by Andariel

Putting the Torch to bed has never been like this. Then again, this is the first time since she and Clark started having sex that she's had to do so. It's hard to concentrate, seeing that little focus line between his brows, pencil between his teeth as he types on the keyboard. She glances up at the clock. Thirty minutes until they have to go to Spanish III; Four hours before they'll be back in here to put the finishing touches on for the printers. Damn it...

That's an eternity when all she wants is more of what she had Saturday night -- Clark's mouth on her breast, fingers sliding between her legs and finding her clit with a confidence born of being intimate for three weeks. Sex has evolved from shy awkwardness to the point where it's both needy and good. They've learned each other's bodies well but still have things to learn, places to explore. Uncharted territory, and Chloe wants to forget about the paper layout entirely.

She never realized before now how many of the terms in the newspaper biz can feel dirty and turn you on when your mind has taken up residence in Sex Central.

Her hair is in her eyes again, but an angled puff of breath blows it away, and she feels Clark's eyes on her across the battered partner desk. There's a little sucking sound when he pulls the pencil from between his lips -- he's such a tease, even without trying. She used to scold him about it every time she found one of her mechanical pencils with bite marks scarring it. He only abuses his own pencils now, and Chloe no longer thinks the habit is disgusting. Seeing him mouthing the writing implement is disturbingly cute, bordering on sexy, which probably says something scary about her oral fixation.

And right, the layout requires finishing. Chloe's brow furrows as she stares down the reluctant headline. It doesn't have the right... snap. Doesn't pop, and-

"How's it coming?"

Clark really shouldn't be allowed to say that word while she's working. Never. "Almost done." She searches her mental thesaurus for something better that will fit in the allotted space.

She hears a creak of worn chair springs, and then Clark crouches next to her, arm sliding along the back of her chair and looking at the screen. "Anything I can help with?" Clark's breath tickles her neck, fingers slipping to rub casual circles on her shoulder, and Chloe hot-keys the save-and-exit function.

Making the marching band's fifth place finish in competition sound interesting will have to wait. Maybe she'll get inspired later. Right now, she's inspired to turn her head, and there's a twinkle in Clark's eyes -- he knew exactly what he was doing to her -- before his lips close on hers. It's risky. Anyone could walk in, but that somehow makes it better, and the bell won't ring for another twenty-five minutes.

Heat flares up, blinding flashes behind her closed lids as Clark's tongue strokes hers, rough and demanding. Hand coming up between them, backs of his knuckles skimming over her breast, then turning to palm it. They've got to be crazy to chance this, but she can't push away from those warm fingers. Not until a loud crash of something dropped in the hallway partially breaks the haze and they draw back. Two pairs of wide eyes fix on the door, but no one comes in, and Chloe turns her head back. Clark... squatting next to her chair, hard thighs outlined by taut denim, and she can't be expected to wait until seven o'clock. Her eyes catch a spill of documents in an open folder, and an idea sparks in her brain.

She stands, hasty movements knocking the rolling chair back to bump the wall, and grabs Clark's hand. "Come on..."

The trip to the darkroom happens in a blur of backward walking, Clark's fingers clutched in hers, and he smiles when he sees the destination. This door has a lock on the inside to prevent people from walking in and exposing undeveloped negatives. Chloe will take convenience where she can get it.

Clark shuts the door behind them, quickly engaging the lock before he turns and closes hands on her hips. Claustrophobic room filled with the scent of chemicals and lit crimson by the red bulb in the ceiling fixture, but that doesn't matter at all. Clark pulls her to him, and she feels the hard glide of his erection against her stomach when he thrusts a little. Chloe grits back a moan when his lips land on the skin of her neck. Words breathed against her throat and punctuated by kisses. "God, Chloe... I've been thinking about this... all day... couldn't wait... to taste you..."

Echoes of her own thoughts heat her blood even more, and she gets a hand between them to start working Clark's fly. Material flutters at her hips. She hazily realizes that Clark is bunching up her long peasant skirt in his fists, finding the hem and slipping under it. She's managed to get his jeans open but nothing more than that when his hands catch the waistband of her tights and he draws them down to her ankles. Chloe kicks off her shoes and stares down at Clark -- his hair mussed by her fingers, face painted in red and black shadows as he kneels at her feet. His long arms reach up, eyes locked on hers as he unfastens the zipper of her skirt and it puddles at her feet

Pushed back against the wall, and Clark spreads her thighs with his hands, making way for him. Tongue tracing a teasing, hot line up the inside of her thigh, but they don't have a lot of time, and Clark knows it. His face disappears between her legs, and there's a whiteout of sheer pleasure at the first dart of his tongue against her clit. Little teases that arch her hips and force choked cries from her throat. Need burning her alive inside as he laves her with hot strokes, slipping inside for a deeper taste with little thrusts that make her bones liquefy. Only the wall is holding her upright now, and she clenches fingers in his hair, pulling him back and up to her. "Now, Clark... please..."

She doesn't have to ask twice. Clark reaches into his pocket before she roughly pushes the jeans and boxers down his legs. There's a ripping sound as she rises, a hand on her thigh pulling her leg up around his hip, and Chloe reaches between them. Clark lifts her as she positions him, and she thinks she needs to add an extra thank you to her prayers for his strength, which allows them this position despite the height difference. He supports her weight fully as her feet leave the floor and he's... "Oh, fuck... Chloe..."

Moving her on him as though she weighs no more than a feather. Pulling her hips forward in rhythm with his thrusts, cock sliding hot inside her, stretching and filling and making the world explode into fragmented colors. She finds Clark's mouth in the blood-tinted room, muffling her moans by breathing them into him, pressing her need inside him along with the sounds on her tongue. Clark's head flies back, catching air like he's drowning, and she fastens her mouth on his shoulder, teeth bearing down so she doesn't bring the school running from the screams that claw at her throat. In faster and faster, perfect pressure on her clit from the angle, and orgasm rockets through her like an explosion. Seemingly endless as she feels Clark continue to thrust into the clench of her muscles, knowing she's taken him over the edge with the thrusting stutters, jerking against her and slowing with the hot press of lips into the spot behind her ear. "God... Clark..."

His breath shakes on her skin. She feels the reluctant pull back, how he gently withdraws and sets her down. Tasting her lips slowly now, almost a reverence in the soft brushes that don't steal the breath they're both trying to reclaim. Clark recovers faster than she does, as usual, and redresses before fetching her clothes from the floor. He moves to lift her foot, but she catches him with a quick hand. "Give me those. If you touch my legs, we'll both end up with Saturday detention for being late."

Clark grins, handing her the tights and holding her skirt at the ready. "You think Senora Luna would give us a Saturday for that?"

Chloe wishes she weren't tempted by the glint in his eyes, clearly visible even in the red gloaming. She would have known it was there in the pitch black, given his tone of voice. "Clark... I'm having a hard enough time being motivated to leave here in favor of sitting still for forty-five minutes of conversational Spanish. Please stop leering at me."

So maybe she whined a little. The pout Clark shoots her in return really shouldn't be sexy. Damn it. "What do I get if I behave myself?"

Chloe's inner snark is highly tempted to offer him milk and animal crackers while he watches cartoons after school. She takes the skirt from his hands, slipping it on as she contemplates doing exactly that. However... "You get me, later, once the issue is sent to the printers."

She scoots around him with a sly grin, hand closing on the doorknob and turning the lock. She jumps a bit when a hot lick runs from her nape to the edge of her jaw. "I'm holding you to that." Literally, it would seem, since he's clasped her from behind as they both peek through the crack of the door for witnesses. None to be had, so she leans her head back against Clark's shoulder and licks the seam of his lips. "You do that."

They don't break apart until the bell rings.

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