Cherry Red, Chapter 3

Kal/Chloe
Season 6
Rating: Adult. If you're under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
Author's Note: This is an AU in which Clark and Chloe are both still virgins and unattached. Title suggested by red_dwarfette and used with permission... thanks!

Clark could feel Chloe trying to back away from him. Not physically, because her hands were still tangled in his hair, and her body was still pressing against his. But mentally, he could feel her backing off.

He decided he needed to do something about that.

He dropped to his knees in front of her, still holding her by the waist, and shoved up her red shirt a bit, exposing the flat, trim plane of her stomach and the curves of her waist. Her jeans rode low on her hips, showing an inch or two of skin below her navel. He leaned forward and began brushing light kisses over the smooth satin of her belly. She shuddered.

"Clark."

Her voice was low and husky, a soft, sexy whisper that slipped over him like a sensual caress. He opened his lips, tracing around her navel with his tongue, nipping gently at her soft flesh, until he could feel her quivering under his hands.

He didn't have much experience with girls, and ordinarily the uncomfortable awareness of his lack of skill made him shy and hesitant. But tonight, somehow he knew exactly what he was doing, and how to do it. He instinctively knew what she'd like-- and not surprisingly, he liked it too. The taste of her skin, the feel of her body shivering under his lips, made him even harder than before. His cock pulsed, straining against the denim fabric of his jeans.

"Clark." Her voice was barely audible. "We have to stop."

"Don't worry," he murmured, his hands moving to her jeans and beginning to unbutton them. "I'll be careful, Chlo. It won't hurt."

"No." Her hands caught at his. "This isn't right, Clark. You're not yourself."

"Of course I'm myself." He spoke with irritation, because he was trying to get her pants off and she insisted on talking. Girls could be really annoying about that kind of thing. "Who else would I be?"

"I don't mean literally. Well, sort of literally." She gazed down at him, her eyelids heavy, her lips parted. He could hear the rapid, harsh sound of her breathing. "I think there was red K in the drink, Clark."

He rolled his eyes. "Don't be silly. How could there be red K in it?"

"It's canned locally. I bet the spring is right around Hobb's Pond."

Hobb's Pond, he remembered, was where the red meteor rocks had been found. He thought about that for a minute, then shook his head. "I feel perfectly normal, Chlo."

"You only think you feel normal," she said, her tone growing more urgent. "But you're acting really strangely. You have been ever since you drank the Cherry Red."

"Nah." He spoke dismissively, his hands sliding up under her shirt. "I'm fine."

"Clark..." His hand stroked across her nipple again, and her voice trailed off, as he'd been pretty sure it would. Apparently her nipple was also her mute button. Useful information to have.

He tugged her down, bent forward, and drew her nipple into his mouth, sucking on it right through the lace. She gave a long sobbing cry, and her back arched.

God, she was hot. Why the hell hadn't he ever done this before? He couldn't come up with a single reason. He'd been hanging out with a hot, sexy, gorgeous blonde, and for some reason he'd never made a move on her.

He was obviously a total dumbass.

But that was all behind him now. He'd been stupid, but no more. He had his hands on the aforementioned hot blonde's ass, and his mouth on her breast, and she was gasping and clutching at him. He sure as hell wasn't going to stop.

He had every intention of fucking Chloe Sullivan.

He slid his hands up her back and casually ripped the bra in two, because it was in his way, and because he just didn't seem to have a lot of patience for some reason. She made a small sound of protest and caught at his hands, but he leaned forward and ran his tongue over her nipple again, and the protest died into a soft whimper.

She tasted good, like strawberries and cream, and her nipple was rigid and swollen beneath his tongue. He bit her gently, and she made a little sound of pleasure, curling her fingers in his hair. Glancing down, he saw that her toes had curled in her sandals, too, and for some reason that made him harder than ever.

He was pulsing so fiercely he couldn't stand it. He pulled her onto his lap, and her legs parted instinctively, so that her thighs were on either side of his. He caught her by the ass and tugged her toward him. She rubbed right up against his erection, and he flexed his hips, moving eagerly against her. But the friction didn't satisfy him somehow, only made the throbbing, desperate need worse than before.

He'd never made love to a woman, but he wasn't stupid, and he knew the basic mechanics. He imagined sliding into her body, imagined the feel of her, heated and wet, dripping with slick cream, and the image almost overwhelmed him. He moved against her even harder, biting and sucking at her throat, his breath coming in harsh, raw gasps.

"Clark." Her voice was a bare whisper, and her lips brushed against his ear as she spoke. "We need to stop this. Now."

His hands moved beneath her shirt, sliding over her breasts, her belly, and she moaned softly. "You don't want to stop any more than I do," he answered.

"But the red kryptonite..."

"There's no red K, damn it." He was beginning to get irritated, and he let his voice show it. "Just you and me."

He yanked her shirt off over her head, then leaned back and stared. She looked gorgeous, her breasts high and firm and round, her nipples a dark, dusky rose against pale ivory skin. He leaned forward again, sinking his teeth gently into the soft flesh of her breast, and she gasped, sounding shocked and turned on all at the same time.

"You want me," he whispered against her breast. "Tell me that you want me."

"Clark... no..."

"Wrong." He bit her again, his teeth leaving faint red marks in her flawless skin. "Say Clark, yes."

She whimpered slightly. Her hand slid down his shoulder toward his waist, clutching at his shirt in a gesture of surrender, and all of a sudden he was flooded with the need to feel her hands on him. He pushed her back just a bit, caught her wrist, and pulled her hand down to the fly of his jeans. The palm of her hand settled over him, and he barely restrained a groan.

"Touch me, Chlo," he whispered harshly.

He could feel her hesitation, could sense her warring with herself, but at last her fingers closed around him. The gentle touch of her hand felt like fire, scorching him right through the denim. Tension and need grew in him, swelling inside him until he thought he might explode. Her hand moved gently against him, and his cock jerked eagerly. Spasms of pleasure rocked him, and he buried his face in her shoulder, struggling to suppress his cries.

"Harder," he muttered. "Faster."

She did it harder and faster, and he shuddered violently. Part of him-- maybe most of him-- just wanted to give in to the pleasure, to let himself come in a long, heated rush of flame. But he caught at her hand, stopping her just before the point of no return, and gritted his teeth, fighting to get himself back under control. Because this was his first time, and her first time. He wanted it to be perfect.

Or at least pretty damn good.

Read Chapter 4 here.