Behind the Mask, Chapter 5

Clark/Chloe futurefic, angst
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 looked down at her for a moment, his expression cautious, as if he was still trying to keep his distance. Then his hand tightened around hers, so hard that it almost hurt. He took a tentative step toward her, bridging the distance between them, and slowly, almost diffidently, put an arm around her waist.

She reached up and slid her arms around his neck in a warm, affectionate hug, and he bent his head and yanked her against him fiercely.

"Chloe," he whispered against her hair.

The aching need in his voice made her heart melt. She turned her head slightly and kissed his throat, trying to let him know without words how much he meant to her, how deeply she loved him.

No matter how angry he was at himself, she didn't want him ever to doubt that she loved him.

He made a small noise, somewhere between a sob and a groan, and began kissing the top of her head. Not the sexiest place to kiss her, but she was so short next to him that it was the easiest place for him to reach. She lifted her face to him, and instantly he started raining kisses over her forehead and cheeks and closed eyelids.

His kisses were full of desperate affection rather than passion. She kissed him back the same way, kissing his chin and jawline, feeling the rough stubble under her lips, and beneath it, his warm skin.

And then their mouths brushed together, and suddenly his kisses took on an entirely different quality. His lips parted, his tongue slid into her mouth, and he kissed her with raw, dark lust.

The sensation of his hot mouth on hers, the feel of his big body against hers, was so purely sexual that it took her breath away, made her heart pound furiously. She dug her fingers into his shoulders and hung on for dear life.

At last he moved his mouth away from hers. She dropped her head back, and he began kissing her throat.

"Clark," she said softly. "I just want you to know something."

"Mmmm," he answered. "What's that?"

"This time, if you tell me to get out afterwards, I'm going to shove kryptonite up your ass."

He lifted his head and looked at her in surprise, then a slight smile curved his lips."Okay," he said. "I'll remember that."

"Smart man."

His hands slid down and unbuttoned her jacket, then tossed it on the floor, and her blouse followed almost instantly. "I don't want you to get out," he murmured, his mouth trailing down toward her breasts. "I don't want you to ever leave me, Chlo."

There was a note of insecurity in his voice, and she slid her fingers into his hair as he brushed a kiss over her nipple through the lace of her bra. Her nipple instantly went rigid, and she drew in a sharp breath. "You don't have to worry about that," she told him in a whisper. "I'll never leave you, Clark."

He groaned softly and drew her nipple between his lips. The warm suction of his mouth, along with the roughness of the lace against her sensitive skin, felt wonderful, and she felt her knees start to give out. His arms tightened around her, making sure she didn't fall, and something about that simple gesture made her eyes fill with tears.

Every day of her life, Clark was there for her, making sure she never fell.

He lifted her against him, so that her feet left the floor, yanking her skirt up with one hand and pulling her hips against his. She could feel the solid, firm bulge of his erection through his jeans as he rubbed against her with desperate need.

She could feel lust coming off him in waves, but it was more than just passion. Beneath it all there was still a kind of despair and sorrow. She knew somewhere deep inside he was still grieving for the boy who'd been killed, and that he was looking for consolation and comfort and solace. She didn't mind.

That was why she'd come home to him, after all.

He was still holding her against him, without the slightest evidence of muscle strain. Since he could lift a tractor trailer without breaking a sweat, he could probably hold her in this position all day long and hardly notice it. Not that they'd ever managed to do it all day.

Yet.

She lifted her legs, hooking them around the back of his thighs, and moved against him, sliding up and down. A long, strangled sound of pleasure emerged from his mouth, and his head dropped back.

"Chloe," he whispered, his voice harsh. "You'd better stop that now."

"Why?" She grinned evilly against his throat. "Does that make you hot or something?"

She slid against him again, and he groaned again. Through the jeans, she could feel him pulsing hard, throbbing with tightly wound desire, and she smiled again, amused. Clark had always been seriously easy, at least around her. For a guy with superpowers, he had a surprising lack of self-control when it came to sex.

Not that she minded. She liked feeling his frantic movements, the little gasps he made, as she rubbed against him.

She reached down, undid his jeans, and pushed his boxers out of the way.

"You know," she said softly against his throat, "some people actually take all their clothes off before they have sex."

"We've managed to get all our clothes off," he answered, his voice shaking a little. "On occasion."

"Rarely."

"I'll take all your clothes off later," he promised. "I swear."

"Cool. I'll hold you to that, farmboy."

Clark took two steps backward and dropped into the desk chair, which creaked ominously. He pulled her down on top of him, her thighs spread on either side of his, and dropped his hands to her hips. He caught her underwear and ripped the fabric in two, then tossed them aside.

"You have really got to stop doing that," she whispered against his throat.

"Maybe I will. One of these days."

The truth was that she didn't care much about the underwear. Right now all she cared about was him. She rose up on her knees a bit, moved forward, and lowered herself onto his erection, and he dropped his head back against the chair and closed his eyes, whispering her name in a soft, reverent tone.

His hands slid around her waist, pulling her closer, and his hips moved, so that he slid deep inside of her. He was so big, and this position allowed him to penetrate so deeply, that it almost hurt. She gave a low moan of mingled pleasure and discomfort, and he stopped moving instantly. "You okay?"

"Um..." She paused a brief moment, and realized the discomfort was already fading. At first it had been too much for her, but her body was rapidly adjusting. "Yeah, I'm fine."

She rose up and lowered herself again, so that he was deep inside her, buried all the way to the hilt, and he shivered. His body moved against hers in an automatic response, but she could feel that the hot passion that had had him in its grip earlier had cooled a bit. His body was still interested, but his mind wasn't quite all there.

"Clark," she whispered, blowing in his ear. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he answered in a choked voice.

"Clark," she said impatiently. "Come on. I've known you for ten years. Something's going on in that brain."

"I just..." He tilted his head forward, leaning against her shoulder. "Chloe," he whispered softly, despairingly. "You deserve someone so much better than me."

Since he couldn't see her, she indulged in an eye roll. "Clark," she said, very gently. "I love you, but you're a total moron."

That obviously wasn't what he'd expected her to say, because his head jerked up, and he looked at her with wide-eyed surprise. "Say what?"

She repeated her words with exaggerated care. "A. Total. Moron. Want me to spell it?"

He stared at her a moment longer, then his heavy eyebrows drew down, and he started to look a little annoyed. "Look, Chlo, I don't think you need to be insulting."

"I'm not being insulting. I'm being truthful. If you really think you aren't the best thing that ever happened to me, then you're an idiot."

Clark swallowed. "I'm glad you think so, but--"

"No buts, Clark. I have never, ever been sorry I married you, and I never will be. Okay?"

"Uh..."

"Furthermore, you're the best man I've ever known, and I absolutely refuse to listen to any suggestions to the contrary."

"But I--"

"No," she said sharply. "No buts. I don't want to hear it, Clark. I know you're feeling terrible about what happened, but like I said, it was a mistake, and it doesn't change the fact that I think you're a hero. Got it?"

He studied her a moment longer, looking confused. "So you're saying I'm a hero and a moron?"

"You're only a moron occasionally," she whispered, brushing her lips over his. "You're a hero all the time."

At the light touch of her mouth, or perhaps at her softly uttered words, he moaned, and the hot lust that had gripped him earlier suddenly seemed to reassert itself. His body moved eagerly in hers, slipping easily in her slick, wet flesh, and he thrust his tongue into her mouth, kissing her deeply in a way that somehow conveyed both violent passion and tender love.

The chair creaked in an ever-increasing tempo beneath them. Pleasure swirled inside her, and she threw her head back, her muscles tense, her body straining against his, desperate for release. His deep voice washed over her as he groaned, moving frantically against her.

And then she felt him jerking inside her as he came, heard his harsh gasps and his cries of pleasure, smelled the earthy scent of his come.

It sent her right over the edge, and heat burst within her, so overwhelming that she thought she might just go up in flames. She cried out, over and over again, and he didn't stop moving until she fell limp against his shoulder.

He leaned his own head back against the chair and breathed heavily for long moments. At last she felt him lift his hand and stroke her hair.

"Chloe," he said softly. "I love you."

"I know," she whispered against his chest. "And I'm grateful for that, Clark. Every day of my life, I'm grateful I have you."

"Even though I'm a moron?"

She was relieved to hear a touch of humor in his voice. She lifted her head and smiled at him.

"You may be a moron, Clark. But you're my moron."

Read Chapter 6 here.