She loved him.

She really, really did. More than she had ever loved anyone, more than she ever thought possible and all that - truly. She wouldn't trade the life she shared with him for anything, was sick at the mere idea of something coming to change that, and frankly, confused as to what her life would be hadn't she been lucky enough to find herself on that military station back in Canada.

Four months, two weeks and eight days in, Lois Lane found herself utterly and completely in love with Clark Kent, and as she did, became everything she hated about a/ foolish women in love and b/ stupid couples in love. How ironic.

She loved the way he smelled. She caught herself smiling like a damn fool whenever his name popped up on her phone. She hated the nights she had to fall asleep without him as much as the mornings she had to wake up to an empty bed. She became the cuddly type, for God's sake.

She loved everything about him, which in itself made her want to roll her eyes at herself (really, Lois?). But the stupid thing was, she actually loved his flaws too, somehow.

(And really, what the hell was up with that?

She wasn't supposed to smile at the annoying things he did and love him all the more for it: she was supposed to, duh, be annoyed by them.

But apparently, no. The way he considered football like a religion, his flannel shirts, his sacred and annoyingly long process for every cup of coffee he made - she freaking loved everything. God.)

She did, and she had accepted that. Still, right now, Lois would really, really like to figure out how to get the hell out of under there.

Sighing, she took a deep breath, then tried for the hundredth time that morning to lift his goddamn left arm off of her. Once again, she did not succeed.

"Oh, come on," she hissed through her teeth (which, unsurprisingly, didn't help much, either). Giving everything she had, she pushed and pushed and -

Nothing. He didn't move an inch. God knew she didn't mind having him and his stupid, unfair and perfect body sprawled all over her like that - that was actually of perks of dating a Kryptonian God - but still...the man was impossible to move.

Reconsidering her approach, Lois took a couple of seconds to regain her breath, then tried to wiggle out her way out instead. Taking every precaution not to wake him in the process (although it wasn't exactly necessary, given that he slept pretty much like a log), Lois moved to slip from under him, but it was no use: with both his arms either sides of her head, his own head on her left shoulder and, more problematic, his chest against her own, she was trapped.

No escape there. Shit.

Peeking at the clock on the bed table, Lois saw that it had been fifteen minutes now, and, frustration taking over, she vigorously try to turn, to push, to slide, anything, anything to escape and reach her morning coffee -

Until she felt a smile grow against her skin, and a chuckle that wasn't hers trough her body.

Oh, the asshole.

"You did not just do that," Lois threatened, although a smile was spreading on her face.

"Me? I didn't do anything," he mumbled, voice still thick with sleep as he played innocent. Rolling her eyes, Lois shook her head on her pillow, amused despite herself.

"You're a jerk, you know that?" and, smiling, Clark kissed his way from her neck to her cheek until she could finally see him.

The grin on his barely waken face and tousled, curly black hair made it hard to focus and restrain her own.

"Were you trying to get up? I'm sorry, I didn't get that," he had the audacity to beam. Rolling her eyes for good measure, Lois draped her arms around his neck.

"Yeah, you laugh know, but next time, I won't be so delicate, faker."

"I'm not sure 'delicate' is the right word, though: it felt more awkward and desperate, from were I was standing," he smirked, blue eyes sparkling in light mockery.

"You do know next to what part of your anatomy my knee is right now, right?" and, chuckling at her threat, he bent down to kiss her.

Another thing Superman was good at, as it turned out.

"You're still a jerk," she managed after a moment, somehow finding the strength to protest despite her breathlessness and the way she was (once again) turning to putty under his hands and kisses.

Smiling, Clark leant down again. "Let me make it up to you, then."