Season 7, MHE for "Kara"
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 story from the beginning here.
Read the previous chapter here.
Leftover adrenaline from their argument was still pouring through Clark's veins, making his heart pound and his nerves tingle. His body continued to respond to her nearness until he was pretty sure she had to be aware of his reaction. There was no possible way she couldn't have noticed.
But she didn't seem to notice. At least she didn't seem to object. She pressed against him a little more tightly, and he clenched his jaw to hold back a moan.
Just friends, he reminded himself. She had no clue what she was doing to him. She obviously just hadn't noticed his massive erection somehow.
But her body pressed against his again, subtly but unmistakably, and then again, and he started to think she had noticed, after all.
She moved against him again, and this time his cock responded with a violent twitch. His cheeks flared crimson, because there was no way in hell she hadn't noticed that.
But despite his involuntary response, she didn't seem aware of his condition. She kept doing what she was doing, pressing against him in a slow, steady rhythm, and he had to fight to keep his hands still. His palms had come to rest on the small of her back, and he wanted to slide them down, just a little, and let them roam over the beautiful curves of her--
No, he reminded himself. Friends. They were friends, and this was just a hug.
Well, sort of a hug. A hug that involved some slight amount of friction.
Or quite a lot of friction, actually.
But he still wasn't quite sure it was deliberate on her part. Maybe she didn't quite realize what she was doing to him, or how her movements were affecting him, because she wasn't kissing or touching him, wasn't doing any of the overt things he associated with seduction. She was just leaning her head against his shoulder, her arms around his shoulders, and rubbing her abdomen against him, very softly.
She kept pressing against him in the same slow rhythm, never moving any faster or any harder, and an aching need began to build in him, so fierce and desperate that his balls hurt. He could feel precome beginning to drip from his cock, and his cheeks got redder, because despite the jeans he wore there was every chance that her blouse was going to get wet. And if she wasn't aware what she was doing to him, if she wasn't doing it on purpose... well, that would be embarrassing as hell.
But despite his embarrassment, the thought of his precome wetting her blouse just made him harder.
He felt his body give a really eager jolt against her, but she still didn't seem to notice, and he wondered what the hell was going on. He was almost certain she was doing what she was doing on purpose... but not quite. And that uncertainty kept him off-balance, kept him from kissing her or touching her or doing any of the other things that flashed through his mind.
He wanted to rub against her, to relieve some of the pressure that had built up in his hard-on, but he just wasn't absolutely certain she was aware of the effect she was having on him.
She pressed even closer, snuggling against him so tightly that there wasn't a millimeter of space between them, and he had to grind his teeth together to hold back a moan. Because she was so warm and so soft and so damn good against his hard-on, and he wanted to grind against her... so... badly...
But he couldn't, because then she'd know for sure how he'd reacted to her nearness, and if it hadn't been her intention to turn him on, it would all just be really humiliating.
With a monumental effort, he managed to hold his hips still. But his hands flattened on the small of her back, pulling her against him just a little harder.
She moved again, and this time the pressure was just too much to bear. It felt so good that a little gasp was wrung from him.
"Clark?" she said softly against his throat. "You okay?"
She obviously had no clue. God. He was about to go nuclear, and she had no idea whatsoever what she was doing to him.
"Yeah." His voice sounded an octave too low, deep and growly, and he consciously tried to force it back into its normal register. "I'm fine."
Just a hug, he told himself. She's just hugging you, same as she always does.
It just happened to be a slightly more... intimate... hug than usual.
And maybe that was just him. Maybe it was all in his head. Maybe she hadn't pressed any closer to him than usual, and he'd been the one to pull her against him. Maybe she was wondering what the hell he was doing, and thinking she ought to pull away...
But then she moved against him again, and he couldn't help himself. His hips moved, just a little, letting his erection slide against her. It felt like the sudden fulfillment of every dirty fantasy he'd ever had, and another gasp of shocked pleasure was torn from him.
She moved against him, a little harder, a little more deliberately, and all of a sudden he was absolutely certain that she knew perfectly well what she was doing to him.
She was seducing him, and trying to pretend she wasn't, probably because of the whole boyfriend thing.
Which he could totally understand, really. She had a boyfriend, a boyfriend who'd be back in town in just a few days, and the two of them shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't be hugging so intimately, or rubbing against each other until he was so turned on he was gasping for breath. This was just plain wrong.
And yet he couldn't move away from her. He didn't have the willpower.
Their bodies were rocking together now, the gentle rubbing slowly morphing into a rougher, more urgent motion. As good as it felt, it wasn't quite right. He needed to rub against her... her... well, her...
Shoving all pretense aside, he leaned back against the roughly hewn planks of the wall and picked her up, positioning her so that her body was properly aligned with his. Her legs lifted, hooking around his thighs.
And then they were rubbing together, hard and fast and desperate, and he couldn't hold back the gasps and moans any longer.
His cock was jerking now, in hard, fast spasms, straining against the denim of his jeans, pulsing with an urgency he couldn't ignore, couldn't even pretend to ignore. He could hear her gasping too, could feel her clutching him as his body rubbed hard against hers, and despite the need that had his balls in a white-hot grip, he held back fiercely, because he wanted her to get as much out of this as he did.
Her fingers curled in his hair, and her body arched, and then she was burying her face in his shoulder, trying to muffle her cries. But he could feel her shaking, could feel the convulsive shudders racking her body, and it was just too much.
He ground against her, more violently than before, feeling the heat of impending orgasm burning at the base of his spine. The pleasure built inside him to impossibly intense levels, then suddenly spilled out of him in long, hot gushes of liquid fire.
Desperate, incoherent words rose from his throat, her name mixed in with broken phrases and curses and wordless sounds of ecstasy. He tried really hard to muffle his cries against her hair, but couldn't.
His body shuddered wildly for a long moment. And then the heat receded, and he leaned back against the wall, still holding her off the ground, and a gentle contentment settled inside of him.
"Clark," she whispered against his throat.
He sighed. Of course she was going to talk. She always talked. He was drifting happily in a warm, sweet haze of afterglow, and she was going to spoil it by talking.
"Mmmm," he answered, lowering her, so that her feet were on the floor again.
"We shouldn't have done that."
The haze began to lift, somewhat to his annoyance. He opened his eyes.
"Probably not," he answered, looking down at her. Her hair was rumpled, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright. She looked exactly like what she was, a woman who'd just had a really good orgasm. "But... well, I don't know about you, Chlo, but I just couldn't quite seem to stop."
"No." She worried her lower lip between her teeth, and all of a sudden he realized how kissable her mouth was. They'd done all that hugging, but somehow he hadn't kissed her. That was an oversight he seriously needed to remedy. "Me neither. But maybe we should have tried harder for a little self-control."
His self-control had disappeared into a black hole somewhere, the moment she'd rubbed against him for the first time. "Chlo," he said softly. "I didn't really want any self-control right then."
"Yeah. Me neither." She gave a long, shuddering sigh. "The truth is, I've never had any self-control where you were concerned, Clark."
That simple sentence made his heart lift and his ego swell. The idea that she couldn't help herself around him made him feel like a sex god, rather than a geeky Kansas farmboy. But then she shrugged.
"Oh, well, at least we didn't... I mean, Jimmy doesn't really have to know about this, because nothing really happened."
He remembered himself coming in an unbearably hot rush of fire, remembered her body shaking all over, and he frowned at her. "Nothing happened?"
"Well, you know." She tried to move away from him, but he didn't let her. "I didn't actually cheat on him."
He quirked an eyebrow. "What exactly would you call it, then?"
"Um. Well. It's not cheating if you don't... well, it's not quite cheating, anyway. Not if there's no, you know, contact."
He felt his frown grow deeper. There was a rather large wet spot on the front of his jeans that flatly contradicted her words. "Chlo," he said gently. "You're lying to yourself."
"Yeah." She uttered a long sigh. "I'm good at that."
"You're not the only one, believe me." He gave her an affectionate squeeze. "I've been telling myself you're nothing more than a friend for years."
She lifted her head and studied him. "We are just friends, Clark. I'm dating Jimmy, and you were in love with Lana..."
He spoke softly. "Considering what just happened, Chlo, I think maybe neither of us is being honest with ourselves about our feelings. Not about Jimmy, not about Lana... and not about us."
Read Chapter 4 here.