The first time she spends the night in his apartment, they eat pizza and drink beer sitting cross-legged in the middle of his bed. It is the only piece of furniture in the small loft he has rented, all the way across the city from Lois's in a neighborhood that's just on the wrong side of seedy. But it's close to a great hole-in-the-wall pizza place and there's a window that faces a secluded alley, perfect for coming and going as he pleases. When she expresses concern about the distance and the traffic between them, he just quirks a smile and says, "I don't think it will be a problem."

"Well, not all of us can just..." she makes a little flying motion with the hand that's not holding her beer and accompanies it with a "whoosh."

"Uh, I do not 'whoosh', Lois," he argues, but there is humor in his tone and his eyes twinkle in a way that she's come to love in the last few weeks.

"You totally do, Clark" she teases. "Speaking of, you sure that's a good idea, Smallville?" she asks as he reaches for the last beer in the six pack. "Don't want you to get pulled over when you're whooshing me home." Her lips twist as she tries not to laugh.

"Who says I'm taking you home, Miss Lane?" He drops the beer back into the cardboard carrier and slides the empty pizza box onto the floor and before she knows it she is flat on her back as his fingers lightly tickle her sides, snaking up under her sweater. As he listens to her giggle and watches her red hair spill across his mattress, he thinks he never wants her to leave.

Later he watches her as she sleeps, her head pillowed on his bicep, his sheets wrapped around her naked body. Her breath is soft and warm against the side of his neck, her hand comforting as it rests against his chest. For a moment he lets himself pretend he is just a normal guy with a normal life. They could just be two people who met at the office, started dating after the Christmas party, discovered they had the same taste in movies and Thai food.

A siren three miles away and the pop and crackle of an apartment fire on the other side of the city pull him back to reality. He eases his arm out from underneath her, grimaces as she shifts and readjusts on the pillow. She's been pulling long nights, staying up late working on a series about the reconstruction efforts, and he hates to wake her. But she burrows down in the covers and her breathing stays slow and deep. He slips quietly into the suit and slides the window open, then he stops and doubles back to the bed and drops a feather light kiss on her temple. He'll ask her about movies and Thai food tomorrow.

She's awake when he slips back into the apartment with the early morning sun, covered in soot, broken glass in his hair. She looks up from her laptop and greets him with a soft smile and a softer "hey."

"Hey," he murmurs. He holds her gaze for a beat before ducking into the bathroom. She hears the shower turn on and knows he's washing off some perceived failure on his part. She hasn't known him for long, but she can already read his moods and she knows he needs his space right now.

When he reemerges smelling like soap and looking more like Clark than Superman, he finds her in his too-small kitchen fiddling with the french press, surrounded by half a dozen open boxes.

"It's about time you start unpacking," she offers by way of explanation. He just laughs and fishes two mugs out of one of the boxes. She pours him a cup, then takes her own back to his bed where her laptop is still open. His Metropolis Monarchs t-shirt rides up, exposing her thighs as she settles in, taking care not to spill. When she notices him looking, she ducks her head, letting her hair fall across her face to hide the flush that's creeping up her neck.

"You're beautiful," he says, and then he smirks when he realizes he's rendered her utterly speechless. "But you make terrible coffee." She takes a tentative sip and her face screws up in disgust before she laughs.

"Oh, that's awful." Still laughing, she pushes off the bed and crosses the room to dump the offending liquid down the sink. As he does the same, she snakes her arms around his middle and presses her face into the space between his still damp shoulder blades, planting a kiss there. "You know, maybe I'm just cataloguing your weaknesses to exploit at a future date." He can feel her smile against his skin before he twists in her embrace so he can wrap his arms around her tiny frame and kiss her like he's been wanting to since he got back from the fire. Since he met her, really.

"You, Lois Lane, are definitely one of my weaknesses." And he's not sure how it happened really, but when he finds her lips with his he thinks he's okay with it.

An hour later when she's settled into her desk at the Planet finishing the last of her revisions before Perry's daily staff meeting, she's interrupted by a familiar hand setting a paper cup of coffee in front of her. She takes a sip and murmurs appreciatively.

"Mmmm... But I think I owe you the coffee."

"Well, not all of us can just whoosh, Lois." He winks at her from behind the thick rim of his glasses (if he's perfectly honest, he misses the beard but the glasses are growing on him). The smile he gets in response clears everything up for him.

He's definitely okay with it.