Chapter Text
What a day, huh?
Lois wiped the drizzle of rain from her eyes. Her lip pouted, and she put her head in her arms.
Poor me .
It wasn’t like her to cry in the bathroom. Or miss her bus. It especially wasn’t like her to shuffle miserably to the nearest dive bar and order five cosmopolitans after another without a crumb of food.
It isn’t like me at all.
But she’d had a bad day at work. And she needed to take the edge off. So it was not only plausible that she’d get drunk in a part of town she wouldn’t know from Smallville, Kansas, it was necessary .
She sniffled, wrapping her coat closed around her.
Smallville…
Clark.
Clark loosening his tie and giving her a look. Scolding her like a little girl, and her, nodding like a little girl. Folding his arms sternly, just because she wanted to see a crime scene. How was she to know? Everybody said the robbers wouldn’t come back. Lucky: she missed them. Unlucky: she tried to follow them. That is, she did , until his hand hooked around her waist and pulled her writhing back to him.
Always a lecture.
And he had lectured her. And set her writing sad little gossip pieces until the sun went down, and her date with it. Yes, a date. A real date, with a real man. A nice man, with ash blonde hair and green eyes.
Boohoo me.
Lois really needed that date. Twenty-five and single in the fall was only half as miserable as twenty-six and single during the holidays. Halloween spent chewing candy on her couch, picking Twix out of her teeth. Then it would be Thanksgiving at the kids table, stabbing at her pie and watching her cousin tongue kiss her husband. Christmas, the worst of them. One stocking over the fire, and one pair of pajamas from a matching set her mother bought in advance. Waking up cold in bed.
It was hard to say. She shuddered at the mere thought.
But…
Lois was lonely.
Not lonely for friends. At least, not friends in the platonic sense.
She giggled, with a slight hiccup.
“I’d really like a man to save me right now,” she said to the sky, “Because I am very-very drunk. And I’d like a ride home. Any home. Any nice home. With strawberries. And a—“ she spread her arms, “ big bed. So big. Big enough for-for three of me.”
No one answered.
“Okay,” she rolled her eyes, reaching out to steady herself, “Superman doesn’t save helpless girls. Okay.”
Rain pattered down. A car passed.
“Which is so…” she sighed, “It’s not really chivalry. Right? He’s the red and blue knight! Shouldn’t he—“ she struggled to her feet, “Help out his publicity? As a man?”
She pointed a finger into the sky, “I write your articles, Superman!”
Lightning flashed, lighting up the skyscrapers as if to say: Not here. Send complaints elsewhere.
But she didn’t have many options. She didn’t have money for the taxi. She didn’t have her phone to call. Truth was, she didn’t have much without her purse. That had abandoned her between her third and fourth Cosmo. She could go back and beg for it, but she’d end up drunker than before.
Clark would help her.
If he was here, he’d call a cab for her. But not before a speech on public intoxication and knowing her size sensitivity to alcohol. As if he knew anything about size sensitivity.
She snorted.
He was…how tall? Too tall. Lois liked tall men. Kissing with a stretch and some heels. Loud and confident.
He wasn’t in that bracket.
Clark was a Dalmation. Too big for too much. A quiet giant, too subtle for her taste and too strict to let her have her way. She pushed and he didn’t give. She shoved and he didn’t move. She could get absolutely trashed on five cosmos, but he’d barely be tipsy.
Such a gentleman. He never let her get the better of him.
She tapped her finger against her cheek clumsily.
Unless…
She could flirt. She was always flirty drunk. That had been a discovery in college. Her one party, orientation weekend, she had three beers and made a frat brother turn beet red with a single kiss.
Then it was just work, work, work, day after day. All work and no play.
Wasn’t she tired of not having fun? Couldn’t she have some real fun messing with him?
What she wouldn’t give to make him blush. Peel off this blouse and show him some silk he hadn’t seen before. Strip herself down and tie his big wrists up so he could watch and not touch. No touching, no, not even when she gave him a show. He’d do whatever she wanted, if she kept him begging.
She could keep him begging.
No more lectures, she told herself, next time, I’m just going to tie up my hair.
She gathered her long dark strands up contemplatively. Would she even have to kneel that much?
“Ms. Lane.”
“Oh!” She jumped, dropping her hair, “Superman.”
No matter how many times she saw him, he still awed her.
His hair was slightly windswept, the dark waves slipping slightly over his forehead. His cape blew in the night, red fluttering in the shadow of the streetlight. But the man himself, Superman, was just the same.
“You rang?” He walked towards her, “You don’t call for my help unless you need it.” His voice was deep, not rough.
“Right,” she ran a hand through her hair, “Yeah, I just—“
“You need a ride,” he answered, feet away, “That can be arranged.”
She snickered, “Well since you’re offering…”
He frowned. She tried to fix her expression.
“Are you drunk?” He asked suddenly, “You smell like it.”
“What? Psssh, no,” she smiled flirtatiously, “That’s just my perfume.”
“You smell like roses and liquor,” his jaw ticked, “Signature scent this time of night?”
“Don’t imply I’m a whore, Superman,” she pointed at him, “Rude.”
“Why’d you call me?”
“I need a ride. My phone’s gone.”
He closed the distance, forcing her head to crane up. “Bad day?”
She smiled weakly, “Aren’t they all?”
He sighed, resting his hands on his hips, “Mine needs some improvement.”
She could…
No. Absolutely not.
For one thing, he was not her type. Hollywood pretty boy, too big for his own ego. Working out just for the muscles, philanthropy because he was an “upstanding citizen” and an “All-American”. God, could he get more insufferable?
She rolled her eyes.
Perfect fucking nose, perfect mouth, perfect eyes. And his bone structure was immaculate. They made billboards of him for Pete’s sake. She interviewed him for men’s health, where he sat on a barstool and gave masculinity tips with that stupid voice.
“You never want to force a woman to take charge” “Girl boss is not a mandatory vocation for your partner.” Please. He said it all with this thinly veiled women should have their authority fucked out of them. Please. Of course he would think that he was the man for the job. And of course, he wasn’t.
Absolutely not.
She looked up at him, “Ha. Funny.”
He slowly folded his arms, “First of all, I don’t work out for the muscles. It’s strength training, so I can lift buildings.”
What?
“And second of all,” he narrowed his eyes, “I do not think women should have the authority fucked out of them.”
Her eyes widened.
Oops.
“That was an inside thought.”
“You’re damn right,” he pinched the bridge of his nose–his perfect fucking nose–adding, “Thanks for complimenting my bone structure.”
“I mean,” she smiled, “It’s pretty fantastic.”
“Looks aren’t everything, Ms. Lane,” he glanced down at her, muttering, “Although in your case, they do a lot.”
She blinked, “You think I’m attractive.”
“Sure,” he said bluntly, “Before I found out you’re a crazed lunatic who talks out loud about having sex with public servants.”
“Not all public servants,” she said indignantly, “Just the firefighters. Actually…” she smiled, “if you could drop me off there , that would be great.”
He stared at her, “You just monologued about not being attracted to me, and you expect me to chauffeur you to men that don’t sexually repel you?”
“Is that so bad?”
“Yes, Ms. Lane!” He got in her face, “Yes, it is.”
“Look,” she pointed at him, “My boss chewed me out, my partner treated me like a child—“
“Because you act like one?”
“Because he acts like my father!” She groaned, “And I am irritated, tired, and tipsy.”
“Congratulations, I’m irritated too.”
“And I would like to be in a big bed tonight,” she said primly, hands on her hips, “preferably not my own.”
“Yeah?” He crouched down to her level. The hands on his knees were a little condescending. “I’d like to go home to my big bed and unwind with a beautiful woman who does not irritate me, but life’s unfair, sweetheart.” He smiled. He had white teeth, sharp wolf like canines, “It must come as a shock to you.”
Her little black dress was getting itchy. She tugged at a neckline, yanking on it. “You really are,” she breathed, “the worst superhero. I mean—“ she laughed, “Sure you can save an orphanage but not one reporter?” She shook her hair out of the rain, “What have I ever done to aggravate you, huh?”
He wasn’t looking at her. Well, he was, but his eyes kept straying.
She snapped her fingers, “Focus, will you? Let me tell you, Superman, I think you’re the savior of puppies and small children. But me?” She huffed, “I wrote your first article. I’ve defended you to the press. Even when you’re acting like I’m—“ she hesitated, squinting, “What?”
“Sorry,” he reached out and stopped, “Your—“
She looked down. She’d accidentally pulled her neckline a little too low, showing her bra. Any other night, she would have screamed and covered her chest, but it was her white set.
“Oh, that,” she said airily, “Whatever.”
“It’s a little distracting,” he averted his eyes. For a brief moment, she wanted to take off her dress. Put on a show.
“You wear a form fitting suit,” she said, “You think that doesn’t draw eyes?”
“It’s different.”
“Different between men and women?”
“Different between you and me,” he answered, “I’m meant to be distinct. Noticeable.”
“You’re getting noticed with how fitted that suit it around the shoulders.”
“But you…I mean,” he sighed, “It’s hard to focus with you…like that.”
“Because I’m a reporter.”
“Because you’re my reporter,” he licked his lips, “I’d like to preserve that relationship.”
Well now.
Isn’t that something?
“We’re supposed to be close, Superman,” she said, “What, a little cleavage is going to change that?”
“Don’t flirt.”
“I’m not–”
“You’re flirting,” he said flatly, “ and you’re drunk. It’s dangerous.”
“Well,” she gave him a shy smile, “Strongest man on the planet with me, I think I’ll be okay.”
“It’s not you that I’m worried about,” he replied.
“Oh no!” She teased, “Don’t blush, big boy,” she waved her hand, “They all get over me.”
“You’re drunk.”
“I am not drunk,” she stepped forwards, brushing fluff off his suit, “I am tipsy. ” She looked up at him through her lashes, “And I’m all yours, if you say yes in the next ten seconds.”
Rash. Risky. Rude, even.
But not a terrible idea.
She’d never seen him so flustered.
“Lois–”
“I have a terrible memory past eleven o’clock,” she said, glancing at her watch, “Worse when I’m tipsy-not-drunk , seven seconds.”
“Ms. Lane, I would take up your offer, but I can’t,” he stuttered, “I–I, the physical dangers surrounding that, you haven’t considered–”
“I’m thinking about it,” she tapped her watch, “Four seconds.”
“Lois…”
“I’ll call a cab. I’ll go home. And I’ll never offer again,” she said, to reassure him, “I swear, I wouldn’t have sex with me, if I’m being–”
He kissed her.
As in, gathered her up in his arms, lifted her off the ground and kissed her. He took his time, he kept it soft and slow.
“ I’m supposed to proposition you,” he said after they finally broke apart, his arms still around her.
“You can,” she said, “When I remember.”
“Oh, God…”
“How many times have you saved me from mind-control stuff? I’m perpetually forgetful,” she kissed him, “We’re not ruining the relationship.”
“Then we only have tonight.”
“Only tonight,” she smiled, peeking over his shoulder, “And you’re already floating.”
“Shut up.”
It was a short trip to his apartment, a brownstone downtown. She kicked the front door shut as he pressed her up against it. He was handsy. Pressing his nose deep into her hair, kissing on her neck. Tracing the curve of her ass and spreading her legs to slot his knee between. She could barely keep up. She was just trying to find a zipper.
“Take your suit off.”
“Live in the moment, Lane.”
“Yeah, I’m going to live in the moment when I get this off of you.”
He kissed her cheek, “Can’t I enjoy you for a moment?”
She blushed, shying away, “Nice try.”
“Mmm,” he was practically purring, dropping lower and kissing his way down, “You have no idea…”
“Hey,” she said, breathing harder, watching as he pushed up her dress to kiss her inner thigh, “Uhhhhh…”
He looked up with the softest eyes, “Please?”
“Bedroom.”
“But…”
“No,” she laughed nervously, running a hand through her hair, “Ha. Nice try. No. If we stay here, you’re fucking me on the floor.”
He frowned, “I would never–”
“Think about it.”
He did. She could see his pupils expand.
“Uh-huh, exactly. Move it, buster.”
“Do not–” he picked her up in a fireman’s pull, ignoring her shriek, “call me buster.”
“Champ?”
“I’ll kill you.”
“You better.”
He set her down on the bed and she immediately sat up to watch him take off his suit. He caught her watching and smiled.
“Anything I should know, Lane?”
“Uh,” she fumbled with her dress, “You’ll think I’m lying. And I’m not lying, I swear. I wouldn’t tell you to be sexy, because it really isn’t sexy–”
“What?”
“I’m a virgin,” she tossed her dress on his floor, and it landed next to his suit. A crumpled ball of fabric next to heavy duty canvas. She stood, meeting his eyes, “Surprise.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
He nodded, “I already knew.”
“How?” She folded her arms, “You couldn’t have.”
“You’re trying to be…” he studied her, “worldly and all-knowing.”
“I am worldly,” she shrugged, “I know things.”
“Mhmm? Teach me something.”
“I know—“ she smiled, leaning against him, tip-toes stumbling over herself, “I know men like a show. They can kick back and just let it happen, let the woman perform.” She hesitated at that. She didn’t know much. She’d have to improvise.
“A performance,” he held her up easily, “Like what? Like you take off those clothes and service me against a wall? Put me on my back and ride me?”
“Of course.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No,” he repeated, “You really are a virgin, Lane.”
She huffed, indignant, “I thought men liked special treatment.”
“First of all, you’re a virgin,” he reminded her, “I’d already be putting in the work to make sure you’re ready for me. If I let you fumble your way through sex, you’d hurt yourself. Second of all,” he smiled knowingly, “you’ll get me off. You don’t have to worry about that.”
“But if you’re doing everything,” she said as he nodded, “What am I supposed to do?”
“Just keep making that face,” he kissed her temple, “That stubborn, innocent little face.”
“Hey–”
“Shhhhh…”
He picked her up with one hand. One hand. Just scooped her up by her ass and laid her down on his bed. His massive bed. She raised her hands, trying to meet each end. She was practically feet away from both.
He straddled her, careful not to put any weight on her. She quickly realized how massive he was, not just in height, but in build. He lifted bridges, he had stood against monsters a hundred times his size, but she’d only seen him in his suit. Out of it, he seemed more powerful, not less.
“Look at you,” the deepness of his voice almost startled her. He reached down, threading fingers through her hair, cradling her head, “You’re so pretty.”
She swallowed, “Thanks. Likewise.”
“What am I going to do with you?” He said absently, tracing her throat, “I don’t want to hurt you. But fuck, you’re small.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“I’m just saying.”
“Look,” she sat up, pushing him down on the sheets where she had laid, “You’re Kryptonian, whatever. You’re two hundred and fifty pounds, whatever.”
“Little more than that…”
“Shut up ,” she pushed her hair out of her face, “I am going to fuck you. So give me something I can do without you accidentally damaging my organs.”
He thought for a moment, “You could just…use me.”
“Use you how?”
“Me,” he said blankly and clarified, “Use my body. More specifically my leg.”
“What?” she swung her knee over his thigh, “What, like this?”
“More like…” he adjusted her carefully, rocking her back and forth, “ this .”
“Oh,” she blinked, pushing her hips against the muscle there.
“How you feeling?” He tucked her hair behind her ear.
“Fine,” she smiled, but it quickly dropped as her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. His hands slid lower.
“I’ve always wanted to see you like this,” he said contemplatively, “Just…slowly getting worked up, getting that look in your eyes like you want my hands on you.”
“I do want your hands on me,” she panted, “Help?”
“Never thought you’d ask,” he hooked his hands around her thighs, “You’ve got to be harder, Lane. I’m not going to break.”
“It’s sensitive,” she muttered.
“Yes it is, which is why you need to be hard. Soft is going to turn you on, but you’ll tiptoe the edge. You can be rough with yourself. You can go harder. Your arousal will help.”
The way he talked, authoritative and strict with her, she was helped. Slick pleasure between her legs was building, her skin flushing, and beads of moisture collected on his thigh.
“You’re going to indulge me later,” he said as he watched her, “and ride me.”
“Ride you?”
“Ride me like you want two kids and ranch house,” he muttered, “And I’m going to tell you all about it, while you’re just using me and using me, and I’ll make you a million promises. Tell you I’d be a good father and a good man and a good fuck.”
His head fell back as a moan slipped through her lips, “I’m so needy, Lois. Let me fuck you once, and I’ll come crawling back. Give me this,” he cupped her face, “Give me something to need.”
“You need me,” she said. She wasn’t asking, “You need me.”
“Yes.”
“I need you,” she said, running her hands up his leg as he swallowed tightly, “I need you to—“ she doubled over, moaning, “I need you to fuck me.”
He nodded slowly, lips parted.
She ran her thumb over his hip, “I need it so badly. I’ll do whatever you want.” She was trembling, “I’ll take it. I’ll take it for you. I’ll be good.”
“Of course,” his hand was so tight on her hip he was leaving bruises. But this only made her more desperate.
“Please,” she said, voice getting higher, “please, please, I can’t, I can’t—“
“You can.”
“No, I—“
And there it was. In his eyes. There it was. That was what got her. Those damn eyes.
She surged forward and melted into a kiss.
She melted, period.
She felt every muscle relax, her body sink against his as his hand slid over her waist.
Her legs twitching through aftershocks, reacting as he pushed her warm flooded panties to the side.
“Finally,” she said against his neck, “Now we can—“
He eased his finger into her. He was gentle about it. But how gentle could he be, really? Even wet, it was a stretch.
“Give me a second,” she panted, “Ease up a little, flyboy.”
“It’s just one.”
“Just one ?” She dropped her head, “I might need an hour.”
“No, you need an orgasm,” he muttered, and his hand began to stroke against her gently.
“I can’t, I came ten minutes ago.”
“Oh, so I really do have a thing or two to teach you.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means,” he said as her breathing picked up, “that it isn’t enough. There has to be more, a lot more, for me to be good to you.”
“You are good. You’re being very good to me.”
“No, no, no,” he shook his head, “Women should be soft.” He nuzzled his nose against her neck, “You’re tense .”
“I’ll loosen up.”
“Yes, you will,” he bit softly against her ear, “It’ll take two more just to open you up, then three to settle you down. Then two to get you through it. Then two to get me through it.”
“Two what?”
“What do you think?”
She laughed as his hand worked against her, “I don’t think that would—how many is that? Eight…nine…”
“That’s right, sweetheart. You do the math.”
She shook her head to clear it, “Sorry, I can’t—“
Something in the movement of his hand made her gasp. “Ten,” she breathed, “ten orgasms is ridiculous.”
“It’s easy. Easy.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Mhmm,” he bit his lip, smiling, “It tastes…like a dream.”
“Taste?”
“Taste.” He nodded, “I’m going to make you come real quick, and then you’re going on my mouth.”
“Oh,” she nodded mockingly, “I’ll just come, shall I?”
“Yes, you should?”
“I can’t just spontaneously come, honey,” she snapped, “God, you really have an ego—“
“Okay,” he covered her mouth with one hand, “Watch me.”
It wasn’t spontaneous. That would be ridiculous.
But fuck, if it wasn’t close.
Coming for the second time made her feel like she’d just taken a shot of espresso with an aphrodisiac. She could barely hold herself together, his hand was still inside her, and if she came one more time, she was pretty sure she’d have a heart attack.
Even if she was aching and moaning and actively pushing her hips against him.
She made a run for it.
“C’mere,” he grabbed her ankle, dragging her back easily.
She flipped over, “I have a headache?”
“Look,” he smiled lopsidedly, “you want to grind on my thigh for an hour, that’s fine.”
“I-I definitely do not want to do that.”
“No, but you’re keyed up and bolting. You lock yourself in my bathroom, exile me to the couch, you’re going to try and get yourself off.” He raised his eyebrows, “Emphasis on try .”
“I am very capable of—“
“I have no doubt,” his eyes dragged over her body, “View like that, how could you not? But you need to settle down.”
Her jaw dropped.
“By coming nine times.”
She raised a finger, “You’re sexist.”
“Please,” he folded his arms, “If I couldn’t make you come, maybe.”
“You think misogynists can’t make women come?”
“In my experience, no.”
“Look at you. A pioneer.”
He smiled, white teeth and dimples. “Shut up.”
“Fine,” she shrugged, “I admit it, I didn’t come.”
“Stop.”
“Or what? You’ll call me a dumb whore?” She was getting cocky.
“It could be arranged.”
“Oh, wow .”
“You asked, honey.”
She raised an eyebrow, hooking a leg around his thigh, “So we’re doing things my way?”
“Mmm,” he squinted, “Not exactly.”
“Please?” she widened her eyes, “I’ll be good.”
“Ah. Is this my dumb whore?”
She pouted, “I can read.”
“Mhmm,” he didn’t seem amused. His thigh rocked slowly against her hips, “Are you settling down?”
“Ha,” she squirmed beneath him, fingers digging into the sheets, flexing out, “Are you?”
He raised his eyebrows, “You can’t tell?”
“…no.”
“You can touch me.”
“No…”
“Lois. Come on, don’t wuss out now.”
“Fine, fine, I’ll just—“ she tentatively reached out, fingers flattening against his chest. She flinched. He was warmer than she expected. She thought it was just exertion, but his body temperature was higher than a natural human.
“Baby,” he seemed concerned, “you alright?”
She exhaled, “Fine. But…don’t call me baby.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m touching you and feeling you and—“ her hands started to wander, “I think I’ll say something stupid.”
“Like a dumb whore.”
“Uh-huh,” she ran a fingernail over his abs, “Yeah.”
His muscles tensed and she looked up, startled, “What?”
“Nothing, it’s just—“ he swallowed, “I’m a little sensitive to touch.”
“Oh?” She smiled slowly, “Why?”
“I’m not really used to people touching my bare skin,” he confessed, “Krypton biology tends to f-flood the brain with—can you stop touching me for a second?”
“No,” she smiled innocently, fingers running over his biceps.
He glared at her, “Hormones. It’s a lot of hormones.”
“So in your little caveman brain…”
“Hardly caveman .”
“You want to, what? Mate with me?” He was absolutely gorgeous, she could practically give herself a round of applause. He had perfect veins along his forearms. She wanted to chew on them.
“Yes…” he gritted his teeth, “Which is not exactly ideal.”
“Why?”
“ Because .” His pupils dilated as she took one of his hands, teething gently against his thumb, “it could get obsessive, fast.”
“You do it right and I’ll let you do it all the time,” she mumbled around his fingers.
He swallowed, staring at her, “Uh…I can…I can, uh” Her hand slid over his v-lines, pressing softly against him. He jolted.
Lois could adjust fairly well to most things. And she didn’t want to disappoint him, she’d be a perfect angel. But he really did have massive hands. And two of them sliding halfway down her throat was enough to make her gag.
“Oh, jeez,” he pulled them out quickly as she coughed, “Lois, baby.”
“God,” she wailed, “Not now!”
“Right, right, sorry.”
“Clark…” she rubbed her throat, “if you want to fuck me, don’t go the long way, dammit!”
“I know, Lois, I’m so sorry.”
She realized her mistake and flushed, “Sorry.”
“What?” He cocked his head.
“It’s nothing,” she was a pretty shade of pink now.
“Oh,” he said, “Who’s…Clark?”
“A guy,” she cringed, “A different guy.”
“Oh…”
“No, no!” She sat up, “Honest mistake I swear, I wasn’t thinking of him.”
“Right.”
“He’s a total nerd. He works at the Daily Planet. You just sometimes sound like him.”
“Uh-huh.”
“But only when your voice is all,” she waved her hands, “clumsy and dorky. He doesn’t have your deep voice. Which is sexier, I swear.”
His face sagged, “Great.”
“That bothers you?”
“I’m kind of a nerd,” he admitted.
“Oops,” she mumbled, “you can stick your hand down my throat again.”
He smiled dryly, “You won’t gag?”
“You have very large fingers. You can’t blame me for that.”
“Speaking of which,” he pulled her into his lap, “You’re very tight.”
“Hmm,” she smiled, “Not the most gentlemanly of comments, but I’ll take it.”
“I’m being serious,” his hands settled on her waist, “If I just try and stretch you out with my hands, I’m going to hurt you. And later would be…difficult for a multitude of reasons.”
“What’s the multitude?”
“Caveman hormones,” he said, “That could make me get a little lost in the moment. And if I don’t focus, I’ll break you in half like a toothpick.”
“Huh,” she tossed her hair, “That easy for you to break me, big guy?”
“I could shatter your pelvis without thinking about it.”
“That is…” she nodded, “the hottest thing you’ve said all night. Please fuck me.”
“Nice try,” he lay back, resting her on his chest, “I’ve got an alternative.”
She shifted lower, rocking over his hips but his hands pulled her back towards him. “What?” She said, “I thought I was supposed to be settling down.”
“You are. When I eat you out.”
“ What?” She tried to close her legs, but he held them open, pulling her underwear off and throwing it aside.
“I thought you’d be pleased. Misogynists don’t do this, you know.”
“And you’re a pioneer,” she said, dazed, “Uh…”
“Just thirty minutes. Actually forty, but I’m saying thirty to win you over.”
“Forty minutes is a lot, right?”
“Wait,” his brows furrowed, “You haven’t…a man hasn’t ever gone down on you?”
She twisted her fingers, “I’ve heard it’s uncomfortable.”
“Not for dumb whores, it isn’t,” he said with a grin, “C’mere.”
His hands wrapped around her waist, fingers touching and she yelped. “Isn’t it…” she cringed, “suffocating?”
“Oh, honey ,” he said incredulously, “no.”
“Okay, jeez,” she mumbled, letting herself be pulled forward. He lifted her up, settling her down on his mouth.
She hesitantly ran her fingers through his hair, “This cannot feel good.”
He groaned, and the vibration made her legs tense. She’d been wound up since her first orgasm, and she could feel her arousal spreading over his face. “Baby,” he gripped her hips to make sure she didn’t move, “You have no idea.”
There should be a law against this , she thought as his tongue circled her clit. She squirmed and he laughed.
“I think—“ she gasped for the thousandth time in the past twenty-five minutes, “you’re fulfilled your quota now, honey.”
He tapped two fingers against her ass, as if to say, I’m done when I say so.
But when he said so didn’t seem to end.
She’d kicked him when he put his tongue inside her, nervous and keyed up. He didn’t even notice. Instead, he made her come until she stopped counting.
She wasn’t getting breaks either. She tapped his head, he was oblivious. The only confirmation he was aware of anything was the low desperate noises he made.
“Please,” she pulled his hair until she thought she’d rip it out, but he groaned, running his tongue through her core. She gritted her teeth, trying to ignore how much slick was coming out of her. She might be starting to hate it, but her body couldn’t have been more thrilled.
She wanted him .
Finally, he lifted her off of him, “We’re going to be doing a lot of that in the future.” He set her in his lap but she flopped over, chest heaving.
“Sweetheart?” He crouched over her.
“I hate you,” she mumbled, “I can’t feel my legs.”
“You were perfect,” he kissed her palm tenderly, “You pulled my hair.”
“I thought I was going to faint.”
“I would have been fine with that,” he said, “You’re only human.”
She sat up, pressing a hand to her stomach, “Next time—“
“Mhmm?”
“I’m taking a sleeping pill and you can enjoy your six hours of that torture routine,” she touched herself, glaring at him, “I have hickies .”
“Sorry.”
“Uh-huh,” she fell back against his fluffy pillows, arm over her face, “I think I’m owed, don’t you?”
“Happy to,” he spread her legs again, hooking them around his shoulders when she stopped him.
“Nice try.”
His eyes softened, “Lois…”
“I’m ready,” she said stubbornly, “I can take it.”
“You don’t have to be ready.”
She lowered her chin. Her eyes went big and wide, her lower lip jutted out, “…please?”
That broke him.
“You poor thing,” he murmured, “Alright.”
He pulled off his boxers and her jaw dropped.
Hoooooooly fuck.
He was nervous? She was in fear for her safety.
“You okay?”
“Peachy,” she breathed, “Can you go slow? Very slow? Creeping? A crawl?”
“Sure, sure,” he wrapped her legs around his tapered hips. He leaned in close, just as he started to slowly push himself in, “I’ll go whatever pace you want, baby.”
It was the stretch, not his words that made her whimper, but she saw his hand curl into first, and she felt gratified.
It was painful. She would never tell him, and her expression mimicked pleasure better than pain. But it ached , a deep crushing ache inside of her, a burn that made her spine arch and her vision blur.
She was losing her virginity, and she couldn’t keep her eyes open.
He cupped her cheek, and she nuzzled against his touch. Legs spread so wide they ached, wrapping around his perfect body. Fingernails dragging down his chest. Laid down in the biggest bed she’d ever seen, flush against feather pillows, nowhere to look but him. All of him.
The silver streaks through his black hair, the green flecks in his blue eyes, and the warmth of his skin. An honest golden tan, the calluses of his hand touching her warm and rough, the muscles in his body rippling under her touch. And his mouth, his perfect mouth, parted and practically drooling over her.
He pushed further into her and she closed her eyes.
“No, no,” he ducked his head, dragging his teeth against her earlobe, “Look at me.”
“No…”
“Look at me.”
She did so. He groaned, low in his throat and guttural, “Lois.”
She keened and he whispered, “talk me through it.”
“ I’m full .”
“I know, baby, I know.”
“It’s so much.”
“Yes,” he breathed, “I’m going to help you. I’m going to fix it. You’re going to be fine.”
She nodded, “I can handle it.”
“Just a little more.”
Just a little more? He was splitting her in half. She slid her hand down, feeling between them, where their bodies met. He was quite literally stretching her, going as slow as he possibly could without breaking something. It made something in her stomach flip.
“You can break me,” she whispered.
“I could destroy you,” he kissed her neck, her collarbone, her breasts, “but I can also keep you safe.”
“I’m full.”
“I know. I know,” his eyes were so soft, even as she tried to claw his skin off, “ there we go.”
Their hips met and she felt herself dissolve.
By the time she came back to herself, he had his hand against her forehead, eyebrows furrowed in concern.
“…what?”
“You fainted,” he said, “I thought, maybe a fever.”
“No, it’s the fact that I have something putting my internal organs in a blender.” She groaned, “You haven’t come yet. God help me.”
“I’m guessing kryptonian virility is much higher.”
“Please come.”
He raised his eyebrows, “Very funny.”
“I thought men were easy,” she rolled her eyes, “I hate krypton.”
“You want to ride me?”
“Thought you’d never ask.” He rolled them over and she rested her hands on his chest.
“See, you’re putting all your weight on your wrists,” he tsked, manhandling her, “You’ve got to put your body into it. Hips and thighs doing the movement, and then those legs—“ he grabbed a handful of her leg, jostling her affectionately, “just—well, they—“ he moved to straighten something around his face and quickly ran a hand through his hair, “ride, I guess.”
“Can you keep explaining?”
“Course,” he murmured, as she started to slowly rock against him, circling her hips, “You have to think of it like there’s nothing under you. Not a man, not even a…well, you know. You’re showing yourself a good time, and you’re making it worth it. You don’t care how you look or how long it takes, you’re playing with yourself. You’re completely unburdened.”
“And you?”
“I get to watch,” he said, and he did. Her lacy little set would have been ripped to shreds in the heat of passion if he didn’t like it so much. He was considerate like that.
“Thinking about future fatherhood?” She said teasingly, “watch yourself.”
She was starting to wind him up, talking like that.
“I’m really curious about this krypton thing,” she said, fingers walking up his arm, “How bad is it?”
“It’s fine.”
“Let’s play Doctor, scale of one to ten,” she smiled slyly, “Ten being tying me down and mating me until it takes.”
His jaw clenched, “We’re not there yet. Four.”
“Mhmm,” she spread her hands flat over his chest as his breathing hitched, “What’s it feel like?”
“Tempting,” his voice was dropping lower, darker, “I’m a gentleman. I’m being careful. I know it’s your first time and I know you’re on birth control and I know I can’t keep you, but,” he sighed, “I know what I can do to you. What I can teach you. I know birth control probably won’t work on me, and it’s turning me on more than you can possibly imagine. And I know,” his eyes met hers, “that I can fuck the sense out of you.”
“Because I’m your dumb whore,” she said sarcastically.
“Yeah,” his hand cupped her face, thumb pulling down her bottom lip, “You’re such a pretty girl you beg.”
“Beg?” She frowned, “I’m not begging.”
“Right,” he grabbed her hips, shifting her rhythm. Harder, faster, deeper.
“Well, gosh,” she fanned her face, fingers fluttering, “I thought I’d have to do everything.”
“You’re such a princess,” he murmured, “Pretty little city princess who can’t even straddle. Are your thighs aching, hon? Does it hurt?”
“Now that you mention it…”
“You’re lucky I don’t make you finish me off,” he said, “It would take you hours.”
“You couldn’t make me do a damn thing, flyboy.”
“No,” he smiled, “just make you come. One, twice, how many times?”
“Seven?”
“Actually it was nine,” he corrected, “But let’s make it seven. I’d like that.”
“I wouldn’t,” she moaned, head falling forward, “I hate Krypton.”
“I love Earth.”
“Shut up with the philanthropy.”
“I like earth girls who don’t complain about dick after begging for it.”
“I didn’t beg.”
“ Right. Like I didn’t make you come.”
“Mmphg…shut up.”
“And would you look at that?” He murmured in her ear as she dragged her fingernails down his chest, her entire body trembling, “Let’s make it eight.”
“I hate you.”
“Right. Back to seven.”
“Are you fucking—“
He wanted to take his time. She could appreciate that. But they only had the night.
She wanted to indulge him.
“Make a wish.”
He lifted his head from her chest, “What?”
“That was to stop giving me purple hickies,” she said, “And in exchange, I’ll do whatever insane thing you want.”
“We’ve been doing what I want,” he said slowly.
“Insane.”
“My insane thing is you not breaking into crime scenes.”
“A kink, idiot.”
“That’s actually a fetish. Nothing sexually gratifies me like seeing you not in imminent danger. Preferably on my tongue.”
“That is imminent danger.”
“Lois…”
“Hickies should not exist there, and you know—“
“I’m fucking you as Clark,” he said abruptly.
She stopped, “What?”
“Your coworker.” He stood up, “The one you said I sounded like.”
“It’s the nerd voice,” she said automatically, “But…why?”
“Call it your humiliation,” he walked over to his bedside table and started rifling through the drawer, “Like you’re being fucked by this total dork, and you hate the fact that it turns you on. I think I have some old glasses…”
“He is a total dork, and it would be a little humiliating, but it’s not that—“ she turned to look at him, “Wait. How did you know he has glasses?”
“Oh,you know…I see him around,” he slid on straight black frames, “How is it?”
Woah.
His posture was perfect, and his hair, even sexed, was too styled, but it could be him. If she was tipsy. If she didn’t look too close. If she wanted him, he was Clark Kent.
“Clark,” she said coyly.
He smiled shyly, “Lois.”
She shuddered, “Jeez, that’s real.”
“It’s still me.”
“I know, I know, but,” she swallowed, “I’m fucking him and it’s him . It’s very much him.”
“I know Lois,” he said, “Come here.”
She giggled like an idiot, suddenly blushing, “What are you, nuts?”
“Not really, no.”
“Look at me,” she indicated herself, laying on his massive bed, “I stand up, I’m going to ruin your sheets.”
“Just…” he leveled his gaze on her, “Come here.”
She stood, a little unsteady, and walked to him.
“Take off your bra,” he told her.
She fumbled behind her back, fingers shaking. He reached around and helped her.
“There we go,” he turned her around, “There you are.”
“Of course you’d like my breasts,” she said, “Nerd.”
“But don’t you want me to, Lois?” He gathered her hair up, putting it in an updo, “Don’t you want me to fantasize about you?”
“Yes,” she admitted, “But there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s workplace flirting.”
“You’re a flirt,” he told her, “You want the upper hand.”
She’d argue, but her arousal was literally dripping down her leg. And he wasn’t helping.
“Of course I have the upper hand,” she said incredulously, “You’re always pulling out of cases and giving up on leads.”
“But you’re reckless,” he whispered, “childish. Someone needs to handle you.”
“Oh, here comes the lecture,” she breathed as he kissed her neck, “Superman is a private person, Lois. Superman won’t always be there to save you, Lois? Superman fucked me, Clark. And you weren’t there to complain about his reputation.”
He laughed, “Lane…”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t look at Clark weird at work, okay?” He kissed her cheek, “I’m improvising.”
“…okay, what does that even m—“
There was a full length mirror in front of his bed. Maybe she’d been looking at him the whole time, or he’d somehow moved it while she wasn’t watching, but it was there and she was in front of it.
“I think you can guess,” he told her.
“You can’t be serious.”
He straightened his glasses, “I think this time, I should have the upper hand.” He pulled her backwards into bed. Until she was sitting in his lap upright, looking at herself. He said quietly into her ear, sitting behind her, “And you get some fantasies.”
He touched her. And it wasn’t Superman touching her.
He had touched like a powerful man, a man who knew if he pressed too hard or squeezed too much, he’d hurt her. Careful. Not treating her like glass, but deliberate. Tactful. Everything for her, directed to her pleasure.
Clark touched like he was a glutton.
His massive hands, practically paws, were all over her. Rubbing her arms, leaving fingerprints on her ribs, sliding up her inner thighs until she was certain he’d take her then and there. But he only left her spread open, a view in the mirror.
She didn’t look like herself. She saw a dark brunette, blue eyes wide. She saw the freckle on her hip and the name on his lips. But she was just letting him have his way with her. Would she let him? Would she beg him?
Clark’s hand crept up higher than she liked and she unconsciously gasped his name in shock, grabbing his arm.
“Sorry,” he said, taking her hands in one of his, “I forgot.”
He pinned them behind her back, forcing her spine to arch further. She closed her eyes tightly.
“You like that?” He murmured.
She licked her lips, “You’re not as well behaved as I expected…Clark.”
“Well,” he smiled softly, “I’ll be slow.”
“Right,” she said breathlessly, as his other hand caressed her, “Right.”
“I want to bend you over my desk,” he said, “Enough of the lectures and speeches, let’s see if you listen if I give you something to consider before running off on me.”
“But you love your lectures,” she pouted, “you could give me one. And I would be quiet. With sore knees.”
“I’d hate for you to choke,” and he sincerely meant it, “Do you run off sometimes, just to get one?”
“Maybe,” she rolled her eyes, “Do you lecture just so you can fantasize?”
“Maybe,” he smiled, resting his chin on her head, “What do you fantasize about?”
“Sometimes I picture us about to have sex,” she said monotone, “Only I fall out the window and get saved by Superman.”
“So no sex?”
“Oh, no, there’s sex,” she said flatly, even though her heart rate spiked as he started leaving hickies on her throat, “Very rough, dislocating something, angry and screaming at each other sex.”
“Do you want to scream at me?”
“You act like you know everything,” she said, pulling against his grip, watching as her chest heaved, watching him watch her, “Superman, Me, the world. You know everything, and I’m just a little girl you have to manage.”
“You run into danger.”
“You run from it. You disappear at the first sign,” she bit her lip, “We’re having a very intense conversation.”
“Yes.”
“Do you have to put your fingers inside me during it?” She asked, panting, “I’m not complaining, but…it’s two.”
“Baby.”
“I will come right now.”
“No, you’re being a baby,” he tilted his head, “Grow up, will you?“
“Grow up? You’re eight years older than me.” But she squeezed her legs around his wrist, trying to stop the inevitable, “And you drank nothing but protein powder and growth hormone, so you’re twice my size.”
“Three times,” he corrected. And he was, his body completely dwarfed hers from behind, shoulders hunched over her, neck bent so his head could rest on hers. His thigh was the size of her waist.
“Great,” she rolled her eyes, “And I weigh three pounds and fall at gusts of wind.”
“Didn’t you fall that one time?”
“It was a storm and I slipped,” she gasped, “Oh, please don’t.”
“But I want to…”
It was the glasses. She hated to admit it. It really was the glasses.
She struggled in his grasp, rocking back and forth on his hand, but he kept her right where he wanted. She couldn’t look away. Her eyes were fixed on the girl in the mirror.
Lips parted, eyes blinking slowly, cheeks flaming. Completely bared for both of them to watch. It was practically obscene, the dichotomy between them. His legs beside hers keeping them apart. His arm reaching around, the hair dusting his forearm, the size of his wrist.
She could just barely make out what his hand was doing to her. And she just watched. She’d been impossibly wet, but she gushed, dripping sickly sweet honey down on the sheets.
She waited for it to stop. She waited for his hand to stop.
She kept waiting.
Finally, when she felt her body give out, he released her hands, letting her slump forwards.
“Count it.”
She could barely make her lips move, “Eight.”
“Mhmm,” she raised her eyes to see him pull his fingers out of his mouth, straightening his glasses with the other, “Proposition.”
“I think we’re well past that, buddy.”
“Nine is mine,” he indicated himself, “Clark’s. And it’s only fair that ten is the other guy’s.”
“My alien sexual experiment?” She rested her head on her hand, “Hmmm.”
“Lane,” his voice dropped, “I swear, every time you badmouth me to Clark, I’m going to make you beg.”
“Oh, no…” she said drowsily, “Don’t you just hate how kryptonians are misogynistic sexually incompetent losers?” She smiled over her shoulder.
“Thanks,” his eyes gleamed, “Up and at ‘em.”
He pulled her hands up, placing them behind his neck for her to hold onto. She interlaced her fingers, watching as he spread her legs farther.
“You’re doing the work,” she said, “I’ll find something to occupy myself.”
“Attagirl.”
That made her turn beet red and he smiled.
“Clark,” she sighed, “I’m a virgin.”
“I know,” and then she wasn’t. Really wasn’t.
Because she watched. She saw the look in his eyes. Something in them beyond want, beyond desire. Obsession. Her back against his chest, her hands around his neck, her legs being pinned by his.
Maybe it was Clark. Maybe it was her. Maybe he was gentler the first time.
But it hurt.
The pain was a stretching pain, a gasping and panting pain seeping into every limb.
“Clark,” she moaned, and just saying his name made him want her more, made him try more.
“Shhh,” he soothed her, hand tucking strands of her hair away, “Breathe.”
She inhaled and exhaled, shuddering. She couldn’t hunch over, couldn’t push away from him. She closed her eyes tight.
“Open your eyes.”
He grabbed her jaw, “Open, honey. Look at us.”
Hair was hanging in front of his face, disheveled and fucked. His skin was immaculate, but she was covered in hickies and handprints. Handprints that covered her thighs, her ribs, one spanning her entire waist. She was sweating, a sheen to her skin. Mouth hanging open and whimpering, because honestly, what dignity did she have left?
“Little more.”
“It’s not going to work.”
“You’re perfect,” he said, eyes meeting hers in the mirror, “You’ll manage.”
He pulled her hips to his and her eyes rolled to the back of her head.
Fuck.
“Easy, easy,” he kept her head steady, “There we go.”
“You’re going to kill me.”
Her fingers threaded through his hair, she rocked slowly against him and moaned.
He couldn’t look away, couldn’t stop his hands, “I’m going to keep you like this. Keep you pinned down, until you can take me. All of me, and beg for it, plead for it. You’re stubborn, Lois,” he ran his tongue along her neck, “you’ll always get what you want.”
If she wasn’t egotistical already, that just about did it.
“How long do you think it’ll take me?” He asked her, “You act like you do it for me, like you’re indulging me and never yourself, but you’re addicted to it.”
He touched her where they joined, sliding his fingers through her arousal, tracing her entrance. She dug her fingernails in.
“ Clark…”
Her voice didn’t even sound like her. Whiny and high pitched and sobbing, begging for it. Every inch of her dripping in pleasure, but she wanted more and more and more, everything he could give her.
She looked in the mirror.
His sweet voice and soft eyes were hardly merciful. She could feel him in her fucking throat, and it was all she could do not to beg him to be gentle. But if he lessened, even a little bit, she would have cried.
His hand came higher, tracing up from her center to her stomach. His hand spanned her entire waist, pressing against something. He pushed, hard, and her eyes widened.
That wasn’t…
She could barely think straight.
Which man did she even want? Clark or Superman?
He pulled her up and pushed himself back inside in one movement.
The two blurred.
She said both their names, she begged for both of them.
“Please, please, please ,” throat raw and crying like a baby, barely able to hold her hips up, “please, please , I need it. I need you, I need you, I need…you.”
It didn’t take long at all.
She was going to pass out again.
“Help me,” she keened as her body gave in, “ help me .”
He took off his glasses, tossing them aside, “I’m here.”
“All yours,” she panted, “All yours.”
“You were always mine,” he circled her hips even as she gasped, “You just didn’t know sometimes.”
Maybe her vision was getting blurry, maybe she was about to faint, or maybe it was the world’s worst coincidence. But was it…
She blinked in the mirror, “Clark?”
“Superman,” he answered, “Yes.”
She slid forwards, but he caught her.
“Not going to get away from me,” he gripped her jaw, forcing her head, “Enjoy the view while it lasts, baby.”
“But you’re—“ she started to say, but he slid two fingers in her mouth. And she just had to watch, and listen.
“You’re always going to be my girl,” he said in the deep, dark tone of Superman, “whoever I may be. Always, Lois.”
She nodded weakly.
“But I’m not sure you need to know who I am, just yet,” he said softly, “I’d hate to have you gloating.” He smiled, “much as I love you tipsy.”
Her eyes were slowly widening.
No.
“Sweet dreams, sweetheart.”
He winked.
She rolled over, moaning.
Her only day off, and she had to wake up like that. IE: not being absolutely wrecked by a giant of man.
She stared at the wall. She had laundry. Meal planning. Her floors needed mopping. She had an article she wanted finished.
She could probably masturbate in the shower and call it satisfaction.
Fucking sex dreams.
It went blurry around eleven. Yelling at the sky. Something about a cab. She remembered pulling her blankets up to her chin. Or being tucked in.
Considerate.
But losing her virginity was a pipe dream between her overbearing partner and her domineering interviewee.
Between.
She snickered. Threesome dreams were very indulgent. But she was a busy woman, and while her sleep could be spent fucking, she had better things to do.
She rolled out of bed, and promptly fell on her face.
Laying on the cold hardwood, her face pressed to the ground, and her elbow bruised, she groaned.
Her legs couldn’t support her weight. Her arms were fine, semi muscled noodles that clumsily felt around for damage. None as far as she could tell. She was wearing her cute pajamas.
The Superman ones…
She always said she hated the merch, but it had some good pieces.
She struggled to pull herself up, pushing hair out of her eyes. She walked over to her floor length mirror, feeling something odd. An ache. A cold ache.
She blinked blearily at the mirror.
She seemed fine. Glowy, actually. Her skin was fantastic, and her eyebags had seemingly vanished. But her neck looked like it had been sucked out by vampires.
The fuck?
She pulled the collar down, lifting the shirt up.
She wasn’t wearing a bra. Or underwear. It wasn’t strewn on the ground somewhere, and neither was her dress. And she had handprints the size of a giant’s on her hips.
Something was dripping down her leg.
She shimmied out of her shorts, touching her thigh.
Oh, God.
“ That is…” she said blankly, “fuck.”
So…
Which guy to call?