Season 6, after "Zod"
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 from Dynamic Duo.
"What do you think?"
She twirls in front of him, showing off her new red dress, and Clark feels a mixture of emotions, so complex and tangled he can't begin to sort them out.
Affection, sure. She's his best friend in the world, so affection is a given. But there's also a certain attraction he can't deny any longer, ever since that kiss she planted on him a month ago in the Planet basement.
And there's something a little uglier, too. He thinks it might be jealousy. Jealousy for the guy she seems to have fallen for, in only a month, and right after giving Clark the most amazing, spectacular kiss of his lifetime.
"It's nice," he allows, grudgingly, because he's pretty sure she bought the new dress for Jimmy, and that pisses him off more than he's willing to admit. "Kind of low cut, though. Makes you look kind of... trampy."
She quits spinning, and glares at him. There's a golden glint in her eyes that he recognizes as the precursor to a burst of temper. Chloe's his best friend, but she doesn't take crap from him.
"Trampy?" she echoes. "Don't be stupid, Clark. It's no lower cut than the suits I wear to the Planet."
Since one of the great joys of his life is standing behind her at her Planet desk and staring down the abundant flesh of her cleavage, he can't really deny that. But this dress is crimson and satiny, and it looks a lot more sexy than her suits somehow. "It's just... well, if you wear that out on a date, he's going to think..."
"I don't know if I have a problem with that," she says, smiling a little. "I mean, we have been dating for a month."
The jealousy ignites inside him like a match held to gas, flaming up into pure, hot rage. In a sudden flash of memory, he remembers her running to him, her arms sliding around his neck, the softly whispered words, I don't know if I'll ever see you again... and the kiss.
God, the kiss.
He can't forget it. He can't get it out of his head. And it pisses him off hugely that she seems to have totally forgotten it already. That she's dressing up for Jimmy, Jimmy, in the expectation of...
She looks at him, her expression becoming slightly uncertain, almost wary, and he guesses his fury, his inner turmoil, is reflected in his eyes.
"Um," she says, turning back to the full-length mirror. "Well. I guess I better get my makeup on..."
He recognizes his cue to go. He'd just dropped by her apartment for a minute, anyway. Just because. Because he and Chloe drop in on each other all the time, for any excuse or none at all, just because they like to hang out together.
He wonders how long that'll last once she starts sleeping with Jimmy. Once they're seriously involved, is Jimmy really going to put up with her spending hours in Clark's company every day, or talking to him on the phone five or six times? Or will Jimmy act as a wedge between them, slowly pushing them apart?
He has a feeling he already knows the answer, and he doesn't like it.
In fact, he hates it.
"If you're going on a date, Chlo, don't wear that dress," he advises. The jealousy inside him makes his words harsher than usual. "It really does make you look easy."
"Easy!" She spins around, looking outraged. "It does not!"
"Does too," he snaps back, aware that he sounds like a four-year-old but not quite able to hold back the words. "But maybe that's exactly what you want Jimmy to think."
"Yeah," she retorts. "Maybe it is."
The rage inside him is burning higher, flames reaching for the sky. He stretches out a long arm and grabs her arm.
"The problem," he growls, holding her wrist captive, "is that other men might get that idea, too."
"They might," she snarls back. "If they weren't impossibly obtuse, anyway."
He resents that, because he doesn't think he's the obtuse one here. He wanted to talk about their kiss, damn it. He's not the one who was all over Jimmy Olsen right after they kissed. Not that Jimmy Olsen is his type. But that's not the point.
The point is, she blew him off. He came to the Planet with every intention of discussing it, and she was the one who backed away.
He shouldn't have let her do that. He should have insisted they talk. But he didn't. He let her push him away.
And if he lets her get away with pushing him away again, then tonight she's going to be screwing another guy.
At the thought, the jealousy and rage inside him builds into an inferno. No way is he going to stand aside while Chloe goes off and gets busy with Jimmy Olsen. Not after that kiss she planted on him.
"Fine," he says through his teeth. "You're easy. That's good to know."
And he lowers his head and kisses her.
It isn't a nice kiss, one of the shy, fumbling, stop-me-if-you-don't-like-this kisses he specializes in. It's harsh and possessive and even a little violent. He kisses her hard enough that her lips part, almost involuntarily, and his tongue slips between her lips almost instantly, exploring, taking, demanding.
He hears her make a tiny sound, a noise of surrender and submission, and the inferno inside him shifts, alters. It burns just as hot as before, but it's not rage and jealousy any more.
No... it's more than lust. It's the emotion that filled him when she kissed him in the darkened basement that night. It's more than lust, more than friendship, more than anything he's ever experienced. It's emotions he doesn't even have a name for. All he knows is that he can't fight it.
Just one kiss, and he's hers.
It occurs to him that she's not the easy one here. He is.
Her mouth is soft and yielding against his, giving him everything he asks for. Her hands lift, and her fingers curl in his hair, exploring, stroking. He's aware of his own hands moving, sliding down her spine toward her hips, but he doesn't seem to have any control over them. They're heading where they want to go, with no input from him.
His palms cup her ass, and his fingers dig into the soft, sweet curves, pulling her against him, just a little.
He's hard, very hard, and he doesn't know exactly when that happened. Maybe the minute his lips touched hers, or maybe even before, when he was yelling and checking out her cleavage at the same time.
He isn't sure. All he know is that he aches, and he needs more contact, right now.
Her soft abdomen is pressed up against him, and he rubs, because he can't seem to hold still. It feels good, so good, and a little moan is torn from his throat, low and needy and almost desperate.
He didn't rub against her this way on that night in the Planet. He hadn't gotten the chance. He'd had to go save the world.
But tonight, there is no looming crisis, and no one needs saving. He can do whatever he wants to do.
And what he wants is this.
She's pressed up against him, warm and soft, and he can't stop moving against her. Their mouths are melded together now, in one long, unending kiss, and their bodies seem to be melding into one as well.
He needs more. Pressing against her abdomen is good, but it isn't enough. His hands tighten on her ass, and then he's picking her up, as easily as if she weighed nothing at all, and positioning her just right.
Her skirt gets rucked up around her waist, and he presses right up against her silken panties. Even through his jeans he can feel they're hot and wet, and an overwhelming need pulses through him. He gives another little moan.
She pulls back just a bit, and he hears her chuckle. "And you said I was easy."
"Didn't say you were easy," he mumbles. "Said you looked easy."
"From where I'm standing," she retorts, "you look like the easy one."
He knows she's right. He's easy. For her, he's easy. He remembers coming back from the Phantom Zone, remembers trying to talk to her about the kiss she laid on him, and for the first time he realizes that if she'd let him say what he wanted to say, the two of them would be dating now.
Dating, hell. The two of them would have been involved in a hot and heavy affair by now.
Better late than never, he figures.
He lowers his head, kissing her again, and shifts her, reaching up under her skirt, ripping off her panties. He hopes she'll take the hint-- which, let's face it, isn't exactly subtle-- and she does. Her hands reach down and undo his jeans, and then shove his boxers down, out of the way.
He gives a little sob of relief. Since she kissed him he's thought of this so often, wanted this so much, but he'd begun to believe he'd already lost her.
That thought fires off a whole chain of thoughts in his head. He hesitates, pressed up against her warm, wet, intimate flesh. His body is throbbing with a wild need, but he can't just jump into this without knowing...
"Hey," he says hoarsely. "Is this really what you want?"
She sighs, and drops her head against his shoulder. "Men," she growls. "They always want to stop and talk just when things are getting interesting."
He can't stop a smile from curving his lips. "I just..." He sighs. "Didn't you tell me that you were planning to... well... that tonight, you and Jimmy..."
He sighs, and lowers her to the floor, despite the indignant twitching of his erection. He can't talk coherently when he's right up against her. Even so, he's so hard that coherence doesn't come easily, but he tries, because this is important. "Because I really want this, Chlo. I really want you. But if you and Jimmy were going to..."
"Oh, don't be stupid," she says impatiently. "Of course I wasn't going to. Jimmy's a nice guy, and I have to admit I've enjoyed going out with him, but I can also admit he's not the one I really want."
A little balloon of helium expands inside his chest, making him feel light and happy, despite the insistent throbbing of his body. "So you weren't really..."
She sighs. "I put this dress on for you, Clark. I knew you were coming by, and I... well, I just bought this dress. It's pretty. I thought it might kind of make you look."
It had definitely made him look. "But you said you and Jimmy..."
"I might have, well, implied a few things. But we don't have a date tonight."
He replays her words in his head, and realizes she had in fact done a lot of implying, without actually saying much of anything. Even so, he can't let it go. As much as he wants to be inside her, he need to clarify this first. "I thought you and Jimmy..."
"He's a nice guy, but I'm not interested in him that way," she says gently. "In fact, we talked last week and decided we were better off as colleagues and friends." She utters a soft laugh. "I guess it wasn't the most mature thing in the world to make you think we might get together tonight, but the way you looked... well, it was worth it."
He growls, but it's mostly for show. "Glad to have amused you."
She grins, but then her smile shifts into a more serious expression. "I won't lie to you, Clark. He and I, way back in the summer after freshman year... well, we were involved..."
Jealousy lights in him again in an instant. She'd called a halt to their budding relationship back then, and apparently gone right for Jimmy. What the hell?
"So the two of you..."
She sighs. "Yes, but only because I wanted you and couldn't have you."
"Chloe," he says, trying to hold back his anger, "you could have had me. At the spring formal, I was totally into you. I was about to kiss you, remember? You're the one who said we should go back to being friends."
"Yes, I remember. But I also knew that you were... conflicted, Clark. You know you were."
He wants to deny it, but he can't. He'd been torn between Chloe and Lana Lang, and they both knew it. He thinks maybe that if he and Chloe had gotten involved, that might have put a stop to his inner conflict. But then again, it might not have, and then he would have embroiled them all in a big, painful mess.
"Anyway," she says softly, "back then, I used Jimmy to forget about you. That was wrong, Clark. I know better now, and that's why I wouldn't use you that way. Believe me, I wouldn't. I'm here because I want to be."
He sighs with relief, because the throbbing of his erection has grown intolerable. "Okay," he says softly. "So do I."
He lifts her again, and flexes his hips, sliding right into her.
She's so wet and so soft that he can't hold back a gasp of pleasure. She gasps too, squirming against him, and he closes his eyes, overwhelmed.
She slides down easily onto him. Her legs wrap around him, her bare heels digging into the back of his thighs, and he sighs with pleasure. He withdraws, then thrusts into her, holding her hips steady with his big hands, and she cries out and writhes again.
It's all so simple. So... so easy. He should have just done this when he got back from the Phantom Zone. The minute he got back, he should have just picked her up, headed straight into the supply room or back to his loft or whatever, and made love to her.
He should have. Because this is right.
He's withdrawing and thrusting in a steady rhythm now, sliding into her in long, easy strokes. The pleasure increases with each movement, sending him higher and higher. His spine arches, and he feels sweat breaking out all over him, adhering his t-shirt to his skin. Beneath his hands, she's sweating too, and he can feel her trembling.
"Chlo." He bends his head and buries his face in her hair, inhaling the sweet vanilla fragrance of her perfume. The smell is as familiar and comfortable to him as apple pie or hay or growing corn fields, and yet the scent of her isn't just familiar-- it's strangely exciting. "Chlo... Chloe..."
"Clark." Her hands dig into his shoulders, and her voice quavers. "I've waited for this for so long... so long..."
So has he, and he hadn't even known he was waiting. But suddenly he's tired of waiting. Damn tired. He wants her to be his, in every way. His hips jerk, moving harder and faster, and he hears himself crying out.
Heat pours over him and through him, and he has to fight to keep his hands from clenching too hard and hurting her. The scent of vanilla fills his head, and the feel of her against him, the sounds she's making, her lips against his throat, all combine to drive him to the edge of insanity.
Part of him wants this to go on forever, but he can't hold back any longer. He lets himself go, and a long explosion of rapture takes him out of himself. He hears someone screaming and thinks it might be him, but if it is, he can't hold the noise back. The ecstasy is too intense. Her body is spasming around his, in hard, tight bursts, and he hears her crying out, and he knows that she's coming right along with him.
It's a long time before he can breathe again. At last he sucks in a long, shuddering breath, and all his muscles relax. He finds himself slowly sinking to the floor, unable to stand any longer.
She cuddles into his lap, their bodies still linked, and nuzzles his throat. He wraps his arms around her and holds her close.
"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I almost ruined everything."
"No." He hugs her. "I almost ruined everything. I didn't have to let you back off. I could have done this a month ago."
"Maybe we both messed up a little."
"A little." He smiles into her hair. "But we fixed the problem. And it was a pretty easy fix, right?"
"Yeah." He hears her chuckle against his throat. "Pretty easy, all right."
He laughs too, because he has a feeling she's talking about him rather than the problem. And he's okay with that. She's right.
Where she's concerned, he's easy.