Chloe/Davis fic: Underworld
Aug. 24th, 2010 08:53 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seriousficTitle: Underworld
Fandom: Smallville
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,767
Characters/Pairings: Chloe/Davis
Author's notes: Set during season nine.
Summary: There's a part of Chloe that wants to be with Davis. It's a part she doesn't know what to do with.
There comes a time in everyone’s life when you have to say yes instead of no. When the world is bearing down on you and you’re spoiling for a fight, sometimes you have to back down, compromise, yield. But if Chloe did that, she knew she’d lose it.
She was an accomplice, helping a serial killer escape with his crimes. She was leaving behind everything she’d ever known or loved to be with a man. Not even a good man. A flawed, corrupted, shattered shell of a man. The only way she could live with it was to remind herself it wasn’t her choice. If she’d had her way, she’d be with Jimmy. But Clark needed her to be with Davis. That was the only reason. She couldn’t have feelings for him, not beyond pity. He was a murderer. A monster.
He never pressured her. That was the worst part. He was just grateful she was there, to talk to and laugh with and drive while he slept. Clark wanted less from her, Jimmy wanted more. With Davis, just being there was enough.
It wasn’t like she set out to ruin his life. It was like that when she got there. She thought they’d be spending the rest of their lives together, on the run. She might as well enjoy it. He might as well enjoy it. It wasn’t like she was raping him. In every relationship, someone loved someone else more. That was just how it worked. So she was using him, his body. Everyone used everyone. Clark used her mind, Davis used her to keep the beast at bay, Lex used her for experiments. It was always so important, the reasons she suffered. So she wanted to feel good. So Davis was there. So she wasn’t as noble as Clark or even Ollie. She just wanted to escape. He wanted it as bad as her.
It happened on the second week. She’d just woken up from a Brainiac dream and was crying as hard, as quietly, as after she lost her mom. It started as a hand on her arm. She could feel Davis over her, humming with that awful energy she’d come to find strangely comforting. “You alright?”
She nodded into her pillow. “Dandy.”
“Would you like me to stay?” She should’ve said no, that she was fine. She should’ve lied and kept her world neat, him in his bed and her in hers. But she was so tired of being strong and with him, she didn’t have to be. And that was too tempting to pass up.
“Just for a little while,” she said, and he folded her up in his arms like a suit of armor. It was easy to forget how strong he was, the power he possessed. He didn’t flaunt it like Lex or conceal it like Clark. It was just there.
She felt his chest press against her with each breath, although the only sound she heard was the click of the hotel room’s analog clock progressing. He was so still and quiet that she imagined him as a statue, standing vigil over her. Like an angel on a tomb. In time, her tears dried.
“Have I ever apologized,” he began, his voice barely audible despite how close he was, “for all this?”
“You don’t have to. It’s always been like this.”
“Then I’m sorry for that.” His lips brushed the side of her head, lingering as if Davis was trying to satisfy himself with such a brief contact. Then he was gone, leaving her feeling twice as cold as before. She almost called out to him, but stopped herself. And asked herself why she’d stopped. He wanted this. She wanted it, not as much, but more than when she’d pulled Jimmy on top of her just so he’d stop badgering her with those puppy dog eyes. “Davis,” she whispered, sounding so oddly virginal.
He looked back at her, power subtly gathered in his muscles. God, he was beautiful. Sculpted from the same clay as Clark, but by a different artist. Streamlined where Clark was big. His movements predatory instead of graceful. His features cruel where Clark’s were friendly. It was only his body language, his expression, his quiet voice that softened the sharp edges.
Her breath caught in her throat. She closed her eyes. Opened them again. “I’m ready.”
His eyes were narrow, suspicious, like a dog that’d just been kicked. With the nightmare his life had become, she didn’t blame him. “Are you sure?”
She didn’t want to be sure. She wanted to be free and spontaneous and fun, like Lois. She pulled the sheets off her body. She knew she wasn’t much to look at, and her ratty T-shirt did less to flatter her than her K-mart panties, but Davis sucked in breath like he was Jimmy looking at Kara. Chloe recalled when Clark had lost his memory and she’d watched him fall in love with Lana at first sight. As much as it had hurt then, having someone look at her that way… not a pure, chaste love either, but fiery and dangerous… his eyes on her like they would devour her if they could, brand the sight on his eyelids so he could hold her beauty with him forever. Now she was sure.
She got out of bed, went to him. Her panties felt tight, transparent. She stepped out of them. All that covered her was a T-shirt and it felt like a sweater trying to protect her from a raging fire. He took her by the waist, his hands eclipsing her, and drew her up to his lips. He was so careful with her it was almost insulting. He kissed her like she was stepping on virgin snow. She wanted bootprints.
Chloe sank onto the bed, pulled him down on top of her. He got the idea, stopped pretending he was anything but what he was. His hand fisted what seemed like a square foot of fabric and tore it away from her chest, but he barely had time to enjoy the sight before she welded her lips to his. It wasn't like before. There was something rushed, hurried, ephemeral in his touch. It made things worse, burned hotter.
He bowed his head to her chest with an utter lack of reverence and kept her by him with his teeth and his lips and his tongue. She felt the sweat traipsing over her body and pulled him harder against her. The bedsprings squealed as Davis settled on them fully, covering Chloe, pulling her off the sheets and to his endlessly hungering mouth. She bent at the waist as his arms wrapped around her hips, her thighs, exposing her belly to him. He kissed her belly button, bit down on the curvature of her hip. She didn't know which she enjoyed more.
Then he dropped her down to hang partway off the bed, her hair disheveled beyond hope of repair, her legs in the air, kicking, now separating, now wanton and parted, Davis's head propping them open, his tongue continuing the action, ripping her down the middle. Chloe broke a nail grasping at his broad shoulders, the shirt that covered too much of him. After a moment of teeth, she was settled on her left shoulder, held upside-down so he could lick faster, harder. It was unstoppable. He ate her orgasm, wolfed down everything she fed him. With antagonistic gentleness he lowered her more, spooling her out on the floor, then came down himself, settling over her like an animal. She spread her legs.
When Jimmy took her virginity, he made her a woman. What was Davis taking from her? What was it turning her into?
He pulled off his shirt, pulled down his boxers just enough to get his cock out. She didn't get a good look at it. He thrust it in to her and she stopped feeling anything else. Her arms latched across his back, hanging on as he slammed her against the floor again and again, kissing her with bruises. She rained kisses on his neck and the side of his head, turned away from her as it was, and felt his fingers sinking into her ass so he could force them together with even more power.
She began to cry out then. "Yes, yes." It wasn't just a meaningless vocalization, a way to let him know she was thinking of this and not her laundry. The question was him, her life, this place, this bed, and she had an answer for all of them. She exerted herself and made him face her, let herself see the raw hunger in his eyes, just starting to be sated. Chloe kissed him once, twice, more. He buried his face in the curve of her neck and bore down on her so hard it actually hurt. She gasped.
"I'm going to come," he said, sounding almost confused.
"Yes," she said, and felt him inside, spasming, coming, filling her up as he raspily breathed out his own orgasm. She had half-expected him to roar.
She wondered when she had come. It'd been hard to keep track.
They fell asleep on the floor together, his arms around her, keeping her close, keeping her safe. It had to be one or the other.
***
The next day was a good one. Chloe hadn’t been sure those existed anymore. Davis had gotten up early and fixed waffles. She should’ve been angry with him, but they were delicious. They drove down a highway with great wi-fi and a radio station that had Queen and Bowie on heavy rotation. They stopped at a rest area for lunch and shared a picnic table with a vacationing family that’d brought their enormous golden retriever with them. Davis and the kids played Frisbee with it. Chloe was in such a good mood that she gave him a handjob while he drove, because there was no reason not to. At mid-day she hacked that the police were setting up roadblocks in Dodge County, so they doubled back to Edge City. They hadn’t worked out where to go, Canada or Mexico, so they weren’t up to leaving the state yet. Davis heard a Beatles song as the sun set and pulled over so they could dance beside the road. Chloe felt ridiculous and self-conscious and ecstatic. In Edge, they got fast food and watched the stars come out.
Davis told her the story of Persephone.
If Chloe remembered her Greek myth, Hades wasn’t that bad, and almost no one reached the Elysium Fields anyway.
Fandom: Smallville
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,767
Characters/Pairings: Chloe/Davis
Author's notes: Set during season nine.
Summary: There's a part of Chloe that wants to be with Davis. It's a part she doesn't know what to do with.
There comes a time in everyone’s life when you have to say yes instead of no. When the world is bearing down on you and you’re spoiling for a fight, sometimes you have to back down, compromise, yield. But if Chloe did that, she knew she’d lose it.
She was an accomplice, helping a serial killer escape with his crimes. She was leaving behind everything she’d ever known or loved to be with a man. Not even a good man. A flawed, corrupted, shattered shell of a man. The only way she could live with it was to remind herself it wasn’t her choice. If she’d had her way, she’d be with Jimmy. But Clark needed her to be with Davis. That was the only reason. She couldn’t have feelings for him, not beyond pity. He was a murderer. A monster.
He never pressured her. That was the worst part. He was just grateful she was there, to talk to and laugh with and drive while he slept. Clark wanted less from her, Jimmy wanted more. With Davis, just being there was enough.
It wasn’t like she set out to ruin his life. It was like that when she got there. She thought they’d be spending the rest of their lives together, on the run. She might as well enjoy it. He might as well enjoy it. It wasn’t like she was raping him. In every relationship, someone loved someone else more. That was just how it worked. So she was using him, his body. Everyone used everyone. Clark used her mind, Davis used her to keep the beast at bay, Lex used her for experiments. It was always so important, the reasons she suffered. So she wanted to feel good. So Davis was there. So she wasn’t as noble as Clark or even Ollie. She just wanted to escape. He wanted it as bad as her.
It happened on the second week. She’d just woken up from a Brainiac dream and was crying as hard, as quietly, as after she lost her mom. It started as a hand on her arm. She could feel Davis over her, humming with that awful energy she’d come to find strangely comforting. “You alright?”
She nodded into her pillow. “Dandy.”
“Would you like me to stay?” She should’ve said no, that she was fine. She should’ve lied and kept her world neat, him in his bed and her in hers. But she was so tired of being strong and with him, she didn’t have to be. And that was too tempting to pass up.
“Just for a little while,” she said, and he folded her up in his arms like a suit of armor. It was easy to forget how strong he was, the power he possessed. He didn’t flaunt it like Lex or conceal it like Clark. It was just there.
She felt his chest press against her with each breath, although the only sound she heard was the click of the hotel room’s analog clock progressing. He was so still and quiet that she imagined him as a statue, standing vigil over her. Like an angel on a tomb. In time, her tears dried.
“Have I ever apologized,” he began, his voice barely audible despite how close he was, “for all this?”
“You don’t have to. It’s always been like this.”
“Then I’m sorry for that.” His lips brushed the side of her head, lingering as if Davis was trying to satisfy himself with such a brief contact. Then he was gone, leaving her feeling twice as cold as before. She almost called out to him, but stopped herself. And asked herself why she’d stopped. He wanted this. She wanted it, not as much, but more than when she’d pulled Jimmy on top of her just so he’d stop badgering her with those puppy dog eyes. “Davis,” she whispered, sounding so oddly virginal.
He looked back at her, power subtly gathered in his muscles. God, he was beautiful. Sculpted from the same clay as Clark, but by a different artist. Streamlined where Clark was big. His movements predatory instead of graceful. His features cruel where Clark’s were friendly. It was only his body language, his expression, his quiet voice that softened the sharp edges.
Her breath caught in her throat. She closed her eyes. Opened them again. “I’m ready.”
His eyes were narrow, suspicious, like a dog that’d just been kicked. With the nightmare his life had become, she didn’t blame him. “Are you sure?”
She didn’t want to be sure. She wanted to be free and spontaneous and fun, like Lois. She pulled the sheets off her body. She knew she wasn’t much to look at, and her ratty T-shirt did less to flatter her than her K-mart panties, but Davis sucked in breath like he was Jimmy looking at Kara. Chloe recalled when Clark had lost his memory and she’d watched him fall in love with Lana at first sight. As much as it had hurt then, having someone look at her that way… not a pure, chaste love either, but fiery and dangerous… his eyes on her like they would devour her if they could, brand the sight on his eyelids so he could hold her beauty with him forever. Now she was sure.
She got out of bed, went to him. Her panties felt tight, transparent. She stepped out of them. All that covered her was a T-shirt and it felt like a sweater trying to protect her from a raging fire. He took her by the waist, his hands eclipsing her, and drew her up to his lips. He was so careful with her it was almost insulting. He kissed her like she was stepping on virgin snow. She wanted bootprints.
Chloe sank onto the bed, pulled him down on top of her. He got the idea, stopped pretending he was anything but what he was. His hand fisted what seemed like a square foot of fabric and tore it away from her chest, but he barely had time to enjoy the sight before she welded her lips to his. It wasn't like before. There was something rushed, hurried, ephemeral in his touch. It made things worse, burned hotter.
He bowed his head to her chest with an utter lack of reverence and kept her by him with his teeth and his lips and his tongue. She felt the sweat traipsing over her body and pulled him harder against her. The bedsprings squealed as Davis settled on them fully, covering Chloe, pulling her off the sheets and to his endlessly hungering mouth. She bent at the waist as his arms wrapped around her hips, her thighs, exposing her belly to him. He kissed her belly button, bit down on the curvature of her hip. She didn't know which she enjoyed more.
Then he dropped her down to hang partway off the bed, her hair disheveled beyond hope of repair, her legs in the air, kicking, now separating, now wanton and parted, Davis's head propping them open, his tongue continuing the action, ripping her down the middle. Chloe broke a nail grasping at his broad shoulders, the shirt that covered too much of him. After a moment of teeth, she was settled on her left shoulder, held upside-down so he could lick faster, harder. It was unstoppable. He ate her orgasm, wolfed down everything she fed him. With antagonistic gentleness he lowered her more, spooling her out on the floor, then came down himself, settling over her like an animal. She spread her legs.
When Jimmy took her virginity, he made her a woman. What was Davis taking from her? What was it turning her into?
He pulled off his shirt, pulled down his boxers just enough to get his cock out. She didn't get a good look at it. He thrust it in to her and she stopped feeling anything else. Her arms latched across his back, hanging on as he slammed her against the floor again and again, kissing her with bruises. She rained kisses on his neck and the side of his head, turned away from her as it was, and felt his fingers sinking into her ass so he could force them together with even more power.
She began to cry out then. "Yes, yes." It wasn't just a meaningless vocalization, a way to let him know she was thinking of this and not her laundry. The question was him, her life, this place, this bed, and she had an answer for all of them. She exerted herself and made him face her, let herself see the raw hunger in his eyes, just starting to be sated. Chloe kissed him once, twice, more. He buried his face in the curve of her neck and bore down on her so hard it actually hurt. She gasped.
"I'm going to come," he said, sounding almost confused.
"Yes," she said, and felt him inside, spasming, coming, filling her up as he raspily breathed out his own orgasm. She had half-expected him to roar.
She wondered when she had come. It'd been hard to keep track.
They fell asleep on the floor together, his arms around her, keeping her close, keeping her safe. It had to be one or the other.
***
The next day was a good one. Chloe hadn’t been sure those existed anymore. Davis had gotten up early and fixed waffles. She should’ve been angry with him, but they were delicious. They drove down a highway with great wi-fi and a radio station that had Queen and Bowie on heavy rotation. They stopped at a rest area for lunch and shared a picnic table with a vacationing family that’d brought their enormous golden retriever with them. Davis and the kids played Frisbee with it. Chloe was in such a good mood that she gave him a handjob while he drove, because there was no reason not to. At mid-day she hacked that the police were setting up roadblocks in Dodge County, so they doubled back to Edge City. They hadn’t worked out where to go, Canada or Mexico, so they weren’t up to leaving the state yet. Davis heard a Beatles song as the sun set and pulled over so they could dance beside the road. Chloe felt ridiculous and self-conscious and ecstatic. In Edge, they got fast food and watched the stars come out.
Davis told her the story of Persephone.
If Chloe remembered her Greek myth, Hades wasn’t that bad, and almost no one reached the Elysium Fields anyway.
