Title: Hurt and Alone Prequel--The Game
Author: Ras
Rating: PG-13 Warning: Character Abuse!!!
Category: Hurt/Comfort, Mild Slash
Summary: Hurt/Comfort galore. This story is about how Lex and Clark are physically hurt and emotionally alone, but find comfort in each other. The prequel is set at the end of "Hot Head" and is slightly alternate universe. Lionel confronts Lex about not firing the workers, only this time he's a little more violent. Parts 1 and 2 are post "X-ray" and are Clarkcentric. Parts 3 and 4 are written post "Jitters" when it's Clark's turn to take care of an injured and alone Lex.
Feedback: Always welcome. Please e-mail [1]RobinSchatz@msn.com
Disclaimer: Lex belongs to Clark and Clark belongs to Lex . . . wait, what I meant to say was that I don't own these characters. Smallville is copyright the WB. No infringement is intended.
Important Authors Notes: This story contains graphic physical abuse of a character. Although I don't think that the tv show Lex is actually physically abused, I like the concept. I think that there is enough pain in the Lionel and Lex relationship to support the idea. However, if you are unwilling to step slightly outside of cannon, you will not like this story. Also, although this part is Clark and Lex friendship, subsequent parts are slash. If you don't like slash, you might not like the story either.
indicates a character's thoughts.
**
The library doors exploded inward as Lionel Luthor stormed through them. "Would you care to explain THIS?" he shook a pile of papers furiously.
"Hello, Dad," Lex grinned. He had been anxiously awaiting this visit. He reminded himself that he couldn't act too excited, just . . . cocky. "You know Clark, right?" he gestured to the handsome young man examining the chess board across from him. Lex was sure his father couldn't care less, but it was the perfect nonchalant thing to say just to aggravate Lionel.
"I told you to FIRE those workers!"
"I see you got my business plan," Lex said proudly. "I'd call it ingenious." The irate look he received from his father was exactly what he was hoping for. It was about time he was given the chance to prove to his father how superior he was. Still, with the way Lionel was steaming, maybe it was best to move the conversation away from Clark. "Clark, will you excuse us a moment? Business calls," he explained as he strode out the door, his infuriated father inches behind him.
Lex made his way to the "war room," which he found ironically fitting. He settled on a spot by the roaring fireplace and finally turned to face the upcoming battle. "What's the matter, Dad? Aren't you pleased with all of the money I'm saving you?
Lionel was ready to blow, but he knew that Lex was trying to provoke him. Not to worry; he'd put his son in his place. "I told you to fire 20% of your workforce, and you send me this nonsense! Completely unacceptable!"
"You're just upset because my plan is so much better than yours," Lex gloated.
That was the act of defiance Lionel was waiting for. Apparently, his son needed a refresher lesson on his position in the world. He pulled the fireplace poker out of its holder and twirled it between his fingers. Lex stiffened upon recognition of the implement, but quickly recovered. Good, the boy is finally learning to hide his emotions. "You do as I say, Lex. After all this time, you still haven't learned your lesson. But don't worry; I'll teach you to be an obedient son yet."
Lionel tapped the metal lightly on his hand to demonstrate the weight. Lex's throat tightened in terror. Not again, not now . . . please not now. He had overplayed his hand. He knew that now, but it was too late. He tried to slow his escalating heart rate, blink back the water rushing to his eyes, and quickly formulate a new position. "What? Are you going to beat me now with Clark right in the other room to hear every blow? `Metropolis billionaire flogs son, witness says.' Doesn't make for the best PR, Dad."
Lionel snorted a laugh. "You think I care about what your peon farm boy thinks?" Lionel cackled evilly. He grabbed Lex's arm, spun him around, and pinned him to the back of the couch. Lionel shoved his son harder to emphasize how trapped he was; then he moved the poker close to Lex's face. He wanted Lex to get a good view of what he was about to be beaten with. Anticipation was the most effective part of punishment. Inches from Lex's ear he whispered, "I don't care what the Kent boy sees, but I bet that you do. Don't you? Shall we test that? Will you scream for Clark to come witness this?"
Lex' lip began to tremble with fear. He resigned himself to the whipping; his father had called his bluff. He couldn't take the humiliation of Clark knowing . . . He felt his body go limp in preparation for the upcoming thrashing.
"How much do you think you deserve, Lex? Hmmm?" Lionel tapped the metal rod on Lex's shoulder sending shivers up his spine. "You were supposed to fire 20% of your workers, and you fired none. How about a stroke for each percent, then?"
Twenty! Lex suddenly felt nauseas. God, twenty heavy blows from that cursed poker. From experience, he knew that his father could yield the weapon well. His back just couldn't take it. His silk shirt was shoved up his back. Rough hands ran lightly over the bare skin. Lex tried to flinch away, but he was too restrained to move. Being touched by his father was actually worse than being beaten. But . . . that was coming, too. He wished that his father would start; he prayed that he never would.
Lex felt the slightest breeze as the poker whipped through the air. Thud! It landed squarely on his back. Intense pain immediately radiated throughout. Lex hissed in agony, barely gasping in a breath before the tool resumed its position on his back. The two strokes formed an X with the center swelling into a deep, deep bruise. His father knew that the easiest way to break him was to deliver a few hard blows quickly to the same tortured area. It was working. Another blow smacked right into his shoulder blade eliciting a soft whimper from Lex's tight throat. Lex chided himself, Don't, Lex. You can't cry. He always punishes harder when you start to cry. You have to be quiet, keep it in. If Clark hears you . . . That was an unbearable thought. He bit down tightly on his lip hoping to contain the screams of agony threatening to escape at any moment. His ribs took another hard hit, which allowed a single tear to trickle slowly down his cheek.
Eventually, it was done. "You get one," Lionel taunted.
"One what?" Lex questioned, trying to conceal his pain. He wouldn't give his father the satisfaction of seeing him cry. But the slightest crack in his voice betrayed him.
"One chance to defy me."
Lex pulled himself together and turned to face his father without fear. "I won't need another one." Lex would be keeping his workers.
**
Lex permitted himself a moment of recovery after his father left. His back was badly bruised; he wondered if he broke a rib. It would be hard to pretend like everything was fine. He was glad that Clark was there, though. True, it would be extremely difficult to conceal his injuries, but at least he didn't have to face them alone. Being with Clark made him feel like maybe someone could actually like Lex Luthor; him, not his name. If Clark weren't there, he would have gone to his room alone with his pain and tears. At least with Clark there he could pretend that if Clark knew about the abuse, he'd care. Someone cared.
**
Lex tried not to limp as he reentered the room.
"Everything okay, Lex?" Clark asked with concern.
He shot Clark a genuine smile. "Fine, where were we?"
"You were teaching me how to get my ass kicked in chess."
"Right," Lex remembered. "You go yet?"
"Yeah, actually, I just took your knight."
Lex smiled. That was exactly the move he was expecting. "The thing about chess, Clark, is that sometimes taking a painful loss is the key to taking the king. Checkmate."
References
1. mailto:RobinSchatz@msn.com
Author: Ras
Rating: PG-13 Warning: Character Abuse!!!
Category: Hurt/Comfort, Mild Slash
Summary: Hurt/Comfort galore. This story is about how Lex and Clark are physically hurt and emotionally alone, but find comfort in each other. The prequel is set at the end of "Hot Head" and is slightly alternate universe. Lionel confronts Lex about not firing the workers, only this time he's a little more violent. Parts 1 and 2 are post "X-ray" and are Clarkcentric. Parts 3 and 4 are written post "Jitters" when it's Clark's turn to take care of an injured and alone Lex.
Feedback: Always welcome. Please e-mail [1]RobinSchatz@msn.com
Disclaimer: Lex belongs to Clark and Clark belongs to Lex . . . wait, what I meant to say was that I don't own these characters. Smallville is copyright the WB. No infringement is intended.
Important Authors Notes: This story contains graphic physical abuse of a character. Although I don't think that the tv show Lex is actually physically abused, I like the concept. I think that there is enough pain in the Lionel and Lex relationship to support the idea. However, if you are unwilling to step slightly outside of cannon, you will not like this story. Also, although this part is Clark and Lex friendship, subsequent parts are slash. If you don't like slash, you might not like the story either.
indicates a character's thoughts.
**
The library doors exploded inward as Lionel Luthor stormed through them. "Would you care to explain THIS?" he shook a pile of papers furiously.
"Hello, Dad," Lex grinned. He had been anxiously awaiting this visit. He reminded himself that he couldn't act too excited, just . . . cocky. "You know Clark, right?" he gestured to the handsome young man examining the chess board across from him. Lex was sure his father couldn't care less, but it was the perfect nonchalant thing to say just to aggravate Lionel.
"I told you to FIRE those workers!"
"I see you got my business plan," Lex said proudly. "I'd call it ingenious." The irate look he received from his father was exactly what he was hoping for. It was about time he was given the chance to prove to his father how superior he was. Still, with the way Lionel was steaming, maybe it was best to move the conversation away from Clark. "Clark, will you excuse us a moment? Business calls," he explained as he strode out the door, his infuriated father inches behind him.
Lex made his way to the "war room," which he found ironically fitting. He settled on a spot by the roaring fireplace and finally turned to face the upcoming battle. "What's the matter, Dad? Aren't you pleased with all of the money I'm saving you?
Lionel was ready to blow, but he knew that Lex was trying to provoke him. Not to worry; he'd put his son in his place. "I told you to fire 20% of your workforce, and you send me this nonsense! Completely unacceptable!"
"You're just upset because my plan is so much better than yours," Lex gloated.
That was the act of defiance Lionel was waiting for. Apparently, his son needed a refresher lesson on his position in the world. He pulled the fireplace poker out of its holder and twirled it between his fingers. Lex stiffened upon recognition of the implement, but quickly recovered. Good, the boy is finally learning to hide his emotions. "You do as I say, Lex. After all this time, you still haven't learned your lesson. But don't worry; I'll teach you to be an obedient son yet."
Lionel tapped the metal lightly on his hand to demonstrate the weight. Lex's throat tightened in terror. Not again, not now . . . please not now. He had overplayed his hand. He knew that now, but it was too late. He tried to slow his escalating heart rate, blink back the water rushing to his eyes, and quickly formulate a new position. "What? Are you going to beat me now with Clark right in the other room to hear every blow? `Metropolis billionaire flogs son, witness says.' Doesn't make for the best PR, Dad."
Lionel snorted a laugh. "You think I care about what your peon farm boy thinks?" Lionel cackled evilly. He grabbed Lex's arm, spun him around, and pinned him to the back of the couch. Lionel shoved his son harder to emphasize how trapped he was; then he moved the poker close to Lex's face. He wanted Lex to get a good view of what he was about to be beaten with. Anticipation was the most effective part of punishment. Inches from Lex's ear he whispered, "I don't care what the Kent boy sees, but I bet that you do. Don't you? Shall we test that? Will you scream for Clark to come witness this?"
Lex' lip began to tremble with fear. He resigned himself to the whipping; his father had called his bluff. He couldn't take the humiliation of Clark knowing . . . He felt his body go limp in preparation for the upcoming thrashing.
"How much do you think you deserve, Lex? Hmmm?" Lionel tapped the metal rod on Lex's shoulder sending shivers up his spine. "You were supposed to fire 20% of your workers, and you fired none. How about a stroke for each percent, then?"
Twenty! Lex suddenly felt nauseas. God, twenty heavy blows from that cursed poker. From experience, he knew that his father could yield the weapon well. His back just couldn't take it. His silk shirt was shoved up his back. Rough hands ran lightly over the bare skin. Lex tried to flinch away, but he was too restrained to move. Being touched by his father was actually worse than being beaten. But . . . that was coming, too. He wished that his father would start; he prayed that he never would.
Lex felt the slightest breeze as the poker whipped through the air. Thud! It landed squarely on his back. Intense pain immediately radiated throughout. Lex hissed in agony, barely gasping in a breath before the tool resumed its position on his back. The two strokes formed an X with the center swelling into a deep, deep bruise. His father knew that the easiest way to break him was to deliver a few hard blows quickly to the same tortured area. It was working. Another blow smacked right into his shoulder blade eliciting a soft whimper from Lex's tight throat. Lex chided himself, Don't, Lex. You can't cry. He always punishes harder when you start to cry. You have to be quiet, keep it in. If Clark hears you . . . That was an unbearable thought. He bit down tightly on his lip hoping to contain the screams of agony threatening to escape at any moment. His ribs took another hard hit, which allowed a single tear to trickle slowly down his cheek.
Eventually, it was done. "You get one," Lionel taunted.
"One what?" Lex questioned, trying to conceal his pain. He wouldn't give his father the satisfaction of seeing him cry. But the slightest crack in his voice betrayed him.
"One chance to defy me."
Lex pulled himself together and turned to face his father without fear. "I won't need another one." Lex would be keeping his workers.
**
Lex permitted himself a moment of recovery after his father left. His back was badly bruised; he wondered if he broke a rib. It would be hard to pretend like everything was fine. He was glad that Clark was there, though. True, it would be extremely difficult to conceal his injuries, but at least he didn't have to face them alone. Being with Clark made him feel like maybe someone could actually like Lex Luthor; him, not his name. If Clark weren't there, he would have gone to his room alone with his pain and tears. At least with Clark there he could pretend that if Clark knew about the abuse, he'd care. Someone cared.
**
Lex tried not to limp as he reentered the room.
"Everything okay, Lex?" Clark asked with concern.
He shot Clark a genuine smile. "Fine, where were we?"
"You were teaching me how to get my ass kicked in chess."
"Right," Lex remembered. "You go yet?"
"Yeah, actually, I just took your knight."
Lex smiled. That was exactly the move he was expecting. "The thing about chess, Clark, is that sometimes taking a painful loss is the key to taking the king. Checkmate."
References
1. mailto:RobinSchatz@msn.com