A/N: OK. First off I have to apologize for the "over the top" "melodramatic" ending-- It's a little much, but I liked it. Anywho- this is the companion piece for my other one-shot "Her" you don't have to read that one first. Enjoy.

Rating: R ( though this one is a little more graphic than "Her"..Just a little, though)

Spoiler Warning: Pandora, Idol, Doomsday

Him

You're still a bit disoriented- confused- terrified. You can hardly make sense of what happened. Your still trying to think of some reasonable, logical explanation- this could still be a dream or a hallucination or some weird delusion- a side affect of some drugs Tess slipped you- but all of those choices don't seem to fit the bill- this feels too real, too familiar- you need answers- but mostly you need to see him.

You open the door more tentatively than you normally would. He's washing his face in a basin. No running water. Dozens of candles are flickering around the room. No electricity. The city was a wasteland. He looks up at you, fixedly and your pulse starts to pick up- he's never looked at you like that before- he isn't wearing a shirt- your eyes to scan the ripples and hardness of his body. God, he's a beautiful man.

His hair is longer, you note as he flips a stray lock out of his eyes and dries his hands. He sees the confusion and fear on your face. "Are you OK?" Normally you would roll your eyes or snort, it was such a Clark Kent question, but you don't. You're not done scrutinizing him- something isn't right. He looks like you remember, sounds like you remember- has the same mannerisms, but there was something different about him. Something- off- and you can't quite place what it is.

You manage to give him a look and reply, "define OK? So far today I've traveled through time, fought off flying aliens and," you inhale shakily, "almost got my head chopped off."

He doesn't say anything, as you shut the door and carefully walk toward him- he just keeps staring at you with indefinable intensity.

"But despite all those things the one thing I can't believe," you lean against the wall, trying to look casual. "I can't believe you and Chloe aren't friends anymore." He has to give you some sort of straight answer- you need something- anything that tells you why and how and what happened to the world- to him.

"It's not her fault," he answers quietly, "I turned my back on her." He turns away from you and before you can ask why, he continues, "Lois after you disappeared I couldn't-" he pauses briefly and takes a breath and you hold yours, "I couldn't be around Chloe or Oliver it reminded me of you and that hurt too much."

You're touched and completely knocked off guard at the same time. What? You're brain can't quite wrap itself around what he's just confessed. The last time you saw him at The Planet he was trying to put the Wall of China between you and now- now he- you swallow hard trying to suppress the sudden bout of emotion rising in your throat.

"So," he says finally turning back to face you, "I left." The look in his eyes holds a certain confidence and dutifulness, "And trained myself to fight Zod."

Something clicks in your brain at the mention of that name and your reporter instincts immediately kick in and take over- you advance forward, "Clark, What did you mean about having a history with him?"

His eyes flicker and the conviction evaporates. It's replaced by shame and regret and hurt, "Let's just say I made some mistakes," he tells you, vaguely. And all you want to do is wipe that look off of his face, permanently. You never want to see that kind of pain in his eyes- ever.

"Stop beating yourself up!" The words come out more harshly that you intended, but you couldn't stand to see him look so- empty. That 's what was different. He'd always looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, that was nothing new, but he'd never looked so- empty and lost and vapid. "You are not alone!" You have to make him see- you have to make him understand- you have too- "The truth is- we could all die tomorrow." As the words leave your mouth their truth hits you like a sucker punch in the gut. But he doesn't seem fazed, at all. His face is hard and his voice is distant, yet thick with emotion at the same time, "Lois, I died when you left."

The sincerity in his eyes is what does you in. You're utterly floored. Completely flabbergasted. I died when you left. The words reverberate in your head- all of the emotions you'd been trying so desperately to quell come bubbling to the surface and boil over. You want to run to him- hold him- but you're feet are rooted to the ground with shock.

You stare him- elated and terrified and overcome with lust and need and love- you're sure everything you're feeling is written all over your face- you might as well have a blinking neon sign above your head that says, take me, I'm yours! But you can't bring yourself to care- you want him to see- to know-

You reach your hand out and touch his chest- a gesture of comfort- of connection. "I'm here now." You say, meaningfully, getting lost in his dark orbs. His skin is warm- he's always warm. You can feel his heartbeat speeding up against your palm and you can't tear your gaze away from his-

Then he's kissing you- Hard. Fast. Demanding. And you reciprocate almost instantly, because you want him just as much as he wants you. His fingers tearing at the buttons on your shirt and you're only half aware of the small 'plunk' sounds as they hit floor. He rips the shirt over your shoulders and you undo his pants-

He's on top of you- his wonderful hot weight is pushing you down into the mattress. You're not sure how you got there and you don't care- what little clothing you had is cast aside and then- he's touching you- everywhere- his, big calloused hands are gliding up your thigh- down your back- across your breasts- evoking sounds you didn't even know you could make. His mouth is still on yours and you never want him to stop kissing you- touching you.

Your drunk with passion- your almost convulsing against him- moving with him- finding his rhythm and you're holding on to him so tightly, your nails are digging into his flesh and your legs are tightly clasped around his waist- this is where you belong- in his arms. Forever. He feels good and right and solid- he feels like home.

He tears his mouth from yours and starts trailing hot open kisses down your body leaving a wake of heat and moisture- you're brain is foggy with pleasure and need- the only word you can form is his name- and you repeat it over and over again as he brings you to the edge- over and over and over again.

Then you hear it- at first you think you're imagining it- that your mind is so consumed with him that you're tricking yourself into hearing things that aren't there- but then you feel his lips shaping the words on your skin- I love you. His breath is on your ear and his hands are pulling at your hips- I love you. It's the sweetest mantra you've ever heard. And he just keeps repeating it and doing things to your body until you believe it's true.

You want to say it back- but the pleasure is so intense and there's so much heat and friction- you're mouth isn't cooperating. You do manage to smile down at him before he takes your mouth again- vigorously- flipping you over-

He's moving faster inside of you- again- I love you

Long- sweet- strokes- and you feel the fire growing in your lower abdomen the tightness- the tension- then once again- sweet wonderful release-

I love you.

You cry out- almost sobbing- it was almost too much-

I love you.

You're dizzy with pleasure- there's so much of him- and he's everywhere and it's Clark-

You don't remember his final guttural moan or collapsing on top of him- exhausted and more sated then you've ever been- but you do remember his low throaty voice and his lips grazing your earlobe- I love you- before sleep and exhaustion overtake you.

When you open your eyes his strong muscled back greets you. Your arm is slung up over his shoulder- your hand gripping onto his chest- you gingerly glide it down his arm and bicep before rising from the bed- taking the thin sheet that was covering your bodies, with you. You wrap the flimsy, sheer material around your body and walk toward the window- you don't think you'll ever get used to a red sun- it seems closer than before- bigger. Your state of bliss is cut short. Seeing the sun brings back the troubled feelings you were wrestling with the day before. This could be it-

He walks up behind you and puts his arms around your middle- you fall back into him- your safe and warm and protected in his arms- nothing can hurt you- nothing. "I wish we had more time." He whispers into your hair. You don't trust your voice- and there's really nothing you can say to comfort him- so instead you bring your hand up and touch his cheek.

He leans into your palm and you spin to face him- his eyes say everything you need to know- then he kisses you or you kiss him your not who leans in first- he holds you flush against his body and your arms are locked around his neck. When you finally pull back the words you said to him last night sound in your head- we could all die tomorrow.

Except this time the fear and apprehension doesn't come- instead you feel almost- relieved- if worse comes to worse- if whatever plans he has- if there's nothing else Chloe or Oliver can do- you almost hope it come to fruition- because dying with him is better than living without him.

END

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A/N: OK...So...? Let me know what you think! Thanks!