The gentle probing of his tongue turns hungrier. A low moan escapes the back of his throat as my fingers slip underneath his shirt, exploring the silky texture of his skin. It's incredible how soft he feels, how warm. I've seen bullets bounce of his chest. I've seen him lift a space shuttle. Yet, in this moment he seems incapable of such brute force. There's such a tenderness about his touch that I lose myself in his embrace. And I want to get so much closer to him. His kiss elicits sparks of desire that fuel a flame in the depth of my belly.

All of a sudden, Clark pulls back, breathless and - his expression makes my heart clench in pain – quite unhappy. Once again he rakes his hand through his hair. Then he almost jumps up and takes a few wobbly steps away from me. His limp seems even worse than before.

"Did you hear something?" I ask confused.

He opens and closes his mouth a few times as if he's struggling for words. But then he clamps it shut, looks down at his feet and just shakes his head. He looks awfully defeated. Clark heaves a sigh and rubs the bridge of his nose.

My heart is pounding with dread. "What's the matter, Clark? Don't you want to kiss me?"

He doesn't face me and the long moment of silence weighs heavily on me. I'm starting to dread his answer.

His expression is agonized when he finally speaks. "Of course I want to kiss you." His voice is husky and thick with emotion. "But I couldn't help but feel that this wasn't going to be just a kiss."

His eyes lock with mine and there is a silent pleading in his gaze, before he looks away again. I have no idea what is going on inside his mind. Why does he look so sad and desperate after he just kissed me like that? Didn't our kiss affect him at all?

"Would that be so bad?" I can't keep the hurt from seeping into my voice. "I love you, Clark. In every sense of that word." My voice cracks, but embarrassing as that may be, I need to say this before I choke on the words. "And I want to make love to you."

His face clouds over and he turns his back on me. "I told you, I'm not ready for that yet." He sounds pained, but also quite adamant.

I feel tears prick in my eyes and my breath hitches. My throat becomes so tight that for a moment I think I might suffocate. My insides are still burning with the desire to touch him, so much so that it's almost painful. His retreat feels like a slap in the face. Am I really asking too much? It's been half a year and I had really hoped that he was coming round. Just a moment ago, I thought he was just as turned on as I was.

"But why?" I sob. "Don't you love me anymore? Is friendship all that you'll ever want from me?" New tears start to spill down my cheeks. I'm unable to stop them. "When I kissed you, for a moment there I thought that you wanted me, too."

"I did," he mutters unhappily. " Oh, Lois, don't cry, please don't cry."

With two steps he's by my side, kneeling down in front of my and laying one hand on mine. His other hand cups my cheek, and he uses his thumb to gently wipe away my tears. Even his light touch evoke sparks of pleasure deep inside me, once more sending my emotions spiraling out of control. And in this moment, I wish that his touch wouldn't have that kind of effect on me. This is driving me insane.

"I do love you," he croaks. "Very much. And sometimes I think I'm going to burst with desire for you." An adorable blush is creeping onto his cheeks.

"Then why?" I whisper.

I cover his hand with mine to keep him from pulling back again. It's stupid really, because I know that no force in the world can make him stay with me, if he doesn't want to. And for that I almost hate him, because if he wasn't the strongest man in the world, then maybe I'd have a chance to - I don't know – make him love me? That sounds so awfully pathetic, even in my own ears. Am I really that desperate?

His blush deepens and he hangs his head. His voice is barely above a whisper. "I'm afraid."

"What?" I stare at him dumbfounded. "It's not like we haven't done this already. What are you afraid of?"

He heaves a sigh and gets up, once more starting to pace. For a while he remains silent. Now and again he looks at me, opening and closing his lips as if he doesn't really know how to express what's on his mind.

"I'm not the same man anymore." He swallows hard and there is something bitter and angry about his tone of voice. "I'm no longer Superman! I can't make love to you on the ceiling. I can't even float and I don't know..." His voice cracks and he takes a deep breath, obviously trying to calm himself down. There is despair in his gaze and so much pain that my gut clenches with sympathy. As he continues, he no longer sounds angry - just utterly defeated. "Do you know what it feels like to have to compete with that?"

He rakes his hands through his hair and clenches his fists in another attempt to regain control over his rampant emotions. And for a moment it tears at my heart to watch him struggle like that. Part of me still wants to comfort him, but admittedly it's only a small part.

My prevailing reaction is that I want to smack him. "That's what this is all about? Do you really think that your abilities as a lover depend on whether you can float or not?"

A rush of anger fills me and I don't even know why. Is it because he's still hung up on Superman when I clearly showed him, that it's not his former celebrity status or even his powers that I care about?

I huff in annoyance. "Let me tell you something about Superman as a lover. When we made love for the first time, he could float just fine. But he cared more about his pleasure than about mine. The sex was - okay. The lower level of okay - if you ask me. At least compared to what sex was like later on. And at the time I thought that was because of me, because I was too frigid to even enjoy sex with a god in a cape."

His eyes widen in shock and he gives me a vigorous shake of his head. "You're not frigid. Anything but that. Did I...?" He swallows hard and slowly comes over to sit down beside me. "Did I hurt you that first time? Why did you never say anything?"

He takes my hand in his and looks at me. His features are drawn and pale. Various emotions flash across his features, varying from fear to what I can only describe as a deep self-loathing that startles me and shakes me to the bone. I never wanted him to feel like that.

"No," I say softly. "You didn't hurt me. But you weren't all that considerate either." I lay a hand on his shoulder to keep him from jumping up again. "And before you start beating yourself up about that as well: it wasn't your fault." He tries to say something, but I put my finger on his lips to silence him. "But that wasn't the point I was trying to make. Before I learned that you had been under the influence of kryptonite, I thought that you'd just been inexperienced."

He lets out a breath and relaxes somewhat. "I was."

"Yes, but that's not all there is to it," I challenge him. "You changed when the kryptonite wore off. I understood that when you let me read your journal. Like you said, you weren't yourself during those first couple of days. But once you'd regained control over your emotions, you turned into the most considerate lover I ever had." I can't help smiling wistfully at the memory. "That was you, Clark. And you alone. Don't try to tell me that you're just a quick learner or that it has anything to do with your powers, because I refuse to believe that."

The ghost of a smile plays around his lips, before he averts his eyes again. "I appreciate what you're trying to do."

I frown at him. Sometimes he can be so aggravating that I want to knock him over the head. "Don't give me that, Clark. If you can't believe that I love you, then you shouldn't have come to the Daily Planet. I had already said goodbye. You could have left it at that."

He slowly shakes his head. "I do believe you." With two fingers, he brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. "And I do love you, more than you can possibly imagine. Never doubt that. It's just…I'm afraid that you'll come to realize that I'm no longer the man you knew. Breaking up with you, New Krypton – these experiences have changed me." He heaves a sigh and buries his face in his hands.

I put my arm around his shoulders. "I know that, Clark. But what's important to me is that you let me see this side of you. As Superman you never let me within arm's reach and as Clark, I was the one who pushed you away until it was too late. I can't tell you how much I regret that."

His lips twitch in a self-conscious smile. "Me too."

He cups my cheek and leans in to place a kiss on my mouth. Though his touch is light and feathery, it conveys so much love that my heart seems to burst with the sensation. Gradually, his kiss deepens until I feel the brush of his tongue against mine and get a taste of the longing that runs through his body as well as through mine. I wish this moment would never end, that I would never have to take another breath and interrupt this kiss.

But once again it's Clark who pulls back. He buries face in his hands and groans in frustration. Then he lets out a curse the likes of which I have never heard him utter before. "I want this. Why the hell can't I stop thinking about -" He cuts himself off and looks at me in shock as if he realized just now that I'm sitting right beside him.

"What's going on, Clark?" I'm puzzled by his behavior. One moment, he seems eager to be with me, the next moment he once again appears distant and withdrawn. "What can't you stop thinking about?"

His jaw tenses. "Nevermind."

Another rush of anger fills me. "No, Clark." I reach for his hands and take them in mine. He looks up, surprised. "Don't you do that to me! We need talk about this."
He pulls his hands from my grip. "No, we don't. It's silly anyway."

I should knock him over the head. I should really do it. "Clark – the not talking is what got us into this mess in the first place. If I had told you how I felt about Clark, if you had told me that you were one person instead of two – we'd been happy instead of miserable for the past couple of years."

His lips are drawn into a thin line. I feel him shift with discomfort and it's obviously taking him a great deal of self-restraint, but he manages to keep sitting beside me.

"But I don't want to talk about it!" he all but snaps. Guilt ripples across his face and he lowers his gaze. He pinches the bridge of his nose, before he looks up at me with a rueful expression. "I'm sorry, Lois. You're probably right. It's just not something I'm comfortable talking about."

"Gee, I wouldn't have noticed," I tease him, trying to lighten up the mood.

He cracks a small smile and takes a deep breath before he starts talking. "It's just that when I think about making love to you – my memories aren't just happy ones."

My gut twists into a knot, but I remind myself that I need to hear him out. "Because I broke up with you?"

"In part. And because of the way it all started out. But the main reason-," he breaks off with a slight shake of his head. "Remember what I told you about how Sara was conceived?"

I'm a bit thrown by his sudden change of topic. "Yes. Artificial insemination."

He nods glumly. "Lady Zara and I realized that we'd have to have kids if we wanted to save New Krypton. We talked about it a lot and that way felt the least like I was betraying their friendship – and Ching. But there was also another reason. I couldn't…" He trails off and for a short while I think that he's going to continue. But he remains silent, a deep blush tinting his cheeks.

"You couldn't…what?" I ask him confused.

"I couldn't…" He swallows several times before he grounds out. "I couldn't… get hard for her."

I stare at him flabbergasted. "But when we…you never… Was it the red sun? Were you injured?"

He turns even a deeper shade of crimson. "No. Nothing of the sort. I don't know why – maybe because of you. Ching brought me all the Kryptonian porn he could get his hands on." He laughs, but it sounds humiliated rather than amused. "He even suggested that I use the concubines. But the pictures didn't help either and I very much doubt the concubines would have been anything but another means to embarrass myself."

My throat runs dry. "Then what did you do?"

"I thought of sleeping with you." He looks down at his hands. I don't need to see his face to sense how mortified he is. His voice is hoarse. "That did the trick. But the way our relationship had ended – using fantasies involving you was – painful to put it mildly. Beside my desire to honor the relationship between Ching and Zara, I didn't want to sleep with her all the time thinking about you. That wouldn't have been fair to either of us. It was bad enough to sit in a room mourning what I had lost while…" He harrumphs uncomfortably. "Well I guess you know what is required of a man in order to father a child. I don't need to draw you a picture."

Obviously unable to stay on the sofa, Clark jumps up again and resumes pacing. He stuffs his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers and hunches his shoulders. He only manages a few steps before his bad leg is giving him trouble again. He grits his teeth and stops pacing. His leg has actually become the best indicator of the amount of distress he's in. And I can't exactly blame him. For a moment, I imagine what it would be like for me to try and pleasure myself while fantasizing about Claude or Paul or any of the other jerks who trampled on my heart. I don't think I'd be very successful.

Clark clears his throat. "When I talked about this with Lady Zara, she told me that such a thing sometimes happens to Kryptonian males. You see, Kryptonians are telepathic and occasionally the bond formed between husband and wife becomes so strong that the man just can't – you know." He gestures toward his midsection. "That's one of the reasons Kryptonian nobles established this ritual to marry their babies. They want to prevent this sort of connection to form between lovers that are considered inappropriate spouses. And it's also the reason why concubines are often used by Kryptonian nobles. Like on Earth, most men take pride in their virility and this kind of bond is often seen as weakness. Particularly since Krypton was destroyed and very few Kryptonians survived."

My heart skips a beat and I feel absolutely baffled. "You think that you and I share such a bond?" The thought is very romantic and overwhelming at the same time.

He shrugs uncomfortably. "I don't know if it's even possible. I mean, you're not Kryptonian."

I stand up and close the distance between him and me. "I believe I understand you better now. And I see why you'd be troubled by these memories." Actually, I'm surprised that after all this he had it in him to forgive me at all. If we hadn't made up - would I have condemned him to a life of celebacy? My gut twists into a knot. Is that going to happen to him, if I somehow end up breaking his heart again?

He looks down. "I guess I can work through them. But it might take some time. So how do we go on from here?"

"We could go about this one step at a time." I get on my toes and wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him on his lips. He lets out a low moan before he parts them, giving me free access to his mouth. What should have been a brief peck quickly becomes something much more intimate. I could lose myself in his touch, feeling like I am floating in my own right.

I'm breathless when we end the kiss and maybe a tad bit disappointed that we're still on the ground. Of course I didn't really expect to break the spell with just one kiss, no matter how intense it was. I look in Clark's eyes. His gaze is dark with desire, the likes of which I had seen when I had absolutely no idea who I was really kissing.

"Or we could do it right now," I hear myself whisper against his shoulder.

He stiffens. Inwardly, I curse myself for being so thoughtless. He said he wasn't ready, yet. If places were reversed, wouldn't I want him to respect that? He never gave into my advances when I was influenced by the pheromone compound so many years ago. He behaved like a perfect gentleman and I should hold myself to the same standards.

But something inside me insists that this is a good idea and I'm almost sure it's not just my raging hormones.

I let go of him and take a step back. "Think about it. The worst thing of having the jitters is the anticipation. Once you get started it's usually not as bad as you thought it might be. Kind of like ripping a bandaid off."

"Gee. That's romantic, Lois." He wriggles his brows at me. "But I understand where you're coming from."

He pauses for a long moment. So long actually that I don't think he is going to say anything else. And I desperately think about something that I could do or say to break this uncomfortable silence.

He beats me to it. "Perhaps you're right."

That surprises me. "I am?"

"Not that I'd like to compare making love to the redressing of wounds. On New Krypton, I've had my fair share of that and it's an experience I'd rather not repeat." A smile tugs on his lips, even making it all the way to his eyes. "But you could be right in saying that my shying away only make my fears so much worse."

Self-consciously I start to fumble with his lapel. "I kind of spoiled the mood, didn't I?"

He laughs. "I guess you did."

It's so good to hear him laugh. "How about I let you take the lead? And however far you want to go is fine with me?"

He makes a throaty sound. "I'd like that." He inches forward and for a moment I think that he is going to kiss me again. But then he pulls back. "Are you really sure about this?"

I'm slightly taken aback. "Me? Of course I'm sure, Clark."

"I just-" He smiles at me uneasily. "Are you sure you know what you're getting yourself into? I mean, Sara is going to develop superpowers one day. She'll be… she'll be quite a piece of work. Maybe even dangerous to be around."

"I'm not afraid of her," I say with conviction. "Your parents seemed to manage just fine and they didn't have the help of an experienced Kryptonian."

He blushes a little. "And I... I can't promise you that there won't be any other scars left from New Krypton that will get in the way somehow."

I run down my hand along his cheek and hope that he can see in my gaze how serious I am about this. "I'm ready for whatever life may throw at us, Clark. And no matter what happens, I want you in my life. I've tried living without you and it was hell. I don't want to go back to that kind of misery."

"That's much more romantic." He smiles and places a kiss on my forehead. "I consider myself a very lucky man that I have you in my life."

My heart does a little dance. "Even if sometimes I give you a knock over your thick head?"

He chuckles. "Especially when you give me a knock over my thick and stubborn head."

And this time he leans in to kiss me, shy at first and so very gentle. And I desperately want to pull him toward me and deepen the kiss to the point that I no longer remember where I end and he begins. But I promised that I would let him take the lead. So I close my eyes and simply let myself enjoy what he is willing to give.
Eventually, his kiss grows hungrier and more desperate. It's almost as if I could I taste his loneliness, his pain and all the things that trouble him. So bittersweet, and in a way more intense than he has ever kissed me before. I melt into his embrace and lose any sense of time. The world around us has long since faded.
My insides catch fire and kissing him is no longer enough. I want to feel him, touch him and I fight to retain at least a modicum of control. The need to get closer seems overwhelming and I feel wetness pooling between my legs. I ache to be touched more intimately. After long moments of gently nibbling at my lower lips, of tender caresses by his tongue and hungry suckling, he eventually breaks the kiss.

He runs his hand up and down my cheek, then tilts his head slightly and kisses his way down toward my neck. I feel the soft tickling of his breath. His hands roam my back and I can't keep my own hands still any longer. I move them down his strong arms that hold me against him. Then I move back up and find his broad chest and firm abs.

Clark breaks the kiss and his hands leave my back to cover mine. Gently, he removes them from his chest.

"Not like this," he whispers huskily.

"Clark!" His name comes out as a strangled moan. Not again, I think desperately, but I bite my lip to keep from saying that loud. This is driving me crazy.
He blushes. "We shouldn't rush this. Not again." He brings my hand to his lips and kisses them. "Be right back."

Slightly dazed, I watch him as he heads for the kitchen. His steps are more even already, as if talking helped to get at least some of his worries off his chest. He opens the fridge and takes out a bottle of champagne. Then he fetches two glasses from my cupboard. When he returns, the smile on his face is the brightest I've seen in a while.

"Clark..." I'm not sure what to say.

Is he pulling back again or does he actually want to go through with... A rush of excitement fills me before I even have a chance to caution myself. He hands me the glasses. His gaze is dark with desire.

"We should do it properly this time," he murmurs.

My breath hitches and a rush of warmth spreads through my lower body at the mere idea of getting closer to him. "Clark, are we really going to..." My voice trails off. I don't really dare say the words out loud, afraid that he could change his mind.

He nods. "If that's what you want."

"What I want?" I ask tentatively. "What about you? You're not scared anymore?"

"I'm terrified," he admits softly.

The smile on his face falters a little and his hands shake ever so slightly as he fumbles with the cork. He looks down, focusing on the task at hand. Or so it seems, because when the cork finally pops, it slips through his hand and the champagne is spilling in a fountain, drenching both of us. I cannot help but laugh as he looks at me, his expression so utterly bewildered that it's really heart-wrenching.

"Well, that didn't go as planned," he mutters, embarrassed.

"Relax, Clark." I smile at him and hold out the glasses.

He needs a moment to shake himself from the stupor he's caught up in. Then he pours the remaining champagne into the glasses. He puts the bottle down and takes his glass from my hand. His cheeks look even more flushed than before, but he manages to compose himself.

"Why don't we pretend that this is just a date, Clark?" I suggest. "No pressure whatsoever. Whatever happens, happens."

He seems a little insecure at the prospect, but then he merely nods and raises his glass. "To our date."

"To our date." I clink my glass against his and we drink the champagne.