Chapter Text
The Metropolis city lights glittered beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the only audience to the scene inside the apartment. The space was neat and modern but clearly lived-in. A notepad sat beside a dog-eared copy of some cheesy romance on the coffee table.
Lois Lane sat perched on the sofa, one leg tucked under her, scrolling through her phone. She wore a crisp white shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows, exuding an air of effortless command.
Clark Kent sat on the floor, leaning back against the sofa next to Lois' legs. He was pretending to read an article on his computer, but his posture was a little too stiff, and his attention was a little too wandering. He had been quiet and still for far too long, a sign that Lois had learned to read.
"You're thinking too loud, Smallville. It's practically vibrating through the floorboards."
Clark adopted a small, innocent smile. "Just contemplating the integrity of your argument from the city council piece. Isn't it a little flimsy?"
Lois lowered her phone slowly, a predatory gleam in her eye. She knew this game. He was picking a fight. He wanted to be put in his place.
"Oh, really? My argument is flimsy? The one that is backed by three named sources and a paper trail longer than your list of farm-based metaphors?"
Clark shifted, turning to look up at her, his chin nearly resting on her knee, the picture of perfect innocence, but his eyes were sparkling.
"Well, sure," he said, "if you like your evidence to be thorough and verifiable." Lois narrowed her eyes. "I myself prefer something with more feeling, like a hunch, or intuition."
He was baiting her, and he was doing so beautifully.
Lois set her phone down on the coffee table with a deliberate click.
"A hunch, huh? I see. Well, some of us don't get "hunches". Some of us have to spend thirteen hours reviewing meeting minutes and previous city council policies."
Clark shrugged, playing with the hem of her slacks. "My hunches have a pretty… super track record." He let the word hang in the air, a dare wrapped in a joke. It was their little dance. He was referencing the part of himself that he couldn't show to the rest of the world, offering it as a token in their private game.
Lois leaned forward smoothly, elbows on her knees, and captured his face in her hands. Her grip was firm, not painful, forcing him to meet her gaze.
"You're being a brat."
Clark's voice dropped to a playful murmur. "Is it working?"
"You tell me. You're the one on the floor, looking up at me, trying to get a rise out of me because you've had a long day and your subby little brain needs me to wrangle it back into focus. Am I warm?"
He didn't answer, just nuzzled his cheek against her hand, the brattish façade melting into a purr of contentment. He had been wound tight after a frustrating afternoon of bureaucratic roadblocks, and winding Lois up was the fastest way to get her to wind him down.
"I asked you a question, Kent."
Clark hummed, "…Toasty."
"That's what I thought." She released his face and stood up, walking towards the kitchen. Clark stayed on the floor, watching her, ever the good boy waiting for his instructions.
Lois called over her shoulder, "You can drop the act now."
Clark's posture softened completely. The tension he had been carrying since he got home was evaporating. His mission was accomplished.
Lois returned with two glasses of water, handing one down to him.
"Next time you want my attention, you can just ask. You don't have to insult my Pulitzer Prize-winning journalism."
Clark took the glass, fingers brushing hers. "Where's the fun in that?"
She fixed him with a look that could stop a speeding bullet, full of love, promise, and absolute authority.
"Don't push it. Finish your water. Then you're going to tell me what really had you tied up in knots today-"
He opened his mouth to make a joke about being tied up, but she beat him to it.
"-no jokes. No bratting. Just us."
Clark nodded, taking a sip of water. He looked up at her, all traces of the brat gone, replaced by profound gratitude.
"Yes, Lois."
She sat back on the sofa, and he shuffled a little closer, resting his head on her thigh. She carded her fingers through his hair.
"Good boy."
And for Clark, held in her firm, unshakeable orbit, the world finally reset.