Lex smiled as he saw Clark realize what he was holding. Taking his time, he moved the gun closer and closer to Clark's face, finally placing the muzzle against Clark's lips.
"Suck it, Clark." He kept his voice low, even intimate. "Just like you sucked me off that night." He turned his wrist a fraction of an inch so that the gun nudged suggestively at Clark's lips. "Now, Clark. Do it now." He twisted the gun again.
He lifted his eyes from the gun and Clark's mouth to meet Clark's own gaze.
Clark hadn't changed his methods a bit. The eyes that met him seemed to overflow with what he could only characterize as an expression of trust, and innocence, and love. Clark must think that he was still an infatuated idiot. Somebody who hadn't learned the lesson Clark had mercilessly taught.
"Do it, Clark." He lifted the gun away to slide it across Clark's cheek, then back to his mouth. Clark's eyes didn't leave his for an instant, or change expression. If anything, his face seemed to become more gentle, almost otherworldly, with the pale skin over the pure lines of the bones, and the eyes huge and almost, almost disarming.
Lex took a deep breath. "All right, then." He'd drop the elaborate plans. Finish it now so those eyes wouldn't look at him any more like that. He pulled the gun back, pointing it directly at Clark's right eye, withdrawing it slowly so that Clark would have the chance to stop, to flinch, to break that regretful, tender gaze.
It felt as intimate a moment of mutual surrender as when Clark had timidly, eyes lowered, blushing furiously, said that he loved him, and Lex had responded. He pulled the trigger, noting as he did the faint tremor of his hand.
There was nothing but a red mark on Clark's cheekbone, then nothing but a bullet popping into the air, and landing, flattened, on the bed. He saw that both he and Clark were looking at it, and he reached with his free hand to pick it up.
It lay in the palm of his hand, just barely cooled enough to touch, the point smashed flat. He turned it over with his thumb, then looked again at Clark. Now, Clark's eyes were finally lowered.
He put it and the gun down on the table and touched the faint red mark on Clark's cheek, not moving his hand even after he felt the heat of the bullet's impact. Every motion seemed as slow and stylized as a Noh play, or as though all the possible futures this moment could hold were material in the air around them, and each gesture had to push through them. Clark's hand rose to touch his, lightly cupped over the curve of his own hand.
"So it was true."
"Yes."
"But you...you still lied to me." Lex tried to regain some coldness, some harshness. Instead, his voice was plaintive.
"Forgive me, Lex." No words of excuse. No explanation. Just the request.
"Would you have told me the truth?" It felt as though these moments were made out of honesty. A final, naked honesty between them.
"Yes. I don't know when. But I always wanted to. From that first time I saw that my hiding it hurt you."
Lex found another grievance, as he frantically searched his mind for something to rekindle the anger and hate that had been part of him for so long. "You wrote to your parents. Not to me." If he had been so blind and so wrong for those years, then he was beneath contempt. Clark had taught him about trust, but not enough. Not enough.
"They made me. They dictated what I had to say. I was afraid that if I asked to write to you, they'd think that you were helping me. They threatened my parents. I was afraid that by mentioning you, I'd already put you in danger. I wasn't going to risk it." Clark's voice was slow and hesitant, as if he were translating from another language. "Those years...I kept thinking about you. I didn't know whether to hope that you still loved me or that you'd forget about me. I never dreamt you'd hate me."
"How could I not? It was as though...as though you'd reached deep inside me, only to rip me apart." Lex shook his head. "That's a melodramatic way to put it."
"If I'd known..."
"We could both say that." The amusement that nearly rose to his throat in a laugh felt as tangible and bitter as bile. If he'd known that Clark had been taken away from him, well, he might have still destroyed lives, but it would have been to reclaim what was his. He'd have let nothing keep him from rescuing his lover, and Clark's return to his life would have been redemption.
"Lex...do you still love me?" Lex recognized this as the final question that had to be asked for honesty between them. Easy to say yes. Wise to say no. Painful to tell the truth.
"I...I don't know." And now he had to ask. "Do you still love me?" He had no doubts about the validity of the question, no doubts that Clark had loved him.
Clark nodded slowly. "All I could do there was keep loving you. If I'm still sane, it's because I was able to keep loving you. You and my parents and my friends. But especially you. "
Lex flattened his hand against Clark's cheek, so every part that could touch even a fraction of Clark's skin was resting against it. Clark's own hand flattened against his. "I don't deserve that. Maybe then I did. But not now." If seeing love in Clark's eyes was agonizing, he knew he'd never withstand seeing the contempt that would come with comprehension of the kind of man he had become. Lex moved his hand from underneath Clark's and turning, left the room.
"Suck it, Clark." He kept his voice low, even intimate. "Just like you sucked me off that night." He turned his wrist a fraction of an inch so that the gun nudged suggestively at Clark's lips. "Now, Clark. Do it now." He twisted the gun again.
He lifted his eyes from the gun and Clark's mouth to meet Clark's own gaze.
Clark hadn't changed his methods a bit. The eyes that met him seemed to overflow with what he could only characterize as an expression of trust, and innocence, and love. Clark must think that he was still an infatuated idiot. Somebody who hadn't learned the lesson Clark had mercilessly taught.
"Do it, Clark." He lifted the gun away to slide it across Clark's cheek, then back to his mouth. Clark's eyes didn't leave his for an instant, or change expression. If anything, his face seemed to become more gentle, almost otherworldly, with the pale skin over the pure lines of the bones, and the eyes huge and almost, almost disarming.
Lex took a deep breath. "All right, then." He'd drop the elaborate plans. Finish it now so those eyes wouldn't look at him any more like that. He pulled the gun back, pointing it directly at Clark's right eye, withdrawing it slowly so that Clark would have the chance to stop, to flinch, to break that regretful, tender gaze.
It felt as intimate a moment of mutual surrender as when Clark had timidly, eyes lowered, blushing furiously, said that he loved him, and Lex had responded. He pulled the trigger, noting as he did the faint tremor of his hand.
There was nothing but a red mark on Clark's cheekbone, then nothing but a bullet popping into the air, and landing, flattened, on the bed. He saw that both he and Clark were looking at it, and he reached with his free hand to pick it up.
It lay in the palm of his hand, just barely cooled enough to touch, the point smashed flat. He turned it over with his thumb, then looked again at Clark. Now, Clark's eyes were finally lowered.
He put it and the gun down on the table and touched the faint red mark on Clark's cheek, not moving his hand even after he felt the heat of the bullet's impact. Every motion seemed as slow and stylized as a Noh play, or as though all the possible futures this moment could hold were material in the air around them, and each gesture had to push through them. Clark's hand rose to touch his, lightly cupped over the curve of his own hand.
"So it was true."
"Yes."
"But you...you still lied to me." Lex tried to regain some coldness, some harshness. Instead, his voice was plaintive.
"Forgive me, Lex." No words of excuse. No explanation. Just the request.
"Would you have told me the truth?" It felt as though these moments were made out of honesty. A final, naked honesty between them.
"Yes. I don't know when. But I always wanted to. From that first time I saw that my hiding it hurt you."
Lex found another grievance, as he frantically searched his mind for something to rekindle the anger and hate that had been part of him for so long. "You wrote to your parents. Not to me." If he had been so blind and so wrong for those years, then he was beneath contempt. Clark had taught him about trust, but not enough. Not enough.
"They made me. They dictated what I had to say. I was afraid that if I asked to write to you, they'd think that you were helping me. They threatened my parents. I was afraid that by mentioning you, I'd already put you in danger. I wasn't going to risk it." Clark's voice was slow and hesitant, as if he were translating from another language. "Those years...I kept thinking about you. I didn't know whether to hope that you still loved me or that you'd forget about me. I never dreamt you'd hate me."
"How could I not? It was as though...as though you'd reached deep inside me, only to rip me apart." Lex shook his head. "That's a melodramatic way to put it."
"If I'd known..."
"We could both say that." The amusement that nearly rose to his throat in a laugh felt as tangible and bitter as bile. If he'd known that Clark had been taken away from him, well, he might have still destroyed lives, but it would have been to reclaim what was his. He'd have let nothing keep him from rescuing his lover, and Clark's return to his life would have been redemption.
"Lex...do you still love me?" Lex recognized this as the final question that had to be asked for honesty between them. Easy to say yes. Wise to say no. Painful to tell the truth.
"I...I don't know." And now he had to ask. "Do you still love me?" He had no doubts about the validity of the question, no doubts that Clark had loved him.
Clark nodded slowly. "All I could do there was keep loving you. If I'm still sane, it's because I was able to keep loving you. You and my parents and my friends. But especially you. "
Lex flattened his hand against Clark's cheek, so every part that could touch even a fraction of Clark's skin was resting against it. Clark's own hand flattened against his. "I don't deserve that. Maybe then I did. But not now." If seeing love in Clark's eyes was agonizing, he knew he'd never withstand seeing the contempt that would come with comprehension of the kind of man he had become. Lex moved his hand from underneath Clark's and turning, left the room.