ruby

That morning on your way to work, you unfortunately found yourself in the middle of a massive attack in town. A monster the size of a two-story house, appeared out of nowhere on your commute. Out of fight, flight, or freeze, you froze when the monster ran towards you. Completely froze. The gigantic creature’s claws swooped right at you, but your feet might as well have been made of lead. Closing your eyes, you braced for impact, and tensed every muscle in your body. 

The impact never came. Instead, you opened up your eyes to the city street far below you. Superman made it just in time, wrapping you in his arms and flying you away from the scene at lightning speed. As quickly as he picked you up, he placed you back down on a rooftop nearby. “T-thank you,” you stuttered between panicked breaths. 

His voice was deep and calm as he spoke. “Sit down, and take some deep breaths. You’re safe, now.” Superman flashed his signature grin before he flew back down to finish off the creature. That smile has stuck with you ever since; the pictures of him don’t do it justice.

You snap out of your thoughts and run over to open the balcony door. The balcony isn’t in total ruin.  He narrowly missed the glass pane table during his crash landing. Two of your flower pots, however, were not so lucky. Dirt and shards of pottery cover the floor. Not to mention the concrete beneath him is cracked. 

This is not the Superman you typically see close up on TV, or the one that saved you two weeks ago. Right now, his suit is covered in dust, dirt, and who knows what else. Cuts of various depths and sizes cover the skin of his face. Instead of that bright smile, he grimaces with a busted bottom lip as he clutches at his side.

“Superman? Are you—are you okay?” It’s a stupid question. You realize that the moment it slips out of your mouth, but what else are you supposed to say?

He coughs to clear his throat. “Peachy,” he rasps. You walk closer to him, avoiding the pottery pieces to kneel at his side. Pain paints over his face as he moves his head to look at you. “Sorry about the pots. I’ll, uh, get you some new ones.”

“Don’t worry about that—what on earth happened?” For Superman to be this banged up, it must have been a major incident.

“Metahuman—a very strong one. Packed one heck of a punch,” he winces as he shifts to sit up. “I got some good blows before it launched me. The justice gang’s got it from here.”

“Here, let me help you inside.” You offer him your hand, and try to lift the very tall hero to his feet. Once he’s up, you throw his arm over your shoulder and direct him inside. “You know, it’s kinda funny. This is like a total role reversal,” you ramble as you both step over the threshold into your living room. 

“What do you mean?” he asks, stumbling onto the couch as soon as he reaches it. 

“Oh! You rescued me two weeks ago—from that giant monster thing in midtown. I thought I was going to get shredded by its claws, but you saved me just in time.” Heat grows in your cheeks as you retell the story. 

“Gosh, yeah. I remember you—Sorry I never caught your name. I was kinda in a rush,” he smiles. Although his bottom lip is completely busted, he still has that same smile, dimples prominent as ever. You try not to dwell on the fact he remembers you, but a small grin slips past your lips at his words. 

There’s a small lull before you speak again. “Can I do anything to help you? At least clean you up a bit until you feel strong enough to leave?”

“I don’t want to intrude—” He moves to sit up straighter on the couch, ignoring the pain in his side.  “I’ll get out of your hair in just a couple of minutes—” 

“I really insist,” you interrupt. “It’s the least I can do. You quite literally saved my life.” He lets out a deep exhale, before nodding in agreement. “Do you need me to help you up again?” A chuckle leaves his lips. It’s quick. Easy to miss.

“I think I can manage,” he replies. In the next moment, he’s up. “Where do you want me?”

“My first aid kit is in the kitchen,” you say, motioning towards that direction. 

“Don’t people normally keep those in the bathroom?”

“My horrible knife skills made me move it. I’ve cut my hand more times than I can count,” you explain. Superman follows you as you step into the kitchen. You grab one of your barstools and place it beside the kitchen sink, before opening a cabinet to grab the first aid kit. “Okay, you sit on the barstool, and I’m going to get a washcloth really quick,” you direct before walking down the hallway to the bathroom.

He does as he’s told, sitting down on the stool. He takes in your apartment, looking at the pictures you have on the wall, and the way you’ve decorated the place. It’s only a few moments before you return with the wash cloth in hand. 

You turn on the water faucet to wash your hands before you get started. “I know you have healing abilities or… whatever, but cleaning you up can’t hurt right?” The interlude in conversation is killing you a little bit. “Well, it might sting a little” you trail off, lathering soap in your palms. 

“I heal from the sun. It’s why I’m not healing right now. No sun, and the moon doesn’t have enough sunlight to work,” he elaborates sheepishly. He’s not used to this much conversation while being in the suit, let alone having a stranger help him instead of the other way around.

“So you’ll be completely better as soon as the sun comes up?” you ask as you reach for a paper towel to dry your hands.

“Pretty much, especially since this isn’t that bad.” 

You finally turn towards him with a pensive look on your face. His height will make this a challenge to actually reach his face. Even while sitting down, he’s practically looming over you. “Um—can you reach under and press the paddle thing? On the bottom of the stool?”

“Oh, sure,” he responds. He reaches for the wrong side at first before he finds the lever. When he presses it, the stool lowers quickly, catching him off guard. 

“There. That’s much better.” You’re at eye-level with him, now. The brighter lights in the kitchen illuminate the damage on his face. A bruise begins to bloom on his left cheek, and the gashes look much worse than you originally thought. “Man—if you’re this rough I can’t imagine the other guy,” you marvel.

Superman laughs again, but this time it’s louder than before; a deep belly laugh, which is followed by a wince as he grabs his side. He knows his ribs are bruised. The pain isn’t sharp enough for them to be broken. He recovers the conversation quickly. “Trust me, he’s much worse. This is nothing,” he insists. 

A comfortable silence develops between the two of you. Turning back to the side, you wet the rag under the warm water and squeeze out the excess to start on him. The dirt is what you tackle first. Careful of the gashes, you wipe away the dirt covering his skin, rinsing out the rag between every few passes. His eyebrows are caked with dirt and blood, taking multiple passes to get clean.

You reach up to hold his head gently, directing him to lean his head back so you can get the grime off of his neck, too. Superman’s glad you can’t hear his heart pounding inside of his chest. Butterflies form in his stomach at your touch on his skin. Your hands are so careful with him, like you could hurt him more somehow.

“So what do you normally do when you get beat up like this? I’m assuming crashing into apartments isn’t a regular thing for you,” you ask, breaking the silence. 

“I’m not beat up. The other guy is beat up,” he counters.

“Sorry—sorry. What do you do when you get… slightly wounded like this?”

His throat bobs before he responds. “Uh—let’s just say I have a place to go to when it gets bad. like I said earlier I can get out of your hair if you need me to—I can probably fly now with no problem.”

Immediately, you hold the side of his face between both of your palms and tilt his head down to meet your eyes. “This isn’t a bother. I would tell you if it was.” He nods, gaze diverting to the ground. Your hands leave his face to rinse the rag again. “Okay— I’m going to start on the actual cuts now. This will probably sting.”

The gash on his forehead catches your eye first. It extends all the way from his temple to his hairline; The wound is deep, concerningly deep. With brows furrowing in concentration, you wipe along the wound, getting off the dirt and dried up blood. “Sorry,” you whisper, seeing him grit his teeth together. 

The longer this goes on, the harder Superman finds it to ignore how pretty you are. Your genuine care for him, and how your eyes search over his face is not something he’s ever experienced before. When he’s at the Daily Planet, he blends into the background, and when he’s Superman, he’s more focused on other people than caring for himself

If he’s honest, he’s thought about you quite a lot since that day. After disposing of the monster, he went back up to the rooftop to check on you, but you were already gone. He assumed within a couple more weeks he would forget about you. Fate had other plans. Ones that included crash landing at your apartment.

Your voice interrupts his train of thought. “Are you sure you don’t need stitches for something like this? Or at least steri-strips? It’s a really deep cut, and it’s still oozing a little bit of blood.” You step back for a moment, reaching back to the med kit on the counter. “I think I have some in here—“

Superman catches your wrist, halting your movements before you start digging through the supplies. The action is simple, gentle even, but you can’t ignore the sheer strength of him. If you wanted to break free from his grasp, you wouldn’t be able to. “I promise I’ll be fine. I don’t want you to waste them on me,” he asserts, letting go of your wrist. You miss the feeling of his hands on you the moment it’s gone. 

His eyes overwhelm you. Such a deep blue color that you could drown just by looking into them. It feels like he can see right through you. Sighing deeply, “If you say so, Superman,” you quip, getting back to the task. 

He has another cut along his cheek. This one is not as deep as the gash on his forehead, so it won’t take as long. You repeat the same motions, wetting the rag, squeezing it out, and cleaning off the dried blood and dirt from around the cut. As you work, his dark, long eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, making perfect contrast with his blue eyes.  

“So, how did you end up in the middle of that mess a couple weeks ago?” He asks. It’s the first time he’s initiated conversation since getting here. 

“Well, it’s a boring answer. I was heading to work. I picked up the shift from one of my coworkers so she could go to a doctor’s appointment. Just my luck.” 

“Getting to be saved by Superman is pretty good luck though—not everyone can brag about that,” he says through a smile. 

“You know what? That’s a good point. I was telling people about it all week long,” you confess. After a few more passes, you finish the cleaning cut on his cheek. All you have left is the area you’ve been dreading the most, his busted bottom lip.

Superman has no idea where to look, especially not when your eyes focus so keenly on his lips. The rag brushing against his lip should hurt, but he’s too distracted to really feel the pain. He doesn't mean to listen in so closely, but he does. The sound of your heart pounding in your chest resounds in his ears, much faster than it was ten minutes ago. 

Meanwhile, you're doing everything in your power to avoid eye contact, keeping your gaze focused on the task. You’re close to him. Probably too close. Every breath he takes hits your skin. The dried blood on his lip is particularly stubborn. You turn the facet to be warmer, hoping the temperature change will help.  

His leg bounces steadily while you press the near hot cloth against his lip. The nervous energy has to escape him somehow, especially since he can’t mumble his way through conversation. 

Finally, you pull the rag away, toss it in the sink, and turn off the water. You don’t move other than that, standing between his parted legs. “There. All finished,” you whisper. He stays leaned forward, eyes locked into yours. He doesn’t dare move back. The tension is palpable, so thick you can barely breathe. You’re not sure if you’re imagining the way his eyes flicker to your lips and back your eyes. 

The magnetic pull towards him becomes unbearable, eating at you from the inside out. All the inhibition you have left is wearing thin. Screw it. You fall forward, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to his mouth. The pressure against his lips is light, not wanting to hurt him. You pull away from him quicker than you leaned in to kiss him.

Your eyes are wide, like you’re shocked at your own actions. “Shit—I don’t know why I did that. I’m so sorry. That was so not cool of me to do—“ 

Superman doesn’t let you finish your sentence. He replies by kissing you back—hard. The last thing on his mind is his busted lip. It might as well be healed with how he’s kissing you. Both of his hands wrap around your waist and tug you to him, moving you with hardly any effort. Within seconds, he’s on his feet, causing you to stumble backwards. The barstool falls to the floor and you gasp at the loud clatter. Taking the opportunity, he presses his tongue into your mouth to deepen the kiss. 

With nowhere else to move, you walk backwards. Superman mirrors your every step until you run into the wall behind you. Leaning down, his hands slide to the back of your thighs, and he lifts you. His body is all encompassing, completely overwhelming you. The only thing that stops your head from hitting hard against the wall is his hand cupping it. Your hands travel to his hair, threading into his dark curls, while your legs wrap around his waist.

He kisses you in a way that tilts the world on its axis.The act is messy. His hands are all over you. Respectful, but still all over you. One of his hands grips your thigh tight. Tight enough to bruise. With his other hand, he holds your side, and inadvertently nudges up your shirt in the process. Rough and callused fingertips clutch your bare skin.

He licks into your mouth, tongue pressing against yours. The kiss is messy. His lips slotted between yours. You both alternate between who gets the bottom lip. If his busted lip was hurting, you wouldn't know from the pressure against your mouth. A faint taste of iron hits your tastebuds when his saliva mixes with yours. 

Overwhelmed, you break away for a moment. You don’t risk looking into his eyes, burying your face in his shoulder instead. Superman is sensitive. That’s clear to you the second your lips touch his neck. His hand tightens on your hip as his head falls back. The action exposes more skin for you to kiss. “Jeez Louise—" he pants. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt anything like this. Your lips are hot against his skin as you mouth all over him. 

You’re only stopped from going lower by the collar of his suit. When you suck at his pulse point, he groans. Loudly. The wanton noise should embarrass him, but he’s lost the ability to care. His heart hammers in his chest, pulse throbbing under your tongue. Your hands tug gently at his curls. The soft noises he lets out only encourage you to pull harder. You feel the vibrations in his throat from all the moans he’s holding back.

There’s a voice of reason in his head trying to convince him to stop, or at the very least slow down. He tangles a hand into your hair and pulls you back from his neck, while his other hand cups your face. Your pupils are huge, completely darkened in comparison to before. Looking at him with wide eyes, you pant through your parted mouth, desperately trying to catch your breath. 

Without thinking, his thumb moves from where it rests on your cheek. The digit runs across your bottom lip that was now covered in his spit and swollen. He’s on the verge of speaking before you move.

It’s too close for you to resist. You open your mouth and wrap your lips around his thumb as you take it deeper. He's completely exasperated. “Oh my goodness.” His pupils dilate as your tongue presses against the pad of his thumb. The moment doesn’t last long. The way his eyes bore into you makes you lose nerve fast. 

After you release his thumb from your mouth, you start examining his suit closely. Your hands slide down his frame, touching at his sides. You can’t feel any of his skin, the tough fabric prevents that. The separation is driving you crazy. You want to touch him. You want to feel his skin. "How do you—how do you get this suit off?” you ask hazily. 

He pauses, dead in his tracks. The gravity of the situation is catching up to him all too quickly before he sets your back down. “I-I really don’t think this is a good idea—we shouldn’t—I shouldn’t.” He takes a small step back from you with his hands held up in surrender like he had done something wrong. 

“Why not?” You don’t mean for your voice to sound so desperate, but he’s awoken something in you. His chest aches at the sound of your voice. 

“B-because I’m Superman. I rescued you  like two weeks ago…” he stammers. He takes a moment to rub his temples in an attempt to relieve the building stress. “This has to be an inappropriate power dynamic,” he sighs. “It just wouldn’t be right.”

“I’m a fully grown adult if that’s what you’re worried about,” you contend.

“That’s—“ he pauses and huffs, almost frustrated. “No that’s not the issue here.”

“Superman’s not allowed to have some fun every once in a while?” You tread lightly, taking small strides to close the distance. This time, you corner him against the counter and tilt your head to meet his eyes. Your hand falls to his abdomen, wandering dangerously close to the part of him that’s aching, that’s been aching ever since your lips touched his.

“Gosh—you’re making this really hard,” he gulps, voice almost pained. It's taking all of the strength he has in him to resist. More strength than he used to fight the meta human earlier

“Yeah, I can tell,” you taunt, glancing down to the fabric of his trunks. 

“Not like that!” he protests, eyes going wide with bashfulness. His presses his eyes closed as he pinches the bridge of his nose 

“Please? I don’t kiss and tell if that’s your concern. I won’t run off to the daily planet to tell everyone,” you continue.

“I just— I don't want to take advantage…” he begins to argue, but you’re not having it. Your hand trails from his abdomen to palm him over the trunks, placing enough pressure to make him gasp. 

“Please? I’ll be good,” you beg. Superman’s last bit of resolve disintegrates at those words. 

“Shoot. Gosh. O-okay. There’s uh—a zipper in the back.”

“I was expecting something more elaborate than that,” you giggle. You reach for his hand, interlacing his fingers with yours. Nerves pulsing in your skin, you guide him down the hallway to your bedroom. He looks at you longingly as you stand in front of the bed, which only makes your nerves worse. “You wanna turn around?” you ask. 

“Oh! Yeah. Yes,” he stutters. Without a word, his hands reach up to detach the cape from his suit. When he turns around, you spot the zipper running down the middle of the suit. As you unzip it, the broad muscles of his back come into view. His creamy skin is covered with bruises from the fight. You allow your hands to explore the expanse of his back. The rigid muscle of his shoulder blades tense under your touch. 

When you take your hands off of him, he instantly turns back around. He begins the task of getting the rest of the suit off. He’s not off to a great start, nearly falling over while pulling his boots off. You help him with the rest of it, tugging the fabric down his body, and onto the floor. 

Entranced by the newly exposed skin, your hands roam over his chest. The suit hides most of his muscle definition. Superman melts into your touch. He can’t remember the last time anyone traced over his skin with such reverence. Your fingers are careful not to apply too much pressure over any of the bruises. You smile when you notice the goosebumps rising on his skin. 

A particular bruise stands out to you, right below his pec over a rib. It’s already a dark purple, despite the fight being less than an hour ago. Your head moves before you can think, pressing your lips gently over the bruise. Almost as if a kiss would make it better. 

Superman’s almost convinced it does make it better.  His mind is racing. He’s never done anything like this before, ribs aching in his chest, lip throbbing. He pushes the feeling down, much like he pushes your sweatpants down. 

The adrenaline takes over for him. He steps towards you again and leans down to attach his lips to your neck. He’s practically making out with your neck. Indulging in the taste of your skin as his tongue glides against your carotid artery. A whine leaves your lips. 

You overwhelm his senses. He can feel your heart pump under his tongue. He can taste the salt on your skin. He can hear the blood traveling through your veins. All the while, he’s touching you like you might disappear. A hand in your hair. Around your waist. Cupping your cheek.

It’s not long before his mouth trails up your neck, to your cheek, and lands back on your mouth. Superman kisses you like he’s starving. Like he’s been poisoned, and you’re the only antidote that can save him. It’s so messy—spit threatening to drip off of your lips. 

You exchange groans and moans between each other as he lays you down softly on the bed. When he breaks the kiss, the look of desire in his eyes almost melts you into a puddle. His gaze examines you, looking at the skin of your legs he couldn’t see before. 

Now that he’s out of the suit, you’re finally able to get a good look at him. He’s in a pair of black boxer briefs. They hug his skin, showing off his strong thighs. His happy trail catches your eye. Dark black hair disappears underneath the band of his underwear. He’s broad. The way he’s standing in front of you while you’re laid back on the bed should be daunting. His abdomen is taut, but he’s not obnoxiously ripped.

You're still in a shirt and underwear, laying back on the bed. “I- I don't think I can handle much more of the staring,” you mumble. Superman doesn’t say anything, not at first. Instead, his hand skims the hem of your shirt, pushing it up to reveal the waistband of your underwear.

His eyes, while blown out and dark, are comforting. You feel safe under his gaze. “Can I—“ he pauses, fighting the voice on his shoulder telling him this is a bad idea. “Can I touch you?” He’s trying to keep eye contact, but his eyes keep flickering back and forth from your eyes, to the damp spot on your underwear. His breathing picks up at the sight of it. Your legs spread wide for him, knowing exactly what he’s looking at.

You nod your head eagerly. “Want you to touch me.” 

He begins over your underwear, finger dipping just enough under the elastic waist to make it snap lightly against your skin. “These are pretty,” he says, looking back up at you.The underwear is from a multipack you bought at Walmart, not exactly what one would typically describe as pretty.

You stifle a laugh, “Funny joke.”

“I’m being serious.” His eyes are locked on the space between your legs as he traces down your slit. You take in a sharp breath as he finds your clit through the fabric and presses gently. “The pattern on them is pretty—I like them.”

His finger drifts lower. “You’re so wet,” he mumbles as he reaches the damp spot. “You’ve soaked through these.” His voice is one of awe, like he’s surprised he warrants this much of a reaction. He presses a fingertip over your entrance through the fabric. The action grows the size of the darkened fabric. Superman’s eyes flicker to yours for a brief moment, and the heat in your cheeks increases by tenfold. 

“Can I take them off?” You answer the question for him, lifting your hips and pushing the fabric hastily down your legs. The urgency brings a smile to his face. “Eager?” he asks.You nod, not trusting your voice to answer. He helps you pull them all the way down and off your ankles before discarding them to the side of the bed. “Scoot back for me,” he mutters.

Clumsily, you move back on the mattress, leaning against the pillows on your headboard. You watch him through hooded eyes as he sinks to his knees on the bed, before resting on his chest between your legs. His body just barely fits on the mattress. 

Both of his hands rest on one of your thighs, engulfing your skin in his grip. His calloused thumbs rub gentle circles into your thigh as he watches for any signs of discomfort. When he finds none, he guides your legs to spread open. The act is incredibly vulnerable, especially with the way his gaze dissects you. 

Without thinking, your legs close, or at least try to close. “Don’t need to be shy with me,” he whispers, voice thick with desire. Superman keeps your thighs spread open, letting him take in the sight of you in front of him. “Pretty here too,” he mumbles. It’s quiet enough that it probably isn’t meant for you to hear, but you do. Loud and clear. 

The comment makes your cheeks burn with embarrassment. Your hands reach up instinctively to cover your face, muffling your voice as you speak. “You can’t just say stuff like that.” His deep chuckle doesn’t help calm the fire burning on your skin. 

“M’just telling the truth,” he remarks. “Take your hands off your face.” (You listen, stomach feeling warm at the command)

One of his hands slides up your inner thigh, making you shiver at the touch. In the next moment, he takes his thumb and spreads your folds, looking like he's about to devour you whole. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he’s going to do just that. He breathes in sharply when he sees the wetness at your entrance, threatening to drip down onto the sheets.

He removes his thumb, only to let his pointer finger slide through your folds. The touch is featherlight, sending electricity through your veins when he nudges your clit before stilling at your entrance. His bright blue eyes dart back up to you. “Need to stretch you out a little bit… is that okay?” he asks, voice gentle.

The words weigh on you for a moment. Stretch you out. Evidently you weren’t hallucinating the massive bulge in his boxers. Still, you nod eagerly, “Y-yeah. Mhm.”

He circles around your entrance first, collecting the wetness on his finger. He watches your face as he eases his middle finger into you slowly. Even just one finger causes all the muscles in your body to tense as you whimper. Meeting resistance, he eases back out before trying to sink deeper into you. “Relax for me.” His head rests against your thigh, curls splaying on your skin. The sight is enough to send another pulse through you. His gaze is caring, bordering on full adoration. 

You relax enough for him to sink deeper into you. He’s slow and careful, pressing in all the way until his knuckle. You pulse around him when he, just as slowly, pulls his finger back out to the tip. He watches your little gasps. The way that your hips grind ever so slightly with each thrust of his finger. He’s not in a rush, letting the rhythm of the slow steady strokes continue for a couple of minutes. It’s obvious the goal right now isn’t to get you off. He’s prepping you for him. 

“Can I add another?”

“You can do whatever you want,” you whine.

“Careful, sweetheart. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” he warns. 

“You’re Superman—I trust you.”

His heart tightens in his chest. You trust him. The voice deep down screams at him to stop, that he shouldn’t be doing something so depraved, but your voice is louder. His pointer finger easily joins his middle finger inside of you. 

It’s the rare time he takes his eyes off of your face. He’s too entranced by the way your entrance accommodates the stretch. “Wish you could see this. Taking it so well.” His face is concentrated, and the movement of his fingers is intentional. He doesn’t rush for a single second, slowly working you to take both fingers as deep as he can press them inside of you. 

When the tip of his ring finger slips into you, you feel the stretch. The movement is unhurried, letting you take him in at your own pace. Your head lulls back into the mattress. “Oh, God,” you whimper as all three fingers fully sink into you. 

His head still rests against your thigh as he watches your reaction. “That’s it… there you go…” he coddles before turning his head to press a sloppy kiss against your thigh. Now that he’s managed to fit three fingers inside of you, his goal shifts again. He needs to make you fall apart. 

He sets a pace with his hand, not too fast, and not too slow. You whimper, the sound desperate. Rolling your hips against him, you reach down to hold his other arm. You need a touch to ground you. “I know, baby. I know,” he whispers. There’s not an ounce of condescension in his words. 

You jolt when his fingers stroke against a specific spot. He grins wide. “There it is,” he says under his breath. “That’s the spot isn’t it?” When you don’t immediately reply, he continues. “Talk to me, baby. Is that where it feels good?”

“Y-yeah—yeah. Feels s’good. R-really good.”

He curls his fingers to nudge against the spot repeatedly, and your reaction is instantaneous. You buck against him, but his strong arms keep you from moving away from the stimulation. “Can feel you pulsing around me. Doing so good f’me.” Once his thumb drifts to circle over your clit, you’re done for.

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train as your head falls back against the pillows. Your hips spasm in his grip, muscles tensing with pleasure, Superman continues pistoning in and out of you throughout the waves. You’re too distracted to notice his own hips grinding against the mattress.

He slows down the pace of his fingers as your orgasm fades. He lifts his head from your thigh to place a chaste kiss to your pulsing clit, before he finally removes his fingers from you. You whimper at the loss. 

He stands again at the foot of the bed, looking down at his hand and spreading his fingers . Superman’s fingers glisten in the dim light of your bedroom, strings of slick between them. He doesn’t give it a second thought before he pushes his fingers into his mouth to clean them off. He’s confident with it. The way he licks them clean like it’s no big deal almost makes you mad. Key word, almost.

“Oh my God,” your jaw drops.

His eyebrows raise as he pops the fingers out of his mouth. “What is it?” he asks. If you didn’t know better, you would think this was an act. 

“You just—“ your eyes flicker to his hand that’s now damp with saliva.

“Oh—golly. M’sorry if that was—weird.” Superman is shy in front of you. Actually shy. The blush scattered over his cheeks and nose grows more vivid by the second.

“Don’t apologize. I think that’s one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen,” you reassure him. He’s within arms reach, so you grab his hand and pull his body closer to the bed. Looking up at him with wide eyes, you palm him through his boxers. His length is solid underneath your hand. He chokes back a groan at the pressure, head falling back.

When you take away your hand, his eyes are instantly back on you. You reach down to the hem of your shirt to tug it off of your skin. Your sports bra follows quickly afterwards. He gets starry eyed the second he sees the skin

He lets a gentle hand cup your breast, thumb tracing over your nipple. Slowly, he trails feather light finger from the base of your collarbone, all the way down to your nipple. Goosebumps rise in the wake of his finger. It’s almost like he’s forgotten where he is—how hard he is right now. He’d be content enough to stand here and study you if you’d let him. 

His lips follow the trail of goosebumps, leaving sloppy kisses over your skin. He takes your nipple into his mouth, letting his tongue swirl around it while his other hand grasps your other breast. Your hands tangle into his messy black hair as his mouth works on your chest. When you think he’s finished, he switches to your other breast instead.

You tug on his hair, trying to get him to stand back up. He takes the hint, giving your nipple a slight graze of his teeth before standing. Both of your hands press against his abs. “Wanna see you, too,” you plea. There’s no care in the way he strips his underwear off of his body, leaving himself bare to you. 

You can’t hide the way your eyes widen in shock. “You’re really big…” you mutter breathlessly without even thinking. The words tumble out of your mouth, and it;s much too late to take them back. 

He turns red. Tomato red. You’ve seen him a million times on tv in the midst of battle, soaked with sweat and blood. Yet, you’ve never seen him as flushed as he is in front of you. His hair, usually so put together and styled, sticks up in all directions from your hands running through it. His curls become more prominent from the sweat of his skin. 

“I’m sorry. We don’t have to do anything—we can stop.”

“No, no! I didn’t say that, I just—never taken anything like that before.” He’s trying, really trying to not lose his mind at your words. You're not making it easy. 

“I’ll be gentle—say the word and I’ll stop. The last thing I want to do is hurt you.” He doesn’t move immediately, and you can basically see the gears turning in his head. “Do you have any condoms?”

“Shit, uh—no.” “But I’m on birth control if—if that’s okay with you?”

He gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing. He knows what the answer should be. He should scramble to put back on his suit and fly back over to his apartment to grab the sealed box of condoms that have been collecting dust in his drawer. It would take less than five minutes to make it there and back. 

Patience is not his strong suit. Especially when you’re laid out in front of him like this, with your thighs spread wide. He watches how you pulse around nothing. He can hear how your blood pulses, rushing down to your core. He tries to calm down, but the pure desire drips off of him as he speaks. “That’s fine with me.”

He strokes himself a few times, precum leaking from his tip. He kneels on the bed between your legs. His free hand softly lands on your knee, thumbing your skin. He’s staring at your entrance like he’s trying to figure out how he’s going to make this work. Your voice interrupts his thoughts. 

“Um.” You push yourself up a little bit on your elbows. “I’m realizing I don’t even know what to call you… I can’t call you Superman while you’re inside me, that’s just weird.”

The bluntness of your words makes him cough on the saliva collected in his mouth. “Goodness, uh,” he stutters, stopping the movement of his hand on his dick. He’s breaking all kinds of rules right now, so why not another? Lex’s video already published it to the world. 

“Call me Kal-El,”

“Kal-El?”

“Y-yeah.” He hasn’t heard another person call him that before. It lights a fire in his stomach.

“Okay. Please, Kal-el. Want you.”

His eye contact is too much. Way too much. His gaze somehow makes you feel more naked. The feeling in your stomach from his beautiful eyes looking into yours grows to be too much. When he lines himself up, nudging at your entrance, you let your gaze fall to the ceiling. Without missing a beat, his hand grasps your jaw, capturing your chin between his thumb and fingers. His palm rests on the front of your neck. The grip is gentle. He’s barely applying any pressure. He tilts your chin. “Keep looking at me.”

“O-Okay.”

You’re glad he makes you look, because the sight of him sinking into you is heavenly. He’s gorgeous. His eyelids flutter for half at second, and his mouth falls open. The groan that leaves his mouth is downright sinful, and causes you to pulse around him. You gasp at the intrusion.

He moves slowly, filling you up inch by inch. Kal-El’s hips jolt, accidentally pushing in faster than he meant. You wince at the stretch, letting your nails dig into his back. 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he mumbles. As if to prove his apology, he presses kisses all over your face, before moving to your hairline, and then your forehead. The action is so incredibly affectionate, making your heart tighten in your chest. 

It’s around the half way point when you really start to struggle with his size. 

“Shit—so much. Too much—”

“Shh—you can take it. It’ll fit,” he coos. One of his hands comes up to stroke your side to soothe you. “Breathe, baby. Take a deep breath for me, yeah? Let me in.” He praises you the second you steady your breathing, taking one large breath to calm yourself down. “That’s it. Can I keep going? I can stop if you need me to.”

The idea of stopping nearly sends you into panic mode. “No, no—no. Please, don’t stop. Want more.” Your hands grab at his back, trying to keep you as close as possible. He twitches inside of you at your words. It’s clear that you’re struggling to take him, but you want more. You want to make him fit. 

“O-Okay sweetheart. Calm down. M’not going anywhere.” He kisses you to keep you distracted while he eases himself into you, urging you to open up for him. “Being so good for me,” he mumbles in between kisses. His hand engulfs your neck, wrapping around it to hold your jaw and keep your lips on his. 

Your nails claw into his back when he bottoms out inside of you, scratching down his skin. It’s almost too much, like you’re nearly being split in half. “Kal-El—fuck. Oh, fuck. You’re so deep. Oh my god.”

“I know baby—” His eyes are closed tight above you. It’s clear he’s holding back, and it’s taking everything in him to do so. “Golly, you feel so good. So warm. Gosh, gosh, gosh,” he rambles. 

When he finally opens his eyes and sees you underneath him, the expression on your face melts him on the spot. Your eyes water at the stretch. The sight shouldn’t stroke the fire in his stomach, but it does. He did this to you. Taking your face in his hand, his thumb swipes away the tears that escaped your eyes. He leans down to press soft kisses to your lips, swallowing every sound you make.

“Did so good, baby. I’ll wait as long as you need me to wait,” he mutters against your mouth. His lips drop down to press at your neck. The kisses are sloppy, mostly his tongue licking at your skin, tasting the salt that’s accumulated there. The care in his words makes you dizzy, and him sucking into your neck doesn’t make you feel any less lightheaded.

He sticks to his word, not moving an inch inside of you. At least five minutes have passed before you speak up. “You can—you can move. Please move.”

The pace he sets is just as slow as he moved his fingers earlier. He doesn’t want to do too much too quickly. The ache fades the more he grinds into you, pleasure replacing it. Kal-El’s blue eyes remain on you, looking for any sign that he needs to stop. 

Every stroke of his cock inside of you sends stars across your vision.  “Feel you—feel you in my stomach—” you whine. You look down through glassy eyes at the sight of your bodies connecting. Seeing just how thick he is between your legs makes you whimper.  Your gaze is drawn elsewhere, though. It’s slight, oh so slight, but you can see it. The subtle bulge right above your mound that moves with every thrust. “Kal, look—” you whimper. 

He leans back onto his knees, no longer hovering over you like before. It makes the bulge even more visible this way, with your ankles wrapped around his back. “Jeez—goodness sake—” He’s completely speechless, watching the way it becomes more prominent the deeper he thrusts. 

Your hand moves, slipping between your bodies before resting over the bulge. When you press down, you feel him moving from the outside. Fireworks explode across your vision. Heat bubbles in your veins. You can barely breathe. 

“S-See?”

“Yeah—” he swallows. “I see it, baby.”

You want him to feel it, not just see it. Grabbing his hand from where it holds onto your thigh, you move it to rest over the spot. He groans deeply. Desperately. He presses down, hard, grinding his hips to thrust against the top of your walls. “Feel so full—s’full,” you gasp, barely able to get the words out.”

“Shh—I know. Taking it like you’re made for it.” You nod your head at that. Like you want that. Like you want to be made for him.

“D-do you like that? Like the idea of that?”

“Please—please, please, please,” you beg. You’re not sure what for, but Kal-El moves like he knows. 

“I’ll give you what you need, baby.” He unwraps a leg from around his waist and throws it over his shoulder. You gasp at the change in angle, and your hands grab at his skin. His thrusts become slow and calculated, like he’s teasing you. In actuality? He’s trying to hold himself together, because he knows the sooner he cums, the sooner this whole thing ends. The last thing he wants is for this moment with you to end because he can’t control himself. 

Kal-El watches as you fight the pleasure growing in your belly. He counters this by finding your clit with his thumb. While his thrusts are gentle, his thumb circles your bud at a pace so fast your head spins. “Let go, baby. Let go for me,” he encourages. The heat bubbles in your stomach, releasing through your veins as your orgasm hits you. Your body shudders with each wave of pleasure. You murmur his name over and over again like it’s the only work you know.

He stops circling your clit, but he doesn’t stop the pace of his hips. Your leg falls from his shoulder as he presses his forehead against you. He cages you in with his body, forearms at the side of your head holding him up. Your legs wrap tightly around his waist, trying to get him as close as possible. 

“So pretty. So gosh dang pretty,” he moans. Your eyes are weepy and red. Your swollen lips are covered in spit. Sweat collects on your forehead... But gosh, you’ve never looked more pretty to him. Completely coming undone for him. Being so vulnerable with him. 

People aren't vulnerable with him, especially not as Superman. Though, you have no problem showing him your weaknesses, showing him the spots that make your eyes roll into the back of your head. You're more than happy to show him your achilles heel if it means you get to stay in this haze for a little while longer. 

He’s getting close, dangerously close. His thrusts grow erratic and powerful. The force behind them jolts you in the bed. You’ve reached the point of pure overstimulation. Broken whimpers and moans leave your lips. He wants to keep you grounded, to keep you focused on him. He grabs your hand, and pins it beside your head, fingers interlacing with yours. 

“Want you to cum again for me. You can do it, sweetheart. Know you can.” He’s moved on from thrusts to deep grinds. His pelvis nudges against your clit. You shake your head at his request.

“C-can’t. It’s too m-much,” you whine. He doesn’t let up on the pace, snapping his hips roughly against you. 

“Wanna see you cum for me one last time. So beautiful when you do. Please? Be good for me.” You sink into pleasure as your third orgasm overtakes you. Your cunt pulses around him, squeezing tight. You shake in his grasp, muscles completely out of your control

“Oh gosh, gonna—where can I—” 

“Inside—p-please,” you say in the most hazy, fucked out voice he’s ever heard. With a few more calculated thrusts, he spills inside of you. You whimper with every pulse of his cock inside of you. You cling onto him like a lifeline.

He falls against you, pressing every inch of his skin to yours. You’re almost asleep when speaks. “Gotta get you cleaned up. C’mon, sweetheart.” He’s lifting up off you, urging you to sit up. 

“Sleepy—Don’t wanna move,” you mutter, trying to hold onto his arm. You hear a faint chuckle above you. Kal-El takes matters into his own hands. He finds your bathroom, and brings a warm, wet rag to wipe between your legs and your thighs. You barely acknowledge the touch, drifting into a deep sleep.  The last thing you recall is the feeling of a shirt slipped over your head. 

The first time you wake up, it’s when the sun is just about to rise over the horizon. Your curtains are open. The light just starts to hit your face as your eyes flutter open. Around your waist, you feel the weight of his arm holding you close to his chest. He has you tightly against him, legs entangling with yours. You’re practically engulfed by his warmth. You let sleep take you once again, content to stay as long as possible in his arms. 

The next time you wake up, the curtain across from your bed is closed, and the space next to you has gone cold. It’s silly to feel disappointed, but you can’t help the frown on your face as you sit up in bed, trying to rub the tiredness out of your eyes. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot a neon sticky note pad on your nightstand. The writing on it is slightly messy, like he left in a rush. 

Unfortunately, Superman has a secret 9-5 job. I couldn’t bring myself to wake you up before I left… you looked too peaceful. Thank you for fixing me up the best you could. The sun finished the job this morning. See you around. 

-S

As usual, Clark finds himself very late to work four weeks later. Extremely late. He can’t even blame it on Superman. He just forgot to set his alarm. He decides to go to a bakery that opened up a couple months ago near the Daily Planet. If he’s going to be this late, he might as well bring donuts. 

He’s not paying much attention, reading the paper in his hands as he stands in line. He glances up when it’s finally his turn, and instantly becomes a deer in headlights when he sees you. It takes him way too long to remember the glasses—you have no idea who he is right now.

Despite his very awkward pause, you don’t lose the smile on your face. “Can I get you something?”

“Oh uh—hi yes. Can I get um—a dozen assorted donuts and…” Clark barely manages to pull himself together as he blabs out his, Jimmy, and Lois’s order from muscle memory.

“Of course! What’s the name for the order?”

Carmy is the definition of a pent up ball of frustration as he scrubs the floor of the kitchen.

It's practically spotless in the first place, but he's determined to wipe down every square inch of the room. He's already taken off his chef whites, wearing his white shirt underneath. The one that hugs his muscles with his every moment.

Service was an absolute mess, and his tedious cleaning of the kitchen is evidence of it. He always stays late after a shift like that, needing some way to release all of his energy so he stands a chance sleeping when finally gets home.

You're leaning on the counter watching Carmy clean. You've already cleaned the stoves twice, and checked all the dates on the food in the walk-in—twice. Carmy finally rises to his feet, but not to leave.

It seems he somehow spots something worthy of wiping down the countertops yet again. That's your last straw.

"Carmy—look at the clock,” you say, pointing to the digital clock on the wall. “It's already midnight. Everything in this kitchen has been cleaned a dozen times. Can we go home, now?"

His arms flex as he takes a rag and begins to wipe the surface. " it’s not good enough," he mumbles, not taking the time to look up at you.

You resort to the only thing you can do that'll distract him immediately. Your hand reaches to squeeze his arm, making him face you. His eyebrows are already scrunched up in a frown like he was about to protest. Your other hand goes up to his cheek as you lean in to kiss him, and every ounce of protest he has in him melts away. He drops the rag on the counter and grabs your waist. You deepen the kiss—or at least try to before Carmy pulls away.

He’s beginning to walk towards the back door before you can even react. “C’mon,”

He says quickly, nodding his head towards the door. “Not going to make out with you here—just cleaned the whole place.” Carmy’s already pulled his keys out of his pocket, ready to lock up as soon as you’re out the door.

You think he’s about to start the car and drive you both home, so you head towards the passenger side door while Carmy locks up. “No. Backseat.” He mumbles, walking up behind you and opening the door for you to get in first. He follows, hopping in and closing the door.

He’s the one to act first this time. His hand grabs you by the jaw and pulls you to his lips. You moan into the kiss, grabbing onto his arms for support. His muscles flex underneath your palms, a subtle reminder of just how strong he is compared to you.

The way Carmy kisses you is intoxicating, licking into your mouth like he’s trying to devour you.

His free hand tugs at your waist, urging you to get on top of him.

You straddle his hips as you fall deeper into the kiss. Your hands touch him everywhere. You squeeze at the muscles of his arms, thread your fingers through his hair, and push down against the tense muscles of his stomach.

You cradle his face in your hands and pull back for a moment. His pupils are blown wide, and his mouth is shiny with a mix of your saliva and his. Your eyes trail down to his lips, focusing on them. They’re flushed and swollen from the kisses.

Your thumb reaches out to trace his bottom lip, pressing lightly on the skin. “You’re so pretty, Carm,” you whisper gaze transfixed on his mouth. He groans the second the words leave your lips.

“Fuckin’ hell—you know you can’t just say things like that, baby.

“But it’s true, and I don’t say it enough.” You finally remove your hand from his face, moving it to his arm instead. Your finger traces the lines of his tattoos. “Every part of you is pretty.”

His hands trace up your spine at that, pushing your shirt up. His fingers are gentle against your skin, but push the fabric up hastily.

“Want this off—wanna see you.” You giggle at Carmy’s eagerness, but nod quickly at his statement. You help him take your shirt off, trying not to hit your head on the roof of the car in the process.

His bright blue eyes take in the newly exposed skin. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, but he always traces his eyes over your body like he’s seeing it for the first time.

Naturally, your hands reach back to unclasp your bra, but Carmy stops you before you can undo the clasp. “No, no—keep it on. I love this one on you,” he mutters. The bra you have on is his favorite; he picked it out himself a few months ago.

Carmy leans in to start pressing kisses onto your neck. His hands multitask while he sucks at your pulse, first getting your pants button undone before tackling his belt. You already know at this point that you’ll have quite a few marks above your shirt collar to conceal in the morning.

You crawl off of him to pull down your pants and underwear, discarding them on the car floor before he tugs you by the arm to straddle him again.

Carmy can’t help his wandering hands. The second your back on top of him, his hand travels up your thigh to your center. He lets out a rough groan at the feeling of your wetness on his fingertips.

“Holy shit you’re wet—thinking about me all service?” Yeah? That why you were so eager to leave the kitchen?”When you don’t reply immediately, two of his fingers press against your clit, making you gasp.

He lifts up his hips to push his jeans and underwear down far enough to free his cock. He doesn’t care enough to remove anymore clothing.

Carmy holds his length, and traces the head through your folds, thoroughly slicking up his dick. You whine at the sensation of him at your entrance, so close to where you need him.

“Please. Don’t wanna be teased—need you Carm,” you beg.

“Go ahead then, baby. Sit on my cock.”

Wasting no time, you sink down onto his length slowly, burying your face into his shoulder as you whimper at the stretch. He grabs your hips more firmly than before, not letting you take too much at once.

“Shh—I know, baby. Feels really deep like this, yeah?”

“Mm—“

“Doing so good. Just keep taking it nice and easy—almost there.” He gives your hips a squeeze of assurance as he guides you to sink down further onto him.

You both moan loudly when you finally bottom out on his cock. Your hips are completely flush with his as you take a moment to catch your breath. Carmy removes one of his hands from your waist to tug your head out of the crook of his neck.

“There, now I can see my pretty girl,” he whispers.

You move your hips in slow deep grinds first, stimulating your clit at the same time. Carmy’s looking up at you like you’re an angel in his presence. His mouth is dropped open trying to take a breath while he watches you ride him. Carmy let’s you go at your own pace for awhile, but he grows restless.

His hands grasp onto your hips and push them down on him, nudging his cock even deeper inside of you. His moves a hand to the small of your back and urges you to rock against him. “That’s it—J’st like that—good girl.”

“Carmy—Carmy, Carmy, Carmy,” you whimper, voice full of need. “Please, I can’t—“

“Need me to help?”

Your legs have grown tired, the leather of the seat digging into your knees. “Mhm, please.”

In the next moment, he’s wrapping both of his arms tightly around your body. With his strong arms, he lifts you up and starts slamming his hips into yours.

You hide your face in his neck again, clinging to his body as he thrusts into you at a rapid pace. The angle makes his cock hit right up against that spongy spot deep inside you.

You can’t hold back the whines you’re releasing; Carmy knows every spot to hit to bring you to orgasm.

“Fuck—“ he groans. “Look, look at the windows,” he says. His voice is rough, like he’s barely holding on from falling over the edge. You lift your head to listen to him. The windows are covered in a dense layer of fog from all the heavy breathing.

“See that? Look at what we did—just couldn’t wait to have me could you?” He’s not expecting an answer. He knows you’re too close to form a coherent sentence, so he keeps up the pace of his hips.

He continues to hold you up with his right arm, but lets his left hand slide between your bodies so he can circle your clit with this thumb. That’s all it takes for your peak to wash over you as your legs shake from the high.

The pulsing of your cunt around his dick brings Carmy quickly to orgasm, spilling deep inside of you.

You rest in Carmy’s arms, trying to finally catch your breath. His head leans back against the headrest as he groans. “Fuck—now I really don’t feel like driving home.”

“Well maybe next time we can try to leave the restaurant at a normal time and this wouldn’t happen.”

You can feel tears slipping down your cheeks as you look up at Mandy through your lashes. She's a vision above you, blood smudged around her mouth and chest heaving. When she caught your eye, Mandy gives a particularly deep thrust into your throat, scoffing when you squeal and squeeze your thighs together.

"Fuckin' soaking the sheets," Mandy rolls her eyes, looking back at how you try and find some sort of friction. You let out a choked whine at her words, lifting your hips up with your thighs squeezed tightly together.

Mandy sighs from on top of you before she leans back, slipping the silicone cock from your mouth. Your breathing is heavy as she shuffles down your body, planting herself just above your hips.

Mandy's body is heavy on top of you, hips being pushed roughly into the mattress with hers. The weight of the silicone dildo is also heavy on your stomach, your saliva smearing against your skin from your teasing.

Now her strap lays heavy between you as she keeps your arms pinned above your head. Her slow grinding is driving you insane, rutting your hips up trying to seek some friction.

She's grumbling as she leans down to kiss you, some distant complaint about you being so needy. The kiss is tangy with blood and the beer she'd been sipping on before you came home.

Mandy easily slips her legs from over your waist to press flush against your thighs before she wiggles back. The feeling of the silicone strap against your entrance makes you whine. Mandy nips softly at your lower lip before she starts pressing her hips forward.

The stretch makes your jaw drop, eyes fluttering shut. Mandy holds your jaw loosely as she turns your head and starts placing gentle, gnawing kisses to your cheek and jaw. The gentle tug of teeth makes you sigh, rolling your hips into her.

She had spent enough time between your legs that there was little resistance as she buried herself to the hilt.

Mandy times the first roll of her hips with a sharp nip at your throat, dragging her tug where blood starts to bead. The dual sensation makes you whine, bucking your hips up into her movements. She soothes her tongue over the bite as she pulls out to the tip before snapping her hips back into you.

"Never fuckin' satiated are ya?" She sneers. Mandy press her nose against your skin as she gnaws softly at your jaw.