Nevaeh and Clark stand in the fading light, their foreheads resting against each other's, their breaths mingling in the small space between them. The world outside the bubble they've created seems to fade away, leaving only the two of them, bound together by the magnetic pull of their connection. The quiet intensity of the moment, the raw vulnerability in their eyes, speaks volumes more than words ever could.

Nevaeh's hands still rest on Clark's chest, feeling the solidness of him, the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath the iconic 'S' emblem. There's a moment of stillness, a heartbeat in which they both hover on the edge of something monumental, and then the dam breaks.

It starts slowly, with a tentative brush of Nevaeh's lips against Clark's, a whisper of a kiss that ignites a spark between them. But the spark quickly grows into a wildfire, their kisses deepening with each passing second. The initial hesitation, the lingering shadows of doubt and pain, evaporate in the heat of their desire.

Nevaeh's fingers curl into the fabric of Clark's suit, pulling him closer as she tilts her head to deepen the kiss. Clark responds with equal fervor, his hands moving to her waist, gripping her with a possessive intensity that sends a thrill racing down her spine. The world around them blurs as they lose themselves in each other, the kiss becoming more urgent, more demanding.

Their lips crash together again and again, a relentless rhythm fueled by a hunger that has been simmering beneath the surface for far too long. Nevaeh can taste the desperation in his kiss, the raw need that mirrors her own, and it only drives her to kiss him harder, her teeth grazing his lower lip before sucking it into her mouth.

Clark's grip on her waist tightens, his fingers digging into her flesh just enough to remind her of his strength, of the power he holds back even in the heat of the moment. But Nevaeh is no stranger to strength; she's spent centuries honing her own, and now, she matches his intensity with her own, meeting him kiss for kiss, touch for touch.

Their bodies press together, chest to chest, the heat between them almost unbearable. Nevaeh can feel the hard lines of his muscles through the thin fabric of his suit, and it only fuels the fire inside her. She wants more, needs more, and she knows he does too. The air around them crackles with electricity, the energy between them a tangible force that threatens to consume them both.

Clark's hands move up her back, tracing the curve of her spine before fisting in her hair, tugging her head back slightly to expose her neck. He trails hot, open-mouthed kisses along the column of her throat, the sensation sending shivers down her spine. Nevaeh's breath hitches, a soft gasp escaping her lips as she tilts her head back further, giving him better access.

But she doesn't remain passive for long. Her hands glide up from his chest to his shoulders, fingers slipping beneath the collar of his suit to feel the warmth of his skin beneath. With a firm tug, she pulls him back to her, capturing his lips in another searing kiss that leaves them both breathless.

They stumble backward, their lips never parting, as they move toward the small cottage that has become Nevaeh's sanctuary. The door looms ahead, but neither of them is thinking clearly enough to care about the small details like opening it. Instead, Clark's hand shoots out, and with a flick of his wrist, the door swings open with a force that sends it slamming against the wall.

They practically fall through the threshold, their bodies tangling together as they crash against the doorframe. Nevaeh's back hits the wood with a dull thud, but the pain barely registers, drowned out by the overwhelming desire that courses through her veins. She's aware of nothing but him—his taste, his touch, the way his body fits against hers as if they were made for each other.

Clark's hands move with a sense of urgency, exploring her body with a hunger that leaves no room for hesitation. His touch is both gentle and demanding, tracing the curves of her hips, the dip of her waist, before sliding up to cup her breasts through the fabric of her shirt. Nevaeh moans into his mouth, the sound low and breathy, and she can feel the way it reverberates through his chest.

But it's not enough—she needs to feel his skin against hers, to erase the distance that their clothes create. With a growl of frustration, Nevaeh pushes against his chest, breaking the kiss just long enough to rip her shirt over her head and toss it aside. Clark's eyes darken as they rake over her now-bare torso, his gaze smoldering with an intensity that makes her feel like she's on fire.

Clark's hands move to the waistband of her jeans, his fingers making quick work of the button and zipper before he's peeling them down her legs. Nevaeh kicks them off, and the next second, she's tugging at the collar of his suit, desperate to feel his skin beneath her fingertips. Clark's hands move to the hidden clasp at the back of his neck, and with a swift motion, he pulls the top half of his suit off, revealing the chiseled planes of his chest and abs.

Nevaeh's breath catches at the sight of him, the raw, unfiltered attraction she feels for him almost overwhelming. But she doesn't linger on the sight for long—there's too much she wants, too much she needs. She drags him back to her, their lips colliding in a kiss that's all-consuming, their tongues tangling together as they lose themselves in each other once more.

As they kiss, their movements become more frantic, more desperate. Nevaeh's hands roam over his chest, her nails dragging lightly across his skin, leaving faint red marks in their wake. Clark's hands find their way to the curve of her ass, lifting her off the ground as if she weighs nothing. She wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him even closer, her core pressed against his growing hardness.

They stumble deeper into the cabin, knocking over a chair in their path, but neither of them cares. The small space is filled with the sounds of their heavy breathing, the rustle of fabric as they shed the last of their clothes, and the muffled thuds of their bodies pressing against walls, furniture, anything in their way.

Finally, they reach the bed, and Clark lowers her onto it with a gentleness that contrasts sharply with the ferocity of their kisses. He hovers over her for a moment, his gaze burning as it sweeps over her, taking in every inch of her now-bare body. There's something in his eyes, something beyond desire, something that makes her heart skip a beat.

But before she can analyze it, he's kissing her again, his mouth devouring hers with a hunger that matches her own. Their bodies move together with a rhythm that feels both natural and wild, as if they've done this a thousand times before, and yet it's all new, all consuming.

Nevaeh arches into him, her hands clutching at his back, her nails digging into his flesh as she pulls him closer. Clark's mouth moves from her lips to her neck, then lower, trailing fiery kisses down her chest, between her breasts, across her stomach. Every touch sends sparks of electricity through her veins, every kiss leaving her breathless, her body trembling with anticipation.

But it's not just the physical pleasure that makes her heart race—it's the emotional connection, the way she feels utterly, completely consumed by him, and yet somehow more herself than she's ever been. With Clark, she's not just a warrior, not just a fallen Valkyrie—she's Nevaeh, and for the first time, that feels like enough.

As Clark's lips find their way back to hers, Nevaeh loses herself in the kiss, in the taste of him, the feel of him. The rest of the world fades away, leaving only the two of them, wrapped in each other's arms, their bodies moving together in a dance that's as old as time itself.

Their bodies move together in a synchronized dance of raw desire, the bed beneath them creaking ominously under the strain. Nevaeh's back arches as she pulls Clark closer, her nails digging into the hard muscle of his back, leaving trails of red as they rake down his skin. The sensation drives him wild, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he responds with equal fervor, his hands roaming over every curve of her body with a possessive need.

The bedframe groans under the combined weight of their passion, the metal straining against the force of their movements. Each time Clark thrusts into her, the bed slams against the wall with a resounding crash, the impact so powerful that it leaves deep dents and scratches in the wood. The noise echoes through the cabin, a constant reminder of the sheer strength they both possess and the primal intensity of their union.

But the sound only seems to spur them on, their desire reaching a fever pitch as they lose themselves completely in each other. Nevaeh wraps her legs tightly around Clark's waist, pulling him even deeper into her, the sensation sending shockwaves of pleasure through her entire body. Her head falls back against the pillow, a gasp of ecstasy escaping her lips as she feels him fill her completely, their bodies fitting together perfectly as if they were made for each other.

Clark's mouth is everywhere—on her neck, her shoulders, her breasts—leaving a trail of heated kisses that make her skin tingle in the most delicious way. His hands grip her hips, his fingers pressing into her flesh with a bruising intensity that only serves to heighten her arousal. There's a wildness to their lovemaking, a sense of urgency that comes from knowing they've both waited too long for this, denied themselves this connection for far too long.

The bedframe continues to slam against the wall, the sound a rhythmic accompaniment to their increasingly frantic movements. Each time the bed hits the wall, it leaves another mark, another testament to the force of their passion. The walls of the cabin seem to shudder with each impact, the entire structure vibrating as if it can barely contain the intensity of what's happening inside.

Nevaeh's hands slide up to Clark's shoulders, her fingers threading through his hair as she pulls him down for another searing kiss. Their lips meet in a clash of heat and desperation, tongues tangling as they pour every ounce of their longing into the kiss. The taste of him—familiar yet intoxicating—sends shivers down her spine, making her moan softly into his mouth.

Clark's response is immediate, his grip on her tightening as he deepens the kiss, his hips driving into her with a renewed fervor. The bedframe protests loudly, the metal straining under the force, but neither of them cares. They're too far gone, too consumed by the fire between them to think about anything else. The world outside might as well not exist; all that matters is this moment, this connection, this raw, unbridled need that has taken hold of them both.

Nevaeh's senses are overwhelmed—by the feel of him, the taste of him, the scent of him. She's drowning in him, in the pleasure he gives her, in the way he makes her feel alive in a way she hasn't felt in centuries. Each thrust, each touch, sends her spiraling higher and higher, until she's on the edge of something immense, something that promises to consume her entirely.

Clark's breathing is ragged, his muscles taut with the effort of holding back the full extent of his strength. But Nevaeh meets him with equal force, her own strength matching his in a way that only someone like her can. The power in their bodies is barely restrained, their combined might making the cabin shudder with every movement, every thrust. The bedframe slams against the wall with a deafening crash, and Nevaeh can feel the wood splintering beneath them, the mattress buckling under the strain.

But the impending collapse of the bed doesn't deter them—it only adds to the thrill, the wildness of their lovemaking. The danger of their combined power, the sheer force of their passion, is intoxicating, pushing them both to the brink. Nevaeh's moans grow louder, more desperate, as Clark's hands move to her waist, lifting her slightly to angle her hips just right. The new position sends a wave of pleasure crashing over her, making her cry out his name in a voice that's both a plea and a command.

Clark responds with a deep, primal groan, his grip on her tightening as he drives into her with renewed intensity. The bedframe finally gives way, the wood splintering beneath them as the mattress collapses onto the floor with a dull thud. But even that doesn't stop them—instead, it only fuels the fire between them, the broken bed nothing more than a casualty of their unstoppable passion.

Their movements become more frantic, more desperate, as they race toward the edge together. The cabin around them seems to fade away, the walls, the floor, the broken bed—all of it blurs into the background as they focus solely on each other. Nevaeh's world narrows to the feel of Clark inside her, the way he moves against her, the way he holds her as if he'll never let her go.

And then, with one final, powerful thrust, they both shatter. The world around them explodes in a burst of white-hot pleasure, the intensity of their release sending shockwaves through their bodies. Nevaeh's vision goes white, her entire being consumed by the overwhelming ecstasy that crashes over her in waves, leaving her trembling in Clark's arms.

Clark's release follows right on the heels of hers, his body tensing as he groans deeply, the sound reverberating through the small space of the cabin. They hold each other tightly as they ride out the aftershocks together, their breaths mingling, their hearts pounding in unison.

For a long moment, they lie there in the wreckage of the bed, their bodies tangled together, the only sounds their ragged breathing and the faint creaks of the cabin settling around them. The air is thick with the scent of sweat and sex, the remnants of their passion lingering in the small space.

Finally, Clark shifts slightly, his arms still wrapped around her, as he leans down to press a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. Nevaeh's eyes flutter open, and she gazes up at him, her heart still racing, her body still tingling with the aftereffects of their lovemaking.

Nevaeh's breath comes in slow, measured intervals, each inhale drawing in the scent of Clark's skin—an intoxicating blend of warmth and something uniquely him, like sunlight after a storm. Her chest rises and falls gently against his, their heartbeats syncing in a rhythm that feels both foreign and familiar. Her hand rests lightly on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath her fingertips, each beat a quiet reminder that this moment, however fleeting, is real.

She blinks slowly, her eyes heavy with a contented exhaustion, each blink bringing her closer to a sense of peace she hasn't known in centuries. The soft glow of the moon filters through the small window, casting pale slivers of light across their bodies, illuminating the subtle sheen of sweat on their skin. Nevaeh's gaze drifts across the room, taking in the wreckage of their passion—the splintered bedframe, the crumpled sheets, the faint marks on the wall where the bed had slammed repeatedly. Yet, in the dim light, it all seems distant, unimportant. What matters now is the warmth of Clark's body against hers, the weight of his arm draped over her waist, holding her close as if he never intends to let go.

Clark's fingers trace lazy patterns along the curve of her hip, the touch so light it sends shivers down her spine. His skin is warm, almost impossibly so, like a living furnace that radiates heat even in the cool night air. Each brush of his fingers feels like a whisper, a silent conversation spoken in the language of touch, communicating things neither of them dare to say aloud. Nevaeh closes her eyes, letting the sensation wash over her, savoring the way it makes her feel alive, grounded in the present moment.

But even as she basks in the afterglow, a quiet melancholy tugs at the edges of her consciousness. She knows, deep down, that this can't last forever. This moment, as perfect as it is, is only a brief respite from the world outside. Clark belongs to that world—a world of responsibility, of duty, of saving lives. And she, she is a relic of a time long past, a warrior with no battle left to fight, a goddess without a realm.

Yet, for now, she pushes those thoughts aside, refusing to let them taint the peace she's found in his arms. Nevaeh shifts slightly, nestling closer to him, her cheek pressing against the hard plane of his chest. She can hear the steady rhythm of his breathing, feel the gentle rise and fall of his ribcage beneath her. It's a sound she could easily lose herself in, the quiet, steady cadence lulling her into a sense of security she hasn't felt in a long time.

Clark's other hand slides up her back, his palm warm against her cool skin, tracing the line of her spine with a tenderness that surprises her. His touch is almost reverent, as if he's memorizing the feel of her, committing every curve, every dip, every contour to memory. Nevaeh feels a lump form in her throat, a sudden wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm her. She swallows it down, determined to keep this moment pure, untainted by the inevitabilities of the future.

She tilts her head up slightly, her lips brushing against the underside of his jaw, planting a soft kiss there. The stubble on his chin is rough against her lips, a sharp contrast to the smooth skin of his neck. Clark responds with a quiet hum, the sound vibrating through his chest, reverberating against her own. He shifts slightly, his hand coming up to cradle the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair as he pulls her even closer.

They lay there, bodies entwined, sharing the same breath, the same space, the same heartbeat. Time seems to stretch out, elongating the moment into something that feels eternal, as if they could stay like this forever, wrapped up in each other, untouched by the outside world. Nevaeh knows it's an illusion, a fragile one, but she allows herself to believe in it, if only for a little while.

Clark's thumb brushes against her temple, a soft, soothing motion that makes her eyes flutter shut. He's gentle, almost unbearably so, as if he's afraid she might shatter beneath his touch. But Nevaeh is far from fragile; she's been through wars, seen civilizations rise and fall, and yet, in his arms, she feels something she hasn't felt in eons—vulnerable. It's a strange sensation, one that both terrifies and comforts her in equal measure.

For a long time, they don't speak, the silence between them filled with the unspoken, with the things they can't say aloud. Instead, they communicate through touch, through the press of a hand, the brush of lips, the tangle of limbs. It's a language all their own, one born out of necessity, out of the knowledge that words could never fully capture what they feel for each other.

Clark's fingers continue to trace patterns on her skin, his touch becoming more deliberate, more purposeful. He tilts her chin up with a gentle nudge, his eyes searching hers in the dim light. There's a softness there, a quiet intensity that makes her breath catch in her throat. He leans down, his lips brushing against hers in a kiss that is achingly tender, almost unbearably sweet. It's a kiss that speaks of more than just desire—it speaks of love, of longing, of a connection that goes beyond the physical.

Nevaeh's heart swells in her chest, the emotion so overwhelming it almost brings tears to her eyes. She kisses him back with equal tenderness, her lips moving against his in a slow, deliberate dance. There's no urgency, no rush—just the quiet, steady rhythm of their hearts beating in time with each other. She pours everything she has into that kiss, all the love, all the longing, all the hope that she's kept buried deep inside for so long.

When they finally pull apart, they rest their foreheads together, their breaths mingling in the small space between them. Clark's hand cups her cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear she didn't even realize had fallen. He doesn't say anything, doesn't need to—his touch, his presence, says it all.

Clark shifts slightly, pulling her closer, as if he can sense her thoughts, as if he's trying to reassure her that he's not going anywhere, not yet. His arms wrap around her, holding her tightly, protectively, as if he's afraid she might slip away. Nevaeh buries her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of him, letting it calm the turmoil in her heart.

They stay like that for what feels like hours, just holding each other, finding solace in the quiet intimacy of the moment. The world outside might be calling to him, but here, in this small cabin, in this shared space, time seems to stand still. Nevaeh can feel the steady thrum of his heart beneath her cheek, the warmth of his skin against hers, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. It's all so simple, so ordinary, and yet it means everything to her.

In the soft light of early morning, the cabin feels like a world unto itself, far removed from the burdens of duty and the weight of their extraordinary lives. The air is cool, carrying the scent of pine and earth, mingling with the lingering warmth of the night they spent together. Nevaeh lies on the bed, her body still tingling from the passion they shared, but now, there is a different kind of energy between them—one of quiet reverence, of unspoken tenderness.

Clark moves with the grace of a man who has faced the impossible and come out on the other side. His every motion is deliberate, unhurried, as if he is savoring each second, each touch, each breath. He stands at the edge of the bed, gazing down at her with an intensity that makes the room feel smaller, more intimate. His eyes trace the lines of her body, memorizing the curve of her hips, the softness of her belly, the strength in her legs. There is a sense of awe in his gaze, as though he is seeing her for the first time, and it takes Nevaeh's breath away.

Slowly, he reaches down to the floor, retrieving the discarded garments that had been hastily thrown aside in the heat of the night. He lifts her undergarments first, the fabric soft and delicate in his hands. There is a pause, a moment where he simply holds the fabric, his eyes locking with hers, and in that look, there is a wealth of emotion—love, adoration, devotion. Without a word, he kneels at the side of the bed, gently slipping the undergarments up her legs, his fingers grazing her skin with feather-light touches that send shivers through her.

As he pulls the fabric into place, he leans in, pressing a kiss to the inside of her knee. The touch of his lips is warm and tender, a silent promise that this moment is theirs, that he will cherish every inch of her. Nevaeh's breath hitches, her heart swelling with an emotion so deep it almost brings tears to her eyes. She closes them instead, letting the sensation wash over her, feeling the way his hands move up her thighs, slow and deliberate, as though he is worshipping her with every caress.

Next, Clark picks up her simple dress, the fabric pooling in his hands like water. He rises to his feet, unfolding the dress with care before holding it out in front of her. Nevaeh sits up slightly, her movements languid, unhurried, as she slips her arms into the sleeves. Clark steps closer, his hands guiding the dress over her shoulders, letting the fabric cascade down her body like a waterfall. He smooths it over her skin, his touch reverent, almost as though he is afraid to mar the moment with haste.

With the dress in place, he leans in again, this time pressing a kiss to the hollow of her throat, where her pulse beats strong and steady. His lips linger there, the warmth of his breath sending a tremor through her. Nevaeh's hand comes up to rest on his shoulder, her fingers brushing against the muscles that ripple beneath his skin, a reminder of the strength that lies beneath his gentle touch.

Clark's hands move to the buttons at the back of her dress, fastening them with meticulous care. Each button is secured with a kiss, placed along the curve of her spine, each one a testament to his devotion, to the tenderness that exists between them. There is no rush, no urgency—just the quiet, unspoken understanding that this moment is theirs alone, a moment where they can simply be, without the weight of the world pressing down on them.

As he finishes the last button, Clark's hands linger at her waist, his thumbs brushing against the fabric in slow, circular motions. He steps back slightly, his eyes once again tracing the lines of her body, taking in the sight of her fully dressed. There is something powerful in the way he looks at her, as though he sees not just the warrior she once was, or the woman she is now, but something more—something eternal.

Nevaeh's heart swells, her chest tightening with an overwhelming sense of love, of belonging. She reaches up, her fingers brushing against the side of his face, feeling the roughness of his stubble beneath her palm. Clark turns his head slightly, pressing a kiss to her palm, his eyes closing as he does. The gesture is so simple, yet it speaks volumes—of the trust they share, the bond that ties them together in a way that goes beyond words, beyond time.

For a moment, they simply stand there, eyes locked, breathing in sync, the world outside fading into nothingness. In this cabin, in this space, they are not gods, not heroes—they are just two people, bound by love, by a connection that transcends the extraordinary lives they lead. The weight of their powers, their responsibilities, is left behind, replaced by the quiet intimacy that exists between them.

Clark's hands move up to cup her face, his thumbs brushing against her cheeks as he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. Nevaeh closes her eyes, the warmth of his lips seeping into her skin, filling her with a sense of peace she hasn't felt in centuries. She leans into his touch, letting herself be held, letting herself be loved in a way that is pure, untainted by the darkness of their pasts.

As he pulls back, Clark's gaze lingers on her, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He steps around the bed, retrieving the cloak she had worn the night before, a simple garment that now feels imbued with the significance of the moment. He drapes it over her shoulders, his fingers brushing against the nape of her neck as he does, sending a shiver down her spine.

Nevaeh's hand comes up to clasp the front of the cloak, her fingers brushing against his as she does. Their eyes meet, and in that moment, everything else fades away—the battles, the loss, the pain. All that remains is the love they share, the quiet strength of it, the way it holds them together even in the face of the impossible.

Clark steps back slightly, his hands lingering on her shoulders, his gaze never leaving hers. The world outside may be calling to him, but for now, in this cabin, in this moment, he is hers, and she is his. Nevaeh knows that this moment won't last forever, but she also knows that it will stay with her, a memory to hold onto when the world outside becomes too much.

Without a word, she reaches up, her hand cupping the back of his neck as she pulls him down for a kiss. It's a kiss filled with all the love, all the tenderness she has held back, a kiss that speaks of the bond they share, a bond that goes beyond time, beyond space. Clark kisses her back with equal fervor, his lips moving against hers in a slow, deliberate dance that makes her heart race, her breath catch.

When they finally pull apart, they rest their foreheads together, their breaths mingling in the small space between them. There is a sense of finality in the air, a quiet understanding that this moment, however perfect, is just that—a moment. But for now, they let themselves be lost in it, in the love they share, in the quiet, tender intimacy that exists between them.

The world outside may be waiting, but for now, in this cabin, in this space, they are just Nevaeh and Clark.

✦
✦
✦
✦
✦
✦
✦
✦
✦
✦