Lavender

Clark/Chloe
Season 7
Rating: Adult. If you're under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
Sequel to Violet.

"Her long blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders as she arched her head back, thrusting forward the enormous mounds of her-- Clark, what is this?"

"Um, it's my term paper."

"Oh, yeah, I see that now. This is definitely a treatise on the history of twentieth-century journalism. Or not. Clark, really, what are you doing?"

"Well... I kind of got bored with the term paper, so I started writing a romance novel."

"Really? Well, let's take a look. ...Thrusting forward the enormous mounds of her breasts, so close he couldn't resist tasting her abundant ivory flesh..."

"You know, I think I'd rather you didn't read that out loud. It kind of sounded better in my head."

"Oh, this definitely deserves to be read out loud. He lowered his head, tasting the pink strawberry of her nipple-- the what?!"

"Quit laughing. It's a metaphor, Chlo."

"A bad one. He drew the ripe, juicy fruit into his mouth and suckled, while his massive manhood slipped between her thighs. 'Chloe,' he whispered-- excuse me?"

"Um, well, it's the first name that came to mind..."

"So this is like a bad soft porn version of me, with long golden tresses and huge boobs?"

"Uh..."

"Clark Kent. You pig."

"Chlo, it's not like that. I love you exactly the way you are, honest. It's just that all the women in the romance novels I've read have rippling, waist-long hair and mongo breasts that keep popping out of their gowns."

"Hmmmphhh. Okay, what happens next? He tossed her over on her back and thrust into her, conquering her with a single blow of his broadsword... Do we really have to do the weapon and battle imagery again?"

"Well, that's how romances are written..."

"Not modern ones. They're a lot more straightforward. How about, He thrust his cock into her?"

"Chloe."

"Awwwww, poor Clark. Does blunt language make you blush?"

"Well, I just don't think..."

"Or even He thrust his cock into her cunt."

"Chlo."

"Wow, look at the color of your face. I didn't know you could get that red. Look, Clark... speaking strictly as a writer here... I think maybe this would be better if you just described what was happening in your own words, instead of the words of thirty-year-old romances."

"Well, I'm not sure I'm totally comfortable with, uh..."

"The C words? No, judging from the color of your face, I don't think you are. But if you really want to write this stuff, you need to get used to using them."

"Um... well..."

"So what happens next? He filled her with his hot, urgent flesh, stoking a bonfire inside her that rose to the sky... So he's setting her on fire. Ow."

"Only in the metaphorical sense."

"Good thing he isn't a Kryptonian, or it might just be literal. Flames licked along her nerves, burning them until she couldn't bear it any more, and got out of bed to get a fire extinguisher."

"Huh? That's not what it says."

"Maybe it ought to. Clark, you make sex sound like a health hazard. Sex is fun."

"True."

"And sex is blunt. When it comes down to it, sex isn't poetic or metaphorical. I mean, really, have you ever sucked on my nipples and thought, Mmmm, strawberries!"

"Well... no."

"And I've never looked at your equipment and thought of it as a broadsword, or a battering ram, or a column, or any of those other silly metaphors. I figure you should write the way you think."

"Yeah, but I don't think that would be much of a book. They kissed. They screwed. The end."

"Honestly, Clark, no matter how you dress up a sex scene, it's still just a sex scene. I think what really matters in a love story is how the characters get together. The sex is just sort of dessert."

"I like dessert."

"Down, boy. Aren't you supposed to be working on a term paper?"

"I've been working very, very hard. I think I deserve a break."

"You've been working very hard on purple prose. When are you going to actually write your journalism paper?"

"After dessert."

"Huh. Are you sure I'm enough for you, with my small boobs and my short hair?"

"Your boobs are perfect. Your hair is perfect. You're perfect."

"Good answer. Well, okay, then. Let's have dessert. Just don't start a bonfire, okay?"

"I'll do my best. But with me, you really never know."

"True. But don't worry about it. I know where the fire extinguisher is. So let's write a sex scene together."

"Actually... I don't want to write a sex scene with you, Chlo. I want to write a love story."

"Oh, Clark. That's sweet."

"I love you, Chlo."

"And I love you, Clark. Now stop talking, and give me some dessert."

"Okay. Mmmm... strawberries."

-The End-

Read Lilac here.