Lois will never tell anyone on the Daily Planet staff that she's discovered the best hidden vaping spot on the premises — right at the top of the Daily Planet, in fact. It requires a frankly ridiculous amount of effort to get up their (one regular elevator, once service elevator and a short flight of stairs) but the upside is that no one will ever know when she gives in and has a stress-induced vaping session.
It's not that she's ashamed. Vapes are filled with weird chemicals so no, they're not great for her, but they're better than good old-fashioned cigarettes, and she only indulges when she really needs to. The square-shaped walkway around the base of the globe is also high enough and windy enough that it gets rid of any lingering smells — which shouldn't be happening anyway, because it's vapor, but Clark always seems to know when she's been doing it and gives her these sad little kicked-puppy, Lois-I'm-just-concerned-for-your-health side glances, so the smells are definitely lingering, even if she can never detect them herself. Probably she's gone scent blind or something.
(Lois also doesn't want Cat to know about her secret vaping spot because then Cat would want to have secret girl talk here all the time, and there simply aren't enough vapes in the world. Jimmy would probably be cool about it, but it's like the old saying goes — two may keep a secret, if one of them is dead. Or something like that.)
Suffice it to say that when the intergang investigation she sold Perry on really kicks in, Lois really needs to vape, which is what she's been doing for the last five minutes or so. The flip side to the inconvenience of getting up here is that the view is incredible; from the top of the Planet, Lois can see the bay, she can see the tasteful architectural designs atop Stagg Tower, she can see Superman...
...she can see Superman. He's, uh, flying in her direction. Lois raises a hand in a slightly baffled wave, hoping this isn't the aerial equivalent of saying "hi" back when a stranger is greeting someone behind you.
An armored car robbery on Bridwell had gotten his attention on the way back from an interview, and once the gunfire started in the middle of the street that was pretty much it for his intervention. It’s easier in some ways to already be out of the office when something’s going on, rather than having to make up an excuse to disappear in the middle of the day, but it does mean ditching clothing and things he’ll have to come back for later. Clark tries to get ahead of it by planning patrols when he’s out for field work, but it doesn’t always work out perfectly.
The Planet is a place he always stashes extra civilian clothes, since it’s the place he spends the most time at outside of home. (Actually, Clark spends a lot more time there than in his fairly empty, personality-less apartment.) He’s got a reliable cache up on the roof and his usual way in through the access door to the walkway under the Daily Planet’s globe, which as far as he knows nobody goes up to, so he isn’t expecting any company when he’s angling in towards the building, but…
That’s Lois, up there on the walkway. Waving to him, and…is she vaping? Oh, geez, so that’s where she’s been going to do it.
He doesn’t obviously check his flight path, because she would be sharp enough to spot that and wonder about it, but he does slow a bit as he’s coming in for a landing. Oh boy, this makes things a lot more complicated. Clark was really hoping to just grab his stuff and be inside when he was expected for once, but that’s clearly not happening now.
He could have kept flying, too, gotten clothes somewhere else and come back to the Planet on street level. Except. She already saw him. And a few moments alone with Lois is never something Clark can easily turn his back on.
He touches down a few feet away from her, reminding himself to be Superman in front of her, not her friend Clark. Upright, confident, hands neutral at his sides. “Miss Lane,” he says in greeting, and carefully does not stare disapprovingly at the vape in her hand. “It’s a nice view up here.”
She’s going to ask him what he’s doing here, he knows she is.
Lois doesn't actually make it to the end of the work day. Her encounter with Superman up on the roof, her having set up a sex date with Superman should logically be incredibly distracting, but she flies through the rest of her must-finish-today list and is grabbing her bag by 4:20, has stepped into the elevator before Jimmy or Cat can realize that the unthinkable has happened: Lois Lane has left work early.
What follows is comfortingly routine since she has made all of these preparations before, albeit not all upfront and on a timer like this (which feels kind of tawdry but Lois doesn't care.) She swings by the drugstore to purchase two boxes of condoms in two different sizes, because yeah guys always want to insist only Mega Ultra Horse-Hung Size will fit them but Superman is a very large person and Lois has no idea how...proportionate...he might be. The red trunks are shockingly un-revealing, despite being what Jimmy had once dubbed "underwear on the outside."
She stops in at the Lebanese place on her block that she knows gets orders out fast. Nothing strongly flavored that will give her weird breath or stomach gurgles, just some basic shawarma, hold the garlic. On the spur of the moment, she steps into the liquor store on the corner to grab a bottle of chardonnay. Inside her apartment, she wolfs down her dinner, brushes her teeth, showers and washes her hair, shaves her legs, does not touch herself in the shower even though she's already feeling all keyed up about tonight. If she relieves some tension, that destroys her whole reason for doing this, so...she won't.
It's been ages since she did anything like take a vacation, so Lois has more than enough points to book a king suite at the Hyatt online. The suite part is more space than is strictly necessary, but she knows from experience that that floor is the only one that has balconies so guests can enjoy the waterfront views. This is absolutely necessary, because there is simply no way that Superman can enter through the lobby and go unnoticed. (She assumes he'll arrive still in the suit. It's actually impossible to imagine him dressed in anything else.) The hotel room's bartop and dubiously comfortable couch are less necessary but appreciated, since they provide an opportunity for some kind of small talk. She doesn't have much taste for small talk in general, but it seems like a necessary segue between when saying hello and the two of them fucking.
The cab ride downtown isn't long, and Lois tips the rider about 200% to make up for that and because she's distractedly nervous. The lobby bar is full of people, probably in town for some conference or other, and Lois is tempted to grab a drink to calm her nerves, but hotel bars are overpriced and she already brought wine and a couple of glasses.
Late check-ins are quick, so it's a matter of minutes before Lois is alone in the room. It's quiet here, just her and the muffled sounds of a Metropolis evening drifting up from below. She pours some wine into both glasses — if he thinks better of this at the last minute she will gladly chug a second glass — and drifts around the room.
What does one wear to sex by appointment? Nothing hard to get out of, naturally. Lois is very glad that the one black slip dress she owns was clean and hanging in her closet. It's her only dress that is both easy to remove and has straps wide enough to cover the straps of one of her few bras that can be considered lingerie. Adding heels had made her look a little slutty, which would be accurate but no reason to go advertising it, so Lois had kicked them off for plain ballet flats instead. Underneath her dress is a pair of lacy boyshorts-style panties and matching bra that she knows makes her tits look fantastic. The other sexy underwear option was all in red, which would just be ridiculously matchy-matchy in Lois' opinion.
Then it's just her, drifting around the room uncertainly, making a slow circuit between the couch to the bartop to the balcony and back again. Probably Superman is going to search for her using his x-ray vision? Or will he listen for her — he can do that, right? Can he hear her heartbeat? Would it even be identifiable? Maybe he's just waiting and looking for someone to step out onto their balcony and it's really as simple as that. Lois moves back in that direction.
Clark could desperately wish he was back at work just for the distraction, except he doesn’t think he could possibly spend the afternoon there with Lois nearby and not combust. He heads back home in a daze. There’s not much for him to do either as Clark or as Superman, and he’s so keyed up it really leaves only one thing. Thoughts of Lois crowd his brain as he strokes himself off, and he keeps going back again and again to the thought that what he imagines could be real, could actually happen, tonight. Any or all of it: Lois undressing in front of him, Lois riding him, Lois letting him kneel between her legs and eat her out until she’s writhing. Golly.
He has to bring himself off twice before he feels like he has it under control. Not just for right now but for later—it’s definitely been a while, and he really needs to be able to rein himself in when he’s in bed with a naked Lois Lane. Just thinking about the alternative is too humiliating to bear.
He eats something too, leftovers in the fridge, and ostensibly rests for a while like he’s supposed to be doing—recovering his strength—though he’s still too tense to really nap, and what if he misses his alarm? He showers in the evening, and then puts back on his suit and is flying off to the waterfront before he can tell himself this is a bad idea. Not that it would matter now anyway; no way in a million years would he stand Lois up.
He listens for her heartbeat rather than use x-ray vision. It’s one of the most familiar sounds in his life, and he can pick it out of a crowd without having to look through walls and risk glimpsing someone else’s private business. He’s just zeroing in on the room when he sees Lois step out onto the balcony, and Clark floats down to land there next to her.
“Hello.” And then he smiles at her with his heart skipping a happy beat, because she looks knock-out stunning in that dress and in spite however complicated and tangled this is going to make everything, he just—loves being in her company. “Miss Lane.”
Perfect timing. Maybe he really was waiting? Wow, he looks handsome, floating through the sky down to her. Lois is used to seeing him in the daylight, but the sun's been down for a while not and it gives his face a different cast.
"Hi." She smiles, her heart going double-time. She touches his elbow for a moment, not sure why, just — it seemed like she should touch him in some innocuous way. Ground herself as he grounds himself. "Superman."
He looks fresher than before, the curl on the corner of his forehead hanging a different way. Did Superman go shower too? Where does Superman shower? She dismisses the thought, not the point, and steps back, nodding for him to join her.
Lois doesn't get a lot done that weekend. Which is...great, actually, she can't remember the last time she had so many consecutive downtime hours. She actually sleeps in the next morning, and enjoys a solo breakfast at the hotel's restaurant downstairs (she paid for the stay, she's going to enjoy as many amenities as possible.) She doesn't do nothing, of course, when she gets back to her apartment she spends a couple of hours sifting through her Intergang story notes, looking for connections she may have missed, new angles she can pursue, anything, and then...she sets them aside. There's still an underlying layer of stress that not even getting laid really well can erase, she's still worried about whether the story is going to get shitcanned, but she just can't bring herself to get tense about it right now.
Did last night really happen? Lois had looked back at the room before exiting to check out. There was really no sign that it had, considering she was taking the leftover wine and glasses with her. Not that she needed anything — it's not like she was going to sell her story to a shitty tabloid. My night with Superman. Hell no. It was just...a thing that happened, and it was good, and she feels better now, but it does seem a little unreal, that she knows what the man of steel sounds like when he orgasms.
She mostly lazes around her apartment the rest of the weekend. Considers organizing her books. Quickly decides against it.
Monday morning is a new start. She doesn't have any new insights on how to tackle the Intergang story, but being back at work has got to recharge her investigative reporter juices, probably. Those thoughts are set aside when she makes it to the bullpen and spots a familiar but recently absent figure on the way to her desk. Clark's back. Clark's better. Wow, Clark's early.
"Hey, sickie." She thwaps his shoulder with the Jitters bag containing her morning chocolate croissant. "Welcome back. Glad to know you haven't wasted away."
Clark’s aware when Lois comes in, of course—it’s hard not to be, he feels so attuned to her in some new, intimate, guilt-ridden way—but it’s a surprise when she comes right over to greet him. She’s usually the type of not so morning person you’re better off waiting to talk to on her own terms. He’d been hoping a bit to slip into work without being noticed, which is why he made an extra effort to be here on time, even early. It’s been a long absence and there’s a lot to catch up on. A lot to say and not say.
“Hey, Lois.” Clark can’t help but swivel his chair around to face her after she whacks him with her breakfast, a smile coming over his face when he sees her. He’s had a couple of terrible, sleepless nights since that incredible evening, the night that did not fade away in his memory like a dream upon waking. It doesn’t matter, though, seeing Lois is pretty much always the brightest part of his day.
“Yeah, thanks. It was kind of rough.” The good thing about making up a stomach virus as an excuse to miss work is that no one wants to hear the gory details. “All better now, though.”
Lois likes a lot of her co-workers, enjoys spending time outside of work with a rarefied few, so she's not surprised to feel happy to see Clark. Maybe a little surprised by how happy, but then, he'd been gone a while and it was a rough week. No wonder it feels good to get back to something more like normal.
"Good, because I don't want to hear the details." She wrinkles her nose but can't look too disgusted when she's busy smiling. "I'd say you owe me for leaving us short-handed, but I'm guessing you got your punishment in advance, so I'll forgive you this once. If any giant monsters attack this week, though, you're getting the grunt work."
Not that he's her subordinate. Lois can't technically tell him what to do at work. She knows he'd go with it anyway, though.
It felt better after Clark went back to work. Things seemed to be getting back to normal, at least after what had been a slightly horrifying conversation between Lois, Cat and Jimmy that morning. There had been no way of tuning it out when they were that close by and talking about Lois and him, Lois and her hot date that weekend, and…unfortunately, not everything he’d heard was horrifying. Some of it stuck in his mind in other ways, reminded him of Lois, of seeing her naked, of tasting her, of being inside her when she came. Things he told himself he wasn’t going to think about anymore.
Their agreement at lunch to get together to talk about her story was what felt the most like getting back to normal. It wasn’t that he offered just to see her more. He genuinely wants to help.
But he dreams about her that night, again. Wakes up tangled in the sheets with her name on his lips.
In the morning Clark once again gets to work early, a little bleary-eyed from a late meeting with Michael, Guy and Kendra and then his less-than-restful night’s sleep. He needs to get some of his new assignment out of the way before he goes out for fieldwork that afternoon (and some patrolling as Superman). Luckily there aren’t any particularly embarrassing conversations today; he and Lois say good morning but she gets right down to her own work. He slips out around the usual time, and takes to the sky.
He’s not looking for Lois on the roof. He’s just flying by, an hour or so later, and there she is. He’s not planning to circle back and float down to meet her, either, but that’s what he does.
It's not that she's exactly as stressed as she was a week ago — Superman and Clark have both helped with that. But it is building back up, yeah, and the fact that this has become a habit of sorts plays a part. Spending some time on the roof helps her clear her head, get her thoughts in order, be more focused when she heads back downstairs.
And maybe a part of her is curious whether Superman will turn up again. She's not waiting around on him, mooning after him like some fangirl, but yeah, the possibility is not not on her mind. She lifts a hand in greeting as he touches down, turning slightly away from the railing, one elbow still leaning on it. "Hey. Wasn't sure if I was going to see you here again."
She is back on the vape. Which, Clark mostly knows has nothing to do with him—Lois will do what she wants no matter how many concerned, I’m-just-worried-about-your-health looks he gives her. But to a small, very small part of him, it’s almost a challenge. A provocation, even. Especially after Friday night.
“Hi.” The greeting is simple and more familiar than it’s been before, especially with the smile he feels coming over his face, something lighting a little within just from seeing her. It’s not like Clark hasn’t seen her all of an hour ago, but—this feels different. Her relationship with Superman is different (very different). “I wasn’t sure either. I guess…I wanted to see how you were doing.”
Lois doesn't rush out of her way to enter what the tabloids would probably call an affair with Superman and what Cat would call either a situationship or "getting dicked down really well, I can tell, you have got to give me details, Lois!" (because those were in fact Cat's exact words on Tuesday.) A couple of days later she and Superman happen to meet on the roof again, a little kissing but no oral sex this time, and he gives her a number. A couple of days after that, she sends him a date and a time and a question mark, and gets an affirmative response. And that is pretty much that.
What does one wear to sex by second appointment? Lois has time to go shopping and doesn't want to pay for a new dress, so she buys a nightie instead, sheer with a long sleeved jacket/robe to go with it, in case they need room service or something. And that's...pretty much it, aside from the usual necessary grooming. There are still plenty of condoms to use and they didn't drink much of the wine so no need for more of that.
It's a nice evening and she can't be seen from the street, so Lois waits out on the balcony this time, sitting on the little table and chair setup hotels always feel obligated to shove into balcony corners, sipping a glass of water (because she's...thirsty), thinking about him — about whether it'll be as good this time, about whether he'll want to go down on her again or maybe she'll turn those tables, about whether they'll be different because now they know each other's bodies.
She's learned from her mistakes. She's not wearing any underwear beneath the nightie.
Superman is a few minutes late for their second (third? If you count the roof) assignation. He arrives at the hotel right on time but someone else is out on one of the balconies, which Clark explains as he lands on the one for the room Lois got them. “Sorry I’m late. Someone was out there smoking a couple of floors above you.” There’s disapproval in his voice, not just because of the health effects of cancer sticks but also, don’t people know how hard the cleaning staff need to work to get that smell out? Oh well, it’s that guy’s damage deposit at stake.
He offers Lois a hand to her feet, retaining possession of it if she takes it. And…that’s his gaze going over her, no x-ray vision needed since the nightie she’s wearing is pretty much sheer, and it’s pretty obvious there’s nothing underneath it. He swallows.
“Wow. Miss Lane.” Clark’s immediately a little dazed, almost knocked over by the one-two punch of just…meeting her again for another sex romp and seeing her standing before him almost naked. He tugs her forward by her hand and then slips both his hands to her waist, slowly dragging that silky hem up a bit. “You look incredible.”
Lois laughs as she shrugs off the slight delay. She's not such a stickler for promptness that she minds very much, especially since they've got no time limit but checkout time. "Probably for the best that you waited. Imagine if that guy spotted you and pulled out his phone for a photo." That would definitely spark a lot of tabloid rumors, and at least some of them would be true.
She takes his hand easily, sliding both of hers up his chest once he takes her in his arms, thumbs gently stroking the side of his neck. The way he looks at her — she has to wonder if he's doing the eye thing to see right through what she's wearing. Would Superman consider that cheating? Then again, it hardly seems necessary, considering that the fabric is not intended for polite company.
"Thanks. You look...the same as usual." And that's another thing she's wondering about even as she tries not to. Does Superman just have the one outfit? Does he have a whole closet full of multiples? It matters not at all, but still. There must be logistics to superheroism that she's never considered before. "Which is still pretty damn good."
Getting laid a little more regularly than she has in a while doesn't miraculously turn things around on the intergang story — not even Superman is that powerful, unfortunately — but it does improve Lois' ability to deal with the frustration of nigh-constant roadblocks.
So does Clark, somewhat to her surprise; it's not that she'd thought his offer of help insincere, or that he couldn't hack it, but even with the insight he'd already brought as an outside perspective probably wouldn't be enough, she'd figured in her more pessimistic moments. But while there are still plenty of maddening roadblocks, and no guarantee they'll ever get something printable out of this, they're starting to tug on lead strings that could potentially lead to unraveling the whole knot of messy underground dealings down the road. Or insert some other better metaphor, it's not her best. The point is, they're making progress.
Lois appreciates all his help. She especially appreciates when she shares a tip she's gotten on a potential late-night meeting they can surveil and Clark immediately offers to go on stakeout together, before she even has to ask. Lois isn't surprised by the offer or by the fact that Clark doesn't have anything going on that a last-minute stakeout will interrupt (seems too mean to say so, though) but still, she'll give credit where credit's due.
When the time comes, the two of them parked in the darkest shadows of an already shadowy alley, Lois scoots her seat back a little (the driver's seat, obviously) to get comfortable and reaches into the back seat for a paper bag she'd stashed there earlier. "Here," she says, pulling out a donut and handing it to Clark. "Fuel for the waiting game. I hope you don't get bored easily, Clark, because we could be here for a while."
Lois is…not wrong about Clark not having much to do. Usually he’s fine exploring the city on his own, going out occasionally with the Planet crew, once in a long while letting Jimmy set him up on a date. Lately, though, he’s been so distracted by thoughts of Lois that outside of his usual work and Superman patrolling, he has little ambition or appetite to do anything else. His extracurriculars are mostly just…meeting with her. Which is incredible, and also has him feeling like he’s on a slow slide to hell.
Helping Lois out with her story feels like something truly good he can be doing, untainted by lying and secrets. So he jumps at the chance to offer his assistance with a stakeout, not quite thinking through the fact that it’ll mean spending hours alone with her. Hours with her and the knowledge of how beautiful she looks naked, every inch of her; of her taste, of the way she wraps her legs around him when he’s inside her, of everything they’ve done together. Not that he doesn’t want to be in her company; no, the problem is that he wants it too much.
It’s fine, he can manage it. It’s probably going to be so dull and uneventful that it’ll shut his brain off.
The first part isn’t too bad, especially when Lois produces a bag of donuts. “Wow, I didn’t know I’d get fed tonight.” Clark accepts the donut with his thanks and bites into it. Fresh, soft, obviously made by a local place rather than a chain. “I guess this is the traditional stakeout food.”
"Oh, yeah. Easily transportable, full of carbs?" Lois raises her own donut in a mock-toast before taking a bite. "There's a reason it's a stereotype that cops love them. I love Thai food, but that'd be harder to enjoy in a situation like this."
There's always the possibility that the people they're waiting on to maybe show up will do so early in the evening, and it actually won't be a long night at all. Sure. That's about as likely as the idea that Clark is a secret metahuman.
"Anyway, I owe you more than a few donuts. Lunch again next week, if you want it." And she will definitely be ready to whip out her credit card faster than he does, because even if she's laying out the terms now, she knows how Clark is. "This isn't even your story but you're giving up an evening off for it. Not that I wouldn't want your name on the piece when it goes to press." If it goes to press, but for once Lois chooses to be optimistic.
There’s some days Clark wishes coffee worked on him the way it does on most humans so that he could get an actual energy boost, like the day after their stakeout and the night that followed, which wasn’t exactly restful for him. He knows he can’t complain. It takes a lot to actually fatigue him—days of hard fighting, mostly. It’s just a little extra grogginess that morning, which luckily wears off with the sun shining on him. If only the turmoil of longing and remorse could be bathed away so easily. Throw worry in the mix now, too, over what they saw. He’s glad for the break in the story, especially for Lois’s sake, just…he doesn’t like that extra secrecy, the goons transporting something he couldn’t see.
Clark definitely needs to get back to that building as Superman, so he can thoroughly check things out.
He plans to a few nights out from the stakeout, when he doesn’t have anything else going on. Clark’s just getting into his suit when a text comes in on his other phone, and—oh. It’s Lois, wanting to know if he’s free to meet tonight. Not only inviting him to meet but inviting him to her apartment, saying something about her Hyatt points running out. He’s partially relieved. He’d been getting the feeling they must be burning through her points, and then after that, what? Clark still hadn’t come up with any good idea where they could continue meeting, if they continued meeting.
But her apartment. That feels like taking things a step farther. Making them more serious.
Lois, though, has always been adamant that this is a casual thing, that it has nothing to do with either of their personal lives. Which…yeah, it hurts sometimes, but it’s about the only leg he has to stand on to continue this. They’re just friends, it’s just stress relief. The only one making himself crazy over it is Clark.
And so he ends up in her apartment later that night, around the time he was originally planning to be searching the warehouse with the hidden underground bunker. It’s not that he hasn’t been here a dozen times before, but Clark does feel a little strange being here in Superman’s getup. Sorry about the hotel points,” he tells her after greeting her, not wanting to let on about any of the—weirdness, for him. “Hope you still have enough left for a nice vacation.”
Lois had debated for a while before inviting Superman over to her place. She's not down to absolutely zero points, and anyway even if she were, it's not like she couldn't afford a night at a hotel a few times a month. But she doesn't really want to add a line item her budget for this — that would just feel weird, and it's not particularly frugal. Besides, maybe it's just the vibe Superman gives off, like he would never want to take advantage of someone, that has her thinking that he wouldn't like it if she were dipping into her bank account for these meet-ups, and she's not going to ask him for cash because she's pretty sure he doesn't use it. (But then how does he get food, if he needs to eat at all? Where'd he get the material for his suit? Lois has long since resolved not to think about questions like these, but they still prickle in the back of her mind now and again.)
In any case, it limits her options. She could invite him to her place or end this thing between them, find another way to blow off steam. And Lois enjoys having sex with him more than she'd enjoy even the fanciest vibrator — instinct and enthusiasm had taken him far the first time they'd slept together, but now he's learned what she likes and holy shit has it gotten good — so the choice had been pretty clear in the end.
"I will by the next time I take a vacation." She gives him a slightly crooked smile and wonders if he can tell that she's thinking: so approximately the tenth of never. "It's fine. I think the check-in desk was starting to suspect I might be a high-class call girl anyway so it's for the best."
Fairly regular one-night stays, not much if any luggage to speak of...yeaaaaah.
"Actually, would you mind if I wrap some stuff up quick?" Lois nods toward her desk over in the corner, feeling a little sheepish for once. "I, uh — got into some work while I was waiting." Look, he can't always meet up immediately and the intergang story materials she'd brought home were right there, can she really be blamed? One more difference between meeting a hotel vs. in her own space.
Superman may not know that Lois never goes on vacation, but Clark certainly does, so he has to chuckle at her joke. “Well, hopefully that won’t be too long from now.” Hey, journalists deserve vacations too. (Even the ones at the Eagle, and Lois works about a hundred times harder than any of them.) Too bad it’ll take forced retirement or something like that to convince her.
He decides not to comment on the Hyatt reception suspecting Lois might be a call girl; anything he says in that direction could only come out wrong. Instead he follows her over to the desk, glancing over her files and notes—of course it’s the intergang story, the one Clark himself ought to be working on tonight. He tries to ignore the twist of guilt that thought gives him. Maybe it’s a good thing he’s not out there right now potentially scooping Lois’s story, even though that wouldn’t have been his intention.
“No, not at all. Mind if I—?” Clark takes a seat at the couch to get out of her way. Which, again, he’s been seated on a dozen times, but it’s so weird to be here politely waiting in Lois’s living room in his full Superman getup.
It’s the night of one of the regular Daily Planet outings, which usually see them at a crowded bar, sometimes with trivia or karaoke going on in the background, and tonight is no exception. Clark doesn’t mind the choice of venue, even though alcohol doesn’t do anything for him—it’s kind of fun watching his coworkers get silly and pretending to keep up with them, usually breaking off in conversation with Lois or Jimmy as the night goes on. Besides, tipsy colleagues have the best unfettered gossip.
Tonight he’s mostly trying not to let on how much he’s still thinking about this past weekend with Lois: their night together, the morning after that, coming over later when she texted him about helping her work over the weekend. It was very weird to give his opinion on Superman’s thoughts, but aside from that it was pretty normal, pretty casual. (Good gosh, he hopes he behaved normally and casually.) Lois didn't seem to notice anything differently, though she sat a little closer to him than usual on the couch and even let him persuade her to get away from work and walk to the local deli to get lunch with him. That was just—so nice. He felt like he was in a happy haze as they talked and laughed together.
Something of that feeling lingers tonight with Lois sitting close again, except when Clark gets up to grab the next round from the bar.
It's been a more pleasant few days than Lois would have guessed. Not that she expected anything bad to happen recently, but an awkward-if-satisfying overnight with Superman had been followed by a surprisingly productive weekend work session with Clark. She'd been careful to frame the updated thoughts on the story as her own, not Superman's, because she was not going to explain why, when or how she was getting Superman's opinion, but they'd gotten enough done that she actually didn't mind putting the work down and getting lunch with Clark. Maybe it was partly because she felt like she was being a bad influence on him, encouraging him to become a workaholic like she was, but only a little.
It had been surprisingly nice. Lois had had a good time, and tried very very hard not to recall how she'd briefly thought of him while having sex with Superman.
The following actual-workdays had been good as well, one of those times when the Planet seemed to be firing on all cylinders and no really annoying news sprang up. It's got Lois in a really good mood at the after-work outing, just tipsy enough to be feeling a vague affection for all her co-workers in attendance. Maybe she should have more friends she doesn't work with, but she really does like everyone here, especially Clark and Jimmy and Cat. Not many reporters can probably say that, especially if they work at the Eagle.
"Uh-oh." Cat speaks up suddenly, interrupting Lois' uncharacteristically warm and fuzzy train of thought. "On your six. Looks like Clark's caught someone's eye."
"What?" Lois and Jimmy both turn around, looking for him at the bar and yeah, he's talking to some girl as he waits for their drinks. "No way. She's probably asking him for your number, Jimmy."
"That doesn't always happen, Lois." Jimmy just laughs. "Only sometimes."
"Yeah, we should be happy for Clark. He doesn't get out nearly enough." Cat looks a little wistful. "I figured he was carrying a torch for someone, but maybe tonight's his night."
Lois frowns, then immediately tries to smooth out her expression. Clark was carrying a torch for someone, that girl he'd told her about, so maybe it is good for him to get some attention from someone else. "Yeah, maybe," she grumbles. No, she doesn't grumble, she — Lois doesn't care if some girl wants to flirt with Clark. "As long as he brings our beers over first."
Lois knows that she's not much of a vacation person. It's not that she doesn't like the idea of a bit of relaxation and enjoyment from time to time — who doesn't? Just, there's always something better she could be doing. Pursuing the next story, getting the next scoop, getting satisfaction from her job that no chaise lounge on the beach or swim-up bar could give her.
So she has to admit it's kind of funny that, technically, her first trip away from Metropolis is still because of work. It's not even a vacation, but it's Manhattan instead of Metropolis, and there's a nice hotel and a nice dress and pretty damn decent food, so. It counts as close enough.
The 50th Annual Investigative Reporters & Editors Conference conference is kind of a big deal, in the way that Superman is kind of a good lay. Lois has been to it before — not every year, because she'd rather do her job than talk about doing it — but a milestone year and the Daily Planet being one of the papers being honored for ongoing excellence during the evening awards ceremony & gala means a bigger contingent is in attendance — her, Ron, Clark, Perry, a few others, including from the publishing side.
She's taken the opportunity to dress up a little, pick out a nice dress that balances attractiveness with professionalism and do more than run a brush through her hair a few times. Perry will probably wear the same bespoke suit he always hauls out for these events, the only time he actually wears it, as far as Lois knows. She wonders what Clark will turn up in. Does he even own a suit that fits him? Evidence to date says not, but surely he knows the importance of not looking schlubby when schmoozing with peers.
It turns out Ma has definitive opinions on what Clark needs to wear to an awards gala. She insists that he fly back home to get the dark suit out of the closet that he wore a year ago to a cousin’s wedding, and instructs him to visit a tailor in the big city to make sure it’s perfectly sized for him. She’s expecting photos of him and the rest of the Planet crew who will be in attendance, something she and Pa can hang proudly on the wall, and she wants him to look smart in it.
Just this once, Clark decides it can’t harm him to show up in a fitted suit. His coworkers will be expecting him to put his best foot forward to represent the paper: it’s only fair to them and all of the people who work so hard to contribute to the award. So he’s looking especially sharp when he steps into the ballroom, with nice shoes and a crisp white shirt under the suit jacket and some semblance of order attempted with his curls. Glasses in place, of course. Some familiar faces glance his way, smiling in what seems to be approval, and then he catches sight of Lois—
Clark almost stumbles. He does, in fact, walk right into a server with a tray of champagne glasses, and he’s not even trying to bumble his way across the room in a hapless Clark Kent display. At least it won’t look at all out of character for him. He catches the server’s arm to right her on her feet and a tipped-over flute to right it on the tray, apologizing profusely, and the distraction of the moment allows him to get a handle on his composure so that the next time he looks at Lois he won’t nearly fall right off his feet. Good gosh. That dress is—so beautiful. The way she’s done her hair, the way she stands in the room like she’s the center of it. She is, to Clark’s eyes.
He makes his way over to her, his heart pounding as though he’s a teenager about to ask a pretty girl to dance with him at homecoming. “Hey, Lois.”
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
A SUPER SITUATIONSHIP
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It's not that she's ashamed. Vapes are filled with weird chemicals so no, they're not great for her, but they're better than good old-fashioned cigarettes, and she only indulges when she really needs to. The square-shaped walkway around the base of the globe is also high enough and windy enough that it gets rid of any lingering smells — which shouldn't be happening anyway, because it's vapor, but Clark always seems to know when she's been doing it and gives her these sad little kicked-puppy, Lois-I'm-just-concerned-for-your-health side glances, so the smells are definitely lingering, even if she can never detect them herself. Probably she's gone scent blind or something.
(Lois also doesn't want Cat to know about her secret vaping spot because then Cat would want to have secret girl talk here all the time, and there simply aren't enough vapes in the world. Jimmy would probably be cool about it, but it's like the old saying goes — two may keep a secret, if one of them is dead. Or something like that.)
Suffice it to say that when the intergang investigation she sold Perry on really kicks in, Lois really needs to vape, which is what she's been doing for the last five minutes or so. The flip side to the inconvenience of getting up here is that the view is incredible; from the top of the Planet, Lois can see the bay, she can see the tasteful architectural designs atop Stagg Tower, she can see Superman...
...she can see Superman. He's, uh, flying in her direction. Lois raises a hand in a slightly baffled wave, hoping this isn't the aerial equivalent of saying "hi" back when a stranger is greeting someone behind you.
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The Planet is a place he always stashes extra civilian clothes, since it’s the place he spends the most time at outside of home. (Actually, Clark spends a lot more time there than in his fairly empty, personality-less apartment.) He’s got a reliable cache up on the roof and his usual way in through the access door to the walkway under the Daily Planet’s globe, which as far as he knows nobody goes up to, so he isn’t expecting any company when he’s angling in towards the building, but…
That’s Lois, up there on the walkway. Waving to him, and…is she vaping? Oh, geez, so that’s where she’s been going to do it.
He doesn’t obviously check his flight path, because she would be sharp enough to spot that and wonder about it, but he does slow a bit as he’s coming in for a landing. Oh boy, this makes things a lot more complicated. Clark was really hoping to just grab his stuff and be inside when he was expected for once, but that’s clearly not happening now.
He could have kept flying, too, gotten clothes somewhere else and come back to the Planet on street level. Except. She already saw him. And a few moments alone with Lois is never something Clark can easily turn his back on.
He touches down a few feet away from her, reminding himself to be Superman in front of her, not her friend Clark. Upright, confident, hands neutral at his sides. “Miss Lane,” he says in greeting, and carefully does not stare disapprovingly at the vape in her hand. “It’s a nice view up here.”
She’s going to ask him what he’s doing here, he knows she is.
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shout-out to the hyatt regency for being a real one
What follows is comfortingly routine since she has made all of these preparations before, albeit not all upfront and on a timer like this (which feels kind of tawdry but Lois doesn't care.) She swings by the drugstore to purchase two boxes of condoms in two different sizes, because yeah guys always want to insist only Mega Ultra Horse-Hung Size will fit them but Superman is a very large person and Lois has no idea how...proportionate...he might be. The red trunks are shockingly un-revealing, despite being what Jimmy had once dubbed "underwear on the outside."
She stops in at the Lebanese place on her block that she knows gets orders out fast. Nothing strongly flavored that will give her weird breath or stomach gurgles, just some basic shawarma, hold the garlic. On the spur of the moment, she steps into the liquor store on the corner to grab a bottle of chardonnay. Inside her apartment, she wolfs down her dinner, brushes her teeth, showers and washes her hair, shaves her legs, does not touch herself in the shower even though she's already feeling all keyed up about tonight. If she relieves some tension, that destroys her whole reason for doing this, so...she won't.
It's been ages since she did anything like take a vacation, so Lois has more than enough points to book a king suite at the Hyatt online. The suite part is more space than is strictly necessary, but she knows from experience that that floor is the only one that has balconies so guests can enjoy the waterfront views. This is absolutely necessary, because there is simply no way that Superman can enter through the lobby and go unnoticed. (She assumes he'll arrive still in the suit. It's actually impossible to imagine him dressed in anything else.) The hotel room's bartop and dubiously comfortable couch are less necessary but appreciated, since they provide an opportunity for some kind of small talk. She doesn't have much taste for small talk in general, but it seems like a necessary segue between when saying hello and the two of them fucking.
The cab ride downtown isn't long, and Lois tips the rider about 200% to make up for that and because she's distractedly nervous. The lobby bar is full of people, probably in town for some conference or other, and Lois is tempted to grab a drink to calm her nerves, but hotel bars are overpriced and she already brought wine and a couple of glasses.
Late check-ins are quick, so it's a matter of minutes before Lois is alone in the room. It's quiet here, just her and the muffled sounds of a Metropolis evening drifting up from below. She pours some wine into both glasses — if he thinks better of this at the last minute she will gladly chug a second glass — and drifts around the room.
What does one wear to sex by appointment? Nothing hard to get out of, naturally. Lois is very glad that the one black slip dress she owns was clean and hanging in her closet. It's her only dress that is both easy to remove and has straps wide enough to cover the straps of one of her few bras that can be considered lingerie. Adding heels had made her look a little slutty, which would be accurate but no reason to go advertising it, so Lois had kicked them off for plain ballet flats instead. Underneath her dress is a pair of lacy boyshorts-style panties and matching bra that she knows makes her tits look fantastic. The other sexy underwear option was all in red, which would just be ridiculously matchy-matchy in Lois' opinion.
Then it's just her, drifting around the room uncertainly, making a slow circuit between the couch to the bartop to the balcony and back again. Probably Superman is going to search for her using his x-ray vision? Or will he listen for her — he can do that, right? Can he hear her heartbeat? Would it even be identifiable? Maybe he's just waiting and looking for someone to step out onto their balcony and it's really as simple as that. Lois moves back in that direction.
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He has to bring himself off twice before he feels like he has it under control. Not just for right now but for later—it’s definitely been a while, and he really needs to be able to rein himself in when he’s in bed with a naked Lois Lane. Just thinking about the alternative is too humiliating to bear.
He eats something too, leftovers in the fridge, and ostensibly rests for a while like he’s supposed to be doing—recovering his strength—though he’s still too tense to really nap, and what if he misses his alarm? He showers in the evening, and then puts back on his suit and is flying off to the waterfront before he can tell himself this is a bad idea. Not that it would matter now anyway; no way in a million years would he stand Lois up.
He listens for her heartbeat rather than use x-ray vision. It’s one of the most familiar sounds in his life, and he can pick it out of a crowd without having to look through walls and risk glimpsing someone else’s private business. He’s just zeroing in on the room when he sees Lois step out onto the balcony, and Clark floats down to land there next to her.
“Hello.” And then he smiles at her with his heart skipping a happy beat, because she looks knock-out stunning in that dress and in spite however complicated and tangled this is going to make everything, he just—loves being in her company. “Miss Lane.”
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"Hi." She smiles, her heart going double-time. She touches his elbow for a moment, not sure why, just — it seemed like she should touch him in some innocuous way. Ground herself as he grounds himself. "Superman."
He looks fresher than before, the curl on the corner of his forehead hanging a different way. Did Superman go shower too? Where does Superman shower? She dismisses the thought, not the point, and steps back, nodding for him to join her.
"I, um. Brought some wine. If you'd like that."
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walks of shame are only embarrassing if you have shame
Did last night really happen? Lois had looked back at the room before exiting to check out. There was really no sign that it had, considering she was taking the leftover wine and glasses with her. Not that she needed anything — it's not like she was going to sell her story to a shitty tabloid. My night with Superman. Hell no. It was just...a thing that happened, and it was good, and she feels better now, but it does seem a little unreal, that she knows what the man of steel sounds like when he orgasms.
She mostly lazes around her apartment the rest of the weekend. Considers organizing her books. Quickly decides against it.
Monday morning is a new start. She doesn't have any new insights on how to tackle the Intergang story, but being back at work has got to recharge her investigative reporter juices, probably. Those thoughts are set aside when she makes it to the bullpen and spots a familiar but recently absent figure on the way to her desk. Clark's back. Clark's better. Wow, Clark's early.
"Hey, sickie." She thwaps his shoulder with the Jitters bag containing her morning chocolate croissant. "Welcome back. Glad to know you haven't wasted away."
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“Hey, Lois.” Clark can’t help but swivel his chair around to face her after she whacks him with her breakfast, a smile coming over his face when he sees her. He’s had a couple of terrible, sleepless nights since that incredible evening, the night that did not fade away in his memory like a dream upon waking. It doesn’t matter, though, seeing Lois is pretty much always the brightest part of his day.
“Yeah, thanks. It was kind of rough.” The good thing about making up a stomach virus as an excuse to miss work is that no one wants to hear the gory details. “All better now, though.”
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"Good, because I don't want to hear the details." She wrinkles her nose but can't look too disgusted when she's busy smiling. "I'd say you owe me for leaving us short-handed, but I'm guessing you got your punishment in advance, so I'll forgive you this once. If any giant monsters attack this week, though, you're getting the grunt work."
Not that he's her subordinate. Lois can't technically tell him what to do at work. She knows he'd go with it anyway, though.
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Their agreement at lunch to get together to talk about her story was what felt the most like getting back to normal. It wasn’t that he offered just to see her more. He genuinely wants to help.
But he dreams about her that night, again. Wakes up tangled in the sheets with her name on his lips.
In the morning Clark once again gets to work early, a little bleary-eyed from a late meeting with Michael, Guy and Kendra and then his less-than-restful night’s sleep. He needs to get some of his new assignment out of the way before he goes out for fieldwork that afternoon (and some patrolling as Superman). Luckily there aren’t any particularly embarrassing conversations today; he and Lois say good morning but she gets right down to her own work. He slips out around the usual time, and takes to the sky.
He’s not looking for Lois on the roof. He’s just flying by, an hour or so later, and there she is. He’s not planning to circle back and float down to meet her, either, but that’s what he does.
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It's not that she's exactly as stressed as she was a week ago — Superman and Clark have both helped with that. But it is building back up, yeah, and the fact that this has become a habit of sorts plays a part. Spending some time on the roof helps her clear her head, get her thoughts in order, be more focused when she heads back downstairs.
And maybe a part of her is curious whether Superman will turn up again. She's not waiting around on him, mooning after him like some fangirl, but yeah, the possibility is not not on her mind. She lifts a hand in greeting as he touches down, turning slightly away from the railing, one elbow still leaning on it. "Hey. Wasn't sure if I was going to see you here again."
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“Hi.” The greeting is simple and more familiar than it’s been before, especially with the smile he feels coming over his face, something lighting a little within just from seeing her. It’s not like Clark hasn’t seen her all of an hour ago, but—this feels different. Her relationship with Superman is different (very different). “I wasn’t sure either. I guess…I wanted to see how you were doing.”
He doesn’t remark on the vape. Not yet, anyway.
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2hyatt 2furious
What does one wear to sex by second appointment? Lois has time to go shopping and doesn't want to pay for a new dress, so she buys a nightie instead, sheer with a long sleeved jacket/robe to go with it, in case they need room service or something. And that's...pretty much it, aside from the usual necessary grooming. There are still plenty of condoms to use and they didn't drink much of the wine so no need for more of that.
It's a nice evening and she can't be seen from the street, so Lois waits out on the balcony this time, sitting on the little table and chair setup hotels always feel obligated to shove into balcony corners, sipping a glass of water (because she's...thirsty), thinking about him — about whether it'll be as good this time, about whether he'll want to go down on her again or maybe she'll turn those tables, about whether they'll be different because now they know each other's bodies.
She's learned from her mistakes. She's not wearing any underwear beneath the nightie.
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He offers Lois a hand to her feet, retaining possession of it if she takes it. And…that’s his gaze going over her, no x-ray vision needed since the nightie she’s wearing is pretty much sheer, and it’s pretty obvious there’s nothing underneath it. He swallows.
“Wow. Miss Lane.” Clark’s immediately a little dazed, almost knocked over by the one-two punch of just…meeting her again for another sex romp and seeing her standing before him almost naked. He tugs her forward by her hand and then slips both his hands to her waist, slowly dragging that silky hem up a bit. “You look incredible.”
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She takes his hand easily, sliding both of hers up his chest once he takes her in his arms, thumbs gently stroking the side of his neck. The way he looks at her — she has to wonder if he's doing the eye thing to see right through what she's wearing. Would Superman consider that cheating? Then again, it hardly seems necessary, considering that the fabric is not intended for polite company.
"Thanks. You look...the same as usual." And that's another thing she's wondering about even as she tries not to. Does Superman just have the one outfit? Does he have a whole closet full of multiples? It matters not at all, but still. There must be logistics to superheroism that she's never considered before. "Which is still pretty damn good."
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stakeouts rhyme with makeouts
So does Clark, somewhat to her surprise; it's not that she'd thought his offer of help insincere, or that he couldn't hack it, but even with the insight he'd already brought as an outside perspective probably wouldn't be enough, she'd figured in her more pessimistic moments. But while there are still plenty of maddening roadblocks, and no guarantee they'll ever get something printable out of this, they're starting to tug on lead strings that could potentially lead to unraveling the whole knot of messy underground dealings down the road. Or insert some other better metaphor, it's not her best. The point is, they're making progress.
Lois appreciates all his help. She especially appreciates when she shares a tip she's gotten on a potential late-night meeting they can surveil and Clark immediately offers to go on stakeout together, before she even has to ask. Lois isn't surprised by the offer or by the fact that Clark doesn't have anything going on that a last-minute stakeout will interrupt (seems too mean to say so, though) but still, she'll give credit where credit's due.
When the time comes, the two of them parked in the darkest shadows of an already shadowy alley, Lois scoots her seat back a little (the driver's seat, obviously) to get comfortable and reaches into the back seat for a paper bag she'd stashed there earlier. "Here," she says, pulling out a donut and handing it to Clark. "Fuel for the waiting game. I hope you don't get bored easily, Clark, because we could be here for a while."
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Helping Lois out with her story feels like something truly good he can be doing, untainted by lying and secrets. So he jumps at the chance to offer his assistance with a stakeout, not quite thinking through the fact that it’ll mean spending hours alone with her. Hours with her and the knowledge of how beautiful she looks naked, every inch of her; of her taste, of the way she wraps her legs around him when he’s inside her, of everything they’ve done together. Not that he doesn’t want to be in her company; no, the problem is that he wants it too much.
It’s fine, he can manage it. It’s probably going to be so dull and uneventful that it’ll shut his brain off.
The first part isn’t too bad, especially when Lois produces a bag of donuts. “Wow, I didn’t know I’d get fed tonight.” Clark accepts the donut with his thanks and bites into it. Fresh, soft, obviously made by a local place rather than a chain. “I guess this is the traditional stakeout food.”
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There's always the possibility that the people they're waiting on to maybe show up will do so early in the evening, and it actually won't be a long night at all. Sure. That's about as likely as the idea that Clark is a secret metahuman.
"Anyway, I owe you more than a few donuts. Lunch again next week, if you want it." And she will definitely be ready to whip out her credit card faster than he does, because even if she's laying out the terms now, she knows how Clark is. "This isn't even your story but you're giving up an evening off for it. Not that I wouldn't want your name on the piece when it goes to press." If it goes to press, but for once Lois chooses to be optimistic.
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Clark definitely needs to get back to that building as Superman, so he can thoroughly check things out.
He plans to a few nights out from the stakeout, when he doesn’t have anything else going on. Clark’s just getting into his suit when a text comes in on his other phone, and—oh. It’s Lois, wanting to know if he’s free to meet tonight. Not only inviting him to meet but inviting him to her apartment, saying something about her Hyatt points running out. He’s partially relieved. He’d been getting the feeling they must be burning through her points, and then after that, what? Clark still hadn’t come up with any good idea where they could continue meeting, if they continued meeting.
But her apartment. That feels like taking things a step farther. Making them more serious.
Lois, though, has always been adamant that this is a casual thing, that it has nothing to do with either of their personal lives. Which…yeah, it hurts sometimes, but it’s about the only leg he has to stand on to continue this. They’re just friends, it’s just stress relief. The only one making himself crazy over it is Clark.
And so he ends up in her apartment later that night, around the time he was originally planning to be searching the warehouse with the hidden underground bunker. It’s not that he hasn’t been here a dozen times before, but Clark does feel a little strange being here in Superman’s getup. Sorry about the hotel points,” he tells her after greeting her, not wanting to let on about any of the—weirdness, for him. “Hope you still have enough left for a nice vacation.”
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In any case, it limits her options. She could invite him to her place or end this thing between them, find another way to blow off steam. And Lois enjoys having sex with him more than she'd enjoy even the fanciest vibrator — instinct and enthusiasm had taken him far the first time they'd slept together, but now he's learned what she likes and holy shit has it gotten good — so the choice had been pretty clear in the end.
"I will by the next time I take a vacation." She gives him a slightly crooked smile and wonders if he can tell that she's thinking: so approximately the tenth of never. "It's fine. I think the check-in desk was starting to suspect I might be a high-class call girl anyway so it's for the best."
Fairly regular one-night stays, not much if any luggage to speak of...yeaaaaah.
"Actually, would you mind if I wrap some stuff up quick?" Lois nods toward her desk over in the corner, feeling a little sheepish for once. "I, uh — got into some work while I was waiting." Look, he can't always meet up immediately and the intergang story materials she'd brought home were right there, can she really be blamed? One more difference between meeting a hotel vs. in her own space.
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He decides not to comment on the Hyatt reception suspecting Lois might be a call girl; anything he says in that direction could only come out wrong. Instead he follows her over to the desk, glancing over her files and notes—of course it’s the intergang story, the one Clark himself ought to be working on tonight. He tries to ignore the twist of guilt that thought gives him. Maybe it’s a good thing he’s not out there right now potentially scooping Lois’s story, even though that wouldn’t have been his intention.
“No, not at all. Mind if I—?” Clark takes a seat at the couch to get out of her way. Which, again, he’s been seated on a dozen times, but it’s so weird to be here politely waiting in Lois’s living room in his full Superman getup.
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Tonight he’s mostly trying not to let on how much he’s still thinking about this past weekend with Lois: their night together, the morning after that, coming over later when she texted him about helping her work over the weekend. It was very weird to give his opinion on Superman’s thoughts, but aside from that it was pretty normal, pretty casual. (Good gosh, he hopes he behaved normally and casually.) Lois didn't seem to notice anything differently, though she sat a little closer to him than usual on the couch and even let him persuade her to get away from work and walk to the local deli to get lunch with him. That was just—so nice. He felt like he was in a happy haze as they talked and laughed together.
Something of that feeling lingers tonight with Lois sitting close again, except when Clark gets up to grab the next round from the bar.
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It had been surprisingly nice. Lois had had a good time, and tried very very hard not to recall how she'd briefly thought of him while having sex with Superman.
The following actual-workdays had been good as well, one of those times when the Planet seemed to be firing on all cylinders and no really annoying news sprang up. It's got Lois in a really good mood at the after-work outing, just tipsy enough to be feeling a vague affection for all her co-workers in attendance. Maybe she should have more friends she doesn't work with, but she really does like everyone here, especially Clark and Jimmy and Cat. Not many reporters can probably say that, especially if they work at the Eagle.
"Uh-oh." Cat speaks up suddenly, interrupting Lois' uncharacteristically warm and fuzzy train of thought. "On your six. Looks like Clark's caught someone's eye."
"What?" Lois and Jimmy both turn around, looking for him at the bar and yeah, he's talking to some girl as he waits for their drinks. "No way. She's probably asking him for your number, Jimmy."
"That doesn't always happen, Lois." Jimmy just laughs. "Only sometimes."
"Yeah, we should be happy for Clark. He doesn't get out nearly enough." Cat looks a little wistful. "I figured he was carrying a torch for someone, but maybe tonight's his night."
Lois frowns, then immediately tries to smooth out her expression. Clark was carrying a torch for someone, that girl he'd told her about, so maybe it is good for him to get some attention from someone else. "Yeah, maybe," she grumbles. No, she doesn't grumble, she — Lois doesn't care if some girl wants to flirt with Clark. "As long as he brings our beers over first."
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big party big feelings
So she has to admit it's kind of funny that, technically, her first trip away from Metropolis is still because of work. It's not even a vacation, but it's Manhattan instead of Metropolis, and there's a nice hotel and a nice dress and pretty damn decent food, so. It counts as close enough.
The 50th Annual Investigative Reporters & Editors Conference conference is kind of a big deal, in the way that Superman is kind of a good lay. Lois has been to it before — not every year, because she'd rather do her job than talk about doing it — but a milestone year and the Daily Planet being one of the papers being honored for ongoing excellence during the evening awards ceremony & gala means a bigger contingent is in attendance — her, Ron, Clark, Perry, a few others, including from the publishing side.
She's taken the opportunity to dress up a little, pick out a nice dress that balances attractiveness with professionalism and do more than run a brush through her hair a few times. Perry will probably wear the same bespoke suit he always hauls out for these events, the only time he actually wears it, as far as Lois knows. She wonders what Clark will turn up in. Does he even own a suit that fits him? Evidence to date says not, but surely he knows the importance of not looking schlubby when schmoozing with peers.
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Just this once, Clark decides it can’t harm him to show up in a fitted suit. His coworkers will be expecting him to put his best foot forward to represent the paper: it’s only fair to them and all of the people who work so hard to contribute to the award. So he’s looking especially sharp when he steps into the ballroom, with nice shoes and a crisp white shirt under the suit jacket and some semblance of order attempted with his curls. Glasses in place, of course. Some familiar faces glance his way, smiling in what seems to be approval, and then he catches sight of Lois—
Clark almost stumbles. He does, in fact, walk right into a server with a tray of champagne glasses, and he’s not even trying to bumble his way across the room in a hapless Clark Kent display. At least it won’t look at all out of character for him. He catches the server’s arm to right her on her feet and a tipped-over flute to right it on the tray, apologizing profusely, and the distraction of the moment allows him to get a handle on his composure so that the next time he looks at Lois he won’t nearly fall right off his feet. Good gosh. That dress is—so beautiful. The way she’s done her hair, the way she stands in the room like she’s the center of it. She is, to Clark’s eyes.
He makes his way over to her, his heart pounding as though he’s a teenager about to ask a pretty girl to dance with him at homecoming. “Hey, Lois.”
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