The Absence of Chloe - SUBSTITUTION Five
SUBSTITUTION Five (Day 14)
She watches him in the days following Martha’s departure. Silently observing his comings and goings, his inert meandering. He goes to the Talon everyday, twice a day. Everyday he brings back a container of coffee. Everyday he stows it away in his loft. She notices, he’s more alert now. More aware in the three days since Martha left. Observant, though still unaffected, seemingly indifferent to the world around him. Thankfully there haven’t been any further outbursts of anger, but with the loss of anger, loss of all emotion has also gone. He’s stoic. A drone, moving about his routine with precision, executing his tasks with an exact perfunctory manner. Each day she watches him, as promised to Martha, as promised to Lara and each day she becomes increasingly concerned.
He doesn’t speak, doesn’t converse, doesn’t interact, he merely exists. Almost as if he’s resident to his own body, resident to his own life. Kara notices. He doesn’t stay in the house for long periods of time, choosing to spend his time in his loft. The times he has no choice but to be in the house, he moves around with a permanent scowl etching his features. He’s not happy. For Kara this knowledge is easy to grasp. She wonders as she continues her study of him, does he realize it is unhappiness he feels?
She can see him, she can hear him. At night, he hardly sleeps. When he finally succumbs, his rest is fitful, until he wakes quietly in the middle of the night and exits the darkened farm house. She watches him during the day, until she is forced not to, until she, herself is forced to interact with the world. What she sees, what she notices is that he barely eats, he hardly sleeps and he works the farm and sits with his pet, and it’s all duty. But underneath, Kara sees something more, something barely contained, a restlessness hidden directly under his skin, simmering below the surface. A restlessness that’s only given in to at night when presumably the world is asleep. Silently, Kara continues to wonder, and continues to be dismayed.
She finds him in his loft, of course. Collapsed on the old worn sofa, head back, staring up at the rafters, or possibly beyond, Kara can’t tell. She stops at the landing, with a quick glance to the desk she calculates 15 coffee cups which accounts for the smell of café permeating the air. Underneath the heavy aroma, her preternatural senses pick up the slight traces of souring cream. This has to end.
Approaching him slowly, as if cautious to break the stillness surrounding them, Kara speaks. "Are you planning on relocating up here permanently?"
"Possibly." Clark answers lowly.
Silence settles, what can she say. She’s hesitant to disturb him, but remembers her promise.
"I thought you were at the Talon." He states, head still upturned toward the sky. Kara’s unsure if he's merely stating a fact or if it's an invitation to engage in conversation. She hopes for the latter, but is certain it’s the former.
"I was." She replies, moving closer to his unmoving form. "I’m on my break." Kara looks down at the coffee cup in her hands. "I brought you something."
He knows what it is. He could smell it as she inched closer. "Put it over there." He instructs, still motionless
Kara doesn’t have to ask where 'there' is. it’s more than obvious. She walks toward the Talon container laden desk and adds her offering to his collection. Turning back toward him, she pauses. Her eyes searching him for... anything. Any sign of life. "You should move these to the refrigerator." She advises.
Clark responds with silence. He mulls it over. The cream is starting to sour.
"Have you eaten?" She settles on an innocent question. Trying to draw him out, something, anything will do. Just react, she pleads.
"Not hungry." He says flatly.
Kara nods. She did ask, yet expected that answer. For the last three days that has been his customary reply.
"I know what my mom asked you to do Kara. Thanks, but I don’t need you to look after me." His voice is steady, monotone, not a hint of accusation.
"Kal..." She breathes, taking a seat at the edge of the sofa, she's sure to keep her distance. "... I did not only promise Aunt Martha, but I promised Aunt Lara. I would look out for you regardless, even if..." She trails off, reluctant to finish the statement. She doesn't wish to anger him.
After a beat, he intones, lowering his head to look at her for the first time since she'd arrived. "If what? Even if I weren’t acting like myself?"
"Kal-El..." Kara sighs, noticing the involuntary wince in his muscles at the use of his Kryptonian name. Her eyes narrow with inquisition. "Why haven’t you been acting like yourself?"
Clark stares at her for a long moment, not knowing what to say, uncertain of the answer. Has he not been acting like himself? If not who has he been for the last few days? How does he explain this to her, if he can't understand it himself. He feels foreign in his own body... alien. Yet still himself. He drops his head back onto the sofa as if the weight is too heavy for his neck to sustain, eyes once again drawn to the skies, he replies quietly. "I don’t know who I am anymore."
His words strike a memory deep in the hollows of her mind. She's heard those words before on Krypton, heard that same defeated tone. Jena-Pax, her good friend lost her bonded mate in a Kryptonian war. Kara remembers sitting with her in the aftermath, she's never forgotten the lost look on her friends face or the dry words from her lips. 'I feel my death Kara Zor-El. I don’t know who I am anymore.' Tears prick Kara's eyes at the memory. She shakes her head to regain focus. This is not the same. Kal is not bonded to anyone. There has been no ceremony or exchange of vows, or consummation... well as far as she knows. It's a completely different situation. What's happening to her cousin is beyond her. She needs more information.
"What do you mean Kal?" She probes lightly.
:"I've been having these dreams." Clark blurts out, then stops. He's not about to tell Kara about his dreams. The dreams that have become more and more vivid. More and more sensual. They're no longer glimpses or impressions he can vaguely recall, the last few dreams have been clear and alive and increasingly intense. Clark can remember it all in his waking hours. The feel, the sounds, the emotions, it's all changing him from the inside; awakening something real and powerful in him, something he has only felt a few times in his life. Something he's tried to suppress and deny ever since his father or more accurately Jonathan Kent showed him his spaceship.
"What dreams Kal?" Kara interrupts his reverie. Bringing him back to her, the loft and away from his nightly mental jaunts.
Clark doesn't respond. The dreams are his and his alone. He'll not share them with her, she'd never understand. Shit! He doesn't even understand.
She tries again. "Are these dreams the reason for your restlessness? Why you hardly sleep during the night? Where do you go Kal-El?"
Clark flinches again and shuts his eyes at the use of his name. That name that she uses in his fantasies. Are they even fantasies? No, they're more. More real. More meaningful. Affecting him even in his waking hours. Confusing him and changing him.
Processing his cousin's question, he wants to answer, but is dubious of it. The simple answer would be, yes. However, Clark's aware that there is no simple answer. For the past few nights, he's awoken immediately after every dream, with a sense of idleness, an anxiety he couldn't quite lay claim to. A sensation that forced him up and out every time. He would run, with no particular destination in mind, usually finding himself on patrol, looking for danger, needing to help. Needing to still the disquiet bubbling in him. Whatever it is that's taking him over from the inside needs to be appeased, unfortunately his escapades at night only helped slightly. He isn't complete, and this feeling of incompletion is drowning him wholly.
"Kal?" Kara prods. Laying a gentle hand on his arm to reclaim his attention.
"I go running." He finally replies. That's the answer. Simple and to the point.
It's not enough. She needs more information, unfortunately her cousin is not very forthcoming. Kara stills for a moment, letting the uncomfortable quiet settle. She wants to know more. She wants to help him.
"I've noticed..." She begins, letting out a slow breath. Kara remains cautious of her words, not wanting to provoke him in either direction. "... your uneasiness in the house. Do these..." she struggles, a grimace forms on her face, she’s already sensed his aversion to the topic, but she needs to know. "...dreams, have anything to do with your apparent discomfort?" She asks.
"No." His response is flat and concise.
"Then..." A frown forms in her confusion.
The sudden movement of Clark raising his head cuts off her words. He meets her eyes directly. Searchingly, he wants to speak, he wants to share what's going on. He needs to talk to someone, he wishes desperately for the one he can't speak to right now. This he can share and Kara will do. He has no other option and hopefully she can tell him what to do. "It's not the dreams... it's something... something else." He informs lowly.
"What is it Kal?"
"I just can't be there." He explains, eyes shifting to the now 16 undisturbed containers of coffee. "I can't be around her." He admits. "It's her fault..." Clark pauses, fisting his hands at his sides. Finally, Kara reflects, a sign of emotion. She opens her mouth to inquire 'who' but Clark isn't done yet. "...if it hadn't been for Lana... Chl..Chl..." he struggles to say her name, a pained expression on his face. It hurts too much to say her name. He recognizes how undeserving he is of it. "...she would still be here. If it weren't for her!" He nearly growls. And it's the truth, his truth. He can't help it. Hating the way he feels toward Lana, it shouldn't be so. But he can't fight the anger and resentment he feels churning in him every time he sees her, is around her. If she had not done what she... did, Chloe would still be in his life. If she hadn't done what she did, Chloe wouldn't have had to make a choice. Chloe would be here, by his side, in his life if not for her, and he hates Lana for it. And hates himself for hating Lana for it. He can't help it, and it's killing him.
Kara nods. She's beginning to understand. She'd known that her cousin and his best friend had had a falling out of sorts. She 'd known that Chloe hadn't been around the farm and refused to speak about her cousin because of it... but this? It makes sense, and Kara's pained by it. It's not right for him to feel so unsettled in his own home.
"Kal." She calls, seeking to regain his attention. His gaze is back on his desk, eyes unfocused. Kara breathes, disheartened and slightly sick from what she's about to say. "Kal, you have to forgive her if you are to continue your alliance with her."
Clark's brows furrow incredulously at her words. He almost wants to laugh. Kara is the last person he would suspect of advocating his relationship with Lana. "You don't even like her." He informs, not accusing. It's a known fact.
"This is true." Kara admits, a slow smile creeping to her lips. "I have no patience for your pe... chosen." She amends not hiding her disdain for the word used to describe the tiny brunette annoyance. "But she is your chosen..."
"Is she?" Clark whispers to himself. Head falling once again to the sofa tiredly.
Kara is stunned silent for a beat. What can she say to that? His words were not intended for her to hear, she could tell that much but... but what really? It doesn't change his actions.
"Kal, right now, she is who you chose. Now, I am not a fan of..." She lets out an exasperated breath, "...Lana, but it is unfair of you to ignore her. It is disgraceful to abuse your commitment this way. If she is who you are with, you must treat her as such... or let her go." Kara advises. Once again, revealing a maturity to Clark that far surpasses her youthful looks.
Kara's right. He's a horrible boyfriend. He's so confused, he doesn't know which end is up anymore. He can't determine what he wants, shit he can't even tell who he is anymore. Everything is so unfocused. But he has to try. He owes it to himself and to Lana to try. That's the right thing to do. Right?
---
Later that day, he finds himself chaperoning Lana to a little boutique on Main Street. Clark's attempt to be more in the present, to pay more attention to his girlfriend. She's shopping for something, a dress, a night shift, lingerie, he's not sure. Personally he doesn't really care. He's here and that's all that really matters. At times she models the skimpy outfits for him. Some see through, some really short and revealing, he guesses she's trying to seduce him, much to his disgust... honestly, her attempts are falling very very flat. Only succeeding in pushing him towards his loft and his quiet solitude. Clark breathes deep. He has to try though. This is the choice he's made. He's stuck.
While Lana locks herself in the dressing room, frustrated at Clark's refusal to join her, he walks the tiny store, scanning over the assortment of women's clothing. He comes to a halt, eyes locking on a little slip of material. That is what it is really, a barely there night garment. Although he can't deny the little sliver of fabric is sexy as hell, it's the color that grabs his attention. A transient green, shimmering in the afternoon light. Clark's hypnotized. It's the color of her eyes. The color of life and energy and truth. He can't help but to imagine Chloe wearing it, and instantly his body responds. Hardening at the imagery.
---
He was right. Clark's eyes devour her trim body laying invitingly on his bed. The soft evanescent green of the lingerie painted to her curves. It's a short slip of a gown, falling to her hip and the covering of the v-neck dips so low he can see the mounds of her supple breasts. He breathes, trying to steady his body's answer to her call. Chloe's too beautiful to look at, her milky skin, glistening against the crimson of his sheets. The green in the slip making her eyes radiant and electric as they too study him. A sultry grin curves her mouth as his breathing speeds up. She's his wood nymph, his pixie. Clark kneels on the bed, his hands skimming the soft flesh of her calves as he approaches her.
"I want you." He whispers. Placing a chaste kiss on her thigh. His breath coming in pants. She is glorious.
"You have me." Chloe answers.
"Only here though." He ripostes. And it's true, out there she's not with him. Clark's beginning to understand that. He cherishes these moments, the times where only they exist. Both hands trailing up her calves to her thighs, he lifts her knees to cradle him. To hug him as he moves closer. He needs to get closer, to feel her.
"Possibly." She says.
He can feel something inside of him shifting, rearranging. It's beginning again, still a little uncomfortable, but he's becoming used to the feeling. Used to the burning transformation that starts, when they become intimate. Clark's accepted it now, though disorienting, he couldn't fight it if he tried. He needs her, he can't stay away, he doesn't want to. He places a lingering kiss on lower lips. She's open for him, ready. He licks his lips moaning at the taste of her. The satin feel of her under his large hands, the taste of her on his tongue. He's drowning, and all he can do is beg for more. She's a feast for his eyes and mouth. God, he's so hungry for her. Whatever it is inside of him, needs this... will not be satisfied until complete. He craves the completion. His body hums and his erection throbs for it. More.
Taking a deep breath, he needs more of her, all of her. His hands raise to meet his mouth, parting her folds. Flicking his tongue over her clit, once, twice. His insides are inflamed, pulsing with need. Clark grinds his hips into the mattress. He's so hard, it's painful. Longing to submerge himself inside of her, but he will not be diverted from his task. Her spicy taste is intoxicating. Exploding on his tongue, he thirsts for it. His lips close around her tiny nub, sucking and caressing with his tongue, and Chloe writhes above him. Her hands find his hair, nails digging into his scalp. All of this incites him further.
Clark's scorching now. The dragging and shifting on the inside, pushing him. Needing more. More fuel, more of her. He moves his hand, fingering her entrance, as he continues to lathe her clit with affection. His fingers enter her slowly, tentatively and damn ... she's so hot, so wet and wonderfully tight. So tight his head reels from the promise of how she will feel surrounding his cock. He pulls away, the thought overwhelming him, he can't breathe. Clark hasn't had much experience when it comes to sex, but he knows from her body's response she wants him as much as he craves her. This knowledge overpowers him. He suddenly feels very unworthy. How can one be worthy of the sun? Clark frowns down at her. The movement in his depths still for a moment. He doesn't deserve Chloe. She's so much better than him, so much more than what he deserves.
Chloe gazes at him knowingly. Reaching a hand out, she beacons. "Come here Kal-El."
Clark goes willingly, he can't resist her, he doesn't want to. At the touch of her hand on his arm, gliding to his back, he wants to cry. She's too perfect.
Chloe kisses his lips gently. Shushing his mind, calming his insecurity. One hand on his cheek another running up and down his spine. Their eyes lock for an eternity. "Touch me." She whispers against his lips.
"Where?" He breathes.
"Anywhere... everywhere." And he does. Clark moves his hands up her sides, massaging and kneading her satiny skin. One hand settles on her breast, as he lowers his face to hers, joining their lips. Clark kisses her lightly at first, just a brush, then becomes more persistent as the internal shift begins again. She opens her mouth beneath his, provoking a moan from the pit of his stomach when their tongues meet and tangle together. Their mouths lock feverishly, hungrily. He can't get enough. Clark moves his hips insistently against her warmth. Hot, he's so hot for her, inside and out. His hand tweaks her nipple, rolling the hardened nub between his fingers.
Chloe sucks his bottom lip into her mouth, biting lightly. The pressure forcing him to buck harder against her. She meets him when he pushes down, rolling her hips into him. Clark can't take it, he cries out at the blissful sensation. Calling her name, as the fires inside of him blaze ferociously. His mouth moves to her neck, feeling her pulse beneath his lips, calling him, whispering for him to claim her.
Lowering his hand to her core once again, his finger entering her heated center. He moves his mouth to her breast, licking and sucking the downy flesh, drawing her nipple into his mouth, while he adds a second finger to the first. So hot! His insides clawing and scorching, he groans at that sensation. His thumb finds her throbbing nerve and presses against it firmly, flicking and circling as his fingers continue their motion.
There's an explosive jolt inside of him, forcing him to feast harder on her bodily offering, and pump faster with his fingers. He's ravenous. Clark begins to shake above her, his insides combusting from the metamorphosis. It's too much, he draws back , releasing her nipple with a resounding pop and rises to his knees between her legs. Yet continues to rub his hard on against her violently, and thrust his fingers into her moist canal. He can't stop, he can't loose contact. Shutting his eyes tightly, teeth grinding together, jaw locked, muscles tense rigidly. He groans long and hard, trying to suppress crying out from the mixture of the unbearable pleasure and fiery pain. He needs so much more he can't stop. Doesn't want to stop. Needs completion. Needs release. His body convulses uncontrollably. Too much. He can't breathe, can't think. All he knows is the ardent fire inside of him, remaking him. All he can feel is her flaming body. Too much. Clark gasps, from the onslaught.
Chloe raises up as well to meet him, withdrawing from his questing fingers and his feverish momentum. She circles her arms around him, placing gentle affectionate kisses on his ear, temple and cheek. Soothing him. "It's OK. Kal-El." He shudders in her arms. The heat cooling to a dull ache. "You're almost there."
Chloe coaxes him to lay down. Settling beneath him, as he heaves, trying to claim a solid breath. She smooths her hands calmingly over his back. Clark lays against her chest, breathing her in. His own hands running over her flat stomach and curvy hips, while he continues to gulp for air, her heartbeat sounds in his ear, gentling the need still plaguing him.
"Almost there." She repeats softly. "Peace for now Kal-El. Just rest."
Clark closes his eyes at her prompting. He's almost there. He can feel it. Almost ready... but ready for what?