She's counted her last sheep.

Her eyes watched as the two hundred as fifty-fifth one jumped over the imaginary fence her mind had created in front of her.

White, picket, with pointed edges atop.

She rolled over; arms drooping slightly off the bed, now facing the nightstand that sat beside her and began to ponder her sudden insomnia. She knew what was causing in but tried best to keep if out of her mind.

If she hadn't been thinking about it then why couldn't her mind be convinced otherwise? Why wasn't she able to sleep?

Her eyes focused on the clock that sat upon the nightstand. At two twenty five in the morning sleep should all that's on her mind.

Rolling back to contemplate into the ceiling, her eyes began to grow heavy.

Heavy from having too much to think over.

The situation with Clark mainly being brought to mind. She knew she couldn't avoid it but for now, she would try her best.

Swinging her feet to meet the floor, she stood up and headed for the kitchen.

More noiseless than a mouse, crept Lois down the stairs of the Kent home. She'd been rudely awakened by thoughts of what Clark had revealed to her just a few hours earlier.

That being affixed to her conscience had stricken her with the inability to sleep.

Grabbing a late night snack would most likely put her mind at ease. She'd gone through plenty of situations which caused her much tossing and turning.

When reaching the stairs bottom; she froze, from hearing sounds of crunching from the kitchen she was about to step into. She stood there for a moment, slightly frightened to continue.

Her eyes peeked past the wall and she saw nothing.

She exhaled noisily and continued on with her late night mission.

Her feet stopped in front of the fridge, and she inaudibly heaved it open.

"What are you doing?"

A voice startled from behind. She gasped then jumped around toward the direction where the sound was heard. She was surprised to see Clark. Sitting at a stool; feet comfortably positioned upward.

"Scare ya?" he said, almost mockingly.

Her nosed flared up. "No, I had a minor encounter with turrets."

Her eyes rolled his way then she saw him bite into an apple and turned back toward the refrigerator. She was in search of the perfect piece of chow.

Bowls of food were moved from her view. Nothing she'd encountered, so far, was good enough. Her eyes lit when Oreos and a milk carton came to pass.

Her hands reached for both, and she shut the fridge door with her foot. She turned to place the items onto the counter and was met by Clark holding a glass to her face. He stood there, his body almost rubbing against her own.

His body only clothed by sweat pants. Not that she'd noticed; too much.

"Whoo!" she jumped. "Wha- what are you doing?"

She backed away, cautiously, and walked around him.

He laughed. "Don't you need a glass?"

She looked to the glass he held, then snatched it away from him. He laughed, silently, as she went to have a sit at a stool across from where he was sitting.

He positioned himself in a seat next to her, causing her stomach to tighten.

"Let me get that for you."

His hands reached for the milk carton and he opened it; pouring the white liquid into her glass.

Her brows raised some kind of suspicion. Clark had been trying to win her over, and this she knew. She couldn't believe he was trying to get her to forgive him so soon.

That wasn't going to happen.

"Clark, look, I know that you're trying to-"

She was interrupted by a passing of the glass of milk in her direction. Her hand reached for in and she placed in near the pack of cookies.

"Thanks."

Clark smiled and nodded his welcomes.

"But like I was saying, I know your trying to get me to forgive you but that's not going to happen, okay?"

He too understood but he was on a mission as well. Wake up in the middle of the night, wait for Lois to come downstairs, pamper her in away possible, get her forgiveness – by any means necessary.

His head bobbed. He crossed his hands onto the counter and looked her way.

"I understand that but can't we at least talk about it?" he pleaded. "I know it's hard but we can't just avoid it."

In him, she saw sincerity. He wanted to resolve this issue and he wasn't giving up until he came out victorious.

She breathed deeply. "Ok, what did you have in mind?"

He inched closer to her and sighed to speak. "Ok, well, I just want to say that I'm sorry. I don't know how many times that can be said but I am."

"I know you are." She assured him. "It's just that its kind of…"

"Weird?"

Lately it seemed as if everything he spoke were continuations of her own thoughts.

"Yeah." She agreed. "Listen, let's just forget about it ok? You just figure how you 're going to make this up to me."

Her indistinguishable hat was tipped forward. It was certain that he had year's worth of butt kissing to come. She reached over for her glass of milk and sipped at it.

Clark peered in her direction, laughing at the white lining that was left above her lip.

"What is so funny, Smallville?" she said. "I'm serious about that. You've already violated my boob area, why not kiss my butt?"

"No, Lois." He started. "You have…"

His hand motioned, fingers circling around his face, drawing an imaginary line above his lip.

"Here let me get it for you." He offered.

Grabbing a napkin from the counter, he moved in to the wipe the ridiculous looking silk mustache from her face. In one swift motion he slid the napkin across her top lip. Afterwards, he began to dap at it.

She didn't know why but the feel of his fingers, gently, running across her skin, set her insides to a shudder.

Her eyes leisurely closed. Clark noted this and pulled his hand away from her, gradually. His eyes beginning a bliss filled bonfire.

Upon reopening her eyes, their gazes met. They focus at the other, as their appetites abruptly craved for something else.

Hardly, he swallowed the saliva that clasped to his throat.

"Um… I think I got it."

The air of his whisper slapped her cheek; piercing her strait to the core. And he'd felt it as well. They stand there gazing at one another; minds joined with the same thought.

"Oh, well thanks."

Clark hungered for the delectable looking cherry that stood in front of him.

He'd be incorrect not to.

Again, he swallowed timidly as his lips prepared for their next action. He knew he would be taking a risk, but hey, what was the worst thing that would happen? She could either deny this moment or contribute to it.

It was all in her hands.

Just then Clark violently embraced her. Heaves of pleasure released between them both; their heads spiraling, pining for amassed kisses.

This was so wrong it was right.

Clark's brawny arms seized her thighs. She threw hers around this neck.

Their lips still clinched in that brutal manner, as he lifted her upon the counter. Against his, her lips moaned in protest shattering the once nervous shell that protected him.

Her heart cursed this sin.

Gasps pierced his ears as she released herself from this crime in the making. Her head c0cked backwards, her lungs begging for mercy as rapid inhales seized oxygen from the atmosphere above.

She jerked back into position. Her hands almost bruised the side of his face when her arm summarily swayed for her hand to meet with his cheek.

Clark's eyes began flaring with craze. That rude gesture provoked every sense within his body. She took a short recess; collecting the thoughts as well as air he'd stolen from her.

"Clark, what the hell are you doing?"

Fire burned within her eyes. Their blaze intensified, persuading him to desist.

Once again, he took advantage; using is teeth to capture her quaking lip. She resisted, forcing him from her. Droplets of blood painted her lip and Clark went too suckle at them.

A gallon of blood, unexpectedly, dashed to his penis.

Again, she shoved him away.

The quivering within her clit persuaded her psyche to persist. His lips trembled before her, begging to be arrested.

Her conscience must have gone on hiatus because at that moment she returned his gesture by pressing her lips onto his.

His lips laughed onto hers. She'd finally given in. He would obtain her forgiveness; by all means.

The heat of the moment possessed them both. Clark's lips kissed their way to her neck; reverberating whimpers of gratification all the way.

From the tip of her head, to the bottom of her feet ran a quiver. It felt as is her whole body had been experiencing a meltdown.

She was giving in to him and worst of all – she liked it.

Her fingers somehow managed to slide their way to the lining in his back. Her claws making a home for themselves within as he now began to suckle and knaw like a vulture at her skin.

He longed for her as well.

His hands moved to rip the opening of her top. She gasp, shaken by the authority of his strength.

To each part of his body, a mind of their own.

Thoughts of what could happen in moments to come had captured them both. There was no turning back, now. This was going to happen.

Her moans shouted approval. His lips digging carnivorously into her flesh as each tickled his ear.

Panting from both sides amplified.

"Clark, just do it."

Her words teased at the nape of his neck, dancing throughout his earlobes.

Shivers cast her spine, when his frosty hands ran to sneak into her pajama bottoms.

Her body arched forward at the suffering of his fingers scampering around the tresses that shield her maturity.

His heart, skeptical, but his mind, convinced.

After weeks of delusions owning his every contemplation, he was finally going to get what he truly yearned after.

To fck Lois Lane into a slight coma.

Never had he'd desired anything more than thee above; he had to uncover if reality would surpass his dreams.

Moments were spent fooling lips that hid from him. His fingers massaged them, tenderly, until he received a response from her that satisfied him.

He'd begun to ridicule her. And with having her in such an empowering position, why not?

"Lois." he whispered against her ear. "Do you want this? Do you really want this?"

Fingers mocked her; waiting her final plea.

"Lois, answer me."

She was hesitant.
Stuck in this arrangement, rendered her moistened; from her ripeness to the rear of her neck.

Had he incarcerated her to a point of no release?

A whine shrieked from a polish onto her clit sparred dimensions. Her fingers dove toward his; demanding that he move forward. Inside her.

He refused. "Say it, Lois. Say that you want this."

She snarled. Her eyes butchering him, severely.

"I want it, Clark."

His lips stirred closer to hers; inches away they draped. "You want what?"

She increased her panting, drastically. Eyes rolled of frustration; her mind made it official. Clark Kent was a tease.

Her lips were dampened before easing to his earlobe. "I want you. I want you to fck me, Clark."

His fingers ran to survive inside her. They budged inward, outward, sideward; he advancing with every shift.

Clutching his neck with her arms, her moans stifling, as they squealed onto his neck. Pleasurable, unyielding pain, while his powerfully built fingers working a goldmine inside, she suffered.

Her eyes darting backwards, intellect losing itself; vision, mind both lost.

"Clarkkkk…"

Gentle murmurs penetrated his senses. C0ck, bouncing under them, petitioning to be apart. Her hands moved down to trash him pajamas onto the floor. His top, conveniently, already departed.

With one hand still within her, the other ran to rip her bottoms off as well.

He slipping himself indoors, once done.

Unhurriedly he taunted her. Moving at snail like velocity, instructing her thighs all the while.

Her hips twirled to position him copiously into her. His arms threw her upward, off of him, when she did so.
His lips imprisoned her own; seductive consuming each one, individually.

A gasp when he back from he, stranding her lips into thin air. They reached forward to find home but couldn't place them.

They were no where to be found.

Once again, her lips kissed forward, searching for his.

Again, she felt nothing.

Autonomously, her eyes unlocked. They gazing upward, confusing by the ceiling above.

She hadn't been in the kitchen. She hadn't been preparing herselfbto be fcked.

What she had been was lying on Clark Kent's bed, hand grouping into her jeans, fingering herself.

Her eyes peered toward the clock, which read '2:25' AM. She hadn't set foot from the room. She must have fallen asleep immediately after conversation with Clark.

She almost gasped when she realized.

It had all been a dream.

And so he had the upper hand.