Thinking About It, Chapter 4

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.

This time, he was going to go slowly.

Clark put his hands on her shoulders and very gently bent to kiss her. Their mouths brushed together, even more lightly than before, and he inhaled, breathing in her scent. She smelled like desire, and despite the way he'd come just a few minutes ago, he went rigid in a heartbeat.

But no matter how hard he got, no matter how badly he wanted her, he was somehow going to manage to keep it slow. Because this might be the last time he ever made love to her, and he wanted to remember every minute of it, every caress of her hands, every touch of her lips, every brush of their bodies. He wanted to remember the way she smelled, the way she felt, the way her voice sounded in his ear. He wanted to burn this into his memories for all time.

His lips trailed from her mouth down to her chin. She leaned back her head, and he let himself kiss every inch of her exposed throat, her ears, her shoulders. Her skin felt good beneath his lips, warm and satiny smooth, and she tasted like salt and honey, an odd combination of flavors that somehow tasted like ambrosia. He could smell the vanilla fragrance she used all over her skin-- it must be scented soap rather than perfume-- but he could also smell the earthy scent of sex, the scent of male come and female arousal, the scent of her perspiration and his.

The odor of smoke still hung in the air-- it was a wonder he hadn't set off the smoke alarm, really-- and that turned him on too, because it made him remember how it had felt to have heat streaming from his eyes in a long, violent burst. Abruptly his eyes started to sizzle again, and he blinked hard, trying to will the stinging sensation away.

Not again, he thought. I don't want to burn the house down. Just normal everyday sex this time.

Normal, everyday sex actually sounded just fine to him at this point, because his cock was already starting to throb. She ran her hands over his shoulders, then down his chest and over his abs, and his cock gave an eager spasm of need. He realized he really wanted her to touch him there, wanted to feel her hand wrapping around him, squeezing him gently, sliding up and down in an ever-increasing rhythm...

But she didn't touch him there. Her hands caressed him everywhere else instead, running over the hard muscles in his thighs, then sliding around and caressing his ass. He groaned softly and caught her by the waist, pulling her into his lap, tugging her toward him until her wet sex pressed up against his. He rubbed against her, and a low rumble of pleasure sounded in his chest.

"Chloe," he whispered, his voice low and harsh. "I want you so damn much."

She rose up on her knees and moved against him, and he dropped his head back, clenching his eyes shut, his teeth gritted hard. His eyes were burning like crazy, and suddenly he wasn't at all sure he could control the heat vision, no matter how good his intentions were. He remembered the way it felt to let it loose while he came deep inside her, and a violent spasm of need shook him.

God, he wanted to feel that way again.

She moved up and down, stroking against him without taking him inside of her, and he groaned, his hands digging into her hips, his body moving eagerly against hers. He realized he was murmuring her name again, over and over, and she was whispering his, too. The sound of his name on her lips turned him on even more than her dirty talk had earlier.

He realized he wanted to hear her whispering his name as he made love to her.

Part of him-- a base, primitive, needy part-- wanted to just pick her up, impale her on his erection, and fuck her hard, but he managed to restrain himself. He was trying to make this something they'd both remember, after all. He lowered his head and began kissing the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder, and she dropped her head to the side, exposing her throat to him, and uttered his name again, her voice a bare whisper.

He pushed her back on the bed, then began kissing his way down her bare body. Suddenly he realized he'd all but ignored her breasts the first time, and he decided that was just plain wrong. When a girl had breasts like Chloe did, they needed to be explored and admired and marveled over. He brushed a light kiss over the top of her plump breast, and she moaned and twisted beneath him.

"Clark."

He liked the way he'd apparently rendered her incapable of saying anything except his name. He kissed her breast gently, feeling the warm skin beneath his lips, tasting the sweetness of her skin. And then he kissed her nipple, and she made a high-pitched little sound deep in her throat, and her hands dug into his hair.

The rest of her breast was soft, but her nipple was hard and taut with need. He drew it into his mouth, gently at first, but when she sobbed and clutched at him, he got a little more courageous and suckled harder. Her body writhed beneath his, and her hips moved in a helpless rhythm, and the scent of her arousal filled the air. Clark lay between her thighs, and he found his own hips moving in response, found himself grinding his cock against the mattress. He suddenly realized he was seriously turned on, so much so that he was about two seconds from coming all over the sheets.

Not exactly what he'd had in mind.

Screw going slow, he decided. Going slow wasn't working. He levered himself up on his arms, shifted position a bit, and pressed into her body.

She was incredibly wet, slick with his moisture as well as hers, and so hot that he had to grit his teeth to hold back a sharp cry of pleasure. It was like sliding into hot, soft cream, sweet and simple and perfect. Their bodies merged in a fiery melding of flesh and soul and emotion that made his eyes sting. With heat vision, and maybe with tears as well.

Her arms went tightly around his ribs, squeezing him with warm affection, and her legs lifted, her calves wrapping around his thighs. He sank into her all the way to the balls, and pleasure and need and a strange feeling of stark adoration compelled him to kiss her throat, over and over again.

"Chloe," he whispered between kisses. "God, Chlo."

He moved hard in her, and her hips rose to meet his thrusts, her hands clutching at his hips, urging him to move even faster. He clenched his eyes shut, trying desperately to keep his heat vision under control, but his eyes were so hot they hurt, and it took every ounce of self-control he had to keep them closed.

"Fuck," he groaned hoarsely, and only realized what he'd said after the word left his mouth. She laughed softly and pressed a kiss to his jawline.

"I think I'm corrupting you, Clark."

"Don't ever stop," he whispered, and meant it. All of a sudden he couldn't imagine not doing this with her again, and again, and again. Their bodies fit together like they were meant for each other, and it was so right, so perfect, and she meant so damn much to him...

Can't say I haven't thought about it. He remembered his words to her while he was on red K, and for the first time he admitted to himself how very true they were. He thought about making love to her all the time, had thought about taking her to bed for years. He'd tried to force back the mental pictures, because they were just friends, but he knew that the images of kissing Chloe, making out with her, having sex with her, always lay just beneath the surface of his mind.

His eyes burned fiercely, but something inside him was burning, too, and he wasn't sure how to put it out. Those images had been simmering beneath the surface, waiting to reach the boiling point, for a very long time. And now they'd come to a boil, and he felt like he was on fire, inside and out. For her.

Their bodies moved together, harder and faster, and she arched her head back and sobbed and cried out as she climaxed. His eyes burned worse than before, but he clamped his eyelids shut and refused to let the heat go. He was just going to come the normal, human way, damn it.

But somewhat to his surprise, he didn't come. It was almost like he couldn't climax if he didn't let his heat vision happen. It hadn't been a problem when he was jerking off, but apparently when he made love to women it was a little different.

Or maybe it was just this one particular woman.

I am not setting the place on fire again, he thought defiantly. He continued making love to her with hard, rough thrusts, and she came again and again, her hands clutching his hair and digging into his shoulders, frantic sounds of pleasure coming from her throat.

Oh, God, he was so close to coming, and the more her body clenched around his the closer he got, until he was so turned on he could barely stand it. But he couldn't quite let go for some reason, and he was pretty sure the reason was his goddamned heat vision. He was so hard he hurt, and his balls ached, and his eyes burned like hot coals.

He thrust harder, and her body convulsed in a really violent orgasm, and suddenly he couldn't fight it any more. He couldn't help opening his eyes. He yanked his head up, letting the heat flare from him, and at the same moment an incredibly powerful orgasm ripped through him, so insanely intense that his voice rose in a long roar of ecstasy and release.

When it was over, he managed to force himself upright and put out the fire-- they'd fallen backward on the bed, so this time he'd set his dresser on fire-- then staggered back to the bed and collapsed next to her. He wrapped his arm around her, and she snuggled up against his chest. He felt warm and content and sleepy, and he thought he just might take a nap with her in his arms.

And then he felt a drop splash onto his chest.

His eyes opened, and he stared down at her tousled golden hair. "Chloe. Are you crying?"

"Of course not."

Her voice sounded strangled, and he frowned. So much for taking a nap. "You are crying. What's wrong?"

"I just..." The words quavered, and he heard her swallow in an attempt to steady them. "I know it's stupid, but I hate that we'll never do that again, Clark."

"Yeah. Me too." He ran his hand through her tangled hair in a gentle caress. "So maybe we should do it again."

"Once more?"

"Or twice more, maybe. You know. Just until we're tired of each other."

"What if twice more doesn't do it?"

"Well. I guess we could just keep doing it till we get bored."

She tilted her head back and looked at him, and he was relieved to see the familiar snarkiness beneath the glimmer of tears. "I'm sure I'll get bored with you before too long," she said lightly. "But maybe not tonight. What if we don't get bored tonight?"

He shrugged. "There's always tomorrow. And maybe even the next day."

She smiled and cuddled closer, draping a leg over his. "Sounds good to me."

"There's only one condition," he said.

"What's that?"

"You have to move my picture to the front of your wallet."

She gazed up at him, very seriously, although he could see the humor gleaming beneath the solemnity. "But then you wouldn't be my backup boyfriend any more."

"Well, that's a problem, all right. But I think I'm willing to live with it."

"Well..." She made a show of thinking about it. "Okay. But you have to move my photo to your nightstand, too."

He quirked an eyebrow at the blackened nightstand. "Okay. I was kind of planning on doing that anyway, just to hide the scorch mark. But that means you won't be my backup girlfriend any more, either."

She lifted her head and stared into his eyes. Her voice was very soft. "Is there someone else you'd prefer for a frontline girlfriend, Clark?"

"No." He didn't even pause to think about it. The answer just spilled right out of his mouth, and as he said it he recognized the truth of it. Chloe meant more to him than anyone else on the planet, more than Lana, more than Lois, more than anyone. He'd been a moron not to realize it before now. "No. Definitely not."

"Well, okay then. But just until we get bored."

Which will be never, he thought. Because he couldn't imagine ever getting bored with making love to her. Already he wanted to do it again. And it wasn't just a physical need, either. It was something a lot deeper.

"I can live with that," he agreed.

She frowned at the blackened spot on the dresser. "The only thing is, I think maybe we need to start making love outside."

He felt his cheeks heat. "I can't do that, Chlo. I mean, making love is, well, private."

"Oh, you're such a Boy Scout."

"I am not. I said the word earlier. You heard me."

"You can't say it again, though. Can you?"

He grinned ruefully, aware that his cheeks were turning red already. "Maybe later."

"You are totally a Boy Scout. But that's okay. I can fix that."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm pretty sure. At least I'll have fun trying."

He thought about her whispering fuck in his ear as they made love, and his cock twitched against her thigh again. He really ought to be down for the count, but somehow where Chloe was concerned, he seemed inexhaustible.

She apparently noticed his reaction, because she laughed softly, snuggled against his shoulder, and ran her hand down over his abs, toward his rapidly swelling erection. "I didn't mean right now, Clark."

He shifted restlessly under her questing fingers. "Why not?"

"Well..." Her hand slid down and touched him, and his breath hissed between suddenly clenched teeth. "Okay. If you really want to, I don't mind. But I seriously think we need to go outside."

"It's too cold for you."

"Excuses, excuses. We'll take a sleeping bag or something."

"But it's broad daylight, Chlo."

She rolled her eyes and began to stroke him, and he shuddered and moaned and instantly decided he'd do anything she wanted him to do. Anything at all. Hell, he'd make love in downtown Metropolis if she wanted him to.

Just the idea was enough to make him blush. She must have noticed the reaction, because she chuckled.

"Boy Scout," she said in his ear, the words soft and affectionate. "I may have gotten you to say a dirty word... but there's still an awful lot of work left to be done."

-The End-