I owe a few more, which I will get to eventually, but I did actually write a fifth story for Nora, who asked for Bruce/Dick, and it turned out longer than anticipated, but then, my prompt was spanking. You understand. It does, however, need a second pair of eyes. So if anyone is willing, and is familiar with comics, and is not easily offended, and can tell me whether my Bruce voice is okay, and can do it, like, straight away, I would be super grateful!
Anyway, the fic:
The muscles in her face seem to be frozen, like an icicle on the verge of melting, because Clark can tell that she wants to cry. She just doesn’t want to cry in front of him. Or maybe anyone. Maybe even crying in front of herself is too much like being a weakling. Maybe Lois never cries.
If there’s a time to, it’s right now.
Clark makes the first move, by letting go of his own tenuous control, letting tears spill out of his eyes and roll down his cheeks. There’s no one else here. The barn is more his fortress of solitude than the real thing is these days, now that everyone has left him: Mom barely visits. Dad is…gone.
And now Chloe.
All they have—he and Lois—is each other. Because he and Lois loved her more than anyone else did. Except maybe Jimmy, but that’s different.
“Oh God, Clark,” Lois says, her voice breaking on the words. He wipes the heel of his palm across both cheeks, smearing his face with tears, and Lois takes a step towards him.
They need each other so badly right now and Clark thinks Lois might even understand that. He stumbles forward to meet her and pulls her into a tight embrace, burying wet eyes into un-perfumed throat. Sobbing.
It takes until his body has calmed again before he realizes that Lois is crying too, whimpering words that cut through Clark’s heart and make him want to scream with rage and frustration. I want her back. I want her back.
He has to shut her up, he has to stop her from saying things that don’t help.
Taking her face in his hands he draws her head away from his chest and stares into the mirror of her eyes.
He kisses her on the mouth.
She moans and pushes her tongue into Clark’s mouth, presses her body—hot, so hot and electric—against Clark’s without so much as a moment's hesitation.
They really do need each other right now, and they can make love in the barn with no parents around to interrupt them, and they can make the pain go away and they can forget about Chloe, forget about the girl who brought them together, forget about everything.
Everything but the way it feels to kiss her and fuck her and watch her cry when she orgasms.
It feels so good.
Prompt: boys in cars
It’s pissing down with rain, those motherfuckers stole his cellphone and jacket and shoes for Christ’s sake, his shoulder stings where he bashed it on the road after being shoved out of the still-moving car, it’s dark to the point of pitch black outside, and God only knows where the hell he is. Lex doesn’t even know which direction to start walking.
When he tracks them down he’ll make sure they suffer for a long, long time before he puts them all out of their misery forever.
He walks for five minutes, feeling increasingly sorry for himself as his sopping shirt clings to him and he starts to shiver.
He stumbles into the centre of the road and starts frantically waving his arms.
When the vehicle slows down, he moves back to the side, almost giddy with relief.
He narrows his eyes when he sees that it’s a familiar-looking truck to the rescue. And when he hears the amused sounding voice emerge from the darkness of the cab--“Do you need a ride?”--he fights the urge to hurl abuse.
Instead, he climbs inside with gritted teeth and ignores Clark’s inappropriately sunny grin.
“What happened, Lex?” Clark asks, but he doesn’t sound remotely concerned or even interested in what happened to Lex. It’s patently obvious to Lex that Clark is delighted by this turn of events and wishes to milk it for all its worth.
“I don’t know,” he grumbles, which is the sorry truth. He didn’t get a look at any of the faces of his captors, although he’s not worried about finding out who they were (and making them pay). He has resources they couldn't even dream of and it really is never a good idea to mess with a Luthor.
“Kidnapped again?” Clark asks sweetly.
That makes Clark laugh in surprise. “Wow, Lex. You’re welcome! Always a pleasure to rescue you.”
“I didn’t need rescuing,” Lex replies indignantly. “My captors released me of their own accord quite some time ago now.”
Clark nods. “That was nice of them. But I would still like some credit for rescuing you from hypothermia.”
“It’s just some light drizzle,” Lex scoffs. “I would have been fine.”
The smile on Clark’s face is irritatingly contagious and Lex is fighting hard to keep his scowl in place.
“Would you like me to stop? I don’t mind, Lex, really. If you’d prefer to make your own way home I’ll completely understand.”
Lex gives it some thought then sighs dramatically. “No, it’s okay. You can take me home if you want.”
This time they both laugh. Something they haven’t done together in as long as Lex can remember.
Prompt: Clark fascinated by and watching Lois masturbate in his bedroom unbeknownst to her
Clark wanders into the house feeling glum. Home is a lonely place to be now, and even though Lois pops around uninvited relatively often, and stays over every now and then (she doesn’t seem to have a problem sleeping in his parents’ bed, so even though he found it weird at first, he’s been forced to accept it) there’s always a period of time after he arrives home at dusk when all he wants to do is mope.
Never mind that there are chores to do. Never mind that he has to cook his own dinner. Never mind that he has no friends left in Smallville, no girlfriend, no social life at all.
When he collapses onto the couch with a heaving sigh he does a double take.
What was that?
There’s someone in the house. In his room. In his room.
Someone is in his room, breathing heavily.
He’s upstairs in a silent flash, self pity replaced by suspicion. His bedroom door is shut and he’s about to open it and burst into the room, surprising his intruder, when he remembers he has other tools at his disposal.
He x-rays the door instead and is stunned to see Lois lying on his bed, eyes shut, one arm behind her head, the other laying across her belly. One leg stretched out straight, the other bent.
Clark frowns. Is she asleep? She doesn’t sound asleep. She sounds…
Lois moves the hand on her stomach then, downwards. Between her parted thighs, to be precise. And she’s rubbing herself through her jeans. There.
Clark’s eyes are like saucers now, and his body is responding to the sight he’s seeing in a way that’s not strictly voluntary. But that’s understandable, he supposes. It’s not every day he sees this sort of thing. It’s not ever, actually.
Oh God. She’s undoing her fly. She’s undoing her fly and she’s pushing down her jeans and, oh dear God, her panties too. Clark cannot keep watching this, it’s completely and utterly wrong to keep watching this.
Oh wow, her body looks so nice. It’s really sexy the way she’s got only a tank top on and nothing else whatsoever. And the way she’s got both hands between her legs. The way she writhes on the bed. On Clark’s bed. The little sounds she makes and the way she’s got her eyes squeezed shut, and the way her hands are moving faster and faster.
Christ, he’s hard now, and all thoughts of walking away before the end of this mesmerizing show are distant enough to be non-existent. He’d quite like to touch himself too, but he really needs to be in the bedroom to do that, and it’s not like he can use the bedroom right now.
Lois is rocking up off the bed and panting so loud it feels like Clark’s in the room with her, on the bed with her, her mouth right on his ear.
She stops suddenly, grabs the bedspread in her fist, body totally rigid for a second, one hand still pressed hard between her legs. Her eyes fly open, a choked off cry escapes her lips, and she shudders violently for several moments.
It’s the greatest thing Clark has ever seen.
He escapes to the bathroom, slams the door behind him and locks it, quickly unzipping his fly and pulling himself out, and before he can say ‘Clark, you’re a giant pervert,’ to himself in the mirror, he’s coming all over his own fist.
Pairing: Fraser/Ray K
Prompt: daily routine
Every day after their shift they grab a bite to eat together and Ray loves it that Fraser lets him bitch about whatever has pissed him off that day, occasionally interrupting him with comments like, “I don’t think it was precisely her intention to irritate you, Ray, but I must admit, her voice had a rather piercing quality.” Or, “Yes, he was rude to push you out of the way like that, Ray, although I sympathize with his desire to get to the hospital as quickly as possible, given his wife’s condition.” Which is really just Fraser’s way of agreeing with him, so unless Ray’s in a particularly tetchy mood, he doesn’t mind that on the surface Fraser’s playing devil’s advocate.
It’s not his fault he’s sensitive to asshole behavior and needs a sounding board. He’d go totally fucking crazy if it wasn’t for Fraser.
Does Fraser have even the slightest clue how much Ray needs this? Every guy’s gotta unwind somehow and it’s not like he’s got a wife at home anymore to help him relax.
Hell, even jerking off each night doesn’t compare to the times he spends with Fraser, just talking.
Which is a helluva weird thing to think, because there ain’t much better in life than a good orgasm.
Huh. Sometimes, when there’s a lull in the conversation because he’s caught up in watching Fraser swallow his food, he wonders what it might be like to combine the two: hanging out with Fraser and…orgasms.
Yeah okay Ray, calm the fuck down.
Getting a hard-on over pizza on a Monday night, under fluorescents, in a dump full of cops, is not the smartest thing he’s ever done.
But when grease from the pizza trickles down Fraser’s chin, and it takes a few seconds before Fraser bothers wiping it up with his napkin, Ray knows he staring too much and he wonders if he can make it to the bathroom before anyone else in the joint notices the torpedo in his pants.
“Is everything okay, Ray?”
Shit. Fraser is gazing at him with concern, and what the hell’s he supposed to say to that? ‘No, not really. Would you mind joining me in the alley out the back and sucking my cock?’?
“Fine,” he replies tightly, trying to will his erection away.
Some day soon he’ll say something to Fraser. Maybe make a move.
But not today.