Rating: Adult. If you're under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
Read Chapter 4 here.
Read the story from the beginning here.
Clark's kitchen table was very, very hard.
Chloe lay on her back on top of the oaken surface, grumbling to herself. Mere seconds ago she'd been standing in a shower, a beautiful man kneeling in front of her, performing an intimate activity that drove her out of her mind.
And now here she was, spread out on a very hard kitchen table like a freaking buffet. This was not a step in the right direction, as far as she was concerned.
Clark walked toward her, a pie in one hand. She had the sudden absurd image of him pressing it into her face, and could barely suppress her giggle.
But he paused and stared at her, and the expression in his green eyes made her impulse to giggle fade rapidly. He stared at her like a wolf staring at something on hooves. The hunger in his gaze took her breath away.
"God," he said, very softly. "You're beautiful."
He leaned forward, and began spooning cherries onto her nipples. They were still warm from the oven, where he'd left the pie, and she gasped in surprise at the sensation. Her nipples were already erect, but they hardened further.
He carefully dribbled a spoonful of cherries down her abdomen, then set the pie aside. He leaned over her and grinned.
"You are the sexiest dessert I've ever seen."
She was no longer aware of the oaken planks against her backside. The look in his eyes made her body melt, made her forget everything except him. He lowered his head, and she felt her eyelids flutter shut.
Cherries were good.
Cherries and nipples were better.
Clark-- Kal-- licked the cherries off Chloe's breast, very carefully. The crimson cherries looked so red against her pale skin, and they tasted so good, like cherries on vanilla ice cream. Except her freshly washed skin wasn't cold, but warm and so damn soft...
He could feel his body responding to the fruit, could feel his befogged mind beginning to fill up with perceptions of her, as if nothing else in the world mattered. The buzz began to expand again, until it filled him right down to his toes.
Beneath his tongue, her nipples felt hard, rigid and crinkled and eager for the touch of his tongue. She was very clearly turned on, and that made him ache worse than before. He wanted to just clamber onto the table, let himself drop down between her legs, and--
But no. Even in his current inebriated state, he wasn't going to do that. He remembered his own words: That was just an appetizer, baby. Now it's time for the real meal.
He didn't get on the red stuff very often, and he wanted to savor this experience as long as possible. He wanted to come as hard as he had last time, or, if it was possible, even harder.
And as an added bonus, he was damn well going to make her come just as hard.
He drew her nipple into his mouth and suckled until she moaned and shivered beneath him, her fingers digging cruelly into his hair. Fortunately, since he was invulnerable, it didn't bother him. When she began to writhe and cry out, he thoughtfully attended to the needs of her other nipple.
And then he followed the trail of cherries... downward.
By the time he got past her navel (carefully licking every bit of the sticky residue away), she was gasping and begging for release in ragged, incoherent bursts of words. He let his mouth caress over her golden curls, and then returned to what he'd been doing in the shower.
She wailed and arched beneath him... and came like a rocket.
The orgasm he'd made her wait for exploded through her, in hot bursts of sensation that threatened to burn her into ash. She was aware of her own voice raised in desperate cries, could feel herself shuddering, but she couldn't control any of it, her voice or her muscles or her reactions.
She was totally under Clark's command.
Just like last time, he didn't stop, and she came again and again, each time more intense than the last. At last the pleasure faded into sweet afterglow, despite his very determined efforts, and she collapsed back against the table, desperately dragging in oxygen in harsh gasps, feeling like her bones had somehow been transformed into Jell-o.
He leaned over her, his eyes flaming crimson.
"God, you're hot," he said, his voice a soft, leonine purr. "Making you come is the hottest damn thing in the world."
She didn't say anything, because she couldn't. Her muscles were lax, her chest still heaving. She wanted to tell him that he was hot, too, that his bare, glistening chest and rigid, gleaming cock were impossibly sexual, that she'd never wanted another man the way she wanted him, and never would, because there could not possibly be a sexier man on the face of the planet.
She wanted to tell him that she loved him more than anything else in the world, that what she felt for him wasn't merely physical, but something so far beyond that she didn't even know what to call it.
But forming coherent sentences was far, far beyond her. She only closed her eyes and gave a faint moan.
And then he was yanking her ass to the edge of the table, lifting her legs and pressing them against his chest, so that her feet stuck straight up in the air. She blinked, because this was an awkward position she wasn't terribly fond of. But he pressed against her, the hot, hard tip of his cock right up against her soft flesh, and any objections she might have made faded. She was, she thought, beyond arousal, but the feeling of his body against her... wow. She certainly wasn't going to voice an objection.
"So... goddamn... wet," he rasped out through bared teeth.
She couldn't move in this position, couldn't do anything but relax and let him fuck her. Which was, she thought, the point. He liked being in control when he was on red K. He liked being the boss, the alpha male, the dominator, in a way he wasn't when he was plain old Clark Kent.
He flexed his hips, sliding into her a little further, and she sighed.
Another stream of curse words came from him. She smothered a smile, because ordinarily Clark hardly cussed at all. She always found his tendency toward foul language under red K to be rather funny.
"More," she whispered, and let her inner muscles squeeze him.
He groaned, and gave her more, slipping into her a little more deeply. She squeezed him again, very deliberately, and he gasped and trembled.
"Slow," he growled, his voice low and hoarse. "This time, we're taking it slow. Slow, damn it."
"Slow," she agreed. "I'd like this to last all night."
He uttered another groan. "All night," he echoed. "God, yes, Chlo... all night long..."
She squeezed him again. "I'd like you to make love to me endlessly, Clark. Just like this... slow and deliberate and sweet... all night long..."
His hips jerked, and suddenly he was deep inside her. This position let him be inside her so deeply it was almost painful. But not quite. He seemed to stroke something deep inside her, and she shuddered, feeling a sudden gush of wet warmth inside.
He felt it too, because he trembled harder. "Slow," he whispered again, withdrawing and thrusting into her very slowly and very carefully. "Slow..."
She squeezed him again, and his determination to make love to her all night seemed to crumble into dust. Suddenly he was thrusting into her, hard and fast, his voice lifting. She cracked open her eyes and saw that his heavily muscled chest was wet with sweat, his eyes flaming red, his mouth open as he gasped for breath.
He was stroking that spot deep inside, and she could feel her body responding, could feel the gushes of warm moisture and the clenching of her muscles. She could hardly believe she could come again so soon, but she felt the tension in her body twisting tighter and tighter, like a coiled spring.
And then all the tension broke, and yet another explosion of heat filled her, dragging another cry from her. At the same instant Clark gave a hoarse shout of rapture, and his hips moved in irregular, spasmodic thrusts. She felt the spurt of his come deep inside her, heard his shout rise almost to a wail.
His orgasm lasted for long moments, as they tended to do on red K, until his body shook with the force of the storm that battered him. At last his violent thrusts slowed, then stopped, and he leaned forward, shaking, both hands resting heavily on the table on either side of her. She forced her eyelids open and stared at him. He looked... odd.
"Clark?" she inquired softly. "You okay?"
His eyelids flickered, just enough that she could see his eyes were reverting to emerald. He'd burned off the red K.
And then, slowly, his knees gave out, and he fell to the floor, unconscious.
He rose out of a dark void, following the sound of her voice. He opened his eyes and saw her leaning over him, her golden eyes wide with anxiety, her blonde hair mussed.
His gaze roved downward a little further, and he noticed she was naked. He approved of that. There were definitely worse things than waking up to a nude Chloe Sullivan.
Although come to think of it, he wasn't quite sure when he'd gone to sleep.
"What happened?" he mumbled, or meant to. His voice sounded fuzzy to his own ears, and he was pretty sure what he'd actually said was Whuh appeh?
"You passed out," she said, frowning worriedly. Her hand stroked his hair as if she were trying to reassure both of them. "That's never happened before, Clark. Never."
He frowned, and tried to sit up. His head rewarded him for the effort with a stab of pain. He clutched at it. Ow. Invulnerable people weren't supposed to have headaches, damn it.
"I guess I've never had this much red K before," he muttered. holding onto his head so it wouldn't fall off. "I mean, this felt like a lot. More than the energy drink, and def... def..." Irritated by his inability to get the multisyllabic word out, he sounded it out very carefully. "Def-in-ite-ly more than the ice cream. I think maybe I had a little more than I should've."
"Clark." She gave him a reproving frown. "Any red K is too much, and you know it."
He closed his eyes, thinking about the last tremendous orgasm that had racked him. He'd never in his life felt such a total release. He was so rarely able to let himself go so completely, to just let himself be that way.
"I know," he said meekly. "But every now and then..."
"Clark." He could hear the disapproval in her voice. "It's dangerous. We don't know enough about it. I mean, look, you're on the floor. You passed out."
"I think..." He swallowed, because his stomach was bouncing around in a really unpleasant way. He'd felt sort of like this after his experience with the Cherry Red energy drink, but not quite to this extent. "I think maybe I have a hangover."
"A hangover?" She considered that, and a glint of amusement entered her golden eyes. "Do you have a headache?"
"Oh, God, yes."
"Does everything sound too loud?"
"You mean the way you're screeching in my ear? Yeah."
"How about your stomach? Do you feel nauseated?"
He considered that. "I'm not sure what nauseated feels like."
"It feels like all that cherry pie you ate might come back up if you move."
"Oh." He contemplated the weird bouncing feeling in his stomach. "Yeah, I think I am."
"Good." She sank back on her haunches and gave him an evil grin. "You deserve it."
"Chloe," he whined. "That's a mean attitude. I'm dying here."
"I don't think so. You just have a hangover."
"I can't have hangovers. I'm invulnerable."
"Not to kryptonite, you're not." She grinned more broadly, and, he noticed with a wince, made no effort whatsoever to lower her voice. "Serves you right for being such a bad boy."
He put an arm over his eyes, trying to block out the painful brightness of the kitchen, and sighed. "It was worth it," he said softly. "It was fun."
"Yes. It was. And now you've learned a valuable lesson, one that you should have learned a long time ago. You need to avoid red K."
"You're right," he admitted meekly, moving the arm just enough that he could meet her gaze.
She frowned at him suspiciously, and he recognized that she knew him better than he knew himself. Right now, he definitely felt like red K was something he should avoid at all costs. His head ached and his stomach was doing this weird roiling thing and he just basically felt like crap.
But even so, he had a feeling that the next time he saw cherries from Hobb Farm, he'd forget all that.
She must have read that in his eyes, because she laughed a soft, wry laugh.
"Good thing cherries aren't in season very long," she said softly, brushing the damp hair off his forehead. "Or you might just become a cherry-holic."
"I don't think so." He sat up, despite the pain arrowing through his skull, and gazed into her eyes. "I admit it, Chloe, I like to lose control every now and then. I do. I always have to be so controlled that it's kind of nice to let it all go every now and then."
"I get that," she said, nodding. "Really, I do."
He knew she did. She understood him better than anyone else on the planet ever could. That was just one of the things he loved about her.
"So yeah," he said, going on in spite of the relentless, painful throbbing in his head. "The cherries are fun, every now and again. But you want to know the honest truth?"
He put an arm around her, looked down into her eyes, and spoke very seriously.
"The only thing I'm really addicted to... is you."