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two months of stolen glances at work — of clark’s fingers lingering just a second too long when handing you files, of lunch dates where clark would blush whenever your knees brushed under the table. clark had been a picture-perfect gentleman, almost to a frustrating extent. it wasn’t the cute kind of frustration either, but the kind that made the air thick whenever clark cleared his throat around you, only for the tension to fizzle when he inevitably asked another annoyingly chivalrous question like if you wanted a refill on your coffee.
you half-expected him to ask permission to hold your hand by now.
it was during one of these painfully polite coffee breaks in the break room that clark managed to muster up some semblance of courage. his fingers drummed nervously against his mug as he leaned against the counter-top. “um,” he started, then stopped, adjusting his glasses with one hand while the other gripped the counter edge like it was the only thing keeping him upright. “i was wondering if — that is, if you weren’t busy tonight — maybe you’d like to come over? for dinner?” his voice pitched upward towards the end, turning his question into something more akin to a plea.
you arched a brow in response, stirring your coffee with deliberate slowness. “dinner, huh? you cooking, smallville?”
clark’s ears turned pink. “i — well, i can try? unless you’d rather have takeout? i have menus. too many menus, actually,” he rambled.
“i’d prefer you tell me what you want, clark.” you leaned just a fraction closer into clark’s personal space.
he swallowed hard in response. “i —”
before clark was able to get a coherent thought out, the break room door swung open and jimmy bounded in, whistling obliviously. “oh, hey guys! perry’s looking for those corruption notes by the way, clark.”
clark nodded nervously in jimmy’s direction. “oh —! i’ll, uh, i’ll get those to him. right now.” he fled without another word, leaving his half-finished coffee behind.
two months of this. two months of clark kent — your boyfriend, guy you were dating, something — avoiding anything remotely close to intimacy. you were getting impatient.
your knock on clark’s door that evening had the force of someone who’d waited exactly two months and seventeen minutes too long for this moment. inside, the sound of something clattering to the floor was followed by a muffled “coming!” that sounded suspiciously like it was pitched three octaves higher than clark’s normal speaking voice.
when the door swung open, clark stood before you in a button-down shirt that had clearly been ironed within an inch of its life, the faintest scent of slightly-burned garlic bread wafting behind him. his glasses were fogged, presumably from condensation during the cooking process, and his hair stuck slightly to his forehead.
“you’re right on time,” he said, then immediately winced at how expectant he sounded. “i mean — good! that you’re here. on time. or early, or —” he swallowed the rest of his sentence down, fingers flexing against the doorframe like he was physically trying to center himself. “uh, come in!”
from the kitchen, you heard the distinct sound of something boiling over.
clark’s head whipped around and he bolted to the kitchen, leaving the front door swinging in his wake.
by the time you followed him, clark was already engaged in a losing battle with a pot of violently bubbling marinara. his attempts to lift the lid resulted in a spectacular eruption of red sauce that splattered across his pristine white shirt. you couldn’t help but giggle.
clark’s ears burned crimson. “gosh,” he muttered, staring down at the carnage with a sorry expression. “i — i can clean this up and change. just give me a minute —”
“relax,” you smiled, already moving towards the hallway. “i’ll grab you something from your closet. your rooms just down here, right?”
clark made a strangled noise that might’ve been protest, but you were already pushing his bedroom door open before he could complain. the evening city light slanted through the blinds, causing visible dust particles to permeate the air as you rummaged through clark’s closet for a shirt. in the midst of your search, your fingers brushed against something that was decidedly not fabric. it was smooth, slightly yielding, and tucked behind a stack of neatly folded sweaters. maybe a camera lens? a bottle of something strong that clark didn’t want you to see? curious, you pulled it out, blinking at the object in your hands.
it was unmistakable; clear silicone wrapped in a plastic casing with a particularly lewd-shaped opening. you couldn’t help but scoff in amusement. clark kent, the boy who was often too scared to even touch you, owned a fleshlight.
from the kitchen, the frantic clatter of pots and pans had ceased. a beat of silence passed before clark’s voice, strained with panic, called out, “uh, did you find something? anything? because i, uh, really need to organize the closet. it’s probably hard to find anything in there at all —”
clark appeared in the doorway, sauce-stained shirt half-unbuttoned in his haste. his gaze locked to the item in your hands, and his entire body went rigid.
“that,” he squeaked, “is — that’s not — jimmy gave it to me! as a joke! a very unfunny, inappropriate joke that i was going to throw out, i swear —”
you tilted your head, running a thumb along the smooth silicone. “jimmy, huh?”
clark’s hands flapped uselessly at his sides. “yes! absolutely. one hundred percent jimmy. you know he has a terrible sense of humor. it’s awful. the worst.”
a drop of marinara slid from clark’s shirt and landed on the hardwood floor with a soft plop as you turned the toy over in your hands. the silence stretched.
“mhm.” you took a step closer, watching the way his breath hitched when you tapped the toy against your palm. “and you haven’t used it?”
clark hiccuped out a whimper, his adams apple bobbing violently. “i — i wouldn’t!”
“wouldn’t you?” your smile curled as you backed clark against the wall. “it’d be a shame to let a gift go to waste.”
clark’s knees nearly buckled, his eyes darting between your face and the fleshlight like a deer in headlights. “i — i should really check on the pasta,” he stammered, pushing his glasses up. his attempt to sidestep was thwarted by your foot sliding between his, effectively caging him against the wall.
you clicked your tongue. “ah ah, i’m not done,” you hummed. “tell me something, smallville,” you pointed the toy at him, “you ever think about me when you use this?”
clark could only manage a strangled, “that’s — that’s not —!”
you waited patiently for a response. the silence echoed throughout the room until clark’s shoulders finally slumped in defeat. “… once,” he admitted in a quiet whisper, “maybe twice.”
“take your shirt off,” you spoke plainly, tapping the toy against your palm again. “and go turn off the stove before your apartment burns down.”
clark immediately began to fumble with the rest of his shirt buttons. “look, i swear i was going to throw it away after the first time, it’s just —”
the distant hiss of boiling water interrupted his spiraling. with a yelp, clark threw his shirt off and ran to the kitchen. you followed behind him at a casual pace, marveling as clark stood stiffly upon turning the stove off, his bare shoulders tensed as he gripped the edge of the counter. his reflection warped in the stainless steel microwave door in an image of flushed cheeks and thoroughly mussed hair. you leaned against the fridge, rolling the silicone toy between your fingers as you waited for the pasta water to gurgle its last bubbles.
“can we —” his voice cracked. he refused to look at you. “can we pretend you never found that?”
“clark,” you sighed, you voice intentionally light. “you’ve had this,” you gave the toy a little shake, “for how long? a month? two?”
“um,” he couldn’t muster an answer.
“and yet,” you continued, standing straight in front of him now, “you haven’t even tried to kiss me properly, let alone get me in bed.”
“i didn’t want to… presume.” clark focused intently on a singular tile on the kitchen floor. he shifted his weight, his face and neck flushed.
“presume?” you stepped close enough to see the hairs on his neck sticking up. “clark kent, reporter extraordinaire, scared to make assumptions?”
he made a sound like a deflating balloon. “that’s completely unrelated —”
“you know what i think?” you mused, “i think you should show me exactly how this works.”
clark’s hands flew up; whether it was to touch you or to grab the toy from your hands, even he didn’t know. you traced the rim of the silicone opening, watching his pupils dilate behind smudged lenses.
“you liked thinking about me when you used this,” you murmured. “imagine how much better it’ll feel with me actually here.” you paused, holding the toy out for a moment as if to allow clark to grab it before you deliberately pulled it back. “unless… you’d rather i guess how it’s used?”
clark whined in response, pouting at your suggestion. “i —” his voice cracked spectacularly, “the — the instructions are pretty simple?” he voiced it as a question, clearly embarrassed.
you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. “oh, smallville,” you sighed, teasingly tapping the plastic sleeve of the toy against his bicep. “you’re funny.”
with a firm grip on clark’s wrist (as if he couldn’t easily free himself from your grasp), you tugged him toward the hallway. clark stumbled after you, his chest rising and falling just a little too quickly to be casual. he shuffled awkwardly against the hardwood, nearly tripping over a crack in the floorboards when you stopped abruptly at his bedroom.
fleshlight still gripped in one hand, you sat on the edge of clark’s bed. “sit,” you instructed, tone soft but leaving no room for argument.
clark sank gracelessly beside you, his hands fiddling awkwardly in his lap. the mattress dipped under his weight, tilting you just slightly toward him. you placed the toy onto the mattress between you. clark could do nothing but watch, transfixed.
“tell me how you like it,” you spoke in a tone so casual that you might as well have been asking clark about his sandwich preferences. “slow? fast?” there was a beat before you continued, quieter now, “lots of lube, i imagine.”
clark covered up a whine with a cough, his fingers digging into his palms. “it’s not —!”
“not what? not enjoyable? not good?” you clicked your tongue in mock disappointment. “jimmy’s gonna be crushed.”
his head bowed. “no! i mean — it’s not — it works fine. it’s just…” his eyes screwed shut. “… embarrassing.”
with a hum, you picked the toy back up and placed it into clark’s hands, closing his fingers around it. “that’s it. good.”
a small tremor ran through clark’s form, his knuckles turning white around the plastic as his eyes slowly blinked open. then, with a shuddering exhale, he whispered a small “okay.”
the word was so soft that you almost missed it. you rewarded him with a slow smile, trailing two fingers along his bare forearm just to watch the goosebumps rise in their wake. there was something truly delicious about watching a man built like a brick wall melt like this. you leaned back slightly, giving him some semblance of space.
a long moment of silence passed between you as clark made no effort to move. “don’t mind me,” you cooed, your voice smooth with anticipation. you waited patiently, smirking as you watched the conflict flicker across his face.
“… lube…” clark muttered under his breath, his cheeks red.
you blinked. “hm?”
clark only ducked his head further, voice barely above a whisper. “i, uh, need lube.”
you giggled; clark was asking you for help because he couldn’t bring himself to move. cute.
you watched him with undisguised interest, the corner of your mouth twitched upwards. “where do you keep it?” your voice was low, amused. clark’s eyes darted toward the nightstand.
you reached over, pulling the drawer open with a deliberate sense of slowness. inside was a mess of pens, loose change, and there it was — a plastic bottle tucked discreetly beneath a folded receipt.
clark’s hand shot out, snatching the bottle from your fingers before you could fully grasp it. his eyes flickered in frantic embarrassment as he held the small bottle in his grip. now with the bottle clenched in one hand and the toy in the other, clark looked over at you, his eyes glassy as he seemingly waited for your instruction.
“looks like your hands are full, smallville. need some help?” you gestured, your hand landing on clark’s thigh. the contact made him jolt, his breath catching under your touch. “it’s a yes or no question, clark,” you teased, tracing idle circles on his skin.
clark’s hands, still clutching the lube and toy, moved slowly from their spot covering the bulge in his pants, causing clark to whine at the sudden exposure. his eyes darted to yours for the briefest second before skittering away again, but not fast enough to hide the spark of nervous anticipation.
your hand gravitated towards the waistband of clark’s trousers, his breath stuttering as you hooked an eager finger into the metal tab of his zipper; the quiet click of the zipper teeth separating seemed absurdly loud in the stillness of the room. clark’s chest rose and fell rapidly, the muscles in his abdomen tensing as you eased the zipper down. when your knuckles brushed against his bulge through the fabric, clark made a choked noise that he attempted to play off as a cough.
after finally undoing the button of his pants, you glanced up at him through your lashes. “you’re doing so well,” you murmured, reveling in the way clark’s entire body shuddered at the praise. your fingers lingered at his waistband for a moment before withdrawing, your hands settling back against the mattress with an expectant tilt of your head. “your turn,” you nodded toward the objects clutched in his grip.
clark swallowed hard enough to make his throat click. he twisted the lube bottle open with trembling fingers, barely able to keep his eyes open to watch a thin stream of lube pour into the toy’s opening. the strain in his boxers began to ache as he swiped at the excess lube accumulating at the entrance of the fleshlight with his thumb, smearing it across the silicone pussy in a way that made his head fuzzy.
“is it — can i —” clark whined, his throat dry.
you gently plucked the lube bottle from his hand, placing it on the bedside table. “use your words, clark.”
he inhaled sharply through his nose, the flush of his cheeks deepening. “can i… can i take it out?” the question came out strangled, like he was confessing to a crime rather than asking for permission to pull his dick out of his underwear.
you gave him a slow nod, humming in approval. clark’s fingers quivered as they hooked under the waistband of his boxers, hesitating for a fraction of a second before finally tugging them down just enough to free himself. the moment his length sprang free, his breath hitched — partly from relief, but mostly from sheer mortification as your gaze dropped to take him in.
and oh, there was plenty to take in. thick, undoubtedly heavy, and flushed a deep red at the tip, you mused as a bead of precum glistened at his slit. his thighs tensed under your scrutiny, his hips twitching as if he wanted to hide but couldn’t quite bring himself to.
“oh, clark,” you let out a low, appreciative hum. “look at you, all worked up just from me looking at you.”
clark whimpered, high and desperate, his hips bucking slightly as he wordlessly begged for friction. his face burned hot as he choked out a stuttered “please.”
you let your fingertips brush against his outer thigh, your touch featherlight. “easy, big guy.” you soothed, though your voice was anything but gentle. he made another strangled sound, his length bouncing against his stomach in response. “aw, does that do something for you, clark? me praising your cock?”
“you — you know it does,” he managed, voice small.
your fingers trailed up his thigh before you pulled them away, causing clark to let out a small sound in protest. “hmm,” you tapped a finger against your chin, feigning thoughtfulness. “you sure you can even fit in that thing?” you whispered, “looks like a tight squeeze.”
clark flushed a shade darker, his head snapping up. “i do —!” he blurted out indignantly.
you had to fight back a smirk. “prove it, then.”
he exhaled shakily in response, adjusting his grip on the toy as his other hand hovered uncertainly over his length. he hesitated, then let out a stuttered breath as he finally wrapped his fingers around his shaft, giving himself a tentative stroke. his hips jerked into his own touch, a quiet whine escaping him. with shaky hands, he guided the toy towards his tip, the slicked silicone dripping lube onto his cock. clark’s legs tensed, his brows knitting together as he pushed the toy down, the tight resistance making his breath come in short, uneven bursts.
you watched, rapt, as he worked himself slowly into the toy inch by inch, his entire body shuddering with the effort. the resistance built steadily as clark worked the toy down his cock, and once you saw through the clear plastic that he had reached the halfway point, his hips stuttered involuntarily, a strangled noise escaping his throat.
“it’s — it’s tighter than i — oh god — remember,” his biceps flexed as he tried to push deeper, the silicone stretching obscenely around him. the sight alone was absolutely pornographic. clark’s eyes glazed over.
“doing so well,” you hummed, scooting a bit closer to him on the edge of the bed. “you got it, baby.”
clark let out a shuddering exhale, his grip on the toy adjusting slightly. his thighs trembled as he tried angling himself differently, the tip of his cock catching against the tight interior.
“i can — haah — usually —” he cut himself off with another whine as he forced himself to sit still. “it fits. it does, i swear.” he sounded more like he was trying to convince himself rather than you. his breathing slowed marginally, the tension in his shoulders easing just enough for him to let the toy slide another fraction of an inch downward. a punched-out whimper left clark’s lips.
“that’s it,” you praised, watching the way his eyelashes fluttered at your words. “look at you, taking it so patiently.”
clark’s cock twitched visibly inside the toy, your praise urging clark to finally lower the toy the rest of the way so he was buried to the hilt inside it.
“s’too much,” he slurred, his voice thick with embarrassment and pleasure. “feels — nngh — so different with you watching.”
you hummed thoughtfully, leaning forward just enough to cover clark’s hand on the toy for a moment before pulling away. “different good or different bad?”
clark’s reply came out in a rush: “good. so good. please —” he cut himself off abruptly, biting his lower lip hard as the words threatened to fall out.
you smiled, watching him squirm for a second before speaking, “please what, clark? cmon, use your words.”
he whined high in his throat, his hips making abortive little thrusts into the toy. “want —” his voice cracked pathetically. “please keep talking. please.” the toy made a squelching noise as clark shifted slightly, the sound obscenely loud in the room. clark froze, humiliation flashing across his face before dissolving into a desperate whine.
“good boy,” you dragged the words out, slow and syrupy. “such a sweet boy, holding still for me… you wanna move, baby?”
clark made a choked sound, his hips twitching before stilling again, willing himself to wait for your permission. the toy gave another wet, sticky noise that caused clark’s breath to come in shallow puffs. “yes… please,” his voice was small and warbled.
“go ahead, baby. fuck your toy for me.”
clark’s movement was tentative at first, the slick drag of the silicone paired with desperate little thrusts causing his rhythm to be terribly clumsy. “that’s it, just like that,” you coaxed, delighting in the way he whimpered hopelessly at the praise.
he continued working himself for a few more moments before it happened — one particularly enthusiastic pull, a choked-off whine, and suddenly the toy popped free with a wet plop. clark let out a soft sob as the sudden loss of pressure left his cock twitching in the air, flushed and glistening.
for a moment, he could do nothing but stare at the toy in his hand. he let out a soft, frustrated humph. “that doesn’t usually happen,” he tried to justify himself, the apple of his throat bobbing wildly.
you couldn’t help but laugh, soft and fond as you reached out to cup his knee. “aw, too excited to hold onto it properly?” the teasing lift of your voice made him whimper, his cock throbbing. “poor thing,” you mewled, shifting closer on the bed until your knee brushed against his thigh. “looks like you might need a little help, big guy.”
clark’s grip on the toy tightened reflexively, then loosened as he considered the idea. “i can — i can try again —"
you tsked softly, reaching out to take the toy from his trembling fingers. the plastic was warm from his grip, and you made a show of examining it, turning it over in your hands while clark watched, wide-eyed and breathless.
“mm, no,” you said finally, your voice dropping to a low, teasing tone. “i think we both know you’re a little too worked up to manage it on your own right now.” you tilted your head, letting your gaze drag slowly down clark’s body before meeting his eyes again.
clark’s breath hitched audibly under your gaze. his cock leaked a small puddle of precum against his stomach, and he looked utterly wrecked; his hair slightly damp, his lips bitten pink. so desperate and pliant for you.
you continued fiddling with the toy in your hands as clark swallowed, forcing out another barely-there “please.”
clark let out a moan that could only be described as pathetic as your fingers finally curled around his weeping length with a purposeful slowness. his cock throbbed instinctively in your hand before his voice broke in apology.
“easy, clark,” you soothed, your thumb briefly brushing over the slick head of his cock. “i’ve got you.” you gave him a slow, deliberate stroke before you brought the toy back to his tip, sliding the slit against him to spread the lube along his cock.
clark’s fingers twisted into the sheets beside him as he struggled to figure out what else to do with his hands. he watched intently as you eased him back into the toy, applying gentle pressure.
“look at you,” you breathed, “so eager…” the resistance became tighter as you watched the toy swallow him back up.
a high, keening noise escaped clark’s throat as he bottomed out once more, the feeling increasingly dizzying due to you being the one controlling the fleshlight.
you gave the toy a slow glide upwards, watching clark’s entire body shudder as you pulled it nearly all the way off him before pressing down again, not quite as gently this time.
“you’re —” he whimpered as you stoked him again, “you’re moving it differently than i — gosh — than i do.”
with a giggle, you twisted the toy slightly on the next stroke to see him jolt. “yeah? you like it, baby?” clark made a strangled noise of protest that you took as answer enough, your free hand skating up his thigh just to feel the way his muscles jumped under your touch. the toy made loud, slick noises with every movement now, and clark’s mouth had fallen open without him realizing, little desperate whines escaping between ragged breaths. “tell me what you imagine when you use this, clark,” you ordered softly, slowing your movements a bit to watch his face scrunch.
clark fought to keep his eyes open, a high and desperate whine building in his throat. “you — you — riding me,” he keened once more.
you rewarded him with a faster pace. “yeah? and what do i say to you, baby?”
clark’s head tipped back, exposing the line of his throat. “that i’m good,” he whimpered, “that i fill you up so nice —”
you crooned, twisting the toy once more. “mm, you imagine me bouncing on your pretty cock?” you punctuated the words with a firm stroke, hearing his breath stutter audibly. “filling me up so much that you can see your cock bulging from my tummy?”
clark’s hips jerked violently up into the toy with a wet slap, his entire body tensed. his cock pulsed visibly inside the clear silicone, a strangled moan cascading from his lips. “gonna — nnh — can’t —” his words dissolved into a high-pitched whimper as his stomach muscles clenched, his knuckles white as he willed his body to hold back.
“such a pretty boy, clark,” you rested your chin on his shoulder as you continued stroking, “all worked up just from my voice. you close already?”
clark sobbed as he attempted to fight the building pressure. “please, please,” he gasped, his voice fraying at the edges. “too much, too good.”
his hips arched slightly off the bed as you sped up. “yeah? you wanna cum, baby?” you teased, “gonna be a good boy and let me see you make a mess in your toy?”
clark panted raggedly as he frantically nodded, too far gone to form coherent sentences. his cock pulsed again, the flushed tip leaking against the slick interior of the toy. his toes curled, thighs trembling violently as he teetered on the edge of release.
you gave him one last slow, deliberate drag of the toy, your thumb pressing lightly against the base of his cock just to hear him whimper from the feeling of your skin on his. “go on,” you coaxed, your voice dropping to a whisper against his ear. “let go for me. been such a good boy.”
clark came with a broken cry, his hips jerking helplessly as pleasure wracked through him. he canted his hips up to meet the toy halfway as you stroked him, his release spilling into the silicone in thick pulses. his lips parted around shallow, gasping breaths as he blinked up at the ceiling. he whispered soft ‘thank you’s when the aftershocks began to hit him.
when clark gasped in oversensitivity, you eased the toy off him with a soft, wet sound, setting it aside before pressing a soft kiss to his temple and nuzzling against his sweat-damp hair. “there you go,” you hummed, “did so good for me.”
clark let out a soft, contented noise as he caught his breath. “maybe next time i’ll let you feel the real thing,” you teased after a long moment of silence. he opened his mouth — probably to stammer out some flustered objection again — but you pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth before he could embarrass himself further. you patted his thigh sympathetically. “so, you said you have a bunch of takeout menus around here somewhere?”
clark blinked hazily, his post-orgasm haze clearly still clinging to him. he practically slumped against you, breathing you in for a moment before he mustered up the strength to gesture vaguely towards the kitchen. “mmph… i’ll get them in a minute.”