Seeing Red, Chapter 3

Kal/Chloe
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 grinned in the darkness, amused by her stubbornness, but not terribly surprised. Chloe had always been so stubborn that she could teach a mule a thing or two.

"Fine," he said softly. He unzipped his jeans and shoved down his boxers in superspeed, then put his hands on her waist and gently lifted her a bit. He leaned forward, and his cock pressed right up against her body.

He heard her gasp, felt the involuntary movement of her hips as she pressed against him, trying to take him inside her body. He thought about being deep inside her, surrounded by her heat, and it was all he could do not to enter her with one hard thrust. But he managed to hold himself back.

"Not yet," he said softly.

She breathed his name again, and her fingers dug into his shoulders. He moved against her, his erection sliding through her wet heat, rubbing against her clitoris, teasing her deliberately. She gasped and moaned and writhed frantically against him, begging without words.

But he wanted her to beg with words. He'd decided that was what he wanted, and he wasn't going to settle for anything less.

It occurred to him vaguely that this was all rather odd behavior for him. Yeah, he'd wanted Chloe for a while, but he'd never tried to force her to admit she wanted him, too. And he'd certainly never thought of screwing her in a storage closet. It just wasn't the sort of thing Clark Kent would do somehow.

But he discovered he didn't much care. Screw Clark Kent. He didn't want to be Clark Kent, who never got the girls he wanted. Being this way, arrogant and obnoxious and pushy, had gotten him exactly what he wanted-- Chloe Sullivan, all hot and bothered and desperate for him. He wasn't sure where this obnoxious part of him was coming from, but frankly, he didn't much care.

He moved against her a little faster, a little harder, rubbing right against her most sensitive flesh until she cried out, her head dropping forward against his shoulder in a gesture of capitulation.

He paused again, even though it killed him to stop. He could feel moisture seeping from the head of his aching cock, could feel his balls tighten with desire, could feel himself throbbing with need, and the last thing he wanted to do was stop. He wanted to fuck her very badly. But he wasn't going to until she admitted that was what she wanted, too... and begged for it.

"Clark," she whispered. He could feel her shaking. "You're driving me crazy."

"All you have to do is ask for it, Chlo."

She shuddered against him. "I can't, Clark. I can't. I have a boyfriend."

At the thought of Jimmy, jealous rage swept through him like a forest fire, obliterating everything in its path. "I told you before," he said in a low, savage growl. "Jimmy doesn't matter to you. I'm the one you want."

"I've been dating Jimmy for months." In response to his sharp tone, the frantic need in her voice faded, and she started to sound pissed. "I don't know where you get the idea he doesn't matter to me."

"Because you're in a closet with me, desperate for me to screw you."

"I am not." She sounded indignant, as if he was just pulling a crazy notion out of thin air. As if she hadn't been squirming against him, trying to get him inside her. As if she were still wearing underpants. "I just... okay, I admit things got a little out of control, Clark. But I guess we better..."

He didn't like where her train of thought was going, so he moved a bit, positioning his erection right against her core. She felt wet and soft, and the fire in his blood heated up to dangerous levels.

He flexed, just a little, and the head of his cock slipped into her. He was barely inside her, but he could already feel her body stretching to accommodate him, could feel her growing wetter with every passing second. She felt slick and creamy and impossibly hot, and he pushed into her just a little more. She leaned her head back and uttered a long, low sound of pleasure and satisfaction.

"If you don't want this," he said softly, "feel free to tell me no."

"Oh, my God." Her voice was very soft, breathless with need and anticipation, and he felt a surge of masculine triumph, because he was damn sure she wasn't thinking about Jimmy any more. "Don't stop, Clark. Whatever you do, don't stop."

*****

Chloe knew she'd been lying, to herself and to Clark. She was desperate for him to screw her, and as much as she hated to admit it, he was right-- Jimmy obviously didn't mean that much to her, or she wouldn't still long for Clark this badly. She hated herself for her weakness, but she'd wanted Clark for so long, and she just couldn't bring herself to stop this now, Jimmy or no Jimmy.

Clark felt enormous, and even though he was barely inside her, she could feel her body stretching around him. A line from an old song ran through her mind: Stronger and harder than a bad girl's dream.

She was a bad girl, deep down, and she'd had all kinds of dreams about this moment, but he was stronger and harder than she'd ever imagined in her kinkiest fantasy.

He slid into her, very, very slowly, and she gasped and sobbed and dug her fingers into his shirt. "Yes, Clark... yes..."

"Say please," he said softly, his voice still dark and dangerous, and very unClarklike.

Irritation filled her, and she wanted to smack him across the face, but she knew that would hurt her a lot worse than it would hurt him. "Are you still going on about that?"

"If you want it," he murmured, "you need to ask for it."

"You want it just as badly as I do."

"I don't think so." He gave a low, cynical laugh. "I can find pussy anywhere, Chlo."

The word-- a word she'd never heard from Clark's lips-- shocked the hell out of her, but the attitude shocked her even more. It was totally unlike Clark to act like women were interchangeable body parts. He'd never treated her, or Lana, or Lois as anything less than a person. An equal.

And now he was acting like she was an inflatable doll.

The attitude struck a faint chord of memory somewhere deep in her mind. She tried to dredge up the memory, but he moved in her, in small, shallow thrusts, and the connections in her brain all fizzled and flickered out. She moaned, needing more of him.

"Oh, Clark..."

"Ask for it," he whispered.

Her eyes flickered open, and she stared into the darkness. Even though she couldn't see him, she could easily imagine the smug look on his face.

She'd seen him look that way, once before. But she couldn't quite get the memory to come into focus somehow.

"Screw you," she snapped again, annoyed by his tone, and by the way he insisted on treating this as some sort of struggle. Making love to the boy she'd adored since high school ought to be a sweet, intimate experience, not a battle of wills. "I'm not asking you for anything, Clark."

"If you want it, you need to ask."

"I'm not asking for anything," she growled. "I'm taking what I want, damn it."

She squeezed her inner muscles around the head of his cock, as hard as she could, and heard his startled intake of breath. "Chloe."

Jerk. Bastard. What the hell was wrong with him, anyway? She squeezed again, and felt no small measure of satisfaction when he groaned and shoved her back against the hard cinderblock wall. At his sudden movement, brooms and mops fell with a clatter, but he didn't seem to notice. He thrust, almost involuntarily, pressing more deeply into her.

She squeezed again, and his body jerked inside hers. His hips flexed hard, and suddenly he was all the way inside her, and it felt really, really good.

Sex up against the wall in a dark broom closet. It didn't sound like a fantasy come true, but she'd take sex with Clark any way she could get it. She realized she didn't need roses and soft music and romance. She just needed Clark.

She squeezed again, and he uttered a soft, high-pitched whimpering sound, his head falling forward, onto her shoulder. "Chloe. Don't."

Squeeze. "If you want me to stop, you'll have to say please," she answered.

"No... don't..." His voice trailed off in a long moan of pleasure as she did it again, and he moved inside her, withdrawing and then thrusting into her, so hard she could feel the blunt head of his erection striking her womb. It felt incredible, and he seemed to think so, too, because his breathing was unsteady, and his body trembled.

"Chloe," he whispered against her shoulder. "You have to stop that. I can't..."

"I'm just another pussy, after all." She let the inner bitch out, just a bit, because he deserved it for acting like an asshole. "If you don't like what I'm doing, there are plenty of other ones out there."

She was pretty sure he did like what she was doing, because when she squeezed him again, he jerked back his head and cried out, responding with another hard thrust. She could feel his body starting to shudder, and his obvious inability to control his reactions gave her a feeling of feminine power that was unfamiliar and heady.

He was losing control... and she was making him lose it.

She squeezed him again in a long, hard, deliberate contraction, and he cried out again. Suddenly all his control faded, and he began thrusting hard, holding her up against the wall and slamming into her.

There was no tenderness in his movements at all, just the violent reaction of a seriously turned-on man. But she didn't mind, because fast, hard sex was what she needed right now, too. Part of her wanted to turn her head and kiss him, but she was still pretty pissed off by his attitude, so she pressed her face into his neck and just held on for the ride.

He moved hard and fast inside her, and tension began to build inside her body. His thrusts grew deeper, faster, and suddenly contractions she had no control over began somewhere in the depths of her body, and she cried out as she climaxed in a long, shuddering explosion of intense pleasure.

Clark gave a deep groan, and she felt him thrust hard, almost brutally, his body stiffening under her hands, his muscles rigid. A long sound came out of him, a noise of desperate ecstasy, and she felt his body jerking wildly in hers as he came.

And then he was pressing her into the wall, gasping for breath, his body suddenly very heavy against hers.

"Clark," she whispered, stroking his hair. His hairline was wet with sweat, his hair wavier and messier than ever, and she ran her fingers through it in a gentle gesture of warmth and affection. She listened to the deep sound of his breathing, felt the sweaty warmth of his body against hers, and tenderness and affection filled her. Maybe it was just afterglow, but maybe it was something else. Something a little deeper.

He leaned against her for a long moment, then straightened up and pulled away from her. She almost cried at the loss of his body, but she supposed they couldn't stay here forever. She heard the soft rasp of his zipper as he fastened his jeans.

She reached out, groping in the dark, and put a hand on his arm. "That was nice, Clark."

"Yeah." His voice sounded distant and unimpressed. "You're a pretty decent fuck, Chloe."

Apparently the attitude was back. She blinked into the darkened closet for a long moment. And then she groped in the darkness and found a mop... and broke the handle over his head.

Read Chapter 4 here.