Much love to my goddess of a beta, Bonibaru, and also to the PSG.
***
There are rules. Always rules, because Clark's a responsible young
man, and Lex Luthor is just plain dangerous.
Dangerous in a *throw me down and tie me up* kind of way, granted,
but still *dangerous*.
Lana keeps Lex safe. Clark isn't sure if that's a rule, or just a
touchstone he needs, a barrier he can throw up instead of leaning into
a kiss. She hangs in the air between them- the blanket of space that
Clark needs to keep himself together around Lex. He feels Lex's eyes
on him, and his own eyelids feel heavy underneath the scrutiny. But
Lana keeps Lex safe.
It's probably borderline rule-breaking to be here again, after school,
soaking up the icy chill of Lex's very good air conditioning. It stings,
the way Clark imagines a paper cut would feel, that this is what he
promised himself for making it through last period English Literature.
When did Lex time become a reward?
Six different kinds of worrying, that, and his excuses to himself are as
scuffed as his gym shoes. The rules are there for a reason, god, Lana's
here in the air *for a reason*, because all these afternoons of Coke
and pool and sitting in rooms with the curtains drawn are starting to
add up to promises. Clark can't afford promises.
Maybe if it wasn't so comfortable he wouldn't keep coming here.
Lex hasn't said anything for the last five minutes and Clark is running
out of stories to tell- he could try and tease Lex into some grand
speech scattered with references to ancient Persia, but there's a small
smile playing around the edges of Lex's mouth that he really likes and
doesn't feel like disturbing.
Lex is half draped across the corner of the couch, looking warm and
contented- like listening to Clark bitch about gym class is the high
point of his day.
Clark lets his chatter die down slowly- drawn into this strange mood of
Lex's- feeling the edges of his smooth, lazy amusement.
That's not such a great thing, because now it's just him and Lex and
silence- Lex looking all kinds of things Clark shouldn't even be
thinking- creamy white sweater that he *knows* would be really,
really soft, and normal people just don't wear things like that. Clark
thinks Lex may as well hang a great big sign saying *Stroke Me*
around his neck.
Yeah, around his neck, or around his *waist*, just where the sweater
has ridden up a little, and Clark can just *see* the shifting muscles
above the top of Lex's pants.
Lex looks up and oh, Clark *knows* he's been caught. Swallows
heavily, and it really shouldn't be this hard to just look away.
His lip part a little, and more than anything, he just want to bend his
head and *taste*.
He's suddenly really, really hard, and he *hopes*, he hopes that Lex
can't tell.
Lex's eyes are serious, and this - this silence and this closeness, and
this *whatever it is* - is rule-breaking of a huge kind. So why are his
eyes sliding shut, and why is his tongue darting out to wet his lips?
He feels the shift on the sofa, can feel the heat of lips hovering near
his.
Blind panic. He can't do this, he can't, there are so many reasons why
he can't do this.
A little jerk away and-
'Whitney isn't coming back.' he blurts out, harshly. And wishes he
could take the words back, because this isn't how the game is played.
He's never needed to make himself this obvious before.
Lex moves immediately, a tensing Clark feels rather than sees, and
the couch suddenly seems much larger. Lex in retreat is small. He
hears himself blunder on, wondering what part of his brain is doing
this.
'Lana isn't- Lana doesn't want to do the, uh, long distance thing, so
she-' he leaves the sentence hanging in the air, and it frightens him.
Lana keeps Lex safe- but Whitney kept Lana safe, and he worries that
soon everything will be turned around. Briefly, he longs for Chloe,
wishes there had been no break up before her move to Seattle. He
thinks he could deal with a long distance relationship. He can *do*
email.
Clark steals a sideways glance at Lex.
He wonders what Lex is thinking, knows that he's probably putting
pieces together, and- there it is. He sees Lex's mouth harden almost
imperceptibly. He guesses that now Lex knows exactly the game he's
been playing, only it *isn't* a game, not a game *at all*, but he can't
think of a better word for it.
He feels like it's all been so obvious- can't believe that Lex hasn't
noticed the strange tone in his voice since the day he suddenly
discovered that he liked talking to Lex about Lana more than he liked
Lana herself.
Since he discovered that he *really liked Lex*.
Since, well, Victoria.
That's when he realised, of course. The moment she leaned in to
nibble on Lex's ear, Clark knew who he was and what he wanted: a
Smallville country *boy* - god, *alien* who wanted *Lex*. Impossible
to realise that Lex wanted him too, even if that's what plays in
hindsight.
Anyway, realisation doesn't help much- it's still easier to smile brightly
and speak longingly of Lana whenever the wanting becomes too much-
whenever he finds himself hard and aching, because Clark has secrets
and Lex has Victoria, pet scientists, Desiree and a name - and it all
adds up to Out of Bounds for Clark Kent.
'Clark.' Lex says finally, and his voice is just slightly brittle. 'You aren't
going to give me any more excuses, are you?'
Clark forces himself to keep still, first impulse to whip around guiltily.
'You like her, she likes you. No more Whitney. I'm guessing you're
pretty much set now - no more excuses to hide behind. I for one will
be fully relieved to see a resolution to the Clark Kent Unrequited Love
saga.' Lex sounds -- a lot less smooth than usual. Edge to his voice
Clark never thought he'd hear directed at *him*.
Clark forces a smile. Lex pushes himself off the couch in one fluid
motion.
'I wonder what we'll have to talk about once you and the lovely Miss
Lang finally fall into each others' arms.'
Clark shifts nervously.
'Lex- ' he begins, not knowing how to finish the sentence.
'Hmm?'
'I - nothing.' Lex nods, like he expected that, and moves to the door.
'I have some -' Lex pauses for a second, eyes distant, and Clark
realises in an instant that he's hurt him, he's hurt *Lex Luthor*.
Another instant, and the sudden ache that he doesn't know how to
*fix* this squeezes his chest.
'I have some phone calls to make.' Sentence bitten off before the
usual *but you're welcome to stay, I shouldn't be too long.*
Clark suddenly needs to run home to the barn and burrow under the
heap of blankets on the couch. Like, *now*. He jumps up quickly.
'I should get home anyhow. Uh - chores. And - homework.'
Lex doesn't kid him about high school as he leaves, doesn't show him
to the door or watch until he's gone. Clark would miss the feeling of
Lex's eyes following him down the drive if he wasn't too busy trying to
blink back tears. Super-speed's really not a good idea when his
vision's this blurry, no matter how much he wants to be away.
Clark tells himself that this is how it's supposed to be and walks home
slowly.
***
There are rules. Always rules, because Clark's a responsible young
man, and Lex Luthor is just plain dangerous.
Dangerous in a *throw me down and tie me up* kind of way, granted,
but still *dangerous*.
Lana keeps Lex safe. Clark isn't sure if that's a rule, or just a
touchstone he needs, a barrier he can throw up instead of leaning into
a kiss. She hangs in the air between them- the blanket of space that
Clark needs to keep himself together around Lex. He feels Lex's eyes
on him, and his own eyelids feel heavy underneath the scrutiny. But
Lana keeps Lex safe.
It's probably borderline rule-breaking to be here again, after school,
soaking up the icy chill of Lex's very good air conditioning. It stings,
the way Clark imagines a paper cut would feel, that this is what he
promised himself for making it through last period English Literature.
When did Lex time become a reward?
Six different kinds of worrying, that, and his excuses to himself are as
scuffed as his gym shoes. The rules are there for a reason, god, Lana's
here in the air *for a reason*, because all these afternoons of Coke
and pool and sitting in rooms with the curtains drawn are starting to
add up to promises. Clark can't afford promises.
Maybe if it wasn't so comfortable he wouldn't keep coming here.
Lex hasn't said anything for the last five minutes and Clark is running
out of stories to tell- he could try and tease Lex into some grand
speech scattered with references to ancient Persia, but there's a small
smile playing around the edges of Lex's mouth that he really likes and
doesn't feel like disturbing.
Lex is half draped across the corner of the couch, looking warm and
contented- like listening to Clark bitch about gym class is the high
point of his day.
Clark lets his chatter die down slowly- drawn into this strange mood of
Lex's- feeling the edges of his smooth, lazy amusement.
That's not such a great thing, because now it's just him and Lex and
silence- Lex looking all kinds of things Clark shouldn't even be
thinking- creamy white sweater that he *knows* would be really,
really soft, and normal people just don't wear things like that. Clark
thinks Lex may as well hang a great big sign saying *Stroke Me*
around his neck.
Yeah, around his neck, or around his *waist*, just where the sweater
has ridden up a little, and Clark can just *see* the shifting muscles
above the top of Lex's pants.
Lex looks up and oh, Clark *knows* he's been caught. Swallows
heavily, and it really shouldn't be this hard to just look away.
His lip part a little, and more than anything, he just want to bend his
head and *taste*.
He's suddenly really, really hard, and he *hopes*, he hopes that Lex
can't tell.
Lex's eyes are serious, and this - this silence and this closeness, and
this *whatever it is* - is rule-breaking of a huge kind. So why are his
eyes sliding shut, and why is his tongue darting out to wet his lips?
He feels the shift on the sofa, can feel the heat of lips hovering near
his.
Blind panic. He can't do this, he can't, there are so many reasons why
he can't do this.
A little jerk away and-
'Whitney isn't coming back.' he blurts out, harshly. And wishes he
could take the words back, because this isn't how the game is played.
He's never needed to make himself this obvious before.
Lex moves immediately, a tensing Clark feels rather than sees, and
the couch suddenly seems much larger. Lex in retreat is small. He
hears himself blunder on, wondering what part of his brain is doing
this.
'Lana isn't- Lana doesn't want to do the, uh, long distance thing, so
she-' he leaves the sentence hanging in the air, and it frightens him.
Lana keeps Lex safe- but Whitney kept Lana safe, and he worries that
soon everything will be turned around. Briefly, he longs for Chloe,
wishes there had been no break up before her move to Seattle. He
thinks he could deal with a long distance relationship. He can *do*
email.
Clark steals a sideways glance at Lex.
He wonders what Lex is thinking, knows that he's probably putting
pieces together, and- there it is. He sees Lex's mouth harden almost
imperceptibly. He guesses that now Lex knows exactly the game he's
been playing, only it *isn't* a game, not a game *at all*, but he can't
think of a better word for it.
He feels like it's all been so obvious- can't believe that Lex hasn't
noticed the strange tone in his voice since the day he suddenly
discovered that he liked talking to Lex about Lana more than he liked
Lana herself.
Since he discovered that he *really liked Lex*.
Since, well, Victoria.
That's when he realised, of course. The moment she leaned in to
nibble on Lex's ear, Clark knew who he was and what he wanted: a
Smallville country *boy* - god, *alien* who wanted *Lex*. Impossible
to realise that Lex wanted him too, even if that's what plays in
hindsight.
Anyway, realisation doesn't help much- it's still easier to smile brightly
and speak longingly of Lana whenever the wanting becomes too much-
whenever he finds himself hard and aching, because Clark has secrets
and Lex has Victoria, pet scientists, Desiree and a name - and it all
adds up to Out of Bounds for Clark Kent.
'Clark.' Lex says finally, and his voice is just slightly brittle. 'You aren't
going to give me any more excuses, are you?'
Clark forces himself to keep still, first impulse to whip around guiltily.
'You like her, she likes you. No more Whitney. I'm guessing you're
pretty much set now - no more excuses to hide behind. I for one will
be fully relieved to see a resolution to the Clark Kent Unrequited Love
saga.' Lex sounds -- a lot less smooth than usual. Edge to his voice
Clark never thought he'd hear directed at *him*.
Clark forces a smile. Lex pushes himself off the couch in one fluid
motion.
'I wonder what we'll have to talk about once you and the lovely Miss
Lang finally fall into each others' arms.'
Clark shifts nervously.
'Lex- ' he begins, not knowing how to finish the sentence.
'Hmm?'
'I - nothing.' Lex nods, like he expected that, and moves to the door.
'I have some -' Lex pauses for a second, eyes distant, and Clark
realises in an instant that he's hurt him, he's hurt *Lex Luthor*.
Another instant, and the sudden ache that he doesn't know how to
*fix* this squeezes his chest.
'I have some phone calls to make.' Sentence bitten off before the
usual *but you're welcome to stay, I shouldn't be too long.*
Clark suddenly needs to run home to the barn and burrow under the
heap of blankets on the couch. Like, *now*. He jumps up quickly.
'I should get home anyhow. Uh - chores. And - homework.'
Lex doesn't kid him about high school as he leaves, doesn't show him
to the door or watch until he's gone. Clark would miss the feeling of
Lex's eyes following him down the drive if he wasn't too busy trying to
blink back tears. Super-speed's really not a good idea when his
vision's this blurry, no matter how much he wants to be away.
Clark tells himself that this is how it's supposed to be and walks home
slowly.