Rating: Adult. If you're under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the WB and DC Comics, not to me.
The sight of Chloe kneeling at his feet made something powerfully masculine blaze up inside Kal, devouring everything in its path like an onrushing forest fire. He closed his eyes as her left hand reached up and wrapped around him. The light brush of her hand against him felt so good that a hiss of breath escaped him.
"You like that," she said softly, moving her hand, just a little. He put a hand on either side of her head, tugging at her hair insistently.
"Take me into your mouth," he ordered. It was something Clark Kent would never have demanded in a million years, but he wasn't Clark Kent tonight. He was Kal, and Kal knew what he wanted and wasn't afraid to ask for it.
"Don't be in such a hurry," she whispered, moving her hand up and down his shaft, until spasms of pleasure rippled through him, until his cock was jerking at every touch. He felt her right hand touch his left one, caressing the back of his hand, exploring the veins and the tendons and the bones, and oddly, the touch of her hand against his, sliding gently up and down his fingers, felt almost as intimate as her hand on his erection.
Heat built in him, but strangely, the feeling of unshakable confidence faded at the same time. He opened his eyes, confused, and saw her pulling away from him and climbing to her feet. She glared at him, looking seriously pissed.
"Now we can talk like sensible people."
He blinked, bewildered, and lifted his left hand. It was bare.
Anger sparked in his chest. "What the hell did you do with my ring?"
"It's not your ring. It's Steve's ring. And I took it off, because you were acting like an ass."
"I want it back, damn it."
"Tough." She crossed her arms, a sardonic smile curving her lips. "And maybe you should consider zipping your jeans. You're going to shrivel up in the breeze."
His cheeks heated, because Clark Kent was easily embarrassed in a way that Kal wasn't, and he hastily shoved everything back where it belonged and fastened his jeans. "You tricked me."
"It's not my fault you're gullible." She took a step forward and looked up into his face. "Look, Clark," she said, more gently, "exactly what's going on here? Why did you put that ring on to begin with? You know what red K does to you."
He looked into her honest, forthright eyes, then lifted his head and stared over her, at the moonlight glimmering on the lake. He knew he ought to be grateful that she was giving him a chance to explain, that she wasn't just stalking off in a huff, never to speak to him again. Considering what an ass Kal was, she was being remarkably patient with him.
But explaining the fears that haunted him, finding words to convey the frightening images that filled his head whenever he kissed her, wasn't easy. "I told you. I was looking for... a woman."
"You wanted to get laid," she said, nodding. "That's what you told me earlier. But why do you need red K for that? I mean, all you had to do was go to the nightclub. There were plenty of women there looking for action."
"I can't..." He blinked, feeling his cheeks get even hotter. Thank God it was dark. "I don't think I can..."
"Too shy," she said, misinterpreting his fumbling words. "I guess I can understand that, sort of. The rest of us can have a beer or two to loosen up, but that doesn't work for you, does it?"
"It's not a shyness thing." He sighed. "I can't explain it, Chlo. Just forget about it, okay? Forget it ever happened."
"Easier said than done, Clark." She tilted her head, a shadow of vulnerability in her eyes. "So I guess all that stuff you said to me earlier was just from the red K. You didn't mean any of it."
He remembered his own desperate words. I've wanted you for so damn long.
He'd meant every word of it, but he couldn't tell her that. Because without the red K, he couldn't possibly make love to her. He was too afraid of hurting her, snapping one of her bones or knocking her teeth out or breaking her in two.
Every single time she'd kissed him in the past, the fear of hurting her had welled up in him, horrible images filling his head until he had to pull away. There was no point in trying to kiss her again, because he knew all too well he wouldn't be able to make love to her.
He remembered her voice, saying, Oh, God, Clark, I really do want you, but he pushed it away. She obviously hadn't meant it. She'd just been trying to trick him so she could get the ring off his finger. And she'd done a damn good job of it.
"Yeah," he answered at last, trying to sound curt and dismissive. "I didn't mean any of it."
"So Kal was just trying to get up under my skirt, huh?" A wry, self-deprecating smile twisted her mouth. "I guess he did a pretty good job."
Memories filled his mind-- the memory of his hand stroking her, the memory of her shuddering and crying out against his chest, the memory of her fingers sliding up and down his erection-- and a wave of heat went through him, so overpowering he almost fell to his knees.
God, he didn't want to let her walk away from him. He sure as hell didn't want to give her up to some other guy.
But he didn't have any choice. Because he couldn't be intimate with her, couldn't give her what she needed-- a genuine, close, loving relationship. He just couldn't get past his fears.
"Why tonight?" she asked softly. "You haven't been with a woman in a long time, have you? What made you decide to go find someone tonight?"
The image of her kissing Ollie on her front porch rose up, blinding him with resentment and rage. "It's Saturday night," he answered, trying to keep his voice from shaking with anger. "Steve had a girl coming over. I guess I was sort of jealous."
"Oh," she said softly, and he wondered if he actually heard disappointment in her voice, or if that was wishful thinking on his part. He saw her lift her arm and glance at the gold watch on her wrist, and furious jealousy twisted in his chest. He forced it back.
"You'd better get going," he said. "I've already made you really late for your date."
"Yeah," she said softly. "I guess I'd better get going." She hesitated. "Look, Clark..."
"Go on," he said. "We can talk later. Do you need me to take you to the restaurant?"
"It's not too far from here, actually." She looked at him for a long moment. "I'll see you tomorrow, Clark."
"Yeah," he said dispiritedly. "See you."
She walked away. He could see the ring clutched in her fist with his x-ray vision, and he knew he could get it away from her easily, but he didn't see the point in it. Putting it on had been a stupid impulse, anyway. Now that he was twenty-one, and supposedly adult, he ought to be past stupid, impulsive behavior, but evidently he wasn't.
But there was no point in putting the ring back on, because she didn't want him. She was leaving him and going to Ollie. And he knew now that he didn't want some random woman picked out of a crowd, not even a blonde one. He wanted Chloe.
But he couldn't have her, no matter how desperately he longed for her, because he couldn't get past the strength thing.
Confusion and pain and anger whirled in his mind like a tornado. He sat down on the bank of the lake, drew up his knees, and buried his face in his arms.
Read Chapter 6 here.