Archive of Our Own

“Alright, you got me here. Now what?” 

The annoyance in Clark’s voice made Lois roll her eyes to the ceiling. He had come all the way to Metropolis to join her at Atlantis and even dressed for the occasion, ditching his usual flannel attire for a button-down shirt and pants. If he didn’t want to be there, he didn’t have to come. He did. Who was he trying to fool?

Lois tapped her fingers against the sticky counter of the bar as two shots of tequila were poured for them. She needed an endless flow of alcohol if this was going to be his attitude all night.

“Bottoms up,” Lois downed her shot effortlessly, biting into the lime and smiling, bearing her green ‘teeth’ to him in an attempt to fix his sour mood. 

Clark tried and failed to stifle a smile of his own, chuckling at her silliness. Lois felt a surge of pride at the success.

Good, she thought. He’s decided he’s allowed to have fun tonight. 

“Look, Smallville, we’re both hot, young, and single on a Friday night,” Lois finally answered his question that was left hanging, ignoring the way Clark’s eyes seemed to forget all the visual stimulants in the club other than the low neckline of her dress. It wasn’t the first time she noticed him checking her out, but she never lingered on the thought for long. It always became too…dizzying. And it wasn’t like anything would ever come of it anyway. It was safer just to let things be. She continued like her spine didn’t tingle under his gaze. “Frankly, it is high time for us to get back on the saddle.” 

She had spent the last few months moping over Oliver, and Clark even longer about Lana. They were both overdue for a rebound. 

For the first time since Ollie left, Lois felt ready to try putting herself out there again, but not entirely ready to do it alone. Besides, it would do Clark some good to get off the farm and out of his own head for once. Really, he should be enthusiastically thanking her for the invitation out tonight.

“The saddle?” his eyebrows furrowed together. Ah, Lois forgot. Clark was a clueless virgin. 

He wasn’t actually, but he often demonstrated the same knowledge of the sexual arena as an 18th century maiden who spent her life locked in a tower. 

She eyed Clark’s untouched shot. She had no problem taking it, needing the additional liquid courage to get through explaining every basic innuendo to him as well. Lifting the small glass, she made a dramatic display of drinking it for him, letting out a sigh of satisfaction like it was a refreshing glass of lemonade rather than room temperature, bottom shelf tequila. 

Clark’s gaze lingered on her lips. Was he going to do this staring thing the whole night? It wasn’t exactly great for her composure.

She shook it off.

“Yes, Clark. When the bird and the bee are very attracted to each other–”

“I know what the saddle is, Lois. I just,” his face was as red as a tomato, the lighting around them only enhancing the color. “I don’t do that.” He cleared his throat before swiftly adding, “casually, I mean.”

Well, that much was obvious. His sex life was brief and clearly unfulfilling for all parties involved. She hadn’t needed Clark or Lana to tell her that either, just spending five minutes in their presence had told her all there was to know. 

Clark seemed genuinely worried, swaying awkwardly in front of her. She decided to let up, cut out all the bullshit.

“You don’t have to.” He never had to sleep with anyone ever again if he didn’t want to. But she had one of her gut feelings—he did want to. Something, or someone, was just holding him back. “But I hope you know you could.”

Clark continued to be all shifty and weird, looking like he’d rather the earth swallow him whole than keep standing in front of her. Lois wanted to say forget it, drag him to the dance floor, and force him to show off his terrible, embarrassing moves as the deafening music drowned out the remnants of the rare appearance of unfiltered vulnerability between them. 

This wasn’t them—quiet moments full of honesty. Fun, thrilling adventures, that was them. That’s what tonight was all about. But before Lois could get the night back on track, Clark’s voice broke through the club’s chaos. 

“What do you mean?” 

Sometimes she didn’t get him. Did he really not see it? The effect he had on those around him?

Lois chose her words carefully, getting the feeling that whatever she said next might actually matter to him. 

“I know you’re hurt. That you’ve been hurting. But you’re a good guy, Clark.” His head perked up and she kept going. “You’re nice, smart, handy to have around, not terrible to look at most of the time. So what, your best move is driving a tractor,” she let out a soft chuckle and Clark did the same. A look passed over him, like he was thinking back to a fond memory. Don’t forget weird. She didn’t say that one out loud. He didn’t need a reminder of that aspect of his personality right now. “Lots of girls find that adorable.”

Clark gave her a shy smile. “Are you one of them?”

“Eh, depends on the day,” she shrugged. “If you put yourself out there, things might turn out better than you expect.” 

It might not have been one of her best speeches, but it certainly wasn’t her worst by a mile. Clark seemed to agree. He nodded, taking the time to really consider her words, internalize them.

“Thanks, Lois.”

Maybe she needed that pep talk to psych herself up just as much as he did. You’ve got great things going for you. You loved someone, and it didn’t work out. It’s okay to want something else. It’s okay to want someone else. 

“Anytime.”

Clark licked his bottom lip and the little space between them suddenly felt like a boiler oven. It’s just the alcohol, she told herself. 

“You’re right.”

Ooh, her two favorite words in the English language. She raised her eyebrows at Clark, signaling him to get more specific as he did the staring thing. Again.

“Maybe it is time I give something else a try.” 

“Atta boy.” Lois brought her arm up to smack his shoulder gently. 

Something about him still seemed off. Like he was biting back words dead set on tumbling out. 

“Spill. What is it?”

Clark looked a little embarrassed, eyes darting around the club before landing back on her. 

“Dorky farmboy isn’t exactly everyone’s type.”

Lois felt something inside of her soften at his admission of insecurity. Clearly, he was in need of further encouragement. 

“What? C’mon, Smallville. You’re here, you’ve suited up, you’re looking very dapper.” She reached out to smooth the collar of his shirt. The fabric felt cool to the touch despite the warmth around her and she exhaled at the contrast, careful not to let her fingers remain in one spot too long. 

She felt his eyes on hers but refused to meet them, focusing on the very important task of adjusting his perfectly placed collar. 

“Dapper?” he questioned. 

Handsome. Sexy. Borderline irresistible. Whatever.

Finding him hot wasn’t anything new to her. He may drive her crazy and spend his free time annoying the hell out of her, but she wasn’t completely immune to those baby blues. She was only human after all. 

Then, an idea struck like lightning. Like the lightning strike that brought him to her, all lost and confused and naked. His bare skin glowing in the-

Lois chastised herself for the memories her brain conjured up. She patted Clark’s chest and backed away again, her pitch ready to go. 

“Why don’t we make tonight more interesting?”

His left dimple appeared and she knew she’d piqued his curiosity.

“There are lots of girls here. Single, fun, horny girls–”

Clark made a face.

“Nice girls,” she added, remembering her audience, “who’d be totally into you. I bet that by the end of the night, I can get you laid.” 

He scoffed, like she was playing a sick joke on him. “C’mon, Lois.”

“I’m serious. Let me work my matchmaking magic. By the end of the night, you’ll be thanking me.”

For a moment, he looked almost angry and she thought he was going to storm off. She scrambled for something else to say, worried she’d pushed it too far. Pushed him too far.

“Let me get this straight,” he finally said. “All I have to do to win is not have sex.”

Well when you put it that way it doesn’t sound like that great of a bet. 

Rather than voice the complaint, Lois only nodded, afraid she’d draw attention to the heated rise of blood in her cheeks upon hearing Clark Kent say the word ‘sex.’

He thought it over. “The usual?” 

The usual. One hundred dollars. The same one hundred dollars that had been passed back and forth between them since they met. That passed from Lois to Clark when she bet she’d crush him in Guitar Hero. That passed from Clark to Lois after he out paced her during her morning jog. Of course, neither had ever actually seen the money in question, but it was real nonetheless. 

“The usual,” she confirmed. 

He extended his hand. “Alright, Lane. You’re on.”

Lois’ eyes darted past Clark, spotting a blonde girl behind them checking him out. Her first target. She shook his hand. 

This was going to be easy. 

***

This was going to be hard. 

Clark was hopeless. Lois had an easier time getting the General to like her boyfriends than getting Clark not to bumble into oblivion. 

His conversation with Blondie was a disaster. 

“What happened?” Lois approached the high top table the other girl just marched away from. 

Clark gave her a helpless shrug, like he had as much of an idea about what transpired over the last thirty seconds as she did. Leading a horse to water, and all that. 

“Great work, Smallville.” 

Lois found another girl on the outskirts of the dancefloor. She made sure to prime her beforehand, telling her he’s pretty awkward, but a great catch. Just give him a chance. 

Same result. 

“What’d you do this time?” Lois scolded on her way to chase the girl down. She’d need a performance review if there was to be any improvement. 

“I get he’s not Prince Charming, but did you even try to look past his issues?” Lois didn’t know specifically what his issues were, just that he undoubtedly had them when trying to talk to women.

“Look, it was nice of you to try and set us up and don’t get me wrong, he’s sex on a stick,” she offered, “but, I don’t know. He didn’t seem all that interested. It just felt like he’d rather be talking to someone else.”

Someone else. Great. The whole point of this was to get over someone else and he wouldn’t even try.

After her fourth failed matchmaking attempt, Lois was beyond frustrated. 

Friends should help friends get laid. That was the kind of world she wanted to live in. Lois was doing her part, but Clark was making all of her efforts worthless and stalling her from rebounding herself. 

“Do you not want this to happen?” Clark stared at the ground, like he had been caught. “I’m not gonna force you to do anything,” she assured him. “Really, we can stop–”

“No,” he said sternly. “I do want this to happen.”

***

“Really? Nothing?” Lois asked her latest unsuccessful prospect in the bathroom as the girl reapplied her mascara. 

“I wanted there to be, but…” she trailed off, getting lost in her task for a moment. “Why did you want me to talk to him so badly anyway?”

Lois recounted the night’s events so far, why she and Clark had come tonight, the stupid bet that was taking over her whole evening. She hoped her tone emphasized the urgency of her situation. 

“Why don’t you do it?”

Lois choked on her nonexistent drink. “Excuse me?”

“No offense,” Mascara had the nerve to laugh, “it just doesn’t seem like you’re upset about my lack of interest in your friend for his sake. It seems like you’re upset you might lose a bet.”

There is money on the line. Well, sort of. Lois thought that wouldn’t be helpful information. 

“Plus, you’ve spent your whole night focused on Clark rather than finding some action for yourself. Maybe deep down, you want to sleep with him.” 

Sleep with Clark Kent? Yeah, that’ll be the day. 

Right, because you aren’t attracted to him. She told herself to shut up.

But, oh, how she wanted to win. And also get some action as the divine oracle of the women’s bathroom reminded her. 

Maybe there was a way to make this work and knock out two birds with one stone. 

“You’re my new best friend,” Lois told her before leaving the bathroom, bright eyed with a fresh sense of determination and a new goal—seduce Clark Kent.

***

“Sulking all by yourself, handsome?” Lois found him next to a set of stairs, having a great time at his pity party. 

“Um, I,” he swallowed as she grabbed his wrist and began to roll his sleeve up to his elbow. “I’m sorry I’m so bad at this.”

Satisfied with her work, Lois switched sleeves. 

“You’re not, Smallville. But, I do think it’s time we shifted our focus.”

“Yeah?” She pretended not to notice the way his eyes searched her face as if he could will it closer to him. “Is that what this is for?”

“Trust the process, Grasshopper,” she moved onto his collar, greedily letting her hands roam as she opened the top buttons of his dress shirt.

Lois felt the rumble of Clark’s breath beneath her touch, and for a moment, she swore she felt it catch.

She started to make her way back to the main area, pulling him behind her. 

“I can’t dance,” Clark called as they disappeared into the swarm of bodies on the dancefloor.

“Yeah, that’s not a newsflash, buddy.”

Lois turned and stepped close to Clark, bringing her hands to his biceps as she swayed to the music, forcing him to do the same. 

She knew he wouldn’t stop her, the same way he hadn’t all night. He always let her put her hands on him however she wanted. Drag him around like he was her plaything to do with as she pleased. She’d never thought anything of it, then Chloe informed her that no, he actually didn’t allow her the same liberties. That as far as her shorter, blonder cousin could tell, he didn’t allow anyone those liberties. 

“What’s this?”

“Hmm?” Lois dragged her gaze away from his arms. “Oh, well girls want what they can’t have,” she stepped even closer to him, “I have you. That makes you desirable.”

“Does it?” Clark’s voice was low and raspy, but she heard it even through the noise swirling around them. 

She had to shake herself out of the trance before she abandoned her plans and listened to Mascara for real.

See, Lois wasn’t going to actually sleep with Clark, just make it look like she might. She never claimed to know much about human beings as a species, but there was one thing she knew to be true—people wanted what they couldn’t have. Women always liked the unavailable ones. Men lived for the chase. She and Clark could use each other to get what they each wanted.

There was a girl watching him from the second they started dancing, and it was time to make something happen. 

“Kiss me.”

The lines between Clark’s brows deepened. “What?”

She nodded towards the girl at the edge of the dancefloor, presenting her cheek to him as a more specific direction. 

“Kiss me-”

His lips were against hers instead. 

She’d smack him for his inability to follow a simple instruction, but holy shit.

Lois didn’t know how she expected Clark to kiss, but it wasn't like this. Like she was buried treasure that had to be uncovered slowly, bit by bit with the most delicate of care and attention. Like he was wandering in the desert and she was the only oasis for miles. Like she was more intoxicating than any shot of tequila the bar had to offer.

She felt his tongue against her lips and opened up to him like it was second nature, their tongues moving in time with the music around them. 

Before she knew it, she was full on making out with Clark Kent in the middle of a night club.

He had one hand cradling her head, holding it in place while his mouth ravaged hers, and the other on her waist. Her palms roamed the muscles of his chest, not-so-well hidden under his shirt. 

All that farm work really paid off, didn’t it?

She felt his lips pull away from her, and waited a moment for her soul to return to her body, a strange sense of deja-vu washing over her, like this was a memory she was reliving. When her vision came back into focus, Clark was staring at her, differently this time, all satisfied at rendering her speechless.

“Right,” she cleared her throat. “Nice work. What did she think?”

“She?”

Lois flipped her head around, but didn’t see the girl anywhere.

“That’s okay. We’ll get the next one.”

***

“What about that girl? She’s pretty.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Lois rolled her eyes. This was not shaping up to be the best of nights in her experience as a wingwoman. She hoped it wouldn’t reflect poorly on her skills in the future. Even just the success of getting a girl’s number would at least be something. And that girl, the one sitting in a quiet corner rather than shaking what her mama gave her, was much more Clark’s speed.

She pulled him closer. 

“Okay, so attempt one of the jealousy thing didn’t work. Brush it off. Filthily making out on the dancefloor, that's not how you get a girl like that interested. No, you've gotta remind her what she wants, how she wants to be kissed.” 

“How does she want to be kissed?” 

Finally he was asking smart questions. Maybe he would get lucky tonight. 

Lois studied the girl on the couch. Alone. Awkward. Glasses. Looking around the room like she’d rather be anywhere else.  

“Softly,” Lois said. “Not so vulgar. Something slower, more sensual, intimate.”

“Should we remind her what she wants?” Clark asked close to her ear, his arms around her waist. 

He was already getting better at the fake-possessive thing. 

Lois inhaled, willing her pulse to slow down. She nodded and tapped her cheek. “Here. When she looks this way…Okay, now.”

At some point over the last ten minutes, Clark must have learned how to listen. He bent his head and she felt the sweet brush of his lips against her skin.

“Lower,” she instructed, his lips following her command. “Lower. Low–”

Lois nearly whimpered at the feeling of his lips just below her ear, the heat of his breath warming her down to her core. Her fingers twisted in the fabric of his shirt, gripping so she didn’t flutter away. 

“Like that?” 

“Uh huh,” Lois sighed before snapping out of it, untangling herself from him. “I’m gonna go freshen up, and you’re gonna go talk to her.”

She marched away, in search of the nearest cold liquid.

*

She was sitting at a high table, sipping a club soda when she saw him. Black sportscoat, dark hair, dreamy brown eyes, the kind she’d seen a dozen times in Hallmark movies. He was looking at her—her and only her. 

His gaze didn’t set her skin on fire or cause heat to pool deep in her belly, but she had his full attention. It was good enough for tonight. For after she won the bet, of course. 

A hand rested on her lower back and she knew who it was immediately. 

How had he struck out again? Glasses had been her most promising chance, she was all out of ideas. 

“Need my help with that?” Clark nodded his head towards Dreamy Brown Eyes. 

“Doubt it, Smallville. What happened with you?”

He shrugged cluelessly in response. Finding a girl interested in Clark was proving to be a Herculean labor. 

“Well, clock is ticking, Cinderella, so you pick a girl to talk to.”

Clark swallowed, looking at the glass in her hand like it contained the answers to the universe. 

“You don’t have to marry her,” she reminded him. “Just find one you wouldn’t mind going to second base with.”

“Alright,” Clark lifted her off the chair and set her down. “Let’s go.”

In a role reversal she appreciated more than she cared to admit, he grabbed her hand, pulling her behind him back to the dancefloor.

***

The excuses were flimsy. Lazy. Worse each time.

And it wasn’t just her. 

His hand rested on her lower back because someone was watching. Their fingers intertwined because guys secretly love that. Her lips attacked his because we haven’t tried this corner yet.

After minutes, or possibly hours, she felt utterly intoxicated. 

Clark’s tongue slid against hers as he held her against the wall by the bathroom. She let out a breathy sigh as his lips moved down her neck, her hips bucking forward of their own volition. She’d have been embarrassed by the escalation if not for the feel of him rubbing against her, clearly as turned on as she was. 

His hand moved down her side, electrifying her, her eyes blinking rapidly at the sensations. Over his shoulder, she locked eyes with Mascara on her way out. The other girl gave her a thumbs up, her face a mix of excitement and encouragement. 

It was just the reality check Lois needed, her body stiffening. 

“What is it?” 

She didn’t have the words to articulate the marathon her brain was running. Nor did she really want to. 

“Come on.” She pulled Clark and his confused puppy eyes behind her until she found Glasses again, sitting alone at the bar. 

“You’re ready. Go get her, tiger,” she pushed him towards her, giving a supportive nod when he looked back.

*

She watched Clark and Glasses finally hit it off from the upstairs railing. It was about damn time he got over whatever hangups were holding him back all night, and it finally gave her a chance to breathe, to clear her head. 

In here, she and Clark were nobodies. Not two people with matching broken hearts. Not two friends crossing a line they might not be able to come back from. 

But that’s what they were. Friends. Just friends, that’s all, no matter how much they kissed or felt each other up under the cover of strobe lights and loud music and the guise of making strangers jealous.

There was still the real world. The real stakes of this, and people out there who knew the idiocy she was allowing herself to indulge in. Mascara reminded her of that. 

It was a bad idea to kiss him. Worse to kiss him again. And again. And again. Until she lost track of the count. Until she was drunk on him and him alone, any alcohol leaving her system what felt like hours ago. Until she had forgotten what it was like to not know the feeling of his lips against her. 

Clark was talking to Glasses, successfully by the looks of it. She had done what she set out to do. She was going to win.

She should be celebrating her accomplishment right now, not brooding in disappointment. 

Her vision focused on the lovebirds again, only they were gone. She didn’t see them anywhere below.

Well, then. Good. Great.

Her plan worked. He was having fun. He was moving on. 

She didn’t have the right to feel the pangs of sadness—of regret—that echoed against her ribs. Besides, she still had an item on her own to-do list. Rebound.

Clark was. Now it was her turn. 

She went to the bar closest to the coat check, wanting as little obstacles between her and some lucky bastard’s bed, car, hell, even a storage closet as possible. 

“What are we drinking tonight?”

She looked to her right. Dreamy Brown Eyes. Perfect.

*

The club seemed to only have gotten more crowded as the night went on, everyone packed inside like a carton of sardines. She could barely hear Dreamy Brown Eyes over the noise but couldn’t find it in herself to care. If it turned out he was more dull than dreamy, she’d rather not have the illusion shattered by finding out. 

She was no lip-reader, but You wanna get out of here? didn’t take an expert. 

She pushed through the crowd towards the exit, ready to put Oliver and Clark and this entire hectic year behind her. 

A hand brushed her back and she turned, coming face-to-collarbone with Dreamy–

“Clark?” she gasped, finding him where her sure thing was supposed to be. 

In seconds, movement in the herd caused her to stumble back, Clark to fall into her, and an ice-cold drink to spill on her chest, putting her on the verge of a thermonuclear explosion. The look in Clark’s eyes was probably the only thing saving Atlantis patrons from her wrath. 

“Hey, um,” she said loudly as she stepped back, putting as much space between them as possible. Her eyes darted around but didn’t spot Dreamy Brown Eyes anywhere. They did spot Glasses, though, right beside Clark. She looked genuinely concerned for her well being, sympathetic to her ragged, drenched state. Honestly, she seemed nice. She seemed like she’d be good for Clark. “I think I’m gonna head home.”

“Lois–”

“Have fun, Smallville. I mean it.” She reached her arms up to give him a not at all awkward hug, bringing her lips close to his ear. “Don’t screw this one up.”

“Lo–”

His voice faded as she rushed outside, finally able to breathe again. She took a seat on a bench down the street, enjoying the gross city air and blaring sounds of Metropolis night life too much to leave just yet. To go back to the quiet of Smallville creeping into her empty apartment like a ghost. 

What a mess of a night, she thought bitterly. At the very least, she’d finally succeeded as a wing woman. She was actually rather proud of Clark, breaking out of his shell like that. She’d always known he had it in him somewhere. 

“Ready?” Clark’s voice said beside her. 

She looked at him dumbly. “What happened to your…”

He shrugged. “It’s after midnight, Cinderella. Bet’s over.”

She looked down at herself, feeling only like the princess after the ball, with her torn up dress and rotted pumpkin. 

“That wasn’t the point.”

“I know.” He extended his hand to help her up. “Come on. I’ll drive you home.”

***

Clark indulged her Whitesnake singalong the entire ride back to Smallville, keeping it to only two snarky comments. 

She felt her heartbeat speed up as they pulled into the alley behind the Talon, a bit embarrassed at how the whole night had ended up going. 

The temperature in the car seemed to rise as it came to a stop, silence heating the air as they both failed to acknowledge the events of the last few hours. 

“Here, take the keys. You can bring it back in the morning,” she held them out, his fingers brushing hers and taking her breath away. 

She looked back to his eyes, even more vibrant away from the distracting lighting of the club. 

“Thanks,” he whispered. 

She nodded and forced herself to get out before she did something stupid. Well, more stupid. Like kiss him for the…hell, how many times was it?

She heard the sound of a second car door slamming and whipped around. 

“What are you doing?”

Clark looked at her like she had asked him what color the sky was. 

“Walking you up.”

That wasn’t a good idea. She was already too close to throwing caution to the wind and doing something their friendship definitely couldn’t come back from. 

“Chivalry noted but not necessary."

“Lois,” Clark held up his hand. “If I have your keys, how are you gonna get in?”

Shit, she had forgotten about that part. She rolled her eyes as she took the keys back from him to open the backdoor, letting him follow her upstairs. 

“I had fun tonight,” he said when they were in front of her door. 

“It wasn’t all for nothing then,” she said, unlocking it and handing him back the keys, avoiding any skin to skin contact. 

“That plan of yours was good. Sorry it didn’t work out.”

He didn’t really seem it. Perhaps this was all doomed from the start.

“I think I know what happened.”

“You do?”

Did he gulp or was she just overly tired and imagining things?

“Yeah,” she paused to drag out his confusion. “We must have been doing it wrong,” she winked. 

He gave her a nod and she turned to open her door, resigned to let things be. 

“How would we do it right?”

Lois froze, turning her head back after a moment. He was serious. She could read it on his face. 

“Oh, um,” she moved her arms awkwardly as she slowly stepped toward him, like she was doing him a favor by showing him, giving both of them a chance to call the other’s bluff. 

Neither altered course. 

She took a shaky breath as she brought her fingers up to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck, his own landing on her waist. 

Her lips meeting his felt like relief, like coming home after a long day. Something she could relax into. 

She felt the rumble of Clark humming against her mouth as their tentative, exploratory kisses grew in need, Lois’ back hitting her door with a thud. 

“Sorry,” Clark muttered. 

“Do you,” she swallowed, her sanity finally snapping fully. “Do you want to come in?”

Fire, she thought. His eyes might actually contain fire. 

He nodded, smiling as they pushed inside, mouths finding each other again.

Lois started pulling at his shirt, letting her hands roam even more freely than they did at the club as she kicked off her heels. 

This is a bad idea, she pointlessly thought to herself for the millionth time that night, choosing to listen to her body instead of her brain. 

She tore Clark’s dress shirt open, pleased at the confirmation he hadn’t worn an undershirt. Her palms finally pressed against his warm skin, nails dragging over the crevices of his strong chest and torso. 

He pulled the garment the rest of the way off before returning his hands to her. 

“This dress,” he mumbled, almost painfully, against her lips. 

She turned around, gathering her hair over one shoulder and presenting the zipper. He got the message, lowering it as he trailed soft kisses down the nape of her neck. 

The dress had a built-in bra, leaving her in only her underwear as it fell to the ground, but she didn’t feel vulnerable or nervous. She just felt good.

When she turned back to face him, his pupils were blown, almost awestruck, his gaze more ravenous than she’d ever seen. 

Without giving herself time to think, she slid her hand over his, bringing it up to her breast and slowly letting him take over, both of them exhaling at the pressure. 

Her feet led them towards her bed as Clark’s hands explored her newly revealed terrain, licking into her mouth roughly as he did, coaxing an overwhelmed moan out of her. 

“I’m sorry,” he said hurriedly, pulling away.

“Hey, it’s okay.”

“I just,” he swallowed, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

She nearly laughed at the admission. 

“God, you’re cute.”

He chuckled as she pushed him down to sit at the edge of her bed, climbing into his lap and kissing him again. Clark’s hands became more bold, arousing a wildfire over her chest, down her stomach, and as he kneaded her ass. 

Her fingers tangled into his black waves, her mouth breaking away from his to allow a whine to escape as he cupped her over the damp lace at her center, the pads of his fingers toying with the edges.

His eyes asked her a question she readily answered, nodding permission. He pushed the thin fabric to the side, stroking between her folds and causing the tension in her body to strain further. 

“Push them inside,” she begged against his cheekbone. “Please.”

She moaned at the feel of his thick fingers stretching her, bringing a hand down from his neck to rub the tent that had formed in his pants. 

“Lois,” her name drawn out of him like both a plea and a remedy as he kissed across her chest. 

She moved to unbuckle his belt only to find her back against her mattress, Clark looking at her like a feline on the hunt as he stripped off her underwear. 

“Well, this is hardly fair,” she grumbled. 

Clark smirked at her, igniting her core with a raw need as he evened the playing field, removing his remaining layers while she reached into her nightstand for a condom. 

“Are you sure?” he asked from the foot of her bed, lips red and swollen, hair fresh out of a wind turbine, his cock hard and twitching between his legs. She licked her lips at the sight. 

“Clark, get over here.”

He reacted immediately, crawling over her and grabbing the foil out of her hands, tearing it with his teeth. 

He eased inside her inch by excruciatingly wonderful inch and she worried her nails might soon draw blood from his shoulders. Not that it seemed to bother him at all. 

“All good?” he asked after a few moments.

She hummed, dragging his head to hers by his hair, licking into his mouth to try and calm the concerned crease that still defined his forehead.

She bucked her hips, encouraging the movement of his, not realizing how hard she’d bitten down on his bottom lip until she heard laughter sounding above her. 

Clark pulled back, looking her over with concern. 

“You okay?”

He was so tense, like relaxation and fun were alien concepts to him and could only be enjoyed in quick, small bursts. All this stopping and questioning might annoy her if he was anyone else. If she didn’t know he was just that genuine and earnest. 

“Roll over,” she ordered him. 

“I’m not a dog.”

“Yes, you are.”

She smirked up at him and his expression mirrored hers even as he rolled his eyes, following her instructions. 

Breathy moans left them both as she sunk all the way down, flush against him, refusing to think too long about how right it all felt, how good and full and complete she felt before rolling her hips. 

“Fuck.”

She paused for a second, realizing he was the one who said it, pride washing over her at getting him to curse like that, all dazed and turned on and finally relaxed. 

“Better?” she cocked her brow.

 A lazy, drawn out uh huh was all she got in response. 

She picked up the pace, Clark growing more confident and assured with every passing second, eventually meeting her efforts in a rhythm it felt like she’d somehow known the beat to for years. 

“Fuck,” he groaned again, this time into the side of her neck as he pulled her hair. 

And yeah. She agreed. Fuck. 

Suddenly his thumb was between her thighs, adding even more pressure to the tightening coil within her. 

His free hand forced her to look at him as she came, his deep eyes anchoring her through both of their releases, more intimate and powerful than should be possible. Probably more than she’d experienced ever.

They collapsed back onto her bed, Clark’s arms still wrapped around her as her heartrate began to steady. Usually, she hated it if a guy didn’t pull out immediately, but she was suddenly overwhelmed with the horrifying desire to have Clark Kent inside of her forever. 

After too long and not long enough, they broke apart so he could dispose of the condom. A chill ran through her in his absence, distracting her from the free show of his nude body moving around her apartment. 

She climbed under her comforter, momentarily pissed off that Clark always felt like a furnace. She bet he never got cold the way she did. 

Bet. Bet. 

The bet. 

Lois almost let out a ridiculous, witchy laugh. She had won. 

She leaned up on her elbow as Clark rejoined her beneath the covers. 

“So,” she prompted.

She might have to take a hit out against him if he kept that dopey smile up. 

“So.”

“Where’s my hundred dollars?”

His eyebrows furrowed in that adorable, confused manner before understanding washed over his features, the sound of his scoff familiar and comforting. 

“I think you mean my hundred dollars.”

Sex seemingly only made him more audacious and frustrating. How great, she mentally rolled her eyes. 

“In what universe does what we just did not qualify as getting laid?”

“Check the clock, Lane. It’s Saturday now. The bet expired at the end of the night. You said so yourself.”

She looked past him at her alarm clock anyway, hoping Father Time had been playing a joke on her and every clock, timepiece, and watch in Kansas was simply a couple hours ahead. 

“Oh, so you just get to win on a technicality?”

He looked through her like she was made of cellophane, unable to hide anything from him for even a moment. 

“A deal’s a deal.”

Her own phrase and rulebook used against her. Perfect start to the weekend. 

“Fine,” she relented, barely, crossing her arms and flopping back against the mattress. “I’ll get my money back soon. Just watch me.”

Clark smiled brightly, his amused gaze sweeping over her.

“Well, in the meantime, how about I make it up to you?”

“How?”

She looked back to him but he was already moving over her, his fingers pushing sweaty, tangled strands of hair out of her face. 

“I’ve got some ideas,” he whispered cheekily, exciting her body all over again. 

Lois decided losing might not be so bad. Just this once.