compiled smallville drabble meme fics (multiple characters/pairings)
Just so I can finally have these in one, editable place. Original post (where you can find great fics by others) here.
Those Old Theater Shoes (Tess/Emil, pg)
Tess feels awkward. She’d say like a fish out of water but that’s a cliché - and not exactly the meaning she’s going for.
Because she’s been here, she’s felt this. If she lets herself, she can remember steaming spring nights out on the lake with Jimmy - or was it Johnny? No - no, Tim - a boy she met in AP bio at one of the four high schools she ended up attending between ages 15 and 17. Before she got her scholarship and got the hell out of Dodge. Tim with eyes the color of the sky at sunrise, dark blue and gold, a sense of humor that made her belly ache, and a pretty decent throwing arm. They’d sit out in his dad’s boat; an old skiff with the paint chipped off, and let the evening wallow around them, heavy and stifling with its heat. She’d paddle her feet in the water, pick at the reeds that poked out from the depths below, let them slash along her palm. Her stomach would tense and tremble in expectation while she waited for him to kiss her, or reach out and hold her hand. Or something. Too shy to make the first move herself.
It was a long time ago and the girl she was then - was completely different from who she is now. So sitting here, on Emil’s sofa with a beer sweating in her hand and a bowl of popcorn between them and a film (a comedy he picked out) - it feels odd. Like putting on a costume for a play you’ve forgotten all the lines for.
But, and she’s not sure she believes she’s admitting this, it also feels nice. Pleasant. Sweet. It’s been a while since she was able to place “sweet” in her life. She’s Tess Mercer. She doesn’t date (was that even the word?) men or women who're sweet.
But Emil, with his dark, knowing eyes hidden behind the glasses; the shy half-smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth when he found something funny; his ability to cut right through to the heart of things - of her even - with a single word, with all the precision of the surgical knives he was so used to handling. Emil is sweet. Less dorky than she might have imagined, funnier, smart - and sweet.
So she finds herself here now. Well-past the age when a grown woman should blush at the feel of a hand slipping around her shoulders, or hold her breath when a man whispers some amusing comment about some asinine movie in her ear, or bite her lip at the slow circle his fingers are making so casually on her left arm - and she’s doing all of those things. It’s absurd. Forget the fact that they spent a whole night in a casino pretending to be married and singing Elvis tunes, and that they've pretty much done everything there is to be done between two people already.
But that's the point of this 'date' apparently. She would've been fine with just jumping straight to sex and skipping all this. She can understand that kind of play, she knows how to maneuver, and come out on top. This, though, is a different game altogether.
She counts to ten slowly, her stomach muscles jumping slightly. He’s rambling about how the film is nothing but a rip-off of The Hangover or some other film. And without warning, she turns to face him and presses her lips to his. He grunts into her mouth, “Oof!” and she’s looking straight at him - his eyes are open wide in surprise.
She doesn’t stop kissing him, just tilts her head and deepens it, her tongue sliding out tentatively to run over his lower lip, the taste of salty popcorn and tart beer and him. She waits until his eyelids drift shut and closes her own, allows herself to sink into the sensation, the bowl of popcorn between them forgotten. The tingling in her belly spreads, warm and heavy through her body, languid and she moans.
This. This she could definitely get used to.
fin
Of Pearl Stitch, That One Afternoon (Martha, g)
Martha sits out on the porch. It’s summertime, six o’clock in the evening, and the sun’s still beaming from its perch in the sky. In her lap is a pile of knitting. She really hadn’t ever thought she’d be the kind of grandmother who took up knitting to while away the time. But here she sits, rocking the swing gently and her hands working furiously with the clacking needles; letting the breeze bring in the smell of freshly-cut grass and wet earth, the sounds of two children running and laughing through the fields out in the back garden, and the scent of warm, apple pie just turning brown in the oven.
If she strains her ears a little, she can hear Lois one floor up in Clark’s old bedroom, talking rapidly into a phone and typing at her computer - a mile-a-minute as always - even at seven months pregnant with her third child. Clark is, no doubt, right next to her, scanning some of those research papers they brought with them at super-speed and feeding the information to his wife while he rubs her feet absently.
She smiles and starts another row of pearl.
-
The front door creaks open and a set of heavy footsteps come toward her. It’s Clark.
“Hey, Mom, you all right out here by yourself?” he asks.
She looks at him and lets a wave pride roll over her. This man standing before with shoulders that seem wide enough to carry the world - it’s almost unbelievable that he was once the little boy she cradled in her arms and sang lullabies to. The one with the small hand reaching for hers, fragile fingers (or so she’d thought that first day) clutching her tight as if he’d never let go. But he had. And now he had a family of his own.
“I’m all right, honey,” she says, and then with a knowing smirk, “Now shouldn’t you be getting some pie for Lois?”
“How’d you know?” he’s chuckling under his breath, leaning against the hardwood pillar by the steps. Martha points at her head. “A mother’s intuition is never far off.”
Clark snorts, “Don’t I know it.”
“And make sure the ice cream doesn’t melt all over it, Smallville!”
Lois’ yell reaches them loud and clear and he straightens up to do as told with almost comical haste.
And then he stops. Tilts his head, his eyes are far away for a second. Martha watches him intently as the awareness of some place other than right here - other than Kansas for all she knows - slides over him. His shoulders straighten, and his jaw clenches a little, one hand folds itself into a fist and he seems as tightly-coiled as a spring.
“Mom I-”
Waving her hand, Martha says, bemused, “I know, Superman - go on, I’ll get Lois her pie.”
He shoots her an apologetic look before the gravity hardens his eyes, and before she can even blink, he’s gone in a blur of blue and red.
The chorus of “Bye, Daddy!” floating on the wind from the field makes her mouth curve upwards.
The oven timer lets out an ornery buzz. She folds her knitting and puts it in the bag at her feet, and goes into the house.
fin
Think of the Neighbors, Honey (Lois/Clark, r)
Clark fell back against the sheets with a heavy thud, his breath coming hard and a film of sweat across his jaw, his eyes dazed and heavy-lidded. He laughed, hoarsely. Lois poked up from under the sheets and shot him a proud smirk. “Jeez, Smallville, why don’t you shout louder next time - pretty sure they heard you back in Kansas.” He couldn’t even find the energy to blush because he had been pretty loud. Later, his stomach might churn in embarrassment that he’d just yelled continuously for nearly an hour. He wondered if anyone else had heard, but this was a fancy hotel that his mom picked out for them for their Thanksgiving visit - the walls were probably pretty thick.
Lois curled into his side and he ducked to press his mouth against hers. At the taste of himself, he moaned. “That thing with the - we should definitely do that again…”
Lois giggled, “And again - and again -”
“Open the door! Police!”
Clark stopped short at the violent knocks on their door and looked at his fiancée, “What the…?” Lois stiffened and peered at the door curiously. “What’s that all about?”
He got out of bed but not before leaning back to kiss her again, letting his tongue play against hers. The knocks grew louder and he pulled away reluctantly, “Be right back?”
Lois raised an eyebrow, nibbling on her lower lip, “I’m not going anywhere.”
Scrambling for his briefs, Clark headed to the entrance, making a half-hearted effort to straighten his hair. He checked back to make sure Lois was decent, and yanked the door open. His eyes landed on two uniformed policeman, the taller one with his gun at the ready. He gulped. “Um, officers, how can I help you?”
They both stopped short at the sight of him and raked him from head to toe suspiciously before the older one whose face was pinched and thin, dark brown eyebrows slashing above piercing blue eyes, asked gruffly. “Sir, are you alone?” Clark cocked his head, confused, “Uh - no?”
Lois chose that moment to make herself known, and stood at his side. “What seems to be the problem, officers?” her voice was warm and pleasant. For some reason, seeing her standing in his dress shirt and knowing exactly how naked she was underneath and exactly what they’d been doing minutes earlier, made Clark prickle to attention. He coughed and surreptitiously moved his hands to cover the front of his boxers, staring at the policeman with what he hoped was a winning smile.
The officers’ stances softened the second she showed up. The short one, a little more heavy-set with a yellow-blond buzz cut explained, “Well, ma’am, I’m afraid we got a call from at least two residents in this hotel about a possible animal disturbance in this -” he peered at the door, “- in room 755.”
“Animal disturbance?” both Clark and Lois spoke at the same time, incredulity written all over their faces.
The taller one, Clark peered at his badge, McBride, cleared his throat. “Yes, apparently - according to the phone calls we logged thirty minutes ago - it sounded like someone was getting attacked by a wild animal.”
Lois was the first to put it all together, and a snort escaped her mouth before she covered it up with her fingers and caught Clark’s gaze. Clark felt himself turn some color beyond red and he tried to think of the best way to end the conversation. “I - uh - well - no, there was no - none of that here…” he trailed off uselessly.
“Officers, I’m so sorry - it was my fault entirely,” she sent them an effusive grin, hooking her arm through Clark’s. “We’re newlyweds, you see! But we’ll definitely try to keep it down from now on.”
This time it was the officers who took a second to figure it out, their gazes darting from Clark to Lois, Lois to Clark. And then the blonde’s eyes widened and he took a step back, “Oh. Ohhh - oh.” He was blushing. McBride nodded and said, “Well, I hope you’ll be considerate of your fellow residents next time.” The corner his mouth was shaking as he pushed his colleague towards the elevators. “Enjoy the rest of your honeymoon. And - congratulations.”
Lois waved, “Thank you!”
The second the sliding doors pinged shut, she looked at Clark, her fingers playing across her mouth. Clark shook his head and she burst into laughter, leaning against the wall, clutching at her stomach. He didn’t know whether to laugh or knock on the doors of his neighbors with a sincere apology for all the noise. He watched Lois guffawing, her hair a tangled mess at her shoulders, and reconsidered. “So you know I’m going to have to pay you back for this, don’t you?”
Lois stopped laughing and gulped before tilting her head slightly. “I-I have no idea what you’re talking about.” But the cautious step backward said differently. He hid a smile and sighed, utterly serious, “Yup, I guess I’m gonna have to make you scream too or something - fair’s fair.”
Lois took a couple more steps and held a hand to ward him off. “Now - Smallville, I don’t know that that’s a smart thing to do - I mean - think of the neighbors.”
He shook his head with a snort and moved towards her. Lois turned and ran, peals of laughter ringing around their suite, before she scrambled across the bed. He caught up with her then and pushed her down on her back where she landed in the center with a bounce and he landed on top of her. The laughter cut off, and she giggled breathlessly. He stared down at her - she was rumpled, her hair strewn across her face and spread out on the sheet beneath, beautiful. He imprisoned her wrists above her head and leaned in to kiss her, slowly, his tongue sliding across her teeth and inside. His other hand moved to her left thigh, palm skimming across soft skin to the curve of her hips. Pulling back, he murmured, “All that running and you still land up right where I want you.”
Lois wound her fingers through his. He tensed at the feel of her heel dragging along his calf. She wrapped her legs around him, mouth tilted upwards at the corners. “Well, I guess that’s a good thing then, hunh.”
He brushed his thumb along the underside of her breast, Lois arched into his touch with a gasp. “Why’s that, Ms. Lane?” Freeing herself from his hold, she touched his jaw, her fingers sliding down to the hair at his nape, and said, “Because, this right here? Is exactly where I want to be.”
He smiled.
fin
Bright Lights, Big City (Clark, Lois, g)
Clark shifts the bulging shopping bag cradled in his arms with a sigh, and trudges up the stairs. Two weeks in the new apartment and he’s figured out that taking the elevator probably isn’t the smartest idea in the world-certainly not in this building. He already got himself stuck in there twice.
The first time, he’d been alone so it wasn’t so much of a problem. He managed to jump onto the ceiling and push it to the basement with no one catching on. But one time, he got trapped in the miniscule box with a lady from the fourth floor, Mrs. Lerman. She was nice enough but the fact that he was stuck in that space for nearly two hours when he could’ve gotten them out so easily was irritating. He smiles to himself at memory. Mrs. Lerman was talkative, really talkative. She’d been curious about the new kids up on 7th, along with most of the building, she said. He and Lois had laughed about it over dinner that night. The fact that their neighbors, two floors down, were wondering who they were, was both endearing and a little creepy.
A car horn blares, the disruptive sound bleeding in through the walls. It’s odd living in the city-with all the sounds of the city. Lois was well-used to it and even she was having trouble adjusting. The loud sigh of a bus pulling up at a traffic light; the wail of an ambulance or a police siren; the clang of a garbage truck being filled; music from the neighbors to the left of them who played hip-hop on Tuesdays and rock on Fridays.
And the smells are different too. City smells. He imagines his dad saying it with a slight sneer on his face and his typical disdain of city life. The abrasive tang of newly-laid tar, trash left lying out for days, acrid exhaust fumes, and sweat. The unmistakable smell of people-people living and doing and going about their business every single day, come rain or sun.
He can’t say that he doesn’t miss the farm some days. The quiet, the way he can see the stars at night without using his abilities; the clean, fresh smell of grass and wet earth in the mornings.
But living in Metropolis is an adventure all its own. He’s getting used to the thrum of the city’s pulse, and he likes it. It means he’s in the thick things in more ways than just the Daily Planet.
He turns the key to the apartment and pushes the door open. A familiar sight greets him. Lois, dressed in one of his shirts, her long legs poking out from underneath, her hair caught up in a bun at the top of her head, and a spare pair of his glasses on her nose. She’s reading at the kitchen counter while her fingers play with the stem of a wineglass. She looks up at his entrance and smiles warmly. “Hey, Smallville. Oh, good, you brought dinner. I’m starving.”
His mouth stretches in response, and he thinks, it might be strange. Some parts of living in the city might be really strange, a bit of a culture shock for him even. But this, coming home to Lois, this feels like home.
fin
Ocean Jewel, Brilliant Sea and That Other One (Clark, Lois, g)
“Okay, why the hell are there 50 different kinds of blue on this thing?”
“Just pick one, Lois.” Clark’s voice held barely-disguised impatience; he folded his arms across his chest, feeling like he was ready to bang his head against the nearest wall at this point.
“We can’t just pick one, Clark. What if it looks like crap? And then I’ll have to shower and go to the bathroom in a bathroom that looks like crap?” Lois was frowning at the paint selector in her hand. “Brilliant Sea looks like the exact same thing as Ocean Jewel. Who comes up with these names anyway?”
Clark shrugged. He looked around the store aimlessly and half-wished that someone would call for help or some disaster would happen so he could escape this purgatory. He’d tried to offer his opinion but when Lois vetoed his first three suggestions, he’d decided to leave all the domestic decisionmaking to her and spur her along as much as possible. He knew he wasn’t being particularly helpful with all this but he just wanted to get out of there.
She dragged her finger along the different variations of blue, whispering their names under her breath and stopped abruptly when she got to one, a snort of laughter escaping her mouth. Laughter that turned into a loud guffaw as she read over the words again to make sure she’d read them right.
Clark looked at her. “What is it?”
She brought her fingers to her lips as if to stifle her amusement. “I think we’ve found the perfect blue, Smallville.”
Clark didn’t even care to know what blue it was. He straightened up with an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Finally - now can we go home already?”
Lois ignored his petulant tone, nodded smugly and strolled over to the paint cans, “Yeah, sure - I can’t wait to paint our bathroom all over in Superman Blue.”
Clark smiled, “Great - wait. What?” People had come up with the name ‘Superman Blue’ - for paint colors? He’d literally only started calling himself that a few weeks ago!
He looked at her retreating back before rushing to catch up with her, “Now, Lois - wait - maybe we should reconsider…”
fin
Thunder Only Happens When It's Raining, (Clark/Lois, m, smut, pwp)
Lois rolls her neck, wincing at the sound of kinks popping in quick succession. She repositions herself on the couch and stares at her computer screen, blinking owlishly as words run into each other. At this point, she’d been working on this article for two hours straight and she still hadn’t making any inroads. She flops her head back against the couch and glances at Clark who’s frowning at his own laptop while his fingers pounce rapidly over the keyboard. Not too fast-because the few times he’s done that, he ended up with a ruined board, an unusable computer and her snickering in amusement in the desk across from him. But definitely faster than most humans can manage on a good day. A useful ability-she should know. She fidgets in her seat at the thought of how he’s used those hands in other, less-professional situations.
The furrow at his brow deepens and his jaw flexes in annoyance as he shoves his spectacles higher up his nose. As hard as the Planet’s working her since the new promotion, Clark’s been working twice as hard to get himself out of the basement (and away from Cat, not that he’d ever say that out loud). And that isn’t even counting Superman duties. She’s pretty sure that will all the articles he’s bringing in about Metropolis’ shiny hero, he’ll be a shoe-in for a leg-up soon enough.
She smirks inwardly. “Superman” had made quite the impression on the world the past few weeks. She’s proud of his name. She came up with that one on the fly the day he officially ‘came out’-not that she hadn’t been turning her names over in her head for months beforehand. When she used it in the first, worldwide Superman exclusive, it’d taken like wildfire.
Clark hates the name for the most part, which - expected. But she has to roll her eyes at how the world’s female population went absolutely batshit crazy at it and him. He already has a troupe of over-excited admirers, women who line up at his conferences, and treat him like a rock star. At least fifteen called him all damsel -in-distress mode and all of them turned out to be false alarms.
Despite the crazies, she likes the name 'Superman' and the world loves it, so he’ll have to get used to it whether he wants to or not.
Saving her article, she cycles her shoulders and sits up. Clearly, it’s well past time for a break-for both of them. She places her laptop on the low-slung table they got for a steal at a garage sale two weekends ago, and wanders over to the stereo, sifting through their CD collection. Settling on a song choice, she clicks “Play.” Clark’s head pops up at the loud guitar riff filling the room. He looks at Lois and shoves his glasses up his nose again. “Hey?”
Lois shimmies her hips in a circle and crooks her finger at him playfully, “Come dance with me, Smallville.”
His brows kick up over his forehead, incredulous. “Dance - now?”
Pasting a serious look on her face, she says, “Yes now - humor me, Fly Boy.”
He points at his laptop. “I’m kinda busy here, Lois.” She has to tamp down a giggle at how stern he looks right then like a college professor torn away from the thrilling task of grading papers or something. “I can see that, Sherlock, but we both need a break-from work that we shouldn’t be doing by the way.” They’d made a promise to leave their jobs at the Daily Planet, and while it was hard, they’d done pretty well at it so far. Before he can interrupt her, “And I know that Kryptonians have the power of super-concentration or whatever but,” she tilts her head and bites her lip, “Come on, just one dance? We haven’t danced once in our new apartment yet.” As if it’s a well-known rule he just hasn’t heard of.
Clark looks at her suspiciously. “You know I don’t dance, right?”
Lois rolls her eyes and turns around in a circle, wheedling, “Mhmm, but you make exceptions every once in a while-for me.” She looks back at him out of the corner of her eye and notices his eyes shift down to some spot below her waist. She’s wearing one of his old plaid shirts, and the material rides high on her thighs, more so with the dancing. He could be such a guy sometimes.
He makes a production of saving his document and standing up with a heavy sigh. Lois reaches for his hand and pulls him closer. He quirks his left eyebrow and says, a smile tugging at his mouth, “Whitesnake? Really?”
She wraps her arms around his shoulders, “I am nothing if not predictable, Smallville.” His hands rest comfortably on her hips and he lets his eyes travel across her face and says, “Not always. But I like that about you.”
“Oh, really?” Her gaze drops to his lips involuntarily. He nods, and ducks to press a soft kiss on her mouth, nothing special, and then leans back slowly. Lois follows his movement and deepens the contact, her teeth nibbling on his lower lip. Groaning, he drags her close. She rises on her tip toes, tangles her fingers through his hair.
All thoughts of dancing or not-dancing forgotten, Clark’s hands skim along her thighs and under the shirt, fiddling with the waist band of her panties. His fingers run across the already-damp material in between her thighs. And Lois rocks into his touch, half-balanced precariously on his leg and trying to get more friction. He digs past the elastic band and brushes his forefinger along the seam of her cu-nt. She jerks, gasping away from his mouth. Clark smiles at the reaction, and his finger sinks deeper even with his movement restricted by her underwear. Lois bites her lip and looks at him, half-lidded, her own hands making quick work of his shirt, nudging it over his shoulders. Gripping his arms for leverage, she cants her hips against his hand. Two fingers now, sliding inside her to the knuckle, the bite of the elastic stretched across her hips.
-
He realizes pretty fast that this won’t be enough. Pulling his fingers out of her, he walks them back a few steps before lifting her in his arms so she straddles his hips. Soon, she finds herself horizontal on the bed with him hovering above her by the strength of his arms.
“So… was all this part of your evil plan, Ms. Lane?” He’s taken to calling her that as Superman-when they’re in public really. She can acknowledge, silently, that the way his mouth folds over the two syllables so intimately makes her squirm, even in the middle of press conferences.
Lois lifts her hands up to the shirt she’s wearing, her fingers picking at the buttons slowly. “You know me.” His eyes drift down to the snatches of flesh revealed painstakingly and he licks his lips and says, “Yeah, I do,” before sinking down to wrap his mouth around the pulse beating wildly at her neck.
The music switches to a Fleetwood classic. Lois gazes dazedly at the ceiling, the lyrics echoing in snatches in her brain as she gives in to the sensation. The feel of Clark’s tongue leaving a slick trail down the center of her chest and flicking at her left nipple makes it hard to breathe. She presses him closer, her hand clutching at his hair. She looks down to see a mop of hair that she messed up with her fingers and his pink tongue swirling around her distended nipple. “Clark-.”His name comes out strangled and airy, demanding.
He knows what she wants. He moves lower to the apex of her thighs and nuzzles the sticky cloth against her center. She bucks upward. He inches her panties down her legs and tosses them somewhere on the bed. And then he licks, long and slow before sucking on her clit. “Ugh-yes, shit!” is all she can manage when he uses super-speed to vibrate around her. He pushes a finger, two inside her cu-nt and his tongue is moving in ways she didn’t even think were possible. She curses loudly and presses her heels into the mattress.
Lois is hyper-aware of everything. The music, his hands, his mouth on her, the sheets under her palms, the quiet whirr of the air conditioner on the wall by their bed even though she feels unbearably hot, her body stretching taut-everything. She pulls on the sheet underneath and arches up. An orgasm sneaks up and rears through her fast as lightning, gripping her muscles for a moment before a sharp release that leaves her shaking.
-
She’s licking her dry lips, catching her breath while shudders spread themselves in waves along her body.
Clark sits back. His pupils are dilated, and his mouth is swollen from all the kissing and sucking he’s been doing, and damp with her come. “Well, I guess I should get back to my article,” he remarks casually, wiping the back of his hand across his face.
Lois narrows her eyes. She can see perfectly well from this position the bulge behind his jeans. He’s clearly baiting her. And she’s too satisfied from one orgasm and too ready for the next to even get angry. But he probably knows that. Biting back a grin, she lets her hand trail from the sheets at her side to her chest, brushes her thumb across a flushed nipple, and says, just as casual, “Sure-go ahead, Smallville. I guess I’ll just stay here-and, you know finish what you can’t.” It’s a deliberate insult, and in some ways Clark is just like her, he can’t back down from a challenge. Especially not one that obvious.
She cups her breast and her eyes slide half-closed, a moan dragged lazily from her throat.
His mouth drops open.
Her fingers creep down her torso and his eyes follow, hypnotized. For a second it looks like he’s wrestling between just sitting back and watching if she’ll follow through and taking over. It doesn’t take him long to decide. She sees a flash of heat run across his eyes before he unzips his jeans, pushes them down his hips, and his cock springs out from confinement. He’s hard, slick pre-cum pooling at the tip. Lois’ hips twitch involuntarily. He notices that and smirks, leans down to brush himself along her wet entrance. “What kind of man-what kind of ‘superman’ would I be if I left you here all alone?”
Of course he would start to like the name now, she thinks caustically.
He sinks in shallowly and Lois whimpers at the full sensation before smiling back. “A pretty bad one-I’d have to write an article about you, disappoint millions of women all over the globe who have dirty thoughts about you and your abilities and no one will-.” She’s babbling and she doesn’t even care.
He rolls his eyes and presses his mouth to hers, hard. Lois swipes her tongue against his, a chuckle deep in her chest. He pulls back from the kiss just as his cock slides all the way in, making them suck air into their lungs simultaneously. “Lois?”
“Mhmm…?” She’s not even hearing him.
“Shut up.”
fin
A Curious Thing ("Prophecy" fic, Clark/Lois, m, smut, pwp)
“Now, Lois-mmph!”
Lois pushes Clark against the wall, and swallows the words coming out of his mouth with her own, her tongue laving across his lower lip. Her hands move down his chest and she fiddles with the buttons on his shirt. The material rips apart in her fingers, and buttons scatter everywhere like beads. She leans away. “Hunh, I didn’t even pull that hard.”
Clark opens his eyes, a faint smile playing at his mouth before he shakes his head to clear it. “Lois-we should talk about this.”
Lois isn’t listening. Her fingers graze his nipples, glide down his torso and up again before settling right above his heart. There’s a curious expression on her face. “I can hear your heart beat,” she says wonderingly. Her hands splay wide on the width of his chest and she steps closer, mouth glancing along his chin and down to his collar bone. His heart speeds up and he gulps, his head falling back at the feel of her tongue lapping at his pulse. “Oh, whoa,” she mutters against his heated skin, “This is amazing-you sound like you’re about to have a heart attack.”
She pulls back quickly, a worried frown marring her features, “You’re not about to have a heart attack, right?”
He lets out a burst of laughter and shakes his head. “No-this is how the human heart always sounds, you know, in situations like this.”
Lois narrows her eyes. “Really?” Skimming her hands across his nipples, she leans in to lick one and Clark draws in a sharp breath at the wet heat of her mouth, his eyelids sliding shut. “So, when you do that to me-my heart sounds like that?” Her teeth are nibbling on the sensitive skin and he bites his lip, nodding before he realizes she can’t see that, his voice raspy, “Y-yeah.”
Lois stands back abruptly and says with a measured look, “Hm, interesting. Let’s experiment.”
He isn’t sure what to do about the almost ruthless gleam in her eye. Usually, it means good things but right now with his powers and whatever game Jor El’s playing it doesn’t seem like such a good-
His thoughts cut off at the sight of her on her knees and her hands on his belt. “Lo-Lois?” he says weakly.
She grins, looks up at him while she tugs his pants down in one swoop that leaves them drooping at his ankles, and palms his cock through his briefs. “I have to see how this works-if it’s the same for you as it is for me.”
Biting her lower lip, she nudges his thighs wider apart. He jerks off the wall violently. She stays his movement with a finger that makes him slam back again. He winces at the bite of brick into his thoroughly human shoulders. Lois cringes, “Sorry-I don’t know how you control all of this all the time.”
She rubs slow circles against his penis through the cloth. He’s straining to be released from the confinement, pre-cum dampening the material. If it wasn’t for that, he might have found it in himself to say something more coherent than, “Yeah… well… practice-many years-mhmm, please-oh God.”
Inching the briefs down to his thighs, her fingers wrap around his length and slide up from base to tip, slowly-agonizingly slow.
“See, when you do this kind of thing to me-there’s this one thing you do with your tongue that’s kind of amazing.” Her head is tilted as she rambles philosophically. She doesn’t stop with the hands though. Her thumb swipes across the crown and spreads his moisture all over him, her fingers a tight ring around his hard flesh. She’s jerking him off, and still talking. He tries to focus on what she’s saying. “So, I feel like, since we don’t have a lot of time with this-it’s only fair that I get to try it on you, at least once.”
He nods, not even sure what she’s talking about, and thrusts his hips forward. “What-whatever you want, Lois, anything-oh shit.”
Her mouth closes on the head of his dick without warning, warm and slick. She sinks lower, pulls back up, and slides down again. Looking down, he sees her rose-pink lips wrapped tight around him. He sinks his hand into her hair to guide her and rocks forward so she takes him deeper. When he pulls at her hair, she meets his gaze, sharp and focused, watching his every move with heat in her eyes.
He feels dazed, like his world has contracted to a fine point, like it’s flooded with heat and light and pure sensation-her teeth grazing along the underside of his cock, the liquid heat of her surrounding him, the dip and swirl of her tongue, her fingers fondling his balls, the tight grip and then the release, and again. He brushes her hair out of her face and thrusts a little harder, his fingers curling through her hair. She takes all of him, right until his cock hits the back of her throat, her bangs tickling his lower abdomen, and hums around the length. The throb makes him yelp and he’s close-fuck-. He grimaces and bangs his head against the wall.
She releases him with a wet pop and he grunts in protest.
“I’m not finished yet, Smallville.” By the tone of her voice and the smug smirk on her lips, he can tell she loves this, loves driving him nuts-but he’s known that from the minute they met. And he likes it.
Circling him with her fingers, she slides her tongue along the underside, licking at the vein that runs along the length of it.
And then he feels it.
Oh...
Her tongue vibrates against him. Stuttering at first, as if she’s trying to work out her rhythm and then a steady pulse that reverberates right through him, a spike of heat from his dick through his body that drives him closer to the edge. He yells something, her name, a curse, claws at the brick face of the wall behind him, his body hanging somewhere in between pushing harder at her face, begging for more, and yanking himself back because it’s too much-
“Oh my god.”
The shout echoes through their apartment, the neighbors can probably hear but he doesn’t care. He just comes. Hard and fast. His body trembling in uneven jerks, his release spurting across her lips before she closes her mouth over the tip to swallow the rest of it, her tongue still pulsating around him.
-
He slumps against the wall. Sweat cools on his chest, dampening his clothes, making his hair stick to his temple.
She pulls away from him and there’s a faint tinkle of laughter while she licks his come off her mouth, and wipes her hand across her face. For some reason, the sight of her doing that is unbearably hot. He holds his breath for a moment.
Lois looks up at him. “Wow that was amazing.”
He can’t do more than mumble in agreement.
She clambers to her feet and kisses him, pushing her tongue into his mouth so he can taste himself and her. He runs his hand along her cheek and moans. A moan that turns into a grunt of surprise when he lands on their bed with a bounce and Lois straddles his hips. He raises his brow in question and her mouth curves. “Oh, you didn’t think we were done already, did you? We’ve got,” she glances at her wristwatch, “An hour left before we have to go back to work, we’re not going anywhere, Smallville.”
A thought or two skitter through his mind. They have to get back to work, they’ve got an investigation to figure out and maybe they should take some time to question why Jor El did all this in the first place. It could be dangerous. And there are people to take care of, maybe-
But then she pulls her blouse over her head, and he swallows thickly at her breasts clad in nothing but a bra. One hour. He smiles and flips them around so she's spread out under him, her legs wrapping around his waist. There’s a hell of a lot they can get done in an hour. “You know, I really like the way you think, Lois.”
fin
Quiet as Clouds (Lana, future fic, t)
She presses her heel into his back and breathes out. He murmurs something in her ear, warm breath hot against her skin. Words that curl up inside her like smoke.
It’s fast and it’s dirty. Probably the most adventurous sex she’s ever had. 6PM in the middle of summer, anyone could walk outside the apartment and hear them, and if they looked carefully through the steel bars and the slim covering of trees, they might even see. But she doesn’t care. Her fingers sink into grass beneath her, and she strains upwards. He puts his head in the cleft between her shoulder and her chin, and bites down. It hurts and that’s what pushes her over the edge. Falling, falling into a pool of warm, wet heat and she doesn’t want it to end.
-
Everything ends. If there’s a single thing Lana’s come to understand-it’s that.
Sometimes there are tears. Other times it’s sudden, a sharp inhalation like a hiccup, the air hanging still and unbearably heavy in your chest. And sometimes it just is. The lingering note at the end of a waltz.
It seems to her that so much of her life has been about ends. A conflagration of light, and her parents who aren’t standing there any longer; billows of smoke that make her throat and nose and eyes sting. She’s sitting in a café in Shanghai, hiding, and remembering the cold, metallic feel of plans and plots, dreaming late into the night of how she’d make her “great escape.” Her husband breathing in and out beside her in deep sleep, so deep she might as well have been invisible. Or she’s finding the strength to walk away and putting one foot in front of the other is the hardest thing she’s ever had to do but she doesn’t stop, she runs. For miles, she doesn’t stop.
She’s spent more than half of her 31 years moving away from one end and running towards another.
Then there’s the moments in-between-a liminal space of endless possibilities where she learns to build herself again. There is the nakedness of it, skin stripped clean of the bone and then layer upon layer of re-shaping into some sort of wholeness.
-
When she was younger, Lana always imagined that she’d die young.
She imagined then that fate had meant for her to skip across the street, the candy-floss pink wings tied to her back, the straps of them scratching at the skin at her neck, and the star in her grubby hand waving hello to her parents. And that they might have lifted her from the ground and her mother who always smelled sweet-of roses and sunshine and-. Her mother would kiss her on the forehead and say something-anything. The sort of thing that mothers say to their daughters. And in an instant, in a bright flash of light and maybe some pain, it would all have been over.
So maybe some part of her had been chasing after that end. At least that’s what her psychologist tells her. Dr. Michelin, who sits in her chair with her face folded into careful indifference, makes all the right noises at all the right times, and helps her find neat explanations for every messed up thing that’s ever happened in her life.
She’s not sure if she believes any of it or not. But it’s something isn’t it?
-
She settles in a little town just outside of Paris. It makes sense, of course, that she finds herself here again. This place perhaps is her favorite in-between. In her memories, it’s taken on a sort of golden timelessness so she comes back every now and again. She had fun here, she laughed, she painted in cobble-stone squares until it was too dark to see and there was nothing but silhouettes and the dull gleam of cigarettes at dusk. She even fell in love.
How much of that has become better than it was at the time, she doesn’t think on too deeply. But she’s here and she’s enjoying it.
-
It’s strange but familiar having to move around like everyone else does after five or six years. A good sort of familiar. To run and feel tired, to sleep the whole night through.
She likes it.
-
She meets Luc at a café outside of an art festival. It’s something of a cliché. She’s grown fond of those though, there’s something comforting in things that are typical-in just being typical and not trying so hard to be special or different or anything other than what she is.
So when he asks to buy her a cup of coffee and compliments her on her smile, she says yes, tucks her hair behind her ear.
It’ll be anything but serious. What it will be is fun and she values a whole lot more than she did when she was younger.
-
She’s holding the white gold chain, the delicate links slide sinuously across her palm and through her fingers, the crystal gleams pale white. Such a long time ago-she remembers all those faces. There was a time she thought she’d never be able to let go of all that. In some ways she hasn’t, not entirely. She writes; she talked to Chloe a few weeks ago; the last time she was in Metropolis tracking down a missing piece from the gallery, she even found herself chasing a story with Lois of all people. She chuckles under her breath; she wasn’t going to forget that experience any time soon.
But in every way that matters, she has. It’s as simple that.
So when she opens Le Monde and there’s a picture of Clark, his cape trailing, the small figure in the sky, the red, blue and yellow colors melting into each other to a faded pink blur, she feels nothing but affection, quiet as a cloud.
She likes it.
fin