A/N: This story is meant to occur in lieu of the kiss in the bullpen at the end of "Crossfire" in Season 9. While part of me was glad that Clark finally manned up and took control of the situation with Lois, I didn't particularly like it happening in the middle of the bullpen. It should have been more private. There's a song out now by Darius Rucker, "History in the Making" (lyrics included below in bold italics), that makes me think of the Clark Kent/Lois Lane mythology. So here's the last first kiss.

P.S. I don't own anything. It's quite unfortunate really.

What if this was that moment
That chance worth taking
History in the making

He was chucking hay bales, one handed, up and through the hay loft window, completely bypassing the ramp, each one with more force than the one before. He was still reeling from his earlier conversation, or, rather, rejection, from Lois.


He'd found her in the bullpen and had worked up the courage to tell her exactly how he feels. Those words from Chloe: "sometimes you have to just ask yourself, Clark, what do you want?", had ripped the cap off his tightly bottled feelings for Lois. He'd stopped in the doorway to watch her; she was so beautiful. She was reading a piece of paper intently, her lips slightly parted and one hand on her hip. As he approached her with purpose, she saw him coming and immediately tossed the paper to the desk and threw her hands up while quite animatedly rambling about the producer's decision to hire that "perky blonde" instead of her. He tried to curtail her tirade a few times, saying her name with increasing volume, but she just kept on, unwaveringly. That was Lois. A talker. Persistent. Stubborn. He gave in, as he often did, and made his way to his desk, collapsing in his chair, defeatedly.

The thud must have been louder than he expected because it got her attention.

"Wow, Smallville, didn't expect you to take it this hard," she said, moving to perch herself on the corner of his desk and leaning forward slightly with concern. He looked up at her as she watched him. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she was. And she's concerned about me? About my disappointment? He leaned forward and propped himself on his elbows on the desk, closer to her.

"Well," he said, "It would have been nice, I guess … ." He trailed off, knowing that the TV job wasn't his source of disappointment but enjoying the way she was looking at him.

"Awhh, Smallville," she said, lighting punching his bicep, "don't worry. There'll be other opportunities for us." They caught each other's eyes at the end of her statement and both wondered whether she meant more than work opportunities.

She broke eye contact first, moving back to her desk and gathering her things. He realized she was about to walk out on him and it brought him out of the reverie of the moment.

"Wanna come over for dinner?" he blurted out.

She stopped dead and looked at him again. The silence, her stare, it made him uncomfortable. He kept talking. "I just mean … well … I was planning on hanging out at the farm tonight. If you're not doing anything ... I could make mom's spaghetti … I know how much you like it." He was fidgeting with the stapler on his desk. Guess I ramble too sometimes.

She didn't answer immediately, taken aback by how cute he was when he was nervous. Why is he so nervous? I mean, we've shared dinner before. We've hung out at the farm together before. I do like Mrs. K's spaghetti. Unless …

She was just opening her mouth to say something when he blurted again, "Nevermind." He'd been stabbed by the silence. "You probably have plans." He got up to pass her, not looking at her, and said "No big deal." God, it is a big deal. Why am I such an idiot? Why don't I just let her answer?

She spoke and her words shoved the knife in deeper. "Well, I did tell Ollie I'd meet him for drinks." He turned to face her involuntarily and felt the color fade from his face. She saw him and it looked like she'd just killed his puppy; she felt horrible and wished she'd kept her mouth shut. "You could join us," she added and then silently wished she hadn't.

"No thanks." He practically grunted out, then tried to smile and said "see ya" over his shoulder as he left.

{End of Flashback}

Now here he was, acting like a child, chunking hay bales into what was surely leaving a mess that would have to be cleaned up. Maybe I should have gone with them, you know stayed close. Oliver's probably turning on the charm right about now. He chucked another bale and sat down on the tailgate, defeated once more. I should be happy for her, I mean, I want her to be happy, … even if it's not with me, right?

The sound of a car on gravel pulled him out of his own thoughts. Before he knew it, there she was, standing before him.

"You know, Smallville, you're never gonna get all that hay in before the storm by yourself," she said, smiling.

"What are you doing here?" he said, a little harsher than he'd intended, while trying to bite back the excitement the sight of her caused.

She was a bit taken aback but charged through it. She grabbed a bale with both hands from the tailgate next to him and said, "Hey, is that any way to welcome help?"

He watched her as she lugged the bale, a bit awkwardly but capably, toward the barn. She, of course, couldn't manage it as easily as he did but he reveled in watching her hold her own. He grabbed a bale and followed her into the barn.

"You can stack it there," he pointed toward the base of the ladder leading to the loft, "it's … uh … full up there already." She plopped the bale down and turned to head back toward the truck.

"So, uh, I thought you had plans," he said, trying to mask his curiosity. "Surely you didn't pass up … (Oliver) drinks … to … (be with me) chuck hay." Smiling at his last thought, he watched her intently.

"Of course not," she quipped, glancing over her shoulder at him, "but, like you said, I do love Mrs K's spaghetti." She hopped up on the bed of the truck to start pushing bales closer to the tailgate and turned to see him standing at the edge of the truck. His blue t-shirt clung to his chest in all the right places and when her eyes traveled up to his, she realized she'd been caught. He was smiling unabashedly back at her and she felt her face got hot.

She walked to the edge of the tailgate but was startled when he offered his hand to help her down. She waved him away and hopped down on her own. As her feet hit the ground, she lost her footing on the gravel and started to slip. He caught her at the waist as she fell into him. As she attempted to extract herself from his arms, she wasn't sure whether she was more embarrassed by the fall or exhilarated by his touch. Their eyes met as they parted and his hands lingered on her hips. Finally he dropped them, took a step back and cleared his throat. She mimicked his throat clearing and turned back to the hay.

"Chop, chop Smallville, I feel raindrops."

Sure enough, the storm was upon them. They lugged the last couple of bales into the barn just as the sky opened up and the rain began to pour down. They stood side by side at the opposite barn doors facing the house for several minutes watching the rain come down. Finally, she spoke.

"I say we make a run for it," nodding toward the house.

"I don't know, Lois," he said turning toward her now, "maybe we should wait it out here." He was watching her closing, trying to figure out what she was thinking. She could feel him watching her and it made her stomach turn flips.

"Look, Clark, you've got a cozy set-up up there," jerking her head toward his loft area, "but if I'm spending the night with you it's not going to be in a barn." She turned to him and saw his wide eyes staring at her as she realized what she'd said.

"You're spending the night with me?" he asked quietly, willing himself to move closer to her but feeling glued to his spot.

Reveling in where his mind went with her words, she smirked at him and averted her eyes, "Well, yeah, you promised me dinner remember?" She could see and feel the deflation of his body and disappointment apparent on his face and couldn't stop herself from jabbing a little: "What'd you think I meant, Smallville?"

Embarassed that she'd caught him, he mumbled "nothing." Just then she backhanded him in the gut and said "race ya" before taking off in the rain toward the house.

They barreled onto the porch, he right after her, both soaked through and through. She stopped at the door and turned to face him, not realizing he was so close behind her. He hadn't realized she wasn't opening the door and almost ran right into her. He was so close that raindrops from his hair fell on her face as she looked up at him. He reached up to wipe the rain from her cheek. They both just stood there trying to catch their breath, and not just from the run and rain.

Don't move Baby Don't move
Awww look at you
I just want to take this in
The moonlight dancing off your skin

Our time Lets take our time
I just want to look in your eyes
and catch my breath
Cuz I just got a feeling

This could be one of those memories
We want to hold on to, cling to,
one we can't forget
Baby, this could be our last first kiss

The door to forever
What if this was that moment
That chance worth taking
History in the making

She reached behind her and opened the door, stepping back and into the kitchen slowly. He walked in step with her though the space between them grew and he breathed out "towels," turning hesitantly to retrieve them.

When he returned to the kitchen, he found that she'd removed her button up blouse to reveal a fitted tank below. That inner layer was still wet enough to cling tightly to her skin and he wished he were the shirt. He moved toward her and when she felt his presence, she turned to face him, leaning back against the counter. He stopped in front of her, but not too close. He was suddenly very aware of his hands. His shirt, which she'd already been admiring the fit of earlier, now clung completely to his chest, revealing definition she wanted to see more of. She shivered. He shook one of the towels from its folded state, took a step closer and wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling tight at each corner and not letting go.

"You're soaked," he said quietly, scanning her up to her lips.

"So are you," she said, reaching out with both hands to the waist of his shirt. The distance between them got smaller. Did she pull me closer? Did he advance?

She tugged more at his shirt, watching his chest twitch, and raised her eyes to his then back to his lips. In one swift move I could close that gap between us. Of course, so could he. Why doesn't he? Doesn't he want this as much as me?

Inside, baby inside
Can you feel the butterflies?
Floating all around
Cuz I can sure feel them now

Tonight, maybe tonight
Is a start of a beautiful ride
that will never end
And baby I've got a feeling

This could be one of those memories
We want to hold on to, cling to,
One we can't forget
Baby, this could be our last first kiss

The door to forever
What if this was that moment
That chance worth taking
History in the making

His head seemed to move closer and his lips parted. She felt a hunger for contact.

"You wanna shower first?" he whispered.

His question surprised her. "First?" she asked, crinkling her nose, unsure of his meaning.

He moved slowly away and broke eye contact, "Yeah, before dinner?"

She felt deflated and constricted at the same time. "Yeah … dinner … um, yeah … I'm gonna shower," and with that she darted up the stairs.

He watched her go and then let out the tremendous breath he'd been holding. He couldn't believe he'd gotten so close and then practically pushed her away. He just suddenly felt so scared that if he got any closer, and she didn't actually punch him, he might not stop. Of course, she didn't look like she was going to punch me. That thought made him smile. But then that just left the whole stopping issue. His eyes lingered at the stairs she'd just climbed.

When she came back down the stairs, rubbing a towel in her wet hair and wearing one of his flannel button ups with the hint of his boxers underneath, he felt like all the air left the room. She draped the towel over one of the chairs and walked to stand next to him at the stove, peeking in at the pasta that was boiling.

She could feel his eyes on her and smiled as she said, "Your turn. I saved you some hot water." He visibly gulped and moved toward the stairs. She was almost certain that she heard him mumble, "I won't need it."

When he joined her back in the kitchen, she was fixing plates for the two of them. He met her halfway to the table and she handed him the plates with a smile, returning to the counter to retrieve the glasses. They sat and ate in silence, comfortable though pensive silence. Neither was truly hungry for food any more. When she noticed his plate was empty, she asked if he wanted more. He shook his head no in silence just looking at her. When she finished, they moved together to clear the table.

He began rinsing dishes and she sidled up to him at the sink with a few items from the counter. She was standing so close to him that his arm brushed hers a few times. He tried to focus on the dishes and not the way she smelled or her view in his periphery.

He began washing the dishes and she instinctively took each one to rinse and dry. She stacked the various items next to her as she dried and then began to put them away as he let the water out of the sink.

As she was putting utensils away in the drawer on the island, their backs to each other, she asked, "So what's for desert?" He'd been squirting the soap out of the sink with the sprayer and accidentally sprayed the window. Grateful she didn't see, he cleared his throat and turned to lean his back against the sink, drying his hands with a towel.

He watched her, still with her back to him, and said quietly, "What would you like?"

She glanced over her shoulder but didn't trust herself to look directly at him. She didn't say a word. She finished putting the utensils away, closed the drawer and turned to lean her back against the island directly across from him.

She raised her eyes to find him looking at her questioningly. She said, "Oh, I don't know. What do you want?" She couldn't look away from him now.

He seemed to contemplate what she asked for a moment, then closed the gap between them in one step. He placed his hands on the counter on either side of her, never breaking eye contact. He was so close their bodies were almost touching. She let out a faint but uncontrollable moan. He moved his hands from the counter to her hips and moved just a fraction closer. She was mesmerized by his proximity, by the look of desire on his face.

Right here, right now
Holding you in my arms

This could be one of those memories
We want to hold on to, we want to cling to,
One that we can't forget
Baby, this could be our last first kiss

The door to forever
What if this was that moment
That chance worth taking
History in the making

He moved his hands up to cup her face and she grabbed his hips pulling him even closer than possible. She gasped as he pressed himself to her and his lips met hers simultaneously.

Their mouths moved together slowly but furiously. As his hands began to travel down from her face, he began to break the kiss. She wasn't ready for it to end though and moved into it, pressing her body more to him.

He forced himself to pull back, and, breathing heavily, he laid his forehead against hers, "I'm not sure I can control myself with you."

She was surprised, and immensely aroused, by his honesty. "Then don't," she breathed back into his mouth, bringing him back into the kiss.

When they finally paused for air, he said "There's so much I have to tell you."

She wasn't expecting that from him now. His eyes were closed, his forehead resting on hers again. She raised her hands to his face and he opened his eyes. He seemed afraid and that killed her. Whatever he had to say, she didn't want him to be afraid. She didn't want this night to end ever and she certainly didn't want him to pull back now.

She smiled at him and softly said "Whatever it is, you can tell me … please don't be scared." He smiled back at her, moving his hands to cup them over hers and pulling them together in between them.

"This is a long conversation, Lois," he paused. "If we don't stop … this (he moved their hands briefly back and forth between them) …"

She removed her hands from his. For a split second he thought she was upset. She began walking toward the stairs, turning only briefly to ask, "You coming?"

He watched her climb the stairs and disappear around the corner to the right at the top. He began moving slowly at first then practically supersped up the stairs. He walked into his bedroom to find her already lying in the bed. He crawled in bed with her matching her look of expectancy. She curled up next to him, her head on his chest.

"I can hear your heart beat," she said quietly into his chest.

"For you," he replied, wrapping his arms tighter around her. A few silent moments passed and he was beginning to think she'd fallen asleep.

Then, very quietly, she said to his chest again, "Tell me."

He thought for a moment about everything he had to tell her, about what was the most important thing. He let out a low breath. "I love you." He said.

She raised her head to look at him and said "Everything else can wait until tomorrow." He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"Show me," she said.

And he did.

What if this was that moment
That chance worth taking
History in the making