Title: Ruby Truth (WIP)
Spoilers: Red
Rating: R (for now)
Notes: A what if... Please note:
fic is a bit raw (style and subjectwise).
Feedback: Greatly appreciated.
One chance. No more.
Jonathan knew if he couldn't convince Clark to give up the ring, he'd have to take it.
Welcome to the family.
The information was near cold, and, after a quick survey of alternatives, it was all Pete and Jonathan could come up with - courtesy of Lionel Luthor, no less. Lionel mentioned Jessie, and frankly, he and the boy had no other leads.
The path of least resistance is the road most worth traveling.
God bless small town life. The new residents were instantly traceable. Jonathan went over the details of the plan once more. "Pete, I need to know you understand." The farmer's voice didn't waver. It sounded huskier somehow, burdened by the incontestable gravity of the situation. "There won't be any redos on this one." Jonathan's voice unexpectedly went hushed and gravel-like. "You cannot hesitate."
Jonathan had more than a decade to prepare for this eventuality. He knew he was taking a chance when he snatched the spaceship out of the field and brought an alien child home. He would have to be an idiot to think that being Clark's caregiver was no more complicated than adopting a stray dog. Thus far, he and Martha had managed. Now, they at least had help.
Oh, the last few weeks had been interesting. Pete clenched his jaw and swallowed hard. He'd barely found out that Clark wasn't human. Say it, Pete, your best bud's fuckin' ET. He'd already been kidnapped once and watched Clark slide into meteor rock psychosis. Oh, the last few weeks had been interesting indeed.
Pete nodded dutifully, convinced as were Jonathan and Martha, that sweet, doofy Clark was still in there somewhere. Behind the grinning that took on new, spine chilling meaning, behind the soulless eyes.
If there were any way to get him back, this would be it. Jonathan pulled the truck around back of the house. Immediately, en route, he saw the terrified girl rabbit from the front of the house.
Jonathan motioned to Pete. Pete disappeared into the tall stalks. Jonathan steadied himself. "God doesn't give you any more than you can handle." He reached for the sledgehammer.
Finding Jessie hadn't been difficult for him at all. The biggest challenge of Clark's life had been keeping what looked more and more like a ridiculous secret. He was who and what he was. Why shouldn't he shout it from rooftops? Oh right. Someone might take him away.
The left side of Clark's mouth quirked. Or die trying. Here he was, indestructible (if you discounted the meteor allergy), powerful almost beyond comprehension, fast, with nifty little pluses like a brain that worked like a computer, heat and x-ray vision...
Yep, let 'em try.
Poor Jessie. Poor, poor Jessie. He didn't even feel it when she ran straight into him while running heh away from him. She landed hard enough on the dirt to make him wonder if she hurt that fyine ass of hers.
"Please," she implored, "Don't do this."
It was purely involuntary. His tongue slipped out from behind teeth, moistening his bottom lip. Clark shot a "Damn, girl, wtf are you thinking" glance the hottie's way. He scooped up dropped handbag, shaking the dirt from it. He looked to Jessie again. She'd been fun, he'd been out all night for a reason, but she was really beginning to annoy him.
With characteristic ease, Clark tore through the leather. He squatted to make himself abundantly clear. "I never realized how easy it'd be to get everything I ever wanted." Even as he waved the disks, Clark wondered if he wasn't aiming too low.
"Clark!" Pete's voice boomed from the corn, shattering Clark's reverie. He spun to greet his friend, shoving the disks back into Jessie's bag.
"Pete?" Surprise rose from his voice before he could stop it. By the time he swiveled to faced Pete, Clark had recovered. He donned a "You have GOT to be kidding me expression." "What'd it take – the whole study group to find me?" Clark's lips shifted, reshaping themselves into a malevolent smile that was simultaneously oddly familiar and singularly frightening.
Pete's eyes narrowed and hardened. "No. Lionel Luthor heard you mention Jessie." Pete shifted his focus to the girl sitting on the dirt in the middle of a cornfield. "Jessie, RUN!" He waved his arms to visually indicate the urgency.
Jessie didn't run. She hauled ass, disappearing into the tall green stalks.
"How far's she gonna get, Pete? A mile or two?" Clark closed the distance between the two of them, using his size on his friend for the first time since he'd had the growth spurt to intimidate. "You know no one can get away from me." Pete swallowed. Clark stood inches away from the smaller teen, and leaned in, his eyes searching cold and focused as he looked for any sign of weakness and a reason to strike.
Pete thought "arrogant much?" and, had circumstances not been so dire, he might have actually said it. Right now though, it was all he could do to not piss his pants. He'd never seen Clark like this. Not even when he'd accused him of stealing the spaceship. Sociopathic. Evil.
Only one way to stop the unstoppable.
"Clark!" Jonathan's voice split the air. Clark turned. Shit, not him too. "I'm not gonna let you hurt anybody else."
"Still trying to tell me what to do." His back to Pete, Clark advanced toward his father.
As he neared Jonathan Kent, he saw it.
Smelled it.
Fear.
The aroma was absolutely unmistakable. Clark found visual confirmation in Jonathan's eyes. He asked tauntingly, "Are you scared?" as his father shifted, the sledgehammer held high.
Jonathan put on his "football face."
"Then again," Clark continued, enjoying the strange turn of events, "you and Mom were always afraid of me."
"We've had nothing but love for you," Jonathan stated defiantly, even as he felt his knees about to give out. "That makes what I'm about to do all the more difficult."
Now what was the ol' man up to?
"Pete!" Jonathan gave a curt nod of his head. "Do it."
Clark turned, confused. He instantly arrived at the only logical conclusion.
Clark hadn't thought them bold enough to try it, but either Pete or his father had come armed with the weapon of choice – green meteor rock.
Goddamn Hamilton.
Clark didn't want to run. He thought to, for a millisecond. As Pete reached to open the box, Clark snatched it, simultaneously shutting it as he yanked it away before Pete could react.
Pete had never stood so close to someone who looked like he was about to kill him. Hamilton at least had the jittery insane thing. Clark had Armani, silk and composure.
Suddenly, Pete was very afraid. He'd expected much worse than the tossing he got. Christ, he thought Hamilton had sailed, but by the time he hit the ground, he knew Clark was saving more for later and just wanted his ass out of the way.
Pete landed on his tailbone. Pain spiked up his vertebrae, knocking the wind out of him.
He hoped Jonathan fared better.
Clark looked disbelieving at the sledgehammer, and Jonathan instantly recognized his plan – and the tool's presumed effectiveness - were gone.
Jonathan tossed the sledgehammer aside.
Clark tilted his head playfully. "Not gonna put up a fight?"
"Clark, we both know it'd be a little one-sided."
Clark conjured up the sincere sarcastic tone he'd delivered so flawlessly when told about the effects of the ring. "Really? C'mon, Dad, be a man. At least, spout a platitude. Those've been sadly lacking in the last day or two."
"You know the difference between right and wrong."
"Allow me to play Ebert here." Clark leaned in and whispered. "Not your best work."
Clark took a step, and stood directly in front of his adoptive father. He stared into Jonathan's eyes and saw not fear, but determination – and love.
It sickened him.
"Yes, the difference between 'right' and 'wrong' is one pays, one doesn't." Clark pouted. "Why didn't you tell me? But maybe we can get past this. A hug – does wonders doesn't it?"
Clark wrapped his arms around the man who'd raised him for 13 of his 16 years. He thought he might feel something as Jonathan's flesh compressed, collapsing into bone.
Pete angled himself near upright. He was still sitting, wondering how long it would take for the throbbing to stop. He thought he caught a glimpse of Clark and Jonathan embracing and considered maybe he and Mr. Kent had underestimated Clark's will power.
Maybe he finally listened to reason and just gave up the ring. Pete happily indulged the fantasy until it was rendered utterly improbable.
Pete watched the former Smallville High football star crumple.
Goddamn, stakes is high. Stakes is HIGH. Pete ran, hoping, praying that Cark wouldn't come after him.
Because, if he did, if Clark decided to give chase, Pete knew he would be dead.
Clark's initial impulse was to scare the man who knew him better than anyone one. He took delight in watching Jonathan's stoic face, knowing the truth lay not in gently weathered skin or the twisting of features, but in his eyes. To the uninitiated, it would appear that Jonathan was heroically holding his ground.
Clark wasn't the uninitiated. He knew all to well how to read the signs, no matter how veiled.
Clark watched fear dance behind the apparent blankness of Jonathan Kent's blue gaze. He felt Jonathan's heartbeat increase as he reached out.
Pain was what Clark initially planned. As he squeezed, the "hug" went from twisted reference to the obligatory to life threatening. "Thanks, Dad," Clark whispered. He considered, hesitating only briefly. The man trapped within his arms knew all his secrets; therefore, the man was liability and obstacle.
Obstacles were meant to be overcome, removed whatever the cost.
This was the thought that went through his mind as he squeezed the life from the farmer, the man who had been his father and raised a stranger from a strange land as though he were his own flesh and blood.
Clark would deal with Martha Kent and Pete later. In the meantime, he had strategies to form. The million dollars looked good, but Clark decided there was so much more for the taking.
Of course, he'd need help. The meteor rock allergy was a liability.
Girls were good for certain things. Sex being one of them. the night with Jessie proved that beyond any shadow of a doubt. He just needed to find the right girl. Someone who'd gladly walk through hell if he asked.
Clark figured after a night with him, he'd have no worries about loyalty, willingness. He hadn't gotten Jessie to pledge herself to him. The strong-arm tactics would have their place. Just not here, not now. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice.
Clark strolled over to Jonathan's truck. He smashed the front grill with his fist, jack-hammering his way through the engine block.
Then he flipped the truck -- just in case. Pete was still out there somewhere, but if he were smart, he'd keep his distance. If not...
Clark tilted his head thoughtfully.
Next stop, The Beanery.
Clark was hardly seen at this coffee house these days, and since most Crows hung out at the Talon, he was unlikely to cross paths with anyone to whom he'd have to explain himself. He might also find someone...interesting... A playmate who could be Bonnie to his...(snicker) Clyde.
Clark walked through the door, alert to the possibilities. He picked a booth, ordered a coffee, and caught the eye of a delicious piece of womanness. Jet black hair, azure eyes and lips that begged "Taste Me."
"I think we have a winner," Clark spoke aloud.
Pete stopped running long enough to consider the truck. He oriented himself and headed for the vehicle.
The sight of mangled steel and tormented rubber made him feel like he'd slammed into a brick wall at 90 mph. "Fuck. Holy. Fuck..." The truck lay, a pretzeled, battered hulk. "Jesus." Pete put a hand to his mouth, soaking in the enormity of the damage.
Clark had become Eric Summers – PLUS. Eric had an excuse. All Clark had was an apparent lack of impulse control due to an alien allergy.
And more power than should be anyone's.
Pete never wished he had a cell phone until now. His legs wobbled, he saw the landscape before him sift out of focus before it went from dim to dark.
Pete collapsed, his mind hoping against hope when he picked himself up from the gravel that was imprinting his face that what he'd experienced was no more than a horrific nightmare, rendered painfully vivid by way too much pizza at lunch.
Of course, the throbbing in his ass told him otherwise.
Clark caught the eye of the woman. She was standing, hip cocked against the counter, looking despite full coverage of all things, like sex on a stick. She leaned forward a bit, turning her back toward Clark, giving him an eyeful.
Clark wet his bottom lip with his tongue and allowed it to linger there as he bit down. Da-yum, that ass was...hella fyine. Clark chuckled. Clark Kent, ass man. Who knew?
Ok, it was time to quit fucking around. The girl walked toward his table, eyes fixed on a chair beyond him. Clark figured a cute meet was in the offing, courtesy a heat vision assist. He just had to time it right.
Clark summoned a very brief, very focused spurt. The linoleum in front of the girl buckled slightly as it heated and cooled, making the floor surface uneven. By the time she stumbled, Clark had positioned himself precisely. Oh sure, he could've keep them both from falling. But where was the fun in that?
Clark grabbed the girl as she tumbled, twisting to make sure he landed on the floor and she landed on him. He made the requisite Ooooomph sound and waited.
"Omigod. Shit. Are you... Sorrysorrysorrysorrysorry."
Clark gnawed back a smile. Hook.
The girl levered herself up. Her face was crimson. She extended a hand. Clark accepted as he pushed himself up from the floor.
"The judges'll probably award you a '10' for that tumble." All teeth. Predator, masked by remnants of farm boy charm.
The woman adjusted Clark's clothing sheepishly. "Are you all right?"
"I was gonna ask you."
"I landed on you."
"Oh yeah." Clark touched the back of his head, feigning injury. "Ow... I think I might've --
"Lemme see." Hand to head, Clark swiveled, leaning to afford the girl a better view. The girl inspected the area. She pushed back dark tufts of nearly curling hair. "Looks ok."
Clark shifted, turning back to face the girl. Their eyes locked, and Clark saw his opening.
Slowly, Clark angled his head, moving close enough to feel the girl's breath on his face.
She didn't need to be told. Line...
Or asked.
Quite refreshing actually. She brushed her lips against his, slicking them with gloss.
Then she pressed forward.
Clark kissed her lightly at first, inviting her to return the gesture.
She reciprocated. Sinker.
Clark gathered the woman into his arms and held her tightly. His tongue moved inhumanly.
"Sweet jebus," she sputtered, gasping for air and stifling a moan. "Where'd you learn to do that?"
Clark shrugged. "It's just the way I'm built." He brushed his hand along her arm delicately. "I don't even know your name."
"Gwen."
"Clark." He was on top of her again. This time, a small moan escaped.
"I've already creamed my thong, and if you keep doing that, there's a very good chance I'm gonna come right here."
"And this would be a problem why?"
"You don't look like an exhibitionist?"
"Appearances can be deceiving."
"I prefer someplace a little less... public." Gwen took Clark's hand. "At least, the first time."
To the casual observer, it looked like a cartoon, Gwen dragging Clark from The Beanery. She tossed him her keys.
Lana appeared in the window of the Talon in time to see Clark driving off in...a strange woman's car. With a strange woman.
She turned away from the window, juggling the empty au lait glasses as she pivoted on her heels. What the fuck was up with Clark Kent?
Pete was struggling. He managed to get to Route 90. He walked, hoping to hitch a ride.
Not a single taker until Chloe's vehicle rumbled into sight. Pete would've laughed if the pain hadn't been so blinding. Yo, Chlo, Midasize that shit.
"Pete?" she muttered. Chloe brought the car to a stop. "What the hell? Are you-- Why're --" Chloe finally managed a complete sentence. "Do you need a ride?"
"Yeah." Pete shifted, attempting feebly to dull the ache. "I need to get to Creekside Foundry. Or better yet..." Pete felt like his ass was on fire. Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuuck... "Church near Hobson's pond..."
"Uh, why?"
"Chloe," Pete paused, selecting his words very carefully. "Something's happening. I cannot spill details right now, but I need your help. Will you help me?"
"Gee Pete..." How could he even ask? "You know I got your back."
"Music to my ears." Pete tried to get comfortable. It wasn't possible. And the car wasn't even moving yet. "We need to grab as many meteor rocks as we can."
"Meteor rocks?" Chloe's reporter mode had engaged. Her eyes were bright, expectant. This is Chloe Sullivan's brain. This is Chloe Sullivan's brain on "story." Pete pictured a house with many rooms and many doors. Interviews, actions, suspicions, all swung wide. Friendship door slightly ajar, not closed completely, so somewhere in there... Maybe a little guilt… A little…
The pain was fucking with his head.
"Chloe," Pete bit his tongue, centered himself. He inhaled and exhaled, blinking back angry tears. She needed to give it a rest. For real. "Not now. Just... help me."
The girl tugged the key from the lock. The stained glass paneled door swung wide, opening into rust walled foyer.
Clark stepped through into the entryway quietly, moving n tandem with the girl as though he were her shadow. He walked slightly beyond her, taking in a vista of elegant comfort.
"Your place?"
"Parents'"
Clark slipped a long arm around a tiny waist and drew her into the living room. "What time'll they be home?"
"Two weeks."
"Really..."
"They're on vacation."
Clark pulled Gwen into him, brushed his lips teasingly about her face. "Should we even be here?" he asked facetiously, now planting gentle kisses, "Doing this..."
"Actually," Gwen pulled away. "I should be studying... Academic probation. Metropolis University. First semester... Welcome to the city..."
"Studying?" Clark had picked a spot on Gwen's neck before she noticed he'd moved. He touched it gingerly, sweeping dark hair back. "Anatomy?" Clark planted a baby kiss on her neck that sent a shudder through her. He continued up her neck, stopping momentarily to suck on her earlobe. "We could try for some extra credit."
Clark's tongue flicked inside her ear. Christ, how was he doing that? This time, a husky exhalation of satisfaction.
Clark slipped his hand under her shirt, unhooked her bra effortlessly. He dug his fingers into the fabric of the shirt, sheering it apart.
Gwen's blouse fell to the floor.
Clark stepped back to admire his handiwork - and the breasts in front of him. Um, perky.
He liked perky.
Especially where mammaries were concerned.
Gwen pouted. "No fair."
"What?" Clark drew her into him with a graceful sweep of his arm.
"Your shirt. Equal opportunity."
"I'm shy."
She rolled her eyes. "My ass."
Clark twisted in order to reinspect the ass in question. "Likin' it." He smiled, looking straight into her eyes, flashing a shark grin.
"Take it off." Gwen's tone was playfully demanding.
"If you insist." She didn't leave the room, she didn't blink, but somehow, the tall man in front of her was standing stark naked. Displaying body aplenty.
All over.
Excited body aplenty.
"How'd..."
Clark silenced her with a feverish kiss. He slipped a hand under her skirt, peeling away the thong.
"Gwen paused momentarily. "Can you hand me that?" She pointed, indicating the small, funky handbag she'd been carrying earlier. Clark obliged and watched as she withdrew small silver square.
"You're not allergic to Nonoxynol --"
Clark grinned. "No."
Gwen opened the condom packet easily.
"You've done this before," mentioned Clark casually.
Gwen touched Clark's erection. "Once or twice." With butterfly delicacy, she unfurled the latex sheath over his penis. "Now, where were we?"
With Clark's able assistance, Gwen wrapped her legs about him. "You never answered - " The query disappeared into second, deep, wet, energized lip-tongue volley.
Instantly, Gwen decided to make herself content, shut up and take what was clearly shaping up to be the ride of her life.
Chloe stopped the car, but Pete was through the door before she'd put the vehicle in "park." She swore she saw him wince - and was he walking funny? "Pete?"
Pete whirled.
"That 'help' thing. You want some? Or was this just a transport issue?"
Help. "Right." Just that quickly, from the time it took him to get out of the car and walk three paces, Pete had forgotten he couldn't do this alone. Well, he did have a thing or two on his mind. Crazed space alien kills adoptive father. Film at eleven.
Pete winced again. Adrenaline must've been keeping him upright, but the pain was starting to wear on him. He walked back to the car. "What've you got in the trunk?"
Chloe climbed from the vehicle, circling the Falcon. She opened the trunk, revealing well stocked emergency supplies. "Anticipating the apocolypse?" Pete smiled in spite of the throbbing.
"It's Smallville," Chloe said flatly. "You never know."
Pete quirked an eyebrow. He spotted a large duffle bag, grabbed it and headed for the crypt.
"Meteor rocks?"
"Meteor rocks."
"You know they cause mutations."
"Under the right conditions."
"Or prolonged exposure."
Pete spun back to face Intrepid Reporter Sullivan. Shit, he hurt like HELL, his best friend was in more trouble than he knew how to handle and he still fucking felt bound to protect him. He could've been more diplomatic, given time and some painkillers, but he didn't have either. He spoke quickly, his tone reflecting the bitter harshness of the reality he was living. "I DON'T need a lecture right now on the dangers of meteor rock."
Chloe recoiled. Had she ever seen Pete like this? Ok, once, under the influence of the Nicodemus flower. But here, now, no pollen, no spewing of anti-Lexisms. Something else was going on. "Sorry. Really. So not my intent." She smiled cherubically. "Help?"
Some of the tension left Pete's body hearing the gentleness of Chloe's offer of assistance. "Please."
Pete stepped down into the bowels of the old church. Chloe followed, observing quietly. Pete grabbed as many of the rocks as quickly as he could. he groaned under the weight of the dufflebag. Chloe extended a hand to assist. Pete smiled, grateful, for the first time in hours.
"Chloe, you wouldn't happen to have your cell phone."
"Always."
"Can I - "
"Sure." Chloe reached into her messenger bag, retrieving the phone as they climbed the stairs.
Pete placed the bag on the dirt and left Chloe standing alone. He dialed the Kent house.
The phone rang, unanswered. "C'mon. C'mon..." Pete shot a glance back to Chloe who regarded him curiously. He pivoted, spoke tersely to the machine. "Mrs. Kent, it's Pete Ross. I'll be there in about 15 minutes. If - " Pete's voice broke. What if he was already too late?
He disconnected the call.
Pete walked back to Chloe, snatched the bag up, and shoved the phone at her as he walked to the car's trunk.
Chloe didn't mean to pry, but there were some things that were just reflexive.
She hit redial. Clark's number came up on her caller id.
Hmmmmm. Pete was weirdly pissy. Clark was MIA. What the fuck was going on? And what'd it have to do with the perennial mystery that was Clark Kent?
Gwen lay on her back on her parents' king sized bed. Clark wouldn't permit her to remove the comforter, so here she was, shirtless, skirt askew, prone on goose down. She heard fabric tear and realized as her flesh was revealed, Clark had has his swift way with the skirt too.
Gwen looked up at her large visitor. The living room had proven fun, but she had no idea how she'd explain the damage where Clark had reached for purchase.
Maybe her parents wouldn't notice.
Right.
He'd crumbled a handful of the stone edging around the fireplace. She wanted to say "old stone" by way of excuse and explanation, but she knew better: she'd brought home someone with enough hand strength to reduce rock to dust.
And now, she was in bed with him.
Gwen looked up into the green eyes appealed so instantly at the Beanery. She drank in the olive skin, the body that moved with animal grace. As Clark leaned over her, there was a glitch of clarity. What the fuck was she doing? She liked her men short. She liked short men...
The clarity faded unexplainably...shit...shit...shit...he was... OMG...
Clark gathered both Gwen's easily wrists in one hand. He stretched her arms over her head. He drew his tongue down her neck and continued downward, pausing to circle her nipples. He lingered, sucking left, right, left sweetly, then continued downward. He used his free hand to finger circles around her navel, stopping momentarily to feather touch a piercing.
Clark was tall enough to hold onto Gwen's hands as his head bobbed lower. The pink of his tongue flicked out, touching the small mound and taunted her violently with alternating speed and pressure.
Gwen arched involuntarily. The rhythm of her breathing became steady panting as Clark licked and fingered, holding still holding her to the bed.
She could feel it welling up inside, begging for release. And whenever she got near enough, Clark would stop. "Please." The word fled lips before she could prevent it.
With a world of patience, Clark studied her. He hesitated, then, surprisingly, obliged.
What followed was part scream, part moan, part song.
Clark drew back and whistled quietly.