Late season 5
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's surprised to discover that he does in fact want her to touch him there again. He wants her to touch him everywhere. In fact, he wants to do significantly more than touching. But right now he's a little... icky. "I think I better change first," he says, wryly.
He drops a light, fast kiss on her lips, then superspeeds up the stairs in the dark. He strips off his jeans and boxers, washes up a bit, changes, and goes back down the stairs.
"Hey," he says.
"Hey yourself. I thought you were going upstairs."
He laughs, amused. She's known his secret for most of a year, and still she tends to forget how quickly he can move. "I just did."
"Oh. Geez. I don't think I'm ever going to get used to that."
"Sure you are." She's gotten used to most of the weird things about him, like the way he warms up her coffee for her using his heat vision, so he figures she'll get used to the superspeed eventually. Someday she won't stare at him in wonder and shock when he whooshes into the room. One of these days it'll probably just strike her as perfectly ordinary and normal. Part of him hopes that day won't come for a long time, though, because he kind of enjoys having her look at him with awe every now and again.
He drops down carefully on the edge of the couch, and she sits up next to him. He slides an arm around her shoulders, liking the way she fits up against him. He should have dumped the Space Between Friends Pact and put an arm around her long before now.
He bends his head, presses his face against her hair, and inhales. She smells good, like a field of flowers, but her scent doesn't overpower him. He has a pretty sensitive sense of smell, and a lot of women wear so much perfume it hurts his nose. Chloe's fragrance is subtle, which he likes.
"So," she says against his throat. "Did you want me to touch you again?"
"No." He brushes his lips over her ear. "I want to touch you."
"Oh. Okay. I'm cool with that."
"I'm glad," he says softly. He pushes her long hair out of the way, running his tongue over the delicate whorls of her ear, brushing his lips over the sensitive lobe, blowing gently into her ear. He feels a shiver run through her, and that makes his own breathing grow more rapid.
His lips slide down just a bit, to the tender skin of her throat, and he kisses her there, very gently. He can feel the pulse beating wildly beneath her skin, pounding in time with the sound of her heartbeat. He's always conscious of her heartbeat, and right now he's so completely focused on her it's the only sound he's aware of, drowning out the drumming of the rain and the occasional roll of thunder.
His tongue slips out against the skin of her neck to see if it tastes as good as it smells. She tastes incredible, a mixture of salt and sugar and spice, and a soft humming sound wells up in his throat, a noise of desire and contentment and discovery.
She tilts her head back, and he trails his tongue down along the tendons of her throat, down to her collarbone. She's so small and slight that her bones seem very fragile to him, a reminder of how easily he could hurt her if he isn't gentle. His hands slide around her waist with conscious care, and he pulls her against him just a little more firmly, wanting to feel her body pressed into his.
His hands tug up the hem of her red tank top and delve underneath, sliding over her back. Her skin is as soft and smooth as satin under his hands, and his fingertips trail up her spine, across her shoulderblades, and then down again, toward the small of her back. She shivers a little harder and arches against him, so that her breasts press into his chest.
Oh, God. He has no idea how he ever managed to keep his hands off her all these years. She feels so good under his questing hands, feels so good against his body, that he can't imagine ever wanting to move away from her.
But he wants more of her, and he tugs eagerly at the shirt, pulling it off over her head and throwing it aside.
A flash of lightning shows him the pale skin of her shoulders and belly, the swell of her breasts above the red lace of her bra, a fleeting glimpse of her nipples, barely visible beneath the lace. And then it's dark again, leaving him aching for the sight of her, so that he runs his hands all over her with a little more intensity, trying to discover all the secrets he can't see in the dark.
More by luck than by design, he manages to get her bra off and flings it aside, too. She leans into him, and the feel of her bare breasts pressing into his t-shirt makes him suck in a deep breath of longing and need. He wants to feel her against him so badly he aches.
He pulls back just a bit, yanks off his own shirt, and pulls her against him, hard, loving the feel of her bare skin against his, running his hands all over her back, through her hair, dropping kisses over her face and shoulders and pretty much anywhere he can reach.
His breath is rasping in his throat, and he's not sure when he got hard again, but he realizes he's as totally turned on as he's ever been. Maybe even more turned on than he was last time.
The smell and feel of her are making him crazy, and the memories of how it felt to be pressed up against her fill his mind. In the darkness, all he can see is memories, rapidly flashing images of her hand against him, the way she kissed him, the way he came against her in a long, shuddering rush of heat.
He's touching her everywhere now, his hands and mouth frantic against her skin. Her hands are running over him, too, exploring his back and his chest, sliding down beneath the waistband of his jeans and caressing his ass, and he groans, thinking he's going to need to change his jeans again if he doesn't get them off pretty soon.
"Chloe," he whispers. "Slow down."
She ignores him, her hands sliding all over his body, her lips brushing against his throat, his chest, his nipples, making him gasp and moan, making him so hard he's about to climax again, before he ever gets the chance to make love to her.
Clark catches her wrists in his hands before he totally loses it again. "Hey," he says in her ear. "What's your hurry?"
She moves against him, restless. "Clark. I'm dying here."
"I can understand that," he says softly. "Maybe we need to take the edge off a little bit."
He lets go of one of her wrists and lets his hand slide across the firm, smooth skin of her abdomen. She immediately starts touching him again, running her fingers over his chest, so he captures both of her wrists in one hand. He has big hands, and her wrists are slender, so he has no trouble at all holding her that way.
His other hand slides down over her jeans, and she wiggles suddenly and gasps and tries to wrench her hands away.
"What's wrong?" he asks in her ear, over a long peal of thunder.
"I just... I just don't really like it when..."
Okay. That's weird. Admittedly he's not female, and he doesn't claim to understand the workings of the feminine mind, but he figures girls ought to like to be touched there as much as guys do.
"You touched me there," he points out, trying to figure out what's going on in her brain. Like he ever has a chance of figuring that out.
"Umm. Yeah. But I don't really want..."
"Why not?" He doesn't want to force her into anything that makes her uncomfortable, but he just can't wrap his mind around the idea that she wants to be touched everywhere but there. It doesn't make any sense. Besides, part of him was touching her there earlier, and she didn't seem to have a problem with that.
He lets his hand slide down further, brushing over the juncture of her thighs, and she gasps again, then closes her legs firmly on his fingers.
"Okay," he says, moving his hand away. "But can you at least tell me why you don't like it?"
"I don't know," she answers sulkily. "I just don't."
"Uh," he says, letting his hand slide around her back and drift over the soft skin there, in a gesture that's more affectionate than passionate. "Are you a..."
"A virgin? No."
A little part of him is disappointed to hear that, but he's not a virgin either, so he shoves the disappointment away. They're both grownups, and Chloe's a sexy woman, and there's no reason in the world for him to have expected her to still be a virgin. She does have a life outside of their friendship, after all.
"Someone's touched you there before, then," he says wryly. "So what's the problem?"
"Clark," she pleads, straining against him. "Just fuck me, okay?"
Her blunt words ignite a fire inside him, but he tries to squelch it, because he's still trying to figure this out. "So you want to have sex, but you don't want me to touch you there?"
"It's just too..." Her voice drops to an almost inaudible whisper. "Intimate."
And sex isn't? he almost retorts, but manages to keep himself quiet. Obviously she doesn't see it that way. He's not quite sure he understands her reasoning, but at least he has some idea what's going on in her head now.
"Chloe," he says softly, lowering his head and kissing her ear. "What's wrong with being intimate?"
"I just..." Her voice sounds strained, like she's on the verge of tears. "I want to have sex with you, Clark. I don't want to make love to you."
He's quiet for a moment, processing that. "So," he says, a little grimly. "You just want to... use me? Sort of like a sex toy?"
"You know," she says, sounding a bit annoyed herself, "most guys wouldn't have a problem with that."
"Yeah, well, I'm not most guys."
"True," she snaps. "You're not even human."
He winces at the words, but almost instantly realizes she's trying to make him mad. It's a typical Chloe maneuver for avoiding discussion. "Look," he says, trying very hard to hold onto his fraying patience. "Earlier you said you wanted me, or you wouldn't have touched me. That's exactly what you said."
"I do want you, Clark." Her voice grows soft and intense. "I've always wanted you. But I just want your body, okay? I'm not looking for any sort of emotional... entanglement."
"I'm not a dildo," he retorts, annoyed. "And whether you like it or not, Chlo, we already have an emotional entanglement. You're my best friend. I can't act like you're just some anonymous woman. I don't even think you want me to act that way. You got pissed earlier when you thought I was thinking about Lana."
"So don't think about anyone at all," she whispers, leaning forward and kissing his throat. "Just don't think."
He can't help thinking. His senses and mind are full of Chloe, and she's all he can think about right now. The sensations she's creating with her mouth are making him crazy, but he forces himself to ignore them, because he suspects that's just another Chloe way of trying to end the discussion. Just another Chloe maneuver.
"Chloe," he says softly. "I'm not going to have sex with you if you're going to treat me like some guy you picked up in a bar, okay? We've been friends for years. I'm not going to act like I don't care about you, because I do."
"I don't want this to change everything," she whispers. He can feel the light brush of her breath against his throat, can hear the hoarseness in her voice, and finally he totally understands what's going on in her head. She's thinking that if they just have quick and dirty sex, they can go back to their friendship when the lights come back on and pretend nothing ever happened.
But he's pretty sure that's not going to work. Because his emotions don't work that way, and neither do hers.
"Chlo," he whispers. He grasps her hair gently and pulls it, so she has no choice but to raise her face to his, and brushes a kiss over her lips. "I think it's too late for that. Everything's already changed. But we'll still be friends, okay?"
A flash of lightning shows him that her eyes are wide with what looks almost like fear. Then it's dark again, and he can hear her harsh breathing. "What if things go bad between us?" she whispers softly. "I don't want to lose you, Clark."
He holds onto her hair, gently but firmly, and doesn't let her go. He's not letting her get away. "I swear," he answers steadily. "No matter what happens... we'll always be friends."
Read Chapter 5 here.