Chapter 15
Chloe couldn't do much but stare at the open doorway when he left, her coffee tipping slightly into her lap. Was this insane? She was about to spend a weekend with Lex Luthor. To be honest, he was so strange and fidgety this morning, she'd ended up agreeing without even thinking it through. But this was Lex Luthor.
Last night had been one thing. Having faced death, she'd needed to face her life. Even the parts that were hard to face -- mainly the Lex-related parts. Last night, it was easier to look at him and see the good. But it was morning now. Her entire life wasn't cast in the glow of reaffirmation now. It was time to face reality.
But why so soon? Can't it be put off till Monday? Why can't life be celebrated... and celebrated... and celebrated some more in the way it was meant to be? Just a little more time to get used to the fact that she'd nearly...
She shook her head and placed the coffee on the nightstand. That was an excuse if there ever was one. And a slippery slope. She couldn't start indulging in self-serving, naughty behavior just because she'd nearly died. The way her life went, she nearly died on a monthly basis.
But don't I need this? Aren't I done lying to myself? Don't I deserve some time where I don't have to be anything to or for anyone. If we can keep this separate...
But could they? She moved around the bed, hunting for her dress. She found it in a crumpled ball, half-under the bed, and shook it out. Last night, in a sleepy, sated haze, it seemed possible to just be Lex and Chloe. Just be... not lovers, exactly, but... not exactly fuck-buddies, either. Just something a little easier, a little more... even trusting. But just in that space where it was them, leaving everything else at the door and just... being. It wasn't a theory that should be tested so soon.
But I want to. Isn't that enough to override everything? Shouldn't I have things I want, even if they aren't exactly good for me? It's like chocolate or fattening lattes or...
No. This was not on that level. Indulging in fattening foods might make her jeans a little tight. Indulging in sex with the enemy, even great sex, was a little more severe. And she'd only just made peace with the fact that she wanted him. Only just stopped thinking of it as a punishable felony. And now... this could ruin everything.
Just jumping into extended time together when they didn't know what would happen...
God! Who am I kidding?
She tossed her dress on the bed and rubbed her hands over her eyes. She was going to stay. And not for marathon sex, though that was sort of a given, but because she couldn't get his face this morning out of her mind. Looking back, she could pinpoint the moment she said yes without a thought.
After all the pacing and fidgeting, when he'd looked at her... she'd seen something new. Something she hadn't seen in him before. Not ever.
Fear. Just a flash, but she saw it. Just before his face closed off and he tossed his smarmy comment at the door, he'd been afraid she'd say no.
She'd sort of fantasized, last night and even before Detroit, that he needed her. But she wondered if he was starting to know...
She'd long-accepted she was a sucker for being needed.
*************************
She padded through the house, barefoot and in Lex's shirt from last night. She'd tried to look around for a robe or something clean, at least, but Lex's closet seemed to be some sort of robotic Fort Knox of clothing that refused to open. It was hard enough, just showering. Lex's bathroom had no shampoo, even. Not surprising, considering...
She'd finally found a bathroom with what she needed a few doors down. It was a room filled with fussy, oak pieces, stained dark with red accents around the dark bedding and pillows. She suspected it was Lionel's. It had fancy shampoo and conditoner in its bath, after all. He used to take such prodigious care of that long mane and she didn't even want to delve into what that was all about... Well, actually, she did. And had given it some thought over the years. She supposed it was about Lex and flaunting in front of him things he couldn't have or be. Just a reminder to keep him in check in case...
She shook herself and decided not to think on it anymore. It wasn't a part of this. She still couldn't figure out Lionel and was loathe to try when she didn't have to. At least not this weekend.
There was, however, one piece of reality she had to face. She crept into the study, so used to creeping in this house that it was a hard habit to break, and grabbed her purse from the sofa, where it was resting on top of her coat.
The missed calls now numbered fifteen. She sighed and dialed her voicemail, listening to each.
"Chloe, I got the story of a lifetime and no one will..." She shook her head as she listened. Would Lois never learn? Why she would think a paper Lex now owned would print a story on the man himself was still beyond her.
"Chloe?" It was Clark. "Listen, I... I know you said you were tired, but you seemed kind of... strange to me tonight. I guess... I mean, after everything, I'd feel a lot better if I knew you were okay. Call me."
"Chloe? Hey. Your message cut me off. So... I went the the top floor and that rude-ass assistant of his was all 'Mr. Luthor is in perfect health. I don't know what you're talking about.' And she threatened me over going to any other papers and..." Chloe massaged her temples as she listened. She understood the frustration. She did. Having to sit on a good piece was practically the story of her life. It was even worse now, with Lex at the helm. "...and I can't find my blue top anywhere. Did you borrow it or..." The message cut off and she moved to the next.
"Chloe? Uh... Just calling. Got Kara settled in, but... I don't know. She seems kind of... distant. I guess with the memory loss and all... Well, you're probably sleeping. I just want to make sure..." There was a whooshing noise. "Um... Chloe? I'm at your apartment and you're not there. Where are you?"
"Clark," she groaned. She ended the call to her voicemail and decided to call him first... before he scoured the country or something.
He picked up on the first ring. "Chloe? What's wrong? Where..."
"Nothing's wrong. I'm fine, Clark. I..."
"Okay. Where are you? I can come get you, wherever you..."
"I don't want to be gotten," she said, though a part of her leapt at his readiness to save her even when she didn't need saving. "I... decided to get away for a few days."
"Away? F-from me?"
She sighed. "Not from you particularly, Clark. Just..."
"Listen, I know this has been hard on you and you really went above and beyond. I mean that and I hate that I always put you in these positions that..."
"Clark, before you start throwing yourself a guilty party, just listen."
There was silence. "Okay."
"This has been a stressful few days," she began, careful not to lie. "I just wanted to get away for a bit."
"Yeah. You said that."
She had. It was all she could say without lying to him, something she never wanted to do. "I'll be back after the weekend," she said, trying to force a smile into her voice. He still had that mopey edge to his voice that told her he was somehow wondering how to construe her mini vacation into something awful that was all his fault.
"But, Chloe, where are..."
"Clark, I forgot my charger at home." That much was true and something she was only just realizing. "And I really should call Lois before she sends out a search party. Listen, I'll see you Monday."
There was a long sigh. "Okay. I just... I'm sorry I put you through all..."
"Clark, getting away is not about you. It's about me." All about me... and maybe a little about Lex... or a lot. "I will be back Monday and ready to take on any and everything. Really, I just..."
"Need to get away. I get it."
She smiled as he finished her sentence. Over seven years, she supposed it was inevitable, but it was still slightly surprising. How she could be so close to someone, yet always miles away in everything they didn't say.
"You... deserve it Chloe," he said, not saying anything further. Clark always seemed to know when nothing more needed to be said.
"Yeah. Thanks." That was the hardest part in all of this, hiding anything from Clark. She ended the call with a cheery goodbye and flopped back onto the couch, squeezing her eyes shut.
She had long-accepted that her friendship with Clark would always be... complicated at the least. Always so tinted with this longing that she could so nearly forget when she was with... Lex. She didn't think it was using him so much. There were no men more different than Clark and Lex and one was definitely not a replacement for the other. But there was this icky feeling of betrayal here. As if she was cheating on Clark, somehow, as well as ly... creatively avoiding the truth.
Who knew? She, Chloe Sullivan, was avoiding the truth.
But just for a weekend. In real life, I never avoid the truth. Sit on it? Yes. Hide it for the greater good? Sure. But not avoid it.
Didn't make her feel like less of a liar, however.
So as not to make even more of a liar of herself, she quickly dialed Lois.
She nearly fainted with relief when it went to voicemail. "Hi, Lo. Real shame about your story. But you shouldn't be surprised. I didn't touch your blue top. Anyway, I... I decided to get... away for the weekend." She kept using those words. But what others did she have? Drive up the coast? Get out of town? None of them were even remotely true. "I don't have my charger, so I'm turning my phone off. I'll see you Monday." She quickly shut her phone off in case Lois saw the missed call and dialed her with a million questions.
"There." She tossed her phone in her purse. That was enough reality for one day. Now she had to deal with... whatever this was. Not exactly fantasy. Being stuck in a giant house with no proper clothes wasn't exactly her idea of a fantasy.
She padded around, wondering what her idea of a fantasy was, exactly. She'd always been so busy, working away, that she never mapped it out. Just hazy images of Pulitzer prizes and kisses from certain flannel-clad...
She stopped herself, her hand on some random doorknob. As messed up as the idea was of her cheating on Clark with Lex, now she suddenly felt guilty thinking of kissing Clark while in Lex's house and Lex's shirt and... she opened the door... in Lex's kitchen.
She decided not to meditate on how screwed up she must be and, instead, started pulling open cabinet doors, snooping around. If this weekend was going to approach fantasy status, there should be at least a little snooping, even if it was just inspecting the contents of Lex's cupboards and...
"Talk about a fantasy," she breathed, staring into a cabinet that was nothing but coffee. Rows of whole beans in colorful bags, some not even in English. She pulled out something that looked to be in French and opened the bag, smelling its contents with something that approached orgasmic bliss.Now to find a grinder...
She nearly stopped, wondering if she should touch the kind of coffee that might cost more than her entire collection of shoes. Then she remembered she was in the house of a man who dropped ten thousand dollars on a bottle of scotch. She took another whiff and her resolve strengthened.
"Where the hell is that grinder?"
**********************
Lex squealed past the gates, fingers clenching the steering wheel. The impromptu board meeting had been frustrating in that it had to happen at all. When he said he was alive and unharmed, his damned investors should believe it. But a story was circulating because a certain loud mouth named Lane was yelling to every third person that Lex Luthor had been shot in the head and she had the story. After many frantic text messages from Gina, he just told her to handle it and stop bothering him.
He didn't like this getting out. In the corporate world, even things as inevitable as dying were a sign of weakness.
So he'd had to fake a laugh, ask them all where the hell they were getting this ridiculous report. One board member even went so far as to feel his head.
He owned the damned paper now. He could easily fire Lane and... No. He couldn't. He couldn't afford to lose one piece of the puzzle. That circle of friends that seemed to revolve around Kent. Hell, Lane had lived in his house, worked for his father, then his mother. Though she and Clark didn't seem attached at the hip as he and Chloe, she was in that sphere. He couldn't be in it these days. His only option was keeping an eye on everyone who was. Even if Lane wasn't the brightest piece of the puzzle, she was still part of it.
Every little bit helped him get closer.
He squealed to a stop in front of the doors, wondering just how close he could get. If she'd stayed...
He tapped his finger lightly against the remote clipped to his visor. One click an he'd know for sure. But he wasn't sure he wanted to know just yet if she hadn't.
He'd heard her words last night. He knew that these thoughts and longings for secrets and mysteries should be left at the door if this was to go on... And the fact that he was even entertaining leaving them was frightening, to say the least.
As frightening as the undeniable fact that he wanted her to be there. And not for what he could get from her.
He just wanted her to be there.
This morning, he'd been horrified by how much he'd wanted her to say yes. It was even worse when she actually said it. The tension that left his body had quickly revisited with a vengeance at how... desperate he knew he was then.
He was no less desperate now. Because she might have changed her mind. She might know, as he did, what a very bad idea this was.
And he was too chicken to push a button and find out for sure. He got out of the car, slamming the door harder than he needed to. If she wasn't there, she wasn't there. He could just go about his day. The drinking might start a little earlier than usual, but he had plenty of things to do... except for how he didn't. Without any staff, his activities were limited to drinking, playing pool alone, swimming, watching movies in the home theater... All this had sounded very attractive to him before she'd shown up in a wrinkles dress smelling of honeysuckle. One of his post-death resolutions had been to watch more movies in general. He did buy them by the pound and he couldn't remember the last time he'd watched one.
If she wasn't here, it changed nothing. Nothing. He had more than enough to do. Might be too soon to call Kara, but a text message, maybe. Just something to keep him on her mind. Not to mention piles of paperwork relating to all of Luthorcorps new holdings. The facility was nearly fully functioning, according to Regan, and he still had to make sure...
He had more than enough going. Too much to be worrying if she'd decided to stay.
He punched in a code and the front door opened. He'd changed a few things lately, resolving to make the mansion more secure. It didn't stop Clark from barging in. It didn't stop her from appearing in his study and fucking up everything. How exactly did these people get into his life, anyway? Another post-death resolution should be to check every cranny and make sure...
He paused in the middle of dropping his keys in the ornate bowl in the foyer. There was a loud bang down the hall. Someone was here. That meant... she was here.
Before that moment, he'd made his mind up that she wasn't. She couldn't be. He didn't have that kind of luck. But if he did...
He moved down the hall slowly, his steps growing quicker as he heard her voice.
"All the god damned coffee in the world and I can't even have it?"
He moved nearer to her voice.
"Stupid robot kitchen!"
His face felt strange and sort of tight and... He caught a glance of himself in an ornate mirror and stopped. He was... smiling. It wasn't something he did very often these days. It wasn't that he never smiled. But there was always a very good reason: to make an investor believe he was happy to see him, to put a potential adversary at ease, to charm a leggy model into bed... Those were all very good reasons to smile. The fact that Chloe Sullivan was screaming in his kitchen wasn't.
Knowing that didn't wipe the smile away.
He approached the door and opened it just a little. She was opening, then slamming closed doors and drawers and... wearing his shirt. His hand tightened on the door, something clenching inside him. He could hardly explain it, but something about her wearing something of his made his body jolt. Maybe it was some primitive idea of marking her as his. The very idea should be beneath him, but she was his. She was fucking his.
And that was the point of this weekend. For now, she was his. She was in his house, in his bed, in his fucking shirt. And damned if that didn't trump all thoughts of secrets and mysteries. It shouldn't, but it did.
And didn't he deserve a break? Unveiling the great mysteries of this world, this town, was an all-consuming task. Was it such a betrayal of himself to focus his energies elsewhere, just for now?
Reality could set in later. For now...
She padded around in bare feet and wet hair and... his shirt.
He moved into the large kitchen, coming up behind her as she moved from drawer to drawer around the island in the middle. "Having some trouble?"
She screeched and jumped back, pulling an entire drawer out with her.
He steadied her with his hands on her hips as various serving utensils spilled to the floor.
"Oh... Shit, shit, shit!" She whirled on him and his hands lost purchase. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
Not the greeting he was hoping for. "Is there a problem?"
"Why can't you have a kitchen that someone without an advanced degree from MIT can figure out?" She strode around the island and pointed accusingly at his coffee maker. "I have been struggling with your robot coffee maker for an hour and I still can't figure out where to put the beans in or the water and I can't find the manual, either, and..."
He held a hand up and came around. "You don't need a manual. You just press the button."
"Which button?" she huffed.
He came around the island and pointed at the red button in the front. "It's already prepped with my favorite blend and..."
"But I don't want your favorite blend." She grabbed a bag from the table and held it out. "I want this one and I found a french press in your cabinet, but I can't find a grinder or a kettle and I'll have you know that I own a drip and a grinder, which cost me about twenty dollars together and they're better than that evil thing that probably cost you a billion dollars and doesn't even work."
"It works fine. You just..." He stared at it. Pressing the button was about as far as his knowledge went. He moved to the left of the machine. "The beans probably..."
"See? You don't know, either."
"I don't need to," he said, his voice tight. "I have staff to..."
"A lot of good that does you now." She tossed the bag on the counter. "Here I am in a house with every kind of food and drink and I'm going to starve to death because you don't know how to work anything."
"I know how to work some things," he said, pulling his phone from his pocket.
"What are you doing?"
"Having something delivered -- since you're being so melodramatic about starving to death."
"That's not what you do." She grabbed the phone from his hand. "And I am not being melodramatic. You have a million things to eat here. Have you even looked in your fridge? If I could figure out which of these things was the microwave..."
"The microwave is right..." He glanced around, then pointed at something with a small, shadowed glass door. "It's right there."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes," he hissed.
"Then go check." She crossed her arms. He didn't miss the way the shirt rose slightly on her thighs. Leaving that sight for now, he moved to what had to be the microwave... or not. When he opened the door, he saw several metallic tubes with jutting spokes. "What the hell is this?"
"I've been theorizing that it either balls yarn or tortures small rodents," she said from behind him. "Since I doubt you knit..."
He closed the door and turned to her. "There's a microwave in here somewhere."
"I bet you don't even know for sure." She put her hands on her hips and he noticed she hadn't buttoned up all the way.
"I oversaw every bit of the remodeling and I know I bought..."
She rolled her eyes. "You probably bought the most expensive version of everything without even thinking of functionality or user friendliness, then foisted all the hard work off on your staff just like a little rich boy does."
"Little rich boy?" He could actually feel something pulsing in his temple.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Big, rich man." She leaned against the island. "I know how casting aspersions on your manliness chaps your pampered ass."
He took a step toward her. "Just because we're fucking doesn't mean you know me."
"You're right. I don't have to fuck you to know you probably don't even flush your own toilet. Probably have a robot for that, too."
"Self-flushing toilets are everywhere now. I'm not the only one who... God!" he hissed through his teeth. "It's funny. Even with everything we're leaving out of this, you still manage to piss me off."
"Why? For telling the truth? If the silver spoon fits, Lex..."
He backed her up to the island and had his mouth on hers and a hand up her (his, fucking his) shirt before she could get another word out, noting to himself how screwed up it was that the angrier she made him, the more he wanted to get inside her. Harping, emasculating women should be a turn-off as a rule.
She was obviously just as messed up as he was, if the way she was trying to climb him was any indication.
He gripped her hips and lifted her onto the island. The move ripped her lips from his and he found his mouth at her neck. "Shrew," he breathed into her skin.
"Lord Fauntleroy," she gasped against his ear.
One pull and the shirt was open. He wanted to be inside her that second, but he realized that he was still fully clothed, despite her ineffectual grabs at his jacket, collar, tie... anything she could get her hands on. He detached his mouth from her neck and bent to his belt, thinking he could at least get that far before being inside her. In fact, he would probably have to.
Then he felt her lips on the top of his head, then her tongue...
He found himself frozen, except his hands, which weren't undoing his pants as he'd told them to, just shaking and losing their grip. He fell against her, completely useless. It was only when he saw that there was a perfectly good breast against his lips that he snapped out of it. He sucked, then bit and she gasped and arched against him, her mouth falling away from him.
He took the opportunity to push her back, lay her on the island before him, only pulling away so he could get the damned zippper down. There really wasn't time for much else before he pulled her forward by the hips, lining himself up and shoving into her hard.
She made a noise so sharp it was nearly a bark and he took a moment to pat himself on the back, having taken a woman beyond human speech.
She lifted her head and stared up at him. "Jesus, Lex, are you gonna move, or what?"
He nearly laughed. Chloe Sullivan was never beyond speech, apparently.
He pushed forward again, partially to shut her smart mouth, but mostly because she felt so fucking good. He pulled back, wondering that this hadn't gotten old yet and both hoping and fearing it would and yet... Positive it had to at some pont. But only for one of them...
He kept pushing and her ankles locked behind him, her body arched like a bow. He was so entranced by the sight of her that he nearly stopped... but only nearly.
This would get old. There would come a time when this was a thing of the past, some shameful memory hardly ever indulged in.
He knew who would end this. And it wouldn't be him.
That seemed a very good reason to stop, but he couldn't. From that first night, his body had been itching to be inside hers and there seemed to be no permanent way to stay out. He could only keep shoving in, knowing he would never be clear of this. Of her. But she would.
He finally collapsed on her, feet hardly on the floor, scarcely a breath in his body.
"Just so you know..." Not surprisingly, she seemed to have enough to speak. "I still want that coffee."
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