By Wanda Detroit <email@example.com>
Submitted: June 2004
Summary: Not one, not two, but TEN Lois and Clark drabbles! Don't know what a drabble is? Then read on and find out!
Lynn issued a challenge to write a Lois and Clark Drabble (100-word story). I liked writing them so much, I came up with ten! Enjoy! [Titles and bracketed text do not count towards the 100 words.]
[A SUPER-HOT DRABBLE]
Lois sighed musically, reclining back on the rumpled satiny sheets. Her hair was spread artfully across the pillow, and her eyes burned into his, screaming come-hither, take me NOW.
Clark stood over her, eying her gauzy gown that did little to conceal her exquisite flesh. His shirt was open, revealing the most incredible muscles she had ever seen. He soon joined Lois on the bed, his heart pounding with anticipation—
Clark's voice scared her out of her wits. "What are you working on?"
Lois clapped her palm over the screen. "It's my latest novel, and NO, you cannot read it!"
[IT'S A… BABY!]
"Clark, help! I'm dying!" Lois screamed.
"You're not dying, honey. You've just been in labor for twelve hours."
Lois frowned. "That's the same as dying."
Clark compassionately mopped his wife's brow, and gave her hand an encouraging squeeze.
"You're almost there, Lois," announced the doctor.
"Did you hear that, Lois? You're almost there…"
"Clark, I'm in labor, I'm not DEAF!"
Another contraction came. "Push!" yelled the doctor.
"Breathe!" yelled Clark. Lois pushed; her death-grip on Clark's hand surely would have broken a few fingers, had he not been invulnerable.
And then, a loud cry could be heard.
"Congratulations! It's a…"
[Sorry, FoLCs, I ran out of words. I wrote this on April Fools' Day! -WD.]
Jimmy stared at UltraWoman incredulously. "Lois…? Is that you?"
Her jaw dropped, but she quickly tried to cover up her shock. "I… uh… well, no. But yes, lots of people tell me I look a little like your friend Lois Lane. Strange resemblance, I guess." She let out a nervous laugh. "Ah, they say everybody has a twin somewhere in the world… I, uh, guess Lois and I are, um, linked somehow. Although not really, right? Because I'm, um, Kryptonian and all, and she's an earthling, right?" UltraWoman babbled.
"My gosh," Jimmy announced, grinning ear to ear. "You ARE Lois!"
"What are you doing, Lois?" Clark asked. He'd entered their bedroom to find Lois on her hands and knees, half in and half out of her closet. The closet's contents were strewn all over the floor in heaps.
"Cleaning my closet!" Lois crawled out of hiding and pointed at a pile of garments. "Look how much stuff I'm getting rid of!" she proclaimed proudly.
Clark examined the pile. Most had come from various undercover jobs. "That's impressive. But, Lois…?"
He lifted a pair of leather hot-pants from the pile. "Do you HAVE to get rid of THESE?" he pleaded.
Lois Lane was glowing when she entered the Daily Planet that morning. She looked absolutely radiant; there was a little spring in her step. Upon seeing her, one may have suspected she was blissfully in love.
She poured her morning coffee and headed over to her desk. To her surprise, a freshly-printed issue of the paper lay there. Her story, the one she'd worked so hard on, graced the front page, bearing—
She looked up, disbelief and shock in her eyes, as Claude passed her desk. He called coolly over his shoulder, "Thanks for last night, ma cherie."
Superman soared through the sky, having just made his rounds through Metropolis and the surrounding areas. He was headed home when his super hearing picked up on an all-too- familiar sound coming from his home. He could smell something burning. Had it been a roast? A meatloaf? Whatever it had been, it wasn't anymore.
"I hate you!" Thud. His wife kicked the stove again. "NOW what am I gonna serve Clark for dinner?!"
Superman made a u-turn and headed for Shanghai. Minutes later, he was home.
"I hope you don't mind, I thought you might want Chinese tonight…?"
"Clark…! Thank God!"
[THE CAT'S MEOW]
Cat Grant glanced across the newsroom, drumming her long painted fingernails on her desktop. She had her eye on a certain rookie reporter who hadn't shown her the slightest bit of interest. In fact, he was avoiding her!
What was wrong with Clark Kent, anyhow?
A figurative lightbulb went off above Cat's head. There could only be one reasonable explanation. She stood up and approached him for a confrontation. She couldn't bear to have her reputation scarred by his blatant rejection.
"Clark Kent," she demanded, "you're gay, aren't you?"
Clark looked up, shocked. "Um… no. Sorry, Cat. Just… not interested."
His hands closed around Lois' neck, gripping her tightly, closing off her air supply. Clark burst into her apartment as Lois' attacker let go of her limp form. Clark knelt down on the kitchen tile beside her as the attacker escaped. He knew she wasn't breathing. And her heart—Oh, God!
Instinct kicked in; he started CPR. "Lois, come on!" he urged between breaths. Minutes passed. Still unresponsive. "Don't leave me, Lois!"
He bolted upright. Thank God—it was only a nightmare!
"Clark…?" Lois murmured sleepily. "You have that CPR dream again?"
"How did you guess?"
"The chest compressions gave it away."
[THE FIRST TIME]
Honeymoon night. She was the most exquisite thing he'd ever laid eyes upon. He lifted her easily in his arms, laying her gently on the bed. Soft rose petals were strewn across the sheets, and Lois was rosy with anticipation.
"Lois, I've waited so long for this," Clark breathed between kisses.
"Me, too…" Lois replied, gripping her husband's shoulders tightly and caressing his neck with her lips.
She shifted, letting Clark's exploring hands remove her satin underpants…
"Lois!" he cried out in shock.
His fingers traced the red-and-yellow S-shaped tattoo on her pelvic bone. "When did you get this?!"
Lois pressed the 'delete' key, watching ten minutes and two paragraphs of writing disappear, one letter at a time. Frustrated, she hit save and shut her laptop violently.
"What's wrong, Lois?" Clark inquired, watching her storm across the room. Just as quickly, she dashed back to her laptop, opened it up, and started typing furiously.
"Still writing that Wanda Detroit story?"
She nodded, her fingers still typing busily. Clark smiled, watching how rapt her attention was when inspiration hit.
He peered over her shoulder, to find six separate windows of text. "Wait a minute… how many novels are you writing?!"