Elseworld (inspired by The Princess Bride and A Fighting Man of Mars)
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.
From the journals of Chloe Sullivan:
The farmboy pressed a chaste, pure kiss to the servant maid's lips, then gazed adoringly at her. In her eyes he discovered everything he had ever sought, everything he had ever longed for. At long last it dawned on him that to his eyes, this humble maid was more beautiful than the lovely, arrogant unattainable girl he had longed for so many years.
In a clearing lit only by silver starlight, he fell on one knee and pledged his eternal, undying love to the servant maid, humbly begging her pardon for overlooking her these many years, and even more humbly pleading for her hand...
Well, it would make for a nice tale for bards to sing around fireplaces, anyway. But such tales rarely bear any resemblance to reality. And in reality, the servant maid once again found herself forced to face the cold, harsh truth:
Her farmboy was an imbecile.
Chloe had never kissed a man before, but she had lived this moment a thousand times before in her dreams. Even so, she had never imagined the intensity of it, the burst of sensation she experienced as his lips lightly caressed hers. She knew nothing of kissing, but her body pressed against his in an automatic response, and her lips parted.
His tongue touched hers.
She was hardly the type to swoon, and yet her knees very nearly gave out. Nothing in her experience had ever given her warning that people used their tongues when they kissed. She had never even imagined such a thing. But suddenly she couldn't imagine kissing him any other way.
Very shyly, her tongue slipped forward and began to stroke his in return.
A low noise rumbled from him, and his arms tightened around her. She could feel something pressing against her stomach, something hard and hot and entirely unfamiliar. Driven by a strange and primitive impulse, she rubbed against it.
A startled gasp broke from his lips, and suddenly his kisses grew far more intense and demanding.
Clark was only a poor farmboy, with no prospects and no coin. No maid in Smallcroft had ever shown any interest in exchanging a few stolen kisses with the likes of him.
Therefore he knew nothing whatsoever of kissing, and he had no idea where the idea of sliding his tongue into Chloe's mouth so intimately had come from. He had never before suspected that men and women kissed this way, and he half expected her to recoil in disgust. But she didn't seem to object.
He knew slightly more of carnal relations, from having overheard the randy talk of older men. He was young and naive, but he knew enough to understand that his body was reacting to Chloe's in the way a man responded to a woman he wanted to tumble.
Which was very peculiar, because he had no interest in tumbling Chloe. She was his friend. His best friend, but only his friend. The only woman he wanted to be intimate with was Lana-- and that only after marriage. He had every intention of remaining chaste until he won Lana's hand.
Despite that assurance to himself, however, the kiss went on, growing steadily deeper and wetter. The forest was dark and still but for the low hum of insects and the silver flicker of moonlight through branches stirring in the breeze. The men had disappeared down the path toward Smallcroft, and the lizard was nowhere nearby.
He and Chloe were entirely alone but for the horses, and they could do anything they wanted to do. Anything at all.
He had every intention of stopping the kiss, but her work-roughened hand shyly slid through the long curls of his hair, then down over the nape of his neck, and he shivered at the caress of her fingers against his skin. A stab of some inexplicable longing shot through him, and he found himself pressing against her harder.
Her body was soft and warm, even through the linen shirt she wore, and she felt so good against him. So good.
His legs started to tremble, and he realized he wanted nothing more than to pull her down to the ground, yank off the breeches she wore, and... and...
He let go of her abruptly and stepped back. She blinked up at him in the darkness, her eyes huge and dark. Her short hair was rumpled, and he suddenly realized he'd been running his hand through it, caressing it with rough affection and undeniable lust.
"I am sorry," he said. His voice sounded odd, harsh and rough, but he ignored that . He struggled to come up with an excuse for his strange and uncharacteristic behavior. "I was... overwrought, Chloe. My concern for you made me forget myself." The sharp edge of his lust began to blur and fade, and his responsibilities suddenly came back into focus. "And Lana. Those men wish to abduct her. We must rescue her."
She stared at him for a long moment. "Yes," she said at last, and her voice sounded just as odd as his had. "Yes, of course we must. Go ahead, Clark. You can go faster without me. I will follow on Beetle."
"No," he said sharply. He remembered seeing the lizard rush her, its jaws gaping open to expose its dagger-like teeth, and a protective impulse filled him. "After what happened the last time I left you alone? Never again will I leave you alone and in peril, Chlo. We will travel together."
She nodded. "Together," she echoed.
Turning, she untied Beetle, then swung up onto the pony's back, and Clark mounted his much larger stallion.
The two of them wheeled the horses about and headed back toward Smallcroft, side by side.
Read Chapter 8 here.