smallville fic: petit mort
Completely AU s9 fic. Davis gets his freedom back and the first thing he does is start catching Kryptonite bullets in the back. Chloe is less than content.
“You know, you don’t have to be my all purpose crutch. You’ve been very kind, watching over me.” Davis looks at her with warm, giving eyes. She slides her hand to his side, keeping the towel up as he walks to the shower. “I’m fine.” He says stubbornly. He’s probably thinking of her deadline, the idiot.
“You’re fine?! You’re too weak to walk on your own.”
“’I’m getting my strength back.”
“It was different with Doomsday inside you.”
He doesn't have to do this to himself. No one blames him for what he was. At least, she doesn't. He's scared, she thinks. Scared of this life now.
Chloe turns her back, feels herself shrugging archly. “Davis, you're sensible. I haven't seen that from you. Prove it, or I'm going to get Oliver to pull strings and put you on leave.”
He slides a callused, shaky hand to her shoulder and hugs her away from the door.
Chloe’s fingers slide down the shower curtain, slipping over wetness that could have been blood. Palms brace on it as she falls forward, her muscles clenching before they have a cock to close on. The plastic tears in a short, dirty rip through her nails. She feels herself hauled back, and bumped forward by a deep, needy thrust.
She got her divorce a little more than three months ago. Davis had been split two months and a day ago. He’d returned to helping people with soothing hands and a smile doing heroics this time; he still had panic attacks at night. They decided to be friends, while she figured the rest out. They ate well-lighted dinners together and teased each other about silly things, a protective habit of living together for fear-thick months on the run. Chloe saw Davis as her heroic paramedic friend again, even if he was haunted. He saw her as the one person who’d had the courage to love him. It was unspoken where it would go sometime.
She couldn’t have thought of this. It’s quick and rough, tingling rawness between her legs and the rasp of stubble against the side of her neck. Hands plunge and grope softly into her, penetrating and rubbing her roughly to orgasm. There had been nothing hasty about how Davis had made his feelings known; he’d made and remade his rounds their first time.
Chloe shoves her fists back on the tile, shaky, skin pebbling; the wet heat where his body joins hers rubs raw. She needs it just like this. Davis makes noise, a pained gasp much different from when he was hit by the robber’s five Kryptonite bullets in the back. He jerks, once twice and she shivers and relaxes into the bloom of wetness between her legs.
She pants, catching little finishing tingles as he rolls them to their sides.
“Thank you.” The moment is awkward. It’s been a while, and the tumble into intimacy was unplanned. “Chloe- I missed-.”
“So did I.” There’s a rush of closeness, of safety and warmth she’s felt with him at the most inappropriate times. “I’ll never be ready to lose you.” she murmurs, more conscious of the stutter that wants to come out. She’ll never take him for granted again.
His fingers touch and wind through hers over the drain and Davis hugs her against his front. Sweat drips into her mouth; she tastes rapture and gnawing relief. That was close.
“You know, you don’t have to be my all purpose crutch. You’ve been very kind, watching over me.” Davis looks at her with warm, giving eyes. She slides her hand to his side, keeping the towel up as he walks to the shower. “I’m fine.” He says stubbornly. He’s probably thinking of her deadline, the idiot.
“You’re fine?! You’re too weak to walk on your own.”
“’I’m getting my strength back.”
“It was different with Doomsday inside you.”
He doesn't have to do this to himself. No one blames him for what he was. At least, she doesn't. He's scared, she thinks. Scared of this life now.
Chloe turns her back, feels herself shrugging archly. “Davis, you're sensible. I haven't seen that from you. Prove it, or I'm going to get Oliver to pull strings and put you on leave.”
He slides a callused, shaky hand to her shoulder and hugs her away from the door.
Chloe’s fingers slide down the shower curtain, slipping over wetness that could have been blood. Palms brace on it as she falls forward, her muscles clenching before they have a cock to close on. The plastic tears in a short, dirty rip through her nails. She feels herself hauled back, and bumped forward by a deep, needy thrust.
She got her divorce a little more than three months ago. Davis had been split two months and a day ago. He’d returned to helping people with soothing hands and a smile doing heroics this time; he still had panic attacks at night. They decided to be friends, while she figured the rest out. They ate well-lighted dinners together and teased each other about silly things, a protective habit of living together for fear-thick months on the run. Chloe saw Davis as her heroic paramedic friend again, even if he was haunted. He saw her as the one person who’d had the courage to love him. It was unspoken where it would go sometime.
She couldn’t have thought of this. It’s quick and rough, tingling rawness between her legs and the rasp of stubble against the side of her neck. Hands plunge and grope softly into her, penetrating and rubbing her roughly to orgasm. There had been nothing hasty about how Davis had made his feelings known; he’d made and remade his rounds their first time.
Chloe shoves her fists back on the tile, shaky, skin pebbling; the wet heat where his body joins hers rubs raw. She needs it just like this. Davis makes noise, a pained gasp much different from when he was hit by the robber’s five Kryptonite bullets in the back. He jerks, once twice and she shivers and relaxes into the bloom of wetness between her legs.
She pants, catching little finishing tingles as he rolls them to their sides.
“Thank you.” The moment is awkward. It’s been a while, and the tumble into intimacy was unplanned. “Chloe- I missed-.”
“So did I.” There’s a rush of closeness, of safety and warmth she’s felt with him at the most inappropriate times. “I’ll never be ready to lose you.” she murmurs, more conscious of the stutter that wants to come out. She’ll never take him for granted again.
His fingers touch and wind through hers over the drain and Davis hugs her against his front. Sweat drips into her mouth; she tastes rapture and gnawing relief. That was close.