★ pairing: corenswet!clark kent x fem!reader
★ summary: you were a star journalist at the daily planet. employed alongside your all-too-proud work crush, clark kent, you naturally despised how easy it was for him to land interviews with superman. after finally convincing him to interview the superhero for you, a collaborative article-turned-shocking-discovery would quickly veer into something neither of you would expect.
★ warnings: 18+ MDNI, nsfw sexual content, unprotected piv sex (wrap it before you tap it), riding, work sex kinda, multiple rounds, friends to lovers, some fluff
★ word count: 2.6k
“Clark, please,” you whined, jostling his rolling chair around. He didn’t look up from his computer—just raised an eyebrow, used to your dramatics.
“You know what!” You walked around his chair to half-sit on his desk. “I have to get an interview with Superman. Will you please tell me how you keep landing them?” Clark said nothing, smirking into the light cast from his computer screen. His cockiness about this particular subject made you unfathomably angry. Why was he the only one who had an in with Superman? And how on earth was that fair?
“Come on! And here I thought we were friends.”
“We are friends.” Now he glanced up, almost seeming offended by the sarcastic accusation. “Which is why I’m getting you an interview.”
“Wait—What? You are?” You pushed yourself off his desk to inspect his computer screen, planting one hand on the back of his chair and sticking your nose into the monitor.
“Relax, I’m not on a video chat with the guy.” Clark chuckled as you straightened yourself with a roll of your overeager eyes. “And you didn’t let me finish.”
“Okay…” you said, almost questioning. “Go on.”
“You’re not… Conducting the interview. I am.”
“What? Then—” He cut you off, answering your question before you could ask it.
“I’ll ask him whatever you want. But it’s my interview.” Your eyes squeezed shut as if remembering he existed for one more second would cause you to become violent. Once you had a hold of your emotions, you opened your eyes to be met with that smug, dimply smirk all over again. He was lucky he was cute. You sighed rather than allowing any insults to make their way past your lips.
“Why are you so special, anyway? Why do you have to be the one to speak to Superman every time?” The man shrugged, pushing up his glasses.
“He just likes me, I guess.” That’s it. If you didn’t want to kill this man before, you did now. Before you could protest, he continued. “Besides, you’re still writing the article. We’ll make it a collaborative effort.” Any argument died on your tongue. You wanted to keep pushing so badly, but this was the closest you’d ever gotten to landing anything with Superman himself. It was an opportunity you had to take. You couldn’t say no to Clark Kent’s puppy-dog eyes, anyway, no matter how much you occasionally wanted to shove his head into a brick wall. And maybe. Just maybe, Superman would read your article and realize that you, too, could be trusted to interview him one-on-one.
“Fine. Let’s do it.”
The Daily Planet was quiet this time of night. It was a week later, and way past the end of the workday. The only light that illuminated the elegant bullpen was the lamp on Clark’s desk, casting a golden glow on the two of you. You swiveled side to side on your rolling chair, reading the awaited interview with Superman—reading Clark ask him your questions. He shamelessly stared at you, waiting for you to reach the end. Around halfway through, your eyes caught on one specific segment of the transcript.
Clark: Now—Superman, following the events of the LuthorCorp scandal, it’s safe to say the people have a lot of questions.
Superman: [laughs] Can’t say I blame them.
Clark: Right—Starting off, how did you know of Lex Luthor’s involvement in the Boravian arms crisis? That’s how you learned of his plot to acquire Jarhanpur, isn’t it?
Superman: Right. The information was provided to me by various resources, of which I should unfortunately keep private for anonymity’s sake. Such information led me to believe that I had the authority to act against it.
“What…?” you muttered to yourself. Clark raised an eyebrow. “What?” he echoed. Your eyebrows formed a tight-knit line across your forehead.
“That was it? He just marches into battle, all because LutherCorp was giving one of our allies weapons? Who gave him the authority?”
“Billions of dollars worth of weapons—most of which weren’t even accounted for,” Clark reminded, rising to his feet. “What was he supposed to do? Wait for Boravia to take over the country while he goes through the proper channels first?” Clark must have been a superfan, you thought. Why else did he always get so defensive when it came to Superman?
“Kind of…! I mean, what if he was wrong?”
“He wasn’t.”
You began to raise your voice. Not with vitriol, not yelling at him. Just pure enthusiasm. “But what if he was? Why would he be so reckless if—”
“Because I knew it was the right thing to do!” Any words vanished in your throat. Clark looked down at you, eyes wide. His voice echoed in your ears long after it stopped bouncing off the marble floors.
“Because I knew it was the right thing to do.”
“He knew…” Clark finally corrected, voice no longer raised. He sounded like defeat. Like he’d been outsmarted. A last-ditch effort to save himself. “...Is what I meant.”
“It’s not what you said,” you told him, slowly rising from your chair to inch closer. His eyebrows tented. His expression was almost unreadable, but through the gleam in those bright, blue eyes, he looked scared. He subconsciously leaned back with every soft clack of your heels. Finally, you reached up to gently handle the arms of his glasses. You pulled them off painfully slow. He didn’t pull away. He just stared back into your eyes as you peeled away the one disguise that he kept on for the rest of the world.
And there he was. Glasses off. Exposed, standing bare in front of you.
“Holy shit…” You whispered. It was really him. His horrified expression softened at your almost pleased disbelief. Did he think you would be mad? Disappointed?
He took a step back, just slightly. He spoke in that same low tone as before. “Nobody can know…” He trailed off at the nod of your head. “I know,” you told him. You stepped impossibly closer, feeling the warmth of his body wash over you. He looked down into your eyes, lightly brushing against your sides. He was merely testing the waters before you cannonballed into him, cupping his face softly as you stood up on your tiptoes to reach his lips. His hands planted firmer on your waist, pulling you into him like he wanted to combine the two of you somehow. Your hands snaked around his head to brush into the soft curls at the nape of his neck. You had to pull away first, scared you’d suffocate in his passion.
You both caught your breath, never straying from one another’s gaze. But, wasting no time, you wordlessly returned to his lips, him springing into action almost simultaneously. This time, he took charge, walking you backwards until you were sitting on his desk, pushing papers and office supplies out of the way. The clinking of pens against each other after you knocked over a stationary cup pulled a giggle from your mouth. You smiled into his lips while he fiddled with the buttons of your shirt. You followed his lead, the sound of his jingling buckle echoing throughout the wide, empty office. You looked into his eyes, willing him to tell you to stop. He didn't. He never would.
Clark peeled back the thin layer of cotton unbearably slowly, exposing your chest. The cool air sent a shiver down your spine. He wanted to take his time. You needed him now.
He took over your frantic movements below his waist to finish the job, freeing himself from the constricting garments. You had to sneak a peek. You’d be crazy not to. Expecting to feel nervous in your obvious peeping, you instead burst out laughing. Not at him, not at what he had to offer (because he, of course, had a lot to offer), but at his boxers. Blue and patterned with the iconic Superman logo. His words caught in the back of his throat, cheeks burning red with embarrassment. Tears threatened to prickle in your eyes as you fought to keep your composure. You pulled him back in by the collar, still grinning ear to ear, and planted another hard kiss to his soft lips. His expression softened, melting into the kiss. That goofy crooked grin you adored pulling at his features in the most perfect way.
With his confidence restored, he decided someone oughta wipe that smile off your face. He pushed himself into you just an inch, causing your mouth to hang open, a shrieking moan escaping from your throat. He chuckled, burying himself in the crook of your neck to plant sloppy kisses on your skin.
“Asshole…” you sighed. He pulled back, still wearing that crooked grin as he grasped the back of your neck, forcing your eyes to look deep into his as he plunged all the way into you, a guttural sound tearing through your vocal cords like he somehow forced it out, stealing the space in your body. He stalled for a moment, allowing you to adjust to the intrusion, before setting a pace so slow it made the earth spin faster by comparison. You whined, dug your nails into his shoulders, trying anything to make him speed up. He was enjoying making you desperate. He wanted you to tell him what you wanted. You so desperately tried not to give in. That was until you just couldn’t take it anymore.
“Clark…” you gasped. He said nothing, just simply tilted his head and quirked up an eyebrow. As if he truly didn’t understand what you wanted. He was such a pain.
“Please…” With this, he finally spoke.
“Say it. Tell me what you want.” His voice was so soft and saccharine that you almost forgot how agonizingly evil his movements were.
“Faster,” you managed to choke out. “Please, Clark.”
With that, he switched gears like second nature, hastening his movements in a way that made you throw your head back in ecstasy. It was almost too much. But there was no going back now, finally having everything you’d wanted. Or at least everything you were able to want in this moment. You were supposed to be plotting. Trying to get closer to Superman and finally land that interview. To get the inside scoop, for once. Instead, you were placed against a desk at your place of employment, your work crush—more notably Superman—driving in and out of you, making your eyes glaze over with lust.
Clark’s breaths were heavy and rapid, huffing with each jut of his hips. You felt a pressure building deep in your lower abdomen, heightening with each soft praise that left his lips. He felt it, piercing blue eyes looking deeply into yours.
“Yeah,” he cooed. “Come on, you got it.” As if responding to his words, your body gave out in his grasp, back arching, hoisting your chests together like two puzzle pieces. You cried out as your release washed over you like an all-consuming fog. Clark didn’t stop. He kept up the same merciless speed as you came down from your high. Finally, with a few sharp movements, he buried himself inside of you as he came, holding you, still out of breath underneath his broad body. You both stayed like that for a while, panting into each other’s ears. Finally, he pulled away, that same dorky, nervousness creeping back into his face as you looked back, slumped in his strong arms.
“Hi,” he said. You let a breathy chuckle shoot past your lips. “Hi,” was all you could muster back. Both of you were unsure of how to go forward. What now? Work would never be the same from here on out, that was for sure. Not only had you just discovered the secret identity of your best friend at work, but you’d also just had sex with him—really good sex, you might add. He pulled out, taking a step back to watch you contemplate. Your brain only half-registered his movements, too consumed by the question of how to proceed. Just as your mind landed on “fuck it,” he was motioning to zip up his fly.
As if possessed, you lunged toward him to pull him into another heated kiss, grasping his collar and pulling it down towards you like it was your job to keep his feet on the ground. He scooped you right back up, arms snaking around your body and swaying you as you walked him backwards to your desk, just across the aisle from his. He practically fell into your rolling chair, the wheels continuing backwards until you planted two hands on either side of him, clutching the backrest as you straddled him. He looked up at you a completely different man than the one who had just taken control so easily moments before. Your eyes bore into his timid expression.
“Tell me this is okay,” you asked, almost in a whisper. He handled your waist like it was a precious thing. Like you could break.
“Gosh—Of course it’s okay.” That was all you needed. You shimmied in his lap before sinking down onto him. Clark hissed at the sensitivity, muttering “carefuls” and “watch its” under his breath, worried you might hurt yourself in your eagerness. It never stopped you, your hips rolling in harmony with his bucking. Clark's eyes rolled back, head following suit while you combed your fingers through the dark curls on the crown of his hairline.
“Oh man…” Clark moaned the words in an obscene drawl. You felt the sound shoot into your lower abdomen as your arousal reached new heights. His name was one of the few things you were able to muster, too weak to even look him in the eyes anymore, instead, buried in the crook of his neck. Clark handled you with the care of a relic. Like you were the most expensive antique in the world’s most secure museum. Big hands kept you steady while his throat betrayed him over and over, letting out quiet grunts and strained moans. Every sound made you more and more sensitive to his touch. To the feeling of him as you moved up and down in a messy rhythm.
Once again, you felt the build of another orgasm deep in your gut. He felt it, too, noticing your grip as you tightened around him. His grasp on your waist became firmer, as if to make sure he didn’t let something so expensive slip out of his reach. Like he was making sure he didn’t let you fall and shatter on the floor. Your head lolled back, pressing your body into his as yours and his pleasure peaked. Too blissful to remember to move after the gutteral sound that ripped through you, he took over, jutting his hips over and over, overwhelmed with feeling until he successfully rode out both of your orgasms.
You all but collapsed into him, shoulders rising and falling, body following the same motions with each of Clark’s deep, worn out breaths. He turned to stone around your body.
Neck finally finding the strength to crane up, you met his blue gaze. Once again, a new expression formed on his face. Not control, not lust, not shyness. Devotion. Pure and profound devotion. You had never seen such a look from him, or anyone, let alone directed towards you. The corner of his mouth crooked up into a sweet smirk.
“What are you doing Friday?” God, he was unreal. He was still fully immersed in you and still asking you out like you were two kids who needed dates for the prom.
You huffed, grinning at the goofy smile that hollowed out his dimples in the prettiest way. “I’ll have to check my schedule.” Clark half-rolled his eyes as you pretended to ponder. “Hm,” you sighed, “I guess I could squeeze you in somewhere.”
“Good,” Clark chuckled. “I hope you like breakfast for dinner.”
