Chapter Text
Clark has felt like a bad person ever since he made his mother cry.
He is close to crying himself when he thinks about the three months he has spent in the caves. His dad dying in the hospital, his mom desperate and alone, while he was utterly protected, surrounded by Lara's warmth and Jor-El's power. He finds himself back in the caves a lot now, even more often than before this whole ordeal — standing before the wall he rested behind, a sound inside of him pulsating in unrestricted grief.
Lara, his mind unhelpfully supplies.
Guilt follows closely behind. Martha Kent is his mother.
But Lara, his heart yearns. Despite everything that Jor-El has done to him, done to his family— ripping his identity from him, his humanity— Kal-El wants to speak to his father again, even if it's just to scream at him. But Jor-El hasn't reached out since Kal-El failed his mission. That knowledge burns.
My father has forsaken me.
Clark's father is Jonathan Kent, he reminds himself.
Lara, and his bones ache with it.
Because Clark may not be willing to admit it out loud quite yet, but Kal-El isn't gone — not completely — and he won't be for as long as Clark Kent roams this Earth.
...
The second time Lois climbs into the shower with him, his reaction is, safe to say, way more dignified than the first time. It's more annoyed and sarcastic than blushing virgin at least.
"So, tell me more about the last girl your parents caught you with, Smallville," and she sends him a cheeky grin. As long as Clark trains his eyes on that grin, he is fine.
Don't look down, he stresses.
But of course, he does. Lois crowding into him, enjoying how she makes him squirm. To his horror, Clark notices his eyes starting to burn.
Fuck.
He blinks rapidly, and from Lois's reaction, it must look like he's about to burst into tears. Her arms go up defensively, her first instinct always to be standoffish.
"Woah, hey, Smallville, I'm sorry. I didn't think...", and for once she's stumped for words. None of the army boys probably started crying when they saw a pretty girl naked. It's mortifying. The embarrassment at least helps with not setting Lois on fire.
"You never fucking do, do you?" It comes out more vicious than intended. For a split second, she seems honestly shaken, before she regains her composure: all fake bravado and thinly veiled innuendos.
"Most guys wouldn't complain about seeing me naked." And Clark, biting his lip, pushes past her without another word.
He avoids his gaze in the mirror when he climbs out of the shower. He has no interest in learning what it feels like to meet Kal-El's eyes.
"Clark." Lois's hand shoots out to grab his wrist. Clark freezes, her hand weirdly cool against his still-damp skin.
"Are we okay?", and she worries her bottom lip between her teeth, looking up at him through her lashes.
Gone is the femme fatale.
It's just a pretty girl.
Lois always looks good. But in this moment, a bit unsure, caught off guard, she looks earnest, too. It breaks his heart. It draws his eyes to her lips. He is dimly aware that he is staring— zeroing in on Lois.
The bathroom walls start closing in on them. Clark can hear Lois's heart speed up. He zooms in on it. Her heartbeat vibrating in his ear, his heart in his throat. Their eyes meet and Lois’ heart skips a beat. Instinctively he looks down, his gaze gets stuck on her boobs.
Fuck.
He is blushing just looking at them but he also cannot not look. Maybe it's because he's a teenaged boy, maybe because it's Lois.
Bossy, rude, stuck-up Lois.
The awful bathroom lighting comes in just right, hitting Lois's hazel eyes and turning them to glass. They are so close he can almost see his own reflection in them. "Smallville?", she whispers, and Clark knows that she isn't unaffected either by whatever this is.
They have been staring at each other for minutes. It's kind of ridiculous. Her skin is aflame with the bathroom lamp’s golden light which always turns Clark a sickly yellowish color. He wonders how she sees him now, whether she can see the sickness within.
Kal-El in him.
He grins, and it isn't nice or comforting or even particularly happy. And, Lois smirks back, deliberately mocking and sarcastic, her hand still on his wrist.
Suddenly he's kissing her. He can tell that she was expecting it, she probably knew that it was about to happen long before he did. Their lips rave and snap and tug against each other, hard and unforgiving and with an undercurrent of aggression.
For a split second, he thinks about Lana, about how their kisses were never like this, about how nobody has nor ever will kiss Lana like that.
Not Clark.
Not Whitney.
Not some mystery man from Paris.
Girls like Lana aren't made to be kissed like that. Girls like Lana do not bend over bathroom sinks, lips bitten and swollen from when they try to stop their cries from breaking free.
Clark is not gentle.
Kal-El is not gentle.
When he pulls out, they are both breathing harshly, both red and trembling.
And, that's Clark's first time.
A week into his senior year.
Three weeks after regaining his memory.
A month after Lois Lane first came into his life.
...
Beauty is terror, whatever we call beautiful we quiver before it.
Clark wouldn't understand, Lois knows. He mostly reads self-help stuff after all— he wouldn’t get Donna Tartt’s art.
No, Clark just thinks that she is being a bully like usual. As if Lois's cynicism isn't always justified, well-targeted— mostly limited to people (guys) who ooze self-satisfaction and arrogance. Clark himself a weird anomaly that finds its way into this category despite his golden boy persona — because in spite of everything else he stands for, he is still the most overconfident guy Lois has ever met. Rest assured, Lois has met her fair share of overconfident guys.
"You didn't have to be that judgmental of Abigail," Clark chastises her— breathing heavy— as he grinds up into her, hands lazily resting on her hips.
Clark is merciless in his criticism of her.
“You don’t know how rotten, they were to Abby before. It’s really—“
“God, Smallville, do you ever shut up?“
Finally he snaps his mouth shut as Lois tugs at his hair in exactly the way that he likes. They have gotten a lot of practice doing this in the last couple of days. Stolen little moments in hidden little nooks at Kent Farm.
Like on the field right outside its borders; beautiful late summer nights spend out there together— crickets chirping around them, the old bench creaking with the combined weight of both of them. Lately, Lois hasn't felt truly alive until she has heard the crickets chirp because it means that Mrs. and Mr. Kent will retire to bed soon.
She could feel guilty about that, eating their food, sleeping under their roof, and secretly praying for them to leave her alone with their precious son. Maybe she would if Clark wasn’t so clearly into it.
Achingly beautiful Clark— what is a girl supposed to do?
They have established a routine by now:
Mr. and Mrs. Kent go to bed between nine and ten— by eleven, Lois will sneak downstairs and get Clark, who pretends to be asleep for the simple reason that he gets off on annoying her.
The first time Lois approached him like this, she was nearly nauseous with anxiety: sneaking downstairs in nothing but one of Clark's flannels and bright red panties. So afraid that his parents would stumble upon them. So afraid that he would flat-out reject her.
Like she thought he would that very same day in the shower.
To be honest, she wasn’t convinced that he had it in him or was even interested like that in Lois given his famous infatuation with one, Lana Lang.
Perfect, pretty Lana.
However, contrary to popular belief, Clark Kent can be unpredictable. For example, Lois figured that sex would turn Clark into some kind of love-drunk fool— sensitive flower that he is. So, imagine her surprise when he just acted like nothing had happened— getting coffee with Chloe and Lois, mocking Lois’s note taking abilities, going all broody and pensive as Lana walked by. Everything was so disgustingly mundane.
He seemed so grotesquely unbothered like Lois hadn’t just rocked his world— like nothing was out of the ordinary.
Lois Lane is not ordinary, she refuses to be.
…
What would the General think?
…
That evening, she shook him awake on the couch: "Smallville," she hissed. "What?" He sounded groggy and pissed. Lois's heart plummeted.
Stupid.
However, Lois also refuses to give up without a fight. Normally this would include a heavy dose of sarcasm; throwing whatever she was feeling back in his face, trying to make him feel small, confused, stupid for a change.
Yet, Lois felt weirdly unmoored since that morning— feeling small and vulnerable and hurt for his total lack of reaction.
As the seconds ticked past and Lois grew progressively more afraid of what her voice may sound like, the prissy look melted off his face.
"Are you okay?"
Clark Kent has a knack for looking at anybody with such earnest and unabashed concern— it‘s heartbreaking.
“Don’t flatter yourself.“, she finally pressed out— slightly hysterical.
In the blink of an eye he was upright, looming over her, eyes fixated on her face, slowly tracking all the microexpressions she surely must have been making. Squinting his eyes at her, eyebrows wrinkled in worry, he cradled her cheek and forced her to look at him.
Jesus Christ.
No one can deny that Clark Kent is beautiful, that he is maddeningly stunning.
"Lois," he murmured against her lips, the house deathly silent around them.
So handsome, so goddamn nice.
A part of her cannot stand him, hates him a bit for being so upstanding. It’s only natural that she wants to ruin him. Fuck that moral superiority right out of him.
So, she took a deep breath and recentered herself. Lois refused to give up on this. The second time it’s her that smashed their lips together and Clark just…
Let her.
That was two weeks ago. They have migrated to the field since then.
Fresh air.
More privacy.
The endless-seeming night stretches ahead of them, allowing them to pretend that they and whatever they are doing is suspended in time.
They never talk about it. Lois just looks at Clark's too-perfect face and tells him it's casual.
No discussions allowed, she channels her father's most authoritative tone for that. But Clark doesn't even try to argue, doesn't try to contradict her.
Lois doesn't know whether or not she's disappointed that he doesn't.
It's funny, Lois would have wagered that Clark is one of the people that cannot separate feelings and sex— at least regular sex.
Maybe she has Clark all wrong after all.
Right now it doesn’t matter though.
Right now, Lois Lane has Clark Kent's undivided attention. She revels in that. It's pathetic, she knows. Lois is an independent strong woman, who doesn't need anybody, but more than that Lois is competitive to the core.
She wants to devour him.
Lois cannot help herself, not when Clark Kent still looks at Lana Lang like she hung the moon. If Lana was still an option, Lois most definitely would never have stood a chance. She would have never found herself in Clark's lap, pressed impossibly close, spit tying them together like cobwebs.
Later after they have both come and are just sitting there— Lois tucked into his side— she finally deigns him with an answer.
"It’s not about Abby in particular.", she murmurs petulantly as she snuggles even closer. Sue her, a girl gets cold at night in Kansas, even in summer.
"You won't get it, but Abby has been bullied for a long time. It's good that she can reinvent herself." His chin rests on her head, Lois can feel his jaw move as he argues with her. She shouldn’t find that so endearing, especially as some part of her readies for a fight.
Because some part of Lois wants to pout and shout no fair. I had to work for this. I had to make sacrifices. But that would be in vain— Lois knows how to pick her battles.
Clark would never understand— even if he would wholeheartedly try to. Guys never really do. Guys like Clark least of all. But then he tilts his head and looks at her so attentively, it makes Lois's skin crawl. It makes her feel horribly exposed all of a sudden, like Clark's gaze has burned away layers of flesh, leaving nothing but a screaming bundle of nerves behind.
So, Lois changes the subject.
"Have you ever gotten your dick sucked?"
What can she say? Subtlety has never been her strong suit. Clark sounds appalled at the crass language but he cannot quite hide how these words affect him in other ways, too. In the end, he just shakes his head.
No.
“Do you want to?“
It‘s funny how quickly he says yes, how croaky his voice comes out.
She wonders what he sees as she sinks down to her knees in the dirty grass.
Do you think I'm beautiful, too?
She maintains eye contact the whole time, nuzzling against his trousers, mouthing against the bulge in his pants. He tries to help her with the zipper but Lois slaps his hand away and tuts disapprovingly.
"Come on, Lois," he whines, and she gloats. It's her making him feel that way. It’s only ever been her.
He stares at her with open admiration and Lois gulps as she finally gets his trousers off. He is big, she knew that. It seems more intimidating from up close though.
Still, it doesn’t matter, Lois is not a quitter. She gives it her best, chokes only once or twice, when Clark pushes a bit too deep, petting her hair in apology.
It's embarrassing how much that turns her on, Clark just taking whatever he wants, murmuring empty apologies before he does it all over again. She grows incredibly more wet, moans around him, and Clark stutters. "I'm gonna... Lo—", and he seriously tries to pull her off, but Lois swats his arm away and just stays where she is. She needs to... He spills in her mouth with a breathless "oh my God." It tastes bitter and salty and like nothing Lois ever wants to taste again, if it wasn’t for the knowledge that it’s Clark Kent who came into her mouth.
Jesus.
The worst thing is how he looks at her afterwards. Full of amazement, face flushed and utterly ruined. He cradles her aching jaw gently, and Lois automatically feels herself lean in. His palm warm and comforting against her face.
"Thank you," he pants. She really did a number on him, it fills her with pride.
He helps her up from the dirty floor, pulls her in for another kiss and Lois goes easily. But when he tries to reciprocate the favor, Lois tenses up. "It's alright," she deflects.
It‘s not like her to be shy.
"You sure?" And Lois feels as unsure as humanly possible. Because it is nighttime and Clark is still beautiful and Clark always looks best under the moonlight. It makes him seem ethereal.
“Yes, don’t sweat it, Smallville. Next time.“
When they say goodbye at the bottom of the stairs, and Clark kisses her like always, Lois lingers for a tick too long — overcome by the sudden desire to hold him and never let go.
...
Lois's voice sounds hoarse the morning after. It drives Clark insane.
First with arousal, then guilt, and then something different. It's an ugly feeling. Possessive and smug. Like he's gloating about her sucking his dick, like somehow it makes her less than. It's not a human feeling. At least, Clark hopes so, because if it is, he is at his core a misogynistic asshole. Fuck, not even just misogynistic — homophobic as well. Clark doesn't want to be just another football player that gets off on ridiculing and humiliating others.
So, he is especially attentive to Lois afterwards. Not in the usual ways that may be expected, because Lois wants casual and Clark can definitely do casual.
No problem.
So, he doesn't treat her differently in school or in front of Chloe or even when it's just them. No, he doesn't do any of that because Lois would never let him live it down if he suddenly went all Prince Charming on her. He still argues with her and calls her annoying, and rude, and makes fun of her. But since the fellatio incident— as he so shamefully refers to it in his head— he makes a point of pleasuring her. Like in the barn, when he's sure that his parents are distracted enough to give them at least half an hour of uninterrupted alone time; his dad tinkering with the tractor and his mom bustling around the kitchen oblivious to how Lois clenches around him, mouthing like that, while her eyes roll back in pleasure.
It's all a bit of trial and error. Clark is no expert on female anatomy. But he does alright, he uses his super hearing to listen to the tiniest changes in Lois's breathing, focusing on what makes her heart speed up. Luckily for him, Lois is also not shy about telling him what she wants, her complete lack of a filter finally coming in handy. He learns what a clit is and how Lois likes it to be touched within one very productive night. He learns that apparently some women can squirt and that Lois is one of them. He also figures that he’s a big fan.
Clark never thought of himself as a very sexually driven person, but now, ever since whatever this is started, he can barely think about anything else.
It‘s maddening.
Thank God for small mercies because at least Lois seems to be in the same boat as him, if the times she drags him into empty classrooms or makes him pull over on the way from school to the farm is any indication.
...
Clark can see Lois standing at his bedroom window, watching him load up the truck with boxes of her stuff. How any of this fit in his bedroom, even if it was mostly strewn across the floor, is still a mystery to him. But when he told her that over breakfast, his mother tutted disapprovingly at him as if it was Clark's fault that Lois has a shopping addiction.
Dad made her his special eggs for breakfast and Mom baked double-chocolate chip cookies especially for her.
If Lois's smile looked a bit strained at all of this, then who could blame her?
Clark certainly doesn't. His parents sometimes wear it on thick, especially for someone like Lois, whose father was more of the distant and reserved kind of parent.
As he lifts another box, he notices a red and blue flannel sticking out of it. He should feel annoyed at seeing one more of his shirts disappear down the abyss also known as Lois's closet, but instead he finds himself feeling awfully fond. She has already stolen four of his white T-shirts to sleep in and two of his rattier sweaters for their midnight strolls to the field. She also borrowed his huge fleece jacket around the farm since the morning temperatures have dropped to below 70 degrees.
He can practically hear her singsong: "One more won't hurt. Don't be so greedy, Smallville." It makes him roll his eyes. It makes him smile.
Clapping his hands together to get rid of this weird feeling, he heads back up. Right as the open door to his room comes into view, he can see Lois scrambling to stash one last of his shirts in the only box left, hiding it under the pillow covers his mom got for her. She frantically folds the box shut as Clark walks in. He doesn't have the heart to tell her that her spiel is up. Instead he asks, "Is that the last one?"
Lois just nods, kicking it over to him.
"You are not even going to pretend to help today, are you?" he asks flatly.
"Why bother when I have you, Smallville?" she smiles, batting her lashes for good measure.
Clark scoffs but bends down and picks the box up anyway, sighing loudly. Lois doesn't even try to hide how shamelessly she is checking out his arms as he does.
"Whenever you are ready," he says gently, as she just continues staring at him. For a second, he is afraid that she is going to do something crazy like demand that he hoist her up and press her against the wall of his childhood bedroom— because Clark may be tempted.
"My parents are right downstairs, waiting for us," he stresses regretfully. It seems to snap her out of it — whatever this strange mood of hers is.
"Pity," she smirks.
Clark can feel himself bristle. It’s so typical of her to try to turn it around on him.
She surveys the room one more time, before she wordlessly turns around and leaves, trusting Clark to trail her like a good little dog.
Clark helps his dad tie a tarp over the bed of the truck to keep all of the boxes safe. In the background, he can hear Lois talk to his mom.
"Mrs. K, I can't thank you enough," she says, sounding completely like the bashful little girl Clark has only sometimes gotten a glimpse of.
"It was our pleasure, sweetheart. Give us a call if you ever need anything."
"Thank you, Mrs. K," and Lois's voice is thick with emotion. "Thank you, sir," she addresses Clark's father.
"Nothing to thank, Lois," he replies easily. "I'll be back in town for Chloe's birthday next month," she promises them, and Clark feels his heart sink. Being able to superspeed through his chores again is an empty joy if it means not seeing Lois for a whole month. He has grown quite used to her, his throat feels thick and hot.
Lois reaches into her pocket and Clark thinks she is about to reach for a tissue, her eyes dangerously bright. She pulls a five dollar bill out instead and presses it in his dad's unsuspecting hand. "Five on the Metros next week.“
His dad laughs at the gesture.
"I'll take it now because the Sharks are gonna win." "I wouldn't bet on it," and Lois winks cheekily at his dad.
All bright eyes and wide smile.
Lois takes one last look at the house, before she turns around and slaps him on the shoulder.
"Let's roll, Smallville."
Clark drives down the driveway slower than he normally would, just to give Lois the chance of waving his parents goodbye for as long as she obviously wants to. It's only when they are driving past the field that Lois turns back around to look straight ahead. He can hear her breath rattling around her ribcage.
She is sad.
"You want some of the cookies?" Clark's comfort tactics are strictly limited to physical touch and food. "Already hungry again, Smallville?" she deflects.
"Somebody had to carry a hundred boxes," he shoots back.
Lois sniffles a laugh. "Woe you."
Nonetheless, she starts picking at the cookies, breaking them into bite-sized pieces and handing them to Clark as he drives them out of Smallville. He cannot help but notice that she isn't eating any of them. "Now I feel bad, my mom made them especially for you," he says after he ate at least two his mouth dry from the chocolate. "You can make it up to me." It really shouldn't surprise him that she licks the chocolate and the crumbs out of his teeth in the next second. It doesn't, not really, even if it nearly makes him crash the car.
"Lois, Jesus," he admonishes her as he gets his breath back, but she just laughs in his face. "Do you want me to?" she gestures to the tent in his pants. It's ridiculous. In the last few weeks, they have done so much more than kiss and still…
It's really all it takes.
"I'm driving."
"Never heard of road head, Smallville?" she makes fun of him. God, she always makes fun of him. It's perverse how his body reacts to it. Maybe he has started having a Pavlovian response to her sarcasm.
"Don't be stupid," he says back. No matter how much he wants, he couldn't live with himself if he crashed and something happened to her, while he walked away without a scratch.
"Suit yourself."
Her body betrays her then, a tear slipping out from her aloof facade as she redirects her gaze back outside the window. Clark wouldn't have noticed if he wasn't so hyperaware of her— of the sadness that streams off her like fog today.
Choosing against saying anything, because he always only seems to say the wrong thing, he falls back on physical touch. He puts a hand on her thigh. His fingers, sprawled out, cover the entire thing. It catches him off guard, it makes her look fragile. It's not something he usually associates with Lois. He's on edge until she relaxes into his touch. She wraps her delicate fingers around his and just holds on.
It's nice.
They hold hands like that for an entire hour, Clark ruminating on her strange mood, ruminating on his own strange mood as well. The realization comes like lightning, it makes him visibly jerk. He whirls around, fixing her in place with a frantic look in his eyes. Lois watches him like he lost his mind.
"Earlier I didn't mean that I don't want you to... you know... or that you are stupid or whatever. For wanting to do it, I mean. It's just not safe." His words flay around uncoordinated and gracelessly.
"I know," Lois says easily, but she can't quite hide how relieved or how amused she is at Clark's rendition of a bumbling idiot. Because Lois hates awkward silence but loves making Clark squirm, it takes her an entire Whitesnake‘s song to relieve him from his misery.
"I think you are stupid, if it's any consolation."
"Fuck off," he mutters back. He knows that Lois doesn't think that he's stupid. Not with how she is always complaining about his 4.0 GPA despite him usually being late to class and barely ever paying attention. On the other hand, he knows that Lois is secretly afraid of being perceived as stupid. Stupid dyslexia, she would repeatedly curse out as Chloe proofread her articles for the Torch, leaving more red than white by the end of it despite how brilliant her takes always are.
Still, she doesn't let go of his hand.
"Chloe's meeting us at my dorm with my car," she changes the subject. As if he doesn’t know that, as if he didn't pick Lois up yesterday evening, after she dropped her car off at Chloe's place.
"I know."
"No, Clark. Focus. Chloe will be waiting for us in my room."
She sends him a suggestive look, as if to underline her words with their new meaning.
Of course, he thinks.
Perhaps Clark is stupid. It's not like her to be redundant.
That's how Lois ends up riding him in his truck in some badly hidden side road twenty miles outside of Metropolis‘s city borders.
...
"What took you so long?" Chloe smiles brightly at them. Lois cannot quite meet her cousin's eyes. She busies herself with her backpack instead. Let Clark handle the lying for once. He's surprisingly good at it.
"My mom wouldn't let us go without leaving some rations for Lois." Clark climbs out of the car swiftly and circles around to Chloe— offers her one of Mrs. Kent‘s famous cookies.
Good tactic for lying providing evidence and immediate deflecting.
The many sides of Clark Kent, huh.
His voice comes out muffled as he speaks through his mouthful. Inexplicably it only makes him look more handsome. There’s just something about him holding that cookie jar, in the baby blue pullover that Lois convinced him to buy— that just seems so good.
Babyblue is your color, trust me, Smallville.
If he has started wearing less flannel and more light blue since then, Lois tries not to feel too smug about it. It makes him look like the All American Dream.
Tall, handsome, unthreatening with his perpetually ruffled dark hair, and big bright eyes. It’s obscene really.
He hugs Chloe hello, opens the door for Lois —gallantry, so ingrained in him that he doesn't even notice that he is putting on a show. Chloe doesn't bat an eye but some of the mothers are already eyeing Clark greedily.
"So, where to first?" he asks.
"You need to go to the admin building," Chloe offers helpfully, before she gets distracted by something or rather someone. "Oh my God, that's Professor Kenneth. I loved his articles on animal testing— Guys, I'll catch up with you guys later, alright?"
"Well… Where the hell is the admin building?" Lois is at a loss as she watches her cousin go.
“I thought you were here before?“
“Not everyone has an eidetic memory.“
Clark chuckles. "I'll show you — follow me."
He speaks with such easy confidence that it is impossible to not trust that he knows where he is going. Nervous as she is today, Lois doesn't have it in her to nag him for it. As he sets off in the allegedly right direction, she follows close at his heels — throwing occasional furtive looks around the campus. How the hell was she supposed to ever find her way around here?
"You want me to go in there with you?" Clark mutters as they stop before the looming admin building, a knowing tenderness in his voice.
"Don't be stupid," she snaps back to hide her nerves. "Okay." And to his credit, he only sounds mildly exasperated.
Still, she remains frozen in place, safely standing besides him.
"Any minute now, Lo."
Lois sends him a dirty look, before she throws her hair over her shoulder and marches through the Victorian gates to enrol in university.
This is what she wanted after all.
….
Fifteen minutes later, the key to her dorm clasped triumphantly in her sweaty fist, Lois emerges from her chat with Amanda, the administrator.
Amanda is quite a chatty lady.
Hand pressed towards her mouth, midway through deciding what to holler at Clark, she spots the blonde girl invading his personal space. The words get caught in her throat. Clark shifts nervously and visibly relaxes at the sight of Lois. This relief sends a thrill down her spine.
His knight in shining armour.
"Hi, Lois. That's Cassie.“
It's funny, how uncomfortable Clark gets with any kind of romantic attention. She already noticed it with the whole love potion fiasco. Clark Kent’s awkwardness in light of the barest hint of romantic interest in him. Yet, he always remains so goddamn polite— never forgetting his please and thank you’s as he plans his escapes— with anyone really, except for Lois herself.
"Is that your sister?" Cassie asks deliberately casual — still standing way too close to Clark for Lois's taste.
"No, I'm not." Lois's voice is positively glacial. "If you don't mind, I need this one" — and her hand lands comfortably on Clark's elbow — "to carry my boxes up to my room."
If the look that Cassie is fixing Clark with is one of want, the one she levels at Lois is of utter and total contempt. “Oh, I see. If—“, Cassie shoots another appreciative look at Clark, but Lois doesn’t let her finish.
"Have a nice day!" Lois practically orders as she drags Clark away.
"What?" she snaps at Clark, who goggles at her with an unreadable expression as soon as they are out of Cassie's earshot.
"Nothing." But his eyes flash with something, and before Lois can react he has pressed a kiss against her mouth.
"Just keep on walking, Smallville."
Despite her nonchalant tone, she cannot stop herself from grinning like an idiot.
...
He doesn't even notice how much Lois helps with all of it until he's officially moved to his bedroom again.
The sound his alarm clock makes with each passing second is driving him up the wall. He's trying really hard to stay calm, to behave normally. Like a normal human would. But every time he closes his eyes, Lara's face flashes in front of them. It's crazy — he has forgotten what she looked like for a decade and a half, and suddenly it's the clearest thing he has ever seen.
If it's not Lara, it's Dad crumbling to the floor, while Clark is unable to do anything, unwilling to do anything because Jor-El is calling him home. He sees Martha's heartbroken face as he didn't recognize her in the hospital. It’s the worst moments of his life playing on a loop inside his head.
Sometimes he thinks about flying.
Kal-El can fly. It may be the biggest difference between Clark Kent and his alter ego.
Sometimes he thinks about Lois.
Kal-El would have already shown up at her place. Clark Kent has only sent her a text because his mother told him to after he made it safely back to the farm.
It's one of these nights, where Clark doesn't manage to fall asleep until he passes out from sheer exhaustion— only to wake up levitating and petrified. He saw his people die—whatever Jor-El did to him in that cave, he took generational trauma to a whole new level. It's on a night like this, when he's already sad and lonely, that Lois drunk-dials him.
"Smallville," she slurs.
"I think you should make a go of things with Chlo again."
Clark has a hard time understanding her; despite his superhearing, she just isn't making any sense. Even less than usual.
"Lois, what's going on? Are you okay?"
Lois curses loudly. "Hey asshole, watch where you are going!" There's music buzzing in the background, and Clark can make out the familiar sounds of Scary Canary despite the tinny quality that the phone gives everything. He blanches. Scary Canary is a bad crowd. Clark would know — he was a regular there during his Red K-filled stint in Metropolis last summer.
"She's absolutely gorgeous. And so smart. Honestly, she is probably way too smart for you. Despite this whole memory thing you have going on. I mean it's honestly messed up that you can look at something once and tell me what it says word-for-word. It's infuriating, really. I mean, who would waste away such a talent? But you are still such a fucking idiot."
"Lois, listen to me. Are you okay?"
"Of course, I'm okay. Why wouldn't I be? You think just because you don't text me, I'm not okay?!"
"Of course, that's not what I meant," Clark cannot help but grow annoyed. It’s late. He’s not slept well for weeks now, ever since Lois left for college.
The vein in his forehead pulsates.
"Okay, just stay there. I'll be there in a few minutes to make sure you're okay, okay?" He is already pulling off his pyjama pants and looking for his jeans from the day before — he nearly misses it.
"You are in Metropolis and you didn't call?"
"No, that's not —" But she just hangs up on him. Clark can feel himself deflate. In a fit of uncharacteristic rage, reminiscent of Kal-El, he throws his phone; it bounces off his chair and crashes to the floor. For a second, he freezes if he woke up the Kents… but he listens for them and finds their deep, calm heartbeats down the hall. They are both sound asleep. He lets out a breath as he stares at his newly cracked phone screen, hand pulling at his hair.
It’s less than five minutes between Lois hanging up on him and him rocking up in front of the Scary Canary. He just hopes that he's right about the actual club, because otherwise he would have a long night in ahead, scouring all mainstream clubs within a one mile radius around Met U for Lois.
Why did he have to break his phone?!
Fortunately, his luck has finally turned and he finds Lois practically instantly as he glides through the mass of people.
It must be some kind of university event tonight, otherwise there would never be so many Met U students here on a random Tuesday. Scary Canary is too expensive for that. It may be in his favor though — the less regulars, the lower the likelihood of being recognized for his past misdeeds. His own situation notwithstanding, Lois's current state is also something newsworthy. In typical Lois fashion, she is dancing on a table, wearing the shortest skirt known to mankind and a deep cut V-neck that Clark has never seen before.
She looks absolutely gorgeous. Or she would, if she weren't so blatantly drunk. The sleepless night smudged in the eyeliner around her eyes.
It's nearly three.
Dancing on a table in high heels and minimal clothing in a place like this, screams for trouble. Lois can handle herself, he knows. But she is already dangerously swaying on her feet, and Clark manages to spot her just seconds before some creep tries to pull her off the platform. Within the blink of an eye, two things happen. Lois tries and fails to kick the guy in the face, and risks a lawsuit for assault — which Clark knows from experience is no fun— and Clark grabs her by the waist and hauls her to the ground in one sweeping motion. It takes some effort to not use his superspeed once he reaches her; he doesn't want her to get whiplash.
On a different note, she kicks Clark instead.
"Jesus, Lo."
"Smallville, you came!" Her disorientation clearing, she throws her arms around his neck like she hadn't just cursed him out and kicked him.
"No, this is just a collective hallucination.", he rubs the spot where she presumably hit him in mock annoyance. Nonetheless he leans into her touch, rests his chin on her head, and breathes in her smell. She smells kind of disgusting, like cold smoke and alcohol.
"Did you smoke?" Clark doesn't mean to come across like a controlling boyfriend or overprotective brother, but he can't help it. Trying to quit smoking was one of the first things that Lois told him about herself— even if technically he was still Kal-El at that point.
"No, Stacey and Ashley did. And God did I want to, but I didn't. Smallville, I promise I didn't." It comes out breathless and frantic and surprisingly earnest. She stares at him with wide eyes and Clark cannot help himself.
"Proud of you," he presses a chaste kiss against her temple. She beams up at him. Distantly Clark can see her friends, presumably Stacey and Ashley among them, stare at them. They are still wrapped around each other, Lois heavily leaning against him.
Her bones feel like twigs between his hands, he registers distantly.
But his alarm about that is short-lived, because before he knows it somebody shouts "Kal" over the music.
Clark's heart sinks. Still, he musters up a smile, and ignores Lois's questioning look. "Hi, Joe," he greets the bartender, "It's been a while."
Leering at Lois, Joe whistles approvingly. "You don't say. We were wondering what happened to you. Not gonna lie, we were worried for a bit, but seems like there was no reason," and he sends Lois another sleazy look. Clark can feel himself bristle, cursing himself for not taking it more seriously, what creeps frequent this place, Joe included. His first instinct is to get into Joe’s face but he’s no longer Kal, and Lois would definitely not approve.
I‘m not a dick measuring contest, she would rant at him. Fucking idiot, she would curse at him.
In a split second decision, Clark pulls off his pullover and simply ties it around Lois's waist— it doesn’t do much, just adds a measly four inches of coverage.
“Clothes don’t assault people, people do.“, an imaginary Lois scoffs as he squares back up. The real Lois doesn't complain though is her considerable intoxication, leaving her too busy trailing her hands over his biceps and chest like she cannot decide what to touch first.
For a split second, Clark is so enamored with Lois that he forgets where he’s in the first place. Unfortunately, Joe is adamant about reminding him off it.
"Finally managed to pull, I take it?", and Joe laughs throatily at his own joke, still ogling Lois. It’s a hacking sound.
Joe should really go easier on the cigarettes and booze, the observation is numbed by Clark’s aggravation at Joe‘s persistence, at the unsolicited reminder of things that Clark would rather forget— especially in a moment like this where Lois feels helpless in his arms.
How dare he ogle her like that?!
He feels like Kal. He feels angry, properly angry. In this club, with Joe cackling like getting underage girls drunk and perving on them is some joke to him. Eighteen is still incredibly young.
"Watch it," he hisses darkly and registers how Joe tenses. “Light up, Kal. Can’t take a joke?“ But he is still smiling, unaware off the danger he’s currently in.
Truthfully Clark doesn’t know how this would have gone if Tommy, another but less-detestable barkeeper, hadn’t cut in: “Your jokes aren’t funny, Joe. We don’t want any trouble, Kal." And then—"Your girl okay?"
Suddenly Clark's Clark again and his entire focus is back on Lois, leaving makeup stains in his white shirt. Instead of answering, Clark finds himself pushing a strand of sweat slick hair out of her face.
"You good, Lo?"
"I'm tired."
"Alright, then let's get you home, okay?"
"Smallville's too far away," she slurs. Contrary to a fault, he cannot help but smile.
"Not home then. Your dorm also okay?"
She just yawns into his neck. Clark takes that as agreement.
Clark can feel multiple sets of eyes on him as he half carries Lois out of the bar. Joe‘s and Tommy’s, but also Stacey's and Ashley's who at least grill him on who he is and why the hell he’s carrying Lois out of the club. Lois‘s drunken explanation despite all enthusiasm only semi-convincing until she refers to him as a good farmer boy and the girls‘ faces dawn with understanding.
What the hell has Lois been telling them about him? The curiosity burns but it can wait, he can question Lois about it tomorrow.
"Why did they call you Kal?" Lois asks him later, sounding surprisingly sober. It’s a few hours and a few bottles of water later. He helped her shower and brushed her teeth before force feeding her some fries and a burger— he ran two miles to the only open restaurant for— and he had to brush her teeth again.
They are spooning, Lois facing away from him and the smell of her hair in his nose is weirdly comforting— only faint traces of cold smoke and sweat lingering.
He considers lying but… It's not really a secret anyway, not entirely; Lana and Chloe know the gist of it.
Clark may be a liar at heart but just once he wants to be honest. Or as close to honest as he can be.
"Last summer I ran away from home and stayed close to here for a couple of months." Lois hums contemplatively: "Quite the adventurer, Smallville. Runaway teen and missing amnesiac all within the span of a year." Clark doesn’t know how to respond to that. “Yeah.“
“What I don’t get…“, she starts and Clark cannot breathe. "Why Kal? I feel like you look more like a Charlie." A second passes, he exhales. He feels lightheaded.
Fuck it.
He is— on some level— always fully prepared to lie, but when he opens his mouth the truth or a close enough version just tumbles out.
"It's... my name. Kal. Like my biological parents gave it to me."
Lois is quiet, letting Clark sort out his thoughts— unsure of what to say next but once he starts he finds himself unable to stop.
"My birth dad... reached out and he's kind of an asshole. I don't know, it messed with my head. And then, my mom lost the baby because I was careless and I just didn't want to feel for a bit. I was on... something for awhile."
"I hate feelings, too," Lois confides in him quietly, speech still a bit slurred, but whether from the lasting effects of the alcohol or just tiredness is hard to tell— but then she follows that up with "I like how I feel when I’m with you," and she doesn’t sound drunk at all. Clark hopes that she isn’t; he really does.
"I really like how I feel when I’m with you, too."
"I think I would be a good Sonya, don't you think?", Lois breaks the emotional weight of the moment. It catches him off guard. The callback so unexpected— Lois always hard to keep up with. He huffs a laugh.
Charlie and Sonya, why the hell not?