Smallville Fic(let)/Drabble Meme + shameless TVD promotion

[ladygawain]

I am overcome with many of the feelings on the soon-coming end of my show, (Smallville). So to help myself (and maybe some of you) through this, I propose a.........

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thunder only happens when it's raining PART TWO, nc17, fluffy smut basically, clark/lois

[ladygawain]

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.