Chapter Text
She’s typing away furiously, Lois’ cheap keyboard making an ugly clacking noise; there was quite frankly a disgusting amount of red underlines scattered about her notes. That was a problem for Lois later. Right now, she was trying to take notes on this very important conversation she was having with a contact close to a city council member she was about to write an expose on.
Lois’ shitty office phone was perched precariously between her shoulder and ear as she goaded the woman on the other end to tell her more about the city councilor who knowingly ignored the lead pipe problem of Metropolis’s park’s water fountains. Lois couldn’t wait to send this to the copier. She was pretty sure this would ensure the destruction of his reelection campaign.
“Lane!”
The familiar sound of Perry made Lois almost drop her phone. She ignored him; the contact was closer to agreeing to meet up with her and give her some documents that would surely be the nail in the coffin for the city councilor.
“Lane, this is important!”
Lois rolled her eyes and told the woman on the other end to give her a second. She held a hand over the transmitter.
“Chief, give me a second! I almost have this figured out, I gotta get a meeting place and time figured out for the councilor case!” Lois shouted back. A little bit of insubordination never hurt.
Lois was searching the web for the seemingly best places in Metropolis for a covert liaison when Perry took the phone from her and barked something about meeting Lois at twelfth and first tomorrow at noon before hanging up. Lois glared at him, opening her mouth to say something, but her attention was drawn elsewhere.
“Meet your new partner for the time being: Clark Kent,” Perry said, gesturing toward the giant of a man standing next to him.
Clark Kent was all curly black hair and bulk. His shoulders were hunched over, Lois assumed to make himself seem less threatening, which would be a good thing because he was easily 6’4 and 300 pounds, maybe even taller if he stood up straight. He dwarfed both her and Perry, despite his best efforts. Kent wore a sheepish smile, along with the ugliest glasses known to man.
Lois remembered to speak, “Lois Lane, investigative journalist,” she stuck out a hand.
Kent took it gently in his sizable, surprisingly soft hand and shook it.
“Nice to meet you, Miss Lane.”
✸✸✸
Lois was doing what she did best: investigating.
Well, this could be more accurately categorized as snooping rather than investigating. She wasn’t chasing any big leads; in fact, she was rummaging through her new partner’s desk. Lois just couldn’t wrap her head around Kent’s good old-fashioned midwestern niceness. At first, she was suspicious that his chivalry was an excuse to get in her pants, but he subjected the whole office to it. The more Lois thought about it, the more Clark Kent was just a bumbling nice guy, not some faker who’s small town charm was a ruse for something more nefarious.
He had also borrowed a pen from her, and she wanted it back.
While hunting through his desk drawers, she found a framed photo buried beneath some miscellaneous documents and a few notepads. The picture was of Kent, and who she assumed was Ma and Pa, as her new partner so affectionately called his parents. Lois gave it to Kent; he sure had a knack for making himself look inconspicuous, but there was no hiding it in this picture.
He was a giant, certifiably. Kent must’ve been a foot and a half taller than his mom, and his shoulders were twice as broad as his dad’s. An idea fluttered through Lois’s head; she could bring him to any meetings where her undeniable charm may not work, and she needed someone a little bit more intimidating than her 5’3 frame. Who was she kidding? Kent would probably manage to knock something over or do something so ridiculous and clumsy that their egos would never recover.
“Miss Lane?”
Lois whipped around, “Where’s my pen, farmboy?”
Kent was standing in front of her, hands on his hips with a slightly disapproving look on his face. Lois bit her lip. Good going, Lane, getting caught snooping through your new coworker’s desk.
“I gave it back to you an hour ago; it’s next to your keyboard,” He said.
“Oh…thanks,” Lois nodded.
She shuffled back to her desk, but not before quickly placing the photo back in the drawer. Lois winced as Kent opened the drawer and took the photo out. He placed it on his desk for a moment, studying it.
“How old were you? In the photo, I mean,” Lois said and then immediately cringed. She really wished she could tone down the investigative portion of her personality sometimes.
Kent smiled at her, “Oh, I’m probably 18 or 19.”
Her eyebrows flew up to her hairline.
“Good lord, what do they feed you out there in Kansas?” Lois exclaimed.
Kent shook his head and chucked.
“Miss Lane, I’m adopted.” He said.
✸✸✸
Lois was stunned. Her mouth was even hanging open a little bit. She knew Clark could eat a lot; she’s been to plenty of galas and dinners with him over the past few years. She’d once seen him eat more than half of a large pizza in one sitting, but even this was excessive for him.
Clark was currently squashed in a booth across from Lois at a slightly seedy-looking diner in the middle of nowhere, Iowa. They were waiting for a contact to meet them in the parking lot with the best lead they could get on their current case, otherwise Lois wouldn’t be caught dead in Podunk, Iowa. Lois had just watched him order the most obscene amount of food. You’d think he was starved in Metropolis.
Lois had ordered a simple cheeseburger (no pickles) with a side of fries and a vanilla Coke, a staple of American diner food. Clark, on the other hand, was about to eat this place out of house and home. She knew he ate a lot; she sat across from him almost every day, but this was crazy. Lois watched him order a cheeseburger with extra fries, a side of fruit (which was most likely not fresh, but the syrupy kind you get from a can), pancakes with extra butter (courtesy of all-day breakfast), and a glass of orange juice. Oh, and a chocolate milkshake.
Clark explained that the diner food in Metropolis just didn’t compare to the Midwest.
The waitress finally arrived with their order and set their plates in front of them. Clark tucked a napkin in the collar of his shirt. At least he had the wherewithal to do that; God knows how clumsy he could be with food. He started to dig in, alternating between plates of various food.
For a moment, Lois could only stare. Feelings were bubbling up in her chest that she wasn’t sure what to do with. Cat already teased her enough about her burgeoning crush on Clark; she didn’t need this, too. It took a few years, and some more time to get over her silly infatuation with the big S in Metropolis, to see the kind man who sat across from her at the Planet in a romantic sense. Everyone in the bullpen knew about Clark’s crush on her, but most didn’t realize that Lois was starting to come around, too.
But she didn’t need this as well. Watching Clark eat made a red flush creep up her neck and onto her face. He just packed it all away so fast and so efficiently, and he really looked like he was enjoying himself. Lois liked it when her partners (she was getting ahead of herself, here) enjoyed themselves, and Clark liked food. Sue her.
“Are you really going to eat all of that?” Lois wanted to slap a hand over her mouth. Goddammit, Lane, no need to sound so judgmental. God, why couldn’t she think before she spoke?
Clark stopped mid-bite of his burger and went red.
“Don’t want to waste it,” He mumbled.
—
Lois was slowly picking at her now soggy fries when Clark had all but finished his food. That made her feel warm in a way she wasn’t quite ready to confront yet. She needed to get a grip. Lois noticed Clark eyeing her half-eaten fries, and an idea popped into her head. This could be a peace offering. She had to make it up somehow after asking that stupid question earlier.
“Do you want my fries?” Lois rambled, pushing the plate towards her partner, “I’m not going to finish them and—y’know—don’t want them to go to waste.”
Clark gave her an odd look before picking up a fry and popping it into his mouth. He quickly finished off the fries as Lois sat and watched. Clark tried his best to lean back in the booth that was much too small for his bulky frame, in a vain attempt to pat his stomach. Lois squirmed in her seat a bit; she was such a weirdo.
Clark plucked a dessert menu wedged between the wall and the napkin dispenser, “How much time until the contact is supposed to get here?” He asked.
Lois glanced down at her watch.
“We still have about an hour,” she sighed.
Clarked smiled at her, “How good do you think the apple pie is?”
✸✸✸
Lois noticed things. That was her job, really, noticing when things are out of place or wrong. But she also noticed things about her coworkers.
Jimmy had three pairs of the same shoes, the same color and everything. Lois could only tell the difference because one pair had some red paint on the soles, a different pair had a mystery stain on the toe, and another pair was a pristine white. Cat alternated between several different phone cases throughout the week; they usually matched her outfit. Perry ordered specific (and fancy) Post-it notes every month.
Clark wore clothes two sizes too big. Cat had been the first to vocalize it. She was dismayed that a man as handsome as Clark wore the ugliest and most ill-fitting suits of all time, and of course, those less than glamorous, bulky glasses. Today, though, Clark looked like he was wearing a suit two sizes too small. Lois recognized it as one of his staple grey suits; she chalked up the odd sizing to a mishap at the dry cleaner.
“If Clark’s not careful, he’s going to bust out of that suit,” Jimmy said.
Lois would’ve laughed, but she was distracted. This was the first good look she had gotten at Clark’s body. Lois knew he was big; no amount of clothing could cover that up, but she didn’t realize how much of that bulk was muscle, too.
Kent was standing over by the copier, fiddling with the ficky machine. Lois had the perfect view of his butt, his very round and thick butt. Every time he moved his husky build put the seams of his suit to the test. Clark’s thick thighs and bulky biceps were a sight to behold. She was a little but worried for his modesty; one wrong move and buttons would go flying. Lois needed to get a hold of herself; she was at the office!
Lois watched as Cat dropped her pen, and ever so the gentleman, Clark crouched down to pick it up. That movement was accompanied by a loud rip. Lois stood up from her seat, vying for a better look at the predicament unfolding in front of her. The side seams of Clark’s unsuitable pants ripped right down his massive thighs.
“Oh goshdarn it!” Clark exclaimed, face redder than a tomato.
As he was handing Cat’s pen back to her, Steve strolled by languidly, “Hey, Kent, I think you might need to start cutting!” He laughed and tapped Clark on his hefty belly
“Don’t be an ass, Steve,” Cat glared at Steve.
Lois didn’t think Clark needed to cut or whatever. Weird gym terms. She thought he looked perfectly fine; she liked his plush, especially his ass…and his thick arms.
✸✸✸
Sometimes it was easy to forget how big Clark was. He had a knack for making himself smaller than he truly was. But his build was hard to forget now that he was standing bashfully shirtless beside Lois. This predicament they found themselves in in her small kitchen was due to her own mishap.
Lois and Clark had been in a weird relationship-not relationship thing for a few months now. The interns at the Planet would probably call it a situationship, or something stupid like that. Lois just called it a friendship with extra feelings. The two of them had taken to getting dinner after work, using the excuse of working on some collaborative pieces together, but it slowly turned into more of a hangout.
Tonight, they had chosen Indian as their choice of takeout. They had attempted cooking a few times; Clark was successful, but Lois never seemed to make enough food for Clark. When it was her turn to host their hangouts, she opted to just get takeout.
The two of them were on their way to her apartment from the Indian place in her car (a car Clark barely fit in, never try to fit a 6’4 man into a tiny sedan, his neck will end up perpetually bent) when a truck in front of her stopped suddenly. This made Lois slam on the brakes, and the food went flying. Physics said that most of the food should’ve ended up on her dashboard, but somehow it ended up on Clark’s white button-down.
Of course, as all good friends should, Lois offered to wash his now lamb saag and curry-covered shirt. So that’s where they were now. Lois was furiously scrubbing Clark’s shirt with some Dawn dish soap in her sink, with a couple of pizzas from the place down the road ordered. Clark stood next to her, shirtless. Lois tried to offer him an ex’s old t-shirt, but it was much too small.
Lois was really trying her damndest to look anywhere but her best friend’s heaving bosom, but unfortunately, she was at eye level with it every time she turned to face him. Her face felt hot, so did her groin. It wasn’t fair. Clark looked like he stepped out of the Metropolis Firefighters Annual.
“Lo’, it’s okay,” Clark said.
He nudged her on the shoulder, “I could use a new shirt; that one was getting a little tight anyway.”
Lois was going to faint.
She glanced over at Clark, corn fed Kansas boy indeed. His arms were crossed over his chest, a frivolous attempt at modesty; his pecs were massive. If Lois had to bet, he would easily be a C cup. Clark’s biceps were on another level, muscled but covered in a layer of soft-looking fat, stretch marks littering his deltoids.
Against her better judgment, Lois looked down, below his arms. She wasn’t sure she could get any hotter and bothered, but the pauch of Clark’s stomach, how it folded over his dress pants, was just too much. Lois liked the look of muscular men, but the layer of fat over Clark’s farmboy musculature was really doing something for her.
Clark cleared his throat, a slightly ashamed look on his face, his cheeks red.
Here goes Lois’ inability to think before she speaks, “Don’t be shy…you look good.”
Lois didn’t know Clark could get any more bashful.
“Uhm…thanks, Lois,” he said.
“Don’t listen to what Steve says, y’know?” Lois shrugged, turning back to the ruined shirt in the sink, face hot.
Fuck it. Lois took a deep breath and turned back to him. She reached up and held his soft jawline. Clark’s breathing was fast. Lois lifted herself to her tiptoes as he tilted his head down so their lips could meet. Clark’s arms found their way around her waist as her hands crept their way up his chest. Soft and pliable, but firm.
✸✸✸
Lois was currently falling off the third-tallest building in Metropolis, the Metropolis Municipal Bank. Of course, she was scared; she was falling off a building and plummeting to certain death. But really, she was annoyed; it was the second time this month she’d fallen off a building. The first fall was accidental, but this one was on purpose. Some cronies of a high-ranking board member of the bank she was trying to expose for embezzlement had apparently been ordered to kidnap her and push her off the building. Or maybe they were supposed to harm her in some other way, Lois didn’t know, and the cronies weren’t the sharpest tools in the shed.
The pothole-covered pavement in front of the Municipal Bank was careening toward her at an alarming rate, but before she was just a splatter of Pulitzer Prize-winning Lois Lane, she was caught by gentle, large hands.
Superman smiled at her, “Golly, Miss Lane, you should really be careful.”
He was hugging her to his soft, pliable, but firm chest, covered by that brazen S. Lois couldn’t believe this was going to be the final piece in the puzzle. After months of suspicion, weird coincidences she’d been taking note of, odd things about back stories.
It was going to be the similarity between their chests that solved the mystery…
Superman set her on the roof of a parking garage.
“Are you okay, Miss Lane?” Superman had a slightly wary look on his face.
Lois nodded, simultaneously getting closer to the Man of Steel. The similarities between the two were striking, now that she thought about it. Take off those big, bulky ugly glasses and slick back some wild and untamed curls and suddenly Clark Kent was Superman. And, of course, no one else in Metropolis has that wonderful of a chest.
Lois smirked, “I’m alright, Smallville.”