Gentle when he wants to be
Footman!Clark x Noble!Reader
“Do you think about it?” You ask. "All the time." He answers, because above all else, Clark Kent is a man of honor and men of honor don't lie. However, despite all that honor, Clark Kent is still just a man. "Do you?" He asks. You take another step, ruining his efforts and bringing you even closer than before. "Every night." You whisper. You lean closer, just enough to let the fabric of your shift brush his uniform.
Word Count: 5.6k
Warnings: descriptions of a panic attack, unprotected p in v, discussions of power dynamics and castes, no historical accuracy because I couldn't pick an era, clark rips your fucking corset okay??? what are you supposed to do not fuck him?
PSA: hey hey it's me... I'm so sorry I've been away, February and March were so beyond awful. plus + I started a full-time big girl job!!! I use my degree and everything. Thank you for waiting, I hope this makes up for it at least a little bit
DT: All my darlings at the daily planet, this would never have gotten made without your love and support. My sweet Ivy thank you so much for reading this and assuring it me it wasn't crap ilysm.
Clark isn't sure why he followed you.
A dinner, a nice dinner, one your parents hosted to entertain what might be the most geriatric bachelor on the market.
It wouldn't be unusual for you to slip out early, to feign a headache and tuck yourself into your quarters with what you insisted was better company- a bottle of port and a book.
Something was different tonight though.
Clark had been stationed right outside the doors of the dining room. His hands clasped behind his back and his sharp ears attuned to every little noise coming echoing through the thick mahogany doors.
You'd gotten up with a clatter, a half-hearted excuse and the sound of your silverware falling to the floor.
Then you rushed past him, too fast to be considered polite, too fast for your usual careful poise.
So Clark followed. Followed the string in his chest that seemed to tied to you. Followed you into the private library, nearly an entire wing away from the conversation that drove you there.
The door slammed behind you with enough force to rattle the windows, Clark barely dodging its swing.
"Miss-"
"Did you hear that?" You interrupt, voice clogged with fear. You spin to face him, dress tangling around your legs. Your eyes are glassy, tears threatening to spill over your lash line.
"I did-"
"They're just going to marry me off!" You cry, cutting him off again.
Clark had heard it all, your father's voice echoing as he made a deal and stole your future all in the same breath.
"Like I'm cattle and not their daughter."
Your hands pull at your dress, tugging at its seams and pulling it away from your body as much as the material will allow, which isn't much. One sleeve is falling off your shoulder, the other dangling close behind.
Your breathing only grows heavier the more it sticks, exasperated pants that have Clark worrying about your health even more than your heart.
"It's too tight." You whimper, pulling again to no avail.
Your hands go to your buttons, making quick work of them and pushing your dress down to your hips. Leaving you in just your corset and shift.
Clark's entire body goes rigid, and before he can betray his better instincts, he spins on his heel and turns his back to you.
He's not sure what to do, what sin he committed to be worthy of such a cruel punishment. What kind of God would force him to endure losing you and being unable to help you all in the same night?
"Miss what are you doing?" He asks, voice pitched an octave higher than normal.
Clark can hear your labored breathing, the way it only gets worse as you seemingly work towards losing another garment.
"The corset." You huff, nearly inaudible over the rustling fabric and the blood pounding in his ears. "I can't-" You panic, voice wet and airy as you grunt with effort. "Please!"
A sob breaks free, bursting from your chest like it's been cut from it. It's unlike anything he's ever heard you make. Without even meaning too, Clark turns around.
Your arms are twisted behind your back, reaching for the laces of your corset. It's tied tight enough that he can see them digging into your ribs, the way the skin ripples out from beneath it and how it holds you upright despite your distress.
"Are you hurt?" Clark asks, taking just a step forward, he feels his body listing towards you, desperate to help, to be useful. "What's wrong, what can I do?"
"Off." You bite, harsher but not mean. Your hands move to the front of the corset, frantically pulling. "Need it off."
The motion brings his eyes the absolute last place he wanted them to go.
Your bust.
Spilling over the fabric, so perfect and perched it almost looks painful. He swears if he looked at them long enough he would be able see your heart pounding.
The room goes hot, his face burning, shame and bile both rising in his throat as he corrects himself.
A well worn mantra plays in self inside his head.
Not mine.
Not my place.
Not what she deserves.
Clark is immediately in motion, hurried steps towards the door, "I'll fetch your ladies maid."
"No!" You panic, still making no headway, "Please I can't breathe!"
Clark's hand hesitates over the door knob, white gloves flexing with restraint.
He makes the fatal, world-ending, honor-destroying mistake of looking at you one more time.
The realization hits him between the ribs. This is most vulnerable he thinks ever seen you.
The most vulnerable you've ever allowed yourself to be seen.
Something else builds in his gut. A fire sparking to life inside his soul, it climbs up his chest and burns everything it touches.
Your hands are shaking as you pull at the corset. Your frustration evident through hiccups and half-baked cries of panic.
He knows that his ultimate duty, the one thing he's promised to always do is, take care of you.
And right now, despite his station, he can help you. Right now he can be more than a hand assisting you out of a carriage, or a silhouette in the corner of a room. He can be more than a voice announcing a caller, or the footsteps pacing outside your door.
Then as if you can hear his resolve failing, you throw a dry log onto his raging fire.
"Please Clark." You whisper.
Your voice is small, hardly above a whisper.
Clark moves faster than you can say the word ruin.
The distance between you shrinks, until suddenly he's closer than he's ever dared before.
You're bereft, lip wobbling with your chin tucked as you keep trying to pull at the binding around your chest. You don't even feel his hands when suddenly-
Riiiiiiiip!
Seams pop, boning bending in his grip as Clark tears the wretched garment in half.
It splits down the middle, expensive fabric and perfect craftsmanship no match for his brute strength.
Clark doesn't even realize he's torn the damn thing until it falls to the floor between you in a crumpled heap.
You double over, relief palpable as you finally take a full breath. Then another. Then a few more.
It's minutes before they even out, Clark's concerned gaze never leaving you. His traces your face, each curve as you slowly relax back into your features. Then your shoulders, watching carefully as they roll down from your ears. Your lips, as they open and close around each inhale.
It's not until you straighten, that the gravity of the situation finally dawns on Clark.
The gravity of your closeness, the way his hand ended up circled around your wrist at some point. The gravity of your undress, of your bare skin and the barely there material of your shift. The gravity of the fact that you're alone. In a locked room.
If anyone found you it would spell disaster.
A black mark on his name at best. A death sentence at worst.
The word whore would become synonymous with your entire family. It's one thing for a lady to be alone with a gentleman. It's another entirely for her to be alone with a servant.
Clark seems to stop breathing altogether.
Even as you finally soothe, as the tears on your cheeks start to dry, he can't seem to step back.
He's close enough to count your eyelashes, a task he would probably enjoy more than he'd like to admit. They flutter, kissing your skin as you breathe them open and shut.
"Thank you." You whisper.
"Of course." Clark answers, giving you a short nod, he finally releases your wrist. His hands tangle themselves together, knotting behind his back.
"I think I probably owe you an apology." You half-jest. "I fear I was rather dramatic."
Clark's heart sinks.
"I'd disagree." He insists, voice kind but firm. "I'd argue your reaction was perfectly suited to the situation at hand."
His voice sound far away, as if his own heart hadn't shattered at the prospect. A sudden free fall from his chest through the ground. Not at the idea of losing you -he'd made peace with that a long time ago- but at watching you be subjected to such a fate.
"You're always so good to me Clark." Your voice is soft, the fondness in your tone not lost on him. "Still, I apologize. As grateful as I am, this-" You gesture to your state of undress "-was far too much to ask of you."
Clark would laugh if the situation were any less dire. He nods to were your corset lays across the floor, "I believe we're a little beyond that."
You do laugh, the surprised kind that bubbles out of your throat before you even realize it's started. Short and startled you let it lighten the room for just a moment.
"I'm sorry that was-" you fluster, refusing to meet his eyes. "-inappropriate."
Clark could almost laugh.
"It's alright." He assures you. "Are you sure you're okay?"
You nod, a light hum punctuating the movement. "I think so."
At long last, you look at him.
The proximity seems finally to dawn on you. Given away by a catch in your breath so minuscule Clark probably wouldn't have noticed it if he couldn't hear it.
If he couldn't see the way your chest faltered with it.
Eyes up. He chastises.
Yet he still doesn't move, only further frozen by the fact that you aren't either.
Something settles in your expression. Something that wasn't there when you sat down to dinner.
Your eyes are hollow, duller. No sparkle of mischief, or whisper of an untold joke. Your lips turn down at the edges, not an active frown but something more reserved. Your chest doesn't puff as proudly, none of your usual confidence propping itself behind your ribs.
Clark hates the word he finds for it.
Surrender.
His heart pounds even harder.
"Clark?" His name is different on your tongue this time. Something saccharine behind it, something young and just a little afraid.
"Yes?" He breathes, hardly conscious of it. You're still too close for him to think.
You take the smallest of steps forward.
"Can I ask you something?"
It's a silly question.
Clark would sneak you out for an early morning ride before your father woke, cover for you when you were late to meet your governess.
Clark would bring you sweets, the cheap kind only sold at the markets on the streets you're not allowed to go to.
Clark would tell especially persistent suitors you were preoccupied, saving you their company and never letting your mother catch on to the fact that they ever called.
Clark would do anything you asked.
"Of course." He says instead.
It hangs there between you for a moment. Anticipation building as you work up the courage to speak.
"Do you think about it?" You finally ask.
Clark would kiss you. One night he wound find you well after the moon had settled high in the sky. Alone in the garden, he would cradle your face and place his lips on yours because you asked him too. Because you wanted to know what it felt like, because you wanted your first kiss to be on your own terms.
He would set himself on fire and spend the every moment since that night tortured by the flames.
"Miss I-"
"Just answer me Clark." You plead, "Do you think about it?"
He pauses, swallows his fear puts yours first.
"All the time." He answers, because above all else, Clark Kent is a man of honor and men of honor don't lie.
However, despite all that honor, Clark Kent is still just a man.
"Do you?" He asks.
You take a step towards him, stealing space that hardly existed in the first place.
"Every night." You lean closer, just enough to let the fabric of your shift brush his uniform.
Clark goes still all over, each muscle turning to stone. Having already used flight and fight, the only thing left in his arsenal is freeze.
On the opposite end of the spectrum, your floodgates finally open.
"I can't stop thinking about it Clark." You sound torn, like it physically hurts you to say it out loud. "The way you held me, how safe I felt."
The room spins, the weight of gravity pulling his body towards yours.
"The way I wanted more."
You've always been brave. Always worn your heart on your sleeve and your courage right beside it. This time it's different, there's an insecurity clouding it, a quiet self-consciousness
"Miss-" Clark tries to protest, your name dying on his tongue. "I can't, we can't."
You huff, unconvinced. "Please, Clark." Your hands find his chest, gently fingering the felt of his uniform and the buttons adorning it. "I want to know what it feels like." Your voice is hardly above a whisper now.
Clark's skin starts to sting. Burning as the flames start to lick at his finger tips.
"You don't know what you're asking." Clark tries to argue. His body curves in anyway, shoulders pulling forward and closing a little bit more of the distance between you. "It's not so simple-"
"Isn't it?" You ask. You close the distance, hands curling around the lapels of his jacket as you press your chest to his.
He can feel the warmth of your skin despite all of his layers still between you.
"I've heard about it. I know what to do." You insist. "I know I may not be what you want Clark…"
Clark doesn't hear the rest of what you try to say. The blood rushing in his ears as your words repeat.
You think he doesn't want you?
That simply won't do.
Unlike that night in the garden, Clark doesn't take his time leaning in. One moment his hands are safely behind his back and the next they're on you.
One finds your hip and rests over the layers of fabric piled there. The other cradles your face, large palm holding your cheek and keeping your head in place as he throws all his good sense into the fire.
Clark kisses you the way he's been dreaming about.
Like he can't get enough, like if you gave him the time he would memorize your lips and still want more. He nibbles on your bottom lip and licks into your mouth when your gasp.
Clark kisses you like he has the right too.
Clark kisses you like a man with nothing to offer but his heart and all the love inside of it.
He kisses you until there's no room to doubt what he feels.
When he pulls away, your eyes are still closed, his jacket still clutched tight in your hands.
Clark's afraid to blink, to look away for a moment and miss the chapped swell of your lips or the pieces of hair he pulled askew.
"You're all I want." He promises. His hands leave you, but only long enough to pull his gloves off.
Your gaze lingers at his lips, pupils blown wide with hunger. "Show me." You beg.
You push your dress the rest of the way down past your hips, letting it fall to puddle on the floor.
"Show me what it's like to be wanted." You're firm, voice sure and filled with conviction. The voice of a woman who knows exactly what she's asking for.
And Clark would do anything you ask.
The world disappears, his vision tunneling until all that's left is you.
Clark takes a step forward, then another, walking you back until you're pressed to one of the mahogany bookshelves. Deft hands peel back his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders and onto the floor beside your gown.
This time you kiss him, craning your neck and pushing onto your toes to reach him fully. Its messier than the last one, all inexperience tangled with enthusiasm.
Your teeth nip at his lips, fighting the angle until suddenly-
Clark's hands find the backs of your thighs like two old friends, palming the soft flesh through the thin muslin of your shift. When he uses them to lift its gentle, despite the strength you feel when you hold his arms, his touch is nothing but comforting.
He hoists you against himself, pulling away just long enough for you to wrap your legs around his waist before pinning you between his chest and the bookcase.
Your hands can't find a place to rest, grazing from his biceps, to his shoulders, down over his neck and through his hair. Finally, you settle at his chest, palm splaying over sternum.
His heart hammers beneath your fingers, strong and powerful as it's rhythm vibrates against your touch.
You kiss him softer than he deserves, at least in Clark's opinion.
You kiss him like you never want to stop, like you could spend forever doing it. You hold him against you like he's something delicate, something worth protecting.
Clark is a stark contrast.
Clark wasn't born a gentleman for a reason. Despite his manners, his restraint, and the deep respect he carries for you, he grabs at your skin like he's afraid you'll disappear if he doesn't hold you tight enough. His lips cover yours like he would swallow you whole if given the opportunity. His fire burns and pools in one place, tenting itself against you as he presses impossibly closer.
His hand slips under the hem of your shift and dances across the skin of your upper thigh until he finds the heat of your cunt. His hand swallows it, cupping your entire mound and moaning as his fingers find dampness in the gusset of your stockings.
You're burning too.
Clark can't help but hold himself there, press his fingers flat against your folds and reveling in the way your hips stutter.
You make a noise, something small and new. It falls from your lips like water from a faucet.
Clark kisses you hard, as if trying to drink it. His hand slips away, replaced by thick press of cock through his trousers. Even through the layers he can feel you pulse against him, the privilege of being close enough to turn his vision blurry.
As if to testing the waters, he rolls his hips against you. Torturous and slow, just enough to let you get used to the feeling, the weight of something between your legs.
A thought crosses his mind and spills out before he can stop it.
"Have you ever touched yourself here?" Clark asks. His voice is low, private, despite the empty room he speaks only loud enough for you to hear. Like no one else- not even the books deserves to know.
You fluster and turn away, pressing your cheek into shelf behind you as you avoid his gaze.
Determined to get an answer, Clark uses what he's learned.
Another roll of his hips, this time using one of his thumbs to press against the curve of your cunt. He pushes it in, just beyond the split of your folds and lets your wetness soak through to the pad of his finger.
You gasp, hips twisting off the wall and into his touch.
"Need you to tell me." Clark insists, pressing his thumb just a little harder. "Or else I won't know how much you can take."
You shake your head, panic evident at the idea of him stopping. "Yes." You admit, breathless and whiny. "Yes I've touched-" you swallow hard around the words, the thought escaping completely as he starts to suckle on your neck.
Clark smiles against your skin, pleased at both your answer and your reaction. He rewards you, pressing wet kisses down your neck, sucking the soft skin between his teeth.
"What about inside?"
His hands slip back under your shift, and with the same careful strength he used earlier, Clark finds the seam of your stockings, and rips a hole directly in the center. Just big enough for his to fit his hand through, just enough for him to drag his fingers through your folds.
He finds your entrance with the focus of a man starved. As if his next meals lies between your thighs.
He dips the tip of his index finger inside.
"You ever have something here?" He asks.
You tense -only for a moment- at the sensation, the realization of where his touch has led him.
"Yes." You whisper. "Not my fingers though."
That makes Clark freeze.
"One of my ladies maids," you explain, "She got me a-" you hesitate, finding the word, "-tool."
Clark nearly doubles over. "A tool?"
You nod, sheepishly biting your lip. "She said it would be less painful if I practiced with it."
Clark struggles, his tongue seemingly having swelled to twice its size in his mouth.
The image fills his mind faster than he can think. Hazy visions of you sprawled on your bed, night gown rucked around your waist as you writhe against something phallic and solid. It makes his blood turn to molten lava.
"Did it feel good?" He asks.
He brings a hand down between your bodies, reaching for your cunt once more.
You nod, eyes falling half-lidded as his touch settles over you again. He rests it on the apex of your thigh, hand curling against the junction where it meets your cunt. Just near enough for him to feel the heat radiating off of it.
He hums in appreciation, both of the answer and your honesty.
"Do I have your permission to make you feel good like that?"
Eyes turn to saucers, and without any hesitation you whisper, "Yes."
Pride swells in his chest, its hold on him getting stronger with every little noise he pulls from you.
With one goal in mind, Clark sets you on the floor, holding your hips as your feet find the ground.
Then, as if melted by your gaze, Clark slips to his knees. The wood is hard beneath them, but your skin is so soft in his hands that he doesn't even notice.
One large palm tickles up your thigh, then over your hip, until he finds the waist of your stockings. Crooking a finger into their band, Clark begins to pull them down.
Inch by torturous inch, Clark reveals you to him. The curve of your hip, the way they cant toward him when his breathe brushes over your cunt.
The tops of your thighs are as smooth as whiskey and just as sinful. He presses a kiss there, lingering to inhale the scent. Sweat, musk, and something floral from your soap. It goes straight to his head and before he knows it Clark has kissed all the way down to your knee. It's messier than he meant for it be, spots of his spit catching the light when he pulls away.
you don't seem to mind, eyes blown wide as you watch him with unmasked fascination.
Clark's holds your gaze as he pulls your stockings the rest of the way down, unblinking as he tugs them off your feet and tosses the garment somewhere behind him.
He nuzzles into the curve of your knee when he's done, pressing one last kiss to the sensitive spot where it meets the top of your calf.
Then he moves higher.
You tense, bracing for a kiss.
What you get is sort of like that.
Clark rucks your shift up on his assent, pushing it up over your ribs and leaving your cunt on full display.
"Heavens." Clark breathes, wondrous and awed.
His eyes, blue, big, and begging. They find yours and ask the question with out words.
You answer without them too, blinking slow as you spreads your thighs wide enough for his head to slot between.
Clark licks into your cunt like he's coming home to it.
One flat stripe through your folds, a slow pull as he maps out every ridge and valley with his tongue.
Then a second one, this time dipping it even further against you, groaning as he hits a pocket of slick. The taste blooms on his tongue, sweet and unlike anything else he's ever savored. A taste that will haunt him the rest of his life and he can't find it in himself to care.
By the third drag he's figured out where you squirm.
His tongue passes over your clit, the hard nub all but vibrating with want. He closes his lips around it, trapping it between his teeth and giving a purposeful hum.
You gasp above him, thighs trying to close around his head only to be met by the firm grip of his hands, a palm on each leg holding them apart.
Clark goes on like that, suckling at your clit holding you in place around him.
Your hands find his hair, plush curls tangling between your fingers. Clark can't tell if you're trying to pull him closer, or push him further away. He's not sure you know either.
His tactic changes, tongue slipping out again to grind against your clit, pressing flat and holding its pressure.
Your moan gets choked off, body stilling like you've ceased breathing all together. Some thing tight, strangled and high-pitched leaks from the back of your throat.
"Clark!" You squeak.
His belly burns with satisfaction, his want turned inside out from just how good his name sounds on your lips.
A thought occurs to him them, possessive and wild.
"Did you peak?" He follows up. "With the tool?"
You start to shake, body taut as his fingers take over his ministrations on your clit.
"Peak?" You ask, eyes squeezed shut and hands gripping the book shelf behind you.
Clark has to stand, straightening to his full height and bringing him close enough to count your eyelashes again, although this time, they're hardly what he's think about right now.
He doesn't elaborate, too distracted by your governess' words echoing in his ears, something about you being a visual learner.
He'll show you instead.
His index finger pushes the rest of the way in, rubbing your clit as he eases it past the resistance of your cunt.
You swallow him without hesitation, gasping at the sensation as your cunt sucks him in. He pulls it out, just enough to slide his middle finger in next to it.
You're velvet around him, white hot and tight as a vice. It's unlike anything he's ever felt, unlike his hand or the lips he's felt around his cock before. It makes him twitch in trousers, a wet spot beginning paint the fabric where his tip rests.
Clark makes slow work opening you up, gently massaging your walls and your clit as he stretches you out. Each pass gives him a little more give, every curl of his fingers granting him a little more wetness to ease their glide.
And you- the memory of your face contorting with pleasure would be enough to have Clark reaching his peak for the rest of his life. He doesn't tear his eyes away to watch his hand, too spell bound by the way your lips quiver around each gasp and whine.
It builds, the same motions repeated over and over until Clark curls his fingers slightly to the left and finds it.
The spot that makes your whines blossom into something louder, something more full-bodied in the shape of his name.
He attacks it with fervor, massaging the pads of his fingers against it until you start to shake.
"Clark wait-" Your eyes snap open, panic written clear as you reach for his hand. "I'm … oh my god!"
Clark's free hand captures your wrists, pinning them above your head and forcing you to take the pleasure. Forcing you to peak.
Slick coats his hand, gushing to his wrist as you clench down on his fingers. Your hips buck wildly, head falling back against the bookshelf with a hard thunk as your eyes roll back.
The pleasure is overwhelming, Clark is sure of it.
He burns knowing he's the one who gave it to you.
You're still gasping when you come back down to earth, thighs shaking around Clark's waist as he releases your wrists.
Clark has to kiss you, pulled to your lips like fate itself designed them for him to touch.
He's expecting to leave it there, carry the moment in his uniform pocket and tuck it under his pillow.
Then you legs tighten around him.
In one quick movement you pull him flush against you.
"Are you sure?" Clark asks, watching with blown pupils as you reach for his belt.
"I told you." You remind him, "I want more."
More is delivered, more is freed from his waistband with a hiss and twitches when you wrap a curious hand around it.
More is throbbing, leaking hot and heavy into your hand as you line him up with your entrance,
More presses itself into you with a gentleness you wouldn't have believed a man who rips corsets is capable of.
Clark buries his face against your neck, breathing heavy as he slowly feeds his cock into you. Its almost precious, how soft he makes himself be. How malleable he is under your touch.
Like clay, Clark morphs himself into whatever you need, friend, confidant, protector, and now the role he seems to fit most naturally, lover.
A role you match with equal ease. Body opening up for him with every push forward. You grimace through the sting, hands clutching his shoulders and digging your nails in so hard he's shocked you don't return the favor of ripping his shirt.
It's like that until he bottoms out, until he finally pushes his hips flush with yours and feels your heat all around him.
His chest shudders with the force of it, the weightlessness that surrounds him and lifts his soul high enough to make it sing.
You clench down hard, cunt spasming around his length as you get used to it.
You're both breathing hard, stilted gasps that brush across the others face. Tandem racing heartbeats.
The first thrust is shallow, Clark hardly pulling more than a quarter of his length out of your cunt before falling back in.
You both moan anyway, ragged and wanton as you chase the sensation.
It builds quickly from there, Clark gradually working his way up to a solid rhythm, not fast, no you're not something he wants to rush, but deep. Each pass is purposeful, Clark using everything he already knows to his advantage as he starts to climb that peak, this time right beside you.
He flies his fingers to your clit one last time, abusing the already tender nerves with one goal in mind. Harsh circles dragging around it, tracing every side and leaving no piece of it untouched.
His hips twist, aiming for that spot that had you falling apart on his fingers.
It's too much and not enough.
You fall apart like a precious glass. The way a vase scatters on the floor and becomes a new masterpiece. You cry his name, pleasure coating every syllable like candy.
Unable to stop it Clark lets go of his fears, of the dread that comes with all things unrequited. He presses his forehead to yours and with devastation honesty he says the words that always seem to be on the tip of his tongue.
"I love you." The words break free with the last of his resolve. Disappearing with the last of his self-preservation. He could cry with the relief of finally saying them. Eyes squeezed shut as he grinds himself into you, rolling his hips as you ride out your orgasm.
He's so lost in it, so busy trying to savor you that he almost doesn't hear your response.
"I love you too." You whisper, hands stretching the skin of his back as you mindlessly claw at it. "God Clark, I love you so much."
Clark's orgasm sweeps him away before he can even process your words. Hips stuttering as his mind falls away to bliss.
The only coherent thought he has left is a single phrase, a mantra echoing through the pleasure.
She loves me. She loves me. She loves me.
It stays long after the pleasure fades, after his cock stops twitching inside you and your breathing evens out.
It lingers when he pulls out, when you whine at the emptiness and Clark uses what's left of your corset to wipe away the mess he's made between your thighs.
The room stays warm, the heat of your bodies and smell of old books tangling in the air. A heaviness fills the space between you, melting between your souls and holding them hostage. The bitter sting of reality.
"My parents have a farm." Clark says, leaning forward and pressing his forehead against yours. "A few weeks ride from here."
You hum, "I remember." He'd told you about them one night, when you couldn't sleep and asked him to tell you a story from where he was stationed outside the door of your bedroom.
"I've always planned to go back, take over so they can rest." You go tense, eyes widening with worry. "I'd leave after you married-" He explains, "- I wouldn't be able to bear witness to that." He takes a deep breath, doing his best to steel his nerves,
For the first time, Clark is the one to ask you a favor.
"Run away with me?"
The question comes out breathless, more a plea than anything else. It bleeds from his lips and leaves copper in his mouth.
"We could go." He offers sheepishly, already convinced you'll say no. "I cant promise you much, but I can promise I'll do my best to make you happy every single day."
You melt, cupping his face in both your hands and pressing the softest kiss to his lips.
"Take me away Clark." You whisper, "Take me so far I never have to come back."
You kiss him again, firmer this time, carding your hands through his hair.
"Take me so far away I never have to look at another corset."
Clark would do anything you asked.
Clark Kent Masterlist
Taglist: @avgdestitute @miraclediviner @clarknsun @helloimokaynow @hailmary-yramliah @j23r23 @after8hore @phoenix-in-writing @3lectric-hearts @chateaubarnes @whatwonderful-world @barnesgirlx @spinningyarnsandshame @mistressofallthingsgeeky @trtltot @herejustforbuckybarnes @hayles004 @kk2006-1594 @bbyanarchist @kriscr0ss @cottagecorebaby @tw1sters @lindsey-lana @mrs-katelyn-barnes @obxobsessedbitch1 @serenityrdj @iamthatonefangirl @flockoff-featherface @54nboo @earthsmightiestbenders @wildflowersandvibranium @its-in-the-woods @superbassbuck @winterdecember18 @houseofhyde @heldbybarnes @bastian-jpeg @buckysdecaflove @mandoloriancookie @onyx8514-blog @jeanournal @kryptidfiles @neeed-y @sparklingsin
