Angels Fear To Tread

Rush - spun the only way it should be, the Chlex way.

Pairing: Chloe/Lex, er, Chloe and almost everyone else to some extent!

Rating: R for language and smut. This one is getting dirty, people!

Summary: The smut has finally arrived! Exercise caution. If you don't like this sort of thing then don't read it. We all know that this is what should really happen in 'Rush'. I mean, really, is the woman blind? Perhaps they mixed hers and Lionel's test results up? Anyway, rant over. This takes a wee while to get going with the good Chlex, so be patient! The chapters are pretty short, so I'll be updating fairly quickly. This isn't beta-ed, so there's no-one to blame except me. Please R&R, this is my first Chlex, and only my second ever fanfic. I need direction and encouragement. Please nurture me!

Disclaimer: Yes, indeed I am the owner of WB, but despite my massive power and influence I can't make the writers get Chloe and Lex together. Damn those artists! Damn them! Really, not mine, just for fun, please don't sue.

Archiving: Please ask first. All reviews gratefully received at skeptik@lycos.co.uk

Chapter 4

After such a fabulous triumph over the tedious, Chloe decided to reward herself with a pampering session. "There's never been a better time to give the old 'emergency' credit card a good hammering," she thought blissfully as she drove away from school, "I don't know why I never did this before." She chortled to herself, thinking of all the poor schmos stuck behind desks on a perfect day like today. After all, her Dad was expecting her to go shopping and stay at Lois' tonight in Metropolis with ditchwater Lana, so she might as well take advantage of the opportunity to do something entirely more fun.

Pumping up the volume on her radio, she headed for the few expensive boutiques that Smallville could offer; "although most of the women round here seem to get their fashions from the flannel section of the farmer's market!"

She thought about Martha Kent with some derision. "You can take the girl out of the big city... and apparently you can take the big city out of the girl. Well, not this girl, not anymore!" She allowed her mind to drift to Jonathan Kent. "Whew, there sure are good reasons why blue jeans built America. Oldie but goldie, beyond a doubt! I wonder whether him and Martha still fuck?" Finding it hilarious that she was getting turned on by her surrogate parents, she screeched to a halt in front of the priciest store on main street and hopped out.

"Let battle commence," she muttered, "the winner is the one with the most stuff when they die. That's the American dream." Pushing through the fancy gold etched glass doors and ignoring the stares of the rather disdainful looking woman behind the counter, she began riffling through the rails.

"Can I help you at all.. miss?" The snooty woman sniffed, looking like a bulldog chewing a thistle.

"Yes... Julia, you can," said Chloe, reading the woman's nametag. "I'd suggest that you begin by picking up your attitude some," she began sweetly, "that is, if you are planning on getting the hefty commission heading your way if I enjoy this little..." she gestured vaguely around the room with a pair of red lacy panties, "experience." Seeing the woman bristle even more, she added, "And also if you don't want the Smallville Ledger to print the little article I happen to have in my possession. The one regarding the late night arrivals of factory seconds which mysteriously turn into designer label must-haves by the following day? Of course, you value your job... Julia?"

Later that same afternoon, enjoying the almost indecently excellent full body massage she was receiving at the only beauty parlour in town, she reflected happily on her handiwork. Stacked in the corner were the expensively bagged, pink-tissue wrapped spoils of her visit to the pretentiously named Chez Michel. It was amazing how reasonable designer goods became once the woman had given her an unsurprisingly hefty discount and told her to pop in again whenever she liked. She'd even thrown in a bottle of ridiculously over-priced French perfume free of charge, and Chloe intended to make full use of its musky, mysterious fragrance later that evening. Just as soon as she was oiled, exfoliated, buffed and waxed to perfection.

Two hours later, and she was smooth and silky from head to toe. "Lana, eat your heart out!" she said to her naked reflection, running her hands down her woefully overlooked curves. "What exactly is wrong with this town?" she asked herself, but the only answer she got was a naughty smile as her hand paused at her hardening nipple. The masseuse had left her to get dressed, but she could come back in at any moment. Chloe considered the situation, toying with the stiffened flesh. The thought of getting caught was such a turn on.

She could feel herself getting wet as she backed up and sat on the end of the bed, staring at herself in the full-length mirror. Spreading her legs she watched her own fingers tracing their way down her skin to tangle in the strip of golden hair between them. Still rubbing and squeezing the tip of her full breast with one hand, she began to trace the delicate inner lips. Fascinated and gasping at how erotic she looked doing something that she had always done furtively with the lights out, she began to tease her clit with trembling fingers, liking the way her own eyes narrowed with pleasure.

"Mmmm!" she moaned, deep in her throat, sliding her other hand down and slipping a finger inside herself. Slowly at first, she began to move her hips in circles against her hands, groaning louder as her orgasm began to build inside her.

"Miss Sullivan? Are you ok?" Chloe's eyes flew open as a nervous female voice accompanied a gentle knock on the door.

"Yeah, I'm fine. No thanks to you."

"What?" the voice sounded genuinely confused.

"I'll be out in a minute!" Turning back to the mirror, she couldn't help but find the situation funny. Laughing to herself, she filed it as something to attend to later, and started to pull new clothes out of her bags. Before she dressed, she dabbed some of her own juices, mixed with her new perfume, behind her knees, between her breasts, at the pulse points in her neck and finally in the palms of her hands. Humming happily, she took her time dressing, luxuriating in the fit and feel of each item of clothing, watching herself in the mirror. Finally, she kissed her reflection, leaving a smear of deep red lipstick, and waved at herself as she breezed out of the salon.