A night unlike any other.
His eyes peered open as rays from the beginning of the sunrise grazed across his eyelids. His hands swept the light and he cupped his face into his palms.
For a moment he lied there gathering all the thoughts he could.
What had happened to him?
He tentatively dragged his hands from his face, down to his mouth, and began searching the decorative ceiling above. Whirls and swirls of eggshell and soft green paint set him into an almost instant trance.
His eyes shut suddenly and he shook his head.
"Ow."
His headache hit like a dart to a board.
Clark slowly rose from where in lay. He rubbed his forehead as if it would help the headache go away. He was in an uncomfortable spot alongside an unfamiliar place. Positioned on a hard, wooden floor, he looked over to his left, then his right, then behind, glancing at a clock that digitalized '5:53' am.
A sigh was taken in as he stood to his feet. He looked down and realized he wasn't in a place he'd been familiar with. Thoughts of query raced through his head as he searched the room in question of what had gone on the night before.
Her gaze was set upon his every action.
Abruptly, she position upward in bed.
"Clark?"
A familiar voice rang through his ear and out the other. Her voice laced with discomfort and uncertainty. He dashed backwards into the wall when his gaze met her own. Looking into her brought back the night in sequences.
Dancing under the soft moonlight with Lana. His mother wishing him the best of luck. Dinner at the Talon.
His breathing was suddenly rapid and his attention couldn't focus from her.
His head shook in disbelief as he looked to her to figure out what happened. A series of images flashed his mind.
Passionate kissing. Backs being clawed into. Soft moans and name calls.
His eyes then raced to the floor, moving fanatically, as if the answers were all written throughout. What the hell had happened?
Nothing was there.
No explanation.
Not anything, just the slicked hard wood floor that he's been laying on just moments ago.
"What happened?"
She looked down at herself and saw she was naked. Her cheeks flushed in embarrassment, pulling the covers up to shield her unclothed body.
Clark looked down at himself to reveal he was stark naked, his cheeks rising in the same manner. He retrieved a pillow to hide himself.
His eyes then meet with hers, filled with the question he'd asked before.
"I-I don't know."
Her stare snapped to her arms which were tightly holding the covers onto herself. She looked into them to find the answers that sat between them.
She remembered being in Clark's Loft and pieces of conversation that was shared between them. Chasing Shelby around the farm. That was it.
Nothing she could conjure up why the both of them were naked; in her bedroom.
Clark noticed her trance and grew worried.
He cautiously walked over toward the bed and sat a good distance away from her. Staring at her for a moment he realized that she was just as confused as he.
Almost naturally, one of his hands rose to her shoulder.
Again he began to search around them trying to gather as much thought possible. Soon after, his eyes began to fixate on something just below his feet.
It was slightly hidden under the cover.
He knelt down to remove the cover from it. His eyes glowed like an iridescent bulb at the sight of it. Slowly he went to pick it up then back into the spot he sat all the while falling bottom first onto the floor.
He looked over to her when her eyes snapped to his finding. She sunk onto the floor, next to him. The covers still hiding her mortified, exposed body; eye's still searching hysterically.
For moments they sat, bright eyed, confused and a little distraught, at the key that held the answer to all their questions.
A condom wrapper.
Clark held it between them both. They stare at it as their minds began to recollect the night's work.
Clark's head turned to her direction. She was still in a daydream. He gave a hard gulp and began to speak.
"Lois?" his voice said meekly. "What happened?"
Her head shook in denial.
Moments of passion, angst, and regret speed throughout them both.
Suddenly, something hit Clark like high winds in a desert storm. An unfamiliar taste to his mouth.
Sour sweet. Bitter. Aftertaste.
His hand moved to his mouth as he began to wipe the tang away. She could still be tasted long after.
And there he sat in knowing.