Season 7, MHE to "Persona"
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 Chapter 2 here.
Read the story from the beginning here.
The kiss was chaste and sweet at first, but it began very quickly to morph into something a lot hotter. Despite the way she'd pulled away from him earlier, he couldn't seem to stop himself from deepening the kiss.
His tongue touched hers, a little hesitantly, a little shyly. This time she didn't pull back, and he grew bolder, stroking and exploring more intimately.
His arms slid around her waist in an automatic motion, and her arms went around his shoulders, and she pressed up against him. And suddenly he realized he had the biggest hard-on of his life. She rubbed against him, and a helpless sound of pleasure was torn from his throat.
God. They should not be doing this. This was all kinds of wrong.
And yet his spine flexed, driving his hips hard against her.
She responded in kind, pressing against him even harder. Their bodies began to move in a silent dance, and every movement sent a burst of exquisite pleasure through him, until he was moaning with need.
His hands slid up under her t-shirt, discovering the warm satin of her back, the smooth curve of her spine. She wasn't wearing a bra, and the desire to see her breasts, to touch her breasts, hit him like a kryptonite boulder.
He pulled up her t-shirt, stripping it off, and she didn't object. In fact, she helped.
He tossed the shirt aside. Now she was completely naked but for black, lacy panties, and he pulled back a little, staring. She was so perfect, her skin pale, her waist narrow, her hips curved in a very feminine way, her legs incredibly long for her height...
And her breasts. They were round and perky and looked like they'd fit into his hands perfectly.
At the image that thought created in his head, he discovered he wanted to touch them so badly he couldn't help himself. He reached up, a bit tentatively, and cupped a soft, pliant breast in his right hand.
Her eyes drifted shut, the eyelashes fluttering, and she arched her head back. Encouraged, he let his thumb brush over the hard, crinkled nipple, and she made a little whimpering sound.
"Do that again," she whispered.
Obediently, he stroked her a little more firmly, a little faster, and her spine arched, pressing her breast right into the palm of his hand. He looked down, seeing her pale flesh, soft and fragile against the darker skin of his hand, and suddenly the desire to kiss her, to taste her, swept over him, so strong he couldn't resist it.
He lowered his head and bent his knees, and began brushing kisses over the top of her breast.
She moaned and dug her fingers into his hair, in an instinctive attempt to keep him from pulling away. She wasn't strong enough to keep him there, of course, but he didn't intend to stop.
Having his mouth on her breast ought to be a dream come true, but he wasn't totally comfortable. The problem was that he was too tall, and she was too short, and this position was just too damn awkward. He could hold an awkward position all day, but that didn't mean he enjoyed it. And he really wanted to enjoy this.
He thought about how best to remedy the problem. He could drop to his knees and pull her down with him. They could sit down on the couch.
Or... they could just stretch out on her bed.
He decided that was definitely the best alternative. She lived in a studio apartment, and the bed wasn't too many steps away. And the thought of stretching out next to her, feeling her body up against his-- well, that put images into his mind that made his impossibly hard erection get even harder.
He swept her up in his arms and hit the accelerator, metaphorically speaking. A fraction of a second later he was placing her gently onto the bed. She'd been sleeping there earlier, and the violet sheets were rumpled, and redolent with her fragrance.
She blinked and looked around, apparently confused by the sudden change in venue. He kicked off his shoes and socks, giving her enough time to adjust, then he lowered himself to the bed next to her and began kissing her again. Not just her breast this time, but everywhere, her shoulders and her abdomen and her throat.
Her hands moved over his back, and then she tugged off his blue t-shirt, and he lifted his arms, helping. And then her hands were against his bare skin, stroking so lightly it almost tickled, and he moaned against her.
It felt so good, better than anything he could imagine, so good it didn't seem possible. He'd been trapped in a block of ice for over a month, isolated, denied any human contact, and for the first time he realized just how starved for touch he was.
He was starved for her touch. What he'd told Chloe was true. He'd thought of her far more often than he'd thought of anyone else.
He'd fantasized about this very moment, far more often than he should have.
"I missed you," he mumbled against her shoulder. "Missed you so much."
"Me too." She spoke into his hair in a breathless whisper. "I hardly saw you-- well, the you that wasn't you-- for a month. I thought you were angry with me, or that you'd forgotten about me..."
"I'd never forget you, Chlo." His voice lowered even further. "You're all I thought about... the whole time..."
He moved over her, still wearing jeans, and positioned himself so that her leg was between his. He rubbed the persistent ache of his hard-on against the soft flesh of her thigh, and gasped at the pleasure that spiked through him.
She whispered his name, and then her hands caught at his hips, fumbling at the front of his jeans. He moaned again, letting her undo his belt and his jeans, letting her unzip them. She shoved them down, and he kicked them off.
And then he was settling between her thighs, the two of them almost naked, and kissing her frantically.
His body moved against hers, hard and urgent and demanding. Even through two layers of fabric he could feel how wet she was, and he doubted she had any trouble telling how hard he was. His cock spasmed frantically against her, and he pulled his mouth away from hers and sobbed into her hair.
"We shouldn't." Her lips brushed over his ear and cheek and throat. "I mean, you and Lana... you're still..."
In a clearer moment, he would have agreed that she was right, that they shouldn't do this right now, that he needed to break up with Lana first. But he was so flooded with desperate need that her touch seemed to bypass his brain and reach straight into his heart.
"Please." His whole being was focused on her right now, focused on the feel of her body against his, the caress of her hands, the sound of her voice. The way she smelled, the way her heartbeat pounded in his ears. After a month of sensory deprivation, his senses were overwhelmed with her, and he couldn't stop. "Please, Chlo."
She hesitated just a moment longer, then reached down and pushed his boxers down.
He kicked them off, and fumbled at her panties. But his fingers felt too big and too awkward, and he couldn't quite seem to manage to pull them off. Irritated, he just ripped them in two and threw them aside.
And then he was sinking back down on top of her. Her legs lifted, wrapping around his waist, offering herself up freely, and he pressed up against her, the head of his cock right up against her hot cream.
God, he should not do this. Not only was it wrong, but it could be dangerous for Chloe. All his old fears rose to the surface, his fears of hurting a woman in the throes of passion, injuring her seriously, maybe even killing her...
He remembered Chloe's voice: If BizarroClark can have sex with a human woman while fully powered, so can you.
He hoped like hell she was right. Because he was so far gone he just couldn't stop himself.
Unable to stop the instinctive reactions of his body, he slid inside her in a single hard thrust.
Read Chapter 4 here.