Title: Stay Away From Amber Waves of Grain
Author: Jocelyn Brant <jocelynbrant@hotmail.com>
Rating: G-PGish... I don't know how to rate.
Summary: Another trip to Smallville, because Lois just didn’t get the full “country” experience the last time. We’re sure she’ll like the country.
Disclaimer: No infringements in intended, as these characters are the property of DC Comics Inc., and have been used with permission by Warner Bros. I have no claim to these characters or to the town of “Smallville”, as that is also credited to DC Comics Inc. No profit is being made on my efforts.
Author’s Note : I have no idea where Topeka, Kansas is, but I needed a reason for them to be in Kansas, and so I figured a Secretary of State scandal would work wonders! Apparently the SoS exists in Topeka, so for the sake of this story Topeka is near Wichita.
I'd like to thank Anna B. The Greek, who helped me with some mistakes I had made, and for telling me parts were boring but that "sometimes a boring bit may be fitting", as well as telling me I had a lot of "its" and not so many "it's" where they should have been.
***
Stay Away From Amber Fields of Grain ***
“Lois, so the corn festival wasn’t your thing. That doesn’t mean Smallville has nothing to offer,” Clark rationalized. Lois shot him a defiant glare, as she relaxed further into the passenger side of their rental car. “You just have to visit it more often to get the full spectrum of the country.”
“That’s funny, Clark,” she said, sitting up from her seat and fixing him with an ‘incredulous Lois’ look, “because, I don’t think I do.”
“Lois,” he sighed, “you’re here now, you might as well enjoy it. Who knows, maybe it will be you begging to stay by the time the weekend’s over.”
“Your optimism is noted,” she settled back into her seat, closing her eyes as they stopped for a passing train, “and promptly ignored.” Clark’s soft chuckle carried through the cab of the rental car.
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, waiting patiently for the train to actually appear. The lights signaling its arrival had been known to go off in this area a few times, without any train to speak of. But Clark was content to just wait here, enjoying the surrounding trees of this back-road entrance to his hometown. His fingers continued to drum a nameless beat, heedless of Lois Lane’s forthcoming outburst.
“Will you stop, please?! If it’s not that incessant dinging of the Rail Road Crossing signal, it’s your fingers: hammering without a purpose on the steering wheel!”
“Uh…” he stopped the drumming instantaneously, “sorry, Lois.”
“Why don’t you put on some music or something?” she replied, trying to appease him somehow since her outburst now seemed slightly unwarranted.
“No, Lois, that’s okay. We get bad reception out here, anyway, and I’d much rather just sit and listen to the wind rustle through the trees, or the faint muffle of cows mooing in a pasture nearby. It’s—”
“Fascinating, truly; I’m going back to sleep.”
Clark sighed. He hoped she wasn’t this way the entire weekend; he knew first hand that a bored, annoyed Lois was no fun at all.
The lights finally went out, and the dinging of the signal stopped. The gate lifted, and Clark drove forward. Lois settled fully back into her seat, the car’s progression along the dirt road providing a lulling rumble for which to fall asleep by.
Within minutes they were at the Kent residence. Clark nudged Lois slightly, attempting to awaken her easily from her nap. She came awake quickly, and in seconds was out of the rental car stretching. Taking a deep breath, Lois pushed her arms over her head. At Clark’s amused look, she coughed a bit.
“This dusty air is making my nose itch,” she complained.
“Admit it, Lois,” Clark said taking a step towards her, “You like this place. The idea of spending a weekend here is filling your heart with anticipation. You’re counting down the minutes until you can milk a cow, or go two-stepping.” He stepped closer to her, and smiled mischievously down at her. He leaned forward, his lips coming closer and closer to hers, “Admit it,” he whispered. She tilted her head up to receive his kiss…
“Never,” she whispered, ducking her head. “Come on, Clark,” she said more cheerfully, the seductive tone completely gone from her voice. “Pick up our bags and we’ll go in and say 'hi' to your folks.”
Clark shook his head; she was a mystery sometimes, but he was always coming closer to figuring her out. He picked up a couple bags easily, a smile present on his face.
***
“Lois, I’ve got Clark’s bed made up for you,” Martha Kent informed. “Clark, why don’t you take her bags up there, while I get Lois something to eat – you must be starved?!” Lois smiled appreciatively at Clark’s hospitable mother. Clark hefted the bags dramatically, muttering something about women who over-pack. As he ascended the stares he shot Lois a look over the heads of the Elder Kents. When she caught his eye, he blew her a kiss, and she felt a deep crimson blush work up from her neck to her cheeks.
Such was the nature of their relationship. It had taken an interesting turn after their stay in the Lexor Hotel; when Lois called Clark, after their disastrous stay at the exquisite hotel in the honeymoon suite, they talked briefly. But Lois had something else she had wanted to say, but hadn’t had the courage to say so over the phone. Gathering her will power she’d drove over to her partner’s apartment, and paying no attention to the hour, called out his name from behind the front door.
He had come to her call as soon as he had heard it, fearing the worst where Lois was concerned. When she was admitted into the apartment, with nothing else on besides her silk pajamas, she pivoted towards him, a resolute look in her eyes.
“When you kissed me I felt something, and I want to feel it again,” she told him simply, deciding not to waste time. He had stared at her blankly for a minute before a look of pure, unadulterated desire washed over his features. He was kissing her within seconds.
Her lips were anything but idle beneath his, moving over his in a manner that spoke of passion, affection, and desire. Her hands slid up his chest, reveling in the fluttering she swore she could feel coming from his heart. Her fingers then scaled his chest and shoulders, before sifting in his hair at the back of his head.
His hands were also not idle, and had held her head at her cheeks. He had dared her with his tongue and she’d responded with a small sound in the back of her throat, and her mouth opening on a silent gasp. Their tongues slid over each other, and Lois could have done nothing but hold on to his shoulders then as her knees weakened to an embarrassing jelly texture.
“This is what I wanted,” she had murmured breathlessly, and he kissed her slowly and softly, this time, though no less passionately. After several kisses exchanged between breathless mumbles of incoherent endearments, Clark had pulled back.
“I’m not going to push you,” he declared gallantly. Her lips curled in a small smile, as her hands fell away from his shoulders. She stood then on her own feet, her appendages more concrete, and reached for his hand. She had guided him into his bedroom, refusing to dignify her inner voices with any type of response to their ‘you’re making a huge mistake’. She knew Clark, as no one else did, and it had felt right. It hadn’t been a Claude repeat, because Clark was incapable of hurting anyone; their run-in with Jason Trask again, while in Smallville proved that. When faced with hurting someone, Clark always made the right decisions.
Returning to the present from her escapist fantasies, Lois saw the pleased looks on Clark’s parents’ faces. “We’re so glad you’re here, Lois,” Martha beamed. Lois felt the blush return ten-fold, and followed, head down, as Jonathon and Martha moved to the kitchen.
***
“Well, Lois,” Clark asked Lois, later that night as they sat watching TV in Clark’s parents’ living room, “Are you having fun, yet?” She was cradled in the secure loop of Clark’s arms, and buried her nose into his neck, taking in a deep lungful of his scent. Her hands gripped his shirt-front, and she kissed his throat lazily.
“We haven’t done anything yet,” she murmured. Clark chuckled, the sound coming out more as a rasp than a laugh.
“I don’t know if I should be offended by that comment,” he breathed. She continued to brush her lips over his throat in a non-concentrated fashion. Her tongue scraped the slight stubble of the column of his throat, and he almost seemed to purr in response.
“Mmm,” she sighed, “this show is great. I love Three’s Company.” With that she pulled back, and rested her head comfortably on his shoulder. He ran his fingers through her hair, and tickled her neck slightly.
“Well, just think,” Clark said, the right amount of oxygen having returned to his lungs, “by this time tomorrow, you will be able to say you’ve milked a cow.”
He felt her stiffen, and was only given a second to prepare himself for Lois’s abrupt movements as she sat up straighter and turned to pin him with a disbelieving look. “I hope you’re joking.”
“C’mon, Lois,” he teased, “it’s easy! You’ll have fun, I promise.” He leaned forward to capture her lips, but she was already standing up from the couch.
Faking a yawn, she uttered a quiet, but pointed, “I’m tired,” and sauntered off to the stairs. Clark stood too, and followed behind her and she quickly scaled the stairs effortlessly, not appearing tired at all. He caught her wrist before she stepped into his room.
“Lois, it’s the country experience,” he explained, leading her into his bedroom.
“Cows and Prada don’t mix, Clark,” she whispered, aware of the couple sleeping in the room down the hall.
“You didn’t bring sensible shoes for the country?” he asked dubiously. She shook her head, and stepped towards the bed, pulling back the covers and sliding in. Clark followed suit, and curled behind her, spooning his body to hers perfectly. It was a narrow fit, but Clark enjoyed the challenge. He was willing to forego the "comforts" of the couch for tonight, in favor of sleeping beside Lois. His mom didn't know that, though.
“Shoes, or clothes, really,” she continued, “I wasn’t exactly expecting a detour to Dairy Land, when we finished up the Secretary of State Scandal in Topeka.”
“No worries, we can go into town and buy some new clothes,” he whispered to her neck, “I bet you’re just dying to show me off; show everyone that you landed the Smallville Hunk.”
“Show everyone? Not so much; more so, deny any allegations to the like.” She kissed his forearm affectionately, where it rested across her chest.
“Tomorrow, do you think we should tell my parents that we’re…” he left the sentence unfinished; sure that Lois would get the point. She settled into his embrace, and laid her head partly on his upper-arm, and partly on the pillow.
“Nah; I sort of like this sneaking around, stealing kisses on the patio, catching you watching me knowing you’re trying so hard not to.” He could feel her skin pull as she smiled against his flesh, “What right do I have to take that away from you?”
“You’re evil Lois Lane,” he whispered sleepily. They were both asleep within minutes.
***
”Okay,” Lois ground out between clenched teeth, “how do you do this, exactly?”
“Simple,” Clark replied, bending at the waist over her, as she sat stiffly on the milking stool, “you take the udder between your thumb and forefinger, and pull.” She did as she was instructed, a bit harsher than was necessary and was prompted by Clark, “gently.”
“Don’t make me spray you, Kent,” she said, taking his advice to go gently. When the milk came out, her eyes went wide and she turned around to give him a delighted smile. “I did it!”
“See?” he kissed her lips, “it’s easy.”
“Wow,” she hummed softly, “I never knew a squirt of milk could carry so much accomplishment.”
“It doesn’t, but you’re from the city,” he teased, making the line sound sympathetic. She glared half-heartedly at him, and repeated the milking procedure. She was so transfixed by her new found ability that it was taking a long time to actually fill the bucket.
“Lois, why don’t I take over?”
“What? The City-girl can’t milk a cow without her farm-boy boyfriend stepping in to take over?” she challenged. He smiled warmly at her, and gently nudged her out of the seat.
“No such luck, darlin’,” he drawled dramatically, “you’s was just takin’ too long.” She rolled her eyes, but acquiesced. She watched as he deftly milked the cow, not nearly as impressed with the task as Lois, but more efficiently.
She draped her self over his hunched back, “You know, Clark,” she began, “though I’d never trade the conveniences of city-life, there’s something to be said about the quiet solitude afforded to people in the country. Who would have thought, Lois Lane, number one journalist in all of New Troy, hell, the world, spending a quiet morning with her boyfriend milking a cow?”
Clark stalled his ministrations and whispered, “Is that what I am; your boyfriend?” She straightened, and he turned on his bottom to face her, his head level with her flat stomach, as he peered up at her down-turned eyes. “I mean, it’s not like we’ve made any sort of commitment to this… relationship, I guess.”
“Well,” she replied, cautiously, “what do you think you are?”
“I… I’m not sure, but I know I’m more than just your lover. A lover almost seems impersonal, but we’re intimate in ways that aren’t sexual too. ”
“So… what’s your conclusion?” she encouraged.
“That I’m your boyfriend?” he asked hopefully. She smiled sweetly above him, and he lifted his arms to hug her middle, careful to not sully her clothes with his wet hands, and laid his head on her stomach. She rested her hands on his head, delicately petting his hair. “I just wasn’t sure,” he continued, “people throw around the words, ‘boyfriend,’ and ‘girlfriend’ all the time.”
“Am I your girlfriend?” she asked steadily.
“Would you like to be?” He didn’t lift his head to see her eyes; he didn’t want to scare her with the intensity he knew to be in his.
“I’d like that,” she whispered, “very much.” He stood than, resting his upper-arms on her shoulders and crossed his forearms behind her head, then kissed her soundly on her curved lips.
“Well, darlin’, I gots me a cow to milk…yonder.” He added the last word with shifty, unsure eyes.
“Yonder?” she laughed.
“I don’t know, do they say that?” he shrugged.
“You’re the farm boy, Clark, not me,” she giggled, as he returned to his rightful position on the milking stool.
“You’re definitely not a boy.”
“Oh nothing gets past you, Kent,” she countered sarcastically chuckled as she headed towards the house, leaving him to his duties.
***
TBC: Tomorrow Morning
