Season 2, "Rush"
Rating: Adult. If you're under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
Read the previous chapter here.
Read the story from the beginning here.
He's going to lose his virginity in the cab of an old pickup truck. It isn't exactly the way he's always imagined it, because at heart he's something of a romantic, and he had visions of his first time with a girl being set to candlelight and soft music.
But today everything's different somehow. Suddenly he's not a romantic any more, and he's finally realized that sex isn't about romance. Sex is just... sex.
His feelings for Chloe aren't romantic. What he feels for Chloe is a deep-rooted, primitive need, something that's so basic and primal that it's an integral part of him. He can't describe it or label it, but he sure as hell can't fight it, either. His need for her just is. If he doesn't fuck her, very soon, he's going to explode.
He lets go of the steering wheel and puts an arm around her shoulders, and she slides toward him again. She feels warm and pliable, and her eyelids are still heavy with the orgasm he gave her a few minutes ago. She looks totally satiated, totally content.
He, on the other hand, is seriously hard, and not in the least content or satiated. Music is still blaring from the speakers, the steady drumbeat echoing the pounding of his heart. He figures her pussy is probably soft and dripping wet now, and he'll slide into her easily. At the thought, his cock pulses, and he can feel himself growing damp with precome again.
He remembers the way he came in the barn, long and hard. It was great, but he doesn't want to come that way again. This time, he wants to come inside her.
Her hands reach down, unbuttoning his jeans. Her fingers brush lightly across the denim a few times, in an "accidental" way that's clearly deliberate, and he moans and presses his hips forward, trying to lengthen the contact.
Her fingers push his jeans open, then hook around the elastic waistband of his boxers, and tug them down, too. His cock looks swollen and dark pink, so wet it glistens in the sunlight, and he isn't sure what he wants first. Her hand on him feels good, but he figures it would feel even better to sink into her body, hard and deep. There are too many possibilities, and he isn't quite sure where he wants to start.
She bends over him, sinking low on the seat, and something very wet and soft strokes over the head of his cock. Her tongue, he realizes.
Well, okay. That's a great place to start.
Her tongue touches him with tentative little caresses, exploring him cautiously, hesitantly. It feels impossibly good, and a soft moan rises from him. His body moves instinctively, pressing the head of his cock up against her mouth a little harder, and she takes the hint, licking faster and with a little more confidence.
It feels so awesome that his bones seem to turn to water. He falls back against the seat, closing his eyes and shivering. She's licking him all over now, running her tongue along the shaft and in circles around the head.
His cock throbs convulsively, and he can feel little rushes of precome sliding out of him. He can feel pleasure quaking through him, tightening his balls, but he fights it back, because he's not ready yet. He wants to be inside her.
At the least, he wants to share it with her this time, wants her to come when he does. And he's not sure how to do that except by having sex with her. Although...
She's still licking him, licking every drop of precome away, making little humming sounds of approval. She seems to like the way he tastes.
He wonders how she tastes.
He shifts and drops to his side on the seat. She's lying on the seat right in front of him, her head in his lap, and there's barely room for both of them on the seat. He's a little concerned he might push her off, so he wraps his arm around her waist so she doesn't slip off the vinyl and wind up on the floor of the truck. He bends a little, twisting and contorting his big body in far too small a space, and presses his face against her jeans.
She smells good, spicy-sweet and hot. Her scent appeals to that deep-rooted, primitive part of him, and he nuzzles into her more deeply, wishing the damn denim weren't in his way. She squeaks and clutches at him.
"Clark." He can barely hear her voice over the Calling song that's blasting from the speakers. "I'm going to fall."
"I've got you," he says, trying to reassure her mainly because he doesn't want her to stop doing what she's doing to him. When she's talking, she isn't licking. Which means talking is bad.
His other hand fumbles at her jeans, trying to get them undone, but there isn't enough space in the front seat for any sort of movement, and she squirms uncomfortably. "Clark... no. I'm going to wind up on the floor..." She lifts her head just a bit, and it bonks against the steering wheel. "Ow," she grumbles. "There just isn't room for this."
He grinds his teeth together. She smells so good he's desperate to taste her. But she's right-- his legs are pressing against the driver's side door, he's squished against the seat, and this is definitely not comfortable. It's certainly not the ecstatic experience he had in mind.
"Fine," he says, exasperated. "How do you want to do this, then?"
"I don't know if we can..." She giggles breathlessly, squirming again, as he brushes kisses over her jeans. "It's just so awkward."
His words are muffled by denim. "I can live with awkward."
"You're not the one who's about to fall onto the floor."
She's still giggling, and suddenly he's laughing too, even though his face is between her legs, because this whole thing isn't working out quite the way he expected. It's not quite as sexy as he'd imagined somehow. "Okay. So there isn't a lot of space in here. I guess we could get out of the truck and lie down, but the grass is pretty long. You might get chiggers."
"Ugh," she says with a shudder. "There are probably snakes and things, too."
"Yeah, I don't think the grass is such a good idea." He nuzzles her again, inhaling her scent, wanting to taste her so badly he's practically dying of it. Her tongue is still sliding over him, and he's desperate for more, and his laughter dies away in the face of his physical need. "Come on, Chlo. Let's just do this here, okay?"
"But I don't... ow. Damn it."
Her head bumps the steering wheel again, and he sighs. Clearly this isn't going to work. He needs to come up with some alternate plan.
He thinks about it, and it dawns on him he's driving a pickup truck.
Hey, genius, he thinks wryly. There's a whole lot more to this truck than just the cab.
Read Chapter 6 here.