Ficlet: Flicker | Superman I | Superman/Lois | R | 1/1
Title: Flicker
Fandom: DCU/Superman I
Pairing: Superman/Lois
Rating: R (for Lois's mouth)
Word Count: 954
Prompt: For the Porn Battle - Superman, Lois/Clark, cigarette
Summary: Lois has nightmares about something that never happened. Superman hears her distress and comes to see if she's all right.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own it all. I own nothing. Darnit.
Author's Notes: Takes place a few weeks after the end of Superman I. I admit, I have a weakness for Lois remembering this particular incident. Yes, this is reminiscent of Memory of Your Kiss, but this is longer and angstier. I so couldn't help myself. *evil grin* Lois and Anissa, this is also for you ladies. I told you I'd be back to writing in the Supes-verse eventually. ^_~ Also, not so much with the porn here, but oh well. Next time. :p
Flicker
Thrashing and whimpering, Lois comes up from the nightmare to find herself tangled in her sheets. She can't extricate herself from the bed fast enough, the terror of being trapped, dirt filling in around her, too much, too real, and it isn't until she's halfway across the room, the sheets wadded up in the opposite corner, that she can finally breathe again. The sharp taste of earth is still so heavy on her tongue that she's in the bathroom in a flash, head over the sink and trying not to wretch as she rinses her mouth out.
Six weeks she's been having these damned nightmares. Six goddamn weeks of waking up terrified, panicked almost to the point of screaming. The worst part is that she doesn't even know why. She's sure she would have remembered being buried alive, earth swallowing her up, but nothing even remotely disastrous has happened in months. Nothing like that at all.
Splashing more cold water on her face, she tries to calm down. Deep breaths. It wasn't real. Get a grip, Lois, she tells herself while she dries off with a hand towel.
Then she catches her reflection in the mirror, and can't stifle a groan. Planting her palms on the porcelain, she leans in for a closer look, inspecting the carnage. Dark circles lie heavily under her eyes, the rest of her face pale to ghostly besides the reddish blotches on her cheeks, a sure indicator she's been crying, even if she doesn't remember it. “Dammit, I need a cigarette,” she grumbles, hating life.
Shoving away from the mirror, she stalks back out to her bedroom, dons a long, light robe, tying it tight around herself, and grabs a cigarette and her lighter from the pack on her dresser before stepping out onto her balcony to get some fresh air.
Summer in Metropolis brings a lightly humid, cool breeze with it on the best of nights, and tonight can easily be counted among those, thankfully. Lois fights down a shiver as the air curls around her legs and torso, and she plants herself in one of the white patio chairs and crosses her legs. Flicking the lighter, she watches the tiny flame dance in the breeze before bringing it to the tip of the cigarette, lighting up, and inhaling the smoke deeply. Jesus, that's good, she thinks as the nicotine hits her system, that sweet rush of calm smoothing over the frayed edges of her nerves.
Dropping her head into her free hand after tossing her lighter onto the small table, she tries to get hold of herself, shuts her eyes and takes another long drag from the cigarette.
It was only a dream. Only a dream. Never happened. And things that never happened can't hurt you.
She's so absorbed in trying to convince herself to be rational that she hardly notices the breeze whipping up stronger around her.
“Miss Lane?”
Her head comes up so fast she nearly gives herself whiplash, her heart pumping a sudden spike of adrenaline at the unexpected intrusion. She'll fight if she has to, she'll―
“Superman?” she breathes out shakily, finally really taking in the primary colors before her, the long cape fluttering slightly, a hand extended as if to grasp her shoulder.
“Are you all right, Miss Lane?” he says gently, his hand dropping awkwardly. “I heard you, well... I heard you,” he almost seems to shrug. “It sounded like something was wrong.”
A half-hysterical laugh tears from her throat as she stands quickly, arms practically flailing. “Am I all right? No, I'm not a―” but she cuts herself off, realizing she's still got the cigarette in her hand. “Shit,” she swears sourly, looking at the glowing red tip, the thin ribbon of smoke rising slowly from it. Fucking waste, she laments before crushing it out in the ashtray on the table. That little flame was saving her sanity. Now what's she supposed to do?
“Lois?” Superman starts again, stepping closer.
Hugging her arms around herself in the cool air, she fixes him with a steely gaze. “I'm fine,” she says. “Just a stupid nightmare. Nothing to get worked up over.” She can't even spare a thought for the fact that he's here, came rushing in when something seemed wrong. How can she, when his very presence just cost her half a cigarette? Damn you.
“I see,” he relents.
And there it is, that glint in his eyes, that looks like she just kicked his puppy or something, and the fight drains out of her in a flood. Dropping back into the chair, she pushes her hands through her hair. “It was just a stupid nightmare,” she says again, unable to stop her voice from shaking. She can't look up at him. Can't. Not with the images hitting her hard again. Earth closing in around her. Too late. No air. Screams. The taste of dirt on her tongue.
But Superman kneels beside her, a tentative hand on her arm, and his blue eyes are too damn close.
A scream. Like the end of the world.
She can't stop the way she begins to shake like a leaf, and in an instant, his arms are around her, pulling her close against his chest.
He's so warm.
Hot desert sun.
Death.
“It's okay, I've got you. I've got you, Lois, I promise,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.
She can't stop shaking, even as he draws her up against him, holding tight. Tilting her head back to look up at him, all she can manage is a hoarse whisper, “It was the end of the world.”
The way his eyes suddenly look haunted sends a flickering chill down her spine, even as he smooths down her hair with a warm hand, murmuring more reassurances.
It was the end of the world. The end of everything.
* * * * *
Fandom: DCU/Superman I
Pairing: Superman/Lois
Rating: R (for Lois's mouth)
Word Count: 954
Prompt: For the Porn Battle - Superman, Lois/Clark, cigarette
Summary: Lois has nightmares about something that never happened. Superman hears her distress and comes to see if she's all right.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own it all. I own nothing. Darnit.
Author's Notes: Takes place a few weeks after the end of Superman I. I admit, I have a weakness for Lois remembering this particular incident. Yes, this is reminiscent of Memory of Your Kiss, but this is longer and angstier. I so couldn't help myself. *evil grin* Lois and Anissa, this is also for you ladies. I told you I'd be back to writing in the Supes-verse eventually. ^_~ Also, not so much with the porn here, but oh well. Next time. :p
Flicker
Thrashing and whimpering, Lois comes up from the nightmare to find herself tangled in her sheets. She can't extricate herself from the bed fast enough, the terror of being trapped, dirt filling in around her, too much, too real, and it isn't until she's halfway across the room, the sheets wadded up in the opposite corner, that she can finally breathe again. The sharp taste of earth is still so heavy on her tongue that she's in the bathroom in a flash, head over the sink and trying not to wretch as she rinses her mouth out.
Six weeks she's been having these damned nightmares. Six goddamn weeks of waking up terrified, panicked almost to the point of screaming. The worst part is that she doesn't even know why. She's sure she would have remembered being buried alive, earth swallowing her up, but nothing even remotely disastrous has happened in months. Nothing like that at all.
Splashing more cold water on her face, she tries to calm down. Deep breaths. It wasn't real. Get a grip, Lois, she tells herself while she dries off with a hand towel.
Then she catches her reflection in the mirror, and can't stifle a groan. Planting her palms on the porcelain, she leans in for a closer look, inspecting the carnage. Dark circles lie heavily under her eyes, the rest of her face pale to ghostly besides the reddish blotches on her cheeks, a sure indicator she's been crying, even if she doesn't remember it. “Dammit, I need a cigarette,” she grumbles, hating life.
Shoving away from the mirror, she stalks back out to her bedroom, dons a long, light robe, tying it tight around herself, and grabs a cigarette and her lighter from the pack on her dresser before stepping out onto her balcony to get some fresh air.
Summer in Metropolis brings a lightly humid, cool breeze with it on the best of nights, and tonight can easily be counted among those, thankfully. Lois fights down a shiver as the air curls around her legs and torso, and she plants herself in one of the white patio chairs and crosses her legs. Flicking the lighter, she watches the tiny flame dance in the breeze before bringing it to the tip of the cigarette, lighting up, and inhaling the smoke deeply. Jesus, that's good, she thinks as the nicotine hits her system, that sweet rush of calm smoothing over the frayed edges of her nerves.
Dropping her head into her free hand after tossing her lighter onto the small table, she tries to get hold of herself, shuts her eyes and takes another long drag from the cigarette.
It was only a dream. Only a dream. Never happened. And things that never happened can't hurt you.
She's so absorbed in trying to convince herself to be rational that she hardly notices the breeze whipping up stronger around her.
“Miss Lane?”
Her head comes up so fast she nearly gives herself whiplash, her heart pumping a sudden spike of adrenaline at the unexpected intrusion. She'll fight if she has to, she'll―
“Superman?” she breathes out shakily, finally really taking in the primary colors before her, the long cape fluttering slightly, a hand extended as if to grasp her shoulder.
“Are you all right, Miss Lane?” he says gently, his hand dropping awkwardly. “I heard you, well... I heard you,” he almost seems to shrug. “It sounded like something was wrong.”
A half-hysterical laugh tears from her throat as she stands quickly, arms practically flailing. “Am I all right? No, I'm not a―” but she cuts herself off, realizing she's still got the cigarette in her hand. “Shit,” she swears sourly, looking at the glowing red tip, the thin ribbon of smoke rising slowly from it. Fucking waste, she laments before crushing it out in the ashtray on the table. That little flame was saving her sanity. Now what's she supposed to do?
“Lois?” Superman starts again, stepping closer.
Hugging her arms around herself in the cool air, she fixes him with a steely gaze. “I'm fine,” she says. “Just a stupid nightmare. Nothing to get worked up over.” She can't even spare a thought for the fact that he's here, came rushing in when something seemed wrong. How can she, when his very presence just cost her half a cigarette? Damn you.
“I see,” he relents.
And there it is, that glint in his eyes, that looks like she just kicked his puppy or something, and the fight drains out of her in a flood. Dropping back into the chair, she pushes her hands through her hair. “It was just a stupid nightmare,” she says again, unable to stop her voice from shaking. She can't look up at him. Can't. Not with the images hitting her hard again. Earth closing in around her. Too late. No air. Screams. The taste of dirt on her tongue.
But Superman kneels beside her, a tentative hand on her arm, and his blue eyes are too damn close.
A scream. Like the end of the world.
She can't stop the way she begins to shake like a leaf, and in an instant, his arms are around her, pulling her close against his chest.
He's so warm.
Hot desert sun.
Death.
“It's okay, I've got you. I've got you, Lois, I promise,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.
She can't stop shaking, even as he draws her up against him, holding tight. Tilting her head back to look up at him, all she can manage is a hoarse whisper, “It was the end of the world.”
The way his eyes suddenly look haunted sends a flickering chill down her spine, even as he smooths down her hair with a warm hand, murmuring more reassurances.
It was the end of the world. The end of everything.
* * * * *