dovelike | [AU] SV Futureverse

Entry tags:

au,
clark kent

[AU] SV Futureverse

Metropolis Children's Hospital

Days like today are what keep Eirene coming back to this small hospital in the middle of Kansas. Watching a thirteen year old with once-inoperable pancreatic cancer walk down the hallway to her parents, who are standing with the resident cancer specialist and trying to figure out what happened.

Eirene knows and she glances down at her hands with a faint smile.Miracles. One 'twenty year old' volunteer can do more in the weekend mornings she volunteers than the vicious decease still trying to kill a host of other kids on this floor. If she's lucky, she can save another life today, but her energy reserves haven't been replenished by rest in the last few days.

She's settled into a booth at the corner diner not half an hour later, sipping an herbal tea and flipping through the Planet for anything out of the ordinary. For the curious: she looks like any other college student; a Met U sweater, jeans and Birkenstocks.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The thin shirt is slowly pulled up over her head to join her sweatshirt (and the ripped remnants of his own t-shirt) on the floor beside them. And suddenly, there's nothing awkward about sitting in the middle of his sparsely furnished apartment with a topless woman in his lap. Especially not one he's in love with.

If training all these years has done anything for Clark, it's get him to the point where he's completely comfortable with who - and what - he is. He's not the blush-at-the-drop-of-a-hat nineteen year old boy she met, nor is he the slightly matured but still shy twenty-two year old who left her behind.

And for right now, the man he's become is going to brush her hair off her shoulders and trail his hands lightly up and down the sides of her body, before drawing her closer to kiss her again, skin pressed against skin.

It is, oddly enough, Eirene's turn to be nervous. The frantic beating of her heart against it's ribcage, pulse fluttering wildly at her throat, is reminiscent of the first few times they kissed. When she wasn't sure a big, kind farmboy was going to want to have anything to do with a naive goddess.

First contact of flesh, her soft curves against his muscled chest is a shock, her moan tumbling into his mouth instinctively. Fingers tighten against his shouders before sliding down across the expanse of his back.

Then, a hesitant withdrawal of barriers, ones she has only dropped once before, the most notable sign of which is the subtle aroma of roses and raindrops.

The scent is duly noted, though again, there's no outward appearance that he's noticed. Clark seems content to just keep kissing her and exploring her upper body with this hands, eventually ending up at her breasts, palming them gently and running his thumbs over the rosy peaks in experimentation.

Comfortable doesn't necessarily mean experienced.

She's content with this too, his hands nudging responses from her body despite the lack of experience, each bud beginning to harden around the third or fourth swipe.

Eirene's tongue is occupied fencing with Clark's, and she suitably distracted enough for the arousal to creep across her so subtly it's not until her arm brushes against his, and the sparks unravel into her bloodstream that she realizes he's gotten to do all the touching for the last little while.

"Clark," she murmurs during the next oxygen break, "I love you, and I need to touch you right now." At least, that's mostly what the whisper sounds like.

"I love you, too." That sounds just a little strange to say, even if he means it. He's only told her that once - right before he left - and, well, he might as well get used to it.

He pulls back a little, rubbing her nose with his own, and looks at her with a mildly playful glint in his eyes (comfortable doesn't mean completely serious, either).

"I'm not stopping you."

There's a grin, curious mixture of shy and salacious, spreading slowly across her mouth now. She doesn't actually move for a moment or two, absorbing his verbal response first.

That thar expression is of a woman in love, and loved in return. At least until she finally lifts her hands away from his shoulders and begin tracing down across his ribs, with her lips in pursuit, re-learning the taste of his chest.

Clark's eyes drift shut again when she starts her exploration. There's little tensing this time around and what there is hardly lasts. She's been pressed up against him enough that he's getting used to the contact, but the variances of pressure she's using catch him off guard now and then.

Not that he wants her to stop or hold back. Far from it. His hands stroke along her back in encouragement and occasionally, there's a soft moan when she hits a particularly sensitive spot.

Fingers still across his stomach when she feels the tensing, waiting long enough for his muscles to relax before continuing. Her mouth traces against the outline of each rib and all the way down to his navel, tongue flicking out to dip into the recess before Eirene begins the slow journey back towards his mouth.

There are, naturally, stops along the way to revisit favorite areas, and she tarries for quite a while on the tiny nubs of flesh that mirror her own, tongue and teeth aiding in the efforts.

Fair is fair.

Not entirely fair. There's touching, which is what he did, and then there's touching, which is what Eirene's doing falls into. At least as far as Clark's concerned.

Or would be if he could think clearly.

"Eirene." It's barely a whisper and at this point, there isn't much sentiment behind it other than acknowledgment that in the here and now, she's what's on his mind.

Hands tremble minutely by the time they come to rest on his shoulders, fingers digging into his flesh as if they are ten small anchors to keep their mistress from flying away.

They don't stay there long, proving too restless and obviously blessed with Eirene's own wanderlust, for they ghost across the column of his throat -- heralds for her approaching lips, who brush against the spot where his pulse beats wildly.

Then, between heartbeats, her mouth is nuzzling his.

Her name is whispered once more right before his lips claim hers and he settles her back flush against him in his lap. They've touched and they've explored and this kiss now speaks of yet another level of things being taken to.

If there was ever a time to stop this, it's now. But stopping is about the furthest thing from Clark's mind.

Sparks? Did the narration mention sparks at some point? Forget the sparks. The Fourth of July is being celebrated in her blood, liquid fire uncoiling from her center and spreading like lightning down her limbs.

This, to no one's surprise, causes squirming, because Clark makes her want to move. So there are hip rotations to accompany his name groaned into his mouth, and nails dragging themselves lightly down each side of his spine.

Of course, all that squirming against bare flesh (and jeans) is hardly conducive to the 'let's stop and discuss this' mindset.

It's probably a good thing no one seems to be saying that. In fact, with the way she's moving and the way his hands are doing nothing but encouraging it, there's something else Clark has on his mind to say.

"Bedroom," he manages to get out between kisses. He's gentleman enough that he's not going to expect they go any further on a living room floor covered in paper.

It's important paper.

Bzuh? That stops Eirene dead in her tracks, which might look pretty damn comical from a voyeur's point of view, tongue having been gliding just below Clark's chin during a rare moment when they weren't tongue wrestling.

Bedroom? She can do this. After a few moments, she gently untangles herself from his lap and stands up, which doesn't do much for the perspective, since she's barely three inches above five feet, but hey -- at least she's trying.

And those small, deft hands are being held out to him.

Which he takes and stands up beside her, smiling, and then leads her to the small room just on the other side of living room that will, eventually, be a proper bedroom. For now, the only thing that signifies it as such is the bed itself, the same small one he had back at the farm.

A small, curtained window lets in a modicum of light, which Clark thinks is probably enough. He turns to her and runs his hands up and down her arms lightly, half nerves and half out of the idea that she might be cold. "Do you really want to do this?" Because it has to be asked.

Nerves? Whose nervous? The goddess staring down at the bed with a currently unreadable expression? There may be a small pause between question and answer, while she tears her eyes away from the piece of furniture to look up at Clark.

Eirene's brain isn't quite processing as fast as she like, so she simply leans forward and presses her lips at the point where Clark's chest meets his stomach.

Then: "Yes." Beat. "Do you?"

Clark may be, just a little. It has been well over seven years since he's done this; long enough that it's more a distant memory he occasionally questions actually happening.

Her answer - the non verbal one - elicits a sharp intake of breath and it's a few moments before he can reach down and tilt her chin up to look him clear in the eyes. "Yes. I want to be with you."

Yeah, just hearing those seven words (she counted mentally) is enough to make her forget to breath for a few seconds, blue eyes widening at the implications before she finally exhales. Eirene almost wants him to repeat it so she can be sure she heard him correctly.

"Then--" Such a big step. "I'm yours for as long as you want me, Clark."

"That's a pretty open ended offer," he smiles down at her, resting one hand against her cheek and the other at her hip, pulling her a little closer to him. "What if I ask for forever?"

"Then I suppose I'd have to go apartment hunting and apply for a six month legal goddess-alien permit. I could spend the rest of my life with you."

Small knuckles brush idly just above his hip bones, fingers pressing against his warm skin not-quite-casually.

"I don't know, those kinds of permits are pretty hard to come by," he teases softly, though his gaze is starting to go hazy at her touch.

Then he just draws her to to him completely, leaning down to kiss her.

That's the one regret she has about dating, and falling in love with, this man - the fact that she isn't tall enough to kiss him properly without him having to stoop his shoulders. But, still, it's easily fixed. Meaning Eirene subtly starts floating up a few inches the moment their lips meet.

He'll probably be too distracted to notice, anyway, she decides and wraps her arms around his neck, fingers threading up into his hair.

He'd sort of forgotten about that part, but that doesn't mean he doesn't notice and remember now. He's have to be dead to ignore the slide of her skin under his hands as she rises up off the floor and he loosens his grip just a little to help her get as high as she wants.

Then he tightens his arms around her again, holding her close, starting to trail kisses along her chin and down her throat.

Oh, just high enough where she can just about look him in the eyes while they're kissing, and so he won't get a neck kink from leaning down. Because she's considerate like that. The fact that his bare chest against hers feels better than chocolate is just the icing.

Eirene also tilts her head back, thick hair tumbling down to drift against his arms, and a soft whimper sneaks right out of her lips.

He'd argue that he doesn't get kinks in his neck, or sore shoulders or back from having to stoop down, but he appreciates the sentiment behind it.

He also doesn't usually suffer from weak knees, but the feel of her skin rubbing against his own is enough to make him think he might just start. Which would be why he slowly starts moving them over to the bed.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject