Ficlet: Intimacy (Rated PG-13)
Author's Note: Set three years after "Destroyer". Spoilers: Far From Home, Destroyer. Fanfic 100 prompt: Christmas.
Her voice drifted down from the upstairs bedroom. "Kal, I'm waiting."
Clark looked up from his laptop and smiled. Only Diana could be both imperious and sultry in the same breath.
And only Diana still called him Kal, now that Kara was gone. His parents and friends called him Clark, Lois called him Smallville, Perry called him Kent, and the rest of the world called him Superman.
"Kal?" Diana's tone was slightly more imperious now.
Of course, she knew he'd heard her. She could have whispered his name, and he would have heard.
He decided to tweak her a little; no point in letting the princess get her way all the time. "I'm finishing a story." He quickly typed a sentence for verisimilitude.
"I can make you a better offer," Diana called, sounding unconvinced.
"I'm on deadline." This was also true, to an extent. His deadline was tomorrow. Assuming no crises required Superman's attention, he could easily finish up in the morning. He could even slip downstairs… afterwards…if necessary. He didn't need that much sleep.
He returned to the screen and scrolled down, counting the number of profiles he still had to write. All of them were survivors of the destruction of the Daily Planet building. There was a certain poetic justice, he thought, that Clark Kent should be assigned to revisit the stories of the people Superman had been too busy to help. He was certain that the interviews would have gone differently, had they realized his identity.
But none of them had known, not even Lois. As he'd expected, she had insisted on writing her profile herself. To her credit, he couldn't detect much of the previous emotion she'd felt that Superman hadn't prevented her injuries. He remembered their conversation three years ago in her hospital room.
"It's not like he wasn't busy saving the world," she'd told him, seeming almost embarrassed. "And I'm just one person. But he'd been there, every time I needed him - until he wasn't."
And that was why Clark had never shared his secret with her. He hadn't wanted to lose Lois as a friend, and he knew that Clark Kent would never be anything else to her. Lois would never call him Kal.
"Kal, can't you see what you're missing?" Diana's voice was teasing now, tantalizing.
He glanced up through the walls to the bedroom and saw her, stretched out languorously on the bed, wearing the negligee he'd bought her for Christmas. Clearly expecting his gaze, she slowly raised herself up on one elbow and yawned elaborately.
"Bored, are you?" he called out, trying hard not to smile. It's not like she can see me, but it's the principle of the thing.
She tossed her hair a bit, then leaned back in bed. "Don't tell me I'm distracting you. I thought you had this deadline." The last word she said with a throatiness that could have made any man blush. "What about what the dust jacket of your book says? Isn't Clark Kent supposed to be 'all about the story'?"
He realized he was failing miserably at keeping himself from smiling. He grinned, then chuckled. "I am all about the story. That's how -"
"- you got the Pulitzer. You're an Olympian with letters. The muses are kind to you. Only…" she was tracing nonsensical letters on the sheets "…only the muses are wondering why you won't come to bed." She had dropped her voice to a whisper.
He rolled his eyes. "What, you have them on speakerphone?"
She tossed her hair again, this time more defiantly. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do."
He raised an eyebrow. "Then be a dear and tell them I have a deadline."
She folded her arms, tossed herself back in bed, and turned her back to his gaze. "Hmmph!" It would have been a convincing act, if he hadn't been able to tell from the way her facial muscles were arranged that she was smiling.
He closed his laptop and headed for the stairs.
You win, Princess.
Her voice drifted down from the upstairs bedroom. "Kal, I'm waiting."
Clark looked up from his laptop and smiled. Only Diana could be both imperious and sultry in the same breath.
And only Diana still called him Kal, now that Kara was gone. His parents and friends called him Clark, Lois called him Smallville, Perry called him Kent, and the rest of the world called him Superman.
"Kal?" Diana's tone was slightly more imperious now.
Of course, she knew he'd heard her. She could have whispered his name, and he would have heard.
He decided to tweak her a little; no point in letting the princess get her way all the time. "I'm finishing a story." He quickly typed a sentence for verisimilitude.
"I can make you a better offer," Diana called, sounding unconvinced.
"I'm on deadline." This was also true, to an extent. His deadline was tomorrow. Assuming no crises required Superman's attention, he could easily finish up in the morning. He could even slip downstairs… afterwards…if necessary. He didn't need that much sleep.
He returned to the screen and scrolled down, counting the number of profiles he still had to write. All of them were survivors of the destruction of the Daily Planet building. There was a certain poetic justice, he thought, that Clark Kent should be assigned to revisit the stories of the people Superman had been too busy to help. He was certain that the interviews would have gone differently, had they realized his identity.
But none of them had known, not even Lois. As he'd expected, she had insisted on writing her profile herself. To her credit, he couldn't detect much of the previous emotion she'd felt that Superman hadn't prevented her injuries. He remembered their conversation three years ago in her hospital room.
"It's not like he wasn't busy saving the world," she'd told him, seeming almost embarrassed. "And I'm just one person. But he'd been there, every time I needed him - until he wasn't."
And that was why Clark had never shared his secret with her. He hadn't wanted to lose Lois as a friend, and he knew that Clark Kent would never be anything else to her. Lois would never call him Kal.
"Kal, can't you see what you're missing?" Diana's voice was teasing now, tantalizing.
He glanced up through the walls to the bedroom and saw her, stretched out languorously on the bed, wearing the negligee he'd bought her for Christmas. Clearly expecting his gaze, she slowly raised herself up on one elbow and yawned elaborately.
"Bored, are you?" he called out, trying hard not to smile. It's not like she can see me, but it's the principle of the thing.
She tossed her hair a bit, then leaned back in bed. "Don't tell me I'm distracting you. I thought you had this deadline." The last word she said with a throatiness that could have made any man blush. "What about what the dust jacket of your book says? Isn't Clark Kent supposed to be 'all about the story'?"
He realized he was failing miserably at keeping himself from smiling. He grinned, then chuckled. "I am all about the story. That's how -"
"- you got the Pulitzer. You're an Olympian with letters. The muses are kind to you. Only…" she was tracing nonsensical letters on the sheets "…only the muses are wondering why you won't come to bed." She had dropped her voice to a whisper.
He rolled his eyes. "What, you have them on speakerphone?"
She tossed her hair again, this time more defiantly. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do."
He raised an eyebrow. "Then be a dear and tell them I have a deadline."
She folded her arms, tossed herself back in bed, and turned her back to his gaze. "Hmmph!" It would have been a convincing act, if he hadn't been able to tell from the way her facial muscles were arranged that she was smiling.
He closed his laptop and headed for the stairs.
You win, Princess.