Disclaimer: I don't own any of this.
A/N: What follows breaks unforgivably with canon and continuity. I don't care though, the setup thrilled me too much.
Decline
"Thanks for the memories
Even though they weren't so great"
-Fall Out Boy
Lex lifted his chin ever so slightly as he heard the knob of his office door turning. He wasn't about to stand in greeting – Clark no longer deserved that courtesy, that deference. A subtle upward angle of the jaw was all he'd give him; that would be enough to convey his superiority. He held the draft of Clark's article lightly between his fingers, poised to release it with disdain and let it drift significantly to the floor.
Lex was done trying to pretend it didn't affect him, working in the same building with Clark, passing him in the bullpen every day and pretending not to look his way. He'd made a valiant effort to ignore Clark's presence, although it pulled like an anchor on the corners of all his thoughts. And frankly, he was impossible to avoid. He seemed to spend his every waking moment at the Planet; Lex was beginning to wonder if he ever went home.
Lex had even tried seducing two different cub reporters as a sort of diversionary tactic. One had been a fierce, ambitious young woman with volumes of dark hair and legs from here to next Thursday, but a vague and forgettable face. The other had been the newest intern; he'd had a persistent five-o'clock shadow and wide, ingenuous eyes. They had both been entertaining; but none of it had done any real good.
Ultimately Lex just decided to take action. He'd had enough of this, the years of denial and double-entendre followed by more years of studied avoidance. No matter what passed between them, no matter what they tried to call it or how they tried to deny it, the urge was still there. So why not just let slip his hold on it?
It's not like there was any friendship left to consider.
He could see Clark knew the assignment had never been for real. The fire in his eyes as he stood before Lex's desk was adequately blazing and indignant; but there was a certain falseness about it too, as if he'd known all along it was just a ploy.
"So what are you trying to say?" he snapped.
"Just that," Lex smiled, and let the sheaf of paper fall, "if that's the best you've got …"
"I get it," Clark interrupted. "You'll never print anything I write; and that's fine. But don't expect me to take part in your displays. You don't get to call me on the carpet just to make some twisted point."
"Don't I?" Lex was on his feet now after all, his movements serpentine through the darkened room. He'd be happy to oblige Clark with a public flogging if he wanted one; but it was late now, and the office empty. Lex had, of course, planned it that way. The demonstration he had in mind did not require an audience.
"I won't let you," Clark asserted.
"But I'm the boss. So I get to call the shots; that's how it works."
Some part of Lex wished it didn't have to be this way, still missed the long-dead friendship and longed for a way to quicken it again. If there were words that could do that, he would use them. But he'd tried to make Clark bend before, tried to persuade or even trick him into telling the truth, and all Clark had ever given him in return was lies. Well, lies might kill affection, but they also heightened tension; and Lex knew a thing or two to do with tension.
One was to push it to the breaking point.
"You think control is everything," Clark said with narrowed eyes.
"And you think the rules don't apply to you." Lex moved closer, as he always had, too close. It pleased him that Clark held, as he always had, his ground.
"Your rules don't."
"We'll see," Lex replied with dark serenity, and reached out to take what he wanted.
There was some relief in their mutual loathing; there was no need to be gentle. At first it was more a struggle than a kiss, full of fight and anger and hard edges that tried to hurt and dominate. And that was fine – Lex no longer wanted to feel tenderness for Clark anyway. He wanted to demolish the part of him that felt it, to rise over its ashes in release and victory.
He applied what warmth remained in his heart towards the simple generation of heat. And Clark clearly had some left too, for they commingled and burned.
Despite the force with which they came together, the only sounds were soft ones: a puff of breath here, there the shush of a tie as it was loosened or the whip and jingle of a belt yanked free. Clark swallowed a low groan when Lex ripped the buttons off his collar, and tightened his hand on the nape of Lex's neck. Lex arched back into his grip with a sibilant hiss. He could have growled if he'd wanted to, and for a moment he toyed with the idea of making Clark scream. But silence seemed appropriate considering the public face of their hatred. There were appearances to preserve.
And this would change nothing; they both knew it. It had purpose, but it was passing.
Lex had always been intensely perceptive, peerless in his foresight – except where Clark was concerned. With him Lex was blind to look any way but back. But when considered objectively, there was nothing rosy about their past, nothing really worth revering or saving. Their potential had been unrealized, their friendship a mirage. The way they touched now was the only answer they'd ever give each other.
At least it would be worth remembering: Lex's fingertips sunk deep into Clark's flesh, Clark's teeth leaving marks on Lex's collarbone. Amidst the haze of youth, dubious intentions and incongruent love, tonight would stand out clearly. Most of their memories was indistinct and useless; but here and now everything was sharp lines, bare skin stark in the half-light and the hard surface of the desk.
If Lex was disposed to value memories, he might have thanked Clark for this one. But he wasn't in the mood for gratitude – his own, or even Clark's. So he pushed it away, along with clothes and thought.