~~*S*~~

Red Alert
By Bren Ren

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Summary: Sequel to Red Light Honeymoon, read it first and this'll make a little more sense. In theory. Lois can't get that "dream" out of her head… and Clark's a little Red K hung-over, so he's rather decidedly ill-equipped to deal with Lois's determined personal investigation of *him* in the midst of their professional investigation into some odd late-night Super-activities coming in on the morning news reports.

Rating: MA ~ Still firmly lodged in Mature Audience Adults Only Territory here, FoLC's. Lots more hot Sexual Content and Adult Themes! ;P

Disclaimer: Not mine. Tis easier to ask forgiveness than permission. And you know crazy fans like me are good for business one way or another!

~*S*~

Lois woke up very slowly and very, very begrudgingly. She had, in fact, already procrastinated consciousness by a fair few hours with the judicious use of the thick hotel curtains here in the honeymoon suite and a couple of pillows over her head for good measure to ensure no hint of light penetrated her tightly fastened eyelids. She did not want to wake up.

Waking up meant the dream would end.

And it was such a good dream.

Best dream of her life, hands down. Well, more like hands-all-over-the-place, she mentally amended. She didn't envy housekeeping's cleaning duty when it came to those sheets. Who says only guys can have wet dreams? She did briefly contemplate burning them to destroy the evidence, but considering all that the room had suffered already, she refrained from indulging her inner pyromaniac.

Instead, she got lost in recalling every single detail she could grasp from that hell of a heavenly fantasy. It had felt so incredibly vivid, so surreal-ly real, that as consciousness slowly asserted itself, she actually felt physically sore—and in muscles that hadn't had cause to be sore for a very long time.

But it was just a dream. Had to be a dream.

Didn't really happen.

Only in one seriously, deliriously delusional fantasy could Clark Kent possibly be pulling off a secret identity—not just under her nose—right up front and center and in her face.

That would never happen. It couldn't.

Could it?

No. It. Could. Not.

Never. Clark would never do something like that to her—carry on a dual-identity behind her back, and then use that alter-ego to seduce her. He would never be that guy.

Unless…

Unless what? He was drugged? Drunk? Under the influence of God-knows-what, and whatever it was would have to be pretty damn powerful—only something Super-strong could possibly effect Super—NO! No, no, no, no, nonononoNO!

But he really is Mr. Hard-body underneath those bulky suits and those outrageous ties…. God, those ties…

Never mind the great bondage potential inherent in that particular men's accessory, she long ago realized that she seemed to find a man who likes to buck convention in such a wild, eye-catching, and sometimes horrid fashion as Clark Kent's eclectic and eye-boggling inventory to be... incredibly, unconventionally sexy.Her eyes widened as panic started to set in. She was losing her own battle of wills—against herself, no less.

And he really does have a well-defined set of big, strong chest muscles... despite having the dietary consumption of an eight-year-old's wildest dreams.

Wide and broad, muscles bulging full and proud and just shy of ridiculously pumped up, a flawless set of six-pack abs. She blinked hard several times whilst gulping air into her lungs. Losing… the will… to fight…

Yup, that image is permanently burned on the inside of my eyelids. I can seek Clark half-naked anytime I want. All I have to do is blink!

And the Suit does, in fact, come off.

But if he's…

No. He couldn't be.

Could he?

It's just too crazy to really be real. …Isn't it?

Is it?

Lois Lane sat up abruptly, throwing the pillows off her head, across the bed, and all the way out to the far walls.

God help that man if he is...

Then she caught sight of something out of the corner of her eye. She looked down where her head and pillows used to lie, and there, in all their mighty splendor atop the white satin sheet lay a pair of shiny red men's briefs.

*Superman* Red. Well, hell. Like she would ever possibly buy any lame excuses, any "logical" rationalizations for that.

Watch out, Super-Smallville. Hell hath no fury like Mad Dog Lane.

**~S~**

Clark Kent woke up in his own bed, and considering the few hazy memories he could recall in the first moments of consciousness, this was likely very, very fortunate.

What a crazy night! His last clear memory was hanging up after an awkward late-night call from Lois, heading for a Super-cold shower in the Arctic, getting waylaid stopping a big-rig hijacking on the interstate… and that was it. Clarity ended there and things started getting fuzzy. And… hot…?

His memory didn't black out, it faded out, into red. Bright, bold, blaring, blinding red.

And after that, events became increasingly disjointed. Surreal. Unreal. Really, really, vividly real.

And… steamy…? Or was that… sweaty…??

He doubted the validity of some of his more off-the-wall "memories", but one particular episode of last night's bizarrely adventuresome journey did suddenly stood out in crystalline detail: Lois Lane, in the honeymoon suite, making wantonly passionate love with him. Wild, hot, carnal, passionate lovemaking. A floor-to-ceiling-and-back-again fervent sextacular extravaganza!

With me! The real me!

The real man, Clark Superman Kent.

But Lois wanted to make herself believe it was all just a fantasy. Nothing more than a crazy little dream. It was like being hit with a sucker punch in the nuts: she told him she couldn't handle finding out her partner and best friend has been lying to her from day one, and that he and her superhero fantasy were one and the same. She wasn't ready—worse, "it might very well kill" her. And then she'd asked him to promise never to tell her if it really had happened. He thanked all that was good in the world that he had at least been able to convince her to leave it on the table for some vague, distant someday. However deeply she may try to bury it on the back burners.

And she may try for all she's worth… but that doesn't necessarily mean she'll succeed.

Lois could certainly qualify for the poster-child of self-deluding denial, but deep down, Clark truly, and a bit desperately, hoped her intellectual brilliance would help her, or maybe even force her to see the truth, no matter how hard or how deeply she tried to bury her head in the sand.

She's a lot stronger and tougher, especially in the affairs of the heart, than she gives herself credit for.

She survived that creep-frog Claude, and while perhaps she might be a little too cynical and jaded after all was said and done following his cruel betrayal, she was nonetheless stronger and tougher for it. And this, well, this was completely different. Clark was nothing like that Neapolitan Casanova, and he certainly wasn't trying to steal any stories from her. For crying out loud, he enjoyed sharing the work and the byline both far too much to even think about thinking about it. And Clark Kent certainly wasn't looking for a casual fling, a notch on the bed post, or any port in the storm. He's just not that guy.

And I will certainly do everything in my power to help her get through it, no matter what it takes, or how long… no matter how my heart might break.

Clark Kent was, is, and ever more shall be, a forever man. He had no doubt that the one and only woman he would ever want to spend forever loving would always be Lois Lane. The lofty goal of living up to her expectations, of embodying the highest standards and ideals she believed in of him as much as she herself believed in, had every bit as much to do with defining the man he had become as his much-loved parents and their solid, morally sound nurturing. She really did complete him, just as he had waited all his life to find her.

I've finally found her. And God help me, but I do *love* her.

And now that he had finally connected so completely with her, so intimately, he just hoped he hadn't accidentally shot himself in the foot with his own laser-vision.

But being with Lois, making love with her, as foolish and improbable as it seemed, was only the beginning of that long, outlandish night of lunacy… And any doubts as to the validity of the flood of memories emerging as full wakefulness penetrated his dense skull were laid to rest as his sensitive hearing began picking up the neighbors' morning news broadcasts.

Oh, boy... this isn't good. Something tells me I've got some Super-'splainin' to do…

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