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!
"Hey. Where ya goin'?"
Clark's voice sounded blurry and sleepy, even to his own ears. In the aftermath of the incredible orgasm Chloe had given him, he was filled with warm, comfortable exhaustion, so totally drained he could barely talk. But even through his haze, he'd felt Chloe pull away from him.
He managed to force his eyes open and saw Chloe kneeling on the floor, hastily grabbing her clothes. She was blinking hard, as if she was trying to will tears away.
"Hey," he repeated, a little more clearly. "What are you doing?"
"I need to get going," she answered in a remote voice, avoiding his gaze.
"Going?" He frowned at her. "But we're just getting started."
"No. We're finished." She yanked her red tank top on, not bothering with the bra, and his gaze was instantly drawn to the way her breasts bounced.
No, he thought, they definitely weren't finished. He hadn't had nearly enough of a chance to play with those beautiful breasts. He wanted to kiss them, to suck them, to bite them, to roll the nipples between his finger and thumb until she begged him to fuck her...
He forced his mind away from that particular image so he could talk coherently. Sort of. "Hold it," he said, sitting up and reaching for her, capturing her wrists. Her bones felt small and fragile against his fingers, and his hands encircled her wrists easily. "What's this all about, Chlo?"
"What it's all about is that you're high on red K, and I..." Her voice quavered. "Took advantage of you."
He couldn't restrain his incredulous smile. "You're kidding, right? Come on, Chlo. Did it really sound like I was complaining?"
"No, and that's the problem. You wouldn't ever... I mean, you've never..."
Ah. He began to understand what was going on here, why she was so upset. He'd never made a move on Chloe before, and she'd naturally come to the conclusion he didn't want her that way. But she was wrong.
He lowered his head and spoke into her ear, very softly. "I've thought about making love to you a thousand times," he whispered. "Maybe more. I just never had the nerve before tonight."
"And you wouldn't have had the nerve tonight except..." He blew lightly in her ear, and her voice suddenly broke off. She swallowed audibly but managed to keep talking. "Except for the Cherry Red."
"Cherry Red has nothing to do with it, Chloe."
"It has everything to do with it. I..." His hand slipped up under her shirt and found her nipple, which was still hard and crinkled. His thumb stroked over it lightly, and her voice trailed off.
Definitely the mute button, he thought with amusement.
"You're wet," he whispered, in as persuasive a tone as he could manage, pulling her shirt off again. "Totally wet. You want to be fucked."
"You'd never..." Her voice was a bare murmur, but she didn't try to pull away from him, and her hands lifted to his shoulders, her fingers curling into him possessively. "Never talk that way, Clark. If you were... normal."
"I might not talk that way, but I think about you that way. I'm not stupid, Chlo. I know you think about me that way sometimes, too. Sometimes we're just sitting together in my loft, or hanging out at the Daily Planet, and you get wet."
Her head jerked up, and she lifted her chin. "I most certainly do not."
"Yeah, you most certainly do. Fairly often, too."
She glowered at him defensively for a second, then humor flickered in her eyes, and a wry smile curved her mouth. "Which of your freakish alien powers told you that? X-ray vision?"
He shook his head. "I can smell it," he said softly, looking straight into her eyes. "When you're wet... you smell like some really exotic kind of flower. Orchids, maybe." He stroked her nipple again, and she gasped. He bent toward her and spoke into her ear, his voice dropping to a low rumble. "And right now you smell like a whole greenhouse full of flowers."
"Oh... God. Clark, I really have to go..."
"We're not finished yet, Chlo. I'm not letting you go when you need it this badly."
"I don't need... anything..."
"Oh, come on, Chloe. You're fooling yourself. You need everything. All of it. My hands and my mouth... and my cock."
A violent shudder ran through her. He captured her face between his hands, lowered his head, and kissed her hard. He could taste his own musky flavor on her lips and her tongue, which ordinarily he might find kind of gross. But tonight it reminded him of what she'd done to him, how willingly she'd done it, and that turned him on in a big way. Despite the way she'd satisfied him earlier, he discovered he was rock-hard again.
Her arms slid around his neck in a sweet gesture of affection, and he put his arms around her waist and held her against him as he kissed her. Her body was tense with desperate need, every muscle taut, and she vibrated like a violin string with every touch of his hands. The scent of her arousal filled him, making his blood pulse faster, making him shudder with desire, until he ached with it.
He pushed her over backward, onto the carpet, and she went willingly. He sat beside her and stared at her hungrily, seeing her sprawled out on the carpet, her legs parted, her eyes half-closed.
She looked like she'd acquiesce to anything he wanted to do to her. Anything at all.
"We shouldn't," she whispered, her voice so low he could barely hear it, even with superhearing.
Her stubbornness was so quintessentially Chloe-ish that he couldn't stop the grin that tilted his mouth. "Yes, we should," he answered. "We definitely should."
She fell silent, and he took that as agreement. Part of him just wanted to fuck her, right now. But she'd already taken care of his more pressing needs, and he figured he could wait a while. He wanted to take some time to touch her and kiss her, to explore her body, to learn everything there was to know about her, physically speaking.
Because this was their first time, and it would only happen once in their lifetimes.
She was so beautiful that his mouth went dry. He suddenly realized he was really thirsty. "Wait a second," he said. Standing up, he went into superspeed. Less than half a second later, he was kneeling next to her, a cold can of Cherry Red in one hand, Glam Girl in the other.
"Are you kidding me?" She blinked at him. "You're going to read now?"
"No, that's for later," he said, laying the magazine aside. "But right now..."
He reached out, the can of Cherry Red still in his hand, and ran the bottom of it lightly across the side of her breast. She gasped and jolted, and her nipple instantly stiffened. He ran the can around her breast in concentric circles, moving toward her nipple, and she groaned and squirmed, while he knelt beside her and watched her reactions with interest, not to mention a whole lot of lust.
"Clark," she whispered in a faint protest. "That's really cold."
It might be cold, but it was making her really hot. He could tell from the scent of orchids that grew ever stronger, and the moisture that glistened on her bare thighs. At last he brushed the can lightly over her nipple, and her back arched, her head dropping back, her eyelids fluttering shut.
He moved the can to her other breast, and she whispered his name in a soft, desperate prayer for deliverance. This time, when the cold metal caressed her nipple, she sobbed, a high, frantic sound of need.
He popped the top on the can and spilled a few drops onto her nipple. She squirmed in mingled pleasure and discomfort. "Clark," she objected. "It's so cold..."
"I'm going to warm you up," he said softly, and bent, licking the Cherry Red away. It was sticky and sweet and spicy, and he no longer thought it tasted odd. Mingled with the flavor of her skin, it was definitely the best thing he'd ever tasted. He licked away every last drop, then drew her nipple into his mouth and sucked hard, just to make sure he hadn't missed any.
At last he let go of her nipple, then dribbled a bit of the red liquid over her other nipple, and licked it away, too. His head was suddenly swimming again, and he didn't know if it was from the Cherry Red, or from the arousal that pulsed through his veins in an urgent, pounding beat. All he knew was he couldn't stop. He sucked on her until she cried out, until her fingers dug into his hair, until her body writhed against his.
Reluctantly, he released her nipple, then dribbled a thin trail of the Cherry Red down her stomach, over her navel, and lower, over the dark cloud of hair between her thighs. He licked it all away, lapping it out of her navel, then moving lower, his tongue sliding over her wet satin skin and her silken thatch of hair, while she squirmed beneath him, while she whispered his name over and over again, in a neverending litany.
He shifted position a bit, so that he was between her thighs. She parted her legs for him in an instinctive surrender, and he knelt like a man praying at an altar. He reached down with one big hand and parted the lips of her vulva.
Her body seemed very fragile and delicate beneath his fingers, a reminder that he could hurt her, that he probably would hurt her, no matter how hard he tried to avoid it. She was a virgin, and no one had ever touched her this way before. The thought made him dizzy with lust and longing.
He stared at her for a long moment. Her flesh was vividly pink, like the fragile interior of a seashell, reminding him of a painting he'd once seen, a painting of an orchid by Georgia O'Keeffe.
Orchids again, he thought, slightly amused by his sudden turn toward poetic description. But she really was beautiful, beautiful enough to inspire poetry in a prosaic Kansas farmboy. He was genuinely shocked to realize how lovely her most intimate flesh was.
He parted her still further, finding her clitoris, a pearl hidden amidst the petals of a flower. He lifted the can and spilled it over her in a stream of red liquid, then bent to lick it off.
The Cherry Red and her moisture blended together, the most intoxicating flavor he'd ever tasted. He ran his tongue over her, slowly and carefully, exploring every secret her body held, while she cried out and clutched at his hair. More moisture spilled forth from the depths of her body, flooding his tongue with her exotic flavor, and he poured another stream of Cherry Red onto her and licked it all away.
As his tongue stroked her, she gave a long, tremulous wail of pleasure, her fingers digging frantically into his hair. His head swam and his body pulsed with need, and he very much wanted to give her what she needed. He wanted to make her come, to listen to her screams while her body convulsed wildly.
But he had a bad feeling that the minute he gave her what she wanted, she'd stand up and walk away from him. And he sure as hell didn't want that.
He lifted his head and gazed at her. She was sprawled out on the carpet, totally naked, her thighs spread wide, her body trembling with tautly drawn desire. She definitely looked like a woman who wanted to be fucked.
He ran his hand up the tender skin of her inner thigh and put a big, blunt fingertip against her. She was wet and slick, and violent, throbbing need grabbed him by the balls. He ignored it and slipped his finger inside her hot, tight body, just a little.
She whispered his name again, and her hips rose to meet his hand.
"That's what you want," he said softly. "Me inside you. Filling you."
She whimpered, not even trying to deny it, and he pushed his finger inside her just a little further. He wanted to thrust it into her, all the way, but he wasn't quite sure if he could pop her cherry that way, and he didn't want to hurt her till he absolutely had to.
He withdrew his finger. Her eyes opened, and she looked at him with desperation. He deliberately raised his hand to his mouth and licked her moisture from his fingers, and her eyes widened. She looked shocked and turned on all at once.
"Chloe," he said, his voice dropping into a much lower range, so he didn't sound like himself at all. "God, you taste good."
"Clark." She moved restlessly against the carpet. "Please."
He was glad she wasn't fighting this any more, glad she'd given up her misguided effort to protect him. He yanked off his jeans and boxers, then leaned over her, both of them totally naked. He lowered his body onto hers, so that his cock was pressed against her inner thigh. He moved a little, sliding easily in the moisture there, and his erection jerked hard in response. She shuddered, and her arms lifted, wrapping around his waist.
He moved just a little, so the head of his cock was right against the entrance to her body. A shudder of need passed through him, and he pressed his face into her hair. The vibrant, sexual scent of her was making him dizzy. Or maybe she was right, and the wooziness was a result of the Cherry Red he'd drunk. He didn't know and didn't much care. His mind was fuzzy, but his body was almost painfully alert.
"Chloe," he whispered. "This might hurt."
"I don't care." Her fingernails dug into his back fiercely. "I want you, Clark. I've always wanted you."
"Yeah, I know," he answered softly. A truth he'd never before faced surfaced, shocking him, but he couldn't stop himself from voicing it. "I've always wanted you, too."
Read Chapter 6 here.