"I'm sorry." Lex couldn't think of a moment when he had felt more stupid, more clumsy, more *wrong.* Not even from his childhood. "I'm sorry, Clark," he murmured again, all too aware of Clark's tight mouth and accusing eyes. He was unable to add that it was too much for him to believe, that the people who held him prisoner for three years had been more merciful than he would have been and that Clark had been spared any element he might have had to endure.
The anger in Clark's eyes subsided into hurt and Lex bit back a bark of laughter. Yes, it was possible for him to feel even guiltier.
He couldn't tell what uncertainty was lurking behind Clark's eyes, even when they softened. He was convinced that Clark was telling him the truth, but there was some hint of a reserved judgement, of thoughts withheld. He had to hold back laughter again--what would his father have said about a Luthor apologizing--twice--and then being grateful for what he was given? *Go to hell, Dad,* he thought as Clark, though still without a smile, rested an arm on his side, and he put his own hand on top of Clark's.
A stripe of light had begun to cross the white ceiling. Clark's eyes closed again and Lex looked around the room. Only a few specks of dust hovered in the sheaf of light and he realized how *clean* the room was. It hadn't just been left as it was; it had been kept as though they believed Clark would come back any day. Even a rapid cleaning at the news of his return would have stirred up more, that much he knew from his rare forays into the less-used rooms of the castle.
Clark's breathing had already steadied into the rhythm of sleep and Lex felt his guts churn with furious tenderness as he looked at the innocent, tired face. He was tempted to give him a last kiss and leave, to make sure that he wouldn't bruise him any further. But the promise he had made to himself and to Clark made him know that he would do no such thing. "I won't let anybody hurt you again," he had whispered. "Not even me." He smiled to himself. That promise was the most thorough trap he'd ever set--the fact that he'd set it for himself, knowingly, was an irony the Greek gods would have had a hard time equaling. Then again, Luthors were never known for modest aspirations or accomplishments.
***
Lex guessed that perhaps an hour had passed before Clark woke up again--the room was thoroughly light and a line of sunlight rested on Clark's tousled dark hair, turning some of the strands to dark brown. Clark yawned thoroughly and stretched, legs extending over the bottom of the bed.
Apparently bygones were bygones, as Clark smiled lazily at him. "What time is it?"
Lex pulled his arm from underneath his side to look at his watch. "Almost eight."
Clark continued to stretch, then put a hand on Lex's wrist. "That's not your mother's watch." Lex wasn't quite able to make himself meet Clark's eyes.
"No. It's...I'll put it back on." Clark seemed to understand and be satisfied, and with another yawn, got out of the bed and padded over to the window. He opened the blinds and almost seemed to rub himself against the sunlight that was streaming in, as if it were a physical thing he could swathe around himself. Lex watched as Clark all but purred, moving his body in an unconsciously almost dance-like series of motions to let the sunlight touch every part of his bare arms and legs. Fortunately for Lex's self-control, if unfortunately for his libido, Clark didn't pull off his t-shirt or shorts to let the light spill onto the rest of his body.
"Oh, that feels good," Clark murmured, as much to himself as to Lex, and then, suddenly self-conscious again, faltered, "I guess I thought I'd never feel it again..."
Lex was familiar with this, at least, with reassuring the timid teen boy that was still lurking inside Clark. He swung off the bed and went to join him. "It must feel wonderful," he smiled and touched Clark's hair again. He'd always wanted--no, required--dark hair, long enough to lose his hands in, in any date, let alone sexual partner, even before Clark. But after Clark, nothing had matched that living silk, as soft under his fingers and lips as down, or the fluff of a dandelion. Clark continued to bask in the sunlight as well as the caresses to his hair, finally resting his chin on Lex's head.
Just as Lex was ready to slip his arms around Clark's waist, Clark's stomach growled loudly. Lex closed his eyes for a second--he was definitely insane if even that was endearing--and Clark blushed. So that had clung to him, too. Drinking in that blush, the embarassed stance, it was almost possible to feel that those three years were nothing, as long as they stayed in that room.
The anger in Clark's eyes subsided into hurt and Lex bit back a bark of laughter. Yes, it was possible for him to feel even guiltier.
He couldn't tell what uncertainty was lurking behind Clark's eyes, even when they softened. He was convinced that Clark was telling him the truth, but there was some hint of a reserved judgement, of thoughts withheld. He had to hold back laughter again--what would his father have said about a Luthor apologizing--twice--and then being grateful for what he was given? *Go to hell, Dad,* he thought as Clark, though still without a smile, rested an arm on his side, and he put his own hand on top of Clark's.
A stripe of light had begun to cross the white ceiling. Clark's eyes closed again and Lex looked around the room. Only a few specks of dust hovered in the sheaf of light and he realized how *clean* the room was. It hadn't just been left as it was; it had been kept as though they believed Clark would come back any day. Even a rapid cleaning at the news of his return would have stirred up more, that much he knew from his rare forays into the less-used rooms of the castle.
Clark's breathing had already steadied into the rhythm of sleep and Lex felt his guts churn with furious tenderness as he looked at the innocent, tired face. He was tempted to give him a last kiss and leave, to make sure that he wouldn't bruise him any further. But the promise he had made to himself and to Clark made him know that he would do no such thing. "I won't let anybody hurt you again," he had whispered. "Not even me." He smiled to himself. That promise was the most thorough trap he'd ever set--the fact that he'd set it for himself, knowingly, was an irony the Greek gods would have had a hard time equaling. Then again, Luthors were never known for modest aspirations or accomplishments.
***
Lex guessed that perhaps an hour had passed before Clark woke up again--the room was thoroughly light and a line of sunlight rested on Clark's tousled dark hair, turning some of the strands to dark brown. Clark yawned thoroughly and stretched, legs extending over the bottom of the bed.
Apparently bygones were bygones, as Clark smiled lazily at him. "What time is it?"
Lex pulled his arm from underneath his side to look at his watch. "Almost eight."
Clark continued to stretch, then put a hand on Lex's wrist. "That's not your mother's watch." Lex wasn't quite able to make himself meet Clark's eyes.
"No. It's...I'll put it back on." Clark seemed to understand and be satisfied, and with another yawn, got out of the bed and padded over to the window. He opened the blinds and almost seemed to rub himself against the sunlight that was streaming in, as if it were a physical thing he could swathe around himself. Lex watched as Clark all but purred, moving his body in an unconsciously almost dance-like series of motions to let the sunlight touch every part of his bare arms and legs. Fortunately for Lex's self-control, if unfortunately for his libido, Clark didn't pull off his t-shirt or shorts to let the light spill onto the rest of his body.
"Oh, that feels good," Clark murmured, as much to himself as to Lex, and then, suddenly self-conscious again, faltered, "I guess I thought I'd never feel it again..."
Lex was familiar with this, at least, with reassuring the timid teen boy that was still lurking inside Clark. He swung off the bed and went to join him. "It must feel wonderful," he smiled and touched Clark's hair again. He'd always wanted--no, required--dark hair, long enough to lose his hands in, in any date, let alone sexual partner, even before Clark. But after Clark, nothing had matched that living silk, as soft under his fingers and lips as down, or the fluff of a dandelion. Clark continued to bask in the sunlight as well as the caresses to his hair, finally resting his chin on Lex's head.
Just as Lex was ready to slip his arms around Clark's waist, Clark's stomach growled loudly. Lex closed his eyes for a second--he was definitely insane if even that was endearing--and Clark blushed. So that had clung to him, too. Drinking in that blush, the embarassed stance, it was almost possible to feel that those three years were nothing, as long as they stayed in that room.