Work Text:
“Tell me what you want.”
The question strikes through you like lightning. Clark sits before you, both of your small hands clasped in his own larger ones. He’s on his knees while you sit on the bed, like a devout disciple before the shrine of a beloved goddess. His sky blue eyes are looking up at you — full of love, full of faith.
Your brow furrows, and your eyes leave him for a moment — confused, thinking, overwhelmed.
“What I want…” you echo him, tasting the words on your tongue like they can provide you the answer. They cannot. “I-I want… um…”
He’s paying attention to everything — no flicker of your gaze or twitching muscle goes unstudied. He takes it seriously — this monumental task you’ve charged him with — a blessed gift with tragic origins. He can only hope he’s worthy of it — of what you’re trusting him with.
You told him not long ago. You told him everything. He had been kissing you, hungry and spirited, hands exploring you lovingly as you moaned, the sound ringing in his ears pleasantly. He had moved to lay you down on his bed — gentle, but it had been too fast, too much.
Your lips detached from his with a smack and you had screamed at him to stop. He pulled back in an instant, scanning your wide, wild eyes as you both panted against one another. His hand naturally found its place cradling your cheek, and he asked you what was wrong — if he had hurt you. The guilt of it still makes your heart ache.
You stayed up the rest of the night telling him about your first time having sex. You had been so excited back then, having felt like a young adventurer exploring an entirely new world. You told him that beautiful dream had been ripped away from you by someone who said they loved you but really didn’t — didn’t love, didn’t try, didn’t care. You told him about pulled muscles, watercolor bruises, skipped meals, and tears in the dark — humiliation beyond the understanding of most.
He listened to it all, every devastating word, and he was sure in that moment that he had never been so furious in his entire life. Clark wasn’t a grudge-holder — he wasn’t vengeful — but if he could get his hands around the throat of the person that saddled you with this unbearable pain, he’s not sure if he would make the morally correct call.
Clark wanted to hurt him. But he knew that this wasn’t about him. It was about you. You’ve trusted him to help heal this wounded part of you — a heavy charge, perhaps, for someone who didn’t love you like he did. But Clark did love you, more than anything. He would see you through this, hold you through this.
Clark refused to fail you.
He examines you carefully, x-ray vision looking for signs of distress. He can hear your heart rate increasing quickly, sees it fluttering in the cage of your chest, blood rushing through your veins like flood waters.
He strokes your hands with his thumbs, squeezing gently, trying to ground you.
“Hey,” he calls to you softly, and he’s thankful when your eyes find his again. “You’re okay. You’re safe. I’ve got you. It’s just the two of us, okay? Are you still with me?”
The dissociated, absent fog that had begun to cloud your eyes gradually faded away, and you nod. “Y-yeah,” you assure, adrenaline in your veins ebbing away gradually like the tides of the sea. “Yeah, I’m with you.”
Clark can hear the thundering of your heart finally begin to slow to a steady thump, and he releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding, a small smile gracing his face.
“Okay, let’s slow down then. Can I kiss you again? Do you want my hands on you right now?”
You huff a small, disbelieving laugh. “Yes,” you speak confidently. “Yes — please, kiss me — I want your hands on me, please.”
Clark doesn’t make you wait. His lips meet yours, unhurried and steady, moving against you in a way that had your thighs rubbing together already. Clark’s kisses, no matter how fervent, never tasted like a battle for control. How strange, you thought, that after all you’ve been through, it was still possible for a kiss to make you feel loved rather than feeling like a theft of your power. Maybe you weren’t a lost cause after all.
Hope, you realize. That’s what it was. Clark’s kisses tasted like hope.
Your heart jumps when you feel Clark’s hands moving along your arms. They explore leisurely, strong and reassuring as they drag along your heated flesh. He passes your waist to settle on the swell of your hips, rubbing soothing circles there as he breaks the kiss, breathless and flushed.
“Can I…” he pauses, feeling lightheaded and dazed, craving more. “Can I go under the clothes? Are you ready to start taking them off?”
He aches in his pants as he watches you bite your bottom lip nervously, eyes sharpening with need, nodding fast.
“Yes — fuck, yes — take them off.”
You breathe the words against his lips and his alien heart pangs with want. Clark doesn’t overlook the fact that you hadn’t said “please” that time — that you were commanding rather than begging. That was a good sign, he thinks. It was just a bonus that it also had him incredibly hard.
He obeys you, standing, placing his weight on his knee as he pressed it against the plush mattress. You lay back, sighing delightedly as you feel his lips return to yours and his hands travel under your nightshirt, moving up the skin of your stomach to thumb under the rounded swell of your breasts.
Clark groans, his head dropping to your neck as he tries to refocus himself. “Can I touch—“
“Yes,” you affirm breathlessly. Your hands fly to his wrists, bringing his hands up further to fully cup the weight of you. “Need you, need you to touch me here.”
He can’t help the carnal growl that escapes his throat when he begins playing with you. He’s gentle, rolling each nipple between his fingers experimentally, ready to pull back as soon as you say the word. You don’t, however; the only word that leaves your lips is the husky “f-fuck” that you whisper under your breath, your hips beginning to roll unconsciously, seeking friction that wasn’t there. Clark moves his knee further up the mattress to satiate you, and you seem thankful for its presence, a moan tumbling from your lips as you grind on his thigh.
He thinks his heart almost stops at the feeling of your damp underwear, kissing and nipping at your neck to distract himself, but god, he needs more.
“Baby…” he tries to talk, but the pleasure of seeing you like this muddles his thoughts. He’s hesitant to voice his own desire, but the pulse under the waistband of his thin pajama pants forces him to. “Baby, my mouth— can I… I need…”
You understand, pulling your night shirt up and off before throwing it to the bedroom floor. Clark’s breath is stolen from his lungs at the sight before him: your bare breasts exposed, with his hands all over you.
His head drops on instinct, and he thinks he can hear himself muttering a “thank you, baby, thankyouthankyouthankyou” as he wraps his mouth around one of your nipples, tonguing over the tight peak as his eyes roll back.
You gasp loudly, rolling a little harder against his leg. One of your hands threads through his dark, beautiful hair, and you throb at the whimper that’s liberated from him when you begin to firmly tug.
You whine desperately, ready to cry at the ache between your legs when Clark suddenly removes his mouth from you with a wet pop.
“You need more, baby? You need me to touch you there?”
His hand lowers from your breast to rest on your stomach, just above where you really need him. He wouldn’t move further, not unless you asked for it specifically, not wanting to potentially trigger you or cause a flashback. Your heart swelled at the thought that even now, hard and aching and needing you, he had restraint. He cared.
God, you love him.
“Touch me,” comes your hushed command. “Want you to feel how bad I need you.”
You’d be lying if you said you weren’t nervous watching his hand drift below the thin cotton of your underwear. One of your biggest worries was that because of everything that happened, you would go numb down there, or wouldn’t be able to get wet enough, or even wouldn’t be able to finish. That anxiety had kept you from jumping Clark’s bones for weeks.
But as his index finger dipped into the seam of your pussy, watching his jaw drop in awe at the feel of how wet you were, you realized you had nothing to be worried about.
His finger drifted back and forth teasingly, spreading the wetness, the lewd sound of it making you toss your head back with a pleased moan. Clark took the opportunity to cover your neck with as many love bites as he could, mapping out your favorite spots in his mind by the volume of your mewling.
“Fuck, sweetheart, this is…” he quiets to circle his finger around your entrance, the sound only growing louder, more vulgar. “You’re so fucking wet for me baby, oh god.”
Your hand in his hair tightens once more as your other hand scrapes red lines across the skin of his back that disappear almost as soon as they show up. He shudders at the feeling, a trembling sigh breathed against the skin of your shoulder. Without waiting for him to ask, you reach down, pulling your underwear off and throwing them in the same direction as your shirt. The cool air on your pussy makes you shake, but only for a moment, as you look at Clark with a half lidded gaze.
You watch for a moment as he drifts upward to circle at your clit, slow and languid, like had nowhere better to be than in between your legs. He looks fascinated, more like he’s eyeing a rare jewel than your clenching, needy pussy. He spreads your legs a little more, just to see more of it.
“Oh honey…” he seems lost for words, captivated. “God, look at you. You’re so fucking beautiful — my beautiful girl.
The praise makes you whimper and you clench again, bucking your hips ever so slightly.
“I’m ready,” you declare. “I’m ready for it — a-ah, fuck — ready for it to go inside. I wanna watch.”
Clark nods, cock jumping in his pants at your words, his finger moving to your entrance. “You tell me if you need me to stop, okay? I know it’s been a long time.”
You smile, kissing a line from his cheek to his neck before nipping at the skin. He can’t help but close his eyes in pleasure with a quiet gasp, baring his throat to you for more. “I will,” you promise.
You watched with hazy eyes as he slowly pushed his finger inside, your pussy enveloping it with glad little pulses. When Clark can go no further, he holds still.
“You remember what the therapist said?” He reminds you tenderly, his eyes regarding you with so much love it made you flutter again uncontrollably.
You nod. “Don’t focus on cumming, just try to feel it.”
Clark grins. “That’s right,” he praises, and your reward is the feeling of his finger starting to move, your jaw going slack at the pleasure already beginning to flower within your core. You chase it, moving your hips in time with the pace that Clark sets, conscious of needing to pace yourself.
“Good job, honey — just like that, nice and slow for me. Tell me what you’re feeling, sweet thing. Does it feel good?”
“It’s…” you try to focus, thoughts obscured by the rich, velvet static buzzing in your core. “Oh Clark, god, it’s so fucking good — so good it aches. Keep going.”
Clark hums with a smirk, pleased with your answer. His finger curls more strongly against your tight, gummy walls, and your back arches at the feeling. You wail, writhing languidly in his secure hold while he lightly sucks plum-colored markings across the exposed skin of your chest.
“Is that good? Feels so nice to touch you like this… love feeling you this way, baby. You’re doing so good for me. I’m so proud of you, sweet girl.”
Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you near the edge of euphoria, Clark’s words stinging you so sweetly you almost sob. Hesitantly, you reach out to him, hands on either side of his face. His attention is captured immediately, and he stills, waiting for your directive.
“I love you.” The words are so easy for you to say in spite of their monumental weight, and you know that it’s because they’re true.
His eyes widen a little, countenance sparkling with something radiantly vulnerable and joyous. His mouth opens with a shaky gasp so quiet that you nearly miss it. He chokes, unable to find words meaningfully vital enough to convey the depth of what he feels for you.
You smile. You don’t need him to say a word. You continue. “I’m ready, Clark. I want to feel you — inside me. I need to be close to you. When I cum, I want it to be around you.”
Clark’s sure he’s not breathing, but he nods anyway. “Of course, baby — of course. I’ll give you whatever you need, anything you want.”
He leans up, reaching for the edge of his thin pajama pants, taking them off as quickly as he can while being mindful enough to not startle you. His hard cock bounces upright, relieved to be free of its confines and beyond ready for you. The bubblegum pink color of him makes your mouth water. Precum is dripping down his shaft — more than what any earth man would produce — and you consider it evidence that he needs you as much as you need him.
Your breath catches at the size of him, the flush that’s searing your cheeks beginning to darken. He’s watching you carefully as you eye him, trying to keep himself contained as your hand reaches up to rest along his hip bone. You pick up on a nearly imperceptible thrust forward into your touch.
“Can I, um…” you hesitate, almost too nervous to ask, but the length of him is so beautiful that you would be remiss if you didn’t. “Would it be okay if I touched it? Just a little. I-it’s just been so long—“
“Yes, baby,” his answer is too eager, and he blushes at the desperation in his voice. “Please — you can touch it. Need you to touch me.”
You’re clenching hard at his verbalized desire, the wetness between your legs making you ache once again. You shyly wrap a hand around him, marveling at the pure heat that emanates from his body. Clark’s eyes can’t help but scrunch closed, his head tipping back as a loud, relieved sigh breaks from his lungs. You move slowly, grip light and obviously timid, spreading the precum that now flows from him steadily.
“It’s so pretty,” you say almost to yourself, thumbing over the throbbing bulb of his head. “A-am I doing alright?”
He can’t bring himself to open his eyes just yet, enraptured with the feeling of you finally touching him. He can’t help but imagine all the nights he fisted himself to completion with your visage imprinted on the back of his eyelids, groaning your name as he spilled all over himself shamelessly. All he can think of was how his fantasies could never have measured up to the reality of your closeness, and the feeling of your love.
He can’t help but chuckle, a toothy smile stretching across his upturned face.
“You’re unreal,” he says huskily. “Doing so good, baby — keep stroking me, just like that. You can grip harder if you want — you won’t hurt me, I promise.”
You do as he advises, your grip tightening while your speed remains languid. Under the pressure of your hand you can feel subtle ridges hidden just under his skin, vibrating like a cat’s purr — unseen evidence that he was not human.
He calls your name, wrecked and straining as his gaze finds yours again. “Need to be inside you, sweet girl; I’m gonna cum if you keep going.”
You nod, taking your hand away as he begins to adjust between your legs. You spread for him, a little on edge, but comforted by his massive form blanketing you.
You remember a time when someone looming over you like this felt like a cage — when arms bracketing your head felt like iron bars and a lustful gaze felt like the scrape of barbed wire. You remember a time when faking an orgasm was status quo, just to free yourself from a bear trap grip that made you feel worthless and corrupted.
But under Clark, open and more unguarded than you have ever been, you’re sure you’ve never felt more safe. Clark was a shield, you thought — your defender. This is what it was supposed to be like all along.
You can almost feel the chains of the past loosen.
The head of him presses against your entrance as your arms come up to wrap around his shoulders, tremors of excitement rolling through you like thunder. Clark feels them, peppering your face in chaste kisses of reassurance.
“We’re gonna go really slow, okay?” He reaffirms, hands lovingly gripping the fat of your hips. “If anything hurts, you tell me. If you need me to stop, you tell me to stop. Remember to focus on how it feels. Always listen to your body first.”
You grin, running a hand over his dark hair as he voices his concern for you. You lean up, gently placing a kiss between the skin of his eyebrows to ease the furrow that grew there before coming back down again.
“I understand,” you reassure. “I’ll tell you if anything is wrong.”
He still looks worried — tense and adoring in equal measure. “Promise me,” he requests.
You kiss him once more, tenderly upon the swell of his pink lips. “I promise.”
With your vow spoken aloud, he nods, slowly beginning to push in.
Clark had warned you before that his size was generous — that you might struggle to take him at first. You had tried to prepare yourself for this moment in your alone time, using your biggest toys in an effort to get used to the feeling of the stretch. Nothing compared to the real thing,
At the feeling of his head popping inside, you realized you were holding your breath. You shakily exhale, trying to adapt to the feeling of a large foreign body within you. When he pushes a little more, you gasp.
“Stop there,” you order, the sound of you stifled by the pressure within, but still clear. Clark obeys, his mouth pressing soft kisses along your jawline as you acclimate.
“Just breathe, sweet girl. I’m here.” One of his hands comes up to run his fingers along your hair reassuringly. “You’re doing great, baby. We’ll wait as long as we have to.”
A minute or two goes by, the both of you relishing in the closeness you share while the sting subsides. When it does, you take a deep breath in, letting it out slowly as you relax your inner walls.
“Okay, we can keep going now,” you declare. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
He heeds your command, continuing to push. The sting is still present, but so dulled that it hardly registers over the satisfying feel of Clark’s every ridge and vein nestling against your smooth walls.
Clark settles again when he’s buried himself to the hilt, sighing when your wet, silk-feel pussy clenches like it’s trying to draw him in further. He quavers, patient but craving, harder than he’s ever been in his whole fucking life while he waits for you to be ready.
He’s never needed anything as badly as he needs you.
“Sweetheart, I’m — fuck, I can feel you dripping around me.” His mind buzzes as he senses some of your slick dripping down his balls. “You feel that? You feel how hard I am? That’s all you. That’s what you do to me, baby.”
You moan, moving your hips in search of friction. Clark notices, pushing one of your thighs higher up on his hips as he finally pulls out and thrusts back in, firm and steady. You can’t stop the pitched whine that’s released from your throat.
“Shh, baby, I’ve got you.” His hand rests against your heated cheek, thumbing across the soft flesh there. “You feel like heaven. F-fuck — tell me what you’re feeling. Does it feel good when I fuck you like this?
You constrict around him, forcing him to growl against your neck, the sound reverberating deeply from his chest to yours.
“You do like it, don’t you?” It’s less of a question and more of an assertion. “Tell me you like it. Tell me I’m making you feel good.”
You’re short of breath, thoughts swimming in your head in fragmented, abstract shards more than whole concepts. Still, your semi-intact consciousness is able to regard what he’s saying, and words spill from your mouth almost against your will.
“F-feels so good, Clark, so fucking good. You’re so big, stretching me open — I feel you everywhere.”
“Yeah?” His voice is shaking, and his speed picks up, the sound of your slick sloshing between the two of you becoming a symphony of obscenity. “Listen to that sound, sweetheart. This pussy’s singing for me. S’fucking beautiful. You’re perfect.”
His thumb settles in the space between you, finding your clit, rubbing gentle circles in time with his thrusts. The sound of your skin colliding in soft slaps is hypnotic, simultaneously debauched and divine, and you can’t control the mewling that leaves you, too caught up in the sweet, blessed burn that blooms in response to his touch.
“Thought about this,” Clark confesses, clearly caught in the tempest of pleasure you provide. “Thought about this every night — what it would be like to fuck you, have you full of me. You ruin me, sweet girl — without even trying.”
He whimpers loudly, borderline sobbing. You can feel tears of overstimulation running from the corners of your eyes to your hairline, your lungs scorched by hard, wild panting.
“I love you, my precious girl — I love you so fucking much it hurts. I belong to you — I was born to make you feel good like this.”
You cry out, nails biting into his skin in a way that would have left little crescent marks on him if he were not the strongest being on Earth. He feels them all the same, feels you nearing the precipice.
“You’re an angel.” He feels delirious, high off of your body alone. “My purpose. You’re so strong. This, what you’re allowing me to have — I’ve never been more grateful for anything.”
You’re pretty sure you’re both crying now, but through the blur of your own tears and the out-of-body feeling that flourishes within you, you can hardly tell. Before you know it, your climax is upon you. You gasp, gripping Clark like someone were trying to take him from you.
“C-clark — fuck, fuck, fuck — I’m cumming, I’m cumming!”
“Let me have it, honey,” Clark begs, circling your clit a little harder. “Wanna feel you — give it to me, give it to me — I want it all…”
He watches in awe as you blossom before him, back arched off of the mattress as stardust glitters and swirls behind your eyelids. You pulse powerfully around him, soaking his hard cock in more slick with every throb, a cacophony of moans ripping through your throat and vibrating off the walls of your bedroom, ringing in his ears.
Clark is frenzied at the sight, pounding into you as he chases his own release. He can’t tell if he’s even breathing anymore, his sole purpose being to fill you to the brim with his cum.
He tries to comfort you as you come down from your catastrophic high. “I’ve got you, baby, I’ve got you,” he croons, holding you tight. “A-ahh fuck, m’gonna cum. You still want it inside, right baby? Tell me you want me inside, please.”
You nod desperately. “Fill me up, Clark. I wanna be full of you. Make me yours.”
He’s growling, devastatingly primal. “Take it, take all of me. Take it all — it’s yours, I’m yours.”
His lasts thrusts are messy, his fucked out groans saturating the musky, sex-scented air as his cock vibrates, and your breath hitches as you feel him spill inside you, dosing you with rope after rope of his hot spend. He has you so full that you can feel him leaking out of you, dripping slowly down your ass to the bed sheets.
The world quiets as you catch your breaths in the shared aftermath of what you just experienced. You both tremble, holding each other close. He’s unconsciously printing kisses along your cheek, neck, and collarbones, while you run your fingers through his hair, scratching lovingly at his scalp to elicit satisfied sighs.
When the trembling finally stops and all is still, Clark begins to lift off of you. Your eyes go wide with panic, hands reaching to hold his shoulders.
“W-wait!” You yelp, blushing a little at how silly you sound when Clark’s eyes find yours. “Where are you going? Are you leaving?”
Clark smiles, shaking his head. “Of course not, baby — I was just reaching for this.” His large hand closes around a water bottle on the bedside table, bringing it close so he could open it.
Your blush deepens, embarrassed by your overreaction. “O-oh, I’m sorry…”
Before you can overthink it, Clark kisses your forehead, and you hear the crack of the water bottle’s seal as he opens it. “You have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart. Here, sit up a little so you can drink this.”
You do as he asks, pulling yourself as high up as you can on your elbows with his help. He gives you the bottle, watching adoringly as you take a few gulps before passing it back to him. He takes a few of his own before setting the bottle back down.
You feel boneless, eyelids growing heavier with every second that passes. Clark notices, petting your head gently as he watches you fight sleep.
“Shouldn’t we get up and shower?” You ask through heavy, slurred words. “I don’t want to be apart from you yet, but I’m kinda gross right now.”
Clark huffs a laugh, like what you’ve said is absurd. “You are not gross. You’re just a little messy. You’re tired; you should shut your eyes and try to sleep. You can think about having a shower when you can actually keep your eyes open.”
A quiet giggle leaves you. “But what about…” you look down, eyeing the place where the two of you are still joined. There’s cum everywhere. Slick drenches your swollen pussy and your inner thighs, and you’re sure that the bedsheets under you are at least a little soiled as well.
“Don’t worry about that,” Clark soothes. “You rest. I’ll get up in a little while and clean you up. I’m not pulling away from you until you’re ready for me to.”
You nod, sleep calling to your tired body as you wrap your arms around Clark’s neck, bringing him down to rest atop you. His face settled in the juncture between your neck and shoulder, and you can feel him breathing you in as his body, too, begins to relax into a somnolent state.
“You comfortable?” He asks. “I know I’m heavy; I don’t wanna crush you.”
“I’m comfy,” you affirm, kissing the side of his head. “This is perfect. Thank you, Clark — for everything. I love you.”
With his chest pressed to yours, you can feel his heart thumping rapidly in response to your words. His lips grin against your neck, and his eyes close.
“Don’t thank me, baby — you deserved this. I love you, too. More than anything in this world.”
He hears you sigh happily, and listens carefully as your breathing slows and sleep overtakes you. He concentrates on the sound of your heartbeat until slumber claims him as well.