Title: Entropy Increasing
Rating: R
Pairing: Lois/Clark, Lois/Richard, Clark/Bruce, Clark/Lana
Word Count: 4,000
Warning: Un-beta'd. Cheating, suggestive themes, naughty language.
Summary: The collapse of a relationship is never a pretty thing. Told in a series of 20 200 word drabbles.
Universe: An amalgamation of what I want, a combination of the animated universe along with the movieverse.




i.


She’s wearing perfume. The scent is so faint, he shouldn’t be able to smell it across the room, but he can. He shouldn’t know she’s wearing it; he does.

It’s not the one he bought her for their anniversary. That would be too much. If she was wearing that one, he’d probably walk out of their apartment right now, and just keep walking until Metropolis and she and the whole damn human race is far, far behind.

He doesn’t though. He stays, because, it’s not that perfume. It’s not the one that smells like gardenias. It’s a new one that smells like something else: cinnamon, with a hint of vanilla.

He can live with that.

He doesn’t need X-Ray vision to know she’s wearing purple lace lingerie.

She’s sitting in front of the vanity and he’s staring at her reflection while it puts on makeup.

“Going out?” He asks, and he doesn’t know why, because the answer is obvious.

“Have to meet Perry’s nephew and the ‘Big Boss’ to talk about the international section.” Maybe she can see his reflection frown, because she adds “I won’t be too late. I promise.”

“I know.” He says.

She won’t be home tonight.


ii.


Maybe she feels like she is settling. That is the conclusion Clark comes to, at least. She settled for Clark, because she could never get Superman and Clark was there. He was cute enough and smart enough and sweet enough so she went for him.

When she saw him shirtless for the first time she raised an eyebrow. He shrugged, said something about hay bailing; she let it go.

She probably didn’t want to think about it too much.

She probably didn’t want to think about him too much.

That’s the conclusion Clark has come to, at least.

He doesn’t wear his glasses when they’re alone. He hasn’t since they first had sex.

She never says anything. In fact he’s pretty sure it just dispels any belief she might have had that he was ‘The Man of Steel’. Even sans shirt and glasses he’s still Clark Kent. He’s still Martha and Jonathon’s only son. He still smiles awkwardly and talks about Grey Ghost. He slouches, unless someone reminds him not to, and his wardrobe consists of old jeans and older shirts.

He’s just some relatively attractive sweet guy she can have, for now.

She’s settling.

So Clark decides he won’t.


iii.


He calls up Lana, because he knows Lois will be out late. Very late. And when she does come back, she’ll immediately take a shower and complain about work. It’s the shower that kills him.

He wonders if she really thinks washing it away makes it any less of what it was. Does she think it makes it disappear? Does she think he doesn’t know?

What kills Clark more than that though is this thing with Lana.

It doesn’t make him hate himself like he suspects it should. It doesn’t make him hate himself at all. In fact, he enjoys it.

She comes over in old jeans and a shirt. Underneath, there is lingerie that rivals what Lois wore out tonight.

They do what they have done since they were seventeen: he pins her against the wall, she wraps her legs around his waist, scratches up his back leaving no marks, he bites her neck -lightly- and she cries out when she comes.

He suspects Lana should feel something too, but as far as he can tell she doesn’t. When they dress they talk about Smallville, and her upcoming fashion show.

The conversation is so painfully normal it kills him.


iv.


There is a long red hair on the couch where Clark and Lana hung out for three hours after they had fucked against the wall (and then on the floor, and then on the kitchen counter…) Tomorrow, Lana will have bruises across her small waistline in the shape of finger prints. And some on her inner thighs, too. She won’t mind.

Lois stares at it when she sits down to watch TV. It’s after her shower and she’s in shorts and Clark’s shirt.

“Clark?” She asks. He hasn’t showered. Maybe he’s getting some sick amusement out of smelling like her.

“Yeah?” He hops over the couch and sits next to her. He’s changed into sweat pants and a college t-shirt.

“How was your day?”

“Pretty good. My friend came over.”

“What did you two do?” To her credit, she keeps her voice even.

“Watched Grey Ghost, had some drinks. The usual.”

“Sounds like fun. What’s your friend’s name?”

“Lana.” Clark replies.

“Lana?”

“Lana Lang.”

“The fashion designer?” She sounds incredulous now.

“Mhm. We grew up together.”

Lois relaxes now. “Oh, so you guys used to tip cows and bale hay together?”

“Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“We used to date.”

Lois stiffens.


v.


She’s putting on the perfume again: the one that smells like cinnamon and vanilla. This time it’s a blue silk thong and a matching bra.

“Where are you headed?”

“Out. Interview with Bruce Wayne.”

Clark stiffens at the mention of the ‘Big Boss.’ He has read a lot about Bruce Wayne.

“Just you and Wayne?”

“No, Perry’s nephew is coming. We’re trying to kick start the international section with some fluff pieces about Wayne’s seven years carousing.”

Clark tries to stop himself from frowning, tries to keep the annoyance from his voice. He fails.

“Aren’t international sections supposed to deal with serious topics, like wars and economic crisis? You know real news from other countries?”

“Come off it, Smallville. You’ve never even been out of the country.” Clark snorts at that, and thinks about the tsunami in Bangladesh early yesterday morning, but says nothing.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” It’s more bitter than he had intended.

“What?”

“Gotham's a long drive.”

He doesn’t need to tell her he already knows Wayne is in town.

He spends the night alone. Or rather, he spends it on the rooftops with Gotham’s crazed vigilante (who wears a lead-lined mask), taking down Intergang.


vi.


He’s not really Superman tonight. He’s not Kal-El, the offspring of Lara and Jor-El, the Last Son of a dead planet called Krypton.

No. Tonight he’s Clark Joseph Kent, dressed up like Superman, and wondering if his girlfriend has started having sex with Bruce Wayne yet.

It’s understandable then, that he isn’t too fazed when a looming figure tries to sneak up on him. His mind is somewhere else.

“So, you’re real, huh?” There is no answer.

“I thought you might have just been a drugged up fantasy. Well, here, that is. I know you exist in Gotham. People have been screaming about a Bat-Man all night.”

He floats a foot off of the roof and wonders if instinct would take over to stop him from falling if he dropped, or if he’d just damage the road.

“Intergang, right? They have some stolen WayneTech prototypes... But you probably knew that already. You know everything that happens in Gotham.”

Clark turns.

“...You’re not much of a talker, are you?”

“No.” comes the gravely response.

“So... Want to take down these bad guys?”

“I work alone.”

“Not in my town you don’t. We do this together, or you get the hell out.”


vii.


Superman accidentally fractures a man’s jaw. He punches him harder than intended, and when the man slips he smashes his face against the wall.

When the gang is all tied up, he looks over at Batman.

“…We can say you did that one, right?” Everyone already thinks Batman is killing bad guys left and right, Superman knows he isn’t(he couldn’t let a killer like that on the loose; he investigated…), but they might as well attribute another broken bone to him.

Batman snorts, but doesn’t say no. They shake hands.

“Look at that. What a team we make! We’ve got all these criminals tied up nice and neat for the cops to haul off to jail. We even have the stolen prototypes, and blue prints, so Wayne doesn’t have to worry about anything other than fucking my girlfriend tonight.”

Batman looks at Superman. Superman gives him a very awkward, very Clark-like smile as he shakes his head mentally cursing himself for being so careless.

“Ignore what I just said. I’m not having the best day. Life, you know man? It just.. It’s really hard sometimes.”

He shakes his head again, sighs.

“Why am I even talking to you about this?”


viii.


She doesn’t come home after the interview with Wayne. He didn’t expect her to. He had hoped she would.

It’s five in the morning and the Big Bad Batman is probably heading back to Gotham and Wayne is… well, Clark doesn’t want to think about that right now.

He hates Lois a little bit. He knows she is lying to him but… How can he blame just her for this?

He is no saint either.

He spends his time trying to figure out what has happened to him over the last two years. He wonders if he should outright tell her, if one day he should just say “Hey Lois, you realize I’m Superman, right?”

There are a few options: either she knows already and it won’t make a damn difference because he’s still not good enough, or she doesn’t know. If she doesn’t, there are a few things could happen. Maybe she will reevaluate the situation and realize that he is everything she has wanted and there’s no need to stray… or she’ll realize Superman isn’t what he’s cracked up to be.

In the end he probably won’t be her Superman.

No one can save the world all the time.


ix.


“Damn it Lois!” He yells and it sounds more like he’s yelling at Gotham’s Batman, because Clark Kent never raises his voice to Lois Lane. Never. “You’re blind. You’re so fucking blind.” And he certainly never swears.

Lois is staring at him fiercely before she turns her back to him. He imagines that she’s holding her breath and counting to ten.

“Look at me.” He says quietly.

She doesn’t.

“Looks at me.” It’s louder.

She doesn’t.

“LOOK AT ME.”

Clark is trying to decide between punching something or screaming at her more, when she finally turns; they lock eyes and the glare she gives him shoves him over the edge.

“You don’t even see me.” He accuses his voice low and dangerous.

“Maybe I don’t want to,” she hisses.

He punches a hole in the wall. She flinches. Plaster and dry wall coat his skin when he withdraws his hand. There is no blood.

He forgets to pretend it hurts. The thing he does end up doing is looking away from her: somewhere between shame and disgust.

“What are we doing to each other?” His voice cracks and Lois shakes her head.

“...I don’t know.” Is her only reply.


x.


Clark stares at the hole he has made for a very long time. After some time, he covers it with a photograph. He plans on repairing it whenever he has time.

Between fighting with his girlfriend, that he is pretty sure doesn’t love him anymore, and protecting a city from evil, while maintaining a full time job as an award winning journalist, he doesn’t have that much free time.

So the picture stays there for a few weeks until he is sick of seeing a crooked version of himself a year and a half ago, with his arm around a smiling Lois, stare up at him mockingly.

He works fast enough and it’s repaired and drying within minutes. He thinks about using heat vision to make the job officially over and done with, but decides against it.

He wanders around the empty house and looks at all the pictures of them together. They were happy once, weren’t they? He likes to think they were.

Maybe she wasn’t. Maybe it was just him.

Lois is out late again. Another interview with Perry’s nephew. Lois didn’t say who, but Clark knows it’s Wayne. He’s going insane here.

He thinks about calling Lana.


xi.


“Richard! Richard White!” Clark calls out after the retreating form. The man slows, stops, turns around and watches as Clark jogs over to him.

“Perry’s nephew, right?” Richard nods slowly.

“And you’re…?”

“Clark, Clark Kent.” Richard’s heartbeat increases and his pupils dilate.

“Lois’s Clark?”

“Yep. That’d be me.” Clark offers his hand, and Richard takes it tentatively. His handshake is strong and firm.

There is a very brief few flashes of emotion across Richard’s face-surprise first, then shame, and finally jealousy- that Clark might have noticed if he hadn’t readjusted his glasses just then.

“What can I do for you?”

“Oh, golly, nothing too important really.” Clark still peppers his words with his familiar Clark-isms and he still knocks over things and breaks pencils.

The pencil breaking isn’t an act though. He’s just having some trouble not breaking things when he sees Lois’s empty desk and knows she isn’t reporting.

“So… You just… wanted to say hi?”

“Well, yeah! I’m from Kansas. I’m used to knowing every one. You’ve been here for a few months and I hadn’t introduced myself! My Ma would be right disappointed in me.”

“Oh… Well. It’s a… pleasure to meet you Clark.”

“You too, Rich.”


xii.


“You’re officially in charge of the international section now, aren’t you?” Clark asks Richard one day from the doorway of Richard’s office.

Richard rubs his temples and sighs.

“Yes. Well, Uncle Perry says that. I guess I am.”

“I wanted to talk to you about that... I know you’re still trying to line up some good foreign correspondents and I would just be real interested in going to Iraq and Afghanistan about now. I haven’t talked to Perry yet, because I wanted it to be okay with you. I’d be gone a week or two... three at the most. I work fast. I just want to do a few pieces…”

“…Two weeks?” Richard’s heartbeat quickens, but then slows when he finally speaks again. “I could probably swing it. Let me talk to him.” Richard fancies that he feels a bit like King David sending Batsheba’s husband to the front lines, but he squashes that thought.

“Gee, thanks Rich!” Clark turns and begins to leaves.

“Wait! Clark um…” Richard’s heart rate increases again; his breathing quickens.

Clark stops and turns around.

“Yeah, Rich?”

Richard has a look of guilt that Clark can’t place.

“Nothing.” Richard finally says. “It’s nothing. Never mind.”


xiii.


“You’re going to the Middle East?”

“You were the one who complained I had never left the country before.” He’s packing right now and trying to decide if he’ll actually get on the plane or if he’ll just fly himself there.

“Well, yeah, but that means we’re supposed to take a vacation to Mexico or drive to Canada! It does not mean you should rush off to cover one of the most dangerous wars for journalists in years! Do you know how many journalists have been killed there?”

“Hundred and sixty three.” Clark replies as he zips his suitcase closed.

“Clark, I’m serious. You could get injured. You could die.”

Clark laughs and picks up the suitcase from the bed and drops it on the floor.

“This isn’t a joke!” she yells.

“I won’t die.” Clark says.

“How do you know that?”

“If I did, would you honestly be all that upset?” Clark spits out. When he realizes what he says he stops.

Lois looks so hurt that it tears him up inside.

“I…” Clark says, ”I’ve got to go. I’m going to miss my flight. I’ll call you when I land. I’ll be back soon. Don’t worry about me.”


xiv.


Of course he comes back unharmed. In fact he manages to get three great articles out of the trip, and Superman still made appearances in Metropolis.

Lois should be happy to see him. She seems angry at him instead. Angry for leaving. Angry for implying she didn’t want him to come home safe.

He kisses her. It’s been months since they kissed. He runs his fingers through her long black hair.

She curses at him.

He was always gentle with her.

Most of the time they made love.

Sometimes they had sex.

But right now, right now they are fucking.

She’s ripped his clothing and is calling out obscenities and insulting him between commands like ‘harder.’

She’s on the floor under him and he places his hands around her throat and thinks of how easy it would be to squeeze the life out of her. She’ll have bruises on her collar bone tomorrow. When they finish, she pushes him off of her and gets up.

He reaches up and grabs her ankle while she’s leaving. She tries to shake him; he lets her.

She dresses while he lies there a little longer, and wonders how it's come to this.


xv.


When Bruce Wayne shakes the reporter’s hand, he doesn’t expect it to be such a strong handshake.

“Are you sleeping with my girlfriend?” Bruce Wayne blinks, once, twice, and his heart rate doesn’t fluctuate at all. The reporter doesn’t let go.

“I doubt it. Are you dating any models?”

“Lois Lane. Are you sleeping with her?”

Bruce doesn’t say anything. He looks at the larger man, taller than Bruce by an inch or two, and broader by the same amount.

“Would you believe me if I said no?”

“Probably not, but I’m doing my absolute best not to punch you in the face right now.”

Bruce tilts his head slightly to appraise the man. Something about those fierce blue eyes seems familiar.

“I can assure you I have yet to sleep with Miss Lane… Look. These functions tend to be incredibly dull, would you like to ditch this and go get a drink with me?”

“I don’t drink.” Clark responds. Bruce laughs. It’s warm and inviting.

“You’re a writer who thinks his girlfriend is cheating on him, and you don’t drink?”

“...I’ll make an exception tonight.”

Bruce places a hand on the small of Clark’s back.

“Of course you will.”


xvi.


It's almost a relief when he walks in on her during the act.

He expected that it would hurt. He expected to be angry and scream at her. Instead he laughs.

Lois and the man scramble for clothing, and Clark just keeps laughing.

“No. No, don’t bother. I’m heading out anyway, just need to grab something.” Clark walks across the bedroom and grabs a red scarf that was draped across the back of a chair.

He leaves the room, but quickly returns, still laughing.

“Really, Lois? Really? Richard? I was fucking a model and you were sleeping with Perry’s nephew?”

“You slept with a model?”

“Yeah. Lana.” Clark says matter-of-factly as he ties his scarf.

“Lana Lang?” Richard pipes up.

“She’s not a model, Clark. She’s a fashion designer.”

“She’s done print work before.”

“Whatever.” Lois mumbles. The sheets are drawn up to cover her breasts.

Clark turns to leave, but then comes back again.

“Really? Lois? Really? I thought you were fucking Wayne.”

“Bruce Wayne?” Lois sounds shock.

“Well, I did until I slept with him…” Clark trails off and smirks.

“You slept with Wayne?” Lois cries out and throws a shoe at him.

Clark laughs again and leaves.


xvii.


Richard approaches his desk tentatively after a few weeks .

“Clark.. I...” he clears his throat, “Clark, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care.”

“Look. I know you must hate me for what I did and I know you don’t care I’m sorry but I-“ Clark raises his hand to silence him.

“No, I don’t care you slept with her. Not anymore. I just wish I had walked in on you sooner. Dragging that out was killing us.”

“You’re” Richard pauses, “You mean to tell me you’re not mad?”

“No. Lois could never really be happy with me. Let me explain, have you ever had something and maybe it’s say… blueberry flavored, and you decide that blueberry is the best flavor in the world, and then you actually go eat some blueberries and you don’t like them because the texture is all wrong or something, and basically it’s not what you expected given that you’ve had blueberry flavored things?”

“....Are you calling Lois a blueberry?”

“No. I’m saying I’m not artificial flavoring, and not everyone can handle that. I’m not what she expected.”

“You’re a strange one, Kent.”

“And you were banging my girlfriend behind my back for six months, White”

“Touché.”


xviii.


Perry is apparently oblivious about the entire situation, because he assigns Lois and Clark on the same story. It requires old-school investigation techniques and they are seated in her car at three AM on a stakeout.

It’s silent for a long time, except for the vibration from Lois’s cellphone resulting from a constant string of texts from her concerned boyfriend.

“Did you seriously sleep with Bruce Wayne?” Lois asks after the first hour.

“Yep.” He replies.

“So, are you-” Lois trails off and makes a vague gesture with her hand.

Clark takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes.

“Bisexual, at least. I don’t know what’s standard for Kryptonians.”

Silence.

“Wayne’s a total poofter, though.” He adds.

“Poofter?” Lois asks, and laughs, despite herself.

“Sorry, I was in London this morning. IRA bombing.”

More silence.

“How come you never just told me?” Lois asks.

“You never asked. And I figured it wouldn’t make much of a difference.”

After some time he adds, “Would it have?”

“No. I guess not.”

“And ‘sides, you’re my scorned ex, if you print something, no one will believe you.”

She hits him, and he pretends it hurts.

Laughter.

“We were an awful couple.”

More laughter.


xix.


Lois is sitting on his desk and messing with his novelty pencil sharpener that has a globe on it. Clark is typing up the end of their article.

“So, Smallvile, you going to call Wayne?” Clark laughs at the statement and doesn’t bother looking up from the screen. He knows she’s wearing a purple skirt suit, and her dark hair is pulled up into a bun. She tends to wear her lavender lace underwear with that outfit, but he decided not to take a peak.

“Not very likely.”

“How come?”

“It’s not like the man took me out to dinner. I got a drunken blowjob against his car.”

“Really? That’s all?” Lois asks with a wicked glint in her eyes.

“Before the quickie in his pent house…”

“About that, is it true what Cat printed in that article?” Clark glances up from the screen.

“What artica-Oh! That . More or less.” He says, looks down at his computer, and continues typing. “I’m bigger.”

“Isn't the size that matters,” Lois quips as she spins the globe again, “it’s how you use it.”

“You, Lana, and he had no complaints.”

“Well, he obviously has something to say. He’s standing behind you.”

“Fuck.”


xx


Bruce Wayne has very nice wing tipped shoes. They’re black and white, and seem to match his pinstriped suit quite well. Clark has noticed them because he can’t look at the man in the face.

“Uh. Hi. Mr. Wayne.”

“Bruce, please. I think you’ve earned that Clark.” If Clark could look up he’d see Wayne buff his nails on his fancy jacket.

“Um. So. Uh. How can I help you, mister uh, Bruce?”

“Oh, I was just passing through Metropolis, thought we could maybe catch up.” He raises an eyebrow.

“Gee. Well, that’s awful nice but I’ve got work and I don’t think I can take time off.”

“I own this paper.”

Clark smiles awkwardly in response.

“I heard you complaining to your girlfriend that I didn’t buy you dinner last time.”

“We broke up. Lois isn’t my girlfriend anymore”

“Good. I’ll take you out to lunch and buy you a drink to make up for it.”

Clark nods and knows exactly what is going to happen after they finish lunch… if they get anything to eat.

When night falls Bruce and Clark make up lies about why they can’t stay later and meet on the rooftop wearing different faces.