smallville fic: behind your door
The first thingy for nonky. Prompt: The towel brushed his face in a way that reminded him of hair, and it was short, blonde, and - he thought - silky." It was hers! Blameblameblame!
Davis. Chloe. Someone was bound to get hot and bothered sometime.
Warning for slightly kinky solo shower cakes.
I can’t make love to you; it’ll kill you.
Davis was aroused, hiding out in Chloe’s bathroom, while she did something innocuous like dice a tomato. Davis knew he was a cliché, but at some point it stopped mattering.
It had been an accident: when she couldn’t reach the peppers he’d brushed up against her, almost close enough to wrap his arms around her from behind. She had whirled, dropping the bowl of very red pasta sauce. Davis remembered the last homicidal trucker he’d taken off the streets, but that wasn’t enough. He’d heard her breath pick up, found himself suddenly, painfully hard. He made a quick excuse. Chloe pointed out the bathroom, second door to the right.
If he didn’t get on with it, he was going to embarrass himself. Chloe could pretend that he didn’t turn into a raging monster because she cared, but ignoring an erection was just a different thing. How was he supposed to sit next to her during Watchmen with all that and a bag of popcorn? Exactly.
Davis rinsed his hands, accidentally bumbling through bottles of the shampoo on the counter. A muted vanilla spilled over his hand, and it smelled like nothing compared to the scent of her skin. His senses had started to act up these days, and it was the only thing that (torturously) kept him sane.
It was taunting, tantalizing, all over the towel on the shower door. Sensible and white, like many of the things she chose. Davis stepped into the shower, felt inhuman nerve synapses fire uncontrollably. She’d dried off with it today. She’d been about to…
He stopped, didn’t want this to be one of those romances where a guy creepily peered in on his unfortunate crush with a telescope. He was her friend, and the fact that she’d had him over for the past week didn’t given him an all access pass into her private world.
In the kitchen, the wok and a few pots clashed like it was the apocalypse. Chloe had joked about being all thumbs away from electronics. Her eyes had looked lonely.
He could be there for her... Davis closed his eyes, leaned against the shower door. The towel brushed his face in a way that reminded him of hair and it was short, blonde and-he thought-silky. He lowered his hand, fist closed. He needed to get back to her. It was a tentative movement, first, easy to excuse away.
Then, the glancing thought that she’d stood here, like this. Rougher, quicker strokes. Warm green eyes in his mind’s eye, blinding ecstasy washing over raw nerve endings. Chloe’s scent was all over him, and when he closed his eyes he thought of her skin instead of calluses marked over with red. It was all too much, left him breathing out in barking gasps against the curtain.
Davis washed his palms clean, eyes dazed and slightly ashamed. They’d kissed just twice. They hadn’t even talked about what his change was exactly, what she’d done to save him. I know, Davis.
And if she did, he knew all too well the things that could happen to her. He used to imagine kids. Kids. If she ever became pregnant, something jagged like his other half would tear its way through her stomach like shrapnel. They could never…
That wasn’t all. Davis walked back to the kitchen on shaky legs. He would cook tonight, their routine, but he’d tell her. He would love her any way he could.
The kitchen was an abandoned war zone. Even his jacket was gone. Davis felt a kid’s momentary panic of being left behind, or worse, of someone taking her because of what he was. He doubled back.
“Chloe?”
Leaning safely against the wall in her bedroom, Chloe shook, gasped and opened her eyes just in time for the door to swing open.
Davis. Chloe. Someone was bound to get hot and bothered sometime.
Warning for slightly kinky solo shower cakes.
I can’t make love to you; it’ll kill you.
Davis was aroused, hiding out in Chloe’s bathroom, while she did something innocuous like dice a tomato. Davis knew he was a cliché, but at some point it stopped mattering.
It had been an accident: when she couldn’t reach the peppers he’d brushed up against her, almost close enough to wrap his arms around her from behind. She had whirled, dropping the bowl of very red pasta sauce. Davis remembered the last homicidal trucker he’d taken off the streets, but that wasn’t enough. He’d heard her breath pick up, found himself suddenly, painfully hard. He made a quick excuse. Chloe pointed out the bathroom, second door to the right.
If he didn’t get on with it, he was going to embarrass himself. Chloe could pretend that he didn’t turn into a raging monster because she cared, but ignoring an erection was just a different thing. How was he supposed to sit next to her during Watchmen with all that and a bag of popcorn? Exactly.
Davis rinsed his hands, accidentally bumbling through bottles of the shampoo on the counter. A muted vanilla spilled over his hand, and it smelled like nothing compared to the scent of her skin. His senses had started to act up these days, and it was the only thing that (torturously) kept him sane.
It was taunting, tantalizing, all over the towel on the shower door. Sensible and white, like many of the things she chose. Davis stepped into the shower, felt inhuman nerve synapses fire uncontrollably. She’d dried off with it today. She’d been about to…
He stopped, didn’t want this to be one of those romances where a guy creepily peered in on his unfortunate crush with a telescope. He was her friend, and the fact that she’d had him over for the past week didn’t given him an all access pass into her private world.
In the kitchen, the wok and a few pots clashed like it was the apocalypse. Chloe had joked about being all thumbs away from electronics. Her eyes had looked lonely.
He could be there for her... Davis closed his eyes, leaned against the shower door. The towel brushed his face in a way that reminded him of hair and it was short, blonde and-he thought-silky. He lowered his hand, fist closed. He needed to get back to her. It was a tentative movement, first, easy to excuse away.
Then, the glancing thought that she’d stood here, like this. Rougher, quicker strokes. Warm green eyes in his mind’s eye, blinding ecstasy washing over raw nerve endings. Chloe’s scent was all over him, and when he closed his eyes he thought of her skin instead of calluses marked over with red. It was all too much, left him breathing out in barking gasps against the curtain.
Davis washed his palms clean, eyes dazed and slightly ashamed. They’d kissed just twice. They hadn’t even talked about what his change was exactly, what she’d done to save him. I know, Davis.
And if she did, he knew all too well the things that could happen to her. He used to imagine kids. Kids. If she ever became pregnant, something jagged like his other half would tear its way through her stomach like shrapnel. They could never…
That wasn’t all. Davis walked back to the kitchen on shaky legs. He would cook tonight, their routine, but he’d tell her. He would love her any way he could.
The kitchen was an abandoned war zone. Even his jacket was gone. Davis felt a kid’s momentary panic of being left behind, or worse, of someone taking her because of what he was. He doubled back.
“Chloe?”
Leaning safely against the wall in her bedroom, Chloe shook, gasped and opened her eyes just in time for the door to swing open.