Hi! Um. Yeah. Sorry I haven't updated anything anyone actually cares about. But I am working on an epic that my beloved beta says is turning out fabulously.
I saw a couple of episodes of Smallville right before tv-links tanked, and wrote this in a drabble frenzy. I found it, and tada! I am posting it. Because I have nothing else to post here right now. Shutup.
Disclaimer: Not. Mine. But Lex is definitely, definitely cuter than Clark.
Warnings: Language (omg! words!), implied gay sex, written without seeing past the second half of season 1. Absolutely no spoilers, because I don't know any.
"You--no. Lex. No. I--you can't do this because of the damn debt, all right? You've repaid it a thousand times over, and it just. You. Gah." Clark stops, gripping the edges of the sink-counter in the boys' locker room, and tries again.
"You're not your father, Lex. The apple can fall pretty far from the tree, all right? So stop feeling like you have to do this. Just because your father never repaid anything, just because he took what he wanted and never gave back, it. You aren't like that. You don't have to do this."
Clark sighs. The silence is poking him between the ribs, incessantly, like a bored and spoiled child urging him on, so he tries again.
"Look, Lex. I thought we had--have--had. We were. I don't know, okay? But I can't stand you doing this because you feel like you have to. Because you don't. I mean, I want to think that you're not doing this because you feel like you have to, you know, but it feels like you're doing this because you think you have to and. I just. I don't know."
Clark has had his eyes squeezed shut during the entirety of this little litany. He allows his forehead to slap softly against the mirror. The dull sound of flesh against glass echoes oddly off of the lockers.
And yeah, maybe the freaking football team's home turf isn't the best spot for this sort of thing, but that's really not all that high on Clark's List of Things to Worry About right now.
The words are still coming out…stupid. Not right. Clark wants to get this perfect, because it's important, and he's willing to sit here all afternoon talking at the mirror if that's what it takes.
He lifts his head up and away, but keeps his eyes closed. He turns and leans back against the grimy ledge. He tips his head back, because, well, why not? It's not as if it matters anymore anyway.
Clark tries again.
"Lex, I want…"
He stops again.
"Lex, I can't do this, okay? I just can't. It's--we live in Smallville! A tiny Midwestern town! This sort of thing doesn't happen."
Lex has been leaning against a row of lockers, head cocked, listening to what Clark brought him here for. He speaks up, voice a bit gravelly, from hurt or regret or disuse or relief or a dozen things Clark doesn't want think about.
"Well, why not? Seems to me a lot of things happen in Smallville that just do. Your damn near invincibility, for one thing. Compared to that, what does a little fucking between friends matter?"
And that's it. The fucking. The friends. The mattering. That's what Clark is trying and failing to say.
"Lex, I--"
"If you want to stop, that's cool. I won't come by," Lex says. "We'll never bring it up again. If that's what you want."
He doesn't say: You can't break up with me, because we're not together. Weren't together. This is it, this is where that not-so-casual casual fucking ends. What now, Clark? What in the hell is running through your beautiful head? Your life has always been a bit of a fairy tale; I'm at a loss. Am I the wicked witch or the handsome prince? Because Clark, you have too many wicked witches.
He doesn't say: Clark, please? Can I please, please have a happy ending?
But Clark, well, Clark's never been good at listening to what people are saying, much less to what they aren't saying, even though he really, really tries. Especially with Lex. Because Lex has a funny way with words. Lex will wrap you up in a fleece blanket of words, and you'll be walking away when you realize that Lex never says anything. Lex just talks and gives you a lot of words. Then you'll think some more and if you want to see it, you can find some meaning there. If you look.
Lex takes the silence as an assurance that yes, this is going to stop and no, there will be no happy endings for Lex Luthor. He starts to brush past Clark on his way out, but stops. He takes Clark's face carefully in his hands, thumbs Clark's cheekbone and the corner of Clark's still-shut eye.
"Hey," Lex says softly. "Fucking good run while it lasted."
Lex doesn't continue: Pleasepleaseplease nonononono. I don't want to go. Don't make me go.
Lex doesn't continue: If I don't ask for you, can I have you? I only ever get things I don't ask for. Please. Please. I'm asking now, okay? Is that where I went wrong? Asking? Please, Clark. I didn't want you to have to be told.
Lex definitely doesn't finish with: Clark fucking Kent, do you even know what you're doing to me?
Lex kisses Clark there, in the boys' locker room at school, full on the mouth in front of the mirrors. It is chaste and clipped and short, and it is goodbye.
Lex even says so.
"Goodbye, Kent. And hey. Good luck with Lana."
Clark keeps his eyes shut, trying to draw out the moment, not even sure this is really happening.
Exeunt villain, and the birds sing once more.
Clark's eyes shoot open.
"Lex," he croaks. "Lex…"