by victoria p.
She lies back against the pillows, sated. She traces the hard lines of his body with her eyes. They never touch afterward, never cuddle. She believes he thinks it would be a sign of weakness. To her, it is simply another sign of what they do not share.
They've never discussed their unexpected pairing, nor the reasons for it, though occasionally the name he cries out when he comes is not hers. She forgives it, because it is the same name she chants in her head while he thrusts inside her, driving her over the edge into bliss.
There is always a third person in bed with Chloe and Lex. Clark hovers above them, silent, reproachful, unattainable.
They come together like this, always in the same room, the same hotel, though the frequency changes. Sometimes it's every night for a week, sometimes not for six months.
But it always happens after Clark has shown them once again that he is not either of theirs to have or to hold.
The first time was awkward and yet sweet -- the day Clark first met Lois, the woman who spoiled both their dreams. In the years since, as they have gone from friends to bitter enemies, their coupling is the only thing that gets them through sometimes, as they watch Clark's star rise both as himself, and as Superman.
Lex turns to her now, and she feels his hard cock against her thigh. She swallows hard against the tears that threaten when she looks at him, and pale skin and guarded gray eyes look back, rather than a mane of sable and the most open green eyes she's ever seen.
There is desperation in her kiss, and she can taste it in his mouth. She closes her eyes, willing herself to believe in their shared delusion. And once again their bodies move in time, trying to exorcise Clark from their minds and hearts, through lust and sweat and the lies they tell themselves.
It is always the same.
This is nothing she ever wanted, ever expected.
And it's all either of them has.
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