Season 6, end of "Rage"
Rating: Adult. If you're under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
Rewrite of Waiting to Believe, prompted by BabyDee1: I'd like to see Waiting to Believe again, only this time I want them to go all the way.
So how long have you been in love with Chloe?
That was the question his mom had asked him earlier in the evening, and he'd sputtered and stammered and finally informed her that of course he wasn't in love with Chloe, they were just friends, come on, Mom, you know I don't feel that way about her...
Martha had just smiled, and told him to go. And so he'd gone.
Straight to Chloe.
Of course, he hadn't known that she was waiting in his loft. Honest, he hadn't. And if his mom hadn't said those things-- those crazy, silly, totally off-the-mark things-- about him being in love with her, maybe he wouldn't have wound up lying here on his old red couch, his arms wrapped around her.
Not that he was, you know, making love to her, or even cuddling with her. Heck, no. He was just... well... keeping her warm.
The problem was that, whether or not he intended to cuddle with her, she was a very cuddly armful. She wore a purple dress, so lowcut that his eyes had practically bulged out of their sockets when she first walked into the house this afternoon. And she felt nice and soft and warm in his arms, and she was pressed right up against him, and...
Well, he was a guy. And when a girl pressed right up against his front, he experienced certain physical responses.
It had nothing to do with the fact that it was Chloe, specifically. It was just his body's normal reaction to being near a girl.
Still, his body was stiff with need, and he wanted to rub against her, so badly he ached. He tried to distract himself, thinking of Thanksgiving dinner. It had been his first Thanksgiving without his dad, and he'd missed him. But his friends had been there, filling the void.
Most importantly, Chloe had been there, and that had made him oddly happy, on a day when he'd expected to be depressed as hell.
He bent his head and drew in the fragrance of her hair. He knew he was lucky she'd been here at all. Her boyfriend Jimmy Olsen was out of town, visiting his parents. Otherwise she'd have been with him, and Clark's Thanksgiving would have been spent moping alone.
He was really glad she was here, and not with Jimmy. He had the depressing feeling he was losing her to Jimmy, a little more every day, and in the end he might lose his place in her heart entirely. Because yeah, they were just friends, but very close friends. He didn't want her turning to Jimmy every time she wanted to watch a movie, or needed a lightbulb replaced, or wanted to vent about her editor, or found a mouse in her pantry. Helping her through the rough spots, hanging out with her, giving her unwavering, unquestioning support-- all that was Clark's place in her life.
For the first time, he admitted to himself that his place in her life was a lot like a boyfriend's.
Well, except for the lack of sex.
The thought of sex made something hot and feral flame in his veins. Somehow his hand had slipped around to her front, and he'd flattened it against her abdomen. Now he began to knead her there, right through the silky fabric, and he heard her breath come faster. His body throbbed in response, and his cheeks heated, because surely she couldn't miss his hard-on jolting against her like that.
But she didn't stiffen angrily, or try to get up and stalk away. Instead her hips moved against his, just a little. It felt incredible, and he bit down hard on his lower lip to stop a groan from escaping him.
His hand rubbed in a circle over her belly, and she stretched against him, a long, luxurious stretch that caused her ass to rub right along the length of his erection. He had to bite down harder this time, and he couldn't quite stop himself from responding. He rubbed against her, and she responded, the round curve of her ass stroking him again, up and down.
God, yes. He pressed his face into her hair, panting harshly, fighting to hold back the growls of pleasure that wanted to escape. Goosebumps rose on his skin, and a shiver ran through his body.
His palms itched with the need to touch her. He let his hand drift lower, let his hand run down her thigh. He found the hem of her dress, and let his fingers slip up under it. And still she didn't protest.
Her skin was like silk, so smooth he didn't know if she was wearing stockings, or if her skin was just that soft. He let his hand run up her thigh and discovered she was wearing stockings, because he encountered the band of lace holding them in place, and above it her skin was so incredibly warm and soft that another shiver racked him.
He hesitated, because this was not exactly just-friends territory, and it was getting harder and harder to pretend this wasn't happening. But then she parted her thighs for him, and he couldn't resist the invitation. He let his hand slide upward, brushing very lightly over the satiny material of her panties.
She trembled and moved against him. Her ass stroked him again, up and down, and he gritted his teeth, thinking he might just come in his pants. He wanted her to feel this good, too. So he moved his index fingers over her, in slow, deliberate circles, and she bucked up against him, driving him crazy.
She was wet, very wet, and her body trembled. He heard her heartbeat accelerate, heard the raspy, desperate sound of her breathing, and he knew she was close.
And oh God, so was he.
He wanted to rip off her panties, to sink into her heat and moisture, but he couldn't, because they were just friends, and they were both pretending that this wasn't happening...
Oh, hell, who were they kidding? Of course it was happening. She was about to come, and so was he, and there was no way of pretending it wasn't happening now.
He took a deep breath, gathering his nerve, and ripped her panties off.
She didn't scream or protest. Instead she rolled over, her mouth against his throat, kissing him wildly while her fingers fumbled frantically at his belt buckle. She undid his trousers, and then she grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him right over onto her.
Dazed and bewildered by her enthusiasm, he didn't put up a fight. He couldn't have fought her if he'd wanted to. He suddenly realized he'd been waiting for this moment for a long, long time.
And at last the wait was over.
The head of his cock slid into her body. She was tight, but she lifted her legs, wrapping them around his ass, and he managed to sink into her a little further. He couldn't hold back his groans any longer. A low sound escaped him, and he heard her making high-pitched, desperate sounds of need.
"More, Clark," she whispered in his ear. "More."
He didn't want to force his way in, but he pressed in, slowly, inch by inch, until at last he was deep inside her. His skin was slick with sweat, covered in goosebumps, and his breathing was as labored as if he'd run around the world.
Beneath him, she quivered, every muscle tense. He couldn't hold back any more, no matter how tight she was, no matter how worried he was about doing her damage. He withdrew, almost all the way, then thrust into her.
Her body arched beneath his, her hands dug into his shoulders, and a long cry of pleasure rose from her throat.
Okay. Apparently he wasn't hurting her. In fact, she seemed to like it. A lot. He did it again, and again. He could hear her sobbing with pleasure, and distantly, he was aware that he was crying out too. His mom was over in the house, and she might be able to hear him, and he really shouldn't...
But he couldn't help it. His voice was just as far out of his control as the rest of his body was. His thrusts came faster and faster, and her hips rose to meet him, in a wild, desperate rhythm. And then her hips lost the rhythm, and her body tightened around his, squeezing him.
Oh, God. She was coming... he'd made her come... and he couldn't... he couldn't hold back...
He threw his head back, grinding his teeth, and a long orgasm shuddered its way through his body, starting at his balls and radiating outward in long, pulsing waves. Heat and release and wild, exuberant pleasure rolled through him. It seemed almost endless, and he wasn't sure if his time perception had shifted, or if she'd just really made him come that hard.
But at last the heat faded into a pleasant sensation of warmth. He let himself collapse onto her, and the two of them rearranged themselves on the couch so he wasn't squashing her.
He wrapped an arm around her, putting his hand on top of hers. She turned her hand over. Their palms pressed together, and their fingers interlaced.
He fell asleep with her hand in his.
"Maybe I'd just better get going."
He'd just waked her up, telling her that his mother had made banana pancakes, and now she was looking at him through shuttered eyes.
"You should stay and have breakfast," he said.
"I don't usually eat much for breakfast. Most days I just have a cup of coffee."
"You've got to wait for me anyway," he pointed out. "Unless you're planning on walking downtown. So you might as well have a pancake or two."
She hesitated, and in her eyes he saw a flash of vulnerability, instantly closed away. She shrugged. "Okay."
She was still wearing the purple dress, and the shrug made her breasts ripple. He looked down, drawn irresistibly by the movement, and she rose to her feet and scowled at him.
"Hey," she snapped. "Keep your eyes in your head."
His chin jerked up, and he felt his cheeks flame. "Sorry," he answered. "I just..." He couldn't think of any graceful way to say I was just admiring your boobs, so he changed the subject. "Look, Chloe, about last night..."
"Nothing happened last night," she said, brushing past him.
Rage lit inside him. He understood where she was coming from, because he had quite a bit of guilt for having made love to her while she was dating another guy, and he imagined she felt even worse about it. Still, he wasn't going to let her just pretend it hadn't happened. He reached out and caught her wrist, bringing her to a halt.
"Stop it," he said, letting his anger show in his voice. "It happened, Chloe. Don't insult both of us by pretending it didn't."
"Fine," she snapped. "It happened. I cheated on my boyfriend with another guy."
He sighed. "Chloe, I didn't mean for this to happen..."
"Neither did I." She glared at him. "Why do you always have to do this to me? Why do you always have to complicate my life?"
"Who's complicating whose life?" He blinked at her. "I'm trying to clean up the mess I made when I got out of the Phantom Zone. The last thing I really want right now is to get involved with anyone."
She gave a helpless little wave of her hands. "It's just that I had a good thing going with Jimmy, and now..."
"Chlo," he said gently. "If what you had going with Jimmy was all that great, you wouldn't have let this happen between us."
"Yeah," she said with a sigh. "And I guess if you really hadn't wanted to get involved with anyone, you wouldn't have let this happen between us, either."
"I guess not."
She looked at him for a long moment, then sucked in a deep breath, as if steeling herself for something.
"I'm in love with you, Clark."
She couldn't have shocked him any more if she'd told him she was an alien from the planet Vulcan. He gaped at her, stunned and yet strangely thrilled by her words.
Her gaze flickered downward, as if she couldn't quite look into his eyes. "I've spent years waiting for you, Clark. Years. And when Jimmy came along, I thought he might be enough to make me forget you." Her voice fell very low. "But he wasn't."
"Chlo." He suddenly found his voice. "I love you too."
She lifted her head and gazed at him, looking just as stunned as he had. Slowly, her eyes brightened. "Really?"
"Really." He'd finally realized it yesterday afternoon, while sitting at the dining room table. He hadn't wanted to admit it, not even to his mom, but he'd realized then that he wanted to see her across the table at every Thanksgiving for the rest of his life. "I love you, Chlo, and it's been driving me crazy seeing you with Jimmy. I wish I'd figured it out before you two started dating, but I guess I'm kind of..."
"Slow? Emotionally constipated?" She flashed her happy grin. "Not too bright?"
"All of the above," he admitted. He reached out, hauling her against his chest, and hugged her tightly. "But now I know. I finally know."
"Took you a long time," she said against his chest. "But I guess the best things are worth waiting for."
"Yeah," he agreed. "So. Want to go over to the house for those banana pancakes?"
"I think those pancakes are something that's worth waiting for." He heard her soft chuckle as her mouth moved seductively over his throat. "But as far as you're concerned... I'm done waiting."
"Yeah," he said, and lifted her, carrying her to the couch. "I guess you're right. The pancakes can wait, but I can't."
She laughed. "Clark Kent. Didn't you have enough last night?"
He fell onto the couch with her in his lap, and kissed the tip of her nose.
"I don't think I'll ever have enough of you," he said softly.