This is the 3rd story in the series which began with
Weekend in Smallville and continued with
First Days in Metropolis .
Disclaimer - Most of the characters are not mine, occasional lines, themes etc are not mine.
Posting Schedule - Part 2 in 2-3 days, then as close to daily as I can manage.
Rating - PG 13 - there is a warning at the end of this part.
A huge thank you goes to IolantheAlias for her wonderful betaing, never-flagging enthusiasm, generous encouragement and amazing suggestions.
From 'First Days in Metropolis'
Lois considered him for a long moment. Then she smiled. “Yes,” she said on a decisive sigh. “I would love to go on a date with you, Clark.”
“Tonight?” he asked, hoping.
“Tomorrow.” She leant closer to him. “Tonight, I’m going to a movie with Sarah Crawford,” she whispered.
“OK.”
She put her hand on his arm. “Don’t be disappointed,” she said. “We’ll have the whole of tomorrow to anticipate it.”
“I’ll pick you up at 7:30?”
She smiled, unguarded and open, and it took his breath away. “I can’t wait,” she whispered.
“Neither can I."
ADRIFT
Part 1
Lois Lane had been listening for a knock, but when it came, she jumped and her heart went into freefall.
She indulged in a final glance in the mirror. Her black dress accentuated her lithe curves ... her make-up was subtle, yet effective ... her hair curled at her shoulders, dark against the creaminess of the pearls at her throat. Satisfied, Lois hurried to the door.
She needlessly checked through the peephole. Needless because she *knew* it was him. Not so needless because it gave her a moment to steady herself with a calming breath.
She opened the door and Clark Kent stood there, looking ... there wasn’t really a word to describe it. If she used half a dictionary, she still wouldn’t come close.
He wore a charcoal suit – probably new because she didn’t recognise it – a white dress shirt and a cornflower blue tie with splashes of burgundy. His hair was lustrous black, courtesy of a very recent wash. He’d shaved recently too. And he was wearing that coconut cologne again – the one she’d never detected on anyone else, the one she now associated with him and him alone.
But all of that was as nothing compared with the expression on his face. It was a mix of excitement and anticipation, with a dusting of nervousness.
It mirrored her feelings so precisely, Lois felt her confidence surge. “Clark,” she greeted.
He smiled, eyes melting brown. “You look ... sensational,” he said, resonant with appreciation.
“You too.”
For a few moments, he seemed content to just look at her. “Shall we?” he said eventually, and held out his hand, palm up.
She picked up her bag and put her hand in his.
As they walked towards her Jeep, Clark said, “Lois, may I have your keys, please?”
She handed them to him. “You want to drive?”
“No.” He unlocked the driver’s door and opened it for her. “My lady,” he said with a smile and a gesture for her to get in.
When they were both in the car, she said, “I guess you can take the man out of the country ...”
“Do you mind?”
She hesitated. “I like it,” she said. “I never thought I would. But I do.”
“If I open a door for you, it’s because I enjoy doing it.”
“Did your Mom and Dad teach you that?”
“I don’t remember them actually saying it. I do remember them doing it – a whole lot.”
When they arrived at the restaurant, Clark said, “Don’t move.” He swung around to her door, opened it and offered his hand as she got out of the Jeep.
He opened the restaurant door and, his hand lightly on her back, guided her through it. They were taken to a table in a quiet corner and Clark seated her before sitting opposite. The waiter brought them a menu and took their order for drinks.
Lois looked at the menu and had to admit, she was a little stunned by the prices. “I don’t suppose we’re going Dutch?” she asked.
The shock on his face was comical and she put her hand over her chuckle. “No, we are not,” he said in a tone which left no room for argument.
The temptation to tease was too great. “I guess I’m paying then.”
His mouth flew open to protest, but he saw her expression before any words emerged and his remonstration dissolved into a lazy grin. “When you date a Kansas guy, he pays. Not negotiable.”
“I didn’t know Kansas guys were so dictatorial,” she said, still teasing.
“We’re not. Unless it’s not negotiable and then it’s simply ... not negotiable.”
“And I suppose you’ll insist on walking on the outside of the sidewalk?”
“Naturally.”
“Even though it hasn’t rained in weeks and there aren’t any puddles to splash me.”
“Even then.”
“And you’ll open doors for me?”
“Yep.”
“And let me go through first?”
“Unless I have any doubts it’s safe.”
“This could get very interesting,” she said, with another giggle.
“Oh,” he said, with a knowing smile. “It’s already very interesting.”
The waiter approached with their drinks. When he’d gone, Lois said, ”Clark, can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
She smiled, because this was serious, but she wanted to give him an easy way out if he chose. “Is there an unwritten Kansas rule that says when the guy pays for dinner, the girl owes him?”
She saw his start of surprise at her question, but by the time he answered, he was composed. “Not owes,” he said solemnly, “But definitely, he’s hoping.”
“Hoping for what?” she squeaked.
“A smile, maybe a ‘thank you’ if she had a great time. And if he’s very fortunate, the promise that she’ll consider going out with him again.”
She gave him the smile – a few hours early – but she figured the chances he would get another one by the end of the evening were pretty high. “How about a goodnight kiss?” she asked.
“That ...” he said, “Is entirely her choice.”
“But surely the Kansas gentleman would have some thoughts on whether he’d like to kiss her or not.”
“Lois,” Clark said, looking just a tad ruffled. “When the lady is you, there isn’t any doubt what the guy would be hoping for.”
“Well, you can relax,” she said to make up for teasing him. “I won’t be letting you go until you’ve kissed me goodnight. Lavishly.”
He grinned, eyebrows raised. “Lavishly?”
The waiter approached and asked if they were ready to order. Clark chose the Wagyu Striploin and Lois asked for the Confit of Atlantic Salmon.
“Tell me about your parents,” Clark said, when the waiter had gone.
Lois forced a smile to cover her inner lurking qualms. “They’re not like yours.”
“Tell me about them,” he persisted.
Lois hesitated. “There’s not much to tell.”
Clark eyed her steadily as he sipped his drink. “You don’t want to tell me about them?”
“It’s not you.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t want to spoil our first date.”
He smiled encouragingly. “We won’t let it spoil our date,” he promised. “But they’re a part of you and I’m interested in everything about you.”
“What if you bolt?” she said, only half joking.
“Lo-is,” he said, perturbed enough that a small line appeared between his eyebrows. “Whatever you say about your parents, it’s not going to influence how I feel about you.”
He might as well have the truth, then. “If they ever loved each other, I never saw any indication of it,” Lois said. “Mom constantly looked for, and found, things to complain about. Dad looked for, and found, things to feed her insecurities. She’s an alcoholic, he’s a workaholic.”
Clark was trying to understand, but his evident struggle did nothing but magnify the gaping chasm between his foundations and hers. “But they had two daughters,” he insisted. “There must have been some affinity, some closeness.”
“Not that I ever saw.”
“But they loved each other?”
“I doubt it.”
“Lois,” he said, at a loss. “I can’t imagine how awful that would be.”
This first date was in danger of sliding into a cesspit of self-indulgence. “Don’t let it bother you,” Lois said offhandedly. “I survived.”
“But childhood is meant to be more than mere survival,” Clark persisted. “It’s meant to be where children flourish and grow and thrive. Where they have the security to explore and experiment and occasionally make mistakes and learn from them.”
“Is that how it will be for your kids?” she said, ignoring the needling uneasiness caused by his vehemence.
“I hope so,” he said, softly, but with conviction.
“That’s exactly how it will be,” she said. “With you for a father, it couldn’t be any other way.”
“What about for your kids?” he asked with a little smile.
Lois knew she should flippantly return his smile and agree that her kids would unquestionably be raised in a carbon-copy of the idyllic home Jonathan and Martha Kent had provided for him. But her doubts ran too deep. “Maybe it’s genetic,” she said dispassionately.
The waiter brought their meals. They thanked him and Lois hoped the delicious-looking food would bring logical closure to their conversation.
“I don’t believe that,” Clark said after his first bite of steak.
“Mine’s wonderful too,” Lois agreed.
He shook his head. “I didn’t mean the food, I meant about whether good parenting is genetic.”
“If not genetic, then certainly environmental.”
Clark put down his fork and studied her. “Lois,” he said. “Surely you don’t believe you couldn’t be a great mom just because your parents made some mistakes?”
He didn’t get it. He just didn’t get it.
He didn’t get how inherent it was. How pervasive. How inescapable.
Lois lingered over the melt-in-your-mouth salmon. “Clark, this restaurant was a wonderful choice. The food is unbelievable.”
He cut off another piece of steak. “Will you take me to meet your parents?”
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because Mom will find something about you to criticise and Dad will shake your hand like you are completely inconsequential and look for the first excuse to get away.”
He looked at her, loaded fork poised. “I could take that,” he said gently.
“But I couldn’t,” Lois said decisively. “Not yet.”
Clark gave her a little smile of support. “When you’re ready, I would love to meet them.” They ate in silence for a few moments and then Clark continued. “You have a sister, don’t you?”
“Lucy.”
“Are you close?”
“I’ve barely seen her since I moved out of my Dad’s place when I was seventeen.”
“Is there a specific reason you’re not close? A disagreement or something?”
“Nothing specific.” Lois speared a slice of cucumber, but didn’t remove it from the bed of butter lettuce. “The perfect boyfriend was her escape route of choice. Mine was the perfect career. Different people, different paths.”
“Did she find the perfect boyfriend?”
Lois kept her eyes down. “Whenever I do contact her, she has a new boyfriend,” she said dispiritedly.
“Lois, look at me,” Clark said gently. She looked up, slamming into his eyes, so deep and articulate. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have kept asking questions about your family.”
Lois sipped her wine and manufactured a smile for him. “Enough about me,” she said brightly. “What about you? What’s it like? Knowing you always have somewhere to go home to? Knowing you always have that support?”
Clark thought for a moment. “It is great,” he acknowledged. “But maybe I take it for granted sometimes.”
“Your parents know how much you love them,” Lois said with conviction. “*I* knew how much you loved them the first time I saw you together.” She smiled from behind her wine. “Do you know, I was envious of you before I even met you?”
“Because of my lovely soft bed?” he teased.
“No, because of your lovely soft father.”
Clark laughed. “Can I tell him you said that?”
Lois coloured a little at the thought of Clark’s dad knowing she’d noticed him. “You can tell him I think he’s a wonderful father,” she conceded.
“He’ll appreciate that,” Clark said. “So, tell me what happened before I met you.”
“The first night I stayed in Smallville, I was in your bedroom and I looked out of the window and I saw your parents. They were walking together, chatting. Just normal stuff. Well ... normal for them. Anyway, they stopped and laughed at something and then your dad bent down and kissed your mom’s nose.”
Clark looked at her, waiting for the rest of her story.
When she didn’t continue, his face closed a little as realisation hit. “Lois,” he said in disbelief, “You *must* have seen your dad kiss your mom.”
Lois sighed. “Clark ...”
“I’m sorry,” he said, hands raised in retreat. “I have no right to expect you would want to tell -”
“It’s not that,” she assured him quickly. Lois studied her plate for a few moments. “Most of my life, I’ve lied about it. I’ve said it wasn’t too bad, or I didn’t care, or it didn’t really affect me.” She forced herself to meet his eyes. “But I don’t want to lie to you,” she said, very low.
His hand reached across the table and squeezed hers. “Thank you for that,” he said, understanding the gift she’d given him.
“But I also don’t want you feeling sorry for me, or making excuses for me. It is how it is and I have to deal with it.”
His thumb grazed across the back of her hand. “Will you help me understand?” he said.
She smiled and removed her hand from under his to release some of the accumulated intensity. “I did see my father kiss my mother,” she admitted. “On the rare occasion when he got through the door and into the house before she’d started berating him. Even as he walked in, we all knew his heart and his head were still somewhere else. He would kiss Lucy and me, then, if Mom wasn’t already radiating antagonism, he would kiss the top of her head. Like he knew he was expected to.” Lois smiled at him, a little shakily. “When your dad did it, it looked like it was something he couldn’t live and not do.”
Clark didn’t respond, silently reinforcing the truth of her deduction.
Lois purposefully swivelled the spotlight. “Is it tough?” she asked. “Not knowing your parents? Your biological parents?”
“Yep,” he said, low.
“Do you ever think about them?”
“Yep.”
“Do you ever think about trying to contact your Dad? Is there any way that would be possible? Do you even know if he’s alive?”
Clark hesitated as he pushed béarnaise sauce onto his steak. “I don’t think it’s possible to contact him. I don’t know if he’s alive, but I feel he probably isn’t.”
“If he was alive and you knew how to, would you contact him?”
“Yes, I would,” he said gravely.
Lois smiled. “I bet he was pretty special – you had to get it from somewhere.”
She expected Clark to grin, but he didn’t. Instead he said sombrely, “Maybe Jonathan Kent had something to do with that.”
“I think both of your parents had a lot to do with that.”
Clark did smile then, but she could still see the emptiness in his eyes.
“But you still feel ... like something’s missing, hey? Something fundamental.”
“Yeah,” he conceded.
She guessed it wasn’t something he disclosed lightly. She slid her hand across the table, palm up. He placed his hand, palm down, on hers and gently brushed his fingertips against the soft skin of her wrist.
“I feel that too,” she said. “I used to be so envious of kids who had together parents and a stable home. I used to think how easy it would be to confidently venture into the big, unknown world knowing there was always a haven waiting if it got a little too scary.”
“Do you still feel that way?”
“Not so much now.” She disconnected from his eyes and looked to where his hand sheltered hers. “A little maybe. I always felt like other kids had a ... validity just because of who they were, but I had to prove I was good enough.”
“Lo-is,” he said. He was silent until her gaze returned to him. “You are more than good enough in a thousand different ways, each one more captivating than the one before it.”
His expression was so steadfast, so expressive, so ... loving.
The revelation hit her with tornado-like force. He loved her! It was so obvious. He was making no effort to hide it.
Did he have any idea how irresistible that transparency made him? Did he have any idea how vulnerable it made him?
With galling perception, she realised she had probably looked at particular men in her past like that. She wondered if they’d noticed. Certainly, if they had, it had curbed neither their willingness nor their ability to carve through her heart with unfeeling disregard.
The weight of responsibility settled deep in her gut. Clark was in love with her, which meant she could crush him as surely as those other men had crushed her.
She couldn’t do that to Clark. She mustn’t do that to Clark.
She smiled and shook off the gravity of her thoughts. “You’re biased,” she said.
“Me?” he said with feigned innocence.
“You,” she said and found herself smiling because the wonderment of being loved by Clark Kent sat fresh and vital in her heart.
They continued eating and Lois acknowledged the food warranted the exorbitant prices, but also knew she would have been just as content with a pizza.
It wasn’t the food that made tonight special. She was with the man she loved and they had explored some precarious topics, delving into deeper knowledge of each other. And he *hadn’t* bolted. He didn’t even look like he was thinking about it. But now she wanted to lighten the mood. “How’s your steak?” she asked.
“Incredibly tender,” he said. “How’s your salmon?”
“Like a dream.” She relished the final mouthful and put down her knife and fork. “Wanna swap questions?” she asked waggishly.
“I can ask you anything?” he asked, eyes sparkling with amused interest.
“Within certain parameters.”
His grin widened. “Go on.”
“Nothing about family.”
“OK,” he agreed. “Ladies first.”
“You just want more time to decide on your question,” she accused.
“I already know my question,” he said. “But you can still go first.”
“How old were you when you realised you are so good-looking?”
She saw his shock collide head-on with his self-consciousness. He dropped his eyes to his lap, picked up his napkin and dabbed his mouth. It looked like a thinly-veiled ruse to give him time to devise an answer. When his eyes finally returned to her, he perceived her bubbling amusement and broke into a sheepish grin. “What sort of question is that?”
“One I’ve always wondered about,” she countered.
He appeared to be thinking. “When I was about three years old,” he said, deadpan.
Lois giggled. “That’s a lie.”
He spread his hand across his chin and simply looked at her.
“You’re going to have to do better than that, Kent, if you want your questions answered.”
“You actually want me to answer that?” he said with hopeful disbelief.
She nodded.
“I’ve never really thought about it, but ... I suppose about the time you agreed to go out with me. I must have something going for me if someone like you is willing to –“
“Clark!”
“What?”
“Don’t try to tell me you haven’t been fighting off the girls since you were about thirteen.” She grinned wickedly. “Or maybe you didn’t fight them off.”
Clark’s colour deepened. “Lois ...” he said awkwardly.
She’d embarrassed him. And she hadn’t meant to. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly.
“It’s OK,” he said, recovering with some effort. “It’s just ... the reality is probably a long way from what you’re thinking.”
She wasn’t sure what she was thinking. Other than Kansas girls had let a gem slip through their fingers. “What’s your question?” she said.
He didn’t hesitate. “What’s your computer password?”
Now, she was the one surprised. Now, she was the one thinking about reaching for the napkin. “Ahh ...”
“Come on, Lane,” he badgered, grinning again. “We had a deal.”
“You didn’t answer my question, you side-stepped.”
He didn’t deny it, just contemplated her, a small smile dancing around his mouth. “Are you going to answer my question?”
“Not now,” she said. “Certainly not here. But I will later.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You will?”
She nodded.
“I have another question,” he said.
Lois’s heart skippety-skipped. This was a perilous game. She hadn’t realised how perilous when she had suggested it. “OK.”
“Are you happy?”
“You mean now? Right now?”
“Right now and more generally.”
The waiter approached and cleared their empty plates. “Would you like to see the dessert menu?” he asked.
Clark looked at Lois. She hesitated.
“We’ll have the Chocolate Share Plate,” Clark told the waiter. “Coffee?” Clark asked Lois.
“Latte,” she replied. “No fat.”
“Two lattes,” Clark said. “One full milk, please.”
The waiter nodded and walked away.
“I have one question left,” she said.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he said, pretending indignation. “Actually, you didn’t answer either of my questions.”
“OK,” she said. “The truth is I’m very happy.”
“Happy about work? Happy about life? Happy about ... being with a farmboy?”
“All of them.”
He didn’t even try to hide his pleasure. “What’s your question?”
“Can I be personal?”
“You mean more personal than your last question?” he exploded, with a little smile of amusement which softened his outburst.
“Do you mind?” she asked, not fazed.
He chuckled. “No. But I expect to regret this.”
“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” she said.
Their coffees and chocolates arrived. Lois picked up three sachets of sugar and tipped them into Clark’s latte, then stirred it for him. “Thanks,” he said. But his smile said a whole lot more and she had the distinct impression he was remembering how she had sugared his coffee in his car in Smallville. “What is that question?” he asked.
She chose a chocolate and popped it into her mouth, allowing the sweetness to ooze across her tongue. When she’d swallowed, she said, “How many times have you been in love?”
He laughed, possibly to cover his uneasiness. “I should have expected this,” he said.
“Expected what?”
“That dating Lois Lane would mean being pinned into a corner and hammered with incisive questions.”
The pinning into the corner sounded like fun. “So you regret dating me already?” she teased.
“Not for one moment,” he said with such low intensity, her heart reverberated in response.
She allowed herself a moment to recover. “So ... how many times have you been in love?”
“You mean the ‘can’t breathe when she walks into the room’ type of in love?”
She nodded, struggling to breathe herself. “The ‘can’t stop my heart exploding when I look into his eyes’ type of in love.”
“Once.”
His answer, so full of quiet certainty, astounded her, and simultaneously, his honesty enchanted her again. “Only once?” she mused.
“Only once,” he confirmed. He sipped his latte. “I know I have no questions left, but how about you?”
“How many times have I been in love?”
“Yes.”
“If you had asked me three months ago, I would have said twice.”
His eyebrows dipped a fraction as he considered her answer. “And now?” he asked slowly.
“Once.”
His bottom lip curled beguilingly as he considered her answer. “Lois,” he said. “That math doesn’t work.”
“Yes, it does,” she said lightly.
He grinned. “Female logic?”
“Would you like the explanation?” she offered. “Or should I just leave you to mull over it for a week or two? Like you have with my password.”
“I’d like an explanation.”
She chose another chocolate and let it melt through her mouth. “I’ve realised that what I used to think was being in love, was nothing more than a poor imitation.”
“All right.” She could see him grappling with the possible extrapolations of her words.
“It doesn’t even come close,” she mused. “Not to the real thing.”
Clark leant back in his chair and caressed her with his eyes so thoroughly, her skin tingled. He loved her. He hadn’t said it verbally yet, but she had no doubt.
“I have another question,” she informed him.
He groaned, but the lop-sided curve of his smile didn’t falter.
“This is an easy one.”
“OK.”
“What is that amazing cologne you wear? I’ve never smelt it on anyone else.”
“Do you like it?”
“I love it. What is it?”
“It’s not cologne exactly, it’s hair pomade,” he said, with a little roll of his eyes. “It’s from Australia, it’s called Gear.”
“I didn’t think you used hair product.”
He shrugged, looking a little self-conscious. “I like the smell, so I use a little at the back.”
“I never would have believed coconut could be so ... enticingly masculine.”
He grinned. “I’ll order more,” he said. “Because you like it.”
“Thanks,” she said with a smile. Lois drained her coffee. “Could we go for a walk now?”
“I’d love to.” Clark nodded to the waiter for their bill.
After he’d paid, they walked out, his hand on her back. As they hit the cool air, Clark removed his jacket and placed it on her shoulders, without her saying so much as a word.
Lois turned to him and stilled him with her hands on his chest. “Clark that was wonderful. Thank you.” She stretched onto her toes and kissed him lightly on his cheek.
His fingers touched the spot. “I remember the first time you did that,” he murmured.
“On your parents’ porch,” she said.
He put his arm across her shoulders and snuggled her against his side, and together, they sauntered away.
+-+-+-+
“Would you like to come in?” Lois asked at her apartment door.
He walked in.
“I had a fantastic time, Clark.”
“So did I,” he said.
Clark stood there, arms ramrod straight, shoulders box-shaped, hands buried in his pockets, giving no indication of what he was thinking. Or what he was hoping. If anything.
There was no way Clark Kent, principled to the back teeth, was going to make a move on her after just one date.
No way.
So … if she wanted him …
Lois closed her door, shimmied out of his jacket, laid it carefully on the sofa and stepped towards him. She kissed him lightly, with a sprinkling of promise, but kept her hands by her sides.
He responded to her kiss, but his hands stayed in his pockets.
She reached for his tie, brushed away a non-existent speck, then inched her hands up and loosened the knot just enough so it hung below his top button.
His Adam’s Apple leapt against her fingers.
“Do you mind if I take this off?” she asked.
He swallowed again. “No,” he said, in not his normal voice at all.
She smiled up at him. She slipped her fingers between his tie and his shirt and further loosened the knot. She knew his eyes were fixated on her face, but she kept staring at the lax knot as if it was the most fascinating thing she had ever seen.
With a deft movement, Lois pulled one end of his tie free and allowed the knot to unravel in the palm of her hand. She reached up and unfolded his collar, pausing to dip her fingers into the softness of his hair, then slowly skimmed down the length of each end of his tie, careful to allow her thumb and pinkie to stray onto the honeycomb texture of his shirt.
She lifted her hands from him and brought her fingers to her nose. The coconut scent was strong ... and alluring. She smiled up at him, then pulled one end of his tie, causing it to slither around his neck until the other end flopped into her hand. She tossed it on her sofa.
She skated up the contours of his shirt, until she reached where the white collar met the ridges of his throat. She slipped her fingers into the little niche behind his top button and his throat convulsed. “Can I undo this?” she asked casually.
He swallowed again. “Uh huh,” he said, stricken.
She undid his top button and drifted to his second button. “Can I undo this one?”
He nodded.
As she dropped to his third button, his hands emerged from his pockets and he placed them over hers. His melting chocolate eyes settled into hers. “Is this what you really want, Lois?” he asked. The raw edge to his voice further spurred her galloping heart.
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Aren’t you?”
He took a deep, steadying breath and cupped his hands on her shoulders. “I know what I want to do now,” he admitted ruefully. “But I don’t want to do anything that could jeopardise our future … our very, very long future together.”
“I won’t regret it.” Lois settled her fingers around his third button. “Can I undo this one?”
He stared at her and she knew the man Clark was waging war with the gentleman Clark. She needed to show him both could be winners here.
“I want this Clark,” she murmured. “I want this so much.”
He continued to stare at her with a combination of doubt and desire.
“I trust you, Clark.”
His resistance crumbled. She could tell by his slow smile and the way his fingers began gently kneading her shoulders.
“So can I?” she chirped, her fingers still poised on his button.
He nodded. “You seem very keen to remove my shirt,” he teased.
“I’ve had one far-too-brief glimpse of what’s under here and it’s been driving me crazy ever since.” She moved a button lower. “Can I undo this one?”
He nodded. “Driving you crazy, hey?”
“Ever since you barged into my bedroom.”
“I thought it was my bedroom,” he murmured.
“Maybe it was our bedroom.”
Their eyes collided and for a moment, neither of them moved. Then his smile broke like a crashing wave. “So you *haven’t* forgotten?”
“I will *never* forget *that chest*. Can I undo this one?”
“*That chest*, huh? Sounds like it made quite an impression.”
She left his just-released button and slipped her hands inside his shirt. His skin was warm and soft. His underlying tone was rock hard. “Such an impression, I made it my password.”
He tensed – visibly and audibly. She wasn’t sure if it was a response to her touch or her words. Maybe both.
“My chest was your password?” he said, voice thinner than usual.
“Thatchest,” she said, matter-of-factly. “One word. After tonight, I’ll change it.”
“I’m not even going to ask what you’ll change it to,” he said weakly.
“Good, a girl needs secrets.” She was back at his buttons. “Can I undo this one?”
“You can undo all of them,” he said in surrender.
“Thanks.” She grinned at him in delight. “What do you remember most about the moment we met?”
His colour deepened. “I’m not sure I should tell you. I’ll probably incriminate myself.”
“I bet you looked at nothing but my face, being such a boy scout and all.”
His look told her she had missed the mark and by a fair margin. She suppressed a giggle. “You couldn’t incriminate yourself more than I have. I admitted I have thought so much about this chest, I made it my password.” She undid the final button, tugged his shirt from his pants and laid it open. “Wow,” she said, on a big breath.
Her frank admiration deepened his blush.
Her hands coasted over his ribs, luxuriating in the feel of him. “What *do* you remember most?” she persisted.
“Two incredibly shapely legs emerging from the pink satin shorts.”
“And?”
He blushed even more. His colour spread past his throat and to the upper reaches of his chest. “And a far-too-tight top that didn’t leave a whole lot to the imagination,” he blurted.
“Wanna leave nothing to the imagination?” she asked nonchalantly.
His throat was still bobbing feverishly when a sharp knock sounded on the door. Lois glared at it, not taking her hands from Clark’s chest. “Who could that be? It’s after midnight.”
“Do you want me to see who it is?” Clark’s voice was still not normal.
“No. If we ignore it, they might go away.” She reached up to kiss him, her mouth ajar, her tongue poised.
The knock sounded again – more emphatic this time.
Lois pulled away. “I’ll get rid of them,” she said. “Don’t move.” She walked to the door and opened it impatiently.
Wagyu -
http://www.blackgoldfarms.com.au/whywagyu.html Gear -
http://www.gearmeup.com.au/html/s01_home/home.asp?id=home WARNING
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What's behind that door will change everything. I've posted in the WHAM warning thread if you feel you need to know more before reading on.
