smallville fic: tracing scars
Very panicky about the new schedule I'll be having on campus, kind of excited anyway. Back to old fic backlog while I panic about getting In the Blood done on time. Nine days! O-o.
Chloe deals with her memories and having Davis, just Davis, after his split from Doomsdayl. Odd angst. Mentions of violent Chloomy sex. Chloe/Davis.
Chloe wouldn’t hear the pad of his feet if that wasn’t all she was waiting for. Davis smells clean; he smells like steam and a tang of nervous sweat. He didn’t want to wake her; but now that she can sleep without him, she can’t stand the thought. ”That couch seems a little silly, now.” She pulls his hand over her lips; his fingers smooth under her chin to catch a bare, ragged noise. This is their first night without a black shadow looming between their bodies.
He holds himself to her gently, slips over top of the covers instead of underneath. He kisses her hello or goodnight for now and the heat of him clings in her mouth. Her fingers splay over his shoulders, a muscle memory. When his hands rub low against her back she lets the sheets drop and twist. Her arms arc against the pillow; the long scar on her back meets soft lips.
Next, it will be his body cushioning and warm and taking hers, the longest type of embrace. Chloe feels his erection on the back of her thigh, his hands running below the curve of her back, fingers trembling. She’s in his head; she doesn’t need sight to orient herself to him. She bumps back against him, softly. There have been thousands of impossible reasons pulling them apart. This is gravity.
“Not like that.” he whispers, his voice like the soft cool of a sponge on her skin. She remembers his almost-change, ragged edges, his chest against her back. That mating had been blinding and raw; arousing, guilty, hopeless; she’d been calculating probabilities and wanting his eyes to come back. When Davis’s eyes had finally opened, they hadn’t been red. The illusion had burned away at the moment; the shell had woken and cried tears of a man.
Davis turns her like he would a fragile patient. Her hands feel the beat of his heart. “It can be better.” He says. His sincerity is terrifying and tender. “We need it to be better.” Davis wants her but he wants to have her happiness most of all. Had she been happy, then? Chloe had become addicted to the rush and the pain and the impossibility of having him and keeping him in any way at all. She’d wanted him so much that it had become beautiful.
He holds her hands until she fists them on the bed and guides herself down on him. Separate sensations turn to one- the flutter of his eyelashes and his eyes that won’t leave hers and the hard heat of his palms. This could go on forever, like it actually could. The sheets stick to the backs of her knees, and it’s strange, a little- being the top, the balance, the driving force. This is the reality and she has to learn.
Davis pushes up and toys lips at the side of her neck in a long solid brush, makes her forget about what she’s doing. Chloe holds her breath in and looks back into him until she can almost feel what she needs to be healed like a fissure in steel. It wouldn’t be anyone but him. His breath blows hot on her neck, and she impales herself on his cock; it’s not suicide. It’s warm and more real than any memory. She feels slick, slippery and she loses balance into his arms more than once.
This time they can control the variables and the need to hold each other until the world stops. Chloe fists a hand in her own hair and feels him come inside her, tugs and palpitations grinding up into her. Her eyes tear. It’s like she’s in another world for a moment. She lowers her mouth to his. The pulse of her heart is all she needs to find him.
Chloe deals with her memories and having Davis, just Davis, after his split from Doomsdayl. Odd angst. Mentions of violent Chloomy sex. Chloe/Davis.
Chloe wouldn’t hear the pad of his feet if that wasn’t all she was waiting for. Davis smells clean; he smells like steam and a tang of nervous sweat. He didn’t want to wake her; but now that she can sleep without him, she can’t stand the thought. ”That couch seems a little silly, now.” She pulls his hand over her lips; his fingers smooth under her chin to catch a bare, ragged noise. This is their first night without a black shadow looming between their bodies.
He holds himself to her gently, slips over top of the covers instead of underneath. He kisses her hello or goodnight for now and the heat of him clings in her mouth. Her fingers splay over his shoulders, a muscle memory. When his hands rub low against her back she lets the sheets drop and twist. Her arms arc against the pillow; the long scar on her back meets soft lips.
Next, it will be his body cushioning and warm and taking hers, the longest type of embrace. Chloe feels his erection on the back of her thigh, his hands running below the curve of her back, fingers trembling. She’s in his head; she doesn’t need sight to orient herself to him. She bumps back against him, softly. There have been thousands of impossible reasons pulling them apart. This is gravity.
“Not like that.” he whispers, his voice like the soft cool of a sponge on her skin. She remembers his almost-change, ragged edges, his chest against her back. That mating had been blinding and raw; arousing, guilty, hopeless; she’d been calculating probabilities and wanting his eyes to come back. When Davis’s eyes had finally opened, they hadn’t been red. The illusion had burned away at the moment; the shell had woken and cried tears of a man.
Davis turns her like he would a fragile patient. Her hands feel the beat of his heart. “It can be better.” He says. His sincerity is terrifying and tender. “We need it to be better.” Davis wants her but he wants to have her happiness most of all. Had she been happy, then? Chloe had become addicted to the rush and the pain and the impossibility of having him and keeping him in any way at all. She’d wanted him so much that it had become beautiful.
He holds her hands until she fists them on the bed and guides herself down on him. Separate sensations turn to one- the flutter of his eyelashes and his eyes that won’t leave hers and the hard heat of his palms. This could go on forever, like it actually could. The sheets stick to the backs of her knees, and it’s strange, a little- being the top, the balance, the driving force. This is the reality and she has to learn.
Davis pushes up and toys lips at the side of her neck in a long solid brush, makes her forget about what she’s doing. Chloe holds her breath in and looks back into him until she can almost feel what she needs to be healed like a fissure in steel. It wouldn’t be anyone but him. His breath blows hot on her neck, and she impales herself on his cock; it’s not suicide. It’s warm and more real than any memory. She feels slick, slippery and she loses balance into his arms more than once.
This time they can control the variables and the need to hold each other until the world stops. Chloe fists a hand in her own hair and feels him come inside her, tugs and palpitations grinding up into her. Her eyes tear. It’s like she’s in another world for a moment. She lowers her mouth to his. The pulse of her heart is all she needs to find him.