stands_for_hope | Clark Luthor and Darcy

Entry tags:

adult,
bakerstreet

Clark Luthor and Darcy

As continued from THIS thread, specifically here.

That was the best part, though, at least as far as Clark was concerned. He could hear the way her blood rushed, the beat of her heart, the near-silent little skip of her breath as he found a sensitive spot or touched her in just the right way. It was a rush of power that had no guilt surrounding it and that made him love it all the more.

She was unafraid of him. She had stayed. She was beautiful and intelligent; firm under pressure, practical even as she was brave and stalwart in her convictions even as she opened to new ideas. He had shown her parts of his true self, ugly and brutal, and she had not found them appealing but neither had she turned away.

He would show her such pleasures, treat her as she deserved to be treated, and perhaps in this world he would have one t-- no. One person that made him feel as if he had found a place in this world.

One hand slid behind her to brace her, keep her from falling over as he pressed between her legs and put his tongue to work. He would bear the whole of her weight if he had to; it was simple enough. But most importantly, he wanted to get the fullness of her scent in his nose as he showed her what she deserved.

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This was good. It would get better, he knew it would, but this was damn good. He reached over and got his hands into her hair, ran his fingers lightly against her scalp and the back of her neck. He could feel her smile and it made a matching one bloom on his own lips.

At least until he needed to let his head drop back from the increased pressure.

There was something just outright magical about seeing such a powerful creature laid low, so to speak, by her actions. It made her feel powerful. And the fact that Clark allowed himself to appear vulnerable in front of her? Well, she didn't have too much personal experience with villains, but she figured that was rare.

Good lord, what a day. Just that morning, she'd hated him. And now she wanted to fuck him.

It was official: Darcy was certifiably insane.

She laughed again even as she continued working him over relentlessly, paying close attention to every tiny reaction so she could adapt. After all, she wanted to make a good impression.

She was making more than a good impression. Clark was starting to rock unconsciously into her strokes, his hands tight in the sheets. He heard the one sheet rip there before, muscles shaking, he looked down at her again.

"Darcy... fuck" he swallowed hard. "I'm going to--"

"Yeah? Point being?"

To make her own point, Darcy ceased all movements, instead kissing her way down his chest. No need to make a mess, after all, right? Smirking, the patted herself on the back for that terrible little joke as she took him into her mouth, tongue pressing hard against him.

His eyes were fluttering between open and close as he moved in time to her mouth, her perfect mouth. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

"What do you want more, Darce?" he huffed out as he barely managed to hold it together, "You want to watch me crack or... get on for a ride?"

Hmmm. Good question. Darcy pondered it while further torturing him, because goddamn, it still felt good to have that sort of power over him. Slowly, she drew away, grinning up at him as her hand continued to stroke over his erection.

"Shame I can't have both," she murmured as she straddled him, positioning him at her entrance and slowly, so slowly, sinking down.

He smirked up at her then, bucking up in short rocking thrust to tease her as she made her way down.

"You can have anything you want, Darcy."

Darcy gasped, eyes half-closing, hands flying to his chest to brace herself. Once she was fully seated, she remained still, letting her body have a chance to adjust. She allowed herself a moment to gaze down on Clark, taking in his expression, trying to memorize it.

"Anything?" she breathed, lifting her hips and sinking back down again.

He let his hands drift down to her hips to hold her there as he rocked up inside her, just slightly off her rhythm. He couldn't let her have all the control, after all.

"Hmm?"

His thumbs were rubbing lightly against her hips.

"What were you thinking of?"

"Well, to be honest..."

Darcy paused, letting her head tilt back, lips parted.

"...I can't really think right now."

She couldn't even decide if she wanted to fight his control and assert herself, or just let him do what he wanted. Damn her insecurity.

"Then how about you let me do the thinking?" he offered, the sentence punctuated by another roll of his hips. One hand, the other still holding her steady, drifted up to begin a soft circle around one of her breasts, stroking her through the cloth of the dress. He considered ripping it, but she'd picked the clothing she'd liked best and far be it from him to destroy that piece.

Of course, he reasoned to himself, he could always buy her another one.

Darcy's inner feminist railed against that suggestion, but really, it sounded pretty damn enticing at the moment. It wasn't like he was proposing to take over all decisions in her entire life, and she could still interject her own opinion. It was all good.

"Uh huh," was what she managed to say, her hands already working on the zipper of her dress. She hadn't even considered the possibility that he would tear it to pieces; she just wanted his touch on bare skin.

As her hands worked on the zipper, he decided he could be patient and focused instead on shifting her just so for an angle she might find more enjoyable. A few different options flew through his head, between playful and aggressive to outright bizarre (though there had been that one model back in his old world that'd told him she'd very much enjoyed fucking on the ceiling) before settling on settling on a good old fashioned fuck that'd get that much better once her dress was--

The second he saw the zipper undone, he reached up and tugged it away, tossing it aside before taking a good long look at her.

"Stunning," he told her as his hand returned to her breast, much happier with the feel of her skin against his fingers. He shifted her again so that he could sit up, begin running kisses and nips over her skin, taste her again as he moved inside her.

Clark's impatience was contagious, enough so that she didn't question how he'd just managed to yank her dress off like a magician. Just one more thing he was awesome at. And considering his reaction to her bare skin - one word, one small word that meant so much - Darcy couldn't care less.

He had no reason to compliment her. He already had her. Which meant it was genuine.

The moment he sat up, Darcy adjusted her own position, ankles hooking together behind his back, hands clutching at him wherever she could grasp, grip strong with just the hint of nails pressing into his skin. Having completely forgotten her vow to remain as quiet as possible for as long as possible, Darcy didn't hold back her whimpers and cries, though she smothered a few against his neck.

Clark didn't mind one bit, leaning in to take advantage of her pose to start kissing and nibbling her throat in between slow, deep thrusts. He was careful to support her, holding her against him with a firm, sure hand as he used the other to tease and stroke in ways he'd already learned made her squirm and moan.

"Beautiful," he told her, his voice deep and a little harsh from what she'd done to him, "every bit of you."

Mine, his mind sang firmly. He needed her and it was clear enough to him that those who'd been with her previously hadn't properly appreciated her, hadn't given her all she deserved, hadn't seen all that was inside her, hadn't allowed her to blossom. He wouldn't make that mistake. And he won't let the mistakes of others keep her from showing the world how worthy she was.

Had she known he was already laying claim to her, Darcy would have had a few things to say about that. Luckily for everyone involved - and the entire planet - she didn't have the power to read minds.

Now he was pushing it. Every bit of her was beautiful? As if. Darcy had her problem areas and she knew it; it was why she jogged a few times a week and visited the gym whenever she was feeling overly ambitious. Clark would probably change his mind once he was no longer inside her.

His fingers were like magic, knowing just where to touch and when, how much pressure to use, when to tease to have her straining and on the verge of begging. Was this what had been missing all her life? One of the things, anyway. She never wanted to let him go.

The noises, her heartbeat, the way she strained and strived against him... mmmm, exactly what he wanted. He started increasing his pace, his hand reaching down between them to add just a little more stimulation where she needed it, bracing her against his body to make up for the changes. He shifted a little more to give due attention to her other breast and the other side of her throat and listened to the beat of her heart, the rush of her blood, to tell him exactly when she was ready to tip over the edge again.

Oversensitive from earlier, Clark's touch sent a jolt of electricity through her. "Oh god," she hissed, hips jerking against his hand, head tilting back, lips parted as she fought to draw breath. Her pulse hammered at her throat, one foot dropping down to dig into the mattress.

She was so close.

He felt her, so close, and leaned in as he pressed inside her at a maddening pace to nip her jaw just so, cut the pleasure with just the tiniest slice of pain.

That small, sharp nip was all she needed. Her cries quieted down to near silence as her nails dug into his skin, legs clamping around his hips, muscles clenching. Darcy's cry was hushed, breathless, vulnerable and almost helpless. One hand clamped down on his hip, wanting to hold him as deep inside her as possible, her shaking growing more intense with each thrust until she finally collapsed against him, sweaty and out of breath.

The second she clenched around him, he held himself steady inside of her and let her muscles do the work of bringing his own release. He came with a low rumbling groan against the skin of her throat, his hands frozen still against her, the scent of her deep in his nose and his world made of her heartbeat.

When he regained use of his muscles, he started a line of delicate kisses along her throat.

Darcy could feel his release, and it set off another bout of shaking, much less intense, nothing but aftershocks but pleasant all the same. It was only his strong hand holding her upright; she felt like all of her limbs had turned to jelly.

Briefly, she realized they had been too into the moment to even consider protection, but she didn't panic. Clark wasn't human, and she could always take a trip to the pharmacy in the morning, if he allowed her out of his sight.

"Holy shit."

The chuckle that rumbled out of his chest and pressed against her skin was pure smug satisfaction. It was joined by his hands running gently over her body, a bit of care after they'd finished to ease her back down to earth.

"I will take that as a compliment."

Another soft kiss, this one at her jaw.

Darcy slowly ran her hand up and down his back, fingers questing to ensure she hadn't scratched him too hard. There wasn't a mark on him.

"Don't let it get to your head."

Darcy laughed softly, fighting off the sudden wave of drowsiness. She stretched her legs as best she could, then sighed, sounding utterly content.

And this was only their first time.

"Oh, Darcy, you should know by now that my ego needs no help," he pointed out before pressing another kiss.

"Now, how does a hot bath sound?"

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