Chlark Fanfic: The Perfect Gift, Chapter 7
Hey everyone! The trusting soul with the unsecured Wireless internet came through for me this evening, so I've decided to gift you all with another chapter of The Perfect Gift.
Enjoy!
Title: The Perfect Gift (a.k.a Five Times Clark got Chloe a Birthday Pressie)
Author: BabyDee
Pairing: Chlark
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Graphic Sex
Timeline: Seasons 1 - 5
Disclaimer: All characters belong to the CW & DC comics.
Summary: Clark attempts to get the perfect birthday present for Chloe, with hilarious results.
Feedback: I love it. J
Read previous chapter here.
Read story from the beginning here.
Chapter 7
The Fourth Pressie
The 1899 Underwood Antique Typewriter: Part 3
Ow.
His head was pounding. It was the strangest sensation he’d ever experienced. It felt like there was an army of tiny construction workers in his brain, and all of them were using their jackhammers at the same time on the same spot.
This must be what a headache feels like, he surmised. Which meant something was definitely wrong. He never got ill, unless kryptonite was involved, but he hadn’t suffered the ill effects of kryptonite for a while now.
He sat up gingerly, crawled out of the stall and surveyed the barn. And blanched.
There were half-naked bodies everywhere, sleeping in tangled disarray amidst underwear and hay. Startled, he shot to his feet, groaning as the construction workers in his head picked up the pace of their hammering against his skull.
Good heavens, did he have a hangover? Surely the punch hadn’t been laced that heavily?
Just then, his cellphone rang in his pants pocket. Thank goodness he still had his pants on, at least. He studied the caller ID and cringed, putting on his most innocent voice as he answered the phone.
“Dad!” he greeted with false enthusiasm. “How are things with you and Mom?”
“It’s been a while since we did anything on our own as a couple, so it’s like a second honeymoon for us,” his father replied, sounding healthy and happy. “And what about you, Clark? Teenager, home alone…you haven’t been throwing any wild parties while we’ve been away, have you?”
Clark gulped, remembering his blatantly erotic dance with his two favourite girls. He’d been the juicy meat in a writhing Chlana sandwich.
“Of course not,” he lied, hoping his dad’s overdeveloped sense of fatherly intuition couldn’t detect his bullshit down the phone.
“So, how did the meeting go with the college football scout?” Jonathan Kent went on. “I hope you made an impression on the fellow.”
Clark swallowed as he fished out a scarlet bra from a haystack. The football scout had shown up last night, and…
Oh, dear God. He’d asked the man to join him in grinding against two high school girls.
“Oh…yeah,” he said, tip-toeing out of the barn as the slumbering mass of half-naked human flesh began to stir. “I definitely made an impression.”
“I’m so pleased to hear that, son,” Jonathan replied, his voice filled with fatherly pride. “I’m sure he realises what a fine, upstanding young man you are. The Sharks would be honoured to have you on their team.”
Clark flushed as a nubile young thing clad in the bottom half of the scarlet bra and nothing else jogged past him, her hands covering her exposed breasts.
“”Listen, Dad, I need to finish the chores. Could I call you back later?” he said, desperate for a reprieve.
“Sure. I’ll let your mother know everything’s fine on the homefront.”
Guiltily, Clark hung up the phone and scratched his head in puzzlement.
What on earth had gotten into all of them last night? He didn’t think he was drunk or intoxicated, because he could remember the events of the previous day in startling detail; what he couldn’t begin to fathom was why he’d succumbed to such hedonistic behaviour.
Speaking of hedonism…
Clark’s body grew warm and tight as his brain replayed in startling clarity every moment he’d spent in the barn stall with Chloe. Somehow, he’d wound up having mutual oral sex with his best friend last night. Far from being an awkward, shy and bumbling encounter, he’d loved every minute of it…and judging from her ardent responses, Chloe had, too.
He had absolutely no idea where they were going to go from here. Things with Chloe were awkward enough on the relationship front because of the cheerleader juice incident, and they were just beginning to find their rhythm again. Would she believe him if he indicated that he might want to take things further with her?
Clark ran a hand through his hair and exhaled roughly. His friendship with Chloe was the one thing he treasured above all else. Rocking the boat on that front could turn out to be disastrous, but after last night’s dalliance, the issue had to be addressed.
And apart from that, there was still the very serious problem of the surly-faced college football scout. If the man handed in a report detailing last night’s findings to the University, he could kiss his much-needed college scholarship goodbye.
Clark sighed again and ran a hand through his hair. The timing of this couldn’t have been worse.
Timing…
His blood ran cold as he began to connect the dots. Yesterday had been…
Chloe’s birthday.
“Oh, God.” He closed his eyes and sighed deeply.
The Birthday Curse appeared to have struck again, only this time, he hadn’t even needed to present her with a gift.
Where was Chloe, anyhow? He hadn’t spotted her amongst the half-naked females in the barn, and now that he’d made the birthday connection, he was beginning to get a tad worried - especially after all they’d gotten up to last night.
Quickly he dialled her number, drumming his fingers on the staircase as he waited for her to pick up.
She answered on the third ring. “Hey Clark!” she said gaily. “Thanks for yesterday. Great party, huh?”
“Some would call it that,” he said cautiously. “Listen, um…is everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything’s peachy. Why?”
“Well…considering the history I have with your birthdays, I just wanted to check up on you.” He paused, then continued. “And also, because…I mean, yesterday, you and I, we…uh…um…”
“Oh, that,” she said flippantly. “It was just a bit of fun on my birthday, Clark. Don’t worry, I don’t expect you to ask for my hand, or anything.”
He hesitated, torn between relief and regret. “Well…as long as things don’t get awkward between us…”
She snorted down the line. “Why, because we felt each other up? It was a party, Clark, and we had fun. Nothing more.”
They’d done a whole lot more than just feel each other up, but if she didn’t think it was anything that needed talking about, then he wouldn’t push her.
“Well…okay, then,” he said, feeling inexplicably disappointed. “As long as you’re sure…”
“Sure I’m sure. See ya later!” The line went dead.
He shut his cellphone and frowned. This certainly wasn’t Chloe’s usual m.o. when confronted with awkward. True, she had a cast iron defence mechanism that consisted of denial and false cheerfulness, but the girl on the phone had sounded genuinely carefree.
Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, and that this was just the tip of the iceberg.
He sighed and returned to the task of cleaning up and evacuating the barn. He had a massive task ahead, and he still had to figure out how to reschedule with the Met U scout…and make sure he didn’t blow it this time.
***
After cleaning the barn and the house from top to bottom, Clark had finally come up with the idea of seeing if Lex could use his connections to pull a few strings on his behalf. It was tough, swallowing his pride and going crawling to Lex for favours, but he was desperate, and, he discovered, not beyond shame.
Strains of classical piano filled the air as he made his way to Lex’s study. Clark knocked humbly on the door, and waited for a response, but there was none.
“Lex? Can I come in?” he called.
No answer. Tentatively he pushed the door open and stepped into the cavernous room. Lex was seated at the cherrywood piano, his back to him as he concentrated on the complicated piece.
“Um…Lex, I was wondering if I could ask a favour,” he began hesitantly. “I was supposed to have this meeting with a football scout from Met U at the house, and he came by yesterday as planned…only, things got a little wild at Chloe’s party, and he may have gotten the wrong impression about me.”
Lex didn’t say anything. He hunched over the piano and played louder, the music sounding more ominous than relaxing.
“I wouldn’t normally ask this of you, but I’m in danger of losing my football scholarship,” he went on. “I was thinking…you have some influence at Metropolis University, it being your alma mater. If you’d be kind enough to put in a good word for me with the scout, he might consider rescheduling the meeting. It’d mean a lot to me, Lex, and…”
He trailed off, frowning as he watched Lex tilting oddly on the piano stool. There was something off about the way he was playing; he looked exhausted, but determined to continue.
“Lex?” he asked, approaching him cautiously. “Lex, is everything okay?”
As he got to Lex’s side, the other man looked up at him. Clark stopped short, and his eyes widened in shock. Lex’s own eyes were red-rimmed, and he looked wild, confused and completely dishevelled. Clark glanced at the piano keys, and a cold shiver ran through him.
Every single key was coated in blood from Lex’s bleeding fingers.
“Lex!” he exclaimed, laying a hand on his forearm. “Lex, you need to stop playing - you’re hurt!”
“I can’t,” the other man replied raggedly.
“What do you mean, you can’t?” Clark asked, perplexed. Lex’s only answer was to pound the keys harder, wincing as his battered fingers endured even more abuse.
Clark grabbed hold of Lex’s arms and tried to pull him away from the piano, but Lex struggled against him, as though compelled to pound the ivories. With a massive push, Clark shoved the piano away from Lex and tackled him to the floor when he made to follow the large instrument.
“Stop fighting me, Lex! Just calm down!” Clark grunted to the struggling man beneath him.
After about ten harrowing seconds, the tension in Lex’s body eased, and he collapsed onto the marble floor.
“Lex, what happened?” Clark asked. “Something’s wrong with you. How long have you been playing?”
“Since yesterday,” he managed to croak. “I tried to stop, but I just couldn’t.”
“Who did this to you?” Clark asked, a feeling of dread settling over him.
“Lana,” he croaked. “But there’s something wrong with her, she’s not herself. I think she’s been possessed by the spirit of a 17th century witch, called Isobel Thoreaux.”
Clark’s blood ran cold as he remembered Chloe’s words from the day before.
Isobel needs you pure, or the spell will be broken.
“My God,” he whispered. That would seem to explain the out-of-control party; they’d all been under a pleasure spell. It also explained his lack of inhibition and caution, and the francophone sexually-liberated Chloe.
It hadn’t been Chloe at all.
It had been the spirit of a witch using Chloe’s body as a meatsuit.
Clark scratched his head and frowned hard. He didn’t know how he was supposed to feel about this particular turn of events. Sure, he was horrified to realise he’d gotten it on with a pre-historic twat, but at the same time, it was Chloe’s body he’d been making love to. That definitely counted for something in the grand scheme of things, but it made the inevitable confrontation that much harder to work around. How much would Chloe herself remember of their erotic encounter? And if she had no memory of his intimate attentions, should he enlighten her, or leave her to be happy in her ignorance?
Swallowing, he turned to Lex and helped him to his feet.
“Let’s get you some help for those hands,” he said grimly, supporting the other man’s tired weight. “And you can tell me everything I need to know about those French hags.”
***
Chapter 8…