Spoilers for Vessel, Zod, a tiny one for Sneeze
Chapter Nineteen
Chloe wondered what it was all about. All the charm and flattery that was Kal lately compared to Clark's complete ignorance that she even was a girl. Why did he bother when all he needed to do was walk in and she was his?
Maybe it just kept it easy for him. Butter up the mistress to keep her in your bed. It was easier than seeking out some stranger. Easier to choose an outlet, since that's all she really was, who was a friend, a confidant, a secret-keeper. Someone who would die before betraying you.
As satisfying as it seemed, there was an emptiness inside her. She wanted Clark to want her as a woman, Kal to respect her and what she did as Clark did. Both sides fulfilled her, but it was all uneven, incomplete. And how much longer could she keep lying to herself that it was enough?
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I don't know if I'm ever gonna see you again.
The words echoed in his mind, along with the feelings. It had only been seconds, but there were years in that kiss. He saw things in those seconds. He saw her even with his eyes closed. He saw the body underneath her clothes, the heart beating inside it, the soul that threaded itself through her.
And he recognized all of it, though as if through a foggy window, in those seconds (hours?) that they kissed. He saw something in Chloe he'd never seen. Something he almost recognized. It was like some clue, some sense of deja vu that nagged at him. He couldn't put it together.
These thoughts and the memory of her lips sustained him in the dark wasteland that was The Phantom Zone. And, as he fought to save his world, to free it from Zod, to even save Lex... She was never gone from his mind.
Soon, now, he thought. I'll find you and we'll figure this out. We always figure it out. You and I. And the idea of that meant more to him than ever. It was she who always worked beside him, bolstered his spirits, helped him see the man he could become. They would figure this out.
When he found her at The Planet, it all rushed to him. And he found himself nervous. He'd never been nervous with Chloe. And it was all on the tip of his tongue- everything he'd been feeling. And she said "Don't worry, Clark. It was the end of the world." And he wanted to stop her, say it all. But he couldn't. He mumbled something. He hardly remembered what because someone else was suddenly there. And it felt wrong and intrusive to be there was Chloe smiled that way, tilted her head.
He suddenly recognized those gestures as more than friendly. He also recognized that they had once belonged to him alone. And she was making them at this... boy with his silly grin and skinny body. He let them go off together.
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It was so easy. She'd just never expected it to be so easy.
When she'd first met Jimmy, she was smarting from Clark's rejection, eager to prove she was over him, desperate to claim the experience that would seal it.
In other words, she'd used him. And then "lost" his number, email and address- which he'd so earnestly given to her with this almost puppy-ish look on his face. It made it worse that she'd almost immediately had sex with Kal in a stinking alleyway. How could she contact Jimmy after that? She was trash, nowhere near good enough for him.
But now she saw him for what he was. He wasn't some sad jerk to be used. He was sweet, genuine, and he'd give her something neither Clark or Kal ever had. Love? Maybe. It was too soon to tell. But she knew he respected her. He was practically in awe of her. And she knew he was attracted. Not only because of the hasty experience of that summer, but because of the tell-tale bulge in his pants when he'd hugged her as they'd said goodbye earlier. He'd hemmed and hawed for a moment before finally telling her he was available if she ever wanted a meal that didn't come from a machine.
He'd even helped bring her to stuff to Lois' place. Well, what hadn't been looted and broken.
She stood among the boxes and bags and turned her T.S. Elliot book over in her hands, thankful the cretins who'd busted into her and Lana's room weren't literary. Her letter was still tucked safely in the back. Her letter to Clark.
Clark didn't didn't seem upset at all. In fact, she was sure he was happy for her. She'd bet he was even as relieved as she was. It could all end now. She and Jimmy weren't exactly official yet, but soon... They'd have that talk. She could be content with what Clark gave her- his respect, friendship, his almost... brotherly affection. She could handle it now because somebody nearly worshiped her. And it felt so good.
"How does Little Jimmy feel?" she heard behind her. It was almost as if he knew her thoughts, but she knew better. he was setting a verbal trap. He'd snap it any second.
She didn't turn around, just shoved the book deep into a box of clothes. Maybe the school would reopen and she'd be going back soon. If she did, she'd be leaving more than Lois' snores behind. "How does he feel about what?" she asked, wishing he'd just get his jibe over with.
"Knowing he's had sloppy seconds," he drawled.
She spun around, breaking her promise to herself. She'd told herself not to let him get to her. But for him to refer to her that way... "Sloppy seconds?" she sneered. "Well, you should know."
He abandoned his relaxed pose against the doorway, his fists clenched at his sides. "And what does that mean?" he asked, his tone soft, but menacing.
"Come on! Did you think Jimmy and I just met?" She laughed. "I mean, you knew you weren't the first."
"I see," he said, still softly. "And how long has that been going on?"
She wanted to tell him it had been years. That she'd been screwing him with Kal on the side. But if she wanted to make a clean break, then the truth counted. "It was once," she said, turning away. "Years ago when I first interned. Then you came along," she said bitterly. "I wish you hadn't."
She felt him behind her. He was always creeping up behind her. "Well, here I come again. So drop him."
She shook her head. "No. I don't think so."
He spun her around. "You don't have a choice," he growled. "You've been mine from that start."
"But not in the end," she countered, seething with anger. "I have someone who wants me! All of me! Not just my body and not just my mind. And, from what I know, the both of you have business to attend to. So why don't you stop screwing around and get to work?"
He pulled her to him. "Because maybe I'm not done screwing around." She twisted her head away, but his lips were on her neck. She didn't want to feel the desire that clenched her stomach, but it was there. "You aren't done either," he whispered, working on her shirt. "You want me."
"I don't want to," she cried out. She tried to pull his hands from her shirt, but he still managed to get it off. He backed her to the wall, pinning her wrists there and she really, truly felt powerless. Nothing she did could stop him. He was too strong. As disgusted as she should be by the thought, she felt a fresh surge of wetness below.
"There's no one else for you," he said darkly, grinding his hips against her.
She pushed back, glaring at him. He looked satisfied and disconcerted at the same time. "What about you?" she demanded. "If I don't let you in, where will you go? Huh?"
"You know I can get any pussy I want," he said, even as his hands brought hers above her head. He pinned them with one hand and let the other work on her pants.
"Then why haven't you?" She knew fighting him was useless. But if she could make him mad enough to leave...
He shrugged, almost succeeding in disinterest as he gave up getting her jeans past her feet. "Don't have to," he said, hooking a finger where her zipper met. He ripped downwards and they fell to her ankles. He lifted her at the waist and they slid off. "Not when I have an easy little piece like you always waiting for me."
"I figured," she gasped, trying not to betray any emotion at the words or any shock at his actions. Her bra was suddenly snapped apart at the middle, gaping wide and hanging off her shoulders. "But it won't be so easy now. I could have company and..."
"No!" Her underwear quickly disappeared as well. And, God help her, she wanted it to. How sick was that?
There were no more words. He was done arguing verbally, so he assaulted her body with every bit of knowledge he'd gained these last few years. And she let him. Not only that, she reveled in it.
He was jealous and she was glad. She hoped he was writhing with it as she had all these years, watching Clark become involved with every female he came across except for her. Whatever Kal was feeling, she just hoped Clark had a taste. A nice big one.
She no longer stayed passive. Once he released her hands, she gave as good as she got. His eyes burned as she pulled at his pants, sliding down as she turned to press him against the wall. He could regain control at any time, but he didn't seem to care. Not when her mouth slid over him. She grasped the base of his c*ck and pulled and sucked as hard and fast as she could. If he thought he was the only one that knew what he was doing, he was as blind as Clark.
He needed her as bad as she did him. Their bodies were drawn to each other, even if, in everything else, they were miles apart. She wasn't the only one who would suffer without this.
It wasn't until hours later that they stopped, sprawled amid strewn clothes. A textbook dug painfully into her back. She summoned the strength to pull it out from under her. Chemistry. It just figured.
"Five fucking times in a row," he said sleepily. "Some kinda record." He was on his side, his arm draped loosely over her.
She didn't answer, only ran her hands up and down his back. He closed his eyes and, as she stroked him, began breathing deep and evenly. It was only after soft snores begun issuing from him that she let her hand slide to his neck. She felt the clasp at his nape. She couldn't risk bringing her other hand up, so she worked at it silently, trying not to breathe. He stirred and she quickly moved her hand down, stroking his back again.
He relaxed again and she slowly let out a breath. She poked her head up, adding her eyes to the task at hand. One flick of her finger and it fell to the floor between them. It looked dull somehow, away from his skin. She clasped it in her hand and carefully crawled out from under his arm.
She pulled some clothes from the piles strewn around her, wondering what Clark would think when he woke naked in Lois' apartment on top of Chloe's clothes? He didn't want to deal with what happened between them anymore than she did... at least not anymore. She'd figure it out. She always figured things out. It was practically her reason for existing.
She slipped the necklace in her pocket and knelt next to him. She let her hand wander, one last time, to his forehead. She brushed a lock of hair away, lowering her lips to it. "I'll probably always love you," she said in a choked whisper. "Both of you."
It was only when she'd closed the door behind her that she let her tears fall, even amidst the bustle of The Talon below her. But she didn't indulge for long. She had work to do. "Lead," she whispered. Something lead. And, hard as it would be, something green.
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Clark's dreams were agony. There was weakness all over him and a dull, throbbing pain. His nerve-endings felt so sensitive, that the rasp of cloth against him felt like sandpaper. What was happening?
He tried to open his eyes, but there was only blackness. Something was tied over them. He tried to lift his arms to remove it, but they wouldn't obay. They lay limp aginst his side as, again, cloth slid over them. Someone was... dressing him? Why? Was this a memory?
He willed himself to wake, but he couldn't. He could only lay motionless as he felt himself lifted, turned and every movement brought with it the same pain and churning inside.
Suddenly, the pain was lifting. He gasped for air. As his lungs filled, his strength seemed to return. But as he tried to move again, a languor stole over his body even as a sickly sweet smell filled his nostrils. Blackness stole over him slowly as he breathed in and out. He was so tired, he let it. The last thing he felt was a hand in his hair. The last thing he heard was soft sobbing.
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He opened his eyes, wondering if he'd see anything at all. He squinted as bright sunlight assaulted him. When his eyes adjusted, he saw a familiar water stain. It was shaped like a squirrel. He looked to the side and saw his alarm clock. Seven twenty-one. It was morning and he was home. It had been a dream?
He sat up, groggy. He'd not often been sick, but he felt so now. "Mom?" he called.
A flurry of footsteps answered and he soon saw his mother in the doorway, relief plain on her face.
"Oh, thank goodness," she sighed, a hand on her stomach. "I thought you'd never wake up." She came over to the bed, putting a hand on his forehead. "How do you feel?"
"Fine," he croaked. "A little tired, but..."
"Well, no wonder," she said, shaking her head. "This last week has been hell on all of us, but you, Clark... whatever happened in that awful place, you need time to rest up from it."
"How long have I been out?"
"Well, we brought you home around seven, but you'd been out before that for... God only knows how long."
"What?" he tried to sit up, but she pushed him back. He let her. "Brought me home from where?"
"Lois' apartment." She adjusted his covers. "Chloe said you came over to help her with her things and just suddenly collapsed."
Had he? He didn't remember. "But how?"
"Isn't it obvious? You're ill."
"Mom, I'm fine. Just a little..."
"No," she said firmly. "Just because you hit eighteen doesn't mean you stop listening to your mother." She started for the door. "You're not invincible, Clark. You've been sick before and I won't let you get sick again. Now you stay there while I heat up some soup."
He got up as soon as her footsteps faded, pacing back and forth. Something wasn't right. He couldn't exlain it, but he felt... angry. Maybe his mom was right. Maybe he was just tired and stressed. But there was something underneath that simmered. He sped his way through dressing and rushed downstairs.
His mom stared at him, a spoon frozen in her hand. "Clark, I told you..."
"I feel fine, Mom. Great actually," he said hurriedly. "And I just can't sit in bed with the city in shambles. I'm gonna see what I can do to, you know..." He sped out before she could argue. He needed work. Hard, punishing work. It would clear his mind. He didn't know where this rage had come from, but something told him it was best to work it off. Erase it.
And that's what he'd do. It was partially his fault Metropolis was half-ruined. And he had work to do.
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