Chapter Text
Clark brought Lois a bottle of water. And he made her a s’more - actually, he made her two s’mores, one a culinary experiment where he swapped out the traditional chocolate bar for a peanut butter cup.
“You’re so good,” Lois declared happily, ignoring the water and starting in on the dessert. Clark grinned at her and something about the firelight rearranged the planes of his face so that, to Lois’s eyes, it did not appear as his usual goober grin, but a Hot Guy grin which was very strange because Clark was not a Hot Guy.
Lois had him categorized the first time she laid eyes on him and had not deviated (much) from that first impression since. Between his dorky glasses, messy curls, and boring clothes she pegged him as a mouth-breathing nerd who had a past involving Bronycon that he tried to scrub off the internet. When she found out he was from a farm in Kansas, her perspective shifted. She assumed people in the sticks didn’t have regular internet access, so, rather than a history of acting as moderator in the fandom that was most often used as a punchline, she now assumed that he was the kind of nerd who played tabletop games, but, not something in the zeitgeist like Dungeons & Dragons , more on the line of Stratego or Settlers of Catan.
His physical appearance was almost irrelevant at that point - no one could be a Hot Guy, in Lois’s view, if their primary form of entertainment was role-playing as a colonizing force - but all that aside, Clark wasn’t her type.
Lois tended to be attracted to people with an edge, something a little quirky or different about them that made her look twice. Clark wasn’t a second look kind of person. He was generically attractive in a boy-next-door way, but not Devastatingly Handsome. Additionally, he was pointlessly tall and inconveniently wide, with a neck that appeared to be roughly the same circumference as his head. Beefcake, sure, but like…American angus, something you could pick up at any grocery store. Not A5 wagyu that had to be specialty ordered, you know?
“What are you doing with your face?” Lois asked Clark, narrowing her eyes at him suspiciously. He was Not Hot. And yet her perception of Hotness persisted.
Clark blinked at her - and yeah, okay, she realized at some point during TV and Takeout that he had really pretty eyes. Blue, but also, blue. Really, really blue. Just…super-duper blue.
Clark furrowed his brow in confusion, but it was somehow Hot Confusion.
“Nothing?” he replied, a question in his voice. “Just…having a face. How ‘bout you drink some water?”
Oh, right, he brought her water. But she wasn’t thirsty.
“I’m good,” Lois said, reaching for her stemless wine glass - huh. It was empty.
“Sure you are,” Clark agreed easily. “But maybe you should drink some water?”
Yeah, that was a good idea, hydrate before you die-drate and all. Lois unscrewed the top of the water bottle and took a couple of sips - oh. That’s why she wasn’t thirsty.
“I have to pee,” she announced, getting up out of the chair, only needing two attempts at it before she was successfully on her feet.
Lois took off the giant shirt she was wearing and tossed it at the chair, intending to mark her territory, like she was a tourist on a fancy beach vacation. Her aim was a little off and the stemless wine glass that had been her closest companion for the past hour was in danger of shattering on the ground. Clark somehow caught it, in a move so fast Lois missed it entirely. It was like she blinked and the glass just appeared in his hand.
“Good catch,” she remarked approvingly, flashing him two thumbs up. Then she pointed a finger at him and instructed Clark, very firmly, “Don’t let anyone take my seat.”
He saluted her and gravely replied, “I’ll guard it with my life.”
Lois saluted back and wound her way inside. The Kents had such a cool house, all warm and friendly and full of stuff. Taking this vacation was a great decision, maybe the best decision Lois made all year. She got to hang out with Clark a whole bunch extra, got to meet his cool, queer parents who fed her the most amazing food, and they had the cutest dogs. Yeah, there was occasional weird stuff, like Lana being randomly a bitch sometimes and Clark being magically hot all of a sudden, but overall Lois was having the night of her life and literally couldn’t remember a time she’d been happier.
She texted her sister one of the selfies Lana took during their ride on the Ferris Wheel. The three of them looked extremely adorable, all crowded in together, beaming happy smiles up at the camera. Lana and Lois leaned their heads together while Pete gave them both bunny ears. It might have been the best picture Lois had ever taken, come to think of it.
Her phone buzzed while Lois was washing her hands.
Who are those people?
Lana (who might have acrush on melol and PeteRoss!
That tells me nothing, where are you?
Smallville baybeeeeeeeee! 😂😂😂
Are you drunk?
Lois frowned down at her phone. No, she wasn’t drunk, she’d had one glass of wine (she refilled it four times, but that still only counted as one glass because she drank it out of one vessel). She was just happy and fuck Lucy for assuming that because Lois was freely expressing joy, she must be drunk.
Lois left her phone on the sink and went back outside where all her best friends in the world were, leaving her loser sister on read.
Good as his word, Clark was standing idly by Lois’s chair where the second s’more and the bottle of water was waiting for her, but the wine glass had gone missing. Lois didn’t make it to the chair, pausing in her trek due to Lana beckoned her to sit next to her on one of the picnic blankets.
“We should cuddle!” she insisted, reaching up for Lois, arms outstretched. Lois happily obliged her. Face scrubbed free of makeup, one might think that Lana’s relative position on the Hotness scale (namely, Super Hot) would be diminished, but no! The magic of the fire worked on her too and she was still fucking stunning.
“You have such beautiful freckles,” Lois said, her face scant inches from Lana’s face as she plopped down next to her.
“Oh my God, thank you!” Lana replied, glowing from the praise and the firelight. She reached out and curled her fingers in the ends of Lois’s hair. “I just love dark hair, it’s so pretty, you’re so pretty - Clark! Isn’t Lois soooooo pretty?”
“Soooo pretty,” Clark agreed softly.
He had such a nice voice. All way back when Lois suspected Clark was a Settler of Equestria she could bring herself to admit his voice was pretty good. All deep and warm, a little rumbly sometimes when he was trying to be quiet. She liked his lil’ accent too, especially now that he was really flaunting it and saying things like ‘darling,’ without the ‘g.’
An uncomfortable thought intruded on Lois’s bubble of bliss, a harsh truth that she didn’t really want to face about herself. She made a bunch of snap judgments about Clark when she met him, many of which turned out to have no basis in reality (he’d never seen My Little Pony and he wasn’t actually a stupid hick). How would she have reacted if he used terminology like, ‘girlie’ and ‘darlin’’ before she actually got to know him?
Not well, probably. She would have snarked on him, at the very least. Snorted derisively and rolled her eyes said, ‘Fuck off, farm boy,’ or something else straight out of the script of The Princess Bride, but the part when Buttercup was being an asshole.
Clark stood over them, holding the shirt Lois left behind.
“Ooh!” Lana reached up and snatched it, holding it out to Lois with a grin. “Our get-along shirt!”
Lois picked up what Lana was throwing down immediately and they each put one arm in the sleeves. Pete’s sister Cassie looked over at them and laughed.
“Oh my God, can you button it?” she asked, face lighting up at the prospect. “Please button it.”
“Just you know,” Clark retorted, defensively. “I usually wear that over a sweatshirt, so it’s supposed to be roomy. Like a very flexible jacket.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Cassie looked him over critically. “And when you’re wearing it over a sweatshirt, can you button it?”
Clark’s mouth dropped open and his expression morphed into a look that was torn between amusement and outrage.
“Cass!” Pete cried out, aghast. “Stop body-shaming Clark!”
Cassie ignored him completely and started a chant, “Button the shirt! Button the shirt!”
Her sisters gleefully joined in and Lois and Lana could hardly disappoint The Children. They had to press very close together, with Lana practically in Lois’s lap, but they managed to get the shirt buttoned up to the general amusement of everyone around them. The buttonholes were pushed to the absolutely limit, but anything for a laugh, right?
Clark, being the good sport that he was, took a picture and texted it to the two of them. Lois groped around in her pockets for her phone, but didn’t find it. Huh. She must’ve left it back on the Adirondack chair.
The wine and the fire and the flannel shirt, plus being shoulder-to-arm-to-hip next to another person quickly made Lois and Lana overheat. They unbuttoned the shirt and instead turned it into a makeshift lap blanket. Clark held out a water bottle for Lois to take, then sat on the blanket beside hers and Lana’s, laying flat on his back with his hands behind his head, staring up at the stars.
Lois followed his gaze. It was a clear night and the lack of light pollution made for a viewing experience that citizens of Metropolis had to shell out fifteen bucks for at the planetarium. She craned her neck slightly too far back and might have toppled over, but Lana caught her with one arm around her waist.
How had Lois ever thought the two of them could be enemies? Lana was cute, she was cool, she was nice, and she was occasionally a real bitch which meant she was interesting. What a great girl!
Lois rested her head on Lana’s shoulder and Lana leaned her cheek on the crown of Lois’s head, adopting the pose the Kents had on the Ferris Wheel.
“Clark, take a picture!” Lois insisted. “We’re being so freaking cute.”
“Already did,” he replied. This was confirmed when Lana’s phone buzzed from an incoming text, but Lana didn’t reach for it, she just kept her arm around Lois and gave her a squeeze.
Not to be outdone, PeteRoss made a sliding tackle into Clark.
“Lana!” he called over, throwing an arm and a leg over Clark’s torso, hugging him like he was a life-size teddy bear. “Take a picture! We’re being so freaking cute!”
“Can’t,” she replied immediately. “I’m too busy being in the moment with Lois.”
Mrs. Kent obliged Pete and snapped some photos of him and Clark before Pete was called away to get more marshmallows for his sisters. A few guitar chords rang out and Lois, at first, thought it was a very high-quality ringtone until she realized that Mr. Kent was playing live.
An honest to God sing-a-long ensued. The set list included overplayed faves like ‘Wagon Wheel,’ summer camp classics like ‘Rattlin’ Bog,’ and other songs that Lois was unfamiliar with.
Lana got up to get herself more wine and Lois adopted the position Clark had been in, lying down, letting the music and the nighttime wash over her. Callie trotted over and curled up at Lois’s side to settle in for a nap. Had she thought she was relaxing before? Wrong. This was relaxing.
Lois turned her head to look for Clark, to see which one of them was winning the vacation game. It looked like they’d tied. Clark wasn’t lying down anymore, he was sitting next to his mom, leaning against her chair. Mrs. Kent was scratching her nails over his scalp in an absent, soothing way, and singing solo - the saddest song Lois had ever heard about a girl named Lillian who had an awful life.
Lois rolled over on her stomach, without waking Callie, resting her cheek on her folded arms as she looked at Clark. His eyes were closed and his shoulders hitched as he sighed. All at once, the muscles in his face relaxed. It was like he’d been holding all the world’s problems inside and hadn’t let them out until that moment.
Clark opened his eyes and caught Lois staring at him. He didn’t look annoyed, though. He just smiled at her, a slightly wan smile she’d never seen on him before.
Something’s up with him, Lois realized, the first totally clear thought she’d had since the sun went down. He’s really sad.
Maybe he was thinking about leaving already. It was crazy, they’d only spent two and a half days in Smallville, but Lois felt like it had been much longer. It was an easy place to get used to and if this was Clark’s baseline normal, she could see how he might not be looking forward to the return trip. People called Metropolis the City of Tomorrow for its reliable public transportation system, highly-rated schools, low crime rate, and overall focus on cleanliness and sustainability...but you still had to watch a projection show to see the stars.
There were a lot of green spaces in Metropolis, but they were cultivated little parks and rooftop gardens. There weren’t a lot of places around town to sprawl out in the dirt (there was practically no dirt to speak of) and it was probably against public safety regulations to have a bonfire. Kicking back like this was something that he could only do in Smallville and they’d be leaving in a few days.
As the clock ticked closer to midnight, the remaining food and drink went into the house and the ice in the cooler got dumped; Otis and Callie lapped at the ice cubes. People started heading out, packing up chairs and blankets, thanking the Kents for having them over. Pete drove Lana home so she wouldn’t have to walk and eventually it was just Mama and Papa Kent, Clark, Lois, and the dogs.
They weren’t in a hurry to go inside. As the fire burned down low, Mr. Kent struck up the guitar again and he started singing.
Mrs. Kent had a more traditionally melodic voice while her husband’s was less polished and he fell into talk-singing when the notes were out of his range, but it produced a calming effect, like listening to late night radio DJs who specialized in jazz. For the first time since she left Metropolis, Lois Got It and really understood why Clark might not be looking forward to leaving.
It was comfortable here. And that was saying something, coming from Lois who always determinedly carved out a niche for herself anywhere she was, but had never slotted naturally into a community before.
She was back to wearing Clark’s shirt, though the honorable thing would have been to return it. Clark was still wearing the shirt and shorts he’d donned for the fair, despite the dying fire making the temperature drop. He didn’t look bothered though, he was back to sprawling out on the ground, Otis lying on top of him, seemingly as content as could be. The sorrow she thought she read on his face was totally gone.
“She don’t like roses,” Mr. Kent softly crooned. “She don’t drink champagne. And now you’re walking home in the soft rain. You pass the mailman, you watch the lights change. And you’re feeling fine. You don’t even mind the rain.”
This is nice, Lois thought drowsily. This is so nice. I love it here.
The next thing Lois knew there was a large, warm hand gently shaking her shoulder.
“Come on, cowgirl,” Clark murmured encouragingly. “Sleeping under the stars is all well and good, but I think it’s gonna rain.”
“Mmm,” Lois retorted, a cogent and articulate argument.
Clark chuckled, silence settling around them, broken only by the chirping of crickets. Very quietly, he offered, “I can carry you inside, if you want.”
“Noooo,” Lois demurred. “I’m getting up. You don’t have to. I weigh pounds.”
“Ha,” Clark snorted. “I think I can handle it.”
Lois opened one eye and looked up at him, half-asleep and entirely skeptical. Clark was kneeling beside her, one arm balanced on his leg, one hand dangling down toward the ground. It was too dark to tell if the Hotness Spell had been broken, but one’s level of Hotness was not directly related to their ability to lug a whole human person around.
“Promise not to drop me?” she asked.
“I won’t drop you,” he said and Lois heard more than saw the smile in his voice.
Well, if he did drop her, she’d have another piece of leverage (along with Chicken) to keep in her back pocket if she ever needed to blackmail him. Wordlessly, Lois lifted her arms for the first test, seeing if Clark could actually haul her up off the ground, bracing herself to laugh at his folly rather than cringe in mortification if he threw his back out -
Whoa.
All of a sudden, Lois was wide awake. Every paperback romance novelist was contractually obligated to include the line, ‘He carried me as if I weighed nothing!’ to establish the Hero’s certified manliness chops (even if said Hero was a Regency dandy who never lifted anything heavier than a quizzing glass in his life). Except that Clark lifted Lois so easily that, for a split-second, she got the rush of weightlessness that she usually only experienced on drop-rides at thrill parks.
Then she was pressed against him, even more closely than she had been on the truck that morning. The proximity did something to her because while Clark was immense, he was also immensely cuddly. His arms around her felt as sturdy as steel girders, but he was warm and very slightly squishy in a way that made her want to press into him.
He also smelled good, a combination of the smokiness from the fire and a quintessential Clark essence which was bright like sunshine and radiated an inherent sense of...something. A quality Lois couldn’t place immediately, that felt like safety and belonging and also made her kind of hot and bothered. She lolled her head against his shoulder, breathing deeply, and mumbled a compliment to that effect. Maybe she thought it rather than said it because Clark didn’t respond.
Clark carried her Like She Weighed Nothing™ all the way up the stairs into the guest room where he set her down on the bed with all the care of someone trying to hold a soap bubble in their hands. Lois sank down into the pillows, having just enough sense to toe her sneakers off so she didn’t put dirty shoes on the covers.
“I’ll be right back, I’m gonna to get you a glass of water,” Clark said, appearing as a dark shape in the doorway with a voice that rumbled right through her bones.
“‘kay,” Lois replied, extremely seductively. Then she promptly passed out.
She was awakened by Clark’s return. He put a glass of water and a paper cup of ibuprofen on the bedside table. He also had her phone.
“You left this in the bathroom,” he said, spying the charging cable on the dresser and plugging it in for her. Clark drifted a little closer to the bed. “G’night - ”
Lois reached out and grabbed his wrist, tugging at him. Clearly she needed to do more weight training at the gym because trying to yank Clark toward her was like trying to move a freighter.
“Youshouldstay,” she implored, one big slurred expression of sentiment.
Clark exhaled really deeply and Lois felt like the temperature in the room dropped by several degrees. Luckily she was still wearing his flannel and stayed nice and toasty.
“I think…that you are very tired,” Clark said slowly. He loosened her grip on his wrist, but held Lois’s hand carefully between both of his, his fingers softly patting the back of her hand. Like the rest of him, his hands were enormous, but he touched her really gently, like she was very special and precious. “I think you should get some sleep. And I’ll see you in the morning.”
It should have felt like rejection, but it didn’t, at least it didn’t sting like rejection usually did. Especially not when Clark lifted up her hand and kissed it softly, exactly like a Regency gentleman might.
Clark dropped her hand and it flopped lifelessly onto the mattress with a soft thud. Okay, okay, maybe Lois was the teensiest bit tipsy. It would explain the sudden onset of Longing.
“Okay,” she said, jaw cracking in a yawn that was the antithesis of alluring
“Okay,” Clark echoed. He went into the closet and grabbed an extra blanket, laying it over Lois’s legs since she was clearly in no condition to make the monumental effort to get under the covers. He very briefly passed a hand over her head, smoothing her hair out of her face. “Sleep good, Lois.”
“You too,” she said, eyes at half mast, the words even less intelligible than her suggestion that he spend the night.
Before he left, Clark very romantically placed a small trash can by the side of the bed. Callie the dog trotted in and hopped up onto the mattress, Lois distantly heard Clark request that the pupper keep an eye on her for him. Then he closed the door and went to his room.
On the dresser Lois’s phone buzzed, the last of several dozen ‘Are you okay?’ ‘Why aren’t you picking up?’ ‘Are you trying to drive me crazy?’ texts from Lucy that got increasingly angry as the night went on. She didn’t hear it though; she was already fast asleep.
Outside her window, there was a rumble of thunder. Clark was right; rain was on the way.