'Turning Pagan'
Happy birthday, elli darling! I hope you're having a wonderful day. I have a present for you, but it's not quite finished.
In the meantime, I have this...
Title: Turning Pagan
Author: Signe
Fandom: Smallville
Pairing: Martha/Lionel!Clark
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Transference
A/N: A missing scene from Transference.
*
Martha has no idea what's gotten into Clark.
She trembles slightly as she hurries down the steps of the barn.
It's a relief to get back into the house, alone. She hadn't said anything to Clark, hadn't wanted to embarrass him, but when he hugged her and pressed up tightly against her, she'd felt-
She tries to rationalize. He's alien after all, and they don't know what is normal for him. They don't know what's inside him, who he really is, what is right for him. Sometimes human standards simply don't fit him, however much they try to squeeze him into the mold of what they know and understand.
And he's grown so much; the little boy she gathered into her arms on the day of the meteor shower has become a handsome young man. Sometimes he reminds her of Jonathan when he was Clark's age: his strength and determination, his enthusiasm and the way he rushes recklessly into situations. Physical traits too: the curve of his shoulder when he's thinking, the spark in his eyes when he sees something he wants, when he's aroused-
Martha tries to shake the thoughts out of her head, but she can't help it.
The air feels heavy and stifling and she needs to do something, make herself stop thinking, relieve the pressure that's welling up deep inside her.
She slips upstairs quickly, but once in the bathroom shrugs off her clothes slowly, almost as though she has an audience to appreciate it. Each brush of fabric against her skin makes her shiver. Her skin is still aware of every inch that Clark touched - where he held his arms around her, where his face was buried in her hair, where her breasts were crushed against his body. And most of all, unmistakably, the feel of his erection pressed into her side.
She sets the shower running over the bath and steps under it once it's warm enough, drawing the faded shower curtain closed. She revels in the slide of water over her naked body and leans against the wall so that it catches her whole body. She doesn't feel the cold against her shoulder blades, just the slip-slide of warm water over her face and breasts and belly and thighs.
She closes her eyes, and warm arms encircle her, reaching down until hands are cupping her breasts. Her breasts feel smooth and heavy and give under the gentle pressure. The touch is patient, more patient than Martha feels. Martha has never felt less patient in her life.
A thumb rubs over first one nipple, then the other, back and forth, feather-light, knowing. Then finger and thumb, rolling the nubs between them - she arcs up into the contact, feeling her nipples swelling with the attention.
Her mouth is dry, so she opens it wide and lets water trickle in until it overflows and runs down her chin.
The water is getting hotter, but Martha barely notices - her body is already on fire and more heat won't make any difference.
One hand moves, trails over the curve of her belly, lower, pauses to press in the groove beside her pelvic bone, plays there for a while, then slides along the crease at the top of her leg until it slips between her legs.
So wet there - not water, she was already wet before she got into the shower. Her fingers are slick with her own juice.
Jonathan never does this for her, never slides his finger in patterns over the delicate folds of skin there, never makes her feel as though her pleasure is the most important thing in the world. Still, she tries to imagine that he's behind her, that she can feel his cock hard in the small of her back, that he's murmuring in her ear and nuzzling her neck. She tilts her head to one side, but all she hears is the faint sound of Clark inhaling as he sunk his face into her hair.
Her breathing flutters, and no matter how she tries, it's Clark's hands on her that she's seeing through her closed eyes, Clark's lips that she feels caressing her bare shoulders as softly as raindrops in a spring shower.
She slides down the wall, spreading her legs further apart, tilting her pelvis forward to get more of what she needs. She moves her finger in a wider arc, but it's still a tease, still not enough. Every touch against her clit brings her closer, but her finger is aching from the repetition and she's beginning to feel that this will take forever and she needs release, she needs-
"Clark," she murmurs, once, and then again. "Clark." Louder that time - she can't help herself, can't say any other name.
So close.
She can barely breathe in the steam, gulps in deep breaths of hot moist air that taste of desire and just make her need air even more.
And then the door is opening and she hears her name.
"Martha."
Almost the way he said it earlier, in the barn. But there's less fondness in the tone and more desire, and this time she doesn't correct him, doesn't say anything as she hears the whoosh of clothes being dropped at speed, doesn't say anything as the shower curtain is tugged away and he's against her and he's holding her up, lifting her and she's so wet he just slips inside like he's meant to be there. And she's full, fuller than she's ever felt before as he pounds into her, and he's all over her, surrounding her with his hands and huge arms and his body that smells of smoke from the fire he's just put out. And she's surrounding him too, legs hooked around him as though her very existence depends on holding on.
And maybe it does, or maybe Clark's does, she doesn't know, doesn't know anything any more. There's nothing beyond the feel of Clark's cock pushing in and out and his balls slapping against her and wet hair covering their faces so that Clark has to let go of her with one hand - but he's strong, that's nothing for him - to smooth away the hair and stroke her face and now she's breathing his breath and he's tasting her mouth, hard tongue probing and aggressive.
Her need is an endless rushing river and she's going under, deep underwater, and this is what drowning feels like, this roaring darkness.
He pulls out, and she whimpers. She needs to come, needs to feel him come inside her, however mad and wrong that might be. He's lifting her off him and she hasn't the strength to hold on, and she can't stand, can't try to stand upright when her whole world is spinning so fast that she doesn't know which way is up and which is down. But it doesn't matter after all, because he has hold of her hips, and he's twisting her around and resting her on the end of the bath so that he has room to drop to his knees and he's kissing the pale skin between her thighs, and murmuring how beautiful she is.
And she feels beautiful, feels like the most beautiful woman in the world. She's a goddess and she accepts the worship.
Now he's nuzzling her, nose deep in the hair between her legs, and he's breathing almost as fast as she is.
Breathing-
Sniffing-
Kissing-
Nibbling-
Spreads her wide, fingers holding her open and gently flicking his tongue against her clitoris, and he's kissing her there and she's so sensitive that it almost hurts and
oh my god
that's the best thing Martha has ever felt, and she thinks she may have blasphemed but she doesn't care. She'll turn pagan if it'll give her this for a few moments more, sell her soul for seconds. Clark's tongue is circling her clit, and his wet fingers are inside her and he's crooking his fingers until the stimulation is too much. Too much and she's shuddering and coming and she might be howling the house down for all she knows.
He doesn't stop until she's calmed down.
He's licking his lips and looking up at her when she opens her eyes. He's still hard, and for a moment she wonders what he's going to do, and then he's lifting her up again, as easily as she used to lift him. He takes her place, sitting on the rim of the bath, water spraying everywhere now the curtain is parted. She settles on his lap and looks him in the eye for the first time. He's different, his eyes darker, almost as though he's possessed by Kryptonite but Martha knows that can't be true - there's nowhere to hide it, not when he's naked underneath her.
Wants to feel him inside her again. This is what it must be like for Clark, drugged on red Kryptonite, giving in to every desire, lines blurred, boundaries broken.
She lifts her hips and takes him inside again, rises up and down, rocking back and forth.
"Harder," he begs.
She rides him harder, faster, flesh slapping against flesh as she rises and falls.
His head drops back in ecstasy and he pants out her name over and over.
He's tensing, and then she feels the warmth inside her as he comes, warmth that competes with the heat of the room. And it's turning her inside out, the madness of this, the rush of excitement and the gratification of every wrong desire she's ever had and the guilt that she knows will come once she's able to think.
Still, eventually. They rest a moment, then Clark kisses her, a bold kiss, nothing bashful or ashamed about it. She can faintly taste something bitter on his tongue - herself.
Clark gets up and dresses quickly, his good clothes dirty with soot - he looks astonished at his own speed, as though he doesn't dress that fast every day when he sleeps in late. He's almost out of the bathroom when he turns around, looks at her.
"Thank you, mom," he says deliberately, and smiles a cruel smile before exiting.
Martha lies in the bath until the water streaming over her runs cold. But it doesn't wash away the scent of sex and smoke and sweat.
She knows she'll never be clean again.
*
A bonus - illustrations!
Damn, I feel really dirty! I think I'll just go and take another shower...
In the meantime, I have this...
Title: Turning Pagan
Author: Signe
Fandom: Smallville
Pairing: Martha/Lionel!Clark
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Transference
A/N: A missing scene from Transference.
*
Martha has no idea what's gotten into Clark.
She trembles slightly as she hurries down the steps of the barn.
It's a relief to get back into the house, alone. She hadn't said anything to Clark, hadn't wanted to embarrass him, but when he hugged her and pressed up tightly against her, she'd felt-
She tries to rationalize. He's alien after all, and they don't know what is normal for him. They don't know what's inside him, who he really is, what is right for him. Sometimes human standards simply don't fit him, however much they try to squeeze him into the mold of what they know and understand.
And he's grown so much; the little boy she gathered into her arms on the day of the meteor shower has become a handsome young man. Sometimes he reminds her of Jonathan when he was Clark's age: his strength and determination, his enthusiasm and the way he rushes recklessly into situations. Physical traits too: the curve of his shoulder when he's thinking, the spark in his eyes when he sees something he wants, when he's aroused-
Martha tries to shake the thoughts out of her head, but she can't help it.
The air feels heavy and stifling and she needs to do something, make herself stop thinking, relieve the pressure that's welling up deep inside her.
She slips upstairs quickly, but once in the bathroom shrugs off her clothes slowly, almost as though she has an audience to appreciate it. Each brush of fabric against her skin makes her shiver. Her skin is still aware of every inch that Clark touched - where he held his arms around her, where his face was buried in her hair, where her breasts were crushed against his body. And most of all, unmistakably, the feel of his erection pressed into her side.
She sets the shower running over the bath and steps under it once it's warm enough, drawing the faded shower curtain closed. She revels in the slide of water over her naked body and leans against the wall so that it catches her whole body. She doesn't feel the cold against her shoulder blades, just the slip-slide of warm water over her face and breasts and belly and thighs.
She closes her eyes, and warm arms encircle her, reaching down until hands are cupping her breasts. Her breasts feel smooth and heavy and give under the gentle pressure. The touch is patient, more patient than Martha feels. Martha has never felt less patient in her life.
A thumb rubs over first one nipple, then the other, back and forth, feather-light, knowing. Then finger and thumb, rolling the nubs between them - she arcs up into the contact, feeling her nipples swelling with the attention.
Her mouth is dry, so she opens it wide and lets water trickle in until it overflows and runs down her chin.
The water is getting hotter, but Martha barely notices - her body is already on fire and more heat won't make any difference.
One hand moves, trails over the curve of her belly, lower, pauses to press in the groove beside her pelvic bone, plays there for a while, then slides along the crease at the top of her leg until it slips between her legs.
So wet there - not water, she was already wet before she got into the shower. Her fingers are slick with her own juice.
Jonathan never does this for her, never slides his finger in patterns over the delicate folds of skin there, never makes her feel as though her pleasure is the most important thing in the world. Still, she tries to imagine that he's behind her, that she can feel his cock hard in the small of her back, that he's murmuring in her ear and nuzzling her neck. She tilts her head to one side, but all she hears is the faint sound of Clark inhaling as he sunk his face into her hair.
Her breathing flutters, and no matter how she tries, it's Clark's hands on her that she's seeing through her closed eyes, Clark's lips that she feels caressing her bare shoulders as softly as raindrops in a spring shower.
She slides down the wall, spreading her legs further apart, tilting her pelvis forward to get more of what she needs. She moves her finger in a wider arc, but it's still a tease, still not enough. Every touch against her clit brings her closer, but her finger is aching from the repetition and she's beginning to feel that this will take forever and she needs release, she needs-
"Clark," she murmurs, once, and then again. "Clark." Louder that time - she can't help herself, can't say any other name.
So close.
She can barely breathe in the steam, gulps in deep breaths of hot moist air that taste of desire and just make her need air even more.
And then the door is opening and she hears her name.
"Martha."
Almost the way he said it earlier, in the barn. But there's less fondness in the tone and more desire, and this time she doesn't correct him, doesn't say anything as she hears the whoosh of clothes being dropped at speed, doesn't say anything as the shower curtain is tugged away and he's against her and he's holding her up, lifting her and she's so wet he just slips inside like he's meant to be there. And she's full, fuller than she's ever felt before as he pounds into her, and he's all over her, surrounding her with his hands and huge arms and his body that smells of smoke from the fire he's just put out. And she's surrounding him too, legs hooked around him as though her very existence depends on holding on.
And maybe it does, or maybe Clark's does, she doesn't know, doesn't know anything any more. There's nothing beyond the feel of Clark's cock pushing in and out and his balls slapping against her and wet hair covering their faces so that Clark has to let go of her with one hand - but he's strong, that's nothing for him - to smooth away the hair and stroke her face and now she's breathing his breath and he's tasting her mouth, hard tongue probing and aggressive.
Her need is an endless rushing river and she's going under, deep underwater, and this is what drowning feels like, this roaring darkness.
He pulls out, and she whimpers. She needs to come, needs to feel him come inside her, however mad and wrong that might be. He's lifting her off him and she hasn't the strength to hold on, and she can't stand, can't try to stand upright when her whole world is spinning so fast that she doesn't know which way is up and which is down. But it doesn't matter after all, because he has hold of her hips, and he's twisting her around and resting her on the end of the bath so that he has room to drop to his knees and he's kissing the pale skin between her thighs, and murmuring how beautiful she is.
And she feels beautiful, feels like the most beautiful woman in the world. She's a goddess and she accepts the worship.
Now he's nuzzling her, nose deep in the hair between her legs, and he's breathing almost as fast as she is.
Breathing-
Sniffing-
Kissing-
Nibbling-
Spreads her wide, fingers holding her open and gently flicking his tongue against her clitoris, and he's kissing her there and she's so sensitive that it almost hurts and
oh my god
that's the best thing Martha has ever felt, and she thinks she may have blasphemed but she doesn't care. She'll turn pagan if it'll give her this for a few moments more, sell her soul for seconds. Clark's tongue is circling her clit, and his wet fingers are inside her and he's crooking his fingers until the stimulation is too much. Too much and she's shuddering and coming and she might be howling the house down for all she knows.
He doesn't stop until she's calmed down.
He's licking his lips and looking up at her when she opens her eyes. He's still hard, and for a moment she wonders what he's going to do, and then he's lifting her up again, as easily as she used to lift him. He takes her place, sitting on the rim of the bath, water spraying everywhere now the curtain is parted. She settles on his lap and looks him in the eye for the first time. He's different, his eyes darker, almost as though he's possessed by Kryptonite but Martha knows that can't be true - there's nowhere to hide it, not when he's naked underneath her.
Wants to feel him inside her again. This is what it must be like for Clark, drugged on red Kryptonite, giving in to every desire, lines blurred, boundaries broken.
She lifts her hips and takes him inside again, rises up and down, rocking back and forth.
"Harder," he begs.
She rides him harder, faster, flesh slapping against flesh as she rises and falls.
His head drops back in ecstasy and he pants out her name over and over.
He's tensing, and then she feels the warmth inside her as he comes, warmth that competes with the heat of the room. And it's turning her inside out, the madness of this, the rush of excitement and the gratification of every wrong desire she's ever had and the guilt that she knows will come once she's able to think.
Still, eventually. They rest a moment, then Clark kisses her, a bold kiss, nothing bashful or ashamed about it. She can faintly taste something bitter on his tongue - herself.
Clark gets up and dresses quickly, his good clothes dirty with soot - he looks astonished at his own speed, as though he doesn't dress that fast every day when he sleeps in late. He's almost out of the bathroom when he turns around, looks at her.
"Thank you, mom," he says deliberately, and smiles a cruel smile before exiting.
Martha lies in the bath until the water streaming over her runs cold. But it doesn't wash away the scent of sex and smoke and sweat.
She knows she'll never be clean again.
*
A bonus - illustrations!
Damn, I feel really dirty! I think I'll just go and take another shower...