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Lois Lane was drunk. And not the cute drunk she remembered the following morning, laughing about the previous shenanigans. No, she was drunk drunk. The kind of drunk four (or five, or six, who was counting, really?) glasses of champagne could get you. The kind of drunk that loosened her mouth even further and prompted her to publicly cast doubt over her cousin’s choice of future spouse.
The kind of drunk that got Clark Kent of all people to drive her home.
“Lois, sit down.” His voice was exasperated. Lois was laughing, her head halfway out the window of his car, her legs stretched over to the side. She swung them across his lap, her laughter growing as the car swerved slightly, and Clark’s face tinted red with a light blush.
“Lois.”
“What?” She tried her best for an innocent face. “I’m sitting, Smallville.”
She was — more properly, window closed with her head against it. Never mind that she’d kicked her shoes off an hour earlier, so her bare feet were smushed up against the side of Clark’s door. Never mind that one of his hands had come down to hold her legs, the other steady on the wheel, and she kept slightly shifting so he would have to hold her tighter. She sighed happily, closing her eyes.
“This isn’t exactly what I meant.” Clark’s grumbling, which normally annoyed her, had become endearing in her altered state. She clucked her tongue at him, playful.
“Don’t be such a prude.”
“I’m not a prude!”
“Yes, you are.” Her hand shot out, wobbly, resting lightly against his chest. She cackled as he lifted the hand on her legs to gently take her hand and move it off of him.
“Look at you, Smallville. You’re practically passing out right now.”
Clark’s eyes rolled.
“You’re drunk, Lois.”
“Drunk,” Lois agreed with an enthusiastic nod, “not blind.”
They drove along for a few more minutes. Inevitably, she broke the silence, slurring a few words in the process.
“You know, you’re not as mysterious as you think you are, Kent.”
If she would have been sober, she would have noticed his muscles tensing, the tick in his jaw, the subtle way his eyes shifted. Instead, she was solely focused on the fingers that had returned to her legs, tapping out a soft, absent minded pattern into her skin. The heat that accompanied his fingers was delicious. He was always warm, so warm.
“Oh yeah?” Clark said.
“Yeah,” Lois hummed. “You act all fumbling and clueless, like some helpless farm boy, but the truth is…”
She lowered her voice, as if to tell him a devastating secret.
“You’re actually, like, really sweet.”
Her sober self would have called him saccharine. This Lois only offered up a boozy half smile and another self assured nod. Clark exhaled, half a laugh leaving his lips. He said nothing, only shook his head back and forth, a small smile raising the corners of his mouth.
Eventually, they arrived at the Kent farm. Naturally, the words flew out of her mouth as soon as her hazed, even-more-unfiltered-than-normal brain registered her surroundings.
“You takin’ me home, Kent? Maybe you’re not as precious as I thought.”
Clark, smartly, said nothing again, only appeared at her door with a rush of wind. In a flash, she was unbuckled from her seatbelt, swung carefully up into his arms. Lois loosely locked her arms around his neck, swinging her legs gently as he started walking up towards the front door.
“Your heart’s beating so fast,” she mumbled, pressing her ear down harder on his chest as if that would help her hear better.
“‘S not that fast,” Clark argued halfheartedly, “yours is faster.”
Lois snorted at that, though she didn’t argue. Instead, she clutched Clark closer, holding on tightly until he carefully deposited her on the couch. He turned away and her hand shot out, gently capturing his wrist.
“You’re leaving?” Her blurt was underscored by a bolt of genuine fear. She'd fought her way out of far worse situations, but for some reason, Clark going upstairs to his bedroom without a second thought to her was unthinkable. Clark’s brow furrowed, his head moving side to side.
“No, Lois, I’m just going to get you something to change into. If that’s okay.”
“No.”
She rose, or tried to, and ended up taking his hands to lift herself from the couch. She held them, adding, “I’ll pick something myself.”
She started walking (stumbling forward, really), dropping one of his hands but tugging him along with her. To her slight surprise, he didn’t argue, just followed along as she walked up the steps to his room, keeping one hand on the small of her back to steady her.
“Gooooddddd, do you have anything that isn’t — like — flannel?” Lois hiccuped, frowning as she rustled through his closet.
“I could’ve given you something you liked more if you would’ve let me help you,” Clark reminded her, though his fingers hadn’t released hers yet. Lois rolled her eyes, then stopped as her free hand came up to brush against the fabric of a jersey.
“Well, I like this just fine.” She pulled it out, waving it around like a flag. Clark caught the fabric, a chuckle slipping past his lips.
“Whatever you say. Just get changed, and let’s get you to bed, okay?”
Lois grinned, wrapping her arms around Clark’s neck with a bright smile. His eyes popped, and he froze as she hummed, “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
Another laugh left him, this one more awkward as he slipped out from under her arms.
“I’ll just, uh, let you, get, uh changed.”
Lois pouted as he headed for the door and closed it behind him. She considered the shirt for about five seconds after it shut, then proceeded to open the door, bounding down the stairs into the kitchen.
“You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Smallville.”
Lois’s teasing was accompanied by her placing his jersey on the kitchen counter.
Clark mumbled something that sounded suspiciously close to, “Don’t think I could get rid of you if I tried,” beneath his breath, which was promptly ignored.
Lois reached around, trying and failing to grab at the zipper at the back of her dress.
“Claaaaarrrrrrrkkkkk,” Lois called, (seeing as he had retreated into the living room) “can you help me with this?”
He re-entered the kitchen, pausing once he registered her request.
“Y-yeah, sure,” Clark stuttered. He met her where she stood, and Lois shifted, turning around so he could reach the zipper. She couldn’t resist the urge to melt back into him, sighing happily as he unzipped her dress. Clark stepped back the second he was done, mumbling some excuse about letting her change in peace. The dress dropped to the floor, leaving Lois in only her bra and underwear. She shifted the dress over with her foot, grabbing his wrist. Clark stopped, but he didn’t turn around to look at her. Lois loosened her grip, stepping towards him without a word. No thinking, just feeling. She started at the small of his back, taking a single finger and tracing it along his spine. She carefully flattened a palm against his back, running it along his shirt, settling it on his shoulder. Clark exhaled, his shoulders lowering, the tension leaving the top of his body and traveling to the hand held by Lois’s, his fingers flexing roughly. She heard him swallow.
“Lois,” Clark began, and she shushed him immediately.
“Come on. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”
At that his head whipped around, though she noted his eyes stayed trained on hers, never daring to stray.
“Thought about what?”
His voice sounded quiet, but rough as well, as though he was holding himself on the tightest of leashes, against a string so thin the wrong breath could snap it.
“You and me. Us. Together.”
She would have never dreamed of saying it so plainly sober. Sober Lois wouldn’t even be in this situation. She would be at home, snuggled in her bed, bunny slippers to the side in comfy patterned pajamas. But this Lois was in her truest form, every thought she’d ever hidden or shoved down rising to the surface. It was only fitting that she was so bare when she bared her soul to him for the first time.
Clark turned around fully, his gaze still strongly holding hers. Lois swallowed as he walked up to her, placing his hands gently on the sides of her face. Her hands came to rest on his chest, featherlight, as if she was afraid to shatter the moment. Just as she was about to arch up against him, to give in to the voice in her head that was begging her to kiss him, Clark whispered, “We can’t.”
Something in her eyes must’ve cracked. She could feel it, like a bucket of ice water washing over her. Just as her cheeks started to burn, she realized she could run. Just run straight out of there, book it in her underwear. She started to pull away, but Clark held her close. She could’ve broken it if she wanted, but Lois let herself pretend, for one last second, that it was real. That he wanted her in the same way she wanted him.
“Not like this, I mean. Not when you're like this.”
Lois’s eyes widened, and she stared at him for the moment. The pink flush was back across his cheeks, his bottom lip caught between his teeth in a rare expression of shyness. Lois grinned full on, leaning up on her tiptoes and pressing a quick kiss against his cheek.
“Okay,” she whispered with a small nod. He let his hands linger on her skin for a few more seconds before he stepped back.
“Change,” Clark told her as he retreated upstairs, sterner but still kind. Lois took her time about it, giggling and skipping through the kitchen with a twirl or two thrown in for extra flair. All in all it took her about forty five minutes to get changed, in between her attempting to fix some food for herself, getting distracted by her own thoughts, and actually getting her arms and legs through the right holes. Eventually, she got the shirt on and skipped into the kitchen, plopping herself down. Clark appeared a moment later, grinning.
“You look more like yourself.”
She wanted to rib back, but she found herself staring at him, watching how light his eyes were, how stunning he looked when he smiled. He noticed, he must have, because his gaze filled with concern.
Clark murmured, “What?”
“Your smile is so beautiful.” She spoke in a hushed voice, as if she was in a daze from simply being in his orbit.
“Sorry,” Lois added with a shrug, “it keeps distracting me.”
Clark smiled again, amusement coloring his expression.
“It’s okay,” he told her, with that damned earnestness that had somehow become irresistible to her.
They fell into a comfortable silence, which soon became Lois jumping up and declaring they needed to liven things up. A karaoke session ensued, brought on by her popping a White Snake CD onto the CD player and howling the lyrics out. Clark would playfully sing out a few lines here and there, though he graciously rose and danced alongside her when one of her favorite songs came on.
Eventually, Lois tired herself out, crashing into Clark for the umpteenth time, giggling as he caught her yet again, like he always did. His arms wrapped around her waist, holding her up steadily.
“Something tells me you’re not gonna make it upstairs,” he hummed, and she nodded her head in agreement. She didn’t tell him that she didn’t want to go upstairs, because she knew if she slept in his old bed, she would ask him to crawl in with her. And he actually may have done it, which would lead to her waking up with him in the morning, and never being able to unlearn that feeling. It would stick with her for far longer than she wanted it to, knowing how his skin felt against hers, what his heart sounded like when he slept. To be held by Clark Kent the entire night would be her undoing, and whatever frail self control she had left kept her from begging him for her complete ruination. Still, she couldn’t tell him to let her go, or put her down. Not when every place their skin met lit her up like fire, and every breath that brushed their chests together made her want to put their lips together and see if he tasted as sweet on the inside of his mouth as he acted on the outside. So when he said, “You should try and get some sleep” she didn’t fight him on it. She didn’t ask him to stay with her until she was asleep, just agreed with a halfhearted mumble. She could’ve stayed up the entire night talking to him, but by now, every other word came with a yawn.
Clark helped Lois onto the couch, grabbing a blanket and tucking her in.
“Goodnight, Lois,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss against her forehead. Lois closed her eyes, smiling, and whispered back, “Goodnight, Clark.”
She could regret every action, decision and confession from this night in the morning. She most certainly would, once it registered. She almost began to, the smallest whispers of ‘what ifs’ curling up at the edges of her brain.
Thankfully, instead, Lois Lane drifted peacefully off to sleep, left, for once, with nothing more to say.