It'd taken you hours of convincing, not including the months of pre-convincing. He'd finally given in to you, albeit — reluctantly.
That much was obvious with how tense he'd been, with his head slumped at the crook of your neck.
"I'm not happy about this."
That was last week.
Somehow, you'd managed to break through your husband's stubbornness and paranoia of letting you go somewhere far too close to a body of water. You just needed an escape from the endless baby-talk, the worries of what-if's or what-could-go-wrong.
And now, here you were. Out in the sun, finally in the air that was filtered by trees and not buildings. Though as part of your 'parole-deals', you had to call Clark every other hour. Which wasn't the most ideal, but if it calmed him, it was a fair deal.
The second Clark hears your voice ring through, the tension that was so tightly wound in him snaps.
"Hi," he breathes, all too quickly. Roughened with an edge of relief. It's painfully obvious that he'd been pacing back and forth, restless since he dropped you off. "Are you alright? Did they help you carry your bags? Are you hydrated? Wait — how's your back? Better now?"
You held your phone a little away from your face after his outburst. So began round one of what was surely hourly interrogations.
"…Yes, they did, my back still hurts like crap and I just took my vitamins."
He lets out another prolonged exhale, but the tensions in his shoulders don't ease.
"Okay…okay, good. And you aren't lifting anything heavy? Or walking far? You're staying off your feet as much as possible?"
You'd almost heard him pacing again, in what seemed to be short bursts, and gusts of winds — as though just the thought of you over-exerting himself was enough for his mind to go on overdrive.
"You have to take it easy."
There was a long pause heard on your end, and you snort in amusement.
"Honey…I'm not working for Habitat for Humanity here."
Clark groans audibly at your snark, dragging his palm down his jaw.
"Don't joke. You need to be resting. Are you resting?"
"I am!" You bite back, petulantly, "the rest of the girls went out to the lake. I stuck back."
Clark's brows knit into a furrow when he hears shuffling.
"Thought I could do a little sunbathing. Get a little tanned."
He stiffens.
Imagining you, stretched all out under the sun, exposed and vulnerable —
"Sweetheart, y-you can't." He blurts. Resting his forehead on the door jam with a frustrated huff. "You'll burn. Or — or get bitten. Please tell me you aren't outside yet."
You stared out at the view of your cabin overlooking Lake Erie. Shielding yourself from the sun.
"…No, I'm not."
Clark knew that pause. His wife was never really good at lying.
He takes your name, a tone he specially reserved for when you had the gall to blatantly lie to his face. "Put sunscreen on or go right back inside, I swear —"
Clark doesn't finish his thought, but they both know he wouldn't be behind flying right on over if you insisted on being stubborn.
Something told you this particular line of questioning was a subtle ploy for him to nag you until you relented.
"…You wanna see what I'm wearing?"
It called for a strategy change.
Which seemed to work, considering the loud clatter you heard over the line.
"T-That's —…" Words barely above a stuttered choke.
Clark's eyes flutter shut at the weight of the burning image of you. Overheating at the very idea that you might've been wearing far than modest clothes. If you even were wearing anything.
That alone had the screen protector of his phone crack under the weight of his grip.
"…Y…es," he croaks, "I-I do, but that isn't the point —"
[11:20am]
You: <Incoming Video Call>
A strangled whine leaves Clark's throat when the image of you loads fully on his cracked screen.
You looked absolutely beautiful, with golden rays of the warm glow bathing your skin. Belly swelled and glistening, "…you didn't wear sunscreen…" He finally manages as he slumps onto the edge of the bed.
"I was about to," you say impatiently, propping your phone up against the half-drunk glass of lemonade.
Clark takes a hefty gulp when the angle readjusts, offering him a full view of you — curves of soft tits in a white bikini top, paired with cheeky bottoms.
Somehow, the visual impact of it felt far too heightened; even the sight of you harmlessly squeezing out a generous amount of sunscreen onto your palms had his cock twitch involuntarily beneath his cotton sweats.
The creamy white spreads between your palms, and you lower them to lather it onto your belly.
Clark's burning the sight to his mind, watching the lotion coat your skin, gliding past the freckles of your abdomen.
His throat bobs with effort to control himself, though his hands were already idly rubbing over the ache of his erection.
"You…—you're not…being thorough." He finally mutters as an afterthought, "gonna…miss a spot."
Your gaze flickers to the subtle twitch of his biceps and shoulders. He was no doubt touching himself, wasn't he? The thought has you biting down on your lips.
"Yeah? Where should I be rubbing, then?"
Clark squeezes himself, grunting at the surge that crept down his spine.
"The…side of your thighs."
You shift with a grin, sliding your fingers down to the apex. "Here?"
His hand slides beneath his waistband, humming a low mm-mh. Clark's fixated on the way you continue to drag the glistening cream down between your thighs, inching them further apart with every rub.
He slides his palm flat down the shaft of his stiff cock, squeezing and stroking himself with a few dry rubs.
"Right….r-right there…" he nods through ragged gasps.
Clark nearly feels himself cum when he sees the slick of your folds peek through beneath the gusset.
"Oh.." you coo, thoughtfully, sliding your fingers beneath the strings, "they're in the way. Should I take them off?"
He lets out a loud groan, fully tugging his pants halfway down his thighs.
"You're killin' me, baby."
His more than eager reactions has you clench beneath the flimsy fabric. You were impossibly soaked, just at the thought of him being so turned on by you.
Slowly, you drag your fingers down over your mound, pulling the gusset of your bikini to the side. Clark strokes himself harder at the sight — sticky, slick clinging to the wet fabric.
"O-Oh…gosh…you're so…"
You nod quickly, dragging two of your fingers down between your parted folds, dragging the wetness up to your clit.
"I miss you…" you manage through a quiet whimper, nudging two of your fingers knuckle deep into your cunt.
Clark's head slumps, and you jolt at the sight of him spitting on his cock. "Y-You have no idea," he grunts as he fists himself. "How badly…I-I want to make love to you right now."
Your cheeks warm at his words, and you steady yourself with a palm behind, fully grinding your digits into you, and up to the roof of the spongy walls.
"Clark…Clark…" You whine, rolling your hips rhythmically onto them, "s'not enough…I need you."
His movements falter at your wanton mewling, shaking his head slowly. The camera switches from the sight of his face to the view of his fist around cock.
You let out a sharp gasp, thighs quivering at louder noises — dull thwacks of him pumping himself, rubbing his pre over his length.
"This…s'what you do to me baby, so goddamn beautiful…sitting there all swollen with —…ngh…mine…mine mine."
His unrestrained grunts went straight to your pussy. You all but whimper, timing your thrusts to the pace of his pumps.
"Gonna fuck you when you're back, mm? Nice an' good…"
"Sh-Shit, Clark!"
He never cusses until moments like these, and it drove you crazy. The white hot flashes rip through you like electric shocks, and you cum hard in shudders.
Spots fill your vision when you look back into the camera, catching what seems to be shaky movements.
Steve loves picking up all his friends to crack their backs in a complete dad move.
Robin hates it, so he does it a lot. Opens his arms and starts ambling for her, making her scramble and scream playfully around the house or at work. She says she doesn't want him to break her spine, and it isn't her favorite thing in the world, but they both know she likes the fun of it.
Steve does it to Dustin exactly once. Dustin is all on board and thinks it will be fun and then they both get a painful reminder that CCD is no joke when they accidentally shift a rib. Claudia is exasperated, highly amused, and stressed about the entire situation and keeps an extra close eye on them both for a while after
Johnathan needs it and it really helps but he also refuses to not have beef with Steve. He'll roll his eyes at Steve's incoming hug attack but lifts his arms to make room for Steve to lift him. It's very much akin to a cat being scooped under the upper legs with but "this might as well happen" energy.
Eddie fucking loves it. He's constantly running full tilt into Steve's arms so he can get his spine rearranged. He likes the crunch of the bones and the relief he feels after, and yes, okay, it's a nice excuse to be held in Steve's hairy arms, but that's besides the point.
