Title: Ground glass Fandom: DCU Pairing: Clark/Kon (You can stop looking at me like that now. It's Zee's fault.) Rating: NC-17 Summary: A brief interlude of sheer Kryptonian lust, of the very inappropriate and wrong sort. Notes: Zee wanted this. I maintain that Superman should never have sex, especially not with Kon, but I am nothing if not obliging. It's like looking in a mirror that makes everything better, brighter, stronger, until something breaks the silvered glass and it all falls to pieces while Kon drowns in the taste of Superman's mouth, inhuman and hot and perfect. The wind whistles in his ears, and they aren't standing in a cornfield, now  they're deep in a cloud. Superman's hands are tugging his tights down, and his aw-shucks Kansas charm got left behind, somewhere. He's intense, now, alien to Kon's idea of what Superman is. Superman doesn't, Superman wouldn't, but he is, and he does. Kon feels the world shake and fall, but Superman catches him before he gets out of the cloud. "You don't have to concentrate," he says, and Kon feels cold, not least because his tights are around his ankles. Superman has his own tights down, too, and Kon's dizzy, falling, but Superman won't drop him. Kon holds onto his shoulders until Superman pushes him down. Kon holds onto his hips and lets Superman fuck his mouth. He doesn't taste that strange, compared to the very small sample size Kon has for comparison, but he's rougher than anyone's ever dared to be. After a second, Kon feels a completely irresistible hand in his hair and pulls off, praying that it'll be over, praying that he won't have to stop. And he's glad, then, that Superman's taking care of the flying, because his up and down get confused. He's used to flying upside down, but not relative to the only -- relative -- other thing he can see with any clarity. He shouldn't be looking at Superman's thighs, shouldn't be spreading his own. Superstrength aside, he can't stop himself from bucking at the first touch. Superman's mouth is as hot and strange as his cock, and Kon wails. With a hand on his ass, tugging him forward -- down -- into the painful, hungry heat, he can't find words. He doesn't know what the words would be, so he just moans. There's no one to hear. Someone with superhearing can definitely make sure of that. He thinks about saying no, and wonders if he could start flying again before he hit the ground. Superman's hand is on his neck, pushing his head down. Kon gives in to it, opens his mouth wide. Superman thrusts into his mouth again, and Kon takes the tiny physical pain along with the serious weirdness pain. He can lose himself in the rhythm of this, lying on the only solid thing in a mile -- Superman's torso -- and letting his hips rock, faster, harder than he would with anyone else. He's not sure how to make it better, and whenever he tries something Superman just pushes his head down again and groans. That makes Kon choke, but it also sends shivers up his spine. He tries resisting to see what the tradeoff will be like, and -- that's going to bruise, aura or no aura, but the pain, and the heat, and the ability to really, truly let himself move like he's only ever done in the best wet dreams -- he comes so hard he sees stars in the cloud, and his scream is muffled by Superman's cock. A few more thrusts into his throat, sharp and needy, and he's choking on the too-familiar, too-alien taste. There's wind in his ears. When he finds his balance again, he's in a motel room, somewhere, in the bathroom, and Superman is standing next to him, naked. "Take a shower," he says, and Kon does, trying not to meet his eyes and look in the clouded mirror. The water doesn't go hot enough, the soap doesn't get him clean enough. When he reaches for a towel, Superman pushes one into his hand. "Go do your homework, Conner." Kon stares at him. It's not fair. He deserves some kind of an explanation, something beyond a dismissal. He opens his mouth, but nothing is biting enough or flippant enough or rude enough. He can still taste Superman on his tongue. "Don't do that again." He really shouldn't be able to do Clark Kent without the glasses, but he manages it. "Are you sure?" The wrong innocence makes Kon shudder and pull his tights on. "I'll tell your folks you said hi." "Great." Kon's out of the motel room before Superman gets out of the shower. It takes him a minute and some serious altitude to figure out where the hell they are, but he makes it back to Smallville within an hour. The cornfields have never felt so foreboding.
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