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.
She shows him what she has in mind.
Chloe's always been a straightforward kind of girl, so her hand slides right back down over the front of his jeans, caressing him right through the coarse denim. He jumps a little, and she can sense him trying to keep his nervousness and embarrassment in check.
He isn't behaving at all like he did a couple of days ago. She remembers touching him when they were both under the influence, remembers his straightforward, blunt instructions: Move your hand up and down. A little more. A little harder. That's it... that's perfect...
In a way, the artificial confidence from the red meteor rock made things easier. But the thing is, that wasn't Clark. This is the Clark she loves-- the boy who's shy, who blushes when he sees her in a bikini, who actually ran out of a room once when she started reading him an article from Cosmopolitan. The Clark she loves is sweet and inexperienced and terribly easy to shock.
Maybe one day Clark will be a confident, sexually assertive man. But right now, he's a naive Kansas farmboy.
And she likes him that way.
Even so, she doesn't mind being the one to put a few dents in his naivete. It isn't like this is the first time they've done this, anyway, since she knows he remembers what they did as well as she does.
He remembers her hand stroking him just like this. She can tell from the rapidly increasing pace of his breathing, the way his eyelashes flutter. He's struggling to hold himself still, but not succeeding very well.
She strokes all the way down, from head to base, pretty hard, and suddenly he reacts, his hips jerking instinctively, driving his cock against her palm.
She experiments, rubbing him in different ways through the denim. He seems to like everything she does, because before long he's writhing at every touch of her fingers, his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth open as he pants for breath.
For the first time, she feels really confident that he wants her, not Lana. She's the one he asked over, after all, and there's no mistaking the fact that he really likes being touched by her. The knowledge that he wants her, really wants her, gives her a sensation of confidence and self-assurance, a feeling she normally doesn't have around Clark.
"I'm going to unzip your jeans now," she informs him.
His eyelids snap open, and he stares at her. His cheeks look red, and she's pretty sure it's not the light of the fire.
"Chloe," he says, clearly finding it difficult to get words out. "I don't think... I mean, maybe we really shouldn't..."
"I want to touch you." She speaks gently as she unfastens his jeans and pushes them aside. There's a bulge in his boxers that boggles her mind. She has a hazy memory of taking him into her mouth, and she wonders how on earth she did it. She can see how thick he is, and she wouldn't believe he could even fit in her mouth if she didn't have those memories.
She reaches out, snags the elastic waistband of his boxers, and pulls them down gently. His erection springs free, and she stares, awestruck. God, it's gorgeous. So damn huge... She reaches out and touches it, and it's as hot as she remembers, so hot it almost burns her skin.
Clark gives a little whimper, a sound of mingled longing and embarrassment. "Chlo," he whispers. "I think maybe we ought to just, you know, quit here..."
She looks at his enormously swollen cock and shakes her head. There is no way she's leaving him at this point. She'd be the worst kind of tease if she did.
"Relax," she tells him, and begins to slide a finger up and down.
Another whimper rolls out of him. His hips are moving hard now, sometimes in a steady rhythm, sometimes stuttering in random patterns. The head of his cock is flushed, glistening with precome, and it looks almost painfully engorged. She's no expert,but she's pretty sure he's close to a climax. He's making those little gasping sounds she remembers, the same little sounds he made just before he came.
His hands are clenched into fists, and he isn't even trying to touch her. She figures he's so worked up he's probably afraid he'll hurt her. But she doesn't care, because right now she's all about making him happy.
She wraps her hand around him and squeezes.
A frantic noise bursts from him, and suddenly he's pushing her over, onto the old rug in front of the fireplace. He strips off her shirt and her bra, and she yanks off his shirt, too. Then he's moving between her thighs and leaning over her, his hot, hard cock rubbing right against the soft skin of her belly.
He moans softly with every movement, and she feels him growing slick with precome, so that he glides easily against her skin. He slides against her abdomen for endless moments, his long, deliberate strokes slowly morphing into short, hard, fast thrusts. He begins to gasp for breath, and his body trembles beneath her hands.
At last he opens his mouth, and scrambled, incoherent phrases emerge.
"Ah... I can't... oh, Chlo... need more..."
She isn't quite sure what he needs. She can feel sweat breaking out on his skin, and she knows he's close, but the sounds he's making seem more frustrated than ecstatic, like he can't quite get there. She runs her hands down the smooth, damp skin of his back, digs her fingers into his ass, and urges him to an even faster pace. He thrusts against her violently, and a high-pitched, desperate noise is dragged out of his throat.
"Can't... ah, God, I can't..."
He sounds like he's ready to cry with frustration, and she wishes she knew what to do to push him over the edge. He came easily enough before, but now that he's back to normal, she has a feeling that the naive Kansas farmboy is holding him back, preventing him from enjoying himself too much.
There's a bad boy inside of him somewhere, but the bad boy evidently can't get past the farmboy without the aid of a little red rock.
She puts her hands against his shoulders and pushes him over. He rolls over on his back, and she moves on top of him. In the red light from the fire, he stares up at her, sweaty and disheveled and panting, his eyes wide with frantic need and desperate frustration.
"Shhh," she tells him softly. "It's all right."
"I can't..." His voice is shaking. "It's not like it was, Chlo. Without the rock, I just can't..."
"Yes, you can." She lowers her head and kisses his throat. "Just relax, okay?"
"I want it so much, Chlo... but I can't..."
She kisses him, and his voice fades out, but he is not at all relaxed. She can feel the tension in his muscles, the hungry need in every taut line of his body. She lets her mouth trail over his neck, then slowly moves down over his collarbones and his pecs. At last she kisses her way down to his nipples. She lets her tongue dart out and stroke one.
He gives a jolt of surprise, and one of those whimpering sounds escapes him.
"That feels good, doesn't it?"
He doesn't answer, but another little whimper is answer enough. She begins to trace wet circles around his nipple. It's small compared to hers, but rigid, and she figures it must ache just like hers do, because the more she licks at it, the more he moans and writhes beneath her. His body is twisting against hers, his cock rubbing against her abdomen, and she can feel it pulsing in an ever-increasing beat. If he can only let himself go...
She opens her mouth, takes his nipple between her lips, and begins to suck at it, the way he sucked hers when they were both under the influence.
He sobs, his body shaking, his head dropping back. He's soaked with sweat now, trembling all over, and she can feel how desperate his need is, how badly he wants release.
His hips jerk hard, rubbing his erection against her, but still he doesn't come. He balls his hands into fists and slams them down on the carpet on either side of him with angry frustration.
A frustrated Clark is not a good thing, she thinks, realizing they're lucky he didn't just knock a hole in the floor and drop them both into the basement. She doesn't want him frustrated, anyway. She wants him to enjoy this.
She draws on his nipple harder than before, and he cries out, his body surging against hers, clearly wild with need.
"Oh, God." He gasps for breath, his body arching helplessly. "Please oh please oh please..."
His desperate pleading hurts a little, because she's already doing everything for him she can, and none of it's working. The shy farmboy just can't let go somehow.
She sighs, almost as frustrated as he is, and moves away from his nipple. Slowly, she begins to slide down his abdomen, figuring maybe going down on him is the only thing that's going to work. She didn't want to do that so soon, because she's pretty sure it'll freak him out in a big way, but if nothing else is working...
But as her breasts brush across his swollen cock, he arches and gives a long, anguished cry, sounding like she's killing him. Suddenly she remembers how much he got off on playing with her breasts.
He might be an alien, but he's also a sixteen-year-old boy. He likes breasts.
She shifts just a bit, so that his cock is right between her breasts, cradled in a deep valley of soft flesh. She moves against him, just a little, and he responds. His hips jerk hard, thrusting violently, and suddenly his voice lifts in relief, and then in a long wail of intense pleasure.
And then she feels him coming, feels the thick fluid gushing all over her chest and throat, hears him almost screaming with the ecstasy of his climax.
His body moves against hers frantically, and she feels spurt after spurt of liquid heat erupting from him. At last his wails die down to silence, and his frantic movements fade to stillness. She moves off him and sprawls beside him, dropping her head on his shoulder.
His eyelashes flutter open, and he looks at her with a funny expression of contentment mingled with embarrassment. She figures he's remembering his frantic pleas for release, and maybe the way he screamed as he came.
She figures she'd better distract him before he goes all nervous and jittery on her again.
"So," she says. "Is it my turn now?"
He looks at her for a moment, and somewhere beneath the embarrassment she sees a faint glimmer of the bad boy. Only a glimmer, but it's there. It's the faint reflection of the confident, assertive guy he's going to be someday, as well the arrogant, reckless guy she's pretty sure he'll always keep locked away.
Right now, he's a naive Kansas farmboy. But that isn't all he is, or all he's going to be. Not by a long shot.
"Yeah," he agrees, his voice lower and sexier than usual. "Let's see if we can make you scream this time."
A slow grin spreads over his features as he rolls her over and looms over her. His eyes are still sweet and vulnerable and innocent, but his grin... his grin makes her stomach melt and her heart beat faster.
Because his grin is all bad boy.