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Lois Lane’s apartment is small. It’s filled to the brim with books, knickknacks, old newspapers, vintage magazines, and furniture. Lois hardly fits in it sometimes. So when Clark follows her through the door, she expects his head to hit the top of the frame. Or his shoulders to get stuck. He’s just so big.
She’s always known this — naturally, working with a person for nearly three years makes you grow accustomed to things like height and build. But sitting across from them in a dimly lit restaurant, sharing a bottle of red wine and steak frites, shines a new spotlight on everything.
By the time they make it back to her very little place, Lois can’t stop staring. Marvelling at his hand on her doorknob, or the dent he makes in her couch cushions. She’s flushed, and it’s not from the wine.
“Can I get you something?” she asks, playing hostess. It’s been months — off the record, closer to years — since she had a guy at her place. “Water or a…well, I have water.”
Clark sits on her couch with his legs spread, and if he were any other man, and they were in a public setting, she’d be annoyed at the obvious display of male idiocy. But now? Her mouth goes dry, and she has to force her gaze elsewhere. “Water would be great, Lois.” One side of his mouth ticks up into a smile, bracketed by a single dimple.
An open parenthesis.
A story without an ending.
Lois wants to grab him by the collar, drag him into her room, and —
“You okay?” Clark asks.
She blinks, realizing she’s rooted in the same spot she was forty-five seconds ago. “Yeah.” Nodding, Lois retreats into the kitchen — there’s no way he’d fit in here — and tugs hard on the refrigerator door. Cold air spills out, and she hangs her head in the glow of the single lightbulb casting shadows over a carton of oat milk, a half-empty Brita pitcher, and a bag of spinach that’s seen better days.
Lois needs to get a grip — and groceries.
“Here you go.” She hands Clark the glass, notes how it turns into a miniature in his palm. “I hope you didn’t want ice. I never remember to refill the, um, what do you call them?”
Clark pauses, the glass halfway to his mouth. “Ice cube trays?”
So much for being a Pulitzer-winning journalist. “Yes, those.”
He’s doing quite well for the bumbling, blushing reporter Lois knows him to be. Right now, he’s much more Superman than Clark Kent, but she might as well be the Bizzaro version of herself. The worst part is that it’s not even their first date. It’s their third.
If they don’t sleep together tonight, Lois might combust.
“Lois?”
She shakes her head, hopefully clearing it and turning her back into a regular woman, whose every thought isn’t consumed by the need to fuck Clark Kent. When she looks at him, lounging on her sofa, it’s obvious it didn’t work.
Onto plan B, then.
She crawls into his lap so that they’re nearly nose-to-nose. “Hi,” she says, like this is the most normal thing in the world.
He opens his mouth, probably to ask if she’s dealing with a foodborne illness that’s manifesting in a previously undocumented way, but then Lois is kissing him.
And God, does it feel good.
After an oof of surprise, Clark must register the real issue at hand, because she hears a low chuckle in his throat and feels his hand tangle in her hair. You’d never look at Clark in the newsroom and assume he kisses like this — so confident, so skilled .
His tongue sweeps into her mouth while he pulls her closer, then nips at her bottom lip when she sighs. The hand not in her hair finds the curve of her ass and presses her even more firmly against his hard body. They fit together like puzzle pieces, and Lois doesn’t remotely know how she’ll keep her cool at work on Monday.
“Bedroom?” she asks.
“You want to?”
Lois rolls her eyes. “I thought it was obvious.”
Clark stands, lifting her with him. She wraps her legs around his waist, curls her hands around his neck. “Well, yeah. But the confirmation is good.”
They’re in her bedroom in a flash, and she’s thrilled that it’s finally happening, and she’s pulling her jeans off, and then —
Clark sits her on the bed and kneels in front of her.
Oh . Lois feels a tide of embarrassment rising in her throat. She plants a hand on his shoulder and tries to shove him away, but he’s solid as a rock. Obviously.
“That’s okay. We can skip me, and just move on to the main event.”
From the way his brow creases, she knows it was the wrong thing to say. “What?”
This conversation would be so much easier if she were wearing pants. “I just…I take too long. So let’s move on.” Lois bites her lip, her eyes darting around the room.
“Lois, look at me,” Clark says. His voice is soft, underlayed with steel. Reluctantly, she acquiesces. “ Take too long — did someone tell you that?”
A handful of memories scatter in the room like shards of a broken mirror. Up in her high school bedroom with a boy who complained about a hand cramp. In college, a guy narrowing his eyes from Clark’s current vantage point, questioning if Lois was even into him. Last year, one of Cat’s friends — the last time she agreed to be set up — asking if he could just fuck her already.
She nods once, a sharp downward jut of her chin.
The mattress dips, Clark’s weight settling beside her on the bed. It’s just a queen, so God only knows how he’ll sleep here tonight. If he’ll sleep here tonight, if Lois hasn’t killed the mood and made things completely and unbearably awkward.
Does he want to leave?
Is he just being polite?
“Hey,” Clark says. “We don’t have to do this tonight.”
And that’s what sends her over the edge.
“ I want to,” Lois fires back, sitting up against her headboard. “I’ve wanted to…for much longer than I should be admitting to you right now. So don’t do the Superman-Boy Scout thing. You don’t have to humor me, Clark. I’m a grown woman, and I want to have sex with you.”
She hears him exhale all at once. Braces for the polite excuse to leave: an early morning or a dog at home that needs to be fed and walked.
Then she’s on her back, mouth going slack, as Clark hovers — literally hovers — less than a foot above her. “You’re out of your mind if you think I don’t want to have sex with you, Lois.” There’s something about hearing sex with you from the same mouth that routinely says things like golly and jeez that makes her toes curl.
“Maybe I am out of my mind,” Lois murmurs, staring up at him. He’s still fully clothed, but when she reaches up to touch his chest, smooth a hand across his shoulders, he might as well be naked for what it does to her. The hard muscle would be completely unexpected if she didn’t know about Superman. “So you’re staying?”
Clark reaches down and fits a hand in her hair. Her eyes close on instinct, and some of the tension in her body melts away. “It would take a national emergency to get me out of here.” Then, for good measure, he raps a fist against her headboard. “Not taking any chances.”
“Wanna come down to my level?” she asks. Her hips cant upward, trying and failing to build some friction. To feel his weight on top of her.
Lois blinks, and he’s gone.
She blinks again, and he’s back where he was before — kneeling in front of her, nudging her thighs open gently. “Clark, I told you —”
“Let me — let me,” he says, hooking a thumb into the waistband of her panties. “Lois, please. I want to.”
The protest dies on her lips as the scrap of lace is dragged slowly down her body, until it’s gone. “Fine, but if you get tired —”
“Did you know I can hold my breath for an hour?” Clark asks. “Don’t get the chance to very often, which is a real shame if you ask me.” And then his mouth covers her cunt.
Her command of the English language goes out the window.
It’s good — it’s really good, the way his tongue laps at her like she’s ice cream on a hot day. It’s good, but she’s too aware. Too in her head. Mentally keeping track of the time, anticipating a buzzer going off and ending the whole experience.
She throws an arm over her eyes, tries to relax her pelvis.
Clark pulls back, and she’s sure she’s scared him off. “You have to tell me what you like,” he says. His mouth is shiny — if they kissed right now, she’d taste herself on his lips. “Tell me what to do.”
“Superman, asking for help?” she fires back. God, she’s keyed up.
He pins her with a dark stare. “Lois Lane, arguing with me?”
She groans, and the resulting grin on Clark’s face is almost too much to handle. It’s the same expression she’s seen a thousand times at work, when he wins an argument — when she lets him win — or when he makes her laugh. One happens more frequently than the other, but the smile is the same.
“Now, what do I need to do?”
Screwing her eyes shut, Lois takes a deep breath. She can feel Clark’s exhale against her core, and she shudders. “I don’t…I’ve never…”
“Never had an orgasm?” Clark asks. “I don’t believe that for a second.”
“ No. I mean yes.” She huffs, indignant. “Yes, I’ve had an orgasm. Plenty, if you must know.”
His voice has an edge to it when he answers. “I’d love to know all about them. In detail.” She leans back on her elbows and can just make out Clark’s hand between his own legs, adjusting what looks to be a very hard erection.
“You’re killing me, Smallville.” Lois takes another breath and a leap of faith all at once. “I’ve just never told someone what I like before.”
In front of her, Clark wets his lips. “You’re used to bossing me around, so I know you’ve got it in you.”
Her face flames. “This isn’t exactly me explaining how you properly embed quotes. Which you should have already known how to do, by the way.”
Clark rolls his eyes. “Yes, we’ve established that Perry hired me for my boyish charm, not my journalistic prowess. Now tell me how you want me to eat you out, please.”
Somehow, the straightforward way he asks, like he’s getting her lunch order, makes her belly go molten. “Fine. More…more like sucking.”
His blue eyes light up, and then he’s dragging her closer to the edge of the bed and grabbing her ass so she can’t wiggle away. “That, I can do.”
He does.
As soon as Clark gets her clit between his lips, sucks a little, uses the point of his tongue in time, Lois is moaning. Fisting her hands in his inky hair. Letting her hips rise up and meet his mouth without thinking about it.
“Good?” he asks, the rumble of his deep voice sending sparks up and down her spine.
All she can manage in response is a high-pitched sigh. Heat curls in her stomach, trails down her legs and up her torso. This is the point where someone would say something. Don’t stop , or I’m close. But Lois doesn’t want to jinx it. And it’s still not quite —
Her eyes flutter open, and she watches. Watches Superman devour her like a man starved, focused completely on her pleasure. Of course he’d be different from the rest. He is different, whether he’s ribbing her in the news room or saving Metropolis. Clark cares.
“I need — can you,” Lois starts, feeling suddenly brave. His eyes lock onto hers, and it’s almost enough to push her over the edge. “Finger me?”
Clark nods. She feels the stretch — and it is a stretch, even around one finger — as he works into her slowly, surely. Since it’s been a while, she has to focus on breathing. On staying relaxed. And then he curls his finger into that elusive come hither motion all the magazines talk about, but few men have been able to accurately replicate.
Maybe Lois should quit her job and start writing for Cosmo after this. The imaginary timer in her mind disappears completely, and all she’s able to think about is this. The feeling of coming alive, of coming undone. With every flex of his finger, Clark hits the right spot, and it’s not long before she’s moaning louder, thrusting her hips against his face harder.
It hits suddenly.
Bright, white light behind her eyes, and every muscle in her body tensing.
“Fuck, I’m — I’m —”
She doesn’t have to finish the sentence — Clark adds a second finger, sucks her clit a little harder, and it’s game over.
Her thighs clamp around his head as the wave crests. Thank God he doesn’t need to breathe; a human man would suffocate, surely. Clark works her through it, doesn’t stop licking her cunt or fucking her on his fingers until she’s panting and pushing his face away.
“Sensitive,” Lois breathes. “I’m — really sensitive.”
“Sorry.” Clark’s tongue darts out, and she watches, transfixed, as he licks his lips. Licks her off his lips.
She crooks a finger at him. “Come here.”
He crawls over her, careful not to let his full weight crush her. The dimples are back in full force, and if Lois weren’t so sated, she’d roll her eyes at his self-satisfied grin. Twining her arms around his neck, Lois drags his face down so she can finally kiss him. There's a bite to it this time — desperation that wasn’t there before. Like now that he’s had a taste, he can’t stop.
Thankfully, Lois doesn’t want him to.
She breaks the kiss and turns her head. “How do you want it?” she asks in his ear. “How do you want me?”
Clark curses into her hair, and the sound of it sends more shockwaves through her body. “You can’t — you can’t just ask me that, Lois.”
“Why not?”
His thumb finds her jaw and tilts it back. “Because,” he says between kisses, “I’m trying very hard to be a gentleman right now.”
It’s hard not to laugh at that, and Lois fails miserably. “Clark, you just made me come on your face.”
The blue eyes across from her go dark. “Are you trying to kill me?”
Lois rolls out from under him and pulls her blouse off. It’s a wonder she kept it on this long, honestly. All that’s left between her bare skin and Clark is purple lace, matching the panties that were flung…somewhere earlier. “Yes?”
He groans, pulls her back close. In an instant, her bra is gone, replaced by two very large hands. “Wait,” she says, and Clark pulls away so fast that her brain doesn’t register the movement. “ No , I just mean that you’re still wearing all of your clothes. Let’s even the playing field a little.”
Clark stands at the foot of the bed and undoes his belt. Pulls his trousers down, revealing hulking thighs, muscled calves, and dusting of dark hair. And then there’s his briefs, doing little to conceal a prominent erection.
Her eyes must be wide as saucers. “See something you like, Lane?”
“Maybe.”
His button up comes off next, followed by his thin cotton undershirt. God. It shouldn’t be shocking, the way his chest looks like it’s carved from marble. She’s seen Superman, knows how the S emblem stretches across broad muscle, but you’d never know the same just looking at Clark. His suits never fit just right, he hunches at his desk — he’s always leaning, contorting in a way to look smaller.
Now, pulling down his briefs, Clark looks like he might split her in half.
Lois audibly gulps.
Clark’s face goes a rosy shade of pink. “You see why I’m trying to be a gentleman about this?”
“I can handle it,” she says, a hint of wobble in her voice. When she presses her thighs together, she’s still plenty wet. Wetter than before, somehow. Maybe she wants to be split in half. “So. How do you want me?”
“I want
you
to call the shots.”
She shakes her head. “I had to be brave and say what I wanted earlier. Now, it’s your turn.”
Idly, Clark fists his cock — maybe to take some of the edge off — and she’s completely enraptured. This is all she’ll be able to think about Monday at work, and Cat will know something’s up, and she’ll be relegated to a game of twenty questions where the only objective is to find out who Lois is sleeping with.
“If it’s too much, you have to tell me, okay?” Clark says, back on the bed. “I just want you underneath me.”
Lois scoots up toward the headboard, lying back on the pile of pillows she keeps for decorative purposes. “Then you’ll have to come here,” she says, gooseflesh breaking out on her limbs as he does. His hands roam up and down her skin, and then his mouth drops to her breasts.
She sucks in a gasp when Clark’s tongue circles her nipple. “God, I love these,” he murmurs into her skin. “So pretty. Always covered up in your little sweaters and vests, but now I know.” His teeth scrape lightly against her, and her hips buck up.
One of his arms brackets her body and the other slides down, fingers tracing her legs, dipping between them, digging into her ass. “And your legs. God, you wear all those short skirts, and they’re” — he swipes his thumb against her clit — “all I can think about sometimes.”
In her wildest dreams, Lois didn’t imagine Clark would be a talker. But the praise does something to her, makes her feel a little insane.
“Are we doing this, or what?” she asks. It’s a deflection, but seeing his cock so close to her cunt is yet another thing turning her into a crazy person.
He comes closer, lines himself up at her entrance.
Then: “Wait, do you have a condom? I don’t.” The effort to not thrust inside of her looks like it’s taking a serious toll. Clark’s brow is creased severely, and all Lois wants to do is smooth away the deep wrinkle there.
“Been a while?” she asks. When he rolls his eyes, Lois taps her arm. “Implant. You’re good.”
“So I can —?”
“Come inside me, yes.”
Clark groans, and her cunt clenches around nothing. “Okay, good to know. Like I said, tell me if it’s too much.”
Lois feels the head of his cock notch inside of her, slowly — so slowly. His face still looks pained, like he’s really terrified he might hurt her. “Hey,” she says softly, “I will.”
The stretch is worse than two fingers, and for a minute, she’s worried she’ll have to tap out. But then Clark dips his head and kisses her, and something about the heat of his mouth and glide of his tongue has her relaxing enough that he finally bottoms out.
For a moment, they just look at each other.
Deep down, Lois knows this is so much more than a hookup. Than the culmination of a will-they-won’t-they office situationship, as Cosmo would call it. Staring at Clark, feeling him inside her like this, is life altering. It’s scary.
Scary, how he looks at her like she’s precious.
Scary, how he whispers that she’s beautiful and smart and funny, and all the things that other men have always been too intimidated or emasculated to say.
Scary, how much she feels when he finally starts to move inside her.
“Whoa,” Lois breathes. “That’s… oh.”
“Oh?”
She nods, her mouth dropping open when he finds a rhythm that works. “ Fuck , Clark.” Her hands are on his shoulders, in his hair, anchoring her to him in every way possible. When she tugs at his curls in time with one of his thrusts, Clark makes a noise she’s never heard from him before.
“That’s — that’s really good. Really g-good.” There’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead, and there’s a curl stuck there. “You’re so good. So good for me, Lois.”
That’s something. She whimpers, torn between crawling away forever and asking him to move in with her. Is this what being dickmatized is? Fucking Cosmo and Cat’s obsession with bringing them to work. But Clark keeps babbling, pressing hot, wet kisses to her throat, her jaw, and saying things that make her head spin.
Not one to let anyone get a leg up on her, not even now, Lois wraps her legs around his waist and arches her back. Meets him thrust for thrust, sharing secrets of her own. “You’re so fucking hot in those stupid suits that don’t fit, you know that?”
He sucks at her pulse point hard enough to leave a mark. She wants him to leave a mark.
“Thought about this a lot. Thought about you — fuck — bending me over a desk or taking me up against a wall, or…or…r-riding you in your desk chair.” It’s all true: Over the past year-and-a-half, Lois has had her fair share of wet dreams. Not that this situation is likely to help.
“You can’t — I’m too — fuck , I need you to come again before I — ” His slides a hand down to where their bodies meet and rubs clumsily at her clit. Sparks fly, and if she can get one of them to catch, it’ll be good. Perfect. “Do you have a vibrator?”
File that under things no man has ever asked her. “Yeah,” Lois says, shaky.
Clark pulls out, and she instantly misses the fullness, the stretch of him. After she grabs the little bullet from a drawer in her nightstand, he tugs her back toward him, turns her on her side, and hoists her leg up. He lets her knee drape over his shoulder, but he keeps a hand curled around her thigh. “Okay?”
She nods, and clicks the bullet once to turn it on. She’s gotten plenty of mileage out of it, most recently thanks to the aforementioned dreams. When Clark thrusts back into her, the new angle is heaven. It’s deeper, every press of his hips hitting a new spot that makes her legs shake.
Vibrations circle her clit, and the sparks are back. More of them. Catching and burning, and —
Lois barely squeaks out, “I’m —” before her orgasm crashes down like waves against a cliffside. If coming on his fingers was good, coming on his cock is indescribable. Every time her cunt clenches around him, it sends a new swell of pleasure through her whole body.
Clark drives into her harder, faster, until she hears a last shuddering curse, a noise she’ll replay in her mind on loop, and feels his hips stutter and his cock pulse inside her.
“Was that…?” Clark asks, chest heaving. He sounds just like Superman after a fight, and knowing that it’s because of her is more satisfying than she’d like to admit.
“Yeah,” Lois breathes. “Not too shabby”
That earns her a booming laugh. “You’ve said nicer things about my writing.”
“That can’t be true,” she says, stretching her arms. “Your writing is borderline unreadable.”
“Okay, okay. Be nice.” He pulls out and sets her leg back down, and Lois has the thought that she should get up. Go to the bathroom. Clean herself up.
But then Clark wraps her in his arms, pulls her into his chest, and kisses her bare shoulder. Maybe staying put for a few minutes is fine — even if they’re both sweaty.
When it dawns on Lois that this is the most relaxed she’s been in a long time, she has just one thought:
I’m in trouble.