A/N: I don't own any of this.
I am watching Season Five. Can you tell?
With acknowledgement (or apologies) to Duncan Sheik and his song "November." Go on, go download it and put it on loop. We'll be here when you get back.
Autumn
Lex sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He is still for a moment, his hands on the edge of the mattress, but soon enough he is reaching for his clothes. A minute later, Clark is doing the same on his side. The silence, their backs to one another, is in a way no different than when they face each other; the air hangs heavily with all the things left unsaid.
They never talk anymore, before, during or after; they just come together. Lex will look up from some shelf in his library and Clark will be walking towards him; Clark will turn from baling hay in the barn and find Lex standing there. There are no words exchanged, no pleasantries or formalities … they simply reach for each other. And for a short time at least, there is nothing beyond the circle of their arms.
When Clark is touching him, Lex often gets absorbed in memories, as if he is seeking out something from their past. The pressure of Clark's hands creates an illusion of certainty, an absence of fear and doubt that ends when the contact does.
Without it, the only thing Lex is sure of is that they are losing one another.
They had had a springtime once, but Lex can feel its light and warmth slipping away – darkness comes on too soon now, like the shortening days of November. Oh, they can still spark a flame that holds it off a little longer … with the press of skin, they deny the shadows falling all around them. Sex momentarily distracts them from the time they have wasted, lying to one another and making choices that only make their mutual betrayal all the more inevitable. They still work together so, so well, their bodies meshing with an ease and force that belies the rest of their disintegration. It is almost enough to make Lex believe that they could somehow convert the physical into faithfulness; Clark's kiss still makes him yearn to forgive, and be forgiven.
But then they each rise from their respective sides of the bed, get dressed and return to their separate paths. Sometimes one will glance over his shoulder to find the other is already gone.
There is nothing more than this between them any longer. Some part of Lex longs to ask Clark for the reason why they can't be honest with each other, but he knows it would be futile; that is just one more answer Lex can't have. That talented tongue of Clark's can do only two things, and one of them is tell him more lies. And in the rare moments Lex is honest with himself, he knows he is just the same: he offers Clark his body because he is willing to part with nothing else.
The space between them, when there is any, is too clouded now with misdirection and resentment for any clear conclusions to be drawn anyway. And they neither want yet another conversation about deception, another conversation poisoned by even more deception. All of this is said and done.
They never made each other any promises. At the beginning it was beautiful, when they touched with rapt tenderness and taught each other all the tricks it takes to bring them each to ecstasy. But the secrets of their bodies are the only ones they ever shared; and though they did so without reservation, now they are simply going through the motions that they have learned so well. There is no true connection, no trust, no hope for any future. All they have left is desire and the practiced ability to put the tension between them to temporary rest.
The lifespan of that relief grows briefer and briefer each time, like the darkening days as the year draws to a close. Soon enough it too will dwindle and die.
Lex sometimes wonders which of them will deliver the killing blow – and how he will quiet his restless need for Clark when he is gone.