Before Sunset (Part Twenty)

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His lips moved over hers before his tongue swept inside. She finally decided to just go with it and throw her arms around his neck because she couldn't argue with someone when they felt so good and tasted like...

She wasn't sure if she was in shock or idealizing him or what, but she could swear she tasted...

She pushed at his chest and detached from his lips. "Did you say something about coffee?"

"Huh?" He opened his eyes. 

"I heard coffee." She squinted at him. "Of course, I also heard boyfriend, so..." 

"You heard both right." He pulled her back in. "C'mere."

"But the coffee..." She licked her lips, unable to drop the coffee as she couldn't really wrap her mind around the boyfriend thing. "I taste it. How..."

"I made some," he said, leaning in himself. "It took a few tries," he murmured against her cheek, "but I figured it out." His lips brushed their way to her neck as he spoke. "The final solution was a screen, newspaper, and some grounds that sat in hot water for a bit. I just strained them."

"That's pretty... inventive," she finished on a gasp as he brushed a spot just below her ear.

"Mmmm. It did take some time to get it just right so it wasn't too strong or too weak. I wanted it taste as much like real coffee as possible. I think I finally got it close, but I'm not the best judge. I'll leave that to you." 

He was nibbling her neck while whispering about coffee. He just might be the best boyfriend ever. "Wait." She still couldn't fathom that part of it, so she pushed past it. "So we have coffee? I mean, for real? But where did you find..."

He lifted his head. "Don't change the subject!"

She drew back at his sudden ferocity. "What subject?"

"The... uh... subject we were talking about."

"That was coffee, so I didn't actually..."

"Not that one," he said, moving away. "The other one."

"We weren't talking. You were kissing me." She liked that a lot more than the talking... or yelling.

He took a deep breath. "Okay. Maybe I was." He glowered. "But I meant to talk to you and I still mean to and this time you're going to listen. So you just sit yourself down and open your ears because..." He gestured at the bed as he trailed off. "What was I saying?"

"I have no idea." Granted, he'd said more words in the last ten minutes than he normally would in an entire day, but she couldn't seem to follow most of them.

"I just need a minute." He sat on the bed. "My stomach's been feeling kind of funny and it's not like I'm hungry. I ate my half of the corned beef hash and I felt full after. I thought it was a hangover, but I've been up for so long now and I felt fine a bit ago. I felt better than I have all week, all this energy that..."

He was all over the place. One minute, he's raving about cleaning, then he's kissing her, then he's yelling, then he's complaining. It was like he was... She stared shrewdly at him. "How much coffee did you have, Clark?"

"I don't know. A couple cans. Maybe four. I had to test them to see if they were right, then I didn't want to waste them, so I just downed tem and... Damn it, Chloe. Stop changing the subject."

She shook her head, dazed. "I'm still trying to figure out what the subject is."

He wasn't doing much better. "Well, give me a minute and I'll remember. I'm just..."

"High on coffee." She nodded sympathetically.

Clark scoffed. "People don't get high on coffee."

"They do if they're new to it."

"That's ridiculous. I've had about a million cups of coffee and it's never..."

"That was before. It probably didn't affect you because of your powers. It has some crazy side-effects when you're a mere mortal."

"Huh." He pressed his stomach. "Does it make you feel a little bit sick?"

She sat down next to him and put a hand on his back. "Just until you get used to it. Then it gets really good." Her eyes slipped closed as she breathed in the smell around her. "Sure, the taste seems bitter at first, but that's until you find the right blend. Once you find that medium roast with just a hint of bite, maybe a little hazelnut to take the edge off, it's like you've found this hot, brisk, kind of buttery home. That first sip just can't be hot enough. It spreads inside you like warm, tickling fingers that fill you with this feeling, like you can do anything. It's so invigorating and... Hmmmph!" 

She might have gone on. She had about a thousand adjectives for coffee and how it made her life complete. But it was hard to talk around another person's lips. And she didn't really want to, not when he was pressing her down, pulling at her sheet, and fitting those lips to hers. As hazy as this morning had been, one thing was clear: Clark Kent was an amazing kisser. She might not know if he was serious about this boyfriend thing. She might not know what would happen if they ever got out of this. She still wasn't sure they would get out of this. But she was positive he had the fullest, softest lips with the tiniest hint of stubble around them. It was a dizzying combination of scratchy and soft that made her want to dissolve into a puddle of...

"Damn it, Chloe!" She opened her eyes. He was gone, up again, pacing and roughly pushing a hand through his hair. "I wanted to talk."

"Well, you kissed me." Which was fine, because she wasn't exactly hell bent on talking.

"Okay. Maybe I did. But you were the one talking about coffee like it was... Well, we're going to talk now. And not about coffee," he added, sort of stern-faced.

She sat up, putting a hand to her head. "I don't get it."

"Well, you're going to. Because I've been rehearsing this all morning. First, there's how you keep doing this push and pull thing that makes me crazy. That's going to st..."

She closed her eyes against his movements. They were making her woozy. And the mood swings were no picnic, either. "No. I still don't get how we have coffee." She risked opening her eyes.

He was still, thankfully. "It was in with the food. I hid it last night. So... Okay. That first night, you were really pushy, then the next morning you're all over me, with the helping and the hands..."

"You hid coffee from me?" she asked, hurt now. 

"Is that all you can talk about?"

"Well, why? Did you think I would hog it all?"

"I hid it so I could surprise you, okay? I was going to make you this perfect cup of coffee and you were supposed to be all surprised. And you know what? You ruined the surprise, getting up all angry and yelling when I'm just trying to..."

"Actually, that's you," she had to point out. Yet she found herself smiling.

"Well, who wouldn't be angry? I don't even like coffee." He crossed his arms. "Yeah. I said it. I never liked it. I only ever drink it because it's the only thing to do in town. I tried to order orange juice at The Talon, but you looked at me like I was insane, so I drink coffee. But it's disgusting and has a bad aftertaste and makes my pee smell funny. Yet there I am, trying to come up with a million stupid way to make this impossible cup of coffee just for..."

"For me," she finished, smiling wider. Just for her. She stood, moving toward him. "You made me coffee."

"Yes, I did. And I'd think you'd appreciate it since I had to test it when I..."

"I do." She closed the distance between them.

"You do?"

She placed a hand on his chest. "I really do." She wasn't feeling so woozy now. Or she was, but in a good way. She moved around to the other side of him. He followed warily with his eyes, then his body. He was red-faced and a little sweaty and his eyes kept darting everywhere, but damned if crazy didn't look good on him. Of course, everything looked good on him, especially boxers and nothing else. And in daylight, too. 

"What are you doing?"

"Appreciating you." She traced his collarbone, watched his adam's apple drop as he swallowed. She didn't know how many chances she'd have to see Clark Kent naked in broad daylight, so she didn't want to waste this. She ran a hand up around his neck and pulled. Her lips met his chin, but that was fine. She really did like that stubble.

"Chloe?"

"Hmmm?" She slid her lips over his jaw, then down, where his skin was soft again and deliciously warm.

"I want to talk," he said on a strangled grunt.

She moved her hand down, tracing each muscle in his stomach. "Me, too. Just not right now." Her headache was barely a dull throb now and he'd said boyfriend and he'd, again, made her coffee. And that felt good. She felt good. So did he. Her hand slipped lower, running along the waistband of his boxers before dipping in as his breath stirred her hair in soft, staccato pants. It all felt good.

She didn't want to talk or think or do anything that took away from that feel-good feeling. There would be plenty of time for talking after... What? After you have sex? Over Coffee? 

She froze, her hand falling limp in the middle of pushing his boxers down. For a girl who didn't have much sex, she sure picked her reasons. First, to get over Clark, then to keep warm with Clark, and now... Clark made coffee? It took easy to a whole new level.

What the hell was she doing?

She straightened. "Maybe we do need to ta..." She let out a slight yelp as she was upended. 

She landed on the bed with a slight bounce. He landed soon after, right on her.

She wanted to tell him that he was right, that they should have that talk, but then his lips found that sweet spot on her neck again and she decided to stop lying to herself. They weren't going to talk. Not right now. Not naked.

Well, she wasn't naked. But he seemed determined to get her there, tearing at the knot on her sheet. "Come on," he growled.

She'd started this. No fair welshing now. And fair was fair. He was naked she wasn't. She glanced down, noting that he was only nearly naked. His boxers were at his knees, which looked pretty silly. She'd laugh if this wasn't deadly serious. "I got it," she said pushing him upwards to work at the knot herself. "Get yours."

"Yeah." 

The sheet dropped to either side of her just as he kicked his boxers across the room. He stared down at her and she suddenly realized the one draw-back to seeing Clark naked in broad daylight.

He saw her, too. Boy, did he. He just stood there, seeing and seeing until she began to wonder what was wrong. She'd never been insecure about her body. Truth be told, she never took much time to think about her body and not enough people had seen her body for her to worry what they thought. But, the longer he stared, the more she worried.

Was it her hips? A month or so ago, some saleslady in a department store told her she had child-bearing hips. She could tell the woman was trying to pass this off as a good thing, but child-bearing just seemed like another way to say huge and what girl wanted to hear this just before her senior prom? Luckily for her, she didn't have to spend the whole night worrying if her dress masked her child-bearing hips as she spent most of it possessed by a Mean Girl. Of course, the rest of the night hadn't left room to think about her hips. either. But that didn't make it good. She might be the only prom queen in history who didn't even get to...

"I just..." She jumped slightly as he spoke, or started to, then sort of choked to a stop. "I want to..."

What? Damn it! What? Nicely stop this? Run screaming from the room? What? Going by Lana, Clark had a type. So now she wondered if her hips were some kind of deal-breaker. It's not like he'd seen them very well under a blanket in a dimly lit cave.

"I want to do things to you," he finally finished.

She wasn't sure what to say to that. It wasn't very specific, but it sounded promising. "Like what?"

"I don't know. Just... lots of things. I want to cover you in chocolate or something and... lick it off." He dragged his eyes up to hers. "Is that weird?"

"Yeah, Weird." But it also had her wondering... "Did you... um... find chocolate last night?"

"No," he said, staring at her belly button.

"Oh." She sighed. "Because it didn't sound that weird. I mean, if you..." 

He fell on her again. His hands were suddenly everywhere. Really. She couldn't keep track of them. They seemed to be on her breasts, her waist, the dreaded hips, her inner thighs, behind her knees, which was kind of ticklish -- not that she had time to giggle because they were on her breasts again. She didn't now whether to laugh, moan, or groan in frustration. She settled on a choked gasp as one landed between her legs... then stayed completely still. Forever.

"Clark..."

"Shh!" He was staring hard at her neck, as if it held some kind of answer. "I'm trying to concentrate," he hissed. His thumb twitched against her and she shook underneath him.

"But..."

"I want to get this right. I did it that night, but I can't remember exactly..." His thumb twitched again and her hips rose to meet it. "Chloe, will you keep still? I need to... Oh." He flicked his thumb upward and she moaned. His eyes met hers. "Is that it?"

She couldn't answer because he did it again. Then again.

"I remember." Her eyes slid shut on his grin as every sense seemed to coalesce where he stroked. Not with his thumb now. She felt two fingers moving around and around, faster and faster as they slipped more easily over her folds until... they stopped again. She opened her eyes. 

He was still grinning like a goof. "Doing good?"

"Why'd you stop?"

"Just wanted to make sure I was getting it right. It's not like I do this a lot and..."

"Clark, please..." Her hips rose again and his eyes followed them.

"Jesus! You're so..." He didn't finish the thought, but his hand started moving again and that was all she needed. Fingers swirling around as her breath turned into pants and her body quickened until he... stopped again. Really!

She opened her eyes. He was staring at her again. "Clark, I swear you're doing good. Don't sto..."

"Tell me." The goofy grin was gone. "I know you don't want to talk, but tell me one thing now. Tell me this is happening."

"Of course it's..."

"And it's not because we might freeze. Are you warm enough? Just give me that. Tell me this isn't some survival tip or..."

"Clark..."

"Tell me we don't have to, Chloe. Tell me this isn't about that."

"It's not. Please..."

"Then tell me what it's about. Tell me why." His eyes were harder now and she knew he needed an answer here or he wouldn't just stop, he'd be gone. Not physically. Their situation wouldn't allow for it. But in every other way. 


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