this tornado loves you

Reccing Notes: So remember that time after Eternal where we were all going 'Chloe locked the door, omygod she locked the door?' Well, I was in horrible withdrawal so I wheedled my flist and the lovely simplytoopretty wrote this. She's (usually) a Chloe/Clark writer, and one of the best. Her Chlavis is among my favorites because she handles every facet of their relationship, including Chloe's insecurities and Clark's lingering effect on her.

Chloe's terrified of the implications the beast and Davis's apparent immortality will have for her best friend, but there's something between them, anyway. Just read between the lines, at all that remains unsaid as that line is crossed. It will break your heart. And you will come back for more.

by simplytoopretty at her livejournal
771 words, r, eternal

Instead she finds herself nodding her head, muttering, “Yes,” unable to resist what she feels. A part of her is horrified at what she’s doing, but the larger part is rejoicing in her decision. Chloe descends the stairs slowly, an almost creep. Her feet against the cement stairs are nearly soundless. Her left hand grips the wooden railing as she climbs down the stairs, darkness surrounding her. The light is bad and the shadows litter every corner.

At the bottom of the stairs she pauses. To call out or to wait for him to notice her arrival: her mind is unsettled. A part of her would like to return up the stairs and pretend she was never down here.

The choice is taken away from her.

“You’re back,” Davis says as he comes forward, out of the dark gloom. His clothing consists of dark gray sweatpants and a dark green shirt. In contrast, his skin is white, almost the color of chalk.

There are lights in the basement, but only one is functional. It’s the one directly above where she stands, at the base of the stairs. Pale yellow light that barely penetrates the dimness.

“You’re back,” he repeats, relief evident in his voice. Guilt sweeps over her: a part of her had desperately wanted to run away once she got down here. He needs her and a part of her just wants to run.

She shouldn’t be here, yet she is. There’s a pull between them, she can’t deny it, and it frightens her. There’s been nothing like this in her life before.

Davis moves, closing the distance between them. A slice of air between their bodies. She tilts her head slightly to see his eyes, those dark pools that entrance and terrify her at the same time. His hand falls upon her cheek, a gentle caress, nothing monstrous about it. His palm is warm and she wants to lean into his touch.

Yet she shouldn’t. He is, after all, a killer. A part of her screams that killing is his nature; she’s torn between sympathy and revulsion. The sympathy side is winning out, the side that sees his nature as a battle he has lost in the past but one he may be able to win in the future.

It seems to depend on her. This knowledge weighs on her, a burden she can’t simply shrug off.

“I missed you,” Davis says. His thumb is brushing her cheek.

“Davis…”

“I need you.”

Chloe closes her eyes. It’s heady to hear these words, this admission. His fingers are beneath her chin, lifting her head just a bit, and then his lips are landing on hers. A light, soft pressure: tentative exploration.

He pulls back, his hands threaded through her hair now. He looks at her eyes, assessing it seems, and then says, “I want all of you.”

Her throat is dry and she swallows quickly. “I…what do you mean?”

“I want to know all of you.”

The answer she should give is a firm no. Instead she finds herself nodding her head, muttering, “Yes,” unable to resist what she feels. A part of her is horrified at what she’s doing, but the larger part is rejoicing in her decision.

His lips are on hers again and she can barely think; there’s a pounding in her head and it dominates everything. Fingers fumble with clothing, removing as much as nothing. His sweatpants, her jeans, their shoes. The items of clothing abandoned on the cold basement floor for now.

There’s a couch, in the corner, in the darkness. Davis presses her against the wall, her cotton shirt and jacket a barrier between the cement and her fragile skin.

“Here?” he says.

The light from the lamp just reaches them where they are. Darkness permeated.

“Here,” Chloe says. Here is with her back against the hard wall. Here is where things are real and gritty and everything that she needs.

He pushes into, their bodies joining intimately. Her fingers clutch at his cotton-covered shoulders as he thrusts in and out of her willing body. Their eyes are locked, their gaze never breaking. His eyes are dark and she gets lost in them. She can’t think.

When he comes, he says, “I love you.”

She bites her lip, unable to return the words as her orgasm washes over her. Pleasure spreads and there was already the pounding in her head and yet she still bites her lip to keep quiet. Despite what she feels, that tug between them, she can’t hand over that last element.

His eyes register his disappointment as they disentangle their bodies.

On her lips are the words I’m sorry.

But Chloe doesn’t say those words.