By Catherine Bruce <firstname.lastname@example.org>
Submitted April 2008
Summary: Finding the right side of the bed to sleep on can be exhausting.
What happens when Brucie is up late, after having napped all afternoon because she felt like poo? Add to that that I have been surfing the ficboards, and insanity ensues. I was reading the Wedding arc frustrations thread when I ran across something that Sue S. had said, and for some reason my fingers began typing... And so the real brainchild behind this is Miss Sue, who gave me permission to post.
And I'm sorry about taking this down earlier. I was experiencing... technical difficulties of sorts, and had an Adventure In Which Brucie Learned Some Lessons! (No I ain't telling you those! They're *my* lessons! Mine mine mine! *hordes*)
Granted, I don't pretend to know anything about newlywed arguments and the such, but I *have* had roommates, and I have snuggled with some people before. Granted, I know that this is a lot like riding a horse (or so I would assume, never having been in this position myself) where you can read and read about it but it's a whole different story when you actually get up on the horse.
And also, I would like to remind you that I am a little sick. Wait, I *heard* that! I'm *always* sick, eh? Well fine, I'm physically unwell, you picky goobers! So I have no idea if this is as funny as I think it is. I didn't have the heart to subject this to a Beta. That would have been cruel and unusual punishment! (I'm just kidding, I'm just too lazy to wait until people get on at normal hours...)
About the title, I stole it from Farscape. Had I gone with the full title though, it would have been 'My Side, Your Side, My Side, Your Side, My Side, Your Side, My Side, Your Side, My Side, Your Side, My Side, Your Side." However, that probably wouldn't have fit into the subject line...
Lois grabbed the tube of toothpaste and sighed wearily. "Clark?" she called out towards the bedroom. There was no answer, and then she remembered that her husband was off in an Asian country with a name she could hardly pronounce trying to stop a mudslide. Or was it a typhoon?
In a moment of rebellion, trying not to swoon over the idea that she was now, *finally*, able to say the 'H' word, she squished the end of the toothpaste tube until the mangled middle was properly full. As she brushed her teeth, she eyed the overflowing basket of laundry. There was another issue that they would have to discuss eventually. How the heck were they going to sort their laundry now?
Granted, most of their work clothes went through dry-cleaning, so that would not be much of an issue. But were they going to take them there together? Individually?
Would they mix weekend clothes with each other's? Did they do them separately? And what about the delicate stuff? Granted, they could not very well get their clothes mixed up. She highly doubted that her husband would accidentally slip on the frilly black scrap of lace that was peaking out of the basket -- that thought caused her to snort toothpaste foam across the mirror -- but just how were they supposed to go about laundry?
And she did not even want to think about washing the Suits. The outcome of washing those color-rich costumes with anything else was almost too horrible a thought to consider. Although, maybe she would run the capes through with Clark's white shirts. He *did* look quite nice in pink, after all.
After spitting the rest of the toothpaste into the sink, and quickly wiping the mirror clean, she slipped into her nightgown. Dinner had, of course, been wonderful. And, of course, she hadn't been the one to cook. Clark had suggested that they left everything until the morning, a chore to do on a lazy Saturday morning, but she had scoffed at the idea. Dishes were to be done immediately, or so she believed. He had tried to dissuade her, using devious tactics which included a diabolical maneuver of running his nose lightly across her ear, but she had held firm. Okay, truth be told, she was just seconds away from caving in when he had suddenly gotten that look in his eyes that said he was needed elsewhere. And so, with a quick peck on the lips that ended up lasting about five minutes, her husband had dashed off.
Thinking that perhaps these things were best left for the morning, when she could babble these thoughts to Clark himself rather than to her own mind, Lois crawled into the bed.
Clark entered the bedroom sometime after three in the morning, tired, exhausted, and thoroughly pooped. It had been a busy night, which started with damage control in Asia and ended with a rescued cat from a tree in Minnesota. Granted, this last one had not been all that important in the grand scale of things, but when that little girl smiled brightly at him in her Bugs Bunny PJ's before hugging him about as tightly as a boa constrictor hugged its prey, he had decided that it had been quite an essential rescue, indeed.
With a quick spin, he was out of his suit and in a pair of sleep shorts.
Wanting nothing more than to snuggle up to his wife and sleep until the following Thursday, he went over to the bed. She was sleeping angelically, with a peaceful look of serenity on her face. He would have been content to just let her be, but for one thing, she was using his pillow as a teddy bear, and another, she was sprawled all over the bed in a way that should have been impossible.
"Okay, honey, time for you to move," he said softly as he sat precariously on the edge, not wanting to sit on her.
"I don't want chicken fillet," she mumbled as she snuggled more deeply into the pillow. She shifted, spreading herself impossibly more across the surface of the bed.
Gently, he dipped his hands under her warm sleepy length and scooped her carefully to the other side of the bed. Lois grumbled at the interruption of her sleep before settling down. He pulled the covers back up over them both, willing to forgo the comfort of his pillow. He wondered if he should spoon in behind her or just let her be, when she took the decision out of his hands.
With one last grumble, Lois rolled over, swinging her arm down hard. Had he been any normal male, he would have winced as her target hit its mark.
Lois didn't know what time it was, but it was way too early to be up. Especially on a Saturday morning. However, try as she might, she just could not fall back asleep.
At first, she didn't know why her brain refused to lull back into dreamland. Then she became aware enough to notice the large comfy road block to her continued bout of unconsciousness. She had never really before thought of what it would actually *mean* to share a bed with someone. Granted, she had logically known that sides would have to be chosen, but she wasn't used to sleeping on any one side. When she slept, she knew she had a tendency of taking a good amount of the bed with her.
Of course, that didn't necessarily mean that she couldn't do that *now*. Clark had been spooned behind her, but with one gentle nudge that would have had anyone else falling off the bed against his shoulder; he rolled onto his back with a sigh. Satisfied, she snuggled against him, resting her ear against his chest as the rest of her became free to take up a good deal of the bed. She could live with her feet dangling off the side.
Clark seemed to enjoy this new position, she decided as his arm snaked around her waist to hold her in place. And she was too. Or at least, until his smooth skin began to act like a seal against her ear and she thought that her head would explode from the pressure that began to build up.
"Ack!" she exclaimed as her head shot up from his body. Taking a couple of yawns and shaking her head briefly, she managed to pop her ear.
"Wassrong, 'oney?" Clark's sleepy voice mumbled deeply as he tried to pull her closer. Glancing down, she saw that he was still asleep. And comfortably so. She tried not to think how sweet it was that he obviously worried about her even in the deepest of sleeps and tried to instead concentrate on the unfair fact that her husband was comfortable, and she was not.
"Clark, are you awake?" she asked, knowing full well that he wasn't.
"Mmm," came his reply.
"Can you wake up?"
Lois bit her lip, loathing what she was about to do, but she was desperate. She needed sleep, so much in fact that she was willing to shout wolf. "Help, Superman," she whispered so quietly that she could barely hear her own voice.
*He* heard her though, bolting upright in bed with a frantic look in his eyes, nearly causing her to topple off the bed. "Lois? What? Where?"
She felt terrible. Really, she did. But he had such a cute bewildered look on his face that she couldn't help but snort out a brief giggle. "Oh, Clark," she gushed as she kissed him gently. "I'm sorry."
He settled down, looking like a pouting five-year-old boy. "That wasn't nice," he groused.
"I know sweetie, I really am sorry," she peppered his lips with tiny kisses. "But I can't sleep."
He looked at her confused, still half asleep now that he was sure she wasn't any danger. "Did you want some tea?"
"No, I can't sleep because I think you're on my side."
"Lois, honey, the entire *bed* is your side," he grumbled petulantly.
"Ha ha, now can you please trade places with me?"
Clark sighed and mumbled about picky wives as they repositioned. "Is that better?" he asked, only sounding mildly annoyed at that point.
Lois tried to find a comfortable position, but none came. "No," she whined a few minutes later. "Can we try it the other way again?"
They fumbled around on the bed for several minutes, and Lois idly noted that this was the most exercise involving her husband and a bed she'd gotten that did not involve more of a workout. Finally, exhausted, she plopped down against his chest. "I give up," she conceded finally. "I'm doomed to sleepless nights."
He chuckled and wrapped his arms tightly around her for a brief hug. "Why don't you just stay there, then? You can keep me from floating and risk crashing down on you and you seem comfortable."
"Yeah, but I tried that, and it felt like your chest was trying to suction my brain out through my ear." Lois sighed dramatically, feeling as though the world was out to get her. It didn't help her suffering mood any as she felt Clark jerk beneath her, trying not to laugh. "It's not funny!"
"I know, I'm sorry," he said, trying to appease her. "If it would make you comfortable, I could wear a shirt to bed."
"You wouldn't!" she exclaimed as her head shot up, as though he had suggested that he should probably start kicking puppies. She started to mourn the loss of his loss of clothing.
"Okay okay, I won't not wear shirts," he promised as he began to laugh harder.
Lois breathed a sigh of relief as she settled back down. She could make this work. She *had* to make this work. The future of Clark's state of undress depended on this working! Unfortunately, the seal returned and the pressure began to build.
"Ack!" she proclaimed once more, scooting down a bit to where the blanket came to just beneath his rib cage. "Oh, hey!" she exclaimed triumphantly, snuggling against her husband. "This works!"
Clark cleared his throat. "Indeed it does."
Oblivious to the effects she was having on him, she picked at the hem of the blanket. "You know, we should really talk about the toothpaste," she began thoughtfully.
That was as far as she got, because when she craned her head back to check to see if he was paying attention, he swooped in for the kill.
"Ack!" was the last thing that she said for awhile.