A/N: this "chapter" contains 38 individual drabbles which were written for the sv100 challenge on livejournal. Each was written to satisfy a particular prompt; most use the prompt as the title, though after I got through all of them I took a second shot at a few; these are noted. Most of these are meant to stand alone as stories, though one set of two are meant to go together and a few of them could be viewed as companion pieces.
I thought about posting each of these as an individual chapter but that seemed sort of insane considering how many of them there are.
Pie
"I wish I'd never agreed to this."
"It's for a good cause, Clark."
"I know, the regional animal shelter..."
"Scores of puppies and kittens depend on you."
"I'm happy to help; I just resent their tactics, is all."
"They didn't tell you it was a pie-in-the-face booth?"
"Do you really think I'd have volunteered if I'd known?"
"Have a sense of humor."
"Lex! The entire county will be at this fair!"
"Well, I don't think they'll refund my dollar."
"You bought a pie already?!"
"There, there. I'll bring it home … we'll find a better use for the whipped cream."
Orange
Not long ago, Lex would have scoffed at the notion of himself attending a grain festival. He was quintessentially metropolitan; if it didn't involve Armani, Stolichnaya or the city's night lights sliding over the slick surfaces of his limousine, he wasn't interested.
He marveled now at his own versatility. With unconscious ease, he'd developed an appreciation for the twanging of banjos and fiddles, the smell of the bonfire, the stab of naked tree branches bleak against the orange harvest moon.
Clark's large hand, warm and secret around his in the chilly night air, had something to do with it too.
Memory
"Memory!" Lex wailed. "All alone in the moonlight!"
"Lex," Clark coaxed. "It's closing time."
"I can smile at the old days! I was beautiful then!"
"You're still beautiful ... just also drunk."
Karaoke night was over, and The Talon mercifully empty. Clark wasn't sure what had inspired this performance, but alcohol was definitely fueling it.
Clark pulled Lex's arm around his shoulders. "Let's get you home and sobered up."
Lex had walked in on him kissing Lana earlier ... but ...
"It's so easy to leave me," Lex sniveled into him. Was he crying?
He was.
Clark supported him gently, promised: "I won't."
Wedding
"But why won't you stay for dinner?" Clark pressed, even as Lex opened the car door in an anxious bid for escape.
He answered slowly: "Because I don't belong. It's like being stag at a wedding; everyone else is paired off, but I'm…"
"Without you," Clark interrupted, placing his hand on the door frame- on Lex's- "we're an odd number."
Lex glanced from the unexpected contact to the cheerful yellow farmhouse. How desperately he longed to be written into that scene…
His resolve wavered; Clark saw it. "Please. Stay."
Lex longed for those words, too- and could not resist them.
Pizza
"Clark, please. It really isn't that bad."
"Are you sure?"
"I don't get why you're so worried anyway, he already looks at you like…"
"Chlo! I have arrived! Oh, nice look, pizza-face."
"Lois!!! Clark, don't…! Great. Thanks, Lois."
"What's with Smallville?"
"Did you have to joke about the zits? It just took me twenty minutes to coax him out of that bathroom."
"Sor-ry! But who does he have to impress?"
"... Lex. They're meeting for coffee."
"Correction: I was meeting Lex."
"Clark!!! Ignore Lois, she's…"
"Don't be a coward, Smallville; a girl just needs a few makeup tricks. Here, allow me."
Snow
The door to the Kent hayloft stood open as always. Inside the barn, the golden sheen of hay and the earthy heat from the livestock below created an atmosphere of yielding - if prickly - comfort. Outside, snow fell silently on a waiting world.
Lex and Clark sat close together on blanket-covered bales, ostensibly to watch the snow; but Lex could not keep his eyes trained outward. Mugs of cocoa warming their hands, straw in Clark's hair, kisses stolen in the barn's shadowy corners … these things belonged in a Rockwell painting; they couldn't belong to him.
But he would keep them anyway.
New Year's
Lex slipped out onto the balcony just as the clock struck twelve. Over his shoulder, the riotous noise of the partygoers faded until at last the door clicked shut.
Let them kiss without him.
He hadn't been able to escape Clark entirely. Their gazes had met and locked when the crowd stilled to begin the unison countdown. But as others sought and embraced their midnight partners, Lex held Clark's eyes and their unspoken question for one sad moment - then released, and turned away.
New Year's for many symbolized hope; but what occupied Lex's thoughts tonight were all his broken resolutions.
Bed
Lex was amused when he returned, showered, shaved and dressed, to find Clark still in bed, fast asleep.
He let admiring fingertips linger for a moment on a bare bicep, then poked him savagely in the ribs.
"Wake up, lazy. The day's a-wasting."
Clark grumbled, shifted beneath the sheets, threw one elbow over his eyes. "I'm not a morning person."
"Even after all those years of pre-dawn chores?"
Bleary green eyes began to focus, appraise. "You're all dressed up."
Lex leaned over for a goodbye kiss. "Breakfast meeting."
Clark caught hold of his tie. "Then there's still plenty of time."
Legion
"Wait." Clark's voice was soft but urgent, and his staying hand gentle but strong on Lex's chest.
He peered through the wall, sighed. "There's a legion of them out there."
The posh restaurant's front vestibule was close and dark; for a moment Lex pretended to hesitate just to feel Clark's body there, so substantial and protective beside him. Then, "I'm sorry, Clark. The paparazzi are almost as fast as you."
Since the tabloids had broken the Superman-Luthor affair, they'd been unable to enjoy even a quiet dinner together in peace.
Clark gathered him close, grinned. "Almost."
And they were home.
Warning: the drabble that follows is set in Requiem.
Flame
Clark sped away from the scene, the headwind drying his tears before he could even cry them.
In his haste to reach what he sought, he nearly shattered the loose floorboard. Only when he touched the sheaves of paper did his trembling hands grow still.
'Clark,' read Lex's even yet complicated hand, 'no matter how wide the gulf between us grows, I find I cannot stop loving you. And I have tried.
Burn this.'
As he cradled Lex's letters, Clark realized he was smearing the pages with his ashes.
His eyes stung briefly; then flames claimed Lex's words as well.
Cookies
Lois crossed her arms and leaned against the counter. She didn't begrudge Clark his secret; frankly, this was the first thing about him that actually made sense.
She didn't even question his choice in Lex. He definitely had a naughty rich-boy charm - if that was your thing.
But being here with them, watching them laugh and smear flour on each other as they tried out Martha's Oatmeal Raisin recipe, was a bit much.
"If you two don't cut it out," she snarled, "I won't be baking cookies- I'll be tossing them."
Clark grinned and chucked some flour her way too.
Green
Clark slammed yet another book of poetry closed and thumped his feet against the loft floor in frustration.
He knew what was expected of him. His role was very clear: make a joke, compliment the bride, toast the couple. Be clever, be brief, and get out of the way.
His big problem was not so much finding what words to say; it was the words he wanted to say, and knew now he couldn't.
Jealousy was not a green-eyed monster after all: she was a stately woman with raven hair and a scheming mouth who'd stolen his best friend away.
Magic
Lex leaned back in the booth and let his gaze wander over the compulsively-decorated room. Lana had done a fantastic job, he had to give her that: The Talon was overflowing with cobwebs, cauldrons and glittering ghouls.
From behind the espresso machine he caught a glimpse of her, coy in her witch's hat. The steam rising around her added to the effect.
There was an ethereal witchcraft about this place; but the magic that had ensnared him was of a more substantial sort.
Just then Clark returned, grinning, a pumpkin latte in each hand; Lex slid over to make room.
Crater Lake
"Okay. I'm going to do it."
"After you."
"…Seriously; I'm jumping now."
"Clark? You seem to still be standing on the pier."
"You're not helping!"
"Remind me how we reached this impasse?"
"I lost a bet with Pete."
"Cruel of him. Crater Lake in January; we could get hypothermia."
"Well, it's because he thinks… um…"
"He thinks what?"
"He thinks he's funny, I mean."
"Well, imagine the look on his face when he finds out how you survived."
"How?"
"Body heat."
Splash.
"Lex!!!"
"Polar Bear experience; you just needed a push.
"How could you?!"
"Come here; I'll warm you up."
A/N: this drabble is meant to be read in colored fonts, which ffnet doesn't allow. Bold and italics are subsituted, but they aren't the same. The original is posted to my livejournal (nonotthatone dot livejournal dot com) if you want to see this the way it was intended to be seen.
Dinosaur
hey clark
hey lex
what's up?
nm, trying to study
can't concentrate tho
something on your mind?
I think you know what
maybe I do
maybe I don't
you just want me to say it
you're damn right
fine
I can't stop thinking about you
really?
tell me more
why don't you drive over
I'll show you instead
like this better
I'm thinking about you too
care to see?
**video chat request from SexyLex**
"Clark?"
"Hey. Sorry, my computer just crashed; stupid thing is a total dinosaur."
"I guess I'll have to drive over there after all."
"I guess so."
Hug
"Is this the only copy?"
"Yes, Mr. Luthor."
"Destroy everything."
"But…"
"Do it."
Lex turned his back dismissively on Doctor- forgive him, but in his triumph he'd already forgotten her name. Inside her report lay stark confirmation of all he'd ever suspected:
Sample is not human.
Poor Clark. His innocent toothbrush- the first tentative evidence of a relationship, a symbolic foothold in your lover's house.
Lex loved that he'd left it. But he had to know.
He hugged the folder to his chest briefly, then strode with purpose towards the fire…
No.
He would let Clark see him burn it.
Cold
Lex's eyes were complicated and beautiful. What Clark loved best about them was their secret fire: when they smoldered in that moment, or blinked lazily at him afterwards, and left absolutely no doubt of the burning within.
But if they were smoky silver, they were also mercury. With as little warning they would become flinty, blister you just as surely with their searing cold.
"You might as well tell me," he said casually over his shoulder as he dressed, that grey as muted and threatening as distant thunder. "Because sooner or later, I'll find out on my own."
Happy Mother's Day
"Mrs. Kent?"
"Hello, Lex – oh, what beautiful roses! Please come in. Clark's not home yet, but …"
"Forgive me; I didn't come to see Clark."
"Lex? What is it?"
"I … hope this isn't inappropriate. I sometimes can't see where those lines lie, or cross them without meaning to. But … I'd like to …"
"Are you …?"
"I'm not crying! Excuse me, I shouldn't have … I'll just be going. Please don't mention this to ..."
"Honey. Come here."
"I'm sorry ..."
"Shh. Don't."
"Mrs. Kent …"
"Martha."
"I …"
"It's all right, Lex. Clark loves you. So, so do I."
"… Martha. These are for you; Happy Mother's Day."
Children
Clark glanced over at Lex, who looked pale, sweaty and out-of-place, and grinned.
Lex caught Clark looking at him and felt his nervous irritation drift blissfully away.
It didn't matter that his new cashmere coat was speckled with mud, bits of dried leaves and bracken. It didn't matter that he was wasting a perfectly good Saturday morning leading a troop of shrieking children on a nature walk they probably weren't appreciating.
What mattered was that the judge had agreed to substitute community service for that pointless anger management class.
Clark, always the boy scout, had been happy to volunteer too.
Gift
Clark seemed to say "I'm not my father" nearly as often as Lex did. And Lex believed it– as much as Clark believed him, anyway.
There were some patterns that persisted, though, despite deeper differences. In Lex it was the affinity for grand displays; in Clark, the tendency to refuse presents.
Lex had tried again and again to find something he could give that Clark would not decline; he was stubbornly unmoved by anything that splendid , excessive wealth could buy.
It seemed all Clark would accept was his kiss… but that was a gift Lex would never mind returning.
Summer
Now that he knew about the yellow sun, Lex finally understood.
"I hate you," he grumbled- then winced.
Clark, who was rubbing him down with aloe vera, was somewhat less apologetic than Lex thought he ought to be. "How's this?" And blew.
Oh, beautiful super-breath.
"I still hate you."
"I guess I just forgot how susceptible humans are to sunburn."
"It's summer."
"So?"
"So, we were naked. For hours."
"You never complained."
"Because the other effects were… distracting."
Clark's warm mouth replaced cool breath on Lex's ear. "You liked the extra endurance."
Lex shivered. "Fine... But next time, bring sunblock."
Reunion
Though nanotechnology, political intrigue and nefarious uses of kryptonite can be entertaining, they are not Lex Luthor's real reasons for perpetuating this farce.
Nor is it the thrill of victory he seeks. Let's not fool ourselves anyway; it's not like Superman ever lets him win. But even that can't detract from the sweetness of reunion.
When bullets, sirens or toxic chemicals fill the air around them, Clark and Lex can somehow find a common ground, an eye within their storm; the maelstrom engulfs them, shields them from outside view.
Like any great party, though, the cleanup is always a bitch.
July 4th
"So we sit in the middle of a field, get eaten by mosquitoes, and watch things explode. Is that the gist?"
"You're missing the point."
"Then you explain it."
"It's about being proud to be an American; about celebrating your freedom."
Lex set his jaw. "I'm not free."
He must be arguing with Lionel again.
"So declare your independence," Clark countered lightly. "July 4th is a great date for that."
"Is it?"
"Yes," he persisted, moving closer, forcing Lex to look up into his face. "And besides, there will be fireworks."
"Real?" He was smiling now. "Or figurative?"
Victory.
"Both."
Lunch
Lex ate pressure for breakfast. He spent his days striding from meeting to meeting, cornering markets and driving profits with ruthless efficiency. He even had the motions condensed to art; the graceful swivel of his desk chair, the simple flip of his cell phone could make or break bottom lines.
But today his rhythm was off. Totally off.
"Lex? What's wrong?"
"My assistant must have made a mistake; I'm free for lunch. Would you like to…"
A rush of air; the click of a lock.
Lex ate pressure for breakfast; but he'd make a much more enjoyable meal of Clark.
Tease
"I'm still not sure about this," Clark said in a small voice as he emerged from the bathroom.
Lex, resplendent in leather and fishnets, sauntered smoothly towards him on four-inch heels. His inspection was serious and thorough - perhaps needlessly so on top, considering Clark wore no shirt.
Finally he pronounced his judgment. "Fantastic; we should tease your hair up more, though."
Clark's heavily-shadowed eyes held lingering disbelief. "How did you become such a Rocky Horror fan?"
Lex deliberated, licked his lips, leaned in; he was so close, Clark could smell his rouge.
"Misspent youth," he whispered, then snapped Clark's garter.
Books
There'd been a time, not long ago either, when all Clark wanted was the right to carry Lana's books. He'd daydreamed of hefting them with ease and wrapping his other arm around her slim shoulders, his strength and affection kept secret no longer.
He still fantasized about books, though now they were the ones that lined the walls of Lex's library. The musty smell of being pressed against those shelves, the thick sounds the volumes made when they tumbled to the floor… these secrets did not trouble him.
His feelings for Lana had been textbook.
Lex was a rare edition.
Black & White
Clark stared with shock and horror at the headline. His emotions got the better of him; the newspaper began to scorch.
"There's no need to be dramatic," Lex retorted, quickly patting out the fire. "Don't do that! I want to save it."
Clark tried to pull himself together. "Sorry. It's just … seeing it spelled out in black and white like that …"
"Not just black and white. Sixty-point Gothic." Lex sounded smug, almost - pleased?
"You don't …"
Lex's lips stilled his. "It's the best headline I've ever been part of."
The paper drifted to the floor, shouting.
SUPERMAN AND LUTHOR: SECRET LOVERS
Teardrop
Lex slipped his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels before the jeweler's case.
He had chosen diamonds before, and dithered less. Those had, unfortunately, meant less - and Clark would know that. So his choice would have to be perfect for more than just the usual reasons.
For Helen, a marquis cut, to compliment her aristocratic profile.
For Lana, a princess; no explanation required.
He thought of the vows - of good times and bad - and the way he'd wept the first time Clark took him in his arms.
A teardrop, then - the most precious he'd ever shed.
Wolf
Lex peered over the rim of his coffee cup. On his plate, two slices of toast with jam were congealing. He watched as Clark wolfed down three eggs, four slices of bacon, two of ham and a short stack with butter and syrup.
"So … you're hungry," he observed with commingled disgust and awe.
"What?" Clark grinned at him around a mouthful, then took a huge gulp of orange juice. "I work up an appetite."
Lex could barely conceal his conceited satisfaction. "But aren't you afraid you'll bite off more than you can chew?"
Clark's eyes snapped, audacious and challenging. "Nope."
A/N: a joke; the round of sv100 these drabbles were written for was called "Past Prompts," meaning you could use any of the previous challenges to write from. I did them all. Like a crazy person.
Past Prompts
Clark scowled. The scene should have been perfect: a quiet evening, a crackling fire, absolutely no crises to distract them. But Lex had found, as he always managed to, some excuse to wax rhapsodic on history - and it was ruining the mood.
Lex could sense his impatience. "I know; you think I'm lecturing again. But Clark - respect for the past prompts better preparation for the future."
"Your problem," Clark grumbled, closing in, "is you think too much - about both the past and the future."
Lex frowned, uncomprehending. "Well, what else is there?"
"The present," Clark answered. And kissed him. Hard.
A/N: the "alternate universe" prompt for this challenge was confusing; it said you had to use an existing AU, either from an AU episode or another existing Superman adaptation. I decided to make the argument that Exodus/Exile constituted an alternate universe, and wrote the two related drabbles set there. No one called me a cheater :)
Alternate Universe
Clark hangs up the phone, finding it strange that he can lift anything but can't hold back tears.
Everyone- every last person he loves- he's failed them. His mother's loss, Chloe's heartbreak: it's all his fault. Even Lana doesn't- shouldn't- trust him.
And Lex is…
He'd had a bad feeling about Helen from the start; he should have told Lex.
He should have told Lex a lot of things.
If he stays on Red K, Jor-El will keep hurting him; but Kal doesn't care about Clark's pain.
So Clark slips the ring on, and shifts back into his alternate universe.
*
At night, Lex lies awake listening to Louis muttering in his sleep and wonders if he is mad.
They say a mad person would never acknowledge it; so perhaps hope remains.
Sometimes, especially when the sun is hottest overhead, Lex finds it hard to remember. He dimly recalls other priorities: money, power, truth. Her name: Helen ...
All he wants now is water, and Clark.
Louis claims he is a friend; in this alternate universe, he is all Lex has. But Lex still doesn't trust him.
He never, he realizes, really trusted Clark either.
Maybe he's better off here after all.
A/N: a second shot at sv100 prompt – Happy Mother's Day.
Grave
The weather was poor for early May. Rain fell in a steady curtain, filling the air with that damp, earthy smell that Lex always associated with cemeteries.
Thick cellophane crinkled expectantly in his left hand, as if the bouquet were about to be presented to a delighted lover rather than laid on the wet ground.
His right hand was warm and dry in Clark's.
"Thank you," Lex murmured without ever taking his eyes off the black marble. "I know this isn't your idea of a happy Mother's Day."
Clark just squeezed and reached up wordlessly to trace Lillian's engraved name.
A/N: a second shot at sv100 prompt – snow.
Sabbatical
"Lex, look, I just need another few minutes on the scanner."
"Nope, sorry. Metropolis's Finest have plenty of backup."
"What are you talking-"
"Their overtime budget suddenly quintupled. Don't worry, Clark; they're fine. You deserve a night off."
"But…"
"Shh, you big strong hero. You do so much for everyone else. When are you going to take care of yourself?"
"I-"
"I mean, just look at you. You're so tense. Here, let me rub your shoulders… you won't be needing that shirt…"
"You're giving me a snow job, aren't you?"
"I was thinking more blow –"
"Lex."
"Yes?"
"Stop talking."
A/N: a second shot at sv100 prompt – green.
Money
Lex sat up and began to pick straw off his sweater.
"You'll never get it all," Clark observed.
His mouth curled. "I don't mind."
"What is it with you and haystacks, anyway?"
" I don't know. I just like the feel; it's so fresh and golden…"
"And prickly."
Lex fished into his pocket, came out with a hundred. "Think of it this way: wouldn't you push me into a pile of money?" He let the bill's edge skim against Clark's jawbone. "Doesn't it smell so green, so filthy…?"
Clark breathed deeply, imagining.
"Lex… can we..."
"Go by the bank? Sure."
A/N: a second shot at sv100 prompt – memory.
Vestige
The corridors at Summerholt are sterile and acoustic. Lex's footsteps are so loud they rattle his teeth. It seems fitting, considering how empty he feels; inside his own head there are the same echoes.
He tries not to think of Clark as he slips out of his clothes and into the strange bath.
He told Clark he's trying to get back the last seven weeks. On its face this is not a lie. But there is something desperate and fearful in the way Clark looks at him now.
Why is the memory Lex wants.
And there's no use just asking.
A/N: a second shot at sv100 prompt – lunch. Possibly a companion to the original "Lunch" drabble (above).
Semantics
Clark understands the way Lex works.
Which is not to say he likes it; but he understands.
He knows he shouldn't be bothered by waking alone in the early hours; Lex likes to be the first one to arrive at the office each morning.
He knows he shouldn't quibble when Lex stays late to work on this acquisition or that divestiture. At least he's not out cheating.
Perhaps Lex has it harder, though. It's Clark who's always leaping up from the dinner table to go save the world.
So a midday call from Lex – "lunch," "nooner," doesn't matter.
He flies.
A/N: a second shot at sv100 prompt – black & white.
Medium
It's fitting that Clark should have landed at The Planet. The medium suits him well; he always was so damned black and white.
Mediums are middles though, and in the middle of black and white is a shade in which Lex is infinitely more comfortable.
When he pulls on a grey cashmere sweater, or slips into the silver Porsche, Lex always thinks of Clark. His sweaters used to get lost amongst Clark's star-spangled sheets; Clark's scent used to linger on the car's leather seats.
But ultimately, Clark couldn't meet him in the middle. So Lex is alone with his greys.
A/N: a second shot at sv100 prompt