Wednesday, May 03, 2006

What the World Could Be, Chapter 7

Season 5, following 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.

At the feel of Chloe’s soft skin under his hand, all Clark’s hard-won control deserted him. Her lips were very close to his, and he lowered his head and pressed his mouth against hers, hard. For a moment she responded, then she lifted her hands to his shoulders and shoved him away.

He blinked at her, feeling slightly hurt at her rejection. “Chloe," he said softly. "Please."

“Relax,” she told him. “I know you don't want to talk anymore, Clark. But you aren't supposed to be touching me. Remember?”

All of a sudden he did remember, and he yanked his hand back, abruptly terrified he might shatter her jaw. “Sorry,” he said humbly.

She gazed into his eyes, not looking at all annoyed with him. “Put your hands behind you,” she directed.

He grinned, suddenly amused despite the overwhelming need that had roared back to life in his body and mind. Chloe might be small, but she had a definite tendency to try to run things. “Who put you in charge?”

“Do you really mind?”

“I guess not.” He leaned back a little, braced his hands on the bed behind him, and looked at her expectantly.

She leaned forward and began to kiss him again, his throat, his shoulders, his chest, and he immediately lost the ability to think. Assuming he’d ever really had that ability to begin with. If he had really had any brain at all, he figured he would have gone for Chloe a whole lot sooner.

Her lips against his bare flesh felt so good he could hardly stand it. When she started to slide her fingers along the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, he couldn’t stop himself from trembling. He wanted more desperately than ever to touch her, but he knew he couldn’t. Instead he curled his hands into fists, gripping the sheets hard. He was rapidly being flooded by a need so strong he couldn’t even think of fighting it. It was like a current in a river, just pulling him helplessly along, and he couldn’t have struggled against it if he’d wanted to.

Disjointed Kryptonian phrases, punctuated by groans, rose from his throat, and she laughed softly against his chest.

“Talking dirty to me, Clark?”

“I don’t know any dirty words in Kryptonian,” he responded honestly, and she chuckled.

“What good is a language without any dirty words? Don’t Kryptonians ever have any dirty thoughts?”

“Uh, I don’t know about most Kryptonians. But I sure do.”

"And here I thought you were a nice boy."

"Believe me," he said dryly, "I'm not. Since I woke up this morning, my mind has been full of things I can't say in Kryptonian."

Chloe giggled. “So if you’re not talking dirty, what are you saying to me?”

Her hand slid still further up his thigh. His spine arched, his head dropped back, and he heard the sound of fabric ripping as his fists clenched the sheets harder. “Not… not sure,” he answered, which was more or less the truth. He understood what he was saying clearly enough, but he wasn’t really in any shape to translate right now. “Can we… can we talk about it later?”

She must have heard the desperation in his voice, because she acquiesced. “Okay,” she said gently, and quit talking.

Her mouth pressed against his chest again, and her hand moved higher, tugging down the elastic waistband of his boxers. Then her fingers touched him right there, wrapping around his bare skin, and his brain immediately suffered a complete and total meltdown.

“Chloe…” he whispered, a barely audible protest. He didn't really want to get off this way, no matter how badly he burned for release. He wanted to be inside of her, to be part of her. Even knowing that he could seriously injure her didn’t make the desire go away. His every instinct demanded that he make love to her, and the part of him that wanted to bond with her clamored insistently, urging him to take her in his arms.

But the thought of breaking her ribs, or even her spine, when he wrapped his arms around her was enough to dissuade him. He clutched the sheets harder and let her touch him however she wanted.

The light brush of her fingers against his erection felt better than anything he’d ever experienced. She caressed him, gently but firmly, sliding her hand up and down while continuing to kiss his chest. His eyes burned, and he kept his eyelids shut tightly to avoid setting her room on fire. His body ached, and he felt hot all over, like he might just self-combust.

All of a sudden his perceptions shifted, the way they did when he went into superspeed. When he was in superspeed, his perceptions slowed down, to allow him to move through the world without hurting anyone or destroying anything. Now his mind had shifted speeds, even though his body hadn’t gone into superspeed. It had never happened to him before, and it was a totally surreal experience, like everything was happening in extremely slow motion.

He burned with a torturous need, a desire more powerful than anything he’d ever felt in his life. The sensations were so overwhelming he couldn’t seem to draw a breath. His hips jerked violently, his jaw clenched, and all the muscles in his body tensed.

He could feel his climax slowly unfurling, like a rose unfolding its petals one by one. Her hand seemed to be touching him with agonizing slowness, and he could feel the caress of her fingers stroking him, millimeter by millimeter. And yet he couldn't quite reach what he needed so desperately.

At last, just when he thought he’d die of the need, his orgasm broke over him in a long explosion of liquid fire. It went on and on, for what seemed like hours. The ecstasy was totally overwhelming, breaking over him like waves, drowning him in spasms of heat. In his altered mental state, it was almost literally endless. He knotted his hands into fists, gritted his teeth together, and tried really hard not to scream. He didn't have a clue whether or not he'd succeeded.

At last the spasms died away, and his perceptions abruptly switched back to normal.

He fell over.

Chloe giggled as he collapsed sideways onto the bed, wrapping his arms around her dragging her with him. He lay there with his head on the pillow, gasping for breath, and she pressed her face into his chest, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him hard.

“There,” she said, sounding pleased with herself. “Maybe that burned off some of your extra energy.”

He had to struggle to get his tongue to work. Like the rest of his body, it was numb. “Some of it?”

“Was that good, then?”

Good was one word for it. The-most-amazing-damn-thing-ever-experienced-in-this-lifetime was probably a little more accurate. He noticed he was still clutching two pieces of fabric in his hands and dropped them to the floor, hoping she wouldn't notice he'd destroyed her sheet. At least he hadn't ripped the mattress apart.

"Uh," he said. “Let’s just say there are some unexpected side benefits to my abilities I wasn’t aware of till now.”

“Cool,” she said happily. “Now maybe we can actually make love without having to worry about you killing me by accident.”

His brain reeled. “Make love? Now?”

“Ummm…” She lifted her head, and for the first time, his totally exhausted and befuddled expression seemed to register on her. “I didn’t wear you out, did I?”

He blinked. “Chloe. I’m not just worn out. I’m officially dead.”

“Oh, don't be silly. You are not. You have superstrength.”

“Which is now totally and completely gone, along with the rest of my abilities. You're worse than kryptonite, Chlo. I couldn’t pick up a freaking paper clip right now.”

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll let you recover for a few minutes.”

“A few minutes?” He groaned. “Chloe, I may be an alien, but I’m not totally inexhaustible. I need significantly more than a few minutes to recover.”

“Half an hour?” she said hopefully.

“Geez. You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”

“I doubt it. You big wimp.”

"I am not a wimp. I just want to survive this weekend. Please, Chloe. Let me live."

She giggled again. "Fine. I'll give you forty-five minutes."

The sound of her laughter made him smile, but he tried to conceal it by burying his face in the pillow. "God help me," he said, his voice muffled by the pillow. "I'm doomed."

And then she ran a teasing hand across his ribs, and he began to think that maybe, just maybe, a few minutes might be enough after all.

Read Chapter 8 here.

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