This two-shot came to me when I realized that there one of most favorite pairings are underrepresented in the fandom. And yes: even if my other stories have undertones and implications of this couple, I figured I might as well make something that was focused on Clark and Brenda. This chapter is slightly risqué,but still relatively safe for work. The chapter that rose the rating, however, is the second one. But don't worry. It's not terribly explicit (at least, not in my opinion). Enjoy!
He first went to Doland, since Luke had ran straight for his mother's arms the moment he laid eyes on her. The child cried, sobbed and hugged her in the corner of the father's eyes. But that was alight. He had something to do in the meantime. Clark hugged his trusted butler and friend in that familiar way with a slight pat on his shoulder.
"You did a good job," he told his employee. "Thank you for waiting. And keeping her safe when I couldn't."
"I am sorry master," Doland answered. "I just wish I could have done more."
The head of the house shook in disagreement and broke the hug.
"You did what you could, Doland. There's no shame in that."
"Thank you, master" the butler replied. "I greatly appreciate your kindness."
Really... the one who should be saying that should have been me, Clark thought. The old family butler, who had helped Clark's father raise Clark and was now helping Clark raise his son. Truly: a kind-heated soul. He had a way with children and for a moment Clark wondered if Luke thought of him like the grandfather that he could have had if he hadn't passed away when the child was barely able to walk. It was strange, thinking about his father at a moment like this. But Clark still wondered. About how his own father would have handled the situation at Misthallery. Would he do the same mistakes as him? Would be fare better? Worse? Ah, his curiosity was never going to be quenched, was it? Or maybe… maybe it was. Maybe it was like his wife once told him: when you suddenly remember those that have left, they are smiling down at you from heaven. Clark Triton didn't know for a fact if it was possible or even if such thing as 'heaven' even existed, much less if his father was considered 'good' enough to enter it. But it still brought a smile to his lips to think of it.
"I really should give you a raise or something nice like that, Doland" the man with the beard commented "Perhaps a good vacation? I really don't know how to thank you for your excellent work."
Doland shook his head and gave the man a quite paternal pat on his back. Like the one his father gave him when he told him he had finished writing the core of his thesis and only needed to work on the finer details. Did the butler also feel his old master's presence right then and felt inclined to repeat that action?
"I think that I shall leave you to madam Brenda" the butler changed the subject in his usual and calm voice. "It seems that the young master has finished talking to her."
He turned to where his son and his wife were hugging and crying together, only to find that she was now left alone and she was wiping her teary eyes. But even if she had tears lining the edges of her large and dark eyes, she was laughing like a girl in an amusement park.
"Here, master" the butler handed him a clean handkerchief from his seemingly never-ending supply. "You might need this."
Clark smiled at Doland before taking the handkerchief and giving him a friendly pat. Was it out of his volition? Influence from the defunct Everett Triton? Did it really matter? Of course not. What mattered was now. And how she was feeling. Clark knew that Doland had fared well but Brenda… he had to know. Even if she took things well, he had to verify it personally. It was the least he could do for her. But not before saying to his faithful friend and butler a simple and undeniable truth: "You're a good man, Doland."
Clark walked up to her, and gently pressed the handkerchief against her delicate eyes. Naturally, his wife was surprised, but she still smiled at him and tried to say something. Most likely her thanks. But no. He couldn't wait. Even if he had told himself that he had to ask how she had been, Clark couldn't resist a second longer. He had to give her something that he had been longing to give her for the longest of times. And even if she might have felt confused or upset at his sudden action, any attempt to hold back would literally drive him to insanity. If it didn't already do so, of course.
Clark dived into her soft pink lips and parted them with his. The action was so simple, so basic that he was almost surprised. As if he had been expecting there to be a great barrier between them that would prevent it. But no. It had happened. And it came easily. The bearded man couldn't feel anymore glad. In that kiss he expressed all of his feelings much better than any about of words could have. How much he missed her, how worried he had been for her. The sleepless nights, the empty hours in the day. Anguish at the thought of losing their child at the hands of the self-proclaimed scientist. But most of all: how he was still almost maddeningly in love with her.
And she replied back. Even if she had a wider fan of words, similes and experiences than anybody that her husband knew: she still answered back to him with her own kiss. She even closed her eyes, like a protagonist from those schmaltzy novels that her friend loved to read and she never stopped to poke fun at. Ironic, but truly: Brenda didn't care what could be thought of her because of it. And it showed in her kiss. Clark could also feel her kiss tell him many other things: that she had held him and their son in her thoughts through the worse parts of it. She had faith that they would come out soon enough. And yes: she still loved him. In fact, her feelings might have grown even stronger in the absence: given the way that her body seemed to overflow with a familiar sensuality that she had always kept strictly in the bedroom. Ah, her sweet and soft lips were really getting the man quite riled up.
After the kiss was broken, Brenda ran one her soft hands through his hair. Her eyes had that gleam of happiness and joy and love that just seeing them made him fall in love with her even more. He felt her dive even deeper into his soft heart and refuse to leave it anytime soon. This, mixed with the raw desire that had been bubbling for far too long, gave the man a burning sensation on his chest. Was his heart bursting? No. No he was feeling perfectly fine. Better than ever. So his heart was fine. A shot of chemical compounds right on his blood stream, a scientist would say. One of love's thorns digging into him like a soft hand holding a wild rose, a poet would say. But to Clark, he could only describe it as being smitten by the woman before him. And with good reason, too. After all there is no greater aphrodisiac known to man than to see the person that you love the most look at you in the eye and their love for you making their own glitter in the sunlight surrounding you.
Ah, he would have loved to right there right then to caress that lovely spot between her neck and her collarbone. Hear her sigh and give in underneath his hands. To lay her down on the tender grass and make love until they were too exhausted to even moan their names in the soft afterglow. But no, he had reserve. His friend and his assistant were watching, not to mention that Luke was present as well. He could hear that his son was almost done with his reunion with the butler. So as much as he was tempted, he held back. Clark wanted his son to not directly witness the complete potential of the love a person could feel for another until he was ready. To discover that at his own pace, with his own beloved.
His hand mimicked hers and he could feel his fingertips brush against her hairs. She chuckled slightly, abruptly self-conscious.
"I think that I'll have to take a long shower and then a bath," she joked "I feel like someone from the seventeenth century."
"Oh, you know I love you: witch trials and all."
Brenda chuckled and gave him a playful shove. Clark smiled along and allowed the exchange of reunions continue. Brenda turned her eyes to Hershel and immediately stroke a conversation. Seamlessly. As if there hadn't been a spark between them just a few seconds ago. But he could see in that quick glance in his direction that it had been real. And that she had no intention of letting that spark go to waste. But Clark wasn't worried about that. After all: he knew very well that he'd have her all to himself later on. Once the sun set, once Luke was tucked in bed, once she had bathed and they were underneath the covers. The thought made his stomach do an excited flip.