Chapter 4: First Taste
The world narrowed to wet heat and the sound of ragged breathing. Clark’s senses, usually spanning acres, collapsed into the few square feet of his bedroom. He felt the groan of the bedframe under his white-knuckled grip, the individual threads of the quilt beneath his other hand, the cool evening air on his skin, and the devastating, engulfing warmth of Lana’s mouth. Her first touch had been a tentative lick, a soft exploration that sent a current of pure lightning straight to his core. Now, as she took him deeper, her hands fumbling to find a rhythm on his thighs, his whole reality was the tight, velvet suction of her lips.
Beside him, Pete gasped, a sharp, broken sound. “Jesus, Chlo…”
Clark didn’t need to look. He could hear it all. The wet, slick sounds of Chloe working on Pete with a determined, eager energy he could feel vibrating through the floorboards. Pete’s shuddering exhales. The rustle of fabric as Chloe tugged Pete’s jeans lower, her fingers digging into the muscles of his ass.
“You like that?” Chloe murmured, her voice thick and muffled against Pete’s skin.
“Fuck, yeah…”
Clark looked down. Lana’s dark hair was a curtain against his stomach, her eyes closed in concentration. He saw her struggle, the slight gag as she took him as far as she could, then pull back, her lips shining. She glanced up, catching him watching her, and a blush spread across her cheeks. But she didn’t stop. She held his gaze, her eyes wide and dark, and sank down again, taking him deeper this time. The visual, the intense eye contact combined with the physical sensation, was almost too much. A low groan was torn from his throat.
It was competitive, suddenly. Not in a mean way, but in a charged, electric way. Chloe heard Clark’s groan and redoubled her efforts on Pete, bobbing her head faster, using her hand in a twisting motion at the base. Pete cursed, his hips jerking involuntarily.
“Easy, man,” Pete breathed, his hand coming down to tangle in Chloe’s blonde hair, not to guide, but to hold on.
Lana pulled off with a soft pop, breathing hard. “I don’t… I don’t really know what I’m doing,” she confessed, her voice a shaky whisper.
“Neither do I,” Clark managed to say, the words raw. “It’s… it’s good.”
Encouraged, Lana lowered her head again. This time, she relaxed her jaw, letting him slide deeper into her throat. The sensation was so intense, so overwhelmingly intimate, that Clark’s vision briefly swam. He was acutely aware of everything—the calluses on his own hands from farm work, the scent of Lana’s shampoo, the frantic, galloping heartbeat in his own chest that had nothing to do with super-speed.
Chloe pulled back, letting Pete slip from her mouth with a lewd, wet sound. She wiped her chin with the back of her hand, her eyes glazed and bright. “Okay,” she panted. “Enough… enough just this. I want… we said together.” She looked at Lana, who was still working on Clark, lost in the act. “Lana. Come up here.”
Lana pulled away, looking dazed. Clark helped her up, her body soft and pliant against his. Her lips were swollen, her mascara slightly smudged. She looked utterly beautiful in her dishevelment.
Chloe was already moving, pushing Pete backwards onto the bed. The old springs complained. “Scoot over,” she instructed Clark, her journalist’s mind clearly executing a plan. “Pete, you’re in the middle.”
Pete, looking shell-shocked and intensely aroused, shuffled to the center of the wide bed. Clark lay down on his right side, propping himself up on an elbow. Lana, after a second’s hesitation, lay down on Pete’s left, mirroring Clark’s position. They faced each other over Pete’s body.
Chloe stood at the foot of the bed, looking at the three of them. Her own bra was now unhooked, dangling from her fingers before she let it drop to join the pile of clothes. Her small, perfect breasts were flushed. “This is how,” she said, her voice all business despite its breathlessness. “Pete, you’re going to be inside me. Clark, you’ll be with Lana. Same time. We just… we just need to…”
She climbed onto the bed, straddling Pete’s hips. She didn’t bother with preamble. Reaching between her legs, she guided him, notching the head of his cock against her entrance. Pete’s head fell back against the pillow, a choked sound escaping him as she began to sink down.
“Oh, god,” he whispered, his eyes squeezing shut.
Clark watched, mesmerized, as Chloe took Pete inch by inch, her face a mask of intense, focused pleasure. She was so wet he could hear it, a soft, slick sound that made his own need tighten painfully. Once she was fully seated, she stilled, letting out a long, trembling sigh. “Fuck. Okay. Okay, that’s… that’s a lot.”
She opened her eyes and looked at Lana. “Your turn.”
Lana’s breath hitched. She looked at Clark, fear and desire warring in her expression. She nodded, a tiny, decisive movement. Rolling onto her back, she parted her legs, making space for him. Clark moved over her, his body covering hers, supporting his weight on his forearms. He could feel her heart hammering against his chest. Her skin was hot, silken.
“Look at me,” he murmured, and she did. Her eyes were pools of nervous anticipation.
He positioned himself, the head of his cock brushing against her damp curls. He pushed forward, slowly, encountering a soft, yielding resistance. Lana gasped, her fingers digging into his biceps.
“Wait,” she breathed. “Just… go slow.”
He did, an agonizing, inch-by-inch invasion that made them both shudder. He felt her body stretch to accommodate him, a tight, hot clasp that threatened to undo his control immediately. When he was fully sheathed inside her, he stopped, trembling with the effort of holding still. He was inside Lana Lang. The thought was surreal, overwhelming.
Next to them, Chloe began to move, rising and falling on Pete with a gradually increasing pace. The bed rocked. The sounds of their joining filled the room—skin against skin, ragged breaths, low moans.
“Clark,” Lana whispered, her voice urgent. “Move. Please.”
He withdrew almost completely and pushed back in. Lana cried out, a short, sharp sound of pleasure that was nothing like the polite, composed Lana from the hallways of Smallville High. He did it again, and again, finding a rhythm. Her legs came up to wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper.
The parallel movements created a feedback loop of sensation. Every thrust Pete drove up into Chloe made Clark’s own thrust into Lana feel more intense. Every gasp from Lana’s lips spurred Chloe on to move faster. It was a tangled, sweaty, messy equation of four bodies striving for the same release.
Chloe was the first to break. Her careful control shattered. “Oh, fuck, Pete, right there, don’t stop!” Her voice was a high, desperate plea. Her orgasm washed over her, making her body clench and convulse around Pete. He shouted, a raw, guttural sound, and Clark, with his heightened senses, could actually hear the pulsing release as Pete came inside her.
The sounds, the smells, the sheer abandon of it pushed Clark to his own edge. He was teetering, a coiled spring. Below him, Lana’s face was contorted in a sublime agony, her nails scratching lightly down his back. “I’m… I’m close,” she whimpered.
It was the permission he needed. His thrusts became faster, harder, each one driving a small, broken sob from Lana’s throat. He felt her inner muscles begin to flutter around him, a rhythmic tightening that tipped him over. With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself inside her as his own orgasm ripped through him, a blinding white explosion that momentarily drowned out all other sound. He groaned, long and low, into the curve of her neck, his body shuddering uncontrollably.
For a long moment, the only sounds were their collective, struggling breaths and the creak of the settling bed.
Chloe collapsed forward onto Pete’s chest, a satisfied, breathless laugh escaping her. “Holy shit,” she panted.
Pete, his eyes still closed, just nodded, his chest heaving.
Clark rolled off Lana, careful not to crush her, coming to lie on his back beside her. The ceiling of his childhood room swam in and out of focus. Lana turned her head on the pillow to look at him. She didn’t smile, but her expression was soft, unguarded. She reached over and laced her fingers with his. Her hand was small and warm and sticky.
Silence descended, thick and complete. The alien in him catalogued the slowing heart rates, the cooling sweat on skin, the profound quiet of the farm at dusk. The human in him felt only a deep, trembling exhaustion, and the quiet shock of what they had just done.
It was Pete who spoke first, his voice husky. “So,” he said to the ceiling. “Not virgins anymore.”
A beat, then Chloe giggled, a genuine, girlish sound that seemed absurd given the circumstances. It broke the spell. Lana let out a shaky laugh too, turning her face into Clark’s shoulder. Clark felt a smile touch his own lips, a release of tension.
They lay there, a tangled, spent pile of limbs on his narrow bed, as the last of the sun bled from the sky and the room darkened around them. The promise was kept. The secret was out. And nothing, Clark knew, would ever be the same.
The silence wasn’t awkward, but it was profound, layered with the smell of sex and sweat and the fading daylight. Clark listened to the four-part harmony of their breathing beginning to slow, his own alien senses cataloging the minute shift in the room’s energy from frantic urgency to a heavy, sated calm.
Chloe stirred first, pushing herself up on one elbow from where she lay sprawled across Pete’s chest. Her blonde hair was stuck to her damp temple. “So,” she said, her voice husky but deliberate. “That’s what everyone’s always going on about.”
Pete barked a laugh that sounded more like a relieved cough. “Yeah. Pretty much.”
Lana’s fingers were still intertwined with Clark’s. She gave his hand a slight squeeze before slowly, almost reluctantly, pulling hers away to push her own dark hair back from her face. “I feel… weird,” she confessed, not looking at any of them directly.
“Weird good or weird bad?” Pete asked, his head turning towards her.
“Just weird,” she said, finally meeting Clark’s gaze. There was a new openness there, a vulnerability stripped of its usual protective polish. “Like I just jumped off a cliff I’ve been staring at for years.”
Clark understood that feeling completely. He’d just experienced something profoundly, definitively human, and the part of him that was not human felt both closer to them and further away than ever. His skin still hummed with the afterglow, a purely biological echo, but his mind was a scramble of overwhelming sensory data now settling into a new, irrevocable pattern.
“We should probably… move,” Chloe stated, practical even now. “We’re all kind of… a mess.”
As they disentangled, a sticky, warm separation, Clark felt the cool air hit his skin and realized how exposed they all were. There was a clumsy, tender moment of retrieving discarded clothes, avoiding each other’s eyes, then meeting them directly with shy, new smiles. Chloe pulled her shirt back on but left it unbuttoned, settling cross-legged on the rumpled bed.
Pete sat up, leaning against the headboard. He ran a hand over his close-cropped hair, exhaling a long breath. “Okay. So that happened.”
“It did,” Chloe agreed, a slow, triumphant smile spreading across her lips. She looked at Lana, then at Clark. “And nobody died. Nobody freaked out.” Her eyes lingered on Clark, as if she could sense the internal tempest he was meticulously calming. “Right?”
“Right,” Clark said, the word feeling solid and true. For once, he wasn’t lying.
Lana, now dressed in her shirt but no jeans, looking beautifully disheveled, curled her legs beneath her on the edge of the bed. “What now?” she asked quietly.
The question hung in the air. It was Chloe who broke the next silence, her gaze sharpening with that familiar, inquisitive light. “Now,” she said, her tone shifting from satisfied to something more deliberate, “we’re not done.” She looked between Pete and Clark, her expression frank. “You guys got yours. Fair’s fair.”
Pete’s eyebrows shot up. “You mean…?”
“I mean it’s our turn,” Chloe said, nodding towards Lana. “You guys ate earlier. Now it’s dinner time.” She said it with such casual, challenging clarity that any residual awkwardness vanished, replaced by a fresh, low current of anticipation.
Clark felt a jolt, a different kind of nervousness coiling in his stomach. This was unknown territory, more intimate in a way than what they’d just done. He looked at Lana, seeking her reaction. Her cheeks were flushed, but she held Chloe’s gaze and gave a small, almost imperceptible nod of consent.
“Okay,” Pete said, his voice a mix of eagerness and nerves. He glanced at Clark. “You good with that, farm boy?”
Clark wasn’t sure he was ‘good’ with anything. His entire world had just been tilted on its axis. But he looked at Lana, at the trusting softness in her eyes, and then at Chloe, whose bravado couldn’t quite mask her own flicker of vulnerability. He nodded. “Yeah.”
Chloe didn’t need further invitation. She moved with a purposeful grace, shifting to lie back in the center of the bed. The worn quilt was a chaotic landscape beneath her. She propped herself up on her elbows, her shirt falling open. “Well?” she said, her voice dropping to a low, playful register. “Don’t make a lady wait.”
Pete swallowed audibly. He crawled over to her, the bedsprings groaning under his weight. For a moment, he just knelt between her legs, looking down at her as if studying a complex equation. Then, with a determined breath, he bent his head.
Clark watched, frozen for a second, as Pete’s tentative kiss landed on the inside of Chloe’s thigh. Chloe let out a soft sigh, her head falling back. It was the permission Pete needed. He shifted lower, his hands spreading her open, and leaned in.
Clark’s own senses magnified the scene. He could hear the wet, intimate sound of Pete’s first exploratory lick. He could see the immediate tremor that ran through Chloe’s body, the way her fingers twisted into the bedsheet. “Oh,” she breathed, the single syllable loaded with surprise and pleasure.
Lana’s touch on his arm broke his fixation. She was looking at him, then tilting her head subtly towards the empty space beside Chloe. Her meaning was clear. My turn.
He moved as if in a dream, settling onto the mattress beside Lana as she mimicked Chloe’s position, lying back with a nervous expectancy. The scent of her, musky and sweet and entirely her own, filled his senses. He saw the faint tremble in her lower lip, the rapid pulse in her throat. This felt more daunting than anything else—more vulnerable, more giving.
He leaned down, his nose brushing through the soft, dark curls. Lana flinched, a tiny, involuntary motion, then stilled. He didn’t have Pete’s nervous bravado. He had only a desperate, genuine desire to do this right, to give her some fraction of the pleasure she’d given him.
His first touch was a soft, broad stroke of his tongue through her folds. She tasted sharp and complex, like the sea and something uniquely Lana. She gasped above him, her hips lifting off the bed slightly. Encouraged, he focused, finding the swollen, taut bud at her apex and circling it with a deliberate, slow pressure.
“Clark,” she whimpered, her hand coming down to tentatively rest on the back of his head, not pushing, just holding on.
Beside them, Chloe’s breath was becoming ragged, punctuated by soft, bitten-off curses. “Right there, Pete, fuck, just like that,” she instructed, her journalist’s precision giving way to pure, raw sensation. Pete grunted in response, his efforts becoming more fervent, his hands gripping her thighs to hold her steady.
Clark lost himself in the rhythm, in the feedback of Lana’s reactions. A faster flick of his tongue made her back arch. A suckling pressure drew a long, low moan from her chest that vibrated through him. He felt powerful and subservient all at once, using his unnatural focus to learn her, to map the responses that made her fingers clench in his hair.
The room dissolved into a symphony of wet sounds and stifled cries. Chloe came first, her orgasm hitting her with a sudden, violent intensity. She cried out, a sound utterly foreign to her usual confident tone, a raw, unrestrained shout of release that seemed to shake the old bedframe. Her body bowed, shuddering under Pete’s relentless mouth until she collapsed back, boneless and panting.
Pete pulled back, his mouth glistening, looking both stunned and fiercely proud.
The sound of Chloe’s climax pushed Lana closer to her own edge. Her guiding hand on Clark’s head became more urgent, her breaths coming in short, sharp pants. “Please, don’t stop, I’m so close,” she begged, her voice fractured.
Clark doubled his efforts, locking his mouth onto her, drinking her in. He felt the precise moment her pleasure crested, a tightening and then a series of rapid, fluttering pulses against his tongue. Her cry was quieter than Chloe’s, a broken, sobbing gasp of his name as her whole body tensed and then melted into the mattress in a wave of trembling aftershocks.
He lifted his head, tasting her on his lips, his own arousal a fierce, renewed ache. Lana looked down at him, her eyes glassy and unfocused, a look of stunned gratitude on her flushed face.
For a long moment, the only sound was their labored breathing. The fading light through the window painted their sweat-sheened skin in gold and shadow. They were a collapsed, intertwined unit in the quiet center of the Kansas evening, secrets not just shared but exchanged, boundaries not just crossed but erased.
Chloe finally broke the silence, her voice languid and thick with satisfaction. “Well,” she sighed, a lazy smile touching her swollen lips. “That’s one hell of a story. Not sure the Torch would print it, though.”
Pete laughed, the sound easy and rich in the warm, spent air. Lana reached out, her hand finding Clark’s again, their fingers linking naturally amidst the wreckage of the bed. Clark looked at their joined hands, then at the faces of his friends—their faces now changed forever in his eyes—and knew the true weight of the promise they’d kept. It wasn’t about sex. It was about this terrifying, exquisite nakedness. And as the first fireflies began to blink outside his window, he understood, with a clarity that chilled him, that keeping this new secret might be infinitely harder than keeping his old one.