Chapter 1: Introduction
Clark had spent that sunlit morning moving bales of hay across the Smith Farm. He’d grown accustomed to the indignity of his sweating armpits staining the shirtfront with the 'S’ insignia. That cursed suit had been zipped inside his suitcase back in his closet. He wiped the sweat from his brow.
With the radio tuned to 'Talk of Tomorrow,' he heaved the bales from the tractor bed, stacking precariously on the barn loft.
He jumped down to the hay-strewn barn floor, sensing his father's presence.
“Sup, Pa?” Clark greeted the silvering-haired man who approached him.
Jonathan leaned against a nearby post, a wry smile lifting his wrinkled lips. “Easy there, son. Can’t have you wearing yourself out.”
Clark grinned mischievously. “Wanna bet?”
Before Jonathan could utter a sound, Clark was literally up the walls, clinging to the rafters.
The farmer narrowed his eyes in a bemused expression. Clark chuckled, flexing his superhuman muscles, and released his grip. He dropped, but rather than tumbling to the barn floor, he simply meant to reach for a patch of dried mud from the previous night's storm.
His father flinched, but Clark quickly reassured him, pressing the mud onto his chest just beneath the 'S' crest. "There.
Now, no one can see it," Clark joked, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he held up the lumpy fabric.
Jonathan chuckled deeply, shaking his head. "How about you put that energy into helping me with the chores? Seriously, Clark, I need your help."
"Always, Pa," Clark responded in a gentle tone.
A few hours passed, and it was almost time for supper. And thankfully, their work was done.
Clark ran his fingers through his sweat-drenched hair.
He and his father had just finished with the chores around the farm.
Jonathan took off his worn-out hat, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. Silently, he admired his son. He had always been proud of Clark, but the efforts of the day had turned him from a talented young man to a veritable Greek god, especially with the 'S' symbol lumpily sticking to his chest.
The sun had begun to set, bleeding shades of orange, pink, and velvet across the horizon. The sky was turquoise, stippled with stars.
Darkness draped the farm, while still being pierced by the sharp, lingering light of the day.
Clark's heart thundered in his chest. He had still not shared his secret plight about Lex's blackmail scheme with his father.
He had to confess. There was so much on the line. His secret identity, his loved ones' trust - it was all at risk.
Jonathan, sitting beside him, asked with furrowed brows, "Son, is something bothering you?"
Clark hesitated.
It was now or never. Dropping the feigned smile, he stared into his father's eyes, the deep blue mirroring the bleakness of his thoughts. "Lex Luthor. He discovered my secret identity. He's threatening to reveal it and ruin me - not just as the mild-mannered Clark Kent, but as Metropolis' Golden Boy - Superman, too."
Jonathan's face turned into a granite-like expression as he clenched his fists, jolted from the serenity of his tranquil evening.
"That goddamn bastard! I knew he was nothing but trouble from the moment I met him. So help me, Clark, when I get my hands-"
"Pa, please!" Clark pleaded, eyes gleaming with anxiety. "That won't help. I'm asking for your guidance. What do I do?"
The father-son duo sat quietly for a moment; the place was darkening, the remaining sunlight deserting them just as their lives seemed to be.
Suddenly, Jonathan blurted out, “You need to take control of this situation, Clark. Stop letting Lex dictate what you do!”
Indignation rose in Clark, his protective instincts kicking into high gear. His voice turned gravelly, a dangerous edge to it, “You’re damn right I’ll take control.”
Determined now, Clark paced around the room, every inch of him exuding an unspoken tension. In his mind’s eye, he saw Luthor’s smug grin, and his temper boiled over.
Suddenly, Jonathan blurted out, “You need to take control of this situation, Clark. Stop letting Lex dictate what you do!”
Indignation rose in Clark, his protective instincts kicking into high gear. His voice turned gravelly, a dangerous edge to it, “You’re damn right I’ll take control.”
Determined now, Clark paced around the room, every inch of him exuding an unspoken tension. In his mind’s eye, he saw Luthor’s smug grin, and his temper boiled over.
Clark's thoughts raced with a mix of anxiety and unbridled anger. Indeed, the day had started as any regular day. But the gradual reveal of Lex Luthor's sinister plot had tainted the idyllic, peaceful mood of Clark's farm life.
Now, Clark stood as the Colossus of the room, exuding a dangerous energy. And Jonathan knew better than to interfere. The older man sighed, closing his eyes as he leaned back in his chair, waiting for the storm to pass.
For a few tense seconds, the air grew heavy in the room, electrified by Clark's barely-bridled anger.
But then, his race-quick mind formulated a plan. His voice turned low, cautious. "Listen to me, Clark. I think I know how to disarm Lex's blackmail. I can inject him with a concoction that would make him lose his memory. He would never recall your secret in the first place."
Clark halted mid-step, cocking his head to one side.
"Wait, how is that any different from him still holding the information? What if something happens, and the effect wears off?"
Jonathan scoffed. "I assure you, Clark, I have dosed quite a few individuals in my time, and the potion lasts. Besides, if things get complicated, we can dose him again. The most important thing is to get Lex's hands out of your pants right now."
A slight grin played on Clark's lips.
"So, Pa, plan B?"
But before Jonathan could answer, the air shifted; a potent, lustful energy hung in the room, drawing Clark in. His gaze snapped to the weathered barn door, the old, worn wood slatted haphazardly with cracks.
A figure emerged, backlit by the fading sun: tall and muscular, the shadow stretched across the room - Jonathan.
Clark's pulse quickened, his eyes locked on his father, momentarily stunned.
Jonathan's frame, gilded by the remaining sunrays, seemed bigger, stronger, as if his Kent genes had returned to slap Clark on his face. Jonathan stepped forward, his voice dripping with heavy desire, and rumbled, "Son, there is no time like the present. Get over here."
The words, carrying more weight than ever, left Clark momentarily awestruck. Jonathan unfastened his shirt, the farmers' body language assuring Clark that this was not the usual father-son banter anymore.
No, it was clear that this was about something else entirely.
The sun had left them behind in the dimness of the barn, but somehow, Jonathan'
s hazel eyes glowed with fierce need, and his skin seemed warmer, muscled mass flexing as he beckoned Clark closer.
The sexual tension sizzled through the air.
Clark surrendered to the whirlwind of arousal, like the first breeze of a storm around an untenable lighthouse.
He watched with wide eyes as Jonathan stripped to the waist, revealing a well-defined chest dotted with salt-and-pepper hair. His movement was calculated, deliberate, and fueled by unspeakable desire.
Swallowing the nervous lump in his throat, Clark slowly approached his father, each step full of trepidation as his heart thundered louder than a supercharged locomotive. Every movement rippled with electric anticipation, their shared hunger palpable.
Clark shuddered, trying to smooth his thoughts into something more manageable, a vessel for this tidal wave.
"Jonathan, I can't believe you're doing this," he finally murmured, stepping even closer.
"You know what they say, son; sometimes taking a leap means you've gotta spread your wings," Jonathan rasped, eyes hooded with longing.
As Clark's full lips met his father's, their bodies moved in hypnotic rhythm, swaying to the sweetest symphony that only they could hear.
Clark shuddered, trying to smooth his thoughts into something more manageable, a vessel for this tidal wave.
"Jonathan, I can't believe you're doing this," he finally murmured, stepping even closer.
"You know what they say, son; sometimes taking a leap means you've gotta spread your wings," Jonathan rasped, eyes hooded with longing.
As Clark's full lips met his father's, their bodies moved in hypnotic rhythm, swaying to the sweetest symphony that only they could hear.
Jonathan reached out, tugging at Clark's belt, his movements feverish and greedy. Clark inhaled sharply, his breath hitching with the surge of primal desire that flooded his senses. He wrapped his arms tightly around his father, kissing him with a fervor that mirrored his unspoken yearning.
He deftly shed the remainder of his clothing, allowing the soft, summer air to caress the toned flesh beneath.
Meanwhile, Jonathan's callused hands explored Clark's firm, superhuman body, hungry for every inch.
Clark shuddered as his father's fingers traced the curve of his shoulder blades, dipping to his narrow waist and landing on the throbbing bulge below. Jonathan squeezed softly, causing Clark to gasp, muscles tensing as he tried to keep quiet.
The silence around them was punctuated by erratic heartbeats and shallow breaths. Jonathan let out a husky sigh.
With a gentle yet firm tease, he worked on Clark's belt, while Clark trembled with anticipation. Unable to keep his hands to himself, he traced the contour of Jonathan's jawline, feeling the faint stubble graze his fingertips.
Grunting with increasing urgency, Jonathan finally succeeded in getting Clark's belt undone and tugged at the waistband of his pants. The metal zipper hissed in their ears as it grew colder, slick with sweat.
Finally, Clark's pants lay discarded on the dusty barn floor. The summer breeze wafted through the room, cooling their taut, muscular bodies.
Breathing heavily, Jonathan let his eyes roam over Clark - every peak and valley, the solid muscle encased in smooth skin before focusing on the growing bulge in his black boxer-briefs - straining and desperate for release.
"Son...
damn... you..." Jonathan muttered, his eyes burning in the dark as they roamed over Clark's exposed body, the light flickering off the slick sheen of sweat on his toned chest.
In the shadows of the barn, Clark pressed close to him, his heart pounding loud enough to drown out the rest of the world. His hands moved over Jonathan's skin, tracing the lines of muscle and twisting tendons. He kissed his father softly, the electrical charge between them crackling through him.
Jonathan's hands dexterously maneuvered their way past the elastic band of Clark's black boxer-briefs.
Jonathan's touch was as electrifying as it promised to be. His roughened, callused hands met with Clark's pulsating erection, making the superhuman shudder at the sheer pleasure of this newfound contact.
His father gripped him firmly but gently, eliciting an indrawn breath from Clark before he gritted his teeth, trying to stifle any noise that might betray their covert acts.
Clark let his hands trail across his father's back, biting his lip as he felt Jonathan's fingers play with the swollen head of his penis.
Sated desire contorted his father's features tightly, and his breathing grew ragged, no longer measured or controlled.
Jonathan, standing proudly with the power of two generations, ground his hips against Clark, their bare shafts colliding in perfect synchronicity.
Clark moaned, all rational thought fading as his father's epic sacrifice unleashed his own inner storm.
Their hips locked in a primal dance, sweat-slicked skin sliding together, causing both their muscles to ripple with pleasure.
With Clark's shaft pulsating forcefully in sight, Jonathan felt his own restraint snap. With one swift motion, he dropped to his knees before his son. Encircling the throbbing, thick erection with both hands, Jonathan squeezed firmly and then plunged his mouth down Clark's entire length.