Going from searching for, going into space with, nearly dying with, kissing, flirting with to finally – finally – dating him, Lois learns a lot about the astonishing man that is Clark Kent.

For example, he blushes easily.

(She's trying to ignore the fact that he can also make her blush, which is totally new, but he definitively does – whatever.)

The first time he does – or at least, the first time she notices – is the first day he arrives at the Planet. She hasn't seen him in three weeks: Superman was everywhere, helping, rebuilding, but Clark, nowhere to be found. But he does show up, eventually, dorky glasses and flannel shirt on, and, after the initial shock, she has to stop herself from smiling too hard.

When she leaves the office that day, he's waiting for her outside, sitting on a bench, hands gripping the edges as he shakes his foot nervously, biting his lip and looking down, brows knitted together.

He looks adorable.

She's trying to hide her smile when he finally spots her and leaps in, an unfairly gorgeous grin growing on his equally unfairly gorgeous face.

"Hey."

"Hey. Fancy seeing you here."

"Yeah, I got a job in the building. The Daily Planet, I don't know if you've heard of it - small paper and all."

Lois shakes her head, playing along, biting her lips to stop herself from laughing. She wasn't the girl who stupidly chuckled at a pretty face – she wasn't. Nope.

"Cute. I was beginning to think I imagined you, you know," and she feels bad when his smile falls a little. He looks down, and she stops herself from reaching for him.

"Yeah, I uh – I'm sorry about that." He looks up, and she can see how much he means it. "There was a lot to be done, here and in Smallville, and I didn't have much time. And I had to work through some stuff, I guess," he shakes his head slightly, as if he's still trying to make it clear.

He probably is.

"I wanted to come and see you, Lois - I really did. I did check on you, but it's just -"

"It's okay, Clark. I get it," she smiles softly, because she does. Not only did he had to learn to live with the fact that he killed a man, he also had to accept that the last of his people die, to go from anonymous to new alien superhero, and, knowing him, probably to live with the guilt over Metropolis fall, even though it wasn't his fault at all.

That would be a lot for anybody. For a man as sensitive him, she couldn't imagine.

"I just wish you would have let me help."

He looks at her then, surprise, wonder and something else she can't quite identify behind his eyes, and her heart skips a bit.

Well, that's new.

She tries to think of something, anything, really, that she can say to hide how smitten she is – because she hates it, but that's probably the word for it – when -

"Wait, you checked on me?" she asks, confused. A smirk makes her way on her face when he starts to look embarrassed, and blushes.

Superman, the 'Man of Steel', as they call him, is blushing. Because of her, at that.

"Yeah, I mean – well, not in a creepy way or anything," he clears his throat, and wow, that blush is definitively staying. "Hopefully."

This time, Lois can't help her chuckle.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay, so I -" He abandons his attempts at any coherent explanation though, because she's laughing now, and he is, too. She likes it.

When they both calm down a little, he winces adorably, one eye shut. "I'm guessing this isn't such a good time to ask you out, is it?"

He's smiling, but she can see he's nervous, and that wakes butterflies in the pit of her stomach.

Boy, is she in a lot of trouble.

"What, you mean after admitting that you're my official stalker? Come on, it's the city - it's actually not that original, Kansas boy," she teases, and he relaxes.

"Yeah...I'm pretty boring, sorry."

"Ah, that's alright," she brushes his fake apology away. "I think I still like you."

He loves beer – and more specifically, he loves Guinness.

Four times out of five, when they're out, he'll order one, which she personally doesn't understand.

"I really don't know how you can drink that."

"It's amazing," he frowns, genuinely confused at the thought that someone would not think it is, and she smiles. "You seriously don't like it?" Her disgusted face answers him.

He tilts his head to the side, fake desperation on his features. "So you hate popcorn and Guinness. Wow, it's such a shame...I really thought this relationship could go somewhere," he adds with an exaggerated sigh, and she feigns disappointment, too.

"I know right?" she plays along, leaning across their booth table to close the distance between them. "Such a shame."

He's smiling when he kisses her.

His skin is amazingly, terribly, wonderfully soft.

That's one of the things that come to her mind when she reaches and takes his hand, in the middle of that military base – she also briefly wonders how the world could be afraid of someone like him, regrets she didn't have more time to get to know him, hates this general Zod for coming to take him away.

She also notices it a few hours later, when the adrenaline is still rushing through her body – and probably his, too – and they're kissing in the middle of Metropolis ruins. He's talking, his grip firm on her waist, and her hands are in his hair, on his face, so soft, and then his hair again. He kisses her a second time, more hungry this time, and it vaguely crosses her mind that his lips are soft, too.

She only gets to properly enjoy it weeks later, though.

Following their first drink together – date, really – he walks her to her apartment, bike at his side as he's telling her all about that time the volcano he made for science class exploded and spread orange paint everywhere ("I still won, though."), and she has to stop herself from reaching for his hand. When he's standing in front of her, though, their eyes at the same level as she stands on her building entry's steps, and he suddenly looks as nervous and shy as she feels, she can't: she closes the distance, and kisses him.

His eyes are still closed when she looks at him, and she smiles.

After that, they spend more evenings together than apart. Whether it's eating, going to the movies, going for a beer or even showing him around the city, every excuse is good enough. To her pleasure, the kissing continues – and God, is he good at that – shy at first, then more and more familiar, comfortable. Lois turns into a bit of a creep, her fingers always running over his so handsomely sculpted face, his chest, his stomach any chance she gets. Luckily, he doesn't seem to mind at all.

(Then again, he's exactly the same with her.)

In a matter of days, her life starts to revolve around him, and Lois vaguely wonders if, along with a new found faith in humanity, he isn't also making her discover what an addiction feels like.

It's after one of those date nights that she finally gets to experience just how amazing Kryptonian men can feel, and make you feel. They're both buried in her sheets, and he's everywhere, his hands setting every inch of her body on fire with his touch, his scent intoxicating, her heart about to explode. He's strong, he's gentle, and his skin is oh so soft all around her, she thinks she might go insane.

Clark Kent is definitively, definitively one addictive man.

(That night, she also learns that, on top of the kissing, he's also very good at the sex thing. She'd argue about how unfair it is for a man to have about all the qualities that can possibly exist, but she's too busy happily taking advantage of it.)

He talks in his sleep.

It's always completely nonsensical, and Lois really, really enjoys listening to it, sometimes laughing so hard her stomach hurts. She takes a incredible amount of pleasure in knowing she's the one who gets to hear an adorable unconscious Superman mumble about the giraffe that's teaching him to make olive cakes.

He's the reading type, and God, is she thankful for that.

Of course, that means he's as cultivated as they come, and she doesn't remember having conversations as diverse and interesting as she has with him. The man can get passionate talking about everything, from Plato to Phillip Dick, is constantly aware of what's happening in the world (which comes in handy for his second job) and can hold a conversation with her no matter what she throws at him, which is more that she could say for other men she's been with.

The main reason, though, is that, on a regular basis, she gets to see the strongest man on Earth lying on her sofa, chest uncovered, with a book in his hands and a concentrated look on his face.

And this, it turns out, is just the sexiest thing in the world.

He's a very tactile guy.

It's not even intentional, and she's pretty sure he doesn't even notice it, but he's just - always touching her. He's like that at home, of course, but not only.

When they're out, he has a habit of grabbing her hand, lacing her fingers together, or just throwing his arm around her shoulders, bringing her close. Sitting next to her on a café, or sprawled on Metropolis' park green grass, his fingers will often run on her thighs or arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. At The Planet, he's very professional – not that she expected anything else – but whenever they finish a conversation, of leave each other's desk after dropping something off, his hand would often squeeze her shoulder, or brush the small of her back. When they go back to Kansas to visit, and he's talking to his mother or someone else in town, she notices he always plays with her fingers, or gently let his hand wander on her leg to let her know he knows and cares she's here.

And then, there's the comfort touches. The ones she's never shared with anyone before, just like he never has, either.

There's the times where he kisses her to make her feel better when she's too tired or down, of course, and the ones she kisses him better, hand gently running on the back of his neck, whenever someone question Superman's motives again, and she can see his heart break. There's the times where he can't save everyone, where he sees things impossible to bear for someone like him, and he comes home and needs her to hold him, and she does.

She's not used to that. She's never been the touching type, in fact, but with that particular farm boy, she's surprised to realize she doesn't mind at all. Loves it, really, and loves him all the more for it.

It's not like he's needy, or always trying to show some kind of ownership on her, it just feels - natural.

Way faster than she'd like to admit, she comes to actually long for it, and even surprises herself in being the one who actually initiates it.

She realizes it when she comes back from her first investigation away since she's met him. She's been India for three weeks, and now, waiting for him to get back from work to her apartment as they planned, she's almost jumping from excitement.

Sitting on her bed, Lois is reading her notes when she hears him come in (because yeah, he has a key - she still can't believe it, sometimes). There's a smile on her face before she's even up, and she races to her living room.

"Lo?" she hears just before she sees him, big bag still on his shoulders and glasses already off.

"Hey," she grins, and, as soon as he's within reach, she's all over him, arms around his neck and legs around his waist.

"I missed you," he mumbles in her hair, and she moves her head to kiss his cheek.

"I missed you too."

After that, she doesn't let go of him once, which, she knows, is really pathetic. They're not in some rom-com, damnit.

But she doesn't: she drags him in the shower with her, hugs him from behind when he's cooking them diner, and, just before they fall asleep, sweaty and exhausted, cuddles as close as she can, his massive arms surrounding her as she tangles their legs together.

Maybe she has become that girl, that lovesick one she's always made fun of – not that she'll ever admit that out loud – but she doesn't care, because she's pretty sure she's never felt more safe and comfortable in her entire life.

His favorite color is blue.

"Wow...you must have been relieved when your father took out that suit, then," she comments when he tells her, looking up from his neck as they're lazing cuddling on his couch in front of some action movie. "Although it would have been pretty funny if he had handed you a pretty pink one." A wonderful warmth spreads in her stomach when he laughs.

He loves, loves black lingerie – and especially her in it.

One or two pieces are even lost to too much enthusiasm from his part, but Lois really can't say she minds.

His favorite super power is flying. His eyes sparkle when he talks to her about the adrenaline he gets, how free he feels, and the amazing things he sees.

"Actually, I've been meaning to ask you: would you like to come with me?" he asks one day. They're sitting on his couch, and he's gently rubbing her feet – something he's going to be doing a lot, given how good he is at it. It's life-changing.

She's a bit surprised at his proposition. Sure, they've been dating for a couple of weeks now, and him taking her out isn't a big deal in itself: him taking her out in the air, however, kind of is.

Until now, his Superman side hasn't really impacted on his every day life, as far as she can tell: he doesn't use his heat vision to warm up his coffee, his super speed when he's running late, or his x-ray vision to look for things. He's just Clark Kent, a normal guy from Kansas.

That doesn't really come as such a surprise, once you know his story. After all, he had grown up like any other human, in a human environment, with a mom and a dad that worked hard to make him a good life and taught him very human values.

Superman or not, he's just a man, and sometimes, she wishes the world would know that.

A few seconds seem to have passed without her noticing, because suddenly he's talking again, his words rushing.

"I mean, it was just an idea, but it's okay if you don't. Forget I -"

"No, I want to," and she does. "I'm sorry, I was just a bit surprised because you don't usually use your powers at home, I guess. But I'd be honored," she grins, suddenly excited at the idea.

He relaxes, a small smile growing on his face, too.

"Well, no, but I wanted to at least share that with you."

He's doing that thing again, that thing where he says something so sweet and sincere at the same time she's taken by surprise, and she has a little trouble keeping her pulse at a normal rate – which is embarrassing, considering he can hear it – and all she can do is let her smile grow wider.

"Then what are we waiting for, Smallville?"

He really doesn't care much for reality TV.

She does, though – something she's not really proud of, franckly – and she has yet to give up on trying to make him. For now, it's pretty much a failure, as all he did until now was make fun of her.

It all starts when she's staying at his place one night. They just started officially going out, and she's waiting for him, cuddled up with a glass of wine on his couch as he's out being the prettiest superhero somewhere in the world – Bali, she thinks.

She's twenty minutes into the latest episode of The Bachelor when he comes back, suit a little dirty, but looking happy. She smiles back when he grins at her: with all the hard time the city gives him about his powers sometimes, it's amazing to see him like that.

"Hey," he greets, and she throws her head back to meet him when he bends down over the couch to kiss her, hand gently grazing her cheek.

"Hi," and wow, she's still not used to that. She hopes she never is. "I take it from that smile everything went okay?"

"Yeah - I got everyone out in time," he beams. "But I do need a shower," he says before kissing her again and heading to the bathroom. It's at that moment that he notices.

"What are you watching?" he asks with a frown she barely registers as her attention focuses on the TV again.

"The Bachelor," she says distractedly: she can't believe that guy just eliminated the girl that clearly was the better choice in the whole mansion.

"The reality show?" and she's pretty sure he hears him chuckle when she confirms.

After that, it becomes a running gag, or rather a running thing he makes fun of her for - constantly.

At first, she has trouble making him sit down with her to watch it ("No way, Lois"). But he's still Clark Kent, the sweetest guy in the world, and when one day, she's home sick with a fever so high she thinks she might pass out, he obliges.

A soothing hand running through her hair, he patiently listens as she fills him up on what's been happening and the endgames of tonight's episode, and even asks one question or two to make sure he gets everything. She teases him, betting that from now on, he'll want to watch it with her every time instead of running to the kitchen – and the second TV in it – to hide.

As he predicted, he really doesn't, in the end, but she still thinks it's cute he tried.