by Wendi and Hope
It would make sense later, Wally thought, when he would only vaguely recall the names and details through a blissful tequila haze. One body shot off Chloe's lush curves and hollows, for every story he sat through. Chloe, tequila and promised details from what she'd always called her lost summer with the smile that always meant sex was on her mind. Which probably meant dirty talk and Wally would run barefoot over broken glass for Chloe-dirty talk. It was a win-win situation.
Wally poured a shot and glanced up with a grin. "So the summer's theme was screw Clark? Cool."
Matchbox Twenty played on the radio, and a couple of stubby candles burned in soda cans on the end table. The sheets were clean, and Pete opened a new box of condoms- she probably would have died if the box had already been open. After stealing glances at the pale latex hazing down his cock, Chloe spread her legs and her arms, and wrapped around him when he slipped inside. Slow and sweet, with lots of kisses and whispers to make sure he wasn't hurting her, she closed her eyes and memorized the warm, licorice scent of his skin.
Wally licked the last of the tequila from Chloe's belly, shaking off the burning shudder that followed its trail down his throat. Blinking bleary eyes he squinted and played the scene back in his mind as he slipped up her body for a bite of the lime wedge she offered to him. He winced, mouth puckering, details sinking in with the citrus bite. "Matchbox Twenty?"
"Shut up, it was very romantic."
"If you can get past the musical selection."
"Pete actually had good taste in music."
"No, Pete's just like any other guy. He used Rob Thomas to get laid."
They had been talking about The Age of Innocence. The movie, not the book, or rather, a new version of the movie, and who they would cast in each role. The conversation wandered: from teen starlets to love, from period dramas to passion. Their fingers wandered, too, picking at the soft sheets, then each other's pajamas. Talking, talking, their hands creeping to steal curious touches, until their nipples were hard and they really had no choice but to kiss. And stroke. And more.
It took almost three weeks for Lana to look her in the eye after that.
"You and Lana?" Wally forgot the tequila, salt burning on his tongue as he stared up her body.
Chloe rolled her eyes. "It wasn't like that!"
"Uh, there was kissing, there was touching." Wally grinned, cheerfully concluding, "It was exactly like that!"
Green eyes narrowed as she sized him up. "I thought you didn't like Lana."
"Babe, that's not the point. Girl on girl action is every guy's fantasy." Wally slipped down, lapping the tequila slowly to escape The Gaze of Doom. "Was there licking?"
"Do you want to hear the rest?"
Wally nodded and grinned around a lime wedge.
With champagne tickling in her nose, she leaned back and disappeared into slippery, silky drapes and evening jackets. A shawl's beaded fringe teased her throat, and she giggled, bracing her hands on his waist. Bravely tipsy, she watched his fingers slip into her panties; she heard herself whisper more. First one, then two, and then everything was fireworks. So much for mingling at the LuthorCorp Fourth of July party; she came instead.
If she'd realized the fingers belonged to the CEO of Wayne Enterprises, though, she would have remembered to ask a few questions for her column.
Wally felt the burn of tequila in his nose and made a mental note to let her finish the next story before he started his shot. "Bruce Wayne?"
"It's not like I knew who he was at the time."
His next shift was going to be interesting.
Wally mentally catalogued all of his exchanges with Batman, trying to correlate the smug attitude with anything besides superhero ego. "What is it about LuthorCorp parties that sends everyone into the coatroom?"
"They're unbelievably boring, for one." Chloe offered him a lime and a grin. "And there's a never ending flow of champagne."
He introduced himself as Hiram Kent, Clark's cousin. Then he told her his name was Mxyzptlk, and Clark was just his favorite show. He said he was from Wisconsin, then the Fifth Dimension; he claimed he was just a student, then swore he had unimaginable, godlike powers.
Frankly, he couldn't keep his story straight, but one thing was constant: he thought she was beautiful, smart, a catch, a treat, so she decided the lies made him interesting, and let him go down on her. When she whimpered, she called him Mike, because Hiram was lame, and she couldn't pronounce Mxyzptlk.
The salt burned, the tequila didn't and the lime laughed at his desperation. Wally buried his face against Chloe's breasts and groaned. "You let that sideshow freak go down on you?"
"He obviously had good taste." Chloe's voice was distant. "It was an amazing orgasm."
Wally groaned again, peeking up through his lashes. "You realize he'll be back someday. He probably watches us do it."
Chloe shoved his head back down and laughed "I've always wondered. . . "
"Don't say that."
"Like I haven't caught you watching the Playboy Channel."
Wally lifted his head. "Yeah, but you're my bunny."
He talked instead of kissing her back. "I wouldn't expect anything, if I were you."
"Please. The only thing I expect is a good time had by all." She tried again.
Curving her hand against his cheek, Chloe smiled. "The last time I checked, the dead couldn't be charged with corruption of a minor in Kansas."
Lex nodded, then informed her, "You're not my type."
Sinking into his lap, she licked his scar. "Who said you were mine?"
His last argument was the weakest. "What about Clark?"
"Aren't you sick of wondering what about Clark?"
He took the body shot, then grabbed the bottle.
"Okay, that's not in the rules."
"Sex with Scratch renders all rules null and void." Wally took a long pull from the bottle, then got squeamish when he caught sight of the worm floating in the bottom. It reminded him of Lex and he swallowed with a pathetic, wounded sound. "There's not enough tequila in Kansas for this."
Chloe kissed the shell of his ear, consoling softly. "He totally wasn't into me."
"Well, yeah. The whole gay thing."
"Nobody knew, back then." Chloe bit her lip, amending. "Okay, nobody had proof."
Somebody, maybe Woody Allen, maybe George Carlin, maybe her dad, oh god, she hoped it wasn't her dad, had once said that masturbation was sex with someone you loved. Her thighs quivered with the lulling hum of the vibrator, and she bit the heel of her hand to hold back her voice. It was definitely safe sex, gentle sex, an orgasm without complications. She knew her fingers wouldn't judge; she wasn't easy giving it up to the battery-operated boyfriend; she wasn't curled up with herself for all the wrong reasons.
Besides, what Ashton Kutcher didn't know wouldn't hurt him.
"You think of Ashton Kutcher when you masturbate?"
Chloe rolled her eyes. "Past tense. And don't look at me like that."
"You find the star of Dude, Where's My Car sexy?" Wally considered the worm in the bottom of the bottle to be a lucky little son of a bitch.
"Maybe you missed the memo, but I'm known for having a soft spot for dorks." Chloe pushed up off the sofa. "Obviously, this night of fun is so over."
Wally abandoned the bottle and dutifully followed her to bed. "Wait a second, explain the dork remark to the drunk guy?"
Wham bam thank you ma'am, sneak attack, speedster fingers, all over, inside outside, good to suck and taste and bite. Slow motion made sweat, hard-arched backs and clawed fingers. He laughed, and she laughed, and they started all over again, in the kitchen, in the bathroom, where they barely using any hot water before trying the fire escape, quick stop for some stir fry in Beijing; giving the laundry room a whirl, then finally landing on the thick rug in the den.
Chloe stilled beneath him, and smiled. "You're the best, Wally."
With a brash grin, Wally nodded. "I know."
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