"I'm Only Sleeping."

Rating: R
Season: Present
Summary: Remember that time Chlark shared that cocoa by the fire? Clark does.


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This part never changed.

Somehow, they'd ended up together, resting on the floor, their backs against the foot of the couch. The fireplace lit, and warm. Clark's arm around Chloe's shoulders. Also warm.

But a different kind of warm.

They ended up this way most evenings. Together, and a glow between them.

And nothing ever changed. The way Clark's arm stayed longer around her. How Chloe's laughter was quieter, reserved. Not even the way their smiles lingered a little longer, like a long drawn out sigh.

Her eyes would dazzle over the steam of her hot cocoa, darting over to his in tentative intermissions of conversation. She was expecting something to happen. Something to change.

Somehow, that never happened.

What did happen that night was Clark coming close to losing everything. He had been stuck in a dream, a nightmare really. Except Chloe was there, so it wasn't all that bad.
Chloe was the only person in the dream he could trust.

It was then that Clark knew, something had changed that night.

It had snuck up on him, in a way. Chloe was a gift sent to him a long time ago. Only, it had gotten lost, misplaced, stowed away for some distant day. And that night, he'd found it, waiting for him.

"You mean more to me than you know, Chloe." Clark said, hiding behind his dark bangs like he usually would when he was unsure of himself. He knew the words were flat and entirely unsatisfying when he said them. He only hoped Chloe would fill in the blanks and understand.

He peeked under his dark lashes and saw that she was blushing, smiling. And then he knew.

This was his chance to change it all.

He leaned closer to her, watching as her eyes grew hesitant at first, and then accepting.
She was waiting for this, just as he was.

It wasn't as romantic as he hoped, bumping heads before their lips actually touched.
Chloe snickering as she rubbed her forehead.

He memorized her laughter.

She leaned towards him again, the blanket that pooled in her lap shifting with her.

And instead of him kissing her...

she kissed him. This never changed.

A pain in Clark's chest rose to the surface. He hadn't even known it existed. But he felt it now, and it hurt worse than kryptonite.

He felt guilty.

Why couldn't he tell her exactly what she meant to him? Chloe deserved something better than a lame, vague statement that barely circumavigated their lifelong friendship.
She deserved more. Something as perfect and eloquent, and beautiful as she was.

Clark wasn't good with words.

But he could tell her this way.

His lips caressed hers slowly, the sensitive pink flesh becoming deliciously moist with every sweep of his tongue. He could show her this way if he was delicate enough. He may have not had words for her. But he had her here, now, and he wasn't going to let her go without atleast showing her how he felt.

Clark's arm that was previously strung around her shoulders fell lower, to her waist.
Fingers gradually peeking underneath her shirt, tickling her soft skin just above the subtle swell of her hips.

Chloe whimpered, and the pain in his chest bloomed. Why hadn't he told her this way before?

He coaxed the mug from her small hands and placed it on the floor behind him, his lips never leaving her neck. She liked it when he kissed her there. Her quiet laughter even more hushed now that it was late and his parents were upstairs.

He felt every giggle and squeak through the tendons of her throat, subtle and sexy. She was shivering and it struck him. Something had changed this time. The solid, stubborness that usually governed his emotions... gone.

He could have this. Just this once.

He lifted his eyes to hers, discovering a new marvel there. He felt the same way.

"What changed tonight?" She asked him, voice low, a breathless whisper.

Clark hesitated, his words lost to him again. "I don't know."

Her hopeful gaze fell, and Clark was right there to pick it back up. "I mean, I do know."

She looked back up, hair drifting infront of her eyes.

"I'm just not sure how to say it." Clark surrendered a smile, his hand coming to rest next to hers.

Her hand turned over, collapsing over his. Clark watched as she brought his fingers to her lips, and kissed them individually.

"I think you have an idea." Her eyes sparkled in the firelight, teasing him.

The pain his chest ebbed with every finger she stroked with her mouth. He was transfixed and bewitched with the sultry tilt that had never been there before. The tightness in his chest loosened, and melted away, leaving a warm pull that gravited lower.

"I've always wanted to tell you." Clark whispered in her ear, his other hand in her hair.

"So tell me, Clark." She whispered back. "Before it's too late."

There was a sadness to her voice, and he captured her lips before she could whisper anything else.

He kissed her again. On the nose, on the mouth.

Down to the part where her lower lip met the small of her chin. To the soft skin below her jawline, under her ear.

His hands wandered up between her shirt and skin, finding the small strip of lace that encouraged him to go further.

That's when she stopped him.

"Clark." Her voice wavered, uncertain again. "Your parents are upstairs."

Clark smiled, almost forgetting he still lived at the farm. They were so young still. Clark scooted forward and held her close. "I can be quiet."

She giggled again, this time against his neck. He felt her words vibrate there. "I'm not so sure I can."

The last of his restraint broke, and he tumbled over her, both hands finding their way to her sides.

He never forgot how ticklish she was.

Chloe giggled louder, the air bubbly and soft. Clark laughed with her, only hushing them both with the soft kisses that abbreviated their heavy breathing.

Somehow Chloe's shirt was gone, up over her head, sailed away somewhere beyond the couch. Clark didn't see it sail away. He was too busy with Chloe on his living room floor, hair fanned out like a golden halo. Her chest, exposed except for the thinnest layer of cream lace. It almost matched her skin, so pale and soft.

Her chest rose and fell in shallow short breaths, and Clark leaned over her, one arm at each side. She was perfect, gorgeous and patient. Waiting for him to make the next move.

But he didn't want to. He wanted this moment to last the longest.

"Clark."

"Yes?"

Chloe moved her hands underneath his shirt, over his shoulders. "You know they'll wake up soon."

Clark sighed, letting his body sink into hers. He buried his face in her hair, memorizing the fragrance she wore. He missed it.

She took advantage of his position and stroked his shirt off of him slowly, bringing his arms above her. He held them there and buried himself again.

"Chloe, I miss you." He whispered, sucking in a startled breath as she massaged her fingers down his chest, to his navel.

"I'm always here."

Guilt rose in his chest, and he buried back down by kissing her madly. Her body reponded to his so easily, her hips rising, molding to his. She drove him crazy with her hands, stroking the taut muscles over his hips and below his jeans. It drove him crazy that she knew his body so well.

He took her hands away, and kept them above her. She was getting too much pleasure out of torturing him.

She was smiling at him, mischief running wild. They were so young.

"You're having too much fun." Clark nuzzled his nose with hers.

"We always have fun together." She giggled.

He smiled, hushing her with a kiss. His hands slipped under her bra, his hands large and clumsy compared to her delicate fine ones.

His palm kneaded her breast, a moan escaping her lips, their kiss. He pushed his hips deeper into hers, so close to being enough. And yet, Clark knew, it would never be enough.

Their bare chests were rubbing against eachother now, Clark's body enveloped over hers, her hips cradling him. Chloe's hands had escaped Clark's and were now finding their way back to his waist. He let them this time.

"Chloe," he moaned, hs lips trailing over her cleft of her breast, her nipple, then the softest skin on the underside. He paid generous attention there, only coming up for air to confess something. "Chloe, I need to tell you."

Her chest heaved deeper and deeper, arching until it curved into his. "You can tell me later."

He hugged her closer, shaking his head in dissent. He raised his face to hers again, only to bury it once more in her soft hair. Her hands had finally broken the invisible wall she'd played around, her fingers in his lower hairline. Lower.


Lower.


He groaned, flexing into her hand.

"Shhh." He felt her whisper, giggle in his ear. "I thought you said you would be quiet."
She stroked him again, elicting another muffled noise from Clark.

There was a noise.

Not from Clark, or Chloe. But from upstairs.

Clark froze, and Chloe followed. They stared as the upstair light flicked on.

Clark scrambled first, pulling Chloe up to her feet and then searching madly around the living room for her clothes.

He looked over his bare shoulder to find Chloe snickering and with an evil grin on her face.

"Chloe, my dad's awake!" he whispered urgently, pausing his frantic search for her
clothes to stare at her beautiful breasts before he had to cover them up.

He looked everywhere and couldn't find her bra or shirt. He was so dead.

"Clark."

He spun around. Chloe had a shirt. His shirt. The blue one, the one he wore everyday. It looked better on her. The way it fell loosely over her slim shoulders, and dipped down below her collar bone. It looked alot better on her, the way it drapped over her chest and how she wrapped the bunched cotton around her small waist.

She plopped down on the couch and resumed drinking her hot cocoa by the fireplace. As if this was any other typical night.

Nothing had happened.

Clark, still half naked, joined her. But he took the blanket on the floor and wrapped it around his shoulders, just in time for his dad to pop his head around the corner.

His dad drowsily shuffled into the kitchen in his robe and opened the refridgerator, the light humm from it the only noise in the house beisdes Chloe's muzzled laughter.

Jonathan Kent said goodnight before heading back up stairs with two glasses of water.
But before he did, he smiled at his son, a soft easy smile, and nodded as if they'd exchanged a secret between them.

They waited until they heard the last foot step across the ceiling, and the door shut. The light turned out.

Clark let out a deep breath and turned to his best friend who was leaning against the arm
rest, eyes smiling.

"See? Nothing happened." She said, yawning, her eyes closing partly.

Clark smiled, relieved, except he felt disappointment too. He turned to her. "Are you sleepy?"

She yawned again, nodding as she eyes closed fully.

Clark frowned, crawling closer to her. "Don't go to bed, please." Surprised when he heard desperation in his voice.

Chloe peeked open her eyes, more golden in the firelight. "Ok, I'll stay up."

Clark smiled and cuddled next to her, wrapping the blanket around them. His arm cradled both their heads as a pillow, his other wrapping around her waist.

But despite Chloe's promise, her eyes drifted shut again. And he knew, he was losing her.

"Chloe, I have to tell you something." He spoke into her ear, trying to keep her awake.

Her tousled hair framed her face, and it kept pure will power not to bury himself in her
curls and stay there. He had to tell her.

"Chloe."

He touched her cheek and she sighed, "I'm only sleeping."

Clark smiled, sadly. And pulled her closer to him. He could wait. His eyes closed with hers.
He could tell her in the morning.





.





No.



No he couldn't



His eyes shot open.
　


"Chloe!"


Clark awoke on the couch, his heart in his throat and eardrum. There was sweat on his skin, and his shirt stuck to his chest.

Clark threw the blanket off of him and sat up, hunched over his knees. The fire place was dim, only embers now.

It was a dream.

Wasn't it?

The light flicked on from the stairway, and this time, it was Martha who came down.

"Clark, I heard you scream. Is everything alright?"

He blinked, and rubbed his hands through his dark, damp hair and stood up. "Yeah, I'm fine. It was just a dream."

"A dream?" Martha crossed her arms and followed him into the kitchen. "Sounded like a nightmare to me."

Clark frowned. "Yeah, maybe it was." He opened the fridgerator like his father had done before. The cool air was refreshing against his feverish skin. He was still sweating. That wasn't like him.

Martha took a seat at the kitchen table and studied him closely. "Well, what was in this dream?"

Clark took a bottle of milk from the shelf and then poured a glass. "I'm not sure." He thought a moment. He could barely remember it now. Clark had perfect memory when it came to reality, but sadly he was just like anyone else when it came to remembering dreams...

"I can't remember it now." He shook his head. "But I know Chloe was there. We were on the couch. Talking."

His mother smiled. "Clark, you must have fell asleep. Chloe was just here. The both of you were over by the couch, drinking the cocoa I made."

Clark jerked his head up at his mother, and then to the two coffee mugs that were sitting beside the couch.

So she was there.

Maybe it wasn't a dream.

"How long ago did she leave?" Clark frowned, his chest constricting.

Martha came around, patting her son's shoulder. "Oh, I don't know Clark. A while ago I guess."

He watched his mother shuffle to the stairs, the same way his father had.

Before she ascended the stairs, Clark called to her. "Mom?"

She paused and looked over. "Yes, son?"

"I'm sorry I woke you and dad."

Martha paused again, eyes strange. "Your father?"

Clark paused, a tight coil in his chest winding. "Isn't he awake?"

Martha smiled, and came down the last step, cupping her palm around her son's cheek.

"Clark," she whispered, "you're still dreaming."
　

.

His eyes shot open.

And this time, he wasn't inside his parent's house.

No, he was older. Much older. And he had had that dream for years and years.

Clark swung his heavy legs over the edge of the bed and kicked on his house shoes. He shuffled to the bathroom where he flicked onthe light.

He bent his head under the faucet. The sound of the water running disguised his crying.
He couldn't explain why that dream never changed. Why it was always that night, and not any other. Why it still hurt him like hot knife in his heart whenever he woke up.

Because memories were brutal, and always the sharpest knife.

He washed his face, and dried his eyes. Gave himself a hard look in the mirror.

There was a knock on the door, he had woken her.

"Everything ok?" He heard from the other side.

Clark collected himself, and cleared his throat. "Yeah."

He opened the door, another jab in his chest when the woman on the other side wasn't the one in his dreams.

This one followed him to bed, wrapping her arms around his turned back.

"Was it a nightmare?"

Clark stared at the dull blue shadows that formed the bedroom. His chest wasn't constricted anymore, just a dull empty space.

"It's over now." He lied, quietly.