Smallville Fic: The Story of Us #15 - In the Still of the Night
A closed storage room door. The only light entering from the frosted glass window that covered half of it.
The only sounds around them are their fevered breathing, mixed with a sigh and a pant for good measure. For a major Metropolitan newspaper, the Daily Planet building was still. Quiet. The most passionate and ardent of reporters had headed home for the night.
All except one. Or two.
“I’ve missed you,” he whispered, between fevered kisses.
“You damn well better have,” she whispered back, tearing her lips from his for only a moment.
It had been two weeks. Well 13 days, 14 hours, and 52 minutes by Clark’s calculations. He’d been off working with the League and unable to come home. She’d been busy working on her next Pulitzer story for the Planet.
Just another fourteen (or thirteen plus) days in the lives of Clark Kent and Lois Lane.
Working on said story was exactly where he’d found her tonight, after having sped home to their apartment only to find it empty. After a quick change, he blurred to the only other place she could be.
Eraser tip in her mouth, eyes narrowed at the computer as she read and reread her story. Fine tuning it the way only she could. Even at 1:37AM on the deserted floor where her desk resided.
His hand found its way to her breast, covered by the fitted blazer she wore. Her tongue found its way through his lips, tangling with his.
Fingers worked frantically at the buttons on her jacket, trying to keep from tearing them off (she had a rule about her wardrobe, and destroying it at work was strictly verboten). Her hands shoved his sport coat off his shoulders, flinging it to the ground beside him.
“You wear too many clothes,” he grumbled between kisses. She giggled.
“You’re just impatient,” she breathed back, grabbing a fistful of hair and holding him to her. He matched her kisses with fervor for a moment, before pulling back.
“I have extraordinary patience,” he said, the tip of his tongue wetting his bottom lip in anticipation as his eyes raked over her. “Except when it comes to you.”
The gravelly texture to his voice sent a shiver up her spine. Leaning in, she captured his bottom lip between her teeth, tugging gently, before pulling back with a smirk.
“That better never change, Smallville,” she whispered, biting her own lip in anticipation as his fingers made quick work of the buttons on her blouse.
Large hands pushed it over her shoulders and down her arms, throwing it carelessly behind him before pressing her back into the wall, bringing his face close to hers.
Foreheads pressed together, he rubbed his nose to hers, their breaths mingling with the promise of what was to come.
“I wouldn’t worry, Lane.”
Those were the last intelligible words either spoke, floating around them in the darkened storage room, fading into the quiet darkness of the uncharacteristically calm Metropolis night.
The only sounds around them are their fevered breathing, mixed with a sigh and a pant for good measure. For a major Metropolitan newspaper, the Daily Planet building was still. Quiet. The most passionate and ardent of reporters had headed home for the night.
All except one. Or two.
“I’ve missed you,” he whispered, between fevered kisses.
“You damn well better have,” she whispered back, tearing her lips from his for only a moment.
It had been two weeks. Well 13 days, 14 hours, and 52 minutes by Clark’s calculations. He’d been off working with the League and unable to come home. She’d been busy working on her next Pulitzer story for the Planet.
Just another fourteen (or thirteen plus) days in the lives of Clark Kent and Lois Lane.
Working on said story was exactly where he’d found her tonight, after having sped home to their apartment only to find it empty. After a quick change, he blurred to the only other place she could be.
Eraser tip in her mouth, eyes narrowed at the computer as she read and reread her story. Fine tuning it the way only she could. Even at 1:37AM on the deserted floor where her desk resided.
His hand found its way to her breast, covered by the fitted blazer she wore. Her tongue found its way through his lips, tangling with his.
Fingers worked frantically at the buttons on her jacket, trying to keep from tearing them off (she had a rule about her wardrobe, and destroying it at work was strictly verboten). Her hands shoved his sport coat off his shoulders, flinging it to the ground beside him.
“You wear too many clothes,” he grumbled between kisses. She giggled.
“You’re just impatient,” she breathed back, grabbing a fistful of hair and holding him to her. He matched her kisses with fervor for a moment, before pulling back.
“I have extraordinary patience,” he said, the tip of his tongue wetting his bottom lip in anticipation as his eyes raked over her. “Except when it comes to you.”
The gravelly texture to his voice sent a shiver up her spine. Leaning in, she captured his bottom lip between her teeth, tugging gently, before pulling back with a smirk.
“That better never change, Smallville,” she whispered, biting her own lip in anticipation as his fingers made quick work of the buttons on her blouse.
Large hands pushed it over her shoulders and down her arms, throwing it carelessly behind him before pressing her back into the wall, bringing his face close to hers.
Foreheads pressed together, he rubbed his nose to hers, their breaths mingling with the promise of what was to come.
“I wouldn’t worry, Lane.”
Those were the last intelligible words either spoke, floating around them in the darkened storage room, fading into the quiet darkness of the uncharacteristically calm Metropolis night.