your twitching core, making your walls flutter.

he dives back in. he works you open with patience and purpose, like he wants to unravel you right here, right now, just with his mouth.

and you do start to unravel, your hips rolling and thighs tensing around his shoulders, his name slipping past your lips in broken gasps. you're close.

so, so close.

he pulls back.

your protest is immediate, a whimpering sound of frustration leaving your lips, but he's already climbing up over you, kissing your jaw, your cheek, your lips and murmuring softly, "i know, sweetheart."

you eagerly reach between your bodies, palming his through his jeans. he's already hard, straining, almost painfully so, and the sound he makes is low and guttural.

"clark," you pant, squeezing him through his jeans.

"yeah," he hisses, sucking his lower lip between his teeth. "yeah." he repeats with a nod, reaching down to unbutton his jeans with one hand, the other braced beside your head. you hear the rasp of the zipper being pulled down and then he's fumbling to shove them down just enough to kick off. his boxers follow and you can feel the weight of him slap against your thigh.

"normally, i'd want you to cum before i get inside you," he murmurs through a breath, swallowing hard. "but i just can't wait."

"it's okay," you say quickly, looking into his eyes, heat filling your gaze.

he glances around, reaching for your nightstand drawer and you stop him, grabbing his wrist.

with furrowed brows, he turns to look at you.

"i'm on the pill." you whisper, "and i promise i'm clean."

clark's jaw ticks and then he nods, only once, before you feel the deliberate roll of his hips as he lines himself up.

"you sure?" he asks, voice rough like gravel, like he's barely holding himself back.

you roll your hips back against him, nodding with a soft croon as the head of his cock glides between your slick folds. "y-yes," you breathe out.

"i'll have to go slow because..." he starts.

"–you're huge," you answer for him, a ghost of a smile on your face.

his face flushes. "i was going to say i had little time to properly prep you but i guess that also works."

you giggle, the sound a little breathless, a little wrecked as you lay plaint beneath him as he stands before you. "i mean... both are true."

clark huffs a quiet laugh through his nose but there's a brewing darkness in his eyes. "okay, sweetheart," he murmurs, lowering his voice. "deep breath."

you inhale and then he starts to push inside. the head of him prods against your velvet walls, barely squeezing through your entrance. the stretch is instant. it's hot, thick, overwhelming, just like you remember it but it's oh, so different now without the barriers of latex between you. you feel him more than ever, the bare skin of his cock sliding and rubbing against your walls.

"f-fuck," you whisper, fingers clutching the sheets.

"i know, i know," he pants, lifting the underside of your thighs up to anchor him as he struggles not to shove himself in in one push. "god, you're–" the glasses on his nose, fog up as he pants and slowly sinks another inch into you.

"so good," you whisper, your words a little slurred as you blink ip at him.

clark's jaw is clenched, tendons straining in his neck as he watches your face with utmost focus. it's like he's mapping your pleasure in real time.

"you're doing so good, sweetheart," he croons, squeezing the fat of your thighs. "so tight, warm... christ–"

you whimper, overwhelmed by the stretch and the praise. the way he's only barely in but you already feel full.

it takes a while for him to push himself in, whispering praises and sweet words your way all the while.

then, finally, he bottoms out.

a shaky sound spills from your lips as he buries himself to the hilt, pressing against a spot inside you that has you cumming in seconds without warning.

clark feels your walls spasm around him and he groans, throwing his head back. "shit, baby," he rasps, voice trembling. (mentally, you add another tick to how many times you've made clark swear). "did you just–?"

you nod, dazed, still catching your breath, your whole body twitching from the aftershocks as he stays buried inside you. "i... i didn't mean to," you mumble, blinking up at him, lashes wet.

his smile is crooked and fond as he looks down at you, pupils blown wide. "oh, that's alright sweetheart," he says, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. "you okay?"

you hum, looping your arm around his shoulders, keeping him close. your legs wrap around his waist, making his arms move from holding your thighs up to brace beside either side of your body. "better than okay."

he grunts at your closeness, rolling his hips just a fraction. "sweetheart, you're squeezing me s'tight."

"sorry," you whimper, attempting to unclench around him. "y'can move," you add softly.

his eyes soften as he looks down at you. "you're not overstimulated?" he asks.

you must have the kindest man inside you right now.

"i need you more than that," you answer, looking into his eyes with determination.

he sucks in a breath at that, experimentally bringing his hips back slightly before pushing back in. your walls are slick with your orgasm so it becomes easier for him to slide between your walls. at your soft moan and fluttering lashes, he starts to move.

clark pulls out a few inches and thrusts back in with a slow, deliberate snap of his hips. you gasp, nails digging into his back and he hisses softly.

the rhythm he sets is measured and patient, but every stroke presses right against that devastating spot inside you that made you fall apart the first time. he doesn't look away from your face, like every flutter of your lashes, every gasp and tremble is something sacred.

"you feed so good, sweetheart," he mumbles, dipping his head to kiss along your jaw. "could stay here all night. buried inside you. just like this."

you shudder from beneath him, his words sending another wave of heart in your belly. "you can," you murmur.

"yeah, you'd let me?" he grunts against your neck, needing the confirmation between every slow roll of his hips. his glasses press against your cheek to the point you're worried they might snap.

"mhm, we could'a been doing this every night since last week," you whimper, squealing when he deliberately snaps his hips against yours out of rhythm.

"then, i guess i have to make up for lost time," he murmurs against your skin, picking up his pace.

you cry out, legs tightening around his waist as he begins to fuck you harder. it's still tender but it's deeper now. it's more insistent, like he's trying to imprint himself inside you (you think he already has from the week prior).

“fuck,” you breathe, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist, anchoring him to you. “clark—”

he groans at the sound of his name, mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your throat. “say it again,” he pants. “say my name like that.”

“clark,” you whisper, and he gives a sharp thrust in return that has your back arching, the pleasure overwhelming. you whine when he pulls his torso away from you, leaving your hands to grip the sheets beside you instead.

his fingers curl under your knees, pressing them up toward your chest to angle you open for him. the new angle has him hitting that spot with merciless precision, and your moans dissolve into something breathless and high-pitched.

“look at me,” he murmurs, brushing your hair from your face with a tenderness that contrasts how deep he’s fucking you. “wanna see your eyes when I make you cum again.”

your eyes flutter open, teary and half-lidded, and the moment they lock with his, noticing his blue eyes blown behind his fogged-up glasses, you shatter.

your walls clench around him, your cry muffled by the way he kisses you through your orgasm. it's the kind of kiss that feels like everything. it feels like home.

“that’s it,” he whispers against your lips. “good girl. you’re perfect. perfect.”

your body trembles under him, but he doesn't stop. not yet. he keeps thrusting through your aftershocks, voice low and ragged. “can I cum inside, sweetheart? please... need to feel it. need to feel you.”

you nod, dazed and desperate. “please, clark. want it.”

with a strangled groan, he pushes deep one final time, hips stuttering as he spills white ropes of cum inside you. he holds you tight, face buried in the crook of your neck, catching his breath.

you don’t say anything for a while, your limbs heavy and boneless as his weight settles over you. clark’s still inside, still pulsing faintly, and your body feels like it’s humming, buzzing with the aftershocks. he carefully pulls your legs back down from your chest, letting them dangle off the bed again.

"you okay?" he asks softly.

you nod, a dazed smile on your face as you look up at him. "yeah."

he cups your jaw, thumb caressing your flushed skin softly. "sorry if i went too hard at the end," he murmurs.

"it's okay," you quickly reassure him, turning your cheek to kiss the palm of his hand.

clark smiles at the gesture, basking in the warmth of you and being inside you. "can i stay over?" he asks, breaking the silence that falls between you.

the way your eyes narrow makes his heart stutter in his chest, second guessing everything that just happened prior. but then you speak.

"are you going to leave in the morning like i was some dirty mistress?" you ask, tone mostly teasing.

his shoulders relax and he laughs through his nose, leaning down to kiss your cheek. "sweetheart, i'm sorry," he apologizes, smiling against your skin. "i swear it was urgent. i didn't mean to do a walk-of-shame on you."

"mm, yeah okay," you hum along as if you don't believe him.

he pulls back to look down at you. "i'll spend the rest of forever apologizing to you for it," he promises.

"you better."

sure, tonight he won't tell you the real reason he left in a scramble and without a word that morning was because of the alien monster wreaking havoc on the clinton bridge that he had to deal with as his alien superhero counterpart, but until then, clark will do whatever it takes to make it up to you.

for now, he'll be right here and by your side until morning light.

You merely groaned, sinking further into the couch cushions where you sat. Your hands went to cover your face, legs tucked up under you.

“Is there something wrong with me?”

Clark raised a single brow, flopping down onto the couch next to you. “Excuse me?”

You groaned, dropping your head on his shoulder. Either something was wrong with you, or literally everyone else. You were certain of it. You’d attempted once again to date someone. Last time, a girl talked about her ex the whole time. Before that, someone else had been very adamant about splitting every bill to the exact cent. Tonight, you’d given a chance to a guy who seemed a little insecure on the dating app you’d found him on. That was your mistake. He appeared normal enough at first. Maybe not totally your type, but you were always willing to give someone a chance if you thought you might at least have a compatible personality and a similar sense of humor. This dude had neither. 

“Once again, I give a chance to some loser on a dating app. Once again, I get fucked,” you huffed out, cheek smushed to Clark’s shoulder. “And not in a fun way.”

His ears went a little red, but they always did when you spoke like that.

He’d found you through Jimmy a couple years ago. You were an old friend from high school who was looking for a reliable roommate, and Clark, at the time, could certainly use someone to help ease the load of his bills. Metropolis wasn’t cheap for an up-and-coming reporter. You were sweet, funny, and according to Jimmy, extremely reliable. Clark found out that you could also be a bit of a mother hen, which he was more than happy to be on the receiving end of. He liked coming home to someone who cared about what happened to him. Especially when that someone made him blueberry pancakes on Sunday mornings and liked to go bowling with him on Tuesday nights.

But, you were never one to be terribly shy. Years later and he was still a little squeamish when you’d swear like a sailor or talk about your sex life. He didn’t want to think about you like that. At least not in front of you.

When he was alone, though, it was a bit of a different story. 

Of course, he felt guilty about it every time it happened. But he could only take so much, and it's not like he was one to date around or get his fix with a girl he doesn’t know all that well. He tried hard not to, but sometimes you’d discuss your latest escapade or walk around in nothing more than your cute little panties and a t-shirt and he would suddenly find any excuse to run to his bathroom. He didn’t always touch himself! No, that would be rude. Sometimes he just took a freezing cold shower, or he’d just stand there and think of his Pa talking about one of the cows giving birth or Steve eating a meatball sandwich. That usually got rid of it fast.

But, every now and then, he just couldn’t help himself. He’d scurry off to his room for a while, and try his best to see how quickly he could make himself finish. His record was two and a half minutes. No more than a casual bathroom break. He would be quite proud of it if it weren't for the overwhelming shame and guilt that followed for jacking off to the thought of his roommate. 

He gulped, resting his cheek against the top of your head. “What happened?”

“I’m never dating a man with zero confidence ever again.” You patted his thigh, pretending you didn’t notice how he tensed from the contact. You thought it was sweet how shy he seemed to be. “Go get dressed and I’ll give you the run-down. You’re gonna dirty up our couch in your little get-up.”

He snorted a laugh. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t you ‘yes, ma'am’ me.”

He just got up, smiling to himself. You watched him go, that giant of a man. Part of you almost wanted to just ask him to bed you. Maybe not date, you weren’t sure you were exactly his type. But god… if it wouldn’t totally fuck up your roommate situation, you’d have tried getting in his pants the first time you’d met him.

You still remembered it. 

When Jimmy had told you that he had a friend from work who was looking for a roommate, you didn’t expect 240 pounds of bumbling gorgeous. He blushed when you said hello, told you he’d cover three quarters of the rent while you got your bearings after your last roommate had put you out to couch surf, and could hardly look you in the eye after you’d made an extremely mild flirtatious comment. You may or may not have casually asked Jimmy if Clark was single after that. Jimmy shoved you and told you to leave the poor guy alone. 

In retrospect, he was looking out for both of you. It probably wouldn’t have ended in a signed lease as much as a single, glorious night. If you even got that far. You were certain that Clark was the boyscout to end all boyscouts. Once he’d told you he was Superman, you knew that your suspicions had been confirmed.

But agreeing not to fuck him didn’t mean you couldn’t look.

You ended up being glad you never did, anyway. He’d become a great friend in the time you’d been living together. He was courteous, kind, and you didn’t have to carry groceries a single time in over two years any time you’d gone shopping with him. He always bent to your will when it came to picking out what to watch for movie nights, and was shockingly funny when he wanted to be. It was a good deal. A great deal. A fantastic deal with a cute butt and stunning dimples.

Clark shrugged out of his suit in the privacy of his room, briefly pressing his nose to the shoulder of his suit where he could still smell your shampoo before he came to his senses. He took a fast shower, rubbing one out for good measure. He figured if he got ahead of the curve, there was less chances of getting hard out of the blue if you touched him literally anywhere. He bit into his lower lip, spilling against the shower wall with a soft sound that sounded suspiciously close to your name. But he’d never admit as much, even to himself.

He found himself on the couch with you that evening, listening intently to you spill your guts about yet another date from hell. He frowned as you recounted the man’s behavior, an arm slung around your shoulders as his face was pressed against your hair.

“Maybe you should take a break from the apps,” he mumbled after you’d finished.

You sighed. “Mm… maybe. But god, what gives? It’s not like I’m specifically seeking out true love right now. Some consistent sex would suffice, but even that is impossible.”

He coughed once, cheeks going red again. “Uh… right. Well…”

“Sorry. I know you get squeamish about that,” you mentioned with a chuckle.

“I’m not squeamish.”

“You get all blushy if I talk about sex.”

He huffed. “It’s… you just… you talk about it like–”

“See? Squeamish.” You chuckled, adjusting to look up at him.

Clark groaned, pushing you away. You laughed harder, pulling the tiniest grin from his lips.

“You’re mean to me. Just cause I don't share all of my… experiences.”

You raised a brow. “To be fair, I didn’t realize you even had experiences.”

He flushed again, hand on the back of his neck. Taking care of himself in the shower evidently didn’t prevent anything. He crossed one of his legs over the other, trying to mask what jumped up in his sweats.

“It’s not like I’m a virgin.”

“Could’a fooled me.”

He glared at you. “Be nice.”

“I’m plenty nice.”

“You make fun of me.”

“Only cause I love you,” you teased, pinching his cheek. “And cause I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about a girl since you dated Lois.”

He sighed, head leaning back onto the couch. “I don’t like doing– doing that unless I really like somebody. I just haven’t found the right person in a while is all.”

You smiled, softer now. You took his hand in yours, squeezing it softly as your head found its way to his arm again.

“That’s very sweet.”

“Don’t make fun–”

“I mean it, Clark.”

He glanced down out of the corner of his eye to where you leaned against him. His thumb brushed over your knuckles gently as you both refocused to the tv that was running in the background. He leaned over, kissing the top of your head.

“You deserve better than those folks you’ve been out with lately, you know?”

“I know.”

“Mm.”

You let out a soft breath. “The last girl I was out with tried telling me she didn’t like how I kissed.”

“Oh.”

“Which is total bullshit, by the way. She said she could ‘help me figure it out’.” You rolled your eyes. “I know for a fact that I don’t need help.”

Clark just nodded once. “R-right.”

“I don’t think anyone has ever told me that before.”

“Hm.”

“Are you going to say anything else to me?” You glanced up at him with a laugh.

“I’m, uh– I’m sure you’re a very good kisser?”

You snorted. “Have you ever had someone tell you that?”

“Tell me…?”

“You can’t kiss. Or need help or whatever.”

He shook his head. “Uh, n-no?”

“You think you’re good at it?”

He flushed again, looking away. “Come on…”

“Alright, you big baby. I’ll quit asking.”

He let out a slow breath. That ended up being a long night for him once he went to his room for the night.

Weeks later, he groaned as he woke up, still a bit dazed from a deep sleep. He woke to the sound of you shuffling around the apartment, but couldn’t yet bring himself to climb out of his cozy bed. It wasn’t until he heard his door creak open that he made an attempt at opening his eyes. 

“Good morning, sunshine,” you whispered, sneaking into his bedroom.

He laid there in his plaid pajama pants, washed in sunlight and tangled in his sheets. He blinked groggily as you walked in, smiling a little at the sight of you in little more than a t-shirt and panties. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to you being so… comfortable.

“You took my shirt again,” he rasped, holding out a hand as you crawled into bed with him.

You made yourself comfortable on his bed, cross-legged and taking his hand as he turned onto his back on the mattress.

“I like this shirt. It’s soft.” You shrugged, tugging lightly on the hem of his old Met U t-shirt. “Besides, if you keep throwing your clothes into my hamper, you can’t be mad when I take them.”

He just hummed once, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand. “Guess so. I like it on you anyway."

“Flirt.”

“That was not.”

“So you think I’m ugly?”

He scoffed, eyes going wide. “Wha– I didn’t say that!”

You tried to keep it together, but his immediate defense and embarrassment was too much to handle. You chuckled a little, his features softening but still stern as he muttered your name in a scold. 

“You’re so easy to rile up.” You grinned.

“You’re rude.”

“You adore me.”

He sighed, arm around your waist as he pulled you down with him. You squealed, settling yourself with your knees on either side of his hips. He intended merely to bring you a little bit closer, maybe get you to quiet down, but Clark realized too late what a pickle he’d just gotten himself into as he loosened his arm.

“Oh, geez–” he mumbled, feeling himself freeze up.

“If you wanted me on top of you that bad–”

“Quit it.”

“Yes, sir.”

He frowned, stomach dropping as he felt his blood rush south. You chuckled for only a moment before something else caught your attention, something that wasn’t there before suddenly insistently pressing against your bare thigh.

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” Clark squeaked out, eyes squeezing shut. “Shoot, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“Not your fault.”

“It kind of is.”

“You didn’t get hard on purpose, I’m sure.”

He groaned. “Please don’t talk about it.”

“Too late, it’s touching me.”

He whined. Honest-to-god whined. His hands settled on your hips, trying weakly to push you away. You had two options in front of you, you realized: allow him to push you away and pretend it never happened, or…

You gripped his wrists, stopping him from pushing you away. He looked up at you, alarmed with his ears turning red as fast as his cheeks did. 

“What are you doing?”

You just shrugged, pushing your hips back up from where he’d tried shoving you away. Clark gasped at the small amount of friction it provided to his restricted length. He breathed out your name again, though whether it was meant to be a warning or praise you weren’t quite sure. What you were sure of is that he looked really cute with rosy cheeks and parted lips, and a little dry-humping between friends never killed anyone.

“You can stop me if you really want to,” you spoke, voice barely louder than a whisper, your hips rolling against his with more purpose.

His jaw ticked, his eyes still closed. “I… I know.”

“Are you going to?”

He swallowed, hands gripping the fat of your hips with more strength, helping you along as you rocked against him again. He knew it would be reasonable to stop this. He didn’t do casual, he knew that he couldn’t. He also didn’t ever cross that line with you, despite the thoughts about you that seemed to plague his mind at any given moment. But this technically wasn’t anything, he rationalized with an extremely clouded mind. You both had clothes on, mostly. The most intimate skin contact was his hands on your hips and thighs. It was fine. He decided it was fine, so it would be fine. 

“No,” he finally answered after a moment.

Your hands ran over his wrists, his forearms, his fingers. You watched him carefully as his eyes slowly blinked open, hooded and dark. He watched the way your hips, clad in those soft blue panties, dragged over the evident bulge in his pajama pants. He let out a shaky huff, groaning under his breath.

“Gosh…”

“Yeah,” you breathed out with a short chuckle, hands against his bare stomach. Your fingers traced the little happy trail that snuck from his belly button down into his pants. His stomach jumped at the contact. “This is… nice. Good bonding time.”

“Bonding?” He laughed, breathing heavily. “I, uh–um… this is a heck of a way to bond.”

You just nodded, a small sound of agreement on your lips as he took a firmer hand guiding you over his erection. You felt the flimsy material of your panties clinging to your skin, soaked in your own arousal. You were sure you’d leave a spot against his pants, but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel embarrassed about it. 

Clark’s sounds grew louder, needier. His head was clouded over with want, his cock throbbing with a desire to be freed from the confines of fabric separating him from what he was sure would be a very soft, warm place between your legs. He’d thought about you a million times before, but this was the first time he could remember feeling truly, horribly desperate to be inside of you like this.

“Baby…” he groaned.

Fuck. You whined softly at the petname, your body moving against his with even more intention than you’d had a moment earlier. 

“Don’t stop,” you gasped, feeling a familiar coiling in your stomach.

He smiled, dazed out. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You dragged yourself against the length beneath you, pleased to become so aware that he was just as big as you’d imagined him to be. A new buzz beneath your skin intensified as your clit caught on what felt like the thick head of his cock. You tried the same movement again, garnering the same result. Over and over and over. 

Clark whined underneath you, fingers dug into your thighs. “W-wait. Wait, honey, I’m–”

“No. N-no, please, I’m so close.”

He grunted, frustrated and ready to finish as well. “M-me too.”

“Don’t quit.”

“Okay,” he rasped. “Okay. O-okay.”

“Right there, just like this.”

He sucked in a sharp breath, one arm tugging you down against his chest. His face buried in your hair, a harsh groan coming from the back of his throat as his hips rutted up against you. You moaned against his ear, cumming hard, pussy clenching and pulsing around nothing. Clark could hear your heart speed up as you finished, his own release coming only a few seconds later. He spilled into his pants, one hand on your waist, the other in an iron grip on your thigh. 

You both laid there for a little while, the glow of your shared orgasm settling between you. You felt elated, cheek against his clammy bare shoulder. Clark felt… humiliated? Excited? A scary combination of both, it seemed.

“I’m… I’m really sorry.”

You breathed slow, pushing up on his chest to look down at him. “For what?”

“That was, uh…” He looked away. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“To cum?”

He mumbled your name. “Gosh. Don’t say it like that. No, I meant doing all of that. I don’t–”

“I liked it, for the record.”

He swallowed. “Me too, but I shouldn’t have.”

“Clark. Come on,” you whispered, tilting his head to look at you again. “If you liked it and I liked it, then there’s nothing wrong. It was fun. You had a good time, right?”

He gave a pouty nod. “Yeah.”

“Quit pouting.”

“I’m not pouting.”

“You totally are. You just came and found a way to feel immediately guilty about it. You’re not Catholic, cut it out.”

“Ma did bring me to church sometimes when I was little…”

“Clark.”

He sighed, a soft smile making its way to his face. “Sorry. I– I did like it. That was nice.”

“We didn’t fuck. I think we can chalk it up to a fun activity between roomies.”

“You have an odd idea of what a roommate activity is.”

You smiled, brushing his dampened hair away from his face. 

If Clark thought he was struggling with how he felt about you before, it was a whole new ballgame now. He knew he had a bit of a crush, as evidenced by the way his dick would jump to life if he thought about you too hard. But it was suddenly leagues worse. 

He didn’t have to wonder what you’d sound like under him, he knew. He didn’t have to guess if you’d be soaked and warm for him, he had evidence in the form of a wet spot on the pants he’d worn that morning. You came rubbing yourself on him. He came in his pants. You got each other off. He wasn’t going to be quick to forget it. 

Going into work that morning didn’t help him out at all. He was certain his cheeks were still a little pink as he stumbled into his desk chair at the Daily Planet. Evidently, he wasn’t making it all up in his head. 

“Dude.”

Clark glanced up to see Jimmy staring at him pointedly. He raised his brows in question. 

“Who’s the girl?” Jimmy asked, his arms crossed. 

Clark sputtered. “Wha– there’s no girl.” 

“Bullshit. You look like you got laid.”

“I did not–” Clark sighed, adjusting his glasses. “Why would you even think that?”

“You just look… satisfied. Too happy to be here at nine in the morning.”

“I like my job.”

“Not that much, man. Come on, Clark,” Jimmy huffed, certain he wasn’t imagining things. “I haven’t seen you like this in… ever.”

Clark bit the inside of his cheek, turning back to his computer, trying to ignore Jimmy commenting on his behavior under his breath. Jimmy didn’t often let him be for very long, though. 

Clark was making an attempt to mind his business on a bench outside, quietly eating the PB&J he’d packed for himself that morning, until Jimmy found him. Clark glanced up, cheeks filled.

“Hi?”

Jimmy sat on the bench next to him, stretching out. He sighed heavily before he looked to his friend.

“You’re really going to do the whole ‘secret girlfriend’ thing again?”

Clark frowned, swallowing. “I’m not.”

“You’re really bad at lying.”

“I’m not lying. I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Jimmy snorted a laugh. “So you are hooking up with someone? Of all people?”

Clark sighed, his sandwich dropping down in his limp hand. “I’m not doing that either.”

“I’ll find out eventually, you know that, right?”

Clark just took another bite, ignoring the comment. Jimmy was annoyingly perceptive sometimes. Clark often thought Jimmy should’ve been an investigative journalist when he acted like that. But, he was finally offered some reprieve when Jimmy changed the subject, talking about some plans to go out for drinks that Friday. Clark nodded along politely, not bothering to fully listen until it was too late. 

He realized after Jimmy grinned and told him to bring you along that he’d accidentally nodded to going with them.

Clark showed up at home with a shy wave, and a request on the tip of his tongue.

“So…”

You looked in his direction as he washed the dishes that night, sipping wine while propped up on the kitchen counter. He was still in his button up from work, sleeves rolled just past his elbows, humming to one of your songs playing softly in the room. He looked downright delicious. You wondered if your little tryst that morning would become a welcome addition to your routine as a pair, or if Clark would try to brush it under the rug like it had never happened. You hoped for the former.

“Yeah?” You replied after a second.

He let out a small puff of air. “Uh… Jimmy asked me to go out with him and a few folks from the office on Friday, after work. He said you should come with us.”

“Oh?”

“Uh huh.”

“Is that an invitation?”

He shrugged once. “If… if you’d like to come with, I’d love to have you.”

“You half-had me this morning already,” you quipped with a snorted laugh.

He felt his cheeks warm, your name a soft, almost disapproving sound on his lips. It only made you smile further, causing him to grin back against his better judgement. 

“I, uh… maybe we should talk about that. At some point.”

You raised a brow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he affirmed with a nod, drying his hands after putting the last plate in the drying rack. He turned to you, crossing his arms. His breath hitched a tiny bit at the way your eyes dropped to his biceps. “Um… I just… I don’t know. That was different. For us.”

“I’d say so. Not exactly dry humping our brains out on a regular basis.”

“Hun,” he huffed, the pet name slipping out easily. “I’m trying to be serious.”

“Okay, okay,” you conceded, setting your glass down on the counter next to you. “Yeah. It was… unusual for us, for sure.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think that’s a bad thing?”

He blinked, his eyes a bit wider. “W-well, no. Not bad, just… just different.”

“Is it something you’d want to do again?” You got to the point, tilting your head in question.

“I don’t know. Maybe? But it wasn’t–” He paused, taking a breath. He had to look away, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed. “I don’t usually do stuff like that.”

“You seemed pretty damn good at it.”

He flushed, all the way down past his collar. “I-I mean with somebody I’m not dating. I don’t do that unless I’m with somebody. This time was different.”

“If you don’t want to, we don’t have to. But for the record, I had a very good time.”

“Yeah. I did too.” He nodded, meeting your eyes again. “Can I think about it? If I can do it again?”

You agreed softly with a smile. He gave you a warm hug, letting it linger a little longer than he usually would. You graciously ignored the bulge you felt against your leg again.

He acted as normal as he could, still quite obviously thinking about what you’d done together, but trying not to let it show. He couldn’t help it. He’d fantasized for so long that getting a taste felt absolutely surreal.

Friday night came, and so did his lingering gaze on your chest in the tight top you wore to go out with his coworkers. He didn’t mean to look. It was just hard not to when your breasts were pressed up the way they were. 

He sat by your side through the night, sipping on a sprite and getting all of your margarita refills from the bar. He laughed at every joke you made, hardly noticing the looks between Jimmy and Cat at his behavior with you.

The moment he excused himself to go to the “bathroom”, aka he caught wind of a burning building and had to do his Super-thing, they all moved in on you.

“Seriously?” Jimmy started with a laugh.

You looked at your long-time friend, his expression bewildered. “What?”

He merely groaned, leaving it up to Lois to shake her head at you. You glanced at them all, unsure what the gossip was.

“He has that lost-puppy look,” Lois said with a short chuckle into her drink.

“Maybe a dog in heat,” Cat added in, laughing when the comment pulled a few sour looks from the phrasing. “Oh, you know what I mean.”

You sighed. “What are you guys talking about?”

“Clark,” Jimmy replied simply. “He looks like he’s actively holding back from bending you over the table.”

“You’re gross.” You snorted a laugh, sipping your drink. Little did he know.

“And you’re no better,” he quickly added. “Leaning into his side, giggling at his jokes. He is not that funny.”

“But he’s super cute,” Cat sang out with a grin.

“He’s been staring down your shirt literally all night.” Lois looked at you with a raised brow. “He is classically horrible at hiding how he feels. You can’t seriously say you haven’t noticed him falling over himself for you.”

“You guys are all ridiculous.”

Jimmy groaned. “Oh, please. I’ve known you forever, dude. And we all know Clark. Like Lois said, he is classically shit at hiding his feelings. She would know.”

“And dare I say, he’s acting even more desperate than anything I saw from him in the beginning,” she mentioned with a grin.

Cat laughed. “Oh my god. It’s so cute, come on. You two would be so sweet together.”

“She likes a big boy, too,” Jimmy noted.

“James,” you scolded.

“Just saying. You always went for the tall ones in high school. Except that one guy… Emmett?”

“Oh my god.”

“He was an interesting choice.”

“He was nice!”

Jimmy snorted, muttering under his breath, “and a freak.”

“You’re so–”

“What?” He laughed. “Don’t be like that, we’re just having some fun. Like I’m sure Clark would love to have with…”

You all looked at him as he trailed off, like he’d come to an epiphany all of a sudden.

“What?” Cat prodded first.

Jimmy smiled, which was often dangerous. 

“Are you the reason he came into work the other day looking like he got some?”

You were taken off guard. Oh boy. “Pardon me?”

“You so are.”

Cat gaped. “You already climbed that?”

“No–”

“Oh, she so is,” Lois mentioned softly to Jimmy, gossiping like you weren’t sitting right there.

You scoffed, floundering. They were all out to get you, you were certain of it.

“Why don’t you all bully Clark about this instead of me?”

“We bully him every day,” Jimmy explained.

You huffed a breath, melting into your seat as they chattered on. Fortunately, your drink ran out, and you had an excuse to leave in order to grab a new one. You got up, making a beeline for the bar, and placed your order for a hard lemonade. It was time to slow down if you didn’t want to wake up hung over.

You waited for a couple of minutes before the smell of Clark’s cologne clouded your head. He always wore a little extra when you went out, and god, he smelled good as fuck when you were a bit tipsy. You looked up to see him sidling up next to you with a smile.

“Everything go okay?” 

He nodded. “Yeah, of course. Firefighters did a great job, I just grabbed a nice old lady and her cat. Everyone else was already taken care of.”

“Good.”

“Everything okay here?”

“Your friends are horrible.”

He furrowed his brow. “What happened?”

You chuckled. “They’re just… nosey. It’s all Jimmy’s fault.”

“Nosey?”

“Yeah.” You thanked the bartender, tipping her as she handed over your bottle. “They were interrogating me about you.”

“About me?” He crossed his arms.

Your eyes flicked to his shoulders, his arms testing the limits of that baggy t-shirt. “Mhm.”

He gulped. “What’d they say?”

“They’re trying to figure out if we’re fucking,” you stated, meeting his eyes again. “I told them no, but they have officially made up their minds.”

He let out a breath. “Gosh.”

“Yeah. Said you’re like a dog in heat who won’t stop staring at my tits.”

You laughed, but Clark blushed, shifting on his feet. Now it was his turn to let his eyes drop down. Okay, maybe they had a point about him looking at your boobs.

“They do look really nice.”

Oh shit. 

You blinked, not expecting him to be so forthcoming. But, to be fair, you did rub up on him until he made a mess of his pants only a few days before. 

“Huh.”

“S-sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“Don’t fucking apologize.”

He paused, nearly pouting. “But–”

“It’s okay. Quit worrying so much, Clark,” you said softly, touching his arm. You glanced back at the table, the small group talking amongst themselves. “Come on. We should probably go back.”

He didn’t budge. “Or… maybe we can go home.”

“Oh?”

“Y-yeah.” He shrugged, trying like hell to be nonchalant. “If you want.”

You nodded, your final drink left full on the edge of the bar.

The walk back to your shared apartment was quiet, your hands brushing with every step, though neither of you made the move to do more than those soft touches. It wasn’t until you walked into your building, waiting for the elevator that you realized he was taking you home. Kind of. Did it count if you shared that home? Maybe it didn’t matter.

You both stepped into the elevator, Clark hitting the button for your floor. 

You glanced over first, eyes lingering on his jaw, his hair, his ear, his lips… everything. Clark followed, his eyes flicking over your arms, stomach, chest, face, and landing back on your eyes. It was a blur. Neither of you knew who moved first, only that suddenly you were against one another, your lips locked.

His hands gripped your waist and hips, pulling you into his body. You deepened the kiss, slipping your tongue against his, sucking on it when he tried pulling back. He groaned, his knees feeling weaker in an instant. He whispered your name, kissing down your neck.

You let him pick you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He shuffled out of the elevator and towards your door, grateful that the hallway was empty. He fumbled with his keys, finally shoving it into the lock and stepping inside. 

“We’re gonna, like, really do this, huh?” you breathed out, giddy as he let you back down to kick off your shoes and jacket.

He grinned, dimples poking into his cheeks. “Yeah. Gosh, yes.”

He was on you again the moment you both were freed of your outerwear, scooping you up with ease. You worked on his t-shirt, pulling it up and over his head. It got flung somewhere in the living room. He pressed you to the wall in the hallway, tugging your top off and undoing the button and zipper of your jeans. His lips hardly left yours.

He walked again, leaving a trail of clothes behind like breadcrumbs. The moment he had you on your back in his bed, spread out on top of his sheets like you belonged there, his excitement turned to utter desperation. You watched as he pulled off the glasses he’d worn for the night and suddenly started pulling his belt loose, clearly trying to rid himself of his clothing as fast as he could. You followed suit with a thrilled fervor, shimmying out of your jeans and panties, ripping your bra off and flinging it somewhere unknown.

He groaned deep in his chest when he looked back to see you bare and waiting.

“I don’t deserve you.”

You chewed your lip. “You’re one to talk.”

He swallowed, your gaze burning his skin as it trailed from his chest, to his stomach, settling on his cock, bobbing and drooling, his tip swollen and aching.

“You’re so hot. Holy shit.”

His chest tightened at the rasp in your voice. He crawled on top of you, hands everywhere he could reach. He gripped your skin, lips and tongue and teeth leaving lasting marks down your neck and chest.

“Clark.”

He whined. “I wanna be in you so bad.”

“Do it.”

“N-no. Gotta get you ready first.”

You sighed in ecstasy, his fingers slipping between your legs. You let him kiss you like he needed it to live, two fingers shoved into your needy heat.

“You’re so wet. How are you so wet?” He heaved a few breaths, kisses all along your cheek.

“I was soaked the second you came out of your room before we left. You looked so fucking hot, and you smell so good, and… fuck, Clark, I wanted to choke on your cock when you put those dorky fucking glasses on before we left.”

He groaned pathetically. “You… Do you like the glasses that much?”

“You look like the hottest loser in the world with them on.”

He huffed a short laugh, though it was weak and wrecked. “Noted.”

“Let me suck it.”

“W-what?”

You pushed his hand away. “I’m ready enough. Back up. Please.”

He whined, reluctantly taking his fingers out of you. He shoved them in his mouth, eyes fluttering as he tasted you. You nearly drooled watching it. He let you push him onto his back, eyes locked on you as you took him in your hand.

“Thought you’d feel heavy,” you muttered, sucking his tip into your mouth. A broken noise escaped his chest. You slapped his dick against your tongue, the heft of him even better than you were hoping. “Fuck. Gorgeous cock.”

His hips jerked, his chest heaving. He thanked the heavens he had an abnormal ability to keep it up because he was certain that if he let himself, he would've cum all over your pretty face before you even took him. 

You sucked him into your warm, waiting mouth, hollowing out your cheeks as you started bobbing your head. He gasped, tiny sounds leaving him at every motion against his desperate length. You felt yourself dripping down your thighs, his cock down your throat further and further every time you went down again.

Your hand stroked what your mouth couldn’t fit, wanting every bit of him to feel cared for. But as good as it felt to suck his pretty cock, the kind of sound that he made when you moved down further caused the slick between your legs to increase even further than you realized your body was capable of.

Your lips closed around one of his heavy balls, your hand still insistently stroking him. His body tensed as he tried not to jerk hard against your face. You sucked on his full sack, alternating each side, unable to fit both in at once (even though you’d made an attempt). He nearly sobbed your name, your hand focusing on the hyper-sensitive head of his length.

You only pulled off when he physically pulled you away.

“Keep it up and I’m going to finish too fast.”

“That’s not bad.”

He huffed, a weak smile on his face. “Trust me, I’d love that any other time. This time, I want to do it right.”

You let him manhandle you, dropping you down against his pillows. He spread your legs apart, one look at how much wetter you’d become and his eyes closed for a few seconds.

“Holy c-crap.”

“What?”

He shook his head, looking back down. “You are just… dripping. Your legs are covered in it.”

“You have a really perfect dick. I got excited.”

He shuddered, rubbing your thigh gently. He knelt between your legs, draping your legs over his. He stroked himself, just staring at you. It was a minute before you made a quiet, impatient noise, finally calling him to action.

Clark pushed his flushed tip through the wetness between your legs. He watched the way your pussy glistened with arousal, his jaw slack and heart pounding. He let his heavy cock rest against your clit, slowly rutting against you just to watch the way your body jolted with the contact. He groaned, his eyes flicking briefly to your face. 

“You’re so beautiful. Pretty girl. Pretty… geez,” he huffed, eyes drawn back to your pussy. 

He gripped the base of his cock, tapping the blunt head against your sloppy clit, committing the sound of the wet slap to memory. He wanted to make sure he never forgot. He felt desperate. Overcome by need and the way you laid out for him, cunt on display just for him to play with. What an honor. 

“Can I put it in?” he mumbled, words slurring from pure want. “Please. Pretty baby, I wanna feel you. You’re so wet. Prettiest p-pussy ever, she’s so cute. Wanna feel you squeezin’ me–”

“Yeah. Yes, Clark, please. Put it in.”

He groaned, his eyes fluttering as he dragged himself down to your opening, chewing his lip as he pressed against you. He gulped, moving forward just enough to let you swallow his head. He gasped, chest heaving. 

“O-oh gosh.”

“Fuck, Clark.”

“Mm…” 

He adjusted his hips, pulling your lower half up onto his thighs. Your back arched, shoulders still pressed to the mattress as he molded your body to his, letting his cock slip in further until he was fully seated in you. He practically winced, holding back with everything in him.

“Feel better than I thought you’d be,” he mumbled under his breath. 

You breathed heavy, hands gripping his wrists where he held your hips as he delivered some shallow thrusts. Your eyes met his. “You’ve thought about it?”

He nodded, any of his usual guilt dissipating. “Yes. Yes, so many times. Knew you’d be perfect.”

“Shit. Here I thought you were a pure little boy scout,” you responded with a short laugh. 

“M’not bad. Just… just like you. You’re so… Geez,” he trailed off, head tilting back as his hips moved against yours. “You’re just really nice and pretty. You’re so sweet to me. Couldn’t help it, I just thought about you sometimes when I… when…”

“You jerked off thinking about me?”

He whimpered. “Don’t say it like that.”

“But you did.”

“Y-yeah. I did,” he admitted, pulling you up onto his lap.

Your arms circled his neck as he held you to his chest, thrusting up into you. You tried your best to assist, weakly bouncing on his thighs, but he was Superman, after all: he could very easily move you how he wanted to. And he did. He moved you along his cock with ease until you were quivering and whining his name. He moaned weakly as he felt your teeth sink into his skin, your pussy clenching and squeezing around him. He could hardly stand it, the sound of your soaked pussy even louder after you’d finished for him. He fucked into you with strong arms locking you in place until you were feeling him pump you full of his cum, breathing into your ear like he’d run a marathon. 

“Baby. Baby, baby, baby…” he whined, hips jerking a few more times as he babbled against your skin. “Oh, gosh. You’re so perfect, so good, honey. So good, you feel perfect.”

“Clark,” you sighed, blissed out.

He just shook in your grasp, body spent and somehow still so needy for you. He kissed up your neck, his lips moving along your skin. He nipped softly just under your ear. He pulled out of you slowly as his lips moved to your cheek, and finally to your mouth to kiss you properly. His tongue slid into your mouth as he laid you back down on the mattress, dancing along your own tongue. You kissed him back slowly, the action messy and full of want and untold affection. His hands touched your cheeks, moving down over your breasts.

“Gorgeous,” he spoke into your mouth, squeezing the soft flesh. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, sighing softly when they pebbled under his touch. “I love these.”

You just smiled, watching him kiss one perky nipple as an act of reverence. His lips moved along your breast, down your stomach, his fingers slipping over your slick pussy, catching on your sensitive little bundle of nerves.

“Wanna taste you,” he whispered against your thigh.

“You just came inside of me, Clarkie.”

He grinned at the name. “I know, baby. We made a mess, I’ll clean it up. Promise.”

His smile widened as your head tilted back, a heavy breath pulled from your lips. He moved his way up, a slow, open-mouthed kiss against your pussy when he finally met her. You moaned, eyes rolling back. He slid one of your legs over his shoulder, opening you up further as he licked his cum out of your fucked-out cunt. One hand gripped your thigh, the other kneading your tit, his mouth working you over. He sucked on your throbbing clit, tongue moving over every part of your soft flesh he could taste. Your hips jerked against his face. He chuckled quietly, his voice reverberated through you.

“Shit. Right there, please.” You gripped his hair, panting.

He obliged, eating you out like a man starved. His tongue scooped inside of you, his hips jerking against the mattress, already hardened again at the mixture of your flavor and his. It didn’t take long for him to have you careening over the edge again, gasping and whining, your grip in his hair tighter. He swallowed down everything you had to give him, gently licking you clean until you were begging him to slow down.

“You like it?” He looked at you with raised brows as he shifted his body to be over yours once more. 

“So much. Did so good, Clark.”

He brightened at the praise, licking the inside of your mouth like he did your cunt. 

“I’m ready again when you are,” he whispered against your lips.

It was a long night. A long weekend, in fact. One that ended in him deciding, while balls deep, that it would probably be a good idea to ask you out at some point.

Clark made it to work that Monday, floating on cloud nine with his head still swirling around little more than you. He smiled to himself as he stepped off the elevator, a pep in his step walking to his desk. He set down his things, scruffing his hand through his hair as he logged into his computer. He hadn’t noticed the suspicious eyes on him.

Jimmy watched him, shaking his head to himself. He let Clark have a moment, clearly elsewhere in his thoughts. But he couldn’t let him stew in love-sick peace forever. 

the moment he realised he was in love with you was when he felt his heartbeat come to a complete standstill. one second the two of you were lying on his bedroom floor, your legs raised up against the wall as he tangled his with yours as you rested your head on his outstretched arm. the feeling of having you rest all your weight on him, so relaxed and unguarded- clark can not think of a better use for his muscle mass. he ignored the little pangs of soreness creeping in from lying on wooden floor for hours because it's only the beginning of what he would endure to spend lifetimes with you.

he looks over, your eyes trained onto the ceiling and you feel yourself drifting off to sleep, eyes closing gently. the safety net of clark's bedroom and the body milimetres from yours that promises no harm will come to makes you feel featherlike; floating off the ground where nothing can touch you.

"what?" you mumble, a small smile growing on your lips as you feel the warm stare heat at your skin.

"nothing," he returns immediately, suddenly bashful though he doesn't take his eyes away from you at any point. longing burns in his body to reach out and hold you closer, let his hands dip lower than a friendly hug and kiss you- not on the cheek to say goodbye but right smack centre on your lips, on your neck, anywhere you'll let him have you.

one of your eyes open in a wink and you take a peek at him, "clark, i can feel you burning holes into my head," and you close it again, focusing on the slight tense of his arm beneath you and you use him as a pillow.

comfort and ease fills clark and he decides that he's never really loved anyone like the way he has with you before. i mean sure he loves lois, his mother, his dog, sometimes jimmy, but he doesn't see himself sharing a home with them- locking up and sleeping on the side facing the bedroom door, coming home from work and cooking their favourite meals to see them smile, dragging his body after a long day of saving the damn world just to see his own. clark kent would burn the world for you, set it alight and probably himself on fire too if you'd ask him to just so you wouldn't get your hands dirty with it. he doesn't look at his friends and think how their hands would feel in his, how they would feel up against a wall with him, how when they're apart he feels as though the whole universe is off tilt and he can't even breathe.

you're burning holes into my heart, he thinks.

and when the silence skips a beat and feels too long, the words are the tip of his tongue, but instead he reaches out and kicks your foot gently before you attack in a vicious game of footsies.

you soften as you meet his gaze once more and he nudges closer to you so you're less than an inch away from him before he whispers in the air,

"you're my best friend."

...

over the coming months, he's tried to tell you how he feels.

his invitations of going out on a date are always undermined by you thinking its just two friends hanging out.

he wakes up an extra half hour early to join your commute and you think its because he loves the fresh coffee you make from your fancy machine for him when you spot him- you are terrible at making coffee- it tastes like pure gasoline, so much that he knows theyre bad for the environment but clark tries to think of ways of letting you down gently, recommending you just use the pods instead of grinding down the beans yourself.

he carried around the mistletoe at christmas, hoping to catch you under the right doorframe- hang it over your head and lay his heart bare on yours. except you're allergic, sneeze profusely right in the direction of his face and almost die in embarrassment. you hide for the rest of the day and clark has to bribe you with ice cream and endless reassurement to let you know it's all okay.

he tries to get lois to set you up on a blind date (and just like in the movies, he'll turn up) but all you could do was blink in confusion- "i have clark, i don't need to date," and he fucking loved the words leaving your mouth, like the sentiment is truly there but you're just not completely aware. he did however have to pull an emergency stop in the elevator, regulate his breathing and stop his heartbeat from bursting in his ears- because you had him. and the acknowledgement set his soul alight.

he even switched tactics- desperate times called for desperate measures. he wore your favourite coloured shirt, one that fit just a little too right. leaned up to grab your favourite coffee mug, flexing his bicep as he lowered it and pretended to inspect the design on it, knowing damn well he's the poor lovesick fool who bought you it. he rolled his sleeves, baring his forearms as he towered over your chair, leaning in extra close to point at some correction on your computer screen that displayed your latest article. it was rewarding- he got stares, stutters and a rosy blush that melted his brain to jelly as he tried hard to photograph that memory and hang it in the walls of his mind- a room built just for thoughts of you. and soon, if not already, you would have taken over the space completely, all unknowingly.

the words are on the tip of his tongue every single day; rotating between an "i love you more than i can understand how to," "i want forever with you" and "am i really about to blow up this friendship?"

the last always gets him, always.

even when lois places a firm touch in support to his shoulder- "they're crazy about you clark, you just don't see it because you're wrapped up in your own feelings." and all he can focus on is how your touch doesn't feel anything like lois' and it sends him into another spiralling frenzy. how could you make him feel this way and not have a single idea?

his resolve almost breaks when you're sitting across him.

"catch you for dinner when you get off?" he calls out as he passes your desk on his way to where the printers are. its quicker if he just walks in a straight line but he loves to make a detour to catch sight of you- but when lois asks with a knowing grin he's getting in his extra steps and all that.

"would love too but, can't," you raise your voice, eyes scanning the screen and clark can see the glare reflecting in your glasses. its blinding. but its your voice that stops him so suddenly in his tracks and he turns around stealthy, almost knocking poor jimmy trying to navigate alongside him.

"why not?" he asks incredulous- it's the first time in history you've ever blown him off.

"have to pack," you shrug, fingers aggressively smashing the keyboard and clark starts to walk his way back over to you. leaning obnoxiously over the computer head to get in your line of view. you try and swat him away offhandedly but he grabs your wrist, caught in air motion and the skin to skin connection rumbles across your veins.

"okay?" he drags out, ignoring how his stomach flutters in his body, knocking into all his internal organs to let them in on whats happening to clark kent right now. "packing for what?" he quizzes.

"interview out of state, celebrity clientele so i have to accomadate for their schedule," you slowly take back your arm from his hold and clark immediately misses the heat radiating from your body as you leave him to ice out under the cold once more.

"when are you leaving?"

"two,"

"pm?" and you shake your head,

"am," you correct.

"but that's in like ten hours."

"wow clark, i didn't know you could count," you quizz your brows sarcastically, "whats up with the interrogation, kent?"

"well i am a journalist," he defends, "and for safety reasons i'll need travel details, hotels, anything."

"or," you look up to him, neck craning at the distance which he stands so tall at, "i will see you on thursday when i get back." thursday is four days away. his heart cries and lurches at the thought of not being in your vicinity but he swallows like the grown and very brave man he is.

"thursday," he repeats slowly, "thursday." if he repeats it enough like a mantra and engrave it into his soul or say it like a prayer, maybe thursday would come a lot quicker and he wouldn't have to pretend like he isn't bursting at the seams.

"hey," you pause, "you okay?" your voice lowering an octave, he recognises it as the soft one you reserve just for him and momentarily it calms the stormy waters keeping them at bay.

"yeah," he breaths, hoping it doesnt sound as high pitched and reeking of lies as it did in his head when he rehearsed it fifty thousand times, "yeah."

...

he doesn't get to see you off, a vigilante attack steals his attention that he misses you leaving your apartment and before he knows it you've disappeared into the tedious timings of the airport.

he settles for the facetime calls where he gets a sliver of your face, a ramble of your voice and the smile that makes him believe that this will all be over soon and he can get back to living his purpose in life: being with you.

the space is good, he thinks. the space is nice- it's healthy. it's made him even more sure of the feelings he feels and he knows that this building between you is more than friendship; its real life fucking love and pure romance from the novels. its in the mundane moments that you make feel so special- in the highs and adrenalines of life where he only ever sees you.

its in the way he suddenly feels complete when he sees your body standing at baggage claim. it's only been four days but it feels like a lifetime without you- the constant force in his life that before he knows it, his legs are picking up at lightning speed crossing the distance within seconds.

"hey!" he calls out, tossing and tackling between busy bodies in the crowd and you turn around slowly at the sound of your best friend towering over everyone. a smile grows on your face, spreading pure sunshine all over and you abandon your case- start sprinting to meet him in the middle. the pace is off, his strides are quicker than yours that he's sent barrelling into you as he pulls you in to a stop. you're airborne suddenly, lifting you off the ground as he feels your laughter in his neck.

"i missed you too, clark," your voice rumbles, the vibrations tickling your spine as he lowers you into the ground with a bone crushing hug.

the emotions are flying everywhere for him and there's a look in his eyes you can't pinpoint. theres soft clark, ambitious clark, clark who mysteriously disappears and is on edge, clark who's the smartest guy in the damn room, clark who drinks your coffee even though you know its horrible as shit- you just keep making it to see how long he'll keep up the act, when he decides to just give in. clark who looks at you like you've hung the stars in his sky, who carried around mistletoe all christmas but you stupidly thought it was for lois lane. you've seen all the versions of clark and loved them all the same; but this wild look in his eyes- this feels new and unfamiliar.

but it's the clark that's about to create a whole new balance and orbital shift in your universe.

"i'm in love with you," the words spill out quickly like he's drowning in his thoughts- the cage is locked and its overflowing and his body feels just too heavy to swim up to the surface and out, "and i thought i could bury it down, hide it if thats what it would mean for us to always stay best friends and keep what we have but i just can't do it anymore. those four days? they felt like a lifetime of hell. i don't know who i am without you like i'm me but i just like who i am a hell of a lot better when you're with me. i love you and i've been dying to say it- hoping you'll feel the same way and i get it if you don't i mean who could be worthy of your love? you're fucking incredible-"

"clark-"

"and i'm sorry for laying this all on you right now, i would wait thousands of years in silence- pure burning yearning silence just to be with you and it would be a fucking nightmare-"

"clark-" you try again, with more urgency

"but i'd do it a million times over because existing without you seems a far worse feat and i-"

you crash your lips into his and damn sparks fly- clark's pretty sure a solar system has just burst itself, possibly his as his lips mould against yours like a perfect slot. its everything he's imagined it to be and he never wants to separate himself from you. just how long does he think he can go without air? maybe, today he should put it to the test. you don't know when he slips off the glasses, angling his face to yours to make this more comfortable for you until a throat clears and you jump back slightly. a mother stands with her child, shooting the two of you disapproving glances but you're too preoccupied with your best friend to even find the smallest fuck to give.

"oh just shut up, you giant idiot," you mumble against his lips and break apart, clark moves to rest his forehead on yours still stealing a glance into your softened eyes, though theres a glint of giddiness that undeniably shines through.

"yes, ma'am," he mumbles in his flushed daze.

"i'm in love with you too," you breathe. "have been for a while but the moment's never just felt-"

"right," he finishes, voice synchronising with yours as yiur heart beats start to dance to your own tune. "is this okay?" he murmurs, as you rest your head on his chest and he rocks you in his embrace.

it feels like that night in his bedroom those months back, though he doesn't need to be in his apartment- he has you in his arms and you're all he's ever known to be his home.

"it's perfect," your voice is muffled into his knitted sweater.

yeah, you are, he thinks. you're his best friend and he's fucking in love with you and whats even better is- you're also head over heels in love with him too.

the moment he realised he was in love with you was when he felt his heartbeat come to a complete standstill. one second the two of you were lying on his bedroom floor, your legs raised up against the wall as he tangled his with yours as you rested your head on his outstretched arm. the feeling of having you rest all your weight on him, so relaxed and unguarded- clark can not think of a better use for his muscle mass. he ignored the little pangs of soreness creeping in from lying on wooden floor for hours because it's only the beginning of what he would endure to spend lifetimes with you.

he looks over, your eyes trained onto the ceiling and you feel yourself drifting off to sleep, eyes closing gently. the safety net of clark's bedroom and the body milimetres from yours that promises no harm will come to makes you feel featherlike; floating off the ground where nothing can touch you.

"what?" you mumble, a small smile growing on your lips as you feel the warm stare heat at your skin.

"nothing," he returns immediately, suddenly bashful though he doesn't take his eyes away from you at any point. longing burns in his body to reach out and hold you closer, let his hands dip lower than a friendly hug and kiss you- not on the cheek to say goodbye but right smack centre on your lips, on your neck, anywhere you'll let him have you.

one of your eyes open in a wink and you take a peek at him, "clark, i can feel you burning holes into my head," and you close it again, focusing on the slight tense of his arm beneath you and you use him as a pillow.

comfort and ease fills clark and he decides that he's never really loved anyone like the way he has with you before. i mean sure he loves lois, his mother, his dog, sometimes jimmy, but he doesn't see himself sharing a home with them- locking up and sleeping on the side facing the bedroom door, coming home from work and cooking their favourite meals to see them smile, dragging his body after a long day of saving the damn world just to see his own. clark kent would burn the world for you, set it alight and probably himself on fire too if you'd ask him to just so you wouldn't get your hands dirty with it. he doesn't look at his friends and think how their hands would feel in his, how they would feel up against a wall with him, how when they're apart he feels as though the whole universe is off tilt and he can't even breathe.

you're burning holes into my heart, he thinks.

and when the silence skips a beat and feels too long, the words are the tip of his tongue, but instead he reaches out and kicks your foot gently before you attack in a vicious game of footsies.

you soften as you meet his gaze once more and he nudges closer to you so you're less than an inch away from him before he whispers in the air,

"you're my best friend."

...

over the coming months, he's tried to tell you how he feels.

his invitations of going out on a date are always undermined by you thinking its just two friends hanging out.

he wakes up an extra half hour early to join your commute and you think its because he loves the fresh coffee you make from your fancy machine for him when you spot him- you are terrible at making coffee- it tastes like pure gasoline, so much that he knows theyre bad for the environment but clark tries to think of ways of letting you down gently, recommending you just use the pods instead of grinding down the beans yourself.

he carried around the mistletoe at christmas, hoping to catch you under the right doorframe- hang it over your head and lay his heart bare on yours. except you're allergic, sneeze profusely right in the direction of his face and almost die in embarrassment. you hide for the rest of the day and clark has to bribe you with ice cream and endless reassurement to let you know it's all okay.

he tries to get lois to set you up on a blind date (and just like in the movies, he'll turn up) but all you could do was blink in confusion- "i have clark, i don't need to date," and he fucking loved the words leaving your mouth, like the sentiment is truly there but you're just not completely aware. he did however have to pull an emergency stop in the elevator, regulate his breathing and stop his heartbeat from bursting in his ears- because you had him. and the acknowledgement set his soul alight.

he even switched tactics- desperate times called for desperate measures. he wore your favourite coloured shirt, one that fit just a little too right. leaned up to grab your favourite coffee mug, flexing his bicep as he lowered it and pretended to inspect the design on it, knowing damn well he's the poor lovesick fool who bought you it. he rolled his sleeves, baring his forearms as he towered over your chair, leaning in extra close to point at some correction on your computer screen that displayed your latest article. it was rewarding- he got stares, stutters and a rosy blush that melted his brain to jelly as he tried hard to photograph that memory and hang it in the walls of his mind- a room built just for thoughts of you. and soon, if not already, you would have taken over the space completely, all unknowingly.

the words are on the tip of his tongue every single day; rotating between an "i love you more than i can understand how to," "i want forever with you" and "am i really about to blow up this friendship?"

the last always gets him, always.

even when lois places a firm touch in support to his shoulder- "they're crazy about you clark, you just don't see it because you're wrapped up in your own feelings." and all he can focus on is how your touch doesn't feel anything like lois' and it sends him into another spiralling frenzy. how could you make him feel this way and not have a single idea?

his resolve almost breaks when you're sitting across him.

"catch you for dinner when you get off?" he calls out as he passes your desk on his way to where the printers are. its quicker if he just walks in a straight line but he loves to make a detour to catch sight of you- but when lois asks with a knowing grin he's getting in his extra steps and all that.

"would love too but, can't," you raise your voice, eyes scanning the screen and clark can see the glare reflecting in your glasses. its blinding. but its your voice that stops him so suddenly in his tracks and he turns around stealthy, almost knocking poor jimmy trying to navigate alongside him.

"why not?" he asks incredulous- it's the first time in history you've ever blown him off.

"have to pack," you shrug, fingers aggressively smashing the keyboard and clark starts to walk his way back over to you. leaning obnoxiously over the computer head to get in your line of view. you try and swat him away offhandedly but he grabs your wrist, caught in air motion and the skin to skin connection rumbles across your veins.

"okay?" he drags out, ignoring how his stomach flutters in his body, knocking into all his internal organs to let them in on whats happening to clark kent right now. "packing for what?" he quizzes.

"interview out of state, celebrity clientele so i have to accomadate for their schedule," you slowly take back your arm from his hold and clark immediately misses the heat radiating from your body as you leave him to ice out under the cold once more.

"when are you leaving?"

"two,"

"pm?" and you shake your head,

"am," you correct.

"but that's in like ten hours."

"wow clark, i didn't know you could count," you quizz your brows sarcastically, "whats up with the interrogation, kent?"

"well i am a journalist," he defends, "and for safety reasons i'll need travel details, hotels, anything."

"or," you look up to him, neck craning at the distance which he stands so tall at, "i will see you on thursday when i get back." thursday is four days away. his heart cries and lurches at the thought of not being in your vicinity but he swallows like the grown and very brave man he is.

"thursday," he repeats slowly, "thursday." if he repeats it enough like a mantra and engrave it into his soul or say it like a prayer, maybe thursday would come a lot quicker and he wouldn't have to pretend like he isn't bursting at the seams.

"hey," you pause, "you okay?" your voice lowering an octave, he recognises it as the soft one you reserve just for him and momentarily it calms the stormy waters keeping them at bay.

"yeah," he breaths, hoping it doesnt sound as high pitched and reeking of lies as it did in his head when he rehearsed it fifty thousand times, "yeah."

...

he doesn't get to see you off, a vigilante attack steals his attention that he misses you leaving your apartment and before he knows it you've disappeared into the tedious timings of the airport.

he settles for the facetime calls where he gets a sliver of your face, a ramble of your voice and the smile that makes him believe that this will all be over soon and he can get back to living his purpose in life: being with you.

the space is good, he thinks. the space is nice- it's healthy. it's made him even more sure of the feelings he feels and he knows that this building between you is more than friendship; its real life fucking love and pure romance from the novels. its in the mundane moments that you make feel so special- in the highs and adrenalines of life where he only ever sees you.

its in the way he suddenly feels complete when he sees your body standing at baggage claim. it's only been four days but it feels like a lifetime without you- the constant force in his life that before he knows it, his legs are picking up at lightning speed crossing the distance within seconds.

"hey!" he calls out, tossing and tackling between busy bodies in the crowd and you turn around slowly at the sound of your best friend towering over everyone. a smile grows on your face, spreading pure sunshine all over and you abandon your case- start sprinting to meet him in the middle. the pace is off, his strides are quicker than yours that he's sent barrelling into you as he pulls you in to a stop. you're airborne suddenly, lifting you off the ground as he feels your laughter in his neck.

"i missed you too, clark," your voice rumbles, the vibrations tickling your spine as he lowers you into the ground with a bone crushing hug.

the emotions are flying everywhere for him and there's a look in his eyes you can't pinpoint. theres soft clark, ambitious clark, clark who mysteriously disappears and is on edge, clark who's the smartest guy in the damn room, clark who drinks your coffee even though you know its horrible as shit- you just keep making it to see how long he'll keep up the act, when he decides to just give in. clark who looks at you like you've hung the stars in his sky, who carried around mistletoe all christmas but you stupidly thought it was for lois lane. you've seen all the versions of clark and loved them all the same; but this wild look in his eyes- this feels new and unfamiliar.

but it's the clark that's about to create a whole new balance and orbital shift in your universe.

"i'm in love with you," the words spill out quickly like he's drowning in his thoughts- the cage is locked and its overflowing and his body feels just too heavy to swim up to the surface and out, "and i thought i could bury it down, hide it if thats what it would mean for us to always stay best friends and keep what we have but i just can't do it anymore. those four days? they felt like a lifetime of hell. i don't know who i am without you like i'm me but i just like who i am a hell of a lot better when you're with me. i love you and i've been dying to say it- hoping you'll feel the same way and i get it if you don't i mean who could be worthy of your love? you're fucking incredible-"

"clark-"

"and i'm sorry for laying this all on you right now, i would wait thousands of years in silence- pure burning yearning silence just to be with you and it would be a fucking nightmare-"

"clark-" you try again, with more urgency

"but i'd do it a million times over because existing without you seems a far worse feat and i-"

you crash your lips into his and damn sparks fly- clark's pretty sure a solar system has just burst itself, possibly his as his lips mould against yours like a perfect slot. its everything he's imagined it to be and he never wants to separate himself from you. just how long does he think he can go without air? maybe, today he should put it to the test. you don't know when he slips off the glasses, angling his face to yours to make this more comfortable for you until a throat clears and you jump back slightly. a mother stands with her child, shooting the two of you disapproving glances but you're too preoccupied with your best friend to even find the smallest fuck to give.

"oh just shut up, you giant idiot," you mumble against his lips and break apart, clark moves to rest his forehead on yours still stealing a glance into your softened eyes, though theres a glint of giddiness that undeniably shines through.

"yes, ma'am," he mumbles in his flushed daze.

"i'm in love with you too," you breathe. "have been for a while but the moment's never just felt-"

"right," he finishes, voice synchronising with yours as yiur heart beats start to dance to your own tune. "is this okay?" he murmurs, as you rest your head on his chest and he rocks you in his embrace.

it feels like that night in his bedroom those months back, though he doesn't need to be in his apartment- he has you in his arms and you're all he's ever known to be his home.

"it's perfect," your voice is muffled into his knitted sweater.

yeah, you are, he thinks. you're his best friend and he's fucking in love with you and whats even better is- you're also head over heels in love with him too.

So, he never pulled on your hair. He’d pick little wildflowers and weave the tiny stems through your braids because they looked pretty. You’d smile and tell him how much you liked the little blossoms, and he’d smile because he made you happy. He did a good job, he was kind. You were beautiful. 

It extended into his teen years, too. Always one to be a shoulder to cry on, or offering up help with homework, or making sure to bring his lawnmower over to anyone’s home who needed a hand. Your parents commented on it the summer you’d gone on your annual visit to Smallville, sitting around the table with Mrs. Kent.

“That Clark is growing up to be a good boy,” your mom mentioned, spotting him out in the yard with his Pa and your dad. He lifted the tractor while his Pa reached up with his tools to fix something. “Very helpful.”

“He likes to make sure everyone’s taken care of.” Mrs. Kent grinned.

You leaned up a little, watching Clark for a moment. He’d always been sweet, and very friendly. It was almost odd to see someone so soft spoken and almost shy to display that kind of otherworldly strength. You’d known about it forever. Your parents and the Kents were long-time friends, and they were the only ones to know about the circumstances of Clark’s… adoption. A tiny, little baby who’d dropped from the sky. 

You parents hadn’t believed it at first until they’d seen the spacecraft for themselves. 

Your dad had gaped, then easily went to help Mr. Kent drag it to an old shed and out of the sight of any potentially-prying eyes. Your mom stared down at little Clark in Mrs. Kent’s arms, her hand placed gently on the swell of her stomach, thinking of her own baby, soon to be born. It was shocking.

More shocking when Clark started growing into his powers.

Now? He seemed to be able to lift anything without a second thought. As evidenced by his casual hold on the giant tractor.

“He’s always been sweet,” you comment softly, not noticing the soft look between your mother and Clark’s ma. 

Yours and Clark’s parents had sensed something for years.They’d always thought you two were just the most darling pairing as young kids: sleeping in the same crib as babies, sharing toys as toddlers, splashing in a tiny pop-up pool as a couple of rowdy six-year-olds.

They watched you as teenagers, always glued together when you thought nobody was paying any attention. Even when you’d both graduated high school, you still always came back to the Kent’s farm every summer on your own volition.

By the time you’d each left college, the summer you were pressed to each other’s sides with a couple glasses of wine on the front porch, they were certain of it: you’d end up together.

“So, what have you been doing lately, honey? I hear you're thinking of moving out to Metropolis by our Clark,” Mrs. Kent said, a soft, excited smile on her lips.

You chuckled once. “Yeah. I think I’m going to finish out the year at my job now, and then… yeah. I mean, there are so many great opportunities in Metropolis for writers. Clark is evidence of that.”

“Technically, I’m a journalist,” Clark added with a small smile.

“Dork.”

He just grinned, taking a big bite of his mashed potatoes. Your parents all shared some knowing glances, looking between the two of you. Twenty four years in the making, you would finally be in the exact right position for everything to work. Your mom was practically floating at the idea of planning a wedding. Mr. and Mrs. Kent were buzzing with the notion of grandbabies. Your dad was just happy you’d end up with someone he knew would treat you right. So, it was no surprise that they all felt like the floor had been swept out from under them when you spoke again.

“I’m thinking of it, too, because… well,” you paused for a moment, the whole room seemingly holding their breath. “I mean, my boyfriend has been talking about it, and I think we’re starting to get more serious, actually.”

Murmured questions and half-hearted congratulations were drowned out by Clark hearing his own heart beating in his chest.

Both of your folks had clearly been invested in the idea of the two of you forever. But Clark? He’d never thought to entertain the idea of you being with anybody. He supposed it made sense. You were friendly and beautiful and one of the funniest people he’d ever met. Lovely and, in his eyes, perfect. He’d been telling everyone at work that his life-long family friend was probably going to move nearby soon. He’d been planning in his head all the places he’d get to take you to in the city. Maybe even get your opinion on the suit his Ma was making for him to help people. He still hadn’t decided on a name for this alter-ego yet, and he thought you’d probably have some great ideas.

He’d built it up in his head so much that he’d never factored in that you might have someone besides him in the city. He just plastered on a smile that he hoped you wouldn’t see through and told you he was happy for you. A boyfriend. How… exciting.

January came around quickly. Clark trudged through the snow, finally getting to the door of his apartment building. He got in, shaking the snow off of his clothes and out of his dark hair before taking the elevator up to his unit. 

He liked winter. The snow was pretty, he got to go home for Christmas, and crime rates went down a bit in Metropolis. He had some time to relax. 

He peeled off his outer layers, setting his glasses careful on the kitchen counter. A warm shower and a cup of chamomile tea later, and he was sitting in his small living room watching an old movie re-run on cable. His phone started buzzing on the table, and he sighed. Duty calls, probably.

He looked down at the screen, and his mood flipped in an instant. He grinned widely when he saw your name flash on the screen, hitting the green answer button.

“Hi!”

He heard you laugh on the other end, it warmed his heart. “Hey, stranger. How’s it going?”

“Good! Y-yeah, good. Watching the snow fall in my apartment right now, it’s so pretty.”

“I bet.”

“Yeah…” he smiled, sinking back into his chair. “Uh, well, how are you? What’s the occasion?”

“I have to have an occasion to call you?”

He chuckled, the sound low and deep in his chest. He felt his cheeks warm. Whenever he talked to you, he often felt like he was still a teenager watching you try and fail to milk his favorite cow on the farm. He could still see you in his mind’s eye, still feeling that soft, fluttering feeling in his chest. Still realizing that you weren’t just a friend, you were a girl. A really pretty girl. A girl that made him feel things that a gentleman could certainly never voice.

“No. You don’t. You just usually do.”

“Touché,” you murmured, sighing softly on the other end of the line. “Well, I just wanted to let you know that I just signed a lease in Metropolis. I’m officially coming to the city.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He could hear the smile in your voice. “Yeah, Sam and I are gonna be moving in two weeks.”

“Oh. You and… you’re moving in together, huh?”

“Yeah. He’s been asking for a little while now, and I finally gave in.”

He heard you chuckle, but he couldn’t bring himself to smile about it. He didn’t know Sam. He had no real reason to hate him. But he did.

He’d seen pictures of him on your social media. He’d been caught by his Ma during Christmas zooming in on the man in one photo you’d posted. She just rested her hand on his shoulder, saying something about making him a cup of hot chocolate. Far too much pity in her voice.

“It’s fine, Ma. I’m fine,” he sighed, shutting off his phone.

She just looked at him for a moment. “You were zooming in awful close for someone who’s ‘fine’.”

He huffed. “She always said she didn’t like blonde guys. He’s blonde.”

His Ma did him the service of turning before she let herself chuckle a little. She wasn’t happy about this turn of events either, but… you were happy. She loved you like her own, and couldn’t bring herself to feel too sour about your recent relationship development. She reserved those feelings for whenever your mom brought it up first on their phone calls.

“I was just hoping maybe you could pick me up at the airport?”

“Y-you and Sam?”

“No, just me. Sam is gonna be a few days behind.”

“Oh. Yeah, I can do that. Of course.”

Clark begrudgingly took you to your new apartment two weeks later, helping you unpack and put up your furniture. He wasn’t upset to be helping you, of course. He loved helping you. He’d do anything you asked. He was grumpy about it because your boyfriend couldn’t be bothered to set up the apartment with you. He was supposed to be a few days behind you to tie up some things with his job before he left for Metropolis. But then, he had to spend an extra few days to go see his family out of the blue, and sent you a measly text asking you to unpack everything on your own.

Clark frowned the second you told him that you’d be doing it all yourself with that easy smile. He ignored your honey-sweet voice telling him he didn’t have to stay with you. Yes, he did. If your boyfriend couldn’t be bothered to help set up the apartment you’d share together, Clark certainly wouldn’t let you do it alone.

He felt your eyes on him as he sat on the ground, putting together your coffee table. He ignored it for a while, but eventually he broke down.

“What’re you looking at?” His voice was soft, the smallest twitch of his lip upward giving him away.

“You’re just… you’re a really good guy, Clark. I’m really happy I came here.”

“I’m happy you’re here, too. I’ve missed you,” he mumbled softly, finally looking up to meet your eyes. “It’ll be nice. Seeing you more than once or twice a year.”

You smiled, and his heart beat a little faster again. “Yeah, my mom has been over the moon about it. I think she’s just happy you’ll be around to protect me if I ever need you.”

“Aw, come on. I’m always around when you need me. I can fly anywhere, you know?”

You laughed. “I know. You’re closer now, though. Maybe we can spend more time together, too. That’d be fun.”

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

“You and Sam will totally get along.”

Clark’s expression fell a little as he got back to work. Sam. He promised himself he’d be nice and give the guy a chance, for you. But he already wasn’t too sure about the guy for a number of reasons. Mostly that he got to you before Clark could work up the nerve. But Clark would be nice. He’d be good.

He was good, he was good, he was good. He told himself over and over again as he sat across from you at your parent’s home. He’d been invited over for a small party for your birthday with your family and his. Your aunts and uncles asked him about his job as a reporter in Metropolis. Your little cousins were drawn to him. Despite not knowing he was the new ‘Superman’, he always seemed to have a pull with kids. Almost like they could sense he was a protector through and through. Normally, he’d be happily indulging all their requests for him to push them on the swings, and he’d chat at length about your aunt’s latest paint-by-numbers piece she was working on. But he was distracted. Horribly and frustratingly distracted.

He watched you as you smiled at Sam, talked to his Ma, listened to your dad’s work stories… but he was spiraling under the surface. One little thing had entirely thrown him off course and had him incessantly reminding himself that he was a kind and rational man. But it was almost like it was staring at him, reminding him that even though you’d grown even closer since you’d moved to his city last year, he was too little too late. A pretty little diamond on your finger.

He glared at it all night. Every time he caught a glance, it filled his chest with something angry and ugly and possessive. Which, of course, only made him feel worse. You weren’t his. You never were. He had no right to be jealous, and yet…

“Engaged, huh?” he said softly, walking up to you as you sat by yourself out on the back deck.

“Huh? Oh. Yeah,” you replied with a soft smile.

He nodded once, sitting next to you on the step. He sniffed, looking up at the sky. 

“Stars are really pretty tonight.”

You hummed in agreement. “Yeah. They’re so bright out here. Not like at the farm, but definitely more than Metropolis.”

He let himself smile once. “Well, if you ever want to visit the farm, say the word. You happen to be friends with a human airplane.”

You laughed at that, touching his forearm. He felt his chest squeeze.

“As much as I appreciate it, I don’t think Sam would be too keen on Superman literally sweeping me off my feet.”

“You could just tell him we were taking a road trip.”

“He wouldn’t like that, either.”

He frowned. “Why not?”

You shrugged, not meeting his eyes. “He’s… I don’t think he likes how close you and I have gotten.”

“We’ve been friends since we were babies.”

“I know, Clark. It’s just… We’ve definitely gotten closer since I moved to Metropolis.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“No. No, of course not. I think he’s just… maybe a little bit jealous.”

Clark snorted, but secretly he preened at that. He liked the idea that he was a threat to your boyfriend. Or– fiancé. He’d never dare admit that. It wasn’t right, and it wasn’t kind. But it was the truth.

“Jealous?”

You rolled your eyes. “Come on, Clark.”

“What?” He grinned.

“Like you don’t know.”

His smile faltered for just a moment, shaking his head. “No, I… I actually don’t.”

You sighed. “You’re… you. Like you said, friends since we were babies. We’ve gotten even closer now. You’re… Superman.”

“He doesn’t know I am.”

“No, but he knows you’re huge and attractive–”

Attractive? Clark blushed. He opened his mouth to try and respond without sounding like his stomach was doing cartwheels. But the back door opened.

“Babe?”

You looked up at Sam as he walked out, eyeing you and Clark suspiciously. He frowned at you after a second.

“Hey, honey.”

“You said we could leave at nine. It’s nine.”

Clark raised a brow, finally looking at Sam. He wasn’t too sure about the tone he’d just taken with you.

“Okay, yeah. I just lost track of time, I guess.”

Sam crossed his arms. “Uh huh.”

“Hey. Good to see you again, Sam,” Clark said, rising to his feet, helping you up before he reached out to shake Sam’s hand.

Clark sized the man up as Sam attempted a hard handshake. Clark almost smiled as Sam squeezed his hand in a faulty show of dominance. It wasn’t his fault, of course. He didn’t realize he was trying to intimidate Superman himself. He could see the frown forming on Sam’s face as his hand was practically engulfed by Clark’s. 

You raised a brow, seeing your fiancé clearly annoyed by the man you’d grown up with. You weren’t particularly keen on a dick-measuring contest starting up, so you touched Sam’s shoulder.

“Baby, can you go start the car? I’m just going to say bye to everyone real quick.”

He huffed, muttering something you didn’t quite catch under his breath. It wasn’t long before you were settling into the passenger seat, clicking your seatbelt in an uncomfortable silence. You probably should’ve known better than to ask, but you couldn’t help yourself.

“Is everything okay?” You spoke up once he pulled onto the road, driving towards the hotel.

He let out a harsh breath. “You really have to ask?”

“I don’t–”

“Seriously?” He shook his head, gripping the steering wheel. “You were alone with him. Again.”

“Wh– Clark?”

“No, your dad,” he snapped, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “I don’t like the guy.”

“He’s a good person.”

“He wants to fuck you.”

“Sam.”

He shot back with your own name, then fell silent for a moment. You twisted the ring on your finger. He’d proposed only a few days ago, shortly before your flight out here. You were elated, so excited to tell your family. You didn’t think the night would end like this.

“I don’t get why you insist on being around that asshole. He clearly wants to get in your pants, and you just– You obviously don’t respect me. Why do you need to be around him? Am I too boring for you?”

“What? No, of course not–”

“I’m not tall enough? Not build like a fucking building, so you have to entertain the guy who is? Let him think that he has a shot so you can stare at him and fantasize about fucking a guy with muscles? Is that what it is?”

“Baby, no. Please.”

He shook his head. “You said you liked how I look.”

“I do. That has nothing to do with this at all.”

“I get it. You’ve only dated taller guys, bigger ones. Maybe this wouldn’t be an issue if you lost a little weight.”

You scoffed in disbelief, tears pricking your eyes against your wishes. He’d been mean before. He was sensitive and sometimes said stuff he didn’t mean during arguments. But that felt like a line being crossed.

“Sam.”

“I’m just saying. I’m not a fucking body builder, but I’m not weak. You’re just–”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

He huffed, muttering under his breath, “so fucking sensitive.”

You were quiet for a minute. “Clark is my friend.”

“Sure he is.”

“He is.”

“Have you two fucked?”

You frowned, lip quivering. “No.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Why are you being like this?”

“I don’t want to marry a fucking slut, is why! I put that ring on your finger, and days later I find you alone with the guy you know I have a problem with.”

You felt the tears before you could stop them. You stopped talking, sitting silently with your thoughts as he turned up the music to drown out the sound of your crying. It wasn't until you reached the hotel that he finally turned down the music, huffing a sigh as he looked at you.

“Why are you crying?”

You looked at him incredulously. “You called me a slut.”

“No, I said I didn’t want to marry one. Babe…” he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I wouldn’t call you that. You’re putting words in my mouth, and I really don’t appreciate that.”

“I don’t… I just don’t understand why you’re being so mean to me.”

“I’m not being mean. I’m asking you why you insist on hurting my feelings. I don’t ever go sneak off behind your back with other girls, so why do you think it’s okay to do that to me?”

“I wasn’t sneaking.”

“Oh, well sorry for not using perfect fucking wording. You know what I mean.”

You let out a slow breath. “He’s just a friend. He’s always been a friend.”

“I’m going to be your husband. Is that not more important, or am I fucking stupid?”

“Sam–”

“Just… whatever. Fine. Do what you want, but don’t pretend you wouldn’t be all pissy if the roles were reversed. Maybe I’ll reconnect with my high school girlfriend, since she was such a good friend when I was a kid, too.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, now you’re sorry? Now that I’m proving that you’re being inconsiderate?”

“I just said I’m sorry. Can we not do this anymore?”

“Uh huh. Get all weepy and apologetic now that you feel caught.”

You jumped as he slammed his door shut after telling you to go to the room when you were done crying. You stared at the hotel building for too long, trying to make yourself stop. It would be fine, you kept telling yourself it would be totally fine. He’d been angry before and gotten over it. He didn’t mean everything he said, he was just upset and probably feeling a bit insecure. You took some deep breaths, steeling yourself against the emotions that choked you up and threatened to steal away all of your air supply. You’d be fine. It would be fine.

Clark stopped seeing you so often after the night of your birthday dinner. He figured it was probably because you were engaged now. Planning a wedding was a lot of work, and you… You had different priorities now. You had a fiancé, he wasn’t just a boyfriend anymore. Things were different.

He took in a small breath, gathering all of the courage he could manage when he showed up at your apartment with a gift basket in hand. He realized he’d never properly congratulated you two, too caught up in the sick feeling brewing in his stomach the moment he had seen your ring for the first time. He rang your doorbell, waiting patiently for a while before the door got flung open.

“What are you doing here?”

Clark blinked, a bit surprised at the aggressive tone in Sam’s voice as he stood in the doorway. He cleared his throat, looking past Sam to see into the apartment, hoping to catch a glance of you instead of the guy who clearly didn’t like him.

“Uh…” Clark looked back at Sam, lifting up the basket. “Brought a gift. To congratulate you two on the engagement. There’s, like, muffins, a fancy soap, wine, some other stuff–”

“Great. Thanks.”

Sam grabbed the basket, and started shutting the door. Clark’s brows shot up, his hand pressing against the wood before he could think twice about it. Sam scoffed, looking up at Clark like he’d just personally kicked him in the shins.

“The fuck are you–”

Clark just mumbled out your name. “Is she home? I haven’t seen her in a while.”

“She’s in the shower.”

“Oh. Could you maybe ask her to just… Just text me?”

Sam huffed once. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Pardon me?” Clark looked at him, astounded.

“Take a hint, Kent. She’s mine.”

“I–” Clark shook his head, profound confusion taking over any urge to be angry. “What are you talking about?”

“She doesn’t want to see you. Newsflash, dickhead–”

“Sam,” you stated, staring at him with wide eyes as you cut in. 

He turned, rolling his eyes at the intrusion. He hadn’t heard you come out of the bathroom, and the glare he leveled at you as you stood there in your towel had you nervous.

“Go put some fucking clothes on. He was just leaving.”

“Don’t talk to her like that,” Clark snapped, then looked at you, bewildered you’d be with someone like him. Your name fell softly from his lips. 

You sniffed, hurt and embarrassed. “Sam, stop it.”

He slammed the door in Clark’s face, just before tossing the gift basket on the ground. Clark swallowed, flinching as he heard Sam’s raised voice through the door. He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t just barge in. But he couldn’t let this keep happening to you, and he had a bad feeling Sam wasn’t doing this out of nowhere.

He made a decision. If he couldn’t get to you as Clark, he knew how he could.

You walked out of your building, about to head off on your walk to work. It was sunny and beautiful out, but it was torture against your tired eyes. You started trudging down the sidewalk when there was a sudden shadow.

You looked up to see bright blue and red clouding your vision.

“Ma’am.”

You frowned, looking up at him with furrowed brows as he descended, his feet hitting the sidewalk. “What are you doing?”

He dropped his Superman voice, leaning in a little closer. “I just wanted to see you.”

“Cl–Superman. I can’t. Not now,” you muttered back, glancing towards your apartment building like you were about to get into trouble.

“After work. I’ll wait outside. Just… just for a little bit?”

You begrudgingly agreed when he assured you it wouldn’t take long. So, you found yourself sitting next to him on the rooftop of the Daily Planet. He was quiet, but you knew better. Through the silence you could practically hear the gears turning in his head.

“Why are you with him?” He finally asked, voice soft.

“I love him.”

Clark felt his jaw tick. “He treats you like garbage.”

“You just caught him in a bad moment.”

“Every one of his moments are bad, from what I’ve seen.”

You crossed your arms. “We’re engaged. I’m not just going to break things off cause he was kind of mean to you the other day.”

“I don’t care how he treats me. He was awful to you.”

“I… I know, okay? I get it. I just…”

“I miss you.”

“Clark.”

“I mean it. August is just around the corner. Ma says you don’t plan on coming back to the farm this summer,” he mentioned, fiddling with his hands.

You swallowed. Okay, now you felt caught. 

“Sam has a work thing.”

“And you have to stay behind for that?”

He had a point. You knew he did. But you’d never had a serious relationship before this. You’d dated, sure. Had some long-term things, but they never lasted. They never ended in an engagement. Legally, you weren’t locked in yet. But it still felt like you had an obligation. It was… complicated. Sam had a way of making you feel like you should stay.

“He didn’t want me going alone.”

“You wouldn’t be alone.”

“Being with you wouldn’t exactly ease his nerves,” you mutter.

He reached over, taking your hand in his. You knew you shouldn’t let him, you knew it felt too good. It made your heart beat in a way it shouldn’t. But you couldn’t bring yourself to move. You looked up at him, his face unobscured by those silly frames he always had to wear now. Your eyes traced the familiar slope of his nose, the hue of his eyes, the way his jaw moved when he was holding back from saying more.

“Please?” Clark whispered, giving you those puppy dog eyes that you’d always given in to since you were little.

After several arguments with Sam, and a hell of a lot of convincing that it was just because your parents wanted to see you, you were walking up to the front door of the Kent’s farm house. You swallowed, shoving down the nerves that you’d somehow incur your fiancé’s wrath just by standing there. You reached up to knock, but the door opened before you had the chance. Mrs. Kent smiled brightly at you as she pulled you into a tight hug.

It felt like home, being at the Kent’s for the summer again. Even if the ‘summer’ was really just a week or so. Your parents were happy to have you around again, especially since you hadn’t visited much since you’d moved to Metropolis. Mrs. Kent had a million questions about your upcoming wedding and your fiancé, and Clark bit his cheek to avoid telling everyone how he acted behind closed doors. 

But the second he got you alone again, he couldn't help himself any longer.

“You can’t marry him,” he said with a sigh, leaning on the doorframe of his childhood bedroom. You always stayed in his room, and this time, instead of sleeping on the floor next to his bed, he took the couch in the living room.

You glared at him. “Clark.”

“I’m trying to look out for you, here.” His shoulders dropped as he walked in, watching you unpack your things in the top two drawers of his dresser as he sat on the edge of the bed. “You deserve to be happy.”

You were quiet, turning that over in your head several times before you found your voice again. You turned around, leaning against the dresser as you looked at him.

“It isn’t that simple.”

“You didn’t say any vows yet. It could be that simple.”

“But it isn’t,” you assert with a groan. You sit next to him on the bed. “I made a commitment. Sure, it’s not on paper just yet. But I’m not a quitter, and Sam… You don’t get it. I can’t just leave him.”

He sighed softly, just looking at you. He always looked at you like that, you realized. Like he was trying to memorize every square centimeter of your face. You breathed gently, chest rising and falling with each inhale. It was… quiet. In a good way. It always felt that way with Clark.

“I’m happy I came,” you say, changing the subject.

He looked a little disappointed, but nodded. “I am, too. Thank you. For coming.”

“Thanks for convincing me, Superman,” you said, nudging his shoulder with a small smile.

“Oh, quit.”

“What?”

He smiles when he sees you grinning back at him. “You keep making fun of the name.”

“It’s kinda silly, to be fair.”

“Alright, alright. It’s a little silly. But totally true,” he muttered with a wide grin, subtly flexing just to make you laugh.

“Cocky bastard,” you chuckle.

He hummed once, happily. This felt normal. Right. Like it should. He felt a funny feeling in his stomach when your head dropped carefully on his shoulder, and he let his hand rest on your knee in return.

“I’ve really missed you.”

“We still see each other,” you said, glancing up at him.

“I know, but… Not enough. It’s like right when we started really getting close and spending more time together, you… you kinda disappeared on me cause of him.”

“I didn’t disappear.”

“May as well have.”

You sat with that for a few moments, then lifted your head. You looked at him, close enough to really see each and every little fleck of gold in his bright blue eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “It’s not your fault.”

“Kinda is.”

“No. It isn’t,” he reaffirmed.

You took in a slow breath. It felt nice, good even, not to be blamed. You’d grown too accustomed to taking the hit for everything that could feasibly be pinned on you. Even some things that didn’t seem like they made much sense ended up being your fault. Talked into blame over and over. You let your eyes trail over Clark’s face again. You’d always cared about him. Always had a crush. But it never seemed to go anywhere. Every lingering glance, every time you’d spent your evening laying together under the stars in the summertime, those few times during the year he and his parents would drop by for a surprise visit… It never led to anything.

Butterflies in your stomach, Clark’s blushed cheeks, and your mom asking what you two had talked about on your trip to the swimming hole. That’s all it ever amounted to. He never made a move. You never worked up the courage to tell him you liked him. Now, you were constantly under surveillance from your fiancé, noticing that you two were close. Maybe you stayed with Sam because underneath it all you were guilty. Or maybe he was just there when nobody else was a couple years prior. You didn’t really know why you stayed, only that you promised you would.

It didn’t feel like enough at that moment, though.

You leaned in before you knew it, lips pressing to Clark’s like you’d always wanted to. You heard him make a soft, surprised noise. But he didn’t pull back. Not right away.

You let yourself melt into it, hand against his stubbled cheek.

He pulled back first, his eyes wide and shocked, muttering apologies as if he’d been the one to kiss you first. 

You had a long week after that.

It was almost a month before you spoke again. One text from him, simply checking in. Neither of you talked about the kiss after it happened, but you never stopped thinking about it. But that one text turned to at least a handful every day. A quick hello turned into meeting up at cafés, telling Sam you were going out with a girl friend from work. Shared glances turned into hugs that lingered for far too long in Clark’s living room.

You sat on the chair in his apartment, and he leaned back on his arms on the ottoman across from you. You laughed, sharing stories from childhood and nightmares you’d dealt with at work. You finally picked up a few freelance ghost writing gigs on the side, but you were still stuck peddling wedding dresses on the side at a local boutique. Clark had really made his way at the Daily Planet. You were proud.

“You really need to get an actual couch. This sad, lonely chair in front of the tv just screams single-guy bachelor pad,” you mentioned with a snorted laugh.

“To be fair, I am a single guy.” He chuckles.

“Mm…” you hummed softly, nodding once as your smile faltered a little. Right. Single guy friend. Available guy friend. Just not to you. “I told Sam I was with Rebecca tonight, but honestly I don’t think he even listened.”

Clark swallowed. His guilt built and built every time Sam was brought up. He couldn’t stop thinking about you kissing him in his childhood bedroom. He’d always wanted to kiss you, he’d wondered what it would feel like since forever. He just didn’t expect it to happen while you were engaged to somebody else. He couldn’t stand Sam at all, but he didn’t feel right about moving in on you while you were with somebody. It wasn’t right. 

But you were so sweet. So pretty. So… taken.

“Maybe you shouldn’t keep lying to him. About where you are.”

You raised a brow. “Clark. Come on, he’d never let me out of the house again if he found out I was hanging out with you.”

“That’s not right.”

“Just… let me have this. It’s working. He’s been… happier. I get to see you. It’s a win-win.”

“But you’re lying to him.”

“Why does that matter?”

He let out a breath, his jaw clenching. He wished he had a good answer to that. One that you would listen to. But if he did get through to you and make you listen, he might not see you again. He couldn’t risk that. 

He scooted closer, holding out his hands until you placed yours in his. His thumbs brushed over your knuckles, one of them snagging on the diamond on your hand. He looked at it, twisting it a little.

“Can’t believe you’re gonna get married.”

“It’s… so weird. We were like five years old yesterday.”

He huffed a short laugh. “Yeah. Now you’re… all grown up.”

“So are you.”

He smiled a little, looking up at you. He tried, he really tried not to let his eyes drop. But you were looking at him the same way you did when you’d kissed him. His gaze fell to your lips, a sinking feeling in his stomach and a stirring in his pants made his heart race a little faster.

But… no.

He couldn’t.

You left not long after with a smile that covered up your disappointment. You didn’t exactly go over to his place with the intent to cheat on your fiancé. You knew that was wrong. You knew you should end things. But… Sam had a way of making you feel like you couldn’t leave. He’d all but said so with how many times he reminded you how lucky you were that he was so forgiving, that he put up with you and your mood swings. You knew you shouldn’t put up with him, but how do you get out from under someone's shoe? You hadn’t yet figured it out.

How do you leave someone you thought would be your forever?

How do you tell the person who’s always been there that you really want them?

Does it make you a bad person for not wanting to have to think about it? It certainly didn’t feel good or right, that much you knew. But you also knew that kissing Sam had never felt like kissing Clark.

Months passed. You still couldn’t stay away from him. At every chance you were making some excuse to sneak out of the apartment to meet with Clark. He’d bring you to all of your favorite places, never letting you pay a dime. He rationalized that if he did, you risked Sam finding out. If he paid, it wouldn’t be reflected on you at all. 

It helped that Sam had taken a third shift position. His pay increased, which was great for him. He was around a lot less, which was great for you. It started getting riskier, though. You’d begun inviting Clark to your apartment, and he’d only slip away once you fell asleep against his chest. You’d wake to Sam barging into your bedroom rather than Clark’s head on the pillow next to yours, trying to mask the obvious disappointment you felt each time it happened.

Things with him hadn’t gotten better. Less frequent, sure, with him being gone more often. But he was a master at picking fights, and at winning them. Each time you so much as suggested something he didn’t like, it was your fault. You were unkind, inconsiderate. He’d thrown around insults, but never directly. It kept the blame off of him on a technicality. It was exhausting.

So you’d hide away in your mind, covering up your sorrow using Clark’s arms as a shield.

But everyone has their breaking point.

“I just don’t know what to do,” you sighed, leaning into Clark’s side on your couch.

Clark glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “You know what would change things.”

“You can’t expect me to do that.”

“You’re miserable.”

“Not when I’m with you,” you try a small joke.

He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even smile. “I just wish you’d… I wish you would move on. You deserve better than him. He doesn’t treat you well.”

You reached for his hand, playing with his fingers. He watched you do it, trying not to focus on the ring that was still ever-present.

“Are you really going to marry him?”

You didn’t answer. He looked at you.

“I don’t know. You could always object. It would be super dramatic.”

He huffed once. “That isn’t funny.”

You shrugged, tracing his face with your eyes yet again. As always, the gaze settled on his lips. He wet them once, drawing your attention even further. But the moment you leaned in, he backed away.

“Don’t.”

You went to protest, but he wouldn’t hear it. He stood, hands on his hips as he paced in your living room. It’s not that he didn’t want to kiss you, he just didn’t want it to happen because you were sad. He wanted you to kiss him because you loved him. He lingered in front of the door of the balcony. You called his name once, but he didn’t respond.

His back was turned, his eyes on the city below. It always needed him, there was always a way he could pick up the pieces for Metropolis. He didn’t know how to pick up the pieces for you without crossing some kind of line that he wasn’t sure he could live with.

He wanted you. More than anything. But not if he couldn’t keep you.

You watched him as he went through it all in his head. The way he tensed and relaxed as the thoughts cycled through. His back a wide expanse that covered your view from the door of your balcony. You were on the verge of begging. You weren’t above the action. You just needed something, needed him. So you sank to your knees silently, looking up at him.

“Clark,” you whispered, eyes trained on the back of his head.

“Yeah?”

You didn’t answer, just knelt there, waiting. He finally turned, his throat bobbing as he looked down at you. You stared up at him with wide, wanting eyes. On your knees like it was a form of worship. He opened his mouth, but words never came.

“Please.”

A short, breathy sound escaped his lips. “Honey, don’t–”

“Please. Please, Clark. You’ve always been there for me.”

He watched in awe and horror as you crawled closer, hands on his thighs with your wide, sparkling gaze on his.

“We can’t,” he whispered back as if it hurt him to say. You noticed the way his eyes went glossy. “I can’t. Not like this.”

“I need you.”

“No.”

“Yes.” You nuzzled your cheek against his leg, his body tensing as he tried to will away the erection straining against his jeans. “You’re always so sweet to me. You always have been. You always look out for me and you protect me and–”

“And I can’t help you cheat on someone.”

“You think what we’ve been doing already is totally kosher?”

He froze, looking down at you with a furrowed brow. He hadn’t touched you, he hadn’t crossed that line other than one measly kiss that he hadn’t even initiated. What had he done? Why was it wrong to be there for you? Someone had to make you feel special. To be considerate, to make you laugh, to hold you when you needed it. It wasn’t romantic. Not overtly. 

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“Clark,” you said with a soft voice, shaking your head. “You can’t seriously tell me all of this hasn’t meant anything.”

“Not… not nothing. Just not that.”

“So you don’t like me? I’ve seen the way you look at me. The way you lean into me at every chance. We’ve practically been dating the past few months. I think we already crossed that line.”

He murmured your name with closed eyes, his jaw tense. He didn’t want to think about that. He wasn’t that kind of person. He wouldn’t ever help someone cheat.

But he had.

He didn’t want to admit it, but you were right. The way he held you, the way he spoke with you, the way he looked at you… none of it had been friendly as of late. But if he never touched you, did it really count? He wished it didn’t. He wished it had happened in a different way. That you were single and free, and he had swept you off your feet. That he’d have kissed you on the first date, not that you’d leaned in first in his childhood home because you were lonely and desperate and knew he wouldn’t back away. He’d have taken you to bed after the fifth or sixth date, making sure you felt as special as he believed you to be. He’d have gone home to his parents, telling them he finally got the girl.

He didn’t think it would be like this. He didn’t feel like the good guy this time.

“I can’t do this. I can’t. You’re right, it’s gone too far already, and I can’t cross this line.”

Your lip quivered, face still pressed to his thigh as your eyes closed. You were broken down, tired, hurt… and you wanted this more than you’d wanted anything before. You wanted to feel loved. Not blamed.

“I’m so tired, Clark.”

“I know. I know you are,” he mumbled, voice low. He sank down with you on the floor, gathering you into his arms. “I know, but I can’t do that. You can’t ask me that.”

A rattling breath left your lungs, your face pressed to his neck. “I… I’ll leave him.”

Clark paused, stilling entirely. He hardly took a breath.

“You’ll…what?”

“I’ll leave him. I promise I will.”

His eyes found yours, searching them for something. Some kind of confirmation that you weren’t lying. That you’d actually do it. 

“You will?”

“Yes. I promise I will, I just… Give me a reason to.”

He nearly whimpered, pressing his forehead to yours silently. He sniffed, feeling the tears on his cheeks before he really realized he’d begun crying. He didn’t mean to. He was just overcome with emotion. Guilt, joy, need, love.

“Promise?”

You nodded, reaching up to wipe the tears from under his eyes. “Promise.”

He finally gave in. His hands framed your face as his lips met yours. You weren’t in the clear yet, but you promised you would be. He held onto that promise with an iron grip. He let you lead him to the bedroom you’d shared with your fiancé. He wondered how many times he’d taken you here. If you even enjoyed it, or if you faked it and had to take care of yourself later in the shower. He tried putting it all out of his head as he watched you sprawl out on the bed, peeling off your clothes. He blindly tugged all of his off, spurred on once you were bare, your legs spread for him. Just for him.

He felt himself puff up with pride when your eyes locked onto his length, throbbing and leaking for you. Begging to be inside of you. But not yet.

His eyes were locked on your face, your chest, your neck. He watched your every movement and every small breath from between your legs, grinding himself against the bed as he tasted you. He couldn’t get enough. He knew you’d be perfect, but this was like heaven. His eyes fluttered when your hands tangled in his hair, pushing him further into your cunt. 

He moaned, circling your entrance with one thick finger. He teased until you were whining and whimpering so much he was sure you’d start crying at any moment from wanting. The feeling was mutual for him. He finally sunk his finger inside of you, eyes locked on your face as you gasped and writhed under him. He groaned into you when you moaned out his name over and over. He liked that. He liked being the one you were begging for.

He fit another finger into you, trying to prepare you for his cock. He wanted it to feel as good as possible, to leave a stellar first impression. He hoped you’d let him reshape you to every vein and ridge and inch of him over time. He hoped you’d never take anyone else.

It wasn’t long before you were over the edge, body convulsing and soaking his face as your orgasm hit you hard. He sucked hard on your clit, forcing it out of you with such tender care that you were certain you saw the light. You pushed his head away from you after a moment, sufficiently overstimulated.

“Good?” He looked at you, face searching for approval.

You nodded easily. “So good. Need you.”

He let out a breath, accepting a condom you’d pulled out of your nightstand. It was a tight fit, but he managed to get it on, gazing down between your legs, so wet and inviting, drawing him in. He dragged himself through your wetness, his tip leaking precum into the condom already. He almost lost himself when his eyes trailed up your body, landing on your face.

“Please,” you whispered.

“Almost there, baby. Almost. Gotta go slow.”

“You’re so big.”

“I know, honey. Shh…”

He pressed his tip in, a choked sound in his throat as he watched you swallow him. Your soft, needy sounds were music to his ears. He pushed in further, little by little, torn between watching your face and your cunt. He was halfway in when he collapsed on top of you, wrapping your legs around his waist, his face in your neck. His lips left sloppy kisses along the slope of your shoulder, shallow thrusts beginning to open you up for him. 

“Oh, fuck… just like that, Clark.”

“Okay,” he whispered back, nodding.

He tried keeping it slow, only pushing in further when he was sure you could take it. He was almost seated entirely when you both heard a soft snapping noise.

You looked confused for a second, but when you noticed the shocked expression on Clark’s face, it was no longer a mystery: the condom broke. But he didn’t stop. His moans grew louder, needier, as he felt all of you. Your warmth choking out his length.

“M’sorry. I’m sorry, it feels too good. Don’t hate me,” he whined, sheathing himself fully as he continued pushing against you despite the break. His hips moved faster, each thrust pushing your body into the mattress. “So good.”

You moaned in the back of your throat, hands moving over his shoulders and back, scratching your nails through his hair. He shuddered against you as he felt the sharp drag against his scalp, cock jumping inside of you.

“Baby, m’sorry,” he repeated, his tears soaking your skin. He didn’t just mean the condom breaking. He was sorry for all of it. For not being with you sooner. For being the other man. “I’m sorry.”

“D-don’t. Fuck. Don’t be sorry, Clarkie. Don’t be. This is perfect. I need it. I need you.”

He let out a shaking breath as he ground his hips against yours, relishing in the way your walls clung to him. He felt locked inside of you, like he couldn't escape you if he tried. Maybe he couldn’t. He’d always wanted this, to be close to you. He dreamed of it more times than he could count, ruining his sheets by the time he woke up, his skin burning with the ghost of your hands on him. Nothing compared to the real thing.

The sound of your soft breaths, tiny, sweet noises falling from your lips every time he thrusted into you. It was everything he wanted, and it was all wrong. He groaned, dragging his teeth up your neck. His hand pushed your arm up onto the pillows beneath your head, his eyes glancing upward. His thrusts became a little sharper when he saw that terrible little ring on your finger sparkling at him.

“Clark…” you moaned, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut.

He looked down at you, a soft whine in the back of his throat. The girl he’d loved forever. He finally had you, but… he didn’t. Not yet. He swallowed, kissing your lips once before he moved his hand over yours. He felt for the stone sticking out on the band of the ring, closing his fingers around it. He tugged, putting in a little effort to pull it off of your finger. You opened your eyes, seeing his brows furrowed after he’d taken your ring off. Oh.

You watched, only a few moans leaving your throat instead of words that probably should’ve told him to stop as he tossed the ring towards your closet. 

“Tell me I’m better.”

“What?” 

He grunts. “Tell me I’m better. I know you better, I can please you better than he can. I know I can. I kn–oh. I know it. Am I bigger?”

“Y-yeah. Yes, you’re bigger.”

“I’m better?”

“So much better, baby.”

Soft groans left him. He fucked into you faster, harder, but still like he loved you more than anything. He blinked away tears again, his hands bracketing your face as he kissed over your cheeks and lips.

“M’close,” you breathed out.

“I know. I can feel it. I can hear your heart.”

“Gonna cum.”

“I know, baby.”

He moved his hips more intentionally, trying hard to hit that soft spot in you each and every time. His breathing sped up, his lips parted as he watched you come undone from his cock. He couldn’t imagine anything better than this.

“M’gonna cum,” you moaned again.

“Yes. Yes, you can cum, baby. Cum for me. Please, I want to feel you.”

You whined, voice loud and broken as you finished for the second time that night, squeezing his dick hard. He gasped, eyes fluttering as he watched your face twist in pleasure. Pleasure he gave to you. You’d never felt anything quite like it. Not like this. 

“Baby… shoot. I’m…”

“Don’t pull out.”

Clark’s eyes fell to yours, shining. “What?”

“Don’t pull out, please.”

“The condom broke.”

“I know.”

Clark shattered, tears falling again, the drops landing on your face as he held himself up above you, his forehead pressed to yours. You felt him tense, spilling inside of you with a cry of your name over and over again. You tasted the salt of his tears on your lips, his hips still grinding against yours.

“Oh… I… I love you. I love you.”

“What?” you whimpered.

Shit. Clark shuddered, finally stilling on top of you. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Not right now.

You breathed heavily under the weight of his body, hands still around his shoulders.

“Clark?”

“I–I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”

“You… did you mean it, though?”

His lip was pulled between his teeth as he leaned back up, looking at you flushed and gorgeous underneath him. Of course he meant it.

“Yes. I mean it.”

“Oh.”

“I didn’t mean to say it, though, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. It’s okay.” You smiled, brushing a few stray hairs from his forehead.

He sighed against your lips as you kissed him again, letting himself melt into your touch.

He spent the next few days in a flurry of emotions. He hardly slept, he was sloppy at work, distracted as Superman. He told you he loved you, and you kissed him. But you didn’t say it back. You told him you’d break things off with Sam, but he didn’t know if you actually had or not. He couldn’t stop thinking about what it had felt like to touch you.

He waited almost a week before he heard from you again. His phone rang in his pocket on his walk home, and he quickly fished it out. He breathed out your name as he answered, pressing the device to his ear. You greeted him back.

“We should… we should talk. If you’re free tonight.”

He gulped. “G-good news or bad news?”

“Your place? Around eight?”

He agreed, his stomach doing cartwheels. He didn’t know what to make of this. He hoped that you were coming to tell him it was over with Sam. He was terrified that you would tell him you couldn’t. 

He did his rounds after work as Superman, intervening in every tiny dispute he heard across the city just to kill the time. To try to not think about it. He finally got home, cleaned every square inch of his apartment, and took a long shower.

It seemed like forever before he heard your soft knock on the door of his apartment. He rushed over, pulling the door open quickly. A hard breath left his mouth when he looked down to see you toting along a duffel bag and a suitcase.

“Oh, thank goodness,” he breathed, pulling you into his arms. “You did it?”

“Yes.”

He tilted your head up, lips against yours before you could blink twice. You let him pull you inside, his arms around your waist to hold you against his body. Your arms circled his neck, your bags left by his front door that he kicked closed.

His entire being was consumed. All he could feel and think was you, you, you. Over and over again. All night long. 

You woke to the sun streaming through the window, groggy and mentally preparing for the slam of a door invading your ears. But it never came. What did come was Clark’s arms around your waist, his chest pressed to your back.

“Good morning,” he whispered, hearing your breathing shift as you woke.

You turned in his arms, kissing him. “Good morning.”

“A-are you okay?”

“I’m so… so happy.”

He smiled brightly, kissing you once more. You leaned back, watching his face for a minute. He looked at you in the softest way imaginable. Like he loved you. Because he did.

“I don’t want to be presumptuous, but… would you maybe want to go out with me?”

You chuckled. “Yeah. Yes, I’d really like that.”

“Good,” he said, his voice dreamy and deep. “I’ll, uh… I’ll go make us some coffee, okay?”

You nodded. “Okay.”

He started moving, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

“Clark?”

He stopped, turning his head towards you. “Yeah?”

Nympho!Reader who gets off on the fact that Clark is Superman. You beg him to keep the cape on sometimes while he fucks you, clinging to the red fabric as he fucks you against the wall, super strength keeping you pinned exactly where he wants you.

Free Use!Clark who has bent you over his desk in the barn, in the back of his truck, in the shower, on the stairs, and once — very carefully — in the sky. He indulges every single craving you have without hesitation.

Nympho!Reader who gets dripping wet when Clark does mundane things — chopping wood shirtless, fixing the fence, wearing those gray sweatpants. You’ll walk up behind him, press yourself against his back, and beg him to take you right there in the yard.

Free Use!Clark who never makes you feel embarrassed for how much you need him. If you crawl into his lap during dinner and start grinding on him, he just pushes his plate aside, lifts you onto the table, and eats you out until you’re crying his name.

Nympho!Reader who loves being passed out from exhaustion only to wake up to Clark gently fucking you again because you whispered his name in your sleep and started rubbing against him.

Free Use!Clark who will pick you up, wrap your legs around his waist, and fuck you slow and deep while walking through the house like it’s nothing. He’ll carry you from the living room to the bedroom without ever pulling out, kissing you the whole way.

Nympho!Reader who keeps a butt plug in sometimes just so Clark can pull it out and replace it with his dick whenever he wants — though he usually ends up indulging you instead because you’re so desperate for him.

Free Use!Clark who finds you in the laundry room folding clothes and immediately bends you over the vibrating washing machine. He slides into you from behind while the spin cycle rattles hard against your chest, the intense shaking pressing right against your sensitive nipples as he fucks you deep and steady.

Nympho!Reader who can’t even pretend to focus on the laundry once Clark starts thrusting — moaning loudly as the machine’s vibrations buzz against your tits while his thick length stretches you open, coming harder because of the relentless shaking on your nipples.

Free Use!Clark who looks at his obsessed, insatiable girlfriend with nothing but pure love and lust in his eyes, because nothing makes him happier than knowing you need him this badly.