(The two had spent most of their Saturday thus far in bed, in Lana’s room in the Talon. The AC was broken and the windows were open in the vain hope of coaxing in a breeze, and the only time they had crawled out of bed since getting breakfast had been to run down the street to get ice cream.
Which was where, if Clark’s parents asked, they were, of course. No bedroom shenanigans going on here, no sir.)
“You’re a messy eater,” Clark teased, propping himself up on his elbows.
Lana looked amused. “It’s a hundred degrees, Clark.”
“Slow eater,” Clark corrected himself, still with a grin, as Lana reached for a tissue. “Wait.”
Lana paused, hand on the tissues, and looked at him. Clark watched her for a moment, clearly entertained, and then rolled closer to her. She watched him, too, curious, and he put his mouth to her stomach and licked the ice cream off her bare skin with one long, slow stroke. It tickled enough for her to curl her toes.
When he lifted his head, grinning like a fool, Lana laughed, and reached over to cup his face with her non-ice creamy hand, and pulled him closer. Clark followed, like a magnet, grinning against her lips until they slipped into a long kiss.