Tuesday, May 02, 2006

What the World Could Be, Chapter 5

Season 5, after my story "Saving Me," which followed "Void"
Rating: Adult. If you're under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the WB and DC Comics, not to me.

Clark couldn’t stop the noises that were falling out of his mouth, couldn't prevent himself from shivering helplessly as she touched him. Chloe’s hands were all over his chest, his abs, his arms, and it was so exactly what he needed that he didn’t even try to stop her again, just surrendered to it. To her.

His palms and fingers itched with the desire to touch her skin, her hair, but he kept his hands clenched together. He wouldn’t risk Chloe again, no matter how desperate he was to put his hands on her. He let himself sink into the sensations instead, drowning in fire, drowning in pleasure, drowning in Chloe's touch.

She was still sitting on top of him, her thighs spread, and even through his jeans he could feel the heat of her body against his. His hips rocked urgently against hers, and ecstasy flooded him with every movement. His eyes burned, his muscles strained, and he felt the fierce desire to be inside her, to make her his in both the human and Kryptonian way. But he was afraid, because if he could hurt her simply by touching her, well… sex didn’t seem like such a good idea either. He just didn’t have enough self-control right now.

He didn’t have any self-control right now, damn it.

She bent over and began kissing his chest, his shoulders, then slowly moved down across his stomach. With every touch of her lips, another sheet of flame burst in his nerves, until fire racked his body, and he couldn’t stop himself from crying out with the pleasure of it. He felt her lips skimming lower, brushing over the sensitive skin between his navel and the waistband of his jeans. He shivered, and suddenly a long stream of words rose to the surface unbidden. He opened his mouth and spoke them, hardly aware of what he was saying.

She stopped, lifting her head. He wanted to beg her not to stop, but coherent English words wouldn’t form. His brain had checked out a while ago.

“Why,” she asked curiously, “are you speaking Kryptonian again?”

He blinked at the ceiling and scrabbled mentally, finally managing to come up with some English. “Was I speaking Kryptonian?”

“Yes.” She sat up, moving so that she was on the edge of the bed and no longer touching him. He thought he might cry at the loss of her skin against his. “You keep speaking Kryptonian, Clark. First when Moira Redburn took us prisoner, then this morning, and now. Whenever you get really close to me, you start speaking it, and I’d like to what you’re saying to me, and why.”

“Uh…” He carefully kept his gaze on the ceiling so as not to meet her forthright eyes. “I’m not exactly certain.”

“Bull,” she said succinctly.

He dropped his gaze and looked at her. Her eyes were narrowed and her mouth compressed—sure signs of aggravation. “Chloe, I’m just not sure—"

“You read Kryptonian,” she said, cutting him off. “You speak it. The cave wall downloaded you with that knowledge, Clark. There is no possible way you’re speaking these long sentences to me without some clue what you’re saying.”

He was in serious trouble here, because Chloe on the trail of a story was totally unshakable. She’d never give up until she had all the details. And he could tell from her expression that she thought she’d stumbled onto a pretty big story here.

The problem was, she was right.

“Um,” he said. “I’m just saying the kinds of things I’d say in English, Chlo.”

“Then why aren’t you speaking English?” She glared at him. “There’s something here you’re not telling me, Clark.”

"I'm Kryptonian, Chlo. When I get... excited... I tend to speak in Kryptonian."

"Doesn't make sense," she responded curtly. "It's not really your native language, Clark. You grew up speaking English. So be honest with me. Why exactly are you speaking Kryptonian now?"

He really didn’t see why they had to explore this topic right now. Every nerve in his body was crying out for her touch, dying for the feel of her skin against his… and she wanted to talk. Wasn’t that just like a woman?

He growled, irritated. “Do we have to talk about this now?”

“I think so, yeah. Because afterward, you’re going to pretend you never said anything in Kryptonian, or that you don’t know what you said. That’s your method of dealing with unpleasantness, Clark. The avoidance thing.”

“That is so totally not true.” Inwardly, he admitted it was totally true. The girl knew him entirely too well.

“Yeah, it is. You’re the master of avoidance.”

“Chloe…” He drew in a long, shuddering breath and clamped his eyes shut to control the burning. “Could we please talk about this later? Because I need you, really, really badly.”

“Not me, not really,” she answered in a soft voice. “You just need a woman. Any woman.”

His eyes opened, and he stared at her for a long moment, seeing the insecurity written clearly on her face, the fear that she meant nothing to him beyond friendship and a few moments of physical pleasure. He wanted to reassure her, to drive her insecurities away forever, to make her understand exactly how much she meant to him.

“No,” he said at last, verbalizing the truth that had dawned on him this morning, when he’d awakened and found her in his arms. “I need you, Chloe. Only you. You’re what I’ve been dreaming about.”


Chloe blinked at him for a long moment, apparently trying to gauge his sincerity. “Geez, you’re serious,” she said at last, sounding stunned.

“Of course I am,” he answered, slightly offended. “What did you think, that I was handing you a line in order to get you into bed? You know I wouldn’t do that, Chloe.”

“Yeah, I know that. It’s just that guys who want sex are sometimes a little… deluded… about what they really feel.”

“I’m not,” he said. “You're the woman I want, Chlo. I swear."

She stared at him a moment longer, and he could tell the exact moment when she truly believed him, because the insecurity faded from her eyes, replaced by an expression of feminine assurance. All of a sudden she looked totally self-confident, and scarily sexy. She looked down at him, her lips curving in a smile.

“Wow,” she said. “I've been waiting to hear that for a long time, Clark."

She reached toward him, and his desperate need to feel her touch him abruptly intensified. But she paused with her hand a few inches away from him.

"As long as you’re baring your soul to me here," she said, "how about you tell me what you said in Kryptonian?”

That was a bit more soul baring than he was really comfortable with. He sighed, wishing she’d just drop the subject. Chloe could be so damn stubborn sometimes. “Look, Chlo, it really isn’t that important.”

“Hmmm,” she answered, sounding like she didn’t really believe him. But she stopped arguing, and reached out and began to stroke his chest again. The touch of her fingers against his skin somehow satisfied the craving he felt at the same time it made it worse. His back arched, his head tilted back, and he couldn’t stop the long groan that emerged from his throat.

She didn’t move from the edge of the bed, but she kept caressing him, running her hands along his ribcage, across his abs, and right to the edge of the waistband of his jeans. He liked the direction she was moving in, and he lowered his own hands, intending to superspeed his jeans off. Her voice stopped him.

“No, Clark. Remember? You have to keep your hands over your head.”

He sighed and stretched his arms back over his head, intertwining his fingers again. She began to work on the metal button of his jeans, then unzipped them. It seemed to take about twenty years to do something he could have done in a microsecond, but at last she had unfastened his jeans and was tugging them off. He lifted his hips a little to allow her to slide them off. She tossed them on the floor and turned back to study him, her eyes full of admiration.

“You look fabulous in nothing but boxers, Clark. There ought to be a law that guys who look like you can’t wear clothes.”

He blushed slightly, and wondered if it was just his cheeks, or if she could see him getting red all over.

She started to stroke the skin just below his navel again, and his eyes drifted shut again. Then, very slowly, her hand moved lower, over top of his boxers. He wanted her to pull them off, too, but he didn't quite have the nerve to ask. Besides, he was pretty certain that nothing coherent would come out of his mouth if he opened it.

Her fingers brushed over his erection very softly, touching him through the thin cotton of his boxers. It was a delicate, light touch, but even through the material it felt like her fingers were burning him, and he instantly throbbed with need. He’d never been so hard before, and he had to grind his teeth together to stop himself from yelling in a very undignified way.

She did it again, and he kept his teeth clamped together and made a strangled sound of anguish deep in his throat.

And then she lifted her hand away.

His eyes snapped open, and he stared at her, wordlessly pleading for more.

“So,” she said, smiling evilly. “Are you going to explain about the Kryptonian now?”

He bared his teeth at her. “What part of I-don’t-want-to-talk-about-it-now are you failing to understand?”

She brushed her hand over him again, and his whole body jerked violently.

“What part of I-want-to-know-what’s-going-on-right-now are you failing to understand?” she answered sweetly.

“Chloe,” he implored, his voice harsh with need. “Please. I’m going to die.”

“Well,” she said. “If you want it that badly, maybe eventually you’ll talk.”

“So we’re playing torture Clark?”

“I don’t actually think this constitutes torture,” she answered, running her fingers along the length of him experimentally. He groaned, spasming under her fingers, and she immediately lifted her hand away. “Talk, Clark. Talk, and I’ll give you what you want.”

“It’s… kind of hard to explain.”

She wrapped her fingers around him and squeezed. There was nothing between her hand and him but a thin layer of fabric, and her gentle touch brought him so close to the brink that all his muscles went rigid, and he had to gasp for breath. And then she removed her hand again.


“I suggest that you find a way to explain it,” she told him.

“You’re being mean,” he whined, and she laughed.

“I’m pretty sure no one’s ever died of this, Clark. Really.”

“I think I’m going to be the first,” he muttered.

Read Chapter 6 here.

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