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Chloe wears pink because it brings color to her cheeks; she's
lost her own color, left pale and shadowed. Pink shirt, a little
blush and she has everyone fooled. Everyone tells how healthy
and happy she looks, and she smiles. Summer's over now, so
she's expected to be tan, healthy, happy. Expected to be, so she
is; everyone sees what they want to see.
She reaches down and scratches her leg, pulling up her skirt to
show a glimpse of ghostly pale skin. Blue veins crisscross the
surface. She smooths out the skirt, and sits at her desk,
crossing her legs at the ankle. She leans forward on her elbows,
dropping her chin onto her hand.
The summer heat wave hasn't ended and she feels trickles of
sweat sliding down her skin. Her tanktop sticks to her back. Too
much summer, the never-ending heat, and she wishes she
could be anywhere but here. Somewhere with winter, blasting
cold wind and snow.
London, maybe. Gray skies and constant drizzling rain. She's
walking from the London offices of the Daily Planet, a reporter
with a front-page byline. Five blocks to her flat, no umbrella, and
her jeans stick to her thighs as raindrops splash down onto
them. The clinging jeans restrict her movement, cold ice trapping
her in one place. Inch by inch she walks down the sidewalk. She
watches rain run down into cracks, deepening them, carving
canyons into the streets. Water drips from her eyelashes. She
licks her lips, capturing the droplets on her tongue.
They are warm and taste of salt. Salt. Tears, then, not rain.
She wipes her cheek with the back of her hand and tries to listen
to the teacher droning in the front of the room.
A summer in Metropolis and everything's changed. Everything
and nothing, but she swore. She swore that she would cry no
more tears. No more wasted, pointless tears on a boy who didn't
see her.
She watches Clark out of the corner of her eye, sprawled at his
desk, long legs stretched out. It's one of the unsolved mysteries
of the world, how he can possibly fold himself to fit behind the
desk. Years ago, now, she fell in love, lust, love. It was love. She
fell in love with him. But all she ever saw was the back of his
head, watching as his shoulders shifted under blue t-shirts as
he exited stage left. There was a moment, once, when she
thought he loved her back, when he stared at her, saw her, her
face her skin her hair.
But then, love left her and didn't even wait in the wings to watch
her face crumble - like a coke can he crushed under his heel.
The curtain closed on Act 1.
She's opening the curtain on Act 2.
She turns to Lana, sitting primly in the desk next to her. She
waits until the teacher turns to the board, then leans over to
whisper, "Meet me at the Torch. Lunch," into Lana's ear. Lana
nods.
Chloe hides her smile behind her hand, watching as Lana shifts
slightly in her seat.
Lust stirs in her stomach. Heat rises inside Chloe - heat,
passion, lust. Her cheeks are pink and the color's hers, not
make-up, not a reflection of her shirt. Lana watches her through
her eyelashes and sees her. Chloe feels the gaze, hot trails on
her skin, burning her through.
Chloe's wet already.
Class ends and the scene changes. Lunch opens with Chloe
leaning against the wall in the Torch's office, her tank top strap
slipping off her shoulder. Lana walks in, and Chloe grasps her
wrist, pulling her close until they're pressed tight together.
Lana's "Hi," gets lost in the slide of Chloe's tongue into her
mouth. Soft, plush lips that Chloe catches with her teeth, biting,
nibbling. She strokes up Lana's arm, fingers collecting droplets
of sweat. Cupping the back of her neck, Chloe tips Lana's head
back. Soft kisses along her neck, up to her ear, to nibble some
more. Lana's whimpers slide under her skin.
Chloe reaches down and lifts Lana's leg up to wrap around her
waist. Slick soft silk, the skin of Lana's thigh slides against
Chloe's palm, her fingertips. Lana pants softly, quietly, and her
mouth opens. Her tongue flickers out, lapping at her lips. Chloe
stares, caught - mesmerized. Chloe's fingers skim the edge of
Lana's panties, lace, and Lana's breath hitches.
Whisper soft, Lana breathes, "please," into Chloe's ear.
"Want you," Chloe whispers, her palm cupping Lana, her fingers
stroking. She tucks her hand under the elastic, running her nails
through dewy wet tendrils of hair, dipping into hotwetwarmth.
Fast flicks of her thumb and Lana comes apart in her hands,
knees collapsing, draping herself along Chloe's body. Chloe
pulls her hand back past the elastic, pushing Lana's leg down.
She brings her hand up to her mouth, licking her fingertips.
Lana pants on her shoulder, shaking, trembling. Chloe smiles.
It's lust, not love. But she got here first.
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