Flame Red, Chapter 6

Kal/Chloe
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.

The two of them manage to untangle themselves and begin to struggle out of the truck. He leaves the music on, because he likes the driving beat that echoes the pounding of his heart and the surging of his blood. Chloe's still laughing breathlessly, and her amusement must be catching, because he can't stop himself from grinning broadly.

They're totally alone out here, so he pulls his jeans up and holds them with one hand-- he doesn't want to fasten them, because he is definitely not done with her yet-- and rummages around with the other for the old blanket he keeps behind the seats. He pulls it out, and she wrinkles her nose in disdain.

"Ewwww." He has to bend to hear her over the music. "What have you been doing with that thing? Or do I want to know?"

He rolls his eyes at her. "When did you get such a dirty mind? We all sat on it when we had that picnic with Pete last month, remember? It's not all that bad. It's just got some old grass stuck on it."

She still looks dubious, and he grins more widely. "Come on." He heads for the back of the truck, and she follows him.

They're deep in the woods, and a clean, fresh breeze is blowing, scented with the spring fragrances a Kansas farmboy knows well, the smell of crops growing in the fields and flowers blooming in gardens and sun-warmed fertile earth. Light filters through the green canopy of the trees, gilding Chloe's hair, lighting her face. There's a kind of golden aura around her, but she doesn't look angelic, not with the naughty gleam that's still in her eyes.

He spreads out the less-than-clean blanket in the bed of the truck, folding it double so as to give them a little bit of a cushion, and drops the rear gate. "Climb in."

She's laughing. "You are such a farm boy. Only you would take a girl to bed... and use this kind of bed."

"I don't see a whole lot of other beds around," he answers, a little stung. He doesn't really like being laughed at when he's trying to get laid. "Come on, Chlo. At least there'll be some room here."

She shrugs and scrambles up into the bed of the truck. She's still wearing jeans, but he watches her rear end with masculine appreciation as it flexes and rolls under the denim. God, that's a nice ass. He squints, just a bit, and takes a surreptitious peek at the little birthmark on her right cheek.

Nice. Very nice. He can't wait to get his hands on her bare ass. He imagines his hands full of warm, rounded, feminine flesh, and suddenly he's harder than ever.

He jumps up after her, and then he's grabbing her and rolling her onto her back, and she squeals. It's such a happy sound he can't stop grinning, even as his hard-on throbs against her thigh, and he wonders why they haven't ever done this before.

It's a good question. Why haven't they gotten together before now? It's fun. She's fun. Orgasms are fun.

So why has he been sitting around moping over Lana, when he could have had Chloe any time he wanted?

"So where were we?" He nibbles on her ear, rubbing against her jeans because he can't quite help it. He has to rub against something, or he's going to explode.

"Not here," she says in his ear. She squirms away from him, and part of him doesn't want to let her go. But part of him remembers what they were doing in the truck, or at least trying to do, and he's all for that, so he lets her go.

Her hand wraps around his cock, which is still totally hard, and her hot little tongue begins to explore his sensitive flesh again, and he gives a low, soft groan of satisfaction.

"God. Yes."

He twists around, not without effort, and presses his face against her thigh. The damn jeans are still in his way, but he can fix that now that he has some room to move. He has to get rid of them, because she smells so freaking hot. He's got to taste her.

He strips off her jeans, and she kicks off her boots, but she doesn't stop licking him. Gritting his teeth against the pleasure that rolls through him in waves, he peels the denim off her. Suddenly she's naked from the waist down, except for a tiny little piece of purple satin.

He presses his lips right against the satin. It's soft and warm and damp, and it smells of her moisture, sweet and spicy, so good his cock gives a hungry jerk against her mouth.

She parts her thighs for him, whimpering his name.

He's totally surrounded by her fragrance now, and it's making him dizzy and lightheaded and completely high. He's pressing kisses against the satin, and her mouth is brushing kisses over him between whimpers. Even with more space, the position is strange and awkward and sort of silly, and yet it's the best thing he's ever done in his life.

He loves the contrast of the purple satin against her pale skin. But even as thin as the fabric is, it's keeping him from what he needs to taste so badly. So he yanks it down. She wiggles, helping him get the panties off, and then he's tossing them carelessly over the side of the truck. He lowers his head again.

And suddenly there's nothing against his mouth except Chloe.

*****

Chloe gasps as Clark's mouth begins to stroke her bare flesh. His lips are gentle, and then his tongue slides out and begins to explore her, and the way his tongue feels...

"Chlo." He pulls his mouth away just long enough to gasp out a few words. "You taste so good."

And then his tongue is stroking her again. Words fail her, and she can't seem to say anything in response. All she can do is moan softly, her neck arching back, away from him.

His hips flex, pressing his erection right up against her cheek in a none-too-subtle reminder. She remembers this is supposed to be a two-way street, and she lowers her head a little and starts tracing the wide, wet head of his cock with her tongue again.

Her tongue explores him carefully, slipping across the little ridge just beneath the head, delving into the slit at the tip, and he shudders.

"Chlo." His voice is rough and deep, so that he sounds very adult again. "So good-- yeah, just like that-- ahhh...."

His tongue strokes her with a little more intensity, sliding wetly against the pulsing ache of her clit, and she moans again. Her lips part instinctively, and his hips move, and suddenly his erection is sliding right into her mouth, hard and hot and insistent.

She doesn't quite know how to do what he wants, but she has a general idea, and she's feeling so totally uninhibited that her instincts can easily fill in any blank spots. She lets her lips close around him and sucks, drawing him eagerly into her mouth.

He makes an agonized sound, and pushes into her a little more deeply.

There's an awful lot of him, but she doesn't mind. She likes the way he feels in her mouth, hard but satiny smooth. She likes the way he tastes. Precome flows from him in a steady trickle, but she doesn't mind the way it tastes, either. In fact she likes it. He tastes like sex, raw and earthy, but somehow sweet and pure at the same time.

Her hands drop onto his hips, and her fingers dig into his ass, encouraging him to thrust into her mouth a little more deeply. He does, gasping and groaning and sobbing.

Despite the sounds he's making, his tongue is still stroking her steadily, driving her higher and higher. There's an unbearable tension in all her muscles, and her hips are moving against his mouth, so eagerly she might ordinarily be embarrassed. But for whatever reason, she seems to be beyond embarrassment today.

Over the loud music blaring from the truck's speakers, she can't hear anything but the sounds of birds singing, insects droning, and the leaves rustling in the breeze. She has Clark all to herself. They're totally alone here.

And that ought to be a good thing, but part of her-- a petty, unpleasant part-- wishes Lana Lang could see her and Clark this way. Part of her wants to claim Clark for herself publicly, so that Lana will never get between them again.

Clark's hers, damn it.

But her possessive, almost jealous thoughts fade, and her mind goes blank, as the insistent movements of his tongue drive her still closer to a climax. She wants to wail with pleasure, to cry out, but her mouth is kind of otherwise occupied, so all she can do is make soft, high noises of ecstasy deep in her throat.

His big hands skim up her thighs, and she feels a blunt finger exploring the entrance to her body, then thrusting inside, while his tongue slides against her faster than before.

Heat rushes through her. Muffled sounds of pleasure come from her throat, and her hips jerk frantically. She can feel her pussy clenching around his finger, can feel the hard spasms deep inside, and suddenly a warm explosion goes off somewhere deep inside her body.

Ecstasy rocks her, over and over again, and she quivers uncontrollably, feeling the pulsations run from her clit to her womb and back again, in long, hot waves of ecstasy.

He's making little growling sounds, and then suddenly he's groaning again, low and deep, and come erupts from him, filling her mouth.

She doesn't mind. She's always thought going down on guys sounded sort of gross, but it really isn't. There's nothing gross about making him feel this good, nothing gross about feeling his cock jolt hard between her lips, or hearing his low, frantic sounds of pleasure. She swallows, over and over again, and doesn't let up the suction.

He doesn't stop what he's doing either, and pleasure continues to rack her body. Even though the position is awkward and strange, the fact that they're coming together feels so intimate it makes her eyes sting.

At last their desperate groans fade to soft sounds of contentment, and he pulls away from her with a long sigh. She releases him, then sits up and stretches out next to him, her head against his shoulder. He puts an arm around her and presses his face into her hair.

It occurs to her that they're lying stark naked in the back of Clark's pickup truck. They could get arrested for this. Even though it looks like no one's come down this dirt road in years, someone might catch them.

Despite the way she just came, the idea of getting caught makes an urgent spasm of need pulse between her thighs. She thinks she'd really get off on doing this publicly.

And she has the ideal place in mind.

"Clark." She nuzzles her face against his neck.

"Mmmm." He sounds like he's half asleep. "What?"

"I have an idea." She smiles against his throat. "Let's go to the Talon."

Read Chapter 7 here.