Fic: Only me and you
A little drabble-y bit of something following "Harvest". I know the title is grammatically incorrect and sounds like song lyrics, but I like it all the same.
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The things he’s doing with his mouth should be illegal but at the moment Lois doesn’t really care about legality because she’s fighting the urge to squirm.
It’s not even as though he’s doing anything particularly sinful or passionate - he’s just pressing soft kisses to the skin over her ribcage while her nerve endings seem to be on fire, but she tries not to hyperventilate and instead focuses on what she can feel. There’s his lips (obviously) and his hands carefully holding her torso and his hair brushing against her skin every time he moves his head and little gusts of air when he breathes that seem to surround her.
Thinking about where he’s touching her isn’t helping with her problem. In vain she struggles to remember what day it is and what she's meant to be doing. Is it Tuesday? Wednesday? She’s not sure. The last few days of sleeping and eating and being in bed with Clark and doing little else besides have done strange things to her ability to think clearly.
Not that she could ever really think clearly around Clark anyway.
And then, he stops. Her eyes fly open and she realises that she had closed them at some point. He’s leaning on his elbows looking at her. Not doing anything or moving or even speaking, just… looking at her.
His gaze is intense and probing, almost as though he’s trying to see right into her soul. She thinks to herself that she is the only woman in the world with a boyfriend who can actually see right through her with those super peepers of his. The silence in the room cocoons them into their own little world and Lois forgets about trying to figure out what day it is and cups his face, running her thumb over his bottom lip.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks, curiousity getting the better of her. She wants to know what thoughts are running through his head. Lois knows so much of him already but she also knows that he has depths under his surface that are unplumbed by anyone else, and she is the one with the keys to the innermost door that holds the essence of Clark Kent.
She is also mangling her metaphors.
Clark leans into her touch and kisses her wrist. “You,” is his succinct answer.
“Need something a little more specific, Smallville. What about me?”
He smiles down at her. “I was thinking that I don’t know how I’m going to live without you.”
Fleetingly Lois wonders how he can say things like that and not make them sound like something Hallmark produces for a dollar and fifty nine cents, but it’s only fleetingly. She has more important things to do than think or even speak, and kisses Clark instead.
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The things he’s doing with his mouth should be illegal but at the moment Lois doesn’t really care about legality because she’s fighting the urge to squirm.
It’s not even as though he’s doing anything particularly sinful or passionate - he’s just pressing soft kisses to the skin over her ribcage while her nerve endings seem to be on fire, but she tries not to hyperventilate and instead focuses on what she can feel. There’s his lips (obviously) and his hands carefully holding her torso and his hair brushing against her skin every time he moves his head and little gusts of air when he breathes that seem to surround her.
Thinking about where he’s touching her isn’t helping with her problem. In vain she struggles to remember what day it is and what she's meant to be doing. Is it Tuesday? Wednesday? She’s not sure. The last few days of sleeping and eating and being in bed with Clark and doing little else besides have done strange things to her ability to think clearly.
Not that she could ever really think clearly around Clark anyway.
And then, he stops. Her eyes fly open and she realises that she had closed them at some point. He’s leaning on his elbows looking at her. Not doing anything or moving or even speaking, just… looking at her.
His gaze is intense and probing, almost as though he’s trying to see right into her soul. She thinks to herself that she is the only woman in the world with a boyfriend who can actually see right through her with those super peepers of his. The silence in the room cocoons them into their own little world and Lois forgets about trying to figure out what day it is and cups his face, running her thumb over his bottom lip.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks, curiousity getting the better of her. She wants to know what thoughts are running through his head. Lois knows so much of him already but she also knows that he has depths under his surface that are unplumbed by anyone else, and she is the one with the keys to the innermost door that holds the essence of Clark Kent.
She is also mangling her metaphors.
Clark leans into her touch and kisses her wrist. “You,” is his succinct answer.
“Need something a little more specific, Smallville. What about me?”
He smiles down at her. “I was thinking that I don’t know how I’m going to live without you.”
Fleetingly Lois wonders how he can say things like that and not make them sound like something Hallmark produces for a dollar and fifty nine cents, but it’s only fleetingly. She has more important things to do than think or even speak, and kisses Clark instead.