Reccing Notes:I've read possibly all the Beast fanfics there are for Chlavis, and none, I think may have touched me quite as much as this. There's the fact that there is Doomsday inside Davis, and that's horrible and ugly and so are the deaths it causes, but then there's the fact that Davis doesn't want to let it hurt Clark, no more than Chloe does, and Davis himself (the man who wanted his whole life to save people, build a real life with Chloe) might be the ultimate victim of this story.
by autumn_whispers at her livejournal
2121 words, r, injustice
The hand he rests against her jaw is sticky with blood but firm. “Look at me,” he says and when she does his lips are soft on hers, eyes wide and warm.
Her mouth yields under the pressure, opens up to him. He delves deep, desperation cloying the taste of him. She feels the slick underside of his mouth against her tongue and the beast shifting, yowling inside its human prison.It’s easier than Chloe expects, to fall into this new life and adjust to another living person breathing beside her, a bed away.
Motels become familiar; Smallville a strange, waning memory.
-
She calls Clark from Mexico City inside a run down Internet café, the payphone handle sticky in her hands. She watches Davis pace outside the shop with his hands in his pockets, shoulders tense and unsure. He seems lost in the flurry of people moving about their day, eyes sliding between the bodies rushing past.
He is careful not to look to the café.
To her.
Chloe watches him until the line rings in her ear, bright and insistent. There is a small bubble of relief when it goes to voicemail. It’s easiest when she doesn’t have to fight against Clark’s pleadings or Oliver’s sharp disapproval.
“Stop trying to find us,” she says after the beep, voice strong and sure. “I’m safe…we’re safe. Please stop looking. You’re making it worse,” she tells them.
She knows they listen to her messages together. It's easy to imagine them, hunched over Clark’s desk in the bullpen, shoulders pressed together to listen, to formulate their next plan.
“I know what I’m doing. I’ve made my decision,” she tells them, careful to keep the uncertainty she knows they’re looking for from her voice. She hangs up without saying goodbye, afraid of the tremble building in her voice and the doubt leaking through.
The sun is bright, white hot against her eyes when she finds Davis in the street. The stiff line of his shoulders soften when she falls in step beside him, the worry on his brow easing. When he takes her hand in his she flexes her fingers around the rough edges of his skin, feels his gentle squeeze in return and breathes out.
-
Clark stares at the Metropolis skyline, streets dark below, and waits. Minutes pass before the elevator door dings and slides noiselessly open. He can see Oliver’s distorted reflection in the windows moving towards him.
“Any word?”
“Just another message,” Clark says and turns to face him. Oliver shifts under the intensity of his gaze. “You?”
“They dumped their passports after they crossed the border. They’ll have new ones by now.” He sighs and Clark stiffens as the expression on Oliver’s face shifts. “Chloe’s…Clark, she’s very good at this. Part of her job as Watchtower was getting us fake papers, helping us move through South America and Europe. She has access to people who can help her disappear.”
“We’ll find her. Find them,” Clark says and the blind determination in his voice makes Oliver look away.
-
Chloe can’t tell if he’s sleeping or not, but his rhythmic breathing is better than the rickety fan that rattles above them. The room is too hot, her skin feels slick with sweat and the mattress is lumpy under her back. She’s a thousand miles away from Smallville and from any comfort or familiarity. She feels alone. Feels scared. Mostly she just feels like crying but Davis is only a few feet away, lying on his own bed.
Her throat burns with her swallowed sobs and she blinks rapidly, tears hot against her skin. After a few seconds when the tightness in her chest dissolves she breathes out in the silence, an unsteady sound that lingers between them. She stares at the shadows playing out on the walls and waits for sleep.
Across the room he shifts, clothes and sheets rustling. “Chloe,” he says, quiet and careful, giving her the chance to pretend she’s asleep. Her answer is noncommittal, a sound low in her throat as she turns over to face him. She can see the edge of his shadow as he sits on the bed. She knows he can see her perfectly in the dark.
“They think I kidnapped you,” he says and for a moment Chloe doesn’t understand. She stares uncomprehending. “The papers…they’re saying I took you, with me. When I disappeared.”
“Lois,” Chloe says, bolts up in the bed. Her hand is halfway to the cheap cell phone before she remembers, struggling with the knowledge that she can’t call her. Not with Clark and Tess looking so closely for them. Not with all they have at stake. She pulls her hands back towards her, cradles them against the light cotton of her pajama bottoms.
“It wasn’t supposed to go like this,” she says finally and the tremble in her voice betrays the resolve she’s trying to bring to the surface again. Lois probably thinks she’s dead or worse, and Chloe feels herself crumbling under the weight of all the courage and certainty that lead her here. It wasn’t meant to go like this.
“I’m sorry,” Davis says, suddenly beside her. “I’m so sorry,” he breathes into her hair and Chloe holds onto him, fingers tight and fearful. The skin of his bare shoulder is smooth and cool against her fevered skin. Her breath hitches, mouth gulping air as his hands move across her back, gentle and soothing.
“It’s ok,” he lies and Chloe prays for strength.
-
“You have to tell her,” Oliver says, face soft as he watches Lois sleeping at her desk. She looks pale and worn out under the weight of Chloe’s disappearance.
“I know. I just…I need more time,” Clark says. He doesn’t look at her, doesn’t look at Oliver either.
“This is killing her Clark. You have to tell her about Chloe, about the truth and Davis. If you won’t, I will,” he threatens.
“Ok,” Clark says, breathes out, “Ok.”
He’s told her once before about his secret, he can tell her again. It’ll be easier this time. He knows her response and knows she’ll accept him whole and actual. The hand he lays on her shoulder is gentle, hesitant but she wakes instantly, Chloe’s name on her lips before her vision clears and she sighs, disappointed. Her gaze flickers between him and Oliver searching, desperate.
“Any news?”
“Lois,” Clark starts before looking back at Oliver. “I have to tell you something.”
-
They don’t talk much during the day and even then it’s only for necessity. Davis drives and Chloe sleeps. Days and counties blend into each other, her whole world boils down to sleeping and eating, moving from the car to another bed. Davis never asks her drive, never gets sleepy or tired but each night he lays down on the other bed in their hotel room, closes his eyes and doesn’t move until the next morning.
-
Clark looks at Lois, face flushed but alive, the line of her back sharp as she bends over the map and talks quietly into her phone. She’s writing something down, her words quick and short. After a moment she snaps the phone shut, carefully placing another push pin into the map. “They’re in Columbia,” she announces and the hope simmering in her eyes is enough to renew the straggling optimism inside Clark. It’s been almost a month without word from Chloe or any of Oliver’s sources.
“One of my contacts said someone matching their description passed through one of the border check points about an hour ago. “
“The jets ready,” Oliver tells them.
“It’s faster if I go on my own,” Clark says. “I’ll bring her back safe,” he promises Lois.
“You better,” she threatens but it’s only a halfhearted warning and the smile she gives him is forced, laden with worry.
-
Chloe dreams about Clark, body lain broken and bloody, at her feet like a prize. The snow is red and Doom looms over her, face a horrible mask of rage. She wakes up to Davis’s face, his hands on her shoulder, shaking her into consciousness. The tendons on his neck strain against his skin and, even in the dark, she can see the red tinge to his eyes.
“He’s close,” Davis chokes out and Chloe’s up in an instant, throwing their belongings into their bags and rushing out after Davis. She’s still in her pajamas when they get into the car, barefoot.
-
“She’s never going to give up, you now that, right?” Oliver asks and for a moment Clark isn’t sure if he’s talking about Lois or Chloe. “Maybe,” Oliver starts, hesitantly, “you should just let her go. She doesn’t want to be rescued.”
“I can’t,” Clark says desperately. He’s lost so much over the years but he can’t lose Chloe. She’s been his only constant, the one fixed point in his life.
“You have other responsibilities,” Oliver cuts in, surprised by the edge in his own voice. “Metropolis is falling apart under your struggle and Lois needs you to be strong. I’ll keep looking but you need to pull it together. You need to be the man Lois thinks you are.”
“I know,” Clark says, but he isn’t looking at Oliver. He’s starring at the sunset, left wondering if Chloe’s watching the same one, a thousand miles away, hoping she’s safe and praying Oliver is right.
-
Tess’s men catch up to them in Peru. Chloe is alone, unprepared and out-numbered. She’s on her knees, mouth bloody when she hears the men behind her scream. Chloe knows without looking that Davis has come for her, despite her plea for him not to. There is nothing she can do now and it grates, this helpless. It is all she can do to wait, eyes closed until the sound of men dying fades and there is only the stillness of the night.
When she opens her eyes it takes every part of her not to pull away from the creature in front of her. The thing extends its hand towards her, the first real human gesture Chloe has seen. She accepts numbly and allows herself to be pulled up from the dirty floor, guided away. She does not struggle, just concentrates on the gentle pressure of jagged bones and flesh pressing against her palm. The careful way it holds her hand.
When they stop at the mouth of the alley she feels it shudder beside her, skin and bones shifting, melting away. When she looks again it’s just Davis before her, alive but bloody. Human. His eyes are vast, endless with guilt and shame. Chloe feels the beast stirring inside his fragile human chest even now, waiting. It does this for her, gives her Davis, broken and empty, a shell of himself because it is easier.
“Chloe,” he breathes, and she turns away from him. “I didn’t,” he starts and she closes her eyes against the images of the torn bodies behind them in the dirty alley. She doesn’t want to remember this, remember him changing and shifting under the need to protect them, but the images feel like they’re seared against the underside of her eyelids.
“We have to- we have to go,” she tells him thickly, swallowing down the hysteria she feels building.
The hand he rests against her jaw is sticky with blood but firm. “Look at me,” he says and when she does his lips are soft on hers, eyes wide and warm. Her mouth yields under the pressure, opens up to him. He delves deep, desperation cloying the taste of him. She feels the slick underside of his mouth against her tongue and the beast shifting, yowling inside its human prison.
“Tell me to stop,” he says and the desperation in his voice stills her long enough to let him kiss her again. She pushes against his naked chest, his skin slick with blood and sweat but her hands fall away, ghosting over him. He slips a knee between her legs and shoves them apart. She falls forward into him and he grunts, rubs his thigh against her.
“Not here,” she says and he breaks away from her, breathing labored and the expression on his face pained. “We have to leave, Clark-”
“Clark,” Davis repeats, voice dark. He shakes himself, shoulders stiff and jaw clenched. After a moment he relaxes into her and she gives him this moment, to hold her against him and breathe her in. To remember why he’s running.
“Come on,” she says finally, hand settling in his for the walk back to the hotel room, to the stolen jeep and their journey farther south.
Showing posts with label ohthatkindofsexualtension. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ohthatkindofsexualtension. Show all posts
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Thursday, July 22, 2010
davis bloome versus the pickle jar
Reccing Notes: Stories with Lois are the most fun to read, just because she's as blatantly obvious about the eye fornication as we are. Pitch perfect Lois voice, and some cute/hot/messy Chlavis in a compromising situation. Of sorts.
by kitten/nonky at defying mythos
1860 words, nc-17(for lois's potty mouth), plastique/alternate universe
Lois had only found out when they were leaving that she was the third wheel on the bicycle built for two people fucking.
The little house in the outskirts of a farm town seemed quiet. Everything was clean, if not perfectly tidy. It wasn't ideal. It wasn't without flaws, but it was a real home. Lois knew it well, and knew the otherness of her Uncle Gabe's house was completely unnatural.
Well, Chloe didn't used to bang guys in the house in high school, the brunette thought acidly. The incipient porn vibes are bound to make any place strange.
Lois approached with caution, sure her cousin and the hot paramedic - who was not her cousin's boyfriend but followed her everywhere – were fucking in her Uncle Gabe's kitchen. Uncle Gabe was not at home, having received a work trip only hours before the weekend Chloe, Lois, Davis and Clark were supposed to visit. It was a sign, surely. A sign Lois would have heeded had she known before they were three quarters of the way to their destination.
It started out a family trip, the two cousins going back to Smallville to visit Chloe's father. The blond mentioned it to Davis, who found himself suddenly at loose ends that same weekend, and dying to meet 'the man who raised the legendary Chloe Sullivan.' He had done everything but make a sign asking to be invited.
Including Clark had been Chloe's idea, so as to further prove the notion that Davis was just a friend like Clark was – though their mutual stalking and eyesex would forever exhibit them as bad liars. Clark had decided at the last minute not to lose his weekend at work, and given his apologies to Chloe over the phone. Lois had only found out when they were leaving that she was the third wheel on the bicycle built for two people fucking.
From the way Davis' eyes scorched Chloe's skirt off when she bent to put her suitcase in the trunk, they did it hard enough to for protective gear to be advisable. Little cousin could claim chastity all she wanted, but Davis Bloome opened her car door, untangled her seat belt for her, and sang on the drive. He turned in his seat, gazed at her blond head, and serenaded her sweetly to every song that came on for a full hour. He actually sang quite well, but that wasn't the point. Chloe giggled at him, and turned pink in the face, but she also didn't stop him. Lois felt like she was going to have to dive under the car to avoid being part of the action.
They pulled up to an empty driveway, and Lois was peacefully informed it was just the three of them, as if it wasn't the bell tolling doom for her cool, relaxed weekend. She was going to have to watch every moment for the signals that preceded bouts of denial-fueled lovey-dovey crap. She would have to figure out whether Chloe was giving her the 'privacy, please' glance or the 'save me from his over-eager gonads' glance. At least there was a grace period after arrival, in which it would just look pathetically needy for Davis to feel up the tiny blond he doted upon.
He was doing a pretty good job hiding his erection as he moved luggage and accepted caressing help out of his jacket. Lois decided they were safe for the moment.
She immediately asked for the car keys and went on a liquor store run that took at least three hours. She had visited every old haunt in Smallville, and bought a variety of fudge flavours she was considering sharing if the visit wasn't too awkward.
She had been delighted to realize Smallville Video still had her on file, and rented four slasher movies. Chloe could try canoodling to those, but she wasn't the fawning, eye-covering chick. Usually, she would lean over and mention something like how a chainsaw could never start up that easily after being submerged in water, or how flares just did not give off enough light to illuminate an underground cathedral buried by mudslides. Lois was armed with everything she knew to make the awkward moments smoother, so she had no choice but to go back to the house.
There were indeterminate noises coming from the kitchen, and then a sharp shattering of glass.
“OH!” Chloe's voice, sounding choked and pained. “Davis, it's in my eye!”
“Damn it,” he replied, sounding contrite and a little dazed. “I'm sorry. Here, just get to the sink.”
Lois shook her head and clutched her booze and horror movies. Trust Chloe to find a nice guy and still get hurt. Davis was even a paramedic, so he should know better. He'd seen horrific childbirth up close and personal, and the ugly effects of STDs. Lois had given him the benefit of the doubt, knowing he and Chloe had to be safe because anything else would just be stupid. Apparently, Davis was going to need those death threats after all. She put her weekend survival kit down gently.
“Jeez, Dimples,” she said loudly, kicking the kitchen door open. “If a lady gives you the personal touch, the least you can do is aim.”
She fixed her eyes on the details, trying to ignore any nudity and gross fluids. Everything was dripping with an intense, briny smell. He had her baby cousin bent over the sink, but they were both clothed. If anything, it looked like Chloe and Davis were re-enacting 9 ½ Weeks, or perhaps making sandwiches.
“Lois, don't pick on him,” her infirm relative pleaded from her upside down look under the kitchen faucet. “I asked Davis to open the pickle jar.”
There was a metal cover on the floor, the green colour signifying its contents. It wasn't the worst cover-up Lois had ever witnessed. It did need some polish to be believable, though.
“I'll just bet you did! Who could blame you, but you have to have standards here, Chloe! It really doesn't matter how he blinds you – the point is – Blind!”
Bits of bottle crunched underfoot as Lois barged in to get a better idea of Chloe's wounds. She wasn't bleeding anywhere. She was even still in her bra. Davis held her in a loose embrace, his hands sturdy and gentle.
“I'm so sorry, Chloe,” he was saying, stroking her hair as water dribbled across her eyes. “I'm pretty sure there's no glass in there, but we should go to the hospital to check.”
“I'm fine, I'm fine,” the patient said, directing the first to her cousin and then repeating it more sexfully for her personal paramedic. “Davis, you don't have to be sorry, it was an accident. The pickle juice was just full of vinegar, but I'm okay now.”
She stood up slowly, and he picked her up to perch on the counter. Pressing himself between her knees, Davis held Chloe's face. His thumbs ran unconsciously along her cheekbones and he was breathing soothing words across her mouth as she let him study her sore eyes. If Lois was measuring generously, she might agree there was an inch of space between Davis' pouty lips reciting incantations of atonement and Chloe's soothing smile.
“Whoa, boy! You've got some medical intensity there, Davis, I'll give you that. Chloe, on a scale of that time with the cherry bomb to that time with the back window at the rave club, how bad is it?”
Down around Davis' trim waist, Chloe's knees pressed protectively closer to his sides. She rubbed his shoulder and barely made the pretext of noticing anyone but Davis existed.
“It's not stinging anymore, nothing hurts. My eyes are just freaked out,” Chloe said sincerely. “Really, Davis, I'm okay. I'm okay, Lois, and none of this is his fault.”
And she stroked his head like a puppy, making his whole body shift toward her hand in needy charm. Lois sighed at the identical blissfully helpless expressions on her cousin and her cousin's boyfriend.
“It's so gross in here,” she muttered to herself. “DIMPLES!”
He barely flicked his eyes away from Chloe's green ones, and went back into her loving gaze without prompting. If not for the height of the counter, Davis might actually be in Chloe. Lois clapped her hands to get his attention.
“You're not one of those uber-Catholics who won't use condoms and birth control, are you? You don't think Xs on a calendar keep babies away?”
“Lois,” Chloe yelped. She cupped the back of his neck as if he were a baby woodland creature instead of a potential big bad wolf. “That's a really personal question.”
The impersonal questions don't get the important information, Lois tried to eye-beam to her. I'm vetting his penis for landing for you!
Turning slowly, so Chloe's hands didn't fall off his shoulders, Davis faced her proudly. “I use both, because it's a good idea and if you care about someone enough to have sex you should show that by taking care of that person. I'm clean. I get tested regularly because sometimes I get called to pretty messy scenes. Blood gets on you eventually; it just happens in my line of work. Never married, no kids, GED, two-year paramedicine program, decent grades but I've never claimed to be a genius. I used to run with a gang, when I was living on the street, but that was years ago. I was arrested once, for grafitti. I don't smoke, drink or do drugs. I don't date more than one woman at a time. I work a lot, I try to keep my savings for a rainy day. I am interested in marriage and kids, eventually. Anything else?”
Over his shoulder, Chloe's smug grin was topped with a little dance of her upper body. Lois scowled and leaned in to intimidate him. “How's your driving record,” she challenged. “Do you pay your taxes on time?”
“Clear, and my insurance is up to date. I never speed, and I always signal,” he supplied calmly. “I pay my taxes on time every year.”
Stalky Davis must have done his homework to impress Uncle Gabe, she thought cynically. Well, I'll keep my eye on him anyway.
“Good. Now, move out of the way,” Lois said sternly. She nudged his body from the snuggly hold on Chloe.
“She's not wearing shoes and there's glass all over-”
Bracing, Lois took her cousin's arms and draped her in a fireman's carry. It was tricky for a second, then the blond settled down.
“Lois!”
“Clean up the kitchen, Dimples. I'll take care of our girl, here,” she ordered.
He stood back and watched in wonder as the taller young woman displayed an unusual amount of strength. Chloe waved meekly as she was carried off. He shook his head slowly, awed by Chloe's cousin, in the truest sense. Lois frightened and amazed him, and he was going to have to hide his emerging powers a lot better to fool her. The next time Chloe couldn't open a jar, she was going to have to work it out herself.
At the very least, Davis didn't want to dodge leading questions about being an alien invader for the rest of his life.
1860 words, nc-17(for lois's potty mouth), plastique/alternate universe
Lois had only found out when they were leaving that she was the third wheel on the bicycle built for two people fucking.
The little house in the outskirts of a farm town seemed quiet. Everything was clean, if not perfectly tidy. It wasn't ideal. It wasn't without flaws, but it was a real home. Lois knew it well, and knew the otherness of her Uncle Gabe's house was completely unnatural.
Well, Chloe didn't used to bang guys in the house in high school, the brunette thought acidly. The incipient porn vibes are bound to make any place strange.
Lois approached with caution, sure her cousin and the hot paramedic - who was not her cousin's boyfriend but followed her everywhere – were fucking in her Uncle Gabe's kitchen. Uncle Gabe was not at home, having received a work trip only hours before the weekend Chloe, Lois, Davis and Clark were supposed to visit. It was a sign, surely. A sign Lois would have heeded had she known before they were three quarters of the way to their destination.
It started out a family trip, the two cousins going back to Smallville to visit Chloe's father. The blond mentioned it to Davis, who found himself suddenly at loose ends that same weekend, and dying to meet 'the man who raised the legendary Chloe Sullivan.' He had done everything but make a sign asking to be invited.
Including Clark had been Chloe's idea, so as to further prove the notion that Davis was just a friend like Clark was – though their mutual stalking and eyesex would forever exhibit them as bad liars. Clark had decided at the last minute not to lose his weekend at work, and given his apologies to Chloe over the phone. Lois had only found out when they were leaving that she was the third wheel on the bicycle built for two people fucking.
From the way Davis' eyes scorched Chloe's skirt off when she bent to put her suitcase in the trunk, they did it hard enough to for protective gear to be advisable. Little cousin could claim chastity all she wanted, but Davis Bloome opened her car door, untangled her seat belt for her, and sang on the drive. He turned in his seat, gazed at her blond head, and serenaded her sweetly to every song that came on for a full hour. He actually sang quite well, but that wasn't the point. Chloe giggled at him, and turned pink in the face, but she also didn't stop him. Lois felt like she was going to have to dive under the car to avoid being part of the action.
They pulled up to an empty driveway, and Lois was peacefully informed it was just the three of them, as if it wasn't the bell tolling doom for her cool, relaxed weekend. She was going to have to watch every moment for the signals that preceded bouts of denial-fueled lovey-dovey crap. She would have to figure out whether Chloe was giving her the 'privacy, please' glance or the 'save me from his over-eager gonads' glance. At least there was a grace period after arrival, in which it would just look pathetically needy for Davis to feel up the tiny blond he doted upon.
He was doing a pretty good job hiding his erection as he moved luggage and accepted caressing help out of his jacket. Lois decided they were safe for the moment.
She immediately asked for the car keys and went on a liquor store run that took at least three hours. She had visited every old haunt in Smallville, and bought a variety of fudge flavours she was considering sharing if the visit wasn't too awkward.
She had been delighted to realize Smallville Video still had her on file, and rented four slasher movies. Chloe could try canoodling to those, but she wasn't the fawning, eye-covering chick. Usually, she would lean over and mention something like how a chainsaw could never start up that easily after being submerged in water, or how flares just did not give off enough light to illuminate an underground cathedral buried by mudslides. Lois was armed with everything she knew to make the awkward moments smoother, so she had no choice but to go back to the house.
There were indeterminate noises coming from the kitchen, and then a sharp shattering of glass.
“OH!” Chloe's voice, sounding choked and pained. “Davis, it's in my eye!”
“Damn it,” he replied, sounding contrite and a little dazed. “I'm sorry. Here, just get to the sink.”
Lois shook her head and clutched her booze and horror movies. Trust Chloe to find a nice guy and still get hurt. Davis was even a paramedic, so he should know better. He'd seen horrific childbirth up close and personal, and the ugly effects of STDs. Lois had given him the benefit of the doubt, knowing he and Chloe had to be safe because anything else would just be stupid. Apparently, Davis was going to need those death threats after all. She put her weekend survival kit down gently.
“Jeez, Dimples,” she said loudly, kicking the kitchen door open. “If a lady gives you the personal touch, the least you can do is aim.”
She fixed her eyes on the details, trying to ignore any nudity and gross fluids. Everything was dripping with an intense, briny smell. He had her baby cousin bent over the sink, but they were both clothed. If anything, it looked like Chloe and Davis were re-enacting 9 ½ Weeks, or perhaps making sandwiches.
“Lois, don't pick on him,” her infirm relative pleaded from her upside down look under the kitchen faucet. “I asked Davis to open the pickle jar.”
There was a metal cover on the floor, the green colour signifying its contents. It wasn't the worst cover-up Lois had ever witnessed. It did need some polish to be believable, though.
“I'll just bet you did! Who could blame you, but you have to have standards here, Chloe! It really doesn't matter how he blinds you – the point is – Blind!”
Bits of bottle crunched underfoot as Lois barged in to get a better idea of Chloe's wounds. She wasn't bleeding anywhere. She was even still in her bra. Davis held her in a loose embrace, his hands sturdy and gentle.
“I'm so sorry, Chloe,” he was saying, stroking her hair as water dribbled across her eyes. “I'm pretty sure there's no glass in there, but we should go to the hospital to check.”
“I'm fine, I'm fine,” the patient said, directing the first to her cousin and then repeating it more sexfully for her personal paramedic. “Davis, you don't have to be sorry, it was an accident. The pickle juice was just full of vinegar, but I'm okay now.”
She stood up slowly, and he picked her up to perch on the counter. Pressing himself between her knees, Davis held Chloe's face. His thumbs ran unconsciously along her cheekbones and he was breathing soothing words across her mouth as she let him study her sore eyes. If Lois was measuring generously, she might agree there was an inch of space between Davis' pouty lips reciting incantations of atonement and Chloe's soothing smile.
“Whoa, boy! You've got some medical intensity there, Davis, I'll give you that. Chloe, on a scale of that time with the cherry bomb to that time with the back window at the rave club, how bad is it?”
Down around Davis' trim waist, Chloe's knees pressed protectively closer to his sides. She rubbed his shoulder and barely made the pretext of noticing anyone but Davis existed.
“It's not stinging anymore, nothing hurts. My eyes are just freaked out,” Chloe said sincerely. “Really, Davis, I'm okay. I'm okay, Lois, and none of this is his fault.”
And she stroked his head like a puppy, making his whole body shift toward her hand in needy charm. Lois sighed at the identical blissfully helpless expressions on her cousin and her cousin's boyfriend.
“It's so gross in here,” she muttered to herself. “DIMPLES!”
He barely flicked his eyes away from Chloe's green ones, and went back into her loving gaze without prompting. If not for the height of the counter, Davis might actually be in Chloe. Lois clapped her hands to get his attention.
“You're not one of those uber-Catholics who won't use condoms and birth control, are you? You don't think Xs on a calendar keep babies away?”
“Lois,” Chloe yelped. She cupped the back of his neck as if he were a baby woodland creature instead of a potential big bad wolf. “That's a really personal question.”
The impersonal questions don't get the important information, Lois tried to eye-beam to her. I'm vetting his penis for landing for you!
Turning slowly, so Chloe's hands didn't fall off his shoulders, Davis faced her proudly. “I use both, because it's a good idea and if you care about someone enough to have sex you should show that by taking care of that person. I'm clean. I get tested regularly because sometimes I get called to pretty messy scenes. Blood gets on you eventually; it just happens in my line of work. Never married, no kids, GED, two-year paramedicine program, decent grades but I've never claimed to be a genius. I used to run with a gang, when I was living on the street, but that was years ago. I was arrested once, for grafitti. I don't smoke, drink or do drugs. I don't date more than one woman at a time. I work a lot, I try to keep my savings for a rainy day. I am interested in marriage and kids, eventually. Anything else?”
Over his shoulder, Chloe's smug grin was topped with a little dance of her upper body. Lois scowled and leaned in to intimidate him. “How's your driving record,” she challenged. “Do you pay your taxes on time?”
“Clear, and my insurance is up to date. I never speed, and I always signal,” he supplied calmly. “I pay my taxes on time every year.”
Stalky Davis must have done his homework to impress Uncle Gabe, she thought cynically. Well, I'll keep my eye on him anyway.
“Good. Now, move out of the way,” Lois said sternly. She nudged his body from the snuggly hold on Chloe.
“She's not wearing shoes and there's glass all over-”
Bracing, Lois took her cousin's arms and draped her in a fireman's carry. It was tricky for a second, then the blond settled down.
“Lois!”
“Clean up the kitchen, Dimples. I'll take care of our girl, here,” she ordered.
He stood back and watched in wonder as the taller young woman displayed an unusual amount of strength. Chloe waved meekly as she was carried off. He shook his head slowly, awed by Chloe's cousin, in the truest sense. Lois frightened and amazed him, and he was going to have to hide his emerging powers a lot better to fool her. The next time Chloe couldn't open a jar, she was going to have to work it out herself.
At the very least, Davis didn't want to dodge leading questions about being an alien invader for the rest of his life.
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