smallville fic: the walls in the next room
Okay, so I think I may be officially recovered from my stay at college. So far I have three videos, one fic and seasons 2-6 of oz as proof of my recovery. First up, one of many Chloe and Davis fics. I owe this to oonaseckar (dejimmied Chloe bootycall, hunbun, AFTER ABOUT A CENTURY) . Thank you for not whacking me repeatedly for my slowness, I know I would have.
Also I have to do some groveling for nonky because I got writer's block and made three chlavis vids when I could have been wrestling with this...so...consider yourself groveled. GROVELGROVELGROVELGROVEL.
(Also, I'm actually typing part of another fic for you as we speak. )
Chloe/Davis. Post-Beast. After a year that Chloe and Davis have resigned themselves to their new, anonymous lives on the run, Chloe decides to to take a sexual step with Davis to transition from her old life and into her new one. Davis angsts. NC-17ish if you didn't already guess.
“One room, double bed. Just for tonight.” Chloe cracked a quick smile at the woman at the desk and rubbed her thumb across his knuckles. Davis wondered what sort of couple they looked like-another guilty guy hanging a little too heavily over a bright and vibrant woman. Their shared life depended on it as much as his other half not clawing every single tourist to bits; they needed to blend in as well as they could.
He carried the luggage, walked a few steps behind Chloe, and listened to the click of her opening the door. It felt like he could do this even with all his memories scooped out, just Chloe to guide his steps. She’d locked herself in the basement with him one night, and she’d been doing it ever since. Chloe pushed the door open with her back.
“Davis, I’m not so tired that I can’t carry my own clothes.” She murmured, teasingly tugging it out of his hand. His fingers went slack at the warm shock of her skin.
“Sorry! Yeah. I’ve got it.” A cloud of blond hair settled on his shoulder as she scrambled to get her hands on the right bag.
“Looks like someone’s eager for a shower.”
“You have no idea. I’m going to soak until the water’s cold. You should get it first. I’m going to smell like you all night, after all.” It suggested everything he wanted, but translated to Chloe as the dam between the destruction inside him and the rest of the world.
“We should talk about…”
“We could, but make it a rule not to talk to anyone I fuck.”
“I didn’t mean f-”
“I know what you mean, Davis. Later.”
Chloe let go with a brief touch to his shoulder, smiled, they were still okay. That was just what they did, talk suggestively as if someone was listening then just lay against each other at night without a word. Something inside him felt warm anyway, but Davis clamped down on it. He didn’t know how his feelings of possession translated to the beast.
He told himself they could be ready when this settled down. He’d never counted on it not settling down. The fact was there was no quick and easy cure for inhuman monster. Before Emil had pronounced a cure hopeless, both of them had accepted it. Chloe had stopped mapping routes according to how many experimental scientists she knew in a city and started mapping according to the places that afforded the most comfort and the least scrutiny.
More often than not the hotels were cheap ones, with a couple of honeymoon suites and loud nighttime neighbors. Back when he was a paramedic Davis had gotten called in on heart attacks in places like this, couldn’t help but notice that it was more often populated by bosses and their young secretaries than honeymooning couples. None of that mattered now. The anonymity was the most important thing, how forgettable he and Chloe would look like to the outside world. If he was any sort of street wise, he would focus on making that easier for her. Instead he found himself wondering what she thought of what they were, breathing against him at night. Maybe she stayed up to shield the world from his other half… but just maybe…
There was something restless to the way they settled down for the night. Davis could feel an awkwardness that had never followed them when the JLA was close on their tail. The panic of getting caught and locked away had done a lot to disguise the fact that Chloe was coming up on the one year anniversary of her separation and he’d been begging her to choose him once.
Nothing seemed off about Chloe and maybe that was the problem. Her clothes were a little wrinkled but she was unharmed and safe, skin pale and unmarked around her neck where he wanted to press his mouth.
Chloe lined up shampoos and loofas and a change of clothes with her usual energy. She didn’t seem mournful, but she had always been good under pressure. He’d confessed that he thought he was a killer and her mind had already been jumping to ways to prove him wrong. He’d nearly killed her husband and Oliver, but she’d shown up in the middle of the ice and snow to drag him from the hell he deserved.
Yet she was more vulnerable with him than she’d ever been in her life, separated from her family and friends with only a flimsy wall as a separation from the thing he turned into-teeth and claws and harsh killer instinct. Davis wanted to break the strange détente. He wanted to be the guy who she went to when she trusted nobody else, again. He wanted to ask her what she really felt now, but doubted he deserved the information.
He washed up first with the television murmuring in the background. It was just another shower in a string of anonymous showers- the few minutes Chloe could get to herself without him hanging all over her. She used to write, but now it had more often become dedicated to small routines of personal hygiene that neither of them would admit being comfortable with doing in each other’s presence.
Davis brushed his teeth, shaved, cut the ends of his hair that were rapidly going shaggy. If he couldn’t be a good man he’d at least be a considerate one. He fingered the blonde hairs tangled with his on the hairbrush, eyes damp and thoughtful. This couldn’t last long. It was a transition for them, the calm before hail of Kryptonite rain. Chloe deserved this time. It would make it easier when she could no longer drag him back from the edge.
He took as long as he could, sat against the floor to the sound of Chloe’s nighttime routine- the soft thump of her dropping the clothes, folding the pantsuit, rubbing lotion on and tying the robe casually around her as she gradually relaxed.
It sounded arrogant, but he would have known if there was anyone else. His sense of smell was almost as good as the beast’s and his senses screamed that Chloe was content and aroused and he could to be a part of that. He needed to get his head straight, cook a meal that he could enjoy and stop thinking about violating her time alone. Davis thrust his hands blindly into his luggage, fingers winding around something silky and soft. He had Chloe’s things in there with him.
“Chloe? These are your clothes.”
She made a distracted, affirmative noise from behind the door. “You need me?”
“As much as it hurts my pride, I don’t think I’d look too good in them. Can we trade?”
“I don’t want to.”
Chloe peeked open the door, smiling in that way that told him he couldn’t ask her again. The collar of his bathrobe hung jauntily over her the smooth skin of her shoulder. Davis braced his palm on the door, muscles tensed to duck back behind it.
“I can win more arguments if you don’t talk.” She said carefully. “I think it’s time I had sex again.”
He didn’t even know if she was wearing something under there, needed to avoid thinking of lingerie rubbing on Chloe’s thighs if he wanted to make it out of this alive. The towel around him felt smaller and more like a dishtowel by the moment. He didn’t even know if he could talk to her without biting her into insensible pieces. “I think it’s time”, she said, but he read, “I think it’s time for us.”
The animal part of him uncoiled in approval of something warm and female and safe, the man in him couldn’t remember the last time he’d been with someone he loved. She was saying yes. What he would have given for that with her, back before he found out what he was. Back when it mattered and she had a choice.
Davis was rooted to the spot, needed to go find something to kill. The water was still running. He couldn’t shut it off. He couldn’t move without his skin itching and burning like It was getting out. She slept in his bed, touched his face. That had been fodder for his fantasies for months that they left Smallville. Nothing had changed between them. She was as much Chloe as she had ever been. A light hand on his shoulder there, the weight of her body plastered to his side when he woke in red-eyed, hot sweats. Then she’d gone and changed the rules. His throat worked to hold back an assent, but his fingers brushed up to touch the side of her face.
“You want to.” Chloe was too fast for him, and he was held fast, bottom lip licked lightly with his palm on her cheek. This was the first time she’d kissed him, tasting like the Chinese food they’d split and the heat of her skin. Before he knew it he’d licked a way into her mouth, pushed her against the mirror. It was warm and slow and slippery, like he’d been offered a taste of what a world of Chloe was like. Inside. There was promise behind it. He’d fantasized about this, about pulling her in, doing this again, again, again.
“I grabbed the wrong bag.” He repeated stupidly. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”
“Davis…” she whispered, voice soft with pity. “You’re not Doomsday. Not like this. I trust you.”
Chloe would sound like that- soft, wistful, somehow sure. He wasn’t going to do this now. She wasn’t ready; and he might have had his head pressed up against her throat but it wasn’t the time. It was the anniversary of a significant date, and it meant things that neither of them talked about.
He pulled back. “Not like this. Not today. You don’t want to do this today.”
“You know what today is?”
“You left Jimmy a year ago. A year and a half ago, I turned into Doomsday and slaughtered my way through your wedding party. Does this sound healthy?”
She shakes her head, lips losing the light encouragement of her smile. “I’m not thinking of that.”
“You left your husband because you wanted to save me. You want to forget now, but you can’t just... It isn’t safe. ”
Davis had read all of Chloe’s written scathing exposes in his hours hiding out in her basement, knew she could out-argue him as soon as she opened her mouth. But he’d picked out the patterns before. There was a conflict in her, and it would still be there now.
“No. I am frustrated. I can’t handle one more night of nothing. I am choosing to this with you because I trust you. Unless you want to go out and help me find an acceptable replacement….?”
The words sounded so cool, so replaceable, so anonymous, her fingers small and cold on his sleeve. She was playing him, knew the thought of someone not him ripped him up inside and made the thing inside him want to tear through flesh. He had no choice in this instinct; she just knew how to make it hers.
“No.” he says roughly. “No. You could get hurt out there.” It’s a sweat-provoking panic, a base shock to the primitive part of his brainstem. If she walks out of the door, she’s gone. Do something. Drop clothing. Pull her to you. Get inside. Tell her not to leave. He thinks, what could happen to her, pretty and dressed like that in a place like this? He couldn’t bear it, doubts the Beast would give it as much pause without slaughtering everything in the radius.
“I can’t.” Davis stands, sweats, settles for “Stay with me.”
“Okay.” She answers.
Chloe feels suddenly repellent and manipulative, knows how these weeks on the run have done to Davis’s fear instinct. To Doomsday, the world is a hostile place, and Davis has witnessed what the more human monsters do in his life day to day. The constant, oppressive paranoia of the transformations have only worsened it. He deserves much more than to be manipulated by the person who’s supposed to be helping him. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired.”
Davis is confronted with an armful of Chloe, a clinging bundle of terrycloth wrapping around him. She’s all he has. He doesn’t move, pinions his own arms behind his back to keep from tugging them down her hair. She presses up against his chest, soft body and earthy, sexual scent. He’d almost forgotten how small she was, how cold her hands.
“You don’t have to move.” she mumbles, and it slices into his soul. Her lips press against his cheek, a hairsbreadth from his jaw and her arms are wrapped so tight around him that he can hear her breath catch. His body is reacting, but he’d have to get himself neutered not to feel something when Chloe is in the same room. She’s not going to go through with it, he knows it from the way her body language has lost the straight lines, the assertiveness. If Chloe had been drawing herself closer to him; the farther they got away from Smallville, trusting him… then…. She’d never told him too much about what happened with Clark, but his gut instinct tells him she’s hardwired to shy from rejection. It will probably be the last time she tries for this kind of intimacy and the thought cuts into him like a wound.
Their road probably won’t stretch on much longer. She won’t always have to live in a world where he’s the only man she can go to for comfort. She’ll go on, have a full life when his role ends. This is the way it ought to be, he thinks. This is safer, but the knowledge is anything but comforting. He has a split second thought of her, ten years into the future, with a family of her choosing, someone else’s son.
The pain and possession jumble paralyzingly in his chest. It’s in a future he wants to forget exists. He has a sudden thought that maybe he’s making a mistake almost as bad as the scientists who engineered him. Logic doesn’t last very long under what feels like a decade on longing. Whatever the circumstances Chloe feels something, needs something from him for a little while. Davis closes his eyes tight and smoothes hands against her hair, meets her lips slowly with his. Her mouth moves against his, a gentle pressure map of Chloe engraved on his skin. It was never Chloe’s loneliness he should have been afraid of.
It’s all there, more than he imagined-the ragged fearful energy between them, the unreal-ness of this hotel and her shields showing a crack. The ends of her nails dig into his shoulder and he keeps kissing her, will keep doing it until she makes him stop. She lets it happen, scrabbling for a hold that’ll be steady, shoulders tense and shrugging into his slick palms. It feels as though the robe isn’t there anymore, mauled, leaving her insides shaky threadbare under the strange rightness of his touch. Her skin shifts under his fingertips, thrumming with blood (inside, inside, inside).
Davis backs his head away from Chloe, fever hot thoughts blending into a kind of logic. She’d been sent to him, an inversion of the blackouts and decaying death the Beast left behind. Chloe is life, and everything that reminded him of it. Her head droops into his shoulder, looseness of her posture radiating a vital trust. Not even the Beast could tear itself from it.
He parts the robe and the side of her neck bunches with a shaky breath, and then his teeth are there, tearing down her abdomen, to her hip, tongue slicking at the heat of her for a moment before he puts it inside her. He’s naked and the contact is unprotected, unprepared, not his intent-he’s touching her and then he’s sinking deep in the clasp of her body, smothered tight with her juices on him. The mirror is peppered with tiny fractures that she can feel.
Her ankle braces around his back and she wraps an arm around his neck, shifting him around inside her, throwing her head back with a wet sound. Like she likes this, like this is actually, good, for her. His head isn’t on straight and he’s imagining this alternate world where Chloe needs him like he needs her. So deep inside his brain and skin and muscles and bone that she won’t ever disappear.
Part of Davis is still thinking; moments-first times, seconds, thirds as he crowds her against the bathroom wall, loses control of the both of them. Everything inside him is drawing tight, shrinking itself into her slick embrace. He is thrusting on instinct now, probably some Kryptonian coding designed to create other things like him, but then her lips are parting against his jaw and he thinks of ways to make this so good she needs to stay, she’ll forget about Jimmy or anyone else.
Chloe is rolling her bare shoulders in and out of his grasp, sweat-flushed and beautiful. His cock is so tight, leaking as if he’s going to come in her any moment. He shoves his head into her shoulder and fights breathing until he hears her raw, moist gasps. Chloe closes her lips over vowel sounds that don’t sound like anybody’s name at all. Yes, Yes, Inside. Blindly, she tugs his head closer to her, small body quivering and contracting (for him, with him) until he’s releasing inside her with a rough noise.
Against Chloe is almost as difficult as in her, bare skin rubbing against his on the way to the twin bed. His muscles sting and Davis is afraid that she’ll end up tripping on the chipped tile. He ends up slipping a hand under her hip, carrying her to it. When her hands slip away from his neck he sees one of the red marks against Chloe’s stomach.
Her eyes are on his, pupils dilated and drawing him back to her skin.
The walls are too thin and Davis thinks of getting the keys, pulling Chloe with him (fingers slipping warm under the loops of his belt) to a better lighted place with decent food. Her smell is everywhere, the peak of her breast brushing lightly against the inside of his mouth. She’s soft, still vibrating lightly from her orgasm, nipple tightening impossibly. He can almost feel the warmth inside her, under her skin, slick and wet and protective, so he bites and scuffs it, pulling it deeper into his mouth. Chloe makes a small moaning sound, knee rubbing hard against his cock where it throbs again.
She opens her eyes to the ceiling, fingers scratching his arms in abandon. Chloe thinks about the date, days ticking back to a year ago, the day they left Smallville-the day she realized she’d follow him anywhere. It was a momentous choice oh she thinks, he’ll figure it out when her throat is raw from screaming. The walls are covered with peeling paint, some kind of adobe that you can hear anything through. Part of Davis shudders at the thought.
A/N: Moar fic and vids up next. God I missed you all. Also, my reaction to Smallville ending (HAHAHAHA) BH commentary and speculations....and has anyone ever shipped some of the boys in OZ?
Also I have to do some groveling for nonky because I got writer's block and made three chlavis vids when I could have been wrestling with this...so...consider yourself groveled. GROVELGROVELGROVELGROVEL.
(Also, I'm actually typing part of another fic for you as we speak. )
Chloe/Davis. Post-Beast. After a year that Chloe and Davis have resigned themselves to their new, anonymous lives on the run, Chloe decides to to take a sexual step with Davis to transition from her old life and into her new one. Davis angsts. NC-17ish if you didn't already guess.
“One room, double bed. Just for tonight.” Chloe cracked a quick smile at the woman at the desk and rubbed her thumb across his knuckles. Davis wondered what sort of couple they looked like-another guilty guy hanging a little too heavily over a bright and vibrant woman. Their shared life depended on it as much as his other half not clawing every single tourist to bits; they needed to blend in as well as they could.
He carried the luggage, walked a few steps behind Chloe, and listened to the click of her opening the door. It felt like he could do this even with all his memories scooped out, just Chloe to guide his steps. She’d locked herself in the basement with him one night, and she’d been doing it ever since. Chloe pushed the door open with her back.
“Davis, I’m not so tired that I can’t carry my own clothes.” She murmured, teasingly tugging it out of his hand. His fingers went slack at the warm shock of her skin.
“Sorry! Yeah. I’ve got it.” A cloud of blond hair settled on his shoulder as she scrambled to get her hands on the right bag.
“Looks like someone’s eager for a shower.”
“You have no idea. I’m going to soak until the water’s cold. You should get it first. I’m going to smell like you all night, after all.” It suggested everything he wanted, but translated to Chloe as the dam between the destruction inside him and the rest of the world.
“We should talk about…”
“We could, but make it a rule not to talk to anyone I fuck.”
“I didn’t mean f-”
“I know what you mean, Davis. Later.”
Chloe let go with a brief touch to his shoulder, smiled, they were still okay. That was just what they did, talk suggestively as if someone was listening then just lay against each other at night without a word. Something inside him felt warm anyway, but Davis clamped down on it. He didn’t know how his feelings of possession translated to the beast.
He told himself they could be ready when this settled down. He’d never counted on it not settling down. The fact was there was no quick and easy cure for inhuman monster. Before Emil had pronounced a cure hopeless, both of them had accepted it. Chloe had stopped mapping routes according to how many experimental scientists she knew in a city and started mapping according to the places that afforded the most comfort and the least scrutiny.
More often than not the hotels were cheap ones, with a couple of honeymoon suites and loud nighttime neighbors. Back when he was a paramedic Davis had gotten called in on heart attacks in places like this, couldn’t help but notice that it was more often populated by bosses and their young secretaries than honeymooning couples. None of that mattered now. The anonymity was the most important thing, how forgettable he and Chloe would look like to the outside world. If he was any sort of street wise, he would focus on making that easier for her. Instead he found himself wondering what she thought of what they were, breathing against him at night. Maybe she stayed up to shield the world from his other half… but just maybe…
There was something restless to the way they settled down for the night. Davis could feel an awkwardness that had never followed them when the JLA was close on their tail. The panic of getting caught and locked away had done a lot to disguise the fact that Chloe was coming up on the one year anniversary of her separation and he’d been begging her to choose him once.
Nothing seemed off about Chloe and maybe that was the problem. Her clothes were a little wrinkled but she was unharmed and safe, skin pale and unmarked around her neck where he wanted to press his mouth.
Chloe lined up shampoos and loofas and a change of clothes with her usual energy. She didn’t seem mournful, but she had always been good under pressure. He’d confessed that he thought he was a killer and her mind had already been jumping to ways to prove him wrong. He’d nearly killed her husband and Oliver, but she’d shown up in the middle of the ice and snow to drag him from the hell he deserved.
Yet she was more vulnerable with him than she’d ever been in her life, separated from her family and friends with only a flimsy wall as a separation from the thing he turned into-teeth and claws and harsh killer instinct. Davis wanted to break the strange détente. He wanted to be the guy who she went to when she trusted nobody else, again. He wanted to ask her what she really felt now, but doubted he deserved the information.
He washed up first with the television murmuring in the background. It was just another shower in a string of anonymous showers- the few minutes Chloe could get to herself without him hanging all over her. She used to write, but now it had more often become dedicated to small routines of personal hygiene that neither of them would admit being comfortable with doing in each other’s presence.
Davis brushed his teeth, shaved, cut the ends of his hair that were rapidly going shaggy. If he couldn’t be a good man he’d at least be a considerate one. He fingered the blonde hairs tangled with his on the hairbrush, eyes damp and thoughtful. This couldn’t last long. It was a transition for them, the calm before hail of Kryptonite rain. Chloe deserved this time. It would make it easier when she could no longer drag him back from the edge.
He took as long as he could, sat against the floor to the sound of Chloe’s nighttime routine- the soft thump of her dropping the clothes, folding the pantsuit, rubbing lotion on and tying the robe casually around her as she gradually relaxed.
It sounded arrogant, but he would have known if there was anyone else. His sense of smell was almost as good as the beast’s and his senses screamed that Chloe was content and aroused and he could to be a part of that. He needed to get his head straight, cook a meal that he could enjoy and stop thinking about violating her time alone. Davis thrust his hands blindly into his luggage, fingers winding around something silky and soft. He had Chloe’s things in there with him.
“Chloe? These are your clothes.”
She made a distracted, affirmative noise from behind the door. “You need me?”
“As much as it hurts my pride, I don’t think I’d look too good in them. Can we trade?”
“I don’t want to.”
Chloe peeked open the door, smiling in that way that told him he couldn’t ask her again. The collar of his bathrobe hung jauntily over her the smooth skin of her shoulder. Davis braced his palm on the door, muscles tensed to duck back behind it.
“I can win more arguments if you don’t talk.” She said carefully. “I think it’s time I had sex again.”
He didn’t even know if she was wearing something under there, needed to avoid thinking of lingerie rubbing on Chloe’s thighs if he wanted to make it out of this alive. The towel around him felt smaller and more like a dishtowel by the moment. He didn’t even know if he could talk to her without biting her into insensible pieces. “I think it’s time”, she said, but he read, “I think it’s time for us.”
The animal part of him uncoiled in approval of something warm and female and safe, the man in him couldn’t remember the last time he’d been with someone he loved. She was saying yes. What he would have given for that with her, back before he found out what he was. Back when it mattered and she had a choice.
Davis was rooted to the spot, needed to go find something to kill. The water was still running. He couldn’t shut it off. He couldn’t move without his skin itching and burning like It was getting out. She slept in his bed, touched his face. That had been fodder for his fantasies for months that they left Smallville. Nothing had changed between them. She was as much Chloe as she had ever been. A light hand on his shoulder there, the weight of her body plastered to his side when he woke in red-eyed, hot sweats. Then she’d gone and changed the rules. His throat worked to hold back an assent, but his fingers brushed up to touch the side of her face.
“You want to.” Chloe was too fast for him, and he was held fast, bottom lip licked lightly with his palm on her cheek. This was the first time she’d kissed him, tasting like the Chinese food they’d split and the heat of her skin. Before he knew it he’d licked a way into her mouth, pushed her against the mirror. It was warm and slow and slippery, like he’d been offered a taste of what a world of Chloe was like. Inside. There was promise behind it. He’d fantasized about this, about pulling her in, doing this again, again, again.
“I grabbed the wrong bag.” He repeated stupidly. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”
“Davis…” she whispered, voice soft with pity. “You’re not Doomsday. Not like this. I trust you.”
Chloe would sound like that- soft, wistful, somehow sure. He wasn’t going to do this now. She wasn’t ready; and he might have had his head pressed up against her throat but it wasn’t the time. It was the anniversary of a significant date, and it meant things that neither of them talked about.
He pulled back. “Not like this. Not today. You don’t want to do this today.”
“You know what today is?”
“You left Jimmy a year ago. A year and a half ago, I turned into Doomsday and slaughtered my way through your wedding party. Does this sound healthy?”
She shakes her head, lips losing the light encouragement of her smile. “I’m not thinking of that.”
“You left your husband because you wanted to save me. You want to forget now, but you can’t just... It isn’t safe. ”
Davis had read all of Chloe’s written scathing exposes in his hours hiding out in her basement, knew she could out-argue him as soon as she opened her mouth. But he’d picked out the patterns before. There was a conflict in her, and it would still be there now.
“No. I am frustrated. I can’t handle one more night of nothing. I am choosing to this with you because I trust you. Unless you want to go out and help me find an acceptable replacement….?”
The words sounded so cool, so replaceable, so anonymous, her fingers small and cold on his sleeve. She was playing him, knew the thought of someone not him ripped him up inside and made the thing inside him want to tear through flesh. He had no choice in this instinct; she just knew how to make it hers.
“No.” he says roughly. “No. You could get hurt out there.” It’s a sweat-provoking panic, a base shock to the primitive part of his brainstem. If she walks out of the door, she’s gone. Do something. Drop clothing. Pull her to you. Get inside. Tell her not to leave. He thinks, what could happen to her, pretty and dressed like that in a place like this? He couldn’t bear it, doubts the Beast would give it as much pause without slaughtering everything in the radius.
“I can’t.” Davis stands, sweats, settles for “Stay with me.”
“Okay.” She answers.
Chloe feels suddenly repellent and manipulative, knows how these weeks on the run have done to Davis’s fear instinct. To Doomsday, the world is a hostile place, and Davis has witnessed what the more human monsters do in his life day to day. The constant, oppressive paranoia of the transformations have only worsened it. He deserves much more than to be manipulated by the person who’s supposed to be helping him. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired.”
Davis is confronted with an armful of Chloe, a clinging bundle of terrycloth wrapping around him. She’s all he has. He doesn’t move, pinions his own arms behind his back to keep from tugging them down her hair. She presses up against his chest, soft body and earthy, sexual scent. He’d almost forgotten how small she was, how cold her hands.
“You don’t have to move.” she mumbles, and it slices into his soul. Her lips press against his cheek, a hairsbreadth from his jaw and her arms are wrapped so tight around him that he can hear her breath catch. His body is reacting, but he’d have to get himself neutered not to feel something when Chloe is in the same room. She’s not going to go through with it, he knows it from the way her body language has lost the straight lines, the assertiveness. If Chloe had been drawing herself closer to him; the farther they got away from Smallville, trusting him… then…. She’d never told him too much about what happened with Clark, but his gut instinct tells him she’s hardwired to shy from rejection. It will probably be the last time she tries for this kind of intimacy and the thought cuts into him like a wound.
Their road probably won’t stretch on much longer. She won’t always have to live in a world where he’s the only man she can go to for comfort. She’ll go on, have a full life when his role ends. This is the way it ought to be, he thinks. This is safer, but the knowledge is anything but comforting. He has a split second thought of her, ten years into the future, with a family of her choosing, someone else’s son.
The pain and possession jumble paralyzingly in his chest. It’s in a future he wants to forget exists. He has a sudden thought that maybe he’s making a mistake almost as bad as the scientists who engineered him. Logic doesn’t last very long under what feels like a decade on longing. Whatever the circumstances Chloe feels something, needs something from him for a little while. Davis closes his eyes tight and smoothes hands against her hair, meets her lips slowly with his. Her mouth moves against his, a gentle pressure map of Chloe engraved on his skin. It was never Chloe’s loneliness he should have been afraid of.
It’s all there, more than he imagined-the ragged fearful energy between them, the unreal-ness of this hotel and her shields showing a crack. The ends of her nails dig into his shoulder and he keeps kissing her, will keep doing it until she makes him stop. She lets it happen, scrabbling for a hold that’ll be steady, shoulders tense and shrugging into his slick palms. It feels as though the robe isn’t there anymore, mauled, leaving her insides shaky threadbare under the strange rightness of his touch. Her skin shifts under his fingertips, thrumming with blood (inside, inside, inside).
Davis backs his head away from Chloe, fever hot thoughts blending into a kind of logic. She’d been sent to him, an inversion of the blackouts and decaying death the Beast left behind. Chloe is life, and everything that reminded him of it. Her head droops into his shoulder, looseness of her posture radiating a vital trust. Not even the Beast could tear itself from it.
He parts the robe and the side of her neck bunches with a shaky breath, and then his teeth are there, tearing down her abdomen, to her hip, tongue slicking at the heat of her for a moment before he puts it inside her. He’s naked and the contact is unprotected, unprepared, not his intent-he’s touching her and then he’s sinking deep in the clasp of her body, smothered tight with her juices on him. The mirror is peppered with tiny fractures that she can feel.
Her ankle braces around his back and she wraps an arm around his neck, shifting him around inside her, throwing her head back with a wet sound. Like she likes this, like this is actually, good, for her. His head isn’t on straight and he’s imagining this alternate world where Chloe needs him like he needs her. So deep inside his brain and skin and muscles and bone that she won’t ever disappear.
Part of Davis is still thinking; moments-first times, seconds, thirds as he crowds her against the bathroom wall, loses control of the both of them. Everything inside him is drawing tight, shrinking itself into her slick embrace. He is thrusting on instinct now, probably some Kryptonian coding designed to create other things like him, but then her lips are parting against his jaw and he thinks of ways to make this so good she needs to stay, she’ll forget about Jimmy or anyone else.
Chloe is rolling her bare shoulders in and out of his grasp, sweat-flushed and beautiful. His cock is so tight, leaking as if he’s going to come in her any moment. He shoves his head into her shoulder and fights breathing until he hears her raw, moist gasps. Chloe closes her lips over vowel sounds that don’t sound like anybody’s name at all. Yes, Yes, Inside. Blindly, she tugs his head closer to her, small body quivering and contracting (for him, with him) until he’s releasing inside her with a rough noise.
Against Chloe is almost as difficult as in her, bare skin rubbing against his on the way to the twin bed. His muscles sting and Davis is afraid that she’ll end up tripping on the chipped tile. He ends up slipping a hand under her hip, carrying her to it. When her hands slip away from his neck he sees one of the red marks against Chloe’s stomach.
Her eyes are on his, pupils dilated and drawing him back to her skin.
The walls are too thin and Davis thinks of getting the keys, pulling Chloe with him (fingers slipping warm under the loops of his belt) to a better lighted place with decent food. Her smell is everywhere, the peak of her breast brushing lightly against the inside of his mouth. She’s soft, still vibrating lightly from her orgasm, nipple tightening impossibly. He can almost feel the warmth inside her, under her skin, slick and wet and protective, so he bites and scuffs it, pulling it deeper into his mouth. Chloe makes a small moaning sound, knee rubbing hard against his cock where it throbs again.
She opens her eyes to the ceiling, fingers scratching his arms in abandon. Chloe thinks about the date, days ticking back to a year ago, the day they left Smallville-the day she realized she’d follow him anywhere. It was a momentous choice oh she thinks, he’ll figure it out when her throat is raw from screaming. The walls are covered with peeling paint, some kind of adobe that you can hear anything through. Part of Davis shudders at the thought.
A/N: Moar fic and vids up next. God I missed you all. Also, my reaction to Smallville ending (HAHAHAHA) BH commentary and speculations....and has anyone ever shipped some of the boys in OZ?