Post-Doomsday split. Separation from the Beast has broken Davis, but Chloe still has him, sometimes. Warning: Rated M for sexuality
There's an intrusive weight on her, warm silk pooling and dipping between her legs. Chloe can't see Davis but she can feel him. The bed dips and his fingers smooth at her forehead. He never goes one night without doing that.
He hears her heartbeat change, but she lets her breaths take on a sleeping rhythm. He's watching her. She shifts over his hand, effectively trapping it under her stomach and rubbing against it. "I like being in your spot." she mumbles.
"I don't mind." He says. Davis yelps a little when she tugs at him, rolling onto his stomach. It's for her benefit; he could pick her up with one arm, but she's grateful nevertheless.
"Are you going to make good on that?" she whispers. He rolls them back over, like a fused piece, taking this dare or challenge like everything else. Chloe can almost picture the flare of frightening knowledge in his eyes. Her life has been made of patterns for so long; there are nearly none Davis hasn't broken.
His mouth closes, lazy and wet over hers and it's minutes before she parts her lips from the caress. She turns her head away and twists. It takes Davis a moment to understand what she wants. He eases his hands under her shoulders and hips and holds her steady, her back to his chest, fingers tucked back around his thumb. He's on his back between her and the bed, this time. All she has to do is press down, fuck, find some leverage in the air somewhere, and grapple and grab and grasp until neither of them can move. Davis presses a reassuring kiss to her nape, she leans in and begins to slide sideways. This may be difficult, she thinks.
Chloe digs her knees into the mattress, rubbing down on him. "Chloe—" His protest swells into an impatient murmur.
Thankfully, she's not alone in trying to figure it out. The nightgown covers them like the cover of a circus tent. He tugs the silk up and his palm creeps up her back. His eyes aren't red but it wouldn't matter if they were.
There's the heat of his cock against her ass before she pushes down. He's through and in, warming and trembling inside her. So deep she can't help rocking the motion a little, bouncing in a desperate energetic need to prove it. His hands twist and clasp just under her breasts, urging in small snagging thrusts. Chloe inhales a fine sheen of cold sweat, blinking up at the black canvass of the ceiling as they struggle and push, slipping in a tangle of hot limbs. She misses the sight of his face twisting in pressure-tense relief. They need to see each other. They just do.
Chloe reaches out a sweat-slick hand towards the lamp, a light to see by, tightening in a spasmodic quiver. He's really pushing now, a hard jerky flow of pressure low inside her. Chloe reaches a hand back to graze his hip, digs and wriggles around, feels his head sweep completely inside her, pressing and pinching every nerve. Davis mouths her neck, the edges of his teeth digging in. The energy is just under the surface, ready to explode out in a shower of burning sparks. Everything goes to chaos. It must.
"Yes." She manages, dragging distracted fingernails over the side of his neck. "Do—Perfect—don't be— sweet."
Davis sucks the tingling through her skin and the imprints of his teeth burn bloody. The temperature and the stretch and the sharp feeling inside will kill her. "Oh god—oh—Davis…"
She slams herself back against him, a slight pop in her eardrums, bleeding and gasping and dripping wet, convulsing heat. He burrows in, pushing past the limit, relentlessly fast as she froths and twists and starts to come on top of him.
She can see nothing but flecks of light whizzing through an ocean of black. Chloe twitches, heavy undulations moving through her on instinct. The murmur in his throat warms into a cracking catch. It's in the details, the roughening pitches of his voice to be catalogued for another day. Sometimes Chloe doubts it's the reporting instincts at all.
Davis bucks and nearly throws her off him. Her pussy itches and protests the rough treatment. He's almost there too. The lancing heat through her center nearly paralyzes her. She turns to look at his face, winces for light and sees only perfect blackness. It's frightening, like the coffin she was locked in once, underground. She needs to see Davis… 'I need to turn on the light.' She wants to say; she trembles her wrists with an impatient moue.
"Shh—I'm sorry—I'm sorry—can't let you go."
His arms are like iron; his breath as humid as tears. Heavy hands come around her, needy, soft, clasping her back to his front. His fingers rub over her fists and loosen them up. Gravity clasps him back inside her again. Davis rolls them around, soft inside her, but he doesn't pull out. It suddenly feels as if he weighs a ton. As if he's here with her, extra real…
"I love you- don't forget." Davis trails soothing fingertips against her skull, presses soft whispery lips to her scalp, again and again, as if he's scared she'll fade away. "I'll keep you safe. You'll see me in the morning."
Her eyelids droop shut of their own volition. She always wanted him to stay. Drifting in a soft, satiated place, Chloe nuzzles her back against the wall. The air rustles outside the open window.
Chloe wakes up in damp sheets, her fingers clasped over her stomach, as if holding hands around her. The chill of the empty bed aches through her bones. She steps into the shower, huddles against the wall as water falls in a freezing spray on her skin. Davis had been made to die and destroy and kill. It never stopped him from dreaming. Now she dreams for him.
The reflection of her face on the shower tile looks unreal and pebbled with wet. She wants to go back. Before the cure, before Davis got hooked to all those machines and wouldn't wake up. Her reflection reaches to her neck, aching. There's a purplish, unmistakable mark on her flesh.
Chloe finally gets out of the apartment today. She runs up the stairs at Isis, breaching the security and the sacred silence of the place. Emil is taking some call from Oliver, but his eyes double take at her, hair askew, here. It's an understandable shock. Her feelings for Davis Bloome had been forceful and desperate; camouflaged in murky motivations and lies. When the one cure she hoped for turned him into a husk, she had isolated herself from her former life.
She flinches when she sees his face, the wires that go in and come out of his skin. Kryptonians have super-strength and burning vision and they can't always heal from death. Davis is on the edge of the cot, curled around three-quarters of the space. She'd never considered telekinesis among those powers.
Chloe crawls into the empty space, presses her mouth over his eyelid, slowly. "I loved you so much. " She turns toward the barely breathing body, face sheet-white and mouth a serious line. "You need to come back." She whispers; her eyes close themselves, trying.
"He's in there." She tells the doctor. There are fissures under her skin, barely visible places where she's about to fall apart.
Emil shakes the impulse to turn away. The sight is terrible. Davis hasn't so much as made a sound for weeks on end, but they'd only kept him like this in the vain hope he'd wake up on his own.
"We haven't started him on the drugs yet. It's an infinitesimally small chance that they will provoke a response; I can't conclude anything."
"You won't need them." Even with her eyes closed, she seems convinced. "Emil, if he's dreaming, he can wake up." Chloe rocks on the bed, kisses at the slack unresponsive face. Davis's hand hits the side rail with a thump. It's the morning now. It's the morning. Focus on me.
Emil shakes his head and settles back to researching intergalactic crime; it's best to give her time to resolve the feelings that are tormenting her. His assignment does not include an instruction manual on the safe handling of comatose patients.
The machine emits a startling screech in the still of the morning.