by Menolly
Note: by way of background, this is set sometime between the end of season three and the beginning of season four, while Clark is on New Krypton ... and was written before season four started, so the events on New Krypton are my conjecture only.
Lois sat, curled in the corner of Clark's couch, looking at the stars through the sloping windows of the apartment. She dropped her head against the back, feeling the upholstery fabric rough against her neck, and watched the star that seemed, to her, to shine a little brighter than the rest. The CD player clicked as it returned to the beginning of the disc and began to play again, the soft ambience it created almost inaudible - no more than a part of the room.
Lois closed her eyes for a moment in utter weariness, the pressures of the accumulating days taking their toll, but snapped them open again as though reluctant to miss a glimpse on this cloudless night. This had become a habit, staying at Clark's apartment on clear nights - in fact, on any night when she thought she might catch a glimpse in a break in the clouds of the star Clark had pointed out as New Krypton. She didn't even know whether it really was New Krypton, or whether it was something he'd told her to give her somewhere to look, but it didn't really matter. She'd spent so many nights on this couch that she was beginning to feel like that character in that FBI paranormal programme, the one who seemed not to own a bed.
Lois sat, watching, waiting. She wasn't sure what she was waiting for, but simply felt she needed to be there, in case. Not long ago, she wouldn't have sat and waited for anyone and would have felt this a waste of time but now ... now, everything was different, and she worked her way through the days to forget and to reach this time when she could sit and watch and wait. The eggshells she felt strewn around her at work were becoming audible - she could hear the crunch as people approached her, their tentative queries and their fear as they tried not to talk about the fact that Clark was gone. In the end, no explanations had been made - what could you say? How could you explain a disappearance that comprehensive? Perry had his suspicions, Lois was sure, but the rest ... well, the rest thought she was a victim of a hit and run lover. She'd heard the whispering; the fascinated shock of women discussing her 'letdown' when they didn't realise she was behind a door in the ladies room; the murmured appreciation for her 'bravery'.
She shifted again, tucking her legs up as she settled into the corner, letting the back and arm of the couch embracing her; a pale imitation of the embrace she remembered receiving during a Mel Gibson movie when Clark thought she was asleep. She took a sip of the iced soda she'd stocked the fridge with and wondered, not for the first time, whether she shouldn't simply move in while Clark was gone. Shopping for her apartment and his was taking up time, but she shook her head absently. If they'd had time to talk about it before he left, well,that would have been different but to simply move in without his consent - even though she knew he would give it - was not something she wanted to do. Before he left she probably wouldn't even have thought about that sort of thing, would simply have done it. This enforced separation had matured her in a way the relationship alone would never have done: turning to talk to Clark and finding him not there; seeing something and thinking she should tell Clark about it later, then remembering he wouldn't be there later to tell; these and more had, once she'd worked through the grief and tears, given her a deeper understanding of her relationships. She no longer took people so much for granted - although there were still occasions when she did, as much to remind herself that she still was Lois Lane as it was a requirement of the job.
Lois took a shuddering breath, trying to hold back fresh tears. This was almost worse than bereavement she thought, the ever present hope that he would return more painful, as she tried not to let the inconclusiveness of her life destroy her. She forced her thoughts away, letting the quiet music wash over her and through her mind, trying to relax and control her breathing. She slipped into near sleep, the increasing exhaustion taking its toll and her eyes barely open though still fixed on the dark sky.
"Lois ..." The whisper startled her awake and she blinked to clear her vision. She jumped from the couch as she realised the voice she'd heard was Clark's and ran to the window, looking at the terrace outside, scared she wouldn't see his familiar figure there. She scanned the area frantically, then rested her hands against the glass and lowered her forehead to the cool window as she realised there was nothing there. Disgusted with herself, she muttered under her breath as she tried to pull herself together, then gave in to the temptation to step outside, just to check once more. The cool night awoke her a little more, and a tear slipped free as she finally realised Clark wasn't there - the voice had been nothing more than the residue of a dream. Lois walked back inside, not bothering to close the door, welcoming the cold as a way to stop herself from sleeping, to avoid the dreams. She stared up at the sky again.
"Lois." She heard it again, and this time she knew she was awake.
"Clark?" she whispered, looking around her, then rising to pad around the apartment. She hoped he wasn't teasing her, too pleased to be home to think of the effect on her. She didn't think she could stand that. "Where are you?" she asked quietly, not expecting an answer and trying not to give in to the wave of sadness that threatened to roll over her at the hopelessness of the question.
She sat down abruptly as her question was answered. "On New Krypton.I can't come home yet, but I'm not sure how much longer I can take this separation." Clark's voice echoed in her mind and Lois wondered whether the tone, filled with sorrow and longing, was her own or his. "It's both of ours," came the reply to the unasked question, and she laughed, a weak hiccup of sound in the still room.
"How do I know it's you?" she asked, "I know you ... spoke ... to me like this when you left, but I've heard nothing since. How do I know it's you, and not just my mind?" Lois shook her head again abruptly, half-angry with herself for expecting an answer that would make sense, that could convince her.
"It's quiet now, for the first time in a very long time. In what seems like forever," came the reply, the richness of Clark's voice flooding her mind. She could feel the bone-deep weariness in his words and, without a voice, tried to reach out to soothe him. A lingering cynicism that had served her well as a journalist wondered whether she was finally losing her mind, and she felt Clark pick upon it. "I'm being .. boosted, I suppose is a good way to put it. I can't reach this far alone," she heard, "so Ching's helping. He can't hear what I say, what I pass on to you," came the reassurance "but he - um - amplifies what I can send, I suppose. This was his idea, in fact - we're free for a couple of hours for once."
Lois shut her eyes, concentrating on the feeling of Clark's words in her head, trying to block the doubts about her sanity that still circled just outside her reach. "How - how is it going?" she asked.
The brief flicker of terror and helplessness that she felt from him extinguished most of those doubts. More tired than before, she felt him shrug and try to block his thoughts. That alone told her more than she wanted to know. "You're still not sure you're not hallucinating," Clark asked suddenly, breaking into the wash of abstract thoughts and emotions that passed between them. "Maybe this will help ... are you alone?" he asked, "I've lost track of what time it is over there."
"Yes," whispered Lois, "it's late. I'm in your apartment." She felt the pleasure that Clark felt at her words, and then ...
"It's alright," said Clark as she tensed, "it's me. I need to feel you - please?" Lois gasped at the sensation rising inside her, the ... the touch, for want of a better word, of Clark's mind on her body.
"How are you doing that?" she asked, her voice a little ragged; acceptance of his need and recognition of her own was implicit in the tone.
"Just think ... think about what you want me to feel - how you want me to feel," said Clark, his voice dropping a little, but sounding better than before as he registered his effect on Lois. She squirmed slightly on the couch, loosening the shirt of Clark's that she wore as she felt his touch again. Gathering her scattered thoughts she drew to mind an image of him, then pictured herself, touching him. For a moment she wondered what he was wearing, but realised the image she held of him was already wearing a t-shirt and jeans, as he had so many times she'd seen him. She let her hands wander over his chest, then slid them around his waist; the warmth she felt from him flooded through her. She shuddered a little with the relief of letting herself believe him to be safe, at least for now, and felt his arms fold around her, holding her. They held each other across space, wordless, for a time that Lois could not later quantify.
Slowly she became aware of Clark's fingers tracing small circles at her waist, and let herself follow his need; tucking her hands under the tshirt she saw him wearing; pulling the fabric up over his head; her fingers returning to smooth over the muscles she'd seen revealed less often than she would have liked. She felt Clark's gasp as she brushed the tips of her fingers over his nipples, then gasped herself as she felt an echoing brush against her breasts. She looked down involuntarily, watching herself bead against the fabric of the shirt as her hands smoothed across the shirt, pulling it taut.
"What are you wearing?" she heard, then felt Clark's intake of breath as he realised before she spoke; saw the pictures his words provoked in her mind. "Take it off," whispered Clark's voice. She slowly unbuttoned the shirt, feeling his touch in place of hers, then let it fall to the floor. "You're not wearing anything else?" she heard, and shook her head before she could remember he couldn't see her. Clark must have felt her response, she thought, as a wave of arousal swept through her mind, matching and feeding her own more physical arousal. Once again she felt Clark's touch on her skin, a touch remembered yet now more daring and sure than he'd felt free to reveal when they were together. Lois let her fingers follow the trail she felt him take as her mind wandered back to the picture of Clark, and picked up her exploration of his body. She recalled the feel of his skin, smooth over the hard muscles, and trailed her fingers over his shoulders, down his arms, to tangle with his fingers as she imagined him touching her. In her mind she watched his hands moving over her, taking her hands with his, until she grew restless with wanting to touch him again.
Her hands slid free as she felt his touch wander lower, biting her lower lip as the subtle pressure moved between her legs and trailed over her inner thighs, and she moved to unsnap the jeans he wore in her mind. Deftly unbuttoning him with an expertise she wished she possessed in reality, Lois brushed against his obvious desire for her. "How much of this am I imagining? How much is Clark altering his image?" she wondered, raising a soft chuckle in her mind as Clark demonstrated his contribution. He thrust his hips gently, pushing himself against her fingers in her image. Lois felt the rough scratch of denim against the back of her hands and looked down, startled by the reality of the sensation but seeing only air against her hands where they rested on her legs.
"Don't worry about it ... just feel ..." murmured Clark, his touch moving slowly across her legs, upwards. Lois arched against the feeling, shifting slightly to let her legs slide open a little as though to admit his hand. She let her fingers curl around him in response, stroking gently over his erection, and shuddered at his touch against her as she felt his fingers moving slowly through the curls and rub gently against the hardening nub there. Opening her eyes, she was a little startled to see that her hand had followed his lead even there, although she could no longer feel her own skin, only his. She heard Clark's voice again "We've not had much practice ...and my imagination works better when I can feel through you. How do you think I can feel so real to your touch?" he asked, a smile in his voice.
Lois suddenly realised that the hardness she could feel her hands caressing was more real than anything she'd conjured up in a dream. "We've .. exchanged senses?" she asked tentatively, as she let her hands wander freely over the ridges of his erection, the skin a velvet warmth to her touch.
"That's probably the best way to describe it" said Clark, his voice lower still as though he was straining to maintain control. As his words slid into an inarticulate growl at Lois' touch she felt him move slowly into her, the pressure of his fingers as they slid into her pushing her against the edge.
She convulsed slightly at his touch, reining in her response to prolong the contact. "You mean you're ... um ... doing what I feel I'm doing?" she asked. "God, I wish I could watch ..." she murmured, forgetting for an instant that he could hear her; she coloured as the image in her mind flickered briefly to be replaced by an image of Clark sitting at a window in an oddly featureless room, his gaze on the night sky beyond and his hand following her lead. The image wavered again, her picture returning, and she felt Clark smile at her as his touch slipped deeper into her. She retaliated, her hand clenching around him and it was her turn to smile as she felt the shudder that ran through him. She picked up the pace, stroking along him and brushing the tip with her thumb, feeling the moisture beading there. As she touched him, she felt him take up the rhythm and push it further within her, stroking in and out, his thumb rubbing against her until she arched once more,an inarticulate cry echoing through the empty apartment and answered in her mind as she let go against his touch, her hand closing around him and feeling the warmth of him spilling into her grasp.
Lois recovered with a start, instinctively reaching out for some reassurance that the contact was not lost, relaxing as she felt a brush against herself as though Clark slipped his fingers slowly from her. Her hand released him with an equal reluctance and she raised it to brush against his lips in a caress, her mouth curving in a smile as she felt him return the gesture. The smile faded as she felt the sadness in his mind return, tugging at the corners of his consciousness. "You have to go?" she whispered, needing but not wanting confirmation of what she felt. Clark's answer came without words, simply emotion pouring through: regret, fear once more, grief, but above all love. She replied in kind, no words appropriate to the sensations she let flood through her for a brief moment before reining them in as she did every day that she waited. She felt his touch on her lips once more, the kiss of his fingers and, as she let her fingers echo that kiss, felt the link slip away.
Her mind empty once more, Lois curled on the couch again, unaware of the tears coursing down her face as her fingers remained pressed to her lips and her eyes turned again to the sky.
Uploaded: 11 February 1997
Written: July 1996
See index page for disclaimer and copyright acknowledgements. This story, however, is my copyright and is not to be distributed without my permission.