Virtually Impatient "Clark, is this real?" Lois' voice was a breathless whisper. Clark's mouth barely left hers for long enough to allow her to breathe, let alone speak; the couple of times he'd tried, she'd reached for him as soon as her lungs stopped screaming. "Who cares?" The response carried a heated enthusiasm, although not for the question; Clark's attention was clearly focussed on something other than the philosophical debate about the reality of a virtual world. Descartes' axiom that existence was centred on thought was all that mattered. He thought he was making love to Lois, and that was a quite sufficient reality for now. The apartment looked like hers; even felt like hers. The bed certainly felt like hers, but she'd never felt like this in it. Ever. She'd wound her hands around Clark's back, the solid muscles under her fingers new to her; as new as the touch of his hands on her, presently kneading her breasts with an exquisite care that had her writhing within moments of his claiming them. His patience had obviously had its limits; just how closely had he looked at that threshold, anyway? Who cares? Lois grinned; she could hear his voice echo those words in her mind as she dismissed the technicalities of his experience to a future discussion, and tried to dismiss her own concerns with them. That last dismissal was one too many, or Clark was too sensitive to her. Whichever it was had Lois biting her lip in frustration as Clark raised his head from her neck; he'd been exploring the delicate indentation at the base of her throat when he felt her tense, just enough to call his attention from his enjoyment of her. "What is it?" His voice was low, husky with emotion and desire; it curled through her, twisting into every last part of her; mind, body and soul, she was his. She'd carry the memory of his voice, of all of him, for always. Trying to distract him, Lois cradled his face in her hands and encouraged him closer, reaching for a kiss. He obliged, momentarily. His lips brushed over hers, resisting the temptation to accept her invitation deeper with reserves of willpower he'd rarely called upon. "Lois, what is it?" He persisted with the question, wondering whether she was suddenly uncomfortable with the situation; anyone could be watching, logging this. Exhibitionism wasn't quite his style, no matter what anyone thought of the Suit. Lois sighed; he clearly wasn't going to let this go. She let a moment go by, smoothing her hands in abstract patterns over the planes of his back as she thought. "I'm ... I suppose I'm still trying to ... comprehend your patience. And its implications. I'm scared, Clark." The last words came out in a rush, Lois almost tripping over herself as she tried to explain her fears, her concerns. Clark rested his head on her shoulder for a moment, eyes closing in relief. This, perhaps, he could deal with. Lois started to speak again. "Federal disasters; that's all I really know and ... and I know that they were disasters but I don't really know anything else, anything better. You deserve better, Clark, but I don't know if I can do better. Maybe it was all my fault." Clark's head snapped up at the self-doubt which Lois so rarely allowed herself to express. Part of him was overjoyed that she trusted him enough with that revelation, but concern overrode that rapidly. "Oh, Lois ... it couldn't have been your fault; god, if you were any more responsive we'd be on the ceiling by now!" That drew a swift smile from Lois, lighting her face. "Trust me; this will not be a federal disaster." At least, not of your making, thought Clark as he willed himself not to launch straight back where he'd left off; the last thing he wanted was to lose control too quickly now. Slowly, carefully, he began again; feather-light touches that had Lois sighing breathily in his ear, writhing under him as she shifted to allow him access and to give her access. Her hands were warm, a contract with the faint breeze that played across his back. Lois accepted his assurances, the heat of his response to her still prominently reassuring; still, it was with a certain caution that she let her hands move again. Clark was distracting but she wanted to make sure that this wasn't all one-sided. She listened to the cadence of his sighs and moans as she explored him; a swift intake of breath, then a shudder. Each punctated her touches, and Lois paid as close attention as she could muster given his intimate exploration of her. Slowly, exquisitely slowly, she learnt where to touch him for the most effect just he found places she'd never realised could be responsive; it became a challenge to see who could arouse the other most. She set his groan of her name against an involuntary thrust of her hips; too fast and one of them would fold. The trick was to see if they could reach the same place at the same time. They did; Lois found herself flying, literally and metaphorically, as she felt Clark explode into her. The pressure and heat of him edging his way into her, gentler than anything she'd known before, had forced their hands; neither could hold back. He couldn't resist the clench of her around him, she couldn't resist the fullness that left her breathless. Her vision seemed to blur as she finally lifted her head from Clark's shoulder; she could still hear the deep groan of her name that had underscored his release. Lois blinked, then realised her vision wasn't blurred; the walls of her apartment seemed to shimmer. Abruptly the non-reality of their situation registered once more and she sighed. She caught Clark's gaze, regretfully. "I love you. But reality calls, I guess."   Written: 30 July 1999 This was written as a response to Supermom's "What-If" and Wendy's 30 minutes challenge on Zoomway's boards. See index page for disclaimer and copyright acknowledgements. This story, however, is my copyright and is not to be distributed without my permission.