More Than Friends, Chapter 2

Clark/Chloe
Season 8, MHE for "Plastique" (SPOILERS for later in season 8)
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 1 here.

Kissing Clark was the best thing in the world.

Really, it was. Kissing Clark was better than a front-page byline, better than eating Rocky Road ice cream from the carton. It was even better than lying in bed on a rainy Saturday and watching CNN.

Of course, she'd kissed Clark before. Her mind flashed back over all the times they'd kissed. An awkward, fumbling first kiss in his loft. A kiss in a file room that had only been meant as a cover, but had somehow turned really hot. A long, intense, passionate kiss in the Daily Planet basement.

He kissed you all those times, the dark voice in the back of brain whispered. But nothing ever came of it. He's never really wanted you that way.

Shut up, she told the voice, more fiercely, and let herself fall more deeply into the kiss.

Clark was kissing her like he really meant it, his tongue hot and insistent, his hands on her back, holding onto her. He'd pulled her a little closer to him, and his body felt solid and warm against hers. She shifted her weight slightly, parting her legs in an instinctive submission, and he slid his muscled thigh right between hers.

She pressed against it. She couldn't help it. He felt so good, so hard, so warm...

He doesn't want you, the voice whispered.

But he did want her. She could feel the proof of it, hard and hot, against her hip. She moved against him urgently, and a low groan rumbled out of him.

It's just sex, the voice told her. He doesn't love you. He's just using you to forget the woman he really wants.

She moaned in frustration, because the nagging little voice in her brain was really getting on her nerves. Why on earth couldn't she just let herself relax and enjoy this for a little while? Why did she have to be so freaking neurotic? It was like all the anxieties she'd had about Clark over the years were somehow multiplying in her brain, becoming magnified to the point where she couldn't seem to focus on the here and now.

Desperately, she thrust her hands into his thick, dark hair, clutching him, kissing him harder. She wanted to silence that voice, to convince herself that yes, he really did want her. She was so tired of doubting what was between her and Clark, of doubting that they could ever be more than friends, of second-guessing herself every minute. She wanted Clark, and Clark wanted her, and that ought to be enough for her, damn it.

There was an odd crunching sound, which her befogged brain identified as the remnants of her engagement ring being crushed to dust beneath his workboot. Good riddance, she thought, and could hardly refrain from giggling again.

It was awful of her, but she hadn't really wanted to marry Jimmy. And that made her feel really, really guilty for saying yes. She wished she understood why the words had jumped out of her mouth the way it had. She'd never meant to agree to marry him.

Jimmy loves you, the voice told her. You should marry him. He'll make you happy.

She groaned into Clark's mouth, frustrated. She didn't want to think about Jimmy. She wanted to think about Clark, about his hot eager mouth and his hungrily roaming hands and the distinct bulge pressing against her hip. She wanted to rub against him, harder and faster, until neither of them could stop...

She followed her impulses, rubbing against his hard thigh, and he moaned. His hands slipped down to her hips, his fingers curling into her ass, pulling her against him a little harder.

The friction of his thigh between hers felt good, and something deep inside her began to burn out of control. She whimpered, very softly, and he lifted her in his arms and whooshed toward the couch. The next thing she knew he was sinking down onto the couch, and she was in his lap, straddling his thighs, their bodies moving together in an unmistakable prelude to sex.

She kissed his throat and his jawline and his ear, and he kissed her back, his lips all over her face and throat, covering her in soft, warm, intense kisses that clearly conveyed how much he wanted her. She needed him, needed him more than she'd ever needed anyone. She needed him so much more than she'd ever needed...

"Jimmy," she whispered.

Read Chapter 3 here.