Rating: Adult. If you're under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
"Oh, God, I reek."
Chloe Sullivan flopped down on the old red sofa in Clark Kent's loft with a sigh of relief. "My stupid car broke down, can you believe that? Ninety-five degrees out, and the car decides to break down."
Clark was so focused on the paper he was writing he barely glanced over his shoulder at her. "You could have called me to come get you."
"I did. I got your voice mail."
"Oh, sorry." He frowned at the stack of books in front of him. "I guess I left my cell in the house."
"And your superhearing couldn't hear it ringing?"
"I've kind of been focused on this paper, Chlo. Sorry."
She sighed and wiped sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. She'd always heard that ladies didn't sweat-- they glowed. But she wasn't glowing, damn it. She was totally covered in sweat. She stretched out her legs, propping her feet on his old trunk, and grimaced.
God, even the backs of her knees were sweaty.
"There is nothing worse than being stranded without air conditioning in the summer," she announced.
He didn't even look back at her. "It doesn't bother me."
She rolled her eyes at her best friend, who was still seated at his desk, working on what must be one hell of a term paper, judging from the massive, serious-looking books that were stacked everywhere. "No, I guess it wouldn't. But the heat is killing me. And besides, I stink."
"No, you don't," he answered, absently thumbing through a thick tome. "You're fine."
"Look, Clark, maybe I'm being too subtle for you, but I'm trying to tell you that I seriously need to go into your nice cool air-conditioned house."
When his mother had lived on the farm, the Kents had rarely used the air conditioning. And of course Clark didn't really need it. But fortunately for her, he kept it running these days because his dog Shelby was getting older, and the heat of summer bothered him.
Clark lifted his head, turned around, and shrugged. "Oh. Okay, then. I guess I could use a break, anyway."
She rose wearily off the couch and headed for the rickety old staircase. She heard the thud of a book being shut, then the clomp of his workboots as they hit the wooden planks. He followed behind her, then suddenly came to a halt.
She looked over her shoulder to see him staring at her, his nostrils flaring.
"Told you I reeked," she said, feeling a little self-conscious despite herself. The look in his eyes made her want to squirm. He didn't look revolted, exactly, just... intense. "It's not my fault it's hot out, Clark. Some of us sweat."
"It's..." He seemed to be having difficulty getting words out. "It's not that, Chlo. You don't reek. It's..."
His nostrils flared again, and he trailed off. She stared at him, puzzled. "It's what?"
"You smell awesome," he said in a low voice.
She blinked at him, then decided he was kidding, and laughed. "Yeah, right. I put on some pretty darn nice perfume this morning, but it all evaporated a mile back. And I think my deodorant just kind of melted about the same time. Quit making fun of me, okay? I know I'm disgusting."
She turned to go down the staircase, but his big hand wrapped around her arm, holding her in place. She turned back to see him studying her more intently than before.
"God," he murmured in a low, sensual rumble. "You smell incredible."
There was a serious note in his voice that said he wasn't kidding. She stared up at him, seeing the clear masculine interest in his eyes. He'd never looked at her that way before, and the fact that he was staring at her like that right now, when her hair was matted lankly to her neck and forehead, when she was dripping with sweat, was just... weird.
But then again, Clark had always been weird.
She knew his senses were more acute than any human's. He could see better and hear better... he could almost certainly smell better, too.
In which case, she couldn't understand why he wasn't running away from her in superspeed, because she was just plain icky. But judging from the arrested expression on his face, it appeared she didn't smell all that bad to him.
A memory flashed through her brain, an article she'd read while researching an article on dating in Metropolis. The article had talked about pheromones, which were a chemical signal to the opposite sex. A signal that attracted the opposite sex.
And they were produced by the sweat glands.
If Clark could smell better than humans, then maybe he was more aware of her pheromones than a human male would be. Which meant maybe right now, disgusting though she was... she smelled like sex to him.
He was still staring at her, his eyes intense and dilated, and she shifted uncomfortably on the stairs. Because as much as she liked Clark, as much as she'd always secretly been in love with Clark, she didn't want him to desire her just because of the way she smelled. It felt like cheating somehow. Like taking advantage of him. She needed to snap him out of it somehow. She needed to back away from him.
But she couldn't quite seem to bring herself to step away from the look in his eyes.
His other hand lifted and very slowly cupped her cheek. She could barely restrain a shudder at the feel of his big hand brushing so delicately over her skin.
"Hey," she whispered, forcing the words out past a suddenly dry throat. "I thought we were going into the air conditioning."
He drew in a deep breath, closing his eyes as if he were in rapture. "I'm happy here."
So was she. That was the problem. But she was a sweaty mess, and there was no way she was going to seduce Clark like this. Even if she wanted to take advantage of him, she couldn't let their first time occur when she was sweaty and smelly and gross. She needed a shower first.
But then again, if she showered, he wouldn't keep looking at her like she was a supermodel.
His eyelashes fluttered down, concealing the hungry glow in his vivid green eyes, and he slowly bent toward her. His big hand tangled in her hair and tugged gently, and she dropped her head back in an automatic gesture of surrender. He lowered his head, and his mouth brushed over her throat, making her shiver.
And then he parted his lips, and she felt the velvety warmth of his tongue tracing over the fragile skin of her throat, tracing along the tendons, finding the most sensitive places with uncanny accuracy.
"Jesus." His voice was hoarser than before. "You taste so good, Chlo..."
She wondered foggily if he could taste pheromones, too. Certainly he seemed to taste something he liked, because he didn't stop, just stroked and caressed his way down her throat, licking her sweat away. She was wearing a tank top that left most of her shoulders bare, and his tongue slid over her collarbone, finding an incredibly sensitive spot. Her hands dug into his hair in an involuntary effort to pull him closer.
A low sound rolled from his throat, a noise that made her think of a tiger purring. His hands slid up her back, and suddenly he was tugging her shirt up and falling to his knees, curling his fingers into her hips and pressing his face right against her bare stomach.
She was torn between arousal and embarrassment. Part of her was thrilled to have literally brought Clark to his knees with desire, although she realized it didn't really have anything to do with his feelings for her. But the part of her that was a normal American woman was uncomfortably aware that she was sweaty and disheveled and just plain icky.
"Clark." She tightened her grip on his hair, trying to tug his head away from her body. "I really need a shower..."
"No." His voice was muffled as his lips and tongue trailed over her stomach. "No shower. You smell perfect."
"Yeah, well, that's the thing. I don't, actually. But I think maybe the way I smell is affecting you somehow. I have this theory that you're able to smell pheromones..."
His mouth brushed over her navel. "Stop talking, okay?"
"So am I. You talk too much."
"Yeah, but see, I don't think this is about me. It's about my sweat. And that kind of worries me..."
He wasn't listening. She could tell. His breathing was growing rougher, sounding like a human who'd been running hard, and his hands had tightened possessively on her ass. The licks and kisses he was pressing against her abdomen were growing steadily more insistent, and harder to ignore.
And then he reached up and yanked her bra off.
She yelped in indignation as her rather nice bra was ripped right in two. She opened her mouth to protest, but instantly forgot about it as his lips grazed right over her bare nipple. A sharp pleasure stabbed through her, and she became aware of a throbbing warmth between her legs. A little moan escaped her in lieu of the objection she'd been about to voice.
His tongue trailed in circles around her nipple, and she could feel it go instantly hard and rigid beneath his ministrations, as her knees went wobbly with pleasure. She clutched his hair, and her head dropped back. She thought she would have been happy to feel his mouth exploring her nipple for the rest of the day, but all too soon his lips slid to the side.
The haze of euphoria began to lift as she realized where he was headed, and she tightened her grip on his hair.
"No," she told him firmly. "I draw the line at armpit foreplay."
He sounded like a three-year-old who'd had his favorite toy taken away, but she ignored the pitiful whine in his voice and spoke more forcefully. "No. You are not sniffing my armpit, or kissing me there, or whatever the hell you're thinking of doing. I don't care how high you are on pheromones. It's just not happening, big boy."
He gave a long, irritated growl and lifted his head, frowning at her with clear disapproval.
"Humans," he said with disgust, "are so weird."
She rolled her eyes at him. "When in Rome, buddy. I don't care what Kryptonians do in bed. Keep your nose out of my armpit."
"Fine," he answered with a sigh that suggested he was being very seriously deprived. He lowered his head and began to kiss her nipple again, then drew it between his lips and sucked on it.
Her knees instantly turned to jelly, and the only reason she didn't fall was because his big hands were wrapped around her hips, keeping her upright. Heat pooled in her lower body, and warmth and need pulsed between her legs.
One of his big hands slid down and moved right between her thighs, and she whimpered.
His fingers moving there felt incredible, stoking the pleasure, making it grow hotter and hotter, and she felt herself moving against him, encouraging him. Not that he needed encouragement. She heard him making low sounds of desire, and she realized this was getting out of hand.
She really needed to stop him. Not because she wanted to, but because this wasn't fair to him. With his enhanced senses, he couldn't help responding to her this way. Letting him make love to her would be taking advantage of him, and she couldn't do that.
"Clark," she muttered, trying to ignore the need that throbbed insistently between her legs. "We need to stop now."
He pulled his mouth away from her nipple and leaned his head against her stomach, breathing hard. "You're talking again," he said, somewhat grumpily.
"I can't help it. Look, Clark, you're not in control of yourself. There are pheromones in my sweat, and they're obviously affecting you..."
"I want to make love to you." His voice was clipped and impatient. "That's all."
"Yeah, but... see, ordinarily you don't have any interest in me..."
"Crap." He licked at the skin of her abdomen and shuddered. "I think about making love to you all the time, Chlo. I've just never had the guts to do it."
She wondered if that was true. It couldn't be... could it?
His mouth was warm against her belly, and his hand felt good, and her brain began to melt along with her body. Suddenly taking advantage of this situation didn't seem all that bad. He said he'd wanted her. God knew she'd always wanted him.
Right now, she was all for taking advantage of the situation.
His hand stroked insistently between her thighs, until she felt an unbearable heat gathering there, until her body grew damp with more perspiration. Even through the denim of her shorts, his hand felt perfect, and she quivered, her legs trembling. His fingers moved faster, and a frantic sound fell from her as her inner muscles throbbed and pulsed in response. Intense sensations began to boil inside her.
But just as she felt the heat and pleasure building to a peak, he pulled his hand away. She moaned with disappointment and clutched at his hand, but he didn't let her capture it. He spoke with soft amusement.
"Easy, Chlo. Soon."
"Now," she whispered.
All her qualms, all her reservations about the situation, had vanished. All her morals had apparently disappeared into a black hole somewhere, and she ought to be ashamed, but she just couldn't help it. The pressure low in her body had to be released, and soon, or she was going to explode. She needed his hand there, stroking and touching and exploring until she came.
He didn't oblige. Instead he lifted both hands, unfastened her shorts, and shoved them down.
Her shorts fell around her ankles, hobbling her, so she kicked off her sandals first, and then her shorts. He was still kneeling at her feet, and she forced her eyes open and looked down, seeing his eyes closed, his nostrils flaring. He was obviously drawing the scent of her deep into his lungs.
Which was just plain embarrassing, from her point of view. She wasn't any less sweaty than she'd been when they started, or any less in need of a shower. If anything, she was even sweatier than before.
"Clark," she whispered, fidgeting in sudden embarrassment. "I really need to get cleaned up..."
He leaned toward her, his eyes still closed. His breathing sounded rougher than ever, as if he needed to pant for breath. "No," he answered softly. "You don't. I told you before, you're perfect this way."
She knew she wasn't "perfect," but she couldn't seem to bring herself to try to stop him as he leaned into her. She wanted this too much. She wanted him too much.
His lips brushed very lightly over her most intimate flesh, and then his tongue flicked out, tasting her.
A whimper broke from her, and she lifted her hands and dug them into his hair, encouraging him. She knew she shouldn't, but she just... couldn't... help... it....
His big hands reached up and parted her labia, very gently, and then his tongue was stroking her more carefully, more thoroughly, with long, slow strokes that made her tremble. A long ahhhhhh of pleasure came from her throat, and her hands dug into his hair in a way that would have hurt a human.
"So good." His voice was a barely audible rumble. "Chloe. You smell so good... taste so good..."
She knew that wasn't true, because she was wetter than ever, her skin damp with sweat, her thighs slick with cream. But he obviously liked her this way.
He teased her, bringing her almost to orgasm, then moving away from her clit and exploring her somewhere else for a moment or two. He tasted her everywhere, his tongue sliding over her clit and her thighs and her belly. He brought her to the edge of climax, then backed away, over and over again, until the heavy pulse of need between her thighs grew almost to pain.
"Please..." The word fell from her lips unbidden. "Please, Clark."
"Soon." His tongue flicked over her clit again, a soft, delicate brush of wet heat over achingly sensitive flesh, and she whimpered, clinging to him to stay upright. Pleasure surged through her like electricity, making her glow hotter and hotter. His tongue flickered against her endlessly, driving her higher still, until she thought she might just float away through the loft window and sail up into the sky, never to come back to earth.
He was so completely focused on her, as if she was the only thing in the world that mattered. She remembered the way he'd hardly glanced at her when she came in, so busy concentrating on his term paper that he'd hardly seemed to notice her presence. But now he hardly seemed aware of anything else beyond her.
One hand moved away from her hip, and she felt a big, blunt finger stroking at the entrance to her body, then slowly sliding inside. Her inner muscles clutched eagerly at him, desperate for the stimulation he offered. She hadn't realized how badly she wanted to be filled until this moment, but suddenly she realized she ached to be touched somewhere deep inside.
He slid his finger into her, all the way. She was so wet that his finger glided easily into her moisture, as if she'd been made for this, and for him. Slowly, he withdrew it and added another finger. Another slow, methodical thrust, and then he added a third finger.
He began to slowly thrust into her, and at the same time his tongue flickered against her clit, and it was so good she could hardly stand it. If only he'd do it just a little faster... but he didn't. He maintained his slow, deliberate rhythm, making her hotter and hotter without giving her the release she craved so badly.
"Please." Her voice was a low whimper, but she didn't care. It no longer mattered to her if she sounded needy. She was needy, damn it. At this point she was ready to beg, ready to offer him anything at all in exchange for an orgasm. She thought she might cry with frustration if she didn't come soon.
"Mmmm." His voice was muffled. "God, Chlo, the way you smell... I think I'm going to... oh, God."
His careful, slow lovemaking suddenly shifted into a higher gear. His tongue moved harder and faster, and so did his hand, which thrust into her in a sudden violent rhythm. The glow of heat inside her body brightened, burning hotter and hotter, and then suddenly pleasure flared inside her in a soul-searing explosion.
She surrendered to it, throwing her head back and driving her hips forward against his mouth. Her spine arched hard, and her voice lifted in a scream of ecstasy.
To her surprise, she heard him crying out too, and she realized he was coming right along with her, regardless of the fact that she hadn't touched him, despite the fact that he was still wearing all his clothing.
Their voices rose in rapturous unison. Despite his cries, he didn't stop what he was doing, and she came again, harder than the first time. Her inner muscles squeezed and rippled violently around his fingers, and she could feel moisture surging from her body, wetting his hand. The ecstasy was so good, so intense, that she couldn't bear it, and she heard herself screaming more loudly than before.
At last the glowing heat cooled. Her screams faded into silence, and his cries trailed off. Her legs wobbled, weaker than before, and she slowly collapsed, sinking onto the wooden planks of the floor. He put an arm around her and cuddled her against his shoulder.
She sighed into his t-shirt, breathing in his scent, the fragrance of his skin and the mingled odors of his sweat and come. "That was nice," she mumbled.
"Yeah, it was." He squeezed her gently. "And we're not done yet."
Lazily, almost sleepily, she let her hand slowly drift over him, exploring the solidity of his body, the warm softness of his skin, the hewn iron of his muscles and bones. It was his turn to sigh. His arm tightened around her, drawing her right into his lap.
She could feel that his jeans were wet, and she figured that couldn't be comfortable, so she started to unfasten them, just as a considerate sort of gesture. She unzipped them, pushed them open, and shoved his dark blue boxers aside.
And then she took a good look at what she'd unwrapped.
Despite the fact that he'd just had what was clearly a very intense orgasm, he was still half-hard. Even though it wasn't fully engorged, his pale ivory cock was as huge as she'd always imagined in her bad girl fantasies, glistening with moisture as it rose out of dense, coarse dark curls. It looked smooth and sleek and so infinitely touchable she couldn't keep her hands to herself.
She reached out, a little tentatively, and stroked a finger along it, from base to head.
Another purring sound rose from his throat, and his body instantly reacted. His cock stiffened, darkening to a deep rose pink as blood filled it, and swelled, rising until it almost touched his belly.
Wow, she thought, drinking in the sight of him. Just... wow.
Suddenly she wasn't sleepy any more. Not at all.
She thought about what it would feel like to have him inside her, filling her the way his fingers had, only more so, pushing even further into her than his fingers had, stretching her to her limits...
At the raw, sexy images, she felt a quiver of need and a rush of heat, deep inside her body.
She wanted to touch him. She had to touch him. And lightly caressing him with her finger wasn't enough.
She wrapped her fingers around him, feeling the moist, velvety heat of his skin against her hand, and began stroking the pad of her thumb over the plump head of his cock.
He jumped as if she'd startled him, and his erection jerked in her hand. Another little sound came out of him, but it wasn't so much a purr as a whimper. She stroked a little faster, and small beads of precome began forming at the tip like pearls.
For some reason she found the sight of those small, pearlescent drops of moisture to be incredibly enticing. Suddenly she wanted to taste him, the way he'd tasted her.
Shifting a little, she bent and ran her tongue over the head of his erection. His head fell back, his spine arched, and a low rumble of pure lust fell from his lips.
She explored him carefully, caressing the tiny slit at the tip, the round head, the delicate little ridge of skin just beneath it. His hips moved rhythmically, pressing his cock against her mouth, telling her wordlessly but clearly what he wanted.
She opened her mouth and drew him inside, just a little.
He gasped, sounding shocked and ecstatic all at once, and his big hands lifted, sinking deep into her hair so that she couldn't get away. Not that she wanted to. She'd never tasted anything so sexy in her life, never felt anything so intimate as his cock sliding eagerly into the depths of her mouth.
He was huge, but she was pretty sure she could take more of him in without choking. Experimentally, she drew him a little deeper into her mouth.
"Chlo." His voice was a deep, sexy rumble. "I can't... God, Chlo, I'm going to... you have to stop."
Despite his words, his hands still had a desperate grip on her hair. Clearly he didn't want her to stop, and she didn't particularly want to stop, either. She took still more of him into her mouth, and his back arched, frantic sounds of need and pleasure rising from his chest.
"Yes... yes... oh, God, yessss..."
The last word was hissed between clenched teeth. Suddenly he reached down, grabbed her, and hauled her up against his chest. She looked up, seeing his eyes glowing with desire. Literally glowing. She could see the orange light of heat vision flaring in his irises, a sure sign that he was seriously turned on.
He caught her by the hips and lifted her just a bit, positioning her, and then he thrust, sinking deeply into her. Slightly startled by the sudden invasion of his body, she cried out, and he hesitated.
He was huge, but already she could feel her body stretching for him. She closed her eyes and let herself relax into it, let herself enjoy being totally filled. He felt as good as she'd imagined. Maybe better.
"Yeah," she whispered, her hands closing around his biceps for balance. "I'm fine."
He gave a soft sigh of relief, and then he began moving, surging into her hard and fast. He was obviously close to the edge, because she could feel his cock shuddering deep inside her body. Her own body responded with hard, deep spasms of pleasure, and he groaned.
"Chloe... oh, Jesus, Chlo..."
His voice was low and rough. He lowered his head to her shoulder and panted harshly, and she knew he was breathing in her pheromones again, filling himself with her scent. She suspected he was surreptiously sniffing her armpit, but at this point she really couldn't bring herself to object.
She rose up on her knees, so that he almost slipped out of her entirely, then slid down hard, so that he was buried deep inside her, the head of his cock bumping gently against her womb. She kept moving that way, riding him hard. Seconds later, heat burst in her, and she cried out as a climax rocked her, so intense her toes curled.
And then he was coming too, sobbing and moaning and calling out her name as his body shook all over.
When it was over, the two of them collapsed onto the wooden planks of the loft. She pillowed her head on his chest, gasping for breath. They lay there, wrapped in a peaceful, companionable silence, for long moments.
At last she lifted her head and looked at him, seeing that the glow of heat vision had totally faded from his eyes. He looked satiated and replete. And she felt pretty much the same way. She smiled at him and sat up, resting on her knees.
"Okay," she said. "Now it's time for me to take a shower. Let's find out if you really want me when I'm not all sweaty."
His mouth quirked at the corners, but his eyes were serious. "Chlo," he said softly, "believe me. I want you. No matter how you smell."
His words reassured her, and her smile widened. "Well," she said, "there's only one way to find out for sure. Let's go take a shower. If you're still interested when I'm clean, then we'll know it wasn't all pheromones."
He sat up, frowning. "What about my paper?"
"Put it this way. Would you rather write a term paper, or hang out with a wet, naked blonde?"
He laughed, a deep, warm, genuine laugh. "You make a compelling argument."
He got to his feet, zipping his jeans up. She grabbed her clothes and pulled them on, enjoying the post-orgasmic lassitude that loosened her muscles and warmed her skin.
Fully clad, she looked up at him. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at her, and she saw that the glow of heat vision had faded. They were the usual shade of pale green.
Her internal glow had faded away, too. She was totally and completely satiated, her nerves humming with contentment. She felt comfortably warm, but she no longer burned with need from the inside out.
Clark had given her everything she needed, and then some.
But as she headed down the stairs, Clark in her wake, she thought wryly that her feeling of satiation wasn't going to last, not in a shower with a wet, naked, muscular Kryptonian. She had the pretty strong certainty she'd be glowing with need again, very soon.
But if not... well, afterglow was nice, too.