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!
Chloe could feel Clark's erection rubbing lightly against her, sliding against the slick moisture of her body. He'd wound her up so tightly that the brush of his body against hers made her throb with need. She wanted to feel more of him so badly she couldn't stop herself from digging her fingernails into his back, or trying to. She found herself clutching him as possessively as if he were truly hers.
She knew she should have pushed him away, walked away from him when she'd had the chance. But she'd wanted Clark for too long, and she just wasn't strong enough to walk away from a Clark who was passionate and ardent and sexy... and who wanted her.
It's not really him, she thought with a touch of self-loathing. It's the Cherry Red.
She remembered his softly spoken words: I've always wanted you. She wondered if it was true, or if he'd just said those words to get her into bed. She wouldn't put it past Clark to act that way while on red K, because he was obviously uncharacteristically hedonistic when he was on the stuff. He clearly wanted to get laid, and it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that he might feed her a line to get her into bed.
But there had been a sincerity in his tone, a look in his eyes, that made her think maybe he really meant it. Maybe the red K was just forcing him to admit something he hadn't ever wanted to admit before, even to himself.
Or maybe she was just rationalizing like crazy to justify what she was about to let him do.
Opening her eyes, she looked up at him. His finely hewn features were set, his jaw tense, and his eyes narrowed, as if he were focusing really hard. She suddenly remembered, with a stab of disgust at her own behavior, that he was a virgin, too. Despite the way he'd touched her, kissed her, licked her earlier, he really didn't have any more of a clue what he was doing than she did.
This would be his first time.
His first time ought to be special. He ought to be making love to a girl he really loved, not having raunchy sex with a girl he'd hardly noticed before, just because she happened to be nearby. He shouldn't lose his virginity under the influence of a drug he'd inadvertently drunk.
Remorse and self-disgust flowed over her in waves. Struggling to ignore the sexual need that had her insides tied into knots, she reached up with both hands and pushed at his shoulders. "Clark," she whispered.
"Stop thinking." He lowered his head and spoke into her ear, in that deep, persuasive voice that she found so hard to resist. "Quit worrying about stuff and just let me make love to you, Chlo."
She opened her mouth to say no, but he nibbled on her earlobe, and the word died unspoken.
"Okay," she answered instead, her voice a bare murmur.
She was pathetic. Where he was concerned, she'd never had any self-control. And he'd wound her body up so tightly that she had far less than usual now. She needed sex-- sex with him-- more desperately than she'd ever needed anything.
At her acquiescence, he lifted his head and stared down at her, something dark and predatory lighting his eyes. Beneath her hands, she felt the muscles of his back flex, and he pushed into her, just a little.
The tip of his erection felt impossibly huge, so enormous she couldn't imagine how all of him could fit. It felt intrusive, and yet at the same time it was exactly what she craved, precisely what she needed. She couldn't stop her hands from dropping to his ass, her fingers curling into the tight muscles, pulling on him in a wordless demand for more.
"That's what you want," he said into her ear, his voice thick and dark and rich, flowing over her like honey. "You want me inside you. All the way inside you."
His low, sexy voice acted on her like a drug, intoxicating her the way the Cherry Red had intoxicated him. "Clark," she whispered, hardly aware she was speaking. "Clark."
His hand moved to her breast, and his thumb began stroking her nipple in a slow, gentle caress that sent heat arrowing right to her core. His muscles flexed again, rippling under her hands, and he slid into her just a little more. She could feel her body resisting him, but it didn't stand much of a chance against him, any more than she herself did.
"I'm sorry." His voice was hoarse. "I'm sorry if this hurts. I don't want to hurt you."
"It's all right." Knowing that he was concerned for her, even in the midst of a drug-induced passionate haze, made her throat tighten. She closed her eyes against the tears that burned her lids. "I'd rather it was you than anyone else."
"Ah, God," he whispered, and it sounded reverent, like a prayer. "Chloe."
The muscles of his ass tensed beneath her hands, and then he thrust into her in a single hard motion. She yelped, jerking her head back in startled pain, and he froze, deep inside her.
"I'm sorry," he muttered again.
"Not... your... fault." It didn't hurt as badly as she'd feared, actually. Based on the old romance novels she'd read, she'd braced herself for excruciating pain and torrents of blood. Instead there was only a stinging sensation, and that was fading rapidly. It didn't hurt so much as it felt... odd. Alien.
There was someone else inside her body, filling her in a way she'd never been filled before, and she could actually feel her body stretching to accommodate him. It felt very peculiar, but the strangeness of it quickly started to give way to a feeling of intense intimacy. Their bodies were locked together, so that they were almost literally one body. One person.
She opened her eyes, not without effort, and looked at him. His face was taut with the effort of holding himself still, his lips pressed together tightly, his eyes half-shut. Beneath the fringe of thick, dark lashes, his eyes glowed a vivid, inhuman crimson. She could see the strain in his face, could see how hard he was struggling to restrain himself.
But she didn't want him to restrain himself.
"More," she whispered.
"Chloe." His voice was a low rumble of need and desire. "I don't want... to hurt you..."
"I need you," she whispered, and moved her hips a bit.
A sound rose out of his throat, a noise almost of anguish. He withdrew almost entirely, then thrust into her again with a long, drawn-out groan. It smarted a little, but it also felt incredibly good, and her fingers dug into his hips again, clutching at him, asking for more.
She could sense him trying to restrain himself, but by now she'd figured out red K didn't do much for his self-control. He thrust again, and again, and it felt so good that her body arched in an involuntary effort to take more of him inside her. But somehow it didn't quite work. He wasn't all the way inside her, and she wasn't sure what to do about it.
He whispered her name in a rough, strangled voice. Her hands slipped up his back, and she could feel his skin growing wet with sweat beneath her palms, could feel the muscles rippling and bulging beneath the skin as his body moved. He turned his head, pressing his face against her throat.
"It's not enough," he muttered. "I need more of you, Chlo."
She wasn't sure how to give him more. He just didn't quite seem to fit somehow. But prodded by instinct, she lifted her thighs, wrapping her legs around his waist and locking her calves around his rear, and suddenly he was even deeper inside her, panting harshly.
"Ahhhh, Jesus, Chloe. God, yes."
He withdrew and slammed into her hard, giving her every last inch of him, thrusting so deeply it might have hurt if the pleasure hadn't drowned out every other sensation. A high, wavering sound rose from her lips, and he uttered a long cry of agonized pleasure. She could hear him trying to smother his cries against her throat, but not succeeding very well.
The tension and need he'd created built higher and higher with every movement of his body. She strained against him, struggling to reach what she so desperately needed. "Clark," she whispered, clutching frantically at him. "Faster. Please."
He began to rock against her, fast and hard, and heat seared her, scorching her skin and her bones and her flesh, burning hotter and hotter until she could barely stand it. She heard herself sobbing with every thrust, felt herself throbbing deep inside. She ached so badly she was afraid she might not survive it if she didn't find release.
His body moved hard in hers, in a rapid, pounding rhythm. "Oh, Christ," he murmured against her throat. "I didn't know... Chloe, I had no idea it would feel... so... fucking... good..."
He slammed into her even harder, and the knot inside her unraveled with shocking suddenness. She cried out, hanging onto him like he was the only thing keeping her from floating away entirely, as heat and ecstasy spilled through her in an endless flood. Ripples of pleasure rolled through her, over and over again, and he didn't stop moving until the last one had faded and she had fallen back against the carpet, sucking in deep, desperate breaths.
She'd expected him to come when he did, but apparently he wasn't quite there yet, although his body was shuddering violently, and his breath came in ragged gasps. She could feel the effort it took to hold himself still, to fight back his climax, and she wondered why he was fighting it so hard.
"Clark," she whispered. "What are you waiting for?"
"It feels so good," he answered in a low growl. "I don't want to ever stop, Chlo."
She was okay with that, but she doubted it could last forever. In fact, she doubted it could last much more than a few seconds longer, given the way his body was quivering. She ran her hand through his hair, down over his shoulders, admiring his musculature, the way his perfect body was put together, and then turned her head and kissed his cheek. He shivered, whispering her name over and over again, his voice nothing more than a harsh rasp.
At last he apparently couldn't keep himself still any longer. He withdrew, almost all the way, and slid back into her. She lifted her legs again in an instinctive response, letting him sink into her all the way to the balls, and he gave a drawn-out, sobbing moan and arched his head back. She opened her eyes, seeing the agony on his features, the way his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth fell open, and she knew he was about to come again.
He thrust again, and again, and suddenly he was moving in her violently, his voice raised almost to a shout, his body shaking wildly. She felt the hard jerk of his hips as he plunged into her one last time, every muscle in his body tensing, a long, desperate sound rising from him.
And then he was collapsing onto her, trembling.
She stroked his hair, which was damp with sweat. "Clark," she whispered. "Are you all right?"
He nodded jerkily. "I didn't know... Chlo, I didn't know it could be like that."
"Me neither," she said softly. "I wonder if it's always like that."
He lifted his head and grinned at her. His eyes still gleamed red, and he looked like the devil, offering her a temptation she couldn't refuse.
"I guess we'll have to try it again and find out," he said.
Read Chapter 7 here.