Friday, August 18, 2006

Hunger, Chapter 5

Season 5, sequel to "Thirst"
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the WB and DC Comics, not to me

He should have felt guilty over betraying Lana, but right now Clark was aware of nothing beyond Chloe. The way she felt beneath him, soft and yielding and warm, the way she smelled, like summer sunshine and fields of wildflowers. For this moment, there was nothing in the world for him beyond Chloe, no other woman, no other concerns. Just Chloe.

He pressed his face against her shoulder, inhaling her fragrance, and slowly pushed into her.

She felt incredible, so good he couldn't hold back a low moan of pleasure. Her body was hot and wet, but so tight that he paused, afraid of hurting her. He was only an inch or two inside her, but it was the best thing he'd ever felt, and he was afraid he was going to lose it, right now. His eyes burned and his balls were taut with need. He'd never wanted a woman this badly. Ever.

He gritted his teeth, somehow managing to keep himself together, then lifted his head and looked at her.

Her lips were compressed tightly, and she looked like she might be in pain. "You okay?"

She nodded, giving him a tremulous smile that he thought was probably supposed to be reassuring. "It's just that you're kind of... big."

That was an ego booster, but he had a feeling she didn't mean it as a compliment, just a statement of fact. He did seem to be a little too big for her, or else she was just too tight. Because he was kind of... stuck. Damn it. He moved his hips experimentally, just a little, and she gasped and clutched at his shoulders.

"Clark. Don't."

"Sorry," he said between his teeth. Great. He was frantic for her, overwhelmed by hunger and desire, but they just didn't fit. He was pretty sure he was going to die of need, right here, right now. His parents would come home and find him dead of sexual frustration and thwarted lust. He just hoped they wouldn't list the cause of death in his obituary.

"No," she said softly, looking up at him. Her eyes were huge. "I'm the one who's sorry. I just don't..."

He looked down into her eyes, seeing the unhappiness there, and immediately wanted to smack himself in the head. It's not all about you, Kent. He was a jerk, a selfish bastard, acting like this was all about him, whining to himself because he couldn't make love to her properly. She was as desperate for this as he was, she needed it as badly as he did, and she was as frustrated by their inability to make love as he was.

"It's okay," he answered softly. "Maybe you're just kind of, you know, tense. Can you loosen up a little?"

"I'm not sure. It's been a really long time since I..."

"That's probably the problem," he said, and lowered his head. He began kissing her, light, gentle caresses, brushing his lips over her nose and cheeks and chin. She began to relax a bit beneath him, and he tried again, and-- thank God-- slid into her a little further.

She gave a soft whimper of pleasure, digging her fingers into his back, and ecstasy threatened to drown him. He ground his teeth together again, trying to hold back. He wanted to do this slowly, to make her happy. Hell, he wanted the earth to move for her, wanted her to hear heavenly choirs of angels sing. But he had a feeling that might be setting the bar a little high for their first time together.

But maybe it'd happen the second time. Or the third.

The fact that he was thinking about making love to her more than once ought to have filled him with guilt, but all it filled him with was lust. He was pretty sure once wouldn't be enough. In fact, he was pretty sure three times wouldn't be enough. He was afraid that now that he'd admitted to himself that he wanted her, he'd never be able get enough of her.

He moved his hips again, and suddenly found himself all the way inside her, totally buried in her heat and moisture. It felt so good that he uttered a long, drawn-out groan, and his body shuddered convulsively, his eyes burning worse than before.

"Chloe," he whispered, kissing her ear. He withdrew almost totally, then slid back inside her, sighing and moaning and shaking, because it felt so damn good. He clenched his eyes shut, because they were stinging so badly he was afraid his heat vision was about to go off. His body began to move of its own accord, in a totally unconscious, utterly irresistible rhythm, and he felt her hips moving too, in precisely the same rhythm, as if they were connected on some deep level.

Her fingers dug into his hips, urging him to go faster and harder. He plunged into her harder, deeper, feeling her body rise to meet him, thrust for thrust. His moans rose to desperate cries, because it felt so good he could hardly bear it. And then suddenly he felt her body spasming around his, heard her voice lifted in a long wail of pleasure, felt her fingers clutching his hair, and it sent him right over the edge.

He slammed into her hard, over and over again, and threw his head back as he came in a burst of heat and light and fire.


She felt like a limp noodle.

Chloe slowly became aware that Clark's fairly considerable weight was on top of her, squishing her. He'd just collapsed on her, breathing heavily, his heart pounding so hard she could feel its rapid beat beneath her hands. Apparently he was a victim of limp noodle syndrome, too. Which presumably indicated he'd found sex with her to be at least... tolerable.

She pressed her face against his shoulder, breathing in the musky, salty scent of sweaty male, inhaling the earthy scent of desire and sex, sucking in a long, deep breath of...


She forgot about her limp noodleness and suddenly shoved at him, hard. "Clark?"

"Hmmm," he answered, sounding half asleep.

"Clark!" She shoved harder. "There's a fire!"

He jerked his head up and swore lividly, in a long stream of vulgar words she hadn't even realized he knew. Certainly she'd never heard them come from his mouth before. He scrambled upright and began patting frantically at the headboard. She twisted her head around and saw the wood was on fire. Apparently his heat vision had gone off when the rest of him did.

Fortunately, he was fireproof, and putting out a fire with his hands was no difficulty for him. Less than twenty seconds later, he sat back on the bed, staring wide-eyed at the scorched and blackened wood, looking so horrified that she felt her heart go out to him. She reached out and patted his shoulder with gentle sympathy.

"It's okay, Clark."

"Okay?" He slowly turned his head to look at her. "Okay in what way? I just torched my bedroom, Chloe."

"The headboard caught on fire," she said, trying very hard not to laugh. She could tell Clark wasn't at all amused. "It's not like the whole bedroom went up in flames."

"You could have gone up in flames."

"Well, now you know what'll happen. Just make sure you don't look at me next time, okay?" She suddenly realized what she said, and felt a crimson flush stain her cheeks. "Or, you know, whoever you make love to next. Don't look at... whoever... next time."

She saw his hands knot into fists. "There isn't going to be a next time," he said savagely.

His words tore at her heart like a knife, making tears sting her eyes, but her snark generator came to the rescue. "Oh, come on, Clark. I know I'm not exactly an expert in bed, but surely it wasn't that bad."

His head jerked up, and he stared at her. "Chloe," he said at last, more softly. "It was great. Honest. But the heat vision thing-- I don't want to hurt you."

"You're not going to hurt me."

He bared his teeth, looking extremely annoyed. "I set. The bed. On fire."

"So don't have sex in beds. Try an open field."

The muscles in his jaw tensed, as if he were grinding his teeth. "I don't want to set you on fire, Chloe. I've always been afraid that I could hurt someone, and now..."

"Oh, you have not," she snapped, suddenly full of a hot, unreasoning anger. She wasn't sure why she was so mad all of a sudden, but she couldn't fight back the rage. Maybe it was safer than letting the tears burning her eyes fall. "If you were really worried you'd hurt someone, you wouldn't have fallen into bed with me so damn fast. What you were really afraid of was that Lana would realize there was something different about you."

He blinked, looking taken aback. "No, Chlo, that's not it. I just..."

"That's exactly it." She glared at him. "You must have realized that there was no possible way you could fool Lana in bed. Look at this." She held out her hand. "I tried to dig my nails into your back, and all that happened was I broke a nail. You think Lana wouldn't notice that your skin is like steel when you apply pressure to it?"

"Well, maybe she--"

"How about when you went into superspeed by accident? You think she wouldn't notice that?"

"I sort of thought--"

She heard her voice getting shriller and didn't even try to tone it down. "You think she wouldn't notice that you set fires when you come?"

His cheeks flushed, and he stirred uncomfortably. "I wasn't exactly sure if I'd--"

"Yeah, you weren't sure," she snapped. "Exactly. So you figured you'd use me as a test case."

"What? Chloe. No. It's not like--"

"It's exactly like that," she snarled. "You were afraid of Lana figuring out there's something different about you. So you figured you'd use me to get off instead and find out exactly what would happen."

He stared at her a moment longer, then his eyes began to blaze with an anger he didn't often display. "So you think I'm the kind of guy who uses women that way? You think I'd use my best friend that way?"

The rage in his voice was unmistakable, but she lifted her chin, refusing to be intimidated. "I don't know, Clark. The truth is, I can't figure out what the hell you were thinking."

"Obviously I wasn't thinking at all," he snapped. "I just..." He sighed, and the anger drained out of his face. "I told you, Chlo. I just... wanted you."

The gentle words took the rage right out of her. She sat there, staring at him, feeling her eyes well with tears. She was shocked to feel her lower lip quiver, to feel a tear roll down her cheek.

She'd waited so many years to hear him say that. And now all she wanted was to hear him say it again and again, until she believed it.

She wasn't sure she'd ever really believe it.

"Chloe." He looked alarmed. "Don't cry."

"I'm not crying."

He reached out and brushed the tear away with a big, blunt finger. "Yeah, you are. Shit. I'm sorry, Chlo. I've totally screwed this up. I didn't mean to upset you. I just meant to..."

"Get an easy lay?"

"Jesus, Chloe, turn off the snark faucet for a minute, will you? It wasn't like that, and you know it. I just wanted you." His fingers brushed over her cheek gently, and his eyes looked into hers, very seriously. "I still do."

She reached up and wrapped her fingers around his. "Okay," she said, hearing her voice quaver a bit. She'd always hated how easily she cried, and crying over guys was something she particularly hated doing. Even crying over a guy she'd loved with all her heart since eighth grade. God, I'm so pathetic. "I wanted you, too. I still do."

He swallowed, looking unhappy. "But the heat vision..."

"You can put out the fire afterward, right?"

"Not if I set you on fire."

"You won't." She squeezed his fingers reassuringly, looked up at him, and spoke in a soft voice.

"Make love to me again, Clark."

Read Chapter 6 here.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I have to say I laughed out loud at the line: "His parents would come home and find him dead of sexual frustration and thwarted lust. He just hoped they wouldn't list the cause of death in his obituary" and The argument was written so well, and their connection. From argument to forgiveness just like the best friends (and now lovers) that they are.