Licking Lois

It was gusty in Metropolis, spring winds whistled between tall buildings, bringing fine rain insinuating into every crevice.

Miss Lois Lane, ace reporter of The Daily Planet was soaked through, her umbrella blown inside out three blocks away.

At the revolving door, she bumped into someone trying to enter at the same time and went flying.

"Hey, you fucking big galoot —" Lois started, swinging her handbag to strike the stranger, before recognising the man who gently held her arm, preventing her falling.

"Oh, hi Clark."

The handbag unfortunately caught the man on the head and dislodged his soaking wet oversized eyeglasses and, just for a moment, Lois caught a glimpse of Clark's eyes.

'They're baby blues!' Lois thought, 'just like... Nah! The very thought!"

"Oh, gee whizz, Miss Lane, didn't see you through wet glasses," Clark Kent stuttered as usual. "You know, a 'big galoot' is an old British Royal Navy term for clumsy sailor or landlub—"

"Oh, Clark, you know so much shit, you're like a walking encyclopaedia. We're at work, call me Lois." Lois affectionately squeezed Clark's arm, like a pet, it felt solid. "Hey, Clark, you been working out?"

"Gosh, darn, Miss Lane, er Lois, but yeah," Clark replied sheepishly, waving her through the revolving door. He followed but as soon as Lois exited, Clark stumbled and ended up going around a second time, continuing speaking as if nothing had happened, "I bench pressed weights at the Daily Planet gym, Lois, but the bar pressed on my chest an' I couldn't breathe, but a couple of the secretaries in their tight leotards rescued me."

Lois had never heard Clark talk about girls before and had a sudden jealous twinge. 'I'm not attracted to Clark, but he's always my date whenever I need one. Still....'

"Clark, I've come to a decision," Lois started, "Hey, your glasses are dry, how the—"

"Golly, Lois, don'cha know that revolving doors are air locks that prevent the 'chimney effect' of tall buildings which naturally suck—"

Lois pushed him backwards into the open elevator.

"Clark, enough crapola, I know you know everything, already," Lois said seriously, pressing the button for the senior editorial floor, "As you know, I've loved Superman since I first set—"

"When he saved your bu— behind, many times, Lois."

"Sure, but everybody loves Super—"

"Except Lex Luthor, Lois."

"Uh huh, Clark. Now, am I in love with Super—?"

"I'm sure that if Superman even thought—"

"Now, Clark, I know you know Superman almost as much as I do and you only meet up with him when I'm not around...."

Lois's voice suddenly died away as the realisation dawned on her that far from returning the love Lois Lane had for him, Superman loved Clark and that's why Clark was always available to date her, was always platonic and gentlemanly, bumbling, cute Clark, handsome, loving Clark Kent. "Oh fuck me, Clark, I've just realised that I fucking-well love you, big galoot or otherwise, not Superman at all ... and you and Superman are ... you're fucking gays!"

Lois burst into tears, covering her face with both hands. Only the fact that they both love work so much, they always arrive for work hours early, that they were alone in the elevator.

"Lois, honey, look at me, please."

She looked up into Superman's baby blues. On the floor were Clark's discarded clothes.

"Superman? You're fucking Superman?" Lois spat.

"I thought that was what you were accusing me of, Lois, honey." Superman grinned like a toothpaste commercial. "I may be super, but gee whizz that's stretching it a bit, honey."

"Honey?" Lois gasped.

"Shall we take this somewhere else? Your place or mine? Just to warn you, there's no heating at my place."

"OK, mine then."

Much later....

"No, Clark honey, I know you can go again but, boy, I'm fucked!"

"Lois honey, you're gonna have to learn to moderate your language—"

"Why the fuck—?"

"Around the kids, honey."

"Kids, fucking kids? I'm got a fucking Pulitzer Prize winning career!"

"Well, Hon, when I over-enthusiastically bit your nipple earlier, I did taste your blood and I could tell you were not on the pill—"

"Well, of course not, Clark, I work all the hours I can, when do I get time to fuck anybody?"

"Er—"

"Oh shit, Clark."

"Yes, 172.3ml of super-ejaculant, and lick analysis shows 99% chance of a superbun in the oven, Lois."

"Oh, golly gee, Clark, honey."