Season 6, based on spoilers for "Crimson"
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 could hear the harsh, fast sound of Chloe's breathing, the rapid thud of her pulse, and it was music to his ears. Not an elegant, intricate symphony, but the sexual, pounding, blunt beat of rock 'n' roll. Her heartbeat sounded like a drum in his ears, and he knew she wanted him as badly as he wanted her.
But she hesitated a long moment, and he guessed she was thinking about Jimmy again.
"Kiss me," he whispered, lowering his head a little more. In the darkness, he couldn't see her, but they were so close he could feel her breath against his lips. "You know you want to, Chlo. You never cared about Jimmy at all."
"That's not true."
"Sure it is. The only guy you've ever wanted... is me."
He heard a change in her breathing and recognized that her mood was swinging toward anger. "There's not enough room in this little closet for us and your huge ego," she said between her teeth.
A soft laugh broke from him. "It's not just my ego that's huge right now," he said, pressing against her, so she could feel his swollen cock through his jeans. He heard her soft intake of breath and leaned toward her a little more, his lips so close to hers that he could almost taste her. He remembered the feel of her tongue brushing gently over his lips, and he shivered. "Kiss me, damn it."
"I wouldn't kiss you if you were the last man on Earth."
He almost laughed at her defiant words, amused because they were so obviously untrue. She'd just admitted to wanting to kiss him, after all. "Harsh, Chlo."
"I mean it. Yeah, I wanted to kiss you six months ago, but now I've got Jimmy. I don't want you any more, Clark."
Her tone was curt and dismissive, and the words burned like acid. Angry hurt lit in him like a torch flaming inside his chest. He felt the sudden need to put his fist through a wall, but managed to restrain his violent impulse. "Fine," he snarled. "Don't kiss me, then."
His hand slid down her body, and she clutched at him. "What are you doing?"
"I don't want... ohhhh."
His hand had reached under the hem of her skirt and was now moving up the soft skin of her inner thigh. He felt a shiver go through her, and a corresponding tremor went through his body. He'd imagined touching her this way so many times, fantasized about caressing her. Ever since the night she kissed him, he'd dreamed of touching her.
But the fact that she had a boyfriend, and the knowledge that she didn't really want him, hadn't ever been part of those fantasies.
Dark emotion consumed him as rage built inside him, twisting together with the lust he felt for her, until he couldn't tell them apart.
His hand brushed over the satin and lace of her panties, and she quivered, her hands clutching at his shoulders. "Clark. Clark."
The sound of his name on her lips made the fiery rage inside him die down to a simmer. He was slightly placated to realize she wanted him, whether she'd admit it or not.
And he intended to make her admit it.
He moved his hand in a slow, steady rhythm, and she writhed and twisted against him, gasping.
"You like that," he said in her ear. "You like it when I touch you that way."
"I don't... oh, Clark."
He decided he preferred it when she was inarticulate. Listening to her moan his name was a lot better than listening to her insult him. He kept moving his hand, feeling the satin grow wet against his fingers, until violent shudders racked her body.
"You want more," he whispered. "Don't you?"
She didn't say anything, but her body arched against his, and her hands lifted, her fingers sinking deep into his hair. A long, sobbing moan came out of her mouth.
"I'll take that as a yes," he said, and ripped her panties off.
Chloe couldn't believe the way Clark was acting. More to the point, she couldn't believe the way she was acting. She was supposed to be dating Jimmy Olsen-- she'd been dating Jimmy for months-- and yet all Clark had to do was touch her, and she found herself practically begging for more.
It was enough to make a girl suspect she really didn't care that much about Jimmy after all.
And what the hell was up with Clark? He'd never made a move on her before like this, never demanded that she kiss him. She remembered with bewilderment that he'd kissed Lana and Lois, too. Maybe something was wrong with him. Lois had sounded odd on the phone, too. Maybe there was something wrong with both of them...
Her thoughts shattered to bits, like glass hitting concrete, as his hand moved upward again. Her underwear lay in shreds on the floor of the closet, leaving her vulnerable to his touch, and he took full advantage of her vulnerability. His fingers began to delve into her moisture-- and she was very definitely wet. Really wet. Embarrassingly wet.
At least, it should have been embarrassing. But as his moistened finger found her most sensitive spot and began to stroke it, with soft, light, slow caresses that melted her from the inside out, she discovered she wasn't nearly as embarrassed as she ought to be.
She wanted more, wanted it with a desperate need that twisted her into knots. In the darkness, she couldn't see him, not even as a shadow, but she could feel his solidity under her hands, could smell the scent of his sweat on his skin. His big body leaned into hers, pressing her into the wall, and she felt his erection against her abdomen. Even through jeans it felt really hot and really big, and she felt a frantic throb of need deep inside her body. She wanted him inside her, so badly she ached for it.
She wanted him, with a pure, sharp-edged desire she'd never felt for anyone else.
"That feels good," he said in a low purr. "Doesn't it?"
She strained against him, frustrated because his fingers were stroking her so slowly. It felt incredible, but she felt like she was about to explode. If only he'd move his hand a little faster...
He laughed softly. "In a hurry, Chlo?"
His fingers were slick with her moisture, and her head fell back against the wall in helpless submission. He moved his hand a little and thrust two fingers inside her, hard, and she cried out and dug her fingers into his shirt again.
"God, Chlo." His voice dropped into a bedroom timbre, a low rumble of sensual need. "You're so wet. So hot. You're going to feel so good when I fuck you."
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she thought she ought to object to his casual, confident assertion that they were going to have sex, but she couldn't. She wanted him, and she couldn't deny it. There wasn't any point in denying it. Her body had already made it pretty obvious what she wanted, and how badly she wanted it.
His big, blunt fingers moved inside her, in the same torturously slow rhythm, and she clung to him, knowing she should push him away, but totally unable to do so. His fingers thrust into her in a lazy, slow tempo, and she felt her body clutching at him eagerly, heard her voice raised in a wail of desperate need. God, she hoped there wasn't anyone out in the halls who might hear her.
He moved his hand, a little harder, and she cried out again. The hell with it-- she really didn't care who heard her.
"Say please," he said softly. "Say please, and I'll fuck you."
She imagined making love to him in the darkness, with no one to witness her moment of weakness, and need almost overwhelmed her. But she wasn't going to beg for it, damn him. She'd spent years longing for him, and she'd finally moved on. Well, sort of. Not quite as much as she'd thought, apparently. Even so, she was damned if she was going to beg him to have sex with her now.
She dropped her head forward, pressing her face into the soft flannel of his shirt, and refused to say anything at all.
"You're so damned stubborn." His hand continued to move in her, driving her to the edge of insanity, and his voice was low and rich, dripping with the promise of sex. "You've always been stubborn, Chlo. Just ask for it, and I'll give it to you."
She wanted him so badly her mouth opened, but she bit into his shirt to stop herself from speaking. She would have rather bitten into his shoulder, hard, but Clark had invulnerable skin, like steel, and she'd only break her teeth if she bit him.
And then he moved back from her, just a bit, and pulled his fingers from her body. She almost burst into tears at the sudden emptiness. He bent to kiss her throat, and then his mouth was everywhere, tracing her jawline, nibbling on her ear, sucking her nipples right through her blouse, until they were so hard they hurt. His hands touched her everywhere, squeezing and stroking and exploring, until she couldn't stand it any more. She caught his hair in her hands and yanked hard, in a way that would have hurt anyone else.
"Now," she whispered, her voice soft but intense. "Now, Clark."
He lifted his head a bit, and she felt his hot breath against her throat as he chuckled. "What happened to please?"
"Now, damn it."
"No." His voice was implacable. "Beg for it."
Irrational anger filled her, annoyance at the way he was attempting to control her. She didn't like being controlled, and she didn't like his attitude, damn it. She spoke between gritted teeth.
"Screw you, Clark."
Read Chapter 3 here.