Disclaimer: I haven't magically gained ownership from the last chapter to this one. Damn.
***
~Then~
"So what now?" queried Lois, as the credits began to scroll across the screen. She stretched and didn't notice the attention the action attracted from her companion.
Clark cleared his throat and ducked his head to hide his blush. "What do you mean what now?"
"Smallville, it's six o'clock on a Friday night. Even in Kansas we should be able to rustle up something to do. I mean, we're young! We're fu- well, I'm fun, and you aren't nearly as mopetastic as you used to be, so I'll give you points for that. There's gotta be some sort of worthwhile pass time of which we might partake." She gathered up a hefty armful of corn syrup and transfat and went to put it all away in the kitchen.
"Mopetastic?" he spluttered indignantly, as he began to rinse the plates. She fell to drying easily, and cast him an arch look.
"What? I gave you the points! And p.s. that was being kind." She flung an arm up to cover her eyes, and assumed a dramatic pose. "Ohhhhhhhhh- woe is I! Foolish and accurséd fates, to be so cruel as to keep me from my ain true love! Alas! I shall perish forthwith!"
He snapped her smartly across the rump with the spare tea towel and glared.
"I wasn't like that!"
She smirked at him. "No, of course not. This is you we're talking about. It was more: Clarkie mad! Clarkie sad! Clarkie has boohoohoo!"
She crossed her eyes and let her mouth go slack, tilting her head and drooling.
"You're mean," he sniffed, drying his hands and shelving the remaining bits of detritus. She threw her arms around his middle, and squeezed, pressing up against his back playfully.
"You love me for it, Smallville! It's part of my ample charm, and you'd miss it if it disappeared."
There was a cracking sound as she let go. Clark whirled around hastily and began shuffling her towards the living room, away from the finger shaped indentations in the countertop.
***
~Now~
So the trick of this was going to be moving slowly enough that she didn't attract his attention, and yet quickly enough that he didn't notice her absence. Like a stealthy band aid, Lois, she told herself. You can do this.
The tidal wave of images from the day before (and the night, she reminded herself reluctantly, don't forget about last night, you gutless horny toad) that overcame her when she'd spotted the rings had led her to fall back into the pillows. She'd half decided that she was dreaming, and had determined that going back to sleep to try and wake up again was the best course of action, when she'd felt Clark's large hand wrap itself snuggly around her upper thigh. The effect it was having on her would only be too noticeable if those long fingers of his trailed bare inches upwards, and that brought her to her current plan of fleeing. Fleeing was the order of the day.
Left leg stretches out, hooks around the edge of the bed, yeeessss, like so, well done, Lois, good pilates investment. Right hand moves to brace what is sure to be a smooth, graceful, fluid movement with absolutely no complications whatsoever- The hand on her leg tightened, and the thumb stroked a slow path over her thigh. She looked over to see wide open blue-green eyes staring at her with an indefinable gleam. Shit.
Lois closed her mouth with a snap, realizing that the combination of the eyes and the hand and the rings and the surreal hotel surroundings had left her gaping at him like some sort of super naked land fish.
"Uh, good morning, Smallville!" She trilled, her voice tight. These situations tended to produce memory loss in one or more of their participants, and since she could sketch the gist of it, she assumed that he was up to bat for Team Amnesia. She tried to slide her left hand under the covers discretely, hoping against hope he wouldn't notice and start freaking out. She hadn't gotten through sorting out her own feelings on the subject yet, and she didn't want to add his loud and caustic disapproval to the jumbled mix of horror and guilt-laden intrigue she was feeling. How often did a person wake up married to Clark Kent? There was an appeal there that she was honest enough to admit to herself. Either way, she wasn't ready to deal with him losing his nuggets while they were both naked. She vaguely noted his hand had yet to leave her thigh.
Apparently she worried prematurely. There was no nugget losing at all. At least, not on his part. So smoothly she didn't even see him do it he had her partway under him, and he was cradling her body in his large, gentle arms. He stroked a proprietary hand down her rib cage, and his lips brushed hers briefly.
"Good morning, Mrs. Kent," he grinned against her neck, ignoring how she stiffened against him.
