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Title: Morning in Metropolis
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Clark/Lois
Summary: Just a quiet morning in.
Wordcount: 928
Morning in Metropolis
It was just after dawn, his internal clock informed him gently, the blush of light in the sky feathering his cheek as he floated smiling over the bed, so as not to wake her. He didn't want to wake her just yet, only to watch. Just a little longer.
Her face was always so fascinating in sleep, as it was during the day. But there was a kind of fierce vulnerability to her in sleep that he adored, that he wanted to watch and protect and cherish until the stars withered in the sky. That look, a strange cross between a scowl and a kind of beatific innocence ... it melted his heart every time he saw it. So tough, his Lois, defiant even in dreams, sweet and complex and stubborn to the end. His beautiful Lois.
He saw it the instant her face shifted from dreams to waking, with not a flicker of eyelid, but more a sense of instant alertness, a sudden questing awareness behind the veil of sleep. That mind. His smile spread inexorably as he watched that fierce mind connect to the world once more, put together the pieces while still barely surfaced. He saw the twitch of her lip as she realised he was there, and beamed silently into the morning.
"Hey there," she whispered, voice hoarse and foggy with sleep. Her eyes opened, blurry and twinkling with humour. He bit his lip.
"Hey," he murmured, soft with love. She smiled, flashing a hint of sharp teeth, and stirred in a languorous stretch that had him drifting instinctively lower towards the bed and her. "Morning."
"Hmmm," she purred. "Morning. You know, if you wanted a peep, all you had to do was ask. You didn't have to go straight to x-ray vision." He laughed at that, low and startled, and settled at her side with a soft thump. She immediately moved to curl around him, her limbs still soft and slumberous, her hair tickling his nose. He snuffled gently.
"I didn't want to wake you. I like watching you sleep," he confided, blushing a little as her smile sharpened and she purred against his throat.
"Oh, my husband the perv," she chuckled, nuzzling his neck as the flush rose towards his ears. "But that's alright, too. Feel free to give me a nudge any time you feel that way, Smallville. I won't mind."
He shook his head, his ears glowing faintly, and hugged her close in lieu of answer. Sometimes, she just stole all his words, all the words in the world. "Ah ... Hem. Ah?" She burst out laughing, a bright little peal in the sunlight, and muffled it hurriedly into his shoulder, clever fingers reaching up to tickle his chest while her head shook helplessly.
"Oh, Clark," she gasped. "Oh, baby. I love you, you know that, right? I don't know why, but I really, really do." She looked up at him then, her mouth wide and grinning, her lashes sweeping low, her eyes just sparkling, and warmth swamped him, rose like a tide in his chest, and he crushed her against him suddenly, gentle as he could, just wanting her close, wanting her near. His beautiful, beautiful Lois. She huffed in surprise, then nestled in close, humming contently as he buried his face in her hair and kissed the top of her head.
"Lois," he murmured, throatily, lost to her. "Lois. What did I do to deserve you? What did I ever do?"
She laughed again, light and luminous, her head still curled into his neck. "Well now. Do you mean, what kind of saint must you have been, or what kind of terrible sin must you have committed in a past life?" He grinned, and shook his head against her hair.
"Neither," he whispered, softly, blushing once more to his ears, but it was important to say it. "Not even saints could do enough good to deserve something ... something like you." He paused, rubbing his thumb behind her ear, his heart thumping gently beneath his ribs. "There's not enough good in all the world to deserve you. I don't know why you graced me anyway, but ... I don't think there's anything I'm more glad of."
She was silent for a long minute, her lips pressed and curving against his pulse, her fingers curled tight at his heart. Then she shook her head, just a little, and pressed a kiss to his throat. "You say ..." she murmured, "... just the sweetest things, Clark. I love you for it, you know that? Even if ..." she tilted her head up to catch his chin, then forward to brush her lips against his, "... they really are so terribly ..." and firmer, love and desire and humour all at once, "... terribly corny." Her lips brushed the tip of his nose, for the barest instant, then dipped back down to feast a little more. And with a laugh that was fierce and joyous, he rolled her over, all of a sudden, to lie above her with his hands on either side of her head, and looked down at her laughing face, the love bright in his eyes.
"Lois," he murmured, rich and thick and adoring. "My Lois." She bit her lip, smiling fiercely, and reach up to twine her arms around his neck, like she used to do when he flew her up into the night.
"My Clark," she whispered back, promising and wise. "My beautiful Clark." And, full of the sight of her, he sank down into her kiss, and dreamed away the morning in a sea of golden sunlight and gentle laughter.
