Rating: Adult. If you're under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
Based on a prompt by CircularTime.
Screencap from Dynamic Duo.
"I'm allergic to peanut butter."
Chloe Sullivan tilted her head, looking quizzically at her tall friend. "What do you mean, you're allergic to it? I thought you weren't allergic to anything except rocks from space."
Clark Kent shrugged a big shoulder. "Maybe allergic isn't quite the right word," he said, watching her slap peanut butter onto bread. "It just has kind of a weird effect on me."
"A weird effect?" She frowned as she slathered Martha Kent's raspberry preserves onto the remaining slices, and put the bread together to make a substantial pile of sandwiches. Clark was, as he frequently reminded her, a growing boy. And she was fond of peanut butter and jelly herself.
"You don't want to know. Just... well, trust me. I'd better stick with tuna fish salad."
"I just made all these sandwiches, Clark." He'd been in the barn, finishing up his morning chores, and hadn't come back in till she was almost done making lunch. "I'm not making tuna fish salad. It's me, remember? I'm allergic to cooking."
"Making a tuna fish salad is not cooking, Chlo."
"Whatever. I made PB&J. You're eating it, buddy."
He looked at the sandwiches dubiously for a long moment, then smiled, very slightly.
"If you insist," he said.
The first clue Chloe had to his "allergy" came when Clark got up and headed toward the fridge to get some Coke. She looked at him and blinked, because the soles of his workboots were a good two inches off the floor.
"You're floating," she said accusingly.
"I told you I shouldn't have peanut butter," he answered cheerfully, sailing on toward the refrigerator. She actually rubbed her eyes, because it was really weird to see a two hundred and twenty-five pound guy just drifting through the air like a piece of dandelion fluff.
"Um," she said, trying not to stare at him like he was some sort of freak. She'd dealt with all his strange alien powers, and floating wasn't all that different. Except somehow, it was. "I don't really see why floating is such a problem."
He shrugged, then turned around and headed back toward the table, a red can in his hand. Suddenly the can burst, and Coke exploded everywhere.
Startled, Chloe ran to get paper towels, and began wiping up the ancient wooden planks of the floor. Somewhat to her annoyance, Clark just stood there, gazing down on her with a beatific smile. She looked up at him, frowning. "What happened, Clark?"
"I squeezed it too tightly," he answered.
She frowned. "Why?"
"I couldn't help it."
Kneeling there on the floor, she frowned more deeply than before. He was still floating a few inches off the floor, and he didn't seem particularly upset by the can incident. Nor did he seem inclined to help her clean up the mess, which was very unlike Clark.
"What exactly does peanut butter do to you?" she asked warily.
"I just sort of lose control over my powers."
She gaped at him. As far as she knew, floating wasn't even one of his powers. But of course his cousin had been able to fly, so it was obvious Clark could fly if he wanted to-- he just suppressed the ability like crazy, for some reason. "All of them?"
"I guess." He didn't look too worried. "The truth is, it's been a long time since I tried it. I was kind of curious what it would do, actually."
"What happened last time, exactly?"
"I was ten. My superspeed activated, and I went straight through a wall. Mom was mad."
She thought about that happening now, when Clark was much stronger. Clark could easily bring down half the house. And his superspeed wasn't even the least of their worries. Heat vision, superbreath... he could level the farm with a deep sigh.
"Clark," she said reproachfully. "You should not have eaten those sandwiches."
"You told me I had to." He pouted, reminding her of a small child. "And besides, I like peanut butter."
She studied him for a moment longer. It wasn't just the powers, she thought. It was him. He wasn't quite in control of himself the way he ought to be, sort of like a human on alcohol. He wasn't acting quite drunk... but there was definitely something odd about his behavior. He was acting like he was a little kid, rather than a responsible twenty-one-year-old.
She was a bit concerned for him, but she decided that her first action should be to protect the farmhouse. "Hey, look at that sunshine," she said brightly. "It's a beautiful afternoon. Why don't we head outside?"
Clark beamed, reminding her once again of a little boy. "Sure," he answered. "That sounds fun."
He was whooshing for the door before she could stand up. He zoomed out the door-- fortunately remembering to open it first-- and she scrambled to her feet and ran after him.
But by the time she'd gotten to the front porch, he'd disappeared. She stood there on the porch, wondering exactly what she'd let the world in for. Clearly she'd made a mistake in encouraging him to go outside, where she couldn't keep an eye on him. She would have been better off keeping him confined-- although intellectually, she knew that keeping Clark confined wasn't possible.
She sighed. Clark out of control of his powers was not a good thing. And an out-of-control Clark running around outside was an even worse thing.
Somehow, she needed to find him.
Unfortunately, she knew she couldn't possibly find him if he didn't want to be found. After all, he could easily be in South America by now. She raised her voice. "Clark!"
Something red flashed by her, and lightly tapped her shoulder. "Tag, you're it!" his voice called, and then he was gone again.
She stared after the red blur, shaking her head. It was really like he was a ten-year-old again, she thought, torn between amusement and alarm. Amusement, because Clark was really kind of cute this way... and alarm, because a Clark who wasn't in control of his powers could level cities.
The alarm won out, and she called for him again.
"Clark. Let's just go for a walk, okay?"
"I am walking," his voice said. A blur manifested in front of her, zipping back and forth like a really speedy metronome. "Come on, hurry it up, Chlo."
"You're not walking," she answered. "You're in superspeed. Can you slow down a little?"
The blur slowed down to the point where she could almost make out his features. "Okay. Come on. Let's go for a hike."
"Maybe across the fields," she suggested, but the blur had already taken off for the woods. She heard a crashing sound, and groaned as trees began to fall in his wake.
Peanut butter had transformed her mild-mannered best friend into the Tasmanian Devil.
In response to her call, she heard nothing but silence. She walked through the woods, looking at the path of devastation his passage had wrought, and fear squeezed in her chest. What would happen if he ran through someone's house? Or through downtown Metropolis?
She called his name more loudly, and suddenly he was standing there, right in front of her. He looked blurred around the edges, like an out-of-focus photograph, and she thought that maybe his molecules were vibrating faster than usual. That might explain why he couldn't seem to control himself.
But at least he'd quit doing the metronome thing, and his workboots were actually touching the ground. So maybe he was beginning to get his control back. She hoped so.
"Hey," she said, smiling in an effort to conceal her fears. "I can't keep up with you in superspeed, you know. Can you keep it to human speed?"
"Human speed is boring," he complained.
He still sounded like a ten-year-old, and she was almost amused-- but a glance to either side reminded her why this wasn't all that amusing. A superpowered alien on a peanut butter high was dangerous.
Somehow, she needed to keep him contained on the Kent Farm, where the potential for damage and exposure was limited.
"I know," she answered. "But if you want to hang out with me, you're going to have to go a little slower. Okay?"
"We could play a game." He abruptly vanished, rematerializing twenty yards away, and she realized he'd jumped into superspeed, very briefly, whooshing so quickly that her mere human vision couldn't perceive the movement. "Try to catch me."
"Clark..." She smiled, a little wryly. "You know perfectly well I can't catch you."
Suddenly she was in his arms, swept off her feet. "But I can catch you," he said, grinning as he held her against his chest.
She couldn't restrain her laughter at the gleeful look on his face. "Clark, you're being silly."
He laughed back at her, a deep, honest laugh she hadn't heard in a long time. There had been a time he'd laughed a whole lot, but in the past few years, his responsibilities had begun to weigh too heavily upon him, and his laughter had become all too rare an event.
She thought maybe the destruction of a few trees was worth it, if peanut butter made him laugh again.
She reached up, brushing an affectionate hand over his cheek. His laughter faded, and he bent his head, looking at her. Suddenly she realized his mouth was only an inch from hers.
He had a beautiful mouth, with full, sculpted lips. Lips she'd fantasized about forever. Lips she'd always wanted to kiss...
Whoa there, she told herself firmly. Right now he's like a little kid. Kissing him when he's in this state would be very, very wrong.
She forced her gaze away from his mouth and looked up into his eyes. He was staring at her, too, and there was a stark intensity in his green gaze that turned her insides to mush. There was no mistaking the sensual awareness in his eyes.
He might be acting like a little kid, but his mind clearly wasn't running along little kid lines right now.
He stared at her, more intensely than before, and she saw sparks in his gaze.
"Clark!" she yelped. "Look away from me!"
He turned his head, whether in response to her cry or by instinct, she wasn't sure. His irises flared orange, and then heat blasted from his eyes, so hot she could feel it. A nearby tree burst into flame.
Oh, my God. Chloe shook all over, realizing how close she'd come to being incinerated. But when the burst of heat had fizzled out, Clark put out the fire with a quick burst of superbreath, then looked back at her with a grin, clearly unconcerned.
"Awesome," he said.
She blinked. "What was awesome?"
"The heat vision." He grinned. "It feels great."
She was still freaking out over her near transformation into extra crispy Chloe, but her investigative reporter side got the better of her, and she frowned. "It does? Really?"
"Yeah." His grin widened, becoming positively evil. "Better than sex."
Oh-kay. This, she thought, was perhaps more than she wanted to know about her best friend. "So are you telling me that every time you use it..."
"Nah." He cocked his head, looking her over with a sexual gleam deep in his eyes. "Just when it's about girls."
That made a certain degree of sense. She knew that his heat vision was sometimes tied to arousal. But when he used it as a tool, it didn't seem to have any sort of effect on him physically. She guessed that he had to be turned on for it to feel good.
Which meant that he'd just gotten turned on, holding her. Ordinarily she would have found that flattering, but right now she just took as another example of his inability to control himself.
And if she wasn't careful, his inability to control himself was going to result in her being barbecued.
"Let's do it again," he said.
She blinked at him. "Do what again?"
"The heat vision thing." He lowered his head, and his lips brushed over hers. "I want to do it again and again and again."
"Yeah. Well, see, I'm not really interested in being transformed into a charcoal briquette, so..."
"Don't worry." His lips brushed hers again, with just a shade more intensity. "I can control it."
"Oh, right." She had to fight not to melt into the kiss, because, well, he was incredibly sexy. He'd always been the most gorgeous man she'd ever seen, and now, looking cheerful and relaxed and happy, he was more attractive than ever. "Because you've been doing such a great job of that. Look around you, Clark. Check out the trees you've reduced to little piles of splinters. I don't want to wind up smushed, either."
"It's getting better," he assured her, his lips caressing hers relentlessly.
"Uh-huh. Sure. Or you're feeding me a line just because you want to feel good again."
"No. Seriously. See? I can hold still now. It's wearing off, kind of."
"It's the kind of that worries me."
"I promise not to smush you or set you on fire," he told her, very earnestly.
She sighed. She was taking her life in her hands here. She must be crazy. But the way he was looking at her, and the way his lips felt against hers...
Well, she just couldn't say no.
Anyway, they weren't talking about sex or anything. Just about activating his heat vision. Which wasn't sex, exactly. Sex would be extremely dangerous, because he'd almost certainly lose control entirely, and she might get smushed and incinerated. Which could be unpleasant. But he'd already proven he could look away from her when his heat vision activated, so...
She wondered what it would take to set off his heat vision this time, and the question made a little tremor of need run through her.
He seemed to sense her acquiescence, because he lowered his head and kissed her again. This time it was a little more intense, a little warmer, and she felt her lips part in instinctive submission, felt his velvety tongue sweep into the depths of her mouth.
Okay. He definitely wasn't behaving so much like a ten-year-old any more.
Their mouths fused together, in a long, hot kiss, and she heard a soft, low rumble somewhere deep in his chest. She lifted her hand, stroking his hair, his cheek, the nape of his neck.
The rumble grew into a groan, and then he was yanking away and turning his head. She kept stroking his neck, but this time she watched as the heat streamed from his eyes. She watched the way his face contorted, listened to the little gasps he made, felt the convulsive shudders of his body beneath her hand.
He really did look and sound exactly like he was in the throes of an intense orgasm. And it certainly hadn't taken much effort to get him there. She wondered if he was always this easy, or if it was just the peanut butter.
Watching him react that way set off a response deep in her body. She tried to choke back her own arousal, but couldn't. Suddenly she was almost painfully aware of a throbbing wet heat between her thighs. She had to fight the urge to squirm, for fear he'd know how affected she was. She desperately needed his hand there, against her jeans, stroking her, giving her release from the tension that coiled inside her...
She could barely hold back her own groan. God, she was easy too, and she didn't even have the excuse of legume intoxication.
At last he blinked, fluttering his impossibly long lashes, and looked back toward her. The happy grin made a reappearance.
"Wow," he said again, sounding dazzled. "That was incredible. But hey... this isn't fair. What about you?"
She knew her skin was heated with sexual need, but she hoped he wouldn't notice. Ordinarily, Clark noticed everything. But maybe in his current state he'd be oblivious. She hoped so. She did her best to look unruffled, and puzzled by his words.
"I don't have heat vision, Clark."
"Not heat vision, no." He bent his head toward her again. "But you like to come, don't you?"
Her cheeks flared redder than before. Ordinarily Clark was very reticent about sexual matters, and they didn't talk about sex much. At least they didn't talk about things explicitly. But under the influence of peanut butter, Clark seemed a lot blunter than ever before.
"Um," she said, trying not to sound terminally embarrassed. "Well, I mean, I guess everyone likes it. But... well..."
He looked at her, and his eyes lit with sparks that weren't related to heat vision. Just normal sexual curiosity.
"You watched me," he said. "Now I want to watch you while you come."
"Clark." She squirmed self-consciously in his iron grip. "I really don't think..."
"You don't have to think." He grinned his wide, happy grin. "In fact, it's probably better if you don't."
He lowered her feet to the ground, then grabbed her by the ass and pulled her right up against him. Not exactly subtle, but then, Clark seemed to have left all his subtlety in a peanut butter jar. Her eyes went wide as she discovered that despite the violent explosions of heat vision, part of him still hadn't been satisfied.
And that part of him was... large. Very large.
He rubbed against her abdomen, uttering another of those rumbling groans. His eyelids drifted shut, and he looked very content. "That's awesome too," he said softly.
He ignored her, thrusting harder against her. She stiffened, and he opened his eyes and looked down at her.
She hesitated for a moment, then blurted it out.
"You said you wanted to watch me," she said. "But... well, this is all about you."
"Oh. Yeah. I guess it is." He grinned sheepishly. "Well, I can fix that."
His big hand suddenly shoved its way right between her thighs. She yelped, startled. His lack of subtlety was very much in evidence right now. She'd never made out with Clark, of course, but she was pretty sure that ordinarily, he was the kind of guy who'd start with his hands firmly around her waist, and who wouldn't move them till he was absolutely certain of what she wanted. He wasn't the kind of guy who'd just grab a woman's crotch.
Except right now.
At first, she didn't particularly like the sensation of his strong fingers rubbing between her thighs. It was too much, too soon. But he didn't take the hint, didn't seem to notice her stiffening, and in a few seconds it began to feel a lot better.
In fact, it began to feel exactly right.
She closed her eyes and let her head fall back. Her bones felt like they were turning to water. She was wet, and she ached so much, and his hand there, stroking her where she most needed to be stroked, was so good...
She forced her eyes open and saw him staring at her face intently. She remembered his blunt words: I want to watch you while you come.
She was pretty sure he was going to get to watch that any minute now.
God, she really was easy. All it took was his big hand moving between her legs. But she'd been seriously turned on already, a lot closer to climax than she would have believed possible, and she couldn't have stopped her body's reactions if she'd wanted to.
A soft ohhhhhhhh escaped her, and Clark stroked a little harder, a little faster.
"Come for me, Chlo," he whispered, his eyes watching her with avid intensity.
"Ohhhhhhh..." She couldn't stop herself from moaning now. She could feel herself throbbing inside, could feel her womb clenching with a starkly primitive need. She was so wet she thought he could probably feel it right through the denim. Her hands dug into his red t-shirt, because if she didn't hang on, she thought she might fall to the ground. Her legs suddenly felt much too weak to support her.
His other arm tightened around her waist, holding her upright, and his hand moved even faster, while he watched her face with intense interest. She saw him blinking hard, and realized his heat vision must be close to activating. Clearly he was almost as turned on as she was.
His hand moved against her, relentlessly, and suddenly heat broke over her in an overpowering rush. She cried out, closing her eyes and throwing back her head, shuddering with the force of her climax. She'd never come this hard, not from her favorite vibrator (the tastefully named Long Dong), not from sex with another guy, not from sex dreams, not from anything.
Clark's hand on her jeans was enough to give her an orgasm for the ages.
At last she fell against his chest, panting for breath. She could hear the thunder of his heart beneath her ear, could feel his chest rising and falling in rapid gasps, and she realized he was extremely turned on, too. She was actually surprised to realize his heat vision hadn't activated when she'd come. She guessed he'd been trying to hold back, so he could watch.
But judging from the raspy sound of his breathing, he was right on the verge of losing it.
She lifted her head and looked at him. His eyes were clenched shut, his face twisted. Obviously he was struggling for control.
She didn't intend to let him have it.
She reached down and grabbed him through the jeans, just as direct and unsubtle as he'd been.
Unlike her, Clark didn't even try to be quiet about it. The minute her hand wrapped around him, he threw back his head, uttering a long, deep groan that practically made the earth shake. She moved her hand up and down, stroking him from base to head and back again, and he made more of those sounds, sounding as if he were being killed slowly and painfully.
"Oh, my God." The words were rough, barely comprehensible. "I can't... my eyes..."
"Hold it back," she whispered, stroking harder. "Wait for it."
"I can't." His face was distorted as if he were in pain, or extremely intense pleasure. "Chlo, I can't... oh, God, can't... wait..."
"Wait," she said, more firmly, and stroked him harder. He felt hot even through the jeans, and beneath her fingers, she could feel him beginning to throb with a demanding beat. Part of her wanted to unzip his jeans and take him right into her hand, but she restrained herself. She didn't think he'd be able to hold back if she did that. And she really wanted to make his heat vision activate at the same time he came.
He shuddered, and another of those earth-shaking groans rolled from his chest. She stroked a little faster, and suddenly he jerked his head to the side as heat vision flared from him. At the same instant she felt his cock jerk violently, surging beneath her hand. A long cry of ecstasy broke from him, and he shook all over.
And then he was falling to his knees as if his legs just wouldn't support him any more. She knelt next to him, and he buried his face in her shoulder, gasping for breath.
"God." His voice sounded blurry, like he didn't even have the energy to speak. "That was incredible, Chlo. I had no idea... I never knew..."
"I'm glad." She stroked his hair, which was wet with sweat. "Are you back to normal now, Clark?"
"Maybe." He chuckled softly against her shoulder. "I think I'm too wiped out to tell."
Wiped out was an improvement over Tasmanian devil destruction, she thought. At the thought, she looked up and noticed there was a fire burning, about fifteen feet away.
"Clark," she said. "Could you put out the fire again?"
He lifted his head and blew hard, and the fire flickered and died. He looked back at her with a sheepish expression.
"I'm sorry. I don't mean to be such a pain..."
He was definitely shaking off the inebriation, she thought. He wasn't utterly oblivious anymore. When Clark started apologizing for everything, then he was more or less normal.
"You're not a pain," she said, gently stroking his thick, dark hair. "Actually, that was kind of fun."
"Yeah." A reminiscent half-smile curved his mouth. "It was, wasn't it?"
"Not just that part of it." She laughed. "I mean, the way you were so... happy. I haven't seen you that, well, carefree in a long, long time. You used to smile all the time, but nowadays..."
"I guess I grew up," he said, lowering his gaze and looking down at the ground.
"Yeah, but Clark, growing up doesn't mean you can never have fun. I hadn't realized it till today, but I feel like you and I have both sort of forgotten how to have fun. You spend so much time saving the world, and I spend so much time helping you, that we don't have time for just... playing."
"But saving the world is a good thing," he pointed out.
"Sure it is. But having fun is a good thing, too."
He nodded slowly, as if absorbing what she was saying. "Yeah," he answered. "I guess it is, at that."
"Only thing is... we need to learn how to have fun without peanut butter. Because I haven't seen you smile this much in a long time... but I don't want to contribute to deforestation and global warming, either. When you eat peanut butter, you're like a bulldozer on steroids."
He looked around, at the path of devastation he'd torn through the woods, and nodded. "Yeah," he agreed. "No more peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for me."
"But that doesn't mean no fun," she pointed out. "We can have fun. We should have fun."
He looked back at her and quirked an eyebrow. A faint smile tugged at his mouth. "What kind of fun are we talking about here?"
"Any kind of fun you like." She reached up and caressed his cheek. "Just as long as it makes you smile."
He looked into her eyes. "Just as long as it makes us both smile," he said softly. "I think you're right, Chlo. We've both been taking things too seriously. I mean, saving the world and helping people is serious business. But having fun is important, too."
She grinned at him. "So let's have some fun. Legume-free fun, I mean."
He looked intrigued. "Where should we start?"
"How about... in bed?"
"Sounds like a plan," he agreed. He got to his feet, and the next thing she knew he'd swept her up in his arms again. She giggled at his enthusiasm. He laughed too, as if the sound of her laughter was infectious, and headed for the farmhouse at high velocity.
The sound of their shared laughter rang through the forest as they disappeared in a blur of red, to spend the rest of the afternoon together having fun.