"Hey, Dad," Clark says as he enters the barn.
"Oh, hi, Clark," Jonathon responds, not looking up from his work on the tractor. "Say, how's Mrs. Fordman doing?"
"Well, they need to keep her overnight." He glances at Jonathon, thinking of Mrs. Fordman's terror and grief. How sad and frightening is it to see your child turn into a total stranger, a monster with a familiar face? "She's pretty freaked out by this whole thing."
Jonathon shrugs. "Well, who could blame her, right? Oh, uh...." Clark hears a tool drop to the floor with a sharp clank as his father continues. "Any idea where Tina is now?"
"No." He's looked everywhere, scanning through the town, looking for that meteor-laced skeleton. "She could be anyone." And isn't that a happy thought? Clark sighs, his eyes downcast.
"You're right about that." His father's voice, strange and hollow somehow. Clark barely registers the change in tone before Jonathon lunges toward him, right arm outstretched. A flash of green catches his eye and then the familiar nausea and weakness envelop him.
"I just love this necklace," his father says, tackling him to the floor. The body on top of him shifts in a way Clark can only describe as wrong. Long dark hair flows and brushes against his face. Tina Grier looks down, eyes malice-bright. "It goes with everything."
He tries to push her off but she's strong like all the monsters in this town and easily pushes aside his leaden arms. Busy fingers at his throat, around the back of his neck, and suddenly there's a burning focus to the pain that flows through him. Clark's starting to think the damn thing has some sort of homing beacon on it, always finding its way back to torment him somehow. If he gets out of this alive, he's going to figure out someway to destroy it, regardless of how much it means to Lana. It's only meant trouble for him.
Tina's moving him with that effortless strength, half-lifting, half-dragging him along. He's jostled about, the movements increasing his nausea, and feels her working at something. He recognizes the sound of the storm cellar door a split-second before she pushes him away.
Clark tumbles gracelessly down the stairs, long limbs flailing uselessly against the walls. The hard, cold floor races up to meet him and he slams into it hard, his right cheek scraping as he lands on his side, winded and dizzy. There are footsteps behind him as she walks down the steps.
"I always wondered how you beat me, Clark. Should be dead but you're not. The meteor shower must have done something to you, too."
He hears her move something on the shelves and his imagination runs riot at what she could have found. A working farm is a playground for psychopaths. He tries to roll over on his back but the effort is too much.
"Tina, don't do this," Clark pleads with her. Tina's never reacted well to the "can't we talk things out" approach but it's all he's got going for him.
"If I want to be with Lana, I don't have a choice," she explains to him, crouching to pull his left arm back at an awkward angle.
"Last year you tried to kill her."
"Yeah. It was the worst mistake of my life." Rough rope circles one wrist, then the other, pulling tight as she ties his hands together behind his back. At this point, it's overkill. She could use yarn and he'd be just as helpless. "She rejected me and I acted without thinking."
And god, she's so matter-of-fact and upbeat about it all. It's like she had a pop psychology breakthrough in therapy. Homecoming Queens and the Freaks Who Stalk Them. Did she sound like this when she doused some poor schmuck in paint thinner and left her to burn? Clark presses his face against the hard floor, trying to get a little leverage. His legs scissor fitfully as he feels Tina get to her feet.
"But I love her and I'll do anything to be with her." She moves around him, fixed on some vision only she can see. "And I finally figured out who Lana wants to be with."
He can see her now, see her face and her body, and suddenly her shoulders are broadening, her chest filling out, dark hair now just a short, shaggy mess, cheekbones sharpening, red lips widening and she's him, oh god, it's like looking into a mirror and the you on the other side steps through --
"It's gonna be easy to become you, Clark," his own voice tells him.
"No! Stay way from her!"
"You have the perfect life," she singsongs at him, "great parents, good friends, and most importantly, the girl of our dreams waiting for you to finally make a move." She stops and tilts her -- his! -- head at Clark. "But I won't make the same mistakes I made with Whitney. Everything about you has to be perfect. The way you look, the way you talk, the way you --"
A thoughtful look passes over her face. "The way you kiss." She drops to her knees beside him. "You want it to be good for Lana, don't you? If you really love her, you'll help me."
She cups her hand -- his hand, so big, so warm -- behind his neck and tilts his head up a little. She moves in closer to him and are his eyes really that bright, that green? Soft lips come down on his and she steals away the little breath the meteor rock has left him.
The tension in his chest and the tightness in his stomach play a cruel trick on him. While his head recognizes the signs of meteor sickness, his body has never quite grasped the difference between that and arousal. Early Lana-conditioning holds true.
The heavy torso pressing down on his is different in ways he's only occasionally considered, Pete in the locker room shower, Lex stretched out across the pool table. But it's a almost a relief to be anchored down, the tremors racking his body contained and mellowed by the weight.
His eyelashes flutter down as Tina flicks her tongue, his tongue, along his upper lip, slipping just inside as he gasps. "That's it, Clark. Just let me in. Show me the way you kiss, the way you'd kiss Lana."
It's all so messed up. He can barely move between the rope and the necklace and the hard body stretching out on top of him. He's surrounded by himself, his own scent flooding his senses, the hard, familiar hands moving up and down his sides, pulling up his shirt and playing along his skin. His own voice murmuring in his ear like a dream.
"It's gonna be so good with Lana. She deserves everything, the best of everything. And we'll give it to her, won't we, Clark? She likes these broad shoulders, these strong arms...." Long caresses match every word.
The mirror-Clark arches his back, her back, long legs falling slightly apart to straddle his hips and grind down. Clark moans and feels it echoed above him. "That feels so good, Clark. Let's see what we've been saving for Lana."
She inches her way back down his body, dragging a muscled chest over his abdomen and pressing down on his groin. His cock, already half-hard, swells beneath his jeans. Tina crouches over his legs and rubs her big hands over the bulge.
"Stop it, Tina," he manages to rasp out but at the same time his hips lift uncontrollably, trying to maintain the contact. She ignores him, slipping the button of his jeans open and pulling the zipper down. He can't hear it over the hammering of his pulse.
Impatient hands push his jeans and underwear down about his hips, freeing his cock to the cool cellar air. Clark tries to will it into submission but it can't tell the difference between Clark and Tina, rising up and seeking the warmth of her hands, his hands.
Clark watches as Tina inspects him intently, her breath coming hot and fast between his red, red lips. He's wet against her hands, drops of pre-come slicking him, helping her ease his foreskin back and forth. He gasps, drawing in shuddering breaths, thrusting helplessly. He almost cries out when she lets go.
She scrabbles at her own fly, hastily baring her own cock. "A perfect match," his voice says, pleased, and then his cock feels the shock of another cock, his own cock, sliding up alongside it.
He thinks he can feel it inside and out, the veins along the length, the soft, wet skin over the hard flesh. It's more intense than he's ever dreamed. She pushes her cock, his cock, down under his, between his legs, nudging up against his balls. The path is slippery with his sweat and pre-come and she's leaking as much as he is. She groans, a deep rumble in his chest, and thrusts, rubbing them together, his cock pressing up between two hard bellies, painting trails against skin and hair.
He's stretched out on his back, his arms twisted under him, arching his hips up. He can't breathe, he can't move, he can't think. She's pushed his jeans down further, pulling his legs up so they can spread apart more, letting her get closer and closer with every thrust. She's got her long arms out under him, cupping his shoulders, pulling him down against her as they rock. They fit together so perfectly, every stroke met and matched.
She's biting at his lips, forcing his mouth open, pushing her tongue, his tongue past his teeth. He can barely breathe but she's in no better shape as she gasps into his mouth. "So good, Clark... so good for Lana. It's all... uh, all for her, so good..."
She screams, his voice high and shrill, and thrusts again, holding and grinding against him. Clark feels it, liquid warmth spreading down between his ass cheeks, a sudden shocking heat that pulls his own climax out of him. His head jerks back, the meteor rock digging into his throat. He spasms again and again, his slippery seed hot between them, his entire body convulsing.
He's completely drained, the weakness from the meteor joined by a bone-deep lassitude. His body, her body, pins him down, a dead weight. He doesn't know how long they lie there, sweat cooling, breaths evening out. He can't even find the strength to call her name and has to wait until she finally stirs, raising that mirror face to look at him.
His green eyes are cloudy with sated hunger as she blinks at him but it quickly passes, insane delight replacing it. "Lana's going be so happy, Clark. I've got it all now and I can give it to her." She slides off him, briskly pulling his clothes back together and zipping him up. "This time she's going to love me and everything will be perfect."
Standing up, Tina stretches, the long muscles of his body tightening and loosening. She pulls down her own t-shirt and shirt, ignoring the mess drying on his stomach, and fastens her jeans.
"Thanks, Clark. I'll give our love to Lana." She heads up the stairs, slamming the cellar door behind her.
"No!" he screams hoarsely and rolls around, searching for and finding some last reserve of strength. It's no good, though. He winds up facing the back of the cellar, the blood pounding in his head. He's blinded by flashing lights, his vision hazy. As the lights grow stronger, he can almost feel wind in his face. He gasps, trying to pull air into his labored lungs but he knows he's dying, the cellar getting brighter and brighter, the necklace at his throat pulsing in time with his last few heartbeats, and when the final strobe sears its way past his eyelids and into his brain he knows that it's the end.
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