Clark, Lois futurefic
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
The first time the Inquisitor printed a photograph of his crotch, Clark Kent was so embarrassed he could hardly stop blushing all day.
The second time, he got a little annoyed. He was out there trying to save people, damn it. He wasn't a goddamned peep show. And yeah, maybe the suit was a little, well, revealing in certain areas. But it was traditional Kryptonian clothing, the last echo of his native culture, and he wasn't going to switch costumes just because the executive editor of the Inquisitor was a muckraking pain in his ass.
The third time his crotch was featured on the Inquisitor's front page, he went storming into the executive editor's office, dressed in his Superman costume, and waved the newspaper in her face.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
Lois Lane looked up at him and smiled. The Inquisitor's headquarters weren't as impressive as the Daily Planet building, of course, but she still had a corner office, with a massive walnut desk and windows from floor to ceiling, while he himself worked in a cubicle.
"Just trying to boost our circulation," she answered. "And it's working. You wouldn't believe how many more copies we've sold with these photos."
"But... but..." He sputtered impotently. Well, okay, maybe impotent wasn't a word he wanted to use, considering the subject. "You're using me to sell papers?"
"Don't get all huffy and self-righteous with me, Superman. The Daily Planet uses you to sell papers all the time. Every time you do something heroic, your own articles, and your wife's articles, do quite a lot to boost circulation."
"Yes, but that's news. A concept you're not familiar with, I know, but news is what is supposed to sell papers. This is..."
She leaned back in her comfortable leather chair and smiled up at him, very sweetly. "Tabloidy?"
"Pornographic!" he roared.
She broke out laughing. "Oh, for heaven's sake, Smallville. It's not my fault you decided to fight crime wearing a costume that shows the exact size and shape of the family jewels."
The exact size and shape? Really? He had to fight to prevent himself from looking down. "It's Kryptonian clothing," he grumbled.
"Whatever. I still don't understand why Chloe lets you out of the house dressed like that. God knows I wouldn't let Jimmy run around the neighborhood in spandex. It's no wonder all the lady supervillains try to get you into bed, you know? You might as well be prancing around naked."
He ground his teeth. The conversation seemed to be rapidly on its way to derailment, as conversations with Lois all too often were. "Look," he said through his clenched teeth, "the point is..."
"The point is that you're pissed I'm using you to compete with the Planet."
"The point is that my family jewels do not belong on the goddamn front page of your tabloid rag!"
She smiled more sweetly than ever, unconcerned by his rage. "Really, Smallville, I'm just trying to help you out. The more people focus on other aspects of your anatomy, the less they'll be looking at your face. You and I both know that your so-called disguise is lame. I mean, dark-rimmed glasses? Please. Sooner or later, people are going to see through it and figure out exactly who you are. I'm just helping you delay the inevitable by encouraging people to look down instead of up."
"Oh, I see. So you're doing me a favor by printing pictures of my crotch on the front page?"
He stared at her, seething with impotent-- no, wait, wrong word-- rage. She gave him that mocking smile that had always made him long to strangle her, and turned back to her computer.
"Have a nice day, Superman. Watch out for those lady supervillains."
He glared a moment longer, then spun on his heel and supersped out of her office. The fact of the matter was, there wasn't a thing he could do to stop Lois from printing whatever the hell she wanted. Lois was in charge of the Inquisitor now, and no one had ever been able to sway her except his wife Chloe. And Chloe inexplicably found the whole matter extremely funny.
Clark failed to see the humor in it, personally.
But there was nothing he could do about it, really. He changed out of his costume and went back to work at the Planet, trying very, very hard to ignore the fact that three female reporters and two male reporters had tacked up the Inquisitor's photo of his crotch on their cubicle walls, and were giggling together as they speculated on his, well, size.
Thanks so much, Lois, he thought glumly.
The fourth time the Inquisitor printed a picture of his crotch, boosting its circulation numbers significantly, Clark sighed, and just flew out of town with his wife for a few days.
But to his disgust, even in Miami, where guys wore Speedos on a regular basis... Superman's crotch was still the talk of the town.