Out of the Darkness, Chapter 3

Clark/Chloe
Season 5, missing scenes from "Vengeance"
Rating: Adult. If you're under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the WB and DC Comics, not to me.
Author's Note: This story is somewhat more explicit than my other stories. If you don't like explicit sexual description, don't read it. No relation to my other Chlark stories.

Chloe’s lips are warm and soft against his, and he’s suddenly totally aroused again, but in a slightly different way. The dark thoughts of hurting her, forcing her, overpowering her, have faded, and all he can think about is the way she held him, offering comfort when he so badly needed it, offering affection when he didn’t deserve it.

The darkness is still deep within him, but he’s controlling it now, not the other way around. Because of Chloe. He’s always felt a connection to Chloe, but now it’s stronger than ever, and he wants to be intimate with her, more intimate than he’s ever been with anyone.

Maybe it’s just a way of trying to fill the vacant spaces inside him, but he can’t stop himself from wanting her. Since his father died and Lana dumped him, he’s felt so terribly empty, and all he’s had to fill himself up with is rage and self-hatred.

Now he wants to fill himself up with Chloe.

They move rapidly from light, teasing kisses to deep, intense ones. Within moments their lips are locked together, their tongues tangling and stroking and exploring, and he reaches up to her shoulders and shoves the coat off her. It falls to the dirty street, but she doesn’t seem worried about it.

His hands move over her body, caressing the curve of her ass, testing the weight of her breasts, smoothing her hair. Even through her clothes, he can feel the heat of her skin against the palms of his hands. She's as radiantly warm as the sun on a spring day.

His hands reach for her jacket, and she grabs at them, stopping him before he can tear it off.

“Uh-uh, farmboy. Quit destroying my clothing.”

“It’s in the way,” he says, a little plaintively.

“This is why…” She unfastens the jacket. “… clothes have buttons.”

“Oh,” he says, smiling a little. He's amazed that he can smile at all, but Chloe's always been able to brighten his spirits. “Is that what those things are for?”

She tosses the jacket down and laughs at him. “Dork.”

He wraps his arms around her again and yanks her against him, then tugs up her blouse and starts running his hands over her skin, her belly, her back, everywhere. She’s so soft, like silk, like velvet, like nothing he’s ever felt before, and he thinks he could touch her like this all night and never get tired of it.

She touches him, running her hands up under his black t-shirt, and he moans softly, because that feels good, too.

“All those muscles,” she says softly. “You have a gorgeous back, Clark. I’ve wanted to touch your back for a long time.”

“You’ve wanted to touch my back?” He looks down at her, lifting a dubious eyebrow. “Is that some sort of weird fetish or something?”

A giggle bubbles up out of her, such a silly, charming sound that he can’t help but smile again. He likes the way she giggles.

“Trust me, Clark,” she says. “Pretty much every woman who’s seen you swimming at Crater Lake has had fantasies about your back.”

Weird. Who knew women were turned on by guys’ backs? He’s never given the slightest bit of thought to a woman’s back, honestly. He’s much more interested in their fronts. Must be a girl thing.

But he doesn’t really want to discuss it, because her hands are sliding over his shoulder blades, his spine, his ribs, and it feels startlingly good. He’s never really thought much about being touched there, but all at once he realizes his back is one hell of an erogenous zone. Small sounds of pleasure pour from his mouth, and he arches his head back, reveling in her touch.

“Chloe,” he groans. “Oh, fuck. Fuck.”

His longing for intimacy is getting the better of him. He’s beyond hard, his erection is pressing at its denim prison, and he really, really wants to make love to her. The fact that they’re in an alley, her back against a brick wall, just doesn’t seem relevant any more. He pushes up her skirt, rucking it up around her waist, and drops his hands onto her hips.

“Hey,” she says. “Are you in a hurry or something?”

He sucks in a deep breath and tries to calm himself down. “Uh, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she says gently, pressing kisses against his throat.

He guesses it isn’t. It’s bad enough that he’s screwing her in an alley, against the wall, like an anonymous one night stand. It might be a male fantasy, but it’s not the kind of thing girls dream about. But to rush it so she doesn’t even get anything out of it would be worse. He kind of wants her to remember these moments with a fond smile, not to think of him as a clumsy, awkward boy who didn’t take the time to please her.

But he doesn’t want to go slow, either, because he’s just not in the mood for leisurely, thoughtful lovemaking. Maybe he’s still got a little leftover adrenaline from his earlier violence, but he isn’t feeling particularly gentle right now.

He slides his hands down her hips a bit. She’s not wearing pantyhose, thank God, only stockings that rise to the middle of her thighs. But she is wearing a little scrap of lace and satin that he supposes is underwear, although it feels like it wouldn’t be real comfortable. He’s glad he’s male, so he can wear boxers.

He grabs the little scrap in both hands, rips it apart, and drops it to the ground.

“Hey!” she yelps, indignant. “What did I say about tearing off my clothes?”

“There weren't any buttons,” he explains earnestly, smiling against her hair. “I figured it was okay if there weren’t any buttons.”

She huffs, pretending annoyance, but he’s pretty sure she’s trying to cover laughter. Her laughter fades, though, as his hand slides between her legs.

Jesus. He’s not exactly widely experienced or anything, but he can’t believe how soft and wet she feels beneath his fingers. And hot. Really hot. The thought of how it would feel to be inside her rolls through his mind, and he wants it so badly he can feel himself getting even harder, to the point of desperation.

But he pushes back his own growing need, because he’s trying to make this good for her, too. He runs his fingers through her moisture, exploring a bit, trying to get a sense of where everything is—he’s still pretty new at this, after all—then slides a finger inside of her.

She whimpers.

He’s not quite sure if that’s a good sound or a bad sound, so he hesitates. After what happened earlier, he doesn’t want to do anything that could possibly be interpreted as disrespectful. “Is that okay, Chloe? Because I don’t want to do anything you don’t want. If you’d rather I-"

She grabs at his hand.

“Clark,” she says through her teeth. Her voice is lower, huskier, sexier than he’s ever heard it. “Don’t… stop.”

Oh. Okay. It’s a good sound, then.

Clark's never done this to a woman before, but he doesn’t have much trouble figuring out what he should do and how to do it. He slides his finger deep inside her, then withdraws it. He considers the matter, decides there’s enough room, and adds a second finger. His fingers slide into her easily, although he can feel her body stretching a little to accommodate him.

He thrusts them into her a little harder, and she gives another one of those little sounds, so he guesses she likes it. He keeps moving his hand, and at the same time he begins to stroke his thumb over her flesh, exploring a little. Her body jerks and she sobs, and he figures he’s found the right place, so he keeps stroking her there with his thumb while moving his fingers in and out of her hot, slick body.

She clutches at his shoulders and drops her head back, crying out so loudly he’s surprised they don’t draw an audience. Although maybe people do this kind of thing in the alleys of Suicide Slum all the time, for all he knows.

He can feel the tension in her muscles, can hear her breath rasping in her throat, and he slows down the rhythm a bit.

“OhGodpleasedon’tstopnowClark,” she whispers.

He wants to make her happy, so he doesn’t stop. He moves his hand harder, faster, and suddenly she’s shuddering violently in his arms, her voice raised so high it echoes off the brick walls. He can feel her body quivering around his fingers, can feel her moisture on his hand, and he doesn’t stop till the last spasm shimmers through her.

Then he lifts his hands, cradles her face in his palms, and kisses her again.

He can smell the rich, earthy scent of her body on his fingers, and it makes him even hotter than before. He wants to be inside her, needs to be inside her, and he pushes her gently back against the wall, but then suddenly realizes he’s still totally clothed. He really needs to do something about that, but he doesn’t want to take his hands off her.

She seems to notice his dilemma. “Here,” she says softly, reaching for the button on his jeans. “Let me get this before you start ripping fabric again.”

She works the button loose, unzips his jeans, and then carefully pushes his boxers down a bit… and encircles his erection with her hand.

All the breath leaves his lungs in a rush, because it feels indescribably good. He drops his head onto her shoulder, shaking, moaning softly against her.

It seems like he’s been waiting for her to touch him like this for hours. Maybe he’s wanted her to touch him like this for years, but could never quite admit it to himself. But if he’d known it would feel this good, he damn well would have made love to her long before now.

She moves her hand up and down in a slow, deliberate motion. And then she brushes her thumb across the head of his cock, sliding through the drops beading at the tip, her wet thumb sliding around and around in careful, gentle circles.

Wordless, frantic noises rise up from his throat, and his hips move helplessly, thrusting his dick into her hand eagerly. He can feel tremors racking his body, and a fine sheen of sweat breaks out on his skin despite the chilly air.

She stops just before the point of no return. He lifts his head from her shoulder and stares at her. She meets his eyes and holds his gaze, then raises her hand to her mouth… and licks the moisture off her thumb.

It’s the sexiest damn thing he’s ever seen. His cock jerks convulsively, and for a second he thinks he’s going to lose it before he can ever get inside her. He grits his teeth and sucks in a breath, struggling to control himself, then grabs her by the hips, none too gently, and lifts her against him.

Her body slides onto his easily, and suddenly he’s deep inside her.

She feels as good as he imagined she would, and he can’t control his reaction. He wraps one arm around her shoulders and the other around her ass, to prevent her from being scraped against the rough bricks, then leans her back against the wall and begins to thrust fast and deep.

He doesn’t have any patience left for gentleness or sweetness. He just wants to screw her, hard. It’s a crass way of thinking about it, but it’s how he feels right now. He wants to forget everything that's happened lately, everything that's gone wrong in his life, and simply let himself feel good for a change. He wants something base and physical to drive the darkness away, to push away everything that's haunting him.

He wants hot, raw, raunchy sex. With Chloe.

She doesn’t seem to mind his enthusiasm. She hooks her legs around his hips to allow him better access, and suddenly he’s even deeper inside of her, every inch of him drowning in her heat.

It feels so good he can't hold himself back any longer. Just like that, he’s coming in violent spasms, spurting deep inside her. At the onslaught of heat, his voice lifts in desperate pleasure, his head arches back, and his body stiffens.

He can't imagine ever feeling any better. But just as the pleasure is easing off, her body contracts around him and she cries out. Tremors rack him a second time, but this time it’s so powerful that he can’t even breathe, let alone cry out. He can’t even move. It feels so impossibly good that he’s simply frozen with ecstasy for a long, long moment.

Then it’s over, and all his muscles go weak. He collapses against her, leaning his head heavily on her shoulder. Peace floods him, a sensation of calm tranquility, so different from the anger and hate that have filled him recently that he’s stunned by it.

She’s stroking his hair, kissing his cheek, and he revels in it for long moments. But eventually, the obvious affection in her caresses starts to bring him back to his senses, starts to clear his head a bit. She’s touching him in a way that clearly conveys what she feels for him, and it’s not merely affection.

It’s love.

The sweet feeling of peace fades, and a new sensation of guilt settles heavily in its place, to join all the guilt that’s already sitting on his shoulders.

He’s a jerk. A total asshole. He’s long suspected that Chloe loves him, and now he’s certain of it.

Chloe Sullivan is in love with him. And he’s just screwed her in an alley. He used his best friend to make himself feel better, and now she's going to be terribly hurt, because he's desperately in love with another girl. And no matter what happens between him and Lana, he's never going to be in love with Chloe, because he just doesn't feel that way about her.

The darkness fills him again, and he yanks away and turns his back on her.

Read Chapter 4 here.