Work Text:
It had started out as a regular day for Lois Lane. She’d woken up to a half dozen emails from Perry, her editor, about deadlines and articles and details Lois was sure she would inevitably forget about. Her outfit was a cute ensemble her sister had gotten her for her birthday, high waisted jeans and black shirt emblazoned with a pink “FLAWLESS”, her brown hair pulled into its signature ponytail. Traffic made her 7 minutes late for work, but no one seemed to notice her tardiness when she strolled into the office and plopped down at her desk.
Lois took in the early morning atmosphere of Buzzfeed HQ. The sounds of frantic and forceful typing echoed from the writers’ desks while editors scanned their articles for glaring typos. Laughter, anywhere from giggles to guffaws, was pouring out of the brainstorming room. Someone had drawn two cartoon penises holding hands on the whiteboard with today’s agenda. In the kitchen a debate was being held to determine if a photo of Putin being kissed by Obama was ‘too photoshopped, or just photoshopped enough’.
Most people hate their jobs. Lois Lane however, absolutely loves hers. She lives for every minute she spends writing, from the silly pieces about the latest memes and the to-the-minute news articles on current events. Writer for Buzzfeed will be on her tombstone. Until then, it’s on the nameplate on her desk, a gift from Clark Kent. Poor kid had stammered and turned as red as the Santa hat on his head when he gave it to her, the sweetheart.
He was a good guy, Clark. The kid had started out as an intern, and he was sweet enough that they hired him as office assistant after he graduated from school. His duties didn’t really change, he was always out picking up coffee or sorting through packages, although he never let his seemingly endless busywork stop him from getting to know everyone in the office, especially Lois. It was common knowledge he had a huge crush on her, which was tad annoying but mostly cute and good-intentioned. Not that Lois returned the feelings, of course. But it wasn’t like Clark was unattractive either, despite his huge glasses, messy black hair, and those god-awful plaid button downs he insisted on wearing over his nerdy t-shirts. Not that she needed some dashing hero to sweep her off her feet, despite what her coworkers seem to think is going on between her and Superman.
She can’t help it if she’s the only reporter the guy will schedule an interview with, after all. So what if he has dazzling blue eyes, bulging muscles and dashing smile that she definitely did not dream about. And she definitely doesn’t dream of other things about him either, like how those muscles had felt under her hands when he had taken her flying or how that obscenely tight suit clings to his-
“I’m going on a coffee run, would you like anything Ms. Lane?” Kent’s voice broke her out of her daydream, startling her back to the real world where she was not banging the Man of Steel and Clark Kent is standing in front of her in a Harry and the Potters tee.
“Dammit Clark, for the millionth time call me Lois.”
He pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, “Yes, right, um sorry Ms. La- Ms. Lois. Anything from Starbucks? I’ve got the company card and you usually get something around this time and-”
“Caramel Macchiato,” she interrupted, trying to put an end to his rambling, realizing after a half second that she’s coming across as rude, and the easy smile on his face is falling off. “Please. Thanks Clark, I appreciate it.”
God, of course that would make the kid break into a huge, goofy grin, “Anything for you Ms. Lois. Be right back.” He turns to go, but instead manages to knock a stack of file folders onto the ground first, which he then proceeds to shuffle about in an unsuccessful attempt to get them off the floor until Lois huffs and scoops them up for him.
Clark blushed furiously as he thanked her, then dashed out the door, coffee order in hand. Rolling her eyes and suppressing a laugh, Lois turns back to her computer and starts going through today’s emails.
From: [email protected]
Re: Lane Humor Article w5/12
Hilarious. Got my approval. Have Jimmy doctor up some photos for you.
Perry
Begin Forwarded Email
Perry,
Got an idea for a humor article this week. 10 People Who are Def. Not Superman. Like if you rule out everyone who isn’t Superman you’ll eventually come up with who is. Thinking Steve Buscemi, Mike Wazowski, Clark Kent the Intern, etc. Lemme know.
L Lane
Satisfied with Perry’s answer, Lois grabbed up her notepad and pen and went down the hall. Jimmy was in his office, passionately air drumming to a AC/DC song he was blasting from his computer. His red hair matched the little lobsters on his dark blue bowtie, and contrasted the starch white of his short sleeve button down. It took a few seconds for him to notice her standing in the doorway, after she cleared her throat to catch his attention.
“Oh, hey Lane,” he said, pausing the music and adjusting his bowtie, “What brings you to my humble cubicle?”
“Perry should have forwarded you an email. I need you to photoshop a couple of Supermen for me.”
“Right! I did get that. I’ve got a few questions actually.” Jimmy swiveled in his spinning chair and moved in front of his tri-screen computer. He pulled open a new Photoshop window and beckoned for Lois to sit next to him. “So I figure we could do two things, I can take a full photo of Superman and just stick the head of whoever on it. Or I could make it look like the actual person is wearing the super suit.”
“Wait, I’m confused.”
“Ok, so like with Steve Buscemi. The guy’s not a huge bodybuilder, he’s a spindly old man. So do you want me to put this old man head on this massively ripped superhero body, or do you want it to look as though Steve were to be wearing a bodysuit?”
“Hmm. That’s a good question,” Lois tapped her pen on the cover of her notebook, “Which would be easier?”
Jimmy rubs absentmindedly at a stain on his jeans, “I would tell you, but I’ve got a feeling you’d just choose the harder one to spite me.”
Lois laughed. Jimmy always saw right through her, “You’ve got a point there. What’s funnier then? Maybe try it with someone both ways?” she looked down at the list of people she’d been brainstorming. There was only one she was definite about at this point, “Maybe try Kent?”
“That’s ridiculous,” Jimmy laughed as he pulled up a folder of staff photos, “The guy’s what, like a foot too short? Not to mention that horrible slouch of his.”
“Can you imagine Superman stuttering all the time, always knocking over stacks of paper?” Lois laughed, feeling a bit bad for teasing Clark. But it was the truth, wasn’t it? Just this morning he had come into work with a brown stain on his slacks and smelling suspiciously like a latte.
“The Man of Steel picking up a twelve coffee order at Starbucks I wo-”
“What? Something freeze up or-” she looked over at the computer screen, “holy shit.”
There it was, Clark Kent’s head on Superman’s body, and who would've guessed, he looked the same. Or, like looking at Superman on Sunday morning after a night out, his hair curly and messy instead of slicked back, a pair of thick glasses perched on his nose, and a goofy grin on his face. It was... uncanny.
“Did you know? Or wait, this is a prank right? It- it can’t be...” Jimmy was running his hands through his hair in disbelief, “I mean... it’s Clark Kent .”
Lois was still too shocked to say anything. How could she have guessed, how would anyone have guessed? “I swear, I had no idea. I- I thought it would be funny.”
Jimmy clicked the X at the top of the window, deleting the rough draft. “Well obviously we can’t share this.”
“Are you kidding me?” Lois throws her hands up, full of excitement but trying not to scream what is the biggest secret on the planet at the top of her lungs. “This is the news story of the century! Superman, mysterious caped crusader, working as an office assistant for Buzzfeed!”
“Keep your voice down, Lane.” Jimmy hisses at her, “He’s keeping this secret for a reason. Think of what might happen if Lex Luthor or some evil supervillain found out. They could threaten his family or friends, and they’d actually know where he was at all times. Information like this, it’s best to pretend like we never found out in the first place.”
Lois huffed. She understood Jimmy’s point. This was Clark/Superman’s business. But that didn’t mean that she liked that Jimmy was right. “Alright. I’ll keep it quiet. As for the article, I’ll send you a final list of people by noon. Thanks again.”
“No worries,” Jimmy said, eyes still staring blankly at his empty computer screen as Lois walked out of the room.
Lois could barely focus on anything but the whole Clark Kent/Superman debacle. In retrospect, it was pretty obvious. She pulled up the live Twitter feed that reported Superman’s various daily good-doing and, sure enough, they aligned perfectly with Kent’s errand running. Kent’s dorky glasses covered his crystal clear blue eyes and his messy black hair was practically a polar opposite of Superman’s greased back locks and signature curl. He was always wearing pants and those dumb flannels, fitted enough to seem clean in a professional setting, but not tight enough to betray the bulging muscles so clearly evident in Superman’s skin-tight ensemble. Hell, he could even be wearing the suit under his clothes right now.
Clark spills a mug of coffee on himself and her desk a few minutes after getting back from his lunch break (also minutes after Superman saves a child from a burning building) and Lois realizes she’s never seen him with a burn from one of his daily ‘accidents’, not even a papercut. He smiles at her and shrugs, getting a few paper towels and mopping up the mess. The spill, though annoying, didn’t do any actual damage, no papers ruined, no computers or phones harmed. Damn it, he was doing it on purpose. All of it, the clumsiness, the poor posture, the glasses, it was a show, a performance. How anti-Superman can Clark Kent be today? It’s horrific. It’s infuriating. It’s-
Absolutely brilliant.
Kent leans in towards her desk to toss out the soiled napkins in her trash can, and Lois catches the barely-there smell of smoke. “Join Cat for her smoke break didya?”
Clark’s eyes widen a fraction of an inch and he splutters, “No! No, I uh, I um, passed by her on my way back from lunch. Stopped to chat for a bit. Why? I didn’t think I smelled too bad-”
“Calm down. I’m just teasing you. You smell good. I mean, fine, normal. Not that I smell you a lot and that I would know how you normally smell, because I don’t. I smell you a perfectly average amount. Anyways,” Lois stops the word vomit spilling from her mouth and takes a deep breath, “I was kidding, I can’t imagine someone like you lighting up a cigarette anyways.”
Kent smiles, and Lois decides for her sanity that he’s smiling at her joke and not her horribly awkward stammering. “Not sure if that’s a compliment or not, but thank you anyways Ms. Lane.”
“Lois. It’s Lois. Please for the love of God call me Lois. Lois, just fucking Lois,” it takes quite literally every ounce of restraint in her body to keep her from throwing her hands in the air and throttling him. Which is what she blames for what slips out of her mouth next, “Honestly, usually when I’m screaming a name at a guy it isn’t my own, damn it.”
A half second passes and she realizes what she’s said, and her face goes hot. She’s willing to bet her face is as red than Superman’s cape, if not worse. Of all the things to say to Clark Kent, the guy whose alter-ego she’s been fucking in her fantasies for the past year. Jesus Christ.
His lips curve into a smirk. Clark Kent, was smirking? As if she hadn’t already seen enough today to convince herself she was going crazy. He leans in towards her and lowers his voice to a goddamn whisper and says, “Right away Ms. Lois,” her name rolling off his tongue in a way that’s far too familiar.
It clicks, another part of the Clark Kent/Superman puzzle falling into place. Superman had called her Lois, just Lois. Clark can try to change his voice all he wants, but the way he says her name is ever so similar to the Man of Steel. By adding a Ms. it throws her off, enough to not notice the way it flows so sweetly and effortlessly from his mouth. God, she could get lost sometimes just remembering the way he’d spoken to her, deep intonations and smooth rhythm of the words. Add her name to the mix and she would barely be able to focus on anything else.
Lois looks up from the spot on her desk she’s been blankly staring at for the past few seconds. Clark is making his way back to his desk near the elevator entrance, a cardboard copy paper box in his arms. Wait a second, had she just flirted with Clark fucking Kent? What is the world coming to? She pinches her arm, just in case this is all some really weird dream because she had an extra glass of wine before bed and fell asleep on the couch while watching Keeping Up with the Kardashians reruns. Nope, not a dream. Well, might as well continue the derailing of her perfectly normal life.
“Hey Smallville!”
Kent stops in his tracks at the old nickname, turning back towards Lois’ desk, a smile on his face. “Can I help you Ms. Lois?”
Lois suppresses a shiver, “Are you busy Friday night?”
“No,” he says hesitantly, “Why? Do you need help with an article or-”
“Good. Wanna get dinner with me?”
“Um- okay.”
“Pick me up at 7?”
“Yeah, sure. I’ll see you then I guess.”
“Great,” she nods, turning back to her computer screen and trying to stay calm and cool and collected, despite the internal screaming and warning alarm that’s going off inside her head, “It’s a date.”
Kent’s jaw drops, as does the box of envelopes he was carrying. She tries not to laugh at the very genuine look of absolute shock and terror and excitement on his face. Score one for Lois Lane- take that Superman. He suddenly comes to his senses and starts blindly grabbing for the spilled envelopes and shoving them into the box before he takes off towards his desk. She’s not sure if that’s a good sign or a bad one, but it doesn’t really matter because Lois Lane has a date. A date with Superman.
Cat Grant (ΦωΦ)❀
CG: okay I just heard the fucking funniest thing
CG: srsly you are not going to believe what the rumor mill has come up with this time
CG: LL?
CG: you are uncharacteristically silent
CG: and your read receipts are on you asshole
CG: holy shit do not tell me it’s true
CG: MISSED CALL 4:45
CG: MISSED CALL 4:46
CG: MISSED CALL 4:47
CG: LOIS LANE ANSWER YOUR FUCKING PHONE I STG
LL: chill fam
LL: I’m getting dinner
LL: call you after
LL: k?
CG: fine.
CG: the shit i put up with for the sake of this friendship smh
LL: love you too cat
“Hey! What’s up?”
“What’s up?! What’s up?!? You are going on a date with Clark Fucking Kent is what’s up! Holy shit Lois are you fucking insane?”
“Gimme one sec, Cat.” Lois holds her phone against her face with her left shoulder and shifts her bag of Chinese take out to her left hand. She unlocks the door to her apartment and kicks it shut behind her, depositing her purse and dinner on the kitchen table. “Okay, I’m back.”
“So?”
“What?” Lois fishes her dinner out of the plastic bag.
Cat’s voice on the other line is practically hysteric, “Are you or are you not going on a date with Kent the office assistant?”
Lois sighs, “Yes.”
“Oh my God. I thought for sure that Steve was pulling my leg.”
“Steve? From Sports? I thought you broke up like three weeks ago.” Lois switches the phone to speaker and collapses into the couch, take out and chopsticks cradled in her lap.
“It was two months ago Lois. Plus we we’re really together to begin with, we just went on a few dates. We’re friends now. Seriously! He’s dating this really cute barista he met at the Starbucks down the street from the office, his name is Calvin and he’s adorable. Which probably explains why me and Steve didn’t get on well as a couple. I mean honestly, we’re much better as friends. Besides, I cannot deal with that much football talk ever again Lois, mark my words.”
“Duly noted,” Lois says around a mouthful of fried rice.
“So what’s the deal? Was it a dare? Is this for an article? ‘I went on a date with the nerdiest guy in the office and here’s what happened...’”
“Hey, don’t be rude. Clark, he’s a good guy. And he’s had a thing for me since-”
“Forever.” Cat finishes the sentence for her “I know. Everyone knows. Seriously, I was talking to Rosana the custodian the other day and she asked about it.”
“She’s back from her trip already? How was it?”
“‘ Perfecto, como siempre ’” Cat quotes, “She showed me pictures too. Her grandkids are absolutely precious!”
“Awww! Los nietos! Good for her. I’ll have to ask her about it the next time I work late.”
“So back to you and Clark...”
“Alright, fine. So he’s got a thing for me.”
“Obviously.”
Lois picks at the vegetables in her rice with her chopsticks, tossing a few peas onto a napkin. “And, I don’t know, I thought I’d give it a shot. I mean, it’s one date, right?”
“Mmhmm,” Cat hums, seemingly lost in thought, “Okay, don't hate me for saying this, but I think you guys would make a really good couple.”
“Really?” that’s unexpected, “How so?”
“Well, look at the guys you dated in the past. They were mostly these high ambition guys, ridiculously career driven and success focused, not unlike yourself. And then you would get a few dates in and they’d want you to start cutting back at work to spend time with them, which you refused to do, but then they didn’t want to scale back at their work either, and things would inevitably fall apart. One of the many reasons why you’ve yet to have an actual, long-term relationship with someone other than your laptop.”
“You leave Cassandra out of this.”
Cat’s cackle of a laugh echos out of the phone’s speaker and Lois can’t help but join in. Her best friend’s laughter is absolutely contagious, “And this isn’t a judge of your character, Lois, but you have dated some real assholes.”
“Hey, Kenneth wasn’t terrible-” she protests.
“The guy voted for Trump.”
“Point taken.”
“Lois, for real-zies. Clark is a real sweetheart. He’s always looking out for everyone, as if we’re all his extended family. One time I got stood up for a date and got lost in a really sketchy neighborhood. Some asshat grabs my purse and as I’m running after him my heel breaks. So I’m hobbling down the street, frantically calling everyone in my phone, but nobody would answer, and those that did wouldn’t drive all the way across town to come get me. Then, of all things, it starts to fucking rain. Like seriously, it’s pouring. And who is the one person who shows up? Clark Kent. On a fucking bicycle, absolutely dripping. Then it turns out he knows a guy in the area who lets us hole up in his convenience store and gives us free hotdogs while we wait for the cab to arrive. Kent gives me 50 bucks for the ride home, and insists on biking home in the rain, which has ‘calmed down to a light drizzle’. His words.”
“Wow. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Lois, I wanted to tell everyone , heck, I was gunning to write a fucking article about it. But Kent refused to let me do it because he didn’t want the attention. He claimed he was just doing what any decent human would,” Cat pauses for a second, a heavy silence settling between the two, “so yeah, Clark Kent is an actual cinnamon roll. Too good for this world. Too pure. So if you genuinely want to go on this date please do because it would make him so so happy. But don’t you dare string his sweet, smoll heart out for some kind of practical joke, okay?”
Lois stares into the bottom of the now empty takeout container. “Yeah Cat. I promise. Don’t tell this to anyone, but, I think- I think I might actually like him a little. I don’t know. Today has been so ridiculously wild, you don’t even want to know.”
“Save your breath honey. Do you want me to come over? I’ve got half a bottle of Pinot Noir in my fridge that’s gonna go to waste...”
Lois laughs, “Keep your gas station wine away from me.”
“Says the girl who buys everything from Food Lion.”
“At least they treat me like the MVP I am.”
“I’ll have you know that Sheetz considers me a valued customer.”
“A keychain you got for free from some high schooler working the register because you weren’t wearing a bra means nothing. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See ya.”
The week passes in a frantic blur. Early Tuesday morning someone decides to shoot up a New York bar on its LGBT night, but there’s also ties to Middle Eastern extremist groups, and the shooter had a history with drug abuse, the shitty prison system, neglected mental health, the works. It’s a landmine of a story, and BuzzFeed puts all of the senior writers on it, regardless of their prior knowledge. Lois is buried to her neck in dense background research, so absorbed that she doesn’t even notice someone giving her a coffee until it sits directly underneath her nose, and where her head is leaning in far too close to her computer screen to be healthy. She blinks a few times, suddenly becoming aware of the tired burn of her eyes. The glorious gift from the gods smells heavenly, and a sip reveals it to be her favorite, caramel latte with extra whip cream.
Her name is written on the side of the (extra large!) cup in Clark Kent’s careful and precise handwriting. A tiny smiley face is drawn into the ‘o’ of her name, and Lois smiles at the sweet gesture. She turns to thank Clark, but he’s nowhere to be found, likely dashing off to do some heroic deed. Lois snags the stack of sticky notes off her desk and scribbles a note, her handwriting far messier than Clark’s clean script.
Thanks for the coffee. I appreciate it!
She signs off her name, but swaps the ‘o’ for a tiny heart. That’s not too forward, is it? Lois deposits the thank you on his desktop before she has time to question herself, and returns to her readings. A few more hours pass and Lois realizes that if she doesn’t get away from her desk she may possibly go insane, and opts to go out of the office for her lunch break. When she returns there’s an orange note waiting for her.
You’re welcome. Looked like you needed it. Always a pleasure to run your errands.
<3 Kent
It definitely does not send butterflies fluttering in Lois’s stomach, and she most certainly does not keep the note, or pin it the the wall beside her bed. And above all, thoughts of glasses and flannel do not enter her dreams whatsoever.
She may possibly be going insane.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Friday
Dear Lois,
So I don’t actually know your address... I was going to look it up in the staff information directory, but I didn’t want to abuse my administrative powers, although if I ever needed to forward mail or a package to you the information would come in handy. Or at least that was going to be my cover if anyone asked.
Anyways, I didn’t want to invade your privacy without asking you first, but then I realized that I do have your staff email and that I could always just ask you for your address.
Okay, if you aren’t rethinking your already questionable idea of taking me out (that sounds like you’re going to kill me - please don’t do that, thanks). Shoot me an email (wow another murder metaphor I’m killing it today ((another one))).
Thanks!
Clark Kent
Office Assistant Buzzfeed HQ
Cat Grant (ΦωΦ)❀
LL: did you get the email i forwarded you?
CG: oh my god yes
CG: it’s perfect
CG: clark kent
CG: an immaculate swirl of a human bean
LL: okay outfit on
LL: I went with the red dress do you think that’s too slutty?
CG: lemme see
LL: ATTACHED 1 IMAGE
CG: NOOO
CG: IT’S PERFECT
CG: SWEEP THAT LITTLE NERD OFF HIS FEET
LL: lol
LL: thanks cat
LL: okay makeup and accessories are go
LL: ATTACHED 1 IMAGE
CG: YASSSS
CG: DAYUM GIRL SLAY
CG: GET THAT NERD ASS
LL: it is a very nice ass
CG: omg
CG: lois
CG: I just realized something
CG: you’re gonna sleep with clark kent
LL: woah wait it might not even go that far
CG: um lois
CG: I have met you
LL: okay but like this is a guy i work with
LL: and it’s the first date
CG: has that stopped you before?
LL: ...
CG: don’t you ... me
CG: just admit it
CG: you want a piece of that office assistant ass
LL: fine
LL: I wanna piece of clark kent
CG: OMG
CG: LOIS
CG: ANOTHER GRAND REALIZATION
LL: oh dear god
CG: YOU’RE GONNA SEE HIS DICK
LL: cat no
CG: CLARK KENT JR. 8=D
LL: pls
LL: that's disgusting
CG: I EXPECT FULL DETAILS
CG: WAIT NO DON’T TELL ME
CG: UNLESS IT’S TINY
CG: OR MASSIVE
LL: jesus cat
LL: why do i trust you with my sex life
CG: fine
CG: I’m gonna assume its normal sized unless told otherwise
CG: even though he seems like a big-penis,
but isn’t a total dick about it kinda guy
LL: he’s here
LL: stop texting me about his dick pls
LL: and i am going to pre-emptively shoot
down any requests for dick pics
CG: ahh lois you know me so well
CG: have fun on your date
CG: tell clark I said hi
CG: and don’t forget to use protection! :)
The doorbell to Lois’s tiny apartment dings and she stumbles towards the door, already questioning her decision to wear heels, but it’s too late to change now. “Coming!” she calls, shoving the bottle of wine on the counter into the fridge and tucking some dirty laundry into a blanket and tossing it into her bedroom.
Lois stops at the door for a few seconds, checking her appearance one last time for good measure. She’s not one to usually care about what she looks like, but it’s fun to dress up every once and a while, and going on a date gives her an excuse to play around with her typically untouched makeup bag. Tonight she’s rocking an only slightly wobbly cat-eye liner (eyes are sisters, not twins she reminds herself) and a fierce red lip color she’s sure will be gone by the end of their meal. Her red dress was snug around her waist and flowed out from her hips in a a-line skirt that ended a bit above her knees, complete with a high neckline and sleeveless. Her look was complete with a pair of black high heels that were a little slutty, but altogether her look was less ‘cocktails and hotel room sex’ and more ‘private dinner and makeout session.’
In other words, perfect for a first date.
She took a deep breath and opened the door, and there stood Clark Kent. In a suit. Not his blue/red/skintight one, of course, but a semi-vintage gray/brown tweed ensemble with a white button down and red tie (how sweet, they were matching on their first date). His hair wasn’t slicked back in his typical Superman fashion, but it did look like he’d actually ran a comb through it, a pleasant change from his typical office-messiness. He looked, well, good. Even those ridiculous glasses looked half decent.
“Um. Hi.” Clark said, and Lois realized she’d been staring at him instead of actually greeting him. Whoops.
“Hey,” she recovered, “You clean up good.”
Clark ducked his head, staring at his brown dress shoes, “Thanks.”
“No really, you look nice.” Lois insisted, hoping she’d get to see how his bright smile looked with his new getup.
“It’s not too much is it?” he looked up at her, worry in his eyes, “I asked my mom what I was supposed to wear for a first date and she said a suit so...” he gestured towards himself. He’d called his mom for dating advice, and damn if it wasn’t the most adorable thing she’d heard.
“Oh! Here. These are for you.” He holds up a small bouquet of yellow and white flowers.
“You didn’t have to-” Lois starts as she takes the flowers from his hands. They’re perfect. Of course Clark would bring flowers. “That’s really sweet of you. Thanks.”
He shrugs and shoves his hands into his pockets, that lovely, beaming smile on his face. “My pleasure Ms. Lois.”
“Clark.”
“I’m just teasing, Lois,” he laughs at his own joke and Lois joins in briefly.
“Good. Because I am not calling you Mr. Clark for the rest of the night.” she mocks back, “I’m gonna find a vase or something for these, come on in.”
Clark follows her into the shoebox her landlord calls an apartment. To the old man’s credit, the bathroom and bedroom are separated from the main living space, so it’s a half step up from a studio apartment. But her dining table doubles as the majority of her kitchen counter space and the couch isn’t ten steps from the stove, even though it’s pushed up against the opposite wall near the entrance. But hey- it’s got a window!
She rummages through the cabinets to find anything that’s vase passable, while Clark stands in the middle of the living / kitchen / dining room, suit jacket unbuttoned and his hands tucked into his pockets. He looks his usual amount of awkward discomfort, but not outside of normal first-date nervous levels. And, well, he looks really good in a suit. Really good. Good enough that she’s wondering if they should just skip dinner and- Lois gives her head a tiny shake and turns back to her search. Eventually she discovers an empty wine bottle, fills it halfway with water from the tap, and drops in the bouquet. Perfect.
“This is Cat right?” Clark asks, looking over the few framed photos on the side table by the couch.
Lois cranes her neck and squints to see the one he’s looking at. “Yeah, that’s from a brief stint where she decided to bleach her hair platinum. Hard to see her as anything but a redhead, huh?”
“No kidding. You’ve known each other for a while then?”
“Oh yeah. We’ve been best friends for ages. Or, at least it feels like it. Jimmy actually took that one,” she points at one of the frames, a candid photo from a Christmas party two or three years ago. Cat and Lois were laughing at something she can’t remember now, but the joy on their faces is far from unfamiliar. It makes her smile just to look at the two of them, and the photo’s easily one of her favorites.
“Find a vase?” Clark asks, and Lois holds up the wine bottle bouquet before setting it on the kitchen table. “Classy,” he jokes.
“Watch it bud,” she teases him, giving him a playful push as they leave the apartment.
They walk to a nearby Italian restaurant they both like and turns out that Clark knows like half the wait staff as well as the chef, which earns them a free appetizer and dessert. Lois is tense at first, nervous about how she’s supposed to act around the guy who brings her coffee orders and make copies for her now that they’re outside of the office. Not to mention that they’re on a date. It still seems to be sinking it that she’s on an honest-to-God date with Clark Kent. And he’s smiling and joking with her and calling her Lois in that sweet way of his that is oh so close to that of his alter-ego. And, okay, she’ll admit that after a glass of wine in the whole “I might actually find Clark Kent sexually appealing” debacle seems to be drawing to a close and being replaced quickly by “Holy fucking shit I need to get all of Clark Kent’s clothes off right now.”
Dinner goes well. Very well. Honestly, this is the best date she’s been on in a long time. Possibly ever. Her cheeks are starting to hurt from spending so long laughing and smiling, but it’s the good kind of ache. Even when there’s silence between them it isn’t awkward, it’s pleasant, and it isn’t too long before one of them smiles at the other and they’re off laughing again. She learns all the weird little quirks about Clark that she never thought to ask him at work and that seemed too mundane to ask during an interview with the Man of Steel. Favorite color (purple, surprisingly not red or blue, but then again maybe he’s sick of it by this point), memes he likes (pepe and that boi because he apparently really likes frogs), apparently his mom taught him how to knit (and he now owes her a hat by this winter), and how he pronounces GIF (like the start of the word ‘gift’ because he loves himself and was raised in a good home). He’s got a dog, turns out, a border collie that he loves like she’s his own child, which Lois would tease him about, but then again her relationship with Cassandra, her Macbook Pro, is distressingly similar.
Clark has dropped a lot of the mannerisms he adopts in the office, namely his occasional stutter and the insufferable clumsiness. But he’s also not adopting the suave, darkly confident Superman facade. He’s just, Clark. A total momma’s boy from Smallville, Kansas who smiles wide and full of teeth, who instinctively pushes his glasses up whenever they start to slip down the bridge of his nose, which is approximately every 47 seconds. Who talks with his hands waving all over the place and has a great sense of humor and orders a glass of milk to drink with a bashful shrug at the waitress’s knowing and only slightly judgemental look. Clark, who’s favorite dish is lasagna but he always orders the Chef’s special when he comes here because if he doesn’t Chef Vinnie will never let him forget it. Seriously, he did once by mistake a year ago and they still tease him about it to this day.
He’s not Clark Kent the clumsy but charming Office Assistant, and he’s not the brave and untouchable Superman. He’s not even some hybrid of the two, he’s just himself. Clark. Funny and charming and sweet and kind and not perfect, but pretty damn close. He even lets Lois split the check with him because even though he would gladly pay for them both he knows how much she believes in egalitarian partnerships and that gendered expectations for first dates are silly and outdated.
Lois is undoubtedly screwed. She ponders this as Clark walks her home, her arm wrapped tight around his for balance because her horrible, horrible high heels are even tougher to walk in when she’s a touch of tipsy (although they do make her legs and ass look fantastic and she definitely caught Clark staring at them when she went off to use the bathroom pre-dessert). And she gets a chance to feel up those delicious arm muscles, and it makes her want more, to touch more and more of him, to run her hands over every inch of muscle and wow okay she should not have had that second glass of wine at dinner.
They’re approaching her apartment building and Lois realizes something. She likes this. A lot. She likes spending time with Clark, she likes the way he laughs and talks and smiles and just about everything about him. Even the fact that he apparently calls his Mom for first date advice. She wants-
What does she want? She wants to do this again. She wants to spend time with him outside the office. She wants to learn more and more about him, exciting and mundane. She wants to hear his stories from college and about his struggles with ‘the printer from hell’ that the office should’ve updated six years ago. She wants to make him smile and laugh and she wants to curl up with him in her shitty excuse for an apartment and listen to him talk all night. The last thing she wants is for this date to end and this pleasantly warm feeling to leak out of her bones once Clark leaves.
She really really wants to kiss him.
Clark walks her up to the door of her apartment and Lois has a suspicion that he doesn’t want this to end either.
“Well, this is my stop.” Lois jokes as they come to a stop in front of her door, reluctantly releasing her grip on his arm.
“I guess it is,” Clark plays along as he rubs the back of his neck, “Um, thanks for going out with me Lois. I had a really great time.”
“Thank you, Clark,” she smiles and leans in a touch closer into him, “This was really, really nice.”
Clark drops his hands to his sides, looking as nervous as he was when he was first at her door. Lois brushes the palms of her hands against his ever so gently, and he interlaces their fingers, seemingly happy to follow her lead. Her eyes flutter closed and her lips form a content smile. Now she really doesn’t want this night to end.
“Me neither,” Clark mumbles at her, and apparently she has no control over what she says anymore. Well, might as well go along with it.
“Do you want to come inside?” she asks, looking up at him with a glimmer of hope in her eyes, “You know, for a drink: coffee, tea, wine, milk?” she adds the last with a smile that Clark returns along with a short laugh.
“Yeah, I’d like that.”
Lois turns to unlock the door to her apartment, which unfortunately means she has to let go of one of Clark’s hands in order to dig in her purse for her keys, but keeps her grip tight on the other.
“Welcome back,” she jokes as they walk into her apartment, “I’m sure you remember where the couch is, and if not I’m sure you’ll figure it out on you own in a few seconds. Make yourself at home.” Lois reluctantly relinquishes her grip on Clark’s hand and heads to the fridge. Meanwhile her date shrugs out of his suit jacket and sets it on the table near the flowers and sits down on the left half of the couch. She plugs her phone into her speaker and queues up one of her moodier playlists (the one Cat renamed ‘gettin it on’ the last time she stole her phone and that Lois never had the heart to change back).
There’s a half finished bottle of wine in the fridge, so Lois fishes out two glasses and pours two drinks before heading off to the couch and offering one to Clark. He takes it from her and she settles onto her half of the couch, her back resting against the armrest so that she’s facing Clark.
“Thanks,” he says before taking a drink.
“Don’t mention it,” she says as she kicks off her shoes and lets out a small groan in relief and wiggling her toes. Beside her Clark’s cheeks are tinted red and he’s setting his now empty glass on the side table. Lois forces down a giggle and shifts a little closer to him. “Nervous?”
He laughs, dropping his back onto the couch and staring up at the ceiling, “You have no idea Lois. Seriously, I’ve been googling dating tips and tricks for the past week. Honestly I think I could recite the First Date Wikihow word for word since Monday afternoon.” he shifts his head to face her and smiles, “I about canceled I was so nervous. And then you opened the door looking absolutely gorgeous and I knew I was utterly, totally, completely gone. I’m still not sure how I haven’t managed to make a fool of myself twenty times over tonight.”
Now it’s Lois’s turn to blush, “Well you fooled me. Guess all that research paid off.”
She takes a sip of wine before setting the glass down on the floor near the couch. Clark looks really good like this. Relaxed, his hair a little messy and his tie loosened and his lips ever so slightly reddened by the wine. Lois leans forward and brushes a few soft, black locks of his hair behind his ear, just for an excuse to get her hands back on him. He lets out a soft breath and his eyes drift down to look at her mouth. Lois leans in, brushing their lips together, her hand still in his hair. She pulls back after a few seconds, opening her eyes even though she can’t recall closing them.
“Is this okay?” She breathes the question, the words falling against Clark’s lips.
“God yes, Lois.”
She smiles and climbs into his lap, pulling him into another kiss, this one open mouthed and absolutely fucking incredible. Clark’s hands rest carefully on her hips while hers get tangled in his hair. She pulls his bottom lip in between her teeth and his grip tightens reflexively, sending shivers down her spine. Lois pours even more into the kiss, which has morphed from chaste exploration of lips into a wet slide of tongue and teeth and she desperately attempts to touch every bit of Clark that she can reach, shoulders and arms and chest and neck and hair and jawline. Eventually she pulls away from Clark’s lips to catch her breath and takes a moment to admire her handiwork. His hair’s an absolute wreck, the flush of his cheeks rivaled only by his bright red lips, and he’s struggling to keep his eyes from drifting shut. Not too bad. Lois leans in to place open kisses along his jaw and neck, marveling in the groans and gasps that escape her partner. She takes his earlobe between her teeth and bites.
“Lois,” he groans out her name, a throaty half whisper into her ear that she wants to hear a million times over and over again. She repeats the action, and he involuntarily bucks his hips underneath her. Interesting.
“I like how you say my name,” she whispers in his ear, grinding her hips down on his lap, getting a good feel of his erection. And yeah, it’s definitely larger than what Cat’s going to assume.
“Lois,” he moans as she sucks a hickey onto his neck, his head rolling back to give her better access and his hand running through her hair, “Lois, Lois, Lois.”
She pulls away from neck and kisses him again, wet and deep and full of wonderful, amazing promise. “Bedroom?” she asks, pulling away from him to rest her weight on his thighs.
Clark swallows, which draws her attention to the bruise she left on him which is truly a work of art. Although she must grant some credit to Clark, who is a beautiful canvas to begin with. “Wait, wait.”
“Are you okay?” she asks, because yeah, she does have a tendency to go a little fast. Live fast, die young is what she’s always believed (well not really, but she does like the saying) and she does have a tendency to slam on the accelerator and forget that the brakes are there for a reason. And she’s a tad confused, because Clark had seemed very excited and eager to continue just a few seconds ago. But then again, arousal and consent are distinct and she needs to listen to him and not certain parts of her that are screaming for his attention.
“I’m sorry, Lois I just,” he takes a deep breath, and stares down at an imaginary stain on his tie, “I’m really really sorry.”
“Hey,” she takes his face in her hands, tilting it back up towards her. “There’s nothing to apologize for, okay? You aren’t obligated to do anything.”
Clark looks her in the eyes, “I- I know. I wish I had a better reason or something, and I’m sorry but I just, can’t.”
And then it dawns on her. This whole time she’s actually managed to forget that he’s Superman, and that he doesn’t know that she knows he’s Superman. It’s like she’s stumbled into some kind of terrible sitcom. Whereas his flannels and this suit might hide all the bulging muscles his Super Suit doesn’t, getting him naked certainly would prompt a lot of questions. And he’d likely want to lose the glasses, and the combination is asking for a disaster, at least for someone who hadn’t already made the connection.
She looks back at Clark, who looks so- disappointed, even sad. God, to think of all the things the guy has to give up that so many take for granted. The recognition of a job well done that could lead to questions of how he manages to do so well, an actual career where his name is well known in his professional circle because he is constantly on call to save the world, a romantic partner who would be put in astronomical danger if someone were to find out who they were sleeping with, all because of one secret. Lois feels awful, she wants to take it all away, to make the world perfect and take this huge burden off his shoulders and let him just be Clark and not this split person who’s constantly putting up a front in order to help everyone he possibly can.
“I know.”
“What?”
“Clark, I know. I know about the whole-” she’s not sure how to phrase this so she just waves her hand around in a vague gesture.
“Lois,” he sounds worried.
“Look,” she takes a deep breath and steels herself, “I know, okay. I know that you’re Superman.”
Clark looks pained. His mouth is twisted into a tight grimace and his eyes are screwed shut, “How did- no, when?”
“Just this week.”
He slides the glasses off and onto the top of his head, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Does anyone else know?”
“Jimmy. But that’s all. And he figured it out too, I didn’t tell him.”
“Is that why you asked me out?”
Well. That’s not the question she was expecting. Something like “How the heck did you figure it out?” or “Can I even trust you to keep this secret?” or “I’m sorry but I’m going to have to ask you to move to Antarctica and never communicate with anyone ever.”
“Well, I-” she looks at Clark, who looks like he’s aged about ten years in the past five minutes. And who looks a bit odd without his glasses. Huh. “I’m not sure, really. To be fair, I’ve been asking myself why I did it and I keep coming up empty. I mean, I’ve always had a thing for Superman, not that I’d admit it to anyone or anything, although it was pretty obvious.
“Honestly, I don’t know why I asked you out. I guess, I realized that there was more to Clark Kent than what you led us to believe and I wanted to figure out who you really were. Plus it’s common knowledge you have a thing for me and I figured ‘what the hell, why not?’
“And then Cat told me about the time you saved her from the worst date of all time and I realized how sweet and kind you are and I wanted to go on an actual date with you, and then everything happened this week and tonight and it’s been amazing. Like seriously, amazing. Way way way better than any date I’ve ever been on ever. And I realized that you aren’t Clark Kent, Office Assistant, or Superman. You’re just Clark.”
She shrugged, “And I actually started to forget you were even Superman. Isn’t that crazy? It’s true though. But I get it, Clark. Well, I don’t, not really. But I have an idea of how much you give up for the benefit of everyone else and- Ugh. You’re just too damn perfect, you know that? And maybe it’s the wine talking, but I really don’t want this to end, and I don’t mean the date or us having sex, but me and you: Lois and Clark. Because, okay, we’d be the best couple. Like ever. And, yeah. I’m gonna stop talking now.”
“I’m not perfect, Lois.” he says, and she gives him a skeptical glare, “No, really. I’m not. I’m grouchy in the mornings before I’ve got a chance to take in the sun, and I’m not that much of a looker-”
“That is a fucking lie and you know it.”
Clark laughs at Lois’s interruption and looks her in the eyes, his hand cupping her cheek. “I mean it Lois. There’s good days and there’s bad days. And the bad ones are really really shitty. I know that there’s only so much I can do, but sometimes I can’t make a save and I wonder if I’m not doing enough, or if there’s something, anything I could’ve done differently and it tears me up inside and-”
He breaks off, a few wet tears dripping down his cheeks. Lois wipes one away with her thumb and presses a kiss to his forehead. “It’s okay. We’ll take it slow. And if you want out, you can go. I’m not gonna hold you back.”
“Never. Lois. You’d never ever- Don’t even think that for a second, okay? If anything you’ll be the one to leave me.”
She smiles. “You’re a hypocrite, you know that?”
“Go on, tell me more things I already know.”
“Hmm, I can think of better uses for my mouth.”
Clark goes bright red and Lois laughs, “I’m talking about kissing. Mind out of the gutter Kent.” She winks and wiggles back on top of his lap, “We’re taking it slow, remember?”
He settles his hands around her waist, “I dunno, I move pretty fast.”
“I’m not sure if speed is really something you should be bragging about in this scenario,” she jokes, pressing a kiss to his lips.
There’s a rush of wind and suddenly Lois is pinned to her bed with Clark on top of her. Damn super speed. Not that she’s really complaining. “You’d be surprised,” Clark says, cool as a fucking cucumber.
“Fuck you, Clark,” she says, no real malice behind the sentiment, a playful smile on her face. He responds with a soft half-laugh, a quiet rumble against her neck as he mouths at her pulsepoint. “Oh- Nevermind. Fuck me instead.”
Clark laughs again, clear and loud and wonderful. It echos through the small room and over the sexy-time music that’s still playing somewhere beyond the bedroom and beyond Lois’s zone of caring. She rolls them so that she’s sitting on top of him, staring down at his dumb, beautiful face. He smiles at her, warm and soft and so Clark it makes her chest ache. “Just so we’re clear: good ol’ fashioned make out session, right?”
Clark props himself up on one elbow, reaching out with his other hand to play with her hair. “Right. Taking it slow. Sound good?”
“Great,” she sighs as his fingers thread through the hair near the base of her neck, leaning in to get back to business. They meet somewhere in the middle, lips sliding back together and it’s better than great it’s amazing and wonderful and perfect.
Their make out party goes on until 2am when Clark insists he has to get going, fixing the buttons on his shirt and trying to make his hair less messy (a losing battle in Lois’s opinion, but it’s cute to see him try). “Can’t you stay the night?” she whines, not caring how desperate she sounds because he was just as bad, possibly worse, only a few moments ago.
“I wish, Lois. I really do. But Mom’s likely worried enough as is and if I don’t turn up until morning she’ll worry me all day about how poorly she sleeps when I’m not at home,” he rambles, half nervous and the other half too busy looking for his missing shoe.
“Why? Does she still live with you?”
“Actually,” Clark suddenly seems far too interested in the carpet than is humanly possible, “I live with her. Because I sorta kinda never moved out of our farmhouse... Which is in Kansas.”
“Clark Kent I swear to God,” Lois rolls her eyes, pretending to be annoyed, but it’s nearly impossible to stop the laughter that’s bubbling up inside of her. She’d thought he’d called his Mom for dating advice, but it’s likely that she may have actually picked his outfit out for him. That’s, adorable, ridiculous, absolutely too damn innocent and hilarious. It’s too much. She bursts into laughter, the kind that borders on insanity. There’s tears, honest to God tears, running down her face and she’s clutching her stomach because she’s laughing so hard it hurts .
And of course this kind of thing is contagious, because Clark seems to have a hard time getting out his response, “Okay, hear me out Lois. It’s way cheaper than living in the city- and, and the commute takes me all of ten seconds, and God, Lois it’s not that funny- you can quit laughing. Seriously, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”
She finally manages to get herself under control and flops back onto the bed, “Oh, Clark.”
He smiles at her from his seat on the edge of the mattress, “Hey, I’ll take you one day and you’ll marvel at my beautiful, rustic farmhouse that is practically the centerfold of Better Homes and Gardens and you will wish you were living with my mom.”
Lois scoots up to learn against the headboard, “Why Clark, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were inviting me to move in with you.”
“Well, obviously not now . But-” Clark smiles at her, sinking his teeth into his lower lip, “Someday? Way way in the future, maybe?”
“Maybe,” Lois says, and his smile gets a little wider before he gives her another kiss before quite literally jumping out her window and flying home. To Kansas. And no, there are not butterflies in her stomach. Well, maybe a few. And maybe she falls asleep smiling. So sue her. She’s got a huge nerd for a boyfriend. A cute nerd, who’s a really really good kisser.
Damn Clark Kent.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Whoops
Dear Lois,
So apparently in my rush to get home I didn’t get your number. Care to enlighten me? I mean, I’m fine sending you cute emails 24/7 but I feel as though texts would be more convenient. If not- no worries. I’ll just go to the staff directory, abuse of privileges be damned.
Yours,
Clark