It's been a few months, so I decided to re-introduce these posts.This is my fan-fiction based on the 1990s television show Lois & Clark, only in my fan-fiction, Lois is Lorry and gay, and Clark is pansexual.
The purpose of this fan-fiction is mostly fun (sarcastic Lorry and dry-witted Clark are enchanting characters to write). I also started it whilst pondering fan criticism that there aren't enough LGBTQ superheroes (there are some). I came to the unfortunate conclusion that any television studio that tried to produce a show with an "out" superhero as the main character would run a gauntlet of instant criticism by the very people making the demand. Whedon decided to make Willow bisexual and then ran the possibility of instant fury should he even suggest that she go back to Oz. (Kudos to Bones' writers for letting character and plot determine Angela's future rather than politics.)
In other words, there are many people not only ready to criticize a gay superhero but so-called supporters ready to criticize exactly how that gay superhero is portrayed--the risk might be considered greater than the reward. Good grief, Barney Miller has been criticized, and that show was practically prescient.
My solution: Why not take an extant show and update it with one or 2 gay characters while keeping everything else about the show the same? That way, whenever the critics build up steam about how backwards and non-forward thinking the studio is behaving (It's not enough!), the studio can claim it is doing a homage.
My political position--and my views on orientation--are libertarian +: see Clark's views below.
October, Year 1: “Honeymoon in Metropolis” Lorry was working on another of what Perry called his “civil liberties jaunts.”
Namely, Lorry was researching the Luxor Hotel. Would they accommodate a gay couple in their honeymoon suite? He was going to ask Clark to be his “husband” on the story but after the whole perfume debacle, no way no how.
Lorry thought he’d used up a lifetime’s supply of self-mortification in junior high and high school. He’d been short, scrawny, big ears and clumsy limbs. He wrote passionate pieces in the school newspaper about rescuing abandoned animals and saving trees. He gave rambling speeches about the state of the world to anyone who would listen. He’d tried too hard to impress people—including cute jocks—with stupid jokes and self-mocking antics. And the whole time he was terrified about how much he wanted the cute jocks to notice him. Please.
Things got better in college—sort of. There were events from college that he still refused to think about. But he grew taller and lost the clumsiness. He guessed he got good-looking. And he came out, profoundly disappointing his father. He told people that college was “when I found myself.”
“Found myself” was code for “had several total relationship failures.” Yeah, not going there. Repression was a gift.
Still, none of it—none of it—was as bad as him showing up at Clark’s apartment with interest and desire written all over his physical self.
At least, Superman kissed him. That was a boost to the ego. In the meantime, he was giving Clark a wide berth.
Naturally, Lorry’s plan backfired. His stay in the Luxor led to him overseeing a transaction between a senator and several heavy hitters in a nearby office building. That led to Perry authorizing a stake-out—with the insistence that Lorry and Clark work together. Hadn’t Lorry checked into the honeymoon suite to test the Luxor’s tolerance of gay couples? Okay, then: instant gay couple.
Lorry spluttered, but he could hardly say, I am totally mortified. Clark confirmed he was straight the night I showed up at his apartment. Or just aggressively non-interested. I’m the desperate idiot who always pursues the wrong jerk.
Only, Clark wasn’t a jerk.
Actually, Clark was kind and clever and fun. Damn it.
The fact was, usually during a stake-out Lorry was climbing the walls within an hour (literally once, when the stake-out involved a rock-climbing gym). Being a fly on the wall was only fun if one got to fly. Otherwise: dullsville.
Turns out that Clark, of course, was a natural at stake-outs. He patiently set up the cameras to record the building opposite. He patiently checked the batteries on all the sound equipment. He patiently read through the research material on the senator and his funding of underwater weapons’ technology.
Lorry sighed. Clark gave him a sideways glance and a small grin.
“Want to play a game?”
As long as it’s not Truth or Dare. I’m so over the junior high thing.
Turned out Midwestern boy had brought actual non-digital, non-video board games.
They played Trivial Pursuit (Lorry cleaned up in Entertainment and Sports; Clark cleaned up in Science and History; they split Literature & Arts). They played Life. They played Sorry. They played cards.They exchanged likes and dislikes. Clark’s favorite movie: Babette’s Feast.
“Subtitle guy, huh?” Lorry said.
Clark shrugged. “Not really into action films,” he said. “You?”
“Brick. Joseph Gordon-Levitt. And Bogart references.”
“Maltese Falcon? How about Casablanca?”
“You kidding? ‘Here’s looking at you kid.’”
Clark rolled his eyes and Lorry grinned and things were almost back to normal. Lorry was relieved—he couldn’t afford to lose Clark, who had become, at some unrecognizable juncture, Lorry’s best friend.
***
Clark had no business liking the stake-out as much as he did.
Not when he was still remembering Superman’s kiss with Lorry. Not when he was thinking how nice it was to share a bathroom with Lorry in the mornings—brushing teeth side by side. Not when he was making up lists of games (actual games, no innuendo intended) they could play that night.
Not when he was doing all that and not planning to come out to Lorry. Not yet.
He knew his parents were suspicious. They even called the hotel full of suggestive good cheer—from his mother at least:“Your boss told us you were staying at the Luxor Hotel with Lorry—is there something you want to tell us, Clark?”
His father was gruffer. “I’m sure it’s for a story, Martha,” he kept saying on the farmhouse’s other phone.
He didn’t seem too sold on that idea, though, and Clark considered that maybe, just maybe, his parents wouldn’t be all that surprised by the announcement “Hey, folks, I’m not exactly, uh, straight.”
So why not tell Lorry? His parents? Lorry, then his parents? His workplace? Why not be rid of this particular secret?
Because “coming out” was never the simple, cathartic thing that people claimed. He “came out” as Superman when he didn't need to. The fact was, Clark could have gone on helping people in secret—the flash at the corner of the eye; the guy behind the scenes. He donned the Superman costume because he thought it would be easier, more direct, more honest.
Look at the result: villains gunning for him; government institutions and political groups either trying to get his patronage or warn him off; news media outlets with a thousand theories about Superman’s agenda, Superman’s sexuality, Superman’s color sense.
And the fans!
I want simple. Uncomplicated. Just—I wake up tomorrow and the day after and Lorry is there and we’re a couple, and there are no questions, no speculation, no fall-out. We just get on with life.
Yeah—but I thought Superman would be uncomplicated.
Face it—life is never that easy.
The door slammed. Clark slowly leaned back. He found Lorry contemplating him, eyes speculative. And then Lorry said, “Huh, gotta make notes for my hotel story.” And they carefully, carefully disentangled themselves.
Oh, sure, Clark’s life wasn’t complicated at all.
He was actually relieved when Lorry behaved recklessly (per usual) and nearly got caught breaking into the office they were surveilling. When Lorry got tied up on the docks with Senator Harrington, Clark could have kissed him again—this time in relief. Give Superman something to do! Right a wrong! Stop a tsunami! Work off that excess energy! “What about your other story?” he, Clark, asked Lorry when everything with the senator and secret pay-offs and dangerous weapons and corrupt contractors was resolved.
“You know how the villains broke into the Honeymoon suite and trashed the place?”
“Yeah.”
“Hotel thinks it was a hate crime.”
“Well—I mean crimes are usually accompanied by hate—”
“Yeah, well, don’t tell them that. They gave me a complementary stay.”
And off Lorry went, with a final wave and cheeky smile.
Totally uncomplicated. Right.
