Clark glanced sideways, watching Lois sing and drum on her knees, and his heart swelled with love. He loved this Lois so much. The one who teased him and flirted with him and sang in the passenger seat of the car.
He loved the version he worked with too – the one full of righteous indignation and a passion for making the world a better place. The brilliant writer who could lay waste to corrupt government officials and foil the schemes of criminal masterminds.
But this Lois...the one who blushed when he flirted with her and made him laugh on one of the most stressful days of his life, this was the Lois he didn’t want to share with anyone else. This was the Lois he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.
“Start watching for the road,” Lois said, turning the volume down. “We’ve got to be getting close to our turn.”
Once they turned off the main road onto the little backroads that would lead them to the cabin, it was only another ten minutes or so. Suddenly, Clark wished he had chosen a more remote destination. Somewhere that would have required a longer drive. Much longer.
Right now they were existing in a beautiful, hazy liminal space; no longer at work in the real world, not yet at the cabin where they would have to talk about hard truths. Right now there was an outdated road trip mix tape and hand holding and twizzlers and the brilliant, teasing smile of the woman he loved. He wanted to stay in this Jeep forever. Just keep driving off into the sunset in the right now.
“I think that might be it,” Lois said, pointing ahead at a green street sign in the distance.
She was right. He slowed and made a right onto the narrow road, following the twists and turns.
“It’s gorgeous,” she said, resting a hand on his thigh and reaching past him to point out his window. “There’s a lake.”
“Yeah,” he said, covering her hand with his and squeezing gently. “That's where we went fishing last summer. We’re almost there.”
Two more turns, and they had arrived. Clark turned down the gravel driveway, following the winding path over a small bridge and up a hill until the trees cleared and a small cabin appeared.
“Oh, I love it,” she said, squeezing his thigh and sending a jolt of pleasure through his body.
They parked in front of the house and made quick work of carrying in the bags. Lois wandered the living room, lingering near the fireplace, while Clark unloaded the contents of the cooler into the refrigerator.
“Do you think it’s cold enough for a fire?” Lois asked wistfully from the living room, and Clark laughed softly. He didn’t care if it was a hundred degrees outside, he was not going to miss out on his chance to kiss her in front of a roaring fire.
“Definitely,” he said. “Come talk to me about dinner, and then I’ll build you a fire.”
She joined him in the kitchen and he held out an arm, beckoning her to join him in front of the fridge to survey the options. She smiled and crossed the room quickly, sliding her arms around his waist and resting her head on his chest. He curled his arm around her, resting his hand lightly on her back, rubbing gently. He wanted to pinch himself and make sure this was real, but instead he rested his cheek on the top of her head for a minute, and then refocused on the reason he had called her into the room.
“For dinner, we can have scallop and artichoke risotto or chicken and mushroom fettuccine alfredo,” he said, gesturing to the two sets of fresh ingredients. “Which do you want tonight?”
“Wow,” she said, obviously a little stunned. “You really weren’t kidding about not feeding me pizza.”
He let the refrigerator door swing shut and cupped her cheek. “No, I really wasn’t.”
She lifted her face in invitation, and he smiled as he kissed her. It was a slow, leisurely kiss, and his fingers trailed over her cheeks and down her neck, memorizing the feel of her.
When she finally pulled back, her eyes sparkled and her hand went automatically to her mouth to cover her smile, and she suddenly seemed so young and innocent. “All that and he cooks too,” she teased, and he laughed heartily, surprised and flattered.
He kissed her cheek and just let himself look at her for a moment. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll make it for you,” he said finally. And though he meant for her to choose between the dinner options, a part of him knew he would gladly offer her the world on a platter if she would continue to look at him like that.
“The scallops,” she said. “I love artichokes.”
“I know you do,” he said with a smile. “Why don’t you go check out the bedrooms and decide where you want to sleep while I finish putting this stuff away and start the fire. I recommend the master, because it has an en suite bathroom with a big tub I think you’ll like. But if you want a little more privacy, you can have the whole upstairs.”
“Okay,” she agreed, giving him a quick hug before turning away and going to explore. His arms felt empty without her, and he had a moment of panic thinking of the conversation they needed to have and how angry she was going to be. He was torn between wanting to savor every sweet moment with her before, prolonging the inevitable as long as possible, and ripping off the bandaid. No part of him wanted to tell her right now, but he was scared that the longer he waited, the angrier she would be about being here under false pretenses. Would she be hugging and kissing and cuddling with him if she knew? Probably not, and that made each touch feel stolen or coerced.
He finished in the kitchen, then went into the living room and crouched in front of the fireplace. He opened the flue, then pulled an armful of logs from the rack beside the fireplace, and arranged them in the grate. He added some kindling and newspaper from the kindling box and glanced around quickly to make sure Lois hadn’t returned before aiming a few beams of heat vision into the kindling and watching the fire take hold.
He was just standing when Lois came back down the stairs and smiled at the sight of the fire. She came to join him, wrapping her arms around his waist like she had in the kitchen and resting her head on his chest, watching the flames.
“Did you find the matches?” she asked. “I couldn’t find any earlier.”
He froze. It hadn’t even occurred to him to look for matches. Obviously he didn’t need them, but he couldn’t believe he had been so careless not to at least look and make sure they were nearby.
The silence hung between them. He couldn’t bring himself to lie to her, not about something so silly when he was so close to telling her the whole truth. But he wasn’t ready to tell her. She was so warm and soft in his arms, and he just wanted one evening to savor her.
“This is so nice,” she said finally. “We should turn off the lights and sit and talk.”
He felt his whole body sag with relief, and he reached up to stroke her hair. “That sounds wonderful. You want to open a bottle of wine?”
She pulled back and nodded. “Go get the wine, and I’ll get the lights.”
He kissed her forehead and went to the kitchen, pulling a bottle of white wine from the fridge and searching the drawers for a corkscrew. He located one finally, and poured them each a glass.
When he returned to the living room, the overhead lights were off, and Lois was curled up in the middle of the couch waiting for him. She was bathed in the warm light of the flickering fire, and he had a momentary vision of laying her on a blanket in front of that fire and making love to her, watching the firelight dance over her bare skin.
He pushed the image from his mind, and handed her a wine glass, then sank onto the couch beside her. He put his arm around her, and she scooted closer, resting her head on his shoulder. He wanted to freeze time right there and memorize that feeling in case it was the last time. He sat his wine glass on the end table beside him and turned his body to face her, resting his free hand on her knee.
She looked up at him, pensive for a moment. “Tell me about your college days,” she said finally.
“College days?” he asked, not following her logic.
“Last night we talked about who we were in high school. I want to know who you were in college.”
“Ah,” he said with a grin. “Okay. I went to Midwest because they had the best journalism program in the area. And they offered me a full ride to play football. I had a few other offers, but none of those schools had journalism programs.”
“I knew you played football in college, but I didn't realize you got a full ride,” she said, taking a sip of her wine.
He nodded. “Yeah, that was really lucky. My parents saved for college as best they could, but a scholarship was the only way I was going to be able to afford a big school like Midwest.”
“What position did you play?”
“Running back, technically, though I moved around some. Always offense, though. Always a receiver.”
“That makes sense,” she said with a suggestive grin.
“Oh?” he asked, curious.
She looked down at his hand on her knee, and covered it with her own, tangling their fingers together. “Magic hands,” she said, looking back up at him. “That’s what I was thinking in the car.”
Desire for her shot through him like lightning as his mind flashed through all the ways he wanted to use his hands to bring her pleasure. He inhaled sharply, wrestling his mind back to the present.
“Now look who’s blushing,” she teased, her eyes full of invitation.
He had to touch her. He lifted his hand from her knee, and took her wine glass, placing it on the coffee table. Then slid his hand across her cheek and down the side of her neck, his fingers edging under the loose collar of her sweater. He stroked her soft skin gently, once, twice, and then slid his hand back up, skimming whisper soft over her neck and eliciting a little shiver that might have been the single most erotic thing he had ever seen her do.
His hand spanned her cheek, holding her for just a moment before sliding down to her jaw, his thumb brushing across her lower lip. She closed her eyes and whispered his name, and he was done for, completely in her thrall. His hand slid back to tangle in her hair, holding her in place as his mouth slanted across hers.
Her lips were soft and yielding, her mouth warm with a hint of the crisp tang of the white wine she had been sipping. He lost himself in her, memorizing every taste and touch. Her hands were between them, one curled around his neck, the other splayed across his heart, and he wanted so badly to feel her touch against his bare skin.
Their kisses slowed until she finally pulled away, leaning back to smile at him. He brushed one more kiss across her lips, and let his hand fall from her hair to her lap.
“You make me crazy,” he whispered.
“I just asked what position you played,” she teased.
He laughed. “Oh, is that all?” he asked, and she smiled at him in a way that made it clear she knew exactly what she was doing.
She sat back and picked up her wine glass, taking a slow sip as she watched him thoughtfully. “You said you picked Midwest because of their journalism program. Did you always want to be a reporter?”
“I always wanted to be a writer,” he said. “But I thought I would write fiction. Novels. I was always making up stories when I was a kid. I have boxes full of notebooks at my parents’ house full of my stories.”
“What kinds of stories?” she asked.
“When I was really young they were mostly sports stories. Then in middle school, I dabbled in science fiction. I was fascinated by Star Wars and…” He trailed off, thinking of his middle school years, when his powers had first started to make themselves known and he’d had so many questions about where he came from and who -- or what -- he was. “By high school, I was writing more traditional coming of age stories, with main characters who didn’t quite fit in, always searching for their place in the world.”
He watched her study his face, feeling naked and exposed under her gaze.
She reached for him, her fingers soft against his neck. “Smallville seems like a wonderful place to grow up,” she said slowly. “But I imagine it would have been a little stifling at times. Such a small town, where everyone knows everyone’s secrets. Where everyone follows the same path, generation after generation. It must be hard loving a place so much and also needing to escape.”
He loved her so much — her ability to see right to the heart of the issue; to understand him in a way no one else ever had. The way she knew that just because he left didn’t mean he didn’t love it. He tried to find words to answer her, but there were none. Instead he dipped his head and kissed her gently.
“I knew I couldn’t support myself writing fiction,” he said after a few moments. “But I didn’t want to stay home and work on the farm and keep writing part time. I wanted to travel and see the world. Journalism seemed like the perfect solution.”
She nodded. “Do you still write? Novels, I mean. Are you working on anything now?”
He shook his head. “Not right now. But I miss it. Maybe someday.”
“You should make time for it,” she said. “I bet you have a Great American Novel in you. You’re such a beautiful writer.”
“Not too touchy-feely?” he teased, deflecting her praise despite the pleasure it brought him.
“Don’t do that,” she said softly. “You know I’m just teasing you when I say that. I would never have accepted you as my partner if you weren’t an exceptional writer. And your style is more introspective than mine; more descriptive. You could write a beautiful novel, Clark.”
He stroked her cheek, overwhelmed by her praise. The logs in the fireplace shifted, and he realized the fire was burning down.
“I should put some more logs on the fire and start dinner,” he said softly.
“Do you want some help?” she asked. He looked at her skeptically, and she laughed. “Okay, do you want some company?”
“The answer to that is always yes,” he said.
He stood and crossed the room, adding a few logs to the fire and stoking the flames. Then they walked together to the kitchen where they talked more about their college days while he toasted the rice and patiently added warm water a half cup at a time, softening the grains until they were plump and tender.
Lois leaned against the counter beside him, watching quietly as he diced a shallot and added it to the pan, then zested a lemon and grated fresh parmesan over top, stirring gently with a wooden spoon.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” she said softly, and he looked up from his grating to meet her gaze. “I would have been happy with pizza. This is...a lot.”
He set the grater on the counter and stepped over to her, resting his hands at her waist. “I don’t have to — I want to. We can order pizza anytime. Let me spoil you this weekend.”
“I’d have to be a fool to say no to that,” she said, smiling up at him. He kissed her, then turned his attention back to the stove, giving the risotto a stir, and then chopping the marinated artichokes and adding them.
She told him more about her college experience and the part-time research assistant job at The Daily Planet that had convinced her there was nowhere in the world she would rather work. He listened quietly as he seared the scallops, trying to stay focused on the story she was telling and not let himself worry that this might be the one and only time he got to spoil her like this.
When the food was finished, he plated it and refilled their wine glasses, and they carried them to the small dining table. He turned off the kitchen light and added another log to the fire, letting its glow light their dinner.
He sat across from her, and she reached out a hand to cover his. “Thank you,” she said. “This is...amazing.”
“Why don’t you try it, and make sure it tastes as good as it looks before you make any pronouncements,” he teased.
She smiled and withdrew her hand from his, picking up her fork and taking a bite.
****
It tasted every bit as good as it looked, as good as any dish she had eaten in a restaurant in recent memory.
“Oh, Clark,” she moaned once she had swallowed. “This is incredible.”
His eyes flashed with heat, and she reveled in the pleasure of his desire for her.
They ate slowly, savoring the food and the company, and they talked about food while they ate. Where he had learned to cook, and his favorite dishes to make. Great meals they’d had at restaurants around the city and around the world. Foods they loved and foods they hated and foods they had never had but wanted to try.
When they were finished eating, they lingered at the table, as if they were at a restaurant and reluctant to end the evening.
Finally, as if he realized suddenly that they didn’t have to stay at the table, he tilted his head toward the living room. “Let’s go sit by the fire.”
She stood and reached for their plates, and he put out a hand to stop her.
“Clark, don’t take this spoiling too far,” she teased. “I’m perfectly capable of clearing the table and washing the dishes.”
He watched her reluctantly for a minute, and she rolled her eyes.
“Fine,” he said, rising with her and following her to the kitchen. “And I know you are capable. I just wanted to leave the dishes and skip to the part where I get to kiss you on the couch again.”
She laughed, warming at the memory of those earlier kisses. She set the dishes in the sink and turned to face him. “Will you settle for a kiss in the kitchen?”
“For now,” he said, his eyes twinkling. And then his lips were on hers again, and her hands were sliding up his chest, tracing the hard muscles beneath his soft cotton t-shirt.
They made quick work of the dinner dishes, working together easily and comfortably, as they always did. She turned down his offer of another glass of wine, and pulled him back to the living room, laughing at the hopeful expression on his face.
He added two more logs to the fire, and then she held out a hand to him from her spot on the couch, and he came to her, sitting beside her and cupping her cheek. There was no pretense of conversation this time, just his lips on hers, and she felt herself spiraling with pleasure.
She wanted more, wanted him so badly. The way he touched her, and kissed her, was awakening something in her. She leaned back, pulling him with her, until she was fully reclined on the couch, her head pillowed on the throw blanket folded near the arm rest. He stretched out above her, one forearm braced on the couch beside her head, his mouth exploring hers.
His free hand worked its way under her sweater, stroking her side through the soft cotton of her tank top before sliding his hand under it to touch her bare skin. She whispered his name happily, her hands sliding up until they reached his face, her fingers gently stroking the short, soft hair at the nape of his neck. Emboldened by her encouragement, his hand slid higher, spanning her rib cage.
For the longest time, he teased her, tracing patterns back and forth across her ribs, while his mouth worked its magic against hers, leaving her dizzy with desire. Finally, he pulled his mouth from hers, trailing kisses across her cheek and down her neck, and she gasped for air, and then whispered his name again, pleading this time, and arched under him.
“You are going to be the death of me,” he mumbled against the sensitive skin of her neck, sending a shiver through her.
She reached for the back of his shirt, tugging it from his jeans, and sliding her hands under to touch his hot skin, and it was his turn to gasp her name. Her hands roamed up his back, exploring the taut muscles that bunched beneath her touch.
He layered kisses at the sensitive spot at the crook of her neck, until she arched beneath him again, and her hands found his face, dragging him back up so she could kiss him.
Their kisses were feverish now, fast and desperate. Her hands slid across his back, her nails scratching gently, while he teased and soothed and teased her again with his touch and his kisses.
He lifted his head, holding her gaze. “Lois…” he said, his voice was full of longing, but his eyes betrayed his fear. He was as moved by this as she was, but something was holding him back. His secret, she realized. He was still convinced she would be angry when he told her, and he was worrying about how much angrier she would be if he took advantage of her ignorance to advance their relationship on false pretenses.
She would have laughed at the irony if he hadn’t looked so earnest and conflicted. If only she could give him a little nudge, if only he could spill his secret and see she wasn’t angry, that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.
Without a second thought, her hands went to his glasses, and she pulled them from his face and dropped them behind her on the end table. He froze above her, his eyes full of fear.
She stroked his cheek, willing him to understand. “You don’t need those right now,” she said softly. “Isn’t that better?”
The room was dark except for the warm glow of the fire, and his face was in shadows, but she studied him in the dim light, her fingers caressing his cheek and then stroking his hair. How could she have looked at him every day for nearly two years and never realized, she wondered. She waited, giving him a chance to say something, anything. And for a moment, she thought he would. He was right on the edge of something, a confession or declaration.
And then the moment passed, and the fear slipped back into his eyes, and she took pity on him. He was trying so hard, she realized. He was so scared of her reaction, so scared she would reject him. She could only imagine his pain if they went from this moment to her yelling at him, angry that he had lied to her. Of course he was reticent. This wasn’t the right time. She shouldn’t push him. He had been so patient with her, waiting years for her to be ready. She could wait one more day.
She slid one hand down to his neck, tugging him back down to her and kissing him. He was stiff at first, still scared, but once her lips opened under his, he was back in the moment, and she assumed he thought she was still clueless; thought he had escaped recognition once again.
She stifled a laugh, overwhelmed by a feeling of tenderness toward him. And then his hand resumed its exploration, and the fire between them reignited.
They lay entwined on the couch as the fire in the fireplace burned down, mouths and bodies tangled together in tender exploration.
Finally, she slowed their kisses, pulling them back to reality. He lifted his head and looked at her, and she realized he was gauging her reaction, making sure she was comfortable with what they were doing, that she hadn’t changed her mind.
She stroked his cheek and smiled at him, overwhelmed by her good luck to be loved by this man.
“How in the world did I get this lucky?” he whispered.
She laughed softly. “That’s funny,” she said. “I was just wondering the same thing.”
He looked at her with a tenderness she had never seen before on the face of a lover, and she reached for him instinctively, her mouth seeking his. Their kiss was gentle this time, slow and sweet.
When he pulled back, he slid his hand from under her shirt and stroked her cheek instead. “It’s late,” he said softly. “Do you want to go to bed?”
She shook her head, not ready to leave his arms. “I just want to stay like this,” she said. “I’m afraid if I go to bed, I’ll wake up and realize this was all a dream.”
He dropped his forehead to hers, momentarily overwhelmed, and she slid one hand to his chest, pressing it flat against his heart and feeling it race below her fingers. He kissed her once more, then pulled back to look at her again. “I promise you, it’s not a dream.”
“It feels like a dream,” she countered playfully, and he nodded in agreement, smiling at her.
“What do you want, honey? Tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it.”
“I just want you to hold me for a while,” she said shyly. “We could watch a movie. I saw some in the cabinet beside the TV.”
“We can definitely do that,” he said with a smile. He kissed her one more time, and then sat up, pulling her up beside him. “Go choose a movie, and I’ll put another log on the fire.”
She reached for his glasses on the end table and handed them to him. He hesitated, and then slid them back on his face and smiled at her.
She walked to the cabinet beside the television stand, and opened the double doors. On the left were stacks of board games, and Lois smiled as she remembered the first time she had spent the night with Clark, in the honeymoon suite at the Luxor hotel. Tomorrow they should pull out the games and play a few. On the right, a few dozen VHS tapes were lined up in rows, in no particular order that she could discern.
Out of the corner of her eyes, she watched Clark crouch in front of the fire and add two more logs, adjusting their position with a metal poker.
“Say Anything?” she asked. He made a face, and she laughed. “Feel free to come check out the other options.”
He closed the metal curtain and came to stand behind her, sliding his hands around her waist and nuzzling his cheek against hers. He was quiet for a minute, as they looked over the options, which appeared to be mainly horror movies and sci-fi thrillers, neither of which seemed appropriate for the mood of the evening. Then she saw one she had missed on her first survey, and her mouth quirked into a smile at the obvious irony: the haughty princess in love with the sweet farm boy, fooled for half the movie by his simple disguise and secret identity.
She reached for it, pulling it from the shelf, and Clark chuckled behind her. “As you wish,” he said, kissing her cheek.
He wandered back to the couch while she inserted The Princess Bride into the VCR and carried the remotes over the end table, then turned to face Clark, who was sitting on the couch.
She hesitated, and he watched her face for a moment. “Do you want to sit with me, or lay down,” he asked gently.
“I want to lay with you,” she said hesitantly, suddenly self-conscious.
“Okay,” he said, smiling at her. “Good. I just wanted to make sure. I don’t want to push you.”
“You aren’t pushing me,” she said, her heart swollen with tenderness toward him.
He smiled and shifted on the couch, laying on his side against the back and reaching for her. Her cheeks felt warm as she came to him, laying on her back beside him at first. She reached up and stroked his cheek, and he kissed her gently. She rolled to face the television, resting her head on his arm and nestling her body against his, savoring his warm, solid presence behind her. His arm snaked around her waist, his hand stroking her belly gently. She brought her hand to his, tracing random patterns and caressing gently, and smiled when he sighed contentedly.
The previews finished and the movie began, but she only half watched, her attention focused instead on the feel of his body against hers, the rise and fall of his chest. He pulled his hand from her waist and she stilled, disappointed, missing its warmth. A second later, she felt his hand on her arm, stroking gently from shoulder to elbow. Then he ran his fingers through her hair, and she sighed at the pleasure of his touch as he gently explored. He pressed a kiss to her hair, and she closed her eyes, all interest in the movie gone, just allowing herself to focus on his touch.
When she opened her eyes, the television was off and the fire had burned down to embers. His arms were still wrapped around her, and she could hear his soft, steady breathing. She was covered in a blanket that he must have pulled from the back of the couch. She shifted in his arms, twisting to face him.
His glasses were off again, she realized with a smile, and he was sleeping peacefully, his chest rising and falling gently. She reached up and stroked his cheek, and his eyes fluttered open.
“Hey,” he said softly.
“Hey,” she said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“That’s okay,” he said with a smile. “Do you want to go to your room?”
She shook her head slowly, and his smile widened.
“Good,” he whispered. “Come here.”
He shifted until he was on his back, and she laid her head on his chest, draping one leg over his, and molding their bodies together. Her hand rested over his heart, thumb stroking softly. He sighed happily and adjusted the blanket, making sure she was covered, then stroked her hair until she drifted back to sleep.
*****
The sun was just starting to creep over the horizon and filter in through the cabin windows when Clark’s eyes fluttered open again. It took him just a moment to take in his surroundings and realize exactly where he was -- flat on his back on the living room couch with Lois asleep half on top of him. Her body was stretched out along the length of his, one leg draped casually over his, her arm flung across his waist, her head pillowed on his chest. She was fast asleep, her breathing soft and regular.
He took a deep, slow breath, inhaling the scent of her shampoo, and wrapped his arm tighter around her. He closed his eyes and let his mind drift back to the previous evening.
It was, without a doubt, the best night of his life. When he had invited her to the cabin, his mind had been focused only on finding a quiet, remote place for them to talk. Once she had agreed to come with him, he had decided to use the opportunity to wine and dine and romance her a little. Part of him hoped it would soften her reaction once he told her the truth. And part of him believed she would never forgive him and desperately wanted just one chance to show her how much he cared before she pushed him away.
But no part of him ever imagined yesterday. Maybe he could have conjured it in his wildest fantasies, but never in any logical part of his brain where he thought through potential real-life scenarios and how to react to them. From the moment she slid onto his desk and told him to pack his bags until the moment she fell asleep in his arms, it was one fantasy after another. The way she looked at him, the way she touched him, the way she whispered his name as he kissed her in the firelight. It didn’t seem real.
If he had awakened alone in a bed upstairs, he probably would have convinced himself that it was all a dream. That he had imagined it all. But here she was, asleep in his arms, her body completely relaxed against him. He lay there as still as possible, desperate not to wake her and disrupt this dream, but aching to touch her. He wanted to rub her back, to stroke her hair, to kiss her. But if he moved, he risked waking her, and he was not ready for this night to be over.
He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing, trying to lull himself back to sleep, but his body was wide awake. He settled for laying quietly, watching her sleep
When she woke up, he was going to make her breakfast and take her on a hike in the beautiful spring woods. And then he was going to tell her everything.
And probably she was going to yell and rage. And maybe she was going to be disappointed that her superhero fantasy was nothing more than a costume worn by a farm boy from Kansas. And maybe she was going to be disappointed that the ordinary man she finally fell for wasn’t so ordinary after all and couldn’t offer her any sort of normal life.
But maybe, just maybe, she would forgive him. Because he had to believe that the woman from last night, the woman currently sleeping in his arms on the couch because she couldn’t bear to go to her own bed...that woman would not hate him forever.
The light outside the window went from gray to orange and the room began to brighten. In his arms, she stirred and settled again, snuggling closer, and his heart squeezed with happiness.
Another half hour ticked by, and she stirred again. This time her eyelids fluttered, and he knew she was close to waking. He stroked her hair, easing her out of her slumber, reminding her where she was. When her eyes finally opened and she lifted her head to meet his gaze, the look she gave him took his breath away.
“Hi,” he whispered.
“Hi,” she whispered back, a smile playing at her lips. “How long have you been awake?”
“A while,” he said simply.
“You should have woken me. You’re trapped.”
He ran his hand down her back, tracing the curve of her spine. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” he said honestly. “I was in no hurry for you to wake.”
That delightful blush stole across her cheeks again, and she dropped her head to his chest, suddenly shy. He laughed softly and lifted his hand from her back to stroke her hair again.
“We should get up,” she said after a minute.
“Why?” he asked. “There’s no rush.”
She relaxed against him, her hand stroking his chest, sending waves of pleasure through him. After a few minutes, she giggled for no apparent reason.
“What?” he asked, already amused.
“I was just thinking about you at dinner on Thursday, reassuring me that there are three bedrooms in this house...and then I make us spend our first night here together on the couch.”
He laughed softly. “Trust me, I was a willing participant. I could have woken you up when the movie ended.”
“You can’t possibly be comfortable,” she said. She stretched, her body pressing deliciously against his, and he stifled a moan.
He held his breath, hoping she was going to settle against him again, but she sat up and stretched. “I really need to wash my face and brush my teeth,” she said, cringing. “I might as well take a shower and get dressed.”
She stood, and he swung his legs over the side of the couch, sitting up. He grabbed his glasses from the end table and slipped them on. “That sounds like a good idea. I’ll get showered and dressed too. Then I’ll make you breakfast.”
“Clark,” she said, turning to face him. “You don’t have to-”
“Hush,” he said with a smile, interrupting her. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve dreamed about waking up with you in my arms and then making you breakfast? Go take your shower and get dressed, and then I’ll make you breakfast. Then we’re going to go for a walk, and I’m going to tell you everything I brought you here to tell you. And you can yell at me all you want. But first I just want to make you breakfast.”
Before he could react, she was hugging him, her arms around his waist, her head against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, soaking her in. “I’m not going to yell at you,” she said. “I promise.”
He rubbed her back, trying to have hope that she would react better than he expected. “I hope not,” he said. “But I’m not going to hold you to that. You’re allowed to be mad.”
“We’ll figure it out,” she said, hugging him again and then stepping back, out of his arms. He nodded, and hoped it looked convincing, and then she disappeared into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.
The living room was cold and quiet without her. He gathered his bags and took them upstairs, tossing them on the bed in the first bedroom at the top of the stairs. He carried his toiletries into the bathroom, and set them on the counter, then leaned over, resting his elbows on the counter and burying his head in his hands.
Now that he had told her he was going to tell her everything on their walk, he was committed. He knew he needed to say it, otherwise he was going to put it off and put it off. He should have done it last night when they arrived, but he just couldn’t bear to do it when all his fantasies were coming true. But it wasn’t fair to her to put it off any longer. He brought her here to tell her, and he needed to do it soon so she had time to react and process and ask questions. That was the whole purpose of going away for the weekend and not just doing it at home.
So. Now he was committed, and the clock was ticking.
He took a quick shower and dressed in clean jeans and a long sleeved blue t-shirt and layered on a gray zippered vest for the hike. He put on his socks, but carried his hiking boots downstairs and set them by the door for later.
The door to her bedroom was still closed, and he smiled as his mind automatically imagined her showering and dressing for their hike. He shook off the image, and went into the kitchen, pulling out eggs and cheese and bacon and fresh fruit. He got the bacon cooking in the oven and quickly cracked and whisked the eggs together, adding milk and spices. He set them aside to start cooking once she emerged, and cut up the fruit while he waited, filling two small bowls he found in the cabinet. He grated a little cheese and set it aside next to the eggs, and tidied up the kitchen.
When she emerged fifteen minutes later, the bacon was almost done.
“It smells so good in here,” she said.
“That is literally just bacon you smell. I haven’t cooked anything else yet,” he said with a laugh.
“Well, you can’t go wrong with bacon,” she teased, crossing the kitchen to join him at the stove.
He opened his arms to her, and she came straight to him, sliding her hands around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss. They traded kisses for a minute, then she stepped back and surveyed the counter.
“Eggs and fruit,” he said, answering her unasked question. “And there’s fresh sourdough in the bag for toast.”
She leaned against the counter, watching him happily, as he heated the pan and dumped in the eggs, and for a minute he let himself imagine this was their life -- falling asleep together watching movies and making breakfast together on Saturday mornings.
He finished cooking, and they ate and cleaned up together, his nerves increasing as each activity brought them closer to their hike, and the end of this cocoon of happiness.
Finally he couldn’t put it off any longer, and they laced up their hiking books, and she pulled on a fleece jacket. She slipped her hand into his as he pulled the door shut behind them, and he smiled at her and squeezed her hand gratefully.
They followed the gravel path to the back of the house, where it ended in a little sitting area that overlooked the little creek, and then turned into a hiking trail. They walked slowly down the trail, stopping on a little footbridge to watch the water.
“It’s so peaceful here,” she said, leaning back against his chest. It was peaceful but not silent, and they stood quietly listening to the rushing of the water and the birds competing to outsing each other.
“It reminds me of home,” he said, thinking of the fields he grew up in. “It looks different than this, but it’s the same sorts of sounds -- the wind in the corn stalks, the crows in the field. But not a voice or a horn for miles.”
“It sounds like a nice retreat, but I can’t imagine living there,” she said. “I don’t know how to function without the city sounds.”
“It took me a long time to get used to the noise in the city,” he said. “But when I was home at Christmas, I laid in my bed for ages trying to fall asleep, and the silence seemed so loud.”
“Will Smallville always be home to you?” she asked, and he hesitated, not sure he understood the question. “You’ve lived here for two years, but you still call Smallville home.”
“Oh,” he said, understanding. “Yeah, in some ways I think it always will be. It’s where I grew up. It made me who I am. No matter how long I’m gone, I miss it. But Metropolis is home now too. It’s special to me. When I’m gone, I miss it too.” He paused, then added, “I miss you.”
She turned in his arms, leaning against the railing of the bridge and reaching up to stroke his cheek. Her eyes were so tender. “I miss you, too, when you go home.”
“Come with me next time,” he said softly.
She nodded and smiled, and he tilted her chin up and kissed her, imagining her in Smallville again, this time as his girlfriend.
They walked on, following the gentle trail as it wound in and out of sight of the creek, around massive trees with tiny green buds and past the first tiny shoots of wildflowers.
He held her hand, his fingers entwined with hers, his thumb lightly stroking.
They reached another stream crossing, without a bridge this time. The water was low at this point, just trickling over the rocks, and they could cross it easily, stepping from rock to rock. She went first, dropping his hand and insisting she didn’t need help. But halfway across, her foot slipped on an algae-covered rock, and she started to tumble into the water. He reacted instinctively, rushing forward and catching her before she hit the water, then scooping her into his arms and crossing the stream.
When they reached the other side, he expected her to struggle from his grasp and insist that she could have made it on her own. But instead, she relaxed against him, looping her arms around his neck and resting her head against his chest.
“I love when you carry me,” she said softly.
It was on the tip of his tongue to tease her about how she was always rushing off half cocked, jumping in without testing the water, to needle her about all the times he had caught her and then carried her just like this to safety.
And then he realized abruptly that it was Superman who always carried her to safety. And that couldn’t be what she meant. His mind raced, trying to understand her words, and then suddenly he remembered their almost first date on Bruce Kennebow’s houseboat. The chinese food from Ralph’s Pagoda. And the way he carried her from the couch to the bedroom. That must be what she meant.
“I love holding you,” he said finally, telling the truth without revealing anything. He rested his cheek against the top of her head for just a moment before releasing her legs and letting her slide to the ground.
She stepped back and the look on her face baffled him. There was a gentle affection tinged with amusement, but worry too. She was waiting for his revelation, he realized, worrying about what it might be.
“It’s just a little farther to the waterfall,” he said. “We can sit there and talk.”
