Title: The Article
AN: This was written for the 12days challenge. My prompt was temptation. I had planned to do this really awful, angsty bit where Clark watches Lois and pines away for her and is tempted to maybe kiss her or something like that, but I figured after the horror that was my last ficlet I go for something fluffy to show that not everything in my AU is depressing. So you could consider that this fic takes place sometime after Lois and Clark are married. But really, if you've never read anything else written by me, you will still totally understand this. In fact… I don't even mention Jason AT ALL in the ENTIRE fic. Imagine that.

Many thanks to the uber betas who pulled triple duty for me in the last two weeks. Htbthomas and mithah both worked over time for me and their efforts are very greatly appreciated. I also have to give a shout to kalalanekent and anissa7118 who read it over for me and gave me the thumbs up. Lois is probably the most difficult character for me to tap into and writing an article from her PoV worried me. Thanks ladies. I'm glad I made you laugh.

It should also be noted that this is very mild R. If you are at work, you might not want to read this. It could be considered heavy PG-13, but to be on the safe side I will go with mild R.

The Article

"Lois, what did you do with the transcript of that phone conversation from the other day?"

Her voice rang out from the bathroom where she was about to get into the shower. "I never printed it off. It's still on my computer."

I rolled my eyes and went into her office. The room was dark except for the light glow emanating from the screensaver on the monitor. I sat down, moved the mouse, and found myself looking at a screen covered in tiny folder icons – and I do mean covered. How she ever found anything in this mess was beyond me. There was no rhyme or reason to where the folders were located.

There were several on politics – presidential, senatorial, local, national, Republican, Democrat, Independent. There were folders on local issues, everything from charity fundraisers to big business takeovers. Folders on global topics like the ozone and global warming. Even more folders on general topics like the media, women's issues, education, and racism. Folder upon endless folder with a countless number of documents in each; you name it, she had a folder for it. Even some celebrities had their own folders. Newsmakers and writers alike were given attention on Lois' computer. Even other newspapers had folders! It would be a nightmare sifting through all this stuff to find the one document I needed.

Then my eyes zeroed in on the Superman folder. Of course she would have a folder for my alter ego. After all, if she had a folder for Lex Luthor and John Corben, why wouldn't she have one for me, too? I only hoped that the content in my folder would be a bit more polite than the others. I was tempted to look… one little click and I would see what she was really thinking about me…but I couldn't.

Or could I?

I listened and heard the water running, indicating that Lois was still in the shower. Earlier that evening over dinner she had mentioned wanting to take a long shower and just relax. If I read fast enough, I could take a peek at her Superman files and she would never know. After all, it wasn't like she could write anything about me that I didn't already know about myself.

But these files were her personal thoughts. If I wanted to know how Lois felt about something, I should ask her. It wasn't right for me to go snooping in her computer.

But then, she had told me to come in here and get the other file. She had to know I would see this. And she didn't have it password protected. Surely there wasn't anything in there that would hurt for me to read.

The temptation was too great to resist. I had to know. I had to see. And once she was out of the shower I would tell her that I looked. I'd laugh about it and try to brush it off as nothing.

"Hey, I saw your Superman file! Interesting stuff there!" I would tease. And then I would kiss her and she would laugh with me.

I ran the mouse over the folder icon and clicked.

Everything Lois had ever written about me was there, from the first interview to the article she won the Pulitzer for to her latest scoop on a string of bank robberies that Superman helped police solve and Lois got an exclusive interview from the man himself. Not a difficult task all things considered.

Yet there were a few things in the file that I hadn't read. One in particular caught my attention. It was labeled "Shut Them Up" and had been created a year ago, but had been modified a mere two days ago. I wondered what this could be and was too perplexed and interested in it's contents to simply ignore it. Another click and the file came into view.

What I know about Superman that you don't, even though you wish you did

By Lois Lane

There are many facts that we have come to know about Superman over the years. We know of his kind-hearted nature and overall good-willed intentions. We know of his many superhuman abilities and talents. We know where he is from and how he is able to do the spectacular things he does. However, since Superman's first appearance here in the city of Metropolis, there has been one question that has been asked many times over regarding the Man of Steel: what is he really like? It is a question I have asked myself and have even tried to answer here in this paper, but I didn't have all the information then, nor was I brave enough to find out the answers to the really tough questions. Now I find myself in a position where I can answer those questions and put to rest some of the mystery surrounding our planet's greatest hero.

The first fact I would like to expand upon is that he is, for lack of a better word, a very normal man. Like I explained in my first article about him, he does everything that we do on a day-to-day basis. He eats, sleeps, bathes, watches television, does laundry, and even plays a mean game of minesweeper on the computer that you might miss him doing if you blinked.

He likes to cook – especially breakfast. Omelets stuffed with peppers and tomatoes are his specialty. He likes his coffee plain and strong, without any cream or sugar or frothiness on top. When given the choice between eating at the finest restaurant or a home-cooked meal, he'll choose the latter every time.

He watches television on a limited basis. I don't think he gives a rat's ass about the celebrities or the gossip or the sitcoms. Mostly he watches sports. Yes, the strongest, fastest man on our planet likes sports. Football is his favorite, but baseball and basketball will grab his attention just as easy as anything else. He has seen a few movies that I know of. Science fiction stories interest him most and he'll stop and watch Star Wars every time he notices that it's on.

He's really a homebody when it comes right down to it. He has a strong sense of family and loves occasions like birthdays and holidays where everyone gathers together to celebrate. He enjoys a cozy fire in the living room and a cup of cocoa on a cold evening. In the summer, he likes to sit outside on the deck under the stars with a cold beer or a glass of iced tea. No matter the time of year, home is where he wants to be.

His favorite spot in the house is either the couch in the living room or the bedroom. He's usually in one place or the other. I think what draws him to those particular places is the fact that there is room for more than one person, and he will always signal for me to join him wherever he may be sitting. On the couch, he insists on putting his arm around me so I can rest against him while I finish my work. But in the bedroom, work is put aside for other more enjoyable activities.

He does sleep, yes, that much is certain. When he sleeps, he lies on his back, tilted ever so slightly to the side, with one arm usually up and over his head. Most often, he falls asleep with his arms wrapped around me, but there are the select times when he falls asleep on his side of the bed and I on mine. He doesn't snore or talk in his sleep, but he does dream. I've watched him as his eyes move beneath his lids. Impossible as it may seem, his face, always so gentle, looks more serene and congenial when he sleeps.

He rises with the sun and is only able to sleep in if all the blinds are pulled tight. He likes to sleep without a shirt on, affording me the perfect view of his sculpted chest from dusk till dawn. He will yawn and stretch as any typical person waking up, but the form of his body as he does so is incomparable to anything I've ever seen. And when his eyes flutter open, the sunlight enhances the vivid sapphire of his eyes so much so that anyone who falls under his gaze would automatically be lost in their depths.

As strong as he is, his touch can be as gentle as a whisper. He gives great thought to each and every touch of his hand on a normal human, whether it's to save someone and carry them to safety or to show affection with a loving caress. I've seen him bend steel with his bare hands and then handle a newborn baby with the greatest care.

But the big question on your mind – at least on the mind of every woman I've ever met – is how he handles a lover. Believe me, ladies, when I say that every fantasy you may have ever had about this man pales in comparison to the real thing. Consider that his entire body is perfectly defined and formed in precise symmetry – and I do mean his entire body! He never took steroids to help form those muscles, so nothing in his anatomy is altered from the way God made him – and God broke the mold when he made this man. Yes, he is a man in every sense of the word.

I have heard ladies speculate on what he would be like in bed too often for my liking. Some seem to think he would be fast and rough, unable to withhold his power during such an intimate moment. I've heard other women hypothesize that he might not know what he's doing – that he's never been with a woman and thus would perform poorly. I've even heard such vicious conjecture that he is a dominant lover, taking without asking and not giving much in return. It baffles my mind that anyone would suspect this sort of behavior from a man such as Superman.

Let me set the record straight once and for all. He knows exactly what he's doing and he does it better than any other man could ever hope to love a woman. From the first time we were together, he has never failed to offer me the greatest pleasure I have ever felt – and he makes sure I feel it at least once, if not twice each time. He is gentle when I need him to be gentle, and yet he knows when it's time to let passion take over. His fingers, his tongue, his arms, his legs, and especially the most private parts of his body work in perfect harmony to stimulate and arouse and offer the most erotic sensations ever known to a woman.

If that isn't enough to do you in, what I find even more provocative is how he takes his own pleasure. Ladies, I swear to you that no man is more beautiful in the heated throes of passion than the Man of Steel. To be able to bring him to his knees, literally and figuratively, is like no feeling on Earth. To know that you have made his heart race and have caused him to gasp for breath as he shouts your name is the most exhilarating experience. The way his back arches and his hips rise off the bed in supplication is more intoxicating than any alcohol could ever hope to be. Add to these facts the knowledge that he doesn't tire easily and could keep up such strenuous activity all night long, and I say he more than lives up to the title of being a "super" man.

I don't mean to sound as if I'm bragging (though I am, a bit). I don't mean to make you feel badly about your own poor love lives and the inadequacies of the partners who try to fill that need within you. I only mean to put an end to the constant speculation and wonder surrounding our resident Kryptonian. Most of all, I just wish that a few certain people that I work with would shut up about how good he looks and how they'd like to go with him for a personal flight around the city to "show him a thing or two." Let me assure you, he is well provided for, both in his day-to-day life and in the bedroom. So please stop worrying what he is really like, because only one woman can answer that question. Only one woman will ever be able to answer that question. What is he really like? He's really perfectly, incandescently, scandalously super... and he's all mine.

I blinked slowly and noticed, for the first time, that my mouth was hanging open in complete astonishment. The nature of the piece – the very comprehensive and precise descriptions of my life all laid out right there for everyone to see. Never mind the specifics on my personal likes and dislikes, but Lois' attention to detail when it came to the intimacies of our love life left me… well… shocked, yes, but also more than a little aroused.

Why had she even written such a thing? Surely she didn't intend to publish something like this? Perry would never hear of it. A piece like this wasn't fit for the Daily Planet, but rather a scandal mag, a tabloid even. Lois would never stoop to that level. Unless…

Unless she wanted to do exactly what the label of the document said; that is, shut up any and all of the people who have ever guessed about my home life. Given how bold and fearless Lois was, I wouldn't put it past her. Still, everyone knew she was married to Clark Kent. She couldn't print something that made it very clear that she had a private relationship with Superman without arousing suspicion. Which left me back at the original question - why had she written this?

"Clark?" I heard her voice call from the bathroom. A turn of my head and I realized that the water was no longer running in the shower. In fact, her feet were currently padding over the soft carpet of the bedroom… and then on the hardwood of the hallway. She was heading in my direction.

I quickly and clumsily closed the document and exited out of the file labeled Superman. Pushing away from the desk, I jumped up from the seat just as Lois entered the office.

"Did you find it?" she asked, bundled up in a clean bathrobe.

Her hair was still damp from her shower and she smelled of lilacs and fresh laundry. Her robe wasn't closed fully in front, leaving me with a perfect view of the tops of her breasts, which were also still a bit damp. I was already in a bad state before she came in the room, but now it was worse. I turned away from her and focused back on the computer screen.

"No, I didn't. You have so many files on here I wasn't sure where to look."

She stepped up beside me. "Why are you blushing?"

My head snapped up to look at her. "I'm not – I'm not blushing. There's nothing – why would you say that?"

One slender eyebrow cocked upwards. "What's with you?"

"Nothing," I said, redirecting my attention back to the computer. "You just have so much stuff on here, Lois, that it's impossible to find what you're looking for."

"Well, you sure were in here long enough." She gently pushed me to the side and started clicking away at the screen until the interview I needed was being printed. I smiled and thanked her and again looked away.

"Okay, what is going on? You are acting like the kid who just got caught with his hand in the cookie jar," she accused.

"I am not!" I insisted. "I was just… you know… looking at your computer and couldn't… find what I needed."

Her eyes narrowed. "What did you find?"

"What?" I jumped. "I didn't find anything."

Her mouth twisted and she hummed thoughtfully before going to work at calling up the last file opened. Her jaw dropped when she realized what I had read. "Oh, you didn't."

I shrugged.

"You read it?" she asked, aghast.

"You wrote it?" I tossed back at her.

Her mouth opened and closed a few times as she tired to find an explanation.

"Now who's the one that's been caught?" I said.

Her face suddenly grew very stern. "It was a joke."

"A joke?"

"Yes, to shut up those interns at work."

"What interns?"

She looked at me as if I were completely stupid. "Don't tell me you've never seen the group of interns who make it their weekly ritual to gather on Friday mornings for coffee and to dish the dirt on the latest Superman gossip?"

I thought for a moment. "We have interns?"

"Not you and me, silly, but the paper as a whole. There are five of them – all female, all in their early twenties, all fresh out of school, and all trying to look like they stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine. They gab endlessly about what you're like and how great it would be to go to bed with you."

I squinted at her. "A bunch of gossip-mongering girls inspired you to share all the details of our personal life?"

"Yes!" she snapped. "They think they know what you're like, and they don't. It's my way of telling them to go to hell – that you're off the market, and I'd take down any woman who tried to take my place."

I started to smile. "Lois, nobody could ever take your place."

"Damn right about that! I just wanted to make it clear to them."

"But you know you can't print this."

"No," she said slowly. "But I had to get it out of me. You know that feeling you get when you have something to say, and if you don't say it, it will continue to fester until it drives you insane."

"You still can't print it."

"I know that. I just…" she shrugged and smiled wickedly. "I would like to. I'd like to see their faces as they read it. It's so tempting sometimes when they miss the mark by a mile. Like that one girl who thought you'd be rough and overpowering. What she described sounded like rape to me and it makes me sick to my stomach to realize that she thinks of you like that."

I placed a hand on her shoulder to turn her around to face me. "Lois—"

"I just want to tell them – I won't tell them, of course, but I'd like to."

I pulled her closer to me. "Sweetheart—"

"Doesn't it drive you crazy that they think that way about you?"

I wrapped my arms around her back. "Not at all."

"Really?"

"The only opinion I care about is yours." I brushed my lips over her mouth.

"But haven't you ever been tempted to tell someone that they've got it all wrong?"

"Yes," I answered honestly. "Many times. But what difference does it make at the end of the day? So long as you love me and know what's real… I'm good to go."

I kissed her again, deeply, thoroughly, until her heart was racing. She seductively pressed her small body against mine. "Speaking of being good to go…"

I chuckled and lifted her off the ground. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around my waist, letting our bodies connect more intimately. Considering she wasn't wearing anything under her robe, there was very little stopping me from sinking into her right then and there.

"You know what I'm tempted to do with this article?" I breathed against her mouth.

"What?" she whispered.

"Prove it to be true."

And I did. We did. Several times.