Disclaimer: "Smallville" and its characters belong to TRP Productions and
to the WB Network.
This story takes place about two weeks after "Vortex," a few days after the end of the teens' freshman year. Please read this one first and, if you like it, then see the sequel, "Sunday Afternoon Goodbye." In short, Chloe comes for Sunday lunch...and Clark decides that he wants to finish their date...and tell her how he feels about her.
"Sunday Afternoon Delight"
Sundays weren't exactly lazy days at the Kent family farm. There were chickens to be fed and eggs to be collected, hay to be put out and cows to be milked. Someday, Clark thought, as he shut off his alarm clock and stretched lazily, his size fourteen feet hooked over the end of his bed, when I'm out of high school and away at college, I'm going to be able to sleep in late...like at least till seven.
But this morning, like every other, he fumbled in the hazy light of dawn, searching for his jeans and T-shirt, his socks and his boots. Downstairs minutes later, his mom already had coffee brewing and his dad was buttering a piece of toast. "'Morning, lazybones," Jonathan nodded as his son descended the stairs. "Better get a move on. We don't wanna be late for church."
Clark groaned and poured himself a mug of sweet caffeine salvation, adding lots of sugar and a dose of cream. He drank it silently as he followed his dad out to the barn.
He had hoped he could skip church, though he supposed that he needed a moral lesson more today than he ever had. Chloe was coming over for lunch and, afterward, she had made it clear that she wanted to spend some time with Clark, tossing around ideas for the first fall issue of the Torch. Clark had no problem with that scenario. It was the other scenarios that had been going through his mind lately where Chloe was concerned that bothered him.
She had finally, after days of giving him first the cold shoulder, then grief, forgiven him for leaving her at the dance that night two weeks ago, when the bad weather came and he had gone in search of Lana. He had been dancing close to Chloe, pressed against her, all sorts of crazy, hormonally- induced thoughts running through his adolescent brain when suddenly his mind had done a one-eighty and he had just somehow known that Lana was in danger.
Clark couldn't explain how he knew...he just knew. He had saved Lana's life that night, shielding her body with his against the fierce buffeting of the winds of three tornadoes that had merged into one.
And Chloe had gotten mad at him. Not for saving Lana, of course, but for risking his own life. He couldn't very well tell her that something as insignificant as a tornado might spin him around and drop him somewhere in the middle of a field but that it couldn't very well hurt him.
She had also gotten angry because he'd left her and he hadn't been able to get back to the gym before the 'all clear' had been sounded and everyone had gone home. She said that it was all right, she understood, she didn't mind...but the hurt look in her eyes the next day told a different story. "What are you trying to do," she had asked, "be some sort of superhero?"
But she was coming over today and he planned to make things right and tell her how he felt about her. That was, of course, assuming that he himself could figure out how he felt by lunchtime. If his courage held, and she let him, he might even have a chance to kiss her.
Clark didn't know how the thought of Chloe's lips...all soft and inviting and slickened with strawberry lip gloss...could cause him actual physical pain, but they did. As he went about his morning chores, the thought of kissing her and running his hands over her warm skin caused his stomach to lurch and his knees to go a little weak. He knew it was normal for a sixteen- year-old boy to suddenly have trouble walking because his jeans had gotten too tight, but it didn't help that his father was only ten feet away and following his every move.
"Having a problem today, son?" Jonathan asked, as he watched his son working silently and trying not to bend over any more than was absolutely necessary.
"Uh, no, Dad, not really. Well, maybe, just a little. Okay...yeah."
"Who is it today?" Jonathan pretended great interest in monitoring the intake gauges of the milking machine. "Lana or Chloe?"
Clark groaned and blushed bright red. "Chloe," he admitted.
"And she's coming over for lunch, which means you can't stop thinking about her," his dad nodded. "Look, Clark, I'll let you in on a little secret, son, something that all men figure out sooner or later."
"O-kaaay," Clark frowned. He had no idea what his dad was about to tell him, but it sounded serious.
"What you're going through is completely normal...and completely human, son. All men from about the age of thirteen or fourteen to, I don't know, maybe eighty, think about sex every day, for the better part of the day. When we're not thinking about eating or sports or cars, we're thinking about sex. It's that simple but I do remember at your age that it was a little harder to deal with, cause it's such a new feeling and it seems a little overpowering sometimes. The best advice I can give you is to just relax and let nature take its course."
"Really? Even with Chloe?"
"You should always respect the woman you're with and try not to do anything stupid," he gave Clark a meaningful glance, "but, that said, the answer is yes...even with Chloe."
"Okay, Dad," Clark set the basket of eggs he'd collected to the side and began to pour out the chicken feed. "Thanks...I think."
"Oh, and son...?"
"Yeah?"
"Why don't you stay home from church today and take care of that...problem?"
Clark could feel the blush creeping right up to his hairline. "Thanks."
* * * * * * By the time his parents returned from church at noon, Clark had taken care of the "problem" and decided he was ready to face Chloe when she arrived for lunch at one. Martha made chicken and dumplings and served warm blueberry cobbler with homemade ice cream for dessert.
His parents and Chloe made small talk while they ate. Clark, for the most part, was quiet. He had a lot on his mind...namely, the perky blonde who sat across from him at the dining room table. He cast surreptitious glances her way throughout the meal, almost afraid to look at her too directly, certain that if he did, he might forget to eat.
After they finished, Chloe volunteered to clear the table and wash dishes...with the stipulation that Clark would dry. His parents headed for the living room to watch a baseball game on T.V. and Clark soon found himself with dishtowel in hand.
"So, am I getting the silent treatment?" Chloe asked a minute later, almost up to her elbows in soapy water. "Or are you just thinking deep thoughts?"
"Sorry," Clark pulled a plate out of the rinse water and started drying. Now that they were working side by side, he found that he could study Chloe without being too obvious. She was wearing faded blue jeans that stretched tight over her cute little rear and a short-sleeved black T-shirt with roses appliquéd on the front, just above her breasts. "I've just been thinking about something."
"Care to share?" she glanced his way as she scrubbed a baking dish.
"Later," he promised. He looked toward the living room, where the sounds of the baseball announcer's voice could be heard. "After we get everything cleaned up. Wanna go up to the loft maybe?"
She looked at him, her brows drawing together in a puzzled frown at his cryptic suggestion. "Okay, sure."
They finished a few minutes later and, when everything was put away, Clark poked his head into the living room. His mom and dad were sitting close together on the couch, looking into each other's eyes and whispering, not really watching the game. It was obvious, even to Clark, that he was interrupting. He playfully put one hand up, blocking his view. "Kitchen's clean," he announced, "and Chloe and I are going up to the loft for the next, oh, I don't know, hour or two...just in case you...er, uh...needed to know."
"Thanks, son," Jonathan grinned. "Make it two hours, will ya?"
"Jonathan!" Martha scolded, but she was trying not to laugh. "Clark, I made a pitcher of lemonade that ought to be cold by now. Take it and a couple of glasses with you...so you won't have to come back down, okay?"
Clark peeked through his fingers. "Sure thing, Mom," he agreed and disappeared back into the kitchen. A moment later, they heard the screen door bang shut as the teenagers left the house.
"I thought they'd never leave," Jonathan sighed, tangling his hands in his wife's silky auburn hair. He pulled her close and pressed his lips to hers. Sometimes he still couldn't understand what he had done to deserve a woman like Martha Clark in his life...and in his bed. But he had decided the day she'd agreed to marry him that he was just going to accept his good fortune and pray each day that he'd never lose her.
A moment later, when they finally broke apart, Jonathan was breathing hard. "I'm tired, husband," she smiled at him mischievously, rubbing small circles on his chest with the palm of her hand. "I'm going upstairs for a nap." She stood up and crossed toward the stairs without needing to look back.
"Right behind you," Jonathan muttered and jumped to his feet, already finding himself experiencing the beginnings of what he and Clark had been talking about that morning in the barn.
* * * * * * Clark and Chloe walked out to the barn and climbed the stairs to Clark's "Fortress of Solitude" in silence. He set the lemonade down next to the two glasses that he'd filled with ice.
It was still early summer and not yet too hot. A pleasant breeze wafted in through the open hayloft doors. Chloe settled in at one end of the couch, hugging an old throw pillow against her chest.
"Now, do you want to tell me what it is you've been thinking about? Or do you wanna talk about the Torch?"
"I don't want to talk about the Torch," Clark sat down next to her. "Chlo...I want to talk about...us."
But he didn't talk. He just sat there, not even looking at her, rubbing the palms of his hands on his jeans nervously. Chloe waited...thirty seconds...sixty...until she felt like she was going to burst if she had to wait a second longer. "Clark...you have my full and complete attention."
He finally turned his green eyes toward her and the look he gave her made her chest tighten with the feelings she had for him. Damn, she thought, this unrequited love stuff hurts. She thought for an instant about leaving, right then and there, and saving herself the heartache of hearing what she knew he was going to say next. I've thought about it, Chloe, and I just want us to be friends. The only girl I really have feelings for is Lana.
"I've thought about it, Chloe..." he began and she braced herself for the worst. "I've thought about what happened two weeks ago, at the dance...and I realized I was wrong to leave you that night."
He had apologized before for leaving her alone...but he'd never said that he had been wrong. "But," she frowned, puzzled, "if you hadn't left...then Lana might have died."
"I know," he said, "and I'm glad I was able to help her. But that doesn't excuse my deserting you like I did...at that moment."
"Clark, I thought we'd gotten past this already." "How can we get past it until...until we finish what we started that night?"
Chloe frowned again. "I'm not sure I understand."
Clark cleared his throat, stalling for time, not even sure why. He practically had his father's permission to spend the afternoon making out with Chloe, if she felt the same way he did. But how could he find out if she did, without risking her saying no. And how would he ever be able to face her again...if she did say no?
Clark got up and crossed the loft to his CD player, sorting through discs until he found the right one, setting it to the song they had danced to that night. The music started and he retraced his steps, mustering every ounce of courage he possessed to stand in front of Chloe and hold out his hand to her. Hope shone in his eyes. "We never finished...our dance."
Smiling, Chloe took his hand and moved into the circle of his arms. In the limited space of the loft, they began to move to the rhythm of the music. "Clark," she looked up at him after a few seconds, "this really isn't necessary."
He pulled her closer and kept dancing. "For me, it is."
She smiled wider and surrendered to his reasoning, picking up where they had left off two weeks earlier, forgetting that they had ever been interrupted. A moment later, at precisely the line in the song when he had pulled away from her before, he pulled away again, but this time only a few inches, just enough to look into her eyes.
Her smile faded and she grew serious. Something was about to happen and somehow they both knew it. Clark leaned down...only, this time, instead of stopping, his lips met hers. A surge of something akin to electricity went through him and, judging from the way she stiffened for a second, then melted against his body, Chloe felt it, too.
The kiss was gentle, questioning, as they got used to the taste and smell and feel of each another. Clark brought both his hands up and tangled them in her hair, his mouth moving slowly and sweetly on hers. Her lips parted, ever so slightly, and he slipped his tongue inside the warmth that was Chloe, savoring her. A small moan came from somewhere deep inside her and she tightened her arms around his waist.
Clark moved back to the couch and Chloe, lost to all thought, went with him willingly. He sat and pulled her down into his lap. Her eyes were wide and misty, her pupils dilated.
"Is this...okay?" Clark asked, his breathing short and ragged.
"Oh, yes," she whispered, feeling her spirits soaring somewhere up into the rafters. Okay? This was a dream come true. Her hands sorted through the soft waves of his dark hair and she looked at him with wonder, deciding that it was time she took the lead. He might have caught her unaware...but not unprepared.
Chloe knew something about kissing. The reporter in her had demanded that she do a thorough study of the subject and all she really lacked was a great deal of real-life experience. She had watched movie kisses in slow motion and had stood, fascinated, as her older classmates had exchanged more than lingering looks before rushing off to class.
Now, she leaned in to kiss Clark again, putting everything she'd learned into it, pulling his fuller lower lip into her mouth and nibbling gently, rewarded for her efforts by his hands sliding under her T-shirt, caressing the warm, flushed skin of her back. But when she squirmed against him, he drew in his breath with a hissing sound, as a shaft of pleasure so sharp that it was almost painful shot through him.
He put his hands on her hips and held her still. "Don't do that...please," he whispered.
Chloe rested her forehead against his and he noted with some satisfaction that her breathing was as labored as his own. "Too much, huh?" she asked.
He nodded and cradled her against his chest. If Chloe were willing, and I didn't care so much about her, I'd make love to her right here and now, he thought. He had never made love before but if this was what was referred to as foreplay, he knew now that the main event, whenever it happened for him, was going to be fantastic.
"Clark?" Chloe said a moment later, her voice small.
"Uh, huh?"
She looked up at him and her eyes were so large and open and trusting that he felt like he could get lost in them all over again. "Thank you for this afternoon."
He grinned and ducked his head. "It was my pleasure, ma'am."
She punched him playfully. "I'm serious! Thanks for caring enough to...finish our date. Even if we never have another one...I'll always remember today."
Clark frowned slightly. "You don't think we'll ever go out again?"
She shrugged. "Who knows? Things happen...people drift apart..."
"I'm not going anywhere, Chloe. And I hope you don't, either."
Her hand rested against his chest. She felt safe and secure as he held her and kissed her lightly one last time. She smiled, sighed and snuggled back against him. They stayed that way as the music continued, as close as they had ever been.
Friends...and more.
This story takes place about two weeks after "Vortex," a few days after the end of the teens' freshman year. Please read this one first and, if you like it, then see the sequel, "Sunday Afternoon Goodbye." In short, Chloe comes for Sunday lunch...and Clark decides that he wants to finish their date...and tell her how he feels about her.
"Sunday Afternoon Delight"
Sundays weren't exactly lazy days at the Kent family farm. There were chickens to be fed and eggs to be collected, hay to be put out and cows to be milked. Someday, Clark thought, as he shut off his alarm clock and stretched lazily, his size fourteen feet hooked over the end of his bed, when I'm out of high school and away at college, I'm going to be able to sleep in late...like at least till seven.
But this morning, like every other, he fumbled in the hazy light of dawn, searching for his jeans and T-shirt, his socks and his boots. Downstairs minutes later, his mom already had coffee brewing and his dad was buttering a piece of toast. "'Morning, lazybones," Jonathan nodded as his son descended the stairs. "Better get a move on. We don't wanna be late for church."
Clark groaned and poured himself a mug of sweet caffeine salvation, adding lots of sugar and a dose of cream. He drank it silently as he followed his dad out to the barn.
He had hoped he could skip church, though he supposed that he needed a moral lesson more today than he ever had. Chloe was coming over for lunch and, afterward, she had made it clear that she wanted to spend some time with Clark, tossing around ideas for the first fall issue of the Torch. Clark had no problem with that scenario. It was the other scenarios that had been going through his mind lately where Chloe was concerned that bothered him.
She had finally, after days of giving him first the cold shoulder, then grief, forgiven him for leaving her at the dance that night two weeks ago, when the bad weather came and he had gone in search of Lana. He had been dancing close to Chloe, pressed against her, all sorts of crazy, hormonally- induced thoughts running through his adolescent brain when suddenly his mind had done a one-eighty and he had just somehow known that Lana was in danger.
Clark couldn't explain how he knew...he just knew. He had saved Lana's life that night, shielding her body with his against the fierce buffeting of the winds of three tornadoes that had merged into one.
And Chloe had gotten mad at him. Not for saving Lana, of course, but for risking his own life. He couldn't very well tell her that something as insignificant as a tornado might spin him around and drop him somewhere in the middle of a field but that it couldn't very well hurt him.
She had also gotten angry because he'd left her and he hadn't been able to get back to the gym before the 'all clear' had been sounded and everyone had gone home. She said that it was all right, she understood, she didn't mind...but the hurt look in her eyes the next day told a different story. "What are you trying to do," she had asked, "be some sort of superhero?"
But she was coming over today and he planned to make things right and tell her how he felt about her. That was, of course, assuming that he himself could figure out how he felt by lunchtime. If his courage held, and she let him, he might even have a chance to kiss her.
Clark didn't know how the thought of Chloe's lips...all soft and inviting and slickened with strawberry lip gloss...could cause him actual physical pain, but they did. As he went about his morning chores, the thought of kissing her and running his hands over her warm skin caused his stomach to lurch and his knees to go a little weak. He knew it was normal for a sixteen- year-old boy to suddenly have trouble walking because his jeans had gotten too tight, but it didn't help that his father was only ten feet away and following his every move.
"Having a problem today, son?" Jonathan asked, as he watched his son working silently and trying not to bend over any more than was absolutely necessary.
"Uh, no, Dad, not really. Well, maybe, just a little. Okay...yeah."
"Who is it today?" Jonathan pretended great interest in monitoring the intake gauges of the milking machine. "Lana or Chloe?"
Clark groaned and blushed bright red. "Chloe," he admitted.
"And she's coming over for lunch, which means you can't stop thinking about her," his dad nodded. "Look, Clark, I'll let you in on a little secret, son, something that all men figure out sooner or later."
"O-kaaay," Clark frowned. He had no idea what his dad was about to tell him, but it sounded serious.
"What you're going through is completely normal...and completely human, son. All men from about the age of thirteen or fourteen to, I don't know, maybe eighty, think about sex every day, for the better part of the day. When we're not thinking about eating or sports or cars, we're thinking about sex. It's that simple but I do remember at your age that it was a little harder to deal with, cause it's such a new feeling and it seems a little overpowering sometimes. The best advice I can give you is to just relax and let nature take its course."
"Really? Even with Chloe?"
"You should always respect the woman you're with and try not to do anything stupid," he gave Clark a meaningful glance, "but, that said, the answer is yes...even with Chloe."
"Okay, Dad," Clark set the basket of eggs he'd collected to the side and began to pour out the chicken feed. "Thanks...I think."
"Oh, and son...?"
"Yeah?"
"Why don't you stay home from church today and take care of that...problem?"
Clark could feel the blush creeping right up to his hairline. "Thanks."
* * * * * * By the time his parents returned from church at noon, Clark had taken care of the "problem" and decided he was ready to face Chloe when she arrived for lunch at one. Martha made chicken and dumplings and served warm blueberry cobbler with homemade ice cream for dessert.
His parents and Chloe made small talk while they ate. Clark, for the most part, was quiet. He had a lot on his mind...namely, the perky blonde who sat across from him at the dining room table. He cast surreptitious glances her way throughout the meal, almost afraid to look at her too directly, certain that if he did, he might forget to eat.
After they finished, Chloe volunteered to clear the table and wash dishes...with the stipulation that Clark would dry. His parents headed for the living room to watch a baseball game on T.V. and Clark soon found himself with dishtowel in hand.
"So, am I getting the silent treatment?" Chloe asked a minute later, almost up to her elbows in soapy water. "Or are you just thinking deep thoughts?"
"Sorry," Clark pulled a plate out of the rinse water and started drying. Now that they were working side by side, he found that he could study Chloe without being too obvious. She was wearing faded blue jeans that stretched tight over her cute little rear and a short-sleeved black T-shirt with roses appliquéd on the front, just above her breasts. "I've just been thinking about something."
"Care to share?" she glanced his way as she scrubbed a baking dish.
"Later," he promised. He looked toward the living room, where the sounds of the baseball announcer's voice could be heard. "After we get everything cleaned up. Wanna go up to the loft maybe?"
She looked at him, her brows drawing together in a puzzled frown at his cryptic suggestion. "Okay, sure."
They finished a few minutes later and, when everything was put away, Clark poked his head into the living room. His mom and dad were sitting close together on the couch, looking into each other's eyes and whispering, not really watching the game. It was obvious, even to Clark, that he was interrupting. He playfully put one hand up, blocking his view. "Kitchen's clean," he announced, "and Chloe and I are going up to the loft for the next, oh, I don't know, hour or two...just in case you...er, uh...needed to know."
"Thanks, son," Jonathan grinned. "Make it two hours, will ya?"
"Jonathan!" Martha scolded, but she was trying not to laugh. "Clark, I made a pitcher of lemonade that ought to be cold by now. Take it and a couple of glasses with you...so you won't have to come back down, okay?"
Clark peeked through his fingers. "Sure thing, Mom," he agreed and disappeared back into the kitchen. A moment later, they heard the screen door bang shut as the teenagers left the house.
"I thought they'd never leave," Jonathan sighed, tangling his hands in his wife's silky auburn hair. He pulled her close and pressed his lips to hers. Sometimes he still couldn't understand what he had done to deserve a woman like Martha Clark in his life...and in his bed. But he had decided the day she'd agreed to marry him that he was just going to accept his good fortune and pray each day that he'd never lose her.
A moment later, when they finally broke apart, Jonathan was breathing hard. "I'm tired, husband," she smiled at him mischievously, rubbing small circles on his chest with the palm of her hand. "I'm going upstairs for a nap." She stood up and crossed toward the stairs without needing to look back.
"Right behind you," Jonathan muttered and jumped to his feet, already finding himself experiencing the beginnings of what he and Clark had been talking about that morning in the barn.
* * * * * * Clark and Chloe walked out to the barn and climbed the stairs to Clark's "Fortress of Solitude" in silence. He set the lemonade down next to the two glasses that he'd filled with ice.
It was still early summer and not yet too hot. A pleasant breeze wafted in through the open hayloft doors. Chloe settled in at one end of the couch, hugging an old throw pillow against her chest.
"Now, do you want to tell me what it is you've been thinking about? Or do you wanna talk about the Torch?"
"I don't want to talk about the Torch," Clark sat down next to her. "Chlo...I want to talk about...us."
But he didn't talk. He just sat there, not even looking at her, rubbing the palms of his hands on his jeans nervously. Chloe waited...thirty seconds...sixty...until she felt like she was going to burst if she had to wait a second longer. "Clark...you have my full and complete attention."
He finally turned his green eyes toward her and the look he gave her made her chest tighten with the feelings she had for him. Damn, she thought, this unrequited love stuff hurts. She thought for an instant about leaving, right then and there, and saving herself the heartache of hearing what she knew he was going to say next. I've thought about it, Chloe, and I just want us to be friends. The only girl I really have feelings for is Lana.
"I've thought about it, Chloe..." he began and she braced herself for the worst. "I've thought about what happened two weeks ago, at the dance...and I realized I was wrong to leave you that night."
He had apologized before for leaving her alone...but he'd never said that he had been wrong. "But," she frowned, puzzled, "if you hadn't left...then Lana might have died."
"I know," he said, "and I'm glad I was able to help her. But that doesn't excuse my deserting you like I did...at that moment."
"Clark, I thought we'd gotten past this already." "How can we get past it until...until we finish what we started that night?"
Chloe frowned again. "I'm not sure I understand."
Clark cleared his throat, stalling for time, not even sure why. He practically had his father's permission to spend the afternoon making out with Chloe, if she felt the same way he did. But how could he find out if she did, without risking her saying no. And how would he ever be able to face her again...if she did say no?
Clark got up and crossed the loft to his CD player, sorting through discs until he found the right one, setting it to the song they had danced to that night. The music started and he retraced his steps, mustering every ounce of courage he possessed to stand in front of Chloe and hold out his hand to her. Hope shone in his eyes. "We never finished...our dance."
Smiling, Chloe took his hand and moved into the circle of his arms. In the limited space of the loft, they began to move to the rhythm of the music. "Clark," she looked up at him after a few seconds, "this really isn't necessary."
He pulled her closer and kept dancing. "For me, it is."
She smiled wider and surrendered to his reasoning, picking up where they had left off two weeks earlier, forgetting that they had ever been interrupted. A moment later, at precisely the line in the song when he had pulled away from her before, he pulled away again, but this time only a few inches, just enough to look into her eyes.
Her smile faded and she grew serious. Something was about to happen and somehow they both knew it. Clark leaned down...only, this time, instead of stopping, his lips met hers. A surge of something akin to electricity went through him and, judging from the way she stiffened for a second, then melted against his body, Chloe felt it, too.
The kiss was gentle, questioning, as they got used to the taste and smell and feel of each another. Clark brought both his hands up and tangled them in her hair, his mouth moving slowly and sweetly on hers. Her lips parted, ever so slightly, and he slipped his tongue inside the warmth that was Chloe, savoring her. A small moan came from somewhere deep inside her and she tightened her arms around his waist.
Clark moved back to the couch and Chloe, lost to all thought, went with him willingly. He sat and pulled her down into his lap. Her eyes were wide and misty, her pupils dilated.
"Is this...okay?" Clark asked, his breathing short and ragged.
"Oh, yes," she whispered, feeling her spirits soaring somewhere up into the rafters. Okay? This was a dream come true. Her hands sorted through the soft waves of his dark hair and she looked at him with wonder, deciding that it was time she took the lead. He might have caught her unaware...but not unprepared.
Chloe knew something about kissing. The reporter in her had demanded that she do a thorough study of the subject and all she really lacked was a great deal of real-life experience. She had watched movie kisses in slow motion and had stood, fascinated, as her older classmates had exchanged more than lingering looks before rushing off to class.
Now, she leaned in to kiss Clark again, putting everything she'd learned into it, pulling his fuller lower lip into her mouth and nibbling gently, rewarded for her efforts by his hands sliding under her T-shirt, caressing the warm, flushed skin of her back. But when she squirmed against him, he drew in his breath with a hissing sound, as a shaft of pleasure so sharp that it was almost painful shot through him.
He put his hands on her hips and held her still. "Don't do that...please," he whispered.
Chloe rested her forehead against his and he noted with some satisfaction that her breathing was as labored as his own. "Too much, huh?" she asked.
He nodded and cradled her against his chest. If Chloe were willing, and I didn't care so much about her, I'd make love to her right here and now, he thought. He had never made love before but if this was what was referred to as foreplay, he knew now that the main event, whenever it happened for him, was going to be fantastic.
"Clark?" Chloe said a moment later, her voice small.
"Uh, huh?"
She looked up at him and her eyes were so large and open and trusting that he felt like he could get lost in them all over again. "Thank you for this afternoon."
He grinned and ducked his head. "It was my pleasure, ma'am."
She punched him playfully. "I'm serious! Thanks for caring enough to...finish our date. Even if we never have another one...I'll always remember today."
Clark frowned slightly. "You don't think we'll ever go out again?"
She shrugged. "Who knows? Things happen...people drift apart..."
"I'm not going anywhere, Chloe. And I hope you don't, either."
Her hand rested against his chest. She felt safe and secure as he held her and kissed her lightly one last time. She smiled, sighed and snuggled back against him. They stayed that way as the music continued, as close as they had ever been.
Friends...and more.