Chlark Fanfic: Splinter
I wanted to wait until next Tuesday to post this in honour of the lovely
christina_kat 's birthday, but since the entire fandom is still a wee bit glum and reeling from Failsday, I though we could all use some cheering up. That, and I've been relentlessly stalked kindly asked by chloista4ever for some more fics, and I'm always chuffed to bits when she hassles me for asks to read more of my work.
Enjoy. Happy Birthday in advance, CK! And Ana - I hope this gets you off my back for a while!
ETA: If this post pops up 5 times in your f-list, let me know, and my profound apologies. I've been having posting problems all frickin' day. :(
Title: Splinter
Author: BabyDee
Pairing: Chlark
Rating: PG13
Warnings: It’s all in the subtext, baby!
Timeline: Season 2, sometime after Rush. Oneshot. 2,600 words.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to the CW & DC comics.
Summary: Chloe gets her hands on Clark’s wood. It’s a lot more innocent than it sounds. Really.
Feedback: Oh heck, yes. J
Author’s Note: Like ‘Mexican Standoff’, this oneshot was spawned from ‘Right in Front of You.’
Oh, and I’m really not sure exactly how a lathe works, but I did my best with the information I was able to glean..
“Can you believe the nerve of that guy?” Chloe said. “That’s the first time anyone’s ever offered me a bribe to try and kill a story, and then tried to seduce me when that didn’t work.”
Clark smiled and worked as he listened to his best friend’s recap of the previous day’s activities at The Torch. It was the school paper where he sometimes turned in a few articles, but which for the most part Chloe ran single-handedly. It was a Saturday afternoon, they were in his barn and he was working at the lathe on a piece of timber while Chloe sat high up in the chair of the defunct tractor. He glanced up at her and grinned. She was wearing a dark green army jacket, a gift from one of her cousins, and had her booted feet up on the steering wheel.
“I mean, do I look like the type to be swayed by a few kisses?” she chatted on, gesturing to herself. “Hello? That’s what the cheerleading squad is for.”
“Hey, don’t knock the cheerleaders, Chloe,” he replied diplomatically. “They have a job to do that just as important as the work you do at The Torch.”
She snorted derisively. “So, you’re saying that educating and enlightening people about what’s going on in the world is akin to wearing a little red skirt and chirping a silly chant?”
He shrugged. “Who knows? Could be fun. You should try it sometime.”
She shook her head, and her short blond hair swung wildly. “Not a chance. I’d pick a pen over a pom-pom any day. The tools of my trade are designed with an IQ in mind, thank you.”
“Chloe, that’s just mean.”
Her eyes glinted mischievously. “No, it’s just honest. Why do you think Lana left the squad?”
He shrugged. “I thought it was because she wanted to concentrate on re‑vamping The Talon.”
“Well, I personally think it’s because she realised she was the only one on the squad with more than half a brain, but that’s just me.” She took a sip of the coffee she’d brought along with her earlier and bit into a blueberry muffin.
“And while we’re on the subject,” she said, managing to speak past the half‑masticated muffin, “…is she talking to you again yet?”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Chloe,” he admonished.
“Ooh, look who’s turning into his Mommy!” she teased, but swallowed hurriedly and asked, “Well, is she?”
Clark sighed and worked on the piece of wood he was sanding. “Not yet.”
“Still mad at you for dry-humping some hoochie on her doorstep, huh?”
“Pretty much.” His hands stilled and his head snapped up as he processed her words. “Wait, she said that? ‘Dry-humping’?”
She giggled. “No, but you pretty much confirmed it for me.” She leaned back and drained the last of her coffee. “Why won’t you tell me who you were kissing, Clark?”
His face hardened. “I already told you Chloe: you don’t know her, I never met her before that day, and I haven’t seen her since. Let it go.”
“Okay, I get it. Subject closed.” She leaned forward and rested her chin on her hands.
Clark felt guilty for keeping the truth from Chloe about what they had both gotten up to a few weeks back. Chloe had been infected by a strange parasite, which had given her an adrenalin rush and made her act wildly out of character. To make matters worse, Pete, his other best friend who knew the truth about his origins, had also been infected, and had slipped Clark a red meteor rock, which he recently discovered lowered all his inhibitions and turned him into a totally sensual creature.
What had happened next was the stuff of his wildest fantasies. Somehow he’d wound up in the back seat of Pete’s car with Chloe in his lap, and she’d given him the hottest make-out session of his life. In fact, things had gotten so hot and heavy that there was every likelihood they would have gone all the way on the Talon couch in broad daylight. He and Chloe had been playing a game of strip poker with imaginary cards, and when she won the hand she’d ripped his shirt off him without hesitation. Fortunately for them, the red rock tumbled out of his pocket and he’d immediately come to his senses, otherwise they would have been arrested for at least indecent exposure.
Once the parasite had been removed from Chloe’s body, she’d returned to normal, but with no recollection of what she’d done whilst under its influence. But Clark’s memory was just fine, and the feel of her lush body against his was indelibly stamped on his brain. And even though he was supposed to be in love with Lana, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking naughty thoughts about Chloe. Just remembering how her curves felt in his hands, and how her hands had caressed him in private places, made his body harden and twitch for the feel of her.
“Can I try my hands on your tool, Clark?” she purred.
His head snapped up so fast he thought he’d cracked a vertebra. “What?” he said, startled.
She inclined her head. “Your power tool.”
“Uh...” he could feel his cheeks flaming rapidly. He was having trouble dragging his mind out of the gutter, and her innocent choice of words was not helping.
“Here, let me try that,” she offered, swinging her legs round to one side of the tractor. She wiped her hands on her combat trousers, dusting off crumbs as she prepared to dismount.
Clark frowned. “The lathe?”
“Oh, is that what it’s called?” She jumped down from the tractor and trotted toward him, examining the carpentry tool he was working with.
“So how do you work this thing, anyway?” she chirped.
He shrugged. “It’s not rocket science, Chloe…”
“Clearly not,” she snickered.
He scowled. “Very funny. It’s used to shape wood.” He stepped back and let her take her position in from of the tool. Tentatively, she put her hands on it in an imitation of the way she’d seen him work earlier.
“Like this?”
“Not exactly…” he came and stood behind her and placed his hands over hers.
“The lathe holds the wood in place, and you can rotate it while you work on it with a sander,” he explained. “Like this.” He guided her hands gently but firmly over the wood, noticing as he did so that her hair tickled his nose and swayed gently from his breath.
He swallowed and continued. “It can also be used for cutting, knurling and drilling, among other things.” He inhaled deeply, feeling light-headed at the sharp scent of her passion fruit shampoo and the mellow tones of her musky perfume.
“Cool,” she said smugly. “I could get used to this.” He heard triumph in her tone as the wood took shape under her hands. He still had his hands over hers, and knew he ought to let go and move away, but he seemed to be fixed in place by some irresistible force.
There was less than an inch of space between her back and his front, and it all but crackled with electricity and heat. He didn’t know about her, but he was definitely turned on, and it took all his willpower not to tilt his hips forward and brush against her backside.
God. Chloe would kill him dead if she knew what was going through his mind right now. He had to end this, and fast.
Just as soon as he could scrape together enough will power and common sense to step away from her.
Unfortunately, that time didn’t come soon enough. Because Chloe, fully concentrating on the object in her hands, chose that moment to lean forward over the lathe, bringing her butt in direct contact with his very hard lower half.
Chloe didn’t fail to notice his condition. She bolted upright as if she’d been stung. The sander skittered erratically over the wood, and her finger got too close to the edge.
“Ow!” she screeched, grabbing her hand and leaping away from him.
He blinked, startled. “Chloe?”
“Dammit!” she cursed, hopping up and down and clasping her forefinger.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, concerned. “What happened?”
She whirled her blonde head around and glared at him. “You might have warned me about the splinters, Clark! Man, this hurts!”
Oops. Major slip-up. Clark, being invulnerable, never wore work gloves when he was doing his chores. Usually he hurriedly put them on as soon as he heard his friends approaching, but he’d been so happy to hear Chloe’s voice that he’d forgotten to cover his tracks.
“I’m so sorry, Chloe. Here, let me have a look at that.”
He took her hand in his and studied her forefinger. Narrowing his eyes, he activated his x-ray vision. He could alter it so he could see though things in various degrees, and right now he could see the narrow shard of wood embedded just beneath her skin.
“What are you squinting for?” she said, irritated. “That’s not gonna help.”
“I, uh…” he made a show of palpating the area with his finger.
“Hey, careful!” she snapped. “That stings like a bi-”
“I can feel it,” he said. “I’m gonna try and prise it out.”
“No!” she yelled, alarmed. “Don’t do it that way, it’ll hurt more!”
“You have a better suggestion?” he queried.
Her brows came together in a soft frown. “If you get me a pin, I can do it myself.”
He shook his head. “Chloe, you don’t have the patience to pick it out with a pin. You’ll slice up your finger, and then bitch at me for a week because you won’t be able to type.”
She twisted her mouth this way and that. “Okay, you win,” she grumbled. “Let’s do it your way.”
“Alright. I’ll try to be careful.”
He placed the tip of his thumbnail at the base of the splinter and gently pushed upward. Chloe jerked her finger back wildly.
“Ow, ow ow, that does hurt!”
“Hold still!” he growled, struggling to hold on to her finger without exerting too much strength for fear of breaking it.
“But you’re hurting me!” she wailed.
“I’m trying to get it out!” he said exasperated.
“You said it wouldn’t hurt!”
“I said I’d be careful, but it was always gonna hurt.”
“In that case, gimme my hand back,” she growled. “I’ll go to the hospital and they can sort me out.”
He snorted. “Chloe, no-one’s gonna give you anaesthesia for a splinter.”
“But it stings like crazy,” she whined.
He shook his head. “You are such a girl sometimes,” he sighed. “Okay, let’s try something else.”
“Like what?”
“Give me the finger.”
She grinned and raised her middle finger up at him.
“Har, har,” he said dryly. “Come on, Chloe, I’m serious.”
She looked at him suspiciously. “Are you gonna hurt me again?”
He rolled his eyes. “I’ll try not to.”
She frowned and nursed her throbbing finger, regarding him warily.
He sighed. “Chloe, do you trust me?” he asked gently.
She hesitated, but he saw hope flicker in her hazel eyes. “Always,” she whispered.
He focused his gaze on her and held out his hand. “Give me your hand,” he said softly.
Slowly she stepped forward till there was barely any space between them and placed her hand in his.
Clark raised their joined hands up to the level of his face. Chloe instinctively tugged on her finger.
“Stay still,” he warned. She stopped struggling, but he could feel the tension running through her body. He appreciated his invulnerability, but he wondered idly what having a splinter must feel like.
“Relax,” he said gently. “Take a deep breath.”
Chloe inhaled and then let out a breath, blowing out her cheeks and stirring his hair with the slight breeze.
“I’m not gonna hurt you, Chloe,” he said honestly.
She nodded. “I know,” she whispered.
He fixed his green eyes on her. “Ready?”
She nodded again. “Ready.” She closed her eyes.
Still focused on her, Clark lifted her forefinger to his mouth and closed his lips around the tip. Exerting gentle pressure, he sucked on her fingertip until he felt the thin sliver of wood on his tongue. He slid her finger out of his mouth and smiled.
“You can open your eyes now.”
Chloe’s lashes drifted open, and there was a glazed, hazy expression on her face. Her pupils were so dilated that her eyes looked black rather than hazel.
“It’s out,” he said.
“Uh huh,” she said, still in a daze.
“Chloe, the splinter? It’s out.”
“Huh?” she blinked, suddenly coming online. “Oh, right. Wow. Hmm.”
“You’re welcome,” he chuckled. He looked at her fingertip, where a tiny speck of blood had gathered. Without thinking, he lifted her finger to his mouth again and licked it away.
Chloe’s eyes widened, and he stared into her green-gold depths, wondering what was going on here. The easy warmth that they shared was gone, replaced by something…urgent. He wrapped his fingers round her hand, and without thinking, began to lower his lips to hers.
“You vampire!” she screeched.
He blinked, jerking his head back. “Huh?”
“So that was your plan all along, huh? Bloodsucking leech,” she joked.
“I am not!” he protested.
“I knew you had an agenda,” she jeered. “Get your own splinters next time.”
He laughed along with her, happy to break the tension. “You got me. Does that mean we’re blood brothers now?”
She glanced sardonically at him. “For starters, I’m a girl. Secondly, for us to be blood brothers, I have to taste your blood as well. And that’s never gonna happen, buddy.”
He gave a wry grin. Because of his invulnerability, her words were truer than she’d ever know.
“Ah, well. Gotta give me props for trying,” he said in mock disappointment. He nodded at her finger. “How’s your hand?”
“Much better, thanks,” she replied. She sighed ruefully. “That’s the last time I try carpentry.”
“But you were doing so well,” he wheedled.
She beamed mischievously. “It’s like I said, Clark. I’ll stick to work tools that, er…require an IQ of more than forty.”
His jaw dropped and he stared at her. “Why, you little-!” he picked up a handful of hay and flung it in her direction. Chloe artfully ducked, and ran squealing toward the relative safety of the farmhouse where his mother was about to serve up some prize-winning pecan pie.
Clark followed at a slow jog, grinning. No-one made him laugh quite like Chloe Sullivan. It was probably best there was nothing more than friendship between them…but he couldn’t help but wonder how different things would have been if that tornado hadn’t come tearing through Smallville last year.
He shoved his errant thoughts to the back of his mind as he joined her at the kitchen table. For now, he thought with a smile, as he watched her eyes light up at the sight of pie, this would have to do.
The end.
***