dovelike | (no subject)

Entry tags:

futureverse,
kal

(no subject)

Six months ago, Eirene became engaged to an alien.

Fix months ago, she returned to her own world for almost two months, to make arrangements with Time himself so that she could pass through the Bar into Clark's world without things falling apart in her homeland without her presence.

Three months ago, the goddess returned to Clark's world with an agreement to go home twice a month to keep abreast of things and never leave her realm without a symbol of peace, barring any childbearing in which it would not be safe to travel.

Two month ago, she met with Senator Kent (and her future mother in law) and agreed to take cooking lessons when Martha had time.

An hour ago, Eirene completed her first solo dinner preparations, an early Halloween meal for herself and Clark. Except he's not returned from the office yet. Being late is generally an assumed thing with her fiance, and she's used to it. Really, it would just be nice if he called.

So she doesn't start panicking.

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It happens quickly, but not so quick that Clark doesn't have time to brace his hands against the floor to prevent himself from falling down face first. Which is more about self-preservation than presence of mind.

He lifts his head and looks arounf the room, frowning when he spots her. "If this is some kind of game, I'm not in the mood."

"Neither am I. You won't treat me like this, Clark. I don't give a damn that you can bench press an entire building, or run faster than I can. I'm not just a body for you, I'm a person. And I would never treat you as ... as ..."

Eirene straightens up slowly, a tunic covering the necessary parts of her anatomy. She loves him so completely Clark can see it in her gaze, but there's also shame and confusion.

"Don't follow."

She's blurred out of the apartment a second later.

Clark doesn't have the foggiest idea what's gong on. All he knows is that he's not getting his way (nor is he apparently getting off) and that's annoying enough.

He doesn't care to follow, or pay attention to where she went. If she wants to pull some emotional female crap on him, that's just fine. He can shower, take care of himself, and get ready to go out and find someone who won't.

Eirene doesn't really care where she ends up, and isn't quite sure where she is when the world stops blurring around her. It might be Metropolis, but the bleak buildings and landscape don't endear the city planners to her. A pale gray sweater and jeans should keep her from being overly noticed, the goddess decides, and forgoes shoes as always.

An hour later, after wandering around and getting even more lost than she is, which helps calm her down a little, she finds herself in front of a biker-type bar, and steps inside to see if they have a phone she can use.

It's been a long time since Clark hit the club scene in Metropolis. Too long, he thinks, and for the life of him, he can't figure out why he never went back. It was fun.

'Was' being the operative word. The women are too easy, and none of them are the right shade of blond, or the right height, or have blue enough eyes. But he'll keep looking. He'll find one, sooner or later.

C'mon, boyscout. Pick up the phone. Eirene stands at the back of the one that he just walked into, listening to the sappy answering message they made to see how many people would hang up after hearing it, "Hey, Clark. It's me. I'm not sure when I'll be home, but as soon as I figure out where I am, I'll head in that direction. I'm sorry for running out because we should've talked instead. Anyway, I love you. See you in a few hours."

Well, even if he is ignoring the phone, at least she's kind of let him know where she is, and can stop feeling guilty about just taking off. She takes a seat at the bar counter a minute later and orders an iced tea from the 'tender. Five minutes after that, Eirene is trying to figure out how to tell a very large biker that she really doesn't want to dance with anyone and not insult him in the process.

Which is really hard when one's wrist is being held immobile, and one's iced tea is already decorating the front of said biker.

Said biker is sailing across the room mere seconds later, crashing into a (fortunately) empty table.

"She said no."

There isn't a chance in hell that she could mistake that voice for any other. Even so, it takes her a couple of seconds before she turns around and looks up at him.

"Clark."

Eirene is given a Look, and then before she can say anything else or he says anything, there will eb another hand on her wrist, but this one won't be so easy for anyone to pry off.

And then they're outside, a few blocks away, and he lets her go, stalking away a few steps before turning back around to face her.

"What the hell are you doing? You leave me like that and you come to a place like this? What, I'm not good enough for you anymore?"

Eirene is just going to stare at him and rub her wrist until the numbness goes away; his grip was exceedingly tight. And that anger she had under control is trying to slip its bonds.

"I went in there to call you and let you know that I was okay, you -- you ---"

English words fail her. Strike that. All words fail her. If he really thinks that little of her, then Eirene is just going to turn around and start walking.

"Answer me!" It's a loud and unyielding demand as she attempts to make her escape.

Eirene turns around abruptly about twenty paces away, eyes literally glowing. Again. Despite past inferences about glowing, this is not a good sign. It is, in fact, a clue that Clark has pushed her too far. As evidenced by the way she stalks back to him.

"How dare you accuse me of that when you are the one who took me not an hour ago like I was some kind of whore. I love you. I will always love you, Clark. But I am not a temple prostitute you pay for and then ignore to get yourself off. If that's all you think I am..."

Edited 2008-07-15 04:54 (UTC)

It's all Clark can do not to roll his eyes.

"You're pissed of because I wanted to have sex with you?"

"There's a difference between 'having sex' and 'making love' that involves making sure your partner is as involved as you are in reaching, oh, Nirvana, for lack of a better word. I swear, you're acting like a different per--"

Blue eyes widen.

"...son."

It's been years, and she'd pushed those memories to the back of her mind, but Eirene can still remember Clark's explanation about the red meteor rock that removes his inhibitions. It doesn't help. Nor can she remember seeing any ring or necklace on him; anything that would explain the presence of such a rock, or his callous behavior.

He closes what distance there is left between them and leans down to smell her hair. "I think I was pretty involved in making sure you were having a damned good time when I had my fingers inside you."

She can't help the trembling at his close proximity, and that may be a factor in the hoarse aspect of her voice. "You did. I'm not disputing that." He's near enough for her to feel the heat radiating off of him, which doesn't help either.

"Clark, you held me ... my arms down."

He raises an eyebrow, but doesn't move away from her.

"Some chicks get off on that. You don't, that's cool. But all you had to do was tell me, not throw a tantrum."

"I know. I'm sorry." She takes a shaky breath, reaching up to scrub at her eyes. "I panicked." It's not the best defense in the world but it is the truth.

"You panicked," he deadpans. "Because I did one little thing you don't like. You know, you're going to have to get over shit like this if we're going to be spending forever together."

Entirely wrong thing to say, Kryptonian. "Shit like this? Like you did, with that get up." She's noticed the outfit, and boy, that expression is not a happy one. "While I was out calming myself down, you were looking for someone to what ... sleep with? You know, I'll find my own way home. You go have a good time."

Eirene steps back and turns around, intending to do just that.

He grabs her arm again, lightning fast.

"Well, if the chick who's supposed to be catering to my needs decides to flip out at every new thing we try, then maybe I should be looking for someone who can actually handle a little variety." His grip tightens. "Or at least one who doesn't high tail it before finishing the job."

That --- that hurts. Blue eyes widen, filling with tears, and Eirene employs something that she rarely uses outside the bedroom; her own strength, to rip her arm out of his grip. If it bruises, she doesn't care.

"If that is the way you want it, then go. Find yourself a willing girl. This one won't be treated like ... like a bed slave."

He snorts and rolls his eyes again.

"If you honestly think me getting a little enthusiastic about fucking you makes you a whore or a 'bed slave', then you seriously need to catch up with the times, sweetheart."

"What you did wasn't being enthusiastic. I sleep with you almost every night, remember? I know what that sort of bed-play feels like. This? Was you getting off and using me to do so. There is a big difference."

Beat.

"And since when do you ever use language like that."

"And I'm not supposed involve you when I want to get off? Make up your mind, here."

He's going to ignore her question about his vocabulary, because it's just not important to him right now. "So it wasn't all rainbows and roses. Sometimes sex is just sex. What's wrong with that?"