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 the previous chapter here.
Read the story from the beginning here.
The golden globe continues to spin beneath me as I stare out the window, and my mind spins along with it. I've struggled to forget my past, to forget her, but I can't seem to stop the memories from flashing through my brain.
My first kiss.
The night we went to the spring formal, and swayed together on a balloon-covered dance floor.
The time she was buried alive, and I yanked her coffin out of the earth, and she collapsed on my shoulder, whispering, "I knew it was you. It's always you."
And the time we made out.
I can't forget that, no matter how hard I try. I don't think I'll ever forget it. I remember her moving on my lap, her body pressed up intimately against mine. I remember the feel of her lips against my throat. I remember the way she smelled, like sugar and spice, and like something hot and musky and indefinable, her fragrance making me so hard I hurt.
I'm that hard now. My swollen cock is pressed up against my fly, and part of me wishes I'd just gone ahead and boned Chastity, because I need some relief from the pressure.
Not that there aren't other ways to relieve the pressure. But in a city that must have a couple of million hot women in it, it seems kind of silly to jerk off. It's not like I can't walk into any bar and find a willing woman like Chastity.
But part of me-- the part that isn't hard and aching-- is glad Chastity walked away. I really did like her, and I'm not sure I could have continued to like her all that much if she'd gotten it on with a guy she regarded as a kid.
And the truth is, I couldn't have done it with her anyway. As hard as I am, and as hot as she was, I really don't think I could have.
I want her. Her, and no one else.
I stare at the city lights, spread out over a substantial chunk of what was once fertile Kansas plains, and the farmer in me mourns the loss of all that good farmland. It's not the view I'm used to, the view I've been looking at all my life, and I feel like I'm totally alone, despite being in a city of ten million people.
I feel alien, but not in a Zaphod Beeblebrox kind of way. I just feel like an overwhelmed farm kid who doesn't have a clue how to get his bearings in such an enormous city.
I look back down at the slowly revolving globe, wondering if she's down there.
I think about superspeeding down the stairs, about maybe encountering her down there on the dark street. I imagine putting my arms around her in the darkness and kissing her, then pushing her up against the brown brick wall of the Planet and shoving her skirt up, exposing the soft smooth skin of her thighs.
The images in my head make my cock pulse more urgently than before, and I place my right hand on the front of my jeans and start to run it up and down, because suddenly I'm going crazy. I think about pressing against her, imagine her wrapping a leg around me, so I'm right up against her soft body. In my mind, she's so wet I can feel it right through the silk of her panties and the denim of my jeans.
I think about moving against her, grinding against her, and my hand moves faster.
Little spasms of pleasure jolt through me, and a little groan gets away from me. I imagine burying my face in her hair to muffle the groans, imagine the way she smells, sweet and sexy and irresistible. I imagine vanilla and musk and the scent of sex filling my head, the way it did when we made out.
In my mind, I yank her panties off and slide right into her. I've never done it, but I have a vivid imagination, and it isn't hard to envision how it would feel. I think of sliding into her cream, feeling her body squeeze mine, and suddenly I'm right there on the edge, and I can't stop. I meant to unzip my jeans, but I just can't stop.
My hand moves really fast against the denim, almost in superspeed, and suddenly heat rolls through me, so intense it burns all the way to my bones, so overpowering I can barely stay on my feet.
A long groan comes out of my chest, a noise of satisfaction and pure release, as ecstasy rushes over me in short, sharp bursts. And I can't stop myself from whispering one word.
I've been trying to avoid saying the name, trying to avoid even thinking the name. But at this moment of heat and pleasure and release I can't stop myself from uttering it.
The ecstasy fades, leaving me alone in a quiet room that overlooks the city, the awareness of my own isolation pressing down on me, smothering me.
I'm a single runaway kid in an enormous metropolis. There are other runaways here, too, like Chastity was. But most of the people here have lives, true paths that they walk every day. Most of them have a purpose to their existence that I don't have.
I remember Chastity's words: You can do something with your life.
All I've done in the two weeks since I've been here is to try to have fun. And somehow, even on red K, that isn't as much fun as I expected.
I don't have any purpose to my existence, beyond being angry. I'm angry... and afraid. Too afraid to go home, too afraid to try to put down roots here, for fear someone else will get hurt in the crossfire the way Jonathan and Martha Kent did.
I spend all my time in nightclubs, like Atlantis and the Blue Rose, because I miss having someone to talk to. But I don't dare make a real connection with anyone, and that just makes me lonelier.
And that's the bleak, ugly truth. I'm lonely. No matter how much I try to pretend, I'm lonely. And the sight of the globe far below is a reminder of one of the people I miss the most.
I miss Chloe even more than the girl I'm supposedly in love with. I miss her so much it hurts.
I push my thoughts of her away, because when I'm on red K I'm not much for contemplation and self-examination. I realize I'm thinking this way because I'm tired, filled with post-orgasmic lassitude, as well as the normal exhaustion of a teenage farmboy who's up past his bedtime.
Deliberately, I turn away from the globe.
I strip off my clothes, take a shower in the luxurious bathroom, and then sprawl in the huge bed. It's big enough for an orgy.
But I'm all alone.
I close my eyes, but it takes me a very long time to fall asleep.
In the morning, I'm waiting on the street outside the Planet. Sure enough, she's there at 8:55. I guess writing the column actually requires her to work there, which must be nice for her. I hesitate, watching her from the shadows, then step forward.
"Chloe," I say, remembering the way the word spilled out of me last night, the way I couldn't keep it inside any more.
She turns her head, and then her eyes go wide. I look pretty much like I did last night, although I stole new clothes. I wasn't going to wear my old clothes all day, not after I creamed my jeans, and when I'm on red K, I don't really see the point in doing laundry when I can just steal new stuff. But I'm wearing my black jacket and a dark green shirt, and I know I don't look like the flannel-wearing farmboy she's used to.
She doesn't seem to mind. She runs right toward me and flings her arms around my neck.
After the acrimonious way we parted, her obvious joy at seeing me again fills me with warmth. I can't stop myself from putting my arms around her waist and hugging her back.
"Clark," she's murmuring into my throat. "Oh, Clark, Clark. Where have you been?"
"Kal," I say, a little gruffly. "Call me Kal." She lifts her head and blinks at me, and I try for my arrogant grin, although I'm pretty sure my smile is way too genuine to be arrogant. "It's my secret identity."
She stares at me a moment longer, then drops her face back against my shoulder.
"Clark," she whispers.
The sound of her voice saying my name-- my other name-- makes the warmth expand inside me, until I practically glow with it. I close my eyes and drop my face into her hair, breathing in the scent of fresh, wide-open spaces that clings to her.
I'm standing in the middle of Metropolis, a single runaway farmboy in the midst of an enormous city. But Chloe's there with me, and for just a moment, I don't feel lost and scared and isolated from the world any more. For just a moment, I'm not thinking about a cruel, vicious alien father who scarred me for life, and who wants me to take over the world, or about a human father who blames me for the death of my baby brother or sister, and who shut a door in my face, closing me out.
For just a moment, everything fades away except Chloe's arms around my neck. For just a moment, there's peace in my heart.
For just a moment, I'm not alone any more.