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 5 here.
Kissing Clark was still the best thing in the world. No matter how much Brainiac tried to scare her, to drive her into a panic, nothing could change how much kissing Clark affected her.
He placed her on the bed, lowering his big body over hers, pressing her into the mattress, and didn't stop kissing her. Warmth swirled through her, melting her bones and her muscles, heating her skin, making her nerve endings spark. His tongue stroked hers, teasing and caressing, and she moaned, wrapping her arms and legs around him.
Let him go. You're just holding onto the past.
Shut up, she thought defiantly, and clung to him harder.
Clark was stripping off her shirt, somewhat to her surprise. She'd expected him to be the kind of guy who'd spend hours on foreplay. But she could understand why he was in a bit of a hurry. The faster they got to-- well, the endorphins, the faster they could see if his theory about Brainiac was right.
He doesn't love you. You've been in love with him since you were fourteen, but he's never felt that way about you. You're so pathetic. Do you want to be even more pathetic, sleeping with a guy in a hopeless effort to make him love you?
"Shut up," she growled. "Just shut up."
Clark's head jerked up, and he looked at her, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes. "Do we have company?"
Her hands dug into his flannel shirt in angry frustration. She felt like she was being torn apart, attacked from inside, and she was starting to seethe with rage. She wondered if Brainiac fed on anger the way he fed on panic, or if it was just trying to keep her distracted, so she and Clark couldn't work on the endorphins thing. "It just won't leave me alone."
"Of course it won't." Clark lowered his head and kissed her throat, and she pressed her face into his hair, inhaling the clean evergreen scent of his shampoo. "If we're right... this is life and death to it, Chloe. It's going to fight us every step of the way."
She breathed in, trying to focus on the scent of him, a scent that was as familiar and comforting to her as the smell of coffee in the mornings. "I can't concentrate."
"You really don't need to concentrate." His lips blazed a trail down her shoulder, toward her breasts. "Just relax, and let me do all the work, okay?"
"But if I can't focus, then I can't..."
"Sure you can." His mouth brushed over the swell of her breast that rose above her lacy bra, and she shivered. "Trust me, Chlo. I'll take care of it."
She couldn't resist a chuckle. "I didn't realize you had such mad skillz in bed, Clark."
He lifted his head and grinned at her, a grin that somehow managed to be self-deprecating and arrogant all at once.
"I may not be an expert," he said, "but I think I have a fair idea of the basics."
She nodded, seriously. "Well, they say practice makes perfect."
His grin widened.
"By the end of the night," he told her, "I intend to have gotten lots of practice."
Read Chapter 7 here.