title: Female Bonding
author: Wendy 
e-mail: queenw2@yahoo.com
Pairing: Chloe/Lana
Rating: PG-13; for slash

Summary: Chloe and Lana go shopping.

Disclaimer: Everything but the plot belongs to someone other than me.
Spoilers for: 'Nicodemus', 'Stray', a reference to 'Crush'
Author's Note: The first line got stuck in my head, and I said, 'I should
turn that into a fic!' So, for better or worse, here it is. Chloe's POV. If
f/f slash isn't your thing, I don't recommend this one.


Female Bonding

******

It would have been fine if I hadn't opened my mouth. I find myself saying
that more and more lately, but do I remember to stop opening my mouth at
inopportune moments? Of course not. So, yes, I imagine if I *had* learned
to think before I speak, the other day might not have happened.

Lana wasn't the same after Mister Fordman's funeral; by 'not the same', I
mean she was no longer bouncy or pathetic; she acted like a normal person
instead of a teenybopper cheerleader. This would have been a welcome
change, had I paid attention to her at the time.

Of course, I was too distracted by the wonder known as Clark Kent to notice
his number one obsession. Rather, she *used* to be his number one
obsession...after the funeral--after Clark asked me to the Spring Formal--
things were weird between the three of us, so I was no longer sure where we
all stood.

To get back to Lana, and the latest reason why my rambling got me into an
uncomfortable situation; a week or two before said formal--and my date with
aforementioned wondrous farm boy--Lana sought me out in the *Torch* offices
after school, looking concerned.

"Chloe?" she began in that soft voice of hers.

I glanced up from my laptop long enough to encourage her to state her
purpose. "Yeah?"

"Do you have a dress for the formal?"

Of course I had a bloody dress for the bloody formal; Clark's surrogate
little brother Ryan somehow found out about it and told Clark. I shouldn't
be too annoyed at the kid--for one thing, I don't know how he knew about
said dress--since he more or less convinced Clark to ask me out. Anyway, as
far as I'm aware, Lana knew none of this; so I nodded in response to her
question.

"Oh." Her face fell even more.

"Something you need?" I muttered, needing to finish my article.

"I wanted you to go dress shopping with me, actually."

*That* piqued my curiosity. Lana Lang--former cheerleader, brunette beauty
who drives high-school boys mad with sick desire--wanted me to go shopping
with her. Shopping! Me! With Lana! Needless to say, it wasn't high on my
list of things to accomplish before I was, say, ninety. However, I knew she
was hurting, and she had been trying to befriend me all year. I reluctantly
acquiesced.

"Well, okay. I do need to get some makeup." I expected her to give me that
saccharine grin of hers and leave. But, instead, she stood there,
apparently waiting for something. "Anything else you need to say to me?" I
admit I'm never very kind when I'm in 'no prisoners' mode; I'm rarely ever
nice to Lana, period.

She blinked, stepped farther into the office. "I meant go right now."

Oh. "Oh."

"I-Is that okay with you?" Lana never stutters; I thought that needed
mentioning.

Here it comes; the part where my flapping lips should have stayed closed.
"Sure."

If I'd thought about it, I could have said, 'no; right now isn't a good
time'. Then I could have 'forgotten' about the shopping trip until after
the formal. But, since I don't think--and since I had no conceivable idea
that something unexpected would happen on aforementioned trip--I agreed to
spend a few hours wandering around the mall in search of a dress for my
semi-arch enemy.

It was time for me to put myself on the Wall.

******

Sears was our first stop on what had the potential to be a fascinating
afternoon; I would get to experience, firsthand, what it was like to shop
with an average superficial, teenage girl. I followed her to the Juniors'
department, where we were assaulted by the sort of music I imagine you'd
hear in the infamous Club Zero; or a cheap knock-off of that music, anyway.

Lana grabbed my arm and dragged me over to a fluffy pink monstrosity. I
hoped she wasn't going to ask my opinion; I'm not one for sugar-coating.
"Isn't this horrid?" she asked, sounding like she meant it.

I was impressed by her attitude. "It looks like a birthday cake!" I added
with a grin. She sure had changed for the better; at least a little. "What
kind of dress are you looking for?" It wouldn't torture me to help; picking
out my own dress had been fun, despite having to share that area of the
store with several bleach-blonde bimbos.

Biting her lip in thought, Lana flipped through a sale rack; a gaudy sign
above it read 'Twenty Percent Off' in neon letters. "I don't know; I'm
thinking black this year. I've worn pink to special events for years;
thought I'd give Whitney a break." She flashed me a friendly grin, and I
felt myself smiling back. "What's your dress look like?"

Thinking about the garment hiding in my closet made me think of Clark.
Thinking about Clark made me think about his arms, and his lips, and his
goofy grin...she asked a question. I knew I had to somehow block Clark out
of my head for a few hours. "It's magenta, strapless, and silky. Dad wasn't
sure about it at first, but then I assured him I'd wear a wrap." What was I
doing talking about clothes?

"Sounds nice; I'd love to help you get ready before the formal." Was it my
imagination, or was Lana Lang suggesting that we 'hang out' again?

"Uh, sure. Dad isn't too good with makeup, you know," I joked, trying to
cover up the fact that I was blushing; the insecure part of my brain
decided she was taking pity on poor, girl friendless me. Then it struck me
that she had no real friends, either. Yes, she hung out with the jocks and
cheerleaders--despite quitting the squad--but think about that; jocks and
cheerleaders aren't exactly the type to get really close to someone. (Just
to make a broad, yet disturbingly true, generalization.)

"What do you think of this?" The dress in question was gold and short with
spaghetti straps. I knew it would look fabulous on her, though I didn't say
that in so many words. "'s nice."

I suddenly needed coffee. I do that sometimes; get cappuccino cravings for
no apparent reason. Pete implies that I'm addicted; whatever.

I located another sale rack--'30 percent off!'--and idly riffled through
it. None of the dresses looked like 'Lana'--even though I barely knew her,
I could make that assumption--except for one I found at the very end.
"How's this?" I called, walking it over to her.

She stopped what she was doing and observed the item on the hangar. It was
black, knee-length, and off the shoulder. The top was cut just low enough
to show a bit of cleavage. "Wow. I'm definitely going to try that one on."
Slinging that over her arm, along with the gold one, she returned to her
browsing.

When the rest of the rack yielded nothing else, she yanked me to the
dressing room--she's much stronger than she looks. "Come in with me; so you
can zip me up and all that." I was given no choice in the matter, so I
joined her in the cubicle.

Off went her jeans and peach t-shirt. She was wearing silky red underwear
with a matching lacy bra. But I didn't notice. She slid her tiny body into
the gold dress, sucking in her stomach unconsciously. I did that when I
went shopping; I think all high school girls are wont to do the same. "Zip,
would you?"

I did, careful not to snag the fabric. When I stepped back, she twirled
around slowly. "It's comfy; what do you think?"

I very rarely envy anyone, for any reason. At the beginning of the year, I
envied Lana because Clark was so passionately in lust with her; I decided
later that she couldn't really help that, so I stopped feeling that way.
When I observed her in the dress, however, I was suddenly filled with such
intense envy that I couldn't breathe.

Lana has one of those bodies that men drool over and women want; her legs
are long and shapely--from years of cheerleading, I guess--her stomach is
nice and flat, her hips are disturbingly perfect. I decided that she's
probably never had trouble finding a pair of jeans that fit comfortably. I
won't go into her perfect back half.

"I...I like it," I managed, sinking onto the single, tiny chair that took
up half the space. I wanted to have her figure so badly; I still consider
myself to be a little overweight and not physically attractive. I'm tired
of only being liked for my wit; just once I want a guy to look at my body
and whistle inwardly...I bet that happens to Lana all the time.

With a nod, she stepped out of that one and into the black one. When I
zipped the second one, I caught a whiff of baby powder and vanilla from the
back of her neck. Unconsciously I leaned forward a bit.

"Chloe?" she asked curiously, twisting her head around to peer at me.

I didn't know what I was doing. "Oh, sorry," I muttered, moving as far away
from her as I could. "No problem." She spun in front of the mirror and
smoothed the front of the garment. "Wow, this is gorgeous," she breathed.

The black material--it looked like fake velvet--contrasted beautifully with
her golden skin and made her legs look twice as long. I had to remind
myself to breathe out. "Wow," I whispered in awe. The envy was taking over.

She smiled at me. It wasn't her usual, always-friendly grin. No, this one
spoke of trust and intimacy. Then her soft hands were in mine, tugging me
to my feet. All I could do was stand, and let her corner me against the
wall; the rational, decision-making section of my brain was
short-circuiting.

I kept my bisexuality a secret for years; my attraction to girls was a
subtle thing: every once in a while I'd notice a stranger on the street or,
dare I say it, a cheerleader and want to be with that woman so deeply it
would hurt. No one knew, and, in fact, I didn't like to acknowledge it.

That's why I told myself that I was envious of her body. Certainly that was
part of it, but most of me just wanted *her*. I had never exactly had a
crush on her before, though I'd found myself staring at her; I just told
myself that I secretly admired her strength, her happiness, her self-
control.

Still grasping my hands, she pinned me against the wall. We were both
gasping for breath--me from shock, her from...want, I decided after looking
into her eyes. It was the intensity in their deep brown depths that made me
long to kiss her.

"Chloe, did you ever stop to think about who I was jealous of?" she
whispered, her mouth centimeters from mine.

"What?"

Lana smirked. "You thought I was jealous of you, I'm sure. Jealous because
you and Clark are going to the Formal together; that's the cause of my
jealousy, but it's Clark that I want out of the picture." This *dominating*
Lana hadn't made an appearance since the Nicodemus flower incident; I
wasn't sure what to think. Not that I could think clearly just then.

"You like me," I gasped, not processing the information.

"I more than like you, Chloe. I *need* you; you're so unique, so
unflappable. I was envious of your ability to avoid conforming, but then I
realized that I wanted you to be mine..." And she kissed me.

You'd assume that her kisses were tentative and polite; when you watch her
with Whitney, it certainly seems that way. But, no--she knows what she's
doing, and she does it well. The kiss was hot, deep, intense, hungry...I
thought my head would explode.

After several seconds, I found myself kissing her back, twisting around so
*she* was against the wall. Her pulse was thudding in her neck-- I felt it
against my lips--and I knew my own was racing.

"Oh, yeah, I can't wait to see how this dress looks!" We broke apart,
guilty, when a few more girls waltzed into the dressing area. The door was
closed, so we had nothing to worry about, but Lana still shot me a wide-
eyed glance.

"You'd better get changed," I whispered dumbly. "We still have to look for
shoes and makeup." "Uh huh." I turned around while she changed, though I
was facing the mirror; thus I could se everything she did.

"Lana," I spoke up, catching her hand before she could leave, "don't be
embarrassed about what we just did."

She smiled slightly. "I'm not. In fact, I wouldn't mind doing it again some
time."

Licking my lips, I nodded. "So would I."

Her eyes narrowed slyly. "Maybe we should go to Macy's so I can try on more
dresses."

My heart beat faster. "Okay."

My hand was in hers; after putting back the black and gold dresses, we were
rushing for another store.

Never did I think that shopping with Lana could be so fun.

FINIS