Clark Kent was pissed. Smashed. Totally wasted. For the first time in his life, he was completely, one hundred percent, out-of-his mind drunk.
I raised an eyebrow at the idea of a drunk Clark.
He’d lost count of how many drinks he’d had about the same time he realized that the alcohol was affecting him.
I’d say that being super was still with him somewhat. I’m thinking that most people who never drink would “feel” it much sooner than having had so many drinks they’d lost count.
“Blind spot?” she asked incredulously. Although his facial expression was full of concern, not anger, this conversation was starting to sound suspiciously familiar. Regardless of her level of complicity in the wedding fiasco from hell, she yanked her hand away, feeling defensive. “Don’t patronize me, Clark. I know my own mind.”
The only reason she must not have gotten madder was because Clark was drunk.
I think that sometimes you don’t know your own heart. Underneath that tough outside, your heart is warm, tender and beautiful, but it’s also vulnerable.
Awww... Clark has her pegged.
He pulled the cherry stem out of his mouth and held it up for inspection; it was tied in a knot. Clark wiggled his eyebrows. “Impressed?”
Well, I’m impressed. Do people really do that?
“So? Besides the two of us, only Perry, Jimmy and Jack know the truth. Let your reputation work in your favor.” Clark’s eyes sparkled as he warmed to the topic. “We can tell everyone that you suspected Luthor was dirty so you went undercover to distract him until we could find the evidence. Tell people it was all part of your plan to say no at the altar.”
Great idea, Clark! Wouldn’t Henderson also know the truth?
Like when Clark had gone undercover at the Star, they could say they had staged all of their fights; even Perry might buy that one.
Maybe they could convince Perry that it
was the truth.
When she leaned back, Clark was grinning at her like a fool.
“What?” she asked.
“You kissed me.” Clark set his drink down and shifted in his seat to scoot closer to her. “You kissed me and I *liked* it.”
And I *liked* it! LOL This is so cute.
His knowing smile and husky tone generated an unexpectedly warm sensation to slide down her spine and pull her not-so-small attraction to Clark back out of its hiding place.
Oooohhhh..... Oh, la la!
I never run off,” he protested. “I go to help.”
Oops. Watch it, Clark!
He gave her a wink and then took a step forward, but didn’t remember the first step down. Lois wrapped an arm around his waist just in time to keep him from falling on his face.
She struggled to get him upright. “Jeez, Clark. You weigh a ton.”
“It’s because I’m so dense.”
So when I read the first paragraph above, I’m thinking Lois is doing pretty good to hold Clark up because of his dense molecular structure, and then you go and make a joke out of it which left me laughing myself silly.
“I’ve missed you, Clark.”
“Well, then,” he smiled. “I guess it’s a good thing I’m coming home with you.”
Delightful.
“Oh, believe me, I'd love to. In fact, sometimes I do,” he confided with a secretive grin, “but only when no one is looking. Especially when you wear that tight black skirt ….”
She placed the first carton in the microwave and turned it on. When she turned back around, Clark had his glasses pulled down his nose and was glaring at the food. “What are you doing?” she asked.
He slid his glasses up again and shrugged. “Trying to heat it up, but my eyes aren’t working.”
Rah roh.
I don’t get drunk. I don’t like to drink. Do people really get hungry when they are drunk? It seems to me that eating would be the last thing they’d want to do.
A nice little kudos to a Sue fic.
When he didn’t stir, she loosened his tie and slipped it free of his collar and then slid his glasses from his face and placed them on the bedside table with his tie.
I’ve always thought the glasses have very little to do with masking Clark’s secret identity. I think it just reminds him to act differently.
“It wasn’t Superman I was thinking about while I was walking down the aisle; it was you.”
Surprise, Clark!
Once they did, though, his resulting smile was so radiant that it made her stomach twist.
Ah, that gorgeous smile. And he doesn’t get to remember what she said?
Lois smiled. “Yes. I’ll tell you again tomorrow.”
But will she really? And does this mean another fic?
I’m sure I should probably know what this means, but I can’t figure it out. So what does it mean?
But… but… where was the goat? You just wouldn't believe how much time I've mentally wasted trying to figure out how to get a goat into your story.
Sue, you have absolutely no idea how funny this is. One of the ficathon requests actually
included a goat. Perhaps we should have sent that one to you!
But, otherwise, I totally lost you here.
And, yes, you definitely knew I'd like this one because you've been teasing me since last spring about how you were going to write a Drunk!Clark story.
Isn’t it odd that we assigned BJ your fic request without knowing you two ever communicated much. Mellie must be psychic. (She did almost all the work of figuring out the assignments.) And BJ “nagged” that she needed her story assignment early because her muse was “fickle” and she got an assignment that would fit in with what she had talked to you (Sue) about and then she enlisted Sue’s help with her own fic. I love it.
Such an appropriate comment.
White wine? That had me sputter and grin. From the way you've described the bar, I'm surprised they even serve white wine. Or that it is drinkable
I could tell you a story about white wine and the Hofbräuhaus, but...
Can you please explain the goat?
Me neither. It's just an impression I got from TV.
Oh, my. Those impressions from American tv can be pretty unrealistic.
Great story, BJ.
Lois' reaction to Clark was also touching and funny at the same time. I loved how she judged how drunk he was by the pile of fruit rinds and plastic swords he had accumulated.
And, of course, that he remembers everything.
I can. I used to be a waitress and we would sit around during lulls and practice tying cherry stem knots with our tongues. (Truthfully, you use your teeth, too.) We'd have contests to see who could tie one the fastest or in the most knots. I got pretty good at it. On the rare occasions now when I get a sundae or something that comes with a cherry on top, I still do it. Next time you're in my neck of the woods, Nancy, I'll show you.