Fanfiction for lunarknightz
Fanfic: The Kissing Game
Timeline: Future-fic Chlark
Rating: PG-13
For: Lunarknightz
“Thank you, Superman,” said the little girl, standing on tip-toe to kiss his cheek.
“You’re welcome,” he said pleasantly.
He smiled to himself, watching her snuggle the cat he’d just rescued from a tree, now safely in the little girls arms, before she skipped back to her mother and set off down the pavement. It was already late, and he’d been on one last patrol before heading home, but what kind of hero would he be if he couldn’t stop to help a little girl save her cat?
He smiled and found himself rubbing the spot on his face where she’d kissed him, as he waved once more to the little girl and her mother and then flew off into the sky.
As he skimmed over the clouds, Clark mused on the fact that he didn’t really get much physical contact from random females, these days, unless he was in the act of saving them. Or, in this case, saving their cats.
He remembered that there had once been a time when his capacity for random touching had reached a critical level. For a while there, he’d been constantly touching, hugging, hair-stroking, and face-caressing at every opportunity, so long as it was directed at one very particular blonde best friend. In fact, he’d done it even when he hadn’t been aware he was doing it.
Clark watched as the skyscrapers eventually turned into cornfields zooming below him. He inhaled the scent, which always smelled like home to him. He was only a few minutes from the farmhouse, now, and even in the moonlight, the golden fields below made flashes of memory race across his brain.
He remembered the light shining off of Chloe’s hair when he’d taken her to the spring formal all those years ago, when she’d stood in front of his house with her blonde hair piled on top of her head. It had sparkled with some glittery spray she’d put in it, and all he’d been able to think of was that there had never been a more perfect shade of gold than Chloe’s hair, or a more perfect shade of green than her eyes.
It had not been long after that fateful night, in fact, when the incessant touching of Chloe Sullivan had begun. If she was within five feet of him, chances were, he was somehow touching her, brushing her hair away, giving her a half-hug, any excuse in the universe to get his hands on her. And it hadn’t gotten better with time, oh no, it had gotten steadily, progressively worse.
Of course, he knew now why he’d done it. All the touching had been a means to keep from kissing her, from wrapping his hands around her shoulders and kissing her until she forgot her own name.
It hadn’t been the best of strategies, but then he was just a particularly strong alien, not a diabolical genius.
And the more he’d wanted to kiss the one woman who had saved his life over and over again, the more he’d thrown his lips in any direction but hers. All of his feelings, growing more powerful by the day, had to go somewhere. As long as they didn’t end up on Chloe’s face, he’d so often told himself, he didn’t have to risk losing her.
He remembered, for the millionth time, what each of their kisses had been like. He’d stored them carefully away in his perfect memory, like treasures he could later savor, slowly, deliciously. He remembered their first kiss, which had been quick and chaste and hadn’t gone on nearly long enough, or the passionate, hungry ones when she’d been mind-whammied, or the one, desperate, fearful kiss that had held her whole heart when they’d thought the world was going to end, and in that one instant he’d had a reason to be the thing that stood between the world and destruction, because the world, to him, had become Chloe Sullivan.
He found himself heading for the barn instead of the house, and in moments, flew through the window and landed effortlessly on the creaking wooden floor. Not even bothering to change, he sank into the same battered sofa where Chloe had once climbed on top of him, wearing his football jersey (and nothing else), and giving him the kiss that would forever haunt his dreams.
He sat back in the cushions with a sigh, and picked up his old baseball that was laying on the end table. Lifting his head to the ceiling, he closed his eyes, and began to imagine Chloe standing in front of him, and a version of how he would kiss her.
He was now up to version 274,812. It was one of his favorites.
In his mind, he would rise from the sofa, and walk softly over to her, because she would be facing away from him, wearing the red tank top she’d worn to bits during her teenaged summers, and her hair would be swept up, revealing her lovely neck. She’d stand perfectly still, admiring the stars out the window, even knowing he was there. He would lay his hands gently on her shoulders, and would thrill when she gave a little sigh of contentment, leaning her cheek towards his hand.
Slowly, his fingers would slide down her arms, lacing with hers, as he’d wrap his arms around her, still holding her hands. He’d let his chin drop to the space between her neck and shoulder, so that he could he next plant a kiss on the exposed skin of her throat. He’d always let that kiss linger, tasting her skin, and always, it would make Chloe shiver slightly against him.
That was when she would turn, facing him, her huge green eyes looking up at him with that sense of wonder that he never got tired of seeing, that made him feel he was looking at the only source of life worth living in the whole universe.
“Clark,” she would say, smiling up at him, and that was when he usually broke.
His body would almost act of its own accord, pulling her tighter to him, as he’d lean in and brush his lips across hers, holding her, deepening the kiss as his tongue sought hers, hands splaying across her back, hearing her gasp softly into his mouth, never letting go…
Never.
Clark’s eyes opened, and dimly he heard the sound of someone knocking on the door downstairs.
“Didn’t you hear me calling?”
He zoomed over the railing and looked down at the reason for his existence, standing at the entrance to the barn, her robe wrapped around her, her blonde hair tousled and sticking up in all directions. She was the most gorgeous thing he had ever seen.
“I thought you were already asleep, and didn’t want to wake you,” he said, smiling. And I would have been touching you like crazy, which definitely would have woken you, he thought. For some reason, that just made him grin even wider.
Chloe raised an eyebrow, probably wondering why he was beaming at her like a maniac.
“Well, apparently there’s four-alarm fire going at a warehouse back in Metropolis, which is deserted, but the train station next to it…”
“I’m on it,” he said, nodding.
“I know you just got back,” she said sympathetically.
Clark smiled. “It’s no trouble, Chlo.” Because they’re you, everyone I save is you. “And I’ll be right back.”
This time, she smiled back at him, and it was like the sun coming out in the middle of the night. “And I’ll wait up,” she promised.
He waggled his eyebrows at her. “Then I’ll be back even sooner.”
Chloe laughed, and Clark blew his wife a kiss before turning back to the window and taking off into the night. His dreams would have to wait. As usual. But as he flew past the cornfields once more, he found he was still smiling.
The feel of Chloe’s lips were now imprinted on his own, and it always helped to remind him of what he was protecting.
Besides, he had already begun to think of version 274,813 for when he got home.
- The End -
Timeline: Future-fic Chlark
Rating: PG-13
For: Lunarknightz
“Thank you, Superman,” said the little girl, standing on tip-toe to kiss his cheek.
“You’re welcome,” he said pleasantly.
He smiled to himself, watching her snuggle the cat he’d just rescued from a tree, now safely in the little girls arms, before she skipped back to her mother and set off down the pavement. It was already late, and he’d been on one last patrol before heading home, but what kind of hero would he be if he couldn’t stop to help a little girl save her cat?
He smiled and found himself rubbing the spot on his face where she’d kissed him, as he waved once more to the little girl and her mother and then flew off into the sky.
As he skimmed over the clouds, Clark mused on the fact that he didn’t really get much physical contact from random females, these days, unless he was in the act of saving them. Or, in this case, saving their cats.
He remembered that there had once been a time when his capacity for random touching had reached a critical level. For a while there, he’d been constantly touching, hugging, hair-stroking, and face-caressing at every opportunity, so long as it was directed at one very particular blonde best friend. In fact, he’d done it even when he hadn’t been aware he was doing it.
Clark watched as the skyscrapers eventually turned into cornfields zooming below him. He inhaled the scent, which always smelled like home to him. He was only a few minutes from the farmhouse, now, and even in the moonlight, the golden fields below made flashes of memory race across his brain.
He remembered the light shining off of Chloe’s hair when he’d taken her to the spring formal all those years ago, when she’d stood in front of his house with her blonde hair piled on top of her head. It had sparkled with some glittery spray she’d put in it, and all he’d been able to think of was that there had never been a more perfect shade of gold than Chloe’s hair, or a more perfect shade of green than her eyes.
It had not been long after that fateful night, in fact, when the incessant touching of Chloe Sullivan had begun. If she was within five feet of him, chances were, he was somehow touching her, brushing her hair away, giving her a half-hug, any excuse in the universe to get his hands on her. And it hadn’t gotten better with time, oh no, it had gotten steadily, progressively worse.
Of course, he knew now why he’d done it. All the touching had been a means to keep from kissing her, from wrapping his hands around her shoulders and kissing her until she forgot her own name.
It hadn’t been the best of strategies, but then he was just a particularly strong alien, not a diabolical genius.
And the more he’d wanted to kiss the one woman who had saved his life over and over again, the more he’d thrown his lips in any direction but hers. All of his feelings, growing more powerful by the day, had to go somewhere. As long as they didn’t end up on Chloe’s face, he’d so often told himself, he didn’t have to risk losing her.
He remembered, for the millionth time, what each of their kisses had been like. He’d stored them carefully away in his perfect memory, like treasures he could later savor, slowly, deliciously. He remembered their first kiss, which had been quick and chaste and hadn’t gone on nearly long enough, or the passionate, hungry ones when she’d been mind-whammied, or the one, desperate, fearful kiss that had held her whole heart when they’d thought the world was going to end, and in that one instant he’d had a reason to be the thing that stood between the world and destruction, because the world, to him, had become Chloe Sullivan.
He found himself heading for the barn instead of the house, and in moments, flew through the window and landed effortlessly on the creaking wooden floor. Not even bothering to change, he sank into the same battered sofa where Chloe had once climbed on top of him, wearing his football jersey (and nothing else), and giving him the kiss that would forever haunt his dreams.
He sat back in the cushions with a sigh, and picked up his old baseball that was laying on the end table. Lifting his head to the ceiling, he closed his eyes, and began to imagine Chloe standing in front of him, and a version of how he would kiss her.
He was now up to version 274,812. It was one of his favorites.
In his mind, he would rise from the sofa, and walk softly over to her, because she would be facing away from him, wearing the red tank top she’d worn to bits during her teenaged summers, and her hair would be swept up, revealing her lovely neck. She’d stand perfectly still, admiring the stars out the window, even knowing he was there. He would lay his hands gently on her shoulders, and would thrill when she gave a little sigh of contentment, leaning her cheek towards his hand.
Slowly, his fingers would slide down her arms, lacing with hers, as he’d wrap his arms around her, still holding her hands. He’d let his chin drop to the space between her neck and shoulder, so that he could he next plant a kiss on the exposed skin of her throat. He’d always let that kiss linger, tasting her skin, and always, it would make Chloe shiver slightly against him.
That was when she would turn, facing him, her huge green eyes looking up at him with that sense of wonder that he never got tired of seeing, that made him feel he was looking at the only source of life worth living in the whole universe.
“Clark,” she would say, smiling up at him, and that was when he usually broke.
His body would almost act of its own accord, pulling her tighter to him, as he’d lean in and brush his lips across hers, holding her, deepening the kiss as his tongue sought hers, hands splaying across her back, hearing her gasp softly into his mouth, never letting go…
Never.
Clark’s eyes opened, and dimly he heard the sound of someone knocking on the door downstairs.
“Didn’t you hear me calling?”
He zoomed over the railing and looked down at the reason for his existence, standing at the entrance to the barn, her robe wrapped around her, her blonde hair tousled and sticking up in all directions. She was the most gorgeous thing he had ever seen.
“I thought you were already asleep, and didn’t want to wake you,” he said, smiling. And I would have been touching you like crazy, which definitely would have woken you, he thought. For some reason, that just made him grin even wider.
Chloe raised an eyebrow, probably wondering why he was beaming at her like a maniac.
“Well, apparently there’s four-alarm fire going at a warehouse back in Metropolis, which is deserted, but the train station next to it…”
“I’m on it,” he said, nodding.
“I know you just got back,” she said sympathetically.
Clark smiled. “It’s no trouble, Chlo.” Because they’re you, everyone I save is you. “And I’ll be right back.”
This time, she smiled back at him, and it was like the sun coming out in the middle of the night. “And I’ll wait up,” she promised.
He waggled his eyebrows at her. “Then I’ll be back even sooner.”
Chloe laughed, and Clark blew his wife a kiss before turning back to the window and taking off into the night. His dreams would have to wait. As usual. But as he flew past the cornfields once more, he found he was still smiling.
The feel of Chloe’s lips were now imprinted on his own, and it always helped to remind him of what he was protecting.
Besides, he had already begun to think of version 274,813 for when he got home.
- The End -