Close Encounters, Chapter 6

Clark/Chloe
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

Part of Clark wants to superspeed her jeans off, but part of him thinks going at normal human speed is a little more exciting. So he slowly unbuttons her jeans, unzips them, and pushes them down over her hips. She wiggles, helping him a little, and he pulls them down her legs, and finally over her feet.

He wishes it weren't dark, so he could see her sprawled on the carpet, her skin pale against the dark blue rug, wearing absolutely nothing but a scrap of lace over her hips. He has no way of knowing what color her panties are, but he guesses they're red, like her bra. The thought of all that creamy white skin adorned with a single scrap of red satin makes him shiver.

His hand trails back up along the side of her leg, to her hip, and he can feel that her underwear really is nothing more than a scrap, so small he wonders why she bothers with it. He hooks his fingers beneath the elastic and pulls, slowly stripping the fabric off her body. And then he's flinging it aside, and she's totally naked beneath him.

His hands start roaming over her again, fulfilling his instinctive need to touch her. Thunder rolls overhead as he learns all the curves and valleys of her body, exploring with a light, reverent touch. She's sexier than any of his wildest fantasies, every bit as soft as he imagined earlier, and he can't seem to help himself from exploring her a little more intimately. He moves down her body, bends over, and brushes his lips over the silky, damp skin of her inner thigh.

She jumps. "Clark."

He knows he's pushing her a little, making her deal with a little more intimacy than she's comfortable with, but he just can't stop himself. The smell of her arousal, the moisture on her thighs, the way her legs part in an instinctive surrender at the touch of his mouth, all combine to make him a little crazy. Suddenly he's licking at her skin, kissing her, and then moving upward, just a bit, his lips exploring her most vulnerable flesh.

She utters a soft whimper as his mouth begins to caress her, and then her fingers are buried in his hair, and she's holding him there, which he takes as approval. She's hot and wet beneath his lips, and he can hear her groaning, can feel her writhing beneath him. He can hear the blood rushing through her veins, faster and faster, in response to what he's doing. A low moan rolls out of his chest, and he parts his lips and lets his tongue explore her.

She tastes incredible, spicy and exotic, like pure, undiluted sex, and a raw, carnal need explodes deep within him, the desire to make her his, to make her come, over and over again, so that she never, ever forgets this night.

He has absolutely no idea what he's doing or how to do it, but he must be managing to do something right despite his inexperience, because her voice lifts in a desperate, long cry of pleasure, and her hips jerk eagerly against his mouth. His tongue strokes her harder and faster, and suddenly she shudders violently, her hands digging into his hair, her voice raised in a long, high scream.

His breathing is almost as labored as hers, his heart is pounding fiercely against his ribs, and he's covered in sweat. When her screams subside, he lifts his head and moves so that he's leaning over her.

"Chloe," he says softly, brushing kisses over her face in the darkness. "I need you. Now."

She's still gasping for breath, but she laughs softly and drops her hands to his hips, tugging at his jeans.

"You'd better get these out of the way, then."

Taking off his own clothes at human speed no longer strikes Clark as exciting. All of a sudden he's in a really big hurry. So he moves into superspeed, gets rid of his jeans and boxers, and leans back over her.

She drops her hands back onto his hips, and the feel of her hand against his bare ass draws a moan from him. She chuckles wryly.

"I'm never going to get used to you moving so fast, Clark. I swear."

He doesn't answer, because all the words in his head are jumbled together like Scrabble tiles in a box, scattered in random patterns that make no sense. He drops his face against her throat, breathing in her fragrance, listening to the pounding of her pulse, and presses up against her very carefully, the head of his erection just barely brushing against the core of her.

She feels really wet and really hot, and a long moan pulses from his throat. It's all he can do to hold himself back.

"Clark," she whispers, stroking his hair. "I'm on the pill, so we don't have to worry about..."

Thank God. He's not worried about disease, since he doesn't catch or transmit human diseases, but he isn't entirely certain he can't make a girl pregnant, even though he is an alien. But if she's on the pill, then he doesn't have anything to worry about. He moves against her again, sliding against her slick heat, and another moan wells out of him.

"Are you..." He struggles for words. "Are you sure you want to do this, Chlo?"

If she says no, he's going to die. But she was so insecure earlier, so unsure of what she wanted, that he feels he has to ask. She's silent a long moment, and he holds himself still despite the insistent throbbing of his body and the desperate need that's melting his brain like some kind of alien blaster ray.

"Yeah," she says at last, kissing his cheek. "I'm sure."

Her hesitation worries him. "We'll still be friends," he tells her, levering himself up on his hands and trying to look at her in the blackness. Lightning flashes, and for a split second he can see her eyes staring back at him, serious and dark. "We'll always be friends, Chlo."

"Just friends?"

Her voice is so soft he can hardly hear it over the sound of the rain pelting the house. "No, not just friends," he says, bending his head and kissing her. "Friends... and lovers. You don't have a problem with that, do you?"

He feels her body relax against his. "No," she says, her fingers twining in his hair. "That works for me."

Now that he knows for sure they're on the same page of the Best Friends Becoming Lovers handbook, he can't hold himself back any longer. He kisses her deeply and rocks his hips forward a bit, and all of a sudden he's inside her, surrounded by so much heat he can't hold back another low, deep groan.

She whispers his name again and moves against him, and he's all the way inside her, buried all the way to the hilt. Suddenly he understands her earlier objections to intimacy, because this is so intimate that it's almost scary. His tongue is deep inside her mouth and his erection is deep inside her body, and he's never felt this close to anyone before. He thinks it might freak him out a little if it didn't feel so damn good.

Fortunately his brain is far too melted to be able to dwell on any fears he might have. He begins to move, in a slow, steady rhythm, and her body moves in response, in precisely the same rhythm, almost like they're one person. They're even moaning in unison, uttering small sounds of pleasure into each other's mouths with every thrust.

Their movements slowly grow more and more urgent, her legs wrapped around his hips, her arms around his shoulders. At last he lifts his lips away from hers. Her fingers dig into his hips in a wordless demand for more, and her head falls back. He kisses her throat frantically, moving faster and harder. Pleasure and fire are building inside of him, overpowering his control, swelling toward an irresistible crescendo.

Suddenly her voice lifts in a sharp cry, and he feels her body spasming around him in long, rippling waves. He realizes he's feeling her orgasm from the inside, which is utterly different from just listening to her come. It's incredibly intimate, like he's not just an observer but a participant. It's like he's sharing it with her.

The sensation of her body squeezing his in relentless spasms, the sound of her voice raised in breathless cries, the scent of her, is all suddenly too much for him to take. He slams into her hard, and his own climax rolls through him like the thunder crashing overhead, so intense that he isn't aware of anything but their bodies melded together. He hardly hears his own cries of ecstasy, hardly feels her hands on his back, holding him close, as he grits his teeth against the onslaught, shaking all over with the fierce pleasure of it.

When it's over, he rolls to the side, and she moves so she's pressed against him. They cuddle up on the carpet together, her head pillowed on his chest, his arms around her. The lightning flickers dimly, the rain has died down to a light patter against the windows, and he can hear the thunder receding into the distance.

Content, he closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep.

Read Chapter 7 here.