Pairings: Lana/Jason, Lana/Chloe, Lana/Lex, Lana/OMC, Lana/Clark
Word count: 9,420
Spoilers: Seasons 4-6
Notes: This story is dedicated to two of my favourite fangirls: norwich36, because it’s her birthday. Happy birthday, Nora! I love you so much I wrote you Chlana! And serenography, because it’s a Lana fic, and she deserves it. Thanks go to radioreverie, for brainstorming with me and throwing me lots of great ideas, and of course, to my brilliant and trusty beta, the inimitable bop_radar. ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
Summary: Five times Lana got thoroughly laid.
Feedback: Is thoroughly appreciated.
Seule et Amoureuse, by Kate
Most people think she’s pure as the driven snow. It’s what she wants them to think, because no one respects girls—or women—who like sex. And she’d have a lot more trouble with boys if she let them see what she was really thinking half the time. They’re too much trouble as it is.
Whitney, Clark, Adam, Jason…
If she felt less it might be better. If she learned to stop giving a shit. If she made more of her God-given attributes…
But Lana isn’t the kind of girl who uses sex to get her way. She could be but she’s not.
So let them all think she doesn’t care about that kind of thing. Sex is the last thing on her mind. Oh no, she would never. She would never do all the things they want to do to her because she’s not that kind of girl.
Let them think it! Let them think she doesn’t sometimes imagine them strung up in chains, naked and vulnerable and bruised, their genitals exposed to her, for her, their body her playground to do whatever she wants to it, a fearful expression on their face, desperate pleas for mercy escaping from parched lips. Humiliated, humbled, apologetic, pathetic.
Let them think whatever they want. It’s better that way.
She knows who she is, but no one gets to see that side of her, no one.
Not yet, anyway.
She’s not going to try that again. Apparently she sucks at seducing men. Apparently Jason finds her totally resistible. Apparently he doesn’t even want their relationship to be more adult, which means he backed off for some other reason, and that’s something she doesn’t want to think about right now, because she has other things on her mind.
Like sex. Yeah, she was nervous. Yeah, maybe Chloe was right about waiting. But she really does feel ready, and she does love Jason, and God, he’s…sexy.
She gazes at the sparkling white porcelain of the toilet bowl, which she’s been cleaning obsessively for the past hour. Perhaps she should shower and leave the apartment. Maybe go see if she can find Jason and prod him for more of an explanation.
As if that will work. The quickest way to learn absolutely nothing you want to know is by asking a direct question.
She strips in front of the mirror and inspects her body critically. There’s nothing wrong with it that she can see, although the thought of being naked in front of someone else terrifies her slightly. Her breasts feel smooth and firm under her fingers. She rubs her nipples with the pads of her thumbs until they stiffen.
Time for a long, hot shower. Time to forget about Jason’s rejection. Time to masturbate, she thinks, with a giggle.
God, if anyone knew she did that! They’d be so surprised. Probably horrified.
But Lana feels strongly on the matter; her life became a lot easier to bear when she discovered the power of orgasm. A year ago? About that, not that it matters. She wonders if she’ll have an orgasm with Jason. She suspects it would be even better if someone else was there to share it with.
The shower does nothing to cool her ardour, but at least now she’s clean and horny, and not horny and stinking of bleach.
When she hears a knock at the door, a hundred questions crash through her head at once. Who could it be? Is it Jason? Is it Clark? Is it Chloe? Should she put on some clothes before answering it?
Her hair is dripping wet and tangled, and her skin shines in the candlelit room. Her reflection pleases her immensely, excites her a little. Because if it’s Clark at the door she can imagine his reaction; stammering and helplessly aroused, and Lana might let her towel slip a little, giving him an almost glimpse of skin he’s never seen but has surely dreamt about.
It would be better if it’s Jason though, because then something might actually happen, and she can stop feeling so wound up. It’s not normal to want sex this much right? Not for a virgin?
She pulls the door open, holding her towel closed with one hand and looks up into Jason’s startled eyes innocently.
“Jason,” she gasps, infusing her tone with bewildered surprise. “What are you doing here?”
He’s taking in the sight of her is what he’s doing. He’s gulping. He’s trying to remain composed. She reads him like a book, and boy is he a page turner.
“I…uh…wanted to apologize for—“ His voice is soft and low and gruff. “—yesterday. You deserved more of an explanation.”
That’s true, she did. But the explanation can wait. “Come in,” she says, a little wantonly, turning her back on him and padding over towards the bathroom. “I just had a shower,” she explains, putting the thought of it in his head. I was naked and wet.
“I can see that.” He sounds amused, and pleased.
“I should probably put some clothes on,” she says. “So we can talk.”
“Unless you don’t mind me being nude.” She’s not shy about teasing him today. He rejected her; she has nothing left to lose.
He follows her over to the bathroom door and she turns around and looks at him as if to say, “Well? Should I get dressed or not?”
“No, I can’t say that I mind if you’re nude.” There’s a smile in his voice.
Lana leans against the wall and lets her towel slip, tantalizing him with untouched flesh, not quite X-rated, but enough to make his breathing quicken.
Note to self: candles are a waste of time, towels are where it’s at.
“Lana,” he whispers.
“I’m ready,” she tells him and he nods. He understands. He’s going to do it, he’s going to be the first.
He grabs her, pulls her in, and kisses her hard. Too hard at first, but he calms down quick enough and starts walking her over to the bed, each step making it more and more impossible to hold on to her towel. So when they break apart, right next to the bed, she deliberately lets it fall to the floor and forces herself not to feel humiliated as Jason freezes and stares.
It’s obvious he wants her, and Lana smiles shyly at him, full of relief.
“God,” he says, eyes roving slowly over her.
She looks between his legs—quickly, so he doesn’t notice—and sees that he’s aroused.
She’s never seen a penis before, except in pictures. She’d felt Whitney’s a few times, when they were making out. Not with her hands, but she’d felt it against her thigh. She’d been too scared to touch it but…she’d thought about touching it. She’d wanted to touch it.
She’d thought about Adam’s penis as well, but they’d never even made it to second base.
She still thinks about Clark’s.
And now she wants to see Jason’s. Will she like the way it looks? Curiosity and fear are warring with each other inside her.
Just do it, Lana. Do it.
She climbs onto the bed and motions for Jason to join her, and he’s about to, but she puts her hand up.
“Are you going to take your clothes off too?” she asks, hating herself for sounding so naïve, but it’s important that they level the playing field here, and anyway, she wants to see it.
She wants to see it, and then she wants to touch it. She thinks she might even want to taste it.
Jason nods fast and starts pulling off his clothes. He leaves his boxers till last and by the time he gets his thumbs under the waist band, Lana’s practically drooling.
He pulls them down over his hips and when he pushes them over his penis it springs back up to attention, making Lana want to giggle, but she dutifully represses the urge. One thing she knows about sex is that you’re not supposed to laugh at your partner, particularly not at their genitalia.
He’s on the bed before she even had much of a chance to inspect it, but it’s a remarkable feeling to be so physically close to someone else. His skin against her skin, and she’s still a little damp from the shower, but that only serves to make it slicker and hotter.
Kissing and hugging, naked. Jason’s cock digging into her hip, his tongue in her mouth, the strange aroma of sex filling up her nostrils, and the knowledge that she’s half the reason for that smell is oddly thrilling.
“Tell me what to do,” she says, pushing him onto his back. But she doesn’t wait for a reply, because he might stop her from doing this—
“Oh God,” he groans when she wraps her hand around it. “That. Do that.”
She looks up at him uncertainly, noting his piercing gaze, then back down at her hand. At his cock, poking out of her hand. She strokes it and marvels at how smooth and warm it is.
“Like this?” she asks.
“Yeah, just like that. Don’t stop.”
He’s at her mercy, he doesn’t want her to stop. If she stops he’ll probably beg her to start again.
It looks strange and beautiful to her: the swollen head, dark crimson with a hint of purple, the slit which sometimes gapes open a little; it looks so dirty to her, so illicit; that she’s getting to see it, rub it…
Jason groans above her and she glances up to look at him. He’s staring unblinkingly at her and he looks like he’s in pain. She draws her mouth away from it and waits for him to say something.
He appears to be reluctant to speak, but Lana just licks her lips and waits.
“Do that again,” Jason whispers raggedly.
Lana nods and leans down again, looks at it with wide eyes, then she licks a long, slow stripe over the head, pressing her tongue hard into the slit before pulling off. The taste is inside her now, and it’s unusual but not unpleasant.
He whispers her name into the room when Lana sucks him into her mouth.
It’s on her tongue, it’s thick and hot, it’s filling up her mouth; he puts his hands on her head and pushes her down, forcing her to take more of him, choking her. She pulls back a little and breathes noisily around it, sucking in air through her nose, but he thrusts his hips up, pushing himself right inside her throat again; she reflexively opens up this time, and she doesn’t gag.
Jason continues to thrust into her mouth, and she looks up at him as she helplessly sucks. He looks so out of control a surge of arousal courses through her and she momentarily thinks she might be able to come from doing this and from watching him. From having total control over him.
He’s so loud. Her throat feels sore. He’s close; so is she.
Liquid fills her mouth and Jason sounds like he’s trying to speak but can’t, and she swallows it down, both loving and hating the taste of it, gulps and screws up her nose then releases him. They both gasp for air.
He falls asleep five minutes later.
She can’t stop crying.
“Oh God, oh God,” Chloe wails helplessly. “Come here.” She pulls Lana in closer and Lana clings on like her life depends on it. “It’s gonna be okay, Lana. I promise.”
It won’t be okay. It can’t be okay. She’s wanted this for as long as she can remember and it’s crumbling all around her. Her relationship in tatters. Her heart broken. Again. How many times can a heart be broken by the same person?
She pulls away and wipes her eyes on the back of her hand, leans back against the headboard, wrings her hands in her lap and stares at them. Her breathing is loud and shaky, her chest heaves.
“He doesn’t want me,” she mumbles, and it hurts to say it.
“Of course he wants you,” Chloe replies in earnest. “He’s loved you as long as he’s known you.”
It angers Lana to hear it put so plainly, so dishonestly. “He doesn’t want to have sex with me, Chloe. If he did, he would.” She glares at her. “Right.”
Chloe doesn’t answer her. She looks troubled and pitying and determined not to give anything away, all at once.
“Is there something wrong with me?” Lana asks her.
Chloe lets out a long, frustrated sigh. “Lana. You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. Not only that, you’re smart and strong and amazing. If Clark isn’t being receptive, it’s nothing to do with you and everything to do with him! I can’t explain why he’s not fulfilling his boyfriendly duties, I’m not in your relationship, but I do know that he’s in love with you. You. Nobody else. And he wants you.” So sincere. “But this is Clark we’re talking about! Small Town Man of Mystery.”
Lana chortles and feels relieved. Chloe doesn’t know anything. She’s as maddened by Clark as Lana is.
Her eyes are sore from crying and she’s sick of feeling miserable. “You’re a good friend, Chloe,” she says, because it seems like the right thing to say.
Chloe nods and smiles in agreement and it makes Lana laugh again. The big grin widens and Lana loves her so much right now. No one understands what it’s like to love Clark like Chloe and Lana do.
“It’s hard for you,” Lana blurts out, emotional, apologetic. “You must hate having to hear about this.”
Chloe looks briefly offended but seems to realize that Lana isn’t trying to insult her. If anything, Lana’s trying to bond. They stare at each other with sad understanding.
“It’s hard for both of us,” Chloe replies, but her smile looks forced.
Lana reaches for her again and pulls her into a hug. It surprises Chloe into falling onto Lana too hard, causing the two of them to topple backwards with an hysterical giggle. Breasts heaving against each other, warm, sweet smelling body crushing Lana gently.
They settle back, lying down on their sides facing each other, holding each other close. Mouths and noses and eyes, inches apart. Chloe’s breath smells of coffee and chocolate, bitter and sweet.
“I love him so much,” Lana whispers.
“I know, honey.” Chloe leans in and kisses her, right next to her mouth. Lana moves into it and breathes in deeply.
She returns the kiss, not on Chloe’s cheek but in the same place Chloe had kissed her. They look at each other. Chloe kisses her again, affectionately letting it linger.
They stare and they do it again, but this time they kiss on the lips.
Soft, sweet, female lips. Pressing against Lana willingly. Chloe likes it, she wants it. And so does Lana.
Lana licks inside on their next kiss, touches the tip of Chloe’s tongue with her own. And that’s it. Chloe opens her mouth and plunges her tongue inside and they both moan.
“Oh God, Lana, what are we doing?” Chloe gasps between kisses. They’re writhing around on the bed, moving against each other and Lana realizes that she’s turned on.
She pulls uselessly at Chloe’s shirt.
Chloe squeaks and looks down at Lana’s futile attempt to undress her. “Are we really?” she whispers. “Are we really doing this?”
“Yes,” Lana hisses sharply, giving up on Chloe’s shirt and yanking her own up over her head.
They watch each other as they undress, making sure they’re not alone. Lana only wants this if Chloe wants it. She only wants this if Chloe wants her.
The look in Chloe’s eyes—a little wild, a little unsure—the scent of her, the sounds she makes, all serve to make Lana yearn for more. It’s not cheating if it’s with Chloe. It’s just comfort, reassurance, and friendship.
Lana would do it for Chloe if Chloe needed her to.
Both topless now, Lana crawls back into Chloe’s arms and kisses her again. Slower this time. Deeper, and wetter. She runs her hands down Chloe’s back, then slides them over her ass, squeezing through the thick wool of her skirt, eliciting a high pitched moan from the wet lips against hers.
Chloe takes her hands off Lana, reaches down, and pulls at the skirt, until it’s bunched up under Lana’s hands; she’s pulling it up to give Lana better access, and Lana takes it as an invitation to slip her hands underneath, grasp the sides of Chloe’s panties, and yank them down over her ass. There’s a loud gasp when Lana’s fingers make contact with the soft, slippery, sensitive place between Chloe’s thighs. She rubs Chloe there like she often does to herself and even though she doesn’t ordinarily penetrate herself, it seems only natural to let a finger slip inside. Then another.
God, so warm and welcoming and wet. Chloe writhes beneath her, thrusting onto Lana’s probing fingers and moaning loudly, occasionally babbling. “Oh, oh God, oh God, oh that feels so good, ah…”
Lana’s never considered having sex with a girl before and she knows it’s only happening because she’s vulnerable right now. But this is so…God, she just wants to be touched. She just wants to be able to make someone feel wonderful. The thought of kissing Chloe…down there…scares and fascinates her. What will it taste like? Will she like it? As much as she liked sucking Jason, stroking Clark?
She hasn’t even sucked Clark’s penis yet. She doesn’t expect she’ll get the chance now that he won’t touch her, even though she wants to more that anything.
Lex would let her do it, which is a horrible and disturbing thought, but it’s been in her head for weeks now. The way he looks at her and talks to her and touches her; it’s not overtly sexual, but Lana understands its meaning: he wants her in a way that Clark doesn’t. Sometimes she imagines what it would be like with Lex. She closes her eyes and buries her mouth into Chloe’s neck and pictures him naked, hard and willing. She continues to move her hand as lust burns its way through her body.
“Take off your jeans,” Chloe gasps and Lana looks up into her eyes and nods.
As she finishes undressing completely, Chloe reciprocates. They’re naked now. Lana leans down and licks one of Chloe’s nipples, sucks it into her mouth, hand back between Chloe’s legs. She wants to make her come. Because maybe Chloe hasn’t discovered the joys of masturbation yet. Maybe she’s never even had an orgasm.
Lana switches breasts and bites Chloe’s other nipple gently, then suckles it briefly, before extracting her fingers, moving down the bed, kissing and licking, teeth scraping over the skin of Chloe’s belly. So soft.
When she reaches her destination she glances up to see Chloe’s face, eyes terrified and excited. Chloe spreads her legs wide, keeping her knees bent, and Lana looks back down at her pink, swollen pussy, framed by a triangle of tangled, damp, light brown hair.
She licks it. It tastes like the sea.
She sucks on it, then slides two fingers back inside. She does it the way she imagines she would like it done, and by the sounds of things, she’s doing an okay job. It’s unlikely Chloe will tell her if she gets it wrong, because no one’s ever honest with Lana, but there are other ways to find out the truth.
That Chloe seems to be losing control of herself is a pretty good indication, for example. Thrusting herself against Lana’s busy mouth and fingers, constant loud moans only getting louder.
Freezing, shuddering, wailing like she’s in pain. Chloe comes with Lana’s mouth on her, and Lana feels triumphant. Not only was that surprisingly easy, it was immensely pleasurable.
She’s so turned on now she knows it won’t take much; crawling back up the bed and running hands all over Chloe’s damp skin, smiling at her and kissing her on the cheek. Chloe looks dazed and amazed and is completely out of breath.
Lana sits up on her knees and straddles one of Chloe’s thighs, pressing herself down onto hot, slick skin and moving back and forth. Rubbing her clit and her pussy against Chloe, while she grasps Chloe’s left shoulder with one hand and right breast with the other, pinching a nipple between her thumb and forefinger. Lana shuts her eyes and rides.
She yelps when her orgasm hits, and different images flash through her head as it continues: sitting on Chloe’s face and fucking her mouth. Bent over a desk with Lex behind her, thrusting his dick into her. Clark sitting on a chair with his legs spread and Lana kneeling on the floor between them, sucking as much of him inside as she can take.
Then it’s over and she falls onto Chloe and her mind goes blank as she recovers.
They don’t speak much afterwards, but Chloe settles into the bed next to Lana and eventually Lana falls asleep.
Chloe’s gone when she wakes up, but there’s a note.
I’m running away to avoid any awkward morning after conversations, but I want you to know that I love you and I’ll always be your friend.
PS. Last night was amazing. x
The first time with Lex was very nice. It wasn’t spectacular, but it was romantic. He was tender and generous and loving. He went down on her—a first for Lana—and when he finally got around to fucking her, he did it slowly, and for a long time.
No, she hadn’t come—it still hasn’t happened—but she’s not going to let that worry her too much. Hell, the only person she’s ever had an orgasm with is Chloe. She’d been close with Jason but he’d failed to deliver at the crucial moment. And Clark… Well, they’d only slept together twice and she’d gotten close both times, but—and maybe it was because her expectations were too high, or because she was nervous, or just because she wanted to so badly—those orgasms had remained just outside her reach.
So it’s not a problem that she hasn’t come with Lex yet. They’ve only been sleeping together for a few weeks and she can tell he hasn’t quite relaxed. If only he would stop trying so hard to please her and start showing her who Lex Luthor really is, it might be better. His eagerness to show her the time of her life puts so much pressure on her that she ends up performing as well, when all she really wants is for both of them to let go.
She’d always liked Lex because he didn’t treat her like a princess. But then they got together and he took her to bed, and she became a princess once more. It doesn’t make sense! Sex with Lex shouldn’t be boring. She knows there’s an animal inside him, she’s seen it.
If only she could bring that out of him somehow.
Sexy lingerie? Barry White? Oysters? No, those kinds of clichés might be effective in arousing him, but not in bringing out his inner deviant. Too romantic for Lana’s taste anyway.
She has to appeal to his emotional side.
Perhaps make him angry.
They’re making out on the sofa. It feels nice, her body is tingling pleasantly, she likes the way Lex tastes, even more the way he kisses. He’s a great kisser.
Is he better than Clark? It’s difficult to compare because Clark was the love of her life, but Lex does have more experience and that’s occasionally apparent.
But Lana knows where this is going. They’ll kiss for a while longer, then he’ll stand up and offer her his hand. She’ll let herself be pulled to her feet, he’ll lead her up to the bedroom, undress her slowly, kiss every inch of her body, make love to her until she’s sore, he’ll come but she won’t, he’ll tell her he loves her, she’ll say it back, they’ll sleep.
“I was just thinking,” she murmurs, kissing him again on the mouth, cheek, next to his ear.
“What were you thinking?” His voice is drenched in sex.
She blows in his ear. “Who the better kisser is.”
Lex moves his face away and looks her in the eye, eyebrows raised. “Who the better kisser is out of you and me?”
Is it too late to stop this game? “No,” she says.
He waits for her to explain herself and she takes her time.
“You and Clark.”
He narrows his eyes. “You’re thinking about Clark,” he says slowly.
“No,” she replies, shaking her head. “Just…”
“You must have wondered is all.”
He doesn’t answer for a while, but she can see a muscle working in his jaw. He looks like he’s trying to stay calm. “I’m not the one who brought him up.”
“Sorry. That was insensitive of me,” she says, without much sincerity.
He nods and looks at her warily, then he puts a hand behind her neck and draws her forward until their lips meet again.
Thirty seconds later, he whispers against her mouth, “Are you still thinking about Clark?”
Lana responds by pushing her tongue deeper into his mouth and not speaking. It makes him pull away from her with a frown.
She looks up at him with wounded eyes. “Of course not.”
“Then why did you bring him up?”
Why won’t Lex drop the subject? She lowers her gaze to his mouth. “I just wanted to be honest with you.”
He breathes loudly through his nose. “Honest,” he drawls. “Fine, be honest. Do you always think about Clark when we’re making love?”
Making love. She shakes her head, a little uncertainly, and looks away.
“Lana,” he warns, through gritted teeth.
His anger turns her on. She looks back at him and kisses him hard on the mouth enjoying the long delay before he kisses back, but then he grabs her shoulders and holds her away from him.
“Sometimes,” she whispers, terrified and excited.
His grip on her arms tightens. “Sometimes?” He sounds threatening.
“Don’t be angry. You’re the man I’m with, Lex. Not Clark.”
“Stop saying his name,” he growls, squeezing hard. Lana gasps in pain.
“What are you doing?” he hisses, pushing her down on the couch, straddling her, looming over her. He’s menacing and she’s scared. She can’t move.
“Nothing!” she yelps. “I’m sorry.”
“You said that already. Then you said his name again. Do you want to talk about Clark?”
She shakes her head quickly, obediently.
“You think it doesn’t bother me that he’s fucked you?”
“Does it?” she asks, breathless.
He lets go of her arms but the pain of his vice-like grip lingers on. Hands on her fly, opening her pants.
“You think I don’t want to erase the memory of him? I know he’s been inside you. I know he’s put his big dick inside you. You think I don’t hate that?”
He’s peeling off her pants and panties quickly, roughly. Flings them away, undoes his own fly. He doesn’t bother taking his trousers off—pushing them down just enough—then he yanks her thighs apart, positions himself so he can enter her, and slides inside in one swift motion.
“Condom!” Lana gasps.
“Fuck the condom,” Lex snarls. Thrusting in again, hard. “Did Clark fuck you without a condom?”
No he did not.
“Did Clark fuck you like this?”
It feels incredible.
“Did Clark make you come?” His forehead glistens with sweat. “I haven’t made you come yet, but I’m going to.”
This time maybe.
“You want it like this, Lana? You want it rough?”
Lana moans and clenches her ass muscles hard. His thrusts have slowed down but they’re still brutal.
He grunts each time he pounds inside. Then he pulls out, moves back, and roughly turns Lana over, hands tightly gripping her hips, till she’s flat on her chest with her ass in the air, arms stretched out, hands clinging on to the arm of the couch.
Nothing happens for a while, then she feels Lex’s hand on her ass, fondling her.
“Do you like making me angry, Lana?” Lex asks her in a low, calm voice.
His hand feels good. He’s waiting for an answer.
“No,” she says in a small voice.
Then he hits her. A hard, flat-palmed smack, right in the middle of her ass.
She lets out a sharp scream, shocked. He does it again, even harder. She screams again.
“Shut up!” he snaps, grabbing her hair, yanking her head back, making her eyes water.
He lets go so abruptly she thinks she might have whiplash. Then he hits her again, so hard her whole body jerks forward.
Again and again and again.
Each blow stings more than the blow before and Lana begins to sob and beg for mercy.
He punctuates each smack with an insult or a threat.
“Bitch,” he spits.
“I’ll fuck you so hard you won’t even remember his fucking name.”
He beats her ass so raw she thinks she might pass out.
And then it stops. She can feel him stand up. She looks around at him, eyes blurry with tears and watches him kick off his shoes and take off his trousers. His cock is so hard it’s pointing at the ceiling and his face...he looks insane.
She knows she should try to get away but for some reason she doesn’t move. And then he’s back between her legs, pushing his bare cock inside her, and nothing has ever felt that amazing before. The contrast between his brutal hand and his soothing penis is remarkable.
Two long thrusts later and Lana feels her orgasm beginning.
She howls with pleasure, her agony forgotten, and pushes back into Lex’s thrusts, needing him to fill her up as much as possible. And as his movement becomes more fierce, her orgasm becomes more intense.
“Lex,” she cries out.
He comes inside her with a shout, then collapses on top of her, panting.
The next day she wakes up to breakfast in bed, in a room full of red roses. He apologizes profusely and they never mention the incident again. They have sex a few more times, but it’s back to being boring.
Then she finds out she’s pregnant.
She runs away to Gotham City. The perfect city to hide in, get lost in. No one will think to look for her here.
She moves into a small apartment in a large block of hundreds of identical, faceless apartments, a ten minute walk away from Robinson Park. She keeps to herself and doesn’t know any of her neighbours, but the ones she’s seen look normal enough. She chops off all her hair and dyes it red, although it doesn’t show up very well so it still looks black except under certain lights. It’s a choppy, unprofessional cut with lots of personality, Lana decides, liking that she looks a bit punky now.
After a few weeks of either feeling terrified or bawling her eyes out over Clark, she starts to look around the neighbourhood. The coffee in her local café is awful but the staff are friendly so she starts eating breakfast there every day.
With the money she pilfered from Lex, she’ll be comfortable for quite some time, but she hates not having anything to do, so when she notices a “Help Wanted” sign up in the window of the DVD shop a block from her place, she ventures inside.
The guy behind the counter is tall, thin and scruffy, with the kindest brown eyes she’s ever seen. He agrees to pay her in cash and tells her she starts tomorrow.
She hits the shops for appropriate work clothing, and returns with three pairs of jeans, some blue and white converse sneakers and several t-shirts.
The job turns out to be ideal for Lana. Generally quiet, with the odd rush hour, and a TV behind the counter, constantly playing whatever movie she feels like watching. The customers are varied and easy to laugh at, and she most enjoys herself when Mike—the scruffy guy that hired her, who also owns the shop—is working as well (Thursday, Friday and Saturday). On her three days off each week (Sunday, Monday and Tuesday), she sits in her apartment with her laptop in her lap, compulsively following Lex’s court case online (he’s winning), and composing long, explanatory emails to Clark and Chloe that she never sends. Occasionally she goes for walks in the park, but she never strays too far from home.
They get on well, she and Mike. He’s about thirty, quiet, a little geeky, but with a sharp sense of humor. And even though his hair is in desperate need of a trim and he could stand to shave more often, he always smells good. They flirt innocently with each other and Lana thinks she might find him attractive, but is determined to remain man-free for as long as possible. The rest of her life, if necessary.
She trusts him completely. He doesn’t even seem capable of lying, and maybe that’s because his life is simple—because he’s simple—which is wonderfully refreshing.
“Hey Max,” he says to her when she wanders into the shop that morning. She’s been there for three months now and is almost used to her new name. She practices calling herself Max in the mirror a lot; it’s important to know when you’re being spoken to, after all.
“Morning!” she replies cheerfully.
“What’s new, buttercup?”
“Yep. She was sick of Mo’s temper. Apparently she threw her tray on the floor yesterday—with three customers’ uneaten lunch on it I might add—called Mo some terrible names that I can’t possibly repeat, and stormed out. Steam coming out of her ears, I’m told. It was this whole big scene. I kind of wish I’d been there!”
Mike laughs. “What’s that? The third time this year?”
“That’s what they say.”
“Mo really needs to stop rehiring her.”
“Mo really needs to stop being an ass.”
They grin at each other and Lana feels oddly contented. This is the speed of her life nowadays: easy, stress-free job, lovely boss, harmless gossip.
After work every Friday they go grab a drink down the road at The Idyll. It’s a tiny bar with eclectic clientele and cheap beer. Lana has developed a taste for cheap beer and Mike is fun to get drunk with. She’s so comfortable around him that she often considers telling him the truth about her past, especially after a couple of drinks. But she’s always relieved the next morning that she kept her mouth shut.
Another month ambles by and Lana wonders why Mike hasn’t tried to make a move on her yet. They get on well, he’s obviously attracted to her, he knows she’s single. So what’s the problem?
On Thursday one week she gets an answer to that particular question. The phone rings, Lana answers it, and the woman on the other end of the phone asks if Mike’s there.
“Yeah, hold on,” Lana says, handing the phone to Mike without looking up from her magazine, although she stops reading and pricks up her ears.
“Mike speaking… Hi honey… Sure… I’ll pick some up on the way… Okay, bye.”
His tone of voice. Honey. A strange female.
She swivels round to look at him and raises an eyebrow questioningly. “Honey?”
“Girlfriend,” he mutters guiltily.
“You have a girlfriend?” Lana is absolutely incredulous. How could he not have told her?
He can’t even meet her eyes.
“I’ve been working with you for five months. How did I not know this?”
“You didn’t ask?” he replies, wincing.
It’s true that he didn’t lie to her about it. He never said he didn’t have a girlfriend, but Lana still feels horribly betrayed, and more than a little jealous.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He gulps. “I…”
It’s not as if she doesn’t know. He wanted her to think she had a chance with him and as long as she thought he was single and available something might have happened between them. Had, for instance, she been more aggressive.
“Wow,” she says. “I thought… I thought we were friends.”
He looks mortified. “Max, I’m sorry. I know I should have told you, but I… I guess I just liked the fantasy that maybe…”
Lana nods. It’s certainly not the worst lie she’s ever been told, and the truth is, she’s only upset because she liked the fantasy as well.
“So do you really live with friends or are you two shacked up together?”
“I swear I didn’t lie to you about anything. I omitted one crucial detail, yes, but that’s all. I don’t live with her.”
“How long have you been together?”
She can’t seem to stop nodding her head. “Three years,” she repeats. “How come you haven’t moved in with her?”
“We tried it for a while but it didn’t work out. We love each other but we’re not very…compatible in terms of…cohabitation.”
“Oh.” Why the hell is he still with her then?
They don’t speak much for the rest of the day and Lana goes to The Idyll on her own after work and drinks far too much vodka. Her favorite bartender hits on her, but she declines sweetly and stumbles home at two in the morning. The next day she calls in sick and spends the entire morning slouched in front of the toilet, moving only to throw up every now and then.
Mike rings her at midnight, when the shop closes, and asks if he can come see her. He claims to be worried about her, but really he’s just worried about himself, so she says no. Besides, it’s better if no one knows where she lives.
By Saturday she’s over it and she makes a concerted effort to behave as if nothing has happened. She even flirts with him like she always has, although there’s an acerbic edge to their banter now.
The next Friday, as they’re both serving customers, Mike has to move around her to get to the only working cash register, and instead of stepping back and walking across the booth, he puts his hands on her hips and slides by, his crotch scraping against her ass as he goes.
Arousal shoots through her body, totally involuntarily, and she freezes. A customer just asked her something but she can’t recall what. Her body tenses and she tries to figure out what Mike’s playing at. He’s never done that before, despite many identical circumstances; his flirting has never been that blatantly sexual. His gaze might linger a little longer than necessary, he might laugh at her jokes even when they aren’t terribly funny, and he might touch her arm or give her a hug when there’s really no need for it. But that? That was new.
He’s got a girlfriend. Who he loves. She obviously loves him back because if she didn’t she would have ended it. They love each other. He’s her boyfriend. He’s unavailable to Lana. She cannot, under any circumstances, have him.
It’s her turn to move past him to get to the cash register. As she passes, she briefly touches his hips with her fingers, and she slides past so close to him her nipples graze his back. When she reaches her destination she stares at the register, dumbfounded.
What the hell is she playing at?
When the shop is finally empty again, twenty minutes later, they look at each other. His eyelids droop and she can hear him breathing.
She can’t have him. He’s out of bounds.
She moves closer to him, she can feel the heat of his body. He grunts quietly.
His teeth are gritted, he’s practically panting. “Shall we take this out the back?” he asks her, his voice barely a whisper.
Now it’s real. If they “take this out the back” something will happen. She will—at the very least—kiss a guy who’s already spoken for. She can still play dumb. She can make this go away. She can resist temptation.
Instead she nods and when he brushes past her on his way out back, she shudders, incredibly, ridiculously, turned on. She follows him.
He’s pulling down her jeans within a minute, fingering her and kissing her hungrily, rubbing roughly at her breasts and pinching her nipples. Her ass is pressed into the table and her legs are spread as wide as the jeans around her thighs will allow. He’s absurdly impatient. Lana laughs.
“Don’t laugh at me,” he gasps, good naturedly. “I’ve gotta—”
Three fingers inside her, pummelling her.
“I need to fuck you. Right now.” He steps back and manoeuvres her around, pushing her down with a palm on her back, until she’s bent over the table. He pulls her jeans even further down her thighs and the next thing she knows something wet and sandpapery is plunged between her ass cheeks. Oh God, he’s licking her there. He’s licking her everywhere. Her pussy and her ass and she can feel the cool air on her skin, cooler where his tongue has been.
Fingers in her ass now. Appreciative groans, and the word “tight” float through the air.
She hears him stand up again and listens to him go through the process of fitting himself with a condom. She keeps her eyes closed as he pushes himself inside her.
He fucks her.
“God,” he whispers, pumping in. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do this.”
That’s a finger slipping into her ass again. Fucking her two ways. Finger in one place, cock in the other. Sliding in and out in two distinct rhythms.
“Oh man, I need to get you open.”
She doesn’t understand what he means. Or maybe she does.
There’s two fingers in her ass now and he’s slowed down his thrusting hips.
“Wait there,” he whispers, pulling out, moving away. She whips her head around and watches him walk over to the desk, holding his jeans up with one hand. He opens a drawer and rifles around in it, then returns with a small bottle held in his hand and his eyes weirdly unfocused. He pours the thick liquid onto her ass and smoothes it down her crack.
He inserts his fingers into her ass again but they go in much easier this time. It’s such a strange feeling.
“Can I fuck your ass?” he asks her breathily, speeding up his fingers.
Before she even gets a chance to answer he’s taken his fingers out and he’s trying to. Slowly and carefully. Pushing his dick into a place she’s pretty sure isn’t meant for that. “Oh God, fuck yeah. You feel incredible, baby.” He’s inside all the way. He starts to thrust. “I’ve thought about doing this so much. Every fucking day. I wanted to bend you over the counter. Fuck your ass with a shop full of customers. Come all over your pretty little face.”
Oh God, how could she let this happen? He’s an asshole.
Which is ironic, because she just let him put his penis in hers.
He’s fucking her hard now. Ramming his cock in and out of her ass.
“Can I come on your face?” he asks, voice strained.
It shouldn’t turn her on, she shouldn’t like it, but the sensations are so intense and wonderful that she hears herself shout, “Yes!” as she starts to come.
She groans long and loud, and it feels like every muscle in her body is clenched up, it’s almost too much pleasure to bear. She’s so weak from it she can’t do anything but let him pull out of her quickly with a strangled moan, push her down on her knees, move around her as he peels off his condom, and shoot spunk all over her cheeks and lips and forehead. He opens her mouth up by pushing his cock into it forcefully, hard as he can, spilling more of it down her throat, then pulling out and letting the last of his semen dribble onto her t-shirt. Squeezing the top of his cock until every last drop is in her and on her.
She’ll throw this t-shirt out the moment she gets home.
He’s sheepish afterwards, but Lana just smiles a lot and tells him it was great.
The next day, she packs her things, makes a call, and leaves town.
She knows that voice. She remembers that name.
She turns her head and looks behind her and there he is. The same but different. Still tall and handsome and friendly, but wearing glasses.
And a terrible suit.
“Clark,” she whispers, her voice cracking. It’s Clark. It’s him.
He’s walking towards her, and the look on his face makes her want to burst into tears. Disbelief.
“I…” he stares at her and his hand floats out between them, but he doesn’t touch her. “I never thought I’d see you again.”
She smiles up at him. “I always knew I’d see you.”
It’s been four years.
“You look good,” he says with a tender smile.
“You don’t,” she laughs. He joins in.
“Well, you know. I have to keep up appearances.”
“You’re amazing, Clark. I’m so proud of you.”
They smile at each other.
“Are you busy now?” he asks her. “Can I take you out for dinner?”
“What, like a date?” she replies teasingly.
And Clark laughs, but he blushes too. “Well?” He has the most beautiful smile she’s ever seen.
“I’d love to.”
They wander down the road together and they don’t touch each other once.
It’s a beautiful day in Metropolis; late afternoon sun turning the grey streets golden, a warm breeze, all the various smells of the city wafting past them, people walking slower, couples talking and smiling, groups of revellers shouting and laughing; everything seems perfect. Metropolis is a safe city to live in now, and Lana’s going on a date with the reason for that.
Amazingly, they find a table outside at an Italian restaurant Clark claims is “awesome”. They don’t say very much, but it’s not awkward. It’s easy to stay relaxed, because she’s with Clark.
He goes first.
“I’m working at the Daily Planet.”
“It started off as a cover. So I could do…the other thing. But I dunno… I like it.” He grins. “I love it.” He frowns. “Most of the time.”
“What’s working with Lois like?”
He looks surprised. “You know I work with Lois?”
“Yes, Clark. I have been keeping tabs on you. I was a Luthor, remember?”
Clark scoffs. “I like working with Lois,” he says, but he sounds weary. “She doesn’t know I exist half the time, but that’s Lois for you.” Now he sounds annoyed.
“Some things never change.”
Clark sighs wistfully.
Huh. So something has changed.
“You like her?” she asks, wincing sympathetically.
He tilts his head, looks at her, and laughs helplessly. “She makes me crazy.”
Lana laughs too. “Oh, Clark.” She’s amazed that she doesn’t feel jealous. “Good luck.”
“Ah, forget it. Let’s talk about you. What have you--” He stops and looks up at her like he suddenly realizes what he’s asking. “Where have you been?” His voice breaks on the words.
“All over,” she says. “I’ve seen the world, Clark. I’ve seen everything.”
“I appreciated the emails,” he says softly. “Cryptic as they were.”
“I couldn’t be too careful.”
“Lana,” Clark starts, and he sounds upset. But then he shakes his head and looks away.
“Lex wouldn’t have killed you.”
She smiles. “I believed what I needed to believe.”
Clark looks both confused and infuriated. “You could have come back. I would have kept you safe.”
“But I needed to keep you safe. As long as I was around, you weren’t.”
“You think I cared about that?” He looks so hurt. “How could you just leave? I thought you were dead.” Oh God, please don’t cry. “When I found out you were alive I waited. I waited to hear from you. Every day. Every day for the next year.” His teeth are gritted and his eyes are shining. “Then I--” He stops and seems to think better of what he was about to say.
“Then you got over me?” she asks flatly.
“Yeah,” he replies. She’s never seen anyone look so sad.
She starts to cry. She doesn’t mean to but it just happens and she can’t stop it. “I never got over you,” she whispers.
Clark bows his head, his face screwed up with pain, but he doesn’t answer.
Lana pulls herself together and dries her eyes on her napkin.
“Clark, it’s— it’s so nice to see you. Let’s not fight. You know I’m sorry. And I know you’re mad. Let’s just…” She looks at him imploringly.
He nods. “Okay. We’ll talk about other things.”
“Lois?” she suggests lamely.
He purses his lips and eyes her grimly. “Anything but Lois.”
They finish their bottle of wine, their food hardly touched, and Lana feels mildly drunk. She knows Clark is stone cold sober, but it’s not stopping him from smiling more and laughing more and staring more, just as she’s doing.
After a long, easy break in the conversation, he asks her quietly, “Why are you back?”
“Lex tracked me down.”
Clark furrows his brow.
“He told me to stop being silly. He told me he has no intention of hurting me and never did. And he promised I would be safe.” She chuckles and shrugs theatrically. “What can I say, I believed him.”
“You believe what you need to, right?”
The silence stretches.
“Will you take me home?” she asks.
He blinks in surprise, then stares at her for a long time. “Where are you staying?”
“I have a place on Franklin Ave.”
“Nice!” he exclaims with a grin.
“Take me home,” she repeats softly.
He licks his lips, nodding, and pulls out his wallet from his jacket pocket, plucking out a few notes which he tosses onto the table, then he stands up and offers her his hand. She takes it, grabs her purse and follows him out into the street. He leads her into a dark alley.
Then he scoops her up into his arms and the next thing she knows they’re whizzing through the air, moving so fast no one can see them, whirring through the streets of Metropolis at night. A few exhilarating seconds later she’s staring at her front door.
She fumbles with her keys as she tries to unlock the door, but then Clark takes them off her and opens it for her. He follows her upstairs and she’s aware of his presence with every single step she takes; she can feel him watching her. She can feel him wanting her.
Once the door to her apartment shuts behind them, Lana spins around, steps towards Clark, and leaps into his waiting arms. Their mouths meet for a kiss she’s been waiting for since she left him in Smallville. It’s been four fucking years and she loves him as much now as she ever has.
She sucks on his mouth desperately, licking inside, buzzing with want, and he walks across the room and into the hall with her wrapped up in his arms, opens every door he passes and peers inside each room, until he finds her bedroom. He carries her inside.
He’s more confident than he used to be, Lana observes with ambivalence, although it’s a relief to know that he’s not going to put a stop to this; that he’s not afraid to go through with it this time; that they’ll finally be together again. Has he slept with many women in the past four years? Any women?
The way he throws her down on the bed and crawls on top of her, kissing her hungrily, suggests he has gained some experience since the last time they slept together. Probably not as much as Lana, but enough to make it hurt.
She’ll never ask him about it, because she’ll never tell.
They slowly take off their clothes, and Lana can’t get enough of the feel of his skin under her hands. She’s nervous. She hasn’t been nervous about having sex with someone for a long time. But Clark seems happy to be the one in control, which suits Lana in a multitude of different ways.
When they’re naked, Clark speaks to her.
“I don’t know where this is going,” he says breathlessly.
“I do,” Lana replies, spreading her legs and glancing down at his erection.
His mouth curls into a smile and he picks up the condom that Lana had thrown onto the bed a few minutes ago. He sits up on his knees and tears open the wrapper, then rolls it down over his cock.
It’s still the biggest she’s ever seen, but that’s fitting she supposes. He is Superman.
“That’s not what I meant,” he says, lowering his body onto hers gently and kissing her on the mouth. He’s reaching between them and lining himself up, rubbing the head of his cock up and down her pussy. He’s so sure of what he’s doing she forgets her nerves and smiles at the sensations.
“I know,” she sings softly.
He pushes himself inside, only halfway at first, and he’s looking at her carefully. She knows it’s because he doesn’t want to hurt her and she’s never been so in love before.
“More,” she tells him, so he resumes his slow push inside until he’s encased in her. He looks blown away; as if he can’t believe it’s happening. And when he starts to move, in and out, in and out, she wraps her legs around his waist and grabs his face in both hands, holding it in front of her so she can watch him.
She wants to tell him she loves him. Instead she says, “You don’t owe me anything.”
He speeds up his thrusts and Lana sees both pain and understanding in his eyes. He was thinking the same thing; hoping she would understand: this can’t lead to anything.
Lana isn’t going to get her happy ending and Clark probably hates that more than she does. Hell, she came to terms with the fact years ago, and this…this is just Lana taking what she can get before he slips completely out of reach.
Superman, The Daily Planet, Lois Lane…
Lana can’t compete with that and she doesn’t want to.
She rocks into him, their rhythm is medium paced and perfect, his face is like home.
She wants to tell him she loves him. Instead, she cries out with pleasure, and climaxes with Clark inside her.
Clark buries his face into her neck, holds her close and begins to pound in harder and faster, groans getting louder and louder, until they get stuck in his throat and he freezes. Shuddering and wet and burning hot in her arms.
Sex isn’t usually like this for Lana. Now that she’s got something to compare it to she knows it’s better with Clark than with anyone else. It’ll never be like this again.
He stays the night and for coffee the next morning. Just before he walks out the door and out of her life, he turns around and squints at her. “Are you staying in Metropolis?”
She shakes her head. “Not for much longer.” She smiles. “Actually, I’m going back to Smallville. I’m sick of city life. I think I want to be a teacher.”
Clark’s face lights up. “Really? Lana, that’s great.”
“Maybe at the high school. I hear they’re looking for an art history teacher.”
“You’d be perfect for that,” Clark says encouragingly.
“Thanks for last night,” she says, and she can hear the tears in her own voice.
Clark nods and it looks like he’s forcing himself to smile to stop himself from crying; Lana can relate.
They embrace each other and Lana holds on so tight it hurts and when he closes the door she walks back to her bedroom, climbs into bed, and cries for an hour.
A week later, she packs up her things and moves back to Smallville.