14263/I Brought Pizza

I Brought Pizza
Date of Scene:	04 April 2022
Location:	Clark Kent's Apartment
Synopsis:	Lois comes over to Clark's place with pizza, whiskey, and a broken heart missing Superman. It turns out, he wasn't very far at all. The truth is an incredibly pleasant surprise.
Cast of Characters:	Superman, Lois Lane

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Superman has posed:
1938 Sullivan Place, New Troy, Metropolis, is the home of one Clark Kent. The building is technically owned by Bruce Wayne, who has given tenancy to Clark to assist him in the trials and tribulations of life -- of course, that's all done through proxies, and as far as anyone knows Clark simply has a nice apartment in a nice part of uptown New Troy, with a commanding view of the Daily Planet and Lexcorp Tower both. It's a building like any other, one of New Troy's many gleaming jewels,

Clark, at the moment, is in his living room. This is a quiet Sunday; he visited his parents earlier to attend church, and after a bit of afternoon heroism, he's settled with the sun upon his sofa, wrapped in a comfortable aquamarine silk bath robe, smelling faintly of pine and soap. The spacious room's adorned with bookshelves and plants, with wide windows leading out to a balcony overlooking the city, through which the lights of nocturnal Metropolis shine. His television is playing some repeat of an old sitcom, and Clark's laptop is opened on his coffee table, scrolling through news reports and double-checking a submission for one of the Daily Planet's online articles.

A fresh cup of coffee is situated next to the laptop. Clark has a look of almost meditative calm upon him; there will surely be no distractions tonight. Just coffee, some television, and relaxation.

Lois Lane has posed:
While she hadn't mentioned anything about their pseudo-date around the office, that probably wasn't too much of a surprise. Lois did attempt to be professional about matters within the Daily Planet. Or so she said. It was as professional as she ever got. However, several nights after, well past her recovery from the incident with the cult, Lois is standing outside of Clark's apartment with her hands full.

She's resourceful, however. She's holding a pizza box in one hand, a bottle of whiskey in the other, and her foot is doing the work of knocking, "Kansas! Open up! I brought pizza. And booze, but I think you care less about that. I wanna talk and I won't scare you away with another sorta-date. I promise. not for another week, at least! Come ooonnnn, let me in, I know you're home, you have no life on a Sunday!" And then, when he does finally open his door, he'll find Lois standing there. She's in her day off clothing, a pair of daisy dukes, a hawaiian shirt tied off below her breasts, and her long leather jacket over top so she can pretend at keeping warm with all those bare legs.

Superman has posed:
"One of these days, pow!", thunders a voice from the television. Shadows play across the angles of Clark's face as he peeks, a black-and-white image reflected in his lenses; moments later, his mouth splits in a wide grin, and a chuckle melts under the blare of the speakers.

"Some things are timeless," he muses aloud, leaning back into the plush cushions of his sofa. He stretches his arms out over his head and twists to really stretch his muscles, his breathing shifting into a content sigh as he slumps into the indent he's making. It's just plain cozy, is what it is.

But he hears her. He hears her talking to herself before she ever reaches his door; he hears her breath through the walls, hears the unique beating of her heart and the thumping cadence of her footfalls that tells him this is Lois Lane. He need not see her or even focus terribly much to identify her, so intimate (if platonic!) is his familiarity with her; her body betrays itself to him in a thousand subtle signs mankind would overlook, but to the Man of Steel manifest more overtly than the rising sun.

He's plucking up the remote and turning down the television *before* she knocks, waiting a moment after her raised voice and kicking foot announce her properly to rise up from the sofa and meander past the kitchen and to the front hall, his bare toes curling into the fibers of his carpets.

"Lois? You, er, didn't call -- well, hold on, let me get the door..."

He unlocks the door and flings it open, and he immediately reaches to take the pizza from her like a proper gentleman.

"You're looking very lovely tonight, Lois," he compliments, his eyes sweeping over her undeniably attractive figure: shapely curves and smooth skin and luscious hair made all the more radiant by the casual sex appeal of her outfit. "Now, come in before you wind up a popsicle."

Lois Lane has posed:
Completely unaware of how he knows every inch of her, Lois has tried to make it look like she's being casual. These are her casual shorts (they've not been washed for a good bit) and this was a more comfortable shirt, but she's also fresh with a shower, her hair still slightly damp, and she's bothered to put a brush of the amber oil on that she likes to wear when she's being fancy. She's done a few subtle things that say she tried to put herself together, to show off a little, before she came to visit Clark Kent. Oh. She's also wearing fancy matching underthings, something lacy that hints above the waistline of her low rise shorts when she sits a certain way. This wasn't JUST a drop in.

"I'm not a popsicle, I'm parked right around the corner. Besides, didn't you hear? It's spring." She admits with a teasing little grunt before stalking the rest of the way into the room. She sets the whiskey down, peeling out of her jacket with a toss of her black hair and draping it over one of his kitchen chairs before she goes for a coffee mug. "Did I need to call? Was I wrong? Did I intrude on your big AMC marathon?" She nods towards the screen as she pours herself out a good belt of the whiskey.

Superman has posed:
"If I'd known you were coming I would have cleaned up," Clark insists, though it takes only a casual look for Lois to see that the place is impeccably maintained; it has the sort of polish you'd see if Clark had a full-time maid or an excessively domestic live-in girlfriend -- why, the marble countertops are so reflective you could probably bounce a laser off them. It's like this every time Lois has visited.

And she has yet to see any evidence of a maid or a girlfriend. The perfect dusting, the neat and alphabetical ordering of the bookshelves, the total lack of stains or clutter and even aesthetic sensibilities and feng shui -- it's all the farm boy.

It'd take a normal person hours to do that. Clark's got the house management skills of a God.

"You smell nice," he mentions, nostrils flaring as he sniffs the air. "It's that perfume of yours I like. Amber, isn't it?" He's also got a bloodhound's nose, detecting the subtle application of the oil. "Only put it on for the fancy shindigs. What big shot were you interviewing this time?" The scent detected, the intent misunderstood -- is Clark socially savvy or dense? Sometimes it's a mystery.

"Oh, you can change the channel, if you want. I was watching The Honeymooners. Ma mentioned it. She's had a craving for old-timey TV lately." He smiles, lopsided, and sets the pizza box down. He cracks it open, takes a slice, and begins to eat.

He's not bothered by Lois coming, obviously, despite his earlier protests.

Lois Lane has posed:
A deep smirk pulls across her lips as she looks in his direction at the protest about cleaning. Then she rolls her eyes, shaking her head, "Clark, how long have I known you now? This apartment hasn't ONCE been dirty. Not in the middle of the hardest story binge, not when you've worked three doubles. Never. I don't know if it's possible for it to be dirty." She accuses him with a smile.

And then he's calling her out in turn. The accusation of smelling nice. How *dare*. She blinks, carrying over her pizza and drink in his direction before flopping down onto the couch near him. "I don't! I mean, I did... shower. I showered, but yeah, I put on the amber oil. I like it. It smells nice. I felt like smelling nice. It wasn't about YOU or anything, but no one else... just wanted to smell nice." That's a lie, a complete and utter lie, especially as she insists it wasn't about him.

She huff and settles in, stuffing some pizza past her lips instead of still rambling.

Superman has posed:
"A clean home fosters a clean mind," Clark loftily replies, tilting his nose into the air with a smug, teasing gleam in his eye. He lifts an oozing pizza slice above his open mouth. "When we're physically cluttered, we feel mentally cluttered. When our space is disorganized, so too are our thoughts. So, you know, Lois -- maybe clean your place so we can have these get togethers there one night, instead."

Kent spits fire and swallows pizza, tendrils of melting cheese clinging to the corner of his mouth like cobwebs. He's got a five-o-clock shadow by now and the prickly black hairs around his lip cling to the cheese.

"Of course it wasn't about me, Lois," he resumes moments later. "I read Jessica's web piece the other day. 'The Nose Knows: My Perfume Is My Power'." A random coworker, one of the younger crowd geared more toward the Daily Planet's online presence and social media. "The act of beautifying oneself is an act of empowerment, relishing in your own personal style, not the satisfaction of others."

Yes, it's a silly article.

Lois Lane has posed:
"Shit, Kansas. You got mouthy over the weekend. I put on one mini skirt for you and you think you got one up on me, hmm? Well, I'm still the boss here, and you remember it." Lois states mock-flatly to him, only barely hiding her smile behind a slice of pizza as she teasingly glares at him across the couch.

And then he gets a full on groan as he quotes Jessica's web piece, shaking her head as she pounds back a good gulp of her whiskey. Thinking of that makes her NEED a drink. "Jessica is a two bit, click bait hack and it sullies the very honor of our paper that they let her write that drivel. Of course it's for a man. It's always for a man." And yes, it was partially for him, but her next words sound just as much of truth, "I don't know, I thought it was a slow Sunday and I thought...maybe... well... Maybe Superman would stop by. I haven't seen him since the hospital. We're friends, right? He'd check on a friend after that?? I mean, I'm GOOD to be friends with...I'm a good friend." She insists over her whiskey.

Superman has posed:
"Yes, ma'am," Clark replies in that wholesome good boy tone, in much the same way he certainly placates his mother when she tells him to do something. He finishes off the last of his slice and reaches for a napkin next to the box, wiping the grease from his lips and fingers. "I'll go get some glasses," he then decides, leaning forward and pushing up off the sofa to wander back kitchenward. "I'm still listening, so go ahead," he calls over as he cuts across the open room, vanishing around the corner into the kitchen -- he can be seen from where Lois is, in the gap between the countertops and the cupboard bottoms.

Clark's silent then as he futzes about in the kitchen. He retrieves two glasses for the whiskey, not quite at Lois' level where he wants to chug straight from the bottle, and listens to her lament about clickbait and... Superman. His brow furrows and his lips press into a line, and this is unseen. He manages to keep his voice friendly and neutral.

"Superman's a busy fella, Lois, you know that. I heard the nurses saying he visited you in the hospital -- he obviously cares, even if he can't be around all the time." There's a beat, and she'll hear the jingle of the glasses rattling against one another as he takes them and begins to wander back. "Besides, it's Superman. He could be right here and we wouldn't even know." Super speed is convenient like that -- though Clark, himself, makes it back to the living room at thoroughly normal speed.

Lois Lane has posed:
"I think I'd know if Superman was in your apartment, Kansas." Lois deadpans at him as he comes back in the room. Then she pauses, dead silent for just a moment. She stares at him, her blue eyes going narrow for a heartbeat, before she shakes off whatever thought she momentarily had. "I'd definitely know. So, he's not here, and he's not come to visit *since* the hospital. And I just... God. I dunno. I miss him. I wanted to be... to thank him... More. To show him it's not just about getting my ass out of trouble." Lois mutters with a slightly dejected slump of her shoulders. She really was missing the man. The pout on her lips? It's the pout of a girl with a crush.

But unwise crushes are best dealt with using whiskey and a good friend. So, as he returns, she bumps her shoulder against his and then sinks in to resting against the side of his massive arm. "Sorry. I shouldn't be all... moping over him when you're right here. I'm glad you're in my life too, you know?"

Superman has posed:
Of all the people in the world to complain to about missing Superman, Clark Kent is certainly the most ironic. He is also the most empathetic -- at the sight of Lois' crestfallen slump, he leans over and slings his arm around her shoulders, pulling her in for a one-armed hug and planting a chaste kiss atop her head. The robed reporter smiles through a well-meaning sigh and squeezes his arm ever so gently around her.

"You know, Lois. I've seen videos of Superman saving people. I've heard people talking about what he's done for them. Those stories have a lot in common. It's always how heroic he is, or how kind he is, or how handsome he is. No one ever talks about how busy he must be. And no one ever talks about how he came to visit them, specifically, after saving them. There's too many people for that, not enough time. He can be anywhere, but not everywhere."

There's a brief pause, and Clark lifts his arm from Lois' shoulders, though his hand remains on her upper back after sliding there.

"Despite all that, he came to visit you. If you ask me, he must have been worried and wanted to see you. If he hasn't stopped by since, well... I'd bet my bottom dollar he's still thinking of you."

At her mention of being glad for him, he laughs softly.

"Well, gosh, Lois. You're making me blush. It's alright -- I don't blame you. He's Superman, and I'm just me, Clark Kent."

Lois Lane has posed:
The comforting embrace of his massive arm is enough to get Lois to genuinely relax. She relaxes even more than the booze lets her, but she drinks so much these days she probably isn't even feeling it most hours, so it's long ago stopped helping her relax. But this helps. She finishes off her first glass, setting it aside and simply tucking down to partially drown in the massive wrap of his arm and side.

This felt good. To some parts of her, it even felt right. Maybe she was foolish to be chasing after Superman when she had Clark right here. And STILL he's telling her all the right advice about the other man. She sighs deeply, "You're right... you know. I won't say it tomorrow and I'm always right in the news room but, here... you're right. I was lucky he visited at all. I'm not that... that special." Even if he had said the exact opposite. Lois was never good at seeing her own worth outside a news article.

Then he's blushing and puttig himself down. Lois blinks, pulling away just enough she can look up to his eyes as she swats his chest, "No. Fuck that. You're Kansas. You're Clark Kent. You're the second most brilliant reporter at the Daily PLanet. You're the nicest guy I've ever met in my life. You give the BEST advice and never bitch about me coming over unnanounced. You make me feel like I'm comfortable and home more than I *ever* felt even in my own home with dad. I'm lucky every day you're here. So, shove it with that just Clark Kent bullshit. Capiche?"

Superman has posed:
Clark is silent as Lois swats him, watching her with quiet amusement and appreciation as she launches into a tirade about his self-worth. What begins as a grin blossoms into a full-blown toothy smile with dimpled cheeks and crinkled eyes, and boy, Kansas positively glows.

"I don't mean it like that, Lois," he remarks after, though that smile and its warmth never falters. "There's an old saying among Methodists. They're words Pastor Linquist taught me to live by growing up, attributed to John Wesley: do all the good you can, for all the people you can, in all the ways you can, as long as ever you can." He turns to more fully face her, his arm now slung over the couch's back as she leans toward him. "There's no less goodness in what you and I do than what Superman does, Lois. It's not superpowers that make someone special -- it's that choice, every time the choice presents itself, to do the good thing, the right thing, the hard thing, that makes us great. It's true that you're beautiful, and it's true that you're smart, and it's true that you're the best darn writer I've ever met... but what's even more true, and more important, is that you see the world for what it should be, and you work toward it fearlessly. It doesn't matter what the risk is, you know things should be better, and you do all you can to make it that way."

His smile is gentle, his tone almost paternal. This is still her friend Clark Kent speaking to her, of course it is -- but in some strange, inexplicable way, this is something *more* than that, too.

"You've never been any worse than Superman, Lois Lane, and Superman's never been better than you. I think he'd want you -- and all of us -- to understand that. All of us are more than ever we realize."

Lois Lane has posed:
While Lois is used to Clark being a bit more confident in his own abode, this little speech is a bit more than confidence. Lois remains half turned towards him, one of her legs drawn up onto the couch so the front of her shin rests against the side of his leg and hip. It's a friendly, but clearly affectionate, contact. It also lets her be fully facing him for all those heartfelt words. He can see the skeptical chill practically melting off her face. How does she argue with that?

But she does shake her head after a few moments, "No, no, I'm not... hell, Clark, I'm not NEAR that good. A good reporter, yes, and I believe in our work. I...I do want to fix things. But I've made the wrong decision dozens of times and I'll do it again and I'm lazy, and wild, and... some days it's all I can do to get ANYTHING to turn off my brain because there's just too much and all I want to do is make it *stop*!" And she stops. Abruptly. Part of her realizes she's never told anyone that and the rest of her realizes it's too damn much. She looks fully away, leaning forward to silently pour herself another few fingers of whiskey, letting heavy silence linger a few heartbeats.

"Sorry. You're... right. You're right. You're too good and too nice, but...right." She finally mutters, more than happy to move on from the conversation. She has no clue how to handle thinking of herself as 'good'.

Superman has posed:
Clark is silent as Lois turns and speaks, denying all he said and all the sentiment he conveyed; yet, rather than raise his voice to argue, her ever-reliable friend simply looks at her as if he understands what she's saying. His gaze is gentle and warm, and his touch lacks any hesitancy -- he leans in once more as she has a minor meltdown and stops abruptly, and rests his hand on her shoulder as she moves to drink and arrests her arm. A moment later, he reaches to take the drink from her hands, though if she fights he'll relent, and place the glass back down on the coffee table.

"Look at me, Lois," he commands her, slow and soft-spoken and deep. He stares at her with those wide, earnest eyes, though his lenses make them a little big and blurry. It's always so hard to get a nice, good look at his face.

"There's no such thing as a perfect person, and it's not fair to hold yourself to perfect standards. I believe, firmly, that we are put on this world to love one another, to be kind, to help -- that there's no place for hatred, and bigotry, and spite. But to live a life full of love, you need to love yourself, first. Do you think I never make mistakes, that I have no regrets? That I'm never left alone with my thoughts?"

His hand lifts, curling against her cheek, holding her face in the palm of one massive hand.

"There's no such thing as a perfect person, Lois. There are no gods or monsters. The worst of us can be redeemed, and the best of us have faults -- in the end, it's all just people. Love them, love yourself, and everything will work itself out in the end. I love you, Lois, and if you hurt me, I'd forgive you. So forgive yourself, too."

Lois Lane has posed:
The woman doesn't fight him about her drink. She's had two and she can have more later, but Clark is being his very best self right now and Lois has issues turning away from him where he's like this. She needs to hear them, even if her heart doesn't often believe. Clear, only slightly tipsy blue eyes stare back at his slightly magnified ones. She gives his massive hand a gentle squeeze, her thumb tracing lazy circles across the flesh.

"My father wouldn't quite agree with that no such thing as a perfect person thing, but... I know. I do know that, Clark, and you're being entirely too good to me right now. Loving myself..." She shakes her head slowly, sinking a bit more against him.

"It's not something I really... care to do. I'm a mess and it's not a pretty place inside my head, that's why drinking is so damn nice. Because at least things quiet down a bit. I was... so happy to go out with you the other night, and then I realized you are way... *way* too good for me. We need to hook you up with someone like Barbara in accounting, or Carol at the front desk..." She squeezes his hand once more and then lets go to reach out for her glass. "And if Clark Kent's too good for me, it's a miracle Superman even knows my name."

Superman has posed:
Clark laughs. "Oh, come on, Lois. I might be a little thick-headed sometimes, but you're sharp as a tack. We both know that I like you; I wouldn't let you set me up with someone else."

Clark's natural confidence belies his usual awkwardness, though it is important to remember awkward is not the same as shy; he might not be Mr. Popular, but he has always spoken his mind, politely and with conviction. So it is that he admits his feelings to her without so much as blinking, cradling her face in his warm hand and looking at her.

This might be the moment to go in for a kiss... but he doesn't do that, for various reasons. He withdraws his hand as she goes for her glass and this time he does not stop her. He just sits there on the sofa and watches her drink, idly listening to the beat of her heart. His arm props up on the sofa's back, his cheek pressing into his knuckles and dimpling.

"I do adore you, Lois. As a friend and as a woman. I have for years, really. I know, lately, things have been harder for you... but I promise, no matter how low you get, I'll be there to help you back up."

Lois Lane has posed:
The fresh shot of whiskey down her throat is a nice dose of courage. Lois had been pouting her way over Superman this whole time when Clark was right here. Clark felt right, she still did put her favorite perfume on for him, and she'd always feel good coming over here. She takes a second drink of the stuff and then puts it down without his prompting.

Her heart's quickened some, and it's not just the booze hitting her veins. She turns her head, looking back up to him, studying that handsome profile of his face behind those glasses. "I know you will. And I... adore you too. Even if no one uses the word *adore* any more." Lois teases him with a crack of a grin. She then shifts forward and, unless he stops her, presses a sudden, warm kiss against the corner of his mouth. If he doesn't pull back, she'll even turn her head more, deepening it to a proper kiss, her free hand grasping the front of his shirt and pulling him closer.

Superman has posed:
Thump, thump-thump, thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump..

Clark listens as the woman's pulse quickens, as her pupils dilate, as the capillaries of her face widen and she flushes with a scarlet heat. For a moment, time is in slow motion, his adrenaline spiking and accelerating his processing speed to divine levels. He can see her wet her lips, see her lean up and press against him. He can detect it before she does it by subtle shifts in body language and posture -- and part of him says he should dodge, that it was a mistake to admit his feelings for her. Can he really provide a relationship as Clark Kent? Would it be right to do it, would it be fair to her?

It's one thing to have a casual liason or a short-term relationship. Clark's a boy scout, not a priest; he's been with women before. But he senses if he kisses Lois, there won't be anything casual about it.

And so he stares at her, at those soft lips and widened eyes, listening to the tremor of her breath and the nervous beating of her heart...

... and she sinks her fingers into the silk of his robe, feels her mouth collapse on his, feels his late-night stubble tickle her cheek. Clark returns the kiss with hunger, a hand moving toward her breast with sexual intent as he presses back and his own weight starts to pin her -- and then he's backing off, flush and aroused but reluctant.

That's the key word. Not unwilling, not distasteful -- he's obviously into it. But he's holding back.

"Lois, I... we shouldn't."

Lois Lane has posed:
As he's returning the kiss, even if it's just a moment, everything feels right with Lois' world. Maybe she shouldn't be running from the nerd. Maybe he really was her best friend. Maybe opposites attract. Lois leans tighter into him, a little sound of contentment escaping her throat as she feels him pressing back against her body. That hand against her chest will find the fact that she certainly didn't wear a bra under this favourite shirt of her's. She was going for maximum comfort today.

She starts sinking back into the couch, trying to pull him with her, but then he stops. Lois blinks, a frustrated, little whimper escaping her throat now as he pulls back, her fingertips pawing at that robe over his chest, trying to pull him back in against her. "W-what? WHAT? W-why? I...I'm not drunk. I swear I'm not..." Not yet. Maybe tipsy, but not drunk. She wouldn't do that to him, "And I'm all recovered from the other week, everything's fine. This feels... right... Doesn't it?"

Superman has posed:
Clark nearly relents. There's no such thing as a perfect person -- in the end, he's only a man, a regular guy from Smallville, and beneath him is a flush and panting beauty wholly willing to attend to every manly need he might tell her to. She can see it in his murky, lensed eyes, the way he stares at her like she's *meat*; if she's ever wondered if there's actually a wolf somewhere under that sheep's clothing, that raw, naked hunger dispels it.

But she sees something else, too, when his sanity returns to him, and that almost feral growl of his breath softens and he pulls back.

She sees guilt. He can't look at her.

"I love you, Lois. I have since we first met. But there are things about me I've never told you, secrets I keep. Secrets that I have to keep, no matter how much I care about you, because if you knew them... if you knew me, you wouldn't look at me the same way anymore."

For the first time in her life, Lois hears Clark -- humorous, sharp, good-intentioned and reliable Clark -- express fear, and it's all genuine.

"I can't be honest with you, and I can't make love to you if I'm lying. I'm sorry."

Lois Lane has posed:
The myriad of emotions behind Lois' eyes are a lot, most of them not good. As he pulls away again, even if it's out of fear and guilt, it still hurts her. Lois Lane took a risk and she was turned down. Hard. Her blue eyes drop from his to her hands and she abruptly pulls back from his body, like she'd burned herself on him.

"N-no...no. Of course. And... I... I know I'm not... I knew I wasn't... good enough. Hard to be honest with a train wreck like me. I...I shouldn't have.... I knew this... I wasn't..." And then she's scrambling to stand up, the shame a fierce stinging in her chest. Rejection is hard, and she doesn't love herself enough to be certain that the problem isn't her.

She moves, slightly stumbling, towards the door. One hand pushing back through her hair, trying to smooth it down and look like nothing happened.

Superman has posed:
What a train wreck. In an effort to help Lois see the good in herself, Clark has gone and exposed a little bit of his own truth -- and in doing so, he's tanked her self-esteem through mixed signals and motivated rejection. She can see the distaste for what what he said even as she's pulling back. All the physiological signs of her hurt, no matter how she might try to suppress them, announce themselves to him like a devilish brass section.

He's silent as she mopes, as she flushes with humiliation and shame, as she pulls away from him, rises to her feet, and stumbles toward the door. He watches her slender shoulders slump, and hears the faint sniffle she suppresses when she's far enough away from him that a normal man wouldn't hear.

Clark's heart breaks, and he fills the cracks with newfound resolve, strengthening it for what's to come. His hand lifts to the frame of his glasses and trembles with an agitated energy. He watches her hand reach out.

And he removes his glasses.

"Lois," he calls, and the pinched and nasally voice of Clark Kent is gone. This voice is low and full and it fills the space around it. So, too, does Clark, oddly enough. If she looks at him, he looks...

... a lot like Superman, really. Chest out, shoulders back, head high. Eyes bright and a beautiful blue.

"Lois. Please come sit back down."

Lois Lane has posed:
"Don't, just don't. I don't need a fucking pity party." Lois rasps out to him from where she stands at the door. She'd be out the door if she wasn't slightly tipsy already, but getting back into her shoes is a bit of a challenge when she's had three drinks and is looking through tears she's not letting herself cry.

Then the timber of his voice changes. There is a strength of command there that she cannot *help* but hear. Her head turns up, involuntary almost, in a shocked reaction to that sort of tone coming out of Clark Kent's face. But he doesn't look like Clark Kent standing there. He looks like...

Superman. Lois blinks, utterly shocked, which is when she forgets she was standing on one leg, trying to pull her shoe in, and timbers like a tree straight to the floor as she stares at him in shock. "Oh HELL-" She hisses out.

Superman has posed:
As soon as she falls, he's there to catch her. She didn't even see him move -- she tripped, looking at Clark standing there, then her vision swam and the floor rushed up and then he was holding her with one arm around her stomach, gently pulling her back to her feet.

It's as if there was no movement in-between the start and end states. There he was and here he is, one Lois Lane in tow.

She might also notice that she's floating three inches above the floor. And that so is Clark as he holds her.

"I realize you have a million things to say," he comments, scanning her body's reactions as her adrenaline spikes and she sobers up awful quick. "And, gosh, since the cat's out of the bag now, I suppose we'll sit down and talk about them. But I want to make one thing perfectly clear, Lois, before anything else: I'm still just me."

Lois Lane has posed:
The shock is probably one of the biggest of her life, if not THE biggest. Lois is still half numb as he scoops her into his arms and then she's floating off the ground. Not metaphorically, but literally, the way only Superman can make her throat. Her heart flutters in her throat, head spinning a bit, and she wraps her arms faintly around the back of his shoulders. She holds on a bit tighter as she regains some awareness, but it's taking several deep breaths and a very incredulous stare up into his too-too blue eyes.

"Clark... no. Fuck you. NO. I'm... this can't be... I'm sick. I'm hallucinating. This... I thought maybe, but it's..." And then her mind is catching up. She feels the firmness of his chest beneath her fingertips, the solid, steady beat of his heart, how effortlessly he carries her. She shakes her head quietly and a slow, low laugh crackles from her chest, "...I KNEW IT. I KNEW! All that running, off, missing those stories... I KNEW IT. You COVERED YOURSELF, KENT!"

Superman has posed:
"Only a few times. I really needed the job, Lois. With Ma and Pa getting older, you know..."

A little-known fact: Clark has, since the day he was hired, had half of his wages sent to his parents, instead. Clark negotiating that in the office was the first time he and Lois ever met.

"You're not hallucinating," he mentions, as the two lazily float back toward the living room. How different the world looks when you're just a little bit higher, even a slice of it as familiar and cozy as Kent's apartment. "Your heartbeat is elevated, and you might be about to hyper-ventilate, but you are definitely not hallucinating."

Saying so, Clark lowers Lois back to the sofa, the half-eaten pizza, and the remaining whiskey bottle. The blanket thrown over the sofa's back has fallen in a messy clump during their earlier near-tryst, and he reaches for it, wrapping it around her. Its weight and warmth might be a comfort.

"You're the only one who suspected it," he remarks. "Clark Kent isn't -- it's not a secret identity, Lois, it's me. I just act a little different so people won't suspect. If the public knew who I was, Smallville, my parents, the Daily Planet, you... all of your lives would change. How you saw me would change."

It does make one wonder, though. Does she actually know Clark Kent at all? There's talk Superman is an alien, and she knows he allegedly has a family in Kansas..

Lois Lane has posed:
There are many stages of shock and Lois is speed running through all of them. Her mind always operates fast, she just has to get out of the initial wave of numbness and start working out this problem. Or not working it out, because it's not a problem, but her mind is trying to tackle the missing pieces of the story. Once a journalist, always a journalist.

"But... but I met your parents. Hell, I LIKE your parents. How can you be Superman if you have perfectly normal parents? I mean, no offense to your dad, but there is no way he has super powers. We'd all know. He can't keep in the punchline of a joke he's so eager to tell it to us. Your mum might have powers but I don't think they are the speeding bullet kind." For once, she's not reaching for the whiskey. She's enamoured of him, she always has been, and now to find her biggest dilemma are one and the same person? It's a thrilling rush. Until her mind catches up with how long he's lied to her. But she's not there yet. "And I can't BELIEVE other people don't expect. You're *always* disappearing, and then he's right there, and... is that why you had to leave the date? I wasn't too annoying??"

Superman has posed:
"Breathe, Lois," Clark responds, sinking back down to the carpeted floor himself, his bare toes squishing against the fibers. "Everything you know about me is true, *except* for my being Superman. My name is Clark Kent. I was raised in Smallville, Kansas, by Jonathan and Martha Kent. They are my parents; I love them with all my heart. But the truth is, they are my adopted parents."

He pauses a moment to let that sink in, then sits down on the sofa once more himself. They've resumed their earlier positions before their romantic interlude, this time without the pep talks and the pizza.

"My birth name is Kal-El, and I am the last son of Krypton, a planet very far from here. When I was an infant, my parents sent me here in a space ship to escape our planet's destruction; I landed in one of Pa's fields. They'd.. lost their first child the month before, a miscarriage. They thought I was a miracle. God's answer to their prayers."

Their first. Down to his very bones, Kal-El identifies as Clark Kent; he speaks as if his older sibling passed.

"They didn't have superpowers, but they loved me, and they raised me well. And, yeah, that's why I'm always late, or ducking out early, or making excuses. I have to go be Superman. He's just.. a costume I put on when I'm helping people."

Lois Lane has posed:
Those blue eyes he knows so well listen quietly. Lois isn't always that good at being quiet, but this is a lot to process. She drags in a slow breath through her nose, trying to focus a bit more on what he's saying. She gives another slow nod, "Good... good. Your parents. I mean. I like your parents. They... they're good. Good parents. Good people." Probably why he's so good.

And then, there it is. The hit. The anger. She's come to accept what he's said enough that she's processed it's true and he's hid it from her this entire time. Her hand comes back, swatting at his massive shoulder (rather like hitting a boulder) before she smacks his chest again, anger smattered across her pale face, "And you LIED TO ME. ALL THIS TIME YOU LIED! MISTER PERFECT LIED AND I THOUGHT WE WERE BEST FRIENDS!"

Superman has posed:
Clark moves with Lois' blows so that she doesn't sprain her wrist or fingers in her anger, his body yielding incrementally whenever she strikes him. It's a thoughtlessly considerate move he barely recognizes he does -- yet Lois certainly might, for there's no way Superman would be shoved back by her annoyed swats. "I never lied about anything except being Superman," he clarifies, as if that might alleviate the wrath she feels in this moment. "Which, yes, that is a very big thing to lie about, but I meant well. I have a lot of enemies -- and maybe even a little worse, I have a lot of fans. Superman means a lot to the world, Lois, and I didn't want you -- or anybody -- exposed to that."

A lot is an understatement. The world has Superman cargo cults, fanclubs, copyright-infringing brand deals and knock-off products. If he had a P.O. box, it would drown every day in a deluge of gratitude, unhinged fan mail, lewd invitations, and probably anthrax or something.

"Superman is what I do, but Clark Kent is who I am. And you know Clark -- and, okay, I'm not as clumsy or awkward as I sometimes appear, but I'm not making those things up. I'm just emphasizing them. I *was* really awkward back in school, and for awhile I was clumsy trying to over-compensate for my powers, before I could control them, but... it's all just me."

Lois Lane has posed:
There is a third swat to him, but it's hard to stay angry for long. Lois just needed to get it out. She lets out a ragged breath then, fingertips coming up to stroke across his cheek and the stubble of his chin. She tucks a bit of his dark hair behind his ear, a fluttering smile finally cutting through the betrayal on her lips.

"Superman. You... you really are... Superman. The man I've been in love with from afar for... for months, and my best friend in the world, they're the same person. *You*." A faint laugh of a breath escapes her lips that sounds almost hysterical, but she's managing to hold it together by her bloody fingernails. Her other hand comes up, stroking his cheek, down the side of his neck, like she's trying to confirm he's real. "I... can't imagine my life without you. Either of you. *All*... of you."

Superman has posed:
"Yeah," Clark says, smiling that lopsided smile of his. "I really am Superman."

This time, when the mood is right, there's no holding back. Clark leans in and cradles Lois' face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the unshed tears that lingered in her eyes from earlier. "Though, you know, totally lame of you to come to my apartment in the middle of the night drinking and crying about Superman not coming to visit you. *I* came to visit you!"

He chuffs, playfully petulant, then goes for the kill. Metaphorically -- literally, he goes for a kiss, palming Lois' head and sliding his lips onto hers, tongue dancing out in a moment of passion. It's longer and fiercer than the trepidatious touches before.

"And gosh darnit, Lois, of course I'm real. We could go fly to Paris and buy really long baguettes if you're still skeptical."

Lois Lane has posed:
The kiss is better than she could have ever imagined. It helps melt away those last few strands of anger as she tips her head up to meet his mouth and there is no rejection this time. No pushing away. Nothing but a kiss she's imagined a thousand different times with two different people who, it just so happens, are the same person. Somehow, it's better than her imagination.

"No Paris. Here. Now." She breathes out raggedly against his mouth, heart starting to race again for entirely different reasons. But her fingertips reach for his robe and she is very done with talking. She presses him back with another, more hungry kiss, basking in the freedom of not needing to make the hardest decision of her life. Instead, she can simple enjoy the man she loves.