Disclaimers: Nothing and no one here belongs to me, more's the
pity.

Spoilers: Pretty big ones for Duplicity.

Summary: So who cares about the hero and his best girl, anyway?

Ratings Note: NC-17.

Author's Note: Basingstoke and I decided to have a porn race.
Because after all -- no matter who wins? Nobody loses. *g*

Acknowledgments: To Bas and Miss Bun for audiencing.

Feedback makes pretty girls smile. teland793@sbcglobal.net

*

As dilemmas go, it could be worse.

Sure, Chloe's pretty obviously not over Clark, and if Pete was a
*really* good friend, he'd reach up and slap Clark upside the head
repeatedly until he figured that out, *whatever* the guy planned to
do about it, but...

Still.

Clark *was* pretty relieved about the idea of just being friends with
Chloe again. And he still looks at Lana like the second coming, the
Sharks winning the Superbowl, and a winning lottery ticket all
wrapped up in one fine-looking package.

So... there's no harm in *assuming* the guy knows what he's
doing, right?

Right.

Especially if it means, say, walking Chloe home from the bus instead
of spending even one more minute inside that stuffy barn.

He can understand that Clark has a lot to talk about, hell, the guy
is an *alien* -- and no, he probably isn't going to wrap his entire
brain around that concept anytime soon -- but the loft has absolutely
nothing on Chloe's Bedroom.

And God, it isn't like he hasn't been in here a hundred times before
since she'd moved to Smallville, but it's always the same.

Always deserves capitals.

The piles of clothes that could be clean or dirty, starting vaguely at
the open door of her closet and meandering towards the rumpled
bed.

The bookshelves lining the walls, packed full and arranged by some
system Chloe swore by, but that no one Pete had ever met had been
able to figure out. The *other* books on the floor, the desk, the
window seat, and the rumpled bed.

The rumpled bed.

The smell of Chloe everywhere, so that the first step inside is always
exactly like being punched painlessly in the stomach, making him
gasp like a fish out of water. Pete covers with a fake sneeze and
tries not to think too hard about the fact that Chloe has *dated*
Clark Kent.

Officially.

Somehow, through whatever kindnesses God chooses to dole out
to lovesick and slightly-shorter-than-average fools, Chloe has dated
Clark, and Clark has utterly failed to pick up on the million and
one clues she'd given him that all he'd have to do is be halfway
*there* and he'd have her forever.

Or, somehow, Clark just doesn't *want* Chloe, and that would
*have* to require divine intervention and didn't he tell himself not
to think about that?

Yeah.

He catches himself staring as Chloe stacks up books and papers
apparently randomly and sweeps them off the (rumpled, she was
sleeping there, wearing significantly less clothing than she is now)
bed and squeezes his eyes shut.

Thinks about the smell of the locker room after practice and
before showers until he has something like a brain again, but
when he opens his eyes Chloe's giving him the weather eye.

"Pete?"

"Uh... just had the sun in my eyes, Chloe. It's nothing."

She shoots a glance at the window that's very profoundly behind
Pete. Wasn't he smoother than this once upon a time? He
distinctly remembers being smoother.

It's been a long, long summer without her. Without that hair and
that smile and that incredibly suspicious look on her face right
*now*. "So. Um. Math?"

Her smile is a weird mix of secretive and pleased that makes Pete
lose a few more brain cells. "Yeah, math..."

*

Pathetic, Pete thinks, is when you find yourself wishing teachers
weren't so easy on students homework-wise in the first few
weeks of school. Because really, it's not like they couldn't *handle*
another two or three or six hours of Geometry...

However, he is man enough not to ask Chloe (again) if she's sure
she left her History notes in her locker.

They've finished their homework.

He has to go home.

"Please tell me this stuff isn't going to get worse, Pete. GOD. I'm
going to be seeing cubes in my *dreams*, tonight. Little,
malevolent, cubes..."

Pete grins. "With glowing green teeth?"

"Laugh if you want, but the first time I see a meteor rock anywhere
*near* somebody's math book I'm looking into the myriad
opportunities available to the young American high school dropout."
Chloe flopped back against her headboard, expression daring him to
question her logic.

Or kiss her.

Something like that.

"Chloe..." And Pete blinks and bites his lip when he realizes that
he has no idea what he was going to say. Or rather, that the only
way he was going to end that sentence was with all the things he
had no intention of saying. Yet. "Uh. Looks like it's time for me to
go," he mutters in the vague direction of his books. Books. Yeah.
He starts stuffing them in his backpack and gives thanks for the fact
he can't show blushes very well.

"You told me once that I was beautiful."

And God, now is *so* not the time to flash on every fantasy he's
had where he whispers that in her ear while he touches her, holds
her, moves in her so deep -- "I... what?"

"It was the way you said it..." And she sounds almost... dreamy.

When Pete can make himself look up she's not even looking at him,
just frowning vaguely at the window like it's a puzzle missing a
piece, or a broken camera lens. The way she's turned stretches her
throat like the world's best illusion of vulnerability, and it occurs to
Pete that he would do things he can't even bring himself to name just
to *protect* --

Blue eyes suddenly focused on him and she looks almost *angry*.
"Ever notice how the sidekicks always end up alone, Pete?"

"What --"

"No matter how good, or brave, or loyal or noble or... fucking
*plucky* they are, the sidekicks always disappear by the end credits,
leaving the hero and his best girl to gaze oh so *meaningfully* into
each other's eyes and --" She cuts herself off abruptly, posture
screaming I'm-going-to-cry-or-hit-something-soon-and-if-you-see-
me-cry-I'll-hit-*you*.

Pete pulls her into his arms, settling her chin on his shoulder. He
doesn't have to see.

After a while, she doesn't so much hug him as grab his shirt and
hold on. It's awkward, but Chloe's never felt anything but good in
his arms.

Right.

And it's not until Chloe stiffens in his arms that he realizes that
he's talking. "Beautiful, so beautiful, loved you forever, no one else..."
He can't stop, though. Just squeezes his eyes shut and holds Chloe
a little tighter.

If he's spilling his guts, he might as well be a man about it.

No holding back. No secrets anymore, not from Chloe. His Chloe,
even if she isn't at all.

Except for Clark.

And there's something black and lingering about that thought,
something somewhere between edged and simply too huge to
ignore. Clark.

Always fucking *Clark*.

As if there can't possibly be anything in his life that doesn't stop
short right there, outside one particular barn where Chloe would
probably rather be. And even if part of him knows that isn't fair,
or close to true, the rest of him...

The rest of him just *wants*.

"Pete...?"

He kisses her ear, marveling at the feel of hard cartilage and soft
skin. Takes a deep, shaky breath that fills him with nothing but
the scent of her hair, her skin, and her tears, and has to kiss her
again.

Chloe shivers in his arms and it's all he can do not to hold her
even tighter, even though he knows he's already pushing it. It's
enough to drag his lips over her cheek, not kissing so much as
*feeling* her with his mouth until they're face to face.

Until he can lick the salt off her lips and look into her eyes and try
to find anything like what he needs.

And Chloe looks... not quite stunned so much as a kind of still he's
never seen on her before. Wide-eyed and watchful and... open.

It's enough.

He takes her face in his hands and kisses her for real, opening her
mouth with his own and using every trick he's learned from every
girl who's ever let him get this close.

They've only been practice for this, anyway.

The first tentative touch of Chloe's tongue makes him moan into her
mouth, makes his cock twitch in his jeans and God, they're still
close enough that she could maybe feel it, but she doesn't push
away or stop. Just licks at his tongue and clutches his shirt, pressing
close enough that their heartbeats are a thudding confusion, and
Pete can't do anything but fall back on the bed, pulling Chloe on
top of him.

"Oh," she says in a low voice somewhere between surprised and
sleepy.

He pulls her in for another kiss, reveling in the weight of her on
his body and struggling not to grind up against her belly.

"Pete, you... God..." One small hand slipping under his shirt, splaying
over his belly, and everything is warm, so warm.

"Kiss me again."

And now she looks shocked, but only for a moment. She grins a
little wildly and shakes her hair out. "I can't believe I never
thought --"

Which just isn't something he needs to hear right now, so he presses
his thumb to her lower lip, just hard enough to make her stop
talking.

To make her *look* at him.

"I'm here now, okay?" Me, not him, he doesn't say, and doesn't
have to when she finally bends to kiss him.

And God, Chloe kisses like she'll never get a chance to again, hard
and hungry and not shy with the teeth, and before he knows what
he's doing, his hands are all over her.

Sliding under her thin, thin top and down over her ass and God,
so beautiful, so *sexy*, has to push her down against him, push
up against her, and his brain can't decide if it's painful or
wonderful but his body doesn't care.

"Pete... can I touch you?" Whispered like a hundred fantasies and
his cock throbs helplessly.

"Jesus, Chloe, yeah. Anywhere. Just... anywhere." Kisses her again
before he can say anything even stupider and groans into her
mouth at the first light touch of her hand between them.

Throws his head back and *arches* when she cups him and
squeezes.

"Oh *God*, that feels good..."

"You're so hard..." And she sounds somewhere between awed
and gleeful, kneeling up and immediately starting to undo his jeans
and Pete can't even *watch*.

The ceiling is safe. The ceiling is nice, and white, maybe a little
dusty and Chloe hardly even *fumbles* before she gets his cock
out of his boxers.

"Oh, wow."

Pete makes a noise he can't even classify and prays wordlessly.

Bucks at the feel of Chloe's thumb smoothing pre-come around
the head of his cock, and grabs for the sheets.

"No, wait."

"Wha...?" Pete manages to sit up, blinking mindlessly at the sight
of Chloe's pale, pretty hand wrapped far, far too loosely around
his cock. Licks his lips and looks up, losing it a little at the bead
of sweat slowly making its way down into her cleavage, at the
line of her throat... God, Chloe.

Blushing. "Show me. I... I haven't... show me how you do it?"

And all Pete can do for long moments is nod dumbly before bracing
himself on one elbow and twining his fingers in Chloe's own.
Tightens their hands around himself and *God*, it's good.

So good he can barely keep his eyes open, barely keep himself
from just going for it, but Chloe's right there, and he wants to see
this, wants to see *her* seeing this, and Jesus, it's worth it. All
wide-eyed and focused on *him*. His face, his belly, his cock
disappearing and reappearing between their fingers.

Watching him so *hungrily* and following every movement he
makes with the kind of concentration he knows their teachers
wish she'd show in class and fuck, nothing's *ever* been this hot.

And it just gets hotter when she uses her free hand to push his
shirt up higher for apparently no other reason than just to see
more of him *naked*.

Has to speed it up, thrust up into their hands. "Harder, Chloe,
please --"

"God, Pete, that's so hot... the way your stomach just... oh,
man, are you going to come?"

And that's all he can take; it hits him in a rush and it's all he can
do to keep from shouting as he comes all over their hands and his
belly, panting and shaking.

Chloe brings her hand to her mouth slowly, still watching him
wide-eyed like an experiment with completely unexpected results.

"Chloe..."

Little pink tongue darting out to taste once, again. "Hunh. Kinda...
I don't know."

Pete isn't sure he has language. There certainly aren't any words in
his head for *this*. He shakes it off internally as best he can and
sits up, kisses Chloe hard enough to get a hot little surprised noise
out of her and shapes his hand to her breast, soft and warm,
nipple a demanding little shard of flesh against his palm.

She doesn't sound surprised anymore.

Suddenly, he understands everything his older brothers ever said
about 'getting the edge off,' because he can almost think again,
even if he still *feels* sex-drunk and stupid. Almost make plans.

Like getting Chloe's shirt off, and her bra open, and his mouth
*there*, and there's something so incredible about the feel of her
hands pressing him closer that it makes his eyes prickle.

"Bite, please bite..."

And she smells so *good*, like that sweetly basic scent that's
meant 'woman' to him since he was eleven or so and like something
he can't come up with any other word for but *sex*, and God, he
has to get *down* there.

Has to slide his hand up one lean, soft-skinned thigh, rub against
the prickles of stubble she hasn't waxed away yet, and...

God.

"Can I taste you?" Blurts it out before he can think.

Chloe just pushes him down, moans high in her throat and spreads
her legs, letting her loose skirt pool around her waist.

The scent is sharper, deeper, and the crotch of her panties is dark
with wetness. She's *wet* for him, and that's just the hottest thing
ever.

Or maybe the hottest thing is the way she pushes him away so she
can wriggle *out* of the panties, kicking them off the bed. Or maybe
it's that she's laying there in a skirt and a half-open bra and her
shoes and no panties waiting for him to...

No brain cells left at all and Pete couldn't be happier.

He slides his hands up the sleekly smooth insides of her thighs and
spreads her, breathing deep again and again and finally just
nuzzling, holding her thighs apart so he can hear the breathless little
noises she makes when he hits something interesting.

And okay, so maybe he hasn't done this before, but porn is porn,
and Pete's willing to bet that following those noises would be a
*good* thing.

But nowhere near as good as licking a long stripe from her tight little
hole to the saltiest part of her, nudged up in the apex of her pussy,
and the way Chloe goes rigid and digs her nails into his shoulders is
something Pete could very easily fall in love with.

So he does it again.

And again.

Slips his tongue inside her to get more of her slickness, more of that
hot, wet *taste* --

"Oh God Pete --"

And oh, man, he can *have* her this way, shove his tongue as deep
as it will go and thrust and thrust...

Show her what he wants. What they could both have.

And Chloe's digging her heels into the bed, pushing herself against
Pete's face, making it hard to breathe and harder to care because he
*has* her. He's tonguing her deep and taking her down and he never,
ever wants to let go.

He takes a deep breath and pushes in close, imagining himself painted
with her like some kind of primitive XXX warrior, and he only pauses
long enough to suck hard on her stiff little clit as a promise for later,
another time, before diving back in.

And in.

And in.

Chloe's muffled yell is almost a shock, and the way she writhes when
she comes is *definitely* a shock -- she moves like all the movies
Pete's seen of the ocean during a storm, violent and rhythmic at once.
Both completely natural and completely unexpected and he's *so*
going to be hard again soon if he's not careful.

He pulls away slowly, licking his lips and trying to be casual about
getting the two or three little hairs that came loose off his tongue.
His brothers didn't cover that. Thankfully, Chloe isn't watching.

Chloe is pretty much... well, she's conscious. One distinctly chewed-
looking arm thrown over her eyes and chest heaving in a *really*
inspiring way and... chest.

Pete catches himself stroking her ribcage and almost pulls away before
deciding that if he can't pet Chloe now, then he's pretty much a lost
cause.

He is *not* a lost cause.

"You okay, Chloe?"

"Yuh huh."

He grins behind his hand and settles in beside her. "Good."

"Yeah..." Chloe sniffs and giggles. "You smell like my pussy."

Pete snickers. "We both pretty much *reek*, Chloe."

"We smell like seeexxxx."

"Can I go down on you at school? Because if it makes you act
like this..."

"CK: Pussy. Not just for girls anymore."

"Are you trying to tell me something?"

"There's a big, wide world outside of Smallville, Pete..."

The only suitable response to that was pelting her with the beanie
babies on her nightstand.
 

End.