clark’s desperate for a kiss [dcu]
pairing: clark kent x reader
synopsis: clark kent wants to kiss you so bad but you don’t let him until he actually loses his mind from all the pathetic yearning
a/n: i’ve been sick with jealousy watching the various make out clips of the superman kitchen scene so i have to write this otherwise like clark kent i will explode. david corenswet [redacted]
returning to your apartment after a long day of work at the daily planet and seeing your boyfriend clark kent in your kitchen cooking you dinner wasn’t on the agenda, but who were you to complain about a pretty boy doing domestic work for you like a simp?
you smile, sneaking up to your boyfriend (who obviously hears you with his super-hearing, yet entertains your antics.)
“ah yes, superman’s favourite reporter,” you tease with a grin and clark spins on his heels to turn towards you, eyes lighting up. he takes two big steps forward and his huge frame towers over yours. his arms fit your waist like a glove. he leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
“hey,” his voice is sweet as he greets you, still in his work clothes. “don’t be jealous,” he smiles, gorgeous dimples sinking into his cheeks on his handsome face. “you can be superman’s second favourite reporter,” he muses, bending down to kiss you.
you subsconsciously divert, shifting to his side, backing up into the counter. clark’s eyebrow raises, slightly perplexed, before following your turn, backing you into the counter. your hand places on his shoulder.
“well, it doesn’t matter to me since superman seems to lack some morals if he’s always conspiring with the same reporter,” you taunt, grinning wide. “who also happens to be the same person as him.”
clark smiles, teeth and all. it’s boyish and delightful as always, the type to make butterflies erupt in your stomach. “fine,” he moves down again, hands on your hips. “so i’m a little unethical, but i’m only human,” clark’s voice becomes a faint murmur by the end of his sentence because he’s leaning in, lips parted to kiss you—
you turn to your side, dramatically rolling your eyes. at first, avoiding clark’s kisses was unintentional, but seeing the heat of frustration rise in his neck, the way his hands tighten on you, and the way his teeth grit slightly every time you dodge his kiss plants a cruel idea in your head.
“or maybe superman has his favourite medium for positive media representation,” you pester, eyebrow raised.
your boyfriend frowns. “ouch,” he pouts at the accusation, caging you against the counter. “but the articles i write are never biased. they’re factual, with the most valid source possible. it’s perfect journalism,” he defends. this time he moves in more skilfully, head blocking yours, but you quickly begin to speak as his mouth inches closer.
“but superman would know exactly what to say!” you gently smack his chest when he leans in to kiss you again. clark groans, hands seamlessly lifting you up onto the counter as if you weight nothing. he hums absentmindedly while you continue to complain, hands gesticulating to drive your point home.
“fine,” he concedes, eyes moving down. “you’re right,” he gives up so you can stop lecturing him, leaning in again. you scoot back against the counter, creating distance between the two of you. frustration bubbles inside clark’s chest.
“it’s not really fair, is it?” you continue to question, eyebrows raised as your eyes find his face. and clark’s face is..
completely fucked out.
his lips are parted, breathing heavily through them, bottom lip slightly jutted out, eyes locked on your mouth. his glasses are carelessly lopsided, hanging from a thread on the tip of his nose. your lips curve upwards in the hint of a grin. he’s lost it.
“clark,” you breathe, hands suspended in the air at his shoulders. you use the inside of your wrist to nudge his broad shoulder. “i’m not done scolding you.”
he almost whines. “yeah,” his deep voice is unusually high pitched and feeble. “yeah— sorry,” it cracks, a thick gulp bobbing down his adam’s apple.
his eyes flicker up to your eyes for one second before uncontrollably twitching back down to your lips. frustratingly, you begin again:
“it’s just not ethical,” you lean back, head resting against the bottom of a cabinet while clark hums, not registering a word you’re saying. “interviewing yourself, knowing all the questions beforehand—”
this time when his will falters— he leans in, hands moving from your waist to your cheeks, fingers digging into your soft skin to ground you to one place. his mouth parts to capture your lips in a kiss when you grin wide, pulling his glasses up and off his face, his curls bouncing at his forehead. you turn your head to the side right when clark reaches you to place them on the counter, so his lips press into your hair instead.
he closes his eyes, sucking in a deep, patient breath. hold it together, kent. you’re saying something, but he can smell your shampoo, and god he’s going to rip out of his pants.
“and the thing is, if you just keep interviewing yourself, eventually someone’s going to piece together how suspicious that is,” your eyebrow raises as you give him a plain smile.
he nods, attempting a new strategy, that if he behaves, you’ll eventually give in and kiss him back. you smack your lips disapprovingly, and clark’s beautiful baby blue eyes darken.
he leans in again when you’re silent for a moment, determined to capture you this time, his mouth open. his lip grazes your top lip when your mouth falls open to block his.
god, for once, clark wishes you’d stop talking. just this once.
“but then again the glasses,” you turn to the side, eyeing his disguise. you turn back to him, hands sliding up his neck to tangle with the curls at the base of his neck. “sure, but i still don’t think they’re enough to curb suspicions if they ever arose.”
now you’re just not playing fair. clark chokes momentarily on air when he feels your fingers on his neck, chest heaving up and down heavily.
clark snaps. not vocally, but in restraint.
his voice is sharp when he gasps out your name, eyes closing. “you—” he purses his lips, his pretty dimples making an appearance.
you shamelessly reach down and poke one, and he squeezes his eyes shut tighter. “can you just kiss me first? please?” clark is so polite with his words, despite how you’re torturing him. his volume isn’t raised, tone isn’t demanding. he’s pleading like the usual, sweet ol’ clark he is, deep voice shaky.
“i promise i’ll listen to you scold me,” his eyes open and they’re pathetically glossy when they meet yours. his eyebrows crease, lips pouted slightly. pity fills your chest and you smile cruelly.
you shrug. “maybe i just don’t want to kiss you right now,” you smile, and clark’s eyes widen slightly. his expression falls, lips parting as hurt fills him. he tries to open his mouth to say something, eyebrows twisting in despair. he’s about to go crazy with questions, asking if he’s done something wrong, if you’re mad at him, if you suddenly hate him, when you chuckle.
“just kidding.”
and then your hand at his nape tugs forward, pressing your lips to your gentle giant of a boyfriend’s mouth.
clark moans. shamelessly, unabashedly, moans. his eyes close tight, hands flying over your frame, hard and huge on your waist and back as he tugs you closer, hips pressing into yours. his mouth is bordering aggressive as it opens and closes around your lips, taking them in between his plump ones, kissing you like a starving man.
which he is, considering you were torturing him for so long. his hands glide over your back again and again, feeling you up while there’s zero space in between your bodies, your legs fitted around his hips while he grinds against you.
your hand moves down his large arm, over his rolled up sleeves and then up, tangling into his curly black locks. your chin tilts up to better make out with him, panting heavily. it’s a messy, rough, desperate kiss, clark’s super-mouth having no intention of stopping, lips continuously gliding in and out from between yours, teeth clashing while he’s plunging his tongue into your parted lips with each kiss, cheeks dimpled as he swirls his tongue around yours in your mouth.
he presses his lips harder against yours for round two, shifting between sucking your bottom lip and then your top lip, equally dividing the attention. for a moment in between he keeps his lips parted against yours, intimately breathing hot air into your mouth, before pressing another long, never ending kiss against your lips with intense pressure.
you have to tap his bicep three times to remind him that you’re only human, and he breaks the kiss with a loud wet squelch, his eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights as if he hasn’t just kissed the life out of you.
his hands tighten around your waist, moving up your back and down, almost apologetically.
“gosh,” he breathes, drowning in guilt when he sees you struggling to catch your breath, panting and heaving. his own chest is rising up and down exasperatedly, cheeks flushed. “gosh, i’m so sorry..”
he leans in, nuzzling his nose against your cheek apologetically. “wanted to kiss you so bad..” he tries to justify, his words fluffy air on your cheek. “you were scolding me, and you weren’t stopping, and i just needed it..” his deep articulate voice is dark and whiny, his heart racing in his chest.
he gulps and it’s so fucking loud in the silence. your own heart is thrumming against your chest, your hands gripping his biceps.
“you forgive me, right?” clark breathes, nose digging into the warmth of your cheek while he intentionally nuzzles it around until it collides with your own nose, his plump, wet lips pressing a gentler, softer peck to your mouth. the quick sound of the kiss rings in your ears and your head feels dizzy.
“i just really needed it,” clark’s hand slides to your abdomen, reaching up and grabbing your wrist, gently bringing it down.
he places your palm over his crotch. god, your palm is nothing in comparison to how huge—
“see?” he presses a kiss to your cheek, lips parted as he breathes heavier against your skin. “just had to kiss you otherwise i’d explode.”
meanwhile— you’re a blushing, light-headed mess. how stupid of you to torture your sweet, monster kisser of a boyfriend. when clark pulls away enough to see the hazy look in your eyes, he blinks, eyebrows furrowing in genuine worry.
“golly, was that actually too much?” he switches from whiny and pathetic to genuine worry, lips pressing into a concerned thin line, cheeks dimpling as his hand reaches up to sweetly caress your cheek, thumb rubbing up and down.
you give him that same breathless look. “clark,” you breathe, voice bordering sulky. “clark i can’t be wanting you to fuck me everyday,” you complain, sounding like you’re about to cry.
clark’s pants tighten. he sucks in a breath, closing his eyes. he nibbles on his lower lip, trying to maintain himself, hands tightening around your hip and cheek.
“god,” clark’s voice is on the edge, and it’s probably the first time you’ve heard him say ‘god’ and not ‘gosh’. you gulp, practically feeling him tighten underneath your palm.
“god, i am not your strongest soldier.”
