A Good Life

by a campbell

Smallville, Jonathan Kent/Lois Lane, NC-17

Spoilers: general for 5th season

Having several betas was a great benefit: thanks to hoperoy, myownghost, ladydey and fajrdrako.

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Jonathan heaved a sigh and swiped at his face with a flannel-clad right arm. Though it was midwinter, beads of sweat trailed down his neck from his jaw into the collar of his shirt. He’d tossed his winter jacket onto the work table a good fifteen minutes ago, despite knowing that Martha would scold him if she knew, saying that there was no better way to be sure of catching a cold.

He was tired, but even prospective senators had chores that had nothing to do with politics. Clark took care of the genuine heavy work these days, but Jonathan refused to hand over the reins completely. After all, his son had to live his own life, even if Jonathan hadn’t been able to stop him from giving up the bulk of his college dreams. He wouldn’t wrest what remained of his son’s youth away from him, too.

This afternoon’s project was the sawing of wood for a shed which would stand behind the house and hold the roto-tillers, peat moss and rakes come spring--a new, small structure would do the trick nicely. But he couldn’t push it too hard: much as he’d like to forget all about his heart condition, he owed it to his family to keep it well in mind.

He stood for a moment, looking out the barn door across snow-covered fields. The pale, lemon-hued winter-afternoon sky provided a striking backdrop for the distant woods beyond.

His own life was good, he told himself, not for the first time over the past few months. Hadn’t he cheated death more than once? That he was even still walking about, sharpening tools and hefting pitchforks--well, it was a minor miracle.

So much to be thankful for. A fine son, whether of this world or another. They’d been through a lot with him, and for him, but Clark was worth all the effort, the grief, the pain. And loss.

The best wife any man could wish for. Red hair, creamy skin, still trim and lovely after all these years of marriage. Spirited, with the warmest of hearts as well. A blessing for any husband.

He thinned his lips as the smile faded from his face. Martha was a good woman: strong, unselfish. A wife considerate enough to spare him from untoward physical demands. To content herself now with only kisses and snuggling in bed at night so as not to "hurt" him. "Jonathan, your heart," she’d tsk. "I’d rather have you here with me for twenty more years than risk anything happening because--besides, we’re in our forties, now. Sex just shouldn’t be the be-all and end-all any more." Then, she’d ease herself from his arms with an almost imperceptible sigh of relief, which she’d try to conceal, but which he couldn’t help but notice all the same.

More often than not, he’d respond with a tight-lipped grin of resignation and turn over on his side, away from her, in order to conceal the evidence of his arousal. Because he still desired her as though he were a youth of twenty, but...Martha was no doubt right. He should conserve his strength, consider his health. Raising their extraordinary son, dealing with alien fathers, universal crises, and bigger-than-life destiny of late had taken a toll on both of them--on all of them.

He should know by now that Martha was usually right about the things that mattered.

Except, sometimes when a man was denied something, it just made him want it the more. Look at Lionel Luthor.

Jonathan wondered just where that had come from. Lionel, too, had inexplicably cheated death, made an apparent full recovery from a fatal liver disease, and was back again, wreaking havoc with his customary glee--why was it that the folks who were the least morally admirable had all the luck? Lionel Luthor wanted Martha, every last instinct in Jonathan’s mind and body told him so, and if he thought he was going to get her--

He clamped down viciously on the thought. Any attraction Martha might have felt for that bastard was long past, obliterated, just like that expensive watch he’d gifted her with back in those uneasy months she was in his employ.

Jonathan sawed faster, gritting his teeth, perspiration beading on his brow.

Life was good right now, he repeated inwardly. And if he let anything--negative thoughts, worries--interfere with that, he was a bigger fool than anyone.

It was easier to stay cheerful these days. Since Lois had moved back in with them, he found himself smiling more often than not. Having her around was a real day-brightener, a welcome respite from months of trouble and worry about everything from his own health to disappointing Martha to Clark’s alien origins and destiny. Her flip attitude, her strong personality. Her courage and conviction, though Jonathan had to admit that, were she his daughter, he’d have insisted on better manners. But then, the girl had an overbearing military father, so she had to have some outlet. He hoped she felt comfortable enough here at the farm to relax and be herself, maybe for the first time in her young life.

Of course, Clark bristled whenever she appeared, though Jonathan had been around the block enough to know that the lad probably found her attractive, during the rare minute or so per month when he could wrest his attention from Lana Lang. He just wouldn’t recognize or admit it to himself.

Or, maybe not--even though Clark was uncommonly generous and giving for a boy his age, he wasn’t used to sharing his home or his parents. Small wonder if the kids quarreled now and then.

Occasionally, Jonathan let himself imagine that he and Martha had had more than one child--of their own, and that the harmless bickering between Lois and Clark that rang regularly through the farmhouse was nothing more than typical sibling rivalry between brother and older sister. He would have counted himself blessed to have a son and a daughter, for Clark to have a sister to support him through some of the trials of the past few years, lighten things up and provide him with a younger person’s view. As a solitary son himself, Jonathan knew that being an only child was often a lonely business.

He tried valiantly to pay no mind to the low-cut tops, the skin-tight jeans, the smooth sway of Lois’s hips as she strode confidently through his house. The warm, bubbling excitement in her spirited voice. It was nice, he told himself, having two kids in the house after all this time. He wished he and Martha could have filled the farm with kids, that--

"Slummin’ it this afternoon, Mr. Kent?"

With a grin, Jonathan turned around. "Just trying to keep in shape, Lois." He couldn’t help an appreciative glance at her bright, smiling face and full lips, her trim body encased in a hooded tan winter jacket, hands shoved in the pockets. Her golden-brown hair matched the fur collar of the coat, and her fine-boned cheeks were pink from the cold outside.

"Like you’re outta shape. Sure you are." She aimed a playful poke at the ribs, and he was astounded by the jolt of pleasure and tenderness that flashed through his entire body at her touch .

He looked away and said, as gruffly as he could manage, "Martha home yet?"

"She just called to say she’ll be back around eight." Lois shrugged. "There’s a high school birthday party at the Talon tonight, for which extra staff bodies are required, including the managers’. And Clark’s in Metropolis with Lana till around midnight."

"That so?" Jonathan pulled off his gloves and set down the saw on the wooden table, trying to ignore the uneven thudding of his heart, which, he was sure, must have something to do with his medical condition. He felt in his jeans pocket for his vial of pills, but realized he must have left them on the kitchen counter.

"Yup. So it’s just you and me for supper. Seeing that neither of us can cook worth shucks, maybe we should call out for pizza? Or fire up the microwave for some popcorn?"

“That might work,” Jonathan turned back to face Lois. He stretched and smiled.

"If the Sharks are playing later, we can tune in."

"You’d better believe it," Jonathan hung the saw on the wall and concurred with a companionable wink in her direction. He was delighted that Lois was a football fan--her father had trained her well. And now that Clark and his girlfriend of yesteryear had rediscovered each other, he’d have been tuning in alone most evenings had it not been for the company of Sam Lane’s eldest.

Lois leaned against the work table and studied him with a mock-serious semi-frown.

"So, tell me, Mr. Kent, have you been running mentally through your senatorial strategy while you’ve been out here? I hope so!"

Jonathan shook his head. "Not really, Lois. I’ve learned to compartmentalize over the years. Deal with one thing at a time: that’s my strategy. I save myself a lot of headaches that way."

"Well, just don’t compartmentalize too much. We have lots of work to do if we’re going to beat Lex Luthor!" Jonathan noticed the determination on her face, and that she said "Lex Luthor," as though he were something she’d gotten stuck on her shoe while walking through the cow pasture.

He’d done enough work for one afternoon, he decided. He strode over to the stationary tub to wash his hands, knowing without even turning around that Lois followed. He could smell the fresh fragrance of her cologne and even feel the warmth of her body behind him as she slowed to a stop close behind him.

Jonathan turned the faucet handle, and water chugged and gurgled in the pipe, then spurted sluggishly from the spout. "You know, Lois, sometimes I wonder if this senator business is really such a good idea." He rubbed the bar of Lava briskly between his palms as clouds of steam rose from the sink. “I know it’s a chance to do something with my life, something beyond sowing crops and building sheds. But we--Martha and I--have never been the sort that craved being in the limelight. Proud as I’d be to carry on the work Jack started, I’m not sure we’ll be up for handling all the attention and exposure." He turned to her with a chuckle as he shut off the spigot and reached for the ragged towel that hung on the wooden rafter beside the tub.

"You’ll get used to it." Lois’s words were white puffs in the chill air of the barn. She stepped closer, laying a palm on his sleeve. "Just remember, Mr. Kent: you’re doing the residents of this town, the state of Kansas, and the U.S. of A., a big favor."

Jonathan tried to ignore the softness and warmth of her hand on his arm. He knew he should probably shrug it off, but that remained only a thought. "I’m flattered that you’re so confident of that. And it’s good of you to say. But even if all other systems were go, we’re darned near out of money for the campaign."

She grasped both his arms and turned him to face her.

"Don’t worry about money," she bade him firmly, looking up at him, holding his gaze with her own. "Concentrate on the bigger issues. The money part will work out."

He wished he could be as sure about that as she seemed to be. But that thought scattered like buckshot at her next words.

"You’re a good man, Jonathan. I believe in you."

Lois had never called him "Jonathan" before. It stirred something confused and unnameable inside. He found himself moving even nearer. Her chin lifted, lips curved up into that beautiful broad smile, and she laid a palm on his chest.

Her touch was soft, so soft. Her expression--inexplicably fearful, and Lois never looked scared. It made Jonathan long to comfort her, to assure her that she had a safe home here for as long as she wanted it.

He reached out to cradle her elbows in his now-clean palms. She looked down at his left hand where it held her, then up at him in mild surprise, lips parting as she did so.

Jonathan leaned closer and pressed a soft kiss on her brow, right over her small, straight nose, then drew back, more startled than she appeared to be at his action.

They stared breathlessly at each other for a moment that seemed to last eons. Then Jonathan pulled her roughly to him and their lips met in a real kiss as, outside and across the fields, the pale winter sunset faded into the grey of twilight.

Lois’s jacket-clad body felt soft and slight in his arms. Her mouth opened under his. She tasted like coffee and breath mints, and...Lois knew how to kiss. Her sweet, agile tongue dueled with his as she pressed closer. Their bodies fit together as though they were made to do just that, locked together in something like desperate exhilaration.

His response was a soft groan, and Jonathan’s stomach did a shocked flip at the sound. He seemed to have no power to free himself, and no desire, either. As though his real self were standing off watching, somewhere behind and to the left of where he and Lois stood coasting hands over each other’s bodies, stunned and unable to move or interfere.

He couldn’t be doing this. Not him, faithful husband and devoted father, trustworthy, dependable, moral.

He couldn’t be raising his grime-streaked farmer’s palm to stroke Lois’s cascading curls, then gliding it lower to knead her breast, warm under the fabric of her top. Before he could process the softness of her flesh, he was crushing her even harder to his chest, probing her mouth more deeply,

The absolute last thing he should be doing, but no way in hell could he stop. Still, wrestling with a desire so powerful it threatened to overcome him, he tore his lips away, chest heaving.

"Lois, we--" An agitated shake of his head.

"Shhh," Lois scolded him in a sharp whisper. One manicured fingertip reached to tap his bottom lip as he made one last effort to master himself, to remind himself of all that was at stake, of all he stood to lose if he--

In an instant, her slim arms were winding around him again, and they were trading wet, open-mouthed kisses with even more passion than before.

She drew back, breathless, pushed at him gently, and he fell back on the stacked bales of hay as though he weighed no more than a feather. And, God, he was as hard as a sixteen-year-old, and feeling just about as youthful and furtive.

Lois was panting hard. She swung slim legs over his and bent down for another kiss. Jonathan’s eyes thinned, his senses swam, and he nearly stopped thinking altogether. Lois’s fingers scrabbled at the fly of his well-worn jeans. He raised one hand to grasp her wrist, but instead of stopping her as he’d intended, just let his palm rest on hers as she unsnapped and unzipped him, then fumbled inside the flap of his boxers to free his cock.

She leaned over him. His breaths were coming as frantic and fast as hers. The voice in his brain keening, barking stentorian phrases about how wrong this was, faded into silence.

Her cold fingers curled around his hard flesh and she pulled back her hand with a secretive little smile, opened her mouth and huffed once, twice, into her palm to warm it. Her other hand tugged at the buttoned collar of his shirt. He watched, breathing heavily, desperate for her to touch him again. She reached down again to grasp him, flexing fingers, then stroking. Looked down, then up at his face, gaze darkening.

"Oh, my God," she moaned.

Rapidly, she yanked down the zipper of her own jeans and kicked them off along with her boots, despite the still, cold air in the barn. She pulled down the zipper of her jacket but kept it on. Jonathan lay still watching, waiting, as though he had no power to move. He stared at the golden brown nest of hair that graced her crotch, curling into damp ringlets, the sight making his cock throb with desire. He could no more have stopped now than--

Lois’s teeth chattered a bit as she straddled him again and sank down on his cock with a little gasp that trailed off into a groan.

Jonathan grasped her bare hips and began to thrust up, quick and hard. She was warm and wet around him, making gasping, breathy moans as she rode him. His grasping hands moved to her waist, the other reaching up to grasp a full breast, his thumb stroking the nipple through the fabric of blouse and bra.

He clamped down on his thoughts, losing himself in the wash of blissful sensation until he felt her clench around him, then freeze, her squeaking gasp indicating she was teetering on the brink.

“Oh, God, oh, God…!”

Jonathan couldn’t hold back any longer. His body arched up, his cock pulsing into her. Over and over, until he fell back on the hay and she collapsed on his chest.

Horses stomped and snorted in the stalls as Jonathan folded Lois in his arms, one hand stroking her hair as his pounding heart slowed to a calm and steady beat. Daylight faded outside, the barn grew dark and was swathed in shadows before they stirred.

“Mmm,” said Lois, snuggling in closer. Jonathan kept himself from thinking as long as he could, savoring the warmth and sweetness of the weight of her body on his. At last, slowly, reluctantly, he opened his eyes to stare at the barn ceiling. As the new peace faded, cold reality set in, along with a dull, shamed guilt that lodged in his chest.

This should never have happened.

Lois stirred in his arms. Jonathan endeavored to pay no mind to the fragrant aroma of freshly-shampooed hair directly under his nostrils, to resist the almost-overpowering desire to press a kiss to the top of her head. And to overcome the urge to protect and shelter that was almost too strong to be denied.

He shifted beneath her. "Lois-—"

"Mr. Kent--" She pushed herself up to look down at him, one arm on each side of his waist, flecks of straw in her hair. Without finishing the sentence, she rose up and off him with a sort of graceful elegance, turned to fish her jeans from the hay bale where they had fallen and pull them back on with her back to him. Jonathan watched her gravely, his softening cock wet and cold, moisture pooling in the nest of sandy curls at the base. He cleared his throat gruffly and tucked himself away as a wave of sanity and shame washed over him.

Lois turned suddenly round again.

“I’m so sorry,” they both said at once.

Jonathan gave her a bleak smile, then thinned his lips to a grim line as he sat up to button his shirt, then his jeans. "Lois, this can’t happen again."

A heavy sigh, and Jonathan waited as if in fear for her answer. Her voice sounded lonely and plaintive in the near-darkness. "Mr. Kent, you and your family have been good to me. Martha--"

He waved his hand, abruptly. He couldn’t bear to hear her say Martha’s name. Not now.

Flustered, Lois paused for a moment, then continued. "I swear I didn’t mean to--"

"No," Jonathan cut her off brusquely as he rose to his feet, brushing wisps of hay from his hair and jeans. "I’m sure neither of us meant to. But it happened. And, Lois, it must not happen again. And--they mustn’t know. Martha, Clark--"

Lois hastened to shake her head, eyes growing large and dark with alarm. She drew a deep breath and tossed back her head. "Please: no worries. I wouldn’t hurt either of them for the world. I won’t say a thing to anyone. I promise."

She turned away to zip up her jeans, not looking at him.

"It was nothing, Mr. Kent. Just a thing of the moment. You Kent men are irresistible, you know. Don’t worry about it. We're cool."

Jonathan just listened, mouth settling in a stern line. He’d known her long enough now, observed her interactions enough to know that Lois Lane, though at times impulsive, was a person of unshakable convictions, and one whose word was to be relied on. Whereas, he--

He was far from proud of his behavior this afternoon, though it had provided a brief episode of bliss and escape from the cares of his everyday life.

Lois shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and raised her chin. "By all rights, I know I should say: I’m moving out."

No, thought Jonathan. I can’t bear to let you go. But he stayed silent.

"I really should," Lois continued matter-of-factly. "But I can’t. I couldn’t deal with not seeing you again. Just as a friend, I mean." She drew near once again, and, after a moment’s hesitation, raised her jaw and spoke with confidence. "Since I’ve been here, since I’ve known you, I’ve felt as though, for the first time in my life, I have a home.”

Jonathan still did not reply. He couldn’t. He watched her turn, with one last, quavering smile, toward the door. Saw her square her shoulders as she walked from the barn, a jaunty spring in her step that seemed only a little too enthusiastic.

With a heavy sigh, he picked up the saw and began cutting jagged strokes, back and forth, even though it was almost completely dark in the barn.

What to do now? Would she leave? Would he be able to banish from his mind the memory of her lips on his, tongues probing, how warm and tight she’d felt gripping his cock while racked by spasms of pleasure.

He’d better.

Deliberately, Jonathan pressed his lips tight shut and endeavored to wipe his memory clean through sheer force of will.

He had a damn fine life, and no matter how strong the temptation, he’d just damn well better not jeopardize it again.

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