Bloodlines

Chapter 5

After Lois outlined Chloe's article, they decided to fetch as much documentation as possible to cement the piece. With two missing flash drives, the only option left was to get it straight for the source. With replacement safehouse detail secured, Green Arrow and Superman took a jet back to the Watchtower. They carried Chloe's information in triplicate: one hard copy, one copy booted into the jet's computer and one on a thumb drive locked in Green Arrow's belt.

"Do you know who's in?" asked Green Arrow.

Superman thought for a second. "Nightwing, Grace, Tempest and Raven. Cyborg and Hawkgirl are still on their mission. No one else is on rotation this week."

"Batman would be great for this mission."

"Batman may help if we send an engraved invitation and danced a hula."

"Kinky."

"It is Batman."

"True."

The Watchtower was built on one of the many islands in the Pacific Ocean in such a way that the building effectively engulfed the island. Funded jointly by Wayne Enterprises, Queen Industries and donations from public and private sectors, it incorporated a hangar, barracks, several meeting rooms, a general assembly hall, a trophy room, a virtual-reality practice room affectionately nicknamed The Kitchen, a gym, medical quarters and a monitoring room. Other than the aerial hangar access, only two other entrances existed: one underwater port for submersibles and water-based members and a south-facing grand entrance on the ground floor which only visitors used.

Grace's voice came through the PA system. "Welcome back, Javelin-2. Would you like to hear today's specials?"

"Only if Alfred's cooking," said Superman.

"I can always kidnap Nightwing for ransom. Him for a seven-course meal plus matching booze."

"Not Batman?"

Grace snorted. "You kidding me? He'd pay me to take the Bat off his hands."

Out of nowhere came Batman's voice. "Really?"

Silence descended on both the monitor room and the hangar.

"He's creepy," Grace said by way of breaking the tension. "Code's clear Javelin-2; park that sucker."

Green Arrow flipped on the vertical-thrust systems and eased the jet down through the open hangar doors. Ten minutes of maintenance checks later, they disembarked. As the jet door opened and unfolded into steps, Superman saw a very familiar dark-haired teenager brushing ice and soot from his jacket.

"Conner?"

The boy had the grace to look sheepish. "Hi. Flying coach is hell, huh?"

Superman remembered to unclench his teeth. "You hitched a ride on the jet?"

Smile widening nervously, Connor nodded. "I think I left a couple of dents on the nose. Sorry."

As he spoke, Grace almost literally ploughed through the Watchtower doors, hands fisted together for attack. Since she was seven-feet tall and covered in tattoos, it was an intimidating sight for the uninitiated. "Signals caught a stowaway! Be sharp!"

Green Arrow stepped aside to reveal Conner.

Grace's eyes widened momentarily. "Fuck me, Big Blue, you didn't tell us you had a munchkin."

"It's cool," began Conner, "he didn't know--"

"That you would actually disobey me instead of staying at home," Clark interrupted, sending Connor a pointed look.

Fortunately, he caught on quickly. "Really, Dad, between studying American History and making American History, which one would you pick?"

Grace chuckled. "He's funny! Can we keep him, huh, GA, can we, can we, can we?"

"Entrance to the Watchtower is strictly invitation only," Green Arrow said. "Violation of this rule can be considered hostile and we'd be allowed to deal with you as we see fit."

Conner gulped audibly. "I can help."

"How?" Superman fired back.

"I heard you guys saying that you're under-manned. I'm strong and fast and invulnerable, like you. I know a lot about computers and I know what M--Ms Sullivan would look for."

"Grace also has beta-level strength and alpha-level invulnerability," said Green Arrow.

Looking her up and down, Conner said, "I'm smaller; I can fit into a lot of places that you all can't."

Green Arrow cocked an eyebrow in a manner than Superman knew to mean "He has a point."

"He's too young--" said Superman.

Snorting, Grace said, "Man, we were younger when we started off."

"-- and untrained."

"Neither were we."

"Come on!" Conner persisted. "Batman has Robin. Green Arrow mentored Arsenal. I could be like... like..."

"Superboy," said Grace.

The rest the boys rolled their eyes.

"This is why I make up the codenames," said Green Arrow.

"If it was up to you, I'd be called something fucked up like Purple Hammer or Powergirl. Fuck that! Like anyone is going to mistake me for another seven-foot tall Asian chick with purple hair."

Conner was beaming. "Superheroes swear!"

This was rapidly turning into a gong show.

"Superman and... uh, Superboy can I have a word with you two?" Green Arrow led them out to the hallway and closed the door. "Conner has a point."

"He's never done this before," Superman protested. "He's emotionally involved; he has a tendency to be reckless and sometimes he reacts instinctively instead of thinking things through."

Conner threw up his arms. "I have more in stake in this mission than any of you. They killed my mom, remember?"

"That's the exact reason why you shouldn't come."

"Well, I'm just going to find a reason to come whether or not you want me to, s-so there!" He crossed his arms and glared but could only make eye contact for a few seconds.

Superman took a deep breath. "Green Arrow, a minute please."

Ollie bowed out, making his way down the hall, whistling to keep from over-hearing anything.

"Do you think this is a game?" Superman demanded.

"Screw you."

"Conner!"

"What? You come in because my mom called you finally after years of air silence and you think just because you have a piece of paper saying so, you can order me around? I can take care myself fine. It was just Mom and me all my life and we survived until now."

"That's just it. Until now. There's obviously something going on here that neither of you can handle so you should just leave it--"

"No! No, no, no and fucking no! I am not sitting on my ass in Buttfuck Southeastern Europe waiting for you to rescue us!"

"And I'm not going into a mission worrying about you at the same time."

"If it was your mom, would you stand by?"

Damn. He was hoping Conner wouldn't pull this. Superman couldn't lie, especially not about this. He shook his head.

Conner beamed. "Then I'm going."

"Fine, but you stay with me at all times. No solos, no engaging the enemy, strictly defensive and data mining roles and as soon as any goes remotely wrong, you're back in the jet. Green Arrow!"

His teammate raised both arms. "I wasn't listening."

"Superboy needs a costume. Make sure it covers his face as much as possible. And that it's made of Nomex. And embed a tracking device in his shorts."

"Hey!" Conner squawked.

"If you don't do as you're told in this mission, you're grounded for the rest of your life," Superman added for good measure. "So if Batman's predictions prove correct, that means approximately ninety years of no life."

"I haven't even had a chance to mess up yet!"

"I'm being pre-emptive."

By this time, they'd walked to the closest meeting room. Grace had brought a portable unit from the monitoring room. She plunked that on the table as she sat down with her feet up. Conner followed her suit, pointedly ignoring Superman's admonishing expression. "So what's the mission?" she asked.

Green Arrow put the thumb drive into a console to bring up information on the debriefing screen. "Prometheus Pharmaceuticals has been giving free inoculations to Yuacic supposedly as part of its global awareness campaign. We have reason to believe that LexCorp, which ultimately owns Prometheus, is actually giving an experimental type of gene therapy."

"What kind?"

"That's what we have to find out," said Superman. "A week ago, we believe that a reporter named Chloe Sullivan was killed for this information. She'd been writing an exposé on Prometheus. Since her death, the solicitor in charge of her will has also been found dead. A warehouse in France which may have had a lion's share of the documentation has been also been burned down, we believe to destroy Sullivan's evidence."

Grace whistled. "That's Luthor for you. Plated gold and cubic zirconium on the outside, plain old shit on the inside."

"The information we have implicates a LexCorp office in Rome. We need to go in and hopefully obtain the documents that were destroyed. We're looking for anything that solidly ties Luthor to this inoculation project. That's cell phone records, email, IP addresses, bank deposits, anything and everything."

"Cool, a smash and grab."

"I was actually hoping for a tip-toe and photocopy."

Green Arrow brought down another monitor in preparation for mission planning. "That's exactly what we'll get. Grace, find Nightwing--"

"Gone. Bats pulled his leash," Grace said.

"Like I said, get ready for the project. Call Tempest and tell him he's taking up the rest of your monitor duty, too."

"He'll love that."

"Well, once he can differentiate between a wave and a typhoon, maybe we can take him on missions again." To Conner, he said, "There's an armoury beside the hangar. Take one of Superman's costumes, the one without a cape. Comme-links are in the central shelving. Then come right back here so we can input your information into the Watchtower's database."

"Yessir!" Connor jumped up, almost vibrating although Superman couldn't tell if he was excited or scared. He zipped out the doors and down the hall then, seconds later, zipped in the opposite direction. Green Arrow and Grace winced. Superman pinched the bridge of his nose.

Forty feet under LexCorp's supposed Rome think-tank were catacombs converted into electronics laboratories and information storage. First focusing through the primary cover, Superman talked Green Arrow through the proper short-circuiting parameters. A quick glance through the walls showed that the IR grid was gone for now. Grace tore the door from its hinges, allowing Superman to speed to the other side where another armed door lay. This time, Conner pulled it out as soon as Superman shorted the alarm. As the rear guard, Green Arrow was the last in the storage room.

"Is this the place?" he asked.

"Filing cabinets as far as the eye can see," said Grace. "We'd better speed read if we want to get anywhere."

"How come they're not labelled?" Conner asked.

"Because Luthor is certifiably paranoid," said Superman.

"With good reason. Boy Blue can start in his row; everyone else, pick a place. Go through everything systematically. We want as much dirt as possible; the smellier the shit, the better." Green Arrow flashed his trademark smile. Superman didn't return it. He never did. Defeating Lex never gave him real satisfaction, only a vague sense of melancholy.

"You kind of suck at code names, too," Conner said as he turned to the filing cabinets.

"Superman's the Big Blue Boy Scout so you're the Little Boy Blue. It makes sense in my head."

"Pancake-based breakfast sandwiches make sense in your head," said Grace.

"A full meal with all your breakfast favourites in a grease-proof packet. What's not to like?"

"I know you're new but for your information, you have our permission to hit him. Everyone does," Superman told Grace.

Grace nodded. "I was going to do it anyway and blame my actions on Grodd."

Green Arrow pouted. "Where's the respect?"

"With your old packet of rubbers."

Conner snorted back his laughter. "Zing."

Superman rolled his eyes, trying not to laugh as well. Conner would never get discouraged if they actually made the League seem fun. "Keep an eye on your console," he told Conner, pointing at the electronic device on his belt. "The security override will cycle--"

Rolling his eyes, Conner said, "I know, I was at the debriefing. Way up front even." He stalked to the far end of the room, leaving Superman to stare after him, nonplussed.

Green Arrow patted his shoulder. "Welcome to the Teenage Fathers' Club. Check your sanity at the door."

He blinked. "At least I won't have to worry about piercings in strange places."

"I'm sure he'll make up for it. Make-up maybe. Constant swearing. Those leather dog collars with spikes."

Superman couldn't prevent his grimace. "I'll take that end," he said instead.

Even in the middle of a mission, he couldn't help but watch over Conner out of the corner of his eye. The boy wasn't as smooth with his power; at times, filing cabinets opened with ease while others had to be finessed. He picked up Chloe's tendency to bare teeth as a sign of frustration. Superman had to smile at that. Unfortunately, Conner looked up at the same time and took the smile the wrong way.

"It comes and goes, okay? I haven't seen the sun in a while, that's all."

"I wasn't laughing at you."

Conner snorted and bent over his files.

"Really, I just--" He paused. Which would a teenager hate more? The being laughed at for incompetence or for being... well, cute? "It helps if you concentrate for a second. Let all your muscles tense up before you open it."

Conner snorted again but Superman noted that the filing cabinets after that opened effortlessly. He let himself grin stupidly.

Clark, Conner and the Green Arrow returned with six boxes' worth of possible material from Rome to sort through both hard copy and in digital format lined up on the dining table at the safe-house where everyone could pick up a file. Even with two speed-readers and extensive experience in skimming papers, the rest of the morning passed by in busy silence broken only occasionally by the gurgling of the coffee pot or the flushing of the toilet. Black Canary and Green Arrow helped now and again to pass the time.

At around two in the afternoon, Conner jumped up. He had a green tinge to his cheeks like he needed to vomit. The document in his hand trembled. Lana started to get up to see to him but Lois got there first.

"What's wrong?" she asked, glancing at the document as she put her hand on Conner's wrist. "What's that say?"

"Nothing!" He crumpled the sheaf into a ball. "It's... I... Shit, I'm going to..." He bolted for the bathroom. Lois rushed after him and Clark picked up the wadded document.

"What is it?" asked Lois.

"It's from July 2005 through December 2006," Clark read. He paused in awkward places, like he had to swallow bile. "There was a series cloning experiments using my DNA. The early ones showed a one-hundred percent failure rate; the human eggs rejected every implanted nucleus. The second phase attempted to stabilise the nucleus by splicing it with human genes." He swallowed several times.

"Which human did they use?" Lana feared she knew the answer.

"Lex Luthor's."

A blue and red streak ripped through the apartment and out the door. Lois called out, "Conner, wait!" but the boy was already miles away. "Fuck!" She smacked her fist against her open hand. "Did you--?"

He handed the report over. " I'll get him."

"Clark."

Having grown up with the Kents, Lana knew how to translate some non-verbals. Hurt whoever's responsible, Lois expression told Clark.

Anything for you, he replied, or something equally saccharine. He dropped the sheaf of papers and ran out after the boy.

Lana picked up it up, a hand up to her mouth, tears glistening at her lashes even as she berated herself for being bitchy. "Three percent of the eggs made it past the embryo stage but failed to thrive in the artificial wombs which had been so successful with pure human clones. The writer suggested implanting the remaining two embryos into a host mother that could be monitored at all times." Then she, too, couldn't continue.

In the kitchen, Lois was still swearing enough to colour the air blue, creating phrases that impressed even Black Canary.

"May I?" Pete held his hand out.

Lana gave it to him. "He mixed his genes with Clark's and implanted the embryo in me, Pete. Just when I thought I couldn't hate him more, I find something like this and-- God, I let him touch me!"

Lois stomped in from the balcony. "He's dead. Fuck, I need a smoke. I'm going to kill him."

"Get in line."

"I'm a better shot." Lois dragged her hands through her hair. "I'll shoot his balls. You can shoot him in the head."

"It's a much bigger target than his heart; I couldn't possibly miss. Excuse me, I need some air."

Pete followed her outside but she knew he would. Good old Pete. Dependable, honest Pete. Sometimes Lana wondered if she didn't marry him because he was Lex's opposite.

"Of all of us, you were the only one who never trusted him even for a second," Lana said. "We should have followed your lead."

He leaned against the balustrade and stared out into the dark cobbled streets and the Neo-classic architecture. "I don't know. When I look back, I wonder if maybe we pushed him in this direction in a way. Bizarre obsession with Clark notwithstanding, he did his best to do good."

"Too bad his goodness is relative. He was good for a Luthor. Blood will always tell."

"Is that what you're going to tell Conner?"

Lana stared at him, shocked.

"That's why he ran," said Pete. "None of us like Luthor and I bet Chloe wasn't a big fan either. Imagine finding out that a man who'd casually play with life and death was one of your biological parents. Worse, that the man probably killed your mom."

"I... didn't think of that."

"That's why they pay me the big bucks." Pete winked.

Lana hugged herself. "That's exactly why they pay you the big bucks. I can't believe that didn't even occur to me. I'm a horrible person; why did you even marry me?"

"You were home," he said simply. "We were lonely. Too much champagne. It made good business sense."

"Neither one of us wanted romance any more," she translated.

"Truth."

She joined him in looking out into the city. "And Josette? Is she romance?"

Growling, Pete pressed his fist against his forehead.

"I just want to understand why every man I fall in love with betrays me."

"Because you never give anything up!" Pete blurted out. "You push and push and push but you never give anything in return."

"Faithfulness is nothing?" Lana blasted back. "Caring for our children? Paying for your goddamn masters degree so you could get this position and afford a mistress--"

"Honesty! You could have told me about Conner."

"I couldn't endanger him or Chloe."

"You could have even told me about a 'miscarriage' just like you told Lex. You could have told me that you had Swiss account where you were squirreling away money in case... what? In case I turned out to be an amoral psychopath? Or an alien?"

"You wanted everything from me!" Lana cried out. "I can't give anyone everything; it's impossible. It isn't even right."

In a softer tone, Pete said, "I didn't want everything, Lana. I just wanted more than the crumbs you deigned to throw my way."

"That's so typical. 'My wife is a cold bitch so I had to turn to another woman.' You can be more creative than that, Consul Ross." She turned away. She wasn't going to sniffle dammit. She had to show a strong front; Lana Lang wasn't that helpless damsel any more, hadn't been for over ten years.

"I didn't expect to be the love of your life but I at least wanted some modicum of trust. You want to know why everyone leaves you? Because you're never really with us. You want everything we have but you balk when we try to be a part of you."

"That's just... you're just--"

"You did it with Clark," Pete continued as though she hadn't spoken. "You did it with Jason Teague. You probably did it with Lex and you sure as hell did it with me. Lana, I love you, I do. But I can't be husband to a woman who doesn't want to be my wife."

Lana didn't know how to answer that. Pete obviously didn't want to wait for one; after a couple minutes, he headed for the door back inside the apartment, head down, hands in his pockets. Tears trailed down the corners of her nose and salted her lips.

"I gave you as much as I knew how," she said quietly.

His footsteps paused.

"I gave you more than I've given anyone, even Aunt Nell. Almost as much as the girls. And I'd hoped... I'd hoped it was enough."

The door clicked shut. Lana continued to stifle her sobs.

Conner ran out of energy in a vineyard in Alsace, dragging air into his lungs in powerful inhalations that shook leaves within a two-foot radius.

Casually, Clark landed in front on him. He crossed his arms, his hands in fists to keep from reaching out. At his age, Conner wouldn't want to be hugged especially not by a heretofore absent father. But, God, he was just so... perfect. That sounded egotistical considering how alike they looked but everything from the petulant angle of his jaw to the stubborn cowlick on top of his head to the ragged size 13 Keds was perfect. He could imagine soothing him as a baby, tugging on his hand the first day of classes, setting him on a bike on Christmas morning.

What came out was: "Be careful not to shake the grapes off. Sometimes even that little bit can turn the year's wine off."

"Not only do you rescue kittens and prevent nuclear war, you're also a wine expert," said Conner. "What can't you do?"

"I couldn't fly at your age," said Clark.

"That wasn't flying. That was a really long jump."

"I still couldn't do it." Licking his lips, Clark admitted, "I was afraid of heights."

Conner snorted. "Sure you were."

"I hyperventilated in glass elevators. I didn't ride on a plane until I mastered flying and even now I don't trust those tin cans."

"Dude, you can fly!"

"So can you."

But Conner didn't seem to hear him. "You can fly. You can shoot fire from your eyes. You can whistle up a blizzard and bench-press Mars and chew on bullets for breakfast but you couldn't save one woman from a mugging?"

The bottom dropped out of Clark's stomach. Conner didn't give him time to come up with a reply.

"I hate you!" he screamed, letting fly a punch that threw Clark past the distillery. He crashed into a car, crunching its trunk like a grape.

Leaping the forty-foot distance, Conner landed with his fists going wild. Clark blocked them, not fighting back.

"All your powers, all your friends, all your stupid, stupid crystals and you couldn't save her!" Moisture-- tears, he realised-- dropped on his cheeks. Conner's tears. "She was your best friend and you couldn't save her. You fucker!"

"Conner." Snapping hand around each of Conner's wrists, Clark pushed him away far enough to minimize the damage.

"I hate you! I hate you! Fucking Superman. Fucking uniform with the stupid fucking crest and that stupid fucking cape. Wasn't she important enough? Why couldn't you save her?" Conner's face crumpled. "Why couldn't you... why... why couldn't I..."

Clark hauled the boy into his arms. Conner fought but nothing he did could hurt more than his words. He ached for him, for his son.

"I hate you," This time, Clark's shirt muffled the words. He hadn't stopped punching but there was no heat behind it.

"It's okay," said Clark. "Hate me. Hate me all you want, Conner. I'd rather you hate me than hate yourself."

There was a pause in Conner's half-hearted assault so Clark continued. "You're right; I have no little number of gifts, contacts and technology but I still couldn't save her. If I couldn't save her, how could you?"

Conner's breath caught. Framing his face firmly between two hands, Clark looked into his eyes and willed him to hear the words.

"None of this is your fault." Conner tried to protest but Clark shook him lightly. "It's. Not. Your. Fault."

"All my powers and there was nothing I could do. What good is any of it?" Conner's voice cracked in the last few words.

This boy broke his heart. He was going to have to pick up the pieces all over Europe. "If I knew the answer to that, I wouldn't feel the need to fly around in this suit," Clark said honestly.

"Do you think... never mind." Conner scuffed the sandy soil with his boot.

Clark thought he could guess what was going on through the boy's head. "I think you're your own person. You're not a copy of me or Luthor."

"I know that. It's kind of basic genetics."

"Oh. Uh, okay. So... what are you worried about?"

He took so long to answer that Clark asked the question again. Conner didn't look up when he spoke. "Do you think Mom knew? About the Luthor genes?"

Clark chose his reply carefully. "I don't think your genetic make-up mattered to her. Chloe's always been open and accepting. She saw into the heart of people not the unimportant surface details. You were-- you are-- her son, no matter what." As you are mine, he wanted to add but that might be too affectionate for a teenager to believe right now. Instead, he placed a hand on Conner's shoulder and side by side, they walked back to the safe-house.

The sun had stained the sky orange by the time Clark and Conner returned. Lois already had a bottle of Zesti soda chilling in the fridge and had threatened Green Arrow with painful death unless he found a pizza made to her specifications. But Conner only nibbled at two slices of pizza and barely drank half of the soda before heading for bed.

Clark puttered around the kitchen, a nervous habit. "Where are Pete and Lana?"

"Lana's in their room. Pete's bunked down with Green Arrow in the surveillance room. Don't ask. I tried so hard not to listen in. Do you think I ordered the right kind of pizza? I thought he said he liked supreme with extra cheese and jalapenos but I could have been wrong; he barely touched it. Who ever heard of a fourteen-year-old boy who couldn't finish a medium-sized pizza? Unless they're sick. He was throwing up. Maybe I should check--"

Clark grabbed her hand. "Lois."

She remembered to take a breath. "What?"

He kissed her, a peck at the corner of her mouth so soft, she barely felt it. Clark almost always treated her like a tiny, delicate, gossamer thing, always careful, always mindful even when she needed it to be hard, fast and mindless. In the beginning of their romantic relationship, it drove her nuts-- she'd worked for years to prove she was as tough as the boys-- but she'd learned to appreciate it.

"I love you," he whispered into the arch of her neck. "I love you," he repeated after dipping his tongue into the hollow over her collarbones. "I love you," he said once more, pulling her flush against his body.

They half-stumbled, half-floated into their bedroom. Lois had Clark's shirt unbuttoned at the door. She pushed the sleeves down his arms, tracing the furrows shaped by his muscles; she'd never get tired of the feel of him. The microscopic scale-like units of his skin could be mistaken as goosebumps, but were so smooth, almost glassy, that stroking him was akin to stroking burnished marble.

He pulled her shirt over her head, his mouth following the hemline from the bump of fat under her belly button that she could never get rid of and up around the lines of her abdominals. Tongue, fingers and lips traced her ribs. Lois giggled.

"You know I'm ticklish there," she said, pinching his hip on the way down to cupping that lovely, rock-hard bum of his.

Clark smiled up at her. "I love to hear you laugh."

God, she was absolutely nuts about this man. Instead of unbuttoning his pants, Lois ground her knuckles into his stomach, eliciting a surprised gasp of laughter and when he bent double, she attacked his armpits. In retaliation, Clark tickled her knees and thighs. They collapsed half-on the bed, snorting and chortling. Laughter turned into soft moans and, on Lois' part anyway, whispered endearments that she could never say outside the bedroom.

Unlike most men in her experience, Clark didn't need to have sex. He'd be the first to admit that Lois had a bigger libido. She chalked it up to Kryptonian physiology which had done away with sex and pregnancy for a million years following the institution of external birthing matrices. So while she actually felt vicious cravings to jump his bones at least twice a week, he was content to cuddle and kiss. Bless him and his super-human recovery time, the nights she wanted debauchery, he did more than keep up. But when he initiated sex, it was usually as a coping mechanism, a desire to enforce his humanity, a source of comfort or a way to forget. So if he wanted soft and gentle, she'd give him soft and gentle and if he wanted to fuck her against the shower tiles, she'd hang on to his shoulders and ride him out.

Tonight he looked like he needed soft and gentle. Lois slid off his lap, reaching behind her to unhook her bra. Clark watched, hands on his knees, fingers trembling. Unzipping her jeans, she turned around, legs crossed at the ankles and pulled her jeans down without bending her knees. Thank you, pole-dancing aerobics. Dressed only her panties, she sauntered back to the bed.

Straddling his thighs, she made quick work of the rest of his pants buttons. He obliged her by lifting his hips up when she tugged. She slid it and his briefs to his thighs; he kicked them off the rest of the way. Arms braced on either side of him, she slid slowly up his thighs until she cradled his erection between her thighs parallel to her slit, her breasts skimming his torso. Her nipples hardened from the texture of his skin-- fuck, she loved his skin-- and the expression on his face, like she was everything he ever wanted and he didn't know if he wanted to devour her whole or nibble at her to savour her flavour.

He placed a hand in the small of her back; she rocked her hips back and forth. His other hand cupped one of her breasts, his eyes half-closed as he teased her nipple with his thumb. Heat came off him in a palpable aura; she was drenched in sweat because of him and her own excitement. Leaning back slightly, she wrote "I L-U-V U" on his right pectoral, over his heart, in big capital letters.

"It's spelled I L-O-V-E Y-O-U, Lane."

Lois punched him. "Brat."

Clark caught her hand and kissed each knuckle. Wrapping his arms around her, he sat up and floated down to the floor.

"Blankets," she reminded him. He reached behind and dragged the entire mattress down. When they weren't at home on their own bed with its enforced, heavy-duty frame, they had sex on the floor. Too many blushing explanations to hotel managers about bedframes cracked in half.

She stretched, gripping the end of the mattress as she wriggled out of her panties. Clark homed in on her clit, smart boy, licking her in long strokes even as his thumbs made the same lazy lines in the crease of her thighs making her oh so happy to be a woman because only women could ride endless waves of full body shudders like this. Her heels came up off the mattress; he hooked her legs over his shoulders and kept on teasing her. Then he slipped two fingers inside, blowing against her until the heat of his hands with the iciness of his breath became too damn much and Lois had to bite down on a mouthful of blanket to mute the deep belly moan that he dragged out of her.

He didn't let up, winding her tight and making her come twice more before finally entering her. By then, she was kind of sore from the tension and from keeping her legs spread-eagle so she crossed them around his waist as he thrust in and out, one hand fondling the underside of her breast, his lips silently moving to a mantra that he'd developed so that he wouldn't lose control and crush her pelvis when he reached his own climax.

She cupped his head, trailing kisses on his face and neck and chest, tasting her own sweat on his skin. He smelled like ozone and Old Spice and when she bit down on his nipples, he jerked and momentarily lost track of his mantra which was exactly why she loved to do it. He was getting closer; she could tell by the way air whistled between his clenched teeth and how he'd released her breast in case he hurt her. He hadn't since they first became lovers but that was Clark for you. He took everyone's pain personally.

A strangled syllable burst from his mouth. He arched back, hands, knees and the balls of his feet buried hard enough into the mattress that Lois was sure the springs would break on this set. She watched him come, her beautiful, beautiful Clark, one in a million, and her sinuses stung. Only he could make her emotional like this. She cradled his head in her arms when he came down, still shaking, and kissed his temple, his cheek, the tip of his nose.

"Do you want to have kids?" she found herself blurting out.

Clark made a noise best rendered as "Bzuh?"

She knew it wasn't fair to unload this on him post-coitally but now that the idea took hold, her mouth ran away with her. "I know you farm boys want a dozen kids and I know we agreed not to have any at all but I know the way you look at Conner and I know the whole 'Last Son of Krypton' thing's been getting to you in your old age so maybe if you really want to we could try for a kid but only for a year and only one. Two on the outside."

"Errrnh...."

"Then there's the whole biological clock ticking and with our luck, we probably won't even have kids or maybe I'll have a freakish kryptonite-induced ovulation and pop out half a dozen little of flying babies. Oh my God, Clark, how are we going to deal with flying babies!" Lois sat up or at least tried to but Clark, dumbfounded, didn't move off her.

"I... don't know?"

"I'm going to have to take that anchor job on TV and you know I hate being on TV but I guess it pays for enough groceries for a teenager and six flying babies. And we'll have to get a house. We just renovated the bathroom. I love our bathroom."

"Then keep the bathroom--" Clark shook his head. "I can't believe I'm trying to follow your logic."

"We have to plan! You could be so frickin' virile, you can impregnate me through two forms of birth control. What do we know about physical Kryptonian sex? Nothing. None! Wait, did Lana say she was pregnant for twelve months? I don't like pickles that much!"

Clark held her still simply by flattening her down into the mattress. "You're babbling."

"I know." The panic faded, leaving her with a hollow sort of nervousness. "But serious, Smallville. Do you want kids? It'll be hard work but if you want one, we could try. I know it was more really me saying we couldn't have kids and you agreeing but in this one case?"

He kissed her sweetly. "Thank you. I don't know what I want. I agree with all the reasons why we shouldn't have kids but..."

"Conner?"

He kissed her again.

"Or maybe your biological clock is ticking."

Laughing, he pinned her down in a headlock. "You are really something, Lane."