Chapter 6, after "Labyrinth"
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's big, solid body felt completely different from Jimmy Olsen's slender, insubstantial frame. His body covered Chloe's almost entirely, warming her skin and at the same time heating her somewhere deep inside. He lowered his head and kissed her throat, and she gave a convulsive shudder.
"Clark." Her hands dug into his hair. "I've wanted this for a long time."
"Me too." His body moved against hers fiercely, his hips grinding against hers. He was still wearing jeans, and because he'd been on her couch, she'd put on an old pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt instead of the flimsy, lacy things she usually wore to bed. But even through their clothes she could feel the shape and heat of his erection. It burned against her, but not in a bad way. In a very good way.
"But I don't want..." He pressed his mouth against her throat again, then drew in a long, tremulous breath. "You and I-- we're not--"
She understood what he was trying to say, in his typical awkward fashion. Clark had never been really good at articulating his feelings. "I know," she whispered. "We're just friends. Even if we do this, we're still just friends, and nothing more."
He pulled back and looked at her. In the darkness, the planes of his face were mostly concealed by shadows, but narrow slivers of moonlight slanted through the blinds, highlighting his high cheekbones and the long, straight line of his nose. She couldn't see his expression, but she could sense his concern. "Are you sure you're okay with that?"
"Totally," she whispered.
He hesitated a second longer, then lowered his head to her throat again, his mouth hot on her sensitive flesh. Her hands slid down over the thick muscles of his shoulders, then down his back, tracing along the powerful line of his spine. She found the hem of his t-shirt and tugged it upward, then let her hands slip over his bare skin. He didn't feel like Jimmy under her hands, not at all. Every inch of him exuded raw power and immense strength.
Making love to Jimmy was comforting, like a fire crackling warmly in the safe confines of a fireplace. Clark felt more like a forest fire raging out of control, hot and dangerous and unpredictable.
He gasped and lifted his head, breathing hard, as her hands moved over him. She turned toward him and bit into his earlobe, very lightly-- because even though her brain was muddled by the sensual sensations of his body against hers, she realized if his skin could repel a bullet, biting down hard would break her teeth. Her teeth sank gently into his earlobe, and he uttered a long moan of sheer ecstasy.
Earlobes, she thought, amused. Trust Clark to be turned on by something a little different.
She sucked on his earlobe, rolling it between her lips a little and caressing it with her tongue, and his body jolted violently, like she'd delivered an electric shock. "Jesus Christ," he whispered, his hips rocking against hers harder and faster. "Chloe... my God... don't... please..."
At his scattered, desperate words, she let go of his earlobe, because it was obvious that he was about to totally lose it, and she wasn't ready for him to lose it quite yet. She went back to caressing his body, learning the contours of his muscles and the feel of his skin, learning what made him shiver, what made him writhe, what wrenched soft moans from him.
He seemed to enjoy being touched, because he let her stroke her hands over his skin for long moments. And then all of a sudden his hands were pushing her clothes aside, too, and his big hands were running over her stomach, almost but not quite tickling, and then cupping her breasts. She wasn't wearing a bra, and the feel of his smooth palms against her breasts, his thumbs stroking her nipples, was almost more than she could take.
She threw her head back against the pillow, suddenly struggling for air. "Clark..."
"God, you feel good." His voice was ragged. "I've wanted to touch you this way for a long, long time, Chlo."
"Me too." She'd fantasized about kissing him, touching him, since eighth grade. She'd eventually decided it was just a physical thing, simply because Clark was a really gorgeous guy and she was a normal female who responded to gorgeous guys. But wanting him physically wasn't the same thing as loving him, and she knew it. Yeah, she loved Clark, but she didn't love love him.
But even so, her body was definitely responding to his touch.
Just sex, she thought. It's just sex.
And oddly enough, she didn't have a problem with that.
She ought to have a problem with it, of course, because she was supposed to be dating Jimmy, and pretty damn seriously at that. They'd been intimate for months now, and she knew on an intellectual level that Jimmy deserved far better than this.
But this thing-- whatever this thing was-- had gone unresolved between her and Clark for far too long a time. She finally had the chance to resolve it, to figure out what she really wanted, to figure out what Clark really meant to her, and she simply didn't have the strength to push him away. Especially not when he was clearly upset and distressed about what he'd been through at the metaphorical hands of the phantom.
Clark needed her. And being there for each other was what she and Clark did. Always.
His big hands fumbled at her waist, rather roughly. He was pushing her sweatpants down, and she found herself pushing his jeans down, with no clear memory of having unfastened them. Somehow things were just happening, almost of their own accord. She didn't mind. She certainly had no intentions of stopping.
She thought again of how different Jimmy felt, but she didn't feel nearly as much guilt at the thought of Jimmy as she should have. Just this once, she thought, running her hands down to Clark's ass and pulling him against her. His erection, huge and fiery hot, pulsed against her thigh, and she wanted it, wanted him, so badly that she felt a rush of wet heat, a surge of need and desire that she couldn't think of denying.
In response to the eager tug of her hands, he moved forward, just a bit, and the broad, rounded head of his cock pushed against her.
Throbbing with a primal hunger, she sobbed and clutched at him, desperate for the relief his body could give her. He slid into her, very slowly but very steadily, and she sighed and gasped with pure satisfaction as their bodies melded together in wet heat and molten fire. He pushed into her, stretching her, filling her, until he was buried deep inside her.
He hesitated there, breathing heavily against her throat, as if trying to control himself, to hold onto the moment.
"I can't live without you, Chlo." His voice was a rough rasp. "You mean so much to me... don't ever leave me."
Her eyes stung with tears. "I don't ever want to leave you," she whispered, and knew it was true. She couldn't imagine her life without his friendship. She couldn't imagine life without Clark.
He fell silent, but she could feel his eyelashes fluttering against her throat as he blinked hard, and she suspected his eyes were stinging as much as hers were. He kept still with an obvious effort, his breath coming in gasps, his body quivering all over. She wanted him to move, so she turned her head and bit into his earlobe, very gently.
He shook wildly, and then suddenly his body was thrusting into hers, hard. It felt incredible. She threw her head back and let it happen, let the ecstasy sweep over her in warm waves, let her body squeeze his in long ripples.
She could sense him trying to hold back, to wait, but she didn't let him. She bit into his earlobe, just a little harder. He gave a long, sobbing cry and came violently, his hips jerking in a frantic, staccato rhythm, his come filling her body in rush after rush, his voice very loud in the peaceful quiet of the night.
Read Chapter 4 here.