Investigations Into
Interoffice Relations

Chapter 3

Chances were high the bruise on Lois Lane's wrist was, in fact, just a bruise. She could have gotten the bruise anywhere. Maybe she slammed it into a mugger's face. Maybe she jammed a train door open on the way to work. Hell, she might have gotten it yesterday when she ran into the mail room guy's cart, trying to get to a story on time. There were hundreds of possible reasons why Lois had a bruise on her wrist. However, Jenny's internal monologue chanted "hickey, hickey, hickey" all afternoon.

Even if she did have a hickey, it didn't necessarily mean that the hickey came from Clark Kent. Except Clark had been unusually smiley all afternoon, too. Granted, he was the kind of guy who smiled all the time but today, his smiles had extra teeth to them. He was beaming. That was the expression of the recently laid. Jenny lived in a co-ed dorm through college; she was familiar with the look of satisfied boys the morning after.

"Did you win at fantasy football league or something, Clark?" Jenny asked him when she handed him a copy of tomorrow morning's comparative slides.

"Pardon?"

"You're looking pretty happy. I was wondering if you won a bet."

"Oh. Do I?" He smiled again, his eyes going kind of fuzzy around the edges. "I must have just gotten up on the right side of the bed today."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. Thanks for this." He waved the slide notes. "How're you doing, Jenny? Do you feel as if you're getting enough out of this internship?"

"I guess. I mean, the research part is great. I'm really getting a handle on how to get information and frame questions properly."

Clark gestured to Jenny's camera bag. "I saw you taking pictures when we covered the official re-opening of Reeveton Square. I didn't know photography was part of your required tasks."

"Oh! This? It's not really. I mean, it's a thing." Jenny fidgeted. Someone had broken into the intern locker last week and she didn't feel comfortable leaving it in there any more. "I take pictures all the time but it's not really my focus journalistically."

"Would you mind if I look?"

"Um. Sure."

"Just as the Reeveton Square shots and only if you're all right with it," said Clark, his hands held up peaceably. "I understand if this is a private hobby."

"No, geez, go ahead. It's nothing special." Jenny flicked the camera on and handed it over to Clark. As he leaned over to take it, she spotted a strawberry blonde strand of hair on the collar of his shirt.

Jenny barely kept down her "a-ha!" The hair was still circumstantial. He could have a strawberry blonde girlfriend who wasn't Lois Lane. He could have a strawberry blond boyfriend. He could have brothers or sisters or roommates with strawberry blonde hair. Strawberry blonde was the in colour this year, partially due to Lois Lane's popularity as Superman's unofficial press agent. Just because Clark had hair on his shirt the exact shade as Lois' hair and just because Lois had a mark on his arm that might or might not be a hickey, it didn't mean they were boning.

"These are great, Jenny. Lois, have a look at this." Clark rolled his chair across the aisle to Lois' desk.

Jenny followed. She didn't know if she was excited because Lois Lane was going to look at and probably give constructive criticism on her photography or because she'd see her two favourite people at work interacting in a possibly relationship-like manner. Her internal monologue now changed to "hickey hair hickey hair hickey hair." She felt demented.

Without looking away from her monitor, Lois held up one finger, then continued to type until she reached the end of her paragraph. "What is it, Kent?"

Clark silently asked permission from Jenny before handing the camera to Lois. "Jenny took some candid shots of the Reeveton Square event yesterday. There are some pieces I thought would suit the article much better than the official photographs."

"Show me." Lois didn't make a sound as she flipped through the photos. Neither did she move away from Clark. He kept holding the camera up for her, leaning so far into her space, he practically had his elbows on her lap. Every time she pressed the next button on the camera, they were all but holding hands. Really, people didn't invade each others' personal space like this unless they were sleeping together.

Jenny mentally squeed.

"Did you get release forms for any of these?" asked Lois.

"What? Oh. Uh. Yeah." Jenny fumbled with her camera bag.

"Good. Upload them on the shared server and give Kent the release forms in the same order as the pictures."

"What? You mean, you're using them?"

"If that's okay with you," said Clark.

Jenny's jaw gaped open. "I... of course it's okay! It's totally okay. It's more okay than you'll ever--" She caught her unprofessionalism just in time. "I'll have that at your desk ASAP, Clark."

"Thanks, Jenny." He smiled at her. "Good work."

Just because her mental monologue changed to "I'm published! I'm published! I'm published!" it didn't mean Jenny forgot about her very important clues. If anything, she was more determined than ever to prove to herself that they were together. Two such awesome people deserved to have each other

Clark sometimes feared he was too boring for Lois. Without his other abilities, he was a community college graduate from a tiny Middle American farming town whose last five jobs averaged a little over minimum wage. In comparison, Lois was a sophisticated city woman who'd lived in three different continents before she turned eighteen and could hold her own against alien sub-commanders and billionaire industrialists alike. She easily ate with chopsticks and ordered oysters on the half shell by name. She considered country music an oxymoron. On paper, their relationship shouldn't work.

Case in point: furnishing their apartment. He'd insisted on paying for half of the furniture and other houseware. Lois didn't argue but all the places she'd gone to were exorbitantly priced, in his opinion. Clark didn't see a reason to buy a dining set that cost more than his bicycle when the local charity thrift store had perfectly serviceable ones. She refused to back down on her memory foam mattress with cooling gel cells. He categorically denied the need for another TV in the bedroom. Lois filled the freezer with microwaveable dinners. Clark lined the balcony window with potted herbs from a farmer's market upstate. She bought two laptops to replace her laptop and desktop, and gave one to him as though high-end computers came from gumball machines. He built their home office desks out of salvaged wood from Smallville.

They at least agreed on the couch which was plush, deep, and upholstered in a warm cream microfibre. One of Martha's prize-winning quilts lay over one arm. A half-dozen throw pillows found their way on the other corner.

"This is going to be my favourite spot," Lois said, burrowing into the cushions. She snatched the quilt and wrapped it around her like a cape. Two seconds later, she threw it away. "It's way too hot for that."

"We need to buy a fan," said Clark.

"The person who actually suffers during a heat wave says we should get an A/C unit," said Lois.

He couldn't argue with that. "I think I'll have time to pick one up tomorrow."

"I can do it. I'll just swing by the store before I hit the evening shift and get them to deliver. Should I make tea?"

"Yes, I'm just about done."

Brunch was the one meal they managed to have together every day considering their (lack of) schedules. More often than not, they bought take-out or Clark flew in some of Martha's home-cooked meals because they both agreed leftover dinner made the best breakfast. Today, Clark had time to cook their favourites: hickory-smoked bacon cooked into a stack of waffles for Lois, egg toast with beans for himself, and a bowl of honeydew slices. Lois loaded a pitcher with three fancy tea bags, orange slices, sugar, and mint leaves, then poured hot water over it all. By the time he finished flipping the waffles on the griddle, the tea had taken on a deep red colour. Lois threw in a tray of ice cubes and half a bottle of club soda to cool it off.

"Fancy city iced tea," Clark teased.

"Try it before you mock it, Smallville." Lois scooped a spoonful and tipped it into his mouth.

"Delicious fancy city iced tea."

She smacked his thigh. "Says the guy who grows his own vegetables on the window sill when there's a perfectly good grocery store two blocks away."

"They're just herbs. And we should really be getting our vegetables from the farmer's market or the community gardens."

Lois rolled her eyes. "God help me, my boyfriend is a hipster."

He was Lois' boyfriend. She was his girlfriend. Clark felt giddy. He'd known Lois for a little over a month; a total of thirty-seven days, to be exact, since his ancestor's ship hurt her and he had to leave her on the side of the military installation in the Yukon. He didn't know how he could have survived the past thirty-seven days without her. He couldn't imagine how he managed without her before.

"Eat your waffles, Ms. Lane."

As always seemed to happen whenever he and Lois had more than thirty minutes to spare together, breakfast ended with the two of them horizontal and half-naked, this time on the couch Lois loved so much. Lois shrugged her t-shirt off. She didn't wear a bra to bed and hadn't dressed for work yet so her breasts hung bare within easy reach of his mouth. Clark cupped one in each hand. He knew now how she liked to be touched: feather-light at first near her ribs then progressively harder towards her aureole but never rough with her nipples. She loved it when he sucked on her breasts and rubbed her folds at the same time. Right now, she rocked against his thigh, taking care of that particular stimulation seeing as how his hands were busy.

Her nails dug into his biceps before sliding up to his head. Lois leaned down to kiss him, her hands fisting in his hair. Clark licked bacon and maple syrup from her mouth. He re-acquainted himself with the landscape of her body, the sharp edges of her shoulder blades, the curves of the muscles wrapped around her rib cage, the plushness of her bottom, the silk-smoothness of her thighs. Heat dripped from her, staining his fingers and his boxers through her panties.

A low, breathy keening came from Lois' throat. Her nipples pebbled in his hands. She moved her hips from his thigh to the tenting in his boxers and when she slid against him, Clark's chest tightened. Multi-coloured sparks shone behind his eyelids; he hadn't even realised he'd clenched his eyes shut. Each time they did this, his whole body heated and at the same time his veins frissoned with ice. Every muscle from his sternum to his knees locked and at the same time strained to move, move, just move towards the centre of the universe that began and ended between Lois' thighs.

He opened his mouth to breathe. Instead, he let out a ragged moan. He found himself clutching her rear, his fingers playing with the edges of her underwear as Lois thoroughly, methodically devoured his mouth. She pulled away slightly. One of her brows quirked up in a question she'd asked numerous times in the past month. This time, Clark replied with a nod.

"This is a lot better on a bed," she said.

"I can't imagine how it can get better than what we've done so far."

She smiled and rose, holding his hand. God, she was beautiful! With her strawberry hair plastered to the freckled alabaster of her back, her breasts flushed and swaying with each step to the bedroom, her legs topped by lace and the curve of her hips, her lips red with their kisses. He wanted to memorize every last speckle dusting her shoulders. He wanted to lick her mound clean. He needed to smell her wetness on his body, hear her sighs against his cheek, feel her teeth on his arms.

Lois sat on the bed and crawled backwards into the pillows. Clark followed her down. She slid her hands under the garter of his boxers as he arched over her. She palmed as large a portion of his butt as she could and squeezed. They both laughed, kissed, and laughed some more-- Clark, because of nerves, Lois, because she was a sweetheart despite her thorny exterior. They'd only ever gone as far as using hands and mouths. She'd been patient about his hang-ups on sex. The things she taught him, what they could do for each other-- he couldn't imagine doing them with anyone else.

When she pushed off his boxers, instead of leaning away, he helped her by lifting his knees. He still sat back a bit once they were fully off, his hands twitching a little on her thighs. He'd been naked in front of her before. Just never this naked. With the late morning sun revealing both of them in bright, cool yellows. Knowing what was about to happen.

Lois led his hands to the waistband of her panties. She raised her hips, signalling what she wanted from him. Clark pulled her underwear off, lingering as it passed her ankle. He pressed a kiss to her right calf then the inside of her left knee and finally right at the little hood between her folds. She let out a little scream. Her legs kicked straight. Her stomach muscles shivered. Clark suckled a little harder and she gripped his hair as she rocked against him. He worked his tongue and lips on her while his hands traced the tendons and knobs of her spine. Her pulse thundered around him. When her orgasm hit, Clark thought he'd come, too, just from seeing her fall apart. Panting, he curled his body away from the bed to lessen the friction, using his fingers to finish her off.

Groaning, Lois stretched and let out a soft chuckle. "You are so good at that."

Clark smiled. "Pleased to have pleased you."

"Your turn." She rolled over to the edge of the bed and grabbed a box tucked under the frame, coming up with a string of condoms.

"Maybe we should do this some more," Clark said, drawing her hands to his waist. "To take the edge off."

Lois circled him with both hands. Fluid dripped steadily from the tip. Never having studied it under a microscope nor really wanting to, Clark didn't know if it was pre-come or semen. He just knew once he got started, the stuff never really stopped leaking out. "Whatever'll make you more comfortable," she said.

He liked kissing her while she worked him over. He sat back on his feet, his knees open, so she didn't have to stretch to meet him. His hips rocked up into her hand. She gripped him tight; she'd been tentative the first time, thinking she'd been too rough. He reached around so he could curl his fingers inside her. She held him tighter when her legs were closed. He barely had to move his hand to pull those lovely breathy sounds from her. Fortunate because her hands were driving him mindless. Clark gasped against her neck as she pulled and twisted in exactly the right rhythm, her hips slamming against his hand. Fire lit his body. Ice slashed the very tips of his limbs. His groin felt stretched to the limit. All conscious thought fled and with a strangled roar, he came all over her hands.

Lois didn't have to try too hard to push him backwards on the bed. Love-struck and come-stupid, Clark could only caress her thighs. She tore one of the condom packs open. In the time it took for her to roll it on him, he was half-hard again. Lois straddled him and placed his hands back on her breasts. She took him in hand and, oh lord, she used him to stroke herself back to readiness. Clark watched, fascinated. By the time she slid him into her, he was ready to go off again, just from the sight.

Then he had to hold his breath and clench his eyes because he'd never felt anything so hot and wonderful and soft and his entire world was inside her right now he never wanted to leave please God he needed to be here always then she moved oh Jesus Lord Almighty and stars exploded in his brain.

Clark opened his eyes to find Lois braced on his shoulders, her forehead furrowed. "Are you okay?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing," she said. "That looked intense."

"I'm wonderful. That was... that was amazing." He kissed her forearm. "Can we do it again?"

Lois laughed. Oh. Oh, that felt... Clark hardened again. "Honey, I think we're still in the middle of doing it."

He shifted his hips experimentally. She met him on the upstroke. After a few awkward starts and a bit more laughter, they settled into a slow rocking rhythm. The tightness and stars circled his groin again, shivering up to the chest and down to his toes, but less frantic than the first two orgasms. The slow build seemed to please Lois. She stretched out flatter on top of him so more of their bodies rubbed. He licked the sweat off her neck and sucked a bruise on the inside of her wrist.

Clark could actually feel her getting there this time, the stuttering clench of her inner muscles growing harder and faster. He increased the pace to meet her needs and his as well. Lois bit down on his deltoid, her thighs and buttocks shivering. He pulled her tight against him, wanting in deeper, as deep as possible. He couldn't stop moving even as he came, even as she writhed through a long, soft orgasm.

Afterward, she draped over him, unable or unwilling to move. "I hope you're done 'cause I need a few minutes," Lois said.

"Thank you."

"The pleasure was all mine, believe me. Three cheers for Kryptonian physiology."

"I mean it, Lois. Thank you." He kissed her temple.

I love you, he wanted to add but he wasn't sure she'd believe post-coital declarations from an alien virgin farmboy who never thought he'd find someone to love like this and much less have someone love him in return. So Clark satisfied himself with holding Lois as tightly as he dared and took comfort in the fact that their hearts beat, not synchronously, but in a lovely duet nevertheless.

Because the Night cover version by 10,000 Maniacs, original by Patti Smith.
#turns the lights down low.