nah I'd win

A simple gold ring glinted on his left hand. The walls were lined with bookshelves of literary novels, plays, CD's, and photos of his older Ma, Pa, strangers who would surely be important to him someday, and you.

The two of you laughing at a farmers’ market, you tucked under his arm at some party, and more surprisingly candid shots of stolen kisses and quiet mornings.

All signs of a shared life Clark had never let himself imagine with the person he loved most. You, his best friend.

The one whose laugh made every good day better, whose voice comforted him after every rough patrol, who teased him about his terrible coffee orders and still stayed up late studying with him anyway. The girl he’d been quietly, desperately in love with for years, too terrified to confess, convinced that saying it out loud would destroy the only thing that had ever felt like home.

Except in this timeline, nothing was destroyed. You weren’t just his, you were his. His partner. His wife. His everything.

After a long day of explanations, theories, and careful plans, the sun had finally set, and the apartment had settled into darkness. Both Clarks agreed it'd be best that the younger counterpart stayed away from future-you, using the barely-used guestroom as a temp hide-out.

All Clark wanted now was something cold to steady his still-shaking hands. A glass of water, maybe. Yeah. He’d be quiet. He’d be good. He'd go back to the guest room, sleep things off. Tomorrow, he’d figure out how to get back to his own time before he ruined anything.

On his way to the kitchen, he heard it: soft, helpless little whimpers drifting down the dark hallway.

Next, a low, rough timbre that was his and not his—older, steadier, full of years knowing himself, how to be a hero. Followed by the rhythmic, filthy creak of a bedframe laced with tender shushed against soft, supple skin.

He should’ve stuck to the plan. Shouldn’t betray the trust of the man who’d taken him in. Can he hear me? Clark wondered, pulse roaring so loudly he was sure his older counterpart’s superhearing would pick it up any second. Still, he drifted closer, hovering silently just above the floor, and peered around the corner into the shadowed bedroom.

And there you were, bare beneath his older self, legs spread wide around his hips, one hand pinned gently above your head, the other flexed tight in raven curls, breasts bouncing with every thrust.

Clark’s cock throbbed painfully against the front of his borrowed sleep pants. He couldn’t look away. Every detail seared itself into his brain.

Older-Clark’s thick cock dragged out of your slick, clenching cunt slow and glistening, only to sink back in to the hilt with a wet sound that made Clark’s mouth go dry and palms twitch. Your arousal dripped down his shaft and soaked the sheets, back bowing, and needy mewls spilling your kiss-swollen lips with every deep, unhurried stroke.

Affectionate praise was muttered against your ear—“That’s it, hon, let me feel her—there she is, just like that, go a lil tighter,”—growing filthier as your thighs started to shake as his hips rolled, changing the pressure just so, savoring how tight and wet you were around him. The big hand deep in your mound never stopped moving, thumb circling your clit in tight, relentless strokes that had your whole body trembling.

You moaned "Clark!" in that soft, sweet voice, the same one that greeted, teased, chided, comforted him, the same voice he fell asleep thinking about more nights than he could count.

"Clark, baby…" you begged again, breathy and desperate, pawing his counterpart's biceps and shoulders. "Gonna—gonna cum. Want—want you to fill me up soon. Please."

Geez! His cock jerked hard again, this time a hot pulse of pre-cum soaking the fabric as his knees nearly buckled. I’m supposed to stay away from her. I can’t be here. I can’t want this. He was breathing through his nose now, long and deep, one fist against his lips so he didn’t do something stupid like reach down and squeeze himself.

His older self didn’t miss a beat. He simply pressed his sweat-damp forehead to yours, dimples deepening as he kissed the corner of your gasping mouth, and picked up the pace. Harder, deeper, using that effortless strength to tilt your hips up a fraction until you came with a broken high-pitched moan.

"There we go. I’ve got you,” he promised, words warm and so full of steady affection that made Clark’s throat tighten. “You want me to fill her up, yeah? Gonna—gonna give it to you. Nice and deep, j-just like you asked.”

He came with a groan, stifling it with an open-mouthed kiss. Thick, heavy ropes of cum filled your cunt for several heartbeats, until it started to leak out around his cock with every shallow thrust. Your stomach clenched with every rock while excess cum dripped messily between your folds and onto the sheets.

I could be doing that to her. Clark’s stomach suddenly clenched with violent, helpless desire as he gazed at the tender aftercare. I could be the one loving her, make her sound like that, feel her around me.

Good gosh, I want it all.

So he memorized everything: the perfect angle of those deep thrusts, the exact pressure on your clit that made your thighs quake, the way your cunt visibly fluttered and clenched around that thick cock, the tender filth of every word his future self breathed against your sweat-lined skin.

Because when he made it back… if he ever stopped being a coward and told you how he felt…

Clark needed to know exactly how to love you like this.

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