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The Heroes' Love Story

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Removing their costumes off should seemed like a strange sort of ritual, not new to either of them, but novel in that they both have to perform, the clinging material revealing a nipple, the ripple of a muscle against tanned skin, whorls of dark hair on both of them, him more so. But, somehow, they manage to feel playful about it, and aroused by it, as they strip away the clothes that make them iconic. And then it is just Clark and Diana, two lovers, stripped bare for one another, exposed. A shiver runs along Diana’s skin as she wonders how long it has been since anyone has looked at her like that, as if they were truly seeing her, hungry and hot. Perfect.

They kiss, and the first tantalizing hint of what is to come occurs when he slips his strong, tapered fingers into her, first one, moving smoothly, and then another when he feels her honey coating his skin to the knuckles. He becomes obsessed with the valley between her breasts, kissing and licking there as his hand powers between her silken petals. For Clark, it is second nature to hold back, to always restrain himself, for fear of hurting; what a life it has been, to be frightened that your love might injure another. But not with Diana, he reminds himself; if he gives her clit a little pinch, or crooks his fingers inside of her to rub at the tantalizing lining of her sheath, the place that will make her whimper with lustful madness, he knows her sobs are of pure pleasure.

He dips his head down between her thighs and licks her, first simply laving at the lips of her slit, and then pushing inside, deepening the kiss, her hips meeting the thrust of his tongue as it slips inside of her again and again; her legs glides up over his brawny shoulder, still wearing her boots, the rough, worn leather abrading his skin in the most tempting of manners, the heel digging into the wall behind him, creating a furrow. His cape is at her back, and she realizes she has collapsed into their pile of discarded clothing; it smells of him, heavily, of his masculine scent, and of her, too; her uniquely feminine perfume. She grasps blindly at the back of her head and lifts a corner of his cape, so soft to her fingers, bright red; she touches it to her cheek, which she now realizes is moist with tears of pleasure.

She is not red; she is pink inside, and Clark takes his time devouring every honeyed inch of her, neglecting none of her brackish sweetness; he ends her by rubbing his nose into her clitoris as his tongue claims her, pushing in and out, in and out, fucking her with it.

She lays sated, her blue eyes half-lidded as she curls beneath him into the bed of his cape, a finger at the corner of her mouth as she watches him with heated interest, positioning himself above her. He tried to move her leg from his shoulder, but she refuses, smiling at him, inviting him into the position. She’s spread for him, and she herself reaches down to put his cock there, in the wet furrow of her sex, stroking him to encourage that inevitable thrust.

Neither of them is prepared for the power of it, their bodies colliding like forces of nature; she can nearly hear the thunderous clap of their flesh meeting in her head. He is gentle. Clark will always be gentle, whether or not he is limiting himself; it is just in his nature, which is part of what she loves about him. Their bodies come together again and again, Diana hardly patient or passive enough to let him do all of the work, her hips pushing against his, grinding into him. He goes deep, each pump of his body sending him drilling further and further into her belly, the upward hitch of her backside assisting him.

He reaches around her leg on one side, and beside her hip on the other, to take her hands, to entwine their fingers. At the end, he is more powerful than she is, and subdues himself, leaving him thrumming, throbbing inside of her, frightened to cross one last line; but the act alone, the stillness between them, sends them both over the edge. He spouts, white-hot, into her in mighty, uncounted bursts.

They lay panting in one another’s arms, exchanging soft, soothing kisses; some deeper urge than just pure lust has been satisfied. He sighs, nuzzling his nose and mouth into the arch of her neck, beneath the silken fall of her hair as her hand touches his chest, fingers combing through the hair there. And they fall asleep, beside each other, arms embracing, face to face.