Lacrymosa, Chapter 4

Clark/Chloe
Season 7, MHE to "Bizarro"
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.

Clark couldn't ignore the needs of his body any longer. He pushed her over on the couch and settled on top of her, his erection pressing right up against her. Even through his jeans he could tell she was warm and wet from her climax, and desperate need rocked him right down to his foundations.

I need you to convince me I'm really alive.

He remembered her crying out, her body arching, a very vivid reminder that she was alive. He knew she was alive. What he needed was to be convinced he could somehow keep her that way.

Her small, deft hands unbuttoned his flannel shirt and pushed it off his shoulders. He shrugged it off and threw it on the floor, and her hands settled back onto his back. There was only a white t-shirt between her hands and his skin, but suddenly it was way too much. He wanted to feel her hands touching him, wanted to feel their bare bodies pressing together intimately.

He yanked the white shirt off in a sudden frantic flurry of need, then leaned back down and kissed her. Her hands dropped right onto the small of his back, caressing the skin there lightly.

There was no reason that her fingers on his back should feel so good. And yet it was the most intimate thing he'd ever felt. He jerked and moaned, half afraid he was going to come just from the light brush of her hands over his skin. It felt as intensely pleasurable as if she'd reached down into his jeans and grabbed his hard-on.

Her hands stroked lightly over his back, moving up and down along his spine, and he kissed her harder, his tongue thrusting into her mouth in a very sexual way. Little sounds of need welled up from his throat, so desperate he was a little embarrassed. He couldn't seem to stop the moans, but at least the sounds were mostly muffled by her mouth.

And then her hands slid down and dipped into the waistband of his jeans, and her fingers lightly caressed the skin of his ass.

He jerked his head back, baring his teeth. "God, Chlo."

"I've wanted to touch you there for so long," she whispered. She didn't stop touching him. "This ass ought to be in jeans ads, Clark. Or in Playgirl."

Being touched there felt even better than her hands on his back, and he couldn't stop himself from writhing. His erection rubbed against her body, and that was the best sensation imaginable. Despite his clenched teeth, helpless little sobs of pleasure escaped him. He was harder than he'd ever imagined he could be, so hard he thought he might just burst if he didn't get release soon.

He lowered his head and kissed her throat, feeling the warm skin beneath his lips, feeling the rapid beat of her pulse. Alive, he thought. She's alive.

For the first time, he thought he could fully understand the shock the people who loved him must have gone through when he'd been miraculously resurrected from the dead a couple of years ago. It was a terrible shock to lose someone you loved, but it was just as shocking to discover they weren't dead after all.

But he'd suffered an even worse blow. He'd lost two people he loved.

And he'd gotten the one he loved the most back.

That startling realization made him feel a sudden heavy weight of guilt, and the guilt, along with the shock and pain and relief he felt, pressed down on him like a boulder. Suddenly everything he'd experienced in the past day was too much for him to bear. Tears rose to his eyes, and he blinked hard against her throat, trying to force them back.

She noticed anyway, because she knew him too well to miss something like that. "Clark." Her hands lifted away from his ass, and she wrapped her arms around his waist and held him in a gentle, comforting hug. "Are you crying because Lana died?"

He shook his head against her throat. Despite his best efforts, a single tear leaked out.

"I'm crying because you're alive," he whispered hoarsely.

As he said it, he realized it hadn't come out quite right, and that she might take it wrong. But fortunately for him, she knew him too well, understood him too well, to fail to grasp his meaning.

"It's okay," she whispered, stroking his hair in gentle reassurance. "I know what you mean, believe me. I still remember when you died. I knew you were resurrected, but still... when I came up into the loft and saw you sitting there..."

He squeezed his eyes shut, knowing she understood the mingled shock and joy he'd felt in the moment he'd realized she was alive. She'd been through the exact same thing.

He remembered his own words: Loving someone is hard. It's difficult.

But he was starting to think loving someone wasn't that hard, after all. Maybe the difficult part was the fear of losing the person you loved.

He couldn't go through this again. He couldn't bear it. Somehow, they had to make sure she never wound up in a morgue drawer again. He thought of her dying, lying still and cold and lifeless, and more tears threatened.

Alive, he reminded himself, trying to calm himself down before he really disgraced himself. She's alive.

He blinked the rest of the tears away and began raining kisses over her, a silent declaration of his newly acknowledged feelings for her. His mouth pressed hotly against her throat and her shoulders and the top of her breasts. His lips grazed over her nipple, and she gave a little jolt and moaned.

She obviously liked that, so he lavished attention on her breast, kissing and licking and sucking until her hands dug into his shoulders so hard he suspected it would have hurt a human. But she knew he wasn't a human. She knew everything about him, and she accepted him without question.

The fact that you're from a galaxy far, far away... well, it just adds character. The remembered words made him smile against her breast.

He'd moved down a bit, so that their bodies were no longer aligned, and he realized something was missing. He badly wanted pressure against his erection, and he didn't particularly want to rub against the couch cushions. He shifted slightly, so that her leg was between his thighs, and moved hungrily against her.

Dry humping again, he thought, but was really too far gone to care about things like dignity and restraint. Her soft, slim thigh felt so damn good against his aching flesh. He rubbed harder and faster, until he was gasping frantically for breath.

"Hey." Her hands caught at his arms. "Slow down, you."

"I can't..." He remembered the words she'd gasped out earlier. Can't wait... can't stop... "Oh, God, Chlo. Don't make me stop."

"This isn't what you want." She pulled gently at his arms, drawing him back up her body. He leaned over her, and she cupped his face and stared into his eyes. "You want to be inside me."

God knew he couldn't argue that. He settled between her thighs again, and his hips pressed urgently against her, driving his erection against her body.

Her hands slid down over his chest and abdomen, and then she was unbuttoning his jeans and pushing them down. He kicked his workboots off and managed to struggle out of his jeans and boxers.

And then he was leaning over Chloe, both of them stark naked and seriously turned on.

He remembered his earlier amazement when she'd climbed into his lap. If he'd been amazed then, he was astounded now. He was naked on a couch with Chloe Sullivan, and she was lifting her legs and wrapping her thighs around him, and his body was pressing right up against hers...

And then suddenly he was inside her, slipping into her simply and easily. And the way they fit together was the biggest surprise of all. He couldn't believe how perfect it was, how perfect she felt.

He slid all the way into her, until his balls slapped up against her ass. It felt so good he couldn't breathe, couldn't moan, couldn't do anything but be part of her.

It felt so good he didn't want to move, because some instinct warned him that once he started to move, it would all be over too quickly. He held still, buried to the hilt in her wet warmth, breathing harshly.

She was quiet too, her face pressed against his neck, her breath coming in funny little pants. Her arms tightened around his waist in an unmistakable gesture of affection, and his throat clogged up.

She didn't have to say anything for him to know how she was feeling, and he imagined the reverse was true.

At this point, words just weren't necessary.

He could feel her inner muscles spasming in little ripples, and the tension grew in his body until he couldn't take it any more. Suddenly, without any conscious decision on his part, he was moving in her hard and fast, withdrawing all the way, then slamming back into her. Her hips rose to meet his, not in counterpoint but in perfect harmony.

Pleasure washed through him with every thrust. He buried his face in her hair, clenching his teeth, every muscle rigid. He was trying to hold it off, trying to draw it out, but it just felt so good.

She sobbed and shivered and clung to him, and he could feel her muscles contracting harder, squeezing his shaft until he thought he'd die of need.

In just a second or two, he wasn't going to be able to hold back any more, and he was going to explode. And as much as he wanted that, he wanted to keep making love to her more.

He froze deep inside her, trembling.

He struggled to commit every detail of this instant to memory. The way her body felt against his, hot and sweaty and shivering with need. The way her fingers dug into his shoulderblades, clutching him with desperation. The way she smelled, sweat and female musk and soap and perfume all blended together into a fragrance that made his head spin. The sound of her gasping, the thunder of her heartbeat.

And the way her sex felt, wet and hot and tight around him.

Suddenly he couldn't hold back any longer, despite his best efforts at self-control. He slammed into her, climaxing in a wild rush of heat and ecstasy and release, filling her to overflowing with his come. His voice rose in an agonized roar, and he heard her crying out right along with him.

Afterward he somehow rolled to the side without falling off, and they managed to stretch out together, despite the fact that he was a really big guy and the couch wasn't all that wide. She was pretty much sprawled on top of him, but he didn't mind. He was invulnerable, and besides, she was a lightweight anyway.

She pressed her face into his chest, and he felt hot tears.

"Hey," he said, gently yanking on her hair, because he didn't like seeing her cry, and he didn't want to dissolve into tears again, either. "Let's make a pact, okay? No more crying. There's no point in crying about things that can't be fixed. And anything we can fix... somehow we'll manage to fix it."

She lifted her head and looked at him. "But Lana..." Her voice fell to a whisper. "I feel like we just... betrayed her somehow."

"No." He spoke gently, knowing both their feelings were muddled on the subject of Lana Lang. They had both been close to her, but he was coming to realize that Lana hadn't meant quite as much to him as he'd always supposed. He hadn't really wanted to do this with Lana. He'd wanted to do it with Chloe, but just hadn't ever admitted it to himself. "Lana's gone, Chloe."

"Yeah." She swiped at a tear. "I don't suppose she'd mind us comforting each other."

He tightened his arm around her waist. "This wasn't just comfort sex." He looked at her very seriously. "You mean a hell of a lot to me, Chloe."

She swallowed, and met his gaze.

"Yeah," she said softly. "You too."

He looked at her, and a little smile curved his mouth. He couldn't say he was totally happy and at peace right now, because losing Lana had hurt, and Chloe's death and subsequent resurrection had scared the living hell out of him. And even if she tried to learn to control her power, there was a possibility that she couldn't, and that it might someday kill her. He knew as well as anyone that meteor powers could be horribly unpredictable.

But even so, his relationship with Chloe had helped him get through some of the roughest times in his life. And he'd helped her get through the rough times, too. Together, they'd cope with this.

Somehow, they'd cope.

She was looking back at him, a slight smile in her eyes, the morning sunlight gilding her hair, her arms around him. Being here with her, their naked bodies entwined on the couch, seemed like the simplest and most natural thing in the world. And suddenly he knew his earlier words had been wrong.

Loving someone wasn't hard. It wasn't difficult. And it wasn't complicated.

Loving the right person, he thought, was incredibly easy.

-The End-