No One Like You, Chapter 7

Clark/Chloe
Season 5, after "Fanatic"
Rating: Adult. If you're under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the WB and DC Comics, not to me.
Read this story from the beginning.
Read the previous chapter.

Clark couldn't stay upright any more. After the two incredible orgasms he'd had, he just didn't have the strength. He pulled up his jeans and sprawled in the grassy field, wrapping his arms around Chloe. He was sleepy, but he knew she was turned on too, so he reached down between her legs and stroked her until she cried out, her body arching and shaking.

Then he curled up in the grass with her, the sun beating down on them, and drifted off to sleep, warm and comfortable, with her in his arms. Considering she'd had a nap earlier, she probably wasn't all that sleepy, but he was suddenly exhausted, and he just couldn't seem to keep his eyes open another second.

And as he slept, he dreamed.

His dreams were as vivid and erotic as a porn flick. He dreamed of the things they'd done together, dreamed of the way he'd made love to her, the way she'd gone down on him. He dreamed of what he'd most wanted, deep down, and knew with a bone-deep contentment that he'd gotten it at last.

He had Chloe in his arms, and he would never let her go again.

But slowly, his dreams shifted. The bright daylight of the field where they'd made love shifted to a dark, misty plain, ominous and frightening and alien. He tried to clutch Chloe to his chest, but she faded away like morning fog, leaving him alone in a dark, strange world.

"Chloe," he whispered, looking around. There was no answer, and he suddenly felt terribly isolated, and afraid. His voice rose to a frantic shout. "Chlo!"

He couldn't see her, no matter where he looked, couldn't hear her, no matter how hard he listened.

She was gone.

But he wasn't entirely alone, because something was lumbering out of the fog toward him, something enormous and dreadful and utterly horrifying. Somehow he couldn't see it clearly, but he caught a brief glimpse of onyx scales, shimmering in the dim light, long crimson claws, and dagger-sharp ivory teeth. A terrible smell drifted to him, the sulfurous scent of the fires of hell, and he tried to back away, but couldn't.

A gaping mouth opened, exposing a fiery orange glow deep within a cavernous maw, and the awful odor grew stronger. He heard words, but without actually hearing them. It was as if they were resonating deep in his brain.

You're mine now. All mine.

The words struck horror into his soul, and his fear of this barely-seen creature galvanized him into sudden motion. He broke out of the momentary horror that had frozen him in place, spun around, and ran as fast as he could.

But in the normal way of dreams, he couldn't seem to get away. His feet moved very slowly, and the creature lumbered along behind him. He could feel its hot breath on the back of his neck as he ran, so close he smelled the acrid scent of his own hair burning.

Oh, God, he thought wildly. Oh God oh God oh God. I have to wake up. I have to.

But despite the very real terror that filled him, he couldn't seem to wake up.

He was trapped in his dream.

Read Chapter 8 here.