Title: Secret life of Chloe Sullivan

Author: Hollywood Recycle Bin

Fandom: Smallville

Pairings: (mainly) Chloe/Lana, Chloe/Lionel

Ratings: R

Disclaimers: I don't own Smallville

Author's Note: The story starts mid season 2, this part ends beginning season 3 (story follows SV timeline)

Feedback Email Address:daddyliongrowls@yahoo.co.uk

A/N: Thank you to my beta reader Chaney

A fairy tale princess.

Thatís what she was. A fairy tale princess, stuck in her ivory tower, waiting for her prince charming to sweep her off her feet and live happily ever after. She doesnít knows who her prince charming is, though, at least not anymore.

She thought it was Whitney and then she thought it was Clark. Now she doesnít know what she thinks anymore, though I know thatís probably my fault. Still, I donít think the girl knows the first thing about love, not the real life kind anyway. She probably still reads sleeping beauty before going to off bed every night, hoping to wake up in the same way Aurora did.

I read sleeping beauty too. ďThe Claiming of Sleeping Beauty,Ē to be exact. Not that I ever plan on being her prince or anything. Though there are times I wonder if she ever thought of me that way.

She probably did when I kissed her that first time, with her lying there on her bed, her eyes closed and her pretty face still in her sleep. Lana doesnít get bad hair when she sleeps, not like I do anyway. She never needed to spend hours blow drying her hair for it to look perfect. No, all she ever needed was to run a fine comb through it a few times and it was perfect, just like everything else about her body.

She was beautiful, so beautiful. For a moment I wanted to know that beauty; to know what it felt like, know what it tasted like. I wanted to know what Clark felt when he pressed his lips against her and devoured her like he should have devoured me.

Her lips were soft, wet, and I would described them as being like the petals of a freshly watered rose if I didnít think it sounded completely clichť.

I was a little surprised when she opened her mouth and let me in. The feel of her tongue felt electrifying against my own as it entwined for nearly a minute. It would have been an amazing kiss if it werenít for the fact that she hadnít brushed her teeth yet and her mouth tasted sour, bitter, clammy and quite disgusting. A little like how I felt when I realized what I was doing. Oh well, at least I know her body isnít completely perfect all the time.


She sounded startled and her eyes were wide open, looking confused. Very much like she does around Clark every time he does...whatever it is that he does that never fails to confuse everyone.

We just sat like that for an eternity, Lana looking at me with that innocently confused look that never fails to make her look even cuter. It was in that moment that a thought hit me: I will never win. Not against this. Not against her.

But the thought was quickly shoved away. I canít give up on him now, not after that night of near perfection. Clark means too much to me, more than Lana will ever understand. She doesnít know what itís like to be a mere mortal amongst gods.

It wasnít until my father called out to us, telling us we were going to be late for school, that we finally broke out of whatever weird dimension it was that we were in. We didnít talk about it on the ride to school and Lana avoided me for most of the day.


Smallville High was moving at its usual pace without rampant mutants about to cause trouble. Unfortunate, since the boredom left a lot of room in my mind to think about what I did. I still wasnít over the shock, despite being the initiator of that kiss. I hope that Lana wonít decide to move to Metropolis with her aunt now because of what happened. As much as I want Clark all to myself, I still didnít want her to leave. Sheís still my...

My what?

My friend? My ďsister?Ē My worthy opponent?

I highly doubt she is any of them, at least not now. People donít usually kiss their friends in that way, nor do they do that with their sister (eww) or opponent.

A flash of baby pink caught the corner of my eye and I turned and saw her. She was currently at her locker, putting all of her pink notebooks of various shades into it. That girl is way too attached to that colour, I thought as I looked at her. When she noticed I was watching she turned to look at me, a bright pink blush gracing her cheeks as she looked down to the floor. She could have been smiling, I couldnít really tell since her hair fell over her face.

I didnít even notice I was still walking until I ran into a thick, solid, and warm brick wall.

It was Clark.

ďHey, Chloe, you alright?Ē He asked as he looked at me, his tanned face full of concern.

ďIím fine, Clark,Ē I said as I looked up at him. His green eyes were mesmerizing and hypnotic. I felt myself staring at them, not really able to look away.

ďAre you sure, Chloe? You look a little dazed today. Sure you donít want to go to the nurse?Ē He asked again in a concerned voice.

ďNo, Iím fine, Clark, just getting brain freeze from calculus. Nothing an Almond Mocha Frappuccino at the Talon canít cure,Ē I said with my best, ďIím fine, donít worry,Ē smile. He seemed to have bought it and smiled back. God, Clark has a beautiful smile. Those fangs of his made him look innocent and mischievous at the same time, in a way thatís completely irresistible. Those pouty lips just seem to be begging for a kiss. How can a guy look so pretty, yet manly at the same time?

ďHey, guy,Ē Lana said as she walked over to us, and Clarkís smile grew brighter. Typical, so typical.

But Lana wasnít smiling at Clark today, she was smiling at me; a blindingly bright one just like the one Clarkís giving her. Her eyes had sparkles as they wrinkled on the sides, and thatís when I noticed that both of their eyes were green. Lanaís had more of a hazel green colour than Clarkís blue green, though. I looked at the both of them standing next to each other. They look pretty together.

I gave Lana a small smile and hers brightened even more.

It was at that moment that something in Lanaís eyes caught me. I recognized that look. It was the look she gave Whitney before she kissed him. The same look she used to give to Clark.



Thatís another word that comes to mind for most people when they think of her. I think the same thing, but for an entirely different reason. It was what she tasted like on our second kiss. We were watching Casablanca and eating ice cream in the living room. It was cherry vanilla, my favorite, and she was sitting right next to me on the sofa. It dripped onto her neck and down her shirt. I was grabbing for a tissue when she wiped the stain with her fingers and placed them over my lips. The question was silent but I heard her loud and clear. ďDo you want me?Ē it asked, and with a swipe of my tongue over her long soft fingers, I answered her.

The kiss tasted different than the last one, but the rhythm was similar as she messaged her tongue against mine. I let go of her lips long enough to run my tongue over where her skin was sticky with the ice cream that had spilled. Ice cream tasted better on skin.

I donít exactly remember taking our clothes off but I do remember the feel of her against me. It was soft, with light curves and smooth skin that looked like it would bruise with the slightest force; so different from Clarkís unbreakable body. I wonder if sheís doing the same thing I am, comparing me to Clark. I wonder if this is how Clark had imagined it in his dreams: Lana spread out before him, naked, eager and breathless, her skin so soft it felt like cream, her pupils dilated in ecstasy, her legs spread wide and her nipples hard and wet from the sucking of his lips. I wonder if sheíll stroke her hair as he touched her, or bite against her already swollen lips as he slips inside her. I wonder if heíll mark her like Iím doing with my teeth and lips as he pumps himself into her. My fingers feel sticky inside of Lana, but I donít stop. I keep pushing them in and out, in and out, itís rhythm like the beat of a drum. Lanaís fingers were inside me too, moving to the same endless beat, as if the music would continue to play forever.

I wonder if Clark will ever touch me like this.

Lana came screaming out my name. I bit my lips to stop from screaming out Clarkís.


Clark Kent quit today. Not just the Torch, but also me. Weíve stopped the friendship, though Iím still not sure how that happened. Friendships arenít like romantic relationships. It wasnít quittable, it only stops after a betrayal or a drift, and that certainly wasnít what happened between us. Clark didnít betray me, not really, not in a way that friends betray each other.

I know I didnít have the right to do that to him. I mean, he wasnít my boyfriend or anything, even if I desperately wanted him to be. God, I feel like such a bitch for that, but I just couldnít help it.

And I couldnít exactly blame it on Lana either. I know she doesnít want Clark anymore, at least not as much as before. I know because I see the way she looks at me. Itís the way I look at Clark, and the way Clark looked at her. She has it just as hard as the rest of us. Even if she does have the advantage of actually getting physically intimate with the one she wants. Though Iím not sure how much of an advantage that is, to be so close to what you want. To be able to feel it and touch it, knowing full well that it wasnít for you. It must be a torture for her as much as it is a pleasure.

One might ask why I do it with Lana if I donít want her. To be honest, Iím not so sure. Maybe itís because I think that at least one of us should get what they want. Maybe itís because I want to get back at Clark for not wanting me by taking what he wants but canít have. Maybe itís because I wanted to know what it is about Lana thatís captured him so much. Maybe itís because I wanted to know what he would feel like if he had her. Or maybe itís because I wanted to just let go of everything, to not think about it and just feel.

Maybe itís all of them. I donít know, and I donít think I ever will.

God, I still canít believe I lost Clark over this. Well, maybe it was for the best. I would never be able to get over him otherwise.


A devil lent me a helping hand today.

Amongst the destruction of the Torch, my ruined sanctuary, he came and helped me up with his honeyed voice and generous offer.

ďPerhaps, with my help, we could make history together,Ē he said with the most deep and beautiful voice that Iíve ever heard. I never knew the devil could be so appealing, though I knew there was an ulterior motive. A billionaire like Lionel Luthor doesnít help small town high school newspaper editors without wanting something in return.

I took the helping hand anyway. It was what I needed and it didnít look like it had strings attached to it, at least not yet.



Lana Lang is always desirable. Everybody wants Lana Lang. And as much as I envy it, I know itís not always a gift, not when the one you desire most is the only one unaffected by it. I know whom Lana Lang desires, and itís not Clark Kent, no matter how much she tries to make it be.

I saw them kissing last night. Clark and Lana in the loft, after the rehearsal dinner, all dressed up and looking like something out a cheesy romance movie. Just after Clark promised me that we wouldnít keep secrets from each other anymore. Just after I declined the once in a lifetime offer of my own column at the Daily Planet because Lionel wanted me to spy on him.

God, I hate them. Both of them.

I guess I know why they did it; I mean Clark has wanted Lana ever since he hit puberty, maybe even before that. As for Lana, well, I guess she got scared. Scared of what sheís become, scared of what was going to happen. It wasnít being a homosexual that bothered her. No, it was never about that, she didnít care about that. It was because she finally realized that she couldnít change my mind; that she canít make me want her like she wants me, even if she kept throwing herself at me over and over again. She probably couldnít stand it anymore and needed someone to want her too.

I guess you could say sheís doing the exact same thing I did with Clark. Karma is such a bitch.

That thought didnít help, though.

At least Clark got the illusion that Lana wants him back. Heís the luckiest one out of all of us. The bastard doesnít fucking deserve it, not after everything heís put me through. All the lies and deception under that pretty smile. All those talks of friendship while never really being there for me. Iím always the one he calls when he needs something, wants something. Heís never there when I need him, want him. I still canít believe I stuck up for him with Lionel.

I wonder if that offer still stands.


She lied to me again today. Acted like nothing was going on between her and Clark.

I wanted to rip her pretty head off. How stupid does she think I am?

So I decided to play their little game with them. I acted like I believed her; believed that she was still all mine. I grabbed her by the shoulders and attacked her lips in the most vicious way. It wasnít about desire this time. It was about power, possession and control, and I loved it. I loved throwing her down onto the bed and marking her with painful bruises as she moaned beneath me, loved the pretty noises she made as I tasted her. My hands hurt from holding her so tightly, and my jaw ached from the hard sucking, but I didnít care; I wanted to show her that I own her. That she was mine, and that no matter what she did, or who she got with, she will always be mine.

Once again, Lana came screaming out my name as she flooded my mouth. I noticed dark purple bruises forming on her torso as I pushed her down on the floor. Lana has a very talented tongue; small, velvety, wet and quick. She knows exactly how I like it. It felt so good to hold her head between my legs, trapping her there as I looked down upon her stained face.

I was finished within minutes. I had learnt to stop calling out names a long time ago.


ďYou were right about Clark. He wasnít who I thought he was.Ē I sounded cold and bitter and I knew it. Iím sure Lionel heard it in my voice too. Heís nothing if not perceptive. Thatís how devils work after all, they know how others feel and use it to their advantage.

He gave me an unsurprised ďoh.Ē

ďIím surprised I hadnít noticed earlier. So much for my crack journalistic instinct,Ē I added with a touch of resentment. Or maybe more than a touch.

ďNo, no. Love has a way of blinding even the sharpest minds. We donít look because we donít want to see. But once love has been stripped away, then we see the real person clearly. Theyíre revealed to us with all their flaws, their foibles, and their secrets.Ē

His voice was caressing me again; smooth and deep, like a river washing over me; cleansing me, drowning me. I wanted to let myself drown in it. To wash away all of Clark and Lana; physically, mentally, spiritually, I didnít really care at that moment. I just wanted to get away from them all. And the quick solution to that was staring right at me in the face.


Lionel Luthor had spidery hands. A little rough with experience, but an expert in everything it does. His wiry curls gave me goose bumps as they rubbed against my skin. So different from Lana. So different from Clark.

He was a man who took care of himself. I could tell by the lean, but firm, tanned muscles covered with short brown hair that tickled with every touch. He was a devil who always held himself like a god. A look at his eyes and I could see all the powers of the universe.

I felt a little lost here in his bedroom as I leaned against the bed post. Everything here was antique and delicate and here I was: young, new and out of place; like a shiny new toy in a room filled with dust. Not that anything here had even a bit of dust on it. No, the only thing that felt dirty here was me. I let the feeling slide anyway. I needed to do this. Needed to feel more than the warm arms of Clark Kent around my shoulders, more than the feather light touches of Lana Lang on my thighs.

Lionel placed a hand on my shoulders again before turning me around and kissing me. It tasted like scotch, bitter with a sharp tang. I donít know much about alcohol but I know enough to know that it was strong, just like Lionel was. Not in a way that Clark was strong, either, not the hardness under the blush. No, Lionelís strength was there for all to see in every stride, every gesture, and every breath.

Lionel wasnít my first time with a man. He was my second. The first was a mistake, a cute and innocent mistake, but a mistake nonetheless. Jimmy Olsen was an adorable, albeit geeky photographer. I met him at the Daily Planet the Summer after Clark left me to save Lana. I was his first time too; I could see it in his eyes. I thought it was destiny at first, but then I realized it was really just me fooling myself. I wasnít over Clark yet, and sometimes I think I never will be.

It was different this time, different from all of them. This time I let myself get lost in it. Let myself go into the hands of someone so much more powerful than me. This time, unlike any other time, I was passive. I lay spread out on the Egyptian silk, waiting for him, offering myself to him the way Lana usually does for me; eagerly, wantonly. I let him do whatever he wanted with my body, let him make me forget about them with his rough hands and his hard body. He felt strange inside me, nothing like Lanaís soft mouth or delicate fingers, or even Jimmyís careful rhythm and slow penetration. Lionel was fast and confident, he knew exactly how and where to touch, and when.

He made me forget for a while. At least until I came to the image of Clark fucking Lana.



Thatís how Lana always sees herself. Everyone that ever meant anything to her left her, whether alive or in a body bag. First her parents died when she was three, when the meteor shower hit. Then thereís Emily Dinsmoore, childhood best friend, who drowned and came back as a clone and tried to kill her before disappearing without a trace. And who could forget Whitney, Lanaís first boyfriend. He died during an explosion while fighting for his country in the marines. And then thereís her dear Aunt Nell, who left her for Metropolis with her boyfriend. Though she didnít really leave Lana by choice, Lana chose to stay in Smallville instead of leaving us, which is how she ended up with me. Then, of course, was Henry Small, Lanaís recently discovered biological father who had to leave her to save his crumbling marriage.

I wonder if something will happen to me, too, if I stick with her for long enough.

Anyway, it happened again today. Another person abandoned Lana; the last person that I ever expected to: Clark Kent.

Only he didnít just abandoned Lana, he abandoned me. He abandoned all of us. He abandoned Smallville.

I only found out when I came back from my meeting with Lionel to see Lana crying on the bed. At first I thought she had caught me, but then I realized the improbability of that happening and asked her what was wrong. It all came tumbling out in a river of tears.

There was some sort of explosion at the Kentís farm. Martha Kent lost her baby. Clark blamed himself and ran away on his dadís motorbike.

That was about as much sense I could make out as Lana snuggled up against me; her tears wetting my black blouse. I knew she was blaming herself for him leaving even if it probably didnít have anything to do with her. I knew because I was doing the same thing.

Maybe we were to blame for him leaving. Maybe he found out about us. Maybe he found out about my deal with Lionel. I donít know what happened, but Iím sure Iíll find out.

Lana pressed her wet lips against mine. I tasted salty tears on them and felt the numbing pain of guilt.


Thereís something wrong with the world when I can say, ďIím cheating on Lana Lang with Lionel Luthor,Ē and itís the truth. Thereís something even more wrong with it when Clark Kent, sweet, wholesome, corn-fed, all American farm boy runs away to Metropolis and becomes a one man motorcycle gang. To make things even more twisted and grim, Lex LuthorĎs plane crashed during his honeymoon and only his new wife came back to tell the heroic tales. Sheís lying, if you ask me. I think she couldnít wait to for him to be declared dead instead of missing so she could inherit everything. Though maybe thatís just Lionel talking; Iíve been spending way too much time with him.

I checked my desk again. Nope, the memo on hell freezing over had not arrived yet.

With Clark gone, Lana and I got back together, just like we were before Lana decided to go out with Clark. Except this time it was different. This time I had secrets, big secrets.

I continued to sleep with Lionel every Saturday afternoon at his office. I told everyone I was going to the Daily Planet to work on an article, which I did, afterwards. I still slept with Lionel because he could make me forget about everything, even if it was just for a little while, and it was something I desperately needed. Lionel doesnít know I was also sleeping with Lana, just like Lana doesnít know Iím sleeping with him.

I also gave Lionel some of my research on Clark. Nothing he couldnít find on his own, though, just adoption information, news clippings, etc. Just that was enough to fill a book. For one innocent farm boy he had a lot of mystery surrounding him. Most of the stuff I gave Lionel was what he already knew. I was stalling for something. I wasnít quite sure what it was, but I have a feeling that I was waiting for Clark to come back on a white horse and shining armor to get me out of my mess.

Lionel wasnít the only secret, though.

The truth was I knew exactly where Clark was. He was in a fancy apartment in Metropolis, partying all night. Iím not so sure how he got the money to do so but I have a feeling it has something to do with all the bank robberies that has been going on there. There was nothing I could do to stop him, though. Just like there was nothing I could do to bring him back.

Lana doesnít know that I know. If she knew she would tell the Kents. I have an idea how strong Clark is even if I donít know the reason behind it and I donít want anyone getting hurt. This wasnít the Clark Kent everyone knew and loved. This was somebody else with his face, his body.

In a way Iím kind of glad that I was the only one who knew where Clark was. It made me feel closer to him again, even if this wasnít the Clark I wanted. Made me feel like Iím the only one he can trust; his confident; despite the fact that Iím probably one of the most untrustworthy people in Smallville right about now with all of my secrets and lies.

I go visit Clark every three weeks. It was always the same: I tried to talk him into coming back and he told me never to come and see him again before kicking me out.

I could barely look at Mr. and Mrs. Kentís faces as I helped them put up the ďHave you seen this boy?Ē posters around town. Still, I couldnít help but smile at the picture they chose of him. It was the dorkiest, geekiest picture of Clark I have ever seen in my life. I looked sadly at the picture again, the young innocent face smiled brightly at me.

No, I havenít seen this boy. I havenít seen him in a long time.


Lionel came to me for more info on Clark yesterday. I told him I didnít have anything to give him because Clark was missing. I knew he was on to me but there wasnít anything I could do about it.

I decided to warn Clark after Lexís funeral. I saw him there for a while, his face was hardened to hide it, but I could see how tormented he was over Lexís death. He was only there for a little while before disappearing again just before Doctor Helen Luthor could put on a show.

I went to wait for him at his apartment. It was clean, with shiny steel and glass elevators. A lot more than any runaway teenager from a small town could afford, especially if their parents were broke and losing their farm. I stared out at the grey blue sky as I waited for him; everything looks hard here; cold, as if everything had been tinted ice blue. It was so different from the rustic wholesomeness of Smallville with its bright yellow sun and acres of golden corn stalks. I guess I wasnít the only one who wanted to get away and forget about everything. Our goal was exactly the same, except he tried to get away geographically and I did it by sleeping with a man older than my father.

Itís amazing how things turn out. I canít wait for this topsy turvy roller coaster ride to come to an end so I can get back to the boring old days.


Clark threw me out again, nearly literally this time, just after I called him a coward for leaving. The Clark Kent I knew would never hurt me like that.

But when he did I noticed a strange urgency in his voice, and he had a grimace on his face. His eyes showed pain; not the sad metaphorical kind, but real physical pain, like he was going to collapse and needed desperately to hold onto and squeeze something. Luckily I got away from him before he could do that.

I ended up telling Lana that I knew where Clark was. It wasnít pretty. At least it wasnít as bad as it could have been. She would have made a bigger scene out of it if there werenít so many people at the Talon. Lana had been avoiding me since I told her to give up on him because he didnít want to be found and now Iíve made it worse, yet again. God, why canít anything go right anymore?

ďI love him,Ē I heard her say over and over again as the scene repeated itself in my head.

ďLook me in the eye and say that again,Ē I told her.

ďI love him,Ē she said, her hazel green eyes staring right at me for a second before they looked away and blinked. She was lying through her teeth and I knew it.

ďWell, then. Go get him,Ē I said before handing her a small piece of paper with Clarkís address on it. Even if I hated seeing them together I hoped she succeeded in bringing him back. Lifeís not the same without Clark Kent in it.


Clark came back eventually. Lana told Mr. Kent where Clark was and he went to get him himself. At least he didnít come back because of Lana. Clark and I were back to being friends. I have more or less given up my pursuit of him; nothing good can come out of it and I was already in enough of a mess as it was. I donít want my romantic life to get all tangled in it, too. As for Lana, last I heard Clarkís not sure whether heís giving her up or not. All I know is that sheís not talking to me anymore.

I cornered her at the Talon before she dragged me to the managerís office for privacy. She said she was busy and I told her to cut the crap. She accused me of lying about Clark and I accused her of lying about her and Clark. She called me childish for bringing that up again and I accused her of being the pot calling the kettle black. A few pencil holders were broken before we made any real progress (most of them thrown at me by Lana).

Lana suggested that we take a break from each other and I was alright with that.

I told her I was sorry before I walked out the door. This thing we have between us was never suppose to happen anyway.

END of part 1

The Secret Life of Lana Lang

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