Title: To and Fro
Author: Mitch
Rating: PG-13 for language.
Pairing: Clark/Lex
Category: Angst/Established Relationship
Author's Note: Lex isn't the only one who plays games.
A brief glance between them was all it ever took. A half of a half of a second of eye contact. Even in the wretchedly dim light of the smoky bar, he could see the mischief in Clark's eyes. He could see Clark trying to get to him on purpose.
And with a painful twist of his stomach, Lex hatefully admitted to himself that it was working.
The little bastard.
"I just want to get out," Clark whined. "We never get to do things like normal people do."
"We go out all the time," Lex argued.
"Nooo!" Clark pouted. "I don't mean the suit-and-tie restaurants with valet parking and thousand-dollar bottles of Cristal! I want a real night out."
"And what would be your idea of a normal night out, then?" Lex inquired.
The corners of Clark's mouth twitched impishly. "The Bucking Bronco."
Lex heard a confused clanking of shot glasses being slammed down onto the wooden bar and turned to look at the commotion. He watched from his vantage point on his barstool nearest the corner as a group of six or seven young men in cowboy boots, tight jeans, plaid shirts, and absurd cowboy hats cheered for Clark as he sloppily filled up each glass in the row from the bottle of cheap tequila.
"Oh, no, you spilled some!" shouted one of the boys, for that's the only way that Lex could describe them.
"Alcohol abuse!" shouted another which prompted a roar of raucous laughter.
"Fuck-tard," Lex whispered to himself, downing a shot of expensive vodka and filling up his glass again. Like Clark, he had paid the shirtless bartender extra so he could have the entire bottle.
Lex glared at Clark motionlessly, hoping for some sign that he was joking. He bowed his head in exasperation when he found none.
"Come on!" Clark pleaded. "It'll be fun!"
"Clark, unless the definitions of 'fun' and 'torture' have recently been exchanged, I don't think—"
"Please?" Clark begged. "Please, Lex? You've said yourself we should expand our circle, maybe make some more gay friends…"
"Right, but every time we try to 'expand our circle,' I end up sitting alone while you flirt with everything that moves—"
"I don't flirt, Lex," Clark defended. "It's called being personable."
"To my new friends!" Clark toasted, raising his shot glass high into the air, his intimidating bicep flexing beautifully from his sleeveless flannel. "I'm so glad I decided to come out tonight!"
"Here, here!" cheered Clark's admirers, clinking their glasses together and giggling as more cheap alcohol spilled all over creation.
Lex was keenly aware of Clark's singular pronoun usage, as if he had come here totally alone tonight and the man with whom he was in an exclusive relationship wasn't sitting at the end of the bar, alone and dejected. Lex was also aware of Clark's slurry intonations and clumsy physicality as he feigned inebriation for the benefit of his new little boyfriends. Lex knew Clark couldn't really get drunk. He also knew how adorable Clark became to these ridiculous hicks when he faked it.
Another self-satisfied glance from Clark said that he was aware of it too.
"I'll dress you up!" Clark promised, running to his bedroom closet.
Lex kept his feet firmly planted in the middle of the room. "I'm not dressing up," he stated.
"But it's a cowboy bar! We have to play the part!" Clark insisted, sifting through a plethora of plaid shirts and blue jeans to find just the right combination.
"What makes you think I'm even sold on the idea?" Lex asked with an obstinate edge to his voice. "I didn't say yes."
Clark stopped searching with a pronounced slump of his shoulders, keeping his back to Lex for a long silence. "You're no fun," he finally said quietly, effectively wracking Lex with guilt in a matter of only three words.
Lex sighed.
"Do it! Do it! Do it!" the cowboys chanted wildly as Clark made an elaborate show of stumbling into the foam-covered ring toward the mechanical bull.
"He's gonna ride it bareback!" the youngest of them screeched, resulting in another explosion of inane laughter and giddy applause.
Clark turned around with a gleam in his eye and pointed at the boy who had spoken. "You. Come on," he said brightly.
The wistful cow-child put his hand on his chest and gasped in astonishment like he had just won a rodeo pageant. "Me?" he crooned.
"No, the other half pint," Lex seethed. Nobody heard him.
The tiny young man leaped the wooden fence into the ring with about as much grace as a newborn piglet, and scampered to Clark's side, nearly losing his balance as he negotiated the altered gravity of the foam padding. Clark caught him by the arm and threw him effortlessly on top of the bull, then jumped on behind him. He took the enormous cowboy hat off of his own head and placed it on the boy who cried out with laughter.
Lex was almost too enraged to keep watching, but he was riveted to the sight of it. This young cowpoke was small to begin with, but next to Clark's imposing form, he looked miniature. Lex watched the soft sensuality with which Clark touched his delicate body and felt like vomiting.
Lex crossed the room and stood directly behind Clark for a long time, unsure of how to comfort him. He hated for Clark to be upset. He hated even more that Clark saw him as un-fun. He didn't want to be the old, stodgy boyfriend who tried to crush Clark's free spirit because of his own insecurity.
Sincerely hoping that he wouldn't regret it this time, Lex reached into the closet over Clark's shoulder and pulled a ridiculous and cartoonish ten-gallon cowboy hat off of the shelf which he proceeded to drop onto Clark's head. Lex then turned him around to survey the look, trying not to smile at the contrast between the big, comedic hat and the crestfallen look on Clark's face.
"Lookin' mighty fine, partner," Lex offered in his best attempt at a country-western dialect.
"We don't have to go," Clark conceded with lowered eyes.
"No, we don't," Lex agreed. "But you want to. And I want you to have fun."
Clark gazed into Lex's eyes hopefully. "Who's my guy?" Lex asked in a whisper.
"I am," Clark whispered back, a triumphant smile taking over his face.
"Classy," Lex said to himself as he brushed peanut shells off of his suit sleeves. He poured another shot down his throat and did his level best to block out the delighted shrieks coming from Clark and his riding partner as they were tossed to and fro.
He silently hoped that the young man would fall off of the bull and break his neck, but he knew that Clark wouldn't let that happen. This was all for Lex's benefit, and Clark would milk it for all it was worth.
But at last, the ride did finally end. Although he knew better, Lex turned around again and watched Clark assist his new friend off of the bull. When they were standing side by side, Clark enthusiastically held up his fist, knuckles forward.
"Who's my guy?" he honked charismatically.
"I am!" the boy shouted back, knocking Clark's knuckles with his own. The shrill of his voice cut through Lex's defenses like a serrated blade. The crowd of other boys applauded again until one of them started up a chant for another round of shots.
Turning away from the chaos, Lex reached for the vodka bottle to pour another drink, then stopped himself. He'd had enough. Enough vodka. Enough humiliation. Time to rope himself a calf.
"Does this mean I get to dress you up?" Clark asked eagerly.
Lex laughed in spite of himself. Clark's excitement was always so infectious. But he shook his head.
"No," he said. "I'll help you pick out something for yourself."
"We would look more like a couple if we were both dressed up," Clark pined, but he continued to look through his closet happily.
"I'm agreeing to this, aren't I?" Lex said. "Best not to ask for two miracles in one day."
Clark planted a swift peck on Lex's lips in response. Lex tried to act as if it didn't take his breath away.
"Saddle up, motherfucker," he slurred, sliding off of his stool.
With his trademark swagger, Lex made his way over to the group of boys, grinning at the sadistic satisfaction he was about to receive. Clark liked it this way. He liked working out all of his aggression in public, for what reason, Lex couldn't say. Lex would rather save the power play for the bedroom, and he had every intention of giving Clark his due punishment back at the mansion later.
But Lex was adaptable. If Clark wanted to act like a misbehaving animal in a public place, then he was clearly asking to be shamed. And although Lex had refused to dress up as a cowboy, he hadn't forgotten to bring his riding crop.
He stepped up behind the little cowboy and snatched the ten-gallon hat off of his head, startling the young man half to death.
"This doesn't belong to you," Lex drunkenly spat. He walked up to Clark, then, and grabbed his arm roughly. "Neither does this."
"Maybe I'm not ready to go yet," Clark challenged loudly.
In place of an answer, Lex slapped the riding crop across Clark's face with a deafening crack. The bar became completely silent.
"Look who's finally stepping into the arena," Clark said with a ravenous grin.
"Giddy-up," Lex replied coldly, shocking even himself with his newfound audacity.
The group of boys gaped as he prepared to take another swing.