mars bars from mars

Lois Lane doesn’t get jealous. Well, she does, obviously—she’s only human after all—but not when it comes to relationships. Sure, she’s dated a few individuals who, in hindsight, seriously made her question her taste in partners, but she’s always had enough self-respect to leave if she started doubting their loyalty. She simply had better things to do than wasting time on petty relationship drama.

If she were in the mood for some serious self-reflection, she might question whether it was really out of self-respect, rather than leaving before things started to get too serious, and she could get hurt. Although it has to be said that she does have a remarkable sense for disloyalty. One of her university boyfriends had consecutively cheated on three girlfriends after her, but not her, because she had had a bad feeling about him and dumped him. It’s a tremendously helpful skill for a reporter (and also really good for avoiding being cheated on). This, however, is not the point. She doesn’t even go down that route of thinking, because she’s decidedly not in the mood for self-reflection tonight. Point is, Lois Lane doesn’t get jealous when it comes to relationships. Ever.

Despite this being an undisputed fact so far, she can admit that she is not entirely pleased by the woman talking to Clark at the moment.

He’s standing across the room from where she’s sitting at a table, half listening to her colleague’s chatter, half watching him wait for the bartender to finish his drink order. The woman came up to the bar just a moment ago, ordering a drink as well. She had started talking to Clark while they were both waiting, and Clark was as unfailingly polite to her as he was to anyone else. Now she’s steadily moving further toward him and giggling more often than usual for a casual conversation between strangers at a bar.

It’s not that she thinks he would cheat on her; she knows he would never, and she trusts him wholeheartedly. He certainly wouldn’t flirt with another person while being with her, but he’s also very bad at noticing when he’s being flirted with (something Lois knows from personal experience). He’s not clueless, but when navigating social situations as Clark Kent, he deliberately makes himself smaller, takes up less space, appears as the clumsy nerd with a shy disposition and big glasses. Not all of it is an act; to an extent, he is exactly that, but when he is just Clark Kent, he plays up all these qualities that he thinks make him less noticeable. And they do—Lois doubts the woman at the bar would ever make the connection between him and Superman—but they don’t make him any less attractive, as he seems to think they do.

It never used to bother her when they had first started dating. Way back then, she was still counting down the days till their inevitable break up in her head, convinced that they would never work because he was just so good and she was as bad at relationships as a person could possibly be. Lois doesn’t understand why she’s suddenly all jealous now. Although, is it really jealousy if she’s not at all worried about being cheated on? Surely not.

So she’s not jealous. She’s just slightly displeased with the situation.

Across the room, the woman lightly touches Clark’s arm, Lois’s eyes narrow. She has half a mind to get up and over there, even though she has no clue what she could do or say without sounding unnecessarily possessive and insecure.

Clark has already politely pulled away from the woman, and thankfully, the bartender finally hands Clark the tray with his finished drinks so he can start making his way back to their table. Lois turns away quickly, tuning back into the debate Cat and Steve are having about…leopard print?

Lois has no time to question how they arrived at this particular topic of conversation before Clark appears behind her, setting the drink tray down in the center of the table. Their friends loudly express their gratitude to him and he just smiles before he places his hands on the back of her chair and leans down, concern evident in the slight furrow of his brow. “Everything okay?”

She half turns in her chair to look up at him. The bar’s dim lighting makes his sharp features all soft; he’s taken off his tie and rolled up his shirtsleeves and Lois thinks that she cannot possibly go another second without kissing him.

Not here, though. She smiles and squeezes his hand reassuringly. “I’m alright. Just tired.”

He nods, and she can tell that he doesn’t fully believe her, but he doesn’t pry. “Should we leave?”

She agrees and they announce their departure to their friends, who protest and act as if they’re committing high treason by leaving Friday night drinks early, though it’s all in good fun. Cat raises an eyebrow and winks at her and Lois rolls her eyes at her in mock-annoyance as Clark helps her into her coat. They say their goodbyes, and Lois swats Jimmy with her scarf when he makes a joke about ‘the old people having to go to bed early’, even though Cat, Steve and Ron are their age and Jimmy is only slightly younger than them.

Outside the bar, they’re hit with a rush of cold air, swiftly making Lois feel more awake than she has since they arrived at the bar. It’s a welcome sensation and she takes a deep breath, tilting her head back to look up at the few stars in the night sky above Metropolis she can spot from here. When she looks back down, she catches Clark looking at her with a look of fond adoration on his face. She smiles and tucks her face deeper into the scarf around her neck to hide the blush gracing her cheeks, because apparently, Clark Kent is the only person on planet earth who can make her blush with just one look.

He takes her hand and intertwines their fingers as they make their way back to her flat. There’s no need to question if he’ll stay the night. They haven’t officially moved in together, but half of his clothes fill her wardrobe, there’s a set of pots and pans in her kitchen Lois knows she didn’t purchase herself, and she is hard-pressed to remember the last time he spent the night at his own place. The thought of sharing her space—her life—with someone in this way used to scare her; it doesn’t anymore. Every morning, she vows to finally ask him to really move in with her, but they lead busy lives and there’s always another story to chase or a city to save, overthrowing all her carefully crafted plans, and he ends up in her bed every night anyways, so she keeps postponing her question.

Tonight, I’ll ask him tonight, she vows while unlocking the door to her flat, Clark’s hand resting at the small of her back. They make their way inside, and Lois hangs up her purse and scarf and locks the door behind them, while Clark takes off his coat. He turns back toward her and pauses, brow furrowed in question. It seems she's been starring again.

Lois just shakes her head and steps into his space, pulling him down towards her. He goes easily. Their lips meet and she makes a soft sound she would resent if he were anyone else. Clark’s hands fly to the front of her coat and his fingers make quick work of the buttons there. He doesn’t bother pushing it off her shoulders, just slips his hands beneath it to wrap his arms around her waist and pull her close. She feels his fingers brush against the bare skin of her waist where her sweater rides up, as she wraps her arms around his neck and she sighs against his mouth.

Unfortunately, Clark chooses that moment to pull away, only to lean back in and press his lips to hers for a second longer before she can complain about it. Then he pulls away again, just far enough that they can look at each other properly. “What was bothering you?”

“Hm?” Lois asks, drawing idle circles against the collar of his shirt with her thumb.

“Earlier, at the bar,” he clarifies. “You said you were just tired, but I can tell there was something else bothering you.”

Lois bites her lip; she doesn’t want to answer, because it seems horribly embarrassing to her now, but she doesn’t want to lie to him either.

“The woman you were talking to at the bar,” Lois settles on after a moment. “Did you notice anything about her?”

Clark looks at her like she just asked him to solve the world’s hardest crossword puzzle, obviously not understanding where Lois is taking this conversation. “Uh, she had red hair, her name was Tracy, I think, and she told me she worked in marketing or something of the sort. Why?”

“Did you notice that she was flirting with you?” Lois asks him.

“No, was she?” Clark answers incredulously, seemingly replaying the interaction in his mind. Then his face changes and Lois can pinpoint the exact moment he starts seeing right through her. “I really didn’t realise she was trying to flirt with me, I promise, but is it possible that you were a little jealous?”

“No,” Lois says emphatically, dropping her gaze from his face to his chest, blushing once again. “I knew you most likely didn’t notice her flirting, and I know you would never cheat on me, so, no, I wasn’t jealous. I was maybe slightly irritated at most.”

“Okay,” Clark says slowly and she can tell he’s fighting a grin without looking at him. “That’s good then. If you had been jealous, I would have told you that you never have to worry about me cheating on you, because I would never, and also that I love you and you’re the only one for me. But since you obviously weren’t jealous, I’m just going to kiss you again.”

Lois hums. “Right, because if I were jealous, which I definitely wasn’t, I would feel a lot better now.”

“Good,” Clark says, no longer fighting his grin.

“Yeah,” Lois says, returning his smile.

He leans down to kiss her. “I love you.” Kiss. “You’re the only one for me.” Kiss. “I would love to make dinner for us, because Jimmy stole all my fries at the bar and I’m really hungry.”

Lois pulls away with a snort. “Sure, but I doubt you’ll find anything besides a piece of cheese and some crackers in the kitchen. We haven’t been to the store in at least a week.”

Clark shrugs. “That’s fine, I can make a cheeseboard.”

“With one kind of cheese?” she asks sceptically.

He considers that for a moment, unable to come up with an argument in defense of his cheeseboard. So he kisses her again. It works excellently at making her forget all about cheese.

He finally bothers to push her coat off her shoulders and leans to the side to hang it up without breaking the kiss. Then he wraps his arms back around her waist and pulls her even closer, while his mouth migrates from her lips to her neck. Lois hums contentedly and tangles her fingers in his hair.

“You know,” Clark says thoughtfully between kisses. “You could always just ask me to marry you.”

Lois freezes and pulls away so she can look at him properly. She’s reasonably sure she’s finally lost her mind and started hearing voices.

“If I were wearing an engagement ring, people would stop flirting with me,” Clark—real Clark, not a voice in her head—elaborates.

Lois stares at him disbelievingly, unsure what to say. He stares back, his face completely serious. Half a second later, he cracks up, loud laughter filling her hallway. He was just joking, thank god. She smacks his chest lightly in retaliation.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” he says, still laughing. He catches her wrist before she can smack him again. “That was such a dumb joke, I don't know why I said that.”

“You’re such a jerk,” she says, but there’s no heat behind it. “You’re lucky I love you as much as I do, or I would throw you out.”

“I really am,” he says, then leans down to kiss her again.

“But if I asked you,” he whispers, barely audible against her lips, “Which I will someday if you allow me, because it's only ever going to be you for me, would you-”

And God, she can’t possibly answer that now, because then she’d have to think about the fact that she would marry him in a heartbeat if he asked, because she doesn't think she’ll ever love anyone else in the way she loves him. And despite how far she’s come in terms of emotional vulnerability in the last eight months, it’s definitely still too early for that. So she cuts him off before he can finish his sentence. “Move in with me.”

Clark has to pause for a second, his train of thought swiftly interrupted by her, but he recovers quickly and they’re still so close she swears she can feel his smile. “Sure.”

There’s no discussion, no questions, and it occurs to Lois that if she asked him to marry her right this moment, he’d probably say yes. She files that information and its implications away for later. “Good. That’s good. Are you still going to make that cheeseboard, or was that just an offer so I wouldn’t kick you out? Your offering as a guest, you know.”