Flame Red, Chapter 7

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 Talon's not too busy this afternoon. They don't bother with coffee, just head straight for the corner where they usually hang out, an area with padded benches that are long enough to stretch out on. They sit down together beneath a stained glass window that depicts a dark-haired knight in silver armor and his blonde princess.

Prince Charming, Chloe thinks. Clark's my Prince Charming.

She wonders vaguely if Prince Charming ever did a 69 with his princess on the back of a horse. She figures he almost certainly did... it just got edited out of the fairy tales.

Anyway, Clark is definitely the prince she's been waiting for. An earthy, sexy prince, but nonetheless a prince.

And she's pleased to realize her prince seems to be pretty well inexhaustible. They start kissing, and her hand wanders down to his crotch, and she can feel he's already hard again. She's pretty sure no human male could possibly be ready again so soon. He's definitely superhuman.

Or maybe he's just a sixteen-year-old boy.

Either way, she's okay with it. She lost her bra somewhere in the wilds of Kansas, in a little sun-dappled clearing, so when Clark's hand wanders up under her shirt, he's squeezing her bare boob. She likes that. She moans, and her hand moves faster against his jeans.

Through her absorption, she can hear footsteps approaching. She ignores them, because she's kind of busy right now.

"Excuse me? Hello?"

Reluctantly, Chloe turns her head slightly, and sees one of the waitresses frowning at them, tapping her foot.

"Excuse me," she says, radiating disapproval. What a prude. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Clark flashes his arrogant, irritating, breathtaking grin. "We're not going anywhere."

"Yeah," Chloe says, and she's grinning too, because it's so obvious the waitress is just jealous. She probably wishes she had a gorgeous alien making out with her, too. Chloe figures Lana will be even more jealous, because she's always wanted Clark for herself. But now Clark belongs to Chloe. And she wants Lana to know that. "Why don't you go get your manager?"

The waitress looks bewildered, like she just doesn't know how to cope with two people making out in public, right in the middle of a coffee shop. At last she spins on her heel and stalks away.

Good riddance, Chloe thinks, and straddles Clark's lap. She likes being the aggressor sometimes, and judging from the little glow in Clark's eyes, he likes it too.

"So," he says, his arms sliding around her waist. "What do you want to do next?"

She grins down into his face. "How about a game of strip poker?"

"We don't have any cards."

"Sure we do." She deals out an imaginary hand of cards. He grins and shakes his head like he thinks she's crazy, but that maybe her craziness is kind of cute, and then he picks up the imaginary cards.

"Full house," he says.

She looks up at the princess on the wall. "Royal flush," she counters.

She unbuttons the first two buttons on his plaid flannel shirt, then decides it's taking too long and just rips it open. He puts his arms back, bracing them on the cushions, and she shoves the shirt off. He tosses it casually on the floor, and then he's pushing her back on the cushions, his big body covering hers.

A little throb of excitement goes through her. At last, he's going to make love to her, right here and right now. Right where anyone in Smallville could walk in and see them.

Right where Lana Lang could see them.

He's kissing her fiercely, but suddenly an odd shudder goes through him, and he lifts his head.

"Hey," she whispers, grinding her hips against his. "Don't stop now."

"Chloe." He looks bewildered, like he's coming out of a dream. "I can't... I can't do this."

He pulls away from her, bends, and grabs for his shirt, and a little red pebble falls out of it. He doesn't notice, because he's still looking at her. He stands up and yanks the damaged shirt on, then grabs his discarded jacket and pulls it on, too.

Anger fills her at his sudden reversal. After everything they've done today, for him to reject her now, without even trying to explain or apologize-- well, it seriously pisses her off.

"What happened?" She jumps to her feet and stalks toward him, getting right in his face. "Why the sudden Jekyll and Hyde?"

He zips up his jacket, concealing his bare chest, and looks back at her. He looks confused and unhappy, as if he doesn't understand his own actions, and she pushes harder. "Don't tell me you're thinking about Lana."

"This has nothing to do with Lana."

"Then why back away from me?" She takes a step toward him, putting her hands on his chest, and he doesn't try to move away, just stands there like her hands on his chest are enough to hold him in place.

She presses into him, discovering he's still hard. He still wants her, no matter what he's telling himself.

His voice is low and hoarse. "We can't do this."

Anger sparks in her again. " You don't have any real feelings for me, do you, Clark? Every time we hang out, it's just to get answers. Chloe, why don't you research this? or Chloe, why don't you look up that? I'm nothing more to you than your own personal search engine."

"No," he says softly. "You're a lot more to me than that, Chlo."

"No, I'm not. And I'm sick of being treated that way. I want you, Clark."

He steps back and stares at her intently for a long moment.

"You have the parasite, Chlo," he says at last.

She blinks, trying to figure out what the hell he's talking about. Finally she remembers Clark talking to her in the Torch earlier, telling her some wild theory about how Pete was infected with some sort of freaky lifeform that fed off adrenaline. And now he's trying to tell her she has something creepy running around inside her, too.

Clark and his crazy leaps of logic. She doesn't really believe him, but even if there is some sort of bizarre, otherworldly tapeworm inside her, she just doesn't care all that much.

"Well, I love the way I feel," she says coolly. "So maybe this is exactly what I need. To spend more time actually living life... and less time reporting it."

She moves toward him again, and once again he doesn't back away. She wraps her arms around his neck, presses her body against his, and kisses him.

He kisses her back like he just can't help himself, and all of a sudden their tongues are twining together again, and his arms are tight around her waist, and he's grinding against her like he might just grab her and do her against the nearest wall.

"We can't." He's whispering against her mouth. "The parasite-- you're infected, Chlo-- we can't--"

"Yes, we can." Her hands are digging eagerly into his ass, pulling him right up against her, and he's not fighting it. She can feel the hot, unmistakable pressure of his erection against her belly. She imagines it inside her, thrusting hard and deep, and her knees grow weak.

And then she hears footsteps again. Clark apparently hears them too, because he turns his head. Chloe looks over and sees Lana, staring at them with as much shock as if she'd found them both standing over a dead body, bloody knives clutched in their hands.

"L-lana," Clark says, stammering with dismayed embarrassment. "This... this isn't what it looks like."

So totally lame, Chloe thinks. Such a total cliche. She's annoyed that Clark is still trying to pretend this wasn't his idea, that he isn't totally into her, after everything they've done together today.

Lana doesn't answer, just walks past them without speaking. The look of shocked hurt is still on her face, and she's blinking hard. Clark looks upset, too, and Chloe feels hot, jealous rage building inside of her. She doesn't want Clark to care about Lana, damn it. Clark is hers.

"Yeah, it is," she says, glaring at Lana. "It's exactly what it looks like, Lana. And you know what else? Clark told me everything about himself. And I mean everything."

Lana turns toward her, looking so shattered that Chloe feels almost ashamed of herself. But not quite. Because Clark is supposed to be hers, but all of a sudden he's acting like he's sorry he ever got involved with her. She can't understand what's going on, and she's angry and hurt, and that makes her bitchy.

She ignores the tears on Lana's face, the stricken look on Clark's face, and stalks from the room.

Behind her, she hears Clark say, "Lana, I can explain..."

No, Chloe thinks. No, you can't. There's no way you can explain all this away. Not to me, and not to Lana. You wanted me, and Lana knows it now, no matter what you try to tell her. No matter what you try to tell yourself... you wanted me.

The anger begins to fade, and tears sting her eyes as she steps out into the bright afternoon sunlight. Because for a few moments this afternoon, she'd let herself believe that Clark was hers.

But he isn't.

He might have wanted her, but he didn't want her as much as he wanted Lana. In the end, he rejected her... just like he always does.

Read Chapter 8 here.