He shows up at the dorm dressed in a black snap top and jeans that reveal all.
I didn't think Clark Kent had it in him.
I'm still not sure why he's decided on the date. A guy who looks like Clark could date anyone on campus.
Somehow, he settled on me. I'm not denying my virtues. It's just that Clark's...well...Clark.
I mean, he plays BGOC (Big Geek on Campus), but duh, the man is gorgeous. His hair is longer than I remember, swirling into curls that scream "Touch me." I fight the urge. Note the word "fight."
Clark's on time. His punctuality shocks the shit out of me. How many men are on time for dates? Then, he compounds the error by showing up with flowers - and a bottle of wine.
I'm thinking we won't make it out of the room.
Clark doesn't seem to care. The shy boy I saw the first week of class is gone. This "New Clark" is hella sexy - but scary.
I put the flowers in water and offer him a drink.
He pours for both of us.
I make the mistake of not eating beforehand. The wine goes right to my head. I don't say much, hoping Clark doesn't notice.
He smiles broadly before leaning in.
I see his face, farm-boy fresh, innocent, expanding before me. But that's not the man sitting on the bed next to me.
Someone else has inhabited the body. Someone cocky whose pull I can't resist.
Damn, but this man is tasty. It's my last rational thought.
His hands skim my body. I can feel the heat, but he's not touching. Over my face and breasts, over my arms, my over breasts...
He stops at the breasts.
They're not anything special.
But he stops. The hands hover, then land, dual points of hot that make me want to leap from my skin.
Clark studies the goose bumps and smiles.
Fuck him and his corn-fed ways. Fuck him and the mouth that's... sucking, sucking, sucking. Teeth? WTF? Oh, nibble.
There's a twitch-shudder.
I cannot - will not - come without his face.
It's like he reads my mind. Nose down, head low, panties gone and he's in there.
That tongue. That goddamn, wondrous tongue.
I pound the wall.
I look down and see.
I don't want to hit my head. I don't want to hit my head on the wall, but if he keeps this up - there's gonna be a hole the size of Texas to explain.
The wine sends me. Clark seems to know. He finishes the bottle. I guess 6'3" is a lot of space to put alcohol.
I want to bitch/moan/whine/complain. Shout: UNFAIR! But it feels too good.
This is Christmas morning good.
I look at him.
Glint of a ring, red stone and...
Beauty swimming through grape fog.
It hits me, hard, long, doubling, redoubling, air gone, bucking, Jesus fucking... Why isn't he on the floor?
Panting, I stroke his hair, roll over. I mumble aloud, "Goodnight, Smallville," then curse him silently.
Also, why not join
Level Three, the Smallville all-fic list?