Just a little V-Day fic I wrote for the Ficstravaganza over at DI. Hope everyone enjoys!
Dislcaimer: I don't own any of the characters.
*************
"Sunday night is Valentine's Day," Lois ranted, pacing back and forth in the tiny space, "And the Grande Hotel is hosting a get together for the who's who of the Metropolis political scene. I need something spectacular," she whirled on her heel, pointing an emphatic finger in her audience's face. "Sexy," she added a lilt to her voice and a sway to her hips. "But . . . appropriate," she finished, crossing her arms in discontent. "But I'm not exactly one for retail therapy," she admitted, arms dropping to her sides. "That's where you come in." She stopped pacing, staring expectantly at the short redhead in front of her.
"So . . ." the middle aged woman paused, as if debating the intelligence of asking questions. Bravely, she continued, "What exactly is it that you need?"
"I need a little black ball gown," Lois said decisively. "And I don't have a clue where to start. So go on," she shooed the saleswoman expectantly toward the stockroom, "work your magic."
As the woman hurried through the curtain at the back of the store, Lois settled into the ornately carved armchair by the three-way mirror. Luckily for her, two of the customers were leaving the small boutique when she arrived. It hadn't taken much to wrestle the remaining bridal party away from the sales associate. In fact, Lois wondered if they weren't late for a mani/pedi, the way they scurried out of the dress shop.
She drummed her fingers against the arm of the chair, eyes wandering along the row of mannequins sporting dress selections. For a tiny Metropolis boutique, they were pretty gaudy. Sequins, frills, necklines that probably gave your date a preview of your underwear . . . there was barely an acceptable dress in the line. And the ones that didn't give Lois a migraine were just so . . . boring.
She had barely convinced Clark to attend the thing in the first place. Of course, the fact that she'd been assigned the story hadn't been enough. No, she'd had to bring his mother into it.
"Really, Clark," she'd chastised, long after the 'but I'm Lois' argument had failed to sway him. "Your mom's wined and dined with half the names on the guest list. I need someone to give me a little leverage, and Martha Kent's son is what I've got."
He'd dragged his feet a little more, but she knew she had him. Clark Kent rarely said no to her. If he'd said no to her and dismissed the suggestion of his need to represent his mother, Lois would have been flabbergasted. But she'd been fully prepared to have Mrs. K intercede on her behalf with a well-timed phone call.
It would be nice if she were here, Lois mused, trying not to cringe as she caught sight of a sky blue taffeta gown. She might have lived on a farm, but Martha Kent knows a thing or two about fashion. Raising kids, too, she grinned to herself. She was looking forward to torturing Clark a little. Still, she commended him for stepping out of his comfort zone.
The rustling curtain brought Lois back to the present, and she glanced toward the woman bustling towards her, an impressive stack of multi-colored ball gowns draped over her arms.
She stopped in front of Lois, proffering the dress on top of the stack. Lois took one look at the royal blue mermaid gown and scrunched her nose.
"I said little," Lois reminded, staring at the woman as if she were incompetent. "And black," she added impatiently.
"Ma'am, um . . ." she halted under Lois' stare, and Lois cocked an expectant brow in response. "It's just . . . it's not exactly easy to find a little black ball gown," she excused. Lois crossed her legs, unimpressed. "I mean, most of our clients are young professionals—and so are you, obviously—" she hurried to defend, "but most chic young women want vibrant reds and subtle champagnes and alluring emeralds."
"Are you saying you don't have any black dresses?" Lois scoffed.
"No, of course we have black dresses!" the saleswoman backpedaled. "But . . ." she glanced around, at a loss. "It's very difficult to find a little ball gown. Most ball gowns are, well, as you'd expect . . . gowns."
"Look lady," Lois leaned forward, taking pity on the frazzled woman. "I'm not looking for anything slinky. My boyfriend's the son of a senator; I don't want to end up spread across The Inquisitor'sskank of the week column. I'm just looking for a nice little dress that'll impress the old people and still give my farm boy a taste of a real city girl. Think you can manage?"
"Um," the woman glanced at the dresses slung across her arm and gave a halfhearted smile. "Yes. Of course, Ma'am. I'll just . . . put these back."
She disappeared back into the storeroom, and Lois sighed. She really didn't want to find another store. She'd waited this long to find a dress for a reason; reason being, finding a great fancy dress was a long, thankless process. And the best way to cut a project in half was to work under a deadline.
She'd barely managed to escape Clark. If he hadn't disappeared to chase a lead, she might have gone ahead and made up an interview just to ditch him. As it was, Clark never stayed lost long. Any more stores, and he'd find a way to show up at one of them, worried because he hadn't seen her in a few hours.
"Are these more to your tastes?" Lois blinked, focusing on the woman standing in front of her with another pile of dresses. She couldn't tell about the cuts, but the colors, at least, were muted.
Lois stood, fingering the first dress, a champagne colored, bell-skirted number. "Too bulky," she analyzed, throwing it gracelessly across the back of her recently vacated armchair. "No green," she cringed as she saw the next one. The nearly black gown landed atop the first. "In the name of all that is holy, no," Lois all but shuddered as the deep pink gown engulfed her other castoffs.
"Now this," Lois said, holding up the fourth option. "This has potential."
It was floor length and black—though the wide filmy straps were silvery white—and the front would barely dip into her cleavage.
"Modest," Lois noted, twisting the hanger to see the rest of the dress. "But surprising," she smiled, taking in the folds of fabric that ended far lower in the back than the front.
"Now that wasn't so hard," Lois gave the saleswoman a triumphant grin.
"You like it then?" she asked, relieved.
"Won't know 'til I try it on," Lois reminded. "But I could definitely work with this."
She disappeared into a dressing room, where her suspicions were confirmed. This dress was going to kick Clark's ass.
"I'll take it," she yelled over the half-door, admiring herself in the mirror.
The dress hung fluidly, flowing subtly across her breasts and hips. It wasn't tight or clingy, allowing for plenty of movement. The sleeves drifted across her shoulders, disappearing into the black material behind her. In the back, the black fabric flowed along the edges of her frame and dipped low, teasing the dimples in her back.
"Alright," the woman agreed as Lois changed back into her work clothes. "I'll take down your information and have it ordered right away. It should be in by-"
Her sentence ended abruptly as Lois pushed out of the dressing room.
"The thing is," Lois pursed her lips at the saleswoman, "I need that in, like, an hour."
"I'm sorry?" the woman blinked.
"Yeah," Lois backed toward the register, shooting the redhead an apologetic smile. "I mean, it's for the Valentine's Day Gala at the Grande." The saleswoman's eyes widened. Apparently she'd missed that part. "The Gala's tomorrow," Lois added unnecessarily.
"I'm aware," she saleswoman said faintly.
"So," Lois motioned toward the register, hoping the woman could take a hint. "I'll just pay for it and go, then."
"But that's a sale sample," the woman protested, distracted.
Lois shrugged. "I'm okay with that."
"Yes, but," the woman's eyebrows furrowed, unaware of why Lois wasn't getting it, "I need it. To make sales."
"Whose gonna buy a ballgown on a Saturday?" Lois dismissed. "By the time anyone wants to look at this dress again, you'll have four more sitting in the stock room."
"But-" the saleswoman tried to protest again.
"I really need this dress," Lois admitted. She gave a pleading look, and the older woman's shoulders sunk in defeat. Lois smiled brightly as the lady moved behind the register. "Thanks," she enthused. "I owe you one." The woman didn't respond as she typed the ID code into the computer. "Uh, would you mind speeding it up?" Lois asked with a sheepish smile. "I've still got a bra and shoes to find."
***
Brady sent her an angry text message while she was knee-deep in knee-boots, so Lois jetted back to the Planet as soon as she found the right heels. Now, however, she was regretting the decision.
She didn't think Clark had noticed the two bags sitting beside her desk—and really, it wouldn't be a big deal to tell him about the shoes or underwear—but the dress was making her a little nervous.
She knew Clark wouldn't peek if she asked him not to, but she felt silly acting like one of those girls. And the garment bag was pretty obtrusive hanging beside her desk on the coat rack she'd filched. Clark had been eying it curiously for an hour.
"Well," Lois stood, unable to take it anymore. She was being ridiculous, she knew, but she was allowed to overreact everyone once in a while, "I'm going to head home."
Clark glanced up, surprised. He looked at the clock, then back at Lois.
"It's only five," he told her, cocking an eyebrow.
"Yeah, well . . . slow news day," Lois evaded as she shuffled papers into drawers and locked them behind her. "And Pro Wrestling is calling my name." She counted on Clark's disinterest in wrestling to cover her lie. There was no way he knew there weren't any matches tonight.
"Well, okay," he smiled at her, starting to stand. "Do you want some company? We could order Chinese and-"
"No!" Clark looked startled, so Lois backpedaled. "I mean, thanks but no thanks, Smallville," she focused on stuffing notes into her briefcase, "You hate wrestling. What kind of girlfriend would I be if I made you sit through hours and hours of uppercuts and flying lariats?"
"Lois Lane," Clark replied, amused.
Lois smiled and shrugged, allowing it.
"Well, not tonight," she continued. "Tonight I have a date with beefy men and my favorite duo," she didn't have to specify Ben or Jerry, "and you can head on back to the farm and do . . . whatever it is that keeps you occupied when I'm not around."
Eyes monitoring his reaction, Lois grabbed the strap of her purse and yanked it from her desk. The corner of it caught the framed snapshot of her introduction to the Dali Lama, which toppled off the desk, snagging the edge of one of her shopping bags. The bag crashed sideways, spilling her purchases onto the floor.
Clark reached down automatically to right the bag. Lois's eyes widened as his hand moved toward the bra that had tumbled from its haven. She was pretty sure he didn't register what it likely was until he had picked it up, because she saw him start. His eyes narrowed in confusion at the newest addition to her lingerie drawer.
"Uh," he looked a little nervous, glancing quickly up at Lois before his eyes darted back to the bra. "What's this?"
His hesitance reminded her that she shouldn't care. This was why she felt okay telling him about her underwear; he would never make untoward comments, and nine times out of ten his face turned an amusing shade of red.
"It's a bra," Lois stated, rolling her eyes.
"But," he glanced down at the plain black cups, confusion and embarrassment warring in the shifts of his brow, "where are all the straps?"
Her dress was backless, so it couldn't exactly have straps. But Clark didn't know that, and he looked increasingly confused by the circles in his hand, held together in the middle by a single piece of fabric. He tilted his head to study it from another angle, obviously wondering how the thing stayed up.
Lois laughed, enjoying the expression on his face immensely. His eyes were fixed on the lingerie as though he couldn't help himself, and his unwillingness to confront Lois's underwear was mingling with growing intrigue in his eyes. Her boyfriend may be Clark Kent, the most gentlemanly guy she'd ever met, but there was no doubt in Lois's mind that he was still a male.
"Wouldn't you like to know," she teased, firmly grabbing the scrap of fabric in his hands and tugging it away from him. Her fingers met more resistance than expected; she bit her lip to quell the smile that teased the corners of her mouth, dropping the bra back into its bag. Clark tracked it with his eyes as it fell from her hand into shiny paper bag. He looked both relieved and disappointed when it finally disappeared.
Sensing her chance to escape, Lois grabbed both bags from the floor, snagged the dress from the rack, and booked it away from her desk. She glanced back at Clark, who had sunk back into his chair, still unsettled.
Lois smiled to herself as she walked toward the door. "See you tomorrow night," she called over her shoulder, exiting the bullpen. His response was swallowed in the noise of the basement, but through the glass she caught sight of the half-grin spreading across his still-befuddled face.
***
Clark knocked on Lois's door two minutes before seven. She couldn't decide which was more surprising: that he was early, or that she was ready. She toyed with the idea of making him wait, but really she just wanted to get going. And she really wanted to see the look on his face when he saw her new dress.
So she peeked in the mirror, swept back her bangs and tweaked her earrings, and opened the door.
Clark looked absurdly handsome, his simple black tux half-hidden under his coat, hair swept loosely off his face. Blue eyes looked her slowly up and down, and he smiled sweetly at her. Her insides knotted pleasantly in response.
"You look beautiful, Lois."
"And you, Smallville, clean up nice," she shot him an appreciative look, and embarrassment settled into his smile. "You better get used to it," Lois warned. "This thing'll be swarming with socialites just waiting to get their claws into the hot son of Kansas's finest senator."
"Right," Clark muttered, rolling his eyes. Then he offered her his arm. "Ready to go?"
"Just let me grab my coat."
Lois turned to snag it from the hook, and Clark audibly caught his breath. She smiled and bit her lip, pleased.
"Lois . . ." Clark's voice was halting, giving Lois a thrum of satisfaction. She schooled her features.
"Yes, Clark?" she wondered innocently, turning to face him.
"Wow," he breathed, staring to one side of her hip as if he could make her turn with the force of his will. "You look . . ." he trailed off, unfocused eyes drifting up to Lois's face. Suddenly Clark blinked, and worry settled into his features. "You're not wearing that out, are you?"
Lois raised a brow. "Well I'm certainly not wearing it in."
"Lois," he began, lengthening her name as he did when she wouldn't listen to reason.
Lois crossed her arms and cocked her hip. She gave Clark a look that clearly asked if he wanted to reconsider finishing his sentence.
"I mean," he backpedaled, "you look great." He eyed her again, and lost his focus. "Really, really great." Then he caught himself and looked up at her. "I just . . . don't want anyone else to see you looking really great," he admitted with a sigh.
The admission swept the tension from Lois's frame.
"Don't worry, Smallville," she sauntered up to him and patted his arm gently. "No one will think anything of it." His eyes searched hers, wanting to believe but suspecting she was simply placating him. "Besides," she added coquettishly, "this is tame compared to what those socialites will be wearing. I've got to keep your attention somehow."
She swept past him and down the hall, pleased that she could almost feel his eyes on the silky material that swayed along her hips with every step. It took him several minutes to catch up with her, and no sooner had they reached the door than he helped her into her coat. Lois rolled her eyes, but allowed the chivalrous and overprotective gesture. He was in for an interesting night; she could at least give him a few moments' peace as they walked the streets of Metropolis.
When they arrived, the Gala was in full swing. Lois had to admit, it was kind of nice to be admitted without having to flash her press pass. It gave her an undercover vibe she usually only got after visiting her costume supplier at Met U's theater department.
They followed the line of middle aged Cinderellas into the cavernous main hall. Lois had been to enough of these functions that the abundance of gold filigree seemed pretty boring. Clark, however, looked uncomfortable and out of place.
"Your mom's a senator of Kansas, Clark," Lois said, sliding her hand into the crook of his elbow. He glanced down at their twined arms and visibly relaxed. "How is it that you always manage to avoid these things?"
"Just lucky, I guess," he shrugged, then settled his hand atop hers. "Until now," he qualified, amused and resigned.
"Well," Lois smiled deviously as they swept through the large doors into the main ballroom, "We might as well make the best of it." With that, she tugged him toward a group of distinguished looking men with graying hair and rigid postures. "Hello, gentleman. Lois Lane, Daily Planet. Have you met Senator Kent's son, Clark?"
***
"Ready to go yet?" Clark asked several hours later, watching Lois chat it up with an elderly woman wearing too much blush and a heavy-looking dress.
He'd stopped asking if she was cold an hour earlier, but the question had been replaced with a much more annoying one. She didn't think he'd gone ten minutes without requesting to fetch her coat.
"One minute, Clark," Lois brushed him off, focusing more intently on the woman before her. "Sorry about him. Please continue."
"Well," the woman began importantly, leaning in closer. Clark sighed and stepped forward, hand rising to the small of Lois's back. Lois was suddenly very aware of his hovering frame as his fingers brushed her skin. He seemed to realize the danger of the action, because he very quickly dropped his arm to his side.
"I'm sorry," Clark apologized to the other woman, who was apparently the grandmother of a third generation Representative. "But we really have to go." Flashing her a charming smile, he grasped Lois firmly by the arm and tugged her away.
"It was nice to meet you, dear!" the woman called to their retreating forms.
Lois allowed Clark to pull her toward the coat check before affixing him with a mildly affronted look. "I was having a very nice conversation just now, Mr. I Can Manhandle Lois Because I'm Six Foot Three."
"Lois, we both know you weren't interested in hearing about Mrs. Montgomery's favorite hunting dog."
"I could have been," she argued, just for the heck of it.
"But you weren't," he added, fixing her with a firm look.
"Okay, so I wasn't," Lois shrugged. "That doesn't give you a free pass on the 'me Tarzan, you Jane' act, Smallville."
"You've been ignoring me for twenty minutes," Clark reminded, "while paying way too much attention to people who won't remotely help your article."
Lois grinned impishly. She had briefly wondered if she should play the supportive girlfriend, but it was so much fun to tease him. Of course, listening to inane details about people's lives had tested her patience, but it had been worth it to watch Clark try and smile politely when he obviously just wanted to leave. How someone could look so striking and uncomfortable at the same time was totally beyond her.
"You never know where you'll find a story, Clark," Lois dismissed. He made to argue, and Lois admitted, "But okay, Julie Montgomery wasn't exactly a riveting conversationalist. Luckily for you, she did ward off the swarm of socialites."
Clark merely sighed in response.
"Okay, Smallville," Lois allowed, handing her ticket to the man behind the desk. "We're going now."
"It's about time," he muttered as he received his own coat. He tried to help her into hers, but she brushed him off. Once a night was quite enough for her.
Clark shoved his hands into his pockets as she struggled with her coat. She hadn't let him take her purse, either, so she was trying to fit it through the sleeve with her arm. The clutch was small, and she was pretty sure it could fit if it would just work with her.
She finally managed, buttoning it with a huff, and sweeping a stray curl from her face. Lois looked up at Clark, smiling sheepishly, and a warm grin tugged up the corners of his mouth.
"Any chance you'll come by the farm tonight?" he asked optimistically.
Just the genuine hope in his voice sent a rush of warmth through her, which Lois carefully checked before it hampered her judgment.
"We could take a walk," Clark's blue-green eyes were warm with anticipation.
Lois gave him a knowing look.
"It's too cold for walks," she informed him evenly, though she was still smiling.
"We could sit in front of the fire," he suggested instead.
"We both know that's a bad idea," she objected, shaking her head. A tempting idea, but a bad idea nonetheless.
"I have plenty of movies," he began again, thinking he still had a chance.
"Clark," Lois glanced up at him, amused. "There is no way you are getting me to the farm tonight. Just deal with it."
***
The front door gave way behind her back, and Lois stumbled into the Kent's foyer. Clark's lips followed hers as her knees dipped unexpectedly toward the floor, his firm grip on her waist keeping her upright.
"Good catch," she mumbled breathlessly against his mouth. He didn't respond, fumbling blindly to push the door shut as he moved her toward the stairs.
She felt a pang of nervous fear as she grasped where they were headed, but the overwhelming essence of Clark—swelling in her chest and engulfing every nerve ending from her toes to the roots of her hair—pushed any hesitation to the back of her mind. She was ready for whatever he could throw at her.
Rather than leading her up the stairs as she expected, Clark guided her beside them. Her back bumped the wall, and she barely had time to adjust to the feeling of his weight holding her against the plaster before he pulled her away from it.
Lois gasped in surprise as his hands grasped her hips and fused her body to his. Her head rested against the wall, which firmly supported her shoulders, but the rest of her frame dangled free of its support as he held her against him.
She could feel every line of his body, from the hard contours of his abdomen to the growing presence of his arousal. She pressed her mouth closer to his, mimicking closeness of the bodies. Her hands found his waist and began tugging the fabric from his belt.
"How did you get me here?" she wondered as he pulled away with a groan, relishing the feeling of her fingers on his bare back. She delighted in the hot skin, skimming her fingers slowly over the lines of muscle that were so often hidden.
One large hand moved across her hips, up towards bare skin. Lois's insides clenched at the feeling of his warm, broad palm nearly spanning her back.
"I may have promised to cook," Clark admitted, his hand dipping down the loose back of her dress as his other one fisted around the material on her hip. His fingers flirted with the edge of her panties, and Lois couldn't stand the distance anymore. She attacked his mouth again with a suddenness that mimicked the kiss that started their descent into desire. Of course, that one had been all him.
Not that she hadn't been asking for it, she admitted, torn between the sensations of his hand tracing the low edge of her dress and his mouth moving insistently against hers. She had deliberately drawn attention to the lowness of her dress, enticing him just to glimpse his reaction. She hadn't quite expected Clark to pull her out of the car and into his arms.
And, oh, what arms.
Her hand abandoned his waist, fingers dragging up the contours of his back to curve around the back of his shoulder. The hand on her hip, still tangled in the fabric of her dress, pulled along her curves until Clark found her waist. The long material of her dress drifted up her calf, exposing a new world of mobility. She hooked her newly freed leg around his, pulling herself more closely against him.
"Lois," he rasped in her ear, hot breath sending shivers up her spine. With one arm he dragged her up his frame, breath drifting down her neck as she rose above him. "You probably shouldn't have done that," he murmured against her collarbone. Then he steadied her shoulders against the wall and went to work on her neck.
"Smallville," she groaned as his warm lips melted into her skin. It was the oddest sensation, nothing but air beneath her, his warm hand splayed across her back and her entire front consumed by the engulfing pressure of his body.
His lips opened, dragging across her skin. Lois's free hand went to his hair, mimicking the friction of his mouth as her fingers traced the base of his scalp.
His wet, open kisses turned briefer, fiercer, as he began nipping gently with his teeth. Lois's fingers fisted in his thick hair, her other arm tightening around his body. She had been inordinately pleased with every inch his shirt had risen, but now she cursed the material that was trapping her hand against him. She dug her fingers into his back, wanting more.
Her shoulder muscles spasmed, and the strap of her dress slipped from her shoulder, tumbling down to catch in the crook of her elbow. Clark's lips froze. Lois's fingers relaxed in his hair, and she sank against the wall, tension leaking from her frame. Clark remained motionless, breathing hotly and evenly into her neck. Then, slowly, he pulled back, levering her chest away from his so he could take in the full scope of her.
The entire right side of her dress had fallen with the strap, pools of silky black fabric becoming a frame to the smooth, bare skin disappearing into her plain black cups. Gaze fixed on her breasts, Clark drug his hand slowly up the bare skin of her waist. Fire tingled in his touch, and it was all Lois could do to stay still. His fingers reached the base of the curve, and Lois's breath caught in her throat. Clark paused, as if transfixed by the way the gasp moved against his fingers.
"Looks like you're going to figure out how that bra works," Lois laughed breathlessly. Her words blew a wisp of hair across his forehead, and she pulled a hand around to brush it away.
He raised his eyes to meet hers, and her heart constricted at the desire smoldering in them.
"I think I can manage," he murmured.
Then, eyes still boring into hers, his fingers curled around the edges and popped the fabric from her breast. Cool air swirled around her overheated skin, and Lois groaned in pleasure. Clark tugged the bra once, the right side fell completely away.
Her delighted gasp suddenly turned to one of panicked shock. Something wet nudged against the side of her calf, and her leg jolted in response. A long, furry body squeezed between her and the wall, pushing her left leg out from under her. Her shoulders slid down the wall, and she clutched at Clark's shoulders as he automatically slid his arm around her back and pulled her into him.
Lois winced as her head hit the wall at the same time as her bare breast crashed into Clark's chest. Her eyes shot open just in time to see Shelby disappearing up the stairs.
"Are you okay?" Clark asked, huskiness fled in deferment to the concern in his tone.
Lois nodded mutely, still trying to wrap her head around the sudden end of their impromptu grope-fest.
"Hmm," she mused after a moment, still a little breathy, "guess I was relying on that leg more than I thought." She looked at Clark and laughed at the childish annoyance that was slowly overtaking his features.
"Shelby's not exactly my first choice of chaperone," he muttered, frowning slightly.
"Lucky he was looking out for us," Lois pointed out teasingly.
The words registered with Clark, and their precarious position finally sunk in. Firmly, he grasped the sleeve of her dress and pulled it back up her shoulder. As he did so, he slid Lois back onto her feet and stepped away.
"Lois," he said seriously, searching her eyes apologetically.
Lois smiled softly, dismissing his concerns before he could voice them.
"Don't worry about it, Smallville."
He sighed, wishing he could accept it that easily.
"I didn't mean to trick you into-"
"Clark," Lois admonished, tilting her head and raising her eyebrows. "I'm a big girl," she reminded. "And I certainly wasn't complaining when things got a little hot'n'heavy." She paused for a moment, considering. Then she grinned impishly. "Actually," her eyes motioned to her dress, "I'm pretty sure a good bit of the responsibility rests firmly on my shoulders."
Clark watched her for a moment more, not quite ready to relinquish fault.
"You are kind of a tease," he admitted, breaking into a grin.
"And you," Lois rebutted lightly, "are too easy."
He rolled his eyes and smiled down at her. She looked back up at him, eyes twinkling.
"Lois," Clark broke the silence, serious again. "I don't want you to think that I . . ." he drifted off, searching for the words, "don't respect you," he finally finished. "You're the most important person in my life," he admitted, "and I don't want to mess this up."
"Clark," Lois murmured, touched by the sincerity in his eyes. Those eyes might be her favorite part of him, clear and beautiful and honest. Even when he was hiding from her, they always gave him away. But he wasn't hiding now, and Lois didn't know how to respond.
So she responded the best way she knew, dropping her voice into a flirtatious tone.
"Trust me, Smallville. If you keep doing things like that . . ." her eyes drifted back to the wall, voice thick with implications. Then her eyes met his and she quirked a grin. "I'm pretty sure you'll never mess this up."
She turned away from the surprised delight in his eyes and walked purposefully up the stairs.
Her bra was hanging awkwardly, completely off one breast and dangling precariously from the other. If Clark hadn't replaced her dress, she was sure gravity would have long since pulled it to the floor.
"Where are you going?" Clark called after her. She rolled her eyes and ignored the question, reaching the top step and disappearing down the hallway and to his room. She closed his bedroom door firmly behind her.
As soon as the catch clicked she pushed the dress resolutely off her shoulders. It snagged on her bra, so Lois tugged the cups firmly back over her breasts. Free of the obstruction, the dress fell fluidly to the floor.
She looked at the puddle around her feet, the satiny fabric pulling flashes of heat before her eyes. His lips on her neck, his hands on her skin, his whole entire body pressed achingly against hers . . . Memories fresh in her mind, she suddenly wondered if she'd reciprocated at all. Nearly every movement he had made had been about her. She'd barely done a thing for twenty minutes but soak up every bit of mind-numbing affection Clark had lavished on her.
"'I don't want you to think that I don't respect you,'" Lois quoted ironically, shaking her head. Only Clark Kent could give so much and still worry about her.
Oh, she loved that man.
Pushing open the closet, Lois fingered one of his dress shirts, tempted. More than once she had watched him at work, memorizing the way the fabric danced across the muscles of his chest. And she'd be lying if she denied her frequent desire to snap the buttons off and push the fabric from his shoulders. But she had done too much teasing tonight. Any more temptation and her resolve would go right back out the window.
It was for this reason her fingers skimmed past the familiar plaid shirts to snag a simple blue t-shirt. She ripped it from the hanger and pulled it over her head. It only smelled faintly of Clark—oddly, he never seemed to wear blue or red anymore—but she had the real deal waiting downstairs, so it didn't matter much.
Lois pictured him sitting on the couch waiting for her, eyes fading from green to blue, just waiting to ignite again. She eyed the hem of the shirt, which fell just above mid-thigh.
"Be good, Lois," she reminded herself and pulled open the dresser to grab a pair of sweat pants.
She tugged them on and glanced in the mirror. Her hair was a mess and the clothes hid pretty much every curve her body boasted. She yanked out the bobby pins, and dropped them on the dresser. Then she hung her dress in his closet and went to find her boyfriend.
Clark wasn't by the stairs when she came down, but she hadn't even stepped off the last stair before he appeared from the kitchen.
"Nice t-shirt," he complimented wryly, giving her a once-over as he dusted dark powder from his hands.
Lois had to give him points: he hid his disappointment very well. Actually, his eyes were taking her in as if she were every bit as beautiful as she had been ten minutes ago.
Well, ten minutes ago I was panting under him, Lois reminded herself.
"Where's the dress?" Clark wondered casually. Lois grinned. He hadn't been able to hold out for long.
"It's retired to write its memoirs," she said as she stepped off the stairs and walked toward him. "I think it's caused enough trouble for tonight."
The corners of Clark's mouth twitched up, smug and amused and just a little longing. Lois's stomach tightened, so she hurriedly changed the subject.
"Now," she began, rubbing her hands together and appraising him. "I believe I was promised food?"
Clark grinned. "Already on it," he promised, gesturing to the kitchen with his head. He turned and, on a whim, she slipped her hand into his as she followed him into the kitchen. He looked down at her, and his smile was mesmerizing.
"I want to know what you're making," Lois diverted, trying to make her brow stern. "It better have chocolate," she warned.
"But Lois," Clark protested, sounding genuinely confused, "you already had dessert."
Her mouth fell open in shock. "I . . ." she floundered for a minute. "Can't believe you just said that," she finally finished, mildly impressed.
"You're rubbing off on me," he teased, dropping her hand and moving toward the stove. A pan of hot chocolate was simmering on the burner.
"Don't you wish," Lois said saucily, sliding onto a bar stool to watch him stir. The moonlight was edging his shoulder and catching on its round muscles. She propped her hand on her fist, enjoying the view.
"Your coat is still outside," she remembered with a laugh. She hadn't realized it until now, but she was pretty sure she had gotten it off him on the stairs.
"So is yours," he replied, shooting a grin over his shoulder. He had gotten rid of hers before the porch was in sight.
She crossed her arms, huffing in mock annoyance. "Fine. You win. But if it has mud stains, you are so paying for dry cleaning."
Her threat was swallowed up in the sound of his laughter.
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