"I shouldn't be doing this," he said against her neck.
She gave a throaty laugh that vibrated against his lips. "You keep saying that."
"Because it's true." He bit lightly and her laugh turned into a moan.
She grasped his face and pulled his lips to hers again. "You're not stopping," she said against his mouth.
"Because I can't." Every time he was around her, he avoided getting to just this place. Because this was that place that was hard to pull away from. The last time they'd been here, she'd stopped. It was a good thing, then, because he knew it wasn't something he could do. He could lift a house if he wanted to, but he couldn't stop kissing her. Perhaps it was because he didn't want to. He really didn't want to.
"I think we should stop," he panted as her teeth pulled at his lower lip.
She bit lightly. "Then why's your hand up my shirt?"
"Is it?" He hadn't even realized it. Considering he was pressing her against a post, holding her slightly above him with the pressure of his hips and one hand on her ass and the other cupping her breast, he could see why she wasn't believing him.
She pushed at his shoulders and he let her down, as relieved as he was frustrated. At least she had the strength to... She pulled at his tie, loosening it, then lifting it over his chin. "I get it, Clark. You want me. You just don't want to move in when I'm all... vulnerable," she grunted, trying to lift it over his head, sort of jumping a little with the effort -- which was so fucking cute his hands gripped her hips, lifting her against him. She succeeded and threw it off, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I'm not fragile, Clark. I may be going through a tough time, but that doesn't mean I don't need... release," she finished on a breath, catching his lips again. "It just means I need it even more." She pushed at his shoulders and he let her down, but he didn't fool himself that she was stopping again. She gripped his belt and turned.
He turned with her, almost literally following her with his cock. "You think you need this. But later..."
"You're the one that kept going on about giving me what I need." She gave him a half-smile that nearly had him stumbling as she pulled him backward. "What if what I need is you?"
He closed his eyes and cursed whatever had made him say that to her in his apartment. He cursed whatever had made him speed back up these stairs. He'd had an out. She thought he didn't want her. Why couldn't he let her think that? Just until he got himself under control enough to tell her the truth about them. But the truth... Maybe he was a slave to the truth as much as she was. He couldn't leave her believing a lie. He couldn't do it now either. "I'm the last thing you need," he breathed, stopping short against her as she hit the table. "I'm no good for you," he said, trying for that bit of truth. "I never was."
"Mmm-hmm." She pulled his shirt out of his pants. "After this month, I get that hooking up with a hero can mess with a girl's..."
"It's not just that." He gripped her shoulders. "This isn't just about danger. We need to talk."
"No more talking." She shook her head, shrugging him off, then his blazer and her sweater at once. "I'm sick of talking. This week has been nothing but talking about the past."
"But the past is..."
She ran a finger down his buttons. "Clark, screw the past. Maybe I don't need to know everything right this second. Maybe this," she stopped, running her fingers along the edge of his slacks, "wasn't always mutual, but it obviously is now. Maybe I don't need you to be my nurse or my hero. Maybe..." She leaned up. "Maybe I want to fuck you all the time, too," she whispered against his neck.
He surged against her, not sure if he was more turned on or more aggrieved. "It was always mutual. It wasn't just... If you knew..."
"I know all I want to right now." She took her hands from him and leaned against the table. "And I need you to make a decision." She grasped the bottom of the worn red top and pulled it over her head. "Yes or no, Clark."
He stared at her breasts. "That's not fair," he mumbled.
She smiled and leaned back further. "Are my nipples hard? It's just I'm so cold." She shook... deliberately.
"That's really not fair," he whispered, his eyes following her every shiver.
"Maybe not. But I might freeze out here unless you..."
He pulled her against him, clearing the books off the table with one sweep and pressing her against it, pinning her wrists above her head. "Happy now?"
"I'm not sure," she breathed, searching his face. "Why are you so angry? I thought you wanted this."
"You know I do. And I'm not angry," he growled. Except for how he was, just not at her. "But you will be. You'll..." He trailed off, his eyes drawn to her left wrist. There was a faint sort of blue glow against the table. He snatched it up. Turquoise didn't glow.
She snatched her wrist away. "Clark, you're right. I will be angry. If you tease me any longer and don't fuck me, I'll be..."
He crushed his mouth to hers, both because he wanted to and to take that dirty word out of that pretty mouth.
She smiled against his lips. "I was hoping you'd come around." She pushed up against him. "Fuck me," she gasped.
"No," he moaned against her neck. As hard as his body reacted to that word from that mouth, he didn't want to fuck. And he didn't want to have bland, uncaring sex. He knew what he wanted. He also knew what she wanted. The fact that the two didn't mesh right now hardly mattered. He let instinct lead, taking his lips from hers and sliding them down the body he knew as well as his own.
It didn't matter what she was doing. He was making love.
She wanted to tell him to get on with it when he started pulling her sweats down, kissing every damned bit of skin as he went. It felt nice, really nice, but she wanted him inside her... and yesterday. She would have told him so, but he sucked the inside of her thigh and her mind took a little vacation.
She shook against the table when he bit her hipbone. Her entire body turned to jelly when he licked the underside of her breast. And she was starting to think there was something to him taking his time. It wasn't like she was bored waiting for the sex.
She didn't know how he did it. She'd only been with him three times now. Some of those times might technically count as more than one time, but it was only three occasions. Yet he already seemed to know exactly what her body...
She froze as he pulled at her panties. "Lift up," he whispered against her stomach. Her body sort of melted again and she obeyed, but her mind was racing.
This wasn't some skill, picked up after three times. He knew the first time. She hadn't thought of it at the time, she'd been so crazed to have him. But even then, he knew just how to touch her.
She'd only just changed her story. She'd thought she had it right. That Clark only realized he wanted her later. It had fit with her timeline and everything. He'd left Chloe Sullivan behind, went away to the ice castle, and came back to Lois Lane, and whether it was absence or the hair color, he wanted her. And now... What was her story now?
She couldn't even sort it out because his mouth was on her clit. And even that was just right. Not sloppy or experimental. Light pulses of his lips, teasing licks, growing more frequent as her hips began to rise. Faster licks, not teasing now, but deliberate and circular and lingering and a sort of humming against her that made her...
"Stop," she whimpered. He did immediately, lifting his head, which was good because she wasn't sure she could make herself say it again. The reporter inside her may be putting the pieces together, but the woman inside her was still shuddering under him, even pushing up until he started to bend to her again. "No." She pushed the word out as she forced herself to sit up. "I need a minute."
He nodded and stood. "I'm sorry. If this is too..."
"Stop saying sorry," she found herself nearly yelling. "I wanted this. I just... I have to stop for a..." She stared up at him, then suddenly pulled his head down to hers again, fitting her lips to his. He was still at first, then responded, rubbing his lips over hers, just a hint of tongue before he dipped in. Just right, again. Nothing clumsy, as if he really did know just how to...
She pulled away again, still holding his face, frowning at his lips. "This isn't new. This isn't some... thing that finally happened between us." She lifted her eyes to his. "Is it?"
He held her gaze, swallowing hard. "No."
"So, even before, we..."
"Yes."
She nodded, processing that much. "A lot?"
"Yes."
"But we were never actually... not for real, we weren't ever..."
He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.
She let him go and slipped off the side of the table. She grabbed up her pants first, nearly hopping into them.
"I'll tell you everything," he said softly, moving his foot off her shirt when she grabbed at it.
"How long?" she grunted, pulling it on quickly. It was suddenly so cold. "Tell me that." She tried for the sweater, but her arm got stuck in the sleeve.
"It all started when..."
She stopped, throwing the sweater down. "Just how long, Clark?"
He took a deep breath, but didn't turn to her. "Almost five years. Off and on," he added almost in a whisper.
"So did this start after Lana left or..." She grew silent. "Silly me. That timeline wouldn't match up. It had to be..."
"We were sixteen when it started."
She bent and snatched up her sweater, shrugging into it violently. "Off and on, huh? I could guess which times were off." The Lana times.
"Lois, there's more to it. Just let me..."
"I think it's all coming together now. I was probably too crazy about you to care that we weren't in a relationship. And, of course, I knew all your secrets eventually, so maybe that was enough for me back then. Some toy, just picked up, off and on, when you didn't have someone better to..."
"It wasn't like that. You were more than that. You were..."
"Your best friend," she finished bitterly. "And best friends are very understanding. A hero's life is hard. He needs some kind of help."
"If you think it was just..."
"I mean, I already know all about the sidekicking. But I just went above and beyond, didn't I?"
"No," he growled. "I mean... Yes, you did, but not in that way. It was my..."
"Jesus!" She stuffed her feet into her shoes, not even caring about socks. "No wonder nobody would tell me. How humiliating it all is. I was like a god damned... groupie." She stilled, then turned to him. "Please don't tell me I got passed around."
He drew back. "What?"
"It would explain why no one said anything. Was I that into heroes?"
He gripped her arms. "How can you even think that?"
"I don't know what to think," she hissed, pushing at him.
He gripped her harder. "This was you and me and it was more than that. You have to know..."
"I don't have to know anything right now." She pushed him harder and he let her go. "I think I have all I can handle right now." She turned to the steps.
"Please, just listen. Chloe..."
"Lois," she cut in harshly, whirling on him. "This is hard enough without confusing me with her."
His brows drew together. "But you know now. You are..."
"I am what I am now," she yelled. "Why isn't that enough for you people? Why? Why didn't you let me be?" She could feel her face crumpling and she stopped it, opening her eyes wide. "I may have been living a lie, but it was a lie I chose. And I could have just gone on happily if you hadn't showed up and..." She quieted, taking a deep breath. "No. It was me. I kept digging, but I wouldn't have if you weren't there to make me want to dig under that lie. And now... I think I might choose that lie again over this... this truth," she spat the word. "All this week, I kept thinking there was this better life under all of it. But this... I wish I'd never..." She shook her head. "I can't go back. I know I can't. But I have some control over this and I am exercising it now. This stops." She moved down the steps.
"Let me just..."
"You want to give me what I need?" She stopped on the landing. "Then give me space. That's what I need. Miles of it," she growled as she left the barn, left the books, left Clark Kent... Hell, she left Chloe Sullivan behind.
*******************
Clark moved to the steps, ready to go after her, to make her hear him. He could. He could make her hear everything. She wouldn't hate him less, but she'd at least know that none of this was her fault. It was all... his.
He sank to the step, nearly weighted down by it, the fault. It wasn't a new feeling. It wasn't even a new place to feel it in. He'd let it all crash down in this loft since he was a kid.
He stood.
He didn't have time for it. Funny thing about being a kid. There was always time to mope. Not now. Not with training and work and Intergang and...
He could brood later.
He moved back, picking up his tie and his jacket, then started on the books he'd shoved off the table. Some were open and their pages folded under. He flattened them out, stacking them on the table again until he came to a green one. Its cover was nearly ripped off from the fall. It was the one she'd been nearly petting earlier. It must have been some kind of favorite. Aside from the damage he'd inflicted, it was dog-eared, the pages worn and the cover frayed at the edges. He'd have to fix it somehow or get her another. T.S. Elliot: Complete Poems and Plays. Shouldn't be hard to replace.
He'd give another one as soon as... No. He'd get her another one. What he'd give her was space. For once, he'd do it. No hovering. No checking. She was safe with his mother.
Clark, nobody can just take this all in without some time for perspective. His mother had said it earlier. Maybe it all translated to space. What she needed. He had no excuse not to give her what she needed.
And what she needed wasn't him.
He'd mope if he had time to.
Snow was falling outside. Snow meant wet roads and a trip to the drycleaners with his suit. Another thing to do tomorrow. That and buy a book. He put the worn book under his jacket and sped home.
***********************
Lois shoved a dirty pair of socks in her suitcase. She'd wash them at the laundromat. There would be no Martha Kent, washing her socks and making them smell like flowers in Metropolis. There would be no smiley pancakes or coffee just the way she liked it or... or Clark, depositing her at his mother's house without a by-your-leave, treating her like a child, kissing her as if he had the right to, as if they were supposed to have some kind of casual...
But hadn't she suggested it before? Just a casual thing. That weekend, when they first... And there was the problem. That wasn't the first time. It changed everything. To know she'd been some easy, no-strings lay through her teen years and some of her twenties, as well... It changed things. It changed how she saw him. It changed how she saw her.
Chloe Sullivan. Hacker extraordinaire and hero's wetnap.
"Lois? What are you doing?"
She stilled, but didn't turn. She thought she'd been so quiet. The woman must have ESP. "Packing," she said.
"I see that. Did you want to talk or..."
"No, thank you," she said abruptly, shoving a pair of jeans in before she stilled. "I'm very grateful to you for letting me stay," she said slowly, "but I really should..."
"You really should refrain from making rash decisions." She heard Martha sigh. "I was waiting for you to come in. I saw Clark leave, so... Whatever it is that has you upset, I'd rather you take a minute before making any hasty..."
"This isn't hasty." She shoved her hairbrush on top and tried to close the thing, wondering how Diana had fit it all. "No haste. I've just been thinking it over and... You know, I just really want to go home."
"Sweetie," She heard Martha closer behind her. "You don't have a car here."
She paused. "I can call a cab."
"That would cost..."
"Three hundred and twenty-seven dollars," she said, with previous experience. "See? All thought out."
"Lois, I know you're free to go where you wish, but..."
"Yes. Yes I am. And I wish to go home."
"Then let me take you."
She turned then. "No. I can't ask you to..."
"I'm hardly tired and I could use a nice, long drive."
"But..."
"If you want to go back to Metropolis, that's your right. But you owe me at least the satisfaction of seeing you to your door safely so I won't be up all night worrying." Martha smiled sadly.
Her mouth opened and closed. She wasn't sure what to say to that.
"Tell you what," Martha said, nodding. "You can pay for the gas. I'll go downstairs and warm up the truck. End of discussion. Okay?"
Lois found herself nodding, then staring at the empty doorway. How did Martha keeping doing that?
"Stupid mom voodoo," she muttered. "Well, fine. I'll take the ride, but I am not talking. No more talking. I've made my mind up and I'm... dumb suitcase," she growled. "Why won't you close?" She wondered if Diana had some kind of shrink ray to go with her honesty lasso or whatever it was called. There was no way all this stuff was in this suitcase. "Screw it," she grunted, zipping it halfway. It was enough to get it into a car. She dragged it to the stairs and bumped her way down. She started outside when she heard Martha's voice.
"In here, Dear," she called from the kitchen.
Lois dropped the suitcase, giving it the kick it had been asking for, and made her way through the dining room. Martha was still in her robe and slippers, facing the stove. "I thought you were warming up the car."
"There's plenty of time for that." She stirred a small pot. "I thought you and I might sit down first, have a little..."
"Martha, I hate to sound ungrateful, but I really don't want to talk."
"Oh, you won't be talking, Dear." She turned slightly. "You'll be listening. You could at least do that before I drive all the way to Metropolis and back."
"But you're the one who..."
"Besides. it's such a cold night." She took a potholder off the counter and grabbed her pot, turning with a wide smile. "I made cocoa."
Lois pursed her lips.
Martha held her smile, staring Lois down until she took a chair.
She'd have to keep her wits about her. Martha Kent was tricky.
Previous Chapter
Chapter Fifteen
No comments:
Post a Comment