Clark slowly drifted into wakefulness, the scent of sizzling bacon beckoning him with its overwhelming aroma. Blinking black the last vestiges of sleep, Clark smiled. His wife, Lois Lane, after years of instruction, had finally mastered an art that had always eluded her – cooking. His stomach roiled suddenly – a feeling he had only experienced while exposed to kryptonite. Well, he admitted wryly to himself, nausea plagued me during Lois' first few practice attempts at cooking. In fact, he had made a trip or two to the porcelain bowl due to the "meals" she had prepared. Maybe my stomach is just recalling those horrible moments and still isn't accustomed to the new Chef Lois.
He rose carefully into a sitting position, feeling slightly dizzy. He shook his head, trying to dispel the unfamiliar sensation, but the action only seemed to intensify the vertigo and increase the nausea. He slid awkwardly from the bed, alarmed at the bile he felt rising in his throat. He supersped to the bathroom, dropping to his knees in front of the toilet as exhaustion settled over him. Sweat trickled down both sides of his temple as he heaved fruitlessly, bringing up nothing. His hands trembled and he closed his eyes for a few minutes, sighing in relief when the nausea finally began to abate.
He stood slowly, gripping the sink tightly for support. He swayed alarmingly on his feet as he tried to find his equilibrium. Once he felt steady enough, he lightly padded toward the kitchen. However, as he tried to float a few inches above the ground at the stairs' threshold so his descent wouldn't disturb Lois, he found he couldn't. Concerned, he tried again and again, but his efforts only seemed to further exhaust him. He walked slowly down the steps, wondering why he felt so drained.
He stopped at the doorway leading to the kitchen, leaned wearily against it for support, and watched as his beautiful companion's hips swayed to a sultry rhythm only she could hear – probably some Whitesnake ballad, he thought, wryly. He smiled, his eyes shining with love despite his exhaustion. Suddenly, she conjured a spatula seemingly out of nowhere, transferred the bacon to a plate, and turned off the oven. All the while, she remained unaware of the cerulean eyes following her graceful steps – or so he thought.
"Smallville, I know you're there, so come over here and kiss me already," she demanded, smirking as she turned around and made her way toward him. He smirked back, not wanting to give away how lousy he felt.
"Yes ma'am," Clark deadpanned, meeting her halfway and planting a slow, sensual kiss on her lips.
"Show off," Lois joked, swatting him playfully, her flushed cheeks and breathlessness giving away his effect on her.
He opened his mouth to retort, but another wave of nausea cut off the flow of words, causing him to grunt in surprise.
Lois leant back in his embrace to face him, her brow furrowed in worry. "Smallville?"
His features visibly tensed as he closed his eyes, waiting for the uncomfortable sensation to pass. However, the queasiness continued to hold his stomach in an unrelenting grip. With incredible foresight, Lois ducked out of his arms, snagged a bowl from the drainer and held it underneath his head, just as he bent over and retched. Soon, the spasms ceased, but he continued to dry heave miserably.