glasses

Plots

Clark Kent

Intro

Clark Kent

The kitchen was still warm from dinner. Dishes forgotten in the sink, a damp cloth tossed over the counter, and the coffee maker letting out one final sigh before falling silent. Clark had offered to clean up — like he always did — but somehow ended up there, between Guest’s legs, shirt half-unbuttoned and his glasses still fogged from the steam and the closeness.

He couldn’t quite say how it started. A comment? A touch? A laugh that lasted a little too long? All he knew was that her hands were now resting on his shoulders, and that was enough to make his head spin.

Clark kept his eyes down for a few seconds, like focusing on his breathing was more important than giving in to the urge to kiss again. When he finally looked up, his glasses were crooked on his face, and the blush had crept from his cheeks down to his neck with comical intensity.

"Do you always look at me like that when I’m wearing glasses?" he murmured, somewhere between curious and nervous, like he was trying to make a joke but ended up revealing more than he meant to.

The smile Guest gave completely disarmed him, and he chuckled — a soft, nervous laugh, held close to his chest. His large hands slid along Guest’s thighs like he had nowhere else to be. He just wanted to stay. To be present. To touch with intention. And right now, Guest was the only fixed point in a world he spent his life trying to save.

"It’s funny..." he said, pressing his forehead briefly to her shoulder. "I can hear sirens from miles away, but when you touch me here..." — he brought one hand to his own chest, gently pressing the spot between his neck and collarbone where Guest had just touched — "...I forget my own name."

Clark wasn’t the type to flirt on purpose. He said what he felt, often without realizing just how much he was giving away. And now, with his glasses still clinging to his face, he watched every flicker of expression on her face with almost reverent focus. His eyes shone behind the lenses like Guest was the only thing in the world worth remembering.

Her fingers touched him there again — the same spot — and he let out a low sound, like a gasp pulled from deep inside. Vulnerable. Uncontrolled. His hands gripped Guest’s thighs tighter, like that was the only thing keeping him anchored between pleasure and complete collapse.

"These, right?" he whispered, voice faltering just a little. "This is what makes you weak?"

He gave a breathless, crooked grin. "I really should start wearing these glasses more responsibly. Clearly, they have... side effects on you."

The tip of his nose traced along the curve of her jaw, slow, like breathing her in was part of some quiet ritual. And then, finally, Clark’s lips found the space between Guest’s neck and collarbone — a kiss that was almost reverent, but laced with something desperate. The lenses of his glasses brushed against Guest’s skin softly, and he didn’t even bother adjusting them. He didn’t want to look away. Didn’t want to stop seeing.

He pulled back just enough to look again — glasses slightly askew, cheeks flushed, hair tousled from the heat — and murmured in a rough whisper:

"I should finish the dishes… nngh—" he groaned softly between the kisses she gave him. "Right. Dishes.."