Chapter Twenty-Seven
Clark Kent gently pulled Chloe Sullivan closer to him, careful, mindful of her various injuries, on her arm and legs. She winced when she wrapped her arms around him, and he did the same to her, and they looked at each other. They couldn't help but feel each other's skin; their clothes were tatters for the most part. Her fingers slipping between the slices on his shirt, feeling his skin, his hands slipping into the rips of her shirt, making her shiver while he caressed. She sighed when he gave her a grin; she loved his dimples. Clark dipped his head and Chloe tilted her head; her little hand traveled to his face, and she laid her palm on his cheek.
There was a time when Chloe couldn't wait for the moment, the moment when Clark kissed her. She thought of how she wanted to be kissed, like on the bus, on the ride to school that morning, with everyone watching. Or last weekend at the Talon theater, watching 'Breakfast at Tiffany's'. Or right after she kissed him in the barn. Oh how she wished he kissed back, not afraid. Or that he ask her back to the barn, not to do stupid homework, but to kiss.
Chloe also used to wonder if Clark ever was going to kiss her. She knew that, for some odd reason, he had a crush on Lana Lang; pretty much every boy in 8th grade had one on her. Chloe suffered through all of 8th grade being his friend, his girl-dash-friend, platonic on his end, completely in love on her's. It didn't help that he saved her life on a regular schedule. Worse, they hung out together more often. Not dating, they said to friends, and when she'd say that, her heart broke just a bit.
But right now, Chloe Sullivan savored the moment.
Then she started thinking about the moment.
"Oh my god...I know I'm all icky looking... My Clark's gotta be hugging a scab... I'm like a human scrape... He's all dirty... He looks hot dirty... My hair's gotta be screwed up... My clothes are all ripped... I hope I'm not showing off the goods...or maybe its not enough? what would Lana say?...His clothes are ripped up too...That's hot... He's always hot... Blood's everywhere...eww...That's bad... Lips still glossy, though... My breath...oh my god, I hope its not all nasty," She rambled on quickly, panicky. "OH MY GOD...I BETTER NOT STINK LIKE THAT MONKEY!... "
"You're beautiful," Clark whispered, breaking her out of her ritualistic nervous talking.
"I was saying the thinking stuff, huh?" Chloe whispered. Clark nodded. "Must be the concussion talking," she smiled. "I'm not stinky?"
"You don't...stink," He said. He could smell through the soap, the perfume, and the stench of the monkey the sweet scent of her skin.
"You're not stinky either," She lied, too, with a smile.
"I want to do this," Clark said, inching closer.
"Me too," Chloe answered, all breathy.
"I should have kissed you last year," Clark admitted, lips oh so close.
"Kiss me now," Chloe demanded sweetly.
Clark always took Chloe's advice...
Clark leaned in and brushed his nose along Chloe's, and felt her soft breath on his lips.
Then He kissed her.
Their lips connected, lightly at first. Tenatively. Then Clark pressed in, boldly, opening his mouth and sucking on Chloe's bottom lip. She mewed into his mouth, pressing into his body, holding him tight.
Clark suckled on her lip, tasting the melon gloss on her, wondering why he never called her back to the barn after they kissed, why he wasted so much time not kissing her.
They shifted, lips, arms, bodies moving, still kissing, and Chloe now was sucking on his lip. She gripped his t-shirt and ripped it more, moaning with each breath.
Clark lifted her easily onto his thighs, cradling her while he knelt. She sat, wiggling, leaning over, her arms wrapping around his neck. Clark surprised her by sliding his hand over her hip and around into her back pocket. She smiled in the kiss.
Kissing, both teens felt a blissful sensation, beyond the simple 'we're kissing'. Something more powerful, something innate was emiting from them. They began to glow; not a ugly green glow, nor an aggressive red glow. Chloe and Clark had a white glow around them and their bodies, minds, and souls were awash in a peaceful tranquility.
In that glow, Chloe's injuries began to heal. The worst cuts closed and the skin began to patch together. No scabs, just light pink marks.
In the same glow, Clark started to float. He held Chloe, locked in the kiss while their bodies hovered inches from the ground. Then Clark silently slowly spiraled up away from the dirt, higher and higher.
Neither teen noticed what was taking place; they were kissing, putting a year's worth of yearning, lost time and wishes into that kiss, one long tender moment of love that they harbored, finally expressed.
The Kiss. The Connection. Chloe and Clark.
In a pasture, deep under ground, an octagonal disc glows and shakes, loosening the dirt, waking the sleeping cows above it. Somewhere in a cave, engraved in the stone is an octagonal groove, and it too glows. In the Kent storm celler, the ship that brought Clark to Earth hums to life. All activating, all augmenting Clark extra-terrestrial powers, all they need is a terrestrial source. Clark keeps kissing Chloe. She is the source.
she is benediction
she is addicted to thee
she is the root connection
she is connecting with he
here I go and I don't know why
I fell so ceaselessly
could it be he's taking over me...
I'm dancing barefoot
heading for a spin
some strange music draws me in
makes me come on like some heroin/e
she is sublimation
she is the essence of thee
she is concentrating on
he, who is chosen by she
here I go and I don't know why
I spin so ceaselessly,
could it be he's taking over me...
chorus
she is re-creation
she, intoxicated by thee
she has the slow sensation that
he is levitating with she ...
here I go and I don't know why,
I spin so ceaselessly,
'til I lose my sense of gravity...
chorus
(oh god I fell for you ...)
the plot of our life sweats in the dark like a face
the mystery of childbirth, of childhood itself
grave visitations
what is it that calls to us?
why must we pray screaming?
why must not death be redefined?
we shut our eyes we stretch out our arms
and whirl on a pane of glass
an afixiation a fix on anything the line of life the limb of a tree
the hands of he and the promise that s/he is blessed among women.
(oh god I fell for you ...)
Dancing Barefoot
By Patti Smith