Season 6, end of "Rage"
Rating: Adult. If you're under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
Clark didn’t want her to stop touching his hair. In fact, he wanted her to touch him everywhere. His arms went around her waist, pulling her close, and she pressed her face into his chest.
“Clark,” she whispered. “I guess I’d better go to sleep.”
That wasn’t what he wanted to hear. But she did have a boyfriend, after all. He bent his head just a bit, breathing in the sweet vanilla fragrance of her hair, and sighed.
“Okay,” he answered, even though it wasn’t okay at all. He pulled her over, still cuddled against his chest, and dropped his head onto the pillow, then groped for the blanket, pulling it over both of them. She craned her head up and regarded him with puzzlement.
“What exactly are you doing?”
“Keeping you warm,” he answered. “It’s too cold out here for a human.”
She considered that for a moment, her eyes serious. She was so close to him that he could bend just an inch or two and kiss her. The idea lit a flame somewhere deep inside him, and he struggled to push the thought away.
“You are pretty warm,” she said at last, rolling over and cuddling against him more closely. He draped his arm around her waist in an automatic response. Her back was pressed up against his front, spoon-fashion, her butt pressed right up against his hard-on. She felt good, warm and soft and totally sexy, and he could barely resist the urge to rub against her.
He was pretty sure he was more that just warm. He was outright feverish.
It was a little embarrassing to realize she could almost certainly feel his erection against her, but there was really nothing he could do about it. It was a normal reaction to being pressed up against a soft female form. It didn’t mean he was in love with her-- it just meant he was a guy and she was a girl, and his body wasn’t oblivious to that fact.
But if he lay here and thought about something else for a while, his hard-on would go away, and he’d be able to get to sleep.
The problem was, he couldn’t think of anything else except her. Need blazed hotter and hotter inside him, like the flames of a bonfire stretching toward the sky. Her fragrance filled his head, her body felt warm and soft against his, and he could hear the low, raspy sound of her breathing, and beneath it the rapid thud of her heartbeat. He was pretty sure she was every bit as turned on as he was, and that knowledge didn’t help him calm down any.
He wanted to put his hands all over her, to press kisses to the nape of her neck, to stroke his tongue over the delicate whorls of her ear, to nibble on her earlobe. Explicit, vivid images flickered through his mind in rapid, disjointed images, like a DVD on fast-forward.
He couldn’t quite stop himself from touching her. His arm was still around her waist, but he moved it just a bit, splaying his hand out over her belly.
She didn’t move, didn’t react, but her heartbeat suddenly spiked upward, and he knew she was much more aware of his touch than she was pretending to be. Very slowly, he began to knead the soft, firm flesh of her abdomen through the silky fabric of her dress. Even through the material, he could feel the heat of her skin against his palm, and he heard her breathing accelerate. His body tightened in response.
No matter what she pretended, he realized, she wanted him to touch her.
Her hips moved against his, just a little, and it felt so good he had to bite down on his lower lip to hold back a groan. He was afraid to make any sort of sound, afraid that if either of them admitted what was going on here, she’d panic and leave. She was Jimmy’s girlfriend, after all, not his.
It seemed safer to pretend that absolutely nothing was happening between them. Just two friends sleeping on a couch. Two friends keeping each other warm.
His hand rubbed in circles over her stomach, and she stretched sinuously against him, her spine arching. The round curve of her ass brushed against him again, and this time he couldn’t quite stop himself from rubbing against her. She didn’t seem to mind. In fact she moved against him a little more deliberately.
He pressed his face into her hair and panted, struggling to hold back the noises that were trying to well up out of his throat, as goosebumps rose on his arms and shivers ran through him.
His hand drifted lower, very slowly and carefully, over the curve of her hips and down along her thigh. At last he found the hem of her dress, which had ridden up to about midthigh. Beneath it her leg felt very silky. He thought she was wearing stockings, but maybe her skin was just that smooth. Either way, the softness of her thigh against his palm took what was left of his breath away.
He hesitated a moment, then slipped his hand under the hem of her dress and let his palm slide upward.
He discovered she was wearing stockings, because he encountered the lace holding her stocking in place. Above it, her skin was bare and warm, and just as silky as her stocking had been. His heart pounded at the feel of her skin under his hand. He kneaded her softly, then slid his hand toward the tender flesh of her inner thigh.
She jumped a little, and he paused. But then she parted her thighs, and he took that as an invitation. His hand moved still further upward and brushed over the satin fabric of her panties.
She shuddered and moved restlessly against him, and he gritted his teeth. Even through jeans, the light brush of her ass against his cock was creating an ache so intense it was almost intolerable. He wanted to make her ache for him as badly as he ached for her, so he moved the pad of his index finger over her in slow, leisurely circles.
She seemed to like the way he was touching her, because she was so wet that he could feel her dampness right through the fabric. He heard her heart rate take another jump upward, heard her breathing change to a harsh, strangled sound, as if she were struggling for oxygen.
He wanted to tear her underwear in two and throw it aside, to stroke her wet, swollen flesh, to thrust his fingers deep inside her until her body spasmed around his fingers and she cried out with pleasure. But they were still pretending nothing was happening, and he was afraid of freaking her out. So he kept his hand where it was, kept the fragile layer of fabric between them, and rubbed a little faster, a little harder.
Her body moved against his, in an eager, unmistakable tempo, and the rhythmic pressure of her ass against his erection felt so good he thought he’d die of it. He was pretty sure he was going to come in his jeans, and ordinarily that would have embarrassed the hell out of him. But he was so hard and so hot he couldn’t have stopped it if he’d wanted to, and besides, right now he needed release so badly he just didn’t care how he came, as long as he came.
He stroked her even faster, and suddenly she was shuddering in his arms, gasping. He could hear her teeth grinding together as she struggled for silence, but the thunder of her heartbeat was as loud in his ears as a scream of pleasure, and just as unmistakable.
The feel of her body writhing against his sent him tumbling right over the edge, and he erupted in a violent orgasm, his cock jerking hard as come burst from him in surge after surge of liquid heat. Every muscle in his body tensed, straining against the unbearable pleasure, but he fought not to make a sound, beyond his rough, desperate gasps for air.
His climax seemed to go on forever, and so did hers. Maybe his time perception had shifted a little, or maybe they’d both just been so worked up that their bodies were in overdrive. He wasn’t sure. But at last the heat faded into a feeling of warm relaxation. All his muscles went limp, and his head dropped onto the pillow. She fell back against the cushions too, and he heard her heartbeat slow, heard her breathing even out.
His hand moved back up to her waist, and she dropped her hand onto his. He turned his hand over and clasped her hand in his. Their palms pressed together and their fingers interlaced.
It occurred to him vaguely that he ought to superspeed over to the house and get changed. But post-orgasm exhaustion had hit him hard, and he couldn’t quite seem to get motivated to get up off the couch.
His eyelids drifted shut, and before he knew it he was fast asleep, Chloe wrapped in his arms, her hand clasped in his.
Read Chapter 3 here.