I Would Like To Give You the Silver Branch

Chapter 3

 

 

Then

His mother stood, pressed a kiss to the top of his head, and announced, "I need to see to the chickens."

"I can do that," said Clark.

Martha lifted her chin to Lois, who stood beside him scrubbing an especially stubborn bit of food from a serving spoon. He nodded.

"Go rest, Ma."

"Make sure Ms Lane gets back to Nell's safely."

"I will."

He waited until Martha did, in fact, climb the stairs to the bedrooms as he collected the rest of the tableware.

"How long are you staying in Smallville?" he asked Lois.

"I've got to be back in Metropolis by Thursday."

The day after tomorrow. Clark accepted a now-clean plate from Lois into his dishtowel.

"I'm guessing your mom knows where I'm staying 'cause Potter's B&B is the only place that rents rooms in the area," said Lois.

"There's a Super 8 on the interstate towards Topeka."

"I know. That marked the last time my GPS was sound of mind."

"I guess we're a little too small for those to work."

"With a town this size, I'm surprised no one else knows the truth."

Clark shrugged. "I kept a low profile."

Both of Lois' eyebrows rose nearly to her hairline but she didn't deign to comment.

"Thank you, by the way," he said.

"I told you-- where I come from, the cook never cleans."

"Not that. Well, not only that." He accepted a half-rinsed serving plate from her. "I meant for agreeing to keep my story secret."

"Yeah, well." She shrugged. "Journalism isn't just about writing news. It's also knowing when to kill a story and when to protect your sources."

"You're... protecting me?"

Lois grinned up at him and winked. "Sweet little thing like you? Someone needs to." She handed him the last bowl, dripping suds and squeaking with cleanliness. Either he mistimed his grasp or she mistimed her hold; the bowl slipped. Their hands clasped over the rim.

Growing up, Clark had to adjust to senses no one else in the world seemed to have. Blocking out the sound of earthworms burrowing under the storm cellar. Drinking in enough sunlight when heat came out of his eyes. Holding hammers with a light touch even though they felt as substantial as hay. He'd never experienced what he did now, holding Lois Lane's hand, and for a moment, the rarely-forgotten panic of his school years returned, the one that erupted every time he came face-to-face with his freakishness. His gifts, as his parents called them.

Lois' fingers were long and thin with coarse knuckles and chipped nail polish. She had fractured her middle and ring finger a long time ago; the scar, barely noticeable, traced over one of her veins. A callus hardened the one side of her index finger. The sudsy wash water barely warmed her wrists. Soap clung to the lightest dusting of blonde hairs over the back of her hand. He could spend forever holding her.

"Sorry," said Lois. She uncurled her fingers and washed forks.

Clark could only blink. His entire world had shifted on its axis and she was washing forks.


Now

They ate lunch in the bathroom ostensibly for efficiency's sake. Lois sat on the toilet with the lemon almond chicken poured over crispy sesame chow mein. Clark ate Buddha vegetables and mapo tofu over house special fried rice as he soaked in the tub. The wine, uncorked, stood between them, dripping condensation on the floor. He was hopeless with chopsticks.

"Okay, no, hold the bottom one still and the top one like a pencil." Lois demonstrated.

Clark squinted, the tip of his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth. "We should ask room service for forks."

"Advanced civilisation with space travel and no cancer, but the man's hopeless with eating utensils."

"I'm fine with eating utensils, just not chopsticks," said Clark. "They're too narrow." He splayed thick, blunt-tipped fingers with large knuckles and not a single hint of a scar. Lois knew from experience that his skin was softer than silk or cashmere, and warm like a perfect cup of tea in the fall.

"You can use the coffee teaspoons in the mini bar," she said. "Or..."

She caught a broccoli floret between her chopsticks and lifted it from Clark's bowl to his lips. He opened his mouth and she popped it in. A bit of juice trickled down his chin. Lois had to kill the urge to lick it off. She'd only been joking about making out.

Well, half-joking.

Mostly hoping, really.

"Lois." He curled a lock of her hair around his fingers, his knuckles brushing her jawline.

"Do they really need you right now?"

He smiled though it didn't reach his eyes and nodded.

"No time even for one kiss?" She bent over him, close enough to feel the heat of his breath on her neck as orange and rosewood steam made her cheeks heat. Or maybe Lois's cheeks went rosy because of the way Clark looked at her, like she was water, salvation, and chocolate wrapped up in diamonds.

He tilted his chin up. She leaned down further.

"I guess that's for the best," said Lois. "If I kiss you, I won't want to stop at just kissing."

Clark's nostrils flared. He let his carton of food slide to the floor as he gripped the sides of the tub. His eyes fluttered half-closed, giving Lois reason to curse his biological parents once again for the perfection of Clark's lashes, so long and thick they nearly touched his cheekbones. His Adam's apple bobbed and he licked his lips. God, he had scrumptious lips.

"If I kiss you, I won't want to stop at just kissing your mouth." She touched a finger to his collarbones. Trailed it down to one of his nipples, her nails skritching against the hairs on his chest. Traced the line of his pectorals from sternum to deltoid and watched as the water rippled south of his abdominals.

"If I kiss you..." She breathed into his mouth and he took it in. A droplet shivered at his jawline, where his neck joined his chin. She caught it with lips and tongue to find out if it was sweat or bathwater. The droplet tasted citrusy; his skin tasted like ozone. His breaths heaved under her chest and heated her cheek. Another drop of water rolled down within her field of view. She tasted that, too, and felt her way down the trail of hair on his chest to see exactly how much like humans kryptonians could be.

Very human, it turned out. Extraordinarily human. Nothing padding that supersuit.

Hope suit, Lois' ever-ticking journalistic brain corrected.

Shut up, it's sexy times now, countered Lois' ovaries.

"Lois," Clark whispered. His hands were at her waist, under her shirt, slippery, caressing. "We should... you'll get wet."

Lois grinned, then grinned wider when the double-entendre dawned on Clark and he blushed from forehead to navel. The steam curled his hair wildly, making him look like a debauched Cupid. The Roman god not the Hallmark baby. Although with that blush...

"Are you okay with this, Clark?" Lois asked. "If I'm reading this wrong or if you're uncomfortable--"

"I never want you to stop," Clark said all in a rush. "I just... I want to... I need..." He swallowed and licked his lips. "When we do this-- and I want to, because I really like you, Lois, and I really want to... to be... to be intimate with you-- I don't want our first time together to be a quickie at a hotel in the middle of work. I want to take you out to dinner. A proper dinner in a nice restaurant. Then we can have a walk or a flight--take your pick-- so we can talk or just be together because everything seems brighter when I'm with you. I want it in your bed or mine so when I wake up in the morning, I can just hold you before I make us breakfast. I want to spend forever making love to you, Lois."

"That's--" This time, she had to swallow. "That's a pretty extensive list considering we've only known each over for two weeks altogether."

The hopeful light in Clark's eyes faded and he started to pull away, his chin dipping down again to hide his face. Lois kicked herself. Then she kicked her shoes off and slid into the tub. His arms went around her reflexively. Water soaked her clothes and sloshed onto the floor. She curved her arms behind his back and rested her head under his chin.

"It's a good list," she said.

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