Suki Blue Fiction
This feels kinda weird. I mean, this is
Clark. Superman. And I just fucked him. Gotta have some pride in that.
But seriously, Clark is a friend, and a good one, no-matter what Bruce’s opinion
of him is. I like him. I always have.
Bruce is right about one thing. If Clark ever…turned to the dark side - and yes,
I have been watching Star Wars - he would be a deadly force, unstoppable.
Almost. I’m pretty sure Bruce could take him down. I know that Clark is the
stronger and faster opponent, but sometimes it takes more than that. It takes
smarts. And Bruce has that in abundance.
Anyway, I’ve digressed. What was I saying? Oh, yeah, weird. I can deal with the
sex part and I can deal with the knowledge that Superman likes to bottom – and,
boy, was I glad about that. Whoa. How he doesn’t poke more eyes out is anyone’s
guess.
I can deal with all that and the fact that he prefers flavoured lube and has a
taste for edible condoms – and what the hell is the point of those, by the way?
But what is really weird and what is bugging the hell out of me is that,
normally? I would have got up, got dressed, said goodbye and thanks for having
me and headed out the door. Job done.
So why am I still lying in Clark’s arms? Why am I letting him stroke my back and
smell my hair? Why am I tracing patterns on his chest?
Mind control?
Too much alcohol?
Too much time on the job and not enough rest?
No.
I don’t want to end up like Bruce. I don’t want to be alone.
And as for Clark?
I really like him.
The End