bakerstreet | pin up your smut picture prompts

[ It's a smile that skews dopey a lot of the time, but there's something of the apex predator there too, sharp edges and over-long canines. A friendly wolf who won't bite, not unless you ask nicely.

There's warmth as well, as she plays along, touches his face. In his mind, he's being poker faced. The reality does not represent this expectation. ]

Uh huh. You don't mind if I try something, do you?

[ Hopefully not, because the inevitable happens—Lois is tossed onto the mattress, landing horizontal, and the spring back of the mattress underneath her is there but gentle, no harsh jolt despite the decent couple of feet she travelled.

Clark tips his head, evaluating his handy work, hands on hips. ]

Almost right, but not exactly. What do you think?

[ it's easy to play along when he's like this, playful with none of the poker-faced expectation translating into actual reality. there's a lightness to this she hasn't felt in a while, hasn't been able to feel and she's glad to lean into now.

he tosses her onto the mattress, gentle, and lois lets herself laugh, then, reaching up only to pull out the elastic keeping her hair back because lying on that is no fun. if it means her hair fans out beneath her head, if that's something he likes, that's neither here nor there. unintentional. right.

she shifts a little. reaches out a hand toward him. the knowledge that he'll take it is bone-deep, even now. ]

I think it needs another body, probably.

Think you're onto something.

[ He does like her hair like that. He likes a lot of her like this.

Clark takes her hand, lets her guide him down onto the bed where he wastes no time in crawling over, crowding into her space. His grin now simmered down, but that same lightness still in his eyes that fix on hers. He lowers his head to kiss her, mouth hovering an inch above hers before they align and make contact.

It's a long kiss. A means business kind of kiss. He says, sort of in between; ]

You were right. This is perfect.

That's why they pay me the big bucks- [ she manages before his lips are on hers, before any words are swallowed by the kiss and then forgotten in favour of kissing him back, in favour of curling fingers in his hair and holding on.

the kiss means business, it lingers and lasts and so she doesn't have to really try to keep him there, to keep him kissing her. she's no longer laughing, but there's some remnant of it still in her chest, a bubble of lightness and joy. it turns into something else, no less joyful but more focused, more physical, when their hips meet.

she wants to wrap a leg around his hips. she's wearing a pencil skirt. these things do not go together. ]

[ Clark breaks to kiss the side of her jaw, her neck, while his hand finds the hem of her skirt, like he might pull it up. That can be fun, half-dressed and frantic, but the feeling of their bodies pressed flushed against each other makes him want to feel her skin on his.

So he works his hand under her, blindly finding the little tab that keeps the zipper closed. Finely tuned dextrous control. It's not sexy all the time to always ruin a person's wardrobe, superstrength or not. She'll feel the waistband of her skirt loosen just as Clark lifts his head to look at her.

A more crooked smile, before he moves back to go ahead and help slide her out of her skirt. ]

[ there are times when half-dressed and frantic is the only way to go about it, when they need each other so much, so immediately that clothes are an obstacle to be obliterated —and who better to do so than him? but she likes this skirt and the part of her that's thinking about the bigger picture, analysing not only the motivations of others but investigating her own as well, finds that she's glad he doesn't rip it. not just for the skirt's sake but for the sake of proximity.

maybe they're both a little starved for connection still. for taking their time with each other and being close, savouring it.

most of her, admittedly, isn't thinking much at all. most of her is far more concerned with his skin under her fingertips, the relation of their bodies to one another, lifting her hips so he can slide the skirt down, unbuttoning his shirt between their bodies.

he smiles down at her, crooked like that, and lois smiles back. fumbles a little with some of the buttons because she's not willing to push him back to put space between them for her hands to work. ]

[ With the skirt shimmied down far enough that she can kick it free, Clark meets her halfway with the buttons, tugging them free until it falls open. Nothing underneath resultant of a lazy afternoon spent in, and then nothing at all as he shrugs free of the shirt, flicking it over the side of the bed.

Quick to get back on her, in her space, his hands finding her sides and slipping up her top in pursuit of the catch of her bra, dragging shirt fabric along where it catches at his wrists.

His hips line up to hers, pushing her thighs apart to make room for himself despite the fact there are still a couple of layers of cloth in between them. This doesn't stop him from pressing close against her.

Controlled. He has an elbow set against the mattress and it's no effort at all to distribute his weight only exactly as he wants to, which is to say—pressure, deliberate, that also doesn't crush her. ]

[ she kicks her skirt off and he pulls his shirt off, and flings it aside and their hips line up. free of the confines of her skirt, she can wrap her leg around him like she wanted to, dragging in a sharp breath at the pressure and friction it offers when he presses close, even through the layers still between them. ]

Clark--. [ the way she arches her back beneath him, pushing her breasts against his chest, is more deliberate than not, but the hint of breathlessness in her tone is entirely incidental. fingers digging into his shoulders, sliding down his back, she surges up to kiss him again. ]

[ This time, when her mouth meets his, there's a sound muffled into it, but if it was ever words, they don't matter enough in favour of kissing back. Which Clark does. The tip of his head demands more, and the hands working her clothing free kind of get lost in what they were doing as she pushes her body up against him.

He lifts his head, after a moment, blue eyes gone darker as he studies her face, and then his smile returns, low key, crooked, as he gathers her shirt and loosened bra up together and goes to push both up, the sweeping of his hands up her sides encouraging her arms to lift along with it.

Once she's free of her clothing, Clark steers her back into a kiss, thumb gentle under her chin, and then down to her throat, following the path of bone, dips and valleys, palm smoothing over her breast and then laying too-warm against her ribs. Keyed into the sounds of fluctuations in her breathing, her heart rate, even the flutter of her eyelashes. ]

[ there's no need for words between them right now. kissing is-- not enough, no, because she wants so much more, but it's its own form of communication and entirely sufficient for that purpose. lois makes an answering sound, low in her throat.

the kiss breaks and for a moment, she follows him when he lifts his head, before letting hers drop back onto the pillow, before letting him bare her, arms raised to he can pull her clothes off entirely.

his thumb moves from her chin to her throat to her breast and ribs and lois gives a full-body shiver. on display for him, if not for the fact that he's kissing her, visually and otherwise. ]

You're overdressed. [ she mutters against his lips soon before long, fingers going to the waistband of his jeans. there really isn't enough space between their bodies for her to undo the button. she wants him naked and doesn't want to unwrap her legs from his around him, doesn't want the pressure to let up. what a wonderful problem to have. ]

Uh huh, [ he agrees, muttered against her throat. How long can they stay in this tangle? As long as they like. No forward progress, just lateral development in the form of quickened hearts, blood pooling into downward trajectories, wide pupils.

Finally, Clark lifts himself up, carefully but inevitably shifting his hips so that Lois has to unhook her legs from around him. He sits up on his knees, his hands drifting to her thighs to let her at least unhook his pants for him before he helps push them down, over his hips, gathering underwear along with denim, naked all at once from the knees up.

A kneeling-step or two have him mostly free, but he doesn't immediately go and press back down on her, his fingertips finding her knees, and then trailing up her thighs, letting himself look at her in a long moment, eye contact that then breaks, the pressure of his appreciation sliding down her body almost as tangibly as a touch. Over the peaks of her breasts, the vulnerable softness of skin of her belly, the juncture of her thighs.

His palms flatten against her thighs, sliding up them, thumbs dragging along the inner, softer flesh. ]

[ his gaze feels like a physical caress in and of itself. lois has never been self-conscious about her body, even as she'd become aware of the way its changed as she's grown older, a little more softness at the belly, a different heaviness to her breasts, some lines at her thighs. she isn't self-conscious now; the way he looks at her has never made her feel anything less than beautiful.

she thinks it's the same way that she looks at him, probably. with his jeans and underwear gone, she can let herself look-- and then reach up, steadying herself with one arm behind herself for a moment, to touch, too, to let her fingers trail over the hair at his chest, the valley between his abs, the trail leading down until her touch finds the curve of his cock, heat and silk over hardness, ghosting along the length of it before falling away as lois lets herself sink back into the pillows, opening herself to his touch instead, legs falling open. ]

[ Clark stays perfectly still when she touches him, but she knows better than to think he's unaffected, particularly when his cock twitches in answer to that light touch to it, seems to twitch again when she falls backwards, spreads her legs open.

Now he watches her face, relaxing back onto his haunches and leaning in a little as he smooths his hands up inwards. His fingers spread her open, a fingertip seeking out her clit, pressing gently, rubbing gentler, little circles, a touch he's administered to her so many times in the past.

Once, he asked her to show him, how she liked to be touched. He's always remembered. ]

[ he knows how to touch her to make her sigh, to make her breath catch in her throat and her hips cant up just so, seeking out more of his touch. he watches and she lets him see and hear it-- that catch of her breath, the hint of a noise trapped in her throat, the way her heart picks up the pace, the surge of wetness between her legs where he's spreading her open, where she's already slick. there's an openness to this, something that would be there even if his senses weren't what they are but more pronounced-- something that wouldn't be there with someone without his senses, because they wouldn't be him, because there's a degree of trust and intimacy with clark that lois has never found with anyone else, that she hadn't even known she could want.

he watches and she watches him back, drinking him in, the air betwen them charged. and still, before long: ] Get back down here. [ she wants to kiss him. wants the weight of him on top of her again. ]

[ Clark does a bad job at suppressing his smile, and he gladly sinks down back to her. He keeps his hand where it is, shifting angles so his palm can press right up against the core of heat between her legs, and he seeks out a kiss. Seeks out her hands. He is easy that way, for contact, for gesture and intimacy. If he could wrap himself up in Lois and stay there, he would.

His fingers work her a little firmer, now. He kisses her mouth, her cheek, her jaw, her throat. He holds his hips up and out of the way of what he's doing to her but is extremely aware of the heaviness of his own erection stiffening with each little hitch of her breathing or flex of her body or smeared kiss between them. ]

[ she likes his smile, but it still gets brushed aside by the kiss-- even if it turns sloppy soon before long, at least on lois's side, her focus shattering to the degree that his touch grows firmer, more demanding, her body responding to it, toes curling against the sheets and pressure climbing up her spine. ]

Clark--

[ she's not there yet, but it won't take long, either, if he keeps doing that. the joys of being with someone who knows just how to touch her, of being with him, really. her hands flutter over his back, his arms, digging into muscle and sliding over skin, greedy and aimless at once. it's easy to get lost in this, in the pleasure of how he plays her body.

in the end, it's with a sigh, a soft oh, almost of surprise, that she comes, muscles tensing before pleasure washes over her and she finds herself laughing breathlessly, hand sliding to his neck to pull him into another kiss before she pulls him more firmly down onto her with a leg around his hip, again. ]

[ God, she's beautiful. It's objective fact, not just beauty formed from the way he looks at her. The flutter of her hands over his shoulders, the gentle scrape of her nails, that sigh, and then the rush of heat and spasming as she comes against his hand. He holds her through it, like it's all his pleasure too.

And he feels the pressure of her leg. Encouraging him.

His hand leaves her, but only to handle himself, to push the head of his cock against that wet centre of her, and he glides in, smooth and easy. The hot-tight pressure of her makes his skin prickle in pleasure, seems to draw tension up the backs of his thighs, along his spine and shoulders. ]

Lo, [ breathed out. ]

Yeah-. [ just a breath in return. he feels so good inside her and for a moment, it's almost too much-- almost, but never crossing that line, just keeping her on the edge for a moment longer, aftershocks of her orgasm pulling him deeper and drawing another sound from her.

she loves this. she loves everything about sex with him, yes, but the moment when he first slides into her, that feeling of fullness, she especially loves that. they fit; it's just biology, really, but if lois were a more fanciful woman, she'd read something into it instead of just enjoying the hell out of it.

he stills, deep inside her, holding himself there or lois holds him there with her heel digging into his thigh and her hands on his neck, his shoulder. for a moment, they just kiss; for a moment, she's caught between coming down and wanting to rise up again, perfectly balanced.

then, deliberately, with what little leverage and space she has beneath him, she rolls her hip, taking him just a little deeper. ]

[ As she moves beneath him, Clark holds on for the last few seconds he knows he can hold on for.

And then one second more.

And then he begins to move, eyes having closed lazily somewhere in there now opening—drowsy, a little, but extremely present. His arms rest on either sides of her shoulders to keep himself balanced, feeling more earthbound than usual when he's with her, less like he's some static point in space that turns the whole universe around him, but no, just a man, heavy and trapped right here, on her, in her.

It's not a 0 to 10 immediately. It's a slow build as he begins to thrust, small movements that are almost as much for his own sake as it is for her. A controlled escalation, a well worn path, and yet feels new every time. His forehead is pressed to hers, until he tips his head aside to lay open mouthed kisses down her cheek, her ear lobe, her throat. ]

Edited 2021-04-10 13:18 (UTC)

[ it's a slow escalation and that it's a well worn path makes it no less intimate, no less intense as it builds between them. he holds himself above her, arms on either side of her, steady as a rock there even as his hips work, and lois lingers on the swell of muscle in his arms, his shoulders, his back, curving one hand over his ass and urging him on just a little more, arching beneath him and meeting him.

she loves touching him. his body isn't what she loves most about him, but she's not blind or immune to it. really, she just loves him. that, and there's a reason that this is a well worn path; it works for them, for her. she hitches her leg a little higher until every downward thrust of his body means perfect pressure against her clit, too, until she's very nearly there again, never mind that she just came. ]

[ Clark reaches down to cup his hand around her thigh, keeping her leg in place to relieve the ache of doing it herself. This, instinctual as breathing, which he also doesn't need to do, but laser printed into his system all the same.

Some of that steely control loosens by a matter of degrees, a more rolling grace of motion, muscle. He can feel the stuttering spasm of muscle around his cock, shivered through her, and the idea of making her come again so soon, well before he's done, flushes warm and heated through his system. The idea of feeling her unravel beneath him. ]

That's it, [ he sighs against her throat. ] I got you.

[ he steadies her, keeps her leg in place, makes it easier, and lois loves him so much. it's cliche, to blurt that out during sex, and she's only thinking it, right now, but that makes it no less true, no less real. she loves him so much and she's so close and he urges her on and-- ]

Oh God, Clark-

[ that's it, right there-- he pushes into her again, something about the angle changing as he unwinds fractionally, control easing, and just like that, she's coming again, muscles locking up tight before it shudders through her. ]

[ And the feeling of that seems to do something to him, seems to draw his own arousal through him like a string gone taut. He rides it out, first, a moment of pause when all her muscles lock around him, and then when they slip into a more relaxed state, he keeps going.

Not for very long, and his hands slip beneath her, holding her to him as he moves at a more desperate pace. And he is well versed at being careful, at not holding onto her so tightly that it would hurt, a comfortable compartmentalisation in which he holds her enough.

And lets go in other, smaller ways, such as: his fingers clenching into fists beneath and against her, bone-creaking and bloodless, in the moment he comes. A shuddered groan out of him, eyes falling shut against his will, relief slow to rise. ]

[ a moment of pause-- and then he starts moving at a more desperate pace, holding on to her and chasing his own pleasure. lois murmurs soft encouragement and softer sounds of pleasure into the space between them, fingers moving over his shoulders, his neck, his back, never quite still. this isn't going to get her anywhere again, but it still feels good-- the proximity, the knowledge that he's close (to his own orgasm, to her, there are layers to her enjoyment of this independently of orgasm that she doesn't feel any need to pick apart, investigative journalist or not.), the way he lets go just a little more.

he groans and comes, shuddering above her, and lois slides her hands into his hair and strains upward to press a kiss to his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. ]

[ She kisses his face and Clark relaxes into that, before finally bowing his head, burying his face into her neck and her hair just to breathe her in, and then lifting it again to kiss her mouth. The weight of him is felt for just those moments, pressing her body into the mattress's give, but lightens again, easy (and probably, he still half-consciously kept some weight off of her all the same, balanced against an elbow resting in place).

His nose bumps her cheek. Hey. ]

Love you.

(no subject)

flackjacket - 2021-04-24 20:59 (UTC) - Expand