random {back of head}

i'm waiting

i'm still hoping better angels will come to me

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The Drabble Tag: The Bad Boys Edition - Official Post
random {kermit the frog}
Drabble Tag: The Bad Boys Edition

See this post for details and to ask questions.

A few quick things:
*** Post your drabble as a reply to the comment containing the prompt you wrote the drabble for.
*** If you are the first one done, post your prompt as a NEW comment.
*** This drabble tag is NC-17 encouraged. No minors please.
*** You are encouraged to write the Bad Boys. For Smallville, these are: red!K Clark, Kal-El, Bizarro, Davis, Lex, Lionel, etc.
*** Crossovers with other fandoms are allowed.

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Chloe has always been loyal to Clark, willing to do whatever he wants. There are limits, of course, but he’s never crossed those lines.

Still, she’s waited for this moment, when his eyes spark red, when he crosses the line.

He pulls her closer, his nose grazing against her cheek, his breath hot on her ear. “It won’t mean anything,” he whispers, “but you’ll do it for me, right?”

His hand slips under her shirt. His fingers pinch her nipple.

She leans her head back and moans.

There are no limits. There are no lines to cross. She’ll do whatever he wants.

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His lips sear a path down her back. She burrows her face further into the pillow, biting around cotton to keep from speaking. Fingertips trail along her spine, fall down to caress the sides of her breasts.

He is teasing her, taunting her.

Say it his hands, his lips say as they touch her. But she refuses, not willing to give him that power. She won’t beg him for mercy, this creature who wears the face of the man she loved.

She won’t let him reduce her any more than he already has.

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Chloe smirks at the littered gifts around their room. There's everything from actual gold and diamonds to slinkies. Why anyone would think that was the perfect gift for the new president, she'd never know.

Of course, Kal-El found great pleasure in straightening them as he as doing now.

"What, Sull-I-Van? It is a challenge."

She laughs. "Tributes are a whole new thing now."

"Next time, I shall try to decipher a magic eight ball."

She laughs again for her fearsome conqueror. She just bet he would.

Somehow she controls it. The beast that resides with Davis she holds sway over. A touch of her hand upon his shoulder can make the beast retreat.

“You can’t leave me,” Davis says.

They are naked on the hard basement floor. There is a blanket beneath them and over them, but the hard floor isn’t disguised. Nor is she immune to the cold air of the basement.

“Never,” he adds. “You can’t.”

He is holding on to her so tight. She is curled into his side and his arms are around her and he is holding onto her like she’s a lifeboat. Like she is the only one that can save him.

It’s too much. She closes her eyes and wishes she were elsewhere.

But she’s not Dorothy.

There are tears running down her cheeks. She's never cried this hard in her life. The drops fall onto both their bodies, these Titans, these supposed immortals.

Once she could cure anything with her tears.

Now they're nothing more than salt water.

Neither the thing that was Davis nor Clark move.

They'll never move again and she can't help but blame herself, blame her plan that wasn't. She wants to turn away but this is her penance, watching over them until the League can clean it up. This is her punishment and this time her tears offer no aboslution.

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Chloe had imagined his touch would be harder, almost cruel even. After all, in Atlantis, he had seemed so cold.

But in his bed, she discovers how wrong she was. His fingers are soft, almost hesitant as he caresses her body. His touch is feather-light for the most part, as he explores her body. He is tentative and gentle and far from what she imagined.

She thinks of his attitude at the club and his behavior now and is left befuddled. She doesn’t understand, not at all, and what wants to understand.

Her mouth opens to ask a question, but he kisses her before the words can escape.

He stalks the bar. Kal does it night after night and it's easy, simple. He looks for the right girl to fuck. Clark's inhibitions fallen to Hell the first time that ring is on his finger. He should be looking for a brunette. Someone with long hair, get Lana out of his system.

But he's not.

Night after night, it's always a blonde.

None of them are right, close enough, so he lets them go.

Tonight's different. Tonight she's here, all slutted up.

Tonight's the night.

He'll make Chloe Sullivan his.

And get her out of his system.

It’s late, past two in the morning. The room is dark, an inky blackness. She can barely see anything. She should be sleeping.

Her eyes won’t close.

She knows what will happen if she closes her eyes: she will dream and in her dreams she will see the fallout of her decisions. She will see the disgust on Clark’s face at what she has done to save him, to save the world. In her dreams she will see red the color of blood and will worry her dream will come true.

This is what she has dreamed the night before and the night before that. Every night since she left. She cannot close her eyes tonight.

Eventually she will. And she will dream and it will be a nightmare that one day could be reality.


(Um, so there's a theme with most of my prompts, isn't there?)

Davis isn't doing what she thought. She imagined him raving or cruel or something to match the carnage of the field of bodies that she's seen. Instead, after the door was locked, he lay his head down on her shoulder. Now he's mumbling to her, praying, she recognizes. The long ago litany of the Hail Mary, something she blocked from her mind the day she quit catechism.

She doesn't know if he wants forgiveness from on High or from her.

She can't forgive him.

How can she?

She can't forgive herself.

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Cutting to the chase:


Winning the Battle and Losing the War

He is hard. She is soft.

He takes. She gives.

Everything he demands of her, her body, her soul, her love, her desires she surrenders to him along with a pleasure that engulfs him, overpowers him, brings him back to her again and again.

He is invulnerable, but she is his weakness.

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She had never seen Clark naked before and, technically, she wasn't now. This was Kal-El before her and it was both what she had imagined and what she hadn't---the broad shoulders, the rippling muscles, the scent and the sights of him.

And yet, there was that brand, that scar burned into his flesh, a torture that made her angry and want to throttle Jor-El, if one could do that with a spaceship. Reaching out, she tried to touch, wishing she could heal something like that, wanting to try.

His hand snakes out fast and catches her wrist.

"No, Sull-I-Van, never that."

There's shame there and hurt and again she hates the A.I. with renewed passion, but she shoves that away and shows Kal-El that hate is not the only thing in his world.

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It’s a toss-up what type of Kryptonite is the worse. Chloe is torn between her choices.

The green K hurts Clark so badly, leaves him broken and vulnerable. The blue K doesn’t hurt him, but makes him as weak as a human and just as fragile. The red K turns him into an ass, makes him unable to control his urges. What he says when on red K lingers, the pain a sting even months later because he only spoke the truth. The silver K makes him paranoid, unable to trust.

All of the types she’s familiar with leave her heart hurting in the end.

If she had to choose, she would pick the red K. The hurts it accompanies linger for far too long.

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Prompt: BLOOD

Edited at 2009-04-19 06:06 pm (UTC)

This is what he does, what she feels.

They fuck, rut like animals because underneath that's what he is---something terrible and terrifying, something that combines the worst of 28 galaxies into one fearsome package. When Davis starts to change, the fuck, because touching isn't enough.

Fucking won't be enough much longer.

It takes so long for the spikes on his arms to recede and already she is gashed; she is often left bleeding.

Soon this stop gap won't work and the world will fall, but Chloe keeps trying. She's given her mind, her memory, her life to help protect it.

Why should her body be any different?

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what she smells are the flowers

Above her head is a clear blue sky, the color of cornflower blue. No a cloud sullies the sky. When she breathes, she can smell the fresh scent of the air and the lingering perfume of the flowers planted nearby.

It’s a too perfect day to bury Clark.

The day he died saving the world, it was cloudy and rain threatened. By the end of the fight, the air smelled of smoke. That was how death should look like, what it should smell like.

Today they are burying him and the sun is in her eyes and she has to squint to read the words on the gravestone. It’s all wrong, but then everything is wrong. Clark shouldn’t be dead and she shouldn’t be wearing a black dress on this beautiful day.

But she is and he is dead.

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He lives in the darkness. The glow of the yellow sun turns him to stone, strips his power. Lana doesn't notice, he's kept her satiated in sex, curtains drawn for nearly a month.

The other one, the mouthy one, she notices the first time he comes to the basement even though her work place is always dark. It's what intrigues him about her, despite her attitude, despite the way she is never quiet. He'll dump the other and pursue her, find out what makes her tick.

And then rip it out of her until she screams.

His lips touch the back of her neck, his nose rubbing slightly against her hair. He says, “I love you. God, I love you so much.”

Chloe nods, cheek moving against the cotton of her pillow. She says, “I know,” because she worries too much silence on her part will only lead to further madness on Davis’s part.

Already his ability for self-delusion worries her. He thinks she is here out of love for him, out of passion. It is his belief that she is here because she wants to be here.

The truth is not that, but it’s not complex.

She’s here because she can save the one she truly loves, the one she has loved since childhood. It is not about saving or loving Davis: it is about Clark.

It always is at the end.

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After she does what she has to, after she's "calmed" him, it is always silent. The silence descends over her, trapping her, confining her. It gives her time to think. Five weeks ago she was married, a normal life to a man she didn't love but thought she could make do with. A year ago, she stood strong at Clark's side.

Now she's his whore.

There's nothing left to pretty it up.

And so she hates the silence and wishes he'd wake up again.

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love is made of chests.

"Chlo, it's just a chest!" He says exasperatedly and she knows it's only because he's embarrassed, the slight tint of pink under his slightly grey beard makes him look young again.

"And you've seen it a thousand times." It's true and that fact makes her smile gleefully, hundreds of years of anniversaries and still, she's completely, wholly happy. She thinks it's pay enough for the years they wasted apart. She slides her hand up to his neck.

"I know, but it never gets old."

There are no Christmas cards for Chloe, none from Lois. She hasn't spoken to her cousin in ages. She used to get them. Used to watch Jonathan and Lara as they grew, from infants to first soccer pictures to second grade class photos.

Then came the red.

Then came her own child.

Now the mailbox is always empty and she wishes most days she could take it back. Then she looks into his eyes---so green like his father's---and doesn't regret it. If she can't have all of him, she'll have this part.

And so she does.

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Edited at 2009-04-19 06:44 pm (UTC)

a threaded needle (the truth stings)

She watches them as they fight, as their bodies collide. They fall upon the ground and the earth shakes from their fury. She is horrified but her eyes won’t close; she won’t allow herself to hide from what her actions failed to prevent.

Part of the fight is because of her. Because each of them see her as their property and neither wants to let her go. She went with Davis, went to save Clark, and Clark viewed it as Davis taking something he had no claim on. A theft, in other words, despite the fact that she went willingly.

She went because she wanted to prevent this from occurring. She failed and now she has to watch as they try to kill each other. She wants to look away, but can’t.

She knows she’s to blame.

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There's a glimmer, a shine to his eyes.

Is that stupid?

It sounds stupid but it feels true. Kal-El's eyes are blue, not like Clark's and it makes sense since they are supposed to be the windows to the soul. It's a different soul now, a different man. Chloe likes this one, but it doesn't stop her from mourning for her childhood friend.

It would never stop that.

And every time she looks into those eyes, she mourns again.

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in the end there was this

They’re in the barn, sitting on the couch. It’s like old times, only not.

The sun is almost finished setting and the light is growing dim. For now, the light is enough and she can see his features clearly.

“I don’t…why did you go with him?” Clark asks. Of course he asks that.

Chloe shrugs her shoulders. “I thought I could save you. I thought I could go with him and prevent the destruction he could bring upon this world.”

Clark shakes his head slowly. There’s a sad look on his face. It hurts her, so much.

“My touch…it controlled the beast. I thought…I thought I had the power to protect all of us from the creature.”

“You were wrong,” he says softly.

Her voice is equally soft as she says, “I know.”

Her fingers pick at the hem of her shirt as silence descends. There’s nothing else to say. She wishes she had chosen differently, but wishes don’t function like that.


Feel free to continue writing drabbles based on the other prompts. And please comment!

Commenting is fun and THANKS FOR HOSTING MEL!!!!!!!!!!

Big hugs!

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