Disclaimer: Smallville and all related elements, characters and indicia © Tollin-Robbins Productions and Warner Bros. Television, 2002. All Rights Reserved. All characters and situations—save those created by the authors for use solely on this website—are copyright Tollin-Robbins Productions and Warner Bros. Television. Superman created by Jerry Siegel and Joe Schuster.

Said the Schoolgirl to the Pimp
by Maveness

"This town is pathetic."

Chloe surveyed the room disdainfully. Great. The last Saturday of freedom before the start of their junior year, and what were she and Pete doing? Attending Smallville High's version of a big blowout: a costume party.

"Come on Chloe, it's not that bad," Pete cajoled, guiding her further into the Talon. Making their way through the throng, he snagged a couple of drinks, passing one back to her as they made their way toward the stairs to the balcony.

"Pete, we're wearing costumes. And it's Saturday night. And... we're wearing costumes! How can this not be that bad," she asked as she climbed away from the crowd. "I swear, that guy over there is wearing tights. Tights! I'm telling you, this is definitely looking to be a bad night."

Pete's voice drifted up from behind her. "Well, it's not looking too bad from my angle. In fact, I'd say it's looking pretty good."

"Pete, you better not be looking up my skirt." This costume had been better in theory.

She could tell he was grinning even without turning around. "Now, would I do something like that to a dear, trusted friend? Even if she is wearing a very, very short, plaid skirt and is currently standing in such a way that her butt is in my face. No, I wouldn't look. Not. At. All."

Chloe turned at the top of the stairs and glared at him. "Yeah, but you are Pete Ross, world class horn dog, so I wouldn't put it past you to take a peak."

Big shit-eating grin on his face, he threw an arm around her waist and squeezed. "Chloe, with your butt, even the Pope would have snuck a look."

She plopped down in the nearest seat and surveyed who was upstairs. A couple was snuggling in a corner. Madonna was hanging out with a bunny, an Army Ranger, a pathetic attempt at Vin Diesel and... "How original, a football player."

"Says the girl wearing a Catholic schoolgirl's uniform. If you want to talk cliché... "

"It's not cliché," she shot back. "It's classic."

Pete did his eye-rolling thing that secretly meant he was laughing at her. "Cliché. What schoolgirl do you know of, Catholic or not, that wears her white top tied instead of buttoned, with a skirt that barely covers anything. And the day that white knee socks are worn with shoes with that kind of heel... "

"And that's precisely why it's classic and not cliché. The idea itself may be cliché, but the execution is not," she shot back. Really, guys could be so shortsighted sometimes. Creativity just wasn't poor Pete's forte. Just look at him, sitting there in that pimp outfit he had chosen for tonight. Whoever was responsible for making a fabric in that horrible shade of yellow should be taken out and shot.

"The execution isn't as original as you might think."

As if to punctuate his point, the dumb jock (okay, maybe not a dumb jock as this was a costume party, but since he was wearing a football jersey... ) walked by with his friends, heading for the stairs, and leered appreciatively.

"Heeeey, Britney Spears!"

She was dying. The urge was to either beat the pseudo-jock to a bloody pulp or cry. And Pete with the laughter...

"Shut up," she hissed. "Just shut up. It's not funny."

"Yeah, so not funny," Pete snorted. Jerk. "But there goes your classic reasoning. Britney."

"Oh, you are so gonna die," and she lunged, aiming for his arm. One solid punch, that was all she wanted, one solid punch.

And Pete put that slip-slidey fabric of his suit to good use, sliding down and out of the chair and out of her reach. Off balance, she caught herself just in time to keep from falling in a graceless heap. Nabbing a cushion from his chair, she hurled it at him, but he ducked, then sprang forward and caught her around the waist. She had a brief impression of the cushion sailing over the balcony railing before stumbling backwards. She probably should have gone down, but Pete's grip wasn't that tight, and instead of keeping a hold on her waist, he ended up falling to his knees instead, with a little "oof" for emphasis.

She tried to skirt around him, in a vain attempt to get away and regroup, but he snagged her wrist in passing, pulling her back as he stood up. She pushed, he pulled. She dug an elbow in, he grunted and put her in a bear hug. She twisted and dropped, using her weight to throw him off balance. He tried to take up her slack and stumbled, losing balance and his hold on her at the same time. She got in one punch to his leg before they landed sprawled in her chair.

It took her a moment to catch her breath and take stock.

Her. In the chair. With Pete. In her lap.

Which wouldn't have normally been something she would have paid too much attention to, since hey, it was Pete, and he was her rock and the wrestling was a normal thing...

But it was... different. Partially because of the look on Pete's face. Definitely a different look. A look reminiscent of the Nicodemus incident.

His eyes, with the hooded sexy thing going on, and the fact that he was slightly cross-eyed, but that was a good thing, a very good thing, because it meant that he was getting closer and...

Contact. Kissing. Not what she was expecting, but infinitely better. She should have known that his lips would be this soft. And that he'd be this wonderful combination of tender and firm, a kisser of purpose who cared.

He kissed her with heart.

Well, and tongue. A nimble tongue that was doing all sorts of things that should be humanly impossible.

And a moan. She grinned at that.

"What?" he murmured against her lips.

"You. The moaning," she got out while his tongue wasn't in play.

He pulled back slightly, raising an eyebrow. "I wasn't moaning."

"Yes you were," and she pulled him back down. Except he wouldn't budge. Arguing instead of kissing? Since when was this a good thing?

"No I wasn't," he stated, then smiled a mysterious smile. Flash of realization.

"Oh. Me?"

His grin said it all before he moved back in, shifting so that he was on the bottom in the chair, her in his lap, straddling. And more of that wonderful kissing that just drew her in. She could spend days kissing Pete.

She moved her arms to wrap them around his neck, and at the same time he moved his arms, cupping her head with one hand and turning it just so... and the other landed on bare thigh, stroking oh so gently, delicately, lightly.

Should she care? The thought briefly ran through her mind that this was a lot, to go from just friends to suddenly a whole lot of more than friends, and this was definitely not the right place or time but... she really didn't give a damn.

And then his hand wasn't on her thigh anymore, but creeping up, under her skirt, and his other hand was there now too, and they were both on her ass, cupping and squeezing, and lord that was far better than she would have thought if she had.

This time it came from him, she knew, because there was not way she could have groaned quite that low. A good groan, and she wanted to hear it again, so she kissed him hard and rough, escalating as he squeezed again. Squeezed and it was good, so she did what felt right and rocked.

Pete's response was swift. A jolt, a whimper, a thrust up with the hips. But never once did he lose connection with the kiss. She pressed down and he pressed up, and damn that suit was great for the slip-slidey that it aided in. Him squeezing her ass and guiding and her pushing against him, harder and harder, with him harder and harder up against her, and still they were kissing, fierce. She moved her hands, under his arms, between the cushions and his back, clutching him tighter, moving hard and still faster with the rubbing and the sliding.

And then it all just... stopped. Paused. Hesitated for a brief moment before moving into a sweet pain-pleasure that was new, because Pete was new. All so new, and wonderful, and then Pete was groaning again and not moving anymore.

And the kissing slowly stopped. A soft peck, then no more, just breathing and being. She nuzzled into his neck, content to just be close for a moment.

"Wow." Pete sort of breathed the word.

"I know," she giggled, because really, who would have expected that? Not her, and she was pretty sure, not Pete, even though he may have done some imagining.

"That was... "


"We were... "



Silence for a few minutes before Pete took a deep breath.

"I'm thinking right now this costume was a great idea."

Chloe pulled back to look at him. "Why, do you think it was you all pimped out that was the draw?"

"No. This suit is hideous. Did you think I didn't know that?"

"Well, you're tastes are circumspect at times."

He glared. Cute glare, like a mad kitten. "This suit is good at this point in time because the coat is long."

Oh. She hadn't exactly thought about that. Because this fabric and the definite dampness she could feel...

"By the way Chloe, you're cute when you blush."

She blushed harder and smacked the back of his head before snuggling back in. "Jerk."

"Yeah, but you still love me," he quipped.

The sudden thump of his heart under her cheek said more than his words. A pause. Silence as she processed and thought.

And with a smile, "Yeah, but I still love you."

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