"Your husband is a schmuck to eat out when he's got a dish like you at home."

Raleigh knows he likes bottoming.

Carefully taking a pillow and placing it in his lap, Ted mumbles, “Think I outta be getting home, sleep this off.”

“Can’t do that either,” Higgins says, grimacing sympathetically. “You’ll have to, ah, burn it out.”

(In which Ted gets dosed with sex pollen, and Trent and Rebecca work together to help him through it.)

None of this makes any sense, really. Jim's barely laid a hand on her, if he doesn't count the occasional hand-up over difficult terrain, or accidental (mostly accidental) groping when an explosion throws his bridge crew around, and Jim doesn't count that, because if he counted that he'd be at third base with Keenser by now.

This place up in the loft is where Clark goes to be alone, and when Clark had shown him this place, he’d expected him to laugh. Lex had asked him if he often wanted to go where no one else could find him, and also if this was where he went to drink beer.

(The small-town teenage dirtbag AU nobody wanted, prompted by cygnes/manzanas-amargas and the prompt 'thing…