More Than You Know, Chapter 4

Clark/Chloe
Season 6, end of "Labyrinth"
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 expected Chloe to pull away from him, the way she had when he'd been nuzzling her neck. But instead her arms went around his shoulders, and she pulled him closer.

He wasn't sure why she was reacting differently. Maybe she felt the need to console him for everything he'd suffered, or maybe his anguish at her "death" was coming through more clearly. Either way, he didn't mind. Not at all. His lips parted in an instinctive reaction, and he slid his tongue into her mouth, rather tentatively.

The tip of her tongue touched his, and heat exploded through him.

God, she tasted good. He remembered the old childhood rhyme, sugar and spice and everything nice, and thought vaguely that girls really were made of all that. At least Chloe was. He just hoped he didn't taste like snips and snails and puppy dog tails.

He deepened the kiss, because the instant their tongues brushed together he'd suddenly lost all ability to stop. She was pliant and soft, her head dropping back in surrender, her body arching into his. It occurred to him that if her boyfriend wouldn't have liked finding him nuzzling her throat, he sure as hell wouldn't appreciate finding them sucking face this way, but he pushed the thought away. He'd lost Chloe tonight, and he seriously needed reassurance, and right now he just didn't care that she had a boyfriend. It seemed irrelevant somehow, and easily ignored in the face of his need for her.

He had to kiss her. He just couldn't help himself.

The kiss got hotter, more desperate, and he thought of all the times she'd been there for him, all the times she'd gotten him out of tight situations. Even in his dream, she'd saved him. Intellectually, he knew it hadn't been her at all, just the way his mind thought of her, but it still warmed him that when he was in trouble, he knew he could count on her to save him.

*****

He was running across a dark, snowy field. His toes and face and hands were starting to freeze, but he didn't let that slow him down. He could hear footfalls behind him, and he ran faster. And then he heard a gun fire.

He wasn't invulnerable right now, and he knew a warning when he heard one, so he slid to a halt. The footsteps walked toward him. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw one of the Luthor security guards holding a gun on him.

"There's nowhere to run, Mr. Kent. Just relax. And put your hands behind you."

The guy moved toward him, and Clark stood still, hands behind his back, because he definitely didn't want to be shot. Suddenly car tires squealed, and a small car came careening across the snowy field toward them. Clark glanced back, saw the guy was momentarily distracted by the car's approach, and yanked his hands up, hitting the guy in the chin. The man reeled, and Clark swung his fist and slugged the security guard. The guy went over backward and sprawled in the snow, senseless.

The car slid to a halt, and the passenger side door opened. Clark hesitated for just a second, then looked back and saw two more security guards charging at him. He decided the unknown car was the lesser of two evils and ran toward it, dropping into the passenger seat and yanking the door shut.

The second his door closed, the car took off. He glanced over and saw Chloe grinning at him. He grinned back, feeling happy for the first time since he'd found himself in this bizarre world. Thank God he wasn't trapped alone in this strange situation any longer. And thank God she'd shown up when she did. She'd saved his ass.

But then, he should have known Chloe would save him.

She always did.

*****

He found himself with a hand under her shirt, running his palm over the smooth, soft skin of her back. Her hands slid up under his shirt, too, and the touch of her hands felt so good he moaned into her mouth, and was instantly embarrassed by the sheer neediness of the sound. But she didn't seem to mind. She kept touching him, her hands sliding over his ribs and his shoulderblades and down the indentation of his spine, and he shivered and lifted one hand, tangling it into the thick, soft mass of her hair.

The fire crackled, and he felt the heat of it on his skin, but it wasn't nearly as hot as the touch of her hands. He suddenly realized he was seriously hard, so hard it hurt, so hard his jeans felt unbearably tight. Her hand slid down his back again, toward his ass, and he ached to capture her hand and press it against the fly of his jeans. But he didn't quite dare, afraid that if he was that aggressive she'd move away from him again.

He remembered her earlier words: Hey... getting a little carried away, aren't you?

Yeah, he was definitely getting a little carried away.

Her hand slid down further, dipping into his jeans and caressing his ass, just beneath his waistband, and suddenly he needed the touch of her body so badly he couldn't stop himself. He went over backward on the couch, pulling her down on top of him. She settled on top of him, her thighs parting, and suddenly there was the pressure he'd been craving against his erection as her warm, soft body slid against his. He moaned again, and if the last moan had been needy, this one was absolutely desperate.

He'd been trying to keep his own hands in the friendship zone-- if running his hands up under her shirt could really be considered merely friendly-- but his fingers tingled to touch more of her, and he figured if she was going to run her hands over his ass, he ought to be able to do the same. The way he saw it, it was an equal opportunity issue.

With that rationalization in mind, he let his hands slide down and capture two handfuls of nicely rounded flesh. Even through the denim, she felt awesome, and he wondered why he'd never touched her there before. Not that he usually went around grabbing his friends' butts, but for Chloe, he definitely should have made an exception a long time ago.

He cupped her cheeks and rolled his hips, moving against her, and pleasure shot through him, so intense that another of those frantic sounds was dragged from him. He couldn't believe how badly he wanted her, and he wondered if he'd always wanted her this desperately, and had just been lying to himself all this time.

Or maybe what was making him crazy was the memory of her dying in his arms, with him powerless to save her. In his dream, she'd saved him... and he'd failed to save her.

He lifted an arm and wrapped it around her waist, holding her tightly against him, burying his face in her hair.

I'll always save you, Chlo, he vowed silently. I swear it.

She brushed kisses over his throat and his ear and his jaw, and his eyes drifted shut. Their bodies seemed to be getting closer and warmer despite the clothing, and for a disorienting moment he wondered if maybe this was a dream. Then he opened his eyes and looked into her face, and reminded himself firmly that this was reality.

And a hell of a nice reality, too.

Read Chapter 5 here.