Pairing: Journalist!Clark Kent x Photographer!Reader
Summary: After Clark keeps cancelling on your favorite plans with you, ghosting you for a few months, a reunion is all you need to fully reconnect
Warnings: SMUT (18+ minors dni) porn with plot, fluff and smut, pinv, no protection (use condoms for the love of god), prone bone, cowgirl, creampie, overstimulation, squirting (a little bit), nipple/breast sucking, cunnalingus, heavy praise (Clark just loves talking her through it), both reader and clark are super needy, softdom clark, no mentions of reader besides shes AFAB, no use of y/n, clark kind of goes 'shes busy lil bro'
Word count: 5.4k (i got very carried away)
The first mistake was getting a boyfriend. The mistake before that was letting Clark raincheck you. The mistake before that one was letting it become a weekly occurrence.
Near the start of the summer, Clark clumsily wheeled his chair over to your desk, finding you in a deep state of concentration between two identical filters. He probed nervously by asking about your baking history, further explaining how his parents were having a family reunion and wanted Clark to bring something. You laughed at him, not intentionally cruel,
“What, you want me to pretend to be your fiance, or something?” You asked, a huge grin on your face, contrasting the slight frown on his. He tried to explain he just needs to bake a dessert to bring, and probed again about your baking history. After a laugh-filled agreement to help him, you appeared at his apartment on the Saturday before he left, holding a bag of ingredients. Despite your reasonable anxiety about baking alongside the largest man on Earth, it turned out into an adorable apple pie. The rest of the evening was spent eating the leftovers and ranting about work. Besides the few nights you were dragged to the bar with everyone, it was rare you ever saw Clark outside of work. It wasn’t that he was intimidating, well he was, but something about his hurriedness to leave work everyday made you hesitant to ask him out. But seeing his relaxed state in his mostly empty apartment, loudly gesturing about politics, lowered the anxiety in your stomach.
That summer turned into the months of weekly baking sessions at both your apartments. Instead of rewriting articles, and making the changes Perry requested, Clark would instead look for baking recipes to try with you. Each session led to deeper and deeper discussion into each other's lives and little neurotic tendencies. You rambled to your friends, more than you liked to admit, about how perfect Clark was, how badly you wanted to take him out, how perfect he looked in his nerdy glasses. Once the summer heat died out and the leaves started dying, work picked up at the Daily Planet. You started taking jobs photographing weddings to get extra money, Clark was extra dedicated to improving his writing and spent more time at home after work. The first week it started to decay, Clark sent an innocent text. You were sitting in your apartment, going over some photos for a client and cleaning them up, waiting for Clark to come over. Just a simple heads up he’s too busy to make it this week. The news hurt a little more than it should. Way more than it should. You had cleaned up your whole apartment, cleaned the bathroom, picked up your room, all for one little text. After a minute, you text back a quick, tight, “no worries! See you next time”.
That next time didn’t come. That next Saturday, the same text, this time a little more last minute. You call your friends as you put everything away, venting about how frequent these rainchecked sessions are getting. They don’t understand why you can’t just see him during work, and you scramble to explain how chitchat around the water cooler isn’t what you were missing. It wasn’t just talking and seeing Clark. You could do that all day at work, it was the intimacy of being alone with him, getting to work together. After another week of rainchecked sessions, you stopped expecting to see him at all. The recipes stopped getting shared and your texting slowly died out. Not to mention the probability of talking to Clark on your lunch breaks dropped, seeing as he only ate lunch at his desk now.
Your friends insisted you get back on the horse.
“You didn’t even date him, dude. I wasn’t gonna say anything, but like, it’s kinda bumming everyone out watching you mourn him,” Your best friend said, arms crossed in the doorway, looking at you lying in bed. “It’s a little pathetic, man” She adds, shrugging when you look over your shoulder, an offended look on your face, “Jus’ being honest, babes.”
The next Superman fight, you ran four blocks to grab some photos, bumping into another photographer. Was he Clark? No, but the next best thing. Being able to spend the winter with someone was pleasant. Just pleasant. He was fine. Everything was just fine, nothing compared to the overwhelming joy and giddiness you got from baking with Clark. He soon proved to be nowhere near as kind and thoughtful as Clark was. Eventually, you stopped trying to force something that was never going to last. The breakup was loud and messy, cruel for no real reason. The breakup landed you here, stuck in your apartment during new years, cuddled up on the couch, alone. This might be more pathetic than how you were mourning Clark. The breakup was rough. Rougher than what you wished for. Apparently if you date someone for a few months, and they aren’t holding onto past crushes, they actually get attached. It was the longest hour of your life, sitting in the park, listening to him go over the stages of grief, at least the first four. You tried to keep it civil, but once he brought up Clark as a reason, and your terrible poker face cringed, he exploded. And now you sit by yourself, watching the ball drop on tv, while you scroll on your phone.
Once the ball drops, you stand up to go to sleep, but hear your phone buzzing on the table. Picking it up, you see Clarks contact, sitting on your home page.
“See you Saturday?” You blink, another text popping up. “Your place or mine?” Another text, a link to a recipe. You turn off your phone, turning it back on to see if maybe you're dreaming. Maybe the words will warp into something else. But they stay firm in their form.
Saturday you clean your apartment. Thoroughly. You clean out the fridge and freezer, hand washing dishes, cleaning up all the clothes and pajamas left around the bedroom. As the afternoon rolls around, and you finish getting yourself ready, you keep your phone face up, in case he, at the last minute, tries to cancel. No buzz from your phone, a knock at the door.
It was almost like that whole fall and winter never happened.
“I saw your, uh, wedding posts, you’re getting really good” Clark says, breaking the comfortable silence, nudging his glasses up with his shoulder, “Not that you weren’t good before that,” He adds quickly, slowing his whisking. You snicker and jab his arm,
“Keep whisking, it needs to be firm to mix properly,” You smile, looking at his focused face as he returns his wrist to the same motion, “And thank you, all those weddings kill my feet, but it’s the perfect opportunity to get the practice outside of work.”
“Must be. Um, sorry about cancelling for so long. Things kept coming up,” He says, showing you the fluffy, firm, texture. You shrug and hand him the bowl to mix the filling together. Inside you know that's a lame excuse, but you didn’t exactly want to make a big scene now that he's here. You dunk the ladyfingers into the bowl of coffee and line the bottom of the tray,
“Shit happens, it's all good,” You say blankly, scrunching your nose up at your bleak tone, “It’s been fine anyways. I mean, I dunno,”
Clark glances over, “Did something happen? I know we haven’t exactly-” He pauses, then re-words himself, “I didn’t exactly stay in touch over the months.”
You try to come up with another excuse for your slump that fall, because confessing to Clark that it was his fault you turned into a hermit for a few weeks felt wrong.
“I broke up recently,” You say quickly, deciding to skip that season all together, “It didn’t really go how I wanted it to.”
Assembling the tiramisu was easier than the recipe made it seem, or maybe you both did it wrong. Clark clumsily pours the filling over the ladyfingers, leaning over you slightly.
“Do we add the cocoa powder now or later?” You mumble, smoothing out the last layer of the filling.
“I think it says now,” Clark grabs his phone, scrolling through the sob story and ads to get to the instructions.
“Won’t it kinda like…melt? Into the filling? It has to sit for, like, four hours,”
“Does it? That feels stupid,”
“If we wait, what if it, like, doesn’t stick to the top? Or like, doesn’t mix right,”
You smile at Clark’s defensive nature, even if it looks like it pains him to disagree with you. Moving to the sink, grabbing all the messy bowls and spatulas, you chuckle,
“Then you can add it now, I have a sifter in the top cabinet,” You nudge your head to the tall and narrow shelf. He steps around you, the cramped kitchen in your apartment always a challenge hosting both of you. His hand mindlessly lands on your lower back as he reaches up to grab the sifter, just as quickly stepping away to get the cocoa powder. Once he wipes the edges of the pan, cleaning the cocoa off, he tugs you away from the dishes,
“I can do these, most of this is my doing, anyways,” He smiles wide, handing you the dish towel. You roll your eyes and grin slightly, wiping your hands dry. After tucking the pan deep into the fridge, you look over at Clark. Maybe after a few months of ghosting you, you deserve a bit of ogling at his huge back. Through his shirt you swear you can see his shoulder blades move around.
“I don’t even remember properly, it could’ve been a really bad dream. Or maybe I stepped on a horse tranquilizer,” You laugh, laying back on the couch, holding the cup of coffee tightly in your palms.
“He cried?” He asks again, an incredulous smile growing on his lips, his dimples growing deeper.
“Maybe? I didn’t see any tears, but it definitely sounded like he was. The worst part was that it ended up lasting way longer than I wanted. The breakup, that is,” You add, pointing a finger out, making him chuckle, “I tried to condense it to the morning, but he dragged it to lunch. People were passing by to get to the hotdog stand and kept glancing at us!”
“Why were you by the hotdog stand to begin with?”
“I wanted a hotdog after” You burst into laughter, throwing your head back at your own joke. Clark snorts into his mug, laughing with you and shaking his head.
“Not even! I was going to wait for him to shake my hand, and civilly walk away, but he just kept…crying”
You look over, seeing his thick shoulders shake with laughter at your blunt tone.
Rolling your eyes, you take a sip of the coffee, “Oh whatever, what was your last breakup like?”
He gets a little sheepish, averting eye contact to look into the mug, “I don’t even remember,”
“What, was it so bad you had to repress it? You can tell me if you got a hotdog after, Clark,” You tease, nudging his calf with your foot to try and lighten his mood. It works, kind of, he smiles at least.
“I would never do that,” He points, shaking his head playfully, “But it was just a long time ago,” He shrugs, making you all the more interested.
“Wait, really? So when was the last time you got laid?” You pry, leaning forward slightly, “Oh, don’t tell me you’re a virgin, dude,” You tease, grinning softly. He snaps his head at you, laughing breathlessly,
“N-no!” He says unconvincingly, making you give him a look, adjusting his glasses, “No! I’m not! It’s been a while, that's all.” He shrinks back in his seat, swirling the mug to stare at the coffee spin.
“Thats fine. It’s been, like, maybe…” You trail off, trying to count the months, “Maybe six months?”
He narrows his eyes, looking back up and then looking at you, “Weren’t you just telling me about your boyfriend?”
“Well excuse me, Mr. Kansas. I don’t exactly put out after two and a half months” You sit up straight and close your eyes as you sip your coffee, “At least I can place a time stamp on mine,” You tease a little harder, nudging him again. He flushes and looks back down into his cup, bouncing his knee. Silence rolls over like a weighted blanket, making you squirm slightly, wondering if it was a sensitive topic or something.
You both blurt at the same time, turning to face each other. Clark smiles and sets his coffee down on the table, setting yours down as well. He nods at you to speak first,
“I’m pretty sure you blurted out first” You shake your head, a grin spreading back onto your lips. He leans back, crossing his legs widely and holding onto his ankle,
“I wanted to, um, say sorry for going no contact for so long. That wasn’t fair to you,”
“Clark, it’s fine. You already explained it earlier, you’re an innocent man now,”
“I lied” He said, quickly.
You blink, trying to think of a comeback to that. Clearly he doesn’t have any further explanation because he just blinks and looks away. Your brain racks for any kind of joke to melt the tension, but just as you start to piece together a half baked thought, Clark moves closer. You look up, Clark tightly smiling, his cheeks a little pink.
“I really liked you,” He mumbles, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them again, “Really like you. Present tense”
It’s impossible not to find it a little cute. You lean up and kiss his jawline, nudging his glasses,
“Bit of a backwards way to show it, but I do appreciate it” You tease, falling back into rhythm as usual. Pushing yourself up, you meet his eyeline on the couch, leaning forward to kiss him gently.
“I kind of freaked myself out over it. I tried to will it away, I guess,”
“Will it away,” You repeat, snickering, “Geez, I’m not that bad, Clark. Like I’m a bad fever,”
“No! Not like that! Gosh, um,” he looks away, giving me another chance to peck his jaw.
“I know what you mean, I think,” You snort, pulling back to rest against the arm of the couch.
“You’ve always been so,” Clark trails off, gesturing vaguely with his hands, “Easy going. Always getting me out of my head. Always so ready to cheer people up,” He finishes, glancing at me helplessly. You cock your head, making the same gestures back at him,
“Keep going” You smile, a laugh bubbling up in your chest.
He lets out a short laugh, shaking his head, “Can I kiss you instead?”
You move to push yourself up but he meets you halfway and leans over you on the couch, both of you smiling into the kiss. It’s slow and nervous, exactly matching how both of you felt. His hand slowly comes up to rest on your hip, barely putting any pressure on it, just to see how you’d react. If you would throw him off and banish him from the apartment, or if a film crew would come from behind the tv and tell him he's on a prank show. Instead, you press your hips against his palm, your hand reaching up to hold onto his forearm. Shamelessly, you give the muscle a quick squeeze, feeling him chuckle against your lips.
“Your breath stinks,” You tease, pulling back to catch your breath. He snorts and hangs his head to laugh freely, his mouth away from your nose.
“You served coffee,” He tried to defend himself, leaning up to peck your lips.
“It’s not,” Peck. “even, like,” Peck. “good coffee,” Peck. You press your palms against his chest, making him smile and pull back, “You have no excuses”
Tracing your palms up and onto his neck, letting your fingers sprawl over his ears, he leans down, kissing you deeper. His hands find your hips again, holding you more firmly. Your hands stroke and find purchase in his dark hair, your lips never able to get enough of his taste. The feeling of him so close, so breathless and eager to match your pace, his glasses pressing awkwardly on your cheek. The arm of the couch digging into your neck doesn’t even register with his large palms and rubbing into the soft skin from your shirt riding up. You let out a soft breath, pulling away to rest your forehead on his cheek, “Let me get up, before I get a lump on my neck,” You joke, sitting up and pressing your body against his as he leans back instead. Laughing, you rest your hands on his chest, pressing soft kisses on his cheeks and lips, feeling his hands tracing up and down your sides.
“I don’t think I’ll ever forgive you for making me wait,” You mumble around the skin on his neck. His hands rest on your back, reaching under your shirt to feel your skin against his fingers.
“I didn’t think you’d react like this,” Clark chuckles, looking down to catch your lips again. He sits up, letting you fumble your legs around his thighs and sit against him. Your hands find his face and cup his cheeks as his arms wrap around your waist. Tiny noises escape your lips as he pulls you flush against him, your hips dropping slightly to grind against him. His hands lower, ghosting over your ass before resting on your hips again, helping you move on him. He pulls away, grunting softly as he leans down and presses his nose against your neck. His warm breath wafts over your sensitive skin, his grip getting slightly firmer as he grinds up into you more urgently. You arch into his hold, whimpering and leaning down to bury your nose in his hair, breathing him in. His arms slide down and grip your thighs, making you stiffen as he stands up.
“Down the hall, right?” He mumbles against your chest, blindly walking through your apartment with surprising clarity.
“Yeah, turn here,” You mumble, holding onto his back as he dumps you onto your bed. Your room, thankfully, was frantically cleaned this morning. Clark leans back against your headboard and lets you kiss and grind against him, soaking in the overwhelming smell of you. He sits beside you and yanks you on top of him, straddling his hips again. His large hands find your hips and roll you harder against him, letting you feel the bulge buried in his starchy jeans. Your fingers drag under his shirt, feeling his stomach tighten over your soft touches. A soft breath escapes his lips, leaning down to kiss your head as he yanks his shirt off. His skin feels hot to the touch, your palm dragging down his toned chest to his happy trail giving him goosebumps on his arms. You press a soft kiss on his collarbone, hands resting on his stomach, as your mouth trails down. He swallows thickly, Adams' apple bopping slightly at the sight of you. Hot kisses press down his chest, your hands tracing along his sides. His breathing quickens as you press a kiss to his happy trail, looking up at him.
Clark’s face is red, eyes widened and desperate, getting worse as you press your palm to his bulge. He grinds against your hand, tilting his head back and letting soft little whines spill from his lips.
“O-oh gosh, please. That feels really good,” He mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut and fisting your sheets.
You leave hickies on his stomach, grinding your palm harder against him to keep him sated. When you crawl back up to his face, your hands go to his face, making him face you. You sit back down on his lap, grabbing his glasses and placing them over your eyes. He blinks at how adorable you look and flips you onto the other side of the bed. Landing on your back, you laugh and sit up on your elbows,
“Wait, let me lay on the pillows,” You laugh, moving around him before laying down, and pulling back on top. He presses soft kisses on your face, hands resting under your top and pulling it off. Clark’s hands trail your soft skin, leaning down and pressing needy, wet, kisses to your stomach. Your breathing quickens, feeling his glasses slip down your nose, reaching out to stroke his hair. He pants against your skin, his eyes scanning how your body moves when you breathe, watching certain muscles tense when he strokes you. Leaning back down, he licks a long stripe up from your pants zipper to your belly button, making you moan quietly and arch into his hands. His hand comes down to cup you back, feeling how desperately you try to grind despite your pants blocking most of the friction.
“Please, Clark. P-please, please let me take them off,” You plead, already trying to unbutton it. He watches you squirm out of your pants, his hands taking them off your legs, leaving you in just a bra and panties. He sets your pants on the floor, putting your phone on the bedside table. His mouth finds your grinding cunt and presses open mouth kisses against your wet core, feeling the wetness behind the fabric.
“Can I take these off?” He asks quietly, his voice small, “You smell incredible,” He pants, pressing more kisses on your crotch and along your thighs. You reach down and hurriedly yank your panties off, letting him bunch them up and throw them off the bed. Your skin felt so hot, even in the cool early spring breeze. Sitting up slightly, you fumbled with your bra clasp, freeing your whole body to him. Clark’s eyes widen slightly at the sight of you naked and needy under him. You lay back down, looking up at him, squeezing your thighs to ease the growing, mind-numbing, arousal. His mouth finds your nipple as his palm grinds against your clit. As your nipple hardens, he flicks his tongue, closing his eyes and listening intently on all your soft moans and whimpers. A finger slides into your cunt, feeling your soaked insides, clenching and pulsing around him.
“Do you need another?” He asks, pulling off of your breast, bringing his other hand to paw at your other. You nod, mindlessly pushing his glasses up. “C’mon, you’re always so smart. Give me a cute little one liner,” He teases, kissing and sucking your skin.
“I’m gonna throw that tiramisu out the window, Clark. I swear,” You whine, squeezing his finger, your hands coming up to hold onto his arms. He smiles to himself, giving you a gentle peck on the lips and lowers himself back on the bed.
His hand traces up behind your knees and pushes them back. You lean up on your elbows, watching his huge frame move your body around to fit him. Before you can soak in the moment, he ducks his head, burying his face between your legs. You cry out and arch into his mouth, trying to even your breathing as he laps at your cunt, his fingers squeezing your thighs. His tongue traces around your clit, feeling it get puffy from his licking and sucking. Your hips grind up as he slides another finger into your cunt, feeling you squeeze him without even trying.
You can’t register what time it is. It could be nighttime, but that also could be from Clark’s cock bullying into you. Clark has had you bouncing on his cock for the past hour, maybe hours. His glasses continue to slide down your nose, giving him an extra pathetic look. He smiles and kisses your breasts, urging you to keep moving.
“You got it, I know you can go a bit longer. You’re so beautiful like this. I can’t believe I let this go for so long,” He babbles, kissing sloppily against your neck and collarbone. You feel your mind go blank, focusing on just his words, how much he rambles His hips slowly grind up into you, feeling you slow down from the pain in your legs. Your thighs start burning, but Clark just lets you lean against his chest, his hips bucking up into you.
“C-clark! Shitshitshitshit- you’re s’ big, Clark,” You whine, babbling into his neck as your hands squeeze his flexing arms.
His arms hold you against him, letting you cry and moan against his skin. He groans, feeling your cunt clenching him, barely letting him in or out. His length feels like he's up in your stomach, making you leak down his shaft, mixing with his own pre. You let out a soft whine, squirming on my knees uncomfortably.
“Oh, I’m sorry, honey,” He murmurs against your ear, rubbing your hips, “‘M being so selfish like this. Do your legs hurt?” His voice is soft, so sweet it almost sounds condescending. You nod weakly, leaning back to look at his face. He reaches up to let you just sit with his length inside you, wiping the tears damp on your cheek. Clark reaches forward, pawing at your breasts and kissing the soft skin one more time, before moving you.
“This might be good for you,” He says softly, pulling out, making you whine and lean against him for more contact. His hands maneuver you to lay on your stomach, bringing your ass up in the air slightly. Before you can whine and buck your hips, he drapes himself over your back, hoisting you up a bit more. His back is hot against yours, kissing your shoulder as his hands help hold you up, his knee spreading your legs. Pushing back in, he groans and licks the sweat off your neck, going back to his punishing pace, his forehead resting against your cheek. His hand snaked around your side, his hand sliding down between your legs to feel how swollen your clit is. You let out quiet sounds, pushing back feverishly on him, feeling his glasses slide off your face. Your hands grip the sheets, trying to keep yourself still as he pounds into you, your head hanging low. The sound of your moans and drawn out whimpers fill the air, mixing with his occasional grunts and rambling,
“You’re so pretty, y'know that? At work, I can barely w-write anything. You’re just- gosh, just so pretty,” He babbles in your ear, rubbing your clit quickly. You cry out again, shaking your head, feeling your body tense up, your stomach churning with building arousal. He kisses your cheek,
“You can have one more, oh please, have one more on me. Feels s’ good when you do, honey,” He pleads, nuzzling your neck and speeding up his hand, making you scream out into the blankets. Your cunt spasms and clenches around him, his cock feeling your rapid heartbeat against his veins. You couldn’t name which orgasm this one is, maybe fourth, or maybe fifth. He pants and stills his hips, rubbing your clit through the orgasm, feeling you convulse and press your face into the mattress.
“T-too much! So much, so so much…” You squeak out, shaking your head at the intense overstimulation of Clark pulling every part of your orgasm from you.
Slowly, he starts grinding into your cunt, before he’s interrupted with the loud buzzing of your phone on the nightstand. He leans over and holds up your phone, seeing your exes name on the contact. His hips start back up on their bruising rhythm, making you moan and squeeze your eyes shut.
“Honey, looks like your phone is ringing, should I answer?” He asks, leaning over your back again to kiss your sweaty skin. You can barely register the question and just nod your head, pushing back into him and whining for him to go faster. A wide smile spreads across his face as he answers the phone, his hips never stuttering.
“Hello? Who is this?” Clark answers, his voice deep and sturdy, despite his rapid movement. You blink and look over your shoulder, seeing Clark holding your phone, listening to someone talk. He notices your looking and shushes you, reaching down with his free hand to rub your clit. You squeal out and bury your face into the mattress, whining and crying, listening to his deep voice.
“Oh, right. She’s a little busy right now, isn’t that right, honey?” He leans forward, draping his chest over your arches back, holding the microphone to your mouth, catching your desperate whines and rambling.
“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck- Clark, ‘m so close! Fa-fasterfasterfaster!” You cry out, pouting and glancing at the phone by your mouth and crying out. His hand speeds up, pulling the phone back and hanging up, letting it fall onto your pillow.
“So good. Oh my goodness, honey, just so good for me. You can do one more. Just one more, honey. ‘M right behind you,” He pants, his hips chasing his own release, feeling your cunt start to tighten and build up to yours. You shake your head, feeling it take longer to build up than usual, making you cry and bury your face into the bunched up blankets. He rubs your sides, his hand coming up to paw and grab your breasts, squeezing and flicking the nipple softly,
“Oh, I know it’s gonna be big…give it to me, honey. I wanna feel this one so bad, oh, please, give this one to me,” He rambles, completely drunk on the thought of tearing this last one from your actively failing body. Your head lifts, feeling a very unfamiliar sensation building,
“C-clark? I th-think ‘m gonn-” You try to get out, before gasping and cumming around his cock, feeling something squirt out of you and coat his thighs, your legs trembling as they try to stay up. He gasps and closes his eyes, feeling how long your orgasm is drawing out, how tight you’re getting. His cock can barely move inside you, so he bottoms out, spilling his load into you,
“O-oh, oh, honey-” He groans, sloppily thrusting to shovel all of it in as he cums. You blink, feeling him warm up your lower stomach. Once his hips are still, he pulls out and lets you lay on the bed, catching your breath. He spurts a few more weak drops, looking down at the mess you two made on your bed. You rest your head to the side, catching your breath as your hearing goes fuzzy for a few seconds. He lifts you up onto his chest and lays back on the bed, rubbing your back and kissing your head, wiping some sweat off your face,
“I guess we can both restart our count,” He jokes, seeing you smile tiredly against his chest, your eyes drooping shut. After a few moments, he lifts the both of you up, taking you to your bathroom to take a shower. You lean against him, your legs shaking too much, and he happily holds you up. He lets you clean yourself up and walks back to the bedroom to get his shirt and boxers back on. You step out in a towel, sliding into a large shirt and sleepshorts.
Your chin rests on his head, your hands resting on his shoulder,
“No, bigger than that,” You mumble, tracing random patterns on the fabric.
“Geez really?” He teases, outlining a bigger slice from the pan.
“Yes, really, I need to rebuild my energy,”
His hand, currently not holding you up on his back, cuts a slice from the tiramisu, transferring it onto the plate. He dishes himself up, letting you lean down to kiss at his cheek, leaning forward to kiss his lips. You both sit on the couch, your feet in his lap, watching reruns of an old sitcom while digging into the dessert. His plate sits finished and scraped clean on the coffee table, his hands now occupied with massaging your legs while you lay back and enjoy your dessert. You look up at him, gesturing with your fork,
“Did someone call me during?” You ask, tilting your head slightly. He doesn’t tear his eyes away from the tv, working a knot in your calf,
squeee my first post on tumblr!! i've never written for clark before, so please gimme some feedback <3
