Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10394748.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Smallville
  Relationship:
      Clark_Kent_&_Chloe_Sullivan
  Character:
      Clark_Kent, Chloe_Sullivan, Kal
  Additional Tags:
      RedK_Summer, Season_3, Exile, Alternate_Ending
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-03-21 Chapters: 4/4 Words: 10123
****** Glass Houses ******
by BkWurm1
Summary
     Written for Rathmaria (KalChloe1) for the 2016/17 Secret Chlark
     exchange based on her prompt: Kal did something other than kick Chloe
     out during Exile, preferably smutty.
Notes
     [http://i.imgur.com/2HzdWYq.jpg]
***** Chapter 1 *****
Prompt: (by Rathmaria) - Kal did something other than kick Chloe out during
Exile, preferably smutty.
Rating: Mature
Words: 9837
Chapters: 4
Author’s note:   I find Clark in the period between season two and three
fascinating.  It’s the only time he is ever exposed to red Kryptonite or any
Kryptonite for a prolonged period of time.  Three months.  And for those three
months, Clark let go of his inhibitions, he ignores the law, and the need for
secrets.  He goes where he wants, when he wants.  He reinvents himself.
 
I don’t see how that wouldn’t change how he thought and behaved even once the
ring was off.  At the same time, he’s had three months to learn how to manage
his emotions and impulses while wearing the ring.  In short, I believe that
during this period of time, the Clark on redK probably blurred with the Clark
off redK.  That’s the Clark I’ve written in this story.
                                        
                                  Glass Houses
Chapter 1
 
"Clark you were not forced into exile.  You ran away from your problems.  You
are not being noble, you are being a coward!"
 
Stark truth shredded the red K's cloak of indifference. Damn Chloe for always
seeing what no one else saw.  The thick scar Jor-El branded across his chest
burned in agony, a physical pain to match his emotions.  Why hadn’t he run
months ago when she'd first found him? Why hadn't he severed that final
connection to who he'd been?  He clutched at his chest, barely able to breathe
through the fire consuming him from the inside out.  He needed to get the ring
off, but he couldn't let her see him like this.
 
"Chloe get out!"  He roared, clutching her by the shoulders and dragging her
backwards toward the apartment's open door.  "You tell anyone where I am, I'll
go so far from Metropolis no one will ever find me!"
 
She pushed him away.
 
"I don't even know who you are anymore," she spat, her disgust as white hot as
the heat searing his chest.
 
"Get out!"  He shouted again, looming over her.  He needed her gone right now;
he couldn't hide what was happening one second longer.  Indecision played over
her face, but she turned and fled.  He barely held off long enough to watch her
stride past the elevator toward the stairs on the other side of the open air
walkway before he shut the door and ripped open his shirt.   
 
The scar was alive, pulsating with heat and glowing like a flame.  The agony
was too intense; he cried out and dropped to his knees in front of the
window.   The pain flowed in a line from his chest down his arm to the glowing
red rock in his class ring.  Feebly, he struggled to work the ring off his
finger.  Finally, he succeeded, but too weak to move, he stayed on his knees,
panting and sweating.  Suddenly, he was not alone.
 
"Oh Clark, why didn't you tell me!"
 
"Chloe?"
 
She shut the door, tossed her bag somewhere, and knelt in front him, stripping
the class ring out of his fist before he could protest. He was vaguely aware of
movement somewhere in his apartment and then her cool hands were back, a
soothing balm against his fevered cheeks as she cupped his face and smoothed
back his sweaty curls.  He learned into her touch and did not resist when she
guided his head to her shoulder.  Peace, something he hadn't felt since Jor-El
demanded he abandon everything he knew and loved, washed over him.  He closed
his eyes and rested there, too physically and emotionally exhausted to worry
about what she'd seen.  She smelled nice and felt even better.  Her hands
continued a flurry of exploration and a small whimper escaped her lips when her
palms skimmed over his scarred chest. 
 
"Who hurt you?" She demanded, her voice fierce even while thick with unshed
tears. 
 
A bleak laugh escaped him.  "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
 
"That's not true.  I trust you Clark."
 
Shame and disbelief gave him the strength to pull away from her comfort.  He
got to his feet unsteadily. 
 
"How?"  He asked shaking his head.  "After how I acted, how can you even stand
to look at me?"
 
 
"I trust the real you," she said as she also stood up, "not the asshole who
tried to intimidate me into leaving so you could suffer alone.  Idiot," she
said softly.  "Even if I hadn't heard you cry out before I was ten feet away,
half your apartment is a wall of windows."
 
Out of nowhere he had the urge to smile.
 
"I've missed you Chloe.   I'm so sorry about...the asshole."
 
A brief smile curved her lips before she turned serious again.
 
"How much does he have to do with the red meteor rock?"
 
Clark shuttered his expression, but Chloe cut off his denials.
 
"I saw the ring glowing, Clark, among other things." 
 
Her eyes swept briefly to his scar still visible between his open shirt.  He
quickly did up the snaps, not knowing how he would explain the thick ridge of
scar tissue, but for now at least, Chloe was concentrating on the ring.   The
ring that she'd taken. The ring he needed to get back. 
 
"Not our standard color meteor rock," she pointed out, "but I should have
guessed your personality transplant was shades of Wall of Weird."
 
Guilt and shame hit him again.
 
"I wish it was that simple."  Lately, he couldn't tell how much of his behavior
was the rock and how much was just the freedom he gave himself to do whatever
he wanted while wearing it.  How could he tell her that?  How could he explain
any of it? 
 
Every old habit told him to push Chloe away and keep her from the truth, but
what did it matter anymore?  He couldn't go home.  He'd made too many mistakes
and his parents paid the price.
 
He sunk wearily onto the couch and closed his eyes. He should find the ring and
let the asshole send her home, but he couldn't bring himself to make her leave
even though he knew Chloe wouldn't easily be put off from digging up the truth
now.  Did he even want to keep it from her?  She'd kept his location secret all
these months just because he asked her to.  Maybe he didn't have to cut himself
off from everything good in his life. 
 
The scent of her body wash reached his nostrils just before he felt her perch
next to him on the couch, something sweet and citrusy that made his mouth
water.  She angled his direction so their knees brushed. Awareness hit him with
a familiar zing. His senses always came alive around Chloe.
 
 
"It's not the first time the red rock has affected you, is it."  She stated
rather than asked.
 
He looked over in surprise.
 
"When they first handed out the class rings," Chloe explained, "I remember you
getting your swagger on.  At the time, I was too busy tracking down the bait
and switch with the fake rubies to make the connection, but what Lana told me
later tracks with the cocky 'I don't give a damn' attitude that's been all over
you these last times we met."
 
"I need the ring back Chloe."
 
Disappointment and confusion flashed in her eyes.  She shook her head, making
her dangling earrings sway and tousling her wave of short blond hair.  He'd
noticed her new edgier cut last time when she’d found him.  Normally, he
preferred something more traditional, but Chloe made it work.  Same with the
snug black skirt she wore with knee length boots, a graphic tee, and a short
red jacket.  She always caught his attention.
 
"But it was hurting you." Chloe insisted.
 
"It wasn't the ring."
 
"I know what I saw," she frowned defiantly, her hands fisting on her lap. 
 
She was getting ready to dig in her heels.  A wave of weariness washed over
him.  He didn't want to fight and even though he knew he should, he didn't want
to send her away.  Or watch her leave.  She knew him too well to accept a lie,
so he compromised with as much of the truth as he could.
 
"The ring isn't like that most of the time."
 
"But sometimes it is?  You were in agony.  Why would you ever take that risk
again?" 
 
He hunched forward, staring at the floor, and pressed his lips together in a
thin line to bite back the truth.  It's was easy to imagine blurting everything
out.  He wanted to explain; he wanted to unleash all the guilt he was holding
inside.  Physical pain, even on a level almost beyond his endurance was still
easier than remembering what his selfish cowardice had taken from his parents. 
If he had obeyed Jor-El and left when he was told or at least not lied to his
parents and gone behind their backs to destroy the ship, then they never would
have been caught up in the explosion that took the baby.  He'd taken everything
from them and left them with nothing. 
 
"You don't understand," he said, crushed by the weight of his misery.
 
She leaned closer to him and gently laid a hand on his knee.  He knew she was
only trying to offer comfort, but his awareness of her warmth and nearness
jumped.  Maybe it was because he hadn't seen her every day like he used to, but
usually he had better control over his reaction to Chloe.  They were friends.
 
Had he thought of her that way?  With her smile and energy, he'd always felt a
spark and time had added curves to Chloe that made his palms itch.  From
another planet or not, yeah, he'd thought of her that way, but after last
year's Spring Formal, they'd decided - well Chloe had -they were better off as
friends.  This year he'd mucked up even that. 
 
And there was Lana.   He desperately tried to be the right kind of guy for her,
but he’d only been fooling himself.  And after spending so much of last year
dreaming of being with Lana, shouldn't he miss her more? 
 
She'd seen him today at Lex's funeral and all he'd wanted to do was run.  She
was too mixed up in the guilt.  They'd barely gotten together and Jor-El
demanded he leave.  His fixation on Lana pushed him to act more reckless and
for what?  He could never tell her the truth about himself; she'd hate him. 
 
Ok, maybe not hate him, but if Lana knew the truth, she'd never see him the
same again.  Even if she miraculously didn't blame him for her parents' death,
he knew how uncomfortable people with powers made Lana. 
 
But not Chloe. She judged people by their actions, not abilities.  Shame
returned.  He'd treated her awful; she shouldn't even be speaking to him, let
alone offering him comfort.
 
"Maybe you're right.  Maybe I don't understand," she conceded calmly.  "I get
that the ring changes how you feel and act somehow, what I don't get is why you
want that or why you ever left."
 
It was too much.  She was being too calm.  Too understanding.  She should be
yelling at him.  He jumped to his feet and started pacing his apartment.
 
"Because it's my fault!  I screwed up everything.  He warned me and I didn't
listen and my mom paid the price.  It's my fault she lost the baby.  My father
couldn't even look at me."
 
Chloe was quiet for a moment, absorbing what he said and then cocked her head
to the side. 
 
"Who warned you?  From your tone, I'm pretty sure you're not referring to your
dad."
 
***** Chapter 2 *****
                                 Glass Houses
Chapter 2
 
Standing next to his bed in front of the glass sliding doors that opened onto
the balcony, Clark stared outside at the gray sky.  Of course, Chloe would
ignore the rest and zero in on the key detail.  She never was one to indulge
his guilt.  Funny how she was right and wrong about the warning coming from his
dad.
 
He heard Chloe rise from the couch and cross the apartment.  The studio wasn't
large.  To join him in front of the glass doors, she had to brush against his
back to squeeze past the bed.  He swallowed hard, but continued to stare
outside at the rest of the industrial looking apartment complex.  A cloudy day
was slipping into a shadowy evening. 
 
She touched his arm and lowered her voice like someone was listening.  "The man
who warned you, is he why you ran?  Is he the one that hurt you?  What did he
tell you?"
 
He frowned.  She was so close, but he shook his head.
 
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
 
"Bullshit," she said bluntly, exasperation edging her calm.  "If you won't tell
me, fine, but stop blaming me for why you can't."
 
He kept staring straight ahead.  If he turned and took even a regular stride
closer, she'd be trapped in the corner and it wouldn't be his back she was
pressed up against.  His thoughts shocked him.  The ring was off, but maybe its
habitual influence still lingered like a mental drug because he was incredibly
tempted to turn and get close enough to figure out the exact fruit flavor that
clung to her skin.   
 
She was wrong.  He didn't blame her and she had no idea how badly he wanted to
tell her everything.  For years, she'd hovered near the truth all on her own,
unafraid and willing - no, not just willing, but eager to explore what made
others cower.  He’d never met anyone else like her. 
 
A sudden thought struck Clark.  Jor-El showed him a vision of his parents and
Lana and said they'd served their purpose and that it was time to leave them in
the past, but Jor-El's edict hadn't included Chloe.  Was it coincidence that
out of everyone, she'd found him?  Or that she'd kept his location secret?  And
that he'd trusted her to do so? Was there any one else he wouldn't have run
from?
 
Maybe it was his destiny for Chloe to find him.  Maybe he didn't have to resist
temptation. 
 
For a moment he wavered, but new temptations fell to even older habits.  His
silence made his throat ache. 
 
He had to say something.  Reckless frustration goaded him to turn to face
Chloe.  He moved a little closer, but stayed back enough so she wasn't crowded
into the wall.  She was waiting expectantly, arms crossed and oblivious to the
lines she toyed with crossing.  He inhaled her sweet scent once again and ran
his eyes discreetly down her body, knowing if he'd been wearing the ring, he'd
be doing his best to persuade Chloe to show him those curves up close and
intimate.  He suppressed a shiver of desire.  Now he had another reason to want
the ring back.
 
"You really want to know everything?" he asked just above a gruff whisper. 
 
The question was more than he had meant to say, but why was he letting habit
hold him back from telling her?  Left over rules from another life?  As much as
he wished he could return for his parents, he couldn't go back to the bucolic
life he'd left behind in Smallville.   But Chloe - Chloe had always been more
of a city girl.
 
He leaned in a little more and braced a hand on the wall behind her
 
He watched Chloe's eyes get bigger, like she'd only just realized the intimacy
of their position. The only way out would require her to scramble beneath his
arm, maneuver around the bedside table and back over his bed.  The pulse in her
neck jumped and she pulled in an unsteady breath, but she held her ground.
 
"Yes, I do, but," she paused and unconsciously moistened her lips.
 
"But what?"  He asked while he shuffled his feet closer and braced his other
hand on the wall on the other side of her head, loosely trapping her further in
the corner between his arms.  Chloe shifted back as well, trying to keep a
marginally reasonable space between them.  By anyone else's standards, she
failed, but they'd always had a close friendship.  They were used to sharing
each other's space.  She treated the handspan between them like her own private
bubble.  She met the challenge in his eye with one of her own.
 
"But we both know you’re not going to tell me.  That's what this is all about,
right? The heavy looks, the lean in.  It's a distraction."  She waved her hand
in front of her.  She miscalculated the distance and ended up brushing her
finger tips against his chest.  He flinched and hissed at her touch. 
Immediately contrite, she snatched her hand back. 
 
"Oh god, Clark, your scar, did I hurt you?"
 
"No.  Not hurt."
 
She was wrong again.  He hadn't planned a distraction, but he was distracted
now as pure pleasure radiated from the nerve endings in the raised skin on his
chest.  More proof it was not a normal scar.  Earlier, her soothing touch had
felt good, which of itself was unusual.  Other women had noticed his scar; it
was hard to hide, but in the past, their touch had felt wrong, an extreme
intrusion.  Chloe's touch now brought more than just pleasure, it felt right. 
Like she was the one he'd been waiting for.
 
The feeling of rightness made him bolder.  He pivoted his body and slid a foot
between her feet, her shiny black, knee high boots rubbing against the denim of
his jeans.  Her tight skirt kept him from sliding in as close as he wished, but
he at least made it clear he didn't want her going anywhere.  He was pleased
she wasn't trying to.  She'd seen his scar earlier and been horrified on his
behalf, but she wasn't acting repulsed, just concerned.
 
He took the hand she'd pulled back and set it on his chest.  He reached for the
other one and did the same.  She stared at her hands resting on the dark blue
fabric of his shirt and her breath started coming faster.  He briefly left his
hands as a cover over hers in case she tried to remove them, but her curiosity
was already taking over.  He caressed the soft fleshy part where her thumbs met
her palm before skimming his hands back over her wrists and then the material
of her dark red jacket before gently holding her by the shoulders, just resting
his hands while she examined him.
 
Through his shirt, she gently traced the pattern of his scar starting at the
middle and then moving up to the edges before following the whole shield shaped
curve in tandem from the top toward the bottom.  His abs jumped and he sucked
in his breath as her hands met and lingered over where the sides formed a v
shaped point on his lower stomach.  
 
"As distractions go, this is a very, very good one," Chloe remarked deadpan. 
 
He laughed, just a low huff, but it prompted her to blush and pull her hands
away.  He once again clasped them to his chest.  "Don't stop."
 
Nervously, she gnawed on her lower lip and glanced up at him, but left her
hands where they were.
 
 "I really should.  Because effective as it is, like I said - distraction - and
yeah, I want to know what's going on, but if you don't want to tell me, I
really wish you would respect me enough not to play games." 
 
"I'm not playing.  You want to know?  I'll tell you. This scar," he held her
palms flat to his chest, "my father gave it to me." 
 
Chloe jerked her head to the side.
 
"Jonathan Kent gave you a scar... that glows?"
 
He shook his head and dived in.
 
"No, my biological father.  The original asshole.  He showed up and announced
it was time for me to leave and start a new chapter in my life.  That if I
stayed, I'd only hurt those closest to me.  And he was right."
 
Chloe shook her head, bunching his shirt in her fists.  "It was an accident,"
she insisted.  "Your mother was hurt in an accident."
 
"One I caused trying to defy Jor-El.  I just reacted."
 
"Because you were hurt and angry and feeling betrayed.  So you acted without
thinking it through and made a deal…, I mean, came up with a plan and it went
bad.  People…we make mistakes. Sometimes, the only thing we can do is ask
forgiveness.  And believe me, I know that doesn’t seem like enough, but your
mom is strong.  Both your parents are.  Right now what's hurting them is losing
you."
 
He met her eyes.  He read her sincerity and for a second, hope filled him. 
Maybe there was forgiveness to be found.  Maybe he could go home.  Then reality
crashed in again. 
 
"I can't go back.  The scar is proof Jor-El isn't done with me." 
 
"Is Jorel Scandinavian?"  Chloe asked only to quickly shake her head.  "Sorry,
never mind that right now.  Original asshole sounds about right. I don't care
if he's your birth father or not.  He has no right to show up in your life and
start ordering you around.  Why didn't you call the sheriff?"
 
Clark blinked blankly for a second before he caught up to Chloe's train of
thought.  Watching up close all the expressions flit across her face was kind
of mesmerizing.  And she kept doing things to her lower lip with her teeth as
she worked the problem out.  The wet little dents were distracting.  There was
that word again.  He frowned and answered her question.
 
"He has the kind of power law enforcement can't do anything about."
 
A furrow appeared on Chloe's forehead and she tapped her pointer finger
rhythmically against his chest, thinking.  He was super aware of her hands
still on his chest, but doubted she was.  Had she even noticed when he moved
his hands to her hips?  Or how close they stood?  He had flashbacks to their
one dance last year before the tornado sirens interrupted.  They'd been so
close to that kiss. 
 
"I suppose given we're talking guy who gives glowing scars, it's too much to
hope you mean Jorel is wealthy and super connected?"
 
Again, it took him a moment to come back to what she was saying.  Like so many
times before, the intuitive leaps her mind made amazed him.  Whatever his
expression, it must have confirmed her guess. 
 
"So are his powers meteor related?" She asked.
 
How could he answer that?  Technically that was true since all the meteor rocks
came with his arrival, but that wasn't accurate and he found he didn't want to
mislead her, even if he didn't know how to explain.  He shook his head.
 
"You wouldn't believe me if I..."
 
She poked him in the chest, cutting him off.
 
"Seriously?  We're back to that?"
 
He studied her for a moment.  Her jaw was set in mutinous lines and fire
flashed in her green eyes.  She held his steady gaze.  Again the urge to tell
her everything, all the impossible details, welled up inside and he made a
decision. He would tell her, but that was the kind of conversation that could
not be had quickly and he was...distracted with other things.  He really wanted
that kiss he'd missed out on last year.  He tried to set the topic aside.  
 
"Ok, it's not about what you would believe," he said, "but I don't want to talk
about it now.  Not tonight."  His eyes dropped down to her lips and his hands
tightened on her waist.  As if in slow motion he lowered his head toward her
mouth only to freeze inches away when she spoke.
 
"Ok." She quickly agreed, pulled back and flashed him a sweet smile; he was
immediately wary. 
 
"How about we talk about the red meteor rock?" She suggested, just as sweetly. 
Now he knew she was mad, but he wasn't sure why.  "How does that fit in? 
Wearing it pushes you to do what you would never do normally, like your current
and ongoing seduction distraction.  But how does that in the long run help you
against Jorel?" 
 
Clark was confused.  Current and ongoing seduction distraction?  She still
thought he was faking his interest or more specifically, that the red rock was
doing it for him.  He frowned.  She was off about more than one thing, but one
thing confused him the most.
 
"But I'm not wearing the ring," he pointed out.  She blinked like she'd been
caught saying something she shouldn't.  What did that mean?
 
"Right.  Of course, I only meant, umm...," she let her sentence trail off.  A
small frown appeared between her eyebrows.  Her eyes flickered almost
imperceptibly over his shoulder.
 
He twisted his head, but didn't see anything marring the silky blue comforter
on his bed, an identical copy he'd "acquired" (along with the new mattress)
after Morgan Edge's trigger happy goons shot up the last one.  He looked at
Chloe again, who was now determinedly meeting his gaze, and realized her glance
hadn't been at the bed, but at the small, brown lacquered, bedside table
currently denting the back of his thigh.  He twisted around again, narrowed his
eyes and confirmed his guess with his X-ray vision; he'd found his class ring.
 
He started to let Chloe go when she clutched his arms.  "What are you doing?" 
She asked.
 
"Getting my ring.  It's simpler that way."
 
"Don't.  Please."
 
He let her stop him for the moment.
 
"Why does it matter?  You already think it's affecting me."
 
"Are you saying it's not?" She challenged.  "Because last I checked, the only
girl you were interested in putting the moves on was Lana Lang." 
 
 
***** Chapter 3 *****
                                        
                                 Glass Houses
                                        
Chapter 3
 
Chloe’s accusation hung in the air, but even hearing Lana's name felt wrong. 
He shook his head.  "Whatever was between Lana and I was over when I left
town.  Everything's changed."
 
The last thing he wanted now was a relationship conversation rehashing the
past.  The choices he'd made months ago might as well have been years.  His
past was a mess and his future so murky he spent all his time living in the
present. Ring or no ring, that's what he still wanted to do now. That's what he
was going to do.  He'd make her understand.
 
 "I have to be wearing the ring for it to affect me and when I'm wearing the
ring, I might not be the nicest, but it doesn't make me do anything I don't
want. The opposite.  It lets me do what deep down, I've always wanted."  Chloe
continued to squint at him, skeptical.  Irritation warred with his
frustration.  "Believe me, when I'm wearing the ring, you'll know it." 
 
He was done talking.  He moved to retrieve the ring, but again Chloe clutched
at his arm to stop him.
 
"Chloe," he said her name on a sigh.  She was only delaying the inevitable. 
"It’s simpler with the ring and you're not strong enough to stop me."  She had
no idea.  He didn't want to use his strength against her, not even what would
have been normal for a guy his size. 
 
"I know that and you know me Clark, brute strength isn't my way."
 
"You're not going to talk me out of it."  If anyone could, it probably would be
Chloe, but no, he had too many good reasons for putting the ring back on,
including showing Chloe what he really felt.
 
"I agree, talking seems pointless."
 
He frowned.  There was something in her tone that got his attention.  She let
go of his arm, but he didn't move.  He couldn't look away. She shifted her
shoulders and started peeling off her jacket.  His heart skipped a beat.
 
"What are you doing?"
 
"It's kind of hot in here, don't you think?"
 
He swallowed hard, but didn't answer.  What did she think she would accomplish
taking off her jacket?  On or off, her outfit wasn't that revealing.  The
short, black t-shirt advertising some indie band had a high crew neck and while
it might be sleeveless, he'd seen her bare arms before. 
 
Sure, they were nice arms; she handled every step printing the Torch and the
paper and equipment was heavy, leaving her surprisingly toned for all her
hatred of gym class.  And her skin kind of gleamed in the shadows now that
twilight had overtaken his apartment.
 
"Move back," she whispered, shifting her arms behind her where the jacket was
still bunched up.  "The wall's too close.  I need room to take it all the way
off."  
 
He obeyed; her jacket slithered to the wood floor.  She stepped forward,
wobbling a little when she kicked it behind her in the corner.  Instinctively,
he reached out to steady her at her shoulders and learned her skin was silky
smooth, like warm cream.  Unable to resist, he skimmed his hands over the
curves of her shoulder, down to the bend of her elbows and back up again. 
Goosebumps trailed his touch and they both shivered. 
 
"Can I...," Chloe shyly trailed off, but toyed with one of the pearly snaps
running down the front of his dark blue button-down.  He froze, transfixed by
the sight of her nimble fingers playing with the flat, smooth circle of his
shirt's fastening.  She wanted to open his shirt.  Her hands over his shirt had
felt wonderful. Trying to imagine the feeling with nothing in between short
circuited his ability to talk. He quickly nodded instead. 
 
She started at the top while he continued to lightly hold her by the
shoulders.  The slightly tinny pops as the metallic snaps came apart were loud
in the still apartment. As she carefully separated the last few, she directed
him a bit further back, nearer to the side of his king sized bed, and then she
slid one hand beneath the parted edges.  Direct touch.  Skin to skin.  It was
like the difference between the scent of warm apple pie and the taste. 
 
 
Like before, she gently brushed the shape his scar with her fingertips. Like
before, his breath hissed in with pleasure. 
 
"Sit.  Actually,” she suggested as he quickly complied, “why don't you lie
down.  Close your eyes."
 
He leaned back across the bed with his feet still resting on the floor and
obediently closed his eyes, fisting his hands around the cool satin comforter,
waiting for her feather light touch to start again.  The change in position
blatantly showed off another part of his anatomy besides his chest that was
currently prominent, but he was too caught up to care. 
 
He tensed when to his left he felt her weight on the mattress.  Holding his
breath, he was wondering if she'd move again, maybe climb up and straddle his
waist since the way she was sitting created an awkward angle for someone that
was right handed, when he heard it.  A quiet scrape of wood against wood.  So
quiet that if not for his enhanced hearing, it would have gone unnoticed
beneath the sound of their breathing.
 
The nightstand drawer.
 
He bolted upright and their eyes locked.  She froze, hand still in the drawer. 
 
"Give it to me Chloe," he ordered.  Not surprisingly, she ignored him. 
 
She sprang to her feet, clutching the ring in her hand and immediately yanked
on the sliding door that opened to the balcony.  He never bothered locking it,
so she was outside in an instant.  She was reaching back, getting ready to
throw the ring from his fifth story apartment balcony when he sped into
action.  Without his abilities, she would have accomplished her goal and the
drop to the pavement below might have destroyed the gem, but instead, he zipped
in front of her and plucked the ring out of the air before it flew two inches. 
 
"How did you...?" She trailed off in disbelief. 
 
Clark didn't try to explain.  He just slid the ring on to his finger.  He
flexed his hand and made a fist as the rush of heady power coursed through his
veins. 
 
Saying nothing, he crowded her back inside and firmly slid the door shut.  He
wasn't angry.  He was being considerate.  And practical.  It was chilly
outside.  If she was cold, she would need a lot more persuasion to start
undressing again.  Not that she needed to worry.  He'd keep her warm.
 
She looked hurt and bewildered. He sighed.  Looked like he'd have to start
persuading her all over again anyway.  He perked up.  That could be fun too.
 
"Why?” She asked.  “Why did you put it back on?"
 
"It makes things simpler."  He said once again.
 
"No.  It hurts you," she insisted. 
 
He flashed a rakish smile and reached for her, pulling their bodies flush and
angling his head down for a kiss. 
 
"Then it’s a good thing I have you to make me feel all better."
 
***
 
Whiplash.  Chloe decided she was suffering from some kind of brain scrambling
whiplash.  Everything was happening so fast. Or maybe her natural reticence was
simply overwhelmed by the temptation of Clark wanting her as a lot more than
just a friend.
 
Whatever the reason, she let it happen.  Clark Kent was finally kissing her and
since he’d won the quest for the ring, she could trust that their kiss wasn’t
just a distraction.  As first kisses went, it was pretty spectacular.
Technically, it was their second kiss since she'd gotten the first one out of
the way the day they met, ironically, so they could be friends.  And they'd
come a hair’s breadth away from a kiss last year at the Spring Formal, but
innocent firsts and near misses could not compare.  Shouldn't even be talked
about in the same breath as what was finally happening.  No other kisses
should.
 
Heat gripped her from the inside out.  Passion that mocked what she'd deluded
herself into doing during last year's internship.  She’d already known bow tie
Jimmy had been a mistake, but now she knew how much of one and yet she couldn't
dwell on the past, not when the present was so gloriously singing through her
veins and that was just from a kiss.    
 
After tricking Clark and nearly destroying his precious, she expected anger
beneath his smirking exterior, something punishing in his kiss, but he was more
crafty than that, he controlled and possessed without force, instead his lips
and tongue lured and teased, using her desire against her, holding back until
she surged deeper and then he met her urgency and brought it to another level.
Like a sensuous drug, he left her weak and clinging.  And imagining things. 
For an instant she would have sworn his eyes glowed like fire.  Maybe she could
add brain damage to her list of excuses.
 
With what little will power she had left, she pushed against his chest.  For a
second he tensed and tightened his arms around her and then they completely
loosened.  He gazed down at her beneath heavy lids.  Bedroom eyes.  Chloe
suddenly understood the phrase.  She shivered and not in fear; she shook her
head anyway.
 
"I...I should go," she said, breathlessly. 
 
"I could stop you.  I won't...if," he smiled a toothy grin, mischief and
certainty sparkling in his eyes, "if that's really what you want,…but is it?"
 
She wasn't ready to answer that question, at least not aloud.  If he hadn't
been wearing the ring, she doubted she'd have even come up for air.  Clark took
her silence as a challenge. 
 
"Let me give you something more to consider."
 
He tightened his grip on her hips and lifted her so her back slid up the glass
door and her feet dangled; then he plastered his body to hers, belly to belly,
to hold her in place.  Instinctively she wrapped her arms around his neck and
her legs around his waist, forcing her skirt to ride up around her thighs.  He
shifted his weight and rubbed a hard denim bulge against the thin, satin layer
of her panties.  Her eyes just about rolled back in her head. Oh! The angle. 
The pressure.  His low groan vibrated through his body into hers.    
 
"What...what are you doing?" She asked breathlessly.
 
"I thought that was obvious," he murmured against the side of her neck.  "I've
been hard since the final snap on my shirt popped."
 
Her heart tripped.  She'd known he liked her touch, but not how much.  It
changed things.  Considering letting this happen was insane.  It was crazy. 
And yet, part of her was afraid this moment would slip away if she didn’t grab
it, that Clark might vanish like he’d threatened and all she’d have was
regrets. Maybe Clark wearing the ring for now really didn’t matter, not if this
was really what Clark wanted, what they both wanted.  Clark rocked his hips
again; she bit her lip to hold back a moan.  Still, again she shook her head. 
 
 
"Put me down." 
 
She wasn't sure what she would have done if he'd refused (thrown a parade?) but
he let her body slide down his.  Her knees were wobbly, which, she assured
herself, was the only reason she placed her palm against the middle of his
defined abs.  His skin was warm and surprisingly silky.  Not letting herself
look any lower (ok, she looked lower, but only for a second) she stared at his
sculpted perfection until her head stopped spinning and then raised her gaze to
meets his.  One of his eyebrows flexed, waiting for her next move. 
 
"Are you telling me the truth?” She demanded.  “About...about your…reaction…you
know, before the ring?" 
 
He looked smugly amused by her question, but answered quickly.
 
"Yes.  And since there's some confusion, I'll be clear.  Red meteor rocks don't
give me hard-ons."   
 
Heat rushed to her cheeks at his bluntness, but she believed him.
 
"Should I be hurt you didn’t notice?” Clark asked. 
 
He was mocking her now and given what there was to notice, maybe she deserved a
little mocking.
 
“After all, you are a clever girl, always have been.  Hey, maybe if you stay,
at some point you'll be clever enough to convince me to risk coming home.”  For
a second, the smirk slipped.  He gently traced the curve of her jaw with his
fingertips.  “With you here, I can almost believe everything will work out the
way it should."
 
Her heart lurched again, but this time it wasn’t passion that made it ache. 
Clark, her Clark, the one she’d lost her heart to, was still in there. Lost,
but still there.  She watched as a wolfish grin swallowed him up again.  He put
his hands on her hips and drew her closer.
 
“But why don’t we leave complicated questions for another time.”  He rubbed her
arms.  "Because right now, things are simple.  Right.  You and me.  Here now. 
Exactly where I want to be.  So what about you?”  He lowered his voice to a
rumbling whisper.  “Where do you want to be?" 
 
Chloe swayed toward him, but found her voice.  "It's more complicated than you
think.  You’re not the only one that's messed up."  Her voice cracked.  “When I
was mad and hurt about you and Lana, I made a choice, a deal that if I'd
actually followed...," Clark stopped listening and lowered his mouth to the
pulse point on the side of her neck, tasting her skin.  Tingles washed over
her.
 
“Mmm, a little salty, a little sweet.  And what is that scent?”
 
Her breath hitched as he continued to explore the sensitive length of her
neck.  Languidly, she sighed and angled her neck for easier access, but tried
to explain again. 
 
"Clark, I...,"
 
He nuzzled against her ear and whispered, "Shh.  Nothing that happened in
Smallville matters now.  Only this."
 
"But...,"
 
"It doesn't matter."
 
"It matters to me.  I almost...,"
 
He cut off her words with a kiss. 
 
"Almost doesn't matter."
 
She knew better, but maybe it didn't matter now.  As if Clark could read the
moment of her capitulation, he grinned and swept her up off her feet, spinning
her around.  He kissed her, another one of those heart pounding, mind melting
kisses and then he was lowering her to the floor.
 
"Sit,” he echoed her earlier command back to her.  Her knees felt like Jello;
she sat, not sure if she was following his instructions or letting the mattress
catch her as her legs collapsed beneath her. 
 
She had a moment of confusion as Clark crouched down before he smoothed his
hands down her knee and gently began removing her boots. Then he returned and
stripped off the little white anklets she wore.  Immediately, she curled her
feet beneath her and wrapped her arms around her middle, suddenly feeling
awkward.  It was easier when they were touching. Everything felt instinctual,
natural.  Now he was too far away and she was too shy to reach for what she
wanted. Funny how bare feet leave you feeling exposed.
 
Or maybe it made sense.  After all, clothing was a kind of armor.  If she
looked tough and edgy on the outside, maybe she'd feel that way inside, which
was why her first paycheck from her column went toward the pair of black, kick
ass boots.  But kickass now sat quietly against the wall and a second later,
Clark toed off his absurdly expensive, designer sneakers to keep them company. 
She frowned at the sight.  How could Clark possibly have afforded them?  Just
like the apartment, it was a mystery.
 
She opened her mouth to ask, only for Clark to shake his head and scoop her up
again.
 
"The question and answer portion of tonight is over." 
 
 
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Notes
     [http://i.imgur.com/2HzdWYq.jpg]
 
                                        
                                 Glass Houses
                                        
Chapter 4
 
The world tilted and Chloe found herself lying on the blue cloud that was
Clark's comforter with him stretched out alongside her.  Clark's mouth
descended over hers and obliterated the half formed objection on her lips.  The
haze of bliss returned.  Later.  She'd get her answers later.  
 
As they kissed, they explored; the wide sweep of his hands mapping her body. 
Everything felt natural again.  The heat between them, the need to touch, to
learn, to get closer.   
 
She scouted points of sensitivity beyond his scar, like his nipples, the side
of his abdomen and the indents above his hips.  He reacted openly, moaning and
murmuring to let her know what he liked.  They shared that trait.  Just the
whisper of his touch as it skimmed along the sliver of skin exposed between the
bottom of her tee and the top of her skirt made her gasp. 
 
It wasn't long before whispering touches weren't enough.  Her skirt was too
restrictive and she vowed never to wear anything with that high of a neckline
ever again.  She whimpered, this time in frustration. 
 
"Off," she demanded.  For one awful second, Clark tensed and started to pull
back. She snaked her hands around his neck to keep him from leaving.  "No. 
Help me get..." She didn't have to finish before understanding flashed on his
face.  He kissed her hard and it must have left her dizzy because too fast for
logic, her clothing dilemma was solved.  She wasn't even certain if her t-shirt
survived.  The band was overhyped anyway. 
 
She reached to pull Clark back to her, but he smoothly trapped her wrists in
his hands and stretched them above her head while he gazed at her body with
what she could only describe as wonder.  She glanced down and blushed.  She
hadn't exactly forgotten she'd worn the scarlet red, matching set from
Victoria's Secret, but they'd just been another layer of armor.  Now they were
the confection wrapper and she the treat.
 
And Clark always did have a sweet tooth.   
 
 He looked ravenous.  His breath came in harsh pants.  Desire pulled the skin
taut across his cheekbones.  His body was rigid with tension. 
 
When she'd gone shopping, she'd seen in the mirror she looked good, but now she
imagined it through Clark's eyes.  The contrast of his signature red laid next
to her pale skin, the framing of her curves like they were an offering, the
absurdly feminine touches embroidered on the sheer fabric that revealed more
that it concealed, and the wisp of satin between her thighs.  She'd been bold
in all her grooming choices, keeping up the Brazilian for the sheer secret
thrill.  Maybe deep down her reason hadn't been that secret.  She squirmed
under his gaze.  Desire, not embarrassment.  There was nothing in his look that
could leave room for self-doubt.
 
The low guttural sound Clark made in response caused everything inside her to
tighten. She arched her back, needing more than appreciation.  Finally, the
invisible tether that held Clark back broke.  Letting go of her wrists, his
mouth crashed into hers followed by his heat and weight. 
 
She buried her hands into his thick, soft, dark hair, holding on to ground
herself against the sensuous assault to her senses.  Each kiss was another wave
washing over her, dragging her deeper.  The cool material of his jeans still
brushed against her bare legs, but his shirt was gone and the heat of his skin
was intoxicating.   
 
Clark laid half on her with his elbows bracing some of his weight.   He shifted
and the hard line of his scar brushed back and forth over the already stiff
peaks still concealed by her bra. Each pass tripped a pulse of warm, melted
pleasure to her middle.  He groaned, finding just as much pleasure in the
action.  She clutched at his neck, gliding her palms over his sleek, muscled
back and strong shoulders, enjoying the play of power beneath his skin.  She
could feel the strength he held in check just below the surface.

"You're so beautiful," she blurted out. He returned his mouth to the curve of
her neck and she felt him smile. 

"I think that's my line."

"I don't want any lines."

He drew hard on a point along her collar bone.  The slight sting among the
sweet suction only added to the delicious thrill.

"It's not a line.  You are the most beautiful sight I've ever seen," he said
and then once again, his smile curved against her skin, "but I can think of a
way to improve it."

His hands swept up her arms and then down, nudging first one of the scarlet
straps lower and trailing it with a shower of kisses before repeating the same
action on the other side, sensitizing her flesh.  He then reached behind her
and worked the clasp of her bra. 

"Yes!" He celebrated when it gave.  She laughed at his accomplished tone.

"Suddenly I have this vision of you and Pete in the loft, taking turns
practicing your technique on each other."

He scowled down at her, offended.  "I did not wear a bra.  We put it on a
pillow."
 
“Now who’s the clever one?”
 
Clark tugged the satin and sheer lace, miracle of engineering out of the way
and leered appreciatively.
 
“Oh, I’m feeling brilliant right about now.”
 
It happened again, that flash of red in his eyes.  Maybe she wasn’t seeing
things and maybe on a guy who had an occasionally glowing scar, matching eyes
weren’t that big of a deal.  No, the big deal award went to Clark’s hands on
her breasts. 
 
She could barely catch her breath.  She wanted this, oh god did she want this,
but at every line she and Clark crossed, she was still gobsmacked it was really
happening.  The heat of his hands seeping into her was fresh confirmation. 
 
He took the role of replacing her bra conscientiously, lifting and supporting
each breast, gently cupping their firm softness, lightly kneading them in a toe
curling way.  Why was it though?  After all, his hands were just warm flesh. 
She’d touched her chest before and while very nice, Clark’s broad hands on her
breasts were revelatory, like she’d found religion.  He brushed his thumbs over
her hardened nipples.  She gasped and then as her mind melted into goo, she had
the urge to pout; it was not fair that do it yourself would never do again. 
 
If she was going to suffer, so was Clark. While he continued to lavish his
attention, she snaked her arms beneath his and reached for the pecs and abs
hovering above her like a garden of delight. Their defined paths led to the
raised skin of his scar, a labyrinth she couldn’t resist revisiting.  Not a
maze where the mighty Minotaur might lurk, but the sort of unending pattern
where tracing its path was a spiritual act of study and mindfulness.  The key
to meditation wasn’t to think of nothing, but to concentrate on one thing. With
Clark at her fingertips, she could out meditate all the monks in Tibet.  
 
His scar looked red and angry, but it was a part of Clark now and in an odd
way, fiercely beautiful.  It was a record of pain and of wounds healed over,
but not so easily mended.  She brushed her fingers against it, occasionally
flicking the thick ridged edge much the way Clark was repeatedly grazing the
peaks on her breasts.  He groaned under her dedicated exploration, only to
shift away from her reach.
 
Before she could protest her loss, the hot, moist heat of his mouth replaced
his heated hands.  Her nails dented the skin on the back of his neck while he
sucked, nibbled and drew on one breast and then the other.  Liquid heat
throbbed between her legs. 
 
His hands skimmed the outline of her body, soothing and inflaming, traversing
back and forth along the flare of her hips and the curve of her bottom to the
softness of her thighs.
 
“Clark!” She said his name on a gasp and moved restlessly under his touch.  She
wanted more.  Needed more. She tugged on his curls until she had his mouth
again and poured every bit of need and longing into the kiss.  His hand
smoothed over on her thigh, the edge of his thumb skimming the sensitive inner
skin.  She let her legs fall further apart in invitation and held her breath. 
Closer, his searching fingers explored.  She scrunched her eyes closed and when
the first brush of his hand trailed over the crimson satin between her legs,
bit her lower lip.  She shivered all over.
 
It was sweet torture as he took his time, drowning her in kisses while gently
through the material stroking the seam of her body.  She buried her face into
his neck, panting, rocked with heat and a bit of embarrassment, knowing her
panties were soaked.  Then there was no room for wasted emotion.  He brushed
the scrap of fabric aside and glided his fingers directly through the moisture
her body created. 
 
“Clark.”  She sighed his name.  Again, she couldn’t help compare the difference
between her own touch and Clark’s.  Everything was heightened and intensified. 
She ached for more.
 
“Chloe.”  He said her name reverently as he stroked the slick heat between her
legs.  He found the stiff, hooded nub of flesh with the soft pad of his thumb
and drew gentle circles. 
 
She gasped and dropped her head back.   His mouth found her throat and she
clutched at his shoulders, wriggling.  She couldn’t have said for certain, but
she doubted Clark had too much in the way of experience, but never let anyone
say Clark Kent wasn’t a fast study.  He explored and experimented, paying close
attention to the subtle messages her body sent, returning whenever he elicited
a moan or a ragged breath.  The unconscious rocking of her hips gave him the
boldness to slip a finger inside her.  She groaned and he hummed in
appreciation the way her body clutched tightly to it.
 
He added a second finger, stretching her slightly, and began to stroke in and
out.  She rolled her hips with his hand and whimpered in pleasure when his
curled fingers rubbed across a particularly sensitive spot. He repeated his
technique and drew another gasp, going back, pressing and rubbing against the
upper wall of her slick channel, building the tension inside of her.  A moan
tore out.  Her nipples already hard, tightened as if he was touching them too,
sending out an additional pinch of pleasure. 
 
“Clark!”  She said his name again, not wanting the roll of bliss to end, but
wanting him with her.  “I need…I need you.”
 
“You’ll get me, but first…”  He sped up his exploration and she couldn’t hold
back the cry of pleasure as everything tensed even further, only to release in
a rush of shivery delight. 
 
Her senses blurred again, cool air rushed over her body only for Clark’s weight
and heat to return a second later.  He settled between her legs, his knees
nudging them wider.  Skin to skin.  He’d lost the jeans and anything beneath
them, and more puzzling, she’d lost her panties.  She tucked her observations
in the back of her head.  She had too much else to concentrate on for now. 
 
Thick and hot, his erection lay between them.  Clark shifted his hips and
rubbed it against her wet slit without entering.  They both groaned.  He kissed
her again and when she wound her arms around his neck, she found his back damp
with sweat.  Lifting her knees to hug his hips, she whimpered as he continued
to rock against her core.  She was already trembling again.
 
“Clark, please,” she begged as he sucked the underside of her jaw, trailing wet
heat down her throat.  Her pleading had the opposite effect she wanted.  Clark
froze above her, still bracing some of his weight with his arms.  “What?  What
is it?”
 
“I don’t want to hurt you.”  He frowned, looking far too serious.
 
“It’s ok.”  She brushed back a damp curl from his forehead.  “Technically, I’ve
done this before.” Hey, look at that, the Jimmy detour had been good for
something. 
 
"Technically?  What does that mean?"  His frown deepened.  He’d stopped moving,
but she now tilted her hips back and forth, not wanting to lose the sensation. 
The drag of his hard shaft through her folds and over her clit was
exquisite.   
 
"Yes, it means yes, last year, but it wasn't like this.” She groaned and
sighed.  “Nothing could be like this.”  She opened her eyes to find Clark
watching her.  Tension gripped him.  Desire was etched into every feature, but
still he held still.  
 
She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him tenderly. “Clark, I trust you.
You won’t hurt me.  You’d never let yourself hurt me like that.”  The influence
of the red meteor rock had seriously increased Clark’s bark, but she never for
one second truly feared his bite.  Even when he’d been screaming in her face
and hauling her out of his apartment, he’d been more about bluster and
intimidation than physical force. 
 
The worried indecision that had been at such odds with his previous cocky
demeanor faded.  He brushed his knuckles against her cheek and nodded with new
certainty. “You’re right.  I could never hurt you.”  He sealed his vow with a
scorching kiss.
 
With the kiss, his tensed muscles unlocked.  His hips rocked into hers once,
twice, three more times before he braced his upper body on one hand, reached
between their bodies and guided the blunt, hard tip of his cock to her body’s
entrance.  Heart pounding, Chloe clutched his shoulders and panted against his
throat in desire, anticipation, and a minute, remaining degree of apprehension
(Kansas knew how to grow ‘em big).
 
His thick head pressed against her entrance.  Pressure.  Stretching.   But no
pain.  Clark backed off and then slowly pressed a little deeper. This time, her
sigh of pleasure mixed with his.  It was like traveling to an exotic land.  You
know it’s going to be beautiful, but actually being there …breathtaking.       
 
He repeated his careful penetration.  She tightened her legs around his hips,
wanting more of him, but he wouldn’t be pushed, keeping his initial thrusts
slow and shallow.  He was driving her crazy, both because each thrust was
hitting the same spot he’d found earlier with his fingers and because she
didn’t want him holding back.  Instinctively, she raised her legs higher to
wrap around his waist and this time he slid all the way to the hilt.  She
gasped and he groaned, both in the best way.  She felt incredibly full; the
pressure and friction was amazing. 
 
Clark stilled inside of her, letting her get used to his full size or maybe
fighting for his own control.  As she let her fingertips ghost across his neck
and shoulders, Clark’s muscles grew even more ridged beneath her touch.  She
tilted her head up and looked into sea green eyes filled with raw passionate,
need.  Need for her.  She shivered and as if that was what he’d been waiting
for, he began sliding in and out in long, steady, staggeringly good strokes.
 
The intimacy was overwhelming.  Never looking away, he slid his cupped hands
beneath her head, cradling it in place as they sunk deeper into one another’s
eyes, sharing breath, body and soul. 
 
Every whimper and tremor he rung from her body was met with special attention,
maximizing the feeling as he sought to recapture and prolong each spark of
pleasure.  Sensation became its own entity.  It commanded, it ruled.  She
obeyed. 
 
The intensity of everything should have left her frightened, but he was always
right there with her.  Clark, it was always Clark. 
 
She tightened her legs around his waist as he rode her harder, faster, rocking
her hips to meet his thrusts and grinding against him, meeting his mouth like
every kiss was the breath of life.  This was theirs.  This was good, so good,
so right.
 
Her climax ripped through her, stunning her with its force.  When she lost
control, Clark let go of his, his hips raggedly pistoning into her, prolonging
the rhythmic clench of pleasure and the heavy waves of delight surging up and
down her spine.  With hoarse groan, he threw back his head, shouted her name,
and collapsed on top of her. 
 
It took time for their pounding hearts to slow and their ragged breaths to
even.  He should have been too heavy, but his weight pinning her to the
mattress was just right, focusing the feeling of being as close to another
being as humanly possible. 
 
Too soon, he rolled to his side.  He must have felt the loss of their
connection as well because immediately, he reached for her, draping her over
his chest and dragging the comforter along.  Lazily, he nuzzled her neck,
making approving sounds as he breathed in their mingled scent.  She rested her
cheek against the edge of his scar, idly stroking his damp chest and biting
back the reckless words of love that wanted to spill from her lips.  Instead,
she used her writer’s mind to imprint every last detail to memory. 
 
“Chloe.”
 
She went still, afraid of what he would say.  She wasn’t ready for this bubble
to burst. 
 
“What scent is your body wash?”
 
She laughed.  It was the last thing she expected him to ask.  “Pomegranate
mango.”
 
“Pomegranate mango,” he repeated back like he too was making a detailed list. 
He said her name again.  “Chloe.”
 
Smiling, she turned her head his direction; she hadn’t yet mentioned the honey-
lemon lotion.  He wasn’t smiling back.  Her heart froze.  Physically Clark
would never hurt her, but a rejection now would be worse than physical pain.
 
“Stay.” 
 
A single word.  A command and plea, wrapped up in one.  Relief washed over her
and her heart beat double time.  He sounded like he meant forever.
 
Hope took root until all the things left unsaid rushed back to crowd her mind. 
The ring, his scar, Smallville, her foolish deal with Lionel Luthor and on top
of all that, the powers she was certain she’d witnessed tonight.  Powers she
had half suspected since the first time he’d missed the bus only to arrive
before them at school.  So much about the last couple years made sense now, but
the future was more uncertain than ever.  It wasn’t only about what she wanted.
 
Ruthlessly, Chloe shoved those concerns aside.  Clark asked her to stay.  She
wasn’t sure if she could give him – them – more than the night, and even less
sure how she could ever walk away, but that was what tomorrow was for. 
Tonight, she nodded and cuddled closer in arms that held her a little more
tightly.  And for now, it was enough. 
 
 The End
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