Work Text:
She regrets saying it, even as the words are still tumbling from her mouth. “I knew this would never work.”
“What does that mean?” She’s scraping her plate into the sink when he presses again. “What does that mean, Lois?”
The plate clatters as she sets it down, which buys her a moment before she has to admit that she doesn’t know. She’s telling the truth when she says it, and that only makes her feel worse. She spent year after year going on dates, sleeping around for a while before trying in earnest, and then failing at every relationship she managed to wedge herself into. They either left because they didn’t rank above her work on her list of priorities, or she pushed them away because she ranked too highly on theirs. It feels suffocating, when people don't have their own work. It didn’t have to be a job, she knew most people didn’t have the luxury of getting paid to do the very thing they love most. But god, these people barely had hobbies. She couldn’t understand the lack of passion in their day-to-day life, and she felt uncomfortable when their passion was then channeled directly into the relationship. And what does that say about her?
“I don’t know. I just…I told you I’m not good at relationships.” Lois wasn’t sure exactly what she was hoping for, but it wasn’t the sound of her front door closing and the quiet that remained, swallowing her up whole. She leaned against her palms on the edge of the sink, arms locked straight, and let her head and shoulders droop down until she was looking at the floor, taking two deep breaths.
He’d gone out the front door, so he’d have to be moving at a normal human pace for the time being. It was a coin flip on whether he’d gone down to street level and walked the three blocks home on foot, or whether he’d taken the stairwell up a floor to fly off from the roof. If it was the latter, he’d be gone before she could catch up. If the former, he’s probably still waiting for the elevator.
She should fix this, and she’s well aware of that. She WANTS to fix it, even, which is a new thing on its own. Her relationship with Clark is intense, and it always has been. On a professional level, it was thrilling to have someone who could keep up with her on a story, someone who was as bold an investigator as she. But now things are more than that. They’re personal. And to be clear, she wanted them to be. The lines between them as coworkers and friends were blurred within a week of meeting him. That had been years ago now, with plenty of time since for the lines between friends and lovers to fade away. It was scary, yes, but it was Clark. For once, she doesn’t want to ruin things.
She sighs and straightens, pushing her hair away from her face as she turns to exit the kitchen. When her hands reach the knob and pull it open, he’s already standing there, leaning above her, one arm bracing himself against the door frame while the other is poised to knock. She catches his expression before he has the chance to tame it; it mirrored her own moments ago. He looked upset, but not angry. Just deflated. He smiles softly, but his eyes still look a bit sad. If he weren’t 6’4” and made of solid muscle, his form close and imposing in their current state, you could mistake him for a sad puppy. “I’m sorry we fought,” he offers after a moment. “Could we…” He falters, and she realizes he’s trying to read her expression. She has no idea what expression she’s currently making, but attempts to soften it. “Would you let me try this again?”
She releases her breath and makes space in the narrow hallway as he steps back in. She lets go of the door so it swings closed, and she hears Clark lock the deadbolt. For a moment they’re face to face, both searching for something, until Clark breaks the spell. He hangs up his jacket, takes off his shoes, and heads into the kitchen without another word. She stands there in the hallway for a moment, staring down at her own shoes that she’d never gotten around to taking off, and slips them next to Clark’s on the shoe rack. Something warm flickers through her.
Clark is the tidiest man she’s ever known. Lois had long ago surrendered herself to the chaos of her own home. She’s not dirty, but she has a tendency to set things down in places they don’t belong, and not pick them up again until she can’t find anything at all. Clark is not like that. He doesn’t set things down, he simply puts them away. She stares at their shoes, neatly lined up next to each other, until the sound of running water from the kitchen sink snaps her out of it.
She watches him from the doorway, back to her, as he picks up where she left off on the dishes. His shoulders and back ripple with strength, visible beneath his shirt, even from such a mundane task. He doesn’t look at her. He doesn’t need to, with his heightened senses. He already knows she’s there. “I’ll finish these up,” he says softly. “Why don’t you go unwind for a bit.” In a few minutes, they’ll have to talk. But for now, she does what he says.
Lois has never been one to back down from confrontation. In fact, she sort of loves it. Good journalism requires it. But this isn’t just journalism anymore, this is their life. A life together, if she wants it. A life together, if she doesn’t screw it up. God, why is she always screwing things up? That’s where she went wrong earlier, and guilt stabs her deep in her belly for a moment. She can’t just be Lois the hard-hitting Journalist around him anymore, the same way he can never again just be Superman. The same way he’ll never again just be Clark.
In her bedroom, she slips out of her work clothes, into an oversized shirt and clean underwear. She hangs the vest back up, because honestly, who is washing their vests regularly? Do vests ever really get dirty outside of spilling something on them? The jeans still have another wear or two in them as well, so she drapes them over the back of her chair. Her chair is never actually sat in, it acts more as a glorified laundry basket for her not-quite-dirty-not-quite-clean clothes. Ironically, if she replaced the chair with an actual basket, she’d probably be less consistent about putting stuff there. Thus, the chair lives on. She looks around and spots some other artifacts on the floor. A pair of socks, the shirt and underwear she wore last night, and the shirt she wore today, which was carelessly tossed down next to her while she dealt with the jeans and vest. She gathers them all up and throws them into the hamper in her closet. She takes another glance around and fluffs out her duvet, so the bed at least looks made. In the bathroom, she washes her face, hoping to scrub away the lingering discomfort from their argument, but settles for what remains of her makeup. She’s about to walk out, but catches herself to quickly run a brush through her hair. Satisfied, she grabs the lighter and pack of cigarettes from her nightstand, walking through the living room and onto her balcony, leaving the door open behind her.
She’s staring at the skyline and halfway through a cigarette when she feels his presence behind her. The man is basically a walking furnace, and the heat radiates off him in the cool evening air. He gently places a hand between her shoulders and rubs them, and she takes the opportunity to lean into him, wrapping her arm around his waist as they stand side by side.
One of her favorite things about Clark is the comfort he has in silence. Lois has always had the tendency to try to fill it. Closed mouths don’t get fed, or whatever it is people say, and as a child she was always starved for parental recognition. Though her extraversion earned her plenty of friends and admirers in college and beyond, only a fool would mistake it for openness. Clark was calm and patient and didn’t feel the need to make himself stand out, and through the years she’d watched plenty of fools make the mistake of overlooking him entirely. Though he was quiet, she wouldn’t describe him as shy. He’s sure of himself, but not proud or self-satisfied. He managed to be earnest, and vulnerable, and tirelessly optimistic with everything he said and believed about the world. She hung on his every word. Or at least, she hung on his every word when it came out of his mouth. When it came from his pen, she always had some edits.
She glances his way without thinking, and smiles as she takes a drag. He returns the smile. “What?” She exhales and shakes her head. “Nothing. Just…you. It’s nothing.” He doesn’t press further, but he takes the cigarette from her hand and brings it to his own lips while she watches.
Lois has tried to quit a few times, but it always ends the same. Eventually she stresses over a story, or some sudden family visit, or she just needs a break, and ends up out here once again, with a fresh pack and the ashtray that lives on the table under the awning. She knows they’re bad for her, and that she SHOULD quit once and for all, but she just can’t bring herself to.
Clark asked, soon after they started working together. “When did you pick that up?” She’d been so startled by his directness that she answered without thinking. People learned quickly not to ask Lois personal questions, if they tried at all. She’s been told she’s intimidating by many, which she found amusing. She’s normally so guarded about her past, but she didn't mind telling Clark about it, and why she was so young when she got stuck in the habit. Even back then, she knew he’d only asked because he wanted to know, not because he wanted to judge her. Of course he wants her to stop in theory, since it’s so bad for her lungs, but he’d never press her on it. Clark is not an unreasonable man, and he knows everyone has their vices. Hers has always been smoking. Tobacco, weed, or her favorite type of party mix, a blunt. She doesn’t like drinking anymore, not after she partied herself out in undergrad. Plus, she doesn’t want to turn into her father.
The smoke doesn’t affect his lungs at all. With his meta-metabolism, nicotine doesn’t either. When he partakes with her, he does it simply to share in the ritual. He also does it because he knows Lois finds it hot when he does, and that certainly couldn’t hurt at this moment. Everyone has their vices, and it only took one day of working with her at the Daily Planet for Clark to know that Lois would always be his.
He hands the cigarette back to her and she takes another drag as he opens his mouth to speak. “You were right, you know. I’m not going to say I was wrong, and you know why. But I got upset because I realized you were right too.” She leaned her head into the crook of his shoulder, turning into him slightly, and he looked down at her. She snuffs the cigarette into the ashtray and faces him, hugging him in earnest now, her head leaning against his chest. “I hate that it’s so complicated,” he continues. His arms snake around her shoulders and he rests his cheek on her head. “Doing good is simple. Violence should be stopped. Lives must be protected. Wars are never fought by the people who insist on starting them.” He sighed. “I know all these things are true. But even in our line of work, sometimes I forget that what things look like—what story gets told, and what people believe—matters just as much as the truth. Sometimes, it matters more.” His heart beats steady against her ear, and his voice drops to a whisper. “It shouldn’t have to be so complicated, but it is. Even though I desperately wish it wasn’t.”
They stayed like that for a moment, swaying together in their embrace. Lois lifts her head and rests her chin against him before she speaks. “Your desire to do good is what I…admire about you most. I know you just want to help. Every day, I watch you inspire people to be better.” It’s getting a little intense now, the way he’s looking at her, so she buries her face into him again before continuing. “Every day, you inspire ME to be better. I’m only hard on you because the world will be. I want to help prepare you, so that when the world is being shitty and nihilistic and is screaming at you to give up, you’ll be ready to knock it right back down on its do-good ass.” His laugh rumbles through them both. When their eyes meet this time, neither backs down. He leans in slowly, watching her carefully, giving her a chance to back out if she wants. But her lips meet him halfway.
The kiss is slow, and soft, and tender. His hand finds purchase against her cheek, gently angling her up to him, fingertips creeping into her hair. It gives her butterflies, like she’s a teenager with a crush. It’s always been like that with Clark, even before she could put a name to the feeling. When he smiles at her, she’s brought back to the first night they spent together here on her balcony, and later, beyond her balcony, high above the city. She’d had butterflies then too, meeting Superman. He was so charming and handsome, and he'd just saved her life. It was the first time she’d ever struggled to string words together for a question. She had already embarrassed herself by asking how ‘big’ he was, only to follow it up with, “Do you function…normally?” He’d raised an eyebrow at that one, asking for clarification in his way, simultaneously innocent and all too aware. Lois tried again. “Do you…eat?”
At that, he’d leaned forward and smiled at her, and she’d leaned in with him, waiting for his response with baited breath. “Oh, yes, I eat. When I’m hungry.”
They pulled away from their embrace, gazing at each other and leaning back until only their fingers were still touching. With one hand, Clark reached over and grabbed the ashtray, and with the other, he led Lois back towards her door. He set the ashtray back in its spot while she continued walking inside, him following right behind. As soon as the door closes she finds her back is pressed against it, the coolness of the glass seeping through her shirt. Then he’s kissing her, and he’s everywhere. She lets the world melt away until all she can see and feel and think about is him. On her lips, her chin, his mouth roving along her neck, then her shoulder. His hands ghost over her nipples, making them pebble, before moving firmly down her waist.
She watches him drop to his knees, looking like a man starved. His hands trail down the front of her thighs, circling around and moving up the back of them, this time under her shirt, squeezing and searching until they land on her butt. They slide gently around her hips, fingers dipping into the waistband of her underwear, and Clark drags them down her thighs, letting them fall to the floor. When his hands make their rounds again this time, he lifts a leg over his shoulder. He turns his head and kisses up her thigh slowly, chaste at first, but getting sloppier as he gets closer to her arousal. The edge of her shirt is in the way, so he grabs the hem and traps it between her pelvis and his flattened hand, roving it up her body, until she notices and holds it up for him.
Her head is bent back against the glass and her eyes screwed shut, but she looks down just in time to meet his gaze, watching each other as his tongue makes contact, swiping up her slit. She gasps, and his eyes twinkle with mischief, enjoying what he hopes is only the very start of the show. The hand holding her thigh moves beneath her, and his fingers swipe through her wetness, spreading her folds so his lips can lock directly on her clit. Her hand quickly glides into his hair, nails softly scraping his scalp before gripping his locks tightly when he deepens the intensity. As he begins sucking his fingers move back again, sliding easily while he swirls them around her entrance. Her head is back against the door, and her words come out with a slight whine. “Don’t…be…a tease.” He hums against her, amused, but does what he’s told and sinks a finger into her.
Lois groans, and she sounds so pretty that after a few strokes he quickly adds a second finger, hoping she’ll do it again. She does. The hand that isn’t buried in her slides further up her body, following the curve of her waist until it's high enough to claim a handful of her breast. When he releases her clit to take a breath, he fills the space his mouth was occupying with his thumb, leaning back slightly to get a better look at her. Her head is still thrown back, eyes shut tightly, but her mouth hangs open now, and she has started grinding against his hand as he pumps into her. She’s bathed in the warm yellow lamplight of her apartment, the city sparkling behind her. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. She lets out a huff, smiling now, opening her eyes and looking down at him, and he realizes he must have said that out loud.
He takes advantage of the eye contact and dives back into her, and neither can bear to look away until she’s coming on his tongue, throbbing around his fingers while he guides her through it. Clark loves eye contact. He finds it so intimate and erotic to watch each other’s pleasure. When his fingers eventually slide out of her, he brings them to his mouth and sucks them clean like she’s dessert. Gosh, he loves this woman. He has loved her for years. But now is not the time to tell her that, not when he almost scared her away no more than an hour ago. He has to be careful not to let it slip out.
He doesn’t have the chance to finish his thought before she is pulling him up to her and into a kiss. Of course, a regular human could never actually force him to move if he didn’t want to. But it’s Lois, and he wants nothing more than to please. He found out early on how much she likes pushing him around a little bit, and how much he likes letting her. This wasn’t exactly a surprising discovery, given the years she’s spent bossing him around at work, but it does occasionally make his groin twinge at inappropriate times, now that it’s out there.
She pulls away from the kiss but keeps a hand on his chest, pushing firmly, and he takes a step back. He watches her eyes rake him up and down shamelessly, a devilish grin creeping onto her face as she guides him across her living room, him taking a step back for each one she takes towards him. When they’re almost out of space to travel, she grabs a handful of his shirt and pushes him back in earnest, Clark slamming his body against the wall the same way it would have with anyone else. Both of them are breathing heavier now, and a moment passes between them before Lois pounces.
These kisses aren’t gentle or nice. There’s a slight roughness to them, a back and forth where neither party is ready to yield, tongues fighting for dominance in their kisses, hands squeezing and pinching just a little too hard as they roam. It felt like…well, it felt like a natural extension of their interview-turned-argument earlier. If that was what built the tension, this is them releasing it. The conversation they had on the balcony was a productive, healthy way to communicate. But Lois would be the first to admit that she’d have never handled a disagreement that way on her own, at least not before Clark. He was good at talking about his feelings, and she was…getting better at it.
But this? Slamming her sort-of-kind-of-maybe boyfriend into a wall after an argument, and then getting the living daylights fucked out of her so they’re both too blissed to remember what they were fighting about? Now that’s a classic Lois move. Technically, they did already resolve the issue with Clark's method. But why should that get in the way of having a bit more fun?
When she was dating normal people with normal levels of strength, she always liked things rough. For obvious safety reasons, Clark was never going to do anything he felt might endanger her, and Lois sometimes felt he erred too far on the side of caution. But as mentioned earlier, Clark is a reasonable man, so he indulges her in the ways he feels comfortable.
She sucks on his bottom lip, scraping her teeth against it as she releases him. One of his hands moves from her breast and splays across her chest, moving upwards, turning slightly so that when he reaches her throat, his fingers are gently wrapped around it. He applies no pressure at all with his touch, but he lingers there long enough to watch her eyes roll back into her head as she imagines what it would feel like, what he could do to her. He smiles smugly before snaking his hand around the nape of her neck, burying it in her hair, pulling it just enough to make her gasp. He brings her back to his lips, his free hand gliding down to her ass, and before she knows it feet are off the ground, her legs instinctually wrapping around his waist, feeling his desire.
He turns them around, and now it’s her turn to be pressed into the wall. But this time, their kisses are interrupted by a few loud knocks from the neighbor on the other side of it. This breaks the spell a little, cutting through the intensity and making them both giggle. “Why don’t we bring this to the bedroom.” It doesn’t sound like a question, but Lois gives him an enthusiastic nod in answer anyways.
She yelps when he throws her over his shoulder without warning, running at his human speed for the five strides it takes to reach the bedroom. They’re both still smiling when she is tossed onto her bed, rather unceremoniously. She lays back, propping herself up on her elbows to watch him undress. He’s so handsome, it’s almost unfair.
Lois can hardly believe he has managed to keep his identity a secret these past few years. Not just because his disguise is bad—in fact, Lois thinks it’s certifiably terrible, but she’ll hound him more on that later—but because it’s almost suspicious how small and invisible he manages to make himself when playing the part of Normal Person Clark Kent, Daily Planet Reporter. Seeing him content to disappear into the background has always made her a bit sad, but as she got to know him better, it kind of made her a little crazy too.
That’s not to say he’s completely invisible to women. I mean, height alone makes him stand out in a crowd. But as much as she loves Jimmy (and she does love Jimmy a lot) she’ll never understand why every single girl in the office takes their turn fawning over him, when her gentle giant has been literally standing right next to him the entire time. All the better, she figures. It’s hard enough sharing Superman with the entire world, she wouldn’t want to have to swat people away from Clark like flies in the bullpen, too.
She might have fallen for Superman first, but she fell for Clark so much harder.
Superman entered her life suddenly, as a savior akin to a god. In a lot of ways, he sort of is a god, at least in a practical sense, though he didn’t like it when she pointed that out to him once. Not an all-powerful universe creating god, she explained, more like the gods of ancient Greece, wielding their power over humans while they choose to walk among them, taking lovers and wives as they please. (Which didn’t help her case on the point she was making.) But instead of taking pleasure in subjecting people to fucked up shit and turning them into trees and rivers to get rid of them once he’s bored, Superman chooses to be a servant of the world and a harbinger of goodness. He’s charming, honest, gorgeous. It’s funny looking back with the context she has now. He really is just an Eagle Scout in Mondrian-colored clothing, but she was too wrapped up in the mystique back then to notice.
Clark, on the other hand, snuck up on her. He showed up for her every day, easily stepping into whatever role she needed him to play, without even knowing herself what it is she needed. He was a coworker, a co-conspirator, a caretaker, a confidant. That, in retrospect, also makes sense. He’s spent his life switching pieces of himself on and off as the situation calls for it, and though she understands why it’s necessary, she wonders how he can bear it sometimes.
Every once in a while, she can see the toll it takes on him. It’s not that he doesn’t feel comfortable talking about it, but rather that he sees it useless to dwell on. “There are simply better ways to spend my time,” he told her once, when she asked. “It’s not that I don’t see and feel all the same things you do when I look at the world. The despair, the hopelessness, the pain. But we’re not defined by the first thought that rolls through our heads. A more important glimpse into who we are, what our truth is, is the second thought. The one you have right after it, when given a moment to consider. That’s the one that frames it in the context of our lives.”
She has thoughts about him all the time. It wasn’t obvious, and she couldn’t pinpoint when exactly it happened, but one day she realized she’d stopped thinking in terms of I and Me. Without noticing, she began to see her future in terms of We.
Compared to the urgency he’d shown getting them to her bedroom, Clark sure was taking his time undressing. His fingers were only now reaching the last button of his shirt. “What’s the hold up, Smallville? Putting on a show for me?” In response, he turned around before sliding the shirt slowly down his arms, so she could watch his biceps and back rippling beneath his undershirt. He looked back over his shoulder and winked at her before dramatically pulling off his belt, making it snap in the air next to him. This earned him a real belly laugh, and he made quick work with the rest of his clothes, until he was standing in front of her completely naked.
He leaned over her a little so he could grab her thighs, pulling her to the edge of the bed like she weighed nothing. She sat up to meet him. They kissed once, twice, and then his fingers were tugging at the hem of her shirt. “Don’t think we’ll be needing this,” he said against her lips, the two of them separating as he pulled it over her head, only to reunite as soon as it was off. Without looking, he tossed it over his shoulder and onto the chair where all of her not-dirty-not-clean clothes live. Lois pulled away, looked at the chair across the room, and then back at Clark. “...Show off.”
He picked her up effortlessly from the edge of the bed and turned them, sitting where she’d been a moment ago and placing her knees on either side of him. She adjusted her weight slightly, and the movement caused the tip of his erection to bump against her, surprising them both as they gasped together.
Her hand stroked his cheek as she leaned down to kiss him again, her lips moving from his mouth to his neck, gnawing and sucking along the way, letting her free hand slowly trail much further downwards. He twitched beneath her until her hand finally wrapped around him. He let out the quietest, breathy moan, and the sound shot heat straight through her. His hands were warm around her torso, and he laid a kiss on her stomach, breathing her in. Her finger swept across the precum at his tip, swirling the head before sliding down his length. She held him cupped against her as they ground into each other, the head of his penis teasing her clit with each thrust while he slid between her labia. Sometimes, it would catch for a moment at her entrance, sinking in just a little before slipping back out. When she couldn’t take it anymore, she lifted herself onto her knees and sat down, taking him straight to the hilt. This made Clark whimper, and his whimper made Lois clench.
He laid wet kisses across the underside of her breast before taking a nipple into his mouth and sucking on it, beginning to slowly thrust into her while she pulled at the hair at the nape of his neck. His gaze flickered up, and he found her there, already watching him. After a moment he released her with a small pop, laving his tongue across her chest before latching onto the other nipple and looking up at her again. Lois didn’t have sensitive nipples the way so many of her friends did, and the physical sensation didn’t do much for her. But she loved to watch someone suck them like this. Especially when that someone was Clark. Maybe she just had a thing for looking down at someone pleasuring her. It made her feel in control.
When he released her this time, he laid his body down, lifting Lois off of him easily and sliding himself further up the bed before setting her down again, this time straddling his face. He pulled his feet onto the bed for leverage, so that when Lois extended her arm back behind her, he could continue thrusting into her hand. His hands splay across her back, leaning her weight against him so she could reach without straining.
She swipes her fingers across her pussy, gathering juices before taking his cock in her hand again. He groans at her touch. “Feel free to let me know how I’m doing, Lois.” He meant to say it in a teasing way, but it comes out breathy and a little desperate, which is music to her ears. She learned Clark had a bit of a praise kink the very first time they had sex, which didn’t surprise her one bit. The man dedicating his life to doing good likes being told he’s doing good? Doesn’t exactly take an investigative journalist to figure that one out, but it certainly didn’t hurt.
This time, his tongue prods into her opening, sucking up her arousal while his nose presses against her clit. “So good for me, big guy. You’re sss–so good baby.” He hums against her, and his thrusting speeds up a bit. She lifts her head to look at him, and his eyes are closed, eyebrows knit in concentration. She’s never been more attracted to anyone in her life. “I love the way you make me feel, Clark. Like I’m flying with you.” It doesn’t take her more than a couple minutes to come this time. “Love it so much. So much. You’re always such a good boy for me Clark. Love—” She cuts herself off before she lets that first thought slip. But then comes the second thought; the one she didn’t realize was true until this moment. She loves him. Like, for real LOVES him. Her orgasm crashes through her, and she moans.
She hasn’t fully come down from her high, but by the time her eyes open and she’s capable of knitting two thoughts together again, she realizes she’s now on her back, head resting on a pillow, Clark floating above her. Wait. Yeah okay, no, she was right, Clark is literally floating above her. He wraps her legs around him before settling back down on the bed, bracketing his arms on either side of her, leaning down to kiss her forehead while she collects herself.
When her eyes open again, he’s smiling down at her. “Hi,” she whispers.
“Hi,” he whispers back. “That was fun.” He penis bumps against her entrance.
“It was lots of fun, but I need you inside of me, like, yesterday.”
“Oh thank goodness,” he says, right before sinking into her. She clenches around him as he does. “If you ever need me to, I’ll find a way to turn back time for you, Lois.”
They both moan in pleasure, forehead to forehead, breathing against each other while they both adjust. He starts with shallow thrusts, and sets an almost achingly slow rhythm. She digs her heels into his butt, encouraging him to speed it up. He does, but not enough. “Faster honey, please, you feel so good. Please, I need you.”
He lets out half a laugh. “I’m trying to take my time with you, Lois. You’re making it really hard.”
“Not tonight, Smallville. Tonight, I want you to ruin me.” That did the trick. Clark pulls out suddenly and sits up onto his knees, hoisting one of her legs over his shoulder for the second time that night. He drove back into her quickly, straight to the hilt, making them both curse and snap their eyes shut.
“Oh fuck, Clark!”
“Geez Louise!”
“It’s Lois–hnng–actually.” He catches the joke, but is too distracted to react under present circumstances. She grunts as he pulls out almost to the tip before sinking right back into her. He does this over and over, making her moan while he babbles out nonsense she can barely focus on. She clenches each time he hammers into her, sucking in him impossibly deeper, gripping him tighter within her walls as if to keep him there forever.
“So pretty Lois, you sound so pretty. Take me so well. So good. You’re so good to me. Everything I could hope for. Everything I’ve ever wanted. No one better, or smarter, or…better…” He’s losing focus the closer he gets to his own release. Lois opens her eyes and sees him looking at where they’re connected, eyes glassy and unfocused. Wait, no. She follows his gaze carefully and realizes he’s looking slightly above that. This snaps her back into reality. No fucking way.
“Are you using your x-ray vision to watch yourself rearrange my guts?”
Hearing the change in tone but not her actual words, he slows down and looks up at her. “I…” he falters a moment, waiting for his brain to catch up. “Sorry, huh?”
She repeats herself, but this time it sounds more like a statement than a question.“Are you using your x-ray vision to watch yourself rearrange my guts?” He actually blushes, which fills her with a warmth she didn’t expect. Clark doesn’t get embarrassed very often. At least, he doesn’t show it so clearly on his face. She feels some sort of pride to have been the one to get him so adorably worked up.
“I mean, I don’t know if that’s quite how I would put it.” He keeps up the slower pace as they chat.
“Oh? How would you put it?”
“I am using my x-ray vision to….watch…and make sure….nothing gets…uh…moved out of place.” As an afterthought, he adds, “Permanently.” She doesn’t give him a reaction yet, just to see if he’ll keep going. “...It’s just a safety thing.”
“You’re doing it because it’s really hot,” she asserts.
“I’m doing it because it’s really hot,” he affirms.
“Keep it up big guy. Honestly, I’m just jealous. I want to be able to see it too.”
Clark looks straight ahead, making his thinking face, still rocking into her, slower and shallower now. Lois waits. She’s very familiar with that face. Finally he looks back down at her. “I can’t help you see it, but I think I might be able to…” He slides out of her and she whines at the loss. That, combined with the sound of their squelching, is filthy, and only makes him more excited to try out his idea. “Be patient, Miss Lane.” He says it with authority, and it shoots lightning through her center. It’s not quite his Superman voice, but certainly not his normal Clark voice either. Oh, that’s new.
She’s never been into being bossed around…well, anywhere, but specifically in bed. She tried it a few times with a few different guys, but honestly it just made her want to laugh at them. Lois has never been one to submit to authority, no matter who that authority might be. Not to her father, the General, not to Perry, not to the US Government, and certainly not to some guy she went on a few dates with, who still had four roommates in a three bedroom apartment at age 35. (One of them literally slept on the couch full time.) But maybe being bossed around is something she should explore again, with Clark. Or perhaps with Superman? She’ll have to unpack that later.
Clark is adjusting her now, stacking pillows under her pelvis for support, and removing the one under her head. Her legs stretch out behind him on each side, hanging off the stack of pillows under her butt a little awkwardly. She raises an eyebrow, but he smiles and shakes his head. When he sits up on his knees he re-enters her quickly, angling upwards and hitting her g-spot forcefully with every snap of his hips. It’s a lot for both of them, and Clark looks like he’s about to burst any second. Poor guy, she realizes he still hasn’t come yet tonight.
He speeds up quickly, hammering into her, setting a grueling pace. They’re both grunting when he holds out his hand for her. She slides an arm out from behind her head, taking it. He flattens her palm low against her belly, underneath his, and presses it down as he’s pulling out. When he pushes back into her, she feels a bump against her hand, realizing it's the blunt tip of his erection tapping her from inside. “Kent, you’re a fucking genius.”
He keeps fucking her, his thrusts getting harder and faster each time he pumps into her. Lois is overwhelmed by sensation. Him, deep within her. Him, against both sides of her hand. The look of him, eyes closed, quads juicy and flexing as he snaps into her tirelessly. The sound of their moans. The smell of their passion. Clark’s vision is going white listening to the sound of their pleasure. She comes around him so forcefully she can only whimper. Clark is about to follow her so he pulls out quickly, his free hand wrapping around himself and pumping as he’s about to burst. Lois has pulled his other hand from her stomach, forcing his body to fold over hers when she does. Both hands now occupied, any other man would have fallen down onto her, but not Clark, whose torso simply hangs airily above. When she presses his palm to her cheek and pulls his thumb into her mouth, he comes harder than he ever has before, shooting ropes across her stomach and breasts. He’s feeling genuinely breathless as he pants above her, limbs suddenly feeling like jelly.
When he comes to his senses a moment later, he sees the mess he’s made. “Oh, shoot, I’m so sorry Lois, I should have asked where you wanted me to–” She cuts him off with a deep kiss, pushing his curls out of his face, slightly damp now from their sweat. “It was perfect, Smallville. Don’t worry about it.”
He climbs off of her and disappears into the bathroom. She can hear the tap running, and he returns with a hot, wet washcloth. He cleans the come off of her with careful precision, probably using super vision or whatever to see things on a microscopic level. Lois doesn’t really know the details if she’s being honest. He has so many different powers, she hasn’t had the chance to question the extent to which all of them reach. She strokes his curls back softly while he works, letting her nails scrape against his scalp as she does, just the way he likes.
When he’s finished, they look at each other for a couple minutes, sitting comfortably in the quiet together. Lois, still stroking his hair, Clark, arm now lowered to cup her head as he strokes her cheek. Clark pulls back his hand and stretches as he stands, smirking before he breaks the silence. “I don’t know Lois…” He starts walking towards the bathroom before turning back to her and shrugging his shoulders. “...I’d say we’re pretty good at that.” She launches the nearest pillow at him and he blocks it easily with his arm, laughing as he disappears through the door.
She showers after him, but forgets to grab clothes on the way in. She returns in her towel to find him sitting against her headboard, dressed in the clothes he keeps at her house for nights like these. His legs are stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. He has turned all the lights off except the ones on the nightstands, and he’s reading an issue of the Daily Planet from a few weeks ago where her story made the cover. He holds it up in greeting. “Really talented journalists they’ve got on staff here. I think one of them might be due for a Pulitzer any day now.”
The bed has been remade, pillows fluffed and returned to their proper places, duvet turned down with…wait, did he change the sheets? She said that last part out loud without realizing, and jumped a little when he answered. “Yep, dirty ones are already in the wash, I’ll start it on our way out tomorrow morning.” Then, she notices something else at the foot of the bed. It’s the clean shirt she’d put on earlier, retrieved from the chair, turned rightside out again, and folded for her, with a fresh pair of underwear sitting on top.
She feels that warmth again, spreading through her. But something else is there too, something full of longing and maybe a little sadness. Lois isn’t used to people taking care of her. She became hyper-independent at such a young age, and she doesn’t know how she’s supposed to react. Does she say thank you? Does she even call attention to it, or would that be weird? There’s something else there too, something she can’t yet name. Someday, after a lot of therapy, she’ll realize it’s a deep-seated fear of her existence being a burden, the way it felt with her dad. But for now, after the very long day they’ve just had, she’ll play it off with a joke.
“Be honest, did you lay out my clothes for me as an excuse to smell them? Perv.” He smiles with his mouth, but she can feel his eyes boring straight through her. Not in a literal sense this time.
His voice shifts to that tone he makes when he’s being vulnerable. “I like taking care of you,” he says quietly, and she knows he means it. “I’ll take care of you as long as you’ll let me, Lois, and longer than that if I can get away with it.”
She wants him in every way, but she’s not ready for that conversation yet, so she pivots again. “What makes you think you can get away with it, big guy? You’re not THAT sneaky!”
He can tell there’s more beneath the surface, but he also knows she’ll tell him when she’s ready. Clark is a patient man, and he’ll be there waiting when the day comes. But tonight, he’ll follow her lead. “Bold of you to say to someone successfully pulling off an actual secret identity. Award winning journalist by day, hero by night.”
“Perfectly adequate journalist by day, with a guaranteed quote from the nighttime hero whenever it’s convenient,” she shoots back.
He cracks a smile. “Well, award winning typist at the very least.” And he has her there—there’s not a person on earth who could beat his typing speed or accuracy when he’s really cranking it out.
She finishes drying herself off, and puts on the clothes he laid out. He’s shut off his light and crawled under the covers by this point, and he folds them back for her to get into. She crawls straight into his embrace, and buries her face into his chest. His arms envelop her like big, warm vice grips she never wants to escape from. He kisses the top of her head, and then whispers quietly into her hair. “Whatever you need, Lois. Whenever you need it. Just call me, and I’ll be there.”
He can feel her smile against her chest and waits to hear her joke. “Save me, Superman!” She says it in a squeaky, childlike voice, which he was not expecting, and his first reaction is to tickle her. The response is immediate, both of them giggling as she jerks around violently and turns away so he’ll stop, sinking easily into the little spoon position. She cranes her neck back and kisses him, softly and sweetly and sincerely, and hopes he understands all the things she can’t say yet. “I know, Clark. And minus the super hearing, and the super strength, and really all the super power related stuff, you know I’ll do the same.”
When she says it, it sounds like a promise. Clark reaches over her to shut off the final light, and falls asleep to the sound of her heartbeat.