Rating: Adult. If you're under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
"So how come you were faking it last night?"
Clark Kent watched as Chloe Sullivan's shoulders stiffened. She'd been sitting on the edge of the bed, bending over as she pulled on her sandals, but she straightened and slowly turned to face him.
"Faking it?" she repeated, her voice a little higher than usual. "I wasn't faking it, Clark. I'm glad we finally let this happen. I had a great time."
He looked down at her, frowning a little. "I know you liked it," he said. "But I also know you faked coming. Twice."
"I did not!"
"Chlo..." He sighed, and pointed to his ear. "Superhearing, remember?"
She glared at him a moment longer, then growled. "I guess I don't have any secrets with you around."
"I just don't see why you'd want to fake it," he said, in as reasonable a tone as he could manage. He'd decided not to call her on it last night, but now, in the light of day, he wanted to get whatever the issue was out in the open. He wasn't going to start up another relationship based on secrets and lies, even little ones. "I mean, if I'm not doing it right, then just tell me."
"You were doing it perfectly right." She gave a long, tremulous sigh. "It's not you, Clark. You were terrific."
He might have gotten a shot to the ego from the words, except for his certain knowledge that he hadn't been all that terrific. He walked around the bed slowly and sat down next to her.
"Not terrific enough, apparently."
"No." She turned toward him and wrapped her arms around his chest, hugging him the way she always had, embracing him with warm affection. Even though they'd taken their relationship to the next level last night, their friendship was apparently still intact. "I just can't... I mean, I've never been able to..."
He buried his face in her golden hair and breathed in her fragrance. "Chlo," he said softly. "I'm not exactly an expert in the field, but I do know a lot of women don't come from, uh, just intercourse. Maybe most women."
He heard a faint snort of laughter. "Did you learn this from Wikipedia?"
"Um, from one of your Cosmopolitans, actually."
She giggled. "Okay. There's a highly reliable reference source for you."
"Must be, or you wouldn't read it, right?"
"Well, it's true. I mean, for me at least."
"That's okay," he said. "But I just don't get why you'd want to fake an orgasm, Chloe. I mean, that's kind of... well... lying. We've always been honest with each other."
She was quiet a long moment.
"I'm sorry," she murmured at last. Her face was still pressed into his chest, and he could barely hear the words, even with his superhearing dialed up. "You're right. It's not honest. But I just got in the habit with... well..."
He scowled into her hair. "Jimmy."
She nodded. "I mean, at first I tried to let him know when I wasn't, uh, satisfied, but he was always kind of grumpy about it. After sex, he just wanted to sleep. So it was just kind of easier to..."
He heard a little rumbling sound in his own throat. It took him a minute to figure out it was a growl. "I'm not interested in easy, Chlo."
She chuckled. "I thought you liked it when I was easy."
"I'm serious. I want you to like it as much as I do, okay? I don't mind putting forth a little extra effort. And there's no point in faking it, anyway. I can tell."
"I wish you wouldn't listen to my heartbeat," she complained.
"Can't help it. Could you ignore someone beating a bass drum right in your ear?"
"I thought your superhearing only worked when you activated it."
"I can adjust it, yeah. But I can't ignore the sound of your heartbeat when you're in the same room with me, Chloe. Someone else's, maybe. But not yours."
She hesitated, then pulled away slightly and looked up into his face. "Why?"
"Uh..." He blinked at her. He wasn't sure why, actually. He'd always been able to hear her heartbeat clearly. He had supposed it was because they were such good friends, but he'd never been able to hear Pete's heartbeat so clearly. Or even Lana's, for that matter.
"Not sure," he said gruffly, deciding it was better not to consider the matter too deeply. His ability to hear her heartbeat just was. "I just can't help hearing it. So there's no point in faking it, because I know."
"Okay," she said with a little sigh. "I won't fake it any more."
He grinned at her.
"You won't have to."
"Ahhhhhh. Clark... Clark..."
He liked the way she said his name, in a breathless, high-pitched voice that told him clearly that she was enjoying herself. They'd taken a shower together and shared pastries from the coffee shop downstairs, and then he'd taken her back to bed to see what he could accomplish.
So far, he seemed to be accomplishing what he'd set out to do.
His tongue was on her most intimate flesh, stroking and caressing, and she writhed against the mattress, her fingers tangled in his hair. She was very, very wet, and he slid a finger inside her, feeling her body clutch at him, so tight and slick...
He groaned, remembering how she'd felt around him last night. He wanted to be inside her again.
Not yet, he told himself firmly. He caressed her with his tongue, driving her higher, listening to the thunder of her heartbeat growing faster with each caress. His finger moved inside her, and he slipped in a second finger, moving his hand faster, until she gave a long, tremulous wail, and he knew she was almost there.
Feeling immensely pleased with himself, he shifted position on the bed, leaned over her, and let himself slide into her.
"Ahhhhhh," she sighed again, and her hands slid down to his hips, tugging him into her more deeply. He didn't mind. In fact he was totally in favor of the idea. He sank into her as far as he could go, and then began to move inside her.
He'd expected her to come almost instantly, because she'd been so obviously turned on, but she didn't. She clung to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and her legs around his ass, and the little noises she made were proof that she was enjoying herself.
Just not, well, enjoying herself.
He moved a little harder, trying to find the right rhythm for her. God knew this was the right rhythm for him. Sweat broke out on his bare skin, and he heard himself beginning to gasp for breath.
"Chloe... oh, God, Chlo... I can't... I can't..."
He meant I can't hold back much longer, and she seemed to understand that. She caressed his hair.
"It's all right," she whispered. "You don't have to wait on me."
"No." He heard the fierce growl in his own voice. "Not until... I want you to..."
He caught her legs gently in his hands and pushed them further apart, so that he could stroke her G-spot (more wisdom gleaned from the pages of Cosmopolitan), thrusting even harder. She seemed to like it, but she still didn't seem inclined to come, and a long, desperate sound rose from his chest.
She felt so good. So goddamned good. But damn it, he was going to hold back if it killed him.
He panted frantically, trying to restrain the explosion building inside him, and then he felt her body arching beneath him, felt her trembling all over, felt her inner muscles squeezing him.
"Oh, Clark, Clark..."
The sound of her voice crying out his name and the feel of her slick channel tightening around him in spasms drove him too far. His control broke, and he thrust into her in hard, erratic jerks, sobbing for breath as an incredible orgasm broke over him.
Afterward, he collapsed to the mattress beside her, totally spent.
She was good at faking it, he thought. She really was. If it hadn't been for the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, he never would have known she wasn't really coming. As it was... he'd known, but he still hadn't been able to stop himself.
At last he cracked one eye open and looked at her blearily. "I thought you were going to cut that out."
She opened her own eyes and glared at him, looking defensive. "You were going crazy waiting for me, Clark."
"No one's ever died of blue balls," he snapped. "I can't figure out how to do better if you keep faking it, okay?"
"You can't do better." Her defensiveness crumbled, and she suddenly sounded close to tears. "I just don't come that way. But... well, the oral sex thing works just fine for me. You can do that instead, okay?"
He rolled over, crossing his arms behind his head, and considered the matter.
"I like doing that," he admitted. "But I want to feel you coming with me inside, too."
"I'm sorry." To his immense dismay, he heard a sniffle. "It just doesn't work that way for me."
"Chloe." He rolled over and wrapped an arm around her. "Stop it. I'm not trying to make you feel bad, okay?"
"I know. But it's like... I don't know... performance pressure. I got the same feeling from Jimmy, like if I didn't come during intercourse I was, well, failing him somehow. I guess that's why I started faking it."
He squeezed her. "And you faked it with me for the same reason."
"I guess, yeah."
"I'm sorry, Chlo. I wasn't trying to put pressure on you. Honest, I wasn't. I just want you to like it as much as I do."
"And I appreciate that." She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her face into his chest. "But I don't want you totally focused on whether I come or not, Clark. I want... I want you to come."
"For guys, that is not a problem. At least it isn't for me."
"I noticed." He was relieved to hear a note of perky humor in her voice. "But if you were having trouble with it, do you think it would make it any easier if I focused on it so much?"
He thought about it.
"I think it'd make it harder for me to get it up, actually," he said at last.
"Exactly." She nodded emphatically against his shoulder. "So can we just make love, and not worry so hard about whether I come or not?"
"All right," he said, seeing the sense in her argument. "But I want you to stop faking it. Okay? If it's no big deal whether you come or not, then it's no big deal. Faking it makes it seem really important somehow."
"Okay," she answered. "Let's just relax and enjoy it."
"I intend to."
Secrets and lies, he thought grimly to himself. They'd both agreed to be perfectly honest in their new relationship, and yet here he was, doing exactly what he'd promised not to do-- obsessing over the question of how to make her come during intercourse.
A week of fucking like bunnies-- er, making mad, passionate love-- and he still hadn't figured it out. Not exactly, anyway. Admittedly, over the past week he'd made her come a whole hell of a lot of times. She really did like oral sex. A lot. But since he couldn't go down on her and have intercourse with her at the same time, he hadn't yet figured out how to make her come while he was inside her.
And he really wanted that. He wanted a simultaneous orgasm while they were making love. Was that so wrong?
He looked back over his shoulder guiltily, aware that if she came back into the apartment and found him leafing through her Cosmos, she was going to rip him a new one.
He'd agreed to quit obsessing about it.
He'd tried to quit thinking about it, but somehow he just couldn't. In his mind, he imagined how good it would feel to come with her body squeezing his, in hard, rippling spasms. He imagined hearing her heartbeat speed up, thundering in time with his, imagined her gasping wildly for breath as he thrust into her, and...
Well, he was totally obsessing about it.
Logically, he understood that she was right. It was no big deal how she came, or when she came, as long as she came. His responsibility as her boyfriend-- and the word in all its shiny newness scared him a little, but it was the truth-- was to make her happy. Exactly when he made her happy wasn't that big a deal.
Anyway, sex probably wasn't improved at all by simultaneous orgasms. What mattered was that she'd quit feeling like she had to fake it, and he'd learned to put away his fantasy of simultaneous orgasms...
Except he hadn't, which explained why he was furtively flipping through her stack of women's magazines.
It had occurred to him more than once that a little direct stimulation might do the trick. But every time he tried to reach down between their bodies while they made love, she'd tensed up and muttered, "Clark. You agreed to quit stressing about it." And not wanting to bug her, he'd backed off, every time.
There had to be something he could do, though. He flipped hastily through the magazines. There were all sorts of articles on the best techniques for oral sex. He scanned them rapidly and filed them away in his picture-perfect memory, to be contemplated at his leisure later. He was pretty new at this, after all, and very interested in developing his skills. There were also some interesting articles on sexual positions. And in one of them...
He shoved the stack of magazines back under the bed, and sat down, grinning, to wait for her.
He was totally going to make her come like a rocket.
Half an hour later, he knelt on the bed, her legs draped over his shoulders, and pressed into her carefully. The article had assured him that this was the absolute best position for stimulating the G-spot. He hoped it was right.
If nothing else, it let him get really deep inside. He sank all the way into her and gritted his teeth, determined to take all the time she needed.
"This is... different," she said breathlessly.
"Different is good," he answered, and thrust again, very slowly. She moaned.
"Clark... where did you get... this idea?"
Secrets and lies, he thought. He wasn't about to admit he'd been checking out her Cosmos. "Not sure," he answered vaguely. "I guess I read it somewhere."
"Ohhhh. That feels so..."
Orgasmic? He sure hoped that was the end to her sentence. He held her by the hips and thrust, slowly and carefully. She moaned again, and he heard the steadily increasing drumbeat of her heart.
Oh, God. He was going to make her come, just this easily, and the thought made his cock twitch almost uncontrollably. His balls ached, and he felt sweat break out on his skin.
"Clark." She squirmed against him, making him gasp. "Faster."
"Not... yet," he said through gritted teeth.
She opened her eyes and stared up at him suspiciously. "You're trying to make me come again, aren't you?"
Some of the overwhelming pleasure faded. He began to feel mildly annoyed. No, more than mildly. He glared down at her. "What if I am?" he demanded.
"Look, Clark, we agreed--"
"I'm just trying to make you happy," he growled. "Why do you have to act like I'm a terrible boyfriend for wanting to make you come?"
"We discussed this." Her voice was sharp-edged. "I told you, I don't want to feel like I'm being pressured to perform."
His voice rose in frustration. "I'm not pressuring you to do anything, damn it! I'm just making love to you!"
"You're trying to make me come. I told you, I can't--"
"Maybe you could if you'd quit saying you can't," he snapped. "At least you can let me try every now and then."
"We agreed you wouldn't do that." Sprawled on her back, her legs over his shoulders, her body wide open and vulnerable to his, she glared up at him defiantly. "You said you'd quit worrying about it, but you obviously still are."
"So what?" He couldn't believe he was having an argument with his girlfriend while he was buried deep inside her. "What is your problem, Chlo? Why are you so freaked out by the thought of coming with me inside you?"
"I am not freaked out!" she snarled. "I told you, I just can't."
"It's more than that." He looked down at her defensive expression, felt the tension in her muscles, and suddenly understood that there was more going on here than just performance anxiety. "The idea of coming with me inside you-- it scares you for some reason. Why?"
"That's stupid," she scoffed.
"I don't think so." He thrust into her, a quick, angry movement, and she gasped. "What is it, Chlo? You don't like losing control? No... you don't mind losing control when I go down on you. It's both of us losing control together. Too intimate for you?"
"I cannot believe you are trying to psychoanalyze me during sex."
"I'm just trying to figure out what's going on in your head. You won't talk to me, so I have to guess."
"I already talked to you! I told you what the problem was! You're just a big stupid farmboy who doesn't listen!"
"I listen. But I don't think you're being completely honest, Chlo. Not with me, and not with yourself."
"Thank you, Sigmund. When I want a sex therapist, I'll let you know."
He bared his teeth at her. "I don't know what the problem is," he ground out. "But you're coming, whether you like it or not."
He thrust into her hard, and she gave a startled moan. He moved in her, hard and fast, kind of pissed and letting it show. He watched her eyelashes flutter shut, watched her mouth fall open, and heard her heartbeat accelerate again.
She filled his senses, her scent in his nostrils, her heartbeat in his ears, the sight of her beautiful face and body, naked and vulnerable and all his. He held onto her thighs, feeling the tension in them, and moved even harder.
"Ahhhhhhhh." A long sound broke from her, a tortured noise of agonized pleasure. He heard her heartbeat accelerate further, and his own body responded. He could feel his cock jerking hard.
Fuck. He was going to come before she was. Damn it damn it damn it.
He slid his hand down her thigh. Predictably, her eyes flickered open, and she froze up on him. "Clark..."
"Shut up, Chlo," he said, more gently than before. He'd never been able to be angry with her for long, and anger and near-orgasmic pleasure didn't mix well, anyway. "Just let me do this, okay?"
"Chlo." His finger found her clit and began stroking, very gently, and she gave a startled jerk beneath him. "Quit freaking out on me. I just want to make you feel good."
"It's just... so..."
"Intimate. Yeah, I know." He'd known for a while that Chloe was scared of real intimacy. Every time the two of them had gotten close, she'd put up walls between them. And finally she'd turned to Jimmy, a guy she hadn't cared that much about. He guessed maybe that sex with Jimmy felt a lot safer, especially when he didn't float her boat all that much. Sex with someone you really, really cared for was a lot more, well, soul-baring.
He moved his finger a little faster, moved inside her a little harder, and she gave a long wail, almost of anguish. In response, his own body tightened to the point of pain.
Her heart thundered in his ears, and then he heard it racing, and knew that she was really and truly coming. He felt her body throbbing around his, in hard, involuntary spasms, and he saw her face contort with pleasure.
He threw back his own head and roared as the heat of orgasm overwhelmed him.
Afterward, she was stiff in his arms.
"You're mad," he said.
"I'm not mad."
"You are." He sighed. "Look, Chlo, I'm really sorry I made you come, okay?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
He closed his eyes, trying to keep the anger from boiling up again. If only she would talk to him, tell him exactly what the problem was... "Clearly I stepped over some boundary," he said, in as even a tone as he could manage. "You're willing to have sex with me, but not simultaneous orgasms. I get that. I just don't get why."
She pulled out of his arms and sat up, turning her back on him. "I just don't think this is working, Clark. I thought maybe we could have a relationship, but I just don't think we're... compatible. Maybe we'd be better off staying friends."
"What?" He sat up and gaped at the back of her head, and despite himself, his voice rose. "You are not serious, Chlo. You're breaking up with me because I gave you an orgasm?"
"It's not that." Her tone was cool.
"It is totally that." He reached out and put his arms around her, hauling her stiff, unresponsive body against his. "You're trying to force our relationship back to the just friends setting, Chlo. But it's a little late for that, don't you think?"
He felt a quiver pass through her. "I just..." Her voice broke, and to his shock he realized she was crying.
"Chlo." He pulled her right into his lap, cradling her against his chest. "Talk to me. Please, talk to me. Tell me what's wrong."
"Nothing is wrong." She pressed her face into his shoulder, and he felt her tears, hot on his skin. "Everything's right. And it scares me."
He stroked his hand through the golden silk of her hair. "I don't understand."
"Things have been screwed up for so long." She uttered a sudden flurry of words against his chest. "I've been taken over by an AI, pushed into a marriage with a guy I didn't love, lost the job I did love, and then there was the whole Davis thing..."
"I know it's been a bad year for you, Chloe. But things are okay now."
"They're better than okay. They're perfect. And that means sooner or later, the other shoe is going to drop. And something bad will happen."
He stroked her hair, listening to the stark fear in her voice, and began to understand. After everything she'd been through in the past year, she was afraid to let herself believe in the possibility of happiness. She'd been holding part of herself back, trying not to expose her entire soul to pain.
He'd forced her to give up that hidden part of herself, to expose herself to him fully, and it had freaked her out. No... it had frightened her.
"Chlo," he said at last, gently. "I can't guarantee things will always be perfect. In fact, I can pretty much guarantee they won't be."
She nodded against his chest. "I know," she answered, and the bleak sorrow in her voice caught at his heart. "Things will go to hell between us eventually."
"No," he said, a little more forcefully. "We've always had a great relationship, Chlo. I don't think that's going to change just because we're lovers. But I don't think things will always be perfect, either, because this is an imperfect world, and things are never perfect. But that doesn't mean we can't let ourselves fall in love."
She lifted her head, very slowly, and blinked at him.
"Uh..." Abruptly he felt very stupid. He'd assumed they were on the same page here, that they both understood there was more to this relationship than hot sex and deep affection. But maybe not. He wanted to backtrack, to somehow drag the word back into his mouth, but he couldn't.
It was the truth. He loved her. He'd always loved her, in a hard-to-define way, but now he could easily put a definition to the feeling. It was the romantic, white-picket-fence, roses-and-diamonds, forever type of love.
"Uh, yeah, love," he said. "I mean, I love you, Chlo. I don't know how you feel about me, but I am definitely and totally in love with you."
She stared at him a moment longer, then flung her arms around him, knocking him back onto the mattress, grinning from ear to ear.
"Um," he said, lying on his back and blinking up at her. "I take it you approve?"
"I've loved you for years," she whispered, lowering her head and brushing kisses all over his chest and shoulders. "Years and years and years. But I thought you'd never love me back. Even after we made love, I was sure you'd never feel the same way about me."
"Oh," he said, running his hands over the smooth, warm skin of her back. He heard the echo of pain in her voice and understood at last how hard it had been for her, loving him all those years, but never being loved in return. He hadn't realized how difficult it must have been for her to take a chance on him, and how vulnerable it must have made her feel. No wonder she'd been trying to hold part of herself back. "I guess maybe I should have said something sooner, huh?"
"It's okay. As long as you said it." She kissed his chest, almost frantically, and he grinned.
"I'll say it as much as you want to hear it, Chlo. I love you."
"Ohhhhh." She closed her eyes and shivered. "I could come just from hearing you say that, Clark."
Cool. Apparently he hadn't needed Cosmo's advice on sex positions after all. He'd just needed a few simple words. He grinned. "I love you, I love you, I love you..."
She moaned, and he rolled her over, laughing. "I'm going to make you come again, Chlo. I take it you don't have a problem with that?"
"I definitely don't have a problem with that."
He was surprised to realize he was already hard again. She was still wet and soft from their last bout of lovemaking, and he couldn't wait, anyway. He slid into her body and whispered in her ear.
"I love you, Chloe."
"Ohhhhhh," she moaned, and the pounding of her heartbeat told him she definitely wasn't faking it. "Clark."