A Persistent Illusion - Harvest fic
Title: The Persistent Illusion
Rating: R, mostly light NC17
Summary: A series of moments from “Harvest”, onscreen and Offscreenville.
Word Count: 3075
AN: Hey all! So, I’ve been a negative Nelly these past few days, and been kind of frustrated with the choices the writers are making with the show. In hindsight, “Harvest” isn’t a heinous episode. There are so many wonderful elements in it, and well, Clark and Lois have finally made love and it was beautiful, for sure. But I still can’t shake the underwhelmed feeling. Also, RL issues are not helping, and things are very heavy right now.
Anyway, this one-shot, or series of ficlets is some of my favorite moments from the episode. Erica Durance kind of killed me in this, three moments come to mind: the sight of her screaming as she’s dragged away from Clark; the look on her face when she sees Clark alive; and then when he protects her from the blue fire and I think she really realizes that Clark is alive and real and not some apparition. I think that even though, intellectually, Lois knew about blue K, she genuinely thought Clark was dead when Head Villager slashed his stomach with a scythe. She was in shock, mourning, and her face is so incredibly broken and then when she realizes that he’s not, it slays me. Tom Welling just blew me away in some of his scenes, the ones I just rambled about, and the lovemaking scene - they both blew me away in that. What are their lives these two? I do not envy them at all. Anyway, so this came out. I don’t even know what it is. I tried really hard to capture the sense of timelessness with their love scene, of everything in slow motion, but not make it super-boring or oddly sad, which is kind of how my writing is nowadays. Also, dialogue struggles, I'm just not very good at it. I hope it worked and that it doesn't feel f*cking stupid. Ugh, it probably does. Whatevs.
The title is from this quote about reality being a persistent illusion, please take what you will from it -- I had reasons for choosing it but yeah.
All mistakes are my own and this is un-betaed, and the product of insomnia.
Feedback: will make me joyous. Thank you for reading!
A Persistent Illusion
Part I
Lois watches each half-shadowed face in the flickering light. She knows she’s going to die.
Her eyes sting from the smoke. A gentle breeze ruffles the petticoats at her ankles. She struggles to drag air into lungs that are swollen and too big for her chest, tight, constricted; her throat is raw - she's been crying so hard.
Clark, on his knees in the dirt, clutching uselessly at his gouged stomach. Clark is dead.
She blinks the picture away and bites her lip. Clenching her hands into tight fists, her fingernails dig deep into her palm. Her wrists are tender from the steel manacled, damp patches of blood where her skin broke. The small hurts are like reminders. She has to try.
----
Joshua turns toward her, virtuous compassion and conviction glinting wildly in pale, watery eyes.
“You don’t have to do this.” She tries to reason, appeal to something inside him. Shaking her head, tears pool in the corner of her eyes and make her voice hoarse. Funny, she thought she had none left. “This won’t bring her back - it won’t.”
Cool, callused fingers touch her mouth. He shushes her like she’s a little kid. “God forgives you.”
You can take his forgiveness and shove it up your ass! She says inwardly, but on the outside, she tries very hard just to see through the prism of tears.
She looks into those eyes and what she sees makes her flinch. This is grief and pain, protracted, twisted until it becomes something else, ugly. She swats the hand at her mouth away.
----
“Let us pray! Dear Lord, accept this offering as our complete devotion to you. Take her, so that your people may see another harvest of bountiful crops and another year without sickness!” His arms rise skyward, his voice trembles.
----
The people nodded. Some smiled hopefully, hands gripping sweet-scented flowers, a sense of expectation hovered in the air as it always did on the night of celebration. The blue flames licked and danced, and it was almost as if God himself was amongst them, in each of them, burning blue in the sacred blaze. The flush of power was like warm fire curling in each belly as the prayer echoed into the night. Joshua believed and so they all did. They each repeated the words in their hearts until they became truth, and a chorus of amens.
----
Lois imagines Clark lying beneath a mound of freshly-dug earth, and becomes cold. She’s numb and heavy, her limbs weighted down. Inside, she is still screaming and there is Clark again, wet blood covering his hands like scarlet ribbons, garish in torchlight. Her throat closes up, she shuts her eyes briefly, clamps her lips tight, bites the inside of her cheek to trap everything inside.
She catches Ruth’s eye in the dark. The older woman’s face is creased; her mouth keeps moving to say something but no words come out.
She sees guilt and grief, dulled like the edge of a blunt knife, but still there and perfectly capable of cutting deep and drawing blood. She looks away.
A shot rips the quiet apart.
The crowd gasps.
Lois’ mouth drops open. She’s pretty sure she’s dreaming. Is she already dead?
And then he shouts. “Get away from her!”
----
She huddles into the ground, arms wrapped around her knees. The fire roars. She expects to feel it sear and blister her back any second, her body taut in the waiting. It’s when she hears him scream - a terrible scream - above her, and feels his breath rush by her cheek, the solid press of him, that she realizes it’s real. He’s real.
----
He draws to a stop in the Kent backyard, the house lights glow in the dim, and he smiles at the familiar sound of Shelby barking. Lois scrambles out of his arms, lands on her feet and promptly throws herself right back. She holds onto his shoulder, nails gripping him so hard that they’d probably hurt a human, and mutters, “You’re okay - oh God...”
He pulls her close, buries his nose in her hair, a hint of smoke from the fire and lilacs. He was scared too at the prospect of almost losing her. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that fear even with all the trouble they get themselves into. He has to rub his fingers in circles against the small of her back to prove to himself that she’s safe. Everything that matters in the world is right here in his arms.
Minutes later, they laugh at each other.
“So, ‘messenger sent from the heavens,’ hunh?” he says, a smile playing at his mouth.
“Hey, I was improvising on the spot, but you have to admit - I make a pretty good psycho prophetess of doom.”
“I had no idea I could use my super breath to smite crops. And my heat vision to… what was it - ‘raze villages? Must be a useful skill.”
She snorts.
----
Part II
Clark’s hand is warm and solid at her cheek.
“I want you to know me completely, with no secrets,” he says, “Because you’re the one - you always will be.”
And he means it. He’s so damn honest. She thinks that only Smallville could get away with saying something so straight-up like that and have it come from the deepest part of him - his green eyes wide, and earnest.
Her breath hovers, suspended somewhere in her throat and she figures she should say something, anything. But what are you supposed to say to that? And so she swallows, and blinks, and smiles.
He sways toward her, and his lips touch hers. His breath is moist across her mouth, the slick swipe of his tongue along the seam, and then she can taste him. Honey, and strawberries, the subtle bite of orange juice, and Clark - it seems ridiculous that the taste of it feels like home.
She curls her tongue into his, grazes her teeth on the flesh at the corner of his mouth and rises on her tiptoes just to be close - closer. The book slips from her fingers; worn leather and dry paper, a soft thud on the old rug, forgotten.
He runs his hands along the curve of her spine, tracing each vertebra, latching onto the waistband of her jeans. She fiddles with the hair at his nape, slants her mouth more insistently against his.
----
Lois has forgotten how to breathe. Her lungs are ready to explode. His hands have slid beneath her shirt, and his fingers keep plucking at the fastening of her bra, spanning her waist, the raised skin where her ribs are, the underside of her breast.
His leg found its way between hers. And there’s a slice of warm, wet heat where he’s pressed tight against her, and she moves a little against it.
----
Kissing Lois is like falling. Or perhaps the closest thing to flying. There’s a certain weightlessness to it but also a pull, deep in the pit of his belly, right through to his belly button, gravity.
She drags her nails along his abdomen and he tenses: the pull. And then her mouth slips down to his neck, her tongue flutters right there - the spot where his jaw meets his earlobe, and it makes everything inside him jump.
She backs away a little, her breathing labored like she’s just come in running. He’s breathing heavy too, even though he doesn’t need to. He rests his forehead against hers, presses a quick kiss to her mouth, her cheek, and back to her mouth, and lingers.
----
They ate dinner. She asked a lot of questions, the way she always did. He smiled into his wine glass, and tried not to get distracted by the way the glow of candlelight turned her eyes to bronze; or how the wine made her lips slick and wet, and him long to trace the curve of them with his tongue.
“Okay, so say something to me in Kryptonian.” She’s leaning forward on her elbows, her fork hanging loosely from her fingers, her head tilted in anticipation and mischief.
He feels shy under her gaze for some reason. And it’s more than just feeling self-conscious about speaking his language. It’s the way Lois looks at him, focused, piercing but soft. It makes him feel, all at once, like the strongest man in the world and more himself than he ever has.
“I don’t know…” He tries. “Okay, what do you want me to say?”
“I dunno.” She shrugs and says, “Anything - I’m just kind of curious how it sounds out loud.”
----
He tells her he loves her. That he was so blind and so stupid not to see everything that was right in front of him all these years. That when he thinks of all the times he nearly lost her, the times he has lost her, and the thought of not knowing what he knows now, it scares him. And that sometimes he lies awake at night and clears his mind, searches the world, the universe for a single sound, and he imagines that he can hear the flutter of her heartbeat.
The crisp consonants of his native tongue are deceptive though. When she asks for a translation, he just grins, and tells her that he was reciting the first paragraph of their front page article. She has a knowing expression on her face. Her mouth twitches, and he notices the dull pink flush to her cheeks.
----
Lois shifts restlessly in her seat as she listens to him speak his birth language. There’s something in the intensity of his gaze, that earnestness again, that makes her feel aware, awake. The way his tongue slides around each word makes her mouth dry. She’s probably the easiest Earth-girl in the world if all he has to do is talk to get her to melt in a pile of putty at his feet.
----
It’s when she reaches for the last plate on the table and he reaches for it at the same time, and their fingers touch, that it happens. They’ve been dancing around this, around each other throughout dinner - for months really, if she thinks about it. Both of them conscious that it’s all been coming down to this moment, finally. And nothing - except possibly the end of the world would get in the way of it this time. Maybe not even that.
----
He’s always so warm. She’s noticed that. His chest is a wall buttressed against her back, and the heat from his body seeps into hers; tingles of electricity emanate from his mouth currently attached to the curve of her neck. She shivers when his teeth nibble on her pulse, and whimpers as his left hand slip upwards along her waist to cup her breast. Her nipple pokes through the thin lace of her bra, through the shirt, and the gentle friction forces her to turn around and latch onto his mouth, aggressively impatient.
He lifts her up easily without taking his lips off of hers, and they’re walking. They bump into a few walls along the way, he rips off one of her shirt buttons, and all the while his tongue laves her slowly, sumptuously, like they’ve got all the time in the world.
----
Lois sways ever so slightly when he puts her down, follows his mouth. He draws back and sends her a mischievous grin before becoming a blur of motion, too fast for her eyes to follow.
He comes to a stand-still and she gasps, candles dotted around the room, the faint scent of vanilla tickling her nose. “Wow, very impressive, Smallville.” She rubs her thighs together unconsciously.
Is it weird that his abilities turn me on like this? She wonders.
He tilts his head, bashful. “I try.”
The stage is set, she’s standing there with her shirt half-undone and his is all wrinkled; his button jeans plucked open. She shoves her hands to her waistband, stuffs them in her pockets, and finally lets them rest at her sides. She’s nervous, which is ridiculous, but she can’t help it because this is actually it. Months of waiting boiled down to this moment, and it seems like there should be some sort of fanfare or a chorus of fat angels or something. “Well, it’s definitely a fire hazard, right? But, you know, it … adds to the ambiance.”
He walks toward her in slow, measured footsteps; a tiny smile pulling at his lips. And she keeps on talking. “I like candles. Do you like -?”
He places a finger at her lips to shut her up. “Lois…”
She nods. Why is he as cool as a cucumber, right now? He has the habit of doing that to her, and it’s kind of annoying. “Right - rambling, inexplicably for no rea -”
This time he kisses her and she feels herself melt from the inside out, her arms winding around his shoulders, her tongue swiping against his.
He leans back a little and says, “I love you, Lois.” He says the words so easily, and something in that makes her feel safe and cherished in longer than she can remember.
“I think,” he murmurs, and his finger traces her brow, “I think that I’ve been waiting my whole life for this, for something like this, for you. And I didn’t even know it.”
Honestly, saying something like that should send her running miles in the opposite direction but it doesn’t. She’s warm as a wet puddle in the sun.
“I love you, too.” She’s kissing him and she doesn’t ever want it to stop.
----
She grasps his head and arches up into his mouth. His tongue curls around her clit and she wonders how, Clark Kent, naïve, plaid-wearing farm boy extraordinaire got so damn good at that. She draws her knees up around the sides of his head and a jagged, “Yes!” escapes her lips.
He’s sucking hard now and then he does the most incredible thing, so that it feels like the whole world is shaking, vibrating around her, inside her, all over - and it drives her over the edge. A grunt rips from the core of her body and her body stretches taut, and she curses a blue streak.
----
Clark clenches his fist on one of the bedposts when her cool, soft fingers find their way past his jeans zipper. She pushes his pants down. He notices the way her eyes widen at the sight of him, and the pink tip of her tongue, and groans.
He falls like struck timber when she pushes him back on the bed and lands on his haunches. She clambers on top of him, and presses her mouth tight to his. He sits up, holds her close and her legs slip on either side of him to straddle his hips.
He can feel her slick heat against his cock; he slips a hand to cup her backside, rub her wetness against him.
He’s panting, and mutters against her mouth, catching her gaze, “I want you, Lois.”
She guides him along her entrance, and he holds his breath.
----
“Ungh,” Lois moans at the first, incomparable sensation of him stretching her.
Wending her fingers through his hair, she looks him straight in the eye. “I love you, Clark.”
He leans in to taste the words on her lips and they sink back onto the bed in tandem. He slides deeper, and at this angle she feels full. She tenses around him, and starts to move her hips in a slow, undulating circle. She gasps into his mouth at the feel of his chest grazing hers, her inner muscles tightening reflexively.
It feels so good. He feels so good and right, this, them - the two of them. She says the words again in her mind, over and over again, and they don’t become any less true with the repetition.
It’s real. Perfect.
----
For most of his life he’s been afraid. Afraid of himself, what he’s capable of doing and what he’s done. But this time, this time is different. It’s Lois, but also him.
He runs his hands along her back, cradles the nape of her neck, the mossy underside where hair meets skin. When he rolls them over her legs wind around his waist, crossed at the ankles, and she clutches at his shoulders. He thrusts with a little more force and she bites his lip, her mouth slanting across his, their noses bumping with each rocking movement. Pulling away from the kiss to watch her for a second, he thinks dazedly about all the time wasted, the steps taken backwards; the staring sightlessly into space while life plodded around him, passed him by.
He knows that he wasn’t ready for it, not then, not any time before now. To love like this, and be loved. He brushes curly tendrils away from her temple, her eyes drift open and it hits him again like a kick to the stomach: happiness.
He smiles. She smiles back, a gentle curving of her mouth.
He runs his tongue along her lower lip, and suckles, and thrusts harder, the sound of skin moving against skin. He finds the palm of her hand with his, and locks their fingers together. As a ball of heat ripples at the base of his spine, he knows with everything that he is right then he’ll never let go.
----
Part III
She’s lying on her back, nestled in a cloud of pillows and mussed sheets; hair a curly mess, and a dull red bruise where he bit down on her shoulder too hard.
He leans over her, balanced on his elbow, his forefinger flirting with the sheet tossed across her chest.
“So,” she says, “Just so you know - you speaking Kryptonian, huge turn on.”
He stops his fingers from inching the sheet down, eyebrow raised, “Really?”
She bites her lip, nodding. “Oh yeah, it’s very… sexy.”
He places a soft kiss on her collar bone. “Hunh, I should probably add that to my growing list.”
Rolling her eyes, she punches his shoulder playfully - she never should have told him about what the powers did to her. “Don’t get too cocky, Smallville, you’re not that hot.”
He throws a leg across her thighs, effectively trapping her, and tugs slyly at the sheet, his warm breath fans out over her mouth. “I think we should see about that.”
She doesn’t protest.
Fin