Chapter Three
Going to
bed every night with Clark Kent was, apparently, going to mean waking up with a
boner pressed against her ass. Chloe
doesn't have an issue with normal male anatomy, but she does have an issue with
her bladder. She extricates herself from his grip and limps over to the corner,
as far from him as she can get, and squats for a pee, using a piece of ripped
up sweater in lieu of toilet paper, before going back to her warm spot beside
Clark.
What she wouldn't give for
that old cot they shared the night before. The stone cavern floor may be warm
from their body heat, and the heat of the stones Clark heated last night, but
it's still hard and her body aches from lying on it for hours. Still, she knows
it could be worse. They could be somewhere in extreme weather with no shelter
or heat at all, or in danger from wild animals attacking.
Clark is asleep, his
breathing deep and even, but he still pulls her as close as he can, just as he
had that morning when they awoke in the desert. The red glow of the heated stones
makes him look tender, callow, even with the stubble. Chloe appreciates his
beauty, his masculinity, but more than anything she appreciates the man he is.
I don't
want to love you, she thinks to herself.
Chloe looks at Clark and
touches his face, runs the pad of her thumb over his lower lip. She doesn't
want to be in love with him but she is. She can't stop herself. Years of
fighting the feelings she has for him has left her good at denial except in
moments of vulnerability, such as this.
Now, in a cavern God only
knows where, she and Clark literally starving, being kept alive only by the
water that rushes beside them, providing some soothing background noise. Chloe
knows her mind should be on food, not Clark. She should be thinking about
survival, about loved ones back home, hell, even about shrimp and steak and
candy bars and soda. She should have her mind on anything but the many joys,
and hurts, that she's gone through in the name of loving this man. Jimmy Olsen
should be on her mind right now, not the man who sleeps beside her; this
platonic best friend who will never feel for her the depth of love she feels
for him. Yes, she definitely appreciates the man he is.
He must appreciate the
woman she is, because he's not only offering his right arm as a pillow for her
head, he's offering his hips for a pillow. His left hand has lifted her right
leg up to drape over him before sliding down her back, and coming to rest on
her ass. Her upper body is completely exposed since she's removed the sweater.
What's left of it is on the ground, a makeshift barrier between the stone and
her bare skin. Sleep was close, inching in now that she's pushed away all those
warm, fuzzy feelings she shouldn't have for her best friend, but him lifting
her leg the way he has is waking her up again.
"Mmmm…" he sighs
in his sleep.
No, that's not a sigh.
That's a moan. It's followed by another. He's dreaming of sex. He's likely
dreaming of fucking Lana. He likely thinks, or at least subconsciously wishes,
Lana was the one in his arms right now. He can only be with her when he doesn't
have his powers. He must be, on some level, deeply disappointed that he's with
her instead of Lana.
Another moan. His hand
seeks out her skin. He grips her ass, pulls her closer, grinds his erection
between her thighs, right against her womanhood in that place that so
desperately needs attention. Chloe fights two urges at once: the urge to let
her body respond to his needy touches and breathy moans, and the urge to wake
him up and put an end to it before it can really get started.
Eventually she goes with
the second urge. It's only fair, after all. Anything else would be taking
advantage. He's asleep, unaware of what he's doing, and with whom he's doing it
with.
"Wake up, Clark."
"Chloe," he
whispers.
Another moan. She knows
he's asleep. She knows he's not
consciously doing any of this. She also knows he's not dreaming of Lana, but her.
"Fuck," she
whispers.
What does this even mean?
Why is he doing this? Why is he having dirty dreams about her, grinding against
her? Is it as simple as because she's the one who's there, available? Or is it
deeper than that? Are there feelings involved, or is this strictly physical?
"Clark, please,"
Chloe whispers, desperate for him to awaken and end this torture.
Clark's eyes slowly open.
He's not halted his hips. They still move in a slow roll against her moistening
center. That humongous hand of his has covered the whole right side of her ass,
and that's no small feat because if there's one thing Chloe can appreciate
about her body, it's her ass. He doesn't pull away. He doesn't stop. He
continues to allow himself to slowly arise from sleep, holding her close, his
impressive length rubbing against her.
Another moan. Another sound
of pure, base need. Chloe's hand finds its way to Clark's broad, strong
shoulder, and grips him tight trying to just hold on to see what will happen
next. He's awake now, staring down at her and looking torn between desire and
shame.
"It's okay,"
Chloe whispers. "Take what you need. I know it won't mean anything."
He grinds harder, faster,
pulls her against him and holds her there, now that he's got her permission,
her consent. She's so wet her arousal fills her own nostrils, and Clark's. He
breathes deep and grinds even harder, even faster grunting and moaning, but
regardless of how needy his body is, he's careful not to hurt her.
"God, Chloe…" he
grinds out, getting them both closer to release. Release she wants him to find
as much as she needs it herself.
Then, suddenly, he's
pulling away from her, rolling into a sitting position. He gets up, turns to
the wall and she can see him undoing his jeans. She hears the zipper come down,
sees the motion of his right hand grip himself while he places his left hand
flat against the wall and hangs his head, all with his back to her, while he
pumps his cock. Just a few strokes is all that's needed before she can see the
evidence of his release spurting against the wall while he cries out his
release. Chloe never imagined she'd see Clark in a moment like this, see his
come, hear him climax. This is a part of him she isn't supposed to experience
in any way, but she is, and she can feel regret and shame rolling off of him,
and that hurts her deep inside. She feels used, humiliated, inadequate. She
needs to know why he finished the way he did, away from her. Did she repel him
on some basic level?
He doesn't come back to lie
beside her. Instead, he leaves her there, beside the heated stones, unable to
look at her now. Chloe curls in on herself, her eyes stinging with tears that
she allows to fall. She sobs into the crook of her arm, heartbroken.
Homesick. That's
what Chloe is now. She's homesick. She wants to flip Clark the bird and go back
to her little apartment above the Talon. She can take a hot bath, get something
to eat, and most importantly she can drain a gigantic mug of java. She'd kill
Clark for some coffee right now. She'd kill Clark for a bite off a chicken drumstick,
in truth.
All day, alone, nobody to
speak to, abandoned by Clark, hurt but also boiling mad. Chloe occupies her
time by scrubbing her clothes in the stream before hanging them in the tree to
dry. She bathes in the frigid water and tries to fill her belly with it to ease
the ache from hunger. They're on day two in the desert and not a bite to eat.
She wishes she could find even a tiny fish.
"And do what with
it?" Chloe asks herself.
Chloe's got no tools to
clean a fish. No way to make a fire to cook it. Someone could hand her a nice
plump trout and she didn't have a clue what she'd do with it. She was brilliant
at computers but a failure at survival in the wild.
She's snapped her bra back
in place when she hears Clark return. He's not speaking to her. If that's how
he wants to play it, fine. She can keep her mouth shut, too. She has no
intentions of breaking the silence, or mending fences. She didn't do anything wrong.
Fuck Clark Kent, and fuck the tears that want to slip down her face again. Fuck
the hurt. Fuck the fact she's glad he left to spare her embarrassment from his
sudden flight from her, just to come on the fucking wall because he couldn't
stand to be near her.
He's got something in hand,
a fact that doesn't register for the first ten minutes of his return. She
thinks it's an egg until he holds it up. It's a silver orb, the size of a large
chicken egg. There's a Kryptonian sigil for the House of El etched into the
surface.
"Well?" Chloe
asks, impatient with him. "What is it?"
"I don't know. Wasn't
here when I left this morning," Clark answers.
When you
left after using me to get almost there, she thinks. When you left me feeling like a piece of used toilet
paper, you bastard.
His stomach grumbles.
Loudly. Hers answers in sympathetic agreement.
Clark clears his throat.
"Chloe, about this morning."
She waits, making busy work
of soaking her ankle and trying not to break into tears again. When he fails to
speak, she knows it's because he's embarrassed, uncomfortable. Good, she's glad
he is.
"When you used me and
left me feeling like shit?" she asks, breaking the silence. "Like I'm
an ugly troll? Just like you always have."
She's silent for so long
she finds it hard to look at him. When she finally does it's to see his head is
hanging in shame.
"I'm sorry," he
repeats. There's so much anguish in his voice she can feel it as keenly as she
feels her own emotions. "I used you in the worst way this morning and then
just left."
Damn him
straight to hell!
What is it about him that
makes it nigh impossible to really stay angry with him? Why did she feel like
such a coward? Why did she have to care for him so fucking much?
"Why did you
leave?"
"Cowardice," he
says. " I shouldn't have done what I did. I shouldn't have taken off but I
didn't know what else to do, what to say. I'm no good with my feelings."
"Are any of us?"
she asks. "I understand, Clark."
Clark shakes his head.
"Don't do it. Not this time."
"Do what?"
"Let me off the
hook," he says. "Don't let me get away with hurting you. Again. I don't deserve the that much kindness."
Chloe shrugs and picks up
the orb he'd set down. "I'm too tired and hungry to hold a grudge right
now, Clark. Besides, it's kinda become habit to forgive you."
As soon as the orb touches
her palm it projects an image that lead to the Talon apartment. It's deserted,
but it quickly becomes apparent it isn't just an image-it's a doorway. She can smell coffee,
pastries, and whatever candles Lois burns in the evenings when she gets home
from work.
"Clark, it's the way
home. Come on!"
"Only you may pass,
Miss Sullivan," Jor-El's voice says. His deep timbre fills the space in
the cavern, reverberating from the walls. "The time for the gate to remain
open is quickly running out. Decide if you will return home, or remain with
Kal-El."
"Go," Clark says
tightly.
Chloe swallows nervously.
"I can't leave you here."
"Yes, you can,"
he tells her. "Chloe, this is your chance to get home so take it,
please."
This is it. Three steps and
she's home, but Clark would remain behind to suffer the elements, starve,
alone.
"If anybody can find
me it'll be you," he says, trying to coax her into the portal.
Chloe knows it's not that
simple. Jor-El can simply move Clark anywhere on Earth. She can find him, and
then lose his trail just as quickly.
Clark's face is pained when
he pleads with her. "Please go. I want you to be safe."
"I want to know you're
safe, too," she shoots back. "Our friends are looking for us, you
know they are, but Jor-El keeps moving us. I may never find you again if I
leave you now."
The sigil starts flashing.
Chloe throws the orb into the stream and the doorway closes. The orb disappears
into the black where the water goes back underground. Clark sighs and falls to
his knees. Chloe joins him, knowing he's both relieved to not be alone, and
disappointed she didn't take the chance to get home while she had it.
"Take us to this oasis
you found," she says. "I'm sick of this cavern."
To Chloe,
the oasis looks like something out of a sixties television show, like
Gilligan's Island or something. There are
palm trees and lots of greenery but, unfortunately for them, none bear any kind
of fruit they can eat. Clark assures her he's searched the area but there's
nothing in the way of food. There is, however, a rather large pond, almost dead
center. The place looks like some perfect island getaway for lovers. If only
there was a hotel, with a bed and blankets, and air conditioning, or at least a
hammock.
Chloe does some exploring
of her own, starting with a swim in the pond. The water seems pure. She just
hopes there aren't any microbes in it that'll give her a deadly case of
dysentery. Once she's cooled off she climbs from the water, tramps across the
sand, and into the greenery. She spends the day looking around their little
safe haven, hoping to see something Clark hasn't, but without luck.
As the hours wear on,
Chloe's got time to think about her fate. There's no sign of civilization like
there'd been at the winter cabin. Sure, that place had been abandoned for
years, but at least it was proof there were people around. So far she'd seen
nothing here to indicate there's anyone else alive for miles and miles, even
further than Clark could search with his limited abilities.
Were they going to starve
to death? At first she'd been certain Jor-El wouldn't allow that to happen to
them, but now she's not so sure. Is he willing to allow his own son, and his
friend, to die out in the wilderness by shifting them from one harsh and empty
location to another, simply to keep their friends and family from locating
them? How close were Oliver and Bart to rescuing them? Is that why they'd been
moved in the early morning hours? Had Bart almost sped right up to them or
something?
She's heading back to Clark
when she trips and stumbles on something. She took it to be a tree root at
first, but upon closer inspection Chloe can see it's not a root, but the corner
of a buried trunk.
"You've got to be
kidding me! Hidden treasure?" Chloe says, marveling at the tiny wooden
chest. "Clark, come here!"
He was there a few seconds
later, his face filled with alarm. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. Look,"
she says, already digging sand away.
Clark falls to his knees
beside her to dig and moments later he's pulling the trunk from the ground.
She's relieved there's no lock, but she can sense his disappointment when he
pulls it open just to find a bottle some some drink inside. It's not even
labeled, just full, with a cork in the top.
"I feel like we're in
the next installment of Pirates of the
Caribbean," Clark says, angry. "Only it's crossed over with the
Twilight Zone. If Johnny Depp or Rod Serling show up I'm punching them in the
face."
Chloe wants to laugh but
she can't. She's too filled with disappointment. Clark gazes at her face and
feels it, too. Anything useful would've been great. He hates to admit it, but
if she'd found another orb he'd have shoved her through the fucking portal to
save her. He'd face his death, here on this little desert oasis, alone if he
had to.
Chloe's holding the bottle
up now, as the sun sets. She's uncorks it and takes a sniff.
"Rum," she says.
"I'm no connoisseur of fine spirits but it smells like it's safe to
drink."
"I don't think that's
a good idea," Clark says, and he's never meant anything more in his life.
If simply having a dirty dream about Chloe led to him humping her in the cavern
that morning, he can only imagine what alcohol will lead them to.
Not that he doesn't want
it. Not that he doesn't want her, but he
knows how vulnerable she is right now. He'd be taking advantage
because...because he's a selfish shit who doesn't know how to appreciate a good
thing when he has it. That's why they aren't together, he thinks. That's why
he's spent so much of his life chasing some fantasy with Lana, rather than
embracing a beautiful reality with Chloe.
It's obvious she wants to
drink the rum, and if there's one thing Clark has a hard time doing, it's
denying Chloe things he can give her. So when she looks at him with that
hopeful expression, and takes the first drink from the bottle, frowning at the
taste, he accepts it when she passes it to him.
And so it begins-a night of
drinking-and God knows what else.