Lois watched him walk away from her.
She found herself holding her breath. Why had she never noticed before how beautiful that smile of his was?
Something had changed between them.
The thought was a startling one. But she knew it was true. Something had changed. Here, in the last hour or so. Here in this somewhat innocuous kitchen.
She tried to force herself out of what was taking hold on her by viewing her surroundings with condescending amusement. A country, boondocks kitchen. It was hardly a moonlit glade, now was it? Or a shimmering, secret lake in a flower-strewn forest. Or even....
The thought trailed and died, unable to sustain itself. She didn't feel amused. She felt...
Oh, she felt so....
She found herself moving abruptly to her feet, taking a step after him before she was entirely aware of what she was doing.
Afterwards, she could never say what it was that prompted her to say her next words aloud. Oh, she knew why they were in her mind - and heart - finally she did know and was prepared to let herself acknowledge the fact of it. But to actually speak them into the soft, electric-filled darkness of the living room…
Perhaps it was the intimacy of the cozy time spent in the kitchen with a mug of chocolate warming her hands and the warmth of the company. Perhaps it was that in the small hours of night secrets are often spoken as barriers fall. Maybe it was an acknowledgement of the heat that had been between them since the moment he had appeared out of the shadows on the stoop. Undeniable heat. And something more. Something...longing. A soft yearning. Or perhaps it was just the giddy feeling that seemed to rise in her all at once from the pit of her belly like bubbles surging through water. But for whatever reason…
"Sooooo…" she said, striking a coy pose as she tucked her hands behind her back and tilted her head to study his retreating back. "Don’t I get a goodnight kiss then?"
Clark froze. Watching, Lois could see the muscles…those beautiful, well-defined muscles…in his back and shoulders tighten and then he turned to face her.
"God…Lois…" he said hoarsely.
He sounded like a man in torment. He sounded like a man barely on the edge of control.
He sounded like a man who didn't need to be pushed.
But Lois Lane had never been one to heed such warning signs. And, besides, maybe she wanted to push. Maybe, a good, hard...push was just what he needed.
Maybe it was what they both needed.
Her approach was diffident as she moved towards him, but her intent was anything but. It had taken a lot of nerve to allow the confusing sensations and emotions that had been roiling in her all evening, building within her through the laughter and fun of the festival, the journey home, mellow with alcohol and good times, the disturbing intimacy of using his bed...it had taken a lot to allow those feelings a voice. Now that she had, she wasn't about to let her prey get away from her now. Wasn’t about to let either of them back out of this moment of truth.
She gave him a quick glance, hesitated only a moment as she screwed down her nerve, and then she raised herself on tiptoe, put a cool hand against the side of his neck to balance herself and pressed her lips to his cheek. It was a brief kiss, almost platonic. She withdrew slightly, closing her eyes as she breathed in the warm spice of his scent in the darkness, as she felt the rush of blood in the pulse beneath his skin, the heat that rose from him. She seemed to hang there for an eternity…willing him to make the obvious move.
<Come on, Clark…take the hint>, she whispered silently. <Just a little turn of your head, that's all…just an inch…or two.>
Beneath her fingers she could feel the raging of his pulse and he was trembling so fiercely beneath her touch. But he remained unmoving and finally she drew away, disappointed.
Only to find herself pinned in place as his hands settled on her upper arms, holding her just slightly clear of him. For an eternal moment he stared into her eyes, seeming to search for something deep in her soul. Whatever he was looking for, he seemed to find it. His own eyes darkened and he crushed her to him as he took her lips in a soul-destroying, almost desperate kiss.
~@*****@~
As his lips closed hungrily over hers, Clark wondered for one insane moment if he was dreaming. In the same instant that he surrendered himself to the inevitable, his control shorn abruptly away from him and lost as the kiss deepened into something that swept away his breath, sent his senses spinning into an oblivion of heat and pounding desire, he nevertheless instinctively sought to give Lois a moment's respite, a chance to retreat - if retreat was what she wanted. His hands dropped away from the tight, almost bruising grip they had on her arms, releasing her as he tore his lips free of hers and strung a line of darting caresses along the line of her jaw.
Retreat wasn't in her game plan it seemed.
Instead of pulling away from him, as he'd almost expected (or slapping him in the face for totally misreading the situation as his imagination had almost convinced him she would), she pressed herself harder against him, the length of her body molding itself to his own as she burrowed her hands into his hair and breathed soft exhortations for him to continue against his cheek. The result was sweet torture, a sensation overload, and he heard himself make a guttural sound that was half-protest, half-encouragement as he wrapped an arm around her waist, spreading his fingers against her hip to hold her with him, press her tighter still. Suddenly, having her retreat wasn't in his game plan either. If she moved away, if she with-drew, if he lost that contact of her body against his own, he thought he might just die where he was.
Seemed like both of them were in agreement that being in his arms was where she should stay.
Lois. In his arms. Wanting to be. Kissing him. Doing that...thing with her...and making those...and then there was the way that she kept...and...whoa...how did she manage to do that without....
He closed his eyes, his breathing coming shallow and fast, as his thoughts began to dissolve and shred apart. Lois began to pay attention to his left ear, the tip of a delicate tongue caressing the lobe and inner shell in ways that pulled a taut, almost unbearable wire of tension tight within him.
He was definitely dreaming.
He'd been here before, of course. An eternity of times, times beyond counting. He had taken her into his arms this way in the still, moonless silence of an Alpine forest, had held her tight against him and savored the sweetness of her lips against his own as they'd lain on a sun-drenched Hawaiian beach, had heard her sigh her pleasure and passion against his skin as he'd caressed her in the twilight warmth of a Singapore night.
And it wasn't always passion. There were nights where he had spent time with her sitting at an umbrella-shaded table on a pavement café, under the warmth of a sapphire Tuscany sky. Where they had laughed and teased and strolled the tree-lined avenues of a Parisian boulevard, hand in hand, fingers laced, and her face alight, her dark eyes luminous, with the pleasure of warm companionship.
And, always, those moments were shredded eventually. By the dawn light creeping into his room like a thief, that stealer of dreams, or the voice of a cranky Editor-in-Chief demanding his story, on his desk...NOW! Or Jimmy slapping him against one shoulder and asking if he could have a dollar for them. (Jimmy maintained that, with inflation running at an all-time high, a penny wouldn't get you anything these days.)
And in their wake, reality was cold. Cold and lonely...and desperately disappointing.
The details might change, the locations, the circumstances, but always they ended the same way. Always. With this woman in his arms, with her soft curves pressed tight against him, her passionate murmurs warm against his ear as he....
....felt her shift closer against him, her soft curves pressing their warm weight against his chest through the thin layers of material that separated them...frustratingly close, but not close enough...that tantalizing touch, that hint of what delights might lie beneath, making him ache suddenly with frustration and the need, rising up in him like a spark from a sudden inferno, to feel the connection of flesh to flesh, with no barriers between...
Yes, they always ended the same. Like this. Like now.
Only one thing convinced him that this was no fantasy, no office daydream, that this was real.
In all of those sweat-soaked nights and daylight fantasies, not once - not even remotely - had his subconscious suggested to him that the idyllic place and time to consummate his passion for Lois Lane was a small farmhouse kitchen in the dead of night while his parents slept soundly upstairs.
There were haylofts for that kind of thing, a distant part of him thought, almost offended. Lazy summer picnics down by the lake. Or a bed of sun-warmed moss out in the woods. His fantasies had availed themselves of all of these. Quite frequently.
But, never here. And never like this. He had no exhibitionist tendencies in him (although he suspected that if Lois was to offer to make love to him in the middle of Metropolis Grand Central he might not object. Any port in a storm, after all.) and had always maintained - both consciously and otherwise - that something as beautiful and intimate as making love to the woman of your dreams (and sweat-soaked fantasies) should be conducted in private. Not to mention somewhere where you weren't like to be interrupted.
Unless his subconscious had suddenly decided to rebel, he couldn't imagine it would change its mind on that one.
So...he guessed that, this time, it must definitely be real then.
Having come to this more than satisfactory conclusion, he decided to quit wondering and just enjoy. He had the vague impression, as he pulled Lois closer and bent his full and minute attention to exploring the heavy, warm sweetness of her mouth on his, with its lingering hint of chocolate, that something about those meandering thoughts...something in there...should be causing him concern. Something that he had already noted, but had failed to consider the entire implications of. But it was lost in another moment, lost with every other thought in his head, as he surrendered himself to nothing but sensation....
...to the wonderful, thrilling sensation of having her in his arms.
His hands shifted their grip on her, sliding back up her spine and onto her shoulders, where they kneaded fitfully at the long bones before moving on restlessly to curve themselves around the sides of her neck, his thumbs hooking beneath the points of her jaw, as he deepened his exploration of her mouth. Lois made a sound deep in her throat - like nothing he had ever heard, though he had certainly kissed woman before her. That sound thrilled him, sent a shiver of answering anticipation racing through him, fluttering like something fragile in the pit of his stomach and deeper still, as something primal within him responded instinctively to the unconscious invitation held in that soft sound of pleasure.
Her hands had tangled themselves into his hair, holding him in place against her lips, even as he cradled her in his own grip. Neither willing to let go of this moment, neither able to stop....
Her perfume rose around him, clouding his senses, enflaming him further - a promise and a temptation, it spoke of mysteries he had yet to explore, pleasures he had yet to find, to give her in return....
Her scent, rich, warm and spiced with desire, the touch of her skin against his palms, smooth like silk, slightly cool, the taste of that skin against his lips as he ran a rash of fervent caresses across her cheek and brow and the sound of her heart beating beneath his fingers as he spread them against her neck....these were the connection to life he'd been missing since his powers had vanished. These were what enriched the world around him, what made it real.
Lois.
Lois made it real.
And, oh, but a part of him - a part that was half-afraid, half-resentful - still expected to have this dissolve in another moment, the feel of her skin, the touch of her lips, all of it to fade like smoke in the air. And to find himself alone once more in the dark shadows of his room.
Except...she didn't seem inclined to.
With a soft sigh of gratitude to a universe which had finally, it seemed, decided to get things right, he nuzzled at the long, delicate curve of his partner's neck. "Lois..." he murmured as he found an enticing spot behind her right ear. "Lois...."
"Mmmmm....Don't stop...Clark....oh...Clark...."
Her voice against his cheek held the same husky quality it had earlier, when she had initiated this, and it had the same effect on him now as it had then.
He had truly begun to think he'd gotten away with it, as he'd walked away from the kitchen and headed for the sofa. A nonchalant goodnight...well, okay, a slightly flustered goodnight...and he'd been seconds away from being free and clear and out of the reach of temptation and trouble. Trouble that came with capital 'L'.
Turning his back on her though had taken an amount of effort that had shocked him and he'd been dismayed to find that he was actually trembling as he did so. What was happening to him? For goodness sake, he'd spent almost an hour in his parents' kitchen, sharing warm milk and small-talk with his partner. Hardly the most erotic way to spend time. Lois, it seemed however, was quite able to throw his body into total chaos and his emotions into a whirlwind by doing not very much at all and simply by being around.
It was nothing more than the coziness brought on by a severe attack of early morning insomnia, he'd told himself firmly. She was his partner. Nothing more. At least...nothing more for her. She had enough trouble putting up with that. If she thought for one minute he harbored ambitions to go beyond that....
His partner, he'd repeated grimly. His colleague.
His colleague.
Someone who had shown not one hint of physical attraction to him. Okay, well, maybe a little. But certainly she'd shown no sign that she wanted to act on whatever...small...spark of natural, common...something...was between them.
He had clung on to those realities in an effort to gain some control over his body and emotions, both of which suddenly appeared to be raging out of control.
The fact that they were not alone here. The faint discomfort he felt at being in territory he associated with his childhood and the awkwardness of his teenage years, mingling with adult thoughts and desires that seemed to have no place here, opposing emotions that were in embarrassing conflict.
The certain knowledge that Lois Lane would sooner solicit the attentions of Orlan Hamble, the assistant editor from advertising - whose breath, she frequently complained, smelled like he habitually flossed with fish paste - than those of a partner who she generally considered an abject nuisance most days of the week and a pretty pitiful specimen of manhood at any other time.
He had just started to think that he might actually be able to make it to the sofa without embarrassing himself in front of Lois when she'd torpedoed any hope of salvation with that soft request. The sly, throaty quality to her words, had shivered through him like a fever, almost as though...
...as though her voice - and her request - had given him tacit permission to turn back to face her and to take note of what he'd been trying to avoid taking note of for the last hour or so, since he'd found her on the stoop. The way that those shorts and the faux innocence of her posture showcased those long, smooth legs of hers. The way that her hands, clasped behind her back, pulled back her arms and stretched the material of her t-shirt taut. When he had forced his gaze upwards, with both reluctance and mortified shame, her eyes on his had been molten, her lips moist. Inviting.
When she had reached up, those lips had pressed fire and heat against his cheek and he had been able to feel the tremulous need that was in her, quivering through the soft curves pressed enticingly against him and his control had wavered, his heart hammering its storm within the cage of his ribs, as though it was a frenzied animal trying to tear itself free of its prison.
Yet, still, he'd made no move to act on the impulses and desire warring through him. He might never have done - confused and shaken by the power of his responses, bewildered by her sudden desire for him, uncertain of what game she was playing here and of how far she might want him to take it....
What had crushed the last vestiges of the tight control he'd been trying to hold on to wasn't the kiss, nor the offering it implied. Those he could have resisted. Just barely. No, it had been in the way that she had withdrawn when he'd failed to reciprocate. The look of disappointment in her face, the darkness that had flickered into her eyes...and the sure and certain sudden knowledge as he had watched her retreat that if he rejected her now she would never make that offer again. One chance was all that you got with Lois Lane.
And that he couldn't resist. Had no defenses against. He had no way to fight the flicker of hurt in her eyes or that sense that she was closing herself off from him, moment by moment, heartbeat by heartbeat. He couldn't bear to watch her draw back from him that way, to shut herself off from him. In just an instant more, he'd understood, her disappointment would turn to embarrassment, the moment would be lost, replaced with an awkwardness that their friendship might never survive, letting it be damaged beyond repair. It was already newborn, fledgling and fragile. It would never survive an aborted seduction attempt.
Besides, he'd had to question his reticence. A beautiful, desirable woman was offering herself to him, wanted him...what was wrong with him? Why was he holding himself back from her? Why was he even thinking of rejecting her? She was a grown woman, not a child, not some teen experimenting with fire without understanding the consequences of what she was doing. She wasn't drunk or under the influence of some love potion or spell. He wasn't taking advantage of her here. She understood precisely what she was offering him. They both did. They both wanted it. Why deny that? Why fight against it?
Put like that, he'd had no answers and his stoic refusal to let her tempt him seemed ridiculous. Yes...pretty dumb, even.
In another moment, her dark eyes had drawn him in and he had stopped thinking, stopped trying to fathom her...he had taken hold of her, his need for her flaring up into a surge of heat and fire and he had kissed her....and everything stopped. All his thoughts, all his questions. Everything but the pulsing beat of his heart against hers and the feel of her lips against his own, and his kisses had grown more reckless as the fire consumed him.
Now, he obeyed her soft pleading, reclaiming her lips and hearing her sigh into his mouth as she whimpered softly. His hands ran a path down the length of her spine, caressing her hips, cradling them for a moment as he spread his fingers to steady her, as the force of the passion between them became something almost physical, rocking them back and staggering them.
Lois sighed again as he shifted to press his lips to the soft, perfumed hollow at the base of her throat and then moved impatiently on, even as her own kisses grew more forceful, more demanding, heated with urgency and need, staggering him slightly backwards again before one blindly flailing hand found purchase against the sofa behind him and he managed to recover balance. Leaning against the support, he let go and thrust his hands into the soft, silken mass of her hair, feeling it spill across his fingers as he responded to that increasing heat between them, his own kisses deepening.
He was vaguely aware that letting go of the back of the sofa had been a bad idea, only with the distant realization that the arm was too low against the back of his knees to keep him upright. In another moment, as Lois pressed her passionate assault on him, he landed on the cushions with a softly expelled breath. His startlement was abruptly over-written by the sudden discovery of just how much more interesting this new prone position had become. With Lois's full weight on top of him they were suddenly connecting in entirely new places...and highly interesting places at that.
He heard her chuckle against his ear - a sound that sent a skitter of molten heat coursing down through him, where it settled in a warm, liquid pool in the pit of his belly, but which also disconcerted him quite a bit. There was a distinct note of...evil...in that amusement. Above him, in the deep shadows of the room, her face was a mystery, giving him no hint of her intentions. And then she moved abruptly, her weight shifting against him in ways that caught his breath in his throat. In another moment she had straddled him, her hands caught in the waistband of his shorts to steady herself as she looked down at him.
The low light from the kitchen behind them caught in her eyes. Her gaze was dreamy, her eyes dark pools. She smiled and he reached up, framing the fragile bones of her cheeks to draw her gently down to where his lips waited.
Her hands burrowed their way beneath his t-shirt, warm and welcome as they traveled across his stomach and chest. He closed his eyes, surrendering himself to her attentions as he let his head fall back against the sofa's arm.
His hands, spread across her back, moved in soft, fitful caresses, before he shifted, removing his hands and ignoring her faint protests as he took hold of her around the waist, maneuvering them both so that their positions were reversed. He was slightly hampered in his intent for a moment as he discovered that she was harder to shift beneath him than he'd expected, provoking a grunt of effort from him and causing him to blink in surprise. Then he adjusted to the unfamiliar sensation of weight and gravity and succeeded in his aim. He found himself flushing, was dismayed to discover he had broken out in a sweat, and he hoped that his clumsiness had been brief enough not to have been noticed. He had recognized the more shattering implications of losing his powers, but curiously it was the small and insignificant things, the daily habits, the minutiae of his life, where the loss ambushed him most and made him aware just how much they had been a part of his life. A part of him, of who he was.
Lois smiled up at him from her new position - was it just a little tentative? - and then reached up with languid arms to hook them around his neck.
"Very smooth, Farmboy," she murmured, her voice carrying just a touch of smokiness within it, that trailed spectral fingers down his spine, making him shiver. "Have you been practicing?"
~@*****@~
Lois almost laughed aloud at the startled look that came over her partner's face. Then, because she could tell he was working up to an adorable and no doubt stammering denial that he'd been doing any such thing, she tightened her hold on him, raising herself so that she could kiss him soundly.
With a sigh of pleasure that thrilled her, he relaxed into her embrace, his weight settling on her deliciously. Then he sat up, resting on his heels either side of her as he straddled her, his movements careful. Keeping his eyes fixed on her face, he reached down for the bottom of his t-shirt and drew it up and off in one smooth movement that drew her eyes irresistibly to the ripple the gesture caused in the muscles of that smooth chest. As she let herself relax fully into the contours of the sofa, one hand moved almost of its own volition to lay her palm to the warmth there, reveling in the sensations against her skin as she drew a soft caress across the hard, flat stomach and up along a taut chest.
She had never understood why men seemed to equate virility with being hirsute. She knew that some affinity with a bear seemed to excite some women, and that men endowed with that kind of body-hair seemed to flaunt it as though it was a powerful aphrodisiac, but she had never been impressed nor shared the enthusiasm. The skin beneath her questing fingers was slightly slick with the moisture of their exertions so far, giving a seemingly oiled smoothness as the pads of her fingers glided over it. She heard herself make a small sound deep in her throat in appreciation and then a hand covered hers, stopping it in its tracks and she looked up, startled, so lost in her explorations that she'd almost forgotten where she was.
Clark was grinning down at her, eyes twinkling with amusement, and she blushed, then laughed with him as she spread her hands up and onto his shoulders, tightening her grip there as the laughter died, as something much more serious flared up between them again, and she drew him down, letting him pleasure her with his lips as he set them to the sensitive juncture between shoulder and throat.
Desire flared up within her, like an inferno sparked by a spluttering flame and for a time there was nothing but the fire, running molten and volcanic through her....
And then Clark tore his mouth free of hers, panting heavily. "Lois...Lois...wait...wait a...minute...we shouldn't…we can't…"
Lois was having none of that. She growled, crushing her lips against his again. But he pulled away from her. Clearly with an effort, but that didn't mollify her any. "Lois…stop." He looked down at her, the soft brown eyes apologetic. "Lois, I'm sorry, but I can’t do this. *We* can't do this…"
Lois stared up at him, beginning to feel all of the old pain of rejection well up in her as she stilled reluctantly beneath him. She felt a low heat rising in her cheeks - what had gone wrong? Had she misjudged what he wanted so badly? But he had been enjoying it, she knew he had. She *certainly* had. So, what had changed things? What was he - ?
And then the words he was murmuring registered in her mind as he cradled her face in his hands, words of apology and regret through the soft, hot kisses he was lavishing across her face and brow.
Regret? What was he saying?
"…don’t have anything. I mean…you know…"
He didn’t have…? Oh! A low giggle rose in her chest and he paused, drawing back slightly to look down on her again. Now that she understood his objections, Lois found them positively endearing. Not to mention his complete lack of preparation for the encounter. Most of the men she'd known, sexually or otherwise, kept a stock of contraceptives in their wallets just in case they got 'lucky'. Course, most of them had outgrown their sell by dates years since, but still…the intent was always there. Somehow, she wasn't surprised that Clark wasn't one of the guys.
She shook her head and stretched her neck to kiss him softly. "No need…taken care of…" she murmured breathlessly against his cheek as she let her lips discover the warmth of his skin....until she stopped abruptly, dragging herself clear of his embrace, her eyes widening slightly as she pulled back to look at him, stricken. "Unless…" she felt the heat rising again as she blurted, disconcerted, "I haven't…well, you know. With a guy. For a time. I mean I'm not…I mean I have…but you don’t have to worry about…things…"
He frowned. "Things?" he ventured and then, obviously catching her meaning, "Oh no…no! I'm not worried about *that*!" he assured her hastily. He paused and then added haltingly, "You shouldn't worry about that either. I…." he floundered to a halt.
She reached up a hand, feeling the heat of his blush against her fingers and secretly touched by the sensitivity of the man lying against her. "I know," she said softly with a small smile. "I'm not worried. Not at all. I want you," she added solemnly and, as she saw the reaction to her words flare hot in his eyes, she lifted herself and reclaimed his lips.
~@*****@~
Clark surrendered to the hands that clutched at his shoulders and pulled him down into Lois's embrace. Relief flooded through him. Confessing to his complete lack of sexual experience hadn't been something he'd wanted to be doing right then. Actually, what he wanted to be doing right now was…
He frowned, unable to fully let go of the faint thread of anxiety that had begun to seed its way through him, a subconscious understanding that this simply wasn't right beginning to bludgeon its way to the surface of his mind, despite the obvious distractions the willing, beautiful woman in his arms was providing. Though he was glad she wasn't concerned about the practicalities of their lovemaking, still, he didn’t want her to worry about his previous sexual history. He didn't want her to worry about AIDS or STDs or anything else for that matter. He wanted her to enjoy what they were about to do. Heck, he wanted to enjoy what they were doing...he didn't want to think about anything else.
<So, why don't you just shut up and go with the flow?>
He shook off the irritable demand from a part of him less interested in what was right than in personal gratification.
He didn't want to lie either.
Lois demolished all of his good intentions an instant later, as her lips meandered a warm path down his chest, sending shivers through him and dissolving all of his control. All of his attempts to question. Drowning, he surrendered to it despite himself, as desire, like a tide, swept over him and tugged him down. Down to where she waited. To where all his dreams and hopes waited....
<...this is everything you've ever wanted...why deny it...?>
<...don't think, don't ask...>
No. No....
No, wait.
Something wasn't right.
This just wasn't...
*...right.*
"No!" He dragged himself to sit abruptly, swiping a hand through his hair as he shook his head.
Lois sat too, sighing and with a touch of impatience this time. "Now what?" she demanded, irritably. "Clark, there's nothing to worry about, I'm, you know, safe right now and - "
Clark turned his head to view her, ignoring her as he interrupted, "Why?"
Impatience ebbed as her face clouded with confusion. "Why what?"
"Why me? Why now?"
"What?"
"Why do you want me now? Why do you want *me* at all?" He shook his head. "Lois, in all the time I've known you, you've never given me the impression you took this kind of thing lightly. Remember the rule?"
"What rule?" she said, more confused than ever now and then, as his stare deepened on her, "Oh," she said in a small voice. "That rule."
"Exactly. You told me you never sleep with your colleagues. You made a pretty big deal of it, as I recall. So, why me? Why now? Why change your mind for someone you've never shown any interest in till now?"
She was silent.
"I just don't understand it, Lois," he went on, his entire manner showing frustration now. "If it was anyone else, I'd say maybe you were feeling lonely, like a fish out of water, I know how much you despise the country, that maybe you're just feeling a little depressed, needing to...connect.... But...I never got the idea that you would - " He hesitated.
She grimaced, her posture tightening with offence, as she straightened her shoulders and raised her chin slightly. "Say it, why don't you? Jump into bed with anything that moves just because I'm feeling a little...alone? Sleep around?"
Clark sighed. "Lois," he said gently. "That's not what I meant. That's not what I *think*."
"Why not? It's what everyone else at the paper thinks. Or haven't you been listening at the water cooler lately?"
"Gossip doesn't interest me," he said, face hardening. Yes, he'd heard some talk. But not as much as she seemed to imagine was going around and not all of it as unsympathetic to her as she seemed to believe. "I make up my own mind about people. But, from what I have heard? You know a lot of people - more than you might think - seem to share your opinion of Rochert."
She looked up at him and he was surprised to see the shimmer of tears in her eyes, more surprised still by the look of hopeful longing he saw deep in those liquid depths. Did it really matter so much to her what people thought? If so, she did a pretty good job of hiding it.
But then, he had always known that beneath that tough-as-nails exterior and that Mad Dog Lane attitude there was something more. Something vulnerable and tender, with a heart that was softer than she let on.
She sighed. "Clark, is this really necessary? Can't we just, you know, enjoy the moment? Have fun?"
He shook his head. "No. No, we can't."
"Why not?"
"Because it's not fun, Lois. Not for me. I mean," he amended, looking flushed all at once, "it is - it *was* - fun, but - " He sighed and turned to face her properly, reaching out to take hold of her hands in his. "Lois, I'm just not good at this."
She lifted a brow. "Felt like you were doing pretty good to me," she told him. And then, a wistful addition, "For a time there anyway."
"It's not enough. Lois, I need to know what changed your mind. About me. We've been partnered for six weeks now. In all that time, you've never shown any hint that you felt this way about me. In fact, mostly you've never shown me anything but the impression that I was under sufferance and you'd much rather I wasn't there, getting in your way, at all."
She flushed and looked away, down at their joined hands. "We...let's just say I've seen a new side of you. Here. You know, we had a lot of fun tonight, Clark, at the festival." She looked up at him, something in her eyes almost pleading for agreement. "Didn't we?"
"Sure, we did, Lois, but - "
"So, you know, maybe I just...started to realize what I was missing. Or perhaps..." She shrugged. "....perhaps I've seen inside myself. And maybe...maybe I don't like what I saw."
His heart melted. "Oh, Lois...." He smiled slightly and disengaged his grip on fingers that had tightened around his, lifting a hand to cradle her chin and lift her head. "What's not to like?" he said softly.
"Oh, you know," she said airily, obviously trying for an attitude of 'who cares anyway'. "I'm opinionated, domineering, arrogant, pushy...or so my dates and my sister tell me."
"They're wrong," he promised, gently.
"Are they?" She ducked her head. After a moment she muttered, "Claude...Claude said I was about as feminine as a pitbull...."
That last was said so low he barely heard it. When he managed to decipher it, his eyes widened and a burst of laughter escaped him before he could stop it.
Lois glanced up at him, startled, and twitched as he leaned over to wrap his arms around her and tug her against him. For a moment he thought she'd struggle against that embrace. Wounded pride and offense was stiff in her spine, like a cat. But then she relaxed against him. The low burr of amusement was still in his voice as he apologized against her ear, "I'm sorry. But, Lois, honestly, that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."
Clark shook his head. There had been a note of pique in what she'd just said that made him aware that she didn't *truly* believe what Claude Rochert had said. She was very aware of her femininity, had even used it to her advantage on occasion. But still...it must have hurt and a small part of her, buried deep, had taken it to heart it seemed, for her to remember it and have it still sting. Rochert, he knew, was able to find chinks in Lois's armor like no other man had and the scars he'd inflicted on her ran deep. Sometimes, it seemed that the hurt he'd caused, the damage he'd done, caused more pain after the fact than when he'd been around. Another man's insult she might have shrugged off. But Rochert...he was salt in any wound, could cut open her heart like no man had been able to before or since, even months after he had left. Like most of his kind, the wreckage he had left behind him survived long after he had moved on to fresh conquests and new hunting grounds.
Even so, he couldn't believe she was taking something so ridiculous so seriously. There was a spark of buried anger in him at Rochert for trying so hard to hurt her - and for succeeding - but for the moment he couldn't find his way past what a ludicrous method he had chosen. How could she even believe it for one moment? He pulled Lois closer.
"If you weren't the most beautiful, most feminine woman I've ever seen," he whispered. "I would never have - "
He stopped abruptly, his body tensing against hers and she pulled back, her eyes searching his face curiously. "Wouldn't have what?"
He hesitated, consternation taking hold of him, aware that maybe he was stepping into something he wasn't sure he wanted to get into. Then he shook his head, his dark eyes holding hers and something of what he was feeling - respect, admiration - must have been visible in his gaze, because she blushed suddenly as he reached to gently push back a loose strand of her hair. A small, self-mocking smile quirked at the edge of his lips.
"Wouldn't have fallen in love with you right from the first moment I saw you standing there, in Perry's office."
tbc...
