Culinary Mayhemby Blueowl
Lois nodded to herself as she laid everything out on her back counter and beside her stove on the kitchen island.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Clark asked, honestly looking baffled at everything assembled.
“No, no, I've got this, you just sit and relax,” she urged.
“Well, okay, if you're sure,” he said, sounding extremely uncertain.
Did he think she couldn't do this? Granted, if he believed Jimmy, it was understandable that he would be uneasy about letting her cook them dinner.
She turned to the stove, glad she didn't need to watch his expression. He was likely worrying about how dinner would taste or if indigestion would follow.
Well, she would prove Jimmy was wrong and express her thanks to Clark who had questioned Jimmy's accusations. Surely that indicates he has some faith in her cooking abilities, right? Right?
“You sound hesitant. Do you think I can't cook?” she asked, trying to sound light but really wanting to know as she got the cutting board out.
She then opened the cookbook and quickly found the recipe.
“No, it's not that, I just didn't think you liked cooking. And I guess I'm . . . just a little . . . confused?”
“Confused?” she asked, preparing an onion.
“I'm glad you invited me for dinner, I . . . uh, I guess I'm confused by . . . what kind of dinner this is? I mean. . . .” He trailed off nervously.
Oh.
She then spotted tentative hope in his eyes.
Oh. . . .
Um.
“I'm fine with whatever you were thinking,” he added quickly. “More than happy, really! I just didn't want to assume and. . . . ” He blushed and she quickly realized she was blushing just as much.
She had bulldozed so quickly into wanting to prove what she wanted to prove that she hadn't even thought about how it would look. . . .
Inviting Clark over for dinner.
Just the two of them. . . .
No wonder he had responded the way he had when she had asked! Though happy, he had been flabbergasted. She had thought it was because he had been thinking about what Jimmy had told him!
“Um. . . . Look,” she said haltingly, knowing she had to come clean now. “I, uh, overheard you and Jimmy talking.”
Clark tilted his head, looking even more confused.
“A few days ago, about . . . my cooking,” she admitted.
She thought back to earlier that week.
“–Lois is a horrible cook!” Jimmy said. “Trust me.”
“Surely, things can't be that bad,” Clark argued.
Her heart had swelled at hearing Clark defend her, as lackluster as it was.
Perry had called them soon after, so fortunately for Jimmy she hadn't heard his rebuttal. Granted, she wasn't sure if she would have actually confronted him if she had. She hadn't confronted him over what she had overheard, afterall.
Primarily, because she was afraid he was right.
Clark blinked at her, appearing even more baffled. “Your cooking?” he asked, before his eyebrows went up, realization dawning. “Oh!”
Lois looked down, expecting pity or a deflection.
“Lois, we weren't talking about you,” he said gently.
“What?” Her eyes flew back to his, disbelievingly.
“Jimmy was telling me about his uncle, Louis, and how he can't even fix proper meals for himself,” Clark explained, his eyes telling her he was telling her the truth.
“Oh.”
Clark looked at the island covered with food and elaborate dinner prep with new understanding.
“You wanted to show me Jimmy was wrong, huh?” he questioned.
She sighed and nodded, feeling stupid as she fought against her emotions. She was not going to get weepy over this!
Why was this even important to her?
She didn't know, but it was.
“We can do something else if you'd like?” he offered. “You don't need to prove yourself to me.”
He really was sweet at times, but now she wanted to cook for him even more.
Why did she do this to herself? Oh well, there was nothing for it.
“No, I said I'd cook us dinner, so I will,” she decided, allowing her stubbornness to take over to beat back her overly sensitive side that had been threatening to start the waterworks. “I want to, really.”
Clark smiled, once again accepting her mood swings with grace. “Okay.”
So she got to work.
Cooking actually wasn’t as difficult as she had expected, though she had to admit it was both helpful and weird to have Clark just watching her after she had once again refused any help. Admittedly, she had cooked part of this meal the night before for herself, so it wasn't like this was all new. Just half of it.
She dumped the chopped vegetables into the pot and then took a drink from her glass of water.
“Um, I’ll be right back. Sorry, bathroom,” Clark suddenly said.
She waved him off, unbothered as she focused on seasoning the meat.
A little later, the meat was ready to be cooked and so she poured the oil in the pan like the directions said. Pleased by her progress, she turned on the heat before noting how the bottom of the pan could still use a bit more oil. She poured in some more, but then her slick fingers dropped the bottle of oil. It hit the counter and bounced, flipping end over top and flinging the flammable liquid all over the stove, on the floor, and on the electric burner.
It all instantly ignited.
Screaming out in horror as tall hot flames licked at her apron and shot high into the air, she instinctively grabbed hold of her glass of water beside her as fast as she could.
And threw the water onto the flaming oil.
What followed was the last thing she expected.
An expanse of red, yellow and heat blasted out in all directions, but then a whoosh echoed forth and a rush of cold, white air gushed from somewhere over her shoulder as arms protectively wrapped around her and pulled her back.
In less than a blink, the fire was out, leaving frosty white and black smudges all over the stove, pan, floor and beyond, even covering the microwave on the kitchen counter straight across from the now ruined island.
Heart hammering in her chest, she managed to conclude that, somehow, Superman must have heard her initial scream and rushed to her aid just before stopping the explosion she had somehow created.
And his arms were still around her.
Her eyes remained on her obliterated dinner, spotting the pot of now frozen vegetables behind the remains of the once perfectly seasoned chicken, as she became aware of Superman’s heart thumping hard in his chest which was pressed firmly against her back.
Doing her best to collect herself and wondering where Clark was – because surely he had heard her from the bathroom? – she allowed herself to relax against Superman and be reassured by his presence.
She blinked, realizing something else.
She wasn’t the only one breathing heavily.
Had this been scary for Superman too?
What would have happened if he hadn’t gotten there in time?
She would have been covered in burning oil. . . .
Perhaps that was why she could feel his heart hammering and why he was breathing the way he was.
“Thank you, I don’t know how you got here in time, but–” She glanced down, expecting to see blue fabric on well toned arms.
But she didn’t.
The arms around her had . . . normal sleeves.
She immediately whipped around, her mind a total blank. She didn’t know what to think.
She found Clark.
Just Clark.
Looking dazed and uneasy. Afraid.
“Clark!?” she rasped. “B-but—the fire! You–you blew out the fire? You’re—? Wha–?”
She gaped, totally at a loss for words as her brain stuttered and did its best to comprehend what had just happened.
There was only one answer.
“You’re Superman?” she whispered finally.
He swallowed as she continued to stare.
“I . . . yeah,” he responded lamely.
Silence rose as she tried to reconcile the fact her adorable, selfless, and sometimes frustrating partner was also the amazing alien who had destroyed a planet destroying asteroid a few weeks before.
“You're Superman,” she repeated.
He nodded hesitantly.
She looked at him even more closely, and she began to see the similarities.
How had she missed them all?
“I . . . I wanted to tell you, I just . . . didn't know how,” he said after a moment.
She didn’t stop staring at him, still trying to process it all. He took her silence as insistence to continue.
“But I guess, really . . . I was . . . scared.”
Scared?
He had been scared?
She noted he still looked scared.
Superman was scared?
“Scared?” she questioned, amazed.
“I've never told anyone. Well, not willingly, anyway.”
She didn't understand the last comment, didn't understand much of what had just happened, but as she glanced back at the charred mess he had just saved her from she frankly didn't care.
He had saved her from some real serious harm. What could compete with that? Did he think she was going to be angry or something?
She frowned and privately admitted to herself that in different circumstances she might have gotten angry at him for not telling her, but considering everything. . . .
She was just grateful.
And the fact he had wanted to tell her counted for something.
“I'm sorry. I know . . . I know this is a shock. I–I'll answer whatever questions you have,” he said. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, supremely nervous. And very un-Superman-like.
Then she remembered how he had left to go to the restroom while she had been cooking.
“Did you really go to the restroom earlier or did you hear something?” she suddenly asked.
He blinked in surprise before rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh, heard a car wreck a few streets away. The driver needed to get to the hospital quickly.”
Her eyebrows rose, suddenly re-evaluating the countless instances of when Clark disappeared without warning and oftentimes with a lame excuse that really made no sense.
“You really need to work on some of the excuses you give,” she pointed out.
He playfully winced. “Yeah, I suppose I do, but now . . . maybe you could help?” he asked hopefully.
She smiled before giving in to a chuckle and stepping forward, only to be reminded of the disaster that was behind her by the oil slick covering the floor.
She deflated.
“Here, come over here. I'll take care of it,” Clark said suddenly.
She let him guide her to the chair at the kitchen table, not quite understanding what he wanted to do. And then he blurred.
And suddenly all the splattered oil, black residue, ruined meal, and frosty remnants disappeared, leaving her stove and the back half of her kitchen like new.
She looked back and forth between the renewed kitchen and her sheepish partner standing beside the island.
“Wow.”
He smiled.
“Superspeed certainly comes in handy,” she added.
“It can,” he agreed, relaxing slightly.
She smiled softly at him, and she knew it reassured him as he relaxed further.
“So. . . .” He stepped forward.
“So . . . ?” she inquired, amused.
“About dinner.”
“Yes?” she asked when he didn't continue.
“Shall I. . . ?” He then did a swooping motion with his hand and it only took her a second to figure out what he meant.
She grinned, and she felt both awed by the fact Superman was offering to get them food and moved by how nervous Clark was while (she hoped) asking her out.
“Are you offering to pick something up for us? Super takeout?” she asked, placing a hand on his arm.
He looked down at her hand. “Well, I suppose that depends. You hadn’t really answered before,” he said, slowly meeting her eyes. “What kind of dinner do you want this to be?”
She smiled softly at him and repeated what he had said less than an hour before. “I’m fine with whatever you’re thinking.”
He licked his lips, and he looked so vulnerable. “I’m . . . I need you to know something.”
She waited, instinctively knowing she shouldn’t interrupt him.
“I’m not–” He frowned, struggling for words. He started again. “Superman is just . . . what I can do. This–” He motioned at himself. “This is who I am.”
The earnestness was palpable and she was instantly struck by what his words truly meant.
“Oh, Clark.” Tenderly, she lifted her hand and cupped his face. “That's really why you were so scared to tell me, wasn't it? You were afraid I would no longer see Clark,” she said.
He glanced down before looking back up. “Do you?”
She leaned forward, her face close to his. “Who was I making dinner for? Who do I call outside of work? Who do I let edit my copy?” Then she blushed. “Who did I perform the dance of the seven veils for?”
Clark smiled, blushing as well before slowly lowering his lips closer to hers. He then whispered in joyful relief, “Me.”
She nodded and closed the distance.
She eased into the kiss, wanting to draw out the tenderness as much as possible. He matched her pace, and soon she felt his hands on her arms and she returned the strokes with her hands on his face and neck. His hands slipped to her back and their kiss quickly intensified.
Kissing Clark was nothing new, and neither was kissing Superman for that matter, but knowing she was kissing them both because they were one in the same . . . it was far more intoxicating than she could ever have imagined.
Clark had super strength but was the most gentle man she knew, retaining his farm boy charm and reacting to her touch as if he wasn't invulnerable – though maybe he was super sensitive?
She smiled between kisses, suddenly imagining certain, ehem, things.
“What?” Clark asked.
“You,” she said, before kissing him again, this time fully allowing herself to be swept up by how amazing Clark was at kissing.
Dinner would wait.
O o O o O
The End
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Prompts by bakasi
Want:
-Lois and Clark in a situation that Clark can only resolve by revealing his secret
-a misunderstanding
-a kiss
Don't want:
-Mr. Mxyzptlk
-AltClark
-Time Traveling
CommentsTOC2023 Fictathon Master List
