Season 8, MHE for "Odyssey"
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 3 here.
Read the story from the beginning here.
Clark's mouth was insistent, almost greedy, against her throat. She buried her face in his hair, breathing in the familiar scent of him, apples and hay and sunlight mingled with clean masculine musk.
She'd missed him so much. She thought of all the nights of restless sleep she'd spent while confined in her cell, nights spent worrying about him, nights filled with nightmares and her own personal demons. Nights spent longing for him. She wondered if he'd thought about her every night too.
No, she thought with a sudden stab of dismay. He'd probably spent his time dreaming about...
"Clark," she whispered. "What about Lana?"
He pressed his face into her throat, breathing hard, as if dredging up words in the midst of kissing her was difficult. "She broke up with me just before I went to the Arctic, Chlo. She left town."
"Oh," she murmured, feeling unaccountably disappointed. The last thing she wanted was to be a substitute, or a rebound girl. He must have heard the disappointment in her voice, because he lifted his head and looked at her, his gaze intense.
"I've had a lot of time to think over the past month," he said, very gently. "And the more I thought, the more I realized it wasn't Lana I wanted to get back to. It was you."
Her eyes stung with tears again. She blinked them back, because she'd already cried enough today. "Clark," she whispered, pushing at his shoulders. "Maybe this isn't such a good idea after all. I mean..."
"Stop it," he said, slightly less gently. His tone said he wasn't going to put up with any more indecision on her part. "I'm serious here, Chlo. When I was dying, I realized that Lana was my past."
She shut her eyes against the stinging. "I'm part of your past, too."
"You are," he agreed. "But you're also my present... and my future."
She opened her eyes and looked up at him. His green eyes shone with calm sincerity. He honestly believed he didn't belong with Lana, she realized, the same way she'd figured out she didn't belong with Jimmy.
They'd finally both figured out they belonged together.
He lowered his head and began kissing her throat. Her hands roamed eagerly over his back, exploring the massive shoulders, the solid bones, the heavy muscles that rippled beneath her palms. He wore a flannel shirt, and beneath that a white t-shirt, and she tugged them both up and let her hands slide over his heated skin.
A low, ragged groan rumbled out of him. "Chlo," he moaned into her throat, and then he was lifting his head and kissing her on the lips, hard and eager and almost desperate. She parted her lips again, unable to resist, and their tongues slid together in a hot dance of desire.
He moaned into her mouth, and shifted just a bit, so that he was positioned right between her thighs. She could feel his erection, hot and hard, against her jeans, but she could also feel that he was holding back, trying not to move too fast.
"No more playing it safe," she whispered, echoing his earlier words, and then her hands slid down to his ass, digging into the taut muscle, and she pulled him against her.
He gave a startled ooof, and began to move hungrily, pressing against her. Her own hips moved in instinctive response, and their bodies fell into a rhythm that felt very natural and very right.
Another long groan broke from him, and she felt sweat break out on the hot skin beneath her hands. She caressed his back, exploring the heavy muscles, trailing down the curve of his spine, and when she got to his jeans, she didn't let them stop her. She dipped a hand beneath the waistband of his jeans and let her fingers stroke over his ass.
He jolted and ooofed again, and she laughed softly.
"I've always wanted to touch you there, Clark."
"My God..." He writhed beneath her touch as if she were touching him very intimately. "Chloe. Oh. Yes."
His jeans weren't terribly tight, but she still couldn't really get enough room to explore him the way she wanted to, so she paused in her explorations for a moment, unbuckling his belt and unfastening his jeans. She shoved down his jeans and boxers a bit, and then her hands were roving over the contours of his ass, discovering the feel of him there for the very first time, and he buried his face in her throat and whimpered, a small sound of intense need.
She'd never been with a guy who responded so much to the simplest touch. But then again, Clark wasn't like other guys. His skin was tough as steel, impenetrable even to bullets, but he also had senses that humans couldn't dream of. As he gasped and sobbed beneath her touch, she wondered if enhanced sensitivity to touch was one of those senses.
She caressed him from the nape of his neck to the curve of his ass and back again, and by the time she was finished, he was writhing and moaning, sounding lost in a sensual haze.
"You like being touched," she whispered.
"God, yes." He spoke through gritted teeth. "No one's ever-- I mean, not when I had my powers-- not like that-- and I--"
"Is your sense of touch enhanced, the same way your other senses are?"
He pressed his face into her throat and breathed deeply, as if trying to steady himself. "Yeah. I... I mean, I can't be hurt. You know that. But when I want to let myself feel things, I can feel them a lot more intensely than humans can. I..." Her fingers stroked along his back again, and he broke off in his fumbling explanation. "Oh, God."
She understood what he was trying to tell him. She'd known him long enough to understand. He had superhearing, the ability to hear far beyond even what dogs could hear-- but he also had the ability to turn down the volume. He could change the focus of his vision, too, depending on whether he just wanted to glance at the surface of an object, or look deeper.
She suspected his tactile ability was similar. He could probably turn it up or down at will.
Right now, she wanted him to feel everything, as intensely as he possibly could.
"Then let yourself feel it," she whispered.
She stroked his back again, and this time he convulsed wildly, his head jerking back, his mouth dropping open, an expression of stark ecstasy on his face. She continued stroking him, watching as he panted and gasped and his face twisted with pleasure.
"Oh, God." His voice was a bare rasp. "Chlo... I can't stand it... too much..."
"Don't you dare turn it down." She curved her fingers, letting her fingernails scrape lightly down his spine, and he uttered a long, quavering moan. "No holding back, Clark. If you want this, if you want me, then you're going to let yourself have everything."
"But I can't..." Her fingernails scraped teasingly over one of his ass cheeks, and his words broke off in a sob.
"Yes, you can." She let her hand slide up to his ribs, and then began caressing his side. "It's just like superhearing, Clark. Sometimes you want to turn it up all the way. And this is one of those times."
He rolled to the side slightly, granting her access, and her hand slid down over his abs. He gasped again, his eyes wide and wild, and flopped over onto his back.
"That's it," she whispered. "Let yourself have it all, Clark."
Her hand slid down, over his navel, and along the thin trail of hair beneath. Suddenly he was making frantic sounds of hunger, his hips thrusting eagerly.
"Not yet," she answered, and slid her hand back up. He gave a soft moan of disappointment, but she began unbuttoning his shirt, and he rolled onto his back, shutting his eyes.
A moment later she'd pulled off his flannel shirt, and the t-shirt beneath it too. He toed off his workboots and socks, then shoved his jeans and boxers off. And then he fell back onto the bed as if the effort had exhausted him.
She ran her fingers along his arms and shoulders for a few moments, then sat up and looked at him with interest. He lay sprawled across the coverlet, his eyes shut, panting harshly.
"Chlo. Please. I can't stand any more."
"Yes, you can." She reached out and stroked a hand across his chest, and he squirmed frantically beneath her hand.
She lowered her head, letting her tongue trace his nipple, and he made a sound that she could hardly believe could come out of her quiet friend's mouth. It sounded for all the world like a lion's roar. She didn't stop what she was doing, and he arched beneath her, gritting his teeth to bite back another roar.
She slowly trailed her way down his chest and abdomen, licking and kissing her way along his satiny skin, and he clenched his teeth and made desperate whimpering sounds deep in his throat.
She kissed her way past his navel, following the thin trail of dark hair she'd caressed earlier, and he arched beneath her, incoherent words falling from him.
"No... Chlo, you can't... I can't... too much..."
She could understand his concern. If he had his sensitivity turned up to the point where having his chest stroked was almost unbearable, then this was going to totally blow his circuits.
But that was the idea, really.
She opened her eyes and looked at his erection. Wow. It was huge, flushed a dark pink, the crown of it almost purple. It glistened with precome, and as she watched, it pulsed in a hungry beat.
Such need, she thought. Suddenly she was aware of the ache of her own need, throbbing between her thighs. She was wet and hot and ready for him, and she thought about just stripping off her own clothes and climbing on top.
But not yet. She had other plans first.
She grasped his erection, very loosely, in her hand, and pulled it upward a bit. And then she let her tongue slide over the smooth, wet head.
Clark jerked wildly beneath her, and another one of those lion roars echoed in her ears, practically deafening her. She stroked him with her tongue, very carefully, and he shuddered, sobbing out words.
"Oh God Chlo I can't stand it oh yes..."
She licked him, very slowly and thoroughly, while he pleaded for mercy and begged her never to stop, all in the same frantic rush of jumbled sentences. She licked him for long moments, and thought about taking it further, but it was growing obvious she'd pushed him about as far as he could take.
She released him, stood up, and stripped her clothes off.
His eyelids flickered open, and he stared at her. She saw his nostrils flare, and knew he was drawing in the scent of her arousal. Resting on his stomach, his erection began to pulse faster than ever.
She knelt on the bed, over him, and grasped him in her hand, then slowly lowered herself onto him.
Wow, she thought again. He was huge. Just the head felt like it was too much for her. She hesitated, trying to get used to the feel of it, while Clark writhed beneath her, begging desperately-- whether for more, or for her stop, she wasn't sure.
At last her body adjusted to the size of him, and she slowly lowered herself onto him, taking him in an inch at a time, while he gasped and moaned. His hands scrabbled wildly at the coverlet, clenching it in his fists, and she heard the sound of fabric ripping.
"No more," he whispered through gritted teeth. "I can't take any more, Chlo.. please..."
She let herself slide down another inch. "Do you really want me to stop?"
"Ahhhhhhhh." A long sound of ecstasy. "No. God. Don't stop."
She wondered what it felt like for him, what it would be like to experience a pleasure so great you could hardly bear it. His chest glistened with sweat, his hair was matted with it, and she could see him trembling.
She lowered herself another inch, so that he was fully inside her, and she felt him lift his hips, pushing into her even further. A low, hungry moan broke from him.
"Clark," she whispered. "I've been waiting for this. I've been waiting for you."
Suddenly she found herself on her back, Clark leaning over her, his face taut and dark, his forehead gleaming with sweat. He'd braced his arms on either side of her, and he was thrusting into her wildly. She surrendered, lifting her legs and wrapping them around his waist, so he could sink into her even further. He thrust, hard and fast, and with every thrust, he cried out in agonized pleasure.
She hadn't gotten much foreplay, but the truth was, she didn't need it. The sight of Clark, sweaty and frantic and wild-eyed, had been plenty adequate to turn her on. She closed her eyes and let herself go, let his wild thrusts lift her toward a climax.
His motions grew faster and faster, more and more out of control, and suddenly she felt her womb clenching deep inside, felt her muscles ripple and squeeze, heard herself calling his name.
The sound of his name seemed to send him over the edge. He groaned, sobbed, gasped, and then she felt him twitching inside her, felt his body shuddering beneath her hands, and she knew he was about to surrender too. He threw back his head, his face contorted into a mask of ecstasy, and stiffened, freezing deep inside her.
She felt a burst of heat inside, felt his cock jerking in frantic spasms, heard his long, high-pitched cry of pleasure.
And then he fell to the side with a gasp.
She curled up next to him, feeling the heat still radiating from his big body. He draped a heavy arm over her.
"Mmmmm," he mumbled, very fuzzily. "I missed you, Chloe."
"Yeah." She put her arm over his, and wrapped her fingers around his. "I missed you too. An awful lot."
"I love you."
"I love you too." She closed her eyes, thinking of her earlier fears. She'd been so afraid of losing him to death, of causing his death. But now she realized she couldn't walk away from him, either. She just loved him too much. "I've been waiting to hear that for a long time, Clark. It seems like I've been waiting for you forever."
He moved a little closer to her, burying his nose in her hair. "Yeah," he murmured. "I've been waiting for you for a long time, too. I just didn't know it."
His words warmed her, melting the icy core of fear deep inside her. She was still terribly afraid of losing him, of being the cause of his death, and if he died in her arms again, she had no idea how she could cope with it. But intellectually, she realized that the risk of losing a loved one was a risk everyone had to take.
Losing Clark would be a terrible blow. But it would be so much worse to have never had him at all. She thought about the month she'd spent away from him, how lonely she'd been, how much she'd missed him, and she admitted to herself that she couldn't live without Clark in her life.
Fortunately, she didn't have to. At long last, there was nothing whatsoever keeping them apart.
He was hers.
No more playing it safe, she thought, and smiled a little. Because the irony was that she never felt safer than when she was in Clark's arms.
She snuggled up against his big, warm body, letting the heat of his body and the circle of his arms drive her demons away.
And for the first time in a month, she slept peacefully.