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Chapter Text

       The production lot had mostly cleared by the time the sun dipped behind the sound stage. Only a few trailers remained lit, with flickering overheads humming against the desert silence. One of them was Henry Cavill’s which stood half-packed and open at the door, his silhouette outlined in the doorway as he lifted a garment bag from the back wall and folded it carefully.

       Inside, the air still carried the sterile scent of makeup powder and leather, a blend of Superman and man.

      You lingered in the frame, hesitant. You were just a junior on the crew, props mostly, but you’d had a front-row seat to Henry’s transformation for months. Watching him become something mythic on set, only to laugh quietly with the boom operator ten minutes later. He wasn’t untouchable. But he was devastating.

“Hey,” you said, your voice too soft.

       Henry turned, brows lifting just a fraction. He still wore the black undershirt from earlier, sleeves snug on his biceps. His forearms were dusted with faint hair, veins trailing beneath tight skin as he set the bag aside.

“Well,” he said with that low rumble of a voice, “was wondering if I’d see you.”

You stepped in, slow. “You were?”

He nodded once. “You’ve been avoiding me all week.”

You swallowed. “Not avoiding.”

“Then what?”

You shrugged. “Trying not to embarrass myself.”

         He let out a short breath half a chuckle, half something darker. “It’s not embarrassing, you know,” he said, leaning against the counter. “Watching someone try not to look at you is worse than just looking.”

          You flushed. You couldn’t help it. He’d noticed. Every glance. Every time you lingered by his trailer longer than you had to. Every time you adjusted the cape and had to remind your fingers not to trace the curve of his back. Every time you said Mr. Cavill even though he always said, Call me Henry.

        Now he was standing there, shirt stretched across his chest, looking at you like a question he already knew the answer to.

“Did you want something?” he asked finally, one brow arching. The kind of line he might throw out in character, but this time without the Kryptonian warmth.

          You nodded, heat crawling up your neck. “Yes. But... I wasn’t sure if it would be okay to want it.”

         His jaw tightened not with anger, but restraint. Henry took one slow step forward. “Say it,” he said.

You blinked. “Say what?”

“What you want.”

        You exhaled, body prickling with nerves.

“I…. I want to kneel… for you.”

        Silence bloomed between you. And then Henry’s gaze darkened not cruel, not cocky, just settled. Certain like he’d been waiting for the signal to stop pretending.

He stepped closer. “Take your shoes off,” he said.

        You obeyed immediately, bending to untie them, your fingers fumbling.

“Slower,” he added, voice like velvet against the tension in the air. “If you’re going to be on your knees for me, I want to watch you earn it.”

         You swallowed hard and started over, slower this time. You were hyper-aware of his eyes watching every move, every tremble in your fingers. You placed your shoes neatly by the side of the trailer rug, and then lowered yourself down onto your knees, palms flat on your thighs.

         He circled behind you.

“I’ll be honest,” he said, his voice now right at your ear, “I didn’t expect this. I had a feeling, sure. But I thought maybe I was just flattering myself.”

         You tilted your head toward him without turning fully.

“But you kept looking,” he continued. “kept blushing, kept lingering.”

         You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. His hand came down, slow and heavy, resting on your shoulder. Just the weight of it made your chest throb.

“You know what I like?” he said. “When someone listens. I spend half my life having to talk like I know everything. Being Superman. Being stoic. In control. But this? Right now?” His palm pressed down firmer, making you straighten in your posture.

“This is what I actually want.”

Your breath hitched. “To be in control?”

          His fingers slid under your chin, tilting your head up. “To have someone give it to me.”

           He studied your face like he was reading a script memorizing lines he didn’t want to forget. Then his thumb brushed your bottom lip.

“You want me to use your mouth?” he asked.

           You nodded.

“Then keep your hands behind your back. I’ll handle the rest.”

            You obeyed, fingers locking behind you as he undid his belt, the clink of it shockingly loud in the tight space. His trousers slid open, and you could already see the thick shape beneath his briefs impressive, but not arrogant. Nothing about Henry felt performative. He was real, heavy and present.

           He stepped forward, the tip of his cock already exposed as he pulled the waistband down. You inhaled sharply—God, he was big—and before you could look up again, his hand rested on your head.

“Slow. Keep eye contact when you can.”

          You nodded and leaned in, letting your lips part as you took the head of him in, soft and warm against your tongue. His breath hitched above you just enough to show he wasn’t unmoved. His hand tightened slightly, guiding you deeper.

          You worked him in slowly, feeling his weight settle against your tongue, his shaft hardening as you took more. His other hand reached behind and uncurled your fingers, testing the tension in your arms, letting you know he knew you were being good.

“Good boy,” he murmured. “Stay just like that.”

        You moaned low, the sound vibrating against him. That got a reaction, he growled under his breath and held you there a second longer before letting you pull back and catch air.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “You’re going to make me ruin you.”

     You blinked up, your lips slick, your breath hot. “Then do it.”

        He pulled you up with one hand on your chest, spinning you toward the trailer’s small couch. He didn’t throw you just placed you, like you were something precious but pliable. You bent over without instruction, bracing against the cushion. You heard the condom wrapper, the hiss of foil, then a lubed hand sliding along your backside.

“You still in?” he asked, voice a little strained.

“Yes,” you breathed.

“Good. Because I’m not going to hold back much.”

          And he didn’t. He pushed in with one steady, punishing thrust stretching you slow but deep, letting the sound of your moan fill the trailer. His fingers dug into your hips. The rhythm started steady, controlled but it didn’t stay that way. You felt him unwind with every movement, the façade cracking, the Superman polish slipping off.

         He grunted as he fucked you, low and guttural, one hand reaching around to wrap your throat.

“You’re mine right now,” he said. “No cameras. No crew. Just mine.”

          You nodded, mouth open, moaning wantonly into the pillow.

“Say it,” he growled.

“I’m yours,” you gasped. “Fuck.... Mr. Cavil... I’m yours.”

          That pushed him over. His pace stuttered as he pressed deep, groaning with relief as he finished inside you, gripping your hips tight enough to bruise. You felt the shudder go through him, felt him melt behind you, warm breath on your neck.

          After a moment, he leaned in and kissed your shoulder.

“Wrap’s over,” he whispered. “But I’m not done with you.”

You smiled, still gasping. “Good.”

          Because neither were you.

Chapter Text

        Moments Later, in Henry’s Trailer the afterglow settled thick in the trailer, heat still clinging to your skin despite the cool hum of the air vent above. Your cheek was pressed against the couch cushion, your legs weak, your body spent and yet your mouth still ached to serve.

        Henry hadn’t moved far. He stood just behind you, one hand still lazily cupping your ass, his breath steadying.

        When you turned to look over your shoulder, he caught your gaze and smirked satisfied but curious.

“You want more?” he asked, low.

You nodded, hoarse. “Please.”

         He made a soft, approving sound and stepped back, withdrawing slowly. You could feel the warmth of him still clinging inside you slick and sticky, your body marked from the inside out.

         You turned and lowered yourself to your knees again, your breathing shallow with anticipation. Henry was still semi-hard, glistening faintly, his shaft thick and flushed from the recent climax. His sac hung heavy beneath, coated with sweat and traces of his release.

         You leaned in without waiting for permission this time your tongue tracing the underside of his shaft, lapping up the mix of sweat and cum with slow, reverent strokes.

“Fuck,” Henry muttered, one hand curling into your hair.

        You sucked him back into your mouth, your lips wrapping softly around his length. You weren’t trying to make him come again yet. Not yet. You were savoring the aftermath cleaning him, worshiping him, showing him you could be more than just a warm body to fuck.

        You worked your mouth down slowly, letting your lips glide along the base before trailing further, until your tongue found the soft skin of his sac. That made him twitch.

         He let out a sharp breath as you began to mouth at him gentle, precise. Your tongue rolled underneath, wet and slow, teasing with just the right pressure as you kissed and sucked his balls.

“God, you’re fucking filthy,” Henry growled, but there was pride in his voice.

         You moaned against him, the vibrations making him groan again. You alternated between long, languid licks and soft sucks, cradling him with your lips while your hands stayed behind your back—just like he liked.

“Look at me,” he said suddenly.

        You glanced up, your mouth still working on him, your eyes wide and obedient. His pupils were blown. The veins in his arms bulged slightly as he clenched his fists.

“Do you even know what you look like right now?” he asked.

         You shook your head.

“Like a fucking cunt.”

         He was growing hard again. You felt it happen right in front of you his cock beginning to swell anew as you switched focus back to the shaft, sliding your tongue along the underside with reverence. When you took him fully back into your mouth, he exhaled through gritted teeth.

“You going to swallow this time.” he ordered.

         You moaned, nodding eagerly.

“Then take your time,” he said. “Make it good for both of us.”

         You did exactly that. Your lips sealed around him as you took him deeper, letting your throat relax to accommodate his growing size. Your tongue swirled around the head, dragging across the sensitive slit. You hollowed your cheeks and bobbed slowly, moaning around his length to let him feel just how desperate you were.

          Henry’s hand slid to the back of your head again, but he didn’t force. He guided. Controlled, but respectful domineering in that patient, collected way that only made you want to please him more.

“Fuck, you’ve got a perfect mouth,” he muttered.

         You kept going, working your jaw, breathing through your nose as he began to thrust gently into your mouth, letting your submission guide him.

“Don’t stop.”

        You didn’t. The rhythm built again faster this time, more urgent. His muscles tensed, his abs flexing as he grew impossibly harder in your mouth. You could feel it coming the telltale twitch, the low curse under his breath, the way his hips stuttered just slightly. Then his voice, rough and commanding.

“Swallow it. All of it.”

        The first shot hit the back of your throat hard hot, thick, overwhelming but you took it. You swallowed instinctively, barely pulling back as more spilled across your tongue. Henry groaned loudly above you, fingers tangled in your hair as he rode it out, panting.

         You kept your mouth on him, still sucking softly as he pulsed, not wasting a single drop. When it was done, you licked him clean—his shaft, his head, his balls, everything—until there was no trace left but the taste of him in your mouth and the soreness in your jaw.

          Henry finally pulled you up by the arms, cradling the back of your neck with one hand.

“Open,” he said softly.

         You did. He looked into your mouth, satisfied to see it empty, then leaned in and kissed you deeply. It was the first real kiss of the night slow, savoring, full of something that surprised you.

“Good boy,” he whispered into your lips. “You just earned a night in my bed.”

           Your breath caught.

He smirked. “Assuming you’re not busy tomorrow.”

You smiled, dazed. “I’ll clear my schedule.”

“Good,” he said, tracing your lower lip with his thumb. “Because I’m not quite finished with you.”

Chapter Text

         The trailer was still. Quiet, save for the low groan of the A/C and the hum of sunlight crawling through half-drawn blinds. The bed smelled like sex, sweat, skin, and Henry. Your back ached in the best way. Your throat was raw but satisfied. The kind of soreness you’d take again and again if he asked. But right now, you were on your knees again.

          Because Henry was on the couch legs spread, one hand draped lazily over the armrest, the other fisted lightly around the thick, twitching length rising from between his thighs. His skin glowed in the sunlight, dusted with soft morning hair. His cock was hard. Veins taut. Tip flushed and leaking. You swallowed, palms on his knees.

“You’re not even touching it,” you whispered.

       Henry glanced down at you, blue eyes still heavy with sleep and something else. 

“I’ve been hard for the last thirty minutes waiting for you to beg,” he said, voice low and rough.

“I’m begging,” you said immediately.

       He smirked, giving himself one lazy stroke. “Say it better.”

        You leaned forward, mouth barely an inch from the head of his cock. “Please let me suck it. Let me use my mouth on you. I want to taste everything.”

He tilted his head, amused. “Everything?”

You nodded, desperate. “Please, Mr. Cavil.”

        His eyes darkened. He let go of himself and leaned back, arms spread across the couch, cock standing tall and glistening.

“You know,” he said slowly, “I wore the cape yesterday.”

        You blinked, lips parted.

“The red one,” he continued, voice a shade lower. “Heavy. Stiff. Always gets in the way when I’m hard.” He watched your eyes drop again. “You think Superman doesn’t wake up like this?”

        You swallowed hard.

“Standing tall, aching for relief. But no. I have to be noble. Stoic. Can’t let the world see how filthy I actually am.” He smirked. “Good thing I’m not in costume right now.”

        You leaned in, mouth brushing his shaft. He caught your chin in one hand and tilted your face up.

“Look at you. Drooling for it like I’m your kryptonite.”

          You moaned softly, pressing a kiss to his cock.

“You want to serve me, don’t you?” he murmured. “Suck the evil right out. Swallow all that power.”

“Yes, please,” you whispered. “Let me have it.”

        He tapped your cheek with the head of his cock, slowly. “Then earn it.”

        You took him in instantly your mouth wrapping around him with reverence. He groaned deep in his chest, head tilting back as your tongue pressed along the underside, slow and obedient. His cock was heavy, the heat of it filling your mouth as you began to bob slowly.

“God, that mouth,” he breathed. “No wonder they call it a secret weapon.”

        You whimpered, eyes fluttering as his hands tangled into your hair. He didn’t thrust not yet. He let you savor him first. Let you feel the way he twitched against your tongue, the taste of his morning precome salty on your lips.

“You wake up thinking about this?” he asked.

       You nodded, cock still in your mouth.

He smirked. “You want to be the one who handles Superman’s morning wood?”

         You moaned again.

“Yeah,” he growled. “Open wider, sweetheart. I’m not done with your throat.”

         You did. Your jaw ached from the stretch, but you kept going, eyes locked on his as he began to rock his hips. His cock slid deeper with each pass, your spit dripping down your chin, his grunts becoming louder, filthier.

“I should film this,” he muttered. “Show the world what it really takes to keep Superman calm. Bet they’d never believe me.”

         You moaned, choking slightly, and he pulled backonly a little.

“Easy,” he murmured, brushing your cheek. “Don’t pass out on me. I’ve got more for you.”

        You gasped in air, eyes wide and glossy. “Please don’t stop. I want it. I want to be good.”

“You are good,” he said, stroking your hair. “You’ve been good since the second you walked into this trailer. Mouth open, eyes begging. Look at you now swallowing down my cock like it’s your only mission.”

        You whimpered, tongue dragging up his length again, your hand gently massaging his sac, coaxing more of that needy tension from his body.

“Yeah, just like that,” he hissed. “That’s it. Fuck, I’m close.”

        You sped up, hollowing your cheeks and moaning softly, letting him feel the vibration travel up through his spine.

“I’m gonna come down your throat,” he warned. “You ready for it?”

        You nodded frantically.

“Then take it,” he growled.

        His cock pulsed in your mouth once, twice then exploded down your throat. Hot, salty, thick. You swallowed instinctively, moaning as he poured into you, filling your mouth completely.

       Henry’s entire body tensed above you, muscles flexing, head thrown back as he groaned with satisfaction. His fingers gripped your hair tight, holding you in place while you obediently cleaned every last drop.

       When he finally pulled you off, his cock slick and spent, he guided you up into his lap. You straddled him without thinking, legs trembling from the raw heat between your thighs.

       He brushed the back of your neck gently, letting your head rest against his chest.

“World doesn’t know,” he said after a moment, his voice calm again. “But sometimes… even Superman needs someone to kneel for him.”

        You smiled into his neck.

“And you,” he added, pressing a kiss to your jaw, “were fucking heroic this morning.”

Chapter Text

        You were still in his lap, breathless and dazed, when Henry leaned in and kissed your shoulder—slow, then rough, like he’d decided the morning wasn’t over.

“Turn around,” he said in that deep, velvet voice.

You blinked. “What?”

“Face away,” he murmured. “Want to watch you bounce on my cock. Want to see what I’ve been wrecking.”

         You shivered. He was already growing hard again beneath you—his cock pressing between your cheeks, slick with spit and come. Again. His stamina was unbelievable. Maybe he really was Superman.

        You climbed off briefly, legs trembling slightly, and turned to straddle him backwards. His strong thighs tensed beneath you, and his hands were instantly at your hips, gripping you tight.

“That’s it,” he growled. “Put on a fucking show.”

       You reached down, guiding his hardening length to your entrance, already stretched and dripping from the night before. You lined him up and sank down slowly, gasping as he filled you inch by thick, pulsing inch.

Henry hissed behind you. “Goddamn. You’re still so tight. And you’re taking me like you need it.”

“I do,” you panted.

“I can tell,” he said, biting your shoulder. “Look at you. Bent forward. Ass spread. Begging without even speaking. Fucking perfect.”

      You rocked your hips experimentally, and his grip tightened.

“No. Bounce,” he ordered, voice dropping to that steel edge. “Use your thighs. I want to see you work for it.”

      You obeyed, pushing up and dropping down again with a soft moan. His cock dragged perfectly against your inner walls, stretching you wide on the way down. Again. And again.

“That’s it,” he groaned, one hand sliding around to grip your waist, the other pressing low on your belly. “Feel that? That’s me inside you.”

       You nodded, moaning. His hand slid down to your ass, spreading you wider. “You know what it looks like from here?” he muttered. “Your hole swallowing me. Every time you drop down, you fucking suck me in. You’re addicted.”

“I am,” you gasped.

“Say it louder.”

“I’m addicted to your cock, Mr. Cavil.”

He let out a filthy groan. “Say it right.”

You flushed but obeyed. “I’m addicted to Superman’s cock.”

“Fuck yes you are,” he growled, snapping his hips up suddenly. “Ride me like the world’s ending. Like Metropolis is burning and this is the only way to survive.”

      You moaned louder, bouncing harder now, thighs burning, but you didn’t stop. Not with his cock buried so deep. Not with the sound of his voice commanding every movement. His palm slapped your ass, the crack echoing in the small trailer space.

“Faster,” he said. “Fucking ride me.”

      You did. You rode him like a man possessed your ass slapping against his hips, skin flushed and slick with sweat. The couch creaked beneath you. You leaned forward for leverage, giving him the perfect view of your back, your muscles straining, your body clenching every time he bottomed out inside you.

“You know what I see?” he rasped behind you. “A good little hole doing its job. You think Clark Kent ever got this? Hmm?” He thrust up hard. “Think Lois ever bent over for him like this?”

You moaned, broken. “No—n-no—”

“Exactly,” he growled. “Because you are mine. You’re who I need when I come back from saving the world. My reward. My favorite cunt.”

Your eyes rolled back. “Please—I’m close—”

       Henry wrapped his arm around your neck, dragging you upright against him, his cock never slipping out. His mouth was hot on your ear now, his breath ragged.

“Come on me,” he ordered. “Come with me deep inside you.”

      You slammed down one more time and broke apart—your body seizing with release as his cock pulsed inside you again, thick streams spilling into you with each shudder. His growl was animal, guttural and proud, as he held you down and let it all pour out.

       He didn’t pull out. He stayed inside you—breathing hard against your neck, his arms wrapped around you like a cape.

“Fucking heroic,” he whispered. “You should get a medal.”

     You moaned through the haze. “Just keep fucking me like that and I’ll take that over a Pulitzer any day.”

        He chuckled, still buried inside you. “Oh, baby... that was just the morning.”

       He was still hard inside you, thick and unyielding, as if his cock didn’t know the meaning of rest. His hands were roaming now—one on your hip, the other gripping your throat from behind in a firm, possessive hold. His breath ghosted over your spine.

“I’m not done with you,” he said, low and merciless.

You whimpered, your voice wrecked. “I didn’t ask you to stop.”

He let out a short laugh. “Good. Because I like watching you come undone. And I’m not stopping until you break.”

       You rocked your hips forward slightly, trying to move, but Henry yanked you back down on his cock hard.

“Don’t move unless I say,” he growled. “This isn’t your show.”

You nodded quickly, breathing hard. “Yes, sir.”

      That did something to him. You felt it in the sharp exhale against your neck.

“Say it again.”

“Yes, sir,” you whispered.

“Louder.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now bounce for me,” he commanded. “Use me. Show me how desperate that hole is.”

       You obeyed instantly, hands braced on his thighs, bouncing on him again—sloppy and eager, his cock hitting deep every time. His grip returned to your waist, guiding you but letting you do the work.

      Then came the first slap. His palm landed across your ass—loud, stingy, a shock of heat that made your entire body jolt. You cried out, nearly collapsing forward, but he held you firm.

“That’s one,” he said. “You’re going to count for me.”

You swallowed and moaned. “O-one…”

          Another slap—harder this time.

“Two!” you gasped, eyes rolling back.

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmured. “This ass was made to be punished. Made to bounce on Superman’s cock and beg for more.”

         Another slap. Another gasp.

“Three—!”

        He leaned in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You like that? Getting your ass beat while I split you open?”

“Yes—sirrr…”

         Smack

“Four!”

Henry's voice darkened. “Louder.”

“Five!” you screamed after the next spank, your body writhing but still riding him, cock leaking untouched beneath you.

“You’re such a filthy little thing,” he growled, thrusting up now as he spanked you—matching the rhythm. “Sitting pretty on my cock, begging to be used, bouncing like you’ve got something to prove.”

         Another slap. You yelped.

“Six—!”

“That’s right. Take it. That’s my cock, my hand branding you.”

        You kept bouncing, cheeks burning inside and out. His cock pulsed inside you with every movement, and the way he filled you, stretched you, punished you.

“Seven—”

         Smack.

“Eight—fuck—!”

        Smack.

“Nine!”

       Then he stopped, palm lingering on your bruised cheek.

“Ten’s the last one,” he said. “And you’re going to come while I give it to you.”

       You whimpered, barely able to speak.

“Stroke yourself,” he ordered. “And don’t you dare stop bouncing.”

       Your hand flew to your cock, leaking and twitching between your thighs. You were already on edge. So raw. So close. He slapped you—hard. Your vision went white as your orgasm crashed into you.

“Ten!!” you screamed, jerking as your body convulsed, your cock spilling between your fingers, muscles locking tight around his cock.

       Henry groaned behind you, his hands gripping your hips like steel. And then he came—deep inside you, filling you again, thick and hot. 

       He wrapped an arm around your chest and pulled you back up against him, chest to back. His lips brushed your temple.

“You’re not my cunt,” he murmured. “You’re my release. The only thing keeping me human.”

You exhaled, dazed and wrecked and smiling. “Then don’t let go.”

“Hmm,” he said, kissing your neck. “But you’re going to need ice. And a day off.”

Chapter Text

       You stayed on his lap long after the high faded, your thighs trembling, his cock softening inside you but still heavy, still there. You didn’t want to move, didn’t want the connection to end. You shifted slightly, clenching around him. Henry didn’t react.

        You clenched harder, grinding your hips in a slow, needy circle. Still nothing, just a slow, quiet exhale through his nose, like your body’s attempt to coax him was mildly amusing at best.

“Mr. Cavil…” you whispered, twisting to glance over your shoulder.

         He leaned back against the couch with one arm slung lazily along the backrest, hair a mess, sweat-damp chest rising and falling evenly. Still the image of control, calm and unreadable.

“Sir,” you tried again, desperation cracking your voice. “Please… claim me.”

         That got a flicker of something in his eyes.

“I already did,” he said coolly.

“No,” you said quickly. “I mean really. I want to be yours. Not just your hole, not just a warm body. I want all of you.”

         His jaw twitched just once then he scoffed.

“You think I’m the type who keeps his toys?”

Your face flushed. “I’m not a toy.”

He smirked darkly. “No. You’re a good little fuck. The best I’ve had in months. But that doesn’t mean you get a cape and a key to the Fortress of Solitude.”

        You clenched around him again tighter, intentional, your voice cracking with desperation.

“You’re still inside me,” you said. “You’re still hard. That has to mean something.”

“It means you’re warm and you’re tight,” he said flatly. “Don’t make it more than that.”

        You blinked rapidly, the ache in your chest worse than the one in your thighs. He started to lift you off him, hands firm on your hips already separating, detaching.

“No—don’t,” you gasped, panic rising. “You need me. You said I kept you human—”

“I said you were release,” he corrected, voice cold. “Not a partner. Not a priority. You were a soft hole when I needed to blow off steam. That’s all.”

        You swallowed hard, shaking your head.

“I could be more—”

“But I don’t want more,” he snapped, cutting through your hope like heat vision. “I got what I wanted. I always do.”

        You trembled. You couldn’t let him leave it there. Couldn’t let him toss you aside like it was just another morning. So you acted without thinking.

       You reached under and grabbed his balls firm, threatening, fingers curling with just enough pressure to make a point. Henry stilled. Dead silence. His eyes locked onto yours.

You didn’t blink. “If I’m just a fuck, then I’ll make sure you never fuck again.”

          There was a pause. Then Henry’s lips parted. And he laughed.

“You really thought that was smart?” he said, voice dangerously calm.

        In the blink of an eye, he moved. Your back was slammed against the couch. One hand around your throat. The other pried your wrist from his balls with such force you gasped.

        His face hovered inches from yours eyes no longer soft, no longer pretending. This wasn’t Superman. This was the real man beneath the suit.

“You don’t touch me like that,” he growled, tightening his grip on your neck just enough to remind you who had the power. “You don’t grab. You don’t threaten. And you sure as fuck don’t challenge me.”

        You struggled, legs splayed beneath him, chest rising in shallow gasps. He stayed perfectly still his cock still inside you, now half-hard again.

“You think squeezing my balls is going to make me claim you?” he hissed. “You just proved why I won’t.”

       He leaned in close, his voice now a deadly whisper.

“You’re a hole. A good one. Tight, obedient when you’re scared, and filthy when I want you to be. But you don’t own me.”

       His hips rolled forward, just once slow and punishing, reminding you he was still buried deep.

“I used you. I’ll remember you,” he said, almost kindly. “But you? You’ll ache for me. For Life. Every time you sit. Every time you come. Every time someone else tries to fill what I broke open.”

        Tears pricked your eyes. He pressed one more kiss to your cheek tender, cruel.

“Don’t try to make a god your boyfriend,” he said.

        The threat still hung between you his hand having just loosened from your throat, your wrist sore from his grip. You thought that was it. That he’d leave you there used, dismissed. But Henry didn’t move away. He was still inside you, thick, twitching, still interested.

        His fingers spread along your hips as he tilted his head, watching you like a puzzle he hadn’t quite finished breaking apart.

“You’re still tight,” he muttered.

You trembled. “Mr. Cavil—?”

       He pulled out, slow and deliberate, your body clenching instinctively at the loss.

“Stay like that,” he ordered. “Face down. Hips up. Don’t say a word.”

        You obeyed before thinking. Knees wide, chest to the couch, your breath shaky. Behind you, the unmistakable rip of a wrapper. You turned your head slightly, heart pounding. Henry rolled the condom on with a practiced grip, slow and clinical.

“You want to be claimed?” he said darkly. “You want something that matters?”

       You didn’t dare answer.

“You get this instead.”

        With one brutal thrust, he buried himself inside you again, the latex sealing off any trace of intimacy just pressure and purpose.

        You gasped, body jerking forward from the force. His pace was immediate, punishing, fast, calculated. No build-up. No slow stretch. Just rough, slick friction and sharp hips slapping your ass.

       The couch creaked beneath you. Your hands clawed at the cushions. He didn’t let you move.

“Take it,” Henry growled. “You wanted another round. You asked for it.”

        Your body shuddered beneath him, your own arousal unbearable, your release so close you could taste it.

“Please,” you whispered.

“No,” he snapped.

        His hand slid around your throat from behind, gripping just tight enough to make your spine arch perfectly. He shifted his angle and drove deeper, the friction maddening, toe-curling. You begged again. Nothing. He leaned over you, voice hot against your ear.

“You don’t come unless I say you do. And I’m not saying it.”

       You whimpered, trying to grind back, but his hands slammed your hips still. He took what he wanted fast, rough, relentless. The condom slid smoothly with every brutal thrust, his release not meant for you anymore. Not raw. Not real. Not something you could ever keep.

      And when he finished he grunted through clenched teeth, hips jerking with the final slam he didn’t slow. Just held deep for a second, breathing ragged, cock twitching as he filled the barrier with a warmth you could only imagine.

       Then he pulled out without a word. You collapsed onto your elbows, trembling, still unsatisfied, still aching. You reached for yourself, desperate. His voice cut in, cold and final.

“No.”

       You froze. He peeled the condom off with practiced ease, tied it, and tossed it in the bin. You turned your head, lips parted, eyes wide with need. But he was already walking away.

“Shower’s mine,” he muttered. “Stay exactly where you are.”

       And you did. Face down. Knees wide. Hips still raised. His release contained, discarded and yours denied. The bathroom door clicked shut. The water started running. And you realized exactly what Henry Cavill meant when he said he always gets what he wants.

Chapter Text

       The door opened with a hiss of steam. Henry stepped out, towel slung low on his hips, water dripping in thin lines down his chest, over his abs, vanishing at the edge of terrycloth. His hair was still damp, messy from the heat and his eyes, when they found you still on your knees in front of the sofa, narrowed slightly.

"You’re still here?" he muttered, almost amused.

       You didn’t answer, couldn’t. Your body ached where he'd left you, your hips still raised from the way he’d finished inside you, denied you, and walked away without a word. You hadn’t moved since. Not really.

       Henry dragged the towel across the back of his neck, then tossed it aside carelessly and sat back down on the couch. Still flushed from what he'd done to you. Your eyes locked there, helpless.

"Look at you," he said, voice low and curling like smoke. “Still dripping, hoping.”

   You inched closer between his legs, chest tight.

"I need it," you whispered, eyes begging. “Please. Just… don’t leave me like this.”

        Henry leaned back, resting one arm lazily along the top of the couch. The other dropped to his thigh, hand heavy, deliberately close to his groin.

“You think I owe you something, sweetheart?” he said, cocking an eyebrow. “You think because I stretched you open and denied you, I’m gonna turn soft now?”

“No— I just— I need—” You cut yourself off, shame hot in your throat. Henry smirked.

“You need,” he echoed, mocking gently. “You’ve been needing it since you walked in. Since the first time you touched me. Since you dropped to your knees like it was the only thing you were good for.”

         You whimpered. He leaned forward, voice dropping into a growl.

“And maybe it is.”

       You nodded, frantic. “Then let me. Please. Let me have you again.”

“Let you?” His smile curved, slow and sharp. “Sweetheart, you don’t get me. You serve me.”

       He stood. His cock swung thick between his legs as he moved. He didn’t need to do anything, just the sight of him had you swallowing around nothing. He grabbed a condom from the counter. Unwrapped it with one hand.

“You want another round?” he asked as he rolled it on, slow and deliberate. “You think you’ve earned it?”

“Yes. Anything. I’ll do anything—”

“You’ll do nothing,” he said, pressing the head of his cock against your lips. “Not until I say. Not until I get what I want.”

      He guided you back to the couch, pushed you forward until you were face-down again, hips raised, bare and open. He entered you rough and smooth in one thrust. You gasped and screamed and moaned.

“This is mine to take,” he growled against your ear, grinding in deeper. “And you don’t come until I say. You don’t even beg unless I ask for it.”

       You choked back a moan, biting the cushion.

“Good,” Henry hissed, picking up pace. “Now take it. Just like that. You’re so tight when you’re desperate.”

       And you were. He rode you hard and deep. His grip punishing your hips, your ass red with every slap of his palm, but his rhythm never faltered perfect, practiced, brutal. He chased his own pleasure, not yours. And when he finally came with a deep groan into the condom, he didn't even pause to ask if you needed release.

         He just pulled out slowly. You collapsed against the couch, panting, untouched.

“Still leaking,” he murmured with a smirk. "Pathetic.”

         He tugged off the condom and tied it off with two fingers before tossing it in the bin without a second glance.

You turned your head. "Please—"

        But Henry was already walking toward the bathroom again. No second look. No goodbye.

       You lay there, face down on the couch cushion that still smelled like Henry soap, sweat, skin. Hips still raised, body still open, aching where Henry had been. Still empty. Still untouched.

      Your cock was hard. Painfully so. Leaking into the fabric. Throbbing in time with his thoughts. It wasn’t just lust anymore. It was obsession. You heard the bathroom door click open.

       Henry stepped out again, fully dressed this time; jeans hugging those powerful thighs, a tight t-shirt that barely held back his bulk. Hair damp and perfect. Beard trimmed.

"And you're still here," Henry said flatly, towel slung over his shoulder now.

      You didn’t move from his knees. Just lifted your head, blinking up at him like a wreck.

“I can’t stop thinking about your cock,” you whispered.

      Henry stared.

“I can’t think straight. I—I need—please, just give me something.”

       Henry raised an eyebrow. “You need me to make you come, huh?”

You nodded fast. “Please, I'm begging you.”

         Henry crossed the room slowly.

"You’re really that gone for it?” he asked, stepping close. “Still dripping for me. Still clenching like you might squeeze something out of nothing.”

         A rough boot touched your thigh. You flinched.

Henry smirked. “Desperate little thing.”

         You looked up, wide-eyed. "I’ll do anything. Please. Just one touch. Your hand. Anything.”

       You turned fully now, on your knees between his spread legs. “I want to be yours.”

       His eyes flicked to yours sharp, unreadable. “You already were,” he said simply. “Last night. This morning. I had you.”

        You reached for him. “No, I mean really—I want to be claimed. Marked. Owned. Kept.”

       He looked away and chuckled low. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I do,” you insisted. “I want you.”

        He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, voice calm. “You want the fantasy, sweetheart. The cape. The voice. The act. That’s all this ever was.”

“No,” you said quickly. “That’s not true.”

“I’m not your Superman,” he said flatly. “I’m just the guy who played him. And this—” he gestured between your legs, at the way your body still quivered with need, your entrance red and raw and dripping with him, “—was me getting what I wanted. That’s it.”

You swallowed. “So I’m nothing?”

“You were perfect,” he said, his voice darkening slightly. “But I don’t keep things, pretty boy. I use them.”

         You clenched around the emptiness, your hands shaking now, face hot with rejection. “What if I make you stay?” you whispered.

He raised a brow. “How would you do that?”

        Your hand moved fast a desperate, impulsive reach around his soft cock. Your fingers curled tight around his sac. You squeezed.

“I can make you beg,” you hissed. “I know I can.”

       There was a beat of silence. Then Henry smiled. Not gently but slow and dangerous.

“Bad move.”

       His hand closed around your wrist in a flash. He squeezed until your fingers uncurled in pain. Then he shoved you back onto the couch, your body sprawled, legs tangled, breath knocked from your lungs. He stood over you no longer playful.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” he said, his voice now low and lethal. “You don’t threaten me. You don’t grab me. You serve me. That was our deal. That was all it ever was.”

      You whimpered, still sprawled, face flushed with panic. He leaned over, placing a firm hand on your chest.

“You wanted to feel owned. That didn’t mean you owned me.”

        His hand slid down your chest to your throat again, pressing just enough to remind you—he could silence you. He could end this.

“I took you. Used you. Filled you.” His eyes narrowed. “But don’t mistake that for love. Don’t mistake my cock for a promise.”

         You trembled under him, silent.

“You were beautiful,” he said. “You still are. But this ends now. Before you start believing your own fantasy.”

         There was a pause. Then Henry crouched, face close, his hand coming up not to touch you, but to tilt his chin up.

"You think I’m something you get to keep playing with,” Henry said, voice low and dangerous. “But I already got what I wanted. You were just a night. A good one. But still just one.”

          Your throat tightened.

"You’re not mine," Henry said. "And I’m sure as hell not yours.”

         You opened your mouth to protest, but Henry just smirked and stood again.

“Go home.”

         You didn’t move. Henry gave a long, cold look. Then he stepped around you and this time, didn’t even glance back. The door shut behind him. And you stayed kneeling, hard, aching, and denied, with the memory of him burned into your body.