Smallville Fic: The Story of Us #9 - Based on a Dream
Title: Based on a Dream
Author: emerald_night
Claim: Smallville - Lois and Clark
Table: Buffet #1
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: #223 / Based on a dream
Word Count: 2718
Spoilers: Spoilers through 10x10 - Luthor
Summary: Dream or reality? Clark Luthor wakes up with Lois.
A/N: Written for the fc_smorgasbord challenge.
The bright sunlight tried desperately to rouse him from sleep. He fuzzily registered the soft warmth curled into him, not an abnormal occurrence on any given morning.
It occurred to him, somewhere in the state between asleep and awake, that he should feel another body next to him, but gentle fingers brushing his hair from his forehead chased that thought from his mind.
Not a move usually made by the women he brought home for one nighters.
A soft brush of lips against his. Almost instinctively, his arms tightened around the woman pressed against him.
Definitely not a bad way to wake up.
A giggle reached his ears. A fingertip tenderly brushed his lips. Then the warmth of her mouth surrounding his top lip. He curled his fingers against her back, returning the kiss as he stepped fully into the waking world.
He ran his tongue along her bottom lip, pulling her closer. The scent of sweet vanilla mixed with the spiciness of cinnamon suddenly assaulted his senses. His heart sped up as a lock of her hair brushed his cheek.
Beyond a shadow of a doubt, Clark knew, without opening his eyes, who the woman was in his arms.
She pulled back from him. He swallowed, the desire to see her face warring with the desire to prolong the dream he found himself having.
Giving in, he slowly opened his eyes, praying that her face wouldn’t morph into the visage of whoever he’d brought home last night.
“Good morning.”
He knew he was staring, her voice washing over him along with a peace that only she seemed to provide him.
He’d had this dream before. So many times. Her lying in his arms. Smiling at him. Her lips caressing his.
Every fantasy he had, every woman with long, dark hair he brought back to the mansion, it was all based on a dream. This dream.
The dream of her. Of what he’d given up, of what he could never freely admit to anyone but himself that he wanted back.
Lifting his hand, he gently stroked her cheek, the thrill at feeling her warm skin beneath his fingers racing through his veins.
“Lois?”
She quirked an eyebrow.
“You were expecting someone else?” she asked, and he picked up on her teasing tone.
Not anger. Not sadness. Not hurt. Not disappointment.
No, it was just like she’d been, before he’d chosen the path he had. Even if it hadn’t entirely been his choice. Very little was when one had to answer to Lionel Luthor as his father.
He blinked a few times, waiting for her to disappear like she normally did. His dreams, they always ended far too soon, and he was thrust back into the reality of pain and anger and hatred surrounding him. A part he’d grown accustomed too, he played it well and, if he were to be honest, it wasn’t all an act. The perks of being a feared Luthor son, he didn’t dismiss that.
But there was a part of him that wished he could have the best of both worlds. The power of the Luthors, and the love of Lois Lane.
“Wow, rough night Clark?”
Confusion washed over him, unable to understand why her beautiful face wasn’t evaporating before his eyes. His gaze moved down, taking in every inch of her while he could. Stopping at her hand, he felt a surge of relief as he noted the absence of a certain large diamond.
At least in his dreams, she was his. No blond billionaire pretty boys allowed.
His hand drifted down, fingertips pushing her tank top up so he could feel the warmth of her skin.
“And, there we go. The fog has lifted and we can now resume our regularly scheduled wake up call,” she said with a grin, her hands moving up to his shoulders. He shoved the blanket covering them back slightly, his gaze flickering down to the top edge of her tank top, his fingers following soon after, tracing along her skin.
“Regularly scheduled, huh?” he asked, distracted with thoughts of where to touch her next.
He briefly noted the strange look that flashed in her eyes at his comment, but decided quickly not to pursue it. Talking was a waste of time, especially when he didn’t know how long this particular fantasy would last.
Dipping his head, he pressed his mouth to the spot on her neck he knew drove her crazy. Feeling her move beneath him, tilting her head back slightly, his lips travelled a slow path to her ear. He felt her hand tangle in his hair, keeping him close to her.
“Damn, I’ve missed you, Lois,” he whispered before taking her ear lobe between his teeth, gently biting at the soft skin, remembering well the breathy sighs that inevitably escaped her lips when he did that.
This time, however, he felt her hands on his face, pushing him back slightly.
“You just saw me last night,” she said, her thumb stroking his cheek. “You know, the movie night that ended up having absolutely nothing to do with watching any movies? It’s not like you’re deprived, Smallville,” she finished, a small smile playing on her lips, capturing his gaze.
So it was one of those dreams. Sometimes, they consisted of hot, sweaty encounters in various places in town or in his bed.
Others? They had a life together. She looked at him like he was the best thing ever to happen to her. She spoke of normalcy and routines and dates and she smiled when she looked up from beneath him, their fingers intertwined as he lost himself in her over and over again.
And while the first kind was definitely pleasurable, this was the dream he treasured. A dream he would never realize, he knew, because of who he was and choices he’d made.
But in the hours he slept, he could escape to this fantasy world with her.
“Right,” he said absently. “Last night.”
He drank her in, every inch of exposed skin, wanting nothing more than to tear off her remaining clothes. His fingers drifted over her neck, feeling her rapid pulse beating there.
She opened her mouth to speak, but Clark quickly silenced her, pressing a fingertip to her lips.
“I guess I just can’t get enough of you, Miss Lane,” he said, fully embracing his role as hers in this dream world. He ducked his head, pressing his mouth insistently to hers.
A sense of urgency overcame him, every moment he kissed her laced with an inevitable goodbye he knew would come. As if there was someone out there, his father likely, ready to pull him from sleep, pull him from her, and he had to savor every moment surrounded by her warmth, her scent, her love.
A moan escaped his throat as she matched him kiss for kiss. She always had been able to keep up with him in a way no other woman could, both in the bedroom and out. It was one of the things that had drawn him to her in the first place, and that kept him holding onto a memory long after the hope that they could be together had died.
He heard the flimsy fabric of her tank top tear as he began to tug at it, not even bothering to attempt to take it off the normal way. Besides, he knew better than anyone that Lois had a wild side, particularly when it came to him.
Suddenly he felt her warm hands pushing against his bare chest.
Ignoring her, he ran his tongue over her bottom lip, intent on distracting her.
She pushed harder, her head twisting to the side and he heard a muffled “Clark”.
He pulled back, looking down at her.
“What?” he asked, his breathing heavy.
Her eyes roamed his face, almost searchingly he thought. He waited a moment, thinking she was going to speak, but his need for her soon won out over any attempt of patience.
“Lois? As gorgeous as you are, I’d much rather being doing than looking,” he said, his lips turned up in a grin as he leaned down, intent on kissing her senseless again.
To no avail, as Lois braced her hands between them, keeping him back.
He exhaled sharply as she continued to stare at him. Feeling like he was on borrowed time, he raised an eyebrow at her, knowing she could probably sense his impatience but not really caring.
“Did …anything happen last night?”
“No,” he answered, hoping that was the end of it. He leaned down, planting soft kisses along the skin just above the edge of her tank top.
“I’m serious, Clark,” she said. She gently stroked his hair, her nails teasingly scraping the skin at his neck, causing him to grind his hips against hers. “Any encounters with anything, well, red?”
“Red?” he mumbled, moving his attention to her neck, nipping at her skin lightly. “Can’t say that I did. But I always did love you in red.”
He heard her giggle almost breathlessly and smiled against the skin of her neck. She tugged on his hair and he moved back, then let himself be pulled down to her lips, moaning at the taste of her.
Wrapping his arms around her, he rolled onto his back, relishing the feel of her sprawled on top of him. She sat up, straddling his thighs, and he drank in the sight of her, her tank top torn a bit, riding up her waist, her long hair falling around her face in careless, messy waves.
“Red, huh? You and your primary colors.”
His hands moved to her thighs, squeezing slightly. “Don’t you remember the last time you wore red for me?” he asked, his tongue snaking out to wet his bottom lip as his eyes moved hungrily over her, the memory flashing vividly in his mind, as bittersweet as it was. One of the last times he’d been with her. Lionel had been out of town, making it much easier for him to get her into the mansion without dealing with the disapproving looks and pointed questions from his father. “That red baby doll nightie? I think it lasted two minutes before it was in shreds on my bedroom floor,” he said, sitting up and moving his hands to start lifting off her tank top.
He heard her breathing pick up as he peppered kisses along her jaw. Growing impatient, he tore her tank top, tossing the two flimsy slips of fabric remaining to the side. His hands moved up her back, bringing her closer as his lips travelled down her neck. Her hands, resting on his shoulders, began to slide down, leaving a trail of fire on his skin.
“Um, Cl.. Clark?” he heard her say, almost gasping for breath as she pushed against his chest. “I’m sorry, I just remembered…I have to meet with a source this morning.”
His only response was to press her even closer to him, before flipping them over, settling himself between her thighs, feeling his body respond to the feel of her warm skin against his.
“Cancel,” he ordered, grabbing one hand and holding it above her head, intertwining their fingers.
“I can’t.”
He bowed his head, nuzzling her ear.
“I’m not letting you go again,” he whispered, squeezing her hand.
It was starting, that feeling of dread, knowing the moment that his dream world ended would soon be upon him and he’d be yanked back into reality.
It didn’t usually happen like this though.
A phone ringing jarring him from her arms and back into the arms of whatever random brunette he’d picked up the night before. His father’s insistent knocking on his bedroom door, demanding his presence.
But not Lois wanting to leave him.
His fingers curled on her waist, grasping her more tightly, as if that would anchor him in this fantasy with her. He lifted his head in time to see her gazing at him.
“I’ll make it up to you,” she said softly, a hint of seductive promise in her voice. “Maybe I’ll even hunt down a new red baby doll for you, okay?”
A frustrated sigh escaped his mouth as he rolled onto his back. He rubbed his eyes roughly, for the first time focusing on something other than her.
The white ceiling. The soft cream colored walls. The flimsy white curtains blowing in the morning breeze.
He propped himself up on his elbows, gazing around the room.
An old desk, piled with papers. The blue plaid comforter bunched down at the end of the bed. An old trophy, apparently for football.
He blinked quickly, attempting to focus. Usually, the dreams took place in familiar surroundings. His bedroom. His office. Lois’ apartment. A supply closet at the Daily Planet - that was a new one, starting after running into Lois there several times when dropping something off for his sister.
But this place? He’d never been here before.
And for the first time, he began to wonder if this was a dream. After all, it was Smallville. He himself had arrived here by spaceship, and he’d certainly seen enough weird things go down in his life that the possibility certainly existed that something else was going on here.
Feeling her eyes on him, he turned to look at her.
“Uh, yeah. Sure. You go do what you gotta do.”
She nodded, hopping out of the bed quickly,she snatched up a flannel shirt draped on the back of the chair and put it on. Opening the bottom dresser drawer, she took out a pair of jeans and flung them over her arm. She grabbed her phone off the nightstand and began walking toward the door.
With a burst of his superspeed, he was kneeling at the foot of the bed, his large hand wrapped around her wrist.
“But,” he said, turning her toward him, his other hand tangling in her hair, “I’m holding you to your promise.”
And he planted a hard kiss against her lips, his teeth tugging slightly at her bottom lip as he pulled away. While he wasn’t sure what the hell was going on, if this wasn’t some sleep induced fantasy? He would make sure that she’d fulfill her end of the deal.
She smiled. “Right,” she said, her breathless tone causing a bump in his heart rate. “Later.”
Within a few minutes, he heard a door slam and the sound of her car heading off to work.
Getting out of bed, he looked down, noting the plaid pajama bottoms with a look of distaste.
Not exactly his style.
He opened the bedroom door, following the long hallway and then jogging quickly down the stairs.
The kitchen was large. Bright. Open. Welcoming.
The antithesis of the Luthor mansion.
He walked over to the refrigerator, and stopped short a few feet from it.
Clark Luthor was not an easy man to shock. Being the adopted son of Lionel Luthor as well as being from another planet had the effect of making surprising him extremely difficult.
But his jaw dropped as he took in what was front of him.
One picture had him and Lois, his arm outstretched as if he was taking the picture with the camera himself. Smiling, her forehead rested against his cheek. They were happy. And clearly together.
The other, though. His mother, Martha, and him. But it was the man on the other side of him that knocked him back a few steps, hitting the large kitchen island behind him.
Because it wasn’t Lionel Luthor.
It was Jonathan Kent, the local farmer his father had been trying to run out of town for years, no doubt due to the rumors of his mother’s affection for him and the role that played in the end of their marriage.
His hand fell to the counter, where it encountered something rectangular, covered in plastic. Lifting it up, he saw a small photo of himself smiling back at him from a Daily Planet press badge.
Clark Kent.
Shaking his head slightly, as if to try and clear it, he pinched the bridge of his nose. He dropped the badge onto the counter, turning slowly and taking in every inch of the room surrounding him.
“What the hell?”
Author: emerald_night
Claim: Smallville - Lois and Clark
Table: Buffet #1
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: #223 / Based on a dream
Word Count: 2718
Spoilers: Spoilers through 10x10 - Luthor
Summary: Dream or reality? Clark Luthor wakes up with Lois.
A/N: Written for the fc_smorgasbord challenge.
The bright sunlight tried desperately to rouse him from sleep. He fuzzily registered the soft warmth curled into him, not an abnormal occurrence on any given morning.
It occurred to him, somewhere in the state between asleep and awake, that he should feel another body next to him, but gentle fingers brushing his hair from his forehead chased that thought from his mind.
Not a move usually made by the women he brought home for one nighters.
A soft brush of lips against his. Almost instinctively, his arms tightened around the woman pressed against him.
Definitely not a bad way to wake up.
A giggle reached his ears. A fingertip tenderly brushed his lips. Then the warmth of her mouth surrounding his top lip. He curled his fingers against her back, returning the kiss as he stepped fully into the waking world.
He ran his tongue along her bottom lip, pulling her closer. The scent of sweet vanilla mixed with the spiciness of cinnamon suddenly assaulted his senses. His heart sped up as a lock of her hair brushed his cheek.
Beyond a shadow of a doubt, Clark knew, without opening his eyes, who the woman was in his arms.
She pulled back from him. He swallowed, the desire to see her face warring with the desire to prolong the dream he found himself having.
Giving in, he slowly opened his eyes, praying that her face wouldn’t morph into the visage of whoever he’d brought home last night.
“Good morning.”
He knew he was staring, her voice washing over him along with a peace that only she seemed to provide him.
He’d had this dream before. So many times. Her lying in his arms. Smiling at him. Her lips caressing his.
Every fantasy he had, every woman with long, dark hair he brought back to the mansion, it was all based on a dream. This dream.
The dream of her. Of what he’d given up, of what he could never freely admit to anyone but himself that he wanted back.
Lifting his hand, he gently stroked her cheek, the thrill at feeling her warm skin beneath his fingers racing through his veins.
“Lois?”
She quirked an eyebrow.
“You were expecting someone else?” she asked, and he picked up on her teasing tone.
Not anger. Not sadness. Not hurt. Not disappointment.
No, it was just like she’d been, before he’d chosen the path he had. Even if it hadn’t entirely been his choice. Very little was when one had to answer to Lionel Luthor as his father.
He blinked a few times, waiting for her to disappear like she normally did. His dreams, they always ended far too soon, and he was thrust back into the reality of pain and anger and hatred surrounding him. A part he’d grown accustomed too, he played it well and, if he were to be honest, it wasn’t all an act. The perks of being a feared Luthor son, he didn’t dismiss that.
But there was a part of him that wished he could have the best of both worlds. The power of the Luthors, and the love of Lois Lane.
“Wow, rough night Clark?”
Confusion washed over him, unable to understand why her beautiful face wasn’t evaporating before his eyes. His gaze moved down, taking in every inch of her while he could. Stopping at her hand, he felt a surge of relief as he noted the absence of a certain large diamond.
At least in his dreams, she was his. No blond billionaire pretty boys allowed.
His hand drifted down, fingertips pushing her tank top up so he could feel the warmth of her skin.
“And, there we go. The fog has lifted and we can now resume our regularly scheduled wake up call,” she said with a grin, her hands moving up to his shoulders. He shoved the blanket covering them back slightly, his gaze flickering down to the top edge of her tank top, his fingers following soon after, tracing along her skin.
“Regularly scheduled, huh?” he asked, distracted with thoughts of where to touch her next.
He briefly noted the strange look that flashed in her eyes at his comment, but decided quickly not to pursue it. Talking was a waste of time, especially when he didn’t know how long this particular fantasy would last.
Dipping his head, he pressed his mouth to the spot on her neck he knew drove her crazy. Feeling her move beneath him, tilting her head back slightly, his lips travelled a slow path to her ear. He felt her hand tangle in his hair, keeping him close to her.
“Damn, I’ve missed you, Lois,” he whispered before taking her ear lobe between his teeth, gently biting at the soft skin, remembering well the breathy sighs that inevitably escaped her lips when he did that.
This time, however, he felt her hands on his face, pushing him back slightly.
“You just saw me last night,” she said, her thumb stroking his cheek. “You know, the movie night that ended up having absolutely nothing to do with watching any movies? It’s not like you’re deprived, Smallville,” she finished, a small smile playing on her lips, capturing his gaze.
So it was one of those dreams. Sometimes, they consisted of hot, sweaty encounters in various places in town or in his bed.
Others? They had a life together. She looked at him like he was the best thing ever to happen to her. She spoke of normalcy and routines and dates and she smiled when she looked up from beneath him, their fingers intertwined as he lost himself in her over and over again.
And while the first kind was definitely pleasurable, this was the dream he treasured. A dream he would never realize, he knew, because of who he was and choices he’d made.
But in the hours he slept, he could escape to this fantasy world with her.
“Right,” he said absently. “Last night.”
He drank her in, every inch of exposed skin, wanting nothing more than to tear off her remaining clothes. His fingers drifted over her neck, feeling her rapid pulse beating there.
She opened her mouth to speak, but Clark quickly silenced her, pressing a fingertip to her lips.
“I guess I just can’t get enough of you, Miss Lane,” he said, fully embracing his role as hers in this dream world. He ducked his head, pressing his mouth insistently to hers.
A sense of urgency overcame him, every moment he kissed her laced with an inevitable goodbye he knew would come. As if there was someone out there, his father likely, ready to pull him from sleep, pull him from her, and he had to savor every moment surrounded by her warmth, her scent, her love.
A moan escaped his throat as she matched him kiss for kiss. She always had been able to keep up with him in a way no other woman could, both in the bedroom and out. It was one of the things that had drawn him to her in the first place, and that kept him holding onto a memory long after the hope that they could be together had died.
He heard the flimsy fabric of her tank top tear as he began to tug at it, not even bothering to attempt to take it off the normal way. Besides, he knew better than anyone that Lois had a wild side, particularly when it came to him.
Suddenly he felt her warm hands pushing against his bare chest.
Ignoring her, he ran his tongue over her bottom lip, intent on distracting her.
She pushed harder, her head twisting to the side and he heard a muffled “Clark”.
He pulled back, looking down at her.
“What?” he asked, his breathing heavy.
Her eyes roamed his face, almost searchingly he thought. He waited a moment, thinking she was going to speak, but his need for her soon won out over any attempt of patience.
“Lois? As gorgeous as you are, I’d much rather being doing than looking,” he said, his lips turned up in a grin as he leaned down, intent on kissing her senseless again.
To no avail, as Lois braced her hands between them, keeping him back.
He exhaled sharply as she continued to stare at him. Feeling like he was on borrowed time, he raised an eyebrow at her, knowing she could probably sense his impatience but not really caring.
“Did …anything happen last night?”
“No,” he answered, hoping that was the end of it. He leaned down, planting soft kisses along the skin just above the edge of her tank top.
“I’m serious, Clark,” she said. She gently stroked his hair, her nails teasingly scraping the skin at his neck, causing him to grind his hips against hers. “Any encounters with anything, well, red?”
“Red?” he mumbled, moving his attention to her neck, nipping at her skin lightly. “Can’t say that I did. But I always did love you in red.”
He heard her giggle almost breathlessly and smiled against the skin of her neck. She tugged on his hair and he moved back, then let himself be pulled down to her lips, moaning at the taste of her.
Wrapping his arms around her, he rolled onto his back, relishing the feel of her sprawled on top of him. She sat up, straddling his thighs, and he drank in the sight of her, her tank top torn a bit, riding up her waist, her long hair falling around her face in careless, messy waves.
“Red, huh? You and your primary colors.”
His hands moved to her thighs, squeezing slightly. “Don’t you remember the last time you wore red for me?” he asked, his tongue snaking out to wet his bottom lip as his eyes moved hungrily over her, the memory flashing vividly in his mind, as bittersweet as it was. One of the last times he’d been with her. Lionel had been out of town, making it much easier for him to get her into the mansion without dealing with the disapproving looks and pointed questions from his father. “That red baby doll nightie? I think it lasted two minutes before it was in shreds on my bedroom floor,” he said, sitting up and moving his hands to start lifting off her tank top.
He heard her breathing pick up as he peppered kisses along her jaw. Growing impatient, he tore her tank top, tossing the two flimsy slips of fabric remaining to the side. His hands moved up her back, bringing her closer as his lips travelled down her neck. Her hands, resting on his shoulders, began to slide down, leaving a trail of fire on his skin.
“Um, Cl.. Clark?” he heard her say, almost gasping for breath as she pushed against his chest. “I’m sorry, I just remembered…I have to meet with a source this morning.”
His only response was to press her even closer to him, before flipping them over, settling himself between her thighs, feeling his body respond to the feel of her warm skin against his.
“Cancel,” he ordered, grabbing one hand and holding it above her head, intertwining their fingers.
“I can’t.”
He bowed his head, nuzzling her ear.
“I’m not letting you go again,” he whispered, squeezing her hand.
It was starting, that feeling of dread, knowing the moment that his dream world ended would soon be upon him and he’d be yanked back into reality.
It didn’t usually happen like this though.
A phone ringing jarring him from her arms and back into the arms of whatever random brunette he’d picked up the night before. His father’s insistent knocking on his bedroom door, demanding his presence.
But not Lois wanting to leave him.
His fingers curled on her waist, grasping her more tightly, as if that would anchor him in this fantasy with her. He lifted his head in time to see her gazing at him.
“I’ll make it up to you,” she said softly, a hint of seductive promise in her voice. “Maybe I’ll even hunt down a new red baby doll for you, okay?”
A frustrated sigh escaped his mouth as he rolled onto his back. He rubbed his eyes roughly, for the first time focusing on something other than her.
The white ceiling. The soft cream colored walls. The flimsy white curtains blowing in the morning breeze.
He propped himself up on his elbows, gazing around the room.
An old desk, piled with papers. The blue plaid comforter bunched down at the end of the bed. An old trophy, apparently for football.
He blinked quickly, attempting to focus. Usually, the dreams took place in familiar surroundings. His bedroom. His office. Lois’ apartment. A supply closet at the Daily Planet - that was a new one, starting after running into Lois there several times when dropping something off for his sister.
But this place? He’d never been here before.
And for the first time, he began to wonder if this was a dream. After all, it was Smallville. He himself had arrived here by spaceship, and he’d certainly seen enough weird things go down in his life that the possibility certainly existed that something else was going on here.
Feeling her eyes on him, he turned to look at her.
“Uh, yeah. Sure. You go do what you gotta do.”
She nodded, hopping out of the bed quickly,she snatched up a flannel shirt draped on the back of the chair and put it on. Opening the bottom dresser drawer, she took out a pair of jeans and flung them over her arm. She grabbed her phone off the nightstand and began walking toward the door.
With a burst of his superspeed, he was kneeling at the foot of the bed, his large hand wrapped around her wrist.
“But,” he said, turning her toward him, his other hand tangling in her hair, “I’m holding you to your promise.”
And he planted a hard kiss against her lips, his teeth tugging slightly at her bottom lip as he pulled away. While he wasn’t sure what the hell was going on, if this wasn’t some sleep induced fantasy? He would make sure that she’d fulfill her end of the deal.
She smiled. “Right,” she said, her breathless tone causing a bump in his heart rate. “Later.”
Within a few minutes, he heard a door slam and the sound of her car heading off to work.
Getting out of bed, he looked down, noting the plaid pajama bottoms with a look of distaste.
Not exactly his style.
He opened the bedroom door, following the long hallway and then jogging quickly down the stairs.
The kitchen was large. Bright. Open. Welcoming.
The antithesis of the Luthor mansion.
He walked over to the refrigerator, and stopped short a few feet from it.
Clark Luthor was not an easy man to shock. Being the adopted son of Lionel Luthor as well as being from another planet had the effect of making surprising him extremely difficult.
But his jaw dropped as he took in what was front of him.
One picture had him and Lois, his arm outstretched as if he was taking the picture with the camera himself. Smiling, her forehead rested against his cheek. They were happy. And clearly together.
The other, though. His mother, Martha, and him. But it was the man on the other side of him that knocked him back a few steps, hitting the large kitchen island behind him.
Because it wasn’t Lionel Luthor.
It was Jonathan Kent, the local farmer his father had been trying to run out of town for years, no doubt due to the rumors of his mother’s affection for him and the role that played in the end of their marriage.
His hand fell to the counter, where it encountered something rectangular, covered in plastic. Lifting it up, he saw a small photo of himself smiling back at him from a Daily Planet press badge.
Clark Kent.
Shaking his head slightly, as if to try and clear it, he pinched the bridge of his nose. He dropped the badge onto the counter, turning slowly and taking in every inch of the room surrounding him.
“What the hell?”