The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the Kansas fields, painting a serene picture as Clark's old car hummed steadily down the road to Smallville. Behind the wheel, Clark couldn't help glancing at Jimmy in the passenger seat, his camera bag nestled between his knees, his shorts-clad legs bouncing with excitement.
"Man, I can't believe I'm actually going to meet Jonathan Kent," Jimmy said, grinning ear to ear, "You've been hyping him up for ages. I'm ready to shake the hand of the man who raised the nicest guy in Metropolis—and probably the whole state."
Clark chuckled, his laughter warm and easy. "Dad knows all about you too, Jimmy. I might've mentioned stories of you," he said, a small, sheepish smile tugging at his lips.
"Good stories, I hope?" Jimmy teased, raising an eyebrow.
"All good," Clark replied, his eyes briefly flicking to Jimmy with a soft fondness before turning back to the road.
Jimmy leaned back, stretching slightly, letting his hand rest casually near Clark's shoulder as he adjusted himself in the seat.
"You know, Smallville really suits you," Jimmy said, grinning playfully, "I can totally picture you running around barefoot in these fields as a kid."
Clark let out a laugh, "Yeah, that was me. Well, minus the barefoot part—Pa would've had a fit. But let me guess: you're imagining me in those tacky, worn-out overalls too?"
Jimmy tilted his head dramatically, pretending to think. "Hmm... overalls, maybe. But probably in a Superman suit, right?"
Just as Jimmy finished speaking, the steering wheel slipped in Clark's hands, and for a split second, he had to quickly regain control of the car. He tried to stay calm, laughing softly, but his ears turned a little pink, "You're impossible. Why would I be wearing a Superman suit? I'm not Superman, I'm nothing like him!"
Jimmy grinned, clearly pleased with the reaction. "Why so panicked, Clark? I'm not saying you are Superman. Remember that time I interviewed him on the balcony? He said he loved running around in fields when he was a kid, growing up on a farm. It's hard not to picture you in the same situation. I mean, you two share a pretty similar look… and physique!"
He narrowed his eyes at Clark, clearly enjoying the way Clark's cheeks flushed.
"Me?" Clark stammered, clearly thrown off. "You're joking, Jimmy."
"No, I'm serious." Jimmy leaned in, smirking. "That day after you fainted in the conference room and I was there helping you get up—man, your shoulders, your biceps, your broad back... you must be hitting the gym like crazy behind my back. Tell me, do you usually work out at midnight?"
Clark's eyes widened in panic as Jimmy reached over to squeeze his bicep.
"Stop, Jimmy," Clark protested, swerving slightly as he tried to push Jimmy's hand away. "I'm driving!"
Jimmy only smirked, pulling back, but clearly still amused. "Don't play coy, Kent. You've got the body of a poster boy. Come on, let me be your photographer. I could make you Mr. Olympic or something."
Clark shook his head, laughing softly, though his face was still a little red. "You're impossible, you know that?"
His hands returned to the steering wheel, steady now, but the mood stayed light between them. They bantered back and forth, Jimmy teasing Clark about asking Superman to lend him his costume for a day, just so he could see Clark in that tight spandex. Clark rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help but chuckle.
"You know, I don't think I've ever seen you so relaxed. There's something about getting you out of the city that feels... right. Like this is the real you."
Clark's smile softened, his voice quieting, "Maybe it is. Or at least a part of me I wish I could show more often."
Clark's heart has never been so full, everything went as he expected (well, except the part Jimmy mentioned the possibility of him being superman). This trip had been on his mind for weeks—well, months, really. He'd always wanted to bring Jimmy to Smallville, the place he knew the best, he wanted Jimmy to know more about him, about his past, about his true self…
Now with the excuse of "thanking Jimmy for taking care of him during sick leave" (of course, the sick leave was fabricated to cover up the conference room pants-wetting disaster), it felt like the perfect opportunity. To Clark, this weekend wasn't just about Smallville or dinner with his father; it was a chance to spend time with someone who made him laugh, who felt... safe.
A few days ago, ever since Mr. Warfield had paraded Superman’s most humiliating moments before them, those haunting images had clung to Clark's mind like relentless phantoms, gnawing away at him. Night after night, he dreamed of those scenes—vivid, crushing—and woke drenched in sweat, the covers tented out by his uncontrollable erection. The mix of shame and pain coursed through his veins like a relentless surge of adrenaline, leaving him teetering on the edge even as he soared above Metropolis on his nightly patrols, desperately trying to hold himself together. Besides all that, his attachment and love to Jimmy felt like a fragile lifeline, the only thing that could pull him from this spiraling sexual abyss. At least, that's what he wanted to believe.
"Thanks again for everything while I was sick," Clark said after a while, glancing at Jimmy, "You didn't have to go out of your way—working from home, making me dinner every day. It meant a lot."
Jimmy waved him off. "Are you kidding? You've been there for me a million times. Someone had to make sure you didn't live off canned soup. Besides, I mean, with a big virus like Warfield in the office, I will be sick too staying there."
That made Clark laughed. "If Warfield's a virus, he's the kind that doesn't go away with antibiotics."
The two of them shared an easy laugh. The conversation then turned to lighter topics—road trip snacks, a debate about which fast food chain had the best fries—until Jimmy, ever the reporter, brought up the elephant in the car.
"So... about that special issue Warfield's making us do," Jimmy said, lowering his voice. "The one about Superman's defeats. You okay with it?"
Clark hesitated, his grip tightening just slightly on the wheel, "Not really," he admitted. "Feels... wrong. "
Jimmy leaned back, thoughtful, "I get it. But don't worry—I have already handled most of it. I made sure it's not a total hit piece. Besides, it's Warfield. People take his stories with a grain of salt anyway."
"Yeah, but Superman doesn't need any more bad press right now." Clark sighed, shaking his head. "I just hope he's doing okay... wherever he is."
Jimmy nodded solemnly. "Yeah. Me too."
To shift the mood, Jimmy rummaged through his bag and pulled out a stack of letters. "Oh, almost forgot—these came for you while you were out. One of them addressed to Superman. Do you want to see?"
Clark frowned slightly, "Probably just another autograph request," he said casually.
Jimmy, too curious to wait, tore it open. "Let's see... Dear Superman..." he began, his voice faltering as he read further.
Clark's brow furrowed as Jimmy continued, his tone growing more serious.
". . . Once you've destroyed all the nuclear missiles in the world, nobody will laugh at me anymore. They'll see that I was right. Superman can make sure that we don't blow ourselves up. Quick and easy. Thanks a lot. I know you'll come through. Your friend, Jeremy."
Clark slowed the car, pulling over to the side of the road as his thoughts raced.
"Whoa, heavy stuff," Jimmy murmured, pulling out his phone. "This could be a big story. Superman taking a stand on nukes. Front page material! Let me call the office. I have to interview this kid and his teacher!"
But Clark wasn't listening. Jeremy's words had struck a deep chord, echoing something buried in his past. He thought of his father Jor-El and the vow he'd made long ago—to never interfere with the destiny of humanity.
"It is forbidden for you to interfere in Earth's history. It is forbidden. ... It is forbidden. ..." Jor-El's words from so long ago rang in Superman's ears.
For a long moment, he stayed silent, Jeremy's plea weighting on him like the burning sun in Kansas sky.
* * *
By the time the old farmhouse clock struck eight, the kitchen at the Kent farm was bathed in the soft glow of warm lamplight, as the trio finished their hearty dinner. Jimmy had been cracking jokes throughout the meal, and Jonathan, ever the good-humored farmer, had joined in, swapping playful jabs about Clark's childhood clumsiness. Clark, though smiling, spent most of the meal quietly listening, his cheeks faintly pink whenever Jimmy's gaze lingered on the framed graduation photo Jonathan just showed on the dinner table.
"Martha would've loved to see the two of you here tonight," Jonathan said, his tone soft and nostalgic, carrying the weight of memories. The room fell briefly quiet at the mention of her name. It had been 15 years since Martha passed.
Jimmy, sensing the depth in Jonathan's words, spoke up, "I wish I could've met her. From everything Clark's told me, she sounded amazing."
Jonathan's face softened with a wistful smile, "Oh, she was. And she would've stuffed you boys full like it was Thanksgiving every night."
Jimmy leaned back in his chair, rubbing his stomach with a laugh, "Well, Mr. Kent, I think tonight's dinner did the same job. I don't think I've eaten this well in weeks."
Jonathan chuckled, his eyes twinkling, "Glad to hear it. Too bad Clark didn't learn much about cooking from us, though."
Jimmy smirked, "Not yet, but there's still hope."
"Alright, let me help you clean up this mess," Jimmy said with a grin as he stood and stretched, reaching for the plates.
But Jonathan waved him off, "Nope, not tonight. I'm in charge in this house."
"Alright, Mr. Kent, you win. In that case, I'm calling first dibs on the shower." He gave Clark a playful squeeze on the shoulder before heading for the stairs, the old wood creaking under his steps. Upstairs, he disappeared into the small room where Clark had once spent countless nights staring at the stars and dreaming of a world far beyond Smallville.
They were sharing the same bed tonight.
Jonathan began gathering the plates, his strong, calloused hands deftly stacking them. Clark followed, joining his father at the sink. For a while, the kitchen was filled with nothing but the sound of running water and the soft clinking of dishes.
"You've got a good friend in Jimmy," Jonathan said after a moment, his voice casual but thoughtful as he handed Clark a plate to dry with his super breath.
Clark nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips, "Yeah. He's… something else. Always looking out for me. He's a good guy."
"I remember you telling me he's one of the main reasons you stuck it out at the Daily Planet," Jonathan said, handing over another plate, "Now, after meeting him, I can see why."
Clark's smile deepened, though his voice was soft, "Yeah… he really is the best." He paused, glancing down at the plate in his hands. "He's always been there for me, even when I didn't know I needed someone."
Jonathan watched his son for a moment, his expression a mix of curiosity and understanding. He didn't say a word, knowing Clark's heart was already working through its own revelations.
The room fell into silence again. Jonathan finished washing all dishes and started wiping his hands on a dishrag. Then, without looking at Clark, he said, "You know, son, maybe it's time you stop hiding how you feel…about this boy."
Clark froze, his hand gripping the dish towel, "Dad—" he began, his voice uneasy.
But Jonathan interrupted, his tone gentle yet firm, "You've spent your whole life hiding your identity as Superman, and I get it. The world wasn't ready, and you had to protect yourself. But hiding your heart? That's different, Clark. That's not about the world—it's about you. And I know you, my son, it looks like it's eating you up inside."
Clark's breath hitched as he felt the first prickle of tears in his eyes. He didn't turn to face his father, his voice barely above a whisper, "What if it's the wrong choice? What if I ruin everything?"
Jonathan reached out, placing a reassuring hand on his son's shoulder. His eyes, wise and kind, met Clark's with unwavering certainty. "Clark, you've always been guided by your heart. It's what makes you who you are, both as my son and as Superman. If your heart is pointing you toward Jimmy, then trust it. Let time figure out whether it's the right place or not, but don't bury what's real inside you out of fear."
He paused, then turned and walked toward the old wooden cabinet in the corner of the kitchen. Opening it, Jonathan pulled out a long, lead-lined box, its surface weathered from years of storage. With deliberate care, he lifted the lid, revealing a glowing green Kryptonite crystal nestled inside (This one is harmless to Superman, a gift from Jor-El. The deadly radiation within had been confined and neutralized). He carefully took it out and placed it in Clark's hand.
"This," Jonathan said, his voice quieter but no less resolute, "is a piece from the ship that brought you to us. I found it the same day we found you. When I held it for the first time, it felt like it spoke to me—not in words, but in my mind. It told me this piece would guide you when you faced your hardest challenge, your toughest decision. I've held onto it all these years, waiting for the right moment. Today, I'm giving it to you. Let it guide you, Clark, like it guided me when we became a family."
Clark stared down at the crystal in his hand, its faint warmth pulsing softly against his palm. His throat tightened, emotion threatening to spill over. He swallowed hard, blinking quickly, but a few tears escaped despite his best efforts. Wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, he managed a sheepish smile before stepping forward to wrap his father in a firm, heartfelt hug.
"Thank you, Dad," he said, his voice filled with gratitude. Jonathan smiled softly, returning the embrace with a sturdy pat on Clark's back.
How Clark longed to open his heart to Jimmy, to give himself away to the first love in his life. Lately, the cries from deep within him had grown louder and more desperate. He didn't just want Jimmy to share everything with him as well, he wanted Jimmy to save him, just as Superman had saved Jimmy countless times before, to pull him out of the helpless abyss of desire that had taken root in the darkest corners of his soul.
Today, Jonathan's words made him realize something.
While the two shared a quiet moment, the sound of Jimmy's footsteps was creaking down the staircase echoed into the kitchen. Clark quickly slipped the Kryptonite crystal into his pocket and composed himself, shaking off the emotional turmoil he'd just experienced.
Jimmy appeared at the staircase, with his damp hair tousled, wearing a simple white shirt and a pair of shorts, looking refreshed.
"So," Jimmy said, his tone teasing as he leaned against the doorway, "are you going to keep your promise? You said you'd show me the stars I can't see back in Metropolis."
Clark turned to him, a soft smile spreading across his face. "I haven't forgotten. Let me grab my jacket, and we'll head out."
Jonathan, seated by the kitchen table with a mug of coffee in hand, watched the two with a warm glint in his eyes. "You boys go on. It's a perfect night for it." he said, his voice carrying a playful note.
"Thanks for the dinner, Mr. Kent. Don't wait up!" Jimmy replied with a quick salute before stepping out onto the porch...
With the vast expanse of the night sky stretching endlessly above them, Clark and Jimmy were strolling through the open fields of the Kent farm. The stars were brilliant, scattered across the heavens like diamonds against black velvet.
Jimmy tilted his head back in awe. "Wow," he breathed, "You weren't kidding. It's incredible out here."
Clark glanced at him, his heart swelling at the awe in Jimmy's voice, "Smallville's good for a few things," he said softly.
Jimmy chuckled, bumping his shoulder lightly against Clark's, "Yeah, like giving me a reason to drag you out of Metropolis every now and then."
Clark smiled, his gaze lingering on Jimmy's profile. The moonlight highlighted his features, the curve of his cheek, the soft arch of his brows, the faint upward tilt of his lips.
Their conversation flowed easily, warm, and intimate, as they shared stories and laughter under the starlit sky. Clark, however, found his mind racing. This was his chance—maybe the only one he'd have—to tell Jimmy how he felt.
As Jimmy brought up Clark's love history back in the days of Smallville, Clark felt his heart stutter, caught between the urge to speak his truth and the fear of letting it out. He wanted to tell Jimmy—needed to—but every time he tried, the words caught in his throat, refusing to surface.
"So, you mean to say you've never been in love during high school? Not even once?", Jimmy asked, his curiosity piqued, noticing the way Clark kept faltering.
"Well…" Clark began, glancing away, "Not… exactly. I've never really been in love. Not until…" He paused, his voice barely above a whisper, "…not until I went to Metropolis."
Jimmy's eyes widened, "Wait, really? Are you serious? You've gotta tell me more!" His voice rose with excitement, leaning closer to catch every word.
Clark opened his mouth to say something, but the vulnerability of the moment overwhelmed him, "No… no, I'm just kidding," he blurted out, waving it off as if it were nothing.
Jimmy frowned, raising an eyebrow skeptically, "Yeah, sure. That was totally convincing." He teased before playfully punching Clark in the shoulder. "You're such a prude sometimes, you know that?"
They were so caught up in their conversation—and Clark's nerves—that neither of them noticed the uneven ground ahead. Suddenly, both tripped over a stray wooden stick, their momentum sending them tumbling into a pile of straw.
Jimmy landed on his back with a surprised laugh, the soft straw cushioning his fall. Clark, however, found himself sprawled directly on top of Jimmy, their faces mere inches apart.
Time seemed to freeze for a moment. Their laughter died as they locked eyes and their body pressed against each other tightly. Clark could feel Jimmy's breath against his skin, warm and steady, and his heart pounded in his chest. He couldn't move—paralyzed by the sudden realization of how close they were.
Jimmy's blue eyes searched Clark's face, wide with surprise but softened by something unspoken, or something deeper. His lips were slightly parted, and a blush bloomed across his freckled cheeks.
For nearly a whole minute, everything else faded away—the world, the stars, the farm—and it was just them. Jimmy moved first, carefully, his left hand reaching up to rest gently against Clark's chest, feeling his frantic heartbeat.
Clark's breath caught in his throat. His gaze flicked downward, to Jimmy's lips—soft and inviting.
"Jimmy," Clark whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of their breathing. "I…"
And then, Clark moved without thinking. He leaned in and pressed his lips to Jimmy's, soft and tentative, as if testing the waters. For a heartbeat, the world stood still, and then Jimmy's right hand reached up, gently cupping the back of Clark's neck as he kissed him back.
Clark felt a spark shoot through him, like the crackle of electricity. It was warm and thrilling, sending a shiver down his spine. Jimmy's lips were soft, yielding, and tasted faintly of the mint toothpaste he'd used earlier.
Clark deepened the kiss slightly, tilting his head to find the perfect angle, his heart hammering against his ribs. Jimmy responded almost instinctively, his right hand sliding up to rest on the back of Clark's neck, his fingers tangling gently in the dark curls at Clark's nape. The touch sent a wave of heat through Clark, and he let out a soft, almost inaudible sigh against Jimmy's lips.
Suddenly, Clark felt his penis were throbbing with excitement, growing, lengthening, swelling. It pressed hard against two layers of fabric: his pants and the red briefs, rubbing against Jimmy's thigh, fighting it, massaging it, like a lion stretching happily on the grass.
His foreskin slid down due to the swelling and the friction, exposing that turgid glans. Then the sensation from the tip of his penis grew stronger, building up in waves that surged through his body like an incoming tide. He was so caught up in the feeling, so completely focused, that he momentarily forgot about the penis ring he was wearing.
Seemingly as Jimmy sensed Clark's ongoing fanatical erection, Jimmy's left hand found its way to Clark's groin, to his bulge, gripping and cupping it lightly as if anchoring himself. Clark immediately reached a new level of climax. He felt like he was blessed.
The touch. The touch by the man he loved, which he had been yearning for 30 years, now he finally had them. He finally realized his dream. The touch, which had begun as hesitant and uncertain, grew steadier and more confident, as Jimmy's hand has melted into his pants. There was a sweetness to it, a tenderness that spoke of all the feelings they'd kept hidden, bubbling up to the surface at last.
Inch by inch, their bodies and flesh seemed to be tightly held in a palm of giant coming from the stars, gradually merging into one…