SNH3

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.

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