Can't Lose You, Chapter 2

Clark/Chloe
Season 6, after "Wither"'
Rating: Adult. If you're under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.

“This isn’t Makeout Point.”

Chloe stared dubiously into the darkness beyond the truck windows as Clark put the truck into park and turned the ignition off. He grinned at her suspicious expression.

“I hear Makeout Point is kind of crowded,” he answered. “I thought maybe you’d rather go somewhere a little more private.”

She considered that for a moment, her head tilted to the side. “So where are we?”

“The middle of nowhere.” Actually they were on a dirt lane that ran behind a neighboring farm, but he was pretty sure no one ever came out here at night, not even horny teenagers.

Well, present company excepted, anyway.

A half moon rode low in the sky, gilding the corn with silvery light, and stars were scattered across the sky like diamonds. But despite the celestial lighting, it was pretty damn dark here, so even if someone happened by, he figured they wouldn't be able to see much.

Besides, he planned on steaming up the windows in a big way.

"Okay," she said at last. "Just don't expect to get past third base tonight, buddy. I may be easy, but I'm not that easy."

"Are you easy?" He lifted his eyebrows. "I guess I should have tried this a long time ago."

"You think?" She uttered a soft laugh and smacked his shoulder gently. "Duh."

He'd come awfully close to losing her for good, and he knew it. He'd been stupid, because the minute he'd kissed her tonight, he'd realized he couldn't lose her. That was the one thing in life that really scared him, the fear of losing Chloe. Now that he'd faced his fear, and accepted how important she was to him, he wasn't going to let her go.

But even with those determined thoughts rolling around in his brain, he hesitated, drumming his fingers nervously on the steering wheel for a long moment. He might not be an expert on making out in cars, but he knew enough to realize he ought to put his arm around her. And yet his hands didn't seem to want to leave the safety of the steering wheel.

Wimp, he thought, annoyed with himself. Just touch the girl already.

"This might sound kind of stupid," he said, "but I'm not exactly sure what third base is."

She looked at him. By the dim moonlight, he could see an amused smile on her face.

"Your education has been sadly neglected, Clark."

He nodded, doing his best to look very serious. "I know. I was sort of hoping you could help me with that."

"Well, I can try. But I can't do much if you're going to stay way over there."

He took a deep breath, released the steering wheel, and slid toward her on the bench seat. Tentatively, he slipped an arm around her shoulders.

"Better," she said. She slid a hand around the nape of his neck, pulled his face down, and brushed her lips over his.

"First base," she whispered.

He liked first base just fine. Her mouth was soft and sweet and warm, and he kissed her gently, a kiss that conveyed a lot of affection without straying too far over the line into passion. It was almost a friendship kiss. But not quite. Because her lips moved against his, then parted, and all of a sudden they were both kissing again like they had in the loft, eager and hungry kisses moving rapidly toward desperation.

His arms went around her waist in an unconscious movement, and he yanked her against him. She tasted like coffee and cinnamon and something incredibly sweet that he couldn't identify, but that tasted so good he didn't ever want to stop kissing her.

A soft noise rose in his throat, a sound of pleasure and need, and his hand lifted, digging into the depths of her hair so she couldn't get away. Not that she was struggling or anything. She seemed to like kissing him as much as he liked kissing her.

His hand slipped upward of its own accord and brushed across the soft, rounded swell of her breast. She made a little whimpering sound and pulled her mouth away from his.

"Second base," she whispered.

He liked second base, too. He cupped her breast carefully in his hand, and at the same time his lips slid downward, across her throat. She dropped her head back, giving him access to all the delicate skin there. His lips explored her, his tongue darting out to taste her flesh, and she made a sound very like the one he'd made, a little moan of longing and desire. Her hands slid up under his shirt and ran across his back, stroking and caressing and exploring until he groaned with pleasure.

He could feel her nipple pushing against his hand, rigid and eager, and he wanted to move his hand downward so badly his fingers tingled, but he didn't quite have the nerve.

She wasn't nearly as shy as he was, and her hand slid lower, moving along his jeans-clad thigh, then brushing across the fly of his jeans.

He jumped, startled, but not at all unhappy. His mouth went suddenly dry, and he had to swallow twice before he could trust himself to speak. "Is that third base?"

"Depends on your dictionary," she said against his ear. "I think I'd say it was somewhere between second and third, personally."

Her hand brushed up and down, very lightly, and his erection gave an involuntary twitch in response to her touch. He ground his teeth together. "Um," he said, his voice harsh. "I really like that."

"No kidding." He could hear the humor lacing her voice. "I never would have guessed."

"Could you maybe, uh..."

Before he could finish articulating the thought, her fingers wrapped around him. Even through denim, it felt like heaven, and a startled noise escaped him, a cry that he barely managed to muffle against her hair.

Her fingers continued to move against him, squeezing him a little more firmly, and instantly he was throbbing with need. He felt like every nerve in his body was on fire, and helpless little sounds came out of his mouth with every movement of her hand. "Chloe," he whispered, his hips moving automatically, shoving his erection up against her palm eagerly. "Oh, God, Chlo, don't stop. Please."

"Who said anything about stopping?"

She moved her hand a little faster and harder, and he gasped for breath.

"Careful," she whispered against his ear. "You don't want to blow the windows out."

Her reference to his newly discovered ability was spoken lightly, but he was uncomfortably aware that he could in fact do some damage to the truck, or even to her, by panting too hard. It was just one more thing to worry about when he was with a human woman. He had to be careful not to hold human women too tightly, or accidentally shoot fire out of his eyes when he kissed them, or gasp so hard he blew them into the next county.

It sounded a little silly, but he was beginning to realize his superbreath could be a real hazard. Her golden hair was blowing around like there was a stiff breeze in the car, and he realized it was because he was panting.

The problem was, he couldn't stop himself from breathing hard right now. He was pretty sure he was about to come, and part of him wanted to grab her hand and pull it away before this encounter came to a very premature conclusion. And before he blew the windows out.

But although it would probably be prudent to stop now, he really didn't want her to stop. Even though she was still touching him lightly, the delicate brush of her fingers was making him absolutely nuts.

Fierce pleasure swelled inside him, filling him, overwhelming him. With a desperate effort, he caught at her, stopping the movement of her hand.

"I thought you didn't want me to stop," she whispered.

"I..." He stopped to gulp some air. "I haven't really gotten to touch you much yet, Chlo."

"Oh." She thought about that for a minute, then flashed her bright grin. "Well, I won't stand in your way."

He didn't want to freak her out, but he was far too turned on to go slowly. He tugged frantically at her t-shirt, managing to pull it off over her head, then went after the bra, doing battle with it as if it were a mortal enemy. He didn't have a lot of experience getting bras off, but it wasn't as terrible an adversary as he feared. He managed to unfasten it pretty easily. Or maybe he just ripped the back. He wasn't quite sure and didn't stop to investigate.

He threw the scrap of fabric to the floor of the truck and ran his mouth down across her bare shoulder, over the curve of her breast, until his lips found her nipple.

He drew the rigid bud of her nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, and she sobbed and buried her fingers in his hair, her body writhing. He'd thought he was about as turned on as it was possible to get, but at the sound of her whimpering, the feel of her body moving eagerly against his, he was suddenly ten times harder.

Damn it. All of a sudden he really wanted to get past third base in a big way.

But there wasn't really room in the truck to make love. Anyway, he wanted to do it the right way with her. Chloe deserved better than a quickie in the cab of an old pickup truck. He promised himself that he'd take her out on a date tomorrow and treat her the right way.

But despite his noble thoughts, his hand slid down her body and found her thigh. He squeezed the denim gently, then his palm moved up her leg to the juncture of her thighs, where he could feel her heat burning right through the denim.

At the intimate touch of his hand, she cried out and clutched at his back. "Clark. Oh, God."

His fingers moved against her, in a steady rhythm that was more instinctive than learned, and she squirmed wildly, frantic noises pouring out of her. He wanted to beg her to touch him, too, but he wanted to focus on her right now, and her touch had a tendency to interfere with his focus just a bit.

Or a hell of a lot, actually.

He moved his fingers a little faster, and suddenly her whole body was quivering and her voice lifted almost to a scream. She shuddered frantically, but he didn't stop, just kept his hand moving until she fell bonelessly against his shoulder.

"Clark," she whispered into his t-shirt. "Clark."

He liked the breathless way she said his name, like she was saying something very intimate and sexy. Lowering his head, he breathed in the sweet, flowery scent of her hair. Beneath the artificial fragrance he could smell the very genuine odor of a satiated woman.

She smelled sexy, sweaty and musky and sweet all at once, and suddenly he remembered he was really, really hard.

"Was that third base?" he whispered against her hair.

She looked up. Even in the moonlight he could see the light sheen of sweat gleaming on her forehead. "You seem to be really curious about the definition of third base," she observed, smiling a little.

"Well..." He shrugged. "You know. I'm just trying to expand my horizons a bit."

She grinned. "I'd be happy to help you with that."

Her hands reached for his jeans and unfastened them. He gave a soft groan as she unzipped them, then shoved his boxers down a bit. Her fingers wrapped around the bare flesh of his erection, and it felt so damn good that his eyes drifted shut and he could hear a low sound pulsing from his throat, a primal growl of need and desire and possessiveness.

She didn't let go of him, but he heard her shift positions, and he cracked his eyelids open to see her kneeling on the floor of the truck, between his spread knees.

Oh, God. She was not actually going to...

But then she leaned forward, and he realized that, yes, she was in fact actually going to. He'd never had anyone do that to him before, and he thought vaguely of protesting, but all thoughts of objection died away, along with all his capability for speech, as her tongue slipped out between her lips and stroked over the swollen, sensitive head of his cock.

"Third base," she whispered, and did it again.

He was already totally turned on, and the feel of her wet, soft tongue against his aroused flesh felt unbearably good. He dropped his head back, gritting his teeth, and struggled not to hyperventilate.

"Chloe," he whispered. "Oh, Chlo."

She opened her lips and drew the head of his cock into her mouth, and he couldn't stop himself from opening his eyes and looking down at her. The sight of her kneeling between his thighs, doing something so intimate to him, made his insides melt. She drew him in a little deeper, and he gave a whimper and gasped desperately for breath, then exhaled in a sudden gust.

Her hair blew wildly, and he closed his eyes again, struggling for control.

"Chloe," he murmured. "I'm going to... blow out the windows, or something. Seriously."

She moved her mouth away from him, somewhat to his dismay, and lifted her head, flashing an irreverent grin. "You give a whole new meaning to the words blow job, Clark."

"I'm serious. Do you want glass shattering everywhere? You could get hurt."

She looked up at him thoughtfully. A ray of moonlight fell over her, lighting her face and silvering her hair. She was far and away the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and he wanted her so badly he ached.

"So open the window," she suggested at last.

"Uh..." He thought about that for a minute. "Someone might hear us."

"You said this was the middle of nowhere. Don't worry about it."

He thought about it a moment longer, then finally decided the chance of someone overhearing them was less dire than the very real possibility of him blasting out all the windows and showering her with shards of glass. He reached over and cranked down the window, turning his head toward the open window.

She bent again, drawing him into her mouth, and it felt so hot and wet and sweet that he thought he might just come right now. It was the most incredibly intimate thing he'd ever felt in his life, better than her touch, better than her kiss, better than anything he'd ever felt.

Little spasms of pleasure rocked him, and he groaned again, panting so hard that the corn in the nearby field rippled in the breeze.

He whispered her name over and over again, between broken gasps, the ache in his cock growing more and more intense, until he couldn't bear it any more. He reached down and caught her by the shoulders, pulling her up into his lap.

"Hey," she said softly, nuzzling his neck. "Didn't you like third base?"

He absolutely loved third base, but he didn't feel totally comfortable with coming that way. He wanted her to feel good, too. Some very deep masculine part of him wanted to make her climax at the same time he did.

Her thighs parted, settling on each side of his, and he pulled her against him, so that her jeans rubbed right against his swollen flesh. It should have felt uncomfortable, but right now he was so turned on he'd take friction any way he could get it.

She pressed against him, rising up on her knees and then dropping down again, sliding against him in a slow, gentle rhythm that made him crazy. He wanted to kiss her throat, to kiss her, but he was afraid of creating a tornado in the confined space, so he kept his head turned toward the window. The corn rippled wildly as she pressed kisses against his throat and ear.

He heard her heart pounding harder, a heavy drumbeat in his ears, a fast, sexual beat that filled his mind and his body. Her voice rose in pleasure, and then he felt her arch against him again, and it was too much for him to take. He cried out as ecstasy blazed through him in fiery, endless spasms.

At last she fell against his chest again, and he collapsed back against the seat, his desperate panting slowing to normal. He turned his head, daring to look back at her. Her hair rippled a little as he breathed, but at least he wasn't at gale force any more.

She laughed, reaching up absently and pushing blonde strands out of her face. "I didn't realize making out with you would be so... breezy," she commented, gazing up at him. "I guess you like third base?"

"Third base is awesome." He looked back at her and grinned hopefully. "I bet a home run would be even better."

"Forget it. I told you, that's as far as you're getting tonight."

He lifted an eyebrow. "How about tomorrow night?"

"Are you just looking for sex, Clark?" She looked into his face, her own eyes dark and serious. "Or are you asking me out on a date?"

"A date," he said without hesitation. "I should have asked you a long time ago, Chlo."

"No kidding." She moved off his lap, leaning back against the vinyl seat, and he realized his blue t-shirt was wet with come. Good thing he had superspeed, and could zoom into the house before his mom had a chance to see that. The scent of his come and her arousal filled the truck's cab, but fresh air was gradually blowing into the truck, filling the small space with the odors of a rural Kansas night-- dirt and plants and clean, cool air.

"So," he said, feeling a little anxious. "Will you go out with me tomorrow night?"

She rolled her head lazily to the side, looking over at him. "What about Jimmy?"

He'd totally forgotten about Jimmy. All of a sudden he remembered Jimmy's voice, calling Chloe my girl. But now that he'd admitted to himself what Chloe meant to him, he couldn't lose her again. He just couldn't. Fierce possessiveness raked through him, and he reached over and captured her hand in his.

"What about him?" He held her hand tightly. "You're my girl, Chloe. Mine."

When Jimmy had called her that, she'd looked tolerantly amused, and retorted laughingly, Your girl? But now she didn't look at all amused. She gazed back at him, her eyes more serious than before.

"Okay," she agreed, a soft smile curving her mouth. "I'm your girl, Clark."

-The End-