A Good Reporter Always Thinks On Her Feet.

Chloe had shivered with sweet delight at the feeling of Clark’s hands exploring the skin of her spine. It reminded her just how unlike the shy, frigid farmboy she’d grown up with was to the shy, yet confident man standing before her, kissing the hell out of her in a way she’d never thought he’d do to anyone, never the less her, of all people. Chloe Sullivan, the ‘friends only’ girl.

Just as she’d been getting used to the fiery passion of Clark’s lips dancing with hers, he tore them from her own, instead raining kisses along the swan-like arch of her slender throat. A part of her still couldn’t believe it. That Clark Kent was really pushing her up against a wall and running his hands and mouth all over her. Now making out in a bathroom in an awkward silk and taffeta purple evening gown had never been on her top fantasy list…but it sure as hell was now.

But her pleasant haze of pleasure and peace was shattered sharply as she plummeted back to earth. The door crashed open, revealing her considered otherwise occupied cousin, Lois Lane, and her apparently re-kindled lover, Oliver Queen. What a surprise. The billionaire playboy, do-gooder and owner of the JLA was back.

A snort of laughter rose up in her throat, and she stifled it with a hand, her chest shaking silently against Clark as she giggled soundlessly. The situation was so mortifying, she found herself hysterical, and tried desperately to regain control. After a moment, when the couple realised exactly what was going on and sorted themselves out, she lifted her head and offered a wobbly, amused smile.

But the grin faded from her face as Lois tried and failed to open the door. Shit. It was locked. This was ba- No, wait. No it wasn’t. Easily enough fixed when you thought about it. “Ah, a good reporter always thinks on her feet.” She quoted herself, lifting her right hand to the soft pile of gold pinned into place atop the back of her head, and removed one of the amethyst grips. She slid it into the place where the key would have gone, and twirled and twiddled with it for long moments, until the door finally swung open.

She turned back to the other three and smirked. “Well…according to my watch…it’s just gone midnight. Time for all good little girl reporters to be going home and give up trying to fit in with all the O.C party people and billionaires.” She announced, breaking the silence. “Lois, Oliver.” She nodded to them. “Clark.” She said, giving him a slow, secret smile, her green eyes twinkling as she turned away, disappearing from sight.