Black Chiffon

By Catherine Bruce <>

Rated PG

Submitted April 2008

Summary: "I bet you'd look real cute in black chiffon." Clearly, like his fiancée, Clark isn't one to back down from a challenge.

Author's note: I apparently wrote this way back in March 2006. I had *assumed* that I had submitted this to the boards, but you know what they say about when you assume.

Alrighty! Its 4:30 a.m., I had a pot (yes, a POT!) of coffee at 8:00 p.m. and this here is the result!

Thanks to JenniJAC for looking it over! All mistakes are mine, though. MINE MINE MINE! You can't have them!


Lois rapped her knuckles against her fiancé's door. They were supposed to be going on a date that evening, but a lead on their latest story had popped up earlier that day. Apparently, according to Bobby Bigmouth, something big was going to go down that evening at certain nightclub downtown. She didn't know much about it, only that men dressed in women's clothing was something not out of the norm.

Bobby hadn't been specific on what was going to happen; only that it would be big. And that it would happen that night, and he was sorry that their date was ruined.

Lois had asked how he knew about that. Bobby said that it was his job to know. Then he'd taken a bite out of the delicious looking éclair and Lois had silently cursed him, sure that he knew he was teasing her. Clark had bought her one as well, but that pastry had been gone for hours.

So they cancelled their date, though they were both resourceful people and decided that they could salvage the evening by going undercover as a couple.

She knocked again; slightly annoyed that he was taking so long. The man took ten seconds flat to shower and shave in the morning, for goodness sake.

"Just a moment!" His voice seemed to have an odd crack in it before evening itself out, but she had little time to wonder at that when the door opened. Instead of being greeted by her partner, she was welcomed by a gush of air as he ran back to his bathroom.

"Clark? Is everything okay?" Cautiously, she stepped into the room and looked around, half expecting to see the remains of some sort of disaster that struck between her last visit and now. Everything appeared to be normal. But then, so did her fiancé.

"Yeah, everything's fine! Just putting on the finishing touches." She heard a brief struggle, followed by some grunts and the sound of something crashing to the floor. Before she could head toward the bathroom, she was stopped by his voice. "I'm okay! Just wait out there, okay?"

Lois shrugged in defeat before taking a seat on his sofa. She had no idea what he was up to, but the longer she sat, the more wary she became.

"All right, I'm coming out!"

When he came into view, she just stared at him for a moment. And then she was overcome by a fit of hysterical giggles as he attempted to sashay toward the couch.

When she was able to speak, she managed to choke out a question. "Clark, are ... are you wearing my clothes?"

"I'm sorry, Clark's not here. *My* name is *Clarice.*" He flipped his glossy brown curls over one shoulder with one hand perched on his hip. A hip that -- along with his torso and half of his thighs -- was encased in a familiar strapless dress made of black chiffon. "And no, I happened to stumble across this at the store. It's very hard to find a dress that fits!"

Lois managed to get her giggles under control. Apparently, her fiancé had gone through great lengths for this undercover assignment. His hair fell around his shoulders, legs encased in black hosiery, and he even had managed to find a pair of black pumps. She got up from her cushion and slowly circled him, whistling slightly as she went. While she hadn't expected him to wear a dress, she had to admit that he looked kind of nice. "Black chiffon, eh?" She picked up his hand and ran her fingertips over his crimson nails. Press-on, if she were to judge the length.

"Well, you *did* say I would look good in it."

"Mmm. And apparently I was right." She came to stand in front of him, and curious, poked at his chest.

His indignant gasp made her jump slightly, and he brought up a hand to cover his chest. "Why Ms. Lane! Do I go around groping your bosom whenever I choose?"

Clark -- no, *Clarice's* indignant falsetto choked another bark of laughter from her. "Yes, *Ms.* Kent! You do!"

"Oh yeah. Well, in *that* case!" He grabbed her hand and pressed it firmly against his chest. She felt the give of padding in the strapless bra.

"Grope away!" Lois waggled her eyebrows at him, giving him a brief squeeze before dropping her hands to his hips.

He wrapped his hands around her back, pulling her close. "You know, I've always wondered why you girls got all dressed up. Now I know. The feel of hose, of chiffon rubbing against smooth skin. It's kind of nice."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Clark, did you ..." He looked around, humming softly, as though he hadn't heard her. "I'm sorry. Clarice, you didn't ... you know." She rubbed her hand against his unusually smooth forearm, already knowing the answer.

"I'm a very thorough person, Lois. You should know that."

She had to stop herself from imagining him holding up a mirror to try to angle his heat vision to remove all the hair from his legs. If she allowed herself to think about him balancing on one foot while hopping up and down, she doubted she would be able to stop giggling before they had to leave.

Instead, she looked at his face and noticed his makeup was slightly off. "Well, girlfriend, before we leave we have got to put the right eye shadow on you. For some reason I doubt 'peacock blue' is your color." She turned and pulled him toward the bathroom.

"Oh joy, makeover time!" He skipped along behind her. "Hey, do you still have that guy's costume you wore?"

She glanced back at him smugly. "Which one?"


A few hours later, Lewis Dane and Clarice King emerged from Outside In, laughing. The tip from Bobby had proven to be false, but the night had still been fun. Lois had half the bar convinced she was a guy, most of the bar convinced Clark was her boyfriend, and the entire place convinced that she wore the pants in the relationship. More than once, she'd had to fight off advances, both male and female, made toward both her and her partner.

Finally, convinced that nothing was going to happen, they decided to leave. It was then her close-cropped wig had fallen off and her pixie style puffed out, and when the bouncer had pulled off her mustache, both she and Clark -- make that Clarice -- made for the door.

A couple blocks away, they slowed to a walk. Clark adjusted his shawl and wriggled his feet back into his pumps before looping his arm through the one Lois offered. He sighed with contentment. "I had a really nice time tonight, Lewis."

Lois chuckled at his high-pitched tenor. "Yeah," she grunted in response as she cast a glance at him through the corner of her eye. "Tell me again why we didn't get you into chiffon earlier?"

Clark laughed in a decidedly male voice. "You know, if we hurry, we might be able to make those reservations."

A higher-pitched giggle followed his, and the two continued their stroll.