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Lois Lane could not cook.
Clark discovered this on their second date when he opened the cupboard looking for plates for takeout and found exactly two plates, two bowls and one serving dish. Shaking his head slightly he opened all of the other cupboards.
“What’s taking so long, Smallville?” Lois rounded the corner. “Whoa, did you have to open ALL the cupboards? The plates are right there!”
“Where is all your food???” Clark asked incredulously. After the sparse dishware there was one cupboard with a few packs of chips and cookies, one cupboard completely full with 7 different types of coffee, one cupboard with mismatched mugs balanced precariously on shelves and one cupboard full of spare notebooks.
“What are you talking about? I have the essentials.” Lois reached around him to pull out the drawer of cutlery.
“Lois, you can’t live on caffeine alone.”
“Beg to differ.” She grinned and Clark felt his chest warm like the sun had come out from behind a cloud.
“You have two plates!”
“There’s currently two of us so works out.”
“Do you even have a pot?”
“Yeah. See…” she brandished the chopsticks in her hand to an admittedly very nice cast iron pan on the pristine hob.
“When was the last time you even used that?” Clark carefully shut all the cupboards and pulled two beers from the fridge noting the single bottle of milk, pack of cheese and some butter at the back.
“mmmm… December?” Lois settled herself on the sofa and starting splitting the noodles, spring rolls, orange chicken. “Are you going to go rifling through my other drawers now or are you going to join me?” she held out a plate piled high with takeout.
Clark folded himself carefully onto the sofa and accepted the food. Lois smiled that sunshine smile again and tangled her legs with his. Clark white-knuckled the plate as she got comfortable around his bulk on her really too small for a 6’3 alien sofa. Lois slouched down deeper into the cushions and started chatting around a mouthful of spring roll “So Jimmy’s got this girl right,” Clark smiled at her.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He felt his smile widen like an idiot. “I want to cook for you.”
Lois shoved another wonton on his plate, “Deal. Next date’s at your place.”
“Already getting a next date am I?” Clark balanced his plate carefully on his lap freeing up on hand to rest on her knee.
“Don’t get cocky now, Kent.” Lois pointed her chopsticks at him in a mock threat.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Miss Lane.”
_ _ _
Clark Kent could cook.
There was no way Martha Kent was letting her boy go out into the world before he knew how to roast a chicken properly.
“Hey,” Clark grinned and stepped aside to let Lois in.
“So this is where the magic happens.” Lois peered around the loft. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting. A part of her was had kind of thought she’d walk into some sort of lair with computers and screens and flashy green lights. This wasn’t ‘Superman’ at all. It was totally ‘Clark’. The loft was high and airy, basically just one big room. The walls were lined with shelves bursting with enough books to give her place a run for it’s money. There were frames scattered about showing some high school shots, one of a beaming mother and father with a tiny dark haired boy playing with a rocket underneath a Christmas tree, Clark with his glasses askew towering over the same mother and father his curls escaping from under his graduation cap. A few pages of notes and a laptop were balanced on a worn looking leather couch. A small dining table with two chairs set by the high windows overlooking downtown Metropolis.
Her gaze landed on the huge bed pushed up against the far wall. Dark navy sheets neatly folded over and plumped pillows. It was possibly the largest mattress she’s ever seen. She had a feeling you could fit three Clarks comfortably across the sheets… Clark followed her gaze and was it her imagination or was he blushing just a little. “Well… er… I don’t know about…”
If Lois hadn’t also felt the first tell tale feeling of flush in her own cheeks she might have pushed the tease but instead she quickly cleared her throat. “Something smells amazing.”
“Right!” Clark turned gratefully to the kitchen built into the other corner of the studio. “Um I hope you like chicken?”
“I love it.” Lois following him into the kitchenette. “I’d offer to help but trust me you don’t want that.”
“You’re a guest you don’t need to.” Clark said with midwestern hospitality.
“No I mean you really do not want that. I managed to set fire to my dorm room trying to cook pot noodle once.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“I have the disciplinary notes to prove it.” Lois hopped up onto a clear spot of counterspace. Clark turned back to the bowl of salad he was prepping. “I was already on thin ice with an expose in the school paper about the janitor salaries being garnished. The dean was looking for a reason to get rid of me.”
“I can’t imagine Lois Lane being taken down by pot noodle.” Clark handed her a glass of wine.
Lois smiled and swirled her glass. “I’d like to say it was my quick wit that got me out of it but I’m pretty sure it was my Dad calling the dean’s office from AirForce One.”
Clark stepped between her legs and smiled, “I bet your quick wit had more than a little to do with it.” He lowered his head just a touch, the counter bringing her closer to his height than usual. Lois closed the gap meeting his lips with hers.
She felt his mouth curve into a wider smile under hers and his arms slid around her waist pulling her closer into that insanely chiselled chest he hid under slightly rumpled dress shirts. “Mmm.” Lois shifted her hips closer to the edge, daring to nip slightly as Clark’s lower lip. His low gasp sent a jolt down her spine until the sound of glass smashing on the floor jerked her rudely out of the embodiment of a fantasy she’d deny she’d been playing out at her desk for a few months now.
“Oh crap. I’m so sorry.”
Clark pressed a flutter of kisses behind her ear. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m so sorry. I told you I can’t be trusted in a kitchen.”
“Lois,” Clark’s smile was wide and genuine. “It’s just a glass. Trust me. This,” he pressed another surprisingly-wicked-for-a-sunshine-farm-boy kiss to her lips. “Worth it.”
“I…I… at least let me clear it up.” She set her hands to the counter to hop down when suddenly she was flying through the air and being set with utmost gentleness on to opposite side of the kitchen island.
Clark grinned. “Careful. You’re in socks.”
Lois waited for her heart to return to normal. “Most guys don’t take sweeping her off her feet quite that literally.”
Clark grinned up at her as he quickly swept up the shards of glass. “Guess I’m not most guys.”
“Yeah no kidding.” Lois murmured.
“Here,” Clark handed her some plates and cutlery, “If you want to help you can set the table just don’t ever let my mother know I let a guest do a chore.”
_ _ _
Lois Lane could not cook.
Clark Kent knows this. And 6 months of dating this astonishingly competent woman haven’t changed this fact. Sure her kitchen now had four sets of plates, bowls and three large serving dishes. She’d cleared a shelf in her coffee cupboard for his favourite brand of cocoa and added a small milk pan to her cast iron. Her fridge more often than not had leftovers from his cooking or, if she was lucky, a few tupperwares Martha sent along with them any time they returned from Smallville. But she still couldn't cook.
It had been a long day. Perry had torn his latest draft apart with edits. Jimmy had needed help following up on a lead. A source at the city hall had stood him up for the fourth time. And he’d spilled coffee all over his desk in his rush to get to a train before it derailed. He’d been fast. But not fast enough and even as he righted the train and pulled survivors from the carriages there was nothing he could do for the young woman who had been at the front of the carriage. Nothing but carry her body gently to the ground and hand her over to the waiting medics. He already knew all they could do would be pull a blanket softly over her face.
A long day.
He let himself into Lois’ apartment, soot and sweat still smeared over his face. Lois rose from the sofa where she had been waiting. She reached up to tug him into a hug, “I’ll get you dirty,” he protested even as he sighed and wrapped his arms around her and breathed in the clean, warm scent of her.
“It doesn’t matter.” She murmured. “There’s loads of hot water for a shower, Clark. Why don’t you get clean and I’ll sort something to eat. You must be starving.”
Clark gave her one more squeeze. “Ok.”
When he stepped out of the bathroom, hair still damp and curling at the collar of the overwashed soft college shirt and plaid pj bottoms that had migrated to one of the drawers of Lois’ dresser Lois was… Lois was in her kitchen.
Cooking.
“Wha…”
Lois sliced the grilled cheese neatly into triangles. “Here.” She handed him the plate. Clark stared at it like it had come from another dimension.
“What?” She turned to the cast iron and flipped the second sandwich turning the perfectly golden, crusty side up to toast the other.
“You… you can’t cook.”
“I know.” She smiled. “I can’t cook… anything but this.”
Clark leant against the counter and raised the sandwich to his mouth taking a tentative bite.
“How is it?” Lois asked over her shoulder pressing the sandwich in the pan down as the butter bubbled around the edges.
“It’s… it’s good.” Clark mumbled taking another, this time much larger bite.
Better than good. Salty and greasy, crusty on the outside, gooey in the middle. The kind of grilled cheese that he thought only existed in rose tinted memories of childhood summers.
“The deli round the corner does the best sourdough for grilled cheese,” Lois said softly, making gentle, normal conversation. She lifted the sandwich in the pan gently to check the underside. “It’s a bit of a splurge but there are some days when only a good grilled cheese will do.” She flipped the sandwich onto the chopping board and sliced it before sliding it onto his plate as he finished off the last bite of his first.
Clark looked down at the plate, cheese just starting to melt out of the cut side of his sandwich. He put the plate down and gently tugged Lois into his arms. Resting his chin on the top of her head, “Thank you, Lois.” He mumbled.
“Any time, Clark.”