Season 8, MHE for "Legion"
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 4 here.
She should have done this years ago.
She clung to Clark, feeling the strength of his arms, the warmth of his big, solid body. He tasted good, like lemons and oranges, sweet and tart and so delicious she couldn't stop kissing him. He smelled of pines in the forest and summer breezes and hay in the sunshine.
The way he smelled, the way he felt, even the way he tasted... it was all so right. So familiar.
She'd only kissed him a few times before, but the memories had somehow graven themselves onto her soul, and she'd never forgotten what it was like.
Clark made a little noise deep in his throat, a funny little sound of need and hunger and vulnerability. Vulnerability wasn't a word she ordinarily associated with Clark, who was impossibly strong, who had skin like steel and muscles that could lift almost anything.
And yet, emotionally, he was a very vulnerable guy. Always had been.
She thought about what she was doing to him by dragging him into her emotional drama this way. She was a mixed-up tangled mess of emotions right now. She'd just had an alien robot removed from her brain, after all, and she didn't even remember how she'd wound up married to Jimmy, or what her mental process might have been-- assuming she'd had one, and it hadn't all been forced on her by the entity in her skull.
But she did know that she and Jimmy had a long romantic history together. She owed him the courtesy of at least going to Star City and finding out if she had any feelings left for him. She'd been dating Jimmy for two years now, and as badly injured as he was, she belonged by his side.
And yet, something inside told her that this was where she belonged. Being in Clark's arms, kissing him, holding him... this was right.
She remembered her fuzzy recollections of her wedding, brief flickers of images glimpsed through a haze of static. She remembered how she'd realized that the only things she could clearly recall were moments she'd spent with Clark.
Even through the fog that had swallowed her up... Clark had stood out like a beacon.
His body was rubbing against hers now, gently but urgently, and she could feel the unmistakable swelling of his erection, could hear the unsteady rasping of each labored breath. She could feel him trembling beneath her hands, and it amazed her that she'd somehow affected him so much.
But they couldn't... they couldn't...
His hand drifted up, sliding upward from her waist, and very gently cupped her breast, stroking the swollen nipple with his thumb, and all her reservations faded away. Her breast felt heavy and full and achy, and the touch of his hand there, the caress of his thumb, turned her knees to water.
"Clark," she whispered. She was startled by the quality of her own voice. It sounded low and smoky and husky. "Clark, we shouldn't..."
"We shouldn't," he agreed against her lips, in a hoarse whisper that sounded every bit as sensual as hers did. "You're right. We shouldn't. But I... I don't want to stop, Chlo. I don't think I can stop."
She tightened her grip on him.
"Me neither," she whispered.
More to come....