Twenty minutes later Chloe was seated in the beige and white elegance of
Lana's new apartment, nursing a raspberry and echinacea infusion in a
bright ceramic mug. Lana sat curled opposite, in track pants and tank top,
hugging herself in a nervous gesture of yore.
Chloe had just recounted what she heard, and Lana was digesting the information.
She spoke in a dazed monotone 'I heard someone in the flat in Lars Town--- the day before I moved here. It could have been...'
'But at least you are safe for now. He's called off the hounds for the moment. I expect he will get in touch with you though.' said Chloe, looking intently at Lana through the rising steam of her mug.
'And all because Clark came to see me...'said Lana, almost as if speaking to herself.
'Clark Kent' said Chloe, enunciating the syllables as if by naming the man she could garner his full import, everything he stood for, and listening as if hearing the name for the first time.
'He has always been between us, you know. We've never actually bothered to compare notes.'
Lana looked up at this, staring intently at Chloe.
Chloe continued, holding Lana's gaze, leaning forward in her intensity 'Even though he has saved us both very many times, in dramatic and often inexplicable ways.'
'He's also been a good friend to us both Chloe.'
'And we have both been almost killed because of him Lana. Don't you think its time to find out why?'
The air in the apartment tingled with the significance of the moment, and Chloe knew that this was going to be a memorable moment, a turning point. She did not know to what end, but she knew that something was being crafted that had them both leaning forward, with their breath coming in short gasps of anticipation.
Lana finally broke the silence, and wiped her hands on her thighs, the contact giving her solace.
'If Clark is a meteor freak and doesn't want anyone to know, that's his business.'
Chloe was adamant, she shook her hair out of her face, making it stand in odd flicks and spikes forming a spatter of shadow on the white walls, in the light cast by the tall reading lamp that was the only illumination where they sat.
Lana noticed every dip and rise of the shadow, every energetic bob of Chloe's head, thus distancing herself from the issue lying naked between them, hoping that passing moments would cover its immediacy. She also knew she hoped in vain.
Chloe spoke fast, trying to get it out before the ennui of disuse set in again. 'God knows I've been happy to let things be; I don't want to dig into his life. But we know that we cannot apply the same rules to him as we do to other people. We cannot walk away from it; we're puppets on a chain. We cannot afford to play Gandhi. Because like it or not, we are linked to each other and to him. Perhaps we'd be more in control if we knew what it was that Lex wants or...' here she looked down 'Lionel wanted.'
'Wants.' Lana looked back at her. 'I mean, he would hardly have given up ...' Chloe was too busy shedding the burden of her admission to notice Lana's slip.
Chloe set down her mug. 'No, I hardly think that is likely.'
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AN: This section is NC 17; do not read if you are likely to be offended. I will go back to PG 13 or less for subsequent chapters.
Lana is writhing on the slowness of satin, feeling it whisper beneath her naked skin, under her thighs, her shoulders. She is splayed out in abandon, an O'Keefe on a black background, feeling the ripe burden of her lust weighing her down and yet making her weightless with anticipation. He looms over her in the dark, power, potential, and penetration and she wants him with whimpering urgency. He is slow, he always is-- refusing to give up control, trailing ghost fingers on her inner thigh, breathing Donne onto her burning skin, but refusing to confront her need.
She may have screamed out her frustration, but Chloe comes up and silences her with sweet kisses that taste of the sun and ripening corn. The tongue that sends sensation shivering through her entire body comforts her and she had forgotten kisses could be like this. Then Chloe bends her golden head and trails the wispy softness of her hair down the fullness of Lana's breasts, her nipples agonizing with arousal, over her palpitating abdomen to the nest of curls between legs taut with hope.
She takes him between lips that are pink with youth and laughter, nipping joking reminders on his engorged flesh. Her green eyes are all-knowing, a Lolita-like awareness that makes the sensation of her mouth over his penis even more depraved. A practiced tongue dances knowledgably over the underside of his penis and teases his head with deft motions of her palette, making silken hair dance an undulating ballet of light.
He groans and enters her; she is slick with lust and the acquaintance of years and envelops him with the generosity of the womb. He rides her hard, hard and fast slamming into opportunity that he must kill to get again. She merely moves with him, ripe breasts jiggling with the force of his charge, legs drawing him in like a clamp, her face contorted by the ecstasy of experience, sweat running through her red hair as her nails carve an intaglio of need on his unblemished skin.
'Le—ex!' he cries, tousled hair falling back on the pillow, red-lipped ardor dissolving into white-toothed passion as he is gently opened. Finger by finger, pale body against wanton golden limbs, cold gray eyes gazing into green, bald head looming over dark curls, then the head is in and all Clark can do is rejoice in the pain as ever so slowly he is taken, shreds of sanity fly out in beads of sweat that roll off his trembling body. Suddenly, the rhythmic tempo of the obscene slapping of flesh against flesh ceases and with one thrust, he is impaled.
His eyes fly open to see leather and dark glasses insolently grinning as his lifeblood flows out and pools around them, sliming them in a grotesque birthing. It coagulates and sticks them together, forming a macabre Gemini, and then he can no longer breathe as Clark ravages him with his mouth and tongue, refusing to let go, rabid dog at road kill. The taste of blood runs in salty warmth down his throat and chokes him with its putrefied richness.
With a gasp Lana wakes up, her nose trailing ribbons of gore, her body aching and sweaty, her forearms bulging with Clark's strength, and her mind full of dream.
Chloe had just recounted what she heard, and Lana was digesting the information.
She spoke in a dazed monotone 'I heard someone in the flat in Lars Town--- the day before I moved here. It could have been...'
'But at least you are safe for now. He's called off the hounds for the moment. I expect he will get in touch with you though.' said Chloe, looking intently at Lana through the rising steam of her mug.
'And all because Clark came to see me...'said Lana, almost as if speaking to herself.
'Clark Kent' said Chloe, enunciating the syllables as if by naming the man she could garner his full import, everything he stood for, and listening as if hearing the name for the first time.
'He has always been between us, you know. We've never actually bothered to compare notes.'
Lana looked up at this, staring intently at Chloe.
Chloe continued, holding Lana's gaze, leaning forward in her intensity 'Even though he has saved us both very many times, in dramatic and often inexplicable ways.'
'He's also been a good friend to us both Chloe.'
'And we have both been almost killed because of him Lana. Don't you think its time to find out why?'
The air in the apartment tingled with the significance of the moment, and Chloe knew that this was going to be a memorable moment, a turning point. She did not know to what end, but she knew that something was being crafted that had them both leaning forward, with their breath coming in short gasps of anticipation.
Lana finally broke the silence, and wiped her hands on her thighs, the contact giving her solace.
'If Clark is a meteor freak and doesn't want anyone to know, that's his business.'
Chloe was adamant, she shook her hair out of her face, making it stand in odd flicks and spikes forming a spatter of shadow on the white walls, in the light cast by the tall reading lamp that was the only illumination where they sat.
Lana noticed every dip and rise of the shadow, every energetic bob of Chloe's head, thus distancing herself from the issue lying naked between them, hoping that passing moments would cover its immediacy. She also knew she hoped in vain.
Chloe spoke fast, trying to get it out before the ennui of disuse set in again. 'God knows I've been happy to let things be; I don't want to dig into his life. But we know that we cannot apply the same rules to him as we do to other people. We cannot walk away from it; we're puppets on a chain. We cannot afford to play Gandhi. Because like it or not, we are linked to each other and to him. Perhaps we'd be more in control if we knew what it was that Lex wants or...' here she looked down 'Lionel wanted.'
'Wants.' Lana looked back at her. 'I mean, he would hardly have given up ...' Chloe was too busy shedding the burden of her admission to notice Lana's slip.
Chloe set down her mug. 'No, I hardly think that is likely.'
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
AN: This section is NC 17; do not read if you are likely to be offended. I will go back to PG 13 or less for subsequent chapters.
Lana is writhing on the slowness of satin, feeling it whisper beneath her naked skin, under her thighs, her shoulders. She is splayed out in abandon, an O'Keefe on a black background, feeling the ripe burden of her lust weighing her down and yet making her weightless with anticipation. He looms over her in the dark, power, potential, and penetration and she wants him with whimpering urgency. He is slow, he always is-- refusing to give up control, trailing ghost fingers on her inner thigh, breathing Donne onto her burning skin, but refusing to confront her need.
She may have screamed out her frustration, but Chloe comes up and silences her with sweet kisses that taste of the sun and ripening corn. The tongue that sends sensation shivering through her entire body comforts her and she had forgotten kisses could be like this. Then Chloe bends her golden head and trails the wispy softness of her hair down the fullness of Lana's breasts, her nipples agonizing with arousal, over her palpitating abdomen to the nest of curls between legs taut with hope.
She takes him between lips that are pink with youth and laughter, nipping joking reminders on his engorged flesh. Her green eyes are all-knowing, a Lolita-like awareness that makes the sensation of her mouth over his penis even more depraved. A practiced tongue dances knowledgably over the underside of his penis and teases his head with deft motions of her palette, making silken hair dance an undulating ballet of light.
He groans and enters her; she is slick with lust and the acquaintance of years and envelops him with the generosity of the womb. He rides her hard, hard and fast slamming into opportunity that he must kill to get again. She merely moves with him, ripe breasts jiggling with the force of his charge, legs drawing him in like a clamp, her face contorted by the ecstasy of experience, sweat running through her red hair as her nails carve an intaglio of need on his unblemished skin.
'Le—ex!' he cries, tousled hair falling back on the pillow, red-lipped ardor dissolving into white-toothed passion as he is gently opened. Finger by finger, pale body against wanton golden limbs, cold gray eyes gazing into green, bald head looming over dark curls, then the head is in and all Clark can do is rejoice in the pain as ever so slowly he is taken, shreds of sanity fly out in beads of sweat that roll off his trembling body. Suddenly, the rhythmic tempo of the obscene slapping of flesh against flesh ceases and with one thrust, he is impaled.
His eyes fly open to see leather and dark glasses insolently grinning as his lifeblood flows out and pools around them, sliming them in a grotesque birthing. It coagulates and sticks them together, forming a macabre Gemini, and then he can no longer breathe as Clark ravages him with his mouth and tongue, refusing to let go, rabid dog at road kill. The taste of blood runs in salty warmth down his throat and chokes him with its putrefied richness.
With a gasp Lana wakes up, her nose trailing ribbons of gore, her body aching and sweaty, her forearms bulging with Clark's strength, and her mind full of dream.