Cherry on Top

Kal/Chloe
Season 7 or thereabouts (AU)
Rating: Adult. If you're under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
Sequel to Cherry Pie.

There was only one thing Clark Kent liked more than a hot fudge sundae.

And that was a hot fudge sundae with a cherry on top.

Sitting in a booth at Friendly's, across from his girlfriend Chloe Sullivan, he carefully spooned the cherry off the top of his sundae and popped it into his mouth. He closed his eyes in bliss, chewed carefully, and swallowed it.

"Mmmmm."

Chloe chuckled. "You and cherries. Ever since the Cherry Red incident, you've had a thing for them."

He opened his eyes and grinned at her, remembering the "incident." He'd drunk an energy drink his mom had in the fridge, not realizing it was made from cherries that had absorbed red kryptonite, and the effect it had on him had been... well, it had turned a mild-mannered farmboy into a sex maniac.

He and Chloe had lost their virginity together that night. And since then, they'd had a couple more experiences with red K-laced cherries.

But this cherry was perfectly safe. It had to be. This was Friendly's in Metropolis, and the odds that they used Smallville cherries in this particular restaurant were miniscule. He just liked the way cherries tasted-- he associated them with sex and fun.

Even so, he was aware of a nice warm feeling of lassitude spreading through him. He scooped up another spoonful of whipped cream and ate it, but the mouthful of sweetness wasn't quite enough to satisfy him. He reached over and swiped her cherry.

"Hey!" she objected, trying to defend it. But he had superspeed, and she couldn't move quickly enough. The second cherry followed the first, and he sighed happily.

"Clark Kent," she said, frowning. "You stole my cherry."

"Ha," he answered with a grin. "You totally gave it to me, baby."

She blinked, and then her frown deepened. He saw her brows lower and her forehead furrow as she studied him carefully.

"Oh, no," she said at last. "Your eyes are turning red."

Huh, he thought. Who'd have guessed he might run across a Hobbs Farm cherry in Metropolis? Old Man Hobbs must have expanded his operation, because he knew she was right. He could feel the nice warm sensation swirling through him, heating him from the inside out.

The pleasant warmth began to turn into something a little more urgent, and she sighed, reading his mood change with the ease of a woman who'd known him intimately for years.

"We'd better go," she said.

"I think we'd better come," he countered.

"Clark." She leaned toward him and hissed, "This is a family restaurant. Don't you dare start doing the double entendre thing."

He looked around, seeing that a couple of booths were filled with little kids and their tired-looking parents. Even under the influence, he wasn't going to say anything he shouldn't in front of little kids. He shrugged, reached into his wallet, and tossed two twenties on the table-- enough to cover dinner and give the waitress a really nice tip.

"Okay," he said. "Let's go."

"Good idea. And keep your head down so no one notices the glowing eye thing, okay?"

He supposed that glowing ruby eyes would be kind of difficult to explain. Not that he cared all that much. Still, he didn't want to freak anyone out too badly. He got to his feet, swaying slightly, and followed Chloe from the restaurant, keeping his eyes downcast.

The minute they were outside on the street, he picked her up in his arms and swooshed.

"Hey!" she objected, looking around to see where he'd brought her. "How come you always get to run things?"

He put her down on the bed in the apartment they shared in Metropolis and grinned at her. "I like being in charge, baby."

She scowled up at him. Her golden hair was windblown from their speedy trip, and he thought it looked adorable. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe I like being in charge sometimes, too?"

He frowned, and she reached up, grabbing his arms and yanking him down onto the bed beside her. He didn't have to fall, of course, but he was more than willing to join her there. She put her hands on his shoulders and shoved him, rolling him over onto his back. And then she was climbing on top of him, her thighs on either side of his, her warm body cradling his. His eyelashes fluttered shut, and he heard himself utter a soft but extremely heartfelt moan.

"This time," she told him, "I'm going to be on top."

*****

Clark uttered a little whimper as she began to rub her body against his. Even through jeans, she could feel the heat of his erection. She rubbed a little faster, and felt him twitching through the fabric. When he was on cherries, she thought with amusement, he was spectacularly easy.

"Unhhhh," he said, and his hands reached up to grab her arms-- probably, she suspected, as a prelude to shoving her over and taking charge. She reached for his arms instead, and pinned them against the mattress.

Of course he was about a million times stronger than she was, and there was no possible way she could hold him down unless he permitted it. But she had a feeling he'd permit it.

She was right. His arms relaxed, and he let his body arch up against hers. Another low groan rumbled its way out of his chest.

She slid off him, eliciting a grumbled complaint, and rummaged in a nearby dresser drawer. Seconds later, she'd tied his arms to the bedposts with two silk scarves. Of course, he could have torn the scarves like tissue paper, but they both understood the rules of the game.

This time, she was in charge.

This time, she was going to be on top.

She settled back down onto him, her thighs on either side of his, and moved against him. Almost instantly, he was grinding against her, hard and fast, little gasps and moans escaping him, and she knew he was going to come in fifteen seconds or less if she didn't find a way to put the brakes on. She backed away from him, sliding down his thighs, and he opened his glowing red eyes and glared at her.

"See," he said, grumpily. "This is why I don't like it when you're in charge. You always stop before we get to the good part."

"If you wait a while," she said, as persuasively as she could manage, "the good part can be even better."

"Hmmmppph," he snorted.

She managed to suppress her smile, and reached out, unfastening his jeans. His eyelids drifted shut again, the long dark lashes lying against his cheeks like fans, and a long sigh slipped from between his parted lips. She unzipped his jeans, revealing red boxers with a really impressive swelling beneath them.

She let her fingers slip over the swelling, and his hard, hot flesh shuddered beneath her touch.

"I'm ready for the good part," he gritted between his teeth.

She laughed softly. "You can wait."

She pulled down the red fabric, exposing his cock, a dark, dusky pink already glistening with precome, and lowered her head. As her tongue slid over the head, he gave a low, deep groan, and his biceps flexed. She lifted her head and glared at him.

"Do not even think about tearing my good scarves," she growled. "You're not flipping me over this time. For once, I'm staying on top until the end."

He grumbled, but his arms relaxed, and she lowered her head again. Her tongue slipped over his flesh, finding all the most sensitive places with the ease of long familiarity. His big body quivered all over.

"Good. Part. Now."

"No. Relax, Clark. You know I'll let you have it eventually."

"I don't want it eventually," he grouched. "I want it right now."

More to come...