This Chapter has been edited for content. If anyone wants the NC17 version, just give me an e-mail and I'll be glad to send it to you.
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Clark wakes at exactly five-thirty AM. Some nights his body forgets he's no longer on the farm and it automatically energizes itself at the right time. He lies in the stiflingly hot bed and realises he's still alone, but he doesn't care. He takes a long time in the shower and then he pulls on a black t-shirt, his leather jacket, and a pair of dark jeans he got from the shoot at The Max.
At eight-thirty breakfast arrives. He barely remembers arranging it the day before. . . Right after they got to the hotel. It is a two person spread with things Clark doesn't even like on it. He doesn't remember now why he ordered it. He eats, picks up his duffel bag and heads out the door.
He super-speeds far away from the hotel and stands across the street from a row of ATM's. He unzips the bag and starts toward the machines. Abruptly he turns and disappears. He heads to the nearest drugstore and pockets a balaclava. Then he goes back, pulls the hat over his face and punches open the metal, just like he did last time.
The alarm goes but Clark ignores it. He moves down the line, suddenly struck by the familiarity of the job to the one in Metropolis.
"Fuck." He says out loud. Jonathan and Martha and everyone else probably know about what he'd done. This is just going to lead them straight to him. He finishes what he's doing and heads back to the hotel. He stashes the mask in his duffel bag with the money. Immediately he changes his clothes and heads down to the lounge.
Clark's only seventeen but the bartender doesn't even take a second glance when Cark requests his first shot. Even though it's only 1 o-clock in the afternoon, there are several people lined up against the bar, all of them hunched over their liquid cures.
He knocks back the first, the second, and the third before he realises it's not having any effect.
"Charge it to my room." He tells the man behind the counter, and leaves. He wanders around the hotel stores for a while and then heads up to his room. He lies on his bed staring up at the ceiling for what seems like forever. He changes again and finally ends up at a small club close to the hotel.
The atmosphere is stifling. There is smoke everywhere, the music is too loud and too bad, and none of the people there are the beautiful people he remembers from Metropolis. All he sees are tweaked-out club kids.
He decides to try his luck and heads out onto the dance floor. Bodies rub against him slickly, sweat droplets flying everywhere. He feels a hand grasp his wrist. It is a small girl, with straight black hair and a pixie face and a wild look in her eyes.
"Dance with me." She says. Something about her reminds him of Smiley, and he dances. "What's your name?" She asks dreamily, almost vacantly.
"Kal." He says. "What's yours?"
"I'm Vee." She gets closer and closer to him until they are almost grinding, and Clark can't tell if it's the crowd or just the girl that's driving them closer together. Her hips brush his and his cock begins to stir. The closer she gets, the more aroused he becomes. Finally their dance becomes a game of friction. Her goal seems to be to stimulate him, and he has no weapon against her. He wants it.
Suddenly she grabs his hands and pulls him over to the back of the club. They duck through a door and Clark finds a veritable orgy. There are people having sex everywhere in the dark, hazy room; partners of every kind. But he doesn't have time to ponder the intricacies of same-sex fucking, Vee has him pinned against a wall.
She's rubbing up against him, this time with even more of a purpose that on the dance floor, and he can't help but groan out loud. She giggles and then they flip. Her back is against the wall and she is pulling on him. Whispering crazy erotic things that he can barely hear let alone understand.
By the time Clark leaves the club, he glows with pride and a sense of accomplishment. He's proved to himself that he doesn't need Smiley to fuck him; now he knows she just got him started. He's so ready it's not even funny. Ready for what, he's not sure, but he's ready.
The next day Clark decided he has to throw his family off the scent, so he super-speeds over to Fargo and takes out another row of ATM's. By the time he gets back to his hotel in Gotham it's late, and he heads up to his room.
Every time he enters his room he feels a strange sense of disappointment to see Smiley's chain sitting unused on the spare bed, Smiley nowhere in sight.