Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
Sequel to Not Tonight, I Have a Headache. Requested by nelliewu.
"You have got to be kidding me."
Clark Kent grinned as he slowly and seductively stripped off the collared shirt he wore, exposing the broad expanse of his chest. In the yellow light of the bedside lamp, his skin looked golden, and muscles rippled and bulged beneath his skin as he moved.
"Kidding?" he answered, grinning more broadly. "When do I ever kid about sex?"
"Okay." Chloe Sullivan threw an arm over her face, trying to hide from temptation. "I guess I deserve this. I know I'm always pestering you for sex, even when you tell me you're tired. But I am honestly wiped out, Clark."
"Let me guess. You have a headache."
"Not really," she said. "I'm just exhausted. You wouldn't believe the day I had."
"Sure I would, sweetheart. I sit right next to you, remember?"
"Yeah, but you were in and out with interviews and superhero stuff. You didn't hear the knock-down, drag-out fight Perry and I had."
"Honestly, it was ugly. I'm surprised he didn't fire my ass. After that I had to go to four separate interviews. And then I was at work till eight o'clock, trying to finish that article on the new vigilante in Gotham. I'm worn out, honest. All I really want to do is sleep."
"Okay," he responded. "If that's really what you want."
She heard the sound of a belt being unbuckled, but she stubbornly refused to lift her arm, even a little bit, and peek. Nothing there you haven't seen a thousand times, she reminded herself firmly. Nothing there you haven't touched a thousand times, or kissed a thousand times. Just the same old, same old.
The problem was that Clark was so gorgeous that a girl could look at him a thousand times and never get bored. As far as she was concerned, looking at her husband could never really be the same old, same old.
And he knew perfectly well she felt that way, damn him.
There was the gentle shush of a zipper being unzipped, and the soft thud of denim falling to the floor in a careless heap. And then she heard the sound of his bare feet against the hardwood floor, walking toward her with slow, deliberate steps.
"Go away," she whined.
"Relax, Chlo. I'm just lying down." She felt the bed shift as his considerable weight dropped onto it. And then he was wrapping an arm around her, his warm front pressed intimately up against her back.
She'd already changed for bed, and through the flimsy fabric of the negligee she wore, he felt incredibly good. He felt hot and powerful and alive. He was stark naked, and she could feel his erection pressing against her ass, even through the satin.
He didn't feel at all like the same old, same old. Somehow, every time she saw Clark, every time she touched him, every time they made love... it was all new.
All her exhaustion instantly fled, and she wiggled against him.
"You can go to sleep if you want," he whispered in her ear.
Yeah, right. Sleep was suddenly the last thing on her mind. All she could think about was the warm, powerful male flesh wrapped around her.
All she could think about was wrapping her body around him.
God help her. She couldn't resist Clark, any more than Clark could resist her.
"I guess I can sleep later," she answered softly.
"That's the spirit." He held her a little closer, and she sighed, and melted into his arms. His hands started roaming over her body, and she melted even further, because he felt comfortable and familiar, and yet new and exciting. She rolled toward him and began kissing his chest.
"Sleep," she said against his skin, "can definitely wait."
She felt rather than heard the low rumble of laughter in his chest.
"That's one of the things I've always liked about you, Chlo," he answered, pressing a kiss into her hair. "I admire a woman who knows how to prioritize."
"Yeah, yeah. You just like me because I'm easy."
She heard another low rumble deep in his chest.
"Yeah," he agreed. "That too."