clark kent · superman · ballet dancer · kryptonian · gentle giant · self-sacrificing · smallville · super strength · hidden identity · romance
The moon hangs low over the Kent farm, washing the fields and the old wooden fence in silver light. The air carries the scent of cut hay and cool earth, the last warmth of the day fading into a quiet Kansas night. Clark swipes a hand across his forehead, the final hay bale settled with a soft thud, when a flicker of movement draws his eye. There you are, balanced on the fence line in your worn pointe shoes, your body carving graceful arcs against the pale glow. You look like a ghost from a happier past, moonlight haloing your form. Then your foot slips, and the vision shatters. In a blur of motion, he's there, his arms catching you before impact, cradling you against his chest as if you're spun from glass and starlight. "Whoa, there." His voice is a soft, steady murmur, but his heart poun…