Chapter 6: After Hours Addiction
The silence in Lana’s bedroom was a physical thing. Thick. Suffocating. Laden with the mingled scents of sweat, sex, and Lois’s faint, expensive perfume. Lois’s whispered confession – "I need you" – hung between them like a guillotine blade, terrifying in its raw honesty. Lana stared at the ceiling’s water stain, the one shaped vaguely like Italy, Lois’s fingers still loosely tangled with hers on the rumpled sheet. Her torn blouse gaped open, cool air ghosting over her flushed skin. Her body hummed, a live wire still sparking from Lois’s relentless mouth, her demanding fingers. Her own boldness in returning the favor. But beneath the hum, a cold dread seeped in.
Need. It wasn't just sex Lois was talking about. It was the dangerous, suffocating kind. The kind Lana had run from before.
Lana gently, deliberately, untangled her fingers from Lois’s. The movement was small, final. She pushed herself up on her elbows, the sheet pooling around her waist. "Lois…" Her voice was hoarse, scraped raw.
Lois’s eyes snapped open, dark pools instantly sharpening, the vulnerability hardening into something defensive, guarded. "Don't," she warned, her voice low, raspy. She sat up abruptly, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, presenting Lana with the strong line of her naked back, the dark fall of her hair. "Just… don't say it. Whatever pious little speech you’re cooking up about mistakes and consequences and your precious fucking normal life." She stood, snatching her discarded jeans from the floor. Her movements were jerky, angry. "We both know the score."
Lana watched her, the ache between her legs a traitorous counterpoint to the fear tightening her chest. "The score? Lois, you just said…"
"I know what I said!" Lois whirled around, jeans half-buttoned, eyes blazing. The vulnerability was gone, buried beneath a familiar wall of bristling defiance. "I said I need you. Right now. Like… like I need my next fucking cigarette. Or a stiff drink after a shitty deadline. It doesn’t mean anything." She yanked her t-shirt over her head, hiding her breasts, her skin. "It’s just… chemical. Adrenaline. The thrill of the fuck."
Lana flinched. The crudeness was deliberate, a weapon Lois wielded expertly to create distance. "Is that all it is for you?" Lana asked softly, standing too, wrapping her arms around herself, holding the torn fabric of her blouse closed. "Just a chemical release?"
Lois paused, her back to Lana as she hunted for her socks. Her shoulders tensed. "What else could it be, Lana?" she shot back, her voice tight. "You’re the small-town angel wrestling with her secret sapphic urges. I’m the big-city bitch passing through, looking for a distraction. We fuck. It’s hot. It’s messy. Then it ends. That’s the score." She found a sock, jammed her foot into it. "Anything else is… complicated. And I don’t do complicated."
"But you keep coming back," Lana pressed, taking a hesitant step towards her. "The 'just once' in the café… then upstairs… now this…"
Lois spun, her face inches from Lana’s. "Because you’re here!" The anger faltered for a microsecond, revealing a flash of pure, terrifying need before the mask slammed back down. "Because your body fucking sings for me. Because when I touch you, you come apart in ways that make my head spin." She grabbed Lana’s wrists, not roughly, but firmly, pinning them at her sides. The torn blouse gaped wider. "Don’t pretend you don’t want it too. Don’t pretend you weren't grinding on my hand like a bitch in heat ten minutes ago. Or riding my face like you owned it."
Lana’s breath hitched. Heat flooded her cheeks, spreading lower. Lois’s words were crude, brutal, but undeniably true. The memory of her own abandon, her own desperate moans, sent a fresh pulse of arousal through her core. "I… I do want it," she admitted, the words barely a whisper. "But…"
"But nothing!" Lois cut her off, her dark eyes drilling into Lana’s. Her grip on Lana’s wrists tightened. "But Smallville? But Clark fucking Kent? But what people might think?" Lois scoffed, a harsh, ugly sound. "Fuck them. Fuck him. This is now. This is us. Raw. Real. No promises, no tomorrows. Just… this." Her gaze dropped to Lana’s mouth, then lower, to the swell of her breasts visible through the torn blouse. Hunger flared in her eyes, undeniable. "You want complicated? Go back to baking pies and waiting for Prince Charming. You want this?" She leaned in, her lips brushing Lana’s ear, her voice dropping to a low, thrilling growl. "Come downstairs."
Lois released her wrists abruptly, turned, and strode out of the bedroom. Lana stood frozen, trembling. The conflicting tides within her raged – fear, shame, the crushing weight of expectation… and the undeniable, liquid pull of desire, stoked white-hot by Lois’s raw aggression and the phantom echoes of pleasure still tingling across her skin. No promises. No tomorrows. Just this. The simplicity was terrifying. And intoxicating.
Her feet moved before her mind could fully protest. She didn’t bother finding a new shirt. She pulled the edges of the torn blouse together as best she could and followed Lois down the narrow staircase, the wood cool under her bare feet.
The Talon was dark, lit only by the dim emergency lights and the faint glow from the streetlamps outside filtering through the large front windows. The air hung heavy with the day’s residual scents – roasted coffee, baked goods, cleaning solution. And underneath it, lingering faintly, the musk of their first encounter on that table.
Lois stood beside the very same heavy oak table they’d fucked on two nights ago. She’d cleared the remaining chairs roughly aside. She’d taken off her jeans and t-shirt again, standing in just her black lace panties, her back to Lana, looking out at the deserted street. The curves of her back, the swell of her hips, the dark fall of her hair against her shoulders – she looked like a conquering queen surveying her domain. She turned slowly as Lana descended the last step.
"Lock the door," Lois commanded, her voice echoing slightly in the empty space. There was no anger left in it now. Just pure, predatory intent.
Lana fumbled with the deadbolt, her fingers clumsy. The metallic clunk sounded unnaturally loud, sealing them in. She turned back to face Lois, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Lois didn’t speak. She just pointed at the table. Then she hooked her thumbs into the sides of her black lace panties and slowly, deliberately, pushed them down her legs. She stepped out of them, kicked them aside, and hoisted herself onto the smooth, cool oak surface. She leaned back on her elbows, legs falling open in a deliberate, brazen display. The dim light caught the glistening wetness between her thighs.
"Lana," Lois said, her voice low, husky. Not a plea. An order. "Get over here. Show me how much you want this."
The sight was an electric shock. Lois, naked and defiant, demanding service on the altar of their shared transgression. The fear, the doubt – they didn’t vanish, but they were drowned out by a surge of pure, reckless desire. The 'good girl', the conflicted soul, receded. Something fiercer, hungrier, rose in its place. Lana crossed the darkened café floor, her bare feet silent on the tiles. She didn’t hesitate. She walked straight to the table, stepped between Lois’s splayed legs, and without breaking eye contact, sank to her knees.
The scent hit her first – potent, musky, uniquely Lois. The sight was even more arresting: dark curls glistening, folds swollen and parted, revealing the slick, pink core. Lana’s mouth watered. She leaned forward, burying her face without preamble. No tentative licks, no teasing. She drove her tongue flat and hard against Lois’s clit, lapping at the gathering wetness with a guttural moan of her own.
"Fuck! Yes!" Lois gasped, her hips jerking off the table. Her hands flew to Lana’s head, fingers plunging into her auburn hair, holding her tight, pressing her face deeper. "Like that! Oh god, fucking eat me!"
Lana obeyed. She feasted. She licked broad, firm strokes from Lois’s opening up to her clit, swirling her tongue around the hard bud, sucking it fiercely into her mouth. She tasted salt, musk, and something addictive, uniquely Lois. She slid two fingers inside Lois’s cunt, feeling the tight, wet heat clamp down around them. She curled them, searching, finding the spongy spot inside, pressing hard as she flicked her tongue relentlessly over Lois’s clit.
Lois cried out, a raw, animal sound that echoed off the café’s high ceilings. Her thighs clamped around Lana’s ears. "Deeper! Fuck me deeper with your tongue! Oh shit, Lana! Don't stop! I'm so fucking close!"
Lana redoubled her efforts, fucking Lois with her fingers in a relentless rhythm, her mouth working furiously on her clit. The sounds were obscenely loud in the empty space – wet sucking, slapping skin, Lois’s escalating cries, Lana’s own muffled moans vibrating against Lois’s flesh. Lois’s body went rigid, a strangled scream tearing from her throat as she came, bucking violently against Lana’s mouth, gushing wetness over her chin.
Lana kept lapping, drinking her in, prolonging the spasms until Lois collapsed back onto the table, gasping, trembling. Her grip on Lana’s hair loosened.
Before Lois could recover, before the moment could break, Lana surged up. She grabbed Lois’s hips, her own need a raging inferno. "My turn," she panted, her voice thick with arousal. She climbed onto the table, straddling Lois’s face. "Now."
Lois didn’t hesitate. Her hands gripped Lana’s ass, pulling her down. Her tongue, hot and demanding, speared into Lana’s aching cunt without preamble. Lana cried out, throwing her head back. Lois was ravenous. Her tongue plunged deep, fucking her, then flattened against her clit, sucking hard. She growled against Lana’s flesh, the vibration sending shockwaves through her.
"Oh fuck! Lois! Yes!" Lana ground down hard, riding Lois’s face, seeking more, deeper, faster. She braced her hands on the cool wood behind Lois’s head, her hips pistoning. The table groaned under their combined weight and movement. Lois’s hands kneaded her ass, pulling her open wider, her tongue relentless. The sensations were overwhelming, brutal, perfect. Lana felt the orgasm building, a tidal wave gathering force deep in her belly.
"Make me come!" Lana gasped, looking down, meeting Lois’s dark, fierce gaze looking up at her from between her thighs. "Make me scream in this fucking café! Do it!"
Lois moaned, the sound vibrating deliciously against Lana’s clit. Her fingers dug into Lana’s ass cheeks as her tongue lashed faster, harder. She added two fingers, thrusting them deep inside Lana, curling them, finding that spot with unerring accuracy.
It was too much. The pressure, the friction, the sheer, illicit thrill of being eaten out on the café table by Lois Lane – it detonated. Lana’s back arched violently. A scream ripped from her throat, raw and unrestrained, echoing through the empty coffee shop as fiercely as Lois’s had moments before. Her body convulsed, clenching hard around Lois’s fingers, gushing onto her tongue. Wave after wave of blinding pleasure crashed over her, leaving her shuddering, gasping, riding the aftershocks on Lois’s relentless mouth.
Slowly, bonelessly, Lana slid off Lois’s face, collapsing onto her back beside her on the wide table. They lay side by side on the cool oak, breathing raggedly, staring up at the shadowed ceiling. Sweat gleamed on their skin. The air was thick with the smell of sex and coffee.
Lois turned her head on the wood. Her hand found Lana’s, lying limp beside her. Their fingers intertwined, sticky. No words. The silence stretched, filled only with their slowing breaths. Lois’s notebook lay forgotten on the floor where it had fallen earlier, pages splayed open beside a discarded espresso cup.
The vibrating buzz of a phone shattering the silence was jarring. Insistent. It came from the pocket of Lois’s discarded jeans, tangled on the floor near the table. They both froze.
Lois didn’t move. Her grip on Lana’s hand tightened almost painfully. Her eyes, wide and suddenly fearful in the dim light, locked onto Lana’s. It wasn't the phone that scared her. It was the name flashing on the screen Lana couldn’t see. It was the world outside their stolen, sweaty bubble crashing back in. The ringtone – a familiar, jaunty tune – cut through the silence again. And again. Refusing to be ignored.
The phone buzzed again, a frantic insect on the hardwood floor. Lois’s hand remained locked around Lana’s, a vise of denial. The screen lit the shadows beneath the table, casting a faint, blue glow. Lana saw the tension etch itself into the line of Lois’s jaw, the slight flare of her nostrils. This wasn’t just an interruption. It was an invasion.
“Ignore it,” Lana whispered, the words sounding foolish even as they left her lips.
“I can’t,” Lois rasped. The admission seemed to cost her. She released Lana’s hand and rolled off the table in one fluid, almost violent motion. She snatched the jeans, fumbling for the phone. The glowing screen illuminated her face from below, hollowing her eyes as she stared at the name. She didn’t answer. She just watched it ring, her thumb hovering over the decline button until it went to voicemail. The silence it left was heavier than before.
“Perry,” Lois said to the darkness, not looking at Lana. “My editor.” She tossed the phone onto a nearby chair. It clattered against the wicker. “The story. The one I’m supposedly here for.” A humorless laugh escaped her. “He thinks I’m chasing leads in Wichita.”
Lana sat up slowly, the cool air raising goosebumps on her slick skin. The high from her orgasm was fading, replaced by the slow drip of reality. Lois stood with her back turned, naked and defiant, but the set of her shoulders was different. Not post-coital relaxation, but a coiled readiness for flight. The ‘no tomorrows’ pact suddenly felt less like a mutual agreement and more like a ticking clock only Lois could hear.
“When do you leave?” Lana asked. Her voice was quiet in the vast, dark room.
Lois didn’t answer immediately. She ran a hand through her tangled hair, sighed.“Two days. Maybe three.” She finally turned. The streetlight cut across her body, highlighting the bite marks on her neck, the sheen of sweat on her collarbone. “See? Complicated.”
A sudden, reckless anger surged in Lana, hot and cleansing. She slid off the table, the wood groaning in relief. She walked over to Lois, stopping mere inches away. The scents of sex and coffee clung to them both. “Then we have two days,” Lana said, her gaze unwavering. “Or three. And right now, we’re covered in… us. And coffee grinds.” She reached out, her fingers brushing a sticky spot on Lois’s abdomen. “I’m sticky. You’re sticky. We smell like a brothel that serves espressos.”
A genuine, surprised smirk tugged at Lois’s mouth. The tension in her shoulders eased a fraction. “Got a better idea, Lang?”
“Yes.” Lana took her hand. It wasn’t a gentle gesture. It was firm. Decisive.“Upstairs. Now.”
She led Lois back through the dark café, past the table still warm from their bodies, up the narrow stairs she’d stumbled down just an hour before. The apartment door was still ajar. Inside, the bedroom was a wreck of discarded clothes and rumpled sheets, the air still thick with their first act.
Lana didn’t turn on the bedroom light. She led Lois straight through to the small, tiled bathroom. She flipped the switch there. The fluorescent bulb flickered to life, harsh and unforgiving. It illuminated everything: the flushed skin, the smeared makeup, the vivid love bites, the shimmering evidence of their abandon drying on their thighs.
“I need a shower,” Lana stated, her voice echoing off the tiles. She reached past Lois, who leaned in the doorway, and twisted the knobs. Water erupted from the showerhead, hitting the porcelain tub with a loud spray. Steam began to curl, clouding the mirror.
Lois watched her, arms crossed over her chest, a mask of casual indifference that didn’t reach her eyes. “So shower.”
Lana held her gaze as she stepped into the stream. The hot water was a shock, a baptism. It sluiced over her head, her shoulders, turning her auburn hair dark and heavy. She turned, water streaming down her face, and looked at Lois through the fogging glass door.A challenge. An invitation.
With a slow, deliberate movement, Lois uncrossed her arms. She pushed the door open and stepped in. The space was cramped, built for one. Their bodies pressed together immediately, slick skin against slick skin under the pounding spray. Steam enveloped them.
For a long moment, they just stood there, water coursing between them. The performative aggression from downstairs had burned away. Here, there was only the close, wet heat and the raw, unguarded fact of each other. Lois reached for a bar of simple lavender soap. She began to lather her hands.
“Turn around,” she said, her voice softer, stripped of its earlier bravado.
Lana obeyed, presenting her back. Lois’s soapy hands started on her shoulders, kneading the tense muscles there. Her touch was different now. Not taking, but cleansing. Methodical. She worked the lather down Lana’s spine, over the curve of her ass, along the backs of her thighs. Her thumbs traced the hollows behind Lana’s knees. It was intensely, unbearably intimate. More intimate than the fucking on the table. Lana leaned her forehead against the cool tiles, closing her eyes, letting herself be tended to.
Lois’s hands slid around her waist, slippery with soap, gliding over her stomach, up to cup her breasts. She washed them slowly, thoroughly, her thumbs circling Lana’s nipples until they peaked under the attention, aching and sensitive. Her touch drifted lower, through the coarse thatch of auburn curls, between her legs. She soaped her there too, a slow, clinical cleansing that became something else as her fingers gently parted Lana’s folds, rinsing away the sticky evidence of their passion.
Lana gasped, her hips pushing back reflexively into Lois’s touch. “Lois…”
“Shhh,” Lois murmured into her wet hair, her body pressed along Lana’s back. “Just getting you clean.” But her fingers lingered, tracing slick, soapy circles that made Lana’s legs tremble. It wasn’t about another orgasm. It was a reclamation. A claiming of a different, deeper kind.
Then Lois pulled her hands away. “My turn.”
They shifted in the tight space, water spraying everywhere. Now Lana took the soap. She started with Lois’s neck, washing away the salt of sweat, her thumbs smoothing over the marks her own teeth had left. She lathered Lois’s dark hair, working the suds through the long strands with a gentle firmness that made Lois’s eyes drift shut. She soaped the elegant slope of her shoulders, the powerful lines of her back, the magnificent curve of her ass.
When she turned Lois to face her, the water beating down between them, she washed her front with the same solemn care. Over the swell of her breasts, paying slow, aching attention to her nipples, down the taut plane of her stomach. Lois watched her, her dark eyes unreadable, her breath hitching as Lana’s soapy hands moved lower.
Lana knelt in the shower spray, the water pelting her back. She looked up at Lois, water dripping from her lashes. She soaped the dark triangle of curls, then carefully, deliberately, washed between Lois’s legs. Her fingers slipped through slick folds, not seeking pleasure, but performing an act of devotion. Cleansing her. Honoring the very flesh that had just brought them both to screaming, broken heights.
Lois’s hand came down, tangling in Lana’s wet hair, not forcing, just holding.A connection. Her chest rose and fell rapidly.
Rinsing was a silent, slow ceremony. They stood under the spray, letting the water carry the suds and the scent of lavender and sex down the drain. They were just two bodies now, clean and pink and vulnerable under the fluorescent light.
Lana reached to turn the water off. The sudden silence was deafening, filled only with the drip from the showerhead and their own breathing. Lois pushed the door open and stepped out, grabbing a towel. She handed one to Lana.
They dried themselves without speaking, the rough terrycloth absorbing the beads of water. Lois’s eyes never left Lana, tracking her movements with a focused intensity. When they were dry, damp hair clinging to necks and shoulders, they stood there in the steam-filled bathroom, towels held to their chests like shields.
Lois finally broke the silence. Her voice was rough, barely a whisper. “See?” she said, gesturing vaguely between their clean bodies. “Complicated.”
Lana dropped her towel. It pooled at her feet on the damp tile. She stepped forward, took Lois’s face in her hands, and kissed her. It wasn’t like the frantic, biting kisses from before. It was slow.Deep. A tasting.A question.
When she pulled back, Lois’s eyes were wide, the defenses utterly gone. “I know,” Lana said softly.
She took Lois’s hand and led her, not back to the rumpled bed, but to the couch in the small living room. She pulled a soft, worn blanket from the back and wrapped it around them both as they sat down, legs tangled, skin cooling. The streetlight from the window painted silvery lines across the floor.
Lois rested her head on Lana’s shoulder, her damp hair soaking into the cotton of Lana’s robe. “Two days,” she whispered into the dimness.
Lana stared out at the quiet, sleeping street of Smallville, her fingers absently tracing patterns on Lois’s bare arm under the blanket. The world outside was simple, predictable. The world inside this room was a terrifying, beautiful mess. She kissed the top of Lois’s head, inhaling the scent of lavender soap and something uniquely, fundamentally Lois.
“Then we have two days,” Lana repeated, her own voice a vow in the dark.