You're My Angel, Chapter 1

Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8

Manip by Khyla. Used with permission of the artist.

Clark/Chloe
Season 5, rewrite of "Exposed"
11,000 words
Rating: Adult. If you're under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
Story idea is from the manip above. Title is also by Khyla. All used with permission-- thanks!

Clark Kent had never seen so much female flesh.

He nervously tugged at his tie, trying to look like a sophisticated patron of the strip club-- or rather, "private gentleman's establishment"-- rather than a wide-eyed farmboy. But despite the suit he wore, he was pretty sure he looked exactly like what he was... an eighteen-year-old kid whose eyes were bulging out of their sockets.

He picked up his "straight up, on the rocks" Coke and took another swig as a skinny redhead dressed in nothing but a few sequins swung around the pole on stage, her breasts bouncing in a distracting way. He tried really hard not to be distracted. He was here to listen in on the conversations of the patrons and try to clear Senator Jack Jennings of murder, not to admire the talent. Besides, he shouldn't enjoy seeing women exploited this way. Women were people, and he had absolutely no interest in seeing them treated as sex objects.

Yeah, right. He snorted at the thought, aware that he was kidding himself. Apparently when it came right down to it, he was just like any other guy. Show him a little skin and he drooled.

The redhead finished her dance to a smattering of applause, and Clark looked away from the stage, using his superhearing to listen to the conversations around him. He didn't hear anything useful, just some randy comments about the size of the redhead's breasts.

"And now," the announcer said over the PA system, "making her first appearance at the Wingate... please welcome the Fallen Angel!"

Unable to help himself, Clark glanced back at the stage. Wow. The redhead had been pretty-- hell, they'd all been prettty-- but this girl was like one of his fantasies come to life. Her head was downbent, so all he could see of her was a cascade of straight golden hair. She wore a long, sequined white gown that fell all the way to the floor, and a pair of diaphanous wings edged with feathers.

She looks like Chloe, he thought, and shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

He couldn't see her face, but the golden hair, the way she was built, the way she moved... everything about her reminded him of Chloe Sullivan, his best friend. Which shouldn't turn him on this much, because that was all he and Chloe were, all they'd ever been. Friends. Clark was finally dating Lana Lang, the girl of his dreams, and he didn't have any romantic interest in Chloe. Period.

And yet he was conscious that lately, Chloe had featured prominently in an awful lot of his fantasies-- his sexual fantasies.

His very sexual fantasies.

When he became aware of that embarrassing fact, he'd done his best to shift his thoughts back toward Lana, but a guy couldn't really help what he imagined when he was half asleep, or when he was... well. The problem was that he was in love with Lana, and yet somehow Chloe's smiling face and golden hair tended to flash into his mind on a pretty regular basis.

And this girl... God, she looked a lot like Chloe.

Sweet, celestial harp music, very different from the grinding rock beat most of the girls had danced to, filled the air, and she began to dance, the sequins of her gown flashing in the bright white spotlight. Her movements were graceful, but a little untutored, as if she wasn't quite sure what she was doing. Maybe she was new. But her slight awkwardness, coupled with the costume, made her seem sweet and innocent and pure somehow. She kept her head downbent, and he stared, entranced by her every movement.

Her small hands reached up and tugged on her glittering dress, and suddenly it fell open. She tugged it off and tossed it aside, leaving her clad in nothing but two little sequined scraps, and the wings. And now he was definitely drooling, because her body was perfect.

She didn't resemble the rest of the strippers, who'd looked seriously underfed, like they could really use a few of his mom's pies. The redhead had been outright scrawny, except for her breasts. But this girl wasn't scrawny in the least. Her body was lush and curved, the way he thought a woman's body ought to be. Her breasts were full, her hips wide and womanly, and although her waist was slender, there was an enticing hint of roundness at her belly.

He instantly found himself imagining kneeling in front of her, kissing and licking her there, pressing his lips against the warm, soft skin of her abdomen, and he blinked, trying futilely to get the images out of his head.

Damn it. All of a sudden he had the worst hard-on of his life.

The blonde undulated gracefully over to the pole, wrapped a leg around it, and arched backward, and all the beautiful golden hair cascaded toward the floor, giving him his first good look at her face. Clark's jaw dropped open, because it was Chloe.

Chloe Sullivan was stripping right in front of him.

Read Chapter 2 here.