Second half of season 6
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
"You look like you could use some coffee."
Chloe Sullivan looked up from her computer screen to see her friend Clark Kent standing in front of her, holding an enormous Styrofoam cup. "Oh, thank God," she said, reaching out for the cup. "You're a lifesaver, Clark."
Clark grinned, looking as pleased with himself as if he'd just rescued her from a burning building. "I thought you sounded kind of bleary on the phone."
"I'm way past bleary and into practically unconscious." She rubbed at her eyes. "I've been here since five o'clock this morning. And now it's what, eight?"
"It's past eleven, Chlo."
"Oh." She blinked and looked around, realizing the Daily Planet's basement was totally deserted but for them. "Wow. I didn't realize it was quite so late."
He rested his hip on her desk and looked down at her with a smile. He was disgustingly gorgeous, dark brown hair waving wildly around sculpted features that made Michelangelo's David look ugly by comparison. His wide, white smile only added to his beauty. Just looking at him was enough to make her heart melt and her body temperature spike up a few degrees. But she reminded herself firmly that Clark wasn't her boyfriend.
Up till recently, she'd been dating Jimmy Olsen. He hadn't been stunningly handsome or superpowered, but he was a great guy, and she'd liked him a lot. But her body temperature had remained perfectly steady when they were together. Eventually she'd had to admit to herself that she and Jimmy just didn't have any sort of real chemistry, and they'd broken up. Not Jimmy's fault, not at all. She'd had a problem she just couldn't get past.
And the problem was sitting on her desk, smiling.
"Chloe," he reproved. "You're working too hard. You need to learn to relax."
"Yeah, right." She took a deep swallow of the coffee and grinned up at him. "When have you ever known me to relax?"
"You've always worked too hard," he admitted. "But you're getting worse about it. I know you want to prove yourself to Kahn, but there's no point in killing yourself."
Pauline Kahn was Chloe's tough-as-nails editor. Chloe shrugged. "I'm not working this hard for Kahn, Clark. I'm working for myself. I want to prove to myself I can do it. I want to prove I'm worthy to be here."
He reached out and gave her ponytail an affectionate tug. "Of course you're worthy to be here, silly girl. You've already had bylines on the front page."
"That was only twice," she said, shrugging.
"It'll happen a lot more, Chlo. Trust me."
She looked at the big stack of notes on her desk and sighed. "I don't know, Clark. Most of my stories get buried on page sixty-eight. Maybe I'm just not that good..."
"That's the lack of caffeine talking," he interrupted. "Have some more coffee, Chlo. You'll feel better."
She took another big sip of coffee, and sure enough, she began to feel better. She could feel her synapses firing as her brain began to come back on line. She grinned up at him. "How do you always know exactly what I need?"
"I've known you a long time, Chloe." He grinned down at her again, a beautiful, happy smile that made her stomach melt. "I know everything about you."
She laughed. "Oh, you do not."
"Sure I do. Test me." His smile widened, so that his dimples flashed. "I dare you to find something I don't know about you."
"Okay." She thought for a moment. "Favorite color."
"Please." He rolled his eyes. "Green."
"Favorite musical group."
"What is this, Chloe for dummies? Remy Zero."
"Favorite TV show."
"Veronica Mars. Duh. Come on, Chlo. Ask me a hard one."
She took a long sip of coffee and looked up at him. Exhaustion, along with the sudden caffeine overload, combined to make her a little reckless. "The kiss I dream about at night."
His eyes went wide, but he immediately tried to cover the reaction, smiling ruefully. "Well, let's see. You've kissed me, Justin Gaines, Jimmy Olsen, and... what was that kid's name in eighth grade?"
"Right, that's him. Uh..." He looked flummoxed, but gamely went on. "I'm guessing Jimmy. I mean, you dated him for months. So it figures... it figures he's the best kisser of all of us."
"No," she said softly. "You're wrong."
He blinked down at her, his lips parted, as if he wanted to say something but didn't quite dare. His green eyes were wide, and, she thought, a little hopeful. "So when you dream, you dream about..."
She smiled innocently up at him. "Derek Anderson."
The tension in the room abruptly broke, and he burst out laughing. "Okay," he said. "So you managed to found something I didn't know about you, after all."
"My turn," she said. "Let's see how much I know about you."
He shrugged. "Okay, but let's make it fair. You have to answer the exact same questions. What's my favorite color?"
She looked at the horrible crimson jacket he wore-- the jacket he wore almost every freaking day, even if it was a hundred degrees out-- and snorted. "Gee, let me think. Could it be red?"
"Bingo." He grinned, apparently unconcerned by her disgusted glance at his beloved jacket. "Favorite musical group."
"Coldplay. And your favorite song is 'Clocks.'" Last year he'd played it every last time she'd gotten in his truck, to the point that she had seriously considered stealing his CD and throwing it out the window like a Frisbee. Not that she had anything against Coldplay, but once she'd heard the song five thousand times she'd gotten a little sick of it.
"Uh-huh. Favorite TV show?"
"Of course." He lifted an eyebrow. "And... the kiss I dream about at night."
"Lana," she said instantly. "Some kiss you shared with Lana."
"No," he said softly. "Mine happened in eighth grade, too."
She stared up at him for a long moment. He hadn't been able to get near Lana that year, because she'd always worn a meteor rock necklace. And he'd been pretty shy and awkward. She remembered him as skinny and short and not at all at ease around girls.
In fact, the only girl she ever remembered him kissing that year... was her.
He looked uncomfortable, as if he'd admitted more than he'd meant to, and stood up. "Um," he said. "Well. I just came by to bring you your coffee. But I guess you have things to do, so I better get going. I, uh, it's late and I have to get up early tomorrow to do chores and stuff, so..."
She stood up and came around the desk. "Clark," she said softly. She stood up on tiptoe and wrapped her arms around his neck and brushed her lips over his.
A soft noise rumbled in his chest, and his arms went around her almost instantly, pulling her against him. Their lips met, clinging together softly, in a sweet, affectionate kiss that reminded her a lot of their first kiss. They'd only been kids then, and neither of them had known a thing about kissing.
But on the day she'd met Clark, she'd known she wanted him to be her first kiss.
And now she was kissing Clark again, only he wasn't a pimpled, skinny boy any more, but a massive, muscular demigod. She was afraid he might think she was being a little pushy if she tried to deepen the kiss, so she tried to pull away, but he didn't let her. His arms were around her and he'd grabbed a handful of her suit jacket. He obviously had no intentions of letting go.
The kiss got deeper and hotter, because they weren't fourteen years old any more, and because she'd been waiting for this a long time. Her lips parted in an instinctive surrender, and his tongue slid between her lips and touched hers. She moaned softly, and he echoed her with a low, deep growl.
She'd kissed him here in the Daily Planet about six months ago, but right after that she'd met Jimmy Olsen and started dating him. She'd done her best to forget about Clark, because she thought he didn't feel that way about her.
But judging from the way he was kissing her, he did feel that way about her, and had for a while.
Her hands slid into his hair and her body pressed against his, and the kiss went on until her body temperature rose to dangerously high levels. At last he lifted his head and looked into her eyes. There was still a hint of confusion and insecurity in his gaze, and she put a hand on his cheek.
"I was lying about Derek Anderson," she said.
His eyes brightened. "No kidding?"
"No kidding." She smiled. "I dream about kissing you. Every night."
He looked down at her for a minute, then his lips curved in an answering smile.
"Maybe we should give you something else to dream about."
He picked her up and placed her onto her desk on her back, scattering piles of notes, and she lifted her hands and pressed against his shoulders. "Hey," she said sternly. "I'm working."
He lowered himself onto her and brushed a soft kiss over her lips. "You've been working all day, Chloe. You're entitled to a coffee break."
"This is more like a sex break."
"That too." He started kissing her throat, and she moaned.
"You know," she whispered, "I think the quality of my dreams is definitely going to improve."
"Yeah." His voice was hoarse. "Mine too."
She kissed his ear. "You should bring me coffee more often."
He lifted his head and grinned down at her.
"From now on," he promised, "I'll bring you coffee every night."