Friday, July 20, 2007

Call Me Kal, Chapter 2

Between seasons 2 and 3, expansion of "Sojourn" (SV Comic #5, written by Mark Verheiden and Clint Carpenter)
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 Chapter 1 here.

"My place is that way."

Chastity has her hands "strapped across my engines," like it says in the old song, but she lifts one of them and points down a street. I shrug with one shoulder as she puts her hand back, right where it belongs.

"I had something a little more upscale in mind."

Minutes later, we pull up in front of the biggest, fanciest hotel in Metropolis. I stop the Harley, and she stares up at the huge building, her eyes wide.

"You have got to be kidding me. How does a kid afford this?"

There she goes again with the kid thing. If she thinks I'm just a kid, then why the hell was she rubbing up against me like that back in the Blue Rose? Why does she want to screw me, if I'm just a kid? I bristle, annoyed, as I toss my keys to the valet.

"Let me worry about that," I answer curtly, my tone barely short of a snarl. "Meet me in the lobby in two minutes."

ATMs are a great invention. I pay for the hotel room with a handful of someone else's money, and moments later we're in the penthouse suite.

The wide expanse of floor-to-ceiling windows gives an awesome view of Metropolis. I can see the LuthorCorp tower nearby. Once upon a time, Lex Luthor was one of my best friends. But he's dead, according to the papers. Died in a plane crash, the poor bastard. They're still looking for his body, but no one has much hope that he's alive.

Even closer, just below me, I can see the Daily Planet globe spinning slowly. It's a well-known symbol of the city, but it interests me on a personal level, too. Because she works there.

She's always wanted to be a reporter. She had an internship there last summer, and the other day I thumbed through a copy of the Planet and found a new column by her. I'm not sure when or how she got a column-- she never mentioned it to me, but I guess toward the end we weren't telling each other everything like we used to. Anyway, I'm happy for her. I'm glad that she, at least, has gotten what she wants most.

And it makes me wonder if maybe she's working in that building now. It's late, but she's a workaholic, and she always used to work this late at the Torch, the Smallville High newspaper. So if she actually has a desk at the Planet, she could easily be there.

Maybe she's just that close to me. Maybe she's right there, right now.

The thought makes an ache swell in my chest. When I last saw her, we parted on pretty bad terms, because she was jealous of the fact that I'm in love with another girl. But as much as I love the other girl, she's not the one I keep thinking about.

When I close my eyes at night, all I see is her.

My emotions are a mess, and I don't know what I want, which is part of why I put on the ring to begin with. But we've always been close, and I know that if I just talked to her, she'd get past her anger, and we could start over as friends.

Although deep down, I know friendship isn't all I want from her.

I keep staring at the globe, remembering her smile, remembering the incredibly hot makeout session we had a couple of months ago, when we were both under the influence. I remember the way she tasted, the little sounds of pleasure she made, the way her body felt against mine...

I'm so caught up in memories that I've almost forgotten the blonde in this room, who's sprawled in the enormous bed, waiting for me. But she speaks into the silence, reminding me of her existence.

"I'm from a place like that, too," she says, her voice gentle.

I don't look away from the globe. "A place like what?"

"Anytown, USA." She laughs softly. "Like in school, when they teach you how to write a letter. Mr. John Smith, 123 Evergreen Terrace, Anytown, USA..."

I have the uncomfortable feeling she's probing for information about me, and I'm not giving it to her just because I want to screw her. Anyway, there's no information to give. I don't have a family, or a hometown, or friends. And my name is Kal. Just Kal.

The boy named Clark Kent is gone.

Maybe he never really existed to begin with.

"I wouldn't know," I answer shortly.

"Sure, Kal. Because I figure a city kid wouldn't know better than to crash a biker bar looking for trouble."

I bow my head. All of a sudden I notice my hands are trembling, so I press them together. I can't look away from the slowly rotating globe. It's like it's hypnotized me or something.

"Do you miss it?" I ask at last, in a whisper.

"Sometimes." There's a gentle understanding in her voice that makes a knot form in my throat. "But what would I go back for? Some farmboy? My parents?"

The bitterness in her tone echoes my own, and all of a sudden I wonder what her story is. I wonder if "some farmboy" hurt her, or if maybe things didn't work out between her and her farmboy because of things beyond their control.

I wonder if her parents turned their backs on her, the way mine turned their backs on me. If maybe they shut a door and closed her out of their lives, the way mine did to me.

The ache grows, filling my chest. God, I miss my Anytown. Standing here, looking at the two reminders of my old life-- LuthorCorp Tower and the Daily Planet-- I'm remembering the good things about my small town life, and all of a sudden I miss it like crazy.

But I can't forget the accusing way my dad looked at me, the way his eyes said silently, This is all your fault, because you're an alien. I can't forget the way he closed the door in my face in the hospital, deliberately shutting me out. And I can't forget seeing him and my mother holding each other, locked in a circle of affection that didn't include me.

I can't go back. I can't.

And as much as I'd like to, I can't go over to the Planet and find out if she's there, either. Because she'll try to take me home. I know she will.

And I'm afraid I might just be weak enough to follow her back.

I turn away from the window, away from the reminders of a past I don't want to remember. Chastity is draped across the bed, and she's not wearing anything but a sheet.

She looks awesome that way. There ought to be a law that sexy blondes can't wear clothing. Seriously.

The sheet barely covers her nipples, and I'm tempted to take another peek with x-ray vision. But no. I figure it'd more fun to unwrap her. So I pace across the room and settle down beside her on the bed.

She smells good. I can smell the light fragrance of clean skin, beneath the odor of cigarette smoke that hung heavy in the bar, and still clings to her. The combination of odors is somehow really sexy and really intoxicating, and my body responds automatically. Just like that, I'm hard again, and all my introspection is forgotten.

I hope, anyway.

I reach out and touch her bare shoulder. Her skin is warm beneath my hand, and she sucks in a breath. So do I. It feels so good to touch her, to make physical contact with another person. I've been letting women drape themselves all over me at Atlantis for the same reason, because somewhere inside me there's a need to be touched and held that won't go away.

I want to be a loner. I really do. But somehow, I can't seem to survive without being touched. Which seems kind of pathetic somehow.

I remind myself that it's okay to use women for physical release, as long as I don't let myself get emotionally attached to them. I've put emotional attachments behind me. But sex is just for entertainment.

And I pretty much live for entertainment these days.

I stroke the warm satin of her shoulder, and she closes her eyes and shivers beneath my touch. My hand looks so big against the delicate bones of her shoulder. Compared to me, she's small and slim and very fragile.

I'm trying to focus on the moment, but against my will, I remember touching her this way. She felt the same way under my hands, very small and very breakable. And she shivered the exact same way. I remember the little hitch in her breathing when I kissed her throat, the way her hands dug into my hair...

I drag my mind forcibly back to Metropolis. I reach down and gently flick the sheet away, exposing Chastity's nipples. She has nice breasts, round and full. The nipples are a pale porcelain pink, and they're hard and crinkled like she's turned on just from the touch of my hand on her shoulder. That gives me a shot in the ego-- which I probably don't really need, come to think of it. If there's one thing I'm not short on when I'm wearing red K, it's ego.

Anyway, her nipples look like they want to be touched, so I do, cupping one of her heavy breasts in my hand and stroking the nipple with my thumb. She drops back her head, her hair falling over the pillow, and writhes like it's the best thing she's ever felt. A soft, wavering moan rises from her throat.

She obviously likes being touched, and I can't help but wonder how many guys she's done this with. Maybe, I think, she's responding this way because she hasn't had anyone touch her in a long, long time. Maybe she's tired of being alone, like me.

Or maybe she just likes sex. Maybe she picks up guys at the Blue Rose and screws a different one every night, for all I know. Stick reacted possessively when I kissed her. Maybe she's had sex with him, beer belly and all. Hell, maybe she's done every guy in that bar.

Doesn't matter, not really. I'm not human, and I can't catch human diseases. And I'm in no position to be judging anyone for their moral choices, not when I just knocked over an ATM.

Even so, my thumb has slowed, and she notices my hesitation, because her eyes open. She reaches up and catches my hand, and looks at me with serious hazel eyes.

"What's wrong, Kal?"

"Nothing's wrong." I force a leer. "I like what I'm seeing, believe me."

"Yeah, but..." She frowns a little. "It's like you're a radio station fading in and out. Sometimes I'm getting music, and sometimes I'm getting static. Somehow I don't think you're totally tuned into me."

"Trust me." I squeeze her breast, just a little. "I'm tuned in, all right."

"Kal." She stares at me intently. "Is this your first time?"

I hesitate, because I'm not sure I want to admit to being a virgin, and she smiles gently. "Okay, I guess that answers that. So it is your first time. Don't worry, Kal. I'll make it good for you."

That's not why I'm tuning out on her. I'm not scared or nervous about doing it for the first time. I can't explain the problem, exactly. I just have this uncomfortable feeling there are things I want that she can't give me.

Don't be stupid, I tell myself contemptuously. She can give you the same thing any woman can give you.

Besides, her hair is the right color, and she smells right and feels right and sounds right. She's the first woman I've really wanted since I came to Metropolis.

At least, I'd wanted her till I'd seen the Daily Planet. But that stupid globe reminded me that this woman, beautiful though she is, is just a substitute for what I really want.

And can't have.

I turn away from her, dropping my feet to the floor, resting my elbows on my knees, and sinking my head into my hands. She sits up, sliding across the mattress, and begins to touch my shoulders. "Relax," she says softly. "You're all keyed up, Kal."

She rubs my back and my shoulders, and the swirling tension slowly begins to drain from my body. It feels good to be touched in a not-so-sexual way. Most of the women at Atlantis came on pretty damn strong, without a whole lot of buildup. Honestly, I don't mind a woman grabbing my cock, but there's something to be said for a backrub, too.

I let my head drop back, close my eyes, and draw in deep, steady breaths as her hands slide over my t-shirt, exploring my back.

Slowly, her hands move to my sides, stroking over my ribs, then around the front. And all of a sudden they pause.

"What's that on your chest?"

I stiffen, and my eyes pop open. All of a sudden I'm just as tense as I was earlier, becuase it pisses me off when women notice my scar. It pisses me off that I have the damn scar.

It pisses me off that my so-called father branded me like a fucking animal.

"Nothing," I say between my teeth. "Don't worry about it."

Her hands are already tugging up my t-shirt, and her hands glide up underneath. Her warm palms feel good on the bare skin of my abdomen, and I know I ought to stop her, but I want to be touched so badly I just can't.

"That's not nothing," she says as her hands slip over my chest. "Turn around, Kal. Let me take a look."

"You don't want to look. Trust me."

I know there's self-loathing in my voice, but I can't help it. I'm scarred, branded, carrying the mark of an alien on my chest. The symbol sets me apart from every other person on the face of the planet. It's a reminder from my father that no matter how hard I try to fight it, my destiny is to rule the people of this world with the iron fist of a dictator.

"I'll be the judge of that." She slides around me on the bed, and suddenly she's in my lap, straddling my thighs. She's totally naked, her soft breasts against my chest, her warm pussy up against the front of my jeans, and I don't have the willpower to push her away.

She takes advantage of my lack of willpower, shoving up my t-shirt and taking a long look at the terrible scar on my chest. It looks sort of like an 8 in a five-figured shape, and it's huge, covering most of my chest. I know it looks pretty damn bad, and I expect her to close her eyes and cringe away from it in disgust.

But instead her hand reaches out, and she gently traces the scar as she stares at it.

"My God," she whispers softly. "My God. Who would do this to a kid?"

I'm annoyed to realize I'm back to being a kid again, despite the fact that she can't possibly miss my hard-on, given her position on my lap. Even through jeans, it has to be obvious to her. I bare my teeth, not bothering to conceal my irritation.

"My father," I answer shortly.

"Oh, God." Her finger is still tracing the scar. She doesn't seem to be repelled by it. "And I thought my father was bad."

My voice sounds deep and rough, even to my own ears. "Did your father abuse you, too?"

"Yeah." She doesn't look into my eyes.

I know it's none of my business, but ever since I put the ring on, I'm not much into tact. "What did your father do to you?"

Her voice is very low, and she won't meet my gaze. "He beat me up constantly, Kal. All the time, until I finally got the strength to run away five years ago. I didn't want to leave home, but I was so tired of being hurt..."

"Didn't you have anyone else?" I'm guessing she was about as old when she ran away as I am now, and my arms go around her in a protective gesture I'm barely aware of. "A boyfriend, maybe?"

She shakes her head, slowly, still not looking at me. "My father wouldn't let me have one," she says, her voice a bare whisper. "He wouldn't let me have friends. He wouldn't let me have anyone. And I was so lonely."

I figure that explains why a gorgeous girl like this is hanging out in bars, picking up strange men. The same reason I've been spending most of my time in Atlantis. Because she's lonely, and looking for companionship wherever she can find it. Because she wants very badly to go home to Anytown... but she can't.

I didn't want to leave home, but I was so tired of being hurt...

I remember how angry and sad and totally freaked out I was, before I put the ring on. For the first time it occurs to me I'm not the first kid to feel that way. I'm not the first kid to run away from home because my life got screwed up. Yeah, most kids don't run away because their alien father wants them to become an evil dictator. But still, Chastity's problems are probably just as huge and insurmountable to her as mine are to me.

"I'm sorry," I say at last. It's not adequate, but it's all the words I've got.

She finally looks up into my eyes, and she looks relieved by what she sees there. I realize she was waiting to see revulsion in my eyes, just like I was waiting for her to react to my scar with revulsion. But I've got no reason to be disgusted by her. It wasn't her fault her father hurt her, after all. And I guess she figures it isn't my fault my father left me so badly scarred.

She stares into my eyes for a long moment. And then she rises up on her knees, just a bit, and kisses me.

And I kiss her back.

Read Chapter 3 here.


Justine said...

Aw, poor Clark. Very cool story :) Can't wait for an update!

Tonya said...

Man, this really makes you feel for poor Kal. Beautiful work, so far. I can't wait to read more.

Writer & Cat said...

This is pretty different from what you usually write -- I like it! I wonder if he's gonna get laid or not? I always figured when he was off on Red K he did a lot of the sexin'.

sanaazzy said...

wXaww poor clark