Fic: Tango | Superman I(/Batman) | Clark/Lois, Bruce | PG-13 | 1/1
Title: Tango
Fandom: Superman I(/Batman)
Pairing: Clark/Lois, hint of Lois/Bruce
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,061
Prompt: For the 2010 DCU FFA Spring Porn Fest, by way of the 2010 DCU FFA Summer Challenge: Reeveverse, Clark Kent/Lois Lane, tuxedo, heels, identity, 'plain old Clark'
Summary: Waiting for Clark to meet her at a charity fundraiser, Lois expects and fears the worst. What walks in blows all those fears out of the water.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own it all. I own nothing. Darnit!
Author's Notes: Inspired by and written as a companion to rizny's Tango manip. Terribly late getting posted, but oh well. :p Also, this Bruce is Michael Keaton's interpretation, to more closely match the time period.
Tango
Hijacking Cat Grant's invitation to cover the Gotham Charity Fundraiser Ball was probably not the brightest idea Lois had ever had. With Clark supposedly meeting her here, and late, as usual, she was starting to have visions of a barn dance gone horribly wrong, a high school prom with the unfortunate unpopular few bringing their cousins as dates, an ill-fitted white tux with a-she shuddered to imagine it-matching white cummerbund and bow tie. Or worse, red accessories with a white tux. Or a powder blue leisure suit.
At that thought, she almost choked on a cocktail shrimp, and with a wheeze afterward, she swore off solid food for the rest of the evening. No use choking to death on hors d'oeuvres or puking on a high society contact, after all. Clearing her throat with a generous swish of champagne snagged from a passing tray, she prayed that Clark would show up looking at least halfway decent, wouldn't embarrass himself, or her, or the Planet. They were here to cover the event, not to be the laughingstock of the city.
“A little early to start guzzling the good stuff, isn't it?”
The voice behind her startled her enough to almost get her choking again, but she coughed a few times and managed to keep her composure, for the most part, as she turned and came face to face with-
“Mister Wayne!” Lois felt her cheeks redden just a little in surprise and embarrassment as the billionaire gave her an appraising once-over with ice-blue eyes, every bit the handsome, reckless playboy he'd been made out to be. “I'm-”
“Lois Lane, I know,” he cut her off with a nod. “And don't worry about it.” Leaning close to her, he stuck his hands down in his pockets and said quietly into her ear, “Between you and me, the shrimp is a little under-done. I wouldn't touch it again, just to be safe.”
“How did you-?” But the question died on her lips as he straightened and stepped just back from her, smirking lightly.
“I always make a point to notice the most beautiful thing in the room.”
Lois couldn't fight the blush that rose up even harder, even as it irked her that a pick-up line so vapid could get under her skin so easily. Clearly, there was an uneven playing field here. “I appreciate the sentiment,” she said calmly, tamping down her physical reaction, “but shouldn't you be hitting on some young blonde with double-'D's and a tan?”
Wayne only huffed out a small, amused laugh, and shrugged dramatically. “Probably. And you should probably go dance with your partner,” he suggested, gesturing with a nod to the far side of the room.
Turning to follow his gaze with that leisure-suit-induced terror tugging on the pit of her stomach once again, she caught sight of Clark, just coming in from a side hallway and craning his neck to try to find her.
And good God. This, she hadn't expected. Plain old Clark, sure. A disaster, definitely. But this? Never.
Forgetting all about the gala's host as he chuckled at her reaction behind her, and striding across the room to her partner, draining her glass and leaving it on another tray as she went, Lois caught Clark's attention with a lifted chin and a small wave. But no way she could let him see her jaw dropping like it was. Schooling her expression as they met closer to the middle of the room, she propped a hand on her hip and gave him an appraising look much like the one she'd just gotten. It didn't seem possible, but he'd seemingly transformed from hayseed to handsome, his black tux actually fitted, tailored to show off a physique she hardly even knew existed. Hell, even his accessories were matched right, subtle black suspenders, belt, and tie, and his shoes were shined enough that she could almost see herself in them.
“What took you so long?” she finally asked, raising an eyebrow at him and meeting his gaze through those thick-rimmed glasses he hadn't managed to lose, even though the effect wasn't nearly as strong as it usually was.
“Um, traffic,” he replied, looking a little sheepish, and for a second the effect was almost ruined. Almost. “Sorry.”
But no. No, it was still good. “It's okay,” she replied, realizing at once that she sounded a little dazed at the sight of him. Maybe it was the champagne, but who cared? There was no doubt that Clark looked damn good for once. It was almost as if a curtain had been pulled back. If only he would take off his glasses, it would be perf-
“Lois?”
She only barely registered his look of concern as the sudden image of the two of them dancing together passed across her mind's eye. Clark sans glasses, tux jacket, and tie. She could see his eyes, bright and brilliant, feel the heat of his body against hers as they stepped and twirled together to the beat of some exotic tango. His hands wrapped around her waist and rucking up her black satin top as he dipped her gently, their bodies pressed together. The long slit of her white skirt falling open over her thigh, and her arm stretching up and away, toes pointed and spike heels lifting up as he held her there, hovering above the floor effortlessly. Skin on skin, heated, sweat-slick, pulses thrumming with adrenaline and exertion and desire.
Blinking up at Clark as the unusually vivid image of it started her mind whirling and heat rising up in unexpected places, she chuckled to herself. Definitely the champagne and the shock of the sight of him in that tux getting her imagination going. Had to be.
“Come on, Clark, let's dance,” she said, trying to hide a breathy gasp beneath a laugh, taking him by a warm hand and tugging him toward the dance floor. “We'll hob nob and take notes later.”
Naturally, he agreed, stammering his assent as he followed along behind her, Lois unable to shake the vision of their dance and the heat it stirred up within her. High society be damned, she was entirely too eager to make that vision a reality.
And when Clark's hand landed at her waist, warm-so warm!-and firm, a sudden flash of deep blue, a single curl, and the rush of wind crossing her mind's eye, she shivered, the orchestra striking up, to Lois's surprised glee, a tango.
~*~*~*~
Fandom: Superman I(/Batman)
Pairing: Clark/Lois, hint of Lois/Bruce
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,061
Prompt: For the 2010 DCU FFA Spring Porn Fest, by way of the 2010 DCU FFA Summer Challenge: Reeveverse, Clark Kent/Lois Lane, tuxedo, heels, identity, 'plain old Clark'
Summary: Waiting for Clark to meet her at a charity fundraiser, Lois expects and fears the worst. What walks in blows all those fears out of the water.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own it all. I own nothing. Darnit!
Author's Notes: Inspired by and written as a companion to rizny's Tango manip. Terribly late getting posted, but oh well. :p Also, this Bruce is Michael Keaton's interpretation, to more closely match the time period.
Tango
Hijacking Cat Grant's invitation to cover the Gotham Charity Fundraiser Ball was probably not the brightest idea Lois had ever had. With Clark supposedly meeting her here, and late, as usual, she was starting to have visions of a barn dance gone horribly wrong, a high school prom with the unfortunate unpopular few bringing their cousins as dates, an ill-fitted white tux with a-she shuddered to imagine it-matching white cummerbund and bow tie. Or worse, red accessories with a white tux. Or a powder blue leisure suit.
At that thought, she almost choked on a cocktail shrimp, and with a wheeze afterward, she swore off solid food for the rest of the evening. No use choking to death on hors d'oeuvres or puking on a high society contact, after all. Clearing her throat with a generous swish of champagne snagged from a passing tray, she prayed that Clark would show up looking at least halfway decent, wouldn't embarrass himself, or her, or the Planet. They were here to cover the event, not to be the laughingstock of the city.
“A little early to start guzzling the good stuff, isn't it?”
The voice behind her startled her enough to almost get her choking again, but she coughed a few times and managed to keep her composure, for the most part, as she turned and came face to face with-
“Mister Wayne!” Lois felt her cheeks redden just a little in surprise and embarrassment as the billionaire gave her an appraising once-over with ice-blue eyes, every bit the handsome, reckless playboy he'd been made out to be. “I'm-”
“Lois Lane, I know,” he cut her off with a nod. “And don't worry about it.” Leaning close to her, he stuck his hands down in his pockets and said quietly into her ear, “Between you and me, the shrimp is a little under-done. I wouldn't touch it again, just to be safe.”
“How did you-?” But the question died on her lips as he straightened and stepped just back from her, smirking lightly.
“I always make a point to notice the most beautiful thing in the room.”
Lois couldn't fight the blush that rose up even harder, even as it irked her that a pick-up line so vapid could get under her skin so easily. Clearly, there was an uneven playing field here. “I appreciate the sentiment,” she said calmly, tamping down her physical reaction, “but shouldn't you be hitting on some young blonde with double-'D's and a tan?”
Wayne only huffed out a small, amused laugh, and shrugged dramatically. “Probably. And you should probably go dance with your partner,” he suggested, gesturing with a nod to the far side of the room.
Turning to follow his gaze with that leisure-suit-induced terror tugging on the pit of her stomach once again, she caught sight of Clark, just coming in from a side hallway and craning his neck to try to find her.
And good God. This, she hadn't expected. Plain old Clark, sure. A disaster, definitely. But this? Never.
Forgetting all about the gala's host as he chuckled at her reaction behind her, and striding across the room to her partner, draining her glass and leaving it on another tray as she went, Lois caught Clark's attention with a lifted chin and a small wave. But no way she could let him see her jaw dropping like it was. Schooling her expression as they met closer to the middle of the room, she propped a hand on her hip and gave him an appraising look much like the one she'd just gotten. It didn't seem possible, but he'd seemingly transformed from hayseed to handsome, his black tux actually fitted, tailored to show off a physique she hardly even knew existed. Hell, even his accessories were matched right, subtle black suspenders, belt, and tie, and his shoes were shined enough that she could almost see herself in them.
“What took you so long?” she finally asked, raising an eyebrow at him and meeting his gaze through those thick-rimmed glasses he hadn't managed to lose, even though the effect wasn't nearly as strong as it usually was.
“Um, traffic,” he replied, looking a little sheepish, and for a second the effect was almost ruined. Almost. “Sorry.”
But no. No, it was still good. “It's okay,” she replied, realizing at once that she sounded a little dazed at the sight of him. Maybe it was the champagne, but who cared? There was no doubt that Clark looked damn good for once. It was almost as if a curtain had been pulled back. If only he would take off his glasses, it would be perf-
“Lois?”
She only barely registered his look of concern as the sudden image of the two of them dancing together passed across her mind's eye. Clark sans glasses, tux jacket, and tie. She could see his eyes, bright and brilliant, feel the heat of his body against hers as they stepped and twirled together to the beat of some exotic tango. His hands wrapped around her waist and rucking up her black satin top as he dipped her gently, their bodies pressed together. The long slit of her white skirt falling open over her thigh, and her arm stretching up and away, toes pointed and spike heels lifting up as he held her there, hovering above the floor effortlessly. Skin on skin, heated, sweat-slick, pulses thrumming with adrenaline and exertion and desire.
Blinking up at Clark as the unusually vivid image of it started her mind whirling and heat rising up in unexpected places, she chuckled to herself. Definitely the champagne and the shock of the sight of him in that tux getting her imagination going. Had to be.
“Come on, Clark, let's dance,” she said, trying to hide a breathy gasp beneath a laugh, taking him by a warm hand and tugging him toward the dance floor. “We'll hob nob and take notes later.”
Naturally, he agreed, stammering his assent as he followed along behind her, Lois unable to shake the vision of their dance and the heat it stirred up within her. High society be damned, she was entirely too eager to make that vision a reality.
And when Clark's hand landed at her waist, warm-so warm!-and firm, a sudden flash of deep blue, a single curl, and the rush of wind crossing her mind's eye, she shivered, the orchestra striking up, to Lois's surprised glee, a tango.
~*~*~*~