Bedtime Stories - Superman

Bedtime Stories - Superman

by Chicago

Disclaimers etc posted previously.



Clark Kent - in Superman's tights - sat in a chair where he had been distracted from undressing by the sight of his wife. She was sleeping.

Not that he begrudged her sleep, he just hadn't exactly expected it. In fact, he'd been almost disappointed when he arrived home and she was not waiting for him - although the alarm by her side of the bed was set for half an hour ago, so she'd clearly meant to meet him at the door. It had been turned off.

That prompted a slight smile as he imagined Lois slamming her hand down on the offending timepiece, silencing its too-loud ring that she so rarely used. All this - all the things that had happened had disrupted her clockwork schedule.

So Lois was sleeping, and her husband was watching her.

She looked so vulnerable. She was curled on her side, one hand palm up on the pillow beside her face. And her face, usually so animated...

That was what had caught his attention. He was not used to seeing her face in repose. She was beautiful to him, always had been. He knew she wasn't really classically beautiful, of course, but she had such force of personality, such strength. The image he held of her in his mind was of her whirlwind energy almost more than her features.

That energy had left his mark, he noticed now. Fine wrinkles showed themselves for the first time to his scrutiny, a reminder that time was passing, they were neither of them as young as they once had been. Of course, Clark didn't have any wrinkles. He wasn't sure he ever would.

He pushed that thought aside, closing it firmly in with the gnawing worries that had consumed his final hours at the Watchtower after sending Bruce and J'onn back home. One did not survive in his business by thinking about all the horrors that could befall love.

Instead, he let himself focus on Lois's wrinkles. He would never mention them to her, of course, but he found himself analyzing them anyway, in this moment when she was asleep and wouldn't ask what he was staring at with that edge in her voice he knew so well.

They were beautiful.

The faded crease between her brows, grown there from those "thinking" expressions she so often wore.

The suggestive crinkles at the edges of her eyes, reminding him of the way she laughed.

The growing laugh lines, deeper on her right cheek from the sarcastic, lopsided smirk she used with such effectiveness.

The face on the pillow was just a face - a pretty enough face. It was the wrinkles that made it Lois's face.

He shook his head slightly at himself, half amused at his own train of thought. He stood up from his chair and peeled off his tights, exchanging them for a pair of loose boxers. Then he quietly crept into his side of the bed, slipping under the covers and spooning his body around Lois's warmth.

The movement woke her, and she rolled over to face him, eyes still closed, but a half-smile on her face. "You're home," she murmured, rubbing her face against his chest.

He smiled and brushed his hand through her dark hair. "Yes."

"I tried to wake up..."

"It's okay," he said, meaning it as he kissed her forehead.

"So is the world all safe again?" she asked sleepily, trustingly curling into his arms.

He tightened his hold on her for a moment. "Yes," he whispered, feeling her breathing deepening back to sleep.

He rested his cheek on the top of her head, letting his hand brush over her hair, almost unsurprised to find one silver strand. He wouldn't mention that to her either, but he thanked whatever gods there were that he was here this night to see it.



End

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