Clark/Chloe futurefic angst
Rating: Adult. If you're under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
Screencap by writrgurl.
"Ahhh, God. Yes."
He hadn't meant to utter the words. Then again, he hadn't meant for this to happen at all.
But it had. She was here, in his arms, the two of them kissing with a wild desperation, a violent passion, an aching need that couldn't be denied any longer.
They'd denied it for years and years. But despite their best efforts, it had a way of exploding to the surface every now and then, and disrupting everything. That was why they'd finally agreed to avoid each other as much as possible.
She'd been in Gotham by that point, which had made it fairly easy for him to stay away. But they'd run into each other at a journalism conference this evening. He'd seen her bright smile across the crowded room, and had approached her with a tentative smile of his own. The two of them had agreed to have dinner and drinks together, and then...
Well, here they were, sprawled together on a king-sized mattress in a hotel room, arms locked around each other, naked bodies tangled together.
It felt inevitable, really. Like it had always been fated, from the day they'd met. Like they'd been struggling against something far larger than themselves for years and years.
It felt right. No other woman had ever felt so right in his arms. Her scent filled his head, a sensual, sexual fragrance he'd never been able to forget, and the painfully familiar sound of her heartbeat pounded in his ears. His eyes stung with tears at the terrible rightness of it all.
"Chloe." He spoke her name softly, just because he couldn't stop himself from saying it. He'd held it back too many times when making love to other women, and now that she was in his arms, he couldn't stop it from rising to his lips with the reverence of a prayer.
"Clark," she whispered, and in her voice he heard the same reverence, as if with the utterance of his name she'd finally admitted everything she felt for him, everything they were to each other.
He groaned, and let himself sink into her.
He'd never made love to her before, and yet it felt like coming home. The warmth and heat almost sent him over the edge, but he gritted his teeth and held back. He'd waited too long for this moment. He couldn't bear to let it go so quickly. His fists clenched and his muscles stiffened, and he forced back the orgasm that threatened.
"Chlo." His voice was rough with strain, and maybe with tears as well. "Chloe. I've missed you so much."
"Me too." Her hands sank deep into his hair, and her lips touched his ear and cheek and mouth and jawline, showering him with kisses that proclaimed adoration. "Every day I think of you..."
"I know," he whispered, covering her with adoring kisses of his own. "I talk to you in my head all the time. I imagine the things you'd say, the way you smile, the sound of your laughter..."
"I remember the way you smell." She buried her face in his shoulder, inhaling. "The scent of your skin. I can't forget it. I've tried so hard, but I just can't."
He thrust into her, a little more roughly, and heard a sound break from his throat that sounded very much like a sob. "Chlo... I don't know why I ever thought I could live without you. I can't forget you, I can't stop thinking about you, I can't... I can't..."
He couldn't finish. But her arms tightened around his shoulders, and he knew she understood. He buried his face in her dark gold hair.
"More," he muttered hungrily.
Her legs lifted, wrapping around him, and he sank into her as deeply as possible. Another long groan ground its way out of his chest.
So many years wasted. So many goddamned years...
But he couldn't let himself think of that now, not when he finally had her in his arms, his body deep inside hers. Not when the scent of vanilla surrounded him, making his head spin. Not when their hearts pounded together in a heavy drumbeat of thunder.
He pushed everything else away, and just let himself exist in the now.
Her body tightened around his, in hard, rhythmic pulses. She felt so good, so perfect, that he couldn't keep the pace slow. His hips moved harder, thrusting, driving into her, and she sighed and moaned, her hands sliding down, her fingers digging into his ass in a clear demand for more.
"God, yes." He heard himself gasping out the words. He usually wasn't much of a talker during sex, but tonight he couldn't seem to shut up somehow. "Oh, God, Chlo, fuck yeah..."
"Clark." Her voice rose too. "Oh, Clark, Clark..."
He could feel the pulsing become more intense, could feel the smooth satin of her body grow wetter, slicker, hotter, and he moved even harder, pounding into her. His own body began to tremble all over, and he buried his face in the pillow, trying to hold back his desperate cries, and froze to stillness despite his body's relentless urge to move ever faster.
"Please, Clark." Her hands dug into his ass hard. "Please, now."
"I can't." His voice was muffled in the pillow. "I can't, Chlo. I don't want it to be over. Please."
"It'll never be over," she whispered. "Never."
Somewhere deep inside, he knew that was true. He'd learned it this evening, when he spotted her across a roomful of journalists, and something inside of him had sprung to life, an exuberant joy he'd thought long since dead. He knew he would never again be able to see her, or even to think of her, without that joy rising up inside him.
She meant more to him than he'd ever been able to admit to himself. He'd known her since he was thirteen, and she was deeply interwoven into the fabric of his life. And no matter how he tried to unravel himself from her... he couldn't.
He could never truly let her go.
Even so, he didn't want this interlude to end. He sobbed into the pillow, shuddering, feeling his balls taut against his body, his cock throbbing in an intense pulse of need. His whole body vibrated with tension, and his breath came in short, hard gasps.
"I want to make love to you forever," he mumbled into the pillow.
She turned her head and brushed her lips over his ear. "I wish you could."
He slowly withdrew and thrust, just once, and the pleasure was so excruciating that he threw back his head, a long, frantic wail rising from him. He froze again, trembling, but this time she didn't let him stop. Her body tensed around him, and then he felt the unmistakable first contractions of her orgasm. And at that moment, she whispered in his ear.
"I love you, Clark."
Those words sent him tumbling over a precipice so high he thought he'd never stop falling. Pleasure cascaded through him in endless bursts, and he knew he was screaming with it, but he didn't much care. The ecstasy, the fulfillment, was everything he'd ever dreamed of, and then some.
Rush after rush of flame exploded from him, while he writhed against the nearly unbearable rapture. At last it ebbed, and he fell against her, pressing her into the mattress. He buried his face in her throat, drawing in her scent, and closed his eyes, truly happy for the first time in years.
"I love you too," he murmured.
When he opened his eyes again, she'd turned off the lamp, casting the room into darkness, but he knew from the faint sounds he heard that she was getting dressed.
"Chloe," he whispered, hearing the plaintive note in his own voice. "Don't leave me."
He heard her sigh into the darkness. "Clark," she said softly. "You know I have to go."
He clenched his eyes shut against a wave of bitterness and pain. He did know that. And it hurt.
Years ago, they'd had a misunderstanding, an argument that had escalated into some truly cruel words on both sides, and they'd parted ways. She'd moved away, leaving him adrift. Lost and alone, he'd somehow staggered through life without her, until...
Well, he didn't want to think about that right now. He put everything else out of his mind, and focused on her, because it just hurt too much to think about other things right now.
"I love you," he said into the darkness, very softly but very firmly. "I've always loved you, Chloe."
A beat of silence. And then her voice, just as bluntly honest as ever.
"I love you too, Clark. But that's not enough."
"It is enough," he argued. "We've both made mistakes, Chlo. Huge, enormous, stupid mistakes. But now that we've finally found our way back to each other..."
"Clark." Her tone was remonstrative. "This was... well, it was wonderful. But we can't do it again. Not ever. You know that."
She pulled her jacket on, and as her hands moved, a stray beam of light from the window made something glint gold on her finger, for just a moment.
He knew what it was. He'd seen it last night, and yet he'd gone to bed with her anyway. He hadn't been able to stop himself.
He felt tears scorching his eyelids. "I can't live without you."
"Of course you can." Her tone was tart, but not without sympathy. "You've done it for years."
He knew it was true, in a manner of speaking, but living without her hadn't been truly living. Yes, he'd been content, even happy, over the years, but he hadn't once experienced that radiant joy he always felt in her presence. He'd almost forgotten such a thing as joy existed.
"Chlo." He hated pleading, but he couldn't seem to help it. "Please. Don't go."
"I have to go," she whispered. She bent in the darkness, and brushed a soft, loving kiss over his lips. "I love you, Clark. I'll always love you."
A tear escaped him and slid down his cheek. He put his arms around her, holding her close for a few precious seconds. "I love you too, Chloe."
She pulled away, and he let her, because he knew she was right to leave. Of course she was right. He lay there in the dark room, listening to her quick, decisive footsteps on the carpet as she walked away from him. The door opened, letting a slice of light into the room, washing them both in radiance for just an instant.
And then she closed the door, leaving him in darkness.
All alone, he felt the tears running down his cheeks. He lifted his hand, impatiently brushing them away, and saw the faint glimmer of his own gold wedding band, barely visible in the darkness.
Chloe, he knew, was right. Lois didn't deserve this. Neither did George. They both had lives, families, that they couldn't just walk away from.
Just because he'd married Lois during that dark, lonely period of his life, just because he'd never learned to love her quite the way he loved Chloe, didn't mean he could simply discard her now that he'd found Chloe again, now that he'd admitted what she meant to him. He had a life, a life he'd chosen with his eyes wide open. And so did Chloe.
On some level, he wished that he could erase all of it, that he could go back to a simpler time, to be hers and hers alone.
But a life couldn't be erased. He thought of Lois, at home with their children, and everything they'd shared over the years, and he knew he couldn't just walk away from all of that. Not even for Chloe. He couldn't ask her to give up everything that mattered in her life for him, either. He couldn't ask her to give up George.
In his voice, he heard the echo of her voice. It'll never be over. Never.
But it had to be over. There were too many other people who could be hurt here, too many other people who loved them. He had to let her go, no matter how much it tore at his heart. All he and Chloe could ever share was the memory of this one night.
It wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough.
But it was all he could ever have of her.
Just when I believed I couldn't ever want for more
This ever changing world pushes me through another door
I saw you smile
And my mind could not erase the beauty of your face
Just for a while
Won't you let me shelter you
Hold on to the night
Hold on to the memory
I wish that I could give you something more
That I could be yours
-Richard Marx, "Hold On To the Night"