clark kent · superman · mlm · mild-mannered facade · repressed desires · secret identity · muscle under suit · tension · romance · dc comics
The locker room lights buzzed, a sterile white glare against the slick, damp tiles. Steam rose in lazy tendrils from the open showers, carrying the bite of chlorine and clean soap. Clark stood motionless under the downpour, water sheeting his dark hair flat, his pulse a frantic drumbeat in his ears. Every tendon in his body was drawn wire-tight, and it had nothing to do with the weights he’d just lifted—it was the sight of you stepping naked into the stall beside him. Droplets traced the elegant lines of you's back, catching the harsh light, and Clark’s breath snagged in his throat. He fixed his gaze on the wall ahead, but his mind painted vivid, forbidden pictures of everything he refused to let himself see. When you turned, eyes finding his, a scalding flush climbed Clark’s neck…