I do not own Smallville, at all.

These next drabbles are different from the one before. They're all AU of Bride, so it's like the episode hasn't happened.


Deviation

Blood acerbic on his tongue, bathed in warm, wet crimson, his bare skin gleaming brightly with blood, reflecting dim lamplight. He lies in an alley fetid with stale, sour copper, human blood and human decomposition, pavement smeared with red, puddles of maroon litter the asphalt, beginning to congeal and crust. Abject terror, revulsion, and guilt consume him, his stomach heaves and before he can blink hot, burning liquefied "food" rushes up his throat, searing his esophagus. Pieces of meat are visible in pool of scarlet, a glint of bone, a human tooth, enamel gleaming white. A body lies a yard in front of him, he walks to it, blood splashes around his bare feet, lapping like a heated sea of salt and death at his toes. The face is familiar; he sinks to his knees, his skin abraded by the cement, his blood mingling with the flood of crimson. The chest is ripped open, exposed ribs and thoracic cavity, the pericardium lies empty. He vomits once more, because it has a sick, sick sense of morbid humor. All it has consumed is the poor man's heart.

He feigns surprise in the morning, when Chloe throws her arms around him, sobbing into his chest that Jimmy is dead, warm, wet tears soaking into his t-shirt.

Devastation

Chloe spends the night at his apartment. She sits on his couch for hours, talking, reminiscing about Jimmy, he listens to every word while his insides twist darkly, compunction and shame and a modicum of smug pleasure spiking his blood, a cold, sickly heat coursing through his body. Jimmy is dead because of the creature that dwells within him, a reprobate consciousness separate from his own, content to feast on human flesh, killing just to feel the hot spray of blood on tough, abnormal skin, claws dripping crimson. He wants to tell Chloe everything, emerald eyes glisten with tears and his mouth falls open, incipient explanation on his tongue, bitter and sour like blood; she is never going to forgive him. The words don't come, his esophageal muscles freeze, immobile, voice dying somewhere before his vocal chords. It doesn't want Chloe to know the truth, and it is now the dominant thought process.

Chloe dresses in one of his old shirts, blue cotton hanging loosely around slim hips and supple breasts. Long, tan legs gleam golden in florescent lighting, blonde strands of sunshine brushed back behind her ears. Warm, salty rivers of tears have transformed to a slow trickle, soft, droplets of shimmering rain that are brushed away with slender fingers. He offers her a mug of coffee, white, wispy tendrils of steam rise from the dark liquid, faint, hoary fingers moving towards the ceiling. She smiles at him, a flash of pearly teeth, tear stained cheeks, perfect, smooth, pink lips approaching his, redolent of mocha and sweetness. A soft hand on the side of his face and he turns away, silken press of skin on his lower jaw.

He kisses her forehead, smoothes her hair, retreats to the bathroom. He splashes, cool, wet water onto his face, and the reflection that flickers in the glass for a brief second isn't his; dark angry eyes and sharp teeth.

Alleviation

"You don't have to do this." Chloe tells him, voice soft and sleepy, jade eyes glazed with the haze of sleep. The Styrofoam cup of coffee he offers her burns hot on his fingertips, searing calloused skin, harms flesh painted and stained with invisible crimson, the slick slip of blood on his flesh that can never wash away. Scorching water over his body, wet flames of liquid silk that lick at him until every inch of epidermis is bright pink, abraded and damaged, but he can still see the blood, smears of red that never fade. There are moments when he wonders if the evidence of his atrocities is apparent to others, if Chloe knows that their every contact taints her. "I can have Clark give me a ride." Jealously boils in his stomach, hot and virulent; it clenches his hands into fists; sharp nails press painfully into his palms, half circle shaped indentations.

"It's my pleasure." He watches her slide into the passenger seat of the ambulance, onto the fabric drenched in blood, fetid of copper and decomposition that only he is aware of, felt that has been bleached and scrubbed and gleams scarlet in the revealing sunlight. "You've been through a lot." One month, thirty days, four nights of reluctant mayhem; the taste of sour, stale metal and the crunch of bones, broken and battered, partially consumed bodies to dispose of, dumpsters redolent of rancid flesh.

"It's a job interview Davis, hardly an arduous activity." It enjoys the flick of pink tongue along equally pink lips, the gleam of saliva.

"Are you going to work for the Planet again?" His foot trembles and stiffens, muscles twitching, uncontrollable; he regains control and manages to step on the brake just before a crosswalk, a dozen smiling men and women strolling across the street.

"Publishing company. It's not as glamorous as journalism, I know." A flash of white teeth; a slow, nervous fluttering in his abdomen. "Thank you." Hesitant touch of mouth to his, warmth and supple, terse intrusion of tongue, and then the door slams shut quickly.

Lust and joy form a dangerous combination; conflictions between battling minds.

Adoration

The ambulance is redolent of roses, sweet and subtle. A bouquet sits solemnly on the passenger seat, gleaming with beads of dew, blood red petals shimmer with the threat of incipient rejection, droplets sparkling with sanguinity. His heart beats furiously inside his chest, pounding painfully, palpitating with ferocity, pumping trepidation through his body in place of plasma and oxygen. It grips the steering wheel in confidence, so hard his palms taste plastic, absorbing molecules of carbon and nitrate, slick and sweat forming on his skin.

"Davis, it's one in the morning." Tousled strands of yellow sunshine, amused and sleepy emeralds, golden flesh aglow in soft, florescent lighting. Chloe yawns, pink lips and tongue, tempting soft and sweetness. "Are you alright?" Guilt flares and it tightens his hand, thorns cutting into calloused skin, heated trickles dripping to the floor.

"I wanted to know if you got the job." A genuine grin, white teeth and vulnerability, emotions bright in well maintained enamel; hours of brushing and still blood stains the inside of his mouth, saliva permanently acerbic and crimson.

"My interview was sixteen hours ago." Blithe annoyance flickers across perfect features; understanding shines in grass green eyes. The feel of supple lips is engraved into his memory, heat and silken press of tongue.

"I just got off work."

"And you drove two hours to ask me how my interview went? You must get very bad cell phone reception." Teasing touch and jocose tone.

"Don't insult the man who comes bearing gifts." Long, green stems and scarlet roses reflect in Chloe's eyes, alive and grateful and ecstatic.

"They're beautiful." It licks salt and copper liquid from his palm when she buries her nose in red petals.

"Chloe, this morning, when you kissed me, I don't want you to feel like you had to do it. I wanted to give you a ride, you don't owe me anything." Jade shines with compassion and empathy, offense and affection, then he's tasting stale mouthwash, mint toothpaste, a hint of coffee, hot, moist tongue and velvet mouth.

"Pick me up at six thirty tomorrow. Don't dress formal." A lingering kiss and fingers ghost his jaw, feather soft touch.

The door closes with a soft click, familiar tremors begin, it wants to celebrate.

Hesitation

Coffee burns hotly on his tongue, bittersweet, mocha liquid, heat rushing swiftly down his esophagus. His fingers tap against the table top, a slow, steady rhythm, muffled taps of skin and clicks of short nails. Chloe catches his eyes and blushes, a faint tinge of pink, flushed cheeks; green eyes flickering with nervousness, flaring bright and jade, reflecting light and radiating vivacity. Their dinner arrives halfway through the semi-awkward silence, a period of quiet where words aren't needed. His new cologne and just purchased shirt, expensive blue cotton with white buttons in the front. He catches a whiff of Chloe's chicken wings, acid and vinegar, light, fully cooked meat. It growls in disdain, a low, disgruntled noise in the back of his throat, primal and characteristically it.

"What did you say?" Chloe glances at him, blonde eyebrow raised, twin emeralds sparkling with curiosity.

"Nothing." She sucks orange sauce off a slender finger, a shy smile, dart of pink tongue.

"I think they got your order wrong. You should take it back." Droplets of crimson drip from his hamburger, trickling red along the lettuce, pooling on the plate, a puddle of maroon on porcelain.

"It's fine, I don't mind." He chews, tasting copper, warm, stale metal, raw, bloody beef squishing between his teeth, an exigent demand for more in his stomach.

"That's how you get mad cow disease."

"I'm a paramedic; I'll drive myself to the hospital if I show any symptoms." He excuses himself from the table halfway through the meal, orders another rare hamburger. This time he eats it completely raw, swallowing chunks, slick, slippery sourness sliding down into his stomach, settling heavily like a lump of lead. It feasts and it eats and wet dribbles down his chin, a concoction of blood and saliva, the flavor of overheated pennies.

"Are you okay?" A soft, warm hand touches his, stroking fingers and hot palms.

"I ran into an old friend in the bathroom." Another hour of small talk, pleasantries and mellifluous giggles, pearly flashes of teeth and sporadic kisses.

"Do you want to come inside?" A smooth nose nuzzles his throat, heated breath misting across his flesh. He wants more than he can voice, but he doesn't know if it's him or it that lusts and wants and wonders.

"I don't think it's a good idea." His chest tightens, constricting muscles, he doesn't want to leave anymore then it wants him to leave; two separate, conflicting entities in harmony for the first time.

A necklace of kisses across his collarbone.

"Are you sure?"

Chloe mouths his Adam's apple, moist contact, and her apartment door closes behind them.


Also, I really haven't been getting reviews for these drabbles, and if I don't get some soon, this will be my last post.