Saying Goodbye, Chapter 4

Clark/Chloe
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.

Chloe stared up at him, her lips slightly parted, and her mouth looked so moist and soft and delectable that he couldn't help himself. He bent to kiss her.

He felt her hesitate, just a second, and then her arms were wrapped around his neck again, and she was kissing him back.

The kiss started soft and sweet, but rapidly morphed into heat and moisture and stormy passion. Her fingers tangled in his hair, and his arms went around her tightly, and he let his tongue stroke hers, lovingly and intimately.

He wondered how the hell he'd managed to resist kissing her the first time, because her mouth against his was the best thing ever. Hell, it was better than sex.

Well, okay, maybe not quite. Still, it was awesome.

He remembered his own voice, saying, I've been telling myself you're nothing more than a friend for years. But he'd obviously been totally deluding himself all that time, because this was not a nothing-more-than-a-friend kind of kiss. This was a you're-the-sexiest-thing-I've-ever-seen-and-I-want-to-screw-you-senseless kind of kiss.

Not that screwing her senseless was an option. No. Definitely not. She was still dating Jimmy, and until that was all straightened out, assuming she even wanted to straighten it out, she was off limits to him, completely and totally.

Which was no doubt why his tongue was deep in her mouth and his hand was squeezing her breast.

This is okay, he assured himself. This is no different from what we did before, not really. It's not like we're actually making love or anything.

He was aware he was using the very same rationalization she'd tried on him-- it's not cheating if there isn't, you know, contact. He'd called her on it, and now here he was, using the very same arguments in his head.

Apparently he was just as good at lying to himself as she was.

But the important thing to remember here was that they needed to set limits. They'd already done the rubbing thing, so that was no big deal-- the old adage about the horse and the barn door came to mind-- but anything more than that would be wrong.

So the fact that her fingers were rapidly undoing his jeans was probably something he really ought to object to.

He thought, very sincerely, about objecting. But his mouth was kind of otherwise occupied, and pulling away from a really hot and passionate kiss just to voice a protest seemed almost ungentlemanly.

Anyway, just because she was undoing his jeans didn't mean they were going to-- well. That didn't have to happen. In fact, it wasn't going to happen.

But despite his assurances to himself, and despite the way he'd come a few minutes ago, he discovered he was already hard again. And not just sort of hard, but excruciatingly hard. The idea of her hand right against him, her soft palm squeezing his aching flesh, made him throb hungrily.

Which was why he didn't object when she pushed his jeans open and shoved his boxers out of the way. And then she was touching him, her fingers stroking right over his bare skin. He was slick and wet with his own come, and her fingers felt so good he couldn't restrain a low growl of pleasure.

"Clark," she whispered. "We shouldn't... we really shouldn't..."

Of course not, because she had a boyfriend. He remembered his angry words: You don't need me. You've got Jimmy.

She was right. They really shouldn't. But despite her words, her hand was sliding over him, moving up and down in a steady motion, and the phrase we shouldn't was rapidly being replaced in his head with the words Oh yes we definitely should.

His hands were moving all over her, and before he really knew what he was doing, he'd pulled off her green blouse and tossed it aside. And then he was staring at her, and his brain melted even further, because she was so impossibly sexy that it was almost blinding to look at her.

She was wearing a skimpy little bra, the barely-there kind that cupped her breasts and kind of pressed them together a little bit, so that her cleavage looked even more impressive than usual. The white lace of the bra barely covered her nipples. In fact, on closer inspection he saw the pink of her aureolae peeking over the lace, and all the blood left his head in a rush and headed for points south. Suddenly he felt very, very woozy.

He was pathetic. The barest hint of one of her nipples, and he was about to pass out.

He lowered his head-- because he was pretty sure he was going to faint, and when you felt like fainting you were supposed to put your head down, right?-- and licked gently at the rosy skin that peeked out over the lace.

She made a little sound deep in her throat, a whimper of pleasure and submission, and her hands dug into his hair more deeply than ever. Anyone else would have been yelping in pain by now, but he didn't mind. He kind of liked the desperation he could feel in her grip.

He brushed a kiss over the front of her bra, feeling the nipple hardening. And then he was sucking her nipple, right through the lace. He drew on it, hard, and she moaned and sighed and let her head drop back.

Her taste was intoxicating, salty and sweet all at once, and he couldn't have moved his mouth away from her if his life had depended on it. His hands began roaming. One stroked up her jeans-clad thigh, and then began to slide slowly between her legs. Even through her jeans he could feel her heat. He was surprised to realize she was as turned on as he was, despite the way they'd both come earlier.

Her hips moved restlessly, and she gasped out words.

"Oh, God, Clark, yes."

In response to what he was doing, her hand was moving on him, even harder and faster. She was squeezing him so hard it would have hurt anyone else, but to him it was pure pleasure, and he felt need and desire swirling inside him again.

He imagined thrusting into her, sinking into her wet heat, and a ragged moan was torn from his throat. He had absolutely no idea how he'd ever considered leaving her. There was no way on earth he could leave her for long. For the first time he admitted to himself that if he'd followed his plan and gone to the Fortress, he would have come back, very soon.

Not for Kara, and not for any of his other responsibilities.

For Chloe.

He was still playing with her nipples, licking, sucking, biting, but his hands reached around to her back and undid her bra, and he threw that aside, too. And then his mouth was on her bare breast, and she was sobbing out his name.

"Clark."

Her hand moved on him, really hard, and he thought he was probably going to come, and he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He was so turned on that he desperately needed the release.

But what he really wanted was to come inside her.

He reminded himself he couldn't do that. No contact, he told himself firmly.

But despite his thoughts, his hands began unfastening her jeans and pushing them down. Suddenly she was wearing nothing but a flimsy little pair of emerald green panties, and he couldn't stop himself from responding to her. He picked her up again, cradling her ass in his hands and positioning her right against him.

His cock slid against the wet satin, and his breath hissed between clenched teeth.

"Yes." Her eyes were shut, her neck arched back, and she sounded as if she were in pain. "Oh, God, Clark, oh God..."

It felt so much better than it had been with jeans in the way. It was just them, nothing but a tiny scrap of fabric between them, so close to being truly intimate that it hurt.

He moved against her. Pleasure shot through him like an electrical current, and he pressed his face into her neck, almost whimpering with the intensity of it.

"Chlo. God, yes."

"Please." Her hands dug into his shoulders, kneading muscle and skin. "Oh, please..."

He wasn't absolutely certain what she was pleading for, although he had a pretty good guess, because he wanted it too. He wanted it so much he could hardly resist the impulse. But they couldn't do that, because it would be so wrong...

Yeah, sure, a cynical little voice in his brain sneered. Because this is so right.

It felt right. That was the problem. Nothing in his life had ever felt more right than Chloe Sullivan in his arms, sweaty and almost naked and clutching him tightly, like he was all that mattered.

And he wanted to take that extra little step, let himself become part of her, let himself sink deeply into her wet, eager body...

He slipped against her, and another whimper escaped him. It would be so easy to slide into her. He could push right through the fabric, and they both knew it. The only thing keeping them apart right now was his willpower.

And frankly, his willpower was pathetic.

The rich smell of sex permeated the air, the scent of come and female arousal and perspiration, spicy and earthy and sweet all at once. She was kissing him wildly, dropping kisses all over his throat and shoulders and chest, and his free hand was everywhere, exploring the damp satin of her skin, learning the curve of her spine and the more pronounced curves of her ass, learning the softness of her thighs and the pliable firmness of her breasts.

She was perfect, beyond perfect, the most glorious thing he'd ever touched, and he moved against her again, barely managing to keep himself from pushing straight through her panties and into her wet, soft sex.

"Clark," she whispered against his throat. "Please."

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to regain some control. "We shouldn't."

"Please," she whispered. "I don't think I can stand it if we don't."

And then she was reaching down and shoving down her underwear, kicking it aside, and his painfully engorged cock pressed right up against her hot cream, and he was totally lost. He just didn't have the willpower to say no to that, not when her moisture was wetting the head of his cock, sliding down the shaft. Not when she was so impossibly hot against him.

His hips flexed, and then he was driving into her.

Her spine arched, and she gave a sharp, short cry of intense pleasure. He heard his own voice, low and guttural, growling a word he didn't utter very often.

"Fuck."

He held her ass with one hand and drove into her, hard and fast, as she clung to him, and a long moan rolled from him, because it felt so damn good.

Somewhere inside him there was an awkward, inexperienced boy who was worried he wasn't doing this quite right. He wasn't sure, because he hadn't done this much, and he really didn't know what he was doing, but he had the uncomfortable thought that maybe he could make this better for her.

Maybe, he thought, there ought to be more to sex than a violent, driving rhythm and two bodies straining together for release, more than the sounds of slick, wet flesh sliding together and soft hungry moans of pleasure, more than two mouths clinging together in deep, desperate kisses, more than sweat and heat and frantic gasps for air.

But he couldn't stop the rhythm of his body, couldn't strive for any sort of finesse or skill. He was too overwhelmed by physical need. He closed his eyes and let his body do what it wanted to do naturally, without trying to impose any sort of control on the situation.

Chloe didn't seem to mind, judging from the sounds she was making, not to mention the little shudders that racked her with every thrust. He slammed into her as hard as he dared, sinking all the way inside her, until he was totally surrounded by heat and moisture and sensation.

Fire blazed through his nerves, so intense he could hardly bear it. Little sounds came from his throat, high-pitched, anguished little noises he was helpless to prevent or control. He was strong enough to hold up a truck for hours, so holding Chloe in this position ought to be no trouble for him at all, yet he suddenly realized his knees were trembling beneath him.

Every thrust drove him higher, sending ever-increasing waves of pleasure through him. He pulled his mouth away from hers, dropping his head against the wall. His eyes were clenched shut, his teeth grinding together, and he could feel sweat dripping down his back and chest.

It was too much. He couldn't survive it. He felt his heart pounding against his ribs, felt every muscle in his body quivering with the strain, and a long sound of frenzied hunger rumbled from his chest as he thrust harder. Her body arched hard.

"OhGodyesohyesClarkohyes," she moaned, and then her inner muscles were clenching around him, and it felt like nothing he'd ever felt in his lifetime, so wet, so hot, so completely overwhelming he couldn't breathe. Her body squeezed his, spasm after spasm, relentless and tight and so incredibly good...

Something deep inside him shattered like glass, and he felt an impossible ecstasy sweep through him, filling him, completing him in a way he'd never been completed. The pleasure slammed into him in hard, irresistible bursts, and he thought maybe he was screaming, but he couldn't stop, couldn't even bring himself to care.

He'd had orgasms before, but this-- this wasn't merely an orgasm. This was something so far beyond anything in his experience that he didn't have words for it. He was climaxing inside her, filling her with his come, and it was so intimate, so sweet, so exquisite he thought he'd die of it.

At last the terrible pleasure eased, and he fell back against the wall, drawing in frantic breaths. He was pretty sure he had been screaming after all, because a sudden, profound silence filled the barn.

His cheeks heated, because screaming orgasms weren't really his style. But she didn't seem to mind. She leaned her head against his shoulder, and he listened to the sound of her heartbeat slowing to normal.

They were quiet for a long time. At last she spoke.

"I've put this off too long,I guess," she said softly. "But it's definitely time to say goodbye."

Her words startled the hell out of him, because after all, he'd just been reflecting that he couldn't say goodbye. The idea of her backing away from him, after everything they'd done today, made his heart twist in his chest, and he stared down at her in horrified shock.

His panic must have been reflected in his eyes, because she blinked up at him in confusion, then giggled.

"Not to you, idiot," she said with affection. "To Jimmy."

"Oh." The sudden tightness in his chest eased, and he nodded. "Yeah. That seems like the right thing to do."

"It would have been the right thing to do an hour ago." She sighed and pulled away from him, looking somewhat disgusted with herself, and he let her go, albeit reluctantly. "Now it's a little on the late side. I don't know where I get off bitching you out for telling Lois you were leaving before you told me. Not when I did something like this without breaking up with Jimmy first."

"Chlo..." He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder, a little hesitantly. "Don't do that to yourself, okay? Don't be so hard on yourself. I mean, yeah, things got a little out of control..."

"A little?" She quirked an eyebrow at him. "What would it look like if we got totally out of control?"

He uttered a wry laugh. "Okay. Fine. So things got way out of hand. But you didn't mean to do it."

"Actually," she said softly, "I did mean to do it. And if I'm going to be honest about it, I've been thinking about doing that for a long time, even while I was dating Jimmy." Her eyebrows drew together, and a little crease appeared in her forehead. "I don't like what that says about me, Clark. I don't think I'm a very good person."

"Then I guess I'm not a very good person, either. Because I've been thinking about you that way for years, too, even when I was dating Lana."

She looked up at him shyly, from beneath long, dark lashes. "Really?"

"Really." He reached out and rumpled her hair affectionately. "I guess we're just a pair of monsters. Because I don't intend to stop thinking about you that way, ever. And I think I'm going to keep acting on it, too."

"I can live with that." She lifted her head and met his eyes with more confidence. "I'm glad you decided not to go right now, Clark."

"Yeah. Me too."

"But one of these days..." He saw sorrow glimmering in the depths of her eyes. "One day we'll have to say goodbye."

He remembered his earlier epiphany, his recognition that he couldn't say goodbye to her, and he wondered just how he'd survive leaving her.

He shrugged the thought aside, because right now, he wasn't going anywhere. When he had to, he'd manage to leave her.

Somehow.

"One day," he agreed. "But not today. Why don't we just try to enjoy the here and now, instead of worrying about what's going to happen in the future?"

She studied him carefully, eyeing his naked chest with approval. "Okay. I'm definitely enjoying the here and now."

"Yeah," he said, and grinned. "Me too."

-The End-