Title: ILLUMINATION [Sequel to REVELATION, Prequel to CONSUMMATION]
Status: Complete
Author: SayItRight
Pairing: Smallville's Lois Lane and Clark Kent
Summary: Two months after his debut, Clark finally takes a day off, during which he and Lois discuss the new man in their lives, and further address their past, present, and future intimacy. [Set post-"Pandora"] [Romance/Drama]
Rating: PG-13 to NC-17, TV-14 to TV-MA - Not for obscenity or vulgarity, but for occasional mild profanity, for some suggestive language and dialogue, for varying degrees of sensuality, and for sexual situations. (I will assign an appropriate rating to each chapter.)
Warning: The following contains the depiction of a physical relationship between consenting adults. That depiction varies from subtle to explicit, from modest to mature. If you need me to be any clearer about what I just wrote, then this story ain't for you, darlin'. Mmkay?
Disclaimer: With the sole exception of this original story, I own nothing. I claim nothing. I am not profiting. I intend no infringement.
Acknowledgments: To the Smallville writing staff, to Tom Welling, and to Erica Durance: Thank you, thank you, and thank you for establishing such a rich foundation for Lois and Clark. To That'llShowEm: Thank you for the feedback that inspired this piece. And to hellokitty: Thank you for helping me to get a handle on my themes and motifs.
Dedication: This story is for all those over at Kryptonsite who put up with me throughout Season 9, letting me talk their ears off, letting me pick their brains, and offering me invaluable insights and opinions on Smallville's onscreen and offscreen developments. To amberdawn, asha14, BadToad, DA_Champion, DavidB1111, Ella, Jack-El49, liana, morrigan01, Terrific_T, and utguardian: Mwah!
Continuity: This story is fairly self-contained, and thus requires no knowledge of my two previous stories. All the same, "Illumination" is a companion piece. It follows the events in "Revelation," and it precedes the events in "Consummation." As "Consummation" was written first, with a broad stroke, and as a standalone, a few minor aspects of that story may seem out of joint with this one. But, in the most meaningful ways, "Revelation," "Illumination," and "Consummation" are a cohesive series. Also, "Illumination" contains a number of nods - some more, some less obvious than others - both to Superman in various non-Smallville media, and to the events on Smallville itself, from "Disciple" to "Salvation." But, strictly speaking, this story is set post-"Pandora," and so, everything after "Pandora" should be disregarded.
Author's Note: (1) "Illumination" concerns the physical dialogue, the physical dynamic, and the physical relationship between Lois and Clark, which have long been of interest to me. It is meant to portray what Smallville itself cannot, given the constraints of when and where it airs, and given the constraints of its own narrative. Also, "Illumination" is meant to fill what I believe to be a bit of a void in the fanfiction that exists that depicts the couple's physicality, but does not necessarily excavate, examine, and attempt to explain it.
(2) This piece is as much my love letter to the Lois and Clark up until and through "Pandora," as it is my farewell letter to the Lois and Clark after "Pandora," whose respective characterizations and whose relationship with one another disappointed me in some respects. Accordingly, both my admiration for many of the things that preceded the latter half of Season 9 and my concerns with a few of the things that occurred from "Disciple" onward are woven throughout this narrative - to varying degrees and to varying ends, of course.
Lastly: Please comment. Please critique. Please keep me honest. I highly value feedback of any and all kinds, and about anything from the content to the prose. And I am happy to discuss this story as it progresses.
Now, without further ado…
ILLUMINATION
[Rating: PG-13 - For some suggestive language, and for some sensuality.]
CHAPTER 1
He wakes to the loss of her warmth, to the feeling of her slipping out of his embrace. "Where are you going?" he softly asks, reaching out to wrap his arm back around her waist.
"I knew I wasn't going to make it out of the bed."
"Then why are you trying?"
She lets him pull her back to him, and gently teases, "How is it that I can almost always sleep through you taking off at night, but I can't even reach the edge of the bed without you waking up?"
"Because I can't sleep without you."
She lightly runs her fingers along the arm he's draped across her stomach, and suggests, "Or, maybe you just refuse to."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," he smiles, holding her closer to him and breathing in the scent of her hair.
"Yes, you do."
"No. I don't." He shifts his weight, moving from behind her. She turns onto her back and drapes her arms around his neck as he positions himself across and above her.
"Liar," she teases, while he begins brushing the backs of his fingers across her cheek and chin. "You set that internal alarm of yours to go off the second you feel me moving away from you."
"That's an interesting theory," he smirks, moving his hand from her cheek to play his fingers along the collar of her partially unbuttoned shirt. "Do you even bother to buy your own pajamas anymore?"
"Only bottoms."
He chuckles, and runs his hand down to the base of her throat, across her chest, and just underneath the placket. "Mind if I ask where the tops come from?"
"From the alien that occasionally invades my bed."
His smile grows and he plays along. "A little, green man, huh?"
"Mm-hmm. Just like in the movies: bald, bulbous head, and thin, toneless body."
He rubs his hand back and forth across her skin, entranced as always by the delicate rises and falls of her chest. "Doesn't sound like your type," he absently replies.
Smirking, she remarks, "That's only because some pissy little Jedi princess beat me to my type."
At the mention of her fondness for someone else, his chest and throat tighten. He starts to argue his own merits, but manages to stop himself, knowing that she'll just find some way to one-up him. Swallowing what he knows to be unfounded jealousy, he manages to take the edge off of his tone as he replies, "So, rather than pursue the scoundrel of your dreams, you've settled for…?"
"E.T., by comparison," she answers, never one to miss an opportunity to mock him. "But I'm learning to live with the disappointment."
He scoffs, and raises his eyebrows, thoroughly displeased with her assessment of himself. But, determined to not allow her the satisfaction of a wounded reply, he returns his attention to the sight of her nestled comfortably in one of the many items she's added to her collection of his clothes lately. Calmly, he asks, "And does that entail wearing these shirts for your own benefit? Or for the wrinkly, waddling stump's?"
"Mine, mostly," she replies, watching his eyes trail across the lines where the flannel material ends, and her exposed skin begins. "But it helps that he enjoys seeing me in them - even if he'll never admit it."
"Just my opinion, Lane," he offers, sliding the fabric away from her shoulder and lowering his head to the curve of her neck, "I think he'd rather see this one off of you."
She laughs, deeply and throatily, as his lips brush across her skin. "Tell me I'm right."
"About what?" he murmurs against her collarbone.
"Don't play stupid."
As he begins dotting his lips down the expanse bared by the open vee of her top, she winds her fingers into his hair, and, getting a firm grip, pulls him away from her to meet her gaze.
"Tell me."
"Make me."
Accepting his dare, she smirks, and guides him down to her. He parts his lips, awaiting her kiss, but she breezes past his mouth and lightly, chastely presses her lips to his cheek.
He hesitantly chuckles, unsure of what her touch portends. Pulling back to look at her, he masks his apprehension, and challenges, "Is that the best you can do?"
"No," she tells him, shifting her body completely underneath his and easing her legs apart, letting him settle between her thighs. He questions her with his eyes, and, in response, she turns his head and eases him down to her, until the side of his face is just above her. Letting her breath wash over his ear, she whispers, "But it's all I'm going to do if you don't cave."
At the sound of her suggestive tone, a shudder runs from his chest, down his arms and legs.
"I felt that," she taunts.
He clears his throat, knowing that he's lost the upper hand. Turning his head to meet her gaze, he quietly concedes, "You're right."
"Go on," she smirks, lifting her legs and wrapping them around his bare back.
"I don't want -"
"- Refuse," she corrects.
"I refuse to sleep without you."
"And…?"
"And, I make sure that I wake up when I sense you leaving."
She gently giggles at him, and he doesn't resist the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Even when it's at his expense, even when he can't reciprocate, her laughter never fails to please him. If only for the sake of seeing her like this, in the dim glow of the morning, with her hair messed and her skin bright from rest, he wishes he told her sooner.
Before revealing to her the truth about himself and before explaining to her exactly what she means to him, he could tell that no matter the effort he, as either of himselves, put toward her happiness, there was still no denying her sense that something was amiss between them. Whenever he made up some lie to excuse himself from one of their dates or whenever he redirected the conversation during one of their phone chats, he could always see the disappointment in her eyes and bearing, or hear it in her voice. He could sense her reconciling herself to being compartmentalized, and to never knowing and having all of him.
But three months ago, as they stood in an open field, on a candlelit dance floor, his honesty put an end to that sadness and resignation. That night, as she set aside her ambivalence long enough to offer him the assurance of what could have been their last kiss, he knew beyond a doubt that no matter whether she decided to stay with him, she'd always be certain of the depths of his adoration and his devotion.
Since then, no matter the situation and no matter her mood, she's been perfectly at ease with him - perfectly secured in the knowledge of his investment both in her and in their relationship. And lying with her in her bed, seeing her so full of warmth and light, with nothing between them but affection and truth, he can't help but smile at the woman whom he has every hope of someday asking to spend her life with him.
"You're beautiful, Lois," he silently mouths, feeling her heart flutter underneath his fingertips as she reads his lips.
"It's way too early for mush, Clark," she manages through her mirth.
After several long moments, she calms back down. Hugging him tighter to her, she shifts her hips, and he lets her turn them until she's lying on top of him, pressing her hands into the bed on either side of his head, holding herself up.
"I caved," he reminds.
"Yes, you did," she indulges, as he brushes her hair away from her face. "Close your eyes."
He does as told, focusing on the tenderness emanating from her as she leans down to him. She lightly sweeps her lips back and forth across his, but his anticipation soon gets the better of him. Inclining his mouth upward, he tries to capture her kiss, only to be disappointed when she moves out of his reach. And his eyes fly open in surprise as she tells him, "I'm getting up now."
"What?" he asks, feeling her back away.
"We have a long day ahead of us, Smallville. I need to get up."
"No, you don't," he denies, reaching around her waist and pulling her back on top of him.
She smiles, amused by his refusal to let her go. "Yes, I do."
"Lois," he groans, "we've hardly spent any quality time together since the debut. And now you wanna get out of bed? Early? The sun's not even up."
"Yes, it is."
Not even bothering to check the light coming in around the borders of her dark curtains, he insists, "It's not far enough up."
"Stop pouting," she tells him, brushing her lips across the line of his jaw. "You promised you'd let me spoil you today."
Still frowning, he begins massaging her back as he complains, "I know. But, Lois -"
"- And you promised me that because after two months of flying off to every corner of the globe and doing everything possible to establish your new persona, you can understand all the reasons why you need to take a break," she reminds, dotting kisses along his cheeks and temples. "So, while your fellow costumed comrades take care of the rest of the world, I get to take care of you - that's what you agreed to."
"I only agreed on the condition that I get to spend an extra night over here. You're the one who failed to mention that abandonment would be involved," he points out.
Nuzzling the soft indent behind his ear, "I can't spoil you if I stay here."
"As a matter of fact, spoiling me is exactly what you'd be doing by staying here."
She lowers her lips to his neck, and smiles, "Sweet as that notion is, it's not gonna work."
He sighs, knowing there's no way of changing her mind. But, deciding to at least try, he whispers, "Lois?"
"Hmm?" she mumbles, playfully nibbling along the strong sinews of his throat.
"Let me kiss you."
"No," she smirks against his skin, immediately identifying his tactic. "If I let you start, then you won't stop, and neither will I. And nothing will be get accomplished today."
"…I don't see it that way."
At the sound of his hesitance, she pauses, and then raises her head to look him in the eye.
"It's just..." he quietly begins. "This whole media storm… You jet-setting nonstop across the country for interviews… Us only ever spending the odd hour or two together in your hotel rooms or on our lunch breaks…" He trails off, unsure of how to make his point.
Sensing his indecision, she warmly offers, "I'm listening, Smallville."
Absorbing the comfort of her voice, he tries again, "It's just that things have finally calmed down a bit, and we can finally spend some time together that doesn't have to do with the Planet or, well, the planet… And I can't think of anywhere that I'd rather spend that time than right here - with you."
Leaning down and running her lips across his forehead, she teases, "Even E.T. was never this vague."
Her taunt strikes the nerve for which she was aiming, provoking him. Goaded away from his timidity, he moves his hands underneath her shirt, and presses against the area of her lower back that she never resists, telling her, "I can be clearer."
She shudders, and takes in a sharp breath at the feel of his kneading touch.
"Stay," he entreats, inclining his mouth to kiss her neck.
"You know," she half whimpers, as his lips make contact with her skin, "as much as you're not gonna like hearing this: This is not the morning that I had in mind -"
Trailing up along the side of her throat, "- What'll it take to get you to stop talking?"
She swallows a sigh and suppresses the urge to press her hips forward. If it weren't for the plans she made for them and for the promise that she made to herself, she would readily grant his wish. But she can't ignore the fact that there's more to consider than just the appeal of spending hours on end letting him dote on her. Swallowing, she grasps for her bearings, and attempts, "More than that. Besides, you need new clothes -"
"- I need you," he murmurs into her ear, slipping his fingertips just underneath the hem of her boxer shorts.
She smiles at his sentiment, but tries again, "It's not my fault that your overtime has led to all this extra bulk and…rippliness."
Brushing his lips against her lobe, "I thought you liked all my extra bulk and 'rippliness.'"
"I didn't say I -"
"- Then, stop -" - rubbing his fingers low on her spine - "- talking."
As a flush of warmth spreads through her, she exhales a quiet moan and reflexively rocks her hips into him. Taking advantage of her distraction, he trails his kisses across her cheek and down her jawline.
"Clark," she shakily manages, anticipating his destination.
He ignores her weak protest and continues his attention to her lower back. But as his lips sweep up her chin, she feels the beginnings of his response to her against the front of her hip. And more tellingly, she notices him subtly recoil as he feels the very same thing. His reaction cuts through her haze, reminding her of why she long ago resolved to handle him and his misgivings, especially the ones he's most reluctant to articulate, with care - something that she can't possibly do in the midst of their current circumstances, with so much still hanging over their heads.
Feeling his breath nearing her mouth, she gathers herself, and lets him press against her. Reciprocating, she parts his lips with hers, and whimpers. He returns her needy exhale, and she finally gets the response she's looking for as he lets her go and reaches up to wind his fingers into her hair. Taking advantage of his focus on her mouth, she pushes her hands into the mattress, and slips out of their kiss and away from his embrace.
"Lois," he complains, trying to sit up and pursue her.
"Unh-uh," she discourages, poking a finger into his chest and directing him back onto the bed.
As she shifts out from under the covers and into a seated position next to him, he starts to wrap his arms around her hips, but she warns, "Hands off."
He lets out a sulking groan and relents, dropping his hands onto his stomach and glaring at her. "Why?"
"Because we have a lot on the docket today."
"None of which I agreed to."
She smirks, resting a hand on his chest and aimlessly tracing her fingers along his skin. "What if I told you that I have surprises for you?"
"I'd tell you that I'm in awe every moment that I spend with you."
"Save the sweet talk, superhero. It won't help."
Attempting a different tack, he turns onto his side and leans up enough to press his lips to her knee.
"Clark -"
"- You said, 'Hands off,'" he reminds, touching his lips to her other knee.
Smirking, and slightly shaking her head, she concedes to his logic.
He trails soft kisses up along the tops of her thighs, and breathes his words across her skin, asking, "What if I offer you something in return? We could do a Harry Potter movie marathon, and order in as much greasy take-out as you want. I won't give you grief about either."
She smiles, letting him continue his light touches, but maintains, "You're getting spoiled today, whether you like it or not."
"I'm alone in a room with an amazing woman. I'm as spoiled as I'll ever be."
Running her hand along his shoulders and the back of his neck, "You really aren't as charming as you think you are."
"Yes, I am," he replies, brushing his lips up along the sides of her leg, until he reaches the fabric of her boxers. Sitting up a bit more, he lifts a hand to push the bottom hem of her shirt up just enough to expose the skin of her stomach.
As she feels his lips press against her waist, she jests, "Should I even be surprised that your idea of a constructive day off involves nothing but staying confined to my apartment?"
"Probably not," he murmurs, making his way across the front of her torso. "I've missed you, Sweetheart."
"And you'd like to spend the entire day showing me how much?"
"Mm-hmm." Against the curve of her hip, he smiles, "Or longer, if you'd like."
"Cute."
"Thank you," he replies, trailing his lips across her stomach, just above her boxers. "Is that a yes?"
"Not even close," she smirks, pressing her hand against his chest and pushing him away from her and back onto the bed.
He lets out another pained groan, and asks, "Is this some kind of cruel and unusual punishment?"
"What exactly would I be cruelly and unusually punishing you for?"
"I don't know. Talking in my sleep?" he suggests, resting an arm across her lap and rubbing her hip.
She grants his unspoken request and scoots closer to him. "You only talk in your sleep when I ask you a question."
"Well, did I give you an answer that you didn't like?"
"No."
Resting his free hand at the base of her spine, "But you did ask me something?"
"I asked you to tell me a story."
He smiles, "Really? Which one did I tell you?"
"Some Kryptonian fairytale."
"Did it help you go back to sleep?" he asks, running circles across the small of her back.
"Yes."
"So you're not mad at me about that?"
She smirks, and begins tracing his shield across his chest. "I didn't say I was mad at you in the first place."
"Did I hog the covers or something?"
"You never hog the covers."
"So why am I in the doghouse?"
"Is this how you deal with all of your enemies? You annoy them to death?"
"I am in the doghouse."
"If you say that one more time, then, yes, you will be."
He laughs a bit, amused by her threat, knowing there's no bite to it. After waiting for her to finish the "S" in the middle of the imaginary crest, he lowers his voice, and quietly says, "Lois?"
"Yes, Clark."
"Kiss me."
She smiles and leans down. Deliberately misunderstanding him, she presses her lips to his chest, just above his heart, and then leans back up to quirk an eyebrow at him.
"Alright," he sighs. "I accept defeat."
"Took you long enough," she grins, rubbing her kiss into his skin.
"So what are we doing today?"
She shifts a bit on the bed, trying to contain her enthusiasm, but still ends up giddily exclaiming, "We're going shopping!"
"Lois -" he groans.
"- Don't bother pouting," she interrupts, waving off his initial protest, "because no matter how much you do, I will just ignore you."
As he heeds her warning, he watches as she gleefully leans over to her bedside table, pulls open the drawer that she long ago forbade him from ever going near, and starts rummaging through what he's sure is an unorganized mess.
As she continues her search, she buoyantly rambles, "You have no idea how excited I am! Oh, my god, we're going to get you all kinds of stuff! Just because you have to be incognito as 'Clark Kent, the everyman,' doesn't mean that you should be dressing like a total fashion victim. Which is basically what you've been doing for the past few months, and I'm sick of it. You need a style intervention. Thank god you have me around for these things."
He chuckles at her exhilaration and her exaggeration as she finds what she's after, closes the drawer, and quickly resituates herself next to him.
"You took notes?" he snickers, referring to the small pad of paper in her hand.
"Of course I took notes," she scoffs. "This is important. We need to be precise."
Smiling, he drapes his arm back over her lap and gingerly runs his fingers along her waist, letting her have the floor.
Emphasizing with her free hand and referring to her list, she explains to him, "Okay, here are the guidelines:
"Number One: Theme. We need to get your workdays away from business-casual and closer to business-formal, and we need to get your off-days away from casual and closer to dressy-casual. I'm thinking very timeless, very classic, very geek chic for you. Nothing too trendy and nothing too memorable. So no argyles or plaids. But still, very put-together and very earnest. Solids, mostly. And we'll cross the pinstripes bridge when we get there.
"Number Two: Color Scheme. No more white shirts. They're plain, but they also exaggerate your size, when what we really need to do is slim you down. So that means darker stuff up top, where you're the biggest, and more monochromatic ensembles. Nothing that'll pop and nothing that'll suggest red or blue, of course. What we're going for are neutral palettes. Lots of taupes, tans, beiges, grays, and blacks - those sorts of things.
"Number Three: Fit. That slouchy crap that you've been wearing is totally useless, especially since it makes you look like way more of a nerd than you already are, regardless of the glasses. And a nerd your size is bound to draw attention to himself eventually. So, we're gonna do layers galore! Plenty of vests, and sweaters, and jackets. The kind of stuff that'll look good on you, but will still play down this gorgeous body of yours…"
At the sound of the matter-of-fact tone of what she didn't even intend as a compliment, his lips quirk into a small smile. Being her pet project for the day, he reasons, is a small price to pay for getting to see her so energetic and so eager about him.
After she's finished talking to him in a language that he hardly understands and then tossed the notepad onto the nightstand, just beside a glass of water and a box of tissues, she calms down enough to list their other activities. "Then," she says, "we're gonna go see that god-awful biopic that you haven't been able to shut up about. And if we make an early-enough screening, we should have plenty of time to drop your stuff off at the farm and visit Mrs. K. for a couple hours. Oh! And we can even do a runway show in the living room, so that she can see all of your new outfits -"
"- Actually," he gently interrupts, before she gets too carried away, "Mom told me that I'm not allowed anywhere near the farm today. She pretty much packed my overnight bag for me and kicked me out last night."
"Why?" she wonders, disappointed. "She didn't mention that she'd be busy when I talked to her yesterday morning."
"She doesn't explain these things to me," he shrugs. "She just said, 'Honey, I'm sure you and Lois have plenty that you need to do in the city.' I tried to tell her that we both cleared our days, but she insisted, so I left it alone."
She thinks for a moment, considering what she's sure was a hint of some kind. After a moment longer, the obviousness of what his mother was trying to suggest to him occurs to her, and she can't help chuckling a bit at the realization.
Confused by her reaction, he asks, "What?"
"Nothing," she assures him, trying to think of an explanation that won't embarrass him, but won't amount to a lie either. "It's just nice that Mrs. K. cares so much about us."
"Yeah, it is," he smiles, taking her reply at face value.
"Anyway," she says, running her fingers across his chest and shoulders, "we can just hang out here for a while after your movie. Maybe catch the second half of the game, if it's not already a blowout. And then…you have a date to get to."
Having figured the topic would come up sooner or later, he scoffs, "Not happening."
"You said you'd think about it."
"I did think about it. And I've decided: I'm not going to dinner with your new boyfriend."
"He's not my -" She stops herself short, accepting that she won't get anywhere with him just now, and tables their argument for later. "You know what? Never mind." She clears her throat and waits, letting the moment pass. Noticing the tension in the muscles of his chest, she leans down and presses light kisses to his temples and cheeks. When she feels him relax and sees his eyes fall closed, she rests her forehead against his, and whispers, "Go back to sleep."
"My solar battery is fully charged," he proudly reports. "I don't actually need to sleep."
"That doesn't mean you can't still enjoy your dreams."
"I guess I'll see you there, then."
She smiles, and teases, "Just keep it PG."
"I always do," he tells her. "And what will you be up to out here?"
"Making you breakfast."
He opens his eyes and tries to restrain a laugh, but fails. "You're supposed to be spoiling me. Not poisoning me."
Leaning up and away from him, she rejoins, "Shove it, Smallville."
"I know, I know. I'm sorry. That was a cheap shot," he quickly apologizes, covering her hand on his chest with both of his. "I'm sure it'll be great."
"You're handling me."
"I'm not handling you."
"Yes, you are."
"No, I'm not," he placates, rubbing her palm and forearm.
She peers down at his large hands massaging away her indignation, and then looks back up at him. "That's not working."
"I didn't expect it to," he replies, indulging her lie. Switching gears, he appeases, "It's incredibly sweet of you to want to cook for me. And no matter what you make, I know I'll love it."
She smiles, picking up on how careful he was to not say that he actually expects his meal to be any good. Feigning anger a bit longer, she quips, "Big, dumb alien."
He returns her smile, content to let her have the last word, and closes his eyes again. "How long will you be?"
"At least a couple hours. I'm gonna go for a run first. Then, I'll shower, and go get started in the kitchen."
"And you won't even let me sit and watch?"
"The shower?"
"You know that's not what I meant."
"Too bad," she replies. Leaning forward and pressing a final kiss to his mouth, "You may have gotten a yes."
His lips stretch into a slight smile as she leans around to the side of his face. Brushing her lips across the outline of his ear, she hums the first few cords to one of his favorite songs. As she quietly begins reciting the lyrics, he warms at her gesture, surprised that she's willing to sing without him asking, but even more surprised that she learned the words just for him.
He relaxes further into her bed, breathing in her scent all around him, and letting her voice wash over him.
As his consciousness falls away, she kisses his cheek, slides her hand from under his, and rises from the bed. After tying her hair up and changing into her winter running gear, she takes one final look at him to ensure that he's resting soundly. Satisfied that he is, she smiles, slips out of the room, and quietly closes the door behind her.
…