fire and powder
a smallville fanfiction
[ i don't own any characters etc in smallville / for ppl who don't mind lexana / just for simple and dumb fun / preferably 18 and above]
"Evening, Lana," the deep, unsettling voice intoned calmly from the doorway.
Trepidation rushed through her veins like iced water--- she snapped the switchblade close and slipped it into her jeans, watching the blade gleam as a final beckoning. Its call was completely overshadowed by his presence.
"I guess I can't insist that you knock next time, Lex," Lana commented, forcing the shakiness from her voice.
"Not since I own the keys; I guess not."
"Yes, this place isn't ever out of bounds, even when it's closed."
He laughed lightly, a practiced one obviously trained for small talk. Important for businessmen like him, she surmised. "But you are, right?"
"Well, technically, that is the case," she replied, apparently deciding to take that comment as a joke. "You know, age, status and all."
Her face flushed crimson when she realized she'd fallen into a rather obvious trap.
Lex would have thought that the expression he wore and the serious tone would convince her otherwise, and yet he took delight on noting that she didn't know how to handle this, how to react to him and what to do. No surprises there. As ever. He watched her, tanned, toned arms flexing as she bent down to retrieve the empty, coffee-stained glasses and carefully arrange them on the silver tray. His eyes carelessly flickered over her waist and slim hips, athletic legs. Valiantly avoiding him, she strode past and headed for the counter, a little hastier than usual.
"How's everything been going on with Clark?"
Predictably her slim back stiffened, those long dark strands of hair shimmering brown beneath the overhead spotlights as she turned around to face him.
"Nothing's been going on, Lex. I'm comforted by your concern and all but I'd prefer it if you keep him out of our conversations, especially if you're here to discuss the Talon."
Lex frowned slightly, raising an eyebrow at her snappy outburst. "Well, if you insist, Lana, but I'm not here to talk about this place. Is my question warranted now that I've established that?"
She sighed, shoulders heaving. In an unconscious gesture that caught his eye she was scrunching up the napkin in her right fist, which was balled up tautly. He could imagine the imprints her fingernails, despite being perfectly trimmed, would leave on the cloth.
"What's he done again, then? If you need to get anything off your chest I'm all ears now."
The final word hung in the air, crystallising as silence overtook it. I'm not going to be standing around here all day, with my arms outstretched.
It was reflected in those brown-green eyes as the light caught them, the recognition of an opportunity she'd regret foregoing.
"You know, Lex," Lana paused, looking as though she was about to take a leap of faith, "I've decided to stop worrying about him so much. I mean, we're already leading separate lives as platonic friends, and I'm beginning to accept that there are always going to be gaps between us that I cannot fill. Since he's unwilling to fill in the blanks I guess I'll just let go completely." She conveniently decided against confiding in him that she'd fallen out with Chloe (not for the first time), her grades were at an all-time low plateau and the void within was beginning to become a black hole.
Clearly she wasn't revealing everything. He was an expert at reading, not just faces, but people, seeing their hearts in all the transparency of an unshielded glance or a reckless word. The way the atmosphere changed could help him discern the truth too, once in a while. But with Lana Lang, all you really had to do was search that pretty, youthful face, float in the pair of distinct dark eyes and the answers would be securely grasped. She wasn't exactly simple; perhaps unschooled and green to a certain extent, but not simple. You could trust her with your life; she couldn't dream of harming anyone, but you'd have to watch leaving her with deep, dark secrets; there was the threat of her breaking. The former he couldn't care less for—his opinion was that a spectacular inferno burning out was preferable to a weak diminishing. The latter, he had in spades.
The following statement brought him back from the momentary reverie.
"Anyway it's about time we stopped using Clark to kickstart our conversations, right? It's getting a little tiresome."
He smiled the one-sided grin, acquiescing quietly.
"You know, Lex, I've never seen you so silent before. Anything on your mind?"
Lex wondered when the tables had turned without him noticing them. Even if there were there's no way you could touch them. He dropped his eyes, hands securely kept in the pockets of his tailored pants.
Those desolate dark eyes, the ones that used to dance with the juvenile blithe high-school students assumed was the foundation of their universe. Now, searching for a place to hide…
"Strange that you should ask, I was pondering the exact same question."
The girl straightened up, rounding the counter in a few quick strides.
"I guess I'm just looking for a place to hide," Lana replied, painfully aware of how she was exposing the vulnerability that should, at all times, be obscured to the best possible extent. At this point, the typical cover-up would be to laugh in embarrassment and attempt to brush it off as a joke. But she was weary of that act. She'd always been honest with him, what was there to lose? She was already living without… but the reservation about spilling her heart out remained. Probably because of the whole Luthor reputation. Then there was the issue of how the strange feeling he gave her.
Momentarily, the memory of his fingers against her cheek flashed in her mind.
In a rare instance, Lex Luthor was looking surprised. This time it wasn't at Clark.
No, she couldn't fill the emptiness inside. He wanted to fill it with greatness, glory and success, a proof of his worth and a mark left in the history of the world, much like his namesake. That was the plan, and he was not to be distracted. Impossible was an illusion. Scrapped clean, so he could ascend to greater heights with a hunger nothing could deny.
That dream turned to water now, however, that she was standing before him, waiting…
Stepping forward, the girl tightened a firm grip on the lapels of his suit, pulling him inches closer.
"There's always been this aurabetween us, Lex. I'd just like to know what it is exactly," she whispered, as he gazed down at her, expression inscrutable. "Or would a better word be 'tension'?"
Tonight was one of surprises; perhaps it was just puberty. Play it by the ear. Willing every fibre of himself against basic instinct Lex shook his head, shrugging lightly as that familiar smirk cracked that charismatic visage.
"It's just your imagination, Lana."
The enigma that's you, pulling me under…A spark burst in those green-flecked hazel eyes as her lashes lowered, a hint of suspicion fleetingly crossing her face. In a movement as natural as breathing she leant upwards, rosebud lips caressing his for a second before the kiss itself. It was slower, more deliberate, and sensual than all of those dreams of what was definitely to come. Left hand encircling her back, he supported her weight against him as she let go. The cool trails her fingers left on his bare head tripped up his flow; his heartbeat was probably matching her rapid palpitations. He deepened the kiss, and his right hand slipped into her left rear pocket, retrieving what she had hidden from his view.
"Wow," she murmured, her newfound boldness penetrating that gaze, when they parted to breathe, "Pablo Picasso must have been right then: Everything I can imagine is real."
Lex Luthor. Not Clark Kent. Leaner muscles, not an overpowering, almost impenetrable strength. Skilled hands, perfect lips, and she couldn't stop looking into that pair of magnetic frost-green eyes. It wasn't just physical, she realized, as she closed her eyes and relinquished her grasp of the surface consciousness. It wasn't love; not just merely how they made it. It was the filling of a cup you couldn't drink, both of which were more than empty. It was a giving in to an innermost craving, things you'd never admit to but you would regret forever to refuse. The unlikely knight had saved her from a close brush for one night. The only thing that diverted her attention were the garish yellows and reds of the Talon, but they were a stark reminder of how real this was.
The thing about Clark was that no matter what she did, a relationship was impossible. Maybe, she thought, her mind blurring, it was because he was the epitome of impossible. When the morning came there was every likelihood that she wouldn't be able to live with herself.
Reality was ugly.
So?
For now, she would give anything to be taken to pieces…
"Are you all right?"
It was a wonder she was not crying. He been in this position countless times and he'd never given a damn in the middle of it. That was the most distinct difference between his dreams and this reality. He couldn't even remember how Helen looked like now; who cared about memories when you were living out a fantasy? Everything else, the fervour, passion and pure mania were pieces of a jigsaw of which he knew the final picture. Prediction, not premonition. If only there was no eventual big picture, then maybe he would have taken an alternative route, for the sake of the girl who lay in his arms now. He bent down, tongue running across her upper lip; the salty taste of her sweat the only food he was hungry for. In these moments, in time and space, the universe was only the two of them.
"I don't think you'll need this anymore," he said, brandishing the switchblade in front of her upon taking it from the bedside table.
She didn't reply. Pain extends beyond the slicing of skin, blood and bone. Now she knew.
The words couldn't help dancing at the back of his mind, one that never stopped functioning even if his body was going into overdrive:
"These violent delights have violent ends
And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,
Which, as they kiss, consume."