Disclaimer.I don't own, control, or even have official use of Clark or Lex. If I did, their lives would be a lot less angsty.
Part of the Clex Challenge http://www.kardasi.com/Lexclusive/ClexFest
*Lex told us he would do anything to protect his friends but what lengths would he go to in order to protect Clark? (Jezebel the Temptress)*
Thanks to Jenn (no, not that one) who said (after reading my stories) "I really ought to start watching this show, shouldn't I?"
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Clark's got that look again. Haunted, wounded, he's shocked by his own strength, dismayed by his own weaknesses. He's holed up in his loft, golden arms wrapped around himself, as if that would hold him in check, make him "normal". It's amazing how his palpable air of hopelessness has given the usually open and breezy space a feeling of cave-like dankness. It could almost be the castle. When Clark sulks, he sulks big. Even the sunlight seems to be shying away.
Another crisis has passed, thanks to Clark's quick action, and impulses. The town can go back to being oblivious, stop locking their doors against another green glowing monster. There are probably just as many child molesters, date rapists, and wife beaters living in Smallville as before, but one more meteor mutant has been silenced, with a Clark Kent thirty yard toss. It's a move that ought to be patented. It's also a move that ought to be unnecessary for a 17 year old boy to commit. By all rights, his biggest worry should be how he's going to sneak out of the house on a weeknight, and meet me for a rendezvous at the castle. cI know, that's a maudlin phrase, nearly worthy of being a Thomas Kinkade title, but look at him. God knows I can't help it.
After I handle the logistics, it's time to handle Clark. It's easy for me to take care of the gory details in a town where Chloe Sullivan does more in-depth investigation than the local PD. We haven't really discussed it in great detail -- plausible deniability -- but in general, he knows the role I play in his life. We have a don't ask, don't tell policy about certain things, but we know each other's truths. We share a sense of alienation. While his may be literal, and mine is social, it's made us both wary and guarded -- except with each other. There is nobody I trust besides him. No one I would let touch me. I am an almost immovable object, in love with a nearly unstoppable force.
I've covered his ass more times than I can count -- usually in purely pleasurable privacy -- but sometimes in a way that involves calling in favors, and well placed bribes to cops who look the other way.
Clark's father thinks I am the biggest threat to his son's safety. By digging into his secrets, I'm bound to ruin his future. He doesn't understand that I have to know the truth, if I want any chance to protect him. It's not just my insatiable curiosity.
I'll admit, I've made many mistakes in aid of that curiosity. I shouldn't have involved anyone else in my research -- least of all Roger Nixon, whose commitment to journalist integrity is about as strong as mine is to double coupon shopping at the IGA. I should have been honest with Clark from the beginning, persuaded him to be honest -- and open -- with me. But I'm a Luthor, and lies come as easily to me as blushes do to Clark.
Until today, I never had to get my own hands dirty. I don't know if I'll ever be clean again. It doesn't matter, though. I'd do it again. I didn't hesitate this time. Clark needs his father. He deserves that unconditional love and support. Jonathan may hate me, and he's got valid reasons beyond his prejudice, but he'd never feel anything negative for Clark.
I want to believe that this handshake meant something to him, that he believes I would do anything for his son. I want Clark to believe in me again, to trust me. I want him to know that while I've lied, and done things I'm not proud of, I've always loved him. I've just been misguided. I need forgiveness, even more so from Clark, than from my own father. Clark, at least, once thought the best of me. I want to believe I deserved it. I want to believe that my motivations weren't entirely selfish.
I know that as his physical prowess grows, so does his sense of justice, and his own need to serve -- no matter what it takes out of him emotionally.
Clark Kent saved my life, and in what may not be a fair exchange, it's my job to protect his heart and soul. It's not a job I take lightly. There is nothing I would not do for this boy; and that is what scares me.
***
Now that we're living in Metropolis, things get a little dicier. I don't know what's worse. Watching Clark deal with meteorite mutants (hearing "meteor rocks" always got the science geek in me pissed off), and the physical pain it caused him -- face clenched, doubled over. I've always hated seeing Clark in pain. It's still a shock, a sign that something is very wrong with the universe. This is a person who has been shot point blank by machine gun, slammed through a bridge railing, and into a frigid river by sports car, and suffered no real ill effects beyond bruising. (Not that I felt any less guilty for inflicting those injuries, accidentally thought it may have been.) Clark is usually the picture of health.
He woke up screaming again. Hands pressed to his ears, a look of utter horror on his face. I don't know what caused it, this time, but from the screeching tires, and sirens that make up the usual sounds of the city, I know it can't have been good. It's hard to know which is worse. The physical pain Clark went through with each new meteorite mutant encounter, or the mental anguish he feels every time he has to rescue another child from a Metropolitan horror. At least in Smallville, the mutants were affected by something outside their own twisted psyches. More than anything, living here with Clark has made me resent the loss of his innocence. I know he's no virgin anymore, and believe me, I'm forever grateful he let me be the one to change that, but he's always had an aura of youthful exuberance. I don't want to see that light go out of his eyes. I don't want him to curse his adopted humanity.
We've talked about this. There ought to be some way for him to control what he hears, to filter it. He can't be everywhere at once, or save everyone, so why should he have to hear all that suffering?
Sometimes, that angel and devil construct hits too close to home. He has caused grave harm to a few, in the guise of protecting the many. And I have killed to protect the ones he loves. But there is the angel of death, after all, and the devil is not without love.
***
Lex Luthor saved my life. Or if not my life, certainly my sanity. He is the sole cause of my peace of mind. Coming home to him is like shedding the horror of my day. When I take off my suit, either suit, I can become whole again. I'm no longer Clark Kent, dork reporter for the Daily Planet, or Superman, steel hero, not flesh. I'm just me, Lex's lover. Lex's beloved.
He would do anything for me. Whatever I asked, everything I never would think to ask for, without a qualm. I don't like to think about some of the things he's already done. I know he prefers to think of me as mostly oblivious to it all, but I know the truth. I've driven him to far more questionable behavior than he ever would have acted on himself. His need to protect me -- at any cost -- is stronger than his sense of self preservation. If you knew Lex Luthor, you'd know how amazing that was.
I don't know if he understand this, but he's given me as much solace making love to me, as he has when protecting me from police investigation, and the like. There's a separation between courses, the cleansing of an emotional palate.
We've been through so much together. Through a lot of work, and much soul searching -- Lex had to be convinced he had a soul-we learned to trust each other with our most unpleasant secrets. His feelings aren't always Teflon coated, and I'm not always acting solely in the name of justice. Sometimes I'm just angry, or jealous, or horrified. Sometimes I need his protection as much as he needs mine.
Part of the Clex Challenge http://www.kardasi.com/Lexclusive/ClexFest
*Lex told us he would do anything to protect his friends but what lengths would he go to in order to protect Clark? (Jezebel the Temptress)*
Thanks to Jenn (no, not that one) who said (after reading my stories) "I really ought to start watching this show, shouldn't I?"
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Clark's got that look again. Haunted, wounded, he's shocked by his own strength, dismayed by his own weaknesses. He's holed up in his loft, golden arms wrapped around himself, as if that would hold him in check, make him "normal". It's amazing how his palpable air of hopelessness has given the usually open and breezy space a feeling of cave-like dankness. It could almost be the castle. When Clark sulks, he sulks big. Even the sunlight seems to be shying away.
Another crisis has passed, thanks to Clark's quick action, and impulses. The town can go back to being oblivious, stop locking their doors against another green glowing monster. There are probably just as many child molesters, date rapists, and wife beaters living in Smallville as before, but one more meteor mutant has been silenced, with a Clark Kent thirty yard toss. It's a move that ought to be patented. It's also a move that ought to be unnecessary for a 17 year old boy to commit. By all rights, his biggest worry should be how he's going to sneak out of the house on a weeknight, and meet me for a rendezvous at the castle. cI know, that's a maudlin phrase, nearly worthy of being a Thomas Kinkade title, but look at him. God knows I can't help it.
After I handle the logistics, it's time to handle Clark. It's easy for me to take care of the gory details in a town where Chloe Sullivan does more in-depth investigation than the local PD. We haven't really discussed it in great detail -- plausible deniability -- but in general, he knows the role I play in his life. We have a don't ask, don't tell policy about certain things, but we know each other's truths. We share a sense of alienation. While his may be literal, and mine is social, it's made us both wary and guarded -- except with each other. There is nobody I trust besides him. No one I would let touch me. I am an almost immovable object, in love with a nearly unstoppable force.
I've covered his ass more times than I can count -- usually in purely pleasurable privacy -- but sometimes in a way that involves calling in favors, and well placed bribes to cops who look the other way.
Clark's father thinks I am the biggest threat to his son's safety. By digging into his secrets, I'm bound to ruin his future. He doesn't understand that I have to know the truth, if I want any chance to protect him. It's not just my insatiable curiosity.
I'll admit, I've made many mistakes in aid of that curiosity. I shouldn't have involved anyone else in my research -- least of all Roger Nixon, whose commitment to journalist integrity is about as strong as mine is to double coupon shopping at the IGA. I should have been honest with Clark from the beginning, persuaded him to be honest -- and open -- with me. But I'm a Luthor, and lies come as easily to me as blushes do to Clark.
Until today, I never had to get my own hands dirty. I don't know if I'll ever be clean again. It doesn't matter, though. I'd do it again. I didn't hesitate this time. Clark needs his father. He deserves that unconditional love and support. Jonathan may hate me, and he's got valid reasons beyond his prejudice, but he'd never feel anything negative for Clark.
I want to believe that this handshake meant something to him, that he believes I would do anything for his son. I want Clark to believe in me again, to trust me. I want him to know that while I've lied, and done things I'm not proud of, I've always loved him. I've just been misguided. I need forgiveness, even more so from Clark, than from my own father. Clark, at least, once thought the best of me. I want to believe I deserved it. I want to believe that my motivations weren't entirely selfish.
I know that as his physical prowess grows, so does his sense of justice, and his own need to serve -- no matter what it takes out of him emotionally.
Clark Kent saved my life, and in what may not be a fair exchange, it's my job to protect his heart and soul. It's not a job I take lightly. There is nothing I would not do for this boy; and that is what scares me.
***
Now that we're living in Metropolis, things get a little dicier. I don't know what's worse. Watching Clark deal with meteorite mutants (hearing "meteor rocks" always got the science geek in me pissed off), and the physical pain it caused him -- face clenched, doubled over. I've always hated seeing Clark in pain. It's still a shock, a sign that something is very wrong with the universe. This is a person who has been shot point blank by machine gun, slammed through a bridge railing, and into a frigid river by sports car, and suffered no real ill effects beyond bruising. (Not that I felt any less guilty for inflicting those injuries, accidentally thought it may have been.) Clark is usually the picture of health.
He woke up screaming again. Hands pressed to his ears, a look of utter horror on his face. I don't know what caused it, this time, but from the screeching tires, and sirens that make up the usual sounds of the city, I know it can't have been good. It's hard to know which is worse. The physical pain Clark went through with each new meteorite mutant encounter, or the mental anguish he feels every time he has to rescue another child from a Metropolitan horror. At least in Smallville, the mutants were affected by something outside their own twisted psyches. More than anything, living here with Clark has made me resent the loss of his innocence. I know he's no virgin anymore, and believe me, I'm forever grateful he let me be the one to change that, but he's always had an aura of youthful exuberance. I don't want to see that light go out of his eyes. I don't want him to curse his adopted humanity.
We've talked about this. There ought to be some way for him to control what he hears, to filter it. He can't be everywhere at once, or save everyone, so why should he have to hear all that suffering?
Sometimes, that angel and devil construct hits too close to home. He has caused grave harm to a few, in the guise of protecting the many. And I have killed to protect the ones he loves. But there is the angel of death, after all, and the devil is not without love.
***
Lex Luthor saved my life. Or if not my life, certainly my sanity. He is the sole cause of my peace of mind. Coming home to him is like shedding the horror of my day. When I take off my suit, either suit, I can become whole again. I'm no longer Clark Kent, dork reporter for the Daily Planet, or Superman, steel hero, not flesh. I'm just me, Lex's lover. Lex's beloved.
He would do anything for me. Whatever I asked, everything I never would think to ask for, without a qualm. I don't like to think about some of the things he's already done. I know he prefers to think of me as mostly oblivious to it all, but I know the truth. I've driven him to far more questionable behavior than he ever would have acted on himself. His need to protect me -- at any cost -- is stronger than his sense of self preservation. If you knew Lex Luthor, you'd know how amazing that was.
I don't know if he understand this, but he's given me as much solace making love to me, as he has when protecting me from police investigation, and the like. There's a separation between courses, the cleansing of an emotional palate.
We've been through so much together. Through a lot of work, and much soul searching -- Lex had to be convinced he had a soul-we learned to trust each other with our most unpleasant secrets. His feelings aren't always Teflon coated, and I'm not always acting solely in the name of justice. Sometimes I'm just angry, or jealous, or horrified. Sometimes I need his protection as much as he needs mine.