Disclaimers: I don't own Clark, or Lex, or even Chloe. I don't think one could rent them at the local Gingiss Formalwear, either, as nice as that would be. (Hey, I might get them messy, but I'd promise to return them pressed and in good shape.)
Vague spoilers for Tempest, although I futzed around with the timing, and twisted things for my own evil purposes.
***
Clark does not like to let go. He holds himself in check. Years of parental admonition have honed his self protective skills. No knives can cut him, nor chisels chip his armor. He is a stone angel, in a muddy graveyard. Rain will fall on him, shit will pile on him, and he will do nothing.
His father has tried to teach him, an examined life is not worth living. Clark knows there's something wrong with that phrase, but doesn't have the heart to correct him. Better he should be grateful for the blessings he does have: Jonathan's uncomplicated affection for him. Martha's absolutely unbiased love. (He is pretty sure she knows him, and does not find him lacking.)
Despite his parents fears, Clark is desperate to examine his life. He thinks he would submit to just about anything, if it would stop the questions, even for a little while. He wants to be vivisected, pinned down, his parts all neatly labeled. How odd that what he wants most in the world, and fears most are so much the same. He thinks it's a matter of trusting who holds the scalpel. The fact is that no one can touch him deeply enough to feel.
Well, almost nobody. Clark is pretty sure Lex could get past his defenses.
He's not sure what to think about Chloe. He's always liked her. She's cute, and fun, and returns his conversational volleys like no one else. And now that he knows she likes him, he figures she should get what she wants. But the fact is, he has to *think* about her. He's never considered her in that way at all. Pete said she'd been giving obvious signals, and he'd never noticed. That had to mean something.
Because he'd picked up Lex's subtlest hints. Those quick looks that made him feel naked. The fingers accidentally on purpose brushing his shoulder as he sat down; touching him as he handed Clark his coffee cup. Clark didn't have to *make* himself think about Lex. Those images popped up, unbidden. Like an open carton of eggs in the refrigerator, Lex's presence permeated his shell.
Clark thought about telling him everything. He was so fucking sick of secrets, of lies, of his parents mistrust of anything to do with the Luthor name. He didn't know what had happened in the past to make them feel this way. It was just another of the things on the list of 'stuff we don't talk about.' Certainly it was more than bad business dealings, and money matters that most of the rest of Smallville felt. But it wasn't his and Lex's battle.
He wants so badly to trust him completely, but his father's fears color his reaction even to nonexistent threats. Every conversation is second-guessed.
*What did Lex mean by that? How would he react if I told him I wanted him? Loved him. If I told him who --what-- I really was?*
He wants to lay himself bare.
He's not really surprised when Lex appears at the steps of the barn, offering help with Clark's tux. That's what a good friend does, and Lex is nothing if not a good friend. He half expects Lex to slap him on the back, and hand him a condom. The thought makes him shiver, and it doesn't involve Chloe at all. He feels Lex's warm hands on his chest, smoothing out the wrinkles. The sky is turning a smoky purple, and the wind is picking up. Winds of change, and it's time he gets the hint.
"Come into my cellar," he says. There's a storm to wait out.
Vague spoilers for Tempest, although I futzed around with the timing, and twisted things for my own evil purposes.
***
Clark does not like to let go. He holds himself in check. Years of parental admonition have honed his self protective skills. No knives can cut him, nor chisels chip his armor. He is a stone angel, in a muddy graveyard. Rain will fall on him, shit will pile on him, and he will do nothing.
His father has tried to teach him, an examined life is not worth living. Clark knows there's something wrong with that phrase, but doesn't have the heart to correct him. Better he should be grateful for the blessings he does have: Jonathan's uncomplicated affection for him. Martha's absolutely unbiased love. (He is pretty sure she knows him, and does not find him lacking.)
Despite his parents fears, Clark is desperate to examine his life. He thinks he would submit to just about anything, if it would stop the questions, even for a little while. He wants to be vivisected, pinned down, his parts all neatly labeled. How odd that what he wants most in the world, and fears most are so much the same. He thinks it's a matter of trusting who holds the scalpel. The fact is that no one can touch him deeply enough to feel.
Well, almost nobody. Clark is pretty sure Lex could get past his defenses.
He's not sure what to think about Chloe. He's always liked her. She's cute, and fun, and returns his conversational volleys like no one else. And now that he knows she likes him, he figures she should get what she wants. But the fact is, he has to *think* about her. He's never considered her in that way at all. Pete said she'd been giving obvious signals, and he'd never noticed. That had to mean something.
Because he'd picked up Lex's subtlest hints. Those quick looks that made him feel naked. The fingers accidentally on purpose brushing his shoulder as he sat down; touching him as he handed Clark his coffee cup. Clark didn't have to *make* himself think about Lex. Those images popped up, unbidden. Like an open carton of eggs in the refrigerator, Lex's presence permeated his shell.
Clark thought about telling him everything. He was so fucking sick of secrets, of lies, of his parents mistrust of anything to do with the Luthor name. He didn't know what had happened in the past to make them feel this way. It was just another of the things on the list of 'stuff we don't talk about.' Certainly it was more than bad business dealings, and money matters that most of the rest of Smallville felt. But it wasn't his and Lex's battle.
He wants so badly to trust him completely, but his father's fears color his reaction even to nonexistent threats. Every conversation is second-guessed.
*What did Lex mean by that? How would he react if I told him I wanted him? Loved him. If I told him who --what-- I really was?*
He wants to lay himself bare.
He's not really surprised when Lex appears at the steps of the barn, offering help with Clark's tux. That's what a good friend does, and Lex is nothing if not a good friend. He half expects Lex to slap him on the back, and hand him a condom. The thought makes him shiver, and it doesn't involve Chloe at all. He feels Lex's warm hands on his chest, smoothing out the wrinkles. The sky is turning a smoky purple, and the wind is picking up. Winds of change, and it's time he gets the hint.
"Come into my cellar," he says. There's a storm to wait out.