In His Dreams (Adult)

Clark/Chloe futurefic
2000 words
Rating: Adult. If you're under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the WB and DC Comics, not to me.

In his dreams, he sees the building erupting into flames. He can hear a baby wailing in fright, hears its wails rising to piteous screams, and he puts on an extra burst of speed, but he knows he's not going to get there in time. Suddenly the building explodes, and he hears the baby's shrieks of pain, and then there's no sound but the roar of the fire...

And he jerks awake, gasping for breath, his heart pounding violently in his chest.

The room is dark. It's the middle of the night, but he's not alone. A hand settles on his bare chest. "Hey," she murmurs. "Another bad dream?"

"Yeah," he answers. His voice sounds rough and shaky, even to his own ears. He struggles to steady it. "I dreamed about that baby again, Chloe."

"Clark," she says softly. "You saved the baby."

"I know." It happened a week ago, but he still remembers it vividly, remembers seeing the apartment building in flames, remembers swooping toward it, his cape whipping in the breeze behind him.

He'd heard the wails of a baby, smelled gas and realized the whole building was about to go, and accelerated hard. Knowing the building wasn't salvageable anyway, he'd gone straight through the wall, bursting through bricks and mortar as if they were paper, grabbing the baby out of her crib. Cradling her against his chest to protect her from the vicious heat, he'd zoomed back out into the open air, just as the whole building exploded behind him.

He swallows hard, thinking about it now. "If I'd been two seconds later..."

"But you weren't."

The baby was about eight months old, with a head of fuzzy blonde hair, her face red with heat and fury, her little mouth opened in a screech of furious anger. She didn't have a clue he'd saved her from an unpleasant death; she just knew she was pissed off at being waked up. He'd drifted down carefully to the sidewalk and returned the baby to her overjoyed mother, confirmed there was no one else in the building, then returned to patrolling the skies.

"I saved her that time," he agrees. Chloe's still rubbing his chest, in a gentle, reassuring gesture, and his racing heart begins to slow. "But I can't help but wonder how many people I'm failing to save."

"You can't save everyone, Clark."

She's told him that before, many times. She's said it repeatedly since he decided to start moonlighting as a superhero two months ago, since he donned a red and blue costume and started flying over Metropolis, trying to save as many people as possible. He has an ordinary job as a journalist at the Daily Planet, and it's important too, so he can't spend every hour of the day on patrol. And he can't patrol the city twenty-four/seven, anyway, because even though he's not merely human, he still needs to eat and sleep and live.

He knows she's right, that he can't save everyone, yet he hates the truth of the words. Because if he can't save people, then what are his gifts for?

"I wish I could," he says softly.

"You can't." Her hand lifts, stroking his hair. "You've saved a lot of people since you started the superhero gig, Clark, and that's just going to have to be enough for you. You may be superhuman, but you're not omnipotent. You need to accept that."

He doesn't want to accept it. But some of the tension goes out of him at the light caress of her hand. He closes his eyes and exhales, and his taut muscles relax a little.

"You know," she teases, "sometimes I wonder if you're just pretending to have bad dreams so you have an excuse to get sex in the middle of the night."

He wishes that were true, because these nightmares really suck. But he has to admit that waking up to Chloe is a pretty cool thing. They moved in together six months ago, and he's still getting used to having her sleeping next to him every night. He likes having someone there in the middle of the night to console him when he has bad dreams. He likes waking up in the morning and hearing the soft sound of her breathing and the slow, steady beat of her heart. He even likes the way she snores.

"Yeah, that's it," he answers lightly. "I'm just a sex maniac. Where you're concerned, anyway."

"And believe me, I don't mind." Her hand stops stroking his hair and trails down over his shoulder, and all of a sudden his heart is pounding again. But this time it isn't with fear, but with lust. He's glad to have something to focus on beside the nightmares that have plagued him lately, and he stretches under her hand like a big cat, sighing with pleasure.

Her hand slides down his chest, brushing over his nipples, then down his abs. He makes a little sound of need deep in his throat and reaches for her, but she pushes him away. "Hey," she says. "Just relax and let me touch you, okay?"

He's cool with that, because he likes the feel of her hands on him. She touches him in the darkness, stroking her fingers down over his hipbones, along his leg, and then he feels the bed shift slightly, and she's leaning over him, kissing his chest.

Her mouth moves downward, soft and warm against the planes of his stomach. Her tongue darts out to trail over his skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Heat swells in his body, and he starts to feel oddly weightless.

"You're floating again," she murmurs against his skin.

He does that every so often when he's really turned on. "Sorry," he mutters, forcing himself to drop back onto the bed. Her mouth moves lower, below his navel, and then her lips brush over the tip of his swollen erection, and he gives a jolt of pleasure.

And then her tongue slides out again, tracing the ridge around the head of his cock, and his breath hisses between his teeth. She's done this many times before, and yet every time, it's new somehow. New... and incredibly exciting. He can't imagine ever growing tired of it.

His head arches back, and his hips move, asking wordlessly for more. She gives it to him, stroking her tongue down along the thick ridge, toward the base of his penis, then back up again. The movement of her tongue is very slow and deliberate, and he groans, balling his hands into fists and gasping for breath. And then her tongue slides across the very tip again, licking away a drop or two of precome, and he gives a hoarse, wordless cry.

"You taste good," she whispers throatily.

His body reacts to her words as much as to the sexy note in her voice, and his cock jerks hard. He grits his teeth, struggling to control himself, as she takes him in her hand, opens her lips, and lets him slide into her mouth.

A long sound comes from his throat, a frantic noise of need and intense pleasure... and love. He loves Chloe Sullivan, has loved her since they were in high school, really. He didn't realize he was in love with her until he was twenty, but in the five years since then they've been utterly inseparable. He's glad she's there for him, even at two in the morning, driving away his demons, reassuring him that he's doing the best he can and that she loves him for it.

He's grateful, because even a superman needs someone to support him.

He's gasping out her name, sobbing with pleasure, as she takes him more deeply into her mouth. His hips jerk convulsively, thrusting between her lips, and his cries grow louder with each movement. He's burning, desperate for release, his mind empty of anything except the feel of her mouth on him. All his demons have been banished, and the only thing on his mind is Chloe.

Just as he can't take it any more, she lifts her head. He reaches for her in the dark and yanks her toward him, pulling her body against his, suddenly aware that he's floating again.

Oh, what the hell. He wraps his arms around her, and together they float upward.

"Whatever you do, don't drop me," she warns him.

He laughs. "I'll try to be careful."

He's never just let this happen. Floating comes naturally to him, ever since the ability to fly kicked in around his twentieth year, but floating during sex has always struck him as a little weird, so he tries to suppress it. And dropping her while he's distracted is a genuine possibility, so the thought makes him a little nervous. But for some reason, he just can't seem to keep himself earthbound tonight.

They're hovering in the air, about three feet over the bed. He rolls over, so he's on top, and she squeals and tightens her grip on his neck, squeezing him so tightly that if he were a human, she'd be cutting off his oxygen.

Then again, if he were a human, they wouldn't be having sex in midair.

Her body is soft and warm against his, and he's so totally turned on he wants to just slam into her and screw her hard, but he's not sure she's ready yet, so he presses his lips against her throat and ear, kissing her gently. His hand moves down her body.

She clutches at him. "Don't drop me."

"I'm not going to drop you." He's plenty strong enough to hold her with one hand. Hell, he could hold her in the air with a single finger. He runs his hand over her breasts, feeling her erect nipples pressing eagerly against his palm, and heat rushes through him. He knows every inch of her, and he can envision her naked body in his mind, can see her soft, round, pale breasts, her rose-colored nipples jutting out, as clearly as if it were midday.

His hand slides down, across her stomach, across the soft thatch of hair between her legs, and then he's delving between her thighs, his fingers exploring carefully. She's already wet, but as he touches her, she moans, and he feels a rush of heat and moisture on his hand. He smells the sweet scent of her arousal, hears her heartbeat spike upward.

"Clark," she whispers, digging her fingers into his hair fiercely. "Now."

He understands her desperation. He feels it too, and he badly wants to be inside of her, to be part of her. But he also wants this to last, because making love to her never lasts long enough to suit him. He thinks he could make love to her for eight hours and still feel like he hadn't had enough of her.

He ignores her pleading and keeps stroking her soft, wet flesh, until she's gasping and sobbing, exactly the way he was a few minutes ago. She's crying out at every touch, so close to coming that every brush of his fingertips makes her jerk and whimper, and finally he moves his body a little, positioning himself between her thighs-- which, he discovers, isn't as easy when they're floating as it is when they're lying in bed.

He puts his hands very carefully on her hips and slides into her wet, soft body.

They both cry out, voices raised in mutual pleasure and love. He slips his arms around her and holds her close, thinking that making love to Chloe goes far beyond the merely physical. He can't believe how much he loves this woman, how much she means to him. He can't believe how grateful he is to have her at his side. Not just in bed, but always.

He wants to make the moment last, but the sensations are so powerful he can't stop himself from thrusting into her harder and harder, feeling her heat and moisture swirling around him like a tropical storm.

And then she's convulsing in his arms, her body squeezing his in relentless spasms, and it feels so good he can't fight it any more. He comes in hard, fast spurts, his whole body trembling with release and overwhelming pleasure.

Afterward they slowly drift back down to the mattress. His eyes are shut, and he's half asleep already, his bad dream forgotten, so exhausted he barely feels her stroking his hair again. "Think you can sleep now?"

"Mmmm," he mumbles. "Maybe."

She laughs softly. "I don't think there's any maybe about it. Go to sleep, Clark."

He does. And in his dreams, he's flying over Metropolis, patrolling the skies, the way he always does, and everyone in the city is safe.

And he's not alone.

In his dream, Chloe's flying right beside him.

-The End-

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