Thinking About It, Chapter 3

Clark/Chloe
Season 6, after "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 slid his arms around Chloe’s waist hesitantly, almost shyly. He’d hugged her many times before, but hugging her with the intention of, well, going further was a little different somehow. A little sexier.

And pulling her against him when he had a massive erection was a little sexier, too. Okay, a lot sexier. As his arms tightened around her, her stomach pressed up against his swollen, aching flesh, and it felt so good his momentary shyness vanished instantly.

He reached up, caught a handful of her hair, and tugged her head back, then lowered his head and kissed her.

It was a gentle, almost platonic kiss, just a light brush of his lips against hers. Even so, sparks shot through him, and he felt an almost irresistible urge to deepen the kiss. He didn’t want to move too fast, so he managed to ignore the impulse and continued to kiss her very lightly. Her lips moved against his, soft and sweet, and the kisses got longer, but no deeper. And yet his body reacted as if he’d stuck his tongue down her throat. He felt his erection throbbing and his heart pounding.

They kissed that way for a long time, as if neither quite had the nerve to take it to the next level. He was vaguely aware that her arms were around his neck, her hands buried in his hair, her body moving against his in an intimate way—but their mouths stayed closed. And he found that he didn’t mind. He liked kissing her. The soft, easy touch of their lips sent fire singing through his veins, and he felt himself beginning to shiver.

At last her tongue slid out and began to trace the contours of his lips. He made a soft noise of pleasure, because the light touch of her tongue felt incredible, so incredible that his heat vision started to threaten to burn holes in his eyelids. He kept his eyes firmly shut and reveled in the sensation of her tongue stroking his lips.

His mouth opened, almost involuntarily, and he let his tongue slip out for a taste of her, too. Their tongues touched, and suddenly they were kissing eagerly, his tongue thrusting into the warm, spicy depths of her mouth, their lips molding together just as their bodies did.

Another little sound escaped him, and he moaned into her mouth. She moaned, too, and he felt the vibration run from his tongue straight through every nerve in his body.

He wondered vaguely why they’d never done this before. Sure, they’d kissed before, but never as a prelude to sex. And right now he wasn’t sure why. Just as she’d said earlier, he wanted her and she wanted him, so what was the problem here?

No problem at all, he thought, and deepened the kiss still further.

Her hands slid up under his shirt, and suddenly he wondered why he’d never tried to get her to touch him before. Hell, he should have begged her to touch him, long before now, because it felt so good he could barely stop himself from pulling her to the floor and making love to her, right now.

He managed to pull his mouth away from her, just a bit, and looked down at the floor thoughtfully. Tile. Not comfortable. She probably wouldn’t like that at all.

“Chloe,” he said, and noticed his voice was strangely rough and low, a lot further into the baritone range than usual. He hardly sounded like himself at all. “Where exactly do you want to do this?”

“Um…” She looked around. “The table? The counters? The floor?”

The corners of his mouth quirked up in amusement that she was considering the floor, too. But it was their first time. No, their only time. He wanted her to look back on tonight with a soft smile of nostalgic pleasure, not a wince of remembered pain.

“How about an actual bed?”

She looked back at him, and her mouth curved in a smile that echoed his. “Do people have sex in beds?”

“I’m pretty sure they do. At least sometimes.” He picked her up easily and headed for the staircase. She started to pull her hands away from him, and he frowned. “Hey. You don’t have to stop touching me or anything.”

“Oh. Okay.” Her hands delved back under his shirt, and he gritted his teeth together at the soft touch of her palms against his skin. He went a little faster, although still at human speed, and took the stairs two at a time.

Seconds later, they were in his room. He nudged the lightswitch up with his shoulder, flooding the room with light, and headed for his bed. He was happy to notice he’d actually stopped to make the bed this morning, instead of leaving his navy blue comforter in a tangle at the foot of the bed. His mom was a tyrant about that sort of thing, but lately he’d gotten kind of sloppy about it, what with having the house to himself most of the time. But this morning he’d paused to make the bed, and gotten his dirty socks off the floor, too. The place actually looked halfway civilized.

“Hey,” she said, peering over his shoulder as he walked toward the bed. “I haven’t been in here for a while. I didn’t know you had a picture of me on your dresser.”

“Um…” He looked over his shoulder at the framed pictures. There was a big picture of Chloe holding an issue of the Torch, the newspaper she’d edited in high school. He also had a photo of himself with his parents, and a picture of himself with Chloe and his other best friend from high school, Pete, but he realized with a faint stab of embarrassment that the picture of Chloe was by far the biggest photo on display. “You’re my friend, Chlo. Why wouldn’t I have a picture or two of you around?”

“I don’t know, Clark. I mean, you have a big picture of me on your dresser. That seems kind of… girlfriendy.”

“Nah,” he said lightly, even though he had an uncomfortable feeling that she was right. “I keep pictures of my backup girlfriends on my dresser. I keep my frontline girlfriends on my nightstand.”

She blinked at him for a minute, then, as he’d hoped, she giggled and smacked his forehead. “Jerk.”

He made a show of wincing, even though he was invulnerable, and the gentle whack probably hurt her more than it hurt him. “Ow. So are you telling me you don’t have any pictures of me in your bedroom?”

“I don’t have a bedroom, remember? I’m sleeping on Lois’ couch. She’d kill me if I kept a photo of you in her living room.”

He could understand that, since Lois was definitely not his biggest fan. “How about your wallet? Do you have a picture of me in your wallet?”

“Of course not.” She sniffed disdainfully. “I wouldn’t keep photos of a mere backup boyfriend in my wallet.”

“You are totally lying. I know you’ve got a photo of me in there.”

“Do not.”

“Remember, you’re talking to the guy with X-ray vision. Tell me the truth, or I’ll run right down the stairs and X-ray your purse.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

He dropped her onto the bed, less than gently, and grinned down at her. “Try me.”

She crossed her arms and looked stubborn. “I do not have a picture of you in my wallet.”

“You have two,” he guessed.

“Uh… three, I think.”

His grin widened. The thought that Chloe was carrying around a bunch of pictures of him made his ego inflate rather drastically. She is totally into me, he thought, and the notion didn’t freak him out nearly as much as it should have. In fact, he kind of liked the idea.

“But they’re all behind Jimmy’s picture,” she added hastily, apparently noticing his smug grin.

His smugness abruptly slipped quite a bit. “You’re not dating Jimmy any more,” he said, a little grumpily. “You ought to put mine in front.”

“Uh-uh, farmboy. Jimmy’s my most recent boyfriend, so he stays in the front. The backup boyfriend goes in back. Hence the term backup.”

Maybe it was just his male ego, but suddenly he wasn’t nearly as comfortable with his backup status. He didn’t like the idea of being behind Jimmy, in her wallet or in her heart. All of a sudden he wanted to change the way she thought about him.

He wanted his picture to be in the front of her wallet, damn it.

He dropped down on the bed beside her, put an arm around her, and started kissing her again, discovering that kissing a girl in his bedroom was somehow not quite the same as kissing a girl in the dining room. His body responded to the altered situation with an eager throb of need, and suddenly he found himself pushing her back onto the dark blue comforter, his mouth devouring hers ravenously, his hands all over her.

She didn’t seem to mind, because her hands were all over him, too. Clothes went flying—so much for the neat floor, not that he really cared—and when they had stripped each other down to their underwear, he pressed against her again, and their bodies began to move together, in a rhythm he didn’t have to think about. It just happened.

She felt right against him. She felt perfect. He was almost painfully hard, and with every motion of his body against hers he could feel how warm she was. He rocked against her, harder and faster, needing to be inside her more than he’d ever needed anything. His eyes smarted and stung, and little growls of pleasure rolled out of his throat. But he didn’t quite have the nerve to yank her panties off, or take his boxers off.

“Clark,” she whispered against his shoulder. “Fuck me.”

If the crass word had turned him on earlier, now it set off a nuclear inferno inside him. He had to clench his eyes shut to stop the heat vision from bursting out of him. He lowered his head and rubbed his eyes against her shoulder, trying desperately to restrain himself.

“You feel kind of hot,” she said, brushing her lips over his ear. “I mean, your face feels hot.”

He shuddered. “Heat vision,” he answered, his voice so gravelly he could barely understand himself.

“Making out sets it off?”

“Not sure.” He spoke tersely, because he couldn’t seem to get a full sentence out. “I guess so. I can’t… my eyes are really bugging me, Chlo. Maybe we should… stop.”

“Stop? Now? Are you kidding me?”

“I just…” Her hands ran over his bare back, and he trembled harder. “I’m afraid I’m going to set the bed on fire, Chlo. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Just aim it away from me.” She turned her head and spoke directly into his ear. “No way are we stopping now. I want you to fuck me, Clark.”

A violent spasm of need made his cock jerk hard, and he shook all over. “Stop saying that, Chlo. Please.”

“Why?” He heard her soft laughter next to his ear. “Does it turn you on? Do you like to hear dirty words?”

“No. I…” He wanted to tell her that he didn’t want to fuck her, that he wanted to make love to her, but he couldn’t get the words out. Anyway, he couldn’t deny that the word falling from her lips was the sexiest thing he’d ever heard. He thought that if she said it again, he might just come from hearing her whisper it into his ear.

“Yeah, you do. You like it. You’re not such a Boy Scout after all.” She reached down and shoved his boxers off, and he cooperated, helping her push them off and throwing them to the floor. He was still worried about setting the bed on fire—about setting her on fire—but his cock was now pressing directly against the soft, inviting skin of her inner thigh, and he couldn’t have moved away from her for a million dollars and a new pickup truck.

Her hands ran over his back, and then she was whispering into his ear again, saying words he’d never heard from her before. All of a sudden he totally lost all semblance of self-control. He reached down, tore her underwear in two, and positioned himself at the entrance to her body, then moved his hips and thrust into her, hard.

Shattering pleasure ripped through him, and he struggled to keep his eyes shut as his body moved violently in hers. Her body was hot and slick, her hands clutched his hair desperately, and she was still whispering dirty, crass, explicit phrases in his ear between moans of pleasure, and he couldn’t fight back the wild need that overtook him.

He wanted to make it last forever, but forever just wasn’t going to happen. Hell, he wasn’t going to make it thirty seconds. He slammed into her, harder and faster, and jerked his head up, his eyes opening wide in an automatic response. He sobbed with pleasure as he came violently, in long, hot bursts, and at the same instant heat erupted from his eyes in an endless cataclysm of fire and ecstasy.

He couldn’t believe how good it felt, how much better it was than the ordinary human orgasms he’d experienced when he’d lost his powers. And yeah, of course he jerked off as often as anyone else, but he’d never had his heat vision go off at the same time. It was beyond incredible, the best thing he’d ever experienced, the best damn thing he could imagine.

Or maybe it wasn't the heat vision at all. Maybe it was just that he was making love to Chloe instead of Lana.

He heard her crying out, felt the spasms of her body around him, and the ecstasy just got hotter and more intense, until his sobs rose to hoarse yells. He knew he was setting the wall on fire, or possibly his nightstand, but he just didn’t give a damn right now, because it felt so fucking good.

At last the pleasure faded, and at the same moment his heat vision flickered and went out. He wanted to stay inside her forever, wanted to collapse on her in sheer exhaustion and enjoy the afterglow, but he realized vaguely that if he did that, the house would burn down around them. Which wouldn’t hurt him, but it wouldn’t be good for her health. Besides, his mom would be seriously pissed.

He forced himself upright and took stock of the damage. The wall and the nightstand were merrily burning, so he patted out the flames with his bare hands.

The fire extinguished, he looked around. She was sitting up in bed, regarding the scorched wall with interest. “Does that happen often?”

He felt his cheeks go red again. “Uh, well, I haven’t, uh…”

“Yeah, I knew that. But I mean, it must not happen when you jerk off, or the walls would be covered in scorch marks.”

“Hasn’t happened before.” His cheeks flamed at her casual reference to what he did in his spare time. “I think you just kind of got me too worked up.”

“So it won’t happen again? Is that what you’re saying?”

He regarded the blackened wall with dismay. “I hope not.”

The truth was, part of him hoped that wasn’t the case. Because coming while he lost control of his heat vision was the most amazing thing he’d ever felt. But it was also scary. He was still afraid of hurting Chloe somehow. And he couldn’t get scorch marks all over the walls, because that would be damned hard to explain to his mom.

Not a problem, Romeo, he thought grimly. This is a one-time only kind of thing, remember?

And that was a depressing thought. He might be pretty new at this, but he wasn’t so naïve that he didn’t realize she’d enjoyed herself. But no matter how impossibly hot it had been, thirty seconds wasn’t nearly enough. He wanted to make love to Chloe Sullivan for hours and hours, until they were both totally exhausted, until they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

He wondered if she’d go for an extension, or if she felt like they’d worked off all the sexual tension between them.

She tilted her head and regarded him. “You’re looking awfully thoughtful, Clark. What are you thinking about?”

“I just…” He hesitated, then blurted it out. “That went a little faster than I meant it to. I was wondering if you maybe wanted to do it one more time.”

She looked at him for a long moment, her eyes very serious, and his heart sank. Then she flashed her bright, wide smile.

“I thought you’d never ask,” she said.

Read Chapter 4 here.