I Grieve, Chapter 2

Clark/Chloe angst
Season 5, sequel to "Reckoning"
Rating: Adult. If you're under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the WB and DC Comics, not to me.

Chloe's heart is pounding against her ribs so hard she knows it must be audible to Clark's preternaturally acute ears. She's not sure what's making her heart race, isn't sure whether it's fear or lust, or maybe a combination of both. All she knows for certain is that she's seriously freaked out.

Clark's been her friend forever, and yeah, she's had a crush on him since the first day she met him. But he doesn't feel that way about her. She knows he doesn't. He just proposed to Lana less than a week ago. Granted it was in a different timeline, but still, to him it happened. His proposal was real to him, and so was Lana's subsequent death, even though both events were erased when he relived that day.

And even though he and Lana are "on a break" right now, she knows how much Lana means to him. It's totally out of character for him to be putting the moves on another woman right now. It's out of character for him to even look at another woman right now.

But his body is moving against hers in a way that leaves absolutely no doubt what's on his mind. His fingers are digging into her hips, pulling her against him forcefully, and his other hand is still buried in her hair, making sure she can't escape. She can feel the thick ridge of his arousal pressing against her belly, and the sound of his breathing is harsh in her ears.

Up close, he looks like he hasn't been near a mirror in days. His hair isn't neat at the best of times, but now it's curling wildly around his ears, and there's dark stubble all over his jaw. But he smells good, farm smells and detergent mixed with some masculine soapy fragrance, and her heart pounds faster.

Despite her desire, though, she knows this isn't the right path for them to take right now. They need to stop this. Otherwise one or the other of them, or both, are going to wind up hurt. And Clark's hurting enough already.

She reaches up and puts a hand against his cheek in a gentle expression of affection, hoping to break through whatever's driving his lust, hoping she can get him to listen to her.

Instantly his hand captures her wrist, faster than a striking snake, far faster than her eye can follow. "I told you not to touch me," he says in a dangerous growl.

It's so chilly in the barn that she can see the breath puffing from his mouth like white smoke. But oddly enough, she doesn't feel cold at all. In fact, beneath her heavy winter sweater, she's starting to perspire.

She's annoyed by his tone, and her snark comes roaring back with a vengeance. "So it's okay for you to put your hands all over me, but I have to keep mine to myself?"

His lips curl back a bit, showing his teeth in a wolfish snarl. "Don't touch me."

She lifts her other hand to his shoulder in a deliberately provoking gesture. "Try and stop me."

His eyes narrow again with clear annoyance. Suddenly his hands move, so fast they're a blur, and she realizes something is being wound around her arms. She looks up, seeing that he's removed the braided leather belt he was wearing and wrapped it around her wrists. He fastens it tightly, binding her hands together, then secures the end of it over one of the hooks on the wall so her arms are over her head.

"Clark." Eyes wide, she strains against the belt, discovering she can't get loose.

Now she's seriously freaked out. No, she's beyond freaked out.

She's dreamed of kissing Clark thousands of times, but never, even once, did she envision leather straps and bondage in the same mental image as Clark Kent. Even though she knows he's an alien, he's always seemed like a sweet, naive Kansas farmboy to her.

Now, all of a sudden, he doesn't seem sweet, or naive, or much like a boy at all. He seems... dangerous.

"I told you not to touch me," he says, his voice soft but oddly menacing.

He moves against her again, even closer now, pressing into her as intimately as their jeans allow, his face a bare inch from hers, and she can see the complicated mixture of emotions roiling inside him. His wide, expressive eyes have always clearly reflected his thoughts, and today is no different. His eyes are dark with lust and anger and grief, all tangled up together. She knows he's still grieving for the loss of his father, and he's furious at everything that's happened, and she guesses he wants to forget it all, just for a while.

She can't quite understand why he doesn't want to be touched, but she thinks maybe it's because he's afraid he can't handle too much sympathy right now without breaking down. She can understand that, and she doesn't want to upset him. She just wants to make him feel better.

And if touching her will help him feel better, even for just a little while, she's not inclined to say no.

She has a feeling she'll regret this later, but all of a sudden she just doesn't care. Maybe she just never realized how much she'd like being tied up, or maybe it's not the bondage at all, but just Clark. She's not sure and isn't inclined to analyze her reactions right now. His body is still moving against hers, and he grasps her hair again, pulling her head back, and lowers his mouth to her neck.

She can feel the brush of coarse stubble against her, and she expects to feel his lips caress her, but instead his mouth opens and his teeth close on her throat, nipping her. She gasps, startled, and almost immediately his tongue slides over her skin, slow and seductive, soothing the sting.

He does it again, and again, biting at her gently, licking her, sucking at her sensitive skin, until her head drops back of its own accord. For some reason his teeth on her throat feel incredibly sexy, and she can feel heat building between her thighs, can hear the blood rushing in her ears.

She wants to put her hands on him so badly she can hardly stand it, but she can't get loose. She wants to kiss him, but he's out of her reach. All she can do is stand there and let him touch her.

He lets go of her hair, and both big hands slide down her body, then up under her heavy red sweater. She moans as his callused palms slide over her bare skin. And then he's dropping to his knees, shoving her sweater out of the way impatiently, and his mouth is moving over her belly, kissing and biting and sucking the skin there until she thinks she might fall over if she weren't bound to the wall.

His stubble is rough against her stomach, and his mouth is aggressive, and his hands are gripping her around the waist so hard it almost hurts.

And then he's unfastening her jeans and pulling them down. He can't get them off because her boots are in the way, so he leaves them pulled down around her knees. His hand slides over the silky fabric of her panties, and she feels her cheeks go red, because she knows she's seriously wet. He obviously notices, because he gives a low growl, and his hand moves faster.

She whimpers.

"Didn't realize you were so into bondage," he whispers against her stomach.

"I'm not," she answers, with as much dignity as a girl can possibly muster when her arms are bound to a hook on a barn wall and her jeans are down around her knees. Which is to say, not much.

"Bull." He moves his hand, and she whimpers again, her body shuddering. He growls again, very softly. "You're seriously into this, Chlo."

"And you aren't?"

"Oh, I'm definitely into it," he says softly, biting the skin just below her navel. She shivers.

"Clark," she moans. "Let me touch you."

"No," he says flatly. His fingers move harder and faster, and little sighing noises come out of her mouth, noises she has absolutely no control over. His other hand shoves her sweater up, and his mouth moves upward, kissing her through her bra, biting and suckling at her nipple. Even through the lacy fabric it feels unbelievably good. Heat builds in her belly, somewhere deep inside her, and violent shudders start to rack her body.

She's about to come in a barn, with a guy who just proposed to another girl last week, a guy whose dad just died a few days ago. This is all seriously screwed up, yet she's so close to the edge that she doesn't even care.

She knows Clark well enough to be certain he'd stop if she demanded it, to be certain he'd let her go if she insisted, but asking him to stop is the absolute last thing she wants to do. What he's doing to her feels incredible. She throws her head back and sobs with pleasure as his fingers stroke her and his mouth explores her.

Her heart is pounding, her breath rattling in her throat, and a huge explosion is building inside of her.

And then he stops.

"Clark." She can barely force her eyes open, but she manages it somehow. She looks down to find him gazing at her with an oddly intent expression, so many emotions in his eyes she can't begin to identify them. "Clark. Don't stop. Please."

He stares at her for a long moment, looking almost wary, as if she's the aggressor here, as if he's not the one who tied her to a wall. "What do you want from me, Chloe?" he says at last, his voice low and hoarse.

"I want... I want..." She looks down into his eyes, the eyes she's loved for so long, and her innate honesty suddenly comes to the fore. "I want you to make love to me," she whispers, so softly that only alien superhearing could possibly make out the words.

He stands up, taking a step back from her, and his features suddenly go rigid.

"This has absolutely nothing to do with love, Chloe," he says coldly.

Read Chapter 3 here.