Notes: Um, still dark and wicked. Special thanks to those who left feedback (sigh, no NC17, but will a hard "R" suffice?), and if anyone else is reading, don't be shy. Let me know.
Ruby Truth - Valentine Michel Smith
The Ford drifted to a stop on the gravel-dirt surface of the Kent's driveway. "Pete," Chloe began, the intention to prod. She knew less than nothing about what was going on. Correction: she knew Pete knew; she knew Clark was involved.
Chloe tilted her head slightly and caught Pete's reflection in the rear view mirror. He seemed distracted, distant, and...afraid. She couldn't be sure about the last assessment. The emotion didn't remain long enough for her to gauge it fully. It absented itself, replaced by determination.
"Yeah," said Pete.
"Never mind," Chloe responded. There were other ways to get the information she was seeking.
Pete nodded appreciatively. It wasn't like Chloe to give up so easily. Maybe her weirdar had a compassion switch after all.
Or she just got the urgency.
Pete climbed from the car, the duffle bag in tow, and ambled up the driveway. He turned in time to see the Falcon spit dust and disappear down the highway.
Pete visibly relaxed. His plan (uh, what plan?) was at best a make-do. He hoped it at least bought them some time. And Chloe would be ok he hoped for the moment. As long as she stayed away.
Pete dragged the duffle bag toward the house. Bullet dodged, he thought.
What Pete didn't know was that Chloe hadn't given up. She had instead pointed herself in the direction of the Talon, suspecting Lana might perhaps be able to shed some light on today's CK weirdness.
Gwen was getting a piggy-back ride. The silk robe eased open, exposing flesh to the naked man to whom she clung. She savored the tightness of his body, the sheer power of it as supple flesh buffed muscle.
Clark stopped at the liquor cabinet, pausing to remove a decanter of scotch. Juggling both, he bounced Gwen a couple of times and pretended to lose his grip. Gwen swore he dropped her, but before she could consider the rush of air and the flash of surroundings, she was on Clark's back once more, bobbing into the kitchen.
Clinging to Clark, Gwen felt wildly giddy, like a seven-year old riding the highest arc of a playground swing, swimming in an unfathomable high from the sex and the presence of the boy/man... My fucking God, where'd he learn to do those things anyhow?
"Are you hungry?" Clark asked, depositing Gwen on a high-backed stool.
"Not really." Gwen shrugged. "Not much of a cook."
Clark nodded. "I'm not the world's greatest, but I can make a few things."
The hand poised to indicate glass location was withdrawn soundlessly as Clark pulled the handle of the cabinet as though he knew where things were stored. He continued to do this, removing a plate and flatware as Gwen watched. She grew up in Smallville. She knew strange things happened. But this was off the charts.
Clark poured scotch into a highball glass, stopping just short of the rim. "Want some?" he offered, reaching for a second glass. Gwen declined, shifting in the seat as Clark emptied the glass. He refilled it, catching Gwen's concern from the corner of his eye. "Don't worry. I could drink the whole bottle - nuthin'. "
Gwen watched intently for some sign that the alcohol took hold. He'd downed a helluva lot of scotch.
Nothing.
Just like he'd said.
"So, why drink it?"
Clark paused, then smiled deviously. "Because I can."
Clark opened the refrigerator. "What're you in the mood for?" He removed bacon and eggs and a beef roast.
Lex exited Jessie's house from the rear. He'd seen a lot of things in Metropolis – and, curiously, in some ways more while in Smallville. Even so, he hadn't exactly been prepared for the odd vista before him: pummeled solid oak furniture, smashed television… Not to mention the Kent truck. The battered vehicle recalled his own accident with painful clarity. Except here, the damage looked intentional.
Lex spotted footprints and followed them into the cornfield. There, he discovered property had not been the only casualty of what was beginning to look like a tantrum.
Lex flipped open his cell phone. "Yes. Please. As soon as possible."
He hadn't thought ill of Jonathan Kent. He'd grown rather fond of trying to prove himself to the hard nosed farmer. With Jonathan, unlike Lionel, Lex felt like he had a chance.
Those days were gone.
Lex would make sure Mr. Kent was taken care of. He'd also find who - or what - was responsible for the destruction.
Lex stooped, angling himself slowly forward. Gently, he drew his hand over Jonathan Kent's face, closing the farmer's eyes.
Pete salted the meteor rocks around the house perimeter. The concentration at Hamilton's lab had been large, but Jonathan believed the duo shards they brought to Jessie's would suffice. If only he'd been faster…
Pete inspected his efforts. Satisfied, he stuck one rock in his pocket and headed toward the house.
"Pete?" Martha Kent pulled open the screen door and stepped from the kitchen. The scent of cinnamon and apples drifted from the house, taking Pete momentarily aback. Mrs. Kent, apple pie, the glint in her blue eyes, half smile, warm, open...
Pete flinched, snatched back to the real. Then the pain returned, double headed, physical, emotional, all too real. How was he supposed to say --
"Are those meteor rocks? Pete..." Martha Kent squinted involuntarily. A mom look. "What's going on?"
Pete said nothing.
Saying nothing instantly made everything worse.
Pete watched as the glint in Martha Kent's eyes faded. He ushered her inside the house, still lugging the bag and the few meteor rocks he had left.
Pete locked the screen door, then, as an afterthought, locked the storm door. He crossed the house, locking the front door as well. The locks wouldn't stop Clark, but they'd sure as hell stop anyone else who had a mind to just walk in.
Martha followed Pete, her brow furrowed. "Where's Clark? Where's..." Martha's voice dropped to a husky whisper, "Where's Jonathan?"
Pete tried to speak. He tried to give voice to the words "Your son killed your husband. Your husband is dead." But the sentences caught in the swirl inside his head, a place where impossibility fought for supremacy over actuality and seemed on the verge of winning.
"No…" Martha stumbled back, grasping at the counter's edge. "No," she repeated, the word barely audible. Martha inhaled deeply, pulling the query from unknown reserves. "Are you…sure?"
"I couldn't… I didn't… But…" Pete opened the duffle bag and handed Martha a meteor rock. "I put them around the house. They'll keep him out."
Martha turned the rock over in her hands. "If he comes here."
"He will. We know. And if he doesn't –"
"-- We'll have to find him."
Martha hugged Pete. The pain remained, but the comfort/release of the embrace afforded the luxury of tears.
Beyond the Kent kitchen, the Smallville sunset bathed the farmhouse in preternatural Crayola hues. Inside, Pete and Martha clutched each other as new and bottled grief met, expanded and spilled freely.
The decanter was empty. Gwen turned to Clark, fascination evident. Clark paused before speaking. "Not drunk." He hesitated, the gap thick with meaning. "Scotch reminds me of someone."
"Pleasantly?"
"Definitely." Clark lifted the chair, spinning Gwen around to face him directly. Egg shells lay scattered in the sink behind him. The roast beef was gone, although a bit of the juice lingered on the side of his mouth. "We never did determine what you wanted."
Gwen watched as the juice glistened under the kitchen light. She leaned, reaching out for Clark's face.
Instinctively, Clark leaned in, affording Gwen the opportunity to tongue away the beef liquor. Unable to avoid the temptation of his mouth, she sought his lips, making certain she fully sucked away the meat's blood taste.
Gwen's tongue met Clark's, the salt-scotch flavor more intoxicating than seemed reasonable.
Clark disengaged. His eyes were foggy with anticipation. "The question... To eat. What are you in the mood for?"
Gwen licked her lips. Her face mimicked Clark's. "Me?" I'm thinking 'reciprocity'. For... before."
That stopped Clark cold. "Oh?" Clark turned, hard all over again.
Gwen lowered her eyes, taking stock of Clark's obvious excitement. "Um hmmmm. Maybe... I can help you with that... C'mere..."
Gwen planted her hands on Clark's ass and her lips on his penis. As she sucked and licked, he arched his back, grabbing for the counter.
Clark's fingers dug into counter's marble surface, leaving indentations as he came.
The taste of Clark was sweet and tangy.
The pink tinge went unnoticed by both of them as Gwen swallowed.