A/N: I think I broke the rules on this one (totally willing to take the kerth challenge out of the title, as this is developing into something more as I go along). Nothing was said about having to post about these challenges within the week, right?
The problem I ran into is that I always write to music, so the song I'd been listening to was directly related to the last few chapters I was writing for the big one. So, in order to fulfill this challenge, I decided to turn on the radio and write a fic to the first song I heard. It took a few days to make it fit, but at least it's a fun, light song. I tried to keep it fun and sexy, but y'all know I'm not so good at that.
Disclaimer: I do not own any recognizable aspect of this story, its characters, or the song that inspired it ("Havana" by Camilla Cabello). So there.
*****LnC*****
Lois stormed across the bullpen hot on the scent of a new story. There was something there, she just knew it. He wasn't just some crazy crackpot scientist with a conspiracy theory in his pocket. Sure, his evidence seemed thin. Sure, he seemed a taco short of a combination plate. That didn't mean he was wrong.
She ignored the closed door and blew in like a hurricane. "Perry, I think there's more to this guy's story. EPRAD says--"
"Lois, darling, can't you see I'm in the middle of something?"
She glanced at the stranger dismissively before doing a double take.
--she saw him out of the corner of her eye, walking barefoot up the beach in the glow of the distant fire, and she almost choked on her drink. He was gorgeous. Dark, luscious locks, a few unruly curls falling over his brow. His pale blue linen shirt hung open, just barely covering the most spectacular chest she'd ever seen. Oh, she wanted to run her hands over his skin. He was so wonderfully tan, and those muscles-- and it just wasn't fair and his swim trunks were clinging to his hips for dear life and the only word running through her mind was drop-- She stammered as she shook the vesitges of the memory. "Clark?"
He stiffened noticeably at the name and turned to look at her with wide, almost frightened eyes. Lois felt her heartrate pickup, anxiety suddenly zipping through her veins. She hadn't meant to say his name, but the memories were striking, and it just rolled off her tongue. What was he doing here? How had he found her? It'd been three years-- and four months-- and she'd just about put the experience behind her. Almost.
--His grin set butterflies off in her stomach. "Not often you run into a statesider down here. May I?"
She giggled-- and that had to be the cuba libre talking, because crushing or not, Lois Lane never giggled-- and gestured at the empty barstool beside her. "Be my guest."
He gestured as though he were tipping his hat and sank down next to her. She prayed it was dark enough that he couldn't see her blush--"Lola?" He stood up awkwardly, hesitantly, as if he wasn't sure what to do.
She opened her mouth to retort, but nothing came out. She started to freeze up, panic eating away at her. This was never supposed to happen. Sure, at first she'd wished she could find him again, that she could have more time with him, but now? Things had changed. Life moved on, even if she hadn't exactly.
"So what brings you to Cuba, um," he seemed to let the question hang there a moment, and it took a second before she realized he was fishing for her name. She was still with it enough to remember to give the name on her passport and not her given one. She smiled.
"Lola."
"Lola," he repeated with a smile, and she thought the way his face looked when he said her name-- fake or not-- that was how she always wanted someone to say her name. "Beautiful."
She blushed again. "The name?"
"Sure." But his gaze was trained on her face--He put a hand on her arm gently, and a memory of the action scorched across her brain, his hands so soft and reverent and--
his breath warmed her cheek where she was pressed against him as his hand dragged slowly up her arm and they began to sway to the trumpet's wail--
She shook his hand off her with the memory and slapped him across the face.
"Lois!"
She covered her mouth on a gasp as Perry's voice brought her back to herself. "Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry! I don't know what came over me..."
He made a show of stretching his jaw and shook his head with a quiet chuckle. "It's all right. I, uh, I guess this is quite the surprise."
"You're telling me." She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. "What are you doing here?"
"Well, I actually was in the, uh, the middle of an interview..." he dragged out the sentence nervously and rocked back on his heels.
"So you're not some sort of stalker then?"
He opened his mouth to retort, but stopped to consider with his brows raised honestly. "Well, no, I'm not--"
Perry's loud voice interjected, startling them both apart. "Lois, hun, do I need to call security?"
She steeled herself. "That won't be necessary, Perry. Could we just have a minute?"
"Like hell I'm leaving my own office just so you two--"
She shot him a pointed look, and Perry shut up. He grumbled out something about needing a refill on his coffee anyway and ambled out. Lois shut the door behind him with a false smile and a sweeter-than-honey thank-you.
Behind her, Clark hummed a few bars of something that sounded suspiciously like "Whatever Lola Wants" and she turned back with a dark scowl. "Okay. First of all, my name isn't Lola, so let's shove that nonsense."
"Yeah. I figured that out somewhere between Mr. White calling you Lois and me not being able to find any trace of a Lola on any flights out." Her scowl darkened. "But I never guessed this. You're
the Lois Lane?"
A touch of awe warmed his words, and she fought her rising blush with a swathe of irate anger. "Yeah. And you're here for an interview at my place of work."
He raised his hands defensively. "Hey, I never told you I was a journalism major. Working at the Daily Planet has always been a dream of mine. Must be fate that you're here too."
Lois scoffed and tossed her hair over her shoulder-- and his eyes darkened slightly at the familiar gesture. "Yeah, right. Fate. Destiny. Stalking. Call it what you want."
"Lola-- Lois. I didn't stalk you, I promise. It's been three years. Yeah, I was disappointed when you left, and I'm not gonna lie, I searched high and low for you for several months, but after so long... you start to lose hope."
She stayed silent at that, and he took a step towards her so they were barely a hip's width apart--
his hands skated across the bare skin of her middrift and landed on the jut of her hipbone, pulling her into him smoothly on the next roll of her hips and she took the moment to seal her back against his front and his groan rumbled through his chest and vibrated delightfully at her back--"So what was Lois Lane doing in Cuba?"
She swallowed thickly, and pushed down the bubble of tension. "What else. Working on a story."
"A story. In Cuba."
"Mm-hmm."
"Wonder how I missed that story."
A tic of irritation flared through her at the memory, Bobby and Trask and the lot of them, tricking her into going on that trip in order to have a viable cover.
"--you're still green, Miss Lane. You think you can run out there with the big dogs, that you can land a job at a newspaper like the Times or the Planet without sinking your teeth into a story or two first? No. You're gonna want something on your resume. You're gonna want this
on your resume. Bobby's vouching for you, so it's time to choose. You want to accompany a team of highly trained agents on a once-in-a-lifetime trip to Havana?" "The government shut it down before it could go to print."
"Yeah. I can imagine. Especially since around the same time they were actively plotting to overthrow the dictator." He cocked his head at her and her heart skipped a beat, and this time it wasn't because of butterflies. "Is that how you got in?"
"I told you, I know guys--"
"Who know guys. Military guys, I'm guessing?"
She puffed up her chest and leaned into him menacingly, even though he was a good few inches taller than her. "Firstly, that's classified. Secondly, just how did you get in? Skydiving?"
He shrugged and blushed and fiddled with his glasses-- a new accessory since last she saw him. "I like to think of myself as a citizen of the world, Lois."
"Right. And how do you know about what the government did or did not plot to do, mister-citizen-of-the-world? You're not one of those super secret, highly classified agents, are you?"
"No," he shrugged casually, but a veil came down over his eyes. "I maybe accidentally saved said dictator from an attempt on his life."
She blinked, not expecting that answer. "I, uh, what?"
He waved a hand through the air dismissively. "Not important. The important point is, I get to go to Cuba whenever I want, and you played a role in an assassination attempt."
Lois scoffed loudly. "Oh, so you think you're some saint and I'm a monster?"
"I didn't say that."
"But you thought it."
"Not at first."
She threw her hands up in the air. "I didn't even want to go! The second I found out what the rest of the plan was-- that they'd let me tag along and... and...
sight-see while they ran some covert mission," she spat the words with such venom that he took a step back, "I told them I wouldn't have any part of it. Why do you think you found me drunk at that bar on the beach?"
He seemed to be eyeing her carefully and she groused to herself. "Why am I even explaining myself to you? You don't care, and you don't matter. You'll waltz out those doors and out of my life again and it won't even matter."
"Samba."
"What?"
His hand landed on her wrist and he pulled her gently towards him. "It wasn't a waltz, it was a samba." His voice, like his demeanor, seemed to have softened.
She slammed her eyes shut. Because he was right and he remembered and--
"Do you dance, Clark?"
He tossed a glance over his shoulder at the beach at the end of the bar, to the couples enjoying themselves to the syncopated tune floating through the evening air. Lois grinned as she followed his gaze.
"I can tush-push with the best of 'em."
A loud laugh ripped from her throat at that, and she grabbed his hand enthusiastically. "Well, then it's about time you learned how to really dance. Come on, let's samba." She pulled him off his stool and practically dragged him back to the sand. He chuckled after her. Lois flashed her teeth at him. He wouldn't be chuckling for long--"Lois."
She shook her head sharply, the ends of her hair whipping about her chin.
"Look at me, Lois."
She cut her eyes to his with a glare, ignoring the stinging tears inside them.
"There's so much I wanted to tell you, so much I planned on saying if I ever saw you again... But now that you're right in front of me, the only thing I can really think of is that I miss your bright orange nails."
She laughed, brushing an errant tear away as she recalled scratching her fingers down his back, breaking a few nails along the way--
his hands were everywhere almost all at once, and she gasped and arched into him while he sucked her pulse point, lips searing hot against her neck. She cursed under her breath because the crass language seemed to amuse him, and she thought she might combust if she couldn't get his shirt off. Every inch of flesh she could reach was simultaneously too much and not enough, but she couldn't do much of anything the way he had her pinned at the hips against the hotel room door-- "Can I start by saying I'm sorry?"
That brought her mind back to herself and out of the gutter, and she looked up at him in confusion. "What for? It was a mutually enjoyable night, if I recall."
He shook his head and scratched it uncomfortably. "It was, believe me. I just-- I never do that."
She scoffed. "Yeah. So you mentioned. About thirty times that night."
"No, I mean... never."
Lois quirked her lips at him. "Well, not never-never..." the way he winced when she phrased it that way made her stomach sink. "Wait, you're not really saying--"
His face flushed and his ears turned a very becoming shade of scarlet. "Never."
Her voice croaked a little at that. Because what was she supposed to say? "Uh, well... wow. I'm, uh, flattered. For one. And uh, for two... you could have fooled me? Not in a bad way-- like, it was good. I mean," her face felt hot now, and why was she embarrassed? It was his secret. "Like, really, really good."
"I didn't tell you because I wanted you to stroke my ego or anything--"
She bit her lip at that particular memory, and cast a darting glance down casually.
"I just wanted to tell you because, well, I wanted you to know that it wasn't just a fling for me. Even though you were drunk and I wasn't... myself either... it meant... more."
Lois could feel her pulse in her fingertips. Because it was more than just a fling for her, too, and Bobby had practically dragged her to the airport and she spent the entire time pining for him, wishing she could return to him, and settling for the fact that she'd always have half her heart in Havana.
And if it was more than just a fling for him too, then that left a bigger conversation to be had.
"I wasn't drunk," she bit back, trying to piece her words together.
"You'd knocked back a few rum and cokes by the time I got there."
She glared at him darkly and he shot her a nervous smile, trying to lighten the mood. Lois couldn't keep her heart from racing, and she didn't know if she wanted to kiss him or throw up or smack him again.
"The alcohol had nothing to do with it." He seemed to perk up at that, looking at her with hope in his eyes. She rolled her eyes and shrugged loosely. "But, so you know, it meant more to me, too."
There was that dazzling, knee-weakening smile again. Oh, how she remembered that smile.
He captured her hand in his gently, stroking in soft, soothing motions. He was so attentive, even in little things like this. He would have made a wonderful husband, lover, father... "Look, I'm not an idiot. I know it's been a long time. I don't expect anything to come of this. I'm sure you moved on. But you have to admit, there's still something here. And if there's any chance of making something out of that night so long ago, I'd like to give it a try. If not," he looked a little pained at that idea, "I understand. And I'd like the opportunity to work with you, as a friend and collegue and nothing more."
"Oh, god." She closed her eyes against his words.
"What?"
"You. You know exactly the right things to say. Which means you probably are a good writer, and Perry could use a few more of those around here-- but dammit, I want to be mad at you!"
He huffed a small laugh, and it skated across her cheek. "I'm sorry."
"Stop it!" She pulled her hand out of his grip and turned to pace the length of Perry's office. "Stop apologizing. There's nothing to apologize for."
"You're angry," he pointed out, like it was justification for his hat-in-hand demeanor.
"Not because of you, jerkwad. I'm angry at myself." She stopped short facing the wall, staring down an autographed picture of Elvis Presley. She sighed, and in the back of her mind, she heard Perry's voice echoing some nonsense story about how the King would eat crow. "I'm angry because I should have looked harder for you, because I shouldn't have left like that."
"So you are still interested?" His voice piqued with interest, and she shut her eyes on Elvis.
"I can't be. Because there's more to it than that."
His footsteps metered the seconds in her head, every step bringing him closer and underscoring the importance of her next words. His hand seared her through her sleeve as he brought it to rest on her arm, his presence warm and familiar at her back. "It doesn't have to be complicated, Lois. We can just be friends, take things slow--"
"There's no time for slow."
She turned in his arms with tears in her eyes, and he finally seemed to feel the gravity of their situation. "Clark," Lois swallowed thickly, hating to be the one to knock the smile off his face.
He looked almost sick.
"I'm dying."
*****LnC*****
