small town girls




Act The Second
by cecily v.

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.