Clark/Lois Smabbles
Er, not sure where these came from, flash fiction to the max. Will also link at theclexfactor 's 100 Ways Clois Drabble Challenge since I guess they fit well - are under the word limit. It's also where all the Clois kids hang out nowadays - seriously, it's the smut kingdom or something. Go there. You will not be sorry. The second one could be longer because the dynamics of that kind of relationship are complicated obviously but I guess sometimes a taste is will do. The last two were posted there first but I figure I should archive them here as well.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything and this is not for profit.
Untitled #1 452: He likes to watch. PWP.
Warnings: fisting, 69.
Clark likes to watch. He sits on a chair at the bottom of the bed, his fingers wrapped around his cock, pumps his hand up and down slowly so he feels every drag on his flesh, pre-cum sticky on his palm. His eyes fixed on the spectacle on the bed.
Lois lies on dark blue sheets, her fingers reaching inside her cunt, deep, down to the knuckles. She moves in time with him (Lois likes to watch too). Her heels dig into the mattress underneath and she folds her hand into a cone-shape fist, pushes it inside slowly until all he can see is the pale skin at her wrist, her eyes rolling to the back of her head at the sharp pleasure.
He licks his lips slowly, tastes the salt of sweat, thrusts into his hand and says her name.
She looks up at him, down at his hand, and he sees her tongue slip out of her mouth-almost like she can taste him and then her body strings taut as a bow and she's whimpering, needy and contained, his name and a few curses sprinkled in there. Her thighs are shaking when she takes her hand out, slick and wet.
He squeezes his balls with his left hand, speeds up, the moist slap of his hand moving up and down - fast. He feels his orgasm clench in the pit of his stomach, curls his toes, makes a deep gurgle in the back of his throat and erupts. All over his chest, his stomach, his thighs in thin ropes.
Lois is watching him intently and when he meets her gaze, she lifts her hand, still wet, from its spot by her hip. Her eyelids half-mast, and slips her fingers in between her lips, her tongue sliding over, under, around each digit without breaking eye contact with him. His body spasms at the sight, he swears he can feel her slick tongue around his cock, her teeth scrape against him just like they're doing to her fingers. "God, Lois, you're so hot."
She releases her hand with a pop and grins. "Not too bad yourself there, studly."
-
His penis hits the back of her throat, the sound of her choking around his length as she tries to get all of him in; her nails digging into his thigh; the wring of muscles around the head drives him crazy. He's thrumming his tongue against her clit, holding her hips above his face so they can both get on with it. He moans around her, dips his tongue along the seam, tastes the tart-sweetness.
-
Clark likes to do even more. So does Lois.
Untitled #2 546: Sometimes he just needs to let go, needs to let himself be - Lois allows him that. PWP.
Warnings: spanking, dom/sub
Sometimes he needs to just let go. He spends every minute of every hour of every day coiled tight. Reigning his strength inside so he can open doors without crushing them, shake hands without feeling the crack of bones under his fingers. Giving everything he has to others-and taking little for himself. Sure, he's gotten used to it-it's been his whole life, it's a part of who he is and he's made peace with that.
But sometimes, he yearns for the freedom to just-feel and be and be away from all of it. To not be 'Superman', not even Clark Kent.
-
He curls his hands into fists against the headboard above his bed, the cold bite of steel at his wrists-handcuffs. Magical handcuffs courtesy of Zatanna, an engagement gift, she'd written in the note, something to spice things up the 'super' way.
Lois is on her knees on the bed, in between his legs. In her hand she twirls a black, soft leather whip, slow revolutions from which he can't tear his eyes. The way the tassels stroke along her palm, the way she lifts it casually to her chest, lets it slide down the middle of her breasts, down her stomach to flirt with the waist-band of the dark red thong she's wearing.
"What do you want me to do, Smallville?" She says his name with a faint hint of contempt. It's a game they're playing, and she knows the lines, she knows just how to say them. She smacks him on the thigh when he doesn't answer and there's a sting that resonates, slips under his skin like a brand. He bites his lip. "I need you."
She tilts her head and lowers the whip to his left thigh; it's like a rough tongue along his hip, the length of his cock, his knee. She teases him with it until he feels he might just jump out of his flesh. Come seeps out the tip of his cock, dribbles down tight flesh, strained almost to the point of pain. He's not above begging now. "Please..."
On her haunches, her hands on either side of his hips; her hair brushing his thighs, her breasts spilling over the top of her corset, she leans forward. Her mouth inches from his groin so that he feels a flicker of warm breath and it makes his sensitized skin tense. She blows softly, cool air this time and his hips buck. "Please what, Clark?"
-
He's boneless. It feels like his body is his and isn't. There's a sensation of flying, a weightlessness-even though he knows that's physically impossible with the handcuffs. He opens his eyes slowly and the world blurs into focus, and there's Lois, her hands smoothing down his thighs, pressing soft kisses against his hip where red marks bloom under the fevered skin and the pain pricks at him then melts into liquid warmth.
She's whispering, reassuring him. "I love you." She looks up when his fingers sift through her hair and smiles, turns into his palm to kiss it.
This is what it is with Lois, what he is. He finds himself-all the trappings of what he is stripped away and yet still feels like the most powerful man in the world. "Thank you."
Office Space
Warnings: Hard R for sex.
Spoilers: Homecoming, I've been meaning to write about that office of theirs for months. Here goes nothing, I guess!
”Keep on grinning, Smallville. But you do realize that I’m going to get those guys from Ops to change our names around tomorrow, right?”
He looked at the glass with unconcealed satisfaction. “Oh come, on, Lois - ‘Kent and Lane’, I think it has a certain ring to it.”
Lois rolled her eyes and dumped her purse on her desk. “Please, we all know my name comes first on the byline - no need to confuse people.”
He shook his head and shut the door, locking it surreptitiously behind his back. Knowing Lois, she’d hound the Operations personnel until they switched their names around - he almost felt sorry for them. Leaning against the door frame, he watched her move around their new office, the excitement springing in each step, in the way she clasped her hands together and touched each surface with a possessive gleam in her eye. “I can’t believe Perry finally decided to give us our own office.”
Clark secretly suspected that the Editor-in-Chief had gotten tired of finding them doing something other than reporting in various storage closets, print rooms, phone booths; heck, even the elevator. Perry’d probably figured that a private space of their own to churn out front-page, award-winning stories in between other stuff was the lesser of two evils. Although, he did wonder, every now and again, about the way the older man looked at him every time Superman made a save and he hurried into editorial meetings with his tie askew and his glasses perched on the end of his nose. Perhaps there was more to it than that. “Well, we do bring in some of the biggest bylines, Lois - if we can’t really get promotions, we might as well get our own office space.”
Lois plopped down on the couch pushed just under the windows, her arms behind her head in a relaxed pose. “And we even get our own couch… handy isn’t it?”
He pushed off the door, hands stuffed in his pockets and walked toward her. “Oh yeah, all those late nights investigating…”
Lois sat up, running her gaze down his body with a smile curving her mouth and nodded. Without warning she yanked on his tie and brought his face down to hers, his arms flailing awkwardly until he balanced himself on the back of the couch. “Oh, Clark - I think we can find better uses for this couch than that.” Her fingers skated along his chest before she arched her brow. “Don’t you?”
He grinned and pressed a soft kiss on the corner of her mouth, skimming the seam of her lips with his tongue before plunging inside. Lois moaned and lay along the length of the couch, bringing him with her. He slipped and knocked a vase off the table. He pulled his head back with a muttered curse at the conspicuous crash of breaking glass. “Jeez, Smallville, you kiss your mother with that mouth?”
“No, Lois, but I get to kiss you.” He dropped his head to suckle on her lower lip. They’d clean the vase when they got more important things out of the way.
She pulled back from the kiss, breathing unsteadily as her hands made quick work of his tie and moved quickly onto his shirt buttons. “Did you lock the door?”
He buried his face in her neck and said, “Yep.”
“This is why I love you - always thinking ahead…” She drifted into silence when he slid his tongue along her clavicle and his hand started inching her skirt up her thighs.
---
Perry paused, fist mid-air, when he heard glass shatter behind the closed door. He shook his head, exasperated but unsurprised, and headed back to his office. “Figures - kids these days.”
How to wake a sleeping tiger
Warnings: NC17
Lois squints awake, sunshine peeking through her eyelids. Through the fog of drowsiness, she feels a hand glides along her hip. A solid wall of warmth pressed at her back, soft breath whispering against her ear. The night before, she went to bed alone after staring at lab documents for an article until her eyeballs ached. And now, this morning, like most mornings - she wakes to this. She closes her eyes and smiles. The hand moves up her thigh. Nudges the old plaid shirt she’s wearing upwards. Slight calluses at the fingertips; they settle on her waist for a second. Her panties are already damp at the center and she’s pretty sure he’s been at this for longer than the five minutes she’s been conscious.
He slips his fingers past her pants, slides under the cotton to sift through the curling hair between her legs, to brush down below. His mouth shifts to her shoulder, nosing her shirt aside to lick at her skin. She bites her lip, his finger rubbing insistently at her pussy, sinking inside, and his teeth scraping wetly against her skin. She hears a low chuckle; the vibration of it behind her tingles and her nipples could probably cut through her shirt. He nibbles at her ear and murmurs, “Morning sleepyhead, I know you’re awake, you know.”
She laughs. “You are being very bad, Clark Kent.”
“I thought that was how you liked me.”
“Hm, you’re all right.” She’s tilting her head now to grant him better access to the curve of her neck, her hand pressing into his hair to draw him closer.
“Just all right?” He bites into her pulse, swirls his tongue to soothe the hurt.
Lois moans. “Okay, you’re good.”
“Really?” He sounds hurt even as he pulls his fingers out of her and trails them wetly across her abdomen. “Then I guess I need to try a little harder then.” He nudges her onto her back, flings one muscled thigh across her leg. She can feel his cock against her hip, hard and insistent through his boxers. His lips move down her throat lightly. It’s ticklish, and makes her giggle. He looks up and says, “Something funny over there, Lane?”
She looks at him, the sun alight in his hair, the cowlick side swept across his forehead; the face she has loved more deeply than she thought possible. She lifts her hand to brush his hair out of his eyes and smiles, shaking her head, “No. Although, you are so lucky I like you because no one wakes me up without a cup of coffee and lives to see another day."
That isn't strictly true. Some mornings he wakes her up just like this, or she wakes up and returns the favor, and sometimes they just lie and talk about everything and nothing.
He doesn't say anything quippy. Just cranes upward to drop a kiss on her mouth, slips his tongue inside. His hand cups her right breast and she moans. She meets him stroke for stroke with her tongue, throws her arms around his waist, feels the muscles play on his back.
Yeah, definitely, best wake-up call a girl could ask for.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything and this is not for profit.
Untitled #1 452: He likes to watch. PWP.
Warnings: fisting, 69.
Clark likes to watch. He sits on a chair at the bottom of the bed, his fingers wrapped around his cock, pumps his hand up and down slowly so he feels every drag on his flesh, pre-cum sticky on his palm. His eyes fixed on the spectacle on the bed.
Lois lies on dark blue sheets, her fingers reaching inside her cunt, deep, down to the knuckles. She moves in time with him (Lois likes to watch too). Her heels dig into the mattress underneath and she folds her hand into a cone-shape fist, pushes it inside slowly until all he can see is the pale skin at her wrist, her eyes rolling to the back of her head at the sharp pleasure.
He licks his lips slowly, tastes the salt of sweat, thrusts into his hand and says her name.
She looks up at him, down at his hand, and he sees her tongue slip out of her mouth-almost like she can taste him and then her body strings taut as a bow and she's whimpering, needy and contained, his name and a few curses sprinkled in there. Her thighs are shaking when she takes her hand out, slick and wet.
He squeezes his balls with his left hand, speeds up, the moist slap of his hand moving up and down - fast. He feels his orgasm clench in the pit of his stomach, curls his toes, makes a deep gurgle in the back of his throat and erupts. All over his chest, his stomach, his thighs in thin ropes.
Lois is watching him intently and when he meets her gaze, she lifts her hand, still wet, from its spot by her hip. Her eyelids half-mast, and slips her fingers in between her lips, her tongue sliding over, under, around each digit without breaking eye contact with him. His body spasms at the sight, he swears he can feel her slick tongue around his cock, her teeth scrape against him just like they're doing to her fingers. "God, Lois, you're so hot."
She releases her hand with a pop and grins. "Not too bad yourself there, studly."
-
His penis hits the back of her throat, the sound of her choking around his length as she tries to get all of him in; her nails digging into his thigh; the wring of muscles around the head drives him crazy. He's thrumming his tongue against her clit, holding her hips above his face so they can both get on with it. He moans around her, dips his tongue along the seam, tastes the tart-sweetness.
-
Clark likes to do even more. So does Lois.
Untitled #2 546: Sometimes he just needs to let go, needs to let himself be - Lois allows him that. PWP.
Warnings: spanking, dom/sub
Sometimes he needs to just let go. He spends every minute of every hour of every day coiled tight. Reigning his strength inside so he can open doors without crushing them, shake hands without feeling the crack of bones under his fingers. Giving everything he has to others-and taking little for himself. Sure, he's gotten used to it-it's been his whole life, it's a part of who he is and he's made peace with that.
But sometimes, he yearns for the freedom to just-feel and be and be away from all of it. To not be 'Superman', not even Clark Kent.
-
He curls his hands into fists against the headboard above his bed, the cold bite of steel at his wrists-handcuffs. Magical handcuffs courtesy of Zatanna, an engagement gift, she'd written in the note, something to spice things up the 'super' way.
Lois is on her knees on the bed, in between his legs. In her hand she twirls a black, soft leather whip, slow revolutions from which he can't tear his eyes. The way the tassels stroke along her palm, the way she lifts it casually to her chest, lets it slide down the middle of her breasts, down her stomach to flirt with the waist-band of the dark red thong she's wearing.
"What do you want me to do, Smallville?" She says his name with a faint hint of contempt. It's a game they're playing, and she knows the lines, she knows just how to say them. She smacks him on the thigh when he doesn't answer and there's a sting that resonates, slips under his skin like a brand. He bites his lip. "I need you."
She tilts her head and lowers the whip to his left thigh; it's like a rough tongue along his hip, the length of his cock, his knee. She teases him with it until he feels he might just jump out of his flesh. Come seeps out the tip of his cock, dribbles down tight flesh, strained almost to the point of pain. He's not above begging now. "Please..."
On her haunches, her hands on either side of his hips; her hair brushing his thighs, her breasts spilling over the top of her corset, she leans forward. Her mouth inches from his groin so that he feels a flicker of warm breath and it makes his sensitized skin tense. She blows softly, cool air this time and his hips buck. "Please what, Clark?"
-
He's boneless. It feels like his body is his and isn't. There's a sensation of flying, a weightlessness-even though he knows that's physically impossible with the handcuffs. He opens his eyes slowly and the world blurs into focus, and there's Lois, her hands smoothing down his thighs, pressing soft kisses against his hip where red marks bloom under the fevered skin and the pain pricks at him then melts into liquid warmth.
She's whispering, reassuring him. "I love you." She looks up when his fingers sift through her hair and smiles, turns into his palm to kiss it.
This is what it is with Lois, what he is. He finds himself-all the trappings of what he is stripped away and yet still feels like the most powerful man in the world. "Thank you."
Office Space
Warnings: Hard R for sex.
Spoilers: Homecoming, I've been meaning to write about that office of theirs for months. Here goes nothing, I guess!
”Keep on grinning, Smallville. But you do realize that I’m going to get those guys from Ops to change our names around tomorrow, right?”
He looked at the glass with unconcealed satisfaction. “Oh come, on, Lois - ‘Kent and Lane’, I think it has a certain ring to it.”
Lois rolled her eyes and dumped her purse on her desk. “Please, we all know my name comes first on the byline - no need to confuse people.”
He shook his head and shut the door, locking it surreptitiously behind his back. Knowing Lois, she’d hound the Operations personnel until they switched their names around - he almost felt sorry for them. Leaning against the door frame, he watched her move around their new office, the excitement springing in each step, in the way she clasped her hands together and touched each surface with a possessive gleam in her eye. “I can’t believe Perry finally decided to give us our own office.”
Clark secretly suspected that the Editor-in-Chief had gotten tired of finding them doing something other than reporting in various storage closets, print rooms, phone booths; heck, even the elevator. Perry’d probably figured that a private space of their own to churn out front-page, award-winning stories in between other stuff was the lesser of two evils. Although, he did wonder, every now and again, about the way the older man looked at him every time Superman made a save and he hurried into editorial meetings with his tie askew and his glasses perched on the end of his nose. Perhaps there was more to it than that. “Well, we do bring in some of the biggest bylines, Lois - if we can’t really get promotions, we might as well get our own office space.”
Lois plopped down on the couch pushed just under the windows, her arms behind her head in a relaxed pose. “And we even get our own couch… handy isn’t it?”
He pushed off the door, hands stuffed in his pockets and walked toward her. “Oh yeah, all those late nights investigating…”
Lois sat up, running her gaze down his body with a smile curving her mouth and nodded. Without warning she yanked on his tie and brought his face down to hers, his arms flailing awkwardly until he balanced himself on the back of the couch. “Oh, Clark - I think we can find better uses for this couch than that.” Her fingers skated along his chest before she arched her brow. “Don’t you?”
He grinned and pressed a soft kiss on the corner of her mouth, skimming the seam of her lips with his tongue before plunging inside. Lois moaned and lay along the length of the couch, bringing him with her. He slipped and knocked a vase off the table. He pulled his head back with a muttered curse at the conspicuous crash of breaking glass. “Jeez, Smallville, you kiss your mother with that mouth?”
“No, Lois, but I get to kiss you.” He dropped his head to suckle on her lower lip. They’d clean the vase when they got more important things out of the way.
She pulled back from the kiss, breathing unsteadily as her hands made quick work of his tie and moved quickly onto his shirt buttons. “Did you lock the door?”
He buried his face in her neck and said, “Yep.”
“This is why I love you - always thinking ahead…” She drifted into silence when he slid his tongue along her clavicle and his hand started inching her skirt up her thighs.
---
Perry paused, fist mid-air, when he heard glass shatter behind the closed door. He shook his head, exasperated but unsurprised, and headed back to his office. “Figures - kids these days.”
How to wake a sleeping tiger
Warnings: NC17
Lois squints awake, sunshine peeking through her eyelids. Through the fog of drowsiness, she feels a hand glides along her hip. A solid wall of warmth pressed at her back, soft breath whispering against her ear. The night before, she went to bed alone after staring at lab documents for an article until her eyeballs ached. And now, this morning, like most mornings - she wakes to this. She closes her eyes and smiles. The hand moves up her thigh. Nudges the old plaid shirt she’s wearing upwards. Slight calluses at the fingertips; they settle on her waist for a second. Her panties are already damp at the center and she’s pretty sure he’s been at this for longer than the five minutes she’s been conscious.
He slips his fingers past her pants, slides under the cotton to sift through the curling hair between her legs, to brush down below. His mouth shifts to her shoulder, nosing her shirt aside to lick at her skin. She bites her lip, his finger rubbing insistently at her pussy, sinking inside, and his teeth scraping wetly against her skin. She hears a low chuckle; the vibration of it behind her tingles and her nipples could probably cut through her shirt. He nibbles at her ear and murmurs, “Morning sleepyhead, I know you’re awake, you know.”
She laughs. “You are being very bad, Clark Kent.”
“I thought that was how you liked me.”
“Hm, you’re all right.” She’s tilting her head now to grant him better access to the curve of her neck, her hand pressing into his hair to draw him closer.
“Just all right?” He bites into her pulse, swirls his tongue to soothe the hurt.
Lois moans. “Okay, you’re good.”
“Really?” He sounds hurt even as he pulls his fingers out of her and trails them wetly across her abdomen. “Then I guess I need to try a little harder then.” He nudges her onto her back, flings one muscled thigh across her leg. She can feel his cock against her hip, hard and insistent through his boxers. His lips move down her throat lightly. It’s ticklish, and makes her giggle. He looks up and says, “Something funny over there, Lane?”
She looks at him, the sun alight in his hair, the cowlick side swept across his forehead; the face she has loved more deeply than she thought possible. She lifts her hand to brush his hair out of his eyes and smiles, shaking her head, “No. Although, you are so lucky I like you because no one wakes me up without a cup of coffee and lives to see another day."
That isn't strictly true. Some mornings he wakes her up just like this, or she wakes up and returns the favor, and sometimes they just lie and talk about everything and nothing.
He doesn't say anything quippy. Just cranes upward to drop a kiss on her mouth, slips his tongue inside. His hand cups her right breast and she moans. She meets him stroke for stroke with her tongue, throws her arms around his waist, feels the muscles play on his back.
Yeah, definitely, best wake-up call a girl could ask for.