Warnings: The following fic contains Lex being angsty, an alternate universe, as well as Lex/Lionel Luthorcest, under age father son relationships, and all my usual nonsense.
I was released from the hospital almost a month ago and I'm still having nightmares. Not about the getting shot, but . . .Jesus, Fuck! I'm not supposed to be this way. I haven't had a nightmare since I was a kid, a pathetic weak child. I guess it's a good thing that Dad took over with Luthorcorp stuff because with the nightmares and physical therapy and well actually that seems to be about all I ca handle right now—but the point is that I just don't think I'd be able to handle being in charge of a fucking TV remote, let alone a whole company.
I keep having the same dream over, and over, and over. I can't make it stop. It's like right after mom died. I don't think I slept for a month afterwards and even then the only reason I got any rest at all was because—my father didn't do anything wrong. I woke up one night, after one of my dreams and I just couldn't take it anymore. I was home from school for the summer and Dad was, well, Dad. We had some stupid fight over me cry or something like that.
He said that, "you're too emotional about this whole thing, Lex." And then some crap about how unLuthorish it was for me to crazy and I just started to scream at him.
"Maybe you're not emotional enough! Do you even care? She was your wife! What the hell s wrong with you?" That was about the time that I stormed off. That night I went to bed but I couldn't sleep. Before she died, my mother made me promise to try and get along with my father. I think she thought I might have a good influence on him, or that if we could get along things would be okay. All I know is that she made me promise and it was giving me these god-awful dreams, every night.
So, I went to find him, and apologize. It wasn't that late; I figured he'd still be up. When I knocked on his door I heard this sound. I thought that . . .but it couldn't be. It just couldn't be. It sounded like he was crying. When he came to the door I couldn't believe my eyes. He was crying. At first I was just mad. I started sobbing and beating at him with my hands and screaming.
"It's alright, Lex. It's alright." He wrapped his arms around me. He fucking hugged me. I didn't know how much more I could take. I just stood there, crying, and he just stood there, holding me, He cried too, and then rubbed my back a little.
"Dad—I—how could—you said that . . ." I couldn't think. I couldn't talk. I thought I was going out of my mind.
"I know, and I'm sorry." He let go of me then but I latched onto him with my arms. I was hurting and scared and cold, and being close to him made me feel less bad. I couldn't leave. "Go on, we can talk more in the morning. Okay?" No, not okay. I couldn't move. I couldn't leave.
"Dad please. Can I just stay here? I—I'll sleep on the floor, in the closet, in the bathroom. I just can't be alone right now. I need to be near somebody. I need to be near you." He hugged me again, but now he was more aware of the situation and the hug was much more awkward.
"You don't have to sleep on the floor. There's more than enough room for two people," he said patting my back hopping I'd let go.
"Please, don't let me go. Please." And then, he just held me and some how we got to the bed and I fell asleep. I came back every night for two weeks before anything physical happened and even then I was the one who started tings. Just lying there with his arms around me. It was the first time I'd ever felt like my father cared about me. It was calming, comforting, but as time went on, I sort of got used to things and I needed more and more contact.
I started waking myself up in the morning before Dad got up and I just started to sort of explore. At first I was scared and I would just sort of stick my hand out and touch his face but I had to be quick 'cos I was afraid he'd wake up. I didn't want that. I wanted to feel him, to feel something, anything. But then that wasn't enough. I wanted more; I needed more. I started touching for longer, rubbing, stroking.
That was when he woke up. And he was staring at me and I was scared shitless. I wanted to get up and run. I had to leave. I couldn't come back. It was all true. I was a freak and there was something seriously wrong with me. Only, he wouldn't let me go. He wasn't mad. He understood. He was hurting too. We both needed something and neither of us could figure it out on our own.
I kissed him, and he kissed me back and we just kept kissing. I hadn't ever really done anything before—I mean there had been one terrifying terrific, stupid, adolescent thing between me and this girl (a friend of Bruce's) when I was eleven, but other than that, nothing—so I was kind of bad but he wasn't and he showed make how to do things right. He put his hand on my stomach and then slid it down, pulling my shorts off. Then he started kissing my chest, and my stomach, and lower and lower. He kissed just above my cock.
Then, this is embarrassing. I came so fast that, thinking about is completely mortifying, it was then too, but he understood, and he just held me after. He was hard too, and I kept thinking I should do something. I even tried. I started to move my head down but he took my face in his hands and he just sort of gave me this look.
"Lex, this is important. I don't want to make you do anything you don't want to do. I don't want to hurt you." It completely blew my mind. I had never heard anything like that before, not form him. It was almost like he cared. He never cared about anyone. He certainly didn't care about me.
"But—what do you—how do you—I cant—you," I started crying, again, and he held me and kissed my head and my cheeks and he rubbed my back more.
"I'm sorry, Lex. I shouldn't have done that. It's all right. Why don't you go back to your room, and try and forget about it. Okay?"
"No. I liked it. I needed it, Dad. I hurt so bad, and when you, when I touched you, when you touched me all the pain—it was just, gone." It wasn't exactly articulate but I was chocking on tears and scared and sad, but it worked . . .for a while anyway. We became lovers and for the first time in my life I felt like he really cared. He even said that he loved me. I don't know how it ended or why we stopped but things just sorted of ended by the time I was fifteen.
We've been through a lot then. First there was the whole thing with my wild adventures in Metropolis, I wont even think about what I did there. Then he sent me away and when he tried to bring me back I wouldn't come. Then he was blind and there was the thing with Lucas. After that Was Belle Reve thing and I hated him for so long and he got out of prison and into Clark's body, and tried to kill me. Then he changed. He got out of prison, again, and there was more, but it was all really bad. Then I got shot, and now I'm having the nightmares again.
I just want them to stop. If they don't go away soon it's really going to fuck me up, but I cant go to him. He would see it as weakness. He wouldn't give me anything and he would never let me forget that I asked. He might even send me back to Belle Reve if I told him about the nightmares. God just make them stop. Please, stop. Mom, I'm sorry but I can—I don't even know what I'm supposed to do. Somebody help me. Please, help me.