For a moment, in the narrow-eyed look she granted this declaration, he saw something jaded; a bitter understanding that this was just another line, all too familiar and all too old. The kind of thing men trotted out in the most intimate of moments, when they thought it was what women wanted to hear, when they thought it would gain them something, with no more understanding of its power than that it was a convenient means to an end.
The resignation in that look almost shattered his heart, clenching it tight against his ribs as pity welled up in him. She really hadn't had the best of experiences, had she? Claude Rochert. Her father. How many others? What had they done to her to damage her this way? To cause so much festering distrust and such lingering wounds to the heart?
Whatever it had been, whatever was in her past, he knew that she hadn't deserved it.
But it was there, in her, and the legacy of it was coming between them now. He tried to think of some way to defeat it, to let her understand that he was different, that she could trust him, but he was coming up blank and she was drawing herself further away from him with every second of tortured silence that passed.
But then, all at once, before that look could congeal and chill what had been between them, a new expression overtook her, as she apparently found the sincerity in his eyes and understood that he meant it. That it wasn't just one more glib throwaway. To his dismay, she immediately paled. Something akin to terror sparked in those darkly tormented eyes. Before he could speak, she made an involuntary sharp move, seemingly intent on escape. Startled, he thrust out a reflexive hand to prevent her rising from the sofa, gripping her arm tight as he darted a quick, cautious glance up the staircase.
To his relief, Lois seemed to understand the unspoken reminder and the cause of his sudden anxiety. With a glance that followed the direction of his, she subsided, but she pulled back too, freeing herself of his grip. He didn't push the point, letting his hand drop.
Huddled against the sofa's back, hugging herself tightly, Lois was shaking her head frantically. "No," she hissed at him in a conspiratorial tone. "You can't love me, that's just...that's crazy!" she accused. She sounded angry now and that puzzled him. She was almost acting as though he'd insulted her or something.
Clark frowned. "Why?"
"Why?" Her voice scaled a few rungs upwards on the vocal ladder with the reply, almost becoming a screech. Then, with another glance upwards, she made a visible effort to control herself. "Because..." she snapped out tightly in a low, offended mutter, "...because you *can't* just up and tell me that! It's nuts! You can't love me, it's not possible! Hell, Clark, you don't *know* me well enough to come out saying crazy things like that!"
Clark's eyebrows quirked nearly into his hairline. At his swift, astonished, and somewhat caustic glance around them, Lois flushed.
"We know each other well enough to jump into...onto a sofa together, but not to be in love?" he asked pointedly.
"That's...different," she insisted, but her voice wavered and she looked disconcerted now. "Love..." She paused, seeming to flounder and then dropped the fierceness abruptly, looking back at him in clear dismay. "Clark...what you said, it's...sweet, but I...I can't - "
"Lois, I'm not getting down on one knee and making a proposal here," he said. "And I'm not expecting any declarations from you, either. I just want you to understand that this matters to me. It's not some passing thing, some one night stand, not for me. It matters. You matter. And I want you to know that. It's important."
He sighed as her guarded expression didn't change. She looked hunted. He reached out and took hold of her hand and was encouraged that she let him. He kept his gaze on her face, as he said earnestly, "I'm not asking for the moon and the stars here, Lois. But I need more than one night with you. More than just being some kind of...consolation prize...you fall back on when you're lonely or having a bad hair day."
He watched her catch on to the important words in there. Her face tightened and he knew she was only too aware of the sudden specter he had introduced into the room with them. Between them. The missing part of this that was haunting him. The invisible gatecrasher at the feast.
"Consolation prize?" she said. She had recovered color now, her cheeks flushed.
He shrugged, pretending a nonchalance he didn't feel. "You've made no secret of your infatuation with Superman. So, I have to wonder, what makes me so special this morning? The fact that he's not around?"
He knew that the barb was a cruel one. But he also suspected it was true and he was hurt enough that he couldn't regret saying it. He saw her eyes darken even in the shadows, a mixture of anger and embarrassment flooding her expression. "Infatuation?!" she choked out.
"Can't be love," he pointed out. "You don't know any more about him than I do about you.
<Touche> a small and smug part of him applauded. He glared at it, sending it scuttling back into the recesses of his subconscious. This wasn't an exercise in point-scoring. Winning wasn't the aim. He hadn't even intended to get into this, but it seemed that his own hurt and anger over her mooning on the Superhero was closer to the surface of his emotions than he'd previously understood.
Lois's face showed him clearly that that other part of him had been right. He had scored a direct hit, perhaps even given her a mortal wound. She looked...ashamed suddenly. And he forgot about his own, petty pique, wanting suddenly to simply reach out and pull her back into his embrace, forget his qualms about her motives. She was wounded, in pain, and he couldn't bear to see that in her. How had he managed to get them to this? he thought miserably. Why did he have to spoil everything? For a time there it had been good. More than good. Incredible. Amazing. Everything he had every dreamed of and wanted for so long. And now he'd crushed it, smashed it...way to go, Kent. You're a genius.
But maybe that was the point. Everything he'd dreamed of...granted too easily. Somehow, he couldn't accept wishes come true at any cost. He had to know what he was to her, first. He had to. Otherwise...well, otherwise, it meant nothing. Was worth nothing. And that he couldn't bear.
Her discomfort was quickly overtaken by anger. Watching it take possession of her, he sighed inwardly. Always her first defense and her surest path of retreat.
"Why not?" she snapped. "I know that he's kind and decent and a good man. Isn't that enough?" She waved a hand at him as he looked skeptical. "Oh, what? The great proponent of love at first sight suddenly doesn't believe in it? Is it any harder to believe I fell in love with Superman the first time I saw him, than it is that you...you...fell in love with me that day in Perry's office?"
He looked at her, aghast. "It's not the same thing, Lois!"
"Why not?" she challenged, folding her arms. A dangerous sign.
"Because you're real!" he blurted.
She frowned. "And Superman isn't?"
"No! I fell in love with a flesh and blood woman that day. Someone I could hope might one day feel the same way about me. Superman can't ever give you that! He's - "
" - out of my league?" Her expression had cast itself in stone and he could feel her slipping away from him, all of the intimate warmth they had so recently begun to share evaporating in the icy chill that emanated from her.
"No," he said wearily. He rubbed a fitful finger at his temple. He was starting to get a headache. Another mundane reality of his loss that he could happily forego. He was beginning to wonder if 'normal' was all it was cracked up to be. It certainly wasn't turning out like he'd always imagined. "No, that's not what I meant."
She remained tense and for a slow tick of agonizing moments that silence settled between them like the death of all his hopes. He struggled to find something to say, something to do, that would take them back from here, take them back to where they'd been, to where it had all been so good, but he floundered, unable to find his way. Knowing that he'd ruined everything and that nothing would ever be the same again.
And then, with shocking suddenness, Lois's face crumpled into abject misery.
"It's true though," she whispered. "Isn't it?" She shrugged before he could speak, deny it. "I guess I've always known it. Deep down. I just never let myself admit it. I was crazy to think there could ever be anything between us. Oh, it's not just me," as he started an automatic protest, "It's all of us. He's out of our league, Clark. He's beyond us all. He's...like a god." Clark winced, but she didn't seem to notice as she went on, "I mean, think about it - Superman, married, taking out the trash, changing diapers...it's...it's laughable really."
<Yeah...laughable....> Clark thought dismally. And Superman was a fool if he believed that he could get that simple wish come true. He wondered what Lois would say now if he confided to her that her superhero would happily give up everything for just those simple pleasures in life. To be normal. To have a wife and children, to lose himself in the mundanities of life, a calming balm to take away the hurt and pain and fear he was immersed in every moment of the day as he dealt with the wounds of the world. A home. Somewhere he could be certain of welcome and rest, succor and solace.
A home. With her.
To be with her. For the rest of his life.
To share everything he had and would have with her, laughter and tears.
Yeah, it was laughable all right. Hilarious.
Except, he noted as he came out of his miserable fugue, she wasn't laughing. She'd ducked her head, her attention fixed intently on her hands. "Maybe that's why I decided...."
"To settle for less?" he suggested. This time there was no bitterness in him. Just a weary resignation. Acceptance. But she looked up at him sharply.
"No! No, Clark, don't think that. Please. That's not how I feel about you. It's just...well, maybe I've finally let myself find reality. You know - " She hitched out a small attempt at a laugh. It sounded more like a sob, too raw and full of pain to be humorous. " - a girl can only hold on to fantasy for so long."
"And reality is?" he asked cautiously, ignoring her self-mockery.
She hesitated. "I said that Superman is a decent man. A good man. And...I know that you have a lot of those qualities too, that a lot of what's in Superman is in you, Clark. Maybe it just took me a little longer to see that, but the time we've spent here, seeing how you are here, your parents, your old school-friends, talking to them, seeing how they are with you...it's made me realize that. They respect you, Clark. They know who you are and what you stand for. Decent and honest. Maybe I needed to hold up that mirror, see that reflection of you through their eyes, before I realized what I'd been missing. Before I realized...."
She cut herself off, the wistful tone that had seeped into her words vanishing, as though she'd become aware that she was revealing too much of herself, said more than she'd intended to. He watched her, intrigued, wondering what she'd been about to say, barely daring to hope that it had been what he wanted her to say, had dreamed of her saying for so long. Knowing he could never ask and that she would never tell him if he did. Besides...it was, he suspected, a dream too far. A dream that perhaps never would find its way into reality for him.
Lois shook her head with a sigh. "Clark, I'm not looking for some kind of...surrogate. Honestly, I'm not."
She seemed to sense that he remained doubtful because she leaned forward a little, her hands tightening on his until it became painful, as though trying to convince him of her sincerity by sheer force. "Clark, it wasn't Superman I wanted to kiss me. It wasn't Superman I had so much fun with at the festival, who won me that cute bear, who shared warm milk and chocolate with me and made me feel...feel...safe and...and it wasn’t Superman I was thinking of when we were..." She paused and then took a small breath before she continued, "It was you. It was all you, Clark. Just you."
She shifted, moving closer to him, before he could answer. His heart was thudding so hard against his chest now he thought it might burst out of him entirely. He held his breath, hardly aware that he was doing so. Her mood was confiding now, and hesitant, as though about to offer him secrets that she wasn't sure she entirely wanted to.
"I don't do one night stands, Clark. Claude forced that choice on me, but it wasn't mine. I thought I loved him. It wasn't something casual. Well," she said, with an echo of his own bitterness, "I wasn't aware that it was when I slept with him, at least. I thought we *had* something. I thought he...I thought he loved me, you know? When I woke up the next morning and he was gone...when I understood it had all been just a sick, twisted...that he'd *tricked* me just to get -- " She choked off into silence and in her eyes he saw shame, twisting there like something malignant.
He couldn't bear to watch her tear herself apart over what that louse had done to her. Clark freed his fingers and put up a hand, grazing her cheek and finding the dampness there that glimmered faintly in the shadowed light.
"Lois..." he whispered, regretting initiating this. He hadn't intended for her to bear her soul like this, hadn't wanted to dredge up all the hurt and pain that Rochert had caused in her.
But she shook her head, putting up her free hand and pressing it against his, as her eyes met his steadily. "I can't promise you beyond tonight, Clark, but I can tell you that...that I'd like to try. To see where we can go, I mean. If this is...is something more than just..." She drew in a breath. "Can we try?"
For a moment he continued to stare into her eyes, his heart contracting as he met the soft plea hidden in them. Then he gave her his answer, leaning forwards to touch his lips to hers in a soft, questing caress. When he pulled back a moment later, Lois closed her eyes and wound her arms around his neck, pressing her cheek tight against his. He thought she might be crying again. Soft and quiet tears. He wrapped his arms around her and held her. "I'd like that too," he murmured.
He felt her hitch against him. It took him a moment to realize she was laughing softly. She drew away from him, snuffling slightly. "Good," she said, her smile slightly watery. But she drew the back of a hand across her eyes and tightened her shoulders. "Now...can we get back to the fun part?"
He grinned back at her. "Thought you'd never ask."
She came into his arms with a faint giggle and he tightened his embrace around her, feeling a soft wonder infuse him. What had he done to deserve knowing this woman? This incredible, beautiful, vulnerable woman.
As he turned his head slightly to nuzzle at her cheek she drew back a little, putting up a hand against his shoulder and pushing him slightly clear. He raised his head, questioning her silently, and she smiled as she reached out and carefully removed his glasses. Conditioned anxiety fluttered through him for the loss, his stomach muscles tightening, but she didn't pause to stare at him, eyes widening, didn't recoil from him, didn't gasp or faint or...well any of the one hundred and one reactions he'd imagined from her in any of his dream liaisons with her that had turned abruptly into nightmares. She simply twisted around to dispose of the glasses on the side table beside the arm of the sofa, and then turned back to face him.
Relaxing, he reached for her again, but she shook her head and he paused, confused. Her smile had turned slightly mysterious now. He watched her, curious, and then intently and with increasing interest, as she straightened to tug her t-shirt over her head. He reached to help her, and a moment later the garment was lost somewhere in the darkness of the floor and his arms were around warm, naked flesh, pressed against his own.
She couldn't possibly be aware of the symbolism, he knew, yet he was still touched by her actions. As though she had known that removing the glasses exposed him, made him vulnerable, and in taking off her shirt, exposing her own vulnerability to him, she had been making a gesture of trust in him, as much as asking for trust from him.
He swallowed past the sudden rock that had lodged in his throat and then, because the way that she was pressed against him was making thinking difficult and as desire darkened in his eyes, he leaned forward, meeting her offered lips with heat. Lois settled into his embrace with a soft sigh.
"Just love me, Clark..." she whispered. "Please..."
He could do that.
Finally...something he could give her as himself, as Clark, without his powers or his alter ego getting in the way.
That thought echoed in him, taking on new resonance as he gently bore Lois down to the softness of the sofa beneath them, a tight, flaring ecstasy rolling through him like a wild and restless tide as she molded her body to his own.
Without his powers....
There was a curious freedom in the notion. All his life he had forced himself to maintain a tight control on any situation that involved interacting physically with someone else. Especially when it was being intimate with a woman, someone so much more fragile than he was. An unfortunate incident or two -not serious, but enough to frighten a teenage kid experimenting with strange emotions and sensations that were scary enough to begin with without the added pressure of somehow making a mistake that could maim or even kill with one injudicious action - had made him cautious, wary. Perhaps too much so. The irony was that the very loss of control inherent in the act was what he couldn't risk. He had been so afraid, all these years, to take that risk.
It hadn't been the only reason he had held back from letting himself cross that final barrier, that ultimate surrender. There had been the need within him to give himself finally to someone he really cared about, really loved, for one. Someone with whom he could share everything, his entire being, everything that he was - wasn't that, after all the true essence of love? That ultimate sharing of oneself? To do that he had to be able to trust - his life, the lives of his parents, his friends, everyone dear to him could be shattered into oblivion in an instant if he made the wrong choice, if he trusted unwisely and was betrayed. But it had been at the core of his celibacy.
All in all, the ramifications of making love, for him, were so complicated by his powers that they had made it almost impossible for him to consummate any passion he'd felt before.
Their bodies glided together in electric heat and Lois moaned as she skimmed a hand across his chest and onto his shoulder, distracting him for a moment, bringing his focus back to her. She had thrown back her head, her hair fanning out around her, the long, white column of her throat drawing him like a lure. He set his lips to its base. She quivered, small mewling cries coming from her as her fingers clutched desperately at his shoulder.
Elation filled him as he moved to cover her more firmly; the wonder of knowing that he was free of the restraints of the past. Free to love Lois as he had wanted to from the moment he'd first seen her. Free to surrender himself, completely and utterly, to her, as he had never been able to before.
He trusted her, just as he loved her. Unconditionally and without qualm or fear.
His thoughts froze, his exhilaration dying abruptly and replaced by a new and sudden shame.
Yes, he did trust her. And he was repaying her poorly for it. His thought flickered back to that moment earlier, when she had taken his glasses. To the clenching fear that he would be exposed. Would that have been such a bad thing?, he thought now. Would it have been so awful? Shouldn't he show her that he did trust her? Wasn't it time he told her? Now, before they went too far? Before she committed herself to a man she believed she knew and yet knew so little of?
"Clark...?"
Lois's voice was uncertain in the darkness. He belatedly became aware that his body had stilled against hers, with the run of his thoughts. He made a conscious effort to reassure her, his movements, his caresses becoming almost frantic and to his relief she closed her eyes, her lips opening on a low whimper of pleasure, the soft, delightfully pliant, curves of her body newly sinuous and languid beneath him. But his heart wasn't in it; his thoughts continued to prickle at him, even though he tried not to listen.
Was there any point in telling her now? he thought, almost frantically. His powers were gone, they might never return. Superman might be lost for good, fading into just a memory. She might never *need* to know.
<That is such a cop out,> his conscience informed him.
He sighed against the side of Lois's neck. Yes, it was. Because it was about more than his powers, and he knew it. It was about him lying to her, concealing part of himself from her, about trust. What kind of relationship could seal itself to that without decaying? How could he commit himself completely and fully to this woman while hiding himself from her? And if she found out, a month from now, a year, ten, twenty...she would never forgive him for not telling her. She had been betrayed, lied to, by too many men before him. He couldn't offer her the hope of trust, the promise that she could give herself to him without fear, and then snatch it away from her in the cruelest of ways.
He lifted his head, put up his hands to cradle her face, stilling her as he looked down into her eyes. Lost in a haze of desire, it took her a moment to focus on him. Gradually though her eyes fixed on his, confusion in them. When he was sure that he had her full attention, he took a deep breath.
"Lois..." he started, as his heart tightened in his chest, its rough pounding reaching him even without the benefits of super-hearing.
~@*****@~
Dragged reluctantly from the pulsing storm-tide of pleasure that had been rolling through her, washing over her, drowning her in so many thrilling ways...
...Lois clawed her way back to reality, looked up hazily into her lover's face, and reined in a full-blooded scream of frustration.
Dammit to hell! Damn him to hell!
What *now*?
She stared up at him, groaning inwardly as she found the earnestness there and another quick pulse raced through her. Impatience this time, rather than desire. Uh uh. No. No way. He wasn't getting away with it again. He had interrupted her twice and he wasn't going to do it a third time. She was going to get what she wanted if she had to kill him to do it, she thought irritably, and then more irritably as that irritability further receded the distinctly good mood she'd been in a moment earlier. For an instant she thought longingly of that languid, liquid heaviness that had been in her - and then got irritable all over again as the wistful memory reminded her of the loss.
"Lois - " Clark said again, obviously working up to something that would probably be long and delay matters intolerably.
"Clark...?" she murmured sweetly.
"Yeah...?" His whisper was a breath of heat against her lips.
"You're talking."
"Well...yeah," he agreed.
"Again."
"Yeah, but - "
"Stop it."
"Oh." He paused. Then, shaking his head with a new - and terrible - determination coming into his expression, as he dragged himself upright to lean on his elbows either side of her waist, "I mean, no. I can't, Lois. This is important. I really need to tell you some - "
"No."
"What?"
"I said, no. We can discuss the modern manners of sex and this week's hog count later, Clark, okay? But just now - " She slipped her hands up to span his neck and dragged him down atop her again, feeling the hard, muscled chest crushed against her own. " - *this* is the only heart to heart I need," she murmured.
"But, Lois - " he persisted.
A finger pressed firmly to his lips silenced him. Momentarily. But it was a temporary respite, she could tell. He was working up to something and he wasn't going to be happy until he'd spoiled the whole mood, the entire thing, with whatever nonsense he wanted to get off his chest this time.
She slumped back against the sofa's arm and took a few small breaths. She removed the finger. "One more word," she told him, spacing each word evenly and succinctly in dark warning, "just one, and I'm going to get up, get dressed, go hitch a ride to Metropolis and if Perry ever tries to partner you with me again I'll resign and go work for the Star."
Clark tilted his head to view her, his expression sceptical. "Lo-is...."
She sighed. Okay, he was probably right. She probably wouldn't. Quite obviously he wasn't going to be deflected. At least...not without some persuasion. She hid a sly smile. All right...so the stick wasn't working. Neither was being reasonable. So...time to employ some carrot....
"Look, I need to say this now, because - "
Before he could get out another word, she shifted beneath him, a calculating motion of her body brushing a skillful caress against his that brought a suddenly distracted look into her partner's eyes and caused his breath to expel itsel in a startled gasp. She watched his thoughts dissolve with a smug smile. That would teach him. She raised a knee, letting her inner thigh slide along his hip, her toes run a teasing path up along his shin, and then hooked her ankle across the top of his thigh.
The maneuver had a quite satisfactory effect. Clark moaned, the sound dredging itself up from the depths of his throat and sending a thrill coursing through her. Continuing her encouraging motions against him, she wound her arms around his neck and kissed him, long and deep, sealing whatever he had been about to embark on irrevocably behind his lips. She hoped.
Of course...she thought breathlessly in another moment...this new position wasn't entirely without its effects on her either. Her restlessness increased as the stroking, teasing fingers skimming across her skin sent shivers running through her like molten fire....
~@*****@~
Wow.
Lois opened her eyes. Above her, shadows chased each other softly across the ceiling, reflecting the sinuous motions of the trees outside as they shifted in the breeze. She stared up at those flickering patterns, feeling the rabbit-hard beat within her breast began to stutter and fall, her skin begin to cool from the heat of their lovemaking. She felt heavy, sated, saturated with pleasure. If she'd had to move in the next few minutes to save her life, she wouldn't have managed it.
Besides, she didn't want to move. There was pleasure in lying there, his weight sprawled against her, still, as she let her mind drift back over the last few moments....
Wow.
<Is that all you can say, Lane?> something inside her asked caustically.
She felt her lips stretch in a wide smile.
Yup. Wow seemed to cover it rather nicely. After a moment or so, she glanced down at the dark head resting against her. She traced languid fingers through the sweat-dampened tangles of his hair and heard him make a guttural murmur of contentment against her skin. She felt a skitter of something trace a path across her spine in response to the sound. Something less than passion, but no less fierce. Deep affection, the desire to cherish and protect the man laying draped across her. How could she have missed what he was? How could she not have noticed what was right under her nose?
The gods, it seemed, had dropped the kindest, gentlest of men right into her lap and she had been distracted enough by a billowing red cape and a tight spandex suit to almost miss the chance she'd been given. How could she have been so...blinded...not to have recognized what kind of man Clark Kent was long before now?
She wasn't exactly an expert on men. Other than that she'd always believed they were a strange species, impossible to comprehend, intent on conquest and dominion, and were to be avoided at all costs if you wanted your heart to survive. There had not been many men she had taken to her bed, but there had been enough for her to understand the difference between them and the man who had just made love to her.
Made love.
There was the difference. Those two little words, right there. He had made love to her. No...no, they had made love together. He hadn't had sex with her, he hadn't used her as some anonymous, warm body in which to indulge his own lust. It had been something beyond the physical act, more than a joining of bodies. He had been gentle, taking time to ensure she got pleasure out of their lovemaking too. The other men she had slept with had barely let themselves emerge out of their own pleasure long enough to notice she was there. Claude had been a very poor lover - a fact that she had tried to console herself with since he had devastated her life. It didn't work too well, but it was certainly the truth.
Clark...Clark had loved her. They had shared something...profound. She had become a part of him with such intensity, such force, as she'd never experienced before. As though more than their bodies had melded; their hearts and souls too.
<Very fanciful, Lois - you've got to stop reading those bodice-rippers.>
Even the cynical heart of her couldn't prevent her from seeing the truth.
<And the truth is?> that other part of her, irritated with her degeneration into mush, grumbled.
That she loved him.
It was crazy, she acknowledged, before the annoying little beast in her head could speak again. It was probably the most dumb fool thing she'd ever thought. Nevertheless, it was the truth.
She loved Clark Kent.
Maybe she had loved him for longer than she'd known. Certainly, there was a surprising lack of astonishment within her for the idea. As though a part of her had always known she had and had simply been waiting for her to catch up. Get with the program. Smell the coffee. She frowned. She wished it had *told* her then, instead of leaving her to figure it out all on her own.
Clark stirred against her, drawing her attention, and she smiled as he pulled himself to rest on his elbows so that he could kiss her. His lips moved smoothly against her own, lingering, before he shifted, easing them gradually so that he was lying on his side, his back against the sofa. He slipped an arm under her, drawing her into a snuggling embrace, belly to belly, chest to chest. Dragging the crumpled blankets over them, he settled them around her carefully, and then laid his cheek to hers, rubbing a soft path against her skin in a gesture that was so tender that it made her heart skip a beat or two.
Lois closed her eyes, what was welling up in her suddenly almost too much to bear. She buried her head against his shoulder, trying to maintain some kind of decorum. It wouldn't do to let this man know just how much he had affected her, just how much she had realized she cared for him.
He could hurt her.
The ways that he could hurt her, how badly he could, seeded ice in her stomach all at once. There was a part of her that knew that she could trust him utterly, that her heart was safe with him, that he never would. But the distrust that had been bred in her over years and through bitter knowledge of his gender, was hard to let go of, hard to shed, no matter what her heart told her. The strength of emotions that this man resonated in her frightened her a little.
He stroked a hand through her hair, lifting his head, jolting her out of her darkening thoughts.
"Hey," he said quietly, sounding concerned. "You okay?"
She nodded. But she knew that she had grown tense in his embrace and that he must surely feel it. She could hear the beating of his heart against her cheek, solemn and steady. His arms tightened around her. He laid his forehead against her hair. "Don't go," he whispered.
She raised her head to look at him, startled. There had been fear in those words. "Go?" she said, confused.
He shook his head and in his eyes she saw such depth of emotion, such love, such terror, such desperate longing, that it almost broke her heart. "Clark," she said sitting up to view him better. "What's wrong?"
"I can feel you going," he said. He put up a hand to her cheek, his palm warm against her skin, before he slid it deep into her hair. His eyes were somber. "Moving away from me. Leaving me...."
What was in his eyes....
The revelation was so startling, so profound and all-encompassing, so *clear* to her all at once that it seared the breath from her.
She could hurt him, too.
Neither of them had power, one over the other, she suddenly understood. They both had the capacity to hurt, to wound....
Or to love.
It was their choice.
She had power over him, just as reckless, just as dangerous, as that which he held over her.
She felt her throat close up tight, tears gathering. "Oh, Clark...." she said, as she swallowed hard. "Oh, Clark....I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying right here." She put her hands up to frame his face, delighted laughter bubbling up in her all at once as she saw the fear subside, replaced by something akin to hope. She took a deep breath, knowing she was on the brink of something frightening and dangerous and...oh, so wonderful and exciting too. And she wasn't afraid of it at all. She was exhilarated. "Clark, I lo - "
Above her, on the upper landing, came the unmistakable sound of a door lock snicking open and soft footsteps on the carpeted floor, heading in their direction.
Those sounds broke the solemn intensity of the air in the living room - that frisson of secrets ready to be shared and revelations to be confided that had been pulsing like a heat mirage between them - as effectively as though they had been a bomb thrown into their midst.
Given the degree of sudden panic they produced among the occupants of the sofa, they might as well have been.
"Clark?" came the sleepy voice of Martha Kent.
~@*****@~
His Mom.
Oh, dear Lord - his *Mom*!
In every man, it is said, there lives a child and the child in Clark Kent became a gibbering wreck as panic set in. Some frantic fumbling ensued before he wrapped a hasty arm around Lois's waist, ignoring her slight squeak of surprise, and tugging her awkwardly onto his lap. He grabbed for his blankets and tossed them over her shoulders, letting their folds drape them both as he pulled their edges tight.
For a moment, he relaxed, crisis over - before his eyes widened. In an instant of fevered mortification, his inner eye showed him the clear image of his Mom reaching towards the light plate in the upper hall. If she switched on that light...looked over the banister...she would have a clear view down into the living room...the sofa...and -
"Mom -no! Don't put on the light!"
There was a moment of charged silence following it, in which his Mom's shocked response was almost palatable on the air. He could almost see the startled jerking back of a hand that had almost reached its goal. A small part of him noted wryly that, even without his powers, he could still at least do the S-voice - with its undertone of command that people still seemed to respond to automatically and obey without question. The light stayed off.
He heard a shift of movement further into the hallway instead. He could sense her peering down into the shadows, trying to find him, make out his shape in the darkness. Despite its covering blanket, he felt his cheeks grow hot and then a flicker of amusement - he felt like a kid again, caught with his hands in the cookie jar.
"Clark?" Martha called again. She sounded alarmed. "Clark, what's wrong? Are you okay?"
He was suddenly ashamed for having scared her. "Sure, Mom, I'm...fine. Just...just don't turn on the light. Okay?" He fumbled for a reason that would head off her next question. "It's just...the light...what with everything...it hurts my eyes. The dark's kind of soothing. A little."
That, at least, was no lie.
"Oh," Martha said. "I heard...I thought I heard noises...and what with you being so sick, I was worried - "
Intent on the conversation and his own frantic thoughts of discovery, it was only Lois's suddenly stifled gasp, muffled against his shoulder, that made him aware that the hand resting against her hip as he cradled her against him had gone on a reflective exploration, all on its own and without his permission. Smoothing its way in a slow, meandering glide across the firm muscle of her leg to caress her knee briefly before reversing course to stroke its way across the satin skin of her inner thigh, as though guided by the memory of the passion they had recently shared.
Their passion.
The thought startled him enough that he blinked.
Theirs. His and Lois's.
Lois?
He and Lois had -
Wow…
Maybe this *was* all a dream, after all. He pinched himself. Hard. And promptly decided never to repeat that experiment again. It hurt. Why did people do that to themselves? Were they nuts?
"Clark?"
"Uh, oh yeah. Yeah, Mom. It's nothing to...to worry about. Everything's just fine. Really."
Lois buried a soft cry in the hollow of his shoulder, pressing her face deep into the warm skin before she bit hard into the muscle beneath. Clark yelped. That hurt! Worse than pinching did! He was so shocked by the sensation that he almost missed his Mom's anxious whisper.
"Clark? Are you all right?"
"Huh? Oh, oh yeah, Mom. I - I stubbed my toe that's all."
Lois giggled quietly against his ear and he raised his eyes heavenward. The little minx was enjoying his discomfort. She began to kiss her way up the side of his throat. Her palm spread itself against his skin, her fingers cool.
"Oh." Martha sounded a little startled. He couldn't help but smile, distracted for a moment out of his discomfort as he realized that it was probably the first time in so long neither of them could remember that he had told her he had hurt himself.
"I'm okay, Mom," he said. "Really. I was just - "
A puff of warm breath whispered in his left ear. Lois bit down gently on his earlobe.
"….just…" He closed his eyes, stifling the low groan building in his throat as her tongue worked deliciously inside his ear. "...just making some - "
"…passionate…hot…"
"…chocolate! I was just making some...some chocolate."
Clark closed his eyes and bit down harder to stifle the groan that tried to escape him as Lois's fingers stroked their way across shoulder. Oh...God. If ever there was a time to be Superman…exercise some of that world famous self-control…super-powers or no super-powers…
Nope. Self-control just wasn't doing it for him.
What did do it was the tell-tale and familiar squeak of the step second from the top of the staircase as his Mom stepped on it.
"Clark?"
Clark's eyes flew open. "I'm fine!" he blurted and winced as his voice emerged a few octaves higher than he'd intended it to.
"Are you sure? You sound a little..."
"Just breathless."
There was a pause.
"All right. Get some sleep."
"Sure, Mom. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Clark." Martha paused. Then: "I'm glad everything is okay."
"Couldn't be better, Mom," Clark said softly, unable to keep the grin out of his face now as he gave in to his partner's temptations. He wrapped his arms around the bundle of naked mischief on his lap, lacing his fingers against her hip, and placed his lips against one damp shoulder. Lois burrowed her head against his neck, the low throaty vibrations of her giggles thrumming against his skin.
Clark listened, barely breathing, to the soft sound of his mother's footsteps in retreat. As soon as he was sure she'd gone, he let out a slow and steady breath. Deliberately and with care, he put up his hands and wrapped his fingers around Lois's wrists, tugging them from around his neck. His eyes glittered dangerously as he pushed her back onto the sofa, ignoring her stifled giggles as he moved to cover her, pinning her hands to the sofa cushions either side of her head, his protest at her treachery emerging from him in a low growl.
"You are - "
She didn't try to free herself, didn’t struggle and somewhere on the periphery of the moment his heart swelled with the awareness of her complete trust in him, her willingness to lie there, unafraid; naked and vulnerable in his grip…
…naked…
He held back a low groan of desire with an effort as he became aware of her curves pressed against him as he held her down against the cushions. The thought, the image, the sensations were incredibly, deliciously erotic……but more erotic still was the sudden knowledge that those naked curves were no longer out of bounds.
His eyes shifted downward and then her low giggle brought him back.
"What?"
"Huh?"
"I'm what?" she prompted, tilting her head to view him with coquettish curiosity alight in her eyes.
For a moment he was baffled by the question, having forgotten entirely that he'd spoken. Then, he recalled it. "Oh."
He lowered his weight on her further, trapping her deeper into the sofa's cushions and bent his head to take hold of her bottom lip, tugging it gently between his teeth, before soothing it with his tongue. His exploratory touch moved upwards, following the bow of her upper lip, and then plunged into the warmth of her mouth, before he withdrew, raising his head slightly to look down on her.
"The most infuriating, insufferable, treacherous...."
She reached up and kissed him.
"...incredible woman I have ever known," he whispered after a long moment and after she let him go.
"Clark - " Lois started softly and then paused. Clark froze with her, tensing as he too caught the tell-tale patter of returning steps that stopped on the first step.
"Oh, and...Lois?" his Mom called cheerfully. "Before I forget - I was thinking about going into town tomorrow to stock up on supplies. You're welcome to come along, if you want. But I warn you, I'll be on the road by eight thirty, sharp."
Clark found himself with an armful of partner as Lois promptly collapsed against him in a fit of uncontrollable giggles.
"Lois?"
Clark looked at the helplessly convulsing woman in his arms and rolled his eyes. "Uh, yeah, Mom," he answered dryly, since Lois seemed incapable of it. "I think she'd like that."
"Uh-huh. Well, I'll see you both in the morning then."
Clark shook his head as he heard her steps fade and the soft snick of the bedroom door closing behind her. Lois was gasping for breath now. He looked down at her, disgruntled.
"Are you quite finished?"
"Gosh, how...how embarrassing!" Lois clapped a hand across her mouth, her eyes sparkling up on him.
Clark grimaced. His own embarrassment had long since been reduced to weary resignation. Moms always had a sixth sense about their offspring being up to no good. Why had he imagined it would be any different now that he was an adult? If he lived to three hundred, she'd still outsmart him every time. "I'll say. It's taken almost twenty-eight years for my Mom to catch me making out on the sofa with my girl," he noted wryly.
As soon as the words were out of his mouth he cringed, but Lois seemed to be focused not on the time-scale, but the proprietary aspects of what he'd just said.
She took her hand away. "Your girl?"
His grin faded. "Ah, Lois - " he started hastily, aware that, despite what they'd just shared, the memories of which were still flashing shards of light in his head, he was making a gross presumption. "I didn't - "
"I like the sound of that," Lois said, almost shyly, leaning forward to kiss him lightly.
He looked at her for a moment, almost as if he was trying to convince himself that he'd actually heard her say that. Then a slow, sloppy grin spread itself across his face. "You do?"
"Uh-huh." She kissed her way down along his collarbone and onto his chest. Clark closed his eyes, then reached down to take her head in his hands and draw her back. He lowered his head, his grip shifting as it slid into the thickness of her hair, and took lazy possession of her lips, happy to just taste her, explore her, knowing there were days and nights to come when he would know her more intimately than he even knew himself and content to let that pace of days spin out as they willed.
Lois had closed her eyes, her head falling back against the sofa's arm as she whimpered softly and arched up into his mouth. Her hands stroked through his hair and then…her eyes snapped wide, she jolted upwards, dislodging him and causing him to look at her in surprise.
"What?" he asked, startled.
"Twenty-eight *years*?" Lois hissed, staring at him aghast.
Clark flushed. "Ah…um, Lois? There are a couple of things I need to tell you…."
© LabRat 2003
No intentional infringement of copyrights held.
