An Older Version of Me (Is She Perverted Like Me?) - Clark Kent x Reader
Clark Kent x Reader
Summary: When you see your highschool sweetheart in a bar eight years after he moved to Metropolis, you make it your mission to take him home.
Tags: Set in Smallville, Clark and reader were high school sweethearts, reader is a teacher lol, reader has a cocktail, Clark and reader haunt each other's narratives, NSFW (18+), Clark is a boob man as always, boob sucking/squeezing, sex against the wall, unprotected piv sex, Clark holds reader while he fucks her, praise, reassurance, clit-rubbing, female orgasm, male orgasm/creampie
Word Count: 4.3k
Smallville is the exact same as it was when you were in high school. Busy one-lane streets, overgrown back roads, delicious Mom and Pop diners downtown. Everybody still knows everybody, and everyone is friendly and hospitable. You're not upset that you never left. No — this is a beautiful place, a nice place.
Your days are busy and full, which is exactly how you like it. You go to work and do a damn good job before going back home to your cozy, empty house. Sure, there's something inherently lonely about it all, but you don't mind. It's fine. Work is enough for you, enough to keep you preoccupied.
Your Friday nights are often spent at a local bar, where you have a drink or two and a mediocre meal before heading home to relax for the weekend.
It's a common occurrence to run into folks you know in a town like this. You can't even remember how many times you've come across people from high school or college. Admittedly, you're the kind of person who pretends not to recognize people unless they explicitly come up to you and strike up a conversation. You're not proud of it, but c'mon, if you talked to every single person you once knew, you'd never get anything done.
That's why you're so…put-off when you get the urge to approach the tall man in glasses sitting alone at a table tonight.
When he'd first walked in, you almost thought you were seeing a ghost. There was absolutely no way that Clark fucking Kent had just stepped into your hometown bar. He's bigger, that's for sure, and clad in a flannel with rolled up sleeves and a white t-shirt beneath it. It's tight across his chest, as if he didn't really have anything else to wear and that was all that he had on-hand. His jeans fit nicely, and his work boots are just as big as you remember them being.
Geez, how long has it been since his work boots sat beside your back door? How long has it been since he pulled them back on and walked out for the last time? How long has it been since Clark's been here at all?
That's when you realize: you really don't know. The Kent farm is way out on the other side of Smallville, a good twenty minute drive from your place, and when he left to move to the big city eight years ago, you didn't really have a reason to drive that way anymore. So, who knows? Maybe he visits Ma and Pa Kent monthly. Bi-monthly. A handful of times a year. How long has he been doing that? you wonder as you watch him sit down by himself and look over the menu. How many times have you almost crossed paths? How many times has he been here in Smallville and you had no idea?
You stare, because even though your body knows it's him, something feels off about him. You realize, after a few minutes, that it's the glasses. Somehow they make his nose look bigger and his eyes slightly further apart. Strange. He didn't used to wear glasses at all, so maybe his prescription has just gotten bad. Not that it matters. They suit him.
When you get to your feet and slip over to his table, it's almost as if your body is moving without asking you first. Your stomach is in knots, your palms are sweaty. You slide into the chair across from Clark, a small smile on your face as he glances up.
When he sees you, it's almost as if he can't quite believe that it's you. You look at him bashfully as a grin spreads across his face. He's still got those pretty dimples. Goddammit.
"Oh my gosh! Hi!" he exclaims, setting his menu down. He says your name, then, and your heart flutters. His voice is deeper than it was in high school, but his intonation is the exact same. Expressive, kind.
"Long time no see," you say. Clark laughs as he gets to his feet, and you stand up, too. He pulls you into a hug, and you get a whiff of hair product and cologne. It's different than what he wore all those years ago, but it's still so him. The musky undertone is the exact same as it used to be. His hold is firm, and you try to ignore the way heat blooms between your thighs at the feeling of his built form against you.
He pulls away too soon for your liking, and you both sit back down.
"It's so good to see you," Clark says. "What've you been up to?"
A loaded question, you think to yourself.
"Well," you chuckle, "I'm teaching. Finally."
Clark's smile widens.
"You went through with it?" he asks, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. You nod, cheeks hot. "Oh, that's good. I'm so glad, I bet you're amazing. I mean, I know you are, you were so passionate about education in high school…"
You nod.
"It's all I've ever wanted to do," you tell him. Clark hums.
"I know," he says. It makes you feel sort of strange, the way he says it. I know. As if he remembers all these things about you. As if he still thinks about you now and then despite the fact that he's a big shot journalist in Metropolis now.
You nod.
"What about you, mister Daily Planet?" you ask. Clark chuckles. You nudge him. "What's it like in the city?"
"Loud," Clark says, nodding. You laugh.
"Loud?"
"Very loud. And busy. But I love it."
"Good," you say. You nod, despite the fact that your smile is fading ever so slightly. Do you love it more than you loved me? you want to ask.
You still remember how you reacted when he told you he was applying to Metropolis University. You were so angry, so hurt. How could he be doing this to you? How could he present it as if you had a choice to make, as if there were a possibility that you could afford to go with him?
Perhaps you still hold that against him, in a way.
You try not to worry about it, try not to put such negative energy out into the universe, but the truth is that there has never been another man like Clark Kent. None of them even come close — none are anywhere near as kind or caring or intelligent. You think about all the one-night-stands you've had, and how pathetic you always felt whenever you'd have to close your eyes and picture Clark just to get even remotely close to an orgasm.
It's not just the sex that you miss. No, you miss his wit. His sass. His multitudes. He'd get all A's in school, then go skinny dipping in the lake behind your house alongside you. He'd bring the football team to victory, then go home to work on his points for debate club. He'd hold doors for you, but bend you over the bed if you asked nicely.
Clark sighs.
"It's really good to see you," he says. He means it. You hate that you can tell. "I think about you all the time."
"Well, now you're just buttering me up," you chuckle. Clark shakes his head.
"No, no, I mean it," Clark says. Is he doing this on purpose? Can he tell that you're feeling some type of way about all of this? "You cross my mind all the time. I'm really glad you're doing well."
You smile weakly. God, your heart aches. Why couldn't he have stayed here instead of going to Metropolis? What would things look like if he'd never gone? Would the two of you be together still? Married with a cute little house and a family?
"I'm glad you are, too," you say.
"Can I buy you a drink?" Clark asks, handing his menu over to you. You hesitate. You know exactly what this could lead to, but you don't really care. Would it be so bad to share a drink with him? To catch up over a basket of fries? To maybe take him back to your place after this?
"I'd like that," you say, nodding after a moment. "Thank you."
You decide on a cocktail, and Clark nods. He gets to his feet, then crosses the bar to get drinks for the two of you. You watch him, looking him over as the bartender gets to work on your cocktail. He really does look good — better than he did back when you knew him. He's broader, bulkier. His biceps are practically bulging out of his flannel. You look away to keep yourself from drooling.
Clark sits back down in front of you and hands you your cocktail. You blink at him.
"You don't drink?" you ask, noting his…root beer? Who the fuck orders root beer at a bar? Clark shrugs.
"Not really."
"You didn't even want a mocktail?"
Clark chuckles and sips his pop.
"I don't mind people knowing that I don't drink. It's not something to hide."
"I suppose not," you chuckle. "I just don't think I've ever seen anyone order root beer in a place like this."
Clark laughs too, then, and you savor the sound. God, he's handsome. So handsome that it's almost fucking painful.
"So. You got a girl back in Metropolis?" you ask, because you just have to know. There's no point in holding back with him, no point in being shy. You want him. He should know it, you decide, and the first step in letting him know is to get on the topic.
Clark shakes his head.
"No, no. Nothing like that."
"No? Not even a fling?"
"Not even a fling," Clark says, chuckling. Fantastic. He's single. You have a chance.
"I'm shocked," you say sincerely. "You look good."
Clark smiles that boyish smile once again, and your stomach flips.
"You do, too," he says.
Okay. Interesting turn of events…you weren't expecting him to dish out compliments in return. You shift in your seat, then sip your drink. It's then that you seem to notice the look in Clark's pretty blue eyes: he's totally enamored with you. He's staring at you shamelessly, looking you over and letting his eyes linger.
"I don't have anyone. Just, y'know. For the record," you say. "I'm usually too busy for stuff like that."
"Are you saying I should consider myself lucky?" Clark asks. You shrug.
"Maybe," you say. "I'm picky. That's really what it is."
"Got it. I'm definitely lucky."
You smile, but it's only half-there. The music and talking inside the bar seems to fade away, leaving you and Clark as the only things that matter. You hate him for leaving all those years. You love him for happening to step into the bar tonight. You want him for looking this fucking good on a random Friday night.
You take another long sip of your drink. It's strong. You already feeling yourself loosening. You lean back in your seat with a quiet sigh.
"You're the only man in the world," you say finally. Clark looks puzzled.
"Why do you say that?" he asks. You shrug.
"'Cause it's true. You set my standards so fucking high—" He says your name, but you keep going, "— and every man I've been with over the last, what, seven? Eight years? Has been so small in comparison to you."
Clark's cheeks are red. He's not smirking anymore. No, because you knows you mean this. You can see it on his face; he doesn't want to believe you but he does, and that feels scarily real. Frighteningly serious.
He sits with your words for a moment. Mulls them over. You sigh.
"Thanks for the drink. Sorry I made things weird," you say, going to stand. Clark reaches across the table quickly and touches your hand. He stops you. You look at him.
"Don't go. You didn't make anything weird."
"I feel like I did."
"You didn't," Clark says. "Finish your drink. It's okay. I promise."
You sigh, but sit back down anyway. You're too flustered to look at him, but you feel his eyes on you. He's looking you over, taking in your posture, your hands on your drink, your body language. He's always been so observant, your Clark.
Your Clark.
He's not your Clark anymore. He hasn't been for a long time.
"I haven't really dated anyone, either," Clark says finally. You pause, looking up at him. Once again, he means it. He's deeply serious and intentional. Your heart is in your throat, thudding and thumping up a storm, and Clark offers you a shy smile.
"You're just saying that to make me feel better," you say, even though you know that's not in his nature. Clark shakes his head.
"I'm not."
Well, fuck. What the hell is this, now? Where is it going to take you? What is going to happen tonight, and tomorrow, and the day after that? Clark's just told you that even after all this time, it's still you. He thinks about you all the time, and he hasn't dated anyone. Isn't that definitive confirmation that he still wants you, that he's always wanted you?
Oh, god, you should've found a way to go with him eight years ago. You never should've given him up. It doesn't make sense to think like this, you know it doesn't, but goddammit, you've missed him.
You sigh and take the final sip of your cocktail before meeting Clark's eyes.
"I live alone," you say finally. "Are you staying with your parents?"
Clark nods.
"Yeah," he says. "I'm visiting for the weekend."
You nod.
"…On a scale of one to ten, how concerned would they be if you came back to my place with me?"
Clark smile softly.
"They know I'm clearing my head," he says. "They don't have to know how it is I'm doing that."
Excitement rages within you. This is going to happen. You can hardly believe it.
You nod.
"Did you drive here?" you ask. Clark nods.
"Yeah. I can take you home, if you like. I'm sure your car will be fine overnight, I can—"
You shake your head.
"I can drive. I'm just down the road, anyway."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive."
Clark nods, and the two of you rise to your feet. You grab your keys from your purse, and Clark follows you outside. Your hips sway as you walk just because you know he's watching.
"Follow me, okay?" you say, glancing back at you unlock your car and open the driver side door. Clark nods as he pulls his own keys from his pocket.
"I will," he says. You get into the car, close the door, and buckle your seatbelt. You exhale softly as you pull out of your parking space. Clark does the same. The two of you start down the road towards your place.
It's only a five minute drive tops, but it feels like forever to you. Your body is hot when you pull into your driveway. You're so needy and blinded by lust that you don't have room to feel embarrassed by your slightly messy home. Clark pulls into the driveway and parks his car before turning it off and getting out. You smile at him as he pockets his keys and steps towards you. Your heart is thudding in your chest. Clark's hands smooth over your hips, and you let out a soft breath as you turn away to unlock the front door. It swings open. The two of you step inside, you turn on the lights, and Clark leans down to take off his boots. You let out a shkay breath as you close the door and re-lock it.
When you turn back around, Clark is staring at you.
"You're even prettier when I can see you properly," he says, referring to how dimly-lit the bar was. His words make you want to weep. He always was so romantic, so kind. You lean against the door, then tug him forward by the collar of his flannel. Clark lets himself be pulled forward. His hands find your hips again, and this time they stay there.
You unbutton his flannel slowly as you look up at him.
"You sure you're not just trying to get into my pants?" you tease as Clark leans down to kiss your throat softly. The feeling of it makes your eyes flutter, and you tilt your head to the side to give him plenty of room to do what he pleases.
"Mm mm," he hums, then pulls back and nudges his nose against yours. "I would never do such a thing."
You touch his cheek. How many times have you dreamed of this? How many times have you touched yourself to the thought of him? How many men have you pretended were Clark over the years?
You lean up, then, and press your lips firmly against his. Clark sighs, melting against you instantly. You push his flannel off, then run your hands up under his t-shirt as Clark squeezes your hips. He smooths his hands down over your thighs, then squeezes those, too.
You moan against his mouth, and when he presses his body further against yours, you feel his erection through his jeans. Fuck. The feeling of it makes your pussy throb with want, and you pull his t-shirt up over his head and throw it aside.
"Where's your bedroom?" Clark asks when you part for breath. You tug your shirt off, then reach around to unclip your bra.
"Down the hall, second door on the left," you say as you set your bra aside. Clark is on you again seconds later, squeezing your breasts and lowering his head to suck your nipple into his mouth. You gasp, brows furrowing and lips parting at the feeling.
"Oh, fuck," you sigh. Clark mumbles something, but it's totally muffled by your breast in his mouth, and you don't have the wherewith all to ask him what the hell he said. You run your fingers through his curls, which are lightly gelled and less unkempt than you remember.
"Clark," you moan as he moves over to suck at your other nipple. He looks up at you, then, and your stomach flips. God, he's pretty like this. So fucking gorgeous. "F-Fuck me…"
He moves up to kiss you properly once more, leaving your nipples puffy and sensitive when he pulls away from them. He squeezes your breasts in his big hands, and you moan as you cling to his biceps. He's certainly gained some confidence in the time that the two of you have been apart…
As the two of you kiss, you undo your jeans and underwear and push them down, struggling briefly with your shoes. You stumble against Clark while you wrestle with them, but you get them off moments later along with your pants. Clark supports you when you nearly topple over, and the feeling of his big hands against you has your core pulsing with want.
Clark goes to pull away to get to your bedroom, but you decide suddenly that you can't wait another fucking minute to have him inside of you. You've waited eight years too long. You grab him by the hair and give it a tug.
"Right here," you say. "Against the door."
Clark lets out a soft breath at your request, then nods. You kiss him as he unbuckles his belt, throws it aside, and undoes his jeans. When you feel his bare erection against you, you moan into his mouth and pull back so that you can look down at it. Sure enough, he's hard and leaking at the tip, and the sight makes your mouth water. You curse under your breath.
"I don't have a condom," you tell him, "but I don't mind."
Clark shakes his head.
"Neither do I," he tells you. You hook a leg up around his hip, revealing your core to his hungry eyes, and Clark takes hold of his cock to guide it to your entrance. You hold onto his shoulders tightly, and he presses his tip inside of you slowly. You gasp at the stretch, but the sting quickly turns into pleasure as he presses in further. He pauses when he's halfway in.
"You okay?" he asks softly, holding onto you.
"Yeah," you breathe. "Keep going, fuck…"
Clark presses in further, and your pussy clenches tightly around him. He inhales sharply at the feeling, clearly holding back. You hook your other leg around his hip, and Clark hurries to support your weight by holding you up against the door. You moan as he slips in further.
"Oh, fuck yes," you sigh. "C'mon, Clark…give it to me…"
His hips begin to rock, and you gasp at the feeling. Your head tilts, your eyes roll back.
"Fuuuck yes," you sigh. "T-There we go…so good, Clark…"
"F-Feels nice?" he asks, grinning at you dopily. You smile, kissing him again. This is all you've yearned for for the past eight years. Clark feels so much between than you remember. He's long and thick and hot and leaky, and oh jesus christ he's moving so fast…
You moan shamelessly.
"Yes, oh my god," you breathe. "Please, please…"
You're going dumb on his cock, head falling forward as you keep yourself wrapped around him while he presses you against the door. Clark kisses you.
"Stay with me, baby," he breathes. Baby. It clearly slipped out, it's not like he meant it, but it does things to you just the same. "K-Keep talkin' to me."
"I m-missed this," you admit. "Missed you."
Clark reaches up to squeeze your breast as he moves his hips faster. His cock is so deep inside of you that you don't know where you end and he begins, but isn't that the dream? Isn't that the way you want it?
"I missed you, too," Clark says. "So much…thought— oh, gosh, thought about you e-everytime…"
You moan at his words.
"Don't leave me again," you breathe. "Please…p-please, I don't wanna give this up…"
You're talking crazy, you know it. Long distance would never work…would it? Would he even want to? All the two of you have done is talk and have some mind-blowing sex…is that enough to get Clark to wanna stay in-touch with you? You don't know. You hope so.
"Neither do I," he says, then, and you could weep with relief. He wants you, too. All this time, all these years…what was stopping you from reaching out? Your anger? Your stubbornness? The fact that you'd dumped him out of teenage fury the night that he told you he got into Metropolis University? God, why did you do that?
"I'm sorry," you breathe. "I-I'm sorry for everything."
Clark touches your cheek as he pauses.
"Hey," he says. "Lookit me."
You do. His brows are furrowed. He's worried about you. You don't deserve his worry, you're sure of it.
"I don't blame you. I never did."
Your pussy clenches around his cock, silently asking for him to move faster again. He does, starting his thrusts back up. You nod.
"I know," you say. You push his curls off his forehead. "I do, though."
"Well, s-stop that," Clark breathes, and you chuckle. "I mean it…there's no use in worrying, now…we found each other a-again, right?"
You nod as you look at him.
"Yeah," you breathe. "Y-Yes…"
Clark nods, then caresses your cheek gently before leaning in to kiss you firmly.
"It's alright," he says softly. "I promise."
"Fuck, I don't deserve you," you breathe. "You feel s-so good…"
Clark kisses you again.
"Stop talkin' like that," he says. "You deserve me. You got me."
You gasp when he reaches down to rub your clit, just like how you taught him when the two of you first started fooling around years ago.
"Faster!" you breathe, head falling back against the door as sweat beads at your hairline. You groan as he pounds into you and rubs your clit at the same time. He's amazing. He's otherworldly. He's super.
"Oh, god, yeah! Yes! Just like that!" you moan.
"Do you want me to pull out?" Clark asks softly, eyes fluttering as he moves faster still.
"You better fuckin' not," you warn, and he chuckles.
"Yes, ma'am."
His orgasm comes first. It washes over him like a wave, engulfs him like water. He's still just as pretty when he comes as he was before. Seeing him experiencing so much pleasure and knowing that you're the one who brought it to him…it sends you hurdling over the edge. You gasp, inhaling sharply as your pussy spasms and clenches around his cock.
"Oh, fuck!" you moan, tears of pleasure wetting your lashes as Clark continues to rub your clit even as his thrusts slow. You feel so full of him, so full of love. You rub your fingers through his curls and tug him down so that you can kiss him firmly.
"That was really good," you whisper when he stops. You feel his seed oozing out of you around his cock, and you clench around him just to see his reaction. You smirk when he winces and kisses you again.
"Here, careful," Clark breathes as he pulls out and sets you down. He kisses your forehead when your feet are back on the ground. You smile and wrap your arms around him. He doesn't hesitate to wrap his arms around you.
"Clark…" you breathe, a million words on the tip of your tongue. You have so much to tell him, so much to say, but he calms you with three simple words:
"I've got you."
*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ
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