A Flame in Two Cupped Hands
Metropolis, not that long ago
Flirting with the new waiter at her usual café was quickly becoming a favourite past time for Lois. She couldn't help it; he was six-feet-some-odd inches of absolute adorableness (rather than utterly terrifying considering the muscle on him) and every time she made a half-smart comment about his seemingly endless supply of flannel shirts or the rural twang of his accent, he'd duck his head and let that toothpaste smile of his escape before sassing her right back.
"Hey, Canada called," she yelled from the doorway. "They're short one lumberjack and were wondering if you'd be up for the job."
Clark-- who the hell named their kid Clark these days?!-- dipped his chin down, half-hiding behind the till, but Lois could still see the tips of his ears go bright pink. "I'd best call 'em back and give them your name, Ms Lane, seeing as how they'd hear you holler 'timber' five miles out."
"Are you saying I have a big mouth?"
"Nothing of the sort, ma'am. My mama taught me better than that. Will you be having your usual diesel then?"
Lois leaned a hip on the counter beside his current customer. Her trusty travel mug went beside the till. "That's right and don't you dare dilute it with cream or those fancy-ass syrups."
"I could surprise you," said Clark. "Maybe sneak a little something in there. I bet I could guess what you'd like."
Half the café patrons swooned. A gaggle of teenagers waiting for the order burst into giggles. Clark smiled at the customer in front of Lois, passing him change, a muffin, and a sincere wish for a nice day. The pink in his ears had spread below his collar.
"Would you really, now? Them's fighting words." The tip of Lois' tongue snuck to one corner of her mouth, a flirtatious, yet some-what nervous tic she tried very hard to lose.
At this moment, she didn't really care much because Clark's gaze seemed glued to her mouth. "I don't want to fight you, Ms Lane."
"What, exactly, would you prefer to do with me?" Lois rested her chin on her hand, leaning full forward on the counter now. If there was some grumbling in the line behind her, she could not give a rat's shiny shit; she had Clark attention at full blush, from his curly hairline to the square tips of his fingers as he passed her a bag of her usual maple-dipped doughnut holes.
Clark licked his lips. The corners of his mouth fought a grin. He scribbled her order on a post-it note and stuck it on her travel mug. "I'll have your order right up, Ms Lane."
What a tease! Lois, God help her, flicked her hair back. "Thanks a million, Clarkie."
One of the doughnut holes was half-way to Lois mouth before she saw the note scribbled on the pastry bag. "I get off at 4. Pulled pork, cherry pie & highballs at Ace O' Clubs at 5?" Under those two sentences was his phone number.
"Extra-large medium roast for Lois!" yelled the barista manning the coffee machines.
Lois grabbed her travel mug off the counter. Beside it was a shot glass brimming with pale amber liquid and a candied violet on top. She took a sniff of the shot glass. Whisky. He just offered to Irish-up her morning coffee. Lois let out a laugh, making Clark duck his head again.
Strolling back up to the till, she said, "You are fucking adorable," grabbed his arm and wrote her number inside his wrist with a pen snatched from beside the tip jar.
He probably had a full-body blush now and, wow, that mental image was so appealing Lois had no idea how she was going to make it to five in the evening without seeing for herself.
* * * * *
The massive art deco clock standing guard over the foyer of the Daily Planet ticked to 4:47 in the afternoon. The receptionist holding fort at the front desk tried to stop Lois with flailing arms as he yelled, "Wait, Ms Lane, Mr White said you can'tleaveyetMsLane!"
Lois beat him out the revolving doors, one hand raised in a wave as she disappeared into the beginnings of rush hour. To be honest, Metropolis always moved at rush-hour speed and Lois liked that just fine. She held her notebook and pen as she marched to the Ace O' Clubs, her messenger bag almost an afterthought for all that it held the essentials to life-- wallet, travel coffee mug, keys, cell phone, audio recorder. Pieces of her current story wedged around each other in her head. She could almost make sense of it all but she didn't have several important threads and without them, her piece would be all speculation and, thus, no better than tabloid fodder.
The Ace O' Clubs was a dive early in Lois' college days. Situated on the border of Southside, rather dramatically known as Suicide Slum, the pub used to attract people who were pretty much broke but still wanted a beer and non-shitty live music. The bar was trying to gentrify these days along with the rest of Southside but the decades-deep knife gouges on the pillars and grizzly regulars would require total demolition to hide, something the city didn't want due to the heritage buildings in the area. Lois wrote the article for the preservation of the early twentieth century architecture in Southside when Macedon Incorporated wanted to raze the whole place down to make luxury condos. She liked her character buildings and lower cost housing over chrome and glass billionaire penthouses, thank you very much, Macedon Inc. Even if it meant her old dive bar had to change to accommodate yuppies.
Lois slid into a booth on the same wall as the front windows but tucked away in the corner so she could see everyone who came in and out as well as get the best light. She checked her phone. Clark hadn't called yet. That was all right; 5:02 wasn't technically late to anyone who didn't grow up in a military household. She opened her notebook to scribble some thoughts.
Forty-five minutes later, the server came and went four times, twice with beer, and Clark still hadn't made an appearance. He didn't even call. Lois had been ditched before but she hadn't expected someone as supposedly genuine and sweet as Clark to do that. Slapping her notebook closed, she yanked her bag back over her shoulder and left the pub.
Almost halfway back to her apartment, her phone rang. She answered it without looking at the number. "Lois Lane."
"Lois, I'm so, so sorry," Clark said. "I was tied up with something and couldn't get to my phone. I feel terrible."
"Hey, you're not the first inconsiderate asshole I've met and you won't be the last," said Lois. "Don't worry, I'll still tip you according to the strength of the drip coffee in the morning."
"I don't care about that. I'm really sorry, Lois. Is there any way we can reschedule?"
Not damn likely. "I'm going to be busy the next couple of days," she began.
"I'm a block away from Ace O' Clubs. I can meet you there. Or anywhere you want, really."
Lois pursed her lips Her ovaries warred with her better judgement: On the one hand, she wanted to climb Clark like a tree, but on the other hand, if his best foot forward was dickhead, the rest of the date boded ill. She had no way of knowing which character trait was dominant.
On the other side of the line, Clark sighed at her silence. "All right, I understand. I really am sorry for standing you up, Ms Lane. I hope you have a good evening."
Lois glared at her phone after he hung up. She was the one who sat in a pub for almost an hour waiting for a phone call from a freaking barista! Why did she feel like the tool who'd just kicked a puppy when he should be the one who was sorry?
Except he did say he was sorry. And, dammit, he sounded like he meant it. Lois took pride in her ability to read people and even over the phone, she sensed Clark's sincerity. And she really, really wanted to climb him like a tree. With her eyes half closed, Lois scrolled to Clark's number.
"There's a Chinese place on Durance and Aldergrove called Hon's," she said without waiting for his greeting. "I'll be there in five minutes. I won't wait for you longer than ten."
Hon's Wonton House served twelve pages worth of the best Cantonese dishes in the Greater Metropolis Region. Having visited Hong Kong three times, Lois vouched for its authenticity as well. The restaurant didn't bother with décor when it could concentrate on quality ingredients. Easily wiped plastic gingham covered picnic tables and caféteria-style chairs. Around this time, the place was packed. The diner area easily held two hundred diners. Lois, and possibly Clark if he made it, would make Diners 201 and 202. She had a hand on the door to enter when Clark rounded the corner of the block at a sprint. Despite herself, she smiled.
Clark stopped a foot away from her, leaned his hands on his knees, and took in a few gulping breaths before straightening up. Lordy, he was tall. Lois craned her head up to look him in the eye even with the polite distance between them.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi," she replied.
"Can I apologize again? And also thank you for giving me another chance although I think I'll blow it again once you see my futile attempts with chopsticks."
"Not that I think I should be on the top of everyone's priority list, but what was so important that you couldn't call to tell me you'd be late?" asked Lois. "I would've waited."
Pink stained Clark's cheekbones again. Lois wondered how he managed to grow into adulthood with skin that thin, literally and figuratively. "I was... it's actually kind of... embarrassing really." He rubbed his nape. A curl fell over his forehead and Lois had to make a fist to keep from brushing it away. Not in the first five minutes of a date.
"We've got time. That's what you're supposed to do during dates: talk about possibly embarrassing experiences."
A server led them to a table in the middle of the floor, squeezed between two extended families apparently both celebrating birthdays and a table of college kids shovelling food in their mouths as they argued Persian literature.
"Well?" asked Lois.
"I helped with an apartment on fire do you think they still serve congee?" Clark said, his words blurring together.
"Did you say you helped with an apartment fire?"
The pink on his cheeks deepened to tomato red as did his ears and, with his sleeves rolled up, Lois saw the blush spreading to his forearms. He nodded, his eyes glued to the menu. At the same time, his entire body stilled, energy coiled in his muscles, like he was ready to bolt the second she shouted "boo."
"Why would you help with an apartment fire?" Lois asked.
"I'm... I have... training. Trauma training," he said.
Lois stayed silent, willing him to continue.
"I'm kind of training as a combat medic," said Clark.
"Don't you have to be in the army for that?"
"I am. Entered Basic a couple years after high school and I've gone on two tours. I'm on leave right now." He brushed his hair back, grinning half to himself at the texture of his hair which undoubtedly felt strange after almost four years in a buzz cut.
"If you're in the army, what are you doing pouring out coffee for persnickety yuppies like me?" Lois asked.
He shrugged. "It's kind of complica--" Then he laughed at himself. "No, it's not complicated. It's a pretty common story actually. I enlisted because I wanted to make a difference and because they'd pay for college. You don't get a lot of scholarships or educational savings as a farmer-- that's what my parents are, farmers out in Kansas-- and I didn't want my mom working a second job at Sears like she has been the last few years just to make ends meet. I'm a big guy. I've always been pretty strong. I thought I could help people who really needed protecting. But... but it doesn't really work out that cleanly over there."
Clark's hands crawl over his paper napkin, tracing its embossed jacquard pattern. The space between his eyebrows furrowed. "It's not even just the... I mean, you're constantly on the edge even when you're having fun and there's this... You learn to like the locals, to love them really, especially the kids, but you know they're playing both sides of the fight out of sheer self-preservation and you can't even blame them because the political climate is so volatile, they can only afford to think in forty-eight hour increments. You go in to protect a hospital for three weeks then a couple days after you cycle out, it's bombed to bits. So I thought maybe if I trained as a medic, it wouldn't be so bad but the more I think about going back, the more I..."
He closed his mouth with an audible clack. "I'm sorry. That's too much, isn't it? I'm really making a mess of tonight."
Lois shook her head. "My dad's a three-star general. I get it. Besides, I'm the one who asked. You haven't exactly answered 'apartment on fire' though."
"I was in the immediate area and I knew first aid," said Clark. "Once you respond, you can't leave until the ambulance or firefighters arrive and even then, I thought I should stay until I was sure everyone had things handled."
"So not only do you make a ridiculous cup of coffee, you're a knight in shining armour," Lois teased.
"Nothing like that," said Clark. "I just want to help."
The server returned and they gave their orders: dandan noodles for Lois, braised tofu with black bean and eggplant casserole for Clark.
"So, how was your day?" he asked.
"Nothing as exciting as running into an apartment building on fire," Lois drawled just for the enjoyment of seeing Clark's blush return. "I filled-in for one of the long-contract writers who's 'sick', AKA, tits up in an alcoholic stupor. Except I had to write his article using his notes which are ridiculous. He was writing about the changeover to separate garbage collection for organic and recyclable wastes, not the second Watergate. There was no need to encrypt his notes unless there's some kind of clandestine connection between current councilmen and garbage collectors, outside of the city paying them to pick up-- oh my God, that's it!"
Lois flipped to a page in her notebooks. "The company that has the contract for the new garbage pick-ups is called Argead. I couldn't figure out why the name sounded familiar until I remembered Macedon Inc's bid for the Southside renos and I realised Argead and Macedon are both related to--"
"Alexander the Great," Clark said at the same time she did. When Lois arched her eyebrows in his direction, he turtled a little into his flannel shirt. "I like to read."
"I guess Alexander the Great's campaigns are pretty much breakfast food in military theory."
"It was but I knew about him because of Aristotle." Lois eyed him again, waiting for an explanation. "I went through a metaphysics stage in high school. Y'know, the whole potentiality and actuality of being, and how it relates with matter and form of all life as it currently exists."
"Absolutely. I went through that phase, too. After Backstreet Boys but before Morcheeba."
Their food arrived, providing Clark something else to hide behind. "You're teasing me again, Ms Lane."
"You're a Midwestern farmer who reads ethical philosophy for fun and joined the army to become a medic. You're lucky I'm not dissecting you."
"Aren't you?" He smiled, one of the first full-on grins she'd seen tonight. "So, Argead, Macedon Inc. and Alexander the Great."
"Alexander. Alexander 'Lex' Luthor who owns LexCorp. The bastard probably thinks he's Alexander the Great's second coming." Lois scratched out a few arrows on her notes, took a slurp of her noodles, and wrote some more. "I thought my co-worker was just being a paranoid asshat but he might actually be onto something. No wonder he was guarding it with his life. This is the first story he's written in a decade that doesn't suck."
"But you're writing it," Clark pointed out.
"Hey, if he didn't trip into a keg every other week, he'd've figured this connection out sooner and Argead wouldn't have gotten the contract. LexCorp's trying to own everything in Metropolis and this is just another way for the company to gain monopoly."
"Alcoholism is a disease, Lois."
Lois snapped her book closed. "Agreed but I'll save my empathy if or when this story can effectively stonewall LexCorp's slimy fingers crawling into my city. Noodles?" She tilted her bowl towards him.
Clark shook his head. "No, thank you. You look like you're enjoying it too much."
"Not a big fan of spicy food, huh?"
"I like it just fine, Lois. I'm vegetarian."
Lois threw her hands up. "What are you?"
He flinched. Lois narrowed her eyes. That was a pretty big flinch. That kind of flinch spoke of some deep damage and Lois wanted to know all about it. This was why she never had a long-term relationship. She read people too well and, for some reason, liked to poke where it hurt.
When Clark spoke again, his smile was gone and his tone quieted. "I eat meat if there's nothing else or I'm at someone else's home and they don't know, I just--"
"I didn't mean that the way it sounded," said Lois. "Eat whatever the hell you want; who the hell cares? Don't ever let them fuck with you. You're a unique and beautiful snowflake."
Clark gave up on fumbling with his chopsticks and picked up a fork. "Now I don't know if you're teasing me or patting me on the head."
"Can't I do both?" She nudged his calf with the tip of her toe.
* * * * *
The rest of dinner shifted to lighter topics. Lois found herself going on and on about Harry Potter when she discovered Clark had never read the series. He swore to borrow the first novel the very next day. This segued into the "sufficiently advanced science is magic" argument which led to Stephen Hawking's latest attempt to explain quantum physics in layman speech (they were both still pretty confused) which then led to the decor in Clark's childhood room (the ceiling had glow in the dark stars) then to Lois' latest fracas covering society news (she was banned from that desk which suited her just fine). Between stealing food off each other's plate (Clark finally capitulated to Lois' urgings and tried the noodles drenched in beef broth) and heading back out into the street, they covered feminism in classical Hollywood movies, current technology inspired by Star Trek, favourite Disney films, and coffee. Meeting a busker on the way to Centennial Park changed the conversation to music.
"Just when I thought you broke the mold, you tell me you like country music," said Lois.
"I like some country music," said Clark. "Mostly, I like folk. Any singer-songwriter, really. I like lyrics."
"Lyrics, schmirycks, if music can affect you emotionally regardless of language, it's good. Like electronica or dance."
Clark made a face. Lois slapped his arm.
"I just can't connect with thunkathunka-screechscreech the same way I can with..." He looked upward for inspiration. "Okay, with something like 'I will climb the rise at daybreak. I will kiss the sky at noon. Raise my yearning voice at midnight to my mother in the moon.'"
Lois counted out her points with a raised hand. "First of all, I hope whoever wrote that song is an actual Native American instead of a white guy appropriating cultural imagery for cool points. Secondly, I didn't just mean dance and electronica; I also like instrumentals and classical music. Third, you can invoke the same emotions with just instruments and you don't need to speak English to do it. English is a dumb language anyway; why limit yourself?"
"This coming from a professional writer?"
"It's because I'm a professional writer that I understand the limitations of words. If you can make a piece of music, play it in one country in every continent occupied by people, and elicit a visceral response from each person who hears it, then it's a great song. Period."
They stopped at the southeastern entrance into Centennial Park, the leaves on the maples above them filtering light from the streetlamps into speckles on the sidewalk. Even with fall darkening the skyline early, people filled the brick walkways and grass knolls of the park. Deeper inside, a salsa band played with enough gusto to reach their ears.
"My place is that way." Lois started to point but found the fingers of her right hand tangled up in Clark's. She had no idea how long they'd been holding hands. She wasn't even a hand-holding type of person.
"I'm over there," Clark pointed back the way they came.
"So now you have to walk all the way back. You should've said something."
"I liked the conversation too much."
Dusk and city lights washed Clark's complexion in a yellow tinge but Lois knew he had to be blushing again. She rose up on tip toe to kiss the corner of his jaw.
"You're adorable," she said.
"That's my second adorable from you," he said. "At least I'm being consistent."
"The least I can do is offer you some coffee before you trek back. Of course, it's nothing like what you make at the café."
"You don't have to."
"I insist." She tugged his hand, not that he fought too hard.
Unlike the past two hours-- had she really spent more than two hours with Clark?-- the walk to her apartment was silent. Their cupped hands swung in soft, short arcs between their bodies. His thumb occasionally traced circles around the first knuckle of her index finger; she occasionally stroked the inside of his wrist. Her pulse thudded in the hollow of her throat, like the first few seconds looking out on a helo-jump. Another pulse between her legs thumped away with as much insistence. When an aggressive cyclist nearly rammed into Lois' elbow, Clark tugged her closer to the buildings and she used the movement to circle her arm around his waist. He felt like a brick wall under her hand, all slabs of muscle barely restrained by cotton and skin. He hovered his arm around her back for a few seconds before resting it on her shoulder.
She let go his waist at the bottom of the stairs to her brownstone but she trailed her fingers across the small of his back before catching his hand up again. His breath stuttered. She led him up the four flights of stairs to her second-floor apartment and as soon as she closed the door behind them, Lois pressed her body up against Clark's for the full-on, filthy sex kiss she'd been wanting to lay on him that first day she saw him and his stupidly sexy flannel shirts in that café.
Clark let out a little broken sound as his arms wrapped around her. He lifted her up like she weighed nothing. She teased his mouth open wider with a little nip to his lower lip. When he gasped, she slipped her tongue in a little deeper, feeling the ridges of his mouth and the softness of his own tongue. He tasted like the tea they drank at Hon's and earthy, like mushrooms and sweat. His beard rubbed heat onto her cheeks; she'd have a blush to match his.
"I'm on the pill but do you have protection?" Lois whispered after licking her way to his ear.
Clark pulled back, his eyes wide and unfocussed. "P-protection for-- oh. Oh! We're... not having coffee?"
"You can make me some in the morning."
"Oh." He gulped then blinked a few times. "I, uh, I didn't think we were going to... to do this. Tonight, I mean. Or ever. I mean, I've dreamed of you doing-- not that I think about you all the time! I mean, I do but not like that. I mean, like that but not disrespectfully like that. To be honest, I kind of feel like I'm still dreaming."
Twirling the curls at his nape around her fingers, Lois asked, "Do you want me?"
Clark nodded. "You're so smart and determined. It makes you so beautiful, even more beautiful than you already are.. And you have this smile that... when you come in the morning and direct that smile my way, it makes my whole day."
"I don't smile in the morning," said Lois. "I hate mornings. That's why I need really good coffee. I smile because I see you."
Clark smoothed the back of one hand across her cheek. Lois' eyes fluttered closed. She leaned into the caress, her head tilting to the left as she looped her arms around his neck. Cupping her jaw with the same hand, he pressed feather-kisses along her ear and hairline and cheek. Lois rolled her body against him and he made that little hitch-breath-broken-gut sound again; she was starting to really love that sound.
When she surged up to kiss him properly, he tangled his fingers into her hair and really went for it this time. Lois raised her knees high to wrap around his waist both to help him with her weight and to get some really good traction to rub up against-- there! Just like that! Lois arched her neck and keened. Clark trailed his kisses down her throat, the burn of his whiskers trailing behind his mouth.
She was so hot for him, she could go right now, to hell with the rest of the foreplay. Clark was pretty ready, too, according to the bulge in his pants that she'd been rubbing up against. Leaning back a bit, Lois slid a hand between them to cup him properly. But he let out louder noise, bucking away from her hand instead of towards. Lois stopped, studying his clenched eyes and the tension hitching his shoulders up. He didn't look like he was enjoying himself any more. Gently, she let her legs slip back down on the floor. Clark's eyes stayed shut, his entire body trying to squeeze into a smaller space.
Lois kissed his cheek. "Okay?"
Although he finally opened his eyes, they were downcast, and he nodded into her hair. "I'm sorry. I really want to. I'm sorry."
"Tell me what do to, baby." She kissed his other cheek. "Tell me what you like."
"I liked everything. Lois, you could stand there fully dressed, just breathing, and I'd still be like this." He gestured to himself. "I'm afraid of hurting you."
Lois smiled, hoping he'd do the same. Squeezing his biceps-- which were pretty damn impressive-- she said, "You've got some decent guns but I'm a tough girl. I can take anything you hash out."
It almost worked. He almost smiled but he rubbed it out on the nook made by her neck and shoulder. "I told you I've always been strong. I didn't... I'm really strong, Lois."
"Okay, you're Hercules, I don't understand what the problem--"
Clark walked to the middle of her (tiny) living room and lifted her couch over his head with as much effort as she lifted a stapler. "I can do this with cars. Trucks. Fallen trees. Trucks with fallen trees. I tried with a tank in Basic and didn't break a sweat. When I was eight, I lost my temper and threw one of the barn doors a quarter mile out."
She'd bet he tried to never lose his temper since. Lois chewed on the inside of her cheek as she watched him put the couch down. By his curled in posture and the way he avoided her eyes, she guessed he thought she'd be scared. And, fair enough, if her first impression of him had been him bench-pressing tanks, she might have felt a bit of fear but there was nothing, absolutely nothing in Clark that was even remotely scary unless she had a phobia against wet-eyed Labradoodles.
Lois went to his side. "Clark, honey, sit down."
He lowered himself to the couch, gaze still glued to his shoes. She braced her hands on his shoulders and clambered on top of his lap, her knees framing either side of his hips. Clark's head shot up at that, his expression that of a man saved last minute from death row.
"I'm not afraid of you, Clark." She brushed either side of his face with her hands. "You're wonderful. Who you are and what you can do is wonderful."
His Adam's apple bobbed and he closed his eyes briefly. His tongue came out to wet his lips as he dared to cup her hips, his thumbs sliding under the beltline of her slacks. Lois slid forward to press her entire torso against his.
"What would you be comfortable with?" she asked. "We can just do this, just kiss and touch over clothes. Or we can touch under clothes but never take it off. We can have all our clothes off but not actually do the deed. Whatever you want, baby, I'm okay with it."
Every sentence she spoke seemed to make him hotter. His pupils were blown so wide, the irises were just rims of bright blue around them. His cheeks and forehead glowed pink. "I'm not sure. I've never done this before."
"Never had sex?" Lois teased.
His neck went red.
Lois' jaw almost dropped but she clenched her teeth together. No use in making him more uncomfortable. "Give me some hints here. Third base? Second?"
"Which base is French kissing?"
Holy wow. "First."
Clark's lips twitched. "Well, as of tonight, I've gone to first with one eye out for the possibility of second."
"But you're hot!" said Lois. "You're... you're ridiculously hot. You must have had plenty of opportunities."
He started to roll his shoulders in again but Lois pushed them-- rather he let her push them-- back against the couch. "No one wanted me back in Smallville. I went to bars a few times during training or when I was OTCONUS but it wasn't really my scene. I just... I've always thought I should have my first kiss with someone who really meant a lot to me, not just because I needed to mark some sort of notch."
She couldn't parse what he might mean by that. She didn't want to. Not right now. So Lois smacked his shoulder instead. "Clark, are you saying I'm your first kiss?"
Now his smile returned, full force and sweet as spring. "Yes."
She hit him again. "You are... why would... I don't even know your last name."
"Oh. It's Kent. Clark Joseph Kent."
Sticking her hand out, she said, "Lois Joanne Lane."
"Pleased to have kissed you, Lois Joanne Lane." He shook her hand then used the hold to draw her closer. "I'm glad you were my first kiss, Lois Joanne Lane. It was the best ever."
* * * * *
For someone who'd never even gone to first base six hours ago, Clark was a natural. He was a freaking savant. Moaning, barely able to keep a grip on his sweat-slicked shoulders, Lois arched back and rolled against his groin. She was so wet, it was a miracle she didn't slide off him. Clark had his mouth fastened on one of her breasts while he rolled the nipple on the other. Lois pulled that hand away so she could slip it under her panties. His fingers, think and blunt, poked artlessly around the folds and dips of her groin. She soaked his hands in seconds.
Lois pulled his face up for a kiss. "Taste me," she said, tugging on his ear with her teeth.
"What do you mean?"
She pulled out his hand and pressed it against his mouth. Clark's entire body shivered. He opened his mouth and sucked on his fingers, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks.
"Want to learn how to do that to me?"
He nodded more vigorously.
Lois rose off his lap and turned to her bedroom. She still held Clark's hand. She didn't think they stopped holding hands since Centennial Park. As he stood, he tugged on his pants which had been shoved to mid-thigh. Lois didn't think he'd need them anymore but he was the skittish one in this relationsh--encounter.
Lois left the bedside lamp on; it lit the room sufficiently for what she wanted to do. He helped her turn the covers down on the bed then placed the pillows with fancy shams on top of the dresser. Lois crawled onto the bed, relieved she wore half-decent underwear today. They didn't have holes anyway. When she looked over her shoulder, Clark was still standing, rubbing his sweaty hands on his jeans. She rolled her panties down to her knees, then flicked them off with a kick. She turned over, half-sitting, half-lying on the remaining pillows. Clark was a sight to behold. The lighting only emphasized his physique: slabs of muscle so defined he could be used as an anatomical study guide, a light dusting of dark hair on his chest trailing down his stomach and under his beltline, delicious dark hollows at his hips and collarbone and neck. A droplet of sweat trickled out of that notch at the base of his throat and meandered between his pecs only to get caught by the dark whorls there. Lois mouth watered. She wanted to taste that first.
"Take off your pants, Clark."
Clark moistened his lips, bending forward to do as she commanded. But he folded his jeans instead of throwing them to one side, placing them on the dresser beside the pillows. His dick poked out of his briefs. Now that he was up close and personal, Lois registered the size of him. He was certainly... proportional. Slightly longer than what she thought was average and thick. She didn't think she'd be able to wrap her fingers around him, he was that thick. However, she was all sorts of wet now, a state only emphasized by fact that, wow, yes, the blush went through his entire body. His hands clenched and hovered around his front.
"You can touch yourself if you want," said Lois.
He let out a little moan. His right hand fell limp at his side while his left gripped his erection at the head. Oh yeah. That was doing it for her. "Can I... do you want me to..." He made a curt circling motion around the tip.
"Whatever you want. As long as you're paying attention." Lois spread her legs slowly, very porn star but she had a captive and appreciative audience so she did not give a single nanogram of a fuck. Unlike Clark, she was right-handed. She started off rubbing herself, the way she'd been starting a lot of nights in the two months since Clark first poured her a cup of coffee.
Midway through, just as her muscles began to tense and the shivers deep inside her made their way up her body, Lois felt the bed dip with extra weight. She hadn't even noticed her eyes closing. Clark sat at the foot of the bed, the covers fisted in his hands. His erection stood rather obscenely between his crossed legs.
"I was going to finish," he said. "I didn't want to without you."
"Were you paying attention?"
He grinned. "Lois, your apartment could be falling around us in a fire and I wouldn't be able to keep my eyes away."
She crooked a finger at him. He crawled closer. Lois took his right hand and guided it between her thighs, guided two of those lovely blunt, thick fingers into her. "Finish us together."
Clark inhaled deeply. "Oh my God, Lois." He curled his fingers experimentally, making her arch up.
Lois massaged his shoulders and the back of his neck, leaning forward to kiss him for a while and calm his nerves. She whispered little corrections and encouragements against his cheek while he muttered a lot of highly improbable but very flattering compliments towards her and her body and her brain and her sexual prowess. He was pretty amazing. Best virgin ever. Her college frat party date had absolutely nothing on Clark.
Pretty soon, she couldn't think any more outside of "yes, yes, yes, now, now, there, now, yes," and her knees had locked around his waist, her toes curled and her breasts felt positively engorged with sensitivity as she rubbed them against the hairs whorled on Clark's chest. She clamped her teeth on his shoulder, her hips dying to move, move, move, so close, move and she hit his wrist at exactly the right time when his fingers curled toward her pubic bone, and Lois exploded into the most delicious orgasm. Every body part south of her navel spasmed and she could only cling to Clark and wail. She felt like she was falling-- wait, she was falling, with Clark falling on top of her on the bed, choking on his own orgasm. His come stained her belly and thighs, warm and sticky.
He weighed as much as an elephant but Lois held Clark anyway. His shudders shook her bones. His breath heated her chest. His damp curls stuck to her cheek and neck. Lois brushed one of the curls away, the one hanging over his forehead, and kissed the shadows from his face.