Clark Kent: Sex Fiend
Nefertiri's Handmaiden
Disclaimer: Disclaimed. Nothing clever this time.
Summary: Lois always knew they'd slip up sometime. She just never thought it would be because of a wardrobe malfunction.
--
Lois Lane, Pulitzer Prize winner, let nothing stand in her way for a story. Not even her very fashionable brown pencil skirt from Nine West. The skirt made her hips look great, but also almost impossible to run. And when Superman was in downtown Metropolis fighting a giant robot operated by none other than Lex Luthor, Lois needed to run.
After about twenty feet, she decided that this had been quite enough. She stopped so abruptly that Jimmy almost knocked into her.
"Oh, screw this shit," she said. She grasped the skirt on the right side on either side of the seam and then she pulled. The skirt split up her right thigh, stopping only inches below her underwear, revealing an entirely socially inappropriate amount of nylon-covered thigh.
"Miss Lane!" squeaked Jimmy, scandalized.
"Focus, Jimmy," she said, exasperated and already running again. "I need pictures. Good pictures."
--
Jimmy got the pictures, Lois scooped the story, and Superman defeated Luthor. And the world was as it should be.
But when Lois and Jimmy got back to the Planet while Superman dealt with cleanup, Lois's flattering skirt was still displaying an inordinate amount of flesh that Lois usually reserved for Clark's eyes, only. There were catcalls. Many of them. A few containing some fairly filthy language.
Gil's, however, was one of the more tame. "Hey, hey, Lois," he said with an exaggerated leer, "What do I gotta do to get some of that that?"
Lois rolled her eyes. "Be Clark Kent," she deadpanned.
Jimmy risked another glance at her leg. Then he gasped and flushed simultaneously. "Miss Lane!" he said. "What is that?" He pointed to her thigh.
She glanced down. There, neatly framed by the rip in her skirt and clearly visible through her nylons, was a bruise. And not just any bruise. A bruise shaped like a hand, dark purple and obviously fresh. A bruise far too high on her thigh to have been caused in a G-rated situation. She gave an internal sigh, having forgotten about it when she'd ripped her skirt open.
Clark never meant to be rough. In fact, he always struggled to be exceedingly gentle for fear of hurting her. But sometimes, when his mind got away from him, his hands squeezed her a little too tight, and she ended up with some impressive bruises. He always felt guilty, but Lois kind of liked them. It was a little kinky, but she figured that was a pretty mild kink in comparison to her raging xenophilia.
Gil had noticed it, too. "Woah. Who knew Kent had it in him?" he asked with a smirk.
Lois forced down some of her embarrassment and tried to answer with her usual sass. "You know what they say: a lamb in the bullpen, a tiger in the bedroom."
Just then, Clark entered, straightening his tie and tugging at his cuffs.
"Hey, Kent! Way to go, stud," shouted Gil.
Clark stared at Gil. "What?" Gil pointed to Lois's thigh. Clark followed his gaze and turned bright red. He stuttered, "How did- your skirt- what hap-"
Lois moved closer to him, patted him on the chest. "Relax, Smallville. I ripped it myself. Just didn't expect our nosey co-workers to ogle me."
"Never knew you liked it rough, Kent!" shouted Gil. Lois didn't think it was possible, but Clark turned even brighter red.
"Lois," he said helplessly, motioning toward her still-exposed thigh. "Could you please-?"
She nodded. "I have an extra pair of pants in my desk."
"Yeah, Lois. Better cover that up before Kent jumps you right here, the kinky bastard."
"Shut up, Gil," said Lois. Clark hid his face in his hands.
It could have been worse. They could have seen her 'S' shield tattoo.
