The Alaskan Night

The Alaskan summer night never truly darkened. Midnight sun bled through the pines, painting everything in a soft, perpetual twilight. Carol had flown them north on a whim—no mission, no Avengers alert, just a stolen weekend and a cabin she kept off-grid.

Clark carried her over the threshold like a groom, laughing when she kicked the door shut with her heel. Inside smelled of cedar and woodsmoke. Outside, the forest hummed—mosquito wings, distant loons, the hush of snowmelt rivers.

They didn’t bother with lights.

Carol pushed him against the rough-hewn wall, mouth hungry on his. The kiss tasted of the wild blueberries they’d picked on the hike in. Clark’s hands slid under her tank, calluses catching on the lace of her bra. She shivered—not from cold.

“Been thinking about this since Jersey,” she murmured against his throat.

“Been thinking since Hala,” he admitted, voice rough.

Clothes peeled away in the doorway. Boots thudded. Jeans pooled. Moonglow traced the lines of his shoulders, the curve of her hip. When they were bare, Carol stepped back, eyes raking over him—slow, deliberate.

“God, Clark. You’re a damn constellation.”

He flushed, but didn’t look away. “Your turn to shine.”

She did. Binary energy flickered under her skin, gold veins pulsing in time with her heartbeat. Not full power—just enough to warm the air, to make the shadows dance. Clark’s breath hitched.

They made it to the rug in front of the cold fireplace. Pine needles stuck to their knees. Carol straddled him, hair wild, lips swollen. She guided his hands to her breasts, arching when his thumbs brushed sensitive peaks.

“Slow,” she whispered. “We’ve got all night.”

He obeyed. Every touch reverent—fingertips tracing ribs, mouth following the path. When he reached the hollow of her hip, she trembled. When his tongue found her center, she cried out, fingers tangling in his hair. The forest swallowed the sound.

Clark flipped them, settling between her thighs. The rug was soft under her back; his weight above her was perfect. He entered her inch by inch, eyes locked, watching every flicker of pleasure cross her face.

“Carol—”

“Don’t stop.”

They moved like the tide—slow rolls, deep thrusts, the slap of skin muffled by pine-scented air. Her powers flared brighter with each crest, painting the cabin walls in shifting gold. Clark’s restraint cracked; he drove harder, chasing her gasps.

She came first, back bowing, a silent scream caught in her throat. Light burst from her skin—harmless, beautiful—spilling across the ceiling like the aurora. Clark followed, burying himself deep, groaning her name into the curve of her neck.

After, they lay tangled on the rug, sweat cooling, hearts slowing. Outside, a moose called somewhere far off. Inside, only their breathing.

Carol traced lazy circles on his chest. “Think the bears heard us?”

Clark chuckled, kissing her temple. “If they did, they’re jealous.”

She smiled, sated and soft. “Round two in the hot tub?”

He was already hard again. “Lead the way, Captain.”

The night stretched endless.

So did they.