That Which Does Not Kill Us... - Bizarroe - Chlark - NC-17 - 03/04
Title: That Which Does Not Kill Us…
Author: ivorykiss
Characters: Bizarro, Chloe, Clark
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Non-con, violence, angst, hurt/comfort
Disclaimers: I don’t own them. That makes me sad.
A/N: A sequel to Every Last Twisted One of Them. Please pay attention to the warnings. Comments, critiques always welcome.
Previous: Part One, Part Two
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Something warm and moist nudged at her jaw.
Chloe turned her face away, but the persistent nudging continued, followed by a whine that echoed softly in her ear.
She opened her eyes warily and was confused by the broad expanse of bloody muscular chest that filled her vision.
Chloe blinked and tried hard to think.
Clark.
That was Clark’s chest.
That was Clark’s chest all naked and bloody and...
Oh god.
Chloe couldn’t hold back the sob that escaped her and she struggled to straighten up as memories sharpened dizzyingly into focus.
Bizarro’s laughter at her screams for Clark as he shoved her against the apartment wall. His boasts of what he had done to Clark, kissed and bitten onto her skin as he forced his way inside her body.
Chloe closed her eyes and trembled.
She ached. She burned.
And couldn’t even begin to speculate on why he wanted her alive.
Bizarro could have easily just killed her.
She forced herself to look down where she cradled Clark in her lap. Chloe gasped and fresh tears made her vision blur.
“Oh Clark,” she whispered softly as she brushed a wayward curl back from his forehead.
He was a fallen young god obscenely abused in battle, his jeans and boxers shoved around his thighs, his dirty skin painted with blood and come.
He still wasn’t breathing, but those horrifying greenish black streaks were completely faded and while his skin was still pale, at least it was no longer that scary ashen gray.
Shelby whined again and Chloe reached out and petted the old golden retriever on the head.
“Clark’s going to be okay. He’s got to be okay,” she whispered as she glanced up at the slowly lightening sky.
Chloe ignored the burning ache in her body as she carefully moved him off her lap.
The urge to wash away, to somehow protect him from Bizarro’s horrific battle flags compelled her to her feet.
“Stay with him boy,” she murmured at Shelby as she stumbled across the loft to the stairs.
Chloe had no memory of filling, let alone finding the bucket beside her. No memory of shrugging off her jacket or stripping off the remains of her ruined shirt and dipping the edge into the water.
Yet here she was, carefully washing away the dirt and blood from his painfully beautiful face as tears streaked down her own and Chloe refused to acknowledge that what she was doing was horrifyingly close to what the destines did as they wept over their fallen gods.
Chloe bit back a sob.
Clark had fallen, but he was not defeated.
He couldn’t be.
The cold clear water turned a rusty brown as she carefully washed down his neck and chest, thankful that it was revealing nothing but unmarked skin.
Suddenly Clark took a deep ragged breath and Chloe’s heart skipped a beat. His breathing quickly fell into a steady rhythm as the loft slowly filled with sunlight.
Chloe spared a grateful glance at the rose and golden streaked indigo sky as she scrubbed away the mixture of dried blood and come from his stomach.
She pushed the pail of dirty water out of her way then tugged at the plaid and denim still bunched down his thighs.
Chloe pulled them up the best she could over his hips and managed to fasten his jeans and belt despite his randomly twitching body.
His eyelids fluttered and a soft moan escaped his parted lips.
She reached out a weary hand to comfort him, to comfort herself, but her arm buckled, refusing to support her and she fell heavily across his body.
His heart beat was strong and steady under her ear and even though her vision narrowed and darkened, Chloe wasn’t afraid, for the one thought that lead her into exhausted oblivion was bright with joy.
Clark’s alive.
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