Chapter 2 - journal entry 2

The bath did wonders to restore me. I took a few bites of the sandwich and fruit that Clark had brought up to my room while I changed into my PJs, then I wandered downstairs to thank him. The downstairs rooms were dark except for the firelight. I found Clark sitting on the couch in front of a roaring fire. He had removed his tie and cufflinks, his shirt fell open at the collar and his shirtsleeves were rolled up exposing his bronzed skin. His feet were bare. He looked relaxed and casual, but I knew there was a storm raging inside him, just below the surface.

He took the hairbrush out of my hand, and motioned for me to sit on the ottoman in front of him. I unwrapped my hair and he took the towel from me and tossed it over the rocking chair near the fire. Then he began brushing my hair, deftly working through the tangles and restoring order. I was amazed at how soothing this was—how naturally we fell into an easy rhythm, as though this activity was something we'd done hundreds of times before. He stopped for a moment, grabbed the ottoman on either side and dragged it closer to him so that I was situated between his legs. I felt the press of his thigh against me, and I wondered not for the first time when I started to be so acutely aware of him. As he did this, I noticed the sweet aroma of alcohol on his breath. I'd never known Clark to drink—ever.

I picked up a glass from the side table and shifted a little so that I could see his face.

"May I?"

"Since when do you ask permission?"

I shrugged. "Seemed like the right thing to do."

"You don't have to ask Lois, I'm used to it."

"Well it takes the fun out of it if it doesn't bother you." The corner of his mouth raised in a small smirk. In that moment we were back to our old selves. We were normal again.

I tipped the glass to my lips and let the amber liquid slide down my throat, burning a path of fire all the way down, spreading the fire through my belly and limbs.

"Mmmm, that's good."

"A present from Lionel Luthor; It probably cost more than I make in one month at the Planet."

I nodded and took another sip, feeling the burn again, anticipating it, welcoming it. Not only was he probably right, I wanted him to know that he could open up to me. I know how hard it is for him to share his feelings with anyone.

"I had planned on having a toast with Jimmy—I thought that he would like that." He sounded so tired.

"Yes, I think he would have liked that."

"I hope there is something to toast when this is all over."

I couldn't think about that. Usually, Clark was Mr. Positive—at least on the outside. I knew that he had perfected brooding—he practically lettered in it in High School. I had to help him. I had to try and bring him out of his black thoughts.

"Let's toast. To Jimmy's health."

"Ok." He nodded and turned over another glass and poured himself a drink from the crystal decanter on the side table. He poured more into my glass. "To Jimmy."

We softly clinked the crystal glasses together and drained them. Again I felt the burn. The burn replaced the numbness. It felt good.

"I want to make another toast." I chirped. He poured more scotch into our glasses. Again the clink of the glasses. "To finding Chloe." I tossed the liquid back again and held out my glass for a refill. He took the glass from my hand and set it on the side table.

"Hey, I'm not done with that."

"Yes you are."

"I can handle my liquor. Who made you the party police, anyway?" I stuck out my lower lip in a pout and punched his shoulder with my right hand. "Owww! Have you been eating concrete? I swear your body keeps getting harder!" Only after I said the last part did I realize how it sounded. I certainly hadn't meant it that way. I thanked God that Clark was either too innocent to pick up on the double entendre or too much of a gentleman to comment to it. Then he did the most surprising thing. He took my hand in his and kissed my knuckles. He gently rubbed my knuckles with his thumb. Suddenly, I felt as if I was molded out of jello. Maybe the alcohol was having an effect on me, after all. He put his other arm around me to support me. I leaned into him, welcoming the comfort of his arms around me, still increasingly aware of him; the way his hair hung over his forehead, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, the way the firelight played over the chiseled planes of his face. . .

"Lois, I'm not trying to censor you. I need to talk to you, and I need you sober. "

His tone broke through the fog of my brain.

"Ok. Talk to me."

"I spoke to Detective Jonzz earlier. We are going to meet with Oliver and his team tomorrow. Oliver thinks he might have a lead on where Chloe has been taken."

I nodded, taking in the information. "Olivers' Team? Does he have a band of Merry Men?"

"Oliver works with a team of others that are working to bring down criminals like Lex Luthor. If you are asking if they all wear green leather, then the answer is no."

"But they all have abilities and secret identities don't they?"

"What if they do?" He asked evenly.

"You know who they are!"

"I—"

"Don't even try to deny it Smallville. You know. You have always known. What have you got on them that they let you in their secret club, I wonder?" Was he one of them? Was he the Blur? That would explain so much; the disappearing, the incredible timing, the lame-ass lies. Before I could ask it aloud he had taken hold of my upper arms and pulled me closer to him so that I was meeting his intense gaze.

"Lois, listen to me. Before you get carried away with your crazy theories, I need you to listen."

I swallowed and nodded my head. "Lois, even if I knew the identities of all the members of Olivers' team, I wouldn't be able to tell you their identities. These are not my secrets to tell and it would put you in danger."

The reality of what he was telling me took hold. "Omigod! That's probably what happened to Chloe. She knew too much."

He sighed heavily and relaxed his hold on me, leaning back against the couch. "We're not sure what happened to Chloe, but that is one possibility."

There was silence as I contemplated all the possibilities. He broke into my thoughts again when he said:

"I want you to go to Washington and stay with my mom until all this is settled."

"You're sending me away?"

"For your safety."

"I can ha—"

"Are you really going to tell me you can handle yourself?

"What right do you have to treat me like a child?"

"Are you serious? Do you even hear what you are saying? Why do you have to be so stubborn all the time? That thing threw me across the barn like I was a rag doll. And have you forgotten about Jimmy? We don't even know what we are dealing with, but whatever it is, we have to assume that it knows us and knows how to get to us. If this thing is after the people I care about, then you are in danger. Do you think for one minute that I could leave here tomorrow knowing that I'd be leaving you here to face that thing alone? Lois, this isn't a polite request or a negotiation. You are going to Washington. And that's final."

I was stunned. I don think I had ever heard Clark say so much at one time before, and certainly not with such intensity. I took me a bit to process what he had just said. I swallowed hard.

"You care about me?" I expected he would cover it with sarcasm—as we normally would. Instead, he cupped my chin in his hand, his fingers curiously gentle.

"Lois, you know I do."

I don't know what it was about the way he said it. Maybe it was the intensity of his gaze or maybe it was the seductive timbre of his voice, but I felt the sincerity of his words cut through me like a knife slicing through warm butter.

Hope, anxiety, and some incomprehensible yearning suddenly swelled within me, tangling my thoughts and emotions so, that I could make no sense of them at all as his eyes gazed darkly into mine, seeming to draw out the innermost secrets of my heart and soul.

In that instant, my world contracted sharply to the quiet room where we sat together, insulated from the cares of the world. My mouth went dry. I believed that if he touched me then that I should shatter like crystal, I felt suddenly so fragile and vulnerable.

I was swept by another wave of that strange, smoldering fire, so strong and violent now that it was frightening, agonizing in its' intensity. I moistened my lips with my tongue and slowly, tremulously, my body swayed against his, drawn irresistibly to him by the nameless thing that had seized me so fiercely and now pulled me down into its dark, primeval flames.

I wanted this man. I realized suddenly then, that I wanted him with every fiber of my being. Of their own volition, my hands crept up around his neck, trembling. I lifted my face to his and brushed his mouth impetuously with mine. I probed his mouth with my tongue, tasting the subtle, smoky flavor of the whiskey we'd been drinking. My hands clasped his face, feeling the rough stubble of his beard. The abrasiveness was sweet.

Passion ignited in my body and then I felt as though I was running somewhere out of my body and he was reaching for me. He held me so tightly and he was whispering my name and he was kissing me and kissing me and God, he was such a good kisser and . . . stars everywhere and the pleasure, it was almost insane how good it felt. Wrapped in his arms and his kiss and his need and his love and I didn't want to him to leave . . . The world was far away. Far, far away with its sharpness and brightness and I wanted to stay with him . . .

"Lois, are you sure you want to do this? If not, then we need to stop. Now."

I opened my eyes and looked at his face and in that moment I felt as though I would die inside if I ever lost him. If he ever left me I would wither and scurry to the wind. I saw him in a way I had never seen him before . . . I saw him as a man I could love. . .

"Clark, tomorrow I am going to stay with your mom and your super friends are going off to face some terrible unknown beast. I may never see you again. If there is only one thing that living here in Weirds-ville has taught me, it's that life is too short for regrets. I have waited to long to act on my feelings for you. I want you."

"But Lo—"

"Clark, don't you want me?"

"Yes. Yes, for a long time now—for longer than I realized before tonight."

"Really?"

I grabbed his face again and pressed my lips against his. His mouth was hot against mine. I could almost taste the hunger of his kisses. I quickly unfastened the buttons of his shirt and slid my hands down the hard planes of his chest and abdomen.

I gasped when his fingers grazed over my breasts, my nipples pebbled even through the cotton of my pajamas. A firm tug took me by surprise, as he slid me closer to him, and before I could react, my pajama top was being pulled over my head.

"Lois."

"No regrets." I silenced him. There was that pesky Eagle Scout conscience of his. I was afraid to let him voice his objections again—to break the spell.

"Lois." He pleaded against my throat. Clark, Shut UP! "Let's go upstairs."

Ohhh. "Not yet." I said breathlessly.

"Okay. But we still need to change location." As he shifted against me, I felt the evidence of his need and I immediately understood what he was trying to tell me.

"Over by the fireplace."

With a grace that shocked and thrilled me, Clark lifted me and before I drew a second breath he was laying me gently on the floor in front of the fireplace. His hands seemed to be everywhere at once, while his mouth was determined to feed from mine, our tongues hot and searching as desire mounted. His boldness was surprising, but not unwelcome, almost a natural postscript to the kisses we'd shared earlier. My body thrummed in response to the sweep of his fingers and hands across my skin.

His lips left mine to trail down the side of my cheek. I shivered when his teeth caught the edge of my earlobe, his breath hot and heavy, and I groaned out loud when his mouth found the bend of my neck and made its home there.

"Clark…," I breathed, but the firm pressure of his lips to mine silenced me, driving rational thought away and replacing it with sheer desire. Clarks' sensual lips and strong, supple hands wove their spell over me, and willingly I was enchanted. My mouth opened to him like an unfurling bud, my fingers tensed and splayed as they clutched his whipcord body, and I felt the power of the muscles that rippled beneath his flesh. I felt small and delicate in his embrace.

Without my noticing, the rest of our clothing somehow slipped away. Time turned—and kept turning, and still, Clark tasted me, touched me, his kisses growing ever more insistent; his hands bolder. His lips swallowed my breath, devoured me. His tongue stabbed me everywhere with its heat. His hands and fingers aroused in me both delight and longing, so my body ached unbearably, in a way I had never dreamed was possible.

The fire in hearth had died down, the smoldering embers popping and cracking, but I did not feel the chill, as I reveled in the warmth of Clark's body. The dark hair that matted his chest was fine as down beneath my palms and against the sensitive tips of my breasts. His broad back was smooth as satin, his thighs were like iron. Eagerly, I discovered him, explored him, mapped each line and every curve of him, and staked my claim on his body as he did mine.

He made love to me lingeringly, as though I was a rare flower that must be tenderly nurtured to bloom. My breasts were mounds of soft earth, molded by his palms. I clung to him as he clung to me. There was no part of me he did not know, nor any part of him that was untouched by me.

I quivered, molten with desire as he drank from the hot secret well of me until I moaned low in my throat and strove against him blindly, desperate in my need. Together, then, we lay, breast to breast, thigh to thigh, Clark's hands beneath me, arching my hips to meet his own until the stars fell from the heavens and crashed down around us.