Wolves and Cloaks

(Because, just, Lionel wrapping his voice around “Miss Sullivan” all smooth and sibilant and psychosexual *shivers* oooh do it again, and Chloe’s teasing, tensely purred “Mr. Luthor.” They would meet occasionally, in his lushly set office in Metropolis to discuss her progress with profiling Clark. He wouldn’t offer her alcohol, no, it would be entirely inappropriate, wouldn’t it?)

But then, they met late, and she waited in his office, perched on the edge of his desk with a Shirley Temple. He came in and raised an eyebrow at her, his eyes trailing up her summer bare legs to the hem of her skirt, pausing briefly and then coolly sliding over her red tank top and stopping on her glossy wet lips as she popped a cherry into her mouth.

Her heels clicked together as she hopped off the desk and said “Good evening, Mr. Luthor,” keeping her eyes on him as she wrapped her lips around the straw and sipped from the glass. He inquired as to how she procured the drink, to which she answered that he had quite an efficient staff, and quite an impressive bar. His eyes strayed to the half empty bottle of vodka on the counter of said bar, and then back to her, gauging the situation.

“Miss Sullivan,” he said easily. “I do hope that’s not alcohol you’re drinking.”

“It’s good to have hopes,” she said, smiling sweetly at him. “I used to hope that I would grow up pretty and meet my Prince Charming and ride off into the sunset. I used to hope that Clark Kent would wake up one day and notice me. Now I just hope he won’t find out I’m selling him down the river just to satisfy my ambitions. It’s funny how things change, isn’t it?”

“Funny indeed. How is the profile coming along?” He stepped further into the room, gesturing to a set of comfortable chairs in the corner. “Let’s discuss.”

“It’s coming. I’ve been busy, you know,” she said, sitting in the chair closest to his.

“I see. Busy doing what? If you don’t mind me asking,” Lionel said.

She leaned forward, crossing her legs smoothly. “Oh, just things that teenage girls do. I am a teenage girl, after all.”

“I hadn’t forgotten.”

Chloe smiled. “No?” She ran a red-polished fingernail around the rim of the glass.

Lionel unconsciously licked his lips.

Still smiling that smile which seemed to imply that she knew something he didn’t, she stood and approached his chair until her knees bumped against his. She wavered above him, swirling her straw within her glass. “Are you certain of that?” she asked softly, and then with careful precision, she climbed onto him, placing one hand on the back of the leather chair and straddling his lap, her legs sinking into the spaces between his legs and the armrests.

“Quite. This is entirely inappropriate, Miss Sullivan,” Lionel said, his hands automatically moving to rest on her hips.

“Yes, it is,” she answered, holding a cherry to his lips.

Slowly, he sucked the cherry into his mouth. She grinned at him impishly, digging her knees into the sides of his legs, and asked, “Did you intend to stop me?”

“Did you intend to stop?” he asked.

She shook her head no, shifting slightly in his lap. Her skirt rode up a few inches, her thighs pressing hotly against the fine linen of Lionel’s trousers. “Are there security cameras in here?” Chloe asked, a little breathlessly.

“Not in my office, no,” Lionel said.

“That’s a shame.” She grasped the back of his neck and leaned forward. When she kissed him, her lips tasted of glitter gloss and cherries.

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