There was a ringing, an awful, ear-splitting ringing. She burrowed her face into the pillow, only coming up for air when it stopped.
The first feeling was overwhelming dryness. Her eyes seemed nearly stuck together as she tried to open them. Her tongue made an actual scraping noise when she tried to wet her lips. She heard sprinklers outside and nearly wished they could somehow spray through the walls and reach her. She almost moved toward the noise when she felt something tighten across her stomach. Her eyes shot open with what she swore was a crusty squeak. That was when the panic came. She was naked. There was an arm. That arm belonged to a man. That man was Lex Luthor.
She shot forward, letting the nausea flood her with the memories as she lurched toward the bathroom. She side-stepped a pile of glass, her mouth becoming a little too wet with the movement. She made it to the toilet just in time as... nearly nothing came out. She'd had no dinner. There was only the sour taste of scotch trickling its way up from her stomach as she heaved, kneeling by the toilet. She took deep breaths and spit hard into the toilet, hoping it was over. She heard the sprinklers again and lurched to the sink, fumbling for the glass that held the toothbrushes. She dumped it out, only rinsing once before grappling for the knob and filling it. She drained it, letting the water flood her mouth with its slight taste of toothpaste. She leaned against the sink, breathing heavily, almost relieved before her stomach rejected the water.
She dropped to the toilet again, now heaving up the water with more sour scotch and bile. She stared into the toilet, wondering if it was over. It seemed to be. She groped blindly for the toilet paper and blew her nose. She never managed to vomit without some of it creeping into her nose. She rose shakily and leaned over the sink again. She took a few very tentative sips from the glass again, then spit. She almost wanted to vomit again. With her immediate needs taken care of, her mind would be free to actually think. And even vomiting was a walk in the park compared to facing up to the fact that she'd had sex with Lex Luthor. And liked it, a voice inside her jeered. Don't forget that part.
Liking it wasn't such a crime. If she was going to give her body to the devil, then she should at least get something out of it. It was the fact that it had happened at all. Then again, by the time he'd had her coming on the table, she figured she might as well get the rest of the show. But she could have stopped even that. She could have stopped him any time. Why hadn't she?
"Morning, Sullivan." She jumped away from the sink. Luthor was leaning in the doorway. "You look like shit."
He was wearing his boxers, at least. That only served to highlight the fact that she wasn't wearing anything at all. Far past any maidenly gestures to cover herself with her hands, she strode to the door, pushing him out before closing it.
"Oh, then I take it we're not cuddling."
She grabbed her robe off the back of the door and shrugged into it, cinching it almost painfully tight. She strode back to the sink and hastily put some toothpaste on her brush, choosing to concentrate on something else. Because thinking was just not an option right now. She brushed away the vomit and sour scotch taste, rinsing several times before reluctantly facing her reflection in the mirror. She'd done this. It wasn't the end of the world. She could deal with it.... Just not today.
She opened the door again and moved into the living room, sidestepping both the man and the broken glass on her way to the kitchen.
"Not talking either, then."
She came out with the broom and started working on the remnants of the bottle and glasses. She wasn't talking. In fact, she rather hoped he'd get the hint and just leave. But no. He was leaning against her table as if he had nowhere to be. Of course. He was a damned billionaire he could probably hire a dozen people to be anywhere he needed to be. But she needed to be... Shit! It was Saturday. She glanced at the clock above the door. It was six in the morning. She needed to be nowhere until her night shift at the Planet. But she still had to get the mess and the man out of the way before Lois came... Where was Lois?
She turned to the answering machine. It was blinking. That must have been the ringing. She left her pile of glass to move toward it, punching the play button. "Hey, Chloe," Lois' voice came through, tinny and slightly hesitant. "I just realized something awful. I mean, I can't believe I completely missed your birthday. I am a first class bitch and I owe you the swankiest dinner imaginable at the restaurant of your choice. And, uh... I'm sorry I didn't come home last night. Gr... Gabriel totally had me out all night... I mean, staking out the mayor. Yeah. Uh... Total bust. Got nothing. I'll... I'll be home soon. I'm sorry, again."
Chloe punched the erase button, pursing her lips angrily. The birthday. She could forgive that easily before she could forgive Lois being out all night on Gabriel's supposed stake-out. Did she have no self-respect? The man was her... Boss, her mind finished as she turned back to Luthor, still lounging against her table, a strange little frown on his face as he stared at the floor. Meanwhile, you just played hide the sausage with the enemy.
"That happen a lot?" Lex asked, finally looking up at her again. "These all-nighters?"
She broke her vow of silence. "If you're thinking this will happen again, then..."
"I'm thinking nothing of the sort," he said, then leered just slightly. "Though now that you mention it..."
"No. Nuh-uh. Never," she bit out, sweeping the glass again roughly. "And what business is it of yours what my cousin and her... self do," she finished awkwardly.
He shrugged and moved out of the way of her broom, smirking again. "Just making conversation."
"I don't want to make conversation with you." She just wanted to sweep the mess away, all the mess, and go about her day. She moved to the kitchen and grabbed the dustpan. "I want you to go. So go."
"I will." He leaned against the table again, all skin and smirk. "I just want to hear you admit it first."
"Admit what?" She tossed the dustpan down and swept some glass into it. She hurriedly took it into the kitchen, dumping it before coming back for the rest.
"That this happened. And it wasn't big, bad Luthor forcing you into it."
"No." She bent over to sweep up the rest, along with the mangled label. "It was half a bottle of scotch that..."
"It wasn't the alcohol, either. That was just a lubricant." He smiled suddenly. "Not that we needed any kind of lubricant with you already so..."
She jolted as she felt her robe parting. He was right behind her as she shot up, dropping the dust pan and its contents. She slapped his hand off her thigh. "Stop it," she grunted, trying to pull away.
He held her there, one hand on her arm, the other at the opening of her robe. "I just want to see."
"That's not seeing, so just..." Her voice, as well as all thought processes, stopped as his fingers searched through her hair, sliding against her where she was, God help her, wet. And getting wetter.
"Know why it happened, Sullivan?" he said in her ear. "Because it felt good. And that's all there is to it." She shivered as his other hand cupped her breast through her robe. "Isn't that funny? Five fucking millions reasons why not, but all it takes to override them is how fucking good it feels."
And he was right. She could analyze it all day. Hell, they'd spent half that night analyzing every second, but it all came down to feeling good. Not in a sweet, all-is-right-with-the-world, buy-the-world-a-coke way. But in the clenching, gripping, heart-beat-all-over-your-body way. She'd never had that. She had it last night. And that was most of why she did it. She was afraid she'd never have it again. She pulled away. She'd live. "My cousin's coming home."
He pulled her to face him. "Oh, yeah. Can't have her finding us like this, can we?"
She held herself away, her arms stiff between them. "Is that some kind of a threat, Luthor?"
"Not at all." His gaze lowered to the gap in her robe. "Obviously, neither of us wants this to get out. Only two people know. Just you and me." He raised his eyes to hers. "Wonder if you can live with that."
"If you think I'm going to let you goad me every chance you..."
"I won't say a word," he said, his eyes widening. "I promised, remember?" He licked his lips. "Doesn't mean I can't watch you squirm. In fact it will bring back fond memories of how you writhed and..."
"I don't want to talk about it, okay?" she snapped. "It's bad enough that it happened. But it did and we can't go back. God, I'm..." She took a deep breath. "I'm not casting blame, here. I'm just... a blank slate."
"So it never happened? Clean slate? That it?"
"Yes."
"Damn." He leaned toward her lips. "Guess I'll just have to start over." His lips were nearly touching hers.
"Get off me," she growled, giving one good push. It worked. He stumbled backwards. Even after that, he managed to look as if he'd won. "Get dressed and get out."
He chuckled. "If I had a nickel for every time..." He straightened and turned to the screen that denoted her bedroom. "Well, I'd have a nickel now."
*******************************
He moved behind the screen, gathering his clothes together. It was what he should have done when he heard her retching. It wasn't a new thing to wake up to, the sound of a woman puking. He'd never met a woman that could keep up with him, liquor-wise. But Sullivan had held on pretty well last night. He should be impressed. He found himself pissed instead. She'd ignored him. She'd ignored him. Even as the thought grinded in his mind, he knew it was a spoiled little Luthor thought, brought on by years of clinging heiresses and social climbers. What did he expect, really? Was she supposed to snuggle up? Say "Let's do it again"?
As he pulled his pants over his already-hard cock, he realized that a part of him wouldn't mind at all.
But he knew it wasn't to be. Perhaps that's why he kept pushing. He always wanted it more when he couldn't have it. Even knowing it to be true didn't make it go away.
He smiled as she stomped around, probably trying to clean away any trace of them last night. It wasn't just for Lois' sake. It was for her. She wouldn't want to be reminded. But she would be. He wouldn't even need to say word one. He'd just have to look at her. And he would. He'd do his share of looking once everything came together. He just had to get the man known as Grant Gabriel to keep it in his pants or he'd ruin everything. He wasn't about to acquire the Daily Planet just to have a sexual harassment lawsuit swipe it out from under him. He wondered if that was Lois' game. If it was, she was smarter than he gave her credit for.
Somehow, he doubted it.
He pulled his undershirt over his head and poked his arms through it. His dress shirt was a lost cause. He picked it up and smiled, fingering the places where buttons once were. She'd ripped it right off him. She was just full of surprises. It was almost a shame she seemed so dead-set against a second round. He wondered how she'd respond to bondage, to the semi public places and the danger of being discovered, to very carefully doled out pain, to... He needed a fucking mistress. That's what he needed. He didn't need her. He shouldn't even want her.
He may be her enemy, but she was just as surely his. It wasn't Clark. As much as he resented him for becoming a thorn in his side with his constant sanctimonious accusations, it was always Chloe Sullivan, hacking into places she didn't belong. He wasn't even sure how closely Clark was involved, if at all. For all intents and purposes, he was a damned farmer. Though, inside, Lex knew there was something...
"Are you leaving or what?"
His anger returned and, with it, the urge to show who the fuck gave the orders. He took a deep breath and put his cufflinks in his pocket, tossing his shirt on the other side of the bed. He'd give the orders soon enough. She'd see. He pasted a smile on his face as he moved beyond the screen. He glanced from her, tapping a bare foot against the floor, to his coat over the chair, probably still reeking of scotch. He moved toward her, enjoying her slight flinch as he leaned in, only scooping up his coat.
He smiled, tight-lipped as she waited, her eyes darting from him to the clock to the door. "Guess I'll see you around."
"Yeah. Don't bet on it," she said to some spot over his shoulder. "I'll be busy at the Planet and you'll be busy trying to take over the world, so..."
"That's cute," he said, nodding. "But I'm sure we'll manage to bump into each other."
"Like I said." She finally met his eyes. "Don't count on it."
And, at that point, he just couldn't help it. He threw his coat back to the chair and grasped her neck, pulling her to him in a kiss that was meant to punish her for every time she sneered at him, for every time she and all her little friends treated him like the scum of the earth, for every time she'd made him feel as if he was not fit to breath the same air as the rest of them. And maybe it was true. Maybe he was as low as they came. But he still wanted to punish, hurt...
And then her hands grasped his shirt and they didn't push. They pulled. And suddenly he was being punished. He knew where things were going. He'd be all gone soon. He'd be over that line. He almost felt it. He could open orphanages all over the world, donate wings to every hospital... But this was as close to redemption as he'd get. Untainted hands and lips would never touch him again. He wasn't meant for nice things.
He pulled away, silently grabbing his coat. What was he supposed to do? Turn over a new leaf? Jump back over that line and ignore everything he knew? He'd tried that with Lana. It didn't work. Any woman worth having was already in love with Clark Kent. This one included. He looked back once at her dazed, slightly conflicted face as he turned the doorknob. "Like I said," he said slowly. "I'll see you around."
And he would. And if she hated him now... Well, she'd see.
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