FRONT-PAGE SPREAD (P.2)
PART ONE
pairing: clark kent x reader
summary: diving head first into your experiment, clark amps up the romance factor but it's a surprise and awkward encounter that gets the journalistic juices flowing.
warnings: smutty fluff (but will be smutty in next parts), discussions of sex and past relationships, the journalistic foreplay is crazy, big dick clark bc of course, alcohol consumptions (clark can get drunk in this bc yes i forgot that part of his lore), wet dreams
a/n: based on one of my fav smallville plots which is Lois seeing a therapist bc she keeps having sex dreams about Clark <3 sorry for the delay i got crazy writer's block
All this talk about sex soaked your bones like syrup and trickled through your limbs like treacle, your body waking up aching and needy. Heaviness and tightness tugged at you all morning as you readied yourself for work, no memory of your salacious dream and no release to relieve you.
God, you couldn’t even remember the last time you felt worked up, never mind this badly.
That sticky sluggishness followed you all morning, your tight muscles and coiled stomach pleading for some attention, some relief, with every step and stretch.
So much so that Clark beat you to work that morning.
Sluggish footsteps clacked across the marble floors of the bullpen, a yawn crawling up your throat as the clock ticked closer to 9am. The scent of coffee wafted through the air, strong enough to power your aching legs to your desk where a bouquet of pink lilies, an iced coffee and a breakfast bagel lay side-by-side.
Sitting in your desk chair, you stared at the gifts in front of you. Cat approached you with an armful of copier paper and a smug grin, "Somebody has a secret admirer."
Rolling your eyes, you ignored her and dug into your breakfast, a meal you would normally forgo, but she perched on the edge of your desk and continued, "Seriously, who is it? Did they leave a note?"
There was a note attached to the flowers and you scrambled to grab it before Cat could, almost choking on your mouthful of bagel. Cat stared at you with narrow eyes, her glasses perched on the bridge of her nose.
"You totally have a boyfriend," She giggled at you, delicately playing with the lilies' petals before strutting away, casting a teasing glance over her shoulder, "You might as well tell me. I'll find out soon enough!"
Over the partitions between your desk, Clark hunched over his keyboard, a shy smile at his lips as he nudged his glasses up his nose.
"Very cute," You drawled, sipping your iced coffee and rearranging your desk to fit the bouquet of lilies beside your computer, "Now Cat thinks I have a secret boyfriend."
"Sorry," Clark ducked his head, his deep hushed tone undetectable under the loud hustle of bustle of The Daily Planet bullpen.
"I know that we agreed to emotionally stimulate our romance needs for the article but... the line, Clark," You reminded him with a playful sternness, "I appreciate the gesture. This is very sweet, but the flowers are a little too.. real."
"I realised that a little too late," Clark gave a tight-lipped smile, "Sorry. I didn't realise how much I... like romance. Now I've been given the green light to step back into that side of myself for this article... it's like the doors were blown wide open."
"It's not a bad thing, Clark. Someday there's going to be a very lucky lady on the other end of all of this, but right now we have an article to focus on," You pulled yourself closer to your desk and clicked your pen, "We've got the list thing in progress. We need to work on the body of the article."
It was easier said than done.
After almost a year of renouncing men and relationships, your mind was totally blank to all things lovey dovey, all things sex (bar the dream from last night, which was forgotten as soon as your eyelids fluttered open). A fact that you were mortified to admit.
The text cursor blinked at you, your word document still blank after an entire morning of failed brainstorming and ruminating over your previous articles. Clark was torn between helping Lois with a source and coming up with ideas for your joint article.
But with almost six years of singleness between you, the ideas were sparse... basically non-existent.
"I'm heading for lunch," Clark stopped by your desk, swinging his satchel onto his shoulder, the mass of leather smacking his stomach with a clumsy thud.
"Was that an invite?" You narrowed your eyes at him, the cap of your pen nibbled between your teeth as you spun your chair towards him.
"Yeah- Yes, but if you have other plans-" Clark raised his brows as his fidgeting hands adjusted his tie, "I was thinking the cafe on the corner."
Grabbing your purse, you jumped to your feet and nudged him towards the doors, "I'm messing with you, Smallville. I'm starving."
"Lois finished her article so she won't need my help anymore. I'm all yours for the rest of the day," Clark said softly, pressing the button to call the elevator. A small crowd gathered around you, awaiting one of the three elevators' arrival.
As soon as the elevator dinged and the doors opened, the crowd of staff shuffled inside as you responded, "You're like the last pair of Manolos on the discount rack."
In the cramped elevator, Clark gazed down at you with furrowed brows, only a few inches between your chests in the crowded space. His towering stature, despite hunching in on himself, dwarfed you, knocking on the door of your primal instincts in a way that you did not want to acknowledge.
The dream. Oh god.
An orange sky hung overhead, the sun dipping below the rolling hills of Kansas farmland, and the loud buzz of cicadas echoed across the Kent farm.. or what your subconscious mind pieced together from pictures and anecdotes of his home.
Although the man in your dream wasn’t exactly the Clark Kent you knew - he wore no glasses and his clothes were akin to the style your ex-boyfriend used to wear - the baby blue eyes and pouty lips were undoubtedly your unconscious mind’s reconstruction, even idealisation, of the man.
Black curls hung over his forehead as he towered over you, his chin almost to his chest to meet your eyes. A raw fire blazed in his gaze, his large working man’s hands grabbed your hips and pulled you flush against him.
Ripping his shirt over his head, this lumberjack/farm boy figment of your imagination captured your lips in a deep kiss, wrapping his thick arms around you.
Glimpses of last night’s subconscious flashed in your mind as you craned your neck to look up at Clark, the real Clark with his dorky glasses hanging from the bridge of his nose and his plump lips twisted into a tight-lipped quirk.
Averting your eyes and turning away from him, you cleared your throat and plastered on a smile, "Everybody wants you." The elevator doors opened to the lobby and Clark smiled to himself, following you out.
Club sandwiches and french fries crowded the table, leaving barely enough room for a notepad each. The cafe was alive with lunchtime customers, a buzz of people in stiff shirts and leather shoes.
"Did you see Superman stopped the Bexler building from burning to the ground last night?" You made conversation between bites of your sandwich. Clark was on his second serving of lunch, sinking enough food to fuel a high school football team.
"Mm. I need to draft my next article on him. Set up an interview too," Clark nodded, glancing up from his plate to smile at you, however his lips immediately sank and his eyes dropped as he stuttered, "I- uh- I need to make note- um note of the train and uh the fire in the Bexler building."
"Clark, are you-" Your brows knitted, your eyes roaming over his tight shoulders and almost pained expression.
"Clark?" A woman’s voice interrupted you, her voice light and bouncy as it floated over your shoulder, her presence growing closer as Clark lifted his eyes higher and higher until she was standing beside your table.
Long brunette waves hung over her shoulder and hazel doe-eyes shone brightly in the soft sunlight. She was small in stature, but then again everyone is small when Clark is in the room.
"I thought it was you," She smiled brightly, her gloved hands folded in front of her, "I barely recognised you in something other than flannel."
"Hi," Clark almost whispered, carefully putting his fork down and wiping his hands on his napkin, "I- What are you doing here?" Ever the gentleman, Clark stood in the presence of a lady, smoothing his shirt and straightening his tie, "I thought you moved to Edge City."
"I'm here for work. Just for a few days to meet with a client then I'm heading back," She answered with a saccharine sweet smile, like sunshine embodied, as she turned to you, "I'm Lana. Lang."
With a polite smile, you introduced yourself, your journalistic curiosity itched to play twenty questions, "It's great to meet you. How do you two know each other?"
Clark's eyes widened momentarily before neutralising, but the tips of his ears burned red.
"Oh, we dated, years ago. When we were in high school," Lana swatted her hand with a little chuckle and Clark added with a tight jaw, "And college."
A shudder tickled at your spine as Lana’s jaw set and her eyes bore into Clark. The familiar but long-lost exchange between their eyes alone reminded you of the one time you bumped into Jamie after the break-up, stilted and uncomfortable.
A stiff tension bubbled between the three of you, a layer of frost beneath the casual pleasantries. After the elevator revelation and this, you wished you could retract that accepted invite to lunch.
Adjusting her purse on her shoulder, Lana gave a weak laugh, "Maybe I should go. My lunch break is almost over."
"No it's-" Clark winced, reaching out to stop her before diverting his hands into his pockets, "It's fine. Sorry. It's nice to see you."
"You too. I've seen your articles. Superman, huh?" Lana attempted to fill the silence, raising her brows in question, the noise of the cafe doing its best to drown out the awkwardness.
"The one and only," Clark chuckled, scuffing his shoe before you interjected, unable to sit through this stilted conversation between exes any longer, "Clark's stuck with me this week. I don't think the gossip column was his first choice but Superman can wait, we have lonely housewives and stagnant relationships to revive."
"I thought I recognised your name!" Lana grinned, her eyes widening a little as she pointed a finger at you, "I saw the Met Morning talk about your work. I love your column! Real eye-opening stuff."
"Thanks. My next article will have a guest in the byline" You joked, plates of food and empty notebooks sat on your table, "And not just crumbs and coffee stains."
"I look forward to reading it," Lana smiled, before pursuing her lips and nodding her head, "I'll leave you to your lunch. I have to head back. It was nice to meet you, and it was good to see you, Clark."
Exchanging goodbyes was a weight off your lungs, even more so for Clark who dropped into his chair and took a deep breath as soon as Lana pushed through the cafe doors.
"Jesus, talk about frosty," You raised your eyebrows, wiping your fingers on your napkin. Clark piled up his cutlery and plates, tucking his notepad back into his bag.
"We should head back. Lunch is almost over," Clark glanced at his watch for a split second then signalled for the cheque. Failing to mask your surprise, you checked the time and sat back in your chair.
Clark looped his finger around his collar before loosening his tie and unfastening the top button of his shirt.
She must have done a real number on him.
Sticking to his earlier promises, Clark paid the bill and cemented his commitment to the article, his effortless chivalry sparking something inside of you. Maybe this article might pan out.
Clark was quiet on the walk back to the office and you decided not to push it, contently walking side-by-side as your mind whirred with ideas.
Unfortunately Clark was quiet for the rest of the afternoon, briefly conversing with you about the content of the body of the article.
Packing away your things, you leaned against the partition between your desks and Clark jerked his head towards you, his glasses jostling down his nose, “Dinner tonight? My place again? We can get takeout?”
Maybe after last night’s episode, it was stupid to invite Clark over again but the weird mixture of sexual repression and bonding with the man had obviously distorted in your mind and the slip wouldn’t happen again now that your conscious mind knew about it.
Clark nodded and righted his glasses, “Sure, yeah. I can cook though. I’m not the biggest fan of eating out.”
"Don't tell a girl that, Clark, she’ll never see you again," You teased in an attempt to get so much as a flustered blush from the man, but he gave a tight-lipped smile and turned back to his work.
Melancholy over past relationships was not going to finish this article… on second thought, it could be fuel to his already admitted long-lost fire.
Shaking your head, you softly rubbed your palm across his broad shoulder, "Don’t beat yourself up, Smallville. Come over at 7." With a small wave, you grabbed your flowers and headed home.
Sweat dripped from your skin and the ends of your baby hairs as your rolled-up Pilates mat bounced against your hip, the strap digging into your aching shoulder.
Clark was waiting at your door when you stepped out of your apartment building elevator and, unlike last night, he wore sweatpants and a Met Meteors sweatshirt, his curls matted against his skin with what you presumed was sweat as it hadn't rained in days,
"Hey," Clark greeted with a warm smile, a bag of groceries in one hand and his gym bag over his shoulder. Without hesitation, he unloaded everything you were carrying onto his own back, "I texted you about dinner when I was at the gym but obviously you were in your class so I made an educated guess."
Your keys jingled as you unlocked your front door, guiding Clark into the kitchen, "I'm happy with whatever. Are you sure you're okay to cook?"
"Of course, I love to cook. My ma would be real disappointed if I offered to cook for a lady and then rescinded the offer at the very last minute," Clark unloaded the bag of groceries onto the counter, his slight Kansas accent twanging on certain syllables.
"A lady, hm?" You raised a brow at him, grabbing two bottles of water from the refrigerator and placing one beside him. Clark furrowed his brows and so you continued, "Okay great, well make yourself at home. Do you mind if I go shower? You can hop in after if you want."
"Oh sure," Clark's voice spiked an octave as his eyes crinkled and his dimples popped, "Thanks. Dinner will be about an hour anyway.”
He turned back to the ingredients laid on the counter, hunting the cupboards for whatever he needed, and you took that as your cue to go, thanking the heavens above that his mood had drastically improved.
Steam fogged the shower, your body relaxing under the hot stream and your muscles thanking you for finally relieving them of the last night’s neglected ache. Vanilla and coconut scrubs and hair care washed away the day, a soft contented sigh drifting past your lips.
Until you were halfway through rinsing your body wash off when the water pressure dropped to sporadic spurts of cold, colder, icy water.
Fucking building manager still hadn’t fixed the boiler.
Like a stone in your shoe, you stepped out of the shower and towelled off, moisturising your skin and redressing. A brief panic stole the breath from your lungs as you considered what to wear.
When Clark was over last night, you wore some old pyjamas but that was a few glasses of wine in and you were past the point of caring. Staring into your drawer, a pair of superman panties and a big t-shirt pleaded at you before you tucked them away like a secret and rifled for a presentable, more appropriate lounge set.
The kitchen buzzed with home comforts. Clark waltzed around the counters, piling up everything he used by the sink, as a pot simmered on the stove.
“Smells amazing,” You sniffed the air, practically floating over to the hob as your stomach grumbled at the tease of a good meal, “You seriously didn’t need to do this.”
Clark’s gaze stopped on you, looking over your matching, nicer sweats with parted lips before quickly snapping his gaze to the bubbling pot.
“It’s going to take another twenty minutes to simmer,” Clark gave a shy smile, stirring the pot and sampling the soup with a teaspoon before adding a sprig of something fresh.
“You’re welcome to use the shower,” You offered as your wet hair soaked your top, “But the boiler is still on the landlord’s ‘to fix’ list so you might get a cold surprise in there.”
“You really don’t mind?” Clark raised an eyebrow at you, twisting his upper body in your direction as he continued to stir the pot.
“Of course not,” You shook your head, leaning against the counter and crossing your arms, “Plus, you kinda smell like a beef factory right now.”
Laughter crinkled at the corners of Clark’s eyes as he placed the lid on the pot and wiped his forehead with the back of his forearm, smearing his curls in all manner of direction.
With the instruction to stir every few minutes, Clark disappeared into your bathroom and the sounds of the shower echoed through the apartment. In his absence, you switched the TV on and scattered your work paraphernalia across the coffee table.
“Hey, please can you grab my gym bag?” Clark called from the bathroom, the pitter patter of the shower now replaced by the heavy whir of the extractor fan.
Rounding the coffee table, you grabbed his gym bag and headed towards the bathroom. With a soft knock, you announced your presence and the door opened slightly to reveal Clark’s thankful grin, his glasses fogged up as droplets of water cascaded down his bare shoulder and arm.
“Thanks,” He widened the gap ever so slightly more to fit his gym bag through and grinned at you, “I won’t be long.” With a smile of your own, you stepped back and, in the bathroom mirror’s reflection, caught a glimpse of Clark’s broad back, the muscles rippling as he moved, before the door closed.
Glued to the spot, you swallowed thickly as the flashes of your dream showcased in your mind like an old-fashioned projector film. Flapping your hands, you willed yourself back to the kitchen and mindlessly stared into the bubbling pot as you stirred slowly, willing away every thought about Clark.
It was like last night’s dream opened Pandora’s box and now it couldn’t be shut. Poor Clark was just a pawn in the game of your willpower vs your want, the repressed desire squashed by your break up now unleashed.
“Almost ready?” Clark approached you as he rubbed his curls with a towel, jolting you from your reverie. A bulky sweater and sweatpants hung from his large frame.
“Jesus, for a giant, you have a way of sneaking up on a girl,” You exhaled sharply, your hand on your chest as your heart hammered.
“Sorry,” Clark flashed a grin, his dimples popping, “I’ll send out a signal next time.” He let his towel hang from his shoulders as he stepped beside you and lifted a teaspoon of his soup to your lips.
A wide grin pulled at his cheeks when you swallowed the mouthful with a pleased groan, “That’s really good. Dish it up, Chef Kent.”
Sitting at your dining table, you and Clark ate his mother’s soup recipe, sharing slices of warmed tiger bread.
“It must be good. Nobody has said anything since we sat down,” Clark dipped another slice of tiger bread into his soup.
“I’m gonna need your mother’s phone number,” You laughed, covering your mouthful of soupy bread with your hand, “And thank the culinary gods for blessing you with a gift.”
A soft giggle escaped Clark and a soft pink warmed the apples of his cheeks. Eating in silence, the pair of you practically licked the bowl clean before clearing the table.
With rubber gloves up to his elbows, Clark scrubbed at the pot he used for the soup, hot water and suds splashing around the kitchen sink.
“Can I ask you something?” You stacked the used dishes and cutlery in the dishwasher, switching it on and coming to Clark’s side with a dish towel, “Why have you been single for so long?”
“Oh,” Clark blinked at you before turning back to the soapy pot, “I- I don’t know. I guess I haven’t been looking and it just sort of happened.”
“Yeah I get that,” You lifted yourself onto the counter top, towel-drying the washed crockery on the draining board, “What about Cat? Jimmy told me you went on a date with her.”
The tips of Clark’s ears burned red and he pushed his glasses up his nose with his forearm, his gloved hands dripping with soap. His lips parted as he fumbled for a response, “She’s great, don’t get me wrong, and she’s fun but we’re not compatible romantically. We agreed to be friends.”
“Thing is, she never mentioned it so if I had to guess, you were maybe the instigator of that,” You narrowed your eyes at him with a playful smirk, “C’mon what happened? I’m a nosey bitch.”
Clearing his throat, Clark’s eyes darted to your lips and bypassed the profanity. He turned back to the now clean pot and continued scrubbing, his shoulders hunching, “She kissed me and- and I realised I wasn’t ready. And I couldn’t be ready for her, if that makes sense.”
After the interaction with his ex-girlfriend Lana, you knew exactly what he meant, what he struggled to verbalise.
“If you’re gonna get back out there, it’s got to be the right person otherwise opening your heart again isn't worth it,” You nodded and met his eyes, softening as you exchanged a look of understanding, “You’re preaching to the choir, Kent.”
“At least we have our careers and... work out classes to channel our frustrations,” Clark gave a lopsided grin before unplugging the sink and removing the wet rubber gloves. You gave a weak laugh, jumping down from the counter.
A soft silence fell between you as Clark wiped the counters and you put the dried pot back in the cupboard. In silence, you grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses, following Clark to the sofa.
“Can I ask you about Lana?" You glanced across at him as he watched you pour two glasses of wine and hand one to him, "We don't have to, but it might help the article."
Sipping his wine with a thick gulp, Clark adjusted the pillow behind his back, fidgeting his hips against the plush leather, "It will... At least I think it will."
"Seriously Clark, we don't have to," You chanced a gentle hand on his upper arm as you settled into the couch cushions. He softly squeezed your hand under his and shook his head, his curls bouncing.
"I never really talked about it, to anyone. Bottled it up. I think that's why it hit me so hard today," Clark admitted, swallowing a mouthful of wine and rubbing the skin at the collar of his shirt.
"When Jamie and I broke up, I started seeing a therapist," You exhaled a scoff, raising your glass to your lips, "It still hurt to see him but I think talking helped in the long run."
Nodding to himself, Clark's head was dipped and his gaze was trained on his wooly socks, scuffing against the leg of the coffee table.
He gulped down another mouthful of wine, wincing softly, "We- We started dating in high school and were on-and-off through college. I was obsessed with her for years and I still can't believe she wanted to be my girlfriend. My only other girlfriend was two years later and I realised I wasn't ready for a normal relationship."
"What do you mean 'normal relationship'?" You asked, tucking your legs underneath you and melting into the back of the sofa. A sitcom rerun played on the TV screen, a blur of colour and canned laughter behind your conversation.
"I put her on a pedestal and, when we were in college and our lives started to drift, I was willing to follow her wherever. I couldn't believe that she loved me, chose me," Clark scoffed and rubbed his neck, "Like a lost puppy."
"You were in love. That's normal," You shrugged, topping up your glasses of wine. Smiling to yourself when Clark mindlessly tilted his glass towards you for a refill.
"She could do no wrong. Still can't. That's not normal," Clark shook his head, "I met Lori in college but we started dating after we graduated. That was a normal relationship. Something wasn't working and we would talk about it, not just bottle it up and wait for it to bubble over."
"I know where you're coming from. It's the first love curse," You balanced your wine glass between your thighs and unfolded a blanket over your lap, stretching it out for Clark if he chose to accept it, "You're so blinded by love that nothing pops that perfect bubble. Same with my first boyfriend. He cheated on me and I still stayed with him because I thought that love was enough to forgive him."
Pulling the blanket over his lap, Clark sipped his wine and melted into the sofa, his large frame overwhelming the cushions, "I saw her today and I was 14 again. But we could never trust each other. Lori saw right through me. She knew I found it hard to trust her and she knew why. It wasn't fair on her."
Clark rubbed his eyes, pushing his glasses to his forehead before righting them on the bridge of his nose. With your glass to your lips, you looked at him as he continued talking, really looked at him.
His blue eyes were slightly green under the LED lights of the television and his eyelids drooped with every sip of his wine. A slick shine coated his plump pink lips after every mouthful, his tongue peaking out to swipe away the remnants of wine. Large hands curled around the wine glass in his lap, absentmindedly thumbing at the fuzzy blanket.
Normally Clark would be Clark to you, but that dream fucked up your mental filter and the sight of his thick fingers circling the rim of the glass pulled a soft gasp from you.
"I just wish I had someone that I could be open with, totally honest about the relationship. What works, what doesn't work. I want to trust my partner and I want her to trust me," Clark carded his fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp before smoothing down the jostled curls.
"Add it to the list," You grabbed a notebook from the coffee table and tossed it into his lap, "Sounds like that would massively spice up your relationship."
"But- But it's not sexual..?" Clark's brows knitted, settling the notebook in his lap and sliding the pen from the spiral bind.
"Doesn't have to be," There was a slight slur in your words as you topped up your glasses again, "But I think if you fully trusted your partner, there would be no barriers and imagine sex without barriers.. just open, honest, raw passion."
Clark's parted lips quivered as a heavy breath exhaled from his chest, blinking at you with wine-flush cheeks. A satisfied smirk tugged at your lips, "I'm right, aren't I?"
A smile cracked from his stupor and Clark breathed a soft laugh, nodding and adding it to his list. The page was split down the middle with your list on the left and Clark's on the right. After adding his second bullet point, he sheepishly continued onto the third.
So far his read:
1. lie back and not worry about anything (hurting partner or overwhelming her) / take a backseat and let partner take charge
2. have open and honest conversations about the relationship
3. hot/cold sensations
Narrowing your eyes at him, you raised your glass to your lips before abandoning it on the coffee table, "Elaborate." Clark flushed as a bubbly laugh tumbled from him, the pen in his hand tapping against the notebook, "You remember what I told you yesterday?"
"The big dick thing?" You giggled with a slight slur, feeling the wine fizzing through your synapses, "Clark, a woman is never going to forget that kind of confession."
His lips pursed and his dimples popped as he fought his laughter and wide grin, "Yes, that. It's sort of meant that I've had to find... work arounds."
Resting your head against your fist, you listened intently and leaned against the back of the sofa.
"I've always got to factor in preparation time," Clark giggled softly as his face grew redder and redder, thankfully the wine kept his lips loose, "But a lot of time, that's not viable. So I have had a lot of cold showers over the years and I've become... Pavlov'ed- "
He broke his sentence with a laugh before continuing, scrubbing his neck, "When you said the shower might turn cold, I panicked so bad. What kind of man would I be if I came out of your bathroom aroused over cold water."
Laughter tumbled from your lips at his confession. Clark tugged the blanket over his head and curled into the sofa, his own deep laughter muffled under the fleece.
"Okay okay, your turn," Clark emerged from the blanket and finished his glass of wine before placing it on the coffee table, his face and neck blotched with spots of red flush, "Have you thought of anymore?"
You nodded and took the notebook from his lap, searching for the pen in the folds of the blanket before clinking the end, "Don't let this go to your head but I love princess treatment. The flowers, the breakfast, the coffee... all there, just waiting for me. It's like a physical representation of I appreciate you."
"Really? I thought you were annoyed because Cat thinks you have a secret boyfriend," Clark lifted his brows and adjusted his hips, widening his legs as he sunk into the cushions.
"I was but not really," You bit your lip and giggled, "You picked my favourite flowers too. And you got my breakfast order perfect. That was the perfect way to get me into that mindset."
Clark hummed, his eyes trailing over you as he pushed his glasses up his nose.
"I also thought about what we talked about yesterday. You know I made that joke about Superman and Batman?" You glanced over at him and Clark's eyes jumped up to yours, nodding softly, "I tried to convince Jamie to do role-play when we were together but he never went for this one.”
“Yeah?” Clark nibbled at his bottom lip, tapping his fingers against the back of the sofa, almost reaching your shoulders.
“Don’t... Don’t laugh,” You huffed a laugh, raising a finger between you, “I asked him to dress up as Superman.”
“Super- Superman?!” Clark choked, his brows jumping to his hairline.
Shoving your face into a cushion, you nodded and giggled, “We did the whole French maid thing, the plumber and leaky shower, the pool boy and lonely housewife, but that’s where he drew the line. I still have the costume.”
Clark’s lips parted, trembling to form words but no sound came out. An untapped fantasy seared into his mind.
“You’re judging me so hard right now,” You tossed the throw pillow at him and Clark fumbled to catch it, holding it in his lap.
“I’m not, I swear! I just didn’t expect you to say that,” Clark protested, shaking his head, “Why- Why do you still have it?”
“I always hoped he’d agree to it but it’s been collecting dust since we split,” You shrugged, and a soft smirk graced your lips, “Who knows.. it might get used eventually.”
“Can I see it?” The question tumbled from his lips before he could restrain himself. Curiosity got the better of him.
Raising a brow at him, you paused as a smile lifted at your cheeks, “Journalistic curiosity or plain nosiness?”
“Bit of both,” Clark blushed, tentatively following you as you retreated to your bedroom. Reaching into the top of your wardrobe, you raised onto your tiptoes and pried a large box from the tower of shoeboxes with the tips of your fingers.
The traces of alcohol swimming in your mind unsettled your balance and warmth soaked your back as Clark leaned over you, effortlessly grabbing the box and avoiding the potential Jenga collapse of tumbling boxes above you.
A flush crawled up your skin at the gesture, pulling your shirt down where it had risen and turning to Clark. His boyish smile beamed down at you as he handed you the box, "Didn't want an avalanche."
"Thanks," You stole a glance at his tall frame and wide shoulders, before dropping the box to your bed. A rush of nervousness licked up your spine at the looming male presence behind you and the box of forgotten shit.
A smattering of dust lay across the black glossy exterior, expelling into the air as you pulled the lid loose. Inside lay a treasure trove of your long-forgotten sex stuff; a pair of fluffy handcuffs, sex dice, the remnants of a sexy nurse costume, the odd vibrator and cock ring, and the topical Superman costume.
Most of the items in the box were gag gifts, silly and amusing presents from birthday parties and bachelorette parties. The Superman costume, however, was one you purchased yourself.
Clark cleared his throat, his face a worrying shade of red at the sight of your collection. Averted eyes darted around your bedroom as his hands dove into his pockets.
"Sorry," You laughed, grabbing the costume and shutting the lid on everything else, "Lots of stupid gifts. Have I ever told you about the time I met Jamie's parents for the first time?"
Clark shook his head, adjusting his collar as the redness subsided into an adorable shade of pink at the apples of his cheeks.
"Let's just say I blindly reached into the cupboard and thirty minutes later, my in-laws were eating penis pasta," You rambled on, cringing at your attempt to lighten the thick tension, "Courtesy of a girls trip to Miami."
"Is that it?" Clark thankfully changed the subject, pointing to the thick plastic parcel, hints of blue peeking out of the sliced opening. Humming a response, you pulled away the plastic and unfurled the costume.
A laugh punched from Clark and the painful sting of insecurity spread across your skin, prickling like goosebumps. You glanced at the costume as Clark took it from you and held it up against himself.
Maybe this is why Jamie refused to participate. The costume looked like an oversized child's onesie, nothing sexy or sleek about it. The fuzzy material and bulky zip were something out of a 1960s sci-fi show.
Amusement took over you, your body racked with laughter.
"I can see what was so enticing," Clark grinned and oh god, was Clark Kent teasing you?
"Shut up! Maybe I was a little blindsided," You shoved him playfully and snatched the costume, screwing it into a ball and tossing it aside, "But the fantasy remains the same. Cat did a poll and almost 1/2 of the Metropolis population that voted would totally do Superman."
Clark went all shy again, his dimples deepening as he pursed his lips, "Really? I didn't know people felt that way."
"I know he's your friend so this is totally between us, but yeah! He's hot, ripped and like the nicest guy ever," You rolled your eyes; of course, men wouldn't see his appeal.
"Steve says nice guys always finish last," Clark muttered with a crease between his brows, his fists buried deep in his pockets.
A loud scoff came from you, "Steve is a thrice-divorced bonehead. Don't take advice from him. You could totally work the geeky, gentle giant thing you've got going on."
Clark furrowed his brows at you, his lips parting wordlessly. Playfully rolling your eyes, you punched his upper arm, trying to be friendly despite the softness in his eyes as he looked down at you.
His bicep dwarfed your palm as you teased, "Single for five years? I know you've got your qualms but c'mon Clark, you could at least have some fun."
"Women don't usually stick around for the guy that's scared of fun," Clark mumbled, hunched against your dresser and scratching his cheek. He gave a tight-lipped smile at your knitted brows.
"So what you've got a big dick! You're not gonna kill someone, Clark," You scoffed loudly, tucking away the costume into the box.
Clark choked on his inhale, a fresh blush crawling up his neck, "Darn it, I should've kept my mouth shut." His coyness was adorable, the sudden fidgeting and twitching under your gaze.
“Look I’m sorry, I don’t mean to embarrass you but Clark if it’s as big as you’re making out, you should be proud,” You shrugged, shifting the boxes in the top of your wardrobe to make space, “Few men are blessed with that kind of gift.”
Clark flushed, tugging at his sweater as if the heat of his skin was melting it into his flesh. How on God’s green earth did the conversation become about his dick?
Taking the box from your hands, Clark manoeuvred the wardrobe jenga and slotted the sex box back into place, his sweater rising and exposing his toned mid-riff.
“I think the biggest I’ve ever seen was like 6 inches or something,” You continued, absentmindedly watching him as he tugged his sweater over his happy trail.
Clark was just so easy to talk to and you were a nosy bitch that likes to gossip. The whole night was spent bonding and this was all for the article, you reasoned.
“Are you- Are you trying to ask how.. big I am?” Clark stuttered with fast blinks. His fingers fidgeted against your dresser.
"No! Oh my god no!" You whipped towards him with wide eyes and Clark visibly deflated with relief, his shoulders and chest dropping with a deep exhale, "It's late. I think- I think I should go to bed. Too much wine."
Backing out of your bedroom, Clark gave a tight-lipped smile, smoothing his hair at the nape of his neck, "Good idea. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Wait Clark," You followed after him, sighing at the mess you made, "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I think- This is how me and Cat talk, and Lois. Nothing is off-limits. I know you're a guy, obviously, but I'm sorry, crossed a line there."
"It's okay. I got a little too comfortable there too," Clark waved a hand, tossing the blanket over the back of the sofa and retrieving his phone from the crevices of the sofa cushions.
"I don't- You don't need to run off. It's late. You've had a few glasses of wine," You kept your distance from him, shuffling into the kitchen to grab some waters, "You can't drive home. Take the couch for the night."
Clark hesitated before twisting towards you, "Are you sure?" Stepping closer to him, you offered him the water, which he gladly took.
"Yeah. I can't make you walk home this late. Not after teasing you about your- Never mind, that's an off-limits topic," You chuckled and thankfully Clark smiled back. It was confirmation enough that everything was fine between the two of you.
With a hoard of blankets and pillows, Clark accepted your offer and took the sofa for the night, bidding you a sheepish goodnight as you closed your bedroom door.
Maybe the line was a little blurred but that was just the wine. The experiment between the two of you would still work and the article would be submitted on Friday.
Despite the ache in your stomach, you pushed every thought about Clark to the deep caverns of your mind, tucked away never to be seen again.
That night you drifted off to sleep with the contented thought that you and Clark were becoming friends, no longer confined to the work bullpen.
But goddamn... it was hard to deny the truth...
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