The soft light of the lamp in Clark Kent's room cast dancing shadows on the rustic wooden walls, creating an atmosphere that, while cozy, seemed to carry an almost palpable electricity. Elizabeth, or Beth, as Clark had called her was seated at his desk. Her hands, agile and accustomed to organization, moved with precision among the papers and comics that Clark, with his usual disarray, had scattered around. Beth's long brown hair fell over her shoulders, framing a thoughtful face, and her deep brown eyes, less vibrant than Lana Lang's, reflected a mix of concentration and subtle unease.
Clark, her best friend since forever, was lying on the bed, hands crossed behind his head. His body looked relaxed, but his voice was laden with an anxiety that had become routine in recent months. He was talking about Lana Lang, as he did almost every day, his platonic crush that seemed to leave him in a mix of fascination and insecurity. Beth listened in silence, her hands occasionally pausing on the papers, as she tried, with an almost physical effort, to ignore the tightness in her chest that arose every time Lana's name escaped Clark's lips.
"I'm such an idiot," Clark muttered, letting out a tired sigh that seemed to carry the weight of Smallville. He turned onto his side, eyes fixed on the ceiling, as if he could find answers to his existential doubts about his first kiss there. "I want to do something, you know? Take a step with her. But… what if I mess it all up? What if I'm a terrible kisser? Lana is… perfect. I don't want to look like a loser in front of her."
Beth rolled her eyes, but a smile played on her lips, a small concession to what she saw as Clark's almost childlike innocence. "Clark, just kiss her," she said, keeping her voice light, though she felt the weight of her own words, heavy with what she couldn't say. "If she likes you, she'll understand. It's not that complicated."
Clark sat up on the bed, running a hand through his dark hair in a gesture that seemed to betray his anxiety, almost like a nervous tic. "It's not that simple, Beth. What if she thinks I'm a disaster? What if she laughs at me?" His blue eyes, intense and vulnerable, met hers, and for a moment, Beth felt her heart race. He seemed so genuine, so lost in his insecurities, that it was hard not to want to protect him from himself, even knowing it was a losing battle.
"If she likes you, Clark, she won't care if you're a bit clumsy at first," Beth replied, trying to keep her tone steady despite the insecurity creeping into her own chest, a subtle shadow of the inevitable comparison to Lana. "And let's be honest, you're a good guy. She'd be lucky to have you."
Clark snorted, clearly unconvinced, his doubts seeming more deep-rooted than any of her arguments. "Easy for you to say. I bet you've already kissed a ton of guys."
Beth's eyes widened, surprised by the almost insolent insinuation. "Are you calling me a slut, Clark Kent?" she asked, her voice laced with a playful tone but with a genuine sting of indignation. She turned in the chair, crossing her arms and staring at him with a challenging look, a spark in her eyes revealing her irritation.
Clark jumped up quickly, hands raised in surrender, his face red with what looked like embarrassment as he stumbled over his words. "No, no, no! That's not what I meant!" he exclaimed, his expression mortified. "I just… God, Beth, I'm sorry. My head's all messed up. This whole Lana thing is driving me crazy."
Beth sighed, softening her expression but still feeling the heat of the provocation. "Alright, alright. Relax. But for your information, I've only kissed one guy in my life, okay?" She pointed a finger at him, trying to keep the tone light, but the revelation hung in the air. "And it's not that hard, Clark. Just… take it slow, no panic."
He ran a hand over his face, his expression still full of doubt, as if the answer to his anxiety was out of reach. "You don't get it. I really like her, Beth. Like, a lot. I can't stop thinking about her. She's… beautiful, popular, perfect. And I'm just… me." He flopped back onto the bed, the weight of his insecurity almost palpable, filling the small room.
Beth turned to the mirror on the wall, pretending to adjust a strand of hair, but in reality, her eyes betrayed a silent, painful comparison. Lana Lang was the kind of girl who seemed to shine effortlessly, with glossy hair and a smile that made every boy in Smallville lose their breath. Beth, on the other hand, felt she could never compete with that, not that it was a competition, but every girl wants to feel attractive. Her brown eyes, though beautiful, seemed dull in comparison. Her beauty was more reserved, less obvious, and she knew it. She knew Clark didn't realize how much his words hurt her, even unintentionally.
"You're special too, Clark," she said, her voice soft, trying to convince herself as much as him, a balm for both their insecurities. "You don't need to feel insecure. You and Lana are already friends. That's a good start. Just… try."
Clark sighed, rubbing his neck, doubt still clouding his eyes. "I know, but what if I mess it up? We've only been friends for a short time, and what if she doesn't feel the same? What if she laughs at me? Or worse, what if she never talks to me again?" His voice trembled, laced with what sounded like fear, an echo of his vulnerability.
Beth laughed, trying to ease the tension with brutal honesty. "Over a kiss? Then she's an idiot, Clark. You deserve someone who accepts you as you are."
He gave a weak smile, but the doubt still lingered in his eyes, stubborn. "Maybe… but I've never kissed anyone, Beth. She's so… experienced. And I'm a total newbie."
Beth hesitated, biting her lower lip. A bold idea crossed her mind, one that made her heart race, a whirlwind of possibilities and risks. "What if… I help you?" she asked, her voice almost a whisper, as if she feared her own suggestion.
Clark raised an eyebrow, looking caught off guard by the proposal. "Help? How so?"
She swallowed hard, feeling the heat rise to her face. "Like… teach you how to kiss," she said, trying to sound casual, though her stomach was in knots, a tangle of nervousness and anticipation. "If it'll make you stop freaking out about Lana and kissing, I can… show you how it's done."
Clark's eyes widened, and he seemed visibly speechless for a moment. "You… are you serious? Teach me to kiss? Like, for real?" His expression looked torn between disbelief and curiosity, his face red with what appeared to be embarrassment, a mix of awkwardness and temptation.
Beth shrugged, trying to hide the nervousness consuming her. "Why not? If it'll help you relax and finally make a move with Lana, why not? We're friends, right?" The last sentence was spoken with a tone that tried to sound firm, but to Beth, it carried a cruel irony.
Clark hesitated, a conflicted look on his face. He ran a hand through his hair, as if weighing his options. "Alright… okay, fine. Let's do it."
Beth felt her heart race, but she tried to maintain her composure, the emotion mixed with apprehension. "Cool. So… kiss me. Show me what you know."
Clark swallowed hard, and Beth's own heart began to pound, the beat echoing in her ears. He approached slowly, hesitantly, his eyes fixed on hers, as if seeking silent permission. "You want me to… kiss you? Now?" His voice trembled, and his eyes briefly dropped to her lips before returning to her gaze, a flicker between what looked like desire and nervousness.
Beth laughed, a soft, husky sound that cut through the charged air, like a breeze trying to dispel an impending storm. "If it'll make you stop freaking out about this kissing thing, fine, Clark. Let's do it. Just… take a deep breath and relax." Her voice was a mix of teasing and tenderness, her eyes shining with a confidence that masked the slight nervousness starting to tingle in her gut.
Clark swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. His eyes, a deep and almost supernatural blue, flickered with uncertainty and something rawer, more visceral, that Beth couldn't quite understand. He exhaled slowly, his breath shaky, as if every molecule of air carried the weight of his hesitation. His fingers, long and strong, trembled slightly as they reached for Beth's face. With an almost reverent gentleness, he brushed a strand of brown hair from her cheek, the touch so light it felt like a feather's caress. Her skin, warm and soft under his calloused fingers from farm work, responded with a subtle shiver, an electric current that ran up Beth's spine and made her heart skip a beat.
He leaned in, the movement slow, almost painfully deliberate, as if time itself were holding its breath. Clark's face was so close now that Beth could feel the warmth of his breath against her lips, a hot puff with a faint trace of mint and something unmistakably masculine. Their eyes met for a brief second, and there was something in them—a raw vulnerability mixed with an intensity that seemed to ignite the air between them. Beth tilted her face slightly, an instinctive adjustment to avoid their noses bumping, a small gesture that seemed trivial in the face of the moment's gravity.
When his lips finally touched hers, it was like the first thunder of a distant storm—soft, hesitant, but charged with an electric promise. Clark's lips were soft, warm, but unsure, pressing against hers with a timidity that betrayed his inexperience. He seemed to be testing the waters, each movement laced with an almost childlike caution, as if he feared breaking something precious. Beth, on the other hand, responded with calculated patience, her lips moving in slow, deliberate pecks, guiding him with a gentleness that hid the heat beginning to form in her chest. Each touch was a spark, igniting a slow flame that spread through her veins, warming her from the inside out.
She deepened the kiss, her lips parting with controlled boldness. Her tongue brushed against his, a subtle invitation, exploring the warm, wet texture of his mouth with a patience that contrasted with the urgency starting to pulse in her body. Clark hesitated for a moment, the muscles of his jaw tensing under his skin, but then he responded, his tongue moving against hers in a clumsy but increasingly confident dance. His taste was intoxicating—a mix of warmth, salt, and something Beth couldn't name, but that made her crave more, as if she were tasting the forbidden itself.
A low moan escaped Clark's throat, a guttural, raw sound that reverberated against Beth's mouth, sending a wave of heat straight to her core. It was as if the sound had a life of its own, vibrating through her, igniting every nerve ending. His fingers, still on her waist, tightened with more force, the touch firm, almost possessive, as if he were trying to anchor himself amidst the storm of sensations. Beth felt her body react traitorously—the heat pooling between her thighs, her panties growing damp in a response that caught her off guard. She cursed herself silently, surprised by the intensity of the desire that this kiss, meant to be just a favor for a friend, was awakening.
The kiss gained rhythm, a slow and sensual choreography. Clark's tongue, once hesitant, now moved with more boldness, exploring her with a curiosity that bordered on devotion. Beth let her hands slide up to his shoulders, feeling the tension of the muscles under his shirt, hard as steel but warm, alive. She dug her fingers in, anchoring herself as the kiss deepened, their lips molding to each other with a precision that felt instinctive. The heat of his mouth, the occasional brush of his teeth, the slight tremor in his fingers—it all blended into a symphony of sensations that made the world around them vanish.
Suddenly, Clark pulled back, the abrupt movement breaking the spell. A strand of saliva connected their mouths, glistening for a moment before snapping, and her face burned with shame as she realized how exposed she felt. Clark's moan still echoed in her mind, a sound so visceral, so laden with desire, that it seemed to have shaken the foundations of her composure. "Wanna stop? Something wrong?" Her voice came out shaky, higher than she intended, as her eyes searched his, trying to decipher the storm she saw there. Her chest heaved rapidly, her heart pounding as if it wanted to escape, and she wondered, for a moment, if Clark felt the same fire consuming her—or if it was just her, lost in the intensity of a kiss that was never meant to be so devastating.
Clark opened his eyes slowly, his pupils dilated, a feverish glint in them that seemed to reflect an inner chaos he could barely contain. His face was flushed, the apples of his cheeks tinged with a vivid red, as if all the blood in his body had rushed to his head. His breathing came in short, irregular gasps, as if he'd just sprinted across a field, his chest rising and falling under the cotton shirt clinging to the contours of his broad shoulders. "N-no, nothing's wrong," he murmured, his voice hoarse, almost swallowed by a whisper struggling to find steadiness. "I just… wow, Beth, that was…" He stopped, his lips parted, searching for a word that never came. His eyes flicked away from hers for a moment, fixing on some invisible point on the floor, before returning, hesitant, laden with something that could be confusion or perhaps something deeper, more dangerous. "It was… different than I imagined," he finished, the phrase lingering in the air like a mist, ambiguous, not revealing whether the "different" was a compliment or an unsettling realization.
Beth forced a laugh, the sound shaky, almost fragile, as she tried to smother the heat still pulsing between her thighs, a stubborn reminder of the kiss that seemed to have ignited every nerve in her body. Her heart beat erratically, a frantic drum against her ribs, and she crossed her arms instinctively, as if she could contain the whirlwind threatening to spill over. "Was that enough, then?" she asked, striving to keep her voice light, casual, as if the world hadn't just turned upside down. "Think you learned something, Clark?" She tilted her head, a forced smile curving her lips, but her eyes betrayed the doubt gnawing at her. Different how? Good or bad? The question spun in her mind, a spiral of insecurity she tried to ignore, even as the warmth of his lips still seemed to burn hers, a persistent echo.
Inside, Beth was at war with herself. She had kissed her best friend, the guy who stayed up nights talking about Lana, with that distant, dreamy look that was never for her. And yet, her traitorous body reacted as if that kiss had been more than a lesson, more than a favor. The urge to reach out, to slide her fingers through his dark, tousled hair, to pull him by the neck and dive back into that overwhelming heat, was almost unbearable. Her fingers tingled with the desire to touch the warm skin of his nape, to feel again the firm pressure of his hands on her waist. But she knew it would be wrong. Not with Clark. Not when his heart belonged to another, even if, for a moment, he had seemed so present, so surrendered, so… hers.
Clark ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more, a nervous gesture that only heightened the aura of uncertainty surrounding him. His eyes met hers again, but there was something in them Beth couldn't decipher—an intensity, perhaps, or just the reflection of her own confusion. "I… think so," he said, his voice still wavering, as if he were trying to understand what had just happened. He took a step back, the movement almost instinctive, as if he needed space to breathe, to think. "Thanks, Beth. Really." The words sounded sincere, but there was a weight to them, a hesitation that left the air between them charged, as if both knew something had changed, even if neither was ready to name it.
Beth swallowed hard, the knot in her throat tightening. She wanted to ask, to dig deeper, to understand what that "different" meant, but the fear of hearing something she wasn't ready to face made her pull back. Instead, she shrugged, forcing a casual tone she didn't feel. "Cool, then. Lesson over," she teased, looking away to hide the discomfort, his words cutting deeper than she expected. "Good. You're not gonna tell Chloe or Pete, right? I was just trying to help."
Clark shook his head immediately, his eyes sincere and firm in their conviction. "No, of course not. You're my best friend, Beth. This doesn't change anything, no one needs to know. It was just… practice."
His words cut deeper than Beth expected, a subtle but profound wound. She forced a smile, trying to ignore the pang of disappointment that hit her. "Good." She grabbed the comic she'd been reading earlier, lying on Clark's bed to distract herself, but the memory of the kiss still burned on her lips, and she couldn't shake the desire that he had felt something, anything, beyond gratitude.
Clark watched her for a moment, his mind still seeming muddled as he tried to process what had just happened. He sat beside her, attempting to focus on the comics, but his eyes kept drifting to her profile. Before he could stop himself, he spoke, his voice low and hesitant, laden with what sounded like genuine curiosity. "Can I ask you something?"
Beth looked up from the comic, surprised by the interruption. "Sure."
He hesitated, his fingers playing with the edge of the blanket in a way that seemed to mask his nervousness. "When we… kissed just now," he began, his voice almost a whisper, an uncertain confession. "Did you… think I did okay? Like, in any way?"
She stared at the ceiling, trying to control her breathing, the heat in her face persistent. "You want to know if the kiss was good so I can tell you if you're a good kisser? For Lana, right?" She laughed, trying to sound casual, but inside she felt like an idiot for thinking, even for a second, that his question was about her. "You need more practice, but it wasn't bad, Clark. And, look, you're not ugly. Lana will probably like it, don't worry."
"So…" Clark tilted his head, a mischievous smile curving his lips, the kind of teasing that always marked their best-friend banter. "You liked it?" He arched an eyebrow, his tone light but with a hint of challenge that made Beth's stomach flip. "I mean, you literally shoved your tongue in my mouth, so…"
Beth felt her heart stop for a millisecond, the air escaping her lungs as if it had been sucked out. The blush rose quickly to her cheeks, hot and incriminating, and she opened her mouth to respond, but the words dissolved on her tongue. In a nervous impulse, she grabbed the comic on the table beside her—a worn copy of Action Comics—and gave Clark a light smack on the shoulder, the impact more symbolic than painful. "God, Clark, stop being an idiot!" she exclaimed, forcing a laugh that sounded too loud, too shrill, as she turned her face to hide the heat betraying her. "Gross! We're friends, right? I was just helping you, you jerk." The lie came easily, but the frantic pulse in her chest and the lingering heat between her thighs told a different story, one she refused to admit even to herself.
Clark laughed, the sound deep and warm, as if the relief of returning to the familiar ground of friendship had lifted an invisible weight. "Okay, okay," he said, raising his hands in surrender, the smile still dancing on his lips. "Just wanted to make sure I didn't make a fool of myself. Thanks for the feedback, teacher." The word "teacher" came out playfully, but there was a subtle hesitation in his voice, as if he were testing the waters.
Beth rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the tingling still running through her skin, a stubborn reminder of the intensity from minutes ago. "Don't be a kid, Clark. You were… fine," she said, choosing her words carefully, the tone too casual to be natural. "You just need practice. Lana's experienced, right? Unlike me. She'll guide you if you need it." Lana's name came out with a bitter taste, a pang of jealousy that Beth swallowed hard, hating herself for feeling something so petty.
Clark made an exaggerated grimace, the pout almost comical, as if offended by the insinuation of his inexperience. "Kid, huh? I'm practically a grown man, Beth." He rolled his shoulders, the movement highlighting the visible tension in the muscles under his shirt, likely from long hours "carrying loads at the farm." Then, as if the idea had just struck him, he touched the shoulder where the comic had hit, feigning a pained expression. "And, by the way, that attack with the comic? It destroyed my shoulder. I think I deserve compensation for that."
Beth raised an eyebrow, surprised by the boldness, but couldn't hold back the smile tugging at her lips. "Compensation? You're kidding, right? It was a tiny tap with a magazine."
"A comic, Beth, not a magazine," he corrected, his tone serious for a moment before returning to the mischievous glint in his eyes. "And it hurt, okay? My shoulder's all tense now, thanks to you. I think you owe me… a massage. To ease the pain, you know." He tilted his head, the smile growing, as if he knew the suggestion was both ridiculous and perfect for keeping things light between them, not wanting an awkward vibe.
Beth huffed, crossing her arms, but the laughter escaped despite herself. "A massage? Seriously, Clark? You're acting like a whiny baby." She stared at him, the challenge in her eyes mixed with a spark of excitement she tried to ignore. The idea of touching those broad shoulders, feeling the tension of the muscles under her fingers, was dangerously tempting, and she cursed herself for thinking about it.
Clark feigned indignation, clutching his chest like an over-the-top stage actor. "Whiny baby? Me, suffering from an injury caused by you, and you call me a baby? How cruel, Beth." He paused, the smile softening, but his eyes still gleaming with that touch of provocation. "Alright, I'll give you a chance to redeem yourself. A decent massage, and I'll forget that brutal attack."
Beth shook her head, laughing, the sound more genuine now, relieved by the return to their familiar dynamic of teasing. "Fine, you walking drama queen. But what do I get in return? I don't work for free."
Clark's eyes widened, as if the idea of negotiating was an outrage. "You want something in return? Wow, Beth, what a mercenary!"
"I want your comic, you've got some I haven't read yet."
He clutched the comic to his chest, as if it were a shield, the playful gesture contrasting with the slight blush still coloring his cheeks. "Okay, okay. One of my comics. But nothing special edition, got it? And it better be a really good massage."
Beth smiled, feeling a small victory, her heart lighter despite the whirlwind still haunting her. "Deal, Kent. But you better pick a decent comic, because my massages are professional level." She winked, trying to keep the tone light, but inside, the idea of touching Clark, even as a joke, made her pulse race in a way she didn't want to analyze, feeling like a shameless slut for sexualizing him. "Lie down and turn over."
He lay on the bed, face down, head resting on his arms, with what looked like anticipation in his posture. The soft light in the room, filtered through the curtains, highlighted the contours of his broad shoulders, and Beth couldn't help but notice how… different he seemed. Stronger, more defined, even under the loose sleep shirt. She approached hesitantly and sat on the edge of the bed, her hands hovering over his shoulders, a moment of hesitation before the touch, which made his muscles tense.
"Relax, Clark. I'm not gonna hurt you," she said, trying to sound playful, but her voice came out softer than intended, a whisper lost in the air.
Clark chuckled, the sound muffled by the pillow. "You better not. I'm counting on your magic hands, Beth."
She rolled her eyes but began massaging his shoulders, her fingers pressing into the firm musculature. To her surprise, Clark's muscles were hard as steel, and she frowned, confused. "Wow, Clark, your shoulders are… like, rock-hard. You never said you worked out, I've never actually seen you do it."
Clark stiffened for a moment, clearly caught off guard, his voice sounding a bit tense as he replied. "It's… farm work. You know, carrying hay, that kind of thing."
Beth raised an eyebrow but didn't press, an unspoken agreement between them. She knew Clark was hiding something—he always had that air of mystery, moments when he disappeared or showed up in random places. But Beth respected his secrets, just as he never pushed hers, like her distant relationship with her father, who spent more time at work than at home, or her mother's absence, who had abandoned her as a child. It was an implicit pact between them: trust without questions, mutual respect for their lives.
Focused, Beth moved her hands to his biceps, feeling the impressive strength under his skin. She bit her lip, trying to ignore the heat rising in her body as her fingers traced the contours of muscles she'd never noticed before, a new discovery. "I always pictured you as a skinny guy under those baggy clothes," she said without thinking, immediately regretting the words that slipped out. "Not that I think about you without clothes, obviously! I… ugh, forget it."
Clark laughed, the sound low and warm, a discreet amusement. "So you imagine what I look like without clothes, huh?" he teased, turning his head slightly to face her, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Alright, alright, I won't tease you. Not now."
Beth gave him a light smack on the neck, laughing to hide the blush, the heat rising in her cheeks. "Shut up, Clark." She repositioned herself, now sitting on his back, trying to maintain control as her hands continued to work. The proximity was almost suffocating—the heat of his body, the faint scent of soap and something else, something that was just… Clark. Her fingers slid down his back, pressing tension points, and each low moan that escaped his lips was like an electric shock through her body, an involuntary response.
"F-fuck, Beth, that feels really good," Clark murmured, his voice hoarse, eyes closed as he seemed to surrender to the touch. The sound was so sensual that Beth felt a wave of heat between her legs, her panties growing wet, a betrayal of her own feelings. She bit her lip hard, trying to focus on the massage, but the friction of her denim shorts against Clark's hard back didn't help, only intensifying the desire she was fighting to suppress. Each of her movements seemed to heighten the desire she struggled to contain.
Involuntarily, Beth shifted, and the friction between their bodies made her clit pulse, sending a wave of pleasure that made her stop abruptly. "Shit," she whispered to herself, quickly getting off his back, shame taking over. "I need… uh, to get some water," she said, her voice shaky, as she crossed her arms to hide the blush on her face.
Clark turned over, frowning, looking confused by the sudden change. "Everything okay, Beth?"
She shook her head, avoiding his gaze, a retreat. "I'm fine, Clark. Just… thirsty." She rushed to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the mini-fridge, grateful for a moment alone. Her mind was a mess—the kiss, the moans, the feel of his body under her hands. It was all too much, and she cursed herself for feeling so much desire for something that was supposed to be just friendship.
Clark followed her to the kitchen, stopping at the door with his arms crossed, a worried expression on his face. "Seriously, Beth, what's going on? You're acting weird… is it because of the kiss? Did I make you uncomfortable?"
The sound of the glass bottle hitting the linoleum floor echoed in the silent kitchen, a sharp clink that made Beth jump, her heart racing as if she'd been caught red-handed. "God, Clark!" she exclaimed, her voice louder than intended, laced with a mix of startle and exasperation. "I told you not to sneak up on me like that! How are you so fast and quiet?" She bent down to pick up the bottle, the movement instinctive, unthinking, and only when she was already crouched, knees bent and her short shorts riding dangerously up her thighs, did she realize her mistake. The tight fabric barely covered what it should, and she felt the weight of Clark's gaze, a tangible heat running over her exposed skin. The blush surged to her face, a wave of shame mixed with something more treacherous, something that made her pulse race even faster.
Clark swallowed hard, the sound audible in the tense silence, and quickly averted his eyes, fixing them on the peeling kitchen wall as if it held some fascinating secret. The skin of his neck was slightly red, and his voice came out deeper than usual, laced with what sounded like embarrassment. "Sorry, Beth. Didn't mean to scare you." He ran a hand through his hair, messing up the dark strands, a nervous gesture that only heightened his air of vulnerability. "But, seriously, are you okay? You seem like you're… I don't know, hiding something."
Beth straightened up, gripping the bottle tighter than necessary, the cold glass against her sweaty fingers. "I'm fine, Clark. You didn't do anything to make me like this," she retorted, her voice firm but with a defensive edge that didn't go unnoticed. She brushed past him quickly, her shoulder grazing his as she returned to the bedroom, the brief contact sending a spark down her spine. "Just lie down already so I can finish this massage," she said, trying to regain control, though her heart still beat erratically, as if trying to escape her chest.
Clark sighed, a sound that was half surrender, half frustration, but he obeyed, lying face down on the narrow bed in what she now saw was her own room. "You're terrible at lying, you know?" His voice came out muffled by the pillow, but there was a teasing tone, an invitation for her to open up, as they always did when things got complicated. "I know you, Beth. Something's bothering you."
Beth rolled her eyes, a gesture that was both defense and distraction, trying to smother the heat still pulsing in her veins, a stubborn reminder of the kiss they'd shared minutes before—a kiss that seemed to have left its mark on every nerve in her body. "Look who's talking, Mr. 'I'm just a normal farm guy,'" she shot back, the sarcasm dripping from her voice like a comfortable shield against the vulnerability threatening to engulf her. She sat beside him, the mattress dipping slightly under her weight, the soft creak of the bed echoing in the charged silence of the room. "Now turn over. I'm doing the massage from the front," she declared, trying to sound firm, but the words came out with a touch of exasperation, as if she were fighting to maintain control. "Your back, apparently, isn't helping. Not with all those muscles getting in the way," she added, her tone half playful, half accusatory, as if the fault lay with those broad shoulders that seemed carved from stone.
Clark hesitated but turned over, lying on his back and facing her. His eyes met hers, and for a moment, the air between them seemed charged with an almost electric tension. "Bossy now, huh?" he teased, trying to lighten the mood.
Beth let out a nervous laugh, the sound fragile, as if it could dissolve in the room's dense air. Her heart beat erratically, a frantic rhythm that seemed to echo off the small space's walls. She hesitated, her eyes scanning the narrow bed, where Clark, with his imposing presence, seemed to swallow every available inch. His broad shoulders and lean torso occupied the mattress as if he owned the place, a contained strength that made her feel even more exposed. "If I sit on your legs, I think I'll crush you," she said, her voice trying to sound light, casual, but betraying a hint of insecurity. "I'm kinda heavy, you know." The comment was an attempt to keep the playful tone, but there was an underlying weight, a vulnerability she tried to mask with a hesitant smile.
Clark tilted his head, his lips curving into a mischievous smile, the kind of expression that always disarmed her, even in their most innocent banter. His blue eyes, deep and unfathomable, gleamed with a mix of provocation and something harder to decipher—perhaps curiosity, perhaps a challenge. "Think I can't handle it?" His voice came out low, teasing, with a huskiness that seemed to vibrate in Beth's chest, sending an unexpected heat down her spine. "I've carried things way heavier than you, Beth. Trust me." The words were light, almost mocking, but there was a natural confidence in them, an implicit promise that made her stomach tighten, the heat spreading like a slow flame under her skin. She knew there was no ulterior motive, but his tone, the proximity, the way he seemed to occupy all the space around her, made it impossible to ignore the electricity crackling between them.
With a sigh that was more surrender than resistance, Beth positioned herself carefully, sitting on his thighs, keeping a strategic distance from his groin. The last thing she needed was to feel his dick pressing against her—not when she was already battling the desire consuming her. She raised her hands, starting to massage his shoulders from the front, avoiding his gaze. Her fingers pressed into the firm musculature, and each touch seemed to intensify the tension between them, a dangerous game of unintentional seduction.
"You're good at this, huh?" Clark said, his voice soft but with a tone of pleasure. He closed his eyes, seeming to focus on the massage.
Beth tried to focus, moving her hands to his chest. Her fingers traced the contours of his pecs, and she couldn't help but notice how defined he was, a surprise. "Holy shit," she murmured, almost to herself, before quickly correcting with the first lie she could think of. "I remembered I have homework."
Clark laughed, the sound low and warm, a discreet amusement. "Don't remind me, you'll ruin the massage." He opened his eyes, meeting hers for a brief moment, and his gaze seemed to carry an intensity that made her look away.
"You're awfully quiet today," he continued, his voice softer now. "Normally, you don't stop talking. Everything really okay?"
Beth huffed, trying to keep the tone light, a final attempt to deflect. "You want a relaxing massage and you want me to talk nonstop? Pick one, Clark." She pressed her thumbs into a tension point on his chest, and the low moan that escaped his lips was like a dagger to her composure. Her panties were soaked now, and she cursed herself for reacting so intensely to something so innocent.
Beth slid her hands slowly down to Clark's abdomen, her fingers tracing the warm surface of the t-shirt stretched tight over his defined muscles, each contour hard as steel beneath his skin. The sensation was almost hypnotic, the firmness of his body contrasting with the softness of her movements, and she tried to keep her touch clinical, professional, despite the heat that rose from her hands and spread through her chest. Suddenly, Clark twitched, an involuntary spasm that made his muscles contract under her fingers, as if her touch had sparked an electric current through his body. His knees jerked upward in a sharp reflex, the contained strength in his movements—typical of someone whose physical power seemed to defy normalcy—throwing Beth's body forward without warning.
Her face collided with his chest, the impact soft but clumsy, the warmth of Clark's skin against her cheek sending a shockwave through her body. "Ow!" she exclaimed, surprised, her voice muffled against the fabric of his t-shirt as her hands instinctively flew to his shoulders, fingers digging into the firm muscle to steady herself. Beth's heart raced, its frantic pulse echoing in her ears, and she felt a flush burn her cheeks as she tried to process what had just happened. Clark's movement hadn't been intentional—she could tell by the sudden tension in his body, by the way his eyes widened in what looked like a mix of surprise and embarrassment. It was as if his abdomen, sensitive to the unexpected touch, had reacted on instinct, the raw power of his physique, so extraordinary, betraying him in a moment of vulnerability.
"Sorry!" he said, his eyes wide, almost pleading, as he looked at Beth. His face, usually calm and controlled, was red, the tanned skin of the Smallville farm boy now stained with a blush that betrayed his attempt to maintain composure. "I… don't know what happened. I guess I'm kinda sensitive around my abs." The confession came out awkwardly, as if he were trying to explain the inexplicable, and the tone carried a vulnerability that contrasted with the brute strength his body had just demonstrated.
Beth, still dazed by the impact against Clark's solid chest, tried to compose herself, her heart hammering in her chest. She moved, attempting to return to her seated position, but the proximity to his groin made her freeze. The unmistakable sensation of something hot and rigid pulsing against her thigh hit her like an electric shock. Her eyes widened, her face burning as her mind processed what she felt through the thin fabric of Clark's shorts. He was aroused, and the evidence was impossible to ignore. The heat surged up her neck, spreading across her cheeks, and she opened her mouth, but no words came out. The silence between them was deafening, filled only by their ragged breathing and the palpable tension that seemed to suck the oxygen from the room.
Before Beth could find something to say, the bedroom door burst open with a bang, the sound of wood hitting the wall echoing like thunder. Beth let out a low scream, the shock making her body jump, and Clark, in an instinctive reflex, wrapped his hands around her waist, pulling her against him in a protective gesture. The strength of his grip was almost overwhelming, his fingers digging into her soft skin with an intensity that made Beth shudder, a mix of pain and heat marking where he held her. The movement pressed her even closer against his body, and the sensation of Clark's erection became even more pronounced, a cruel reminder of the moment they were trapped in.
When Beth turned her face, her eyes met Jonathan Kent standing in the doorway, the broad, imposing silhouette of the farmer filling the frame. His face was a mask of surprise, one eyebrow arched and a glint of dry humor that seemed to wrestle with disapproval in his eyes. Time seemed to freeze, Beth's heart stopping as she took in the scene: her, practically in Clark's lap, his hands still firm on her waist, and his father staring at them as if he'd just caught something he shouldn't have.
"Clark!" Jonathan's voice cut through the silence, firm but with a tone that suggested he'd seen too much in life to be completely surprised. "What in God's name is going on here?"
Clark turned red as a ripe tomato, his hands still gripping Beth with a strength he didn't seem to notice. "Dad!" he exclaimed, his voice louder than intended, laced with a mix of shame and desperation. "God, don't you know how to knock? It's not what it looks like, I swear! We were… just messing around, you know? Like we always do." The words stumbled over each other, each syllable sounding more implausible than the last, and the panicked look in Clark's eyes only made the excuse more laughable.
Beth, feeling the weight of Jonathan's gaze, tried to pull away, but Clark's hands, still in protective mode, held her in place. The heat of his body, the firmness of the muscles under her hands, and the absurdly embarrassing situation made her voice tremble when she finally managed to speak. "Yeah, Mr. Kent… we were just messing around," she murmured, the words coming out frail, almost swallowed by shame. Her face was on fire, and she could feel the throb where Clark's hands gripped her too tightly. Knowing Jonathan and Martha since childhood, being treated like part of the Kent family, only made the moment more humiliating. It was as if she'd betrayed their trust, even if that wasn't exactly it.
Jonathan crossed his arms, the movement slow and deliberate, the corner of his mouth curling into a smile that looked both amused and incredulous. "Messing around, huh?" he repeated, his tone laden with a skepticism that cut like a razor. "Is that what you kids call it now? Because from what I saw, it looks like the messing around went a bit too far." He tilted his head, his eyes moving between the two with a mix of what looked like disapproval and the kind of humor only an experienced father could muster in a situation like this.
The firm grip of Clark's hands on her waist loosened, and Beth seized the moment to stand, nearly stumbling in her quick, clumsy desperation to escape his lap and the rumpled bed. Her heart pounded as she shoved her feet into her shoes haphazardly, one of them twisted, the heel crushed against the fabric. Keeping her head down, unable to meet Jonathan Kent's piercing gaze, she slipped past the bedroom door, her face burning with shame. Her steps were hurried, unsteady—Beth practically tripped down the stairs, the sound of her footsteps echoing through the Kent house as she fled Clark's room. Her heart still raced, her cheek throbbing where it had collided with his solid chest, and her waist stinging faintly where his hands had gripped her too tightly. The heat of the moment—the closeness, the unmistakable pulse of Clark's erection against her thigh, Jonathan's penetrating stare—left her in a state of panic laced with searing embarrassment. She mumbled a barely audible "Bye, Mr. Kent… Clark, bye" before vanishing through the front door, the sound of the doorframe slamming shut like a final punctuation to the chaos.
---
In the bedroom, the silence was heavy, broken only by the sound of the front door slamming shut downstairs. The noise made Clark flinch. He sat frozen on the bed, the sheets clutched in his fists as if trying to anchor himself to reality. His face was burning hot, his dark hair falling messily over his eyes. He couldn't bring himself to look at his dad, who leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised in a look that Clark knew all too well—a mixture of disapproval, concern, and a trace of dry humor that meant he was in deep trouble.
Jonathan waited, the silence stretching until it was unbearable. The image of Beth scrambling out of his lap, her face flushed with shame, burned in Clark's mind. He could still feel the phantom warmth of her body against his, the shocking, undeniable evidence of his arousal, and the searing humiliation of his dad walking in at that exact moment. He felt sick with embarrassment, but a deeper, colder feeling was creeping in: dread. He knew exactly what was coming next. It wouldn't just be a lecture about having a girl in his room; his dad's expression promised the heavier talk—the one about powers, about responsibility, and about what intimacy, even accidental, could mean when he was involved. It was the fear of that conversation, of being reminded of the danger he posed to people like Beth, that twisted in his gut more than the embarrassment itself.
Jonathan finally moved, the old wood of the floor creaking under his weight as he sat in the chair in the corner of the room. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his gaze fixed on his son.
"Clark," he began, his voice firm but with a tremor in it, "we need to talk. Now. About you having a girl in your room, with the door closed, sitting in your lap."
Clark groaned loudly, covering his face with his hands, wishing he could just disappear. His skin felt like it was on fire. "Dad, please, it's not what you're thinking! It's Beth! You know, she's… she's like a sister to me!" He lifted his head, his eyes wide, desperately hoping his dad would believe the flimsy excuse.
Jonathan let out a short, almost sarcastic laugh, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck. "God, I hope not, because what I saw there was anything but sibling-like." He leaned forward, his tone hardening, though Clark could still hear the affection underneath it, which somehow made it worse. "You think I'm blind, son? She was in your lap, Clark. In your lap, on your bed, with the door closed, looking like I interrupted… I don't know what. Don't come at me with this 'sister' stuff."
Clark swallowed hard, his face growing even paler. The "sister" excuse sounded hollow even to his own ears, especially after that kiss. That kiss hadn't felt brotherly at all. It had felt… different. Hot. He pushed the thought away. "Dad, we weren't doing anything… serious! We were just… messing around, and she was giving me a massage because I said my back hurt. That's it! It's not… it's not a big deal!"
Jonathan raised an eyebrow, his gaze piercing, and Clark knew he could see right through the lie. "Massage? Clark, you're stronger than a tractor. Since when do you need a back massage?" He paused, letting the silence hang between them, before his voice lowered, now laden with a concern that hit Clark harder than anger would have. "And that's where the danger lies. You might think it was just a game, but I saw the way you were holding her. Clark, do you realize what you could do without meaning to? What you could cause with a single wrong move?"
Clark shifted on the bed, the mattress springs groaning under his weight. A knot of shame tightened in his stomach. "Dad, I'd never hurt Beth. Never! I know I'm strong, but I have control. I'm always careful. Always!"
Jonathan let out a low sigh, as if those were the exact words he'd feared hearing. "You think you do, son. And I know you try. But even trying, even with all the care in the world…"—he looked Clark straight in the eyes, his gaze serious, unwavering—"her waist was red. I saw it. And it wasn't just a little."
The words hit Clark like a physical punch. He froze, the air leaving his lungs. His eyes widened as he shook his head slowly, a wave of nausea rolling through him. "R-red? No… I—I didn't see that. I swear I didn't notice." He hadn't. He had been so caught up in the panic of his dad walking in, he'd only registered her desperate flight. The thought that he'd left marks on her, that he'd hurt her without even realizing it, made him feel like a monster.
"Well, you should have," Jonathan replied, his voice calmer now but firm. "That's what I'm talking about. You're growing, Clark. Your body's changing, your strength's increasing, and you're still getting used to it. But the people around you can't handle what you can. They're fragile. And even unintentionally, you could hurt someone."
Clark lowered his head, the weight of his guilt crushing. "I didn't know… I was just… we were just chilling, the door opened, I got startled, and I grabbed her. I didn't think about it, Dad. I didn't realize I was squeezing too hard."
Jonathan crossed his arms, his gaze softening slightly but still attentive. "You can't afford to act like any other seventeen-year-old boy, Clark. And I know how unfair that is. I see how hard you try to live a normal life. But normal isn't an option for you. It never was. Losing control is a luxury you must never allow yourself."
Clark stayed silent for a few seconds, the truth of his dad's words settling deep in his bones. He finally looked up, his voice low but firm. "I never wanted to hurt anyone, Dad. And if I did that, even without realizing… then I need to be better. I will be better."
Jonathan took a deep breath, and Clark saw a flicker of relief in his eyes. He approached and placed a firm, heavy hand on Clark's shoulder. The familiar weight was comforting. "That's what I needed to hear. And I'll tell you something, not as a father now, but as a man: the fact that you're worried about this, that you're taking it seriously… shows you're already on the right path."
Clark looked up and nodded again, this time with more resolve. Jonathan gave him one last pat on the shoulder before stepping back. "But remember, son… sometimes hormones mess everything up. Your head gets confused, your body gets excited, and you might end up acting on impulse. So, stop. Breathe. Don't rush." He gave a meaningful look, and Clark felt the heat rise in his face again, knowing exactly what his dad was referring to. "You know what I mean, right?"
Clark blushed, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Yeah…"
Jonathan gave a half-smile and turned to leave, but stopped at the door. "Oh, and one more thing… I'll keep this between us. Your mom doesn't need to know." He raised his eyebrows. "Martha's not ready to accept that her little boy's grown up. And I don't want her treating Elizabeth differently or making the girl uncomfortable."
Clark's eyes widened, a wave of relief washing over him. The last thing he wanted was his mom getting involved. He nodded quickly, a silent thank you in his eyes.
Jonathan was already heading out when he looked back over his shoulder with a mischievous glint in his eye. "And… just to be clear… we don't need to have that talk again, do we? Consent, protection, all that. Because honestly, I don't know if I'd survive another one of those lectures. I'm already feeling too old for this."
Clark covered his face with his hands, muffling a groan. "No, God, no… that was enough, Dad."
Jonathan laughed, a satisfied sound, and pointed at his son with a warning finger. "Alright. Just remember the basic rule: door open when you're with a girl. Even if it's Beth. Or Chloe. Any of them."
He was already walking down the hall but threw one last jab over his shoulder: "And scratch that massage thing off the list for good, trust me. Those things never end well. Us men… doesn't matter the planet, we're not exactly known for our resistance to women." He laughed and disappeared down the corridor.
Clark sat on the bed, a chaotic mix of shame and relief swirling inside him. His face still burned, but deep down, knowing he could count on his dad—even in the most awkward situations—made everything a little lighter. The guilt, however, remained. It settled in his chest, heavy and cold. He thought of Beth, of the fear and embarrassment on her face as she ran out. He thought of the red marks his own hands had left on her. He had to make it right. But how could he apologize for something so humiliating? He flopped back onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. The memory of her lips was still there—soft, warm, and way more intense than he'd braced himself for. His whole body had reacted to it, to her. A hot flush of embarrassment and something else washed over him. He thought about how if a practice kiss with Beth could get that kind of reaction out of him, he could only imagine what it would be like to actually kiss Lana- A real kiss. The thought was enough to make his heart start pounding all over again, and he buried his burning face in a pillow.