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the birds & the bees -- Superman x Fem!Reader (Kinktober 2025)

I don't care that it's November now it's still Kinktober to me!!! (this is what I get for trying to do a million things during one month but we carry on)

Summary: Clark Kent leaves work abruptly to cover a breaking Superman story, but he practically goes missing right after. You, being the caring friend and coworker that you are, decide to go to his apartment to see if he's okay. And he is, he's just...a little under the weather, and he really needs your help.

Warnings: 18+ only mdni!!!, baby's first sex pollen fic (i think?), needy + sort of subby!clark, blink n you miss it handjob, he gets a lil rough, pussy pronouns, unprotected sex, oral/facefucking (f + m rec), voyeurism if u squint, lots of manhandling, size kink ofc, clark cums...a lot, dirty dirty talk, pollen lowkey affects reader too, lots of petnames ('honey' 'sweetheart' 'baby'), he begs a lot whoops, improper use of his x-ray vision (naughty clark!!), he's still just a giant sweetie even w the pollen <33

WC: 7.7k (this ran the fuck away from me ok)

It’s Saturday, and you’re standing in front of the door to your coworker’s apartment. Uninvited, you might add.

This has to be a new low for you.

The truth is something a little more like this: It’s Saturday, and you’re standing outside your best-friend-slash-coworker-who-has-a-(mutual)-crush-on-you-slash-the-most-handsome-man-in-Metropolis’s door because you haven’t heard from him since Thursday night.

You’ve called, you’ve texted, you’ve sent emails, you’ve left who knows how many voicemails. Nothing. Radio silence.

Jimmy has tried, Lois has tried, Cat has tried -- hell, even Perry tried, because when Clark didn’t show up for work by lunch time yesterday, Perry was even getting worried. It’s normal for Clark to be a little late from time to time. You think his problem is that he’s just too nice and he’ll talk to anyone, and he gets caught up with anything. You’ve witnessed it in real time.

But not showing at all? That’s unheard of. He hardly ever has sick days, now that you think about it, so if he is sick, it must be lethal, and you have to at least make sure he’s okay.

At least, that’s what you’re telling yourself to justify the fact that you’re showing up, uninvited, and debating letting yourself inside with the spare key under the plant in the corner (Clark is so predictable).

You try knocking again. “Clark?” you call out. “Are you in there?”

It’s just so unlike him, to not show at all, especially after such a big day for Superman on Thursday afternoon. Clark rushed out of the office to go see the action and to get his front-page interview like he always does, and you all were certain it would be plastered on Friday’s paper. But it wasn’t.

Instead, it was some piece Jimmy was working on -- congrats, Jimmy, really, but still -- and Superman saving the city from a creature no one has ever seen before was tucked away inside, and barely a full column. It was a quick write up, the quickest you’ve ever seen Lois do, and it works, but it’s not what everyone was expecting. Steve ended up fielding phone calls about why Clark Kent didn’t interview Superman and why he didn’t get an exclusive like always.

Needless to say, yesterday was hectic at the Daily Planet, and you worried yourself sick over Clark’s whereabouts, so much so that you’re now staring down his front door before noon on a Saturday.

God. You shake your head at yourself. He’s probably-- Maybe there was a family emergency? Your heart clenches at the idea of anything happening to Ma or Pa Kent, but…it’s a real possibility. Maybe he just hasn’t been able to look at his phone because of it.

It’s one of the worst case scenarios, but it feels like that’s all you’re working with considering you haven’t seen or heard from him in almost forty-eight hours.

Your foot taps impatiently on the floor. The tote bag full of cold remedies and just general things to cheer up a sad Clark Kent weighs heavily on your shoulder. You had thought you’d find him here, maybe sick with an awful flu, or--

You hear movement. Your foot immediately stops its tapping, your breathing halts, you think your heart might even stop beating. You lean a little closer to the door.

Definitely movement. Someone is inside.

“Clark?” you call out again. “It’s me,” you try instead. “I haven’t heard from you, I-I got worried.” You pause, listening for the same shuffling. “I wanted to see if you were okay.”

The only response you get is a low groan. Groaning that you aren’t even sure is Clark, but it’s something, and it doesn’t sound good.

“Can I come in?” you ask. You’ll think later on how to apologize for coming over unannounced and for presumptively looking for the spare key and for letting yourself in. Right now you just need to see if he’s okay.

You hear more groaning, followed by the sound of something crashing -- you have no idea what -- and you decide that’s it.

You tip the plant and swipe the key, inserting it and twisting the knob all in one swoop. “I’m really sorry,” you say as you push the door open. “I’m so sorry, but it sounded like-- I just had to check--”

All words promptly die on your lips when you see the state of Clark’s apartment.

You’ve been here once. Only once. You were caught in a bad storm after drinks with Clark, Jimmy, and Lois, and Clark’s apartment was closer, so he offered you dry clothes and a warm shower while the storm waned. That night, every lamp was on, he had hot cocoa ready for you as soon as you got out of the shower, and the two of you talked and laughed while the rain beat the windows.

Today, the sun is out, but it looks stormy in Clark’s apartment. Not a single light is on, the couch is askew, the coffee table overturned.

And Clark.

His back is pressed to the far window, hands splayed like he’s pinning himself to the glass with all his strength. He’s in a t-shirt and boxers that are tented, and that would normally be enough for you to avert your eyes, except he looks ill. He’s practically ashen, and he’s sweating so much that his shirt is sticking to his skin, to every muscle. His hair is curled to hell, bordering on messy in a way that is worrisome, like he’s been gripping and tugging at it and trying to rip it out.

“Clark?” you ask, shutting the door behind you. You place the spare key down on the little table by the door. “Are you… What’s going on?”

His chest is rising and falling rapidly, and he won’t look at you. He mumbles something, but you can’t hear him.

“Clark, please…” you pause, swallowing. You set your bag down by the door, walking closer to him, approaching him like he’s a skittish animal that might run away from you at any second. “Talk to me.”

“Stop,” he bites out. “Please.”

You stop moving, holding your hands up in surrender. What the hell is going on? His legs are shaking, he looks like he hasn’t eaten since Thursday’s lunch, and he still won’t lift his head.

“You should--” he pauses, sucks in a harsh, sharp breath. “You should leave.”

You scoff, not unkindly, just, confused and stressed and what has gotten into him? “Clark, I’m not leaving. We need to get you to a doct--”

“No!” he shouts, immediately shaking his head. “No, no, I’m…fine, I don’t need a doctor.”

“You are not fine,” you argue gently. “You look like you can barely hold yourself up. Are you sick with something?”

“No,” he whines, then adds, “yes, kind of.” One hand leaves the glass to press to his temple with a grimace.

“Is it a migraine?” you ask, wondering if maybe that’s why it’s so dark in here. But that doesn’t explain the fact that it looks like a tornado took off in here, too. “Don’t you get those if you don’t wear your glasses?” He’s not wearing them right now, which you’ve only just now noticed. “Where are they?”

You look around and spot them on the kitchen counter, as if they were ripped off and thrown down. Your eyebrows furrow.

“Clark,” you turn back to him. “Please tell me what’s going on. I want to help. You’ve had everyone worried sick, and we damn near called a wellness check for you, but I figured, let me just come knock on his door first-- But I can’t help if you won’t even let me near you.”

He whimpers this time, high in his throat, almost like he’s going to cry. “Please.”

“Please, what?” you cry. “What can I do? Let me help.” You take tentative steps toward him, hoping he doesn’t notice.

“I-I can’t,” he shudders. “I don’t want to hurt you--”

“Hurt me?” You keep walking slowly. “Why would you hurt me?” Your mind is running wild with all kinds of possibilities right now, one namely being, is Clark on drugs or something?

“It-it’s not something I can control,” he says.

“What is?” you ask, taking more steps. You’re just past the coffee table now. You’ll be able to reach out to him any second.

“It’s--” he cuts himself off with another wince. “Please, you need to stay back, I--”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not going to just stand over there and watch you like this,” you say sternly, taking more intentional steps now. You reach him quickly, pressing the back of your hand to his forehead. “You’re burning up!”

He sighs when you touch him, knees buckling. “I-I know. H-Hurts.”

“Clark,” you whisper, placing your hands on his shoulders. “What happened to you? Did you get hurt when you went to interview Superman? Did you get caught in the fight or something?”

He chuckles, but it’s not his usual sound. “Or something,” he murmurs sheepishly, finally tipping his head back to look up at you and--

Your eyes go wide. The world sways. Suddenly you feel like you’re the one who is sick.

“C-Clark?” you stutter in disbelief. “Superman?”

He groans again, head lolling forward. “This is not how I wanted to tell you.”

You come back to yourself and remember he’s violently ill and you shake your head. Now is not the time to be starstruck. “Hey, no, no, it’s okay, it’s fine! So you’re Superman? It’s okay!” You know you sound ridiculous. “Do you-- Don’t you have healing-- Doesn’t the sun help you or something? Why are you still like this?”

“The sun can’t help this, it’s-- This is different. The Superman robots tried to help, but--”

You nod along, noting things to ask him about later, like Superman robots because what does that even mean? Who are they?

“Okay,” you say, like you’ve got it all figured out after what he’s told you. Like you have a plan. “Okay.” You don’t know what to do. “So we-- Did they-- Do the…robots know what it is that’s making you feel like this?”

He nods slowly, tipping his head back again to look at you, his blue eyes not at all tired like you expect them to be. They’re practically molten. “They have an idea.”

“Okay,” you lick your lips. You should not be thinking about how attractive he is up close like this when he’s practically on his death bed. “What is it?”

He opens his mouth like he’s going to spill it all out right then, but he snaps his jaw closed. “No, I-- I can’t tell you.”

You nearly scream out of sheer frustration. “What do you mean?” you try to have a gentle tone, but you’re not sure you succeed.

“It’s--” he hisses in pain again (you think?), hanging his head. “It’s complicated.”

“I don’t think anything can be more complicated than the fact that I just found out you’re Superman when you’re like this.”

He chuckles again, the sound growing warmer this time. “It’s-- Can you promise me something first?”

“Yeah, Clark,” your face softens. “Anything.”

He groans at that. “No…no, I mean it, I mean, if I tell you what this is, and you’re scared, or you-- You just don’t want to be around me, you have to tell me.”

Your eyes widen. “Clark--”

“I mean it, please,” he begs. “Because if you say you don’t want this, I promise, I will-- I’ll go and bury myself in the ice and I’ll wait it out and I won’t hurt you.”

“Clark, you’re not gonna hurt me.”

“I might,” he chokes out. “I could. I’ve-- It’s been two days of this, I don’t know my own strength, I might--”

“Clark, stop, stop,” you cut him off, both your hands cupping his face, forcing him to look at you. “Please, just tell me what’s going on so I can help.”

“I’m-- I think the creature on Thursday was released by Lex Luthor as a distraction.”

He stops, so you press gently, holding his face as you whisper, “Distraction for what?”

“When I was flying home after it -- back to the Fortress -- as I was leaving Metropolis I flew through a cloud but it wasn’t a cloud, it was-- I think Lex manufactured it because he knew I’d fly through it and he knew it would do this to me.”

You still don’t know what this is, other than the fact that he looks three steps from the grave.

“It’s…my body is--” He pauses again. “This is embarrassing.”

“Clark…” you sigh, pulling him into your arms despite everything. He’s much taller than you, yet right now he feels so small. His face finds your neck and he inhales deeply, holding his breath. “You can tell me.”

“It was a pollen cloud,” he murmurs into your skin, nosing your carotid artery. “And the pollen sets my hormones on fire.”

You rub circles onto his back. “So you’re…?”

“So turned on that I might die,” he whines, still mortified from having to admit this out loud. His hips move on their own accord, and you feel him grinding against your leg before he promptly stops himself. “S-Sorry.”

Your brain is spinning circles in your skull as you try to figure out exactly what he means. What this means.

“Will you actually die?” you ask instead of the other thousands of thoughts running through your head. You scratch his scalp gently, hoping this is somewhat helping, having your arms around him and his around your waist.

His breaths are shallower now, like he’s either afraid to inhale too much of you, or like he can’t get enough. “I don’t know. Probably not. I think I just have to wait it out.”

“But,” you lift your head and he does the same, “is there anything that will help?”

“I can’t ask that of you,” he says immediately, his throat working around a swallow. “I-It’s why I haven’t answered your calls-- I’m sorry that I haven’t, I just-- I flew all the way to the Fortress of Solitude and when the robots told me I needed to-- told me what would help, I flew to Ma and Pa’s, and then didn’t even go in and see them, I just came straight back here because you were--” He pauses, shutting his eyes, twisting them shut, his head thudding as it hits the window. “You were too far, I couldn’t hear you from there and I… I needed to hear you.”

“Hear me?” you gasp. “Clark, I don’t even live close to you, I--”

“I know!” he cries. “I know, but I swear I could hear you, or-- or maybe I really couldn’t, but I couldn’t stand being so far away from you, I had to be in the same city. And then I heard you when you got inside the building, and your heart was so loud outside my door, and gosh, you-- You smell like Heaven, sweetheart.”

Your heart flutters wildly in your chest, banging around against your ribcage. Sweetheart.

“Clark,” you begin, waiting for him to open his eyes, but he doesn’t. For the second time today, you decide, fuck it. You cup his jaw with one hand, not forceful, but not entirely gentle either. You know he’s embarrassed, but enough is enough. “Look at me.”

Clark’s eyes open instantly, glassy and red and full of fire. “Yes ma’am?”

“If what I’m gathering from this is correct, then…I want to help.”

“You do?”

You nod, thumb stroking his cheek. “Do you want me to?”

“Of course I want you to,” he whines, head threatening to tip back again. His smile is lazy, crooked, and so Clark. “I just-- I wanted to ask you out on a date first.”

You chuckle quietly. So your suspicions about your crush being requited weren’t all in your head, it seems. “We can go on a date once you feel better, okay?”

He nods. “Okay,” he murmurs, swallowing again, like his mouth is making far too much saliva. “Okay. Can we-- Can we go to that place on--”

You don’t know what else to do, so you kiss him. He’s embarrassed, he’s rambling, and he’s gotten so worked up in his head that he’s fighting it -- keeping you from helping him.

It’s a syrupy-sweet first kiss. You try to put every ounce of your nearly year-long crush into it, hoping he can feel all of it. You’d do anything for him, you’ve always felt that way, and you’ve shown it before too. Just in more normal, friendly ways than this. Than agreeing to have sex with Clark so he will feel better.

It sounds absurd, even just in your head, and if you think too much about it, you won’t be able to do anything because of how hard your mind will be reeling. Just this morning, just two hours ago, you thought Clark was sick with maybe the flu or had a family emergency or something else normal, and now. Now you know he’s Superman, now you’ve agreed to help him through whatever pollen-induced horny sickness this is, now you’re finally kissing Clark Kent.

He whimpers into your mouth, fingers wrapping around your wrist to tug your hand down to where he needs you.

“S-Sorry,” he cries, grinding into your palm.

You shush him, applying the pressure he needs. “That better?”

He nods furiously, lips mashing against yours as he chases the feeling of your hand on him, and you haven’t even really touched him. When you finally snake your hand under his waistband, his head falls into your neck, shoulders slumping.

His skin feels hot all over, but somehow even hotter here when you wrap your fingers around him, gently stroking. He kisses your neck, then licks, your eyes rolling from the feeling of him clinging to you, completely at your mercy.

Soon he’s rocking his hips into your hand, then wrapping his arms around you, pulling your body to his like he wants to meld you together. You thumb over his slit once, twice, and without warning, he’s shaking in your hold, spilling into his boxers.

He goes still against you, chest rising and falling rapidly against yours. Your free hand strokes his curls where he has his head buried in your neck, wondering if that was enough, or if it was too much.

“Clark?” you whisper. His skin doesn’t feel any cooler, but maybe it takes time.

The only warning you get -- though you don’t realize it’s a warning at all -- is a low groan, deep in his chest before he’s spun you around, pressing your back into the glass.

When he kisses you this time, the sweetness from earlier is gone, replaced with a desperate, ravenous hunger. He’s still as hard as he was before when he fits his body against yours, hips grinding into you.

“Clark--” you try to get out in between kisses, but he’s ravenous now. Gone is the hesitant, shaking Clark from before. “Mmph-- Clark. Clark.”

He finally pulls back, a string of saliva connecting your lips that he licks away. “Sorry,” he whispers, but he doesn’t sound sorry at all, and doesn’t look it either, the way he’s not looking at your eyes at all but instead at your lips. “What did you--” He pauses again, out of breath. “What were you saying?”

It makes you giggle, seeing him like this, but there’s heat pooling in your lower belly, too. “No, I just-- That was a change.”

“Oh,” he grins, and it’s a bit wolfish, making your thighs clench. “I told you, I’m a little--”

“I know.”

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” you reply, breathless, pushing your hips out to grind into him. “Yeah, it’s great.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he groans, hands squeezing your hips as he dives for another kiss, tongue immediately coaxing your mouth open. “Thank you. Thank you for letting me have you.”

“You have me,” you whisper. “Do whatever you need to-- Ah!”

His hands immediately split the seam of your shirt, exposing your breasts. He finds the clip to your bra and suddenly he’s thumbing over your nipples, massaging them, pinching them lightly, watching you squirm.

You grip his shirt, knowing you won’t be able to rip it, but after a few tugs, he gets the idea and does it for you, letting you shove it off his arms and to the floor with yours. His boxers go next, his previous release still sticky inside them, and then he’s dragging your pants down your legs, kneeling as he goes.

You’ve never been so grateful for him to have an apartment on one of the top floors as you are now, when he has you bare and pressed to the window.

“Look at how pretty…” he muses, kissing your inner thigh as he spreads your legs to accommodate his wide frame. He shoulders between them, then lifts one of your legs to rest over his body. “Already so wet for me,” he whispers, like he’s talking to your pussy, not you. “Gotta get her ready for me, though.” He looks up at you, so sweet despite the filth he’s speaking and how close he is to your clit. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

You pet his head, smiling as you stroke his curls. “You won’t hurt me, Clark.” Even though he’s not in his right mind, you don’t think he’d ever be able to hurt you.

He leans his cheek against your thigh, just gazing so lovingly at your core. “I won’t,” he promises with a little sigh. “S’too pretty.”

You think you might have to physically guide him to where you need him, but then he’s finally leaning forward, pressing a tender kiss to your clit that makes you jump.

He grins again, wide and hungry. “Sensitive?”

“A little,” you admit. Because you won’t stop teasing me.

“I’ll be gentle,” he swears, and then proceeds to be anything but.

He wraps his lips around your clit, tonguing the hood back ever so slightly to focus directly on your most sensitive spot. Your hips buck involuntarily into his mouth and he moves closer, setting in.

His tongue darts lower, separating your folds, teasing your hole. You don’t think you’ve ever cum from someone eating you out without using their fingers too, but Clark just might get you there. And he seems determined too.

With his nose providing friction to your clit, his tongue presses into you, and he hums. A deep, guttural noise before he somehow moves closer, like he doesn’t even want to breathe while he’s going down on you.

You’re gripping his curls like your life depends on it, because it sort of does, and you try to warn him before you cum, but he doesn’t slow down or make any indication that he hears you. He just dives deeper, licks faster, and starts mumbling nonsense into your pussy.

“I know you’re close,” he almost whines, like he’s desperate to feel it, to taste it. “Please, baby, please let me have it.”

Your head hits the window with a dull, quiet thud, your chest heaving. “Clark,” you gasp, and somehow he knows what you mean, what you’re trying to say in that one word because then he goes back to sucking on your clit, tongue flicking rapidly.

“Come on,” he says, somehow speaking while still fucking you.

“Clark,” your head lolls against the window, the pleasure making it impossible to hold any part of your body upright.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, adjusting his grip to stabilize you. “I’m right here, sweetheart.”

You finally tip over the edge and climax with a cry, body sinking down the window until it’s only Clark’s strength holding you up. He lets you ride his face through it, one hand in his curls, pushing and pulling exactly where you need him most until you’re trembling with the aftershocks.

He crawls up your body, littering kisses as he goes, pausing to focus on your nipples again, swirling his tongue around them. Your brain is in a haze as you drag his face back to you so you can kiss him, not caring -- and frankly, finding it a little hot -- that you can taste yourself on his tongue.

Clark gives no warning before picking you up and wrapping your legs around his waist, carrying you like you’re nothing back to his bedroom. He practically tosses you onto the bed, covering his body with yours, caging you underneath him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, almost like he can’t believe it as he covers your face in kisses. “Taste so good, every piece of you.”

While he speaks, his hips start to have a mind of their own, steadily rocking into yours, grinding his erection into your stomach. You felt him before, wrapping your hand around him, but feeling him like this, right there, is different.

It makes you gasp into his mouth when the head of his cock catches on your clit. He smirks, nipping at your bottom lip, doing it again just to see your reaction.

“That feel good?” he asks, just as out of breath as you are. You just nod pathetically as he does it over and over. “I’ve gotta stretch you, honey,” he says, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Feel how big I am?”

You nod again, feeling, from the outside, how deep he’ll be and God, you have no idea how he’ll fit, but you want it to. You want it so bad you might start crying.

One hand snakes its way downward while you continue kissing Clark. It’s hot and messy and there’s spit all over both of your chins, but you can’t bring yourself to care, especially not when he’s pushing a finger inside you and one already feels so big.

The whine you let out just tells him exactly how you feel, and he soothes you by putting pressure on your clit with the heel of his hand.

“It’ll feel better in a second, honey,” he promises, already teasing another finger before pushing in, shushing you as you squirm and writhe against him. “Too much?”

You shake your head. “Feels good,” you groan.

“That’s my sweet girl.”

“Feels good but I want you.”

“You’ll get me, honey, don’t worry,” he whispers, kissing you gingerly. “Need you to cum again for me first. Can you do that?”

You don’t know, but then he spreads his fingers, pressing right into your G-spot, and that lights your body on fire.

“Knew I’d find it,” he says, mostly to himself. “Gonna add another, okay, baby?”

You nod frantically and you hear him chuckle, but he’s not laughing at you. He’s just mystified by how gorgeous you are like this. By how much you need him, like you might need him as much as he needs you.

The Superman robots didn’t mention anything about the pollen being contagious, but then again, they weren’t even entirely certain of what it is, so it could be possible. You’ve swapped enough spit with Clark by now that he wouldn’t be surprised if some of it has transferred.

The thought of it just makes him feel even more needy for you. But he won’t hurt you.

He inserts a third finger, gently prodding your G-spot until you’re clenching then relaxing around him. He thrusts slow at first, warming you up to all three before he gradually spreads them, working you open.

Your hips grind against his palm with vigor, chasing your high while simultaneously rubbing against his cock. He ruts against your hipbone, giving you what you need and letting himself have just a little friction too.

He feels it when you start clenching around him erratically, hears it when the little whines you let out start stringing together. “Gonna cum, baby?” he coos. “Gonna let go for me again?”

You’re helpless against him as you nod, pulling his face toward yours to devour his mouth.

When you cum this time, his fingers slip in even deeper, and that’s how he knows you’re ready. You’re sucking them in and not letting go, and the noises you’re making are music to his ears. He spills against your stomach, but only a little, because he wants nothing more than to finish inside you.

“I’ve gotta be in you, honey, I-I can’t wait anymore,” he groans, dragging his fingers out of you and lining himself up, his head easily slipping in from how wet you are.

“Please,” you cling to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Oh Clark, please, need to feel you--”

“I’m right here, my sweet girl,” he soothes, pressing in slowly. “Just let me in.”

Your legs widen in response and he sinks impossibly deep on the first thrust, his head nestled right against your cervix, just barely kissing it. The pain of it quickly blurs into pleasure with every movement until you’re rocking against him, your body somehow trying to take him deeper, even though that isn’t biologically possible.

“Oh, honey,” he groans, head falling forward and he mouths at your neck, nips at your sensitive spots there. “You’re so warm.”

You try to say something back, but it just comes out complete nonsense, except Clark catches some of the words.

“I’m so big, I know, honey, I know,” he coos, kissing your forehead. “But you’re taking me so well, sweet girl. Feel how deep I am?”

You nod against him, wailing when he lightly presses his palm down over the slight bulge in your lower stomach, right where he knows he’s nestled without even needing to use his X-ray vision. But after having that thought, he does use it, just for a moment, just to see.

The only problem is that seeing himself so deep inside you causes his orgasm to come barrelling toward him at a terrifying speed. He’s barely thrusting, more grinding deeper into you, once, twice, and then he’s falling over the edge, shuddering as he spills inside of you.

You gasp at the feeling, eyes going wide with how much there is. You guess it makes sense, given that he’s not exactly human, so things will be different. Like this.

And, you guess, like the fact that despite now cumming two times, he’s still just as hard as he was when you first got here. It doesn’t seem like his orgasms have given him any relief.

If anything, this last one has only spurred him on even more.

“Golly,” he hisses, leaning back onto his knees, hoisting your hips up onto his thighs without slipping out of you. “Are you okay? Still feeling good?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, circling your hips against his. “Keep going.”

He grins, wide and wild. “That’s my girl,” he says, and then he pulls out, working himself inside again, seemingly in awe at how easily he slides inside. “You’re so wet, baby,” he sounds like he’s praying. “Some of that’s me, though, yeah?”

You nod, not even caring what he’s talking about because he’s so deep and hard inside of you that you don’t know what you’re going to do without him inside you.

“Wanna feel you again,” he mumbles, thumbing over your clit. “Can you give me another?”

You don’t even need to nod; he feels you immediately clench around him.

“Love that I get to have you like this,” he whispers. “All for me, yeah? All mine.”

“All yours,” you gasp, writhing again. “Fuck, Clark.”

“Yeah?” he says, moving again, thrusting inside you and pulling all the way out before slipping back in, because he loves the way you clench and the little whine you let out when he does it. “Feels good, doesn’t it? You don’t need to say anything, sweet girl, I know it does. Show me how good it feels.”

You were already on the edge, but hearing him speak to you like this, when all you’ve known before is quiet, sweet, bumbling Clark in the office sends you right over. The stark contrast is doing something wild to your brain, short circuiting everything until you’re spasming around him uncontrollably.

“There we go, that’s my sweet girl,” he soothes you, letting you ride it out against him. “Can I move you, baby? Wan-Wanna try something else. Promise it’ll feel so good f’you.”

You nod and he slowly pulls out, shushing your whines at the feeling of emptiness. He gently turns you over, places a pillow underneath your hips. He palms at your ass, unable to help himself really, before moving you where he needs you with his hands on your waist.

And he just keeps talking to himself. “There we go, so pretty,” he says, one hand leaving your waist to caress your spine. “Laid out for me so pretty, so I can just-- O-Oh, honey.”

Just the head slips inside and you squirm immediately, feeling a tiny spurt of cum enter you, and then he’s slamming forward in one devastating thrust, holding himself there. You can feel him shaking, feel him holding himself back.

“You feel too good, baby, I-I can’t,” he breaks off into another moan, hips pressing forward again, and a strangled cry leaves his lips before he’s cumming again, filling you up and spilling out around where he’s entered you. “N-No,” he whispers, sniffles. “Wanted to-- Wanted to last longer.”

But he’s still not going soft, so his early orgasm only seems to deter him for a brief moment. He catches his breath, leaning over you to kiss the back of your neck, blanketing your body with his.

And then he’s moving again, barely pulling out at all before pushing back inside, carving a space deep inside you just for him, as if he needs to, as if that space wasn’t already there.

The little noises you make are his only indication that you haven’t passed out beneath him, and he takes them as his cue to continue moving, to keep slamming right into your G-spot.

“Wanna cum together this time,” he says, and it sounds like a plea. “Can you do that for me, honey? Please, for me?”

You’ve never had this many orgasms with a partner, let alone in one night in such quick succession, but somehow it isn’t a question when Clark asks if you can give him another. It’s as if your body is perfectly attuned to him now, and if he wants you to give him another orgasm, then well, you will. Easily.

He keeps working your body perfectly, hitting all of the right spots, until he’s close and holding himself back just until he feels you right on the edge.

“Let go, honey,” he cries. “Let go with me, please, please, please.”

And you do, as if on command, your body lets go right as you feel his hips begin to stutter until he’s spilling another load in you, this one you can feel practically all of it leaking out of you and sticking to your inner thighs, and him.

Clark uses his X-ray vision almost by accident this time, just wanting to see if he can tell how full you are, and oh, he can. He tips his head back, holding onto your waist as he groans.

And then he hears you, and you’re asking for him.

“What is it, honey?” he asks, leaning over you to kiss your cheek. “Doing okay?”

You nod, a dopey smile on your face. “Can I--” you swallow, eyes hazy as you look at him. “Can I taste you?”

His hips involuntarily buck into you before he kisses your lips as best he can when you’re in this position. “You wanna taste me?”

You nod frantically. “Please?”

“Okay, honey,” he murmurs. “Okay. Yeah, anything-- Anything you want.”

He pulls out slow, careful not to hurt or shock you as he does.

You bounce back remarkably fast, already sitting up and sliding off the bed to sink down to your knees, hands reaching out for him. He moves willingly, stumbling around to you, cock bobbing as he goes, still impossibly hard. He wonders how long the pollen will affect him, because although he feels his mind clearing slightly, he’s definitely not feeling any less turned on. And you don’t seem to be, either.

You lick him eagerly, cleaning him off first. He hisses as you do, the sensitivity starting to reach him, but it isn’t so bad that he wants you to stop. He needs you to keep going.

You grab one of his hands and move it to your head, and he asks, “Are you sure?”

You nod. “Wanna feel you in my throat, Clark.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, smiling so fondly down at you. “You tap me if it’s too much, yeah?”

You nod, but you’re not looking up at him, you’re too focused on getting your lips wrapped around his cock. And he decides to stop teasing and let you.

You surge forward, taking the head into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it before hollowing your cheeks and taking him deeper.

He lets you have your way with him first, and if anything, his grip on the back of your head is so he doesn’t lose control and thrust into your mouth too harshly, though it seems that’s what you want him to do. Still, he doesn’t want to hurt you, and he’s not entirely sure how much of this is you and how much of this is the possible added effects of the pollen.

His train of thought is promptly interrupted by you taking him into your throat with zero warning, pressing your nose to the neat little hairs that gather at his base.

“O-Oh my gosh, honey, give a guy some warning,” he chokes out, hands cradling your head.

You pull off of him with a cheeky grin. “Sorry.”

His thumbs stroke your cheeks, shaking his head fondly at you. “Enjoying yourself?”

You nod frantically. “Are you?”

“I am, honey, I am.”

“Are you feeling better?”

He nods. “I am, thank you. Still,” he pauses, rolls his shoulders. “Still turned on, less like I’m about to die.”

You hum. “That’s good.” Your hands explore idly while the two of you speak, ghosting over his inner thighs, close to his still-hard cock, but not actually touching him. “But you’re not done?”

You ask it so softly, like you don’t want to be done, either, and it almost breaks his heart. “No,” he says, petting your head a little. “We can keep going.”

“Good,” you mumble, starting to kiss him again, all along his length. “Because I’m not finished with you yet.”

His knees nearly buckle because you, once again, give him no warning before you’re taking him in your throat. And then you put both his hands on your head, and place your palms over his thighs, giving him full control.

He’s so glad his brain feels a little clearer now because if this had been earlier, he really might’ve hurt you. Now he can give you what you want without the guilt and worry.

You hum around him, causing his hips to buck on their own accord. He pulls himself back to then try an experimental thrust, his head slipping right into the back of your throat with ease. And instead of moving away, you press your head forward, taking him just a little more.

“Honey,” he gasps. “You’re being so good for me.”

Whatever you try to respond with comes out garbled nonsense around his cock, but he doesn’t mind. He holds your head gently, moving you back and forth just the way he needs, and you let him.

“You feel so good,” he groans, holding you down for just a moment before letting go, letting you breathe. “Don’t wanna-- Where do you-- Oh golly-- Where do you want me to--”

You answer by wrapping your arms around his legs, moving closer on your knees, practically trapping him against you.

He whines, high in his throat. “O-Okay, okay, just for you, just this one, next one goes inside your pussy, though, yeah? Please?” You nod against him and he nearly cums right then, feeling the head of his cock moving in your throat. “Baby, I-I’m not going to last much longer like this--”

That only makes you move with more fervour, like you need to feel him cumming down your throat.

He can barely gasp out a warning before he’s spilling so deep into your throat that you barely taste it, and you don’t even move, you just swallow him down, humming happily to yourself.

Clark pulls you off of him after a moment, hauling you up to your feet so he can kiss you. He can feel himself softening now, just a little, but you--

The look in your eyes is wild.

“Shoot,” he hisses, hands cradling your face. “Sweetheart, look at me.” Your heart is racing, and maybe it has been this whole time, he’s only just now noticing because he’s finally starting to feel like himself again. “How are you feeling?”

“Hot,” you whine, arms looping around his neck. “Empty.”

“Okay,” he says, turning and laying you down. “Honey, I think…I think some of the pollen might be in your system now.”

You just blink up at him through bleary eyes, none of his words registering in your brain. But you’re still alert, for the most part, and able to move your body just fine because the next thing he knows, you’ve got your ankles locked around him.

“Okay, honey, okay,” he tries to soothe your disgruntled whines. “Hurts bad, doesn’t it?”

He can’t imagine how you’re feeling considering he felt bad and it was designed to affect him. You’re human.

What if it kills you?

Clark stops that train of thought before it even starts, letting your hand move down to stroke him until he’s fully hard again. He can make it better. He just needs to keep fucking you, and it’ll keep working through your system until (hopefully) it’s out of it, and everything will be okay. It’ll be okay.

“Clark,” you whine, lining him up with your entrance. “Feels empty.”

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he shushes you, kissing all over your face. “I’ll make it better, okay? Just let me make it better. Let me do all the work, okay?”

You nod, your hand leaving his cock to instead thread your fingers through his curls. “So handsome.”

He beams, slipping inside you just an inch, and it's so easy after the many rounds you've endured. “Thank you, darlin’.”

Your body is pliant beneath him, just barely holding onto consciousness as he slowly rocks into you. He keeps a steady pace, and listens intently to your heart rate and breathing, just in case. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, so he continues on -- as if you’d let him stop.

“Inside me this time?” you ask, but your voice is quiet, like you’re afraid he’s going to tell you no, but Clark could never. Not right now, not ever.

“Yeah, honey,” he promises, kissing your nose, then your forehead. “Is that what you need?”

Your head nods erratically against the pillow. “Need more. Not full enough.”

“Jesus,” Clark swears, hips stuttering at how desperate and certain you sound. He holds onto your waist, thumbs pressing over your stomach. “I’ll make it better, sweetheart, you just lay here for me, yeah? I’ll fill you up as much as you need. That sound good?”

You reach for his face and pull him down into a kiss, immediately licking into his mouth. You are ravenous, and he’s not sure how he’s going to satisfy you. He just hopes he can, because he doesn’t know what this pollen is doing to your body.

Worst case scenario, he guesses, he can fly you to the Fortress and see if the Superman robots can check you over. He might do that anyway, just to be safe.

Clark keeps the same steady pace, hitting your spot over and over and over, fussing over your every whimper and whine. Tears slip from your cheeks but you aren’t in any pain, just clinging to him and telling him to keep going.

You finally quiet when he spills inside you, sniffling into his neck as he holds you.

“Honey?” he asks, but he doesn’t move, just stays inside you, pressing just a little of his weight into you. “You okay?”

You nod against him but you don’t speak.

Clark can feel himself going soft inside you but he doesn’t dare move, not sure what you need right now and if moving might set you off.

But he doesn’t want to crush you beneath him, either.

“I’m gonna move over, okay?”

You immediately cling to him even tighter, even clenching around him, worried he’s going to pull out.

“Just so we can lay down,” he rushes to explain, pressing a kiss to your temple.

He rolls the two of you easily, putting him on his back with you on his chest, holding onto him like a little koala. It’s endearing, really, though it worries him. You’re just so quiet.

Clark fumbles for a blanket and spreads it over your back, his arms caging you against him. He feels your entire body relax, a content sigh leaving your lips as you snuggle even closer.

Your heart is finally slowing down, too, so he takes that as a good sign. You must just be worn out -- who wouldn’t be, after all of that?

He hears your breathing even out and he smiles, trying to crane his neck to get a look at your face, but it’s hard when you have it buried in his neck.

“Are you asleep?” he whispers, though he knows the answer. He rubs slow circles on your back and you shiver just a little, inching closer to him, as if you can get any closer. “Just sleep, honey. I’m right here.”

When you wake up, he’ll have to make sure you rehydrate and eat something. He’ll probably run you a bath, too, just so you can relax your muscles even more.

And then, the two of you can talk. Because he has things he needs to confess, things he really should’ve said to you a long time ago. Then he can plan your first date -- actually plan it out because you deserve the best, especially after today.

He hugs you close, nuzzling his cheek against your head, three words already on the tip of his tongue, but he holds them in. He wants you to be awake when he finally tells you.

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