For rathmaria: Glass Houses, Chapter 4/4
Prompt: (by Rathmaria) - Kal did something other than kick Chloe out during Exile, preferably smutty.
Rating: Mature
Words: 9837
Chapters: 4
Glass Houses
Chapter 4
The world tilted and Chloe found herself lying on the blue cloud that was Clark's comforter with him stretched out alongside her. Clark's mouth descended over hers and obliterated the half formed objection on her lips. The haze of bliss returned. Later. She'd get her answers later.
As they kissed, they explored; the wide sweep of his hands mapping her body. Everything felt natural again. The heat between them, the need to touch, to learn, to get closer.
She scouted points of sensitivity beyond his scar, like his nipples, the side of his abdomen and the indents above his hips. He reacted openly, moaning and murmuring to let her know what he liked. They shared that trait. Just the whisper of his touch as it skimmed along the sliver of skin exposed between the bottom of her tee and the top of her skirt made her gasp.
It wasn't long before whispering touches weren't enough. Her skirt was too restrictive and she vowed never to wear anything with that high of a neckline ever again. She whimpered, this time in frustration.
"Off," she demanded. For one awful second, Clark tensed and started to pull back. She snaked her hands around his neck to keep him from leaving. "No. Help me get..." She didn't have to finish before understanding flashed on his face. He kissed her hard and it must have left her dizzy because too fast for logic, her clothing dilemma was solved. She wasn't even certain if her t-shirt survived. The band was overhyped anyway.
She reached to pull Clark back to her, but he smoothly trapped her wrists in his hands and stretched them above her head while he gazed at her body with what she could only describe as wonder. She glanced down and blushed. She hadn't exactly forgotten she'd worn the scarlet red, matching set from Victoria's Secret, but they'd just been another layer of armor. Now they were the confection wrapper and she the treat.
And Clark always did have a sweet tooth.
He looked ravenous. His breath came in harsh pants. Desire pulled the skin taut across his cheekbones. His body was rigid with tension.
When she'd gone shopping, she'd seen in the mirror she looked good, but now she imagined it through Clark's eyes. The contrast of his signature red laid next to her pale skin, the framing of her curves like they were an offering, the absurdly feminine touches embroidered on the sheer fabric that revealed more that it concealed, and the wisp of satin between her thighs. She'd been bold in all her grooming choices, keeping up the Brazilian for the sheer secret thrill. Maybe deep down her reason hadn't been that secret. She squirmed under his gaze. Desire, not embarrassment. There was nothing in his look that could leave room for self-doubt.
The low guttural sound Clark made in response caused everything inside her to tighten. She arched her back, needing more than appreciation. Finally, the invisible tether that held Clark back broke. Letting go of her wrists, his mouth crashed into hers followed by his heat and weight.
She buried her hands into his thick, soft, dark hair, holding on to ground herself against the sensuous assault to her senses. Each kiss was another wave washing over her, dragging her deeper. The cool material of his jeans still brushed against her bare legs, but his shirt was gone and the heat of his skin was intoxicating.
Clark laid half on her with his elbows bracing some of his weight. He shifted and the hard line of his scar brushed back and forth over the already stiff peaks still concealed by her bra. Each pass tripped a pulse of warm, melted pleasure to her middle. He groaned, finding just as much pleasure in the action. She clutched at his neck, gliding her palms over his sleek, muscled back and strong shoulders, enjoying the play of power beneath his skin. She could feel the strength he held in check just below the surface.
"You're so beautiful," she blurted out. He returned his mouth to the curve of her neck and she felt him smile.
"I think that's my line."
"I don't want any lines."
He drew hard on a point along her collar bone. The slight sting among the sweet suction only added to the delicious thrill.
"It's not a line. You are the most beautiful sight I've ever seen," he said and then once again, his smile curved against her skin, "but I can think of a way to improve it."
His hands swept up her arms and then down, nudging first one of the scarlet straps lower and trailing it with a shower of kisses before repeating the same action on the other side, sensitizing her flesh. He then reached behind her and worked the clasp of her bra.
"Yes!" He celebrated when it gave. She laughed at his accomplished tone.
"Suddenly I have this vision of you and Pete in the loft, taking turns practicing your technique on each other."
He scowled down at her, offended. "I did not wear a bra. We put it on a pillow."
“Now who’s the clever one?”
Clark tugged the satin and sheer lace, miracle of engineering out of the way and leered appreciatively.
“Oh, I’m feeling brilliant right about now.”
It happened again, that flash of red in his eyes. Maybe she wasn’t seeing things and maybe on a guy who had an occasionally glowing scar, matching eyes weren’t that big of a deal. No, the big deal award went to Clark’s hands on her breasts.
She could barely catch her breath. She wanted this, oh god did she want this, but at every line she and Clark crossed, she was still gobsmacked it was really happening. The heat of his hands seeping into her was fresh confirmation.
He took the role of replacing her bra conscientiously, lifting and supporting each breast, gently cupping their firm softness, lightly kneading them in a toe curling way. Why was it though? After all, his hands were just warm flesh. She’d touched her chest before and while very nice, Clark’s broad hands on her breasts were revelatory, like she’d found religion. He brushed his thumbs over her hardened nipples. She gasped and then as her mind melted into goo, she had the urge to pout; it was not fair that do it yourself would never do again.
If she was going to suffer, so was Clark. While he continued to lavish his attention, she snaked her arms beneath his and reached for the pecs and abs hovering above her like a garden of delight. Their defined paths led to the raised skin of his scar, a labyrinth she couldn’t resist revisiting. Not a maze where the mighty Minotaur might lurk, but the sort of unending pattern where tracing its path was a spiritual act of study and mindfulness. The key to meditation wasn’t to think of nothing, but to concentrate on one thing. With Clark at her fingertips, she could out meditate all the monks in Tibet.
His scar looked red and angry, but it was a part of Clark now and in an odd way, fiercely beautiful. It was a record of pain and of wounds healed over, but not so easily mended. She brushed her fingers against it, occasionally flicking the thick ridged edge much the way Clark was repeatedly grazing the peaks on her breasts. He groaned under her dedicated exploration, only to shift away from her reach.
Before she could protest her loss, the hot, moist heat of his mouth replaced his heated hands. Her nails dented the skin on the back of his neck while he sucked, nibbled and drew on one breast and then the other. Liquid heat throbbed between her legs.
His hands skimmed the outline of her body, soothing and enflaming, traversing back and forth along the flare of her hips and the curve of her bottom to the softness of her thighs.
“Clark!” She said his name on a gasp and moved restlessly under his touch. She wanted more. Needed more. She tugged on his curls until she had his mouth again and poured every bit of need and longing into the kiss. His hand smoothed over on her thigh, the edge of his thumb skimming the sensitive inner skin. She let her legs fall further apart in invitation and held her breath. Closer, his searching fingers explored. She scrunched her eyes closed and when the first brush of his hand trailed over the crimson satin between her legs, bit her lower lip. She shivered all over.
It was sweet torture as he took his time, drowning her in kisses while gently through the material stroking the seam of her body. She buried her face into his neck, panting, rocked with heat and a bit of embarrassment, knowing her panties were soaked. Then there was no room for wasted emotion. He brushed the scrap of fabric aside and glided his fingers directly through the moisture her body created.
“Clark.” She sighed his name. Again, she couldn’t help compare the difference between her own touch and Clark’s. Everything was heightened and intensified. She ached for more.
“Chloe.” He said her name reverently as he stroked the slick heat between her legs. He found the stiff, hooded nub of flesh with the soft pad of his thumb and drew gentle circles.
She gasped and dropped her head back. His mouth found her throat and she clutched at his shoulders, wriggling. She couldn’t have said for certain, but she doubted Clark had too much in the way of experience, but never let anyone say Clark Kent wasn’t a fast study. He explored and experimented, paying close attention to the subtle messages her body sent, returning whenever he elicited a moan or a ragged breath. The unconscious rocking of her hips gave him the boldness to slip a finger inside her. She groaned and he hummed in appreciation the way her body clutched tightly to it.
He added a second finger, stretching her slightly, and began to stroke in and out. She rolled her hips with his hand and whimpered in pleasure when his curled fingers rubbed across a particularly sensitive spot. He repeated his technique and drew another gasp, going back, pressing and rubbing against the upper wall of her slick channel, building the tension inside of her. A moan tore out. Her nipples already hard, tightened as if he was touching them too, sending out an additional pinch of pleasure.
“Clark!” She said his name again, not wanting the roll of bliss to end, but wanting him with her. “I need…I need you.”
“You’ll get me, but first…” He sped up his exploration and she couldn’t hold back the cry of pleasure as everything tensed even further, only to release in a rush of shivery delight.
Her senses blurred again, cool air rushed over her body only for Clark’s weight and heat to return a second later. He settled between her legs, his knees nudging them wider. Skin to skin. He’d lost the jeans and anything beneath them, and more puzzling, she’d lost her panties. She tucked her observations in the back of her head. She had too much else to concentrate on for now.
Thick and hot, his erection lay between them. Clark shifted his hips and rubbed it against her wet slit without entering. They both groaned. He kissed her again and when she wound her arms around his neck, she found his back damp with sweat. Lifting her knees to hug his hips, she whimpered as he continued to rock against her core. She was already trembling again.
“Clark, please,” she begged as he sucked the underside of her jaw, trailing wet heat down her throat. Her pleading had the opposite effect she wanted. Clark froze above her, still bracing some of his weight with his arms. “What? What is it?”
“I don’t want to hurt you.” He frowned, looking far too serious.
“It’s ok.” She brushed back a damp curl from his forehead. “Technically, I’ve done this before.” Hey, look at that, the Jimmy detour had been good for something.
"Technically? What does that mean?" His frown deepened. He’d stopped moving, but she now tilted her hips back and forth, not wanting to lose the sensation. The drag of his hard shaft through her folds and over her clit was exquisite.
"Yes, it means yes, last year, but it wasn't like this.” She groaned and sighed. “Nothing could be like this.” She opened her eyes to find Clark watching her. Tension gripped him. Desire was etched into every feature, but still he held still.
She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him tenderly. “Clark, I trust you. You won’t hurt me. You’d never let yourself hurt me like that.” The influence of the red meteor rock had seriously increased Clark’s bark, but she never for one second truly feared his bite. Even when he’d been screaming in her face and hauling her out of his apartment, he’d been more about bluster and intimidation than physical force.
The worried indecision that had been at such odds with his previous cocky demeanor faded. He brushed his knuckles against her cheek and nodded with new certainty. “You’re right. I could never hurt you.” He sealed his vow with a scorching kiss.
With the kiss, his tensed muscles unlocked. His hips rocked into hers once, twice, three more times before he braced his upper body on one hand, reached between their bodies and guided the blunt, hard tip of his cock to her body’s entrance. Heart pounding, Chloe clutched his shoulders and panted against his throat in desire, anticipation, and a minute, remaining degree of apprehension (Kansas knew how to grow ‘em big).
His thick head pressed against her entrance. Pressure. Stretching. But no pain. Clark backed off and then slowly pressed a little deeper. This time, her sigh of pleasure mixed with his. It was like traveling to an exotic land. You know it’s going to be beautiful, but actually being there …breathtaking.
He repeated his careful penetration. She tightened her legs around his hips, wanting more of him, but he wouldn’t be pushed, keeping his initial thrusts slow and shallow. He was driving her crazy, both because each thrust was hitting the same spot he’d found earlier with his fingers and because she didn’t want him holding back. Instinctively, she raised her legs higher to wrap around his waist and this time he slid all the way to the hilt. She gasped and he groaned, both in the best way. She felt incredibly full; the pressure and friction was amazing.
Clark stilled inside of her, letting her get used to his full size or maybe fighting for his own control. As she let her fingertips ghost across his neck and shoulders, Clark’s muscles grew even more ridged beneath her touch. She tilted her head up and looked into sea green eyes filled with raw passionate, need. Need for her. She shivered and as if that was what he’d been waiting for, he began sliding in and out in long, steady, staggeringly good strokes.
The intimacy was overwhelming. Never looking away, he slid his cupped hands beneath her head, cradling it in place as they sunk deeper into one another’s eyes, sharing breath, body and soul.
Every whimper and tremor he rung from her body was met with special attention, maximizing the feeling as he sought to recapture and prolong each spark of pleasure. Sensation became its own entity. It commanded, it ruled. She obeyed.
The intensity of everything should have left her frightened, but he was always right there with her. Clark, it was always Clark.
She tightened her legs around his waist as he rode her harder, faster, rocking her hips to meet his thrusts and grinding against him, meeting his mouth like every kiss was the breath of life. This was theirs. This was good, so good, so right.
Her climax ripped through her, stunning her with its force. When she lost control, Clark let go of his, his hips raggedly pistoning into her, prolonging the rhythmic clench of pleasure and the heavy waves of delight surging up and down her spine. With hoarse groan, he threw back his head, shouted her name, and collapsed on top of her.
It took time for their pounding hearts to slow and their ragged breaths to even. He should have been too heavy, but his weight pinning her to the mattress was just right, focusing the feeling of being as close to another being as humanly possible.
Too soon, he rolled to his side. He must have felt the loss of their connection as well because immediately, he reached for her, draping her over his chest and dragging the comforter along. Lazily, he nuzzled her neck, making approving sounds as he breathed in their mingled scent. She rested her cheek against the edge of his scar, idly stroking his damp chest and biting back the reckless words of love that wanted to spill from her lips. Instead, she used her writer’s mind to imprint every last detail to memory.
“Chloe.”
She went still, afraid of what he would say. She wasn’t ready for this bubble to burst.
“What scent is your body wash?”
She laughed. It was the last thing she expected him to ask. “Pomegranate mango.”
“Pomegranate mango,” he repeated back like he too was making a detailed list. He said her name again. “Chloe.”
Smiling, she turned her head his direction; she hadn’t yet mentioned the honey-lemon lotion. He wasn’t smiling back. Her heart froze. Physically Clark would never hurt her, but a rejection now would be worse than physical pain.
“Stay.”
A single word. A command and plea, wrapped up in one. Relief washed over her and her heart beat double time. He sounded like he meant forever.
Hope took root until all the things left unsaid rushed back to crowd her mind. The ring, his scar, Smallville, her foolish deal with Lionel Luthor and on top of all that, the powers she was certain she’d witnessed tonight. Powers she had half suspected since the first time he’d missed the bus only to arrive before them at school. So much about the last couple years made sense now, but the future was more uncertain than ever. It wasn’t only about what she wanted.
Ruthlessly, Chloe shoved those concerns aside. Clark asked her to stay. She wasn’t sure if she could give him - them - more than the night, and even less sure how she could ever walk away, but that was what tomorrow was for. Tonight, she nodded and cuddled closer in arms that held her a little more tightly. And for now, it was enough.
The End.