simplytoopretty hosted drabble tag and we just finished.
Most of these are Chlark and Chloom with an Oliver/Tess and Davis/Tess thrown in for spice.
**PS: if you think one of these should be expanded to a full length story, I'll think about it!
“Lady Macbeth’s got nothing on you,” Tess said, circling Davis like a cat. He’d looked up from the bathroom mirror to see her icy blue eyes boring into him, chilling his soul. The porcelain sink was flecked with red and his hands were raw from his furious scrubbing.
“How did you—”
“LuthorCorp still owns this building. I heard a few curious reports from the night manager and it was easy enough to figure everything out once I got hold of the security tape before Ms. Sullivan had the chance to erase it. I have to say, she’s good,” the vowels stretch and linger on the air in a dirty innuendo. “From what I could tell, she’s tamed you. She’s got that . . . loving feeling. But, oh dear, where is she and what will she say when she sees what you’ve done?”
He closes his eyes, her words twisting sharply like a knife inside.
“I have a proposition. You may feel inclined to accept. I’ll keep this break in your diet a secret if you do one thing for me.”
He remains silent, tension roiling through him.
“I need you to kill Clark Kent.” With a humorless arch of her brow she amends, “Well, try your hardest at least.”
“I have a counteroffer,” he whispers, his voice rough. “I’ll keep my own secret,” He turned to her, his eyes as blood red as the mess on his hands. “and you try not to scream.”
She kept saying “It’s okay,” as if she meant it. He wanted to believe her, he wanted to make all of this alright but it was her eyes. There was something . . . lonely in her gaze. As if he wasn’t right there with her, holding her, their breaths mingled together in the still darkness. She probably thought he couldn’t see her, but he could, his eyes penetrating the darkness as easily as he penetrated her. She was thinking about something else, someone else. She was seeing herself far away.
He wanted to make her forget everything else, but for Chloe, there was only one person left in her life and Davis knew it wasn’t him.
He was in love with her, he was loving her, but the tears she thought were invisible were falling for Clark.
“I suppose this is ‘progress.’” Oliver Queen says, looking over the city of Metropolis. Acrid smoke rose from entire swaths of the island. So many sirens blared from below that they formed a cacophonous orchestra played out for his ears and his ears alone.
Tess Mercer smiled next to him, sipping her drink and looking over the destruction. Half of the city was destroyed and the other half was gripped in strife and fear and pain. “Out of the ashes, Oliver. That was the plan, wasn’t it?”
“These ashes are a little too literal.”
With a grin she said, “When the fires die out and Clark exhausts himself saving everyone he can, Metropolis will be his and no one will doubt his necessity in the broad scheme of things. He won’t be just a hero,” she turned to him. “He’ll be a savior.”
“And to get this done, we had to sell our souls.”
“We did what was necessary.” She looked back over the destruction. “Whatever we’ve done, it’s worth it.”
Quietly, Oliver says, “He’ll never forgive us.”
She murmured, her reflection dark, “Well, thank God he’s not the one who has to.”
It all felt too heavy, these secrets piling up around her. The lies she told the dry tears trapped in her eyes. “I don’t know what to do,” she said, looking to the grate separating her and forgiveness.
The priest lowered his head in thought. “Truth.” It was one word and the one word she was most afraid of. “It will set you free.”
She crossed herself and raised the lace scarf back over her head. Exiting she made up her mind that she would tell the truth. He was right, it was the only way. The world was quickly crashing in all around her and she needed to free herself, she needed to be free of it.
Stepping out of the cathedral and onto Metropolis’ busy 2nd Avenue, Chloe looked across the street to see the flushed and confused face of her best friend. There was something in his eyes that said more than her confession to him ever could. Her phone ringing at her side, she raised it to her ear and he spoke to her.
“I’m sorry,” he started, everything about his manner telling her he didn’t know what to do or what to say. “I was looking for you, I needed to—I didn’t know you were—”
“You heard me?” She asked, stepping down the centuries’ old stone steps.
“I’m sorry,” she said before he had a chance to. He’d heard her confession, all she’d done in the effort to protect him, his knowledge of their world defogging the confession she’d had to mask for the priest. What she’d said in code was clear to him. She and Davis and the only way she’s been able to keep the beast at bay. “I’m sorry,” she repeated.
It wasn’t how she’s wanted him to find out and the way he looked at her now was unbearable. Would it ever change? Would he ever see her the same way again?
She’d wanted to save him. Do you ask forgiveness for that?
Her eyes snapped shut and her face turned purple. “Clothes!” She exclaimed, guiding him back into the bathroom and closing the door behind him.
“Clothes?” Kal-el muttered, looking down at his nudity. “I have no clothes.”
“Over the rack, by the towels, and please, use a towel, you’re all wet.”
“I just took a shower, of course I’m wet, and I do not like these clothes.” He fingers the jacket and jeans, “I’ll look like some flag—”
“It’s what Clark wears and you’ll wear it too!”
“I am not Clark, I am—”
She rolls her eyes, “Kal-El of the house of El, ruler and blah and blah of whatever yadda, got it, what you are, is Clark Kent, blunt trauma victim and until we figure out how exactly kryptonite got into that baseball that beaned you, you’re going to pretend to be Clark and you’re gonna wear CLOTHES! Those CLOTHES”
He come out of the bathroom, dry but still naked. “I respectfully protest—”
She screams, shoving him back into the bathroom.
He doesn’t say a thing. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected but she’d hoped for more than seconds stretching into minutes of extended silence.
“Clark?” Her throat has a frog and she works to get the syllables out. He still doesn’t say anything. He’s just looking at her. He’s just staring quietly at her as if he’d never seen her before.
“I—” She begins but he turns away, clipping her words before they’re said.
“Don’t say you did this for me. I don’t think . . . I don’t think I can live with that.” He says, ever so quietly. “I don’t know what to—” Could he thank her? He felt damned by her how could he thank her? Could he be mad at her? She’s done all he couldn’t and more, too much more. Everything inside of him was in conflict and instead of saying something that would hurt her or say something that was untrue, he said nothing at all and it was his silence that cut her deepest.
With the little boy in her arms, she turns with her husband to leave the ruined car when movement just to the edge of her vision brings her eyes around and she sees another, cowering by the crater of upturned earth.
“Jonathan!” She calls out and Martha brings her husband’s attention to the child just yards away from them. He’s older than the one in her arms but there is so much hope in his eyes when he sees her. Reaching into the truck, her husband collects another blanket and pulls the trembling little boy into his arms.
“It’s okay, everything’s okay,” he repeats to him, calming the fear tensing his face.
“O-ok-kay,” he mumbles, his speech stilted.
With a broad smile, Jonathan nods. “Yeah, okay.”
The smile does something to the little one and he curls into Jonathan’s arms. “Ok-kay.”
Davis rounds on Clark and his twisted grin is cold. “You were right Clark, everything was your fault. All the blame lies with you and you alone. Does that make you feel better? Are you enjoying your martyrdom?”
“Davis!” Chloe says, so sharply that he bows his head like a chastised dog. She held the sheets closer to her, shielding her body.
“But you’re not angry at me for being who and what I am, what I was made for, what I was created to be. You’re really mad because I stole her from you, aren’t you?”
“Shut up,” Clark grinds out but it only elicits a broader smile.
“You and I both know it’s true. She’s mine because there’s no way you’ll ever look at her again and not see me.”
“Vampires?! Real vampires?” Chloe sputters, her small gait fighting to keep up with Clark’s long stride.
Ahead of her, out of her line of sight, Clark grins, the red talisman glowing under his shirt. “Oh yeah,” he says in a carefree voice.
“And you need me, why?” She pondered, racing up behind him to her apartment.
He turns on her, at her front door, “It’s your smile. It’s the only thing that can stop them.”
She rolls her eyes and plants her feet, “You are such an—”
“I’m serious,” he reaches down and tickles her ribs. She explodes into a wide smile, fighting his hands off. “See? Shines like the sun.”
“What’s gotten into you?” She breathlessly asks just as he opens her apartment door. Her mouth hangs open. The apartment is decorated in rose petals and candles, soft music emanating from her stereo.
“Actually,” he arches his brow, circling arms around her waist, “Hopefully,” he amends, “In a few minutes you’ll be screaming about what’s gotten into you.”