GIRL NEXT DOOR
Clark takes care of his neighbour.
cw: 18+, smut, dry humping, mention of alcohol, somnophilia (clark humps you while he's dreaming), cumming in his pants, he takes care of her when she's drunk
PART ONE | PART TWO Clark was used to seeing her in the hallways of his apartment at odd hours.
Like clockwork, Mondays through Thursdays with her laptop in hand & a bag to match and Fridays to Sundays with her skin in glitter — heels dangling from her fingers.
She'd always shoot him an excited wave, grin lopsided and unlike her reserved look she had when she was her 'other' self. Clark on the other hand would always nod politely regardless, even when the heels in her hands were traded for thick theory books.
He'd always thought it was amusing, seeing her so carefree with the slip of alcohol, and sprung back tight when she had to stay sober by necessity. It was a routine he began looking forward to — little run-ins he had with his enigmatic neighbour.
Tonight, however, Superman couldn't.
The exhaustion of being two people at once caught up with him in times like this. So he headed straight into his apartment from his balcony entrance. Melting straight back into Clark — with a comfortable white faded out graphic shirt that sat too snug around his biceps from his teenage days & worn out plaid pajama pants.
He'd only just settled down his couch when he hears a loud beep of his door, followed by a forceful rattle. Getting up warily, his eyes twitch in focus, intending to use his x-ray vision. Though he stops himself when he hears a feminine string of curses on the other side.
Clark raises his brow, padding over to swing it open with one fluid motion, the intruder thudding face first into chest with an oomph.
There you were, his neighbour. Cheeks smushed onto his chest with a confused pout, mascara smeared and glitter on your cheekbones. "Heyyyy it's m'neighbour!"
Your voice was pitched, giggling as you stumble back and away to poke at Clark's chest.
Clark tips his head in question. Nodding to your words with a tight smile. "I think you…have the wrong door." He tries gently. Hands hovered over your shoulder in case you fell over.
"Mmm I think you're at the wrong door misstur Clent Kark."
Clark huffs out a laughter. "Am I?"
You ignore him, pointing at his apartment number on the door that clearly read 608.
"Thissis 609."
His lips purse together, as though in thought. Nodding to himself in agreement of her very bold proclamations. She'd already been swaying dangerously unsteady in those too high heels of hers, and frankly, Clark didn't feel comfortable letting her be in her own apartment.
He leans against the door frame with his elbow bracing the other side. "Mm. You're right. That's my bad. Do you mind if I crashed here for the night, then? You know. Just so I don't fall and hurt myself." He says with a shrug, completely lucid.
Grinning, you offer a dramatic bow. "Very well then, good sir. You may." You giggle as you duck underneath his arm, and then suddenly. But then you stopped halfway in. Whipping your head to look up at him.
"Ya know. You look a wholleelot like Spuperman."
Clark stills in place. Feeling around at his face, realising that he might've left his glasses by the bathroom sink. Panic churns in him, until she blows raspberries, dismissively waving it off. Already distracted, pointing into his apartment.
"You even moved my couch! Verrrryyyy sneaky of you."
"Mmhm."
With a few stumbles, you'd made yourself at home on his couch, falling belly first over the arm rest in your too short dress. Clark's eyes zeroes in on your unintentional flashing, choking when he sees the lacy black thong curved around your ass.
Good lord. He instantly whips his head to the side, pressing his thumb and fore fingers at the bridge of his nose. Willing himself to forget what he'd just seen.
"Let me…grab you something more comfortable." He takes a few steps before turning to you sternly, you perked up when he holds his palm face down. "Stay still."
"Yessssir." You shoot him a sweet look, before collapsing entirely into the lumps.
Clark's search was abandoned when he hears a clatter in his kitchen, returning to see that you were definitively not on the couch.
He turns to see you half climbing onto his counter top, stretching for the higher tier of his cabinets. "What the —" His instinct snap into overdrive, sturdy hands squeezing at your waist to pick you off the granite. "Woah!" A delighted squeal leaves you when he plucks you with ease. You were so out of it you hadn't even questioned the gust of wind that followed when he appeared before you in a flash.
There's a brief moment where he turns you around, a little rough, his palms spanning a large portion of bare skin of your dress. You look up at him through your lashes, dazed. His heat permeating beneath his palm.
Clark feels it too, and immediately creates distance, plopping you onto the counter top.
He coughs, as if to distract his own thoughts, "you need something, you ask me, okay?"
There's an odd gentleness in his words, despite his serious look. You tut, blatantly poking at where there's faint indents of his dimples.And then, you hum loudly in thought "mmmmwellmy feetshurtin'n'myfaceisalluncomfortableanthenthis dress issuffocatingandalso…"
Clark shushes you at once a squeeze of your lips, "Geez louise. We'll go at it one at a time."
Without further questioning, he leans over you to unfasten the hooks of your strappy heels, slipping them off your feet. You're taking that opportunity to wrap your arms at the expanse of his broad back, which he grunts at.
All his amusement vanishes he sees reddened peeling at the back of your ankles.
She must've been hurting all night, he thinks.
With a slow exhale, he pats on your thigh. "Hold tight." You don't register what he means until you feel his strong arm curl around your hips, foisting you over his shoulder with ease.
You're cackling at the sudden shift of weight, clearly enjoying it with how your feet sway back and forth while he walks you to his bedroom, rambling something about being on Clark Airlines.
"Mmhm." He hums, acknowledging your yapping while he sets you on his mattress from a low height, causing you bounce slightly, cooing at the experience still.
Clark looks at you, jaw visibly tensing at how your dress had shifted completely out of place. He swipes his nose, not looking at how your tits were practically about to spill out. "Uh.."
He places his a hand on his hip, holding out a shirt for you to wear. "Think you can dress yourself?"
You laugh and fall back flat, rolling away, which was answer enough.
He grabs at your ankle to drag him back towards him, earning another squeal from you. With his eyes squeezed shut, he takes on the task of undressing you in the most un-sexy and un-romantic manner possible, battling with a shrill,"mmmmmffhhgggg I can't seeeee!"
"Good—gosh, that's not the head-hole, that's the arm-hole!"
He's practically suffocating you at this point, but he gets the job done, even if it meant you giving him that annoyed pouty look you had now. Hair all messy and sticking to your face.
You're wriggling when he holds your jaw taut, dabbing the makeup off your face with wet wipes. He swipes your hair off your cheeks with his knuckles. The action seems to soothe you. It's easier now with his gentle touches lulling you to sleep after your hyperactive show. By the time he was done, your head was bobbing in a sleepy manner.
The corner of his lips twitches into a smile as he lays you down onto his bed, letting out an exhausted sigh. Even a toddler would've been more well behaved. Clark sits next to your curled figure, gently tucking your hair behind your ears. Thumbing the underneath of your eyes where your lashes met his fingers.
"Quiet suits you much better."
You blink awake after awhile. Mouth dry, with your head filled with cotton. The dizziness that took you had you groaning when you sat upright. You're looking around at the unfamiliar room with squinted eyes. Stopping short of the larger figure slumped into a brown leather arm chair.
His chest rose and dipped steady and deep, thighs parted and arms hanging loose on the hand rest. Suddenly, your mouth feels drier than it begins with at the throb it incites in your gut. You swallow thickly, then blinking down at yourself.
You grabbed at the fabric, pulling it away from your chest. You don't remember putting this on, a shirt faintly smelled of fresh laundry, and a tinge of citrus. You then glance over to Clark, making a slow move towards him.
The floors look shake when you take a first stand, hem of the crumpled shirt falling to cover half your thighs. You take another step, and begin to tip-toe as though it helped with your balance. You giggle, out of breath when you reach Clark who was still fast asleep from his own exertion of the day.
You drag your gaze over him, biting the inside of your cheeks at how the fabric across his chest tenses with every breath. It's a last minute decision when you clumsily scoot over onto him, knees pressing to either side of him before you fold into his lap, much like a cat.
His warmth provides you with more motivation to cuddle into the source of the heat. You feel him subconsciously hike you further up, arm curling around the back of your hips to hold you flush onto him.
It's innocent enough. Clark was sturdy, unlike any man you'd met in your life. Up till now, you were only ever offered the concept of him, flittering next door with a nod at you even when you looked awful from classes.
It was all semantics now. All that mattered was just how firm he felt, and how you'd slowly begun to rock your hips mindlessly onto him. Clark doesn't react to it at first. But his body quickly picks up on the dull friction provided. Sending all his blood down south.
You were already falling back to sleep with your head flush onto his shoulder. Hips slowing ever so slightly. But he was deep in his own dreams.
And in his dream? Clark Kent was fucking his cock into your tight pussy. You're still that pretty dress you sauntered in with. He thinks about tugging your dress down to paw at your tits, squeezing them.
His hip bucks to the thought. And gosh he felt good. Scarily so when he rocked into you. He feels his cock quickly hardening beneath the plaid.
In Clark's dream, you were compliant, soft, and needy. He drinks in all your moans, thumbing at your clit just to feel your hips jump.
His grip around your waist tightens, breathing onto the side of your head, heavier now, tilting his hips to meet the scarily real warmth and wetness that was meeting his grinds.
"Mmn, Clark—.."
Your moans sounded too real. He doesn't question it. Clark moves faster and harder, rocking and grinding his hard cock into the wet, slick pressure on him.
"More…more…"
He groans out loud this time, his thighs tensing at the dulled ache he feels at his balls. He was close. So close. He's grabbing with both hands now, on the softness beneath his palm.
Clark is fully rolling his hips, humping mindlessly at the slickness he feels. It hits him all at once when he cums in jolts, the warmth bubbling and spilling back onto him. He breathes heavy onto the silky soft strands that constricted him.
It's then he blinks awake. Groggy. Looking down to see you curled on his lap.
His breath catches his throat when he realises the uncomfortable wetness where the two of you are connected.
