Reccing Notes: One of the first fics my newly Chlavis starved mind latched onto. It gets into a really interesting issue I think. What if Davis's other half had proved a danger to Chloe? And what about those powers of hers? The darkness of the image (Prey vibes!) spoke to me. Hope it does the same to you!
by voodooman at a click away
418 words, pg-13, bloodline and plastique
The darkness lifted and his vision finally started to get back to him.
The darkness lifted and his vision finally started to get back to him. He was breathing heavily and his heart was beating stronger and faster than it ever had after a blackout.
It was only after the dizziness lifted that he noticed that he was standing on his own feet. He lowered his gaze to his feet. He very slowly brought it up and noticed that someone was standing there in front of him. A woman.
His gaze went along her legs, up her stomach and chest. That was when his horror took new dimensions. His own hand had pierced through her. There, where her heart should be, his hand had gone through.
He closed his eyes tightly and fought the wave of nausea that was washing over him. He shivered and was afraid to open his eyes. Bile was making its way up his throat. He heard a soft whimper from the woman in front of him. So she was still alive? Barely.
“Davis.” she whispered softly. His eyes flew open and found hers.
“God, no! No!” he cried. Her body shook, she was pale and sweat had broken out on her forehead.
“It’s ok…. Ok” she mumbled. Her body sank to the ground after he finally retracted his hand. He caught her and held her. He cried into her neck, her hair and rocked her roughly with him. All the while muttering “I’m so sorry, so sorry.” Over and over again.
His sobs and crying went on for hours. His face was still buried in her hair.
After five hours he stopped crying. After seven he stopped rocking roughly. After nine he stopped moving at all. All the while holding her. Blaming himself. Hating himself. Hating the darkness.
He was still beside her, holding her when she started to move after 23 hours. At first he thought that his tiredness was playing with his mind. That he was only imagining things. But then she started to move, to breath, to stir.
And he felt like something had kicked him in the stomach. His head and neck felt cold and hot then cold again. He was shaking and a hysterical laugh was starting to built up inside of him. But all of his worries died when her eyes opened and searched for him.
She let him hold her then. Crush her to him. Hold on to her for dear life, and even after he had fallen asleep in her arms, did she not shy away from him, or turn away from him in disgust.
“It’s ok now Davis…it’s ok…”
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
scorched earth
Reccing Notes: What more can you ask for? Angst, 3 dimensional characterization and a look into life on the run. Plus, shower scene (think of Prey) but much more romantic. Did I mention true-to-her-feelings Chloe is back?
by nonky at her livejournal
2235 words, pg-13, post-beast
Chloe's hands felt like they were washing away something dark and lonely.
To anyone outside their shared understanding of the universe, the young man and woman in the dark vehicle signaling to turn off the highway would look like hell.
Davis and Chloe were both rather pale; paler since their lifestyle had become flight and particularly for him once he'd discovered how much of a fantasy she really was. He had self-control, but being in the presence of a woman he loved led to arousal more times than they could possibly indulge. His blood headed down and settled in his groin about ten minutes after he came, creating a problem solved only by more sex or road hypnosis.
He was bored. They were both bored and anxious. Their circumstances were difficult and tedious, forcing them to inaction. They were trying to prevent anything from happening, precluding much living.
It seemed odd to be ungrateful for the getaway, but they weren't on a vacation. They didn't stop at tourist spots, or meander on hiking trails. They drove as much as they could, changing radio stations as the miles made the previous channel drop out into static. Chloe picked up wireless networks and hacked into law enforcement databases. They didn't even dare strike up conversation with a waitress, just in case they were tracked to a particular diner. His romantic notions about stealing a little time to date were blown to hell.
It was no small consolation that Chloe had forced him to pull over a few miles back and sucked him off into the stratosphere. Davis hadn't been at all sure they were going to be together that way. It was – he cringed at calling it a miracle, but it was remarkable gift. There would never be a way to repay her, but he could show her how much he worshipped her.
Davis cringed again. He was having some problems with blasphemy since his multiple deaths. Religion hadn't done much for him lately, but he found some comfort in faith. If it helped, he would take it and show it the respect it was due.
Perhaps seeing his fleeting expression, Chloe turned and petted his arm. She had her wallet out. It was stuffed with twenties. In addtion to harbouring a murderer, she had also embezzled from the Isis Foundation. It wasn't more than a few years of her salary, but Davis knew she felt bad. Once they could stop somewhere, they'd get back to honest livings again.
“You okay?” He nodded, and she grinned. “I'll check us in, then. Can you grab my suitcase?”
“Of course.”
He stopped the car by the motel office. She stepped out after a quick grasp of his hand. Davis didn't even blink until she was under cover again. He felt The Beast try to stir, but only to the extent of following Chloe.
She'll be two minutes, he thought precisely, concentrating on the the little span of time and a lack of worry. Chloe is coming back. She will always come back.
The urges toward violence were mostly gone unless he thought too hard about the people looking for them. If he had to describe The Beast's mood, it was euphoric. It didn't understand the sacrifice she was making, but it was undeniably protective. The Beast might not have human emotion or the nuances of relationships; it was more a vague sense of Chloe being good, small and female. She felt petite to Davis, so he imagined The Beast must perceive her like a gorilla holding a beloved kitten.
Both he and The Beast were far too dumb to ever truly comprehend all of her. Davis knew enough never to suggest she was The Beast's pet. As far as he knew, The Beast hadn't ever spoken more than her name. Hopefully, it wouldn't get chatty. If it tried to tell her what to do, he expected bloodshed. She would emerge without a wrinkle in her blouse, but any version of him would let the beating come. Hard to hold a woman when she's ripped off your arms, he thought.
“Just don't make a fist,” he muttered, and The Beast rumbled. The blinds moved on the office door, and she stepped out. Her face was turned back to thank the manager. Davis reached over and pushed the passenger door open.
“Hi, you didn't have to wait,” Chloe said. She leaned over and kissed him lightly, her breath sweet from a mint that rolled against his tongue. Davis had come in her mouth less than an hour before. His legs were still a little numb when he thought about it.
“I did. It was getting crabby. I, uh, didn't want to take any chances.” Davis pulled around to the back parking lot, backing into the space so they could drive out faster if anyone came for them.
A transformation in broad daylight would be disaster. She played it off, but shivered on the inside. She couldn't lose him. They were doing so well. Two days of traffic, tension and rude truck stop service hadn't put a dent in Davis' control. Left to their own lives, she and Davis would be able to make it work safely. If anyone interfered, she might not be able to stop The Beast from killing them.
He's out cold for hours after The Beast gets loose, she mused. I can drag him away, but I don't even think I could lift him into the car.
They had fake drivers' licenses. She was working on fake passports to get them to South America. Any diligent government department would find something off and send up an alarm. They couldn't be ill or injured. They couldn't even allow for a whole day outside the car. Clark and Bart were so fast, and Oliver's jet would fly the rest of the boys. Then she would only be able to watch as they ripped Davis to shreds or died at the hands of Doomsday. But she couldn't waste time or energy on imagining horrors, because Davis was only functioning with her belief they could escape. He didn't even have suicide as an option. She couldn't betray any kind of doubt or let him brood so hard he lost control.
“I have some delivery menus,” Chloe told him cheerfully. “What do you feel like?”
We're kind of ridiculous, he thought. 'I nearly became an alien monster and slaughtered the first person I could grab, because you weren't in my sight for a minute.' 'Oh, don't worry honey, everything is fine now. What would you like for dinner?' 'Anything but red meat; I'm still full from that cab driver I chewed to bits.' I know she's being brave, but this is too much for anyone to handle. It's more than I would be able to ask from her.
“An Italian place maybe, if it does salads. I couldn't eat another burger right now,” Davis shrugged. “I'm not that hungry, I guess.”
She shook her head and stuffed the menus in her purse. “We can figure out something when you are. I'm dying for a shower.”
Chloe let them into the room and disappeared behind the unlocked bathroom door. She didn't leave girl stuff everywhere, like he'd heard his friends complain of girlfriends. Chloe opened her suitcase and took out a fresh nightgown and her bag of toiletries. She would change clothes and sort her laundry into a separate bag, packing it all up again. She put on lotion and a little bit of makeup, but for the most part she looked the same without any enhancements. Her shower kit was even smaller than his own. She had a tiny bottle of shampoo, one of conditioner, and a third of gel soap.
He could find her by scent alone, Davis thought. It wasn't even an ability from The Beast. He just knew the way she smelled that well. It was the only thing that allowed him to close his eyes without feeling cut off from any peers. He had Chloe to be with, her soft warmth pushing away the despair.
“Davis,” she called from beyond the door. The whirring of the fan was an irritating noise over her gentle use of his name.
He realized he'd been pacing right outside, and rubbed his chin ruefully. “Way to stalk,” he mumbled. “Yeah, do you need something?!”
“Shower with me,” she said, and her tone didn't even sound pitying. He pulled his shirt over his head as he kicked off his sneakers.
She saved his life about fourteen times a day, and he really needed to find a greeting card to express both 'I'm sorry I'm burying your life in my problems' and 'Please don't ever stop putting up with me because I can't even die properly.'
Davis stripped down as fast as he could, throwing the clothes on the floor. He wasn't sure if he was really horny or just desperate to be held. He went into a room already filled with steam. Chloe liked hot showers and his skin could withstand temperatures to melt steel. He drew the moist air into his lungs and felt better after hours of air conditioning chemicals.
She pulled the shower curtain open for him, her body already sleek with soap. Davis stepped into the tub with a sigh of pleasure, pulled Chloe's back to his front. She moved almost to the wall, too close under the shower head to be sprayed. He let his neck wobble loosely under the water, scrubbing at his hair.
“No shampoo,” Chloe asked.
“Heh, no,” he admitted. “I got excited, I guess. Being near you is about a lot more than just becoming The Beast.”
Her face showed discomfort, possibly another harsh bit of information about his destiny, but she didn't say it. She smiled after a moment, tipping her own bottle into her palm. “You can use mine, if you don't mind smelling the same.”
He was going to be hard all day, but he didn't care. He had so much to wash away. Her hands could do it and make the feeling stick. Chloe could will him to be a better man. She could smile him into grace.
She reached up and he immediately bent lower to help her. His face turned down under the spray, and his wet hair was nearly as inviting as the silky dark strands were when dry. She could touch him anywhere and he accepted it with gentle obedience. Chloe didn't understand how he didn't tense at every word or deed from another person. They had all let him down. It was probably another foster kid thing; premature attachment to new people. She wanted it to be genuine love, but if issues were boats they'd be dragging two cruise liners behind the SUV.
There are no ulterior motives, she told herself. He just wants to love and be loved. He doesn't know quite how it works, but he's happy to learn and works hard at it. The answer to every question now is 'I love you, Davis.' This is still right, even when it's not easy. We succeed or we don't even have to worry about living with failure.
His dark hair was cropped short, but without a trim it was quickly starting to look shaggy. Chloe flipped open her shampoo and pressed his hand flat to pour some into his palm. “Well, I love you anyway,” she said. “Even if you are using up all my shampoo.”
Davis' hand trembled, spilling before he closed it and brought his hands up to wash his hair. He took a step back and for a moment Chloe worried she'd told him something he'd rather not hear.
“That's very reassuring,” he drawled, meaning to make it ironic but ending up sounding wistful. He moved up as she inched behind him to the other side of the tub, sticking his head under the water.
“Is it? Good,” she said. “I'm glad. Now, let me wash your back before I get out.”
He was going to smell like a girl for a week, but the water and suds moving under Chloe's hands felt like they were washing away something dark and lonely. He smiled to himself and caught her hands around his waist, a blond weight belt to help him carry his load.
“Chloe? Thanks.”
Her fingers linked together and she squeezed him gently, her body pressing into him. “You're welcome. Remind me to buy shampoo later.”
She slipped away, bending her forehead to his skin for a moment. He listened to her getting towels and leaving the bathroom before putting his face into his hands.
She loved him. He was going to have to buy her a pony or something instead of another dumb little chocolate. He wondered if she'd sit on his lap while he drove. He thought about rings and mortgage rates in South America and whether alien destroyers could have blond babies with green eyes.
Davis caught his knees shaking and commanded himself not to freak out. It was the first big change in a long while that he was unreservedly happy to adjust to, and it would sink in as a good thing once he got over the shock. Deep breaths and more of Chloe's soap restored him admirably. He was suddenly, miraculously starving. Maybe rings and houses could wait, but he would have to insist she let him buy her extra spring rolls.
by nonky at her livejournal
2235 words, pg-13, post-beast
Chloe's hands felt like they were washing away something dark and lonely.
To anyone outside their shared understanding of the universe, the young man and woman in the dark vehicle signaling to turn off the highway would look like hell.
Davis and Chloe were both rather pale; paler since their lifestyle had become flight and particularly for him once he'd discovered how much of a fantasy she really was. He had self-control, but being in the presence of a woman he loved led to arousal more times than they could possibly indulge. His blood headed down and settled in his groin about ten minutes after he came, creating a problem solved only by more sex or road hypnosis.
He was bored. They were both bored and anxious. Their circumstances were difficult and tedious, forcing them to inaction. They were trying to prevent anything from happening, precluding much living.
It seemed odd to be ungrateful for the getaway, but they weren't on a vacation. They didn't stop at tourist spots, or meander on hiking trails. They drove as much as they could, changing radio stations as the miles made the previous channel drop out into static. Chloe picked up wireless networks and hacked into law enforcement databases. They didn't even dare strike up conversation with a waitress, just in case they were tracked to a particular diner. His romantic notions about stealing a little time to date were blown to hell.
It was no small consolation that Chloe had forced him to pull over a few miles back and sucked him off into the stratosphere. Davis hadn't been at all sure they were going to be together that way. It was – he cringed at calling it a miracle, but it was remarkable gift. There would never be a way to repay her, but he could show her how much he worshipped her.
Davis cringed again. He was having some problems with blasphemy since his multiple deaths. Religion hadn't done much for him lately, but he found some comfort in faith. If it helped, he would take it and show it the respect it was due.
Perhaps seeing his fleeting expression, Chloe turned and petted his arm. She had her wallet out. It was stuffed with twenties. In addtion to harbouring a murderer, she had also embezzled from the Isis Foundation. It wasn't more than a few years of her salary, but Davis knew she felt bad. Once they could stop somewhere, they'd get back to honest livings again.
“You okay?” He nodded, and she grinned. “I'll check us in, then. Can you grab my suitcase?”
“Of course.”
He stopped the car by the motel office. She stepped out after a quick grasp of his hand. Davis didn't even blink until she was under cover again. He felt The Beast try to stir, but only to the extent of following Chloe.
She'll be two minutes, he thought precisely, concentrating on the the little span of time and a lack of worry. Chloe is coming back. She will always come back.
The urges toward violence were mostly gone unless he thought too hard about the people looking for them. If he had to describe The Beast's mood, it was euphoric. It didn't understand the sacrifice she was making, but it was undeniably protective. The Beast might not have human emotion or the nuances of relationships; it was more a vague sense of Chloe being good, small and female. She felt petite to Davis, so he imagined The Beast must perceive her like a gorilla holding a beloved kitten.
Both he and The Beast were far too dumb to ever truly comprehend all of her. Davis knew enough never to suggest she was The Beast's pet. As far as he knew, The Beast hadn't ever spoken more than her name. Hopefully, it wouldn't get chatty. If it tried to tell her what to do, he expected bloodshed. She would emerge without a wrinkle in her blouse, but any version of him would let the beating come. Hard to hold a woman when she's ripped off your arms, he thought.
“Just don't make a fist,” he muttered, and The Beast rumbled. The blinds moved on the office door, and she stepped out. Her face was turned back to thank the manager. Davis reached over and pushed the passenger door open.
“Hi, you didn't have to wait,” Chloe said. She leaned over and kissed him lightly, her breath sweet from a mint that rolled against his tongue. Davis had come in her mouth less than an hour before. His legs were still a little numb when he thought about it.
“I did. It was getting crabby. I, uh, didn't want to take any chances.” Davis pulled around to the back parking lot, backing into the space so they could drive out faster if anyone came for them.
A transformation in broad daylight would be disaster. She played it off, but shivered on the inside. She couldn't lose him. They were doing so well. Two days of traffic, tension and rude truck stop service hadn't put a dent in Davis' control. Left to their own lives, she and Davis would be able to make it work safely. If anyone interfered, she might not be able to stop The Beast from killing them.
He's out cold for hours after The Beast gets loose, she mused. I can drag him away, but I don't even think I could lift him into the car.
They had fake drivers' licenses. She was working on fake passports to get them to South America. Any diligent government department would find something off and send up an alarm. They couldn't be ill or injured. They couldn't even allow for a whole day outside the car. Clark and Bart were so fast, and Oliver's jet would fly the rest of the boys. Then she would only be able to watch as they ripped Davis to shreds or died at the hands of Doomsday. But she couldn't waste time or energy on imagining horrors, because Davis was only functioning with her belief they could escape. He didn't even have suicide as an option. She couldn't betray any kind of doubt or let him brood so hard he lost control.
“I have some delivery menus,” Chloe told him cheerfully. “What do you feel like?”
We're kind of ridiculous, he thought. 'I nearly became an alien monster and slaughtered the first person I could grab, because you weren't in my sight for a minute.' 'Oh, don't worry honey, everything is fine now. What would you like for dinner?' 'Anything but red meat; I'm still full from that cab driver I chewed to bits.' I know she's being brave, but this is too much for anyone to handle. It's more than I would be able to ask from her.
“An Italian place maybe, if it does salads. I couldn't eat another burger right now,” Davis shrugged. “I'm not that hungry, I guess.”
She shook her head and stuffed the menus in her purse. “We can figure out something when you are. I'm dying for a shower.”
Chloe let them into the room and disappeared behind the unlocked bathroom door. She didn't leave girl stuff everywhere, like he'd heard his friends complain of girlfriends. Chloe opened her suitcase and took out a fresh nightgown and her bag of toiletries. She would change clothes and sort her laundry into a separate bag, packing it all up again. She put on lotion and a little bit of makeup, but for the most part she looked the same without any enhancements. Her shower kit was even smaller than his own. She had a tiny bottle of shampoo, one of conditioner, and a third of gel soap.
He could find her by scent alone, Davis thought. It wasn't even an ability from The Beast. He just knew the way she smelled that well. It was the only thing that allowed him to close his eyes without feeling cut off from any peers. He had Chloe to be with, her soft warmth pushing away the despair.
“Davis,” she called from beyond the door. The whirring of the fan was an irritating noise over her gentle use of his name.
He realized he'd been pacing right outside, and rubbed his chin ruefully. “Way to stalk,” he mumbled. “Yeah, do you need something?!”
“Shower with me,” she said, and her tone didn't even sound pitying. He pulled his shirt over his head as he kicked off his sneakers.
She saved his life about fourteen times a day, and he really needed to find a greeting card to express both 'I'm sorry I'm burying your life in my problems' and 'Please don't ever stop putting up with me because I can't even die properly.'
Davis stripped down as fast as he could, throwing the clothes on the floor. He wasn't sure if he was really horny or just desperate to be held. He went into a room already filled with steam. Chloe liked hot showers and his skin could withstand temperatures to melt steel. He drew the moist air into his lungs and felt better after hours of air conditioning chemicals.
She pulled the shower curtain open for him, her body already sleek with soap. Davis stepped into the tub with a sigh of pleasure, pulled Chloe's back to his front. She moved almost to the wall, too close under the shower head to be sprayed. He let his neck wobble loosely under the water, scrubbing at his hair.
“No shampoo,” Chloe asked.
“Heh, no,” he admitted. “I got excited, I guess. Being near you is about a lot more than just becoming The Beast.”
Her face showed discomfort, possibly another harsh bit of information about his destiny, but she didn't say it. She smiled after a moment, tipping her own bottle into her palm. “You can use mine, if you don't mind smelling the same.”
He was going to be hard all day, but he didn't care. He had so much to wash away. Her hands could do it and make the feeling stick. Chloe could will him to be a better man. She could smile him into grace.
She reached up and he immediately bent lower to help her. His face turned down under the spray, and his wet hair was nearly as inviting as the silky dark strands were when dry. She could touch him anywhere and he accepted it with gentle obedience. Chloe didn't understand how he didn't tense at every word or deed from another person. They had all let him down. It was probably another foster kid thing; premature attachment to new people. She wanted it to be genuine love, but if issues were boats they'd be dragging two cruise liners behind the SUV.
There are no ulterior motives, she told herself. He just wants to love and be loved. He doesn't know quite how it works, but he's happy to learn and works hard at it. The answer to every question now is 'I love you, Davis.' This is still right, even when it's not easy. We succeed or we don't even have to worry about living with failure.
His dark hair was cropped short, but without a trim it was quickly starting to look shaggy. Chloe flipped open her shampoo and pressed his hand flat to pour some into his palm. “Well, I love you anyway,” she said. “Even if you are using up all my shampoo.”
Davis' hand trembled, spilling before he closed it and brought his hands up to wash his hair. He took a step back and for a moment Chloe worried she'd told him something he'd rather not hear.
“That's very reassuring,” he drawled, meaning to make it ironic but ending up sounding wistful. He moved up as she inched behind him to the other side of the tub, sticking his head under the water.
“Is it? Good,” she said. “I'm glad. Now, let me wash your back before I get out.”
He was going to smell like a girl for a week, but the water and suds moving under Chloe's hands felt like they were washing away something dark and lonely. He smiled to himself and caught her hands around his waist, a blond weight belt to help him carry his load.
“Chloe? Thanks.”
Her fingers linked together and she squeezed him gently, her body pressing into him. “You're welcome. Remind me to buy shampoo later.”
She slipped away, bending her forehead to his skin for a moment. He listened to her getting towels and leaving the bathroom before putting his face into his hands.
She loved him. He was going to have to buy her a pony or something instead of another dumb little chocolate. He wondered if she'd sit on his lap while he drove. He thought about rings and mortgage rates in South America and whether alien destroyers could have blond babies with green eyes.
Davis caught his knees shaking and commanded himself not to freak out. It was the first big change in a long while that he was unreservedly happy to adjust to, and it would sink in as a good thing once he got over the shock. Deep breaths and more of Chloe's soap restored him admirably. He was suddenly, miraculously starving. Maybe rings and houses could wait, but he would have to insist she let him buy her extra spring rolls.
sacrifice
Reccing Notes: Okay, this is something I needed to read after watching the phone-convo-of-fail at the end of Beast. Deals with Chloe's motivations in a balanced way, there is honest facing of feelings and CHARACTER GROWTH! All in one, somehow perfectly romantic, argument.
by seriousfic at her livejournal
1516 words, pg-13, beast
“I listen to you talking to Clark and I wonder if you’re letting him down easy or you’re letting me down easy. I’m trying to figure out if any girl is enough of a doormat to spend her life with a stranger to save a man who only ever looks at her like a friend.”
They’re driven through two states, and Davis’s hands are getting tighter around the wheel, his foot heavier on the gas, until he puts his hand on Chloe’s thigh. Chloe stops watching the world fly by and turns to him. It’s a bit strange to have human contact now that her life is over.
“Aren’t you going to ask?” His thumb runs along the stitch in her denim. “You used to be a reporter. I thought you’d at least be curious.”
I used to be a lot of things. But what she says is “Sorry, my mind’s a million miles away.”
“In Smallville.” The speedometer needle drifts toward the right and she knows that if it weren’t for her, his eyes would be glowing red. He takes a deep breath and eases off the gas. The last thing the Cornfield Killer needs is to get pulled over. “I tried to kill myself. Do you really think going into some other world is a big deal compared to that?”
Ah. “So why didn’t you go?”
Davis is just picking up steam, though, perfectly in control yet pulling into himself with black hole intensity, perfect love that’s the same as perfect obsession and perfect rage. “I listen to you talking to Clark and I wonder if you’re letting him down easy or you’re letting me down easy. I’m trying to figure out if any girl is enough of a doormat to spend her life with a stranger to save a man who only ever looks at her like a friend.”
That gets a reaction. Chloe looks at him and wonders how that hurts more than Jimmy telling her their marriage was a mistake. What did you think, you could fool him forever? Another voice, softer, whispers What did you think, you could fool yourself forever?
“Stop the car.”
Davis pulls over to the side. It’s the middle of the night, the middle of nowhere, and when Chloe steps outside her shoes hit desert. She can’t remember which one. It doesn’t matter. Midwest, Southwest, she’ll never be seeing it again.
Davis gets out after her, and despite himself, when he shuts the door, the truck rattles. Chloe paces, like she’s going to walk away and forget about Clark and him, but when she turns around he’s waiting, seeing what she’ll do. She doesn’t walk back, so they just shout at each other across twenty feet. It feels good to make her throat raw.
“How can you doubt me? After all I’ve done for you, after all I’ve done for us…”
“Stop!” His voice cuts across hers, booms down the landscape. “It would be one thing if you were lying to me, but lying to yourself… is it really that hard to admit when you want something for yourself?”
“Oh, for God’s sake…” She paces another five steps away from him and is cruelly satisfied to feel his face fall.
“Did you want to get married, or did Jimmy?”
She stops at a cactus, looks back at him.
“Thought so.”
“I wanted to leave with you! It was my fucking idea!” Oh, that could shatter glass. There’s a bottle of water in the backseat that she could sure use right about now, and she would be walking back to get it, argument be damned, if it didn’t feel so good to yell at Davis. Or to have someone yell at her. He has the common courtesy to get mad at her instead of calmly lecturing her like she’s a fucking nine-year-old.
“Let’s go back. Let’s go back to Fortress and fire up the portal again and send me through so you can get back to your real life.” He says it in his normal voice, so calm it hurts more, she has to strain to hear him across the distance and before the end of his first sentence Chloe’s walking back to better hear him.
“Don’t say that.” She remembers how Clark described the Phantom Zone, the howling winds, the ghosts, how both Raya and Kara were pared down into living skeletons by it. And Davis is already little more than a memory of the paramedic with the easy smile who told her not to get married, she can’t imagine anything but the beast being left alive in that hell.
He walks to meet her, his shoes crunching sand beneath his feet. “You think I don’t know I deserve to go to hell? The only reason I didn’t let him throw me in there was you. I thought you’d be… without me…” He turns and sinks against the car, arms out in a crucified V, head hanging down. When she gets within a few paces of him, she falters. “Tell me I never made you happy. Tell me you did it all for Clark. We can go back and send me to the Phantom Zone and… it won’t be so bad.” He wasn’t talking to her anymore. “When I’m the beast, I don’t even feel it. It’ll be just like dying. That was easy too.”
She touches his shoulder, but it’s not enough to repair his equilibrium. Chloe knows she should think about his offer, it’s a good offer, but if it ends with him in the Phantom Zone then… How could he think she was doing more than manipulating Clark?
Because it means she’s ashamed of him. Her feelings for him. The world turns and she’s Clark, he’s Chloe, an unspoken bond that she was satisfied to leave unspoken because it was the best she could get. And she can give more. And she can get more.
“Do you really think I could just live my life, knowing what you were going through?” She presses against his back, her arms buckling around his chest. She can feel his heartbeat, his lungs pushing her body up and lowering it down. “I love you.”
His face breaks, she sees it in the darkened window, but at the same time he lets out this breath, his entire body relaxing. For a while he lets it hang, believing her, finally dropping to his knees. She holds tighter to him, outside the one lit-up car in miles of darkness.
“Then let me know.”
“How?”
“It has to be the truth, Chloe. I can’t live with less.” He turns, looks at her over his shoulder, and she needs to know too. His hand creeps to the back of her neck, like a collar. She thinks of acting, fooling him, but he’s right. It would be better to find out now than suffer the slow death she and Jimmy faced, fairer to let him know and make his choice. She can’t live a lie because she doesn’t want Clark to feel guilty. She can’t let Davis think everything is okay when it’s not.
Is it really that hard to admit when you want something for yourself?
Was she thinking of Clark when she told Davis they’d leave? When she locked the basement door? Did she talk with him for hours because she didn’t want him to get bored or because she loved the sound of his voice and the way he listened to her words, even though she was talking about her dreams and her feelings instead of meteor rocks and terrorists?
If there were no Doomsday, would she be with him? But that was an easy question, because she’d answered it a long time ago. She was with him despite Doomsday, not because of it. Maybe they had just been sharing lunch, but there’d been something more. Something she didn’t have with Jimmy. Something she could’ve had with Clark. Something she wanted for herself, and for him.
He’s still facing her, eyes searching hers. She kisses him, hands cupping his chin and head and running over his back. There was no Doomsday. No Jimmy. No meteor rocks or Clark. Just them.
They stop, Davis trying to stand before he slips and falls on his ass in the sand, and Chloe kisses him again. It’s like there’s a beast in her, one that needs to be satisfied now that it’s awoken. She remembers the dream, the hasty memory of his lips on hers before her wedding, and now it’s so much better because there isn’t anything standing between them. She won’t let it.
“I want this,” Chloe breathes, words hungrily devoured by Davis’s mouth on hers. “I want this.”
His hands are running over her yearning body, feeling every quaver, taking and discarding every stitch of clothing. She feels the perfect crisp contact of sand on her skin, knows she can wash it off at the next motel, knows she’ll still be thinking of this, him, herself. She undresses him and it’s something she wants, needs, can’t live without. Then he’s inside her and how could she want anything but this?
An hour later the sun is coming up and she’s still lying on top of him, dried sweat and caked sand, giggly as a schoolgirl. This is my life now, she thinks, forcing away the weight in her heart that still lingers. I won’t waste it.
by seriousfic at her livejournal
1516 words, pg-13, beast
“I listen to you talking to Clark and I wonder if you’re letting him down easy or you’re letting me down easy. I’m trying to figure out if any girl is enough of a doormat to spend her life with a stranger to save a man who only ever looks at her like a friend.”
They’re driven through two states, and Davis’s hands are getting tighter around the wheel, his foot heavier on the gas, until he puts his hand on Chloe’s thigh. Chloe stops watching the world fly by and turns to him. It’s a bit strange to have human contact now that her life is over.
“Aren’t you going to ask?” His thumb runs along the stitch in her denim. “You used to be a reporter. I thought you’d at least be curious.”
I used to be a lot of things. But what she says is “Sorry, my mind’s a million miles away.”
“In Smallville.” The speedometer needle drifts toward the right and she knows that if it weren’t for her, his eyes would be glowing red. He takes a deep breath and eases off the gas. The last thing the Cornfield Killer needs is to get pulled over. “I tried to kill myself. Do you really think going into some other world is a big deal compared to that?”
Ah. “So why didn’t you go?”
Davis is just picking up steam, though, perfectly in control yet pulling into himself with black hole intensity, perfect love that’s the same as perfect obsession and perfect rage. “I listen to you talking to Clark and I wonder if you’re letting him down easy or you’re letting me down easy. I’m trying to figure out if any girl is enough of a doormat to spend her life with a stranger to save a man who only ever looks at her like a friend.”
That gets a reaction. Chloe looks at him and wonders how that hurts more than Jimmy telling her their marriage was a mistake. What did you think, you could fool him forever? Another voice, softer, whispers What did you think, you could fool yourself forever?
“Stop the car.”
Davis pulls over to the side. It’s the middle of the night, the middle of nowhere, and when Chloe steps outside her shoes hit desert. She can’t remember which one. It doesn’t matter. Midwest, Southwest, she’ll never be seeing it again.
Davis gets out after her, and despite himself, when he shuts the door, the truck rattles. Chloe paces, like she’s going to walk away and forget about Clark and him, but when she turns around he’s waiting, seeing what she’ll do. She doesn’t walk back, so they just shout at each other across twenty feet. It feels good to make her throat raw.
“How can you doubt me? After all I’ve done for you, after all I’ve done for us…”
“Stop!” His voice cuts across hers, booms down the landscape. “It would be one thing if you were lying to me, but lying to yourself… is it really that hard to admit when you want something for yourself?”
“Oh, for God’s sake…” She paces another five steps away from him and is cruelly satisfied to feel his face fall.
“Did you want to get married, or did Jimmy?”
She stops at a cactus, looks back at him.
“Thought so.”
“I wanted to leave with you! It was my fucking idea!” Oh, that could shatter glass. There’s a bottle of water in the backseat that she could sure use right about now, and she would be walking back to get it, argument be damned, if it didn’t feel so good to yell at Davis. Or to have someone yell at her. He has the common courtesy to get mad at her instead of calmly lecturing her like she’s a fucking nine-year-old.
“Let’s go back. Let’s go back to Fortress and fire up the portal again and send me through so you can get back to your real life.” He says it in his normal voice, so calm it hurts more, she has to strain to hear him across the distance and before the end of his first sentence Chloe’s walking back to better hear him.
“Don’t say that.” She remembers how Clark described the Phantom Zone, the howling winds, the ghosts, how both Raya and Kara were pared down into living skeletons by it. And Davis is already little more than a memory of the paramedic with the easy smile who told her not to get married, she can’t imagine anything but the beast being left alive in that hell.
He walks to meet her, his shoes crunching sand beneath his feet. “You think I don’t know I deserve to go to hell? The only reason I didn’t let him throw me in there was you. I thought you’d be… without me…” He turns and sinks against the car, arms out in a crucified V, head hanging down. When she gets within a few paces of him, she falters. “Tell me I never made you happy. Tell me you did it all for Clark. We can go back and send me to the Phantom Zone and… it won’t be so bad.” He wasn’t talking to her anymore. “When I’m the beast, I don’t even feel it. It’ll be just like dying. That was easy too.”
She touches his shoulder, but it’s not enough to repair his equilibrium. Chloe knows she should think about his offer, it’s a good offer, but if it ends with him in the Phantom Zone then… How could he think she was doing more than manipulating Clark?
Because it means she’s ashamed of him. Her feelings for him. The world turns and she’s Clark, he’s Chloe, an unspoken bond that she was satisfied to leave unspoken because it was the best she could get. And she can give more. And she can get more.
“Do you really think I could just live my life, knowing what you were going through?” She presses against his back, her arms buckling around his chest. She can feel his heartbeat, his lungs pushing her body up and lowering it down. “I love you.”
His face breaks, she sees it in the darkened window, but at the same time he lets out this breath, his entire body relaxing. For a while he lets it hang, believing her, finally dropping to his knees. She holds tighter to him, outside the one lit-up car in miles of darkness.
“Then let me know.”
“How?”
“It has to be the truth, Chloe. I can’t live with less.” He turns, looks at her over his shoulder, and she needs to know too. His hand creeps to the back of her neck, like a collar. She thinks of acting, fooling him, but he’s right. It would be better to find out now than suffer the slow death she and Jimmy faced, fairer to let him know and make his choice. She can’t live a lie because she doesn’t want Clark to feel guilty. She can’t let Davis think everything is okay when it’s not.
Is it really that hard to admit when you want something for yourself?
Was she thinking of Clark when she told Davis they’d leave? When she locked the basement door? Did she talk with him for hours because she didn’t want him to get bored or because she loved the sound of his voice and the way he listened to her words, even though she was talking about her dreams and her feelings instead of meteor rocks and terrorists?
If there were no Doomsday, would she be with him? But that was an easy question, because she’d answered it a long time ago. She was with him despite Doomsday, not because of it. Maybe they had just been sharing lunch, but there’d been something more. Something she didn’t have with Jimmy. Something she could’ve had with Clark. Something she wanted for herself, and for him.
He’s still facing her, eyes searching hers. She kisses him, hands cupping his chin and head and running over his back. There was no Doomsday. No Jimmy. No meteor rocks or Clark. Just them.
They stop, Davis trying to stand before he slips and falls on his ass in the sand, and Chloe kisses him again. It’s like there’s a beast in her, one that needs to be satisfied now that it’s awoken. She remembers the dream, the hasty memory of his lips on hers before her wedding, and now it’s so much better because there isn’t anything standing between them. She won’t let it.
“I want this,” Chloe breathes, words hungrily devoured by Davis’s mouth on hers. “I want this.”
His hands are running over her yearning body, feeling every quaver, taking and discarding every stitch of clothing. She feels the perfect crisp contact of sand on her skin, knows she can wash it off at the next motel, knows she’ll still be thinking of this, him, herself. She undresses him and it’s something she wants, needs, can’t live without. Then he’s inside her and how could she want anything but this?
An hour later the sun is coming up and she’s still lying on top of him, dried sweat and caked sand, giggly as a schoolgirl. This is my life now, she thinks, forcing away the weight in her heart that still lingers. I won’t waste it.
happiness (bleed verse)
Reccing Notes: You know what's better than amazing 'canon'? Amazing writing that stays true to itself, for more than one installment. Paraxdisepink did this with Bleed. In the followup she stays true to Davis dealing with the post-traumatic stress of sorts post Doomsday-monster and beyond in his relationship with Chloe. It makes the happy moments all the better
(It is also BURNING HOT . I do not lie.)
by paraxdisepink at her livejournal
4403 words, nc-17, (who cares about episode?) ic! future fic
She was pretty sure there was some kind of prohibition against looks like that in the workplace.
*
Chloe had dreamed of having her own office at the The Daily Planet for as long as she could remember, but dreaming wasn’t the same as actually having one. It didn’t exactly sparkle with Tiffany lamps or overlook Gotham City like the one in her fantasies, but that didn’t matter. It was perfect and more importantly free of Luthorcorp strings, and now that she had her foot in a much bigger door, so to speak, that extravagant childhood fantasy no longer seemed so out of reach.
That didn’t make her feel any better about what she’d done to earn her newfound sixty-four square feet of personal space – mainly, put the man she loved through a rewind of the most horrifying experience of his life in order to have the world’s only exclusive interview with the “Cornfield Killer” handy with her job application. The public was so ready to eat up the lurid details Chloe wondered if she should have tried her hand at a novel instead. Most people heard the reports of mutilated bodies, saw the pictures of the Blur fighting Doomsday, and accepted that Davis was either a scapegoat to cover-up some Luthorcorp animal experiment or that the whole monster was thing was a hoax or a string of animal maulings spun out of proportion. For those people, the story Davis told was as good as fiction. A human couldn’t kill in a manner consistent with the reported evidence, not when many of the bodies had been clawed open or had perished of injuries that defied normal human strength, and as far as the world knew Davis Bloome was as human anyone else now that his formerly ever-evolving DNA showed up perfectly normal in tests again.
The truth of how he’d really been victimized couldn’t come out any more than Clark’s secret could. The dangerous animal in him had been stopped. Zod had been stopped. Sometimes justice was better served quietly. Davis hadn’t stomached the lying easily, but he understood the need for it and after having his face plastered on the front page for weeks even if he couldn’t tell the whole truth he needed the world to know who he was – the man who saved lives for a living and was proud of it, the man who never imagined hurting anyone, the man made into something that couldn’t be further from what he wanted to be. That man hadn’t exaggerated when he said he was “messed up” these days. He used to talk about the monster inside him all the time with both optimism that love and God would save him and toward the end broken acceptance, but now it was different. He had fought the emotion welling up in him when he tried to put into words the nightmare of waking up near torn bodies covered in blood and when he couldn’t anymore after painting as clear a picture as he could he shied away from her attempts to pull him against her and let him sob his heart out if he needed to. He told her it was better if he went back to his place for the night, alone. Chloe let him go, on one hand feeling closer to him now that he let her see the real despair that had lain under the faith and romanticism and attempts to be cheerful during that time, on the other . . . She’d read a book about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and how it didn’t set in until after the trauma was over and the victim felt safe again . . .
He was definitely moody. Part of him wanted to prove he wasn’t a burden and a total headcase and the rest of him didn’t know how to cope. Some nights he said it wasn’t a good idea if he came over “like this,” some nights he curled up so close and just held her as though he feared he’d turn back into Doomsday if they weren’t touching. Some nights they didn’t sleep at all and he brought the meaning of “eager to please” to whole new levels.
Fortunately, for the sake of job performance on her first day back, last night wasn’t one of those marathon nights. Davis had worked the late shift all week and she hadn’t seen much of him. Fortunate for her job, less fortunate for the home life.
Davis didn’t get off work until five and she had a story to concentrate on in the meantime. Tess Mercer’s death didn’t make corruption at Luthorcorp any less headline-worthy. There was a whole mess of it hiding under the proverbial rock waiting for the diligent reporter to uncover – chemical experiments, human research victims, illegal dealings. The human research was closest to her heart – she had a mother to avenge – and a few searches mixed in with a healthy dose of Watchtower intel gave her a nice exposé on another round of intentional meteor rock poisoning.
The sun set outside her window and everyone had gone home by the time she applied her beloved Inverted Pyramid to the key facts. It was one of those days when the computer pulled you into another dimension and you glanced at the clock amazed at how quickly time had passed. Chloe hadn’t looked at the clock since Lois had brought her a welcome back sandwich at lunch, complete with a quip about her last story on the Blur and how “Dimples” had killed him when it came to the front page spot. She didn’t know how not funny that was.
Chloe injected another paragraph of damning evidence and slid out of her heeled shoes under desk. It was her office. She could do that. She couldn’t do anything about her butt getting flatter each moment she sat in the chair though, unless she wanted to try one of those kneeling things.
“You know if I were the bad guys I think I’d start running already,” a velvety and definitely amused male voice said from directly above her.
Chloe gave a start, turned, and saw a big hand resting on the tall back of her chair. She looked up. Davis was leaning over her, stroking his chin with one hand while he watched her type in complete fascination. Was it after five already? His light blue uniform shirt didn’t look so crisp after another twelve hour shift. In fact, it wasn’t even tucked into his pants anymore.
“Okay, here’s an idea,” Chloe pushed the keyboard aside and turned in her chair. “How about you work on making a sound when you walk into a room? What did you do? Teleport in here?”
She expected him to hang his head and apologize for startling her, but to her surprise the corner of his mouth turned up and he said, “You could always put a bell on me.” Chloe blinked. This was a new mood. Dare she ask where? His dark eyes went back to the screen and with that same rapt look on his face he read, “’Luthorcorp doctors conceal their experiments under a pretense of –‘”
Chloe put a hand up between them, cutting him off before her face turned bright red. “Okay, first rule of the office, no reading aloud. It’s embarrassing.”
He cocked his head and winked at her, his expression both amused and adoring. “I’m sorry.” He looked like he wanted to laugh. He looked . . . hyper, as though he’d start shifting from foot-to-foot at any moment. Chloe stared at him. Who was this man and what had he done with the brooding Davis she was used to? He hadn’t started self-medicating his depression with drugs in the ambulance, had he? “I’ve never seen you in action before,” he said after a moment. “It’s amazing.”
She smiled. That depended on what kind of “action” he meant. There definitely hadn’t been action of any kind between the two of them this past week.
Chloe got out of her chair and came around to face him. He caught her hand and didn’t bother hiding the way his eyes swept over her fitted suit and bare feet. It was like the first day she’d met him; he’d liked what he saw and who she was and had flirted shamelessly. She didn’t think she’d see that Davis again.
“Enjoy it while you can,” she stood on tiptoe and brushed her lips against his cheek. “Those doctors are going to launch a headhunt for me when they read what I’ve uncovered.”
Davis wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her against him like a dance. “I won’t let them hurt you,” he promised in a thick voice very close to a whisper.
She swallowed. His gallantry was so innocent and heartfelt she didn’t want to remember the last time he’d saved her from mortal danger, but with the familiar sturdy heat of his body against hers there was no thinking back that far. She looked up, right into his dark eyes that were doing their best to melt her on the spot. She was pretty sure there was some kind of prohibition against looks like that in the workplace.
“Davis . . .” Chloe put her hand on his chest to get a little space between them, or maybe to smooth a wrinkle in his shirt from napping in the ambulance between calls.
He didn’t let her go and he didn’t pull his eyes away. This was different. He wasn’t into PDAs and didn’t touch her unless they were alone, which they were. Sort of. He noticed her confusion and explained, “You look happy here, like you’re where you belong.”
Her face colored and she glanced over her shoulder at the story-in-progress on the computer screen. Lois and Clark had tried to get her back at the Planet for months. She’d brushed them off and here she was. “Feels like I never left,” she admitted, biting into her lip. “I guess it’s uniquely satisfying exposing the bad guys with a keyboard.”
Dark lashes fluttered and Davis bent his head closer to hers. “As long as you’re satisfied . . .” His voice dropped a little lower and he pushed her hair back from her face with his free hand. A twinge of excitement shot through her. To call that tone and the very intense look in his eyes suggestive would be an understatement. It was as though he’d forgotten where they were and his focus had narrowed to nothing but her. She toyed with the top button of his shirt where she could feel the heat from him and the hard muscle of his chest beneath.
“Well some of that’s still your job,” she murmured back too lowly for anyone but him to hear. Her face went hot as she said it. The place was empty, but it was still the Planet. Talking like that here was like Davis talking like that in a church. But given the way his eyes lit up he might not have cared if this were a church. His hand curled under her jaw, tilting her face up. Her eyes fell closed on instinct and a thrill coursed through her when his mouth came down on hers. Her lips opened under the softness of his and she stretched up to get closer. It was more than an “I haven’t seen you all day” kiss. It was hungry, a little too hungry for their present locale. Chloe broke away from him. When she talked about him satisfying her she didn’t mean now.
“Davis . . .” They had two apartments between them. Hers was closer. She could pop her story on a flash drive and they could do this at home. She needed a break anyway. But whatever had gotten into him this evening didn’t let her finish her sentence and didn’t want to hear about waiting. His mouth latched right back onto hers and he tugged her a little closer, a certain well-loved part of his anatomy already stiff and impatient against her thigh. Prickles of heat spiked between her legs. She was used to him hard against her, inside her, the weight of his muscular body on top of hers, white and naked. But this . . . He was usually quiet too – a faint groan here, an expression of total pleasure washing over his face there, a full-body shudder – but she’d learned how to make him yell pretty loud when she wanted him to.
Her hand strayed from his chest down the hard muscle of his body. She’d only meant to tease, pet him a little and promise more later, but he made such a small, desperate sound when her palm brushed the pounding flesh between his legs that her hand developed a mind of its own. It slipped under the blue cotton of his shirt, unfastened his belt and the button on his pants, and the zipper, and when it curled around the warm length of him his whole body tightened as though he were being touched there for the first time in his life and he was instantly harder than he’d been a minute ago. How could a girl stop when her touch did that to him? She’d learned a few things during the time they’d been together, thanks to Google – maybe in an ideal relationship partners were supposed to tell each other what they liked, but if she asked him he’d just say anything she did was enough and that wasn’t any fun. One of these days, she’d have him all figured out. There had to be a deep, dark fantasy in him somewhere that didn’t involve paying horribly for what Doomsday had done.
She squeezed at him, pulled back enough to watch his eyes flutter shut and his lips part when her thumb brushed across him. He looked helpless, dependent. It felt wrong to find that beautiful.
“You might want to stop, Chloe,” he whispered after a moment. He wasn’t kissing her anymore, just holding her against his hip and rubbing his cheek against hers and breathing hard. “I’m gonna . . .”
Wow. This wasn’t like him at all. When it came to throbbing hard-ons Davis was the most patient guy on the planet, full of slow kisses and prolonged foreplay. But there was this urgent energy in him today, this thing he seemed to have to get out. Then again, maybe this was exactly the post-Doomsday him in a nutshell, if he wanted her to stop.
She didn’t stop. Her fingers glided over him with a little more pressure and she murmured against his cheek, “When is that a bad thing?”
He let out a weak sound, angled his head, and kissed a spot behind her ear that drew a shiver. “When it’s not with you.” The fingers cupping her jaw gently guided her mouth to his again and he slid his tongue inside, just in case she didn’t catch his meaning. Her free hand curled into his hip and pushed him the few steps back into the wall, and everything from her thighs to the pit of her stomach was tingling.
A whoosh of air lashed against her very flushed cheek, and out of that minor windstorm another male voice stammered. “Chloe, I thought –“
Clark. The fire in her skin of a moment ago became a vastly different kind of heat and Chloe thought it would sear her alive. She tried to image how she looked, shoving Davis against a wall in her office, her hand down his pants while he nuzzled her neck and teetered on the edge of orgasm. The poor guy made a sound of actual pain when she snatched her hand away, he’d been so close. Clark really had to work on his timing.
“Clark . . .” He was just as mortified as her when she turned around to face him. A small stack of papers had fluttered to the ground at his feet and he dropped down to pick them up in order to avoid looking at her. He had to know she and Davis had sex on a regular basis, but he was so . . . Clark he may as well have been a child walking in on his parents.
“I thought . . .” he faltered, concentrating very hard on gathering the papers he must have brought in. “Nevermind.” He shot up from his knees and ran out of there in a blur as fast as his speed could carry him.
Chloe closed the door, desperately wishing Clark hadn’t destroyed the Legion ring so she could go back and do that in the first place. She stared at the ceiling and then at the floor where Clark had been, anything but the wall, lest she spontaneously combust on the spot from utter and complete embarrassment.
Davis had his back to her, his chin in one hand. The fact that he was holding his pants up with the other sort of ruined the effect. “I’m sorry,” he said. Could he stop pacing? He reminded her of a caged animal when he did that. “I shouldn’t have . . .” Here came the guilt and the self-hatred. She wanted the other Davis back, the one who was literally throbbing with urgency a moment ago. Her skin tingled all over again, and not all of it from mortification. “I just . . . seeing you in your element . . .”
Chloe drew a deep breath and took a step toward him. “We can go home . . .” Her voice came out a little strangled. Poor Clark. Poor Davis. His shoulders were hunched.
“Yeah . . .” He nodded, turning around to face her. “Home.” Did he have to look so ashamed? She was the one who shoved her hand down his pants, the one who’d stroked him toward climax with the door open. The one who . . .
Her fingers found the door handle, her thumb turning the lock ninety degrees. It was just so he could zip himself up in private, or rather so she could do it for him. He looked so uncomfortable she had to make him feel better somehow.
His hands went to her waist as though to communicate that touching him like that would be a bad idea, but when hers went to his shoulders they didn’t push her back. He bowed his head like a bad puppy, but his eyes still made shy contact with hers under his thick dark lashes. If a gaze could play footsie . . . “I love you,” he said in his huskiest voice, explanation and apology and justification all at once.
Her fingertips brushed the sides of his neck, teasing where his pulse still beat strong. They moved up and stroked the angular line of his jaw. “Davis . . .” She was supposed to say she loved him too, but what came out of her mouth was, “Hurry up.”
She didn’t have to tell him twice. He lifted her off the ground and her thighs went around his waist, her weight pressing against his groin where he supported her with one hand from underneath, the heat of his palm burning her skin through the thin fabric of her skirt. Chloe rubbed against him on purpose, soaked up the strangled sound he made, and found herself hastily deposited on the empty side of her desk, the smooth wood cold against the bare backs of her thighs where her skirt had ridden up.
The chill didn’t last long. It melted the instant his body pressed between her legs, his impatient cock and the cotton tails of shirt tickling the inside of her thigh. Her hands were on his lower back, keeping him close, and when he leaned down and captured her mouth again they went lower, clawing at his ass and pulling his hips and the scalding length of him to her.
His mouth slipped from hers, went back to her neck and bit down without teeth. “I love you,” he murmured again in a voice so thick she couldn’t breathe right. That was the Catholic in him, the part that had to let whoever was up there know this was more than satisfying a physical desire, but the hand that wandered down under her skirt couldn’t get any more carnal. “I want you,” he went on in that same breathy voice. “I don’t care how or where we are.”
Chloe spread her hands behind her and leaned back. As deep as their feelings for each other went, there was something thrillingly pornographic about sitting on her desk in a business suit in her own office at one of the most prestigious newspapers in the world and watching him, in his disheveled uniform, pull her black lace panties off her and toss them to the floor. It was like fulfilling a naughty secretary and fireman stripper fantasy all in one. His mouth went back to hers, grinding hard and she bit into his lower lip to keep from crying out when he guided himself to her. Her thighs spread wider. He didn’t have to take this slow; she was ready. He went completely still when he slid in all the way, a look of relief coming into his face at the wet sensation of her surrounding him. She dug her fingers into his ribs. He was so overcome he’d forgotten what she said about hurrying.
“Davis . . .” He was one with her like he was supposed to be, but she wanted more, her nerve endings begged for more. He got the idea and sprang into motion, thrusting once and then again. Her head fell back, but it wasn’t good enough for him. His hands went to her shoulders and he eased her down flat on her back on the tabletop. Her heels instinctively balanced on the edge of the desk, and her mouth opened with a half-formed cry when that pulled him in deeper. He squeezed his eyes shut and surged forward, bracing his hands on the wood and leaning over her. That gave him the leverage he needed to throw himself into the strange urgency that had come over him today.
It wasn’t rough or too hard, just good. So good. His labored breathing stung her neck where she tipped her head back and he bent his head and mouthed at the tops of her breasts where her blouse dipped low. She dug her fingers into his back. Sometimes he was just so perfect. He thrust harder, not kissing or licking the sweat from her skin anymore, just staring down at her with wild dark eyes and very red lips. Her short hair spilled over the edge of the desk she’d thrown her head back so far. Her back arched. She was close, he was close, and she could care less whether anyone walked in now.
She lay there totally limp when she came back to her senses and when he finished spilling sticky inside her his arms could barely hold him up on the desk. But he managed to stand up straight when the shudders subsided, flushed and raggedly drawing in air. She grabbed onto his arms and let him pull her up with him a moment later. Her head fell on his shoulder and he was rubbing her back – sore from being pressed into the wood. They stayed like that for a minute just breathing together, until he picked her up again and took the few steps backward to her computer chair.
She settled in his lap when he sank down into it, smoothing the wrinkles in his shirt and tucking him back into his pants. She was fastening his belt when she said, “You know, as much as I appreciate this kind of welcome back present, I’m curious. What’s gotten into you today?”
He leaned his head against the back of her chair, drained and ready for a nap, but he ran a hand through her hair and smiled at her. “I don’t know. I guess seeing you happy here makes me feel like I’ve done something other than ruin your life for once.”
“Davis . . .” Her fingers walked in the gap of his uniform shirt, scratching lightly through the white undershirt beneath. He’d opened up a can of worms for himself with that story. She hoped he knew that. But he hadn’t ruined her life. He deserved to be saved and when you loved someone you didn’t give up on them.
He took the hint and didn’t sink into the usual gloom about the murders and the people he hurt, just stroked her bare knee with his free hand and went on. “And I delivered a baby today,” he said.
Chloe shook her head. “Well that’s got to be a job perk, looking up other women’s skirts.”
The corner of his mouth curved up and he looked away in a manner one could only call modest – not about the babies, but because there might have been a note of jealousy in her voice. “Come on, Chloe, the only skirt I’m interested in looking up is yours.”
Her heart melted a little. He was the only guy in the world who would say that and mean it.
But she looked at him suspiciously in the next moment, her hand pausing on his chest. “This isn’t one of those sudden interest in creating life after seeing how precious it is things, is it?”
The brief look of terror flashing across his face was so reassuringly normal and male that her hand went back to petting him through his shirt. “No, no,” he said, very seriously. “I’m not ready for that. It’s just . . . It was the first time since everything happened. It felt good to help bring life into the world instead of taking it away.”
So this was the mysterious mood? He was happy and had stopped hating himself long enough to go after what he wanted? The sad thing about it was delivering babies and helping her get her job back was just him being him. She could have told him that, but she didn’t yet. If he was happy, better to keep this going and keep him from thinking before reminders of less pleasant things let his darker moods catch up with him.
She put her foot on the ground and scooted the two of them closer to the desk, sliding her feet into her shoes and grabbing her flash drive. They definitely couldn’t keep this going here. They had two apartments, a car, a back alley behind the Planet building . . . She grinned and saved her Luthorcorp story.
She says it's not Shakespeare. Tell her differently! XD
(It is also BURNING HOT . I do not lie.)
by paraxdisepink at her livejournal
4403 words, nc-17, (who cares about episode?) ic! future fic
She was pretty sure there was some kind of prohibition against looks like that in the workplace.
*
Chloe had dreamed of having her own office at the The Daily Planet for as long as she could remember, but dreaming wasn’t the same as actually having one. It didn’t exactly sparkle with Tiffany lamps or overlook Gotham City like the one in her fantasies, but that didn’t matter. It was perfect and more importantly free of Luthorcorp strings, and now that she had her foot in a much bigger door, so to speak, that extravagant childhood fantasy no longer seemed so out of reach.
That didn’t make her feel any better about what she’d done to earn her newfound sixty-four square feet of personal space – mainly, put the man she loved through a rewind of the most horrifying experience of his life in order to have the world’s only exclusive interview with the “Cornfield Killer” handy with her job application. The public was so ready to eat up the lurid details Chloe wondered if she should have tried her hand at a novel instead. Most people heard the reports of mutilated bodies, saw the pictures of the Blur fighting Doomsday, and accepted that Davis was either a scapegoat to cover-up some Luthorcorp animal experiment or that the whole monster was thing was a hoax or a string of animal maulings spun out of proportion. For those people, the story Davis told was as good as fiction. A human couldn’t kill in a manner consistent with the reported evidence, not when many of the bodies had been clawed open or had perished of injuries that defied normal human strength, and as far as the world knew Davis Bloome was as human anyone else now that his formerly ever-evolving DNA showed up perfectly normal in tests again.
The truth of how he’d really been victimized couldn’t come out any more than Clark’s secret could. The dangerous animal in him had been stopped. Zod had been stopped. Sometimes justice was better served quietly. Davis hadn’t stomached the lying easily, but he understood the need for it and after having his face plastered on the front page for weeks even if he couldn’t tell the whole truth he needed the world to know who he was – the man who saved lives for a living and was proud of it, the man who never imagined hurting anyone, the man made into something that couldn’t be further from what he wanted to be. That man hadn’t exaggerated when he said he was “messed up” these days. He used to talk about the monster inside him all the time with both optimism that love and God would save him and toward the end broken acceptance, but now it was different. He had fought the emotion welling up in him when he tried to put into words the nightmare of waking up near torn bodies covered in blood and when he couldn’t anymore after painting as clear a picture as he could he shied away from her attempts to pull him against her and let him sob his heart out if he needed to. He told her it was better if he went back to his place for the night, alone. Chloe let him go, on one hand feeling closer to him now that he let her see the real despair that had lain under the faith and romanticism and attempts to be cheerful during that time, on the other . . . She’d read a book about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and how it didn’t set in until after the trauma was over and the victim felt safe again . . .
He was definitely moody. Part of him wanted to prove he wasn’t a burden and a total headcase and the rest of him didn’t know how to cope. Some nights he said it wasn’t a good idea if he came over “like this,” some nights he curled up so close and just held her as though he feared he’d turn back into Doomsday if they weren’t touching. Some nights they didn’t sleep at all and he brought the meaning of “eager to please” to whole new levels.
Fortunately, for the sake of job performance on her first day back, last night wasn’t one of those marathon nights. Davis had worked the late shift all week and she hadn’t seen much of him. Fortunate for her job, less fortunate for the home life.
Davis didn’t get off work until five and she had a story to concentrate on in the meantime. Tess Mercer’s death didn’t make corruption at Luthorcorp any less headline-worthy. There was a whole mess of it hiding under the proverbial rock waiting for the diligent reporter to uncover – chemical experiments, human research victims, illegal dealings. The human research was closest to her heart – she had a mother to avenge – and a few searches mixed in with a healthy dose of Watchtower intel gave her a nice exposé on another round of intentional meteor rock poisoning.
The sun set outside her window and everyone had gone home by the time she applied her beloved Inverted Pyramid to the key facts. It was one of those days when the computer pulled you into another dimension and you glanced at the clock amazed at how quickly time had passed. Chloe hadn’t looked at the clock since Lois had brought her a welcome back sandwich at lunch, complete with a quip about her last story on the Blur and how “Dimples” had killed him when it came to the front page spot. She didn’t know how not funny that was.
Chloe injected another paragraph of damning evidence and slid out of her heeled shoes under desk. It was her office. She could do that. She couldn’t do anything about her butt getting flatter each moment she sat in the chair though, unless she wanted to try one of those kneeling things.
“You know if I were the bad guys I think I’d start running already,” a velvety and definitely amused male voice said from directly above her.
Chloe gave a start, turned, and saw a big hand resting on the tall back of her chair. She looked up. Davis was leaning over her, stroking his chin with one hand while he watched her type in complete fascination. Was it after five already? His light blue uniform shirt didn’t look so crisp after another twelve hour shift. In fact, it wasn’t even tucked into his pants anymore.
“Okay, here’s an idea,” Chloe pushed the keyboard aside and turned in her chair. “How about you work on making a sound when you walk into a room? What did you do? Teleport in here?”
She expected him to hang his head and apologize for startling her, but to her surprise the corner of his mouth turned up and he said, “You could always put a bell on me.” Chloe blinked. This was a new mood. Dare she ask where? His dark eyes went back to the screen and with that same rapt look on his face he read, “’Luthorcorp doctors conceal their experiments under a pretense of –‘”
Chloe put a hand up between them, cutting him off before her face turned bright red. “Okay, first rule of the office, no reading aloud. It’s embarrassing.”
He cocked his head and winked at her, his expression both amused and adoring. “I’m sorry.” He looked like he wanted to laugh. He looked . . . hyper, as though he’d start shifting from foot-to-foot at any moment. Chloe stared at him. Who was this man and what had he done with the brooding Davis she was used to? He hadn’t started self-medicating his depression with drugs in the ambulance, had he? “I’ve never seen you in action before,” he said after a moment. “It’s amazing.”
She smiled. That depended on what kind of “action” he meant. There definitely hadn’t been action of any kind between the two of them this past week.
Chloe got out of her chair and came around to face him. He caught her hand and didn’t bother hiding the way his eyes swept over her fitted suit and bare feet. It was like the first day she’d met him; he’d liked what he saw and who she was and had flirted shamelessly. She didn’t think she’d see that Davis again.
“Enjoy it while you can,” she stood on tiptoe and brushed her lips against his cheek. “Those doctors are going to launch a headhunt for me when they read what I’ve uncovered.”
Davis wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her against him like a dance. “I won’t let them hurt you,” he promised in a thick voice very close to a whisper.
She swallowed. His gallantry was so innocent and heartfelt she didn’t want to remember the last time he’d saved her from mortal danger, but with the familiar sturdy heat of his body against hers there was no thinking back that far. She looked up, right into his dark eyes that were doing their best to melt her on the spot. She was pretty sure there was some kind of prohibition against looks like that in the workplace.
“Davis . . .” Chloe put her hand on his chest to get a little space between them, or maybe to smooth a wrinkle in his shirt from napping in the ambulance between calls.
He didn’t let her go and he didn’t pull his eyes away. This was different. He wasn’t into PDAs and didn’t touch her unless they were alone, which they were. Sort of. He noticed her confusion and explained, “You look happy here, like you’re where you belong.”
Her face colored and she glanced over her shoulder at the story-in-progress on the computer screen. Lois and Clark had tried to get her back at the Planet for months. She’d brushed them off and here she was. “Feels like I never left,” she admitted, biting into her lip. “I guess it’s uniquely satisfying exposing the bad guys with a keyboard.”
Dark lashes fluttered and Davis bent his head closer to hers. “As long as you’re satisfied . . .” His voice dropped a little lower and he pushed her hair back from her face with his free hand. A twinge of excitement shot through her. To call that tone and the very intense look in his eyes suggestive would be an understatement. It was as though he’d forgotten where they were and his focus had narrowed to nothing but her. She toyed with the top button of his shirt where she could feel the heat from him and the hard muscle of his chest beneath.
“Well some of that’s still your job,” she murmured back too lowly for anyone but him to hear. Her face went hot as she said it. The place was empty, but it was still the Planet. Talking like that here was like Davis talking like that in a church. But given the way his eyes lit up he might not have cared if this were a church. His hand curled under her jaw, tilting her face up. Her eyes fell closed on instinct and a thrill coursed through her when his mouth came down on hers. Her lips opened under the softness of his and she stretched up to get closer. It was more than an “I haven’t seen you all day” kiss. It was hungry, a little too hungry for their present locale. Chloe broke away from him. When she talked about him satisfying her she didn’t mean now.
“Davis . . .” They had two apartments between them. Hers was closer. She could pop her story on a flash drive and they could do this at home. She needed a break anyway. But whatever had gotten into him this evening didn’t let her finish her sentence and didn’t want to hear about waiting. His mouth latched right back onto hers and he tugged her a little closer, a certain well-loved part of his anatomy already stiff and impatient against her thigh. Prickles of heat spiked between her legs. She was used to him hard against her, inside her, the weight of his muscular body on top of hers, white and naked. But this . . . He was usually quiet too – a faint groan here, an expression of total pleasure washing over his face there, a full-body shudder – but she’d learned how to make him yell pretty loud when she wanted him to.
Her hand strayed from his chest down the hard muscle of his body. She’d only meant to tease, pet him a little and promise more later, but he made such a small, desperate sound when her palm brushed the pounding flesh between his legs that her hand developed a mind of its own. It slipped under the blue cotton of his shirt, unfastened his belt and the button on his pants, and the zipper, and when it curled around the warm length of him his whole body tightened as though he were being touched there for the first time in his life and he was instantly harder than he’d been a minute ago. How could a girl stop when her touch did that to him? She’d learned a few things during the time they’d been together, thanks to Google – maybe in an ideal relationship partners were supposed to tell each other what they liked, but if she asked him he’d just say anything she did was enough and that wasn’t any fun. One of these days, she’d have him all figured out. There had to be a deep, dark fantasy in him somewhere that didn’t involve paying horribly for what Doomsday had done.
She squeezed at him, pulled back enough to watch his eyes flutter shut and his lips part when her thumb brushed across him. He looked helpless, dependent. It felt wrong to find that beautiful.
“You might want to stop, Chloe,” he whispered after a moment. He wasn’t kissing her anymore, just holding her against his hip and rubbing his cheek against hers and breathing hard. “I’m gonna . . .”
Wow. This wasn’t like him at all. When it came to throbbing hard-ons Davis was the most patient guy on the planet, full of slow kisses and prolonged foreplay. But there was this urgent energy in him today, this thing he seemed to have to get out. Then again, maybe this was exactly the post-Doomsday him in a nutshell, if he wanted her to stop.
She didn’t stop. Her fingers glided over him with a little more pressure and she murmured against his cheek, “When is that a bad thing?”
He let out a weak sound, angled his head, and kissed a spot behind her ear that drew a shiver. “When it’s not with you.” The fingers cupping her jaw gently guided her mouth to his again and he slid his tongue inside, just in case she didn’t catch his meaning. Her free hand curled into his hip and pushed him the few steps back into the wall, and everything from her thighs to the pit of her stomach was tingling.
A whoosh of air lashed against her very flushed cheek, and out of that minor windstorm another male voice stammered. “Chloe, I thought –“
Clark. The fire in her skin of a moment ago became a vastly different kind of heat and Chloe thought it would sear her alive. She tried to image how she looked, shoving Davis against a wall in her office, her hand down his pants while he nuzzled her neck and teetered on the edge of orgasm. The poor guy made a sound of actual pain when she snatched her hand away, he’d been so close. Clark really had to work on his timing.
“Clark . . .” He was just as mortified as her when she turned around to face him. A small stack of papers had fluttered to the ground at his feet and he dropped down to pick them up in order to avoid looking at her. He had to know she and Davis had sex on a regular basis, but he was so . . . Clark he may as well have been a child walking in on his parents.
“I thought . . .” he faltered, concentrating very hard on gathering the papers he must have brought in. “Nevermind.” He shot up from his knees and ran out of there in a blur as fast as his speed could carry him.
Chloe closed the door, desperately wishing Clark hadn’t destroyed the Legion ring so she could go back and do that in the first place. She stared at the ceiling and then at the floor where Clark had been, anything but the wall, lest she spontaneously combust on the spot from utter and complete embarrassment.
Davis had his back to her, his chin in one hand. The fact that he was holding his pants up with the other sort of ruined the effect. “I’m sorry,” he said. Could he stop pacing? He reminded her of a caged animal when he did that. “I shouldn’t have . . .” Here came the guilt and the self-hatred. She wanted the other Davis back, the one who was literally throbbing with urgency a moment ago. Her skin tingled all over again, and not all of it from mortification. “I just . . . seeing you in your element . . .”
Chloe drew a deep breath and took a step toward him. “We can go home . . .” Her voice came out a little strangled. Poor Clark. Poor Davis. His shoulders were hunched.
“Yeah . . .” He nodded, turning around to face her. “Home.” Did he have to look so ashamed? She was the one who shoved her hand down his pants, the one who’d stroked him toward climax with the door open. The one who . . .
Her fingers found the door handle, her thumb turning the lock ninety degrees. It was just so he could zip himself up in private, or rather so she could do it for him. He looked so uncomfortable she had to make him feel better somehow.
His hands went to her waist as though to communicate that touching him like that would be a bad idea, but when hers went to his shoulders they didn’t push her back. He bowed his head like a bad puppy, but his eyes still made shy contact with hers under his thick dark lashes. If a gaze could play footsie . . . “I love you,” he said in his huskiest voice, explanation and apology and justification all at once.
Her fingertips brushed the sides of his neck, teasing where his pulse still beat strong. They moved up and stroked the angular line of his jaw. “Davis . . .” She was supposed to say she loved him too, but what came out of her mouth was, “Hurry up.”
She didn’t have to tell him twice. He lifted her off the ground and her thighs went around his waist, her weight pressing against his groin where he supported her with one hand from underneath, the heat of his palm burning her skin through the thin fabric of her skirt. Chloe rubbed against him on purpose, soaked up the strangled sound he made, and found herself hastily deposited on the empty side of her desk, the smooth wood cold against the bare backs of her thighs where her skirt had ridden up.
The chill didn’t last long. It melted the instant his body pressed between her legs, his impatient cock and the cotton tails of shirt tickling the inside of her thigh. Her hands were on his lower back, keeping him close, and when he leaned down and captured her mouth again they went lower, clawing at his ass and pulling his hips and the scalding length of him to her.
His mouth slipped from hers, went back to her neck and bit down without teeth. “I love you,” he murmured again in a voice so thick she couldn’t breathe right. That was the Catholic in him, the part that had to let whoever was up there know this was more than satisfying a physical desire, but the hand that wandered down under her skirt couldn’t get any more carnal. “I want you,” he went on in that same breathy voice. “I don’t care how or where we are.”
Chloe spread her hands behind her and leaned back. As deep as their feelings for each other went, there was something thrillingly pornographic about sitting on her desk in a business suit in her own office at one of the most prestigious newspapers in the world and watching him, in his disheveled uniform, pull her black lace panties off her and toss them to the floor. It was like fulfilling a naughty secretary and fireman stripper fantasy all in one. His mouth went back to hers, grinding hard and she bit into his lower lip to keep from crying out when he guided himself to her. Her thighs spread wider. He didn’t have to take this slow; she was ready. He went completely still when he slid in all the way, a look of relief coming into his face at the wet sensation of her surrounding him. She dug her fingers into his ribs. He was so overcome he’d forgotten what she said about hurrying.
“Davis . . .” He was one with her like he was supposed to be, but she wanted more, her nerve endings begged for more. He got the idea and sprang into motion, thrusting once and then again. Her head fell back, but it wasn’t good enough for him. His hands went to her shoulders and he eased her down flat on her back on the tabletop. Her heels instinctively balanced on the edge of the desk, and her mouth opened with a half-formed cry when that pulled him in deeper. He squeezed his eyes shut and surged forward, bracing his hands on the wood and leaning over her. That gave him the leverage he needed to throw himself into the strange urgency that had come over him today.
It wasn’t rough or too hard, just good. So good. His labored breathing stung her neck where she tipped her head back and he bent his head and mouthed at the tops of her breasts where her blouse dipped low. She dug her fingers into his back. Sometimes he was just so perfect. He thrust harder, not kissing or licking the sweat from her skin anymore, just staring down at her with wild dark eyes and very red lips. Her short hair spilled over the edge of the desk she’d thrown her head back so far. Her back arched. She was close, he was close, and she could care less whether anyone walked in now.
She lay there totally limp when she came back to her senses and when he finished spilling sticky inside her his arms could barely hold him up on the desk. But he managed to stand up straight when the shudders subsided, flushed and raggedly drawing in air. She grabbed onto his arms and let him pull her up with him a moment later. Her head fell on his shoulder and he was rubbing her back – sore from being pressed into the wood. They stayed like that for a minute just breathing together, until he picked her up again and took the few steps backward to her computer chair.
She settled in his lap when he sank down into it, smoothing the wrinkles in his shirt and tucking him back into his pants. She was fastening his belt when she said, “You know, as much as I appreciate this kind of welcome back present, I’m curious. What’s gotten into you today?”
He leaned his head against the back of her chair, drained and ready for a nap, but he ran a hand through her hair and smiled at her. “I don’t know. I guess seeing you happy here makes me feel like I’ve done something other than ruin your life for once.”
“Davis . . .” Her fingers walked in the gap of his uniform shirt, scratching lightly through the white undershirt beneath. He’d opened up a can of worms for himself with that story. She hoped he knew that. But he hadn’t ruined her life. He deserved to be saved and when you loved someone you didn’t give up on them.
He took the hint and didn’t sink into the usual gloom about the murders and the people he hurt, just stroked her bare knee with his free hand and went on. “And I delivered a baby today,” he said.
Chloe shook her head. “Well that’s got to be a job perk, looking up other women’s skirts.”
The corner of his mouth curved up and he looked away in a manner one could only call modest – not about the babies, but because there might have been a note of jealousy in her voice. “Come on, Chloe, the only skirt I’m interested in looking up is yours.”
Her heart melted a little. He was the only guy in the world who would say that and mean it.
But she looked at him suspiciously in the next moment, her hand pausing on his chest. “This isn’t one of those sudden interest in creating life after seeing how precious it is things, is it?”
The brief look of terror flashing across his face was so reassuringly normal and male that her hand went back to petting him through his shirt. “No, no,” he said, very seriously. “I’m not ready for that. It’s just . . . It was the first time since everything happened. It felt good to help bring life into the world instead of taking it away.”
So this was the mysterious mood? He was happy and had stopped hating himself long enough to go after what he wanted? The sad thing about it was delivering babies and helping her get her job back was just him being him. She could have told him that, but she didn’t yet. If he was happy, better to keep this going and keep him from thinking before reminders of less pleasant things let his darker moods catch up with him.
She put her foot on the ground and scooted the two of them closer to the desk, sliding her feet into her shoes and grabbing her flash drive. They definitely couldn’t keep this going here. They had two apartments, a car, a back alley behind the Planet building . . . She grinned and saved her Luthorcorp story.
She says it's not Shakespeare. Tell her differently! XD
careful now you don't belong
Reccing Notes: Another post-beast fic which I think beautifully and somewhat darkly captures Chloe and Davis's relationship on the run. What makes it more amazing is that she didn't watch Beast! O-0
by viennawaits at the vagina fest round two
(despite the title of the fest, no rating warning)
308 words, pg, beast
(If this isn't real then it is cruel. If it isn't real then she is alone and to blame for so much.)
In a motel room forty miles from Metropolis they make their first stop.
She pays for the room and keeps on smiling in case the clerk stops ignoring her, takes a moment to see who he's letting into his business; into his temporary homes.
He doesn't and her mouth aches.
•
It's you. It's you. It's you.
She has something close to faith when it comes to Davis and the promises he makes.
And even though she knows that this faith, this feeling may not be hers, Chloe gives herself over to it.
She can protect Clark and Davis. This doesn't have to be about choice.
•
They order pizza, extra cheese with green peppers, and Davis eats four slices before she can even get through her first.
"You're not hungry?" He is always concerned.
(If this isn't real then it is cruel. If it isn't real then she is alone and to blame for so much.)
"Not really." She smiles and her mouth still hurts, but he doesn't see that.
•
While watching some late night talk show, Davis presses close to her and she lets out a sigh, tries to catch some trace of him in the air and finds only cool dry air. Nothing.
"We should leave early." She moves her hand over his, pressing the tips of her fingers against his knuckles until his palms are flat against the bedspread.
(He feels real.)
"Just to make sure. We'll want to get further away before we," Davis is slow to kiss her until he is not.
He pulls her close and for awhile it is the most amazing thing. (Who could know what this is? Who could she ever share this with?) Her limbs feel stunned and almost she almost takes the next step (Except who could she ever share this with? She doesn't know) only to turn away.
"Davis." His frustration is a second presence in the room.
(The threat of a threat.)
"It's okay."
by viennawaits at the vagina fest round two
(despite the title of the fest, no rating warning)
308 words, pg, beast
(If this isn't real then it is cruel. If it isn't real then she is alone and to blame for so much.)
In a motel room forty miles from Metropolis they make their first stop.
She pays for the room and keeps on smiling in case the clerk stops ignoring her, takes a moment to see who he's letting into his business; into his temporary homes.
He doesn't and her mouth aches.
•
It's you. It's you. It's you.
She has something close to faith when it comes to Davis and the promises he makes.
And even though she knows that this faith, this feeling may not be hers, Chloe gives herself over to it.
She can protect Clark and Davis. This doesn't have to be about choice.
•
They order pizza, extra cheese with green peppers, and Davis eats four slices before she can even get through her first.
"You're not hungry?" He is always concerned.
(If this isn't real then it is cruel. If it isn't real then she is alone and to blame for so much.)
"Not really." She smiles and her mouth still hurts, but he doesn't see that.
•
While watching some late night talk show, Davis presses close to her and she lets out a sigh, tries to catch some trace of him in the air and finds only cool dry air. Nothing.
"We should leave early." She moves her hand over his, pressing the tips of her fingers against his knuckles until his palms are flat against the bedspread.
(He feels real.)
"Just to make sure. We'll want to get further away before we," Davis is slow to kiss her until he is not.
He pulls her close and for awhile it is the most amazing thing. (Who could know what this is? Who could she ever share this with?) Her limbs feel stunned and almost she almost takes the next step (Except who could she ever share this with? She doesn't know) only to turn away.
"Davis." His frustration is a second presence in the room.
(The threat of a threat.)
"It's okay."
Friday, September 11, 2009
with hands of gold and silver i still sin
Reccing Notes: Ever wonder why the wedding from hell went through, even with Chloe's strong feelings somewhere else? This drabble, written for my prebirthday by a very talented writer, may answer it.
250 words, pg, bride
by eklipsed at her livejournal
She felt she liked carrying him with her, inside her, in places that haven't been inhabited in a long time.
It started with memory loss and beautiful butterflies.
She couldn't help her bright smile.
It was easy because she didn’t have to lie about the answers to questions he never asked with his voice or eyes or suspicious movements.
She touched her fingers to her mouth, worn out by untruths and unfaithful feelings, they tingled with his ghostly lips as she tried to recall what he was to her.
It was something important, she knew.
It was a burden.
Like loving someone often is, he was her burden though he was lighter than Clark and even Jimmy, she felt she liked carrying him with her, inside her, in places that haven't been inhabited in a long time.
His broad chest grazing her shoulder and a light turning on, his hand grasping hers, his arms: nothing about him felt like a prison, or walls closing in, or a dead end.
With him she was safe. Her heart was safe and cared for and was his Northern Star; they complimented each other like that.
But she didn’t know him.
His eyes stared into hers with a plea she couldn’t possibly comprehend.
While parts were missing, huge chunks of time and friendship and important secrets, the very fact she couldn’t recall his face brought her breath in short gasps and her heart stuttered with panic.
Her gut felt hollow, and she didn’t quite understand why she was crying.
If she was getting married, if she was walking down the aisle, why wasn’t she walking towards the man she loved?
She couldn’t remember.
And yet, she did it anyway.
250 words, pg, bride
by eklipsed at her livejournal
She felt she liked carrying him with her, inside her, in places that haven't been inhabited in a long time.
It started with memory loss and beautiful butterflies.
She couldn't help her bright smile.
It was easy because she didn’t have to lie about the answers to questions he never asked with his voice or eyes or suspicious movements.
She touched her fingers to her mouth, worn out by untruths and unfaithful feelings, they tingled with his ghostly lips as she tried to recall what he was to her.
It was something important, she knew.
It was a burden.
Like loving someone often is, he was her burden though he was lighter than Clark and even Jimmy, she felt she liked carrying him with her, inside her, in places that haven't been inhabited in a long time.
His broad chest grazing her shoulder and a light turning on, his hand grasping hers, his arms: nothing about him felt like a prison, or walls closing in, or a dead end.
With him she was safe. Her heart was safe and cared for and was his Northern Star; they complimented each other like that.
But she didn’t know him.
His eyes stared into hers with a plea she couldn’t possibly comprehend.
While parts were missing, huge chunks of time and friendship and important secrets, the very fact she couldn’t recall his face brought her breath in short gasps and her heart stuttered with panic.
Her gut felt hollow, and she didn’t quite understand why she was crying.
If she was getting married, if she was walking down the aisle, why wasn’t she walking towards the man she loved?
She couldn’t remember.
And yet, she did it anyway.
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