No One Left to Fight, Chapter 6

Clark/Chloe
Season 6, "Combat"
Rating: Adult. If you're under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.

"I don't believe you."

Clark had to stifle a grin at the cynical note in her voice. That was Chloe Sullivan, investigative reporter, for you. She never believed anything without proof.

Well, he'd just have to give her proof. He'd have to make her believe him.

He began stroking his thumb over the back of her hand, the same way she'd touched him earlier, and she gave a quick intake of breath, the same as he had. "Uh, Clark..." she murmured, and tried to pull away.

He didn't let her. He continued caressing the back of her hand, tracing the tendons, exploring the smooth skin, until she quit resisting. Slowly, she leaned her head back against the headrest of the Yaris, and her eyelids drifted shut.

He very carefully moved his hand a bit, letting his fingers rest on top of her arm, while his thumb began to caress the fragile skin of her inner wrist. She jumped again, but at least this time she didn't try to pull away.

Good. They were making progress.

He heard the rapidly increasing tempo of her heartbeat, heard her breathing accelerate, and he knew he was having an effect. Ordinarily he wasn't much for this kind of slow, careful seduction, because he was a pretty normal teenage guy despite being an alien, and he tended to skip seduction and go right for the sex. But he didn't want her to panic and pull away again, and besides, there was still a thick steel panel between them.

There was an awful lot between them. But somehow, he was going to get through it. Somehow he was going to get through to her.

His hand slid up her bare arm, finding the sensitive skin on the inner part of her elbow, and she rolled her head restlessly against the headrest and moaned.

"Clark."

He was glad she wasn't fighting him any more. He very much wanted to keep it that way. His hand slid even further up her arm, and just happened to brush over her breast, because he was reaching over her.

She jumped, and her eyes popped open. It was dark out, but there was enough light spilling out of the barn for him to see her expression of surprise. She turned her head and looked at him accusingly, like she'd never imagined him trying to cop a feel. Like she hadn't had her hands all over him earlier.

"Sorry," he said meekly. "Accident."

She snorted, a sound that made it crystal clear what she thought of that excuse. But his thumb began to stroke the soft skin on the inner part of her upper arm, and she apparently lost interest in quibbling about it. Her eyes drifted shut again, and her head fell back against the headrest.

He was painfully conscious that his hand was only an inch or so from her breast. His fingers tingled with the desire to touch her there, to caress her nipple until it stood erect, to stroke it until she squirmed and moaned and whimpered. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to get control of himself. Because touching her breast last time had obviously yanked her out of the moment.

He didn't want her to panic again. He just wanted to make her feel good.

His hand moved up to her shoulder, and he began stroking the smooth, warm skin just over her collarbone. She gave another long sigh, and he felt her shiver. His hand looked really big against her small bones, he thought. She looked impossibly fragile, like she could be easily shattered by a careless touch.

All of a sudden, he could hardly stop himself from yanking his hand away. Not because he was revolted by her somehow, the way she'd feared earlier. God, no. It definitely wasn't because he was repulsed by her.

It was because he was repulsed by himself. His hands had killed a man tonight.

Well, okay, not directly. But he'd beaten the living shit out of Titan, and the fight had led directly to Titan's death. He'd been superstrong pretty much as long as he could remember-- although his strength had increased exponentially as he'd grown-- but his parents had always raised him to be gentle, to use his strength to protect people, to save people. Not to kill people.

But maybe sometimes it was two ends of the same thing.

He knew Titan had killed, over and over again, and if Clark hadn't stopped him, he would have continued on his way, killing more and more innocent people. Fighting and killing was what Titan had been designed for, and he was apparently incapable of making the choice not to kill. It was simply what he did.

If Clark hadn't taken him out, he probably would have killed Lois, then gone on to the next innocent person. And on. And on.

Clark closed his eyes again, trying to calm his breathing. He'd already decided he'd do his damnedest never to kill again, and that was definitely a good decision. But he knew the heart of the problem wasn't that he'd killed, but that he'd killed in anger. He needed to get rid of this unreasoning, consuming anger somehow.

It was hard to accept that he couldn't control what was going to happen to Chloe, that he had absolutely no control over her fate. He'd never been much of a que sera, sera kind of guy-- he'd always done his utmost to help people in danger. Saving people was simply what he did.

But he had to somehow come to grips with the fact that he might not be able to save Chloe.

He opened his eyes, seeing the darker skin of his hand still moving gently against her pale skin. Her eyes were still closed, her lashes like fans on her cheeks, her lips parted, and she looked so peaceful that his heart melted.

They both needed to take what peace they could get, he realized. They needed to grab onto whatever joy they could find. Things might go to hell tomorrow-- but right now, everything was okay. She was okay.

He could take solace in that fact, at least.

His hand moved up to the side of her throat, and she jumped slightly, then rolled her head to the side to grant him better access. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she looked at him through heavy lashes, with a sultry, sexy expression that made his cock throb with a sudden hunger.

His thumb caressed the skin of her throat, stroking over the rapid beat of her pulse, the tendons, the line of her jaw. She made a little sound, a noise almost of submission, and it made something deeply masculine flare up inside him, magnifying the possessiveness he'd felt earlier.

She was his best friend, his support system, his helper... soon to be his lover.

She was simply his.

He cupped his hand against her cheek, then rose up and kissed her again.

It started out gentle and friendly, but just like last time, it rapidly changed into something so fiercely sexual that it stole his breath away. He thrust his tongue into her mouth in an aggressive, almost dominating kiss, sliding deep inside her mouth in the way he wanted to slide deep inside her body. He wanted to be part of her, so badly that his throat tightened with longing.

The kiss went on for a long, long time. At last she raised her head. "Clark," she said softly.

"Chloe." He resisted the urge to bang his forehead against the car door, because he knew his skull would leave a dent. "Please. Don't say no this time. Please."

"I wasn't going to say no." She smiled at him. "I was just going to suggest maybe this would be more comfortable if I got out of the car."

"Oh." Relieved, he stood up and smiled back at her. "Yeah. I think that'd be a good idea, actually."

She turned the key in the ignition, and the rumble of the engine stopped. Then she opened the door and stepped out, looking up at him expectantly.

He didn't hesitate. He was through hesitating where Chloe was concerned. He bent and kissed her again.

The kiss was as hot as before. Maybe hotter, because now her body was against his, sweet and pliable and sexy. He rocked his hips forward and pressed his erection into her, too far gone to be subtle about it. She didn't seem to mind. She lifted a leg and wrapped it around his thighs, bringing them into closer contact.

He groaned and moved against her harder.

His hands moved over her, touching her breasts, the way he'd wanted to touch her earlier. She didn't seem to mind, because she touched him too, her hands reaching up under his t-shirt again and exploring his back and chest and ribs until he gasped and moaned.

Somehow his hands were up under her tank top, and her bra fell away. He wasn't sure if he'd unhooked it, or just destroyed it. He had the uncomfortable suspicion it might be the latter, but she didn't seem to care, so he didn't let the concern slow him down. He cupped her breast in one big hand, stroking the swollen nipple. It rose up against his thumb, hard and crinkled, and he thought he might just pass out, because, well, he was touching Chloe Sullivan's bare breast.

Wow.

Lust flooded him, so intense it was totally overpowering. He tried to force his mind to think, to figure out where they could make love. His mom was in town, so even though the lights in the house were off and she'd apparently already gone to sleep, the house was off limits.

There was always the couch in the loft, but even with superspeed, it seemed very far away. He needed Chloe now, not two or three seconds from now.

That left only one reasonable solution to the problem. He picked her up, spun around, and pressed her up against the coarsely hewn planks of the barn wall.

Her hands fumbled at his jeans, and he pushed her shorts and panties off roughly. She kicked them off, and he lifted her a little. Her legs hooked around him, and he felt the head of his cock pressed right up against her slick heat. It felt so good that a long shudder ran through him.

"Clark," she whispered. "Now."

It was only a difference of one letter, but he liked now a lot better than no. His hips gave a jerk, without any direct input from his brain, and suddenly he found himself sliding into her. Her inner muscles clutched at him, wrapping around him as tightly as her arms were wrapped around his waist. She was so ready for him that he could feel her moisture sliding down his cock, coating him in wet heat, and he gave a long, low groan of pleasure.

"Chlo."

Just like before, he had so much to say to her, so much he'd never said, but should have, and yet nothing would come out of his mouth besides the single syllable of her name. She seemed to have the same problem, because all she was whispering was his name, interspersed with some incoherent but very sexy noises. He didn't mind.

He lifted her against the wall a little higher, pressed into her a little more deeply, and suddenly he was inside her, buried all the way to the hilt. She felt awesome, scalding hot and incredibly tight, and he withdrew, and thrust again. Her hips jerked forward to meet his, and suddenly his instincts took control of his body, and he began slamming into her in a hard, aggressive rhythm.

His mouth covered hers, kissing her just as hard as he was making love to her. He was careful not to hurt her-- he always had to be careful, no matter how turned on he was-- but he didn't stop himself from being a little forceful about it. He wanted her to know how much he felt for her, how frantically he wanted her. How much he loved her.

His cock pulsed and shuddered, but he forced his impending orgasm back with a violent effort of will. He wasn't ready to finish yet. He wanted to make love to her all night, here in the darkness. He wanted this one night with her. And after that, if they were lucky, they'd have tomorrow night, and the night after that. He hoped they'd have many more nights together.

If not-- well, at least he'd have this night to remember. It wasn't all he wanted, not by a long shot, but it might be all he could have.

He lifted his lips away from hers, and all of a sudden, the words he hadn't been able to find fell out of his mouth of their own accord. "Chlo," he whispered, looking into her eyes. "I love you, Chloe."

She looked back at him, and he saw the honest response in her eyes, even before she said the words. "I love you too, Clark."

He closed his eyes, overcome both by the words and the sincerity in her voice, grateful that they'd both finally managed to admit who mattered most in their lives. He lowered his head, kissed her throat, and plunged into her harder. She sobbed and clung to him, and he felt her shaking, felt her body beginning to ripple around his.

He thrust even harder, and she came, shuddering wildly, her voice raised in the quiet of the rural night. He gloried in the hard spasms of her climax, feeling her muscles clench around him in long, powerful waves. It was the best thing he'd ever felt, and she seemed to like it an awful lot, too, judging from the sounds she was making, and the way her body shook.

He wanted to make her come over and over again, but he didn't have any self-control left. He was covered in sweat, his balls were tight against his body, and his cock ached, and he just couldn't hold back any more. His voice lifted just as hers had, and he didn't try to stop himself from yelling, even though his mom was home. Right now, he just didn't care about anything but Chloe.

He slammed into her hard, and let himself go.

The pleasure was incredible. He came in neverending spurts of liquid fire, spasms of ecstasy that were so hot they were nearly unbearable. He felt his anger draining away from him, because it was impossible to be angry when he was so totally suffused with rapture. He couldn't stop thrusting, and the spasms went on and on, growing more and more intense, until they reached a mind-blowing peak that had him screaming.

And then the bliss slowly subsided, and he pressed his face into her hair, drawing in shaky breaths, almost embarrassed by how wildly he'd responded to her, and how violently he'd come.

She didn't seem to mind. His arms were still wrapped around her, protecting her from the rough wall, and her arms were around him tightly, too. They held each other for long moments in a peaceable silence, their bodies still linked.

"Clark," she said at last, her voice soft. "I don't know what's going to happen to me."

"Yeah." His voice sounded rough to his own ears. "Me neither."

"But... I do know you need to stop fighting it so hard. Okay? I know you always want to be in control, but... this is one of those things you just can't control."

Her words echoed his earlier thoughts so closely it was eerie. He wondered briefly if her meteor power was telepathy, then scoffed at himself. They'd been close for a long time, and she understood him better than anyone else on the planet. It wasn't surprising that their mental processes sometimes ran along similar lines.

"Okay," he answered, his voice soft but steady. "I'll quit fighting it. I don't want anything bad to happen to you, Chlo, and I'll do my best to stop it, but if I can't do anything to stop it, then... okay."

The thought of something awful happening to her, of some sort of horrible transformation, still made him grieve. But the terrible anger that had haunted him for weeks was gone. Somewhere deep inside, he'd finally accepted that something really horrible might happen to her, and that there might be nothing he could do about it. He might even have to hurt her to save someone else, and there might be absolutely nothing he could do about that, either.

But until it happened, assuming it did happen, he wasn't going to waste his time on anger. He wanted to spend every remaining moment he could with her. He wanted all the rest of their time together to be as happy as possible.

And if the rest of their time together happened to turn out to be fifty or sixty years, well, he was cool with that. But if all they had was tonight... well, tonight would have to be enough.

He pulled her closer and held her tightly, hoping it wasn't for the last time.

-The End-