Urgent

Clark/Chloe
Season 4
Rating: Adult. If you're under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.

"I want to make love to you."

Clark Kent all but fell off his chair. Turning around at the old desk that was situated in a corner of his loft, he blinked at his best friend, Chloe Sullivan.

"Uh, whuh?" he said, less than brilliantly.

She walked toward him slowly, and he noticed that her hips were swaying in a very un-Chloelike way. Ordinarily her walk was quick and brisk. Right now it was slow and, well, sort of seductive.

He found it terrifying.

Soft morning sunlight drifted in through the window, along with a warm and gentle breeze. A moment ago he'd just been sitting here relaxing, enjoying the pleasant spring day, but suddenly he wasn't relaxed any longer. Not at all.

He clambered to his feet, knocking over his chair in the process, and backed away. His parents had gone to Metropolis for the day, and right now he wasn't quite sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. "Uh," he said again. "Uh, Chloe, I don't know what this is all about, but I think maybe we should, uh, talk."

"I'm tired of talking." She was only a couple of feet away from him, and he realized with dismay that he'd backed into a corner, the rough boards of the barn wall at his back. He could smell her vanilla perfume now. Beneath it, he could smell the fresh, clean scent of her skin, along with a spicier scent that he knew was female arousal. His own body responded in the predictable way, and he felt his cheeks flush.

"I just don't think... I mean, this isn't like you, Chlo..."

She put an arm on either side of him, pinning him into the corner. He stared down at her, wide-eyed.

"Maybe I'm tired of being like me," she said softly.

"Uh..." He tried desperately to make his tongue work. He had a feeling it was hanging out of his mouth. Apparently he was a dog deep down, just like every other teenage guy. "I like you the way you are."

"Exactly. You like me." She leaned into him, her boobs pressing into his chest, her stomach pressing against his, uh.... She was soft all the way down, and he felt his heart began to pound in a rapid rhythm. "I'm tired of being the smart girl that guys like, but that they don't see as a girl. I don't want to be one of the guys, Clark. I'm smart and I'm sexy, and in case you haven't noticed, I'm hot."

"I've noticed," he croaked.

"But not until now," she said softly.

That wasn't true, not really. On some level, he'd always been aware that she was hot. She had golden hair, a curvaceous body, and a bright smile, and he certainly wasn't blind. He was fully aware of her physical attributes. But he'd always tried to keep that awareness buried deep down, because they were friends, and he couldn't stand losing her friendship.

"Uh..." God, he was saying that a lot. Articulate he was not. Then again, he wasn't used to trying to talk while wearing a girl on his front. She'd somehow pressed up against him so that they were like one person, one very intimately entwined entity...

He was suddenly very conscious of his body throbbing. Well, one particular part of his body. That particular part was enjoying this, and unlike him, it wasn't confused or baffled or shy about the whole situation. It was wholeheartedly enthusiastic about having her pressed up against it.

Which was exactly why he tried not to do his thinking with that part of his anatomy, because if it had thoughts, they'd be along the simple and straightforward lines of sex right now.

What worried him was that those seemed to be all the thoughts in his big brain right now, too.

"Stop talking," she said softly, as if he'd been babbling like a brook instead of barely able to stammer a few syllables. "I told you, Clark, I came over here to make love to you. Not to talk."

And that was so weird that it made warning bells go off in his brain, even if they were muffled by the chant of sex right now. He and Chloe hung out in his loft all the time, and she'd never, ever hit on him there. Well, unless you counted the very first day they'd met, when she'd kissed him and then told him she'd wanted to get that out of the way so they could be friends. Which really hadn't been hitting on him, although he'd liked kissing her.

He'd like to kiss her now.

He put that thought aside as dangerous. This situation was already dangerous enough, particularly when she leaned into him, her mouth brushing over his throat, leaving little shimmers of pleasure in its wake.

Considering that he could be hit by a car at sixty miles an hour and walk away, or throw himself off the LuthorCorp building in Metropolis and live to talk about it, you'd think his skin would be tough as steel and incapable of sensation. But he could feel every tiny motion of her lips, and the feel of her lips on his throat sent his nerves into an uproar.

He was fairly sure he'd been trying to say something, but over the roar of confusion in his brain he couldn't quite remember that it was. And then her lips parted, and her tongue began to trace the tendons in his throat, and he heard himself moaning.

Her hands slid down his back, and dug into his ass, and he let her tug his hips forward, pressing his hard-on into the softness of her abdomen. Once he let his hips move, once he relaxed a little, it felt very natural and very right, and so he kept doing it. Her hips seemed to move in rhythm with his.

It felt good. It felt better than good. It was almost like a relief. He'd gotten so hard, and all that pressure needed to be assuaged, or he was going to explode or something. And the steady rhythm of their bodies together was like...

Well, it was kind of like sex, actually.

Abruptly he realized he was dry-humping his best bud.

He found to his surprise that his own hands were on her butt, too, pulling her against him. He reversed the polarity and pushed her away. It wasn't easy, but he did it.

She looked up at him. Her eyes looked huge and dark in the dimness of the loft.

"Don't you want me, Clark?" she whispered.

He wanted her, all right. He wanted her so much that he wanted nothing more than to grab her hips and dry hump her some more, until he came in his jeans. He closed his eyes against the thought, trying to shove it out of his head, and sighed.

"Chlo," he said gently, "something isn't right here. This isn't the way you usually behave."

"I told you already. I'm tired of the way I usually behave. I'm tired of being that girl. I'm tired of being the smart, sexless one."

"No," he said, remembering last fall, when she'd had a cupful of kryptonite-laced Gatorade and ambushed him here, wearing nothing but his football jersey. "I'm worried there's something else going on here, something more than that. Did you drink anything before you came over? Eat anything?"

She frowned at him. "Don't be paranoid, Clark. Everything that happens in Smallville doesn't have to involve meteor rocks. I just want to make love to you."

She ran her hands down his chest, and he shuddered, but held her off, refusing to let her press against him more closely. But then her hand slid right down over his Levi's, closing over his hot, needy flesh, and he heard a little moan escape him as his cock pulsed in her hand.

God, he was easy.

But really, why shouldn't he be easy? It wasn't every day that a girl-- a hot, smart blonde who featured prominently in a lot of his fantasies, if he was going to be honest about it-- wrapped her little hand right around his...

"Oh, God." The words, harsh and low, escaped his mouth with no input from him. She was good at this-- and he didn't want to know how she'd learned, he just did not want to know-- her hand sliding up and down, slowly but relentlessly, stroking him from base to head and back again. A terrible tension gripped his balls, and he gritted his teeth, struggling to hold back the orgasm that threatened.

"I want you," she whispered. "And you want me."

He did want her. Right now, he wanted her a hell of a lot. He felt himself pulsing against her palm, felt the urgent beat of arousal, the hungry squeezing sensation deep in his balls. This was good, but it would be so much better to be inside her, deep inside her warm, soft body, screwing her, fucking her, thrusting hard and fast...

He was vaguely aware her hand was moving faster. There were sounds coming from his mouth that he had no control over. He could feel a copious flow of precome surging from his erection, and his whole body shuddered in submission and need. He was coming.... ah, God, yes, he was coming...

But at the last possible second, she pulled her hand away. He leaned back against the wall, gasping, his every cell consumed with a frantic need for release. He wanted to beg, or maybe just to sweep her up in his arms and lay her down on his desk and screw her. But his faint concern that something wasn't right somehow prevented him.

"Tell me you want me," she whispered against his throat.

Her hand began stroking him again, and all his stammering, all his awkwardness, somehow disappeared. Suddenly he had no trouble forming words, and all his concerns fell away like mist in the sunlight. "I want you," he answered, softly but with great conviction. "I want you, Chlo, I've always wanted you, please I have to have you right now..."

He felt her hands on his belt, unbuckling it, unfastening his jeans, pushing them and his boxers down, and then she was kneeling....

She was not going to... No. She wasn't. She couldn't. She...

She was.

Her hand wrapped around his erection, which was so hard it pointed toward the ceiling, and drew it down. And then her lips brushed over the swollen head, and he heard a long, drawn-out cry escape his lips. He threw his head back and clenched his fists, helpless against her onslaught.

She teased him, very gently, for long moments, lavishing soft, gentle kisses all over his swollen flesh, until his erection jerked and spasmed in her hand. He was suddenly afraid he was going to come all over her, and he couldn't quite decide if the idea embarrassed him or turned him on.

At last her little pink tongue slipped out and began tracing the head, the sensitive little ridge beneath it, and the slit, lapping away his moisture. At the same moment, her hand began moving up and down his shaft, working him, slowly but rhythmically.

He heard another long cry of agonized pleasure rise from his throat. He couldn't stop... he couldn't... he was going to come, no matter how hard he tried to hold it back....

But she didn't let him come. Her hand moved just slowly enough to hold him at the verge of climax. His body shuddered, his skin was slick with sweat, and he felt his cock jerking with need. But he couldn't quite...

Vaguely, he was aware of his voice pleading, begging for more. His concerns over her mental state were long gone, washed away in a flood of physical pleasure far more more intense than he'd ever known.

He'd never known being with a girl could be like this. He'd never known sexual need was so dark, so earthy, so... urgent.

The light caress of her tongue on his aching flesh was rapidly driving him insane. He felt his hips surging, thrusting eagerly against her mouth, begging wordlessly for what he needed, what he wanted more than he'd ever wanted before.

Her lips parted, and she slowly drew the swollen head of his cock into her mouth.

He heard a sound come out of his chest that bore no resemblance to any sound he'd ever made before. He wanted to cry out words-- God, yes, that's so good, oh, God, Chloe, don't ever stop-- but none of it could make it out of his mouth past the feral, wild sounds that he was making.

Her mouth was hot and wet, assuaging his desperate ache, and her hand continued to work his shaft, but harder and faster. He thrust, compelled by instinct, and her hand fell away as he sank more deeply into her mouth.

God, yes. Yes. Why hadn't he ever done this before? Why hadn't he just grabbed her and told her he couldn't live without her, that he needed her mouth and her hands and her smile and her scent to survive? Why had he insisted on pretending they were just friends, when they were so clearly more?

He thrust deeper, sinking into the wet heat of her mouth, and urgency caught his balls in an iron grip. He couldn't bear to stop now. If she stopped him this time, he'd die. The top of his head would blow off from the accumulated pressure or something.

She didn't stop. Her mouth moved on him, sucking him in so deeply he could hardly believe it, sliding up and down the shaft. It was like one of his basest fantasies come to life, Chloe Sullivan on her knees in front of him, sucking him off, bringing him to a point of pleasure so intense he thought he'd die if he didn't find release.

She varied the rhythm, slowing, then speeding up again, until he thought he'd lose his mind. At last he couldn't take it any more, and he grasped her hair gently and set his own rhythm, thrusting hard and fast-- not so hard he'd hurt her, of course, but fast enough that he could...

Yes.

He felt a squeezing sensation deep in his balls, and sobbed with relief. His cock jerked violently between her lips, and then he was riding a long spiral of pleasure upward, the sensations growing more and more intense, until suddenly the tension unravelled, and vibrant ecstasy flowed over him and through him. He heard himself roaring with pleasure, felt himself shooting come right down her throat, spurt after spurt of it.

He couldn't seem to stop coming-- not that he was trying very hard. She didn't seem to mind, because she didn't let up until the last quiver faded. He'd never experienced such a long, intense climax. Then again, he'd never come with a girl before.

Though he'd come damn close in the aforementioned Gatorade incident.

At last his roars faded into gasps, and he became aware that his knees were trembling beneath him. She released him, and he dropped to the rough floorboads beside her, gathering her into his arms.

"Chlo," he whispered.

She turned her face into his throat and wrapped her arms around his neck. He cradled her against his chest, feeling a strange tenderness he'd never felt for her before. The fragrant, spicy scent of her arousal teased his nostrils, reminding him that she hadn't been satisfied.

He felt a little awkward, but he slid his hand down between her thighs anyway. Her denim-encased thighs felt soft and pliant beneath his hand, so he squeezed her, very gently, then slid his hand a little higher.

Right... there.

She gasped and squirmed, but even if she hadn't, he'd have known he'd found something approximating the right place. Even through the denim, he could feel her heat. God, she was sexy.

He moved his hand against her, and even through the jeans, he could tell she liked it. Her body arched so hard he thought she might have gone over backward if he hadn't been holding her. Her legs parted for him, offering him everything, so open and honest it made his throat ache.

God, he hoped this was all her. Not some kryptopotion or weird meteor rock effect, but just her. He wanted her to be here simply because she wanted him, just as badly as he wanted her. He was surprised to realize he wanted that a whole hell of a lot.

He slid his hand over her, cupping her slightly, trying to figure out what she liked best. Her hips moved urgently, rubbing against him, and a little sound came out of her mouth, the sexiest little moan he'd ever heard. He lifted his head and looked at her face. Her eyes were shut, her lips parted, and there was a sheen of sweat on her skin.

He was going to make her come. He'd never made a girl come before, and the thought made his heart pound heavily. He moved his hand a little harder, and she shuddered, clutching eagerly at his shoulders.

He knew it wouldn't be difficult. She was really turned on, for whatever reason, and all he had to do was this, just a little faster, and she'd come for him. But he remembered how she'd made him come, and he realized that he couldn't make her come without actually touching her.

He didn't want to. He wanted more.

He lifted his hand away from her. She moaned, catching at his hand, but he eluded her and began unbuttoning her jeans. Her eyes slitted open, gleaming a molten gold.

"Clark," she said softly. "Are you sure... do you really want..."

Oh, God, yes, he really wanted this. He really, really did. The thought of doing to her what she'd done to him made his cheeks flame, but he couldn't resist her. The hot, sensual fragrance of her made him burn, and so did the mental image he had of her, writhing wildly beneath him as he... as he...

He realized he was panting with excitement, and half-hard again already.

He started to push her over on the warped, worn floorboards, then realized that was no way to treat a lady. She'd get a splinter in her ass or something. Anyway, it wouldn't be comfortable. He swept her up in his arms and carried her easily to his tattered red sofa, then placed her gently down on her back.

And then he was stripping off her jeans, very deftly, for a guy who'd never done it before. Fortunately she'd been wearing sandals, which had fallen off when he lifted her in his arms.

She sprawled out on the couch, wearing nothing but a tank top and a silken scrap that he guessed were supposed to be panties. They were peach colored, like her skin, and so fragile that he knew he could rip them right off her. But he wasn't quite ready for that. Not yet.

He stared for a long moment, his cheeks flushing hot, embarrassed but unable to look away. She parted her legs for him, giving him a better view, and when he glanced at her face he saw that she wasn't embarrassed. There was an expression of pure sensuality on her face, a confident acceptance of the sexual side of her nature, that he couldn't help but envy.

She was obviously waiting, waiting for him to do more than just stare. He swallowed nervously, then shifted. He knelt between her knees-- he was a big guy, and this was a small couch, but he figured for this, he was willing to deal with a little awkwardness. And then he bent, and slowly pressed a kiss to the tender skin just above her panties.

She uttered a long sigh of pleasure, and he closed his eyes and brushed another kiss there. She felt warm and satiny beneath his lips, and close up she smelled like pure sex, hot spiced wine that went right to his head.

He kissed her there for long moments, because he didn't quite dare go lower. This was all new to him, after all. Hell, he'd hardly dared fantasize about this before now.

She shifted restlessly beneath him, moaning, and her scent grew stronger. He imagined her creaming her panties for him, getting wetter and wetter, and suddenly he was way more than half-hard. His erection was just as rigid and swollen as before .

Tentatively, he moved downward just a bit. He didn't have the nerve to take her panties off, so he brushed a kiss over the fragile fabric just below the elastic. She jerked and gasped, as if he'd done something amazingly intimate. Emboldened, he moved a little lower.

God, the scent of her, the scent of sex...

And then his mouth was right over her, brushing kisses there, and she was moaning, her hands digging into his hair, guiding him to the perfect spot. He kissed her there some more, then let his tongue slide out, flicking her lightly through the fabric.

She wailed, and her whole body arched.

He felt a tremor go through his own body. This was so damn hot. He'd never realized how hot it would be, how exciting it would be to be able to make her shudder and cry out with the lightest touch of his tongue.

He did it again, a little more firmly, and she cried out, her voice high-pitched and frantic.

"Oh, yes, Clark, yes..."

His natural shyness drained away in the face of her obvious pleasure. He let his tongue begin to caress her steadily through the satin, driving her higher, until her thighs trembled.

And then he drew back.

"Please," she whispered. "Please, Clark, please..."

"Not this way," he said softly. The taste of her was on his tongue, but he wanted more. He wanted to taste her directly, with nothing at all in the way. He wanted all of her.

He reached up and ripped the panties apart, then threw them aside. She gasped and opened her eyes, looking slightly shocked.

"Clark."

He didn't allow himself to think twice, didn't allow the shyness and embarrassment to get in the way. He lowered his head again, and flicked his tongue right over the hard little bud of her clitoris.

She wailed again, her hands tugging his hair so hard that had he been human, he would have been half bald by now. He did it again, loving her reactions.

But he wanted more. He wanted to feel her creaming all over his hand.

Slowly, he lifted a hand, lightly caressing the inside of her thighs, then slowly sliding a finger inside her.

He hadn't ever imagined that girls felt quite this way. Tight, so tight she clutched his finger firmly, squeezing it with little ripples. Wet, but not wet like water. Slick and creamy and hot, so incredibly hot... God, what would it feel like to be inside her? Really inside her?

The thought made his cock jerk, but he held back the impulse to find out right now. This wasn't about him. It was about her.

He was only inside her to the first knuckle, but he thrust gently, and her body yielded, letting him in. She trembled, gave another cry of stark pleasure, and he knew she was almost there. Almost there-- and he'd been the one to bring her this far.

He began thrusting gently, and lowered his head, stroking her clitoris gently but quickly, with insistent strokes of his tongue.

His finger was deep inside her now, and he could feel her body squeezing him harder than ever, in fast, hard convulsions. His finger, his palm, were wet with her moisture, and the scent of sex filled his head, driving him almost to the brink again. He was vaguely aware of his own urgent throbbing, but he pushed awareness of his own needs aside for now.

He added a second finger and thrust a little harder, stroking her clit a little faster, and she gave a long cry of unmistakable rapture, her hips lifting, her spine arching. He felt her inner muscles spasm hard.

She was coming. He'd made her come. The thought was almost enough to make him join her. With a fierce effort, he kept himself under control.

After a few moments, her body stopped trembling and her slick channel relaxed around his fingers, but he didn't let her relax. He kept thrusting and licking, and she came again. It felt harder this time, more intense. He could feel the tension in her body, could feel the way all her muscles froze up.

Once more, he thought fiercely, unwilling to let her stop yet, because he was loving her reactions, the way her voice quavered and rose with pleasure, the way her body quivered and shook.

He thrust more fiercely, and moved his tongue inhumanly fast, and this time she screamed with the force of her orgasm.

He made her ride it out, long, rippling waves he could feel around his fingers, made her scream and scream and scream some more. And this time, when her inner muscles relaxed, he lifted his head, and lowered it again, letting it rest on her stomach.

He was still curled awkwardly between her thighs, and his fingers were still inside her, enjoying the soft, moist lassitude of her channel as it relaxed. He'd made her feel very, very good, and the thought brought a smile to his face.

Her hands, which had been desperately entwined in his hair, loosened, and she began stroking his damp curls.

"That was amazing," she whispered.

He was immensely glad she thought so. He'd never realized before how much Chloe's happiness mattered to him. When she was happy, he was happy. He felt warm and content now, despite the hard, aching pulse that was his unsatisfied erection.

"Mmmm," he answered, sliding his fingers out of her and kissing her belly again. "It was for me, too. But tell me, Chlo. Why did you decide to come over today, exactly?"

"I told you. I wanted to make love to you."

He frowned a little. He wasn't too pleased with himself for letting himself be seduced into this before he knew exactly what was going on. He didn't want to take advantage of her if she'd ingested something, or been influenced in some way. "Why today, exactly? Did you get another dose of pom-pom juice, or what?"

She was silent for a long moment, her fingers playing in his hair. At last she spoke, very quietly.

"I don't know if you remember," she said softly, "but the day we met..."

He did some rapid mental math, and nodded. Suddenly this all made a bit more sense. "Five years ago today. I'd kind of forgotten the exact date."

"I hadn't." Her fingers dug deep into his curls. "I won't ever forget that day, Clark."

"Me neither," he said gently, kissing her abdomen again. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me, Chlo."

"Me too. And that's why..." She broke off, and her voice trembled a little. "I made a mistake that day, Clark. I told you we should get a kiss out of the way so we could be friends. But I never really wanted to be just friends with you."

He lifted his head, and smiled at her. "We can be friends who kiss," he suggested. "The two things aren't mutually exclusive, you know."

"I guess that's true," she agreed, and smiled back. "You look kind of uncomfortable curled up on the end of the couch, Clark. Maybe you should come up here."

"Uh..." He was suddenly painfully aware of his throbbing erection. "Well, the thing is..."

"I know all about the thing." She giggled, in a way he hadn't heard since she was fourteen. "Come on, Clark. Let's just see what happens."

He was pretty sure he knew what was going to happen. He remembered his earlier thoughts about being inside her, about what it would feel like, and the throbbing grew to a needy ache.

Slowly, he moved up over her, carefully supporting his weight on his arms. His cock nudged up against her inner thigh, which was slick with moisture. A low groan broke from him.

Her hands slid down his back, over the red t-shirt he still wore, and then reached up beneath the hem and began stroking his lower back. His spine flexed automatically beneath the caress, and his erection slid against her thigh.

"Unnnhhhh," he moaned.

Just like before, once he'd started moving, he couldn't seem to stop. His hips seemed compelled to move, rubbing against her in a steady rhythm. He wasn't quite as desperate as he'd been last time, but he couldn't fight the impulse, either.

Her hands slipped lower, shoving off his jeans and boxers. He kicked them off, giving silent thanks that he'd been barefooted. It was too nice a day to wear workboots. Her fingers dug into his ass, pulling him closer. He felt himself pressing up against the heat of her core, and he froze. All his shyness, his awkwardness, his awareness of his own inexperience, returned.

"Chloe." His voice sounded as rough and hoarse as if he'd been snacking on nails. "I'm not sure... I mean, I don't know..."

"I want you," she whispered.

He wanted her, too. Very badly. But this was so sudden... and so intimate...

Although he had to admit it wasn't a lot more intimate than what they'd already done.

"Uh," he mumbled, seizing on the first excuse that came to mind, which happened to be a damn good one. "I sort of don't have any, you know... I mean, I just didn't expect... and I haven't gone to the drugstore and gotten, uh..."

The words birth control would not make it past his stammering lips, no matter how much he tried to get them out. She smiled into his eyes.

"It's okay, Clark. I'm on the pill."

He doubted he could get her pregnant anyway. And that, he realized, was something they really ought to discuss before he made love to her, the fact that he wasn't an ordinary Kansas farmboy, but a superpowered alien. It wasn't right to get intimately involved with anyone before he told her...

But she moved against him, so that the head of his cock slipped through her moisture, and every responsible thought in his head fled.

Her hands clenched on his ass, and he let her draw him forward. He was powerless to resist, as if she were the superpowered alien, and he was just an ordinary human. Apparently when it came to sex, he was weak.

He sank into her, very slowly. It felt incredible, so good he threw his head back and bared his teeth, trying to hold back his cries of pleasure.

She was really tight, and he hesitated, letting her body get used to his invasion. He wasn't sure what else to do to make it easier for her. But then she lifted her legs, wrapping them around his hips, and suddenly their bodies seemed to fit together perfectly, as if they'd been made for one another. He sank in more deeply, and despite the clenched teeth he heard himself sobbing with pleasure.

"Chlo," he gasped out. "I didn't know... I never knew..."

I didn't know how good this could feel. I didn't know how perfect it would be with you. I didn't know how much I wanted you until this moment.

She didn't say anything, just buried her face in his throat and held onto him. She was wrapped around him, her legs around his hips and her arms around his shoulders, and he was deep inside her, buried all the way in her silken heat, and it was so awesome that he shuddered all over.

He withdrew slowly, almost all the way, then thrust again, and this time it felt even better. She cried out and quivered too. He wanted to keep it slow, but suddenly the urgency gripped him again, filling every cell, demanding satisfaction and release.

He found himself pounding into her, hard and fast. He tried to hold back enough that he wouldn't hurt her, but his control was shattered beyond repair. She didn't seem to mind. Her hands slipped down to his hips again, tugging on him, urging him on, and he moved even faster.

Sweat slicked his skin and dampened his hair, and his breath came in harsh, uneven rasps. His thighs trembled, and goosebumps ran over his skin in waves. He felt his balls pulling up against his body, taut and full, and he knew he was lost.

And then she shook beneath him, her inner muscles convulsing as her whole body was rocked by tremors, and he cried out her name.

"Chloe-- oh, Chlo-- oh, my God--"

His orgasm wasn't a long, slow spiral upward this time. It came on him hard and fast, so powerful he wasn't sure he could survive it. His hips lost the rhythm, stuttering wildly, and he heard himself whimpering, high-pitched, frantic sounds that would have embarrassed him if he hadn't been lost in ecstasy.

Thunder rolled through him like a summer storm over the plains, fast-moving but impossibly intense. He poured himself into her in spasm after spasm of flame.

At last the pleasure eased, and he collapsed on top of her, gasping. Her hands slid through his hair, very gently.

"I'm glad we finally did this," she whispered.

He sucked in a long breath, trying to get his scattered thoughts together enough to reply. He thought of the day they'd met, of the tacit pact they'd entered into to only be friends. And for the first time he realized what she'd apparently realized earlier, what a huge mistake that had been.

"Me too," he muttered into her throat. "And we're going to do it again. And again. Just as soon as I can move."

He felt her lips curve against this throat.

"I like that idea," she answered. "I just... Clark, we're still friends, right?."

He lifted his head and smiled down into her eyes, reassuring her. "We'll always be friends," he told her. .

And it was true. They'd always be friends. He was confident of that.

Their friendship, he thought, had simply moved to a more physical plane. They'd admitted their desire for each other. But that didn't really change anything, deep down. They'd still always be there for each other, whenever they needed each other.

It was just that from now on, their need for each other would be more... urgent.

-The End-