Smallville Fic: This Is You, This Is Me
This Is You, This Is Me
It’s all about patience. Chloe/Clark. Teen. Future/AU. 825 words.
A/N: So originally this was going to be for the first week of fanon_fridays. Clearly that didn't happen. And then the story didn't want to go exactly as I had planned. But here it is now.
It is late evening. Early summer. The sun is gone from the sky but the sky isn’t dark yet, instead a pale purplish blue color. The curtains are drawn on the eastern-facing window. The window is open. It lets it the light breeze from outside.
“So,” Chloe says. She is lying on her side. Facing her is Clark. He also lies on his side, his back towards the window.
“So.”
Her fingers lightly brush the front of his shirt. The white fabric is rumpled from their make-out session. It went farther than Clark was comfortable and he rolled away from her. Now she’s working to get him comfortable again.
Clark sighs. “I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. It’ll happen.”
“How can you be sure?”
Chloe smiles. Not a large smile, that wouldn’t fit the situation. A small smile, genuine, right for now. “I know.”
She does know. It might not happen tonight. But it will happen eventually, when the time is right. Flowers don’t bloom until they’re ready and this principle is the same for them. They won’t cross one of the last lines they have to cross until they’re ready.
“I could never…with Lana…”
“I’m not Lana.”
Clark rolls onto his back. Her fingers are dislodged in the process, falling to lie limply on the flatsheet. His dark hair spreads unevenly among the white pillowcase his head rests on. Black against white: stark. There are lines in the blue flatsheet, dips and rivets in the fabric. Her fingers rest in one of these dips.
Chloe makes a light sound, not quite a sigh but not quite nothing either. Her eyes on her fingers spread alone on the sheet.
“I’m sorry,” he says again. These words are easy for him, Chloe thinks. It’s not a bitter thought. This is Clark and she knows him, accepts him.
“Don’t be. It’s not the end of the world. It’ll happen.”
“I’m just not sure…”
Chloe shifts in the bed, unwilling to let the space between them remain unclosed. She sits up and rolls her body on top of his, her legs straddling his lower chest. He breathes unevenly in the moment after her body comes to a rest. His chest rises and falls, the shirt he wears stretched by the disruption in his usual breathing pattern. Then he relaxes, settling.
“Chloe.”
Her fingers skim his chest. Skin over fabric. She keeps her tough light.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of. We can do this. You won’t destroy me.”
He’s silent, no protests leaving his mouth right away. It’s a sort of victory, Chloe supposes. Her fingertips press into his chest softly but firmly. His eyes are watching her, he can’t look away, that much is clear. His eyes are bright in the evening light. Maybe it’s what he feels for her that makes his eyes shine this way.
One of her hands slips down and finds the edge of his sheet. She toys with the cotton, raising it up an inch only to let it drop down. Bare skin exposed then covered. A sort of game develops.
His hands lift to her hips. As his thumbs brush along her hipbones, her own hands fall still. Chloe moves lower, her body settling over the budge in his sweatpants. His breath catches. His eyes widen.
“I-” Clark starts to say. The words get lodged in his throat.
He breathes in and then says, “Chloe.” It’s ever so soft, her voice on his lips.
And she knows what he means to say. His fear is present in the room, has an almost taste to it. It’s gritty and it’s caught in her pores, in her hair.
“It’s okay. It’s okay,” Chloe murmurs. She backs off, knowing he’s not ready. She wants this, she does, but it has to happen naturally. If she pushes him too fast then everything will just collapse.
Patience. That is what’s needed.
She curls into his side after rolling off his body. His body is somewhat stiff and she knows that they won’t be crossing any more lines tonight. They’ve already crossed most of the lines: this wait is fine. Chloe wants Clark to be ready so she’ll wait. There is no need to rush. They have days and years to be together.
Clark shifts, having relaxed again. He wraps an arm around her shoulders, his fingers lightly gripping her bare shoulder. He draws her closer and presses a kiss to the crown of her hair. She smiles into his t-shirt. He reaches down and pulls the blanket over their bodies.
“I love you,” he whispers when she is close to sleep.
“I know,” Chloe whispers back. “I love you.”
Her hand is on his chest. His fingers cover hers, lacing them together. She feels warm and secure.
Chloe’s last thought before sleep is patience is rewarded.
They sleep.
It’s all about patience. Chloe/Clark. Teen. Future/AU. 825 words.
A/N: So originally this was going to be for the first week of fanon_fridays. Clearly that didn't happen. And then the story didn't want to go exactly as I had planned. But here it is now.
It is late evening. Early summer. The sun is gone from the sky but the sky isn’t dark yet, instead a pale purplish blue color. The curtains are drawn on the eastern-facing window. The window is open. It lets it the light breeze from outside.
“So,” Chloe says. She is lying on her side. Facing her is Clark. He also lies on his side, his back towards the window.
“So.”
Her fingers lightly brush the front of his shirt. The white fabric is rumpled from their make-out session. It went farther than Clark was comfortable and he rolled away from her. Now she’s working to get him comfortable again.
Clark sighs. “I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. It’ll happen.”
“How can you be sure?”
Chloe smiles. Not a large smile, that wouldn’t fit the situation. A small smile, genuine, right for now. “I know.”
She does know. It might not happen tonight. But it will happen eventually, when the time is right. Flowers don’t bloom until they’re ready and this principle is the same for them. They won’t cross one of the last lines they have to cross until they’re ready.
“I could never…with Lana…”
“I’m not Lana.”
Clark rolls onto his back. Her fingers are dislodged in the process, falling to lie limply on the flatsheet. His dark hair spreads unevenly among the white pillowcase his head rests on. Black against white: stark. There are lines in the blue flatsheet, dips and rivets in the fabric. Her fingers rest in one of these dips.
Chloe makes a light sound, not quite a sigh but not quite nothing either. Her eyes on her fingers spread alone on the sheet.
“I’m sorry,” he says again. These words are easy for him, Chloe thinks. It’s not a bitter thought. This is Clark and she knows him, accepts him.
“Don’t be. It’s not the end of the world. It’ll happen.”
“I’m just not sure…”
Chloe shifts in the bed, unwilling to let the space between them remain unclosed. She sits up and rolls her body on top of his, her legs straddling his lower chest. He breathes unevenly in the moment after her body comes to a rest. His chest rises and falls, the shirt he wears stretched by the disruption in his usual breathing pattern. Then he relaxes, settling.
“Chloe.”
Her fingers skim his chest. Skin over fabric. She keeps her tough light.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of. We can do this. You won’t destroy me.”
He’s silent, no protests leaving his mouth right away. It’s a sort of victory, Chloe supposes. Her fingertips press into his chest softly but firmly. His eyes are watching her, he can’t look away, that much is clear. His eyes are bright in the evening light. Maybe it’s what he feels for her that makes his eyes shine this way.
One of her hands slips down and finds the edge of his sheet. She toys with the cotton, raising it up an inch only to let it drop down. Bare skin exposed then covered. A sort of game develops.
His hands lift to her hips. As his thumbs brush along her hipbones, her own hands fall still. Chloe moves lower, her body settling over the budge in his sweatpants. His breath catches. His eyes widen.
“I-” Clark starts to say. The words get lodged in his throat.
He breathes in and then says, “Chloe.” It’s ever so soft, her voice on his lips.
And she knows what he means to say. His fear is present in the room, has an almost taste to it. It’s gritty and it’s caught in her pores, in her hair.
“It’s okay. It’s okay,” Chloe murmurs. She backs off, knowing he’s not ready. She wants this, she does, but it has to happen naturally. If she pushes him too fast then everything will just collapse.
Patience. That is what’s needed.
She curls into his side after rolling off his body. His body is somewhat stiff and she knows that they won’t be crossing any more lines tonight. They’ve already crossed most of the lines: this wait is fine. Chloe wants Clark to be ready so she’ll wait. There is no need to rush. They have days and years to be together.
Clark shifts, having relaxed again. He wraps an arm around her shoulders, his fingers lightly gripping her bare shoulder. He draws her closer and presses a kiss to the crown of her hair. She smiles into his t-shirt. He reaches down and pulls the blanket over their bodies.
“I love you,” he whispers when she is close to sleep.
“I know,” Chloe whispers back. “I love you.”
Her hand is on his chest. His fingers cover hers, lacing them together. She feels warm and secure.
Chloe’s last thought before sleep is patience is rewarded.
They sleep.