PART FOUR
What am I doing? What the hell am I doing?
"Chloe... what are you... doing?"
She'd wondered if her thoughts were echoing (though in a deeper voice) until she saw it was Clark, eyes as big as saucers, grunting out the words.
Jerking off her best friend. That was what she was doing. Easy enough to answer. The real question was why she was doing it.
She couldn't exactly think too heavily on that. All she knew was that she had to. He was naked and his body was warm and they might not be alive tomorrow and she couldn't squander this moment by not touching him, closing her fingers around him, pulling gently as his eyes went from wide to shut, his breath coming in soft pants that stirred her hair.
This was crazy. This was completely unjustifiably insane. As the sleep left her body, she realized that more fully. But she'd be damned if that would stop her from helping him.
"Shhh. Just let me help you," she whispered.
"Chloe... you... you don't... have to..."
But I do. There was still that overwhleming feeling that she had to. He'd never help himself, as embarrassed as he was. Then again, she'd be lying to herself if she said this was just for him. If they got out of this and she remembered this moment, she'd always wonder what would have happened if she took him in her hand, stroked him, felt him shake against her.
She put her other hand against his chest. He was shaking now.
Maybe this was a mistake. But it was a mistake she had to make. Because, if they didn't get out of this, this would just be one of the many squandered, wasted moments that summed up her friendship with Clark -- a friendship that always teetered on the edge of... something else.
"How can I make it up to you?" he'd asked, apologizing for leaving her at the Spring Formal.
"Actually, you know, I've been thinking. It's funny how a natural disaster puts your life in perspective, but I think that it might be better if we just stayed really good friends. Anything other than that just gets too complicated."
Even in the middle of her spiel, she wondered what if she told him to make it up to her over coffee, over dinner, at a movie where she could clasp his hand and pretend to be scared...
But she hadn't. She watched him agree with her, then walk away, before she cried alone.
She pushed him against the filing cabinets in the records room, smashing her lips to his. It was just for show, of course. But what if she swept her tongue between his lips for just one...
But she hadn't. She broke away, later brushing it off with a silly quip.
His hands slid up her arms and his eyes dropped to her lips just before the hotel's elevator doors opened on a scandalized woman and her children. As they'd gone off to find a concierge to help find the missing earring that Clark was so sure was at the bottom of an elevator shaft, she wondered what would happen if she suggested they pick up where they left off...
But she hadn't.
There were too many what-ifs, too many lost opportunities, for this to become just one more. Maybe she'd regret this if they ever made it home. But she was damned sure she'd regret not doing this as she took her last frozen breath, still stuck in the middle of the Arctic.
She used the hand on his chest to push slightly. He rolled onto his back with a shaky moan and she pulled harder, faster, savoring the feel of him, hot and smooth in her hand. She had only done this once before. She'd hardly got a chance to do this even then. Things had progressed so rapidly to sex that went by so quickly, she hardly realized it had happened. She was just a silly kid then. Fooling around with another silly kid who looked nothing like Clark and was nothing like Clark, which was the whole point of the exercise then.
She leaned over him and worked him harder, not wanting to think of either of those silly kids right now. Because this? This was Clark. And she wouldn't waste a second. She'd remember every sight, sound, and scent of this moment. She breathed in, smelling the musty shack and the mustier blanket. They were necessary evils if she wanted to get to that musky smell underneath. That was all Clark. She knew it from countless hugs and cold nights in a borrowed, ugly, red jacket. There was another smell she knew -- her own. She rubbed her thighs together, nearly embarrassed at how easily they slid against each other. She'd been moist before with thoughts of him, so quickly pushed away as hopeless. It was hardly surprising that she'd be slippery wet now, with him straining under her.
He threw his head back against the bed, his neck arching, purple veins standing out against red skin as she gripped and squeezed. Someone moaned. She realized it was her and that his lips were tight, only frantic bursts of air escaping them. That was no good. She needed to hear him.
"Clark," she whispered. "Just let go."
Her arm was beginning to hurt, but even that wouldn't stop her now. It could fall off for all she cared. Just to hear him...
His head turned to her and his eyes opened, pupils so dilated they were nearly black, but so conflicted. She could see guilt and fear and, yes, lust in them. She hardly cared if it was for her or just for this moment. She was in this moment. She had started to make this mistake. She'd finish making it.
She glanced at the tendons standing out on his neck and... God only knew what made her do it, but she bent down, biting at his skin, flicking her tongue against it.
And he did it. He let go. She heard it in his harsh growl of her name. She felt it in the wet warmth that coated her hand. She saw it when she lifted her head to his slack mouth and closed eyes.
It felt warm now. Nearly too warm. She threw off the ratty blanket and rose.
*****************************
"Are we going to talk about it?"
"Talk about what?"
"You know what, Chloe."
She kept picking her way through the snow ahead of him. She'd been ahead of him for hours. "Clark, we need to keep moving if we have a chance of finding any kind of shelter before sunset." And that was her excuse. It wasn't like they couldn't walk and talk at the same time. Last night, she'd kept forcing him to keep talking to keep alert. But suddenly walking and talking had become mutually exclusive activities.
He hefted the makeshift knapsack, made from a ratty blanket and containing one flashlight, a jar of questionable beef jerky, and a buffer of old napkins, on his shoulder. Chloe was holding the lantern base upright, which still had some kerosene, in one hand, switching hands and jamming the other into her pocket as she went. She said it would come in handy if they needed to start a fire, as would the old napkins. He thought of the napkins with some detestment, remembering the way she'd tossed one at him.
***********************
"Oh, good. Napkins. Might wanna clean yourself up," she said, buzzing around the shack, shimmying into her clothes as he turned his eyes away to do just that, wiping at his stomach and thighs.
She'd tossed his clothes on him moments later.
"We should probably get moving. I know Arctic days are longer in summer, but we have no idea how far north we are. For all we know, this old shack could be a two-day ride in a sno-kat from the nearest cabin and... Ohhhh!"
Clark rushed out of bed, pants still unzipped, to find her foot already in the icy hole in the floor. He gripped her arm, pulling her out a little too late as she'd already cracked through to freezing water. A day ago, and he'd have had her out in time -- and home before she could blink. "Are you okay?"
"Fine." She shook her foot, resting a hand on his bare shoulder. "Just cold and... little wetter now."
He glanced down. "Just watch your step in here. These ice shacks are tricky." He gripped her waist, pulling her further away, then noticed she was still in her bra. It was lavender and black and kind of lacy. He'd hardly had a look at it last night, just pulling it over her head while closing his eyes. He hardly got a look at it now, she pushed away from him so fast, dislodging his hands and bending to the pile of clothes.
"This one looks like it's been used recently. I mean..." She turned, pulling her shirt all the way down, then picking up the flashlight he'd dropped near the bed. "This works." She clicked it on and off. "Cool."
"Chloe..."
"You know, I hate to leave shelter at all," she cut in hurriedly, "but who's going to find us out here? I mean, you went back and saved the day, but nobody has any idea we're here, except... Well, maybe Lex does. But we gave him the slip. For all he knows, some other Chloe Sullivan was in a hospital in the Yukon. Oh!" She turned to him. "Unless your parents knew you were going to end up here? Do they? Because that might..."
"They don't," he answered, feeling the weight of it now. He might know they were safe, but they had no idea he was okay.
"Then we have to move," Chloe went on rapidly, pulling on her shoes. "We have a full day to find something else. There has to be something better further south or..." She drew up to him, then stopped, swallowing visibly. She quickly moved past him, toward the shelf. "Looks like we even have food." She pulled down the jar. "Beef jerky." She turned to him with a grimace. "Guess we can't be too choosy, though. Let's pack it up."
************************
And they did. They packed up and moved on. They left the shack and, apparently everything that happened in it, behind.
He plodded along behind her.
He would plod along next to her, but she seemed to gain some sudden burst of speed anytime he got near and, rather than keep up against her wishes, he lagged. If she didn't want to be anywhere near him, then... Fine. Whatever.
She suddenly stopped at a fallen log and turned to him. He wondered if she was finally going to talk. He wasn't exactly wearing a watch, but it had now been... a billion hours since she had last said a word.
"This is ridiculous," she said, using three now.
"It is," he agreed, having nothing better to say.
"Clark we should..."
Rest? Talk?
"We should try to start a fire."
His lips drew together and he clenched his free fist. "I'll look for some branches." Because she was right. They should start a fire. But that wasn't all they should do and she knew it or she wouldn't be avoiding it. He moved away. There were some scattered trees now. And the snow was only ankle-deep, just soaking through his socks and cuffs rather than running up his pant legs to his knees. He supposed that was progress, though it didn't exactly guarantee them a place to sleep when the sun went down. Then again, they did have a half-book of matches and what looked to be a quarter-cup of kerosene. Add in some dry branches and they had at least some warmth.
He dropped some low-hanging branches before her and turned back to the trees.
"That's probably enough for now."
"We might need more." He turned back, glad he had something to say she'd actually listen to. "We can't see how far these woods go. We might need more firewood." He hefted his knpsack. "I should get some more."
She nodded and placed her lantern down. "I'll go, too. One hundred paces?"
He nodded and turned, stupidly wishing she'd walk his way. It would probably be less productive, in the way of branch-finding, but at least he'd have his best friend -- and Chloe was his best friend -- to talk to. Now he wasn't sure if he'd have that ever again. She refused to speak to him, after all.
When he dumped more twigs near the lantern, she still wasn't back. He considered following her footprints, but hunkered down on the fallen log instead, bundling his spare branches in the ratty blanket. If she didn't want to talk then... fine. He had better things to do. He could gather his earlier crop of branches together and consider starting a fire. He glanced behind him. But not if she wasn't back. If she wasn't back, then he should tear a piece off his shirt and light a torch. Maybe go off in search... That was stupid. It was still daylight. But who knew for how long? He threw down his makeshift knapsack and dug for the flashlight.
"Hope you're not eating all our food."
He looked up, both relieved and offended. "What? No. I was just..." He held the flashlight up, feeling stupid in the light. "I would never..."
"I know you wouldn't, Clark." She dropped a bunch of sticks. "I was just teasing."
"At least you're talking," he muttered.
He waited for her to give a snappy come-back, acknowledging even that, but she only dropped down on the ground and brushed some snow away. "The branches are a little wet, but I figure we can use the kerosene to get past that." She dug in her pocket and pulled out the matches, ripped one off, then poised to strike. She nodded to the lantern base in the snow. "Could you sprinkle some of that?"
"Sure." He bent down and picked up the glass base then stopped short of pulling the wick out. "No." He pulled it closer to his chest.
"Clark, we should really..."
"What? Keep moving? We're taking a break now, Chloe, so we're not losing time by actually talking."
"We're risking hypothermia if you don't help me start this fire." She reached for the base, but he held it away.
"And I will if you promise we'll talk."
She drew back, pursing her lips. "Fine. We'll talk."
"And not about just anything." He wasn't going to be fooled so easily. "About... it," he clarified, though not so clearly, nodding in the general direction of North.
She looked away, then finally rested her narrowed eyes on his. "I promise. Now will you..."
He checked her hands for crossed fingers, then nodded and pulled the wick out, gently shaking the base over the pile of sticks, glad she'd given in because he was about to as he was still freezing, even more so for having stopped moving.
"Napkins," she said, still poised to strike the match.
He quickly moved to get some, wondering if he should have known that from camping trips. Then again, his dad had insisted on doing it the hard way, stick, rock and all. He said it was to build character. Clark hadn't thought much of it these last few years, since he could, until recently, start a fire with just a look.
"Put a few between the sticks."
"You really know what you're doing," he observed, placing a few.
She smiled slightly. "Well, my dad does call himself the barbecue king."
He smiled, too, thinking of dads and everything they had to share and how he'd have never got this far without the words of his own, echoing in his mind. He hoped he'd get to tell him all about it, though slightly edited in parts. And speaking of edited parts...
But she hadn't. She watched him agree with her, then walk away, before she cried alone.
She pushed him against the filing cabinets in the records room, smashing her lips to his. It was just for show, of course. But what if she swept her tongue between his lips for just one...
But she hadn't. She broke away, later brushing it off with a silly quip.
His hands slid up her arms and his eyes dropped to her lips just before the hotel's elevator doors opened on a scandalized woman and her children. As they'd gone off to find a concierge to help find the missing earring that Clark was so sure was at the bottom of an elevator shaft, she wondered what would happen if she suggested they pick up where they left off...
But she hadn't.
There were too many what-ifs, too many lost opportunities, for this to become just one more. Maybe she'd regret this if they ever made it home. But she was damned sure she'd regret not doing this as she took her last frozen breath, still stuck in the middle of the Arctic.
She used the hand on his chest to push slightly. He rolled onto his back with a shaky moan and she pulled harder, faster, savoring the feel of him, hot and smooth in her hand. She had only done this once before. She'd hardly got a chance to do this even then. Things had progressed so rapidly to sex that went by so quickly, she hardly realized it had happened. She was just a silly kid then. Fooling around with another silly kid who looked nothing like Clark and was nothing like Clark, which was the whole point of the exercise then.
She leaned over him and worked him harder, not wanting to think of either of those silly kids right now. Because this? This was Clark. And she wouldn't waste a second. She'd remember every sight, sound, and scent of this moment. She breathed in, smelling the musty shack and the mustier blanket. They were necessary evils if she wanted to get to that musky smell underneath. That was all Clark. She knew it from countless hugs and cold nights in a borrowed, ugly, red jacket. There was another smell she knew -- her own. She rubbed her thighs together, nearly embarrassed at how easily they slid against each other. She'd been moist before with thoughts of him, so quickly pushed away as hopeless. It was hardly surprising that she'd be slippery wet now, with him straining under her.
He threw his head back against the bed, his neck arching, purple veins standing out against red skin as she gripped and squeezed. Someone moaned. She realized it was her and that his lips were tight, only frantic bursts of air escaping them. That was no good. She needed to hear him.
"Clark," she whispered. "Just let go."
Her arm was beginning to hurt, but even that wouldn't stop her now. It could fall off for all she cared. Just to hear him...
His head turned to her and his eyes opened, pupils so dilated they were nearly black, but so conflicted. She could see guilt and fear and, yes, lust in them. She hardly cared if it was for her or just for this moment. She was in this moment. She had started to make this mistake. She'd finish making it.
She glanced at the tendons standing out on his neck and... God only knew what made her do it, but she bent down, biting at his skin, flicking her tongue against it.
And he did it. He let go. She heard it in his harsh growl of her name. She felt it in the wet warmth that coated her hand. She saw it when she lifted her head to his slack mouth and closed eyes.
It felt warm now. Nearly too warm. She threw off the ratty blanket and rose.
*****************************
"Are we going to talk about it?"
"Talk about what?"
"You know what, Chloe."
She kept picking her way through the snow ahead of him. She'd been ahead of him for hours. "Clark, we need to keep moving if we have a chance of finding any kind of shelter before sunset." And that was her excuse. It wasn't like they couldn't walk and talk at the same time. Last night, she'd kept forcing him to keep talking to keep alert. But suddenly walking and talking had become mutually exclusive activities.
He hefted the makeshift knapsack, made from a ratty blanket and containing one flashlight, a jar of questionable beef jerky, and a buffer of old napkins, on his shoulder. Chloe was holding the lantern base upright, which still had some kerosene, in one hand, switching hands and jamming the other into her pocket as she went. She said it would come in handy if they needed to start a fire, as would the old napkins. He thought of the napkins with some detestment, remembering the way she'd tossed one at him.
***********************
"Oh, good. Napkins. Might wanna clean yourself up," she said, buzzing around the shack, shimmying into her clothes as he turned his eyes away to do just that, wiping at his stomach and thighs.
She'd tossed his clothes on him moments later.
"We should probably get moving. I know Arctic days are longer in summer, but we have no idea how far north we are. For all we know, this old shack could be a two-day ride in a sno-kat from the nearest cabin and... Ohhhh!"
Clark rushed out of bed, pants still unzipped, to find her foot already in the icy hole in the floor. He gripped her arm, pulling her out a little too late as she'd already cracked through to freezing water. A day ago, and he'd have had her out in time -- and home before she could blink. "Are you okay?"
"Fine." She shook her foot, resting a hand on his bare shoulder. "Just cold and... little wetter now."
He glanced down. "Just watch your step in here. These ice shacks are tricky." He gripped her waist, pulling her further away, then noticed she was still in her bra. It was lavender and black and kind of lacy. He'd hardly had a look at it last night, just pulling it over her head while closing his eyes. He hardly got a look at it now, she pushed away from him so fast, dislodging his hands and bending to the pile of clothes.
"This one looks like it's been used recently. I mean..." She turned, pulling her shirt all the way down, then picking up the flashlight he'd dropped near the bed. "This works." She clicked it on and off. "Cool."
"Chloe..."
"You know, I hate to leave shelter at all," she cut in hurriedly, "but who's going to find us out here? I mean, you went back and saved the day, but nobody has any idea we're here, except... Well, maybe Lex does. But we gave him the slip. For all he knows, some other Chloe Sullivan was in a hospital in the Yukon. Oh!" She turned to him. "Unless your parents knew you were going to end up here? Do they? Because that might..."
"They don't," he answered, feeling the weight of it now. He might know they were safe, but they had no idea he was okay.
"Then we have to move," Chloe went on rapidly, pulling on her shoes. "We have a full day to find something else. There has to be something better further south or..." She drew up to him, then stopped, swallowing visibly. She quickly moved past him, toward the shelf. "Looks like we even have food." She pulled down the jar. "Beef jerky." She turned to him with a grimace. "Guess we can't be too choosy, though. Let's pack it up."
************************
And they did. They packed up and moved on. They left the shack and, apparently everything that happened in it, behind.
He plodded along behind her.
He would plod along next to her, but she seemed to gain some sudden burst of speed anytime he got near and, rather than keep up against her wishes, he lagged. If she didn't want to be anywhere near him, then... Fine. Whatever.
She suddenly stopped at a fallen log and turned to him. He wondered if she was finally going to talk. He wasn't exactly wearing a watch, but it had now been... a billion hours since she had last said a word.
"This is ridiculous," she said, using three now.
"It is," he agreed, having nothing better to say.
"Clark we should..."
Rest? Talk?
"We should try to start a fire."
His lips drew together and he clenched his free fist. "I'll look for some branches." Because she was right. They should start a fire. But that wasn't all they should do and she knew it or she wouldn't be avoiding it. He moved away. There were some scattered trees now. And the snow was only ankle-deep, just soaking through his socks and cuffs rather than running up his pant legs to his knees. He supposed that was progress, though it didn't exactly guarantee them a place to sleep when the sun went down. Then again, they did have a half-book of matches and what looked to be a quarter-cup of kerosene. Add in some dry branches and they had at least some warmth.
He dropped some low-hanging branches before her and turned back to the trees.
"That's probably enough for now."
"We might need more." He turned back, glad he had something to say she'd actually listen to. "We can't see how far these woods go. We might need more firewood." He hefted his knpsack. "I should get some more."
She nodded and placed her lantern down. "I'll go, too. One hundred paces?"
He nodded and turned, stupidly wishing she'd walk his way. It would probably be less productive, in the way of branch-finding, but at least he'd have his best friend -- and Chloe was his best friend -- to talk to. Now he wasn't sure if he'd have that ever again. She refused to speak to him, after all.
When he dumped more twigs near the lantern, she still wasn't back. He considered following her footprints, but hunkered down on the fallen log instead, bundling his spare branches in the ratty blanket. If she didn't want to talk then... fine. He had better things to do. He could gather his earlier crop of branches together and consider starting a fire. He glanced behind him. But not if she wasn't back. If she wasn't back, then he should tear a piece off his shirt and light a torch. Maybe go off in search... That was stupid. It was still daylight. But who knew for how long? He threw down his makeshift knapsack and dug for the flashlight.
"Hope you're not eating all our food."
He looked up, both relieved and offended. "What? No. I was just..." He held the flashlight up, feeling stupid in the light. "I would never..."
"I know you wouldn't, Clark." She dropped a bunch of sticks. "I was just teasing."
"At least you're talking," he muttered.
He waited for her to give a snappy come-back, acknowledging even that, but she only dropped down on the ground and brushed some snow away. "The branches are a little wet, but I figure we can use the kerosene to get past that." She dug in her pocket and pulled out the matches, ripped one off, then poised to strike. She nodded to the lantern base in the snow. "Could you sprinkle some of that?"
"Sure." He bent down and picked up the glass base then stopped short of pulling the wick out. "No." He pulled it closer to his chest.
"Clark, we should really..."
"What? Keep moving? We're taking a break now, Chloe, so we're not losing time by actually talking."
"We're risking hypothermia if you don't help me start this fire." She reached for the base, but he held it away.
"And I will if you promise we'll talk."
She drew back, pursing her lips. "Fine. We'll talk."
"And not about just anything." He wasn't going to be fooled so easily. "About... it," he clarified, though not so clearly, nodding in the general direction of North.
She looked away, then finally rested her narrowed eyes on his. "I promise. Now will you..."
He checked her hands for crossed fingers, then nodded and pulled the wick out, gently shaking the base over the pile of sticks, glad she'd given in because he was about to as he was still freezing, even more so for having stopped moving.
"Napkins," she said, still poised to strike the match.
He quickly moved to get some, wondering if he should have known that from camping trips. Then again, his dad had insisted on doing it the hard way, stick, rock and all. He said it was to build character. Clark hadn't thought much of it these last few years, since he could, until recently, start a fire with just a look.
"Put a few between the sticks."
"You really know what you're doing," he observed, placing a few.
She smiled slightly. "Well, my dad does call himself the barbecue king."
He smiled, too, thinking of dads and everything they had to share and how he'd have never got this far without the words of his own, echoing in his mind. He hoped he'd get to tell him all about it, though slightly edited in parts. And speaking of edited parts...
She blew lightly at the flame, trying to get it to catch the sticks. He found himself staring at her lips until she glanced up at him helplessly. "Clark, we're losing it."
He quickly added his own breath, remembering this part from camping. Of course, the lightheadedness was kind of new... and dizzying. He fell back against the fallen log as the flames spread through their meager pile. She grasped his arm and he looked up, seeing her sitting on the log. He shook the haziness off and got up, glad for the reminder as his butt was now wet and cold. He wondered how silly it would look if he turnedthat to the fire. Instead, he sat next to her as the warmth hit his ankles and calves. For what it was, it was almost comfortable.
Just then, he heard a loud rumble and was about to apologize. His stomach had been in various states of unrest all morning, churning and groaning. He'd never felt so...
"God, I'm hungry."
He turned to her, glancing at the hand clenching her stomach, realizing the noise had actually been hers. Was this actual hunger? He suddenly realized he'd never truly felt it. Sure, he salivated at his mom's pies or claimed he was starving on sloppy joe night, but he'd never actually felt it before. "Well, we have food." He quickly bent to his knapsack, digging for that jar. He might have grimaced at the dusty old jar before, but now his mouth watered at the thought of it.
"If you want to call it that."
He opened the jar and the smell of salty meat hit him. It was kind of wonderful. "It might not be bad. Beef jerky keeps for a long time." At least his dad said so. He made a mental note to thank his dad for that, too. He dug in the jar and pulled out a piece, holding it out for her. "Looks pretty good."
She took it, grimacing. "Spoken like a person who doesn't hate beef jerky."
"Kind of all we have," he said, realizing he wasn't too down about that. Though his feelings were lukewarm before, at the moment, he kind of loved beef jerky.
"I know." She nodded and gingerly nibbled on an end.
He tore off a hunk of his and thought nothing had ever tasted so good. He said so.
"Well, anything tastes good if you're starving," she said, thoughtfully chewing, "even jerky."
"Yeah?" He'd never thought of it that way.
"Sure. If I'm hungry enough, I can actually tolerate something I despise without gagging."
"Beef jerky's not so bad." It was the best food in the world. If they ever got home, he'd buy a case of it. No. A shipping pod full of cases with different flavors.
"It's not the worst. Just imagine if I had a warm latte right now." She closed her eyes and moaned slightly.
He nearly dropped his jerky. Speaking of moaning... "Chloe, I think we should."
"Clark, I did what I had to do," she said softly, eyes on the fire.
He didn't take his from her as she was finally talking about... it. "How is that something you had to do?"
"Well, you wouldn't have done it," she said, loudly now. "You would have apologized profusely and said you were fine, when you weren't, then you would have walked around all..." She groaned. "Well, you know. I was trying to help you out."
"Well, I could have helped myself. You didn't need to just..."
"Jesus, Clark! Don't even try to tell me it was a traumatizing experience. I may not be the... I mean... I know I'm not..."
"I'm not saying it was traumatizing." He felt his face heat up. "Not at all. I just feel so... so..."
"What? Guilty? You know, it's perfectly natural to..."
"God," he growled, standing. "If I hear you say natural one more time..." It made him feel like something off The Discovery Channel. The human male becomes erect when in close contact with an unclothed female. Let's observe...
"Fine. But what I did was necessary." She stood as well, squaring off with him. "If you would have taken care of it yourself, which you wouldn't have, you would have left the shack and froze outside while doing it to preserve my... my maidenly virtue or something. I just did what you wouldn't do for yourself. I took care of you. It's... It's what friends do. Can't you just say thank you and let it go?"
"No. I can't."
"Why the hell not?"
Because I can't just brush it off like it was nothing. I can't just accept you doing something like that for me because I know I have no prayer of ever returning the... favor. He stared at her reddened face and wondered if he could. Having never really... Did girls feel it, too? As achy and painfully and wonderfully as he did? He madly wondered if he could even the scales.
He suddenly really wanted to try. In bed with her, naked and warm next to him, so hot and moist as he slid against places he'd never neared... He hadn't thought about what it felt like for her. Was it anywhere near as maddening? "You've done a lot for me, Chloe. You always have. But this..." He found himself gripping her arms, kneading lightly. "This isn't something I can repay." He licked his suddenly dry lips. "Unless you want me to... to try."
He quickly added his own breath, remembering this part from camping. Of course, the lightheadedness was kind of new... and dizzying. He fell back against the fallen log as the flames spread through their meager pile. She grasped his arm and he looked up, seeing her sitting on the log. He shook the haziness off and got up, glad for the reminder as his butt was now wet and cold. He wondered how silly it would look if he turnedthat to the fire. Instead, he sat next to her as the warmth hit his ankles and calves. For what it was, it was almost comfortable.
Just then, he heard a loud rumble and was about to apologize. His stomach had been in various states of unrest all morning, churning and groaning. He'd never felt so...
"God, I'm hungry."
He turned to her, glancing at the hand clenching her stomach, realizing the noise had actually been hers. Was this actual hunger? He suddenly realized he'd never truly felt it. Sure, he salivated at his mom's pies or claimed he was starving on sloppy joe night, but he'd never actually felt it before. "Well, we have food." He quickly bent to his knapsack, digging for that jar. He might have grimaced at the dusty old jar before, but now his mouth watered at the thought of it.
"If you want to call it that."
He opened the jar and the smell of salty meat hit him. It was kind of wonderful. "It might not be bad. Beef jerky keeps for a long time." At least his dad said so. He made a mental note to thank his dad for that, too. He dug in the jar and pulled out a piece, holding it out for her. "Looks pretty good."
She took it, grimacing. "Spoken like a person who doesn't hate beef jerky."
"Kind of all we have," he said, realizing he wasn't too down about that. Though his feelings were lukewarm before, at the moment, he kind of loved beef jerky.
"I know." She nodded and gingerly nibbled on an end.
He tore off a hunk of his and thought nothing had ever tasted so good. He said so.
"Well, anything tastes good if you're starving," she said, thoughtfully chewing, "even jerky."
"Yeah?" He'd never thought of it that way.
"Sure. If I'm hungry enough, I can actually tolerate something I despise without gagging."
"Beef jerky's not so bad." It was the best food in the world. If they ever got home, he'd buy a case of it. No. A shipping pod full of cases with different flavors.
"It's not the worst. Just imagine if I had a warm latte right now." She closed her eyes and moaned slightly.
He nearly dropped his jerky. Speaking of moaning... "Chloe, I think we should."
"Clark, I did what I had to do," she said softly, eyes on the fire.
He didn't take his from her as she was finally talking about... it. "How is that something you had to do?"
"Well, you wouldn't have done it," she said, loudly now. "You would have apologized profusely and said you were fine, when you weren't, then you would have walked around all..." She groaned. "Well, you know. I was trying to help you out."
"Well, I could have helped myself. You didn't need to just..."
"Jesus, Clark! Don't even try to tell me it was a traumatizing experience. I may not be the... I mean... I know I'm not..."
"I'm not saying it was traumatizing." He felt his face heat up. "Not at all. I just feel so... so..."
"What? Guilty? You know, it's perfectly natural to..."
"God," he growled, standing. "If I hear you say natural one more time..." It made him feel like something off The Discovery Channel. The human male becomes erect when in close contact with an unclothed female. Let's observe...
"Fine. But what I did was necessary." She stood as well, squaring off with him. "If you would have taken care of it yourself, which you wouldn't have, you would have left the shack and froze outside while doing it to preserve my... my maidenly virtue or something. I just did what you wouldn't do for yourself. I took care of you. It's... It's what friends do. Can't you just say thank you and let it go?"
"No. I can't."
"Why the hell not?"
Because I can't just brush it off like it was nothing. I can't just accept you doing something like that for me because I know I have no prayer of ever returning the... favor. He stared at her reddened face and wondered if he could. Having never really... Did girls feel it, too? As achy and painfully and wonderfully as he did? He madly wondered if he could even the scales.
He suddenly really wanted to try. In bed with her, naked and warm next to him, so hot and moist as he slid against places he'd never neared... He hadn't thought about what it felt like for her. Was it anywhere near as maddening? "You've done a lot for me, Chloe. You always have. But this..." He found himself gripping her arms, kneading lightly. "This isn't something I can repay." He licked his suddenly dry lips. "Unless you want me to... to try."
1 comment:
awkwaaard LOL! I don't really know what to say about this. It wasn't exactly 'hot' just a lot of awkwardness. Ok some of it was hot. I liked the part where Chloe was thinking of all the missed opportunities and couldn't let one more fly by. Naked in bed with an erect Clark ... gotta at least grab THAT one.
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